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Red Roses Divider

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Requested by @rose-garden-filled-with-thorn-d

Dividers List

paranoid android ; series masterlist.

track two of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x reader (gender-neutral)

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

wc ; 27k and counting!

themes ; angst, fluff, action, smut, lovers to kind-of-enemies

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence, death, nepotism, smut, coriolanus' descent into evil </3

chapter one: wool. snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. how much of you was lying, just as he was?

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

chapter three: weave. there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

chapter four: thread. “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter. “of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

chapter five: stitch. and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

chapter six: skirt. coming soon!

chapter seven: tie. coming soon!

TOXIC

pairing: modern!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

synopsis: modern!snow can't help but fuck himself out of every argument / based off this prompt

warnings: explicit smut - unprotected PinV / coercion / post argument sex / surprisingly sweet tbh?

mdni | 18+ content

the argument started over something small, it was insignificant really, but it bothered you how coryo never seemed to take things to heart. he would brush them off unless they had any sort of negative impact on him.

since you two were in bed, he was quick to jump at his own defence, cracking a self effacing joke to lighten the tension and once again, brushing it off.

it pissed you off, so you eventually forced him off the bed - telling him he didn't deserve the novelty of sharing a bed with you if he was going to be this immature.

when he gets up - walking to the foot of the bed - you assume he's actually going to leave, but instead he tosses your legs up his broad shoulders, grabbing you from the hips until you could feel the heat of his slowly hardening dick haphazardly grinding against you.

"coryo, i'm trying to have a fucking conversation," you hiss out, eyebrows pinched together in undeniable pleasure as he cocks an eyebrow upward and almost laughs.

his composure is sickly, every breath he takes - laboured and drawn out as he pushes himself closer to you, like he's trying to meld himself against you - seems to taunt you.

"we can have a 'fucking conversation' or we can start fucking," he grunts, rolling his hips into you as he watches your eyes roll in frustration, though not enough to mask the tell tale signs of arousal evident on you - a sheen of sweat glistening on your collarbone and highlighting your lust blown pupils.

you huff, wordlessly shrugging your shoulders in ambiguous consent - sure you're mad, but you guys could continue this conversation later, when his dick wasn't as hard as you were sure you were wet - because you knew coryo, and if he wanted this, he would probably end up convincing you sooner than later.

"that's my girl," he grins, pushing your panties to the side and rubbing his digits through your slick, circling his index finger around your hole before plunging two in to prep you for his dick.

your breath hitches as he begins to finger you, back arching off the bed as you try your best to remain impassive, unwilling to give him the emotional satisfaction of 'winning' the argument just because you let him get his dick wet.

with an arrogant smirk still residing on his features, he pulls his dick out - longer than it was thick, his tip cut and a blushing pink - teasing you with the head by slapping it on your soaked folds before slipping it in and groaning.

a stifled whine escapes through your sealed lips, the sound muted and restrained but desperate enough for coryo to hear and throb inside of you as he continues to sheath himself further.

"know it feels good baby, y'dont have to hide," he taunts, patronising and knowing without a doubt that you're still mad and as a consequence refuse to explicitly vocalise any pleasure.

"fuck you," you murmur, biting your cheek to subdue any more noises as he bottoms out inside of you.

coryo merely laughs, and you thank the stars above that he's probably too focused on the feeling of you clenching around him to make another conceited joke about how he 'already was'.

his thrusts start deep and slow, hitting that spot inside of you each time to chip away any composure you thought you had, your own forearm hiding tears of pleasure brimming at your waterline for how deep he was going, an abundance of emotions - alongside the sharp contrast of anger and pleasure - leave you feeling feverish and flush with confusion as he stimulates your most sensitive erogenous zones.

he coos at your dazed expression, your face ruddy and warm as he successfully fucks the anger out of you, quelling any urges you may have to shout by leaving you stupid and vulnerable due to the warmth of him inside you coupled with his measured, languid strokes.

"still mad?" he eventually whispers, leaving a cluster of kisses across the crease your lips then moving to nip at your jaw and neck.

somewhat reluctantly (or at least you hoped it was reluctantly), you shake your head, going to wrap your hands around his neck and pull him closer into you, clawing at the sweaty skin of his back for purchase and digging your nails into the muscle.

"knew it," he mumbles somewhat irrelevantly - probably to himself.

@shellxrls 2023

omggggg

piercings

words : 2,009

tags : 18+!!!! MDNI modern ! snow , college setting , pervert ! snow , lucy gray & sejanus are in this , cock worship , face - fucking , dick piercings , coriolanus snow has a big dick , rough oral sex , soft ! snow

a/n : inspired by shellxrls post abt modern!coryo in grey sweatpants and a convo i had w/ aiyana LMAOAO

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!! ( divider by yeisoo )

coriolanus knew what he was doing when he wore grey sweatpants, even when he was innocently walking to his college classes, or getting a coffee, possibly even just walking down the dorm halls. he knew that there was a certain print that would show between the material, an outline, an exposition of what may lie underneath. he didn’t think about it much at first, not until sejanus, his dorm - mate said something in a drunken state. 

“you know everyone can see your dick in those, right?” sejanus slurs, coughing out a laugh. 

coriolanus smiles shyly, almost embarrassed, “what?” 

“those sweatpants,” sejanus provides more clarity, “we can see your dick.” 

he didn’t know if sejanus was just lying, or just drunk, not until he looked in the mirror the next morning. 

jesus christ, it nearly showed all eight inches, fabric almost exposing that he was circumcised as well. 

how the fuck? 

ever since sejanus mentioned it, he had been more self conscious, albeit cocky. he noticed when people glanced, or when they giggled with their friends, assuming he didn’t know the way his dick pushed against the fabric. especially the girl that sat next to him in philosophy, those mascara covered lashes, the way they fluttered as your eyes flickered to the imprint and back to your paper, awkwardly tapping your pencil so you seem like you’re more focused on anything else. 

but now he knows, he knows why you look at him so much, smile at him, often share notes with him. 

sometimes you even offer to study with him, today was one of these days. 

“we should study for the final together,” you offer, eyes harshly focusing to the way his jaw moves, trying not to look at his pants. 

he smiles back, a smirk, more so, “sure, my dorm?” 

“per usual,” you smile so sweetly, it’s as if you’re innocent, as if he doesn’t know why you try to study with him so often. 

he realizes it then, that you always try to subtly hint to him when studying together, but never force it. you’ll wear a tighter shirt, maybe even a push - up bra, and always try to ask follow up questions when he’s explaining things to you, just to see his lips move, or to have him lean in closer as he points it out on the book in front of you, breath fresh against the shell of your ear. it makes you shiver, he knows, he feels the way your cheeks heat up, nearly sees the way your thighs rub together. 

you’ve thought of it, haven’t you? 

maybe he could make your wish come to life. 

“i don’t know why you think it’s gonna work after like… the fifth try,” lucy frowns at you, finding it idiotic that you’re wasting all your time for a man, especially one like coriolanus. why not spend time with her? she loved to sing you songs, to tell you about life back home, she wouldn’t make your efforts go unnoticed. 

you sigh, pushing up your bra, “if it doesn’t work this time, i won’t study with him again.” 

“good, you shouldn’t be in the first place,” her southern drawl sounds scolding, “i told you—“ 

“—he’s bad news,” you mimic her accent and she playfully scoffs. 

“now you’re just hurtin’ my feelin’s,” she plays pretend upset, and you only smile at her sweetly. 

“you know i’m kidding, lucy gray.” you smile at her sweetly.

coriolanus almost immediately responds to your knock at the door, sejanus wasn’t in the dorm, of course, he almost never was when you came over to study with him, and if he was— he was asleep or making sly comments, as if he’s in the same major as you both. sejanus liked to tease coriolanus, he was a sweet guy, kind - hearted, but when it came to pissing snow off, he loved doing it more than anyone else. 

“hey,” his voice is softer now, eyes dancing across your face. 

“hi,” your voice is merely a whisper, and he finds that sweet, the way you always speak to him so softly, bat your eyelashes at him. how could he have not noticed this sooner? he steps to the side, allowing you to come in, eyes catching on to your bra for a mere second, the color peeking underneath your sheer shirt. 

a pervert, sure, coriolanus can’t deny that he has a tendency to let his gaze roam. 

merely out of admiration, though, surely. 

he closes the door behind you, watching as you moved to his bed, where you two had always studied together. 

he should’ve known your intentions from the first time you suggested you both study on his bed, how could he be so blind? coriolanus was in no way innocent, he’s been with many women, especially in college. sorority girls, girls from his classes, or from other classes, girls at parties— it’s safe to say he’s kind of a slut. 

most of the time, though, sejanus is betting him on things, though. 

he’s like, i bet you can’t fuck her, whenever they’re both looking at a pretty sorority girl. 

those cocky sorority girls, coriolanus loved to ruin them, and he knew they loved to be ruined by nerds with big dicks as well. 

they always laughed at the guys who went to their economics classes, or computer science, yet secretly desire to be pounded by them. 

he swallows thick, eyes refocusing onto you, “finals week is going to be pure hell.” 

“i know right,” you breathe out a laugh, eyes tracing along his jaw, moving further and further down until you get a glimpse of the way his dick pushes against the fabric of his sweatpants as he strides over to you. 

“i’m sure you’ve studied a lot,” he moves to sit next to you, closer than all the other times, but not enough to force his presence. 

“i have,” you admit, eyes dipping down to the book propped on your thighs. 

“surely you should take a break,” he exhales, hand moving to cover the book, daring to lean in. 

your eyes trail up the veins of his hands, up his forearm, to his shoulder, up his neck, and to his face. 

his teal eyes bore into you, a lustful tint shining over them, one you haven’t seen before, you only saw it when he was laughing woth other women at parties. 

“coriolanus,” you hush out, making his lips threaten a smile. 

“yes?” he’s moving closer, and closer. 

“i..” you shiver at his breath against your skin. 

“i’ve seen the way you look at me, doll,” he moves so his breath is against your ear, “do you want this? a break?” 

“i do,” you confess, hand falling onto his own, hot against his skin, even when some of your fingertips graze the cool of the hard - cover of the book. 

“sweet girl,” he presses a soft kiss behind your ear, a spot he must’ve known you loved. 

he moves to take your hand, now, moving it from the book to the bulge in his sweatpants. 

he sighs when your fingers envelope around the shape, causing friction of the fabric against it. he moves to now press a kiss against your lips, finally, everything you had worked for was now truth, carefully prying your mouth open and moving his tongue in to taste every inch of you. 

he found that you somehow tasted sweet, like candy, possibly. 

he doesn’t shy away from moving closer, allowing your fingers to press against his hardened cock, flush against the fabric. 

one thing you notice from the touch, though, is the curve of a piercing. 

you can’t help the way you smile against his lips, mumbling, “do you have a piercing?” 

he pulls away with a bite to your bottom lip, “why don’t you find out?” 

and so you did, taking the book and placing it onto the mattress before moving to your knees in front of his spreading legs. to see you so obedient, after often arguing with people in class, being so submissive to whatever he asks of you— it’s adorable. many said you were stuck up, a prissy bitch nobody could tame, and yet your doe eyes stare up at him as your fingers tug down his sweatpants. 

he breathes out when his seething cock meets the cool air, and immediately, you notice the metal laced around the gland underneath his tip, and of course, one looped around his tip. a frenum and a prince albert piercing? jesus christ. your lashes bat a few times, you assumed a few things about the man in front of you, but never assumed he would be bearing piercings, especially ones here. 

“do you like them?” he asks cockily, already knowing the answer. 

albeit, you nod, and your lips part to allow your tongue to tease him by sliding from his base to tip, the cool metal burning against your tongue. his inhales turn sharp at the wet touch, “fuck.” 

the curly strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes as he stares down at you, watching your lips close around his tip, tongue moving against the cool metal sitting there, the warmth of your mouth around him already becoming addictive. as you move down, he memorizes how many inches down it takes for you to moan around him, causing vibrations down to his base, tip threatening against the back of your throat. 

you take him so well, god, his fingers lace through your hair, at first allowing you to take the lead. 

so you do, possibly even tease him as well, pulling off him to press soft kisses to his tip, and along his length, memorizing each vein. 

“don’t tease me,” coriolanus grits out from above you, but of course, you don’t listen. 

his eyebrows knit together, so this is why people called you a prissy bitch, you were stubborn when you wanted to be.  

his free hand moves to press his thumb against your lips, prying them from his tip and moving them apart, pushing his dick into your mouth. you took it well, pretty pink lips enveloping around him. he took the lead himself now, allowing his lips to buck into you with ease, slow at first, then faster when his hunger gets the best of him, the pleasure being far too much for him to control. 

you took it so easily, saliva coating him and forming strings that tied his cock to you whenever he pulled out. 

he noticed the way your eyes water, “takin’ me so well, sweet girl— ah, don’t cry.” 

your tongue is flat against the underside of his cock when he pushes it back in, pulling his bottom lip underneath his teeth, nearing his orgasm. 

he feels you moan against him as his thrusts become sloppier, faster, harsher— like he’s a dying man and his last wish is to cum down your pretty throat, he wonders if you can feel his piercing against the back of your throat whenever he slams his dick into you, abusing your throat and using it as a mere fleshlight. 

his fingers tighten against your scalp as he pulls you to his base when he finally finds his orgasm, pulsing against your tongue as thick stripes coat your throat. and you gulp it down with ease, finding satisfaction even with mascara tears staining your cheeks, lipstick smeared. so gorgeous, he pulls his softening dick out, loosening his grip on your hair and gently brushing his thumb against your bottom lip, “good girl, ‘m sorry i got carried away.” 

sorry feels foreign on his tongue, you know it, even as he wipes your tears and helps you up, pressing a soft kiss to your mascara stained cheek. 

you lean into his touch, somehow knowing your times studying with him will be much different from now on. 

he smiles as he reels you in, touch soft as opposed to his unforgiving thrusts, which had surely bruised your lips and throat. 

maybe he should wear sweatpants more often. 

Better be under that tree.

neeed more dad!coryo

Hiiiii could you do a fic where reader is pregnant for the first time? I need more soft!young president coriolanus so so bad

Soft as Snow || Young President!Coriolanus snow x reader

A/n: thank you for this request anon!! I need more soft coryo too 🥹

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of death

Wc: 860

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the opulent sun room of the presidential mansion that you call your home, you sat in a plush chair with a bowl of fresh lychee perched carefully on your pregnant belly. The brightly lit room, adorned with decadent furnishings, seemed to reflect the weight of the world you carried not only as the First Lady but also as a soon-to-be-mother.

The door cracked open and Coriolanus entered with an air of authority that seemed to dissipate as he laid eyes on you, his precious wife. Coryo gestured the servants to leave the two of you alone as his steely gaze softened, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips as he approached.

"May I?" he gestured toward the empty space on the chair beside you. You nodded with an eager smile and he took a seat, his eyes fixed on your protruding belly which was covered by the softness of your silk dress. Gently, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "How are you feeling, my love?"

His voice, usually reserved and commanding to people outside of his inner circle, held a tenderness and softness that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his question.

"I'm well, Coryo. Our baby seems to be quite content by these lychees," You chuckle as your rub your stomach. Coryo smiles, lychees were a rare fruit to come by this time of year but he made sure that you were fed only the most juiciest, ripe, lychees.

"I'm glad," he hums. His hand finds its way to your belly, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of your dress, ghosting over your skin underneath. "It's a remarkable thing, life," he mused, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—awe, anticipation, and a hint of vulnerability.

You watch him knowing where his mind was at. The thought of his mother dying during birth along with his baby sister. You knew that he was scared. Scared that maybe you would have the same fate as his late mother. But you assured Coryo, that times have changed and that you would be alright.

The weight of his responsibilities seemed to momentarily fade as he focused on you and the life growing inside you. Your fingers dipped into the fruit bowl, a lychee in between your fingers as you bring it to your lips, Coriolanus watching with fascination. The atmosphere hung in a delicate balance, as if time itself had slowed down to savour this tranquil interlude.

"Have you thought about names," he asked, breaking the silence. You chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the room, "I have actually. Vicky," you watch Snow's features contort into a mixture of emotions.

"Vicky. like my mothers-" "Yes, like your mother's name." You interrupt him as your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes. "I love it. Vicky Snow," He says with a smile on his face.

As you continued to share the bowl of fruit, the conversation drifted from politics to dreams, hopes and the shared future that awaited your family. Coriolanus, a man known for his strategic mind and politics, revealed a more vulnerable side, a side reserved for you, his wife carrying his child.

Time slipped away, and the room glowered in the soft hues of twilight. Coriolanus stood, his eyes lingering on you with an affectionate gaze. "I've got state matters to deal with, my dear. Just know, you and our child are always on my mind."

~

Days turned into weeks, and the swell of your belly grew more pronounced. The Capitol buzzed with excitement over the impending arrival of the newest member of the Snow legacy. Coriolanus, ever the stoic leader, became a pillar of support, attending to your needs with a grace that contradicted his ruthless reputation.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Capitol, he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting protectively on your belly. The lights of the city below shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused to witness the union of power and vulnerability.

As the days dwindled down to the eagerly anticipated arrival, Coriolanus stood by your side, a beacon of strength. The birthing room, stark and sterile, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol. Yet, in that space, you found an intimacy that transcended the political stage.

The first cry of your newborn filled the room, and Coriolanus held the tiny bundle in his arms with a reverence that bordered on awe. His usually composed demeanor crumbled, replaced by the unfiltered joy of fatherhood.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mother," He whispers, his eyes never leaving the small face nestled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you for gifting me a gift beyond measure," Coryo looks at you as you couldn't help but let a teardrop roll down your cheek as you gazed at the future you had brought into the word.

You couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty that had blossomed in the heart of the Capitol's calculated power.

Coriolanus Snow - The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes, 2023

AHHHH

Beneath the White Sheets (Young! President! Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

​​A/N: A simple domestic fluff turned slightly sensual hot, slightly crazy, boyfriend who can’t keep his hands to himself. For my lovely anon who just wanted something less depressing than the typical hunger games fic

People are utterly stupid. At least that’s what Coriolanus had been telling himself for the past two hours. Being made president of Panem was everything he had ever wanted and more but he couldn’t stand how much conversation it involved. He could never stand to fraternize with those less intelligent than himself and that seemed fo be all this was comprised of. Though it all was worth it to come home to you. 

You had met in school, what felt like such a long ago. Started as enemies as all good lovers do, competing to mentor the best tribute for the 10th hunger games. Yours had died before even making it to the arena, a fact Coryo never quite let you forget, or the fact that his won. But you were always quick to remind him that he cheated so it didn’t count. The same small frown would appear on his face at the mention of Lucy Gray. 

You knew they had a history, but you also knew that nobody could ever love you the way he did. On a fundamental level she would always resent who he was, how he was raised, his “kind.” You on the other hand knew what it meant to work your way up from the bottom, to have drive and passion. You were one in the same in that way, but you kept him in check, able to dull some of the red that always tinted the edges of his plans. 

The moment he bursted in the door you knew it had been a bad day even before he started ranting. 

“I can’t BELIEVE these people, it’s like they think the world runs on expensive fabrics and tiny foods.” Coryo threw his suit jacket into the corner of the room, the white coat crumpling like a piece of paper. Running a hand through his hair he finally took the time to look at you properly. 

His eyes raked your form, taking in the way your freshly washed locks framed your face. Your eyes were focused on him, that same worried look ever present on your face, it brought a warm flush to his cheeks. Even a year into marriage it never ceased to surprise him that everyday someone could care. That even after seeing him, the real him with skeletons in the closet, you still loved him— still forgave him. That simple fact was enough to make the stress of the day melt from his body. Shoulders dropping just the tiniest bit, jaw coming unclenched for the first time since he’d left at six am that morning. 

He watched as you shuffled out of bed, in that same night dress that was just sheer enough to hint at what was underneath but not enough to satisfy his desires. Your pebbled nipples poking out just enough to make him want to do nothing more than to take one into his mouth and taste the sweet comfort of home. The thought of the taste of your skin already bringing a burning desire to his mind. 

But you could simply fuck anytime, right now was for something more pure. 

You floated across the room and wrapped your hands around his waist, burying your face in his chest, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I should fire everyone and replace them with you instead, you’re more intelligent that all of them combined,” he placed a greedy kiss to your lips before pulling away, “and much sexier too” his hot breath on your lips making you flush. 

You allowed him to change his clothes wordlessly. Basking in the presence of your lover, Coryo doing the same. Your relationship was built on comfortable silence, if something needed to be said it would, but for now all either one of you needed was to feel the other. 

Like a well rehearsed play you both flowed back to the bed, allowing the cool sheets and soft mattress to absorb your bodies until you met in the middle. Coryo wrapped every open limb around you until you were one. With your ear on his chest you listened to his heart beat. The rhythmic thumping grounding you, this was reality, white sheets and curly blonde hair. 

“I’m scared” that statement sent chills through your body. Never had Coryo admitted to something so-- human in all the time you had known him. 

“Do we have something to be scared for?” 

“The thought of this being temporary fleets my mind often these days, that one day I will have nothing to provide to you anymore” The statement broke your heart. Deep down you knew he cared, even if he tried to convince himself he didn’t. Yet her he was the very thought of letting you down was terrifying. 

“I don’t need anything but you,” You felt the held breath ruffle the strands of hair at the top of your head. “You are enough Coriolanus Snow, I promised myself to you because even a poor beggar I would want nothing more in this life than you” 

“I have never wanted anything more than you” The confession surprised you in a sense. You knew you were an important part of the puzzle, but Panem always seemed to come first. 

You allowed yourself to reflect on that as you watched the sun drop below the skyline of the Capitol, a warm orangey-pink engulfing the room. Allowing yourself to relax in the strong embrace of your husband, and give in to the sleep pulling at your eyes.

LORDDDD

Coriolanus Snow + Wedding Day and Wedding Night

Your wedding day with Coriolanus Snow is a really big event. Both of you have been planning it for many months. It was by no means a secret, he made sure everyone knew when it was happening. There was a ton of security, both you are popular and have a lot of enemies, especially him but he wasn't gonna let that dampen the mood.

Every guest will want to dance with you on your wedding day with Coriolanus Snow, but of course he will have the first dance. He's never been so excited to dance with someone, never been so nervous about it either. He knows all the steeps, but he can't help his hands shaking when the music starts to play.

When you walk down the isle on your wedding day with Coriolanus Snow you can see the breath leave his lungs. Coming close to him tears almost fall down his face but he can't break now, not in public. He hasn't let you hear his vows, he wanted the first time you heard them to be just before you both say "I do."

There's no stopping for a moment of rest on your wedding day with Coriolanus Snow there's always someone to talk to, something happening, a new song to dance to. It's a good thing you've brought shoes that aren't the heels you got married in otherwise your feet would hurt a lot more then they already are.

Your wedding day with Coriolanus Snow feels like something out of a fairy tale. He would never call himself prince, he doesn't think he's done anything to earn that title, but he will treat you as close to royalty as he can. You're his dream come true, his happy ending, his happily ever after.

When it comes to your wedding night with Coriolanus Snow it starts out very soft. He knows you're both tired and despite how horny he is now that you're finally alone he was willing to wait until you go on your honeymoon to have sex as a married couple for the first time. He can take care of his erection in the bathroom.

You don't want to miss out on your first night, on your wedding night with Coriolanus Snow even if you are tired. Besides tonight is special, you will never have a first night with him like this again. You can go slow, ease into it, take your sweet time stripping each other and kissing newly bared skin as you go.

The wedding night with Coriolanus Snow doesn't stay soft for long. While he's eating you out you can sense his urgency, his desire and see your own sticking to his face when he pulls up. You don't know what it is about tonight but you've never wanted his cock like this before. Ah, maybe it being one with him, being one in so many ways.

On your wedding night with Coriolanus Snow there's no pulling out, all caution thrown to the wind. He wants to see his cum dripping out and staining the sheets when he pulls out, his cock covered with the mixing cum, he wants to see you finger his cum back into your pussy and turn around, ass in the air, asking to go again.

You know that your wedding night with Coriolanus Snow was the night you got pregnant. No he didn't pull out other nights, or days, after but something just tells you that was the night when it happened. The night when neither of you slept despite how tired you were.

Dividers made by: @cafekitsune

such a good series!!!

Silver Roses & Fallen Snow (Masterlist)

summary: You and Coriolanus Snow having been dating, but your father disapproves of it, leading to an Ultimatum. Will the deal be secured? Or will the 10th Annual Hunger Games ruin it all?

- prolouge

1. Reaping Day

2. Capitol Zoo

shades of cool

୨୧ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader ୨୧ IN WICH Coriolanus is the person you've grown to hate and compete against. But when you and him have to work together to achieve what you want, the tables start to turn. (6.2k+ words) ୨୧ cw: cursing, a LOT of tension (yall r going to hate me for the cockblocking but next chapter will make it up i promise), probably ooc snow (acting like he's a sweetheart and not a psycho lollll), like one mention of blood?

a/n: snow lands on top (of me pls)

𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼 - 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼𝐼

There were only two things that you completely and utterly despised: breaking your favorite nail and the voice of Coriolanus Snow.

"Y/n!"

You made no sign whatsoever to acknowledge the man following your across the crowd of burgundy uniforms. You just clutched your books tighter and quickened your pace.

"Hey, Y/n- wait up!" he called again.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks and turned around to see a platinum blond running in your direction. The usual shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You put on your best effort to suppress the eye roll that was begging to be released.

"Yes?" you asked, unamused.

"I was just wondering- you seemed kind of distracted in class today." His words were sugary, almost enough to trick anyone into thinking he was truly concerned. But not you though. You had learn to identify the glint in his eyes from a mile away. "Well, just in cas you missed this-"

Before you knew it, you had an A+ graded exam shoved in your face. Making a face of disgust, you scrambled away to look at his face, expression filled with pride.

"That's great, Coriolanus, real great. Would be even greater if I had asked", you scowled, turning away while Coriolanus scoffed behind you, quickly catching up with you again as you resumed your way out.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/n! You're not the only one who's allowed to brag", he said, nudging your side.

"Clearly not. You do it all the time", you deadpanned.

"Don't be mad 'cause you weren't able to beat me. Again."

The smell of roses was too stuck in your nostrils for your liking. Sweet and inviting, but remembering who it came from made the flowers lose all their charm.

"Also, exercise three's answer was option D," he pointed out, that annoying smirk on his face again.

"What?"

"It was option D, not A."

"How did you even- Nevermind. Option A is the literal definition, care to explain how it is option D?" you argued, rolling your eyes.

"I- A's not the definition!" Coriolanus tried to rebute.

"It is. Try paying attention for once."

"It's not!" He stopped fully, leaning against a wall and opening his bag.

"What are you doing?" you raised a brow at his franctic search. Sometimes you forgot how infuriating he was.

"I'm looking for the textbook," he replied, face almost buried in his bag.

"Unbelievable," you scoffed, turning around. "You really are unfixable, Snow."

Walking away from the mess of papers he had made around him, you could hear him protest.

"Hey, don't go! I'm finding the page!"

You shook your head. The exasperation in his voice was like music to your ears.

You knew who you wanted to be from a very young age. You knew exactly what you wanted and what you had to do to achieve it. You wanted everything.

Top of your class since you were five. Student of the month every month. Class president. Winning every single award that could be won by a child under twelve years old.

You wanted to take everything from a life that had given you nothing. Like a phoenix, your mother used to say, risen from the ashes to burn in the most blazing fire. With little to no resources, your family had incredibly made it work so that they could afford a small apartment in the Capitol (if you dared call the cubicle that your family shared a house). But your family had made it. And so had you, child prodigy, wanting to rescue your poor parents and sister. Specially when your mom's frequent coughing developed into something far more serious.

You were unstoppable. Nothing in your way. Praise. Applause. Recognition. It was all in the back of your hand.

Until Coriolanus Snow appeared.

He and you were basically the same. Same drive for power, same desire to rescue your family, same overachiever character, same flawless grades. One would think you would get along, being so impossibly similar.

And perhaps you could have. You could've befriended him and helped each other. If he had not equalled you with such aptitude. Before you knew it, Y/n Y/l/n was never mentioned without Coriolanus Snow. You were no longer the only student to pass with distinction. You weren't the only clear winner, or the only candidate for class president, or weren't so easily distincted class president, for Coriolanus was your vicepresident (something that had never been a thing, that appeared as suddenly as him).

But he was fighting you for your spot. Naturally, you didn't even consider him as a potential friend. He was an obstacle in your way, as you were in his. Soon, you two were always engaged in bantering, cruel comments, trying to bring the other down by showing off your accomplishments and grades and awards and titles.

It was more than safe to say that you and Corolanius held special hatred for each other.

And then came the Plintz Prize. Both of you wanted it with equal burning ache, and gave your very best since the first day. Obviously, you weren't the only students who were interested in winning the prize, but you were the ones ready to sacrifice everything, the ones to always make the most of an opportunity, even if it was minimal.

You were so deeply convinced that you were nothing like the other.

But neither of you was willing to let anything come in your way.

"A new financial aid is going to be gifted."

The words echoed in the room as students hushedly commented, whispered to one another.

"Students will submit a proposal, individually or in pairs. A suggestion with your own design of the Hunger Games. You'll go into detail about every little thing, so that in the end, Dr Gaul will select the project she fancies more to be the winner and receive the financial aid."

You and Coriolanus shared a look from opposite sides of the room.

The prize is mine.

As per usual, you were determined to go for everything. You needed to nail this. That very same afternoon you were sat in front of your desk, scribbling down what was supposed to be the first draft to your proposal project. You'd noted some ideas, but they didn't seem to make sense altogether.

Groaning for the umpteenth time, you got up from the spot you'd been occuppying for the last two hours. Your home was no inspiration, which was why you gathered all your scattered pages and notes and made your way to the Academy's library.

There was a spot you liked there. Your spot, though only you referred to it as that, of course. A comfy chair with a green cushion on the end of a large oak table, between the shelves of Geometry books and medicine articles. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the large window on spring afternoons, and even in the bleak winter it felt nice to look through it.

Making your way over to your spot, you could almost feel the comfort of the chair, how your thoughts would clear and start to make sense. Eyes half closed anticipating the delight. But you opened them only to find a familiar (and annoying) blond sitting in your corner.

"Move" you said as you finished your way over to him.

"What? No. I'm working. Thinking", Coriolanus answered, unbothered, without looking up from his notes and papers, some scrambled, some with big ink stains.

"I don't care. It's my spot. Move.”

He raised his head to look up at you and stopped writing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this chair had your name engraved on it,” he pettily remarked.

“Whatever,” you exhaled, plopping down on the seat next to him. “You are such a pain in the ass, you know.”

“Back at you,” he replied, eyes focused on his papers again.

You huffed and reached inside your bag to grab your notes.

Your messily written ideas were mocking you, at this point. If you thought they didn’t make much sense at home, they definitely weren’t making any now. You had so much in mind. And they were great ideas, really. But you couldn’t find a way to connect them, for them to make sense altogether. And you were missing something. Something so essential, something that you couldn’t quite place.

How will the games be watched if they’re held in the middle of a desert? Where will the cameras be?

You scrunched your paper, groaning again and dropping your head to the table.

"Something wrong?"

You lifter your head to find Coriolanus looking at you, carding a hand through his hair.

"None of your business."

"Jesus, chill out Y/n. I was just asking if you were okay.." he spoke, not in his usual bratty tone; he sounded just worried.

Your eyes widened a bit with a mix between embarrassment and shyness.

"I'm just... stressed. I'm stuck on the whole proposal thing, it just won't make any sense. I feel like it's missing something, but I just can't know what," you told him, rubbing your temples.

Coriolanus let out a breathy chuckle, to which you looked at him disbelief.

"I knew you were cruel, but laughing at my miserable state is just-"

"I'm not laughing. I'm relieved," he explained. You looked for any signs of mockery, but his eyes were truthful and soft.

"Relieved?" you frowned.

"Yeah. I-I thought I was the only one having a kind of block," he looked down to his notes and that was when you noticed the messy paragraphs the crossed ideas, the lines and arrows that tried to connect everything.

You gave Coriolanus a tight-lipped smile. He was right. It was somewhat relieving to know that your only real threat was having a hard time like you were.

"Hey, I've got an idea."

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Oh hell no. No idea Coriolanus could want to share with you would turn out great.

"Shoot"

"I think we should partner up for the project," he bluntly said.

"Pardon?" you asked raising your brows. You really thought that you hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yeah, I mean, think about it. We both have a lot of ideas but feel something missing. We-we could help each other out!" Coriolanus clarified, somewhat flustered. "We'd win the prize and split it. Highbottom said the proposal could be submitted by pairs. If we do this together, we'll be unstoppable."

You blinked twice, digesting his words like you couldn't believe they were real.

"I think that's the worst idea I've ever heard."

Coriolanus scoffed. "Right, because you're so well known for your good ideas."

True. Though being a straight A's, perfect student, you had a certain fire inside you that had given you a reckless and flaming reputation.

"I'm in."

You were back in the library the next day, only this time you were sitting in your spot, and Coriolanus was besides you. You had been sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes, reading the other's anotations and doodles.

When you finished, you leaned back into you seat, stretching your neck and pushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

"So?" Coriolanus inquired when he noticed you were done. "What do you think?"

"I'm... surprised," you told him, chin resting on your hand as you looked at him. "It's almost identical to mine."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I was noticing. I guess great minds think alike, right?"

"Could be, or you just copied me," you said. Coriolanus sneered and you saw the complains forming behind his lips, so you were quick to clarify. "I was joking, Snow. It seems we're not so different."

"Or you just copied me" he mocked, using your words from earlier.

"You wish," you smile, scoffing in a playful manner.

"Hey, what was it that you were unhappy with about your ideas? Because I think they're pretty great," Coriolanus asked, handing your notes back to you.

"They don't make sense to me. I couldn't come up with a way to connect it all," you shrugged. "Maybe we shouldn't use all of this, I don't know."

The entire day was spent between countless bickering and snacks, you and Coriolanus discussing the project and how insufferable the other was, shielded by the brimful shelves and the hushed conversations between students.

Over the next few days, your begrudging meetings with Coriolanus continued, each session marked by a mixture of tension and reluctant cooperation. The library became your unofficial battleground, the hallowed halls witnessing the clash of two strong-willed minds.

As you both settled into your usual spot once again, there was a palpable air of wariness. However, you couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Coriolanus. He seemed more open to discussion, his usually stoic facade occasionally cracking to reveal a hint of vulnerability. The topics ranged from the project at hand to personal interests, and amidst the disagreements, you discovered shared preferences and surprisingly similar perspectives.

By the first week, a sort of unspoken truce had settled between you. The bickering had mellowed into a more civilized exchange of ideas. Coriolanus, despite his initial resistance, began to respect your opinions and even admitted to finding some merit in your perspectives. You, in turn, acknowledged the sharp intellect beneath his icy exterior. Shared laughter became more frequent, often catching both of you off guard.

Throughout these encounters, the library transformed from a battlefield to a space of reluctant collaboration. Despite the lingering differences, a strange sense of partnership emerged. The once insufferable project discussions turned into an exploration of each other's intellect, and with each passing day, the library witnessed the evolution of an unexpected connection between two seemingly incompatible souls.

Your bag hit the leg of the table as you slipped in your chair, the blond taking the seat next to you. A soft thud was heard, along with something rolling. You were going to duck down to reach it, but Coriolanus was already grabbing it.

"Hey, are these yours?" Coriolanus asked, holding a bottle of pills.

Your eyes widened. Your mom's medicines. You reached inside your bag to check if the bottle you had picked up from the chemist's before school was still there. It wasn't.

"Yeah. Well- my mom's."

He handed the bottle to you, whcih you were quick to put back in your bag.

"Is she okay? Not like it's any of my business, but those pills are like one of the strongest shits ever," he frowned.

Taking a deep breath, you explained, "She's not. She hasn't been for quite a while. And the doctors don't say much, but it isn't looking good."

"I- um, I'm sorry," he stammered, looking down. "If you or her ever need anything, you know you can talk to me, right?"

You nodded, leg bouncing up and down.

"Here," he said, scribbling down something on a ripped piece of paper. "My address. If you ever need it."

"Thank you," you looked into his eyes, words barely a whisper. "I really appreciate it."

His knee bumped yours, like soothing it down, keeping it steady. "Anytime," he smiled.

You gave him an awkward smile, looking away.

The green folder, clutched tightly in your arms, contained the first draft of yours and Coriolanus' design for the Hunger Games. You both were going to introduce it to Dean Highbottom, since you needed to inform him of who formed your team and some other information. Then, he would grant the two of you an interview with Dr. Gaul.

Once, Coriolanus had referred to the folder as 'your baby'. You had given him a blank stare for a second before the two of you broke down in laughter.

Mindlessly turning around a corner, you bumped into someone's shoulder. A pair of arms caught your own, steadying you, keeping you from falling.

"Whoa, sorry-"

The folder. You quickly stepped back, freeing the folder from being crushed any further. Compulsively checking if the folder was okay, you failed to identify the pair of arms that had held you seconds before.

It was okay. Your baby was okay.

"So sorry, I- Coriolanus?" you asked as you finally lifted your gaze. "I thought you were coming by later?"

"Couldn't wait. I was actually looking for you. I just saw Dean Highbottom enter his office. Campus is pretty deserted, so I'd say we could be the first ones."

A soft smile graced his face.

"Shall we then?" you posed the courtsy question playfully.

"We shall"

The two of you made your way to the Dean's office, gushing about the project like two schoolgirls. Grades and rivalry were not brought up once. Perhaps just because you wanted the day to be perfect.

After knocking on Dean Highbottom's door and hearing a 'come in', Coriolanus opened the door and both of you came in.

"Look who it is! Snow and Y/l/n. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes", the Dean greeted you.

Coriolanus and you shared a glance before giving the Dean a polite smile.

"Are you here about the project?"

"We are," you answered, gesturing to the green folder in your hands.

"As in the two of you are submitting the proposal together?" the bearded man asked, raising his eyebrows. When Coriolanus nodded, he let out a chuckle. "I thought I wouldn't live to see the day."

You offered an awkward smile as you and the blond sat in the seats before the Dean's desk. You silently handed him your folder. After opening it and browsing through the various concepts and sketches, Dean Highbottom closed the folder, tapping his figertips against it.

Nervousness gnawed your insides, your leg bouncing up and down in anxiety. You hadn't even noticed this, too caught up into thinking the absolute worst of the situation; until you felt a knee- his knee- press into yours. Suddenly very aware of what was happening outside your mind, you blinked once, as to come back into reality, and then again, swifting your eyes to Coriolanus besides you.

For a moment, just a moment, you saw only a pair of eyes that guaranteed comfort peering into yours, crowned by the softests of golden curls. And then you saw the snarky comments, the whole usurping-your-place scheme, the perfect grades and the annoyingly pitched voice. The smile froze on your lips. Fuck.

"So," the Dean's voice broke the silence. "Are you two dating yet? Because it would really benefit you"

Both your head and his snapped into the Dean's direction.

"Pardon?!"

"What?"

Two pairs of eyes now looked wide and with a mix of disbelief and annoyance at the Dean.

"I take it you're not." No shit.

You were still too astounded to speak. What did he mean yet? He was your proffesor. He should, must, know that everything between the two of you is rivalry. Right?

"What, um, what did you mean it would benefit us?" Coriolanus asked, his voice as thin as thread.

"Well I eyed your proposal. And it's good. More than good. It has a lot of potential. But Volumnia Gaul loves one thing more than her creations. Gossip. Drama. If she hears the two of you are dating, she'll make you the Capitol's power couple. She'll give you a story. You will become her favourites. If you want to win at all costs, I'm just giving you a shortcut." He stared at the pair in front of him."But, overall, you've done a great work. I'll leave you to ponder it and I'll alert you when Dr Gaul is ready to see you."

You nodded, as Coriolanus and you mumbled 'thank you's and 'goodbye's and 'have a nice day's before leaving the office.

Campus wasn't very crowded yet; only a couple of students could be seen lurking around. The morning still preserved its coldness, dew remained on the grass.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you started walking, the blond boy quick to catch up.

You hated how you got caught up in this mess. All because you and him needed help. And because he and you were the only answer to the other's problem.

"Y/n?" Coriolanus spoke softly. "How do you feel... about what the Dean said?"

Sighing, you replied, "I just don't know. I mean, this was all crazy before but now? I'm confused, I guess."

"Don't you think it can help us even more?" he frowned.

"But we don't need any more help. We joined forces, no one can beat us, there's no need for us to-"

"I know we can do it without Gaul's help. But it’s one thing to win this aid, and another thing to become Gaul’s favourites. Do you realise how many doors she could open for us?” Coriolanus had stopped both of you now, his body blocking your way, hands in your shoulders, eyes fixed on yours.

“C’mon, Y/n, it’s just pretending,” he pleaded. “Plus, we’re in this to help each other out, right?”

A warm smile spread over his lips, one that only encouraged you and painted a smile of your own on your mouth.

“Fine. We’ll do this lunatic shit. Since you’re not able to reach my level without my help,” you teased, moving past him and resuming your way.

“Sure, Y/n. Whatever makes you sleep at night!” you heard Snow shout behind you.

You just gave him the finger, biting back a smile as you walked away.

The news spread like wildfire through the campus. The dean's offhand comment had ignited a storm of speculation and gossip. As you navigated through the university halls, it was impossible to ignore the curious glances and hushed conversations that followed you.

The library, once your sanctuary of academic warfare, now became the epicenter of buzzing rumors. Students stole glances at you and Coriolanus, whispering behind cupped hands as you pretended not to notice. The atmosphere had shifted, and your every move seemed to be scrutinized under an invisible magnifying glass.

Your next meeting at the library felt different. The air was thick with unspoken words, and the weight of the rumors hung in the room. As you both delved into your project, the tension was palpable. Every accidental touch or shared smile now carried an added layer of significance.

By the third week, the rumors had taken a life of their own. The once reluctant collaboration now felt like an uncomfortable alliance, forged not just for academic success but to navigate the newfound attention. Your life, once a sheltering and private, now felt like a fishbowl.

The doors that led to Gaul's lab appeared impossibly big. You let out a shaky breath, one you didn't know you were holding. Bouncing your leg usually was how you showed your nerves, but, since you were standing, you settled with just a trembling pinky finger.

Cold fingers were wrapping around your hand before you knew it.

"What are you doing?" you turned to Coriolanus.

"Gaul's no fool. We have to put on our best efforts to make her believe we are together. You have to help, too. And your hands were shaking," he shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed his words and leaned further into his arm, clinging to him like a good girlfriend would.

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing brown and blue eyes shooting a daring look. The woman’s face was instantly lit up with a smirk.

“Coriolanus Snow and Y/n Y/l/n. The sweethearts Dean Highbottom has told me so much about,” Volumnia Gaul greeted the both of you. “Please, come inside.”

She stepped aside to let you in. The ceiling seemed to be miles away from the floor. White, ivory columns welcomed you, glass cabinets displaying all sorts of weird creatures and experiments.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Gaul commented behind you.

There was just something so... unsettling about her, something you couldn't quite place but that was ticking you off

It's for the better.

That had been your mantra for the past few days. The end justifies the means. You kept telling yourself that you didn't want this, that you were only doing this for convinience. But lately you hadn't really been feeling that way. Not when you were sitting right next to him, laughing mere seconds ago, his eyes staring into yours, not trying to intimidate you but more in an attentive way.

He thought you looked so delicate and alluring. You did often, as of late. There were a few stray strands of hair that hid your dashing smile from Coriolanus. A smile he had so recently grown so fond of.

He just couldn't resist the urge to tuck them behind your ear; his fingers a soft caress against your skin. And so he did.

His touch was feather-like, as if you were a porcelain doll that was about to break. At the sudden contact, you shifted your gaze from the papers on the table to look at him. And, god, you almost wish you hadn’t. Because he looked otherworldly just sitting there besides you, hand behind your ear, lips parted slightly, dangerously close to you.

“Your hair was getting in your eye,” he mumbled.

The proximity was going to kill you. He was invading all of your senses. And you hated it. You hated it because this wasn’t even real. It was just supposed to help you with Gaul, nothing more. You hated it because it didn’t feel that way. You hated it because this was not the Coriolanus you knew; not the Coriolanus you chose to know.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

You were scared. As pure and simple as that. This was uncharted territory for you; you had never seen this part of him. It frightened you because you were losing control over your emotions.

"Coryo..."

He was convinced you were goingo to give into his desires. You were convinced for a moment, too. But then it occurred to you that this wasn't supposed to be real. That whatever you had between you both was just a scheme. That he was just joking.

"What did you score on the last biology exam?"

You mentally cursed yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. You felt yourself involuntarily slipping away from his touch.

“100%,” he responded, frowning. “Why?”

“Guess all these time around me wasn’t enough. I got 102%,” you smiled, trying to sound (hoping to sound) less awkward than you sounded in your head.

“How’s that even possible? I thought there were no extra exercises.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat before continuing. “I detailed every answer more than it was needed, so.”

“Oh. Well, congrats.” His lips were pressed into a thin line that he tried to transform into a smile, but ended up just contorting his face.

You looked at the papers before you, laying in a mess on the table, surrounded by pencils, sticky notes and highlighters. Then your eyes peered at the window besides your spot. The sun was setting behind the Capitol’s skyline, painting golden and rosy hues over the library. It was getting late.

“I- I think I should go. I’d better go home before it darkens.”

Coriolanus nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna get going too."

You bit your lip as you stood up, gathering your work. Not another word was uttered until you noticed the librarian peering over at you from behind some shelves, and students at the end of the aisle were turning their heads to you.

Perks of being Gaul’s favourite couple, you supposed.

You leaned to Coriolanus’ level again, pulling him into a side hug as you whispered in his ear.

“They’re looking.”

And then, you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked out.

Too overwhelmed thinking about that moment with Coriolanus, you missed the way his eyes stayed on you until you left the library, and the way his fingers lingered on the part of his forehead that had been in touch with your lips.

The thought of him plagued your mind as you made your way home. Not even the biting cold of the evening could take the warmth spreading over your cheeks. What was going on with you? He was the guy you hated, you used to hate, the one that was trying to take over your spot.

But your attempts to convince yourself were vain. Because you no longer felt raging hate when you thought of Coriolanus. You couldn't excatly pin what it was, but it was definitely not hatred.

Reaching inside you bag for the key of your family apartment, you sighed, as if that was going to clear and sort out your messy feelings. Yet you didn't even need to open the door, for it was opened swiftly in front of you.

"Y/n!" your father pulled you in. The frown between his brows, the worry reflected in his eyes, the way he held you. Something was not right.

"Dad, what's wrong? I-"

"It's your mom, she- she started to cough so much blood. She's unconscious now, I- I was just about to take her to the hospital."

"Oh my God." Tears stung in your eyes. You knew she was bad, worse than she'd ever been, but this was far from what the doctors had informed you about. "Shit, where's Deena?"

"Your sister's staying over at a friend's. Is there anyone who can take you for the night? Someone who knew about your mother, if it makes you more comfortable?" he asked, rubbing your arm.

Coriolanus. You hated that he was the first person to come to mind, but the truth was thas this project had swept you up from practically every other aspect of your life. You hadn't seen your best friends much, since they were also focused on their projects. Most of your time had been spent with Coriolanus. And you didn't know how to feel about that. Disgusted, you supposed. But that didn't quite match the tugging in your chest whenever you met him at the library, or the calmness that took over you when his knee pressed into your anxiously bouncing one.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," you nodded, blinking the tears away, though they slid down your cheeks anyway.

"Good. I don't think it'd be good for you to be alone right now."

You hurriedly packed your essentIals and some extra clothes, making your way to the door. You held it open for your dad as he carried your mother.

"I'll see you soon. Be safe, Y/n," he whispered.

"You too, Dad."

You tried your hardest not to break down as you saw your father making his way to the doctor's with your mom in his arms.

But once he was out of sight, you rushed out of the filthy apartment building. As you ran through the Capitol's streets, you remembered the now wrinkled paper that he had written his address on.

"Here. My address. If you ever need it."

It sat scrunched in your coat's pocket. You kept running as your trembling hands unfolded it, and quickened your pace once you'd read the address.

You arrived at his door short of breath, cheeks reddened from the effort, tears dried from the wind. Your knuckles softly knocked at his door.

Mess. You felt like a mess. Everything you had known to this day seemed to have completely flipped around, changing everything all of a sudden. Your mind was a tangled, impossible knot of thoughts and feelings and emotions that were constantly contradicting each other.

A blonde girl opened the front door. To your blurry eyes, she looked like an angel.

"Can I help you?" she kindly prompted, a concerned frown appearing in between her brows.

"Yeah- I'm looking for Coriolanus?" you said, voice on the point of breaking.

"Come in, he'll be right here," the woman spoke, stepping aside so you could come in and closing the door right after. She sat you down on an armchair, her touch gentle and tender. "Coryo! Someone's here for you."

As soon as the words left her mouth, you heard footsteps tumbling down the hallway and into the entrance. The instant his eyes met yours, he put everything else aside. His sole focus was you. The red around your eyes, eyelashes glinting from the recent caress of tears, shaky hands, bottom lip between your teeth, and your leg bouncing up and down almost uncontrollably.

He wanted to hold you forever. Take you in his arms like you were a fragile flower, yet the most fierce of them all. Rivalry long forgotten and buried, mean comments and hurtful offenses forgiven without a second thought. He saw Y/n. Not perfect grades, not snarky remarks, not an opponent. Just Y/n. Sweet, sweet, Y/n.

And you didn't see Coriolanus Snow. The blond standing in front of you now was not the one you'd been fighting for the better part of your teenage years, even before. He was not the one competing against you. Who was him then, if not the Coriolanus Snow you had known all your life?

Coryo.

"Y/n, hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, voice surprisingly soft, even for his cousin. He crouched down, placing a cold, calming hand on your fidgety leg.

You could feel the tears welling up again, because he was there for you.

“I… I’m going to head out,” the woman said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Coriolanus muttered a goodbye and then she was gone. And as soon as she was, you broke down.

Burying your head in your hands, tears burnt past your eyes, flowing now freely. All that could be heard were your heavy, shaky breaths. His hand on your back, tracing small circles, made you pull your head up.

Fuck, why were you even here?

"Y/n?"

"It's my mom." You tried to dry your cheeks, only for tears to fall down again. "She-she lost consciousness. The doctors didn't even say she was that bad. And I.. I just arrived there and there was nothing I could do-" your voice broke before you could finish the sentence.

He instantly pulled you into a hug, your head hidden in the crook of his neck, arms around it. One of his hands was wrapped around your torso, safely drawing you to him, while the other was tangled in your hair.

"I am so, so, sorry," he whispered, breath tickling your ear. You only clinged to him tighter; the only thing on your mind other than your mother right then was how warm and guarded you felt in his arms.

When you finally retracted to look at him, you found your body almost leaning into him again, yearning for his embrace. You inhaled sharply.

"I'm by your side no matter what, okay?" he assured you, eyes piercing yours, hands sliding up your figure to cup your face. "I'm here for you."

You did your best to gather yourself and nod at his words. But then you felt him pulling away in the slightest. No. You wanted him close. You wanted him.

You rose a hand to his neck, fingers dancing along his skin, messing with the blond curls they could reach.

"Hey, Y/n," Coriolanus called out. "She's going to make it. She'll be okay. And so will you."

A knot formed in your throat, the prequel to infinite tears, because who was him and what was he doing to your heart?

Whatever prejudice or thought you had against him was blurrying in your mind. The person he was supposed to represent in your head was further and further from the one barely inches away from you now. And then it hit you. Right then, right there. It didn't scare you. You wanted to know this person. You wanted to give the both of you a second consideration under different lightning.

And so, you closed the gap between Coriolanus and you, as he had tried and wanted so bad to do mere hours before. His lips were warm, contrary to every other part of his body you had ever been in contact with.

For a fraction of second, he hesitated, frozen in his spot, convincing himself that this was happening, that this was real, that you were real. But once he kissed back, he just couldn't let you go.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, exploring your body and drawing you to him as he kissed you, all the desire and passion (and even the resentment, too) poured into the kiss. Coriolanus wanted to make you feel okay. Not just now. But 'now' would have to do as of that moment. And if this was how you wanted the pain to go away, so be it. Fingers digging in your hips made you leave out a mixture of a gasp and a moan, which Coriolanus used to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Everthing he did got you addicted, craving more.

You had both been sitting on the floor, but now you were climbing into his lap, pulling away for the smallest of seconds, but either way Coriolanus was quick to reunite your lips again. Your mouths danced together. Your sking tingled pleasantly under his touch; a constant fire travelling beneath his fingers. But when his hand raised to your cheek, checking for the trace of any new tears. It was simply enough to melt you on the spot.

Tugging at his hair, you angled his face to leave a trace of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His groan reverberated through your skin.

The pain was buried somewhere in your mind, but your heart didn’t ache in that moment; he was all your senses were taking in. And you felt safe.

© heartcereql, 2023 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

personally, i would swallow his whole dick, whether i choke and die or not. either way, im taking it all.

TOM BLYTH photographed by Nicole Plett for VMAN Magazine Fall/Winter 2023

snow lands on top

Favourite Costar Friendships/Pairings: Rachel Zegler + Tom Blyth

listen i know i know hes kinda filthy sometimes and not exactly thriving in hygiene but just one night with him would be so worth the UTI

coriolanus!! snow!! got me!!! kicking my feet giggling!!

saw this tweet… someone please write a oneshot about getting high with Corio or Tom!!!!!!! i need it now!!!!

let me in (don't give in)

warnings/tags: minors DNI, movie/book spoilers probably, capitol!reader, semi unreliable narrator!reader, daddy issues!reader, established!coriolanus, weirdo!coriolanus, obsession, manipulation, minor but effective drugging, power imbalance, abuse of power, forced intimacy, stalking, these tags are not exhaustive word count: 9.7k (LMFAO) summary: Coriolanus’ eyes have always been bigger than his stomach can handle. 

divider by @/cafekitsune I think this might be the most insane run I've done on a character. definitely up there with writing 60k words for rafe lmfao. this is the last of the trifecta of readers that haunted me <3

You remember his face from the Academy orientation video. 

He’s grown in notoriety since then but you have never forgotten the awkward stretching of his fingers nor the misplaced arrogance of his intonations. 

His hair is lighter and cooler in tone, a stark contrast to the waxy yellow he sported in the video. His eyes remain the piercing blue you know them to be. His arrogance is natural now too, an unconscious thing rather than the conscious mask he had to step into as he did in the Academy. 

You tear your attention away from him. Casiphia will be disappointed. She was always fond of how pitiful he looked, especially in his ill-fitting clothes. 

You have no strong opinion on Coriolanus Snow. He is four years your senior so you have never been given the chance to cross paths with him in an academic setting. It mattered not as his influence remained a festering wound in both the Academy and the University. 

As heir to the Plinth fortune, he is considered a dutiful one. You’ve seen glimpses of him around the office. Despite Mr. Plinth’s intentions on allowing Coriolanus the choice of taking over his business or finding his place within the Gamemakers, it is clear Mr. Plinth harbors a shameful relief at Coriolanus’ competency. 

You excuse yourself from the corner you and your peers have secluded yourselves to. You haven’t bothered to engage as you should during this dinner party, more concerned with making an appearance than leaving an impression. You wave off Nerina’s offer to join you with a shake of your head and a smile. The smile drops as soon as your back faces them and you fight the urge to rub at your tired eyes. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find the balcony. The air is chilly but it is a welcome reprieve from the stuffy dining hall of the Byzans home. You search through your pockets and locate your pack of cigarettes and lighter. It is a vice your father has unfortunately passed onto you.

You cover the lighter with your other hand, hissing when you the flame catches the tip of your thumb. Smoking is not something you indulge in often if at all but having so many University alums in the same room makes your skin crawl. 

Leaning over the railing, you look over the city. It is nearly midnight and yet the city is fully lit in preparation for the Victory Tour. 

Human memory is fleeting because how can you have already forgotten what life was like before these Victory Tours? What did the Capitol do before the Hunger Games became the spectacle they now are? 

You take a long drag and hold it in your lungs until it aches fiercely. Then you slowly exhale. You plan on heading out soon seeing as you have accomplished what you needed.

A shoe scuffs the floor behind you. His scent gives him away before his voice.

Roses.

“Oh. I didn’t realize someone was already out here.” 

You turn around. Coriolanus stands behind you, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket. His hairline is slightly sweaty and the dark circles under his eyes are heightened in this shadowed lighting. But you are searching for imperfections so you’re sure everyone else sees him as the composed man he sets out to appear as. 

“I was just about to leave so it’s all yours,” you say with a false sweet smile. 

His eyes flicker to your barely started cigarette. “No, sorry, I interrupted you.” But he makes no move to step back into the home. 

“You can join me. I don’t mind.” The lie is automatic. You can’t imagine Coriolanus wants something from you but then again, there is always something to be gained even from the most insignificant of people. 

He moves forward until he’s near you. With the way he keeps looking at your cigarette, you are tempted to offer him one. But you don’t. He can ask if he wants one so bad.

He wraps his fingers around the railing. “I’ve seen you around Strabo’s office,” he says after a moment. You don’t miss how he purposefully uses Mr. Plinth’s first name. A stupid power play considering everyone knows of the relationship between the two. “Which I must say, I’m surprised by.” 

You know what he’s not saying but you won’t make it easy for Coriolanus. “The pay is surprisingly better than the offer I got from Baycroft,” you shrug, tapping out some of the ashes. 

“Baycroft tends to overpay,” he says thoughtfully. “Strabo isn’t exactly a generous man so it’s a curious thing he went out on such a limb for you.”

You think it’s mighty generous for Mr. Plinth to bankroll the Snow family but what do you know? “Is it though?” you ask. You hold the cigarette daintily between your fingers. His eyes are drawn to the imprint of your lips on the filter.

Your father’s hatred of Strabo Plinth is an ill-kept secret. He’s of the belief no one from the Districts should be able to buy themselves a ticket to the Capitol. New money meant a chance at District citizens supplanting those from the Capitol. Worse yet, if the newcomers could accumulate enough wealth to buy their way in, what would be left for those of old money? Were they to become subservient to those who have only just learned how sweet it is to be drunk on money and power? 

For your father, he knew the Plinths were a rarity. But setting such a precedent is dangerous and must be culled before it begins to infect those stupid enough to think they are of the same caliber as those in the Capitol. 

Your father is old-fashioned to a detrimental fault. The bastard. 

Coriolanus urges you on with a slight jerk of his head. His fingers loosen on the railing. 

“We both get to piss off my dad. I’d say that’s worth more than the salary Mr. Plinth is giving me,” you say, grinning at him. “‘Sides, Mr. Plinth is a decent boss. I have to work twice as hard but it’s better than being fired for answering a question wrong.”

“Your father did that?” Coriolanus asks. He’s not aghast as most are when you reveal that little tidbit of your dad. A frigid curiosity coats his voice. The wheels in his head are turning and not in your favor most likely. 

You count on your fingers. “Yeah. Six times.” Definitely a Father of the Year candidate. 

Most people don’t know this. He told everyone you wished to have multiple industries under your belt before you came back to the family company. You scoff internally at the memory. As if you of all people need the resume boost. 

“I should probably sell his secrets to Mr. Plinth.”

Coriolanus shakes his head. “Your dad would retaliate until nothing is left of Strabo.”

“He could cripple him if he wanted,” you agree. Your father had the means in which to take Mr. Plinth down from the inside if he so wished. But it would be meaningless if your father had to orchestrate his downfall rather than let Mr. Plinth’s luck run out. “But that’s not fun for my dad.”

“Your dad is not nearly as clever as you think.” It’s said as the fact it is. Your father likes the idea of being clever but he is much like a toddler who has found out they can lie. You know of it but you didn’t think Coriolanus knew your father well enough to analyze him to such a degree. 

Now you turn to him fully. He’s angled his body towards you this whole time so he’s already facing you. “You’ve met him,” you realize. And then, “Mr. Plinth was okay with that?” 

He laughs patronizingly. “He’s like a father to me but he’s not my father. And your father has some good ideas sometimes.” His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, a sarcastic leaving him. “He’s also one of our biggest donors so.” Coriolanus shrugs in a what-can-you-do manner. 

It is true your father loves the Hunger Games. Every year he hosts a watch party and celebrates each brutal kill with glee. Once the Games took off in popularity, your father funneled money into the development of the Gamemaker apprentices. The more brutal the Games the better in his eyes. Thankfully, most of the Capitol has a limit to what they can withstand in the name of entertainment. 

You take a drag. The smoke curls into your lungs, blanketing the awkwardness beginning to cement itself within you as Coriolanus lingers. Surely he has better things to do than entertain you. Many came to this dinner in the hopes they could have a chance at gaining Corionlanus’ attention even if for just a moment.

He intercepts your cigarette when you go to take another drag. The cloying scent of roses mixes in with the ashy smell of smoke. It isn’t as unpleasant as one might think. 

You almost ask if he smokes, being under the belief he thinks it below his station, when you catch how his lips wrap around the filter. He’s placed his mouth perfectly over the stain of your lips. 

A knot forms in your stomach.

“Did you win any bets?” he asks. To his credit, he sounds genuinely interested to hear your answer. 

You watch as Coriolanus breathes in the cigarette. The corners of his mouth twitch when it stings and you look to the sky as a mercy. The smoke billows out until it dulls the stars above. “No, I don’t usually bet. Did you?” 

A shadow of your lipstick darkens the center of his lips.“No. It’s considered a conflict of interest,” he says. It’s crossed your mind a couple of times whether or not the Gamemakers rig the Games for a specific outcome. His response neither confirms nor denies your suspicions. “You don’t bet?”

“I’m an unlucky person,” you say simply. 

He drops his voice as if to let you in on a secret. Handing you the cigarette, he says, “I’m no fortune teller but I can say it is a good choice to root for District 1. Usually.”

“No way? Are you allowed to tell me this?” 

Your jaw drops dramatically. But Coriolanus doesn’t know you and he thinks you’re serious for a brief flash of discomfort crosses his face at having to explain to you how the Districts are split in strength. You almost let him but decide to save yourself the condescending lecture. 

You drop the scandalized look to Coriolanus’ relief. “I’ve never won anything when it came to luck and I would really prefer not to try my chances with a tribute,” you say. “It also makes watching the Games with others really annoying.” 

His expression clears. “Sore loser?” he prods, mostly teasing but partly surprised. 

“The sorest,” you confirm. You stub the butt of the cigarette into your wrist. The pain barely registers. “Sometimes, it’s hard to watch the Games all the way through,” you muse. The nicotine is making your head fuzzy. 

“Is it not entertaining enough for you?” Coriolanus asks. The press of his lips is cordial but the unnatural tilt of his head unnerves you. 

You consider how you will answer. As Coriolanus is a part of the Gamemakers, you are sure he has a vested interest in any critiques you may have. In the same breath, he might think you rebellious for not finding the Capitol’s favorite past time as enjoyable as it is supposed to be. Your life is not yet so boring you find a thrill in watching children kill each other. 

“No. I just have a bad attention span,” you say, glancing at him. The tension leaks from his face. “You guys should implement a highlight reel at the end of each night.” You don’t know how anyone spends all day with the Games as their background noise but there have been stranger things. When you worked for your dad, lunches were spent discussing strategies the tributes should be utilizing as if survival wasn’t paramount. You’ll never forget the boos around the office when the 14th games ended with a singular spear to the heart. 

“He couldn’t have bludgeoned him? The axe was right there.” 

Coriolanus hums, interested. “That could work.” His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, disrupting the lipstick you’ve left behind. “It might change the minds of who some people will bet for. Keep some of the tributes fresh in their minds.”

You have to laugh. Of course everything ties back to this. Without sponsors and bettings, the Games can only go so far. Coriolanus certainly found his niche. But even by victors are victories undone. 

“You know what? Just for you, I’ll bet on a tribute for the next Games,” you say, dragging your words out playfully.  

He smiles, ducking his head a bit. It would be endearing if you didn’t find him so starved of something only he knew. Hunger is never a good look on anyone. “You’ll have to let me know the outcome.” 

“Mm, I’ll make sure to ring Dr. Gaul.” 

“Or,” and he sidles up next to you, “You could ring me directly.” 

It will be much too awkward to reject Coriolanus as he expectantly hands you his phone. You type in your number and he calls you the second the contact saves. Your phone vibrates against your thigh. The intensity in his too blue eyes doesn’t lessen until you bring out your phone to show you received his call. 

Your phone feels heavier with the addition to your contact list. Never did you think you’d get Coriolanus Snow’s number. 

Maybe you’ll give it to Casiphia for the right price.  

-

“You didn’t call.” 

Your nearly crack your pen between your teeth. Your manager didn’t notice the discrepancy in the output of equipment in one of the smaller producer buildings and you have been trying to trace where the excess could have gone. The numbers are still running in your head when you look up to see Coriolanus in front of your desk. 

There’s a crease between his brows despite the pleasant smile on his face. It takes you a too long second to understand what he is referencing. 

“Thought the offer was for the next Games?” you say, raising your eyebrows.

His smile strains. “Well, I thought you’d want to discuss strategy.”

“Wouldn’t that be considered a conflict of interest?”

“Mm. You can take it as picking the mind of a strategist rather than a Gamemaker.” 

“Would that hold up in court?” 

At this, Coriolanus laughs. “Ah, maybe you’re right. Especially considering I passed your idea along to the Head Gamemaker and he might think I’m trying to reward you.” 

You click your pen. “What idea?” Were cigarettes going to be used in the donation system for the next Games? 

Coriolanus gives you a long look, a trace of surprised irritation sparking in his eyes. “The highlight reel. It makes sense for us to upload one rather than assume the viewers will seek out whatever they missed. People are busy.” He nods at your bare desk. “Like you.” 

It is almost lunch time and you have finished all of your work for the day. Which is why you’ve taken to look over Criston’s work. Family connections can get you far but they cannot make you a responsible nor smart worker. 

You place your chin on your fist. “I’m glad you recognize how hard of a worker I am.” You wink at him. “Be sure to pass that on to Mr. Plinth.” 

“Where would he be without you?” Coriolanus teases. His mouth opens to say something else but he’s interrupted by the sound of his name. 

“Coryo!” 

Mr. Plinth’s normally emotionless voice warms at the arrival of his pseudo-son. He hugs Coriolanus briefly, hand splayed against his back. Coriolanus returns the hug albeit stiffly. 

You avert your gaze and go back to the report in front of you. The amount of red marks is alarming and with Mr. Plinth so close, you flip over the page. You brace your elbow on the papers and wait for them to leave. 

“Join us.”

Mr. Plinth shoots Coriolanus a strange frown but Coriolanus ignores him and gestures to you. 

“You’re done for the day aren’t you?” 

You click your pen. Coriolanus is an odd man. His questions are never framed as questions. “I would hate to impose,” you decline, waving your hand. 

“You wouldn’t be imposing.”

You look to Mr. Plinth for help. But his eyes are not on you. His frown has gotten deeper, pulling his brows forward until they’re nearly touching. He’s looking at Coriolanus as if he’s never seen him before. 

“It isn’t a bother,” Mr. Plinth says after a moment. “Come.”

And left with no other choice, you take Coriolanus’ proffered hand and follow him out of the building. It may be an insensitive comparison but you liken this to how the tributes feel when they are first released into the arena. 

Certainty echoes your steps but it’s anyone’s guess as to what your body is telling you you are certain about. 

-

Lunch is not the awkward affair you assumed it will be. 

Coriolanus makes sure to loop you into his conversations with Mr. Plinth. And Mr. Plinth finds a way to brag about Coriolanus any chance he gets. It’s sweet except for how grief-stricken it leaves Mr. Plinth. 

“You know, I’m so proud of Coriolanus.” 

You look up from your plate. Mr. Plinth has his fingers and thumb pressed against the corners of his mouth. He’s tired, gaunt shadows making him look older. “To come as far as he has all on his own is incredible.”

You chance a quick peek at Coriolanus. Neither pride nor embarrassment wash over his expression. He continues eating as if Mr. Plinth isn’t doling out praise. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you and Mrs. Plinth helping me out,” Coriolanus says modestly. “Tigris too.” 

The afterthought of his cousin settles uncomfortably in your ears. As if the admission is a sore spot for him, one he hasn’t learned to stop pressing. 

Mr. Plinth waves away his words. “You were the top of your class long before we were involved. Not to mention the—“ Here is where his voice cracks. You avert your eyes, opting to push your food around on the plate as he gathers himself. He is a stoic man but memories of Sejanus disarm him. It’s painful to look at grief to begin with but the moments when you’re reminded that Mr. Plinth was once a father who loved his son above all, you can only suck in a breath and hope your own loss doesn’t show. 

“It is hard to be displeased with someone like Coriolanus,” you interrupt gently. “He’s all the professors and students talked about at the University.” 

The Snow name was tattered but now, hardly anyone can remember a time when the name Coriolanus Snow wasn’t revered. It isn’t a surprise he was a favorite amongst many. 

“Did they?” Coriolanus looks amused at the revelation but unsurprised. 

You spear a potato. “Mm hmm. Your projects were always our examples. Dr. Gaul could do nothing but laude you.” You were infinitely pleased to find out about her passing last year. Good riddance. 

“She was an excessive woman,” Coriolanus says politely. 

You make a face. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.” 

“Oh? You weren’t a fan?” 

Mr. Plinth frowns. “Didn’t she try to recruit you?”

You shudder at the reminder. Her lab is something you wish you could scrub from your brain. “Yeah but it was courtesy. I said no. Clearly.” 

Coriolanus shakes his head, rubbing his hands on his napkin. “It wasn’t courtesy. It was your essay.” 

You turn to him. You knew he was directly beneath her but for Coriolanus to be vetting her future apprentices as well…it startles you to find out how integral he was to this woman so early on in his career. “She told you?” 

Coriolanus dips his chin. “I’m the one who read it and gave it to her.” 

“Wow, she had someone like you doing her grunt work. That’s impressive.” 

Irritation clenches his jaw before he forcefully relaxes. “I was impressed by it. While not a unique understanding of the Games, you were insightful.”

Mr. Plinth looks lost and you do not wish to clear the confusion on his face. Your essay was meant to be seen by the most hateful woman in Panem and then to be discarded. 

You take a sip of your water. Noticeably, none of you have ordered any alcohol. “You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you say without shyness. “If I had known you were reading it, I definitely would’ve written something else.”

“Like?” Coriolanus presses. 

“Probably more of a focus on the Games’ mechanics themselves rather than the tributes. Oh, and I would’ve definitely read it over another time because admittedly, I did not edit the essay before I turned it in.” 

“Mm but that wouldn’t have been as good of an essay,” Coriolanus chides. His eyes are bright. “But it doesn’t matter. You didn’t take the apprenticeship.” 

You laugh. “I would’ve been ill suited so I thought I’d save you guys the grief of firing me.” 

“Lucky us,” Mr. Plinth mutters. 

“You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy cussing my father out when you hired me?” you ask him in disbelief. 

He rolls the memory in his head then nods. “It was a perk,” he admits. 

“It all worked out then, didn’t it?” you say, satisfied. 

Coriolanus stares at you and says with a tight smile, “That it did.” 

Eventually, Mr. Plinth is called in and leaves Coriolanus and you to enjoy the rest of lunch. The heaviness in the air dissipates by his departure. But it is quickly leveled with how off kilter Coriolanus makes you feel. 

“We should head out,” you say. As much as it pains you to decline dessert, you know it is for the best. Continuing to scramble to find things to talk about with Coriolanus will make your head explode. 

He smooths his hands over his slacks. “I’ll call a driver.” 

Coriolanus helps you out of your chair. His hand rests on the small of your back. He’s much larger than you realize and the expanse of his palm makes your stomach flip. He leads you out the door, sliding that same palm to curl his fingers around your hip. The casual intimacy makes you sick. 

The two of you are waiting outside for a minute before a dreadful downpour begins. Rain blurs your vision almost instantaneously and you struggle to blink them away. You take your phone out to look at the weather app. 

“Ugh, it’s going to rain all night. There’s no—” You cut yourself off as you look up. 

Coriolanus stops shielding himself to offer his arms as a pseudo-umbrella over you. The rain cascades from his hair to drip onto his suit. The ends of his hair are beginning to curl and you have the sudden sinking feeling that you find him hotter when disheveled. 

“Oh, there’s the car,” he says, tugging you close to him. You’re too frazzled by your revelation to escape his hold and let him drag you into the car. Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin. Already a chill begins to cling to you. 

“My house is closer,” Coriolanus says. Without waiting, he tells the driver to reroute. 

“Ah, my place is actually right around—”

The driver takes the opposite turn. 

“Oh.” 

Coriolanus puts his hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

You shake it off. “I’m fine, I think. What about you?” 

Undeterred, he brings your hand to his forehead, flatting his one over yours. “Do I feel warm?” 

His eyes are too blue, you think. The sort an apex predator has. 

“A little bit,” you croak but you don’t know if it’s because of your blood heating or because Coriolanus is actually beginning to feel the affects of his rain soaked clothes. 

Thankfully, you arrive at his house and are able to scramble out of the car before he can offer his help. There is a butler waiting outside, warmed towels prepared as soon as you get to the door. 

There’s a flurry of movement as the maids lead you to a room and have you strip off your soggy clothes. You don’t realize just how severely the wet clothes sapped you of your warmth until you’re able to slip into something warm and dry. The maids help to dry your hair, fussing over you until you can feel the blood circulating in the tips of your fingers again. 

It takes you a few minutes to convince the maids you are fine before they take you to the living room. Coriolanus has changed as well, though the dip in his linen shirt has you looking everywhere but at his chest. 

“Thank you,” you say to one of the maids when she straightens your shirt. She nods and quickly leaves. 

Glancing down at yourself, you can’t believe Coriolanus gives you one of his sleeping shirts. You can’t imagine him in something so informal. The soft cotton shorts are Tigris’ you assume but they’re strangely the perfect fit. 

It feels wrong to have on something so casual in front of Coriolanus. An uncomfortable intimacy in the action. 

You pick at the thinning edge as he putters around the room for the remote. A random drama lights up the screen and you recognize it as the penultimate episode of the one you usually keep in the background whenever you’re reading. 

The maid drops off the tea. She won’t meet your eyes and scuttles away as soon as Coriolanus crosses the room to retrieve it from the table. He pours the scalding liquid into the tea cup and adds the correct amount of sugar to your taste. He brings it over to you. His hand darts out to block yours when it looks like the tea will spillover but it manages to stay contained. 

You want to laugh. He took a page out of your playbook. You did the same for Mr. Plinth years ago when he visited your family’s home to make nice with your father. He hated how sweet you were because it cost him the mistake of thinking your father might be reasonable. 

“Thanks,” you say, accepting the tea cup. It’s hot enough the handle is warm. The saucer nearly scalds your skin. 

He pours his own cup before joining you. His thigh is pressed against yours but he keeps his arms to himself. You try to shift to the side but Coriolanus spreads his legs out. 

“I wasn’t expecting the rain to be so bad,” he says. He’s still drying his hair with a towel and you can see the curls beginning to dry on his hairline. The strands are shiny under the light and look soft to the touch. 

You shove your hand underneath your thigh. You take a deep drink from your cup, uncaring of how the liquid practically burns your throat. “It hasn’t rained like this in a while, huh?” 

“Are you warm enough?” he asks. His head turns as if to snap at a maid to bring in another blanket but you cut him off. 

“I’m fine. The tea is helping.” 

He scrutinizes you but accepts your refusal. “Let me know if you start to feel sick.”

“I’ll be fine! The rain can’t get you sick anyway.” 

He uses the back of his hand against your forehead again. His hand is comfortably cool against your skin. “It certainly doesn’t help.” 

You yawn. Your eyes water from the strength of it and you try to blink away your sudden tiredness. “I just need a couple of minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

Coriolanus hums. “There’s no rush. Why don’t you stay for dinner?” 

His face swims in your vision. The blues of his eyes are all you’re able to make out with pinpoint accuracy before you fall asleep. 

You wake up with bleary eyes. A weight is on your shoulder and fine hair tickles your cheek. When you fail to recognize the room, embarrassed panic wells up inside of you. You shoot off the couch, nearly tangling yourself with the blanket placed over you. 

Coriolanus jumps at your sudden movement. His leaned over body topples onto the couch in your absence. He says your name, bewildered. 

“I am so sorry,” you say, horrified. You can’t believe you fell asleep on his couch. “I must’ve been more tired than I thought. Doing nothing really takes a lot out of you, huh?” You try to laugh. It’s strained. Ugh, what an impression to leave. “I should head out.” 

“You can stay the night,” Coriolanus blurts out. His hair is in disarray and there’s a crease mark across his cheek. 

“I’ve already overstayed my welcome. Thank you for letting me,” you pause. “Um. Sleep. And drool all over your very fancy cushions. And for the shirt. I’ll make sure to wash it.” 

“It’s no bother,” he says faintly. His hand is reached out as if to grab you back but then he curls in his fingers and brings his arm to his side. “But at least stay for dinner. Grandma’am has already seen you and she won’t take no as an answer.” 

As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, his grandmother comes into the room. She’s a rush of words and has you following her into the dining room with nary a peep from you. Twenty seconds in her presence and you are already exhausted. 

You give Coriolanus a pleading look but all he does is shrug. He leans down until his lips brush against your ear. “Best to go along with what she wants.” 

You go to pinch him but your arm protests. Grimacing, you adjust your hand until the ache evaporates. You must have slept on your hand wrong if your wrist is this sore.

The twinging pain doesn’t disappear until a few days later. 

-

Somehow, Coriolanus manages to be wherever you are. 

You wonder if he has a job. And then you wonder if Gamemaking is as rigorous as they like you to believe if Coriolanus is able to find himself haunting your routine. 

“Does it really make that much of a difference?” Coriolanus asks. 

You turn the apple in your hand. It’s fragrant but the fruit caves in when you apply the littlest amount of pressure. It won’t do. “Probably not. But to me it does,” you ask, putting the apple down. 

He’s carrying the rest of the ingredients. It bothers him but he has to tolerate it. He’s the one who insisted on joining you when he ran into you in front of the grocery store. You almost turned on your heel when he called out to you. It is unnatural to see Coriolanus grocery shopping for himself. It is beneath him. 

“Tigris was asking if you’d come to dinner tonight.” 

Imperceptibly, your fingers pause as you pick a different apple. The past few weeks, you have found yourself eating dinner at the Snow home more often than not. Coriolanus has a way of forcing your hand. Your dormant social etiquette skills resurface when his expectant eyes turn to you. You can hear your father’s voice in the back of your head berating you for letting the thought of saying no cross your mind when it comes to Coriolanus. 

But enough is enough. It feels as if Coriolanus is in your peripheral vision at all times, waiting for a misstep to take advantage of. 

“I can’t.” 

You take the rest of your groceries from Coriolanus, a meager supply since you are making an apple pie. Or tart. Or galette. You haven’t decided yet and you do not want input from Coriolanus either. 

“Do you have other plans?” he asks, easily matching your pace as you head to the cashier. 

It’s a quick transaction with minimal pleasantries. Usually, you’d be glad for it but right now, you wish the cashier had drawn you into some inane conversation to keep Coriolanus from breathing down your neck as he is. 

“Yeah.” 

He fights to keep his voice casual as he says, “With who?” 

It is so like him to think your rejection must be contingent on something else rather than you do not wish to spend anymore unnecessary time with him. 

You can’t lie because Coriolanus knows your friends. With the stars aligning to bring Coriolanus into every facet of your life, he has joined a few impromptu lunches, promptly charming your friends into asking you to bring Coriolanus around. 

“No one,” you answer honestly. The truth revolts in your mouth, sticking to the roof. 

“Then I’ll eat dinner with you. Tigris won’t miss us too much,” Coriolanus decides. He takes the bags from you as he speaks, holding them with one hand. The childish urge to tug the bags back eats at you. 

His words register. Ice begins to turn your blood into shards underneath your skin. You are hyper aware of how every nerve in your body frays at the thought of Coriolanus in your home. You have managed to avoid letting him visit through a myriad of excuses. Coriolanus’ favorite one is that you prefer his home over most places, chest puffing a bit in pride at your exuberant insistence at spending time there. 

“I think you should eat with Tigris. It has been a while since she’s seen you,” you say. You hope you don’t sound as panicked as you feel. 

“I see her all the time, she won’t mind,” he dismisses. 

Coriolanus takes a left. With no bags to keep you steady, you dig your fingers into the meat of your palms. You shouldn’t be surprised he knows were you live but it horrifies you all the same. 

“You don’t have to Coriolanus. I’ll be fine on my own. You don’t need to force yourself,” you say as you two stand in front of your gate. You don’t want to type in the code nor scan your eyes in front of him. 

He shifts the bags to his other hand. “I’m not forcing myself.” 

You’re forcing me.

You hesitantly go on your tiptoes to scan your eyes and then rapidly press the numbers of your code on the touchpad. Coriolanus doesn’t hide that he’s watching, taking in and memorizing one of your layers of safety. 

Coriolanus isn’t a bad guy. He’s charming and quick-witted to an extent. He’s also guarded and highly suspicious despite how friendly most people perceive him to be. You assume he likes your honesty and your lack of ambition when it comes to Capitol society. You have no desire to win over allies with the name backing you so you are free to flit in and out as you please. You can’t see why else he’d want to be your friend. 

He is not a spineless man but he is unassuming. He has a gift for making other’s believe they think him as wonderful as he is because that is simply who Coriolanus Snow is and not what he has to consciously slip into. You have been around men like him your whole life. You have no more need for the cutthroat. 

It feels like a concession when Coriolanus steps into your home. He takes off his shoes, taking it in. You aren’t embarrassed but it certainly pales in comparison to the opulence of the Snow home. 

His mouth rounds out to say the polite thing. You stop him. “Don’t.” 

“I was just going to say you did a good job,” Coriolanus defends innocently but the curl at the edge of his lips betrays him. “It’s so minimalistic.” He says it like a slur which is likely considering how disdainful Coriolanus is at covert shows of wealth. 

“I love how your glasses are—” He taps the side of the stray glass on top of your foyer table. It rings muddily. “So rustic.” 

“I never took you for annoying,” you say, snatching the glass from the table. You’re lucky he didn’t catch the minor crack on the rim. 

He follows you into the kitchen. His steps falter as he notices how cold your home is. There are no photos outside of the ones the frames came with. Your walls are bare of any personal touches and the decorations are straight from a catalogue. 

“You don’t take me for anything,” Coriolanus says. He’s factual and bland but a hurt anger belies the facade. 

The naked honesty punctures something in your gut. Guilt seeps into the wound like the beginning of an infection. “I don’t know what you mean,” you evade, turning to unpack the groceries he’s placed on the dining table. 

An apple begins to roll off of the table but Coriolanus catches it. He places it next to your hand, warmth emanating off of his chest and to your back. 

“I take you for exactly as you are.” 

Something scratches at the edges of your conscious, a misstep you are overlooking. You have treaded too far but you do not when you took the one step too many.

“I’m a bad friend to have Coriolanus,” you say finally. You turn, a little surprised at how he’s crowded into you. He’s dressed more casually than you’ve ever seen him and it bothers you to think it doesn’t suit him. Coriolanus is not a casual man and the attempt at being one is duplicitous. “I can’t give you what you want.” 

The companionship Coriolanus thinks he will receive from you doesn’t exist. Something went wrong with you along the way. Your broken heart was forced to heal itself around the cracks, suturing the wounds left by your father with what was left of your rotted love. You have nothing to give that Coriolanus can repurpose into something he needs. 

He smiles at you indulgently. “Maybe not now, but I know eventually you will.” 

-

“You’re up for a promotion.” 

Mr. Plinth straightens the papers in front of him with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He is mirthless as he stares at you. You were half-convinced you were to be fired if it was Mr. Plinth calling you in but a promotion? Criston should be the one informing you of a potential jump in the hierarchy. He is your direct supervisor after all. 

“You’d be working as a VP of this branch.”

You straighten your already straight back. Mr. Plinth is very begrudging in his tolerance of you. You are the needed parts of your father, having the ruthlessness and savviness needed for business, but the rest of you is as different as can be. Mr. Plinth can’t fault you for your father’s sins try as he might and so, a reluctant liking of you is what his pride can afford. But even that allowance won’t allow you to rise the ranks like this. 

You have only been a senior analyst for three months. You still require oversight and handholding on the bigger projects. You are nowhere near where you need to be to take on a role like this. 

“Can I decline?” 

Mr. Plinth nods. “You can.”

“Then I’ll decline.” You wipe your hands off on your skirt, ready to get up from the chair when Mr. Plinth leans back in his cushioned seat, hands resting on his stomach.

“So we’ll be going with the lateral move then,” Mr. Plinth decides. 

“What?” 

“I know you purposefully underperform,” he says, unamused. “And while it is your choice to do so, it is unfortunately out of my hands to keep turning a blind eye to it.”

“You’re the boss, how is it out of your hands?” you gape. Is it really such a crime to want to do an easy job for a cushioned pay and not want to move up the ladder? At his sour mouth, you add on, “Mr. Plinth.” 

He sucks on his teeth, giving you a closed mouth smile. “I looked over Criston’s work.” Your cheek twitches. Oh no. “And it was one thing to see how much of a fucking idiot he is.” Mr. Plinth taps his fingers against his stomach. “But I come to find out you were the one saving his ass. You are doing him no favors by fixing his work behind his back.” 

He spreads his hands out. “So now, here we are. You have clearly outgrown your role as senior analyst but do not wish to advance your career.”

It’s uncomfortable how easily Mr. Plinth can read you. You’d rather be bored at work than working yourself to the bone. While a fucking dumbass who was only hired based off of his name alone, Criston is swamped with a workload you wouldn’t touch for double your salary. Triple might sway you but not too much. 

“I can’t force you to take a promotion, but it also pains me to see you waste away in such an unfulfilling role.”

You mouth the word ‘pains’. You’re about to tease him when Mr. Plinth leans forward. 

“You’re smart. Smarter than your father gives you credit for,” he says without pride. Something haunted hangs in his face, deepening the lines around his eyes. “And I know he is not grooming you as his successor.” 

Your tongue pushes against the back of your molars as you try not to laugh. Is your family really so obvious to those outside of it? That sick bastard wasn’t going to give you a dime of his fortune. A daughter was not in the cards and yet a daughter was what he was dealt. Knowing your father, he’s already written his younger brother into the will as his sole beneficiary. If your father was the man he wanted to believe he was, he’d donate his money. Alas, he cannot stand the thought of his fortune going to anyone but blood so to your greedy uncle it must go. 

“Do you really want to give him the satisfaction of proving him right?” 

You hate that you are swayed by such a cliche ply for spitefulness. But you are a human being before you are a dutiful daughter so the choice is out of your hands. 

-

You regret not arguing with Mr. Plinth. 

He didn’t let you know the lateral move was working under Coriolanus.

“You’re early,” he says when he notices your gobsmacked form outside of his office. Surprise doesn’t color his tone. 

Mr. Plinth made it seem as if he was doing you a favor for your growth but it turns out, it is a favor to Coriolanus. Perhaps he’s noticed his heir’s inclination towards you. 

Fuck, you hate politics. 

“Wanted to make a good impression,” you say, holding your binder closer to your chest.

“You’ve certainly made one on me.”

“Is that why you asked for Mr. Plinth to transfer me?” Your words are sharp. You don’t appreciate being played to Coriolanus’ whims. 

Coriolanus laughs. It leans closer to a scoff but you decide to be generous. “You were decaying working there. You looked like you wanted to kill yourself.” 

“I always look like that.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re actually upset.” 

You cross your arms over your chest. Coriolanus’ eyes drift to how your cleavage pushes up. Well, at least he isn’t the doll you have the inkling he is. You sigh, setting your things atop your desk. Inside of Coriolanus’ office. 

Technically, you are now a representative of Plinth’s Munitions with the intentions of helping advance the technology used in the Games. Mr. Plinth aims to move his focus from weaponry and investing into new Capitol technology to make the Games bigger and grander. Thanks to Coriolanus, the Games newfound popularity has created an entirely new sector to take advantage of. 

“I’ve never been upset in my life,” you say flatly. 

He doesn’t take your shit. “I thought you’d be—you’d be happy.” 

“Coriolanus, the whole point of me working at Plinth’s was to separate myself from my father. And now, I’ve lost most of my credibility because people are going to think I asked you to go out on a limb for me and convince Mr. Plinth to give me this position.” You bite your cheek and then shake your head. “Look. I’m not upset. Not really.” 

The next family dinner will be insufferable. Your father will get on his usual soapbox of you relying on others instead of yourself unlike him, the self-made billionaire who didn’t care who he crushed to get to the top. 

“Is it so bad to use the connections you have? Why suffer when you are presented with an easier path? There’s nothing wrong with what you do as long as the ends justify the means.” This might be the first time you’ve seen genuine confusion cross his face. 

Coriolanus never ceases to surprise you. It’s a quiet rumbling now but you heard of his family’s poverty before the Plinth’s saved the Snows. An unfortunate circumstance Coriolanus was luckily able to capitalize on. The reminder quiets your tongue. You’d do anything for your pride, even break your own heart. 

But perhaps it is foolish to do things the way you believe will garner you the most respect when even the littlest of things can crumble said respect in an instant. 

“We’re here now so it doesn’t matter,” you say with a careless shrug. “What do you need me to do first?” 

Coriolanus considers you and how your teeth retract as you for once adhere to the lesson of not biting the hand that feeds you. 

“Stay by my side.” 

-

“Aren’t you Snow’s girl?” 

You’re in the midst of searching for more information on nut allergies. You ate an exorbitant amount of baklava the night before and you fear the itchiness in your throat might be related. 

mild vs severe nut all

Your typing is interrupted when a voice gets uncomfortably close to your ear. 

“You’re Snow’s girl, right?” 

You jerk away from the waft of breath. “What?” 

A man with a shit-eating smile has his hand braced against your desk and he’s leaned down to speak quietly to you. “You’re Coriolanus’.”

The certainty in his voice pisses you off but asking for clarification will only serve to prove whatever point he’s making. 

“Is there something you need?” 

“Not particularly. I was hoping Mr. Snow would be in.” He looks around the office and whistles. “Fancy place. Must be nice.” 

The scratching in your throat has abided. Maybe stupidity is the cure for a nut allergy. 

“Do you guys ever…?” 

You erase your search, not looking at him. “Hmm?” 

His clothes rustle as he shifts his weight. “You know. I mean, why else would Mr. Snow keep you in his office?” 

Your head snaps up. “Keep me?” 

“Oh, don’t be so coy.” 

The sound of your name has the both of you turning at the needed interruption. 

“Would you like to join me for lunch?” 

Coriolanus ignores the man. He stands by the entryway patiently. Your words are caught in your throat at the question. You were only able to put off lunches with Coriolanus for so long before he made them mandatory so the question is a dismissal. 

“Mr. Snow! It’s so nice to see you! I was hoping—”

Coriolanus holds his hand out to you. “I have other matters to attend to.” 

The man’s mouth audibly shuts. “Your secretary.” And he looks at you. You keep your expression neutral. “Said you had some time in between—”

“I don’t,” Coriolanus says coolly. He crooks his fingers up and you take his hand. When you go to drop it, he instead intertwines your fingers together. To avoid causing a scene, you let him but you squeeze his fingers until you feel the bones move. 

He doesn’t react. Asshole can’t even give you the satisfaction. 

You usually take lunch with Coriolanus in his office but now he leads you down a back hallway. His steps are controlled but his strides are long and you hurry to keep pace. 

“Who was that?”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. “One of Aristotle’s council.” 

You blink. After Coriolanus, Aristotle Cramus is the most popular candidate for the presidency but the margin between the two is quite large. Coriolanus hasn’t officially announced his campaign but it is all but assumed in the Capitol. 

He uses his back to push open a door which leads into the building’s restaurant. The bustling sounds of the lunch rush soothes you and your shoulders loosen. 

An Avox ushers the two of you to a prepared table. Your usual lunches are already placed atop. 

“Sorry I was late,” he says, wincing. He undoes the napkin and places it on his lap. “The testing presented more difficulties than anticipated.” 

“It’s fine. What are you guys testing this time?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Trackers,” he answer shortly. 

“Trackers?” you repeat.

He cuts into his steak. His gaze flicks to the scar on your wrist from the first night you met him. It takes a second to drag his attention from the burn mark and to your questioning eyes. “It’s in the development stage but so far, it has been a success.”

“Why would the tributes need trackers if they are in the arena? Isn’t the whole point of the arena to keep them contained?” 

Coriolanus chews before speaking. “There were some issues with previous tributes trying to escape before the Games. Better to be cautious than naive.” 

“Are they noticeable?” 

“Hm?”

“The trackers.” 

He smiles to himself. “Not so far.” 

“Will the arena get bigger then? Later on obviously because I’m sure it’ll take some time before you guys can figure out how to have the cameras follow the tributes,” you say, twirling your fork in your pasta. If Coriolanus can manage this, you think his presidency will be all but confirmed by the next Games. 

“You’re running for president during the next cycle, right?” 

He nods. “I have two years until I’ll have to make an official announcement.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t think you need an official announcement,” you say, not unkindly. He’s the favorite. His youth is his only fault and that is temporary. “Livia’s already starting her campaign as the future Mrs. President Snow.” 

Coriolanus cuts you an unamused look. It’s more a thinning of his lips and a narrowing of his eyes but you give him credit for keeping up appearances. “She is a choice.”

“A good choice,” you say. “Especially if you are planning on being married before your presidency.” 

“I am,” he says slowly. “And I have a better choice in mind.”

Despite your best efforts, Coriolanus has intertwined himself into your life. And you like to think you may know him better than most at this point but perhaps you do not if there is someone he has his eye on. You take a bite from your noodles. His twenty four hours must vary drastically from your twenty four hours. 

There are too many potential candidates to narrow down anything. The man from earlier’s words echo in your mind but you ignore them. 

Coriolanus stops eating. “I’m actually thinking of announcing our engagement soon.”

You’re taken aback. “You’ve already proposed?”

Coriolanus grins. The hunger he’s always carried within seems sated for once. “Not quite.”

He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t ask. May the odds be ever in that poor girl’s favor. 

-

Work dinners are such a bore. 

You’ve managed to avoid most of them but Coriolanus showed up at your house this time. He bequeathed you a bouquet of blood red roses, making a smart quip of bringing some color into your home. The sickly sweet scent of them lingers in your nose despite the long journey to the restaurant. You’re overdressed by Coriolanus’ insistence but as you step into the restaurant, you think you may have been wrong about this being a simple work dinner. 

Your suspicions are further proved when you are led to private room and inside are the upper echelon of the Capitol. 

“Coriolanus,” you whisper urgently. “What are we doing here?”

He speaks out of the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see.” 

Coriolanus flits off to some of his classmates, faces you only recognize because of their prominence in politics. He melds easily into their conversation, laughing in a way that could be considered for Coriolanus when one jerks his head in your direction. 

You give a hesitate wave when multiple sets of eyes turn to you, skin prickling at the knowing smiles on their faces. 

An excited call of your name grabs your attention.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Nerina gushes. “You have to catch me up on everything.”

You haven’t seen her since you graduated the University and you struggle to remember if you spoke more than three words to her during your time there. All you know of her is she married a wealthy business tycoon since graduation and dabbled in daytime television whenever the news cycle was slow. 

Her exclamation draws more people to you. Sweat dampens the back of your neck as you field the increasing amount of questions directed your way. You smile politely and nod intently at the right moments. When not talking about themselves, most ask you about Coriolanus and how exciting it must be to work alongside him. There are a few pointed comments but you dismiss them with ease, laughing away the probing. Your mind is running a million miles per second. The constant repetition of Coriolanus’ name becomes harder and harder to listen to. 

With a quick glance around the room, you count how many political figures you can name. When it becomes more than your two hands can handle, you start to relax. Perhaps Coriolanus is announcing his official bid for the presidency. It’s a curious thing if he’s brought you along as moral support. 

The Plinth’s are noticeably absent which causes a crease in your forehead. 

You aren’t able to dwell too long on their absence for Coriolanus makes his way back to your side. Nerina titters when he touches your elbow and motions towards the table. His hand hovers over the small of your back as you walk over and take your seat, thanking him quietly for pulling your chair out. 

Nerina makes sure to sit across from you and smirks when Coriolanus sits beside you. 

You cross your thigh over the other. The man diagonal from you, Dohyun you believe, lights up when you look his way. 

“You have any updates for us, Coriolanus?” 

Coriolanus settles back in his chair. “About the Games?” he says playfully. The exchange of amused looks between the men has the hair on the back of your neck raising. 

Dohyun chuckles. “Why not?” he says, drinking some champagne. “We’d all love to hear about it.”

Nerina wants to say something. She keeps trying to meet your eyes but whenever you give in and look at her, there is a pinch in between her brows and huffy breaths leave her. 

His hand is placed on your thigh. You don’t register the blatant dismissal of propriety at first because it is inconceivable. 

“We’re hoping to make this the most interesting Games yet,” Coriolanus says with a smile. He gives you a pointed look as he squeezes you. The angle of his arm makes it obvious to anyone looking where his hand lies. 

Nerina can’t look away. 

“Must be nice for the two of you to work together,” Dohyun says. His eyes are gentle as he smiles. 

“It’s definitely a perk,” Coriolanus agrees. 

His fingers dig into your skin. “There’s never a boring day,” you say through gritted teeth. You try shaking off his hand but Coriolanus doesn’t give in. 

“Actually, I asked you all to come here today to announce something special.” His hand rests on your waist. Coriolanus pulls you closer, practically onto his lap. His palm is hot over the fabric of your dress. You look up at him, alarmed at the possessive hold but trying your best to hide it. “We’re engaged.” 

Your complacent smile is frozen. 

And then there are cheers. 

“I knew it!” Dohyun crows. “I told you guys he’d do it this month. Cough it up.” He holds his hand out as a couple of the guys begrudgingly dig into their wallets amongst their congratulations. No one is surprised. Delighted but not surprised.

Nausea sears your throat. Your ears ring so loudly you think Coriolanus must be able to hear it as well. 

“You really dragged it out, huh?” Nerina says, lips curled over her teeth. You read her lips more than you hear her.

Your voice is stuck. A crushing fist clamps over your heart, tightening its hold until you fear you may collapse. 

“You know how hard working my fiancée is,” Coriolanus defends lightly. “She wanted to make sure to tie up all loose ends before we made it official. Right?” 

You don’t know what to do or say. So you default to what you have always been taught because at least you know how to play that game. 

“You know me,” you say through gritted teeth. “Always wanting my ducks in a row.”

“I was so sure it would take another year,” Dante groans. “Mr. Plinth said he was stepping down soon but I didn’t know he meant this soon.” 

The conversation devolves for a moment to discuss Mr. Plinth’s apparent retirement and you turn to Coriolanus. Your smile becomes vicious. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss under your breath. 

Coriolanus maintains his soft happiness. “Don’t act stupid, it’s unbecoming.” 

“Cut the shit,” you threaten. “And get your hands off of me.” 

He grins with his teeth on display. His canines seem unnaturally sharp as they press against his lip. Coriolanus leans in, uncaring of how the group quiets as he towers over you. A chill drags down your spine at the amusement in his eyes. 

“Or what?” he mocks lightly. “Everyone here thinks you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty little finger. You think they’ll respond favorably if you deny me?”

You’ve forgotten before the Plinths, Coriolanus’ preferred choice of currency was social currency. 

“Smile, Mrs. Snow.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

yall don’t even understand how much i eat up the arranged marriage/marriage of convenience trope when im reading a young!coriolanus snow x reader fic

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

i literally start barking when i find one i can read

current mood.

a beautiful woman catches a foolish man in a net

in a copy of "der welsche gast" by thomasîn von zerclaere, bavaria, c. 1256

source: Heidelberg, UB, Cod. Pal. germ. 389, fol. 16v