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purriteen · 1 month

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Control - Coriolanus Snow, act i.

“Dulce puella malum est” / “Woman is a sweet poison" -Ovid

synopsis: A handsome young congressman catches your eye. After your one-night stand, your paths soon cross once more and it turns out he holds more power over your future than you thought.

warnings: smut, relatively vanilla, reader has mommy issues, somewhat ooc Coriolanus cause canon Snow has 0 rizz, a little misogyny if you squint (?), more to come in act ii. no use of y/n.

this can be read as a standalone.

author’s note: hopefully you guys don’t mind the difference in format compared to AdVS, I tried to make this less rushed and bare-bones 🫶🏻

I can’t believe I just used the word rizz. I’m so sorry.

(side note: I've no idea if there's any such thing as congress in Panem, but fuck it, I say he's gotta put in a little work before he becomes president)

red text - Snow's thoughts, pink text - reader's thoughts

act ii

He’d met you at some dull fundraiser gala. In your little pale pink dress, you’d immediately stood out from the crowd. There was something so innocent about your appearance, with your glossy pink lips and subtle eyeliner, the modest but luscious braid your hair had been done into. You looked ethereal - nothing like the other women of the Capitol, in their over-the-top vibrant coloured hair and their tacky avant-garde dresses.

Avantgarde - what a pretentious word. Trashy and conceited would be more accurate, although such taunts were better left to the districts.

Oh, and those striking eyes which he soon realised were looking right at him.

You weren’t ashamed to be caught staring, that much he could tell by the look on your face. He found himself intrigued by the contrast - your girlishly charming getup paired with the almost flirtatious hint in your eyes as you smiled at him. No, coquettish was more fitting a choice to describe the way you carried yourself - you were just demure enough to give off the impression that you simply didn’t realise the effect your presence must’ve had on most men you encountered.

You were delighted as you watched him make his way over to you, stretching out his hand and introducing himself. Like a moth to a flame. You eagerly accepted, your perfectly manicured hand so very soft and light in his. No ring on your finger - he counted that as a win.

He quickly recognised your last name. You were no one important, that much he knew, but there was something so enticing about you. Something so intoxicating about your presence.

You on the other hand instantly recognised him from your days back at the Academy. Coriolanus Snow, professor Click’s star pupil. He was two years older than you, but rumours of his academic prowess, and of course, what happened to him after graduation, still circulated around the school by the time you yourself had been a senior. He was quite the enigma - he’d disappeared for an entire summer and returned a changed man, one cold and hungring for power that, as the heir to the Plinth fortune and the protege of the terrifying doctor Gaul herself, was well within his reach. He’d already begun climbing the social ladder too - last year he’d been appointed a seat in congress.

Many of your friends had harboured a crush on him, but he’d never allowed anyone to get close enough to take the plunge. Not even girls his own age, as far as you knew.

Even after graduating, and his brief disappearance from high society, you would’ve recognised that head of majestic blonde hair anywhere. He was tall and lean, of which the former was rare among those who’d grown up during the dark days. In his perfectly fitted black suit, crisp white button-down and burgundy tie, he practically embodied power; the fresh ideals and ambitions of this generation personified.

After a few dances and drinks shared, you had ended up in the back of his car, making surprisingly casual conversation about a new policy he’d put forth the other week. You could care less, but the effect it could have on your taxes gave you reason enough to feign interest. Besides - he could be a good friend to have in the future, if he continued down his path towards becoming a prominent politician like he always wanted. It wouldn’t hurt for him to think you were actually interested in his line of work.

“Tell me, your last name - I don’t recognise it. What does your family do exactly?” He inquires.

You’re somewhat caught off guard by the question.

Was it that obvious that you didn’t care for or know anything beyond the basics about this topic? Was he trying to spare you the humiliation of continuing the conversation by changing the subject?

Trying to pull yourself back together, you swallow the lump in your throat and look up at him. No man or boy had affected you in this way since you were in middle school, and it both frightened and intrigued you.

Pull yourself together.

“Oh, my parents own one of the biggest shares in district 4’s fishing industry. But where we make the real money from is the pearls gathered from the clam digging. Naturally they’re shipped off to district 1 for jewellery production and the likes, but we earn a decent cut from it.” You explain, a smooth and nonchalant tone to your voice, despite the nervous wreck that you were under his scrutiny. It was a good thing you’d learned to conceal your emotions early on - but clearly, so had he. You could tell he wasn’t quite buying your indifferent-heiress act.

“My parents keep trying to groom my incompetent little brother to become the heir, though. Shame.” You sigh, wanting to take his mind off of your possible faux pas.

He gives an understanding nod, his hand caressing the skin just above your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, I must be boring you with all this talk of politics. Let’s not talk about that now.” His voice drops just the slightest bit lower, and the look on his face sends a jolt of excitement straight down your spine, before landing right between your legs.

“I may not be as knowledgeable as you, but don’t you think I’ve an interest in politics too, hm? It does concern my life and future as well. Especially all those bills and reforms being put forth as of late that’ll impact the family business.” You retort, although keeping your tone playful, which earns you a bemused glint in his icy blue eyes. He takes a couple seconds to consider his answer before he opens his mouth to speak again.

“Well I’m sure you do. But really, a sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to worry about that. At least, tonight you won’t have to, if you’ll let me.. take your mind off things.” He suggests, leaning closer as his gaze falls on your lips, thumb caressing your chin.

His playfully dismissive tone, the way he sabotages any attempt at proving yourself, everything about him is so very demeaning and arrogant. You want to hate it, you do hate it, the way he makes you feel like you’re no longer in control, but something about his attitude has you weak in the knees. Perhaps it’s the posca, or the way his slender thumb drags across your bottom lip that’s keeping you from thinking straight.

“I do, I do need to worry about that, I’ve a stake in our earnings too,” You say softly, close to a whisper, followed by a few moments of silence as the two of you gaze at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. You certainly don’t plan on blinking first. “But maybe, just for tonight..” You whisper almost inaudibly, allowing your voice to trail off.

Against your better judgement you find yourself leaning in, inviting him to kiss you. And so he does. His warm lips crash onto yours, smearing the remainders of your pink gloss even more, his knee nestling its way in between your thighs within a manner of minutes.

You gasp softly as he makes contact with your clothed mound, gently pushing him away. You flash him a kittenish grin, hand lingering on his chest.

“Shouldn’t we wait until we get to your apartment? It would be quite the scandal if you were caught getting it on with a stranger in the backseat of your vehicle..” You allow your hand to glide lower, keeping eye contact as it dips all the way down to his belt. You hear his breath hitch in his throat, and some of your usual confidence returns at the confirmation that he wants you just as bad.

“Well you’re not making it easy for me, dove.” He breathes out as he rests his forehead against yours, looking about as eager to rip your clothes off as you were his. “I’m very sorry then, congressman Snow. But surely a man of your standing ought to have some more self-control?” You tease, managing to elicit a breathy chuckle from him.

He soon pulls away, much to your disappointment. “I suppose so. We’re almost at my apartment, fortunately.” He wipes some smudged lipgloss from your chin with his thumb, before he presses a button on the inside of the car door right next to you to roll up the thick opaque partition previously separating the back from his driver, sat in the front seat.

After giving the man the rest of the night off, he quickly ushers you out of the car and towards the entrance of one of those flashy new apartment buildings in the city circle. Your flat on Scholars road, which you’d intended to sell ever since you graduated university last year, paled in comparison.

Even the foyer reeked of opulence and excess-everything. The marble stairs were lined with gilded railings, as was the elevator he so swiftly escorted you into. You obliged, and it didn’t take long for him to have you pressed against the wall whilst he trailed hot kisses down your neck.

You were only brought out of your daze when the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal a lavish penthouse, somewhat resembling the apartment your parents had recently purchased in one of the remodelled Corso buildings.

You've only barely taken your coat off when he swoops you up, which causes you to let out a surprised squeal as he begins to carry you towards what you can only assume is the master bedroom. He courteously places you down on the ground again, starting to undo his waistcoat as you unzip your gown and let it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

He looks up at you through hazy eyes, blown wide with lust, stopping his efforts to unbutton his shirt when he sees your naked form.

Closing the gap between you, his hand delicately encircles your waist as the other caresses your cheek. "I wasn't expecting such an indecent choice of underwear paired with a pretty dress like that.." He murmurs onto your lips, ensnaring you in a cloud of lust and the nearly overwhelming scent of roses as his tongue slips past your lips, hands working behind your back to unclasp your lacy black and pink bra.

It doesn't take long until you're both on his bed, your back pressed against his chest and his hand down your flimsy panties. His mouth trails hickeys and love bites down your exposed neck as one of his long, slender fingers pumps in and out of your sopping wet cunt. "Dirty little thing aren't you? Spreading your legs so easily for me.." He rasps against the shell of your ear, relishing the way your walls clamp down on his lone digit. "Needy too, I see," He chuckles, easily adding a second finger although receiving only a whimper in response.

You whine at the stretch, thighs tremoring underneath him. With his fervent attacks on all the things that have you weak in the knees, you’re unable to focus on anything other than the pleasure. Just this once, you allow him to indulge you. Heat starts to build in your stomach as his pace quickens.

“Quite shameful of you to sleep with a man you just met, isn’t it?” He whispers in your ear, his voice husky and roguish. Your cheeks flush bright red at the thought, knowing your family would hardly approve, and neither would the public.

The last few months your father had been trying to set you up with the heir to a family who made their money manufacturing luxury furniture out of all things; truly second-rate. You’d always been ambitious, even if you’d never been particularly keen on pursuing a career - you knew you could do better, that you could truly marry up and attain the life of luxury and leisure your mother wanted for you, but he wouldn’t listen to either of you. If this got out though, he’d be both furious and humiliated, no matter how many times you’d already told him that you intended to do better for yourself.

Wasn’t that what you were doing anyways? This was a matter of securing a match, a potential betrothal to a man who could easily give you everything you wanted. Yes, that was it. This wasn’t just some shameful rendezvous - if Coriolanus himself saw it that way, you’d make sure he came around one way or another.

“Please, stop teasing,” you manage to mewl out, though it seems to have no effect other than to amuse him.

“What makes you think I’m teasing? Just be good for me and let me work this pretty pussy open.. Wouldn't want it to hurt for you later on, yeah?” He almost grunts in your ear when you clamp down tighter in response, his fingers coated in your slick as he pumps them in and out.

“Look at that sopping wet pussy, hmm? Must’ve been a long time since a man last made you feel this good.” He curses lowly under his breath, carefully sliding a third finger inside, hushing you as you whine at the intrusion.

(He was right- it had, but he didn’t need to know that. You already felt powerless enough as is.)

“Doing so good for me.” He tilts your head back to give you a gentle kiss, in stark contrast to his unrelenting ministrations, although his soft lips manage to soak up most of your muffled cries.

Finally he seems to decide it’s enough, just as you’re nearing your orgasm, making his sudden retreat particularly frustrating. Nevertheless you eagerly oblige him as he manoeuvres you onto your back, only pulling back to give himself space to fully undress.

You watch with anticipation as he undoes the rest of his shirt buttons, discarding the garment at the foot end of the bed before moving onto his pants. He gestures towards your pushed-aside panties as he undoes his trousers.

“You gonna take those off, dove? Or do I have to do everything myself?” He gibes, and your cheeks flush red as you hurry to lift your hips up and pull down your undies.

When you look back up your words get caught in your throat, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of him palming his cock, already having discarded his dress pants and boxers on the ground. He’s bigger than you thought. The shaft is fairly girthy and just a little darker than the pale complexion on the rest of his body, the tip a reddish pink and beaded with precum. There’s a tidy patch of blonde hair at his base, just a shade or two darker than his platinum locks. You didn’t realise that was his natural hair colour.

“That’s better.” He groans softly at the sight of your now bare slit, still slick with your own juices and practically begging to be touched. “C’mon, spread your legs a little wider for me.” He taps at your thigh, and you swallow thickly as you do so. You’re certainly no virgin, but so far he’s the biggest you’ve seen. At least he didn’t ask me to suck it, you think to yourself.

His smug grin grows even wider when you wordlessly obey him, positioning himself on top of you and starting to rub the head of his cock slowly, teasingly up and down your puffy folds. One hand on his shaft, the other next to your head.

You let out a low moan as his tip catches on your swollen clit, which causes him to glance up at your flustered face. “Oh, I won’t tease you any more. I’m sorry baby.” He coos at you, voice dripping with faux empathy. You don’t get much time to think about it though, as he soon places his tip at your soaked entrance, giving a firm thrust that already manages to nestle his cock about half as deep as your body would allow. He groans at the feeling, followed by a nearly inaudible gasp as he feels the ring of muscle squeezing his cock.

He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning down to press his forehead against yours as he grabs your ankles and lifts your legs up to wrap around his waist. You humour him, heels digging into his back as you cling onto his muscled torso. His dominant hand reclaims its place beside your head whilst the other glides down lower to grasp at your hip, holding you in place so that he can continue without interruptions.

Already knowing it’ll be a tight fit, he goes slow in sliding himself all the way in, which you’re much grateful for. The stretch is already enough to make your eyes water. Finally he bottoms out, the two of you releasing a moan in unison when his tip collides with your cervix. Yours of relief, his of frustration.

There’s still another inch or two to go, but he’ll have to work on that over time.

Seeing that pitifully doe-eyed look on your face, your glassy eyes and wobbly bottom lip, he leans in to give you a gentle kiss, his hand leaving your waist to instead caress your rosy cheek, soothing you as best as he could. “Taking it so well for me, mkay? Just stay still and let me do the work, pretty girl.” He mumbles onto your lips, his mouth soaking up your moans as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in, staying true to his word and thoroughly working your pussy open.

Your hands relent their position clutching the bedsheets beneath you, instead taking their place at the back of his neck in a surprisingly intimate moment, which he in turn welcomes with initiating a more enthusiastic kiss. After a couple more thrusts he starts to grow impatient, and so he experimentally tries to coax himself deeper, but you only whine and press your hands to his pelvis in response, so he backs off.

You pull away slightly, giving yourself enough room to speak. “Too much, ‘s too deep,” you sniffle, internally scolding yourself for already allowing him to get you in such a sordid, outright pitiful state.

Coriolanus on the other hand seems pleased with himself, swiping at your tear-stained cheeks with his thumb. “I’m sorry, dove. I’ll go easy on you,” He lies, giving you a reassuring kiss on the forehead. Even in your fuzzy-headed, wrecked state, you think you can make out a sliver of empathy in his eyes. Perhaps even affection.

And yet it wasn't long before he was thrusting in and out of you again at a slowly but surely accelerating pace, just barely grazing your cervix with each thrust, enough to keep you on edge without explicitly breaking his promise. With the few brain cells left that aren't entirely consumed by him - his scent, the feeling of his hands on you, his dick pumping in and out so expertly, his arched brows furrowed in concentration, everything about him - you manage to preserve some semblance of dignity, biting back all the pleas you wanted to make. This small action is enough to give you the - albeit not very convincing - illusion of control.

You watch as his lips purse in dissatisfaction, immediately turning inwards to try and figure out what you've done wrong. But before you can dig any deeper, he's pulling back and straightening his back, his knees planted firmly on the mattress beneath you. His arms make quick work of untangling your legs from around his waist, instead pressing your knees to your chest and holding you in place with his large, pale hands.

The new position leaves you feeling so exposed and vulnerable in a way you'd never allowed yourself to before. Your mother's warnings not to let any man, especially no stranger, take control of you were always at the back of your head during your previous trysts, eating away at your already barren arousal. But with him, with this near stranger, everything was different. The foreignness of it all scared you, but not enough to fight off the nearly overwhelming pleasure that each of his unrelenting thrusts brought you. Each time the head of his cock brushes against that spongy spot deep inside of you, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you, more often than not accompanied by a raspy moan or a sharp inhale.

With this new angle, everything he does feels so much filthier, with that smug smile on his face as he stares down at you, observing your flustered, contorted form. All at his hands. You were entirely his to do with as he pleased, his in every sense of the word, even if just for tonight. You knew you'd regret this moment of treacherous pleasure and intimacy by sunrise, but in this very moment, you couldn't help but enjoy it. Being completely at his mercy.

Before you knew it you could feel your orgasm approaching. As if able to read your mind, Coriolanus repositioned his left forearm to stretch across the back of your knees, allowing him to use his free hand to fervently rub at your previously neglected clit. A gasp that quickly morphed into a throaty moan escaped your lips, although his mouth soon latched onto yours again, muffling the lewd sounds coming from your mouth.

Your hips buck up against his touch, walls clenching him tighter as you rapidly approach your climax. Your hands claw at his shoulder blades as he keeps pistoning in and out of you, groaning frequently into your mouth. You can tell he's getting closer too by the sudden lack of precision in his movements, which you take great delight in.

Thank god it's a safe day today.

Just a couple moments later you go over the edge, your cunt spasming and gripping at his member like a vice as you cum hard. In this moment you're grateful for his aggressive kiss, as it manages to stifle the guttural moan ripped from your throat somewhat.

He soon follows suit. Releasing an animalistic groan into your mouth he shoves himself in all the way to the hilt, where his spend spills from his throbbing tip, revelling in the way you squeeze him even tighter in response to the deep penetration.

Finally, as you're both slowly coming down from your highs, he breaks the kiss and retreats, his eyes fixed on your groin as he slowly pulls out, watching as your lips cling onto his shaft.

It's like you're trying to suck him back in.

He slumps back next to you on the bed, and you both lay there for a few minutes catching your breaths in awkward silence.

You're nothing short of exhausted. That was likely the most intense sex you've ever had, and consequently, one of the strongest orgasms you've ever had.

Then, finally, he informs you that he's gonna take a shower and gets up, quickly heading towards the en-suite bathroom. The last thing on your mind before you drift off to sleep is his pale, sculpted back and the fresh scratch marks you just left on it.

#banner credit: @benkeibear #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #smut #smut with plot #eventually #young president snow #president snow

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purriteen · 1 month

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hi everyone <3 just wanted to say I will be dropping the first part of the new fic tonight, decided to split it into two acts, so the second half will most likely be released next week.

thanks to everyone who voted and for the general support!!

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut #young president snow #president snow #they could never make me hate you

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purriteen · 2 months

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genuinely one of the best fics I’ve read in a while. good lord 😩

Commander Snow; chapter 6

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Being Commander of District 12 meant that Coriolanus couldn’t just whisk you away to the forest to face his fears. He had a whole army dependent on him. It meant that while you were held up in his apartment, he was held up in his office.

It annoyed him to no end. To have you so close and yet still out of reach.

Despite you living with him for a week, you’ve only shared one meal together.

His overtime meant that you were asleep by the time he got home.

You had left a clean pair of his pajamas on the end of the bed. He had a habit of just stripping down to his underwear to join you.

You left dinner for him in the fridge and he sat at the dinner table eating it alone.

On the odd occasion, there was time to spend together, the mood was often tense from Coriolanus stress.

He tried not to take his frustration out on you but his answers were often short.

After a long day filled with complaints and issues that could have been easily solved without him, Coriolanus decided that he would not return to his office after supervising drill training and instead remain with you.

He was beyond tired from his day, but it was too early to suggest bed. You lay with him on the couch, propped up by a throw pillow against the arm of the couch while he lay in front of you. He threw your arm around his shoulder and held it tight under his chin.

The TV played a music talent show that neither you nor Coriolanus could care about but the tv only picked up two channels; the news or the entertainment channel that the Hunger Games were shown on. Coriolanus couldn’t bear to hear any more politics for the day so you watched people dressed in irregular costumes perform ballads out of their range.

His eyes droop as he fights the upcoming sleep. It was the first time since the fight with Edmund that he got you to sit down. The little he was here you spent avoiding him. For the first few days, he was angry too and avoidance stopped the fight he wanted to have with you.

But a week had passed and his temper cooled.

You were with him now. Playing housewife to the Commander.

He felt better now that he was coming home to something, rather than just the cold. When he looked in the fridge there was food for him. His clothes were washed and prepared for him. His bed was warm at night. He made him feel less homesick.

The talk from the TV turned from the judges to Lucky the presenter.

“Now ladies and gentlemen. We have a surprise for you tonight. We have a certain special guest gracing us. And we have given him the power to save one of your favorites from elimination! Mr Augustus Bloom won’t you please come out!”

Coriolanus shot up from your hold to watch him.

Augustus Bloom walked on screen wearing an expensive suit. His brown hair was slicked back and a small gold earring dangled from his ear.

The crowd cheered for him.

Coriolanus was stuck in District 12 dealing with half-wits and scum, while Augustus was charming the Capitol on live tv.

He shakes hands with Lucky.

“Mr. Bloom, a privilege to have you here tonight!”

“A privilege to be here amongst you and away from my office.”

Lucky turns to the crowd and laughs.

“Look at you. You good-looking man! You should be out on the town, breaking hearts!”

Augustus laughs along with the crowd.

“I am too busy preparing my business for when I am president of Panem. I’ll worry about women after that.”

Coriolanus clenches his fist.

“Oh,” Lucky turned serious to the crowd, “I think Coriolanus Snow might have something to say about that!”

The crowd murmurs amongst themselves giving Coriolanus an air of confidence.

A picture from his Academy days flashes up on the screen, you look at it with curiosity. He was once a young boy with soft curls, he now sat nearly unrecognizable.

“He’s looking like a strong contender. Isn’t he handsome ladies!” He points out to the crowd, “And some gentleman.”

Augustus had the wind knocked out of his sail. He fidgeted on stage and took a step back almost as if he was going to run away. Dr. Gaul's criticism ran through Coriolanus’ head, “a soft-bellied rich boy, not fit for the presidency.”

Now the whole audience knew it too.

“Snow isn’t here” he gritted through a smile. He wasn’t going down with a fight.

“No. He’s in District 12, keeping us here in the Capitol safe. A round of applause for Commander Snow!”

The crowd cheered causing Coriolanus to smile.

“So am I!” Augustus interrupted like a child.

“Yes, right. I am sure one day you will!” Lucky claps him on the back and returns to the audience with an excited demeanor.

“But of course, that’s a while yet! We are wishing our President Ravenstill all the good health in the world. Now let’s get on with the show!”

Coriolanus switches the TV off and rests his arms on his knees. He couldn’t help but smile at Augustus' national failure. He made Coriolanus look so strong, so mysterious, and focused. He would send Lucky a fruit basket in thanks tomorrow. He would also send one to Augustus.

“You had curls.” The young boyish figure had shocked you.

“Yes,” he pats your knee affectionately, “When we are back in the Capitol and I am president of Panem, I’ll grow them back again.”

==================

Coriolanus has the nightmare that night. He woke up with the tune of ‘Hanging Tree’ stuck in his head. The first thing he does is reach out to where you should have been lying only to find the space cold. Panic rushes through him. His feet thump against the floorboards as he runs from the room into the hall. Your sleeping body can be seen on the couch and he instantly relaxes.

His body tells him he should be angry; fists clenched, shoulders up and tense, his face hot. But he couldn’t manage it. His mind was too hazy to comprehend anything but his own panic.

Instead, he sits down on the floor beside you and tries to control his breathing. The tune hums in the back of his mind and he tries to force it out.

“You had the nightmare again?” Your voice halts the tune. He looks over his shoulder at you with wide eyes. You finally saw the resemblance between the schoolboy with the curls.

He gets up and pushes himself on the couch next to you. You feel his hands slide up your back, trying to hold you close but you wiggle free from his grasp.

You would not comfort the man who kidnapped you.

He tried to bring you back down to his chest as you crawl over him but his tired state left room for error.

You tumble down to the floor as you escape.

He sighs disappointed, bringing his hands up to his face.

“Was there something wrong with the bed?” he asks.

“I prefer the couch.” You sit on the ground next to him.

“You prefer the bed built by Edmund.” He spat his name like it was poison.

You look up at him warily, “I never told you that Edmund built my bed.”

Coriolanus is silent for a minute, he sucks his teeth and sits up.

“You didn’t have to. The wood from your door and bed match.’’

He feels settled as you sit by his feet. The panic subsides, but his anger bubbles up from it.

“Can you make me a cup of tea?” he asks.

With him on your bed, you couldn’t go back to sleep anyway so you rose and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

He watches you while sitting on the couch. He liked how you moved so comfortably in the space. You were treating it like your home. No hesitation about where things were, you used things liberally.

“What do you dream?” You ask him.

“When I wake up it’s gone,” he lies.

You know he carries it around with him.

“Whatever it is, it scares you.”

The kettle whistles and you pour it over the tea bag.

He worried that he now looks weak in front of you. The man who was supposed to be protecting you was scared of a dream like a child. He could continue with his lie but you already knew.

Instead he tries a half-truth.

“I dream that I am killed like my father was.”

This peaked your interest causing him to sit up straighter under your attention.

“How did he die?”.

He takes the cup from you but you don’t scurry away like you usually do. You stand in front of him eager to listen to him. The attention moved his mouth,

“Here. In District 12. A trap out in the forest during the war. He was a governor”.

“Is that why you wanted to come back?”

“I didn’t want to come back” he admits. He reaches up with his spare hand to lightly touch yours, “But I am glad I did.”

“What did you do?” you feel his thumb brush over the back of your hand, “I mean, to get you sent here?”

He takes a sip of his tea before answering, “I had an enemy in the Capitol. He disliked my father and took it out on my family”.

“He sent you back as Commander?”

“No. He died. Gaul sent me back for my presidential run. It looks better to be serving my country.”

You tear your hand from him, “And when they find out you brought me back to the Capitol. How will that look?”

He places the cup on the floor and stands up to your height.

“I’ll keep you safe, okay?” he presses his forehead against yours, “In the district and in the Capitol”.

“Safe from danger you put me in.”

Coriolanus shakes his head as you pull away from him. “You’re safe. You’ve always been safe.”

He tried to pull you close again but you stretched out your arms to keep him at distance.

“I wanna go home, Coriolanus.”

“Home to Edmund, perhaps?” he bites. His calm and soft features harden.

A shiver shoots up your spine at the mention of Edmund.

“Home to my family. The same as you.”

He sighs, “You won’t be alone in the Capitol as you are here. You just have to put up with it just a little bit longer. We’ll be back home soon”

The Capitol was not your home nor would it ever be.

But you knew anymore talk of home would lead to more talk of Edmund.

“Come on. Let’s go back to bed.” You rip your elbow from his grasp as he walks past you.

“I’m fine on the couch.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth before bending down and picking up his tea cup. He splashes the remains on the couch and hands you the empty cup.

“Enjoy it then.”

—————-

The next day he comes home around lunch time. It catches you by surprise.

“Come on,” he says, nodding his head backwards.

You follow him without a word to the van below where officials stood around. Upon seeing him they take their place. You see Smiley by the passenger side door and he calls out for his Commander.

Coriolanus tell Smiley to take the seat and climbs in the tray of the truck.

He pulls you up into the van amongst the Peacekeepers. He sits on the end of the bench with you between his legs on the floor. Like a seatbelt he keeps you in place by taking a hold on your upper arms and pulling them back up on his knees.

You can feel the glances of his officers but they look away as soon as you try to meet their eyes.

Halfway they try to break the tension with idle chatter.

“Will the recruits be as bad as last year?”

“That’s couldn’t be possible.”

The talk soon turns to anecdotes about their youthful days as Peacekeeper grunts.

None of them try to include Coriolanus in their jests. They all willfully ignored the couple on the end.

You don’t try to talk to him either.

As you pass through the district the people look at the Peacekeeper van causing you to turn your head in embarrassment. You could still feel the harsh judgements from your community as you sat between the Commander's legs. How would you ever rebuild your reputation?

The van stops in front of the tunnel to the train station. The people part in the crowd to let the van through.

Coriolanus releases you to unhook the bolts from the backn of the truck. None of the other Peacekeepers move until he does. He jumps down from the bed of the truck and turns back around to help you down. They all wait until you are down and out of the way before they follow.

It’s busy, too busy for a normal docking of fresh recruits. All of the road and tunnel leading to the train station were overrun by bodies.

District people flood the space, all chatting loudly in a panic. They part as the line of Peacekeepers march through.

Normally on orientation day, the newcomers to District 12 were given a wide berth. People had better things to do then get a glimpse of the faces that would soon be terrorizing them.

You wondered what peaked their excitement today. What had Coriolanus done that both you and the district people had to see?

Coriolanus drags you down the dark tunnel into the light of the train station. The talk quitened but didn’t stop altogether.

You screamed upon seeing the commotion.

Edmund.

He was badly beaten and tied to a sturdy metal pole that kept the roof up. A bulls-eye was spray painted an inch above his head.

Blood soaked his face to the point you almost didn’t recognize him.

Large black bruises covered his exposed skin.

You turn to Coriolanus who was already looking at you and beg him to release Edmund.

“Please, Coriolanus. Let him go.”

“He threw the first punch.”

You knew it had less to do with causing Coriolanus physical harm than it did with damaging his ego and need for control. Your neighbors were shown that the Commander bleeds like any other man.

“He learnt his lesson.” you promise.

“Have you learnt yours?”

Only ten young boys disembark from the train. They were all thin with a badly-shaved buzzcut and carrying a Capitol issued duffle bag.

You wanted to run over to Edmund. Protect him somehow. But you couldn’t, it was your protection that got him here in the first place.

“Gentlemen, welcome to District 12.”

Coriolanus stood by your side while another officer went in front of the line of boys.

“This is Edmund Flare,” he gestures to Edmund at the post, “A known rebel sympathizer, and a troubled citizen of District 12.”

Another Peacekeeper runs over and passes the man a gun. You grab Coriolanus' arm in protest.

“More likely than not, you will have to shoot Edmund one day in service of your country. We figured today we would give you the opportunity to save yourself the trouble in the future.”

The first young boy is given the gun.

“You get one shot before you have to wait for that day to naturally come.’’

Edmund holds his head up high to show he is not afraid. But you were. You were terrified. A strong urge to go over and rip the gun out of the young boys hands presented itself but you knew you would be pulled back before you could even stand close enough to touch him,

The boy checks the gun for the trigger, earning a laugh from everyone but you and Coriolanus.

Eventually he finds it, and he takes aim.

The shot misses by a mile.

“Coriolanus please.” He remains emotionless, watching the scene before him. He stood as if it was a street performance, hands clasped behind his back and perfect posture to get a good view.

“Wait! Wait!” you call out but the men continue. Another boy steps up and takes the gun.

He takes less time to examine the gun before firing a shot. Edmund flinches as it wizzes past his shoulder.

‘‘Coriolanus! Stop this. Just please stop, untie hi-”

The next shot is fired causing you to spin around to ensure that Edmund was still standing. He was tall and stupidly proud.

“I’ll never forgive you if one of them hurt him!” you threaten but it doesn’t even earn you a glance.

“Do you love him?”

“No” you answered firmly and fast, “No, Coriolanus. Please stop.”

Another shot is taken.

“Because if you loved him now would be the time to tell me, because I would hate to break apart lovers.”

The third shot lands next to Edmunds boot. You felt physically sick watching the scene. Your legs shook and would soon give way.

The men start to whoop and cheer the young recruits on. It gives the next young boy confidence to take a step closer to take his shot but it misses all the same.

You can’t tear your eyes off Edmund as the next recruit takes aim. They look each other in the eyes. Never spoken a word and already enemies.

The shot is taken but wizzes past Edmunds head.

You shake your head no. You knew telling him that you loved Edmund would sign his death certificate.

“He’s my brother's friend, Coriolanus. We grew up together.”

The next shot hit the pole but not the target, causing you to yelp.

Loud cheering snapped you out of your daze. Begging would get you nowhere.

Instead you take his shoulders into your arms and turn him towards you.

“He looked after me before you. I would have been dead long before you got to me if it wasn’t for him”.

Coriolanus throws his eyes back to Edmund which was not the desired effect.

You change positions, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his attention back down to you.

“I didn’t tell him that you’d taken his role. The other night he was just trying to protect me as you would’ve.”

He finally looks down at you.

“Please, don’t kill him, Coriolanus. I could never forgive myself.” Your voice begins to shake. You were so nervous for Edmunds safety. Your knees buckled and tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

He takes the side of your face into his hands.

“Do you love him?”

You shake your head feverishly, “No, Coriolanus.”

“Do you love him?” You feel his fingers tighten on your face.

“Yes.” you admit.

“Do you love me?”

Through gritted teeth a ‘yes’ resounds.

“More than him?”

A shot whizzed into the crowd as the new recruit lost control of the gun and Coriolanus pulled his body over yours.

The officers scold the boy. Taking the waving gun away. The shot landed into the train station wall but it was a close call for those standing in front of it.

He removes your arms from him and you watch him walk over to the officer holding the gun.

He takes it and aims at Edmund who stood straight and tall.

You shrink as the gun fires. Unable to look, you cover your face with your hands.

The cheering made no impact on your confidence. You couldn’t hear Edmund from their excitement. So you reluctantly open your eyes to see him still standing.

The bullet had made it straight to the middle of the painted target.

Coriolanus stood taking aim still, as if he was still considering firing another shot.

Edmund stared back, almost daring him.

“Commander.” you call. You don’t call him by his name, not in front of people.

Coriolanus lowers the gun but keeps his eyes on Edmund as he speaks,

“Load them up and head back to the compound.” he passes the gun to the closest officer and turns back to where you stood.

“Cut him loose.” he calls back.

When he tosses his arm around you and pulls you back to the truck, you turn back to see Edmund surrounded by Peacekeepers.

People mummer as you walk past but your ears buzzed too loudly to hear a word.

You felt so weak as you walked. You thought you were going to collapse before you could make it to the van. But with Coriolanus’s strong hold on you, you made it back.

He climbs in first and reaches down to pull you up. He sits you on his knee instead of on the ground and you watch as the peacekeepers, old and new, return to the truck.

You don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed as eyes locked into you.

No one said anything to Coriolanus on the way back.

As soon as the truck opens back in the compound, you are the first to jump out. You hear Coriolanus footsteps as he followed you back to the apartment.

You immediately take a seat at the kitchen table and Coriolanus gets you a cup of water. You stare at it in front of you.

“Edmund died today, as far as you are concerned.”

Closing your eyes to the image of him, you nod your head.

He could hear Coriolanus moving around the apartment but you couldn’t care what he was doing.

When he slams something down in front of you, you open your eyes to see a piece of paper and a pen.

“I want you to write to your brother and tell him about us.”

You couldn’t. Your brother was hot headed, and powerless. He would cause only problems for himself trying to get back.

“What would be the point? He is over in District 8.”

“My family are in the Capitol, yet they know about you.”

Shock strikes you knowing that his family knew of Coriolanus’s actions.

“Write to him,” he pushes, “tell him that we are together. How you feel.”

You pen a half-hearted letter about how you met a man. Coriolanus, you called him, Not Commander Snow. You tell him how you miss him, and that your mother is okay. That Coriolanus is ensuring that your basic needs are met. Don’t worry, you tell him, you’re perfectly safe.

Coriolanus reads it after you are done before folding it and placing it in his pocket.

He slides another piece of paper over in front of you.

“Now write to Tigris and my grandmother. Tigris suggested it would make you feel better, already knowing someone in the Capitol.”

You pick up the pen and write again, but your mind remains on the image of Edmund being used as target practice. You make yourself a promise that you would never meet his cousin or his grandmother. Their letters are as close as they will get before you could escape.

—------

Coriolanus amped up his work schedule even more. Eager to break free from his responsibilities and solve the mystery of Lucy Gray.

You were left alone at night which was preferable to his company but you felt yourself going crazy with only your own company.

You tried to keep a routine to fill the day. It was mostly taken up by cleaning tasks.

After dinner you would wash and dry the dishes, wipe the countertops and table and sweep and mop the floor. Then you would retire to the living room with your sewing or polishing work until it was time for bed.

There is a quiet tapping on the window disturbing you from securing the buttons on Coriolanus’s shirt.

No fear ran through you wondering who it could be. They couldn’t get in to harm you anyway. So you peer out from the window.

“Edmund” you gasp.

His left eye was blackened, a large bruise formed around the bloodshot vessels. A purple bruise marked his cheek and there was a cut on his right eyebrow.

“How did you get in?”

He hold a pair of wire cutters up to the window.

“Are you okay? God I was so worried about you.”

“Ah,” Edmund smiles and replaces the wire cutters with a small knife from his pocket, “Takes more than that.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss. If Coriolanus found him, there was no way Edmund would escape death a second time.

“Getting you out of here.”

“You can’t be here. He’ll be home soon.”

“I know. I’ve been here every night since i’ve been well enough. I told you, you’re not alone.”

“The Peacekeepers-’’

“There’s a fifteen minute window where this section is blind.” The lock wiggles but resists being opened under pressure, “And he just entered the infantry to wish our poor peacekeepers a speedy recovery. We have time.”

The door was determined to chew most of it up, however.

“Edmund, what did he do to you?” his face was swollen from the bruising, and you could see large black and purple spots peeking out from under his shirt.

“The day after he took you, he sent Peacekeepers to my home. They took me back to the compound and showed me some ‘hospitality’”.

“Edmund,I am so sorry,” you begin to cry, “I never should have taken the oat bars to the jail.”

You remembered the day at the market that set off the chain of events.

You remember seeing the man, he stood out amongst the crowd. Dirty, torn clothes. An arm missing, no doubt from the district's mining work. There wasn’t much work for men outside of it.

A sense of pity overwhelmed you, so when he swiped a loaf of bread off the table, you looked the other way. Unfortunately a watchful Peacekeeper did not.

The man's plea echoed through your mind as he was taken away; “Please, I am so hungry.”

It led you to making the oat bars not only for him, but for all the others punished for their hunger.

You remembered a rumor that there was a hole at the west end of the jail for the Peacekeepers to sneak out from, and women of the night to sneak in. You were surprised to find out it was actually true.

“This is not your fault, okay. I am going to get you outta here, and we’ll go to the mountains okay? Where it’s safe. Like planned.”

You nod your head.

The door jingles as Edmund tries to force it open with his knife. It doesn’t bulge.

“Edmund, my mother, is she okay?”

“She’s okay. She’s already up the mountains.”

“How? She could barely walk?”

“I carried her.”

The guilt came crashing down on you. Edmund had his own family to look after. They wouldn’t survive without him.

“Edmund. Stop. I can get the key,” you weren’t sure if you actually could, “You need to go. Just tell me where you cut the hole.”

He stops trying to wedge the door with the knife so you could hear him clearly.

“There’s three big bins out by the back,” he points to the direction, “I cut a hole behind the middle one. It’ll take you to the south forest. I’ll wait there.”

“No,” you interject, “No. Wait for me in the mountains.”

He rolls his eyes and picks up his work of jamming his knife in the door.

“You’ll never make it up the mountain by yourself.”

“At home then! Just stay away from here.”

The plea was for both you and him.

“You can get the key and get out?” He asks in a serious tone, looking at you once more.

“Yes.” you confirm.

He sighs as he pockets his knife, “When?”

The Commander kept his keys by the night stand. You think you could remember which one opened the door.

“Soon.”

“A week. I’ll give you a week before I come back with something stronger.”

You nod your head in agreement.

“Thank you, Edmund.”

“You’re my girl.” he remarks as it was an obvious motivation for his work.

You shiver at his words.

————

You don’t sleep well at night so you have taken to having naps while Coriolanus is at work. He is home more often now. He had got ahead of a considerable amount of work which meant nights were spent together.

Most nights he would take you walking around the compound for fresh air after dinner. You tried to memorize the key he used to unlock the door but there were so many that all looked the same. You wondered how he even knew.

He is anxious now that he found out you were sleeping in the living room and has taken to chaining you together as you slept. He cuffed one of his wrists and one of yours, making sleep impossible as he basically slept on top of you now.

It was only three days after Edmunds promise, that you woke from your nap with the sight of Coriolanus packing your clothes into a bag.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

Was he moving you to your own apartment?

He drops the bag and comes over to sit next to you on the bed.

“Hey,” he greets “You need to get up now. We are going to go away for the weekend.”

You sit up away from him, “Where are we going?”

Vacations were not a thing in District 12.

“The Capitol?” you guessed.

“No, not the Capitol.”

You sigh in relief. Still he had not answered your question.

“Where then?”

He gets up from the bed and zips the bag up.

“Do you not trust me?”

You get up from the bed to see he had laid a dress on the end of the bed for you.

‘‘I just want to know where we are going.”

“You took me to a special place, and now I want to take you somewhere, okay?”

Throwing the duffle bag filled with spare clothes for you and him, over his shoulder he exits the room.

You change and his way out to the living room. There would be no point in fighting. You were going to find out where he was taking you at some point.

The living room was empty, but the door swung wide.

With the door being left open for you, you took the stairs down to where Coriolanus was loading the back of a patrolling truck.

You saw a small cooler of food, one of the old pans, bedding and pillows, a small bag of toiletries and the clothes bag. He had packed in a hurry. The bags were thrown in without care. They were far apart from each other and more items than not were upside down.

“We’re not coming back?” you ask.

“We’ll stay a night or two.” Or however long it takes to find Lucy Gray’s body.

He holds open the door and you follow his silent command to get in. You spot the rifle tucked between the seat and the console. It makes you rethink your decision of complacency.

“My special place didn’t need a gun.”

He takes your arm and gently pushes you forward into the car, but you tug back against him.

“It’s nothing. Just a precaution.”

He gently pushes you again to move.

“Get in.” he barks.

“No.”

He takes a harsh grip this time on your arm and leads you back to the cage where Peacekeepers kept people who disturbed the peace.

He pushed you into the small space amongst the bags.

It was big enough that you could sit with your back against the wall but it would only leave an inch of space between your head and the roof. The back was caged in so the rebels couldn’t reach the officers in front, and the length was long enough to fit three or four rebels at one time. Albeit a tad uncomfortably.

You bang on the metal divide as he slams the door shut and begins to drive.

“Coriolanus, you don’t have to do this. I could just go home.”

He drives through the middle of the district to the out of bounds forest, where Peacekeepers were waiting armed and ready by the electric fence line. They buzz the parting gate open and seal it shut again once the car passes.

Past the gate, it was just you and him. What would he want to take you to a secluded forest for. A million reasons run through your mind and they all end with you dead.

“How are you doing back there?” he calls from the front. The car as it powers through the harsh conditions almost drowns him out.

“Where are you taking me?” you demand to know, “What’s out past the boundary line that you set up?”

Was he hiding something out there? Was that the reason he set up the fence? Not to keep people contained but to hide something.

“There’s a cabin I know of. There’s a lake too. I think you’ll like it.”

You watch from the front window, looking out for landmarks that could lead you back home. The dark clouds that roll fourth threaten to destroy anything you can remember.

The path to the cabin is ingrained in his mind since he walked back a different man. He weaved through the gaps in the forest without looking at his father’s compass.

“Did Lucy Gray like it?”

He ignores your comment and you don’t speak again.

—---

When you reach the cabin it is old and run down. Vines cover the walls of the house, patching up the rotten wood.

Coriolanus seemed nervous to be there. His hand flexes as it reaches for you.

The door had been sealed shut with moisture and it took three hard shoulder charges from Coriolanus to get it open. He invites you in with a hand on your shoulder, shutting the door behind you before retaking your hand in his.

You could smell the dust as you stood in the small living room. The cabin was small and colorless. Mostly everything was made from wood. From the small kitchen table and chairs to the bed you could see in the adjacent room. The only thing that was metal was an old fire stove, and a few decorative pieces.

Leaves had blown in from holes in the roof scattering the floor. The place looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. You would have thought the place was abandoned since its creation if there weren’t bags upon the floor. Despite its appearance, someone had been here before you and Coriolanus.

He lets go of you to rush over to the bags. He unzips one and pulls out a colorful dress. The way he lets out a laughy breath sends shivers down your spine.

“Lucy Gray’s?” you ask but you already know the answer. He had taken her here to kill her, maybe under the guise of running away together, and now he has taken you here to kill you.

Coriolanus shrugs as if he doesn’t know and shoves the dress back in the bag.

“Whoever it belongs to is long gone.”

He continues to look through the bags for anything missing while you glance at the door.

You think about making a run for it. Surely you would have a better chance in the forest then against him. You feel your feet slowly turning in the direction of the door when his speaking interrupts you.

“I’ll take this junk outside.” he gathers the bags, slinging one over his shoulder and carrying the other two in his hands.

You don’t speak as he comes over to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, noticing your uptight demeanor.

“Fine. You?” Was he being driven to a quiet rage with thoughts of Lucy Gray?

“Perfect.”

He places a quick kiss to your lips before carrying the bags outside.

You look at the gun on the floor. If you ran now while he was busy outside it would give you a head start. Surely he would need to come back to get the gun before chasing you. He couldn’t do it with his bare hands.

You could feel his hands around your throat and knew he could.

You bolt through the door and down the old steps but run into him as he comes back up.

He had only taken to throwing the old bags by the side of the house, planning to sink them alongside of the guns in the lake at a later point.

“Whoa” he stops you with his hands, “Where are you going?”

“The bags. To get the bags out of the car.”

He looks out to the forest as if he had heard something.

“Get back inside. I’ll get them.”

You watch him from the window bring the items in. He was cautious and kept glancing at the forest.

You did not want to end up a ghost among the forest with Lucy Gray. You wanted to live. To go up to the mountains with Edmund and be shielded in his arms.

As Coriolanus finished his second trip with the bags, he used an old chair still there and pinned it under the door handle to prevent it from opening.

You promised yourself that you would make it to the mountains. Coriolanus would not kill you and bury your body next to Lucy Gray.

You felt as if you were in the Hunger Games.

You were going to be the victor.

Coriolanus looked unbothered by these thoughts as he tried to light a fire in the old stove.

He gets it going and as he puts his matches back in, he notices you still in a tense form.

“It’s only for tonight. We’ll go home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will we?” you spat. “Why are we here anyway?”

‘To kill me. Say it, you coward’, you thought.

“It’s quiet,’’ he suggests, “Some place quiet where we can be alone.”

“Is this where you took Lucy Gray?”

He slams a pan down on top of the hot surface.��

“I didn’t know Lucy Gray. I’ve told you.” He opens a pack of sausages and throws them down without care before tossing the leftover garlic potatoes you cooked the night before in as well.

“Did you bury her out here?” you push.

He ignores you. Pushing around a sausage with the knife he used to cut open the packet.

“Are you going to bury me out here?”

“I have never hurt you.”

“You starved me, hit me, nearly killed my mother. You call that not hurting me?”

You felt your blood boiling. It was one thing to make your life a living hell, it was another to deny he did it.

He drops the knife and turns to face you.

“Have you starved under me? Has your mother?” he hits his chest with his next words, “You eat because of me. You sleep in a bed that I paid for. I provide for you. Me.”

He stalks towards you causing you to stumble back. You hit a wall but feel a rusted piece of metal under your fingertips. You grab it from the desk but keep it low from his sight.

“Everything has happened to you because you strayed, and you want me to apologize for it?”

“I want you to admit to what you did.” What you are about to do, so I don’t feel guilty.

He grabs hold of the bar and pulls it from you.

“I did not kill Lucy Gray,” he said earnestly. But he wished he had.

He throws the rusted object across the room and it lands with a heavy clang.

“And I am not going to kill you. You don’t think you’ve done enough already to get yourself hanged? I protected you from that. Not Edmund.”

Your breath hitches as you hear his name.

The smell of burning and sounds of angry popping infiltrates the room. Coriolanus leaves you to deal with it. The sausages were charred on one side but raw on the other. After a quick flip, Coriolanus returned his attention to you.

“Sit on the ground, by my boots.’’

You eye your weapon on the other side of the room but he was stronger, faster, you would never get it and wield it in time. Night time would be the best chance of escape. The cabin had no lock on it, and you were sure you could make it to the mountains from here. But first you had to get Coriolanus off his guard. He still carried his cuffs with him. Escape would be impossible if you were locked in place.

So you sit on the ground and wrap yourself around his leg as he cooks.

He liked the feeling of you anchoring him. It made him feel secure.

He cooks in silence, tossing the items in the pan so they wouldn’t burn. Cutting a sausage in half, he could see it was done, but he had forgotten plates.

Instead he takes the pan off the stove and carefully sits down across from you on the floor. The pan sizzles as it is placed between you on the floor. It didn’t matter if it burnt the wooden floor. The cabin was so run down, it hardly made a difference. Coriolanus pokes a potato with his knife and brings it up to you.

He wouldn’t give you the knife after the pipe incident. You bite the hot potato off and Coriolanus had his turn.

You could tell the rocky temper was still floating around in him. He had calmed but his face still spoke of his annoyance. His necklace overlaid his shirt, your ring called out to you.

“Give me your dog tag.”

“What?” he responds.

“If you’re not going to kill me, then let me wear your necklace. I’ll give it back at the compound, but if you do kill me, you’ll be forced to wear your guilt around your neck.”

You wanted your ring back before you left him forever.

“I am not going to kill you.” he sighs, taking a bite of sausage.

“Then give me the necklace.”

You hold your hand out for it, which Coriolanus eyes.

Dropping the knife into the pan, he maneuvers the tag of his neck, bypassing your hand and dropping it over your head.

You felt the ring scratch you as it landed.

“Happy now? Will you stop acting crazy?”

You hold the pendants in your hand and nod in agreement

The rest of the night was uneventful. He sets up lamps as it darkens and teaches you a card game. You lost every round, even the ones he tried to let you win. It was a strategy game and you didn’t have the head for it.

The game only lasted an hour before you were helping Coriolanus set up the bed. He had brought along air beds from the Capitol that inflated and deflated by a push of a button. He pushes them together and you made a bed out of the queen sized bedwear from the apartment.

As he went to sleep with you wrapped safely in his arm, he thought about how he was going to get you to stay inside while he went searching the woods.

He couldn’t tell you what he was looking for or who he was looking for. Nor could he take you with him under the guise of a leisurely walk. If Lucy Gray was out there he didn’t want you anywhere near her. He knew there were four more other cabins in these woods. Just because she hadn’t come back for her mother’s dress, didn’t mean she wasn’t out there. If anything, if she was alive it would be the last place she went back to. She was smart, she would have known that Coriolanus would one day come back to find the mystery of Lucy Gray. She was probably trying to throw him off her scent.

You wiggle, pulling the blanket higher over you and it brings his attention closer to home.

Maybe he could lock you in the back of the car while he searched.

He decided he was going to do something nice for you after this. For putting you through it all. Get your measurements and commission Tigris for a new dress, perhaps. Or buy you a necklace of your own.

Maybe both. He had the money for it for the first time in his life. And he did owe you an apology and a thank you for being here with him tonight.

He could see how scared you were thinking that your protector was turning against you. After yesterday, he perhaps should have waited a day or two before taking you away. He at least should have been more gentle in the approach, so you didn’t think he would harm you for his anger towards Edmund.

Coriolanus understood him in a way that saved him from being shot. He was just looking out for you, the same way Coriolanus would have. He and Edmund both wanted to take care of you but your heart only had place for one. And that spot rightfully, and wholly belonged to Coriolanus Snow. Edmund did his job of keeping you alive for Coriolanus and he was rewarded when the bullet went behind him and not into his skull. But now it was Coriolanus’s turn and both Edmund and you needed to learn that.

Coriolanus mind slowed as you stilled beneath him.

You will yourself to be still. You count your breaths out to mime sleeping. Coriolanus’s hold on your shoulder falls as he sleeps but you don’t make a move just yet. Half-scared that he would wake when you got up.

It wasn’t until it started to pour rain that you decided to stop stalling and make a move.

Carefully you rose, and the chains of his arms fell off you. The rain pelting down covered the sound of the air mattress as you moved off it.

The rain, as it turns out, was a blessing and not a punishment.

You had left your boots and dress next to you for easy access. Stripping yourself of your nightdress, you quickly change and tie up your boots.

Coriolanus had taken to sleeping in his underpants, now that you weren’t in a position to indirectly persuade him to dress in his nightwear. He liked the feeling of skin to skin with you but you beg him to keep his t-shirt on. You hated the feeling of his skin pressed against yours. He obliged.

Your boots squeak against the old floor boards as you walk across it to the door. Causing you to wince at every step, but you do manage to reach the door without waking him.

You try to gently tug the chair from under the door but it was jammed. Turning back to see him still sleeping, you tug a bit harder, but only the door knob jiggles. You cringe as he moves slightly on his back. You would have a harder time escaping the compound than here. There were no armed guards or sniffing dogs. Just you and him, and you had a head start. You had to pluck up the courage now.

The chair scraps against the floor but you manage to get it free.

There is a second where nothing moves or makes sound. You almost think you got away scot-free.

“What are you doing?” You hear his voice and turn to see him sitting up dazed.

Your answer is the throwing open of the door and running out. You hear him jump up as you do.

He yanks on his Commander’s pants and boots, leaving the laces untied.

It was too late by the time he got out you were nowhere to be seen.

He felt his heart jump from his chest. This couldn’t be happening. It was just a bad dream that he would wake from. But the icy water pouring down on him told him that it was true. You had betrayed him like Lucy Gray.

Lucy Gray. What if she was out in the woods where you ran? She was the victor of the hunger games, you were a lost lamb. You wouldn’t stand a chance against her. She would tear you to shreds if she thought she could get back at Coriolanus.

He thinks about returning to the cabin and retrieving his gun but you were already too far out of reach.

He yells out for you.

The rain poured down soaking you to the bone, but covered your tracks as you ran.

“Y/N!” he screams. You battle the rain as you ran through the forest. Pushing yourself to go faster.

“Hey, it’s dangerous out here. Lets go back to the cabin. Talk about this.”

His wild eyes scan the area for any sign of movement. The rain hindered his vision but he could hear the faint sound of branches snapping under your foot.

“Do you honestly think you can run from me? That I won’t find you?”

You don’t answer and he screams out some more

“Y/N! Come out now! This isn’t funny!”

You stumble as your dress caught on a tree, it grazes your arm as you pull, leaving a nasty cut.

He screams loudly out of frustration. The rain seemed to slow down to a trickle as he did, as if it was also scared.

“You stupid, little girl” you can hear him as he walks, he was catching up. You couldn’t outrun him so you slowed your pace, focusing your efforts on hiding.

“When I catch you…” he doesn’t finish his sentence.

You press yourself against the tree. Your arm stung from the cut and your lungs burned from your efforts.

“Hey, who do you think will reach your mother first?” he taunts.

You knew it wouldn’t be him. She was safe in the mountains and soon you would be too.

“Y/N. That’s enough.”

You slink to the next tree and focus on quieting your breathing. His footsteps got louder as he gained ground.

“Y/N, I said that’s enough!” He picks up a large tree branch and walks forward with it.

“You’re going to get lost in the forest. There’s worse things than me out there.”

He imagined you wandering, lost amongst the trees. Lucy Gray, savage and wild, following you. You wouldn’t see her as a threat when she introduced herself. You were too sweet. You would willingly follow her back to wherever she was hiding and by the time you sense the danger of her, it would be too late.

He needed to find you. To make sure you were alright. That Lucy Gray hadn’t got her hands on the only pure thing in his life.

“Look it’s not too late. We can just forget this happened. Go back to the compound.” he offers but you knew it wasn’t true.

You hold your brother's ring in your hand and make an attempt to move forward.

You made it to the next tree but hear Coriolanus stop walking.

With the rain slowing, it was harder not to make a noise.

A loud banging spooked you as he threw the wood against the tree you were hiding behind. You knew you should have stayed still, he was only testing, but your feet took off before your mind could command them not too.

He felt better seeing you run off. You ran uninjured and with no one following you.

He takes off after you, determined not to lose sight again.

Both of you run through the forest and rain. You felt as though he might eat you alive if he caught you, but he was faster. All too soon, you feel hands on your waist, pulling you down. You scream as you sink into the mud, trashing under his weight.

He sits on your thighs and keeps your hands pinned against the dirt floor.

“What were you thinking?” He spat. You had never seen him look so upset. His face scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, his eyes looked down at you in a crazy panic.

“How could you be so stupid?”

You toss under him, screaming at him to release you.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

You kick your feet in an attempt to buck him off, but he was too heavy.

“Shut up,” he grabs your jaw and stills it in his direction, “You stupid, stubborn, fool of a girl. What was your plan? Huh? Wander around the forest and hope you make it back to District 12?”

You don’t answer and he tightens his hold.

“It was foolish. What if something got you in the forest?’’

What if Lucy Gray got you in the forest.

“Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?”

“I don’t care,” you cry.

“You don’t care?” he says, astonished.

He sits back off you and pulls you up by your arms.

“When you were hungry, I cared.” he pulled you along back to the cabin.

“When you didn’t have money for rent, I cared.” You wriggle your arm, but his hold was too tight.

“Clothes for the winter, medicine for your mother. I cared. And what do I get for it?”

You latch yourself onto a tree. It grounds you as he tries to tug you off it.

“All I ever wanted from you was for you to care.”

He yanks you off the tree and shoves you forward.

“You would think after everything, I would be entitled to it.”

“Coriolanus, please let go of me.” you buck against him.

He tightens his hold, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground.

He throws you across the floor as you reenter the cabin, going to get his cuffs from his bag. You scramble away from him as he gets closer but he stands over you, trapping your wrist in the cuff and hooking it around the leg of the oven and then trapping your wrists.

He stood back over you.

“Look at you,” he spat, “You wouldn’t have lasted the night out there.”

The cut on your arm bleed down, your hair was tangled with twigs and mud. You looked pitiful.

“Let me go, Coriolanus. I won’t tell anyone.”

He lowers himself down to the ground, placing his knees either side of you. He places the weight of him on your legs. You hated the feeling, as now you were fully immobilized.

He speaks slowly and dangerously with your face in his hands.

“If you ever try to leave me again, there will be nothing you could do that would save Edmund”.

Do you understand?”

You nod, but it seemed to anger him.

“I asked if you understood,” he yells.

“Yes. Yes. I understand.”

“How stupid could you be? So worried about me killing you, you decide to do it yourself.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” you just wanted him to get off you. His weight was crushing.

“I doubt you’ve ever thought something useful in your life. Use to everybody else doing it for you.”

His hands tangle in your hair forcing you to keep still.

“I’ll do your thinking for you from now on. Your next independent thought, I’ll smash from your skull, understand?”

“Yes.” you cry. The night proved too much for you. The hope of getting away now crushed under his foot.

Your chest heaves with sobs. The panic of being a sitting duck waiting to be killed courses through you, it was a choking sensation.

He takes his wet form off of you and towards the door.

The night was getting to him too. He felt as if history was repeating itself. Back in the forest with little control.

He goes to the side of the house where the bags layed and stuffed them with as many heavy rocks as he could find.

They were heavy as he picked them back up and takes the old boat out to the middle of the lake. The bags sink easily with the rocks, and join the guns at the bottom. His past was officially buried. He now only had the future to look forward to. A future with him as President of Panem, and you by his side.

He rows the boat back to shore. The rain soaked him again and his shirt clung uncomfortably on his skin. It sticks the cold to his chest and his mind floats back to you inside. You were sure to catch a cold if he didn’t move fast.

Entering the house, he could see he was correct from the way your body shivered.

Wiping off the water from his face with his soaked shirt, he goes to his bag and pulls out a fresh shirt for himself. He could still hear you crying as he changed into dry shirt and underpants.

He takes one of his long sleeve off-duty button ups and a towel he wanted to be used from swimming in the lake and brings them over to you.

He had brought you a spare change of clothes but after tonight he felt like he needed the extra security and you needed a extra reminder.

You flinch as he drops down on his knees.

“I am going to uncuff you so you can change.”

You sniffle and he takes it as confirmation to move. With your hands unlocked, you battle with Coriolanus over your clothes. He grasps the end of your dress, beginning to hike it up but you push down the fabric.

“I can-” you manage.

“I do the thinking for you, remember.”

You don’t fight as he yanks the wet dress over you, throwing it behind him carelessly. He keeps his eyes as forward as he can as he slides the sleeves up your arms. Only looking down as he does up the buttons. It was oddly gentlemanly and you wonder if he did it for his sake or yours.

“Stop,” you beg, as you feel his fingers hook over the elastic of your underwear. He doesn’t, going as far as to help you put on a fresh pair. He cuffs you once more to the oven before bringing one of the blankets and pillows back over.

He lays the blanket over you without a word and props the pillow under your head before returning to makeshift bed.

He lays on his side away from you, but you gather he doesn’t sleep, as an hour or so later he brings his pillow and blanket and curls up against your side.

He gets his rest, but you are left in a state of shock that hinders your sleep.

————-

Early the next morning you woke from the sound of Coriolanus stomping in the kitchen. He was eating beef jerky for breakfast. You wake with the sight of him leaning back against the wood counter, towards you. You try to sit up as much as you can while being tied down.

Looking at the food, your stomach grumbles.

“Hungry?” he asks.

You nod in hope that mercy would be given to you.

None was.

“Imagine how hungry you would be lost in the woods.”

“I would have made it back.” you contend.

He strips off another piece as he answers, “You would be dead if I didn’t find you.”

He throws the packet on the counter. It sits unbalanced on the side.

“Are we going home?” You saw the bags were neatly packed in a pile and you thought calling the compound ‘home’ might earn you some beef jerky.

“I have something I have to do. We’ll be back by this afternoon.”

“What do you have to do?”

“None of your business.” he snaps.

The conversation ended as he walks over to the bags and picked up his gun that was resting against them.

You watch him, dressed down in his white t-shirt and army pants, as he swings his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back soon.” he comments, half way out the door.

He walks through the forest at a slow pace. Careful not to miss the smallest bit of detail.

Retracing the steps of that day, he makes it to where he was bitten by the snake.

Time had overtaken the hunting ground. There was now grass where the earth once was.The branches and trees had healed from the damage done.

He eyes the place where he attempted to shoot Lucy Gray and aims his gun like he did.

He half-expected to see her in the space waiting for him, but it was just ground again. No clues were left for him to find.

There was no rotten smell overtaking his nose. No scrap of clothing left for him to find, or anything to indicate human life had been moving through the forest.

He continues to walk through.

The mockingjays squawk above him. If he was a better shot, he would have taken the time to kill at least some of them. But you would hear the gunfire and panic.

With no sign of Lucy Gray, he continues his way up to the other cabins. He searches each one but they look untouched and run down. The heat of the sun beats down on him as he makes his way back. It was early afternoon by the time he had satisfied himself that Lucy Gray was nowhere in the woods. She could have made it back to District 12, but it was unlikely. He kept tabs on the Covey for months after he got back. He surely would have known if they were hiding her. She must have gone north like planned. He wondered if she made it, or if her body is now one with the earth.

Either way, she was gone and Coriolanus could shake her from his memory.

When he returned back to the cabin, you were busy yanking on your chains.

He presses the point of the gun into your ankle, pinning it against the floor. You don’t try moving under threat. He slides the gun slowly up your leg, over your calf, over your knee, inching up to the middle of your thigh under his shirt. You pulled against your chains, but don't verbally acknowledge you were scared.

“Open your legs wider.” he demands. Instead you squeeze your thighs tighter together.

He pushes the gun with more force against you.

“I am in a very good mood. You would hate to ruin that wouldn’t you?”

Deciding you would, you separate your legs. He nestles himself between you, pulling you closer by your thighs so your legs are past his hips.

Thankfully the gun settles on the floor.

“I think we should talk about last night.”

You shake your head no and he gives you a serious look.

“Every time I give you an inch, you take a mile.”

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“I have been nothing but patient and kind to you.”

You wanted to laugh at him but forced it down. It was not too late for you to end up dead in the forest.

“I know, Coriolanus. And I am sorry. It’s just no one has ever cared for me like this before”.

He laughs gently at you, “You’re trying at least.”

“It scared me. But if you give me another chance, I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

He lays his body down on yours, keeping his weight off you by planking on his elbows.

“You can have as many chances as it takes.” he promises, softly.

“Just one more.” you return in the same small voice.

He kisses you as if you had earnestly promised to live up to his expectations.

But really what you promised is that you would allow yourself one more chance of escape before he made good on his promise to kill your mother and Edmund. If you lead to their death, then you would follow them shortly after.

---------------------------

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@someonefromwutheringheights

#fic rec #fic recs #I see Coriolanus Snow I click instantly #but this was beyond my expectations

256 notes · View notes

purriteen · 2 months

Note

oh my fucking god, I did not know I needed this but I’m such a sucker for mean/patronising Coryo 🫣 thank you for feeding us 🙏🏻

i’m thinking about modern!coryo again… ‘n the way he’d just love humiliating you. when you’ve been particularly bratty (let’s be real, any time you tell him no he thinks you’re being defiant… no matter the circumstances), he loves to shove your face into the mattress so your ass is facing him, and grip your hips, teasing his cock against your entrance until you’re whining and begging for him to fuck you. but he doesn’t! he just lets his cock slap against your clit and tease your slick hole until you’re soaking your panties. his favourite thing though, is filming you take his cock, because even though he’d never let anybody see the videos (besides maybe his friends), he gets off on the way you’re whining for him to put the phone away as he fills you up, pearly cum sliding down your soft thighs. but he won’t, because he just loves the way you’re absolutely humiliated at the thought of somebody seeing how much of a whore you are for him

CW: anal, sejanus mention (throuple au tease), typical coryo type warnings, yandere/possessive & obsessive behavior, gn reader but there is feminization (reader calls themselves a "good girl", coryo calls your pussy "sweet girl" & assigns it she/her pronouns), blood (coryo has a fantasy of you tearing), accidental slight pet play/dumbification, my modern coryo's typical inability to understand/care about poor(er) people, the ending is inspired by ghostface's finishing move in dbd, implied plus sized reader (who's afab) he loves you really.

So true, you could do something as small as say “i want to be alone in the bathroom for 5 minutes” and he’d lose his shit. Something about that arrogant rich boy behavior turned up to 100 because he’s inherently a psycho….. like he loves you deeply but wdym his prized possession has a mind of their own (if you just decided to do everything he wants, he’d support you making your own decisions). His whole vibe was being untouchable and unavailable but now it’s coming apart. Like do you know how much he planned to hoe around when his family inevitably made him get married??? But now you’ve fucked it all up and made him feel like he’s constantly writhing around in every circle of hell fr.

So yeah, he can’t take it if he feels like you aren’t “putting in as much effort” as he is. And i don’t mean that he’d be pissed if you’re not cooking or cleaning, i mean that he’d be peeved if you weren’t matching his energy (batshit balls to wall insane). He’ll do a little cute open palm wave like “Hi, baby 🥰” when you look at him over your shoulder with tears in your eyes. King of false sympathy with all the cooing and mocking your facial expression (which you wouldn’t even have to make if you were behaving). His weird ass is completely naked even though he made you keep your clothes on, and he tore a hole in your leggings with his teeth for easy access.

He’ll put his dick in between your ass cheeks and fuck you like that until the sheets are soaked because you got so desperate (you nearly pissed yourself). He’ll press the head against your asshole and see how deep he can get before you realize that he’s using the wrong whole. Sometimes he wishes that he’d tug his cock from your hole to find the whole thing covered in blood. If you catch on him, he’ll just say that it was an accident. But to be real, you knew immediately. It just gets you hot watching him go on his little power trips. The pleasure of letting your rabid dog off of his leash but he thinks it’s his idea does something to you that you’re currently ignoring.

The iPhone camera you can see from the standing mirror by your bed doesn’t exactly catch you off guard. Coryo’s got a fair few videos of you getting backshots in his family’s limo and even more of him devouring your pussy anytime and anywhere he pleases. Your stomach rolls with shame but your pussy clenches in arousal. A big part of being able to handle being his s/o means having the ability to straddle the line between calling his bluff and baring your neck in submission. So you just whine pleadingly and let your head fall forward onto the pillow.

You'd never admit that there are times where you'd be perfectly happy if your ass was all he fucked; that on mornings when the sunlight beams down on you as Coryo pushes the velvet curtains from the large penthouse windows and all you can see out of the eye that's not smothered in the pillow is your boyfriend in a pair of gray sweatpants, you feel feral with the need to swallow his cock all the way to the base and lie there forever.

A "love tap" to your clit brings you out of your thirsting. When all you do is gasp, you receive a firmer strike.

"Don't tell me you're already out of it? Did I make my smart baby all stupid already?"

"Hngh~ Uh huh, don't stop..." You beg, the carefully maintained image of the prim and proper perfect student crumbling under his touch.

Your need to be praised and to have male approval can really be a curse sometimes, because outside of the bedroom you don't let yourself be as willing of a kept pet as Coryo wants. But as soon as you're alone, you gratefully sink into the safe space he creates for you where you can just... let go and have someone else think for you for a change.

It feels like bolts of electricity go through you when two of his fingers start to trace letters on your pussy lips. It makes you think of his family crest branded on the gates of their mansions.

C-O-R-I-O-L-A-N-U-S S-N-O-W, pinching your clit after every letter. (training)

"That's okay, I like you dumb anyway. Can't use that big brain to think about anything else but me when I get this dick in you." He says and wags it in his hands at you like it's a treat.

The bed creaks as he sits back on his heels, and like a good girl you parts your legs as far as they can go.

Welcome Home.

The heavy weight of his palms clutching your hips calms any lingering anxiety, his nails bite into your flesh but you know he'll be licking and nuzzling the marks soothingly later. He's told you how beautiful you are in the beginning, that he relishes in the way you give up all tension to him with a sigh; that one of his favorite versions of you is the you that shuts down. Has him feeling like the "family man" he always vowed to never turn into.

"Now, you know the drill, take a deep breath..." He pants, somehow already pussy drunk, "It's going to be a tight fit, dove."

His grip tightens as he feeds his tip to your clenching hole, you soak in the mutters of 'aw, I missed you too, sweet girl.' You know he wasn't talking to you.

Your breath hitches when you start taking him past the tip, and like always, Coryo wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and massages it to distract you from the inevitable sting of pain. It'll always be there no matter how much of a mess he's made of your cunt.

"That's my dumb bunny, biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig stretch." He grunts, dragging his words out when the thickest part of his cock comes to greet you.

You moan when he takes his other hand off of your hip to reach it around and rub your twitching clit. More juices drip from your hole, making the remaining inches slide in a lot easier.

You hear shuffling and the bed creaks as Coryo leans over to grab something off the nightstand. He quickly finds what he's looking for and settles back into position behind you. He gropes one of your ass cheeks and gives it a couple long squeezes before he jiggles it, letting out a low whistle when he does it again.

You mewl impatiently, clenching your pussy around his long cock. He doesn't give you what you want, however, until almost a minute later. He jostles his hips against your ass, showing off for the camera that's focused down on where the two of you are connected.

Coryo's head shoots up when he hears you sniffle, and even though he could tease about how much of a needy whore you are, you're HIS needy whore so he only smiles.

"Alright, alright. 'M sorry, petal, I know your pussy's gagging for this dick. I'll give her what she wants, don't you worry."

Your mouth falls open on a silent moan as he leisurely drags his length out of you until the tip catches on your entrance; being forced to be broken down and rebuilt around it until you both turn to ash. He has never wanted anything more than he wants you to somehow grow to only survive of his own body. His blood would be your water, his very dna would be your floss, his bone marrow would soothe your raw throat, his organs would be your snacks, his bones would be your jewelry, his teeth would be your little trinkets, and his surrounding flesh would be your every meal until you could eat no more.

You have no idea how much of your boyfriend's time has been spent making sure he tastes delectable, in every way.

Like those people from Pompei who are forever immortalized in the arms of their lover, chained to the passage of time but the eyes that dust them off are the only things about them that change.

You made him watch Titanic once, saying that your MasterChef binge could be paused for a night. He huffed but complied, and gun to his head, he wiped his tears on the arm of the couch before you could notice that he was crying. Rose could've done a little more to help Jack in his opinion (they both could have fit on the wood), he'd have never just let you go like that. But there was something in the way all they really had in the world was each other, in how calm the old couple was as the water creeped into their room; because they were together, and to Coryo, death after a very very long and happy life is an experience that's meant to be shared (no matter the circumstances).

His body has been moving on autopilot during his usual mid-sex spiral monologue. There's ringing in his ears as he tunes back into your hiccup-y whines and high-pitched moans (he loved when you stopped being so fucking shy). His thrusts had gradually sped up until they were at the speed they were now, your bodies now making wet smacking sounds as his dick pulverizes your pussy. He had been so lost in thought that he nearly dropped his phone, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was still recording.

He removes his death grip on your ass cheek to slap your swaying tits one after the other. He can never resist showing love to the chub of your tummy either, so he hits that too.

"Yeah, you like that, bunny?" He sneers, tonguing your ear and gnawing at the lobe as the excess saliva trickles down the valley of your breasts.

It's a rhetorical question, of course you do.

But you answer, using your words like he often "urges" you to.

"Like it so much, Coryo.... fuck!"

His thrusts become even faster, and he gathers as much of your hair in his hand as possible. Your moans cut off into a gasp as he wrenches your head up off the pillow by your hair, bringing the phone around to put your tear-stained face into frame.

You're helpless to do anything but take every inch he slams inside your puffy cunt, which will no doubt be sore and red by the time Coryo's done with his latest fit. He bends down to whisper in your ear about braindead you look, sobbing with your eyes glazed over and your mouth gaping.

"Shh, that's it, keep going baby. It's all about you, these'll just be fun memories so I can have little parts of you forever, so you could never really leave me."

You never look away from the camera though, and he's suddenly overcome with so much gratitude that he uses his grip on your hair to bring you into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss; your tongues making it so wet you'd think he'd been eating your pussy nonstop with how soaked the lower half of his face gets.

He doesn't let you pull away, the impulsive french kissing only ends so he can lean his head against yours and get into the shot with you. He's smiling so warmly like you're taking a selfie on one of your numerous vacations, but his hips never stop their rough assault on your already thoroughly debauched pussy. Coryo tightens his hold on your hair and pecks your round cheek when you whimper due to the sting.

"Smile, petal."

The videos are kept in a locked folder on his phone titled “💍💒", and while he threatens to show his friends (in actuality he’d only show sejanus in some version of this au where he’s trying to force him into a throuple), he’ll apologize with his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipples once he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. If you’re really upset, he’ll offer to make up to you on his father’s yacht in Greece. (he has your bags packed already)

talonplague 2024. request rules. please consider tipping/reblogging if you enjoyed!

#modern coryo has my heart #him in general actually

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purriteen · 2 months

Text

his chest. lord have mercy

he is so fucking handsome

rumors that i imagined this cord hitting me in the face

#going feral #why are men allowed to be so slutty without repercussions??#not complaining tho

478 notes · View notes

purriteen · 2 months

Text

okayy the vast majority voted for the first option so that’s what I’ll be prioritising 🤭 might split it into two parts but hopefully that won’t delay the release of at least the first half too much <3

some upcoming longer one-shots I’m working on;

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

dulce puella malum est - young politician!Coriolanus Snow x socialite!reader

synopsis: a handsome young congressman catches your eye. after your one-night stand, your paths soon cross once more and it turns out he holds more power over your future than you thought.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

lupus dentis, taurus cornis - peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x district 8!reader x peacekeeper!Sejanus Plinth

synopsis: alternate AU in which Coriolanus is sent to district 8, where he finds himself falling for a different girl. when he finds that he’s unable to work his charms on her, he sends in his equally lovesick friend, Sejanus.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

corruptio optimi pessima - peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x district!herbalist!reader

synopsis: shortly after being stationed in twelve, Coriolanus Snow finds himself slipping into old habits. anything Sejanus has that he doesn't, he must have. the girl his friend just started seeing is no different.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

oh my god someone take my Latin dictionary away from me this is actually not ok!!

#tbosas fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth x reader #dark!sejanus plinth x reader #will contain shameless smut

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purriteen · 2 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 11

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 11 Warnings:

The blackest of mails, like vanta-blackmail lolol

Replay Level 10

Ready? Level 11 Start:

Acacius Innis runs his fingers through his hair as soon as you finish telling your story.

You had just told him everything that transpired that day, save your mentor’s…gestures of affection. You ensured that he heard only what he needed to know: about his program being seized by the Citadel, you being promoted – perhaps so you could be kept under further surveillance – and about how you had said a few scornful words to Coriolanus Snow that you’re aware may bite you back in the ass.

Your uncle never spoke a word the entire time and chose to lend his ear instead.

He sighs, slaps his knees lightly and gets up from the couch, muttering to himself, ‘I’m getting a little too old for this.’

He saunters to the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with two steaming mugs in either hand. He places one on the coffee table, and the other he makes you cup with both hands. He then encases your hands in his as he kneels before you.

Mmm. Hot chocolate. Almost as comforting as your uncle’s presence.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all this,” he says in the most contrite expression you’ve seen on him. “I want you to know that I tried, I really did.”

But he has nothing to apologise for; he never has. “You led me to the Citadel that day, didn’t you?”

He lifts a corner of his mouth wanly. “I wanted you to see for yourself what kind of man you were dealing with. Looking back now, I wish I could’ve done more. I could’ve done so much more, Nellie.”

“No, uncle, you did everything you could. You always do. I couldn’t have asked for anything else,” you assure him. Your uncle has never failed you, but you have failed him time and again, and this is one of those instances. “I know you tried helping me without making it look like you were mollycoddling me.”

He tilts his head in agreement as he chuckles a little. “Yeah, well, you were always yapping about how you were ‘adult enough’ to handle things on your own,” he says fondly. “You were always independent, even when you were a little girl.”

Your tears have already abated back at the dumpster, but this time, they come back with an even more brutal force.

“I know…The truth is, uncle, I don’t think I can this time…I can’t do this anymore…” you choke on your own tears as your grip on the mug shakes.

“Hey, hey,” he says, putting down your mug on the coffee table. He cups your cheeks to wipe the tears away. “The fuck you can’t. You’re the bravest girl I know, Nellie. Now, I made a promise to your dad that I will look after you. And I will, until the day I die, plumcake.”

His expression turns sombre as he stands, running his fingers through his greying hair.

“That’s why I’m sending you to District 3.”

You whip your head up sharply at him.

“What?” Why does it sound like he’s sending you alone? “You’re coming with, right? Uncle, you have to.”

“I can’t. I have to stay here.”

“Why?”

He sighs deeply as he takes his seat back on the sofa. “It’s much more complicated for me, plumcake. I’ll tell you some other time,” he adds, seeing the look of protest on your face. “Right now, it’s important that we get you there without anyone finding out. I can send the message to your aunt tonight. Listen to me carefully:

“You need to pack lightly, and we need to get to the earliest train leaving straight for District 3. That’s at five in the morning. Your aunt will pick you up when you get there, and she’ll set you up somewhere they can’t trace you.”

Uncle Cas leans forward and threads his fingers together in contemplation. Once again, the lines on his face and the bags under his eyes become more apparent. You worry that if you go, he’ll be left to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

“What if they, or he, think you helped me escape? Why can’t you come with me instead?”

“Then we make it look like you simply ran away,” Uncle Cas says casually. “You can even leave a note and shit. And don’t worry about me. Your uncle is a lot tougher than he looks.”

He flashes you a reassuring smile, before adding, “I will follow when I can, plumcake. Okay?”

But he says it in this tone that he uses on you when he’s hiding something, and he just wants you to let go of the matter. However, you are also well aware that if you don’t leave tomorrow for District 3, there is a chance you may never leave the Capitol again.

So you nod and begin stuffing your bag with essentials. You had to ensure it was an easy thing to grab if you ever needed to be quick on your feet. You pause when you get to the bookshelf. Your eyes immediately land on the far end of the arithmetic textbooks you’ve collected over the years:

Sejanus’s book of condensed romantic novels.

If you’re going to spend an indefinite amount of time to yourself hiding like an outlaw, you might as well take something of Sejanus with you. You grab the book and hide it among the clothes you packed.

You barely get any sleep in the next hours counting to four thirty, and when your uncle knocks on your bedroom door, you’re ready to go in ten seconds.

Your uncle manages to drive you himself to the train station without drawing attention, but as a precaution, he drops you off a few blocks away from the station building. Before you exit the car, he gives you his final instructions.

“I can’t be seen with you inside the station, and that building has cameras inside and out, so you’ll have to walk all the way there, I’m afraid. Just in case, I will park outside and wait; that way, if they ask, I’ll tell them you ran away and I’m looking for you. Got it?”

You nod once and gulp. This can’t be the last time you’ll see him in a long while, right? Nonetheless, you give him the tightest hug you can muster.

“Uncle, please be careful, okay? Video-call me write to me, or whatever, please?” you implore. You try to hold in the tears threatening to burst, but it’s getting close to impossible.

“I’ll be fine, plumcake, and yes, I’ll call every day if I can. Don’t cry now, you’ll be fine,” he whispers, patting your back and then pulling away, ruffling your hair as he urges, “Now, go. I’ll feel a lot better when you’re with your aunt.”

As you step out of the car, you glance behind you one more time just as your uncle drives off to a corner and out of sight. You wipe away any tears in your eyes and on your cheeks, adjust your bag, and walk as briskly as you can to the train station.

You keep a straight face as you go through the iris scanning at the peacekeeper station. The peacekeeper waves you forward once it’s finished and even gives you a polite salute, and your shoulders sag in relief once you’re several feet away. The ticketing booths are almost empty save for a few lone would-be passengers. The waiting area looks even more sparse. Only the freight section, located on the other side of the building, seems to be seeing any action, with the porters busy fork lifting large wooden crates to and from the freight carriages.

By the time you walk up to a booth, there is no one else on the line, so you ask the ticket agent for an express to District 3. You hand her the money in exchange for the ticket and casually proceed to the waiting area. You sigh as you sit and put down your bag. Filled with unease, which you guess will only abate when you’re inside a carriage, with the train moving as fast as it can all the way to District 3 where your aunt would be waiting, you check your watch every five minutes.

Ten-minute mark. Only ten minutes more and you’ll never see Coriolanus Snow ever again.

You almost jump as you feel a tap on the shoulder from behind. You turn to find the same peacekeeper who saluted you at the station, peering at you sheepishly.

“I’m sorry to bother, Miss Innis – I received the word late, you see – but my commander would like to have a word with you in his office. Please follow me,” he says.

If you had no reason to worry a while back, you have now.

Without causing a fuss, you follow the peacekeeper, who leads you to a closed office door on the station building’s second floor. He knocks twice and opens the door for you when he hears a voice call ‘come in.’

The door reveals a spacious office littered with desks that are currently empty, save the one at the far end occupied by another peacekeeper in his fifties scribbling something on paper and, right before the desk, sitting with his arms crossed and his face unreadable, someone else who isn’t supposed to be there.

“Uncle Cas?...”

He shakes his head once and gives you a look he hasn’t used on you in a long time:

Don’t ask.

You will your heart to stop pounding. This must just be protocol, right? They must’ve gotten a little more strict with district travel these days.

The peacekeeper at the desk, a commander judging by his uniform, smiles at you exasperatedly.

“Ah, there she is, your little runaway. You gave your uncle quite the scare, young lady,” he says, clicking his tongue after. “I found your uncle lurking in his car, saying he’s looking for you.”

“Commander Moss. You’ve met my niece before, I’m glad you found her,” he pretends to send you a disapproving look. You wipe the confused expression off your face. Showing any more could mean trouble.

“Yes, certainly we did. I don’t know who revoked her inter-district travel pass, but whoever did it, did it just in time.”

Oh no.

Commander Moss gets to his feet and announces, “Very well! Now that I’ve got the two of you here, I can now proceed with the real reason you were brought here.”

“Oh?” your uncle merely puts on an air of curiosity, but your instincts are telling you there’s something amiss.

The commander exhales as he paces behind his desk “Acacuis, there is no easy way of putting this, but the truth is, we were told a few hours ago to be on the lookout for both of you.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Coriolanus got to them first.

Uncle Cas, however, maintains a curious facade. “Huh. Would you happen to know why?”

Commander Moss grimaces. “I’m afraid not, I’m sorry. And that’s not all,” he pauses as he scratches his temple with a finger, clearly uncomfortable with the information. “Aside from being told of your niece’s inter-district travel privileges being rescinded, I was also ordered to escort the two of you to the Citadel.”

Your Uncle Cas, ever the calm one, shrugs and says, “Alright. I wonder what it could be. In any case, Hubertus, we are at your disposal.” He takes to his feet, and you follow.

“I appreciate your cooperation. Part of our instructions was to keep this...matter as discreet as possible; this makes it a lot easier for all of us. I’ll drive you there myself; please follow me.”

The ride is quiet, and your attempts at getting your uncle’s attention are all but ignored, with him refusing to meet your eyes the entire drive to the Citadel.

As soon as you’re inside the building, you and your uncle are flanked by three peacekeepers each – one of them even confiscates your bag – and escorted to the elevator, dropping you off on a floor you’ve never been in. Before he’s pulled away by his escorts, your uncle tells you with a collected smile, “Everything is going to be okay, Nellie.”

Again with that tone.

They bring you to what seems to be an interrogation cell, dimly lit and empty except for what you suspect is a two-way mirror covered by blinds, and a table at the centre fitted with handcuffs. You don’t struggle when they place the cuffs around your wrists, but you keep asking them questions – where they took your uncle, why they’re keeping you here – all of which go unanswered. With nothing else to do except wait, you stare at the clock above the two-way mirror.

Five fifteen. The train would’ve already left, and along with it, your chance at leaving all this behind.

You were so close.

You rest your forehead on your arm and close your eyes, if only to hinder the incoming headache.

You’re jerked awake at the sound of the door closing and the footsteps that reverberate in the tiny space. As if this day can’t get any worse this early, a voice you had hoped you’d never hear again invades the space.

“Nellie. I came as soon as I could,” Coriolanus Snow flashes you a grin from across the table, with a hand inside his usual crisp, clean pantsuit pocket, the other clutching the leather briefcase he always brings to work.

He looks almost normal, smiling at you warmly like last night didn’t happen. That smile of his just raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, especially after our little rift last night,” he says with a tilt of his head, his eyes unblinking and never leaving yours. “I want you to know that I will do everything I can to help you with this...matter at hand.”

You spare a glance at the clock. Just six twenty-five.

“I’ve been here for almost two hours. What ‘matter’ are we talking about here? What is going on? Where’s my uncle?”

Coriolanus just tuts. “That, and more, is what I came here to discuss. All in good time, sugarplum.”

He takes the seat facing you, takes a folder out of his briefcase and places it on the desk. He pushes it towards you, and motions to it, saying, “Open it and read.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you comply much as your cuffs allow you to and gape openly at the contents of the folder.

A photo of a young Acacius Innis in his early twenties, wearing tattered, dirty overalls and in the middle of lighting a cigarette, is paper clipped at the corner of the first page, and under the usual label ‘Classified,’ his name, family history, and background – some of which you already know, some of which redacted and crossed out completely in black ink.

You blink twice at the section named 'Criminal Background Synopsis.'

Criminal Category: Rebel, Class A

Code Name: The Confectioner

Criminal status: AT LARGE

Known criminal organisations: The Unresistance

The list goes on with names of your uncle’s presumed ‘criminal associates’ for two more pages, most of which are redacted and none that you recognise. The next page is a chart containing the organisation’s member hierarchy, and you check at the bottom for your uncle’s name, only to find it isn’t there. Scanning carefully once more, your eyes land at the very top.

There it is: Acacius E. Innis, President/Leader.

To say you’re shocked is beyond an understatement.

Coriolanus doesn’t bother hiding the mirth in his eyes at your reaction. He begins lightly, “You see, I’ve been acquainting myself with your family history, and I uncovered a lot of interesting facts.”

This can’t be right. Your uncle openly discusses his disdain of the government around you, but a rebel? And a leader of a rebellious front, to boot?

The third page is a scanned photo of the group’s sigil: a raven perched on an olive branch, with the Latin phrase ‘In Tenebris’ in all caps at the bottom.

“It means ‘In the Shadows,’” he explains. “The Unresistance was an elite resistance group made up of smart, highly competent people from all over Panem. As their motto suggests, this group takes the battle behind the scenes instead of the frontlines. They held respectable positions in society: company shareholders, factory owners, teachers, doctors, and many other specialists; some of them still do, to this day. They infiltrated government institutions using their intellect and ability to blend seamlessly within their workplace. They were a network of formidable spies who gathered and traded intelligence for and with other rebellious groups. Intelligence reports say they were smart to disband as soon as the war broke out. They simply vanished, using their positions and money to bury evidence against them.”

Uncle Cas is a spy? He most definitely has the aptitude for it. But if this holds any truth, why hasn’t he been prosecuted, especially with all this evidence?

Coriolanus answers this as if he just read your mind. “In your uncle’s case, he was pardoned by President Ravenstill in exchange for his loyalty and his services to the Capitol. Your uncle was given immunity with the condition that he never engages with anything considered to be subversive to Capitol authority.”

He leans forward with his fingers laced on the desk.

“Your uncle accepted the deal right after your parents died. Do you know what that means, Nellie?” He asks softly.

“He moved to the Capitol for me.”

Acacius Innis gave up on his ideals to raise his dead brother’s daughter all by himself. What if you caused his divorce, too? Are you about to be responsible for his hanging, as well?

“As touching as that may be,” Coriolanus interrupts your train of thought. “The fact remains: your letters to Sejanus were never monitored and were never sent through the official communications channels. This is evidence that your uncle was, or still is, in contact with them, therefore violating the conditions of his pardon.

“Now, imagine if someone gets ahold of this intel. If someone sends word to the president.” He finishes his speech with a smug expression, knowing he has the upper hand.

This makes you wonder: when has he not had the upper hand?

“By ‘someone,’ you mean you,” you scoff. “Did you revoke my inter-district pass, too?”

“It’s the protocol for a person of interest.”

“What is there for you to gain from all of this? You got your stupid program; it’s now official Citadel property. And if this is about the things I said last night, forget it: I’m not taking them back, and I’m not apologising.”

Coriolanus just lets out this sardonic hum, his smirk growing ever wider. “Did your uncle ever tell you about what happened during our meeting at Strabo’s home?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you recall that night. Your uncle had been so mad about it but had refused to disclose anything.

“That business proposal was supposed to bring the Snows, the Innises, and the Plinths great benefit. An arrangement to join our families together by way of marriage...”

He drums his fingers on the table while you digest, with much difficulty, what he just unveiled.

“You and I, Nellie.”

No. No, it can’t be.

“Who’s idea was that?” You ask in a hushed tone. It’s Strabo or Ma. It has to be.

“It was mine.”

Fuck.

“I pitched it to Strabo, and he agreed with it,” he goes on. “Enthusiastically, in fact. He was eager to pitch it to Acacius Innis, but no surprises here: your uncle blatantly refused. He said he’s giving you free rein on your life, and that if you were to get married, he wanted it to be of your own volition. Sweet, but from that day on, I knew he’d get in my way.”

“So this – all of this – it’s not about the program anymore...”

“Finally,” he praises. “It took you a while longer than I thought. Sure, it was my task to secure for the Citadel this vital piece of intellectual property, but...”

What is the end goal of the game? Uncle Cas’s voice echoes in your head.

“My end goal was you.”

Coriolanus bares his teeth in a wicked grin, taking obvious pleasure at the way your breathing evidently shallows. You fight the bile rising to your throat and dig your fingernails into your palms since there’s absolutely nothing else you can do.

“It still is, in fact. So you hurt me a little when you insinuated last night that my feelings weren’t true, but that doesn’t matter. You were angry and I can see why. You wanted to protect your uncle’s work, and you simply lashed out when you couldn’t.”

He reaches from across the table to unfurl your fingers and hold your hands. Not exactly the most romantic thing, what with you in handcuffs and unable to swat his hand away.

“That’s why I came here,” he says. He draws circles on the back of your hand with his thumb as he continues, “I understand your actions and I’m willing to help you. I can fix all of this.”

“Don’t you mean to say you’re going to blackmail me again?”

Coriolanus’s grip on you tightens by a fraction. His initial warmth vanishes as he lets go of your hands and abruptly gets to his feet, his jaw tensing and his shoulders drawn back. With him gripping the edge of the table, he leans into your space.

“Let’s not argue semantics here, sugarplum. You are wearing out my patience,” he hisses. “I tried earning your trust so I could do this the right way: court you, bide my time, and then propose... Remember that you forced my hand in this.”

He flips the folder to its final page and pins it with his forefinger. “This is a report I drafted to formally inform Ravenstill of your uncle’s backslide.”

The leer on his face turns diabolical as he lays down his ultimatum:

“I am willing to destroy this report if you agree to marry me.”

You stare vacantly at the paper, not even bothering to read its contents. “This is your move? To force me to marry you?”

“Again, semantics. This is a big decision you’re about to make, so I will give you twenty-four hours to accept.”

“And if I don’t?”

And yet, as the question spills from your lips, the answer comes flooding in the form of flashes inside your head: your uncle climbing the steep steps of the gallows, a peacekeeper placing a black piece of cloth over his head as he readies the rope –

You’re taken away from the mental image by the sound of blinds lifting. He’s just adjusted the covers to reveal the occupant on the other side of the two-way mirror:

Your Uncle Cas, sitting behind a table identical to yours, handcuffed like you, and looking extremely bored out of his wits.

Coriolanus just sneers at the sight.

“Then, I simply send my report to the president. Now, I doubt Ravenstill would be willing to spend time and fortune investigating the matter just to exonerate a former rebel, so I imagine your uncle will charged at once for conspiracy and treason.” The blinds close, and he circles the table slowly with his hands behind his back while he counts the ways you’ll surely be fucked once that stupid paper gets to the president.

“His assets, and in turn, the entire Innis Tech company, will be seized by the government of Panem, leaving you with next to nothing. The Innis name, forever besmirched and labelled traitors. You will be expelled from the University. No company will hire you, no matter your qualifications.”

He eventually reaches you and bends down to whisper over your ear:

“Everything your parents died for, everything your uncle worked for, will be stripped from you, all because you made the wrong choice.”

He pulls away from you with that self-satisfied smirk you’d give an arm to wipe off his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, sugarplum,” he tuts. “I am simply trying to make you see the consequences should you decline my proposal.”

You stare at him with all the loathing you can muster, but you doubt its efficacy; there isn’t much threat a handcuffed woman almost backed into a corner can do, after all.

“Why are you doing this?” So many things you want to say, and your brain settles for this train of thought. “You can have anyone you want in the Capitol. So why? Why go through these lengths when any other girl would willingly throw themselves at your feet?”

The expression on Coriolanus’s face shifts to something unreadable for a fraction of a second, but his mouth tilts once more into what seems like a pained grin, his eyes turning glossed over and – dare you say – gentle.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” he says softly. “But this I can tell you: nobody else compares, or even comes close.”

He paces the length of the room once more, just across the desk from you.

“I liked our camaraderie. Compared with other people, I felt like I could speak my mind with you to some degree. It’s refreshing, really, and for a time you were open to me in a similar way. I find that fascinating about you. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you do it so eloquently. You’re one of the smartest, most intuitive people I have ever met. Who wouldn’t want that for themselves?

“But then, you had to pull away.”

Every ounce of softness he just showed you vanishes, replaced by displeasure, staring you down with a curled lip at what he perceives to be a slight against him.

Is he referring to the kiss at the greenhouse, perhaps?

“That night at the party,” he continues, confirming your thoughts. “You knew and you played along. You had a plan, except it backfired in the end, didn’t it?”

He lets out a short, taunting laugh.

“I hope you learn something from this, at least: snow lands on top. Frankly, if you had the connections and the resources I had, you’d be a worthy adversary.”

Coriolanus strokes your cheek with a finger. You turn your head away just so you can keep from looking into those intense blue eyes, now genuinely fearful of being swallowed whole. Your action does not deter him. He sits on the table inches away from where you’re handcuffed.

“Watching you hold your ground against me...it was exhilarating. I’m almost sorry it has come to an end; I was enjoying myself.”

Then those hands firmly encase the back of your neck and the sides of your face, his face drawing closer until his lips brush over your ear.

“You play the chase so beautifully,” he whispers breathlessly. “You’re beautiful, Prunella Innis. You’re almost perfect, now.”

When he pulls away, he observes your face for a moment, his hands still clasping both sides of your face. You don’t know whether to cry or lash out, so your face freezes with a glare and your body stays rigid, hoping you can convey just how much you despise him without saying anything.

He clicks his tongue but seems mildly amused. “Don’t be like that, sugarplum. You should be thanking me. Remember our little lovers’ tiff a few hours ago? I stand by what I said: I made you who you are. You’re perfect now because of me. Do you think you’d be able to find out just what you’re capable of without me pushing you to your limit? I made you. I own you,” he says as his thumb strokes your lower lip. “My perfect little sugarplum.”

“If you’re that addicted to control,” you muster spitefully, “What good will it do you if you marry me, knowing I could cause you this much trouble?”

He gets off the table, now with a slight spring in his step as he flashes a conceited grin.

“Oh, but you won’t, Nellie. Not anymore, at least. I have the only thing – person, really – you hold of value. That should be enough for me to teach you to toe the line.”

You blink and face the floor to forcefully rid yourself of invasive imagery involving him harming your uncle just so he can get his way. But the grip on your chin makes you gaze into his crazed orbs: nothing but a bottomless blue abyss where he intends for you to fall freely. Once more, you’re subjected to his covetous scrutiny, making you shiver inwardly and wish you had heeded your instincts warning about him from the very beginning.

“Imagine,” he breathes, “One of the most accomplished, most brilliant women in all of Panem, submitting wholly to me? I suppose you’re right: I am addicted to control, and controlling you, forcing you on your knees before me, and only me, is my morphling.”

And then, Coriolanus releases you. He picks up the folder and secures it inside his briefcase. A prized piece of family history, now reduced to mere blackmail material.

“Twenty-four hours. That will be – ” he glances at the clock above him – “Seven AM. Give me a call then, and we’ll talk.”

You really should’ve trusted your guts about him from the get-go.

From his pocket, he takes out a key and uses it to free you from your shackles on the table.

“They shouldn’t have handcuffed you like this,” he says as he pulls your wrist back to inspect it. “I’ll have a word with them. Come, let’s get you home. Judging by your eyes, you had not slept the entire night, either.”

He uses the same wrist he’s gripping to lead you away, but you don’t budge. You can’t leave when your Uncle Cas is still in the other cell.

Coriolanus guesses your concern correctly and assures you, “Your uncle will not be harmed while in custody; you have my word.”

“When can he go home, then? Why should he still stay here?”

“Leverage, sugarplum,” he smirks. “And he can go home once we’ve…settled this matter between us. For now, consider your decision of my proposal at home when you’re well rested.”

“And my bag? They took my bag,” you say. Sejanus’s book is inside that bag.

“They will withhold it until it’s properly searched. They will turn it over to me once it’s cleared. In the meantime, you will stay at home and sleep. You have a decision to make.”

His tone doesn’t leave anything for argument, so with a glance at the blinds, you allow yourself to be dragged from the cell, out of the building and into his car, which leaves once he gives the word to the driver.

You try not to cry the entire ride home as you think of Uncle Cas. Will they feed him? Will they interrogate him? Are they going to give him a bed to sleep on, at least? Sure, you could ask Coriolanus to make sure he gets whatever he needs, but any favours you ask him at this point would come at a hefty price you might not be able to afford.

Once the car pulls up to Corso III, you all but launch yourself out of the car – anything to get away from him as soon as possible – but a firm hand grabs ahold of your arm when the car door opens.

“I will take you there myself. I need to have a word with the peacekeepers,” he says.

Peacekeepers?

Apparently, he had ordered two of them to guard the door to your apartment home, and you wait until he’s done giving them orders before you can get inside. Even in your own home, you no longer have autonomy.

He follows you inside your home as you sink into the sofa, take your shoes off and release a sigh, burrowing your face in your palms. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe you’re still dreaming, and when you wake up, your uncle will still be here, in the kitchen, making breakfast for the two of you. Maybe when you open your eyes, he won’t be there anymore.

“Have you had breakfast, sugarplum?”

Damn. No such luck.

You feel him touch your shoulder to get your attention, and you flinch away from his touch automatically. He purses his lips in apparent displeasure.

“Please don’t pretend to care," you say. "You already let go of that façade, remember?”

“if you still think this is a farce, wait until that clock strikes seven tomorrow morning. You’ll see then just how real this is for me.”

Wordlessly, you brush past him as you enter the kitchen and yank the fridge door open. As you scan the contents, you can feel his stare boring holes in the back of your head.

“Twenty-four hours, Nellie. I’ll wait for your call.”

With that final air of pompousness, he takes his leave, closing the door behind him with a click.

Feeling utterly depleted, you forgo getting food and go back to the sofa, launching yourself on it with a soft ‘oof.’ Your stomach growls, but how can you eat when you’re unsure whether your uncle would? You’re bone-tired, but you’re not even sure he’d get any rest in that barely furnished cell, either.

On the other hand, if Uncle Cas was here, he’d be berating you right now to take better care of yourself.

Perhaps you could spend the entire morning crying like about it like a child, but what good will that do? Begrudgingly, you grab whatever food you lay your eyes on in the fridge – in this case, a half-eaten bar of chocolate from The Headless Confectioner’s that your uncle resealed, probably to save for later. Once you’re done chewing on it with much effort, you drag your feet to your bed and bury yourself under pillows and blankets. Apparently, a cocktail of mental exhaustion and a restless night make a dreamless sleeping draught almost as strong as Dr Gaul’s concoction, and within minutes, you’re out cold, dead to the world for the next few hours.

You’re cruelly wrenched from blissful unconsciousness by the constant ringing of the doorbell. In an instant, you’re up, glancing at your alarm and scrambling to the door to check who it is. It’s five to three in the afternoon, so maybe it’s your Uncle Cas, and they confiscated his keys so he can’t get in! Perhaps they even let go of him due to lack of evidence and he’s just about ready to get some well-deserved rest.

Thanks to this wishful thinking, you’re extremely disappointed to find more peacekeepers milling on the intercom, insisting on coming in.

“Ms Innis, we have a warrant to search your home in light of recent events,” one of them says.

Is there no end to this day, you wonder?

The moment you unlock the door, the peacekeepers stroll inside and await orders, while one of them, a major no more than in his late twenties, salutes you, and shows you the search warrant.

“My name is Major Truman, Ms Innis,” he says. “My unit and I are assigned to search your home for evidence of subversive activities. We will, as much as we can, try not to disturb the peace inside your home and are instructed to only search areas where Acacius Innis might conduct his business. We are to also seize anything we deem as evidence. Would you kindly point us to the said area?”

Numbly, you nod and lead them to his office, and they privates waste no time sorting through the obvious place to start: the papers stuffed in boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner, where your uncle sometimes stuffs graded essays and test papers, and then forgets about them until he needs them.

There’s no point watching them tear the place apart, so proceed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“It must really be difficult, watching all this,” a voice says.

Your head snaps to see Major Truman, standing in the kitchen doorway stiffly with his arms behind his back.

“Your coffee has been ready for nearly fifteen minutes, in case you’re wondering,” he adds.

Shit. You let out a sigh of frustration as you realise you’ve been staring blankly into space for the said amount of time; probably more.

You press ‘reheat’ and wait. As an afterthought, you offer the major some coffee, which he gratefully accepts. He takes the seat just beside your uncle’s usual place.

“Have you found anything?” you ask, unable to control yourself.

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss matters regarding evidence,” he says contritely. After a sip from his cup, he says, “Thank you for being cooperative, by the way. I think it’s unfair, what they’re doing.”

You nod and focus on your cup, unsure how to respond. He’s a peacekeeper, after all – how much can you trust his type?

“You might not believe this,” he goes on, this time, with a much softer tone. “But I used to be his student at the University. I nearly flunked one of his classes because, well…I wasn’t into the field, to be quite honest.”

Major Truman flashes you a kind smile. “I don’t why I told him, but I did. I confessed I was only pressured by my parents to take the course.” He pauses to let out a dry chuckle. “He then asked me right then and there to write an essay about how I would hypothetically convince my parents to let me take a different path. It was weird, but I did. When I finished, he read that rambling thing I wrote, and I was dismissed.

“The next thing I know, the grades were coming in, and he gave me a passing grade.”

Curious now, you flick your gaze at him as he laughs heartily. “He did that?”

“I graduated a few years ago, but that, I’ve never forgotten to this day.”

Major Truman pats your shoulder awkwardly before he steps away, pausing at the doorway to say, “He’s a good man, Ms Innis. I’m sure this will all blow over soon.”

“Do you know If he’s okay? If he’s had anything to eat, or…” your worried voice trails off, as it dawns on you that he might not even be stationed at the Citadel for him to have access to this bit of information.

He nods, saying, “I gave him food a while ago. He recognised me, too. Don’t worry. I have friends there who owe me favours, and I can make sure he’s treated well. It’s the least I could do. Thank you for the coffee.”

With a final salute, he exits the kitchen, presumably to return to your uncle’s office to continue his supervision.

You inwardly thank your luck and the goodness of your uncle’s heart to have someone like Major Truman looking after him in that hellish place. Rebel or not, you agree: your uncle has a good heart.

Far greater than yours or anyone else’s.

That’s why it takes you a moment to compose yourself once you see the chaos that’s now his beloved home office.

His computer, all but taken apart now, had been packed into a box labelled ‘evidence.’ His bookshelf, its shelves sagging with the weight of the books it contained, now empty; documents and notes scattered all over the floor as the men haul his stuff outside. They’re taking items that you won’t otherwise even spare a second glance at.

At least until your eyes land on one of the boxes they’re still halfway through filling.

It’s your little rabbit plush – the one that had inadvertently saved your life when you went back to pick it up.

You hadn’t seen the rabbit plush in years, and you had actively avoided it as a child after it was returned to you just days after the attack. Your uncle seems to have tried his best to restore the plush. Dusty, but otherwise free of the dirt it had been coated with on the day of the explosion, you pick it up at once from the box.

A peacekeeper apparently has qualms about it.

“Miss, put that thing back in the box – otherwise, I’d have to report you for obstruction of justice abd tampering of evidence,” he barks.

Major Truman, however, approaches him with a stern expression. “Stand down, private. It’s just a toy. Unless the Capitol has issued orders saying rabbit plushies are now deemed subversive?”

The private gives him a salute before returning to sorting the papers on the table.

Flashing Major Truman a grateful smile, you exit the office and settle for the couch in the living room in case they finish soon, and they’d have final things to say.

Maybe even decide to storm your room once they’re done with the home office.

At exactly eight in the evening, Major Truman and his unit bid you goodnight, leaving you alone again in the entire apartment. You survey whatever’s left of your uncle’s office: computer parts they deemed unimportant to seize, several stacks of school-related documents, and a few other knick-knacks, all arranged neatly on what was once a table that had very little surface visible. At least they had the decency to clean up. Perhaps an order from the major himself.

Your Uncle Cas’s office, now stripped bare of his soul – it’s a sight enough to send you into a sobbing fit. No longer able to bear seeing the space, you sink into the living room sofa once more. As you mourn the injustice, and the treatment of a good, wise man, you hold the stuffed rabbit close to your heart, hoping it’ll save you again this time around.

You run. Fast.

You run even as branches of the foliage get caught in your dress – the dress Coriolanus Snow made you wear on the night of that party – inwardly glad that it’s finally getting the treatment it deserves: getting torn little by little, hopefully until it’s forever erased from your memory.

You’re barefoot, you notice, but the ground is grassy anyway. You don’t need shoes when there are more pressing matters at hand.

Like that deadly…creature chasing you down as its designated prey.

You sprint as quickly as your muscles allow you to, through the ever-shifting landscape – a few seconds ago, it was a foggy, grassy terrain; now, it seems to have morphed into a series of tall bushes manicured neatly to form a seemingly endless maze. No end in sight, just grey nothingness outside the hedges.

Within the space, a voice you’re too unfortunate to recognise plays as if coming through the intercom. One of Volumnia Gaul’s little on-the-spot poems:

“Oh, me, there goes little Nellie, so pretty and frail; her big bad Snow is hot on her tail!”

The mad cackling that ensues is superseded by a faint voice in the distance.

“Nellie? Nellie! Come back here!”

Coriolanus Snow’s feral shouts float in the vast grey space, but you don’t look back. It isn’t Snow – it can’t be; the footfalls chasing you and seemingly inches away from you don’t sound human. There’s snarling behind you, and the sound of a snapping jaw is heard as your ankle narrowly misses its rabid bite.

The scream for your name this time is much more hysterical.

“Prunella Innis!”

Your frantic dash is interrupted by a succession of tiny pinpricks on your skin. Something live and crawling wraps around your leg, making you fall, with large sharp teeth digging inches deep into your flesh. You let out a pained cry as you fall to the ground, the stinging bringing involuntary tears into your eyes. An overwhelming scent envelops you as your fall is broken by a jagged, uneven surface. Vision clearing by the second, you realise what the forest floor had morphed into.

“I just want to talk to you!”

Another enraged scream from the creature hounding you.

Can it smell blood, you wonder? Because from the punctures on your skin, the red liquid now oozes freely, making you gag at the pungent, metallic smell. You don’t look at it. It’s always somehow easier to bear when you look away.

It had turned into a bed of roses and thorns in mere seconds. The red and white blooms attached to them seem to mock you in your despair. The thorny vine around your ankle grows, extending further into your leg, piercing it with razor-sharp spikes. The sound of soft whooshing from above makes you look up.

It’s a drone older than the ones you’ve tested in the lab. The type that can only carry a single item at a time. It drops a water bottle a few feet away from you, and the bottle breaks when it lands.

The snarling creature seems to have caught up to you.

“I sent that to you.”

The imposing figure of Coriolanus Snow enters your line of vision. He smiles just as disarmingly as usual, his clothes just as you remember: brand-new, finely tailored and flawless in every angle. A stark comparison to your figure crumpled on the floor, unmoving and bleeding profusely.

“I thought you’d be grateful. I wanted to help you,” he says. He tilts his head to get a better look at your foot tangled in the brambles. It had already reached your thigh, tearing through your dress even further.

Yet his face is without an ounce of pity. Nothing but cold in those eyes – biting, ruthless, unyielding.

He bends on one knee to draw closer to your frame. “Don’t worry, sugarplum, you won’t need these anymore,” he says, his tone cloyingly sweet, as he strokes your injured leg. “You have nowhere to run. And you don’t have to run. Not when I have you.”

Movement from above distracts you from his leer. The sky folds back, much like a grey cloth, revealing a stadium full of Capitol residents, clapping and cheering and screaming, all to celebrate your downfall and venerate the cause of it.

Amidst the tumultuous applause, Coriolanus Snow’s victorious, haughty voice reaches you without delay or difficulty, as he looks down on you with those hungry, piercing, rabid eyes.

Like he’s burrowed inside your head and his words are echoing from within you.

“I won you, Nellie. The game is over. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

You open your eyes with a sharp intake of breath.

It’s five in the morning and no word yet from your Uncle Cas. No calls, no knocks on the door or rings of the doorbell.

You’re just as alone as the moment you fell asleep. The rabbit plushie lies within your arms, its faded, beady eyes looking at you as if to ask, ‘what now?'

Coffee, that’s what. Coffee will make it better.

As the coffee maker gurgles in the background, you wonder vacantly whether your Aunt Marcelline had gone through this exact situation when she and your uncle had still been married. With him being a rebel, did she also have to deal with hours upon hours of no word from him, waiting almost desperately for any news of the fate that had befallen him? You’re lucky, considering you know where he is – probably the same interrogation cell they’d placed him in yesterday – but your aunt…how many of these days did she have to endure?

Was this the reason why she left him in the end?

The coffee doesn’t help. No surprises there.

Thirty minutes to six.

There’s still time for this trick to end. Hey, maybe you’re still dreaming all of this, or maybe this is some sort of cruel prank your Uncle Cas had designed.

Maybe you entered a parallel universe, and anytime soon, things will right themselves. Your uncle will be in the kitchen, making you both the sugar-heavy breakfast he’s partial to.

One could hope, right?

But as six rolls into the fray, reality finally rears its ugly head.

This is real. Everything is real: your dear old Uncle Cas is still at the Citadel, and it’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll be sent to heaven-knows-where just for protecting you and the letters you had exchanged with Sejanus.

Unless you give in to the demands of Coriolanus Snow.

You allow yourself to spend the hour before your deadline in resigned sobbing – you’re sealing your life away with an obsessive sociopath, it’s the least you deserve – and by six fifty-eight, you pick up the phone receiver and dial his number.

Better you suffer than your uncle dead.

Six fifty-nine.

The other line rings thrice before you hear the click, indicating the receiver has just been picked up.

“Good morning, sugarplum,” that sickeningly sweet voice of Coriolanus Snow greets from the other line. “I was just about to dial the Presidential Palace.”

Curse you and your bloodline, Coriolanus Snow.

“Please let my uncle go; I accept your proposal.”

Enter Level 12 - soon

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

Level 12 won't be out until next week, weekend, I think, because I will be going on a much needed vacay trip for a few days 😊 I'll be active still tho, so thank you guys for sticking around Ily all!! 😘

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