cervse 🦇

key: ❤︎︎ = smut ❀ = fluff 🝮 = angst ⁂ = dark

coriolanus snow:

your first time was meant to be magical. right? ❤︎︎ 🝮

follow his rules. or face the consequences. ❤︎︎🝮⁂

⇧part ii 🝮 ❀

the bitter taste of realisation. 🝮

bandages are a harsh reminder of what you’ve done. 🝮

coryo’s coming home!! ❀ ❤︎︎

“you promised.” 🝮 ❀

distaste for traditions ❀

“children. what i would give to be that carefree again!” mothers’ friend laughs, smiling down at you.

you skillfully ignored her, looking down at the ground with an adorable pout on your face. being coddled by adults was fun, but playing with coryo was even better.

he must’ve read your mind, because he slipped away from his parents and ran through the french doors of his ballroom, leading to the gardens. your favourite place!

smiling brightly, you followed, yet was shortly greeted face-to-face with perfectly mowed grass.

looking up, you were met with a hand and a distinct face.

but this wasn’t coriolanus’ hand, no. nor his face.

it was felix ravinstills.

eyes shooting open, your heart beat precariously from the aftermath of your nostalgic dream.

“good morning, sleepyhead.” your dear husband chuckled, with that shit-eating grin on his face. clearly, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, because even looking at the shining band of silver on your finger was torturous.

“morning.” you mumbled, wanting to fall back asleep. at least your dreams kept you sane.

it was relaxing there.

being a kid again.

it was fun. thrilling.

mothers friend was right, what you would give to be that carefree again.

what you would give to be waking up next to coriolanus snow this morning, instead of felix ravinstill.

don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a bad husband per say. just… boring. unattractive. predictable. too… nice.

now you were being mean.

you couldn’t help it, not when your first love’s fiancée was being shoved in your face every day by your friends. and the capitol newspaper. at least soarynn nightingale’s column distracted you from the soaring jealousy looking at livia’s hand on his.

“c’mon, get up, we have brunch.” felix ruffled your hair, leaving you to use all your might to not punch him.

“brunch? with who?” you rolled over, sitting up and stretching.

you weren’t paying much attention until his words settled in.

“oh, just a few old academy friends. this time last year we left university, so we figured a little reunion would be nice.”

your eyes widened, unbeknownst to him who was fixing that goddamn hair like always. the ‘curls’ he claimed to have weren’t the ones you wished to see every morning.

but now you were. in an hour.

you swallowed, “who’s going to be there?”

“you know, just our group. dovecote, creed, cardew…”

you rolled your eyes at that last name.

he continued, “oh, and snow. i think his and livia’s wedding is soon, did you know?”

‘did you know’, you nearly scoffed. who didn’t know?

“mhm, yep, i know.” you mumbled, swinging your legs off the bed and trudging to the bathroom.

leaning over the sink, you inhaled slowly.

“you okay?” felix’s voice emerged from the bedroom.

yes, you were just wonderful. ecstatic, even. having less than an hour to see your childhood love with the worst match ever was the best way to start your morning.

“i’m fine!” you called out, a silent plea to leave you alone.

sighing, you got on with it, trying to see it as another meet up with friends. friends.

even after all these years it felt strange to include him in that category.

ᥫ᭡

the car ride to the sacred place you would visit during your teenage years allowed you to ponder about many things.

number one being: is coriolanus thinking about you this morning? if so, is he also imagining what you two could’ve been, if it weren’t for your fate sealed already?

number two being: what was livia cardew wearing, and did you manage to one up her?

number two was now the main focus as your eyes landed on the destination, bringing back many memories of your mother picking you up from one of your many night outs with coriolanus.

he would bring you here during your late academy days: a one-on-one meal as best friends. friends. that’s what you were, and that’s what you were always destined to be.

felix’s hand on your knee made you turn to look at him. he grinned. the car slowed to a stop, bringing your heavy thoughts with it.

taking a deep breath, you emerged from the sleek car. the one coriolanus had looked slightly more luxurious, however the woman sitting inside didn’t compliment the outside.

all envious thoughts came to a halt when you locked eyes with the very man who had intruded your thoughts all morning.

he looked occupied with memories too, it seemed, what with the way his face softened for a moment when you entered his line of vision. he cleared his throat immediately after, getting back in order, but you noticed. you always noticed each other.

“snow!” felix chuckled, oblivious to his friend’s lingering look on his wife.

snow smiled — not his genuine one, of course — and began walking up to ravinstill. livia trailed behind him, like always.

okay. appearances. be happy for livia and her stupid ring.

“felix, what a pleasure. it’s been a while.” the two shook hands and gave a pat on the shoulder.

“livia, hello!” you greeted, earning a squeaky chirp back from her when she said your name. she leaned in for a hug, which you reluctantly accepted. the whiff of sickly perfume that invaded your nostrils should be considered a hate crime.

clemensia and festus appeared. thank goodness — if you spent one more minute with coriolanus’ cologne in such proximity, you might’ve fainted.

“girls!” clemmie squealed, walking quickly to you and livia, squeezing you both tightly. you smiled. although clemensia could be the biggest bitch you’ve ever met, she was quite good-natured to her friends.

festus joined the welcoming with the men, whilst you and dovecote said greetings. she turned to livia.

“livia, oh how i’ve missed you!” she smiled, “or should i call you mrs snow?”

you saw the way livia’s smug smile curled. you felt the way your stomach twisted into a mix of jealousy and disgust. oh, here we go.

she lifted up her glamorous ring. surely, coriolanus didn’t pick that out — it was so… loud.

no wonder old money was unheard of in the cardew family. it seemed she lacked all elegance a soon-to-be first lady should have.

“beautiful! coriolanus, surely you didn’t pick this diamond out?” clemmie caught the men’s attention.

they all walked over, felix’s hand resting on your back and festus’ hand on clemensia’s waist. you didn’t miss the way coriolanus’ hand stayed put.

it was as if livia read your mind, because she quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it. pathetic.

“i didn’t, in fact. livia picked out this ring; i plan to use my grandmothers for the actual wedding.” coriolanus explained, his pearly white teeth on display.

what a shock, you wanted to say. of course she managed to pick the most outdated ring on the planet. you and clemensia would be sure to share a comment or two about it later on.

everyone nodded along, the men agreeing with his traditional approach. you tried to pretend it was sweet, but you just gave a small smile to clemmie when she looked for your reaction.

no one knew about your… well, distaste for their upcoming marriage. everyone in the academy knew you and coriolanus had been close since you could walk, but no one paid any mind when you went your separate ways after university. this was fairly common in capitol elites — you’re betrothed to a family from the moment you’re born. no matter if you’re ‘madly in love’ — it was better for business this way.

“alright, let’s go and eat!” festus cheered, beginning to walk into the day restaurant.

ᥫ᭡ a couple hours later

the reunion had gone well. you only had to endure around thirty minutes in total of livia’s boasting about her wedding, which was great compared to last time after coriolanus proposed.

it was edging 1pm now, and the men were already a little tipsy from the couple glasses of whatever was sipped. festus couldn’t handle his alcohol, everyone knew that. felix was alright, yet his hand wouldn’t leave your thigh and his lips stayed in a lopsided smile.

coriolanus seemed just fine. he always knew exactly how much to drink; you had never seen him too wasted over the age of sixteen.

whilst the group continued to laugh and converse, coriolanus stood up. his eyes fell onto yours, “i’m going to get some fresh air.”

this sudden act didn’t waver the group, who usually would question why he was leaving for a moment. you saw livia mumble something to him, but coriolanus just shook his head.

he met your gaze once more before you left, which concluded your curiosity.

a couple moments after he left, you murmured something to felix about the bathroom before exiting the group atmosphere.

why coriolanus insisted on going outside was lost on you. the chilling wind was freezing your ears — thanks, felix, for telling you to wear your hair up. although, in his defense, it did look more sophisticated along with your outfit.

“coriolanus?”

a pause.

“coryo?”

you sighed. you didn’t have time for these games.

“i’m going back inside.”

a hand over your eyes and a strong chest pressing against your back nearly forced a scream to leave your lips until you inhaled the familiar scent of roses.

his smirk could practically be heard. “guess who?”

you smiled, pulling his hand away and turning around, only to be met with a pink nose and blue eyes. “stalker.”

“you know it.”

the harsh wind and cars driving by was all that could be heard on this november afternoon, and he leaned down, lips right beside your ear.

“it has been quite a while for us, hasn’t it? i might have to reschedule my wedding to make up for our lost time.”

your cheeks burned pink. you blamed it on the wind.

glancing around, you anxiously searched for anyone who might’ve noticed the new president so close to a woman who was not his wife.

through a nearby window, you saw livia holding her hand out to clemensia, parading her obnoxious ring about once more. it took every ounce of you not to strangle yourself whenever she did that.

you looked back at coriolanus, your annoyance on display.

“you always look at me like that whenever she waves that ring around.” he smirks fondly.

“maybe because it should’ve been mine.”

his demeanour changed in a matter of seconds, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into a nearby alleyway and smashing his lips on top of yours.

“trying acting indifferent towards me today, were you?” he spoke into the kiss, “as if you weren’t gagging on my cock last week.”

his sudden use of vulgar words made you whimper into his lips, your hands suddenly not so cold after gripping his shirt collar tightly. one hand went to your neck whilst the other slid down your silk dress, savouring every curve.

“thought i wouldn’t notice you staring at me like a bitch in heat every minute?” he chuckled cruelly, “who knew ravinstills wife needs a good fuck every other day to keep her sane—“

“snow?” festus creed’s voice was like a knife as it cut through your pleasure faster than it began. seems like fate had other plans. “your wife is asking for you.”

coriolanus’ hand stopped, as did your heated kiss. he inwardly groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder.

your heart stopped. what if he came round the corner? the president with his friends wife, in an alleyway? it’d be the scandal of the century.

you and coriolanus had been in some risky positions during this little affair of yours, but this was by far the most scariest.

“wait here,” snow whispered, stepping back. he was calmer than ever, like always, not crumbling under pressure. if this was felix, he’d be having a full-blown panic attack.

“after a minute, come back inside.” he ordered. you nodded, swallowing down your worry. he caught your anxious act, his gaze softening and his finger brushing a hair out of your face.

he took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, with your initials in fancy writing on it. your eyebrows furrowed.

“don’t open it until you’re alone, tonight.”

he didn’t wait for you to nod before walking away, giving a small kiss just for effect.

you were floored for a moment, holding the paper, dumbfounded. his voice trailed away as he spoke to festus.

“she’s not my wife just yet, creed...”

gathering yourself together, coriolanus’ words set off a string of realisations which left you feeling slightly less riled up than before.

livia’s not his wife, yet.

yet.

in a week she will be.

then what? then what happens to this ongoing affair?

“they’re not married yet, it doesn’t count,” you would tell yourself. it was the perfect excuse.

a man cheating was frowned upon during the early stages of marriage in the capitol. a woman cheating, at any point, well, she might aswell banish herself from the capitol as a whole.

it was risky for coriolanus to be having an affair before he’s even married to the woman.

it was even riskier for you, who’s reputation could be destroyed for simply wearing an out-of-fashion dress to an event.

all sexist traditions aside, the reliance you’ve both had on the excuse of his pre-betrothal is now thinning by the day.

you may despise livia’s need for male validation and envy her engagement, but that doesn’t mean you’ll feel good about potentially ruining her marriage. it is a big thing, and if it’s destroyed, so is her place in society.

and you would find it very hard to live with bringing another woman down for your own personal gain.

if this is what fate shall bring, then that’s that. you’ll just have to live with the unfortunate circumstances.

ᥫ᭡ later that night

your eyebrows furrowed at the note before you, torn between options. the night was quiet, silent even, what with your husband fast asleep as you sat in the living room.

usually, you would be laid beside him, on the other side of the bed, swept away in a book. instead, you were swept away in a sudden tough decision.

our spot, 12:30am. i miss you, my darling. let me show you how much. — C.S. p.s, you forgot a certain pair of undergarments.

let’s take back your usual place at this time of night. laid beside felix was a lie, you usually would be intoxicated by coriolanus, drunk on his cock. well, not every night. every friday night, however…

why he decided to give you a letter instead of using the telephone like normal was beyond you. maybe it was because he had stolen your red panties he had gifted you last time, and you never gave too much away on the phone. anyone could trace it back, and boom, image corrupted.

by now you would’ve already had shoes on and ordered your driver to take you. but tonight… your thoughts about his arriving marriage prevented you from moving off this sofa. one last time wouldn’t hurt, right? then you’ll break the news to him. maybe he had already realised this can’t go on forever.

you tip-toed out of your penthouse and sweetly asked the driver to take you to your usual friday night destination, a giddy feeling in your chest despite the inevitable conclusion your affair will come to.

ᥫ᭡

as the car drove away, you stared up at the familiar place before you. a townhouse, sat at the end of a street a couple blocks from the corso. no one would bat an eye to it if they drove past — little did they know, the president and the fatal flaw in his marriage resided there, hidden away like a dirty secret.

because that’s all it was.

and that’s how it would end. nothing more.

coriolanus claimed he had bought this place when he was seventeen to ‘reminisce how it would be to live alone’. sure, you thought, and it just happened to come in handy when you and him spontaneously needed a place to fuck a few months ago, when this whole ordeal started.

whether he did just buy it because he planned to kiss you that night of festus’ birthday ball, you weren’t complaining. it was the perfect distance from both your homes and somewhere where the likelihood of someone finding you was little.

looking both ways before approaching the house, you turned the lock, slipping in and turning the foyer light on. seems you got here before him. nothing new.

you strolled around the cosy halls, wondering how it would feel to come home every night waiting for coriolanus. you’d take his briefcase, greet him good evening, and give him a sweet kiss on the lips. maybe you both would spend the rest of the night cuddled up in the library, or the living room, or the bedroom…

no. you were getting ahead of yourself. there was no point in creating your dreamworld with him. felix. livia. they were your lives now, and it was too late for any change to happen from the moment you met.

small, longing glimpses of what could’ve been your life would have to suffice.

so swept up in your own thoughts, you didn’t even realise you were on the balcony until you felt the gust of wind in your hair and the cold metal of the railing underneath your fingers.

why you were even here was nearly lost until you felt a strong pair of hands grasp your waist and pull you against a strong figure.

you smiled. the smell of roses only followed a certain someone. turning around, you met eyes. then lips. the feeling was heavenly, like it always was when kissing coriolanus snow.

“i had a strange feeling you wouldn’t show up tonight.” he murmured through the kiss. damn him and his brilliant intuition.

“i nearly didn’t.” you breathlessly responded — no need in lying.

this made him pause, until he pulled your head back and sucked kisses on your neck.

but this time, you didn’t feel the warm fuzziness in your stomach. instead the anxious lingering of what was to come persisted, a stubborn warning which persisted on.

the wedding.

the scandal tiptoeing closer and closer. it laid on the edge of your fingertips now. the risk of losing everything you had built — even if it wasn’t what you dreamed for. societies harsh, judging eyes leaving a stain on your name forever.

is it worth chasing temporary happiness for a potential lifetime loss? that very question racked your brain for weeks, but you had yet to find a solid answer.

until now.

determined, you turned around, only to be met with the familiar eyes you had been dreamily gazing into since you were a little girl. that look. soft. warm, even.

as if nothing you’ve done is wrong. as if you hadn’t spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling beside a man you barely knows, feeling his touch like something borrowed.

as if you hadn’t begun to dread the sound of your own name.

“i was beginning to think you’d come to your senses,” he muttered lightly.

it came out sharper than you intended. “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

something flickers behind his eyes. interest, perhaps… but it’s gone just as quickly. you force yourself to hold his gaze.

“we can’t keep doing this,” you say, the words rehearsed, repeated, worn thin before they even leave your mouth. “it was a mistake. it is a mistake.”

he doesn’t interrupt. he just watchesyou. that’s always worse.

“you’re getting married,” you slowly continued, your voice tightening despite yourself. “in front of the entire capitol. do you understand what happens if anyone finds out? if she finds out?”

livia.

the name sat between you both without being spoken. a dark cloud, haunting, lingering above you, threatening to rain fire upon your dangerous affair.

“i won’t have my life ruined over… over stolen moments in dark rooms.” your breath catches, but you push through it. “i won’t be that woman.”

silence.

“you already are.”

it’s not cruelly said. that’s what makes it worse.

your composure fractured, just slightly. “don’t—”

“you come when i ask,” he continued, stepping closer now, slow, deliberate. “you stay when you should leave. you let me touch you like he doesn’t exist.”

each word lands precisely.

“you don’t get to pretend this is something it isn’t.”

your chest tightened. “it isn’t anything. that’s the point. it ends here.”

you expected resistance. anger. something. instead, coriolanus tilts his head, studying you as though you’d said something mildly interesting rather than something devastating.

“does he make you happy?” he asked.

you hesitated. his gaze sharpened, not with jealousy — no, something far more dangerous. certainty.

“i didn’t think so.” his raspy voice grated your ears. this wasn’t going well.

“this isn’t about felix,” you snapped, too quickly. “this is about us. about what we’re doing—”

“what we’re doing,” he repeated softly, closing the distance between you now, “is inevitable.”

your breath faltered.

“no,” you say, though it sounds weaker now. “no, it isn’t. i’m ending it. tonight.”

he’s close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, steady, unshaken. his hand lifted, not quite touching you yet — hovering just at your waist, like a memory waiting to happen.

“you’re frightened,” he murmured, “of being caught?”

a faint, almost amused exhale escaped him, “or of wanting this too much?”

your jaw clenched. “you’re engaged, coriolanus.”

finally, something lands. not visibly. but you see it in the slight shift of his expression. not guilt. never guilt. just calculation.

“livia,” he says, as if recalling her distantly, like an afterthought.

“yes, livia,” you press. “your fiancée. the one parading that ring around every event as if she’s already won.”

“and that bothers you.” it’s not a question, and you hate that it doesn’t need to be.

“it should bother you,” you say instead.

another pause. you stared into his eyes, a sly, subtle tug at your gut telling you to leave. almost a warning—

“if she’s the problem…” he says quietly, his voice filled with a dark seriousness, “say the word and she’s gone.”

the world tilts. not dramatically, not even violently. just enough.

just enough for something cold to slip beneath your skin. you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of exaggeration. a joke. but coriolanus was never known for his humour.

“you don’t mean that.” an unbelieving smile appeared on your face, waiting for his amused smirk to be returned. it doesn’t. you tried to sound carefree, yet your voice betrayed you.

because a part of you knew — he means every word. coriolanus stepped closer, finally closing the space between you, his hand settling against your waist like it belonged there. like it always had.

“i mean,” he says softly, a harsh contrast to his tone before, “that nothing stands in my way for long.”

your pulse stuttered. this isn’t charm, nor romance. this is something else entirely.

“you’re not listening to me,” it almost sounded like you were pleading, but now it’s quieter. unsteady. “i’m ending this.”

his thumb brushed lightly against your side. absent, nearly affectionate.

“no,” he stated. such a simple word. so gently said.

“you’re trying to.”

and that’s when it settled in your chest: heavy, suffocating, inescapable. not the danger of being caught. not the guilt. not even livia.

him.

he wasn’t arguing with you. he wouldn’t plead. he was correcting you.

as if the decision was never yours to make.

as if it never would be.

ᥫ᭡ 4:47am

sighing, you trudged into your shared house where only you, your husband and a few housemaids stayed. in your eyes, it always seemed much too large for only two elite members of society. clemensia and all the other materialistic girls you met throughout the years would never be fulfilled with all the luxuries in the country. but every time you walked into this grand room, strolled through the sleek hallways… you couldn’t help but feel as if you were playing house.

it never felt like a show with coriolanus. through the little glimpses of doubt and tension these past few months, coryo always felt like home. didn’t he?

the last few hours were surreal. laid, skin to skin, with a satisfied daze in your eyes. yet you couldn’t shake the disappointment weighing in your chest. you arrived there, set to do one thing. you left with sore legs and a mind reeling with confliction. how did he pull you back in? one moment, you’re filled with determination and guard. the next, you wake up right back in his trap. it is a gruelling cycle; but any form of thrill which removes you from your dear husband’s — frankly, boring — lifestyle is easy to get addicted to. devoted to.

ah, yes. your husband. you had a good guess at where he would be at this time.

beneath the high ceilings in your living room laid a passed out felix, one hand in his messy black curls and the other lazily grasping the empty glass which reeked of alcohol residue. you sighed. this had been occurring more and more these past few months. you knew why. part of you felt empathy for the man. surely he would’ve felt the loss of your homemade morning coffees by now. he must be thinking you’ve been sleeping in one of the spare rooms. the excitement of coriolanus’ antics had made you sloppy.

so, with a single pitiful glance, you put the whiskey bottles away and quietly shut your bedroom door. you ignored the recurring notion of exactly how many more times you were going to do this daunting routine.

ᥫ᭡ one day later

“holy shit!” felix’s deep voice was poisoned with concern as it echoed from the kitchen. eyebrows furrowing, you quickly walked to his call, a twisting slither in your gut like the fangs of a snake pulling back to bite.

“what is it?” you hastily followed his eyes, staring down at the capitol newspaper. your heart sunk, just like the fangs seeping into your skin.

“FROM ENGAGEMENT TO ELEGY: PRIVATE ILLNESS CLAIMS THE LIFE OF LIVIA CARDEW.”

Sources close to the family request discretion during this difficult time.

coriolanus grinned, seemingly more joyous than usual when he came home from work. lifting siora up with ease, he strolled into the kitchen. her little arms grasped at him in her pink satin pajamas, blonde curls half up, half escaping.

you were stood, your son perched beside you on the counter. you glanced over your shoulder, smiling warmly. you already knew what kind of evening it was going to be.

“c’mere, my boy,” coriolanus grinned, dropping to one knee, brushing callix’s thick golden hair back. “today at the council, heavensbee told me his son just got accepted into the junior leadership academy. and guess what I told him?”

“what?” callix bounced in place, practically buzzing.

“i told him my son will be joining theirs before the year is out.” coriolanus’s eyes flicked to you, sparkling. “they’re inviting us—” he nodded to callix, “well, you,” he drifted back to your warm smile, “— to a private dinner next week. it’s time the next generation met. what we were to our fathers… callix will be to us.”

your ambitious son proudly grinned, holding his head high and trying to contain his excitement in front of his father.

you placed the spoon down into the pot, your smile brightening. however the softness wavered in your eyes. part of your husband’s phrasing would not sit well with siora.

she blinked up at her father, frowning slightly. “what about me?”

coriolanus chuckled. “what about you, little dove?”

“i want to come.”

he walked over, still grinning, and brushed a kiss to her head. “it’s just for the boys this time, sweetheart.”

“why?” her voice was small, but insistent.

“because it’s… it’s just how things are. it’s not for girls.”

you felt the shift immediately.

siora pulled back from his touch, blinking twice. “but I want to do what cally does.”

“you will, in your own way,” he replied with the kind of careful warmth he used in speeches, the kind meant to calm crowds without making promises. “you’ll be the most radiant girl at the capitol balls. just like your mother.”

“but I don’t want to dance at balls,” she said, lower this time. “i want to sit in the big room. with the men. and talk about important things.”

your heart squeezed, and you finally stepped forward, wiping your hands on a cloth. “she’s been listening in on your meetings with the delegates again.”

“and i understand them!” siora piped up, brightening. “and I can remember all the names!”

callix snorted beside her, “that’s not hard, sio! girls don’t do government. they marry someone who does.”

just as the little boy put his hands on his hips, almost tauntingly, the slap of the dishcloth against the counter echoed.

“callix snow,” you said sharply, “you will not speak to your sister like that.”

your son blinked, confused, as though he’d simply repeated something he’d heard all his life. coriolanus raised a brow. “darling, let’s not—”

“no.” you turned, brows furrowed. “we don’t do that in this house. not to her. especially not to her.”

siora had turned red now, frustration building in her small frame. “it’s not fair! just because i’m a girl? that’s stupid!”

“watch your tone, young lady.” coriolanus warned. “i didn’t make the rules—”

then the tears came. angry, stinging, full of six years’ worth of watching her brother be groomed for greatness while she wore bows and got told to look pretty.

you yourself knew the feeling of resentment to the system of the world. yet you never had the privilege to challenge it until adulthood, thanks to your mother. it wasn’t her fault. it was the way everyone had been raised. but does that make it right?

callix took a step back, looking guilty. but coriolanus was growing stiff, defensive — the weight of his legacy on his shoulders.

“i’m taking him tonight. that’s final,” he said, his voice low and filled with authority. “we’re not going to start a war over a dinner.”

“no,” you snapped, eyes sharp. “but we’re going to raise a girl who knows she’s just as capable. so don’t you dare teach her she isn’t.”

for a beat, it looked like he might argue. but the iron in your voice met the ice in his, and neither of you blinked. then, with an exhale sharp enough to cut, he took callix’s hand and left, his voice trailing as they walked out. “come, son, we’ll pick up your suit early…”

the door clicked shut.

siora crumpled into your arms, sobbing. “why does he love callix more?”

“oh, baby,” you whispered, tears prickling your own eyes. “he doesn’t. he’s just… scared of changing things. scared of what people will say.”

“but I don’t care what people say,” she wept. “i just wanted to be there with him.”

ᥫ᭡ later that night…

an hour past bedtime, the door creaked open again.

you didn’t turn from the armchair in the living room. siora was asleep against your chest, cheeks stained, clutching her stuffed teddy.

coriolanus stepped into the low light. “i’m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything.

he knelt in front of you. “truly. I didn’t mean to hurt her. or you.”

you sighed. “you didn’t mean to… but you did.”

“i’ve always been told sons inherit. that the snow name is carried on their backs.”

“so what happens to daughters?” you challenged, “they just marry into other legacies and vanish?”

he closed his eyes. you continued.

“i don’t want her to grow up thinking she’s secondary, coriolanus. she’s brilliant. she could run a council better than half your colleagues — and she’s six.”

“she reminds me of you,” he murmured. “that’s what scares me.”

you tilted your head. “why?”

“because you don’t settle,” he said, gently brushing hair from your face. “and that’s the very reason I fell in love with you.”

you leaned your head back against the chair. “then let her become everything she’s meant to be. don’t lock her out of the rooms we fought to enter.”

he exhaled. “alright.”

you raised a brow.

“i’ll tell her tomorrow,” he promised. “she can come next time. she can meet heavensbee’s daughters too — they’re not as political yet, but maybe… maybe things can change.”

you nodded slowly. “they already are.”

ᥫ᭡ the next morning.

siora was still quiet at breakfast, the quietest she’d ever been, pushing strawberries around her plate. coriolanus bent down beside her, smoothing her curls.

“would it help if I told you I missed you the whole time?” he said.

she sniffled, unsure.

“what if I told you next time, you’re coming with me, in your nicest dress, and we’ll walk in together, you and I?”

her lips quivered. “really?”

“really. but first, I need your help.”

“with what?”

“it’s easy.” he leaned in close, whispering dramatically, “convincing your brother that women are smarter than they look.”

her giggle lit up the room.

ᥫ᭡

that night, after bedtime kisses were handed out and lights were dimmed, you and coriolanus stood in the hallway outside their rooms, listening to your children’s soft laughter fade into dreams.

he reached for your hand.

“thank you,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on your ring finger.

“for what?”

“for being the voice I didn’t know I needed to hear.”

you rested your head on his shoulder. “for them, always.”

a meaningful beat of silence occurred, until coriolanus slowly turned to tilt your head up. leaning down, he whispered smoothly, “remind me to never try and win an argument against a little girl again.”

you chuckled, “add your wife to that list and we have a deal.”

he smiled, that genuine smile which was only reserved for your small family, before gently resting his lips onto yours.

and for the first time in your life, you had a small feeling that your granddaughter will not experience the limitations that come with being a woman. she may never know the envy for boys who have great successions laid ahead of them. successions that earn the love of a nation, not simply the love of capitol magazines. she will experience a greater achievement than being the prize of a wealthy man.

the thought of that alone left a lingering smile on your lips until you drifted to sleep in your husband’s arms, dreaming about the next generation’s future.

ᥫ᭡ end.

when coriolanus took your hand that night, when the votes were finalized and the world changed, he whispered into your hair, “everything I do next is for you.”

and you believed him. of course you did, why wouldn’t you? he’s your husband, the love of your life.

you were three months pregnant when he became president. barely showing. just beginning to wake up to nausea and hunger and the constant fluttering anxiety that came with housing the future of the snow line. you had thought, hoped, that his presidency would bring you closer. that now, secure in his power, he might finally have time to come home early. that he would hold you longer, speak to you slower, wrap his long fingers around the curve of your belly and ask, ‘what can i do?’

instead, you hear more from his workers than you hear from him.

at first, you dismiss it. you tell yourself this is what being first lady means. not just capitol gowns and polite interviews, but sacrifice. and in a lot of ways, you’re proud of him. when you see him on the news—young, brilliant, ruthless—you feel the same rush you always have. even back when you first started courting. in some ways, you wish you could go back to that time. being love-struck teenagers.

but pride doesn’t make the bed any warmer at night.

and love, left alone too long, begins to starve.

ᥫ᭡

it’s small things, at first.

the prenatal vitamins he’s gotten one of the maids to refill instead of him. the dinner reservation he misses. the way he kisses your temple instead of your mouth before leaving in the morning, too distracted to feel the difference. you stop correcting him when he says the wrong due date aloud in interviews. it’s just easier that way, you suppose.

at four months, your doctor asks how the father is coping. you smile tightly and say he’s working very hard. you don’t mention that you went to the appointment alone. again. you definitely don’t allow yourself to notice the doctors smile filling with more pity each week she sees you.

you receive all the care and attention you could ever need for the health of you and your baby - yet the only care you want, crave, is the soft run of your husbands hand against your belly rather than the bleeding comfort of your own.

at five months, you go to the baby store by yourself. a camera catches you running your fingers over capitol-white crib railings. the headlines say: mrs. snow: the graceful mother-to-be.

a bitter laugh escapes your lips when you read it. you wish, no matter how much it might’ve effected coriolanus’ reputation, you wish the reporters had asked you what it felt like to buy a bassinet without your husband. you might have told them the truth.

by six months, your patience has worn thin.

you eat dinner alone most nights. you hear his voice more through walls, talking in a formal tone than across from you. you’ve taken to pressing a warm hand to your belly and whispering your day to your unborn child, because someone should hear you. someone should care.

coriolanus cares. you know that. you know that. but what good is care if it never arrives when it matters?

ᥫ᭡

the appointment matters.

you tell him in certain terms: be there.

you place your hands on his chest that night, your body pressing against him beneath the thick sheets, and you say it again, slower this time. “please, coriolanus. i need you to be there. no excuses. no aides. i need you.”

and his eyes soften. his hands cradle your face like something sacred, his thumbs brushing just beneath your cheekbones. “i swear to you,” he says, voice low and warm, “i will be there. nothing comes before you. nothing.”

he kisses you like an oath. you fall asleep hopeful.

ᥫ᭡

the waiting room is cold. your fingers shake. the sonogram sheet is curled in your hand again, another appointment alone, another pair of nurses offering empty smiles when they realize he’s not coming.

you hold off calling him for the first ten minutes.

by the second ten, your eyes are burning and the wrenching coil of embarrassment, betrayal, and pain wraps around your heart.

by the time the midwife enters the room, you’ve stopped pretending. she sits beside you. she’s kind. she congratulates you on how well the pregnancy is going. she tells you the baby’s heartbeat is strong. everything is progressing beautifully. she asks if you’d like to listen to the heartbeat again. when the lump forming in your throat is too painful to speak, she asks hesitantly if you’re okay.

you lie and say you’re fine.

you don’t want to cry in front of her. not here. not now.

you hold the newest scan in your lap. you stare down at it with empty hands. for the first time, you wonder what kind of father your child is going to have. you wonder how long it will take them to realize they deserve more.

ᥫ᭡

he comes home late. not a shock to you.

however, instead of allowing yourself to sink into your cold bed like usual, you stay up.

not midnight. not two. closer to dawn.

the sound of the door opening drifts through the house like a ghost. you hear his footsteps across the floor, the usual pattern: coat off, boots at the door, briefcase on the floor. you listen from the top of the stairs, not moving, not breathing.

he doesn’t call your name. he doesn’t even go upstairs.

you stand there for a long time, clutching the sonogram photo so tightly the paper creases down the center. then you move.

ᥫ᭡

the door to his office slams open without warning. coriolanus startles. he’s on a call—some grain regulation nonsense from district seven—and he looks up sharply when he sees you. hints of his curls are coming out. tie loosened. tired eyes.

but your voice slices through the silence before he can say a word.

“you missed it.”

he opens his mouth yet no sound comes out.

you step inside, sonogram photo in hand, fury blooming through your chest like thorns. “i waited. i sat in that sterile room for over an hour hoping you’d walk through the door. i looked at that screen alone. i heard our baby’s heartbeat alone. i had to smile and nod like i’m not breaking in half every time you forget we’re a family and not just a campaign.”

he stares at you, speechless.

but you don’t stop.

“you swore, coriolanus. you looked me in the eye and you swore. and I’m standing here with proof that your promises mean nothing.”

he takes a step forward. the hurt flashes through his eyes. “don’t say that.”

“why not? because it hurts?” your voice cracks. “try being six months pregnant and fucking forgotten!”

he looks like you slapped him. good.

the tears sting, threatening to fall. you don’t wait for more. you leave the sonogram on his desk, turn around, and walk away - hoping he doesn’t notice the shake of your shoulders as you silently sob.

you go to bed alone.

ᥫ᭡

he doesn’t come in right away. you half expect him to sleep in his office out of guilt.

but an hour later, the door creaks open. you feel the mattress shift under his weight. and then? silence.

a few minutes pass and you almost pretend to be asleep.

but then you hear his voice. not the commanding tone of a president you’d gotten so used to hearing. just a man.

“i’m… afraid,” he says.

he’s facing the ceiling, one hand behind his head, the other resting against his chest. “i think if i let myself look away, just for a moment, everything i’ve built will collapse. and then i’ll lose you. and our child. and everything i’ve done will mean nothing.”

you don’t move.

“i never meant to hurt you, darling. i know that doesn’t matter. but i need you to know—i see you. i’ve seen every empty seat I should have filled. every moment i missed. and i fucking hate myself for it.”

you turn to face him. he almost flinches at the sight of your eyes.

“then stop running from us.” you breathlessly whisper.

he reaches for you, slowly, reverently, and when his arms wrap around you, it’s the first time in weeks you feel like he’s home. you press your forehead to his. his hand finds your bump. he kisses you like you’re glass and he’s desperate to keep you whole.

he places small, gentle kisses down your neck and collarbone, whispering an, “i’m sorry,” every few. sliding further down the bed, he reaches face to face with your belly. he cups the bump of your baby, and speaks almost directly towards it. you watch as he murmurs genuine words of apology and love, before resting his forehead against your stomach.

call it pregnancy hormones, but as you ran your fingers through his hair and watched as his icy eyes peered up at you, you felt salty tears pooling in your own. his gaze flashed with concern, but these weren’t tears of sadness.

“sweetheart?” he blinked, leaning back up to kiss your forehead.

gently wrapping his arms around you, he rolled you both on your sides, so your face was buried in his chest whilst he cradled you. whispers of reassurance danced in your ears, and the feeling of being back in his arms, his scent swallowing you…

some apologies don’t need words. you forgive him anyway.

ᥫ᭡

the next morning, he doesn’t leave at dawn. there’s no calls he has to make, no early office runs and the sound of the shower running at 6am. you wake up with his protective hand resting on your belly, his eyes peacefully closed. right now, he looks younger than normal, so calm. like he doesn’t have the weight of a country on his shoulders.

your fingers find his cheek, gently stroking his shaved face. his eyes open, his lips immediately curling in a smile. his arms around you tighten, moving so he’s resting above you.

you honestly wouldn’t be able to recall just how it began, but after a few words and kisses shared between you and coriolanus - a calm morning turned into you gripping the sheets, your thighs shaking around his head whilst his mouth worked wonders. god, how you had missed that side of your marriage as well.

right now, he lets you rest your head in his lap on the balcony while he reads your prenatal updates aloud in a quiet voice. and when the baby kicks, just once, beneath his hand—he freezes.

then smiles.

he’s coming home. back to his darling girl.

his pearly whites flashed the effortless capitol smile, even if he was miles away from there right now. not for long.

your expectant gaze landed on him after a couple seconds, his now diminished curls making it harder to recognise him in a crowd. you always loved his hair, the startle you had when you first saw it shaved was comical.

“coryo!” you called out, not caring about how a capitol lady should act right now. you ran towards him, his muscular arms out ready.

jumping into his embrace, you buried your face into the crook of his neck, feeling an immense weight lifting off your shoulders.

“someone’s missed me,” he teased, earning a playfully harsh look from you. he chuckled, leaning forward and murmuring, “hi, baby,”before his lips finally, finally landed on yours.

your hands instinctively went to grip onto his nonexistent curls, yet you ended up having to make do with scraping your freshly-manicured nails across his scalp.

reluctantly, you both pulled away, and he set you down onto the ground.

lost in each other’s eyes, all you could do was admire the man you got to call yours.

the snow family might not be on top right now, but you knew coriolanus would build his status up once he left this place. partly because you knew your strong boyfriend could do anything, and partly because he would remind you of his plans whenever he got the chance.

“i missed you so much, my sweet girl.” his nose brushed against yours, your eyes closing as you rested your forehead against his.

“i missed you more.”

the train whistling and the on charge peacekeepers yelling for everyone to move off the platform ripped you both out of the moment, his hand finding yours.

the routine you two had formed was put in place every time you visited. go straight to his (private) dormitory: talk, fuck, cuddle, whatever. then, once the skies were beginning to turn orange, you both would take a walk in the many meadows of district 12.

despite all the horrid stories coriolanus had told you about this place, you found it strangely peaceful. calm. that being said, you only came a few hours every month.

last month, you asked if you could go into the town, having not left the capitol your whole life making your curiosity spark. coriolanus had firmly said no, wanting to keep you ‘away from those lunatics’.

you didn’t know how he did it, staying here for so long. it was torture for you, not seeing him, but you were granted with the luxuries of the city along with your families money.

coryo had refused to accept any offer you had given him to help his living situation back in the capitol. claiming he would be showering you with his own riches in the future, with you as his wife. the idea of that made your heart warm.

ᥫ᭡

“where are we going, coryo? i thought your place was that way.” you pointed over to the rickety building down the street. he wrapped an arm around your waist, a small glimmer in his eyes.

“i thought we could take a walk down to the meadows, y’know, before it gets dark.” he said, leading you through the bustle of other peacekeepers with their family.

“it’s the middle of the day.” you stated bluntly, suspicion growing as your eyebrows furrowed.

he dismissed your point, changing the subject. you reached the trees and grass, not far from his small dorm which was on the outskirts of the streets.

at the bottom of the hill sat the large oak tree you both had grown familiar with attending. however, bright flowers and flourishing grass wasn’t the only thing you could see next to it.

a blanket laid at the bottom, a basket on top, filled with contents. you smiled, pleasantly intrigued. turning around, you met coryo’s proud look.

“what is this?” you giggled, grabbing his hand tighter and pulling him down the hill with you.

coriolanus almost stumbled as you ran down, eliciting more of your giggles. once you arrived at the little arrangement, you beamed, crouching down at what was in the basket.

freshly picked fruits, a small handful of beautiful flowers, and… a polaroid picture. you squinted, picking it up and examining it. a gasp escaped your lips when you saw what it contained.

it was the picture you and coriolanus took on your last date in the capitol, oblivious to the fact he would be sent to district 12 in less than a day. a happy memory, yet a sad shadow of what was to come following. your smile faltered slightly at the recollection of saying goodbye.

“coryo… i didn’t know you brought this. but this is so sweet, what’s all this for?” you turned to look at him, his cheeks slightly pink from his own gesture.

he didn’t say anything at first, sitting down on the rough blanket opposite you. you did the same, getting comfy and running your hands over the soft grass beneath you. reaching out, he took the picture from your hands.

“this photo reminds me of what i’m getting out of staying here. knowing that i’m going to be with you after i leave motivates me more and more every day.” he continued, staring down at the polaroid. “and i hope you know how much joy it brings me to know we’re going to be recreating this soon.”

if you weren’t confused before, you were now.

“what do you mean? there’s only cameras in the capitol.” you inquired. his eyes met yours once more, silently admitting what he was alluding.

your jaw dropped. “but that means… you’re coming home?” you breathed, terrified you were dreaming.

coriolanus broke out into a smile, nodding. “one more week, and i’ll be the one looking for you on the platform.”

you squealed, lunging forward and practically tackling him onto the ground. “coriolanus!!” your voice nearly broke, “you’re coming home, you’re actually coming home,”

he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you just as tight. “i’m coming home, darling.”

a tear of joy swam down your cheek, your breath hitching as his lips crashed onto yours. his hand traveled up into your hair, not granting you any space to move away from him whilst his other hand gripped your waist.

what started off as a kiss full of gratitude gradually turned into something hot and heavy, your lips moving against each other sloppily.

he sat up, allowing your legs to straddle him whilst he kissed you senseless. soon enough, his tongue slipped into your mouth hungrily, dominating you even when you’re sat on top. his desire for control never wavered, it seemed.

you certainly weren’t complaining.

the hand on your head moved down to the hem of your dress, snaking underneath and moving all the way up to graze over your bra. your heart was racing now, and the bulge in his pants being right underneath your clothed pussy wasn’t helping.

his hand moving to unclasp your bra was a tell he was ready to fuck you silly — a habit you’d noticed a few rounds back. only one of you must’ve remembered you were in the middle of a meadow, and fucking on the ground wouldn’t be very hygienic.

“coryo-…” you tried to speak through his kisses, “we… can’t… not here.”

he groaned into the kiss, his hand smoothing over the soft skin of your back. he was impatient, you could tell. so were you, but not enough to have sex next to a tree.

when your hands rested on his shoulders, coaxing him to pull away, he did so with a sigh and a rather pressing problem. you smiled down at that yearning look on his face, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

your fingers began gently combing over his hair. you had to admit, the buzz cut did enhance his sharp features, making him more masculine. but you missed tugging at his curls.

“you’ll be happy to grow your curls back.” you murmured, voice soft and nurturing. his eyes closed at your nails raking over his head, nodding slowly and letting out a deep noise of agreement.

as much as he loved to be in control over everything, to be the strong, capable man in the relationship — you knew how much he secretly loved being cared for, loved hearing your soothing voice. it usually calmed him down whenever his short temper flared.

his head leaned forward, lips going to your neck. you felt him inhale through his nose, taking in the scent of your perfume. “can’t wait to wake up with you next to me, every day.”

you sighed dreamily at the idea.

the birds chirping, the smell of summer combined with the feel of your boyfriend holding you and placing tiny kisses along your collarbone felt like heaven.

your eyes spotted the basket with fruit inside, mostly strawberries. leaning forward, you picked one out.

“did you pick these?”

“mhm.” was all coriolanus replied, distracted by how good you felt against him and how sweet your skin tasted on his lips.

you rolled your eyes at his antics, pulling back and holding the strawberry up to his lips. begrudgingly, he took a bite, pissed from the sudden lack of touch.

you two stayed there for a short while, talking about little things and eating the fruit coriolanus had picked. he talked about the future, how his days in the districts are, and how different things are run in the capitol. you could tell he missed the city; you’d certainly be eager to get back if you spent months in district 12.

you filled him in on pointless gossip, how tigris was, and what you both were gonna do when he came home. it was all very exciting, knowing your life together would begin a week from now.

after all of your chatting (and a few make out sessions), the sun was setting, and you both decided to head back to his room. you’d be leaving in the morning, but it wouldn’t be as painful this time. knowing that you’d be seeing one another again in a week was riveting.

ᥫ᭡

coriolanus’ room was small. especially compared to how peacekeepers dormitories looked in the capitol. thankfully, due to all his hard work, and his last name, he had a private dorm.

you had gotten used to this little place, it almost felt sad to know this was the last night you’d spend in here. but you also knew the future held much more exciting times.

coryo sat on his bed with a sigh, taking off his shirt and leaning back against the wall. the heat in here was high in summer. another reason why he couldn’t wait to get home.

but whilst his mind was set on that, you were wearily eyeing the rifle sitting in the corner of his room.

he seemed to notice your unease, following your gaze to the gun. he sighed again. “baby—”

“do you use that often?” you blurted out, cutting him off.

yes. but you didn’t need to know that.

“no.” he lied, standing up and walking in front of you, blocking your vision from seeing the weapon.

“it’s just for my protection, sweetheart. you know what these rebels are like.” his finger tilted up your chin to look at him.

you didn’t seem too convinced at his reasoning — but you didn’t understand just what his job was exactly. ‘protecting people’, he had told you. it wasn’t a full lie, he supposed. it was better if you didn’t know he’s seen and dealt with more bodies than he’d like to admit.

“sometimes, these people do stupid things that put lives at risk. in some cases, a gun is the only way to stop them from hurting me or others.” he placed a kiss on your forehead, “i do it so i can come home to you. to us.”

his words made you focus more on how his hand was gently rubbing on your back rather than him shooting innocent people. you nodded, arms lifting to wrap around his neck. this pulled you closer, noses brushing once more.

“okay. i trust you.” you whispered, your lips parting slightly as you gazed up at him. you were in such close proximity now, and suddenly the temperature felt higher.

you saw the way the look in his eyes changed, and how his hand moved down to your ass, making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s getting late,” he taunted, “maybe i should show you just what i’m going to do once i get back home, yeah?” his hand squeezed your ass, causing you to gasp.

“yeah…” your voice was breathless, filled to the brim with need.

he chuckled at that, at how fucking needy you were when he hadn’t even touched you properly yet. with one last glance at your desperate expression, he kissed you deeply, picking you up and walking over to his bed.

your legs wrapped around his waist, whimpering into the kiss when you felt him harden against you. he placed you down onto the bed, your chest rising up and down in heavy breaths of lust.

coriolanus swore under his breath at the sight of you sprawled out in front of him, that hazy look in your eye that screamed ‘fuck me’.

one tap on your knee made your legs slowly spread, your light summer dress hiking up to show him your damp panties. this elicited an actual groan of hunger and desire from your boyfriend, his bulge almost looking painful.

not wasting another second, his hands grabbed your thighs, dragging you closer. one hand went to your neck as he leaned forward and captured your lips whilst the other went down to the waistband of your underwear.

but before he touched you, he went back up to your dress, pulling it over your head and exposing your bra. now you were nearly fully bare for him, just how he likes it. soon enough, his hand trailed down, teasing you through your panties.

whining into his lips, your hips bucked up, which made him pin you down. he muttered something about patience, but how could you be patient with all this teasing?

“coryo,” you pleaded, your sweet little voice higher in hopes to persuade him to fuck you sooner. “coryo, please—!”

your begging got cut off shamelessly by his hand pulling your panties to the side and slamming two fingers inside of you, earning the first moan from you in months of not seeing each other.

his fingers didn’t move, but his thumb began to rub mindless circles on your clit, making your eyes nearly roll back.

“oh, baby, you love it when i take care of this soaking pussy, don’t you? yeah? love it when i do this?” his fingers began curling inside you, resulting in your nails scraping down his back and mewls leaving your lips.

when you didn’t reply, he pulled his hand away, slapping your cunt and tutting. you gasped at the sensation, “yes! yes, i love it,” you whined. he nodded approvingly, this thumb finding your clit again.

your arms reached out for him, grasping onto his back and pulling him closer. he kissed you again, tongue going in and out of your mouth whilst he murmured vulgar words.

“gonna get you all nice and wet for me, all ready for my cock, angel.”

his fingers slipped inside you again, curling and moving in and out.

he groaned, “fuck, i can feel you squeezing my fingers. are they not enough for you, huh? not enough for my little slut?”

the words leaving his lips alone were probably enough to bring you to the edge, never mind when he was attacking your clit and simultaneously fucking you with his fingers.

after a long month of no orgasms, you reached your brink, throwing your head back as loud moans filled the room. he encouraged you to cum on his fingers, and not a moment later you were coating them with your slickness.

your head leaned against his shoulder, his hand holding the back of your head as he hovered above you. slowly, he adjusted your position, lifting you up and sitting you on his lap.

you having one orgasm wasn’t nearly enough for coryo. even if you were slightly spent after that hard release, you still felt your core craving his cock. he was right, his fingers weren’t enough right now.

“coryo?” you mumbled, that same heat permeating your tone. he picked it up immediately, and you could hear the smirk on his face.

“darling?”

you bit your lip, lifting your head from his shoulder and brushing your lips against his. “need you.”

his smirk grew wider. “how do you need me, my sweet girl?”

you squirmed in his lap, not used to saying all the inappropriate phrases like him. he noticed your shyness.

“need me to fill that cunt?”

you swallowed, nodding.

feeling a slight wave of boldness, your hands went down to his pants, unzipping his trousers. he let out a breath he must’ve been holding for a while.

while you messed with his boxers, his hands went to your panties, pulling them down to reveal your sensitive cunt, glistening with your arousal.

you had taken out his rock hard length from his boxers, and you swear you could’ve drooled at the sight of it. sometimes you forgot just how big he was, and how easily he could slip into your pussy.

just as you plucked up the courage to sink onto him, he grabbed your hips, lifting you up and lowering you down onto his aching cock.

now both of your moans and groans could be heard throughout the room.

coriolanus had whimpered, actually whimpered, when he felt you tighten around him. you panted heavily, trying your best not to squirm at the feeling of him fully inside you. it seemed everywhere he touched was enough to make you shudder in pleasure.

so when he snapped his hips up, his hand grabbing your breast through your lacy bra, you nearly toppled into him from the ecstasy revelling through your body.

the sound of skin slapping and heavy breathing was the only thing heard in the room — at least until he picked up the pace. your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into him whilst you moaned breathlessly.

whilst he fucked you, a series of crude words spilled out. “gonna make my future wife pregnant already, yeah? gonna…” he groaned, “gonna fuck my kids into you, make you the wealthiest woman in the country when i get back home.”

his burning thirst for power had not gone unnoticed. a combination of his two favourite feelings — you, and the feeling of control.

you didn’t mind. coriolanus was always obsessed with coarse talk during sex.

his cock relentlessly hit your sweet spot, repeatedly moving in and out no matter how hard you clenched around him. your second climax was already round the corner, he could tell, yet it came sprinting when he decided to rub your clit once more.

“fuckk, yeah, yeah baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock.”

your lips parted, holding your breath as you rode out your orgasm. tilting your head back, you pulsed around him, whimpering when you felt his dick twitch inside of you. he definitely wasn’t far behind.

with a final groan of bliss, his head fell forward onto your chest, your bodies sweaty and the aftermath of sex relaxing your limbs. your chin rested on top of his head, both of you taking the time to catch your breath.

you stayed like that for a short while, before taking each other again, and again. a month apart always felt like a year when it came to this. you both had learned to use time to it’s advantage — you were permitted to leave at 7am the latest.

but this time was different. it was the last time you’d be rushing to undress each other, the last time you’d be waking up with nightmares that he had been in a terrible accident. the last time he’d be worried your parents decided to marry you off. it wasn’t uncommon in the capitol.

all of your trepidations were guaranteed to dissipate in a mere week.

ᥫ᭡

“coryo,” your voice echoed through coriolanus’ ears. was he dreaming? it sure wouldn’t be the first time.

“coryo.” you repeated. he must be dreaming, your angelic voice isn’t usually blessing him in the mornings.

“coriolanus, get up. i have to leave in thirty minutes.”

that sure woke him up.

his eyes opened, squinting immediately at the rising sun seeping through the window. luckily, he was greeted with a perfect sight this morning.

you, sat up with the sheets barely covering your chest, nearly on top of him from how small this bed was. no need to dwell on how annoying it was now, not when he had six days to go.

your hair was tangled, multiple love bites decorating your collarbone from the past nights activities. what a sight for sore eyes.

however, his admiration was cut short when he registered what you had said. “thirty minutes?” he croaked. his voice was always a tone deeper in the mornings.

you nodded, “i’m going to miss my train if we don’t set off soon.” your expression was doleful, causing his heart to ache.

he turned over, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “maybe i should just keep you here.”

you sighed. he always made comments like these, and it pained to know they could never do them.

cupping his face in your hands, you tilted his head up. leaning forward, you gave him a soft kiss. you had learned to relish these little moments.

“alright, i have to get dressed now.” you murmured against his lips.

“i know you do.” he groaned, making no effort to move.

smiling against him, you pulled away, not letting him be the reason you miss your train and get yelled at by a chief commander (again).

once you both reluctantly got changed, it was now time to make your ways to the platform. in your opinion, the walk there was worse than the goodbye itself.

strangely, this time it felt… peaceful.

knowing it would be your last time walking on this grass, through the rocky cobbled streets, it was oddly calming.

the train came in a matter of minutes due to your late arrival, to you and coryo’s despair. he pulled you closer, if that was possible, your foreheads resting together again.

“this week is gonna go by so slow.” he murmured. he wasn’t wrong, but you were rarely the negative one in the relationship.

“no it won’t,” you smiled, “we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

he grinned, “our last time saying goodbye.”

you tilted your head, “i don’t think of it as a goodbye. i think of it as a… ‘see you soon’. that sounds better, don’t you think?”

his smile turned gentler, his hand moving form your waist to your cheek. “i like that.”

“alright, alright, everybody! make your way onto the train!” the imperious peacekeepers shouted out their demands.

coriolanus wasted no more time, catching your lips with his. the last kiss was always so deep, it would linger on you for the rest of the day.

pulling away after a few moments, you smiled, a small tear in your eye. departing from your boyfriend was always difficult, yet you both wore proud smiles at what the very near future held.

“see you soon, coryo.”

“see you soon, baby.”

ᥫ᭡

stalking towards the millionth gift, your fingers delicately unraveled the silky ribbons.

it was beautiful, you had to admit.

a thin band of gold created a glistening yet classy necklace, with a small clover in the middle. the exact one you and clemensia were chatting excitedly about during last night’s dinner with associates.

must be a coincidence.

those 4 words were on repeat in your mind frequently now. especially every time the product you barely mentioned ended up on your vanity table the next day and every time your lips dared to tug up into smile at your husband’s antics.

no amount of financial gain he could grant would be close to the amount of pain he had caused.

it was a harsh reminder at times. that you couldn’t see him the same as before. and oh, how badly did you want to.

to forgive him, to go back to how it was.

before the awkward silences in car rides.

before rushing to go to sleep before he comes to bed.

but no. even if you had some form of love for him, it wasn’t enough to falter the absolute loathing you felt towards him sometimes.

the pure hatred you felt for letting him take advantage of you that night. in your most vulnerable state.

the pure hatred you felt for yourself every time you looked at your bare body, knowing he had ruined it. he had chewed you up and spit you out, leaving a memory of the girl who viewed herself as a siren.

so no, his little gifts didn’t bring much joy anymore.

as if another fucking necklace is going to make up for what he’s done. it sure wasn’t the first thing around your neck lately. hell, maybe he should stab you and buy a new dress, then everything will be fine—

“i take it the necklace is not to your liking.”

his voice ripped you out of your frustrating thoughts. your narrowed eyes and fingertips digging into the leather box snitched on your inner feelings. turning around, you faked a smile for what felt like the tenth time today.

“it’s beautiful. thank you.” your teeth gritted, “it’s the… third piece of jewellery this week.”

coriolanus matched your tight smile. “yes, well, my wife can never have too much fashion items. what else would you and clemensia giggle about?” he tried to diffuse the tension.

you didn’t laugh. instead, you nodded, your smile dropping as you turned around and placed the box somewhere it will only be merely glanced at. he didn’t need to know that.

the last thing you heard from coriolanus was a small sigh, before he walked into the bathroom.

no more words were shared for the rest of the night.

ᥫ᭡ 4 days later

5 times.

5 times did you have to endure adding another present to your shelves. at this rate, you would need a new room dedicated to his gifts.

you found yourself wondering why he was doing this. were they meant to be apologies? that nearly made you laugh.

it angered you, not knowing why. did he feel guilty? he must do, why else would he bawl in your arms the next day?

you thought about that moment a lot. more so than the actual assault. it had perplexed you, really. sometimes it disturbed you.

how he could go to hitting you, screaming in your face, punishing you — to staining your skin with his poisonous tears.

“‘m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry,” he had cried. the sound of his wracking sobs made your heart clench, even if the very man you had tried to love destroyed you.

nevertheless, you were sick and tired of adding another bracelet, another pair of heels, or another goddamn dress to your shelves.

so imagine your surprise when yet another box of whatever luxury item he had bought showed up on your vanity.

you could not care less at whatever contents it held.

letting your nails dig into your palms and your expression to harden, you strutted towards the prize. picking it up, you didn’t spare another glance at anything else as you quickly paced towards coriolanus’ office.

usually, you would knock first. it was what a proper wife does, to not disturb her husband. now, you hoped with every morsel in your body you did disturb him.

slamming the box onto his desk, you ignored his dumbfounded expression.

“i want you to send this back. and every other gift you’ve bought for me recently.” you breathed heavily, shooting daggers at him.

his floored look only lasted for a few seconds, and he lowered the papers in his hand. he now simply stared at you, calmer than ever.

“as you wish. i’ll get someone to escort it out of our room later.” he stated, before picking up his documents and scanning them again.

oh.

you felt rather foolish standing here now.

“…you’re not going to ask why?” you replied, now the stunned one.

he shook his head.

you let out an exasperated sigh. “coriolanus.”

he looked up, raising his eyebrows for you to continue.

blinking a few times, you were at a loss for words. “do you even care?”

there was a deeper meaning beneath your sudden question, and you both knew it. it had remained unspoken between the two of you, even if the tension had raised tenfold in the air.

setting down his papers once more, he cleared his throat. a habit of his you’d noticed whenever he was trying to remain being the one in control of the conversation.

“i have no problem if the clothes aren’t suitable enough for you—“

“that’s not what i meant.”

he paused. you tried not to look at the way his hands were trembling ever so slightly. “explain it to me, then.”

“you… i-” you sighed, now feeling helpless. “how long is it gonna be like this, coriolanus?”

you shouldn’t have came here. every logical part of your body was screaming at you to just walk out, leave him be. but you couldn’t. you had to save your marriage — even if it was you who needed saving.

he opened his mouth to speak, yet no words left his lips. for a moment, you almost felt scared. it’s not like before. you didn’t need to shudder with worry at the thought of saying the wrong thing, refusing to go anywhere private in fear of getting a cruel scolding, maybe even a harsh slap.

if you had barged into his office and bombarded him with these questions a few weeks ago, you would’ve already been bent over his lap getting called names you didn’t think a president would even know.

but instead of grabbing your hair and reminding you who’s in charge, he stood up, straightening his suit. “i have an important call i need to make at work.”

just leave! you told yourself, but you found your feet moving to stand in front of him before you could register.

“no, don’t walk out on me.” your voice was stubborn, refusing to let him go.

oh, how the tables had turned. weren’t you the one getting threatened not to leave every day? now look at you.

he didn’t care, simply walking past. “coriolanus.”

he picked up his briefcase.

“coriolanus!” you were pleading now.

he opened the door.

“coryo.”

he stopped. you fell silent.

that name hadn’t left your lips ever since the incident occurred. it was almost unknown to you now — a shadow of who he was.

as embarrassing as it felt, you felt tears pool in your eyes. he didn’t turn around.

you both stood there, his back to you, anticipation and uncertainty revolving around the room.

as much as you thought you despised him and his ways, you wanted nothing more than for him to turn around and tell you everything you needed to hear. how much he hurt you, how much you needed healing.

the only thing you received was a sigh and his footsteps receding down the hall.

ᥫ᭡ one day later

you and coriolanus hadn’t spoken much since that afternoon. another day had gone by, and you were exhausted. funny how he can find a way to tire you out even when he practically lives at work.

now, turning your bedside lamp off, the last step of your evening routine was to fall asleep before he came home. the last time you were still awake and felt him getting into bed made your heart race. spending another sleepless night trying to pry off nightmares was not very tempting.

an easy task you would’ve thought, until you felt a hand on your bare shoulder.

freezing, you didn’t think twice to know who it was.

he murmured your name, almost asking if he can touch you. there’s always a first time for everything.

other than small brushes during dinners and fake hand holding during galas, this was the first time he had put a hand on you in private.

after a moment of deep contemplation and pretending to ignore the uncomfortable twist in your stomach, you nodded.

he slowly, carefully laid down on the bed, his arm reaching across and smoothing against your upper body. as if he was terrified you were going to shatter into a million pieces at one wrong movement.

he wasn’t entirely wrong.

his chest pressed against your back, and he lowered his face into your hair from behind, legs not touching. only 3 parts of your bodies were grazing together and his heart was pounding against your back. yours was doing the same.

in silence, you didn’t dare to move. for weeks now, the thought of you two even hugging again was enough to send you into a spiral. but strangely, this felt… different.

this time he wasn’t pressing his cock against your ass, placing kisses along your neck.

this time he wasn’t embracing you after hours of sex.

no, this was different. he was different.

“the sheer pain i have caused you… will haunt me until the day i die.” his deep voice rang in your ears. “and i do not expect one ounce of your forgiveness, nor do i deserve that privilege. i just…”

he trailed off, taking in a sharp breath and exhaling through his nose. was he crying?

“i need you, so, so much. i love you, and the thought of how much suffering i have delivered throughout the years makes me sick.”

now it was your turn to cry.

“you scared me that night.” you whispered, trying to not reveal your breaking voice.

he coated your hair with tears. “i know. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” he whimpered.

you didn’t respond. just laid there, quiet tears feeling like droplets of blood as they hit the sheets.

maybe you were an idiot to admit that been back in his arms was comforting. but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t overwhelming.

so, for the rest of the night, you stayed like that. letting his arms tighten every once in a while when you shifted in sleep, still horrified at the thought of losing you.

ᥫ᭡

something in the air had changed between you and coriolanus that night.

whether is was his seemingly heartfelt apology or the way neither of you pulled away from each others touch all night, who knows.

but there was no denying the fresh lightness you both felt when waking up tangled together. of course, your mental wounds still had a long journey yet to heal — and maybe they never will fully. he knew that, and from his words and the way he was staring at you right now told you he would help in anyway possible.

that didn’t mean everything was sunshine and rainbows, no. a sincere apology wasn’t going to erase all the torment you had endured — nor was it going to allow him to go back to how he used to treat you.

over the past few days, it almost felt like things had gone back to normal. almost.

sure, you still hadn’t kissed yet, and he hadn’t uttered another word about what he had done after a couple days.

but suddenly you didn’t dread the thought of him coming home, dinners weren’t unbearable — in fact, he even waited until you were finished to leave the table. usually it was the other way round.

the end of your day began feeling like the beginning, what with this little routine you and coriolanus had formed. every night, after dinner, you both would get ready for bed together. no interruptions, no standards, just the two of you in your own little world. it quickly became the highlight of your day.

tonight was a particularly special night.

your routinely procedure had been scheduled earlier it seems, with the time being 6pm and the shower already raining down onto the bathroom tiles.

“do you think i should wear the blue or red dress this evening, coryo?” you called out from your dressing room.

“both would look amazing on you. but red, i think, would suit you perfectly.” he replied from the steamy bathroom, his deep voice not needing to raise to echo off the walls.

you smiled at his choice, nodding as if he could see you.

holding the pretty crimson dress in front of your full-length mirror, you couldn’t help but feel all giddy inside. as if you were 19 again, getting ready for your first date with coriolanus.

it might as well be your first date all over again, with your freshly mended marriage. coryo had proposed an evening out at one of the finest restaurants in the capitol, all booked out for you of course. you had smiled and agreed, as if you weren’t buzzing with excitement at getting dressed up for an event you were actually looking forward to.

whilst you applied mascara, coriolanus walked in, wrapped in a towel. he had lost some weight during the past few weeks, yet his muscles were still rather prominent. you never commented on this observation.

“you look…” he let out a deep breath, struck by your pure beauty.

rolling your eyes playfully, you nodded towards the newly bought suit laid on your bed. he insisted on buying you clothes, yet that didn’t mean you couldn’t return the favour. even if it was with his money.

a chuckle was heard from him, “darling, you didn’t need to.”

“you don’t like it?” you tilted your head, walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his torso.

he shook his head immediately. “no, no, i love it. thank you, i didn’t think buying suits for me was on your mind. you’ve seen how many i own.”

“you’ve seen how many dresses i own, too. yet you still continue to buy me more.” you retorted. he smiled fondly, turning around and placing his hands on your waist.

your eyes met, the light banter turning into something deeper. the strain in his piercing blues was evident, and you knew what he was preventing himself from doing.

preventing himself from smashing his lips onto yours, taking what’s his and showing you just how gorgeous you are right now.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave that just about now.

but kissing was a big step to cross, at least for you. maybe he didn’t see it — but even his hand grazing along your neck made your heart race.

if you were being honest, you’d say it wasn’t him kissing you that made your anxiety spark. it was not knowing how you’d react that scared you. what if you despised the feeling of his lips on yours, and all of this progress so far was for nothing. or what if you were just overthinking it and the more physical contact, the more closer you both got.

either way, your view on it was black and white. it was a miracle or a train wreck. you didn’t want to risk the chances.

so, you stepped back, pulling yourself out of your shared trance, smoothing your hands over your dress. you tried to divert the conversation, hoping he’ll follow. “what time is the car coming?”

he cleared his throat, luckily catching on to what you were trying to do. “30 minutes now. i’ll get changed, wait for me in the living room.”

that wasn’t a question; you of all people would recognise. you nodded, giving him a small smile and leaving the room.

even if things had… adapted in your relationship, coriolanus’ knack for commanding didn’t waver at times. not all of his habits had been set in stone, though coriolanus was a naturally controlling man and nothing would change that.

ᥫ᭡

clutching onto coryo’s hand, you giggled as you walked out of the restaurant. your laughter was fuelled by the pure joy of the night you’ve had — and maybe the couple glasses of wine you drank. coriolanus had made sure you watched how much you poured, so maybe you were a little tipsy.

being drunk would remind you of that night, and that was awful to think about. good thing this night had made you ecstatic.

“thank you for this, coryo. you always know how to make me smile.”

now it was his turn to laugh, stopping you both to stand in front of the fancy building you emerged from. “so do you, my love.”

it was almost as if the stars aligned exactly for this moment, the deep black sky littered with white dots of glimmer. the moon shone proudly down onto you both, his tall figure exaggerated as he towered above you.

your hands went up, his once neat, gelled hair now slightly messy, showing off his curls more. distracted by taming his hair, you didn’t realise how profoundly he was admiring your face, his pacific eyes roaming over your features. taking in his beautiful wife.

your eyes met his. you nearly blushed. “what?”

he didn’t reply.

deep, deep yearning was the only way to describe the look on his face right now. you batted your eyelashes up at him, oblivious to the unrequited love he was silently expressing.

maybe looks weren’t enough.

he leaned forward, gently capturing your lips with his.

at first, you were completely taken aback. but with his hands resting on your hips and the small patter of rain beginning to fall above you, you couldn’t help but fall into his touch, kissing him back just as tenderly.

a mix of relief, desire, and slight hesitance laced the kiss. it wasn’t like anything you had predicted — no, it was nearly perfect. you could tell he didn’t want to hurt you, and the usual hunger and lust which poisoned your kisses before had died down.

you broke the kiss when the sound of the car pulled up. you couldn’t be happier that was the only reason.

your foreheads rested against each other for a moment as you caught your breath, not caring about the droplets of rain coating your hair. coryo’s hand came up to your cheek.

“let’s get you home, yeah?” he murmured, taking your hand and walking towards the car.

the ride home was somewhat healing in itself.

no longer sitting the furthest distance from one another, his hand snaked around your waist as your head rested on his shoulder.

no radio silence filling the car awkwardly, now it was filled with light teasing and small reassurances.

“did you enjoy tonight?” his voice was low, right by your ear yet strangely soothing. you sleepily nodded, feeling your limbs relax. he leaned back against the leather seats and pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest.

the last thing you heard before slumber took you was, “go to sleep, my sweet girl. i’ll wake you when we arrive.”

ᥫ᭡

shifting lazily in your drowsiness, you cracked your eyes open, expecting to be met with your husband’s voice telling you you’re home. instead, you were met with the sound of the tap running in the bathroom and the sight of your silky sheets.

“coryo?” you croaked out, still practically half asleep.

rubbing your eyes and reluctantly getting out of bed, you walked over to your nightgown set on the armchair in the corner. he must’ve laid out some pyjamas for you. part of you wished he would’ve dressed you himself.

taking off your tightly clasped bra, you pulled the silky gown over yourself and walked into the bathroom, greeted by the sight of your shirtless husband brushing his teeth.

he spat out the toothpaste into the sink once he saw you. walking over, he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“how did i get upstairs?” you questioned, voice delicate.

“i brought you up.” he mumbled simply, leaning down to bury his nose into your hair. he was tired too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“you carried me?”

he nodded, pulling away slightly. “is that okay?”

you didn’t reply. it wasn’t for the wrong reasons, but you couldn’t help just staring at him, almost dumbfounded.

who was this coryo who carried you to bed when you fell asleep? who knew, but you desperately didn’t want him to leave.

if you could see yourself now a mere few weeks ago, hell, maybe even 6 months ago, you wouldn’t of believed it. it was almost too good to be true.

maybe it was just the small wine intake taking over that brought you to tears. it sure surprised you, as it did for coriolanus.

“oh, oh darling. c’mere.” his concerned tone only made you cry even more. little did he know it was happy tears. he pulled you into his strong chest, like he was protecting you from the rest of the world. “what’s the matter?”

“i just-…” you blubbered, flinging your arms around him.

“breathe, sweetheart. talk to m—” his words were abruptly interrupted by you reaching up and kissing him vehemently.

he was taken aback for a moment, but he quickly found the rhythm and kissed back with just as much passion. his hand went to the back of your head, fingers holding you firmly.

the once deep, emotional kiss you had initiated gradually turned into something softer, slower. your hand rested on his jaw, feeling how your mouths moved meticulously against each other.

the motivation for suddenly catching his lips with yours was unbeknownst to you. whether it was the overwhelmingly strong realisation that coriolanus snow had changed for the better, or the unadulterated gratefulness you felt for the Gods above that they had freed you from your torment, who knows. all you knew was that the nostalgic craving of having his lips on yours was back: more than just a longing memory.

pulling away, you both let out a breath of air. your lips were tainted with colour from his own, cheeks flushed from his heavy breathing.

a breathless chuckle left you both at the same time, and his hands slid to the back of your thighs, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing and walking into the bedroom.

ᥫ᭡ the next morning

coriolanus was entranced by the old sight of your hair splayed across your pillows, lips slightly parted as your legs tangled with his. it was times like this that kept him going.

your eyes opened after a few more minutes, a small yawn escaping your throat as you stretched. coryo leaned forward and placed a small kiss on your temple.

the ruffled pile of your nightgown laying at the bottom of your bed used to be a telltale sign that you and coryo had had the time of your lives the night before. mostly coriolanus.

now it wasn’t remotely related to sex.

your nightgown and coryo’s trousers had been ditched last night, simply because the feeling of each other’s warmth was the equivalent to a lullaby. it had coaxed you both to sleep, being completely enclosed in one another all night. it felt like a fairytale.

“what’s going on in that little head of yours?” coriolanus smirked. you smiled, moving to place your head on top of his bicep.

“just… how much we’ve changed.” you admitted.

his relaxed demeanour slightly shifted at the topic of how they were in the past. he nodded. “go on.”

“i wouldn’t imagine us like this a few weeks ago,” you continued, “it all just feels crazy.”

“in a good way, i hope.” he tilted his head.

“definitely in a good way. i prefer it like this. no arguments, no standards, no… rules.”

he chuckled at that last word. “rules?”

you giggled, cheeks heating at your choice of words. “yeah, your orders, i don’t know.”

he shook his head with a fond smile. you knew he felt guilty about the ordeal, but still being in the presence of the president, your husband, made you feel a little stupid at times.

he pulled you closer, lips brushing against yours. “so no more rules?”

“no more rules.”

ᥫ᭡ end.

the hushed voices of your husband and his colleagues through his large oak door made your heart sink. whether it was out of shame, pain, or anger was beyond you.

pulling the sleeves of your silky nightgown over your wrists, you took one last deep breath and knocked once on the door. like always, it was small. gentle. that’s who you were perceived as anyway. surprisingly, it was hard to be confident and loud when you were married to the most powerful man in panem — especially around his associates. being anything other than the perfect capitol lady was a disgrace to society.

whatever conversation they were having shut down immediately, a few throats clearing as coriolanus’ deep voice gave you permission to walk in. you ignored the uneasy thrill of your heart racing when all eyes of older men were on you, in a small yet beautiful nightgown, usually only for your husbands eyes in your home house. it was strange for him to have this many people here at this time, even in the president’s office.

but many things were strange lately. ever since—

“darling?” that familiar voice ripped you out of your thoughts, and you nearly sunk into the floor when the look on the men’s faces had suddenly switched to pity. blinking a few times, you perked your head up to listen.

“i asked if you were alright.” he smiled gently.

“of course. my apologies for the interruption — i hadn’t realised you were busy.” you lifted a delicate hand to brush your luscious hair from your freshly-washed face. this small act caused your loose sleeve to slip from your wrist, causing everyone’s eyes to rip away from you faster than they looked.

apart from your husband’s.

his chiseled jaw clenched for a moment, staring intensely. realising your mistake, you immediately dropped your hand, eyes locking on the floor. suddenly, it felt like you were 5 years old getting scolded in front of your father’s friends.

feeling your whole body suddenly become boiling hot from embarrassment, you refrained the urge to run out the room.

“it’s no bother. what do you need?” you couldn’t even answer before the sound of your husband’s chair scraping across the floor rang in your ears, telling you everything you needed to know. his hand was on your cheek, coaxing you to look up at him. once you complied, he leaned forward, lips by your ear. you avoided looking at all these unknown faces whilst coriolanus murmured words out of earshot to anyone but you.

“give me twenty minutes for me to sort some things, and i’m all yours, i promise. you need rest, i’ll get someone to escort you back to our room.” his words were meant to be reassuring, but they only made you feel sick. you didn’t need someone to escort you to another room in your own fucking house.

biting back the tempting dare to shout, ‘i’m not a fucking child!’ in his face, you simply gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, letting him kiss you on the cheek. he guided you back to the grand oak doors of his office, hand on your lower back for only a few moments before he shut the door as soon as you stepped out.

ᥫ᭡

silent tears felt like knifes as they slid down your angelic face.

with shaky hands, you pulled your sleeve down.

it took all your strength not to scream and bawl at the sight you had to face every night and morning now.

the bandages.

layers of thin, white, woven cotton wrapped around your dainty wrists, a harsh contrast to your smooth skin. the reminder of what you had done haunted you every second of every day.

but it wasn’t the concealment of your wrist that tormented you. it was what held beneath it that really made you crawl. not just the slash — but the memory of that night.

ᥫ᭡

3 weeks earlier…

“…just once, just once, maybe i thought you could be an adult. to be a proper wife, but you can’t even do that. no, really, what can you fucking do, hm?”

your eyes had gotten used to the familiar burn of your tears. the embarrassment grew every time. he always knew what to say to bring you to this state. sat at the end of your large shared bed, sobs strained your raspy throat, you squeezed your eyes shut to block out his harsh words.

it clearly was the end of the world to him, what you had done. you had “ruined your body,” he had spat earlier.

you couldn’t bear to look down at the 4 pink scars on each of your upper thighs. you were an idiot for thinking he wouldn’t notice. why wouldn’t he? after the arguments, after the name-calling, after the gaslighting, it was always the same. he fucked you all night, whispered pleasure-filled ‘apologies’ and left you to wake up to an empty bed and not see any sign of him until 7pm when he would return from work.

“your words really hurt me sometimes, coriolanus…” you choked out. he was so angry, veins bulging from his neck, hair a large contrast to how neat it usually is. he let out a bitter laugh. “my words?”

“do you know how silly your little act is?” he reached forward and grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing you to look up at him. the tight grip he had on you didn’t match his sudden calm tone.

“this is what mentally unstable people do, darling. are you unstable? did i marry a crazy person?” he taunted, tilting his head patronisingly. it surely coaxed the reaction he wanted.

a few more tears fell down your flushed face, and you tried shaking your head. “no, no, i’m not crazy, coryo… i’m sorry, i won’t do it again!”

“oh, baby, don’t cry. i know you won’t. i’ll make sure of that.” his hand loosened in your hair, stroking it softly. his words settled you down a little more, oblivious of what was to come.

you lowered your head, leaning forward to press your forehead against his abdomen as he stood above you. still comprehending the whole situation, hectic hitches of your breath escaped your lips and shook your shoulders.

“you know i love you, my sweet girl. it pains me greatly that you’re this stupid sometimes.” his stinging words sounded gentle, so you didn’t pay any mind. you were just coriolanus’ dumb, little wife anyway.

when you didn’t respond, he pulled your hair again, eliciting a strangled mewl. “i know, i love you too..!” you cried out. he nodded, moving his hand down to your cheek.

“are you going to disappoint me again?” he took your chin firmly and shook your head left and right. satisfied, almost amused, a smirk curled on those lips. the same lips of his that can spew the most vile words, and all the more loving ones.

ᥫ᭡

the next morning

waking up, you felt light as a feather whilst the morning light poured through the tall curtains. like usual, coriolanus was probably already at work.

after a night of sex, promises, and praises, it seemed your husband had gotten over your self-harm silly mistake! oh, how clueless you were.

when you walked into your large closet, it felt like you had been shot.

it was all gone.

all your glamorous dresses, expensive shoes, beautiful jewellery.

empty. your side of the space you cherished the most in your house was completely desolate.

breaking down in tears, you ran into the bathroom to your vanity.

also barren.

the only thing displayed on your once packed beauty area was some moisturiser and a toothbrush.

after 10 minutes of crying your heart out on the bathroom floor, you got up and opened your bedroom door, determined to belt coryo’s workplace out until his secretary answered and put you on the phone to him.

two peacekeepers stepped in front of you. before you could open your mouth, one of them recited their orders.

“apologies, mrs snow. you may not leave this area. orders of president snow.”

you could punch one of these men right now.

raising your eyebrows, you gaped at his words. “excuse me? this is my own house!”

they shook their heads. “apologies, ma’am. orders of president snow.”

feeling your eyes begin to sting, you turned around, closing the door and collapsing onto the bed, curling up into a fetal position whilst you cried.

you were stuck here.

when the clock hit 8, you were still in the same position you were in when you laid down. never did any staff bring food, or drinks — so you kept yourself occupied with 2 things. cry. sleep. cry. sleep. not moving once.

not even when your husband’s voice was heard muffled outside the door, probably talking to the peacekeepers. or you. you didn’t care anymore.

the door opened. only a sigh was heard, followed by footsteps.

“sweetheart?” the name only caused your heart to clench. more so when a hand landed on your shoulder. you didn’t move. “what’s wrong?”

this caused your jaw to tighten and your eyes narrow. spinning around, tears already streamed down your cheeks.

“what’s wrong is you locked me in here! all day!” you shouted in his face. “and all of my belongings are gone! you took them from me! you’re fucking evil—!”

his caring act snapped, grabbing you by the neck and forcing you down onto the bed. the livid, animalistic look in his eye was something you’ll never forget. he breathed deeply, heavily, closing his eyes as if to calm himself down. lucky for him — barely any air could leave your lungs right now. but he made sure you heard him clearer than you could breathe.

“and clearly, you haven’t learned your lesson. just when i thought you couldn’t get more dense. get up.” he spat the last two words, releasing his large hand around your neck.

spluttering, you gasped a few times, standing up and wincing when he grabbed your wrist tightly. leading you down the hallway, he spoke as you tried to catch up.

“you told me last night it was my words that caused you to hurt yourself.” he scoffed, continuing to drag you along.

he stopped you both in front of a room you hadn’t even been in before, despite living here nearly a year now. “and the clothes, well, i can’t have anyone knowing about your little vice.” he chuckled, as if this was funny at all. “you will get your clothes handed to you when needed.”

you wearily eyed the door in front of you. “what are you doing?”

he sighed. “since my words affect you so much,” he mocked, “i figure it must come to me not speaking to you whatsoever. maybe that will put an end to these games you insist on playing.” he opened the door.

“enjoy your new room.”

ᥫ᭡

2 weeks later

“please, please, coriolanus! i’m sorry! please just talk to me!” you bawled, on your knees in front of him whilst he sat at his desk, skimming over some documents.

he paid you no mind.

no attention, not even a glance.

it didn’t matter how much you screamed, called him names, insulted him, whatever. he didn’t acknowledge you.

you were given dresses by maids whenever there was a dinner or gala you both needed to attend. even then he didn’t speak directly to you, only referring you in conversation with others when necessary.

sometimes you threw up from how much you weeped.

coriolanus was all you knew. despite his behaviour towards you at times, his affection and care fuelled you endlessly. no matter how many times he laid his hands on you, his praises, his touch, was like a million apologies. he broke you repeatedly, then healed you once more. you’d rather have him beat you up and take care of your bruises than this.

for 2 weeks now, he hadn’t laid eyes on you, never mind touched. if he wanted a message across about plans for the week, he got his staff to do it.

there were no more dinners, no more kisses, no more scolding, nothing.

you weren’t permitted out of your room once it hit 7pm. that was the rule all the way to 7am. it ensured you didn’t try to leave, is what the peacekeepers said. you had a feeling it was so you didn’t bother their dear president. the man who was meant to be your devoting husband.

your bathroom was empty apart from a toilet, mirror, toothpaste, and a brush. sure, the intricate design was luxurious, but every room in the presidential mansion had to be spot on. even if you were basically being kept prisoner in it.

the only clothes in your closet were pyjamas and slippers. any fancy clothing were brought to you when needed. you found yourself wondering if coriolanus picked out the dresses.

you were invisible.

so now, as you begged for the 3rd time today for him to give any sign he gave a shit about you, you felt yourself reaching your breaking point. it was his and the staff’s day off, you weren’t missing this opportunity to try fix things. it was going nowhere.

you didn’t even exist in your own house anymore.

standing up, you walked out, leaving his study door open. the tears once pouring down your rosy cheeks had stopped. you almost felt dizzy.

walking into the room which you and coryo once shared, you walked into your his bathroom. top left drawer. that’s where he always went to shave.

when you used to get ready for bed together.

when he would tease you about how seriously you took your skincare routine.

when he would come up behind you and place kisses on your neck.

when you would stand on your tip-toes to shave his face for him.

that felt like years ago.

and suddenly, before you could stop yourself, you were reaching for the spare blades in the packet, taking one out.

you were like a ghost to him now anyway. he was a ghost to you now, too. a ghost of who he was. who was he now? and where did he go?

too much. it was all too much.

with one smooth slash, the blade ran across your vein. just above your pulse. then the other. slash. it was only when the clatter of the blade dropped onto the marble floor, followed by droplets of pure red when the gravity of the situation settled.

what the fuck?

what did i do?

“what did you do?!” coriolanus yelled. his voice never sounded so urgent. turning your head, the last thing you felt was his hand slipping under you, lifting you up before you fainted.

ᥫ᭡

present time.

ever since then, it was like nothing happened. things went back to normal. well, not completely, of course.

it had been exactly a week and a half since the incident, and coryo had put many things in place to ensure your health and safety was protected.

his razors were now locked up.

all jewellery only he got for you, to make sure there were no sharp edges.

no access to the kitchen without any company.

your bandages were changed every other day.

you had to see a doctor every day to check and treat the deep wound.

but no amount of antibiotics and bandages could soothe the mental wounds.

only coriolanus could.

but all of these restricts set in place didn’t bother you. why? because you had gotten him back.

you had moved back into your shared bedroom.

most of your dresses were back.

he spoke to you gently.

he caressed you, he kissed you, he treated you like a porcelain doll.

there was no apology for practically locking you up. you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

after all, you got your coryo back.

even if all these precautions and pitying eyes from the very few people who know do tick you off at times, you would choose this life any day over the one you had when he was so vile to you.

finished crying, you stared at yourself in your vanity mirror. he kept his promise. the door opened, and his lips tugged into a smile when he saw you. walking over, he leaned down and kissed your cheek. “i’m sorry for their prying eyes. how are you feeling?”

you shook your head, dismissing his apology. you hated any references to your attempt. “i’m okay.” you smiled.

coriolanus intertwined his hand with yours, pulling you up from your vanity stool. “my sweet girl.” he murmured, leading you over to the bed.

you laid down, and he hovered above you, his arms wrapping around your small frame. “never do something like that again, please.” he spoke into your hair.

you held your breath.

“i won’t.” you whispered. so delicate, so pure.

shame it was a lie.

as much as you didn’t like lying to him, you couldn’t help it. telling the truth would only make things complicated.

but it was true. you’d do it again and again if it meant you could have this coryo forever. and you’ll be sure to prove it if he ever dared to change again.

ᥫ᭡

yes, all of your needs were met. anything you wanted, you got. ‘budget’ was a word that made coriolanus laugh. any of the snow’s, really. not surprising when you were married to the head of the richest family in panem. best known as president snow.

you didn’t expect your marriage to be a loving one. no one really did anymore, not with how things were run in the capitol. especially high status families — the elites. the highest class you could possibly be throughout panem.

nearly every family within this social position had already been betrothed from the moment they were born, whether the child knew it or not. always married off to a wealthy (or wealthier) family, ensuring the near-perfect match every time.

some found love. most didn’t. you didn’t expect your future husband to be like the men in your secret romance novels your mother always scolded you for reading during your teenage years.

after all, everything at the end of the day was mainly for appearances. reputation. your place in society. that was, undoubtedly, the most important thing. it determined your entire life, impacted your future children, and so on.

despite the burning pressure you endured to be the picture perfect capitol lady, you often found yourself cooped up in your home manors library, skimming the shelves for the next swoon-worthy novel hiding amongst the untouched spines.

looking back, it was foolish for a young lady like yourself to ever imagine your adulthood being remotely like those “silly clichés”. you never thought much of it at the time, seeing your favourite hobby only as something to entertain yourself with.

of course, your academy days came to an end, your etiquette training becoming more useful as you attended multiple galas and conferences due to your father’s popularity. fortunately for your mother, you grew out of your “bad habit”, and your focuses remained on being the perfect wife for your new fiancé —

coriolanus snow.

ꨄ

it seems your lessons paid off well, because before you knew it, you weren’t known by your name anymore. no, you were now the first lady of panem. in other words, — people’s favourite it seemed — coriolanus snow’s wife.

you quickly learned that your husband was a very private man. sure, you knew what cologne he wore every day. you knew which silk gowns he liked and which he didn’t. you knew his favourite positions to fuck you in, which also told you what kind of day he had.

sometimes you found yourself wishing you didn’t determine your husband’s mood depending on how he fucked you. you wanted to ask him how it was and be met with a real answer other than “fine, darling.”

but neither of you… well, talked.

genuine conversations were obscure in your strange relationship. actually, that was an understatement. it never happened.

the only time you both shared some somewhat meaningful words was during sex, which felt almost transactional in a way. there was nothing wrong with his body, god no. even if he had a busy schedule nearly every day, he sure knew how to take care of himself. and so did you.

in public, no one had any clue about this predicament. you both played the part well. but as soon as those large, oak penthouse doors of his shut — the touches, the chuckles, hell, even the fucking smiles — were gone. as if he hadn’t had his hand on your lower back or wrapped around your waist the entire evening whilst chatting to his fellow capitol ‘friends’ and their wives.

ꨄ

the pattern of the water hitting the expensive tiles was muffled behind the door which lead to your grand bathroom. you sat at your vanity, softly combing your hair as you waited for your husband to finish his shower. it was an unspoken rule that you didn’t go to bed until he did. you often found yourself wondering if it went both ways; but you would never know.

it was always you waiting for him, after all.

coriolanus emerged from the bathroom door, not sparing you a glance as he ran a hand through his damp hair. despite seeing every inch of each other’s bodies countless times during intercourse, you never got changed in front of the other. it felt like you were strangers. sometimes. you pushed that thought away.

no words whatsoever were said as you both settled in bed. no goodnight kiss, no touching, no speaking. just pure silence. you don’t know why you’re surprised. it had been this exact routine for 5 months now, and you must bring yourself to realise that it will be like this forever.

ꨄ

coriolanus was late. again. for the third time this week. not just an hour or so late, you found yourself staring at the crackling fireplace until 1am.

the doors opened. you barely heard the click when it closed. he was trying to be quiet. you nearly scoffed; as if you were oblivious to the late hour.

coriolanus walked through the large archway which lead to the spacious sitting area you were sat at. he nearly sighed. nearly.

instead, he simply walked straight past you, to the doors of your bedroom. before he slipped away, you spoke.

“where have you been?”

your tone was on edge. almost accusatory.

coriolanus paused. he was caught off guard by your sudden behaviour, along with your underlying anger.

“work.” he simply stated, his voice cold and nonchalant.

frustration began bubbling within you. your perfectly manicured nails dug into your palms. your ‘perfect husband’ was getting on your nerves now. your ‘perfect marriage’ was about to make you reach your breaking point sooner or later.

his workplace closed three hours ago.

instead of getting up and screaming at him, demanding to know where he’s been, that you’re his wife and shouldn’t be treated like a business partner — you simply bit your tongue, turning around and giving him a sweet smile. “okay.”

he didn’t return the smile, just a nod before walking into your bedroom, seemingly unfazed by your encounter. your eyes followed him the whole way, your fake smile dropping immediately when the doors shut.

ꨄ

you had become sick of your husband’s new late night antics, whatever he was fucking doing out there. you had convinced yourself you didn’t care, that this marriage was nothing but a show to make everyone else happy anyway, but it still… had an impact, you liked to call it.

whilst you were lounging in the same damn spot you always stayed waiting for him, always waiting, your mind started to drift to yourself only a mere few years ago. when you were still a naive teenager suiting up to the expected behaviours of a woman.

instead of curled up on his sofa waiting for your cold, closed-off husband to come home and give you a shitty excuse as to why he was late, you were curled up on your sofa with your head buried in a romance book, butterflies going crazy in your stomach at words on a page. dreaming about experiencing those heart-warming moments.

if she saw you now she’d bawl her eyes out and beg her mother not to marry her off. even if it was useless — you had realised by now you had belonged to coriolanus snow the moment you were able to walk.

it was only a few more minutes reminiscing about your past pursuit in the pages before you were walking down one of the many hallways in your shared penthouse.

straight to the library.

you wondered when was the last time you had been in here. or coriolanus, for that matter. probably not in a good year, he was always too busy for any leisure activities like reading for pleasure and not power.

strolling past the tall, wood bookshelves filled to the brim with all different kinds of genres, you decided to stop at the romance section. well, it was something like romance. whatever the interior designer picked for this shelf, anyway. to them, it didn’t really matter as long at it was filled with books.

after all, everything at the end of the day was mainly for appearances.

your eyes landed on a somewhat interesting looking novel, with a small amount of paper sticking out the top. you slid the book off of the shelf, eyeing the piece of paper curiously.

nothing could compare to the heart drop when you saw the contents it held.

dear my love,

words can’t explain how much these nights have meant to me. seeing you has truly become the highlight of my day. i will be careful sending this letter, i wouldn’t want it to get in the wrong hands. it pains me we have to hide our love — hopefully one day we can really be together. i’ve been thinking about your confession recently, and i want you to know i love you too. so much, coriolanus. i pray for the day we can finally have all the time in the world to ourselves. ;)

- L.C

L.C.

L.C L.C L.C. L.C L.C L.C.

you recognised those initials.

livia fucking cardew.

the sound of your penthouse doors opening, the sound of his briefcase being placed on the floor, his footsteps trailing to wherever the fuck he’s going after he’s been fucking that homewrecking whore, only spurred your anger on.

clutching the now wrinkled parchment in your clenched fingers, you revelled in the adrenaline of your rage-filled mind, coming up with every way under the sun to get some sort of malevolent retaliation.

go out there. rip the letter in pieces right in front of that unfaithful, power-hungry, unloyal, greedy—

you stopped.

realisation settled in.

it wouldn’t matter what reaction you had. it wouldn’t matter if you tore the house up. it wouldn’t matter if you slapped him across the face for treating you like this.

he wouldn’t care.

maybe if he had a single ounce of regard towards you, mindfulness for something other than his god-forsaken image, he would give a slight fuck.

but he didn’t.

and he never would, no matter what way you expressed your emotions.

no matter how many sweet smiles, no matter how many late nights, no matter how many soft kisses, no matter how many times you would let him fuck you whenever he pleased,

it would never be enough.

maybe livia was enough.

maybe livia knew his favourite colour, his genuine laugh, hear the words “i love you,” fall from his lips.

you could never be worthy enough to him for anything other than a good appearance in public. a pretty, young lady by his side whilst he does whatever he pleases.

you could never be livia.

and so, back in the bookshelf the letter went, ready, waiting for whenever coriolanus wanted a reminder of his real true love.

ꨄ