In the midnight hour she scrolls more, more, more

“His assistant would have to be replaced, certainly.”

“Of course, we’ll hire someone else immediately. Someone more competent, perhaps.” A seed of doubt had been planted under your skin with their harsh words. You never backed down from the challenges that being a senator’s assistant had provided you. You were sure you lost more sleep working for Coriolanus than during university, but you also thrived under his employment. Almost two years had passed since you started at your small desk outside his office, and you wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world. 

Days passed as you continued to spiral about the notion of your termination. You watched every potential manager closely, looking for any hint of their doubt in your abilities. But most of all, you wanted to watch Coriolanus. You certainly thought you had proved yourself, and now you feared he could share that same doubt with the others. 

Your desk started to feel like a place of shame with every person who walked by. Did they know something you did not? Were you failing without even realizing it? Surely you’d be gone by the end of the month. Perhaps even the end of the week. That train of thought brought you into Coriolanus’ office without an idea of what consequences might come from your following words. Coriolanus’ head snapped up to the sound of the door shutting, eyes widening at the sight of you standing before him. 

“I think it’s quite unfair that you’d fire me when I’ve worked unbelievably hard for you. Not once have I faltered in my position, even when you and everyone else have challenged me. I know how you like your calendar and coffee and what dry cleaner you prefer. All of these details that another assistant would completely overlook, but that I know by heart.” Coriolanus couldn’t move. He just watched as you ran a hand through your hair, clearly more and more frazzled by the moment. He had no idea what you were talking about. Firing you? He wouldn’t do it even with a gun to his head, truthfully. Yet once you opened the floodgates to the emotions that had grown deep roots in your chest over the last few days, you couldn’t stop what else poured out with it.

“But if that hard work hasn’t meant what I thought it did, then I think it’s only fair to get it off my chest before you fire me, that I think I love you.” He wasn’t breathing. Surely he misheard you, but you continued, “All your stupid mannerisms and likes and dislikes and habits that I have memorized, and they-they aren’t really stupid because they’re you! And I really like you… And your cat that you won’t tell me about! Because I think you like keeping me on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out more of these little personal details about your life that no one else knows. Which fine! Maybe I love it too because loving you is…” Your voice started to falter, realizing what you were confessing, “Loving you is like… a present that I keep getting to unwrap and… and love more and… more.” Your voice trailed off as the anxious feeling in your chest replaced itself with a deep dread.

If you weren’t fired before, you had to be now. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending completely fried as you watched him stare at you from his desk. He could see you starting to shake, the air in the room escaping you as it dawned on you the full severity of your confession. You wanted to defend yourself, defend your role, but you only gave him more reason to fire you. The group by the elevator called you incompetent, and now you swore you could hear them questioning your professionalism in your head as you opened your mouth to speak, and a broken whisper was all that came out.

“Oh god… I’m… I’m sorry.” You turned to leave, but Coriolanus was rushing up from behind his desk to stop you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the door. Your hand–no, your whole arm–was trembling in his hold. The fear in your eyes was something he’d never seen before; you thought your entire life was imploding right in front of your eyes, and to Coriolanus, he thought it might only be the beginning.

“Who made you think I’d ever fire you? Give me a name.” You could barely breathe, tears pooling in your eyes as you shook your head.

“That’s what you’re focusing on from that?” You sounded so breathless, voice breaking as you fought back the tears that were blurring your vision. Even through the fog of tears, you could see the soft smile Coriolanus offered you, moving a hand up to cup your jaw. The feeling of his skin against yours eased some of the tightness of your chest as you gasped for breath, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“Of course not. But I will need a name, and you need to take a deep breath, sweetheart.” He’d never seen you so worked up, so overwhelmed by your own emotions and the thoughts that had made it nearly impossible to sleep. You were having a panic attack; he could see it in the glassy look of your eyes, and he waited patiently for you to take a deeper breath to reassure you, “I love you, too.” 

The force of your next breath nearly made your knees buckle as he pulled you into his chest and smoothed out your hair. He whispered a soft count for you to follow. One, two, three, four… four, three, two, one. Again. It seemed muffled in his hold, but he brought his lips down to your ear to speak more clearly, “Breathe, darling,” while he guided you to the small leather couch in the corner of his office. 

“C-coryo-” you tried to speak as he sat you down with him, letting you press yourself flush to his side before he shushed you softly. 

“I’m here. It’s okay. Try to relax. That was a lot, darling. You’re okay. Just breathe with me,” he whispered, rubbing gently up and down your back to ground you. You were still trembling down to your bones as if caught in the pouring rain in the coldest parts of winter when he pressed his lips to your hair. He couldn’t help his smile when you started to melt into him more, your breaths evening out to match his own. The tension in the room began to dissipate, a new kind of unfamiliar comfort taking its place. Even though you had wanted it for much longer than you’d let yourself admit, it was strange to know he shared the same feelings as you in any capacity. You didn’t get to mull it over long, however, before he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“I don’t tell you about my cat because you asking me questions about her gives me an excuse to ask more about you in return for my vague answers.” Oh. All this time, you thought he was keeping you at an arm's length, and truthfully, he had been trying to bring you in closer.

“You don’t need an excuse to ask me things you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.” A small smile graced Coriolanus’ face again, the room brightening around you two as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. A comfortable silence ensued, the two of you looking at each other, taking in the details of his face. The sharp edge of his jaw, the soft curve of his cheekbone, his full lips. 

“Her name is Juliet… my cat. I’ve had her for three years. Perhaps you were right about the aloof detail but she’s more aloof than me,” he whispered softly. The corners of your mouth tugged up in response; he was letting you learn more about him and it brought a warmth to your chest you weren’t sure you’d ever quite experienced before. 

“That’s sweet. I knew you were a cat person.” He laughed in response.

“You know more about me than anyone.” You felt the room grow smaller around you two as his gaze travelled down to your lips, all the air in your lungs being sucked out under the weight of his stare. Would his lips be as soft as you thought they were? There were an alarming amount of nights, even daydreamed afternoons, that you had considered the thought. What would it be like to kiss Coriolanus Snow? It kept you up at night and distracted you on the weekends. You were hopelessly head over heels for the man and now could believe he might feel the same way in return. 

He caught your eyes on his lips and lost any hesitance he could have had before leaning down to kiss you finally. He smelled like the bottle of bourbon he kept in his office. He tasted like the coffee you had brought him that morning still. You couldn’t help melting into him, wanting to be closer, wanting to feel him against you. All he could think about was the way you leaned into him as he pulled you from his side into his lap. Your thighs caged his as you straddled him, your fingers carding through his hair and loosening his curls. His hands slipped under the fabric of your shirt around your back to press you flush to his chest as you sighed so sweetly against his lips. He could kiss you for the rest of the time. He was sure of that. Now that he’d had a taste, he’d never be able to let you go. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, sweetheart.”

“I was really hoping you were going to kiss me after the Christmas gala,” you whispered in reply.

“I should have. I really should have. You looked so breathtaking that night.” He melted underneath you, remembering the sight of your red dress and the tipsy giggles you had let out around him that night. You smiled against his lips and he swore it was the most addicting feeling in the world. He could hoard you in his penthouse like the most beautiful jewel in the Capital. He’d dress you in the finest things and spoil you beyond belief. But he couldn’t imagine being Senator, let alone President, without you there to assist him either.  

He pulled your head back just so he could look at you again, taking in the sight of your swollen red lips and the blissful look in your eyes that matched his own. He could feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss on his lips and he didn’t think he could let you go. Not that night in his office and surely, never in the future. You were his and he was yours. 

The two of you left the office late that evening, having spent an alarming amount of time just lazily making out, relishing in the loving touch of the other. You woke up that morning in a blissed-out daze, getting dressed and smiling like a fool as you stopped into the cafe for Coriolanus’ coffee. To your surprise, he had beaten you to the office. 

“Good morning,” he smiled as you set down his cup. If you hadn’t already been smiling, you think the pure force of his own would have overwhelmed you. You had seen Coriolanus through many emotions, but this happiness, this joy, was new. You aimed to only increase it as you handed him the reports you had grabbed from your desk.

“Your meetings today are on the lighter side. Another potential manager and a call with the Minister of Defense,” you gave him a moment to look over the papers before adding, “You have a dinner to attend tonight as well.” You smiled as he looked back up to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He couldn’t remember there being a dinner on his schedule for the week. 

“Which diplomat wants to speak to me now? Or is a manager trying to woo me?” You felt giddy getting to tell him what you had done. 

“Well, I’m not a politician and I don’t think I need to woo you. But I would like you to take me to dinner tonight. It’s on your calendar. I got us a reservation already.” If he wasn’t charmed by you already, you had shot him like Cupid in that moment, his stomach fluttering against his will. He couldn’t help loving the way you took charge, how you ordered him around as if he wasn’t a Senator, soon to be President. Yet, even as you did, you were never once cruel. He didn’t think you could have a cruel bone in your body. 

“I see. I look forward to it. I still need that manager’s number you told me about yesterday.” 

“What for?” you tried not to sound as dreadful as the pit in your stomach felt at the mention of the people who doubted you so openly. 

“I need to tell them they aren’t getting the job,” he smirked, “You can listen if you'd like. I’m not entertaining anyone’s offers if they have anything negative to say about you.” The butterflies in Coriolanus’ stomach now matched the ones in your whole body. You had known he was protective. You had seen glimpses of the glares he shot the other senators at galas when their glances at you lingered too long. But to hear him voice it, to hear him defend you out loud, was something else entirely as you tried not to smile too wide. 

“Of course, sir. I’ll have it for you soon,” you spoke softly before turning to leave. Just like yesterday, he was standing and rushing around his desk to grab you, pulling you back to him after a quick glance at the closed door and pressing his lips to yours. You were quickly learning just how touch starved he must have been as he gripped your hips to press you closer while you melted into him. Kissing him was intoxicating. You swore you were lightheaded and tipsy as he pulled back to give you air. 

“Wear something red tonight,” he whispered.

“Don’t I always for you?” you smiled back. There was the confirmation he had needed for the last two years. The final piece of the puzzle that made up your partnership; you wore something red every single day since your first week. Today it happened to be your skirt, blood red as his jacket and the pride that shone through him as he toyed with the fabric on your hips was worth having to invest in far more red than you had ever owned before all those months ago. 

“Wear a tie tonight, Coryo,” you whispered back, playing with his collar, smoothing out the fabric against his neck. Hearing you call him the soft nickname nearly made him shiver. If it weren’t for the previous night, the confession you two shared, he was certain he’d be disgusted by the warmth in his chest looking at you. But now he nudges his nose against yours lovingly. 

“Why a tie?”

“You look very handsome with a tie,” you whispered. Coriolanus was all too endeared by the giddy undertone of your voice, matching the smile tugging at your lips as you added, “and I like the idea of tugging on it and dragging you around with me.” That got him to smile in a way he didn’t think he had in years. He could picture it now. Your intoxicating tipsy laugh as you tugged on his tie to kiss him. Your excited eyes as you would watch him give in to you. Him on his knees as you used his tie to drag his face closer-

“You don’t have to drag me. I’ll follow,” he interrupted his own thoughts before pulling you in for another kiss. It took everything in you not to mess up his gelled hair for your own enjoyment of his curls. You wanted to see him as he was and little by little, you were unwrapping him. You only hoped that spending more time with him alone would finish tearing off the precious composed wrapping paper he so proudly displayed to the Capital. You wanted to burrow into his skin and never let go. Perhaps you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. 

He reluctantly let you go, hands trailing after your hips once you stepped out of his hold. You were unraveling him and he was relishing in the feeling of it. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable in years and yet, there was a comfort in it with you. A knowledge that you had the right interests in your heart. Not the purest perhaps—you were set on him winning the presidency still—but the ones that mattered to him most of all. That was a trust he valued so deeply with you. 

“I like the frame by the way,” you smirked, pointing to his desk as you stepped toward the door, “ I always wondered what you did with all of my little notes when I didn’t see them in the trash.” His gaze followed your direction to the small frame made of dark wood and glass, with a single piece of paper inside. He had come in early to dig it out from deep in his drawer; he didn’t need to hide it anymore. His smile didn’t falter even once you had left the room and he sat back down behind his desk. 

The little yellow piece of framed paper stared at him; the start of something he didn’t know would be so valuable at the time. He was extremely grateful for whatever little voice nagged in his head to hold onto it all that time ago. He could have lost it to the trash forever. But instead, it sat proudly on his desk. A reminder of what shockingly seemed to matter the most to him.

"Close the door when you leave," he nearly snapped as your tongue teased his length before you wrapped your lips around his swollen tip. His hand came under the table to tug on your hair in warning. It was no use. You wouldn't stop, and it became painfully clear that the intern would not leave so easily.

"I saw that she put this meeting on your calendar that I wanted to ask about-" Coriolanus thought he was going to have to kill the boy as his fingers weaved through your hair and tugged again while you started to work him deeper into your mouth. The desk didn't give you much room, but it was clear you were making what little space you had work as his cock twitched. You felt his fingers tug harder as you pressed your tongue flat to the vein running along the underside of his length, feeling every steady pulse that sent him closer to the edge.

"I'm sure your question could wait until- until she returned," his voice shook as he nudged your thigh with his shoe. Another warning. Another one you refused to listen to, not when you could feel just how badly he needed to cum as you moved his boxers down more to cup his heavy balls. You could hear his dismay as he nearly slammed his elbow down into the desk and snapped at the intern.

"I'm in the middle of something important. Leave." It was blunt, but as you felt his balls tighten in your palm, you knew exactly why. Surely, he didn't want an intern to watch him fall apart under his assistant's touch. When the door finally closed, you took him as far down your throat as you could before you heard the throaty groan he couldn't stop from coming out. You were certain it may have been your favorite sound, the sound that always came seconds before he buried himself as deep as possible and whispered that he was cumming. Like a secret that only you were allowed to hear, a vulnerability he only allowed for your own pleasure.

"Sweetheart-" his voice cut off as you tasted him on your tongue, every twitch of his cock pushing more cum down your throat. His composure fell apart as he melted into his seat with every passing second, the tingling feeling down his legs giving him a kind of bliss he only knew with you. Pushing his chair back, you slowly let him slip from your mouth, licking him clean as you did and smirking as he twitched at the feeling.

"You are impossible," he sighed as he smoothed out your hair.

"You clearly love that about me, but I think I'm quite well-behaved, sir." He huffed at the formality, knowing you could see the way his cock reacted to it while he tried to tuck himself back into his pants.

"Remind me to fire that intern."

He felt dirty. Indeed, he had to be sick. You were poisoning him. Perhaps you slipped something in his coffee… you hadn’t; he knew that. He forced his eyes off of your thighs only to catch on your lips instead. Watching the way they moved with each syllable, no sound traveled to his brain. He was pure static, taking in your electric force and frying his own circuits. 

A senator checking out his assistant had to be frowned upon. It was immoral. Despite what all of his peers did in their marriages and the sins they committed, he had to be better than them. He wasn’t married. That fact, the emptiness around his ring finger, didn’t assist him in his current situation one bit. He couldn’t help but be grateful for his desk, hiding the way your presence made him no better than a teenager at the academy. 

“I believe I could cancel that meeting on Friday if you would like to make it to the Senator’s offer for drinks on time,” your voice finally cut through as he met your gaze. He wondered if you could see the way you were killing him; you couldn’t. Had you teased a man like him before? Were you aware that your skirt was making his head spin? His mind raced enough laps around the room that he had lost track of time before you cut in, “Sir?” 

“That sounds perfect.” Did he sound as strained as his pants felt? Was the sweat on his skin simply a cruel joke from his mind to remind him of how he should be ashamed of himself? He shifted in his chair, nodded at you, and grabbed his pen back off the desk. 

“Thank you.” He had to dismiss you before he had half the mind to take that skirt and-

“Of course, sir. I’ll pick up your suit for the gala tomorrow. Do you know who I should send your plus one to?” He was distracted. That had to be the only reason his following words passed his lips.

“I’d like you to attend with me. I assume you have a dress you can find suitable?” Your face warmed, and he swore he’d never forget the sight. It would haunt him late at night in his sheets. You had infected him like a disease, and how could a doctor ever prescribe him a cure for something so pathetic as a desire for his assistant? 

“I will find one, sir. Thank you for the invitation.” You walked out promptly, hiding your face from him, and the meaning of his words dawned on him. He hadn’t taken you to an event before. He also hadn’t ever looked at you as shamefully as he did moments before. 

“Is this okay?” you asked him, smiling at the tiny sparkle in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide well enough. He nodded before offering his hand to lead you down the steps of your front door and to the car. It was just a kind gesture, his hand out for you, but you swore it lit your skin aflame to touch him so gently. It wasn’t until you were down the stairs and seated next to him in the car that he leaned over to whisper into the shell of your ear, “You look beautiful in that dress,” sending a shiver down your spine.

It was a night of strategy; you were well aware of your role at his side and took it with grace. You easedropped into conversations that likely were not supposed to be overheard while Coriolanus buttered up every politician he could set his sights on. His thumb rubbed small circles into your back over the silky fabric of your dress while you smiled and nodded along with their conversation. To say he was impressed with your ability to take his cues for the night was an understatement. He wanted to hate that he was downright endeared. He hadn’t had to tell you what to do; you just knew it. You knew him.

When the night came to a close, a certain ache entered his chest, the same one that had appeared every night you left the office and the distance between you two lengthened. He thought it was nearly embarrassing how he knew that you coming home with him would have cured it. It wasn’t until you two arrived at your door that he realized the lines he had crossed tonight. His assistant as his date was highly unprofessional to begin with. Driving you from your apartment, his hands never leaving you, talking to you as if a partner rather than an employee… he swore he should hang for the HR crimes he committed. Above all, he walked you home. Waiting for the car would have been tedious and eyes would have lingered on the way you looked in the sleek red fabric around your hips far more than he would have liked that he offered to walk. Standing at the door to your apartment only further reminded him of his offenses until you spoke.

“Do you want to come in for a nightcap?” Silence followed your words, the tension rising more and more with each passing second before you blurted out, “Oh god, that was terribly unprofessional. I’m so sorry, sir.” You fiddled with the doorknob, praying for it to have the apartment swallow you whole in embarrassment until Coriolanus grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“I’d love to, darling.” The softness in his voice should have been alarming but all you could do was smile in appreciation. This man was the same one who kept a drawer full of your sticky notes; you found them a few days ago and hadn’t said a word. He was kind to you and caring in a way you knew he wasn’t with anyone else. One glass of bourbon turned into two and before you knew it, you were nearly stumbling towards the door to see him out once he had his car called. 

“Thank you for the drinks, sir. Both now and at the gala,” your voice remained surprisingly steady; Coriolanus’ presence was enough to sober you up. His broad shoulders were now covered in the stark white of his button down, his jacket hung over his arm after you had apologized for the heat in your apartment. 

“You made the night bearable, darling. But please… call me Coriolanus.” Your face warmed at his request. 

“Coriolanus…” a smirk pulled on his lips, just enough for you to notice as you continued, “Thank you for the invitation. I had always wanted to go to the gala.” You remembered the way you had twirled around your bedroom in your dress. It had been a feat to get on in the first place, having to twist and turn your body in all kinds of directions to get the zipper to fully come up where it was needed. You could only blame the alcohol still coursing through your veins for the way you blurted out, “Will you unzip my dress?”

Silence surrounded the two of you in the entryway. Your cheeks had never felt so hot as you realized what you had just asked your boss to do; surely he’d have you fired for your lack of professionalism in the morning. You’d walk in and find your things in a box on your desk. If you had thought Coriolanus to be a crueler man, he wouldn’t even see you out himself. Instead, he would leave a note by the box telling you your next paycheck will be in the mail and your keys to the building would be revoked. He didn’t reply at first; he simply placed his hands on your hips to turn you around, your back facing him before he brought his hands up to the zipper. 

“Is this the zipper?” his voice was low by your ear, feeling his breath against your neck as he toyed with the small piece of fabric covering the pull tab. You could only nod in response. The air was thick around you as you swore every breath you took had to be careful calculated, as though one extra ounce of air inhaled would scare him away. His fingers trailed along each inch of bare skin he uncovered, smiling to himself at the goosebumps he felt along your spine. He didn’t stop until the zipper was halfway down your back, a respectable distance that he knew you’d be able to unzip the rest of. 

“Coriolanus?” your voice was just a whisper, having felt the way his fingers paused and the pad of his index finger rubbed below your shoulder blade. It was as if he wanted to memorize your skin against his, a thought that haunted his every waking moment once he was home from the office. He hummed in reply, not yet realizing his lingering touch until you spoke his name again.

“You should be able to get the rest from there.” His hands rested on your hips when you turned back to face him, his eyes softening at the sight of your face looking up at him.

“Thank you for a great night, Mr. Snow,” you whispered.

“Coriolanus.”

“I’ve never called you that before tonight, sir.” His hand came up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“When it’s just the two of us, I’d like you to call me Coriolanus. If you’re okay with that.” Your smile brightened the world around him as something sparked in your eyes. 

“Then would you tell me the name of your cat, Coriolanus?” His own smile threatened to shine down on you. You thought that seeing him fully smile might just send a solar flare through Panem. 

“You’ve had a touch too much bourbon, haven’t you?” Your hand moved to smack his chest playfully before your mind could catch up with the reminder that you were being extremely inappropriate with the man you worked for. His fingers melded around your wrist to stop your incessant errors in judgement, keeping your hand flush against his chest. 

“I had enough bourbon to remember that you had white fur on your pants two days ago before you cleaned them fully. You’re not a dog person. I can’t see it. But a cat makes sense for you. A little aloof thing just to match you,” his eyebrow arched in questioning, “You’re very aloof. Too aloof for a dog for sure. So what is his name?”

“Her name,” he stated before opening the door, “Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.” You smiled wide at the thought of Coriolanus as the father to some pampered girl cat who was spoiled beyond end. He probably fed her the most high end food the Capital could offer and she slept curled up in some matching pajamas with him. You grabbed his shoulder before he could fully step out of the apartment and outside. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Coriolanus,” you spoke softly as you moved to stand on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He moved slowly to stand outside your door as you smiled and offered him a small wave before closing the door. You waited a moment on the other side of the door, listening to the sheer silence outside before looking through the peep hole. Coriolanus was smiling. You think it may have blinded you if the small window hadn’t shielded you. He stood there, cheeks sore from the now unnatural facial expression until his car pulled up and you swore it looked like he had to force himself to move away from your apartment. 

You try to remind yourself that people do bad things all the time. Terrible things, even. But it doesn’t make everyone bad or terrible people.

This rings true for your best friend, Coriolanus Snow. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s no saint. It’s even more apparent when he returns from District 12. You know immediately something is amiss. He always keeps to himself and only speaks when spoken to or when he feels he has something important to say. But now his words are fewer and farther in between. Coriolanus is patient and thoughtful on the outside but keeps how he truly feels hidden away inside. He can think about how much he wants to eradicate someone while putting a face on. But you can always see right through his poker face. Coriolanus’s silent but deadly demeanor has only intensified since he returned to the Capitol. You know every inch of his brain, his mannerisms and behavior, and how he thinks- so you know he has done something. You just don’t know what. You do know, however, something went down between him and the songbird tribute from 12. Lucy Gray Baird. The girl with dark features, a brilliant smile, and a heavenly voice. The girl that Coriolanus had seemed to have fallen in love with. It was painful to watch, but you pushed through. Coriolanus had told you everything throughout the days before the games. Despite knowing him through and through, you had no idea that Coriolanus never had any romantic feelings toward Lucy Gray. Instead, his feelings were aimed toward someone else. But, for now, you didn’t know this. Coriolanus takes pride in knowing that you don’t, in fact, know everything about him. But he would never let that on.

Coriolanus is meeting with Dean Highbottom tomorrow to return Sejanus’ things to him rather than to the Plinths. Your best friend feels he needs a great way to start the conversation with Highbottom about his experience of District 12, and nothing is better than a small metal box with things that Sejanus cherished. It was definitely going to be a statement. 

“Coryo?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you do?”

Coriolanus tenses up from where he’s standing in his bedroom, tinkering with something out of your sight on his dresser. You’re laying on his bed, flipping through a book of his you’ve read many a time already. Your eyes are burning holes into his back, expectantly waiting for his response. You know he will give you the run around until he has nowhere else to go.

“Care to be more specific, darling?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname he uses for you when he feels he’s in trouble, “No,” you sigh, “Just tell me. What’s bothering you?”

Coriolanus hesitantly turns around, blocking the view of the dresser with his body as he braces himself against it, still not saying anything. You close the book and set it beside you before getting up from his bed and walking over to your best friend. Coriolanus crosses his arms, looking down at you with that plain, empty stare of his. You heavily exhale through your nose, blinking up at him, crossing your own arms mockingly. There’s an intense glaring contest between the two of you for a few moments until Coriolanus eventually folds, pressing his lips together impatiently. 

“Sejanus,” he says, shrugging as his eyes bore into yours.

You closely study his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Sejanus. You know he had been hung for his crimes. It didn’t seem like Sejanus to do something that rebellious, but stranger things had happened.

“What about Sejanus?”

Coriolanus opens his mouth to speak before closing it again. He thinks for a moment, wondering if he should truly tell you. He tells you everything; if he doesn’t, you eventually figure it out alone. Sometimes, he thinks you’re smarter than him, and it scares him. Before Coriolanus can dwell any further, the sharpness of your stare gets to him, “I recorded him.”

Coriolanus’ words bounce around in your head, and slowly, you begin to put the pieces together. That’s when it dawns on you. Coriolanus had inadvertently killed Sejanus. Your face softens, your arms uncrossing and falling to your sides. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you bite your lip.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Coriolanus says, returning to his activity on the dresser.

There’s a pause, silence hanging in the air thickly. He’s right. You don’t have to say anything. And you don’t. Instead, you snake your arms around Coriolanus’ waist, pressing yourself into the curve of his spine. Your cheek presses into his back, and the familiar smell of rose wafts through your nose. It isn’t often the two of you embrace. Neither of you are fans of hugging per se, but there are times when you do wrap up in one another. You feel right now is appropriate- Coriolanus probably had to process his best friend’s death on his own. Both of you have gone to each other about these kinds of things since childhood. 

Coriolanus relaxes at your touch, hanging his head slightly. He almost almost feels a twinge of guilt for not confiding in you. But he knows how smart you are. As mentioned before, you always figure it out in the end. Coriolanus places his hands on top of yours. He still has nightmares about the sound of Sejanus’ neck snapping and the mockingjays calling out his final cry for his friend’s help. Coriolanus doesn’t feel bad for causing the demise of Sejanus, nor does he feel anything about the two people he killed in District 12. He believes that’s just life, that people do bad things because they’re all inherently bad. Coriolanus knows he’s not a good person because of what he’s done, and he doesn’t care. You have to step on others to climb to the top. And Snow always falls on top.

“I know why you did it, Coryo.”

Coriolanus’ head snaps up at that, but he tries to remain cool, “Really? And why is that?”

“You want to succeed more than anything. I know you do,” you pull away, prompting Coriolanus to turn around and face you, “And I know you’d make sacrifices for it. Just like you did for Lucy Gray.”

Coriolanus cringes at the mention of Lucy Gray, and you frown. Coriolanus takes notice of this.

“I never,” he begins to say, but then shakes his head as if to get rid of his train of thought.

“Never what?” you ask.

“Nothing important,” Coriolanus goes to turn around again, but you grab him.

“There’s still something you’re not telling me,” you say accusingly, your fingers wrapped tightly around Coriolanus’ wrist, “And if you don’t say something now, I will find out. And you won’t like it when I do.”

“Is that a threat?” Coriolanus tilts his head, yanking his arm from your grip as he steps closer to you, his breath hitting your face.

Unphased, you simply look up at him, “What if it is?”

Coriolanus scoffs, standing up straight and nodding to himself, deciding to toy with you a little as he casts his eyes down to yours, “Don’t play with me, little one.”

The blonde knows how annoyed you get when he teases you. He only does it if he wants something. In this case, you figure he wants you to leave it alone.

You grit your teeth, “Coryo,” you say threateningly, “I just want to help.”

“You can help by stopping where you are,” Coriolanus growls, not wanting to think about how every time he looked at Lucy Gray, he saw you instead. 

He didn’t want to think about how Lucy Gray was in the arena that night. How he watched the screen like a hawk, waiting with bated breath for it to be over. Or how she sang to him at the cabin, and he wished it were you in his embrace instead. And least of all, Coriolanus didn’t want to think about how Lucy Gray vanished into the woods, never to be seen again. He had lost her, and he didn’t want to lose you, too. But the difference here is that he loves you, not the songbird. Coriolanus has ruined enough in his life, even if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for him despite his mistakes. He doesn’t want to ruin his lifelong relationship with you and risk not being rewarded for it like everything else. You’re too precious. And despite the darkness and the damning anger constantly brewing inside him, when he looks at you, it all stops for a little while. 

You bite your tongue, inhaling sharply as you take a step back from Coriolanus, “Fine.”

Before he can react, you’re heading for the door. When you walk out of his bedroom, you glance over at the dresser curiously to see what he had been tinkering with and see three small bottles of morphling. A small container of white powder sits next to them. Your eyes flicker up to Coriolanus’ without a word, and he knows you’ve seen. But he also knows you won’t say anything. As quiet as a mouse, you close his bedroom door behind you.

It’s been days since you’ve seen Coriolanus. 

Sleeping has been challenging, and eating is difficult. Your best friend is everywhere you look and go. You see him in everything. Dean Highbottom is dead, and the Capitol is in shambles over it. Immediately after hearing the news, you knew Coriolanus had something to do with it. He and Highbottom had never been on good terms, and now that Coriolanus had the upper hand in the Capitol as a Gamemaker, he could do whatever he saw fit to get to the top. He always has. 

You’re alone in your small apartment, only a lamp providing ambient lighting against the dark rain clouds outside. Curled up on your couch, you’re reading a book you borrowed from Coriolanus long ago. You had loved it so much that he had let you keep it. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve read it, but it brings you a strange form of comfort every time you do. The story's climax is about to happen when there’s a subtle knock on your front door. You heave a sigh, closing the book and getting up from your comfy spot. You grab a robe from the coat closet and wrap yourself in it, not knowing who could be at the door. When you swing the door open, you’re shocked to see Coriolanus.

“What are you-”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and you look at him with a stunned expression. He’s never been one to apologize.

You brace yourself against the door, arms crossed, as you motion for him to continue.

“I know you only care about me and want to make sure you can be there for me properly,” Coriolanus says, his eyes darting around your face, “And I appreciate that. And you.”

You nod understandingly, standing up straight before widening the entrance for Coriolanus to enter. Carefully, he walks in, and you close the door behind him. Coriolanus is right behind you when you turn around, with a white rose in hand. He snaps half the stem off, taking the other half with the rose and tucking it behind your ear softly. 

“We’re able to grow them again.”

A small smile graces your lips at that. Coriolanus tucks hair behind your other ear, gently tracing your cheekbone with his knuckle. The tender gesture shocks you, but you just stare up at him and watch him study your face.

“I never,” Coriolanus says before pausing momentarily, just as he did the other day.

“I never loved her.”

“What do you mean?” your face scrunches in confusion.

“I never loved Lucy Gray,” Coriolanus shakes his head, bringing his gaze to yours, “I already have love for someone else.”

You try to keep your face as neutral as possible, letting your best friend’s words fully sink into your brain. Coriolanus was in love. If not with Lucy Gray, then who? 

“If you had not told me, I would’ve never known. You could’ve fooled me,” you lightly chuckle, almost unable to look him directly in the eye.

Coriolanus hums, a surprised look on his face, “You, of all people, haven’t figured it out already?”

“Figured out what? That pretending to love Lucy Gray was your big plan to win?”

“Not only that,” Coriolanus says, moving his hand to grasp your chin, “But you still haven’t figured out who it is that I love most in this world. That’s rich coming from you, my dear. It’s the most obvious, and you’ve yet to see it.”

At this point, it’s almost insulting for him to assume you know who he’s in love with. Yes, you can look at his emotionless expressions and know something is off with him. You can tell by his mannerisms when he’s in a good mood or a bad one, and you know by the look in his eye when he’s enthralled with something. But you’ve only ever seen him have that look a few times. So it’s not like you can know for sure this time. You narrow your eyes at him, his hand warm against the skin of your face. His eyes are gleaming with mischief and something else you can’t put your finger on. Then, it clicks. You do see it. You shakily take a step back from Coriolanus, your eyes not leaving his as you accidentally bump into the table by the door. You let it fall pathetically to the floor as the sound of it cracking against the hardwood echoes in the foyer. 

“Whatever game you’re playing now isn’t funny, Coryo,” you mutter, your eyes burning with angry, embarrassed tears.

Coriolanus steps toward you, a smile growing on his usually empty face, “You see it now?”

“I’m not sure what I see,” you say through gritted teeth, fighting hard to blink back your emotion.

Coriolanus lets his smile falter, briefly looking down at his feet before darting his eyes to yours, “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You shake your head, the rose falling from your hair and to the floor, “Why?” you ask, your voice trembling, “How?”

Your best friend’s hands slowly move from his sides to rest against your hot, angered cheeks, bringing you closer to him, “You see things in me no one else can. You see things in me I can’t even see in myself.”

You don’t say anything, tears now falling from your lashes. Coriolanus quickly brushes them away with his thumbs, “And believe it or not, I can see things too. In you.”

“What things?” you ask, your voice still blanketed in anger and hesitance. 

“I’ve never understood what love looked like until I saw the way you look at me,” Coriolanus’ lips curl into a small smile, a rare occurrence, 

“And how do I look at you?” 

“The same way you look at the children playing in the street,” he says, “And how you look at books and paintings. With this wonder and appreciation, and hope.”

You close your eyes, silently crying, as you realize Coriolanus has never spoken like this before about anything. Not to you or anyone else about anything or anyone else. 

“Look at me,” Coriolanus whispers, and you open your eyes to see him closer to your face than before.

Now you really see it. The thing you couldn’t put your finger on before. That peculiar way Coriolanus stares at you- you only ever see it when he looks at his family or when he thinks of something brilliant. Whenever he smells roses, his blue eyes soften that way, too- joy, comfort, and safety.

Coriolanus watches as realization falls upon you, and your expression becomes more open. He knows you finally see in him what he sees in you- a mutual understanding and feeling of love for one another. Coriolanus never noticed how you looked at him until he saw Lucy Gray look at Maude Ivory or Sejanus when he looked at the bodies of the fallen tributes in the arena. He never had that feeling for anything, he had thought. Coriolanus only knows hunger- for not just food but for power. And he thought that’s all he’d ever feel until he met Lucy Gray and saw you. He saw you fighting for your life in that arena and trusting him even when you probably shouldn’t. Coriolanus watched you save his life. When he lay there in the ruins in agony from his burns, he realized ever since you were children, you had been saving him all along. He wanted to hate you for it like he hates everyone and everything else. But Coriolanus couldn’t. And here you are before him, your face in his hands, the world- his world, in his hands. He loves you, and you love him, and despite everything that’s happened, that’s all that matters to Coriolanus.

The silence in the apartment stings in your ears, and the dim lamp casts shadows of Coriolnaus’ eyelashes on his cheeks. But you don’t move or say anything. You just breathe in the blue of his eyes. You almost don’t notice him tilting his head slightly and brushing his lips against yours. Coriolanus is hesitant, but he knows he needs to feel you in a way he has never done before. You let him press a soft kiss to your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut. His palms still rest on your cheeks, holding you like you’re fragile. As you kiss back, your hands slide between his arms to gently hold his neck. When you open your mouth slightly to gasp for air, Coriolanus slips his tongue inside. A groan bubbles up your throat as he takes control of your embrace.

“How about we continue this elsewhere,” Coriolanus whispers against your lips, and you nod.

A short walk to your bedroom and the closing of the door sends the man into overdrive as he backs you against it. Capturing your lips again, he doesn’t hold back this time. Coriolanus’ hands find themselves on your waist, his fingers pressing into the material of your shirt underneath the robe. Yours creep into his now short hair where it’s just long enough for you to comb through it. An unfiltered passion hangs in the air as the kiss becomes more desperate, your bodies pressed to each other as firmly as possible as your hands begin to explore. Coriolanus pushes your robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap as his fingertips slide under your shirt and over your uncovered breasts. You’re fighting for dominance over the kiss as Coriolanus learns the crevices and gaps of your mouth with ease. A moan escapes you when he brushes over your nipples softly, making your attempt at dominating slowly diminish. Now Coriolanus has control over your open-mouthed kiss, but he soon gives it up and opts to leave small kisses along your cheek to your jaw. You breathe heavily as Coriolanus begins kneading at your breasts as he nips along the underside of your jaw, running his tongue over the small reddening spots he’s leaving.

He inhales the smell of your skin, his thumbs flicking your sensitive buds simultaneously as he travels further down the column of your throat. As much as you wish to continue here against the mahogany door, you take an opportunity to break from Coriolanus to grab his wrist and pull it from your shirt. Before he can ask if he’s done something wrong, you walk him to your bed, where you lay down against your pillows. The usually light blue of Coriolanus’ eyes darkens to an unrecognizable shade as he unbuttons his shirt from the edge of the mattress. His lips are agape as he watches you peel off your shirt, revealing your torso to him fully. Climbing over you, Coriolanus wastes no time attacking your lips as he holds himself up effortlessly. His body is far more toned and muscular than it used to be because of the Peacekeeper training. You drink in his almost god-like appearance as he leaves hot kisses on your neck. Coriolanus moves down, resting his body against your thighs to make himself comfortable. He gazes up at you while his kisses slow down around your bare breasts, asking permission to go further. You squirm underneath him, wishing he’d do something already.

“Tell me what you want, dear,” Coriolanus drags his lips against your tender flesh almost tantalizingly.

“You can touch me, Coryo,” you smile, carding your fingers through his blonde hair, “I want you to.”

Coriolanus wastes no time wrapping his warm mouth around your nipple, lapping at it before letting his teeth graze upon it. You shudder at the sensation, humming in contentment when he begins to suckle the skin lightly. Coriolanus’ other hand squeezes your other breast as he works to overstimulate the one he’s currently focused on. Warmth begins pooling in your lower stomach as Coriolanus pulls the sensitive bud with his teeth, making you whimper. He decides he wants to hear that again, so he repeats the action. This time, your hips buck up into Coriolanus's, and he chuckles.

“Easy, now. I want you to enjoy this as much as I am. Be patient, little one,” he says, twisting your nipple between his fingertips to test how sensitive it’s become.

You whimper again, and Coriolanus admires how angry the soft, peaked flesh is from his mouth. Now, he moves on to the other one, and your hips buck into him again. This time, you feel a bulge beginning to grow in his trousers, and a sense of satisfaction fills you. You relish in the fact Coriolanus is getting turned on just by exploring your body. He bites, sucks, and teases your nipple until you’re whimpering and unable to stop moving underneath him. Coriolanus sits up on your thighs, running his palms over your hardened buds before letting his hands roam your stomach and waist, sending shivers through you. His fingers eventually hook themselves beneath the band of your lounge pants, pulling them down while he moves from where he was sitting, to your side. You kick off the pants when they reach your ankles as Coriolanus unfastens his trousers, removing them with his underwear to join the growing pile of clothing. To say your best friend is well-endowed is an understatement. 

“Beautiful,” Coriolanus climbs back onto your legs, letting his hips press against your shins as he settles himself between your legs.

His thumb carefully traces along the growing wet spot on your underwear before barely brushing against your clothed clit, making your hips tremble. 

“So wet already,” Coriolanus says, resting his cheek on your inner thigh, “You’ve probably wanted this for so long, hmm?” His dark eyes meet yours, the mischievous gleam still present despite his enlarged pupils.

“I won’t lie and say I haven’t,” you say shakily, nervous for him to see you completely bare.

“Well,” Coriolanus says, pressing a kiss to your covered clit, “I know I have.”

He then pulls your underwear down enough to have full access to you. He takes a moment to take in the scent of your arousal before spreading your lips to reveal your hardened clit. Coriolanus admires how your body reacts to his touch and craves to find out just how far he can go. He lets his index finger tease across the bundle of nerves before he attaches his mouth to it. The warmth of his tongue against where you need him most provokes a relieved moan from you. Coriolanus tortuously circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, allowing it to flick the bud every few circumferences. He knows how incredibly wet you must be getting, so he gauges just how much by dragging a finger up your slit. Coriolanus groans at the amount of slick that covers his digit, letting it prod at your entrance before slowly pushing in. He can only imagine how soaked it’ll feel around his cock when you’re ready for him. He curls his finger inside you, finding the spongy area of your cunt. Coriolanus fucks into it with his fingertip, lightly grazing it each time, making your hips jump as you cry out. 

“Can you take two?” Coriolanus pulls away from your pussy for a moment, “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you can take two. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

A high-pitched moan leaves your lips at Coriolanus’ sassy tone and the feeling of two fingers pressing into your g spot. He resumes his assault on your clit as his long fingers scissor and stretch you out deliciously, the burn subsiding with each thrust. They beckon inside you as Coriolanus begins to suck your bud hungrily. His eyes meet yours, and he doesn’t dare break the intense stare as a third finger is easily pushed into your cunt. 

“Doing so good for me,” Coriolanus praises, his free hand busying your clit as he speaks, “You’re going to take my cock just fine.”

A dizzying wave of pleasure washes over you as he fucks you with his fingers at a jarring pace, the sound of your wetness around them filling the room along with your pitiful moans. 

“I need you, Coryo,” you whine, “I need you to make love to me. Need you so bad.”

Coriolanus runs his hand along the skin of your hips soothingly, slowing his fingers before removing them. He licks them clean as he takes in how fucked out you already are. You’re still staring at him with that look only the two of you share. Sitting up, Coriolanus pulls away from you and wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them apart. He continues holding on to them as he makes his position comfortable before using one hand to grab his length. Coriolanus strokes himself with the precum that’s leaked out, preparing to line up with your entrance. When he does, he pauses.

“You want this?” Coriolanus asks you, his fingers stroking the skin of your inner thighs, “After this, there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you rest your hand upon his chest, “I just want you. All of you.”

Coriolanus patiently pushes himself into you, guiding his length through your wet, velvet walls. You throw your head back into the pillows at the stretch. Even with three of his fingers to prepare you, Coriolanus’ girth is intense. He stops moving to allow you to accommodate his length as well, your tightness squeezing him. When you’ve adjusted, you push yourself further down his shaft and eventually bottom out. The two of you stay like that for a moment, allowing yourselves to get used to being connected this way. Coriolanus leans down, running his hand through your hair as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can while he begins to move inside you slowly. He pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back in. You pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, your nose pressed to Coriolanus’ as he pulls himself out again to slam his hips to yours. You’re both panting into each other’s mouths, with foreheads flush against one another as Coriolanus picks up a steady rhythm. He steadies himself with his hand pushed into the pillows by your head, his other still lightly gripping your hair. Temporarily removing his hold on your hair, Coriolanus lifts your legs onto his shoulders to get a better angle. He presses your thighs against your chest, his body weight fully on top of you as he thrusts into your weeping cunt even deeper than before. You can’t help but moan loudly, not caring about what your neighbors are hearing. Coriolanus grunts every time his tip hits your cervix just right as sweat beads on his hairline. 

“Taking me like such a good girl,” he gasps as you purposefully clench around him, “My good girl.”

“I like hearing you say that,” you whimper, chasing his lips with yours before capturing them.

Blonde hair sticks to Coriolanus’ forehead as he feels himself getting lost in you like he’s needed to for so long. You’re the only place he doesn’t mind losing himself in because he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone but you. You know every inch of his brain and every thought that goes through his head, and now you know every inch of his body and soul, too. And he knows yours. Coriolanus doesn’t wish to know anyone else how he knows you for the rest of his life. 

“I’m so close,” you whisper, focusing on how heavy Coriolnaus’ eyes are as he lifts them to look at you.

“I know,” Coriolanus whispers back, now fucking into you as fast as he can, “I can feel it.”

You bite your lip, moving your legs off his shoulders to spread them apart. Coriolanus pulls away from you to push your knees flat to the bed, letting his weight keep them pinned down. He’s now moving as deep as he can go into your warm and desperate pussy, his hips snapping forward. Your moans have become yelps as Coriolanus hits that spot inside you dead on.

“Right there, don’t stop,” you cry out, your hands holding onto his biceps fervently. 

The sounds in the room are explicit- from the squelching of your ridiculously aroused cunt being fucked, to the slapping of skin, and you and Coriolanus’ screams of pleasure bouncing off the walls. Coriolanus now opts to hold your hips, his fingernails digging into the supple flesh. You move your hands from his arms to your breasts, toying with your nipples as more warmth spreads to your core. Coriolanus uses this opportunity to spur you on even more and begins pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing hard circles into it. You let out an animalistic groan, your legs reflexively moving to snap closed. But Coriolanus quickly pins one down again, not letting up on playing with your hard bud as you approach your orgasm. 

“Oh, Coryo,” you gasp, your back arching as your clit presses harder against his thumb and his cock delves deeper into you.

The most intense orgasm of your life rips through you as Coriolanus loses control of himself, your cunt squeezing around him with a vice grip. He cums with desperate moans as your body convulses underneath him. Both of you ride out your highs, still rutting against each other as the white-hot pleasure eases away into bliss. Catching his breath, Coriolanus carefully pulls out of you with a wince. You absentmindedly motion to your closet, where you keep the washcloths. He returns with one and cleans you up gently before cleaning himself up. As he’s discarding the cloth, you manage to weakly pull the duvet out from the pillows and envelope yourself in it. Coriolanus joins you, delicately wrapping his arms around your body as if he’d break you. He presses his nose into your shoulder, watching your relaxed expression.

“That was intense,” you speak up finally, and Coriolanus nods.

“Making up for lost time,” he says, and you turn around to face him fully.

You press yourself into his chest, wrapping an arm around him as he does the same to you. Staring into his now lighter and calmer blue eyes, you let a smile grace your lips as you can almost read his mind.

“You aren’t going to hurt me, you know,” you say.

Coriolanus’ typical blank, emotionless expression doesn’t give away anything to allude to what he’s thinking, but you know how his thought process goes. He doesn’t say anything; he just stares down at you.

“I know you think you’re some kind of monster for the things you do. And in a way, you are,” you say, “But everyone is, and it doesn’t define you. It won’t unless you allow it to.”

Coriolanus maintains his poker face as he plays with your hair, “You’re the only proof I have that evil isn’t rooted in everyone,” he says, “And I’m still grappling with it.”

“No one is born evil, and you most certainly weren’t, whether you believe that or not,” you rest your hand upon Coriolanus’ cheek, “You can choose to accept that, or you can keep trying to prove you’re evil. But just know that I wouldn’t associate myself with you if I knew you could do terrible things on purpose.”

Coriolanus flinches but realizes you’re right. Yeah, he’s a little fucked up. You know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. But he had a choice at every step of his grand plan to win the Plinth Prize. And he chose to make the negative ones. But here with you at this very moment, he knows those choices weren’t guaranteed to be made. He could’ve chosen to do right and didn’t. However, you are guaranteed. Because he loves you, and you love him. And that’s the only sure thing.

“I love you,” Coriolanus suddenly says without thinking, which isn’t typical of him.

“I love you, too,” you smile.

Despite the darkness that looms inside Coriolanus Snow, you can see something within him that no one else can. And you can’t be sure of how he decides to live his life- whether it’s in a good way or a bad way. But you are sure that as long as you’re with him, whatever decision he makes will be a logical one. Hopefully, that will be enough for Coriolanus in the end.