Hunger Games X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Jealousy, Jealousy | Part 1

Parings: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Warnings: Mentions/descriptions of sex, masturbation, swearing, manipulation, dub-con.

Summary: Coriolanus Snow is determined to make you his.

Part 2

The first time Coriolanus had seen you; it was during another one of the Covey's performances at The Hob.

He remembers that night vividly, having been stood at the back of the cramped barn and watching on as Lucy Gray sang one of her many songs with joy, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet with every step people took on the dance floor. The music of the band and the laughter that seemed to echo throughout the room caused for a sickly feeling in him. Despite telling himself that he deserved this night off away from his Peacekeeping job, all he really wished for in this moment was sleep and to be alone.

He debated leaving, his feet already shuffling closer to the door until his eyes were suddenly locked on yours.

It was quick and subtle, most likely to be forgotten in the next minute, but it was there. You had been smiling from ear to ear with your skirt waving around your legs as you danced, clapping along to the beat as you flowed your way around the crowd.

It was until the end of the song came that he realized he had been standing there watching you the whole time.

It was when Lucy Gray was tugging on your upper arm and leading you toward him that he finally allowed himself to move, barely managing a light smile when you and Lucy Gray stopped before him.

"I hate to be the one to disturb your thoughts, Coriolanus, but I knew you would've just loved to meet one of my dearest friends," Lucy Gray smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes that caught Coriolanus. When his eyes drifted back to you, he found that you were already smiling up at him, the same smile you had worn whilst twirling around the dance floor.

“I’ve heard lots about you, Coryo,” he didn’t fail to notice the mischief behind the tone of your voice, and upon hearing the nickname, a hot flush overcame him.

It was then that Coriolanus knew you would be his. Whether it was your decision or not.

He had made it his mission to chat to you throughout most of the night, drunk on the sound of your laughs and your gaze gleaming back up at him. So innocent, so stupid, and completely oblivious to the rush of blood going straight into Coryo's pants.

That night once he was back in his silly little cot, sure that the rest of the Peacekeepers were asleep, his hands were eagerly pushing down his pants from his waist, a sigh of relief escaping his parted lips as his hand grasped at his throbbing base.

You flashed in his thoughts. Your skin that was soft against his fingers, your breasts that rose and fell with every breath, your pretty mouth that he wished was sucking him in deeply, then your eyes.

He had to stifle a moan by burying his face into the plush of his pillow, brows squinted in concentration and mouth open in a silent 'o'.

With a few more silent pumps, he held in a gasp as he hit his climax, his spend hitting his sheets in a sticky mess.

The next time he had crossed you was when he was on duty in the merchant's section. He was stood beside a wall, gun held securely in his hands as his eyes observed his surroundings. And despite this, despite the loud chatter and occasional children screaming as they were chased by their friends, he still couldn’t get his mind to focus.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He wants to feel your presence, smell your scent once again, hear your soft voice.

It was as if the universe had heard his exact thoughts, because he felt his heart leap once he spotted you within the crowd, dirty dress and small bag at your side, observing the many small stalls around you.

He watched as you held up a piece of bread, offering the lady the few coins you had left over and give that darling smile of yours.

Oh, how he loved it.

He was just about to move from his position to get closer to you, until he halted in his tracks.

A man had strode up beside you, gleaming down at you with a wide smile that you gladly returned, and Coryo couldn’t do anything but watch as his lips pressed against yours, sweet and short, but full of love.

No.

He inhaled hard, teeth clenched and averted his gaze, his eyes travelling anywhere by back to you. You were his, and his only. How dare this man - this pathetic poor man - take you from him? How dare you do this to him.

His hold on his gun tightened, yet he kept his composure. Stood back in his original place, his eyes locked onto your interlocked hands with the man he now hated.

You were his, even if you knew it or not.

His thoughts were quickly snapped away when Sejanus nudged his arm, a concerned frown etched into his features.

“You ok, Coryo? You don’t look too good.”

His annoyance was growing. Did it look like he was ok? Could he not just back off him for once? With only a small nod, Coriolanus inhaled a sharp breath.

“I just need a minute. I saw something weird at the back, might check it out,” was all he said before he began to walk off, ignoring the confused look Sejanus gave him.

When Coryo made it to the back of the markets, he found that nobody was there. Only stacks of crates and old broken pieces of wood.

Ripping his helmet off, he ran a hand through his blonde hair and clenched his fists.

It had been a few minutes with him just basking in the silence. He needed this. He needed a break, but still, he didn’t open his mouth once he felt a presence beside him.

Your presence.

You didn’t say anything, obviously aware of the change in his demeanor, yet you stayed at his side. He had to hold back from pulling you in closer when he felt your fingers graze against his arm, and he opened his eyes to meet your own.

“Coryo? You ok?” You asked gently, almost like a whisper as if anybody could hear.

He couldn’t help but to let a small grin escape.

“Fine,” was all he said, watching as your fingers traced up and down his arm in rhythmic patterns.

So oblivious, yet so sweet.

You frowned slightly at his answer, unsure of his response.

“I saw you earlier, I was going to say hi but then you walked off and Sejanus said you seemed... off. I was just checking if everything was alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” he was quick to reassure once again, and he didn't mean the sharpness to his tone.

Your smile slowly lit up, and he swore that if you were to look hard enough, you would have seen how his face went flush, how his eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes, yearning.

He couldn't help but to let the question slip. "Was that your boyfriend I saw over there?"

Your smile only grew, and as much as he loved the sight, he wasn't too pleased on as to why.

"Ryan? Yeah, we've been together for a few months now," you had said, looking over your shoulder to see if he was anywhere in sight. He wasn't.

Coryo nodded thoughtfully. "You looked happy."

Not as much as he could make you.

"Oh yes, I am," you smiled, and tugged on his arm. "Let me introduce you!"

He felt his heart pounding against his rib cage when you tugged on his hand, your hand fitting his perfectly.

Hesitantly, he pulled his arm back and out from your grasp.

"Maybe next time," he brushed you off. "I'm still on duty and I'm not feeling the best at the moment," he lied, hiding the fact that he hoped to just keep distance from the man.

Coryo felt a pang of guilt once your face changed from excitement to disappointment, and he resisted the urge to tug your hand back and tell you he'd come purely just for you.

Then the day came he had been dreading since the beginning. He had absolutely no desire nor intention of bumping into the man - but when Ryan had been pushed into Coriolanus' side at another busy night of the Hob, he couldn't have hated it more.

"You're Coriolanus, right? Y/N's told me heaps about you," Ryan said, his arm outstretching in order to give Coryo a handshake, although Coryo merely glanced down at his hanging hand which he awkwardly retrieved back.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Look, uh, mate... I'm glad Y/N has somebody else she can come to, but I can't help but think maybe it's a little... too much."

Coriolanus felt a spike of hatred flaring within his chest. Nothing would ever stop him from getting closer to you, even if it were to be your boyfriend.

He continued. "Just thought that maybe we could tone it down a bit? Y/N likes you, and I don't want to take that friendship from her," he finished.

If Coryo didn't hate this guy before, he definitely did now. He swore his blood would boil over if he was left alone with this guy any longer - maybe even get one of Dr Gauls terrifying mutts to get rid of him. But no, she would never approve, despite her sickened mind, and of course he'd never wish your precious eyes to lay on sight of his mutilated body.

He'd just have to do it himself.

It was him who had to tell you the tragic news, and he watched as your eyes welled in tears and your heart ached, your cries and please for your now ‘ex-boyfriend’ to come back to you were filled with emotion. Coriolanus had to resist the satisfied smile forming upon his lips as you clung to him for support, your face buried in the fabric of his uniform and soaking up your warm tears.

Even when you hiccuped and sobbed, he still saw you as beautiful. All his. He let his fingers weave through your hair and whispered reassuring words into your ear… your body was shaking within his grasp, and Corio couldn’t help but love how much smaller your body was compared to his.

Coryo finally had you, and he loved it.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 8

Summary: The games begin

A/n:Long time no see! I guess this is considered a slow burn since I haven't really given much Cato content yet lol, but it's planned! If you want to listen to something while reading I reccomend the civil wars, and definetely their song with Taylor Swift lol

Pt.7Pt.6Pt.5 Pt.4 Pt.3 Pt.2 Pt.1

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Chapter 8: The Arena Pt. 1

You couldn’t eat. As if that was new. 

The table in front of you was decorated in an arrangement of multicolored foods, all in the shape of a big 10. The dining room was silent, even Pradain was drowned out by the silence and his whiskey. Dolly and Ramsey looked tense, somber even. Buckley of course was attempting to eat what he could, but even he struggled to keep it down. 

“Thank you.” It was a shock for you to speak first. Dolly looked confused for a second before her expression warmed. 

“Now don’t go thanking us for anything.” She reached for a table cloth and drink, as if to hide the fact she needed to wipe her forming tears. 

In approximately one hour you’d be headed to the slaughterhouse. Waiting to die of starvation, disease, or lord forbid it- murder. You’d only hope Buckely would make it out alive or meet a peaceful end. 

Ramsey inhaled, setting his fork on the table. “You two really are something’ special. ‘S been an honor to work with the two of ya.” He managed to croak out, keeping his stoic demeanor even though it warbled. 

Pradain let out a fit of laughter before it turned to chortled sobbing, Sashay was quick to comfort him. 

How did the Capitol expect teams to rejoice before sending their tributes to their death? It was sick. 

“I consulted a psychic medium.” Sashay piped up, using her fork to scoop up a block of cheese. “He told me that we’ve got a shot of winning. Something about a leaf with speckled dots of white.” 

“A Gragale?” Pradain spoke, sniffling his nose in a handkerchief. “Those aren’t edible.” 

The meal passed on with some somber conversation looking back at what your time at the Capitol had been like. A few tips and advice were thrown, a prayer or five may have been said, eventually you drowned it all out, refusing to look at the boy with cow like eyes. 

It was clear you weren’t the only one having internal conflict as he wasn’t his usual bubbly self. Painful, disheartening, heart wrenching, it was. 

30 minutes. 

20 minutes. 

10 minutes. 

When the Peacekeepers arrived they informed the two of you about choosing someone to send you off. Pradain and Sashay stepped off to the side after saying their final farewells to the both of you, leaving Ramsey and Dolly on the sidelines, waiting for who would speak first. 

“Dolly?” His voice was hoarse despite drinking liquids the whole time at the table. Buckley looked around awkwardly. For once it felt like the two of you were strangers again. You didn’t like it. 

Dolly instantly stepped toward you, giving you a hug that could have squeezed your organs out. “Go get em’ cowgirl.” She kissed your cheeks and let go, her lashes soaked with tears as she went over to the tall boy to comfort him. 

You looked at Ramsey and he immediately knew. Stepping close he placed a hand on your shoulder squeezing it as he pat you on the back with his other hand. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The Peacekeepers did a thorough search, both on you and Buckley, and your mentors. Something about stabbing attempts back in the 50th games. Your pulse was fast, eyes glued open as you tried to not cry. You couldn’t. Not now. Not now. Not now. 

The trip was silent, the peacekeepers informing the group about what would take place once on the transportation craft to the arena. Occasionally your sad eyes would meet Buckley’s clashing momentarily before disappearing. 

Dolly and Ramsey were set off to the side while the two of you were ushered into the craft, sat toward the end. 

Everyone else had already been seated for the most part, 11 and 12 behind you as they filled in. Cato had a Capitol worker stabbing his arm with something, it looked painful, but he didn’t flinch. 

He was what scared you the most. Something about him wasn’t right. You needed to steer clear of him, or get rid of him. 

“Arm.” They’d gotten to you quick. Reluctantly sticking your arm out you waited for the stinging of the needle. It pinched, and you felt a weird chill down your spine. What the hell had they put into you? Surely it couldn’t be some weird drug or enhancement right? 

Your question was answered when the girl from 12 asked. A tracker. Of course they’d track you. At least now you knew how they kept track of the deaths and tributes. 

If you made it out, your prayers would be replaced with asking for the downfall of Coriolanus Snow. 

Looking to the left you unintentionally greeted the jolly blonde, his void expression perked into a small grin, barely noticeable but there. Waving his head subtly he turned to look in front of him, leaving you with a squint on your face. He was also a threat. Albeit not as much as Cato. Either way, you had to profile everyone now. There could be a diamond in the rough, someone here who could pounce on you if not accounted for. 

You’ve seen how that lumberjack girl mangled those tributes. 

“We’re landing I think.” You heard a girl comfort her fellow tribute. 

As if your stomach couldn’t knot up more. Sure enough a sound of air decompressing echoed as the hinge of the craft lowered, revealing the troop of peacekeepers ready to escort everyone to the arena. The peacekeepers herded you all into lines. Cato’s humongous form hovered over everyone’s and it really set in. The only one challenging his dominance was the guy from 11, but even then he seemed like he had morals unlike the blonde in front of the craft. 

“Goodluck.” Buckley reeled you out of your thoughts, his face forward and hands at his side. 

Forcing a smile that looked like you were about to cry, you reciprocate the sentiment. “Goodluck.” 

This was it, the last moments of peace you’d get for a while. Your peacekeeper didn’t seem to know their own strength since their hand bruised your arm. Another one was already waiting in the room, a large tube at the center and Ramsey standing at the side of it. 

“Three minutes.” The peacekeeper let go, hurdling you to Ramsey who caught you in his arms. 

“Hey it’s ok. It’s ok.” The facade had broken. You heaved like an asthmatic in a desert, your face twisted like a sun dried tomato as you hiccuped the tears out of your eyes. 

He squeezed you, whispering reassurance to your soul. “Come on (Y/n), come on girl, gotta be tough. You’re gonna make it out. You’re gonna beat this bitch of a game.”  His shirt got flooded by your tears, the agony left on him as a remnant of who you were. 

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I want to go home! Please! Please!” You clawed at his shirt feeling yourself revert to a toddler for a moment. All you wanted was to be home with Amaranto and your father, huddled together at the dinner table, debriefing about each other’s days before heading to the yard to check on the stray cats that lived nearby. Hell, you’d rather be in the butchery helping out with the dirty pans and tins. 

Ramsey looked just as distraught, face faltering. He caught you and rubbed your back, “(y/n), listen to me. You need to remember what we went over, protect yourself and if god wills it Buckley. Don’t make new enemies, save your ass, woman up, and win. I’ll see you in the Victor’s Village ok? You’ve got this sweetie, You’re from goddamned district 10.” He held your face in his rough hands, eyes intense but caring, like a father grounding his daughter back to reality. 

All you did was nod. Nod and wipe the tears off your face. He was right. Right? 

Right. 

“Okay. Okay.” You placed your hands over his and he pulled you into a hug before the Peacekeepers yanked you to the tube. 

“Focus! Lasso! Lasso!” He reminded you before his voice got muffled. The peacekeepers ushered him out, leaving you scared and alone in the tube. 

Your breath fogged up the tube, you hadn’t realized how fast you were breathing. The dusty brown windbreaker didn’t help, it only pooled your sweat, making it uncomfortable. The boots were new, but at what cost? They’d only be a bother in the long run until you could break them in. If you even lived long enough to do so. You cursed the issued clothes you’d receive, whoever designed it decided rustic colors would do you good. You only hoped you could blend into the arena. 

Oh shit! The arena. You’d been preoccupied with dying that you didn’t even consider what the terrain was like. Judging by what they gave you it couldn't be water based. At least you hoped not. You’d be dead in an instant. 

Desert? 

Forest?

Snowy Tundra? 

Coliseum? 

The possibilities were endless. 

As the tube reeled you upwards toward the arena, your stomach fought to keep its contents inside. The sky looked blue, a gloomy blue. Bad sign. You were used to the sunny orange landscapes of 10. Your hands shook as they reached out to the glass tube, catching your footing as you began to look around. 

Green everywhere, trees taller than the mountains, birds flying over and other scared tributes. It reminded you of the time your school had a dance. It was middle school and everyone had just discovered puberty. Scared boys staring at petrified girls, no one dancing, peacekeepers at the edge bored and uninterested. But that was a dance. This was punishment for something you didn’t do. 

Heaving you turned around to face the center. The tubes slowly lowered as you searched the circle for Buckley. He was across from you, already having found you. He looked just as frantic. Aside from you was a girl from 10 and 5. The careers were honed in on the middle of the arena, bloodthirst in their faces. They hardly looked scared. 

A cannon began to sound, causing some of the tributes to jump. From your distance you could see some of the supplies. Mostly weapons, some food, gear, and more weapons. Ramsey had specifically warned the two of you multiple times to not head toward the middle. He said it was a death wish. 

Eventually a voice started counting down, and you practically threw up. Your hands came to cover your mouth. Surely your eyes were popping out of your face. Breathing in you tried to focus on the voice, scanning the area you made a plan. Run. You could always come back, milk your accent, get sponsors. You’d be fine as long as you made it out. 

It didn’t process in your mind yet that people had started running. It wasn’t until you saw Cato slit someone’s throat that you realized the games had started. Frozen in place you screamed, trying to move away. Tributes ran, some stayed to swipe weapons- a chance to survive. Somehow in the span of three seconds the careers had secured their base. It all happened so fast, your mind hurt trying to register everything. Even the screams of agony were flushed out. 

“(Y/n)!” Snapping out of your trance you stepped back, one foot over the other, turning to run away. Looking back you saw it was Buckley who called your name, or moreso scolded you for standing there like a dumbass. He had a pack in his hands, inches away from the blood bath. You managed to catch him leave, run off to the opposite side of the arena. 

A spear flung clumsily to you, missing you by a good 10 inches. Expecting to see Marvel, you were surprised it was some scrawny kid. Pleading for your feet to carry you further, you sprinted into the brush, the grass beneath you crushing, picking up mud as you ran away. You wouldn’t stop, not until you were sure you were safe, alone for miles. 

Five minutes in and already half of the kids you came in with were dead, Buckley was gone, and you had nothing. Needless to say the odds were looking grim.

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Tags: @randomgurl2326

The Hunger Games Masterlist

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Finnick Odair-

Sleepless

Finnick says those three special words

Sweet giggle

Reuniting with Finnick

Peeta Mellark-

Baking

Katniss Everdeen-

Returning home

-Finnick Odair x Victor!reader

{Finnick strives to make you laugh for the first time since you’ve won your games}

Enjoy my lovelies💕

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Words were a hard thing to get out of you recently, you were so closed off… skittish, almost as if you were afraid of your own voice. Finnick couldn’t blame you in fact there’s not a bone in his body that could ever be mad at your recent behaviour, he understood better than most people.

He watches you with a soft expression as you sit at the kitchen table, losing yourself in a new puzzle. He admires the calm look in your eyes and the way you shift the pieces into the correct places with gentle hands whilst he prepares dinner, his eyes flicking over to you every now and then to keep a close eye on you.

The faint sound of rain pattering against the windows only seems to add to the tranquillity of the evening. Then the silence breaks, and your voice softly reaches his ears, “I’m stumped.” It shocks him a little, it’s evident in the way his eyes widened slightly.

“Stumped?… lemme take a look, honey.” He replies back to you, keeping his voice hushed as he walks over to you resting his palms against the wooden table to lean over you. His gaze flickering over the puzzle, studying the pieces with narrowed, concentrated eyes.

It takes only a second for him to pick the piece you’re looking for, gently snapping it into place with a smirk on his lips. “Oh… thank you.” You whisper softly, looking up at him with a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead.

There’s a certain patience in Finnick, never condescending in the way he speaks or looks at you. If anything he’s the glue that holds you together, constantly there to anchor you back to reality whenever your mind drifts further than you can reach.

The memories were the worst part, you seemed to have a difficult time remembering what was real and what was fake… which caused you to forget a lot. Those special moments you shared with Finnick before the games are now tainted with a stain you couldn’t clear off.

Although there are moments where it flickers back slightly like embers of a fire that leaves a tingling warmth across your skin. The smallest things set it off, music for example. Soft notes of a familiar tune echo through the kitchen, there’s a sense of safety within the lyrics.

Finnick knows you remember the song and the moment you shared with him. It’s in the way your eyes glisten with fondness and that ever-so-small smile that begins to crack at the corner of your lips.

The pair of you glance at each other simultaneously as the gentle notes ricochet through the room. Finnick smirks over at you, extending his hand to you with a soft nod of his head. He waits for you to take him up on the opportunity, never forcing your hand.

He watches patiently as the hesitation flickers through your expression and relief washes over his expression as you stand up from the chair, your hand slipping into his slightly rough one.

“Do you remember this song?” He asks with a teasing edge to his tone although his expression soon melts with tenderness as you nod your head shyly and he takes this moment to place his hand against your hip.

Finnick brings you into him before gently swaying you both side from side. “I could never forget.” You whisper back to him and your words only fuel him to hold you closer.

Your shoulders relax and a sigh escapes your lips as you rest your head against Finnicks chest, the scent of sea salt and firewood sits against his skin and lingers within his clothes. It’s homely… warm within his arms, nothing can hurt you and those painful memories of the games take a backseat in your muddled-up mind.

The pair of you continue to sway gently, taking it one note at a time as you let the music carry you both. You feel Finnick’s chest vibrate slightly as he lets out a soft chuckle and before you can even ask why you’re suddenly being spun around, your breath catches in your throat as he pulls you back into him.

His hands fall to your hips and then he hears it, the sweet giggle that you let out and he freezes in place. It’s a sound that sends a familiar warmth blooming within his chest. “I love you.” He whispers, his hands caressing your hips and then up to your waist.

Your smile widens slightly at his words and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him to you closely as he starts to press kisses all over your face. “I love you too.” You giggle in between the ticklish kisses.

The sight makes his heart swell with devotion. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen you like this, so at peace and so happy, he makes a silent promise to keep it this way for as long as he possibly can.

rowan’s rules!!

RULES…!!

what i won’t do . sa, self-harm, incest, heavy mental illness and smut.

readers i write for . anyone!!! i’ll write for anyone, just lmk whenever you ask.

what genres i write . fluff, angst, anything but smut 💀

extra . so i basically do any character from the fandoms below, if a fandom isn’t listed just ask if i could write for it and i’ll see what i can do !! feel free to send in asks of any genre, but i can decline if i'm uncomfortable or im too busy!!

FANDOMS 🌼

stranger things . dead poets society . criminal minds . greenhouse academy . the summer i turned pretty . wednesday . the 100 . bridgerton. hunger games . little women . pretty little liars. glee . the umbrella academy. the maze runner . harry potter ( tom’s era, marauders era, & the golden era.) . xo, kitty . a series of unfortunate events . greys anatomy. bbc sherlock . enola holmes.

ABOUT ME

hi i’m rowan!!! she/they prns!! i love the marauders & post apocalyptic movies :D feel free to send asks, reqs, or to be a anon !! i’m making a master list thingy for it so yeah!! more active now as well :)

— CHARITY

pairing: dark!president!coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

summary: president snow was praised for his love and devotion to his wife, a cripple. if only they knew how you’d ended up that way.

warnings: violence, basically torture, unhinged coryo, obsession, forced marriage, short fic

a/n: based on this request, this is actually insane

what an angel he is.

the capitol viewed your dear husband as nothing short of a saint. an amazing president, an even better husband. of course they all knew about you, his dear wife, the one who swept him off his feet.

the start of your marriage was torture enough for you, having been forced into it by your parents. all they could talk about was what a sweet man coriolanus was. how accomplished he was. it didn’t matter what he’d been in the past, he had built himself up again and he was undeniably coveted by many. you should be thanking him for choosing you.

yet you couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

you’d already told him you weren’t interested. you weren’t charmed by the copious amounts of gifts he’d sent your way. the poetry books that you were sure you’d never talked about to anyone else, only written of in your journals and read at home. the pretty dresses and jewellery but the only gift you’d accept of coriolanus’s was his absence from your life.

and he couldn’t handle it so he went over your head and enticed your parents.

you hated him with your whole soul and every bone in your body whilst he worshipped you. “you look gorgeous, fit to be my wife.” you stood in front of him, hand in hand, wedding dress donned and ready to marry.

you wanted to punch him in the face yet you held your breath, and smiled at him as well as the guests, of which you knew only a few. he kept you restricted, as if on lockdown in your own home. he was like a leech, feeding in your happiness and you’d been sucked dry. coriolanus was the worst possible thing that could’ve happened to you and you wouldn’t let him win.

so you ran.

you’d made it about a few steps down the street before his sleek black car pulled up, his driver walking around to you whilst you backed up, all the way against the tall, black bars of your home. prison.

“did you think you’d get far? that i’d let you? you are my wife, my responsibility, you are here for me. i was trying so hard to give you space, to let you adjust and you took advantage of my generosity.” his words were filled with spite, each word piercing your skin.

he was truly insane.

“generosity? generosity? you forced me into a marriage and expect me to kneel down and kiss your feet for this? for me to not fight back? i have never loved you nor will i coriolanus.” you were a cornered animal, only being able to lash out, bad mistake. the sun reflected off of the crowbar in his hand, twirled between his hands as he stepped out of the car, you were shrinking into yourself whilst he grew taller.

a selfish man stealing the oxygen you needed, the freedom, and now, your abilities.

“how many times must i correct you, it’s coryo darling.”

the unspeakable pain broke your heart, your throat raw from the shrieking and screaming. eyes stinging at the touch of a hand, puffy and sore. blood drawn from your lips tasted metallic and odd, yelling seemed to do nothing so you resorted to biting down on anything.

he’d shattered your legs.

you’d never walk again.

you’d have to rely on him.

you were confined to a wheel chair for your life.

he now controlled where you went.

you’d never be able to move on your own.

in your desperation to escape you’d overlooked and underestimated coriolanus’s obsession for you. he knew the second you’d stepped out of the home, either he was waiting for it or was always ready to come home. whether it was a trap or just bad luck, you were stuck.

most of panem viewed your husband to be an absolute angel, he could have remarried, he could have turned you away yet he stuck by your side, ever the supportive partner. how lucky you were! the rest of them saw you as a chore, someone undeserving, unable to provide for your family. he was a nice man.

you were just charity.