In the quiet morning light that filtered through the windows of the grand dining hall, your family sat at the polished mahogany table, seemingly the picture of domestic bliss.
Coriolanus, his chiseled features etched with a façade of contentment, sat at the head of the table, his newspaper spread before him. Balanced on his lap, was your three year old daughter, her tiny hands occupied with a toy.
You sat opposite him, watching the scene with a practiced smile, your eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within you. You sipped at your coffee slowly, your eyes moving to your eldest as he shovels spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.
As if on cue, the nanny entered the room, cradling the youngest member of the Snow family in her arms. Your heart twisted at the sight of the woman, the nannyâs eyes darting to Coriolanus, who met her gaze with a knowing look. You forced herself to smile as you took the baby girl into your arms, your fingers tracing the delicate features you had come to love despite the circumstances of your birth.
âLook whoâs awake,â You softly say to your daughter with a bright expression as she smiles up at you. But as you look up, you catch Coriolanus beckon the young woman over to him. It was the subtle exchanges between Coriolanus and the nanny that made your blood run cold.
A glance here, a lingering touch thereâeach movement a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the facade you presented to the world.
Later that day, as your family made a public appearance, you plastered on your most convincing smile, your hand resting lightly on Coriolanusâs arm as you both posed for the cameras. Lucky Flickermanâs question about another baby drew a forced chuckle from your lips, âMaybe not for a while,â You responded, feeling the venomous look Coriolanus shot you from your peripheral.
It wasnât until you were alone in the privacy of you solar that the facade finally crumbled. Coriolanusâs anger boiled over at your comment, his words cutting like shards of glass. Your own fury matched his, your heart pounding in your chest as you dared to confront him about his infidelity.
âWhat do you mean âmaybe not for a whileâ?â Coriolanusâs voice sliced through the tense silence, his anger simmering just beneath the surface .
Your bristled at his tone, your own frustration bubbling over. âWhat do you think I mean, Coriolanus? We already have three children to care for, and Iâm not eager to bring another into this mess. Iâm not a baby machine for heavenâs sake.â
Coriolanusâs jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. âMess? Is that what you think of our family?â You shot back, âItâs what youâve made it,â your voice tinged with bitterness. âYou think I donât know about your affairs? About the way youâve been sneaking around with my servants behind my back?â
Coriolanusâs eyes flashed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. âHow dare you accuse me of such things? You know nothing!â âI know enough,â You retorted, your own anger rising. âIâve seen the way you look at her, the way you touch her when you think no one is watching.â
âThatâs ridiculous,â Coriolanus scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in his voice. âIs it, Coriolanus?â Your voice was sharp as you enunciated his full name, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze head-on. âYou can deny it all you want, but Iâm not blind, Iâm not stupid. I see whatâs happening, and I wonât stand for it any longer.â
Coriolanusâs face twisted with rage, his hands trembling with suppressed fury. âHow dare you speak to me like that? I am your husband, and you will show me the respect I deserve!â
âRespect?â You laughed bitterly, your heart pounding in your chest. âYou lost any right to my respect the moment you betrayed our marriage vows-â Your words were cut off when Coriolanus grabs your forearm, harshly pulling you close to him as you felt his breath fanning your features, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal.
Before you could react, the doors to the solar swung open, revealing your children and the nanny, frozen in the threshold. Your heart sank as you watched Coriolanus hastily release his tight grip on you, plastering on a false smile as he turned to their son with outstretched arms.
âMy boy,â he said, his voice strained. âShall we go play outside?â With a final glance in your direction, Coriolanus left the room, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your reality. As the nanny awkwardly averted her gaze, you gathered their daughters close, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.
âNext time,â you said to the nanny, not bothering to look at her, your voice tinged with bitterness, âyou should knock before entering a closed room. Understood?â
The nanny nodded mutely, her eyes downcast as you led your children away from the shattered remnants of your once-happy home. But deep within you, you knew that the facade they presented to the world could only hold for so long before the truth tore your family apart at the seams.
In the quiet morning light that filtered through the windows of the grand dining hall, your family sat at the polished mahogany table, seemingly the picture of domestic bliss.
Coriolanus, his chiseled features etched with a façade of contentment, sat at the head of the table, his newspaper spread before him. Balanced on his lap, was your three year old daughter, her tiny hands occupied with a toy.
You sat opposite him, watching the scene with a practiced smile, your eyes betraying none of the turmoil that churned within you. You sipped at your coffee slowly, your eyes moving to your eldest as he shovels spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air.
As if on cue, the nanny entered the room, cradling the youngest member of the Snow family in her arms. Your heart twisted at the sight of the woman, the nannyâs eyes darting to Coriolanus, who met her gaze with a knowing look. You forced herself to smile as you took the baby girl into your arms, your fingers tracing the delicate features you had come to love despite the circumstances of your birth.
âLook whoâs awake,â You softly say to your daughter with a bright expression as she smiles up at you. But as you look up, you catch Coriolanus beckon the young woman over to him. It was the subtle exchanges between Coriolanus and the nanny that made your blood run cold.
A glance here, a lingering touch thereâeach movement a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the facade you presented to the world.
Later that day, as your family made a public appearance, you plastered on your most convincing smile, your hand resting lightly on Coriolanusâs arm as you both posed for the cameras. Lucky Flickermanâs question about another baby drew a forced chuckle from your lips, âMaybe not for a while,â You responded, feeling the venomous look Coriolanus shot you from your peripheral.
It wasnât until you were alone in the privacy of you solar that the facade finally crumbled. Coriolanusâs anger boiled over at your comment, his words cutting like shards of glass. Your own fury matched his, your heart pounding in your chest as you dared to confront him about his infidelity.
âWhat do you mean âmaybe not for a whileâ?â Coriolanusâs voice sliced through the tense silence, his anger simmering just beneath the surface .
Your bristled at his tone, your own frustration bubbling over. âWhat do you think I mean, Coriolanus? We already have three children to care for, and Iâm not eager to bring another into this mess. Iâm not a baby machine for heavenâs sake.â
Coriolanusâs jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. âMess? Is that what you think of our family?â You shot back, âItâs what youâve made it,â your voice tinged with bitterness. âYou think I donât know about your affairs? About the way youâve been sneaking around with my servants behind my back?â
Coriolanusâs eyes flashed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. âHow dare you accuse me of such things? You know nothing!â âI know enough,â You retorted, your own anger rising. âIâve seen the way you look at her, the way you touch her when you think no one is watching.â
âThatâs ridiculous,â Coriolanus scoffed, but there was a hint of unease in his voice. âIs it, Coriolanus?â Your voice was sharp as you enunciated his full name, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze head-on. âYou can deny it all you want, but Iâm not blind, Iâm not stupid. I see whatâs happening, and I wonât stand for it any longer.â
Coriolanusâs face twisted with rage, his hands trembling with suppressed fury. âHow dare you speak to me like that? I am your husband, and you will show me the respect I deserve!â
âRespect?â You laughed bitterly, your heart pounding in your chest. âYou lost any right to my respect the moment you betrayed our marriage vows-â Your words were cut off when Coriolanus grabs your forearm, harshly pulling you close to him as you felt his breath fanning your features, your breath catching in your throat as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal.
Before you could react, the doors to the solar swung open, revealing your children and the nanny, frozen in the threshold. Your heart sank as you watched Coriolanus hastily release his tight grip on you, plastering on a false smile as he turned to his son with outstretched arms.
âMy boy,â he said, his voice strained. âShall we go play outside?â With a final glance in your direction, Coriolanus left the room, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your reality. As the nanny awkwardly averted her gaze, you gathered your daughters close, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.
âNext time,â you said to the nanny, not bothering to look at her, your voice tinged with bitterness, âyou should knock before entering a closed room. Understood?â
The nanny nodded mutely, her eyes downcast as you led your children away from the shattered remnants of your once-happy home. But deep within you, you knew that the facade they presented to the world could only hold for so long before the truth tore your family apart at the seams.
He literally looks like a hot dilf who is running late to his kids soccer game bc wifey wanted Starbucks and he had like no time to put together an outfit so he just ran with thatâ
Oliver keeps on staring at reader and Felix notices it and gets possessed so he put on a later show for him. Like making out but donât having full on sex. Then the next morning readers walking to breakfast with a lot of hickeys all over her and she canât cover it up.ïżŒ
Mine, all Mine || Felix Catton x reader
A/n: thank u for the request ml 𫶠sorry it took me awhile to post this đ„Č
Warnings: fem!reader, possesive!Felix, swearing, smoking, Oliver being sorta creepy
Wc: 864
Felix Catton Masterlist
GIF by @127png
As Felix listened to your conversation with a few others in the circle of friends around you, his eyes caught Oliver Quick staring shamelessly at you from his window. Taking a long drag, he wrapped an arm around you, his fingers delicately tracing the necklace that bore his initials, all while looking at Oliver.
It took Oliver a few seconds to realise that Felix was staring straight at him, and when he did, he scrambled from the window which earned a soft chuckle from Felix.
For the next couple of days, Felix would often catch Oliver staring at you. It irritated him to say the least, especially since he would stare longer when you were on his lap, or when you were holding hands and walking around campus. Clearly, Oliver didnât know better.
You were sat on Felixâs lap at a Halloween party, you were dressed up as a slutty maid while Felix was dressed as a cop. âWhat are you looking at?â You say in his ear, noticing that his attention was elsewhere. His hand on your hip gives you a reassuring squeeze before he smiles at you.
"Nothing," he brushes it off, planting a kiss on your collarbone, but a lingering doubt tugs at you. Your eyes roam the crowded room before locking onto Oliver.
He averts his gaze, sipping his drink briefly, while you narrow your eyes at him. âDo you know Oliver?â you redirect your attention to Felix, and his eyes snap up to meet yours.
âHm?â Heâs caught off guard by your sudden question. âOliver? He was checking us out,â you casually shrug, not giving it much thought, just noting the observation.
âThat weirdo? No. Just seen him around campus,â Felix clears his throat, putting the lollipop he was sucking on back in his mouth, catching your eye. âStay away from him though, yeah?â His possessive tone lingers as he points his lollipop at you prompting a subtle smirk from you.
âFelix, darling, you know me,â you say in a sultry tone, taking the lollipop from his fingers and sensually popping it into your mouth. Your gaze holds his as you swirl it around your tongue, before innocently looking away, leaving an enticing allure in the air.
Felix subtly adjusts beneath you, and a self-satisfied smile crosses your lips as you sense the impact of your actions. You can feel the growing bulge beneath your skirt, and without a single word, Felix effortlessly repositions you on his lap, now straddling him.
âHave I told you how insanely hot you look in that costume?â His eyes roam down your front, pausing where your outfit leaves little to the imagination. You giggle, playfully tilting your head as if you were thinking.
âI donât think so,â Felix tilts his head back, emitting a low whistle, his gaze intense on you. âWell, whatâre you waiting for? Kiss me.â Your hands find their place on his shoulders.
Felix lets out a deep chuckle, âYes maâam,â You both smile before he grips the back of you hair and pulls you close to him. His lips feverishly kissing your lips as you let out a low groan at the feeling of his bulge underneath you.
You leave his lips, trailing kisses down his neck. Felixâs eyes were wide open as he stared right back at Ollie from across the room. He reviled being watched. Unfazed, Oliver didnât bother looking away, shamelessly watching you as you leave marks on Felixâs neck.
Felix smirks at Ollie, kneading the flesh of your ass, drawing a moan from you. âLetâs get out of here,â he whispers in your ear. Eagerly nodding, you rise, and as Felix playfully slaps your ass, you stumble slightly, but his large hand steadies your waist.
Unbeknownst to you, Felix shoots Ollie a look before winking at him and leading you away. Surely now, Oliver would get the memo and back off.
~
Walking into the hall, you push your sunglasses higher up the bridge of your nose. With a slightly annoyed demeanour, you cross your arms, acutely aware of the hushed whispers and stares from fellow students.
Felix left about half a dozen hickeys along your collarbone and neck. You didnât even try to conceal them either with makeup since they were deep hues of purple.
âMove,â You hear Farleigh say to a random beside him as he quickly scrambles and he takes his spot, giving you space to sit in between him and Felix.
Your hand meets Felixâs chest with a resounding slap as you settle into your seat with a huff, âDid you really have to make them this dark?â Felix stops chewing his toast, âYes, yes I did,â a proud grin adorning his face while you shoot him a disapproving scowl.
âWhy the sunglasses, y/n?â Farleigh nudges you, prompting you to take them off briefly. Your red eyes meet his gaze, causing him to cringe. âPut them back on, please,â he murmurs, and you respond with a casual flip-off, continuing with your breakfast.
Locking eyes with Oliver at the table across from yours, you catch him mid-sip. âHe really has a staring problem,â you remark aloud. Farleigh and Felix turn towards you simultaneously, asking in sync, âWho?â Farleigh cranes his neck, attempting to look at where you were looking.
âOliver,â You murmured. âFucks sake, does he not get the hint,â Felix cursesâclearly exasperatedâleaving you confused. âWhat hint-â Before you could finish your sentence, Felix takes ahold of your chin with a firm yet gentle touch, pulling you into a kiss.
âJesus, right now?â Farleigh gags beside you, his reaction mirroring your own surprise at the suddenness of Felixâs kiss.
Your manicured nails rest on his jaw as Felix lifts his hand up to flip off Oliver who was staring through the gap of people. He pulls back as you catch your breath, âSwap with me,â He says as he moves back on his seat.
You give him an odd look, âSo he doesnât keep staring at whatâs mine,â Felixâs voice was laced with possessiveness as you stand up and move across his lap to where he previously sat, his hands on your hips guiding you.
Imagine if Y/n and tom blyth played Anya and Dimitri from Anastasia. đâïž
Anastasia || Tom Blyth x actress!reader
A/n: IM SO INLOVE W UR IDEA. also, if u havenât already seen Anastasia? wtf r u doing? WATCH IT RN. guys youâre gonna have to imagine a lot bc of the pics đ but dw I wrote whos supposed to be who so itâll make more sense!!! p.s should I do a fic where tom x actress!reader is in bridgerton?? đ send requests if u have any ideas.
Divider by @pommecita
~
y/n_y/l/n_fp
Liked by y/n_y/l/n, y/l/nupdates, and 297,484 others
Y/n and Tom spotted out in London today!! CAN WE TALK ABT HER HAIR OMG??? ITS RED?! AHHHHH
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user49: OMG SHE LIKED! CONGRATS
âïž y/n_y/l/n_fp: IM STILL IN SHOCK đź
user16: RED HAIR Y/N YESS
user037: what hair colour can she not pull off. lets be real here đ€·đ»ââïž
user88: theyâre still together? even after the rumours of her cheating on Tom w her co-star? đ
âïž y/n_y/l/n_fp: theyâre called rumours for a reason babes x
user20: EVERYONE GO WATCH âHERâ RN
âïž user643: y/n ate in that movie
âïž user017: itâs so good đ
âïž user03: she was so cringe in that movie đ
âïž user94: if it was so cringe, why should she be nominated for an Emmy then? đ
user55: maybe itâs for her upcoming film that she talked about in an interview?
~
mtv
Liked by madelyncline, rachelzegler, y/n_y/l/n, tomblyth and 14,307,583 others
itâs been announced that âit coupleâ Y/n Y/l/n and Tom Blyth will be playing Anya and Dimitri in Lockshinâs upcoming live action adaptation of Anastasia! Lockshin says to expect release dates soon.
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y/n_y/l/n: yayayyayayaa
madelyncline: Iâm so excited @y/n_y/l/n đ
âïž y/n_y/l/n: ME TOO!
user927: yaâll Iâve been waiting for them to do a live action movie of Anastasia. Just canât believe y/n and Tom will be in it đ
user05: OMG OMG OMG OMG
user2: THEYâRE PERFECT FOR ANYA AND DIMITRI
user73: finally theyâre in a movie together, canât wait to see their chemistry even more on screen!
user84: with Michael Lockshin directing and Y/n and Tom as the main characters, I just KNOW this movie is gonna be so good.
user10: SO HER RED HAIR WAS FOR THIS MOVIE?!
user42: y/n and tom are so anya and dimitri coded đ„č
A/n: u guys r gonna have to imagine alot w these pics đ but i wrote whos supposed to be who so it makes a bit more sense!!!!! THIS ONLY MAKES SENSE IF YOU READ THE FIRST BIT
y/n_y/l/n
Liked by 3,308,252 people
Prepare for the âAnastasiaâ photo dump đ
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tomblyth: yummy cake đ°đ
âïž y/n_y/l/n: i'm craving it so bad rn đ€€
user1: THE MOVIE WAS SO GOOD WTAF
user2: Y/n and Tom's on screen chemistry is insane...
user3: her smile in the second picture đ„č
user4: empress Marie was a slay
âïž y/n_y/l/n: she honestly was
~
y/n_y/l/n
Liked by 2,920,163 people
this is what we gotta say to those who havenât watched Anastasia yet đđđ (weâre kidding)
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user1: how was filming in St. Petersburg??
âïž y/n_y/l/n: had the best time of my life đ St. Petersburg is so gorgeous.
user2: yesss feed us w more Anastasia bts please!!!
âïž y/n_y/l/n: yes maâam đ«Ą
âïž user3: BAHAHHAHAAH
user4: everyone go watch Anastasia rn. Itâs a masterpieceđ
user5: sheâs so gorgeous itâs not fair
~
y/n_y/l/n
Liked by 3,027,496 people
pics of me eating the most 21st century food in my 20th century fits đâŒïž
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tomblyth: fun fact, I took ALL of these
âïž y/n_y/l/n: đđđ
user1: this is so funny to me LMAO
user2: the fits đ€
âïž user3: THEY WERE EVERYTHING!
user4: so this is what u guys do behind the scenes? eating?
âïž tomblyth: yup.
âïž y/n_y/l/n: pretty much!!
~
tomblyth
Liked by 4,305,262 people
âAnastasiaâ out now in the cinemas!!!! So incredibly grateful to have worked with such amazing and talented people, experiencing it with y/n made it even better đ
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y/n_y/l/n: iâm tearing upâŠ. It was so much fun, Iâm going to miss everything about it đ
âïž tomblyth: gonna miss seeing u in ur costume đ„č you looked absolutely gorgeous
âïž y/n_y/l/n: awee I love u!!!!
âïž user1: my parents r so adorable đŁ
user2: third pic is everything!
user3: they did so good with the casting!
~
y/n_y/l/n
Liked by 3,947,028 people
St. Petersburg weather was smth else đ„¶
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actorwhoplaysrasputin: it wasnât even that cold y/n đ
âïž y/n_y/l/n: says the person who wore 4 jackets in between takes đ
âïž actorwhoplaysrasputin: zip it.
âïž user1: I love this duo đ
actorwhoplaysphlegmenkoff: it was a pleasure to work with such young, talented actors like yourselves!!!
âïž y/n_y/l/n: awee thank you actors name!! It was an honour to work with you!!
âïž tomblyth: appreciate it man đ€
user2: them casting actors name as Rasputin was the best decision ever. Canât see anyone else for that role!
user3: this movie had such iconic actors and actresses đ
âïž user4: I just know this movie was expensive đ
~
y/n_y/l/n
Liked by 4,307,287 people
Anastasia dump pt. 2974822? đ
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user1: FIRST PIC HAHAHAHA
âïž y/n_y/l/n: felt xtra cute so I had to đ
âïž user2: Tom not looking amused in the back đ€Ł
âïž tomblyth: Iâm used to it
actorwhoplaysvladimir: miss you guys!!!
âïž tomblyth: you act as if we donât live in the same street đ€Ł
âïž y/n_y/l/n: literally walk the few steps and youâll see us lol
user3: I canât wait for more of your bts vids to come out on yt bc man theyâre so entertaining!!
âïž y/n_y/l/n: Iâm posting a 30 min bts vlog tomorrow đ
âïž user4: YAYYY
âïž user5: y/n has a yt channel and I havenât heard about it?
âïž user6: sheâs had it since she was in high school đ
~
tomblyth
Liked by 6,958,212 people
Canât believe âAnastasiaâ has been nominated for best film adaptation of books!!! Thank you everyone who voted :)
user2: actresswhoplaysdowagermarie is such a slay đ
âïž y/n_y/l/n: she literally is!
âïž tomblyth: we love her!
âïž user2: ahhh you both responded đ
~
themichaelockshin
Liked by 10,037,297
Cheers again for the love and support for this movie!! To all the cast members Iâve said it before and Iâll say it again, you are all such talented people and it was wonderful working with you all!
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y/n_y/l/n: thank you Michael â€ïž will never forget this experience :)
Baby Blues || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader
Summary: motherhood has not been kind to you, neither has Coriolanus.
Warnings: r is implied to be young, toxic, mean Coryo, r experiencing post-partum depression,
Wc: 794
A/n: Iâm always gravitating to write these type of coryo fics for some reasonâŠ. I hope you like them! Apologies for lack of Tom Blyth/Coryo content, I promise I have some coming!!
You sat in the sunroom, the weight of your 5 month old daughter on your hip, while Coriolanus read his newspaper, seemingly unfazed by his daughterâs cries that filled the room.
Your hands shakily pick up the delicate china tea cup, bringing it to your lips and taking few sips.
You stared at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of both youth and motherhood. You subconsciously start to bounce your leg, all while your daughter wails in your arm, begging for attention from her own mother.
Coriolanus sips at his black coffee, trying his best to drown out the cries as he tried to focus his attention back on his newspaper. Your concerned servant in the room exchanged worried glances with Coriolanus, and finally, he glances at you, frustration etched on his face.
âY/n, tend to her,â he instructed, irritation evident in his voice. âDonât just sit there like a mad woman, do something,â He hissed as your gaze moved to him. Your eyes seemingly empty as you stare at his icy blue ones.
At an attempt to soothe her down, you stand up to bounce her on your hip, hushing her. Your daughterâs cries only intensified, drawing Coriolanus to his feet.
The rustle of the newspaper ceased as he took his daughter into his arms. Almost magically, her cries subsided in the secure embrace of her father. A wave of inadequacy washed over you as you witnessed his effortless ability to calm her.
Your once vibrant, youthful eyes now dull, overshadowed by the weight of motherhood. Coriolanus, sat on one of the chairs, watches you from where he was. âYouâve been standing there for about 20 minutes, sit,â He says, gesturing to the seat beside him as you turn your head, lightly biting your lips before moving.
âItâs like you were in another world tonight, what ever is the matter with you now?â Coriolanus remarks, frustration edging his tone.â You feign a smile, âIâm just tired, Coryo. Thatâs all,â but your eyes betray the facade, revealing a profound weariness that transcends mere fatigue.
âYou always seem tired,â Coryo scoffs. Your gaze flickers towards the nanny, cradling your daughter in her arms. Your heart aches with a mixture of guilt and relief as you observe the bond forming between them.
Coriolanusâs gaze follows your eye line, âPerhaps youâve been focusing too much on your duties and not enough on our daughter,â He suggests, unaware of the storm raging within you.
âIâm doing my best, Coryo,â you respond, voice barely audible as Coriolanus lets out a tired sigh, massaging his forehead.
The babyâs cries cut through the air, and you flinch as if struckâsomething Coriolanus observed. He glances at you, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his features.
âCanât you tend to our daughter? Youâre her mother, after all.â You nod absentmindedly, standing up and making your way toward the source of the cries.
The nanny, a woman just a couple years younger than yourself, hands over your daughter, a look of sympathy etched on her face.
You clear your throat, feeling Coriolanusâ eyes on you. You cradle her awkwardly, attempting to soothe her, but your efforts were feeble. Coriolanus observes, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
âYouâre always like this. Will you always treat our child as if sheâs a stranger?â He spat, and you bit your lip, glancing down at your daughter whose features closely mirrored yours, except for her eyes and blonde hair.
Your eyes well up with unshed tears, swiftly wiped away. âI just⊠just need time, Coriolanus. Iâll adjust,â you stammer, seeking to reassure your husband and, more importantly, convincing yourself that you will.
Nearly half a year has passed since you gave birth to her. Skillfully, youâve evaded numerous public appearances with your daughter, fully aware of the pervasive curiosity surrounding your role as a mother.
You were aware of their judgments. The notion that you were too young to be a mother echoed in your mind, a sentiment you shared as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your stomach swollen with the imminent arrival of a child into the world.
Coriolanus sighs, a blend of disappointment and impatience coloring his tone. âPull yourself together, for both our sakes. The people want to see their First Lady and my heir. You canât keep hiding away. There are already whispers going around,â he admonishes sharply, and you gulp, your baby cradled in your arms as you turn to face him.
Coriolanus couldnât deny the noticeable change in you since giving birth. When he married you, the youthful aura enveloped you, a stark contrast to the transformation he now witnessed.
The aura had dissipated entirely. Despite your youth, you appeared to have weathered a lifetime. Fatigue etched into your eyes, weariness evident in your mental state.
âItâs wise for you to step back from the public eye for a while, away from your duties. You need to rest,â Coriolanus states firmly, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the window.
Your gaze shifts to your baby in your arms, her doe-blue eyes locking onto yours. Unaware, Coriolanus discreetly signals the nanny to take your daughter.
Caught off guard, you hesitated when she reached for your child, desiring to hold her longer. Reluctantly, you allowed her to take the little one. With a heavy heart, you observed the nanny exit the room, and Coriolanus broke the silence, reassuring you, âDonât worry about her; go rest.â Slowly, you nodded in agreement.
A/n: can we just agree that Jacob holding a small baby in his HUGE arms would be the cutest and hottest thing ever đđ I need to see this irl. Posting a Coryo fic later today!!! Also really need to do a Jacob Elordi masterlist lol, will do later today!
Emerging from the grocery store, you held bags in both hands while Jacob effortlessly juggled your one-year-old daughter in one arm and a bag of groceries in the other.
The California sun casts a warm glow as you make your way to the car, Jacob holding your precious daughter, Sydney, in his strong arms. His large frame makes her appear even tinier as he cradles her close.
As you approach the car, Jacobâs keen eyes spot a group of paparazzi in the distance. He instinctively shields Sydneyâs face, a protective gesture youâve both mastered in these public moments.
Jacob glances at you, concern in your eyes, âWe should be fine, theyâre far away anyways,â Jacob assures you as you unlock the car.
As Jacob secures Sydney in the car seat, you glance over at the paparazzi. Some of them notice Jacobâs protective actions and start snapping pictures even more eagerly.
You could feel their invasive gaze, but your focus remained on Sydney, shielding her from the intrusive lenses from the front seat of the car.
As Jacob buckled up your daughter, he could sense you were uncomfortable, glancing at the paparazzi from time to time. He knew how much it meant to you to keep Sydneyâs upbringing away from cameras as much as possible.
âIâm going to go talk to them,â Jacob says as you look at him with surprise. âAre you sure?â You lightly bite your lip as he nods, âYeah, Iâll be quick,â Is all he says before he shuts the door.
You watch as Jacob makes his way to the group of paparazzi. You couldnât hear what was being said of course but they seemed understanding about what Jacob was saying to them.
Jacob approached the group with a calm but firm demeanour. âHey guys, Iâm not sure if youâre aware but Y/n and I want to keep our daughter away from the public eyes as much as possible. And I know this is your job but could you please make sure to blur out Sydneyâs face in the photos youâve taken?â
One of the paparazziâs, seemingly more considerate than the rest, responded, âSure thing, Jacob. I donât think we managed to photograph your daughterâs face,â He and the others all take a look through the photoâs theyâve taken whilst showing Jacob.
âBut if we find one, weâll make sure her face is blurred. No problem.â The man says as Jacob nods. âI appreciate it. Have a good day guys.â
As Jacob walked back to the car, you exchanged a relieved glance. As he climbs into the car, you felt a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion from the constant vigilance required to protect your familyâs privacy.
You intertwine your hands with Jacobâs, expressing your gratitude, âThank you for handling that.â A grateful smile adorns your face as he grins, bringing your intertwined hands close to his face and gently kissing your hand.
âOf course, I donât need to think twice about doing something like that to protect Sydney,â Jacob affirms. He adjusts the rearview mirror, stealing a glance at Sydney in her car seat. Her curious eyes are fixed on the window, captivated by the passing palm trees.
Later that day, you were sent a tweet from Jacobâs sister. Itâs from one of the paparazzi who interacted with Jacob earlier. The post details the encounter and emphasises Jacobâs kindness in handling the situation.
The tweet read, âJust had a run-in with Jacob Elordi, and gotta say, heâs one of the nicest celebs Iâve encountered. Asked us to blur out his daughterâs face, and even though weâre paparazzi, he handled it with grace. Big respect for him!â
As you read through the comments, you couldnât help but smile at the overwhelming support from Jacobâs fans. Messages of admiration for his commitment to Sydneyâs privacy flooded the comment section.
yourusername
Liked by jacobelordi, caileespaeny, hbo, zendaya, sydney_sweeney and 10,937,274 others
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jacobelordi: love you both so much â€ïž
âïž yourusername: đ
caileespaeny: aweee
sydney_sweeney: I need to see little Syd like rn đ
âïž yourusername: your godchild misses you!
âïž user1: Is anyone just finding out now that Sydney Sweeney is the the god mother of Jacob Elordi and Y/n Y/l/nâs daughter đ
âïž user2: I mean, it kinda makes sense ngl. Y/n and Sydney are childhood besties and then she names her own kid after her best friend.
user3: sometimes I forget Jacob Elordi isnât single and has a child
user4: those recent pictures of him holding Sydney is doing something to me đ
When you get hired as a nanny for President Snow and his wife's firstborn, youâre beyond thrilled and grateful. But quickly, the perfect facade melts, revealing the ugly truth of what actually goes on in the Snows' house.
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Your worried eyes track the frenzied glide of the womanâs quill over the notepad. You squint, hoping to discern some of the words sheâs scrawling that way, but they are indiscernibleâŠjust like the stone-cold expression of the bespectacled woman on the other side of the desk.
She catches you trying to peek. Your heart jumps.
As her sharp green gaze zeroes in on you, you clear your throat and shift in your seat.
She puts her quill down and twines her fingers.
âSo what do you think sets you apart from the other applicants?â
You chew on your lip. When you arrived to offer your candidature this morning, you naively believed youâd be early. Instead, you were forced to join the tail end of the massive waiting line stretching far outside the Snowsâ estate. It didnât hit you before that moment, how prized the position is. Each of the women and girls you saw radiated excellent breeding and impeccable manners. Many probably attended the University and could double as a tutor if the need presents itself.
This isnât your case. Your parents left you and your brother Laertes with nothing when they suddenly passed away in a rebel bombing. You couldnât blame them. This wasn't the plan. Who plans on dying and leaving their two children to fend for themselves?
Still, you now have a list of bills the length of your arm coupled with a massive mortgage to pay every month. And as Laertesâ sole caretaker, you must ensure you can afford to send him to University once he completes his education in the Academy.
Circumstances denied you that chance. Despite being of universityâs age, you couldnât afford the cost of tuition and had to drop out as soon as you got accepted. You want better for your little brother.
So as soon as you heard the news that President Snow and First Lady Livia Cardew were in search of a nanny for their son Martius, you jumped on the opportunity to apply. You rose before the sun, rummaged through your motherâs closet to find her best dress, and hailed a car to come here.
Itâs a long shot, of course. Youâre not as polished and impressive as some of the other women. Youâre also noticeably younger. But the wages promised alone compelled you to take a chance despite the odds being unfavorable.
Fiddling with your hands, you meet the womanâs impassive stare head-on.
âWhat sets me apart?â You mull over your answer. You could paint a false, august portrait of yourself, your skills and your accomplishments. Or try to at least.
But what would be the point of pretending to be someone youâre not only to be found out later on? So you elect to tread the path of honesty.
âNothing,â you say. âBut Iâm a hard worker. A very hard worker. In fact, I already have three jobs, one at a bakery, another as a clerk in an antique shop and I assist Fabricia Whatnot at her boutique sometimes.â Panic quivers inside you as the woman quickly jots something down on her notepad. You swiftly specify, â...But Iâll quit all of them if I get the position, of course.â You lick your lips as knots tie your stomach. âI can learn everything there is to learn on the spot. I love children, andâŠâ You trail off, gaze traveling to your lap as you muse if you should reveal more. Your fists clench as you add, âI have a little brother whoâs a few years older than Martius, and Iâm really hoping I get this opportunity so I can give him the life he deserves.â
An unnerving quiet occupies the air. The wait is agony, your nails digging painfully into your palms. The jagged drumming of your heart bleeds inside your ears as she studies you.
Eventually, she leans back in the velvet chair, her face betraying no thought or emotion.
âYouâre dismissed,â she says.
Your heart plummets to your feet. You shakily rise, dispirited as you drag your heels towards the door. You steal a glance above your shoulder. The womanâs attention has already drifted away from you as she shouts for the next applicant.
You sourly exit the office. You try to swallow your dejection as you note how many women are still waiting in line, each of them likely more qualified and experienced. Itâs obvious you tanked the interview. Shoulders slumping, you take resigned steps through the elegant, palatial hallways of the Snowâs mansion. You get lost in admiring the crystal and gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. There isnât an inch of the house that doesnât scream excessive, unattainable wealth.
You take your time soaking it in. Chances are youâll never step foot in such a place in your lifetime ever again.
Distracted, you donât notice the person in front of you before itâs too late. You bump straight into a hard, inflexible body.Â
The sudden collision threatens your balance.
Fingers coil around your wrists as you stagger back, preventing your impending collapse onto the marbled floor.
As your attention drifts skywards, your jaw drops at who fills your vision.
âP-President Snow, my deepest apologies, s-sir,â you stammer, flames licking your cheeks.
As if you didnât make yourself look dimwitted enough before, you now carelessly crashed into the leader of all of Panem. Just when you thought the day couldnât possibly get worse.
You take him in. It truly is him. Shock fills you.Â
 Tall and dazzling in a crisp white shirt and crimson vest that hints at his lean physique beneath the clothes, his signature blond waves slicked away from his face, he looks every bit the important figure that he is.
The flickering TV screen you own at home doesnât do him justice.
A gentle smirk unfurls on his lips.
âItâs quite alright. Iâm not made of sugar,â he jests.
âNoâŠyouâre not, your highnessâŠmajesty...I mean sir.â
Your blunder expands his smile. His cerulean gaze drags over your frame.
âAre you here for the nursemaid position?â
âI am, sir.â You unleash a deep exhale, his inquiry tossing salt on the fresh wound. The interviewer clearly wasnât impressed by your less than stellar performance. Maybe you should have tried to mimic the way the girls with whom you attended the Academy behave more. They carry themselves with such confidence, wading through the world with the certainty of their destinies being secure, bereft of hardships unlike district dwellers.
You envy how carefree they get to be. Everyday you wake up worried youâll come up short on a bill and you and Laertes will be forced to leave your family home. No matter how diligent you are at work, there never seems to be enough money to sustain the two of you. Even with three jobs, youâre barely eking out a decent living for you and your little brother. Many times, youâve gone to bed hungry just so Laertes would not.
You donât even realize tears have filled your eyes to the brim until a handkerchief is daintily pressed into your cheeks.
Flabbergasted, you blink up at President Snow.Â
âThank you,â you exhale, stunned by his kind gesture.
âWhatâs the matter?â he asks.
You search his eyes. Genuine interest lights up his pellucid blue orbs.
Without much thought, you confess, âI just donât think I did very well with my interview.â
As he scrutinizes you in silence, cocking his head sideways, embarrassment rushes through you.
Words anxiously leave your lips in a tremulous string.
âGod, Iâm so sorry, spilling my problems to you as if youâre not an extremely busy man, sir.â
He shakes his head. âItâs quite alright. And do not count yourself defeated, sweetheart.â Your pulse stutters when he bends over you to whisper, âYou may have left a stronger impression than you think.â
He nudges the pocket square between your hands. Itâs still damp with your tears. You gape at it in awe. President Snowâs initials are elegantly etched in the left corner of the fabric.
âHere. Keep it. Though Iâd much prefer it if you didnât cry.â He pauses, studying you. âGirls as lovely as you never should.â
His words send your heart into a frenzy. For a while, youâre too stunned to move. You then shake yourself back to reality, noticing youâre now staring at the empty space where he used to stand. Heâs gone. You look ahead. Heâs already miles away from you, wrapped in conversation with who seems to be an assistant of his.Â
Your thumbs press against the soft fabric of the pocket square. Cheeks ablaze, you hold it to your nose. It smells like roses, the same delicate scent that wafted from him a few minutes ago. Your back prickles. You pivot and are astonished to find the envious glares of some of the applicants still waiting in line zeroed in on you. Self-conscious, you rush to continue your exit, fleeing away from the hateful stares.Â
As the outside gates come into sight, you canât suppress an elated smile. Itâs not everyday someone meets President Snow and receives such a gift from him. Shoving the handkerchief in your pocket, you vow to place it somewhere safe and always cherish it.Â
When you return home, your brotherâs already sitting in the living room, his tiny brows scrunched in concentration and his nose buried in his books. Your stomach sinks. Everything you did today was for him. You canât help but feel you missed out on a huge opportunity, one thatâd have changed the course of his life forever. You glance around at the apartment. The walls are crumbling. The wooden floors are creaking. The pipes in the kitchen have been leaking for weeks, a measly bucket you must empty every morning the only thing preventing a flood. And at night, the pitter-patter of rodentsâ paws resonates from the ceiling.
Every inch of your family home is in dire need of repairs.
Unfortunately, every penny you earn goes into rent and food, meaning the house falls apart a bit more everyday. Perhaps one day, you and Laertes will awake beneath the rubble of whatâs left of your childhood home. Nightmares of that sometimes keep you up at night.
âHow was the Academy today?â you chime, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. Worry twists your chest. There isnât much left. Youâll need to make do with cabbage and whatever other veggies are left. Perhaps you could toss in some leftover dried meat and make a stew.
âMy teacher signed me up for advanced trigonometry,â your brother announces.
You close the cabinet and beam at him.
âOh, that sounds hard. Iâm proud of you.â It doesnât exactly surprise you. Laertesâ always been exceptionally smart. Even his teachers noticed how gifted he is from an early age. Unlike you, he breezed through middle school and now the Academy.
Itâs why itâs crucial you make sure he can go to the University. A mind like his shouldnât be wasted.
You brother shrugs, exuding nonchalance.
âItâs fine.â
You rush to him. You wrap your arm around him playfully and hug him in his chair, pulling his cheek like when he was little. You know he hates when you do that but you canât help teasing him a bit. Itâs your duty as a big sister after all.
âDonât downplay it. My little brotherâs a genius.â
He wriggles his way out of the hug, rolling his eyes.Â
âStop it.â
You head back to the kitchen and fire the stove.
âIâll make you something,â you say, smiling at your brother.
His brows knit. âMake something for yourself first.â
You nibble your bottom lip. You truly hoped he wouldnât notice, how much smaller than his your portions are. But heâs growing; he needs it. Much more than you. Besides, how can he focus at the Academy and be the brilliant boy he is supposed to be with a growling stomach? You wonât allow it.
âLaertesâŠâ
He shakes his head, his expression firm.
âNo. You always do this. This time, we split whatever is left.â
Heaving out a resigned exhale, you nod. You whirl to resume preparing dinner.
You gather a boiling pot from the overhead cabinet and place it on the stove. With the ease of practice, you begin chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot. You add spices and water. The mouthwatering aroma quickly fills the kitchen. Pride swells in your chest. Your cooking skills have improved so much in the last year since your parents passed. You now manage to bring flavor to the blandest of meals.Â
Once the stewâs ready, you pour a portion in each bowl, putting just a little more in your brotherâs and praying he will not notice.
You place the steaming bowls on the table and take a seat opposite him.
âNo books at the dining table,â you admonish, mimicking the exact tone your mother used with your brother. Admitting defeat, Laertes sighs and sets his homework aside. The tiny victory tugs your lips skyward.
He tells you about his day at the Academy while the two of you eat. Youâre delighted to hear heâs making a lot of friends and heâs at the top of his class for most science subjects. Heâs struggling a bit more with his poetry and ethics classes, but you encourage him by reminding him he can just ask the teacher for extra assignments to keep his grade up.
âI interviewed for a new job today,â you reveal, stirring the spoon in your bowl while waiting for your brother to eat more of his food.
âHow did it go?â
âWell, it pays really well so Iâm hopeful.â
The hope dancing in his eyes makes your chest ache. You donât have the heart to tell him you made a fool of yourself today. You may not be gifted like your brother, but you want him to know he can rely on you at least.
Pursing his mouth, he looks down at his stew.
âThatâs great. Itâd be good if you didnât have to work as much.â
Your smile falters. âDonât worry. I have everything under control.â
âOkay.â
His dour tone stirs your concern. You wish you were better at hiding things from him, making his childhood as normal as possible. But your brotherâs twelve now, and thatâs old enough to sense when things are wrong.
He rises from his seat. You frown as you note thereâs still food left in his bowl.
âFinish your plate before going to your room.â
Annoyance pinches his features but he still picks up his bowl and hastily guzzles down the remainder of his stew.
âHappy now?â he says, wiping his mouth.
âYes. Very,â you cheerfully respond.
He gathers his books and strides towards his room.Â
Your voice rises.
âDonât stay up too late to study, okay? I love you.â
âIâŠlove you too,â he mumbles.
You bask in the moment as you clean the table. Thankfully Laertes is still at an age where he says it back. One day he might not. So you must cherish every instant. Every conversation, every hug, every âI love youâ. Because it could all vanish in a second. You learned that the hard way a year ago.
The day of the interview recedes to the back of your mind as you keep living your life. Work is harrowing, as usual, but you tend to your tasks as best as you can. Your arms ache as you knead the dough in the back of the bakery. You give yourself a second to wipe the sweat off your forehead. Itâs been a hectic afternoon. Thereâs a massive pastry order for some Capitol heiressâ birthday due tomorrow. So youâve been racing between the front desk and the kitchen in the back. A baker called in sick today, leaving you with twice the workload.
You know it wonât take much to crash into your bed and fall asleep tonight.
To make matters worse, the day hits its nadir when you get your pay that day. You peer inside the envelope for the umpteenth time. An anxious chuckle peals out of your lips.Â
âIâm sorry I donât want to complain, butâŠthis doesnât match the hours I put in.â
The owner scratches the back of his neck, a contrite expression etched on his face.
âIâm sorry too. With the new taxes imposed by the Capitol, I had to cut your salary.â
Slack-jawed by the news, no word leaves your mouth as you stare at him. He sighs.
âIf itâs a problem, we can find someone else-â
âNo, no,â you interrupt, blinking in panic. âPlease, I need this job.â
He acquiesces and youâre forced to thank him despite feeling cheated. You actually scaled back your hours for your other part-times since this one paid more. What a waste.Â
Dispirited, you return home. As you give the driver a bill for the fare, your insides wrench. Every bill counts. Perhaps youâll need to walk back home from now on. The streets of the Capitol are notoriously dangerous but you canât see any other way to save your dwindling wages. You already know youâll need to request an extension for rent this month. How will you pay it, however?
You suppose youâll have to figure it out. You always figure it out.
These are the somber thoughts swaying in your mind as you check the mailbox.Â
Bills. Bills. And more bills. Your already sour mood plummets even more. But a slim, silver envelope sticking out from the pile corrals your focus. Curiosity surges inside you. It looks fancy and thereâs a wax seal with the Capitolâs symbol keeping it shut. You rush to open it, heart fluttering in strange anticipation.
You unfold the neatly folded letter inside. As you read the words, you gasp, dropping the letter. Still trembling from shock and excitement, you bend to pick it up.Â
You take a deep slow breath before reading it again.Â
This time, a squeal escapes from your lips.Â
You read it many more times to make sure your eyes arenât just conjuring wild fantasies.Â
After a while, you realize they arenât. Itâs true.Â
Holding the letter to your chest, you toss yourself on your bed and kick your feet excitedly.Â
You then place your palm on your forehead. In disbelief, you beam at the ceiling.Â
SomehowâŠyouâve been hired to work for the Snows. You actually got the job.Â
Perhaps there is light at the end of the tunnel.
You fidget before the iron gates, smoothing absent wrinkles on your skirt. Itâs one of the best outfits you could find on short notice that wasnât moth-eaten or visibly overworn. You pray itâs enough. You let your gaze wander. The Snowsâ estate truly is majestic. The lush gardens. The beautiful architecture. You feel a little small as you admire the mansion.
Remembering yourself, you pivot to the man who drove you there. You fish inside your pocket for a bill and hand it to him. He stares at you blankly from the driverâs seat.
A weary sigh ripples behind you.
You turn, your eyes widening. Itâs the woman who interviewed you that day. She wears the same stern expression.
âYou donât need to pay him,â she explains, dismissing the man with her hand. He nods and drives away. âHeâs your assigned driver. Heâll pick you up each day and take you back home.â
âOh.â You offer your hand. âNice to meet youâŠagain.â
She gives you a lengthy onceover, completely ignoring your gesture. Then she motions at you to follow her. You let your hand fall to your side. Heat blooms in your cheeks. Perhaps, you were too enthusiastic just then. Straightening your spine, you try your best to keep pace with her quick strides.
âIâm Pandora. I supervise most housekeeping duties for the president. Iâll show you around the estate. Then youâll meet the young Master.â
She gives you a tour of the mansion. Youâre even more amazed than last time though you try to suppress your awe and not stare excessively. She shows you the garden as well. The sea of snow-white roses makes your head spin. She specifies that the only part of the house that is off-limits is the west wing of the mansion, as these are the First Ladyâs apartments and she must have rest and quiet.
She ends the visit by taking you to the nursery. A smile spontaneously finds its way onto your lips. A toddler plays with his toy train on the floor. With his blonde curls and bright blue eyes, he bears a striking resemblance to his father.
âThatâs him? Heâs so cute,â you whisper. Even the stern womanâs expression thaws a little as she looks at the child, softening ever-so-slightly. You send her a questioning glance. She gives you a nod of approval.Â
You approach the boy and crouch in front of him.
âHi. Youâre Martius, right?â
He lifts his head and beams at you. Youâre immediately endeared. Again, his smile reminds you of President Snow. You suppose one could probably take over the world with a smile like that.Â
You turn to Pandora.
âIs his mother around? I should probably introduce myself.â
Her face pinches. âMistress Livia has been unwell as of late. She is not to be disturbed today as she is quite tired.â
âOf course.â Your lips squeeze shut for a few seconds but curiosity gets the better of you. A question burns on your lips, one that nagged you ever since you got the job. It slips out before you can think it through. âIs thisâŠIs this why the president and his wife require a nanny? The First Lady is sick?â
Pandora glowers at you. You flinch as she steps further inside the room, her searing tone like a whip.
âYou are here to do your job, and nothing else. Mistress Liviaâs health is no concern of yours. Do you hear me?â
You rise on shaky feet. You forgot yourself.
âI-I understand. Iâm sorry I asked.â
âThis reminds me. You have to sign this,â she says, handing you a pen and clipboard. A thin stack of papers are attached to the clipboard. The front page spells âNon-Disclosure Agreementâ in bold letters at the very top. You scowl as you flip through the pages.
âWhatâs that?â
âItâs a contract, one signed by every one of the Presidentâs employees.â
âI donât understand most of whatâs written hereâŠâ
A frustrated exhale peals from her lips.
âIâll make it simple for you then. For the duration of your employment here, nothing you see or hear must ever leave this house. You are here to care for the young master, that is all. Nothing else should concern you. Is that clear enough?â
You swallow thickly. It doesnât sound hard at all. Discretion is essential in every job, isnât it? But the way Pandora makes it sound, youâd assume there are bodies buried beneath the Snowsâ estate. Youâd laugh if her death stare werenât so disquieting.
You peruse the contract, perplexed by most of the legal mumbo jumbo filling the pages. None of it rings any bell. You understand the gist of it however. You must preserve the president and his wifeâs privacy. While you donât know the specifics of the first ladyâs condition, her public appearances have been few and far between in the last few years.
She used to be the envy of every woman in the Capitol. Beautiful, young and married to the dashing President Snow.
She was a fairytale princess come to life.
Then their son Martius was born. And when they held him up from the balcony of their mansion for all of Panem to gaze upon, they truly seemed like the perfect family.
Until one day, Livia Cardew simplyâŠvanished.
She was noticeably absent from all the events of the season, some she even hosted herself. Tongues wagged of course, rumors and wild theories spreading like wildfire.Â
But no one knew the truth of what had happened to her.
The matter seems delicate. You promise yourself not to bring it up again.
You click the pen and scribble your name at the bottom of the very last page.
âIâveâŠnever signed a contract like that before starting a job.â
Pandora lets out a wry chuckle.
âWell, youâve never worked for President Snow.â
As promised, you quit your two other jobs to focus solely on Martius. Youâre hesitant at first. Your departed parents taught you never to put all your eggs in one basket. And itâs exactly what youâd be doing by trusting the Snows. But when you receive your first paycheck, long before the end of the week, every qualm you had fades. Itâs more money than youâve ever had, more money than you expected. Rent isnât an issue anymore. Neither is food.
Besides, gifts keep coming from the estate. Clothes mostly, for both you and Laertes, but also jewelry, perfume and other fancy things you donât need. Overwhelmed by President Snowâs generosity, you try to send some of it back, but you donât have the heart to return everything when you see your brotherâs happy face when he opens his wardrobe one day.
Youâve caught the self-conscious glimpses he casts at his classmates sometimes, when not wearing the Academy uniform. Their clothes are always brand new and custom, perfectly tailored while his are stitched back together by your clumsy hands whenever they fray at the seams. Youâre not a seamstress but youâve always done your best. But you know your best doesnât compare to the access and privilege those kids have.
Other than those blessings, your time with Martius has been a breeze. Only hazy memories of your brother as a toddler linger in your mind, but you donât recall him ever being as sweet and calm as the little boy is.
It hardly feels like work, caring for the small child. You spend the day playing along with his games, reading stories to him and, as the day nears its end, the two of you feed the ducks in the massive pond behind the mansion. He even gives them names and gets upset when they fight with each other.Â
âLily doesnât like James anymore,â he whispers to you one day, a sullen pout scrunching his tiny features.Â
âAnd why is that?â
âI think sheâs angry that he steals her food.â
You chuckle and ruffle his golden locks. The little boy always has a story for everything he sees. At all times, his world must make sense. So if he cannot find a reason to explain what fills his gaze, heâll weave a tale that matches it. His stories are each more wild than the other and he sometimes utters words youâve never heard a four year old use.
But you surmise it is expected from the son of the president. When he isnât with you, the little boy is often with his private tutor. Even at his tender age, the importance of manners and eloquence is impressed upon him.
Martius tugs at your skirt when you make your way to the door. You look down. His blue eyes are pleading.Â
âYouâre leaving again?â
You heave out a long exhale. The little boy wasnât so clingy before but with your bond growing, heâs been expressing more sadness from watching you go at the end of every day.Â
You hunker down to his level.
âMy little brotherâs expecting me.â
His forehead puckers. âStayâŠâ
âI told you before, Martius. I have a brother. Heâll miss me if Iâm not here.â
âOkay,â he mumbles, giving a begrudging nod. Tears already swim in his eyes though. Panic flows through you. You didnât want to upset him. You pick him up and bounce with him in your arms to try to soothe him.
âOh, no. Donât cry, sweetie.â He buries his head in the crook of your neck, nearly squeezing you to death when he wraps his arms around your neck. His loud, tearful sobs swell in the room. âHey, itâs okay. Iâll see you tomorrow like always, okay? So I need you to be brave for me.â His grip on you loosens as he sniffles. You put him down and the two of you pinky promise that youâll return. Your heart twists at the sight of his tear-stained little face.Â
You give his hair one last affectionate pat before rushing outside. If you stay, he might throw another tantrum. No matter what, you can never get mad at Martius. Heâs just a child. In the absence of his mother, heâs bound to grow attached to any woman filling a role adjacent to hers. You loathe that youâre taking those moments from the first lady. Though it pleases you to have a steady job and spend time with the sweet boy, it feels wrong that she isnât there. She should get to see her baby grow up. She should hear his inane ramblings and eccentric stories.
As time wears on, youâre dying to meet her and tell her about Martius. Is she truly so sick that she canât even see him for a mere few minutes? Youâre itching to break the rules and visit the west wing of the mansion. Sometimes you hear blood-curdling screams and wailing coming from the dark halls but you never dared venture through them. You know that if you did, Pandora would crucify you.
Laertesâ well-being matters more than your curiosity.
Humming absently, you halt in your tracks in the middle of a hallway. Confusion has you blinking. A peculiar noise bounces faintly against the walls. Your gaze drifts sideways, where the noise seems to come from. Youâre clocking out. Whateverâs going on in the house isnât any of your business at this hour.
But what if someone needs help? What if itâs something bad? Youâd feel awful if you learnt something happened the next day and you pretended to ignore it. So you gingerly approach the wall. Your fingers graze the tapestry covering it.Â
Your eyes widen when the wall moves, a tiny crack forming in it.
Your eyes bulge. Itâs an ajar door, you realize. A secret door one wouldnât notice if they werenât aware it was there. Light spills from the slight opening.
Confining your breath, you bend over the crack in the wall to get a glimpse of whatâs behind it.Â
The vision crowding your sight makes the blood in your veins freeze.Â
President Snow rutting into a maid with his pants down to his ankles. His usually neat blonde locks are tousled, a few damp curls kissing his forehead. His massive cock glistens with the girlâs essence, disappearing into the girlâs spread lips over and over again. Her body is bent over the railing of the bed and her maid outfit is bunched around her hips, exposing her ass, the flesh trembling with each of the presidentâs harsh, pointed thrust.
Each time he snaps his hips he draws a broken moan from her. One of his hands is around the back of her throat while the otherâs on the small of her back. He grunts low in his throat as she clenches around him, thrusting into her even faster than before.Â
The obscene sound of their coupling rises, coalescing with the feral grunts spilling from the presidentâs mouth. In that moment, heâs not the poised gentleman youâre used to seeing, he is an animal in rut chasing his high.
A shocked exhale escapes your lips. Your hand flies to cover your mouth. President Snowâs head snaps up, his gaze landing straight on you.
Your heart slams against your ribcage.
You jump back from the door and push the secret door closed. You dart across the hallway, determined to find the exit as quickly as you can. You donât glance back, your steps hasty and panicked.Â
Pandora was right. Itâs best not not to hear or see anything, to become a tomb in which secrets are buried.
You can only hope he didnât recognize you through the tiny crack in the door.Â
Though youâre shaken to your core, you continue your work as a nanny. You still need money. You may have set aside everything you made thus far, but it will only sustain you and your brother for a month or two. Besides, youâve already handed in your resignation for your other jobs. The positions have likely been filled. You canât exactly show up out of the blue and ask for your former job back.Â
No. So you convince yourself that itâs alright. You have a good thing going anyway. Youâre making more than you hoped. The child is happy. Youâre happy. All is well. Or it would be at least.
âŠIf you could conjure the memory of President Snow railing into the maid far away from your mind.Â
You want to forget it, bury the moment so deep in the abyss of your thoughts, it can never be unearthed.
But it isnât so easy. Because every time your mind wanders even a little, you see him again. Skin glistening with sweat and blue eyes alight with lust. The image is tattooed into your brain.Â
You wonder if the first lady knows. Perhaps itâs why sheâs hiding away. The weight of her husbandâs indiscretions may have grown too heavy to carry. It sours your heart. President Snow seemed so kind, good and noble. He was nice to you. You still have the breast pocket he gave you tucked away in a drawer. You loathe to think heâd do that to his wife. No woman deserves this.
You lift your head when your name is uttered. You get to your feet. Adrift in your thoughts, you didnât realize Pandora was in the nursery.Â
âYes?â
âThe president wants to see you in his office.â
Dread wrenches your gut. Itâs exactly what you feared. Does he know? Did he see you? Your pulse picks up. What other reason would there be? He never summoned you before.
âReally, why?â
âHe didnât say, but Iâm assuming itâs to congratulate you.â
Befuddlement wrinkles your forehead. âCongratulate me?â
Pandora heaves out a weary sigh. âWell, youâve done much better than we thought,â she begrudgingly admits. âThe young master smiles all the time.â She rolls her eyes. âEven if we must deal with his tantrums when you leave.â
A sliver of pride flutters through you with her admission. Pandora made her doubts about your capabilities plain and obvious from the beginning. It gladdens you that you may have changed her mind a little.Â
âIâm sorry.âÂ
âItâs fine.â She turns to him, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. âItâs a small price to pay for his happiness.â
Your smile vanishes as she adds, âNow let me escort you to the presidentâs office. He doesnât like to be kept waiting.â
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you trail behind her. The entire trek to the presidentâs office, your stomachâs in knots. You keep wondering if itâs the day youâll lose your job for being too nosy. You should have walked past the noise. You shouldnât have peeked.Â
You inhale a lungful of nerve as Pandora opens the door to his office and frees room for you to enter. Your clammy hands wrench in your lap. Heâs sitting behind his desk. You stagger further inside the room as he motions for you to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks the same as the first time you stumbled into him, disarmingly handsome in an impeccable shirt and pants that flatter his long legs.
A sharp contrast to the version of him that has plagued your thoughts lately.Â
His sky gaze follows you as you take a trembling seat.
âAre you settling in well?â he asks.
âHm, yes,â you stammer, anxiously twining your fingers. âItâs pretty much the perfect job. I get to be around a cute child all day.â
âI hear my son is very fond of you.â
You bashfully dip your head. âHeâs very easy to like. Heâs such a good boy, sweet, kind, and curious. You and your wife are raising him well, sir.â
He hums in thought. âI canât take much credit for that. Iâve tried my best to carve out time for MartiusâŠbut workâs kept me busy. As for Livia...â He lets out a humorless chuckle. âWell she isnât quite herself these days.â
âIâm sorry to hear that.â
He places one hand under his chin, scrutinizing you. You try not to twitch beneath his stare, your insides tight with dread.
âHm, itâs strange,â he states after a minute that goes by like an eternity.
Your head rises. âWhatâs strange?â
âA girl like you.â His lips drag upward. âSweet, nurturing, beautiful. Shouldnât you be married already?â
Your lips part in astonishment. This isnât the line of questioning you expected. âI-Iâm not.â
âYou must pardon me for being so forward but I simply find it astonishing. No suitors? Itâs hard to believe since youâre so lovely, sweetheart.â He tilts his head. You shift in discomfort, his attention making you feel see-through. âI mean, a husband would have made your life easier than itâs been thus far, wouldnât he, dove?â
A long exhale flows from your lips. âIâve had offers, after I graduated from the Academy. There was even this boy, he was so kind to me.â The memory draws a small smile from you. âHe proposed. Iâm sure heâd make a great husband, butâŠâ
âButâŠâ
Your mouth dries.
âI know itâs probably naive and unrealistic but I want to marry for love, that great, life-changing love, like in those romance novels my mom used to love, not money or status.â
His eyes twinkle. âOr financial stability?â
Shame gathers in your chest. You know it sounds silly when uttered aloud.Â
âI know, Iâm an idiot.â
âNo, youâre not. Itâs sweet that you still believe in love.â He appears lost in a faraway memory, his gaze hazing over with remembrance. âI used to believe in it too. I used to think, âWho needs wealth and success and power when love conquers all?ââ
He chuckles but itâs bereft of amusement.Â
âReally? What happened then?â
His gaze locks with yours.Â
âI grew up.â
Confused, you frown.Â
âBut arenât you and the first lady in love?â
Another laugh bursts from his chest.
âGod, youâre sweet.â His tone lowers to a dulcet whisper. âItâs like none of the worldâs ugliness has gotten to you yet.â He reveals matter-of-factly, âMy wife and I hate each other.â His smile widens at your flabbergasted expression. âAlways did. Itâs best that way, moreâŠefficient. Of course, there was a time, when we hadâŠpassion.â He licks his lips, something you canât pinpoint flickering in his gaze. âBut not anymore. Sheâs far too gone for that.â
He rises from his chair. You stiffen as he circles the desk, making slow steps towards you.Â
âWhich is why I mustâŠsatiate my needs wherever I can,â he mumbles, fingers lurking under your chin, forcing your eyes to fall upon him. âDo you understand my meaning, dove?â
âIâŠyes.â
Discomfort flares within you. Tension hangs in the air, so heavy it clogs your airways.Â
He cocks his head, lips slanting crookedly.
âDo you really? With that innocent look in your eyes, itâs hard to tell.â His thumb sweeps over your shuddering bottom lip. âMen have needs. And am I not a man, sweetheart?â
âY-Yes you are, sir.â
He bends over you to whisper in your ear. âYou saw everything that day, didnât you?â Your heart stops.
Flames lick your face as you bow your head. âI-I didnât see anything.â
His warm breath ghosts over your earshell.
âLiar,â he mumbles.
Your pulse quickens.
He leans back and nudges your chin upward.
âSince my wife fell sick, Iâve been very lonely. And sometimesâŠâ He looms over you, crowding your space as you peer up at him, fingers squeezing the arms of the chair. âI need something soft and warm to forget that feeling.â
President Snow slowly falls to his knees in front of you. His fingers find your thigh, starting to creep under your skirt. A devilish glint sparkles in his cobalt gaze. He finds your center, pressing the sheer fabric into your folds. You gasp. He chuckles at your reaction. He starts teasing you through your panties, tracing your slit and dragging over your tender bud. Your breath hitches as the air around you grows hotter. You grow slick beneath his finger, your thighs shaking as tingles bloom on your flesh.
âSirâŠâ you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes.
He pushes further inside you, adding another finger, and you unleash an audible breath. You try to close your thighs. He places his other hand on your knee to keep you open for him.
The air in your lungs grows thinner as he rubs your core through your soaked panties. The friction is a delicious torture. Pleasure pools in your belly causing your face to burn with shame. Youâre getting embarrassingly wet with President Snowâs attention.
âI just want a little taste,â he murmurs, his deep timbre bleeding lust. âJust one time and itâll never happen again,â he promises fervently as his lips graze your ankle. You find some relief when his fingers disappear from your drenched center. But your respite is ephemeral. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs at your panties.
Panic widens your eyes. Cheeks ablaze, you pull at the material between your legs with both hands. But heâs stronger than you and effortlessly drags the fabric along your legs. A wicked smile plays on his lips as tears glisten in your eyes. Itâs soon down to your ankles. You squeal when the president yanks the panties off your foot, tossing them aside. Cool air sneaks beneath your skirt, swirling over your bare folds.
Hands over your knees to keep you spread, his wolfish gaze sweeps over your glossy folds.Â
Your skin heats, embarrassment gathering in your chest. Youâve never been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anybody before.
âPlease, President Snow, s-stopâŠâÂ
âBut youâre dripping, sweetheart,â he states smugly, sinking a finger inside your weeping core, as if to make a point. Your breath hitches. He takes his finger out sluggishly. You clench when he grazes one of your sensitive spots. âJust as sweet as I expected,â he hums, obscenely licking your essence off his long digit.
Without a warning, he buries his head between your thighs. A sharp exhale leaps from your mouth. His cool tongue traces a wet trail over your folds. President Snow traces maddening patterns over your swollen bud causing your eyes to roll back.
You card your fingers through his silken platinum locks, hoping to push his head away. But the delightful sensations grow too overwhelming. You unravel beneath his sinful ministrations, your limbs twitching as the thread of your thoughts comes loose.
Your grip on his hair weakens. Your belly tightens, your chest rising and falling rapidly.Â
You jolt as his tongue flickers over your tender heap of nerves.Â
âP-PresidentâŠâÂ
He purrs against your folds and the vibrations rock through your core. You squirm in the chair. Your thighs quake. Your vision dims, your mind blank as waves of pleasure swaddle you in their tide. Protests scatter on your tongue, replaced by wanton whimpers and moans.
Electricity ripples through your spine as you cry out.
Bliss engulfs you and your legs turn liquid. Shame swirls in your gut as your juices coat his tongue. He drinks your nectar, elation rumbling in his chest.Â
When he lifts his head, you hardly recognize him. The feral glow in his gaze chills your blood.
There is no time to collect yourself, realize what just occurred, as the blonde gathers your limp frame from the chair and places you on his desk. Documents and papers are flung to the ground as he grabs your thighs and presses his throbbing hard-on against your cunt.Â
He hastily unbuttons his pants, freeing his hard length. He fists his cock and guides it through your wet entrance. Your back arches, the sudden intrusion robbing you of air. He reaches the hilt of you in a few seconds, giving you no time to accommodate his thick girth. You collapse over the desk, weak whimpers leaving you as your walls are stretched to their limit. He drags out of you, his pupils flaring as they trace the motion of his length in and out of you. Coriolanus leans over you. He snaps his pelvis into your hips, each of his thrusts tearing tearful moans from your throat.
When you turn your head, hot tears flowing down your cheeks, he grabs your chin so youâre forced to meet his lustful stare. Bracing himself on the desk, he reaches between your bodies to pinch your swollen clit. He plucks at your soft bud until you shatter around him with a sob. His throat bobs, a look of sheer bliss flitting across his face when you clench around him.
âIâve been dying to fuck you the minute I saw you,â he confesses, trailing soft pecks over your collarbone. A sinister chuckle peals from his lips. âThe way you looked at me with those sweet, innocent eyesâŠit made me rock-hard.â He tilts your chin towards him, his thumb skimming over your parted lips.
Satisfaction glimmers in his eyes as they flick over your prone form.
âYou should thank me. Those boys at the Academy wouldnât know what to do with a girl like youâŠâ His cock twitches inside you. Sticky warmth spills from him, painting your walls and dripping past your hole. Drops of his seed leak onto the desk. A throaty sigh pours from President Snowâs throat as your cunt flutters around him.
His teeth nip the skin of your neck.
â...But I do.â
After what occurs in his office, you hope to avoid President Snow. Those hopes are swiftly dashed however. President Snow lied to you. It doesnât happen once. In fact, you begin to lose count of the actual number.
Every time the president finds a little spare time, he summons you.
Sometimes you end up bent over the desk in his office as he pours the frustrations of the day into your warm hole. Sometimes he prefers you sprawled on your back in one of the multitude of luxurious beds in the mansion while he devours you as if you were his very last meal. And at times, he grows even more impatient and simply shoves you against a wall before ravaging you.
More than once, a maid or footman has walked in on the two of you, and youâve had to swallow your shame and embarrassment.
As youâve come to learn, the entire staff is aware of Coriolanus Snowâs insatiable appetite and none of them seems to care.
You feel sick, desperate, trapped in something twisted and awful you never signed up for.
But how does one say no to President Coriolanus Snow? The entire Capitol yields to his every whim. And you are the same. Here to bow and smile and lie back whenever he demands it.
You long to focus on your job, to care for Martius and nothing else. Whenever the boy looks up at you with those innocent blue eyes, eerily similar to his fatherâs, your stomach wrenches. You pray he never comes to learn what kind of man his father is. You wish heâd stay just as kind and sweet as he is now.
Those are the thoughts drifting through your mind as you watch Martius play with his toy trains. Your eyes wander towards the window. Outside, orange and purple hues are bleeding into the sky, the afternoon nearing its end. Your stomach coils. Itâs during times like these that President Snow often seeks you out. Youâve tried to run away from him but itâs all a game to Coriolanus, and he always delights in chasing you through the hallways.
Your brows crumple as you note that Martius has stopped playing. He drops his toy and rushes to your side. Confounded by his behavior, youâre on the cusp of asking him whatâs wrongâŠbut your gaze follows what caught his attention on the other side of the room.
You fall silent, your eyes rounding in shock.
âMartius. Come here, my love,â says the blonde woman in a white robe and nightgown, her arms wide open.
Time stands still for a few seconds. It takes you a while to realize who stands before the door. She looks so different, more ghost than woman, her glassy blue eyes hollow and sunken. But her likeness is unmistakable. Even with her graying, limp tresses and ashen complexion, you recognize Livia Cardew. The presidentâs wife.
You bolt to your feet. Arms still open, Livia takes slow steps towards Martius.
âIâm your mom, sweetie. Donât you remember me?â
The little boyâs fists clutch your skirt as he hides his face against your leg.
âYouâre not my mom.â
A stricken look twists Liviaâs features as she shrinks. As if her own son just drove a knife through her heart. Your chest twinges. While her abrupt appearance is a shock, you canât imagine how she must feel. You place a hand on Martiusâ back and try to nudge him forward.
âMartius. Itâs the First Lady, your mother. Go on, hug her,â you urge softly.
He shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he hides behind you even more.
Youâre stunned. Has it truly been that long?
âMartius-â
You donât get to finish your sentence, Livia lunging at you, her eyes wild with fury.
âYou! This is all your fault,â she hisses. She points at you and scoffs, âYouâre his new whore, arenât you?â Her mouth wobbles as she grips her head. âFirst you take my husband, now my son.â
Martius begins to sob. His loud cries overlap with his motherâs frantic yelling. You cover his eyes, tossing Livia an apologetic look.
âFirst Lady, I never meant-â
Before you can explain yourself, she grabs a nearby vase and smashes it. White roses scatter on the floor. Stomping all over the petals and broken glass, she collects one of the shards and races towards you. Terror numbs you. You freeze as Livia aims the shard at you, scarlet droplets dripping on her nightgown as she squeezes her fist around the glass.
Your eyes shut as you wait for the inevitable strike.
You shiver, waiting still.
But it doesnât come.
âLivia, darling, thatâs enough. Itâs time for you to sleep and take your medicine.â
The familiar sound of Coriolanusâ voice causes your eyes to snap open.Â
You watch him restrain a struggling Livia. She curses at him, fighting him with all her might. Itâs a painful spectacle.Â
âNo, donât touch me!â Other staff members rush into the room. It takes several people to hold Livia down, colorful expletives pouring from her mouth as she punches and kicks whoever comes close. âYouâre killing me! You bastard! Give me my son back! Martius! Martius!â
The child trembles against your skirt, his tear-filled gaze stuck to the floor.
Eventually someone manages to stick a needle into Liviaâs neck. She instantly goes limp, arm still reaching for her son in her last conscious second.
âTake her away,â Coriolanus instructs.
The first ladyâs flaccid form is dragged out of the room. Still shaken by what you just witnessed, you donât move a muscle. President Snow approaches you, worry swimming in his blue orbs.Â
âAre you alright, dove?â He cups your cheeks, his brows crumpling as his gaze settles on your neck. âIâll have Doctor Gaul look at you. She has an ointment for that.â He caresses your cheeks, smiling. You gape at him. How can he smile at a time like that? âIt wonât even scar. I promise.â
You graze your neck. Your fingers come away bloody. Oh. Livia nicked you with the shard but you didnât even feel it. Perhaps adrenaline numbed you to the pain.
âDada,â Martius chimes, lifting his chubby arms.
Coriolanusâ face warms as he picks up his son. He tosses him in the air and catches him. Martius giggles through his tears.
âMy sweet boy. That was very scary, wasnât it?â he says, balancing his son on his hip. Martius nods and wipes his nose. Coriolanus flicks his cheek, beaming at him. âDonât worry, son. The scary lady wonât bother you anymore in a few months.â
A wave of ice blows through your veins. You wonder why the president uttered those words with such certainty. Like a promise. Or a prophecy. Almost as if he knows exactly when the grim reaper will come knock on his wifeâs door.
The next day, you hand over your resignation to Pandora. Her expression is skeptical as she gauges the manila folder you give her.
âThis is for the president,â you announce.
She unleashes a deep exhale. âYou should reconsider, sleep on it.â
You almost laugh. Sleep on it? You can hardly find rest, the picture of a disheveled Livia Cardew crying out for her son haunting your nights. Whatever befell upon the poor woman, you wouldnât be surprised if her husband somehow had a hand in it. It broke your heart, seeing her like that, her own son unable to recognize her. You also despise the role Coriolanus forced you to play in erasing her memory.
All of it feels wrong.Â
And most of all, you donât want President Snow to use you to satisfy his lewd desires anymore. He took all your firsts, all the moments that should have been beautiful, and made them a nightmare you have to relive every time he touches you.
You respected him; you admired him. Now you canât be in his presence without dread whispering through you. What will he make you do this time? How will he make you small and powerless again?
âI canâtâŠI canât do this anymore. He can hire someone else to care for him.â
Pandora purses her lips and shakes her head.
âItâs really not that simple. The president has developedâŠa fondness for you.â
You bristle. âI have to go back home. Laertes is expecting me.â
âYou wonât like what comes next, trust me.â Her gaze narrows. âNo one leaves the president.â
Ignoring the shudder elicited by her daunting words, you pivot and make a beeline towards the exit. Pandoraâs voice echoes down the hallways.
âDonât say I didnât warn you.â
Depleted, you glumly make your way to the gates. You enter the car that takes you back home everyday. Your thoughts wander as the Snowâs house grows smaller through the car window. You were thrilled when you got this job. It felt like kismet after the year you and your brother had. A rainbow after the rain. A slice of hope.
How it all went to hell so quickly. Youâre still reeling from it. Youâve no idea what youâll do next. The only thing you know for certain is that you will not step foot into the Snowsâ estate ever again.
The car suddenly halts. You bump your head into the passengerâs seat. Wincing, you grip the sides of your head. As you retrieve your senses, you look around. You stopped.
You toss a questioning look at the driver.
But before he can respond, the car door opens and youâre yanked outside. Two pairs of strong arms drag you away from the car.
You take in the blue uniforms of the men. Terror pulses through your blood.
Peacekeepers.
Noting the guns at their sides, you stop trying to resist. Thereâs no fighting against them, ever. They are the Capitolâs fist and carry the Presidentâs will. You donât stand a chance. In fact, you likely never did. You slump in their grip, despair thrumming inside you.
They escort you to a black car with tinted windows. Your pulse soars. Youâve only ever seen one individual step out of this car.
The peacekeepers toss you inside and slam the door shut.
Your fearful gaze rises to him.
He casually sits in front of you, his eyes narrowed.
âYou disappoint me, dove.â He lets out a weary sigh. âAfter everything Iâve done for youâŠyou try to leave me. I thought you were smarter than that.â
You twine your hands, sputtering, âI-Iâm not the right person for this job, sir.â
He slides his fingers under your chin, tilting it upward.
âOh but youâre perfect. My son loves you. Youâre sweet, dutiful and most importantlyâŠâ He smirks. âYou are mine. Mine to hold, spoil and fuck whenever I please for however long I please.â
The prospect fills you with dread. He wants you to be his toy again, submissive, available whenever he pleases.
âSirâŠâ
His jaw ticks, his hold on your jaw tightening.
âWouldnât it be wonderful if your brother could attend the University, free of charge? A bright young mind such as his, I believe he deserves it.â His blue eyes twinkle. âInstead of, letâs sayâŠend up in a District, his name chosen as a tribute in the next Hunger Games.â Your heart sinks to your feet. âThatâd be awful, wouldnât it? So cruelâŠâ he mumbles, stroking your trembling bottom lip.
âNo, please,â you beseech, tears swelling in your eyes. Your brotherâs all you have left in the world. Nothing can happen to him.Â
Coriolanus fondles your cheek, the tender gesture a sharp contrast to the wicked words rolling off his tongue.
âItâs all up to you, then, dove. As long as you behave, Iâll give you the world. But if you act like a little brat againâŠâ A threat lurks in his soft tone, a glint of madness swaying in his cobalt orbs. âI really donât know what I might do.â
Chills dance over your spine.
âI promise to never do it again,â you blurt out.
He pulls out a square from his breast pocket. Itâs identical to the one he used the first time.
But a lifetime seems to have passed since that moment, the world now so different from what you imagined, and the man before youâŠeven more so.
âGood girl,â he lauds while swiping away your tears.Â
He shoves the pocket square back in its place. Coriolanus then beams at you as he starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his pants.
âNow, Iâve had a long, exhausting day. So how about you get on your knees for me and make it better with that sweet mouth of yours, dove?â
