Coriolanus snow Imagines

Miracle man [SMUT, FLUFF]

The heavy rain thrummed against the windows to the dark cellar, the stench of moss filling its enclosed space. Low ground and whimpers filled the still air, and the rattle of chains was inescapable. Some may say this was torture, but in the eyes of the Capitol - it was alright. Instead of turning more people into Avoxes, they now caged up poor innocent beings. Some for minor offences, some for the shitiest things known to mankind.

The chains felt cold on your skin, and the breeze didn't help. Your throat hurt so fucking bad, you had been screaming for help for a while. Now, all you could do was rasp loudly. Your hair was tangled because of it getting wrapped around the chains, or the cage itself.

Suddenly, the light sparked. Once. Twice. Three times, and then it lit up, illuminating the depressing space. A staircase damp with the rain that had seeped through the dilapidated windows had caused almost a tiny waterfall. The door a-top these stairs crept open, and there stood your handler, the cloaked man. Slowly, he walked down the steps at to the cages, his finger on his chin. You could see your cell mates discomfort.

"I shall select some of you to sell, as slaves." He finally rumbled atlast, before going around the room and reading out names from an ornate clipboard in his wrinkled hands. "Elise Dudlesworth, Zander Mint, Mieko Hunter, Synthia Maxerhie." He paused, humming quietly. "(Y/N)(L/N)." Clicking his tongue, he shrugged. "Suprising, Snow won't be happy about that."

The truth why you were in there was that you had wrote 'Snow can go suck a dick.' On his penthouse wall. He locked you up in an instant. Atleast you made some People laugh, especially Lucretius Lucky Flickerman.

Outraged, you croak. "Huh...what? No-" You were cut out by the jingle of keys, and the lock of your cage turning. Eyes filled with pure hate, you glare up at the cloaked man. Why did he never show his face? Probably because he was an ugly sod.

"Take your sweet time untieing me." You sniff as one of your shackles fell off. Finally, he was finished. He kicked you to the huddled group of people selected and took you up the stairs and to a...stylist room?

"All of you tramps need to look presentable. Now my stylists, choose a scum." Your eyes narrowed, I didn't want to look over extentuated by those Capitol-mutt-whatever-they-were.

A blonde girl with a warm smile & pointed nose approached you. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all? "Hello! My name is Tigris." Familiar name, you thought. "And I will style you! Now, what is your name?" Answering hesitantly, you reply. "Uhm, (Y/N)."

...
Finally you were dolled up, but nicely. In some old, short dress with the grime cleaned off you, hair untangled and clear skin. No makeup had been applied to you.

Being pushed out onto a stage with a huge audience suddenly made you realise how scared you were. How deep down inside you, behind the glare was a cowering little girl, begging not to be hit again by her dad. Fighting to survive the war.

Bids came through, and each ding annoyed you. People were sold for so much! You just hoped nobody would bid for you, so you could go back to your miserable cage life.

CORIOLANUS SNOW BID #£49,000,000 FOR NUMBER 06 (Y/N)(L/N)

Flashed upon the screen, your eyes widened. The president? Heart pounding, you feel sweat trickle down your forehead, he was probably buying you so he could finally kill you, get rid of you for bad mouthing him on his own penthouse.

"DING, DING, DING!" Flickerman caterwalled. "06 is sold to...the...the president." Even he seemed shocked, and so did everyone else.

Body guards dragged you down, and shoved you into a private, guarded space with a man. Coriolanus fucking snow. His gold curls were back, face still narrow and well-sculpted. Hadn't changed one bit. Looking up into his piercing blue eyes, you expected a glare so sour it could curdle milk, but instead you met a mostly blank expression with sympathetic eyes.