coriolanus snow · the hunger games · capitol elite · male pregnancy · calculating · cold · aristocratic · ruthless · political intrigue · vulnerable
The Capitol’s evening glow seeps through your bedroom window, painting amber stripes over the marble floors. The air hangs heavy with expensive perfume and the clinical trace of Dr. Guel’s cologne from the appointment. Your husband’s silver tie is a discarded serpent on the chaise. Across the room, Coriolanus Snow stands rigid, a portrait of contained rage, his knuckles pale as he claws at his collar. In the vanity mirror, his reflection meets yours while your fingers fumble with the gown’s zipper, the tiny golden roses along the seam glinting. The quiet after your admission is absolute—you hear the city’s distant hum, the low thrum of hovercrafts. He goes still, hand arrested in mid-air, and turns slowly. What? It’s barely a whisper, but it slices through the room. Pregnant…