The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

omg i’m so happy ur taking young coriolanus requests!! i’d love a oneshot of him falling for reader (whos from the districts) and him trying to deal with it

Summary: Coriolanus has no interest in his assigned tribute beyond her potential assistance in helping him win the Plinth prize...or at the very least, that's what he tells himself.

Warnings: Coriolanus being kind of delusional (in deep denial) and possessive, jealousy, a crush being treated like a terminal illness, Coriolanus trying really hard to talk himself out of said crush by comparing the reader to an animal/pet in his internal thoughts

----

His nails dig into the soft skin of his palm with enough force to leave stinging crescents in their wake. He's too far gone to feel the marks, to know when to relieve pressure to avoid breaking skin.

When the idea of having the best and brightest of the Academy's senior class was initially presented, the concerns about having such prominent members of the Capitol interacting so closely with representatives of the districts was highly contested. Most of the outcry had been from concerned parents--wealthy fathers and overly doting mothers desperately attempting to convince their leaders to not subject their poor, innocent children to that kind of proximity with something considered so other.

After all, those from the districts are closer to animal than man. If an outburst of hatred doesn't result in a Capitol heir's life and potential being cut short, perhaps some sort of disease would take them instead.

Coriolanus had found that part ridiculous. Not the way the tributes were seen, but the level of coddling the Capitol elite were willing to openly mark their children with. There are ways to mentor from a safe distance and there hasn't been public knowledge of a strange and fatal virus running through the districts in some time.

Now that he's here, standing at the zoo's entrance under the cover of night, food that he can't truly afford to waste tucked into the pocket of his coat, he realizes how naive he had been to not head their warnings. He's come down with something, that's the only explanation for the sweat coating his palms and the nervous turning of his stomach.

This infliction is something that you've done to him. Unintentionally, of course--your lack of cut throat nature and maliciousness had been a disappointing discovery at the time--but still true. Why else would he come here to feed you when his family can barely feed themselves?

Coriolanus walks further and further into the zoo until the familiar cage is in view. There are a no peacekeepers inside of the space and less than a hand full patrolling the perimeter. It's late and the games are tomorrow morning, any of the tributes that wanted to cause problems would have done so by now.

It shouldn't matter to him, none of them would turn him away. The mentors weren't explicitly told to stay away which means that the peacekeepers wouldn't bother him. He could always say that he's here to discuss last minute strategy, that the earlier bombing had cut his time short and that Dr. Gaul had given Academy students permission to make up that time if they so wished. But the thought of having less of an audience soothes him slightly.

He stands where he had stood beneath the daylight, near the corner, as far from the other tributes as physically possible. Regret begins to knot his stomach. Everyone's asleep. This will be the most alone together the two of you have ever been. It's also so dark, and you're likely asleep as well. How will he find you? Is it wrong to disturb the last peaceful rest you might ever experience?

The more he thinks, the more an urgency he can't wraps itself tight beneath his bones. The sensation, a likely byproduct of his ailment, makes him wish that there was some way to scratch beneath his skin. Right no longer matters, and neither does his growling stomach that begs him to just eat the food he had taken from the Academy's lunch and disappear back into the night. He needs to see you, to see that--

"You're going to be okay." Your voice, a soft whisper that brings him back to the present.

You're awake, the vague shape of your crouched form resting against one of the artificial rocks. You're also comforting someone with a much larger frame. Something in his chest turns to stone.

Here he is, wandering the Capitol streets in the dead of night, a pocket full of food that he had hidden from his own family for your sake and you're--you're not thinking of him at all.

Maybe his infliction had been more intentional than he thought possible. Your kindness could be a ruse and Coriolanus has heard rumors of your people. Some say that your ancestors practiced spirtual arts in order to enchant others. Perhaps you've bewitched him.

His own naivety burns through his chest. You're supposed to be his. If that's how it is, then he's freeing himself of you and your kind eyes and honey-laced voice. He'll--

"Coriolanus," a surprised, careful sound that's much warmer than your attempts at soothing someone had sounded.

His name forces the pinching feeling in his chest to be replaced by an uneasy warmth that crawls its way up his neck. He's suddenly glad for the darkness.

He follows your silhouette as you quickly push yourself to your feet with no regard for the boy next to you. Your movements are swift yet quiet, and the care behind them keeps him steady. You don't want to wake anyone; you want this to be just you and him.

"You're--" You stand so close to the bars that it'd take nothing at all to reach for you. "You're here." You place a hand on the bars that divide you, fingers curling around the cool metal. "Are you okay?"

The question is laughable. He's at the tribute zoo only a few hours before the games begin because some instinct had made seeing you again feel as important and necessary as breathing.

But you're not asking about that. You're asking about him, about his injuries from the bombing. "I'm fine," he assures you, "A little scraped up from the debris and I did lose consciousness, but I was treated for all injuries."

You're finally close enough for the moonlight to make a difference. He can make out the unruliness of your hair from the way that life has treated you since your reaping, the form of your tattered dress, your facial features and...the long gash that now marks your forehead.

"And I was told that you were as well." Someone in passing had mentioned that the tributes were cleaned up after the bombing. They weren't prioritized or given valuable resources, but they were cleaned up. Injuries were cleaned and dressed to prevent infection from getting in the way of the games.

You frown, tilting your head slightly as if to hide the length of the mark. Something in his chest tightens again, the sensation much more aggressive than before. Your smooth, gentle skin now marred...

His own defensiveness hits him like a physical blow. Coriolanus blames the feeling on familiarity. The desire to keep you in the best condition possible is no different than what someone would feel for a prized pet. You're his tribute, after all.

"It sort of happened after."

Panic seizes at his chest. After. One of the peacekeepers or another tribute had hurt you. "Who?" The coolness of his own voice shocks him.

You angle your head downwards, the motion distinctly dismissive. Coriolanus won't accept that. Who are you to hide something like this from him? After everything he's done for you, don't you trust him? His arm moves forward without his permission, pulling at your arm so that your body shifts closer to the bars. His other hand then slips between the poles and grasps your chin firmly between two fingers.

He tilts your head, giving himself the space needed to examine the entirety of the cut. It stretches down the start of your hairline and stops just short of your eyebrow. Not too long or wide, but the dried blood still smeared on you implies that it's deep.

"Who did this to you?"

His hold on you is steady, but not so tight that you couldn't step away if you wanted to. You hold still as he takes the time to examine the rest of your face for injuries. Your acceptance leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Coriolanus releases you like you might burn him.

"I don't--" Of course you don't want to tell. Your nobility runs so deep, you don't care what it costs you.

An odd wave of distress washes over him. The night air feels wrong against his skin, too cold for the thin clothing he put on in his hurry to get to you. "You shouldn't alienate your mentor the night before the games."

Your lips pull down into what feels like a pout. You stare at him with wide eyes. "I'm not trying to alienate you." The genuineness of your words knots his stomach. "I--I'm glad that you're here, that you're okay." Usually, sugar coated words from you are enough to crack at his exterior. He's feeling a lot less amicable tonight. "The girl from district 4 was aggravated tonight. I think she wanted to intimidate the other careers into listening to her so she targeted Wovey and I was kind of--around."

Translation: your too-good-for-the-arena heart took over and you inserted yourself in a conflict that had nothing to do with you. "I told you to be careful."

You nod solemnly at the reprimand. Your lips part, but before you can say anything, the sound of your name steals your attention. You turn away from him, keeping one hand on the metal bars. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

The question jabs at him like a thumb finding a bruise. The tribute you were comforting may come from the same district as you, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. By morning, your destiny to be rivals in the arena will be sealed. He won't risk anything for you the way Coriolanus is. He'd snap your neck in an instant if it meant going back home. Surely, even you're not kind hearted enough to not see that.

You crane your neck to look back at him, but your body stays angled towards the other tribute. The urge to hold you in place, to bring your attention back to him physically aches. Is your final meeting before the games really going to be cut short because of some other tribute? The look you give him is apologetic enough to make his chest constrict. After all he's done for you.

"I'm talking to my mentor." Your response dislodges something from his chest. "Why don't you check on Wovey? I think that'll help."

The sound of shuffling fills the space, and then that's that. The two of you are as alone as two people like you can be.

"It was nice of you to come here," the admission leaves you carefully, "I-I tried to see what happened to you after, but they brought us back here so quickly, and I--"

"It's alright."

He never expected for you to be at the hospital. The mental image is strange enough as a concept in itself. You, sitting in one of those stiff hospital seats, waiting desperately at his bedside. You, in the same room as his cousin and grandmother, all three of you concerned and co-existing. It doesn't fit, you're not like them. You're district. That's inherently lesser, inherently replaceable no matter the level of your charm or--or appeal.

But if that's reality, than why was your name the first thing that stumbled past his lips when he woke up? Why was his first thought after being discharged about getting back to you? Why does the fact that you were sitting with the male tribute from your district turn his stomach? Why does he now have a personal vendetta against the girl from 4? These can't possibly all be things that someone would feel for a favorite pet, can they?

This train of thought is nauseating, and the last thing he wanted for the final night before the games. "I was worried." You force these words out in a jumble of colliding syllables, like if you didn't pry them out fast enough, they'd never manage to find their way out.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, imprinting the details of the small crease between your eyebrows and your nervous eyes to memory. The look tugs at something dangerously close to fondness. "Then you know how I'lll feel tomorrow." That, in itself, is a confession pulled from him the same way a rotten tooth would be extracted. "How I'll feel until you come back."

You stare at him, eyes wide. "If this is about the prize money the peacekeepers talk about, you're doing a good job."

There's a stiffness to the way you say this, a guarded quality that soothes him more than it should. The thought of him only being invested in you only because of what he can get out of your success displeases you.

It's instinct to want to ease you. It'd be easy, too. All it would take is a comment that implies that he can be here for more than one reason. The response sits at the back of his throat. Is that why he's here?

The natural answer is of course. Why else would he lose sleep? What other reason could he have for risking taking Academy food and exposing his poverty? Something he's rarely willing to do for himself and his own family.

"A person can want more than one thing at the same time."

You can't hold his gaze, eyes cautiously darting downwards. The display of shyness makes things feel a little warmer. It makes him bolder. Coriolanus moves his hand again, letting his fingers cover yours. You don't move away.

"I almost forgot." His free hand makes its way into the pocket of his coat, finding the carefully folded napkin. He's going out of his way to emphasize the casualness of food. The only thing caring about this gesture is that he had thought to come, not the food itself. There's no such thing as scarcity in the Capitol. "Here."

He offers the neatly tied fabric in the gaps between the bars. You don't attempt to take back the hand pressed between the pole and his own palm. You take the gift in your free hand and don't attempt to let go of him until you realize that you won't be able to untie the makeshift parcel with one hand.

You open it slowly, examining the contents of his offering carefully. Two biscuits, a few crackers, a small wedge of cheese, and another baked good that reminds him of a denser, more durable version of cake.

"Thank you," The truth to your gratitude forces something uncomfortable to wedge itself between his ribs.

You don't start eating right away, your head instinctually turning back. He realizes what you're doing almost instantly. "If you're going to share everything I give you, there's not much point in bringing it."

A little harsher than he meant to be out loud. It's not your fault. Your family is large and of a taking care of each other mentality. If there's food for one, there's food for all.

You nod, accepting the criticism the way you usually do. It's a good thing that you're so pliable, that you're eager to keep the usual comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Sometimes, though, it feels a bit like kicking a puppy.

Carefully, you bring a cracker to your lips, chewing cautiously. Taking anything makes you guilty, another byproduct of your upbringing. Sometimes Coriolanus wonders if all of this would be easier if you were brought up like the majority of district children, more ravenous and unapologetic.

You'd told him about your mother before, a free spirit who works in a textile factory that produces lavish fabrics instead of standard peacekeeper uniforms. Even though the work isn't much different, you spoke about it like it made all the difference. My mother loves beautiful things so much she doesn't even care about who they're for.

That had been the first time he had found himself thinking about your appearance. If your mother's love is reliant on beauty, he realized, then you must have grown up with consistent affection.

You speak of her, of your entire family, in a way that confirms his hypothesis. You've told him stories of the way she hangs up the prettiest fabric she can find to hang up and turn one room into two--a necessity with so many of you living in a set of conjoined apartments.

"You're..."

You trail off, pressing your lips together nervously in a way that he's gotten used to. It usually signifies that you're concerned about being impolite. That's another thing that doesn't fit the district mold, even here you hold onto manners and social cues. Even when you first met him, you had fallen back on habit. He had introduced himself as your mentor and you absentmindedly asked how he was in that way that people do when they run into an acquaintance.

Normally, if he presses or even just prompts you once or twice you'll reveal your initial thoughts. They're rarely what he expects them to be. Instead of responding to the light raise of his eyebrows, you pick up a biscuit before stretching your arm towards him.

"Oh, no I'm--"

"You're hungry." That's what you almost blurted out.

You don't mean anything by it, or, at the very least, not anything beyond the realm of worry. Heat rises up Coriolanus's neck slowly but surely. You know nothing of his world and yet you knew that to have his hunger exposed would be embarrassing. You know that it's not the kind of hunger that comes from missing a meal or two on a particularly busy or chaotic day.

"Don't worry," you tack on, "It's not noticeable unless you know what to look for."

The comment is a little too reassuring, too on the nose. Can you read him that easily? Coriolanus takes the biscuit before he can pick apart your comment any further. The corner of your mouth shifts into an almost smile. You then break apart the wedge of cheese and try to hand him that along with most of your crackers and a piece of the pastry.

"No, I can't take all of that."

You stare at him oddly. "You've been injured," you stretch your hand out again, "You need your strength."

There are several reasons why you need your strength more than he does, but he can't figure out how to insist on that without making it seem like this is a final meal. He doesn't want to give you a chance to see it that way, so he takes the a little less than half of what you're offering. "Compromise."

You nod, accepting his terms. He's unsure who starts it, but the two of you end up sitting in front of each other. You smooth the napkin out in front of you, setting up what's left of your food like a makeshift picnic. "My mother used to take me for picnics."

"Yeah?" There's something about your stories about your life back home that are attention drawing. It's not so much mundane content of life in district 8 and the fact that it still managed to produce someone like you, it's the way you speak. You're expressive and bright.

"Mhm," you finish off your first cracker, "Eight isn't exactly full of nature, but there's this wooded area past the factories and if you know where to go, you'll find this clearing that's practically untouched. She'd go there sometimes on days off when she needed to collect wildflowers to turn into paints and she'd bring who she could...me, my siblings, cousins..."

You pick up a piece of cheese, setting it on a cracker. "Neighbors, sometimes." Your voice wavers in a way that sticks out. Despite an initial tearing up on your first night, you haven't cried or behaved in anyway that indicates that this could be your end. He doesn't want you losing hope now. "Tanner used to go with us."

It's whispered with the intensity of a confession. The boy you came with, the boy you were speaking with--you grew up with him. That's a bond that's not as easily dismissed. That's something strong enough to challenge his connection with you.

Why does it matter? He's earned enough of your trust, you spoke in a way that earned more donations than anyone else. You trust him enough to actually fight in the arena. It--it doesn't matter if you...

"Do you care for him?" The question surprises both of you equally. His own bluntness, the slight edge to his tone...it's too much for a mentor.

"Uh," you sniffle once, "He was a good friend when we were little, our families know each other." An knot so tight it's difficult to stay sitting there twists his stomach. "We're a little less close these days."

If you comforting him during the dead of night, losing sleep during your last chance to rest is your version of less close, Coriolanus doesn't even want to imagine your normal. "You shouldn't expect any loyalty during the games, the second the count down begins, there's no such thing as friendship."

You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. "What makes you so sure?"

Your question isn't a challenge or an attempt to convince him that the boy would never hurt you. You're asking because you're curious, because you want to know his thoughts. "Human nature."

It's more nihilistic than he usually is in front of you, but his patience is wearing thin. The soreness of his body is starting to catch up with him and wasting the little time you have less discussing someone so insignificant is draining.

His annoyance has to stem from how little the other tributes matter to him. That's the only reason he can piece together, especially when his brashness is likely pushing you away.

"Then why can I trust you?"

Another question that you mean. It's not a slight or an attempt to indicate that you're not there yet with him. He didn't come here to cast doubt on the bond he so carefully helped build.

He can't look at you as he speaks, "Because I'm going to do anything I can to get you back."

You nod, your eyes retreating to focus on your lap. "For the prize money, for your school."

He picks at the edge of his biscuit, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "I already told you, I want more than one thing."

That's not exactly what he said...this reiteration of it is more blatant. Heat burns his face. You peak up at him through your lashes.

If you had been born in the Capitol, you would have done well. You're found of civility and social norms despite a lifetime in the Districts and despite only knowing you stained in various levels of grime, he can tell that our features are pleasing. Polished, dressed, and brought up differently, you would have been a regular Capitol darling.

Coriolanus shakes his head once, an attempt to dismiss his thoughts. Why care about what you could have been? Why imagine what you'd be like if you were part of his word?

"You're not going to--to rely on him in the arena." It's framed as a question, but in reality, it's more of a hopeful statement.

You pause, genuinely thinking about your response. "No." You rest a hand on your bent knee, gently scratching at the skin. "Not rely."

The answer isn't concrete enough, but he has no right or reason to say much else. "Don't let your guard down. Not for anyone."

You nod, reaching for what's left of your biscuit, "I won't, I promise."

"Good, I'll be watching and I'll remember when you get back."

Get back. You wipe at your cheek with the back of your palm. "Yeah, when I get back."

The dryness of your voice cracks at him. If you consider yourself defeated before even stepping into the arena, you won't come back to him. For him. For the Plinth prize.

He shoves the thoughts down as deep as they'll go. They don't manage to get very far, crowding his throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Coriolanus doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he slips his hand between the cage's bars. He lets his hand sit there, palm facing upwards in a silent offering.

Coriolanus stares at his arm as a way to prevent himself from taking in your reaction. A beat passes, and then the tips of your fingers are brushing against his before settling against his palm. He squeezes your hand tightly, so tightly he's aware that it's probably uncomfortable, but the prospect of holding you so tightly that you can't vanish is too assuring.

"Do you have to--to go soon?"

He adjusts his hold on you, bending his fingers so that they can rest between yours. The rest of his household is asleep by now, but they'd be able to tell if he spent the night here and that would worry them. It would also make the morning much more complicated...he'd have to shower and change before the games begin in order to hide where he spent the night.

"No," it leaves him before he realizes what he's saying, "I can stay as long as you'd like."

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, "Good."

That makes something in his chest feels like it's going to burst. He shouldn't care. He should see this open display of clinginess as an inconvenience. And why would he risk getting caught as someone that spent the night on the floor of the zoo when there's nothing left to convince you of?

The answer strikes him so harshly he nearly lets go of you. He didn't just want you to ask him to stay to prove something, he wanted the excuse to stay. He--he wants to be near you...and not in the way that someone wants to spend time with a puppy.

The truth to it is simple. Straightforward. He cares about you.

He can hear that you're speaking, but your words are too distant to mean anything.

"Coriolanus?"

No. No. He--he isn't meant to care about you of all people, to feel these kinds of--No. No, he can't. He's not biologically wired to. And yet, he can't let go of your hand.

"Coriolanus?"

He squeezes your hand even tighter. "You didn't ask me."

"What?"

"The other thing I want, you didn't ask me about it." The words leave him in a rush, an uneasy mess that he needs out.

Confessing turns these kinds of thoughts into reality, an undeniable force that he wishes he could vanish. But maybe if he gets it out, the ache of it will be expelled from him. Maybe he'll finally be able to think about something else that doesn't involve analyzing your every expression like your life depends on it.

"No," your eyes are wide, a deer realizing they're not the only ones at the watering hole, "I-I didn't."

A small part of him is disappointed that you don't take the opportunity to press. You usually do, chatting like you're a regular friend and not his tribute. "I'll tell you anyways." He swallows, gripping your hand like a lifeline. You squeeze back, a silent display of support. "It's you."

Your hand goes slack in his. Coriolanus warns himself that it's best to keep his eyes away from you, to not read any--he breaks, gaze snapping upwards to watch you.

"Me?" Your voice is fragile and impossible to read. You lift your intertwined hands as best you can between the poles that make up the cage. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the back of his palm. Your eyes briefly fall shut.

"I--" You set your intertwined hands back in place. "I think the practical thing to do would be to forget about me." The rejection cuts through him. All he can do is stare. "You know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Your twist your hand in an attempt to steal it back as you push yourself upwards, adjusting so that your weight is on your knees. Coriolanus instinctively shifts forward, grabbing your arm to keep you close. He moves to sit up on his knees. "You're going to come back." You stop trying to push him away. "Do you care about me?"

"You're being unfair," your whisper is harsh, "Even--even if I win, where would that leave us?" He's silent. "I'll be back in a cage and you'll stay on the outside, only this time they won't be in proximity to each other."

You're logical. You're right. And he can't bring himself to care. "Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do," the response is frustrated, exhausted, "I think I might even--" Your mouth clamps shut, eyes briefly leaving him. "I think I love you." You drop head, giving Coriolanus only the slightest glimpse of your now glassy eyes. "But what does that matter?"

The word loosens something in his chest. He gets as close to the bars as physically possible, pulling on your arm in a way that almost makes you fall forward. The new proximity seems to drain any remaining fight from you.

He leans forward, his lips finding yours in the space between metal. It takes you a second to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you return the display of affection. He pulls your bottom lip between his own before releasing you enough to let you breathe.

"Is this real?" The question takes its time coming out, slow and through pants. If he thought thinking about you before was a type of sickness, then this is something terminal. You nod instinctually, urgingly. "Then we'll find a way." You're both resting your head against the bars. If it wasn't for the invasive metal in the way, you'd be resting against each other. "Just come back to me, and everything else--we'll figure it out."

He can write to you. He can find an excuse to bring you back to him. Maybe another aspect of the games--something that requires victors to visit the Capitol.

You nod, acceptance finally coloring your features as you squeeze his hand. "We'll figure it out."

----

a/n i've gotten so many Coriolanus/thg requests,, pls feel free to keep them coming <3

omg are you making a part 2 for both of your coryo one shots cuz i’ve fallen in love with both stories they’re so GOOD😭

omg i was originally only going to write a part 2 for the first one (the one that i gave a title to called "of angels") bc i had an idea for it right away and was considering making it a mini-series

but!! people have been asking about the second coryo one-shot and talking about wanting to see the arena thing, so i think i will bc if i have the ideas why not lol

Of Angels

Part 2 of Of Angels (part 1)  

A/n we're back! also this is a friendly reminder that this isn't supposed to be exactly like the movie/book, some things will be a little different bc of practicality, my ability to remember things, or just for fun/for me bc i have more fun writing when i can change things up

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

----

The potential consequences of Coriolanus's mistake don't fully manage to force their way to the front of his mind until the door clicks shut.

He's thrown himself, locked himself, in a contained space with the most savage and aggravated group of people in the Capitol. Just in an attempt to get you to trust him.

Coriolanus turns around as casually as he can manage, "Hello."

Unwashed faces blink up at him. Their expressions start off as blank, slowly but surely hardening as they take in his clothing and presence. Someone from the Capitol that isn't a peacekeeper.

One of the larger tributes begins to walk forward. The others glare at him, watching him with a silent rage that makes the space feel like it's shrinking.

The largest of them gets so close that Coriolanus has to push his body towards the vehicle's door. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you."

"Do you have any family back home?" The voice isn't strong, but it's so steady despite its smallness that one could mistake it for certainty. Despite the threat that stands in front of him, Coriolanus's attention instinctually shifts towards you. "Or any friends? Maybe a puppy you're fond of?" Your fingers are curled around the edge of the bench you're sitting on. "They'll kill them."

Your tone is too neutral for you to be speaking from personal experience, and yet, you sound so sure. Coriolanus wonders if there's something there worth digging into. Maybe it's just a byproduct of where you're from, a district that's prone to rebellion is often warned about what disobedience can lead to.

The tribute cornering him doesn't move away, but he stills, stiff and uncertain. You look between them innocently. "Besides, he's my mentor." Your hands loosen their grip on the edge of the bench, you push yourself to stand. "I might need him."

"Men-tle?" Another voice chimes in.

"Mentor."

"How come you get a mentor?" The tribute questioning Coriolanus's presence in association to you twists their neck to glare at you.

"You all get one," he forces the sentence out quickly. The last thing he needs to do is make you a target. Getting you to live is going to be enough of an uphill battle as is.

The tribute closest to him takes another intimidating step forward. "He's lying."

"She's the girl that volunteered," the red-headed girl from four--Coral, if he's remembering correctly--sneers, angling her head to glare at you, "Of course they need to keep an eye on her." She then dips her chin downwards, staring you down with mockingly soft eyes, "Is it everything you thought it'd be, princess?"

Volunteering did mark you. He wonders how many remarks you had to put up with on the way here and whether or not they've affected your mental state. The short exchange the two of you shared made you seem together. You weren't overly emotionally or even aggressively closed off.

The determined pout of your lips draws his attention more than it should. You then tilt your head with no warning, matching her condescending expression, "Better, actually."

You draw out the sentence, not once shrinking under District 4's cold stare. Coriolanus's expression instinctively shifts to hint at a smile. Your sarcasm isn't off putting or brash, it's refreshing. It's a flash of fight, of sharp teeth ready to be barred that he hadn't thought you capable of.

The display of potential aggression also doesn't affect your charm at all. Being able to strike back while still holding onto the appearance of kindness is a skill in itself. Coriolanus has to take everything on the cheek publicly to avoid coming off like a starving dog finally snapping.

Those kinds of remarks won't do you any favors in the arena unless you're the kind of person that has the physical strength or skill to back it up. You don't. It's more than just your stature, it's in the way you carry yourself. But still, maybe you'll be entertaining enough under this new structure to score him some points towards the Plinth prize. That is, if he can get you to trust him, if he can convince you to talk about your relationship with your cousin and maybe flash that smile you gave him when you first met for the cameras.

Coral's glare intensifies. She pushes herself to stand, as if to intimidate you, but before she can fully straighten, the world shifts.

Coriolanus doesn't have time to think. He's sliding--falling--back before he knows what's happening. A few of the tributes yelp, one of the younger ones squeaks. Something warm latches itself onto his wrist.

He blinks, his body finally reattaching itself to his mind. The vehicle opened and started dumping out its contents with no warning. In the panic, you had grabbed him.

The vehicle settles, anyone managing to hold onto the metal door looses their hold. Everyone tumbles down a small slope, a mess of bodies bumping into each other when they're not busy hitting the edge of rocks until they land in a heap on the ground.

Coriolanus sits up as soon as his back hits something solid. His head snaps around, taking in his surroundings. The space is made up of jagged, tan rocks coated in dirt. Bars line the perimeter--a cage. This is a cage. Of course following the animals leads to ending up in a cage.

Self disgust and panic knot oddly in his stomach. He stands before he can think of what comes next.

"And here we have them, the tributes for the 10th annual Hunger Games."

His eyes find the people already flocking the bars, the most notable one of them someone he's familiar with. Lucky Flickerman, a usual Capitol programming personality. This, his public humilation, is being streamed on television.

"Oh, and look--" Lucky turns towards him, the cameraman instinctually moving to get him into frame. Lucky turns back to the camera, addressing his audience, "I don't think he's supposed to be in there." He laughs then, the sound jabbing at Coriolanus's side.

An aggravated heat begins to burn through is chest. There's nowhere to duck, no excuse to remedy what he's done to the Snow family name.

"Hey." He blinks, surprised he didn't immediately jump out of his skin. How you stood up so silently is beyond him.

Coriolanus can't think of a way to respond. Here he is, in a cage on display with you, like he's one of the district born, and you're the one attempting to ease him. Confidence, assurance. That's what he should be providing you so that you feel the need to--

You place your hand over his. The contact runs just as hot as the humiliation searing through him, only, this is a different kind of warmth. A much steadier, much more agonizing sort of warmth.

His eyes finally find yours. You look more tousled than before, one of your hair ribbons missing and dirt smeared against the apple of your cheek. "Own it."

You whisper the instruction so confidently it almost feels like this is natural to you. Owning it does feel better than being consumed by his embarrassment and accepting the destruction of his family name, but part of the steadiness comes from you. The realization that you're capable of that claws at him.

He nods, eyes instinctually dropping to avoid your expectant stare. The white rose is still safely held between your fingers. He stretches a hand forward, taking the flower by its stem. Your eyebrows draw together, but you let him. Coriolanus breaks off the end of the stem and carefully tucks the flower behind your ear.

You hold still, even as he takes the time to smooth your hair into place.

"Well, that's not something you see every day." Lucky's voice snaps him out of it.

Coriolanus takes you by the arm, walking you up to the camera's. He keeps his expression as casually bright as possible. "I'm Coriolanus Snow."

"And who is she?"

He expects to have to answer that, but you give him your full name without missing a beat, your voice smooth and sweet like honey. "And who are you?"

The cameraman lets out a small laugh at your confusion. "Be nice," Lucky mumbles, "Not everyone has a TV." He then turns back to you, "I'm Lucky Flickerman, Capitol weatherman, TV personality..."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lucky says into his microphone, "You're the girl who volunteered."

Coriolanus watches your reaction as best he can from his peripheral vision. Your lips pull downwards slightly. There's something almost sad about it, but it's done in such a respectable manner that he can't imagine anyone minding it.

You confirm with a slight nod of your head, "Yes."

Lucky takes the microphone back, "Now why would you do a thing like that?"

For the first time, a hint of cracking presents itself in your expression. It's minor, just the pull of your eyebrows, but he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for your reply. "For my cousin."

"And she's back home, right? You're from 12?"

You nod again, the motion small, "Yes. She's with my mother, her aunt."

"Well, that was a very brave thing," he commends, almost surprisingly serious, "Not many people are willing to die in someone's place." Your expression wavers, Lucky moves on before it can matter. "And you're?"

"Coriolanus Snow," he says smoothly, "I'm a student at the Academy."

"And you were...told to come here?"

Coriolanus breezes past the speculation in Lucky's tone, "I was told to present my tribute."

Lucky nods, turning on the easy, camera ready smile, "And present her you did."

"Excuse me," a tiny voice mumbles. You instinctually look down. A girl that can't be much more than maybe 7-years-old, "Who was the girl you volunteered for?"

You blink at the loaded question, "Uh--she's my cousin, and her name is Marigold, we--we call her Mari." The little girl blinks at you, watching you like you're something foreign. Which, he guesses, you technically are. "And you know what? She kinda looked like you when she was little."

The little girl beams, "I like your bows."

"Thank you," you hum brightly, like the compliment truly does mean the world to you.

You unlink your arm from his. Coriolanus watches you unsurely as you reach both hands to the side of your hair. You pull at the ribbon on one side of your head, unraveling it expertly. "Would you like one?"

The girl beams, nodding her head enthusiastically. You lean forward so that you're about eye level with the girl. You hand her the short piece of ribbon. The girl giggles before running off with her prize.

"Aw, isn't that cute?" Lucky's speaking to the camera as he starts to walk forward, "Come down, folks, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I do mean, too late."

Lucky disappears, walking as he continues to talk to his audience.

"You gave her your..." He gestures in the general direction of where the ribbon had previously sat.

You shrug, "Oh, I think the other one fell out on the way here. They're impractical, but I didn't--I didn't think I'd be in them for so long."

There's something he should say to you. Probably something comforting, assuring.

"Okay." The stern voice of a peacekeeper. Coriolanus should have known that it was only a matter of time. One of them clasps his shoulder, the other grabs his arm. "You're not supposed to be in here."

He's pushed back before he can speak to you. "Okay," he mumbles, "I'm go--"

You grab his arm before he can obey, "Bring us food." The words are hard, urging, "Please, I haven't eaten anything since before the reaping."

He nods once, pausing long enough to force the peacekeeper to push him back again. Coriolanus starts walking, flanked by the peacekeepers, his eyes trained on what's directly in front of him.

As they pass where the group had initially landed, his eyes find a bright speck of ivory white. A hint of brightness hidden by rocky dirt and grime. Your ribbon.

Coriolanus wonders if it's something you'd want back, something you'd spend your time searching for. You already gave away the other one, it can't have mattered that much. It's likely just some repurposed scrap.

He doesn't know what he's doing as he bends down under the guise of adjusting his shoelace. He's not sure what his goal is until his hand reaches forward, grabbing the ribbon.

"Okay," one of the peacekeepers hurries him, bending down to place a forceful hand on his shoulder, "Hurry up."

----

His apartment is heavy with silence. His grandma'am and Tigris have been asleep for hours now, resting the way he should be.

It's everything that's happened today. That's what's stealing sleep from him. There's a lot to do, a lot to think about if he's going to pull this off and win the Plinth prize. There's an uncertain charm about you. It's as if you have a greater understanding of what it's like to be civilized than the rest of them. That's something to work with, isn't it?

You mentioned needing to eat. Another obstacle that his financial predicaments have placed in his way. He'll have to take a risk he's taken so rarely--taking food from the Academy's lunch in order to bring you something. You'll be of no use to anyone if you faint in the arena.

There's more to think about, to plan. He could stop by tomorrow after his usual classes if Dr. Gaul doesn't orchestrate any specifics. And maybe even then. It'd be ideal to convince you that he cares about you more than any of the mentors care about their tributes. The more you think he's working for you, the more you'll work for him.

That's why he's awake. He shifts, moving from his back to resting on his side. All of this, all thoughts and analysis of you, are extremely practical.

He wipes at his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He finds his discarded uniform, left folded neatly on his small desk. Without thinking, Coriolanus reaches deep into the uniform's pocket, digging through it until his fingers brush against something smooth and cool. He pulls out the partially stained, ivory ribbon. Truly practical.

----

Taglist (tagging people who were asking about part 2, if this is annoying, i'm so sorry pls lmk if you don't want to be tagged) : @juleshaters @cosmicsully @edb954 @h-l-vlovesvintage @darknessdevil25 @mavkaorlova @astarborntowrite @karmaswitch @daughter1of2anita3dearly @zucchinimalfoy @madislayyy @weaponb33 @darlingisntit @deamus-liv @etheriaaly @clintsupremacy @spookyconsultingcriminal @dylanstilinskiposts

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

thinking about bestfriend!coryo who you trust more than anyone else, so when he starts getting touchier, you think nothing of it. a lot of friends are like that and he starts small. holding your hand, thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. keeping an assuring hand on the small of your back as you walk through crowded halls or during formal events. you somehow miss the way that he always shows up just as some guy is getting too close to you, never noticing the glare directed at the intruders as his fingers find yours.

then he's coming over to study and the two of you lose track of time. so you can't send him home, not with how harsh winter nights in the capitol can be.

so you invite him to stay over. you're willing to wake up the maid to set up a guest room, but it's so late and she's been asleep for hours. and your father's out of town as usual, away on business in the districts, and your mother just recently left to join him. so there's no one there to hold the two of you to social propriety.

so why not let him stay in your room? just this once. it's not like he's some random boy, he's your coryo. it's also cold, your room being on the far end of your family's estate where the central heating can't ever manage to work consistently, so it's practical. you can't find anything wrong in the way his side presses into yours beneath plush sheets.

before you know it, he's finding excuses to come over and staying so late that it's just easier for him to stay over at least once a week.

and the longer this goes on, the easier it is to not read into more and more. a hand just above your knee while you're both sitting in the library, his foot absentmindedly pushing against yours while you're both reading, the rare brush of his lips against the back of your palm or your shoulder when you're are alone. how can any of that be weird or too much when the two of you are used to falling asleep while holding onto each other?

you get so used to it that it's instinct to welcome anything involving him. if coryo's placing an arm around your shoulder, you relax into his side. if his fingers are trailing patterns against your arm, you don't move. if he's pulling you closer while half asleep, you smooth circles against his back until his breathing evens. he's your best friend, it's the least you can do and it's not like the displays of affection bother you.

it becomes so habitual to just go along with it because it's coryo, who'd never do anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable, that you don't even react when he finds you at some capitol party hosted by your parents, stone faced as he grabs your arm. you're bubbly, ready to introduce him to the son of one of your father's co-workers that he can barley bring himself to look at.

he mumbles the faintest greeting before pulling you away. that's what you react to, being dragged harshly through a room full of people. coryo's so in his head that all he gets from your reaction is that you're pushing him away for the first time ever after spending most of the night talking to some guy that's everything he's insecure about.

he doesn't let go of you until you're in a hall closet. before you can ask what's gotten into him, he's closing the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours to prove that he can. that you'll let him.

you've spent so long letting coryo set the pace for everything that you kiss him back before you can think. eventually your mind catches up and you're pulling back enough to look him in the eye. all it takes is the slightest nod of his head and you're leaning back in because he's your coryo and he's always known where to go with things.

----

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more bestfriend! coryo 

been obsessed with coryo after watching tbosas 😭 please write more of bestfriend!coryo <3

so so adorable 💋 i love u tehe

me gasping like in that tiktok sound: oh my goodness i love this question!!!

in all seriousness i have so many more thoughts on this dynamic omg

----

thinking about bestfriend!coryo who knows your parents love him, and, more importantly, he knows how to use that to his advantage.

it's no accident, he's put in meticulous effort in making sure that they not only approve of the friendship, but that he's their favorite friend of yours. when it comes to a family as prominent and wealthy as yours, parental approval goes a long way, especially with how regularly your parents leave town for business.

your father's admiration isn't an easy thing to win, but coriolanus is no stranger to uphill battles, and you're worth it. with the way that you look at him, how could you not be?

so he puts in the work: being the perfect student in classes taught by known friends of your father, wearing his best clothing and practicing old capitol etiquette his grandma'am was more than happy to review with him before family dinners that you invited him to, and making sure to keep proper distance between the two of you whenever your parents are around, no matter how difficult it is for him to remember to not hold your hand.

the hardest part is the fact that most of your father's intimidation comes from the fact that he's the exact kind of man coryo wants to be. powerful, respected, and in a position to never worry about finances or status. but he keeps at it, taking more care than usual to make sure that the signs of poverty are never visible in front of your parents.

even if that means purposefully leaving leftovers of the best food he's eaten in years on his plate so that no one will think he's starving. even if you give him a look that only he can feel the strangeness of because even though you've never spoken of his financial status, you can tell that he's not as well off as everyone thinks. that's the only thing about you that digs beneath his skin--you can always tell.

he's unsure if his efforts are working because of your father's constantly stoic disposition even though you assure him that that's your father when he's relaxed.

but then one day, he's over on your father's last night at home before returning to the districts to oversee some business, and your father asks to speak with him in private. you're instantly snapping your head up from your textbook, wanting to make sure that your father won't say anything embarrassing or rude.

he's scared off other friends in the past and even though it hurts, you never fight back too much because your father isn't an easy man to talk back to. but this is where you draw the line. you're not going to lose your coryo.

coryo feels something in his stomach knot, especially at that bewildered look behind your eye, but he's not about to be openly intimidated, so he assures you that he's fine. when you push, asking what topic could possibly involve just coryo and him and be that private, your father says that it's just business from man to man.

coryo has to force down a smile because he knows he'll be hearing no end of it from you as soon as the two of you are alone together. then he starts to think that this might be it. maybe your father has found out about his true financial status or dean highbottom has finally gotten to him and he's about to be banned from seeing you.

he forces down his anxiety and follows your father into the hall. your father's quick to the point, letting him know that he's leaving for another long stretch of time and that your mother's social and professional engagements mean that you'll be alone often. he closes the statement by asking coriolanus to look after you until he returns.

the realization that coriolanus has made it hits him at the same time as the relief and for a second all he can do is stare. then his senses return to him and he's swearing to your father that he'll take such good care of you, your father will have nothing to worry about. then your father's clasping his shoulder and offering him a gruff but oddly genuine thank you, son before telling him to get back to your room before you get paranoid.

it's an odd way to end the moment, but coryo's so busy trying to convince himself to not mentally plan out your wedding (because let's be honest, that's a level of trust from someone like your father might as well be a pre-engagement) that he doesn't think of it.

when he gets back to your room, you ask as casually as you can manage what your father wanted. after telling you that your father just wants to make sure that you're looked after while he's away, coryo expects you to be happy. but instead of reacting positively, you just sort of nod and mumble something polite before attempting to go back to studying.

something in his chest hardens. he's your best friend, who you spend as much time as socially acceptable with, and you two are being given the perfect excuse to be around each other more and you're not happy.

he immediately pushes and you reluctantly tell him that this has to mean that he's in with your father. another thing that coryo thinks you should be thrilled about. the more your father approves, the closer the two of you can be. he's accusing you of being sick of him, of trying to get rid of him, of no longer wanting to be best friends with him.

that has you scrambling to defend yourself. there's little you consider more important than your friendship with him. it's the only bond you fully trust.

so you tell him that your real concern is that your father never gets along with your friends that way, and that the only similar reference point you have is the way he talks to people like him.

you then tell him that the people in your father's social circle aren't like coryo. at the very least, not your coryo, who's never harsh with you and would rather spend parties sitting with you than sharing cruel opinions to impress other men.

all coriolanus hears is that you don't see him the way you see the actually important men. the hurt behind his eyes has you moving to stand and reaching for him. he lets you take his hand but doesn't react, so you explain it as transparently as possible. people that your father likes are mean, and you don't want to lose him to that.

there's something about the way you say it, all round eyes and genuine worry. it reminds him too much of tigris, of the newfound hint of tension in their relationship that's become more prevalent. she's constantly reminding him of what his father's success turned him into.

coryo's pulling you into a hug, whispering promises that you could never lose him. you're hugging him back tightly, hand smoothing circles against his back.

he realizes he means what he's saying. he can achieve the prominence he wants without alienating you. there's a way to be stern with the world and just coryo to you. and even if his edges become a little sharper, he'll keep that away from you and you'll understand.

you may criticize some of your father's views and actions, but you do love him. coryo sees it in the way that you constantly strive for his approval, he sees it in the way your face lights up when he's home. if you can love your father through your disagreements, you can love him as well. he'll make sure of it.

feeling better, he starts semi-playfully chiding you for even thinking that anything could take you away from him. that you should know better than to not see this as yet another thing he's doing for you, for your friendship.

you don't want to admit it, but you're feeling a little bad for reacting like that. after all, coryo was so excited to tell you and you know your father's capable of scaring people out of your life. at least this means that nothing's going to get in between the two of you.

coryo recognizes your slight pout and the apologetic line between your eyebrows. the two of you so rarely argue that even a hint of conflict has you willing to do anything to make things feel normal again.

so he lets himself play into his hurt. you're quick to pick up on it, holding onto him a little tighter. the two of you stay like that for awhile until you break the silence, saying that you're happy that he has an excuse to be around more.

eventually the two of you end up sitting on your bed, both of you silently agreeing that you've done enough homework. instead you focus on reassuring him, holding his hand between both of yours, pressing the occasional chaste kiss against his knuckles and resting your head against his shoulder until he has to go home.

after your father leaves, coryo takes his promise to look after you seriously. he's already in the habit of walking you home after school every day, but he start staying over after every day. the lack of authority figures around makes it a little easier to accept the after school snacks your maid always prepares and sometimes he even lets you send some home with him.

his grandma'am's over the moon when he starts accepting invitations to school social events that he honestly considers painful because he's escorting you. she's convinced that the two of you are getting married and with your family's status and the snow name, there's no door the two of you won't be able to unlock. even though you're still just friends, he rarely reminds her. it's for her own sake, he tells himself, it makes her happy.

the promise to your father also makes him bolder. he feels more assured, more justified in his disapproval of those that show a little too much interest in you.

you still don't notice the way his jaw tightens when some unaware guy gets too close, or think anything of the way that it almost always leads to him grabbing your hand.

he also stays over more, sometimes leaving for a few hours in the late afternoons so your maid doesn't think anything's going on. your family's estate is so large it's easy enough to get him in and out through a secondary exit.

the two of you fall into such a good routine that when your parents do get back, they start trusting coryo even more. your father asks if he can take you to certain social events that normally you wouldn't be allowed to attend and your strict weekday curfew becomes more of a suggestion when he's around.

I’ve seen tbosas (doesn’t beat the book though) and I’m in love with Lucy Gray and Coriolanus Snow. I kinda want to write fics for them?

Thoughts????

Do you ever just come up with the best fanfic title ever and want to scream because you can’t wait to write it

My first tbosas fic is going to be a sejanus x reader and I’m honestly in love with it so far, I’m hoping to have it finished for tonight so stay tuned :P

(comment if you want me to tag you x)

I’m actually in love with Lucy Gray, and I will be writing a bunch of fanfic the second I finish all my college essays (that I haven’t started yet, but I need to cuz they’re due soon)

The Sejanus fic is done but it’s a a lot more than I planned to write so forgive me for taking a second

Lucy Gray hc out now ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

so excited for your sejanus fic!

Same, I swear I’ll get the out asap

Capital Don’t Cry

Summary: Sejanus is tasked with mentoring the District Two female tribute, but plot twist :0 they’re childhood besties

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x Fem!District Two!Reader

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: District Two reader, the reader is also very Lucy gray coded, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst, reader is close to Lucy gray, Sejanus is just depressed about the games, mentions of death, corpses and shit. It’s the hunger games you should know. Also Arachne Crane doesn’t die because she’s the perfect bitchy character.

a/n: ok so this took forever to write because I keep procrastinating on my college essays, I will write more the second I finish I promise, also there’s was a part I genuinely wanted to make this a Lucy gray x reader cuz I’m in love, it could definitely do with a part two, so I could do that as well. anyway, enjoy.

edit: I will be doing a part two, if you want to be tagged comment below :P

Part 2 / Part 3

Sejanus grimaced as the day of the Reaping unfolded in the Capitol—the day he detested the most ever since he arrived at the Capital. The bitter taste of discontent lingered as he witnessed children, once familiar faces, thrust into a deadly game for the Capitol's perverse satisfaction. The familiarity of their faces etched in agony weighed heavily on him, casting a somber shadow over the gaudy spectacle. The games weren't just a grim tradition; they were a painful reminder of the twisted reality the Capitol government revelled in, turning the murder of their own country's children into a spectacle of survival.

As he stood in Heavensbee Hall, jaw clenched as Dean Casca Highbottom, doped up on morphling, announced that, to engage the citizens of the Capital, that the top twenty four students of Academy would mentor this years tributes. Sejanus turned to look at his "fellow" classmates who immediately began talk of what tribute they wanted to have.

As they discussed, Festus Creed chimed in, "I'm hoping for a strong one from the outer districts, someone who can actually fight."

"Absolutely, a boy with charisma. Then they'll be able to capture the audience attention and fight." Persephone Price contributed with a giggle.

Arachne Crane butted in with a disgusted tone, "Ugh, imagine being stuck with a Tribute Twelve runt, especially if it's a girl. That's a disaster waiting to happen."

The disdainful chatter, especially Arachne Crane's complaints, reinforced his stark realization—he was in no way a part of the Capitol. In moments like this is when it solidified to him, that he was in no way shape or form Capital. Seeking solace, he turned to the only person he trusted in the room; Coriolanus Snow, who remained stiff as a board. Despite the abrupt change of plans for the acclaimed plinth prize, Sejanus couldn't discern any emotion on Coryo's stoic face. Perhaps, with the Snows' wealth, the prize held little allure, especially for someone known for his lavish breakfasts, despite his lanky frame.

As he settled into his assigned seat, Sejanus felt a rising frustration; the atmosphere was suffocating, everyone treating the tributes as if they were animals for the slaughter. Disgusted with his forced company, he yearned to be back in District Two with his Ma, missing the familiarity of friends and the understanding community. As the Dean called out the District One tributes and mentors, Sejanus prayed he wouldn't recognize anyone from Two this year. The thought of witnessing someone he knew die for a senseless punishment, that he had to train them for, weighed heavily on his heart.

His heart stopped when Dean Highbottom announced the male tribute for District Two, and Sejanus held his breath. Florus Friend was the mentor. Sejanus lifted his eyes off the floor and glanced at the giant screen in the front of the room, there walking up to the stage in front of the city hall was Marcus. Sejanus's hands clenched into fists, jaw tightened. He didn't even have time to process his grief when he heard his name.

Dean Casca Highbottom chuckled, "Sejanus Plinth, mentoring the District Two tribute. A twist of fate, or perhaps Capitol whimsy? We'll see how you handle it."

The color drained from his face, leaving him white as a sheet. This was most definitely the work of his father, bribing the Dean to trying to desensitise him to the murder of his own people.

There, defiantly being dragged to the stage by peacekeepers, was her. The girl he used to play with at the base of the mountains, who would end up covered in dirt after their climbs. The same girl who helped his Ma bake sweets and cookies whenever time allowed. The girl he confided in when he found out about moving to the capital. The girl who gave him the same metal bracelet now clasped to his wrist since he left Two.

A stern, stoic look overcame her immediate shock. She pushed herself out of the peacekeepers' grasp, "I can walk by myself!" Ignoring her, they continued pushing her toward the stage, resulting in a stumble at the stairs. Marcus rushed over, aiding her to her feet. Sejanus fought to maintain neutrality, concealing his anguish from the observant students. He could feel the eyes boring into the back of his head. Before the screen cut away to District Three, both tributes, who had befriended Sejanus in his youth, stood hand in hand, as the blood from her palms slowly dripped onto the concrete stage.

Sejanus lay in his bed, a plush feather comforter of depression pulling him deeper into its grasp. His gaze remained fixated on the ostentatious wallpaper. The vivid display of the opulence surrounding him, the ornate patterns seemed to mock him, each swirl and curve whispering tales of the Capitol's excesses. He yearned for his childhood, a life of carelessness and freedom. A life before the war.

As Sejanus lay in his somber state, the familiar scent wafted into the room. The aroma wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, triggering memories of simpler times. Tears welled up in his eyes unconsciously, he just wished he could close his eyes and go back to District Two. Not that it would make much of a difference, both of his friends had their fates set in stone.

A sudden knock on the door jolted Sejanus out of his melancholy. In a reflex, he hastily wiped away his tears, his heart pounding with the fear that it might be his father. Both of them had gotten into an argument the moment he had gotten home.

"Sejanus, this is a monumental opportunity for you. A chance for our family to assert its place. Ensure your tribute emerges victorious."

Every day, Sejanus witnessed his father striving to assimilate into Capitol society. Yet, despite the effort, the only thing perceived was his wealth. Not a single Capital citizen would ever see the Plinths as Capital, regardless of his fathers hopeless attempts.

Slowly he glanced at his father disgusted at his choice of wording, "Tribute?"

His fathers face never altered as he spoke, "Yes, if your help your tribute win, you'll be accept-"

"Use her name, you know it!" Sejanus screamed enraged, "Is that all she is to you now, just a tribute! A girl who has known us her entire life. The girl who lived under our roof when her father was hung for his crimes against the Capital. The girl you used to tease me about becoming your future daughter-in-law."

Sejanus trembled with anger, his words escaping in gasps.

"Is that all she is to you, just another piece of meat to die for the sins of the districts?"

Sejanus threw his satchel to the floor, in a desperate attempt to escape the tense atmosphere in their kitchen. His father seized his arms tightly, but Sejanus ripped his arm free. "Don't touch me!"

As the door creaked open, relief flooded over him when he saw his Ma's face. Slowly he sunk back into his sheets. She quietly approached, taking a seat by his feet. "I made you some cookies, just like we used to make back at home," her eyes swept over his weary face. Puffy and red, his eyes brimmed with tears, streaking down his blotchy cheeks. His beautiful black curls clung to his forehead, and with gentle hands, she swiped them away. Sejanus nuzzled into the warmth of her hand—she was the only connection he had to his home.

Sejanus's voice croaked as he attempted to speak, shattered from his cries of anguish. "That could have been me, Ma." She swiped the tears that continued to fall from the corners of his eyes. She continued to try and comfort him as he voiced his thoughts.

"Ma, I haven't seen her since I left and now that I get to see her again, I'm being forced to watch her get murdered," his finger scratched at his eyes as he continued to cry. "I don't think I can do it,"

She sighed softly, contemplating how to ease his pain. Gently holding his wrists, she sought his attention.

"If I was in her position, Sejanus, I'd be scared," she sighed, searching for words to console her son. "I know, for me at least, seeing a familiar face fighting for me on the outside would give me hope, and I know when she sees you she'll feel more at ease. Give her something to live for Sejanus."

As he stood outside of the zoo, clutching a bag of sandwiches his Ma had made for every tribute, butterflies erupted in his stomach. His nerves had taken over at the thought of meeting his old friends this way. Would she even remember him?

Sejanus didn't need any help navigating his way around the zoo, crowds had gathered around the cage, although they kept their distance. Lucky Flickerman stood in the center of the crowd, doing some type of weather forecast. Sejanus spotted Coryo standing by the edge of the cage, alongside his tribute, Lucy Gray Baird. She stood talking to the Capital children that stood near them, complimenting them.

Sejanus eyes scanned the area. Tributes sat scattered around the brush and rocks. He searched the entire cage trying to find his tribute.

His girl.

His eyes were drawn to Marcus first, his dark frame was perched attentively on a rock, his eyes were like a vigilant hawk, his gaze protective and distrustful, as he kept his eyes on all the tributes. In his arms, was (Y/n). Her head rested on Marcus's shoulder, basking in what she presumed would be her final days in sunlight. Sejanus's heart dropped seeing them like this.

"(Y/n)!"

Her head immediately sprung off Marcus's shoulder as she searched for the source of the sound. A perplexed look spread across their faces.

"Marcus, over here!"

When their eyes met, Sejanus swore he felt his heart stop, after the multiple years apart he still felt the same way he did when he was a child. A bright smile etched its way upon her lips, as she attempted to get up from the rock. Marcus pulled her down to whisper something in her ear, she quickly brushed him off, making her way down the steep rock. Not seeing Marcus reaching out in an attempt to restrain her.

She sprinted to the cage, reaching her hands past the bars, her rough, scabbed hands grasping at his face. "Is that really you, Sejanus?" The harsh skin scratched over his face as she tightly gripped him, desperately examining his features with frantic eyes. His hand raised to cover hers with a nod, the sleeve of his uniform falling slightly, catching a subtle glint of sunlight on metal. Intrigued, her eyes followed the glimmer, discovering the metal bracelet she had crafted for him when they were kids. Her eyes glazed over slightly as her left hand moved to examine the polished steel.

"I can't believe you still have it," she smiled up at him, his tall frame casting her in shadow from the blazing sun. He removed her hand from his face, grasping it tightly. His finger grazed over cold metal on her wrist, and glancing down, he saw it—she continued to wear her own bracelet. Unlike his, the metal was rusted from wear, fitting too tightly over her wrist. Sejanus couldn't help but frown, feeling like it was his fault that she ended up here.

As she observed the distress enveloping him, wearied by the weight of her situation, she felt a growing exhaustion with the constant sympathy that surrounded her.

"Are you my mentor, Sejanus?" She questioned him softly, attempting to get him to talk to her. He snapped out of his dazed state confused how she knew, "huh?"

She giggled shaking his hand a little, "I was speaking to Lucy Gray, she said that we all have mentors apparently. I think that man she's speaking to is hers," Sejanus glanced over at Coriolanus who was crouched down next to the bars as he spoke with Lucy Gray.

"Yeah, that's Coryo. He's my friend from the Academy," Sejanus said, glancing back at her. Despite her slightly gaunt appearance, she had grown into her beauty. Her eyes shone despite the challenges she was facing. He hadn't realized how resilient she was. (Y/n)'s eyes lingered on Coriolanus, a small smirk beginning to find its way onto her lips. She turned her head back to Sejanus.

"I'm glad you've made friends," he said, his head tilting to the side slightly, as if she were a puppy. "He's kind of cute, d'you think he'd think I'm pretty." Sejanus's face flushed pure red, out of shock and a bit of jealousy, his mouth agape. "I'm just kidding, Sej. I only have eyes for you."

Sejanus felt his cheeks get hotter; he didn't remember her being this forward when they were children. He stuttered slightly, unsure of how to address the comments before grasping the bag of sandwiches.

"Sit, sit, Ma made sandwiches for everybody, and she made a special one just for you and Marcus." Sejanus sat down, digging through the bag to find the sandwich his Ma made especially for her. (Y/n) sat down directly across from him, patiently awaiting the lovingly made food. While he searched, she asked him questions about his Ma and his father, his life in the Capital, and school. She could tell he missed home from the way he talked about the Capital— "cold and unlovable" and how "he'll never be seen as Capital" as he continued his attempt to find her food.

Eventually finding the sandwich with a little note from his Ma on the top, he handed it through the bars to her. "Tell your Ma, I said thanks. I haven't eaten since I left Two." She read the small note before beginning to devour her sandwich. She paused and glanced behind Sejanus who looked at her confused, until he saw a small shadow beside him. Turning around he saw a little girl in a emerald green dress. She couldn't have been older than six. (Y/n) waved to her, she waved back shyly, as (Y/n) complemented her beautiful dress.

Lucky Flickerman and his camera crew deftly captured the unfolding scene, gradually turning their focus to showcase the beautiful tribute from District Two, highlighting the connection between the two.

"Well, don't you just look like a princess," the little girl smiled softly, grasping onto her own dress, "I wish I had a dress that pretty,"

The girl cautiously walked towards the bars, standing next to Sejanus. (Y/n) turned to face he, giving her all of her attention, as if she was the only one there. That was something Sejanus always loved about her. Sejanus grasped onto (Y/n)s hands, sending her a small smile.

“Your dress is really pretty too,” softly moving her hands past the bars to brush her fingers against the soft tulle.

“You really think so?” (Y/n) couldn’t contain her smile, she’d always loved children. “My ma made this for me, when the final snow of winter melted of the mountain,” She could see Lucky Flickerman urging his cameramen to capture the scene in it’s entirety.

“It might not be as green as yours, but it’s to show that the snow will melt and the grass will grow tall again.”

Another child appeared out from behind Sejanus, clasping her hand over the slightly younger girl, pulling her away from the bars of the cage. She turned to Sejanus uttering a sentence before storming off with the smaller child. Sejanus didn’t even have to see (Y/n) face to see it drop.

"You shouldn't be feeding the animals."

Sejanus found himself in the back of the family car, immersed in thoughts of strategic tactics for (Y/n)'s survival in the games. He recognised her strong photographic memory, and with the meticulous examination of every inch of the arena, it could only be a advantage. Marcus, undeniably overprotective, was likely to form an alliance with her, the thought put him at ease. As beads of sweat formed on his forehead, the realization hit him — this could be the last time they ever saw each other after the games concluded. The weight of that impending separation lingered heavily in the confined space of the car.

He sighed deeply as the car slowed, stopping in front of a sport stadium, Sejanus briefly remembered Coryo mentioning something about an animal circus that performed there before the war. Even in the arena, the tributes would be seen as animals. He walked up the line, walking up to the front of the line where Marcus and (Y/n) stood, with Florus.

“Here’s some medicine for your hands,” Sejanus rattled around in his satchel, trying to find a pot of ointment he had brought, his finger grasped the corners. Pulling it out he unscrewed the lid, grabbing a generous amount on his fingers. “Make sure you apply it at least three time daily so it doesn’t get infected, and please make sure you use enough.”

She presented her palms as he ranted on, “I will, thanks Sejanus.” Taking the pot she shoved it into a pocket hidden somewhere among the layers and layers of green tulle.

"Any plans for how I'm going to win?" She playfully grasped onto his arm looking up with puppy dog eyes. His face faltered slightly but she picked up on it. Her arms fell by her side, "You do think I'm going to win, don't you?" Her jaw was clenched, her once round eyes flooding with betrayal. Sejanus turned to reassure her quickly, pulling her into his chest, resting his head on top of her own. "Of course I do,"

Before he could elaborate the peacekeepers ushered them towards the enterance. Giant gates and turnstiles guarded the way inside. She could finally feel the nerves catching up. Her fingers quickly found their way into Sejanus's. The warmth he provided gave a temporary comfort, she knew as long as he was responsible for her, she'd live. As the tributes and their mentors began walking through the turnstiles, a loud voice emanated from the walls.

"Enjoy the show!"

The first few people slowed, glancing around for the source of the noise.

"Enjoy the show!"

(Y/n) tried her hardest to hold back her laughter, Sejanus glanced at her, confused at what she found humorous about this scenario

"A bit ironic, isn't it. It's like they built this arena just for us."

"Enjoy the show!"

The arena was big, a small pile of rubble was clumped in the center, where Sejanus presumed would be filed with weapon the next day. Seats lined all the walls of the arena, there were boxes at the top, that were most likely used for the wealthy in its heyday. It seemed scalable, and from all their time in their youth spent, scaling and rock climbing, he didn't doubt she could make her way up there.

He innocuously bumped her shoulder, making small gestures towards the boxes. She gazed at them and smiled.

"We should look around more just in case, not a very smart move after the initial fight."

The more they looked around the more concerned Sejanus got. The arena has almost no place to hide, Sejanus felt there would only be the initial battle before someone's eventual victory. He doubted that the Victory would be (Y/n)s, not with Reaper, Jessup, and Coral and her group.

Sejanus was shaken from his thought when he realised that (Y/n) wasn’t by his side. He turned examining the room trying to find her. A spot of green caught his eye, (Y/n) stood by the center of the arena. She was deep in conversation with Lucy Gray, whispering something in her ear and pushing something into her hand, as Lucy Gray nodded happily. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind the two, sending Sejanus a confused look. Whatever the two girls had planned, they didn’t seem to tell Coriolanus either.

(Y/n) turned around, rushing back to Sejanus’s side. Her dress flowing behind her. “Sorry I took so long, I just had to discuss something with Lucy Gray,”

She smiled softly at him, sliding her hand back into his own, “Since Lucy Gray and I get along so well, we decided to have an alliance. And since we both have big strong boys, who are willing to protect us. We’ve decided it’s best to stick together, at least at the start”

“You’re really smart, you know.” he squeezed her hand tighter.

“Listen (Y/n), I-“ he cut himself off when he felt a rumble beneath his feet, throwing him off balance. He heard a bomb go off and in seconds both of them were thrown to the ground. Everything went white for a sliver of time. Sejanus looked up and saw the roof of the building beginning to collapse in, he grabbed (Y/n)s hand to pull her to safety. He heard a loud grunt behind him, as shadows hastily ran past him towards the exit, he could vaguely hear the sounds of shouting and gunshots over the harsh ringing of his ears.

It was a group of tributes attempting to escape.

Sejanus turned his head to where he last saw Florus and Marcus standing, Florus had been working to try and get some type of alliance together. The two boys hadn't been far behind them, just near the stands. Florus lay on the floor, a large piece of rubble had fallen on top of his chest and across his feet. (Y/n) was on her feet rushing over to help him get it off. Most of the concrete had fallen, but the structure was extremely unstable, Sejanus needed to get her out as fast as he could.

A group of peacekeepers rushed to their side, most of them attempted to lift the rubble from Florus, though it proved to be a challenge. Sejanus grabbed (Y/n)s hand again, the wounds on her palms had reopened while she dug through the rubble to try help Florus. The blood made it hard to keep a solid grip but he pulled her along as fast as he could towards the entrance where the other mentors stood. He quickly manoeuvred her to sit down, examining her to make sure she wasn’t hurt anywhere else.

“I’m ok,” she pulled his hands away from her face, her face being stained with the blood of her hands. “Where’s Marcus, is he still in there?”

Sejanus sighed, he couldn’t imagine what was going to happen to him, he wouldn’t be able to outrun the Capital.

“He escaped.”

The aftermath of the bombing was catastrophic, The Ring twins and their tributes were both killed on impact. They had been up by the stands when the bomb went off. Both of the District Ones tributes alongside Marcus tried to escape, being shot at by the peacekeepers. Only Marcus managed to escape. Five tributes and two mentors dead, and the games hadn’t even begun. Sejanus hadn’t even begun to think of all the injured. Almost everyone there was hurt in some way, with the tributes being carted back to the zoo to be treated by the in-house veterinarian.

Coriolanus had gotten the brunt of blast that come from the cornucopia. Shielding Lucy Gray from the initial shockwave, which let her drag him from the falling rubble-so he didn’t end up like Florus had. Sejanus attempted to visit the zoo to thank her for saving his friend and to give the both of them some food but peacekeepers had the place closed down to the public. “Strict instructions from Dr. Gaul.”

As the Ring twins had their funeral, the capital decided to parade the dead tributes, two more of which had died through the night, through the streets. His eyes scanned through the tributes, he still hadn’t seen Marcus, he must’ve gotten out of the Capital somehow if he hadn’t been caught. Sejanus began to feel sick imagining what would happen if he got caught, if this is how they were desecrating the corpses of the dead tributes.

Two cages followed them, the tributes were separated by sex. Marcus wasn’t in there either. Glancing into the female cage, he spotted (Y/n) sat in the corner, holding Lucy Gray tightly to her chest, hiding her face in her hair. They were being flaunted to the Capital citizens. His classmates surrounded him, most of them mournful. As the dead tributes were dragged closer to the group, a smiling face caught his attention. Arachne Crane, sat with a callous smile, her true nature unveiled in the heartless moment. Arachne Crane was the exact type of person the games appealed to. The Capital wouldn’t cry for anything if it didn’t involve themselves.

The next few days were a blur to Sejanus, the stress of it all. Worrying for Marcus’s well-being, helping with strategies, and the thought of the games was too much for him to handle. He couldn’t remember much of the interviews, they had implemented a new sponsorship feature where the citizens could give the tributes gifts. (Y/n) having a talent for sewing, talked about dresses she had made, and went into the story behind her own.

“-and I’m very privileged to be able witness the beautiful fashion here in the capital, it’s inspired me quite a bit,” she said to the cameras as Lucky Flickerman, who had a grin painted onto his face, asked her if she had any final words she wanted to say.

There was a pregnant pause, the studio fell into silence for a brief moment. Sejanus looked over at her, reaching his hand over to comfort her own. Her mask had begun to crack, “final words?”

Lucky nodded happily, gesturing to the camera to make sure they were getting the shot.

"I-ugh…I don’t know what to say," she stammered, her voice trembling with the weight of impending finality. Desperation clouded her eyes as she turned to Sejanus, seeking solace in his familiar gaze. He, however, stood frozen in place, his entire being paralyzed by the realization that these might not only be her last words to the heartless Capital but also her farewell to him.

In that haunting moment, their eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes of unspoken fears. Sejanus felt the grip of fear and helplessness tightening around his chest, In response, he managed to summon a small, almost imperceptible nod of reassurance. Amidst the shadow of impending doom, he needed her to find strength within herself, to muster the courage to face the horrors of the arena.

His silent plea echoed in that nod—a desperate, unspoken urging for her to believe in her own resilience, to fight fiercely for her life within those ruthless confines. For Sejanus, it wasn't just a wish; it was a desperate need, a fervent desire for her survival that resonated in the silent exchanges of their haunted gaze. He needed her to live, not just for herself but for the fragile hope that flickered within the recesses of his heart.

As Lucky Flickerman began to move on, finalizing the end of the segment, Sejanus found himself unable to tear his eyes away from hers. In the depth of her gaze, he glimpsed the raw, unfiltered fear that gripped her.

The loud stomping of boots drew her attention away from Sejanus, and immediately, she was engulfed by peacekeepers who forcefully pulled her back toward the transport car they had arrived in. She struggled against their relentless grip, her desperate gaze reaching out for Sejanus, who stood frozen—his entire being paralyzed by the tumultuous emotions coursing through him.

The overwhelming cacophony of boots on hardwood, the grating noise of Lucky Flickerman's voice, and the clattering of heavy filming machinery being rearranged drowned out (Y/n)'s cries for him, leaving Sejanus trapped in a haunting symphony of despair.

Sejanus rushed to follow the peacekeepers toward the exit of the building, where (Y/n) was harshly thrown into the train car. Lucy Gray, helped her to her feet, delicately dusting off the back of her dress.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she gazed at him for the last time. She whispered a sentence, and before Sejanus could respond, the peacekeepers ruthlessly slammed the doors shut in his face. Sejanus breathed out,

"I love you too."

Taglist: @nolanbiigfishboi @0liveleaf @valterras @daisydark

My Little Bluebell

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Lucy Gray Baird Headcannons ˚୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pairings: Lucy Gray Baird x GN!Reader

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: all fluffy, adorable Lucy Gray, my one true love, I’d seriously marry this girl, mini scenario at the end :)

a/n: I’m actually so obsessed with Lucy Gray Baird, I think it’s a trend, little me was in love with Katniss, big me is in love with Lucy Gray… some things never change.

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵗᵇᵒˢᵃˢ ᵗᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ

ㅤ ೀ she’s literally the sweetest girl ever. you’re sick, she’ll show up at your house with a cup of hot soup that Barb Azure made that afternoon and a fresh hand-picked bouquet of flowers

ㅤ ೀ calls you “my little bluebell” since you remind her of spring. She said Maude Ivory would always spout stories of soulmates whenever she saw a patch of bluebells growing in the forest

ㅤ ೀ since your good at sewing, you’d help patch up any holes in any Covey members outfits. embroidering new designs into sleeves of shirts and dress hems to make them more colourful

ㅤ ೀ Lucy Gray is always showing off your designs, you had embroidered a few flowers onto her dress for a performance at the Hob. The covey had finished their performance on stage, they began giving their thanks and as you glanced at her she was giving your her signature smile. She quickly dipped her mouth back down to the mic, “and I’d like to give a special thanks to my little bluebell, who made my dress all nice and pretty just for tonight,”

ㅤ ೀ she loves making you blush, which is why she loves showing you off whenever she can, gal loves showering you in compliments

ㅤ ೀ her love language is definitely words of affirmation and physical touch, she is always holding your hand, like she barely ever let’s go, she’s clingy af

ㅤ ೀ you’re alway the first to hear her new songs, she respects your opinion more than anything

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses your dates as inspiration for her songs

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses you as her muse, you’ve definitely been down at the hob listening to the Covey performing a new song and just sat there like “wait why does this sound so familiar”

ㅤ ೀ you’d help her learn to swim (in my hc she’s a bad swimmer) she hang off your back, arms around your neck and legs wrapped across your torso to stop herself from drowning

“Now don’t you dare let me go, bluebell,” Lucy Gray stood waist deep in water. Her hands clasped tightly onto your own. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at your girlfriends hesitation.

“Lucy Gray, you’ll be fine, I’ve got you. Darling, I’ve been swimming since before I could walk.” Lucy Gray raised her eyebrows at the statement, hesitant to step away from the floor beneath her feet.

Clenching her jaw, before rolling her eyes, “you’re too charming,” she breathed out stepping closer to the edge. Instead of slowly lowering herself down softly, she plopped of the edge, submerging herself in the water.

“Lucy!” Quickly pulling her out of the water, you felt her hands wrap around your neck, legs hooking around your waist, fully supporting herself . She gasped as she came out of the water, before bursting into laughter at the look on your face. Her fingers found their way into your wet hair, wrapping her finger around it, gazing softly into your eyes.

Her free hand caressed your cheek, slowly pulling you towards her lips. Her body pressed flush against your own, the laughter that had filled the air now replaced with the soft sounds of the water around you.

Time seemed to slow as your lips met in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Lucy Gray's touch was tender yet filled with a spark, and the world around you faded away. The water's embrace, the surrounding nature, and the warmth shared between you two created a perfect moment suspended in time.

As you pulled back, Lucy Gray's eyes sparkled with affection, and a content smile graced her lips.

“Now, remember this bluebell, if I sink, you're sinking right alongside me.”

how dare you make me cry with dat Sejanus fic *sniffles*

if there’s a part ii can I be tagged?

i have a feeling if it’s made I’ll know how it ends 😢

IM SORRY!!!!!! I genuinely had to split it into two part so I can properly think about how it ends, I love Lucy Gray too much to kill her off 🫣☠️ but I will totally tag you

Where tf are all the Lucy gray x reader fics 😭

“Fine, I’ll do it myself” 🫰☠️🫣

I just want to thanks everyone for the love I’ve been receiving on my tbosas fanfic, I will be writing more, I swear (I just have college essays due this week)

The Hunger Games Masterlist

Currently only writing for;

༺ The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes ༻

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Key

-Fluff ☁️

-Angst 💨

-Oneshot 🦋

-Headcannon 🫧

-Series ❄️

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Coriolanus Snow

…nothing yet

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Lucy Gray Baird

My Little Bluebell 🫧☁️

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Sejanus Plinth

Capital Don’t Cry ❄️☁️💨

Please Take Me Anywhere But Home 🫧 ☁️

If my college essays were fanfic, I’d have them all done by now

do you do Sejanus x Coriolanus or just Sejanus x reader?

I can definitely do Sejanus x Coryo, if you send in requests. I think I already have one or two, (personally I see their relationship as oblivious Coryo and clingy Sejanus, but send those requests in)