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anythinggoesbutme · 2 months ago

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First Glint

Chapter one of the White Rose & Coal Dust series

Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x Everdeen!Reader

Previous Chapters: Click Here

Warnings: Power imbalance, class tension, mild language, canon-typical dystopian themes, foreshadowing of emotional manipulation, underlying political commentary, references to poverty/starvation, stalking behavior (mildly but intentional), mentions of death, slow burn, subtle manipulation.

Synopsis: Before he was President Snow, he was a Peacekeeper sent to District 12—where a coal-dusted girl with defiance in her spine caught his eye and changed everything.

Word Count: 2,984

The train sliced through the barren winter of the Seam like a silver scalpel, gleaming under the pale, ash-laden sky. It was a Capitol model, of course—smooth, sleek, and designed for power. Just like everything Coriolanus Snow had ever touched.

He sat alone in the last compartment, a luxury even higher-ranking Peacekeepers rarely received, though no one questioned it when he boarded. They didn’t question his spotless white uniform, pressed crisp against his tall frame. They didn’t question the way he carried himself—like he already owned every inch of Panem.

Because one day, he would.

His gloved hand tapped against the side of a polished flask, untouched. The flask was more for show than need—a gift from a superior officer, embossed with a mocking rose and filled with expensive Capitol whiskey he had no intention of drinking. He didn’t trust anything he hadn’t prepared himself. Not anymore.

Snow’s blue eyes narrowed as they caught the faint outline of coal smoke rising in the distance. District 12.

He had read the files. Of all the districts, it was the poorest. Starved, broken, irrelevant—except for the black lungs it produced to fuel the nation’s endless fire. Most Capitol citizens couldn’t find it on a map if you paid them, and that suited him fine. He preferred forgotten places. It was easier to make an impression when no one saw you coming.

The train screeched into the station like it was protesting its arrival, steam hissing against the tracks. Snow stood without hurry, adjusting the gleaming belt around his waist. Everything about him was regulation: the leather gloves, the knee-high boots, the neatly combed blond hair. But nothing about him was ordinary.

As he stepped onto the platform, the cold bit through his uniform like it had teeth.

District 12 looked exactly like he imagined.

Bleak. Smoky. Smelling of soot and desperation.

The buildings—if you could call them that—leaned like old men waiting to die. Children darted between crumbling brick and wooden doorframes, their cheeks hollow from hunger, their eyes too old for their age. Women stood in lines that led to nowhere. Men shouldered the weight of invisible shackles, heading toward the mines with heads bowed.

Snow’s nose wrinkled behind a polite smile.

They called this a district, but it was a graveyard. And he had come to be its warden.

“Peacekeeper Snow,” a gruff voice greeted, interrupting his assessment.

Snow turned to see a man in standard uniform approach—older, with grizzled stubble and a gut that suggested more time at a desk than in the field. Commander Brant, if memory served.

“Sir,” Snow replied, offering a crisp salute.

Brant’s eyes flicked over him, skeptical but amused. “We don’t get many Capitol boys out here. Let alone ones with… pedigree.”

Snow’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not here for comfort, Commander.”

Brant snorted. “You’ll be lucky to find a dry cot, let alone comfort. Welcome to hell.”

He said it like a joke, but the bitterness was real. Snow heard it, and logged it.

Brant led him away from the station, boots crunching through a mix of snow and soot. They passed the Hob, the black market disguised as an abandoned warehouse, and the Seam, where the poverty was so thick it clung to the walls like rot.

“We’ve had trouble,” Brant said, more as a warning than a statement. “Miners organizing. Kids stealing. A couple of families we think are running old rebel bloodlines.”

Snow raised an eyebrow. “You’ve allowed that to continue?”

Brant shrugged. “We’ve kept the peace. Barely.”

Snow didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The disgust was in his silence.

Brant stopped at the base barracks—a squat, concrete building that looked more like a bunker than a home. “This is where you’ll be housed. We rotate shifts, but if you want more patrols, more control—well. Be my guest.”

“I intend to,” Snow said smoothly.

Inside, the air was warmer but no more welcoming. Other Peacekeepers loitered, playing cards, cleaning weapons, some glancing up at Snow’s arrival. None of them greeted him. Not with words.

But they noticed. They always noticed him.

Snow moved into the room assigned to him—a corner cell of sorts with a narrow bed, a metal desk, and a single window that overlooked the heart of the district. Or what was left of it.

He didn’t unpack. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he sat at the desk and opened a fresh file. He began to read.

District 12 wasn’t just coal and hunger and hopelessness. It was fractured. Fragile. And if there was one thing Coriolanus Snow understood, it was how to control something once it broke.

That’s what they didn’t understand in the Capitol. That’s what they’d forgotten.

Power wasn’t about extravagance. It was about proximity. Visibility. Presence.

Let the rebels think they had privacy. Let the poor believe their voices weren’t heard. He would hear them all. He would remember their names, their faces, their patterns.

He would build his empire one chokehold at a time, and District 12 would be the beginning.

Snow reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a single white rose. Perfect. Untouched.

He placed it on the desk beside the file.

The room was quiet.

But in the silence, he heard it all.

District 12 was not known for its surprises.

Coriolanus Snow had walked the same bleak path from the barracks to the town square each morning for nearly a week. His boots left no lasting print in the soot-laced snow. His presence, however, did.

Every day, eyes followed him—some curious, some resentful, some just afraid. That was fine. Fear, after all, was fertile ground. Easier to plant control than resistance. And District 12 was already wilting.

He knew the patterns now: which families sent their children to the fence line for kindling, which miners coughed the worst, which houses traded stolen bread behind boarded-up windows. The district was a wound, and he’d memorized its every scab.

And then, on a morning of no particular note, he saw her.

She was standing near the edge of the square, her arms folded beneath a faded shawl, a basket hanging from one wrist. Coal dust streaked her cheek, as if she’d wiped her face mid-chore and forgotten to check for the smear. Her coat was threadbare, her boots cracked at the seams, and her hair—

Her hair was the color of rich soil after rain. Not Capitol-slicked or curled, but long and thick and braided simply down her back. Practical. Plain.

And yet something about her pulled him to stillness.

She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t begging for anything. She just stood there—like she belonged to this place, but didn’t bow to it.

And then she looked up.

Their eyes didn’t meet. She didn’t notice him. But he noticed her.

And that was enough.

Snow didn’t speak to her. He didn’t alter his pace. He didn’t twitch a muscle, not even a flicker of recognition across his polished expression. He simply walked past.

But from that moment on, his route changed.

He began walking by the square twice a day instead of once. Sometimes at dusk, sometimes just after the miners were released from the shifts. He’d pause near the bakery, pretending to inspect security. He added patrols by the Hob. He claimed interest in the fence line watch and the ration queue organization—all of which passed near the places she moved.

She had a routine. He made it his.

It was almost disappointing, how easy it was to find out more.

Her name wasn’t in any formal registry—not in a district like this. But she was known. Referred to in murmurs. Everdeen. The Everdeen girl.

She lived on the edge of the Seam, in a house that should’ve collapsed five winters ago. She walked to the market with her older brother sometimes, carrying goods wrapped in cloth. Her father had been killed by a group of Peacekeepers over rumors of him planning a rebellion. She sang, occasionally, though never in front of Peacekeepers. She bartered better than any man twice her age. She never stole. She didn’t need to. People gave her more than she asked for.

And the more he learned, the more he looked.

At first, it was observation. Tactical. Strategic.

But Snow had always been honest with himself, even when it was unflattering.

After the fourth day, he started watching her for reasons he didn’t put in reports.

It wasn’t just her face, though that was lovely enough in its quiet way—sharp eyes, the curve of her mouth always looking like it was mid-thought. No, it was the contrast. The contradiction.

She looked like she belonged to nothing but herself.

And yet she was entirely his district. All coal smoke and hard-won breath. A survivor, he thought, and not by accident.

Snow never followed her past the square. That would have been obvious. Sloppy.

But he’d linger near wherever she’d been. He’d stand in places she passed just to breathe the air she left behind. He told himself it was about power—knowing what mattered to this district. Who mattered.

Still, he kept a list.

Her name, in his private log. A note beside it: Seam blood. Connected. Sharp. Valuable.

And another beneath it, scrawled after a long pause: Pretty.

The word looked foreign on his Capitol-script page.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself he wasn’t here for attachments.

He told himself she wouldn’t mean anything.

But Coriolanus Snow was a man who didn’t believe in coincidence. And her presence here—now, while he was beginning the first move of his long campaign—felt like something just short of fate.

One evening, after the sun had sunk low and the mines released their ghosts back into the district, he found himself walking toward the square again.

He had no reason to. No duty. No excuse.

She wasn’t there.

But her brother was.

Tall, rough around the edges, carrying a bag of coal and something sharper in his expression. The protective kind of man, Snow thought, who believed his fists were stronger than the world’s leash.

Snow stood still. Observed.

When the brother glanced in his direction, their eyes locked.

It was brief.

But it was enough to tell him that the Everdeens—both of them—had teeth.

He returned to the barracks that night colder than when he left.

He lay in bed, staring at the low ceiling, and wondered if she had ever seen the Capitol. If she would hate it. If she would survive it.

If she would survive him.

Snow wasn’t one to act on impulse. He wasn’t ruled by want. He ruled it.

But he felt something shifting. Quietly. Under his skin. Like a slow, inevitable thaw.

She didn’t know him yet.

But she would.

The rain fell like it had every evening for the past three days—relentless, unyielding, drenching everything in its path. The sky, a swollen bruise, hung low above the district, and the wind swept through the streets, chasing people indoors like mice seeking shelter from a hawk’s eye.

Coriolanus Snow stood under the awning of a poorly-kept building near the town square, his figure leaning against the rotting wood, sharp eyes scanning the deserted street. The only people still braving the storm were the ones too poor or too stubborn to heed the weather’s warning. He didn’t mind the rain. The wetness made the dirt on his boots easier to wipe off, the slant of the storm left him feeling shielded, as though the world might not see him if he didn’t want to be seen. His thoughts were a little clearer in the rain—fewer distractions, fewer voices from the district to interrupt his focus.

He could hear the distant clatter of the Hob—a place filled with all the district’s stolen dreams—and the occasional murmur of a miner trudging through the mud, on their way home after another soul-sucking day in the pits. But despite the usual sounds, his focus had already shifted.

There, emerging from the fog of the downpour, was her.

She was just a shadow at first—a dark figure darting from one awning to another, her steps quick and purposeful as though the rain were a nuisance rather than a comfort. He recognized her immediately, of course—he had spent weeks learning the shape of her, memorizing the way she carried herself, the set of her jaw, the purposeful strides she took when she was certain no one was watching her.

Her hair—wild and unruly in the wet—curled in a way that made her look younger, more delicate than she really was. He noted the way it clung to the back of her neck, a few strands falling damply over her shoulders, the color now richer, more vibrant than it had ever appeared in the dry heat of the day. The effect was oddly disarming, like something precious—and as she passed just beneath his awning, for a brief moment, he caught the scent of the earth clinging to her clothes.

For a second, he almost wanted to smile.

But he didn’t.

She wasn’t looking his way. Of course she wasn’t. It had been weeks since he’d started keeping track of her movements—weeks spent calculating her routine, learning the length of her days and the hours she spent in town, how often she lingered outside the bakery, her stops at the market, her brief exchanges with the miners who frequented the square.

There was no reason for her to notice him. Not yet. But still, he had watched her long enough to know that she’d caught sight of him before. Those moments when she looked up, and their gazes met—however fleeting—he had been certain. She knew who he was, even if she wasn’t brave enough to speak his name. But that was a feeling he could foster. She was the sort who despised Peacekeepers, and he was their representative in this district. His arrival had been unwelcome, and the animosity she felt was practically instinctual.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

The same instinct that led her to avoid him, that same coldness he’d come to expect from these districts, only fed his curiosity.

She stopped abruptly, a few feet away, ducking into a small shop to shelter from the rain. He hesitated. There was no need to approach her. He had no real business with her—at least, not yet. But it was hard to shake the feeling that if he didn’t act now, if he didn’t make some kind of move, she’d slip away and be just another ghost in this dying district.

With a soft exhale, Snow pushed himself off the doorframe and made his way toward the shop where she’d entered, making sure his footsteps were quiet in the wet mud.

He waited for a moment under the eaves, watching the shop as the door swung open slightly, just enough for him to see her reflection in the glass, the shadow of her face framed by a pale lamp within. She didn’t notice him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew he was out there, watching.

Minutes passed, and when the door opened fully, she stepped back out into the rain.

Snow was already in motion before she could walk past him. He stood in her way just as she took the first step out from the shop’s awning.

The rain fell heavier now, a sheet of cold slicing down between them. When Coriolanus reached her, the girl’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing with mistrust, fury rippling in her gaze. The girl had fire in her—he could feel it even at this distance, burning in the depths of her stare. He hadn’t expected anything less, but it intrigued him, nonetheless.

“Miss,” he said, slow and low, as if she were a wild thing that might bolt at the wrong move. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

He didn’t move.

“I wasn’t startled,” she said finally, her voice flat, as if dismissing him entirely.

“Then I’m lucky,” he replied, voice smooth but carrying just enough warmth. “I would’ve hated to be mistaken for a threat.”

Her eyes flickered toward his, full of disdain. She looked at him like he already was a threat, and maybe he was—just by virtue of who he was and what he represented.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, broken only by the persistent drumming of rain against rusted gutters. The atmosphere hung between them like a palpable tension, his every breath carefully measured as he assessed her, the girl who hadn’t yet run but hadn’t given in, either.

After a beat, she shifted, seemingly weighing the risk of staying against the discomfort of speaking. Her fingers flexed against the fabric of her coat, as though preparing for something—anything. “Is there a reason you’re standing here?” she asked, her voice as biting as the cold wind.

“Yes,” he said, without missing a beat. “You.”

She blinked, startled by his directness. Once. Twice. “What?”

He let a small smile curl at the edge of his mouth—slow and deliberate, just enough to be disarming, though he could feel the storm still raging behind her eyes. “Forgive me. That sounded worse than I meant.”

“I doubt that,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut.

He chuckled, genuinely. It was rare for him to laugh like that, but there was something about her that drew it out of him. “And you have teeth.”

“Sharp ones,” she replied, her tone deadly serious.

He believed her. But that only made him more intrigued.

“I’m Coriolanus Snow,” he said, testing the waters, hoping for some crack in her walls.

She didn’t blink, but her jaw tightened. “I don’t care.”

“Not even a little?” he asked, leaning in slightly, trying to bait her. He wanted to see her crack—just a little.

She didn’t respond right away. Her eyes flicked away, scanning the wet street beyond them, as if she might find an escape route.

“I don’t like Peacekeepers,” she said, her words cold and final.

Coriolanus held her gaze, unflinching. “I’m not like the others.”

She scoffed, the sound like gravel scraping against metal. “They all say that.”

“Fair,” he admitted, his tone light despite her venom. But then, he saw it—just the slightest shift in her eyes. Maybe it was the smallest trace of curiosity, maybe confusion. But he’d seen that look before in others. It meant he had her attention, if only for a moment.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice suspicious, but almost weary.

“Nothing,” he said, his words steady. “Except maybe your name.”

She paused. He could almost feel her deliberation—whether to deny him, to walk away with the last of her pride intact, or to give him something, even if it was just a name. “Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above the storm.

It felt like a rush of heat inside him, though he could never explain why. He shouldn’t feel that way—he had no right to. But hearing her name, in this quiet moment between the two of them, felt like theft. Like something he shouldn’t have.

He held her gaze a beat longer before speaking again. “I’m sorry about what happened to your father.”

“I don’t care that you do,” she snapped, the words biting like a lash. But there was something in her voice, a crack in the ice, as if his mentioning her father had touched a deeper place.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” she cut him off, her tone harsh and unforgiving. There it was again—the bitterness, the wound that would never heal. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the air between them. She would never forget.

More silence. Longer this time. She shifted again, her eyes looking away first, searching the rain for something—anything—to break the tension between them.

“I need to get home,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Let me walk you,” he said before he could stop himself. It was an offer, not a request.

“No,” she said, her voice firm, refusing him instantly.

“I insist,” he pressed, even though he knew it was futile. She wouldn’t go with him. Not yet. But he needed her to understand—he wasn’t leaving without some kind of answer, no matter how small.

“I don’t care,” she replied, her words heavy with finality.

The wind picked up, sending sheets of rain sideways, soaking them both in an instant. She cursed softly, pulling her coat tighter around her. In that moment, something inside him shifted, something unexpected, and he shrugged off his coat. It was a gesture—an offer, perhaps more than he’d intended, but one he couldn’t quite stop himself from making.

“I’m not taking anything from a Peacekeeper,” she said, her voice resolute, eyes fixed on his coat like it was poison.

“It’s not a Peacekeeper’s coat,” he said with a shrug, his voice low, attempting to make the offer sound casual, though he was painfully aware of the weight of it. “It’s mine.”

She stared at him, long and hard, the rain still pouring, her body frozen in indecision. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away, shoulders squared and determined, the wet fabric of her coat clinging to her as she faded into the downpour.

He didn’t follow this time. Not immediately. But he would.

Oh, he would.

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Author’s Notes: this story has been an idea in my head for over a year so i’m really excited to finally share it with the world!! i would love to know what you guys think so far xx

#the hunger games #thg series #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #hunger games fandom #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #bookworm #tumblr fyp #fyp #fypツ #fanfic

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7s3ven · 11 months ago

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GOOD LUCK, BABE! coriolanus snow + lucy gray

IN WHICH… coriolanus snow is obsessed with a girl from the Academy and goes to great lengths to keep her to himself.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night. With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife.”

Warnings/notes (woah, that’s a lot) : LONGGG oneshot, lucy gray x fem! reader mentioned, bisexual reader (closeted), bisexual lucy gray, possessiveness (coriolanus), snake and song bird spoilers, not rlly following plot, differing details, y/n’s family is distantly related to the romanovs, angst, death of a baby, dark, abuse, mentions of murder, mainly in coryo’s POV, mentions of attempted suicide, messy marriage, medicated pills, anxiety mention, mental health issues mentioned, some manipulation

A/N: I tried to search something up for this BUT I ACCIDENTALLY SEARCHED “DARK DAYS CANNABIS”

—

Coriolanus Snow had been brought up in a wealthy family within the Capitol. At least, they were rich. They lost their status and money during the Dark Days when his father was killed in the war.

Coryo could still remember what he had witnessed. The blood spilt, the weapons raised, and the hunger. The hunger that got so extreme for some people that they resorted to a barbaric crime. He could still remember seeing a man carve off the leg of a maid. The visions engraved into his mind kept his awake at night, which was obnoxious when he was trying to sleep between the hours he spent studying.

Tonight would be different, though. He had received an invitation to a party, courtesy of his friends who had snuck his name to the host. They all thought he was as equally as rich when in reality, he didn’t even have a speck of dirt to his name.

Coryo arrived at the large mansion in his usual appearance; his dark eye bags concealed, perfectly styled blond hair, and pale skin which victorians would have killed for. Even with ghostly hued skin, Corio knew he was attractive. He saw the way girls eyes him up and down like he was a piece of meat. He felt slightly disgusted by them but he enjoyed the attention they gave him.

The ball room of the mansion was practically glittering as he stepped in, his gaze wandering over numerous expensive paintings and architect features fit for a Roman king.

His friends hadn’t given him much information as to who the host actually was but he instantly knew.

Y/N L/N was a year older than him and studied at the Academy too. She was due to start the University next year. That was really all Corio knew about Y/N L/N. Her family carefully planned what details they shared with the public, which admittedly weren’t many to begin with.

Coryo knew the L/N’s managed to stay on top, even during the Dark Days, but he always wondered how. He didn’t even register how Y/N L/N was walking towards him until she tapped his shoulder, charmingly smiling like she did to all her guests, yet it made Coryo feel special. Like that tilted grin was reserved for him.

“Coriolanus Snow, so glad you could make it.” Y/N uttered.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Coryo repeated his practised script that he had prepared. He wasn’t a very social person but he knew somewhat befriending Y/N would have its benefits in the future.

She was wealthy, well-known, and clearly the favourite of various professors at the Academy. Crossing the wrong path with her was asking for a death sentence.

“Allow me to show you around, Coriolanus. It’s the least I can do for someone as important as you. My condolences to your father as well.”

Coryo felt a bitter feeling well up in his throat. His father had given their family a prestigious title, without him and his money, they were nothing. He kept up with the facade, revealing how broke he truly was would only make him an outcast.

“You must be excited about the 10th Hunger Games offer.” Y/N spoke to make small talk as she guided Coryo through the building, occasionally pausing to explain something. “You were chosen as a mentor, were you not?”

“Yes. I was. For District Twelve.” Coryo responded. He saw Y/N visibly scrunch up her nose. District Twelve was infamous for being poor and weak, the runt of litter. Their profession was gathering coal but they didn’t have the glamor other Districts had. That’s what made them so unlikable. “If I remember correctly, were you not also given an offer to become a mentor?” He questioned.

“I turned it down. I am far too busy with my studies as I am. I do not have the spare time to mentor some kid who will only disappoint me.”

Y/N spoke with harsh and blunt words, but she wasn’t wrong. In the end, there could only be one victor and the odds of that was 1 out of 12.

“Nevertheless, Dr Gaul has still given me permission to see the tributes after they are chosen.” Y/N had always been curious, even when it didn’t serve her. The fear of missing out drove her forward.

Y/N stopped in front of a large painting, gazing up at it. “The Romanovs.” She stated. Everybody knew how the L/N’s were distantly related to the Russian family, they bragged about it at every party. They, or rather Y/N’s father, was also convinced that they were related to Julius Caesar. “I keep telling my mother to take the painting down and let the Romanovs rest in peace, but he refuses.”

Y/N resumed walking, leasing Coryo down a dim hallway. The lights flickered and although Coryo was not one to get scared, the eyes of the paintings that lined the walls made him uneasy.

“This is the room with the best view.” Y/N said as she unlocked a door and gently pushed it open. It creaked and Y/N immediately strode forward. Coryo adjusted his tie and followed her. Without a word, Y/N opened the doors leading to the balcony and showed Coryo a small smile.

She motioned for him to look. The garden was lit up with different coloured lights swirling around. Joyful music was playing and Coryo could hear the sound of laughter over it.

“How stunning.” He piped up, gaze raking over the various guests below. “For a moment, I thought you were going to murder me when you took me down that corridor.” That was his sorry excuse for a joke. Nevertheless, Y/N quietly laughed.

“We can never seem to get those lights to work.” She explained. “Shall we return back to the party? Your friends must have arrived by now.”

Coryo only nodded his head. He trailed behind Y/N through the twists and turns of the mansion, listening to the faint noise of classical music and Y/N’s heels clicking against the tiled floor.

“It was lovely speaking with you, Coriolanus.” Y/N nodded her head in acknowledgement as they returned to the glittering ballroom.

“My friends call me Coryo.” He said out of instinct, forgetting who he was talking to. Y/N L/N was not his friend. She was an acquaintance, a companion, somebody Coryo should be associated with but could never be friends with. She didn’t have friends, she had people who benefited her.

“I look forward to our next conversation, Coriolanus.” As expected, Y/N ignored his nickname offer. She smiled as she subtly established that they were not friends.

Coryo returned her polite smile. “Me too, Y/N. Enjoy your party.” He watched as Y/N walked towards her school companions, greeting them. Her small yet exclusive group consisted of only the best people. There was another heiress, two military leaders’ sons, and a few more spoiled girls.

Coryo found his eyes glued to Y/N as he stood in a corner, leaning his back against a stable pillar. If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, he would have missed the looks one of the girls gave Y/N and how she subtly reached for Y/N’s hand every five minutes to brush against it then draw back.

This caused Coryo to raise an eyebrow. He knew the look of a crush, all the girls in his year looked at him with lovestruck eyes of awe. This girl, who he identified as a mayor’s daughter, was nothing better. Coryo wondered if Y/N even noticed. She seemed oblivious as she conversed with a boy across from her about what seemed like serious matters. Coryo saw the strain in Y/N’s jaw and the furrow in the boy’s brows.

Y/N L/N fascinated him and despite all of Coryo’s instincts to look past whatever effect she had on him, he could not ignore his burning curiosity.

—

The next time Y/N and Coryo spoke was at the Academy after the tributes had been chosen. Coryo was on his way to greet his tribute from Distract Twelve, a brunette girl going by the name of Lucy Gray Baird, when Y/N called out for him.

“Coriolanus!” She exclaimed, excusing herself from her conversation with the same boy from the party and a girl in Coryo’s class. “Are you going to pick up your tribute?” Y/N asked as she got closer to him. She said it like the District Twelve girl was nothing more than a pet. Though, in the capital’s eyes, she was below the status of a pet.

“Yes. Would you like to accompany me?” Coryo knew what Y/N wanted so he gave her the offer before she could ask. Despite the shining excitement in her eyes, Y/N only faintly smiled.

“Yes please.” She calmly answered. Coryo stuck out his arm for Y/N to grasp, a sign of politeness. Having done this many times, Y/N snaked her hand around his bicep, lightly gripping it.

“How was the party?” Y/N questioned, tilting her head to the side. “I hope it wasn’t too boring for someone like you.”

Coryo’s jaw clenched but he made sure not to show it. Y/N was above him, he knew. It was common knowledge to him. And although Y/N didn’t know the truth, she thought she was superior. She’d be surprised when she found out she actually was.

“It was all about politics. If I had known you were going to show up, I would have invited more people with similar interests to you.” Y/N smiled, searching for a sign that she was getting under Coryo’s skin.

He simply shook his head. “I am invested in politics, though I do not show it. Many of my classmates favor the government running currently whereas I oppose them. They are relentlessly taxing us only to give our hard-earned money to those who do not deserve it.”

There was a hum of slightly approval from Y/N. “I am glad you agree with my opinion. Many of my companions are blind-sighted as well.”

That was the end of their conversation.

Coryo fidgeted with the long-stemmed white rose he held in his free hand, a gift Tigris had urged him to give his tribute. There was no one else at the train station save for the pair. Y/N’s grip on Coryo’s arm never wavered as the hot sun beat down on them.

“They never manage to keep the trains on schedule.” Y/N stated with a small sigh as she broke away from Coryo to sit on a nearby bench. It was then that Coryo noticed she was not in her Academy uniform.

She was dressed in a solid black skirt, a fitted white blouse, and a slightly cropped black blazer with golden buttons. Coryo’s gaze lowered to the pretty bow that was tied around her collar then to her Mary Jane heels.

The pair waited an hour before Y/N let out an exasperated sigh and quickly stood up. “I’m getting a drink. Would you care for one?”

“Black coffee, please. No sugar or cream. Thank you.” Coryo replied. He liked his coffee bitter.

“Of course.” Y/N walked off to find the nearest coffee shop, which wasn’t far. It was just down the road. Coryo tapped his foot, waiting for Y/N to return.

When he heard the sound of her heels against the stone, he turned his head.

“Still no train arrival?” She asked as she handed Coryo his steaming coffee. She held an iced tea in her hand, taking short sips occasionally.

Another hour passed.

Sweat trickled down Coryo’s back.

Y/N had walked off again, this time to get pastries. She dropped a paper bag into Coryo’s lap, smiling. “I thought you’d be hungry since all you have is that rose. I don’t think it’d be very tasty.”

Y/N bounced her leg as she leaned back, resting against the wall behind her.

The minutes crawled by like snails. It was painful to wait.

Y/N’s eyelids began to droop, no doubt tired from staying up all night to study. Coryo was struggling to stay awake too, the heat of the sun beating down on him.

His head tilted to the side, feeling heavy, before it accidentally landed on Y/N’s shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes were closed. She made no move to shake Coryo off, which made him conclude that she had fallen asleep.

Coryo let his eyes close for a split second. He didn’t expect to fall asleep. The next time he opened his eyes was when he heard the loud train whistle. The short train screeched to a sudden halt. It sat there for twenty minutes without assistance until a peacekeeper unlocked the chains and banged on the door with his baton, yelling at the tributes.

Y/N was the first to stand up. She watched as the tributes were harshly dragged out of the first cart. There was a furrow in her brow as the peacekeeper yanked a pale-skinned girl out, causing her to fall. The poor girl barely caught herself with her bound hands.

The peacekeepers banged at the door, shouting threats at the reluctant tributes. Coryo hesitated to move so Y/N plucked the rose out of his hand, sparing him small teasing smile.

“Hurry up, Coriolanus.” She whispered. Y/N strode towards Lucy Gray, whose eyes were glued to her. Coryo watched as Y/N paused in front of Lucy Gray. The brunette’s head was tilted up as she softly gazed at Y/N.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Y/N greeted the brunette, holding out the white rose. Coryo wasn’t far behind Y/N. His hands lingered on her shoulders as she stared at Lucy Gray.

“Are you my mentor?” The District Twelve girl asked.

“Unfortunately not. Coriolanus here is your mentor.” Y/N said. Coryo saw Lucy Gray’s shoulders slump. She had been hoping for Y/N to be her mentor. “I best get back to the Academy. I have some work to do.” Y/N turned her head to speak to Coryo. “Lovely meeting you.” She politely smiled at Lucy Gray.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asked as she played with the rose in her hands, referring to Y/N who had hurried off.

“No.” Coryo answered a little too quickly. “I’m Coriolanus Snow. Nice to meet you, Lucy Gray.”

—

Whenever Coryo went to visit Lucy Gray, Y/N would join him. Her arm was always wrapped around Coryo yet she spoke to Lucy Gray more than she spoke to him. Coryo was starting to think Y/N was only tagging along to see the District Twelve girl.

Coryo couldn’t help but let his gaze dart between the two girls who were locked in a laughter-filled conversation, separated by bars. Coryo could recognise the look of wonder in Lucy Gray’s eyes when she looked at Y/N but he clenched his jaw when Y/N started smiling at her more than him.

He was a better fit for the L/N heiress. Lucy Gray was merely a district girl, nothing more than that. She could never give Y/N what Coryo could. Coryo could make her dreams come true while Lucy Gray would only destroy them.

Soon enough, Y/N started visiting Lucy Gray without Coryo. He watched from a distance, tapping his foot in annoyance. Lucy Gray wasn’t even worth worrying about because Y/N was still loyal to her duty. As the only child of the L/N Family, it was her duty to continue the legacy. That started with marrying someone worthy, which Lucy Gray was far from.

Y/N wasn’t allowed to visit Lucy Gray before the Hunger Games started, so she passed on a message through Coryo.

“She says good luck.” Coryo uttered. He didn’t need to specify who the message was from, Lucy Gray already knew. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Coryo said as he handed Lucy Gray another white rose. He eagerly watched as she smelled the rose which carried the scent of Y/N’s perfume to conceal the poison he had added.

He had grown infatuated with Y/N over time and he was determined to get to her before Lucy Gray, even if that meant slipping small doses of poison to her, which wasn’t enough to kill her but it would hinder her senses.

Despite wanting to prove his fellow mentors wrong because he was naturally competitive, Coryo was still clinging to a bit of hope that Lucy Gray would be eliminated early on during the game. She was not.

Coryo almost wanted to send a drone at her himself.

Y/N always stood beside him, not minding how Coryo laced his hands with hers. She was far too focused on the screen whenever Lucy Gray appeared on it.

Despite secretly rooting against Lucy Gray, he couldn’t help but be stunned when her singing lulled the snakes. They didn’t attack her, which made Coryo’s eyes narrow. He glanced at Y/N, who was subtly fidgeting. Clearly, she had used some sort of tactic to make the snakes docile only to Lucy Gray.

“She won.” Y/N whispered as all but one of the tributes were finally eliminated. “She won. Stop the games.” But nobody moved. “She’s won. Let her out!” Murmurs arose as Y/N’s voice rose in volume. She tugged on Coryo’s sleeve.

“Let her out. She’s the victor.” Coryo repeated Y/N’s words as he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. It fell, creating a loud clanging noise.

“Lucy!” Y/N exclaimed as the brunette girl exited the broken down arena. She hugged Lucy Gray while Coryo lingered behind, far enough to not understand what Lucy Gray was whispering to Y/N.

“Y/N, you have to run away with me. Please. It’s not safe for you here. You may think you know these people but you don’t. He’s going to kill you one day or another.” Lucy Gray gripped Y/N tightly, begging her. She saw the darkness in Coryo, even if nobody else could.

“Good job.” Coryo said as he walked closer, interrupting Lucy Gray. He pat her on the back but the gesture felt almost like a warning. Before their conversation could continue further, Y/N heard her father call out her name.

Lucy Gray’s victory would ensure Coryo the Plinth Prize, making him realize that maybe Lucy Gray surviving wasn’t such a bad thing after all. The rewards, however, were short-lived when Coryo was accused of cheating by Dean Highbottom. Of course, it wasn’t him, it was Y/N. But Coryo would never admit that.

He was given two options. Either enrol as a peacekeeper or be exposed. He had to choose the first to escape being disgraced. He had clawed his way to the top with what little he had and he’d rather die than let go of it.

Lucy Gray and Y/N had long split ways but Coryo saw the way she searched for the brunette in every crowd. He knew they exchanged letters. He knew everything about Y/N, not because he was a creepy stalker but because Y/N willingly shared information.

Coryo knew her favorite color, her favorite pair of shoes, her favourite skirt.

He knew how she hated drinking a carbonated beverage after eating spice.

He knew Y/N down to every minor detail. All her hobbies, all the useless details she spilled to him, all her dark secrets.

He knew she had blood on her hands, having killed during the Dark Days out of pure necessity after being attacked.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself? There’s no maids to do your bidding.” Y/N adjusted Coryo’s shirt out of instinct.

“I’ll be fine.” He reassured her for the seventh time just as he had done with Tigris.

“No offence, Coriolanus, but you don’t belong out there. I give it three months tops before you lose your mind.” Y/N joked. He quietly laughed, tapping her chin. He would have grabbed it and kissed Y/N if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was hopelessly in love with a district girl.

Coryo knew that until Lucy Gray was out of the picture for good, Y/N would never kiss him back.

“I’ll write to you.” Coryo said, determined to overflow Y/N’s mailbox with letters from him instead of Lucy Gray.

“Good luck, Coryo. I’ll be here waiting for you. And tell her I say hi.”

Coryo nodded. He refused to relay the message but Y/N didn’t need to know that. Coryo planned to make Lucy Gray believe Y/N had forgotten her. He didn’t care what he had to do; steal Lucy Gray’s mail, whisper fake words to her, even forge a letter. He’d do it all to ensure Y/N was his to keep.

Days as a peacemaker weren’t easy. Despite having more food than he had in the Capitol, the work was laborious. Coryo didn’t even get a chance to stumble into Lucy Gray. He was losing his mind, just like Y/N predicted. He might’ve committed suicide if it hadn’t been for Sejanus Plinth, his good friend from the Academy, suddenly showing up.

The twisted events after Sejanus’ arrival shook Coryo. He had found Lucy Gray with her old lover, Billy Taupe, constantly trailing behind her. She sang at a bar of sorts, her voice echoing off the walls. Coryo had attended one of her performances for Y/N’s sake, not expecting Lucy Gray’s song to feel so targeting.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night.” Lucy Gray locked eyes with Coryo as she sang, making him feel a little uncomfortable. He had a theory as to who this song was based around. “With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife. And when you think about me, all of those years ago, you're standing face to face with I told you so.”

To make matters even worse, Sejanus was acting rather suspicious, always whispering with Billy Taupe like they were planning something. Coryo’s suspicion was proven true when Sejanus revealed his plan to flee North.

The first to die was Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter who had stumbled across a meeting and threatened to rat them out. Coryo had shot her.

And when Billy Taupe threatened to shoot Lucy Gray, Spruce shot him.

Sejanus was next, hung for treason and rebellion. Coryo could still hear the jabberjays repeating his last words, driving him insane. He still had one more person to deal with before he could be transported to District Two for elite training. And that was none other than Lucy Gray. As long as her name existed, Y/N would never truely be Coryo’s.

Lucy Gray escaped the bullets shot at her but Coryo knew she wouldn’t dare return. All he had to do now was wipe away her existence, brushing her off as a mere ghost.

Coryo returned to Panem crueler than he had left. The bloody stains on his hands deepened in color as he secretly poisoned Dean Highbottom, only adding to his rising kill count.

He had created the life he knew he deserved. He was powerful, respected, and known so it was not a surprise when the L/N’s reached out to him with an offer for an arranged marriage. Y/N never spoke about it to him but he knew she would prefer him over a complete stranger.

It was late at night when there was an abrupt knock on the door. Coryo had just gotten back from a long day of studying, barely having the chance to pull his long coat off. He slowly opened the door, peeking past the smooth wood to see who was outside. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw Y/N. She had a bleeding head, blood dripping from the various cuts on her face.

“Can I come in?” She asked but Coryo was already stepping aside and opening the door wider.

“Sorry if the house is messy. We’re renovating.” He lied through his teeth as he pressed a cool towel to Y/N’s head to stop the stinging.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” She replied. Y/N didn’t even need to think to assume that Coryo was telling the truth. She believed every lie he carefully fed her.

“I always thought I lived in a house with an angry man… turns out it was my mother.” Y/N uttered, leaning against Coryo for support. It was no secret that Y/N’s mother was anything but kind. She pushed Y/N and her father past their limits.

And she always blamed Y/N for what seemed like the fun of it. The fights were usually only verbal but it had gotten of hand this time and shards of glass were now embedded into Y/N’s skin.

Coryo didn’t sleep much that night, too busy overlooking Y/N’s condition. She was bruised and battered, it had taken an hour to pull the shards of glass out even with Tigris’ help. Y/N was sleeping soundly now, her hand wrapped around Coryo’s wrist to comfort herself.

Lucy Gray couldn’t hurt him anymore. He had gotten what he wanted and he refused to let go of it until his dying breath.

Their wedding was grand and over the top, regarded as Panem’s greatest event. Coryo made sure the wedding distracted Y/N from thinking about Lucy Gray, which he knew she did. He would catch her reading their old letters which she kept hidden in a box. Y/N was under the impression that Lucy Gray had fled somewhere so nobody could find her. Of course, that was a letter orchestrated by Coryo.

With Coryo working alongside the Gamemakers and becoming a favoured candidate for presidency and Y/N’s position as a revered lawyer, the couple lived a good life. Coryo would never again know poverty and hunger. He would never have to eat those awful Lima beans again.

Coryo was so focused on his future and keeping his life the way it was now that he failed to notice the cracks in his marriage until he and Y/N no longer ate in the same room or spent any time together. Yet even then, he barely acknowledged it, his ambition pushing him forward.

Every word he uttered to Y/N was laced with poison, for he was beginning to resent her. She made him vulnerable and weak, the two flaws Coryo hated the most.

Their house was no longer happy, it felt like walking on eggshells and thin ice. Every week was filled with a new argument. Perhaps Y/N was starting to loathe him too because she never spoke when he was around, only sending him a harsh glare.

“You remind Lady Snow of her mother.” One of the many maids spoke as she adjusted Coryo’s pillow. He had fallen ill but Y/N never visited him. He could see why now.

Y/N hated her mother after the night she had thrown a vase at her head. She had married Coryo to get away from her mother, yet another version of abuse continued to plague her.

It was about a year after their marriage when Y/N became pregnant.

Coryo was still hard at work with his new job of president, which stressed both him and Y/N. Y/N was expected to be the perfect wife in front of other political women; never mad, never sad, never showing any emotion. It got to the point that she had to take prescribed medicine to calm down her rising anxiety.

Coryo was often out late, leaving Y/N to tend to the house and everything else herself. She ate dinner alone, looked at her work documents alone, slept alone. It felt like her husband was no longer in her life because he left early in the morning and never returned until midnight.

Sometimes she’d stay up just to feel the mattress dip as Coryo climbed into bed, his hand resting on Y/N’s waist for a split second before he retracted.

She often found herself waking up at three in the morning, haunted by nightmares of Lucy Gray. Y/N placed her head in her hands like she always did, letting a shaky breath pass her lips. Lucy Gray was right, she was nothing more than Coryo’s wife, if she was even that to him now.

Y/N was, to put it lightly, exhausted in every aspect a person could be. Her numerous medicated pills prescribed to her for various mental issues were giving her a headache and she couldn’t even recall the last time she had spoken to Coryo. She thought that since she and Coryo had gotten along so well before his peacekeeping training that their marriage would be similar to that. But it seems something in District Twelve had changed him for the worst.

“How is my baby?” Y/N asked the doctor, her hands clasp together on her lap. “You said last time he was doing good. How is he now?” She softly smiled, something she hadn’t done in a while. When the doctor hesitated, her smile faltered. “He’s still doing good… right?”

The doctor silently removed his glasses. “I’m sorry.” He uttered, shaking his head.

The death of her baby was all her fault. It was the pills and the constant stress no doubt. Y/N walked through the street, feeling numb. She crashed into various people but she couldn’t hear their angry shouts, the ringing in her ears was too loud.

She returned back to the house, fully prepared to lock herself in her room and break down. Maybe even take all her pills in a desperate attempt to join her baby. She wasn’t expecting Coriolanus Snow, her absent husband, to be perched on the sofa with a wad of newspaper in his hands.

“How was your appointment?” Coryo questioned as he flipped the page of his newspaper, not bothering to look up at his wife. This was the first time he had spoken to her in a week. He hardly ever came out of his room to eat with her anymore.

When there was no reply, that was when Coryo finally lifted his head to glance at his wife’s tear-stained face. His gaze studied her blood-shot eyes, her trembling lip, and the way she held a hand over her belly like she was trying to protect the baby. He pieced it all together.

“The baby…” Y/N muttered, pausing her words as she took a shaky step forward. She barely caught herself. “It…”

She didn’t have to continue before Coryo quickly stood up, casting his now abandoned newspaper to the side. His eyes were cold and unwavering and for a minute, Y/N thought he was going to strike her for being so careless of his heir. She flinched as he took quick strides towards her, expecting a slap.

“The baby… the doctors said it…” She couldn’t say it, she refused to say it. She had one job; take care of a baby and she failed at that.

Coryo didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Y/N’s shaking form. It was the first time he had hugged her in months, maybe even years. Y/N couldn’t quite remember.

“We’ll try again.” Coryo spoke as Y/N finally allowed herself to break down in his arms. He held her like he used to before their marriage became a mess. She missed the feeling of his arms around her. She missed him.

Coryo could feel Y/N’s tears wet his shirt and her sobs rack her body. He pressed a hesitant kiss to her head. “We’ll try again when you recover from this… I’ll give you the daughter you’ve always wanted.”

THG TAG LIST (comment to be added) : @bianca4ukiss

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