#coryo x reader

Even though the door shut quietly, you still woke up, humming and stretching where you were laying on the sofa. Turning onto your side, you settled back in, still sleepy. It was late; you fell asleep in front of the television.

A warm palm found your face, and you leaned into it, half sure you were dreaming. When you opened your eyes, Coriolanus was there, watching you with soft eyes. "Sweetheart."

His hands were smooth. You had only ever known them as a place to rest your cheek. "Coryo."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "You're tired."

"Mhm." Your eyes widened suddenly, and you struggled to sit up. "Your interview. I slept through it."

"Shh." He soothed you with a hand on your back, bringing you forward to rest on his shoulder. Before he came over, he must have removed his suit jacket. You twisted your arms around him and yawned into his neck. Coriolanus kissed the side of your head and smoothed his fingers up your back. "It's alright. You didn't miss anything.

"I meant to stay up for it," you said, brow furrowing.

He reached up to smooth it out. "I wouldn't want you to watch it anyways."

He must be tired too. His voice was heavier than usual, and his arms were tight around your middle. You pulled back, searching his eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course." Even if it was a bandaid over a snake bite, he wouldn't let on. You squinted at him and he smoothed your hair, your eyes growing heavy again. "We'll talk about it later. After you've gotten more rest."

"You need rest," you repeated, and he chuckled lightly.

"Arms around my neck. Yes, just like that." He lifted you into his arms, adjusting the strap of your nightdress when it fell off your shoulder. "Just close your eyes. We're going to go to bed."

"I want to hear 'bout it," you insisted, fingering his collar. "Please?"

"In the morning," he promised, "I'll tell you everything you want to know." When he laid you down on the bed, you stretched out, arms falling above your head. "I'll be right back. Do you think you can manage getting under the covers?"

You giggled, nodding. "I can do it." Coriolanus left you with a kiss on the forehead and you wiggled up to tuck yourself in. Closing your eyes, it felt like seconds before the mattress dipped and he was arranging himself around you.

"I thought you'd fall asleep," he muttered into your hair.

"Waited for you."

"Very generous." Coriolanus latched his arm around your front. "Now will you rest?"

"Don't know why you want me to sleep," you mumbled, arching into him, stretching. "I don't even do anything."

"You do plenty. Exactly what I want you to do." He rubbed your side, and you slumped into your pillow. "Just rest, sweetheart. You have nothing to worry about."

It was easy to believe him.

When you got up to get your breakfast tray, he was still passed out. It was hard to get him to sleep at all, let alone for this long. Settling beside him in bed with your trays at the end, you leaned against the headboard with his newspaper. Knowing him, he would probably wake in a few minutes, so you would wait to eat.

Unfolding the paper, you smoothed it down on your lap, surveying the black and white pictures. One of Coriolanus caught your eye, and you traced your finger to the story. One about the interview, so the headline said. Perking up, you settled in and started reading. At least if you knew what he was being interviewed about, then you would know what questions to ask.

Skimming, you searched for anything that would allude to his mysterious mood last night. When you read your name, you stopped and began to read.

The president's wife is not-so-secretly a sore topic among many high profile Capitolites. Snow has been criticized for her seemingly inappropriate behavior at her few public appearances. Several of her peers in high society have disclosed her too-sunny behavior, as well as her charity work, deemed unclean and unnecessary.

You frowned, pausing and mentally skimming over your work from the past few months. Attending the new theater and donating a large sum to the performing arts department, re-visiting the animal shelter where you adopted Fish, announcing a grant for scholarships to the university. Was any of it inappropriate? You thought Coriolanus would have told you if it was. He was very concerned with public image. Shrugging, you kept reading.

The tipping point in the media came recently, when Mrs. Snow attended a gala alongside the president. An inside source mocked her public display of affection toward President Snow. She was holding his hand throughout the night, even leaning her head on his shoulder at one point. The insider claimed the couple left the room at one point and when they returned, her makeup was smudged. What were they doing while they were missing for nearly fifteen minutes? We may never know.

The source detailed Mrs. Snow's conversation throughout the night too, her unnecessary showing off. "She's trying to seem smart," they said, rolling their eyes. "It's pointless, really. We all know why President Snow married her-"

You put the paper down. There was a horrible gnawing feeling in your chest threatening to overtake the rest of you. Folding your legs into your chest, you tried to will the tears pricking your eyes away. Was this really what everyone thought of you? That you were an empty headed socialite who spent all of your husband's money? Sniffling, you hid your face in your knees.

When Coriolanus began to stir next to you, you gritted your teeth, hoping your eyes weren't red. The door creaked open, and you looked up in time to see Fish strut inside, making his way to your side of the bed. You petted him when he sprang up, silky fur grounding you. Fish had seen you cry the most out of anybody in your life, and he never made you feel bad for it.

Coriolanus reached across your thighs, rubbing you slightly as he sat up. "Good morning, darling." He smoothed his hair back, the messy wave you loved. You brushed your cheeks with your fingers, making sure there weren't any stray tears.

"Morning." You turned to face him on your side, smiling softly. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well." He cupped your cheek, looking over you like you were a goddess. "You?"

"Good." His pleased nod lit your candle. You pulled the covers over your shoulders, burrowing back into bed. "I'm sleepy still."

Sitting up against the headboard, Coriolanus opened his arm. "Come rest while we eat breakfast." He spotted the paper on your lap. "Were you reading that?"

"Uh, just a little." You shrugged, pushing it away. "Nothing good."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Anything about last night?"

"No!" Your answer came too quickly. Your husband reached for the paper, still open on the story about his interview.

He went quiet as he read, and you curled into yourself, face going hot. "It's nothing, Coryo. Nothing."

When he looked at you again, he was sharp. "How much of this did you read?" You folded your lips together and a fire lit in his eyes. "I have a call to make."

"Coryo." You sprang up, shaking your head. "It's fine."

"Nothing about this is fine." His voice could cut steel. "Printing lies about the president's wife when I specifically told them last night to cut the questions I refused to answer is punishable."

"They asked you about me?" You covered your cheeks with your hands, feeling too hot all of the sudden. It was mortifying, the thought of him being asked about you with the connotations the article implied.

He softened as he looked at you. "Sweetheart, it isn't your fault."

"Coryo, everything they said-"

"None of it is true. You know how the gossip rags are." He took your wrists, pulling your hands down. "You have done nothing wrong. People jump to conclusions and make things up because they're bored."

"Coryo, they talk about when we stepped out," you said, tears burning your eyes again. "They thought we were-"

"We know we weren't." He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. "You were overwhelmed, and you needed a few minutes. I won't let what people say stop us from doing it again."

"After all this time, I'm still not used to these events." You felt tired. "If people are going to think we're being crude when we step out, I'll just deal with it. If they think I'm spending all your money on bags and shoes or trying to get a tax break, then I'll stop going out."

"No, you won't." Coriolanus thumbed a tear that slipped down your cheek. "You aren't going to stop doing anything you love doing. We're going to keep moving."

"I don't know how to do this," you said, shaking your head and hiding your face in your hands. "Coryo, I don't want to ruin your reputation. I want to be a good First Lady."

"You are a good First Lady." He took your hands from your face. "Sweetheart, you've already done more than anybody before you."

"I'm embarrassing."

"You're charming. Enchanting." He took your face in his hands, kissing your forehead. "You make me look better. People vote for me because they see you next to me."

"I'm not a good person."

"You're the best person I know." Coriolanus palmed your cheek. "I won't let anybody in the world make you feel like that again." He searched your eyes, letting it sink in. "You have no idea how much you mean, my love."

Tears pricked your eyes again, and you leaned into his shoulder. Coriolanus held you, rubbing your back. "Don't worry about anything they say. I'll take care of it."

You didn't question it, even though maybe you should have. All that mattered right now was his arms around you, his promise echoing in your ears. Fish curled up at your feet, purring like a motor. There was no doubt in the love you were surrounded by.

"I'll protect you forever," he vowed, and you could hear his heart beating into your ear. A rose that would never stop blooming.

President Snow was calculated, decisive—everything Panem needed in these trying times. And “these times”… well, they were ever-persistent.

The constant state of nature is that of every man for himself. Life without his imposed order would be solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short—he had seen it himself, lived through it and continued to take glimpses of it as he gave orders for a dozen public executions associated with any semblance of rebellion. Аll before he finished his morning coffee—еfficient, if you'd ask him. All… to be both the shield and the sword Panem needed. Because he knew how fragile peace was and how careless people could be with it, like children—forgetting that they needed to sacrifice something in order to be kept safe. 

A thankless endeavor, but he was just that type of person—he'd tell himself as he secured his blood-red suit vest and affixed his white rose lapel pin. Everything meaningful was a transaction… there was nothing more real than that. Everything else—feelings of love, connection—were a mere illusion.

He definitely wasn't doing it because it stifled the anxious voices gnawing at his skull, pestering him about how unsafe and untrustworthy everything and everyone around him was. It definitely wasn’t because without control—he'd still be that scared little boy, clutching at his mother's compact and chasing ghosts in forests. 

The only thing a man truly needed was a compass, a sense of direction in the unforgiving tides of life. His father had known that well—it was the old man’s compass that had gotten him out of that forest in the first place… the forest where a naive boy died, and a surviving man was born.

As Coriolanus Snow got into the sleek, black waiting car, its windows tinted, the silent engine hum drowned out the last of his unpleasant thoughts. As the vehicle glided through the streets, he took it all in—it was his ritual to get into his headspace, supervising the territory where he hunted. 

The only thing that could throw him off-balance today was that blasted interview with the resident Capitol jester—Lucrecious “Lucky” Flickerman. Sure enough, it was all scripted—a carefully curated propaganda statement disguised as entertainment for the masses…

“Getting to know their President more intimately”—Coriolanus’ PR advisor had proposed as much. He could have declined, but… even he had to admit that it made strategic sense. “Raise the personal stakes”, that had been his motto for the Games.

Wasn’t it his ingenious idea about the viewers getting closer to the tributes that boosted ratings in the first place? Of course, a President wasn’t a mere tribute—he was the puppeteer. But if it would please the Capitol socialites, make them turn a blind eye to the needed cruelty, what would be the harm in a few rehearsed one-liners?

His blue searching eyes landed on one of the questions that, despite himself, did affect him. The one about “our devoted President’s love life”. Naturally, the drafted response was a stroke of brilliance on his part—a carefully placed redirection that would quench the thirst for gossip, but also elevated him further as a patriot.

“My true love is Panem… I just want to serve our magnificent country.”

Simple, yet effective. But the reality hung dark above him—that he hated how love had made him feel vulnerable, that he’d never allow himself to feel that way again. 

A political marriage with Livia Cardew was all that was in the cards for President Snow. Somehow that inevitability both soothed him and enraged him, making his jaw lock in tension.

He knew it would be easy with Livia—he hated her. So even if his treacherous heart sought out love after some time, he could never be manipulated in the way he had been before. But that… also left him deeply unsatisfied.

Going for her would be the easy way out, something the hurt boy in the woods should prefer—not the man who emerged after. It would give him a false sense of control, because there would be nothing to exert it over in the first place—no pushback, no personality—nothing beyond spoiled whines and an unimaginative lack of intellectual (or especially sexual) exhilaration. Just a puppet that would leech off of him, without anything in return but the “image”. 

It was hard to come to terms with it, but Coriolanus had wanted someone to call his for a long time now. Not in the puppy love way, but to own a person—body and soul and for her to want the same back. That would be the only way to ensure he wasn't abandoned again—not to love, but to possess.

Someone who would thrive under his control, someone who wanted to be told how to dress, how to look… all to please him. A woman who would flourish under his care like this, in very much the same way as his greenhouse roses did. But not someone inherently docile—a rose is all thorns until he decided exactly how much sunlight it needed. After all, he wanted to feel a sense of accomplishment, or he’d be stuck in the same Livia-esque predicament. 

A lot of his advisory senators had sugar babies… and maybe that was the exact dynamic Coriolanus needed. Someone who wanted to please him—and needed it. If he paid for all the things, he would naturally get a say in all of them. Her manicure, what she wore everyday… 

Maybe he'd commission a choker, with his initials embossed on the inside. He would ensure it was always secured tightly against the delicate skin of her neck, until his initials were so deeply imprinted there that any time she moved, she'd feel them, feel him.

The thought made his cock harden under the dress suit pants, forcing him to shift against the leather seat of the car. It was clear how much Coriolanus was already thinking about this… but if he were to do it, he needed to find someone extraordinary. He wasn't just anyone, after all—a mediocre girl just wouldn't do it. She had to be his—which meant she had to be perfect.

The Tribute Center was imposing—engineered marble walls, rising taller than anything she’d seen before… or thought possible. Used to the lowland of District Four, this grandeur was something she’d only heard in fisherfolk tales about King Trident's palace of corals—a man-made structure surely couldn't rise so high.

She had imagined this was what a small, deep-sea fish would feel like, looking up to see the water surface so far above, so unreachable. She did reach it though… here she was now, basking in the luxury that was a far cry from diving for pearls. Though she wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing…

The only source of natural light—the only authentic presence attempted to come through that glass ceiling at the topmost floor—like a keyhole of a solitary confinement cell. The overpowering humming glow of the meticulously curated artificial lights only increased the marble high-gloss sheen—as if the walls were closing in on anyone who dared stay in one place for too long. Like deepwater pressure, the shine almost physically pressed against her temples until she heard her father clear his throat ahead of her, waiting at the angular elevators.

“We have a job to do here, Adriana… stop getting lost at sea.” He commanded firmly, making her stand up straighter.

Ronan Tidewell was a strict man. That was what had earned him this position in the first place. He was missing for most of her life—a marine Peacekeeper at sea for the Capitol in Four—he would rarely come back home from longer journeys. He had spent his life guarding freighters and their demanding routes, keeping safe what would never be his to have. Adriana often attributed her mother’s tragic fate to that absence, though it may be cruel—she was just a child when the sea madness took her. The doctors said it had been some bacteria they couldn’t name or place, but a lot of residents at the Pearl Precinct died that year. It wasn’t a peaceful way to go—being chased by sea monsters in your head. Charybdis, Leviathan, Scylla—those were the names screamed at the empty dinner tables, instead of her father’s… until there was nothing left of her mother, but a shell.

He came back later, seemingly unfazed by what had befallen his family, or maybe his grief was just too great to bear. The shared loss didn't bring them closer, however—he was still chasing glory. And it came when one day Ronan simply announced that he had been promoted to personally advise and supervise the new Hunger Games arena. They needed someone with experience so that the intricate coral reef plans could be made “authentic” for the delicate socialite tastes… and who better than someone already loyal to the Capitol? If it all went perfectly, there were even talks of citizenship… but Adriana wasn’t so easily trusting of that.

“Why are we here again, Pa? Shouldn’t you be looking at the actual Arena?” she inquired as the panoramic elevators moved, making her lose her bearing for a moment. 

Ronan seized her wrist sharply like her behavior was the most grave of offences: “I thought I told you, girl. You are to call me “Father” now… none of that district nonsense.” he demanded.

Adriana simply nodded, listening to his baritone voice echo across the glass walls. His cadence had always been so like his namesake—little seal—she almost chuckled to herself.

“And if you must know, we are to inspect the training facilities first. We need to ensure the future tributes have the means to train for what is to come. It wouldn’t be conducive to entertainment if all of them go and get themselves drowned in the first few hours…” he explained, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it would be their fault for being put in such a predicament.

“W-we?” Adriana echoed. She thought she was here because her father simply didn’t trust her to remain alone in the Gamemaker housing. 

He sighed, clearly irritated—being used to soldiers who followed commands without any explanation needed, instead of having to assure his own child. “Yes. Adriana—we. I am a marine, sure enough, but you were your mother’s apprentice. A pearl diver knows the tides and the depths better than anyone. I would need your assistance in this—in testing all of the designs.” he explained, trying to be patient.

The mention of her mother made Adriana swallow hard, as if she could push down the grief that still felt fresh even after years had passed. 

She had no issue swimming and diving. In fact, she looked forward to it somewhat—a home away from home. Adraina had been chasing that feeling of letting go that she had only experienced when she would dive deep enough to feel the water embracing every fiber of her being. To most, the depths may feel like the least safe thing, but Adriana—she wanted something to devote herself to—wholly and completely. Something or someone that would call back to her and answer the songs she sang to the ocean tides…

But the way her father phrased it sounded far too surgical and the end goal… wasn't the freedom of the sea or even to just put food on the table. It was far more gruesome—and she'd be a part of it now.

Still, she just nodded: “I understand, Father, I'll do my best…” 

Adriana felt the need to finally belong somewhere, to stop feeling afraid that her own monsters might chase her one day. So she'd take it—she'd take anything if it meant not having to be alone again. If it meant finally washing ashore…

The next few days passed in a blur, until it had already been two weeks since the Tidewells' arrival in the Capitol. Getting the Training Center ready was an easy feat… it was just one large pool that would purposefully hide the main biome of the new Arena.

“They want to throw tributes off the scent.” One engineering intern had clarified when he saw Adraina curiously eyeing the climbing wall—even attempting to take a few pulls on the easier grips. That curiosity had promptly earned her a scolding from her father about how she should take care of her body or she'd prove useless in their assignment.

The intern—a boy named Lysander, who was around Adriana's age, seemed understanding of her predicament and always tried to make her feel more comfortable: “So we have a forest corner, even a tundra simulation. Of course, at the end of the day, the Gamemakers want to maximize entertainment, which means the tributes should still enter the Arena somewhat prepared. So the focus is still the oceanic biome… but they don't want it to be predictable. You mess up the bets that way.” 

The way his voice dropped and his posture stiffened at the last part gave Adriana the impression that it wasn't just a theoretical issue… and that it hadn't been taken as a small fumble. No wonder they had a new Head Gamemaker every year—it seemed one wrong step could cost you more than just a job.

“The President always points out that the Games are an exact science. A balance between hope and fear…” Rosalind chimed in as if citing some great philosopher. She was the apprentice costume designer for District Four, but her father, being none other than the glamorous Games host himself—gave her certain privileges. Adriana didn't complain at all, not that she could, but it was nice making friends when she had been afraid she might be more of an outsider. 

“You'll see though, he is supposed to supervise today's trials of the Arena water caves!” She exclaimed.

Adriana's eyes widened, the usual skip in her step slowly dying down until it jerked to an abrupt halt as the meaning of the words reached her. The discordance between Rosalind's chirpy delivery and the dread instilled in Adriana was stark. 

“Th-the President? He will… attend the session?” She repeated like a broken record, voice suddenly hoarse.

Rosalind turned around on her heels: “Well… duh! Didn't you know he used to be a Gamemaker himself? It will be so invaluable to be this close to him while he works. Lysander, come now, you know I'm right?” She enticed, dragging the boy closer to her by the arm.

“Sure, but I'd have to also agree with your weariness, little pearl.” He looked at Adriana, his warm eyes softening. That pet name, like a small nod of reassurance as he continued: “It's—well, he is ruthless. If you get too close to the fire, you end up getting burned…” he warned.

Rosalind rolled her eyes, mumbling something about cowardice and never stepping up to the challenge. But Adriana's mind was too busy running in circles—wondering what would happen, what could go wrong… will she disappoint her father? She couldn't, she mustn't—disappointment didn't just mean losing their assignment, but possibly their freedom, or lives. If a Head Gamemaker was expendable… two seafolk from Four were surely just kindling for the fire.

The hovercraft lowered in the same pattern Adriana had become accustomed to when they were descending into the Arena dome. She had learned that they now built these from scratch every year prior—only to turn them into tourist attractions once the Games were over. It had been a new idea the President proposed at the beginning of his rule— six years ago. 

Rosalind yawned, trying to pop the tension in her ears from the elevation change: “I still don't get how you are so unfazed by this every time!” She complained as if it were an unfair advantage.

“I am a diver, Rosa… the pressure change is hardly an issue when you know how to prepare.” Adriana scoffed playfully as she hauled the duffel bag with her equipment from the storage compartment above them.

“Enough messing around!” Ronan shouted, already out on solid ground, posture poised as he all but dragged his daughter out: “We are not here to dawdle—not today. You hear me, girl? Or do I have to dig out reports on what happened to the last subject matter experts who had the misfortune of disappointing President Snow?” His eyes held a raging intensity—like a whirlpool sucking in every last ounce of will from Adriana.

“N-no, Father.” she answered, her meek voice drowned out by the departing hovercraft as she clutched the strap of her bag. She hated when she'd get like this—she’d be twenty next month and still shivered like a leaf in the wind when someone raised their voice at her. 

“What was that, girl? I didn't quite hear you?!” Her father bellowed louder, gripping her wrist firmer just to prove a point. He would not be crossed… not today and he would not have his daughter appear inept.

“No, Father!” Adriana posture shifted—like a string being pulled, letting her voice ring louder from her opened chest. More of a soldier than his daughter—but Ronan appreciated discipline and nothing more.

“Adequate.” He concluded, not sparing her another glance. “Go gear up—we have to test the acoustics of the cave system today.” 

An order that made her move automatically, not because of its finality, but because it meant she got to dive away and not have to think about who was watching her. She'd get to sing and lose herself in that.

Her swimsuit was nothing special—officially issued, planned to be given to the tributes this year. The all-black material hugged her body, though she'd prefer it if she swam in just her linen wear… like she did back in Four. Adriana looked at herself in the mirror… thought for a minute or so and changed into the sheer white, unrestrictive material.

“It would ensure I can test the water flow better…” she explained to Lysander as he lifted his eyes from the report.

The truth was that she wanted to feel more in her skin—especially today. After a look of disapproval from her father that was quickly overwritten when the main engineer agreed with the argumentation, Adriana lowered herself in the crystal-like water. The feeling of the material floating had her release a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

She floated like this… for a while, looking at the artificial sky above. The pressure of the surface water breaking through her skin sent jolts of warmth through her. Then—her cue came that the command center was ready to start the tests, snapping her out of the daydream. 

The last thing Adraina saw before submerging herself in the water… were a pair of blue cold eyes, staring back at her from behind the command observatory glass screen. 

Coriolanus was in a mood today, seeing as how his last Senate meeting went. He thought about having those incompetent bastards turned into Avoxes. They didn't use their brains or their speech appropriately as it was… but they listened at least. He didn't have a problem with needing to tell them what to do—he thrived when in command. 

But unmet quotas had to wait now—the people needed their bread and circuses. The Games must go on.

Coriolanus had been too busy questioning the main engineer about the cornucopia design to notice her in the beginning… but just as he was about to raise his voice to the man again: “I do not understand if you are plain inefficient or just playing a fool. It needs to be reflective… to cause confusion!—”

—a white spec caught in the corner of his eye. His head snapped, sensing the change in the environment, even if he was behind a glass screen—he was always on high alert. 

That is when he saw her—a girl, younger than himself that much was clear… but already a woman. The way her hair floated in the water, catching in the small ripples her body caused was almost mesmerizing. Coriolanus noticed she wasn't wearing the expected swimsuit uniform… but he didn't comment on it—uncharacteristically so. 

His eyes stayed on her floating form… she looked like she had been pulled out of those Old World paintings. With that white material levitating around her, as if she were an angel on clouds. He was a man after all… his eyes did drift there—to where her nipples were now perked up by the cold temperature of the artificial pool. 

She looked so peaceful, even the signal didn't startle her as she dove. Like a siren returning to her deep waters. 

The engineer blabbered anxiously all throughout—apologizing for the design mishap. But Coriolanus just raised his hand to him, without turning to the man—his eyes now glued to the live feed of the underwater cameras. 

“That's okay… just have it fixed...” He mumbled—the words coming out mechanically. Enough to suggest he was still present, feigning interest—though his mind was already elsewhere.

Coriolanus allowed his gaze to drop only to read the reports on the prior tests—Adriana Tidewell—he had a name now… and what a fitting one for the little siren. The way she swam deeper and deeper only to suddenly emerge back to the surface had Coriolanus hypnotized. She didn't fight the water… She welcomed it as an old friend. Her movements were so graceful, one would think she was a creature brought from its depths, not one made to breathe air. Certainly not District Four's filth.

“The cave system is fully synthetic, Mister President—it would allow us to control its layout real-time. Even up to the rock roughness and density…” the engineer explained, selling himself. 

Coriolanus looked at the blueprints the man had passed him: “It would certainly allow for more fine-tuned control over the scenes that are bound to unfold there—smart.” He noted, flipping through the pages: “Innovative even, if verified properly. We certainly wouldn't want the immersion to be broken by a glitch…” 

The warning was underscored by the sound of Coriolanus dropping the papers harshly onto the console—an echo like a gunshot. Switching from cold approval to an even colder threat was a conversational art Coriolanus excelled at. It ensured no one got too comfortable in his presence… he wouldn't want his subordinates to stop surviving—it would only dull their instincts. 

The only being who'd get to stop thinking in his presence… would be his sugar baby. Because the only thing on her mind should have to be him—pleasing him, catering to him and him alone.

Coriolanus almost lost himself to the fantasy again when a hauntingly magnetic voice brought him back to the surface…

I dreamed a dream the other night Lowlands, my lowlands away I dreamed I saw my own true love He stood so still, he did not move A red, red rose my love did wear Lowlands away So bright his hair, so dim his eye I knew he'd come to say goodbye "I'm drowned in the lowland sea," he said. "Oh you and I will ne'er be wed.” "I'll never kiss you more," he said "Ne'er kiss you more, for I am dead." I will cut off my bonny hair No other man will find me fair I dreamed a dream the other night I dreamed a dream the other night

It was Adriana's… of course it was—his little siren. The microphones that carried it in the control room did no justice to the way the stone reverberated it, Coriolanus thought. The static sullied it, distorting it, yet it still sounded so melancholic. These weren't the bright or melodramatic ballads of Lucy Gray. It was true devotion—Adriana calling out for it… begging him for it, Coriolanus believed. 

The moment he turned to the screen, she had dove down back to the abyss. Minutes passed that felt like ages before Coriolanus opened his mouth: “Wh-where is she?” His voice was raw, like he had lost something that he couldn't yet reach. 

“We don't have cameras in the far corners of the system yet, mister President—” the engineer defended.

Coriolanus’ head snapped at the man's direction: “An oversight? Then again I shouldn't have expected much more from the mediocre Gamemakers this year…” 

Lysander cleared his throat from behind them in the control room: “Perhaps the President would prefer he reads the final reports. The tests here are a technicality, really. We wouldn't want your busy schedule—”

“A technicality?” Coriolanus repeated mockingly, turning slowly but never facing him: “My dear boy, nothing about the Hunger Games is a “technicality”. If you don't believe in their science, and you truly are as negligible as your words portray you to be… maybe I should have you reassigned to a more appropriate post? Or perhaps…” Coriolanus finally met the younger boy's eyes, noting the flush on his cheeks: “—it is you who doesn't want me here?” He challenged, seeing right through Lysander. 

The boy had felt protective of Adriana ever since she arrived at the Capitol—becoming quick friends over their shared curiosity of the world. She had an eye for literature, but in Four, she didn't have much access to it. So Lysander would sneak some of the classics to the Gamemaker accommodation whenever he could. 

It had become clear now to anyone who has eyes—that the President was paying special attention to her… so it was only natural that Lysander would react.

Ronan interjected—not out of interest to save the boy, but his own skin. As a subject matter expert, he had to keep things in order: “Of course not, mister President —” he squeezed Lysander's shoulder hard.

“I don't think anyone would dare suggest such a thing. Your presence here is truly an honor! My daughter and I have been nothing but grateful for the opportunity—” he continued.

Coriolanus raised his hand and the words died on Ronan's tongue: “Oh, I can imagine. Urchins from Four enjoying Capitol luxuries now…” 

Naturally, Coriolanus wanted to make it crystal clear—they weren't Capitol, they weren't welcomed, they had one purpose until he decided otherwise.

“Even still, you do keep a tight ship around here, Tidewell—on your part at least.” A pointed look at the engineer who had denied Coriolanus the pleasure of observing his little siren. When the threat hung sufficiently long in the air, he turned back to Ronan: “I can appreciate a man who knows how to keep people in line.” Coriolanus added—iron fist in a velvet glove once again. Not a praise per say, but an observation, delivered right after he had slighted their background. 

Still, Ronan took it to mean far more: “Ah—thank you, sir, you are being too generous. I barely have control over my own daughter!” He chuckled, as if talking to an old friend. It made Coriolanus’ skin crawl with nausea—a sailor talking to him… the President, like this.

“As a father, I just wanted to provide and serve our great nation—” Ronan added. It wasn't as though he was overpaying his dedication to Panem… all these years, he was truly indoctrinated within the Peacekeeper regimen—to believe that the country was above all, even his family.

“—I barely recognized her when I came back from my last voyage. She will be twenty next month, yet she still requires guidance…” Ronan rambled, unprompted. The slander made Lysander's whole posture stiffen. He wanted to stand up for Adraina. As her friend, he had seen she was searching for her place in the world… she did feel lost, but that didn't give Ronan the right to blame it on her. Especially not in front of the President… whose blue eyes suddenly glinted like frost reflecting the low winter sun.

Ronan's words had only confirmed what Coriolanus was already anticipating… that the little siren was sent here to be his.

“Well, true discipline requires dedication…” Coriolanus mused, almost to himself—his voice dripping with anticipation like slowly melting icicles. “The stick and the carrot… that's my motto at least. Too much “carrot” and they may think themselves invincible. Too much “stick”... they end up running away.” In the forest or otherwise… 

The unpleasant memory of Lucy Gray made its way back, burrowing into his skull. But this—what he now wanted now—was completely different, completely in his control.

Adriana finally emerged back from the water—the linen wear soaked and clinging to her like second skin. She was out of breath from singing and diving… Seeing her again—so close… just a glass screen and a couple of feet separating them—made Coriolanus smile spread slowly, his heart rate matching it... like frost spreading. 

Oh, how he wanted her in his lap immediately, so he could thread his fingers through her damp hair and make her sing again. About her “true love”... the one with “bright hair” and “dim eyes”, the one carrying a rose. But unlike the shanty Coriolanus wouldn't drown—he'd sooner drown the world.

“Good work on the tests, Tidewell. But it can always be better…” Coriolanus determined, looking away from Adriana with great reluctance just to produce a sleek folded letter from his coat. He pressed the heavy paper into Ronan's hand, explaining: “Consider yourselves invited to the pre-Reaping Presidential gala.” A smile that was all teeth almost betrayed the shark’s true intentions.

Ronan's eyes widened, his jaw opening and closing like a fish’s: “I—I don't know what to say, mister President. Truly, we don't deserve your generosity!” He bowed.

Coriolanus almost scoffed: “Not yet you don't. But consider me… invested. I always care for those who show promise. And your daughter—well, she impressed me today.” He didn't intend to hide his interest. A man like Tidewell wouldn't get in the way—he didn't care for his daughter, only his image. And catching the President's eye… Ronan would only encourage Adriana. 

No, it was her who Coriolanus needed to persuade. Though he had a feeling… she'd melt quickly and sweetly, like sugar. 

“I insist she accepts the invitation herself in that case!” Ronan concluded, voice so bright, it shocked his coworkers. They were used to the man being stoic—detached even, from ordinary human emotions, chasing his work, and only his work with a single-minded focus. 

One time, he had Adriana on the field for so long, just to stretch the testing hours—that she almost fell ill the next day had it not been for Lysander rushing to her side with a robe once she was finally out of the water, and Rosalind bringing heaters to warm her up.

Yet now, the sailor was waving around for his daughter like she had been precious all along—his golden ticket to the President. Coriolanus saw right through the opportunism displayed—of course he did—many of his own senators had been trying to throw their daughters at him as prospects. Little did these men know… he wasn't looking for a wife, not really. Though, he'd argue, what he was offering was a greater privilege — his attention. Some Capitol ladies may find it beneath them, with their fanciful idea of superiority—to be crowned a sugar baby. But the right woman would see it as the honor it was. What greater delight could there be—than to devote your admiration to someone and to be admired in return?

Coriolanus snatched the invitation back from Ronan, taking a deliberate step ahead of him as Adriana entered the command room. The lack of fatherly instincts was sharp, off-putting even, as Ronan settled behind, not caring to greet Adriana or ease her into what would be an overwhelming amount of attention.

The robe shielded her drenched form, but she still walked it barefoot—silent and ethereal—a siren gracing into the human world. She froze as she met Coriolanus’ eyes, recognizing them to be the pair that had tracked her every movement as she had sunk into the familiar embrace of the water. “Miss Tidewell… it was a pleasure to see you work. I rarely see such… grace and dedication.” He praised, genuinely this time, letting his gaze roam so he could take in her reaction—unashamed, but not unwelcome by her it seemed. 

The President was a handsome man—she had seen as much. His curls dawned like a golden crown, while his eyes were like a storm beneath still waters… hungry but enticing. And Adriana felt drawn in the moment his praise settled low in her stomach —seeking comfort and an anchor in it despite herself. 

“Thank you, mister President… I—I wasn't aware I was being appraised?” She added, trying to keep steady. Only a fool would test the depth of the water with both feet… she was weary of the attention  rightfully so. Here stood the ruthless tyrant—but flowers bent instinctively towards the sun, even when it burns. 

“Oh? Such florid language… though I’d argue precious things such as yourself should rather be valued.” He corrected swiftly.

“Are you a lover of literature, little siren?” Coriolanus’ voice dropped, almost to a purr as if he were sharing a secret: “A refined past time. Then again, you are like a pearl, hiding under district brokenness.” The letter danced between his fingers as he took leisure steps towards Adriana, like a sea serpent displacing the surroundings to his whims. That pet name left his lips so naturally—not for a lack of thought behind it. On the contrary, it was carefully placed to gauge her reaction to it.

She didn't flinch, didn't move closer or away… just stood there—accepting his lead in the game. “I do enjoy belles-lettres now and then… though I am of a humbler background. I hope the generous President excuses any inadvertent transgressions on my part.” Adriana swallowed hard, feeling Coriolanus press the paper against the underside of her chin, tilting her head slightly so she could meet his eyes—now so close, she could swear she really felt pulled in.

He tsk-ed warningly: “There's one already… shouldn't you be meeting my eyes when I'm about to grant you the privilege of attending my gala?” He tilted his head, almost feline-like—inviting trust.

Adriana’s brows furrowed as she bit her lip to stifle a surprised gasp: “A-a gala? I… I am afraid I have nothing appropriate to wear, sir—” she continued, the bubbling rumination making its way onto the surface.

Oh, how he wanted to press his thumb into that trapped bottom lip of hers, to reprimand her for hurting such beautiful, delicate skin. He would take such good care of her… never allow her to spiral like this. Coriolanus could already think of so many better uses for her mouth—be it wrapped around him, or thanking him as he punished her for daring to overthink.

But one step at a time… he had to remind himself to not get ahead of himself. 

“My gala—there is a stark difference I am sure you will come to appreciate…” He reprimanded, voice simultaneously gentle and suffocating— just like snowfall. “And, I hope you are not implying I am negligent? I may be older… but I assure you, I still have my head.” a quip and a challenge tied together, all to keep her on her toes: “Your outfit will be taken care of—selected and delivered. Nothing to worry your pretty head over… I promise.” His smirk could cut through steel.

It made Adriana’s heart race, not because of the luxury it promised… but the silent claim it held. She wasn’t sure how to react—she didn’t dislike it, and that may be what confused her the most. It was as if Coriolanus could see the thoughts and slow realization swimming in her eyes, so he reached his hand up, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. A claim, but also a comforting gesture. She almost wanted to lean into it.

Ronan finally showed signs of life as he cleared his throat—pointedly scolding Adriana for her lack of gratitude. She blinked away the hypnotic trance, making Coriolanus’ jaw tighten. His grip tightened in Adriana’s hair, holding back from striking the man for breaking the spell. But that would have been brutish, primal… it could scare his little siren off.

“I—thank you, sir. I am honored, truly.” She said, the words coming out hoarser than expected, rehearsed almost. Coriolanus could tell it wasn’t because she felt uncomfortable by his presence, though he was intimidating. She just needed time to learn how he wanted to be thanked. And he had all the time in the world…

“Of course… I look forward to learning more about you, little siren.” He left the invitation on the desk next to her, wet spots blooming on the thick paper from where it had touched her skin.

“The car will be waiting for you at seven sharp. Don’t keep me waiting.” He commanded. All scattered small tests to ensure she was really the one he ought to take under such a dynamic.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” She responded, more confident now. Coriolanus had to inhibit his instinct to praise her in a way that might not have been entirely appropriate… yet.

‘Sir’—the honorific sounded so good from her lips, though Coriolanus was already imagining them forming another, more fitting one.

Adriana paced the Gamemaker housing she shared with her father. It may be small by Capitol standards, but to her it felt like an endless maze, especially now—when her inner world was in turmoil.

She didn't know what to make of this—her instincts were screaming that she should be guarded still. This man ordered executions left and right… turned children's tears into Capitol entertainment. She could have easily been a tribute in her time were it not for Ronan's good income—she would have had to take out tesserae like so many of her old classmates. So many kind souls, who wanted to take apprenticeships with her mother, to find the freedom of the sea… only to be sent to the Arena before they could even reach their first pearl.

Adriana stared at the dress that was now draped over her bed, like it might bite her. It was shimmering and delicate, just like a pearl itself. No, it wasn’t the garment that would harm her… it was the sinking feeling in her chest. The one that sent a dangerous shiver through her core, the one that told her that despite knowing what the President was—the moment he had looked at her like she was the only person in the world, she was hooked on the feeling already.

She finally braced herself—slipping into the sheer material that hugged her body all too perfectly. He did have her measurements from the swimsuit and all of the other issued uniform items… but it somehow still made her feel special. 

Before Adriana could take herself fully in the mirror, Rosalind entered the room without bothering to announce herself—evidently excited on Adriana's account as well.

“Girl! The dress… This is insane! It has to be the design Patricia Vale just unveiled last week! It's so exclusive…” she added, circling Adriana as if she were a mannequin on display.

“I assume… I should know who that is?” Adriana let out a breathless chuckle—feeling like the whole world was moving too fast around her. Admittedly, everything in the Capitol was still new to her—but now, she had been thrown into the eye of the storm.

“Only the most notorious designer Panem has ever had!” Rosalind raised her hands, emphasizing, exasperated already: “She practically revolutionized Capitol fashion after the 10th Games… everything was so dull because of the War before that!”

As the narration went on, Rosalind took Adriana by her shoulders, spinning her to get a better look. Her lips settled into a shocked expression: “Such an exceptional dress and no jewellery to compliment it?!” She seemed almost appalled as she rummaged through her purse.

“Worry not! I come prepared to remedy any oversight… even if it's the President's.” Rosalind huffed as if she were running a marathon. After the contents of her purse were all thoroughly scattered on Adriana's bed, she produced a small velvet box—opening it enticingly. Like a sea witch who might ask for her voice in return for the bounty.

The light from the swinging chandelier caught in the rose quartz—a big statement piece that made Adriana’s jaw drop.

“I—I can't accept this, Rosa… it's—how does your father allow you all of these nice things?” She shook her head, having noted all of the fancy jewellery Rosalind usually adorned. She was Capitol, naturally, she had fancy outfits and accessories. Even still—it was far more excessive than what she had seen from the other girls in the Games’ prep teams.

“You can and you will! I will not have you embarrass me on your Capitol debut!” She announced as she was already clasping the necklace around Adriana's neck—the rosy mineral glittering against her tan skin. Though she was now paler than she had ever been—the sun kissed complexion fading from the lack of natural sun.

Rosalind met her eyes in the mirror ahead as she added: “You sweet summer child… My father would never indulge me like this. They are from my sugar daddy!” 

Adriana raised an eyebrow, not understanding what the term meant. It only made Rosalind laugh, clutching her stomach: “W-wait! Of course you wouldn't know what that is—even though the President himself is priming you to ascend as his very own sugar baby!”

Adriana’s naivety was somehow really hilarious to the other girl, making her pout. “Aw, don't get all fussy, it's just—well, there are so many women who'd kill to be in your place! Yet you don't even know what it entails…”

She sat on Adriana's bed, making herself comfortable.

“Is it… he buys you things and you what—? Give him attention?” Adriana tried to assess from the few times Rosalind would mention a certain “Festus Creed”. Though she thought they were… in a regular relationship.

Rosalind chimed an imaginary bell: “Ding, ding! You aren't only a pretty face, Adriana!” She tossed a pillow at her—playfully catching her attention: “But listen closely—sugar baby class is in session!” She cleared her throat in feigned seriousness, continuing:  “It's not just the attention… Everyone is different. Some of them have very specific… tastes and rules.”

The way she said it made Adriana’s skin prickly. Not necessarily worried, but more so… in anticipation. She liked to know what is expected of her, enjoying the structure—it granted her safety, even when she wanted to step over the boundaries, then she'd do it deliberately— understanding the consequences.

Rosalind raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she caught Adriana’s reaction: “Oh, a small fish in the big sea liking the idea of being eaten by the sharks?” She teased.

“W-well… there's grace in submission, isn't there?” Adriana admitted, cheeks flushed as she looked down.

Rosalind's eyes widened imperceptibly, a small stuttered chuckle leaving her lips: “Oh, you are a natural at this, huh? Just a heads up… some pretentious debutants might treat you… differently. It's as if we are not allowed on their level just because we are “trophies”...”

Her tone was confident on the surface, but the slight rasp betrayed her underlying insecurity. Naturally, anyone would want to be accepted—a universal human need that the false Capitol strata chewed through without a second thought.

“—They think they are above us, but at the end of the day, it's the sugar babies who get all the attention. And I definitely know how to please Festus more than his so-called “fiance”!” She rolled her eyes, complaining. It was apparent Rosalind found it refreshing to have a friend who may soon share in her lifestyle—a confidant. She was already referring to her and Adriana as “us”. One group against the other in a never-ending battle for identity.

“You forget—” Adriana started almost solemnly: “—I am already a newcomer… I'd have been a thorn in their eyes regardless.” She sat next to Rosalind, taking her hand in hers: “But I will let you in on a secret… it's better when they underestimate you. Then they don't expect the dagger.” She winked—a dramatic flair in her whisper.

Rosalind's eyes glinted, relief flooding her posture: “Cheeky… What would the President do with you?” 

Despite her instinct to run, Adriana couldn't wait to find out…

The gown shimmered like the inside of a pearl shell, its pale surface catching the cold light with the soft, opalescent glow and colors of the tide itself. Each step sent quiet waves through the fabric, the pleats opening and closing like the breathing of water against the shore. Adriana did not seem to wear the dress so much as emerge from it—the pale embellishments that clung to it, giving the illusion that she had been born out of the wild seafoam. It gave her that fragile, glowing beauty of something the ocean might have kept—might have, but he would.

Ronan was dressed sharply—in his ceremonial Peacekeeper uniform. Probably the finest item of clothing that was available to him. It wouldn't be accurate to say he “owned” the piece of fabric as much as it owned him. His grip on Adriana's wrist never faltered: “I will not have you embarrass me, you hear? You'll speak when you are spoken to and you will smile pleasantly or I will have you on a double shift at the Arena tomorrow.” 

She was used to the threats—after all, that district mentality of “earning your keep” was so deeply engraved into the old sailor's skull that it was the only thing Adriana came to associate with fatherly protection.

“Of course, Father.” She agreed with a soft voice, taking the offer of champagne from a passing server. 

The sharp acidity surprised her when it reached the back of her throat—making Adriana stifle a choke with the back of her hand.

Suddenly, she felt a warm hand settle on her lower back: “Careful, little siren… how would you be able to enjoy all of the finest meals if a simple flute gets in the way.” The condescension in Coriolanus’ tone shouldn’t have made her body shiver and her cheeks warmer… but it did.

His fingers lingered on hers as he took the champagne from her—a server materializing next to him… or maybe he was hovering there all along, jumping at his every need? Coriolanus set the flute down only to pick up a glass with something more mild in it: “Rose—it would be far better for you, I promise.” he added, passing it to her.

He would have time to teach her how to indulge in these luxuries… preferably drinking from his hand while she was kneeling. 

“Th-thank you… I just didn’t expect the taste, I guess.” Adriana said, taking a slow sip from the wine now. Her eyes widened as the sweet taste hit her tongue, dancing on it like fresh fruit. She couldn’t help but hum as the warmth spread through her. 

“See? I do know best…” Coriolanus’ gruff voice made her swallow hard as his eyes focused on how her throat moved around the gulps. The moment his gaze lowered enough to settle on the necklace Rosalind had lent her—an unpleasantly contorted expression cracked across his face.

“I thought I was clear in my instructions… you were to wear what I sent and nothing more. Or was that too difficult to follow?” 

All the playfulness had disappeared from his eyes, it was as if a dark cloud danced in them now, making Adriana’s heart stop. If she were his already… he would have dragged her by the hair to kneel at his feet—apologizing right then and there, while gagging on that ridiculous quartz pendant. Or have her over his knee until she was crying and begging—thanking him for the privilege of having him dress her.

“N-no, I was just—Rosalind suggested it to compliment the dress… I didn't mean any offense.” Adriana stuttered through her words.

Coriolanus’ smile was small and unsettling, like ice cracking, as he released a strained breath—controlling himself for now. She was remorseful at least, he could work with that… she hadn't done it to prove a point, or to challenge him. Adriana was still his good girl—even if she didn’t know it yet—she craved to please him.

“That's okay… you didn't know, little siren. But I'll make sure you understand.” He concluded: “This—” his voice emphasized, getting closer as he yanked the crystal from her neck, causing her to gasp: “—sullies your beauty.” 

Coriolanus' scent was all around her—roses and cigars—making her dizzy.

“I knew it had to be Festus’ the moment I saw it…” he chuckled to himself, twirling the glistening stone between his fingers: “The man's tastes are pedestrian. But you—you will build yours up in no time…” the smirk that danced across his features was more pleasant now, maybe because he was already imagining how he'd shape Adriana.

It shouldn't have made her body melt, the way he quickly switched back to praising her, the way he centered around her. Adriana wasn’t used to receiving this kind of attention—but she had craved it for as long as she could remember—that now, when she finally got it, it made her salivate for it.

“I—I will try my best, sir. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” She lowered her head instinctively.

At that moment, the smile finally reached Coriolanus’ eyes as he got closer, the whisper barely audible over the crowd’s rumble: “Good girl. Very perceptive… I knew I was right about you.” His gloved hand caressed her jaw as if evaluating a prized heirloom. 

Then it dropped to his side as he stepped back: “Thursday. Lunch at the Millennium. I will send what you are to wear… and we can discuss exactly what you want from your future, little siren. I'd be happy to… become your patron. If you rise to my rules like the perfect little thing I know you can be.” 

He worded it carefully still, making sure she didn't run for the hills. But Adriana knew what he meant after the extensive talk she had had with Rosalind—knew exactly what she was agreeing to, as she took back her wine glass.

His eyes were locked on the girl in the District 12 enclosure, her bright dress muted by the grim bars and stale air. Lucy Gray stood with her chin tilted high, a performer through and through, even in captivity.

You both watched her for a few moments—Coryo calculating, curious, captivated. You, quieter, unsure how to feel about the girl who smiled like she knew secrets.

“She’s different,” you murmured, your eyes trialing her up and down.

“She’s dangerous,” he replied. But there was something like admiration in his voice. Though you weren’t threatened by it.

After all, she was the one behind the bars; you weren’t.

You nodded once, then gently tugged his hand. “Come on. I want to see mine.”

Your tribute was a girl of only twelve, a slip of a thing with tangled hair and limbs too thin for her frame. She was tucked in a corner of the enclosure, knees pulled to her chest like she was trying to disappear.

You reached into the elegant satchel slung over your shoulder, the one your mother insisted matched your family’s station.

“A Tolston never leaves the house looking anything less than exceptional.” Was what your mother had always said to you.

The Tolstons were old money. Old, influential, and perpetually seated at the Capitol’s highest tables, with your father’s name on every infrastructure committee and your mother curating the Capitol’s most exclusive fashion exhibits.

You weren’t supposed to cry about the Games. You weren’t supposed to feel things for tributes. But it was different now that you were in charge of taking care of one, to try and help your tribute to win.

So here you were, with wrapped honeyed bread, pear slices and soft cheese tucked between embroidered linen napkins. A large fancy ‘T’ stitched into it.

“Hi,” you said gently. “This is for you.”

She blinked up at you, wide-eyed, hesitant. Then slowly, carefully, she stood and crept over, taking the bundle like it might vanish if she moved too quickly. Her fingers brushed yours, feather-light, and you smiled.

She stared at the food, then at you. And then she said, in a small, wonder-filled voice

The little girl stood on the other side of the bars, hay in her hair while she stood in the dirt. The food you had passed was clutched tight in her small hands like she was afraid someone would take it back.

“Are you an angel?” she asked, voice breathy, eyes too big for her thin face.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She nodded seriously, stepping a little closer. “An angel. My mama used to talk about them all the time. She said they were the most beautiful creatures in the world. That they come when you’re really scared. When you’re about to give up.”

Your heart twisted. “Oh, sweetheart…” you crouched lower so you were more at her level. “No. I’m not an angel. I’m just…” You hesitated, glancing at the food in her hands. “I’m someone who thinks you shouldn’t be hungry. Just someone who is looking after you,”

She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head like a curious bird. “You look like one. Your voice is soft. Like my mama’s was.”

Behind you, the soft buzz of a camera lens adjusted, zooming in. You could feel the eyes of the Capitol watching—Lucky Flickerman’s commentary somewhere off to the side, smooth as ever.

“Your name is Lina, right?” you asked gently.

“Lina,” she said with a nod, “Lina Grove,”

“Lina Grove,” you repeated, giving her a small smile. “That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s—”

“I know,” she interrupted, suddenly shy. “They said your name on the screen when we got here. You’re the pretty girl that walks with the white-haired boy.”

You choked on a surprised laugh. “The white-haired boy?”

Coriolanus, who’d remained behind you but close, let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. His fingers tightened around yours—possessive, protective. “Charming,” he muttered under his breath.

Lina giggled.

“You’re funny,” she said to you. “And you smell nice. Not like the rest of this place.”

You leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s because I carry soap in my bag. Want me to sneak you some tomorrow?”

Her eyes lit up like you’d promised her a crown or the most sparkly jewels on earth.

“Really?” she whispered. “Even just to smell it?”

“Promise.”

She hugged the food to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Do angels make promises?”

You hesitated, just for a second. “Only the good ones, I suppose,”

Lucky’s voice rang out from somewhere behind the camera. “And there you have it, folks—our mentors are shining this year! Capitol hearts everywhere are absolutely melting.”

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your skirt. Lina backed up a step but kept her eyes on you, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.

You gave her a nod. “Every day until the Games.”

She bit her lip. “Even after?”

Something in your chest fractured. And unfamiliar ache.

“I’ll try,” you whispered. “I’ll do everything I can, I promise,”

Coriolanus stepped closer, slipping his arm around your waist, his voice low beside your ear. “You’re going to make it very hard for them to forget her.”

You didn’t answer. Just watched as Lina sat back down with her food next to her district partner; an older boy maybe around 16. And, for the first time, looked like a child again.

And for a split moment you felt guilt. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The gravel path shimmered faintly beneath your shoes as you and Coriolanus walked away from the enclosure. The buzz of cameras had finally died down, Lucky Flickerman’s voice trailing off into some other scripted sentiment. 

The air felt heavier now, quieter. As if your lungs were remembering how to breathe again the further you got away from it all.

You glanced back once—just once—toward where Lina now slept in one part of the zoo’s enclosure.

“She’s so little,” you said, more to yourself than him. “Twelve. She still has baby teeth, Coryo.”

His hand tightened on yours. Just a bit. Just enough. Though you didn’t see it, there was a small shift in the boy you loved so much.

“She’s a tribute,” he said, like it was supposed to explain everything. So simple. How could it be that simple?

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s just—” You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “She called me an angel.”

“She’s scared. They all are.” His voice was soft but sure, like velvet hiding steel. “And you gave her exactly what she needed in that moment. Comfort. That’s not a bad thing, my love,”

You nodded slowly, but something still stirred beneath your ribs. Not outrage—nothing so dramatic. Just a quiet ache. A tug of something soft and uncertain.

He stopped walking, gently pulling you to a halt beside him. You looked up at him, and the Capitol haze made his blond hair shine almost silver. Stunning. He was absolutely stunning.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, brushing your hair from your face with careful fingers. “But we don’t get to be soft right now. Not when everything we want is within reach.”

You blinked up at him, uncertain.

He leaned closer, voice dropping like it was a secret meant only for you.

“We’re doing this for a reason. You and me. The mentor who make it out of this with winning tributes—our lives change. We move forward. Higher. We don’t get stuck in the mud like the rest of them. The Games are there for a reason. To keep the districts in line. But now they’re also the one place we get to prove ourselves.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening. Your eyes never leaving his, not once.

He slid his hand to your cheek. “You want a future, don’t you? Not just for her. For us.”

Your throat bobbed. “I do. Of course, I do, Coryo,”

He smiled then—slow, warm, like sunlight cutting through clouds.

“Then we play the game, my angel,” he said softly. “And we win it.”

Something about the way he said we made your pulse flutter. As if your names were already written into the Capitol’s future. As if this moment, however sharp around the edges, was only the beginning.

Like everything was already promised, and all you needed to do was just grab it.

You exhaled slowly, letting the guilt drift back into the shadows. He was right. He always had a way of being right. And you were grateful he was there to bring you back to common sense.

“I hate when you talk like that,” you whispered, lips curving into a reluctant smile.

“Why?” he teased.

“Because you always make me believe it.”

His grin widened, all charm and quiet power. He kissed the back of your hand, elegant and practiced. “Good.”

The two of you then continued down the path—two golden children of the Capitol, walking the road toward something both of you could only hope for; while Coryo was determined to grab.

“Good to see you back on your feet !” Smiley said, as a greeting when Beanpole entered the cafeteria and joined them at their table.

“We were worried, you hit your head pretty badly on the ground when you fainted today.” Bug added.

Coriolanus watched as his comrade took place in front of him, his tray overly filled with an array of different foods. He was still pale and had a bruise on his forehead from where he had hit the ground but despite all that, he seemed happy. So happy in fact, that Coriolanus wondered if they had drugged him at the infirmary to put him in such a state.

“I’m honestly starting to wonder if you don’t do that on purpose each time we train outside, just so the new nurse gets to take care of you.”

“There’s a new nurse ?” Coriolanus inquired, his curiosity piqued by something finally remotely interesting.

“I think she’s an apprentice.” Beanpole corrected.

“Didn’t you notice the amount of guys lining up in front of the infirmary door these days ? I heard everyone talk about how beautiful that girl is.” Smiley added.

Coriolanus thought about it for a moment but couldn’t really recall noticing anything out of the ordinary. Not that he paid much attention to life in the barracks anyway. Or in District 12 in general. He missed the Capitol and his thoughts often drifted back to his old life rather than focusing on his current situation.

“She really is beautiful.” Beanpole commented, to answer Smiley, with a stupid smile on his face. He may as well have heart shaped eyes from how obvious his crush on the girl in question was.

The other soldiers at the table laughed of their friend’s amorous daze and everyone soon focused their attention back on their meal, knowing that they needed to gain some strength for what the commander had planned for them on the next day.

Smiley and Bug stood up as soon as their trays were empty, but Coriolanus lingered a moment at the table, watching Beanpole stuff his face with green beans and spinach leaves. He wondered how someone who lacked basic knowledge of table etiquette could be from the Capitol too. People there, even poor, were more refined and elegant usually. Was District 12 slowly turning him into some kind of feral animal ? What if it was happening to Coriolanus too ? What if he didn’t remember how to behave properly once he’ll be back in the Capitol ? The thought terrified him, the one thing he had promised himself was that he refused to let District 12 change him.

“Crap, I forgot to ask for painkillers.” Beanpole managed to say, despite his still full mouth.

“Didn’t you have a whole tablet of those in your trunk from the last time you hit your head against a tree ?” Coriolanus asked him, unable to conceal his sucpicious tone. He was wondering if, indeed, the young soldier was faking being of such fragile composure and in weak condition just to be granted extra trips to the nurse’s office. Not that he cared about his friend’s whereabouts, he just cared to know if Beanpole was this good of an actor, able to hurt himself just to get something he wanted.

“I used a few after I burned my fingers when I was on cooking duty and sold the rest on the black market.” He answered, totally and foolishly honest with Coriolanus. He attempted to stand up, his tray still half full but almost lost balance, barely able to catch himself.

“Are you alright ?” Coriolanus asked him, standing up to help steady him, even though he really didn’t want to.

“Yeah, it’s just the concussion.” Beanpole assured him. “I need to go back for some pills and then I’ll go to bed.”

“I’ll walk you there.” He offered, not out of the goodness of his heart but by sheer curiosity for the apparently very pleasant new nurse. He wanted to judge for himself, even though he didn’t expect her to be anything special, his comrades were so sex deprived that their standard barely reached the floor.

With a hand gripping his arm to help him walk steadily, the two peacekeepers made their way to the infirmary, Coriolanus almost dragging Beanpole behind him from how impatient he was to see what was really going on there.

At first glance, it seemed that Smiley told the truth, there were a line of more or less injured soldiers waiting for their turn behind the door, even skipping supper in hopes to be cared for here.

“It might take a while.” Beanpole sighed, ready to join the back of the line.

The door opened and a peacekeeper walked out with his arm in a cast, his face visibly upset but not because of the pain he had endured but because he was escorted out by Flavia, the old nurse instead of the new one. She gestured to the next man in line to enter her office and he shamelessly sighed in disappointment.

Beanpole and Coriolanus barely had time to take a step in direction of the end of the line when the door in front of them opened again, revealing you, wearing a white blouse and your hair tied up in a messy updo.

“Next please !” You called, and a soldier excitedly sauntered in your direction. But your gaze landed on Coriolanus for an instant, before noticing Beanpole leaning onto him for support. “Oh, is the concussion getting worse ?”

Coriolanus had to admit that you were very pretty indeed. Even with the worry that suddenly appeared on your face, you reminded him of the expensive dolls Tigris used to play dress up and hold tea parties for.

“I just need something for the pain.” Beanpole told you, trying to sound self assured but the sight of you made him smile stupidly again.

“He’s barely able to stand.” Coriolanus said because, as time went by, he kept leaning his weight more and more on him and at this point, he was starting to worry that he might have to carry him back to their dorm.

“Come in.” You said, standing aside to let them in the infirmary. There were a few whispers of indignation and protest as they passed by the line of eager soldiers, the one who almost got in taking his place back at the front while glaring daggers at them.

Coriolanus helped Beanpole to the bed placed in the middle of a small room, of which you closed the door and searched a shelf for a file, before stepping to the counter to retrieve some medical tools. He watched you as you carefully shone a light into Beanpole’s eyes, observing his pupils with attention before turning the small flashlight off and on in his face. You scribbled something in the file you had placed on the bed next to him, and exchanged the light for a stethoscope.

As you leaned forward slightly to reach his heart, your blouse hunched up, revealing some of the curves of your body to Coriolanus, who had a very privileged view of it all as he leaned against the wall behind you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He observed you carefully, starting to understand why all the young soldiers in the building were interested in you. There was something about you that was particularly enticing, maybe it was the alluring curves of your body, or maybe it was your pretty face and the way you made sure to be gentle as you examined your patients ? Whatever it was, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to forget it. And, as you turned around to take one more tool from the counter, you glanced at him in a way that made his whole body buzz with electricity, he could tell that you were disturbed by him, by his presence and by his appearance, the same hint of curiosity in your eyes than the one he felt for you.

————-

The sun was shining bright in the sky, yet it still did very little to ease the humidity that saturated the air. Coriolanus was assigned to patrol the borders of the District in the heat, while forced to wear his peacekeeper uniform and helmet, hand on his gun, always prepared. However, for once, it didn’t seem so bad. He knew that if he had a heatstroke and fainted, he might have the chance to see you again and the idea oddly excited him.

Actually, he had been thinking about you for most of the night, reminiscing of the perfection of your body underneath your white blouse and how you had looked at him, even smiled at him once when you had cleared Beanpole to go back to his dorm. He had seen with his own eyes the impressive amount of soldiers lining up by the door with the hope to spend a few minutes in your company and, this morning during breakfast, he had heard a group of them talking about how each of them was planning to attempt to ask you out before the weekend. You truly were the talk of the caserne.

He didn’t like that you had so many admirers, but what claim did he have on you ? He hadn’t even spoke more than a few words to you… And yet, he felt extremely possessive of you. Like you were some kind of precious treasure that should only belong to him. And maybe he had good chances to make everyone else jealous if he convinced you to give yourself to him, judging by the way you had looked at him, all he had to do was ask…

And, just for the sake of not waking up with a very painful and frustrating erection again - after dreaming of you, naked on your exam table for him - he was determined to shoot his shot at you. He knew it only was a matter of time until you’d agree to go out with one of the idiots who probably pestered you about it on a daily basis, so he had to act quickly.

He wasn’t sure of how he could fake a convincing heatstroke. And if he pretended to have fainted, he might stay there on his own all day until someone eventually found him and helped him. So he needed a better idea, something that wouldn’t require him too much theatrics to be convincing. In fact, being in real pain would probably help to coerce you into taking care of him before everyone else.

His fingers danced on the handle of his gun as he tried to imagine how bad the pain could get if he shot himself in the foot or in the knee. It would make him a pretty useless peacekeeper which might grant him a few weeks of forced vacation to recover but he was worried of where he might be sent to next if he wasn’t fit to be a soldier anymore…

He looked around him, seeing nothing but tall grass swaying in the wind and a rocky dirt road leading to a row of delabrated shacks that people from this District called homes. Not much to help with his plan.

Suddenly, something slowly undulating further down the road, moving the peebles on its way caught his attention. He approached carefully, realizing that it was a green snake trying to go back to the tall grass that it could use as shelter.

Coriolanus didn’t know much about snakes. Actually, his knowledge in the matter was so limited that he never would be able to tell the difference between a venomous snake and an inoffensive one. However, it seemed to him that this one was very similar to the one that had bit another peacekeeper’s ankle when they were running laps around the barracks. As far as he knew, the guy was still alive so it might be his best chance to get to see you again.

He kneeled down on the road and tugged the sleeve of his shirt up, offering his entire arm for the nervous snake to bite into. But it wasn’t aggressive enough to gratuitously attack a human being it seemed so Coriolanus picked the reptile up, feeling the cold scales under his fingertips before letting it fall on his bare arm. Nothing happened, except that the animal was now terrified and tried to slither away in the grass, at a surprisingly fast speed.

He barely managed to catch it before it vanished in the grass the same color as it was. He pulled it back to him and the reptile’s head snapped back to dig its sharp fangs inside the soldier’s exposed wrist.

Coriolanus grimaced, immediately pulling on the snake until he was able to pull his fangs out of his skin. He sent it flying across the road, not seeing where it landed as he focused his attention on his now aching wrist and the two dots of blood rapidly bubbling at the surface of his skin.

“Shit.” He breathed, the pain in his arm sharply stinging. It was almost as if he could feel the venom, slowly invading the blood in his veins.

He stood up, applying pressure to the bite so that he wouldn’t bleed too much despite the pain it provoked, and took off in direction of the casern. He was hoping that his plan would work and that he wouldn’t end up being treated by Flavia instead of you but, above all things, he hoped that he wouldn’t die from such a stupid action. You may be absolutely gorgeous but he wasn’t ready to die for that. Not yet.

When he knocked on the infirmary door, blatantly ignoring the queue in front of it, his main concern became reality as Flavia opened. The old nurse’s gaze was strict and unwelcoming, the polar opposite of your warmth and beauty.

“Another heatstroke ? Go wait in line for your turn.” She said, authoritatively.

“No, I was bitten.” He told her, showing her the mark on his now inflamed skin. Even if he was hoping to see you, his bite still needed urgent medical attention and he wasn’t sure he would survive if he had to wait in line before treating it.

Thankfully, as if on cue, your face appeared behind Flavia, eyes wide in surprise.

“I can take care of that, I just finished treating Armstrong’s heat rash.” You suggested and he could tell that you were hoping to see him as badly as he was hoping to see you.

“Alright. I was planning on taking a coffee break after this one, anyway.” Flavia nodded, before disappearing in her own office where a distressed soldier waited for her.

Coriolanus followed into the room where you had taken care of Beanpole the day before, but this time it was his turn to sit on the examination table. You repeated the same gestures as he had observed last time, fetching his file from the overflowing shelf before approaching to examinate his bite.

“Did you see what the snake that bit you looked like ?” You asked, as you ran your gloved fingers over the two deep holes in his skin. He noticed the worry that instantly showed on your face, making him wonder if you truly cared this much about your patients.

“It was green, and pretty small.” He recalled, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his arm because of how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume and see the subtle variations of the specks of color in your eyes from here.

“Mmh, I don’t think it’s a venomous one but it’s probably going to hurt for a few days.” You announced, going back to the counter to take a small glass jar in your hands. Then, you carefully applied an herbal salve to his wound, instantly giving him some relief from the stinging pain that lingered there. “But I only have one jar of this salve so you’ll have to come here so I can apply some to the wound and change the bandages every day.”

“Alright.” He answered, struggling to contain his excitement at your words.

You gently wrapped his wrist up in an immaculately white bandage, soothing the last bit of pain he still felt from the bite. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to ask you what every soldier in this building was dying to.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me sometime ?” He suggested, trying to sound as confident as he usually was but his heart was racing in his chest.

You lifted your eyes up to meet his, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“That sounds nice but unfortunately I’m not allowed to do that. The only time I can be seen with peacekeepers without risking my job is here, in the infirmary.” You replied and he silently stared at you for a moment, trying to determine if it was an excuse or if you really would have accepted if your position allowed you to. “But maybe you could spend more time here ? With me ?”

Your voice was hesitant and a lovely blush creeped to your cheeks as you said that, a risk you seemingly were ready to take for him.

“I could.” He smiled, charming as ever. “But how would we pass the time ?”

“Maybe we could get to know each other ?”

His smile grew wider as the vivid images of last night’s dream filled his mind again, visions of you naked for him, begging for his dick, that he was determined to make come true right now. He stood up, stepping closer to you, his hands already tugging at your blouse to get it to slide down your arms.

“I’d love to get to know you more… Intimately.” He whispered, his lips brushing over yours. And, since you didn’t step back or push him away, he finally pressed his mouth to yours, in a chaste kiss that still managed to get his whole body buzzing with adrenaline.

Your professional blouse dropped to the floor and his arms closed around your waist, pulling you into him, where you could very obviously feel the hard bulge that had formed in his pants pressing against your stomach.

His lips moved to your neck, peppering it with wet kisses as he eagerly tried to find the hem of your shirt so that he could pull it off of you and see what was hidden underneath. You let him, even though your heart was about to implode inside of your chest.

He only stopped kissing you to be able to take a good look at your now bare chest in front of him, the sight worth a thousand snake bites.

“Oh gosh.” You whimpered, as he roughly squeezed your boob in his hand, taking a bite at your lower lip to shut you up because you could say anything else.

He probably should have taken his time to enjoy every inch of you as he uncovered them one by one, giving attention to your very appetizing breast before attempting to remove your pants but he was never one to be patient, nor could he possibly renounce to something that he so ardently desired.

“Wait, wait.” You pleaded against his mouth, your hands on his chest to gently push him away but even like this, he had trouble to let go of you.

“What’s wrong ?”

“It’s just that… I wasn’t expecting this. I… I never did this before.” You stuttered, your eyes fixed to his with a bit of panic on your face.

“Well, it’s not that uncomfortable in here.” He remarked, briefly looking around before focusing his attention back to you. You were shorter than him and almost naked, chest bare and pants tugged down to your thighs. All he had to do was reach between your legs and he’d be able to catch a feel of your panties, see if you were already wet for him or if he’d have to work for it. As for him, he was already rock hard, his cock begging to be released out of his pants so that it could be shoved inside you. But he enjoyed being in his uniform in front of you, while you were about to be naked and vulnerable, at his entire mercy…

“No, I mean… I never did it” Your words had the effect of a cold shower over his head, pulling him out of his hungry contemplation of your body and getting his full attention on you. For the second time, he stared at you while trying to decide if he believed you or not, the idea of you still being a virgin making no sense in his mind, how could you be ? You were far too gorgeous to not have had many opportunities to lose your virginity to someone in the past, even here, soldiers lined up at your door every day, desperate for your attention. Surely one of them would have convinced you to do it by now. Or at least, if you were so concerned about the rules, some coal miner from your district or a free spirited muscician would have done it.

“You… How come ?” Was all he managed to say, the question burning his lips since it seemed entirely impossible to him that you’d still be so innocent and unaware of the pleasure you were missing out on.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t interested enough in anyone to go this far…”

Coriolanus couldn’t help but smile at your answer. He felt insanely pleased imagining you refusing all these filthy miners and weak soldiers. You had standards. And you definitely were the only person that he had met in District 12 who was this reasonable.

“I can show you what it’s like if you want me to.” He suggested, trying to sound detached but the idea of being the one to take your virginity, the one to corrupt your innocent body, was making his cock ache in his pants.

You seemed hesitant, looking around at the office. He could understand that it probably wasn’t how you had imagined your first time would happen, not here, not with him. Yet, when your pretty eyes landed on him again, you quietly nodded.

He had to be cool about, appear as if it was a regular thing for him, like he had done it before many times and would be doing it again with other girls, but his blood was boiling with excitement. When he had asked you out for a drink, he was expecting to have to work for it. He would have been proud of being seen with you at The Hob by all the recruits lining up for your attention, and he would have made sure to charm you into taking things further, probably in a dark alley outside where no one would have seen your perfect body except for him, but where surely some people would have heard how good he was making you feel.

Unable to wait any longer, he reached down to open up his pants and free his hard erection from his underwear, stroking it in his hand, enough to get it to develop to its full length but not too much, in case he might cum just from the way you were staring at it, with wide eyes and shock on your face.

“You’re so big, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this.” You told him, worried.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to take it.” He assured you, with a proud smile on his face. He always liked when women noticed how well endowed he was. Even better when it made them nervous. “Sit down on the table.”

You obeyed, even though you still seemed very uncertain. He pulled your pants and panties down your legs, discarding them on the floor so that you really were completely naked now, beautiful and vulnerable.

“Maybe it’ll work if you enter just the tip.” You suggested, and an amused chuckle left his lips.

“Alright.” He agreed, but only to reassure you. He had no intention of depriving the rest of his length from entering you so you would have to take it fully eventually.

“Okay.” You sighed in relief but your body remained tense as he approached and forced your legs open. He held his cock in his hand and gently stroked your exposed folds with the tip, groaning from the pleasant warmth and wetness that instantly coated his sensitive skin.

He knew he should have been a gentleman about this and made sure that you were ready for him but he simply couldn’t wait. His desire for you was consuming him, he needed to have you and that instantly made him forget how cautious he should be to make sure the experience would be enjoyable for you too. So he lined himself up to your entrance and pushed forward.

“Just the tip.” You reminded him, your entrance stretching out for his wide dick, causing a sharp burn in your lower stomach.

“Right.” He said, with a smile, as he kept increasing the pressure that already felt unbearable inside you, very slowly but surely pressing his hips further against you.

“That’s too much.” You cried out, tears welling in your eyes.

“You can take it.” He said again, because one way or another, he was going to break that dam inside you and then, he’ll fuck you until he’ll be close enough to mark you as his with his cum.

“No, I really can’t.” You replied, your voice breaking. Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt in front of your distress, the grimace of pain on your face and the tears silently rolling down your cheeks weren’t exactly what he had imagined when he had fantasized about taking you on this examination table.

“Just try to relax.” He instructed, momentarily putting his eagerness and need for relief aside to focus on you. He pressed his hand between your legs, his thumb finding your sensitive spot and gently massaging it to ease you into it, mixing the pain of his intrusion inside you with the pleasure of his caresses.

With two fingers, he opened up your folds so that he could see his big cock shoved halfway inside your tight and aching pussy. He could see it sliding further inside inch by inch, his way of teasing your clit seemingly helping your body accept him.

And then, suddenly and without any warning, your pussy engulfed him. You cried out once more, as something inside you was teared apart to allow him to finally be completely buried in your tight warmth. Your arms instantly closing around his neck for support. He almost came from this alone, the force with which you clenched around him from the pain you felt almost making him dizzy.

“What’s going on ?” You asked, panicking. “Why did that hurt so bad ?”

“Your pussy just swallowed my cock on its own accord. Because despite the pain, you want me to fuck you, right ?” You want to feel me inside you, want me to show you what real pleasure is.” He explained, breathless, doing his best to calm down before his ejaculation might end this all too soon. “Say it, tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you…” You told him, wincing when he started pulling away.

“And ?”

“I want to have an orgasm. I want to be fucked until you have one too.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, realizing that his plan to calm himself down by getting you to talk to him was failing miserably. He almost entirely pulled his cock out of you, only to shove it back inside slowly. As eager as he was for relief, he now wanted you to enjoy it too.

The more he gently slided back and forth inside you, the more your face eased back into a peaceful expression, the pain visibly fading as he tried his best to replace it with pleasure.

“Look how well you’re taking me now.” He told you, and you both looked down to his impressive cock, his length coated in your arousal and faint traces of blood as it went back and forth at a peacefully steady rythym. As tight as your entrance was, he still fitted inside you, managing to hit deep.

“Am I bleeding ?”

“Yes, but that’s normal, that’s how we know you’re no longer a virgin.” He explained, even if you probably knew that already.

“Is it going to be like this every time ?”

“No, now that I broke you in, you’re going to enjoy it when someone fucks you like this. You’ll be able to take it fast and rough with a little bit of practice.”

“Is this how you like it ? Fast and rough ?” You asked him, curious.

“Most people do.”

“Will you help me get used to it then ?”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replied, his hands gripping your thighs to bring them up against his hips and give him better access to you. His movements amplified as his rocked his hips more rapidly now and you pressed your forehead against his, still fascinated by the way you could see his hard cock disappearing inside your folds and slamming deep inside you.

You closed your eyes, feeling something powerful building inside of you. A loud sound that carried the whole intensity of the pleasure that he was giving you escaped your lips. Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand, embarassed.

“Don’t, I want to hear you.” He told you, moving your hand away and pinning your wrist to the table. “And I want everyone outside to hear you too. Let them know I’m the one taking your virginity.”

“But… Flavia.” You warned him, breathlessly.

“She said she was going to take a break, she’s probably at the cafeteria.” He replied, trying to reassure you but in reality, he had no idea of what the other nurse was up to. He knew that you were risking your career if you got caught by anyone in such a compromising position but it didn’t really matter to him, not now, because he was pretty sure that if anyone bursted inside the room in hopes to interrupted him, he’d still keep fucking you until you truly belonged to him. Now that he had started, nobody would be able to stop him.

You didn’t object. You couldn’t. He could tell from the way you arched your back and rolled your eyes that there wasn’t a single reasonable thought in your head anymore. You needed relief as badly as he needed it too and that was exactly what he intended to give you.

“Oh… It’s starting to feel really good.” You panted, your nails digging in his shoulder to steady yourself as his thrusts grew a bit more brutal.

“Good.” He groaned, making sure to slam himself as deeply as he could inside you. Damnit you felt too good, he wasn’t going to be able to restrain himself much longer, the tightness of your virgin pussy around him and the knowledge that he was the first one to ever penetrate you so deeply was too much and relief instantly washed over him as warm cum spilled from his cock into you.

Fuck.

“Oh !” You exclaimed in surprise, not because he had climaxed without giving you a warning but because his twitching cock unexpectedly pushed you over the edge too. You were shocked by the strength of the orgasm that hit you, imploding in your core like a firework and washing over your entire body, ensnaring him inside you in reaction.

You moaned again, the pressure around him caused by your own climax felt unbearable. He was trapped in you and the contractions of your body were so intense that he groaned and felt his cock shoot another load of his seed inside you.

A moment went by during which only the sound of your panting breaths filled the room. Then, you relaxed and he was able to pull himself out, both of you watching as his soaked length dropped out of you. He adjusted his uniform, making sure he was presentable again as you did the same, putting your white blouse back on as if nothing had happened.

“I… I’ll need to take care of that bite again tomorrow.” You told him, still a bit breathless as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He promised, with a grin.

Everyone stared at him as he walked out of the office. He smugly smiled at the line of soldiers and stood straighter, feeling extremely proud of himself. Not only had he managed to fuck the new nurse everyone was after but he had also taken your virginity and marked you as his. Of course, the soldiers waiting in line had no way of knowing that your blood was still on his cock and that his cum was probably dripping down in your panties by now but, if they were observant enough, they might notice how you were leaning against the door for support because your body was sore, or the trace of faint lipstick you had left on the collar of his peacekeeper uniform.

☕ If you enjoyed this, buy me a coffee and I’ll brew up more filth... 👀🖤

Tigris lent him her quilt so that he wouldn't have to be ashamed of the poverty his family had fallen into since you were supposed to come to sleepover with him after the argument with your parents.

Cuddling up to your blonde boy, you tried to fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat. You frowned at the sound of it being a little faster than usual.

You lift your head and look at him carefully. His gaze is distant and thoughtful as he lazily draws patterns on your back as he presses you against his chest.

"Coryo?" you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand tenderly and forcing those blue irises you have loved so much to look at you. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

He sighs long and presses a kiss on your forehead, the tip of his nose stroking your hair, as he is inhaling your scent. "I just... I just think about the fact that you deserve so much more. My grandma and Tigirs deserve much more than... this." he says with disgusting pointing at the room you were in.

"This..." you say, clasping your hands together and pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. "Is more than enough. You are all I need. And one day, when you are President of Panem or any other important figure in the Capitol, none of you will lack anything. This is a temporary state. You are too smart to be anything less than great, Coryo. You know it."

You see him hold back tears. He pushed your head onto his chest to rest his chin on your head. He is not crying. He almost never cries. But you know how close he is to it by the slight quiver in his breathing.

"I know I don't show it often enough... but you mean... everything to me. I can't imagine how I would go through these all without you by my side."

"I love you, Corio. Just promise me you won't forget this. What you went through, what you experienced. Don't forget your struggle. That's something you should never be ashamed of." he tenses at your words but leans in to kiss you passionately and hungrily. Putting all his unexpressed emotions into action and into that kiss that warmed you more than any blanket or radiator could ever.

"I promise. I will never forget how you kept me sane. When you were the only shelter I could go to and the only support that could bear the boundlessness of my troubles and doubts. How you were my only moonlight in the worst of my darknesses." you laugh softly, recognising part of his words.

"Quoting poets will get you nowhere, Coriolanus Snow." you say teasingly, rubbing your nose against him, at which he chuckles, licking his lips.

"Well... I've learned that in some situations, it gets me somewhere. And it's a very cold night tonight, don't you think? I can't let you freeze to death." he says as his hands go under your shirt—actually, his shirt that you stole from his closet.

"Well… I guess there's nothing left for me… but to place myself under your solicitous care." you sigh softly as he pins you underneath him, making sure the cocoon of blankets is still tightly wrapped around the two of you.

"I couldn't have said it better." he whispers and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath countless times. He pulls away just a little to say against your lips, "You're mine. We belong together. No matter what."

He makes you shiver as you eagerly agree to everything he says. You don't realise how, in the future, you will curse every single intimate, sweet moment you shared with him.

Ironically, you realise how deep he has gotten under your skin the moment he returns to the Capitol, and you have to avoid him, not when he is sent into exile.

It was probably because when he was gone, you were too distraught to bother leaving your room, opening the blinds, or wiping the tears that somehow kept leaking from your eyes to notice how almost every place reminded you of him. If you could, you'd go back in time and tell yourself there's no point in crying over the asshole he's become.

Although maybe you already felt that your Corio was leaving, and it was a way of mourning him?

Anyway, you saw him everywhere. Not Coriolanus. Coryo. He stalked you in the library, the park, the cafe near the academy that you two and Sejanus liked to go to, and of course the Academy itself. Kudos to your parents for not letting him into your house. At least he didn't pollute your room with memories of him.

Involuntarily, you wonder if he also sees you, for example, in every corner of his apartment. Or maybe he renovated it beyond recognition to erase all traces of his past?

You didn't know.

And you didn't want to know.

The information about him that Tigris gave you when you met her at your house when Coriolanus was at the university for classes was sufficient.

Just because it didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean you would abandon your only real friend. And just because things didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean she would stop (more or less subtly) encouraging you to go back to him.

"We talked about you." she says, making adjustments to your dress that she made for your birthday party thrown by your parents. Another one of the unpleasant responsibilities.

"You and your grandma?" you ask, trying to avoid HIM as a topic as much as possible.

"No. Me and Coriolanus." she says, pinning something to your waist—some decorative strip of fabric or something—you're not sure; you're too focused on the window and the bustling city as you are trying to ignore her words. "You know… I think… I think I saw in his eyes… the old Coryo. For a brief moment, but… maybe if you came back to him, he would come back to himself too."

"I'm sorry, Tigris, but I think he went too far on his path to simply go back to who he was. Surely not because of me."

"I understand… I just really miss him." she says it in a soft, broken tone, and your heart breaks at it. You hug her with all your strength, uniting with her pain that you also felt so deeply.

"Me too." you whisper in her ear as she cries into your shoulder.

Tigris was a very strong woman. She always impressed you. You wanted to be as strong as her. But even the toughest had to cry sometimes.

After all, there comes a time when even the snow melts... even if only for a little while.

You held him tightly in your arms as Corio cried into your chest.

His grandmother fell ill. Hard. Without a doctor, she definitely wouldn't be able to get out of this on her own, and they didn't have the money to pay for one, let alone the medicines.

Your boyfriend spent the whole day planning, thinking, and getting any money, but it was not enough even to buy the cheapest antibiotic.

However, you didn't expect that after you found out it all from Tigris and ran to him as fast as you could with the chicken soup prepared by your servants and all your pocket money, he would start crying.

Coriolanus Snow cried like a little baby.

You handed the money and soup to Tigris, who, after feeding up their grandma, quickly ran out with her to the doctor. At that time, you were holding your boyfriend in your arms in the other room, who simply fell apart from his helplessness.

"Shh… it's going to be okay, Coryo. She will live, falsify that stupid hymn and hate me for not being enough for you just as she used to." your attempt to comfort him didn't help. If anything, he only cried more, holding onto you tighter and tighter.

"I should be able to take care of them... I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. I'm pathetic and weak. I'm not worthy of being called Snow."

"Hey, my sweet boy, look at me. You are strong. You are the strongest man I know. You are looking after me all the time; you literally give me everything you have, the last piece of your food, to keep me happy, safe, and full when I forget to bring a damn second breakfast from home or don't have time to eat something. You love me, and I love you, and that's how it works. We care about each other. And I have never, ever regretted being with you. Because what we have… is more valuable than anything else in this world. I trust you implicitly, and I will always be by your side. You are not alone with your problems and suffering. Not as long as I am here."

"But for how long will you stay? For how long will you endure with me?" he asks, and after one look at those a little red from crying, beautiful blue iris, you answer without a shadow of hesitation.

"As long as you love me and I can trust you. As long as I breathe. As long as I am in your mind and heart. I am not going anywhere, Coryo. Money can be earned, but what we have... you can't buy it. What I feel for you is more dear to me than any treasure in this world and I will never exchange it for anything else." you promise, stroking his hair tenderly to help him calm down.

You should've then wondered why he doesn't agree with you then. Why doesn't he say that he also feels this way and that he also values you more than money, glory, and honours?

But he blinds you by telling you for the first time that he loves you.

And you cling to him, wiping the tears from his face with your lips and foolishly believing that your love is pure and eternal.

Like a driven snow.

You knew this day would come someday. The day you let your guard down. But you hoped it would take a little longer before you came face-to-face with Coriolanus.

You are completely unprepared for this. You just freeze like a deer in headlights when you see his face at the end of one of the university's corridors as he walks forward, looking for something in his bag. Before you can even think about running away, he looks up, probably feeling watched, and his blue, icy eyes meet yours.

You both stand there transfixed, looking at each other, taking in the changes in your appearance since the last time you saw each other, which was after you broke up with him, when you saw how tenderly he treated Lucy Gray and how comfortable he was around her. And after someone politely informed you that he had kissed her.

"Y/N!" Coriolanus calls out to you and takes a step towards you, but you quickly step back and run through the crowd of people to get away from him. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up that easily. He never does. "Y/N! Wait!"

You have no intention of doing so. You run as fast as you can, bumping into several students along the way. You don't even bother apologising; you just run, hoping that Snow will stop being hot on your heels. Which, by the way, was a miserable dream after how fit he was after his training and the time he spent as a peacekeeper.

On the way, you notice a woman's bathroom and immediately run into it. You lock yourself in a cabin, thanking God or whoever is up that you managed to get an empty cabin and hide in it. You hear his quick footsteps and the door opening, followed by the screams of other women in the bathroom. You sigh in relief as you hear him obediently leave the room.

You're not leaving, though. You are not stupid. You know he's waiting at the door for you to come out. You decide to wait here until the end of the break between classes and hope that he will drop the idea of continuing to chase you and talk to you, and he will attend the lecture instead.

As the bathroom begins to empty, you realise that the next lectures must be soon. You stand silently on the toilet seat, listening carefully, waiting for the right moment to emerge from your miserable hiding place.

Just as you are about to reach for the doorknob, the bathroom door opens. You shiver as you hear heavy footsteps echoing off the tiles of the empty bathroom. And you think that you can smell the subtle scent of roses in the air.

"Come on, Y/N. I know you're here. I just want to talk."

Said the snake moments before eating the bird alive.—you think, mentally mocking how gentle he was trying to present himself. As if he could still be your Coryo.

"I have time. I can play hide-and-seek with you, if you want to. After all, you always liked to play this when we were kids. And you always lost."

You roll your eyes, listening carefully to his footsteps. He was opening the first cabin. You were in the middle one—the one a little closer to the door (and him).

"We'll have to talk eventually. You can't avoid me and ignore me, no matter how good you are at it lately. Let's stop this ridiculous, childish behaviour and go talk over coffee and some of your favourite cookies at the cafe near the academy. Just like the good old days. Well, this time all your orders are on me. What do you say?"

You would have snorted if it hadn't immediately revealed your hiding place to him. How dare he invite you to the place where you, he, and Sejanus spent the most time? To the place where your first unofficial date was.

He wanted to manipulate you, to make you believe that your Corio is still there and lives behind the façade of the rich, arrogant asshole he has become. But you knew better. His eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Even without Tigris' help, you realised that he... was a completely different person. He turned into somebody you only used to know in the past.

"Seriously? Still nothing? So you prefer the hard way, then..." he says, opening another cabin. You wait patiently for him to come to yours.

You breathe as quietly as you can, trying not to let him know which cabin you're in. You listen to his slow, measured steps as, with the incredible confidence and calm that is typical of him, he opens each cabin door, moving inexorably towards you.

Your heart quickens, beating madly, when you see his shoes in the whole, under the cabin's door. He reaches for the door handle, and before he can open it, you push the door against him with all your strength.

You hear him curse, taking a few steps back in a daze and holding his nose. You take the opportunity and run to the exit of the bathroom as fast as you can, not looking back.

"Fuck! Y/N! Are you insane?!" he shouts, running after you.

You reach the door just in time and slam it behind you, sprinting out of the university. You get in your car and drive away with your tyres screeching. In the rearview mirror, you see him leaving the building and following your car with a furious glare.

"I can't believe you invited Snow." you huff, fixing your makeup in the mirror. Your father is buttoning his cuffs, and your mother stands next to you, also putting the finishing touches on her appearance. "You hated him when we were together."

"He is an ambitious and clever boy. Plinth did well to make him his heir. You should reconsider whether he really is that bad. This match would have opened many doors for us. Not only among Plinth's allies but also among Dr. Gaul. God knows how she favours this boy. Who knows? Maybe one day he will be president of Panem."

"If so, I will run away abroad." you say it bitterly, putting your lipstick back in your purse and adjusting the necklace around your neck to make yourself look perfect.

"Don't be stupid. Snow wouldn't be so bad for you. Since you are our only child, we must marry you well. Make sure your husband doesn't blow our fortune in a week. And Snow is a thoughtful boy. He wouldn't let you live below the poverty line."

"And he's quite handsome." your mother adds, straightening your father's tie. "Still, he's not a womaniser. I heard he turned down the... special attention of Crane's daughter and a few other Capitol's girls. I guess he's been alone since your breakup."

"Hmm. Great. He wouldn't cheat on me with other snobs in the capital, but he would fuck with whores in the district. The perfect candidate for a husband." you scoff, walking with them to the next room, where the photographers were waiting to take a photo of you together.

“Language, Y/N. You are a lady. Besides, it is not certain whether he and this Lucy Gray actually had something between them. After all, she's a woman from the district.” your mom says this, smiling for the cameras.

The flashes blind you a little, but with your father's and mother's hands on your shoulders, you somehow manage to keep your pose, fake, pretty smile, and opened eyes.

Your father thanks them and leads you out of the room and into the corridor leading to the great hall where the ball was to be held.

"And even if he did, it's good that he had some fun. It will make him appreciate the treasure that you are and see that you are irreplaceable." he says, taking the box out of his pocket. He hands it to you with a warm smile. "Happy birthday, my treasure."

"We've already given her..." your father shushes your mother. You send them a confused look as you open the medium-sized box.

You find a tiara there. A small diamond tiara.

"It will match your dress perfectly." your father says proudly. You nod and walk to the mirror to put it on, despising the object in your hands with all your heart. You may look like a princess, but you've never felt so... disgusted with yourself before.

This feeling intensified even more when, after a toast and receiving wishes from several of your friends and more powerful families, you managed to sneak out to the balcony. Not long after you, all the single, young men of the richest family on the Capitol entered, with Coriolanus among them. They each took a cigarette and started smoking, gossiping about the events of the week…

And their topic of conversation was exactly what you were afraid of when you got that fucking tiara.

"Have you seen this? I bet they're pure diamonds. Old Y/L/N wants to marry her off so much that he's using every trick possible."

"He doesn't need to do much. She is beautiful in her own right. But this character… it's easier to train a dog than such a stubborn cow."

"What Snow? Are you now regretting that the Capitol's Diamond slipped from your hands? I heard she wants nothing to do with you. How unfortunate that it happened at the moment when you started to count in the eyes of the elite, and now you really have any chance of grabbing this precious gem for yourself."

The Capitol's Diamond. You shudder, thinking about the nickname you've been given.

That's what they called you. The sole heiress to your parents' fortune. Diamond of the Capitol, the best match in the city, with a dowry greater than any other woman. Anyone who won your hand was guaranteed to reach the top and success with your family's connections, your charm, beauty, and brain. And these vultures knew it perfectly well.

You were curious how the new Coriolanus would react.

Your Coryo only took advantage of your position in society when he had to. He didn't ask you for money or for you to convince your father to whisper a good word about him here and there. Maybe it was because of his pride; maybe he really didn't care. You have no idea. But Coryo despised that term as much as you did. You wondered if that had changed as well.

"I'm still in the game." he replies evasively, sipping his drink. The others laugh and he frowns in displeasure.

"Sure. Because the way she ran away from you today when you approached her with a gift says exactly that." they mock him. You see him clench his jaw, glaring at them coldly as he considers his next move.

"Enjoy it while you can. Your good mood will end when our cat-and-mouse game is over and the Capitol's Diamond hangs proudly on my shoulder." you huff, shaking your head in disbelief. You come out of hiding, and all the men on the balcony tense up and look at you in surprise.

Especially Coriolanus. Suddenly everyone is staring intently at the garden of your estate, too shy to look at you. Except Snow. He drills a hole into you with his gaze as he thinks of a way to undo what he said.

"Gentlemen." you scoff, walking past them and ignoring Coriolanus' glare. "For your information, I would rather live in one of the districts than marry any of you. Enjoy the party." you add sweetly, walking back to the ballroom.

The party is in full swing. You are talking to Thomas, using a sweet boy in a shameful way—to scare other men away from you. Just as you expected, they started flocking to you like flies to a fire.

So you chose the least spoiled of them. Thomas was nice and funny; you had a good time talking to him, and dancing with him was even better.

He wasn't rich; he wasn't part of the cream of society. You were really starting to enjoy spending time with him. And most importantly... he looked nothing like Coriolanus. He was nice for the eyes, but his dark hair, eyes, and sweet, shy personality made him drastically different from your ex. So he was the perfect break from your dramatic love life. Boring, nice change.

You danced to a waltz with him. He held you gently, close but respectful, not invading your personal space. He was a perfect gentleman. The man of your dreams.

If only Coriolanus' icy eyes weren't focused on both of you like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble, you would be able to enjoy Thomas' company to the fullest.

You are with him at the buffet, sipping drinks, when suddenly the last person you expected to meet here approaches you.

"Mrs. Plinth." you whisper in shock as he stands in front of you.

She looks—probably the way she feels. Nice on the outside and devastated on the inside. The dark circles under her eyes cannot be fully covered by makeup, and the deep black of her dress is a clear reminder of what she is still going through.

You can't imagine the pain he's going through right now. And you wonder why the woman decided to join her husband for your birthday party. Since Sejanus' death, she has rarely left their apartment.

"Y/N. Can I steal you from this young man for a moment?"

"Of course." you say, not even looking in Thomas' direction as you and Mrs. Plinth walk to one of the empty living rooms in your mansion. You close the door behind her and point to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Or to eat?"

"No. There is no need, darling. I just… I just came here to give you something." she says, pulling a thick letter out of her purse. "I… the letters from Sejanus are still reaching us. The flow of information between the districts and the Capitol is… very heavy and long. Especially when the peacekeepers are now checking every one of his correspondence. He sent it to you. Or rather, he wanted you to send it to him. Or rather, he wanted you to have it, just in case he couldn't… I'm sorry."

Your heart aches with sadness, seeing her on the verge of tears. She probably has no one to talk to about her son except her husband. After all, Sejanus was a traitor of Panem…

"He was a wonderful friend. The best one somebody could have. I could always count on him. Thank you for... taking the trouble to give me a letter from him. That... means a lot." you say, fighting the urge to hug the woman. The Capitol is not famous for acts of tenderness, mercy, or compassion. You had to keep up a facade. Always.

You take the letter from her and walk her to the exit. You give her one sympathetic look—everything you could afford in your position—and close the door behind her.

You sit on the couch and open the letter with trembling hands, trying not to look too closely at the way he wrote your name on the envelope. You know that will remind you of how you taught him how to decorate letters in his first days at the Capitol. Because everything here had to be perfectly beautiful. Even the fucking handwriting.

A bracelet falls out of the envelope and onto your lap. It is not particularly beautiful or sumptuous. It is a simple strap holding a peg-shaped pendant with some black, crushed stone placed behind a piece of glass.

You place it on the coffee table and open the letter with trembling hands. You already feel that after all this you will have to fix your makeup, which you will probably ruin with tears, but Sej's letter cannot wait until the end of the party.

Y/N, If you are somehow reading this letter, it means that I am not at your 20th birthday party, which makes me very sad. (You know how I love celebrating in your garden away from these Capitol's snobs.) Coming back, you know that I wish you all the best (along with Coryo. He's too big of a stick up his ass to write to you, even though he misses you and can't stop thinking about you. Take pity on me and write to this stubborn idiot, because I don't think I can stand another tirade about you and your perfection. Seriously. Our boy is getting mad because of this despair. I don't recognise him at all.) So, my dear friend, I wish you the best. I don't have any trinkets, interesting books, sweets, or anything suitable as a gift here, so I hope you'll be satisfied with what I came up with. I am not a poet, so don't laugh at me. I shall hear... or not. I made the bracelet, which you've probably already seen, myself. And that stone that is inside (and I hope it survived) is coal. I wanted to give this to you as a symbol of who you are to me. Everyone sees you as a diamond, something precious and beautiful. But for me and probably other people close to you, you are something more. This shiny diamond facade hides carbon. A simple coal, an ordinary soul like many others. But you made something more out of that ordinary coal. You are a diamond. Indestructible, the most durable of all. The purest form, preserved among the other gems and stones of the Capitol, because that's what all these power-hungry assholes are—coals that have decided not to change, to choose what is easy for them. I hope now you can see why I liked that nickname for you, diamond. So I hope you always stay true to yourself. No matter what. That's what I learned here, and I want to pass it on to you. Although I hope that by then the three of us will meet again in the Capitol. Do not wait for us both, Sejanus P.S. I miss you too.

You fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. You wipe away the tears that remain on your cheeks with your hands and take a few ragged breaths, trying to calm down.

You freeze when suddenly someone's arms wrap around you. The scent of roses hits your nostrils.

You get up from the couch like you've been burned and push Coriolanus' arms away from you. The feeling of sadness quickly turns to anger and pure fury as you stare at Snow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you growl through a clenched jaw, extremely glad that there's a couch between you, or you'd hit him. And it was easier for you to explain your tears and smeared makeup than your red knuckles.

"Sweet, kind Plinth, giving you thoughtful gifts from beyond the grave. You love the dead Sejanus so much and ignore the living me. It must be hypocrisy on your part, don't you think? You accuse me of forgetting about Sejanus when you treat me so shamefully, worse than a dog. Should I die so that you can finally stop giving me the silent treatment and running away from me?"

"Believe me, you don't want to hear what I have to say to you." you huff, taking the bracelet and the letter. You hide them in the bodice of your dress and go to the mirror to fix your smudged makeup.

"You do not have to do that. Your boy isn't at the party anymore anyway." he says, standing so that you can see his reflection in the mirror.

"What?" you ask in surprise, turning to face him. You both stare at each other. In fact, you're only now getting a chance to take a good look at him. And you notice with dissatisfaction that the bastard found out from Tigris what your dress would look like, and he chose a suite so that both of you would match. "Where is Thomas?"

"Your little boy toy? Do you think he's enough of a distraction? That he can replace me? That he'll make you feel what I feel? Maby, that he can even protect you from me? Only I know you. I'm the only one worthy of your fucking attention and affection." you push past him, but he grabs your elbow.

"Touch me again and I'll cut off your hand and shove it down your throat." you growl, breaking away from his grip.

"Such aggression… I don't remember you from this side." he mocks you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You step away from him and cross your arms, staring at him defiantly.

"I will ask you one last time. Where is Thomas?"

"Let's just say that your mother and I caught him stealing your jewelry. We were merciful enough to solve the matter quietly. You will never see that garbage on the ball or any gala again. Certainly not on yours."

"Were you the one who framed him for this?" his silence and the calculating, self-proud look of the cat that caught the canary (or, in this case, the snake that choked the mouse) tell you everything. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you ask furiously.

You want to move past him, but he pushes you back, making you bump into the wall. He closes the gap between you in one step, pressing his chest against yours.

"You're mine. You've always been. You shouldn't lead this loser on or give him false hopes. We both know we will end up together."

"I broke up with you." you remind him, not caring about his intimidating attitude.

"A mistake I intend to fix." he says, leaning towards you.

His nose brushes against yours, and you shiver. You lift your leg, trying to kick him in the groyne, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees your sudden movement and grabs your thigh in a tight grip. If it weren't for the thick layers of material, he would probably leave bruises.

"You... you have nothing to fix. There is no longer us. I don't even know you anymore, Coriolanus."

"Don't." he growls at you angrily. You can see the desperation and madness in his eyes at the fact that you're using his name and that you wrote off your relationship. "It was always you. You were always mine, Y/N, and I was always your Coryo."

"Things are changing quickly. We are not the same, and now we have nothing in common, nothing to talk about."

"We have EVRYTHING to talk about. I still love.."

"DON'T!" you interrupt him. He freezes. You rarely shout, especially at him. That's why he takes a step back before putting on his impassive mask again. "Don't even say that. You have no idea what love is. Sure, you may feel attached and even desire me at some point, but you have no idea of unconditional, true love. So for old time's sake, leave me alone."

"What about you? Do you think you are so holy and blameless? That I'm the only bad guy? You lied to me. You promised you would stay with me, no matter what."

"I promised it to my Coryo. Not to you, Coriolanus. My Coryo died in District 12 with Sejanus—maybe even in the Hunger Games—when you let Dr. Gaul brainwash you in the name of fame, money, and position. You think that old hag didn't tell me why Sejanus is dead? That I don't know that your songbird has disappeared? That I would believe that Highbottom just got high or drank himself to death?" he clenches his jaw and fists at your words. You can see how furious he is, but he holds back, still controlling himself.

"Everything I did, I did for us. For you. For Tigris and Grandma." you laugh, wondering who he's trying to fool—himself, you, or both of you at the same time.

"No. You're doing it for yourself. Only for yourself, Coriolanus." he gets even more angry and pins you to the wall again. His cool blue eyes are raging with rage, and you try hard to push away the feeling of fear he has stirred in you.

"Do you want a reason to hate me? So you and Tigris can still gossip about my madness? Then maybe I should let this old man pursue her and sell her as a wife to one of them for good money."

"KEEP HER OUT OF IT! It's Tigris, Coriolanus! Tigris! The woman whose sacrifice you owe your entire fucking life to! A woman who went out of her way to give your ungrateful, selfish ass something to wear. Who sacrificed the love of her life in the name of maintaining the façade of Snow's wealth?! You can give a damn about me, Sejan, and even that little songbird of yours, but if you fucking ruin the life of your cousin—the only goddamn person who still cares about you—I promise you, in memory of OUR dead friend, that there won't be a fucking hole where you could hide from me."

You stare daggers at each other, both openly expressing your resentment towards the other. You have no idea why he still cares about you—is it because of your money, position, or some sick fantasy he has in his head, or maybe he actually still cares about you?

You don't think about it when a more important issue arises.

Suddenly, he grabs your face in both hands and pulls you towards him, greedily kissing you as he connects your lips after a very long time of separation. He caresses your lips with his and kisses you with such fervour as if he craves you like a hermit starving for water.

And for a moment, you feel like you were with Coryo, when all that mattered to you was the other one, when you could get lost in each other, forgetting about the rest of the world and the worries that were waiting for you.

And that's exactly what he's doing now. He makes you forget about anything but him.

You can't help but moan into his mouth as he presses his body against yours. When he releases his strong grip on your cheeks to grab you around your waist and press you against his body, his leg is between yours.

He kisses you more hungrily, groaning too at the familiar warmth of your body against him and the feeling of your soft, silky skin pressing against him. The scent of your perfume mixes, creating a perfect combination of roses and your favourite flowers. Your hands automatically go to his hair as you hold on to him and press him to you. You don't like the gel on your hands from his hair, but you ignore this new, irritating feeling by biting his lip.

You don't think at all. As well as Coriolanus. You both just kiss each other, your tongues joining, as you both let your desire for one another take control of the situation.

You only come to your senses when your lips break apart. You gasp, trying to breathe again, as he fucks your exposed collarbones with kisses. Your brain comes back to you as he leaves a hickey on your neck. He bites you, making you moan so needily that a wave of shame washes over you with his tongue, soothing the bite. You push him away from you and place your hand on your chest, trying to regain control over yourself.

"See? We belong together. There is no other way, Y/N. We are all we need."

"Bullshit." you gasp, trying to ignore the possessive, smug feeling blooming in your chest when you see his messy hair and your lipstick smeared on his lips. "Since you are that good in losing your memory, then forget about me too."

"I can't. I just can't. You think I haven't tried? That you don't haunt me every damn step I take? Everything I have and everything I know is saturated with you. With the memory of both of us. I forgot about what I had with that songbird and my friendship with Sejanus, but I simply CAN'T forget about you. I haven't spent a single damn day without thinking about you. NOT EVEN ONE. And I know you felt the same way. Do you know why I didn't kill that stupid boy who was clinging to you? Because I knew it would make you hate me even more. I was alone without you at 12, and you know how it ended. You are my conscience. Without you... there's nothing holding me back. Without you, there is nothing to distinguish me from the Hunger Games tributes. I have no borders, mercy, compassion, or anything that makes people human beings. And Gaul knows it. That's why she told you all of my crimes; that's why you're paranoid now that I'm someone completely different. But it's still me. I. Am. Still. Your. Coryo." he says it firmly, taking a step closer to you with each word.

"Don't turn me into a fucking cricket for your Pinocchio. I am not, and I do not want to be your conscience. I will not take part in your lies, games, and manipulations." you say as you both stare at each other, neither of you wanting to concede to the other in any way.

"I will have you. One way or another, but I will. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will have you by my side. Just where you always belonged. I promised you to be my First Lady. And I intend to keep that promise."

"You must become president first. And believe me, I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. Maybe you can't forget about me. But I can. I do not need you. I never needed you. How ironic to be able to lose the memories of everyone except the girl who will be the end of you, isn't it, CORIOLANUS?" you mock him, a smirk on your lips, making him a promise.

You walk past him, and this time he lets you go, knowing full well that he won't do anything more with you today. At least he got his kiss and a little taste of you, a reminder of the reward that awaits him when everything finally falls into place. When he finally has you in his arms and is at the top of Panem—his rightful place.

"The game has just begun!" he shouts after you, staring at you as you head towards the bathroom to touch up your ruined makeup. It gives you satisfaction to think that this bastard will probably have to clean himself up after your little make-out session, too.

You think that maybe Gaul was right about the Hunger Games being the whole world. But the reality was that there could only be ONE winner.

And among the people of the Capitol, only you and Coriolanus had a real chance of winning. It has always been like that. And even lost memories that do not want to go away so easily are proof of this.