#covey!reader

A white off-the-shoulder top with bell sleeves. A beige corset with a floral pattern and lace-up detail is layered over the top. A mid-length, rust-colored, full skirt with a gathered at the bottom. 

And making you just a few inches taller, A pair of maroon-red Mary Jane shoes with a small buckle. Worn and old. But you made it all look beautiful. 

Your hair was down in its natural style. The front of it pinned to keep out of your face with a silver like comb. Baby’s Breath sat, bringing a natural innocence to you as you stood to the side, watching the stage where the covey preformed. 

An innocence that wasn’t tainted with anything but the hardships of the district. Calloused hands from your guitar and sewing—that was something he had learned from Lucy Gray. You were the one that always made the clothes. Helped sew patches in holes or took old rags and made them into beautiful clothing; as beautiful as you could get with scraps. 

But even so your hands knew hard work. But they didn’t have blood on them. You were innocent in that way. Like a dove. You didn’t have one mean or killer bone in your body. Your hands and conscious was free from that weight. Unlike Lucy Gray. Who had killed. A few people. That wasn’t acceptable.

Lucy Gray was tinted with that darkness now and she would never be the same girl that got off the train when they first met. He wasn’t able to help her prevent herself from killing. He had handed her the weapon to do it. But in the end she had done it. Killed. 

And he did too. But that was different,

But you?

Coryo took notice of how you weren’t preforming 

The strum of a worn guitar mingles with the raspy hum of a fiddle, and your family’s voices rise above it all—familiar, steady, filling the space in a way you should be, too. But tonight, you’re not on that makeshift stage.

No, Coryo noticed that you were waiting.

And he knew exactly. Who you were waiting for.

Sejanus. 

You were waiting for fucking Sejanus.

You lean against the wooden beam near the back of the room, your eyes darting to the door every few moments, a quick hope rising each time you catch movement. But the door remains empty, and the familiar dark curls you’d been anticipating never appear. Your stomach twists, a small knot of worry tightening with every passing second. Where is he? You replay the promise in your mind—the one where Sejanus had assured you he’d come, a little hesitant but earnest, offering to meet you tonight.

The music shifts again—another slow, quiet song. You glance at the dancers in the middle of the room, each one caught up in the melody, and the knot in your stomach grows tighter. You force your gaze back to the door. Maybe he got caught up with something… Maybe he had to take care of something with the peacekeepers or maybe—

“Still waiting for someone?”

The voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife, and you jump, swallowing as you straighten quickly. You’ve been caught. You turn to face him, the one person who’s been shadowing you all night. Coriolanus. His gaze holds a teasing, almost amused quality as his eyes flicker over you, head tilted just enough to make you wonder if he’s been watching you for longer than you realized.

You clear your throat, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight disappointment lingering at the edge of your thoughts. You push it away, replacing it with a forced smile. “No,” you lie, the word sounding hollow even to your own ears. You try to mask the vulnerability creeping through your voice, but it’s no use.

How foolish you must look. You spend a few hours with Sejanus, share moments with him, allow yourself to hope that tonight could be different. You even made a promise to take the night off, to spend it with him, dressed in one of your best outfits, only for him to not even show.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, a glint of curiosity in his gaze. “Are you sure?” he presses, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t seem very convinced.”

Your heart tugs, the familiar ache of being stood up only adding to the weight you’re carrying. You shift, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it affects you. You clear your throat again, but the words come out wrong, the fragile calm you tried to construct crumbling beneath the weight of your frustration. “It’s nothing.”

Coriolanus’s smile widens, a little more knowing now. “I’m not sure I believe you.” His eyes flicker to the door, then back to you, lingering. “But I suppose it’s his loss.”

His words are a playful attempt to ease the tension, but there’s something in them that makes your chest tighten. The night is still young, after all, and maybe it’s better to let go of Sejanus—for tonight, at least—and enjoy the music with someone who actually showed up.

You want to protest, to explain how this isn’t just about Sejanus—it’s about the time you spent building something, only to have it slip away at the last moment. But instead, you just nod, unable to speak the words.

He hums, pulling you out of your thoughts. He sounded unconvinced, but doesn’t press. Instead, his gaze flickers toward the stage, toward your family playing their hearts out while you linger in the shadows. “Shame you’re not up there,” he muses. “I was looking forward to hearing you.”

A warmth creeps up your neck, unexpected. “Not tonight.”

“Hmm.” He steps closer, close enough that you catch the scent of whatever clean, expensive cologne he wears. “Then it’s a lucky thing I came. A girl like you shouldn’t be left waiting in a place like this.”

You open your mouth—whether to argue or agree, you’re not sure—but before you can find the words, he offers his hand. “Dance with me.”

It’s not really a question.

But a part of you almost likes it. 

You hesitate, only for a second, but then his fingers brush against yours, and it sends a quiet thrill up your spine.

The music shifts again—something lively, with a quick tempo and a beat that pulses beneath your skin. Coriolanus is still watching you, waiting, his hand outstretched. You shouldn’t. You know that much. But Sejanus isn’t here, and Coriolanus is.

So you take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, as he pulls you onto the crowded floor. He moves with an easy confidence, despite the uneven planks beneath your feet, despite the way eyes flick toward you both—some surprised, some amused, a few narrowed with quiet suspicion. 

But Coriolanus doesn’t seem to notice or care. He leads you into the dance like he’s done it a hundred times before. Even though this is District 12.

“See?” he murmurs, voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music. “Not so bad.”

You scoff lightly, but your pulse betrays you, quickening as he spins you with practiced ease. “You act like you planned this.”

He grins, the kind of grin that makes it clear he probably did. “If I had, would it be such a terrible thing?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know.

His hand settles at the small of your back, guiding you through the steps as the song picks up. You fall into rhythm, your body moving on instinct, the music threading through your veins like it always does. Coriolanus is sharp and smooth, his movements precise but never stiff. He keeps up with you easily, his grip firm but never forceful.

And the worst part? It’s fun.

You know you should be more cautious with him—you know that. He’s a Capitol boy, a Snow. And yet, there’s something magnetic about him, something that makes it easy to let yourself get caught up in the moment. 

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he enjoys your company more than he should. Maybe it’s the way he speaks, how he makes compliments feel like secrets. Or maybe it’s just the simple fact that Sejanus never showed, and you don’t want to spend the whole night waiting.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Coriolanus says, his voice quieter now, meant only for you. “But I suppose you always do.”

Your breath catches, heat rising to your cheeks before you can stop it. You tilt your head, forcing a smirk to cover the flustered feeling creeping in. “Do you say that to all the district girls?”

His smile widens, sharp and knowing. “Only the ones worth saying it to.”

Before you can form a reply, he spins you, smoothly, effortlessly, and when you return to him, your fingers curl a little tighter around his.

He leans in slightly, just enough that his breath brushes your ear. “You’re blushing.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “You’re imagining things.”

He chuckles, low and amused. “I don’t think I am.”

The song swells, and he takes the opportunity to spin you again—faster this time, his grip never faltering. When he pulls you back in, your chest nearly collides with his, and for a brief moment, the world shrinks down to this: the warmth of his palm against yours, the heat of his breath as he exhales, the way his gaze locks onto yours with something unreadable but undeniably intent.

The song slows, the last few notes hanging in the smoky air, and you realize suddenly, sharply, that you don’t want to step away.

Neither does he.

Coriolanus follows your gaze, then tilts his head back toward the stage. “You could sing now, you know,” he says, a casual invitation laced with something deeper. “For me.”

And you don’t know why, but for the first time tonight, you think you just might. “Maybe I will~” you mused before the music starts up again. And so do the both of you.

~~~~~~

The rest of the night has unfolded in a blur of music, laughter, and maybe one two many drinks. 

You and Coriolanus have danced together for hours, the rhythm of the music syncing with the unsteady beat of your hearts. The alcohol has flowed freely, each drink adding a layer of warmth and daring to your interactions.

As the final song fades, you find yourselves alone amidst the dissipating crowd. 

The air outside is cool, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the dance floor. Coriolanus’s grip on your hand is firm, guiding you through the quiet streets. His proximity is comforting, yet there’s an undeniable tension, a magnetic pull that neither of you acknowledges aloud.

You blink, trying to push the buzz from your head as you meet his gaze again. “You’re not nearly as terrible as I thought you’d be,” you murmur, your words a little slurred, but you don’t mind. He’s close enough that you can smell the faint tang of liquor on his breath, the warmth of his skin pressing against yours. The space between you both has shrunk since you started walking.

Coriolanus chuckles, the sound low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “And here I thought I was living up to all your expectations.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a simple gesture that sends a jolt of warmth through you.

You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the night air. “Hardly,” you reply, your voice teasing but laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “But I suppose you’re not as insufferable as most Capitol boys.”

He stops walking, turning to face you fully. The streetlamp casts a soft glow, highlighting the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Is that so?” He steps closer, reducing the already minimal space between you. “Then tell me, Covey, what do you find insufferable about us Capitol folk?”

The question catches you off guard, but the alcohol emboldens you. “Oh, where to begin?” You place a hand over your heart in mock offense. “Perhaps it’s the way you all talk as if you’re the only ones who matter. O-Or maybe it’s the way you think your money can buy anything.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Touché,” he concedes, his voice laced with genuine interest. “But not all of us are like that, you know. Some of us are just trying to survive, same as you.”

You study him for a moment, the alcohol-induced haze making it difficult to read his expression. “Survive?” You echo, your tone skeptical. “In the Capitol?” 

He nods, his gaze steady. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be But that’s a story for another time.”

You shrug as the world feels pleasantly hazy, the effects of the evening’s revelry settling comfortably in your limbs. You sway and stumble occasionally on the dirt road back to your home with Coryo by your side, and find yourself humming a tune, the melody flowing effortlessly from your lips. 

The cool night air wraps around you both as you approach your doorstep. The last few notes of the music still echo in your mind, and the alcohol lingers in your bloodstream, making everything feel a little lighter, a little more daring.

Coriolanus pauses when you reach the steps, turning to face you. The soft glow of the streetlamp casts a warm light over his features, and for a moment, you both just stand there in silence, the tension between you palpable. His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

“Hey Covey~,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Your family, they all have names from poems, don’t they?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s a topic you’ve grown up with—poetry in your family is as natural as breathing. Each member of the Covey family is named after a different poem, a tradition that’s been passed down for generations. Your own name has a story, of course. You just never expected anyone from the Capitol to care.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice a little quieter than you intended, “we all have one. It’s… kind of our thing.” You pause, looking at him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

His smile deepens, and there’s a glimmer of something you can’t quite read in his eyes. “I want to know yours,” he says simply. “What poem are you named after?”

You tilt your head, considering for a moment. There’s something about his request, the way he’s looking at you, that makes you want to tell him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s asking, that he wants to know you, not just some Capitol boy making idle conversation. And maybe it’s the alcohol loosening your tongue, but you find yourself giving in.

“It’s called Rose in the Dark,” you say softly, the words flowing easily now. “It’s about… being hopeful and waiting for goodness, even in the darkest of times. Even when it all feels hopeless,”

His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued. “And what does that have to do with you?” His voice is quiet, like he’s trying to draw something out of you, trying to figure out who you are, what you’re made of.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol spinning through your head in a warm swirl as you start to sing the words of the poem. The poem that you were named after.

“In a garden of dust where the shadows creep, She bloomed in silence, in the dark so deep. Her petals were soft, her heart full of fear, But she held on, despite the pain drawing near. The winds they howled, and the storms they  raged, But still, she stood—unbroken, unaged. Her roots were strong, though the earth was torn.

In the darkest night, a rose was born. She reached for the stars when the sky was dim, Sang silent songs with a voice so grim. Though the world around her crumbled away, She whispered to the night, “I’ll find my way.” “

Coriolanus watches you, his gaze unwavering, as the words hang in the night air between you both. You continue, your voice growing a little steadier as the poem wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

“Her gaze was steady, but her soul was wild, A mystery untold, the sun’s lost child. In the coldest winds, she never would bend, She walked alone, but she’d never end,”

Your voice falters for just a moment, but you push through, feeling a deep sense of connection to the words you speak, to the hope that they carry.

“Her name was Y/N Rose, a song in the breeze, A spirit that dances through the trembling trees. And when you hear the wind softly moan, Know that even when hope lives on,  She is still gone and all alone.”

You finish the poem, and the world feels strangely still, like time has paused around the two of you. There’s a silence that stretches out, and you suddenly feel vulnerable, exposing something deep within yourself. You look at him, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll laugh, or worse, make some cutting remark. 

Instead, his eyes soften, his lips quirking into that familiar, enigmatic smile. “You’re hopeful,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Hope.”

You swallow hard, taken aback by the simplicity of his words. It’s the first time anyone has ever looked at you and seen that—hope, not just some girl from District 12, not just a Covey. Not even Sejanus has looked at you like that.

You nod, your chest tight with the weight of something you’re not sure you fully understand. Your mind muddled with the liquor.

“That’s what I am,” you say, repeating his curious words, your voice a little softer now, quieter. “Hope.”

Coriolanus seems to study you for a moment longer, as if trying to decide what to say next. The air between you both feels charged, heavy with more than just the weight of the words you’ve shared. There’s something else—something unspoken.

He steps closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Well, little Rose,” he says with that same knowing smile. “I think I’d like to keep that hope around.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he means it the way you think he does. If he sees the real you, or he’s trying to get to that level to see it. 

Coryo leans in, his lips brushing your cheek in the softest of kisses. To tender, so soft, it makes your stomach flutter. Causing your eyes to close and your eyelashes to flutter against your cheeks.

You stand there for a moment, your heart racing, feeling like the world is spinning around you. 

As he pulls back, you open your eyes, the gentle smile on his lips makes your breath catch in your throat. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, his voice warm, almost intimate. With a nod, he turns and head back down the dirt path towards the Seam, further back to the barracks of the peacekeepers. 

You watch him walk away, the lingering touch of his presence still electrifying the air around you. He was so different than Sejanus, it was strange to see them as friends.

Letting out a breath you step inside your home, the door closes behind you, you rest your hand against it. 

Wyatt adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time, his cheeks still flushed and hands slightly trembling as he stood out on the front step with you next to him. You turned towards him, brows furrowed in concern. "Are you alright, my love?"

Wyatt spins around to face you, a sweat forming on his brow. "Yes." You raise your eyebrows. "No– It's just– I've never… done this before. Meeting the pa– uncle?" You hum and turn back to the door.

"I'm aware," you reply drily. "But he isn't all bad! He'll love you, actually. And Lenore Dove will too, especially her." Wyatt hums, the tension in his shoulders receding. You open the door and a creak follows, as expected. Wyatt has to slump ever so slightly to walk through the frame and his foot catches on the loose plank in the foyer. You glance back with your gaze sharp and piercing and Wyatt freezes for a second. He's only seen that look a few times, and never pointed towards him. He makes himself look tall and follows you further inside.

"Clerk Carmine!" You shout, "come down, I've got a guest." You stand at the foot of the stairwell, impossibly still. Wyatt watches you, and then looks around the room, fiddling with his thumbs.

The heavy footsteps on the second floor alert you of Clerk Carmine's arrival before you even see his figure. He grimaces at you. "A guest?" he says, like he can't believe your words.

"A friend."

"Friend?" He draws the word out.

"Something more than that."

"What, still undefined?"

You guffaw, "fine, my boyfriend." There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and he steps down. Wyatt's heart does a little jump when you call him your boyfriend.

"Get him to the yard. I'll make some sandwiches."

"Aye." You turn around in a flash, already ushering Wyatt outside before he has time to question you. Wyatt stumbles a moment as he steps down the last step, boots landing in the soft, green grass. The wind blows in his face and rustles his hair. You fix his hair for him.

"You alright?" Wyatt asks, albeit sheepishly. He feels out of place in the yard, which is overgrown with foliage and trees that were a rare sight in District 12. You nod vigorously and lead him further into the yard before sitting him down in a rickety chair.

"Of course I'm alright!" You chide, sitting down across him. "Clerk Carmine can be a little judgemental, that's all." Wyatt furrows his brows.

"Should I have prepared more?" He glance down at the clothes he was wearing. A scruffy dress shirt and straight legged trousers. Maybe it wasn't colorful enough for the Covey. He suddenly felt very exposed among the beds of vibrant wildflowers.

You sigh, "no, of course not. You're perfect the way you are." Wyatt's heart eases a little, "I just hope Clerk Carmine thinks you're perfect too."

"I hope so too," he replies. You give him a smile. You loved Wyatt when he was like this, with a boyish glint in his eyes and his broad shoulders trembling from nerves. Any hint of emotion was a welcome change to his usual stoic look. "The flowers are… they're really pretty," he stammers. "Colorful, like you guys." Your heart jumps and you smooth out your clothes.

"Gee thanks, Wyatt," you hum. "I planted some of these. But I forgot to water half of 'em."

"Oh," Wyatt pauses, "they're still pretty. Just… like you."

You laugh, "how cheesy. But I appreciate it, doll." You plant a kiss on his cheek and lean back just as the door to the backyard opens and Clerk Carmine walks out with a tray.

Wyatt jumps to his feet. "Let me help you." Clerk Carmine shoves right past him, fixing him a glare. Being the recipient of many such looks whenever you went to the Hob to barter, you feel a chill course through your spine.

Wyatt glances at you for help. You sit up, blinking, "My, isn't that heavy. Clerk Carmine? You should let Wyatt help." You bat your eyelashes. To Clerk Carmine, it just looks more brutish compared to your usual methods of manipulation.

"I'm fine, sweets," he assures you pointedly and sets the tray down with a thud that would've made u flinch if you weren't Covey. It wasn't any worse than boots thumping along to music on wood floors above your room.

"Well that's great," you deadpan. Clerk Carmine gives you a wry smirk. Wyatt gingerly walks back to his seat. The chair creaks and trembles a bit under his weight.

Clerk Carmine pours out tea and gently places the cups on their respective flowery porcelain saucers. "So, Wyatt," you sigh, "what are your intentions with my niece?"

Wyatt blinks, eyes as wide as the saucer he has in his hand. "Erm,"

"What? You wanna marry her? Give your kids a miserable life in the Districts?" Clerk shoots back. To be completely honest, Wyatt hadn't thought that far. He didn't know if he wanted to marry you either. He loved you to death and probably spent half of his salary getting you colorful trinkets. But he's seen what happens to District kids. Seam kids, in particular. He shuts his eyes before he could think about them. Caved in stomachs and sunken cheeks for children who shouldn't even know how hunger felt like.

"No, of course not…" Wyatt scoffs, "I'd never do that to ou– my kids." You raise a brow.

"So you aren't willing to sacrifice anything for her?" Wyatt freezes, dumbfounded.

"Yes I am," he answers immediately. "I'd do anything to protect her, really."

"She's Covey, she doesn't need a protector." Clerk Carmine dishes out sandwiches, but you've left your tea untouched. He looks up at you, furrowing his brows.

You huff, "does MY opinion not matter? I think he's a damn fine boyfriend, I don't care about marriage or kids or– any of this stuff!" You throw your hands up, "I'm Covey, I don't need a provider."

"Don't take that tone with me," Clerk Carmine scolds you, albeit lightly.

"I'll take whatever tone with whomever I want. Even if it's you ACTING LIKE A CHILD!" You scream the last bit, and Wyatt flinches. Clerk Carmine however, is used to this.

You exhale and close your eyes, expecting the conversation to ebb and return to its previous strained atmosphere.

What happens next however, is completely new.

"You're grounded."

Your eyes open with a start. "What?"

"Grounded."

Wyatt suddenly feels incredibly out of place.

"You can't ground me, I'm eighteen!"

"And still living under my roof. Grounded." Clerk Carmine finishes his sandwich. What a mundane thing to do after he takes away your freedom. "For a month. No singin', no nothing. You go outside with me only."

"Are you kiddin'?!" You screech. Wyatt flinches again. "Where's Lenore Dove? She does a lot of stupid stuff but never gets grounded."

"She's not getting you out of this one either. Forget about it." Clerk Carmine gets up, stretching his back out.

"Where're ya goin'?" You yell, getting up yourself. Your skirts flutter around you, matching the flowers behind you.

"Inside. Clean this up," Clerk Carmine deadpans. Now that was the weirdest thing he's ever said in the last five minutes.

"What?"

"Clean this up." Clerk Carmine stops walking and turns around to gesture to the table full of plates and mugs.

You grimace, "I don't know how to." You and Lenore Dove have never even crossed paths with a dirty dish in the sink.

"Figure it out." He makes his way to the backyard door, takes his time and stops in the doorframe. "You're still grounded." The door shuts behind him with an entirely unremarkable thud. Not nearly dramatic enough for your life-ending predicament.

Wyatt watches your eye twitch. "Are you… okay?" He says. A rhetorical question, they're called. His brother told him about it. They're stupid, at least to him. Theres a zero percent chance you are okay, and therefore there's no need to question it. He did hear that it was basic courtesy, so he might aswell.

You sniffle, nose burning up as you stand. "I've never been grounded before." Made sense. In twelve, most parents don't have time to watch their kids. Or a full enough stomach to waste energy on them. The Covey were different though. Food came second, freedom first. For his beloved to be grounded… even if it was a juvenile punishment due to be revoked, was equivalent to a bird getting its wings clipped.

"He'll come around." Wyatt gets up and sits you back down on the lawn chair with a gentle hand on your shoulder. He gathers up all of the plates and glasses, like clockwork. You sit and watch.

"I don't think he will." You sound so glum, it breaks his heart. You let out a long sigh, throwing your head back and looking up at the sky. "This is so unfair. Lenore Dove can do whatever she wants, and I'm older than her."

Wyatt hums. "I'm sure Clerk Carmine is just joking. He doesn't seem like the type to hold grudges for long." He hopes he isnt, anyhow. He'd only known Clerk Carmine for the last hour, but he could see the love he had for you. "I'll put these away." You nod in response, watching him walk back inside with his hands full of cutlery.

You stand up from your chair, wiping your hands on your skirt. You look around the lawn, with its overgrown grass and unkempt sprawling weeds, and begin picking away at the dandelions. Voices come from the house, one of which you recognise as the floaty, sharp voice of Lenore Dove. The other being the quiet mumble of Clerk Carmine. You head back inside, wiping your feet on the crochet floormat. Lenore Dove greets you warmly, planting a kiss on your cheek. "What's wrong?" You ask as Lenore Dove heads upstairs into her room.

"Your boy left," Lenore Dove yells from the second floor. Your ears tense.

"You're kidding?" You shout. Clerk Carmine nods, mumbling under his breath. "You kicked him out?" You spin on Clerk Carmine who was washing dishes in the sink.

"You can meet him once you're ungrounded."

"Which will be when, in five years?"

"Don't be so dramatic. And don't look at me like that, please. Good– go upstairs."

You purse your lips and do as you were told.

It has since been three days since you were grounded. You couldn't go to the market, to the bar, to the wilds– anywhere that wasn't in the vicinity of the Covey residence. Most of those three days were spent looking after the lawn and picking weeds, much to Lenore Dove's dismay.

Someone threw something at your window. A rock, you assumed. And then again. You close the volume of the book you were reading and walk to your bedroom window. You pull it open right as another rock soared through the opening and landed on the floor beside you. Who, you thought, as hair blew onto your face, could be seeking your attention so furiously? You looked down and saw the unmistakable broad-shouldered outline of Wyatt Callow. He beamed up at you, his features just barely illuminated by the lantern hanging from one of the walls. Wyatt looked around him, and stopped upon seeing the magnolia tree the size of the house. You heave a sigh, already expecting the next sequence of events. Which were attempted many times before by other Covey paramours. Wyatt pulls himself up on a thick, sturdy branch, sending birds flying from the tree. The creaking and chirps made you wince. You rest your head against the windowsill, watching his silhouette scamper up the tree with the grace of a newborn deer.

You remembered watching Haymitch Abernathy do the same in an attempt to be romantic and make Lenore Dove swoon. It was a rather pathetic attempt. He was even less nimble-footed than Wyatt, and made it up three branches before his coat snagged and he fell all the way down onto the grass. You remember bursting out into laughter at the sight, doubling over with stitches at your side. The sound echoed through the residence and caused Clerk Carmine to wake up with a huff. And, as he entered your room still in his night-gown and night-cap, he ushered you back into bed and turned out the lights. But, as you laid in the darkness still giggling, you heard the rustle of grass against fabric and the sound of running beneath Lenore Dove's window.

You and Lenore Dove never suffered the same difficulties. That tree was as old as the first Covey tombstone in the wilds, so naturally you knew every route down from it like it was the back of your hand. Many nights were spent giggling and shushing one another as the two of you snuck out to the lake in the Wilds, or to a bar, or to the Hob, or to meet your friends, clutching bundles of clothes under your arm. Every branch of that magnolia felt like an extension of your arm, yet none of the Covey paramours possessed the same gift.

Wyatt makes a wrong step, and the branch creaks and dips mournfully beneath him. He pulls his foot back at the last second, heart beating out of his chest. Maybe he should've brought a ladder. He takes a deep inhale, remembers what his brothers told him and tests another branch, sinking his weight onto it and then levering himself onto another. Only… twenty more branches to go, he assumes. He sinks into a crook of the tree to catch his breath, before continuing to climb.

"The only way into her house is a tree, I think."

Wyatt did not expect the laugh that came from his brother when he said that. "Well, then, Wyatt— my unathletic, footsteps -that-sound-like-a-bear Wyatt— you shall have to climb."

"Stop hitting my shoulder– thank you. And anyway, wouldn't it be easier to take a ladder with me?"

"That's not romantic enough," he replies, "people like the Covey hold everything dear to their heart. You can't do anything the conventional way with them– I mean it, Wyatt! Your brother wants the best for you–" he drinks from his mug– "And you can't carry a ladder all the way from here to the Covey residence." He pats Wyatt's shoulder again. "Goodluck, boy."

Wyatt sighed, looking at the moonlight leaking through the leaves. Your gaze is fixed on the moon and you sway gently. Your nightgown billows around you and Wyatt stands transfixed, watching every blink, every inhale and every sigh. He snaps out of it when you look at him and smile. With his cheeks now red, he heaves himself up onto the last branch with a grunt. His arms shake. "You made it," you gasp, eyes widening. There's sweat beading on his brow, dripping into his collar and his cheeks are flushed red, his breathing erratic. You clear your throat to break the silence. Wyatt inches closer to the window, just barely balancing himself. "This is your worst idea yet," you said, your voice dripping with amusement. You step away right as Wyatt tumbles forward onto your bedroom carpet, the floorboards creak beneath him and you wince.

"Sorry." Wyatt sucks in a breath. You help him up from the floor. "Not the most graceful, right?" You shush him, and he sinks his head onto your shoulder. "I'm surprised it… worked−"

"Why'd you risk it? You could've hurt yourself," you furrow your eyebrows. His legs are beginning to buckle, "you know that, right?"

"I needed to see you." One of his arms drops from where it's wrapped around your shoulder to fumble through his pockets. You groan, prying Wyatt off of you. He looks at you like he's done something wrong to make you not support his leviathan weight, but recedes to sit down on the edge of your mattress.

"What's the occasion?"

He stops, blinking up at you. You raise your brows. His normally stoic face breaks into a smile, like the clouds parting for the sun. You smile despite yourself, breaking into giggles. "What? What is it? You're in my room at three A.M., there must be something important, right? What's in your hand, Wyatt?" Wyatt hesitates before holding his fist out to you. You pry his fingers open one-by-one to reveal a tiny little gemstone, fiery red like a piece of the sun was embedded at its core. Not a chip in sight, unlike the rest in your collection. The pieces at the Hob had been passed through too many hands for them to sparkle like this one, to gleam like this one. "Wow…" You don't feel like you should be looking at this. "Where'd you get it, Wy?" He turns his hand over so the gem drops into your palm. Your fingers tighten around it, feeling its perfect ridges.

"Guy at the club bet it on a twelver," he yawned, leaning back and stretching his arms out, "lost it, chances were like finding a needle in a haystack."

"And you pocketed it?"

Wyatt pauses. "Wouldn't you?" Yes. Wyatt didn't respect the club-goers and neither did you. Stealing a gem from them doesn't matter. Wyatt chuckles, receiving his answer in your silence. "You like it, right? I didn't sacrifice my spotless record for nothing."

"Of course I like it, I−I love it," you've only spun away to place it on the perfect spot on your shelf, "gorgeous," you swoon, observing it from afar. "Thank you, Wy." Wyatt nods and you turn around to face him. "Why'd you climb the tree? No one's done that, y'know."

"It's the only way in," he concedes.

"You risked your life about six times climbing it."

"The success rates weren't zero. And, I wanted to see you," he whispers in the quiet. You feel your cheeks warm, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. He deflates, bringing his arms around your waist, albeit hesitantly. You sigh, relaxing your body, your tensed jaw and mildly furrowed brow. That is, until you hear the creaking of floorboards outside, followed by the opening of a door. Heavy-set footsteps, a gait you know very well to be Clerk Carmine's. Wyatt bristles like a cat, pulling away from you instantly.

You jump, mind already beginning to race. "Oh– Wyatt, you need to get out!" You whisper-shout, ushering him over towards the window with bated breath. He doesn't resist, allowing himself to be pushed to the window-sill. He's as silent as a mouse, his otherwise weighted footsteps subdued. He turns to face you once he's at the window, wind blowing through his black hair and rustliDng the fabric of his shirt. You thumb your fingers over it, feeling the shabby fabric before coming back to your senses. You raise your brows urgently at him, trying to get him to climb back out of the window, "we'll get caught, hurry up already, Wyatt!"

Wyatt giggles, despite himself. He's already leveraging himself onto the branch he came in from, but right as hes about to turn around and make the climb, he turns back for a split second and plants a kiss on your cheek. You cough and sputter at the suddenness, brain short-circuiting. But Wyatt's already too far for you to say anything. The footsteps outside your door get louder, and you quickly shut your window, pulling the curtains closed and running to your bed. You land on the mattress with a soft thud and the sound of springs creaking, and pull yourself under the covers right as the door-knob turns and the wind blows the window open again.

He reached for his axe, a shiny thing that somehow survived all his brutally killings from the revolution, and the sadness left his grey eyes, morphing into a careful glare as he walked around the seemingly empty home. But Sirius had fallen to similar traps in the past. Despite what the logical part of his brain said, he still let the paranoia guide him through the house. 

When he reached the kitchen, it was obvious the house was empty, but what caught his attention, and froze his heart momentarily, was the faint smell of marigold tea suspiciously similar to the one you’d prepare after an awful nightmare of your own games. Sirius took long strides to the stove, where a cold kettle sat almost empty. He looked around with his heart in his throat, a small flickering of hope ignited inside his chest. 

“Lovely?” He called out tentatively. 

“Nope, just me.” 

A shriek unexpectedly left his lips at the person standing by the kitchen door. Marlene’s smirk widened as she fully entered the room in order to make herself comfortable in one of the chairs. Sirius scowled so deeply he felt a vein popping in his forehead. 

“What the hell, McKinnon?” He let out a breath, his hand massaging his sternum in order to tame his heart. “When did you even get here?”

Marlene shrugged, “Yesterday. Moody pulled some favors to get the train to leave in the early morning– Oi, you got any booze here, or just that marigold tea? Reckon Moody will pop a vessel if I don’t get him a bottle soon.”

Sirius waved her off, “There might be some in the studio– Wait, marigold tea? You smell that too?”

“Wicked, thanks.” Marlene nodded, standing up to walk out the kitchen, not before turning around by the door to level Sirius with a small, knowing smile, “The Meadow is looking delightfully auburn today, by the way.” 

Without elaborating any more, she turned and quite literally skipped all the way to the studio. Sirius watched with a frown the spot where she stood, then his eyes traveled to the window. The small candle of hope he had put out moments prior lighted up with more intensity, and promptly ran out the door and towards the Meadow. 

A broken exhale escaped his lips at the sight before him. There you sat, eyes contemplatively staring out the fields with a slight frown in your features. The yellow flowers tickled your uncovered arms—your torture scars at full display, and it almost looked like they tried to caress the cruel lines of your skin, your long gone Covey family comforting you from the afterlife. Regardless of the sadness that radiated off you, you seemed to be fully alright. And more importantly, not dead, as Riddle had led him to believe. 

“Lovely?” He called out once again, voice barely a whisper in case you were a fabrication of his mind. 

But you turned around so quickly a few flowers flew away with the movement. He dropped his axe as you jumped to your feet to run to him. Sirius let out an elated bark of laughter when you jumped to his open arms, your happy sobs drowning out his own as he held onto you tightly. 

“You’re alive.” You repeated over and over, almost to yourself. Like you couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re alive, you– you’re here.”

Sirius, as much as he wanted to pull away to kiss you silly, accepted your hold around his shoulders and patiently waited for your initial shock to wear off. He pressed countless kisses at the crown of your head, his tears dampening your hair as you yourself dampened his own jacket with your crying. 

“Oh, lovely Auburn.” He said softly as you pressed your forehead against his. “My lovely y/n.”

“Deep in the meadow, hidden far away.” You recited, almost like you were replaying that fateful night in your head. “Hidden far away… And I’m here, Sirius. I waited.”

Sirius nodded, bringing you close to him in a tight embrace once again. His sad eyes staring out at the field as he recalled the last night you two were together.

It seemed so long ago, when you had been dragged away from his arms by armed men, that he now knew were Peacekeepers, only to appear the next day in the same arena you two had been watching from your home with hollowed stomachs. In an act of desperation, Sirius had managed to find you some willing sponsors to send you one message: Deep in the meadow. Granted, he never imagined that it would take long to fulfill his promise to meet you at said point; tributes you needed to kill and arenas you managed to destroy, revolutions he was appointed to lead. 

“It’s all over, my love.” He whispered, wasting no time in cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. 

“All over.” You repeated with a wobbly smile, he kissed your tears away. “Riddle?”

“Dead. All of them.” Sirius nodded, his fingers plucked a flower from the field and gingerly placed it behind your ear. Your blinding smile prompted more tears to trail down your cheeks. “We’re safe.”

“James? Lily?” You whispered, Sirius cupped your cheek again. “Remus…?”

“James and Lily stayed behind, she’s due in a couple of days now, it’s not safe for her to travel. As for Remus…” 

You brought a hand to your mouth with anticipatory grief, eyes once again welling up at the prospect that your best friend and District partner at the games had died at the cruel hands of the Capitol. But Sirius was quick to fix your train of thought. 

“He’s alive. At the end decided to stay permanently at the Capitol, something about starting a career in medicine to help the remaining survivors.” You let out a relieved breath. “He promised he would visit soon.”

Sirius pecked your lips quickly, lips sizzling with questions of his own, “The marigold tea?”

“Oh,” You shrugged, your hands around him loosened and your fingers toyed with the hem of his jacket. Sirius watched with a smile as you stared out pensively. “Marlene said she wanted some, now that I think about it she never came to pick it up.” 

A few words came into his head at your admission. You got any booze here, or just that Marigold tea? The Meadow is looking delightfully auburn today, by the way. 

“That cheeky minx.” He shook his head with breathy chuckles, you tilted your head in confusion. “She was trying to tell me something back at the house. Reckon she’s still paranoid to flat-out tell me you were here.” 

“I told her to use that code. In case you came back one day.” You supplied breezily. 

“Oh, you cheeky little thing.”

At this, your blinding smile returned, and Sirius was so overcome with an arsenal of feelings he was surprised he didn’t faint right there in your arms. You being alive and well in front of him was too much for the weak heart they had successfully implanted when they dug him out the bombed remains. Speaking of… He supposed that, at some point, he would tell you everything that happened during his time at the front lines, just like you would lay out the different kinds of tortures you underwent in order to protect the cause. But right now, all he wanted to do was kiss you silly at the Meadow that saw your tragic love story unfold. 

“I love you,” He mumbled, cupping your cheeks with all the tenderness of the world. “Like all fire.” 

You smiled, “I love you like all-fire, too.” 

You silently picked a flower of your own and placed it behind his ear. Lips eagerly kissing your way from his jaw to his lips, both of you completely ignoring the saltiness in each other’s skin. Like all-fire was the Covey way you had always expressed your love for him, the way it was taught to you from your Covey family growing up, and something he himself didn’t understand until he fought tooth and nail to watch the Capitol burn to the ground all because of your abduction.

With their clothes and make up, the girls had flowers entangled in their hair. It made it seem like they had rolled around in a field before coming up on stage. It was intriguing, but very much district, and it made Coriolanus internally scowl.

The covey continued to play for a few hours, rotating songs and singers. Giving each other a break, Maude Ivory sang for a while before Lucy Gray returned. Of course she held the audience in a captivated gaze at the sound of her voice.

Coriolanus and the other off duty peacekeepers were no exception as she twirled around the stage with her black guitar in hand. It was a sight, certainly one that would make her plenty of money if she came with him back to the capital. She would make a pretty capital girl, once she was cleaned up and better fed at least, Coriolanus thought.

The end of the night was winding down, and everyone was exhausted from the dancing over the last few hours. Lucy Gray panted softly before approaching the microphone once more.

“District Twelve ya’ll have been amazing as always,” she said with the biggest grin, like it was a privilege to be preforming at the Hob in the lowest district in Panem.

“And just before we go for the night we got a special treat. My cousin Y/N Rose Baird! She got an awful special song for y’all tonight to finish us off.. y/n!” Lucy gray turned and beckoned her cousin up front.

A girl, maybe not much older than Lucy Gray, maybe a year or two stepped up wearing a pink blouse and off white skirt, her hair was done half up, help of what looked like baby’s breath through her hair.

Coriolanus’ eyes widened a bit at the side of her, the soft rouge on her cheeks and pink on her lips. It was soft. Not harsh make up like Lucy gray had worn, but very little.

“Oh wow…” he heard Sejanus’ voice beside him, and for a moment he had completely forgotten he was there, “she’s beautiful,”

Sejanus was right though. This Y/N Rose was beautiful. Even from the way that she held the old brown guitar in her hands, everything about her intrigued him. The softness in her eyes and expression. Glancing around the room, he felt a hot jealously spring through him as he saw many of the other men looking at her the same way.

They didn’t deserve to look at you that way. You were too gentle, too soft and vulnerable. He could tell by just looking at you. The shy way you were glancing around the room. You preferred the background, and he liked that.

Lucy gray was always upfront, bold. Abrasive. But that wasn’t you. You weren’t like your cousin, who had killed in the games, you would never hurt anyone. And you needed protecting. He could do that.

“Thank y’all for comin’” Y/N’s voice rang into the microphone and he couldn’t help but stare. In the corner of his eye he could see Sejanus almost making heart eyes.

“This is a song I wrote a little while ago. Lost someone as we all have. Hope y’all like it,” she said nervously before she gently began to strum the guitar in her hands. One note after another. Then she began to sing.

“Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow.

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.”

Coriolanus felt like he was in a trance as she began to sing. Her voice was soft and airy, almost shy. It was so different to Lucy Gray. Though his mind snapped out of his thoughts as Lucy Gray found her way over to him with a grin.

“Hi! Good ain’t she?” She asked happily, rather proud of her cousin.

“Good isn’t the word for it,” Sejanus said, his cheek flushing a bit as he looked from Lucy Gray back to the stage.

Coriolanus cleared his throat, “yes, she’s quite good. But most of the Covey is,” he said, listening as Y/N continued.

“Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by.

So I can see my true love go by.”

“She was always shyer than most,” Lucy Gray said, “prefers the background. But I couldn’t let her not sing this one,” she said, and it make Coriolanus think….who was it about? Was this recent?

“Go write a letter, send it by mail.

Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.

Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.”

“Who is it about?” Coriolanus asked, he couldn’t help himself.

Lucy gray let out a small sigh, “someone she was with about a year ago. He was the bakers son. Honestly I never seen someone so smitten before,” she said fondly, remembering how Y/N was with the boy before shaking her head,

“but he got himself into some bad trouble with the peacekeepers. Attempted to bribe one of the commanders. They thought he was all involved with the rebels and then he was sent off to the capital jail. Never seen someone so heart broken before.” Lucy gray shook her head, her messy black curls moving as she did so.

“But anyway, she wrote this a while ago. But just finished coming up with the music. I think it’s a hit with the district. Many people lost a lot of loved ones. For things like stealing and illegal trading,” she finished explaining.

“Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you,

Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

Coriolanus’ head snapped back as she continued to sing the last verses of her song. It reminded him of his mother, she would sing those same lines to him. And it made his stomach flutter. Nerves? Anxiety? He couldn’t tell.

Sejanus cleared his throat, “Lucy Gray….do you think you could introduce us?” He asked hopefully, and Lucy Gray gave a knowing grin.

“Why of course. Once the crowd clears,” Lucy Gray said.

Coriolanus couldn’t help but internally scoff at Sejanus. What could he do for a sweet shy girl like you? Sejanus was just as weak. You needed someone to protect you, who knew better. Sejanus couldn’t do that to you. But Coriolanus could. And he wouldn’t lose to someone like Sejanus.

His pale eyes moved from Sejanus as the crowd erupted into applause, and watched as Y/N gave a bashful smile and a cute little bow.

Yes.

And as you told him about yourself, Sejanus thought the same thing of you. You had told Sejanus a similar story that Lucy Gray had told Coriolnaus when they were speaking about thier background.

How you all traveled around the districts performing before the Peacekeepers came. Your parents spoke up along with Lucy Gray's and within minutes they were all shot. Leaving all seven of you orphans.

You, of course, always gave everything to Maude Ivory, your little sister while Lucy Gray kept look out for you.

You told Sejanus about your performances, how they were when Lucy Gray was gone, and how happy you all were to see her come home. You spoke about how you did not quite like the front stage like your sister and cousin. You had much preferred the backup.

Lucy Gray had been trying to get you to be more confident with your voice and performances, you were absolutely lovely after all.

And by the end of the day, while the summer heat was cooling and you all packed up and made your way back to the Seam, you and Sejanus were truly and quickly smitten. Even Maude Ivory was teasing as the Covey and the two peacekeepers split off for the night.

Though now it had been a few days since then, and you haven't seen nor heard much from Sejanus. Though you couldn't blame him since you knew they always were rough on the new peacekeeper. You were sure that he would show up at one of your shows at some point.

However, what you weren't expecting, was a soft few knocks on your old creaky home. You and Lucy Gray were the only ones awake at such a late hour.

You usually couldn't sleep, at least not easily, and Lucy Gray's nightmares from the arena made it difficult for her too. So usually, as of lately, you both would keep each other company until your eyes grew droopy.

You shared a concerned look with Lucy Gray. Who could be here at such an hour? It was late and most of the District would be asleep by now, especially where they lived. The only ones who would be awake would be the peacekeepers that would be out on patrol.

Swallowing nervously, Lucy gray got to her feet and brushed off her skirt before slowly peeking out the door. You watched as her body relax and a grin on her face with what you could see.

Hushed whispers were exchanged, though you couldn't place your finger on it. That was until Lucy Gray nodded, and left the door open just a crack.

"It's for you. Here," she said passing you your mother's old cardigan before shoving you to the door. "Be careful, don't be out too late." she teased.

You looked to your cousin in confusion as you slipped on the old faded cardigan and made your way to the door. "Lucy Gray what are you doing? Its too-" but you stopped in your tracks as you finally see who it was at the door.

"Sejanus..." you said, feeling your face heat up as you softly shut the door behind you. As you look him over, you notice his peacekeeper's uniform, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He must have been on patrol...did he come all this way to see you? The thought of it made your face heat up.

"Y/N.." Sejanus said quietly, softly, shifting where he stood as he was able to finally see you again. Though it took some convincing of Coryo to allow him to sneak off for a little while, it was well worth it to see your beautiful face in the cool moonlight. Just the thought made his stomach flutter.

"I wanted to see you. They've been on our asses about training and patrolling....but I just wanted to see you again. I saw the light in your window and hoped you were awake. I was wondering if you wanted to have a late night picnic with me...if you're not too tired." he asked.

And that's when you noticed the little rucksack he had tucked away. It wasn't much, you couldn't imagine he was able to sneak much out. Unless he had already prepped and stashed it away somewhere. But the thought that he had come all the way out there to ask you to a midnight picnic made your face flush.

"Of course. How can I say no to that? C'mon," You say after a moment, a large grin spreading over your face. You took his larger hand in yours and tugged him off to the meadow.

There was close enough to return home if needed, but still allowed you both to have some privacy.

"How's this?" you asked.

And what a sight it was. The full moon was shining down over the field, reflecting off of the flowers and some dew drops already forming.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, "It's perfect," he said as you two settled down. He placed his rifle off to the side, though still in reach. Just in case. And once you settled he untied he cloth and residing were his mother's cookies. Your eyes widened as you looked up to him.

"How did you mange to get some of these?" You ask excitedly, picking up one of the cookies and taking a deep inhale. "Smells amazing." you say before taking a bite and letting out a satisfied sound. "Hmm...taste amazing too,"

Sejanus laughed as he took a cookie himself, "My Ma made them. She likes to bake, always has. And she likes to send them to me. Reminds me of home." he explained as he took a bite.

Your eyes and expression softened, "Well," you said after chewing, "My compliments to Mrs. Plinth. my favorite baker in all of Panem," you declared.

Sejanus couldn't help but smile, "I'll write to her and let her know she has a fan," he mused before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

The sounds of the nightlife continued to fill the air as the minutes passed. The sound of the wind and soft chirping of the crickets filled most of the silence. Some birds, maybe some owls called out into the late night.

"Thank you for this. It was awfully nice of you," you said after a little while.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, looking over at you. "Of course. I wanted to do something nice. I don't exactly always have the time but....you're worth making time for." he said.

That caused you to flush and glance at him, admiring him in the moonlight as well. The way the silvery beams reflected in his brown eyes, making them almost shining. And the way he was looking at you...damn the way he was looking just made you want to kiss him.

Sejanus swallowed nervously as he stared back at you. The way the moonlight was shining in your eyes and hair, he swore he had never seen someone so beautiful. Slowly he reached up, using his thumb to brush away some crumbs that settled on your lips.

It was now or never.

"Y/N....can I..." Sejanus barely got the words out before you almost too eagerly nodded. He took a nervous breath before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a small sigh as your eyes fluttered closed, slowly wrapping your arms around him to keep him close. The feeling of his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, electricity through your skin as his lips fit rather perfectly against your own.

It had be a dream the way it was all happening. You had never thought that you would feel this kind of emotion again...not after...him at least. But here you were, kissing he cutest boy in all of the Districts.

The two of you pulled back once you felt that burning in your lungs, needing some air. And you did, though you pressed your foreheads together keeping each other close. You looked up adoringly into his eyes before you both started just laughing as you both realized what had happned.