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onlybeeewrites · 24 days ago

Text

A Heart’s Overture

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: drinking, Coryo being himself, mentions of violence, death, and killings.

The Valley Song Series: Previous

Tag list: @v-love @stinkii-boii

~~~~~~ This wasn’t unusual sight for Coriolanus to see that night at the hob. But not usual either. The heat of the summer sweltered in the building of the Saturday night. Chatter and laughter carried in the voices of hundreds of district people.

Miners who were happy to have the night off. Shop keepers happy to enjoy themselves too until they would have to work the next morning. Peacekeepers who were able to leave the base and enjoy a night of music, dancing, and beautiful girls to occupy their time.

And that’s exactly where Coriolanus Snow was. Where else would he be?

It had been a week since he had first saw you and he swore he felt his breath leave his lungs. You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Like sunshine peaking through mist in the early morning.

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.

The echo of the poem’s words swirled in your mind as the sensation of Coryo’s lips lingering on your skin.

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 month ago

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Hey, are you looking for suggestions for headcanons/ short stories? If you do, how would spouses react if Mr. Qui threatened them to divorce the farmer… or else (”or else” being either he kills the farmer or something else if you have a better idea). I imagine he would want the farmer to achieve perfection and think that romantic feelings and/ or family life are “distracting” them.

Love your stories btw, especially the ✨angst✨. I read them all during one night 😅

Of course, I don't mind suggestions for short stories at all! 💖

I'm glad you liked my headcanons, thank you so much, heh ��👈 hope you like this one too! And thanks for the ask!

So, let's begin! *Ahem* Once upon a time, in the beautiful Stardew Valley, when Farmer's spouse was relaxing on a sunny weekend day, Mr. Qi, decided to 'talk' to them about a situation that was bothering him with Farmer...

_________________________________________

"Well, well, well.... I've been waiting for the right moment for a long time, and finally we meet.... No, no, you don't know me, but I know about you everything. You, and Farmer, my chosen one, who-- oh, why the panic. I just moved us into my 'pocket dimension' to talk, soon you'll be back in your cute Valley."

"So, you are Farmer's lover. Hm, I'm surprised they chose you out of all the candidates..."

"You know, I don't usually interfere with my dear friend's trials. It is one's own effort to overcome difficulties and achieve results without cheating or someone's help. But it seems that this, hm, 'problem' requires my intervention after all."

"They've completely neglected the pursuit of Perfection since the wedding, haven't they? And I'm pretty sure you had a hand in it. "Honey, please, don't go to the Skull Cavern, it's too dangerous! I'm so worried about you, stay with me in the Valley!" Am I right?"

"Oh, no, no, no, that won't do."

"The show must go on."

"Well, I won't drag it out any further, since I'm a pretty busy man. So let's get to the point...

I want you gone."

"Yes, you heard right, and don't give me that shocked look. You need to divorce your spouse and stay out of their way. You can make up any excuse you like: I cheated on you, life on the farm is too hard for me, I've fallen out of love with you - use your imagination! You certainly have one, don't you?"

"Ah ah ah, don't. I advise you to think before you insult me. And to think about my words, because if you refuse, both you and Farmer will have to deal with.... unpleasant consequences. Farmer's gonna be the one who's in the most trouble, just so you know."

"So, I'm waiting for your answer."

_________________________________________

"Go fuck yourself." Shane replied rudely and sharply to Qi's words. He's terribly tired, his spouse Farmer is in bed after a bad trip to the Mines and they need support, his niece Jas has a cold, the chickens need wheat right away, Marnie needs help with the firewood, and he doesn't give a crap about this blue asshole telling him some bullshit about perfection and challenges. Divorce? Fuck you. Shane has his family, his niece, his aunt, his spouse and chicken Charlie waiting for him. So if he doesn't let Shane out of that "pocket" dimension now, or whatever the fuck he called that shit, the chicken man will make his own way home.

This guy thinks he can scare Alex so easily? Huh, didn't think so. The athlete has been training almost every day, and can fight back against this weakling in a stupid shiny suit. His threats don't scare him. Alex will protect Farmer and himself from this man, and no amount of tricks will help this creep. And though deep down Alex feels fear, because he doesn't know what this stranger will do now after his refusal to follow his orders, but he is ready to look fear straight in the eyes. Losing his dear Farmer is even scarier. Come on, step up to him, you coward! Afraid of a fair fight?! He will not surrender!

"No." Keeping his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, Sebastian clutched the handle of his handmade obsidian dagger a little nervously in his right pocket. He'd always thought this thing made of the mineral his spouse had graciously given him would be nothing but a joy to behold and a box-cutting helper. The local emo never thought he'd have to defend himself against a human. Is it even a human being? Moved him here, gives his villainous monologue, threatens him and Farmer... No, he's not gonna hurt Farmer, Sebby thought. All I can do... is fight.

"I'm dreaming, I'm definitely dreaming. Time to wake up, wake up, please.... Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up..." No matter how hard Harvey pinched his arm, this wasn't a scary nightmare, it was reality. A very eerie, frightening reality where he stands completely defenseless against an unknown kidnapper. What in the world is 'Perfection'? What is he talking about? This man is talking nonsense. And he wants to hurt his spouse? That's not gonna hap- Oh, merciful Yoba, if he says no to Qi, what happens next? He'll finish him off? And then go after Farmer? His heart is racing like crazy.

Uhhhh... What did Sam just hear? "Okaaaaay, let's take a deep breath and calm down. I don't know what your deal is, but we don't have to take drastic action. We'll talk calmly, solve your- uh, I mean our problem, and everyone stays happy. Sounds good, right?" Judging from the unchanged expression on Mr. Qi's face, the guitarist's plan to solve everything peacefully failed. "Alright, plan B. What did Farmer say I should do? Left hook, right hook, and a low blow? Yep, that's it." Sammy's gonna have to fight back with his fists, apparently. He's not gonna let Farmer or himself get hurt.

"What? What are you talking about? Trials? The 'show' must go on? Divorce- Divorce?! Never! How dare you!" Shocked for a moment Elliott finally realized the meaningful of the words of this strange man who had moved him here against his will, and writhed in disbelief at the indignation and insolence of this individual. "You have no right to threaten Farmer and me! Playing with people's lives like puppets!" Elliott thrust his hands forward, clenching his fists. "En garde, you scoundrel!" Perhaps not the wisest thing for a writer to do, but he wouldn't just listen to his spouse and him being insulted.

"Bluff." Leah confidently stared Qi straight in the face, holding the sculpted hammer firmly in her right hand, the only 'weapon' she had after she found herself... somewhere. This stranger was threatening her spouse, yet just a moment ago he had called them 'friend' and 'chosen one'. "It is not in your best interest to harm Farmer or me. Not that you'll ever be able to do so." The artist was already calculating the strength to throw a hammer at the head of this pompous turkey. And before Qi could respond to such impertinence, Leah continued: "You won't hurt them. And if you dare even think about it.... you will be the one to regret it."

Confused and scared out of her wits, Penny fell to her knees instead of answering this man. She could not say a word, only sobs came from her throat. This dark, scary place, the eerie sounds everywhere, the threatening blue-skinned man, the "consequences"... "Farmer..." Something's about to happen to her. Something would happen to her beloved spouse. Penny doesn't know what to do, only crying louder. "Who are you and why are you doing this?! What-" *sob* "What do you want from us... Don't hurt them, I beg you, don't..." *hic* "don't hurt Farmer... Don't, p-please.... PLEEEASE!"

"Alright, I'll d-do it, anything you want..." That was a lie, Maru wasn't going to just take orders from a man who had somehow teleported her from the Valley to another... room? A very strange room, as if they were in outer space, but that's impossible... This 'Qi' owns some either incredible technology or something beyond modern science, and Maru is trying to play along so that she has a chance to escape from here and warn her spouse or at least someone from Pelican Town. "Easy, Maru, think, think your way out of here... Come on, brainstorm, you need to think of something... There should definitely be a way out of here."

"Merciful Yoba, help me in my hour of need, do not let evil harm innocent people.... Give me strength, merciful Yoba..." Emily held forward her small version of vessel in her left hand, bending the fingers, except for the little finger, on her other hand, and began reciting prayers. Because this 'Q'i... He's not human, but an incomprehensible entity, a demon perhaps. Poor Emily doesn't know why this demon is interested in her and Farmer, or maybe her spouse did something that caught his attention, accidental or not. Either way, she believes that Yoba will protect her and her family, so ignoring Mr. Qi's words, the blue-haired woman prays.

"You think you can scare me that easily? Come on, you asshole, I'll.. I'll... I'll cut you in half, you hear me!" Though outwardly Abigail looked formidable with the sword, her voice trembled as she spoke, and she herself was shaking with fear. The purple-haired young woman answered the first thing her heart screamed out: that she would not abandon the love of her life at the behest of some idiot who thought he could control people like puppets. But now she realized that maybe it wasn't too wise to say that, because... maybe she had robbed herself of the chance to escape this man? But if a battle was inevitable after all, she would fight. Just as long as her hand didn't shake....

A quick but heartbreaking scream came out of Haley's mouth before she covered it with her hands so as not to scream anymore and anger the one standing in front of her in this dark, scary place. She has a lot of thoughts going through her head, and she doesn't know what to do. Calling her spouse for help won't work. Refuse? Then this Qi will do something bad to her, and then to Farmer. Agree and lie? He can see right through her, can't he? He won't let her warn Farmer or Emily about what happened. What should she do, what should she do... She's quieted the crying, but she doesn't know how she's going to get out...

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