Decided to finally make an intro post, because I started writing... instead of just lurking
ËËË ê° âïž ê± ËËË want to read on my ao3? ËËË ê° âïž ê± ËËË
âïž ËïœĄËâœËâ đ my twt: coffeblyth đ â âïž ËïœĄËâœË
đ annie đđ
đ she/her
đ 24 (âïž âŒ, âïž âŸ, âïž â)
đ I mainly write and make playlists for the media I enjoy! (because I am a chronic daydreamer...)
đ infj, cabin 15 (hypnos)
â§ Interests/fandoms â§
video games (bg3, hades & hades ii, omori, any story-rich game really), tom blyth, f1, BMTH, JJK, junji ito, literature and film as a whole, tarot and any mystic symbolism that I can obssess over
âżâ fave movie: "the vvitch" 2015
âżâ fave band: BMTH
âżâ fave manga: Lovesickness
âżâ tarot card I associate most with: The High Priestess
â§ Plan to write for/make playlists for â§
âżâ any tom blyth character, but specifically:
Coriolanus Snow - primarily
Alex Nilsen
Billy The Kid
Dee (Wasteman 2025)
âżâ maybe some bg3 and hades ii characters
long story short - something needs to have a chokehold over me so I can create things for it, i don't make the rules
đđđđđđđđđ đ€ post-Peacekeeper Coriolanus (sub!coryo) x Distrct 12 OC //ON HOLD
đ Prologue: There are Worse Games to Play
đ Chapter 1: Into the Woods
đChapter 2: Little Army Boy - in writing//ON HOLD
đđđđ & đđđđđ đ€ sugar Daddy! President Snow x District 4 OC
àŒ Prologue: Welcome to the Capitol
àŒ Chapter 1: The Arrangement
àŒ Chapter 2: Bed of Roses
àŒ Chapter 3: Into My Little World
àŒ Chapter 4: (Sugar in my Wounds) Sweet Bruises - still in draft
đ»đđđđ đđ đđđ đđđđđ đđđđđđ đ Alex Nilsen x Poppy Wright x reader (poly!fic) - one-shot, could become a collection
đ It speaks to us!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Contents: NON-CON, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Alternate Universe, Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow, Smut, Abuse of Authority, Degradation, Predator/Prey Dynamic, Theft, Prostitution, Misogyny, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Stalking, Corporal Punishment, Controlling & Possessive Behavior, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hanging, Gun Kink, Dehumanization, Power Imbalance, Trauma, District 12 (Hunger Games), Manhandling, Pregnancy Scares, Outdoor Sex, Poverty
â PART 3 || PART 5 (in progress) â
A/N: Please make sure you're comfortable with gunplay smut, noncon, (and an unreal amount of dehumanization) before reading! This chapter was beta-read by the lovely @coffeeblyth on ao3 and tumblr â€ïž (if you enjoy coriolanus fanfiction, check out their work)! I appreciate y'all so much and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Phoebeâs POV
Â
âItâs too early to pick them.â Ezraâs shoulders slumped.
They were kneeling beside a patch of flowery tubers down in the meadow by the lake. Swamp potatoes, most liked to call themâbut if youâd ask her, âKatnissâ had a nicer ring to it.
âOnce theyâre ready, weâll have a feast,â Phoebe decided, patting her friendâs shoulder to cheer him up, as heâd been banking on harvesting those for his signature dish.
When they were kids, they used to come here all the time. It was their little secret, their haven sequestered away from it all. Here among the lush ferns, where the air was sweet and fresh, one could almost forget they were in this coal-dusted wasteland that was Twelve. Here you could forget your woes and let your troubles lie.
Back before June was born (and Phoebe was not glued to her side rearing her), most of their free time was spent here, foraging and hunting, swimming and enjoying their bounty under the shade of the willow tree. Fruits were brought home to Ezraâs ma, who baked them into delicious sweets.
This perimeter was strictly off limits, though that rule was hardly enforced when there were no Peacekeepers stationed here to keep guard. Nor was there any fence to deter people. Most stayed away, fearing the wildlife in the woods: bears and wolvesâbeasts that could devour you whole. Some Peacekeepers, she was sure, turned a blind eye since plenty of the commodities they paid a pretty penny for in the Hob came from here.
Ezra was an excellent hunter. He learned from the bestâfrom his paâwhoâd taught her pa how to hunt. Heâd tried teaching her how to hunt too, but she had a terrible aim and possessed her maâs sentimental disposition. She wanted to heal those rabbits, not eat them. The idea of fashioning their pelts into garments was barbaric to her. Sheâd been in tears when she learned something had to die so she could eat her favorite stew, but she couldnât afford to be picky. She either ate the game or starved. Either wore the fur coat unless she wanted to freeze to death in the winter. Winters in the Seam were notoriously harsh when their homes were so poorly insulated.
Everything had a price. Warmth had a price. Security had a price.
Back then, they were pretty well-fed as far as Seam folks went thanks to their paâs.
Ma forbade Phoebe from coming down to the meadow, but was too busy working odd jobs to keep an eye on her. She was no fun, always so stuck up, and perhaps that was the town girl in her. Though sheâd married Pa and moved to the Seam, becoming one with him, she held onto her old quirksâcleaning and decorating obsessively in an attempt to make their home appear more put-together. Everything had to be perfect and colorful, but there was only so much one could do when their homes resembled shacks. She hated their place, but it was government-issued and there was no arguing with the government. It was a far cry from her childhood home, which was spacious and built with solid cement.
Phoebe had been there onceâjust onceâwhen she was gravely ill and Ma had tearfully pleaded with her estranged parents for them to help foot the medical bill. It was a matter of life or death, sheâd stressed. There was a flicker of softness in her grandparentsâ eyes for a moment before it faded into disgust, like Ma had dragged a sickly rodent onto their doorstep, instead of their own flesh and blood. During her stay there, all Phoebe sensed in them was contempt, and something else she hadnât been able to comprehend then. There they all feasted on delicacies Seam people could ordinarily not afford: breadâreal breadâand chicken. Stuff people fought over in the Hob, and sheâd know because she used to tag along with her pa on his trips. Their standard fare, conversely, was gruel-like stews made from rabbits and squirrels that they forced down. Food meant for fuel, not pleasure. Indulgence was a foreign concept to them.
The food was heavenly, so heavenly that Phoebe had eaten like a slob, forgoing her utensils to the distaste of her grandparents. Afterwards, they feasted on cake. Real cake with the cream. The place was twice the size of theirsâstill tiny, but a palace in comparison to her imaginative mind. Sheâd been too fatigued to explore it in full, but what little she was permitted to see was mind-blowing.
To think that was her maâs childhood home.
She mustâve been filthy rich or something.
No wonder she was miserable in the Seam. The fact she was living there voluntarilyânot in the heart of townâwas nothing if not a testament to how much she mustâve loved Pa. To leave it all behind for him.
After Phoebe recovered, they went back to being strangers again.
âWhy donât they like us?â a young Phoebe had asked her pa, tugging at his sleeve. Sheâd been hurt that when sheâd smiled at her grandparents from across the street, theyâd merely turned their noses up and kept walking, as if she were as insignificant as a speck of dirt on their boots. Ma had to hold her back by the collar to keep her from chasing after them.
âItâs complicated, sugarplum.â Pa had offered a wistful smile before he ruffled her blonde hair the way he always did, affectionately. Those golden waves, like woven threads of sunlight, were inherited from her ma. She had her hazel eyes too, her spitting image in every wayâright down to her dimples and how she crinkled her nose when confused. âYou know, your ma used to be a town girl,â Pa had told her. âHer folks arenât thrilled that she married a Seam boy.â
âWhy?â Phoebe furrowed her brows. âWhyâ was her favorite word and she loved to question everything, her mind a sponge eager to absorb what knowledge it could. She inherited that from her paâthe only one who had indulged her ever-curious mind. Their summers were filled with picnics and nonsensical games like âWould You Ratherâ as he endeavored to match her energy.
Sheâd asked her ma what it was about Pa that sheâd been drawn to. Was it his voice when he sang? Whenever he did, the birds stopped to listen. Was it his humor that she liked? Heâd crack the most morbid jokes sometimes, and Ma would give them both a pointed look for daring to laugh. But laughter was a contagious thing. Sometimes, she couldnât help but join along in their merriment. Ma had confessed that what she loved most about him was how freely he livedâmarching to the beat of his own drum. All her life, sheâd been raised to be that perfect daughter. To do whatever she was told, without question. But then he came along and taught her what it was like to live for yourself.
Oh, to go back to those days when they used to weave flower crowns and dig for Katniss down by the lake. When the only monsters were those under her bed, and her parents kept them away. Until she learned the real monsters were the ones in human skin.
Why didnât her grandparents like Pa? He was a wonderful person, sheâd thought. What was so bad about belonging to the Seam? He worked hardâharder than anyoneâcoming home so fatigued, he practically passed out at the end of each day. All to keep food on the table, but he took it, like all things, in stride.
The circumstances that sowed those bitter seeds of contempt, sheâd discovered once she was older, were more nuanced than that.
Ma had her rather youngâwhen she was just seventeen. A baby herself, and apparently she was to marry another. Mr. Lipp, the mayor, sheâd confessed once in a drunken, half-conscious stupor, many years later. That had to have been a joke, but Phoebeâs pa had long since been food for the worms when sheâd learned that, so she couldnât ask him if that was true. Sheâd gone on about the skeletons in her closet, or rather, how her daughter was the product of a tryst. Her parents had elopedâas much as a couple could when there was no getting out of this district. In this case, they fled to the other side of town, where they wallowed in their shame.
They were in love, so it was fine. Love conquers all, sheâd thought. However, that came with a heavy price: a great fortune and a future of prestige sacrificed. It was no wonder her grandparents were so upset with them. She wondered if whenever they looked at their daughter, all they saw was their failure to raise her ârightâ.
It was one thing to turn down a man as rich as Mr. Lipp, but another to elope with a Seam boy.
Town folks didnât yolk with Seam dwellers that way. From a young age, sheâd observed a hierarchy among her peers in the schoolhouse: they liked to divide into cliques and stick to âtheir kindâ. She thought of those times she was side-eyed and gossiped about. People like her, caught between both sides, usually were.
Her grandparents hadnât shown her any kindness since that one exception they made when she was at deathâs door. That was a one-time favorâthey made it clear when they refused to take her and June in after their ma had passed. She was, in their opinion, old enough to take care of herself and her sister. Little Junebug.
âWeâre in luck.â Ezra tapped Phoebeâs shoulder, then guided her to a wild patch. âLook what I found.â Before them was a bounty of strawberries ripe for the picking. He waited, hands folded behind his back, seemingly pleased with himself for finding these.
âOh, Juneâs gonna love these!â Phoebe brightened and knelt before the patch.
They were going all out todayâhunting and foraging in preparation for Juneâs eighth birthday, which was days away. They werenât eating all of their game. Some of it was for trading down at the Hob. Some of it would pay for Juneâs medicineâthose useless tonics which werenât helping much, but it was better than nothing.
It rubbed her the wrong way, Ezraâs insistence with providing for her and Juneâas if her efforts werenât enough to suffice. As if he were implying she was failing to give her sister the care she needed. He was incorrigible as ever with his big heart, despite her insisting she had it covered. Guilt soured in her stomach each time he did something nice for her, as if she were taking advantage of his kindness. She was her maâs girl through and through, relying on the mercy of others.
âIâll bake her a strawberry cake,â Phoebe announced. The cake would be a sad excuse for one, but it was the thought that counted, with what she could afford. June had never tasted a good cake anyway, so she wouldnât know what she was missing. So easy to please. But she deserved much more. Everything she couldnât give her.
It had been a while since June came down here, she thought. Perhaps they could have a birthday picnic. When she was a babe, she used to tie her to her back so she could watch her while foraging, but thatâd become less practical since she screamed like a banshee, demanding to be set free. It didn't get any better once the little rascal started walking. Her energetic footsteps scared off all their prey.
Once, she had a powerful set of lungs, and so loved to sing gibberish. Sheâd be a good singer someday, Ezra had jested. If not that, then a mighty good heckler.
They filled their bags to the brim.
Usually, they walked home together after their excursions into the woods.
But this time, she told him, âYou donât have to walk me home. I can make it back myself.â
Which was a rather odd thing to say when they lived on the same street and had to walk in the same direction anyway. How else was she to tell him not to follow her? Saying that outright would invite suspicion, and as is, she was in hot water with him lately.
This wasnât their usual routine.
Sheâd been nothing but unusual latelyâevading him at every turn, with every excuse under the sun not to see him. She never greeted him with open arms anymore, instead paling at his presence. How was she to tell him, her best friend, that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore? It was for his own good. For his safety.
Sheâd done a poor job pushing him away. Him standing here beside her was proof of that. No, she hadnât invited him to go foraging with her, but they always went together, ever since that time she was attacked by a wild dog. Sheâd been terrified to set foot into such perilous territory without him, who would protect her should any harm fall. He was her eyes and ears. Always.
They liked to go on Saturdaysâusually theyâd rendezvous at her place before going together. Lately, sheâd turned down the offer of going with him. So he was here becauseâŠ? There were two plausible reasons. The more likely one being: it was a Saturday morning, after all. Two: if he hadnât come here of his own volition, perhaps a little birdie had told him where she was. June. Her sister, bless her heart, who could never keep a secret.
Heâd gotten straight to work, foraging with her, neither of them willing to address the palpable tension lingering in the air. Some things were easier left unsaid. His presence alone and that expression he wore told her he wouldnât be easy to shake off her tail. Lately, worry was etched deep into his fatigued face, and he hesitated before speaking, as if words were caught on the tip of his tongue, but he was trying hard to obey her wishes and not pry.
But her business had always been his business.
She thought to the handful of times when he beat the living shit out of someone for her, and she had to rein him in like a dog on a leash. Only she could rein him in. Sometimes. Sometimes it didn't work.
This time it had to work. She couldnât afford for him to go ballistic on her, or rather her âbeauâ, if he was compelled to assume he was hurting her. Which he wasnât. But how would it look to him? A bruise wasnât much, but heâd been thrown off seeing that little on her wrists. That was nothing compared to the rest of her body.
âIâm heading the same way. Wonât be no trouble,â Ezra insisted, to which she sighed. Of course, she anticipated that response.
âJustâŠâ She gestured vaguely, fumbling for the words that wouldnât come, ââŠdonât follow me home.â That didnât sound concerning at all. Leave it to her to talk before thinking. âI donât want people to get the wrong idea about us. Thatâs all.â Since when did she care what people thought? She attempted to rush offâ
But he was quicker.
He intercepted her with ease, a tall wall in her path, a shield blocking out the harsh sunlight. âWe need to talk.â
âMaybe later. Iâm busy today.â She side-stepped him, but he copied her movements, to her chagrin. It was like a dance, and a rather ridiculous one at that. âEzra,â she huffed.
âWe have to talk now,â he stressed. âYouâve been acting strange, Phoebe. Whatâs going on with you?â His voice was as unwavering as stone, booming amid the quiet rustle of leaves surrounding them.
âNothing,â she blurted out, never good with confrontation like that. There was a certain tell, heâd once explained, that helped him discern if she was lying. Whenever her voice went up a pitch (the way it did now), he knew. She silently cursed herself for letting that slip.
âNothing, my foot,â he remarked, lowering his blood-tipped bow. âYouâve been avoiding me. I thought you were busy, but⊠do you know what June told me the last time I tried stopping by?â He looked off to the side and gave a mirthless laugh, the bitterness of it making her chest ache. She swallowed; she could never trust her sister to keep a secret. âShe told me she wasnât supposed to open the door if I came by. To pretend nobody was home.â He let that sink in for a moment. âWhatâs up with that?â
She hated it, having to push him away like this, but it was for his own good. A preemptive measure, in case her âbeauâ happened to make good on his threat to harm her friend. In the quietude that followed, sheâd never felt so scrutinized. Her throat constricted as if any word sheâd say would somehow be heard by whatever was lurking beyond the brush. That feeling of being watched had never left her since he entered her life.
Coriolanus Snow.
The thought of him made her stomach churn as her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance while his words replayed in her head, when he was so close, his lips brushing her ear. A subtle touch, yet so disarming. It rattled her very bones.
Iâd think twice about biting the hand that feeds.
He didnât mean what he said. That was what she told herself, what she tried to convince herself, but Coriolanus had already proven he was capable of unspeakable things. The scars on her back were a permanent reminder of that. The ever-present ache in her body and the rawness festering in her was proof.
But he couldnât know. Ezra.
âHe doesnât like us being so close,â she confessed, figuring there was no point beating around the bush anymore, now that she was cornered here.
âHe,â Ezra remarked dryly. âThat Peacekeeper who keeps coming around?â
He never said his name. âThat Peacekeeperâ was a good enough name to him. They had a good chuckle though, when they heard June butcher his name trying to say it. Cornelius. What a ridiculous name, heâd mused out loud. Whereâd that come from? Whatâs with his strange accent? The way he lilted his words at odd points and hissed like a snake trying to enunciate.
She told him he was from the Capitol. They were both left to theorize why on earth a Capitolite would be here willingly, in the shittiest district of all places. Cornelius here was a mystery.
She nodded, confirming his identity.
âDonât you find anything wrong with that?â he pressed on, advancing forward, and she stepped back, putting some distance between them.
âI told you to stay out of it,â she murmured tersely, glancing at her feet. âWeâre happy. Donât mess things up for us. Itâs best if we stop spending so much time together.â But what time they did spend was few and far between with his job in the mines. They were working him like a dog, just like they had his paâand hers.
âYouâre happy.â He tossed his bow right beside his bag on the ground, haphazardly. Before she knew it, heâd seized her wrist. She attempted to pull away, but it took little effort for him to roll back her long sleeve to reveal the finger-shaped bruises marring it. In her shock, she did nothing, while he rolled up her other sleeve, too. âIs that what you call happy?â
She blinked, her vision blurring, her ears ringing.
âIâm not mad at you, Phoebe,â he stressed delicately, sensing her emotion so well, the way he always did. âI just want to know that youâre okay. Weâre family. We look after each other.â
âMe nâ June can take care of ourselves just fine, so you focus on your folks.â Her voice came out so hollow as she fixed a soft smile on her face, despite those words feeling like glass shoved down her throat.
Iâm alright, her ma would always tell her. Such a convincing actress, always so patient despite her loved ones prying. It took years for Phoebe to connect the pieces that something was horribly awry with her ma, as it never quite sat right with her how she flinched at sudden movements. Shutting down when someone so much as raised their voice at her. Not to mention those bruises and cigarette burns she caught on her while she was changing, the bedroom door cracked ajar. That was just the surface of it.
It seemed the implication didn't go over his head, when his gaze darkened. âIs he⊠Are you giving himâŠâ
She swallowed, ripping her hands away in that moment where Ezraâs grip eased. âHe helps us. He brings June medicine.â
It was everything her friend did for her, except he required something in return. With him, everything had a price. It was a small price to pay, she decided, if it meant taking care of her sister. If she truly cared for her, she ought to swallow her pride. Better off humiliated than risk losing her.
âItâs worse than I thought,â Ezra uttered under his breath, fingers combing through his raven hair as he looked off to the side to gather his bearings. Then his attention returned in full force, along with his voice. âYou don't have to live like this, Phoebe. You donât have to be like your maââ
âItâs not that simple,â she bristled. Her ma couldâve let her starve if she wanted to. Couldâve let her wither away while she used her depression over losing Pa as an excuse. She gave herself some time to grieve in her catatonic state, not eating, not sleeping or drinking, not bathing, while the neighbors cared for her daughter. Until she picked herself up and decided that was enough. This was her life. Her burden to bear, not anyone elseâs.
She did what she had to do to survive. It wasnât enough, whatever she scraped together from her odd jobs. Not when they had a scareâPhoebeâs health declining again, almost like it had when she had to lug her to her grandparentsâ doorstep to beg for help. The second time around, they were not so gracious. They slammed the door in their faces.
By some miracle and a dozen vials downed, they pulled through, and when she grew older, Phoebe tried not to dwell on what her ma had to do to afford the exorbitant price of those tonics. After that victory, the universe had not been as forgiving to them anymore. Sometimes it felt like some unseen force was keeping score. For one blessing it gave, another it took away.
That realization came with the arrival of that Peacekeeperâthat man who took everything from them. Who took her ma away, somewhere she couldnât reach. All she had left to remember her by was that baby. June. Little Junebug, whoâd never asked to be brought into a world like this, but while she was still young and innocent, Phoebe thought she could cloak her eyes and ears. Let her live like a child shouldâwith a full belly, in a safe and loving place to stay, with whatever her heart desired, if it was in her power to obtain it.
âWhy wonât you let me help you?â he pleaded, half frustrated, half perplexed. âItâs one thing not to have a choice, but you have one. You have me.â
âYou already work yourself half to death as is.â She swallowed the lump in her throat. âI donât wanna add to that. Everyone has to do their part in a family, donât they? Let me pull my weight.â Her voice faltered. âItâs my choice to make.â
She was hurting for business now more than ever after she was outed as a thief. Thievery was in poor tasteâa surefire way to have your community look down on you. Sure, you could say you were doing it out of desperation for a loved one, but you donât steal from one another. Not when youâre all in the same shoes. No one wanted to buy her trinkets or sweetsâno one wanted her to do their laundry. Getting hired at any establishment was out of the question with her sticky fingers, and menial jobs at the Peacekeeperâs base were already taken.
What else did she have to offer that anyone would want?
Why, of course, herself.
It was a bitter pill to swallow.
âFuck that,â he fumed, so stubborn about it. âIâm not lettinâ you do that to yourself. Next time you see that bastard, you tell him to fuck right off, you hear me?â he pointed at her.
âEzraââ She held her hand up in an attempt to placate himâ
âIf you wonât tell him, I will.â
âDonât.â It was sweltering outside, the humid air all but suffocating her. âDonât start anything. Just drop it, please.â There was no smooth way to go about this, was there? Her dear friend was incorrigible, always the protector, even at his own expense. But she couldnât have him caught in the crossfire of the mess she created.
âThis conversation ainât over,â he reminded her, as if she didnât full well know how persistent he could be. At least he left her alone after having the last word. At least he walked off without her, leaving her by herself to ruminate in peace.
How on earth was she going to smooth this over?
Coriolanusâ POV
He came by whenever he wanted to, really.
Passing by to grab a drink when he knew his little mouse would be home, as heâd memorized her schedule. It annoyed her to no end because surely he had some water in his flask. Surely he could mooch it off of someone else. The barely drinkable water she offered was subpar compared to the ice-cold water he enjoyed in the barracks.
To his surprise, when he showed up after breakfast, she wasnât home. As usual, her ratty-looking cat greeted him with a hiss, then jumped off the mat when he approached, left with no choice but to make way. The door cracked open and a familiar pair of blue-gray eyes peeked at him through the gap.
June.
âGood morning,â he greeted, making sure to smile to avoid intimidating her, as vermin tended to be skittish. âI come bearing gifts.â
At the mention of gifts, the door swung wide open. âWhat did you bring?â a rather eager June asked, bouncing on her feet. His presenceâhis giftsâbrought such joy to her life where there was little elsewise. In her fatigued state, she somehow managed to appear so bright. It had taken some time for her to make it to the door and she was out of breath as they spoke. He could hear her struggling to breathe, which was pitiful. It reminded him of how many took breathing, an ability so intrinsic, for granted.
âYou know how it works,â he reminded her. A question for a gumdrop, or something like that. He liked to toss them to her one by one, and she caught them in her mouth like a pet eager for treats. The system they had going had worked wonders for him.
June sighed, stepping aside for him to enter. If she had it her way, sheâd snatch the pouch from him and take off. Eat it all at once, like a greedy little rat. He knew she wasnât genuinely interested in talking to him, but she put up with him for the gifts. The marshmallows and gumdrops, the chalk to color withâit went on.
âIs your sister home?â he inquired, settling down on the couch. It was a rickety thing that was Panem knew how old, covered with colorful sun-bleached throws.
âNo,â she informed him, and for that, he tossed her a gumdrop from the pouch in his pocket. She caught it in the air and chewed it gratefully. Such gratitude was refreshing to see. June was certainly more grateful to him than her sister, whoâd been testing him relentlessly. Her temper was a flame and though he despised the unpredictability of a flame, he relished it, somehow, in her. Took pleasure in kindling her spirit, only to snuff it out.
âWhere is she?â he asked, and to his surprise, she wasnât so eager to respond this time. She remained by the door, glancing out of it, then back, as if keeping guard. No response came, but surely sheâd heard him.
He narrowed his eyes at that. âGo on, you can tell me.â
âI⊠canât.â She pressed the door shut with her back, then looked off to the side, so guilty, as if sheâd committed a crime.
âWhy not?â he pressed on, toying with the ribbon of the pouch in his pocket.
âBecause⊠Iâm not supposed to.â
âDo you want more gumdrops, June?â She looked so conflicted now, staring at both him and the gumdrop, and the promise of a treat which was so close, if only she complied. âAll you have to do is tell me where your sister is,â he enticed.
A moment of silenceâŠ
ââŠSomewhere you arenât supposed to go.â
Look at her, betraying her sister over a mere gumdrop.
The embodiment of greed.
Heâd been unsuccessful with getting June to tell him exactly where her sister was, but a few places came to mind. Of course, there was the Hob: the black market that shouldnât have existed in the first place, though such disorder was rampant in this district. There was also all that uncharted territory beyond the outskirts of Twelve: the woods and the meadow. There was no fence to keep people out, so a handful liked to come and go as they pleased.
The meadow was beautiful, Sejanus had whispered to him. A breath of fresh air compared to how stifling it was within the districtâs perimeters, where the air was thick with coal dust. Coriolanus had walked through it once, into the woods to capture those Jabberjays. It was beautiful indeed, but that was besides the point. The point being, Sejanus went back there, of his own accord. Heâd made many friends here and had invited him along to a picnicâan invitation heâd of course turned down, as he was not as eager as him to go breaking all the rules.
How typical of Sejanus Plinth, heâd thought. Sedition, after all, was in his blood. That was exactly what had landed him here. He couldâve chosen any other district to serve his time as a Peacekeeper, but heâd chosen to follow his good friend. Heâd never once told him they were friends, but the impression Coriolanus strived to maintain was genteel. As such, there were many, he supposed, who considered themselves his friends.
Sejanus had accepted his punishment for his stunt in the arena with such grace. Such grace that it seemed it wasnât a punishment at all to him, but a fresh start. He wanted to put it all behind him and do some good for this worldâbecome a medic. A waste of his skills when he was such a crackshot. So much so that he deliberately missed his targets during practice, lest he caught the attention of the Commander, who would no doubt put a wrench in those plans. Heâd said his âpaâ had taught him how to shoot.
Sejanus was ecstatic to be among his kind again. While that was all fine and dandyânone of his business, heâd thought initiallyâhe was reminded of the disturbing reality of what it meant to be perceived as his friend. Should his âgood friendâ get into any trouble, it wasnât a stretch to assume he could also take the fall for his messes, by pure association.
How troublesome.
Sneaking off to the meadow wasnât an earth-shattering offense in and of itself, but he was building a track record here. Always whispering with strange people when he thought he wasnât watching. What heâd later revealed to him about his plan to help smuggle those rebels out of Twelve was truly his last straw.
Thatâd been dealt with, heâd thought. Gaul would be pleased with his message from the Jabberjay, and perhaps would reward him for it. Give him a leg up, a way out of this district. Sejanus, as always, would get a slap on the wrist. Theyâd delegate some other punishment to him. Whatever it was, if it meant getting him out of his hair, heâd be relieved.
His morning patrol led him in proximity of the Hob, shortly after his conversation with June. Why not take a look? he thought. See what was going on in there. Maybe grab a snack. His eyes just so happened to be peeled more than usual. It was wise to be vigilant in these shady parts.
He just so happened to stumble upon a most compelling sight.
That man. His little mouseâs friend, carrying a heavy sack of something. He made his rounds, stopping by to trade some fruit, and all hell broke loose once he tried to discreetly slip an elderly woman selling stew a whole turkey. To his left and right, there were people bidding over it. If not the whole thing, then parts of it.
It was unprecedented chaos.
More chaos than the drunken brawls heâd observed.
It was useful to get to know the people around him. You never know what might come in handy. A habit for observance had been hardwired in Coriolanus, for only his entire life, that was how he survived. Back in the Capitol, where there was order, survival looked a bit different than this. Back there, he used his skill to mold himself to those around him. For each of his peers, he sported a different cadence and persona. A bit of flattery went a long way when he brought up things he remembered about them. That was precisely how heâd ended up in good graces with almost everyone. Almost everyone except Highbottom, who was immune to his charm and had a vendetta against him for whatever reason. He worked tirelessly to exude an impression fitting of a Snow heir, who wanted for nothing.
Here, it was different. There was little benefit in making friends and he was already in an advantageous position as a Peacekeeper, so there was nothing to claw towards. Nothing to strive for, besides perhaps the prospect of working his way up to a better district. Still, he could not help but observe every little thing, as though in that way, he was in control of the world around him. Observance was a useful skill, anyway, for reprimanding those who broke the rules.
If it were up to him, he thought, heâd burn this whole place down. But he rested assured that itâd take care of itself. One spark and this whole place would light up like a tinderbox, if it didnât cave in from how decrepit it appeared.
Coriolanus, not wanting to be caught up in all this ruckus, made his swift exit.
Still, the thought scratched at his mind, to bring it up to Hoff. Surely he was aware that the Hob existed. Surely he was aware that the illegal goods sold there didnât spawn out of thin air. Was he alright with people running off into the woods like that?
No wonder this district was such a mess.
He pictured himself, for a moment, as Commander instead. Thought of all the ways he might shape this place up, so it was less like a zoo. At least a zoo kept its animals caged. Perhaps he would surround the outskirts with a fence. Preferably an electrical one, so they couldnât gnaw through it. That would keep them from getting out. There would be no whores running around in the barracks, soliciting his men for coin, either.
Anyway. That man made it out of the Hob in one piece and in bright spirits, having earned himself a pretty penny. Certainly much more than heâd have earned working in the mines.
Observance, Coriolanus thought, as they crossed paths, could be a weapon. Lethal, just as a blade was. His filthy bag brushed him as they bumped shoulders, and they both gave pause.
The manâs coal gray eyes hardened the moment they locked on him, in recognition. The warmth bled from them as he clenched his jawâa stark contrast to how heâd been moments ago, making his rounds, greeting people and bartering with them. An apology was in order, yet not a word left his lips. He just stood there, gripping his bag so tight, as if frozen in a murderous rage. A look heâd never given him before, which, frankly, came out of nowhere when he was in such a seemingly good mood. Had he ruined his day?
âCan I help you?â Coriolanus inquired, since it appeared there was something he had to say.
Silence. Nothing. He simply sized him up as if contemplating something for a moment. Then he rolled his boot, shaking off the errant pebble stuck in it with the same carelessness that heâd demonstrated in his demeanor. Shake it off. Shake him off.
And then he was on his way.
How curious.
His strange behavior sat with him for a while. Truly confounded him. What did it mean? His little mouseâs friend had never given him any pleasant looks beforeâthat much was certain. Whenever Coriolanus showed up, he was met with the same critical stare of someone trying to dissect something. Who are you and what do you want? was the general sense he got. Only this time, he was met with a stare so charged and brimming with ire, as if heâd personally done something to offend him. Theyâd never exchanged more than a brief greeting here and there, whenever in the presence of her.
It led him to wonder if, perhaps, the two of them had met up again. If not once, then twice, or several times for all he knew; he didnât have the time nor care to keep a close eye on her. That was what a little birdie was for. Sheâd informed him that her friend hadnât stopped by this week.
On a Sunday afternoon, Coriolanus came knocking on their door.
One knock, andâ
It swung open with such haste that he initially assumed it was June, all bright-eyed and eager to see her favorite Peacekeeper whoâd come by with another delivery of gumdrops. But noâit was his little mouse, all dolled up and ready for him. So pretty in pink, and was that the ribbon he gave her?
Sheâd finally worn it.
The satiny glint of it in the sunlight was something no cheap cloth ribbon could produce. It was the cherry on top of this new dress she was sporting: one a town girl would wear, with all its frills and fuss. Something she could never afford. Was it an heirloom or a gift from another? Sheâd gone all out. What was this? An attempt to butter him up? Distract him from what sheâd been up to when he wasnât keeping a watchful eye on her? She never wore any of his gifts unless he reminded her to, and had never thanked him for them, either. So, her wearing that ribbon out of the blue was certainly something.
âYouâre here early,â she greeted him so sweetlyâit was almost cloying. âWould you like a drink?â He took his time drinking her in, while she fixed him with the kindest smile.
âSome water would be nice,â he replied, humoring her anyway, pretending not to notice how chipper she was. She took off in her flowy pink dress, into the kitchen.
He didnât like itâher regarding him the same way she did those Peacekeepers she swindled at the Hob. Batting her lashes and lilting her voice just so, all while waiting for them to get drunk enough so she could get away with fleecing their wallets. Normally, he would take a seat on the sofa and wait for her, but today he made himself comfortable, stepping past the fluffy orange obstacle by the door who was currently glaring daggers at himâprobably plotting his demise. He made his way into the kitchen, hot on her tail, and she froze.
âWhy donât you take a seat? Iâll bring it to you.â She attempted to block his path, but he swiftly side-stepped her.
âI can help myself,â he insisted, then paused, waiting for that crack in her demeanor, that hint of irritation that heâd come to associate with her, to show. Whatâs yours is mine. She didnât cave, merely retreating towards the kitchen counter. Just behind her, he spotted a large mixing bowl with a cloth covering it.
âWhat have we here?â he inquired in passing, grabbing himself a cup from the cabinet.
âJust some dough,â she gestured, her smile tensing. âIâm letting it sit.â
Well, he couldâve left it at that, but he wanted to pryâto get to the bottom of her unusual behavior. So, after pouring himself a glass of water and taking a sip, he made his way over to her side. It was like whiplash, how quickly his hand flew to the cloth behind her, pulling it off the bowl before she could attempt to hinder him. Her smile dropped so fast, the color bleeding from her face at having been caught red-handed with⊠whatâs this?
âIâve never seen bread like this before,â he remarked dryly, glancing at the bowl teeming with wild berries. Something you normally wouldnât find within town, unless procured from the Hob, or perhaps⊠the woods. âWhereâd you get these from?â
She swallowed. âThe⊠Hob. Juneâs birthdayâs coming up, so I wanted to make her something special.â
He didnât pull away, instead letting his presence linger in proximity. He plucked a ripe berry from the top of the pile and examined it with precision. âHow old is she turning, again?â
âEight,â came her clipped response. He already knew that, but rather enjoyed watching her squirm. And squirm she did, picking her nails the way she did whenever she was nervous or lacking enrichment.
âHow will you celebrate? Will you throw a party?â
Parties in the Capitol were once extravagant affairs. Heâd witnessed that much through his hazy memories as a toddler, back before the war had done its damage. His mother used to parade him around in his little velvet suits, and all the poshly dressed mothers in her circle gushed about how handsome he looked. Just like Crassus, they unanimously agreed. It was all torturous; he instead directed his focus towards the intricate marbled fixtures and Avoxes strolling by with endless trays of fancy appetizers and drinksâdrinks heâd not been allowed to touch, for he had to grow up first. Oh, how he could not wait to grow up so he could understand and perhaps enjoy all of that.
Then the war happened, and there came a time when such indulgence was a thing of the past. There came a time when no calorie was unwanted and every bit of scrap was utilized in some manner, whether fed to the fire or boiled into some insipid broth. Old outfits were repurposed for important occasions, when before, one would not be caught dead wearing the same ensemble twice.
But things were finally changing after ten hard years, just when he had to leave it all behind. Hedonism was creeping back into fashion, and so the parties came, along with the reconstruction efforts as Capitolite families endeavored to give their places a much-needed facelift. He was left to imagine what sort of parties his friends were throwing over their summer break. Were they all talking about him back home? Were they lauding him for âfollowing in his late fatherâs footstepsâ?
âThatâs the plan,â she replied stiffly, still on edge about the berries, he assumed. Which was odd, given it was no secret she was a little rule breaker. Was something else troubling her?
âWho will be in attendance?â he pressed on, dragging his hand up her slight and bony frame. She stiffened under his touch, under his fingertips playing with the satin ribbon in her ponytail.
âJust me nâ June,â she managed, breath hitching.
âOnly the two of you? Surely there are more people you could invite,â he mused. âLike your friend, perhaps? The two of you are seemingly inseparable.â He tried to picture what a party in Twelve looked like. Something sad, he imagined, without an endless buffet of refreshments and hors dâoeuvres. No orchestra playing in the background, nor any affluent guests. Just people crammed into a hot room with plenty of cheap booze. No class whatsoever.
She appeared perplexed, gingerly wetting her lips. âYou⊠told me not to talk to him anymore.â
âDidnât I?â He hummed, bringing a lock of her blonde hair up to his nose and inhaling its sweet scent. Sheâd showered recently; her signature strawberry scent wafted over him like an intoxicating cloud. âI saw him yesterday at the Hob, trading. He brought in quite a haul. A wild turkey. Those are hard to come by, arenât they?â She was so quiet, so frightfully quiet, gripping the countertop so tightly her knuckles whitened. âIâve heard, if youâre lucky, you can stumble across one out there, in the woodsâŠâ
âWhat about it?â she finally managed, straightening up.
âI stopped by your place yesterday to grab a drink beforehand. A little birdie told me the strangest thing. Do you want to know what?â He wasnât asking, of course. âShe said you went⊠somewhere you arenât supposed to go.â He had her trapped like a mouse, and her gaze darted to her left and right as she searched for a way out. Poor little mouse, about to be devoured like prey. âOnly two places came to mind, and I didnât see you at the Hob. Where were you, pray tell?â
âIn townââ she fired back, though her tone lacked conviction, ââlooking for work.â
âWho were you with?â he inquired, plainly.
âI was alone,â she murmured.
âI thought we agreed not to lie to each other.â He tutted, pulling back. Nothing peeved him more than a liar. Especially a terrible liar.
âIâm notââ
He pressed his finger to her soft pink lips, shushing her. âI already know you saw your friend. I only want you to admit it. If you do, Iâll consider being moreâŠâ he paused, looking her up and down, trembling as she was, ââŠlenient with you.â Of course, it was mere speculation whether sheâd met with her friend. He wouldnât put it past someone like her who never learned how to follow rules. But he could be gracious⊠to those who were grateful.
âWhy donât we go out today?â He pulled away, permitting her enough room to breathe. âSome fresh air would do us some good. Itâs quite stuffy in here.â As if fresh air were a possibility in this district. Usually, they stayed home. After they enjoyed a drink, she usually led him to her room, where the real fun began. To think indulging in such baser, animalistic urges was⊠fun. It wasnât necessarily fun what they did. It was just⊠something to do. Something, where there was otherwise nothing. Was this how it felt to live like someone in the districts? There was little in the way of indulgence in a place like this. At least he wasnât indulging at the expense of his liver. White liquor was what his fellow Peacekeepers preferred, but back home, they called that nasty drink Moonshine. Something hard and unrefined to the palate of the average Capitolite.
âWhere are we going?â she asked as he steered her out of the kitchen, his hand on the small of her back.
âOutside. Didnât you hear?â was all he said.
He had her walk a few feet ahead of him while he trailed her from behind, far enough so it seemed they werenât walking together. That way, they wouldnât draw suspicion. There was a certain decorum he strived to maintain, wherein he didnât indulge in the company of her sort.
She kept glancing back at him like a skittish mouse being followed, and he simply told her to keep walking straight. For all she knew, they were meandering toward some unknown destination. It all clicked in her head once they crossed the edge of the seam, into the entrance of the lush field ahead.
âWe arenât supposed to be here.â She halted in her tracks, breath shaking.
âWeâre almost there,â he replied smoothly, ignoring her words, her pretty words, such meaningless embellishments to his ears. âKeep going.â
They continued moving through the tall ferns, deeper into the heart of the meadow.
Now, they were out of sight and far from prying eyes.
That was when he reached into his holster, procuring his pistol, all while she kept walking, deeper and deeper into the field, none the wiser. Until finally, she flinched at the cool steel barrel pressing against her narrow back. Her hazel eyes widened in alarm once she found the source of it.
âCorâCoriolanusâŠâ
How strange it was to hear his name coming from her lips. Her loose lips.
âDid I tell you to stop walking?â came his callous response. âKeep going.â
It was a long, long stretch of a walk, but heâd gotten used to being on his feet all day, so this was nothing to him. Nothing but a brisk afternoon stroll. He took a moment to appreciate how sweet the air smelled, and the sight before him was truly stunning, purple and yellow wildflowers decorating the earth. The beauty of it was all but disarming to himâdisarming for what he imagined when he pictured Twelve. Here, he found no trace of anything gray and decrepit. Nothing covered in a film of coal dust. Just the earth itself, thriving wildly, as nature did.
He led her down, down to the willow tree.
âItâs beautiful,â he said, giving the place a wide sweep with his cold blue eyes. âHow often do you come down here?â
âI havenât been here in ages,â she lied. Again. She rubbed her arm in an attempt to soothe herself, the leaves of the willow tree tickling her tanned neck.
âMy apologies, I meantâhow often do you come here with your friend? What was his name again?â He waved the pistol around, his memory failing him, or so it seemed through her widened gaze.
âWe should head backââ
âEzra, was it?â In the meantime, she was eyeing his pistol warily, as if it were a loose cannon. âThe two of you truly are inseparable.â She backed up against the trunk of the willow tree and he followed her, matching her hastened strides with his longer ones. âDid the two of you come here yesterday?â
She shook her head.
âIâve learned that whenever you say no, you actually mean yes,â he remarked. âSuch a backwards way to speak, in my opinion. It would save us both the trouble if you would simply be honest with me. Honesty is so important.â
Her kind would know nothing about that.
He was reminded of that when he looked up at the source of the rustling above them in the tree. Sure enough, he found a few of those birds flitting about on its branches. Those Mockingjaysâunnatural beasts they were. Heâd pitched the idea to Commander Hoff to use them as target practice. It would be like killing two birds with one stone, heâd said, proud of himself for coming up with that. Theyâd fix the issue of those things multiplying rampantly and hone their skills in turn.
âHe followed meâit was just onceââ
âI donât care to know,â he confessed, caging her against the rough trunk of the tree. What had happened had happened. The mention of that district boy irked him, however, and not for the reason one would suspect. It wasnât jealousy he felt, but rather irritation at something of his falling into the coal-blackened hands of another. She belonged to him, as he saw it, and it was not the sort of possessiveness one would have for a lover, but rather a favorite toy. Toys were easily discardable once they served their purpose. And she was not serving hers well, he thought. He drank her in, trembling as she was, the cool barrel of his pistol trailing up her arm, then down her chest, pressing down with such force as if he were trying to feel her heartbeat. How fast it mustâve thrummed when it seemed she was struggling to breathe.
âWhy did you bring me here?â she murmured, her hand finding the barrel and pushing at it. His aim, however, was steady, locked on its target.
âTo enjoy the weather. Did you not listen?â he taunted, tapping the pistol against her temple, against her thick skull, making her flinch. âYou have a free spirit. A mind of your own⊠and that is precisely why your actions have consequences. Do they not?â He clicked the safety off the pistol, truly driving his point home. The horrified look she gave him was priceless, like she was truly convinced she was at deathâs door. âThere is a way you can make it up to me. If you manage to convince me that youâre sincere, I might let this slideâŠâ
His hand, which held the pistol, as if possessed, moved along her silhouette, down her tightened throat and humble breasts, her slender middle, further down, finding its home between her quivering thighs.
âAre you gonna kill me if I donât?â she managed, appearing as if she might soil herself.
âOf course not, little mouse. I am many things but not wastefulâif you can prove that you are of use to me.â What was it, this high in his head? All he knew was that her fear looked delicious. It made him want to devour her whole, like a wolf having drawn its first taste of blood. He traced the cool barrel of the pistol along her inner thighs, sending a shiver up her spine. A familiar heat pooled in his loins.
âWhat do you want me to do?â she asked, and though her reaction pleased him, he didnât show it. He rather liked having her dwell in this perpetual state of uncertainty. Fear was respect. Breath hitching, she tried to ignore the pistol tracing up to her core, teasing it through the flimsy barrier of fabric beneath her dress.
âGet down on your knees,â he ordered.
âThis is my maâs dress. I donât want to ruin it.â She gave him a pleading look.
âThen take it off.â
It was a simple solution, yet she hesitated with the hem of her dress. Though they were out in the middle of nowhere, there was still that shame, that indecency about being exposed to the elements. Inevitably, she caved, lifting her skirt and dropping to her knees on the lush grass.
âGood girl,â he praised, one hand finding her golden crown of hair and stroking it, as if he were addressing a pet. âNow, I want you to please me.â
And so she moved through the motions mechanically, her trembling hand reaching for his beltâ
But he gripped her hand tight, halting her. Her brows furrowed in confusion because, after all, this was how it usually began, with her pulling down his pants and briefs, then taking him with her skilled hands and mouth. âClose your eyes for me, little mouse.â
A direct order, which she obeyed, despite her perplexity.
Where her lips had expected to meet warmth, there was instead the kiss of something cold and metallic. Her eyes snapped open at once, and she gasped at the pistol prodding at her lips. His hand caged her in place, pulling her forward when she tried to retreat. âIâm truly astounded that you thought Iâd let you lay a finger on me after what you pulled. Who knows what these lips of yours have touched?â
An incredulous whimper was all she offered in response. His fingers carded through her silky waves. âOpen your mouth.â She didâbarelyâand so he yanked her hair, eliciting a hiss from her. That allowed him to slide the barrel in, with a bit of necessary force. The metallic taste of the metal made her gag, but he didnât ease up. After all, wasnât she meant to please him? Was that not her purpose?
Her hazel eyes prickled with tearsâtears of humiliationâbecause she had never looked so dumb. âYou know what to do,â he said, a chill in his tone. âWork that pretty little mouth for me like you always do.â It was what she did best. Her lips wrapped around the barrel and her cheeks hollowed, then she began to suck it gingerly like it was his cock. What a sinful sight. He grazed his finger over the trigger, just to see her tense up in fright. âThere we go. Just like that,â he crooned, watching her bob her head up and down so carefully, like it was the first time sheâd ever sucked a cock. But they both knew this was far from the first time sheâd debased herself.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if looking at him would unravel her composure, which she was barely holding together. Her hands were balled into fists over her lap, unnaturally stiff as she went through the motions, just waiting for it to be over. He wondered what she was thinking of now. Was she praying that his finger wouldnât slip on that trigger?
Coriolanus pushed the gun further down, as deep as it could go, feeling a familiar stiffness in his trousers. A natural reaction he chose to ignore. It wasnât about the gratificationâit never truly was. âWhy are you so tense, little mouse?â he taunted. âAre you afraid Iâll let my finger slip? One pull and it would be all over for you, wouldnât it?â
Her frantic eyes snapped open at that, and she watched him play with the trigger, with such carelessness as if it were a toy. The sinful sound of her struggling to take the gun was all he could hear thenâno birds, no leaves rustling. All of nature had dissolved into a quiet hum, where at the center of it all, there was just her. She tried to pull back for air once it had gotten too difficult for her to breathe, but he was relentless, seeing just how far he could push her. Her thighs squeezed together as she shifted restlessly.
âIs it too much for you? Do you want to take a break?â his voice softened as if in considerationâbefore he let the other shoe drop. âYou can go a little while longer.â Until he was satisfied, if not bored with this. She looked like a right mess, drool dripping down her chin as she whimpered, clearly begging for something, but her mouth was too preoccupied for her to tell him just what she needed.
Out of nowhere, her hand slipped between her thighs, beneath the thin fabric covering her modestyâwhat little remained of it. The satisfied look on his face faded, just like that, when he saw her hand move in teasing circles as she⊠as she⊠pleasured herself.
What a sick, depraved individual, getting off to something like this.
He was, by all means, disgusted, and a bit miffed because this wasnât supposed to be enjoyable for her. This was meant to be a lesson for her, but some people, it seemed, were beyond rehabilitation. His jaw clenched and he couldâve sworn for a second that he caught a triumphant glint in her eyes, somewhere beneath the haziness. Even now, she was testing him, as if to sayâyou can do whatever you want to me, but youâll never break me.
âLook at you,â he crooned, returning her energy with narrowed eyes. âAll worked up from sucking my pistol. A proper whore, if Iâve ever seen one.â She offered a hum, rocking her hips against her hand, and well, he heard the evidence of her excitement loud and clear. That sticky, shameless sound, that almost made his face heat up. âShall I replace your fingers with something better?â She didnât offer him any response. Just a glazed-over look, which heâd interpreted as a challenge.
Well, it was about time he put her in her place. In a proper sense. No more second and third chances. With that conviction, he withdrew the pistol and pulled her up by her arm. She gave a surprised squeak, and the next thing she knew, she was pressed up against the trunk of the willow tree. He ripped her panties clean off her body and she gasped, but he gave her no time to recover from that, pressing the cool weapon between her legs.
âYouâre not actually gonnaâŠâ Her voice cracked when he traced it along her folds, teasingly, all while she stared at it in horror.
âNot going to what?â He feigned innocence, prodding the weapon between her folds and coating it thoroughly in her arousal. âYou were so eager, playing with yourself while you sucked my gun like it was my cock,â he pointed out, dryly. Such vulgar words, but heâd gotten used to hearing all sorts of vulgarities during his stay here. Such words that he hardly heard back in the Capitol were so normal now. âIt wouldnât be a stretch to assume youâd like being fucked by it too, hmm? It takes a special sort of whore to get wet like that.â
âYouâre insane,â she faltered, the rawness in her voice breaking through the facade she put up. A moment of silence stretched on as they tried to read each other, tried to calculate their next moves. It seemed she decided hers once she straightened up, steeling herself. âI see youâre getting off to this tooâŠâ So boldly, her hand found its way to the stiffness in his trousers, pressing down. âDo you need a little help there?â A teasing rub, and then a twitch, which she certainly felt. A wry, forced smile formed on her face, mingling with the fear already there, making her look almost manic in her attempt to keep it together.
She had to have the upper hand. Had to remain in control, no matter what, even when he had a gun pointed at her. Reckless as can be. There was only one winner in this game they were playing, and well, as the saying goes⊠Snow lands on top. Perhaps he hadnât spelled that out for her clearly enough. He slapped her hand away. âHands to yourself, unless you want me to tie you up, little mouse.â Sheâd like that, wouldnât she? Of course she would. Was there anything he could do to her that she wouldnât like?
He thought of one thing.
Without ceremony, he eased the pistol inside her tight walls, and she inhaled sharply at how cold the metal was, and how unnatural it was to be filled with something like this. She bit down hard on her lip, desperately trying to stifle the whimper building in her throat. But he heard it. He assumed a languid rhythm, as if all of this were a mere inconvenience to him, while her blunt nails dug into the rough bark, seeking purchase.
âNot so talkative anymore, are you?â he taunted, each thrust, each subtle movement calculated, disarming her little by little. Her walls fluttered, struggling to accommodate the pistol and all its rough ridges. âIt would be so easy to pull this triggerâŠâ he murmured, his voice low and velvety smooth as he carefully tapped it, watching her flinch. âOne twitch and⊠this little game of ours ends for good.â
âIf youâre gonna do it, just do it.â Her face burned with humiliation, and yet, she managed to bite back. âStop playing with your toy.â
âEager, arenât we?â he purred, a gleam of amusement in his expression. âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves here.â
He continued toying with her until he grew bored. Or was it that the tightness in his trousers had become too distracting to ignore? He pulled the pistol out of her and she exhaled in relief.
âWhat now?â she asked him when he slid it back into its holster.
What indeed? He looked her up and down, considering how to go about solving this problem he had. âYou seeâŠâ he began, âI donât think youâve learned to respect me yet. I think I ought to fuck that attitude out of you.â
She swallowed. âI thought you didnât want to touch me.â
âTouch you, no. But mold youââ he grabbed her wrist, then turned her around to face the tree in one swift motion, ââperhaps.â He shoved her dress up over her hips, exposing her to the elements completely. Then he freed his cock from its tight confines and pressed it flush against her ass, letting her feel it, that pulsing warmth. âWhen I am done with you, you wonât be the same anymore.â It wasnât a warning, but a promise. Eventually, there would come a time when he tired of her, or they naturally drifted apart. By then, would she recognize herself?
His knee wedged her legs apart. In one swift thrust, he entered her, filling her completelyâbottoming out without any regard for easing her into it like he often did. A sharp cry tore itself from her throat, echoing in the meadow around them. The birds above responded, mimicking that sound, that broken moan she gave. She gasped in mortification, and he couldnât help but chuckle. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle her sounds, but he gathered both of her hands and pinned them behind her back, not allowing her that privilege.
âDonât. Let them hear exactly what you are,â he hissed, constricting her with his very presence, as if he were a snake, and she, the little mouse, his prey. He fucked her hard against the willow tree as she struggled, thrashing beneath him, entirely helpless. She hated being tied upâhated that loss of control. The last time heâd tied her up, sheâd struggled just the same, demanding to be untied. Those words on her lips were just that. Pretty little words. They meant nothing.
And so the birds echoed her song in refrain while she cried out pathetically, the rough bark of the tree scraping her skin. What more was a little cut and bruise? Heâd already left so many on her. Most of those hadnât been done by his hand, but heâd delivered her to her judgment, and so, was responsible. His gaze traced along her back, over where all those scars were, concealed by her dress. Sheâd worn long sleeves despite the sweltering heat, determined to cover the evidence, as if that would erase what had been done.
âCan you hear it? How pathetic you sound?â he hummed, listening to her cry out as he hit her sweet spot. The one place he noticed she was trying to hide from him, but he sought it relentlessly, making her knees tremble. âAh, ah,â he mocked her, and she gritted her teeth.
âShut. Upââ
âIs that any way to speak to the one who helps feed and clothe you? Hmm?â His grip eased, and in that moment she managed to break free and throw him off. He landed on his ass in the dirt. It was moments like these, when she behaved like a wild animal, that he was again reminded of what she was. He wiped the dirt from his chin, smiling coldly at her from her spot by the tree. Fists clenched and everything, knees shaking. Where was she going with this?
Coriolanus rose to his feet, moving towards her, and she backed away.
âYouâve always liked it rough,â he thought out loud. She liked to scratch him and bite him, liked to make him draw blood, as if a taste for it were innate in her. It very well mightâve been. âWe can play rough, if thatâs what you want.â He seized her by her arm and shoved her to the earth, onto her face. How familiar it was to have her pinned to the ground like this. It reminded him of how they met, and how she squirmed just the same, struggling to break free. He yanked her head back, hissing hotly against her earââIf you want to act like an animal, Iâll treat you like one.â
Coriolanus mounted her from behind and thought of how elemental this was. Them in the dirt, her clawing at it while she gasped, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him and the suddenness of it all. Her pathetic cries resumed as he fucked her at a relentless pace, working out all of that pent-up energy. No, there was nothing animalistic about this. Nothing uncouth about what they were doing. It was mere strategy.
His large hands, once so smooth, were now calloused from his new lifestyle, and they gripped her small waist, squeezing it tightly. He grunted as he used her for all she was worth, as the birds echoedâah, ah. It was all too much for her; sheâd tried to cover her ears just so she couldnât hear it, and him laughing at how worked up she was getting.
Soon, he felt that familiar tightness in his loins, and she sensed it too, in the way his rhythm stuttered, and how he grunted. âPull out.â She tried to turn her head to him, but his strong hand had her pinned in place. He wasnât stopping, and at that, she gave a panicked look. âCoriolanusââ
âDid I give you permission to say my name?â he hissed.
âSir. Please!â
Oh. All of a sudden, she was so sweet with him, as if seeing the error in her ways, but he knew better. âWhat would happen anyway?â he thought out loud. âIt wonât take. Even if it did, it wouldnât be the end of the world. It might settle you.â His hand moved down to her hollow stomach, pressing down on it, right where her womb was. âThink of it, you swollen with my seed. My bastard child.â
That would never happen, of course; she was so visibly malnourished. Did she even have her regular cycles? She tried with all her might to get away, as if that would truly mean the end of the world to her. âYouâre squeezing me so tightly, little mouse. Itâll be impossible for me to pull out now,â he taunted, pulling her back onto his cock, making her cry out.
âNo!â She sobbed. âI canât risk itâŠâ Sheâd tired herself out, from all that trashing around, the ground around her riddled with claw marksâthe evidence of her struggle. âI canât end up likeâŠâ End up like what? Like every other district whore, inevitably?
She went rigid, shuddering when she felt that warmth flooding inside her.
âNoâŠâ She shook, lying still there, even after he pulled out. He watched her from above, taking in what a mess she was, his seed trickling down her thighs and onto the dirt. The same place she liked to come to with her friend, and do heaven knows what. It mightâve been their little secret before, but not anymore. A part of him thought, if his seed did take, sheâd forever associate this place with where sheâd gotten knocked up by some man who wasnât even her husband. A common occurrence in the districts.
Conceiving out of wedlock in the Capitol was a surefire way to cause scandal, because there, in that beautiful land, there was order.
Come to think of it, his theory might not be sound. How were they all getting pregnant here, if they were so malnourished? Nature was a tenacious thing. He knelt over her trembling form after he tucked himself away, brushing her messy waves back to see her face. What a mess it was, dirt on it and everything. âWhy⊠did you do that?â she asked him, her hazel eyes filled with such shock, and a hint of hatred, spreading like wildfire, sure enough.
âBecause, little mouse, I wanted to remind you that your actions indeed have consequences.â He played with her hair almost tenderly, a mockery of a loverâs touch, and then pulled her to sit up straight. She flinched when he touched her, but made no move to smack his hand away, and so he continued, brushing her tears away. Fixing her hair and making her presentable. âLet this be a lesson to you, not to test me further. I would hate for you to force my hand again.â
âNow,â he said, pulling away, âpull yourself together. We have a hike to do.â
âWhere⊠are we going?â She struggled to her feet, cringing at that sticky feeling between her thighs. Upon further examination, her panties were torn to shreds. As good as useless, but she still pocketed them, as if to hide the evidence.
âInto the woods,â he answered. âI want you to show me where you and your friend like to go.â
Tag List: @likklemy @coryoslut @coffeeblyth @theycallmecissy
Let me know if you would like to be added (specify if you would like to be tagged in all stories or only for specific series) or dropped from the tag list!
hii, thanks for the ask! đ it warmed my heart to see interest in this fic, bc "surrender" was like my first series ever (my baby still! đ„ș). tbh i was worried it wasn't as good and if people were enjoying it đ
sooo i had it on hold for now... but i think abt revisiting/re-starting it so often, it'll inevitably come soon!
i even had the next chapter started/cut off from the 2nd (back in April), bc it was getting too long.
maybe this is the reboot launch? in any case it'll be crumbs to enjoy đ
I have so many WIPs, someone save me from myself
àȘâ⎠Sneak peak if anyone wants it...àȘââŽ
TWs: Bodily harm and imprisonment
đ Tag list: @p4neminem, @taniamiller
If you want to be added/removed from my tag list (be it for a particular WIP series or my general work), pls leave a comment or DM me.
HI LOVELY I WAS WONDERING IF YOU CAN WRITE FOR DEE AGAIN
hmmm idk... he's such a WEIRDO!
jk jk hehe, thank u sm for the interest, it's been a journey writing this part too bc i always get stuck but once it unstucks it's like the full magic can flow~
so, enjoy responsibly! đ
âSpit the blood back, babyâ
â»â previous (pt.1) || next (TBA) â· âș
Tags: m/f â drug dealer!Dee x reader, nose candy + âstudy buddiesâ intake references â mechanic!Dee in this part (rejoice!) â academic perfectionism (to a very obsessive, unhealthy degree) â reader has self-esteem issues (thinks academic success defines her worth) â reader studies medicine â no use of Y/N, Dee calls reader "angel" â a not-so-healthy/undefined relationship â toxic masculinity â canon-compliant anger issues â canon characters and some additions â Taylor is here too and he has anxiety â gang dynamics â Dee is king of the jungle now â territorial Dee â Dee is bad at feelings and is mean in this one â both reader and Dee aren't well-adjusted individuals â reader gets a tattoo and itâs fluff + awful humor â non-sexual intimacy â then angst bc Dee feels neglected/used while reader has to study and no one can express their feelings â confrontation scene
Word count: 7.6k
đ§àŸàœČ Full Wasteman/Dee playlist if anyone's interested
a/n: Thank u for the nth time to my lovely, amazing beta @p4neminem! Not only did she manage to take out all my awful brain glitches but this was her song recomendation that made me appreciate the angst in its glory. So, I hope you all will too!
Rain smells so different this low the city⊠especially when it's this heavyâa sense that is supposed to be refreshing, but stands suffocating with the bustling traffic. The stench of the nearby alleyway doesnât do wonders to soothe your growing anxiety either. Piss and other bodily fluids you donât want to imagine right nowâprobably piled on by drunk pub goers ever since the Black Death roamed the streets of Londonânow settle like mildew, threatening to never wash off.
Or maybe the difference is that you were with Dee last time it was coming down in buckets? On your terrace⊠higher than the cloudsâbe it mentally or physically. A couple days ago, your joint heartbeats were far louder than this prattling⊠a better place to be and to lose yourself in.
Where is he?
This is so stupidâyou should be back at your dorm, preparing for the upcoming health assessment practical. Doctor Smith will have your head if you come in shaking with nerves again⊠Well, at least then this awful odor might leave your nostrils for good.
You got yourself in this mess, though. Youâd wanted a tattoo for god-knows how long⊠it hadn't been just the weed that made you all talkative and inquisitive about the ink Dee sported. And so, once youâd shared that fixation, as always with anything you may ever needâyour criminally handsome drug dealer had âjust the blokeâ for the job! Or so you thoughtâŠ
Now that the florescent sign of the shop blares its angry red lights in your face, you are no longer so sure you know what you truly signed up for. Ugh, on top of it all, that âAâ letter is brokenâits neon coils bring about an annoying and persistent flickering, like they are fighting to keep the thing alive. It hurts to look at; the thrum reverberates through your skull and itâs starting to feel like it's actively peeling off your retinas. For some reason, you don't avert your eyes while the ashes from your cigarette fall into a nearby puddle, mixing in the filthy water.
âNah, you're mad if you think I'll settle for less!â Dee's voice zigzags through the rain, muffled by its smothering pounding. But you easily make it outâit calls to you like some twisted guiding light⊠or one of those wands with bells at their ends that some cat owners would dangle in their petsâ little furry faces.
You shake your head, as if the image can erase itself with the motionââEtch-A-Sketchâ style⊠Has the weed rattled your brain that much? In any case, you definitely prefer the initial analogyâfar more poetic and it doesnât suggest you are Deeâs pet. You aren't even sure what the two of you are still.
âFuck buddiesââŠ? No, that canât be rightâthe two of you havenât even âfuckedâ for the first part to be true.
Just âbuddiesâ then? Nope, that makes your chest twinge with pulsing and nauseating gloom.
His âspecial customerâ? Okay, now your thoughts are starting to sound borderline filthy.
You are both getting something out of keeping close to the otherâa symbiotic relationship of sorts. Him wanting to see if you'll be dragged low into corruption, you wanting to see if his tough facade will crack.
Dee's steps are large and heavy as he cuts the distance between your existential crisis and the inevitable open wound the tattoo will become. He is clearly pissed, displacing the water that has accumulated along the sidewalk pavement as if his feet were ridged tires. Itâs a baseline state for him.
Still, you can't help but listen in on the âbusinessâ conversation he is currently conducting⊠âDon't move weird now, yeah? A dealâs a dealâman's got hungry mouths to feed!â
Dee had finally made it out of Paul's employment⊠but not everything is sunshine and rainbows just because he is top dog now. The crown rests heavy when men put trust in him, and more so, when certain people from this conglomerate tend to shiv people for less than a âsidewaysâ glance. He'd seen what a powerful tool growing discontent can become. Hell, he built himself up because Paul only ever looked out for Paul.
Itâs not a pretty thingâsleeping with one eye open, thinking your head is on the lineâthat anyone couldâve ratted you out already and you are living on borrowed time. So, Dee cannot afford to make the same mistake⊠it's a growing paranoia that gnaws at him and never lets go. Its ugly, sharp teeth sinking ferociously like a bulldog's bite.
Some days, he pretends he could just say âTo fuck with all!â and let the matter rest, let everything sort itself out⊠But really, he feels like an animal trapped in a terrariumâpacing his room with sweat dripping down his torso, head pounding loudly from his racing thoughts. Exercise helpsâpush-ups to be specific, so he can pretend he can actually lift the weight that rests on his shoulders.
Your little wave and that quiet relief that floods your eyes when you meet his helps too⊠It shouldn't, damn itâbut it does. It flows through him like a balm on his sore heart or tea washing down his gullet on a dry morning. Those types of sunrises that squeeze the life out of youâŠ
It's hard for him to admit it, but as you suffocate. The ember burn of your cigarette into the concrete window stills, he forces himself to end the call: âJust cut the bullshit and make the drop happen, you hear?â
If the rain wasn't so insistent on being the only audible thing, you would have heard the vibrating shouts from the other end of the line. But that doesn't matter nowâhe settled itâŠ
âTough day?â You ask softly, unable to speak up over the downpour because of the lump that grows heavier in your throat.
âI'm tougher, still.â Dee assures as he takes you inâtrembling and wide-eyed, yet standing out here, waiting for him to collect you. A part of him is almost exhilarated that he can have such a reach into you⊠and then, the other part is mortified at the implications of being responsible for it. So, instead, he swallows it down and elects to chalk it all up to you being cold. âYou shouldâve gone in, angel⊠Jacob knows to expect you.â
âJacob? Isn't that the guy who made us waffles?â You echo with a raised brow as you rub at your armsâtrying to bring some warmth and ease the tension prickling in your stomach. It feels charged and spiky, like one of those plasma balls everyone had in their physics classes.
Even back in school, when Dee was all but forced to start selling, his only thought on that experiment had been that the round things would make great decor for an LSD trip. With their wavy lightning, commanded at one's fingertips, they'd set just the right ambience for a guided loss of cognitive function. He'd stolen the one his homeroom owned⊠and in that brief but beautiful moment that is all but lost to him now, he felt all-powerful, âlike that Greek blokeâZeus or whoever the hellâ.
But on this rainy day, he feels like he's being dissected instead. He can hear it in your questionâthe reluctance to trust Jacob, to trust him. The diner's owner was just that to youâa cook. Surely not someone you want to trust with a needle prodding about your skin. Like Dee shouldn't be trusted around you⊠It makes him bitter, your reaction settling in his bonesâan offense to his character. You should be letting go when you are with himâblindly, excitedly even. One second, he wants thatâfor you to rely on him more than you'd ever even believe in yourself; the next, he doesn't know what to do with this searing want.
So instead, he chuckles low, deep and indulgent as if you'd just told the funniest deal-gone-wrong anecdoteâand not that you potentially have the power to split him open and hold his beating heart. Ultimately, he can't help but find your jittery state almost endearing. Like you are just itching for a reason to abandon ship.
âJacob wears many hats. Most guys I grew up with and around have to, angel. So, cut him some slack, yeah? He knows what he is doingâŠâ. Dee assures with mild annoyanceâas fond as he can allow himself to get before he reprimands for good measure; no need for you to have a big head, after all. âAnd by the fuckinâ wayâhe is the owner of that diner. Not just some guy who flipped your wafflesâput some respect where itâs due.â
To Dee that's a show of statusâto own your shit. To be self-reliant instead of some wet-behind-the-ears bloke who begs for scraps and whines when the world inevitably turns a blind eye. Yet, you roll your eyesâunconvinced and slightly irritated that he not only ran late, but failed to mention where he was taking you. You are testing his patience, thatâs for certain. If it were anyone else who tried that move on him, he might have jumped them or at the very least scared them into thinking he might. One never knows with a loose canon⊠itâs a proper hat to wearâhigh risk, high reward but itâs what kept him surviving for so long.
Issue is, you are starting to make him realize he might want to live too.
And so, Dee reaches out, putting his hand over yoursâthe one thatâs still shaking up and down your cradled arms and joins it in the motion. âDon't get sassy with me, angel. You said you wanted them pretty flowers? Jacob did mine... and never once called me a pussy for getting them either.â
âForget-me-notsâŠâ you restate in a dreamy whisper. The same blooms that frame his mother's name on his neck. Like the ones that used to grow in your grandfather's garden. All reminding you of a life worth living.
Dee nods as he peels away the hood of your raincoat, sending small droplets cascading and inevitably catching down the hairs of your neck, making you twitch. âSo? We doing this or what?â His eyes glint, challenging you to take yet another leap with him there.
âHell yeah, weâ!â You try to sound convinced, but choke insteadâungracefully so, on the sharp wet inhale your lungs finally allow, ââare!â
âA little early to be hiccuping like that, innit?â He lets out a breath through his pursed lips as he leads you into the parlor.
You nudge your whole body weight onto his side at the attempted banter, even putting a small jump into it, causing him to quickly double over in mock defeatâpretending to let out a shrill wheeze. In another life, maybe, he could have been an actor. With how good his singing voice is and how amazingly goofy he can be in these situations, it would be a perfect fitâpossibly even a way to work through some of his issues. It makes you finally warm up at that thoughtâthat for all it's worth, he can let go in your company every now and again. Not fully free, but still himself nonetheless.
Even when he jumps on the brakes⊠the resulting whiplash is worth it.
It definitely takes a minute for all of your senses to adjust as you enter the establishment. The one constant that pushes you through is feeling Deeâs hand near yours. Not touching or intertwining your fingers in a bold claim⊠just lingering. You swear his hand twitches, itching to get closer, yet ever so reluctantâlike he may break the spell if he takes that step towards making it real and defined. Like he doesn't know what it will mean when it comes to you.
For a moment, you think heâs led into a caveâa very tacky, rundown cave, but a cave nonetheless. Cherry-colored walls squeeze you in, bloodthirsty, alongside thick but cheap magenta drapes that fight off any unwanted attention or light from ever daring to come into the studio. Some of the golden swirls, that have grown gray with grime, remind you of Dee's crass rococo-esque robe and matching slippersâŠ
You can't forget the night he'd shown up in that little number on the porch of the house his new crew was cooped up at. If you hadn't been in dire need of stimulants stronger than coffee, you would've snuck in a laugh. That hadnât stopped you from snapping a quick candid photo instead. All was well until the flash had seared across his vision, leaving ghostly afterimages dancing behind his eyelids. And thus, an equally wraithlike overexposed visage of Dee wincing was saved into your camera roll. Thankfully, the goods had already been exchanged and so you could make a proper run for it, keeping the real bountyâthat photoâ with his pimped out fit, seared in your phone's memory. And probably your nightmares tooâŠ
Now it won't be a good time to tease him about it though, when youâve crossed into his world once more. You note that the smell here is different too⊠but that doesn't mean itâs any better than the street outside. Scattered leather stretchers and bare walls that chance a look from beneath torn off wallpapers seem to have soaked up all the dense smoke thatâs been cooking the air. No one is bothering to be particularly hygienic around here, much less to let the space breathe.
One tattoo artist stands so close to a guy's thighâworking on a piece while a cigarette dangles from his lips⊠it's a miracle the client's leg hairs aren't singed off. You lift your eyes from that sight to be greeted by⊠a woman.
A half-naked woman, getting her nipples pierced.
âDon't they have privacy screens for all that?! Her boobs are out!â You whimper in horror, voice suddenly being carried louder than expected now that you are inside such a cramped space. This is as good a time as any to bury your head in the sand⊠with how red your face gets when the piercer, whoâs built like a house, turns around to shoot you a disapproving look.
âIt's only natural, missy.â Jacob's throaty pitch arrives from behind Dee and you: âNo need to get your panties in a twist.â
Where did he come from?! Probably from behind one of the crusted over drapes⊠It's getting way too overstimulating for how laid back everyone seems to be and it makes you feel like an alien. Like you are the odd one, sticking out like a sore thumb and the wolves might just take a bite out of you if you drop your guard down. Is that how Dee felt growing up? How he feels every day?
Before you can âpsychoanalyzeâ him furtherâas he affectionately calls it, he is already shaking the older man's hand, bringing him in for a pat on the back. But he then noticesâout of the corner of his eyeâever watchful, just how shriveled you've truly become. Like back at that party⊠You really canât deal with new people, can you? Itâs a wonder you ended up with the likes of Dee.
âAngelâŠâ, he starts, getting closer to you without asking permission as he whispers what he thinks will soothe your nervesârich and raspy in your ear: âIf itâll make you feel any better⊠you have way prettier tits!â
Nope, this doesnât help your case of âwho set my lungs on fireâ at all⊠Itâs praise he wholeheartedly believes most women would swoon overâit has yet to fail him. Its crudeness just makes you feel more self-conscious at the call-out youâd executed mere seconds ago. It doesn't calm you down, but it definitely distracts you in a way, sending images flashing in your mindâs eye. Of you on Deeâs lap, of his fingers brushing and teasing⊠taking whatever stood in their path. All because of that silly snarl his voice reverberated that always makes your knees weak. His attempt at being smooth could never be considered romantic in the traditional senseâit would be a generous assessment to call it a âone-linerâ in any sense. Yet, it's so much like himâto rely on raw influence instead of considerate thought. He is a person built out of reflexes, rather than calm intent. It's that unpredictability that gives you life, a sense of motion as the air around him never stands stale. He could never suffocate you in rigidity. And so, it works⊠on some instinctive levelâit pulls you in, begs you to accept his ragged edges.
You clear your throat in an attempt to stifle the alternative needy sound that bubbles up: âAnyways! Iâd just appreciate it if I could have a⊠drape? Or a privacy screen, or whateverâŠâ
You look away if only to attempt and stop the warmth that spreads to your face from matching the color of the extravagant flaking wallpapers. As luck would have it, your gaze settles on the stencil of what will become your tattooâpeeking out below a very disorganized pile at the main desk. Sunflowers, bright and yellow, intertwined with the mellow blue of the fuzzy forget-me-nots. The artwork is beautifulânatureâs shapes translated in fluid motions even with just markers. Wide-eyed, your heart skips a beat for an entirely different reason now, even as you try to manage your excitement and fit in: âBut yeahâto each their own I suppose!â
Yet you are no longer sure if you are referring to the womanâs blatant exhibitionism⊠or how Deeâs eyes grow ever so softer when he catches your reverent appreciation for Jacobâs work.
âYou like it, angel?â Dee prompts, finally brave enough to let his large palm settle on your shoulder, even in public: âTold you Jacob had it coveredâŠâ
The older man huffs and puffs, putting on an annoyed face at his art being critiqued. But he still leads the two of you to a more secluded section of the parlor and even offers more cushioned pillows to make up for the worn-down, flattened stuffing of the tattoo bed. You can definitely feel its edges pokingâat least you know it was put to good use⊠For all it's worth, this place sees a lot of faces and happy customers.
âI imagine this ain't your first rodeo, missy? Such a large piece⊠and on your ribs at that. You must be packing a lot of ink under them clothes?â Jacob asks almost absentmindedly as he winds some tape on the grip of his tattoo gun.
âUhm, no, actually⊠this will be my first work!â You say, excited to share instead of being trapped in your own brain (that you feel totally hates you)âforced to stare at the various needles laid out.
Jacobâs mouth opens and closes as he starts to move slowly, relenquishing his equipment to the table. âHave you lost your mind, lad?!â He is addressing Dee directly now, eye to eye, voice raised and convinced like he is haggling at the market. ââCause I'll help you find it! Bringing in the poor summer child up in here...â the older man shakes his head and finally turns to youâdisappointedly counting the seconds until he loses you as a client. âTell me, missyâdo you even know how bad it could hurtâsitting through such a large piece with that placement? Not to mention you want the colorinâ and shading...â A deep sigh as he gives in when he catches the sparkle in your eyes: âYou might wanna take a swig or two from the vodka my Russian friends settle their bills with! Hell, on second thought, I might take the whole bottle for myselfâwith all the whininâ and cryinâ that's in store!â
âShe's tougher than she looks, J.â, Dee attempts, uncharacteristically measuredârefusing to match the manâs outlandish reaction.
The realization hits you like a truck, that this is probably the nicest, most genuine compliment he could ever give⊠to anyone. And he believes it, said itâŠ. About you. It grounds you, convinces you that you can take on being a canvas for a dozen pieces right this instant if need be!
âI promise, sirâthe only thing that's scary to me are those needles, not the pain thatâs in store. I've done my researchâall the needed prep and post-tattoo care in detail! I know what I'm getting myself into.â, you assert, balling your fist into the small fringed pillow Jacob had given as padding.
ââSirââŠ?â The man sucks his teeth dismissively, though you can immediately tell youâve done well to polish his pride the moment he sits up straighter. âAinât heard that much respect âround this shop in⊠probably ever.â His next words are emphasized by a quick shake of his head as he readies a small tin with glide. Itâs definitely seen better days, but so have most of the interior pieces and people in here. âWhat a proper little lady our favorite stray has brought in, ey? I knew it ever since I saw you in my dinerâthat you ainât here just for mileage.â
That part makes you wince, shoulders growing tense at the reminder of Deeâs history⊠It doesnât make you jealous necessarily. Right? You are just high-strung because there is that part of you that doubts you wonât end up being just another number, another âfun timeâ for himâforgotten the moment he squeezes out what he wants. Hope is still here, it dies lastâhope that he will let you down slowly if the bells toll, but also hope that there wouldnât come such a time. That the two of you may yet try to clear a path and walk through this filthy, rotten and nasty little world together. That there will come a day when you can call it âhomeâ at last. Maybe then you will finally be able to read him, know himâthe good and the bad, the yin and the yang⊠Or maybe you are just bound to learn from some hard mistakes.
Isnât that what life is about though? Thinking you are prepared for it all, just to get humbled when the wolves are at the doorâŠ
âJust donât go telling me youâll refuse Jâs vodkaâŠ?â Deeâs sharp jab takes you out of the comfortable thought cocoon youâd synthesized. âWith all that crap about âdiluting the inkâ. Iâm telling ya, those new-school geezers are just a bunch of softiesâŠâ
âOh, I am refusing⊠I wonât need it.â You shrug the tension offâplain and simple. Still careful but no longer defensive, you are playing catch now.
The challenge makes Dee curl his lips in a pulsing smirk, becoming incredibly still as he takes in the feel of your confidence. Heâs seen it before, sure enough, when you snapped that pic of him, or when you âforetoldâ his future, or especially when you settled your way on his lap. Youâd been like a cat testing his boundaries. But you are in his territory now. Heâd expected you to cowerâkeep recoiled like you had when you were just getting adjusted to the sceneâbut it looks like he's just scratched the surface of where your limits lie.
âYou always this sure, or is it just when we have an audience, angel?â He gets in closer, like he needs to see it for himself. âStill, you said you didnât appreciate them needles? I thought a nurse in training wonât mind?â A response in stride, almost stress-testing you as he meets your eyes. And heâd never let his glare be the first to falter.
âIâm not the one holding the needle now, am I?â You think quick on your feetâable to keep in your element even as he bites.
âAh, so you prefer to be the one doing the poking? Good to knowâŠâ Dee fetches his vape just to blow a large strawberry-scented smoke cloud in your face.
Round won. By you, it seems.
âIâm just gonna ignore how backwards that came out, lad.â Jacob doesnât look particularly moved by the not-so-subtle tension thatâs prickling in the air. A man set to simply do what he loves, get paid and get all the drama somewhere far away from his booth. âCome now, missy, letâs see what we are working with!â
It should be making you feel exposed⊠it's what you expected. But somehow Jacob's tattoo gun becomes background noise and the sharp pain settles, turning dull after the first fifteen minutes. Just the thrumming vibrations remain, but it's nothing you aren't already growing accustomed to⊠Dee's roughness carries very much the same effect.
âYou tell me if you need a break at any time, yeah!â It's not a question, so much as it's a veteran's instruction.
âWill do, sirâŠâ you assure, but the only thing on your mind now is how Dee never once loses focus from your form.
It's not like him⊠to be this preoccupied with something he deems enjoyable. And from how eerily still he sits right nowâit's obvious he is savoring every twitch of your fingers around the outrageously dated pillow, every breath you don't want to release and just let build up and up until your chest rises. Untold sighs fill your lungs, but the almost translucent quality to his eyesâit tickles at your ribs.
Usually, he opts to deal with all that can go wrong, and fast. He sees these quiet times as danger sneaking up on him if he ever gets too comfortable, too stationary. When he gets high, it's to forget exactly that innate burdenâthat any change in his environment could be a cause for alarm. More often than not, any sound arrives as a question his body answers before his mind can even have the chance to register it, much less respond. Fuck it, these deep thoughts can be considered vestigial for all he caresâtotally non-conducive to his immediate needs or survival⊠Yet, now he stands mesmerized by every subtle taut movement of your body. How the side wings of your bra move just a tad higher with every inhale, making room for the ink to leave its mark against your ribs with its relentless buzz. Something within him thrums with equal intensityânot because he is forced into vigilance, but because he chooses to see you, know youâremember you.
âWhat's the deal, big man? Cat sprawled on my table got your tongue, huh?â Jacob is very much the same beastâsensing everything around him even as he gives off the impression that he's focused on the work in front. âI ain't never heard him be steadyâŠâ
âShut your mouth, fam, âfore I shut it for youââ, there is the expected snap of his teeth.
âHeâs just making sure you donât mess it upâŠâ You cut in slowly, gentlyâconspiratorially almost, not calling attention with loudness, but with intent. The rich amusement that seeps from your tone and into the air around makes Dee huff sharply⊠Itâs a rough sound from the back of his throat that couldâve been the beginning of reluctant laughter if his tightly pursed lips didnât stop it dead in its tracks. As he looks sideways, inhaling from his vape like it can stifle any genuine affection far better than his useless lips ever could⊠you donât let up, deliberately prodding to see just how much you can push: âHe can be careful when he wants to, you know?â
Deeâs bouncing leg is forced still as he barks a real laugh this time: âYou practiced that one in front of the mirror or somethingâŠ?â A sharp click of his tongue signals irritation, though something threatens to crack through his featuresâsomething that will allow this game to continue. âThe only thing Iâm âcarefulâ about is where your soft spots areâŠâ
âAye, second that!â Jacob stops for a bit to crack his neck as he blinks away the evident exertion that clouds his eyes. âSingle-minded suits him proper likeâhe finds where to bite and never lets go, that one.â
Same as how Dee sees his problems it seemsâas pests. Rot begetting rot, he has journeyed through life mistaking familiarity for truthâlooking into the eyes of others and seeing only fellow beasts⊠ruling it sound judgement.
Cooped up in the heavy air of the parlor thoughâhe can only count the next petal that's shaded on the ridge of your chest.
Soon enough, you are holding a small mirror⊠more like a piece of what used to be a mirror, angled toward your upper torso. Sunflowers shine and forget-me-nots glisten their reflections back and you let out a content and long sigh as finally, all the breaths youâve been saving up come loose. For some reason, you feel your eyes grow damper, like youâve finally achieved something that may help you move forward.
âPain catching up to you with delay or something?â Dee nods in your direction, not really mocking but dancing on the verge of it. Itâs almost like heâs looking for a way out of acknowledging how his eyes brighten when he recognizes the flowers as your shared language of pain and resilience.
The urge to flip him off in return extinguishes the moment you see it for yourselfâthe subtle give in the not-so-carefree smile lines that have been etched into his skin as a result of wincing rather than real happiness. But now, these wrinkles rest softer against his scratchy stubble.
âIn a wayâŠâ You offer gently, feeling your sore tattoo get warmer as Jacob helps you wrap it in foil. âAche isnât always a bad thing, yâknow.â
While he rolls his eyes, a thought settles in his musclesâthat he wants to come to know it, to start believing it too. He cannot remember the last time he could feel settled in his body, instead of just a passenger in it.
But as he opens and closes his mouth, wetting his dried lipsâtwo small words leave him: âYeah⊠beautifulâŠâ
He sighs it so faintlyâlike he let go of a wish that might extinguish with its falling star. With it, he isn't sure whether he is longing for just the pain, or what it can become.
Dee is pissed⊠once again. Pacing his room⊠once again.
The deal went well, alright. He didnât even need to throw hands at the end... Well, Dee didn'tâhis attack dogs did the dirty work adequately. The other sideâs suckers paid like the obedient underlings they were and even thanked him for good measure. One did so on the ground, voice twangy and stuttering from his broken nose, while the others seemed to have their wits about them and took the hint to get it done without fussing. At the end of the day, it made little differenceâhe had their fear and so⊠their respect.
But you. Youâve been ignoring him. How else should he put it when you always say you are busy studying?
Yeah, right⊠so busy you had half the mind to be asking for something to snort in order to pull another all-nighter that doesnât even include him. Well, gun to his head, he has to admitâyou⊠did try and engage him a couple of times. All of those failed attempts ended with Dee inevitably pulling out his Nintendo that distracted you to no end. The game's loud gunshots blasted and painted the dark room like an epilepsy-inducing rave opener⊠His immersion in the action-packed pixels didn't help either. When the shots stopped, his cussing shouting started and anyone remotely involved in the game's creation was sent on an endless exile to âsuck their mumâ⊠a very intellectually stimulating environment for sure.
You didn't hate it necessarily. If you hadn't been flooded by assignments, it could even be funny to let yourself exist without a filter as well. Especially when the more favorable distraction tactic Dee employed involved sneaking up on you as youâd sit at your dorm deskâ pulling you up and onto his lap. The practiced motion would elicit a yelp from you almost every time, even whining out pathetic strings of protests. But all excuses were ultimately stifled for a short while in your throat as he'd massage these intense, almost claiming circles into whatever softness his hands could grab. Closer and closer to where he knew you needed him the most, even if you couldn't admit it with how stressed you'd been.
The contrast of his hard touches meeting the sensitive skin of you inner thighs made your head dizzy. A whimper here and there, needy movements that you were forced to let go of as you'd push off of himâfar too overwhelmed to truly relax. Even with how steady and grounding his chest felt against your back, even with how his lavender smell corrupted your senses and the evidence of his arousal would send your mouth watering⊠You couldn't allow yourself to have it. A part of you desperately thrummed to be forced on your knees so you can just forget the thoughts running circles in your skull. In front of you stood an endless lake, and you could only see how to swim through, never over.
He supplied so you could finish those exams but it'd just made you more twitchy and him⊠more annoyed than supportive. Again, he'd felt like he was humiliating himself trying to break past your shellâstripping his walls down even if in small bits⊠like the flaking ones at Jacob's tattoo parlor. Why not just call one of his girls for a quick shag? It's the same predicament as when he'd first come to your dormânothing else is enough now. You'd unlocked something in him and never gave him the key. Just left the door swinging open at the whims of the wind. The unstoppable force has met the immovable object and nowâit's anyone's guess how the paradox will unravel.
But unravel it shallâŠ
âThat snow bunny of yours came knocking yesterday after lunch.â One of the newer guys reports, a little unnerved that anyone could've seen you walk up to their den. âSaid she had one final thing to get done? I don't know, boss⊠she looked a real mess.â
You'd seen better days, sure⊠bags under your eyes, dry skin, hair day hadn't blessed you in a week or soâit's not a list by this point but a whole tome. The only thing you found the strength for and didn't feel guilty indulging in, was taking care of the tattoo, tracing each petal while it still healed, while it was still sore. That, and sending Dee messages that went unanswered.
It's tough when the only thing in front of you is graduation. That way you can finally have something no one can take from youâsomething yours, like the tattoo. Who cares if you needed to snort a line or two of nose candy or pop a benny to get it doneâit's all worth it in the end. Academic perfectionism can be a real pain in the ass⊠or flip your world ass up? One of the two, but what was certain is that it made for a really lonely place when the only other person who tries to see you for who you are just doesn't get it. When there's no way of communicating, because you are at different placesâalways in different worlds. Sure, they collide when it's convenient, when you can delude one another into believing you aren't there to probe and test your yin and his yangâthe small seed of darkness in a forest of light and the small drop of hope in an ocean of rot.
âWhat you yappinâ âbout?! Fuckinâ get a slap if you run your mouth like that.â Dee snaps immediately, getting in the boy's face as he crossed the small room in a low rush of momentum. Once he owns the space, he mumbles slowly, face dropping, eyes pinning whatever stands in his way: âShe won't talk, that's for sure. I told her, she ain't getting none. Not until she patterns her shit first.â
It's not care⊠not precaution for your health. Just a sick desire to see if you'd come back for more than the drugs. If you are that sliver of hope in the world, or if the rot has corrupted you full.
I won't bother you with that anymore⊠promise. I have just one practical left. Hope to see you soon!
âHopeâ⊠yeah, well, that ought to drop dead last.
The garage smells of sweaty oil, burnt tarmac and hot tires. It's a potent combination that's been ingrained into him since he was a small boy, coming in to get his father's car serviced. Though his old man often paid in threats instead of giving people their due. Dee wipes off the grease from his forehead as he clatters the hood of the truck he's been working on shut. Now, he runs the garageâstarted as soon as heâd made enough money. A businessman of his caliber needed a place to wash his money clean and this was a great front for his deals. He knew the place inside and out. Well, all that, but he also had the passion for it. Dee even ensured the last owner got a much deserved early retirement... No, nothing sinister like thatâjust paid the old grump off. Not a lot of people around him had the fortune of seeing late age, and even fewer came to greet it gently and safely. It was the least he could do, he felt.
âYo, T, run the numbers on the Smith job real quick!â Dee shouts the order at Taylor who was put to man the reception. âBloke's been waiting on this beauty for a while nowâŠâ
When he doesn't get the immediate response he wants, that he expects, he smacks the greased towel on the gravel in palpable agitation.
âI swear, that loon better not be gulping down the Sabutex⊠can't find jackshit help nowadays!â Dee mumbles under his breath as he all but storms past the cheap white plastic door of the waiting area. It flies off harshly in the process, almost creaking under the pressure. âI saidâit's not fucking break time, you twat! You having a tea party with the queen or some shit?! Get to working or so help meââ
And then he sees youâsmiling, put together, carrying what appears to be a box of homemade biscuits⊠Hold on, rewindâsmiling at Taylor, more like. That towel shrivels in Deeâs iron grip, as he becomes unnaturally still once againâassessing the threat. You want to restore safety, instead he sees what you two have as an issue he has to smooth out. Again, the different worlds at odds.
âDee! I tried to call and warn you I was coming but⊠you seemed busy.â, you mumble softly, already opening the box you'd meticulously prepared. The rich buttery smell contrasts the garage's settled grime and dust rather starkly. âI just wanted to say âthanksâ⊠and apologize. I couldn't really be there for you that much these weeksâŠâ
There you are with your rambles, always explaining yourself like the world might crush you for taking up even an ounce of space. Like you had to be allowed to breathe. The pattern is so self-evident that Dee doesn't need to think before heâs smelling it on you⊠how curious and even vexing you can be when you are comfortable; and then how closed off and sheepish you become once you feel threatened. Now it's time for the latter, and it sends him seething at it, hating it. Shuffling in here, batting your eyelashes⊠and the biscuits? It was almost too formulaic. And what nowâhe's supposed to give you the stars for playing the victim?
âRidiculousâŠâ He cuts off sharply, not even looking at you. âI seemed busyâŠ. to you? Yeah, guess what, angelâI actually have a fucking job to do instead of lose my head in some made-up shit like you do!â
âI-I just had toââ, you try, but you already feel yourself shrink; each attempt to justify yourself somehow leaves less space for the actual explanations.
âH-h-had to what?! Snort another line so you can ignore me for anything else? Oh, you picked the right one today, Iâll tell you that!â Dee mocks your stutter bitterly, not laughingâjust set on a snapping rampage. Leaning closer to you as you try to step back, he doesnât leave any air to breathe, speaking faster than youâd ever seen him. Now, itâs like he can finally allow the overfilled bottle to burst open. Itâs a far scarier picture when he emphasizes his red-hot irritation with a well-placed tilt of his head, like he is trying to sniff out your response. âYou dare come here⊠in my shop, where I take care of serious business.â The next words come out paired with a mock poutâbelittling, like you are unable to comprehend your actions. âWhat if one of your stuck-up friends followed you here, saw you buying âstudy buddiesâ, hm? What then, little nurse?â
âNo one did! I told you⊠I am not here for that! I am so sorry I made you feel like I was using youâIâd neverâI just⊠I really need this, Dee⊠Graduating, getting the grades.â A reluctant whisper rears its ugly head from your lips: âMy brain wonât give it a rest.â
As if naming the problem out loud may make it hurt more than it already does. Like you are giving your compulsive, neurotic strive more power to eat you up.
At that, the tension stops feeling like itâs just in your body and it starts filling the room instead. His insistence and your reluctance are pitted in a deadly duel⊠yet the space between you misjudges both. Itâs not building something up, instead you and Dee are conjoinedâspiraling down toward an endless abyss. And unlike that rainy day in your dormâhe is blindsided by his anger, by the fact that he was hurt first. Itâs that momentum that keeps the avalanche rolling, growing bigger and closer to suffocating you.
âAh, rightâyou are here to bring biscuits⊠because thatâs what you want, innit? A cookie-cutter, perfect fucking little life where no one tells you to get your act together.â He scoffs, finally letting go of that towel heâs been squeezing dry and places it on top of your box. âYâknow, unlike your wasteman of an ex, I can wipe my own arse without you being here. I donât need youâI just didnât expect youâd rinse me⊠mess me about like that, you feel.â For a moment, he looks down and his foot goes through a swinging motionâlike he is kicking an imaginary rock and wants it to fly somewhere far away. âShame on me, ey?â He shrugs in sync with his bitter voice.
âDee, I tried to tell youââ, you squeeze your fists, wanting to force him to listen for once, instead of baring his teeth, âI texted, I invited you overââ
It wasnât enough⊠when a chunk of his life gets hard, he bites it off, before it has the chance to strike back. Heâd chew through his own leg if it meant never feeling trapped. And you, even if unwittingly, made him feel corneredâlulling him under your spell but never assuring him in the way he seeks. Never making him feel like âthe manâ, the one and only, the strongest who could be there to battle your issues. How can he ever battle something he can't take a swing at?
âSpare your breath, sweetheart. We are a forced tâing is all.â He looks towards the box covered by the towelâthe evidence of his hard work, thrown in the ring. Then, his eye twitches as he recalls the way youâd looked at Taylor earlier and it only stirs him further. âSpineless wet wipes should stick together pretty neat, no? T will enjoy your biscuits.â
The whole world is rot; and even friends get caught in Deeâs adrenaline-induced velocity.
You look between the box and Dee⊠then Taylor who wants to disappear off to somewhere. You want to stay, however. Call it self-destructive, call it faith in what you and him have, or plain stupidityâyou will see this through and show him that your temperance isn't cowardice. You have the guts to be in his life, you just need him to show you his waters won't always be treacherous. That there can be a quiet time for the two of you to restâŠ
As the tether that's been pulling you guilt-ridden cuts off, you feel like a puppet devoid of stringsâable to move with agility again. It's your momentum that snaps back now, like a band in his face when he turns to leave. âJust so you know⊠you are the one running away from the hard stuff now, Dee.â
Catching an alligator on a hook is no easy feat, but the eerie softness with which you deliver truth pulls him in. Not many dare to hiss back at a beast. And so, the moment your words hit him, his jaw tightens and he sucks in a forced breath through his teeth.
You've just drawn first blood⊠and he can already smell it in the water.
đ Tag list: @p4neminem, @taniamiller
If you want to be added/removed from my tag list (be it for a particular WIP series or my general work), pls leave a comment or DM me. Thanks for reading!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
NEW: Tom will make his Hollywood debut alongside Bradley Whitford in A Few Good Men, directed by Michael Arden at the Vivian Beaumont Theater on Oct. 8, ahead of an Oct. 29 opening
Dealer!Dee pt2 is about to hit your tumblr screens soon! (the post with the sneak peakđ)
The writing is fully done (even for the next part... ooopps) I just need time to edit and for my lovely beta to work her magic đ€
(ă ÂŽ Ë `) i truly appreciate u, p4neminem (ă ÂŽ Ë `)
credits for the gifs go to: @/welcometounicornworlds
as warned... this next one is angsty but I will make up for it by giving y'all some filth and putting Dee in that sweater come part 3!! it's the softest he's ever been, before sh!t hits the fan :)))
idk why i remembered it being orange and blue...?? given the color scheme of the movie it would've made NO SENSE. but ig my inner itch to write for alex nilsen again whispered in my ear...
àȘâ⎠THEN I will be back to write for Billy -> and THEN the next salt&sugar chapter (at least that's the plan!)
sidenote: i changed my username so it fits with the actual blog (my old one was ancient) and the twt/đ i made if anyone wants to see me ramble!
note to anyone who thinks of ever changing their un: don't do it on a random Monday... all your links will break đ
sorry to ask lovely but when are we getting the Dee part two im craving more dee fanficccc
hey, heyy, love!
no worries to ask at all -- I am actually at a bit of a crossroads rn as to what to prioritize bc I have so many ideas... Dee is still in my plans, just a matter of how quickly I get to him đââïž
And having 2-3 WIPs doesn't help for sure...
so... I think bc i am indecisive as hell...
I'll put it to the vote!
if people are interested in what comes when, that is
Some context:
âł salt&sugar is the fave child now (sorry not sorry), so that WIP will always be in progress until I finish it
âł the questions/options then become what should I prioritize once a chapter of it is released
Ⳡ"come nightfall" is a Billy the Kid fic, yes, but Coriolanus has a cameo there and⊠drum roll⊠once that finishes, it will turn into a spin off for vamp!Coriolanus - working title: "blood & sugar" (v on-brand, ik, thanks)!! => so, it's actually a vampire saga...
My cycle is usually 2 weeks per chapter (though it varies -- for Dee it's a bit less, for BTK it's a bit more)
âł Prognosed "jail time" that either will have to "serve" would be 1.5~2 months, until I can get to focus on them.
Criminal vs. Criminal - Should I prioritize Dee fanfics OR vamp!BTK/Coryo?
Option 1: Billy is jailed, Dee walks free
Option 2: Dee is jailed, Billy walks free
Voting ended onJun 16
(look at them facing each other off! lol)
Thanks to whoever votes for getting me out of decision paralysis hell!
...In more detail, the options are as follows...
Option 1: Come get your Dee content! => focus on salt&sugar as the main "Coryo" fic and only then continue BTK/vamp saga
more time for Dee (he doesn't need to get in line with the vamp fics)
vamp!Coriolanus will wait until salt&sugar is done (he will be in horny jail for some time after also bc "come nightfall" will be its 'prequel' in a sense -- but the cameo will still be worth it, pinky promise...)
Option 2: Get vamp!Coriolanus spin off faster
puts Dee in jail for now (until salt&sugar finishes)
but "come nightfall" gets out faster => "blood & sugar" STARTS faster
Guys... do you want me to suffer?? Lol jk, I love writing more and more but it's kind of ironic that the poll ended up being dead in the middle đ
âšïž Alexa, play "Criminal" by Britney Spears âšïž
Sooo, here's what's gonna happen... I'll write FOR BOTH as salt&sugar continues but it'll solely depend on what ideas come to mind/what time I can dedicate. So, expect many "writing updates" where I tell u all about it!
Full disclosure â I'm more lost when it comes to Dee's plot/arc... so any requests/asks are welcomed big time đ let's brainstorm this roadman's future with "angel"!reader đ
For Billy, I have the plot in mind but it's harder to polish it bc of the period accuracy.
It all balances out in the end... đ
Enjoy the first of possibly many writing updates... for... Dee (in this post)!
Billy will have to wait just a little bit this time come home, the kids miss u :(((
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
m/f â sugar daddy!President Snow â post tbosas canon â daddy kink â age gap (10 years, nothing illegal!) â dom/sub dynamic though thereâs an inherent power imbalance â district 4!reader/OC â controlling and possessive behavior â toxic relationship â OC helps Coriolanus prepare for a poisoning â Capitol politics/inequality - classism â original side characters â objectification/dollification â punishments as loss of autonomy (OC is in a cage/aviary at the end) â daddy issues (bc ofc) â Lucy Gray and Crassus Snow haunt the narrative ('The Ballad of Lucy Gray' is retold in District 4 wording) â Coriolanus flips out â trauma/fear of abandonment â allusions to OC having BPD/DPD â described physical abuse as punishment (not to OC) â Tigris and Livia make their debut in this chapter! â so angst
smut!! (DDDNE//mdni): NON-CON/dub-con, Coriolanus uses a love serum on OC (none of the smut happens during its effects, but itâs implied heâs been using it on her for some time), use of belt as a leash â so, choking, one (1) slap, piv, Coriolanus Snow and has a breeding kink, praise and degradation, overstimulation, use of plugs (vibrating one đ), forced imprisonment and loss of voice
a/n: A HUGE thanks to @p4neminem for the beta on this!! It was a longer writing process because I wanted to flash everything out â darker themes are challenging, who would've thought đ€ (+ life got busy). But really, without you, I don't think it would have had the same feel it does now, especially in certain places đ€
The bedroom was silent save for the fantom kiss Adriana still felt pressed into her scalpâsearing, not soothing. Yet another mark.
It certainly sent loud thoughts racing through her mind, like his absence always did. Loneliness physically pained her, and the emptiness caused by himâeven more so. It was like even his cruelty could mend the hollow parts inside her, making her chase him for the ever-missing fragments, fearful of remaining shattered into countless pieces.
A thirst that can never be quenched.
The thick drapes let so little light in that she was unsure what time it was, but... it was a confusion sheâd come to expect and greet like an old friend. All a result of his roller-coaster of unregulated highs and bottomless lows.
Adriana tried to stay in the middle now, balancedâthe dark silk sheets creasing beneath her weight, beneath the exertion as she moved restlessly. But the conceptâthe stability was far too foreign, so her mind settled back to him. To the pearl she dives for.
Coriolanus was gone, so it couldn't be earlier than seven. She rolled over to his side of the bedâneatly made, nothing to suggest he'd ever been presentâexcept for the white rose he'd left on his pillow and a note to her for the day. Elegant, yet assertive cursive bled through the small thin parchment pieceâŠ
Busy day, little siren. I expect you ready for the senate dinner. No party for you tonight and no coffee at breakfast. I've made sure of it.
Milk and honey from now on.
-C.S.
Not a text, but his own penmanshipâhis hands leaving something behind. For such occasions that required precision and for lessons that necessitate permanence, he preferred this method far more. His initials were written sharply, ritualistically practicedâan unnecessary addition⊠Who else could the note be from after all?
Adriana lifted her hand up to trace the matching ones imprinted on her neck and realized... everything had its purposes in his world.
He liked to watch her before he got on with his day. Her sleeping peaceful form. Liked knowing he stood behind itâguaranteed it.
Not that he couldnât check in through the myriad of digital eyes he had on her at all times⊠but then, he wouldnât be able to hear her breaths, to allow them. The act would settle his nerves, knowing sheâd still be wherever he pointed toâa sea god commanding his siren and her emotional waves. Heâd written the note, still watching her from the escritoire in the bedroom, imagining how sheâd scrunch her nose in distaste at all his adjustmentsâbut that sheâd follow nonetheless. It was a high like no other.
âNo partyâ. The denial made her clench her fist and crumple the paper. Why couldn't she have both? Have it all? If she was so alone now, what would he care if she went?
The plan was still there⊠she'd leave the dinner and make him chase her. Finally prove he was in just as deep as she was. Not a distraction, not a secretâbut something kept. And gem of Panem help her, she'd be drinking espresso martinis with Rosa in celebration until she couldn't walk straightâŠ
Why did the thought of being away from Coriolanus make her head pound?
For now, sure as the moon commanding the tides, breakfast cameâserved in bed. The milk tasted far too sweetâa reminder of the life Coriolanus offered, but also of the weight he demanded on her hips, her thighs⊠a claim deep to her very bones. But the salty ocean currents made for better conquerorsâŠ
She chewed through the french toast, sprinkled with dried rose petalsâfluffy but filling her senses far too overwhelmingly, making her his inside and out. The plethora of sourced wild berries stood still on extravagant china, so domesticated. Adriana popped one blueberry in her mouth when she heard heels clicking down the hall.
A womanâdefinitely refined in her gait. A feline-like shadow spread when the door was reached⊠Tigris. Her sweet voice that had become more of a careful purr recently now trickled through the keyhole. She didnât dare knockâshowcasing the subtle way in which Adriana wouldnât even have the authority to let her in.
âDarlingâŠ?â the older woman prompted, waiting to hear what she would be dealing with on the other side.
After all, Coriolanus liked to play rough with his toys from a young ageâbreak them if necessary. Even when the Snows couldnât afford much, his belief was that if the trinkets were of no use to him, they better not be his at allâor exist at all for that matter. Heâd try and make all these âadjustmentsâ to his military setâmore wheels on Peacekeeper vans, painting camouflage stains on the small figurine soldiers, switching out limbs of stronger pieces, adding weapons as limbs⊠the list went on. If they couldnât withstand his treatment, his improvements⊠theyâd be thoroughly disposed of.
A tendency Tigris knew had followed him into adulthood but had switched focus to more... practical things. Like the lab work with Gaul he refused to abandon. Be it body modifications to troopers or the epitome of it allâhis cabinet of vials galore, labeled to perfection. More often than not, a trip to it meant another bell tollingâanother Capitol coffin lowered. A magistrate poisoned to perfection.
Like the Sea Witch of olden tales⊠poor souls would deal in terms few of them were astute enough to fully grasp before theyâd inevitably turn to sea foam. It wasn't just lethality he administered thoughâchemistry was versatile like that.
âYes, Tigris?â Adrianaâs fog lifted, responding as she swallowed a mouthful. If Coriolanus were here, heâd surely take away her utensils for daring to speak while chewing. And that sweet breakfast bite would have been the last sheâd get to feel on her own.
âCoriolanus requested I be the one to make any final adjustments to your wardrobe for the tripâŠ" she explained, voice still muffled from behind the grand bedroom doors.
âI can be at the dressing room in ten!â Adriana automatically wiped at the corners of her lips with the thick handkerchief providedâalready carrying the ingrained table manners even when there was no one around to scrutinize her.
âI was thinking⊠let us have the modeling outside? See how real sunlight compliments the fabrics with your complexionâŠâ Tigris explained hastily: âWe wouldnât want to miss any angles now!" A well thought out excuseâher tone clipped and efficient. Just what Coriolanus would expect of anyone tending to his little siren. Nothing too familiar.
Outside⊠where there were no cameras. Adriana couldnât lie that itâd be a reprieve from it allâfrom control disguised as care. From a constant dive for the latter, only to settle for the former, being confused in it herself. An uneasy feeling settled low in her stomach, that she was somehow betraying his rulesâwith reluctant awareness, but committing to it nonetheless.
The sun was bright against the white marble columns that surrounded the gardens, warmingâeven if they always gave the feel of endless snowfall. The first dress from yesterday already hugged Adrianaâs frame better as she exited onto the large veranda and into the light. Tigrisâ careful fingers brushed the tulle downward. Every movement spelled the reverent respect she held for her craft.
âThe stitching here is sloppy⊠I tell my baby cousinâthatâs what happens when you rush art! But then again, he never saw much value in the fashion itself." she shook her head, moving to pin a loose thread in place: âNot to worry, sweet girlâIâll fix it in no time.â
The fabric wasnât what was appraised hereâit was the model, always Adriana. These âfancy ragsâ were just another way to hold her tied down, in themâno unnecessary color and definitely not a means of self-expression. What a silly thing to even considerâthere was no âselfâ outside of him.
Yet there were still far more permanent chains Coriolanus could put in place. And Tigris knew itâŠ. saw itâthe ordinarily bitter serum stirred into the sweet milk this morning, by his hand. Brain chemistry was such a delicate thing after all, and his sirenâsâeven more so.
Adriana let out a small laugh, cutting through the older Snow's calculations: âI still donât understand the rush to have the whole wardrobe done today⊠if we leave in five days.â
âAh, itâs not for us to knowâat least thatâs what Grandmaâam used to say.â Tigris relatedâa louder display of compliance for the sake of any lingering surveillance. But as she continued her distracting ramblings and coordinated accessorizingâa necklace here, an earring thereâ she'd squeeze the other girl's shoulder in a quieter comfort every now and again. âShe permitted Coryo all his quirks. In a sense, he reminded her of my uncle⊠and, well, he was the Snow ideal.â
Just at that, a maid arrived with fresh lemonade and a conveniently pinned rose lapelâCoriolanusâ ears were scattered like jabberjays it seemedâŠ.
Adriana reached for a glass, but Tigris seized it sharplyâhands suddenly far too unsteady for a well-trained seamstress. âThat's okay, leave them on the table. We wouldnât want to sully the new dresses, now would we?" she added sweetly.
âOf course, ma'am.â the maid curtsied hastily and left with thatâfearful of something or rather someone.
The younger girl swallowed hard, lips pursing at the display. It wasn't like Tigris to command like thisâŠ
Carefully, Adriana opened her mouth, voice thin as if threading a needle accompanied with an anxious chuckle: âWhat was that about, Tigris? Surely we can enjoy some refreshments?â
Tigris took a final paranoid look over her shoulder, back at the looming gardensâsomehow dark even when the bright summer shone. To her relief it was just the gardeners nowâfar away, tending already perfectly shaped evergreen shrubs.
She exhaled through her nose firmly as she turned to rummage through her leather work bag: âListen, my girl⊠CoryoâCoriolanusâ" she corrected, the action paining her greatly as she grimaced.
âCoryoââsuch an affectionate nicknameâit sounded almost like a bird's chirp. Adriana wondered if the President's heart had ever been truly so open as to respond to its calling. Maybe long ago⊠with a certain songbird whose presence lurked between her and Coriolanus nowâa ghost solidifying Adrianaâs cage.
But before she could pursue that line of thought further, Tigrisâ voice cut through, continuing lowly: ââŠHe has been spiking your drinks... those gumdrops he feeds you too. I doubt the lemonade was a part of it since I'm here too, but⊠one can never be too careful." her throat was tight, breath barely escaping as she pressed a cold vial into Adriana's hand, squeezing it just as tightly as the invisible hand constricting her neck.
The siren took a step back, jerking away like she'd been burned: âWh-what do you mean? Tigris? Why wouldâŠ", her voice trembled as did her body. Suddenly, Adriana felt like she were standing back at District Four's Justice Building like she had for five full years. But this time, as in her worst nightmaresâher name was being pulled from the Reaping bowl. ââI didn't do anything wrong!" she raised her voice, panicked while frantically feeling around her heart for a pulse through the sheer dress. For any indication that she was still alive. Maybe that was what every âtributeâ thought to themselvesâŠ
And Adriana could fathom itâCoriolanus wanting her out of the way⊠Painless, clean, poisonedâa snake's weapon. Even still, the betrayal hurt, fear consumedâlike saltwater filling her lungs.
âQuiet nowâwe wouldnât want to call attention!â Tigris warned but assured further: âIt's not poison he is giving you⊠it'sââ. Suddenly, she looked to the large pool, water in her eyes meeting the turquoise dancing in artificial waves. The mechanical whirl of the machine producing them somehow calmed her breathing, even if only somewhat: ââI donât even know what exactly. All that I am certain of is that he spent sleepless hours in Gaul's lab before you moved in. When I inquired, he had all of these ready-made excuses⊠like he always does. Something about a serum for the civic service Peacekeepersâto ensure their loyalty.â Tigris didn't let go of Adriana's hand as her voice carried strainedâbitter at Coriolanusâ lies, she bit her cheek: âOne of the reports I saw on his desk called it âCor raptumââŠâ
âStolen heartâ⊠a compound that could be made strong enough to introduce physical pain upon separation from the intended âanchor objectââas Tigris had read and now retold. For precise effect to take holdâbehavioral conditioning was paired; for soldiers, that meant being subjected to any number of propaganda materials after administration⊠for Adrianaâit meant getting Coriolanusâ rewards, so she'd come to associate all the wonderful highs and lows with him. Low cortisol, high dopamineâshe was slowing being forced into an addiction.
âWhat are you saying, Tigris?⊠I-I've always been like this." she tried to make sense of it, to explain to Tigris. She'd always felt empty, when she wasn't on the deep end of one emotion or the other.
âMaybe that's what he counted on⊠he was always good at finding sinkholesâor creating them when needed. But, Addie⊠I know what I saw, I know what my cousin is now⊠maybe what he has always been and what I was too blind to see." Tigris looked away with wet eyes as if she were mourning a non-existent version of Coriolanusâof the boy she'd protected for so long. When her hands trembled again, she forced them steady and looked back at Adrianaâintensity boring into her eyes: âYou don't have to trust meâI sure know it wouldn't come easy now. Just, please, keep this close⊠in case. Test it if you dare⊠if it isn't too late.â
Tigris, like the Lady Justice statue at the Capitol Square, had been blindânot because she is impartial in her judgement⊠but because she fears to gaze upon the world and the true nature of humans. But that didn't make her powerless. The older Snow tapped Adrianaâs palm, still holding the vialâmaking the little siren clutch it harderâŠ
She had indeed been feeling like something was tearing her apart when Coriolanus wasn't aroundâlike an actual physical pull at her heart strings. A traitorous part of her wondered if that were such a bad thing. Would he have gone through the trouble if he didn't intend to keep her?
But being kept and being wanted weren't the same. He would never need her as much as she did him with that poison⊠it was poison after all, one of the heart and soul. He made sure her devotion remained endless, but never sharedânever vulnerable himself. The realization sank deep within Adriana as she looked toward the carefully placed morning newspaper on the garden tableâthe whirling white hand-forged iron leaves blended with the thin paper⊠as if the printing ink sprung from within. As shall the truth.
Coriolanus didn't usually allow news around his little sirenâwhat would she need them for, when she had him looking out for her? Yet, on the front page⊠there it wasâan engagement announcement from Livia Cardew herself. Adrianaâs eyes darted between the grainy picture of the smiling blond woman and the label on the vial, growing heavier in her hand⊠âcor revocatumââ âheart reclaimedâ. If Coriolanus wouldn't keep her heart safe, maybe she'd finally find the strength to do so on her own. So she wouldn't end up a shipwreck buried in his depthsâlooking for a pearl that was never there.
âThank youâŠ" Adriana whispered as Tigris held up a pearl earring to match the dress.
âDon't thank me yetâchoose first." a warm but reluctant smile spread on her lips but her eyes remained glossy throughout.
The gown was like twilight trapped in a bodiceâdark but tasteful, not hugging but owning every curve. Adriana gave it a performative spin in front of the floor-length mirror while Coriolanusâ eyes never left her form through the reflection. With a measured step down from the fitting platform, he adjusted his cuff linksâapproaching slowly while they caught in the clear dressing room lights like the scales of a snake.
His left hand came to rest on her waist, while the right seized her wrist⊠pinching it between his thumb and pointer fingerâwanting to keep even her pulse under his âcareâ. No words yet, just his presence had been enough to make warmth spreadâpressing against her skin from within, as if her blood was boiling.
Adriana hadn't taken its antidote counterpart yet, wanting to see if its effects were trueâif Coriolanus really had denied her even the opportunity to be honest with her heart.
It had been a reality she'd been living for weeks, but it was another thing entirely when she knew what to look for. He hummed now, apparently pleased with his observationsâthe heartbeat matching his expectations. Another data point for his collection.
âLooks like someone's worrying their pretty little head over the senate dinner, hm?" his voice was so gravelly, it reverberated from his fingers deep through her bone marrowâwilling her still: âNo need to fret, little siren⊠it will be a total bore." he assured, blunt fingernails digging, then dragging slowly up and down the length of her arm, forcing it to extend: âThough I have something extra special for my good girl.â
Suddenly, he moved back, denying touchâwaiting for her reaction. And it cameâa pang in her chestâmore painful, more unbearable with every step he took away from her; immediate, guaranteedâa chemically induced invisible chainâlike he could pull her heart out with him and keep it in one of his glass jars forevermore.
He fought the urge to smile when he saw it for himself âjust how effective the serum was. And so, he concluded: âSince you've proven your loyalty⊠you get to help Daddy tonight.â
More like the cor raptum had forced it out of her⊠Adriana mourned her right to chooseâto show the real extent of her devotion.
âHelp?" she echoed inquisitively. While sheâd become well-versed in what was taught in her classes, she couldnât imagine Coriolanus allowing something as pivotal as political discussions to be outside of his control. But then again, they wouldnât really be external to him. Not truly, not ever, if he owned her heart so thoroughly.
âYes, sweetheart⊠help. Don't you want to be good and help Daddy? I know how curious you have always been and tonightâI'll indulge. Just a couple of drops, but by your hands." he let each word simmer slowly, enigmatic as alwaysâspeaking in riddles to force a binding promise of the little mermaid becoming human⊠if she just gave her voice away.
And Adriana, fool that she wasâtook it every time. As she stepped towards him and felt his fingers lace with hers, guidingâher stolen, rotten heart skipped a beat; and even that pause was his to enjoy.
Coriolanus led her to the infamous maidâs bathroomâthough its one and only function was to house his vial cabinetâa shrine of his experiments in all flavors of control. The lavatory was made to be an exact replica of the one that rotted away in the old Snow penthouse. It was so tall that no natural light could force its way inside save for a little twinkle that bled through the small window high above. The glass was stained so any warmth would transform cold and blue upon forced entryârepurposed and bent, making it all feel like an underwater cave with no means of escape.
The cabinet stood menacingly large; wide doors like lungsâit was the closest thing to a living presence in the otherwise soulless room, even when closed. Though Adriana wasnât sure if its essence was a good thing or just a testament to the spirits, whose breaths were now and forever trapped in its wooden depths.
Widdled serpents coiled at the sidesâtheir heads reaching dark and fanged to serve as handles at the heavy doors. A reminder that reaching for a poison meant embracing it fully and suffering its bite too.
But what a small price to pay it wasâCoriolanus believed and as such had ordered the old mural from his father's office be displayed above the cabinet. The ethereal figure of winged Nike, goddess of victoryâhand outstretched in a blessing⊠had been teared together with the wall which she once downed. She hadnât brought his father any successes, but Coriolanus knew better than to let his chances be ruled by silly gods. No, luck was made and his Victory wouldâquite apparentlyâbe ripped forcefully if need be. The ragged panel edges were honed down to a semi-circleâa halo. A crude mockery of one, if Adriana had any say in it. The watchword that could still be made outâletters, once black now faded to almost burgundy against a pure white ribbon translatedâ
âThe Victory has⊠honor," Adriana mumbled while she stood frozen next to Coriolanus, only tilting her head slightly to make out the textured words at the end.
He was more than willing to let her adjust to what he felt was the glory of it all while he guided her hand to grasp one of the serpent heads. The wood bore into her skinâmuch like Coriolanusâ voiceâdrawing prickles.
âAh, someone has been polishing their Latin? Good, I'm not paying that University tuition for nothing thenâŠ" he started as the cabinet wing creaked open under their shared hands, but more so under his guidance.
The muted light of the room caught in the vials that rested withinâsome were filled to the brim, others looked almost emptyâa melody of agony. In turn, the reflection carried their menacing promises onto the tiled walls; the small rhombus stones that connected each of them suddenly stood out to Adriana. Tesseraeâa death sentence for many tributesâtraded as a means of imposed survival. Morbidly fitting, she thoughtâfor these to be here.
Coriolanusâ words cut through as his fingers seized Adriana's chin when she'd gotten far too distracted for his taste: âBut, pray tell then, little siren⊠since you are so wise now. Do you know its meaning? Or are you just good for reading what others before you had to say?â
Adriana pursed her lips for a moment... then shook her head, like a deer caught in headlights. Her mind drew a blank, or more so she couldn't will her lips to move. She knew wellâthat history was written by the winners. That victors held honor regardless of their morality. But here and now, she couldn't say itâcouldn't be part of it.
His voice continued to drip with mockery as he held her head thereâeye to eye with the various poisons on offer. âNo?" he sighed, shaking his head: âDisappointing⊠truly. I guess, some things never changeâyour gaze holds fear at what it takes to ruleâŠ. the reprimand was almost at the tip of your tongue, was it not? It probably tasted so bitterâand then⊠you always get distracted by shiny things.â
He reached for a small yet ornate mixing bowl, putting it in her hand while tracing its engraved snowflakes. His reluctance to let it go was palpable. âItâs what caught you in my net in the first place. And now⊠now you will see the price I pay every day.â
Adriana looked back at himâworry seeped through her bones. âIsnât the dinner too risky of a place? Whoâ", she gasped at the sudden grip at the back of her neck. He was scolding her without wordsâmuch like one would hold down an unruly puppy.
The intensity of Coriolanusâ clench matched that of his eyesâan endless whirlpool dancing there as he examined his cabinet.
Noting to himself⊠a particular vial⊠missing.
He hated sentimental people, yet he suffered from that âafflictionâ tenfold. Though he'd like to believe it was his way of thinking clearerâhis way of reclaiming his rightful legacy; no sentiment for the sake of some soft gullible feelings.
And so, tile by tile, tesserae by tesseraeâhe had the whole maidâs bathroom brought hereâlock and door included. His cousin seemed to think she was still the groundskeeper, that she still had authority over him.
He didnât need her, he didnât need Gaulâany of them.
Coriolanus could almost hear the jingle of the keys dangling on that large ring, ringing now in his ears, even over the breathing he tried to steady. Tigris used to carry them always⊠after the Grandmaâam became far too fragile, far too gone to keep track of it all.
And now⊠one small silver key had allowed her entry hereâinto where he planned to keep Adrianaâs heart.
What came next was an uncanny expression on Coriolanusâ faceânot a smile, but an ugly pulling at his cheekbonesâpulsing and alive, paired with a deep chuckleâa cruel sound, from the depths of his being, edged with a cough from all the prior poisons: âWhat a thoughtful creature you are⊠but it's not your place to ask who the recipient of my justice is.â
He picked up the intended vial for tonight as if nothing had happened.
Heâd let it play outâbut this time, he wouldnât be helpless... Heâd be the hunter, already setting a trap in his forest. And when the little siren, none the wiser, got caughtâthen, he'd feast like a king.
âJust two drops of this for Daddy. And the the rest goes out to Senator Sickle and Commander Heavensbee... who were kind enough to feed rebel informants." He squeezed the pipette at the top, without unscrewing the vial yetâjust to show and seal Adriana to her purpose in his ritual. His deep voice proceeded with more instructions: âMix it with thisâ", he passed a leaf-like plant oil with a sickly sweet smell: ââmoringa, same as the perfume I had ordered be made for you. It helps with, well⊠the less favorable effects you might say.â
He had gotten gradually resistant to most of his poisons, but this one⊠he needed some exposure to still. A particularly nasty concoction that would melt the men from inside. To Coriolanus, it'd just feel like a thousand blades pressed at his throat.
Adriana counted the two drops and added generous amounts of the moringa, mixing themâthe poison dark like tar, quickly soaked up in the bright oil. She held him in her hands now, his life. Should she obtain access unattended, she could easily put more than two drops. So, he never missed a beatâand this here and now was the only semblance of autonomy he'd allow when it came to the poison preparation. She was part of it nowâbathed in blood too.
âT-to your health!" she cheered far too timidly after she'd stopped swirling the glass stirring rod with a clickâpassing the bowl back to him.
âHm, thank youâŠ" he raised it to his lipsâtoo chapped, too used to spew and take poisons: âVictory loves preparation after all.â
As he drank, he never once blinked away from Adriana. Even as his throat grew tighter and his stomach was set aflameâhe simply gripped her wrist tighterâholding her through the process, making her see what he was.
He tried to hide the wince that followedâŠ
âShall I bring you water, Daddy? You don't lookâ" Adriana was pulled closer to him, feeling his heartbeat harsh and spiked through his chest.
âAnd dilute my hard work?" He coughed, his voice growing hoarse: âI thought my siren was unafraid of the depths?" he challenged.
At that, she poised herselfâstill tight in his forced embrace, but more aware now, more upright and ready. She'd play her role to perfection and then⊠she'd see the real extent of the price she was expected to pay.
âI will dive deeper, so long as you are there when I come back for air, Daddy." she added sweetly.
A final pleaâto be allowed an independent swim before she tried to take matters into her own hands; with the cor revocatum's call burning through her hidden pocket.
âAh, you forget yourself, Adriana. I dive with you, or⊠Well, there wouldnât be a purpose to you breathing at all, would there?" He smiled a sharp smileâa shark bearing its teeth: âNow, shall we? We have big fish to fry...â
It was the Senate summer residence that hosted the dinner. Wide open spaces, framed by metal arches that displayed various mythological scenesâall bacchanalian in nature. Chalices, ivy and grapevines tangled with nymphs in various stages of undress and intoxicationâsome were part of the marble columns that held up the curved structures, others already dancing at the top.
There were probably two dozen of these archways that made up the main pathway through the green luscious expands of the summer gardens. Each step toward the grand table was framed by stepping stone leavesâa march toward a feast, but a last supper for some.
âWere these not outlawed in Rome? With the unrest they caused?" Adriana prompted curiously as she remained hanging on Coriolanusâ hand.
âIndeedâbut not to Senators..." he pondered: âThe âFeast of Bacchusâ is a great display of one's vices⊠and we all have them, as I have well taught you." a huff that could have been mistaken for a laugh: âThese long summer days can be quite revealing." he murmured for her ears onlyâbreath metallic from the sores the poison left behind.
These esteemed citizens thought they'd be safe to indulge in it allâbut nowhere was truly safe. Their âfreedomâ was just more informationâmore means of control. If anyone took more than Coriolanus allowed, they'd suffer his wrath.
As a leopard-mutated Avox handed Adriana a wine chalice, a shrill voice sliced through the honeyed air: âCoryo! Gem of Panem give me strength, where were you?" Livia's arm snaked around his in an intimate display. âDid you read the morning paper? I left you a surpriseâŠ!" She sing-songed proudly.
âLivia⊠darling, when will you learn I do not appreciate surprises." he shook her off, taking a step back. âThanks to your overstep, Senator Sickle was forced into early retirement from his editorial duties.â
Adriana blinked like she were waking up from a dream. The article⊠hadn't been authorized by Coriolanus? And the Senatorâwasn't he a rebel informantâŠ? Or was there a more personal vendetta that sealed his poisoned fate? So many questions floated, but none could ever be voiced.
Livia scoffed offendedlyâlooking between Adriana and the President. Her face grew red like the wine that was spilled around: âAnd why shouldn't it be published? So you can parade your whore around and embarrass me?!â
Her voice was far too loud, raising even above the festive ruckus. To the younger girl's horror, it caused eyes to turn towards the oak tree under which all three sides of the folly currently stood. The wordsâugly and harsh were like daggers, but what hurt most was that they held truth. Livia had called their 'arrangement' for what it was, Adriana thought.
âAdriana is here because I am her patron as you well know.â his voice was low and dangerousâa snake suffocating its prey: âYou, darling, are as important as I deem you to be. Without the promise of a marriage, you are nothing. So, see to it that it doesn't become an empty oneâŠ" a hissed threat.
Livia, however, didn't back down. Entitled people like her had little sense of self preservationâCoriolanus knew that well but had still given her a chance to cower. Instead, she bit, not bothering to lower her outburst: âIs that what we are calling it now?â a forced laugh escaped her lungs: ââPatronâ⊠so whatâyou think everything you touch turns gold, huh, Snow?! A district mistress? How incredibly exoticâwait, no, you are probably waiting for her to birth your bastardsâthen you would have had your fill!â
Oh, now she was causing a scene. And not the type Coriolanus enjoyed correcting. No, unlike his little sirenâwho couldnât bear take a step away, even as the words hit her. The pompous Cardew couldn't be mended or molded⊠and these were the types of tantrums that would settle a dull pain throbbing behind his eyelids.
Suddenly, he was reminded of Arachne Craneâblood gushing from her gaping throat but also⊠of her shrill peevish complaints when anything whatsoever didn't go her way. Livia had held more class than that during their Academy days, but it seemed now she'd gotten too comfortable with her cushioned life. Coriolanus thought his hate for the pompous Cardew extended to just her gloating⊠But it was becoming quite clear that her affinity for attention was far more unsavory when she'd whine in defeat. A muscle jumped at his jaw as he bit down his anger.
âMiss Cardew, please, let's all calm down for a secondâŠ" Adriana attempted, even as she had intruded, even as she felt unwanted and ostracized by everyone but Coriolanus it seemed.
Maybe she should poison Cardew herself⊠Coriolanus had shown her the vial cabinetâsurely the siren could do it. A sick satisfaction settled in herâburning at the thought of remaining the only person close enough to him. Was it the serum that made her so desperate to cling to him that she was suddenly willing to kill?
âAh, the fishie can talk! What a tremendous feat, Coriolanusâyou mean to seep her through the Capitol ranks? And thenâwhatâŠ? You think your money will wash off the smell and filth?" Livia continued, not addressing the other girl at all.
Suddenly, her turn of phrase brought Coriolanus back to other such plans he once held dear. Of a songbird singing at Pluribusâ, of her coming home to himâof remolding her to stay in the Capitol. But Lucy Gray had practically laughed at his face when sheâd run away.
âWhat if this was our life, Coriolanus?ââ he should have laughed at thatâsuggesting a Snow would ever be contempt with living like a wild animal⊠what an insulting, naive proposition. She had led him on so expertly that for almost a full day in that forsaken forest, he had turned his back on what truly matteredâfulfilling his calling to greatness. So yes, he'd wash Adriana cleanâbecause it was he who decided what was acceptable now⊠and what wasn't.
Coriolanus turned deadly, snapping his hand toward a nearby Peacekeeper. The officer immediately rid Livia of her wine. âI am afraid you've had too much to drink⊠isn't that right, darling? Better run off, before I remind these same ranks who exactly pioneered the whole âpatronage schemeâ in the first place⊠maybe then you'd know what true embarrassment tastes like then?â
It was clear Cardew's blood ran cold at the threatâsome skeletons were better kept in their closets. She stood thereâ catatonic, with just her lip quivering in barely contained nerves until the guard stood menacingly next to her, making her peel away small steps from the grass.
When the immediate threat was eliminated, Adriana could feel herself sober up from the panicked hold the serum had held on her. It was then that it dawned on the sirenâthat her quarrel wasn't with the other woman. She could have just as easily been on the unfortunate end of the President's whimsy. It was himâthe viperâ pinning small game against one another. And she had been ready to kill someone over it⊠Coriolanus had made the perfect weapon. As Livia passed in bitter defeat, Adriana's features dropped.
âDo say hello to your father and sister for meâor is it âstep-sisterâ? Families can be so very messyâŠ" Coriolanus twisted the knife.
And thus, he turned sharply to his little siren, pulling her closerâa mockery of a lover's embrace: âDo not. Ever. Speak unless spoken to here. I will not be the one cleaning up your next mess." he hissedâeach punctuated word sounded like steam leaving his body.
Adriana swallowed but simply nodded, because what else could she do? When the serum burned through her core even at his cruelty⊠because it was his⊠as was sheâeven as a scapegoat.
He raised an eyebrow, demanding she voice her willing obedience.
âO-of course, DaddyâI spoke out of turnâŠâ the forced words scorched her even harder as her back hit the rigid tree.
He seemed pleased and so left her with a final warning, bringing his lips to her hair in an almost-kissâinhaling her rose scent, the one that always grounded him: âThat you did. Now, spare me the melodramaâI have an audience to attend to.â
Coriolanusâ gait grew determinedâto the private chamber with the men set to die. Adriana, once again, felt each step away as if a trickle of her own blood was drawn. So, matching his resolve, she turned to face the oak where where rays penetrated its thick crown and washed her in their glow. Unscrewing the cap of the vial Tigris had given herâshe downed it so fast it almost made her dizzyâher grip threatening to break it. The liquid coated her throat like fresh water and she felt the immediate effect. It seemed it was planned as a fail-safe switch⊠in case Coriolanus grew bored. He always planned for those.
Now, it allowed her to take a freed breath, breaching through the surface. As Adriana wiped a tear she didnât realize had fallen, she heard his voice before she felt his presenceâsteady as the tree in front if her.
âAddie⊠come, Cardew has lent us her driver.â Lysander assured with a hand on her shoulder.
âLysi⊠what are you doing here? Aren't you at the University party?â her voice was far too mellow, like she was finding it anew.
The boy laughed an unburdened sound: âObviously not⊠Rosa suggested we stop by here first and extended the not-so-official invitation to me. Something about her ensuring Festus was âbehavingâ." A roll of his eyes punctuated just how different their worlds had become. Then he suddenly grew intense, shortening the distance between them: âI saw it⊠how he treated miss Cardew. How he treats you. Whatever you think he is offeringâit cannot be worth it, Addie. He wasn't protecting you⊠He protected himself."
He offered a place to belong, she thoughtâeven if his four walls weren't a home but a cage. Her hand itched to slap Lysander at how correct his words rung, but she knew it wasn't him she should be angry with. And so that tempestuous fury coiled tighter in her stomachâ a tide threatening to release.
She knew exactly where to channel it now that her mind was clearer. âLet us go then⊠I just hope you realize what you just uttered." Adriana concluded: âThe party awaits.â
It bordered treason, but then again anything that went against Coriolanus could be seen as such. But there was no one to witness it now, or so they thoughtâno rose lapels, no cameras⊠just her quiet rebellion and a person who cared enough to aid it.
âOh, I know, little pearl. And I'm glad to know you do too. At least for this short while.â he smiled with contagious warmth.
Guests blurred with their retreating shadows as another mutt Avox passed Adriana her shawl. The circular fur patterns across the servantâs skin would have been beautiful if they hadn't been forever etched on a human being against their will. She lowered her head in gratitude⊠or was it in apology?
When they neared the waiting car, someone caught Adriana's wristâtrembling, clammy fingers holding desperate and tight. She turned to meet Livia's empty eyes, as the woman finally addressed her instead of speaking like she wasn't there: âIf it is money you wantâI can supply⊠for every day you stay out of his life. You could go back to Fourânew name, new future⊠give diving lessons at the âS&Mâ resort. My father can make it happen!â
The frenzied hopelessness in her voice made Adriana tremble back in surprise. For what she knew of the woman in all the interviews and gallery showingsâshe was a self-assured, well-adjusted individual, if a bit overconfident. Yet, what she saw in front of her right now was a husk of thatâas if all her life force had been drained out by Coriolanus. It was shockingâthat Cardew had really come to believe she would be nothing without him as a husband, without his name painting her future. The siren couldnât fathom itâLivia had the resources, the family⊠surely she didn't yearn for the President to be at her centerânot like she did.
âLet go, miss Cardewâyou're hurting me.â she wiggled her hand free, still feeling the acheâthe physical but the mentally contagious one in equal stride: âIt's not your money I am after⊠even if I do realize that's hard to believeâŠâ
Livia retreated her hand, opting to instead brace it around herself in a self-soothing gesture while she took the other girl's words in. The sigh that left Cardew's lips was half disappointed, half expectant: âJust⊠Think about it. This here isn't your worldâŠ" she started retreating, but turned slightly to add: âI'll have a train waiting for you at seven tomorrow. In case you change your mind.â
Adriana didn't respondâshe didn't want to. Just because she was acting out against Coriolanus now didn't mean she'd flee from his cold but present embrace.
It was a horrible realizationâbut a very real one.
As Lysander helped her into the car, the last words she heard from Livia reverberated through her skull, leaving their destined mark: âDo his bruises and lies taste sweet? The ones he spews at me only taste sour.â
The party was already in its peak as Rosa ushered her two friends in. Somehow, she had gotten to the venue before Cardew's car, even though Lysander insisted they'd arrived at the senate dinner together.
âI guess you made a quick work of Festus, then?â Adriana joked, raising her voice so she could attempt to be audible.
This get-together was far more flashy and loud than the âFeast of Bacchusââthe former was obviously curated by their peers who didn't cling to snobbish high society refinement. The stark difference between the Dark Days and the post-War era had shaped a peculiar cultural milieu wherein the younger generationsâwho weren't even alive during the rebellionâsimply didn't see the point of old aristocracy. Some, more bohemian than others, even opposed it.
Why wouldn't they? It wasn't like their family lineage made a difference between starvation and survival. To this generation, the Capitol was at the top and that was enoughâa conglomerate of free spirits, ready to give themselves over to hedonistic indulgences. That last part they did have in common with their parents, whoâdespite attaching themselves almost ritualistically to their classâfelt they ought to gratify all their cravings, no matter how exotic. They'd earned it after all⊠as the victors.
âOh, please, he was like a fish out of waterâgaping and stuttering⊠needless to say, I got Clemensia off of him rather quickly.â Rosa announced, proud of herself: âThough⊠I heard Livia caused a fuss? How scandalous!" Rosa slapped the other girl's arm.
âLet's just⊠put that back in its box for tonight, eh?" Adriana suggested shyly as she took a sip from the liquor Lysander had offered. Its harshness made her scowl: âHow are you drinking this and still standing upright? Eughââ
The strong aftertaste reminded her of the moonshine sailors would bring around the docks to stock up for personal use at longer journeys. She'd stumbled on a stashed bottle once, when she was about eight years old and had curiously taken a chug from it⊠Only to promptly spit it out and get yelled at by her father, who made a show of pouring the whole load out into the ocean. He wasnât about to ruin his immaculate record just because his subordinates lacked disciplineâno contraband had been allowed on a ship under Ronan's sail ever. Needless to say, the poor sailors weren't very pleased with the small rascal for ratting them outâeven if unwittingly.
This was a more refined version of that, naturallyâit was the Capitol. Mixed with some citrus pulp that provided not only refreshment but great texture to the drink.
âTolerance, little pearlâ" he teased, raising his glass in a cheer: ââyou can't learn unless you try things for yourself. Not just what he allowsâŠâ
No name⊠no honorificâit was blatantly obvious that Lysander was bitter at Coriolanus. âToleranceâ was the word that stuck with Adriana though, given what she was aiding in before the senate dinner.
âThere's a karaoke machine?!" she jumped excitedly, opting to ignore the tension for now. It wasn't like she was ready to take any sideâand if she did, Lysander wouldn't like the outcome. âI thought these were like⊠outlawed?â
âYep, butâwait, do you keep a mental list of forbidden items or something?" Rosa laughed as she swayed, almost spilling her drink: âWe got Darius to find one! There was some old abandoned cabaret up at the Corso with all kinds of stuffâit'd be a pity to leave them rotting just because Daddy Snow has a stick up his ass!â
Now, it was Adriana's turn to try and not make a mess of spitting her drink. She expected Lysander to reprimand his friend at the audacity⊠but he just⊠laughed alongâwith the kind of smile that caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
Why didn't Coriolanusâ smile ever reach his eyes?
It seemed this place was underground enough to allow for blasphemyâor at least, so everyone thought. It gave the siren a peace of mind to let go herself.
âYeah⊠I don't understand the whole secrecy around songs. It's been a way for humans to bondâ like, ever since we lived in caves!" she noted as they got closer to the makeshift stageâneon lights swallowing their conversation.
âMaybe it's just⊠thatâsome are afraid to truly bond." The boy shrugged like it'd been obvious all alongâexactly what Adriana was getting tangled into.
âYou know, for an engineer, you can be oddly insightful when it comes to human natureâŠ" she responded somewhat bitterly, but there was an undeniable thread of fondness below the banter as she downed the rest of her drink.
âWhat's that supposed to mean, little pearl?" he chuckled with his whole chest. âDon't tell me you are insulting my intelligence to my face! I'll have you knowâ I pay attention when it comes to the people I care about.â
âLysi⊠You are hopelessly drunk! I'm just saying⊠You are full of surprisesâgood ones!" she nudged him.
âAh, those are hard to come by these days, no?" he took her glass to refill at the bar next to the speakers, which were currently blasting an awfully off-key rendition of some old Capitol estradaâcourtesy of none other than the machine scavenger.
Though it was becoming quite clear the original lyrics had been substituted for less sappy and more⊠downright vulgar and vociferous ones. Darius Vickers was a tall boy so the way he overplayed the tuneâputting his whole body into it was quite scary for the integrity of the stage but also for anyone close enough to be caught in the crossfire of his beer.
It was quite theatrical though, how he lowered his voice and widened his eyesâexpecting ovation at the especially unsavory parts he free-styled:
If I fall in love, it will be in you
And I will sing like you sing about many-a-roses fling
Like a drunk Peacekeeper and a corrupt senatorâpoisoning my competitor
I will give you something moreâmaybe a Gamemaker's whore
âCharmingâŠâ Adriana sighed, eyebrows furrowing at a particular line or two which were a subtle call out to the President... with the roses, flings and poisons. Maybe Coriolanus wasn't as subtle in his extracurricular activities but still kept citizens afraid enough to limit themselves to simple parody songs.
âThat's just Vickers for youâhis sister is a surgeon but look how he turned out!'â, Rosa booed at Darius unceremoniously.
âI told them you'll be up next, little pearlâŠâ suddenly said Lysander as he brought back a full glass of the same liquor.
Adriana's eyes widened, suddenly stuttering: âI-I don't know any of the songs on this thing! And I sure as dark days can't improvise like mister political controversy over there. Lysiâis this payback for when I said the Arena water reflections weren't authentic enough?" she groaned dramatically: âI'm sorry I ever doubted you, oh, greatest engineer!ââa final sober attempt at reconciliation before she'd inevitably stress even more about the distant possibility of making a fool of herself.
Instead of humoring her histrionics, Lysander reached overâ tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that was far too fond to be just friendly. âCome now, humor us and bring something real into this whole farceâthe way only your shanties can." he comforted.
âIt'll be the single most captivating thing all eveningââhe'd wanted to add, the words prickling at the tip of his tongue. He had that way of reassuring Adriana alwaysâthat she was welcomed, not despite her roots but with them, even because of them. If only it were true outside of this small bubble⊠Coriolanus, on the other hand, had been solely focused on âcorrectingâ. He thought the world was a place marked by a constant struggle to fit inânot an oppressive striveâbut a symptom of a necessary, well-functioning society. That was a dynamic Adriana knew far too well growing up⊠and so clung to that familiarity.
âAh, none of the melancholic stuff!â Rosalind protested: âI've had my fill thanks to Festus⊠Do something boppyâshake some ass!â
âAh nope, no requests!" Lysander sighed in warm annoyance. Then, he turned back to Adrianaâ dropping the latter part and keeping only the affection: âDo what feels like you tonight, yeah? There are some simple arrangements you can browse through and make it yoursâŠâ
Make it hers⊠what was hers? Who was she? Her identity was a ballad long forgotten or maybe never truly known. The most connected to herself she'd ever feltâbesides the intoxicating thread that kept her leashed to Coriolanusâhad been far too long ago⊠either when she'd dive or when her mother would sing one particular song. Taken from some pre-Games interviews⊠the woman had emulated whatever melody and lyrics she could recall from the live broadcast. Its footage was somehow lost, it was told. Intertwining District Four imageryâshe seemed to had tragically foretold her demise and Ronan abandoning the family.
Adriana scarcely remembered the feeling that washed over her when she first heard parts of it in first grade. Hazy images of a tribute with a colorful dress and her guitarâso poised yet some bitter hurt had slipped through the cracks of her performance.
That was how Adriana felt now too⊠playing a role that gave her some safetyâbut unlike that girl, she was never truly letting go. Maybe she could try now..
âI have it." she announced confidently when the song had made itself clear in the pool of her memories: âJust help me pick a guitar accompaniment, Rosa? Something⊠youâd want to find yourself in.â
âWow, sappy much!" the other girl jested, but Lysander shot her a scolding look and she toned it down so quickly one would think her wardrobe was on the line: âFine, fine⊠you can use âRiptideâ I guess. My mother used to cry every single time those blasted strings played on the radio. She cried even harder when they banned these songs. Whatever, point isâit should fit right in with⊠whatever you have going on.ââRosalind's quiet exasperation was emphasized by her over the top hand gesturesâdrawing wide circles in the dismal air around Adriana.
âThanks, I knew I could count on youâŠ", the siren smiled wider than she ever had for the whole day: ââboth of you.â she added when sheâd noted Lysander had taken to slouching in mock heartbreak after being ignored.
Naturally, he still helped her set up the tune on the ancient-looking screen and when she met some of the confused eyes from the crowd who had noted her incongruously sophisticated dressâhe assured her softly: âThis is for you, yeah? Just let yourself enjoy itâŠâ
Adriana nodded, taking a deep breath in with each bop of her head while she brought the microphone closer. It was a vintage thingâgolden finish but not nearly heavy enough to be the actual precious metalâclearly made for live shows where there would be some choreography or at least enticing movements for the sake of the audience. It ended in a horn that was meant to capture the sound instead of the modern âgrillâ equivalent. Adriana felt its ridges with her fingertipsâlike a seashell, she thought, almost forgetting that her cue would soon come.
As it did, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears, raising even above the loud chatters. She wanted to not think of Coriolanus as she sang, but her voiceâdeep, sorrowful and invitingâcarried her to him. Where sheâd never be abandoned, but sheâd never just be either.
When I was a babe, I fell down the marina
When I was a girl I fell into your arms
We fell on hard times and we lost our serena
You went to the docks and I lived by my charms
I dived for my dinner, spread pearls like honey
You journeyed and gambled, and I said you should
We fought for our suppers, we drank up our money
Then one day you left, saying I was no good
Her breath hitched, knowing what part came next⊠knowing it relayed a sort of bravery that sheâd never come to posses herself. But still, she sang like it could be trueâ
Yet every line was marked by him long before it left her lipsâ
Well, all right, I'm bad, but then, you're no prize either
All right, I'm bad, but then, that's nothing new
You say you won't love me, I won't love you neither
Just let me remind you what I am to you
'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're sailing
I am the one who knows how you were brave
And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping
Iâll take that and more with the new hungry wave
âher soul soared like it believed there was honor in fighting against the current, instead of letting it take you.
Instead, her throat tightened as she felt his hands stifling her voiceâ
It's sooner than later that I'm deep underwater
It's sooner than later that you'll be alone
So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder
For when the pharos dims, lover, you're on you own
âlike there was more to her than what Coriolanus made.
Instead, she felt him guiding her deeper in cold darkness, as if love was an emotion never to be shared, only takenâ
I am the one who you let see your weeping
I know the soul that you struggled to save
Too bad I'm the bounty you lost while at sea
Now whatâ
âA loud crash stole her breath entirely. Then, it was her heart that was sent stuttering at the uncompromising barks, answered by terrified screams, reeling from where the secret venueâs door stood.
Adriana had a direct view of the stampede as Peacekeepers filtered in, white like an all-consuming avalancheâunafraid to use batons when some of the intoxicated or otherwise too foolhardy students failed to fall in line fast enough. Somehow one officer had made it to where Lysander and Rosa stood next to the stage. The boy was trying to usher Adriana with them, but the Peacekeeper had other plansâshouting a warning to line the wall. When Lysander didn't obligeâlaser focused on getting his two friends out of harm's wayâthe uniformed man raised his black club.
Adriana moved before she could even think, raising her voice: âDon't hurt them! They weren't part of it!â
It's trueâthey didn't sing, didn't rouse any dangerous ideas⊠more or less. But there were a threat by association and anything remotely defiant made them dangerous. As the girl attempted to stand between a rock and a hard place, something strange happenedâthe Peacekeepers grabbed her friends and hauled them against the wall all the while⊠they didn't even address her. It was like Adriana wasn't even thereâŠ
It quickly became clear whyâshe wasn't just anyone now after all. Even after her little stunt that had grown more invigorating when she'd somehow chirped that blasted songâthere was still a test she could pass, a chance at divine redemption.
Coriolanus appeared from behind an entourage, dark red coat swirling as a path was cleared in front of himâlike the deepest pits of the underworld had cracked open to allow for his journey here. Adriana stared at the scene unfolding, almost falling back against the elevated stage, but his hand was at the readyâgrabbing what was his in a flash.
âMy, myâquite the show, little siren. But I think it's high time we settle some debts⊠and you can explain to me, in excruciating detailâhow in the twelve districts, did you even come to know that song." His grip on her wrist only tightened with each word. Adriana thought she'd seen the extent of his ruthlessnessâbut his eyes weren't just cold now⊠they were inhuman. Like the man from the portrait opposite his officeâŠ
âDaddyâŠ", she attempted to soothe, more so getting her bearings still. But like a viper striking, his other hand shot up to grab at her jaw, squeezing hardâmaking her jaws grind at the dig of his fingers.
âOf course, I shan't forget your most devoted fanâŠ" His eyes settled on Lysanderâthe boy was barely containedâ like a rabid animal, ready to pounce if it weren't for the Peacekeepers holding him back. Then, Coriolanus let go of Adriana's wristâbut not without purposeâas he reached into his breast pocket to unfold Livia's newspaper announcement: ââand your⊠âagentâ, shall I call her? Offering so graciously to extend a tour back to Four. What a very self-centered proposition that was thoughâŠâ
He let the thin paper fly down slowly to the groundâlike a leaf caught in the windâas he snapped his fingers, silently ordering the Peacekeepers in formation with the impromptu prisoners. It was apparent that the main show was over⊠and a private encore was to follow.
âP-please, wait! I'm-I'm sorryâdon't hurt them! We were just having fun, I'd neverâ" Adriana tried to speak through Coriolanusâ iron grip as Lysander and Rosa passed them by, escorted.
âOh, you aren't sorryânot yet anyway. But⊠you will be. What did you thinkâjust because you warm my bed you get a say in how I deal out justice?" she could feel the mocking laugh fighting its way through his poison-wounded trachea as he held her tighter to his body, like a part of him was afraid she'd run off. âIt's a fine balance, our systemâlittle siren, a fragile thingâand like a child you'd enjoy breaking it if you ever slithered your dirty little scales on itâŠâ
She attempted to look away, only to be met by Lysanderâs dark eyes. He knew no rest now, trying to roll free from the Peacekeepersâ hold: âJust leave her alone! And go back to your miserable, lonesome idea of kingship!â
âAh, how the naive lead the naive⊠tell me, boyâdid she ever say she needed someone to save her?" Coriolanus challenged and Lysander ground his teeth in frustration. When no answer came, the President dragged Adriana by the hairâtauntingly closer to the boy's face, like rattling a toy in front of a beast.
âNo? That's what I thought⊠she knows what she choseâwhat she will always choose."
The smile that spread was victorious.
Coriolanus could scarcely waitâhis whole body was taut like a stringâas a deep need to release all the boiling feelings coursed through his veins. The mansion was darker, like it'd usually get when it was later in the night⊠but this time it was the force majeure events of the day that orchestrated it as such. Every living creature hid under his heavy stepânot in soundless rest, but forced, self-preserving refuge.
Adriana was practically dragged along the wayâeven when she tried to regain her step, he was somehow faster, more controllingâand so she'd easily falter back to her knees. It was a miracle the door didn't fly off its hinges the moment they reached the bedroom. The scariest part was how deafeningly silent Coriolanus wasâas if the whole stunt at the party was for publicity's sake and now the real shark would bare its teeth. He prided himself in having trained his temperamentâpreviously reactive, now he could let things marinate. But that made his waters even more treacherous when someone was reckless enough to test his limits.
Without so much as a warning, he tossed Adriana across the floorâher back hitting something metal backed up at the edge of the wall. She wasn't sure what it was with how dark the room was kept⊠but it was definitely a new additionâtaller than her even when she tried to hoist herself up with its help.
Cold delicate alloy strips, long and bended at the top⊠barsâshe realized suddenly.
Bars to a cage.
Not one meant to host just any pet but a sized up version of a songbird's aviary. Surely it hadn't been fitted for her⊠The siren wasn't yet in it, yet somehow, she knew that was the only place she could end upâno matter what she said now.
Coriolanus flicked the lights onâthe switch sounding like a bullet shooting through the silence.
Then, he waited⊠observingâwill Adriana flee or cower? His steps were slowânot shortening the distanceâbut encircling, trapping her instead. She mirrored his dance, but defensively soâfolding in further to the edge, closer to the cage. A true prey in a freeze response.
Satisfied with that data point, he moved closerâletting his fingers ghost her torso, feeling her shiver beneath. Then, out of nowhere, he seized her wristâfeeling her pulse point methodically: âYour heartbeat⊠it is unusual all throughout. Not just fearâno, my gift would have made your heart calmer in my presence⊠no matter what you see." he reassuredâhimself more than her, that what was to come was well-deserved. âYours hesitated. So, tell me, little siren and be honestâdid my cousin give you something naughty?â
Adriana looked away out of spite, feeling like that piece of information may be the last tie to her autonomy that was slipping through her fingers in real time. Coriolanus didn't wait, didn't voice disappointment in that coiling tone of his. No, this time, he moved fast, twisting the Snow family ring that dawned his middle finger so that the insignia now hung on the inside of his palm. And then came the sharp pain.
With the same prolonged motionâhe landed a cracking slap right across her cheek. The heavy embossed frozen rose left a cut where it landed as Adriana choked a breathânot a shout, not a scream as her brain was still catching up to it all. And who would be there to hear it anyways?
âWhat did I say about looking at me when I'm talking to you?" He hissedâbarely audible. It was what made the the whole interaction even more chillingâthe quiet anger that coiled gradually, never sure when it would be released.
He hadn't done much in terms of physical exertion yet he was somehow out of breath already while the words battled to come out. Like a bubble that had finally poppedâ it was all raining downâbut its drainage would be slow and steady. âNo matterâŠ" he tried forcing himself to dial back, speaking purposefully without any contractions: âI'll just have to purge it out of you.â
He forced her mouth open, as if he could still find the antidote lingering there. But he didn't plan on undoing its effectâby the end of it all, his little siren would come crawling back to him willingly.
âA shame that Tigris wasnât even clever about itâI expected more from a Snow... But I led you there myselfâto my secrets⊠and youâyou spat in my face." He said bitterly, pressing his thumb down her tongue once it was past her lips: âWhy did you do it, hm? Why did you drink it?â
Adriana held back on choking at the uncomfortable intrusionâanger blurring her vision instead of tears. There was no point in pretending or protecting nowâso she let the overwhelming emotion consume her, like she always did. She tried biting down on his fingerâset on hurting him back. But, prepared like always, his other hand was already squeezing at her neck, introducing a curious dilemmaâwill she breathe or continue her futile rebellion?
When she opened her mouthâreadily taking whatever breath he allowed, she snapped: âCor raptumâI know it all, Coriolanus!â It was hard to speak like thatâtruth purposefully muffled by his hand. Yet, she didnât let that deter her effortsâbellowing as her salivadripped around his digit: âYou stole my heart with no mercy of ever giving yours in return! You will marry Livia one day and forget about meâleave me to drown!" she tried pushing him off, but he just held her tighter: âAnd you dare ask me why?! I gave myself over to you⊠wasn't that enough?â
The unspoken part âWasn't I enough?â, lingeredâeven heavier on her tongue than him still pressing down. But bitter reality was soon to come crashing down. Adriana had said itâhis name⊠not âDaddyâ, not âMr. Presidentâ⊠Coriolanus. A twisted satisfaction dripped down his frozen soul at the desperation that pierced each syllable while she'd struggled saying it.
âStolen? Such an ugly word from such beautiful ingrate lips⊠My heart rests at the bottom of a lake, little sirenâ far, far awayâweighed down by the lessons it learned. Livia will, most certainly, not possess it either." he explained, not addressing the betrayal she'd expressedâonly how utterly ridiculous her fantasy of finding love within him had been in the first place. In his mind, he was entitled to squeeze out anything and everything that was ripe for the taking, by any means necessaryâincluding subjecting her to the serum.
âAs for yoursâit was never stolen, rather claimed. And a heart claimed is a heart earnedâŠ" he spared herâfinally taking his finger out just to smear her spit across the cut from his ring⊠it stung, yet fittingly soâlike war paint: âDid you not take? And take⊠and takeâgreedily so. The food, the lavish dresses and appointments I supplied? Or would you prefer I send you back to Four myselfâensure your father never finds employmentâmake you beg for scraps? Will you then learn the price of safety? My priceâfor the ultimate safety?â
His hand moved to grip her hair insteadâalways somewhere on herâpulling, ensuring she didnât move an inch. A hiss left her lips, but she continued to spiralâ
âI never agreed to Livia's offer!" she demanded desperately, sent on a self-justifying frenzy⊠Again, he had twisted all the blame back to her. And again, she fell for it. âI would never have! Even with the blasted serum goneâI-I never agreed! I justâI want you.â
It was trueâeven without the chemical tether, she knew she'd come back⊠He had her exactly where he wanted her, yet carding his hands through her hair, he continued to hail down his tunnel visionâobsessed with all possible levels of betrayal she could be capable of. âMaybe not today⊠but tomorrow⊠the day after?" He let the bed take in his weight while she remained more so splayed on the floorâa good pet at her master's feet: âYou did go to that party⊠and sang that songâŠâ
He was getting angrier at the not-so-distant memory, voice growing deadlier and raspier at each imagined offense he listed off, at each possible future. Adriana clung to his legâher hands joined in a prayer around it. Sheâd quickly switched from harrowing anger to messy desperation, letting the emptiness she always carried consume her, hoping any grace from him would mend the broken pieces: âIt was just a thing my mother made up! I-I didnât know it would hurt youâŠâ
ââHurt meâ?!" he choked out in an outrage, fighting the urge to shake her off his leg. Her plea hadnât worked it seemed and instead Coriolanus saw red at the end of the tunnelâset on proving himself invincible, always in control: âNo, she can never hurt me againâI made sure of it. But youâ" he looked down at Adrianaâs trembling form, undoing his belt as he spoke: ââ and Tigris, tried to take what is mine." wrapping harsh the leather around her neck, she didn't have time to struggleâalready lulled into his trap as the buckle settled against her voice box with a clink: âYour breath, your body, your desires and⊠even your hatredâI own them all.â
With a deliberate tug, he hauled her up by the makeshift leash, claiming her breath in the process and allowing the mattress to swallow her weight. He was moving with single-minded purposeâsettling between her legs while he made a quick work of any barriers that still remained in the way. The new dressâone of the many that had cost the âVelvet & Satinâ boutique his wrath due to Adrianaâs unaccounted weight lossâwas torn into rags in seconds.
One hand always remained gripping at the end of the belt, though she gave no indication of attempting to flee. âAnd if you everâtry to take what is mine againâŠ" he edged the threat, hissing in satisfaction as he slid inside her waiting depthsâfeeling her cunt flutter around him: âI won't just punish you⊠I'll punish her too.â
A brutal snap of his hips sealed the promise in as he yanked the leather in conjunction, making Adriana's vision spot. Even still, familiar warmth spread low in her bellyâused to his claim, set to chase something real in his sea of deceit.
âI took the antidote because I wanted it to be my choiceâ", her explanation came out raspy at the constant pressure around her throat, but she had to battle the words out: âFor you to want me as I am!" she choked out as his large cold hand hiked up her exposed thigh, deceptively gentleâraising her ass up in an almost mating pressâto purposefully hit deeper, drowning out their joint ecstasy.
Coriolanus cared for her pleasure⊠in as much as it would lead her back to him. He'd seen how intimacy could turn her into putty at his hands and mercyâa token for manipulation. While to him, it was just a way to satisfy his physical and emotional need for controlâor so he told himself.
âWhy should I want you as you are, little siren⊠when you can become perfection?" Coriolanus challenged, continuing to abuse that spot inside her with each roll of his hips, with each deafening slap of skin to skinâjust to make her grow drunk on the feeling, to stop her pesky challenges. âI thought it was what you wanted? To have my hand always reach and guide youâŠâ
âI wanted you to ne-ed me like I need you! To chase me too!" A shrill whimper cracked from her lungs, unable to see through the haze of her pleasure.
âAh there it isâyou are finally being honest⊠greedy still, but honest. Iâve done enough chasing to serve me a lifetime⊠Now, I consume." he purred, slowing down only to reach into his nightstand. Whatever he retrieved, it had gone by so fast that Adriana couldn't see itâbut immediately felt it when the persistent vibrations started against where she was most sensitive.
Coriolanus pressed and circled that plug onto her clit, making her feel like she was burning from the inside. She moaned loudly the second he resumed his pace, cursing about how tight she'd gotten at the onslaught of sensations: âAnd you will take what I give youâwhen I give it to you. Ha⊠you are dripping for me even nowâcan you feel how right this is? How good I fit in all the broken places?â
Adriana tried to wiggle further from the vibe, overwhelmed by its ministrations, but he held her downâguiding her through all the confusingly stimulating sensations: âSettle! Unless you prefer I stop altogether? Leave you high and dry in the cage?â
She shook her head immediatelyâinstincts only ever able to scream his name: âN-no, Daddyâplease!" she whined.
It was the penultimate testâeven when it was too much, would she listen and stay? Would she trust him with her pain and pleasure⊠and she did, even without the cor revocatum.
He let out a satisfied breath: âGood. Girl. Just stop thinking now, yes? And take what Daddy gives you.â
With that demand sealed, he drove harsher and restless into herâthe vibrations of the plug and the recoil of his hips making her whole body shake. Sooner than later, Coriolanus couldn't delay it anymore and his high overcame himâhitting him like that slap he'd landed. Never wasteful, he held through her ownâpalm splayed low and possessively across her abdomenâas each pulsing clench of her cunt around him threatened to make his knees give out: âGe-gem of Panemâyou were made for this, weren't you?â
He loved how she was drinking him inâcould watch her all nightâjust full of him. His corrupt idea of legacy singing in the hollow where his heart should be like a persistent brain worm. With that claim settled, he let go of the belt and she was able to breathe fullyâsimultaneously opening up to him further at the exhaustion that threatened to consume her. But, opportunistic as usual, he made sure to fill the emptiness his throbbing cock had left behind with the plugânestling it as deep as it was willing to go.
âW-waitâI can'tâ" Adriana pleaded weaklyâoversensitivity coating every nerve ending, down to the tips of her toes that curled at the new intrusion.
The stretch burned even through the sticky evidence of his seed, marking the fact he wasn't done⊠and a final testâonce again void of any chemical alterations commenced.
âDonât sell yourself short now, sweetheart⊠I decide when you are done, remember?" he tinkered with something on his data pad and the same vibration pattern that had made her convulse the first time, now invaded her from withinâa consistent hum against the exact spot that made her dizzy.
Adriana mewled trying to adjust herself against the plug, but Coriolanus was always faster once her guard was down. He picked her up swiftly from the soft mattress as if he were carrying his brideâbut instead of a heartfelt kiss, instead of carrying her over the threshold into safetyâhe brought her inside the aviary. He rested her on a plush rug that carried his initialsâthe same one sheâd always kneel at when in his presence. Before she could reach back to him, hand almost outstretchedâhe was already closing the lock around the barred door.
âWhy are you doing this?! Didnât I apologize? I learned my lessonâ" a hiccup left her lipsânot crying, but simply overwhelmed. Both emotionally and physically now from the plug that shifted with her every movement.
âYou donât even know what you were apologizing for, little siren⊠âSang for our suppersââha!" he mocked the original lyricsâthe ones heâd let simmer during late nights as heâd reopen the classified footage. These days would be long gone, he'd thought, when he had his little siren⊠but somehow sheâd found a way to remind him and leave him bare. Now, he had to prove he would remain unaffectedâŠ
So, he unbuttoned his shirt methodically, ready to wash himself clean: âI told youâyou are only good for reading what those before you have said. Not one unique thought swims in that empty brain of yours⊠does it?" he folded the shirt methodically: âThatâs okayâyou will be a good songbird now and sing. Again and againâuntil the sun comes up, until you have no voice to challenge me with and most importantlyâuntil you have paid for the dress you made me tear off of you." the look he gave her was glacialâlike the marble pillars at the mansion freezing over during the winter. Then, he added the remaining conditions: âAny time you stopâI will increase the vibrations.â
âThose werenât in my maâs tune! âFought for our suppersââ" Adriana demanded, gripping the barsâfeeling the small space closing in around her. Unlike the microphone at the partyâshe could feel these were pure goldâno resources were spared for the aviary that may never find its destined hostage. âA song like this isnât something you know or thinkâbut something you feel!â
She hated him at that moment, hated that he seemed lost to his pastâagain with that âsongbirdâ he evoked every now and again. Hated how he demeaned her whenever she would express her tender heartâjust to soothe the bruises with honey-like praises at the end when sheâd inevitably fall in line.
Hated that at the endâshe wanted it all.
Meanwhile, as Coriolanusâ words bled Adriana dryâhe felt a full-body chill consume him, something almost instinctual cringing at her district locution. âMaâ⊠he should wash her mouth with soap for it. He counted to ten slowly, trying to steady his irritabilityâhim finally being fully naked, whereas sheâd been exposed for what felt like hours was yet another show of their imbalance. At that realizationâhis instincts settled somewhatâshe was where she was supposed to be, with him always on top. No need to do anything rash nowâŠ
He took a deep breath inâa terrifying second to gather himself as he turned slowly towards Adriana's caged formâstalking an already trapped prey, crouching to meet her eyes: âYou will singâI do not care if you feel it or think itâmuch less what your dead âMaâ had to say about it." the word tasted like bile to him: âYour sole patron missed the whole performance... so now, you will make it up to Daddy. Or maybe I should start Tigrisâ punishment?â
Adriana dropped her hand off the bars, eyes widening. Tigris was his cousinâsurely he didnât mean her harm, not really. But before she could delude herself further, Coriolanusâ ruling came loud as he rattled the cage: âI told youâwhen you don't sing, I'll just increase the vibrations⊠and every time you comeâand I'll know you did⊠I'll have a Peacekeeper break one of her fingers." A smirk pulsed across his face in satisfaction when his little siren gasped at the threat. But he only continued cruelly painting the picture: âIt's only fair⊠after allâshe tried to suggest you don't belong to me. But every clench around my cock or that plug is evidence enough that you⊠in fact do⊠so it will be a splendid and, well, rather fitting reminder.â
âBreak mine insteadâmy hands took the vial from her!â Adriana's voice came out shrill and fastânot thinking, but battling the sensation that was already pooling anew inside her at the stimulation that never seized. âIt's monstrous⊠what you are saying, Coriolanus!â
His name again⊠if he indeed still had a heart, it'd be soaring at that desperation she edged into it once more. She didn't call him a âmonsterâ thoughâjust settled to condemn his actions as such. He noted the distance she put there with even greater satisfaction. She couldn't see him as inhumanânot when she was so thoroughly attached to him it seemed. It was her curse⊠one that made her just so precious to him. One that made her less of a liability.
âAw, don't be a martyr nowâit's so boringly predictable. You think that's the worst of me?" he scoffed, the poison-laden sores in his throat and mouth still making such spontaneous noises hard: âHer fingers will heal⊠the betrayal she left in me won't though." he pressed something on his data padâmaking Adriana curl into herself at the overwhelming throb the plug perpetuated. âI'm being merciful, if you think about itâsuch permanent damage to my trust ought to have earned her something just as lasting. But I'm not wastefulânever wasteful. She has her uses, so I won't deny her talents to the Capitol⊠I'm not that selfish."
He stood up, dragging his data pad across the bars in a discordant melody, meant to intimidate further: âLast chanceâstart singing or I start collecting⊠with a backdateââa tilt of his head as his eyes glistenedâwaiting.
It had already been once that she'd come undone⊠and she couldn't bear someone else suffering because of her decisions. It was one thingâcompartmentalizing the fact that she was sugar baby to the President⊠the sole person who kept the meat grinder running; and another thing entirelyâto be at the cause of a person's suffering.
So, she opened her suddenly dry lips and carried the song in trembling notes: âWh-when I was a babe, I fell down the marina⊠when I was a girl, I fell i-into y-your armsâŠâ
The vibrations stopped and she breathed in the next lyricsâhitching around each syllable in quiet relief. To distract herself from what was to follow, her gaze settled on the wallpaper past Coriolanus. She hadnât noticed before just how intricate the cloud imagery was wovenâstarting at one end of the wall, galloping all through the other. Or maybe it was waves⊠taking wind suddenlyâas if willed by the windheads that sheâd seen illustrated on old world maps in the library.
But these curves were so dark, they could never be the product of these wind gods. Black and redâa sea of shadow and hatred, instead of the mirage their classic forms would evoke. Even when she tried to let her mind rest somewhere elseâwhat responded wasnât soft or welcomingâbut just another reflection of Coriolanus.
âGood, very good. See? It's not so hard." he let out a content sigh as he gripped the controller harder. Once he got closer to the en suite bathroom door, he spoke again, but didn't turn back: âNo stopping nowâput some flair into it, sweetheart. I want to be able to hear you well enough while I shower.â
Adriana nodded but didn't dare stop singing to respond, tears pooling in her eyes as she felt the burn already scratching at her throat. She could hear the soft echo of water hitting the tiles from the bathroom and for a moment she swallowed, realizing how thirsty she'd grown. But even that basic need was answered promptlyâby the plug coming back to life inside her, making her still sticky thighs shake.
As Coriolanus came out, drying his golden curls, he asked innocently: âOh? You need something? Funny how you didn't need me when you were at that partyâŠ" he put on a fresh pair of briefs slowly, each muscle glistening with rogue droplets: âChoose thenâsatiate your thirst and lose control or take what you deserve.â
Her hands shook around the glass he handed her through an opening at the top of the aviaryâalmost spilling the water. No singing meant he had the settings all the way up and in this state it was hard to breathe, much less to swallow the liquid down. It dripped down her chin but even then she took every drop she could. It was hard earned after all.
âYou were right though⊠you aren't a songbird it seems. Water suits you better." He conceded when she resumed her singing.
Coriolanus didn't sleep that nightâelecting to revisit reports and complete some miscellaneous paperwork on his desk. He'd have to ensure her punishment was met after all.
By the second hourâher silky voice had turned into pathetic whimpers. She remembered how he'd asked her to sing to him last nightâdidn't demand⊠just wanted to be carried by the waves. Oh, how distant that person seemed to what stood at his desk nowâa cold-blooded serpent wearing his skin. Or maybe this was him shedding it? To reveal the darkness that lurked beneath.
By the third, she'd started croaking⊠whenever she'd lose the rhythm to attempt and battle the air that burned her sore throat, he'd restart the plug with a flick of his finger. He looked almost bored doing itâ like sheâd turned into simple background noise. The only thing that betrayed him though were the minute adjusting movements he'd sneakâattempting to alleviate the growing arousal he felt at her predicament. He would steal glances atop his paperwork and he'd see her thereâleaning against the beautiful shiny bars, exhausted but pleasing to look at nonethelessâfighting just to keep him pleased. In Adrianaâs mind⊠she was diving in cold refreshing waters.
By the fourth hour he had to take his chair closer to the cage to even attempt to hear her. As he read the interview plans for the Reaping ceremony, he met her eyes onceâsoftly pleading while her chapped lips moved around the words âI know the soul that you struggled to saveâŠâ. Quite ironic, he thoughtâfor he'd found no salvation within his songbird of old and may yet never find one within his little siren. But maybe, just maybe⊠he would get Adriana lost with him instead. An honorable compromiseâŠ
By the fifth hour, the words had lost all meaning and the final anchor that kept her deep at sea let loose. She felt like she was floating, carried by the winds somewhere higher in the aviary. Maybe she'd finally grown wingsâbut not strong enough to help her fly away.
The turn of the sixth hour marked the sunrise and with itâthe complete loss of her voice. He moved to unlock the aviary without uttering a word⊠waiting instead for what his final test would reveal. Adriana looked upâconfused and dazed, as if she were just waking up. She was still singingâunaware that the punishment had run its course.
âDaddy?" she askedâmore so mouthed, without even a screech coming out.
âShh, it's over nowâŠ" he saidâvoice deep with unfulfilled sleep.
Knees and hands still on the ground, she saw Coriolanus had purposefully opened the bedroom door behind him⊠She had a clear view of itâa clear path and a train possibly still waiting for her at the station. Her eyes then settled on his crouching formâhands beconing her over too softly.
Then, she slithered⊠too tired to stand up, too ashamed to walk. She needed his embrace even after everything he put her through. After him being the sole reason she was in this state at all⊠Adriana crawled to her master and melted the moment she felt his hands caress her cheekâgathering the stray tears with his handkerchief. Some dried, some just coming inâsore and fresh.
As he cradled her torso and led her to the bathroom to wash her himself, he realized that, yesâshe was a wild creature, but not a solitary one. Not a âlone childâ like Lucy Gray⊠he didn't need his potions for she didn't need a leash to stay at his feet. What he needed was to ensure there would be no temptations in her way, no way that the world would take her from him.
âThen I'll keep youâpure as snow, wild as the tides⊠but I shall weather the storms." He concluded as he let her sink into the bathtub he'd drawn just before the sun had washed the bedroom in its glow that promised a new beginning.
She couldn't respond. Her voice was now truly and utterly his⊠like the Sea Witchâhe'd taken it to bind their contract. And now⊠he could finally enjoy the obedient silenceâno meaningless words, no vows spoken just to be broken.
Just thisâher being kept forevermore.
đ Tag list: @p4neminem, @coryoslut, @needleandpengirliee, @loverreid, @taniamiller
If you want to be added/removed from my tag list (be it for a particular WIP series or my general work), pls leave a comment or DM me.
Thanks for reading!
hi!! i love salt & sugar soo much. itâs literally all i can think about!! i love your writing and i cant wait for the next chapter đ€đ
thank you so much for the kind words, anon! đ€đ„°
it literally means the WORLD to me that people actually even read my stuffđ I've been wanting to do this for so long but was so anxious to, so messages like these really keep my fuel going đ„ș
you won't have to wait long btw... like AT ALL hehe. The chapter is literally in my tumblr drafts rn, meaning I should post it some time tomorrow.
It will be darker (as promised) but I hope you'll enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story direction!
sorry to ask lovely but when are we getting the Dee part two im craving more dee fanficccc
hey, heyy, love!
no worries to ask at all -- I am actually at a bit of a crossroads rn as to what to prioritize bc I have so many ideas... Dee is still in my plans, just a matter of how quickly I get to him đââïž
And having 2-3 WIPs doesn't help for sure...
so... I think bc i am indecisive as hell...
I'll put it to the vote!
if people are interested in what comes when, that is
Some context:
âł salt&sugar is the fave child now (sorry not sorry), so that WIP will always be in progress until I finish it
âł the questions/options then become what should I prioritize once a chapter of it is released
Ⳡ"come nightfall" is a Billy the Kid fic, yes, but Coriolanus has a cameo there and⊠drum roll⊠once that finishes, it will turn into a spin off for vamp!Coriolanus - working title: "blood & sugar" (v on-brand, ik, thanks)!! => so, it's actually a vampire saga...
My cycle is usually 2 weeks per chapter (though it varies -- for Dee it's a bit less, for BTK it's a bit more)
âł Prognosed "jail time" that either will have to "serve" would be 1.5~2 months, until I can get to focus on them.
Criminal vs. Criminal - Should I prioritize Dee fanfics OR vamp!BTK/Coryo?
Option 1: Billy is jailed, Dee walks free
Option 2: Dee is jailed, Billy walks free
Voting ended onJun 16
(look at them facing each other off! lol)
Thanks to whoever votes for getting me out of decision paralysis hell!
...In more detail, the options are as follows...
Option 1: Come get your Dee content! => focus on salt&sugar as the main "Coryo" fic and only then continue BTK/vamp saga
more time for Dee (he doesn't need to get in line with the vamp fics)
vamp!Coriolanus will wait until salt&sugar is done (he will be in horny jail for some time after also bc "come nightfall" will be its 'prequel' in a sense -- but the cameo will still be worth it, pinky promise...)
Option 2: Get vamp!Coriolanus spin off faster
puts Dee in jail for now (until salt&sugar finishes)
but "come nightfall" gets out faster => "blood & sugar" STARTS faster
computah, how can i stop listening to this remix on repeat??
i swear it's such a part of my writing process for salt&sugar now... i am not sure if anyone is ready for the next chapter (least of all me).
cause, how are we feeling about:
love "potions", (read: poisons more like; made up science to introduce dependency)
a literal cage/aviary â forced imprisonment
and Coriolanus going psycho in general?! (even at Tigris)
I did warn you all that it will earn the dark!Coriolanus tag but idk... it's getting pretty heated in this house...
Anywaaaayyys đđ if anyone wants a sneak peak of bulletpoint 1 at least it's below for your enjoyment. And as a thanks for the wait and the support đ€
This chapter will probably take until end of this week... more with a possible beta đ€
⥠àȘâ⎠Link to existing chapter(s)
Coriolanus Snow - "Salt and Sugar" ch. 3: Enjoy the Silence
àȘâ⎠Sneak peak if anyone wants it...àȘââŽ
Contents: NONCON/DUBCON, DDDNE, Alternate Universe, Abuse of Authority, Power Imbalance, Degradation, Smut, maids, Contracts, Infidelity, Blackmail, Misogyny, Mirror Sex, Dollification, Objectification, Possessive Behavior, Controlling Behavior, Dissociation, Aphrodisiacs, Jealousy, Emotional Manipulation, Age Difference, Old Money Society, Daddy Issues, Pet Play (use of collar), Spanking, Surveillance, Rough Sex
A/N: PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This part takes quite a turn. Please be careful if you are uncomfortable with non-con/dub-con, degradation, rough sex, and pet play themes (use of a collar). Also, I pulled some lines from the TBOSAS book.
Phoebeâs POV
One day, it occurred to her that it had been months since she left the Snow penthouse.
Months.
There was much work to be done and Coriolanus Snow ran a tight ship. Cameras were installed in every crevice of this place, for security reasons, heâd said. And to ensure she wasnât slacking off, she was certain. Nothing peeved him more than a lazy woman.
She wondered how often he checked those cameras.
It was unsettling knowing that at any hour, as she was going about her day, she was being watched. Scrutinized. There was no true escape from prying eyes, not even in the secrecy of her bedroom, as she was uncertain whether heâd planted cameras in there too. That would no doubt be an invasion of her privacy, though privacy was a foreign concept when it concerned her, which heâd proven when he took it upon himself to update her entire wardrobe. If he could do that much, what more could he do?
The hours he had her work were borderline unethical, but she kept her mouth shut about it, so grateful was she to be in her position. No ordinary maid was rewarded the salary she had. Not that sheâd seen a dime of itâit all went straight towards that debt. That seemingly insurmountable debt. She looked forward to the end of each week so she could count how much sheâd earned and watch that number in her notebook dwindle.
With the steady pay she was earning, it would take roughly a year to pay off her debt.
After that was dealt with, she could save for a rainy day. It was inevitable that she would be replaced. Once Mr. Snow married, he would have no time for such rakish joys when he had a family to raise. A wife to cater to.
Sheâd become an afterthought.
A liability.
Then what?
Phoebe imagined sheâd spend the rest of her days working as a maid under a new employer. Cleaning was the best sort of job she could have, as it required few qualifications. Her one year at the University was not enough to earn her a degree and a high school diploma wasnât exactly laudable. It was the bare minimum in society.
This wasnât how she pictured living out her youth, but she ought to get used to it.
It was just so monotonous, this routine of hers. All work and no play.
Coriolanus worked her to the bone, eager to squeeze every bit of worth from her that he could. During the day, she tended to his penthouse. Come nightfall, she warmed his bed. Even that required preparation beforehand, as he expected nothing less than perfection of her.
He curated every little thing, she found. As he went about his penthouse, he straightened things up, even if they were slightly off-place. His schedule was rigid and he prided himself on his punctuality. Once, sheâd heard him tear apart his assistant Lydia for being a few minutes late. So what if there was traffic? She ought to plan for that.
It also peeved him when people showed up too early.
On the dot was his expectation.
Sundays were Phoebeâs only day off, and she often found herself so drained by her schedule that the idea of going out had lost its appeal. She was a bit of a homebody anyway, even before, preferring to spend her time reading and baking. But now Coriolanus had taken those joys from her, too.
He didnât want her reading filth, so he curated her library. A small one had been set up in her bedroom, which he added titles to upon her request (and his subsequent review). Sometimes he snuck in his own recommendations for her enrichment. History and science books to be exact. A few philosophy titles, too, for her sponge of a mind to absorb. Baking was no longer a pleasure of hers, but an expectation to fulfill. The recipes were all tailored to his preference: not too sweet.
Sunday, to her dismay, was also his day off.
She was never truly alone in this gilded cage. It was unnatural, being caged for so long. Part of her yearned to spread her wings and fly.
She brought it up to him, her concern.
âI was wondering if I could go book shopping myself,â Phoebe had requested gingerly while he was enjoying his afternoon tea in his study. âI donât want to trouble your assistantâshe works so hard.â Usually, she jotted down the names of some titles on a note card, which he handed to his assistant. Lydia was a meticulous woman at his beck and call, too. Though she didnât live here, she frequently delivered things and also brought him groceries.
Theyâd seldom exchanged more than a clipped greeting whenever she stopped by to hand her bags. Anything confidential was delivered to Mr. Snow personally while he was in his study. She wasnât trusted to handle those sealed envelopes, which had her wondering what on earth those entailed.
âThereâs no need for that,â Coriolanus had replied crisply. âLet her do her job.â
âButâŠâ Speaking of doing oneâs jobâhe handed her his empty teacup.
âFetch me a refill, please.â
Attempt unsuccessful.
Phoebe didnât let that deter her, though. She came back again another day and said, âThereâs a recipe I want to try, but itâs only as good as the fruits are. Iâd like to pick them myself. I was wondering if maybe this Sunday, I could go to the store.â
She sort of required his permission since she didnât have a dime in her pocket.
âI can see youâre feeling a bit cooped up,â he observed, his sharp gaze boring through her with an intensity to it, as if sifting through her mind. Did he see through her ruse? A hint of amusement bled into his expression as if he were thinking, that won't work with me. âIf some fresh air is what you desire, why donât you head up to the rooftop?â he suggested in turn. His final judgment.
So that was a resounding no.
âI just want to get out. Itâs not the same,â she couldnât help but complain. She seldom complained but surely he would cut her some slack since it had been so long. âIâm off on Sundays, arenât I? It should be no trouble to you if I leave for a little.â
He instead handed her his empty teacup. Again.
Phoebe set it back down, her eye twitching. He wasnât listening, not really. In fact, the longer she stood there trying to string together the words to say, the more bored he grew. âIs there anything else you have to say?â he asked languidly. âI have things to do, if you donât mind.â
âThis Sunday, Iâm going for an outing,â she blurted out before she was able to stop herself. Are you now? His raised brow implied. She straightened up, mustering all the courage she could to tell him: âI wonât be home in the morning.â
âYou canât go shopping without any money,â he retorted. And he was right. âWhat will you do? Browse around?â
âMaybe.â She folded her hands behind her back, attempting nonchalance. âOr I could go for a stroll in the park. Take in some sights.â
âNot a good time for that. The leaves are falling.â
âI do need to exercise more, too,â she countered. âIâve put on some weight.â
That she has. She looked betterâmore alive now thanks to the strict regimen he had her on, which included plenty of vitamin supplements. That was beside the point.
âMy cup is still empty, Phoebe.â In translation, shut up and be a good girl for me, wonât you? He glanced down at it pointedly.
Frowning, she grabbed the teacup, then set off, her heels clicking with haste.
But then he called for her.
She fought that impulse to look over her shoulder and snapâwhat else? Surely if she snapped like that, some punishments would be in order. He punished her before for snapping at him. Beckoned her over, so deceptively smooth before he seized her by the waist and bent her over his lap. Sheâd barely recovered from that when he pulled her dress up over her hips and ripped her panties down her legs, exposing her to the elements. âThat is no way to speak to me,â heâd chided, so displeased with her. âIt appears youâve forgotten your place.â
She truly did, when the lines were so blurred. Who punished their maid like this? Who had them warm their bed at night? He was merciful enough to use his bare hand to strike her ass and not the metal ruler on his desk. Sheâd squirmed so much that he had to rip off his silk tie and use it to bind her wrists behind her back. Thighs clenching, she endured that awful stinging ache whenever his heavy hand came down. He had her count each strike until she was left in tears, her skin burning like it was set ablaze. Not in a good way. Not like that pit of fire in her loins whenever he touched her, gently, that coursed throughout her body in ripples. Though she hadnât bled, it hurt to sit down for a while.
âThis pains me as much as it does you,â heâd admitted when he saw the ugly red splotches marring her ass. âBut it had to be done. I canât have you acting like a brat.â
He could be so cruel sometimes, confusing her like this. So soft in the aftermath, his knuckles wrapped in velvet, while he rubbed cream over her wounds. Heâd asked, âHave you learned your lesson, now?â
Phoebe nodded in a heartbeat, fearing if she waited too long to respond, heâd start over.
âUse your words, doll,â came his cool response.
âY-Yes,â sheâd managed, gripping the armrest of his seat. âYes, sir.â
He ran his fingers through her silky tresses, stroking her as if she were a pet, and like one, she leaned into his forgiving touch. Instinctively. Against better judgment. Because that was the reaction he sought from her. Not because she liked being comforted. She didnât like how whenever he was upset with her, he never appeared upset. Just disappointed. It brought her back to when she was a child, trying not to cry when she let her father down again.
Whenever she talked back or said a bad word, her father made her wash her mouth with soap.Â
âWhat have you learned? Tell me,â Coriolanus pressed on.
âNever⊠to talk back to you,â sheâd replied shakily, telling him what he wanted to hear.
âGood girl.â Heâd wiped the tears from her face, so sweet about it. So pleased to see that sheâd learned.
This time, she didnât make the mistake of snapping at him. She had instead, in her sweetest voice, replied, âYes?â
âFetch me another scone too,â he ordered.
âRight away, sir.â
Sir. Mr. Snow. That was what she called him.
He, on the other hand, had a plethora of names for her.
The one he was most fond of was doll.
In the presence of others, however, she was only ever Phoebe or Miss Blackwood.
â â â
It was a Saturday when she worked up the courage to go out.
Not a Sunday.
Coriolanus wasnât home and she thought, what would be the harm in going for a short stroll? Her tasks for the day were complete. The lists he gave her were suspiciously longer lately, but she took things in stride, pooling her efforts into rushing it, though not obviously so. Like a hawk, he could spot anything. Any imperfection, any shortcut she took, like that. If he deemed she did a sloppy job, heâd make her start over.
After checking once, twiceâthriceâfor anything she forgot to clean, she threw on her coat and snuck out.
Without a dime in her pocket.
It was strange, walking these streets after being kept off them for so long. Come autumn, the leaves were starting to change color and fall. An array of warm colors caught her eyeâdazzling shades of reds, yellows, and oranges. She watched as the cars rolled down the Corso: what was possibly the busiest street in all of the Capitol, where all the expensive townhouses and apartments were located.
Look at all these people, she thought. Driving their fancy cars. Living their fancy lives. Most drivers in the Capitol were lower class if not Avoxes, but there was no need to be pedantic. Case in pointâthere were many living better lives than her.
A bit of envy flared in her when she saw a Capitolite woman strolling out of a boutique with an Avox on her tail, struggling to carry the loads of shopping bags on his arms. In her purse was a shivering puppy donning what was probably a cashmere sweater, if its diamond collar was any indicator of its ownerâs wealth. No one would dare to buy fake diamonds here. She was laughing alongside another woman who donned the same outfit as hers, only in a different shade. A matching pooch stuck its head out of her purse.
Another Avox popped out of the door, rushing to keep up with the other lady. Also struggling to carry her bags.
She used to go shopping like that with her friend, Priscilla. They ran all along The Promenade with one mission alone: to drain their fatherâs wallets. A seemingly impossible challenge.
Phoebe had not planned this outing, in truth. The idea was to get out for the sake of it. She pulled the hood of her coat up over her head and adjusted her sunglasses, hoping that no one would recognize her in this disguise. It was a possibility, especially on a Saturday when people tended to visit The Promenadeâthe shopping complex located near the Corso.
She walked and walked until her legs felt numb.
Before she knew it, sheâd ended up in the park. Nothing pretty to see hereâjust leaves falling, this time of year. Though come spring, it was absolutely beautiful, sprawling with lush blossoms, the air so sweet. Spring was her favorite season because of how beautiful it was, and how the Capitol seemed to come alive with color after months of everything appearing so barren.
There were small joys she found this time of year, too. She liked to step on the colorful leaves to hear that satisfying crunch sound. While she walked, she made sure not to step on the lines in the pavement. A game she liked to play to keep things interesting.
Sheâd been so enveloped in her game, unaware of how time had passed, until she clipped the shoulder of someone strolling by. When she turned to apologizeâŠ
He appeared familiar.
She tilted her shades down to get a closer look at this tall raven-haired man.
âPhoebe?â His smooth voice startled her into slipping her shades back on. It was Marcellus Whimsiwick. âLong time no see,â he greeted her, not letting her frigid response deter him.
âItâs been a while,â she replied stiffly, before looking around for the nearest exit. She hadnât intended to run into anyone. Hadnât mentally prepared for it, either.
âGoing for a walk?â he inquired.
Some silence, and then, âYes. I thought Iâd stretch my legs for a bit.â
The last time theyâd seen each other was before summer break. After he left for the districts, Julia and her peers had thought it humorous to cook up some rumor about them eloping. Because they had history. Not much history, really. Partnering up for assignments together a few times was hardly a declaration of romance, but bored people tend to gossip. They probably all knew about him asking her to be his date to the Yule Ball, but never mind her rejecting him.
âI see. Me too.â Little rays of sunlight brought out the specks of blue in his startling green eyes. âIf you have no company, will you allow me to join you?â
What harm could that do? It had been some time since she talked to anyone other than Coriolanus and his guests. With that in mind, she nodded.
Then they walked together along the winding paths surrounding the perfectly manicured lawns.
âWhat have you been up to lately?â inquired Marcellus. âWeâve all been wondering where youâve disappeared to.â We as in her nosy former classmates, she assumed. âYou werenât at Priscillaâs birthday party.â Unusual, considering the two of them were like peas in a pod ever since they could walk. She dreaded parties, truly dreaded them, but made an exception for any events hosted by the Darlings. âI havenât seen you at the University eitherâŠâ
Priscilla had been worried sick for her after she seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. The calls and messages were endless.
Please talk to me, Phoebe. Iâm worried about you.
Your father asked if I was hiding you. What is this about? Did you two get into a fight again?
Talk to me, please.
If you ever need a place to stay, Iâm always here for you. Stay safe out there. Wherever you are.
The guilt ate away at her. Each call she let ring, each message she silently read. Both from her, Father, and Mr. Grant. It wouldnât take much effort to pick up the phone and respond. To give them some sign that she was alive and well. But what good would that do when that life was behind her now?
Priscilla wouldnât understand. All sheâd do was try to talk her into âseeing senseâ and marrying Mr. Grant to preserve the peace. All her life, sheâd been raised to be an obedient daughter. To do whatever she was told without question. A perfect Capitol darling.
If only she couldâve been that way, too. Life wouldâve been simpler had she listened to her father. Simpler, yes, though arguably depressing, to be in a loveless marriage with a man twice her age. It rubbed her wrong, the haste with which Father had insisted she marry that man. All to clean up his mess.
Did he even love her? Was a word he said to her ever true? He mightâve brought her into this world, but that was as far as their familial bond went. She was under no obligation to do him such a favor when it concerned the rest of her future.
On Priscillaâs birthday, she messaged her to wish her a happy birthday. And of course she never attended her party. It wouldâve been an extravagant affair if Mrs. Darling was in charge of coordinating things, which meant everyone they knew would be in attendance.
She used to help Priscilla plan her parties. Had been so excited to sample endless flavors of cakes with her, to settle upon the best one. They made a day out of shopping for decorations together while their Avoxes struggled to carry their things.
Those days were behind her now.
âNothing, really. A bit of this. A bit of that.â Phoebe played it cool, trying to ignore that lump forming in her throat. âI thought Iâd take a break from school. My grades havenât exactly been stellar. Father will have my head if I get another D.â
Mathematics was never her strong suit.
âI see,â Marcellus replied, looking off to the side in contemplation. He hesitated over his next words. âJulia told me that youâve been⊠going through it. If youâd like to talk about itââ
âI do not,â she snapped defensively, before mentally scolding herself. Decorum, Phoebe. âSorry. I mean, Iâd rather not talk about it.â
His brow arched at her unusual outburst.
He didnât mention it, fortunately. Phoebe asked if he would be so kind as to give her the scoop about whatâs been going on with their peers and he told her all about the new courtships in their circleâincluding the ones that fell through. There was even an announcement of an engagement! For a moment, she forgot about her blunder, instead enveloped in the developments of her peers and their (mostly) successful lives.
A sharp, distressed meow halted their conversation.
It came from⊠the sky?
Phoebe glanced up and of course there was nothing in the sky. But there was a rather tall tree and an orange ball of fluff dangling precariously from one of its slender branches. The branch was bending, on the brink of snapping under the weight of the squirming critter attached to it. Paling, she rushed forward to get a closer look, which mightâve been a mistake since it started to squirm even more.
The ball of fluff perked up to reveal a pair of pointy ears, a flicking tail and a set of beady green eyes. It was a kitten who, by the looks of it, was barely past weaning age. Their adventure had somehow landed them all the way up there.
âThe branchâitâs going to break!â Phoebe frantically gestured towards it, glancing back at Marcellus, who was wide-eyed. A small thing like that wouldnât survive such a drop. If it did, itâd be gravely injured.
âLeave it there.â He fumbled for the phone in his pocket. âIâll call the Peacekeepers.â
âWhat if it falls? We canât wait!â she insisted, calculating how long it would take for her to make it to the top. She wasnât equipped for this, in her heeled shoes and dress. The last time sheâd climbed a tree was when she was seven, and her father had chided her for falling off of it and getting mud on her dress. It was safe to say that her tree climbing skills were rusty, and time was of the essence.
Marcellus was tall and limber. He could do the job.
He hesitated, looking down at his immaculate suit.
Never mind. Phoebe made a beeline for the tree, struggling to make it up there. In the process, her shoe slipped off, which was when he saw fit to jump in and help. Finally.
âNoâlet me do it.â Sighing, he helped her back down. She hopped to grab her shoe and slid it back on. In the interim, he climbed his way up there with impressive speed, albeit awkwardly, fighting with the rigid fabric of his suit.
He was precariously perched up there, now. If he were to slip and fall, surely he would break a bone or two. Or several.
âHere kitty, kitty,â Marcellus called out to the feline, who wasnât a fan of him by the looks of it, given her pinned-back ears. He scooted closer, gripping the branch for dear lifeâprobably praying to himself that it wouldnât snap. After all that effort, the kitten leapt down onto the branch beneath him.
Phoebe held out her arms to catch the kitten just in case it fell. It seemed all too enticed with her now, ducking its head, hesitating whether to jump for it. âDonât worry,â she gasped, âWeâre going to get you down!â
A soft, sad meow was the kittenâs only response.
âPut your hands down,â a rather flustered Marcellus snapped. Where was all that decorum now? Thrown out the window in a moment of undue stress. âItâs going to jump.â
She elected to ignore his unpleasant tone and lowered her hands.
Eventually, he leaned over and snatched the muddy kitten up in his arms. It squirmed with all its tiny might as he, all frazzled (and slightly disgusted), held onto it to the best of his ability. She waited with bated breath until he climbed down the tree and finally planted his feet on the ground.
âYou poor thing,â Phoebe cooed, taking the kitten from Marcellus and cradling it to her chest. He seemed almost wounded that her concern wasnât directed towards him, as heâd been scratched up. But he would live. The poor thing, however, was in such pitiful shape in comparison. âYou must be so cold.â And so hungry, surely; she could see its ribs. It was in dire need of a bath, its fur all greasy and muddy. âI wonder where your mother isâŠâ
âWhat now?â queried Marcellus as he brushed the dirt off his wool coat. âAre you going to let it go? It doesnât have a collar.â He mumbled something under his breath about his coat being brand-new.
The kitten sniffed her for a good minute until it decided it wanted to be let go. So she let it go. âMaybe itâll go back to its mother. Wherever she is.â
But it didnât move. It just sat there at her feet, sniffing her curiously.
Go away, she thought. I canât take you with me.
It was out of the question, her bringing this kitten home. What if it had fleas? What if Coriolanus was allergic to cats? She more than anyone knew how much he valued cleanliness and order, which kittens had no concern for. It would be unprofessional of her to return home with some animal she plucked off the street.
âLetâs keep walking,â she suggested, and Marcellus followed suit.
A moment later, she was made aware of how painfully awkward the silence between them was. So she said, âIt got you good⊠Iâm sorry for making you go up there.â
âI couldnât have you getting hurt,â he replied in good fun, though he was in fact not having fun. Grimacing, at that. More silence. Should she offer to foot his medical bill and hope he declined? She didnât bother bringing her wallet. Not that she had any need for it, so flat-out broke.
A raspy cry caught her attention, and she looked back to find the kitten limping towards her, trying to follow her. She exchanged a look with Marcellus as they both thought, what now? They couldnât ignore it anymore.
âSeems like itâs hurt,â he observed. She nodded, swallowing.
The kitten stopped at her feet, its beady eyes blinking at her. Almost as if imploring her for help. Her heart broke.
âWe could take it to a vet,â she proposed.
âMy afternoon schedule is tight,â came his curt response. âIâm afraid Iâll be too busy to accompany you there.â
There wasnât a dime in her pocket, so footing the vet bill on her own was impossible. Itâd be worth, what, a week of her salary, if not more? Regardless, she couldnât leave the poor thing here to fend for itself. At the very least, she could feed it. But all the food was at home.
Sighing, Phoebe knelt and scooped the kitten into her arms. âWhat am I going to do with you, little one?â Take it home, she thought. She could sneak it in for a moment to feed it, then release it. With that in mind, she unzipped her coat and the feline squirmed as she slipped it inside. A moment later, however, once it decided that the warmth radiating from her was preferable to the chilly wind, it relaxed. Curled up against her chest, trying to make itself comfortable.
âIâll look after it for a bit,â she decided, âuntil itâs in better shape.â
Strays were a rarity once. During the Dark Days, animals vanished mysteriously, sheâd heard. It was a mystery whether theyâd perished from starvation or heaven knows what. Thankfully, those days were in the past. Now, it was more economically feasible to keep pets. In fact, it was a trend. Shops catering specifically to pets had opened.
âIâm going to walk home now,â she told Marcellus.
âMay I accompany you?â He held his scratched-up hand behind his back. âYou live nearby, donât you?â
âItâs fine, I can walk alone since youâre busy. Itâs no trouble at all.â She didnât want him knowing where she lived. Of course he insisted, ever the gentleman, saying he still had time to kill.
Marcellus walked her down the Corso, up to the entrance of what was possibly the fanciest apartment complex in the Capitol. âThank you for walking me home,â she said, âand helping me.â She stroked the kittenâs soft orange fur. If the penthouse was hers, she wouldâve asked if heâd like to come in for some tea and biscuits, but Coriolanus wouldnât take kindly to surprise guests.
âOf course. You take care, Phoebe. It was nice catching up with you,â said Marcellus. Before she entered the complex, he added, âActuallyâIâd like to stay in touch with you, if thatâs alright. I hope itâs not too bold of me to ask for your number.â
He sure knew how to lay it on thick. His bravado mustâve been credited to his looks. A handsome face could let you get away with a lot in a society so fixated on vanity. My father doesnât want me talking to men wouldâve been a feasible excuse to give, because her father was in fact insufferable about who he allowed near her before. Most men are no better than dogs, heâd warned her. âHow about you give me your number instead?â she proposed.
He came prepared with a napkin and a pen in his pocket.
â â â
The doorman gave her a funny look when he greeted her, only to find a tiny orange head sticking out the top of her coat. âWhatâs this?â he asked.
âA new friend,â she answered, in brighter spirits than she was when she left earlier. âYou have a good day, sir!â
After riding the elevator up to the top floor, she slipped inside the penthouse.
There were a few hours to go until Coriolanus returned.
Then she could ask him, if he would be so kind as to hand her her paycheck⊠If he could find it in himself, just this once, not to put it all towards her debtâŠ
That wouldnât go down well.
He wouldnât want this thing in his house, even temporarily, she was sure. But she had to keep it alive and well so she could ask him. Calling him during work was out of the question. The only option, as she saw it, was to keep the kitten safe here, temporarily. In the meantime, she would feed and bathe it. Keep it warm.
After turning on the portable heater in her bedroom, she sat beside it. For now (until it was bathed), the kitten was confined to the jail cell that was her coat. Something it wasnât thrilled about, as it squirmed, wanting to explore already. She didnât want to think about the mess those muddy paws would leave on the tiles. Though she feared it was already too late for her coat and dress.
âDo you want out? Weâll have to get you cleaned up first.â Phoebe booped its nose with her finger.
That led them to the bathroom, soon enough.
After closing the door behind her, Phoebe unzipped her coat. The kitten sprang before sheâd even blinked, eager to be set free. It took one step before letting out a sharp cry when it stepped on its back paw.
Carefully, she cradled the kitten, and it squirmed, not liking that it was on its back. Upon further examination, the source of its pain was a thorn in its paw. It was nearly impossible to extract with her bare hands, so deeply embedded. She cleaned a pair of tweezers, then brought out a handful of cubed cheese. Hopefully thatâll distract it, she thought, giving it a cube as a treat before she began. Though it broke her heart to hear it cry, the thorn had to be removed.
After a while of effort, she removed it, then handed the kitten another cube to nibble on, which it gratefully scarfed down.
Sheâd never bathed a cat before. They didnât have cat shampoo, let alone a single thing made for a cat here. In the meantime, a warm washcloth and some water would do.
Bathing it was nothing short of a fight. The kitten didnât like the water touching her, period. Not even with a cloth. It bit her hand politely at first, then with insistence. She apologized profusely whilst it hissed, its tail flicking in agitation as if to say, unhand me this instant.
After that was over, she had a few scratches on her arms. Nothing major, though they were noticeable. If Father were here, heâd insist she rush to the hospital at once, in case she caught something.
Whilst drying the kitten, she noticed that it was a girl.
âAre you hungry, kitty? Shall I fix you something to eat?â A soft meow in response. She was all fluffed up, wobbling in front of the heater by her bedside, now. âFirst we have to bandage you,â she told her. Naming her was out of the question; she couldnât get attached to a cat she couldnât keep. So she called her kitty, because cat seemed too impersonal a nickname.
Phoebe made her foray to the medicine cabinet in the upstairs loft and swiped a random assortment of things. A pair of medical scissors, gauze, bandages, and ointment gel. Was that safe for a cat? It was better than nothing, she supposed.
Putting the ointment on kitty was no easy task; she squirmed the entire time. Phoebe fumbled with the gauze, trying to wrap it right, but it looked like a wad attached to her paw. It stayed on for all of three minutes, until kitty started gnawing at her feet, not having it. The bandage came off.
âWhat am I to do with you?â She sighed.
â â â
The cook had given her a funny look when she requested a bit of unseasoned boiled chicken and a tiny dish of warm milk. Not her usual fare. Still she gave it to her anyway, then got straight to work, cooking up an elaborate dinner in preparation for Mr. Snowâs return.
She made a cozy setup in her bedroom. A heap of blankets was a makeshift cat bed. In the bathroom, there was a station for milk, water, plenty of chicken, and a space for a litter box (the sand stolen from the rooftop garden). Phoebe busied herself with making cat toys whilst kitty, curious as can be, sniffed and explored every inch of the space she was given free rein to.
Kitty loved her toys. She played with them, her belly round as can be after all that food. It was a challenge getting her to stop messing with her paw, which sheâd rebandaged.
Their peaceful moment was soon disrupted by the telltale beep of the security system, alerting her to the front door opening. He was home early today. Unusually early. There could only be one explanation for that. He knew.
Either that or it was a coincidence. How funny would that be?
Her stomach twisted in knots as she rushed to make herself presentable, pulling on her uniform with haste. In the process, she ripped her stockings and cursed herself for that. The man of the hour liked to be greeted properly when he arrived, so she had to hurry.
She made it downstairs, her uniform disheveled and twisted, but at least it was on.
âGood evening, Mr. Snow.â She bowed, trying not to wince at how breathless she sounded after running across the penthouse. He took one good look at her, mild amusement in his expression as he noted her disarray.
The silence lingered as if on purpose, as if he were sniffing out her stress. As if by design. Until he relented, offering a curt nod in acknowledgement of her presence. She took off his coat and hung it on the rack for him.
Now heâd head upstairs to his study to stow away his briefcase. He never liked her being in his study unattended; he guarded it under lock and key. She only cleaned it when he was in his office watching her every move. Men could get so territorial over that one room in the house. Father was the same way with his study, which she referred to as the mancave.
She followed him to the foot of the stairs, head lowered demurely. âWould you⊠would you like anything to drink, sir?â
He narrowed his eyes for a second, adjusting his cufflinks.
Perhaps she was a bit more hover-y than usual. Typically she just took his coat before disappearing. She never catered to him at hand and foot unless he requested it.
âA glass of water would be fine,â he replied. âIâll have it in my study.â
Ice cold as always.
She delivered it to him while he was setting his briefcase down on the desk in his study.
âYou seem chipper. Did you have a nice day?â he inquired, opening it to review his documents. It wasnât unusual for him to inquire about her day, though it typically happened during dinner.
She nodded. âIt feels like any other day.â
âWhat did you do today?â he thumbed through the dividers in his briefcase, seemingly bored. But at least not suspicious. Though his early appearance in the penthouse was quite suspicious.
âClean,â she replied in a heartbeat.
âOf course, I know that. What else did you do?â he clarified. âIâve known you long enough to know that cleaning doesnât bring you joy.â
âI tidied my bookshelf.â That wasnât a lie. But that wasnât all she did.
âIs that how you got all scratched up?â His perceptive gaze flicked to the scratches on her wrists, which sheâd forgotten about.
âNoâŠâ She folded her hands behind her back and lowered her head like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
He ignored her for a good long moment, sitting down, sipping his water, leafing through his papers. So much so that she stole the opportunity to try and slip out, but was halted by his clear voice:
âDid I dismiss you?â
She inhaled sharply before turning around, her lips stretching into the fakest smile. âNo, sir.â
âYou arenât permitted to leave until I dismiss you,â he sternly reminded her. âYou should know this already.â
âSorry, sir.â He sounded nothing short of terrifying like this, like he was onto her. She rushed over to his side at once. There were cameras everywhere, but how often did he check them?
â â â
Coriolanusâ POV
âSit,â he ordered.
Like the good girl she was, she sank to her knees onto the velvet cushion at his feet. She looked so tempting like this, shaking like a leaf for good reason after that stunt she pulled. It was one thing for her to leave without informing him to gallivant with some man, but another to sneak that filthy creature into his house. Like he wouldnât know. Surely that was an act of defiance; she knew he had cameras everywhere.
He kept a close eye on her, his little maid. When he was bored at work, he liked to check the security feed. It was nothing he hadnât done with his previous staff, to ensure they werenât slacking off or pocketing anything. His observations over time had proven her diligence. Yet he kept watching her during his lunch breaks, with the same appreciation one would reserve for a colorful bird in a cage. He liked knowing that no matter where he was, she was always in his line of sight if he felt compelled to check.
Until she wasnât.
Today, she went out. After that conversation they had, it was inevitable she would. Sheâd gotten all worked up over his constant dismissal of her feelings, and part of him wondered, how obedient would she be if this went on?
Heâd never explicitly told her she wasnât permitted to leave. After all the work he had her do, she was more interested in resting her feet instead of going out for a walk. There wasnât much in the way of recreation for her outside, anyway, when she didnât have a dime in her pocket. Or any friends for the matter.
The door of her cage was wide open. It had always been. Sheâd never tried flying away.
Until she had enough of it and those shiny gifts he offered as a distraction. Those werenât a supplement for the freedom she evidently craved. This afternoon, he was compelled to check the cameras when he received an alert for the front door opening.
There she was, on that screen, putting on her coat to leave.
The camera feed later revealed that sheâd gone on quite the excursion. Sheâd even brought back a tiny souvenir that was waiting for him down the hall.
âI saw you went out today,â he revealed, setting his papers down. She tensed upâguilty as charged. âHow was it, your little outing? Did you do anything fun today?â
She inhaled softly, albeit shakily, wiping her palms on her uniform skirt. âI went for a walk, if thatâs your idea of fun.â Her uniform reflected her sorry state, disheveled like her. Short orange hairs festooned it.
âThe park down the street?â he queried, and she flinched at his fingers finding her face. He played with the tresses framing it.
She nodded. âItâs still beautiful this time of year. Not as beautiful as it is during spring.â
âYou love flowers.â She loved them, but didnât know a thing about cultivating them the way he did. Perhaps he could delegate a section of his garden for her to tend to, to preoccupy her. Her handling his precious roses was completely out of the question. âWould you like to get into gardening?â
âNo. Not really.â
Not that it mattered. Sheâd have no choice but to give it a try if he added it to her task list as a chore. He liked to keep her busy.
She regarded him expectantly, with bated breath, as if waiting for some ball to drop. That moment never came. He kept quiet as she squirmed on that velvet cushion without purpose, watching him leaf through his paperwork.
He preferred to let the fear linger.
â â â
Dinner came and went without much of a fuss.
Heâd hardly uttered a word to her in the interim. Instead, he ate quietly at the other side of the dining table while she pushed her food around on her plate, trying to whet her appetite.
âIâm full,â she announced, her plate still half-full.
âFinish your food. Thatâs an order.â
Once Phoebe begrudgingly finished her plate, they both heard a soft meow coming from upstairs.
âWhatâs that sound?â he asked, playing dumb as he quirked his brow.
âWhat sound?â Phoebe stood, plate in her hands.
Another meow. A more insistent one, followed by the sound of scratching. Her bedroom door being shredded to pieces.
âThat sound. It sounds like a meow,â he stated plainly. She froze, the cogs in her mind working overtime to figure out how to break this secret to him. Or was it a secret at all? Was she waiting for him to break the ice? She was terrible with confrontation like that. Her gaze flitted between him and the staircase, over and over, which gave him his answer. âI want to see it,â he said finally. âThat thing you brought home.â
Her eyes went wide as if she were thinking, he knows.
â â â
She brought it downstairs without a word and carefully set it down on the carpet in front of him, as if presenting a gift.
What a hideous thing, he thought immediately, watching the orange kitten limp over to him. It was no pedigree, that was for sure; its stripy fur was an amalgamation of patterns and splotches. Typical of a cat plucked off the street. Not like those well-kept kittens on shop displays, their fur sleek and shiny. Ragdolls were all the rage lately. Not whatever this wasâmore the type of pet a commoner would keep.
It froze at his feet, its beady green eyes wide as can be. So full of rambunctious curiosity. He allowed it to sniff him just once before scooting his chair away, causing it to spring back at the sudden movement.
âSo,â he crossed his arms, âthis is what youâve snuck into my house. Without my permission.â
âI can explain.â She gingerly wet her lips.
âI understand that youâve been living under my roof for a while, so youâve gotten comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable. Past a certain point, youâre overstepping boundaries,â he explained, slowly and with plenty of patience, as if breaking this down for a child to understand. âHas it occurred to you to ask first if you could bring home a new pet? What if I was allergic to cats?â She tried to speak, but he wasnât done yet. âSit down,â he ordered, and she did in a heartbeat. âWhat if it had rabies or it tore up my furniture? Need I remind you of your debt?â
Roughly how much would it cost to replace her bedroom door, with all its intricate carvings?
âI wanted to call you during work, but you told me not to call unless it was an emergency.â That he had. âYouâre misunderstandingâI donât intend to keep her. I just wanted to take her to the vet, but I had to wait for you to come home to ask. Since youâre in charge of how my paycheckâs spent.â
That last part sounded a bit backhanded to him.
The kitten, meanwhile, was limping laps around the dining area, sniffing everything. He kept a close eye on it to ensure it wasnât gnawing on anything.
âWhy do you want to take it to the vet?â he inquired.
âSheâs hurt,â she told him. âSheâs limping and I thought maybe she broke her leg.â
âVet bills arenât cheap,â he pointed out. âAre you willing to shell out a few weeksâ worth of your salary for some stray whoâll probably get hurt again? Anything can happen out in the wild.â
âIâm fine with that,â she insisted, straightening up. âI can work extra hours too. I can do whatever you want. You can pay me lessââ
He shook his head, cutting her off mid-tangent. âWhat if another stray comes along? You canât possibly save them all.â
That threw her for a loop. She glanced down at her lap, rather crestfallen, like heâd shattered her hopes and dreams. That big heart of hers was a rarity. A big heart could also cause someone to make irrational decisions, and in this case, she was willing to drag herself deeper into debt. All for something that could never repay her for her kindness. She wouldnât think twice about giving someone the clothes off her back if she felt so compelled to believe they needed it.
âI could try to make a difference,â Phoebe murmured, just as the kitten stopped at her feet. Leaning, she scooped it into her arms. For a moment it squirmed, trying to break free, until it decided her lap was a comfy spot to curl up. It was so tiny, and tiny things could be cute to some people, he supposed. People were so easily manipulated by cute things.
âWhatâs the point in doing that?â It was a genuine question. He considered her.
âThere is no point. Itâs more for myself,â she confessed, scratching behind the kittenâs ears. It purred like an engine, trilling and butting her hand with its head when she stopped. âI guess it would make me happy.â
It would make her happy. She wasnât happy.
âBeing in debt makes you happy?â he questioned her, brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of this.
âWhen was the last time you helped someone? Or something?â she challenged him. âWhen was the last time you did anything for anyone other than yourself?â
That was also a bit backhanded.
âI did a great service to this country not long ago, as you know,â he explained. âWith the Games. Every year, I help plan them.â
âThe Games help people.â Those words came out like a statement, not a question, yet she seemed so unsure.
âIt helps maintain the order. The peace. Itâs a delicate balance.â Orchestrating the Games every year was a thankless job, but someone had to do it. There was no one more fit for it than himâsomeone who had seen all sides of Panem in the flesh. The good, the bad, the ugly. And oh, this world could be ugly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line the way they did when there was something she wanted to say, but was refraining. He encouraged her with a nod and she said, âI⊠I wish there was a way to go about it without hurting anyone.â
Such a naĂŻve perspective. One that could only come from someone whoâd never known what the war was like and what it had cost their people. It was moments like these when he was reminded of how young she truly was, and how she didnât have to endure what he and his friends had growing up. People her age only had history lessons and stories passed down by word of mouth.
âViolence is a natural part of life,â he said, thinking back on it all. Everything it had taken to get him to this point. âItâs innate in us all.â
âI think everyoneâs capable of goodness.â Her gaze softened as she glanced at the cat on her lap who was lazing away. âPeople arenât so bad. Itâs what the world does to them.â
And where was she finding this wisdom? Surely it wasnât from anything sheâd lived or seen.
âWhat are the Hunger Games for?â he asked her plainly, and she was taken aback by this shift in their conversation.
âTheyâre to punish the districts,â she replied, not thinking twice about it.
âThatâs what I thought it was for, at first,â he confessed, thinking back to his sessions with the late Dr. Gaul. âItâs much more than that. Itâs a reminder of what we did to each other. What we have the potential to do again because of who we are.â
She was shifting in her seat, uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. âAnd who are we?â
âCreatures who need the Capitol to survive.â
Her fingers stilled against the kittenâs matted fur. The thing purred away, so blissfully unaware that this moment of peace was only a temporary reprieve. For now its belly was round as can be, and it was warm. Safe. Soon it would be kicked out onto the street where it belonged.
âYou could still govern with kindness. Find a way to break that cycle,â she thought out loud.
Such an idyllic way of viewing things, when the reality was, this was a selfish world where the selfish succeeded. During the war, he had been bombed and starved and abused in multiple ways, and not just by the rebels. A cabbage ripped from his hands. A Peacekeeper bruising his jaw when he mistakenly wandered too close to the presidentâs mansion. He thought of the time he had collapsed and lain in the street with the swan flu and no one, no one would stop to help. Racked with chills, burning with fever, limbs spiked with pain.
âAnd what happens if kindness is not enough?â He humored her anyway.
She glanced to the side, truly giving it some thought. âI donât know, but itâs better than perpetuating things.â It all came full circle as she looked down at the kitten who had begun to knead at her with its tiny paws. âI want to help this little one, however I can.â
There was such conviction in her now as she cradled the kitten close, with such love towards this thing she barely knew. Perhaps this was what she needed to settle her. A companion who would stay beside her, and keep her from feeling lonely when he wasnât around.
âIâll give you your pay in advance,â he decided. âLydia will accompany you to see the vet tomorrow.â
âThank you, sir.â She brightened up at that. âI am grateful for your consideration.â
âKeep it in your room. If it damages anything, the cost for repairs will be added to your debt. As will any medical bills. That is all.â
He dismissed her with a wave.
â â â
On a late Sunday afternoon, Phoebe returned with Lydia in tow and an unhappy, drowsy kitten in a carrier. From a distance, it appeared to be wearing a cone.
âWell,â he said, âwhatâs wrong with it?â Not that he cared to know, but since he was temporarily footing the bill, it was his concern.
âThe doctor did an X-ray. She had a minor fracture in her hind leg and a paw injury. Sheâs been given her shot and dewormer, and sheâs temporarily wearing a splint,â Lydia, his assistant, informed him in Phoebeâs stead, handing him a set of papers. âShe was prescribed some pain medication and flea treatment as well.â Phoebe was far too busy peeking into the carrier, checking on the kitten, to pay him any heed.
He noticed something funny on the first document. A name for a pet. Penny.
She named it.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he watched her coo at the kitten.
âYou named it,â is all he said to Phoebe once Lydia left.
âThey told me I had to provide a name,â she insisted, so innocently, though he wasnât buying it. Was this some ruse to guilt him into letting her keep the cat?
âDonât get too comfortable with keeping it here. Once it heals, it has to go,â he reminded her, and her shoulders dropped at that.
âI know.â
â â â
He joined her upstairs in her bedroom later that day to check on her, since sheâd been holed up in there for quite some time.
The kitten was out of its carrier now, sprawled out on the covers, lazily batting at the string Phoebe was dangling over it. All shiny and clean, because heâd also booked it an appointment at the groomers. It looked ridiculous in its cone and that splint on its leg.
He saw numerous makeshift cat toys sprawled out beside it. A ball of yarn, a stick with feathers attached to it, and even a ratty-looking plush toy. âWhatâs all this?â he gestured at them, then cleared off a spot beside her on the bed. He settled down, watching the kitten retreat to the headboard at his arrival.
âJust toys I made for PennyâI mean, the kitten.â
âDonât get too attached,â he cautioned her again, then picked up the stick, twirling it in his hand. She could be so resourceful. A moment later, âI see youâve come home with a hefty bill. You still havenât bought it any supplies.â
âCan Lydia bring some later?â she requested.
He nodded. âWrite a list and Iâll deduct the cost from your pay.â
â â â
On Monday, he checked the camera feed.
Lo and behold, Phoebe broke another rule.
It was rather difficult focusing on her work when just upstairs, her kitten was crying and clawing at her bedroom door, demanding to be set free.
So she let it out.
It happily followed her around the penthouse as she cleaned, wanting to be involved in all her menial tasks. The kitten pounced on her broom, chewing it, and he was amused to see that at some point sheâd given up trying to shoo it away. She elected to keep cleaning with a four-pound weight glued to her broom.
The kitten trilled, following Phoebe into the kitchen for her lunch break. After scarfing down its bowl of kitten food, it still wanted scraps. Its round eyes blinked pleadingly at the fish on Phoebeâs plate. So she snuck it a bite. One bite and no more.
Afterwards, with more time to kill, she played with it. Disappeared behind her bedroom door and sprang out the side once it padded in, scaring the daylights out of it. She giggled when it arched its back, and then she was in a world of trouble because it retaliated, chasing her. Well, it tried to; it was slow with that splint on its leg.
It was endearing, this side of Phoebe, so animated and almost childlike. After brushing its fur, she curled up on the bed beside it, then read it a chapter of some book, as if it understood a word she was saying. A rather long break if youâd ask him, but he had been overworking her lately. She deserved a break before he put her through the wringer again.
Her lunch breaks before were less eventful. Just her pushing food around on her plate as she stared out the window, seemingly lost in her head about something. Clearly lacking enrichment.
He considered the possibility of her slipping out again for another outing, or perhaps a rendezvous with that man he saw on the camera, whoâd dropped her off after their walk. Marcellus Whimsiwick, his resources had later informed him. The younger brother of Domitia Whimsiwick, the heiress of the largest dairy business in Panem.
He knew nothing of the manâjust bits and pieces from what heâd heard from that ever so loquacious Cardew sister. Julia loved to talk about her peers, to make small talk to distract from how utterly bland she was as a person. That was the impression heâd gotten, at least.
What was it that he wrote down for her on that napkin? His number? That left a bitter taste in his mouth. Surely that man had no good intentions with her. He knew all about the rakish joys young men were up to, especially in their teens. At the tender age of nineteen, most of those born with silver spoons in their mouths were yet to be burdened by responsibility. They had plenty of time to fool around, but the fun ended once their University days were over.
The thought of anyone touchingâcovetingâwhat belonged to Coriolanus was nearly enough to boil his blood.
But what did she think of him, Phoebe? If heâd inquire, would she swear up and down that the two were just friends? That Marcellus didnât like her like that anymore? She was a terrible liar, which came in handy. It was so easy to read her. Which made her that much easier to control.
The only question was, how should he proceed?
Phoebe had been on her best behavior for a week since, so grateful was she to have her little pet. Even if it was temporarily.
One evening, after dinner, he allowed her to bring the kitten out into the living room to play. The first thing it did (after sniffing the entire place) was hobble over to him. He tensed up.
âWhat is that reaction? Are you scared of cats?â She laughed.
âIâm not scared of cats,â he replied calmly in his defense. âIâm just not fond of their parasitical nature.â
âParasitical.â She blinked incredulously. âHow soâŠ?â
âYou feed them, take care of them, and what do they give you in return? Nothing.â In fact, her kitten was now nibbling on his expensive leather shoe. He shooed it away before it could destroy it any further.
âThatâs not true,â she insisted, her brows furrowing as if heâd offended her directly. Why is that? He tilted his head, and for a moment, compared her usefulness to that of a pet. It was somewhere in the zone. The only difference was, she was better behaved than her pet. âPets provide you with companionship. Loyalty.â
âTheyâre also a commitment,â he pressed on, watching her call her kitten back to her side.
âIt can be therapeutic, having a pet,â she argued. âPeople come and go, but your pets never leave.â She brought out a toy from behind her backâa proper cat toy that Lydia had bought. Something infused with catnip apparently, because the thing had been addicted to it at the first sniff. Now it was rolling over the toy she gave it.
Therapeutic. Coriolanus thought of how having Phoebe by his side made his sleepless nights a bit better. He liked to hear her read; he found it relaxing and it muffled the chaotic backdrop of his thoughts.
Until he made her leave.
He always did. Had never once let himself fall asleep beside her, since he talked in his sleep. Who knew what sheâd hear if he gave her the opportunity? He also didnât like the idea of being unconscious beside her. If she felt compelled to, it would be so easy for her to slit his throat, or wrap her hands around it and choke him. Not that she had a reason to, but for years now, he had this looming fear of his inevitable death. Often he dreamed of paying his weight in blood.
That was also why before he ate or drank anything she gave him lately, he made her try it first. It confused her to no end, but she never protested.
âWould it make you happy? Having a pet?â he asked her.
She nodded in a heartbeat. âIâve always wanted to have a cat. My father never allowed it.â
âIs that so?â he hummed, truly considering her. âMaybe if youâre on your best behavior, your wish may come true someday.â
Sheâd never looked so excited before.
â â â
âI bought you a little something,â Coriolanus announced one night when she was sitting by his feet on the velvet cushion in his study.
She perked up at the mention of a gift, so pretty, barefoot in her pink sundress.
He plucked the pink gift bag, which had been resting in his study for a few days, off his desk. âWhat is it?â she inquired, brightening. Sheâd been nosy, eyeing it every time she came by to deliver him his tea. Leaning over, trying to take a peek at it. Probably to see which lucky ladyâs name was on the gift tag.
âOpen it and find out.â
She sighed, almost as if in relief. He didnât have to tell her twiceâshe plucked out the colorful tissue hiding her gift, then eagerly reached in to pull out her surprise.
âWhatâs this?â She blinked slowly, trying to process what the leather thing was in her hand.
âItâs a collar,â he told her patiently, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
âYouâre going to let me keep Penny?â Her expression was full of hope, then confusion because⊠the collar was far too big for a kitten. Far too big and encrusted in pink jewels. âItâs a bit big for her, donât you think?â
âI didnât say I was going to let you keep her.â
Her shoulders dropped. âThen⊠what is this for?â
Phoebe was many things, but not particularly bright. Luckily, he didnât need her to be bright. Just loyal. And what better symbolization was there for her loyalty than this? âRead the tag,â he instructed her. âTell me what it says.â
Phoebe flipped over the gold heart tag and read it, her eyes widening in disbelief. âProperty of⊠Coriolanus Snow.â She dropped it back into the bag, looking sick to her stomach. âIs this a joke?â Her vision blurred as she blinked back the emotions threatening to burst out.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asked, tipping her chin up to command her attention. âI thought pink was your favorite color.â
She shook her head, her fingers gripping the sides of her cushion so tight.
âYou might change your mind once you try it on. Shall we find a mirror?â
She shook her head again, so red. And disappointed, too. It was a thoughtful gift worth weeks of her paycheck. Were the jewels over the top? Would she have preferred something simpler?
Women were such mysterious creatures.
He stood, yet she remained glued to her pillow, shaking as she stared at the gift bag on her lap. âFollow me,â he ordered, and surely sheâd heard. Yet she did nothing. So he sighed, and with plenty of patience mustered, dragged her to her feet.
He guided her to the mirror of his bedroom dresser down the hall.
She refused to look at the mirror as he pushed her hair over her shoulder, then flinched at the cool leather sliding around her neck. After sliding the strap through the buckle and tightening the notch, he tipped her chin up, commanding her to look. âLook at how pretty it is,â he crooned, and her teary gaze locked with his. There was so much there. So much hatred towards him in this moment. Hatred and sheer humiliation. âPink suits you well,â he thought aloud, but she didnât agree.
Instead, in a voice so low he barely caught it, she murmured, âWhy did you buy me this? What am I to you?â
What indeed? âYou are mine,â he told her. âYou belong to me and this is proof of that.â He messed with her hair, fixing it just right, the way he did those quiet nights before he indulged in her company. She stiffened at the unspoken expectation of what was to occur next. âClearly, it seems youâve forgotten.â He leaned down close enough for his lips to barely graze her ear, and she shivered. âDo you think I didnât know what you were up to that day? With that boy?â
A tear of humiliation rolled down her flushed cheek. âWe went for a walk,â she insisted, throat tightening. âThatâs all. Heâs an old school friend.â Fussing with the strap of her collar, she attempted to remove it, but he wouldnât have that. He grabbed both of her hands and pinned them behind her back.
âA walk,â he repeated, then looked off to the side, chuckling. There was no humor in his tone, no amusement there. âTell me, if there were no cameras in my house, would you have invited him in for a drink or two?â When she didnât say anything, he gave her a shake, forcing the words out of her throat:
âMaybeââ she broke, perhaps figuring if she lied, heâd see right through her. âJust to thank him for helping me save Penny.â
âYou naĂŻve little girl,â he taunted, none of his usual politeness in his tone. âDo you know what it means when you invite a boy who likes you home?â She blinked, incredulous, not used to this side of him that was so blunt. Try as she might, the words wouldnât come. âYouâre inviting him home to fuck you.â
She tried to wiggle free from his grip, but that was a near-impossible challenge when the weight of his body pinned her against the dresser, trapping her right where he wanted her. He was not a tall man, not by any reasonable measure, yet he always felt so imposing near her.
âSince youâre so confused, allow me to make one thing clear for you.â It took a moment for her struggling to seize as she huffed, seemingly distressed. âYou belong to me. You are not to speak with any man unless I am present. And you certainly wonât take his number.â
She was breathing fast, the pulse in her wrists nothing short of frantic.
âWhy does it matter to you?â she hissed out, tears falling, her eyes imploring him to make it make sense. âDo I not get to have a life? How is it fair that I canât talk to anyone, but you canââ she struggled with the words there, ââfuck whoever you want?â
Again with Julia Cardew. They had been on a few dates, but in all honesty, he was bored with the girl and how vapid she was, and how childish she behaved, unlike her elder sister. Perhaps in a few years, sheâd shape up well. But he was still deciding whether he wanted to put the effort into shaping her himself.
âWho keeps a roof over your head, Phoebe?â he challenged, releasing her hands to grab a fistful of her damp waves. âWho makes sure youâre taken care of? I would think twice about biting the hand that feeds. Do not take my lenience for granted.â He gave her hair a yank and she hissed at the ache in her tender scalp. The sweetness of her strawberry-scented shampoo was near intoxicating, but he had to remain focused. Sheâd spent a whole hour showering, shaving and moisturizing every inch of herself before coming to see him.
She looked so pretty like this, even in tearsâeven more so when it looked like she wanted to tear him apart. He sensed the unpredictability of a flame in her and despite how much he despised unpredictability, he relished that. Took pleasure in snuffing out that flame, over and over, until there was nothing but an ember. But those had a way of catching.
âDo you want to keep that cat?â he asked her. Despite how livid she was, she nodded. âGood. It is a reward, not a right. So if you want to keep it, be good for me. Can you be a good girl for me? Can you do that much?â
She was thinking hard about it now. Should she swallow her pride? It was like pulling teeth for her to nod, but she managed that much.
âGood.â He relinquished his grip on her hair, but kept her pinned against the dresser despite her trying to break free again. His fingers found her neck and she tensed as they danced along her smooth skin, along the edge of her pink collar, then down to that heart-shaped tag.
Property of Coriolanus Snow.
âWho do you belong to, doll?â his lips brushed the shell of her ear as he held her gaze through the mirror. âSay it.â
When she hesitated, he waited patiently for her to manage to say those words that mustâve felt like shards of glass shoved down her throat. âYou,â she whispered, her voice cracking. âI belong to you, Mr. Snow.â
He rewarded her with a chaste kiss to her throat, right above where the collar wrapped snug around her was. Unmistakable proof of his claim. âSee? That wasnât so hard, was it? Good girl.â His hands slid down her sides as he appreciated the vision before him in the mirror, in the warm glow of the candlelight. Sheâd filled out nicely over these past few months; he enjoyed tracing the newfound curve of her body.
âNow,â he said, gathering the hem of her pink sundress, âI want you to take this off for me.â He released her and once she turned to remove her dress, he halted her. âNo. Look into the mirror while you do it.â
Phoebe shakily turned, watching herself die a little inside as she lifted her dress over her head, probably thinking what a fool she looked, standing there naked with a fucking collar on. She wasnât wearing a bra beneath her dress, nor any panties, because it was another thing in the way. Unless he had her wear a special set, she wore nothing underneath her dresses upon his request.
âYouâre angry with me,â he observed gently, watching her tense up at his hands finding her slim waist. âThat is alright. You can be angry. But you will still give me what is mine.â He guided her backward, letting her knees touch the edge of the mattress, on which the sheets were covered with a velvety red duvet. âLie back for me.â
She obeyed, albeit reluctantly, crossing her legs and wrapping her arms around her chest as if that would make her more decent, although heâd already memorized every inch of her body. Every detail. Every mole. She had one on her chest and one between her legs.
Meanwhile, he was fully clothed.
He slid over her on the mattress and she crawled back, touching the headboard, glaring at him as if he couldnât see her face in the dark. To that, he reacted by wrapping his hand around her ankle, dragging her back under him. A startled squeak escaped her.
Coriolanus settled between her silky thighs and inhaled the sweet scent emanating from her. He didnât kiss her; it was far too intimate, he found, though he enjoyed sitting her in front of the mirror at the edge of his bed so she could watch him play with her. A different kind of intimacy.
She watched through the mirror as he slid his finger inside the warmth of her mouthâone then another, her brows furrowing as she tried not to gag. Sheâd come far from before, when sheâd gagged at anything being in her mouth. He had her spit on his hand, then he guided it down between her legs.
Coriolanus was normally not a generous lover, caring only for his own pleasure, but with her it was different. Pleasure was a weapon, he discovered. It was control, which he wielded against her. Part of him derived some twisted satisfaction from working her up to that edge until she was begging for release, only for him to leave her high and dry. Sometimes, he rewarded her. Sometimes he left her like that, when sheâd either displeased him or he felt she hadnât earned a reward.
She clamped her thighs shut, so worried about what heâd do to her tonight after that attitude she gave him. He would be anything but merciful. âOpen up,â he ordered, giving her a stern look, which had her folding because he always got his way. Even if it meant prying her legs apart.
She whimpered at his fingers brushing between her legs, teasing languidly. Despite everything, she was still wet; he couldnât help the satisfied smirk on his face. âEven when youâre angry with me, your body knows who it belongs to,â he murmured, his breath hot against her shivering skin. He expected nothing less of her; heâd trained her well. Some nights, she was as dry as a bone whenever he touched her, too wound up to relax, and so he had her eat those special chocolates that always made her so willing and pliant. So wet.
Now, she didnât need them, already eating out of the palm of his hand; little did she know. Still, whenever she requested those chocolates, he provided them.
His fingers glided through her silken folds, working her open as she tensed, lying there, yes, but looking away, as if not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her pleasure. Each time she looked away, he forced her to look back at the mirror, to confront her pathetic reflection. Look at what youâve become.
âWhy do you shy away?â he teased, his fingers pressing inside her. She bit her lip, stifling a gasp as her fingers gripped the sheets. âDo you not like what you see?â
âI donât like this thing.â Phoebe grasped at her collar, trying to rip it off again. âIâm not a fucking dog.â
âWhat would you have preferred? A diamond necklace?â He slapped her hand away, watching her grind her teeth. âDo not be greedy. I had this custom made just for you.â He chose to ignore her ungrateful comment, instead enjoying the moment. âLook how prettily you open up for me,â he crooned, spreading her open, relishing the mortified sound she gave. The gold heart tag swayed with her shallow breaths, so rapid, she couldâve been panicking.
Youâre mine, he thought. If you find that hard to swallow, I can loosen up your collar.
He curled his fingers, stroking that special spot inside her that never failed to make her weak in her knees. âOh!â She gripped his hand tight, so tight he couldâve sworn she was trying to crush it.
âThatâs it,â he crooned, âbe a good girl for me and take what I give you.â
The tears started again, and he couldnât tell whether it was from whatever was running around in her head or the pleasure he was making her feel. This time she wasnât babbling and begging him to let her cum like she usually did, instead bucking her hips to chase his touch.
âIf you want to cum, youâre going to have to ask for it, doll,â he reminded her, relishing the whine she gave when his hand pulled away. Always, she had to work for it.
But she didnât ask. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulling herself together. Out of all the things she couldâve blurted out, it wasââAre you going to fuck me already?â
Such bold words.
âNot with that attitude,â he replied in a clipped tone, his eyes darkening.
â â â
How long had it been now?
Long enough for his hand to be cramped. It had been an hour of him teasing her, only to pull back before she could cum. Sheâd sobbed, yet never told him those few words, so stubborn about it, as if trying to prove some point.
All that squirming had gotten her tied to the headboard.
âNo more,â she pleaded, half-breathless and hardly aware of herself. A sweaty mess on his sheets, her energy depleted from tugging futilely at her restraints. This time, he used rough ropes on her wrists. She didnât deserve the softness of silk with that attitude.
âIf you want it to end, all you have to do is ask me to let you cum,â he explained. âItâs that simple, doll.â In the dark, he made out the fiery glare on her face, then the conflict within her dampening it ever so slightly.
âPlease,â she murmured so quietly, heâd hardly heard it.
âWhatâs that?â he taunted her, pulling his hand away again. âI didnât quite catch it.â
âPleaseâŠâ Again, those words were like glass shoved down her throat. âPlease let me cum, sir.â Did she want to cum or did she just want it to end? For a moment, he thought it would be nice to hear his name on her lips, to hear her singing it sweetly in pleasure, but a girl as lowly as her was beneath that privilege.
To that, he offered a satisfied smile, rewarding her immediately. Sheâd fought hard but inevitably it wasnât enough. He lowered his head between her legs, licking slow, torturous stripes along her cunt, his fingers curling against her sweet spot until finally she came.
But it was different this time.
A surge of release, one that could only come from being pent up and teased for so long.
So she could squirt.
She arched her back off the sheets, crying out, half mortified, half confused at what her body was doing. âItâs alright,â he soothed her, rubbing her clit as he worked her through it, âjust let it happen. Let yourself feel it.â
He licked every last drop, his tongue unrelenting, overstimulating her until it hurt. âI came!â She cried out, bucking her hips in protest, getting nowhere with that. âI cameââ
âI know. I felt it.â He came up for air, half-lidded, his cock heavy and hard with desire, and the urge to take what was his. Meanwhile, she was wide-eyed and mortified at what sheâd just done. âHave you ever squirted before, doll?â he asked, and she offered a lethargic shake of her head. âHow did it feel?â
âOverwhelming,â she confessed.
Coriolanus gave her a moment to recover before moving on, shedding the layers of fabric off his body until he was undressed just the same.
âI want to be untied,â she demanded, tugging at her restraints again. He could already see the red rings forming around her wrists from all that resistance.
âAfter weâre done, Iâll untie you,â he told her, and he decided then that it would be another one of those long, long nights.
â â â
âIâm tired,â she sobbed, âPlease, let me take a break.â
He had her pressed against the dresser now as he fucked into her at an unforgiving pace. It banged against the wall as she gripped it for dear life, her face lowered against its cool surface. What a mess she was, drooling on it, hardly capable of speech. Rightfully so. It had been two hours now with some breaks in between, but he had more stamina than her.
âKeep your head up for me, doll,â he commanded, grabbing the band of her collar and pulling at it, forcing her to ease up just to breathe once it constricted her throat. He liked thatâbeing in charge of everything down to the air she breathed.
Phoebe clawed at her neck, coughing until he relinquished her, and she was left to stare at what a pitiful mess sheâd become.
Coriolanus came in her twice already, her thighs sticky with his seed. He liked thatâliked seeing her get all dolled up for him just so he could ruin her like this. Heâd took her on his bed, of course, folding her over and pressing her into the mattress while she squirmed against her restraints. So ticklish, so sensitive to every slight touch; being unable to move was torturous for her.
Be gentler, sheâd pleaded with him, but it was never about her when her job, as far as he was concerned, was to please him. So far sheâd fallen short of his expectations and had rejected his gift. Surely if he werenât forcing her to wear that collar, itâd be tossed to some far corner of the room in spite. She didnât even know that collar was worth as much as her debt. It was, in every way, a symbolization of his ownership.
He took her from behind too, face down, ass up.
And now against his dresser.
She came twice so far, which was more than fair. It was more than she deserved. âItâs too much,â she managed between gasps as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back to expose the column of her neck. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, biting down hard, leaving another mark of his claim. Hissing, she bore with the pain.
âOne more round,â he told her, âone more round and itâll be over.â
He used her for all she was worth.
â â â
Normally they didnât bathe together.
Normally he left her on his bed, cold and shaking, to clean up after herself.
But today, heâd pushed her hard. Some harshness ought to be balanced with softness. He had to handle her with care. After it was all said and done, he undid her restraints. Removed her collar. Swept her into his arms and carried her off to his bathroom.
Phoebe stood there in all her nakedness, absolutely drained as he messed with the faucets of the bathtub until the temperature was just right and the tub was filled. After mixing the oils and soaps in, he lowered her into the warm water with him.
She hissed when it stung her open woundsâthe rings around her wrists and that bite mark on her shoulder. Coriolanus noticed how she hugged the other side of the tub and drew her knees to her chest like she wanted to be anywhere but with him, but he forgave her for that. Although he wouldnât allow her any space. He pulled her back against his chest, and she stiffened.
âI was hard on you tonight,â he began, cradling her head against his chest, âbut it wonât happen again since youâve learned your lesson.â
âWhat lesson?â she replied, her voice hollow as her fingers tapped the bathtub sill. When she looked up at him, it was as if she were thinking, I donât believe you. I donât understand.
âYouâre a smart girl,â he said for her sake, petting her wet waves. âDo not play dumb with me. You know what it is. You know what pleases me and what doesnât.â She scooped a handful of bubbles off the surface of the water and played with them, ignoring him, but he knew sheâd heard.
Usually when he took her, the room was dark, which meant he couldnât see quite well the extent of the bruises and scratches he left on her. Now, under the fluorescent light, he saw it all, like colorful paint across the canvas of her skin. All that sheâd endured, working hard to please him. He ran his fingers along each and every one of them, admiring his handiwork. Blues, purples, and reds.
âI want you to tell me what youâve learned today.â
âYou are a jealous man,â she decided, so tired that sheâd perhaps forgotten to slip back on her mask. âYou want to have your cake and eat it.â
âIt seems youâve misunderstood my intent. Iâm not jealous.â He took her hand in his and traced over the red ring on her wrist. She flinched at that, at the rawness of anything touching her fresh wound. âIâm merely following the contract you signed. Have you read it at all?â
Of course she didnât. He was there, watching her skim over the pages of microscopic text for all of one minute before jumping to the dotted line to sign. To hell with those clausesâall she needed was a job. He gave her just that and saved her from a life that was destitute.
âI highly suggest you look it over again. It might clarify your confusion,â he added. âYouâll find that what I ask of you is perfectly reasonable. It is what you agreed to, after all.â
A loud, raspy meow broke through the silence. It came from Phoebeâs bedroom down the hall. She perked up like a concerned mother.
âPenny,â she stirred in the water, trying to leave already.
âStay.â His arm tightened around her, anchoring her in place. âSheâll survive a few minutes without you.â
âItâs been hours,â she stressed. âSheâll tear up the place.â
Was her bedroom already in shambles? Heâd witnessed firsthand how destructive her little pet could be when it tore its chew toyâs limbs off one by one. In the span of a day, at that.
There was a sort of intimacy to how they scrubbed each otherâs backs. Not that sheâd scrubbed his of her own accordâhe had to ask. Afterwards, after they dried off, he took his sweet time rubbing lotion all over her, and blow-drying her hair so she didnât catch her death. It was more than heâd normally do for her, but some gentleness was necessary to smooth things over. He even carried her to her room down the hall and set her down on her bed. Then he picked out a nightdress for her to wear and helped her put it on.
The cat, in the meantime, was hiding under the bed, too terrified to come out after it had heard the blow dryer. He braided Phoebeâs hair in a simple pattern heâd picked up from doing Tigrisâ braids growing up. She couldnât help but wonder drowsily, as he tucked her into bed, âWhy are you doing all of this?â
âI take care of what is mine,â he answered, brushing her hair back.
He spoiled her too much for her own good, truly. The nightlight on her nightstand doubled as a projector of some sort, and so when she looked up at the ceiling, she was staring at the night sky.
âDo you know what I do when I have trouble falling asleep?â she said, blinking rapidly to fight the heaviness in her eyelids. âI count the stars. I always fall asleep before I can count them all.â
âShall I count them with you?â He humored her. What a waste of his time, counting stars. It was so hard to see the stars outside with all that smog, so this projector was the closest thing he could get to stargazing in the Capitol.
Despite her insistence that he go to bed (in translation, leave her be), heâd ended up beside her under the covers.
One. Two. ThreeâŠ
She wedged the biggest plushie on her bed between them.
Ten. Eleven. TwelveâŠ
Penny crept up onto the bed and curled up at the edge of it.
Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-sixâŠ
He counted the stars until sleep took him too, before he knew it.
Tag List: @likklemy @coryoslut
Let me know if you would like to be added (specify if you would like to be tagged in all stories or only for specific series) or dropped from the tag list!
A/N: Holy $hit đ! I need to go bathe in holy water. I didn't expect this chapter to turn out so kinky asdfghj. When I listen to inspo music, it possesses me
As a particularly dramatic host once said: "This is what happens when you do stuff!"âso, vote, people!
Ah! I'm so happy the poll turned in this directionâit was a great read through and through with all the characterization. I hope Phoebe gets to keep Penny đ„ș
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Contents: DUB-CON, Smut (not in this part), Alternate Universe, Situationships, Toxic Relationships, Degradation, Possessive Behavior, Social Anxiety, Tutoring, Emotional Manipulation, Drama, Misogyny, Bets & Wagers, Denial of Feelings, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Dumbification, Objectification, Humiliation, Power Imbalance, Jealousy, Miscommunication
A/N: Please mind the content warnings before reading! This chapter includes a lot of misogyny. Also, I pulled some lines from the TBOSAS book.
Coriolanus POV
She was losing her pretty little head, trying to figure out who her secret admirer was.
He was right here, watching her. Only she was too caught up in her own world to notice, wasnât she? Ever since she found those flowers and notes in her locker, she regarded her peers with a sort of exasperation, as if trying to pin down the culprit cluttering it.
Not the reaction heâd expected.
She shouldâve been over the moon to discover there was someone so enamored with her, enough to leave her thoughtful gifts.
Then it occurred to him how much she disliked surprises and what she couldnât wrap her head around. How typical of her to give it ten minutes of her effort before deeming the mystery unsolvable, the same way she abandoned her mathematics when he wasnât leaning over her shoulder, guiding her along. Whatever would she do without him?
It left a bitter taste in his mouth, her sharing his chocolates with her friends. Doling them out like mints, like they meant nothing. So utterly unappreciative.
The next day, it was not a gift she found in her locker, but a clipped note from her âsecret admirerâ, scrawled in red ink this time:
Do not share them. They were meant for you.
It seemed she needed a more direct hint. Coriolanus took matters into his own hands and started snacking on those same chocolates during class. Artisanal, heart-shaped with drizzles of pink on them.
âDo you want some?â Heâd asked when he caught her staring at them with narrowed eyes. âTheyâre milk chocolate. Your favorite.â
That was the first thing he said to her in days.
He knew all of her favorite things. It wasnât his intention to; she had a tendency to ask him stupid questions, sometimes about his favorite things, which was how he learned about her favorite things, in turn. Her favorite fruit? Strawberries. Favorite color? Pink. Favorite animal? Cat. Favorite vegetable? Well, she hardly ate those and preferred sweets.
Finallyâfinallyâit clicked in her pretty little head as she blanched, and he couldnât help but smile at that. It was so easy to ruffle her feathers. There was something suggestive about the way he licked the pink drizzle off his fingers that transformed her shock into disgust. His gaze dragged over her, greedily, like that sweet treat wasnât enough to satiate him and there was something far sweeter before him, tempting him to take a bite.
The next round of gifts he left in her locker went straight into the trash in retaliation.
To which he responded with another note. Only this one ended up on top of her pillow with a large stuffed rabbit, and of course, a rose. Of a different color: not pure white, but red, the color of desire. Proof that some part of him burned for her. In her eyes, he imagined it wouldâve been a random flower, and that was by design. She didnât need to know the extent of his feelingsâjust that she was in his thoughts. Those white roses he gave her before symbolized new beginnings. A point of no return.
The gift was delivered directly to Prunella herself, with specific instructions on where to place it: right on her bed. Sheâd been so giddy to receive the gift, as if it were meant for her and not her stepdaughter. He winked and told her to keep it a secret. The note read:
That wasnât very nice of you. But youâre lucky Iâll forgive you for that.
I bought this the other day. It reminded me of you.
It wasnât very nice of her to toss out his gifts. Still, he would forgive her for that, because he was gracious.
The stuffed rabbitsâ beady hazel eyes were the same shade as Phoebeâs, and he thought she mightâve appreciated one as a gift, since her shelf was overrun with stuffed animals. More stuffed animals than a grown woman could possibly need, but she could pass them on to her children someday. Their children, heâd mused against better judgment, playing with the pink bow tied around the rabbitâs neck when heâd plucked it off the store shelf.
He was briefly bombarded with the image of her with a ring on her finger. A little one in her belly. Another one on her lap, playing with the stuffed rabbit. Penny, her cat, basking in the window of his penthouse, soaking in the rays of sunlight. A warm, idyllic picture of a sort of life heâd never experienced with his family. Not when his father was so removed from his life and the war had taken away many whom they held dear. The Snow penthouse was cold and devoid of joy.
Especially since Tigris moved out, and with her went all those colorful touches she made to the place. Now she was so enveloped in her endeavor to become a designer; they hardly talked. And when they did, it was usually about her witch of an employer, Fabricia Whatnot. A woman as ridiculous as her name was, who used her more as a slave than an apprentice, having her clean clumps of her magenta hair out of the shower drain and massage her feet. Tigris never complained, so grateful was she to have a position in fashion. It had taken lots of coaxing for her to open up about her struggles, as she wasnât the type of person to speak about them.
Coriolanus didnât have a warm family, though he relished the idea of creating his own someday, and making it the one he longed for growing up. He was an only child, but his heir wouldnât be. Perhaps he would give him a sister. Two children seemed like a sensible number. Three was fine, too. Four was an absurd number of children for any elite family to have. Not long ago, it was a luxury to have that many children, because it meant another mouth to feed in these trying times after the war. But times were changing, and Father had said that once he became president, he would put an end to the problems plaguing the Capitol.
Coriolanus pictured Phoebeâs future, and well, it was a no-brainer, what sort of life sheâd go on to live. Someday, her father would marry her off to a rich man, and she would become a devoted wife and mother. With her maternal nature, she would serve her purpose well. Heâd seen her before, treating her kitten like a baby, feeding her human food and dressing her up. Cooing and coddling her.
How ridiculous, heâd thought, when he first saw Penny running around her townhouse with a collar resembling a diamond choker rather than anything meant for a pet. And a matching pink dress to boot. When Phoebe was downstairs fetching them snacks, he briefly glanced at her wardrobe and discovered a large section of it dedicated not to her, but her pet. Why on earth did an animal need an entire wardrobe? Would she be the same way with her children, spoiling them rotten and dressing them up?
Heâd wanted a cat, growing up, although his father was allergic to them and disliked animals anyway. Did not care much for their filth, either. Coriolanus made do with petting Boa Bell whenever they stopped by to see Pluribus Bell to trade.
Prunella, ever an eager hostess, invited him inside the townhouse for some refreshments when he dropped off Phoebeâs gift. Though he wasnât interested in chatting with the woman, he found that a bit of flattery went a long way in unearthing secrets (particularly about a certain someone he had his eye on). After a round of pleasantries, their discussion veered towards the upcoming Yule Ball, and of course, the topic of suitors. Who Phoebe was to attend the Ball with.
âThere is one gentleman coming over this week,â Prunella confessed.
Oh? That was news. Phoebe had never mentioned a gentleman caller. Granted she had not spoken to him in days, still nursing that frosty demeanor towards him. Not only that, she appeared almost⊠frightened of him. Had he scared her then, in her room? But she had invited him there. Did he intimidate her with all that talk about the future and how he wanted her to be his? Well, wasnât that what she longed for? A sign of devotion? Heâd given her just that.
Women were such mysterious creatures.
âWho, might I ask?â Coriolanus inquired. âI do not mean to be nosy. Iâm merely looking out for Phoebe. I make it my duty to get to know my peers.â
Prunella spat out the name of some nobodyâsomeone who could hardly afford their tuition for the Academy, he later discovered through his resourcesâfrom another one of those families that lived well beyond their means. A recipe for disaster that he deemed was no good for the girl. Sheâd been horrified to hear of that and had subsequently thanked him for letting her know. Then, over the phone, she went on about how time was ticking, and she still had to find a match for her daughter.
What about a certain Plinth? He hinted. That was when he discovered that the Plinth boy had never approached the Blackwoods to ask for permission to attend the Ball with their daughter. Phoebe had apparently not spoken of the boy once.
So it appeared that after all, sheâd lied to make him jealous.
What a petty schoolyard trick.
Coriolanus shook his head. âI can do something about your situation,â he then offeredâan opportunity out of the goodness of his heart. He imagined how sad it wouldâve been for Phoebe to have no date for the Ball. People would talk, now that they were aware of her existence. Even if she lucked out and found someone in time, her going with anyone but him was not an option. Not when there were rumors that she was his girl.
All that was left was to make it official.
And what would be more official than him showing up to such a prestigious event with her on his shoulder?
Nevertheless, he freed his schedule for a Saturday night, to have dinner with the Blackwoods.
She could forget all about that other boy.
⊠⊠âŠ
When Phoebe descended the spiraling staircase, the whole room stopped to stare.
Her father, Silas Blackwood, wore a look of sheer pride on his face, and it was no wonder. Whatever sheâd done, sheâd done it well and had managed to capture the interest of a Snow. If there were any achievement she made in her life, it wouldâve been dwarfed by this one alone. Everything had come together to make this evening possible.
She looked so different outside of her academy rougeâall dolled up in a purple dress, with her hair done up and her makeup perfect. Absolutely ravishing. Coriolanus imagined she would look even more so in a gown made of a sumptuous red silk.
Dinner had gone as expected.
Of course, Silas Blackwood had approved of him courting his daughter. A union between their families would be advantageous for him; itâd be just what he needed to bolster his reputation and claw his way up in society. Before coming over, Coriolanus had rehearsed before the mirror what to say to the man and how to react to any curveball thrown his way.
Inevitably, he passed his test with flying colors.
Snow lands on top.
The only issue was, how would Father react? What would he think of the girl and the Blackwoods?
His father, Crassus Xanthos Snow, was a different beast entirely. A man adamant on tradition. This Yule Ball was not any Ball; it would be improper for Coriolanus to show up with some random girl on his shoulder. Whomever he chose would share the limelight with him and be toted around for all to see. It was customary for the couples to take pictures together, and those were plastered in yearbooksâimmortalized for all to remember. The Yule Ball was also a way for couples to establish courtships.
An exciting time for everyone.
He could picture itâhis name plastered on the front page of The Capitol Gazette, along with the lucky lady he chose. It had happened to Father when he attended the Yule Ball with the woman he later married.
The old newspaper was buried somewhere in his fatherâs study, collecting dust, along with the pictures he kept of her. Most everything of hers had been given away, save for those pictures. There were only a few things of hers that Father permitted him to keep: her powder compact and her orange scarf, which still smelled like roses. Like her.
Coriolanus remembered how his fatherâs eyes, as cold and hard as ice, would thaw under the warmth of Motherâs gaze. She was so warm with everyone and it was hard not to fall in love with her, heâd heard, from those who knew her back then. And he remembered how she had the sweetest voice when she sang him to sleep. Roses are red, love; violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you. In difficult times, when he had trouble falling asleep, he would click open his motherâs compact and inhale the rose scent of the silken cake of powder within. It never failed to calm him with the memory of how it had felt to be loved like that.
Heâd asked his father once, what was it about her that heâd been drawn to?
Her voice, heâd answered. How sweetly she sang in the choir. She was a choir girl, always singing in the front at every performance.
Lucilla Snow was, without a doubt, the only soft part of his father. When they lowered her into the ground, it was like a part of him had been buried with her. Heâd always been focused on his work, but after she passed, he threw himself into it. Less of a father working to provide for his family, but the head of a Dynastyâsomeone who reigned at the top but was untouchable.
The piano in their living room had been among the first of Motherâs belongings to go because it took up so much space, heâd said, but Coriolanus wondered if sometimes when he saw it, he pictured her sitting there, running her fingers along the keys.
She used to teach Tigris how to play the piano. But Coriolanus was never allowed to play. From a young age, his father had told him it was best he spent his time learning practical skills. He buried him in books so that his sponge of a mind could absorb whatever knowledge it was capable of.
Coriolanus had asked his father if he had married for love. It was a practical match, heâd said, but he was no fool. Lucilla was not among the cream of the crop. A well-bred elite, yes, but not of old money. Back then, wealth was in tiers; even the upper class was divided. Even more so than it was now.
So, he thought, it would be rather hypocritical of him to turn his nose up at him courting a girl of the same tier his mother once belonged in. If he could marry a bit beneath his status, why couldnât he, too? Didnât he want him to follow in his footsteps? Times were changing, too. The Capitol was a small place, especially after the war. There were only so many elites in existence. Especially those of old money.
Coriolanus approached his father about Phoebe, and how he wanted him to meet her and her family.
âWhatâs gotten into you, boy?â Father looked him up and down, suspiciously, because heâd never brought home a girl to meet him before. He was, however, used to him sneaking girls upstairs for a romp in the sheets. They never spoke of his rakish habits; this was a phase many youths had. Perhaps someday heâd outgrow it.
It was never Coriolanusâs intention to indulge. His studies were his focus (because Father expected nothing less than perfection from his heir). It was just thatâexceptional people like him attracted attention. Girls were on him like bees to honey, showering him with affection, perhaps hoping to become his lucky missus someday. They were inevitably left jaded because, after he had his fun with the girl, he dropped her and never looked back. It was never his intention to break her heart; he couldnât help that he felt nothing for her. For any girl.
And then she came along.
Phoebe Blackwood.
That unassuming girl who had somehow weaseled her way into his life without meaning to.
His male friends were no better than pigs, eyeing the women around them like they were tasty morsels. Placing bets to see whom they could seduce. It was like a sport to them, adding more notches to their belts, since elite women were notoriously harder to seduce than âloose common girlsâ. Those girls were taught from a young age that their âvirtueâ was their worth.
The Academy hosted only a fraction of the students in the Capitolâa prestigious and private institution that only the elite could afford to attend. Those poorer made do with public schools. Seldom did the Academy accept new students, but it did occasionally happen, with new families allotting wealth. Which meant, whenever there was a new face, people noticed. Especially a pretty face.
That new girl, they noticed, was a bit odd. So quiet and poor with conversation. Nowhere to be seen during lunch, and she had no friends. A few of the boys had tried flirting with her and she brushed them off, not the least bit swayed. Even Urban Canville had been unsuccessful in working his charms. Her one true love, it seemed, were her books.
Clearly she was that type of girl, the boys had thoughtâthe stuck-up and prudish type who believed she was better than everyone. Someone ought to knock her down a peg, was the idea that they had. The bet came to him one evening, when they were all gathered at Festusâs place, drinking and playing cards. How hard would it be to seduce that girl? heâd thought. It would be an interesting change to seek someone out for once.
And now heâd ended up here, all these months later. Still seeing that same girl. He could say it was all for the sake of the bet, but that wouldnât explain him approaching his father like this, to ask for his permission to court her. It was dedication at an unprecedented level.
After a few months, heâd expected to grow bored with her, yet he hadnât. This anticipation he felt, knowing he had this girl all to himself, was so new to him. It was a pleasure to mold her. This freedom was something he never had with those other girls who were already shaped, having been raised their entire lives to be bona fide Capitol darlings. But Phoebeâshe was unchiseled. Something raw waiting to be shaped.
Father agreed to meet with the Blackwoods.
Phoebe, the poor thing, had been terrified of his father, whose piercing gaze picked her apart, assessing her worth. His military stint had that effect on people; he was a man both feared and revered.
Heâd already decided before inviting them over (and digging up whatever he could on their family) that the girl was good enough for his son to court. Perhaps someday heâd grow bored with her and theyâd call it off. That was clearly his assumption, since beforehand, heâd brought up the names of other girls to him. Daughters of his closest friends. What of the Cardew girl? heâd suggested. Or Arachne Crane?
Livia Cardew was as mean-spirited as a Capitolite could be and Arachne Crane was simply so⊠Loudmouthed. Some evenings, he could hear her bellowing across the street from her apartment. Whenever she found something funny, she socked his arm so hard she left a bruise. Father threw around a few more names, as if he hadnât already considered those girls.
None of them were of any interest to him.
⊠⊠âŠ
She was so scared of him, his girl.
Ignoring his calls, pretending she couldnât see him in school after his father had approved of them attending the Ball together. He let her get away with that behavior for an entire day. Almost.
Until the last period of class, when he snatched the books from her arms before she could flee from her locker.
âThought you could run away from me?â he teased.
Phoebe blinked a few times, all caught off guard.
âI can carry my own books,â she retorted once she recovered from her shock. And then jumped, attempting to retrieve them from him, but he held them above her head, letting her get all worked up. âThis is ridiculous!â She huffed, as red as a tomato. âGive me my books back.â
âWhat sort of man would I be if I let my girl carry her things?â He ruffled her hair and she scowled. Today, a red ribbon adorned her honey blonde ponytailâthe same one heâd gifted her before. It was a small token to him, but she wore it proudly, every day.
âWhy donât you help Clemensia carry her books instead?â she muttered under her breath, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. Again with Clemmie. He shook his head. Youâd think she was obsessed with that girl, with how often she looked at her and brought her up.
After the last bell of the day rang, he guided her out onto the front steps of the Academy entrance and then captured her lips in a daring kiss for all to see. A few of his friends, whoâd been watching, whistled. It was adorable the way she hid on his shoulder, so embarrassed for them to be seen like this. But sheâd get used to it.
His closest friends knew she belonged to him.
He told the boys all about Phoebe Blackwood long ago, ever since that evening when he first tasted her. They knew all about how tight her cunt was and how eager she was for it. But he didnât lie; she was saving herself for her husband. How typical, they all agreed. So what, then? Of course, he could always trick her into falling for him and have her think that he loved her, too. Courting her was one way to secure the affections of a girl who longed for dramatic displays of devotion. It was only natural she was hesitant to give it all up, when there was no promise she wouldnât be left in the dirt afterwards. Breaking a girl like her called for a delicate method.
Coriolanus relished the idea of conquering her completely, both body and mind. Perhaps there would come a day when they called things off, and sheâd be so distraught, so broken-hearted thinking, if only sheâd gotten away while she had the chance. If only she'd hadnât given herself to him, only to be thrown away like a broken toy.
What if he didnât break her heart? What if they never called it off?
She was falling for him; he could see it. Whenever he was around, a dazed look filled her eyes, and she was so eager to be in his presence. So eager to be near him, despite her caution. After they indulged, whenever he tried to get up and leave, she would sometimes make an excuse to have him stay a while longer. To âtalkâ.
They rarely talked much (about anything meaningful, that is). He liked her better when she was quiet, with her lips wrapped around his cock.
It wasnât like he didnât enjoy speaking with her; he just didnât enjoy the vulnerability he felt, getting close to her. But he had to give her something if she was to fall for him. So sometimes he allowed her to curl up against his chest and prattle on.
And then he had to leave, unless he wanted to be caught tangled in the sheets with Mr. Blackwoodâs daughter. Then he would surely pressure him to marry her, to save her from ruin.
He didnât like being rushed.
⊠⊠âŠ
They went on their first date together.
Well, heâd not framed it as one when he dragged her to his car after school. Just a chore they had to get out of the way: picking their outfits for the Yule Ball. She wasnât thrilled to be there, trying on dresses she didnât like, but it wasnât about her. It was about them.
Phoebe gravitated towards soft colors and designs replete with ruffles and frills, he noticed. Fabricia Whatnotâs specialty. Like a child in a candy store, she touched everything, running her fingers along the sumptuous silks and chiffons until he told her to leave them be. For each dress she reached for, he offered his two cents. Not that dressâit was too bright and childish. Not that one eitherâitâd drown her silhouette. That dress was a fine choiceâif she wanted to look like a pastry.
She piped down so quickly at that, crossing her arms over her chest. He couldâve sworn for a moment that she was sulking, but he paid her no heed, instead gathering whatever caught his eye as their assistant, Violetta, paraded them around the shop.
Coriolanus sat before the mirror as Phoebe modeled one dress after the other.
What a strenuous effort for her. Just beyond the sitting room, he could hear her wrestling with the zipper of her dress, muttering something under her breath. Do you need any help? heâd offered, although she never liked to ask for help. So she was left to struggle by herself.
After her hiccup in the dressing room with the purple dress that didnât fit, they settled upon another. It was perfect, really. A beautiful red number, the bodice clinging to her like the stem of a rose, then flaring out into petal-like drapes. A lovely gown fit for a lady as lovely as a rose. They found a suit and some accessories to match.
It hadnât become a date until they stopped at the ice cream parlor along The Promenade.
To reward her for being on her best behavior, he treated her to whatever she wanted. He allowed her that much for putting up with him, even though he knew she wanted to give him a piece of her mind in that fitting room earlier. In a way, it was a reward for him to see her happy now, enjoying her ice cream. Her favorite thing in the world to eat.
The sugar gave her a bounce in her step. She struggled to keep up with him as they walked, so he slowed his strides to match hers. They stopped before the fountain in the heart of the square, to enjoy the view.
Though while she was looking at it, he was looking at her.
More specifically how when she licked her spoon, a bit of marshmallow sauce dripped down it, onto the corner of her mouth.
It took a good deal of self-control for him to rein in his thoughts. To keep them grounded in the present, and not how much he wanted to have her back then in the fitting room, pressed against the glass. Oh, she wouldâve been mortified, and he wouldâve pocketed her panties just so he could watch her squirm in her uniform, holding the hem of her skirt down to not flash anyone.
But he was not an animal.
He couldnât give in to every impulsive thought on his mind, however tempting.
Where would he take her next? he instead thought.
The ice cream had certainly cheered her up, and also made her teeth chatter because it was freezing outside. A flurry of snow floated down on them and she sneezed. As they walked, she shivered, rubbing her hands around herself to try and keep warm. It had not been his initial idea to take her to eat ice cream in this weather, but he knew how much she loved ice cream, and she said she ate it even in cold weather. Even if it made her sick.
He sighed, unbuttoning his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. âHere,â he said, draping it around her. âThisâll warm you up.â
âBut what about you? Wonât you get cold?â She blinked a few times.
âIâm a Snow, darling. We never get cold.â
âDonât call me that.â She wrinkled her nose at the pet name.
âYou donât like it? What else would you prefer?â He caught a snowflake on his glove and watched it melt.
âMy name,â she answered, her oversized sleeves flopping as she gestured. She looked utterly adorable, drowning in his coat. It was like a dress on her.
He allowed her to take the lead and guide him wherever she wanted.
Which was how they ended up in a boring bookshop. A compromise, since sheâd not wanted to go to Fabriciaâs. It was, coincidentally, the same store he went to when he bought that stuffed rabbit for her.
âOh, itâs that ugly thing,â Phoebe mused, picking it up off the shelf and playing with its soft ears.
âReally? Because I thought it looked like you,â he quipped in turn. âI thought youâd like it. Whatâs wrong with it?â
âPenny liked it more so I gave it to her instead.â She shoved the rabbit against his chest and took off, leaving him all alone in the aisle, feeling a bit wounded. Did she think his gift was better fit to be a chew toy for her cat?
Women were so hard to please.
He placed the bunny back on the shelf and followed her as she perused the shelves of books and knick-knacks.
âOh, Iâve been looking for the third volume of this series!â She plucked the book off the shelf and thumbed through it. And then, folded it against her chest and rocked on her heels. Looked off to the side, and then back at him, as if expecting something. âI really wanted this one⊠Itâs a shame I forgot my wallet at home. If Iâd known weâd go shopping togetherââ
Coriolanus rolled his eyes and snatched the book from her. âJust say you want me to buy it for you.â
âIâll pay you back tomorrow! I promise.â And now she was holding her hands behind her back, trying to be cute about it.
âDarling, when youâre with me, you wonât be paying a dime.â
Darling. It had a ring to it.
⊠⊠âŠ
âYouâve never been to a party before?â
Clemmie gasped at Phoebe from across the lunch table, as if sheâd committed a crime. For elites like them, parties were commonplace. People threw parties for no reasonâjust because they could, for the hell of it, lately. A sign that times were indeed prosperous this long after the war.
Partying. Indulgence. It was creeping back into fashion.
âNot even once?â Didi covered her mouth in shock, adding to Clemensiaâs dramatics.
âDo they throw parties out in the districts?â Her twin brother, Pollo, questioned.
âSort of. But I was never allowed to go.â Phoebe frowned.
âYour father didnât want you exposed to the likes of those people,â Coriolanus corrected her blunder, squeezing her thigh under the table. She swallowed, and as his friends blabbed on, her attention drifted across the cafeteria towards the pairs of eyes watching her. Sejanus, Lyssie, and Io.
They werenât any good for her, he decided. It was best that she stuck with him and stayed far away from the likes of that Plinth boy who would corrupt her with his sentimentality and ideologies.
Their conversation drifted towards the upcoming party Clemmie was to host in her townhouse. Of course, they asked his girl to attend. Anyone and everyone relevant in their school would be invited, and her being his girl landed her a spot on the exclusive guest list. âI donât know. I donât want her exposed to that sort of stuff,â said Coriolanus, and Phoebeâs anticipation for this party deflated so quickly.
He didnât want her exposed to their games, nor the drinking and other paraphernalia involved. All sorts of wild things happened at parties like these; he would know because he was one of those partygoers. Though he didnât care much for parties, he made an effort to attend to fulfill social obligations.
He pictured Phoebe for a moment, drunk off her mind, or high as a kite. Of course, a dumb girl like her would think nothing of someone with shady intentions handing her something to drink or eat. She would take it to be polite, and then what? Let them carry her off to some far corner to do whatever?
Absolutely not.
His blood boiled just imagining one of his friends laying a finger on her.
No doubt theyâd be curious to have a taste of what was his.
âRelax, Coryo.â Didi patted Phoebeâs shoulder reassuringly. âSheâll be in safe hands with us. Youâll be there too, will you not?â
âDonât worry,â Festus teased. âWeâll make sure sheâs not corrupted.â
He didnât want to hear that coming from Festus Creed of all people, the one who gave out those pills. There was something particularly greasy about his smile and the way he sometimes ogled what wasnât his. That boy could not be trusted around his girl.
Coriolanus pulled Phoebe closer and tucked her hair behind her ear. ââŠIâd like to experience this, just once,â she murmured, as quiet as a mouse. âIâve never been to a party like this before.â
After a while of going back and forth about it with his friends, he allowed her to go. So long as she was with him the entire time so he could keep her safe.
⊠⊠âŠ
Thus the night of the party came.
An exciting time for his girl. Phoebe descended the spiraling stairs of her townhouse with such haste that she tripped on her heels, crashing right into him. How fortunate that he was there to catch her. She squeaked, flailing her arms, and he effortlessly scooped her up by the waist, setting her down on her feet.
âOops.â An awkward smile formed on her lips. âIâve got two left feet. These heels are taller than what I usually wear.â
âBut you look stunning in them,â Prunella agreed, from her spot at the top of the stairs. When Coriolanus spotted her, she offered him a wink. She was still holding a brush in her hand. He supposed sheâd probably helped preen her for the evening. And indeed she had done a wonderful job.
Phoebeâs honey blonde hair was styled into loose curls cascading down her back, and they bounced as she moved. Her pink dress and heels were picked out by him. This time he made sure to pick out something she liked, as she wasnât thrilled about not having a say in the dress he chose for her to wear to the Ball. The flowy pink dress was a perfect choice for the eveningânot too flashy and not too casual. To complete the look, she had a fluffy white shawl draped around her shoulders.
Silas Blackwood soon joined them in the foyer, grunting in acknowledgement of his presence. âI trust you remember what weâve discussed before, Mr. Snow?â His piercing gray stare fixed him, and there was something imposing about the fact that he was taller than him. Even at his imposing height of six feet, with broad shoulders to boot.
Coriolanus straightened up, taking things in stride. âOf course. Iâll remain by her side, and Iâll make sure to bring her back by ten.â
âGood.â He grunted, and his piercing stare softened once it settled upon his daughter, who was raring to go.
âWe should go now! Weâre running a bit late.â Phoebe nudged Coriolanus.
âAnd whose fault is that?â he retorted on their way out of the townhouse. âHow long did you spend getting ready, pray tell?â
âOnly two hours.â
What couldâve taken that long? She must have given herself a full-body scrub and shaved every inch of herself before getting dressed. He ran his hand along her arm and, as expected, it was silky smooth.
To think sheâd gotten all dolled up just for him.
Seeing her like this was enjoyable. Maybe heâd buy her more dressesâgive her more reasons to get dolled up. For now, theyâd take their time. Ease into this new dynamic of theirs.
Before they entered the Dovecote townhouse, Coriolanus pulled Phoebe aside and rested his hands on her shoulders. âDo you remember what we discussed?â he inquired, arranging her neat curls over her shoulders.
During the car ride over, heâd instructed her on what to do and say, to be polite:Â Chin up. Shoulders straightâdo not slouch. Remember to speak clearly. And most importantly, remember that you represent not only yourself but me as well now, as my girl. Also, it was important that she looked people in the eye when speaking.
In case she forgot, he reminded her again, and then he captured her lips in a chaste kiss, savoring the sweetness of strawberry on his tongue. Her flavored lip gloss. So delicious, he could eat her up. Maybe later, he would.
They stepped into Clemensiaâs townhouse.
It hadnât been his intention to leave her side, because, heâd promised Mr. Blackwood that heâd keep an eye on her. But he trusted Clemensia to keep her safe, and Phoebe needed to practice socializing. She could not rely on him forever to be her anchor in conversations.
Besides, most of his concernsâFestus and his equally dubious friendsâwould be in his company. The party was set up so that the girls and boys could separate, then reconvene later.
The greenhouse was devoid of any feminine touch for a while. There he was surrounded by menâmen who were loud and sweaty after having had too much to drink. Festus roped him into an evening of drinking games, and was subsequently annoyed at how good he was at them. Both him and Urban Canville were beasts at party games.
While the rest of the boys were in various states of tipsy to drunk, he was bored and still quite dry.
Soon, the boys had started to become restless, being cooped up in the backyard, so they made their foray back inside, to check with the girls.
Coriolanus was among the last of them to step inside.
Only to see the most peculiar thing.
Urban Canville kissing his girl.
⊠⊠âŠ
His blood boiled.
He couldnât even say it was a drunken mistake the boy made, because he had fucking been there, watching him this entire time. This bravado was nothing unusual for him. A smug expression formed on Urbanâs face when Phoebe froze beneath him, her fists balling at her sides. His mouth muffled her surprised squeak.
When he pulled away, she turned to find Coriolanus standing in the threshold. She was so flushed and dazed. Certainly not from that kiss. He spotted the cup of punch in front of her and briefly wonderedâwas that her third glass? Her fourth? She hiccupped.
Coriolanus sauntered over, ignoring all the eyes plastered on him. All the hushed whispers and the tension teeming in the room. âAm I interrupting something?â he began, placing a hand on Phoebeâs shoulder. She flinched.
âSnow. Nice of you to show up,â Urban began, as if he had not just kissed his girl in front of everyone. âWeâre playing truth or dare. Care to join us?â
Phoebe slumped back in her seat, so floaty, like she was not aware of her existence. It led him to wonder if Clemensia had fed her anything that was not of the alcohol variety. Heâd explicitly told her not to. âYou are aware that is my girlfriend you just kissed,â Coriolanus said, so calmly despite the itching urge he had to deck Urban Canvilleâs face.
Phoebe gave him a stupid smile, and that was his last straw. He unceremoniously pulled her out of her seat and she stumbled forward, bracing against his shoulder to balance herself.
âLook at you. So smitten with this girl. I have never seen you like this before,â Urban taunted, coolly. âSo whipt. What did you do to him?â He looked down at Phoebe, expecting some sort of explanation, though she wasnât all there. She blinked, readjusting her focus.
Leave it to Urban Canville to stir up shit; it was what he did best, and that tendency had landed him in a few tousles throughout the years. Of course, heâd always gotten off scot-free. That tended to happen when your daddy was rich and influential enough to bail you out of trouble. He had a thing for his girl, tooâalways lingering around Phoebe, trying to partner up with her for class assignments. Always inquiring about what he was up to with her, to make small talk. Was he, in truth, imagining being in his shoes?
Gaius Breen and Felix Ravinstill popped into the room and froze for a moment, so awkward about it, as if theyâd intervened in what appeared to be a private matter.
âDo not be so sour,â Urban continued. âIt was a dare. You know what thatâs like, donât you? Weâre not the type to back down from those.â
âSit down, wonât you?â Felix gritted out to his friend.
âIâm quite comfortable here,â he replied, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. âWhat I donât understand is why youâre still keeping her to yourself.â He gave it some thought. âItâs been months already. Just accept that youâve lost and let us carry on with the game. There's no need to cause a scene.â
âWhat are you talking about?â Phoebe murmured. âWhat has he lost?â
It was getting so stuffy in here. So hard to breatheâbut that couldâve been the stench of cigars wafting in through the screen door. Coriolanus loosened the collar of his shirt, trying not to look at her, his girl. Still he caught a glimpse of her hazy gaze sharpening as she tried to make sense of it all. He couldnât let her know.
But it was inevitable that he broke her heart. If not this way, then another. Heâd never imagined, however, that it would be at the expense of his image. To hell with hers, heâd thought then. Until sheâd become so entangled with him. If one of them went down for this, theyâd go down together. Fuck.
âFor fucks sake,â Festus muttered under his breath before rushing over to Urbanâs side and pulling him back by the collar. âHow much have you had to drink? Weâre cutting you off here.â
âIâm feeling quite sober.â He shrugged, breaking free without much effort on his part. âI was just curious. Havenât you had enough, stringing the poor thing along?â
âCoriolanus. What is he talking about?â She tugged at his sleeve, demanding an explanation.
What a spectacle this was. His gaze swept over the room and sure enough, some of the girls here were having a field day watching this. Livia Cardew and Arachne Crane had never looked so entertained. Few had the decency to appear uncomfortable with the conflict unfolding here.
âNothing,â Coriolanus retorted. âHeâs just bitter you didnât choose him to be your date to the Ball.â
Urban sighed. âPerhaps we should leave it at that for her sake.â
âFor my sake?â Phoebe faltered, her fingers tightening around Coriolanusâs sleeve. âI deserve an explanation.â
The solution was simple. They needed to remove themselves from the situation. Now, before things got worse. Before she knew too much.
âEnough.â Coriolanus moved his hand to the small of her back, gently steering her in the direction of the exit. âWeâre taking our leave now.â
Before they could make it out of the living room, Urban Canville had said, âIf you wonât tell her, I will.â
âPhoebe,â Coriolanus gritted out into her ear and then tugged her arm, but she was a stubborn weed rooted in place.
She gave Urban an imploring look, which was all the permission he needed to elaborate. âThere was a bet among him and a few of his friends. To see how soon it would take him to deflower the most prudish girl in our year.â
âIs that so?â She swallowed. For a moment, she just stood there, confused, letting those cruel words sink in. Then she pulled away from Coriolanus. Steeling her expression into a cool indifference, she crossed her arms. âWell, then. How does it feel to know youâve lost?â
How does it feel, Coriolanus?
Heâd never lost. Not once in his life.
He parted his lips to speak, but no words came. Just a soft exhale. His tongue refused to yield.
You are dead to me. Though she was silent, the cold look in her eyes told him that much.
âAt least we assumed you were a prude at first,â Urban Canville clarified, as an afterthought. âNone of us had expected you would be suchââ
Such a slut? So eager to spread her legs for a good grade? Although she didnât spend nearly as much time studying as she did sucking his cock, theyâd heard. It was an inside joke she could never understandâthe boys grinning whenever they asked what grade she got on her assignment, and she proudly showed off her paper. The bright red A on it. Whatâs so funny? sheâd ask, and theyâd poke fun at her, saying things like, Coryo taught you well, didnât he? OrâIt seems those tutoring sessions are paying off.
Coriolanus fixed him with a cold look and rolled his shoulders, fully prepared to pummel him (if need be). âRespectfully, Urban, youâd do well to keep my girlâs name out of your mouth, if you know whatâs best for you.â
Phoebe swiped up her cup of punch and stared at Coriolanusâs perfectly white shirt for a moment longer than was appropriate. She squeezed the cup so hard, almost threatening to shatter it. The look in her eyes said, Shall I throw it at you? See if youâd like that. He took a step back just in case, but to his relief, she gulped the punch instead. Like a tall glass of water, before slamming it down on the table with such force that the girl beside her flinched.
Then she took off, her heels clicking on the marbled tile as she did.
Her gait was a bit wobbly and patheticâhow much did she have to drink, again? Phoebe nearly broke her ankle on the way out, her heel slipping as she bumped into Festus, but she simply ignored him (and his attempt to catch her). She fumbled with the doorknob and made her way outside, slamming it shut.
âGood luck, man.â Festus fixed Coriolanus with a terse smile and patted his shoulder.
He paid his friend (and his lousy attempt at defusing the situation) no heed, instead following his girl out onto the front steps of the townhouse. Thanks to his long strides, he caught up to her in no time.
âDonât, donât follow me,â she scowled, not having it.
âI can explain,â Coriolanus reasoned calmly, though he was anything but calm. Often, before going out, he rehearsed before the mirror, what to do and say in conversations. That way he was never caught off guard, and, for his eighteen years of life, that practice had served him well.
Until now, when he was wholly unprepared for a situation he hadnât anticipated.
âSave your breath. I donât want to hear it.â Phoebe rushed down the front steps in her haste to put some distance between them.
âWhere are you going?â He jogged, matching her stride. Though the snow had been plowed off the sidewalk, it was still slippery in light of the recent snowfall.
âAway from you,â she huffed. Bits of ice covered the ground and she slipped in her haste to get away.
Luckily, heâd made it there just in time to catch her. âWaitâIâll call my chauffeur to pick us up.â He seized her by the arm.
She shot him a nasty look. âIâm perfectly capable of walking home.â
âDressed like that?â He gestured at her, as if sheâd gone mad. âIn the freezing cold?â It was, what, fifteen degrees outside? Her teeth chattered as she glared at him, and it was rather hard for him to take her seriously when she looked like a shivering puppy. Of the vicious typeâwhatever they were called. The tiny ones rich women were starting to carry in their purses, who were particularly ill-mannered.
She ground her teeth. âYes. Now let go of me, or I will scream.â
âOh, be my guest. That will only make you look more mad,â he spat. There was no way in hell sheâd be walking home alone. Even a place like the Capitol, with all its order, had its share of shady figures lurking in the dark, with no good intentions towards young women like her. Besides, heâd promised to keep her safe.
She opened her mouth to scream and he panicked, clamping his hand over her mouth to stop her. âHow much have you had to drink?â He inquired, although he knew she was drunk. The question was, how drunk? She attempted to speak through the hand clamped over her mouth, but something muffled came out instead. âEnough.â His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered her. âIf I uncover your mouth, will you scream?â
She shook her head and he gingerly relinquished her.
âYou are the scum of this earth,â she spat out, unceremoniously shoving him back.
He grunted, falling back onto his bottom in the snow. âYou havenât given me the chance to speak!â he said, for crying out loud.
âWhy? So you can lie to my face?â
It was then that he noticed her cheeks were wet. She was crying because of him. And trying so hard to handle this situation with grace.
Heâd never lied to her. Ever. Heâd been duplicitous, yes, phrasing his words in a way that left her confused, always wondering what he truly feltâbut heâd never outright lied to her.
He faltered for a moment too long, and she shook her head.
Then she stormed off, her heels precariously slipping with each step made. She was seconds away from breaking her ankle or worseâfalling onto the street. What if she got hit by something? That crazy woman. He rushed onto his feet, just as she rounded the corner of the street.
âYes, there was some sort of bet,â he admitted in exasperation, and then took a moment to catch his breath. âIt was a game to me, at first. But I didnât thinkââ he tugged her back by the bow of her dress and she flailed, falling back against his chest. âI didnât think Iâd grow⊠fond of you.â
The words sounded foreign coming from his mouth. So foreign and⊠wrong. Yet they werenât a lie. This was, however, a moment of weakness.
âReally?â She remarked bitterly, then hastily wiped her face.
âYes. Though I wish we could have this conversation somewhere warm. In the car, maybe? Youâre freezing, Phoebe.â He spun her around and squeezed her shoulders, trying to settle her, to no avail. He could still fix this; he just had to figure out how.
She jerked free from his grasp one last time. The bow on her dress was now askew, the stitches of one corner ripped from her previous effort to break free. A bright punch stain sullied it, and what a shame that was. Perhaps he could buy her another dress to make it up to her, but sheâd proven time after time to have no appreciation for the gifts he gave. âBecause I am gracious,â she huffed, half breathless, âI wonât tell my father what you did. But I never wish to speak with you again, am I clear?â
She was a mess, mascara streaks staining her cheeks, her dress disheveled.
âCan I⊠at least take you home?â he murmured, tersely. âYour father would have my head if anything were to happen to you.â
He swallowed at the mention of her father. Would she tell him what he did? That he had played her? There would be no way in hell heâd let him court her daughter after this, even if they patched things up. Or⊠would he allow it?
He imagined an industrious man like Silas Blackwood prioritized practicality over sentimentality.
If he was under the assumption that heâd ruined her, that would create a predicament for him. Sheâd be lucky if any respectable elite wanted to marry her then. The cleanest solution in that case was, truly, to grovel and hope that he married his daughter.
Phoebe begrudgingly allowed Coriolanus to escort her back to the front steps of Clemensiaâs townhouse. She refused to enter, not wanting to make a spectacle of herself, he assumed, as everyone was still inside. He made a quick call to his chauffeur before joining her out on the steps, to freeze with her in solidarity.
Her teeth chattered as she pulled her shawl tighter around herself, seeking what little warmth she could. âCome wait inside,â he implored, and she stubbornly shook her head. Sighing, he unbuttoned his coat and then draped it over her shoulders. The way he did on their first date, when she was shivering after eating all that ice cream.
A wall of roses cloaked her. His scent. He rather liked the idea of her being covered in it, smelling like him. Despite how much he was sure she hated him now, her need for warmth took precedence over it. She bounced on her heels and when he tried to pull her close, she pushed him back. âDonât.â
Iâm just keeping you warm, he wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. âThe carâs already on its way,â he informed her. âItâll be three minutes.â
Those three minutes felt like an eternity until finally his chauffeur pulled up to the curb. Phoebe didnât wait for him to open the door for her like he usually did; she helped herself inside and hugged the other side of the vehicle, attempting to insert as much space between them as physically possible.
For a long moment, they stuck to their corners, staring out the windows awkwardly.
Now was his chance to speak. While she was still trapped in here and the car was rolling.
âYou must hate me right now,â he began, delicately.
She hummed, chin propped on her palm.
âBut what I said earlier was true. When I approached your father, it was after I decided not to follow through with that bet.â Sort of. Heâd not officially brought it up to his friends, though he figured, why not let things run their natural course? Eventually, heâd have her. All of her. And, in that way, heâd win. It was the cleanest solution.
âSo.â She tilted her head. âAm I to forgive you, then? Forget about that?â
âWhat do you want me to say?â Exasperation laced his tone.
âNothing, preferably.â She finally turned to him.
âI donât expect your forgiveness. I just wanted to come clean,â he explained, straightening up in his seat. âI donât know what it is about you that Iâm drawn to. But I know that I am, and I cannot help it.â In a way, sheâd bewitched him. It was unlike him to feel anything for one of his girls. Anything but lust, perhaps, and that feeling was fleeting at best. Whatever heâd felt for this girl, however, had lingered. No⊠festered. âYouâre free to do whatever youâd like. Scorn me, hit me if you want, Iâll allow itââ
She brightened up at that. âAre you offering?â
â⊠Go ahead.â
He would allow her this much, to give her a chance to simmer down. Maybe sheâd feel better afterwards. Coriolanus braced for it as she scooted closer, then raised her hand. She didnât strike him like he anticipated she would; he flinched when he felt nothing but air on his cheek from her hand grazing past it. âI will not hit you, as tempting as it sounds.â She withdrew and he exhaled slowly.
âAs I was saying. I canât control how you feel about all of this, and I apologize if I hurt you.â He sighed. âThere is no bet anymore. There hasnât been one for a while now. Urban Canvilleâs simply bitter that you didnât choose him, so he caused a scene.â It wouldnât make things better, but it was something. If she expected him to grovel, sheâd be sorely disappointed.
âI see.â Phoebe shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and then went back to ignoring him. She stared out the window, at the passing fixtures and buildings illuminated by the streetlamps. Once they neared the Blackwood townhouse, she wiped her face and fixed her hair, attempting to make herself presentable. Probably to avoid her fatherâs suspicion.
âYou can ignore me all you want, I wonât blame you for it. Itâs only natural that youâre upset,â he continued, not letting her frigid behavior deter him. âBut I wanted to inform you that youâre still mine.â
Mine, in every way.
Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. Their fingers brushed and she shivered. âI wonât let you go. Make do with that what you will,â he told her. Every couple had their obstacles. Their quarrels, their meaningless spats. This was one of them, he supposed. He could give her some time to simmer down so they could reflect on this.
Only they didnât have time.
The Ball was right around the corner.
A minute later, they arrived at her townhouse. She stepped out as soon as the car rolled to a stop, not wanting to be stuck in there with him for a second longer, it seemed. âHere,â she fumbled with the buttons of his coat and tossed it to him, âhave your coat back.â
He escorted her to the front door of her house because he insisted it was the right thing to do. Phoebe held it together, smiling and playing along as Coriolanus debriefed the gathering they attended to her father. At least the version of it that he wouldâve liked to hear.
Then he returned to his car.
⊠⊠âŠ
The interior of the Snow penthouse provided little reprieve from the frosty air outside.
Father liked it cold, as did he. But she didnât, his girl, always shivering here. So much that he usually gave her something warm to drink, a blanket, and one of his jackets. He took care of her like that. Liked to watch her play with the oversized sleeves.
And then he rolled his eyes, because heâd thought of her again.
âYouâre back early.â
Fatherâs imposing voice boomed from across the living room. He was relaxing on the couchâa rare sight for a man who could not stay put without purpose. Perhaps he had a busy day and had earned himself a break. Now he was enjoying a drink, and through the TV, he heard Lucky Flickermanâs eccentric voice.
âIt was a boring party,â he informed Father, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the rack.
âBoring, was it? Even with your girl there?â His sharp gaze was fixed on him, and he could only wonder, what did he want? He was rarely involved with his life unless something went wrong or he had a piece of his mind to give.
ââŠYes,â came his terse reply.
âDid something happen? You seemâŠâ Father sat up in his seat, giving him a once-over. âUpset.â
âIâm tired. Iâm retiring for the night,â he announced in a clipped tone, cutting their conversation short.
That night, he tossed and turned in bed. Sleep was no friend when all he could think of was his tarnished image. Perhaps tarnished was a strong word to use for such a minor incident over a bet, but the shame of being called out like that stung his pride. What would they all think of him? Would they laugh? Murmur about how heâd lost his charm?
The morning after, his behavior hadnât improved.
He snapped at the maid for preparing him a cup of tea that was a touch too sweet for his liking. It was his usual, but today, everything felt off. The middle-aged woman flinched at his unusual outburst, but soon recovered, taking off at once to prepare him another cup.
Across from him at the dining table, Father was buttering his toast.
They rarely talked during breakfast. Them sitting together wasnât out of some obligation to bond; Father had a rule that everyone must eat at the table. In his eyes, it was slovenly to eat anywhere else. So sometimes they ended up eating together by happenstance.
âSomething did happen,â he spoke, to his surprise.
But he said nothing in return, instead cutting the eggs on his plate.
They communicated with silent gestures, usually. A raised brow indicated amusement. Silence was either disinterest or a sign of something bothering them.
âSo it seems.â Father took a sip of his coffee and set his cup down on the coaster. Then considered him for a long moment. âWhat happened?â
âYouâre rarely interested in my social affairs,â Coriolanusâs jaw tightened.
âYouâve been acting off.â More silence. âDid something happen with your girl?â
âWhy would you assume itâs about my girl?â he deflected.
âBecause Iâm observing a pattern, son,â Father answered. âYouâve been spending quite a bit of time with this girl. Tutoring her. Surely not out of the goodness of your heart.â He took a bite of his toast and swallowed. âYou and I both know you arenât the charitable type.â
His eggs tasted like rubber.
Upon his silence, Father continued. âSo, what has she done?â
A Snow was never at fault. In his eyes, she was to blame.
âWe had a misunderstanding. Sheâs upset with me,â Coriolanus replied, crisply.
âThen fix things with her. Make it right.â
As if he hadnât already tried. âItâs not that simple,â he argued.
âWomen are such emotional creatures,â Father agreed, leaning forward in his seat. âIâve had my fair share of quarrels with my Lucilla before.â
âHow did you resolve things?â asked Coriolanus. Perhaps he could impart some advice. If only Phoebe were more materialisticâthe answer to his problem wouldâve been as simple as showering her with gifts and promising her all sorts of things, then.
âTime. Lots of it. But you donât have much time, do you? The Ball is right around the corner.â
âAnd I am dead to her,â Coriolanus remarked dryly, but he found no humor in this.
âSome women are wild. Harder to tame,â he reflected. âBut none of them are unbreakable.â
âSo⊠What do you suggest I do, then?â His observation was lost on him. How would one go about âbreakingâ something they couldnât catch?
âIf I were youâŠâ he trailed off in thought, twirling his fork, âI would leave her with no room for doubt. Remind her that she is yours. Remind her of her place.â
Remind her that she is yours. How? He could show up at her house and confess to her, though at the expense of his dignity (because there was no guarantee sheâd forgive him). At best, she may push him off her balcony, right onto the thorny trellis, in a fit of rage. âAnd if that doesnât work?â Coriolanus swallowed.
âMake sure it does. If you want something bad enough, you will do whatever it takes. Do not be afraid to get your hands dirty, son.â
Do whatever it takes.
A/N: This series was supposed to be a short deal, but here we are at 4 parts!! I have no idea where this will go next, but I do love drama. Stay tuned đ. Reader discretion is advised! My stories are never planned out so they may take (dark) unexpected turns.
Tag List: @likklemy, @coryoslut
Comment if you would like to be added (specify if you would like to be tagged in all posts or only for specific series) or dropped from the tag list!
can you pls pls pls write for dee but like maybe an out off prison Au where hes your drug dealer and your his customer he kinda fancies you idk im so bad at requests đ
Thank you so so much for the request. Sorry it took me so long â it was hard to write for Dee initially but the AU gave me a better way into his character. Please, mind the tags but I hope it matches your expectations in terms of characterization/depth I attempted here đ Contains how they met + snippets of them growing closer and bonding...
(Dividers are done by me, but if anyone wants to use them when writing for Dee, it'd be an honor to see them get mileage lol)
âNobody's Son, Nobody's Daughter...â
âȘ read on ao3
|| next (pt.2) â· âș
Tags: m/f â drug dealer! Dee x reader, so weed smoking â + as a bonding experience â no use of Y/N, Dee calls reader "angel" â a not-so-healthy/undefined relationship â initially inexperienced reader â slight corruption kink â toxic masculinity â canon-compliant anger issues â canon characters and some additions â Taylor is here too and he has anxiety â gang dynamics â territorial Dee â Dee is bad at feelings â both reader and Dee aren't well-adjusted individuals, but are trying â angst sandwiched between fluff and finally, intimacy â sprinkled silliness â reader reads tarot for Dee, they share milkshakes â no full-on smut (making out, body worship, dry humping, some nipple play and size kink)
TWs (DDDNE): panic attacks (one caused by Dee but he fixes it) â past DV (Dee's father, uxoricide â described family member/character death due to DV) â past abusive relationship (for reader â short references, not detailed), but it all has consequences aka trauma discussed â one (1) dog fight mention
Word count: ~8.8k
đ§àŸàœČ Full Wasteman/Dee playlist if anyone's interested
a/n: I worked with the trope but obviously took directions that made sense for the characters. The angst/trauma parts aren't a walk in the park, as the movie wasn't either. Although it's an out-of-prison AU, this is still the same character â just not as rigid in his means of survival, because obviously he has more options available to him. I tried scenes where he's far more emotionally intelligent from the get go but it just didn't feel natural to the character without proper development. And I didn't want to have a Mary Sue character who just âfixes himâ â I'd be doing a disservice to the source material themes. That and also as far as I can tell, this is the first Dee x reader fic on here, so... yeah, the pressure was on.
TLDR: I didn't set out to glorify any parts of Dee's character or the backstory I headcanon, so no shock value here. Just two characters in real-life bad circumstances who try to find peace in each other.
Dee was sitting on the shabby couch in the living room, his legs spread wide, owning the space around him like he usual does. His blue eyes remain glued to the large equally cold glow of the plasma as small wobbly figures awkwardly alternate between shimmying and rapid zooming on the screen. The soft, torn polyester probably has his ass imprinted on it by that pointâwhat with him and his âassociatesâ turning his grandmotherâs old terraced house into a proper down-low den.Â
He is practically slamming onto the buttons of his Nintendo controller now⊠with purpose, mind youâhe has a plan, he will always pattern it, before anything has the chance to bite him back.
Yes, even a stupid game.
But with this amount of rigorous dedicationâit is a miracle the joystick hasnât come offâespecially because then Dee might be tempted to force feed it to T.Â
The single source of all his frustrationâTaylor, who seems to have the reflects of a wet wipe. According to Dee, that might even be a generous assessment, especially when he is stoned.Â
âYo, dickheadâyou have to chop the fucking lettuce before I can put it in the salad!â, Dee doesnât look at T, laser-focused on getting his alligator chef to run to the serving station. Somehow that is even more terrifying than him actually putting down the game to have a go at the other man.Â
Taylor filches instinctively, muttering a half-cognizant apology, trying desperately to keep upâlike his life depends on it. Dee has this way of flipping everything on its head. If it is his problem, you can bet your nanâs birthday money that he will make it everyone elseâs too.
âWho in their right fucking mind suggested we play âOvercookedâ? When this clown canât even tie his own shoes in this sorry state?!â, he is close to throwing that controller across the room as he slaps the back of Taylorâs neck. Itâs not like the wall doesnât bear evidence of his repeated appliance misuse.Â
Instead, the level does that for himâthe chiming âWe are Toast!â screen appearing in his face. Dee runs a hand through his face, yawningâsuddenly bored when the adrenaline lowers enough. He is reactive like that without even realizing whyâcorrection, before he can even realize why.
âIntrospectionâ was for pussies who deserve to get kicked inâwhat is important is whatâs in front of youâsurviving another day.Â
Paulâthe oldest man in the crew, gives an exacerbated look from where he is lounging at his usual deckchair. Why is that thing currently propped inside so he could read his newspaper? It's an old man thingâDee stopped questioning it a long time ago. Especially now, when Paul had to lay low because he was reckless enough to get himself almost locked up. His seat was placed higher than the sunken lounge of the couch areaâa testament to his place in the hierarchy. Some days ago, Dee had watched a âPlanet Earthâ episode about alpha baboons sitting on elevated spots⊠the parallel sure gets a laugh out of him in this baked state.
The older man's usual slow-paced cadence is even more dragged out, relaying just how tired he's gotten by the other twoâs antics: âSettle down, will you? Bloody toddlersâŠâ
Dee scoffs, already reaching for the bong againâanother hit never hurt anyone⊠maybe? At least it never hurt him, not like people can. What little light enters the room through the taped cardboard boxes and newspaper clippings on the windows still manages to hurt his eyesâcourtesy of dilated capillaries. And then his phone dingsânot even the burner one, but the proper smartphone. He hasnât heard that sound in ages, not unless it is noise from some Instagram page.Â
He lowers the brightness and makes out the messageâyou, well the nickname he had fashioned for you after that night.Â
Hey, havenât heard from you in a while. I hope you are doing okay, DeeâŠ
I was wondering if we could hang out again soon? If you wanted to, of course.
His neck strains as he sends his head flying backwards. He doesnât deserve good things. You definitely donât need to be going down that road with him. Sure, he had been your trip sitter so many times, and sure he loved every second of how your face would somehow grow even softer as you let the weed relax you. But a girl like you⊠shouldnât do that, shouldnât want him.Â
Had he been anyone else from this crew, save for Taylorâyou'd probably been taken advantage of when you first met... and any time after. Hell, he knew even Paul had girls hooked on his shit, so he'd get the occasional fuck. âStrawberriesâ, they call them⊠And Dee is no saint either⊠but when he saw you that nightâthe thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He just wanted to see what you were about, how you moved⊠to rub his eyes to a reality where something good still existed in this fucked up world.
Maybe it had been the Sabutex talkingâŠ
You know, angel, people donât usually ask their dealer about their day before demanding smack.Â
Great deflection, he feels almost proud if itâs not for the pang in his chest at the forced distance he put between you.
His thumb joints tremble across the phone screen as he adds:
Appreciate it, still. Â
âYou linking that girl again?â, Gaz, second in command, asks from the cushion next to Paulâvoice far too peppy for Dee's liking. The man is making fun of him for growing softâanything 'genuine' around these blokes reads like that. And the confirmation comes swiftly: âLook who's got man smiling at his phone!â, he laughs hoarsely, a guttural sound from his blackened lungs and nudges Paul like the lap dog he is.
âWhateverâjust don't go moving my stock for free, yeah?â, Paul warns, putting his newspaper back up. Nonchalance embodied even if he can bite any second.
âHisâ stock⊠Dee hated being dependent on that snake. But the old man is cleverâhe didn't let any of the âlow-levelâ dealers get close to his supplier, or even meet him. If there is one thing big ego pricks like Paul hate is for someone to go over their heads. Paul eats first while shit⊠always flows downwards. But Dee has plansâa bigger player on the horizon. One he'd linked up with thanks to his work at a local garage. Patience is the name of the game nowâeven if he hates waiting. He has the âentrepreneurialâ mind to move stock better than Paulâhas better ideas about it than that dinosaur could ever scramble together with his eggs of a brain.
âShe's not my girlââ, Dee bites back, far too defensive, temperature slowly rising to a boiling point.
âNo one said she wasâŠâ, Taylor corrects meekly.
That warning makes Deeâs jaw tense. He doesn't need the nervous wreck looking out for him. âAnd last I checked, bruv, no one was chatting to you!â, he gets off the couch abruptly.
As he passes the two older men on his way upstairs, however, Gaz can't help but rub salt in the woundâstill sitting leisurely as ever, but extending a hand to stop Dee: âNo? Say it with your chest then, big man⊠Maybe if she is free use, us old dogs can get some?â, he gestures between himself and Paul, getting up in Deeâs face. God help himâDee tries to not cause a scene. He has to make this new connection work and for that⊠he needs to not have such a short fuse, to not call attention to himself like this. And over some... supposedly random girl?
But then the slimy fuck continues: âShe looked mad with her pretty little dress. Bet she'd cry real sweet when IââÂ
That does itâDee sees red and swings. And it's none of them pillow handsâhe lands heavy, putting his whole body into it without letting the man finish that sentence. The fat on Gaz's face isn't enough to cushion the blow, not when Dee is already looking to land a second, a thirdâhis knuckles throbbing, already bloody. He can't hear anything around him at that pointânot Paul shouting for his other attack dogs, not them coming hauling down and certainly not Taylor muttering self-soothing stims, curled on the couch, knees pressed against his face. Dee would get like this when he perceives a challenge, a threatâno way out of the gutter except for punching his way out.
Gaz has already stumbled backwards into his cheap folding chairâits limbs creaking under the sudden weight. Unlike Dee⊠who feels renewed. But then, two pairs of hands grab at each shoulder and drag him backwards. And just like that, he is swiftly put in time outâŠ
Laying at his old childhood bedroom, Dee stares at his phone, catching a glimpse of the slashes across his knuckles. He is suddenly reminded of how he'd lay hereâhis mother having bandaged him tenderly after a fight at school... or at homeâprotecting her. She'd hum to him⊠the only sound that would get his heart to beat calmer, that would make his thoughts quieten. Even with a split lipâcourtesy of Dee's fatherâher voice would never tremble. She had that quiet strength about herâthat's not enough in this world. He shakes his head like the memory can slip loose with itâŠ
You haven't responded yet⊠Did he scare you off by suggesting you'd text him just for exchanging favors? Nah, you are a smart girl⊠you had patience, even for low lives like him. A bleeding heart. Like his mother had beenâŠ
âAngelââdamn it, damn you with that red sparking soft dress when you had entered their 'place of business' among the neon glow of that posh house party. Rich kids had vicesâand they could indulge gluttonously. Dee enjoyed working the nights in these placesâmilking all those trust fund, silver spooned college kids. He could up his prices without any protest on the other side. They'd just hand the cash like it was nothingâall to get another high. Need for instant gratification definitely ran deeper for spoiled brats.
And then, there you wereâyou didnât even know what you were in the mood forâjust being sent on a mission from your friends, hoping your inexperience would result in a discount. Dee lets out a huff now, remembering how you had a list prepared, crumpled from sweat and nerves. What a good, proper girlâhe'd thought to himself. You looked overwhelmed, not just by the fact you were soliciting drugs but something about the music at that point had made you flinch at almost every beat drop.
What were you doing here? You'd almost bumped into him on the way inâlooking anywhere else in an attempt to not meet anyone's eyes. Like someone would be able to sniff out that you didn't belong.Â
âS-sorryââ, you'd murmured. Dee wouldn't have known what you were saying hadn't he gotten scarily good at reading lips in such loud environments.
He could see that you were trying to gather yourself as you were forced to take him in. His tall, broad and covered in tattoos frame probably made him look like the big bad wolf, just itching to munch on the little red riding hood in front of him, who'd wandered into his debauched forest.Â
âI-I am looking for Dee?â, you had clarified.Â
He was definitely making you nervous⊠why did he enjoy that?
âWell, you've found him.â, he stretched out his arms to emphasize: âThough you look like you've stumbled into the wrong fairytale, angelâŠâ, the pet name had left his lips before he could think better of it. It was far too fitting...
And then there was your chuckle that cut through the thrumming bass like sun rays through rain clouds. He wanted to bottle that sound and listen to it on repeat when things got dark.Â
In the meantime, someone was gracefully vomiting into a potted plant just behind you in the hallway, but Dee didn't hear, couldn't and wouldn't care⊠not when he was certain you were placing him under some spell. When you'd looked back to your mandated 'shopping list' and he lost your gaze, he wanted to gain it back immediatelyâbending at his knees slightly just to catch that curious twinkle as you came back up.Â
âBelieve me⊠I'd much rather be getting a milkshake or something.â, you'd confessed: âUhm, just the pieâsiloâpsiloâsilaââ
Shrooms. Your friends had sent you for shrooms and you'd written down their scientific name all proper like it was some textbook you were getting for your courses. You shook your head, abandoning any attempt to pronounce it and just listed off the restâlooking up at him, relief in your eyes like he would finally give you candy.
Instead, he just took the paper, crumpled it and stuffed it into his pocket: âSweetheart, no.â, his voice slicedâdetermination so palpable that it left no room for rebuttals. His blue eyes had fixed you with a look that was far too⊠careful?
Dee didn't want to believe itâas he doesn't want to accept it now while waiting for your text back. He'd denied easy money and for what? So that you wouldn't be 'corrupted' by your so-called friends? He somehow knew exactly who would send you, because he'd seen his sorry ass getting shitfaced in the garden of the large house not ten minutes ago⊠that crackhead Alex with too much money and too little sense.Â
His folks had figured out his habitsâlike it was hard detective work to put two and two together when his allowance would get drained faster than he could fail his exams. Alex had gone to Dee afterâtail between his legsâasking to sell as a means to fund his addiction. But in all his experience, the dealer knew better. Sure heâd partakeââget high on his own supplyâ every now and again, but he wasn't a slave to it. He could be trusted. And that was precisely why he didn't want you doing Alexâs dirty business. Or worse yetâthat waste man getting you hooked on shit.Â
Why did he have an issue with that? He sold drugs, for crying out loudâhe had no morals to speak of. Many people went down the rabbit hole because of him. But maybe when it came to you⊠it wasn't something as general as suddenly growing a heart.
âB-but I have toââ, you tried to argue, voice quivering. As your eyes darted around, worried about what to tell that leech if you didn't return with his orderâyou'd landed on Paul's scowl... and just froze. Like a deer caught in headlights.
The old bastard wasn't exactly pleasant, but⊠your reaction had been something far beyond casual discomfort. Weirdâhe cataloged it for later.Â
Waitârun that back? He noted something about someone that wasn't pure business? Maybe he was indeed more stoned than usualâŠ
âYou don't have to do anything, angel.â, he was almost pissed at you, for you? No, no wayâbut his mouth had moved on its own: âTell you whatâŠâ, he'd sidestepped, shielding you automatically: âI'll go speak with that mug myself. And thisââ, he reached into his endless pocketâthe metallic shine of his cigarette case catching in the colorful lights all around the room. With a soft clink, it opened and he produced a joint, inspecting it almost proudly. Tightly wound, the filter tip so carefully folded into a signature triangle shapeâa slight squeeze of it sealed it as Dee had passed it to you: ââis on the house. For you. Not Alex's greedy ass.â
You'd picked it up, the brush of your fingers with his was far too electric. Then⊠you were sniffing it like a⊠curious rabbit.
âIt smells like basementâbut thanks⊠I think.â, you'd smiledâsmall and careful and Dee was sure he must have some undiagnosed heart issues.Â
He recovered quickly though, or he liked to remember he did: âBasement's one way to put itâŠâ, he rolled his eyes, feigning offense as youâd fumbled with the joint he'd so carefully craftedâground, laid out, mixed with tobacco and rolled. To him, it was a scienceâa ritual that'd calm him every time he would open a baggie and now⊠he was passing the dissolute torch to you. Yet there you wereâpawing at it like a kitten with a new toy. âYou know, streets call my cali top-shelf more likeââ, he corrected with no bite to it, just a joke that settled like tasty smoke between the two of you: ââbut sure, let's go with âdank cryptâ.â
Yet another chuckle, although more strained as youâd tried to exit the roomâputting any distance you could with Paul⊠for some reason. Dee should have let you walk away then⊠he should haveâhe had a whole shift to cover, more money to make. You knowâthe actually important things.Â
But he wanted to see what you were made ofâlooking all anxious, yet as if you'd seen enough from the world and people in it to know better. Not timid, but careful⊠He enjoyed taking complicated things apart, only to make sense of them and put them back together. A mechanic at heart as well as in practiceâhe needed to see it for himself that there were good things in life still, kind thingsânot because they were untouched by its ugly sides but in spite of that.
And so, he had reached for your retreating form, grabbing lightly on your shoulder out of nowhereâthat rose tattoo sprouting on the back of his hand weirdly fitting right in with the red straps of your dress. Your shoulders had slumpedânot in fear but reliefâlike you'd been holding your breath all night but for some unexplainable reason you'd finally let it out when you met his eyes again.
âAbout that milkshakeââ, he wanted to speak more softlyâdiscussing something as innocent seemed far more daunting to him than shouting off his various illegal on-sell options. But, forced to raise his voice over the music, he continued: âThere's a 24-hour diner two blocks from here. They do mad desserts and⊠something tells me you could use a break from this place. Maybe have a chill trip after and all?â, he'd enticed.Â
You'd looked around, biting your lip in contemplation⊠he wanted to bring his fingers to your chinâtilt it just so, in order to never lose sight of your warmth. But this wasn't some âget down fast and dirtyâ situation⊠he'd savor thisâlike you were his to grind and roll. His ritual.
âYou sure? I don't want to get in the way of your work.â, you'd tilted your head inquisitively as your voice cut through his brain fog. That's all the confirmation he needed that you, in fact, were itching to get in the wayâto share this with someone.Â
âWork?â, Dee echoed with a wholehearted snort, shaking his head: âNah, angelâthese idiots'll still be here at sunriseâbegging for another hit.â
Like a conveniently placed prop, proving his point, Dee kicked at a fully passed out guy with his sneakersâjust to check if he was still breathing. The poor trust-fund bloke was alive, alrightâbet his pride would be intact as well come morning even if he was gone down the slide now. Money could earn you all of it back.
Youâd looked between Dee and the sight at your feet, nodding along. Then, something had crept up in youâan unguarded smile spreading to your eyes as you'd added more confidently: âOkay but fair warning⊠I get an extreme case of the munchies when I'm high.â
That sweet smile juxtaposed your words in the most maddeningly enticing way possible. You weren't all that innocent after all⊠the little red riding hood didn't know how to get her supply well enough but she'd indulged before⊠Perfect.
âOh, angel, Jacob's waffles will have you full in no time. But if you get that desperate, we could always go back for round twoâŠâ, he winked and almost instantly regretted it.Â
What happened to getting to see what you were, instead of pouncing on you? It was a difficult instinct to keep in check. Again⊠he was no better than his associates and he wasn't trying to be. It'd more so be⊠an experimentâtaking you apart.
That diner had become his meeting spot for all things unsavory. What with Jacobâthe ownerâhaving known Dee from as far back as when heâd barely reach the gruff manâs waist. Now, Dee towered over the old guy with good two heads or soâallowing him to move however he pleased. A dangerous thing to get used to. Jacob had seen worse⊠used needles and wrappers left all over the small bathroom stalls after Dee would bring some of his prettier clientele. But he would always cut Jacob a piece of the pie. So, yesâyou could show up with himâhigh as a kite and the owner wouldn't bat an eye. No reason to gut your golden goose if it can continue shitting you golden eggs.
You hadn't addressed his double entendre directlyâyour own way of graciously allowing him to correct the course: âI'll see you in ten minutes thenâby the statue outside the house? I'd prefer the milkshake soberâŠâ
That's when Dee had realized that maybe it was an experiment for you too. The other side of the same coinâseeing whether people like him were all bad after all.
He is so lost in the memory now, almost reliving itâheavy limbs and eyesâjust staring at the gray skyline as he lays on his side. When he was little and staying over at his grandparents⊠he'd imagine he could grow wings and fly over the roofs of all those identical houses. Going⊠nowhereâjust consumed by a constant need to run and escape from life. Even his image as âtop dogâ now is⊠well, just another form of escapeââthe âgood lifeâ lets you hide all the sadness you feelâ⊠or whatever that song is that he pretended he didnât give a ratâs ass about.
Then there was your shared getawayâyou'd never told Dee what it was about Paul that made you fold in on yourself and he never asked⊠he figured you telling him about your abusive shit of an ex was more than enough. That your only ever experience with weed had actually been a panic attack, caused by your ex's shoutingânot some warm, hungry feeling like you'd made it out to be initially. You'd been running late, unable to cook him dinner because you had to study⊠he'd made you believe it was okayâ even offered you to smoke together. Turns out, it had all been a ploy to get you vulnerable and more pliant⊠as he'd start accusing and throwing things.
âGranted, I'd get panic attacks just on the dailyâit really messes with your head when someone that's supposed to love you tells you that you donât deserve to live⊠Just for not being of use to them...â, you'd said as Dee pushed you on the swing.Â
âYou are much more than thatââ, he'd tried to assure. Empty words that were spoken a thousand times in human history. But he'd triedâto relay something meaningful with them.
âIssue is, you feel like that's all you can be when you are with someone like that⊠it's like⊠that it's all you ever wereâuseless.â, you'd interrupted, like you were afraid Dee would fill your heart with void promises. And he knew that feeling wellâmaybe not firsthand but⊠the dynamic of it.Â
âBut now you are finding out who you can be? Ain't that exciting?â, he'd tried and you'd nodded with a carefree giggle.Â
He'd found it hard to speak at that moment⊠but once he could, he told you about Sophiaâabout his mother. Her nameâa constant tattooed reminder on his neck. The stars had become so blurry that night but he didnât think for a second about leaving you as he sat on the swing next to you, passing you a lit cigarette.Â
âThose always taste more tolerable when I'm not soberâŠâ, you'd admitted. Not to try and wallow in pity or as a self-deprecating joke, but to just be present⊠to observe it all.Â
Dee had noticed you were far more chatty when you were highâperceptive, analytical and daring all at once. Your next question assured him of it.
âWhy have it tattooed there?â, you'd just taken a long drag as if the question had been brewing in your lungs and now you had to fill them back up with somethingâwith the smoke. Your legs dangled off the swing and for a moment he thought maybe you were flyingânot off to somewhere, not awayâbut with him.
âMy father strangled herââ, he said, his turn to fill his chest: ââit's fucked upââ, the tar burned his throat: ââbut I needed to remember⊠that she had a chance to find out what she can be without him too⊠But he took it from her.â, he'd averted his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek as his voice wavered uncharacteristically: âAnd I wasn't there toââÂ
He hadn't cried⊠at least that's what he'd liked to remember of that night as you took his hand, squeezing it tight. That moment had felt far more intimate than any physical âescapeâ he'd ever had before⊠with girls who'd rather snort lines he'd chop in the bathroom for a quick blowjob than notice the amazing Oreo crunch Jacob would always add to the strawberry milkshakes.Â
You'd noticed. You'd seen so much it felt like he'd shed his skin.
âThe forget-me-nots are beautiful around her name⊠we used to have so many of these blue little things in my grandfather's garden.â, you'd illustrated as your hand had trembled in his. Like you could reach out to the past and grab the flowers and maybe something else too.
The memory of the sun coming up, washing the two of you clean as you'd sat there in the park suddenly shrinked as Dee feels his phone vibrate against his hand on the bed. Blurry stars turn into blurry pixels as he readsâŠ
I just want to see you⊠if you want it too. I prefer my milkshake sober.
He laughs out loud, a breathless sound⊠he'd sold you weed a couple of times after. Each of them resulted in you calling him hyperventilating and him telling you about his stupid day to calm you down. You were his favorite customer but once you'd stopped calling or textingâhe'd figured you got your fix and moved on.Â
Maybe there's more to it after all. Maybe not everyone flies away eventually.
Your apartment is a reflection of youâsoft but hiding under layers of doubt. Blankets and plushies tucked away hastily as you make him tea.
âMy roommate is on an exchange thingâŠâ, you aren't sure where you are going with that sentence. It's not like you expect to sleep with himâyou'd called, texted, been in his van but he never once made a move on you⊠not fully.
âAh, so I'm just a replacement because you got bored, angel?â, he teases as he takes the tea from youâwarmth spreading from his palms across his body.
You chuckle, nudging him as you settle on the couch: âNo! Of course notâŠâ, you assure: âI've actually wanted to invite you over for a while now. But my ex started showing up to uni, he almost⊠followed me here until campus security got involved. So I guess I've been⊠hiding from everything.â, you shrug, buzzing with honesty like you need to untie that ball of nerves that's been matted.
âYou should've said somethingââ, Dee puts down the tea, suddenly pained: ââI mean, angelâlook at me, I can scare that coward shitless just by glaring at him.â
He doesn't say it from a place of care, he can't admit to that. More territorial than anything, expecting you to hang onto his every word. Wanting you to swoon at his show of raw power over everything and anything, to rely on him. Instead, you do something far more precariousâyou see him as humanâ
âYou don't owe me thatâŠâ, you assure, thumb tracing the warm mug where you hold itâself-soothing.
He doubles down, putting that distance back between you two: âPshâ, he releases a breath between his teeth, dismissive: âOf course notâI'm just the guy you buy from every single fucking weekâknowing it'd make you feel anxious. Then you don't get a restraining order on your ex's ass, you play errand girl for the likes of Alexâthe list goes on. Whatâyou don't have a head on your shoulders?â, he raises his voice, fully facing you from where he sits.
âI didn't say that, Dee, come on. I told youâthis isn't about me wanting a free hit!â, you defend, voice catching in your throat: âYou came knowing it'd just be⊠us.â
He laughs with his full body, almost offended: âAnd what's âusâ, angel? What do you think I am to you, hm, if not your dealer? Since I don't âowe youâ shit.â, he air quotes, mimicking your voice in a shrill.
Dee could be anywhere else now, yet in his mindâhe is humiliating himself with petty things like âemotionsâ, dangerous thingsâall because you know how to pull at his strings. There are half a dozen girls who are one call away, waiting for the cheap thrill of it. But he is here⊠So maybe his âneedsâ were of a far different caliber ever since that first night.
âThat's what I'm trying to figure out⊠with you. Don't you think there's more to this than feeling like a puppet on strings? After how much we've shared?â, you emphasize.
That's how you'd described being highâuninhibited but not on your own accord, like something was pulling you and the honesty out. It had aided in stripping down some walls between you two⊠but what is the point if, once sober, it's like nothing happened?Â
You don't dare ask what he sees you asânot now, after he got to the question first. But at the mere reminder of how open he'd been with you, he flinches like you'd burned himâlike you are using it against him. He doesn't see the care in your voiceâand even if he does, he cannot trust it. Dee had never trusted anyone else enough to share the meaning of that tattoo. To him, the way you'd held him that night should've made him nauseous. He is a man, a pillar, he isn't weak⊠he will show you as much.Â
âMore to it?â, he huffs a frustrated laugh as he smirks sharplyâan aligator ready to deliver its death roll: âCuz you shared so much, yeah? The little sob story over your ex? Bet you never went where it really hurtsânot like I did.â, he accuses, cruel now.
âIt's not a competition of who opens up first, Deeââ, you try but that only angers him more, as you try to get through to him: âI didn't bring it up to make you feel like you owe me something⊠just to know it meant a lot to me.â
âAw that's just preciousââ, his tone bites, teeth-grinding, hating what bubbles inside him⊠he turns on the offensive again: âWho's Paul to you then, angel?â
You widen your eyes, trying to swallow down the lump that suddenly forms in your throat⊠so you keep silent, thoughts racing. Had he seen how you reacted that night? Of course he did âyou'd tried to not let it affect you but you always wear your emotions on your sleeve.Â
âHa, not so easy to âshareâ, is it? So whatâyou just want to squeeze it out of meâget to dangle it in my face, thinking you know me?! But when it's time for you to pay up, you play scaredâŠâ, he taunts to assert he's stronger, braver for not caring. Always on the lookoutâŠ
âPaul? IâI don't know a PaulâŠâ, you try to play, but your voice is thinner now.
âAngelâŠâ, his voice wavered with frustration: ââdonât play nitty with me, yeah? I saw how small you got that night when you caught just a whiff of himâŠâ, every word was slower, building up to him glaring at you: âHere, imma spell it out real nice and slow: Who. Is. Paul. To. You?â. Every word feels like an icicle drilling into you.
You suck in air as you look awayâgripping onto the cushions tight, your knuckles almost white. âWhy do you think I'll tell you, when you're being like this?â, your voice is barely audible.
Dee abandons his tea then, pushing himself off the couch fastâto look at you, to corner you: âLike what?! News flash, angelâthis is who I am!â, his voice raises slowly but surely, hands flailing to match his tone: âNot some sorry case you can âsaveâ if you just sit pretty and listen to my shit! Some fucking stray you can domesticate so you can feel better about yourself!â
You flinch at the sudden movement, recoiling in an attempt to become one with the couch. The look on his face is cold and detached, a furious storm dancing in his blue eyesâlike his words come from the deepest pits of his soul but emotionally he is somewhere else, protecting himself too. You've seen that look beforeâgranted, not on Deeâ but like muscle memory, your immediate response is to make yourself smaller, hands over your ears, chanting apologies that no one heard beforeâŠ. that were never needed.Â
Suddenly, his rant stops with a hiccupâlike a hammer has come to nail him down back to realityâand he sees you, trembling, shrinking⊠because of him. And for what is probably the first time in his life, he doesn't feel good about asserting his ego above all else. For the first time âthe cost of it is too great. Because you are the only person with whom life hasn't felt like it's all about survival. Even if he doesn't allow himself to think thatâeven if it's âbeneath himâ to consider it. Maybe it was the weed⊠or a weird ass combination of you and the weed. It hurts to think about emotions, when heâs so unused to. Itâs foreign, because âmen shouldn't cryâ. Angerâthat is allowed, in fact, it's âgoodâ, because it means you are an authority. But that belief⊠is what got him hereâthe reflection of his father staring back from the glass coffee table. In all his attempts to escapeâhe'd wound up exactly where he'd feared... because he knew nothing else.
And just like that, the big bad wolf, covered in ink from head to toe, crouches next to youâshedding his fur, his shieldâto reveal a lamb long-lost, approaching another. It isnât warm, it isnât even fully realized, but he is tryingâeven if it is just to get through to you.Â
âShit, Iââ, Dee starts, fog lifting from his eyes: ââI didn't mean to get you spooked.â
He did mean itâbut just never thought it'd hurt to see the results. You shake your head, trying to apologize on repeatâlike a broken record. He is suddenly reminded of Taylor and how he'd get all twitchy. Not that Dee knew how to deal with that besides popping a pill and running from it.Â
Then two words enter his mind. Dog fights⊠Well, not the fighting itself, dumbassâDee thinks to himself. But rather⊠he knows how to calm a pit bull afterâhis father had made sure of it. And in a sense⊠you are battling with yourself now, right? It shouldn't be so differentâŠ
He raises his hand from a distance, testing the watersâshushing you, largely speaking nonsense of âyou are okay, it's safeâ. But when someone is so scared⊠would the contents really matter? So long as the intent was thereâselfish intent, yet fully his. You blink, like you are coming back from a particularly nasty dreamâseeing his mouth move, perceiving more so his body language and⊠his eyesâclearer, brighter, almost hopeful and begging you to come back to him.
You don't know why⊠but it just feels right to slowly remove one hand from where it was cupping your ear and bring it up to his extended palm. First, the fingers, then the restâmaking full contact. His hand was so much bigger than yours⊠and somehow that doesn't make you feel scared but⊠safe and warm. You swear you see Dee's breath hitch at that as he takes his other hand to unclasp yours from where it still gripped your hair on the other sideâgently. You had never imagined him being capable of that, yet here he isâtrying. Maybe for a selfish reason⊠maybe even manipulating his way into your heart, but fuck⊠it works.
And then you realize, it isn't just words anymore⊠he is singing. Not with his full chest like one would do at karaoke butâ softly humming.Â
Oh the good life
To be free and explore the unknown
Please remember, I still want you
And in case you wonder why
Well, just wake up and kiss the good life goodbye
A song his mother would sing to him tooâabout the facade of an ideal life⊠about how waking up from it means being vulnerable.
âY-you have a nice voiceâcalmingâŠâ, you admit and your sudden lucidity almost startles him.
âThe only good thing my old man left me, it seems.â, he sighs.
âI'm sorryâyou're right. I can'tâwell, it's hard for me to put myself first, you know. Talking to you, buying from you was actually an attempt at that⊠sounds pathetic probably.â, you chuckle self-degrading and realize just how tangled the two of you are now. Each hand was occupied with the other's.
âIt's notâit wasn't fair for me to hold it against you, angelâŠâ, he admits, far too introspective for his likingâ'kissing' the âgood lifeâ goodbye it seems, if only attempting to: âHell, I am the one who sold to youâhoping you'd call all nervous, that you'd come again⊠I liked⊠seeing you like that.â
Dependent on himâheâd just admitted as much. Yet, in your headâthe only thing that matters, the only thing that echoes and that you want to make sense of isâ
Your brows furrow: âYou⊠wanted me coming back?â
Not all the other fucked up implications of itâhe is who he is and you are who you are. And maybe that's enough⊠for two lost people.
Dee nods, not able to voice the real feelings underneath it, masking them still: âI mean whoâs gonna ask me all those stupid questions? âHey, Dee do you think squirrels know they are cuteâlike, conceptually?ââwho thinks of shit like this but you, angel? And then... you doing all that magic card trickery for meâthat sent me in a frenzy⊠deadass.â, he chuckles so fondly remembering it now.
Over the facetimeâyou having laid the cards out and suddenly going: âYikesâ when The Tower had fallen off. He had that big meeting with his then-potential supplier the next day. So, there heâd beenâpacing his room, low groans of frustration leaving him with each step, hands combing through his hair messily: âWhy's The Tower bad?! Ain't they like escaping from it and shit? Look at that bloke, he is basically out of the flames already! Angel, don't play with meâthis is some serious shit I'm dealing with, yeah?â. You'd laughed with tears in your eyes then, assuring him it could be just ânew beginningsâ. Then, the Ace of Pentacles appeared and he could breathe more easily. âGave me heart palpitations worse than my parley⊠I should let you tag along next time I'm betting, you hear?â
You are his lucky charm after all. Because he'd scored the deal⊠just like the cardsâjust like youâhad told him.
âYeah, wellââ, you sniff, lighter now: ââyou have to think on those existential topics from time to time⊠it's good for your brain!â
You flick Dee's forehead for emphasis and he is just as surprised as you are at the audacity. Then, he matches it by plopping back next to youâsinking into the couch cushions.Â
âYou know what elseâs real good for the brain?â, he drawls as he raises his hips slightlyâhis sweatpants leaving little to the imagination with the teasing V-line that appearsâproducing the very same cigarette case youâd seen when you first met him. And there, in its silvery confines, stood a perfectly rolled joint⊠with a bow on its narrow tip, made from the same rolling paper. âThe paper smells like Skittles by the wayâthought you might appreciate a little flare and all.â
âThank you, but... I think I want to tell you about Paul before thatâŠâ, you sayâputting yourself first.
He nods and leaves the cigarette case opened on the tableâa silent offering. But he doesn't say another wordâboth because he doesn't know what he should be saying right now and because he wants you to have the space. Intuitively⊠that's the right move.Â
âPaul is⊠was my father.â, you say, swallowing the truth down: âHe left or⊠was made to leave when my mom was pregnant with my sister. I'm not sure he even recognized me at the partyâit's been years, but⊠it felt like I was back again at that awful place when I saw him.â, you take a sip from the tea, long gone cold, in an attempt to ground yourself.Â
Dee inches closer, wanting to feel what it's like to be so open without the high. He doesn't like itânot fully. It's like small wasp bites dancing on his skin or like low but persistent voltage settling in his stomach. Uncomfortable⊠not unwanted, maybe?Â
âBut you aren'tâI'm not there either.â, he tells you and himselfâeven if he knows he acts the way he does, because sometimes he too gets sent to his own helpless time. âYou knowâŠâ, Dee says, throat dry but he continues grating through it: â⊠I'll be leaving Paul's âemploymentâ soon enoughâhe is a jackass to everyone âunderâ him. So, let's just say, I'm even more motivated to succeed now, in my endeavors and all. Bastard deserves a proper beating.â You shake your head with a huff and Dee puts his hands up in mock defense: âMetaphorically speaking or whateverââ
He doesn't thank you for telling him about it⊠somehow it feels like if he does, he'd be suggesting it's really âleverageâ. But a part of him definitely wishes he'd taken a swing at Paul too this morning, or at least made sure Gaz landed conveniently on top of him. Things happen in a fightâŠ
Whatever life had beenâit got you two here, passing a skittles-smelling twinkling stick on the small apartment terrace.
You are not sure how you'd ended up in his lap but the bean bag is snug enough for two⊠and his solid chest is far more comfortable than the raggedy metal chair. His hands come to encircle your waist as he taps to get rid of the residue in the ashtray.Â
Then, instead of passing you the joint like he'd done the past three rounds or so, he pinches the tip between his thumb and pointer fingerâlike he might take another hit himself. He is a greedy man but it seems his indulgence takes another, more pointed direction as he brings it to your lips directly. You turn slightly, surprisedâyour left peripheral vision meeting his eyes, set dead on you and your every movement.
âWhat? Afraid it'll suddenly bite because it's from my hands?â, Dee teases, his voice thicker from all the heavy smoke that still rests at his throat: âGuess you won't be needing that thenâŠâ
As he slowly tries to bring the joint back to his lips instead, you clasp your fingers around his wrist, trying to pull his hand back to your mouth with a small whine. He's unmoving through itâthe tiniest bracing of his forearm muscles enough to catch you at a standstill. âNah, you had your chance for a freebieânow you gotta ask real nice, angel⊠grease a bit, come on.âÂ
You puff out in a pout and squirm in placeâtrapped between his thighs. Now that you look down you realize just how massive he is compared to you. It makes you feel⊠flustered, safely so. Not the kind that rushes, but the slow and steady kind. The kind that makes you stand up, turn to face him and bracket his legs with your ownâeffectively straddling him.Â
âIs this better?â, you ask, trying to sound more confident⊠more alluring.
He huffs in disbelief but quickly nudges his chest forward⊠pretending that the abrupt change in position doesn't affect him in the slightest.Â
âI didn't hear you asking, angel⊠just trying to take like thisâvery naughty.â, he tsks with a smirk, stretching so that the joint is even further away from your reach. The moment he leans back, you feel an unmistakable hardness pressing against your coreâlike you'd slotted in the perfect spot with your thighs spread like this. You try to not make a sound as you clutch your knees like it will somehow make the want spreading through you less obvious. He doesn't move to get you off of him⊠but he isn't pushing for anything to happen. Like he's content with playing this gameâso long as it's with you. Instead, he snakes his free hand up your thigh where your shorts ride higher⊠you feel each callousâundoubtedly from all the lifting at the gym and it sends shivers through you. And then a yelp as he pinches at your waist⊠a reprimand for taking your time, for getting lost without him.
He isn't used to the patience of itâbut it seems everything around him demanded he start taking things in stride. Starting with the supplier deal and ending with you, both intoxicatingly lucrative for entirely different reasonsâone to give him independence, the otherâhis to savor, long and sweet.Â
âMay I have the joint back, DeeâŠâ, you look away, licking your lipsâtasting the artificial rainbow: â⊠please?", you add with forced reluctance.
He scratches the slight stubble on his chin in mock contemplation, rolling his eyes from side to sideâthe capillaries already so angry and red⊠unlike him.
âSure⊠but you gotta kiss me first.â, he says, and surprisingly points to his cheek. You want to laugh out loud at thatâyou never expected him to ask for something so childishly silly. Yet, it makes you melt⊠that he isn't pressuring you into anything furtherâjust wants you to enjoy the feeling of him.Â
It feels so right⊠so dizzyingly right that you lean and press your lips right next to where his finger still rests. You sense the rough stubble against your plush lips and you take him in⊠lavender, his grandmotherâs detergentâalways used, he'd told you, even all those years later. Your eyelashes flutter against his faceâ and you can't help yourself⊠you move to gently bite on his finger. It's his fault that he is so frozen by your willingness after all⊠He hissed at that, hips stuttering below you in synchrony with his breath as he then tugs the very same hand up through your scalpâthe small pull making you roll your hips unintentionally against him.
Dee drawls in that dangerous but warm tone, just for you: âBaby⊠I said âask nicelyâ, not âbite the hand that feeds youââŠâÂ
âSomething tells me you preferred the second option.â, you assure, pulling out your tongue at him as you try to bring your mouth closer to the joint that threatened to go out soon.
He relents that much and offers it up to youâholding tightly on both you and it with almost equal intensity. As you inhale deeply, your throat tingling with that rich taste like honey, Dee doesn't let you rest. He leaves your scalp only for his now free hand to travel up your sidesâbelow his hoodie, the one he'd draped over you on the first night so you won't get cold. You held onto it, greedily and nowâyou are paying with interest. Because watching it swallow you whole does things to him, makes him want to feel just how much his hands could cup and cherish. It's ticklish, how his fingers dance along your ribs, so much so that your breath catches around the tip of the joint, making you choke. He tries to bite back a groan the moment he realizes you really aren't wearing a bra. It's your house after all⊠you are just getting comfyâlucky himâŠ
âEasy, angelâŠâ, he hushes as his hand cups the swell of your breast, thumb resting but not yet teasing your nipple.
âDeeââ, you whine into his touch, choking out smoke and inevitably driving him mad with all those small little trembles against him.
âWhat's that? Just some weed and a little touching and you're already all stupid f'me, huh?â, he teases but it's clear from how tight his jaw clenches, how slurred his words are and the slow drag he takesâthat he's just as far gone as you are. His eyes never leave yours though as he holds the smoke, swallowing it down all the while pressing circles into your nipple⊠like he's trying to memorize the shape of you, every tremble you make. You can't help but nod feverishly, agreeing with his assessmentâtwisting your hands into the fabric of his tee, searching to stay present, to not fly away at how good it feels.
As he leaves the joint onto the ashtray, appearing carefree⊠the casualty of it all makes your heart stutter. You take that hand gently in yours, scratching your nails along his forearm purposefully as you bring his fingers to your lips. Slowly, you kiss every tip, open-mouthed, sighing as you close your eyesâlike the action itself, being so close to him, is the most soothing thing. And maybe right now it is⊠when you are both so floaty. He lets out soft curses, rolling your nipples with every kiss you leave as he cups your cheek, bringing you closerâforehead to forehead. Now, it's his turn to drive upward into youâchasing some pressure, any pressure, every inch of you against the throbbing ache.
The joke is right on the tip of his tongueâ are you both in high-school or something? Humping like rabbits in heat⊠but it doesn't leave his mouth, not when you whimper so sweetly, breath heavy against his lips. It's desperate but waiting, savoringâjust what he needs but could never bring himself to seek. And with youâhe doesn't have toâyou are the velvet wrapping around his ragged edges. Never able to smooth them, always poking and prodding at you, lodging in the very fibre of your being. You won't have it any other way, you realize as his face inches impossibly closerâtongue darting out to swipe across your lips, curling in tandem with a smirkâthe softest question he can muster. And you let it consume you as you chase the taste of him back. He captures your lips earnestly thenâhunger given flesh, not a fairytale, but a cacophony of teeth and ragged breaths. A desperate sound is caught in your throat as he pulls at your bottom lip, hand twitching around the back of your neckâunsure of whether to claim more or to push you away. Instead, both of his hands come to rest around you, low on your backâmaking sure you are still real as he looks past your shoulder onto the skyline.Â
âI love the sunset after rainâŠâ, he ponders absent-mindedly.Â
âMe tooâfeels like it takes everything bad away.â, you smile as you rest your head on his chest.Â
He is big, so it is no wonder, but it still catches you by surpriseâjust how big his heart is as the thumps pull you inevitably closer to him. You reach your hand up and comb through his buzzcut, feeling the small hairs prickle at your fingers as he rests his head on top of yours. And when the sun fully sets and the smell of rain lingers⊠everything bad flies away, but somehow there's enough left of everything else for both of you to finally stay.Â
đ Tag list: @p4neminem
If you want to be added/removed from my tag list (be it for a particular WIP series or my general work), pls leave a comment or DM me. Thanks for reading!