My stories take place in an alternate universe of The Hunger Games/TBoSaS. Some of them contain triggering themes, so please make sure you are comfortable with the content warnings before reading. MDNI.
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Comments are welcome, but please be kind! I write for fun and I may miss some canon details accidentally. Requests are also welcome, if my muse cooperates.
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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, Drugging, love serum, Inspired by Obsession (Movie 2025), Anxiety Attacks, Paranoia, Fairytale References, Delusional Behavior
A/N: I was going to write a separate story inspired by the Obsession movie, but then this story became the Obsession AU since I thought, well, thereâs no way on earth these two will make peace after what happened. But thereâs one way to bring them back together. Get ready for a wild detour! There is no use of a wish willow, but a love serum instead, with powerful side effects. Please mind the updated tags (they may change). This chapter was beta read by the lovely @coffeeblyth on ao3 & tumblr!
â PART 4 || PART 6 (in progress) â
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Coriolanusâ POV
Sleep was no friend that night.
Coriolanus tossed and turned, wondering what the hell he was to do about this predicament. Surely, he was all his peers could laugh and talk about at the party after the spectacle that went down. Theyâd never looked so enthusedâbreath bated, waiting for someone to land the first punch. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to refrain from decking Urban Canville in the face when he came at him like that, all cockyâalways coveting what wasnât his. He always went after his sloppy seconds, so curious to have a taste of whatever the flavor of the month was. Coriolanus used to chuckle about it; he wanted to be him so badly. This time, however, he didnât find the humor in it. That girl was his until he decided she wasnât.
Phoebe. What was she doing now? Was she still up, thinking about him at this ungodly hour? Or had she already cried herself to sleep? The thought of her crying bothered him. Crying was a sign of weakness; his father had scolded that habit out of him ever since he could remember, in his endeavor to shape him into his spitting image. When he first fell and broke his favorite toy as a child, heâd cried and criedâas most children did in such a situation. But he wasn't like most children; he was a Snow. Mother had wiped away his tears and promised to buy him another one, but his father had just strode in to witness the whole commotion go down. He wasnât pleased to see his wife coddling his heir, for he had immediately snatched the toy and told him: there is no use crying over broken toys. It was undignified. To drive home the point, he promptly tossed it into the trash.
There came a time when Mother was no longer around to comfort Coriolanus, to sneak those broken toys out of the trash and fix them, to keep it their little secret. His cousin Tigris, too, was taught not to coddle him, and was expected to carry herself in similar decorum. Though Father never quite got on her case for some of the things she did, that for him were reprimandable offenses. It was so unfair, heâd thought then, until he grew older and realizedâhe truly did not give a damn about his niece. How sad.
Heâd quickly learned not to cry over a problem. The only solution was to do something about it. Fix it, or donât, but never let it control him. Father had made that a point, until he learned never to let his emotions show. Everything heâd endured had shaped him into the person he was now. A bit of pressure was necessary to carve and polish a diamond. He upheld that standard in every part of his life now. The only tears he tolerated from his girl were tears of ecstasy, when she begged for itâfor more, so sweetlyâdissolving like sugar beneath the heat of his touch. He relished the power he held over her in those moments and how he was the only one who had ever touched and seen her that way.
His bed was large enough to accommodate another person. His entire room was, really, a hollow embodiment of his inner state: practical, devoid of warmth and unnecessary embellishments, with plenty of space to roam. When he reached over, he felt nothing but his cold sheets. Not the dip of the mattress, of her weight beside him, nor the warmth of her body curled against his. The air smelled of freshly washed linen rather than the comforting sweetness of strawberries heâd come to crave. Such feminine warmth was nowhere to be found in the Snow penthouse.
His fatherâs voice echoed in his mind:
If you want something bad enough, you will do whatever it takes.
And he thought, he wanted her.
That girl. The realization hit him with disturbing lucidity, along with the reality of her slipping like sand between his fingers. Would she ever forgive him for what heâd done? Part of him thought, if he were any other man, sheâd be a fool to forgive someone whoâd been gunning for her like sport. Hadnât he been, then? What was she ever meant to be but another notch in his belt?
It was complicated now.
Heâd been made aware of this hunger in himâan insatiable one that festered as the years passed. It was one he could never put a name to, let alone describe. No amount of sustenance nor carnal pleasures could quell that gnawing pit in him. How frustrating it was to know that someone as exceptional as him could have anything he wanted, yet he could not seize that one thing he craved if he could not identify it.
Coriolanus sat with his thoughts, the shadows his only company, that hollowness in him souring like a rot that he wanted to carve out.
If only he could.
She didnât show up to school the next day.
Neither did she the day afterâso determined to wither away in bed and avoid whatever had happened that night. Perhaps that was all fine and dandy with her, but as her tutor, it was his duty to ensure she wasnât slacking off academically. With that in mind, he picked up his phone and dialed her number.
No answer.
Again and again, he tried. Nothing went through. No one picked up. Thus he was forced to resort to more drastic measures: calling the Blackwood family landline. It rang a few times before a rather exhausted Prunella greeted him:
ââŠHello. This is Prunella Blackwood speaking.â
âGood afternoon, Mrs. Blackwood,â he began smoothly, aiming for a tone in between good-natured concern and the sternness appropriate for a tutor. âItâs Coriolanus Snow. I was wondering how Phoebe was doing. She missed two days of school and didnât answer her phone, so I was worried that she came down with something.â
âShe has, in fact. A stomach bug of some sortâŠâ Prunellaâs voice seemed rather terse, like she was hiding something. Hiding what? He gripped the cord of the landline tight.
âIâm sorry to hear that,â he answered in a clipped tone. âIs she available to speak right now?â
A moment of silence.
âSheâs sleeping,â came her quiet response. How odd for someone normally so loquacious. There was something almost manic about her excitement in conversations and how she could prattle on for a mile a minute, sapping the energy from those around herâbut that air was nowhere to be found now.
Was she sleeping, really? At five in the afternoon? Their little spat had clearly done a number on her. How dramatic. âI seeâŠâ Despite his suspicion, he gave Prunella the benefit of the doubt. âIâll come by to deliver her assignments for the week. As her tutor, I am concerned for her academic performance as of late. Her repeated absences do not reflect well on her.â And what were her parents doing about it, letting her stay home for several days in a row? As if that didnât have consequences. Heâd been taught to show up at school, no matter what, unless he was literally dying. Even then, if he could manage to sit in his seat, he was healthy enough. A small sacrifice to pay for his stellar reputation.
Coriolanus visited the next day, late in the afternoon, with a care package in hand. Within was a homework folder containing a copy of his notes. A giant teddy bear accompanied it, along with a box of Phoebeâs favorite chocolates, and a single white rose was the finishing touch: his signature. He delivered the package to their maid, who insisted the young lady of the house was sleeping and would not be seeing any guests.
She couldnât have possibly been sleeping for three days straight. She wasnât sleeping beauty.
On his way back to his car, he caught a glimpse of Phoebeâs figure peeking at him through the curtain of her balcony window. There she was, standing in the shadows, ghostly pale and unkempt in her white nightgown, her hair a tangled birdsâ nest, her eyes ringed with dark circles⊠like a specter haunting him. Heâd never seen her like that, so pitiful. Her dull gaze transfixed him for a moment and he swallowed, the December frost nipping at his neck and sending a chill rushing down his spine. One glanceâthat was all she permitted him before she snapped the curtains shut, disappearing from his view.
The poor thing. She wasnât handling this well.
 Lately, his friends were always staring at him.
Always whispering behind his back. Only the entire school was, it seemed. Theyâd latched onto the juicy piece of gossip that was his relationship with Phoebe Blackwood. What a dumpster fire that was, they mustâve been thinking. Coriolanus Snow, the Academy playboy, had lost his touch; heâd fallen for the girl he was meant to seduce and when sheâd discovered it was all a lie, she kicked him to the curb. Some would call it karma for all the hearts he broke. Nonetheless, he was miffed by this image they created of a boy lovelorn. That was the farthest from the truth, but gossip had a way of contorting itself and spreading like wildfire.
Sheâd kicked out the stage lights, yet he was still performingâshoulders straight, head held high, smile bright, trying not to think about it. About how Sejanus Plinth seemed so disappointed in him. Instead of greeting him with a good morning the way he usually did, he turned his head the other way and kept walking. Whatever. Heâd never expected a bleeding heart like him to comprehend the complexity of his predicament. All Plinth saw was his heartbroken friend, which was enough to paint him as an enemy. It was nice to have him out of his hair, anyway; there was nothing he disliked more than small talk with those he did not find particularly engaging. It was just that⊠he wasnât the only one who had a change of heart.
During second period, Io Jasper refused to share her notes with him; sheâd instead crossed her arms and kept quiet when he requested to see them. Lysistrata Vickers was no different, although she had to report to him since he was the president of the student council and she was the vice presidentâdirectly under his command. Their discussion had been strictly limited to the Yule Ball, however. No pleasantries, none of her usual excitement about her plans and her vision for the esteemed celebration.
It seemed his girl had made some true allies.
During lunch, none of his friends had uttered a word about Phoebe, as if theyâd formed an unspoken agreement to pretend she never existed when in his presence. But he sensed the tension rife in the air among their lingering stares, and, for the first time, he found himself wanting to retreat to a quiet place, away from prying ears and eyes.
So he went to the library.
Coriolanus stole Phoebeâs favorite spotâall the way in the back, surrounded by rows and rows of books. It was comfortable there, albeit a bit lonely, and he wondered how she used to live like that, wallowing in her own company. No, not wallowingâshe was truly content in her loneliness. How many times did he catch her smiling at a novel? Humming while she doodled in her notebook? Not even looking up when she walked, so fixated on whatever she was daydreaming about? A girl with her head in the clouds.
He grabbed a book off the top shelfâthe same red one she usually reached forâand read it. An anthology of fairytales⊠Its pages were yellowed and weathered with age, its spine barely held together. It opened directly on the first page of a classic tale: Little Red Riding Hood.
A story of innocence lost.
While he read it, he thought of her as that girl, Little Red, and he was the wolf, tempting her with delights, trying to lead her off that paved path. He didnât like the way it endedâwith the beast being slain. It wouldâve been more riveting had it escaped so its fate remained a mystery, but in most fairytales, there had to be a villain. âGoodâ had to prevail. To him, a story was more engaging when the lines blurred between good and evil, and those who were strongest conquered.
Perhaps Cinderella wasnât so sweet after all. Perhaps she was cunning, for she had, after all, secured herself a prince. Had clawed her way up from the very bottom using her charms. He was conversely reminded of Phoebe and how she had clawed her way into his world just the same: a story of rags to riches. But Cinderella was nothing without her princeâjust some girl covered in cinder.
Later that day, after he showered and finished his homework, Coriolanus reclined on his bed, the empty space swallowing him. He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand and took out a little something⊠the pink ribbon she used to wear in her hair. The same one sheâd lost and couldnât find for the life of her. Heâd pocketed it when he went through her room one day, while she was taking her time fetching their usual tea and snacks.
He ran his fingers along the lush satin and brought it up to his nose, inhaling the sweetness of strawberries lingering on it. Her scent. Heâd stolen quite a few of her trinketsâlittle things she wouldnât miss⊠like one of her glittery gel pens. The handkerchief heâd given her to wipe her tears that day when sheâd cried about her exam was still somewhere in his drawer, stained pink with her blush. It was a whole bunch of junk he should have tossed out, yet he kept those little pieces of her.
Even the letter that pathetic boy had slipped into her locker remained in his drawer. That same boy was that âgentlemanâ caller sheâd never met because Coriolanus deemed him no good for her: a new money boy of no notable prestigeâthough he tried to distract from that mere fact with his performatively lavish displays. Men of real class knew that the proper way to take care of a woman was not merely showering her with shiny trinkets. A masquerade of affluential success. All the jewels in the world meant nothing if one stood upon a foundation made of straw, with no power to improve upon it or provide. There were some things that money could never buy. Of course, a girl like Phoebe, so blinded by her sentimentality and delusional fantasies, would not be able to discern that. Or worse, sheâd willingly look past it.
If Coriolanus had not cared to intervene, he imagined a girl like her falling prey so easily to that type, only to wake up all jaded when all that glittered was not gold, but could not leave, not after sheâd been shackled down by ring and a few children. By Panem, he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, come to think of it. No one else would have cared to save her from that sort of fate. All that aside, she belonged to him, anyway. He was merely taking out the trash cluttering up her locker.
Some nights, he brought out that ribbon to play with it, for no particular reason other than he enjoyed that silky-soft feeling on his skin.
He liked soft things.
The fourth day Phoebe failed to show up at school was his last straw. She couldnât fake a stomach bug forever, and at the rate she was going, sheâd be lucky to graduate. On that fourth day, he reached out, not expecting her to answer.
But she did.
The phone rang not even once before she picked up the call, as if sheâd anticipated this. Had she been waiting for him to check on her? His heart stopped, and whatever heâd rehearsed strangely vanished from his mind. For a moment, there was nothingâjust silenceâthe only sign of her presence a single sniffle. ââŠHello,â he began, and only his voice echoed back. âAre you thereâŠ?â he continued, hoping to hear her voice for the first time in days.
âI am,â she rasped, so hoarsely, as if she hadnât spoken in days.
âHow have you been?â he inquiredâa useless question in hindsight because he very well knew she wasnât. One look at her through that window yesterday was enough to discern sheâd been falling apart, and the state of her scratchy voice now wasnât promising. But hearing anything from her was progress, was it not?
âFucking fantastic,â she remarked sarcastically, her colorful language causing his brow to arch. Such language was undignified for a lady, but he chose not to respond to that, as he wasnât in any position to be chastising her. Not if he wanted to be back in her good graces.
What now? Should he apologize for her feeling hurt by his actions, although heâd already done so that night, when it all went up in flames? Over his dead body, he thought. Apologizing once was enough; the very act had made him want to crawl out of his skin from how sappy it made him appear thenâlike a man groveling on his knees for some woman who would not give him the time of day. A boy crying over a broken toy. Utterly whipt, as Urban Canville had determined. âYou donât sound well,â he observed, calmly. âHave you eaten anything yet? Did you drink enough water?â
âI have.â There it was, that pitch in her toneâthat tell she was lying.
âEat something,â he commanded, his stern voice edged with a meticulous amount of softness to handle her delicate state: sharp like a blade wrapped in silk. âDonât make me come over there and feed you.â
âIâd like to see you try,â she challenged him, haughtily.
More silence. So much of it.
ââŠWhy did you call me?â Her quiet voice broke the silence, wavering with such hesitance, as if she were treading on thin ice.
âI wanted to check on you,â he informed her. âYour four-day absence was somewhat concerning. You do realize you wonât pass your classes if you keep calling in sick, donât you? What does your father have to say about that?â
âWhy do you care?â she humored him, a tad bitterly. A little bell chimed in the background. Pennyâs collar: a sign of her presence in the conversation, too. âYour little bet is over. Thereâs no need to keep up with this charade.â
âIâm your tutor until your parents say Iâm not. It is my duty to ensure your academic success.â That was a sensible answer, he thought, but perhaps she was searching for something more sincere to appeal to her tender state. She coughedâonce, then twice. âOne sip of water and Iâll leave you alone,â he proposed. An obvious lie, yet she fell for it, sighing as if he were requesting so much from her. He heard the scrape of a glass. A few large gulps. The glass slammed down on her nightstand, and thenâ
She hung up. She actually hung up.
He called her again.
âLiar,â her voice faded in, but there was no humor in it; she couldnât be asked to fake that much.
âI want to see you,â he confessed. The few days theyâd been apart stretched on for too long. It seemed her absence made her presence even more prominent, and it wasnât like his friends were any help, always giving him funny looks like he was a bear they were trying not to poke⊠subsequently reminding him of her.
âHave you forgotten what we talked about?â Her voice sounded clearer now after the water, yet still so raw. âI donât want to see you anymore.â
âWe didnât have a chance to speak properly. I want to see you again so we can discuss things like civil adults.â That was a more than reasonable request, to smooth things over, as the Ball was right around the corner and he had every intention of taking her to it. Yes, things would be awkward initially, though her continued absence, he imagined, would be more so.
âWhatâs there to talk about?â she snapped, her sharp voice like claws slicing his pale skin. Who would have thought the little mouse had claws? She was out for blood right nowâclearly not calm enough for any rational discussion.
âThereâs much Iâd like to say,â he lied, âbut Iâd prefer to do it in person. An important discussion like this ought to be done face to face. You did pick up, so letâs not skirt around this.â Truth be told, he had no idea what to say to her. For starters, it would be nice to see her again, his girl.
âNo.â She swallowed the lump in her throat. âI canât forgive you for what you did. Iâm sorry. I just⊠canât.â The chime of Pennyâs collar rang through in response, almost as if to mock him. Finally, sheâd have her favorite human all to herself and he would stop coming around to bother them.
He heard the sound of a door opening just then.
âPhoebe, darling. Will you please have a bath and come down for dinner? You look absolutely dreadfulââ it was Prunella, ââoh! are you talking to someoneââ
Click.
She hung up on him again.
On the fifth day, she graced the Academy with her presence.
Not looking her bestâstill like a train wreck in his opinion: all tired without her makeup on (a touch of lip gloss hardly counted), nor her signature ponytail with his ribbon in it. Her blouse was wrinkled, her socks uneven, like theyâd been pulled on with haste. He frowned. Didnât approach her yet, though he watched her, and well, nearly all of their class did. Anyone who cared to know about the drama that went down at Clemensiaâs party had scrutinized the pair. Scattered whispers ensued, which he was no stranger to, having tolerated those for only the entire week.
âDid she just roll out of bed?â Arachne whispered a remark into Liviaâs ear. They both shook their heads disapprovingly. Those two wouldnât be caught dead without a full face of makeup and their hair perfectly done. Most elites went above and beyond to curate their appearances, so it was unsightly, the state of her. Better to stay home than to show up at all, they mustâve thought. Coriolanus remembered how Arachne had paled when he caught her in her pajamas, one morning, curling pins still in her hair when he and his father had made an impromptu visit. He had a good chuckle over that many years ago, just watching her abscond upstairs.
Urban Canville was as smug as can be upon Phoebeâs returnâof course he was. âIf you ever want to talk about anything, Iâm here,â was all he said to her, playing the part of some supportive benefactor, as if he wasnât in on that bet. To which she frownedânot buying his act one bit.
âLook at himâalready swooping in for the kill. Didnât even wait a week,â Festus tutted disapprovingly to Coriolanus for his sake, but he didnât want to hear it. She was right in front of them, and he couldnât have been any louder for someone trying to whisper. Predictably, she went rigid.
By the end of first period, Coriolanusâ notes were somehow half-written. It was uncharacteristically hard to focus when she was right in front of him, her cloying scent invading his senses and demanding his attention with such insistence. Funny, given she'd hardly looked at him today. Why wouldnât she look at him? To no surprise, when he glanced over her shoulder, he caught her doodling flowers in the corner of her notebook. Why did she bother showing up today? Surely sheâd been forced to make an appearance, and this was her silent retaliation.
She fled to the courtyard for lunch. Not the library, because sheâd seen him there, and heâd claimed her favorite spot, to her visible surpriseâthen annoyance, when she frowned. And so he slipped out, one minute after she left, to watch her half freeze to death by herself out there, shivering pathetically on some frosty bench. Once the door swung open, she spotted him, and he strode up to her with a calm confidence befitting a Snow. He leisurely unbuttoned his thick winter coat.
Immediately, she stiffened. âStop following meââ
Coriolanus unceremoniously draped the wool coat around her shoulders, then disappeared back into the building, leaving her shivering on her own. At least she kept his coat on instead of balling it up and tossing it back to him like she had that night when he dropped her off after the party. She buttoned it up and sighed, her breath fogging the frigid air before her. This was a good sign, wasnât it? He observed her from the window, enjoying how she looked covered in him. The fabric, smelling of roses, weighed her down and drowned her slight shape. It wasnât until a few students strolled by that he was made aware he was staring for too long.
And so he returned to his lunch table in the cafeteria, figuring talking to her would be a lost cause for now.
At the end of the day, she sought him out, and he couldnât help but feel a bit triumphant about that⊠although she was simply just returning his coat. âHere.â She handed the folded bundle back to him, but he didnât accept it; he merely observed her, and she waved it at him with insistence. Her nose was all red and she was sniffling now.
âDonât tell me youâre catching a cold,â he began, a slight furrow in his brow. Now she might actually be sick. Finally, he accepted his coat and slipped it back on. Before she could rush off, however, he pulled her back by the strap of her satchel and she gasped, flailing in protest. He pressed her back against his chest and trapped her in his arms. It was physically electric, that sensation of touching her for the first time in all but a week, though that couldâve just been the static of his coat.
âWhy are you in such a rush? Do you have somewhere to be?â he pried.
âLet go of me, pleaseâŠâ She wiggled, in vain. The hall was empty this time of day, which worked perfectly to his advantage. He couldnât catch her alone and she would rather gnaw off her hand than ever agree to see him, it seemed. What other chance did he have to hold her like this, to speak with her face to face? She wasnât thinking straightâher judgment clouded by shame and spite. All that feminine rage just bubbling under the surface. How could someone be so cold yet so hot?
Do whatever it takes.
Coriolanus leaned down, close enough for his lips to graze her ear: her weak spot. He liked to nibble on her ear whenever he toyed with herâliked to whisper into it just to watch her get all flustered, like a deer in the headlights. Of course she shivered, and when her breath hitched, he knew it wasnât because of the cold. Inhaling her decadent scent, he thought it funny how just hours ago, he found it so cloying. Yet now, all he wanted was to bottle it up. âSettle down,â he ordered, his breath hot against her startlingly frigid skin. âIâll let go of you if you wonât run off.â
His hand felt her heart race frantically in an attempt to break free from her chest as she thought about it. She nodded, and so he relinquished her.
âWhat do you want?â She got straight to the point, wrapping her arms around herselfâlooking everywhere but at him, like she could not wait to shake him off her back. How rude.
âI hate seeing you like this, so unsettled and unlike yourself,â he thought out loud, while he watched her retreat a few steps, her back pressing against his locker.
âWhy does it bother you?â she murmured, fidgeting with the strap of her satchel.
âI like it when youâre happy. Doesnât every man want his woman to be happy?â He tilted his head, transfixing her with his cold smile.
âIâm not your woman.â Those words left her with such spite and bitterness. Such exasperation, that the electric hum between them had started to sizzle her nerves. âI thought I made that clear.â
âIf that is what you think, so be it. But Iâm still your tutor. Itâs still my responsibility to ensure your academic success. Have you turned in your homework from last week?â She falteredâof course she didnât. And so he tutted. âWhatever will you do without me? It seems I have no choice but to come over and help you catch up.â
âDonât bother. I wonât open the door if you come,â she retaliated hotly.
âI suppose Prunella can let me in, then. I wonder what sheâll have to say about you slacking off. Not to mention your fatherâŠâ She went rigid at the mention of him, âHeâd certainly want to know if youâre at risk of failingâŠâ
âHave you ever been told no before?â She seemed at her witsâ end.
Had he? Perhaps when he was a child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar going back for seconds, and the Grandmaâam had chastised him for his gluttony. He was a growing boy, he argued, but she wouldnât have him rotting his teeth. Now she was dead and gone, so nothing was stopping him besides the fact that he wanted to keep his pearly whites. That wasnât what his little mouse was getting at, however. âHave you told your parents about what happened at the party?â he inquired, cutting to the chase, fed up with her antics.
Phoebe swallowed. âIâI thought we could end things amicably, but it seems not. If you want to involve my father in this, then be my guest. He will have your head when he finds out what youâve done.â What heâs done? Last time he checked, it took two to tangoâthe whole bet aside. And it was not like Silas Blackwood was in any position to harm himânot if he valued his fragile reputation. People who had crossed the Snows before had found their paths riddled with sudden unfortunate circumstances⊠Undue financial burdens, and closed doors. She pointed at him accusingly, then scurried off, the way she always did when overwhelmed. But he wouldnât let her slip through his fingers this time.
So he caught her again, just when she passed an empty classroom. Her eyes darted to his hand in a rather disconcerting way, as if contemplating violence. One look through the tiny window of the door revealed that the room was empty, the lights off. Perfect. He turned the knob and when the door opened, he dragged her inside.
She gasped as he pulled her behind the closet by the door. This wasnât much in the way of privacy, though it was better than them bickering out in the open for anyone to stumble upon. As if their peers had not already seen and heard enough.
âLet go of me!â Phoebe struggled against his hold. âAre you insane?â
âI thought you might prefer a quiet place to talk⊠unless youâre comfortable airing out your dirty laundry. Shall we let everyone hear?â Coriolanus raised his voice just a bit, causing her eyes to widen.
She clamped a hand over his mouthâwell, attempted toâhe evaded her with effortless ease, still not letting go of her. âShut up,â she gritted out.
He did not. But he did lower his voice for her sake. âSo you havenât told them?â Eventually, word would travel to her parents about what happened if she refused to let him see her. âHow would you feel about your father finding out what happened at the party?â
âWhat should I feelâŠ?â Phoebe faltered, still half breathless from the struggle. âI didnât do anything wrong.â He rolled his tongue over his teeth and gazed upon her pitiful form shrinking back against the closetâs edge. The uncertainty in her tone led him to assume she didnât believe her own words.
âI wonder what your father would think of you being more diligent about sucking my cock than doing your homeworkâŠâ he remarked. âYou arenât the innocent little angel he thinks you areâŠâ
She appeared so pure, and that was what heâd been drawn to, initially: the vulnerability that could only come from someone whoâd experienced so little in life. Utterly malleable. What would it feel like to take something so raw and destroy it, then remold it to perfection? Clip its wings and drag it down to hell with him, to be reborn in the ashes?
Immediately, she bristled, as if his stating the truth was a slight against her, and not a chance for her to confront reality. âHeâll beat the shit out of you for touching me, thatâs for sure,â she insisted bitterly.
âHe very well might try,â he humored her, âbut do you want my honest opinion?â He heard a sassy little ânot reallyâ but pretended not to catch it. Pressing a finger to her lips, he shushed her, then she grabbed his hand, squeezing it so painfully tight in retaliation. âHeâll be so disappointed in you. Do you know what it would mean for your family if you were ruined, Phoebe?â
Remaining pure until marriage⊠such a contrived tradition few truly followed. He heard all sorts of things about a handful of the girls in his year who seemed so demure and innocent. Quite contrary; there were as many faces to a Capitolite as there were facets to a prism. It was all a performance, and they learned to don their masks like a second skin. But she never learned how to do that. Phoebe.
All that truly mattered was oneâs family name.
He thought of the Blackwoods, barely clinging onto relevancy. Silas Blackwood was as hungry for power as any other lower-class eliteâa bootlicker if heâd ever seen oneâand he thought Prunella was doing the most when he first met her. But every time he was forced to talk to that man, he always boasted about his business ventures, as if that could ever compare to the illustrious success of the Snow dynasty.
Phoebe blanked out on him there, not quite getting it. She relinquished his hand, brows furrowing. âBut Iâm not ruined.â
âThere are many ways to be ruined, Phoebe,â he gently coaxed her to see sense. âIt doesnât matter what the truth isâjust what you let people perceive.â
He saw the cogs in her mind working overtime to process this.
âThereâs still time to smooth things over and fix this mess. I can help, if youâll allow me to,â he proposed, and a sour look contorted her features, as if heâd said something to offend her.
âYou created this mess,â she jabbed her finger at his chest, accusingly.
âRegardless of who created it, itâs our mess now.â It seemed almost romantic when he phrased it that way. He tipped her chin up, forcing her to level with him, his expression softening in a best attempt at warmth. âWe can make the most of thisâitâs not all for nothing. Our circumstances, however unfavorable, have brought us together. Do not be so bitterâit will all work out for the better. Youâll see.â And if she wouldnât, heâd make her see. For the better.
âNoââ
There was nothing more grating to his ears than the shrill sound of someone complaining. He swooped in, seizing her lips in a firm kiss, swallowing her surprised gasp and whatever meaningless words were lodged in her throat. They didnât matter. All that mattered was setting things straight.
Phoebe jerked her head to the side, breaking the kiss. âCoriolanusââ
âSettle down, darling. What weâre having is a loverâs spat. The anger you are feeling will pass.â She opened her mouth to speak again, but he pressed another kiss on her lipsâa hungrier one, as if determined to steal the air from her lungs. Her words dissolved like sugar on his tongue, and all he could think of was how sweet her lip gloss was.
Then there it came, that sudden unpleasant sting, followed by the coppery taste of his own blood. A bitter mouthful of rejection. How foul it was. How foreign, curdling his taste buds.
She bit himâlike a wild animalâthen shoved him back.
He recoiled, wincing immediately. Her possible anger was taken into consideration before he approached her, but heâd never expected that a lady so normally gentle would go so far as to sink her teeth into him to prove a point. It all went to show how troubled she was. Animals had a tendency to lash out when disturbed or frightened.
âDonât touch me,â she hissed out.
What happened to that spineless girl who melted so easily under his touch? Who trusted him, so readily? Little lamb, no more.
She left him there, stunned, yet he felt nothingâstrangely detached from the stinging ache radiating from his bottom lip. He sat with it, on the cold, hard floor for a bit, his gaze sweeping over the empty seats in this dark room. Should he be feeling irritated that things hadnât gone as planned? Offended that she lashed out at him like an animal?
A soft chuckle broke through the still silence.
What was it that his father had said to him that night?
Some women are wild. Harder to tame. But none of them are untamable.
She bit him. Wasnât that a sign that she felt something for him still, but had nowhere to direct her anger? Not only that, sheâd worn his coatâhad allowed herself to be covered in his scent. Iâm so angry with you and nothing will make me feel betterâhe imagined that was what she was thinking now. She yearned for a fairytale romance and had been so upset that reality came short of it.
Coriolanus thought of those silly tales she so loved to read. He didnât believe in them, but perhaps their whimsical taglines would help him understand her better. In this very moment, he thought of her as Rapunzel, trapped in her high tower with no way down. Only, this was a tower of her own creation, forged from her stubbornness and insecurity. Its walls were built so high, entangled in thorny vines, to protect her from what? Where would Rapunzel be without her knight in shining armor? Isolated. Unable to realize her potential. That would be no life worth living.
He could save her from that fate.
No one else would.
Father seldom beckoned him to his study.
He was a man of no interest in idle chatter. Whenever he called for him, it was never with the intention of family bonding time. Oh, how he missed when Tigris used to live under this roof; sitting down for a cup of tea together was their evening ritual and a way to unwind after a long day, while Father enjoyed his liquor upstairs in his study. Tigris was the only one who gave a damn about his days and all the mundane details regarding them. It was meaningless small talk, yet he indulged her, if only to help take her mind off of whatever it was that was worrying her.
All that concerned Crassus Snow himself, on the other hand, was ensuring his heir lived up to his potential, which meant the occasional interrogation was necessary. What are you up to? How are your grades? Are you doing anything worthwhile with your life, son? You have big shoes to fill, need I remind you.
He didnât need reminding.
It had been drilled into his skull. From the moment he first saw Crassusâ towering frame in that sharp Commandersâ uniform, he understood what it meant to be a Snow. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he made his way up the spiraling staircase and braced himself for whatever was to come. His father could smell emotion, he was convinced; no heir of his would be caught looking lily-livered. He pointed that out whenever he sensed his heirâs anxiety, never failing to make him feel inept until he learned how to don his mask like a second skin. Just like him. Although he wondered if his father ever had to wear a maskâif he was truly just the way he was.
Did I do something wrong? He wondered, turning the ornate doorknob of the study and stepping inside the room. A cold rush of air greeted him, followed by the usual silence. Father didnât even look at him; he rarely did. That used to upset him, once, until he learned it was best not to draw his undivided attention; his undivided attention spelled trouble for him. âSir,â he announced his presence in the study, to which Father noddedâhis permission to approach his desk. So he did. And when he did look up, Coriolanus froze in his tracks.
âSon,â he got straight to the point, his piercing gaze pinning him in place, âIâd like to know whether youâve fixed your little hurdle yet.â
Coriolanus faltered. What problem? There was only one pressing problem weighing on his shoulders, though he sincerely doubted his father gave a shit about whatever he was up to with one of his girls.
Upon his silence and consequent confusion, Father continued, with an irked sigh: âThe Ball is coming up in about a week now and you are expected to make an appearance. Have you made peace with that girl yet?â
âNo, sir. She wants nothing to do with me, still. Iâve done something⊠unforgivable in her eyes.â Coriolanus wet his lips, feeling that sore cut and that metallic taste of his blood again. How long would that take to heal?
âThen take someone else to the Ball,â Father proposed pragmatically. âI have my resources, if youâre in need of a new date.â
âI donât want to take someone else,â he informed him, and that couldâve come across as defiant if he were anyone else and did not know better than to challenge the head of the house. It was instead a quiet admittance lingering in the air, and his father could not have appeared more amused. Amusement wasnât muchâjust the slightest glint in his eyes, while his face remained as stone-cold as ever.
âSo you think youâre serious about this girl.â He straightened the papers on his desk meticulously. âThat remains to be seen. Every young boy has that phase of infatuation, however fleeting. But I need you to get your head on straight for me, son. I frankly do not give a damn who you take to that Ball, but if you do not make up your mind by the end of tomorrow and fix things, Iâll secure a match for you, since youâve proven to be quite incompetent. It will only take me a matter of minutes,â he snapped his fingers, ânot weeks.â Heâd never looked so terse, so disapproving. âAnd here Iâd thought you were capable of solving your own problems at your grown ageâŠâ he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for his son to hear and feel the slicing jab of his judgment.
âI do not know what else I can do to make things right with her,â he admitted, running his fingers through his curlsâa compulsive habit he could never break. âIt is like talking to a brick wall. I donât see the point in repeating myself.â He mentally cursed himself for showing even that much emotion, because Father immediately clocked his exasperation with a knowing look.
âYour mother was like that, tooâŠâ he recalled, looking off to the side as if lost in a reverie. âObstinate as can be⊠But us Snows relish a challenge.â
Coriolanus remembered so little about his mother, for the world had taken her away when he was just a few years old. But she was always so gentle, so soft-spokenâheâd never seen her angry before and could not imagine a woman so serene capable of an ugly emotion like anger. She carried herself so carefully, to an art, the epitome of grace.
âSometimes words are not enough when one is beyond reason,â Father provided.
âSo, am I to find someone capable of reasoning?â Coriolanus replied slowly and cautiously, trying to decipher his fatherâs cryptic advice.
âNot necessarily. You can help them see reason when they otherwise cannot.â He produced a key from one of his drawers and toyed with it for no apparent reason. âMarriage is not without its trials. There are some sacrifices that have to be made. Youâll cross that bridge when you come to it, someday.â Coriolanus blinked incredulously in response, and then he queried him this: âIf you want something, you seize it. That is how I married your mother.â
And so Father unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and spent a good while rummaging around for a dusty little box, which he carefully placed onto the desk. It popped open to reveal some knick-knacksâamong them was a carefully packaged set of vials containing a viscous pink liquid that he suspected was poison. âA drop of this in her food or drink will settle her. Come to me then, and tell me how things go with your girl.â He pushed a single vial forward on the desk, and Coriolanus gingerly inspected it. His thumb grazed the label, which read: Amator.
âWhat is it?â queried Coriolanus. âIs it a sedative, orâŠ?â He knew his father was no righteous man, but the implication of what heâd handed him was beyond vile. His jaw clenchedâ
âNo, itâs nothing of the sort,â Father explained. âItâs something far more sophisticated. One drop of this will reveal whom she truly desires. If that is you, then⊠I suspect your little issue will sort itself in no time.â That was still awfully vague of him to say.
âIs this some sort of a test?â Coriolanus placed the vial back down on the desk, a sour taste in his mouth. Only a coward would resort to such trickery, though saying that would imply his father was a coward, and that wouldnât go down well. What on earth had he done to his mother? She seemed in good health from what he rememberedâhappy as can be. Or was that all an act? She used to look so calm, telling him theyâd be fine just before the bombs rained down. Never afraid, or perhaps a skilled liar. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a Snow. âSnow lands on top. Thatâs what youâve always said. Canât we bend life to our will some other way?â
âWe are Snows, not gods, Coriolanus,â he quipped dryly. âWe cannot divine fate with pure willâthere is no such thing as fate. Just our choices and their consequences.â He seized the vial back and toyed with its cork, seemingly bored with this conversation and how it was dragging. Every second of his free time was so precious and scarce. âYou may think we have everything handed to us on a silver platter, but that is far from the truth. I have made choices to end up where I am now. Choices I couldâve avoided, but then where would I be? We ought not to let our sentimentality thwart our judgement. A dear friend of mine made that choice, and that cost him everything. Truly unfortunateâŠâ
Now Coriolanus couldnât help but be curious, as his father was such a mystery; he wasnât the type to go on about his past and friendships. âWhat did that friend do?â he inquired, perking up just a little.
âThat is not for you to know,â Father replied. âJust know that I had to get my hands dirty. As will you, if you want your life to amount to anything. That is the way of this world. But of course, if you insist on being spinelessââ he waved his hand in dismissalâ
âIâll take it,â Coriolanus blurted out, just as his father placed the vial back into the box. âJust one drop? How will I know if it worked?â
âWonderful.â Father nodded, a proud gleam in his eyes. âI was starting to wonder whether my teachings had been wasted on you.â Thus, he handed him the vial once more. âSlip it into her favorite snack or drink. Youâll know when it works.â
That remained to be seen. Nonetheless, he slipped the vial into his pocket so carefully, as if it were made of pure gold. AmatorâŠ. His Latin was rusty, but he got the gist of it.
Lover.
It wasnât happenstance that they ended up under the same roof the next day.
Time was of the essence. Phoebe had never appeared so sour, watching Coriolanus barge into her house, unbidden. Perhaps in her eyes heâd forced his way in, but no, he was invited. By Prunella. Phoebe had tried her best to block the door with her foot, and he took her poor behavior in stride, returning her glower with a pleasant greeting. âGood evening, darling,â he began smoothly.
âYou canât just barge in!â she exclaimed, at her witsâ end, blocking his path in the foyer. Penny, her beloved cat, was hot on Prunellaâs tail, all fluffed-up and alarmed at the top of the stairs, peeking between the womanâs legs. In all her terrifying rage, Phoebe corralled him back to the threshold of the front door and onto the snow laden steps. A frigid draft rushed in, sucking the warmth out of the foyer in its wake. âPlease leave,â she repeated, âI told you nicely not to come here.â
âPhoebe! That is no way to treat your guest,â Prunella chided, rushingâhobblingâdown the stairs in her heavily pregnant state. By the time she reached the end of it, she was already winded, but on a mission to intercept this fuss. âGuest or ex-boyfriend?â he mused sardonically. There was sort of a clear distinction between the two. âI invited him over,â she explained, practically wedging herself between them with impressive strength for someone of her stature. Her voice and expression shifted into a laughable attempt at something stern, for the woman had not an imposing bone in her body. Perhaps some of it had to do with her being but a few years older than her stepdaughter, and thus, it mustâve been hard for her to be taken seriously in this householdâŠ
âYour father and I both agreed that youâve been slacking off with your academics. He will not stand for it,â she stressed, pointing her finger at the unruly girl, and then at him, like heâd done anything to provoke this when heâd merely been invited. âYou two will put aside whatever grievances you have and do your work.â
âI know what youâre trying to do,â she muttered under her breath, truly exhausted, begrudgingly stepping aside for Coriolanus to enter.
Prunella had proven to be quite the winglady, little did she know. Sheâd been so troubled over Phoebeâs state and how she refused to open up about it, lying up and down about a stomach bug until the doctor informed her she was completely healthy. Just⊠troubled, and the solution to that was out of his jurisdiction, but he could refer her to a therapist. An insult to the woman who thought she could be her shoulder to lean on. And then she prattled on about how it was all a mystery, but she sensed there was trouble in paradise because she bristled at the mention of him, sheâd explained, over the phone. His response, or lack thereof, only confirmed her suspicion.
So they concocted a plan to try and ease this tension between them. Of course he hadnât fully informed Prunella about what he did to Phoebe, but she didnât need to know. That was her tale to tell, but sheâd conveniently kept her mouth shut about it all, which made everything come together like fateâif such a thing were real. He strode in with a pep in his step, celebrating this small victory.
This time, they werenât studying in Phoebeâs room; they were in the living room so Prunella could mediate things, like they were two unruly toddlers. Whateverâthat was a minor inconvenience; all that mattered was that Phoebe had to eat her little treat. Heâd bought it just for her. But first, he had to tutor her.
Theyâd managed to finish an assignment that evening, although in his haste, heâd mostly filled out the answers for Phoebe since she was beyond focusing: too busy biting her nails and frowning at the paper. And then it was all over; the time came for their routine snack break. Some tea and fruits had been brought over to themâcourtesy of the maid. Prunella had been lounging on the loveseat in the living room when Coriolanus brought out a tiny pastry box, tied neatly with a decorative ribbon. âI brought you a treat. I know how much you love strawberries, soâŠâ he offered the box, stamped with the logo of her favorite bakery, to her.
Phoebe accepted it gingerly, if only because her stepmother had been giving her pointed looks for hesitating too long. The lid popped open, and inside, she found a decadent strawberry cupcake. Delicious, mouthwatering, and irresistible to her, since Father had instructed him to get his girl something she loved. He noticed her pupils dilate the way they did whenever she wanted something, which was a strange detail to notice, but he had a knack for noticing little things. All of that, just for her to close the lid after a momentary pause, as if determined not to fall for his tricks. âIâm not hungry,â she announced nonchalantly.
Nonsense. Whenever he brought her these delicious sweets, she practically inhaled themâeven in a terrible mood. Especially in a terrible mood, to self-soothe. That girl could pick and prod at her plate, yet scrape every last crumb off a cupcake liner with such gluttonous eagerness. Heâd laughed about it once, telling her the cupcake wouldnât run awayâbut she was somehow offended by his harmless quip. He merely found it funny how she looked like a chipmunk stuffing her cheeks with pastries when it was just the two of them. She once anticipated the treats he brought her as rewards for completing her assignments with such eagerness, like a dog having done a trick. Perhaps those gifts meant more coming from him.
Now, this gift coming from him had tainted it altogether. Sheâd turned her nose up at the irresistible treat, and he wondered how much willpower that had taken her. That wouldnât do; she had to take a bite, or else Father would make good on his threat to find him a new date for the Ball. Probably Livia Cardew, whom he often mentioned whenever the topic involved ladies he might be interested in, since their fathers were so close. Anyone under the sun but her would doâthough it wouldnât come to that; he had a plan and for that plan to work, all Phoebe had to do was play her part.
âDonât be rude, Phoebe. He brought it just for you!â Prunella chimed in, so helpful when she needed to be, despite how meddlesome she was otherwise. It was a decent tradeoff. âTake a bite, while itâs fresh.â
Phoebe was not enthused. Sighing, she opened the box and brought out the cupcake. He watched in quiet anticipation while she fussed with its liner, so painstakingly slow as if taunting him, but she didnât know better. Didnât like being watched while trying to eat, either. She gave the two of them a funny look for staring at her, and then brought it up to her lips⊠Sank her teeth in⊠and swallowed a bite.
He cleared his throat.
âHow does it taste?â Prunella inquired, appearing half ravenous, staring at the tasty morsel in her stepdaughterâs palm. âOh, I wish I could have a bite, but I better not. All that sugar wonât be any good for my little one.â She patted her stomach, her lips curling into a pout.
âItâs all yours, then,â Coriolanus affirmed, and distantly wondered how much of a disaster it would be if Prunella took a bite of the cupcake too. Father hadnât exactly been clear what that serum was meant to doâjust that it would be of use to him. Heâd picked out a cupcake tiny enough to be eaten in a few bites to avoid such a situation. Phoebe ate the entire thing with no difficulty.
âIt tastes like a cupcake,â she jested, then scraped the crumbs off the liner and ate them too, which was a good sign, was it not? A bit of the white frosting transferred onto her finger. Her gaze locked with his while she brought it up to her glossy pink lips, then slowly licked it up⊠a gesture so innocuous yet perverted to some depraved part of his mind. For a second, he couldâve sworn he saw something in her eyes: a pointed gleam reserved for when it was just the two of them. It vanished so fast that it mightâve been his imagination.
âDo you intend to chaperone us the entire evening, Prunella?â she asked languidly, looking down at the scattered papers on the coffee table: all mathematics for today. She exhaled, sifting through it all, assessing how much they had left to cover this evening. âI think we can manage thirty minutes without being up in arms. I promise I wonât hurt him.â
Time and careful observation had proven she was a little liar, so he sincerely doubted the validity of that promise.
âOhâoh!â The hint finally clicked in Prunellaâs mind as she struggled out of her seat, one hand bracing the couch for support, the other holding her belly. âAlright, then. If you two need anything, Iâm right upstairs,â she gestured awkwardly. âPlease refrain from tearing your tutor apart, Phoebe. He is valuable to us.â
Prunella disappeared, though not before throwing him a supportive wink. Thus, they were left to their own devices for the next thirty or so minutes. Phoebe didnât seem as irritated as she was when he first showed up for their âimpromptuâ tutoring session, though that wasnât a stellar improvement. A placebo effect for all he knew, as he was searching for any sign that this mysterious serum had done a thing.
They worked on some more problems, though this time he was the one struggling to focus, and it didnât take long for her to catch on. âWhatâs the matter?â she inquired lethargically, propping her chin on her palm. Such lethargy wasnât uncommon to see, given all of this was just boring stuff to her. So dreadfully boring. Heâd seen her bored to tears over this, literally, on those evenings where he didnât do most of the work for her.
âWe can call it here for today if youâd like,â he tested her, carefully. âIt seems youâve exhausted your brain juice.â Of course he had no intention of leaving anytime soonâhe merely wanted to see what sheâd say.
âReally?â Phoebe tilted her head, twirling her mechanical pencil between her thumbs. It was a weathered thing, its handle riddled with bite marks due to her apparent oral fixation. âYou went out of your way to get ahold of me this entire week, and now you show up at my house uninvited. Surely you didnât come here just to tutor me.â
âI promised your mother Iâd help with your academics.â He straightened up. âI never break my promises.â
âHow thoughtful of you.â A distant smile stretched her lips as she continued to twirl her pencilâuntil it slipped and fell off the table. She made no move to pick it up. âMy parents simply adore you,â she thought out loud in such a dulcet voice, yet her next words were laced with pure venom: âOf course I havenât exactly told them what youâve done. That might change things. You might never get to come around againâŠâ
âAnd if I donât help you pass this semester, you can say goodbye to your precious books,â he dished back her energy, crossing his arms, reminding her of her fatherâs threat to burn her library down. An empty threat for all he knew, though she tensed up at the mention of itâas if such extreme punishments were in the realm of possibility and heâd doled out terrible ones before. She seldom opened up about that man, as much as he hinted at wanting to know more about the source of her anxieties. Every little thing that could help him understand her better. âWhy havenât you told them yet?â he challenged her. âWhatâs stopping you than perhaps you actually do want me around? Thereâs no shame in admitting that. It would make this whole situation much simpler to navigate.â
âI need a tutor and you are the best of the best,â she answered pragmatically. âWe can separate our personal affairs from our business, I suppose. For the sake of my books. I have to ensure that I pass, and I love them more than anything in this worldâŠâ
More than anything. Even him?
âI could simply refuse to tutor you, in light of your somewhat hostile attitude. It is not conducive to a healthy learning environment, and perhaps my efforts would be better spent helping a student more appreciative of my valuable time.â He dished her energy right back at her, smirking at the priceless look of shock that had now spread across her face.
âOh, really?â she blurted out. âYouâll just give up after hounding me for days just so you could tutor me? Surely out of concern for my academic success. Nothing more.â She shrugged, sarcastically. âYou made a promise to Prunella, and you never break promises.â
Her favorite books were once her motherâs, sheâd said before, and she used to read her fairytales. Her mother was likely responsible for her growing up to be this way, with her head in the clouds. His father, conversely, had never allowed him to fill his mind with pure nonsense and make-believe tales. Though heâd hardly let him do anything a child would, either. All work and no play. No fun at all, ever since Mother passed. At least he hadnât grown up to become delusional.
âOh, but I can,â he fired back, testing her limits, stirring the pot just to see if whatever heâd fed her had any use in the situation. âI donât like breaking them and Iâve never had a reason to, but I think you are extremely unappreciative of all that I do for you. Perhaps you should see how well you fair on your own. Maybe then youâll realize how hard I have worked, spending all these evenings here with you.â
âWell.â Phoebe swallowed. âIfâif that is how you feel, then go! Iâm not holding you hostage.â She let that linger in the air for all but a few seconds beforeâhow interestingâshe backpedaled on it.
âAlright, then. Good luck finishing the rest of your homework without me.â He slowly rose to his feet and took his sweet time ambling past her, past the coffee table, and she panicked. She shot up to her feet.
âWait! IâI wasââ
âI have places to be. I will not waste your time, nor mine anymore. Have a nice evening, Phoebe.â
âI want you toââ She let out a choked sound, and he could not help the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lip. He turned, watching her lurch in her steps, as if undecided whether she wanted to stay put or follow him. She jerked, ever so slightly, as if her feet had been stuck in tar. âNo, I donâtââ
He kept walking.
Until he felt a rough tug at his wrist, and her dragging him back against her body. âNo, no, you canât go yet.â She practically herded him back to the coffee table with such impressive strength, unlike her usual self, but he supposed sheer rage could do things to someone. âYou havenât⊠havenât even finished your tea. You always get on my case about being wastefulââ she blathered, trying to find her words, ââso you shouldnât be.â She pulled him down into his seat, pushing on his shoulders, and well, now he was starting to question whether he was being held hostage.
He stared at his tepid cup of tea, quietly, and she did not move, nor did she lift her hands up from his shoulders, as if anchoring him put. âDrink. If itâs too cold, I can call the maid to warm it up for you again. And look at all these snacks you havenât touched.â She gestured at the spread of fruits on the table and he ducked away from her touch, in that split second of opportunity.
âAlright, alright. Iâll drink it.â He spared her a tense sidelong glance, for she had not moved from her spot beside him. She just stood there, without purpose, watching him lift the cup up to his lips to take a sip. âAre⊠Are you going to drink tea with me or just stand there?â
âOne last drink,â she proposed, then strode over to her side of the coffee table and settled down, âthen you can leave.â
âHereâs to the absolute shitshow this whole week has been,â he remarked dryly, then clinked his teacup with hers. They drank to that, sitting in silence with each other. And then the room had gone so quiet after they took their first sips, and she just stared at him. No, not at him, but through him. Phoebe furrowed her brows as if carefully contemplating something. He called out to her, once, twiceâno answer. A strange haze settled over her, and he thought of her like a machine shutting down. âAre you alright?â he repeated, though he might as well have been talking to a brick wall, since when he waved his hand in front of her face, she didnât even blink into focus. How⊠odd. It had taken a firm shake on her shoulder to snap her back into reality.
âHmm? What is it?â She gave him a funny look, as if she hadnât just stared off into space for a minute, and she hadnât gone off on him like that.
âYou seem disoriented. If youâre tired, I can just leave now,â he carefully began, and then moved to pack his things.
âYouâre in such a hurry to go all of a sudden.â She tilted her head. âWhy? Is it something I said?â
âIâm just feeling a little unwelcome here, if I may be frank.â If this was a game, it was a challenge unlike anything heâd faced before. Challenges excited him, but what was this feeling? This sense of dread creeping in for no reason when he watched her consider him, chin propped on her palm, in a sort of invasive way sheâd never considered him before. She was attempting to read him with an intensity sheâd never expressed before, picking him apart bit by bit. They say the eyes are the window to oneâs soul.
âIâm sorry for lashing out. I justâŠâ she began, and he hummed through a mouthful of tea, urging her to continue, âThereâs something I wanted⊠to say. Before you go.â Those words came out so hesitant, neither a statement nor a question. âI canât remember what, exactly,â she admitted, scratching her head. âIt was on the tip of my tongue, butâŠâ
âIs it about your homework?â he asked. A soft shake of her head in response. âAbout me?â A definite nod. âAbout us?â
âIâm⊠very angry with you.â Angry, perhaps, though not livid like she was before, struggling with all her might to shoo him out of her house when he first showed up. Now she was keeping him here like a hostage, insisting he continued tutoring her. He could say it was that mysterious serum doing all the work, but that couldâve been a placebo, for she mustâve realized now that she still needed him to pass her classes, regardless of how she felt. Something lingered in the way her hands balled into fists over her lap, like she was restraining herself. She was breathing heavily, trying to calm down. âIâd like to rip your face apart for what you did.â That came out less as a confession and more a possible activity she was considering; he didnât like the way she was staring at him, as if weighing out the pros and cons of acting upon such an impulse. Should he call for Prunella?
âWhatâs stopping you?â He played it cool despite how disturbing her words were.
That was a rhetorical question, yet she searched him as if that would reveal some sound answer. âIt would be a waste of such beauty,â she decided. The terse silence that befell them, then, reminded him of a game of chess. They were staring at each other and anticipating their next moves.
Sighing, she rose from her spot at the other side of the coffee table and then stretched. He couldnât help his attention being drawn to the sliver of her exposed thigh, from her skirt having hiked itself up. She paid no mind to that and how his gaze traveled up her silhouette, all too used to him seeing her in various states of exposure. âHowever would you charm your girls, without it?â she queried, sparing him a glance through the silky curtain of her lashes, and he wondered: was she just stretching, or working up to something? Straightening up in his seat, he braced for whatever was to comeâsomething entirely unpredictable, and how he hated that, when she used to be so predictable.
Money and personality could compensate for a lot, though he didnât need to compensate, he thought to argue, yet his throat was strangely constricted; he hadnât rehearsed what to say to her, for he wasnât certain what to expect from this meeting. âYou are the only woman I wish to charm,â he smoothly replied, and she crossed her arms, looking him up and down, assessing whether to believe him. Sheâd be a fool to. Sheâd also be a fool to pass up the opportunity heâd given her to exist in his sphere and possibly become much more someday. If sheâd just get down from her high horseâŠ
Phoebe crossed over to his side and stood before him, so high from this angle.
He thought he might like to knock her down a peg.
âYou seem nervousâŠâ she observed calmly, and then squinted at him, perhaps jumping to thousands of conclusions this very second.
Unceremoniously, she settled down on his lap, in the middle of the living room where anyone could stumble upon them in this compromising position. Speaking of anyoneâhe caught a glimpse of the maid passing by with a basket of laundry. The woman failed to stifle a gasp, yet Phoebe didnât so much as look at her when she was normally so sensitive to every minute sound in this house. Every little creak, like they could be caught at any moment, even when no one was home. But nowâŠ
It was as if no one else existed in this world but them.
He flinched at her frigid hand tenderly touching his chiseled jaw, sapping the warmth from him so greedily as it always did. âWhy? Are you lying to me?â she asked softly, tilting her head to level with him. A simple question. A trick question.
âOf course not.â It took a concerning amount of time to spit out the answer that immediately conjured itself in his mind. That, she interpreted as a bad sign, her grip on his jaw tightening so hard that surely it would bruise later.
âYou probably areââ she placed a finger to his lips, shushing his predictable protest, the same shit sheâd heard before, ââyou definitely are. It was too good to be true, what we had. When you let me into your world. For a moment, it all felt like a fairytaleâŠâ Her expression faded into something devoid of emotion. âBut you donât believe in that sort of stuff.â
Coriolanus seized her wrist in an iron-clad grip, pulling it down. âI believe in what is real. In what I can see.â
âI know. Which is why weâd never work. Weâd only be wasting our time,â she concluded flatly, looking off to the side, all bitter and forlorn, but he turned her head, forcing her to confront him. He was tired of her running away, and hell, he was this close to tying her down so she couldnât.
âIn your little tales, there are two kinds of people: good and evil. But that isnât reality, Iâm afraid. The world doesnât work like that. The sooner you realize this, the better.â His thumb roved over her knuckles, one by one. âYou can paint me as the villain of your story, if that makes you feel better. You can throw what we have away, but you wonât find what youâre looking for anywhere. People are flawed. Love is not so cut and clearâitâs complicated. It can be messy.â Love, love, loveâit was all she cared about. Frivolous things like that. But perhaps using her language was one way to get to her, to make her see sense. âYou can have it all, if youâll just trust me. Or donâtâand see where that gets you, darling. There are much worse fates than being with a man who loves you.â
âYou⊠love me?â Her eyes widened, all filled with hope, however fleeting. She thought about it. Truly considered his words. âBut you told me youâŠâ It was too much for her little mind to process; she was short-circuiting, shaking her head. âLiar.â And there she went again, staring off into the void, and then muttering something incoherent under her breath, talking to herself, holding her head.
âPhoebe.â He shook her. She didnât answer him for a good long minute, but thenâ
She came back.
âI⊠I just remembered what I wanted to tell you,â she blurted out, all of a sudden.
âThat isâŠ?â he encouraged her to elaborate with an insistent look.
âIâll tell you after you help me finish my work.â She drove a hard bargain, but her cooperation was crucial, so he entertained her conditions. Abruptly, she shot up out of his lap, and then shook off her nerves, catching her breath. Then she returned to her side of the coffee table. That little minx. All of this fuss about having something important to say, yet she kept putting it off. Twice, so far. How long would she drag this on?
After they finished their work, she had conveniently forgotten what she wanted to say again.
âAre you pulling my leg?â he questioned her.
âIâll tell you at school when I remember,â she told him, but there it was, that shifty look, that pitch in her tone.
Sheâd just lied to him.
Didnât she? She was holding her head again, trying hard to conjure up some memory, really committing to the act. What was he to do? Play it cool? Say something and risk provoking her all over again? Heâd be back at square oneâif heâd ever moved to begin with. Was this an improvement?
âIâm sorry.â
Phoebe corralled him out the door and shut it on his face before heâd even had the chance to ask for his coat back, once his chauffeur arrived.
Then came the anticipated day when they both showed up at school.
Phoebe appeared right on time and presentably dressed, her uniform neat and crisp, but that wasnât what stood out to him: it was his red ribbon in her ponytail. Some sign. She strolled past him in the courtyard that morning, in no rush to make it to class and avoid him outright. They locked eyes and she didnât immediately avert her gaze to pretend he didnât exist; she simply looked him up and down with an unreadable expression. And then she was gone, disappearing into the building, leaving nothing but her signature scent in her wake.
She seemed stable. Put together. But what on earth was up with her that evening? A serum that revealed oneâs true desire⊠it had only served to discombobulate her at best. How was that meant to be useful? Heâd told his father all about how useless that serum was, to which heâd informed him: it took a bit to kick in; some temporary side effects were to be expected until the serum fully worked into oneâs system. Nonetheless, Coriolanus had failed to come up with a resolution for his situation and had prepared for his father to go off about arranging him a date for the Ball, but⊠heâd just told him to give it another day, then see. One more day.
He had a lot of faith in that serum, and that very fact had Coriolanus wonderingâwhat on earth had it done to his mother? Sheâd always seemed so quiet and empty-headed. What was it? A lobotomy in a bottle?
He sat behind Phoebe during first period, as usual, then took out his books. The same old routine ensued as the teacher droned on, and he jotted down his notesâor at least attempted to; it was becoming exceedingly difficult to focus over the grating sound of Phoebeâs pen clicking. Over and over.
He sent her a clipped note:
Please stop clicking your pen. It is distracting. Try to be considerate of your neighbors.
She scribbled a note just for him and passed it back:
I can feel you staring at me. Can I help you?
He drafted one:
Focus on your work.
He scribbled it out; that wasnât what he truly wanted to say. The final one he gave to her read:
Do you remember what you wanted to say?
She glanced back at him and nodded, the faintest smile spreading on her lips. The first smile sheâd given him in about a week now. He anticipated her response, watching her hunch over her notebook and scribble away at it, but her efforts had not produced any note. His jaw clenched. Getting important words out of her was always like pulling teeth.
Once the bell rang, he stood and gathered his things. Sheâd still been sitting in her seat, jotting away at her notebook, when normally, sheâd have already packed her things. He leaned over her shoulder, preparing for her to flinch or snap her notebook shut, so secretive about anyone seeing what was in it, but she paid him no heed. Upon his swift inspection, the first few lines of one page contained her lecture notes, sloppy and scrawled with such haste, and then it devolved into her typical doodles: little flowers, andâŠ
C. C. C. S. Something illegible had been scribbled beside it, scratched out so much that a tiny hole had been torn into the delicate paper. Little hearts framed it, and there, in the same line, was a random, sloppily written equation. And then her name in perfect cursive, each stroke meticulous compared to the chicken scratch before it. All in black and red ink instead of the colorful shades she favored.
âWhat is all of that?â He pointed at the page, just as she tried to shut the book, halting her.
âMy notes.â She craned her head up and shot him a funny look, as if heâd asked the strangest thing.
âYou spent the entire time drawing.â Coriolanus shook his head disapprovingly. âWhat is that?â He pointed at the scratched-out text⊠lines upon lines of it.
âMy equations.â She blinked slowly.
A lobotomy. That was what he determined this was.
She froze and stared at the clock.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, nudging her to at least get up before sheâd be late for her next class. That had triggered her to shoot up out of her seat as she gaspedâ âIâm going to be late! Ohââ she stuffed her things into her bag with such haste, suddenly.
Before she could run off on him, he pulled her back by the strap of her satchel and whispered into her ear: âWhen you have time today, Iâd like to hear what you wanted to say.â
âNot nowââ she huffed, swatting his hand away, âIâm going to be late!â
âI will hound you until you until you tell me.â He gave her a pointed look, but sheâd been too frazzled to say a thing, merely shooting him a nervous glance before she rushed out the door.
And so he was forced to wait until lunch.
Heâd gone straight to the library, expecting to catch her hiding in there, but to his surprise⊠she wasnât. Neither was she freezing out in the courtyard in some endeavor to avoid him. Instead, he found her sitting in the cafeteria, in the spot she used to claim, right beside his, at his table. How peculiar. Certainly not an unwelcome change, but most unusual, given just days ago, sheâd confessed she might like to rip his face apart. But there she was, sitting there and chatting with his friends like all of that was old history. Another sign?
Upon his entrance, a few of his friends at the table shot him curious looks. Festus wiggled his brows almost teasingly, and Clemensia, ever the social butterfly, had been conversating with Phoebe over what shampoo she used to get her hair to look so sleek and whatnot. Persephone joined in, but the boys just stared at him as if expecting an answer. One he did not care to provide. Coriolanus settled into his seat and set down his tray with more force than necessary, startling Phoebe in the middle of her sentence. âGoodness!â She placed a hand over her chest and gasped. âI didnât see you there.â
âSurprise, darling.â He let that pet name linger for all his friends to hear, just to see how sheâd respond. Any moment now, he thought dryly, sheâd bristle. Because they werenât lovers, not anymore in her eyes. He was as good as dead to her, and if he pressed too hard, he might literally beâif she made good on her threat from that evening. But she didnât bat an eye at that; she instead glanced at his plateâmore specifically at the sliver of cake on the top right corner. Then she gave him that familiar doe-eyed look sheâd always give when begging for something, but she could not possibly use her words to get what she wanted. âDonât be greedy,â he murmured, watching her hopeful expression sour upon her failed attempt at manipulating him. Her little tricks never worked, though sometimes he made her believe they did, throwing her the occasional bone, as it was good for her morale.
It was so strange, her sitting here like this, as if theyâd made peace when they hadnât. Heâd thought maybe sheâd sit with her friends across the cafeteria, but today, she was impossible to predictâa surefire sign that there was some truth to what his father had said about that vial. He just had to trust the process. But it was taking far too long, and while he was a patient man, Crassus Snow wasnât.
He had to keep pushing.
Finally, he concocted a plan.
There was one more class he shared with Phoebe and some of his friends near the end of the day. This semester, he happened to take the same elective as Phoebe: Art. He had not an artistic bone in his body, but an easy credit was an easy credit, and the beauty of art was in how subjective it was. Some careless strokes on a canvas equated to an easy A, although at the expense of his dignity, he later realized, when Festus had the audacity to burst into laughter at the monstrosity heâd created on his canvas for his first assignment: some creature that was meant to be himâhis good friend. Once heâd divulged who that creature was, he didnât find that funny anymore. Then he had the last laugh.
It was sort of fun in a way, seeing the shitty pieces his artistically challenged friends made. They all snickered about it like a bunch of childrenâtheir small slice of fun in a day otherwise so tedious and bogged down by endless equations and monotonous passages in textbooks.
Phoebe didnât like the disruptive sound of their laughter and chatter, even when theyâd tried to whisper. Sheâd initially sat across the room at the start of the semester, and whenever theyâd become too distracting, sheâd frowned over her shoulder, hinting for them to shut up. To that, Festus winked in response or volleyed a flirtatious remark such asââdo you like what you see?â Her annoyed expression inevitably dissolved into the startled one Coriolanus liked best whenever her eyes locked with his, for a fleeting moment. Heâd never flirted with her like that, not like his friend, instead fixing her with a soft smile, and in turn, she was a deer in the headlights, unsure what to make of his fleeting acknowledgment of her existence.
He liked to watch her paint every dayâor at least attempt to. She was no great artistâpossibly the worst artist in their class, if Pup Harrington were not compelled to paint pieces deliberately designed to shock someone. But she had fun, decorating her canvases in soft dreamy shades.
Then there came a time when she entered his world, not merely some face in the corner of his vision. He had her swap seats with the boy in front of him, so that she could be closer. Always within armâs reach, when he wanted her to be.
Her proximity in this moment was essential for executing his plan today. Coriolanus waited patiently for everyone to settle down in their seats and begin painting. This afternoon, they were prompted to create a piece inspired by the word love. How abstract. He preferred the ones where they had to replicate a tangible subject, rather than some vague concept.
âWhat are you going to paint?â Coriolanus had asked Festus, who was all too engrossed in mixing his paints until they were just right.
âItâs a surprise,â he told him, which in translation meant: he had no idea yet. But he sure loved to take his sweet time mixing paints and chatting. âWhat are you going to paint?â he challenged, in turn.
âA heart,â Coriolanus decided, on the spot. The image of a heart was closely associated with the word love. A practical choice, thus. Not that difficult to create, either, as he was not aiming to replicate a realistic one.
âA heart?â Festus chortled at his very original idea. âIâm sure at least a dozen of us will be painting hearts.â
âOne of them being you?â Coriolanus jested, poking at his tendency to follow trendsânot create them.
âIâll be painting something unique. One of a kind. Itâll be a gift for my girl,â he informed him, concentrating hard on mixing a color so radioactively green, it hurt to look at. âWould you say this looks like hazel?â he inquired, no doubt trying to match the shade of his girlâs eyes.
âOh?â It dawned upon Coriolanus as he hummed. âYouâre painting her? Well, isnât that sweet. I didnât know you were that serious about her,â he teased his friend, a boy who before had been the type to chase skirts. It seemed that their senior year had instilled the realization that their carefree days were coming to an end in a matter of years. Theyâd be expected to find themselves suitable spouses and settle downâquickly at that.
Festusâ face tinged pink at the embarrassment of being put on the spot like that. âWell,â he blurted out, âI have to paint something. She appreciates sentimental gifts, so why not? She did not bat an eye at the diamond earrings I gave her the other day. Whoever said diamonds are a girlsâ best friend was clearly lying about it.â He shook his head, slightly mystified.
âWomen are such complicated creatures,â Coriolanus agreed, and Festus sighed. Then muttered something about needing to make the green a bit darker. More mixing. No, it was all wrong. The pressure on his shoulders was immense over something so minuscule as the color of her eyes.
Persephone Price. A bleeding heart, just like a certain girl he knew. Some rich girls preferred thoughtful gestures, more so than expensive gifts they could buy themselves with their daddiesâ credit cards.
âSpeaking of complicated creaturesâŠâ Festus glanced up from his pallet and leaned closer to him, then whispered, âWhatâs been going on with you and your girl? You havenât told any of us a thing.â He nudged him, placing that first breadcrumb before he could beat him to it. âSeems like sheâs warming up to you today.â
Coriolanus painted the vague outline of a heart in deep crimson, then went with it. âNot quite. The other day, she threatened to rip my face apart,â he raised his voice just a little, just barely enough for her to catch it, if sheâd been trying to listen.
Festus exhaled, brows arching at that violent thought of hers that heâd revealed. âSeems about right. You mustâve broken that poor girlâs heart.â
This was not the conversation he wanted to have, not here for anyone to hear, but these circumstances were trying, and their discussion was far from the only one being had in the classroom. The students had broken out into their little groups, chatting quietly as they painted, as their teacher for this class was more relaxed than the others who grilled anyone for speaking out of turn. Discussions promoted creativity, Mrs. Thimbleton, a woman with a name as ridiculous as her attire, insisted. Occasionally she made her rounds around the classroom, commenting on the progress of her studentsâ pieces. He didnât have to glance at her to know she was nearbyâjust a colorful figure near the edge of his periphery, dressed in loud shades and donning strange jewelry. The clink of her fancy belt alerted him to her whereabouts.
âOh, how wonderful!â She clasped her hands together and praised her favorite pupil after listening to her go on about her vision for her piece. Didi had mentioned something about Aphrodite. He supposed sheâd taken the subject literally, so as to paint the goddess of love herself, from some old Greek myth.
âMyââ Coriolanus was rudely interrupted by Livia Cardewâs nasally voice disrupting the calm in the room.
âMrs. Thimbleton!â She beckoned the teacher over, the nastiest scowl on her pointy face. âPup wonât stop throwing paint. It got on my shirt!â
âGetting messy is part of the process,â Pup Harrington volleyed his haughty remark, and she squinted at him. âYou got a bit of paint on youâwhatâs the big deal? Itâll come off.â He shook his head at her dramatics.
âUnlike you, I actually care about not wanting to have stains on my clothes.â She rolled her eyes, then fussed with her shirt, attempting to rub off the stain on the once pristine white fabric. It was no secret Pup Harrington was a slob; he often talked with his mouth full and seldom bothered to clean his braces. He wore whatever he ate, his uniform all wrinkled at that. No regard for his image whatsoever, as if his fatherâs shiny title was enough to excuse his behavior. Mrs. Thimbleton, ever the mediator, stepped in to the rescue and informed him there would be no flinging cups of paint around for this lesson.
âMy father gave me an ultimatum,â Coriolanus continued, ignoring the ruckus, and his gaze drifted to Phoebe, observing how she stiffened in her seat. Sheâd halted, mid-stroke on her canvas. Good. So she was listening. âHe said if I donât settle things with her, heâd arrange for me to take someone else to the Ball.â
There was a certain gleam in Festusâ eyes upon this juicy piece of gossip revealed. âDamn. Imagine you and Livia going together. I fear you two wouldnât survive the evening without going at each otherâs throats.â Only their entire lives by far, theyâd bickered whenever in proximity, when they were forced to exchange more than a few clipped words. Livia was a nasty woman and didnât appreciate Coriolanus giving her a taste of her own medicine, dishing back her attitude, unlike some of those doormats surrounding her, who worshiped the very ground she walked on.
Phoebeâs chair scraped as she moved further up, further away from him, and then she resumed painting, like she hadnât heard. If she hadnât, she wouldnât have appeared so stiff. And now she was scribbling away at her canvas, at the figure of some man sheâd been painting. She dipped her brush into the red paint and scribbled out his face, a woman on a mission⊠to destroy her painting? Such was the nature of art, he supposed. Sometimes, heâd look at a piece and see an accidentâwhich was somehow an intentional design choice.
âIâm sure Mr. Cardew will be thrilled to hear from him this evening.â Coriolanus sighed. Their fathers had always been close and had always tried to nudge their heirs together.
Phoebeâs hand dropped onto her lap. She was gripping her paintbrush tightly, boring holes into the canvas as if carefully considering what sheâd created. And then⊠he heard the snap of her paintbrush. The broken pieces clattered to the ground, and she made no move to pick them up.
Phoebe then slowly rose from her seat and collected her cup of red-stained paint water, all but mechanical in her movement. Carrying it with her, she walked, perhaps towards the sink in the corner of the room to fetch herself a fresh cup. But then⊠she took a sharp turn away from its direction and stepped onto his row instead, brushing past himânot sparing him so much as a glance. She crossed Liviaâs chair, and all hell broke loose.
She tripped on the satchel by the foot of her chair, and the cup went flying, right onto Liviaâs canvas, splattering it in a watery shade of red. The cup fell downward, right onto her skirt, then clattered at her feet.
âWhat the fuck?â Livia sprang to her feet and gasped in shock, flinging her hands to try and rid herself of the mess. It seemed that today, sheâd become the canvas, in between whatever the hell had just happened and Pup flinging his brush around haphazardly.
âIâm sorry,â Phoebe had insisted, though there was no remorse to be found in her quiet voice. âIt was an accidentâI tripped. Maybe you shouldnât keep your bag on the floor.â
Odd. Coriolanus imagined that, were she in her right mind, she wouldâve been downright mortified, panicking and apologizing profusely to try and make things right. All of that wouldâve all but driven her to tears. But instead she tilted her head at her canvas and observed it, ignoring her shrieking and her fuss, and all the eyes that had now turned to her. âYou could still salvage it. The red adds atmosphere. Good job on your painting, by the way.â
Sheâd gotten paint water on herself too, and so she swiftly stepped out of classâto rinse off the stain, he assumed. Pup Harrington had a good chuckle and the rest of the class had been distracted, some of them no doubt murmuring about what just happened and the possibility of some new drama.
That could have been an accident; Phoebe was clumsy as can be, often dropping her things and tripping, her ever-present anxiety addling her cognition. But then he looked over at her canvas, at the man she had been painting before sheâd left. He recognized him instantly, with his thick head of golden curls, piercing blue eyes, and his scratched-out face.
That wasnât an accident.
The girls had been beefing it out in the principalâs office.
âI thought it was going to turn into a catfight,â Felix had commented to Coriolanus during last period, after heâd taken a detour during his bathroom break out of sheer nosiness. âI donât know what they were talking about, but I heard Livia shouting. Iâll bet her daddy will hear of this, any moment nowâŠâ
âWhat else did you notice?â Coriolanus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
âThatâs all.â Felix shrugged. âThe secretary caught me hovering around, so I had to run for it.â
Soon enough, Livia stormed in with the nastiest scowl on her face. She aggressively dragged her chair out, the metal screeching at the force, and then she dropped into her seat beside Arachne, her attire still stained with paint. Sheâd attempted to cover it up with her coat, her satchel placed strategically over her ruined skirt. âThat girl has some nerve,â she muttered under her breath, and Arachne, of course, had demanded to know all about it. And sheâd tried to talk, sheâd tried, but their teacher wasnât having it. Heâd shouted for everyone in the back row to keep quiet, lest they wanted to get written up.
After class, Livia Cardew approached him. What a pleasant surprise.
âI donât know whatâs going on between you and that bitch,â she hissed out, jabbing her finger at him, âbut you ought to keep her on a leash.â
âIâm confused. Is this about what happened earlier?â He feigned perplexity, though part of him was genuinely taken aback. âWhat does that have to do with me? She tripped. It was an accident.â
Livia Cardew gave pause, looking him up and down, as if attempting to suss out some lie. But it seemed she hadnât found what she was searching for. âIs that what you think?â She laughed, but there was no humor in her voice. âIt was deliberate. She didnât even bother to appear sorry.â
âWhat did the principal determine?â he pried. It wouldnât have mattered, come to think of it. Mr. Cardew would reframe the narrative, lest he wanted his daughter to raise all hell until she forced his hand regardless.
âOh, she put on a convincing act once she realized she wasnât going to have it her way.â Crossing her arms, she huffed. âShe cried like a little girl.â
âSheâs never done a thing to cross you before,â he insisted, delicately. âShe doesnât have a reason to, anyway.â
âI had an interesting conversation with my father yesterday, on that note. About you.â Coriolanus swallowed the lump in his throat and she continued, undeterred. âSaid your father called, and talked about us possibly attending the Ball together. Does that have anything to do with her?â A stifling pause. âI thought maybe she didnât want to go to the Ball with you, but this is clearly some sort of jealous game sheâs playing, if she knows.â She straightened up and crossed her arms. âLeave me out of it. Fix things with her, I donât know. Iâm not going to the Ball with you, so youâd better find some other way to appease your father. Goodbye, Coriolanus.â
It seemed that his father had been scheming in the background.
Liviaâs heels clicked as she stormed off to the nearest exit, her nose pointed up in the air, all snooty.
His mind reeled.
What did it mean? What Phoebe did. She was crying in the office waiting for her daddy to pick her up, Livia had snappily informed him, when he intercepted her, inquiring about her whereabouts. Once heâd gotten that, he let her leave.
Coriolanus stepped into the office, and sure enough, Phoebe had been sitting there, sniffling with her legs crossed, staring at the wall as if reflecting on the consequences of her messy decision.
âPhoebe.â He nudged her shoulder, startling her back into reality. Gasping, she clutched her satchel to her chest. âWhat are you doing here?â he asked, playing dumb.
âWhat time is it?â Her attention darted to the clock on the wall, and her lips parted in alarm. âOh! When the bell ring? I didnât hear it. My chauffeur is probably waiting for meââ she rose from her seat, trying to get away, but like hell heâd let her get away after the reckless stunt sheâd pulled. Such impulsivity was foreign for a girl so anxious that it often forced her into a state of perpetual inaction.
She was clutching a tear-soaked handkerchief, stained with her makeup, looking like a right mess at that, dried mascara streaks smeared on her flushed cheeks, her hazel eyes bloodshot. So she had cried and had caused a scene, after all. Waitâwas that his handkerchief? How did she get a hold of it? He then remembered that heâd left his coat at her house that evening. Perhaps sheâd snuck it out of it. But it was used, and she did not think twice about using it despite the fact. Odd, odd, odd.
âLetâs get out of here,â he proposed, holding out his hand for her to take. Normally, she would have glared at it, then at him, refusing to entertain his attentions. But⊠she hesitatedâonly for a second. One second, long enough to stuff his kerchief into her pocket. The secretary, who had not been paid enough to care, did not bid them with a polite goodbye. She seemed exhausted. Wellâheâd be too if he had to listen to students arguing in the office just within earshot, not to mention whatever tedious things a secretary endured.
Phoebe held his hand and squeezed it tight. At least she was freezing to the touchâthat was the one thing that remained the same about her. âOh, where are we going?â she asked him, hastening her short strides to try and keep up with him.
âWhere do you want to go?â he asked.
âNot home.â She swallowed, squeezing his hand tighter. âIâm⊠in trouble. Iâve already been in trouble. I canât afford more trouble.â
âYou donât have to go home,â he proposed. âIf you want to run away, Iâll hide you for a little bit, at my place. I can pretend youâre not home.â
âBut my chauffeurâs waiting outside. Heâll know. Heâll tell my father. Canât keep a secret from him.â She sighed, getting all up in her head about it. âAnd heâllââ
âWe can leave out the back entrance,â he cut her off, not in the mood to hear her spiral.
âWe can run away.â Her shoulders lifted, a nervous smile spreading across her lips.
âRun away with me.â He said it playfully, and she laughed, letting him guide her out the side door and onto the street. It was freezing out here; the frosty wind immediately stung him.
âWeâre running away,â she told him, then dramatically added, âlike star-crossed lovers.â Soon after, she slipped on a sheet of ice and flailed, but heâd been watching the ground, unlike her, knowing where not to step, and so heâd been prepared to catch her.
He set her back up. âWhere would star-crossed lovers run?â
âI know a place.â She tugged him in tow, looking to her left and right in search of her chauffeur. âItâs down the street.â
It was a long walk down the Promenade, actually, but he entertained any opportunity to get this close to her. Sheâd been slipping through his fingers like sand at every chance, but not now.
She dragged him back to that bookstore she liked, which doubled as a cafe, too. After heâd ponied up the price for two beverages, she guided him to some far corner of the store, where a small nook and some chairs had been set up. A cozy, private place.
They sat across from each other.
âMay I have a sip of your drink?â she asked.
âOnly if I get to try yours,â he supplied.
And so they swapped drinks. She took one sip of his black coffee and made a face. âI donât know how you can stomach this stuff.â
âI can hardly taste the coffee in this,â he commented pointedly, upon his taste buds being blasted by straight milk and sugar. âDo you truly enjoy the taste of coffee, or is this just a mere vehicle for your sugar addiction?â
âI think you know the answer to that,â was her little quip before she devoured the cream top of her drink.
They swapped their drinks back, then enjoyed a moment of quietude, taking in the sights around them. They were probably the only ones in here, save for two people running the store. It was incredibly tiny, mostly filled with knick-knacks more so than books, as books were so rare.
âDo you want to talk about what happened with Livia?â he gently pried, frankly tired of skirting around the subjectâand he had not forgotten that mysterious question sheâd been harboring.
âNot particularly.â She wiped her face again with the kerchief. âIâm sorryâI must look terrible to you right now. My makeup came off⊠things got intense in the principalâs office.â
It wasnât about what she wanted right now. âWas it truly an accident? You tripping with the cup?â he carried on.
Now she was looking down at her lap, biting the skin on her lip. âDo⊠do I have to answer that?â
âSo it wasnât? Thatâs interesting.â He straightened up in his seat and looked off to the side, sighing, trying to connect all the pieces. âWhy did you do that to her? It wasnât very nice of you to attack her unprovoked. I think you owe her an apology.â
âAre⊠you upset with me?â She squirmed in her seat. He found it interesting how she tensed up, almost as if in a panic when he clenched his jaw, putting on this mask of disappointment. âI didnât mean to upset you. I just⊠I didnât know what came over me.â
âCare to elaborate?â he asked. Had it been the serum that pushed her to do such a thing? Of course it wasâshe would never cause such a scene in her right mind. But what was it like right now, inside her mind? How he wished he could just know, take it apart and find out. âWhat do you mean, you didnât know what came over you?â
âI was sitting down. I was⊠I was painting. I was upset because I heard you and Festus talking about Livia, and the next thing I knewâI was⊠I was standing there.â
âAs if something âpossessedâ you?â He shot her a skeptical look. âTake some accountability for your actions.â
âI donât know,â she gripped her cup tight, âI donât know, I donât, I was just so angry with her.â
âWhy were you angry, Phoebe?â He confiscated her cup when he noticed sheâd been squeezing it so much that it was at risk of exploding.
âBecause. Youâre going to the Ball with her.â Her eyes, already bloodshot from the scene sheâd caused in the principalsâ office, had welled up with fresh tears. âYour father likes her better. Sheâs better for you.â
âHow much of my conversation with Festus did you hear?â He held up his hand, steadying her, all while she was trying to blink back tears.
âYou like her better. Sheâs better.â
âPhoebeââ
âDonât lie to me!â Phoebe shouted, and he held a finger to her lips, attempting to hush her. âAll you do is lie.â She grabbed his wrist and after heâd pried himself free, he turned over her palm and saw the cut straight across her palm, bleeding and unbandaged from having snapped that paintbrush in half.
âI donât want to go with her. I want to go with you,â he leveled with her, shaking her by her shoulders. âBut if you donât tell me clearly what you want right now, Iâll have to find another date. Do you understand?â
âWeâll go together,â she nodded. âYes, yes, weâll go. You can tell her that.â
âAre you going to change your mind on me?â he prodded further. âIf you are, please tell me now so I wonât waste any more timeââ
âI want, I want to go with you.â She nodded frantically.
Just like that, his little problem had resolved itself. Sheâd given him the run-around for a whole week, which had been far too long.
âGood. Then we will.â He tried to pull away, but sheâd grabbed onto his hand almost reflexively, holding it there, her grip as solid as a shackle.
âGood, goodâŠâ
âAnd, as for that question you wanted to ask?â His gaze narrowed in on her clammy hand still gripping him like a vise.
âI never had one.â She gave him a twisted smile and looked somewhat nauseous and disoriented. The stinging ache in his hand, meanwhile, reminded him it was starting to hurt a little.
âYou little minx.â He shook his head.
âI wanted you to feel as nervous as you made me feel when all of that happened. Did it work?â She tilted her head.
âWouldnât you like to know?â He huffed. âCan you let go of my hand, please? Itâs starting to hurt.â
âOh! Iâm sorryââ she recoiled her grip, wiping her clammy palms on her skirt.
They enjoyed the silence after that, sipping their drinks, and then she asked almost bashfully if he would like to browse around with her. She didnât want to go home yet. Not after thirty minutes. Not after an hour.
Once they stepped outside, she grabbed ahold of his hand. Of her own accord. âI have a question for real now,â she confessed, while he was momentarily stuck processing her gradual warmth sneaking in, in little pieces throughout the day, so jarring compared to the cold apathy sheâd once feigned. To pretend that she was really done with him, and would never, ever trust him again. He hummed in acknowledgement, and she asked. âAm I your girl again?â
âYouâve never stopped being my girl,â he replied, pulling her close against him. He felt her smile against the fabric of his coat. âI knew youâd come around. You just needed some time to simmer down.â
âI apologize if Iâve been difficult this weekâŠâ she confessed. âAll of this is so new to me. Iâve never been with anyone before. They donât make a rulebook for these sorts of things.â
âWho else is going to put up with you this way?â
âI donât want to go home,â she confessed after heâd called his chauffeur and had him pick them up. âMy father will be waiting to punish me. Not only have I been faking sick this entire weekâIâve now âassaultedâ a girl and went missing after school.â He needed a break. From her. And an opportunity to discuss everything with his father, whoâd no doubt been waiting to hear about his developments. âDo you want to know what happened the last time I ran off with a boy?â sheâd asked, but it seemed it wasnât an actual question since she went on, without his confirmation. He gently guided her into the backseat of the car, all while sheâd still been talkingâ âMy father barred my windows and had someone keep an eye on me, to make sure I couldnât leave my room.â
âThatâs quite the overreaction. Who on earth did you sneak off with?â He took off his scarf and wrapped it around her neck when he noticed sheâd been chattering her teeth. âSome ruffian district boy?â
âOur cookâs son. He was very sweetâcouldnât hurt a fly. But you know how it goes, how people see his kindâŠâ Her smile faded into something tense. âAll I wanted was to go outside, but my father wouldnât let me. I had no choice but to sneak out.â
His gaze hardened. âWere you and himâŠâ
âNo, no, it wasnât anything like thatââ she waved her hand in dismissal, ââwe were just friends. I had to practically harass him to be my tour guide.â He found it hard to believe thatâthat they were just friends. Perhaps her naivety had led her to interpret things that way, but he imagined her old friend as a wolf in sheepâs skin waiting for her to let her guard down, so he could prey on her. Such foolish naivety. Thank Panem she had him now, to ensure she wouldnât fall victim to those sorts of men.
âYour father was looking out for you,â he determined. âDo you know what could happen to a Capitol girl like you, out in there in the districts? Those sorts of people can sense when youâre not their kind. All proper and polishedâŠâ he shook his head in disapproval. âThat wouldâve made you a target.â
âA target, how?â She rolled her eyes.
âWho knows? Someone couldâve kidnapped you, held you for ransom to earn a pretty penny from your rich father. Or they couldâve had a personal vendettaâŠâ he carried on, watching her wince at the gruesome scenarios he was painting for her. âSomeone couldâve seen a pretty girl like you and thought to take advantage. Theyââ
âI get it, you sound just like my father.â She crossed her arms over her chest. âI think I wouldâve been fine, had I worn a disguise or something, and didnât speak.â
âI highly doubt it.â
âI still thought it was a bit much for him to bar up the windows. Heâd been so angry that Iâd not only snuck off, but also gotten drunk.â
âSo he trapped you in that tower, just like Rapunzel.â
âExactly. But you can rescue me. Take me places, too.â
âIâll take you anywhere you want to go, if itâs safe,â he promised her, and her eyes lit up with such hope.
âThe beach. I want to go to the beach and dig my toes in the sand. I donât know what that would feel like, but I bet it would feel nice. And the ocean always looks so beautiful in pictures. Does it look like that, in person?â
âYouâre not missing much.â He quirked his brow at her strange depiction of a place so mundane. âIt smells like fish. The sand feels disgustingly gritty. Trust me, youâd be bored in an hour. I know you.â
âYou think you do.â She gave him a blank look. âIf you really knew me, youâd know Iâd want to see it all just once. So what if itâs not like the pictures?â
âLetâs take it one step at a time,â he patted her head. âWeâll go to the Ball first. See where the year takes us. And if you continue to be on your best behavior, Iâll consider it.â
âThatâs a promise, right?â she asked, and he nodded, and upon his confirmation, she smiled. She brought the scarf up over her nose and inhaled it. âIt smells like roses,â she thought aloud.
âIs that a bad thing?â he asked. âDo you not like the smell of roses?â
âNo, no, I like it. It smells⊠like you.â
When the car rolled to a stop, he guided her up to the front steps of the Blackwood townhouse. Her father had answered, and hell, he looked irate. âI was starting to wonder whether you were kidnapped,â he began, his stern voice booming in the foyer, his pointed gaze shifting between the two. âAll along, youâd just run off with your boyfriend.â Phoebe scooted back, almost as if hiding behind Coriolanus, gripping his arm like a viseâlike a lifeline. âI should have you know, I do not appreciate you two sneaking behind my back. If you would like to spend time together, I must know beforehand, so I am aware of her whereabouts.â
âItâs not his fault, Father. I came to him firstââ she stumbled with her words, forming some excuse on the spot, ââI told him youâd let us meet up after school.â
âA gentleman must always approach a ladyâs father first.â He looked him up and down, challenging him with his disapproving gaze. âYou know better. Or has your father not taught you how to treat a lady with respect?â
What had Phoebe told her father, after their falling out? Did he know more than sheâd led him to believe? Coriolanus swallowed. âThank you for bringing my daughter home safe. I would like to have a talk with you later. And as for you, young lady,â Silas pointed at her and Coriolanus had sworn he heard her whimper, âI expect you to be present in the living room in ten minutes.â
âYes⊠sir,â she replied, and then turned to Coriolanus. She was still wearing his scarf, and she gripped it tight, seeking comfort. âGoodbye, Coriolanus. Iâll see you at school tomorrow.â
But she didnât let go of his hand. Phoebe gripped it tight, so tight when she saw him out, her father still looming nearby and observing their little moment with his cold gray eyes. Red lips and rosy cheeks, she lingered, until he said, âI cannot leave if you wonât let go.â
âI know,â she murmured, so softly, just for him to hear. âI donât want you to go. I wish we could stay together. Forever.â
âForeverâs a very long time,â he jested, all in good fun, but her eyes had darkened. âAre you certain you wonât get tired of me?â
âI can think of nothing better than an eternity spent with the one whom I loveâŠâ she confessed in a dreamlike voice, and something about its intensity made him feel somewhat nauseous. So she loved him. What a bold confession to make, which did not come as a surprise. It made sense for her to feel that way, being the girl she was, with her head in the clouds. It was just all too soon and all too candidâa confession she wouldâve taken to the grave, were she in her right mind. She wasnât, not entirely. When he looked into her hazel eyes, he found them somewhat glassy, as if she were all too enveloped in some reverie as they spoke. A chill traveled up his spine. Silas cleared his throat, wanting to cut this short, and so she sighed. âNow goââ she gently shoved him, âbefore my father has your head.â
So it seemed Silas Blackwood did have a spine, he thought, on the way back to the car, and he exhaled in amusement after heâd shaken off that strange feeling that he could only describe as intimidation upon such a standoff. That man wasnât a total bootlicker after all; he had his limits.
Coriolanus wished, in that moment, that he couldâve stolen a kiss from his girl. But there would be many more to come, now that sheâd become a part of his world.
Irrevocably. Inevitably.
His strange addiction.
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m/f â Mad Scientist AU â so animal and human experimentation (nothing too graphic here), drugging, objectification and classism â district 4!reader â not canon compliant â Crassus lives and has constant beef with his own son (Presidential candidate Crassus), Mama Snow haunts the narrative â mentor Gaul â mommy & daddy issues â canon-typical for Coriolanus, duh â no use of Y/N, reader is referred to as âdollâ and âbunnyâ
TWs (DDDNE): NON-CON medical play â needles, body worship, praise & degradation, loss of autonomy & identity, bondage, forced captivity, bodily harm (near choking out), m!masturbating, slight a/b/o dynamics â reader goes through a heat cycle bc of the experiment
Word count: ~ 10k
Summary: In which Crassus Xanthos Snow doesnât meet his end somewhere in Twelveâs deep forest, and so Coriolanus is never faced with the corrosive fear of societyâs walls crashing down on him⊠just an endless power struggle with the remote, strict man that is his father. The young heir is set on delivering his masterpieceâsomething his sire could never dream of controlling.
His creation.
That is when you are brought into his newly appointed lab, unwillingly sluiced out of District Fourâs depths where youâd once saved a blonde-haired boy. In horror, you realize there's little left of that kid, who'd been tossed to sink or swim. Now, only furious strive remained. Now, youâd be salvaged and remadeâbeautifully vulnerable; at his mercy⊠completely and irrevocably his.
And Doctor Snow has big plans for his new favorite subject.
a/n: well, well, I had this brain worm for a while now for the AU... it's darker than what i have written so far and it's definitely a different imagining of Coriolanus, but i'm excited to explore more directions with it! thank you to the moon and back (as always) to the lovely @p4neminem -- for listening to me ramble abt my love/hate relationship with this writing this and for the final betađ Hope y'all enjoy and let me know what u think!
Someone should really fix these leaksâŠ
With all of the funding his father is flooding into the Gamemaker âRomulusâ initiative as part of his âgloriousâ Presidential campaign, Coriolanus thinks there ought to be a line of handymen, eager to get close to the Creation of it all. Yet, here he sits, waiting on the apparently urgent summons from Gaulâand that blasted trickling just Does. Not. Seize. Like maggots crawling through his brain, each drop is a frustrating reminder of the Head Gamemaker's overstep, of her playing with her food.
She is definitely observing through her digital eyesâthe cameras all but a testament to her ever-reaching control. Every minute reaction he may let slip is another data point for her observation of human nature, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at her facial muscles in that disjointed, puppet-like fashion.
If there was one thing he can undoubtedly say Gaul enjoyed, it was playing games. And what greater joy than her toys being animated with worry, fear or worseâŠ? Itâs a lost art Coriolanus had come to find deep appreciation forâthe ability to hold someoneâs mind so thoroughly, in the delicate balance between sanity and madness. It is an intensely intimate affair, if one would ask him, to hold their brain and take it apart only to put it back together in whatever designs you can fathom. Not to void the subject of their life, but evolve itâstudy it, better it.
His specialty definitely lay with corrections, as he dubbed them. Carefully curated, be it behavioral or in more extreme cases chemically alteringâhis animal experiments are a glory to behold. He often finds himself falling asleep to the reports. Joined and soothed by the smell of his late mother's rose compact powder, he relives that blinding moment of ultimate controlâwhen an experiment concludes successfully.
Ravenous, cannibalistic rabbits, bats that could tune their echolocation to the exact frequency of their prey's skeletal and muscle structure, causing the target to implode⊠Tendencies and markers that Crassusâ simple mind cannot begin to conceive of being displayed in a speciesâ lifetime, are now reality. By virtue of Coriolanusâ divine spark, the field of mutt designs thrived and will fuel at least a decade of Games to come.
Who would've thought that exploiting the naturally evolved behaviors of these creatures while splicing them with, at a first glance, totally incompatible genes can lead to scientific wonders?
Ingenious on his part, really.
His subjects may have been resistant little thingsâstruggling and shriveling against the antagonistic genomes introducedâbut the end always justifies the means. True enough, in his very beginnings, through his first steps on this wet floor that resembled a frozen game of kings, Coriolanus was a bit overeager. We live and we learn.
Science is precise like that. It doesnât lie, doesnât pretendâjust reveals: what is strong enough to persevere⊠and what will sink and drown in the endless whirlpool of the natural order. That certainty gives him serenity like nothing else can.
It's of no surprise then, that he'd much rather have someone under his magnifying glass. Has Gaul forgotten his brilliance? Is she ignoring it to intentionally spite him? Maybe she is in dire need of a reminder as to who exactly she is dealing with.
Snow lands on top, after allâŠ
Coriolanus has enough of butting antlers with his father to allow for any bothersome transgressions against his standing to hunt him here. The lab is his safe haven, where he governs and inevitably brings all to heel. He will decidedly not permit it to become an operating table for authority negotiations.
Mildew permeates the air, making the lingering chemical smell heavier, constricting, as though he is a specimen in a formaldehyde jar. His jaw is so taut, it aches now; a nasty habit of grinding his teeth has followed him ever since the start of his Academy days.
Socializing doesnât dawn well on him. Of course, he is efficient enough at itâtaking care to note all of the small quirks each classmate exhibits so he can win their favor. Though it comes at a great cost to his peace of mind. While, in theory, he grasps the importance of upholding powerful ties; in practice, most of his peers bore him to no end. Those simpletons weren't his subjects, sadly, and most of them never put any care whatsoever to strive for perfection⊠What a pathetic, brainless existence. A pity he couldn't get them on his table. What novel symphonies he could reach thenâŠ! Alas, it's not so easy to get his gloves on human experimentation. Point is, using the data he gathers while conversing with his so-called âfriendsâ was a matter of simple convenience, not a grand plan. Each such interaction inevitably left him repressed, hollow and always searching for more to apply his findings to.
A solitary wolf by choice and necessity⊠Crassusâ shadow has always been loud enough for the two of them to get swallowed by.
âMister SnowâŠâ Gaul's echo bouncing off the walls wakes him up. Next and as per her usual routine, she feigns surprise, waiting on her subject's reaction. âAh, arenât you a busy little beeâgetting in your head again? Your eye should be focused outward⊠objectivity is king in empirical study after all. I'd hate it if it hasnât been drilled into your skull sufficiently by now.â
She'd come from the control room, of course, from the door behind Coriolanus. For that brief time, before she approaches his desk and unveils herself, there had been no discernible source to accredit that deep voice to. A mockery of a guardian angelâcalling from high above.
âWhy have I been summoned on such an auspicious day?â Coriolanus queries in a hiss as his posture straightens automatically like a stringâthe very picture of a perfect heir. âOr has it escaped the good doctor's mind that we are needed to ensure Reaping preparations?â
The chipped wood under his fingernailsâthe result of his restless clawing at the deskâs bottom apronâis forgotten in haste. Such displays are not only unbecoming, but all around damnable for a Snow.
âOh, my, so demanding today, CoriolanusâŠâ she coos. âI assure you, it's marvelous news I bring, simply marvelous.â She clasps her gloved hands.
He'd noticed it rather early onâhow Gaul addresses him depending on the occasion. Switching between the designations throughout the course of a single interaction, in ensuing sentences even. His first name is reserved for one purpose only: to deliver poison, make judgments on his character. âMister Snowâ is for such occasions when she deems it indispensable for a lesson to be delivered. Theatrical as always, she would even dare to use that one in the presence of Crassus. Especially in the old man's presence. It feels personal, purposeful in fact, and a part of the prodigal son wonders if she's living out some fantasy where it's the Presidential candidate whom she guides instead of Coriolanus. And finally, âDoctor Snowââ a title he technically hasn't earned yet it's still his⊠in all but writing. That one, she's used just once before⊠when he managed to deliver those mutt rabbits.
âI hope it's indeed so. I'd hate for my precious time to be wasted.â He swallows the thick air around them.
âCome and you shall see, Doctor SnowâŠâ Gaul encourages. âDon't be shy.â
Coriolanusâ eyes slowly widen, as though he's seeing for the first time. A pulsing sensation tickles at the corner of his lipsâthe beginnings of a smile that he swiftly suppresses. The genuine giddiness in her voice, almost child-like, can only mean one thingânew funding, a new experiment, and⊠a new subject. His for the claiming if that theory on her word choice patterns holds any merit.
And what scientist would he be, if he doesn't test his theories?
Black, white, black, white⊠the harlequin floor tiles mark every piece moved, every strategy carefully weighed out and applied that's led him to this moment. He finds deep consolation in routine; a compulsion gnaws at him to stick to itâan exact path through the patterned wet ceramics. The mysterious leaks aren't much of a concern now that he's moving through his territory and has a bounty to claim. The drops become a metronome that keeps him steadily moving.
Coriolanus can hear it before he sees its wellspring⊠the singingâresounding through the tight walls of the hall that lead to the holding cells. The melody rolls in deep waves and thereâs subtle fury in the notesâlike it's fighting its entrapment beneath water.
That dampness nets what will otherwise be a pretty voice and turns it haunting, seekingâŠ
As I was a walking down in Pearl Bay
I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay
And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,
When I knew it was my own true Love
By the scar on his hand
Clear as the sea that saw us two together
For the last time
So, it isn't an Avox. Marrow-deep relief washes over Coriolanus as he sighs, relaxing his coiled lungs. While far more readily accessible for their purposes, a thing void of their tongue cannot report on complex sensations, on what compels them after behavioral reprogramming. A sorry affair, truly. At that point it's as good as having a monkey to experiment onâstill trainable on intricate routines without the nuisance of blank data points. Missing vital information because of this possible⊠physical inconvenience would've been a cruel waste of potential.
A sure way to spoil the fun.
Itâs eerie, how lucid the words of the song ring over the lulling voiceâlike it's a lived account. The pauses between lines hang in the air, no doubt brought upon by the exertion of fighting the sedative. Whatever meaning this song holds, it must be far more soothing than sweet surrender to the drug. Otherwise, the shanty wouldâve drowned long agoâŠ
As he was a sailing from his own dear shore
Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,
I said to my true Love, I shall see you no more
For âtis the last time.
That timbre, it is mournful⊠kissing freedom goodbye most likely with the way the bridge is repeated in that grated fashion. âFor the last time, for the last timeâ⊠NoâCoriolanusâ mind barks, almost offendedâthere shall be plenty of new times now. Better times.
A subject under his care need not preoccupy itself with notions of finality⊠it will be made immortal through the generational breakthroughs they'll deliver together.
So farewell, my dearest, you're the lad I adore.
Anda stone for remembrance was laid on my grave,
My joys are all ended, my pleasures are fled,
This grave that I lie in is my new married bed.
âGraveâ? Hardly⊠his lab is a place of innovationâwhere the mediocre turn into something more. Burying oneâs old self is hard, letting go of what holds you back as well, Doctor Snow ponders. He shall be the balm to that mourning.
Objectivity, yes, he reminds himself, objectivity reigns. Though for some reason he cannot shake the songâs call that only grows deafeningly louder with each step toward his destiny.
District Four, no doubtâthat shanty carries the sound of saltwater, grainy sand and long voyages. He despised that place. For all the beauty capitolites ascribed it, that land was just a sorry, insignificant fishmonger's abode, reeking of guts and despair. His father had taken the family there once, in celebration of his second marriage. Save for the stench, it's all a blur and pressure-inducing darkness to Coriolanus⊠Good riddance!
What matters is the presentâa final corner to be rounded, just a moment more and he shall greet his destiny. The summer storm has grown grotesque outside, lightning shining through the myriad of round windows high in the corridor. It truly is like a submarine in here.
Gaul's heels click in determination; Coriolanusâ jaw finally relaxes as he's set on a courseâŠ
And then⊠he sees you.
Folded in on yourself in an embryonic embrace⊠on the floor instead of the cotâmore afraid to take what's offered by your doctors than by the filth that soaks the cell. Pitiful creature, so in need of guidance⊠what a bad subject, to not heed a professional's advice. And yet, he isn't too surprisedâmost of your kind suffer that affliction, thankless things that you are. It's what will make it all the more fulfilling, painful yet precious to take you under his care.
Aye, I know that I've loved, I've fought
For the last time
You mumble and Coriolanus is so lost in envisioning all the possibilities ahead that the startle intended for you has the effect of making him flinch in stride. Doctor and subject already in sync� Not bad.
Gaul snaps her fingers, willing a nearby Peacekeeper and the soldier readily surrenders his baton. She takes her time, feeling the weight of the black rod in her hand. Turning it, twisting it until it becomes almost an extension of her arm as her black gloves swallow its handle. Small rhythmic taps against the bars ensue, matching the drops that come from the rain penetrating the lab.
False comfort and suddenlyâa loud bang in sync with the thunder outside.
You give a violent start and with a gasp, the melody drowns in your throat. While mildly unpleasant, the batonâs crescendo is a far less rude snapping to full consciousness than Gaul's usual treatment. He'd seen her practically waterboard her subjects. Though, a level of distance is owed nowâyou are his, not hers. She wouldn't want to sully the preconditions of whatever experiments awaited you.
When you realize you aren't floating ashore back in Four, anchored instead against your will, your eyes snap to the two figures you can distinguish. The âtransportation aidâ, as it's called, is a powerful sedativeâyet whirlpools of fury dance within your irises. You are a fierce oneâŠ
Gaul doesn't utter a word, too busy conducting an observational study of her own. The lack of claim she displays should send a sufficient enough signal to Coriolanus that you are indeed his for the taking.
âVery wellâŠâ he mutters, attempting to mask his enthusiasm.
Oh, how long he's imagined this day. Ever since he was asked to submit his very first proposal, maybe even before then⊠when the ants on the playground were his initial and only research in group dynamics. Poor insects, so lost when their queenâtheir head of state was forcefully removed by his hand. It did teach him a great deal about how Panem ought to be governed and how limited natural creations were. Control is an intricate thing, one that requires nourishment. But its epitome, he believes, comes in the form of shaping individuals.
He will gladly leave Crassus to play court. In the end, all it takes is one piece to mate the king. One person to be that spark.
Now, a man grown into his calling, small creatures were a thing of the past. He's earned this, earned you⊠after observing his mentor in action more than he could pretend to care about. No, his method is different⊠He takes a step toward you, not within the cell just yetâthe lock is still securely in place, marking the boundary of his territory.
Crouching, the words grate from his throat. âHi, doll,â he outstretches his hand as though you need to get acquainted to his smell like a wild animal. âI'm Doctor Snow. Welcome to my lab.â
He expects you to recoil, to shout or beg for your freedomâhowever futileâbut his mouth hangs, face drowning in surprised when you⊠you slither⊠towards him.
The lab gown hangs like a martyrâs rags on your famished frame. Your long hair is matted, begrimed from the unsanitary transportation correctional Peacekeepers typically utilize. Youâd tried to subdue itâheâll give you thatârake it back into a braid⊠the waves he expects from the visibly delicate curls are crudely slicked back. A puppet without strings isnât allowed tools. Not when it can use them in less than favorable waysâpins, ties, combsâanything can aid in escape or bodily harm.
A thorough cleanse, inside and out, is in order⊠before he can even think about touching you without his gloves.
Blue shadows from the puddled water dance in ghostly ripples where the material dips between your breasts. Pretty thing⊠for a district girl, tempting his superiorly rational mind with your wicked waysâlike a nymph of myth.
He shakes his head back into focus to meet your expression⊠it pleads silentlyâwide, warm eyes above your sunken cheekbones. You⊠recognize him? The thought is so absurd, a hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up to the surface.
âI'mââ your voice tries to find a confidant through cracked lips.
ââYou are my subject,â he supplies before it can get out of hand. âFish out of water, but I will have little trouble shaping you into the proper doll ought to be.â
The denial of your unspoken words burns you, forcing you to grow quiet. A wise retreat, he recognizes. Here, you have no name, no past⊠just the future he determines, as what he will shape you to become. Itâs a responsibility, a burden even, but a calling he is destined to fulfill.
âAh, the puppy recognizes its new owner?â Gaul notes, each word pressing with a bladeâs sharpness. âWhat a delight!â She taps her fingertips together, restlessâthe same way sheâd get when she knows more than anyone else in the room.
The disproportion in information, and thus power, needles him ceaselessly. Frustration festers beneath his skin until he can feel the vein pulsing on his forehead. Ordinarily, he is the fish that canât resist the lure. Now, he simply stands up, not to bite at Gaulâs provocation but to gaze down at you from up highâthe place where he belongs. And youâkneeling as his rightful subject, awaiting the greatness heâll administer in due time. When your eyes follow him, fearful and desperate, thatâs when his mind quietens as he realizesâŠ
Heâs already won.
âStrip,â Doctor Snow orders.
His display of restraint is truly commendable, he believes. Any self-respecting doctor, eager to start on the scientific method, wouldâve resorted to strapping you to their table and pulling out the scissors already. Not Coriolanus though.
He prides himself in the patience he's trained into his temperament. Naturally, any growing Snow boy endeavored to seize the whole world. He wasn't born necessarily self-possessed. A man of turbulent emotions, he learned early on to quell them, suppress that high baseline of physiological arousal thatâs plagued him so. Unlike Crassus who seemed entirely void of that human side, detached and raising above its mundane ruckus.
âPick your battlesââtruly the single most effective way to lead one's life and emerge unscathed.
You, howeverâyou've picked the wrong one today. As your legs dangle from the surgical tableâthe cold metal no doubt boring into your backside by nowâhe gives you a chance to be good. The way your fingers crumple the gown in white-knuckled fistsâyou are itching to tear it off. Whether it's to throw a tantrum, to try and show that the garment doesn't define you⊠he doesn't care. The result will be all the sameâyou, beautifully vulnerable under his guidance, and his assessments finally beginning in earnest.
Instead, you surprise him yet again⊠by shooting up with the vigor of a new dayâs beginning. Big and angry barefoot steps patter Coriolanusâ wayânot to obey, but to annoy with your insistence. Crawling definitely fits you better, he determines. Swimming though, will suit you bestâfar more elegant than your little display.
When you arrive in front of him, trembling like a rabbit beneath a hawkâs shadow, his hands twitch around the final button of his lab coat. Putting on his armor while you ought to be shedding yoursâwhat a fitting, exquisite imbalance. That reminder steadies his fingersâhe cannot allow you to scent his vexation, lest you weaponize it.
âPlease, ain't you hearing?!â your voice quivers in a wheeze, throat tight with frustration and disuse. You flail your hands in fury as boundless as sea whipped into foam. âWe've met before! I'mââ
âAh, ah, ahâthose delusions really aren't helping your case, doll. How unfortunateâyour mental state seems worse than I'd hypothesizedâŠâ Coriolanus waves a finger as he interjects swiftly, a faux sickly sweet coo masking his practiced words. âI've already told you the exact parameters of what you are.â His gaze is set on the desk beside him and when itâs not, heâs looking past you, trying to not snap. âYou are my subject, my doll to take apart and put together for the greater good of Panem⊠And good little dolls do not argue with their doctors.â
He seizes your wrists with one hand as if that would quell you. The body sends signals to the brain after allâsome correct, some erroneous. A prey though⊠knows when it's trapped. His free hand finds its course to a readied syringe. In your desperation, however, you remain none-the-wiser.
You writhe against his cold grip like a fish caught in a net, trying to wriggle out. âStop, stop! Don't you call me that! Iââ The moment you let your guard slip, arms bound like this, a sting bites at your neck.
âThere we goâŠâ he coos as your muscles give out under the relaxant, and he catches you in his waiting arms. âGood girl, doll. See? Not so hard to just follow orders.â
ââI have⊠a nameâŠâ your words are still here, though nausea bubbles up and your body grows heavyâno longer yours to control.
âHmm, do you now?â he feigns contemplation as you float, guided to his table. âBecause I look at this file andâŠâ He waves some papers you cannot hope to make out in this state, â⊠I don't think you do.â The mock pout that cracks on his thin lips is clear enough though as he taunts: âNot anymore. Not after your⊠what was it?â He pretends to consult the report on your imprisonment as though he didn't mull over every letter a hundred times before he went to sleep last night. Imagining you at those dark docksârunning and afraid, your sweet voice begging for mercy. âAh, there it isâyour silly escape attempt. Thinking you can abandon your post? Your duty to the nationâŠ? What an ingrate creature.â
His words reek of discontent. Sighing, he takes to strapping each of your wrists and then your ankles. The leather licks at your skin, a gentler sensation after the many bites of Peacekeeper whips. Even that, you know well, is a false sense of comfort. At least the lashes had been delivered on your body⊠now, these false kisses blossom on a mere cadaver. Your autonomyâswept away with the tides.
Still, you try to fight the current, to appeal to his humanity. âOn Pearl Bay in Four, IâI saved you. Iâmââ each word is slow and painful under the slow influence of the drug. It comes in waves as clarity fights to linger, but itâs mutedâcascading in small bursts.
His hand shoots up to cover your mouth as your words bring about an unwelcome flash in his vision. No coo is detectable in his voice now, just poison. âIt's fascinating, reallyâwhat fantasies your simple mind can concoct just so you don't feel powerless⊠âSavior complexâ as I have so eloquently noted in your file already.â He tuts in disappointment, squeezing your face harshly until your jaw aches, until your teeth catch your lips and you can taste the latex of his glove. âIf you hate my darling pet names so⊠perhaps you'd prefer a number? Every specimen in here has one, but⊠that'd be so impersonal.â
Your only appellation here â 1042, he says. And you wonderâhow is it possible for so many people to have been put through this? Then, you figure, like a stab through the heart⊠they probably count the animals in the same pile.
âIt'd be a pity to have to use it when there's nothing more devoted and soul-baring than the relationship between a doctor⊠and his patient.â he hisses, fingers digging into your cheeks like talons, with even more ferocityâlike he might seal the corrupt words there.
He doesn't believe itâthe yarn you spin of a mermaid rescuing her prince. For he is no fairytale, and you⊠are no siren. Not yet anyhow. Even when, in his dreams with teeth, his subconscious remembers the shadowy depths of FourâŠ
Was it his father who'd thrown him to swim or perish?
Coriolanusâ breath catches at the vision that's entered his mind uninvited. Blasphemy! It's all a child's scare, not reality. It didn't happen. You are playing tricks on him with your perfidious district ways⊠how you are able to peer into his fears and know what to exploit, he hasn't the faintest idea. One thing rings clear thoughâhe needs to up the ante.
You get there first, howeverâyour teeth sinking into his fingers hard the moment they slip. Relentless endurance courses in your district veins it seems, and sheer audacity.
âLittle shit!â Doctor Snow yelps as he rips his hand away, though he has to fight with your fangs. âI have to put a muzzle on you now? Is that it?!â
You managed to put a tear in the glove and fresh droplets of blood bead at the wound. As you managed to hurt him back⊠pride swells in your heart.
âGo aheadâsince you already treatinâ me like an animal!â you challenge, though you feel your heartbeat decelerate against your will.
Your eyes widen at the dreadful certainty that the sedative is taking the final drag underâlike a hundred desperate hands pulling you with the ocean's fury. The quiet horror that paints your face seems to delight him greatly; he can overlook your outburstâif all is restored to its expected place. Just like yesterday when you crawled for him⊠just like it will be today, and tomorrow, and the day after⊠and forever.
âWell, arenât you a handfulâŠâ
Letting out a self-satisfied huff, Coriolanusâ hands start rummaging at the helping table out of sight, no doubt preparing another dose of some altering concoction, or some barbaric tool with which to break bone and rend flesh. The clatter of instruments feels deafening for you know each one is some means to seal your fate as his doll.
All throughout his careful ritual, he doesnât stop humming this bright melody. It sounds like a nursery rhyme, one that is just as unknown to you as everything aroundâclearly not meant to soothe your nerves. Itâs his recital, his show to run. An occasional, almost whimsical whistle sharply emphasizes each clink of the glass flasks as he puts them down with a flare fitting for a conductor.
A second passes, then two, then threeâbut each feels like a lifetime in this lost world. The air in the examination room grows heavy with the dampness of the leaks that have seeped through the very structure of the establishment. You can see the black mold thatâs made home in these wallsâblooming in veins like blood in water. Will you remain like that too? Forever etched into whatever construction he designs?
âAlmost there, doll, I can feel you getting antsyâŠâ Coriolanus sighs as he dabs his forehead with the pristine white towel that hangs over his shoulder, wincing when he feels the throb of his wound. âIâm just preparing something extra special for my good girl⊠to ensure you have your strength before the real treatment beginsââ
âIâm not ill!â you protest feebly. âI shouldnât be hereâŠâ
âHush now, donât distract your doctorâŠâ Coriolanus snaps, growing agitated, but his hands and eyes never leave his station.
Your begging falls on deaf ears while heâs too preoccupied with his sick idea of âhealingâ you. Vapors curl in the air from a boiling vial, emanating this putrid stench of rot⊠gurgling until only viscid dark bubbles remain in the glass tube, whirling in a clear liquid.
You raise your head, struggling to look over to the small table. Itâs obscured by his broad shoulders where he's settled into the spinning leather stool like a king on his throne. Still, you hope to chance a glance at what horrors he will unveil that will debilitate your agency further. Maybe then you'll at least be prepared⊠Wasn't it enough for his ego? To have you strapped like this on display, at his mercy? Why does he have to deny you the grace of knowing your fate?
He doesn't need to turn around to sense your rebellion, aware of your every sign, as any good scientist should. A spark of anger flares so fast even he cannot anticipate what heâs compelled to do to regain control over the situation.
In the same blink, without getting up, without even sparing you a glanceâhis hand flies to your neck, pinning your head down. The recoil rattles your skull onto the metal table in sync with his other fist coming down onto the tools and they are sent clanking like downpour from the abrupt force.
âOh, no you don't!â Only when your throat is secured in his clutch does he turn slowly, forcing his instincts to take a backseat while his words attempt to regain their momentumâ a dangerous note catches fire, âForcing my hand to use the relaxant. Now, you try to compromise the study's blinding! Sullying my experiment before it's even beganâŠ" His eyes dart madly, "It's all wrong, all filthy, all wrong⊠all spoiled and wrong!â he chants through gritted teeth.
Doctor Snow presents himself as this put-together professional, yet you see the smoldering wrath that bubbles beneath the mask. A small, scared childâwanting to lash out at anything that dares defy his imposed order. That is why he hides behind the orchestration of his lab⊠if you can't fight the force that is Coriolanus Snow, you may yet bring it about⊠So it can scorch him back, so that the armor cracks and he's left to the untamed fire. Even if you are reduced to ashes in the process⊠you'll knowâyou have fought.
âBarinâ, you said?â you echo his earlier tirade in a tired, thin voice. Somehow you find the strength to scoff under the spell of the drug and his possessive hands, your lungs and throat burning from the exertion. âI'm the only one in the open âere⊠you can't even touch me without them glovesââ
âIgnorant, rotten little girlâŠâ His hand is still on your neck, squeezing harder with each word. âHas Gaul put you up to this, hm? Or my father perhaps? He could never bear that my brilliance outshines his⊠maybe you are no gift, but a curse? Sent here to taunt me!â
The pressure is all too much now, you can't hope to breathe through it. If you could just move and scuffle him off⊠but you canât. With grace, you are prepared to let the current take you. If this is how it ends, at least you'd still be yourself as you leave this worldânot whatever mutt he wants to make of you. For a moment, his grip is a welcomed respite, a glimpse into the light.
âCoryo⊠What have you done?!â
His mother's shriek echoes from somewhere low in his hind brain. Itâs like sheâs in this very room, afraid of her own son even from beyond the grave.
Then, just as your body thrashes to take the breath you're owed, his hands snap back as though burned and you are washed ashoreâ a fresh gasp torn from your lungs. Your surrender had tugged some string in his heart. Not pity, maybe not even a guilty conscience wrought from the memory of his mother finding his earlier experimentsâback when his childish mind couldn't yet judge right from wrong. Surely, it's just as simple as him clinging to his ambitionâredirecting his efforts to fasten a strap over your forehead.
Limited to your peripheral vision, for once you wish you were born a prey animal instead of being forced into the role of one. A small, fluffy rabbit mayhapsâwith side-facing eyes and whiskers. A superior frame for detecting danger when it cannot be met head-on.
âNo matter⊠you hurt meâI hurt you back,â he reassures himself more than you, chest expanding and constricting rapidly as his breath attempts to outrun his thoughts. âBut we'll show them⊠we'll show them all.â
That he is good, because he's answered a calling bigger than himself, because he doesnât shy away from what needs to be doneâthe grotesque and the vile. Even when his motherâ sweet late Lady Snow, too soft-hearted and light of spirit, drifting through a world that never demanded she carry its weightâcouldnât see what he was destined to achieve. He'll show her, it's nothing to be afraid of, but a glory to be embraced.
He won't break you, not yet⊠and not with his own two hands. Curse or notâyou still have your purpose and he'll be damned if he doesn't squeeze it out of you one way or another.
âThey oughtta've hanged meâŠâ you choke out. âNot leave me âtween the devil and the deep blue sea.â
Why didn't they? You were captured at the abandoned docks, searching for some blind hope: tales of rebels trying to escape the bounds of Panem through seaâa faraway voyage but nothing felt too vast when you yearn to taste freedom.
It would have been so easy to just deal with you like any other vermin⊠instead of subjecting you to a slow death at an unmarked grave.
âNo, no... Shh, don't cry,â The squeak of his new glove on your heavy tears is assaulting to the senses, yet he seems unbothered by it, almost as if in a trance. A chill crawls up your spine at how quickly he oscillates from one extreme state to the other. âDo you miss my hands on you so dearly that you yearn for the burn of a rope around your pretty neck? I won't gag you, I promise. I will hear your song, even when it tries to deceive.â his voice is so gentle now or maybe it's the sedative that makes you melt. âI was a bad doctor, doll⊠refusing my subject's call for help,â his voice grows solemn as he cradles your scratched-up cheek. âForgive me.â
He doesnât wait for absolution, he doesnât truly need it from a subject. Itâs just another lesson learned⊠if you insist you âsavedâ him, if you want to cling to that ludicrous storyâthat's just another thread he can cure or exploit. It truly is ridiculousâhe never needed saving, but you⊠you do.
âWhy should I?â you ask drowsily. âYou ainât savinâ me from drowning.â
âNo, doll⊠But I'll make sure you are never afraid of the depths,â is all he offers as he lets the scissors lead.
He starts off slowly, holding his breath as each snip bares more of your skin to him⊠inch by inch he starts to peel the gown offâthat last barrier. Be it because he forgets to exhale or because you look so tempting pinned to his table, his chest begins to ache, warm blood rushing to his core. The fingertips of his free hand trace each of your bruised ribs as though he can produce a melody drumming through the hollowsâŠ
He's always been fascinated with the curves of the human bodyâso purposefully sculpted. Even if you are frail now, you still have that fullness in placesâyour breasts, those nipples prickling in the cold airâhis fingers still there, applying just enough pressure to feel the plushness beneath. A sponge bath is in order; you arenât clean by any meansânot in your state now and chief of all, not by virtue of your breeding, but⊠he wants to be engulfed in your softness nonetheless. He forces himself to sit down lest he reveal the⊠prominent result of your alluring formâthe tent pressing in his pants that his apron so conveniently conceals.
Still, he cannot deny himself more exploration. It's a necessary part of the assessment, he tells himself as his gloved hand dances in featherlight strokes across each freckle where the sea sun had kissed you first.
It tingles in ways you don't want to be feeling⊠No one has ever touched you that way before, and maybe no one ever will. It's normal to be confused, you think to yourselfâthatâs just what this is. The first gentle touch you are graced with in this forsaken world.
âGood muscle tone, all things considered,â he notes clinically, yet the gruff baritone that rings underneath is anything but, âThough a woman should have more body fat in her composition. I will amend that.â
âIt's not like weâre out there feastinâ in the districts,â you bite back, though your labored breath isn't something you're proud of. âAnd your Peacekeepers sure don't give a damn if we starve in them cells.â You attempt clear your throat in discontent.
âI said, I will see to itââ
The subtext is clear: âI'm more of a man than these soldiers my father hails could ever be.â
When you dare tremble as the sharp cutting edge reaches your abdomen, your underbellyâthat vulnerable spot any animal protectsâhis composure cracks. The scissors are sent flying to the other side of the room with a clatter so vicious, for a moment youâd been afraid he was preloading a strike to stab you with them. Instead, he snatches the flaps of your gown-turned-rag, bracing a knee atop the table. His forearm veins bulge though the physical exertion shouldnât be so grand⊠and he tears through the remaining fabric with a groan.
You shriek at the sudden exposure, and he just⊠stares at you.
âAll good nowâŠâ he releases a slow exhale.
His breath is labored as he takes in the supple flesh of your thighs and the fawn-like fear in your glossy eyesâall ripe for the taking. All his to mold and enjoy. Yet he's careful, forcing composure back in place⊠he's no beast, even if he could do as he pleased within these four walls. His one purpose here is to serve more than just his primal needs. To show show Panem that his order reigned supreme, that Crassusâ political theaters and court pageantry had nothing on science and real progress.
âWe are the real puppet masters here, Mister Snow⊠Ties and strings that stay can only be born from the shadows.â, as Gaul likes to assert. âBread and circusesâthe only means to control a nation is not with empty promises, but by showing the plebeians who they truly are. Animals, savages⊠when thereâs no Leviathan to reign.â
It pulls Coriolanus back at his center and away from the gravity of your trembling body. You are a means to an end, nothing more⊠First, comes the trust between a subject and their doctorâand he won't have it nipped in the bud. Then, well, the world's his oyster, and youâhis pearl. It's embarrassing enough that he'd allowed his temper to get the best of him in front of you earlierâhis hands clawing at your throat like a madman⊠Why do his palms still tingle?
A shortcut, yes, but one that he deserves. And should any side effects occur⊠he will be here to greet and treat them in whatever way is required.
This should keep his mind set on the target while he bathes his dollâcanât have you be messy while he works, now can he?
âMy, my⊠Just look at the mess youâve gotten yourself into,â the observation rings as Coriolanus leans in to clean up the wounds that are still gaping, the bruises that still bloom in magentaâsome new, from Peacekeeper lashes and batons and some old, from the night you tried to flee to the ship that promised to take you away. âSo broken, so abandoned. Those soldier mutts donât know how to treat a creature like you.â His breath hitches all but involuntarily when he squeezes at your inner thigh to keep you steady for the bandaging. âFret not, doll, here you are wantedâso long as you let me take you apart.â His hand lingers at your ankleâ it remained throbbingly swollen through your days in captivity. Doctor Snowâs touch will kiss it better⊠As he tightens the compression sleeve his curls brush against your core, making you twitch. All scientific, all with purpose surely. âOver and over, just so I could fit all the pieces back together perfectly. Imagine what spectacular designs we will create together.â
âLet you? Like I gotta choiceâno one will choose to be sufferinââŠâ you offer, though your words are small, drained and confused. Thereâs some itch that bubbles up in you, that you cannot scratch â that you, more than anything, donât want to acknowledge.
âDid you see whatâs written at the grand arch of the department as they were hauling you in, doll?â he muses as though you are two peers catching up over afternoon tea, instead of you being tethered to him and this table like an unruly pet while he rinses out a sponge.
âNo,â you whimper in fear, forcing your eyes shut with such grit that they wrinkle at the edges. You donât want to feel cleanânot by his hands.
âI donât blame you⊠your poor heart was probably ready to jump out of your chest, getting mishandled like that. I should have them whipped for daring to deliver my subject in such suboptimal condition.â Coriolanusâ voice laps gently like the sponge he drags up your arm, though his words spell violence. âHave I already praised your beautiful pulse? Even weak like this, your vitals fightâthat blood pressure is simply perfect⊠not too low, not too high. Just what I expected of my good doll.â
âWh-what does it tell?â you ask, stifling a gasp. Your lids remain sealedâwanting to occupy your senses with anything but how close his hands were getting⊠to that need that rises treacherously. âThe writing?â
âIf you open your eyes, I might let you knowâŠâ his whisper tingles at the shell of your ear, while his cleaning doesnât seizeâpadding the sponge below your breasts, almost at your belly button, one more swipe andââEverything sounds much more enticing in Latin. And I can tell, you are an inquisitive one, hmm? I am tooâŠâ
With that, he reaches between your thighs and your eyes shoot openâthe cold cleansing water licking at your warmth. As quickly as that drag floods you with some reliefâitâs gone. With shame, you realize that if it werenât for the straps, you wouldâve let your hips chase that friction in a desperate buckle.
His chuckle reverberates through your body, through that emptiness he left behind.
âGood, see how well you listen when you are properly motivated? Iâll have to make a note of thatâŠâ he announces, ââEx duris gloriaâ â from suffering comes glory. Choice or not, we all suffer⊠it's what comes afterwards that counts.â
âYou think thatâs itâthat youâs what comes after?â you inquire, throat bobbing with contained abhorrence. Thatâs what you should feel, right? Disdain? At this foreign, unwanted touch⊠yet its apparent care lulls you. Practiced or not, it comes gently.
âOh, you flatter me, doll.â The faintest curl at Coriolanusâ lips seems genuine but you aren't sure whether that's a good thing. âNo, I'm a mere messenger. You will be my glory.â
He moves to unfasten your leg from the strap, only to secure the ankle compress to one of the wires that hang from the surgical lamps above. You'd thought you felt exposed before, but spread like this⊠electricity crawls up your skin. Yet another thing you cannot place as good or bad nowâis it instincts or craving? No, it canât be the latterâthe drug must really be messing with your mind, clouding it like the mist that settles over the marina before first light. This is the man who almost choked you out⊠who treats you like an object⊠but whose touch is the only gentle one youâve known. The boy you saved⊠is he somewhere in there, under the dredges of hatred and fear at the world?
âIt needs to stay upâhelps with the swelling,â he interjects clinically.
Some explanation finally graces you, yet what comes after is anything but gentleâŠ
âCan I at least have a-a wool or somethinâ?â you hold your ground, though sheepishly.
âNow, why would you need that?â he challenges, tone imbued with the mild agitation you sensed beforeâ the same one that grew so wild in a flash. âIâm your doctor, dollâyou have nothing to hide here under my care. Not your body, not your⊠little reactions.â His eyes are reduced to slits at how he concentrates on dissecting you. âItâs all natural, all part of the study. Even that ear-splitting sailor talk you have going onâI tolerate it, because itâs an independent variable.â
Everything he does, he does for his work.
The âblindingâ as he put it, seems ready to be unveiled nowâwhen its application becomes inevitable and he is the one controlling the narrative⊠telling you a version of what the serum will do.
âNow, I hope you don't mind needles, because it all starts with thisââ Coriolanusâ gloved hands handle the syringe like itâs an integral part of himâswiftly and confidently, positioning it with precision. âA little something to get you on the right track⊠to bring a healthy flush to those cheeks and prime you for whatâs to come. And don't you worry, itâs passed all sorts of testingââ
Animal testing. With macabre but favorable results.
The disinfectant feels impossibly cold against your shoulder, even as your naked body quivers. When you sense the needleâs prod, you hold your breath. Although your head is strapped in place, your eyes dart to his, to the only other person in the room. In search of some warmth or anchor⊠you donât know why you hope to find it in the architect of your distress, the one who supports and benefits from your captivity. His eyes widen, stunned by your display as much as you are.
Then, the only thing you feel is liquid fire scorching in your muscles. Whatever this medicine is, it leaves behind a throb that he pretends to soothe with more antiseptic. Panic cuts you upâprickling like icicles that threaten to burst from your chest. Even when you were captured, you had some inkling as to what may happen to you. Now, it's all unknownâan indeterminate, potent synthetic coursing unseen through your body and leaving its mark. Changing you from withinâŠ
âSuch a good subject. You took your shot so well, doll,â Coriolanus praises as he finally removes his gloves. âIâm so proud.â
Now, you are clean, washed in his care⊠deserving of his touch. Yet you've never felt more sullied.
âDon't leave me hereâŠâ you rasp out as you grasp at his sleeve like a drowning sailor, words falling once the dam breaks and all you can feel is the all-consuming fear that you may not wake up the same. âPlease, IâI don't know nothinâ about what that stuff was. What if it acts up and I'm all alone, andââ
âDoll.â He unstraps you with haste, though the relaxant doesn't allow you to skitter off. âHey, hey, I'll be here⊠in a way,â he assures you, âWe have so many cameras, so just know⊠I'm always watching. I told you alreadyâyou won't be afraid of sinking so long as I work my magic, alright?â
You nod slowly, bringing the injected thigh close to youânursing it while you attempt to reconcile the hatred with the odd sense of security that his words bring. Reduced to begging for aid from the one who inflicted this dread upon you in the first placeâyou decide you'll take the rose with its thorns. For today.
âThank you⊠Doctor Snow.â
You canât recognize the voiceâitâs your lips that form the words, yet, you cannot fathom itâshowing appreciation for your captor⊠A delighted smile finally cleaves open on Coriolanusâ faceâlike cracks breaking through thin ice.
âYoung Master?â the butler follows up in a practiced tone, âThe President-in-waiting summons you to his office at your earliest convenience.â Itâs almost formulaicâhow that old fox scans Coriolanus with expert tact so as to report anything amiss to the man of the house. Inevitably, he settles on the boyâs bandaged fingers and slithers in a veiled remark: âOnce youâve managed to leave the day behind, naturally.â
Itâs laughable, really, the way Crassus insists on being referred to now. Yet also tragicâthat the prodigal son has allowed himself to become a specimen in his home.
âOf course he does,â Coriolanus huffs, knowing exactly what battle awaited him. âTell my dear father, I shall tend to his needs when I see fit, since he requires so much coddling now.â he muses: âOld age⊠really scrambles the brain to mush.â
He doesnât wait to hear a rebuttal, though the devoted servant definitely had one prepared. The young heir simply continues his journey up the winding stairs and into his roomâshutting the door behind him with excessive force. He too wants to seal the dayânot to let it go, but to sear it in his mind.
As much as he doesnât want to admit it, he achesâhis erection was throbbing, coming and going from the moment he strapped you onto his table and his hands found purpose on your body. He isnât sure how heâll be able to rein himself in if this is what the first day yields.
Maybe⊠he can just take a look at the live feed of the cameras? Just a peek⊠nothing inherently sinister.
He did promise to keep an eye on you, all things considered, and after the hearty dinner he ordered for you, you are probably feeling terribly lonely.
Maybe he can arrange for the two of you to have lunch together? Under regular circumstances, dining with a district girl would be an abhorrent thought⊠but these aren't ordinary circumstances, and you are no ordinary girlâyou are his subject, his responsibility. And, well, he'd use it to gather dataâthat's all.
The screen of the portable tablet hums to life as the initially grainy footage crystallizes somewhat. There you are⊠and something is indeed bothering you. Nestled in that blanked you'd asked for, on the cot, but⊠writhing against it.
Could it be?
His mutated rabbits did display a potent heat cycle⊠maybe once you had your belly full with nutritious diet for a change, the synthesized serum allowed you to blossom into this?
Aw, you do look desperate, he thinks to himself, and the read-out of your vitals only supports his theory: high body temperature and elevated pulse. Poor thing, you must be so scared, unaware of what's happening as your hips draw these small needy circles, seeking relief. The image causes Coriolanus to shift in his chair, the tightness in his pants becoming all too uncomfortable and impossible to ignore as he sets to watch intently. The dedication definitely didn't have anything to do with those visions of you, naked on his table that still swim in his mind.
You are trying to sing even now, but it comes out all warbledâcourtesy of the pre-War speakers as well as your state no doubt. Something in his primal brain whispers that the muffle will sound so much better if inflicted by his hand⊠the way he'd held you down today, even if you bit him in the end. Suits you rightâto be a slave to this serum nowâa bunny through and through, given how you use your teeth without regard.
A moan wrings free from your lips when you seem to finally find the appropriate angle that sends sparks flying through your neediness.
It does him in.
Steadying his hands, Coriolanus unbuckles his belt to join you in your movementsâ the serpent answering its nature. Though from afar, it feels so real as he wraps his bitten, sore fingers tightly around his painfully hard cock in an attempt to imagine you here with him. By some convoluted, sick logic, it's as though your mouth is on him. After all, your teeth were right there, sinking into his hand⊠and now the memory of that will guide him into ecstasy.
How strangled would your song be then, when you are too busy choking on his cock?
His eyes fall shut with a strained groan, letting his memories of the day paint the beautiful picture. The sponge through which he licked everywhere, between your thighs, through your wetness; he could tell you craved it even back then. Maybe not fully comprehending it, but that was his jobâto know what you need, even when you may deny it. And to administer it accordingly. Each drag of that soaked sponge he'd inflicted on you is a stroke at his cock nowâwet and filthy. It's so vivid in his mindâhow he was marking your body as his.
Then he hears youâright there on the screen for him to enjoy. The familiar melody is there, but you aren't singing that melancholic shanty, no⊠you are begging. He can hear it below the crackle: the small pleas and sighs that rain down in the cadence he'd heard yesterday, with no lucid words of your own⊠because he'd fine-tuned you to play his song now. And all it took was one day. He was truly destined for greatness.
Are you putting on a show just for him? You know he's a man of his word⊠that his eyes will be on you. He might have to think of a way to reward you for how good you listen to your new body's call. And for pleasing him so well.
His strokes grow sloppy, trying to keep in sync with your chase. Each small tremble of yours translates to a squeeze around his shaft that beckons beads of pre-come. He's trying desperately to hold back⊠wanting this moment to last.
âThank you, Doctor Snowââ
That's right, you should be grateful that he graces you with his time, that he will make you perfect⊠his sweet doll.
That recollection of your words mixes in with the âplease, pleaseâ and whimpers from the live feedâso frantic, so hopeless. You must feel so empty without something to fill your cunt through the heat cycle.
âPoor bunnyâŠâ Coriolanus mumbles, swallowing a gasp, âDoctor Snow will make it all betterââ he vows with a grunt.
His breathing grows heavier, doubling over at his chair. As he rests his forehead on the desk, he surrenders to chasing his release with reckless abandon while that coil winds tighter. Like a man starved, like a wild animal himself, his hips cant up to meet his fist in a desperate need to rut into something. The chair clatters, the desk rattling against the wall with each stutter.
âDon't leave me here, pleaseââ
âNeverâ!â Coriolanus bites at his free hand to stifle the growl that splits from his chest.
His release hits him like a whip, in all-consuming waves that he rides out as thick ropes of cum paint the screen where your image still writhes in your makeshift nest. Once his breath returns to him and the haze lifts, he sinks back into his chair, noting the obscene mess left in his wake. Reverently, he smears the evidence over the screenânot cleaning or absolvingâjust accepting the facts like the observant scientist he is. Oh, how he wishes it all ended up stuffed in youâmaking you whole, settling you through your cramps.
He looks down at his hands⊠one bearing your teeth marks, and the otherâhis. What poetic symmetry.
âFueled with the terror of becoming prey, see how quickly we become predator?â Gaulâs words prowl at the edge of his mind even now⊠the only way to explain this primal, vulgar display.
Yet, it was not fear that drove him to forego his trained poise, noâit had been Coriolanus accepting his role, blossoming into his nature. Driven by witnessing his prey in such a dire condition, his instincts kicked in.
The epiphany cracks his skull open as an incessant pounding pulses in his headâGaul is stagnated in her theories, limited, because of her innate objectivity. She stalks the corridors of the Department of War, postulating proudly how behavior is all about negative reinforcement, all the while she neglects the one chief truthâŠ
A predator seeks to consume.
His âspiritual motherâ may wear the skin of a wolf, but beneathâitâs all cogs and bolts, whirring and tuningâlaboring to imitate human nature and force baseless interpretations upon it. A machine, void of deeper wants and needs, just like Crassus.
Coriolanus, however, knows much of impulse and appetite, feels them throbbing in his heart. They arenât a cancer that needs biopsy, but the very essence of his work. Maybe, itâs high time Doctor Snowâs paradigm reign over the âRomulusâ program⊠and for you to become the pearl in his insignia.
The grand doors of his fatherâs study werenât always uninviting to Coriolanus⊠not when this used to be his motherâs studio. Creative chaos, filled with half-finished pieces, oil paint streaks coloring her face as well as her next escape on a canvas and the resinous smell of turpentine that permeated the air. There, a small Coriolanus would sit on her lap, proudly finger paintingâsafe and sound, loved and embraced.
Crassus permitted it even while she was pregnant. After all, a Commander called to duty didnât need a place to parleyâthe War rooms had provided a sufficient enough stage for his ego... for a time. As soon as she left this world alongside Coriolanusâ baby sister who took all but a fleeting breath in it, the President-in-waiting claimed the peace Lady Snow left behind in that room. Before the mourning period had its chance to pass, he'd already turned it into a barren, desolate shellâa true reflection of Crassusâ inner world where he now spends his days entertaining political alliances.
Coriolanus holds his breath as he knocks and the instant responseâ âEnter.â âis like a guillotine that slices clean through the full girth of his neck.
âSo, my heir apparent finally decides to show some gratitude for the funding of his little pet projects? How fortunate must I be that the busy Doctor Snow graces me with his presence?â Crassus begins his sentencing sarcastically and without as much as a cordial greetingâtapping his cigar against the mahogany like a metronome. âOh, wait, you arenât a real doctorâit mustâve slipped my mind with how you parade yourself under my roof.â No turpentine in the air⊠just stale whiskey breath as he utters: âTell me, boyâhave you broken your doll yet? Or are you too busy savoring the only thing you can posses so long as I live?â
This study felt too small, even the whole of Panem sits meager and unable to contain two stags, two Snow men battling for ground. That full-height window, framed with wrought iron roses where his mother used to sit for better lighting as she painted⊠now casts the cold glow of the setting sun on Crassus. It makes Coriolanus wince before he buries the emotion.
âFather⊠what a warm welcome, as always. I still wonderâwhen will you stop whining like a child? Are the numerous bootlickers you surround yourself with not enough for your soldier toy set?â Coriolanus snaps dryly. He doesn't take a seat, electing to instead circle his sire. His rival. âI know the allure of honest work evades you. Soââ The deliberate cracks of his leather soles emphasize each calculated pause as he reaches the cellarette, pouring himself a glass of the amber syrup. A sip, then two, and only then does he continue: ââLet me enlighten you. Presidents fall, dynasties can be usurped. But I'm building something of significance, a greater understanding of humanity. And my design will bask in life eternalâŠ. while your head rolls in the dirt.â
And it all starts⊠With you.
đ Tag list: @/p4neminem, @taniamiller, @deathbyvexs
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Thanks for reading!
Such an intriguing au! I LOVE how all but manic and terrifying Coriolanus is as a mad scientist. It is interesting to see how his hunger for power and control manifests in this scenario (his side of the lab being his own world he controls and him playing god with his experiments), with Crassus still being alive and thus occupying the path he wouldâve pursued instead. The father and son tension had me cacklingâCrassus is like in his 50s but Coriolanus is acting like heâs a whole fossil đ€Ł. He HATES him (I donât blame him bc of what heâs like). The mentions of mama Snow made me emotional too đ⊠Iâm excited for the continuation for this au, but also scared for reader because omgâ
â»â previous (ch.1) || next (ch.3/in writing) â· âș
Tags: m/f â vampire!Billy â vampire!Coriolanus Snow cameo (wink, wink) â canon adjacent â Lincoln County war â Mexican ranch owner daughter!oc â period-accurate language and misogyny (not from Billy!) â religious themes â ranch life â arranged marriage for oc â some angst â forbidden romance â world building for a future thg/coriolanus vamp spin-off
a/n: i will always, always thank the lovely @p4neminem for beta-ing. Truly, cannot send enough appreciation for helping me improve sm!
If you need help with the nicknames/some sayings, pls refer to this âdictionaryâ I compiled. I'm by no means an expert, especially not at Mexican Spanish, but I find it beautiful and I did my research, so any feedback is appreciated as always <3
Hope you enjoy while I continue writing for chapter 2!
â Link to my full Billy the Kid playlist
âSome things thrive on being wildâŠâ
Billyâs words rang in Delâs head, louder than her pulse, as she rode back to the ranch with the sun still barely breathing a new day into the horizon. Mateo followed suit along the muddy road leading up from the chapel. The tale they'd spin was somewhat believable, if a bit sudden.
The youngest Alvarez was known to seek comfort in her prayers when restful sleep eluded her. She'd always dreamt vividlyâever since she was a babeâand could remember it: not all bad, not all good, but always lived, always barging in uninvited and bestowing a mark. Only with Billy could her mind rest somewhere safe; even when her strong intuition remained, it was a far more tranquil affair when paired with his steady resolve.
The final corner greeted brother- and sister-in-law ahead, weaving around the tree Delâs father had planted below her window. It was a patient thingânever reaching for the sky the way the cottonwood did. Instead, its cinnamon-brown trunk bent as the winds rolled, to grip and fight with the dusty earth in determination to stay rooted. Not bowing in surrender, so much as it let the droughts test its soft-looking but prickling crownâand, come harvest time, it still brought its ink-blue berries, proving that hardships were just another cycle that would pass.
The wise women had told Don Alvarez that no wandering spirit would dare cross a ring of juniper. As if whatever overcame Del in her black dreams came from an unseen curse somewhere far away and not within. It'd offer protection, certainly, but beneath it all, its ribboned branches dispersed a hint of crushed citrusâsharp enough to clear the mind and carry prayers farther than any church bell could. In the end, if one put their faith in such old things as her father did, the presence of that tree brought some ease⊠but Del preferred her respite be placed in Billy, as his was in her.
What awaited was anything but calm, however, as Edwardâs heavy pacing on the veranda rose above the gallop. Like a man possessed, his ego needed to announce itself in every waking momentâboards creaking underneath his polished shoes, his chest huffed and lips puffed.
Elena, meanwhile, was the picture of serenity, a welcomed respiteâlike the ripening juniper berries buried below sharp needles. She quelled the spirits, sipping her tea. âMy sister oft prays at dawn⊠your preoccupation is unseemly, señor.â
Edward sighed in mild exasperation, checking his pocket watch with a clinkâpurposefully turning his back to Mateo and Del's approach so as to not risk it bearing even the slightest scratch from the kicked up sand. He could seldom be consoled with so littleâan ironic predicament for a man who'd readily claim a woman was hysterical if she'd ever wanted after the smallest of freedoms. Almost like he'd anticipated Delâs escapade⊠as if he had some great deal to gain from it.
âUnseemly?â There was a pretend edge to his echo. âShe is my promised, sister⊠as her husband-to-be, I have every right to know of her whereabouts!â
His framing and claim wasn't lost on anyone, save for the Don who found nothing amiss with it⊠A woman had only one purpose in a man's world: to be promisedâwhile a man was complete as he stood, so long as he nurtured his reputation. Though Edward did appear especially engrossed with taking in the Alvarez name and having heirs⊠perhaps he wasn't as self-sufficient as he painted himself out to be. The world Billy showed Del was a free oneânot his or hers, instead shared below the stars.
Once Del dismounted Lucha, she muttered under a forced breath. ââSisterâ?â A scornful echo, followed by mockery that may as well have been birdsong to him. Had she really been âhisâ, maybe he would've made the effort to learn her language. âÂĄYa se estĂĄ haciendo castillos en el aire!â
Edward raised an brow, brushing off invisible specks of dust from his immaculate dress shirt in sharp padding motions. âWell, good morrow to you too then, Mary Delphine.â He tried to reprimand, pretending he was in on the jest, that he was somehow relevant because his money and status deemed him so.
Elena's hidden smile at the show brightened the atmosphere even for a little while, while Mateo shook his head, stepping closer to her. âFound hermanita out praying againâŠâ He covered in a convincingly calm tone, resting his hand on his wife's shoulder.
Del could swear she saw Edward's gaze dart aboutâbothered while his posture stiffened. This time around, he wasn't ill at ease because of his inability to control his âpromisedâ; rather, he was set on checking if Billy would ride in for work. Knowing he wouldn't⊠that soon enough, the cowboy would stand cornered by Garrett, his men, and something otherworldlyâall courtesy of a concerned citizenâs tip.
In a cruel twist, the youngest Alvarez daughter fit the pieces into the wrong picture. Once she'd come to know Edward's control, she expected its bite and so mistook his troublesome fidgeting for barely restrained fury at her lack of submission. It was how it usually went⊠which left Del to expect Billyâs comforting presence by her side in a spellâhis playful blue eyes painting the lie they'd shared and maybe a new future once she had the chance to convince her father.
Instead, those very same eyes she adored and sought the warmth of would soon be overcome with quiet horror, face-to-face with el caminante.
Don Ignacio finally moved from where he stood, framed in the sunlight that had finally bled above the horizon to rid the sky of its muted early blues. Hands clasped behind his back, he took in his youngestâthe one who reminded him of his late wife so painfully.
His careful gaze shifted from her mussed braid to the straw still clinging to her skirts. âRezo, mija? Or did you ride con el diablo last night?â
Del squared her shoulders, seeing her father step in instead of letting Edward's tirade draw out.
Appreciative, yet determined, she spoke with precision. âI turned to prayer⊠for clarity, PapĂĄ.â A pause as she turned her head to meet Edward head-on. âGod answered.â She raised her chin, believing it a first step toward victory.
Unfortunately, it was no divine spirit that answered⊠and her plans to put an end to the engagement farce would be gravely interrupted.
Don Ignacio's mouth twitched at Delâs display of sharp wit. âEntonces, let us break our fast, sĂ?â He permitted, turning around to enter his hacienda. âEdwardâyou will join us.â
A clear message rang in his tired voiceâthis wasn't over. He might yet meet his daughter halfway, but chief of all, he would keep her safeâfrom herself and the wretched world as he saw it.
Waking up landed like a blow, as though Billyâs lungs were being torn apart. If a stag were ever alive to feel its carcass being flayed, that was what the poor animal would come to suffer, he decided. The pain was so gut wrenching, no living person could ever fathom its full cruelty that preyed upon his very soul. Not even in his most grisly dreams did Billy believe something as simple as breathing could burn so thoroughly and hellishly. Whatever that thing had done to the cowboy, itâd left him hung out to dry.
He knew it was a creature, for there existed no man who could command shadows at will, nor suck the light from a room in broad daylight as if it had never been there, and never would be again. Like the sun itself had abandoned the place whence the nightwalker feasted.
Billy was used to facing an opponentâtrouble took familiar shapes once heâd walked enough long and lonely roads, known enough killers, corrupt drunks and all around desperados with death already in their eyes⊠The visitor, however, hadnât been any of those. Death walked with it, instead of staying buried in peace.
In due time, the spur-clad hooves of a more acquainted beast came rattling closer down the hall leading to the cowboyâs cell. At least, that was where Billy thought he was being keptâthe haze still consumed him far too heavy to discern his whereabouts in earnest. He'd tumbled off the small cot at some point and made the far wallâs edge his new home; only his sweated off weight remained clinging to the yellowed sheets. Had he been able to taste something other than his own copper hurt, he might have welcomed the old jail air that reeked of filth and desperation like an old friend. By all accounts, the searing pain that was mauling meat clean off his bones excused this transgression against outlaw ghosts.
The man who was staring daggers at Billy had to be Olingerâhis tiny rat-like eyes carried sick delight as he leaned all too casually against the bars, feeling it his God-given right to gloat after contributing nothing by his hand. Even cornered, the cowboy would've ridden off with the wind on roads few knew of⊠but proud Garrett just had to make league with darkness, employing its wicked ways to mask his own incapability.
It's that smooth drawl of the sheriff's heir apparent that Billy could make outâa cadence capable of spewing lies so readily was hard to forget. Even if muffled due to the ringing in the cowboyâs ears, it grew higher pitched in agitation, and thus clearer.
The addressee remained unseen as Garrett continued his tirade. âHe is all but dead! We needed a trail on Tunstall, not a husk of a man, sullying my jail floor with viscera. Any judge worth his salt'd take one look at him and go sayinâ he ain't fit to stand trial!â
âGood thing Catron employs âem just fit ânough to stamp whatever paper lands on their fat belliesâŠâ Olinger chuckled ugly.
Billy could see the smaller man's mouth moving in an almost disjointed fashionâlike a grotesque version of the puppets from one of those traveling shows he'd pass by at markets when he was a kid. He was still so detached, courtesy of the throbbing loss of consciousness that refused to come back to him fully that he remained untethered even while he tried blinking away the confusion. His senses couldn't meet solid ground while his head was simply lulling along, feeling drunk without the whiskey⊠until a chilling voice revealed the party opposite Garrett's fury. That corpse, wearing the skin of a man could sober anyone up.
âI warned you, sheriffââ, the title wasnât spoken out of respect, but mockingly so, for the creature found little interest in mortal customs, especially when it came to positions that were gifted rather than seized, ââyou denied me sustenance. For fear of havoc, I was reduced to drinking livestock⊠like some mutt.â The screaming souls that aided his speech returned tenfoldâchanneling all untold ire. âI may have gotten a little carried away with your prisoner, true. But he is here, is he not? As Riley willed⊠and he will live until you bid his breath cease.â
So that was what had left Charlie's farm drained⊠Flesh left to rot bloodless. Some animals were even mauledâevidently a result of the âwalkerâ getting far too famished to rein in his impulses. A wild animal on an endless hunt to fill the hollow where its soul should reside.
It was clear the whole ordeal didnât sit right with Snow. Even though heâd swallowed his pride inasmuch as a beast's ego could allow, the lack of human blood had made him weakerâphysically, but also in spirit. As if he were a mere teethling who hadnât earned fangs yet⊠It was this palpable distaste that made Billy wonder: what exactly could the vampire need from The House that wasnât already his to take?
Coriolanus could plunge the jail in darkness, split the throats of the demanding men open, or leave them cleanly emptied of their life source and vanish without a trace. Yet, there he stoodâreduced to a mere errand boy.
Despite the sharp pang in his chest, Billy finally managed to slide up the wall albeit briefly, just enough to focus in on his old riding partners. Something viscous and sour bubbled up his throat and the cowboy had to stop himself from retching as he gagged, bracing the back of his hand against his lips to stop it.
âEven with half a mind, Iâmma still outshoot you, Patt,â Billy coughed out. âAnd I ainât gotta go sellinâ my soul fo itâŠâ
Garrett twitched as if he'd been bitten, surprised by Billyâs sudden strength and lucidity. Yet, delighted that he had the notorious Kid cornered like thisâand his name might finally ring famous next to the cowboyâs.
âAh, old friend, I can assure youânothinâ so poetic is afoot. Whatever deal the devil's struck, it ain't with me. I'm just the lucky executioner.â His eyes glinted in cold opportunism, mustache barely hiding his smirk. âThe hand of the law, if you will.â He rested his hands proudly on his holster, chest inflated to flash the shiny badge.
Now, that made Billy laugh with his full lungsâdespite the sharp pain, he couldn't let this moment pass him without a proper show of outrage. Patt parading himself as a true beacon of justiceâit was one thing to take a position on offer, keep your gullet shut and fatten up with bribes⊠and another thing entirely to delude yourself into thinking you were somehow worthy of it.
Lowly gamblers like Garrett made for good prey, but never for good spawn. Void of any lasting indebtedness, greedy and recklessâthe new sheriff would be uncontrollable had Coriolanus ever thought about turning him.
But the reluctant outlaw⊠the drifter with principles, who upheld morality more than anyone walking these lawless roads carrying a badgeânow, he would make for a fine get of darkness. Heâd be so reluctant to accept this nature, the poor soul, and so would only use it sparingly. Unlike fools drunk on powerâhis heart could be controlled.
As soon as Garrett deemed Billy fit to meet his doom, the new crook of a sheriff took his leave to inform his patrons of the joyous news. Come morrow, the Kid would stand trial, come nightfallâhe'd hang. Jesse hadn't graced Billy with his presence⊠likely unable to face the consequences of his betrayal and already in too deep to offer any viable aid. The old partner was most definitely set on finding the good life at the bottom of a bottle at the saloon down by the road. A directionless journey they'd once shared⊠blown to whatever corner desperado winds willed.
Billy had always had his sights set on a cause greater than himself though.
Taking down the Seven Rings⊠the embodiment of the deadly sins in any honest person's eyes. Clearly now in consort with the devil himself to remain in control at any cost.
Whatever bounty the vampire had to claim, its hour wasn't yet nigh for the creature never left Billyâs side. The pain hadn't subsided, and for some time, the cowboy thought it might be purposefully prolonged by the walkerâs influence. Maybe he was stationed here so that the outlaw could never recover and attempt to escapeâensuring a chain no hammer could sever.
The only respite had been Delâs rosary⊠and Billy clung to it like a drowning sailor, lest he be forever lost to Coriolanusâ shadowy tides. The light that begot some clarity in this endless hellfire was herâhis reina whose wild spirit burned brighter than the abyss. Did she believe him gone? That he'd abandoned her?
To swallow down the bitter possibilities, Billy spoke through gritted teeth. âEven in all your power⊠you still kneel to someone. Ain't that somethinâ?â The dismissive grunt he let out was shrill, coupled with the sputter of blood.
âHunger is my only master, cowboy,â the âwalkerâ assured in a slow cadence, his commanding choir of voices coming from whichever corner of the suffocating jail cell.
That provocation seemed to stir the creatureâBilly could feel the whirling shadows at its command becoming almost prickly in shape and coldness. The closest to a full-body shiver that the vampire could muster. A well-placed challenge such as this may provide the cowboy with a slippery way of escape. At least that was what he banked on. It was clear the walker was pridefulâanyone walking the land that long without ever needing to consider death as an adversary had every right to be.
Unfortunately, Billy had much to learn yetâone couldn't strike a guaranteed deal when they remained clueless as to what the other party couldn't do without. Unless you held their innermost fear in the palm of your hand, it'd be like playing poker plunged in a dark room. No hand known, no tell to be discerned⊠even no table upon which the ruling cards would be laid out.
âSounds like a miserable road to walk⊠beinâ a slave to your urges.â Billy countered, clutching at his aching ribs, right below his still-pounding heart.
He was taking shots in the dark, hoping their ruckus would cause some consequential imbalance beyond simply infuriating the walker. If that proved fruitless, the rosary he'd brought behind his back to file away at the windowsill of the cell might yet earn him his freedom.
Del had said so herselfâthat it wasn't gifted in an empty hope for his hands to be folded over it in prayer; just a means of keeping her close to heart instead. Now, the little brass crucifixâwrought from her favorite ringâserved a humbler, more earthly purpose as it worried away at the rotting wood one patient stroke at a time. Each pass drove the cross back into Billy's palm with a reprimanding stingâeither divine fury at the blasphemous action, or simply reminding him that salvation was seldom won without blood. Little did the unwitting outlaw know, it was precisely that desperation which Coriolanus hoped to exploit; it tasted so potently sweet, despite the blows to his vampiric pride.
Snow's hissed chuckle permeated the air, cooling it over.
âNot when you have all the means you could dream of to satiate it⊠Hedonism is a virtue when you can indulge deliciously. And I can assure youâeveryone hungers for something,â he explained carefully, patiently priming his prey with venom. âCreatures of the night just have a sure way of snatching it for ourselvesââ His hand outstretched in a harsh grabbing motion, clasping around nothing. Yet, it felt as though he were seizing at Billyâs throat, denying his next words of challenge. ââyou, righteous outlaw that you are, you hunger for justice. To protect your loved ones from the landâs unforgiving turns⊠turns dictated by small men who believe themselves giants.â
Billy's fingers twitched to life, previously clasped over Delâs cross in a dead man's hold, now itching to seize his revolver. Naturally, it couldn't have been resting at his belt while he was jailed. Yet that habitual movement meant he'd already bled in front of the walker, shown him he was right in his assessment without needing to utter a confirmation.
Now, it was the creature that held the winning hand.
âAh, bullâs eye! As you may sayâŠâ Coriolanus noted smugly and it was as though the grasp he had over Billyâs soul loosened ever so slightly. Snow had the cowboy where he wanted himâno need to suffocate a perfectly viable spawn. âYou want to go back to your love, hm? To⊠Mary? Or do you want her to watch you swingââ, his fingers glided through the air, as the words droned out, mimicking the hanging sweep of feet at the end of a rope. ââaway?â
A deal Billy started⊠walked into dangerously unprepared and ended now as an open book to the adversary. Rattled and protective, despite his circumstances, the outlaw raised his voice. âWhat dâyou know of her?!â
Coriolanus appeared almost enthused at how quickly this was untangling. He knew a bleeding heart like the little criminal in front of him couldn't resist its call to provocation long. That he'd sooner put his head in the jaws of a beast than see those he cared deeply for suffer.
âOh, I know a thing or two about your âreinaâ...â the vampire started, stepping closer to the bars until his pale fingers danced across them in a discordant melody. âI know how she tends to her father's land, his animals, teaching those children at the mission. I also know she is promised to another⊠and it makes you burn.â
What he spared Billy was the knowledge the Snow family had of her blood too⊠how it has hungered for sight dating back generations. Naturally, Don Alvarez knew of that âafflictionââhis own mother used take in the half-lost and the never-found for guidance. She could foretell what no doctor would ever dream of seeing, painting futures so vivid, they couldn't be chalked up to simple trickery for they always came to pass. Some wiser people recognized the power, other foolish and superstitious folk imagined it as the devil's will given flesh. As though the mere utterance of the blessed visions brought upon someone's demise.
The gifted Alvarez women were the messengers, not executioners; yet, out fear of being ostracized for witchery, for the uncanniness of her sight, pious Ignacio sought to to erode Delâs instincts â keeping lemon balm in a silver string-tied cloth beneath her pillow on a new moon, planting that ghoulish, lifeless juniper tree next to her window. Tried as he might, he couldn't uproot his progeny of the foresight that swam ever-seeking in her soul.
The cowboy didnât need to knowâif he was a good boy, heâd turn her himself. To protect her, to grant her life eternal, void of any pain⊠and then the full extent of her sight may finally be unleashed. As was written⊠if not, Coriolanus would be more than happy to make her his own bride.
âYou tellinâ me all this just to play with your food, diablo? Or've you forgotten, you put me in this damn cell!â Billy stood up abruptly, fighting through the pain in an attempt to assert whatever strength he could muster.
âAnd I can just as easily get you out, partnerâŠâ Coriolanus enticed in a hypnotic tone, vanishing into the candle-lit corridor only to appear abruptly in Billyâs cell, walking out of his shadows given form. âYou are already ripe with my venom, it'd take but a drop more and you shall become invisible. Like meâŠâ
Not really⊠Snow would need to give a drop of his blood back if Billy was to roam free of his influence. The cowboy wouldn't be a supreme, just a spawn. Even still, that would make him a creature powerful enough to break through these bars and run back to his love, to rid the land of its suffering and prove honor still lived.
Within Coriolanusâ bounds, naturallyâyou gained something, you had to give up something. It was the way of the world.
âA beast you mean, lose my soulââ
Billy clung to that last thread of hope he had. That his own two hands would be enough to see this through. After all, the windowsill had begun to surrender, its rot no longer hiding beneath chipped paintâone hard brace and it could break clean away. Freedom and his reina waited no farther than the saddle of the nearest horse below⊠if only the pain could lift long enough so he'd feel his legs again.
âYou say that like it's a bad thing⊠To become something more. Someone who will be able to finally make it right.â Coriolanus sat on the creaky cot, not invading or trapping like he'd done back at Billyâs cabin. This was the beginning of a true alliance and the vampire would treat it as such, even if he withheld the full extent of his gain. âNo more pesky ties with people who betray, no more wallowing and waiting for fancy lawyers to settle their paperwork. Just you and your precious justice⊠and your lovely Mary.â
At the repeated mention of her name, the cowboy stilled as though he'd heard gunfire closing in on him. Images of the life he yearned for once he was done avenging and fighting swam in his already heavy head. Mary Delphine coming back from a day of teaching with their children, hand-in-hand and carefree⊠cared for but never confined. Her riding with him come nightfall with promises of free hearts and sweet kisses.
What monster could ever have that?
Billy looked down, pretending he'd been contemplating the offer. Before the silence could settle too comfortably, he sent his weight up sharply, attempting to lunge at the waist-level window. Overeager and overconfident, the uneasy movement hit him back tenfoldâlike the recoil of a heavy shotgun. Every movement made in what felt like molasses instead of the thin air that oft offered guidanceâthe vampire venom scorching at his flesh.
One board managed to fall, sure enough, landing in some withered bushes with dangerous thorns to them. Had it been Billy tumbling down, he found no certainty he'd even be able to get up, much less ride in this condition. As the cowboy grunted in pain and hopeless despair, the path split before him, forked and uglyâno longer offering an easy direction... embrace the monstrosity that was already eating away at him, or suffer the burn of a rope around his neck.
Persevere or give up.
How did that song Del used to sing on their lovely nights go again?
Ah, yes⊠âAngels, meet me at the crossroads, meet me⊠Don't charge a sinner any toll.â
For a moment, he allowed himself to be lost in that memory. When he wobbled on his feet though, he was found by a demon at his crossroads insteadâ
âEasy there, partner⊠Think of it like that deformed filly you and your sweetheart saw into this world. You are just taking your first crooked steps, but with liquid power coursing through your veins. Itâs not an easy thing to adjust to⊠and it will only become worse if you are to resist the transformation. Well, evolution, is the term I prefer.â Coriolanus framed it without offering as much as a twitch of concern that Billy may yet fall through the window and disappear into the night. He knew the limitations of a new blood⊠especially one that fought with the venom so viciously.
âIt ainât really a choice now, is it?â Billy noted bitterly as his body swung in an attempt to meet the cell floor writhing. âThe moment you marked me, it was either takinâ this or a short dance with the noose,â he scoffed. âI'm a dead man walkinâ, only question is how long I'll get to walkâŠâ
âAnd thatâs still a choice, cowboyâmore than Iâd offer anyone else in your position.â Coriolanus appeared almost bored by how difficult the outlaw was being. âTruly, I could've been doing something far more beneficial by now⊠like planning that Reaping good olâ Catron promised our kind once he comes to rule,â he let slip.
Billy heard it though, even when he couldn't move his limbs, he'd remained lucid enough to gather whatever he could on the creature. âNow⊠hold on. Reapinâ?â
That didn't sound good at all⊠if he was any judge of it. The whole ordeal spelled the start of hell on earth. Previously lurking in the shadows, the strigoi reign would befall the land, keeping it veiled in darknessâall the while those above the law kept their bellies full.
The vampire stilled, his shadows stopped their hum too, as though caught red-handed, feigning reluctance to divulge the whole story. What started as a genuine slip-up shaped up to conveniently place Billy back into his sphere of influence. Thus, the blonde-haired creature allowed it to simmer, twisting on the cot as if he was uneasy, as though the other man knowing may spell some awful end.
It only made the cowboy naively bite harder: âDon't leave it half-buried, diablo! I'll either die and never see another day⊠or I'll be your âkindâ too, now, won't I? I oughtta know.â Billy thought he had the upper hand even when it'd always been the walker who held all the cards.
Toying with the buttons of his immaculate sharp suitâvelvet as blood, a vestigial breath leaked from Coriolanusâ lungs. âTributes⊠offerings to us vampires. Instead of hunting about sporadically, we get to rid the land of its enemies.â His glinting eyes met Billyâs, sick satisfaction bleeding through the icy blue irises. âConvenient if you think about it really⊠it's how it was meant to be.â
âReckon that suits the folks on top mighty fine.â Billy spat, breath turning sharp through his nose as the storm continued to brew in him.
Somehow, it always ended up like thisâwith honest people suffering. While the cowboy ran a thumb over his worn knuckles, like that would still him in any way, the vampire's shoulders were loose, like nothing weighted on them anymore.
Bracing an arm back to lay on it, Coriolanus challenged: âSo⊠do something about it.â
Billy could now⊠hadn't the walker said so himselfâ he could become âsomeone who'd finally be able to make it rightâŠâ? Suddenly, the one path at the fork felt less like a damnation and more like sacrifice that called out to the cowboy.
But then again, if he were a vampireâwhat would it mean for them? Del was so accepting, so caring and kind that he had no doubt sheâd welcome him no matter his predicament or shape. Because she loved and shared his vigorous search for the fairness of things.
If Billy returned inhuman, sheâd still know his true nature⊠as he knew hers.
Sheâd help him find his way back home, back to her.
Siempre. Always.
More jarringly, he thought of what it would mean for her. She might not see him hang tomorrow but he would have to watch her wither away while he stayed frozen in time. That was a grave plight Billy couldn't stomach.
No ââtil death do us partâ, because he'd never be returned to dirt. Heâd never meet his parents, brother or all his fallen friends up in the stars. The same shining, mystical lights his father would turn to, assuring little Billy that everyone went there eventuallyâto keep watch over their loved ones below. The long low spell had consumed his pa⊠yet, even he, with a shadow over his mind, had met the sweet release of death. And Joe, and then Kathleen had joined himâfinally together once again.
A vampire got no such universal kiss to bless him⊠For all that, maybe persevering is was what Billy owed them. For a moment, it felt like he could take a full and fresh breath, as though he'd be washed clean of his sins if only he could journey on. If there was a reason behind all the lives lost and all the sins heâd committed.
After all, what good would it do if he hung? It would've all been in vain, that was for certainâall the suffering and long roads, leading to nothing but another sunrise on a land terrorized by the Seven Rings.
âBut⊠Del will die,â Billy murmured in quiet horror, âAnd I'll have to ride alone forever,â a conclusion, almost to himself as he looked away.
Then, his fingers fiddled with the rosary, its shine catching in what little candlelight remained; as though his reina might offer consolation through it. Coriolanus heardâof course he didâit was what the latter half of this tedious day had been building up to. Another nail removed from Billyâs coffin. Another step closer to sealing the preordained fate of the Alvarez seer.
âAterna amantes⊠lovers, forever. Should she wish to join you on this journeyâyou can make her your vampire bride,â the âwalkerâ offered with ease. As though his fangs had already condemned many to a soulless existence.
Whence the room plunged into complete darkness, not with the sun setting, rather by the walker's will⊠Billy's final utterance laid beyond knowing. A smile or a grotesque contortionâhis eyes were wide, his mouth hung openâ
The crucifix burned against his chest. And his heartâonce strong and fierceâseized its gallop.
Noon came and went with no word or trace of Billy. It was as though even the wind had forgotten his name while it whistled through the crooked, barely-mended fence heâd left yesterday. Del hated feeling powerless even if she was often forced into such circumstancesâdecisions being taken for her, rarely with. Giving her love to the cowboy was the first such ruling she could allow herself. Even then, it'd been one veiled in secrecy.
Tried as she might to brush Edward off, he didnât leave her side for a second, which made her father very pleased. Bea had been talking her ear off about the wedding preparations when that was the last thing on Delâs mindâever, and especially now.
Something was amiss with her vaqueroâŠ
Heâd have sent word⊠unless he no longer could. Unless heâd been captured, taken flight as he might.
Every sound in the sitting room felt louder, magnified by her nerves stretching taut. No one was bothered that a person who readily put his life on the line for this rancho and for every farmer in the vicinity had gone missing. Not a single worry crossed their coddled minds; they were happy to bask in lifeâs mundane bounty so long as it may serve them to never get their reputations dirty.
What was one more life lost to ruthless men? It was better that it wasnât them. No need to stick your head out, lest you lost it.
The sample fabrics for her future dress looked anything but innocently white. All she could see were the shadows that bled through the delicate lace, carrying a certain gloom instead of the blossoming excitement expected of a bride-to-be.
ââS just the weight of the holy vows, hermanita,â Elena assured, warmth flowing through her words, though their content was a mere masquerade. She knew, in her heart of hearts, what was really eating away at her younger sister. âI remember mine own wedding like it was yesterday⊠Ay, Mateo was more shaken than I was! Thought the cabron might run for the hills!â
At least sheâd been marrying someone who respected her, the younger Alvarez thought. Some lucked out with their arrangements, othersânot so much. The other, spoke now, having been convinced of her placeâ
âIt is a duty regardless,â Bea countered the high emotions with cold pragmatism, like she usually did. âOur battlefield is with the labours, not the land.â
Delâs eyes remained blank while she moved with habit instead of her usual spark. She reached for the offered tea cup only to whisk it awkwardly, spilling the deep red clover tea over the pristine materials. Even then, the girl didnât move to correct her mess, just watched as though compelled, at the way the pale cloths soaked up the scarlet liquid with hunger.
Beatriz acted thoughâjumping in a fuss as Edward snatched Delâs wrist, offended at her carelessness for his investment in her.
âThat is why you shouldâve been sound asleep at your fianceâs side,â he reprimanded dangerously, leaning in to whisper the next sure threat: ââinstead of pretending you pray for something that shall never come.â
âYouâd do well to listen to your sister and your intended, Mary Delphine,â Don Rafael interjected firmly whence he returned from his rounds. Thick cigar smoke clouded his face, almost as dense as the dust the wind started to pick up outside. âA veces, you forget yourself, estrellitaâsaliste a tu mama⊠An Alvarez woman doesnât wallow in dirt like aââ
ââLike a man?â Del challenged, finding her voice when the time called. Her initial catatonic stupor, forgotten as soon as she sensed the attempt to shove beliefs forcefully down her throat. âTell me again, Papå⊠did abuelo scold you for tending your first foal? Or did he clap you on the back and call you âun vaquero verdaderoâ?â
Her gaze didnât flinch even as the smoke from the cigar curled overwhelmingly strong into her face. Edward did rest his hand on her shoulder, but it was nothing short of claiming instead of calming or praising. The condescension in his voice like a live wire, a leash he attempted to tug her along with.
âToo much freedom spells ruin, sweetheart. Your father knows it well,â the lawyer said in a sickly sweet tone, ââ âtis why I'm hereâto care for youââ
âCare? You care for the idea of me. The Alvarez name, the land⊠the obedient ghost of a girl you think Iâll become,â Del retorted, âYou want a wife whoâll fade into your shadow, Edward.â She stood up, discarding the previously intricate fabrics turned blood-like offerings in favor of holding her ground. She wasn't about to become small in the face of a play-pretend hunter. âWho'll birth your heirs and host your parties and never dare to have hands rougher than yours. But the truth is⊠You do not frighten meânot your influence, least of all your fragile, self-serving bearing.â Her conclusion came sharp as were her dark eyes, letting the remark hang between them.
Edward stepped forward appearing assured, though his eyes betrayed how utterly cornered he felt at the unexpected impertinence. Men who presumed bows and recognition would follow wherever their presence graced oft resorted to cruelty when their standing was threatened.
And this was no exceptionâŠ
âAh, you know it all, like always... little girl speaking on matters she cannot begin to conceive of.â His breath came out in shorter spurts, almost heaving as he seethed at her challenge. âSo what is it that you want, Mary Delphine?â the low hissed continued, âTo kneel at some hovel, scrubbing floors with that outlaw's bastard in your bellyââ
A slap was about to ring through the hacienda, even the Don had seized his puffingâshowcasing a quiet dislike at how his daughter was handled. Had her security with the lawyer always been a cage?
Had it not been for the loud bang at the door that made everything stop in its tracks, this couldâve turned ugly real fast.
âDon Alvarezââ Jose started, already out of breath as he swallowed the next words, forcing them to come out through his dry throat. âThere's a man at the gates... he ain't from around. Pero, he's offerinâ a mad heap of cash for the Turner stallion.â A commonly joyous announcement, yet the manâs stiff lip revealed how unsettled he felt. âSays he won't be spillinâ more in front of ranch hands.â
âUn forasteritoâall the better!â Don Ignacio sighed, welcoming the distraction and celebrating good news hastily. âMake sure he's well-greeted. A man like him wouldnât know what heâs buyinââjust sees glory and speed.â
âIf I may, jefeâshouldnât we ask what heâs about? He didnât even speak his name. Such a chance wager⊠somethinâ doesnât smell rightââ the foreman said in a hushed voice, worried to offer an opinion when it wasnât asked.
âHe wants a parley, we give him one. What would it say about mi negocio here if we cast him to the wolves, hm?â the old man spoke harshly, leaving no way around his storm, only through it. âEither he's desperate or he thinks we are. And Iâd hate to think you mistook me for the desperate one, muchacho?â
Unbeknownst to the prideful Don, the the wolf was already at his door, draped in the skin of a lamb. An apparently rich lamb.
Jose shook his head in valiant denial of the accusations and with the muttered apologies that rained downâall was at its place once again. All the while, Del wondered if the arrangement with Edward had unfolded much the same fashion. Like a horse to be traded to the highest bidder, the most ravenous of wolves.
The stranger was peculiar, Del could immediately tell. For one, he continued to stand outside the gates, even as the Don and his envoys approached, as though some unseen force was keeping him repelled from crossing the estate's boundaries. Weirder still, no carriage awaited his eventual departure. Had he made his way on foot? Impossible, his skin was so pale it bordered on transparentâas though the sun ought to burn him where he stood.
His face looked youngâno older than herself or Billyâbut there was a certain callousness that lay heavy in his eyes, masked by a pleasant smile. It wasnât forced the way Edwardâs bestial grin with bared teeth usually was. Instead, the outsiderâs lips sealed his pearly whites into a smirk sharp enough to cut, but charismatic enough to hide any carnality.
âGood day, Don Alvarez,â a smooth voice rang as the newcomer lowered his hat to reveal a crown of sun-gold hair, a mock halo, âI must admit Iâve heard many tales of your stallionsâeach more grand than the last. One would think youâre breeding beasts instead of noble mounts.â
âAh, creatures can be whatever you make of âem, señorââ the Don stopped, clearing his throat, âPerdon, I didnât catch your name quite so soon?â
âNo apologies needed, I donât supply it to just anyone. After all,â the stranger set his cold eyes on Del for whatever reason and an unpleasant chill ran through her. âânames hold power.â
Sheepish laughs ensued at the dramatics displayed, though the way his voice had dropped, so convinced, left the youngest Alvarez at a loss for words.
âCoriolanus Snow, it really is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.â The pale one shook hands with the Don, but a part of his attention was always set on Del.
âHow Shakespearean,â she muttered, trying to shake off the unease. âLet's hope you have more respect for the common folk than your namesake.â
Frighteningly, the man heard even if her huff should have been carried by the wind. His smile settled wider and void of any warmthâan uncanny attempt at playing human. Del could swear sheâd seen him somewhere before⊠though she doubted sheâd misremember a man with a face sculpted by angels and eyes bestowed by demons. Maybe in her dreamlike moments? That was the only place such a visage belongedâboth enamoring and plaguing.
Ranch hands were already making preparations, though they more so attempted to look busy with it, respectfully unwilling to tempt fate when it came to halting RelĂĄmpago without Billy around. It'd been a shared trust between the outlaw and the âLightningââwatching him with the black stallion made it easy to forget the animal had once sent a grown man over the fence. Billy didn't gentle him as much as the horse chose not to fight himâa recognition of tried spirits.
âEntonces, bienvenido, Señor Snowâmy foreman will gladly show you âround. Can even take the beast for a spin!â Don Ignacio assured, speaking far too soon.
Only when his welcome and name were spoken did the stranger cross the gates with a heavy step. Taking in his surroundings as though he'd been blind to them before this passage was granted, his whole body flinched quickly from the juniper tree, much the same way one way one would recoil from a burning flame. On instinct.
But just like back at the hacienda, when it was his reputation on the line, an Alvarez never backed down. He ushered Doña Manuela to keep the guest busy while he dealt with the ramifications of the inept staff.
âYou mean to tell me I should've heeded a desperado instead of my best man?â The Don's face turned red like he'd eaten something far too hot for his palate. Though there rarely was such a thing save for his own temperamentâeven he couldn't stomach his own fury sometimes. âDon't you ever bleed such weakness in front of a buyer!â
âPapĂĄââ Del offered, âBillyâs shown me the ropes with RelĂĄmpago. He trusts me in stride.â
The Alvarez patriarch turned slowly as though waking up from his anger.
âGreat! What would the esteemed señor say, huh? That my own men cannot handle the stallion, but my hija canâŠâ her father scoffed, but his head shook in that softened wayâhappy to admit defeat when it was delivered by his own. The same way he'd hide a smile when Del would best him in a game of backgammon.
âI'll see to it that he remains confident in our business, PapĂĄ,â she assured in a tired voice, that worry for Billy ever gnawing at her, ââfast and sure as lighting.â A strained smile cracked on her face.
A tug at her dress pulled her from the depths of her thought. She'd already been restless, sure, but the moment this Mr. Snow entered, she'd felt as though a heavy shadow was draped on her already preoccupied shoulders.
Antonio continued his attempts to get her attention. He was far too excitable after his afternoon nap so he resorted to listen in on the commotion, knowing his mother would just send him reading instead.
âTĂa Del, whereâs tĂo gone to? He promised heâd make me a resortera! Said Iâm real young and too spoiled to be shootinâ yet,â Antonio spoke so fast, like his dreams hadn't been eventful enough, mimicking Billyâs lower timbre dramatically. A pout dawning his face, he expected to wake up to surroundings that catered to himâlike any small boy who hadnât yet seen hardship.
âI couldn't say, Tony⊠I tried telling your abuelo he should send riders to see about,â Del glared feeling surrounded by traitors save for her nephew. âIt ainât like Billy to abandon work.â She let her care show this time around. Let her father see what real love ought to look like.
Beatriz looked red as a tomato when she'd heard her son call the outlaw âuncleâ again. Promptly, she pulled Antony by the ear, scolding. âSeñor Cardew's your tĂo, you little rascal! You hear!â
Two birds with one stoneâreprimanding her son while condemning her sister for the perceived frivolity of allowing Edward be pushed to the sidelines. For trying to set things right by her heart when everyone involved, save for the sole beneficiary of the dowry and the Alvarez patriarch turned broker of false safety, wanted out of this arrangement.
âUnless thereâs troubleâand for low-lives like him, bad omen sticks like a tick on a stray hound!â Edward offered in a loud bark, âWhoâs to say they didnât catch him. Don Alvarez was wise to hide him out far from here⊠what would have happened if the sheriff came knocking?!â
âWell, you for one wouldâve shown the white feathers, that much is certain.â Delâs tone bit back. âBilly would die with more honor than you've ever lived with.â
Though it was a sentiment she didn't want to conceive of⊠it didn't make it any less true for judging the lawyerâs moral character. She could only hope that day wouldn't come soon.
Through it all, the men simply took to speak over her. Only the pale outsider met her eyesâblue, like Billyâs but calculating, so unlike. As though he was observing the beat of her very heart, he set his whiskey glass on the porch table. That was when Del knew she had to quell her fire or suffer its burn herself. To rein herself in, lest her well-placed worry be reduced to a hysterical outburst in the eyes of the beholders.
Her next words released the tension slowly and carefully. âIâve been plagued by this nagging question ever since I saw you comfortably waiting on me, Edward. You seem far too certain something befell him. Sure, it may not be a stretch, given his reputation, but for someone so mistrustful, you rest so easily with itâŠâ she muttered in suspicion, a chill running through her as she took her fiance in.
How gloating he appeared, smirking like a coyote in a henhouse. As though he had a hand in the ordealâthat would be the only explanation as to his passiveness.
A final warning, one that Del would heed, swallowing down the bitter lump in her throat. She nodded, muttering an agreeable deflection. Pick her battles she shall in stride.
Mr. Snow didn't look like a man who wanted to buy the stallion for a race. Those types were usually far more impulsive, even the ones who viewed themselves as kings among gamblers⊠they were still slaves to the habit.
Not this man though. Coriolanus looked all but bored, far more engaged in a conversation with Del than actually trying to appraise RelĂĄmpago's speed.
âIf you'd follow me to the fence line, señor?â She kept up the pleasantries even as the meadow called for her to run to Billy. âGauge the speed of our lightning. He doesn't shy away from a challenge.â
âPlease, call me Coriolanus. I may be a potential patron, but a little star like yourself⊠you are the one holding the reins after all, no?â A low voice rang, much more gravelly than what he'd shown before. âAnd I'd much rather see how you handle pressure.â
It was like the words didn't come out of his lips but from the very shadows that danced around the corral. Del was growing heavier with unease at how observant the stranger was, at how piercing his presence stood. Not only could he hear much clearer than a normal person ought to be able to, it was as if he could peer into her very essence, gouging out what lay in her heart's desires.
That nickname her father had for herâthe audacity the strange man displayed of using it so freely... if she didn't feel like a snared rabbit, she might have spoken her mind about it. Yet, there she remainedâ paralyzed by the snake's venom.
RelĂĄmpago matched her weariness, pawing at the ground until she soothed him with a gentle hand on his mane. The whites of his eyes were still showing, the poor animalâseeing more than a simple beast should.
âAh, protective that one. Much like your cowboyâI see why they are kindred.â Coriolanus came closer, breath almost tickling at Delâs neck.
A stutter caught in her throat as she moved away, feeling her skin crawl. âH-how do youâ?â Her words failed her.
âItâs my curseâknowing what others yearn for, while the bane you carry⊠is to know what shall befall them in the end,â The pale man raised his hand gently, setting his thumb between her eyebrows, tracing with sudden reverence. She tried to take a step back only to be greeted by the fence that stood in disrepair, courtesy of Billyâs neglect. âYou've seen me in your dreams, have you not? Same way you saw your BillyâŠâ
The strange man spoke matter-of-factly; as though he wasn't uncovering tales that Del had been told were better left buried under her pillow or carried away by the juniper tree.
âWho are you?â she whispered, trying to still her trembling hands.
âThat isnât for you to know, little star.â Coriolanusâ hand dropped abruptly, fingers pulsing in a fist. âThe cowboy's walked that road to your heart,â he concluded with a sharp icy hiss, sounding almost disappointed. âGo now, while your father's men are none the wiser and let lightning carry you to his cabinâŠâ A wide smirk spread, fangs glistening on display at last. âHe mustâve grown ravenous by now.â
Her blood wouldnât sing to Coriolanus. Turning her was in the hands of the outlaw nowâa powerlessness the vampire hated.
Whence Del tried to blink away this waking nightmare, searching for answers⊠He was gone. As though he flew away on the dark wings of shadows, or maybe got swallowed by them.
She wasted no time, a spell more and her father mightâve come to check in on the deal with the devil. RelĂĄmpago carried her toward the cabin without need for much direction, knowing where trouble awaited.
A storm always came with lighting.
Delâs haze finally lifted when she saw the cabin up aheadâno sign of Billyâs horse, door flung wide open. The moment she stepped closer, she saw it wasn't just hangingâthe wood was splintered almost in half across the width, like someone burst in⊠or couldn't be contained. She traced the shard of what was left as though it would speak out what had transpired.
Then, a loud bangâ
Out of the corner of the dimmed roomâsomething tumbled, eager to make itself known.
Del flinched, cutting herself on the rough canines of the door. Wincing as it pierced her skin, a fresh drop of blood was drawn, trickling down. Her eyes followed its crimson path⊠to find her rosary. The one Billy wore proudly now lay abandoned on the cabin floor. Its beads had spilled like someone had yanked it while it'd been secured around his neck still.
Compelled to enshrine the precious gift, she knelt, heart beating so loud she could hear its thump reverberate in her ears. The moment the metal graced her skin, it burned blinding hot, searing its shape across her fingers. Del jerked her hand back, shaking it vigorously as the cross dropped with a clank.
What could have caused such a thing?
It was like the crucifix had been held over the potent flames of a blacksmith fire. Whatever the reason was⊠it had to be within a whisper of the cabin still, with how the heat managed to linger. Del could feel panic bubbling up in her chest, stinging at her throat as small tears began to well up in her eyes. Not enough to spill, but plenty to blur her vision. She shook her head, drawing a sharp breathâshe had to endure whatever uncertainty lay ahead.
Something bolted, slithering down the wall like a shadow incarnate.
A growl, like that of a feral dog.
It made Del's lungs draw little hiccups of dread, she reached for her penknife; the one she used to sharpen the graphite when sheâd teachâalways on her in case. Trying as she might to inhale the thick air, it was to no avail. Whatever presence was in the room with her had her pinned in place.
Surely, her mind was playing tricks on her with the setting sun. It couldn't beâ
Billy⊠eyes red as the droplets of blood that still perched on her fingertip. He didn't speak, couldn't utter a word, only grumbling gnarls pushed through gritted teeth.
âBilly!â Del made for him even in this state, her small knife clattering to the ground. She needed to feel him with her own two hands. âMi alma⊠what's happened?!â
He didnât flinch from her approach, even if every instinct in his body screamed in fire to push her awayâsensing what his new essence was capable of, what it was beckoning him to do. Especially when he could smell her blood, dripping from her finger like the most tempting Ambrosia.
Drink, take, satiate.
âMy soulâ, she'd uttered in that loving timbre⊠Was there even such a ghost inhabiting Billy still? Or was it all carved out, with just sin cursed to forever dwell in the pit of his being?
His gentle spirit that didn't need to assert, but simply guided those around, now felt like a distant mirage. Just emptiness remained, and an ever-growing need to make it whole again.
As she cradled his cheeks, she could sense an odd, stark coldness radiating from his skin. A far cry from the warmth he'd radiate after basking in the sun, so full of life, now his very movements sat strangely on himâso fitful like he might pounce on anything daring to move in his field of vision.
His eyes darted wildly, a hollow gleam pulsing in them, so unsure of what it was he was searching for.
Something, anything to quench the thirst.
âRun, reina,â Billyâs voice was inhuman, rumbling from his chest. âPlease, I had toâ!â
An invisible, inward battle was occurring as he shook, trying to hold himself back. He doubled over in pain, cramps squeezing from his teeth through his stomach.
She'd understandâ
He just needed a taste, her sweet essence pumped so loudly from her heart, blossoming through her veins. What delight it'd be to have it running down his parched throat, soothing the ache.
No, Heaven, no!
Had he taken leave of his senses so deeply? The devil had whispered in his ear and took with him Billy's humanity⊠but the cowboy would have liked to envision it'd be a far less rude awakening. That his reason and heart may yet prevailâ
But its beat had left him the moment he fled the cell with the searing of the cross against his chest.
âWhat do you mean?!â Del whispered urgently, hands moving with purpose to gather the full extent of his state. âI can't leave you like thisâI won't!â she declared, steadfast.
He wasn't sweating, no cough split his chest in tortureâ all maladies urged her toward a conclusion that it couldn't be the bite of a mad dog unsettling him so. The rage didn't show its ill effects with such haste.
When her words reached Billy, he attempted to thrash away, albeit weakly. His accursed strength could only find him only once he's feasted. While he was gravely terrified of causing her harm⊠an awakened spawn knew nothing of temperance or preservationâonly consumption.
âDel⊠I beg of youââ Billy hissed, unable to recognize his own voice even as it pleaded for her safety. âIt's not safe.â
He wasnât safe. The only place sheâd found home in now threatened to devour her whole.
She just shushed him, not grasping what faith she was condemning herself toâa moth drawn to a funeral pyre. Del continued her assessment, tears brimming in her eyes as she grew more and more weary. How could she hope to cure him if she couldn't see the source of his ailment?
Then, once her careful fingers reached the valley of his chest, she saw it and her breath trapped itself in her throat. The crucifix shape stood branded in his fleshâthe only warm presence still sizzling there.
Before Del could think to ask, her world tilted with her thoughts. It all happened so fast; one moment Billy was still holding the battle front, and the nextâthe beast had won. A deep growl ripped from between his teeth the moment her fingers had reminded him of what he'd lost. Then, it was all anger and need.
He grabbed her over his shoulder as his fingers dug into the flesh of her calf, pinning his prey onto the bed with such force that the decrepit headboard threatened to give out. Her eyes turned frantic now as did her short breaths that couldn't reach her lungs, trying to find her Billy under all the animality that had consumed him.
âSnap out of it, Billy!â she attempted, more a plead than a command for she sensed nothing could rein him in now.
Human words failed himâ the only language he now knew was that of bloodlust. She saw them⊠gleaming through what little light made it in with the setting sun. Fangs, sharp and ready.
He was heaving now, pain searing through him like a branding ironâthe moment that'd seal him as a monster was nigh, inevitable. Del understood⊠She knew it nowâthat he'd relinquished everything to return to her, to be free in the only way this land would allow. Become the beast or suffer its claws.
She accepted it with grace, welcomed him back when his fisted hands scrambled to her bodice and ripped it wide open. Buttons scattered like raindrops as she braced herself. And then, his fangs sunk just below her collarbone. The sound was crisp, like biting into a fresh apple, mixing with her shrill scream that was suddenly edged with an involuntary moan.
Too much, too painful, yet it was Billy who delivered it so⊠her Billy.
He lapped at the gushing drops, not close enough to the bone to hurt, afraid to touch her neck lest he leave her drained or even mauled. Here, close to her breasts and beating heart was a place he once knew well, now getting reacquainted to its softness in this new form.
The moment he heard her whimpers, something else stirred within Billy. With new blood coursing through his undead veins, the contrast between his cold body and her inviting warmth left him dizzy. Not as lightheaded as his reina though, as he found the calling to bite anew, feeling it'd never be enough. It was at her right arm now, just above the shoulder⊠closer still to her neck but sucking in what he could reach from here.
The sounds were wet and filthy in of themselves and treacherous wetness started pooling between her legs. She couldn't believe herself⊠that she'd leaned into the touch of a vampire. Yet she knew it wasn't a beast wrapped in Billyâs skin, but her love himself. Keeping her safe even when he couldn't trust himself. He'd hate what he'd become once his lucidity came back to him, she was sure of it. She'd welcome him nonetheless.
âI'm sorryâI'm sorryââ he chanted in a throaty whisper when he came up. Not for air, but for repentance.
Lips stained, blood dripping past his chin and onto the scar that he bore on his chest. She traced it then and assuredâŠ
âIt's okay, Billy⊠Come back to me.â Del begged. âTake what you need, mi vida.â
His eyes were still wild, still not his blue calming pools. She wasn't sure whether he'd heard her permission, far too consumed with satiating all needs that befell him in that moment. His cock, hard and aching, pressed against her, just as insistent as his fangs had been. She allowed him to sink everywhere, with everything he'd got. Even the harsh rhythm of his humping was an evidence of the deep need to devour her. Billy drove into her like he might find salvation somewhere along the road, desperate for it with every groan. With each thrust, it only felt like he was reaching deeper into her; be it because he'd fed from her or just because he was chasing carnality of a different kind, she felt as though her place was right here.
In blasphemous Heaven.
Del met his movements, bracing herself against the bed even as it creaked in protest, even as she knew she had to feel ashamed for chasing a high in such a low moment. It was their shared sin.
âBilly, pleaseââ sheâd started begging for more, for him. âTe amoâŠâ she whispered through a whimper.
Heâd been a kind lover every time they lay together, only ever demanding when heâd been worked to the ground and so needed a save haven to bury himself in. On these long summer days, itâd been reckless abandon and surrender, now it was just greedâfangs drawing gulps upon gulps while his cock plunged into her seeping warmth, over and over.
She reveled too in this newfound ecstasy, the pain from her blood being drained slowly mixing with the sweet sensation of him filling her. His hands were just as demanding, that primal part of him that darkened his vision guiding his fingers to worship each bite mark that bloomed behind his feasting. That touch left a bloody trail in its wake, his religious icon being painted.
âSo good fâme, Delâfuck,â he groaned, tongue darting to wet his lips and then soothe the two small marks his fangs had left on her wrist. âI needed this, darlinâ, you know I didâI just had toââ
It wasnât long before Del shattered around him, walls pulsing around his cock in sync with her racing heart. Her palpable pleasure, his name spilling from her lips, made Billy blink awake for a spell, clarity shining in his eyes. His fingers stilled where theyâd kneaded at her breasts. Terror permeated his face at the sight of his love covered in her own blood, his crimson handprints around her ribs and hips where he was holding her. He was too far gone to stop himself though, her warmth gushing around his cock was all too muchâ
âA chroĂââ a strained moan left him as he spilled deep inside her. Branding as the blood he'd spilled from her.
âMy heartâ, because hers had to beat for him now too.
Then, Billy was heaving, though his lungs didn't require it. In a flash, he scrambled back off the bed, horrified once he'd seen what he'd brought upon. Del moved with the same flow, as though some invisible tether was pulling her in as she crouched onto the floor next to him, showing him she hadn't been afraid, and wasn't about to be now.
She rested her head on his hard chest⊠but no living hum greeted her there and she wondered if sheâd just uttered a lie. If she could really take him as he was nowâunliving, frozen in time. Del felt Billyâs ribs constrict in short little bursts⊠he was crying. In that burning way that left oneâs throat sore and chest aching with exertion. This wasnât a tarnished form, it was him stillâwhat had become of him was just another step theyâd take together. Love was the strongest power in existence, she wholeheartedly believed; theirs was pure and shall remain so even if one of their paths was tainted.
âI ainât scared of dyinâ, Del,â Billy choked out. âI was terrified of what Iâll leave behindâof you seeinâ me swing and it all not beinâ worth a damn!â
Even now, after being laid bare, he needed to assure that it hadnât been cowardice that drove him to shake the Devilâs hand, but the call to justice the two of them shared. And her, always her.
He hadnât become anything monstrous, the stuff of nightmares. No, Del knew nightmares, knew men of ugly actions and uglier intentionsâand her cowboy, the trembling yet fierce lover that stood in front of her, wasnât either of these things.
Ever-searching, ever-fighting⊠eternity would suit him well.
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3k ish words into the next part of MBOBHFT! Taking longer than usual to write since I went on vacation for a week and college has been kicking my ass. I also made some playlists if any of yâall like to listen to music while you read! Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift, and Ethel Cain fuel me.
Tags: m/f â eventual vampire!Billy â canon adjacent â Lincoln County war â treating wounds â drinking â Mexican ranch owner daughter!oc/reader â period-accurate language and misogyny (not from Billy!) â religious themes â ranch life, herding â arranged marriage for oc â some angst â forbidden romance â bonding and non-sexual intimacy
Word count: ~7.1k
a/n: No, you aren't seeing things â the first 2 scenes used to be a part of chapter 1. But I decided it reads so much better as a prologue + with extra scenes that can really let the story breathe.
If you need help with the nicknames/some sayings, pls refer to this âdictionaryâ I compiled. I'm by no means an expert, especially not at Mexican Spanish, but I find it beautiful and I did my research, so any feedback is appreciated as always <3
Hope you enjoy while I continue writing for chapter 2!
â Link to my full Billy the Kid playlist
The ranch sat low against the landâmore dust than wood or brick. Not shabby by any meansâjust worn down to its purpose, emerging from the ground as if it would always serve it.
This is the place Billy had found refuge after a particularly nasty shootout between the Seven Rivers gang (though they fancied themselves âproper guard dogsâ of The House now) and Tunstall's Regulators. It had been the Englishman himself who rode out here, together with McSween, dragging a bleeding Billy and Charlie to Don Ignacio Alvarez's whitewashed hacienda in the dead of night.
âThe new iron on them deputies sure has a biteââ Charlie had winced, clutching his shoulder.
Both men had been promptly settled in the tack room so as to not sully the doorway. That had been when Billy first met herâMary Delphine Alvarezâthe Donâs youngest daughter. She was a stubborn thing, he could immediately tell, but also⊠a soft voice in a hard place if you showed her there was no reason to be spooked. Trouble, but in a quiet wayâthe one thatâd sneak up on you.
Billy still remembered how Don Alvarezâs voice had rang out in the cold air back on that night, as he had ushered all four wanderers out of prying eyes. The girl had already made herself more than usefulâcarrying gauze and what looked to be strong distilled tequila in her skirts, even before her father felt the need to prompt. Still, it was apparent that in his rancho, the Don's word reigned supreme.
Mary Delphine⊠or 'Del' as all of her close family and friends called her, muttered something in Spanish about how her father needed to watch his heart. While the cowboy was well-versed in the language, the night had been long and far from forgiving and the constant ringing in his ears did little to help.
He could barely make out what Tunstall and McSween were discussing with Don Alvarez â the two gentlemen having stayed far enough from the bullets that they didnât sport proof of the confrontation. At least, not the kind that needed tending to. The lawyer had been shaking all throughout their journey hereâhaving seen just how futile his fancy paperwork had been.
This war wouldnât be won based on justice, but rather, who had the quickest draw, the most guns â in short, who could play their hand better.
Billy yawned, trying to pop the tension in his ears and jerk close enough to discern the words ânew Governorâ and âpardonâ coming from the thick oak table. This had only earned him a well-placed nudge from Del, rooting him in place back onto his chair.
âAy, Dios, stay still, vaquero â those wounds wonât patch themselves up and all that wriggling sure ainât helping. Are you that eager to ride off and have another hole in you already?â her voice had been softly teasing, like honey, yet somehow still quietly commanding.
A smirk tugged on Billyâs face despite the sharp pain in his knee. But before he could retort, he bit down on the cloth offered up to his lips to suppress a groan as she poured that distilled alcohol over the gaping wound: âNghhââ A snarl escaped him. His pain didnât seem to affect her â not for a lack of care, but because she'd been focused on getting them well as fast as she could.
âHere, better take a swig of it before I start my needlework,â Del advised, bringing the bottle up to Billyâs lips from where she'd been kneeling in front of him.
The alcohol burned down his throat, its sharpness like a soothing balm, as a coyote howled into the darkness somewhere far away and her needle drew fresh beads of blood.
That was a few months back, just as springtime was turning over. Just like that, Billy's âproperâ employment as a ranch hand for Don Alvarez had began. As it turned out, those hushed words werenât just wishful thinking. The new Governor was working to pass a law of pardon to all outlaws whose major crimes had spanned before their coming of age.
Something about needing to build the country up, instead of filling jail houses and wasting good rope.
More so, the plan was for him to lay low now â until Tunstall prepared their next attack. Better weapons⊠better law. Billy had an uneasy feeling that this whole talk of pardoning had been orchestrated by Thomas Catron somehow. The man was the Seven Rings and if there was one thing those posh American businessmen hated more than anything â it was to be made fools of.
No, this had to be them throwing dust in Tunstall's eyes and any other opponents to Catron's interests. Thankfully, McSween listened to sense and didn't put his hopes up too much into that. This war would be won uglyâ and that was that.
The cowboy had almost given up on his hope to settle down one day â seeing as how quickly the war in Lincoln County had escalated. Tunstall did promise him back when Billy was joining his cause, that he'd walk out of it a free man. But the outlaw just didn't imagine it would come soon. A part of him worried every passing day â that if the House won their day in court, nothing would change. That if that corrupt banker, now fancying himself a Presidential candidate â actually won⊠the Seven Rings would just thrive forevermore.
He couldn't rest, not until he proved to himself and all who he lost along the way that there is such a thing as âjusticeâ in the New World.
Until then, he settled for hauling hay in the burning sunâa pair of curious, warm hazel eyes following his every move far back from the thick shade of the cottonwood. Del pretended to read, that much he could tellâas she chewed on the plumes she had gathered.
She'd avert her gaze if he even glanced in her direction⊠like a spooked mare. Now, that was just his kind of workânot taming, not truly. He never saw it like that. Billy would move with a mare like theyâre sharing the same heartbeatâhis thighs pressing firm but never forcing, his hands steady on the reins but never yanking.
âEasy, chiquitaâŠâ, he'd murmur, voice unhurried: âAinât nobody here to break you. Just to ride you right.â
Del was just like thatâfire in her belly, yet measured in the way she carried herself before one came to know her. She was bashful in her advances, not for a lack of confidence but more so â they both knew it'd be an inappropriate show of interest. He was an outlaw, a working hand on her father's ranch. Not someone a proper señorita like herself should be pining over.
Yet, in the days after their first encounter, they had only grown closer, sharing similar values. He hadn't presumed her to be a spoiled heiress, seeing as how capable she was when she'd handled Charlie and him. Even still, what he definitely didn't expect was someone so selfless and understanding of the âcommon folkâ.
Her father had built his fortune long before Del was born. In fact, none of her two older sisters had wanted for anything either. Alvarez had it all. Even then, the youngest spent most of her time teaching at the mission â just west of the ranch, helping Father Diego like a good, devoted catholic woman. The padre had been a guiding light to her and probably the only man in her life who urged her on in her ambitions, instead of suffocating them.
Until Billyâs free spirit whirled through the land that is.
Del had told Billy that much of her past and her goalsâthat she wanted to give back to her community and ensure that all of the farmer's children knew their letters and their rights. The young girls especially were often neglected in their education⊠all because of greedy bastards like Murphy, Riley and Catron running the show.
One afternoon, when the sun wasnât yet in its copper cast that would settle over the land, bringing promise of a cold nightâs respite, Del had taken it upon herself to change Billyâs bandages.
He could do it himself now but he figured having someone fuss over him wasnât so bad after all⊠not when that someone had the gentlest of hands.
âI gotta say, maestra⊠you sure ainât what desperados like me would expect.â Billy grunted then, looking beyond the stables, waiting for the small hours to welcome him like an old friend.
âMaestraâ⊠that was what he had started teasingly calling her after he had seen her surrounded by the little kids she taught at the mission. Like ducklings following their ma, eyes brimming with endless curiosityâeven after reading time had been long done. Back then Billy had just been riding back to the small cabin he made his homeâfar off Alvarez property in case Sheriff Bradyâs posse came sniffing about.
Despite himself, he did stop to look at herâreally see her⊠and how the whole scenery just sat right with her. If only the world were truly so gentle and patient.
Then again, maybe her students would make it so one dayâŠ
âÂżA pocoâŠ?â Del smirked then while tightening the dressing. âWhat use is privilege if one just hoards it for themselves?" a soft challenge beneath the playfulness. Like she yearned to defy the world for telling her who she was supposed to be.
âMy father owns a grand ranch, sure enough. But I don't like just sitting pretty, waiting to pop out heirs for some thankless sinvergĂŒenza..." Her grip on the bandage grew tighter with her words. "âI want to help the people of Lincoln here, especially my people. So many kids end up unlettered because their parents need helping hands to get food on the table. And the House's just bleedin' 'em dry.â
As Del's hands dropped from Billyâs knee, work finishedâher voice had turned hopeful, meeting his blue eyes. "I'm not naive or sheltered enough to not know what's really going on around me, vaquero.â The raw honesty in her voice carried over like a knife slicing. âYouâyou're doinâ Lincoln a fine service. I hope the Englishman can bring just pay for the farmers..."
Billy had listened to her with growing admiration, his usual playfulness softening into something more earnest: "Well nowââ he murmured, propping himself up slightly on the chair despite the lingering painâlike he wanted to give her words the respect of his full attention. "âain't often you meet someone who talks 'bout privilege like it's a rope meant to pull others up instead of strangle 'em."
Billyâs fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the arm of the rocking chair they had on the veranda: "Tunstallâs got the right of itâfair wages, fair fightsâ" he agreed quietly. "Though I reckon youâre doing more for Lincoln than any outlaw with fast fingers."
The teasing glint in his eyes returned as he added: "Teachinâ, helping âround the rancho and nursinâ lost causes? Darlinâ, you sure your Pa ainât raising a one-woman army instead of a proper lady?" His laugh was warm, unguardedâthe kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. But there was no mockery in itâjust bright fascination, like he'd stumbled onto something rare and wonderful.
Del chuckled earnestly at that, raising to her feet so she could bring tequila for them to indulge in, instead of pouring it over old wounds⊠enough of that distilled acid.
âI think he may be asking himself that very same question more often than either of us would like to admit,â she sighed, passing Billy a filled cup.
He raised it in thanks and they sat for a while, basking in the low sun.
After a pause of comfortable silence, he confessed: â...You ever get tired of it? Fighting for folks who might never thank you?"
The question hung between themâless flippant curiosity, or judgement⊠more the ache of someone who knew what it cost to stand alone against tides. His thumb brushed absently over where his holster would have sat on his hip, if Don Ignacio didn't forbid weapons around his horses. The movement was so purposeful, like he was tracing old battles fought on uneven ground.
"No. Do you?" Del took a long sip, wincing at the harsh taste. "It's not about the thanking, I'm sure you believe as much" She took a long swig of the burning liquor. "When you see something that's just not right... not fair, there's that itch to put it back together. Any way you can, really. The new country here is supposed to be equal for all, Âżno? La tierra recuerda... so must its peopleâthat we are all one at the end of the day⊠we come from dust and to dust we return.â
She poured some of her glass onto the ground then⊠mourning someone, honoring them.
Billyâs breath caught when she spoke. He was quick to feel things usually, even if he didn't let his state show. His features slipped like a dropped saddle, leaving something raw and quiet in its place. "The land remembers...â he echoed softly, testing the weight of the words on his tongue. "Ainât heard it put like that before."
It was beautiful and scary at the same time.
He followed suit, trickling some liquor from his own chipped cup, watching the dry desert soil drink it upâremembering all his fallen brothersâgone too soon in this unforgiving world.
If he had to think back, it had all started with Carlito⊠the small Mexican boyâhis amigo whoâd help in the inn where Billyâs own ma earned their keep. Back then, Billyâs brother was too young to be of much help in the kitchen so he only hauled dirty laundry for the patrons.
Maybe, selfishly, Billy thoughtâit had been for the better⊠that Joe didnât have to see how that crazy gambler shot Carlos and then took his seat back at the table like nothing had happened, like his bullet didnât drain the life from another human being. All because the drunk, racist son of a gun couldnât win one round of faro to save his life.
Joe lived a very short life in hindsight⊠but at least he was spared some of its most unsavory, violent parts. Really thinking on it, though, Carlito was just one of the unfortunate many⊠The cowboy had seen cruelty long before that, just maybe not as cold-blooded.
He was tracing the bandage Del had carefully wrapped now, remembering how Kathleen would patch him up with the same warmth when heâd get into a fight.
His voice came out a bit too low, a bit too honest, but it didnât bother him. Billy would get like that with the maestra more and more these days. "Reckon that âitchâ you mention is what keeps me riding with Tunstall too. Even when some folks act like weâre just stirring trouble⊠even when every selfish bastard I've met tells me I shouldn't risk it all for things that don't matter.â Billy shook his head with renewed vigor. âWell to that I sayâit matters to me, hells be damned! It should matter to someone in this forsaken worldâŠâ
His eyes softened suddenly as if a storm crept up on. âBut you, chulaâyou stitch up wounds neater than I make âemâI'll drink to that!"
That he was sure of⊠be it physical ailments or those of the soulâDel had her ways with both hands and words. And in a land where most people would sooner use the formerâthe latter was a rare comfort.
That was how Del knew why he'd asked that question earlierâbecause even he'd get tired being thrown to such a life. Billy thought those moments of weakness made him selfish, but she knew better.
No one absorbed in themselves would've ever bothered asking.
Before the heat could make everything meaner and the world would lose its softnessâbranding time came. From there, it was long days that started early and labor that seemed to never stop, just blend into exhaustion.
One piece of land at a time, neighbors, even business rivals, gathered with all their children running about. Dozens of riders were needed to round up the animals while ranch hands tended to the mothered up calves in a system of trust and comradery. Everyone busied themselves with something as such occasions usually called for many a mouths to feed.
And all throughout, song carried their laborâa festivity among sweat and aching muscles.
Don Alvarez was a good, serious man. If you'd chanced to ask his associatesâall would attest that a promise with him was a finished thing. Though some of the more ruthless variety may go about telling that he was too lenient for his owed iron days always came last. Preferring to lend ranch hands to other members of the community first instead, the good Don took care of his people. Of those with less fortune to their names who'd otherwise risk loosing their cattle and so, their livelihood.
As the sun still shyed away from showing and the cool breeze swayed the awakening hacienda, Billy overheard a gringo businessman giving his voice to the dust of it, spinning tales to the old rancher about how bad it was for businessâsuch large gatherings that didn't contribute solely to his estate. Those outsiders knew nothing of strong community or hard work, however. Knew even less of how no one needed to count their due, because honesty and family stood chief among petty coin. The concept of folk who would leave something for the next hand was foreign in their corrupt city worlds, yet they had little shame bringing its filth here. Even in smaller towns, the people in power were those very same greedy coyotes in suits.
Later, the cowboy had learned, that this gringo was a lawyer and Delâs promised. No wonder the boss tried to make peace with that silver-tongued devil, whose mouth outran his wisdom. Had it been anyone else, the boss wouldâve cursed them out in his low rumbling Spanish that made everyone lower their heads like a prayer turned wrong.
âMay be good if you donât see beyond the end of your nose, mister Alvarez. But it slows growth. Iâve seen it send people bankrupt when they go without contracts to show for the work. You canât scale on goodwill!â the man had announced proudly, raising his shoulders as though heâd been owed some standing ovation for repeating the words of others and wasting breath.
That overstep only made him stand out more as he searched for a place to settle amidst the ranch that was beginning to bristle with work. It seemed he didnât trust people would show, but Billy knew he was in for a rude awakening.
âÂżEscalar? Ay, mijo, these here are cows, not numbers. I ainât trying to grow like a bank,â Don Ignacio gave a small breath through his nose, fighting back laughter. âYou see business, I see vecinosâmi gente.â Leaning against the coral, the old man tapped its rail once, making his point stand with the labor that would blossom around them. âHoy por ti,â he added with a steady voice, âmañana por mi. Eso siempre paga.â
Indeed, that always paid. Not on any ledger, but it showed on the land. You helped ten small ranchos one day, and when a storm came you didnât need to hire hands because they'd already be riding in.
âJust like that? For free?â The man in the suit looked appalled, wide-eyed and shaking his head as if he were talking to a madman, instead of the most successful rancher this side of the Pecos. âWith all due respectââ Though there was little to no respect in his pompous voice.
âKeep your respect. Nothingâs free,â Del interjected with a scoff as she passed them while hauling water from the well for the day ahead. âItâs paid with time⊠and time,â she continued, still in her native tongue, unbothered by the gringoâs inability to comprehend, ââsiempre cobra interes. Better than your usurers.â
Once she rid herself of the heavy bucket she muttered under her breath, close enough for her fatherâs ears only, though Billy heard just fine when he knew what to listen out forâthat sweet defiant voice of hers. âEsta hablando mucho⊠like itâs his rancho already!â
She was angry at it, at how her apparent fiance was speaking as if her father, whoâd known no days of rest or coddling, wasnât the man of the house. As though she wasnât someone worth considering as a successor without a husband by her side.
Sheâd already been up and boiling coffee over the open flameâstrong enough to keep people on their feet through the day; unlike the lawyer whoâd found plenty to supervise and precious little to shoulder. A man whose clothes had never carried branding smoke before and yet he felt entitled to running his mouth as though heâd held bawling calves all his life. That much was clear, though the Don neglected to see itâthat the businessman didnât see a community built on shared hardship, but a golden goose that would be gifted to him alongside the Alvarez daughter.
Still, almost forcefully and through gritted teeth, Del translated for the gringo out of duty. Edward was his name, as Billy learned later.
When she started passing filled cups and scrambled eggs with chorizo, Don Ignacio beckoned her closer and whispered something that made the fire in her eyes grow quieter, reduced almost to a sad flicker. She was Edwardâs promised, so she owed him respect no matter what. It was a paradoxâall her life, Del had been taught respect was earned, not given out to yellow bellies who didnât know when to listen and when to speak. She didnât go into his courthouse telling him how to issue paperwork, so why did he feel entitled to run the conversation as though no one around him knew what they were doing?
As silhouettes rode in against the rising sun, marking the start of the gathering, Billy swallowed down the bitter coffee. The thoughts that swam in his mind were equally as acrid, consuming even. All he could think about was how he never wanted to see that fire stifled again. Such a rare spark should be cherished, not abolished just because it was a woman who carried it.
âThat abogadito sure talks easy with clean gloves, ey?â Billy raised his voice over the other riders who'd started mounting.
Del shot a look over the heads of the running children she was trying to keep busy. Seemed like she was doing a rodeo of her own and the little rascals were just as stubborn as a leading cow on a stampede.
When she saw who'd said it though, her features lost their sharpness and her smile warmed up as she teased back. âWell now, ainât you watchful as a sheepdog on a new fence?â She didnât mind the attention one bit it seemed, when it came from someone who saw her as an equal. âYou just be careful out there, claro? I don't wanna be stitchinâ you up again quite so soon.â
That care again, shining through the dangerous flirtation, made the cowboyâs racing heart still and listen for once. And in that slow heartbeat, he yearned to be washed clean in her light and tenderness.
âReckon I know my way âround trouble, maestra,â Billy's double talk sure was smooth with that sharp smirk and hat tipped low enough to keep the mystery thick. He spun his stallion to settle it as he continued a chase of his own. âTry to not miss me too much while I'm gone.â
And, oh, what trouble he hoped would await him if the dangerous dance between them continued. Forbidden as it may be, that fruit always tasted the sweetest.
Delâs hearty laugh made his chest swell with warmth far hotter than the branding fire.
âTry not to lose the herd first,â she managed to counter before one of the children started tugging incessantly at her sleeve.
As the men rode out, Del stayed looking back every once in a while. Even as the little ones demanded they ought to herd the chickens just like their parents, even when they pestered her about teaching them how to rope the fence post, she'd steal these glances long after the riders were far ahead at open land, with no trace save for the rogue shout that the valley would carry. And Edward grew quiet⊠the way men like himâcunning and calculatedâ did when they saw something that didnât sit right with them.
There was nothing out there but grass gone pale at the edges and cattle scattered wide, the range having loosened them from the habit of being kept. Even still, the herd responded well enough at firstâdrifting together with heads held low at the purposeful drift of the riders.
âEase âem up! Don't crowd them now,â Billy directed.
Though he wasn't the most experienced, he had the mind for these things. That confidence was what drove the other workers to listen in, already finding themselves agreeing with the ideas he supplied.
The animals, however, started to grow restless despite the languidly guiding movements around them. Nothing to was out there to spook them, yet some kept lifting their heads toward the far side of the draw where the land dipped out of sight. Just like that, the herd started dictating the pace, instead of being subjects to the cowboys. The herd widened slowly, forcing Billy to angle left, further away from the unseen threat, yet further still from the ranch. He knew such lack of control could devolve into chaos in a heartbeat.
And it surely came, the first sign of a fine mess. The heifer in front was leaning away from the riders, slightly still but there and her tail had started flicking about sharply. She wanted to runâ
âWatch the lead cow!â Billy tried to bark.
But before the final word left his mouth, the animal was already breaking sideways as though something was pulling her. Two more followed instantly and the thud of their hooves turned from simple pattering to a committed stampede.
The valley disappeared into motion and the long stretch they were covering quickly drew out beyond taming. Which only meant more distance⊠and with it, sure work until dark. Billyâs horse dropped without being guided, sensing danger one with the rider, as they raced to the edge of the stampede. Every step away from the center meant less hell to pay and more command over the havoc. In these lived moments, you had to convince yourself that it wasn't a disaster, but something smallerâsomething that can be reined in.
âLeft side's loosinâ them!â someone shouted. And indeed, one black cow, stronger than the lead had broken even farther.
Billy's instincts took the reins and he abandoned the earlier pursuit, correcting his path fast to cut across the slick-coated Angusâ line just in time. He always found himself at the eye of the storm, always patching himself out of one mess onto another it seemed. Stuck in a stand-off, the animal and him had met at an angle where she had to choose between him or the wild and uncertain.
She chose back into the heard. Albeit barely and with a huff of frustration.
He sighed, but there was no time to rest, not when the sun was coming down and the herd was still high on alert.
âKeep âem together! Keep âem,â Billy yelled, not in command this time but a prayer. To get this wicked gather over with.
With dust clinging everywhere, even at their teeth, and sweat starting to cool off too fast, they managed to get back to the corral. As the gates slammed hard, sealing the long day, all laughter had died down with the sun. Even Billy's horse sidestepped under him as though it too needed to shake something off.
âSomething must've scared them clean outta their hides,â Del noted with worry, exhaustion clinging to her features.
As if summoned, a bellow rang from inside the pen. Even as nightfall had settled heavy, the animals were still restless. Before Billy could answer, something else far off in the valley took that chance. It could've been a coyote, if the cry wasn't edged with an odd, almost growling undertoneâ a sinister attempt to mimic the cows and lure someone green enough to follow it.
âD'you hear that?â one ranch hand asked in a hushed murmur like he was afraid the wind might give away his potion.
None of the men answered, as suddenly nowhere felt safe. Still couped up like a heard of their own, they span tales instead, which was acknowledgement enough.
âOld Man LaGuerta said he heard somebody callinâ his name out by the creek,â someone added and a sharp, unconvinced laugh followed.
âYou're joshinâ! That graybeard couldn't hear a stampede if it ran him over!â the foreman clicked his tongue in disbelief. But under it, there was always a quiet challenge to start a one-up competition for tall tales.
âDoesn't hurt to have someone makinâ sure their little souls settle,â Del added, unafraid to make a point even when surrounded by men.
They didn't dismiss her outright either. Most of the neighbors and especially the Alvarez workers knew her since she was a wee little estrelita, and so came to expect the fire she'd grown into. The one that burned like the desert sun. Even if Billy didn't believe the whispers, his gut went tightâunable to dismiss how wrong and heavy the air had sat throughout the chase, how unusual it was to lose the animals given the many days each rider had seen on a saddle.
More than anything though, the way Del had phrased it made his heart smile. âLittle soulsââin that gentle song of hers could ward off any ill omen that may yet dare to lurk about. And it surely sent his gut tightening for a different reason entirely.
Thus, Billy whose blood was running too hot from the gather to find sleep, ended up volunteering first watch.
âCan't say I disagree, maestra,â he assured, meeting her eyes with tired softness. âLet's make sure at least they rest easy, sĂ?â
Del found him whittling over the night herd fire when her dark dreams overcame herâŠ
A man veiled in shadows, fangs like that of a beastâsharp as daggers.
Children ordered in arrays by the dozens, clean in their Sunday clothes. Not blessed by the Lord's light but crying and scaredâtrembling like little leaves in the wind.
A was called and a mother bellowed, harrowing and deep, just like the cowsâ
That was when Del had woken up with a barely stifled gasp of her own. Throat tight and eyes watery, she put on her night robe with shaking hands. By then, she'd expected Billy to be sound asleep at the bunkhouse with no way to ride out to his cabin in the witching hour. But she was happier yet to find his companyâŠ
âNo rest for the wicked, chula?â He murmured, half-focused on the his wooden creation. A part of him wondered if he was just seeing things and Del wasn't really thereâjust a wishful visage in the lonely night.
When she sat next to him by the flames and the air shifted, carrying her sweet signature smell of the lavender and rosemary oils she kept under her pillow⊠he knew it wasn't him sleepwalking but peace finally gracing him in his waking moments too.
âNot for me, not since my memory first opened its eyes.â Del sighed softly, not with ease but with familiarity, used to the veil of her dreams. âI've always had these⊠visions whenever sleep takes me,â she explained, looking out into the darkness beyond the ranch's gates. Suddenly, its shape became far more abysmal with the flames contrasting it. âI knew you'd come for shelter that night⊠Well, not you, but someone. Itâs why I was at the ready.â When she saw confusion answering on his face before any question came out, she continued to tell of what befell her. âNot a dream before, Iâd seen four riders on a storm, kicking up dust and trying to outrun the hail of bullets that chased them.â
âTunstall, McSween, Charlie and IâŠâ Billy mused, âThatâs some scary accurate night visitations you got bitinâ at you, maestra,â his voice became serious as his hands seized their work to meet her head-on.
Quiet shadows painted across their faces from the fireâs licks. Yet he was more spellbound, drawn like moth to a flame, by how the flickers danced in her eyesâuntold tales coming from within.
Her smile was reluctant and smallâscared to count it as a blessing so readily.
âPapĂĄ says some women in our familia suffer that affliction, that we let our minds wander far too often. It's why he insists I fast on a full moon. To quell the hunger,â she scorned, shaking her head. âAs I know it, my abuelita was a wise womanânot a mad one. Yet, he says we should let the old blood wither so new one may thriveâŠâ
âI ougta bite my tongue instead,â he started leaning in with no real indication of wanting to keep quiet. âBut an arranged marriage sure sounds like old blood and beliefs to me,â Billy dared reveal with a bitter undertone.
Del picked up a stray shaving and tossed it to the blaze, letting go of a wish as her eyes settled on his hands that still clung at the small wooden piece. It was like the shape of a calf was being coaxed out, instead of carved in under careful knife. Despite being mesmerized with his gentle steadiness, she found her words again, thinking on her father and how his disposition as well as Edwardâs were far more firm and suffocating.
âMighty right you are, vaquero,â she scoffed to herself, echoing the same sore emotion. âI think he carries shame that he rose from modest means. The Lord can sure have a sense of humor⊠bringing him three daughters. One was bound to keep her roots in that hard ground he sprouted out of!â
âFrom where Iâm standinâ, it ainât such a bad thingâŠâ Billy assured, âânot one bit,â he allowed despite how inappropriate their shared affections were becoming.
Comfortable silence settled, with nothing more than the crackle of the fire, the chirp of the crickets and their shared breaths to keep them company.
âHave you ever been to the rĂo off to the south?â Del murmured, not wanting to break the spell. âItâs probably grown quieter with the heat now, but for a while⊠only its hum could lull me back to rest.â
âDon't reckon I have, chula⊠not all that restful-like at least,â he barked a laugh as if the memory was forcefully coming back to him. âIt was just a moment of icy respite when we were runninâ hereâsome wet chill spraying my face when Charlie was dragging me up his horse. For a spell, I thought it mightâve been death's grip,â he lowered his voice like he was reliving the fear that had threatened to eat him whole. âBut I remember thinkinââif it really were the horned one comminâ to collect his due, it wouldn't have been damn cold south of Heaven!â The jest caught them both by surprise, but then his timbre became soothing, reminiscing. â⊠Afore long, I could only see your castle up ahead.â
His smirk lacked its usual rugged sharpness, features settling instead into tender calmness.
âCastle?â Del echoed with a disbelieving chuckle of her own, finding his wording endearing. Like he was some prince whisking her away instead of the most notorious outlaw around Santa Fe.
The way he carried himself, with that goodness that colored his soul, had made her question the very definition of lawfulness around these parts. Edward fancied himself a hero, yet was anything butâa man whose integrity ended where convenience began. While Billy had been forced into hiding for defending what was right and still believed himself irredeemable.
Such an ugly world to live in, where evil reigned, not in shame but celebration.
âSure felt like it,â He leaned back against the coral, âThem grand doors and white wallsâlike Heaven's gates openinâ just f'me. Undeserving as I may be.â
âYou ainât hollow of virtueââ she countered swiftly, almost offended on his behalf. ââyou value life and you want it to be fair, even when itâs shown you its treacherous twists and turns. Even when hollow men tell you itâs best you turn a blind eye. Stubbornâsure. A sinnerâmost definitely. But you repent, your conscience is strong and you sure as hell ainât beyond grace!â
âI've taken lives, Del.â Billy dropped her name firmly, gravely serious, pulling her in to listen. âPointed my iron and pulled its trigger with the sole purpose of draining the spirit out of a person. Surely, the Lord takes grand offense with low-lives like meââ His voice was getting heated, unable to permit her defense of him.
Â
âThat much is true,â she replied with a steady confidence as though heâd just mentioned something ordinarily amendable, instead of spilling his guts. âIt's a cruel road you've been put on. But you are no beast⊠not like those diablos that serve The House. Feelinâ pride in their blackened hearts when they bring poor farmers to their kneesâkilling them without blinkingâlike they are worth less than the dust under their boots! Those sick varmints with pistols, basking in what little twisted power that gives them... you, you are not a killer for the sake of it.â
Billy realized heâd stopped breathing, seized thinkingâjust let her passion consume him. Let himself believe, for just a moment, that she was telling the truth. At least in her presence, he may finally be understood.
âIâve met many-a-people whoâve said criminals like me are damned from the day we drew breathâŠâ he confessed and it felt like attempting to come clean, to come home.
Del shook her head, reaching over to take his hand without a back thoughtâproving that she wasn't afraid of his touch. On the contrary, the warmth and rightness of it instantly made her breath stutter. But she held on, squeezing his calloused fingers like she wanted to seal her next words there.
âI believe thereâs a natural goodness born into us all. You can either cross that line into evil⊠or not,â She met his eyes in determination. âAnd with every breath we are allowed to take, itâs our duty to stay on the right side of things. To nurture our hearts, so we may listen to their rightful call.â
It was high time his breath caught as well. Everything stilled now, even the wind and coyotes in valley beyond stopped respondingâholding space for the sacred moment where two souls met.
âYou really believe thatâŠâ he sighed. It wasn't really a question much as it was reverence. At her words, at her kindness and love.
âLet's ride to the river⊠right now,â Del offered, âIf you don't believe my thoughts on the matter, the water'll set you right and wash you clean for good. I promise.â She stood up, actions speaking louder as she tugged him along. âI was baptized there, yâknow. It really is a blessed placeâjust like you felt on your way here.â
He looked around, uneasy with any possible prying eyes and lurking ears. Much as he hated it, they were still of different standings, and she⊠was spoken for. Though he preferred to let her declare the matter.
âSeñorita, you mustn'tââ he tried, but his words failed him the moment he felt her fingers dance along his forearm.
âProper all of a sudden?â she teased in a purr, âTold ya, you're no desperado.â With a skip in her step, Billy allowed himself to be led along to the stables. âGod bestowed us with free will, there's no such thing as âmustn'tâ. Only what you feel in your heart.â
âDon't all those varmints listen to their hearts too?â Billy challenged, yet still helped her into her riding coat.
âTheir depravity isnât freedom, vaquero. That's beinâ a slave to pride and gluttony. To take ravenously, mistaking infamy for greatness⊠they will never be able fill that void inside where their hearts oughta be beating.â She grew serious but allowed her palm to rest on his chest, feeling its song beneath her fingertips. âYour heart ain't shadowed like that. What does it tell you?â
âThat I should kiss you before it's too late, reinaâŠâ Billy said with no hesitation clouding his voice, just raw want. He clenched his hand in a fist, trying to rein that force in. âHow do I know this ain't lust talkinâ then?â
âIf it were that sin whispering its treachery,â Del took his braced hand and let it spread at her ribs, over her own beating melody. ââthen our hearts wouldn't be soaring⊠but chained to its demise. And I think,â She leaned in to whisper against his ear, breath tingling up his neck. ââmy lips would taste better when drenched with the river's freezing mist.â
He drank her inâhair still messy from sleep that couldn't come, eyes like orbs that contained untold secrets for him to unveil. Billy braced a breath as he finally allowed himself to reach for her and tangle his searching fingers through her curls. Their softness felt intoxicatingly right against his hardened hands. The very same who wielded the biting sting of a gun, now clasped in prayer to be redeemed.
As his thumb caught between her lips, Billy vowed: âLet us repent then, together if need be. For I may yet find my salvation in you.â
And when he finally captured her lips while the cold but tamed current lapped at their bodies, there was no fear, no premonition that gnawed at her. Just sweet nothings turned prayer. As they looked toward the sky, Billy wondered⊠What star did he have to thank for being blessed not only with another soul who understood him but also loved him?
Unbeknownst to him, a more prudent worry ought to have been echoedâŠ
What power may yet answer his gratitude out here in the dark land?
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â(Take me to the place I love) Take me all the wayâ
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Tags: m/f â drug dealer! Dee x reader, nose candy + âstudy buddiesâ intake references + weed smoking scenes â academic perfectionism (to a very obsessive, unhealthy degree) â reader has self-esteem issues â reader studies medicine â no use of Y/N, Dee calls reader "angel" â moving to a more defined relationship 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 untangling the angst â Dee is still bad at feelings â Dee barges into readerâs practical exam, so nurse kink (if u squint) â reader takes care of Dee, who doesnât value his health â working on their relationship
smut (mdni!!): first kiss (for their relationship), 69 while high, unprotected piv sex while high, spitting kink, good olâ size kink too
TWs (DDDNE): kidnapping, bodily harm
Word count: 8.4k
đ§àŸàœČ Full Wasteman/Dee playlist if anyone's interested
a/n: Finally!! They are trying to be together (until tragedy strikes :)) Thank you once again to the talanted @p4neminem for the beta <3 and for rambling w/ međgo get your Coryo juice from their blog right neow!
You get through the day, somehow you do⊠and then the next rolls over⊠and the one after that. Soon enough, the cold fluorescent lights of the examination room melt your eyes off, leaving behind a dull throb. It's the day of the health assessment practical and doctor Smith is in one of his moodsâalready listing off how heavily he'll deduct points for sloppy patient history intake.
You shouldn't have popped that pill just before the exam⊠you should've just let the tiredness consume you, maybe settle you a bit. Instead of going to Alex, who inevitably bought from Gaz as you sat waiting in the car. Maybe if you'd stayed put and simply accepted that not everything had to be peachy all the time, these jitters and muscle spasms wouldn't be here to make it all so difficult. You are sure it's just your hypervigilance playing tricks on you⊠worried about Paul's men associating you with Dee. Sure, they'd seen you at that party, but⊠it was dark then⊠and it's not like Dee will walk through the door right this instant; or any door around you in the near future.
You try to focus, somehow that leaves space for more worry to flood your brain in painful waves. The part you are most nervous about has to be the blood samples. So many variables, so many things that can blow up in your face. What if you get one of those people whose veins are so deeply burrowed that you'd have to poke and prod just for them to end up complaining to the examiners? Or⊠oh god, what if you get a fainter? You shake your headâit's all pretty standard, you passed theory with flying colors and you want to be doing this. Practice makes perfect⊠you will be perfect. You have to be. Because if you aren't, then what else do you have left, and what will it mean for you, andâ
âAnd, oh sweet baby Jesus, it's Dee. One of the volunteers⊠is him.
He strides in, shoulders broad and raised, tattoos only peeking slightly beneath a striped sweater. The soft pastel green and blue against the cream stitching look so captivating on him, echoing a subtle glow back into his eyes. He doesn't seem ill at ease in the slightestâwearing the hat of a tempered criminal when it suited his needs.
A true social chameleon answering your challenge.
And so, you waitâhaving learned from him that stillness means preparation. A game of chicken after days of silence. Who will take flight first? He really tries to make it seem casual, you have to give him thatâsnatching his patient ticket and taking his place in line⊠all but looking bored. Yet, he is further away from the volunteer before him than is necessarily needed.
The plastic chair digs into your back as he looms over you, even taller in this arrangement⊠even more intoxicating.
You look up, blinking slowly like a cat indicating no ill intent. âWhat are you doing here, Dee?â You whisper through your teeth, catching a whiff of the cigarette ashes that have seeped through the polyester fabric of his sweater. Rot⊠but the lavender is still thereânotes of it lingering and defining.
Dee tuts as he burrows his hands into his pockets. âDon't flatter yourself, angel. Smithie here is a valued customer in the garage, so I came as a... âprofessional courtesyâ you could say,â He shrugs, continuing to feign nonchalance.
âAh the good SamaritanâŠâ, you nod along, a sour feeling bubbling up on your tongue. âThough, I find it telling that you were somehow signed up for this slot. I thought you don't like âforced tâingsâ?â
The way you ring his accent makes some warm feeling climb up his neckâhairs standing on end. His eyes look sunken and tired, almost bitter that he'd slapped that label on the two of you.
âMaybe I saw a thing or two back at the garage⊠and before then even. Things that intrigue me, you feel.â He stretches, cracking his shoulders but doesn't look down to where you remain seated. Like he's unsure what his eyes may reveal. âYou seem like a ball of nerves when I pull shit or when stuff corners you, but then you untangle it all like a curious kitten. I gotta see what makes you tick, still.â
A free breath leaves youâchallenge accepted. You barged into his world, itâs only fair that he returns the favor.
When he catches your convinced smile, he proceeds to effortlessly tuck in the numbered card up his long sleeve with just his fingers. When he takes a quick look around and deems that no one is interested in what he's cooking up in the slightest, he slithers it over to the papers you are clutching at. Dealerâs tricks work their magic even when he cleaned up. You look at the laminated number, gloss catching in the lamp light and see⊠â7â.
âHa, lady luck has my back today?â You raise a brow, still looking up at him, tapping rhythmically on the cork back of your clipboard. âYou know⊠I have to draw blood today. I doubt these long sleeves roll up above your elbow?â
Dee finally meets your eyes at that and you see the gentleness that dances in his irises in a reluctant pulse. âOh, angel, personally⊠I prefer making my own luck.â A pause as he tests the durability of the sweater, rolling it up. And sure enough, his biceps get in the way. âWell, I can always take it off. And I won't be crying about no privacy screen.â He dares to shoot you a wink and you feel his gaze settle on the tattoo, hidden beneath your scrubs.
The ink is starting to feel searing hot.
When the time comes, you go to the plastic bowls for a fake draw and repeat the slight of hand trick he'd executed⊠but reversed in a sense. Burying your hand in the myriad of cards that poked at your fingers made it easier to execute, that's for sure. But you still feel proud of yourself, given that the good doctor remained none the wiser to your dash of curated luck.
It's weird and fascinating all at once, to be treating Dee as if you don't know himâexplaining what tests need to be done, what questions you'll be asking. Calling him âsirâ all throughout.
Your stomach sinks when you skim the final question for the intake, feeling like a train has ran you over as your lips move on their own, forcing out a mumble. âAre you sexually active?â
The idiot has the audacity to look proud, lazily stretching his legs.
âVery,â he simply states, so much like him to boast about it.
This one ends up being an angrier note than the restâpen scratching the paper, ink bleeding through the page as you mark the check. It's not like you are in any sort of defined relationship with himâit's foolish to believe you're exclusive⊠given that there was nothing to be exclusive about. The two of you haven't even kissed for crying out loud⊠the intimate touches were just⊠exploration. Two people wanting closeness.
He takes in your reaction while his legs continue to swing in attempted inattention. You don't need to know he's full of shit⊠not yet anyhow.
Sure, he rang Cindyâhis go-to girl for âexchanging favorsâ but it wasn't like before⊠She was a hot little thing, he always thought. Convenient too, because she knew whay buttons to push to please him. A perfect distraction when he had to prove to himself he could still do âcasualâ. Cindy wouldn't expect anything more, anything bothersomeâunlike someone else he knew.
Yet, when she'd been in his âofficeâ, on her knees, sucking his dickâDee could pretend to get lost in the physical relief but⊠it felt empty. His eyes always wandered to his phone and your messages. Cindy could tell his head was somewhere elseânot that she usually minded when it meant getting her fix quicker. This time though, it'd felt especially weirdânot his usual bottled anger but an uncharacteristic steadiness that coiled in his tense muscles. What's wrong, big D?â, she'd asked and the nickname made him nauseous. It was funny⊠pathetic. That the sleazy things he used to get off on before, now failed to give him any gratification whatsoever. He would always reach the same conclusionâthat you'd made him want dangerous thingsâŠ
As you instruct him to lean forward so you can listen in on his breathing with the stethoscope, he whispers low enough for just your ears to catch: âIs it weird that I find this hot, little nurse?â
You knee at his dangling shin gently enough to deliver the reprimanding message. âPlease, stay still, sir. I hear some wheezing when you exhale. Could you take another deep breath for me?â
âYou ain't helpinâ my case, angelâŠâ Dee mumbles in mock irritation but pent up desire frays at the edges of his voice while he follows your instructions anyway.
âAnd outââ you guide, paying his flirtatious attempts little mind. You keep telling yourself that, but your heartbeat rings in your ears alongside the small whistling you unfortunately hear again.
Worry washes over your face as you quickly glance at the history you managed to take in during the questions-and-answers. You focus on the âchest tightnessâ and âshortness of breathâ he reported. Initially, you noted them as potentially psychosomatic but now⊠there's more context to add.
âI'll have to recommend you for follow-up assessments for possible asthma based on these⊠but first I need to make record of any habits that may be exacerbating the symptoms,â you explain with a dry throat as you hear Doctor Smith approach your chairs. You swallow hard, feeling a twitch in your thumb joints from the overexertion⊠and the earlier stimulants. But you force yourself to continue. Not just for the grade this time, but chieflyâfor Dee's sake.
âDo you smoke? If yesâwhat and how often?â
Sure, you already know the answer but you have to put on a show for Smith. Especially when the old doctor looks quietly impressed by what you were able to so astutely catch on in your âpatientâ.
âI'm an asthmatic weed fanaticâŠâ Dee raps proudly, the acapella arrangement accompanied by a shit-eating, ear-to-ear grin. No grand applause follows though. â⊠It's a Skepta lyricâŠâ he explains with a sigh, pinching his nose like he's offended you aren't aware of the grime culture titan. But when you continue to look unimpressed and concerned, he switches gears: âFine, fine. You can make a note that I smoke it⊠medicinal-like. For my back pain and shitâfour times a week give or take.â
Dee takes a once-over as you write it diligently. When he notices all the decorations you've put on your clipboardârandom stickers with cute cartoonsâ he can't help but add: âIs that straight enough for your charts and stickers, angel?â
âYes, sir⊠That will be all.â You clear your throat, attempting to remain professional. A big sigh of relief follows when Smith jots something undeniably positive in his assessment sheet. Then, you turn back to Dee: âPlease, watch your blood pressure as well. It was high, but⊠a lot of patients can be nervous.â You respond with a tease of your own, though you add in a whisper after the doctor leaves. âThis wasn't a laughing matter, Dee⊠you could've had an asthma attack at any point. You don't even know what triggers to avoid and you smoke like a chimney!â
ââTriggersâ, angel? Seriously? We only live onceâand I sure as hell know to avoid any triggers on actual guns and enjoy my time in this shithole. Not whatever tomfoolery this isâŠâ His voice may be dismissive, but he reaches for your notes with some underlying determination.
âNo,â you say in a huff, not letting go of the paper so he doesn't run away from this again. When he raises a brow in question, you continue with a smooth but serious voice: âWe live everyday. We only die once. So it's best that day comes later rather than soonerâŠâ
Dee stops for a second, halfway done with tucking in the papers into his pocket. He lets out a noncommittal noise⊠yet something in his body language screams that a slower, more deliberate and cognizant process is taking place.
Like he is contemplating the merits of finally letting himself be cared for⊠with a gentleness he once knew but has long believed dead.
After the practical, it's like a dam broke open. Dee feels more compelled to try and work on showing up for the good and the bad. Not always in the best shape for the deeper conversations, but it's the effort that counts. He has to repeat to himself that âeffortâ doesn't mean âforcingâ things to work so much as it's adjusting and working through something together.
A previously unfamiliar concept to a lone survivor.
When he can't, you go with him to the gym, so he can redirect that frustration somewhere else. Doing push-ups with you on top of him was a surprisingly fun experience for you and a sure ego boost moment for him.
You, for your part, also try to be straight with himâvoicing your worries when you can instead of letting them rule you. When you can't, he lets you sit pressed against his chest and you listen to his heartâuntil its language makes you speak up. He tries to not take your silence personally, though he still has a hard time understanding how you can dissociate so intensely. As someone who lets reactions show and consume him first, it's yet another very foreign notion.
But⊠you both can learn something from the otherâhis tendency to jump and bite could cost him greatly if he crosses the wrong person. And you, wellâyou can use less thinking sometimes and more impulsivity. Doctor Dee's ordersâŠ
You both have patterns that once served your survival but no longer make you wholeâonly let you spiral in case of a clash. Letting go of something that's defined you is hard, but it's better to live everyday, instead of being afraid this is your one chance. Better not to fly away like each of you had dreamt of in your own ways, but stay present to greet another morning.
You can think on it all day while the sun warms up your face through the delicate curtains, but then your phone buzzes at the vanityâ
Still on for 2nite? I'll pick you up at 7. Pack a bag.
A bag? Yet another confusing direction ⊠you'd slept over at the gangâs house a couple of times when movie nights got too late. âNote to self: âScarfaceâ is marginally less stupid when Dee does a Tony Montana impersonation.â
Most of all though, cuddling up next to him, you had such sound rest that you never wanted to leave.
So⊠was this an invitation for something more serious? If he planned aheadâŠ
I hope I won't be your first murder victim?
His response arrives quickly and you can already feel his cheeky smile through the pixelsâ
That depends. Will you behave?
You twirl your phone as you open his cigarette case he left with you for âsafekeepingâ. As you take one stick in your mouth, the cheap rolling paper sticks and crumbles lightly in your fingersâmoldable but efficient.
You send the response before you ceremoniously light it, smoke curling up your nostrils:
That also dependsâŠ
âSmartmouthâŠâ Dee chuckles to himself as he shoves his phone into the glove box of his car.
Ahead, the view of his men moving furniture and cleaning weeds greets him below the hot and high noon sun.
He has to admit, your grandfather's house is a thing of beautyâa wide acre of land that looked like a proper place for a throne. Secluded but not decrepit⊠he will take better care of it than your father ever could.
It's another step toward trying to make something out of old wounds instead of cutting the rot clean off. A weirdly poetic way of doing itâhe almost wants to slap himself awake.
Then, he imagines your confused but appreciative surpriseâhow your eyes will light up in disbelief, how your whole body will thrum, because he did something right⊠and that fuels his strength.
âWhere are we going, Dee? Come on!â You whine in protest as he drives off the campus.
âIt's a surprise, angel⊠a good one.â He sounds so convinced it's contagious. As he grips the wheel harder, his other hand only reluctantly and occasionally leaves your thigh when he has to shift. âWe are âpracticinâ trust and confidenceâ, innit?â
You almost pout at the way he adopts your vocabulary with suspicious enthusiasm and mischievous accuracy whenever he can use it to his advantage. Shifting to face his eyes that are still focused dead ahead on the road, you become mesmerized by the way the shadows of the dense trees cover parts of his face, ever-changing like his moods. When he feels you shift, his left cheek twists into a crooked pull that makes you chuckle.
You finally find the words to speak again: âYeah⊠honesty too though!â
âYou always have something to say, ey?â Dee glances over and meets your gaze at last.
You see the playfulness that burns through his features and it urges you to squeeze your thighs together in response, effectively trapping his hand just above your knee. But he is in to play it seemsâanswering swiftly by digging his fingers against your softness.
The cheeky ministration reaches the desired boiling point, eliciting a whimper from you, effectively forcing you to spread your legs apart in an attempt to stop the dull throbbing. Once you release his biting palm, Dee lets out a deep chuckle in satisfaction and takes it as permission to drum short and light slaps at your inner thigh with a loping, almost lazy beatâlike you are his personal instrument to play his tune on.
âYou quite finished, angel? Take care of the music f'me, enjoy the scenery and feed me that shit gas station coffee every now and again, yeah? You won't get a better dealâŠâ
âYou're still talking like you're selling something to me!â you accuse in a banter, but he just dangles the AUX cable in your face.
Relent you shall⊠as you play some of his preferred songs. It isn't your cup of tea but him serenading more than makes up for the bass that rattles your bones.
Once you follow his advice and look out the car window, you swear you recognize the swirly higher roads. Even the trees echo memories of quiet, safe summers. They don't seem tallerâmaybe because you are all grown up too⊠The question that seeks confirmation dies in your throat and you just try to let things happen, instead of stressing over and controlling every possible outcome. Dee seems pleased as you settle into the passenger seat⊠and a little less so when he gulps down the metallic aftertaste of that coffee.
Sure enough, you pull down the tight unpaved road that leads up to your grandfather's houseâyour eyes transfixing on its white walls that appear more yellow in the setting sun. It's like someone is showing you a picture⊠you can't believe you're actually here. Like a day hasn't passed yet you've lived a thousand lives ever since. The intermediate owners seem to have taken great care of the placeâprobably made it all theirs on the inside, but that could never erase the memories you built throughout or in the garden.
Your jaw still hangs wide when Dee casually opens the gates. As you blink awake from the blurry haze, you mumble: âDon't tell me youâŠâ, you inhale the smell of freshly cut grass and try to continue with a stuttering breath, ââyou bought it, Dee⊠Why?â
He stands next to you, respecting your space, even letting time stretch wide and accommodating as the reminiscing flows. âFigured the place was used to criminal activity⊠it's private but not suffocating. Not like the city apartments where you need a doorman twenty-four-seven.â
He lays it on thickâall these practical perks, but when your eyes land on the campfire spotâalready fitted with trunks and quilts for seating, you realize he's still holding back on diving into the full story, on expanding his chest and letting honesty flow out.
It can't be just the convenience⊠He'd never reduce your past to such crude, simple terms.
âIt's also seen plenty of love and hope.â You counter as you tangle your fingers through the vine-ridden fence.
Dee huffs from behind your back. It's almost like his breath catches at how right the words ring. Time is freezing over again⊠imaginary chilly air prickling at his skin. Like it had at the tattoo shop, when all he had to worry about was youâyour breath and your natural movements that somehow keep him in a trance.
He twists back, whistling for Taylor who's still battling with the lawnmower. When he manages to get the other man's attention, Dee gestures across his neck in a cut-off motionâensuring it's quiet, ensuring he can try and stay present with youâŠ
Once the only sound either of you can hear is the ambient trills of cricket wings, he finally takes a step towards you. âI could tell itâs seen more than simple wastemen⊠just by the way you talked about it. Kinda like how I remember my mum's singingâŠâ He reaches over and instead of threading a flower through your hair or caressing you like some lovesick main character from those sappy romantic movies you'd made him watch⊠It's a joint, pre-rolled with care, that he ends up tucking behind your ear. You look up with a soft smile as he admits with his full chest: âI wanted to be here. Want you to be here too.â
Thatâs all he can put into words, to hope to express the deep longing for a place frozen in time. Not devoid of life but marked by itâby the bad, the ugly and the better. Not just a place you can fly off to, but a place where both of you can breathe in.
âI'd like that tooâŠâ You admit in a whisper that gets carried by the wind, bringing your hands to settle against his chest.
When you see a smile mirrored on his face for good, even bright, you take it as permission enough to kiss the first place you can reach without getting on the tips of your toes. You extend your neck slowly so as to not miff him from the closeness you are initiating and when you feel him tense up⊠you answer by placing a soft peck against his Adam's apple.
It bobs as Dee swallows, taken aback but not rejecting as he settles his hands around the small of your back, bringing you impossibly closer. Naturally, the two of you had this kind of familiarity for a while now⊠but a certain boundary has never been crossed thus far.
Not for a lack of want but a fear of pushing the other away, of making what the two of you have feel⊠mundane, transactional even.
âAngelâŠâ, you can tell his throat is dry but there's barely restrained desire that threatens to spill over, edged into his purr. âThis here is no fairytaleâwhere you'll get to kiss the frog and get a squeaky clean prince in the end.â
Fears laid bare⊠At last. He expects a slapâbe it literal or figurative, expects it all to end once he's named it⊠because no happy ending awaits dirty crooks.
âI never said I wanted thatâŠâ, you exhale as you press your ear against his beating heart. Its beat grows faster, heavier⊠like the melody of your shared breaths. âMy ex made everyone around us think we were this perfect coupleâŠ. But it was all a lie.â You nuzzle further, only to take a fistful of his shirt, holding on for dear life as you gather the strength to peel off your face to meet his eyes. Honesty and vulnerability ring in your next words: âI want something real, Dee. Not something that shines for the sake of shining.â
His gaze scatters across your face, moving rapidly as he tries to take in any sign of uncertainty, any chance you may flee. Once he finds none, he feels his heart grow lighter, his chest feeling freer than itâs been in ages. âNothing in here shines, angel. But maybe you'll help me polish it still?â
With that, Dee hooks his index finger below your chin and pinches it with his thumb, bringing you up, up⊠until you feel your spine stretched to its limit. Only then does he grant you some reprieve, bending down ever so slightly to capture your lips in a kiss that's eternally hungry. One hand still holds your back so you never lose balanceâbe it from lightheadedness or the sheer surprise that electrifies you when he bites at your lower lip. It makes your eyes shoot open only to be greeted by his blue onesâdesperate to absorb any reaction, to make the moment real and lasting. A small smile tugs at his lips when you whimper into the kiss once he soothes the mark his teeth leave behind.
And because Dee is⊠well, Dee, he proudly growls: âCareful, little nurse⊠you'll steal my breath away and we both know how concerned you get over my potentially asthmatic ass.â
You roll your eyes as your feet meet solid ground fully again, though your mind still remains a delicious mess. You can still form one thought⊠and that entails feeding him his own medicine.
As you tilt your head to the side, you proudly mimic: âYou practiced that one in front of the mirror or something?â
He puffs, lips caught between his teeth. Before you can register anything else, you feel his palm land on your ass fast and sharp. Just onceâjust a tease and a reprimand tied together now that he feels the two of you'd broken the final wall that used to stand in his way. You squeal in surprise, as expected and he just looks down at you⊠daring you to bite again.
âI know you're jumpy⊠but something tells me you enjoyed that one a lil too much?â Dee dares to add as he takes your hand. âGood to knowâŠâ
The smell of the grill lingers long after the outdoor meals are wolfed down, coal remains heavy in the air even as the lit up joint fights for odor dominance. Naturally, Dee's men were famished from a day of hauling furniture and cleaning the house, so youâd tried to be as helpful as possible when dinner was prepared. He, by contrast, definitely didn't aid in that missionâcoming up behind you as you chopped the tomatoes for the bottomless salad, biting your earlobe before heâd steal a slice. The bastard even managed to sneak a roll or two of his hips every now and again as his hands would come to rest around you.
It was an intoxicating feelingâbeing free to express how much you wanted him and an even more addicting realization that his desire for you runs so deep in return.
Gathered around the campfire, he is laying stretched across a hammock and you feel so at peace fitting in whatever free space you can find against him. Two peas in a pod, though you aren't so similar⊠you make it work. He holds the joint to your lips as you stretch your neck backwards to allow him easier access while you take two purposeful inhales⊠âPuff puff passââa great rule to adhere to in larger groups so no one ends up butthurt.
You float yet you're also centered and mindful, excited to catch anything you can of him in this new light. Since it's also the first time you feel so grounded while high⊠Maybe because you have him to lean on, now.
When his turn is up and he's passed the joint to T, he stretches, letting out a grunt. You're sure he is trying hard to appear nonchalant as you feel the evidence of his growing arousal pressed against your backside, conveniently hidden from the view of others. It makes you press your thighs togetherâwanting to roll back into him so badly⊠but you catch yourself, prickling embarrassment spreading through your chest.
So instead, you yawn in performanceâa perfect diversion. âDee, I'm so sleepyâŠâ you say with a convincingly heavy voice, though it's desire that clouds it.
He clocks it fast, so ready in fact that you fear the hammock will recoil on you while he pulls you up with him. âSure thing, angel. Gânight y'all!â
âBut, bossâwhat time do we gottaââ, some guy you forgot the name of throws out into the air. His eagerness is easily reduced by Taylor jabbing him in the leg⊠read the room (garden?), dude.
With how quickly Dee leaves it all behind, you'd think he just drank a whole jug of coffee instead of getting high. In a flash, you are already halfway across the garden and past the glass screen doors inside. It hasn't changed much even if it had other owners⊠you only saw the kitchen and the living room, and for now, the tour will be postponed it seems. Not that you are complaining.
Itâs all quite blurry at the momentâŠ
One thing you can tell apart is when you finally reach inside Deeâs claimed room, because he presses your back against the closed wooden door. It rattles at the shared weight of your movements as your lips tangle messily with his in what can be only described as consuming hunger.
The kisses are all teeth and heavy breaths as his hand snakes up your thigh. Once it settles on your ass, the other one joins easily to hook your legs around his waist. Getting high usually meant feeling sluggish but this time⊠he claims the weight and guides you to the next destination with ease.
The soft bed welcomes your curves. You keep your feet tangled, wanting to feel every inch of him even through these pesky layers that stand in the way of carnal pleasure. Whenever he breaks the lip-locks, itâs to drink you in. Still, youâve learned from the best, that any opening should be seized, so you are quick to attack his neck with pecks and love bites. He is all sweaty but even that tastes sweet to you somehow.
The delicious attention make his hips stutter, meeting your ache while the last thread of patience he might have clung to, snaps and a throaty sound escapes him. âNeed you, angel⊠need you bad.â Dee grunts as he all but gets tangled in his shirt trying to get rid of it⊠followed by yours. âI can tell you need me too, hm? We've been kept waiting too longâŠâ
As if some outside force is the culprit behind the slow burn that you two dance in.
You giggle but the sound quickly gets trapped in your throat, turning into a choke when he bites at your collarbone, sucking in a mark. âI thought you said you were âvery sexually activeâ when the question came up?â
Dee drags up his tongue across the freshly blooming mark, dipping lower between your breasts, licking a filthy path before his lips settle over each forget-me-not he can scout. He almost wants to ignore your pestering, but then he feels your heart beating faster under his palm and he looks up, almost shyâhand caught in the biscuit jar.
âI thought you were smart, angel⊠I said it to spite you.â He admits as his fingertips whisper around one of your nipples, lapping leisurely at the other. âSure, I called Cindy⊠butââ, he pinches the perky bud he's been circling teasingly, ââI ended up giving her extra smack just so she'd walk out faking a limp. I didn't need any of my guys getting on my case nowâŠâ
As he defends, you tremble with laughter despite yourself. You'd leaned into his touch a second ago, hips raised off the mattress to meet his aching length but now⊠all you can imagine is his red face as he puts on his tough guy, nonchalant act.
âSorry, sorry!â You clutch your stomach while your other arm hangs on his shoulder for support. âIt's just that, I never thoughtââ
âAh you find it funny, then? How many times I had to walk you out of my room⊠Blue-balled as hell just âcause I was stopping myself from ruining you. Ruining us.â In one motion, he scoops you, fingers digging into your waist to settle you comfortably sprawled on top of him. âYou never thought what? That you'd nestle yourself under my skin like this?â
Your eyes dash away for a second as you nod slowly, taking in his words and the small thrusts of his hips into you. Pressure only builds up, threatening to burst open from your chest in a myriad of needy sounds. The shorts you still have on feel like a straitjacket.
As if he can read your thoughts, he hooks a finger and peels the troublesome restraint off of you, guiding your hips up so he can have free access into your neediness. A hiss from his lips quickly turns into a moan that reverberates from his chest and throughout your ribs as his fingers ghost between your folds⊠when he feels you dripping with desperation.
He hums, adding: âYeah, well⊠me neither. Turns out you are my ruin, huh? Making me degrade myself, waitinâ on you, tending to you⊠making it feel right.â His hand continues on its destined journey, fingertip just teasing your entrance, barely in and out, until you're forced to chase it back, shaking and needy. âLet's see if youâre truly that delicate⊠come sit on my face, angel. Take what you need, hm?â
Your suddenly feel exposed by the invitation, eyes widening and breath becoming shallow. The moment Dee catches your hesitation, a wave of irritation threatens to wash over him. As someone used to taking everything any time, any place, his instinct is to believe it's yet another rejection.
You catch it in his eyes, these barbed feelings threatening to pierce through you, and you default to assuring: âIt's not that I don't want to, Dee⊠I'm justâI'm m not sure if Iââ
If you'll look and feel like he expects you to.
He catches the beginnings of your spiraling but this time he tries not to cut you with his jagged edges. This is supposed to be an experience you cherish, not one you have to walk on eggshells around.
Did that really just cross his mind? He must be too high if he was thinking like a complete bellend.
âYou'll be perfect, angel⊠I just wanna have a little taste, yeah? And if you wanna, I can keep that smart mouth of yours plenty occupiedâyou won't have the time to think to worry.â
He kneads at your hip bones while you still remain perched on top of him, only reaching to flick your nipple when he sees the confirmation on the tip of your tongue.
âWell⊠when you put it like thatâŠâ You smile this time and he wants to burn that image onto his retinasâyou in bliss, with that ink coiling around your body.
âSlap my thigh if you need a break, yeah? I can take itâŠâ Dee's smirk is sinful as he allows you to brace against his shoulders.
You hover above his waiting lips, not fully settled as you face the very prominent tent in his sweatpants. Mouth watering, you palm him through the fabric, feeling a seething throb call to you in response.
You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, only teasing through the fabric, wanting to see just how taut he can become. Sure enough, once you cup his balls, Dee's already grabbing your hips and practically slamming your heat against his faceâtongue swirling around your clit with filthy wet sounds. You all but whimper in blinding pleasure at the hot breaths he fans against your folds.
âI suggest you get to work, angel⊠if you know what's good for you.â That edge in his muffled voice gets your hands to work.
When you slide below his waistband to free him, you feel how warm, full and heavy he is against your palm. His length slaps your chin as it springs free and you can see beads of precum gush out in sync with his tongue working your hole. Slipping and teasing, he never leaves any part alone; his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves while his mouth continues its worship.
The noises that spill out of you are not small now, not sheepish at all. You take in the rhythm, eyes rolling back as you push into him and finally swirl your tongue across the head of his cock, gathering the bitter yet intoxicating drops. Just when you think the electricity coiling in your abdomen cannot possibly get any more burning, you feel him growl against your clit when you manage to take him deeper. It only rushes you to milk more of these delicious soundsâsaliva dripping between his thighs at each bob of your head.
The moment he slips a finger into your waiting, pulsing cunt, it's your shuddering sounds that resonate down his length, making his hips cant upâsalty delight hitting the back of your throat impossibly deeper.
Now that his mouth is no longer preoccupied, he urges you on, voice drunk on the pleasure you're giving him with each ready gulp. âFu-uckâthat's it, angel⊠Just lean on me, take what you've been missinââŠâ
Dee isn't as greedy as you'd expected him to be. Even when he's lost in his own building high, his fingers never stop curling and twisting in a concordant melody. He can tell how close you are to unraveling, low voice coaxing more tremors out of you before his tongue rejoins in tight fast licks around your clit.
âJust let go, baby⊠I've got you.â
It's like a wrecking ball breaks through your walls as you ride out the wave. Lips puffy but no longer around his cock, you cry out as you clench around his fingers, searching for more. It's not just mindless sounds thoughâthe moment your lips form his name in a breathless chant while your thighs all but clamp trembling on his shoulders, he knows he needs more.
Coming down from such an orgasm feels like an endless free fall, but you manage to let out some coherent words while your nails skim along his happy trail. âThat was⊠wow.â You sigh, but are still greeted by his hard cock right in front of your nose.
Once you grow placid under his soothing brushes up and down your calf, he pats the unoccupied side of the bed, voice fraying with a barely contained need to ravish. ââWowâ indeed⊠delectable even. But I think it's time for the main course.â
This was preparation⊠like he'd seasoned the stakes before nailing them down on the grill. Like he lays out his supplies before he rolls a jointâbut this time it's you who will get squeezed and pressed just right.
You try to be as enchanting as possible, getting off of him and perking up across the mattress, but your thighs are still shaking. That doesn't deter Dee in the slightestâ if anything it winds him up greatly⊠to see he had such a mind-numbing effect on you.
His left hand takes the length of your arm, stretching it forward, until he reaches your fingersâguiding them to grasp the headboard. Then, his right palm settles at the junction between your abdomen and hip, steering you to tilt and open up further.
A sight to behold⊠he believes with passion.
One knee pulls yours apart more as he glides his cock between your still weeping folds, slapping it there with a hiss every now and again. You feel how much he's trying to hold back when he lets out a shaky breath as he spits for good measure, working the makeshift lube on his length.
You whine at the sound, brain too far gone to realize youâre actually voicing your thoughts: âSpit in my mouthâŠ. pleaseââ
If you'd been facing him right now, you couldâve seen his eyes grow cartoonishly wide. Even his breath stills⊠but you do feel it when his fingers thread through your hair pulling at your scalp, so your lips can meet his. He isn't too close, wanting to see you fight for it.
âAh⊠so not a delicate angel after all... Filthy,â he growls lowly and presses his thumb against your lower lipâprodding your mouth to hang open; tongue outâready and waiting for him as he savors the moment. For a while you think heâll just tease you more, even laugh. But instead, he never lets go and spits down your throat. You shudder as you swallow, his thumb catching any stray drool and pressing it into your tongue.
âI could watch your mouth get filled all day, angel⊠but I think I'd rather slot in here.â
The word is punctuated by the breath stolen from your lungs as he drives into you in one motion. The grip he has on your hips is vicious and you're sure you'll be able to make out marks in the shape of his hand prints come morning. But you can only push back, once you feel how right you two fit in this deliriumâhow unbelievably full he makes you and how desperately unearthed he feels.
As you become entranced in the chase, Dee lets go and instead leans on his handsâcaging them on either side of your head, pressing you into the mattress as he raises and rams back with full force.
âThat's it, angel⊠Godâyou feel so good!â You are all but laying prone on your stomach now, grabbing at his forearms, nails raking in an attempt to find air. His hips only roll deeper at the feeling as he leans in to coo in a tight breath: âWanna mark me with your claws, pretty girl? 'S that it?â
When you nod in fervor, he pulls out, much to your dismay. But he quickly makes up for it by guiding you to face him, tilting your legs up and slipping back as if not a second has passed. His shoulders stand so broad above you but you try to close your arms around themâyour nails leaving angry red marks in their wake.
You feel yourself getting close again, full and wanting, begging him to catch you once more. âI'm gonnaâ Dee, please! Don't stopââ
âNever, angel⊠Be good again, yes? Come f'me⊠I'm right there with you, gonna finish this ride together.â He groans, scrapping to pull out in time but he swiftly coaxes your waves of pleasure with his free fingers insteadânever leaving you empty.
It sends his head on a spinâimagining you would be milking his cock with the same greed as you take his hand. Thick ropes of cum coat your stomach as he drills into his fist one final time, muscles coiled and spasming with each drive. Your moaned names become a tangled muddle of a mantra but his eyes never leave with your release, not when you lose and find yourself below him.
âBeautifulâŠâ Dee sighs much in the same fried octave as he had back at the tattoo shop.
This time, however, you know what he means. And it steadies your ragged breathing while you take his hand to your chest.
Showering without hot water can be a bitch, even on hot summer days. Even as you lay cuddled up with Dee whose one and only function now is that of a human furnace, you feel the goosebumps linger for some time.
You're restless, not in thought as much as physicallyâlike he's unlocked something you didn't know you had in you and now it's all but begging to be poured out. Dee feels it too, your minute movements now and again, but he's too far gone and exhausted to let them bother his deep slumber. He looks so at peace, his broad chest rising and falling⊠it all looks so inviting. You don't think you've ever seen his face muscles so relaxed, used to him grinding his teeth all the time. It makes your heart fill with warmth.
After another round of tossing and turning, you realize the itching in your eyes isn't just the result of some leftover pent up energy but your contacts actively drying up into a crust.
GreatâŠ
You roll over and groan dramatically, seeing his forearm dawn small crescent-shaped marks from your earlier clawing. It spasms once he no longer feels the weight of your head on itâreaching out for some tether, for you, even subconsciously.
âI forgot the lens solution in my bag downstairs!â you whisper, high enough to hopefully let him register at least part of it.
A huff edged with a grumble is all you get in response. And so you journey onâphone flashlight bravely illuminating your path down the winding stairs.
All doors to the bedrooms are closed and it seems the whole house sleeps. Like Dee said, seclusion makes it less prudent to keep watch and it's not like his name is making rounds on the streets regardless.
You find your bag on the living room couch, as expected⊠a successful and quick one-stop journey. But then, the moon-reflected glisten of a framed photo on top of the fireplace catches your eye. It's your grandfather and youâsmiling and giggling respectively as he ruffles your flower crown. The one your grandmother taught you how to weave. It's like the sunlight from that day shines through the photo and back at you all these years laterâŠ
âBoss said the old fuck kept it off any blueprints âcause he was brewing moonshine up in here. Good thing the pigs didn't find them tunnelsâain't no way that snake knows about âem. I doubt his lil lady clocked it eitherâŠâ Someone's making their way up from the basement⊠but you don't hear a word.
You're so lost in that trip down memory lane, fingers trailing up the glass panel of the frame, you fail to hear the small creaks in the shabby floorboards that only grow closer. So used to the house settling inâŠ
That's when an unknown reflection scowls in the pictureâcontrasting your smiles.
The moment you think to scream when you fially register the unknown presence behind you, a big hand is already across your mouth and an arm tackles you onto the couch. It's not a loud fight but an unfair one; the only giveaway is the photo crashing against the stone fireplace step, sending glass shards flying off.
âShit! Better hurry before some rat wakes upââ A man's voice commands.
You thrash, legs flailing to try and kick off whoever the assailant is. Then, your eyes paint quiet horror when you see a familiar face⊠Gaz.
So they'd seen you that day after all, when you were waiting on Alex to hook you up with pills. You shouldn't have goneâthey probably kept tabs on you since Paul hated Dee's guts now. Lacking the manpower, they'd never be able to take him down in a clean fight⊠so they snatch you the moment his guard is downâ the moment he dares defile and own Paul's legacy by purposefully buying off his old headquarters.
Your heart grows bitter at your misstep; even more so at the question that bubbles up to the surfaceâŠ
Did your father remember who you are before he sent his men here?
You aren't even sure which option is worse: him knowingly kidnapping his own daughter or being content with taking out anyone stupid enough to get caught in the crossfire?
Despite the confusion, you manage to slip free between Gaz's cumbersome movementsâlanding squarely on the broken pieces, feeling them slice sharply at your palms and knees. You scream Dee's name, but no one responds, not when he'd finally allowed hismelf to sleep peacefully.
When you try and make a full run for it, you're faced with yet another challengeâAlex, waiting for you just down the hall. He kicks you across the shin albeit unconvincingly. It's clear he hasn't done this before, yet his crazed eyes tell you he's set on seeing it through so he can get to have another day high. He's full on cold turkey, sweaty and trembling but with how out of it you are, you end up stumbling in pain despite his awkward movements, hitting your head hard against the shoe rack. Your "friend's" clammy hands settle on your throat in an unsettlingly sober attempt to choke you out.
âWhat you losing time for, junkie?!â Gaz takes a heavy step closer and stuffs your mouth with some filthy rag. âWhat good will the bitch be if she's dead? She's already out like a light!â
It's true, your head throbs, growing woozy from the smash and somehow your futile attempt at escape has only made their jobs easier... to the point where you can only flap your hands weakly while the bigger man hauls you up.
The next time you can blink with heavy eyelids, you're already through the basement's tunnels. You knew of the room, sure⊠even helped your grandfather pick apples for the moonshine. But these tunnelsâthese had to be Paul's creation. If the police had ever uncovered them during the raid, Dee mightâve had them walled off. Then again, that would've meant your father walking free, ruining your family further.
It doesnât matter now, what might have been. It's slipped through your fingers and when Dee wakes up he'll see he's never truly been freeâŠ
Not when one single moment could turn you from predator into hunted prey.
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Reminder that itâs canon that Katniss and Peeta were staring at each other before they even knew each other. Just remember that means that in between each scene in the books and for the rest of his life Haymitch is most likely witnessing this
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 observation 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. Observation 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.
Observation, 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
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The next part of Little Mouse will be out within a few days, hopefully! It is all written and ready to be betaâd. In the meanwhile I am fighting for my life trying to wrap up my college course this week.
Iâm going to work on finishing my series, but I wonât lie, I have dozens of plot bunnies in my head đđđ. Vampire au, werewolf au, Obsession AUâthe list goes on. I think MBOBHFT will have one more part left (working on that next), but we will see what happens đ I never plan ahead! It will be satisfying to get to finish a story for once.
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
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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 his (canon â fight me!) 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.
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