#obsessive!coriolanus snow

[phoward89]

Professor!Coriolanus x Innocent!Reader

Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Dark!Coryo, Obsessed!Coryo, Innocent!Reader, Sweet!Reader, Naive!Reader, manipulation, obsession, professor/student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, cussing, drugging, dacryphilia, smut, dub con, non con?

Based on a request a while back where your professor's obsessed with you and manipulates you to be with him.

Part 1

Coriolanus Snow flourished in his studies at the University: a double major in Political Science and Military Strategy. He also impressed Dr. Gaul while interning with her as a gamemaker. But, although his ideas were implemented and well liked by the mad scientist, Dr. Gaul didn't feel like Mr. Snow had the raw, insane, sadistic gumption that it took to be an official Gamemaker.

The mad scientist also didn't like Coriolanus’ presidential aspirations. Truthfully, she feared the young Snow because, in her opinion, he was too ambitious. Ambition is a very dangerous thing when given the absolute freedom to bloom into real, tangible, outcomes and goals. Dr. Gaul knew if Coriolanus became an Assistant Gamemaker that he'd stop at nothing to attain her job; use that position to further his goal of politics.

Coriolanus Snow dreamed of becoming the youngest President Panem has ever had. And Dr. Gaul knows that in order to do that, well, her little pupil has to win people over; kill a lot of them too in order to clear the way for his stepping stones to the Presidential Palace.

Coriolanus Snow as the president is the last thing Dr. Gaul wants on God's green earth. Her former student is very cunning, but uncontrollable. He likes to be in control; doesn't want to be told what to do. Has a godlike complex too. And the mad scientist can't have that because, in reality, the President of Panem is just a figurehead- a puppet that Dr. Gaul pulls all the strings of.

And after mentoring Mr. Snow for his 4 years of University, well, Dr. Gaul has come to the conclusion that he's a failed experiment. To a certain degree he passed some of her tests, but not the one where ambition and falling in line were concerned. Plus, the woman has a suspicion that Coriolanus poisoned Highbottom a few years back; no way in hell is she letting an arsenic happy little sociopath work close to her.

She's not crazy enough to trust Coriolanus Snow not to poison her. Give Dr. Gaul some credit, she didn't become the Head Gamemaker and the Head of the War Department for nothing. She's very bright, just a bit insane and morally evil.

But, since Dr. Gaul, his personal mentor during his entire University career, claimed that he just wasn't the best of the best or the brightest star out of the University students under her tutelage, Coriolanus wasn't offered any positions that could be of power or use to him in his dreams of politics. He was blackballed from the Citadel and from anything Gamemaker related, per Dr. Gaul's request.

But he was offered a position as a professor in the Political Science department of the Capitol's prestigious University. But the class he was assigned to teach just happened to be an elective class.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media

It was basically a class that broke down what was right and wrong with the politics of various pre-Panem books and movies that were usually apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic (sometimes even sci-fi in nature). Coriolanus felt that the class was idiotic, but he was stuck teaching it. Apparently the class was designed as something fun for the Political Science students, as something light amongst their heavy coursework. But still something that'd keep their minds on the strengths and weaknesses of politics; the importance of them.

The first couple of years teaching the course, Coriolanus would cringe at some of the books and movies he was forced to make the class read, watch, and disect. But as the years went on, well, he got immune to some of the source material he was teaching. Sad to say, but after a while the shocking things in his lessons didn't phase him.

So, as his old classmates and acquaintances made their mark in the world in either politics, banking, or business, Coriolanus was a University Professor. He was trapped in a mundane life, year and year.

And one day he woke up, a man nearing 28 and going nowhere. He was frustrated with his life: bitter over his dead dreams. But, when you walked into his class on the first day of the Fall semester looking like a fresh faced innocent school girl that had recently graduated from the Academy during early July, well, he knew that his luck had changed.

Yes, he might be stuck being a professor of a useless elective class forever, but at least now he had a sweet angel- you- to lust after and corrupt. And the darkness looming inside of Coriolanus’ soul demands that he corrupts you; takes you as his life partner to smother and never let you.

He swore to never fall in love again and he intended to keep that vow, but that didn't mean that he had to keep fucking useless, faceless, nameless whores. No. It was time for him to get a good girl and unfortunately for you, well, your youth and innocent aura attracted Professor Snow to you like a moth to a flame.

Except he's not the one that's getting burnt in this scenario, but you are.

You're one of the only girls enrolled in Professor Snow's class, but that's because it's a Political Science course. Actually, it's an elective class for Political Science majors of all year levels. But still…it's a political class.

Your parents weren't too thrilled when you enrolled at the University as a Political Science major. Your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, felt that you should've joined the Nursing Core or should've settled on becoming a socialite and looking for a husband like other pretty Capitolite girls did.

But much to your father's disappointment you did neither and decided to study politics instead. You're older brother, Rein, who was an Officer in the Peacekeepers thought it was hilarious that you defied your father. He backed up your decision to major in Political Science. Your mother could care less; she even told your father to ignore your University major and course load; that you’d either get tired and quit because it was too hard or you’d find a future politician to marry.

So far neither of your mother's assumptions have come to pass. You're still enrolled in all of your classes and you're still single.

Your last class of the day was Professor Snow's and you found the class to be very interesting. Very intriguing in fact. Oh, how you found the class to be unlike any you've ever taken before.

Political Policies In Utopia/Dystopia Pre-Panem Literature/Media.

Oh, the class made you think about how things could be worse in different realities or universes. Yes, you're only on the first assigned book for the semester’s reading, but so far The Handmaid's Tale seems like hell on steroids. Fuck, that book makes you shudder and you're only halfway thru it. You honestly can't wait til it's over and Professor Snow lets you move onto the next one.

When you walk into the classroom, Professor Snow's sitting behind his mahogany desk. He's got reading glasses on and he's nose deep in a book. It's not one of the class assigned reads, so you quickly figured out that it's a personal book.

As you take your usual seat, you can't help but think that your professor (who’s a good decade older than you) looks handsome in reading glasses. That the dark frames make his icy blue eyes pop and contrasts against his slicked back platinum hair. Shaking your head to clear any and all wandering thoughts of Professor Snow, you open your bag and take out your supplies for the class.

Coriolanus discreetly looks over the top of his book to check you out. Oh fuck, how he thinks you look so goddamn perfect and sexy today in your sweater, blouse, skirt, stockings, kitten heels, and your pearls.

Fuck, a simple strand of pearls around the neck and simple pearl earrings in the ears always makes his cock twitch. Oh, how he wants to do some pearl play with the strand and your pussy.

Oh, yes, with how young you are and how innocently pretty you look, he's sure that your cunt's tighter then a Nun's chuff. Oh, how he'd love to take your strand of pearls and slide them up and down your wet slit; tease your clit with them until it's swollen and you're begging to cum. He wonders if you’d suck your juices clean from the pearls too.

But then Coriolanus remembers where the hell he's at, his classroom in the damn University, and suddenly he's thinking of his ex, Livia Cardew, to make his dick soft. Ugh, that shrew can kill a wet dream.

And when he sees all of his students are sitting in their respective seats, he eyes the clock on the wall to check the time. When he sees that it's about time to start class, he closes his book and places it on his desk before standing up and standing in front of the large blackboard. He writes on it in his impeccable handwriting.

The Handmaiden's Tale Chapters 26-28 Review

You listen as Professor Snow goes over the material you read over the last couple of days, literally giving a cut and dry summary that barely touched the topic of the latest chapters. But then, when he's done, he starts asking the class questions. Questions about the book that makes the class think and ponder.

“In chapter 28 Offred muses about the fall of the United States and the creation of Gilread. Now, we find out that women's rights are slowly striped and all bank accounts women have are given to the husband or male in the family, amongst some other revelations about the occupation Gilread slowly does to the government. Now, my question is, do you think the flashback Offered provided about the fall of the United States and the subtle, but sure, takeover of Gilread could happen today in Panem?”

A young man with beige hued hair raised his hand, only for Professor Snow to nod and acknowledge him with a simple, “Mr. Arnoult, you share your answer with the class.”

Eros Arnoult, in your opinion, was a pain in the ass; know it all. Or at least he thought he was a know it all. And he just had to answer Professor Snow's philosophical question with the idiotic and incorrect answer of, “What happened to the United States in the book would never happen here in Panem. Panem has Peacekeepers.”

And you knew Eros’ answer was wrong by how Professor Snow’s cerulean blue eyes narrowed and turning into a pair of cold icicles; how his lips frowned in a thin line.

Before thinking better of it, you turned around in your seat to look at Eros and told him, “You’re such an idiot, Eros. You're wrong, because what happened to the United States could happen to Panem.”

“Miss Y/N, please elaborate.” Professor Snow insisted with a spry smirk on his face.

You turn around to face your professor before telling him and the entire class, “What happened to the United States in the book A Handmaiden's Tale could happen to Panem if, gods forbid, the Districts rise up again like they did during the war; the Dark Days.”

“The Districts would never dream about rising up again. Not with the Hunger Games keeping them in line.” Eros told you before Professor Snow could even make a remark about your thoughts.

Turning around to face your classmate, again, you counter his remark with one of, “The Hunger Games can only do so much to keep them in line. People, if pushed too hard or if they feel too hopeless will try to rebel or will follow the pied piper into something worse than what they have and everyone else will be stunned when it happens because they never thought it could.”

Coriolanus was very impressed with your political insight. For being in your first semester of your first year at the University. At first your beauty and innocence caught his eye, but he has to admit that the more time you spend in his class the more he discovers he appreciates your wit as well.

So much so that he tells you, “Very good answer, Miss Y/N.”, before explaining in length what the United States did wrong in the book to fall and become Gilread and, of course, explaining how those lessons can be implemented and used in politics today.

One day after class you're walking with your neighbor in the courtyard whenever Professor Snow comes marching up to you, seething. You didn't understand what was wrong; why he seemed so upset.

“You need to leave my student alone.” Professor Snow ordered your neighbor, Odysseus, in a firm baritone while using his hand to separate you and your bronze haired neighbor.

“It's fine, Professor Snow. Really, he's my neighbor.” You assure your tall and imposing teacher as he places a protective arm around your shoulder; pulling you into his side while acting as a large buffer between you and Odysseus.

Odysseus’ lips curled up into a deriding smile that dug into his dimples cheeks. Cocking his head slightly at the pristine platinum haired professor, he remarked in a mawkish tone, “Yea, Professor Snow, I live across the hall from her so we'll be seeing plenty of each other.”

Keeping you under his protective wing, Coriolanus craned his neck forward as he towers over the peacock of a bronze haired boy, while coldly stating, “I know exactly what boys like you, Mr. Odair, want from girls like Miss Y/N and I’m not going to let you taint her reputation. Neighbor or not.” Waving him off with a dismissive flick of the wrist, the professor ordered your neighbor to, “Stay away from Miss Y/N or else you might find yourself on an academic probation.”

Odysseus shook his head in disgust and disbelief before stalking off. Honestly, he couldn't believe that you just let your cold, overbearing, astute professor take control over the situation that was your neighborly friendship and turn it into some knight in shining toilfoil coming to an unneeded rescue moment. The sea-green eyed man couldn't help, but have an uneasy feeling about Professor Snow swooping in on you under the guise as your protector.

You're a freshman at the University, you don't need some distinguished professor that's all washed up (everyone in Capitol City knows how Coriolanus Snow aimed high and fell short in his ambitions) ‘protecting’ you from a young man your age.

Coriolanus couldn't help, but to let a smug, triumphant smirk paint his lips as he watched Odysseus Odair slump his shoulder and scurry off in defeat. Yes, once again Snow lands on top.

And Snow’s going to be the only man landing on top of you too. That he'll make sure of.

Coriolanus’ face contorted from a smugly victorious to stricken with concern before he turns to you. His baritone is deep with care as he tells you, “Although Mr. Odair's your neighbor, you need to stay away from him, darling. He's a skirt chaser with a nasty reputation on campus; boys like that'll just use you and leave you.” Patting your cheek, he adds in, “I'd hate to see my best and brightest pupil get hurt.”

Unable to believe your ears, you ask in awe, “I’m your best pupil?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N, you truly are.” Professor Snow nods. Clutching the strap of his leather satchel, he informs you with a thin lipped smile, “In fact, I find your insight on the course material we're currently working on to be very refreshing and mentally stimulating.”

Did you just hear him right? He can't mean that, can he? “Really?” You blurt out in a surprised tone.

“Really.” Your platinum blonde professor nods. “Do you have a class I could escort you to before I leave, just to make sure you're safe from Mr. Odair's nefarious intentions?” He asks, sounding like a concerned angelic man with a heart of gold.

But little do you know that he's as angelic as Lucifer himself; his heart of gold is pitch black and full of selfish desires.

“Oh, I don't have any more classes. Yours was my last one.” You innocently inform Professor Snow, causing the cunning and calculating man to do a mental happy dance hidden behind a neutral mask.

Coriolanus knows that what he's going to do is unethical, but he doesn't care. As long as he gets what he wants, which is you in his bed, he'll break every rule. All of his other dreams are unobtainable, but not you.

No.

His dream of being with you is right in reach and he's going to snatch it up greedily in his large hands.

Coriolanus gives you a smile that's more manic then friendly, as he suggests, “Why don't you join me for a bite to eat? We can always discuss your thoughts on politics or anything related to my class, if you'd like.”

Professor Snow thinks you're his best student and wants to grab something to eat with you to discuss politics and his class with you. Oh wow! You can't believe it. You didn't think you were that great of a student, surely one of the boys must have a higher aptitude for politics. It is, after all, usually a man's world and subject.

“Okay.” You simply reply with a small, flattered smile.

“I know the perfect place.” Coriolanus told you, guiding you into the direction of the parking lot and in extension his black luxury sedan was parked. “I'm positive you'll enjoy the food there.” A slightly sinister smirk crossed over his face as he lightly remarked, “And the wine’s to die for.”

“I'm not old enough to drink wine, Professor Snow.” You remind your professor, who has to be close to thirty.

“Well, you just let me order for us and nobody’ll know how young you really are.” Professor Snow tells you, his tone sounding mirthful and secretive, as he sips his face a bit too close towards yours.

His disposition changes as he holds his head up high and points his car out on the approaching lot. “That's my car right over there, darling. Nice, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's very nice.” You agree with a nod. In fact, his car seems nicer than the one your family has. You even tell him that too, earning you a chuckle from him.

The place Professor Snow took you to was a quaint, but upscale restaurant close to the Corso. The food was very delicious and the wine, as he said, was to die for. True to his word, your professor ordered for both of you and nobody was none the wiser that perhaps you shouldn't be drinking the wine.

But right before desert was going to be served you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. And that's when Coriolanus decided to enact the most vital part of his plan. Something that you knew nothing about; would never believe if told either.

As you wash your hands in the powder room, you look in the mirror and wonder if it's odd that you feel a bit giddy from eating with Professor Snow. You'd be lying if you said that you didn't have a tiny crush on the handsome, distinguished man. Because, you really do have a teeny tiny crush on him. But a girl would have to be blonde not to simp over the man with the perfectly styled platinum curls, striking baby blue eyes, prominent nose with a set of perfect pearly whites.

Deciding that you needed to stop being silly, you splashes some water on your face and took a deep breath before exiting the ladies room.

“Our deserts just arrived, darling.” Professor Snow smiles,gesturing towards the rich dark chocolate cheesecakes set in front of your place settings.

“Oh, you didn't have to wait for me, Professor Snow.” You tell him, feeling a bit embarrassed that he's been sitting and looking at his cheesecake instead of eating because he was waiting on you.

“Nonsense, Y/N.” The platinum blonde picked up his fork. “My Grandma'am taught me that a gentleman always waits for a lady arrive to start a course.” Professor Snow scoops a piece of his cheesecake with his fork while you reach for your own fork. Bringing his bite of the chocolate desert to his lush lips, he smirks, “That includes desert.”

You're using your fork to dig into your own desert whenever your professor pulls the fork from his lips and tells you, “Please, call me Coriolanus.” Digging back into his cheesecake, he adds, “Or Coryo, if you'd like.”

In between eating your desert, you ask, “Is that allowed? I'm your student.”

“I can't see why we can't be friends outside of class. We're two adults that can manage a friendship, aren't we?”

“Yes, but you're like 30.”

Coriolanus narrowed his icy eyes; his mouth sourly puckered as he tarly told you, “Oh, darling, don't age me. I'm a Scorpio; I’m only turning 28 this All Hallows Eve.”

“Oh, you're the same age as my older brother.” You blurt out, causing Coriolanus to just let out a silent huff.

Honestly, he already knew that. He knows that your older brother's Rein Halvir. He remembers the idiot from their days in the Academy. And, frankly, he's glad he hasn't run into him since being back in the Capitol.

“Yes, I believe I attended the Academy with him.” Coriolanus said, pretending to take his brain for your sake. “Is he faring well?” He asked, his eyes lighting up with a slight sparkle as you reached for your win glass.

You think it's nice that Coriolanus asked about your brother. So, of course, you answer his inquiry with, “Rein’s an officer in the peacekeepers. He's stationed in District 12; has a girlfriend and two kids.”

“Capitolite or?...” The cerulean man asks, his deeply smooth tone falling of a cliff of a silent question. A question of District.

“Ashlie's from District 12- the Seam to be exact. Their kids were born on PK Base-D12 so they're registered as Capitol citizens.”

“Aha.” Coriolanus lifts his nose up, in both superiority and disgust.

Coriolanus once spent the summer of his 18th year of life in District 12 as a peacekeeper grunt while foolishly fancying himself in love with the songbird victor of the 10th Hunger Games. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. Sometimes he'd wonder if things could've been different, but then he remembers that him and the songbird were too different to ever work. And that if she truly loved him she wouldn't have betrayed him; try to poison him with a snake and leave him to die.

No, he's much better off without that Covey frontrunner whore in his life. Her love was toxic, made him feel like a fool. And if things had worked out with her then we would've never met you.

Coriolanus is without a doubt certain that you're the girl for him. Innocent, beautiful, young, and intelligent. Oh yes, he's surely met histch in you. And he's certain that you'll never betray his love.

No, not with how kind and gentle your smile is.

“My family's proud that my brother followed our father's military footsteps, but they're not too fond of his girlfriend or their kids.” Your father's still pissed that his grandchildren are half-District. “Believe it or not, I'm the family disappointment.” You admit to your professor, even tho a part of you knows you shouldn't, before taking a large sip of your wine.

Your admission took the platinum haired professor a back. He was quite befuddled by it. How could you, a smart and innocent angel of a girl be the family disappointment? It doesn't make any sense.

Scratching his chin in a pondering way, Coriolanus asked, “Why would you be a disappointment?” Resting his elbow on the table and curling his hand into a fist, which he rests his jaw against, he remarks in a stunned baritone, “You're my best student and I'm sure you're excelling in your other classes as well.”

Yes, Professor Snow just couldn't fathom why you're not good enough for your family. In his eyes, you're absolutely perfect. But yet again he does have an obsession with you that's just crossed over a dark line; maybe even a sick one too.

“I'm studying Political Science instead of enlisting in the Nursing Core or taking my place in society as a socialite.” You wanted to go back to eating your desert, but you were suddenly feeling a bit odd. You felt as you were getting a bit hazy. Maybe it was too hot in the restaurant? “My mother told my father to just let me study politics as a way to find myself an aspiring politician to marry.” You add, concluding your explanation of why you're a disappointment to the Halvir family name.

“I once had political aspirations, but alas it wasn't meant to be and I'm a political professor for the great University in all of Panem instead.” Coriolanus said with a bit of veiled excitement in his smooth timbre.

Oh, Coriolanus was internally giddy. His plan was perfect. Just a few more minutes and he'll have you right where he wants you.

“Are you alright, darling? You seem a bit flushed.” Coriolanus asked, fake concern in his baby blues, as he placed his fork down on his plate.

“I'm not sure, Coriolanus. I feel a bit hazy.” You honestly tell him. Oh no, are you tipsy? You can't be, it was only a glass of wine. “Maybe the wine was too strong?” You offer as you begin to feel as if the room's going to start spinning.

Coriolanus’ brows knit as he gives you a worried look. “I think we should get the check and leave, Y/N. You really don't look well and I'm a bit concerned.” Your professor suggests, making you believe that he truly was concerned about your well being.

“Okay.” You nod, feeling dizzy and drowsy.

You must've passed out because the last thing you remember is feeling dizzy and drowsy while getting ready to leave the restaurant and then the next moment you're waking up in a strange bed. You automatically start panicking as you sit up. But before you can scream or scramble off the bed, a voice next to you sounds out with, “Oh, you're awake. Are you feeling better now, darling?”, and kills your fight or flight reactions.

You're with Professor Snow- uh Coriolanus. And he's not in his three piece suit anymore, instead he's in lounge pants and a casual shirt. What the?...

You look over at him, only to discover that he's laying on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle with his back leaning against the headboard. A pair of black frame glasses are perched on the bridge of his prominent nose as he reads a book. A book that’s cover looks well worn and battered.

“What happened? Why am I in bed with you?” You ask, feeling a bit confused.

“You don't remember walking out of the restaurant and falling out in the parking lot near my car?” He asked, closing his book and setting it on his nightstand before taking off his reading glasses and placing them on top of the book.

‘No.” You shake your head. “I don't.”

“Well, my darling,” Coriolanus gave you a sympathetic, but pointed look with his icy eyes, “Since you blacked out before I could get your address I brought you to my Corso penthouse.” Placing a large hand on your knee, he gave you a closed lip smile. “I don't want to startle you, but I took the liberties of changing you into a shirt of mine, for comfort.” Raising his hand up, to stop you from even thinking about opening your mouth, he said in a gentlemanly tone, “Don't worry, I didn't cross any lines; your underwear is still on.”

You should be creeped out, but instead you find it endearing that he was worried about your comfort and changed you into one of his shirts while you were passed out. Oh, no. Now you feel so embarrassed and stupid blacking out after a glass of wine. What's wrong with you? The wine couldn't have been that strong, could it?

“Thank you.” You murmur, casting your eyes down to stare at the hand that's on your thigh- Coriolanus' large hand. “I guess the wine was too strong for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” The platinum blonde man next to you nodded. “I was worried about you; kept vigil by your tipsy side.”

Pushing his hand off your thigh, you tell him, “Thank you, but I should probably dress and catch a cab home.”

“Darling, you don't have to leave. You can stay here til you regain your senses; you'll be safe with me.”

“I'm fine.” You assure him, tone a bit snappier than you meant for it to be, as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Knowing you’d be dizzy and at risk for another blackout, Coriolanus leaned over and took your arm in his hand; stopping you from getting up. When you turned around to look at him from over your shoulder, his icy eyes had a hint of something guileful in them.

“Don't go, darling. Please.”

“Profes- Coriolanus, I can't stay here. You're my professor; it'd look bad and you could get into trouble.”

“Why would I get into trouble? I'm just letting you rest after getting tipsy off of some very strong wine.” The imposing man, who's more dangerous than sinai poisoning, pointed out while quickly taking a seat right next to you. Taking his hand off of arm and placing it on your chin, tilting it in a way so you'd be able to look him in the eye, he huskily asks, “Or are you afraid to stay with me because you want to get fucked by your cold, stoic, and oh so serious Professor Snow?” His face inches closer to yours as he asks, “I know I'm quite a handsome man, Y/N. So, I must ask, do you get all hot and bothered for your teacher?”

“You shouldn't be asking me this.”

“No, I shouldn't.” Coriolanus agrees with you, his lips ghosting over yours.

Your brain's in a fog and you're beginning to feel a bit woozy again whenever Coriolanus’ lips press against yours in a kiss that's a bit hard and hungry. A kiss that makes you feel lightheaded. And when you attempt to pull away from him, to break off the kiss, he places his hands on your cheeks and pulls your face into his.

His hands, so large and strong, hold your face still as his lips press against yours over and over again with messy enthusiasm. You gasp for air, parting your lips slightly, but it's all Coriolanus needs to deepen the kiss. His tongue slips effortlessly into your mouth, exploring it, as feelings of both dizziness and pleasure wash over you.

Honestly, you don't know how to feel. Your brain's like scrambled eggs right now. You can barely think, can barely tell what's up and what's down right now.

All you know is that your head’s spinning and your body feels like it's on fire; that your professor’s making out with you on his bed as if you've been lovers for years instead of barely knowing each other then inside of his classroom.

“Coryo-” You say when he ends your kiss, allowing you both to catch your breath, but you don't say anything else since that feeling of falling into a dark abyss threatens to take over you once more.

Your eyes grow spotty causing you to blink them in an attempt at clearer vision. All the while, Coriolanus is tenderly stroking your cheeks with a strange look on his face. “I know you're a bit tipsy still and as the older one amongst us I should do the honorable thing and let you rest, but after that kiss we shared I'm afraid I can't be a gentleman with you anymore.”

Coriolanus knows that you're about to lose control of your senses, from the spiked wine you drank, but he needs to have you agree to what he wants to do. He has to get you to say ‘yes’ so that he can remind you later on when you're fully functional that you want him; that you agreed to spend the night with him in his bed- fucking.

Yes, he might be a manipulative bastard that's a tad bit possessive and obsessive, but he's not a monster. Coriolanus does want you to trust him, despite that trust coming from his own tongue weaving a silver tale for you to believe and feel comfortable with.

“You want me, don't you, darling?” Coriolanus asked, softly running his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks while cradling your face in his large hands. Gazing into your eyes with his icy orbs, he demanded, “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Your a bit light headed and Coriolanus' words float around your head. It's as if you're underwater and his voice is just a garbled echo. Your ears seem to be ringing and you feel dazed.

All you can manage to do is give Coriolanus a lost look. You're feeling a bit wonky, can barely even make out what he's saying.

Coriolanus’ chest heaves and he internally chastises himself for being a bit heavy handed with drugging your wine. Yes, he wanted you pliable and to his will, but he doesn't want you blacked out the entire time he has his way with you.

Deciding that he needs to do something to sober you up, Coriolanus slaps you across the face. “Snap out of it, Y/N!” He orders in a deep, loud shout.

That seemed to stir something inside of you. Yes, you still felt a bit hazy, but the slap across your face paired with Coriolanus' loud shout seemed to cause your focus to return to you for a moment.

“I'm sorry, did I space out?” You ask your professor, whose baby blues are burning like hot coals with desire.

“Yes, baby, you did.” Coryo told you, soothingly stroking the cheek that he had just slapped. “I asked if you wanted to be with me; wanted to fuck me, but you just stared at me with glazed over eyes.”

“Coryo…” You sigh, feeling an unbearable heat cross over your cheeks. “We shouldn't do anything.”

“You haven't done anything before, have you?” The platinum blonde professor asked knowingly while subtly guiding you to the middle of his king sized bed.

“No.” You shake your head. Wringing your hands in your (his) shirt, you avert eye contact with him and add in, “Not really.”

“You're very special to me, Y/N. I've never met anyone as beautiful, bright, and innocent as you.” Coriolanus reveals in an eloquent speech that has your heart beating fast against your ribcage.

Truthfully, your heart's probably beating fast due to the drugged wine in your system, but since you're unaware of your state you just assume it's a romantic effect from his words. His carefully woven words.

“There's nothing wrong with us taking pleasure from each other, my darling.” He tells you like the master manipulator he is. He's working his magic on you, making your resolve start to crumble under his smooth and amorous words. Pressing his forehead against yours, he promises, “I’ll stay with you and I'll protect you, baby. I won't hurt you like those pervy boys your age would.”

Coriolanus pulled his forehead away from yours, only to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss that was soft and sensual. A kiss that he meant to be persuasive.

Time was ticking and Coriolanus knew that you'd be going back into lala land soon. Either he got you to say yes or he'd just tell you that you said yes once you came to later. But either way he's fucking your tight cunt.

“You want me to fuck you, right, baby.” The platinum blonde with a regal air around him told you, not asked.

You felt yourself begin to grow hazier by the minute. Your limbs even feel a bit heavier. Your tongue began to feel dry and heavy in your mouth and all you could manage to do was nod your head.

You felt as if your head was plunged back underwater. You felt everything around you feel muddled, but you did see Coriolanus give you a Cheshire grin before eagerly shedding his shirt and kissing you. A kiss that you barely felt due to the feeling of falling into an abyss.

You blink your eyes and seem to come back to your senses once again as Coriolanus, your handsome professor, is naked above you, thrusting his cock in and out of your pussy.

You couldn't help, but wonder how drunk you got to agree to this. Yes, you find him attractive, but Professor Snow's your teacher at University. This violates so many cod of conduct ethics.

“Oh my God!” You blurt out, causing Coryo to smirk at you.

“My big cock feels good in your tight cunt, huh, baby?” Coriolanus asked as he snapped his hips in a certain way that had his cock pressing deep against that special spongy spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good. So fucking good ‘round by cock, darling.”

Your cunt’s dripping wet and every movement Coriolanus makes causes you to shudder. It does feel very good. Hell, it feels better then all of the times you've ever been fingered.

“It feels good, Coryo.” You admit in a wispy moan.

You try to move your arms, but they feel a bit heavy. As if they're asleep. Coriolanus notices you trying to move your arms and just takes his hands off of your wrists and laces his hands in yours, all while telling you the saccharine lie of, “You're still a bit drunk, baby. Just let me hold your hands while we fuck; you can hold my back or something later."

He brings his face close to yours. His breath fans against your lips as he tells you, “You’re my good babygirl with such a sweet, tight cunt.”

“Coryo…” You whined as you felt pleasure begin to wash over you.

“That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum right now like my good girl.” Coryo ordered in a husky tone as he pounded your pussy with such force that your body was moving up and down the bed.

His hard and fast thrusts had you cumming harder then you've ever cummed in your entire life. His name's spilling from your lips; your legs shake and spasm from your orgasm as you soak the sheets.

“Oh, I knew you were perfect.” Coryo groans at the sight of you squirting. Watching your juices gush out of you, only to roll down your crimson coated thighs has him in overdrive. His cock’s even harder and his balls are twitching; begging to empty their cum deep inside of your cunt.

Coriolanus wants to grab your legs and bend you like a pretzel so he can fuck you into his mattress, but he's afraid that you might try to lift your arms again. The less you move (without his help) the better. He can't have you realizing what he did to your wine, now can he? So, he settles for just using your laced hands to brace himself as he digs his knees into the mattress and fucks into your cunt as fast as he can.

Your limbs feel tingly as Coryo pistons into your cunt mercilessly. You feel a bit overwhelmed, perhaps even a bit oversensitive. “Coryo, it's too much.”

“You're getting oversensitive, baby. Just be a good girl and take what I give you for a few more minutes, yea?”

“Coryo, please.” Feeling a bit overwhelmed from everything, you cry. “Please.”

As sick and twisted as it sounds, seeing salty tears leak from your eyes and roll down your cheeks has Coryo shooting thick ropes of his hot cum deep into your puffy cunt while moaning out your name.

Coriolanus lets your hands go, only to slowly pull his cock out of your cunt. His icy eyes roll back into the back of his head at the sight of his white cum dripping out of your abused hole alone with a trickle of crimson- the proof that he took your virginity.

You're all his now...

He lays down next to you and pulls you into his side. “Don't worry, Y/N. You're my girl now and I'll take very good care of you.” He assures you while covering you both with his duvet.

“I'm your girl now?” You ask with an arched brow.

“We'll talk more about it in the morning when you're a bit more sober.” Coriolanus kisses you, making you think that when you were in the thick of your tipsiness you must've agreed to get involved with him.

Oh hell, how strong was that wine to make you so tipsy that you became Professor Snow’s girlfriend?

“Just rest, baby. You're safe here with me.” The platinum blonde, whose arms are protectively wrapped around you, coos in his deep baritone; lulling you back to dreamland.

A place that you've been in and out of all night.

And as you doze off Coriolanus looks at you with obsession shining in his cerulean eyes and a manic grin spread across his face. The darkness in his soul's quelled with the thought that you're his forever now.

Oh, yes. Now that he's got you in his penthouse he's never letting you go. But before he can truly begin to be the doting and devoted boyfriend to you, he needs to get rid of Festus Creed- the old Academy friend that gave him the drug he spiked your wine with. Well, Coriolanus supposes that if he poisons him at a teahouse and drinks the poison as well, but in a smaller dose, he'll be able to kill two birds with one stone.

He'll get rid of Festus before he can talk and he'll get you moving into his penthouse to take care of him after a near death experience.

Snow lands on top. And who knows, maybe one day with your father's backing Coriolanus might be able to wiggle his way into politics. And if not, well he has you.

And that's all that truly matters, isn't it? It should, considering what dark deeds he did to get you into his bed.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[snowsinterlude]

overprotective, lovesick, deranged.

(yandere coriolanus x reader)

summary: your ex boyfriend couldn't seem to let you go.

if i can't have you, no one can.

trigger.warning: yandere coriolanus, obslove (obsessive love), stockholm syndrome, drugging (no its not for sexual purposes), pregnancy, marriage, horror, depictions to murder (explicit), dubcon, p in v, cockwarming, extremely toxic behavior, unhinged coriolanus, this fanfic contains extreme toxic behavior and too much blood, if uncomfortable with that content, please, don't read it.

"This might get a little messy, I'm sure.

Heads rolling for the one I adore

This may become a little brutal if I'm honest

But it's any-anything for you my dear, I promise"

overprotective.

coriolanus snow was a man of ambition; one of those who won't quiet down until the moment he had what he wanted. this was something that happened to the women he got involved with too.

lucy gray baird was one of those. the moment your now ex-boyfriend was sent to district 12 you could tell something was wrong. you could not care less, though. he wasn't your boyfriend anymore and in your most honest opinion it was something good.

when he came back you were with a different man; one named valentine, who stayed with you when you saw coriolanus kissing lucy gray. who comforted you during this time and who hugged you everynight when the thunders during rain times echoed so hard that made you feel like being killed by one of those.

valentine, who's head was decapitated in front of you.

coriolanus, who was smiling to you as he opened the 'gift' he had prepared to you.

you, who couldn't help but throw up at the sight of your dead boyfriend. you, who passed out by the sick sight of his decapitated head, his eyes opened by strings of a red line, needled carelessly. the same eyes who used to look at you with so much affection and love, now weren't looking at you at all.

when you woke up, your hands were tightly wrapped up in a tight knot that he learned to do as a peacekeeper. strung up reasons.

"good morning, my love." he smiled, kissing your forehead. you were still in the kitchen, dressed in a white dress, you didn't remember putting it on. you didn't like the fabric nor the color of white- it would always get stained too easily. "you finally woke up."

you didn't had to think much to know that what happened wasn't a dream. it was real. he killed your boyfriend.

you opened your mouth, and the scream you left was enough for him to slap you across the face. once you begun to cry, he kneeled in front of you, hands cupping your face as you shaked.

"it's okay baby, snow's here for you,"" he kissed your face, making you melt into crying as hard as you could, sob after sob making your doll heart heavy. "remember you used to call me snowflake?" he asked, and you nodded cowardly, afraid of saying anything that might make him furious. "i'm still your snowflake."

and he hugged you, caressing your scalp as you ugly cried in front of him, but to him, you would never look ugly.

lovesick.

with your face pressed against the mattress, you stared at the gigantic mirror that covered an entire wall, watching yourself.

it's been three months since valentine died, and two months since snow untied you, carried you like a princess bride and bathed you, always murmuring the waltz that played when you both met.

maybe it wasn't so bad after all. he took extra care of you, never slapped you again- it was a relapse. he took care of the red slap mark in your cheek, apploed ointment on you everyday, prepared your favorite meals and left you to your own peace, let you mourn the death of that pathetic boy you decided to date.

it wasn't his fault, right? no- it was. why the hell were you thinking that the victim was the one to put to blame for their own death? are you dumb?

well, you aren't- but you're starting to become.

why were you smiling at him as he showed you the dress he brought you? why did your heart flutter when he made you desserts? c'mon now, he killed your boyfriend. ex-boyfriend?

he wasn't there to protect you now, was he? why would he be important in anyway? of course, he was the sweetest to you, never questioned when you moaned coryo's name instead of his, he knew how hard it was to you.

for fucks sakes, what were you doing? what were you thinking?

coriolanus entered the room he made to you after three knocks, a tray with golden white details on his hand, with two toasts, less than a dozen pancakes that he knew you liked, a cup of strawberry juice and a small bow of green grapes.

once you ate at least half of it and drink the juice, he was by your side, caressing your hair.

"bunny?" he called, taking you off your own state of blankness.

"yes?"

"do you hate me?" you wanted to say yes. wanted to spit on his face for asking such a dumb question after holding you hostage and killing your boyfriend, you truly wanted to.

but you didn’t. "no," and maybe you didn't hated him at all. maybe that juice with the truth-telling pill didn't had much of an effect on you

"hm." he hummed, lips curling into the pretty smile he had. "it's good to know that."

he put the tray aside, laying by your side. why have you been laying like a sick woman at it's death bed? ah. yeah, he didn’t liked the idea of you going away, he said he didn’t want you to leave him. how cute.

you smiled at the thought. then you had to gather all the senses you had left to scold yourself.

it didn't last long though, the moment his hands found your hips and started grinding on you, you felt aroused. you shouldn't be, this was the man that killed your boyfriend. this was the man who slapped you. this was the man who didn't let you go around the house with the excuse that he didn’t want you to leave him.

but of course, your cunt didn't had the same thought that you did. so, by the amount of teasing and the way his soft, slender fingers found your clit almost immediatly, you couldn't help but moan and grind back, feeling as if you were humiliating yourself.

"s-stop that, coryo. please." you said. "i'm still mourning valentine's death-"

"i'm sorry, dove, but your pussy doesn't seem to agree with that." and he rolled your nightgown up, pulled his pants down and finally his dick was grinding against your wetness, the tip teasing your clit as he didn’t went inside, why he wasn't going inside? you needed him in.

your breath hitched at the thought, your hand gripping the sheets as he slowly thrusted, but never inside of you.

"tell me, dove, do you want it in?" he asked, his index finger teasing your clit.

"n..no, i-i don't-" he chuckled at your own lies, you felt like laughing too, the exact moment he kissed your shoulder you had to close your own lips, aware that you would end up smiling at him.

"i don't think you don't want it. tell me, baby, what do you want exactly?"

your breath hitched, you could feel how harder your nipples were compared to before. you shouldn't be wanting this. and you knew that. but you loved him so much.

"y-you. please, i'm sorry, coryo." what were you sorry about? you didn't do anything wrong other than mourn and cry.

"you're forgiven, baby. now, just let me enter you, okay?" you nodded. you were pathetic, that nod was pathetic, looking at you in the mirror was pathetic, seeing how you surrendered so easily to his touch was pathetic- the fact that you were ovulating was pathetic. the fact he knew you were fertile was psychotic, and mostly pathetic cause it was you who let him know about it when you were both dating.

you slurred a long and low moan out of your mouth, your eyes closed shut the second your walls were slowly stretched by his dick, it wasn't as painful as the first time, but you felt like being ripped apart.

dubiously, you let his dick kiss your uterus like never before. you felt so ridiculous when his dick went further into you, when your warm walls squeezed his dick into you, when your pussy felt like gushing and you cockwarmed him with pleasure, and you fucked him back, moving your hips almost like you didn't want him to see you moving.

"you would look so good pregnant, don't you think, baby?" he asked, his hand going upwards and abandoning your clit to pass on your belly. "you'd be so pretty. more than you are already"

you shook your head, panic taking over you.

"p-please, coryo. don't do it, not inside, please. not inside" of course, he didn’t even cared about your mewls, thrusting harder into you, earning a bunch of moans out of your mouth, your voice echoing as he spread your legs and made you look into the mirror to see the mess you were.

your boobs bouncing out of your nightdress, your pussy beautifully welcoming his dick inside your cunt, his balls slapping against your clit due to the pose, and the more you concentreated on the pleasure, you were closer to cumming.

"yeah, keep squeezing me like that, dove" he said into your year, sucking on your neck. you moaned as an answer "i'm gonna fuck my baby's into you."

you squeezed him too tightly, your pussy gushing around him before finally cumming. too good, too good. were all that you could think of.

"such a pretty girl, baby. you will be such a good mom." he said, finally cumming inside of you, the hot seed flowing inside you and leaking a bit.

you turned to see his face, recieving a kiss that you promptly deepened.

you were doomed.

deranged.

his grandma'am was the one to acompany you to the altar. the entire panem was there or outside waiting to see the marriage of the new president snow.

you smiled at him under the veil, your swollen round belly being the one that claimed attention more than anything. you were in fact a beautiful mom, carrying his twin girls in your heart and stomach.

you still loved him after all, who would know?

not even him expected you to say yes, not in the marriage, not at the proposal, and not at any other situation, specially when he was impregnating you.

"do you, mr. snow, accept mrs. y/n as your wife?" the priest asked, a sweet smile on his elderly lips.

"i do."

"and you, mrs. y/n, accept mr. snow as your husband?" he asked to you, and you smiled, cherry lipstick covering your lips.

"i do."

you caved your own grave, and you knew it. but if you died, you would take him with you.

that's what love is about.

[yelenadelova]

TBOSAS has me thinking about how Finnick was likely one of the only people alive who knew even some of the story of what happened in the 10th Hunger Games and after. It’s apparent that Snow or the Capitol in general buried any record of the 10th games and Lucy Gray to save face.

However, who knew all of Snow’s darkest secrets and dirty laundry? Finnick. It’s reasonable to assume he probably learned at least part of the story. Not only that but Mags won the 11th games, directly after Lucy Gray’s Games. It is canon that there wasn’t much coverage of the games in the districts but I’m sure even if she didn’t watch them there were likely rumors about it during the next game. And when Snow reappeared as the president she likely remembered his role. And as Finnick’s mentor and mother figure she probably told him a lot.

There’s no real point to this information but I just think it’s very interesting that despite how hard Snow worked to bury his past it probably still lived on. And despite his efforts to control, oppress, and abuse the victors, it was one of these victors who knew his dark past. It was one of the people he tried to control that eventually gained an upper hand over him and helped play a big role in his downfall.

[goosita]

being young!politician!snow’s secretary hmm

sitting pretty at your desk in front of his office, making sure your back is straight and not a single hair is out of place when he walks in every morning. he’s pleasant enough to greet you when he comes in, hanging his blood red peacoat on the coatrack and giving you a half-smirk.

“getting colder out there,” he says casually. you try not to stare as he unwraps his soft cashmere scarf from his neck, his sharp jaw revealed along with the smooth column of his throat.

“yes, mr. snow. it’s why your coffee is extra hot this morning,” you answer back. your tone is pleasant, just shy of too-sweet and you relish in the way you can see on his face the way it always makes him soften just the slightest bit.

“you spoil me, miss (y/n),” he purrs, plush lips pulling up at one corner. “thank you.”

you wonder if coriolanus snow knows the effect he has on you. if he sees the way your eyes round out when he speaks to you, the way your hands fidget nervously. you know he sees the way your breath hitches when he passes by, fingertips tapping fondly at the wood of your desk. surely he can tell that just a glance from his icy irises sends your heart into a frenzy.

you’re sure he’s aware of what he does to you when he drifts across the room to stand behind your chair, watching as you type out a newsletter from his campaign office. you can feel coriolanus’ body heat behind you, see a mop of pale blonde hair over your shoulder from the corner of your eyes. he’s so close that you can smell him; amber and roses, something almost metallic underneath the cologne he wears.

“how’s the newsletter going?” he asks softly, his breath against your cheek. you swallow hard, trying to hide the tremble in your hands over the keyboard.

“just finishing it up now, mr. snow,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice even. “should be sent out by this afternoon.”

he hums in acknowledgment, hands resting on the back of your chair. the tension in the air hangs for what feels like hours before he steps back and adjusts his tie. coriolanus doesn’t say another word before he’s retreating back into his own office, but he does pause at the door to turn his head back to you for a moment. you feel frozen under his stare, unable to breathe or even blink as his gaze roams across your face before dropping down to give your whole body a once-over. the softest huff of a chuckle comes from him before he gives a tiny shake of his head, stepping into his office and closing the door behind him.

yeah, you think. he definitely knows the effect he has.

[farosdaughter]

If Coryo was solely looking out for himself throughout TBOSAS and never had genuine feelings for Lucy Gray, then explain this passage

He could’ve landed in one of the districts closer to the Capitol, but instead chose to exile himself to District 12 hoping to be reunited with Lucy Gray. The mere possibility of their reunion is the only thing that keeps him going. And that’s love.😌

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

Manipulative

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, past oc x f!reader.

summary: he’s fallen way too deep, and he knows that.

a/n: i am in no way romanticizing nor defending his actions, he sucks as a person, this is for funsies, keep that in mind. remember he’s literally responsible for mass murders of children. also this idea is cliche ik ik. but, if you want more I will do more with original ideas.

reader has somewhat long hair, BUT no other descriptions of the reader. and I don’t usually do that. just for this post:)

warnings: yandere themes, toxicity, manipulative behavior(manipulation) obsession, possessiveness, no fluff, implied/referenced murder, slight blood, narcissistic tendencies, delusion, unhealed trauma, implied stalking, mild violence.

The meadow was where you’d often go. Ever since the games, it was a stress reliever, humming some songs or even just listening to the birds chirp.

After Coriolanus was sent to be a peacekeeper, You were sent home. District 12 was your home. You sat down on the cold rock. You were more of an creative artist than musician. Sometimes you wrote songs, and sometimes you wrote poems or just stories.

But you didn’t feel like doing anything today, just admiring the breeze in front of you. You were fairly zoned out when you hear a twig snap, and turn around.

You sigh of relief.”Sorry. Still have those instincts from the games.” You rushed over, not doing much. Still in disbelief he really was there.

You didn’t expect him to be here. But here he was. “It leaves quite the impression, He chuckled. It was a long embrace, and you say,”You found me. Quite surprised.”

“You figured I would, He teased. “Not this fast, and really it was hope, You tease right back, lips on his, it was passionate and sweet, ideal for a reunion.

“The sun’s hot, come in the shade, You offer. He had some ice, now melted and offered it.”Here. For you.” “Thank you, You reply.

You were very thirsty. The moment the water hit your tongue you were in heaven. “This must be the only cold thing in November, he joked.

You laugh in response.”So, Coriolanus Snow, What are you doing in the Meadow?” You were half joking. You never were fully serious. At least until it came to your feelings for him.

“Spending some time with my girl, He replies. The word My, a possessive tone, You notice. But brush it off.

“It’s unbelievable, You admit.”Truly. But I was surprised they brought me back. I swore It was all me.” “But it wasn’t, he points out. You look at him.”Clearly they didn’t believe me.”

His lips were on yours again, long and passionate. You two hadn’t seen each other since the games ended.

“Well, It was hard to believe for me too, He admits.”Tell me what happened after.” It was difficult to recall everything. The games were a nightmare. Especially the Arena. And Mayfair.

As the two of you share the water, You couldn’t help but wonder as he told stories, exchanging them, if something was wrong.

“Poor Jessup, You say sympathetically.”He didn’t deserve that. It was you, though, wasn’t it? The one who killed Bobbin?”

“I had to, Coriolanus replied.”He tried to kill me.” “I’m not saying what you did was wrong, but I suppose killing is for survival in the Arena, You reply. Snow only nodded.

“I heard the others brag, You say.”So I know. I thought the worst happened. You know, that you were dead.”

Heading back up beside him, You still couldn’t believe he was here. Whatever relationship you had, seemed to grow.

“What have you been up to? He asks, curiously.”It’s been a while.” “It has, you laugh.”And truly, not much. A few performances here and then. At the Hob, Maude Ivory’s an amazing singer like Lucy Gray.”

For a mere moment, You were in complete bliss. And that night was a normal evening for the Covey. Your parents were killed, well, your adoptive parents. They took you in, then Maude Ivory came along, your younger sister.

You became a part of the Covey. Until of course, their murders. But you had her, at least. “You want one? A peacekeeper asks, referring to liquor.”You might need it for your performance.”

“Sure, You grin, taking a swig, not making a reaction to the bitterness of it.”You’re right. I might need it.” Lucy Gray was a beautiful singer, but tonight, let you perform.

“Are you sure? I’m not the songbird, You tease. “I’m sure, and Maude Ivory wanted you to, She sweetly says. Your cousin was always the songbird.

“Besides, I think he’d like to hear you sing, Lucy Gray smirked. You knew who she was referring to. Truly the one who knew of your relationship, but by accident.

You wore a yellow dress, not too short but not too long either, and sunflowers in your hair. You wanted to have a good impression.

You tease her,”I think he’d like to hear you.” But you went up there, guitar in hand. A talent that you and Lucy Gray both had. It was the genes, you swore.

But you amazed the crowd as you sang. You were no Songbird. But you had some talent. And the whole time your eyes were on him.

It made him feel more special, in a way. Like the only person could make you feel this happy was him. Him. You were his, at least in his eyes.

But you did a wonderful performance. You mostly did instruments and stood in the background. You didn’t sing much.

Even though you were aware he was there, you went on, even with butterflies in your stomach. It was later that evening that things went downhill.

You said goodbye, even to Coriolanus, saying,”I shouldn’t be out so late anyway. But I promise, straight tomorrow. I’m sure you have peacekeeper things to do, anyway.”

He smiles.”It’s alright. You must be tired from that performance.” You laugh, then nod, quickly kissing him, then moving along.

You didn’t notice that he followed you. He was quite literally, obsessed. Especially after hearing your sweet voice. Since finding your home in the Seam, it wasn’t hard to follow you, and pretend he was there for something else.

Sometimes, he’d meet you there. Other times, didn’t even know he was there watching. He’d call it protectiveness. But it was really a sense of possessiveness over you.

That’s what it really was.

He heard your voice in your room, you sang to yourself. You sang a love song. That wasn’t hard to understand.

He had a sense of jealousy. It was clear the lyrics wasn’t about him. A past one, maybe. It wasn’t Billy Taupe. He had Lucy Gray. So who could you mentioned?

He was bloodthirsty. Or at least, had a taste for violence. He’d never say it or admit it. It was like he was a rebel. And he hated rebels.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling this way. As you danced and sang a little. Coriolanus defended his behavior, he was being protective of you. That nobody would hurt you.

He had fallen way too deep. And he was aware. You might feel the same about him, just as equally obsessed as he was. But that night, he wasn’t looking for trouble. Not much, anyway.

Someone stood beside him, admiring your singing. “Peacekeeper, huh? The male laughed. Coriolanus turns.”Yeah. Punishment. Not a choice.”

“She’s always been a singer, the male explained.”didn’t have much faith.” He wanted to know how the male knew that.

“How do you know? Coriolanus asked, curiously. “She wrote that song about me, the male bragged and seemed proud.”One of these days she’ll get back together with me.”

You never mentioned your ex lover much. Only that he hurt you, and that he was still infatuated. You were right about that.

“She isn’t interested, Coriolanus says, coldly. His fists clenched, along with his jaw, both from the rage he was feeling.

Maybe it was his narcissistic tendencies that were showing. A feeling of shame. A feeling that, he was superior than the male standing in front of him. He’d do so much better.

And with that, he swung. He could’ve shot him. But it was the easy way. And he didn’t deserve the easy way. His blood thirst took over a little, and like Bobbin, didn’t know how far his strength would go.

He stands back, his knuckles bleeding and blood on his uniform he’d have to explain later. Maybe it was a mistake coming to visit you. Your singing had stopped.

He pants. What had he done? Standing over the body, Coriolanus realized what he truly had done. And what could he do? He didn’t want a career as a peacekeeper; but his future would be damaged even further. He had to do something.

The Lake.

It brought him good memories. Swimming alongside you and the covey. But he’d have to hide the body somewhere.

It took a lot of his strength; but didn’t wear him out to drag him to the lake. It wouldn’t be too hard hiding evidence. His body would eventually disappear and Coriolanus doubted anybody cared about him. You didn’t anymore.

And he just watched. After the blood washed off, He walked away. He left the Seam. He'd come back. But You'd be aware of it.

Morning came, and peacekeepers came knocking at your door. The whole morning was a mess. When you did eventually meet up with Coriolanus, you decided on telling him about it.

“Did you know? She asked.”I’m assuming every peacekeeper knew. The guy I used to go out with was murdered. Found in the lake.”

“We were informed today, but I wasn’t the one who found it, He lies. He did not like lying, but he had to. He held a tight grip on you.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

[euphemiaamillais]

cw: 18+, loss of virginity, dub-con, creampie, innocence kink, peacekeeper!coryo is a warning in itself

peacekeeper!coryo who takes your virginity—he’s proud, as if you’re a pretty little prize for him to brag about. you were so whiny and determined to remain pure until marriage, but the moment he had his cock buried in you, you turned into a stupid slut. he adored the way you were panting and whimpering, his big cock stretching out your tight little hole, your slick coating his shaft in pretty milky streaks as he pounded into you. he wasn’t gentle, oh no, district girls didn’t deserve that—he pulled your hair and left bruising marks as his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your jugular. he didn’t give up until you were yielding to him, tight walls clenching around him as an orgasm—your first—released from your tightly-coiled abdomen. when he came, the thick spurts of his cum trickled out of you—mixed a little with your own crimson blood—like pretty pearls (the only ones you’d ever see). coryo saw the way that silver band—a purity ring—glistened around your ring finger, and smirking to himself, he yanked it off, deciding he deserved a real keepsake—something tangible to display who had taken you. of course, you being district and all, you couldn’t put up a fight against this peacekeeper. and with the way he’d made you feel, well, you weren’t exactly sure you wanted to.

[izacore]

Coriolanus couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy Gray’s face, lit up like he’d never seen it before. That’s her when she’s happy, he thought. She’s beautiful! Beautiful in a way anyone could see, not just him. That could be a problem. Jealousy pricked his heart. But no. She was his girl, wasn’t she?

[spideyhexx]

i wanna take coryo’s virginity and then constantly be in the back of his mind that i was the best pussy he’s ever had 😗

HDJWDBWJDNSN YEAH

god like you had a little fling with him where you did it maybe once or twice but it was phenomenal for him. Like truly life-changing because you were so good, and he thought he’d be so much more of a loser his first time. We know that man is anxious as fuck, he was probably over thinking it every step of the way, but you guided him so well and it was fun. He actually had fun with it and learned so much.

so now years later, he’s engaged to be married, maybe you’re already married and thriving but every time he sees you at these fancy Capitol events he can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to fuck you. How your lips were the first around his cock, how no pussy has ever been as good as yours. And he hates that really, hates that you take up space in his mind. So he’d try so hard to only think of your flaws, so when you do talk to one another he’s a bit standoffish and jerkish.

But you make one suggestive comment and his pants feel a little tighter.

[mockingjaysnakes]

"i just wanted to say goodbye"

"i'll come with YOU"

[phoward89]

Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️: Coryo is his own warning in and of himself. Delusional!Coryo, Soft!Dark!Coryo, Soft!Dom!Coryo, Reader has some survival instincts, Reader knows keeping Coryo happy keeps her alive and well, cussing, possession, obsession, slight manipulation, sex (p in v), breeding kink.

Chapter 8:

“Coryo, we got some Christmas presents from Sejanus' parents, the Plinths, today.” You announce as soon as your husband walks thru the door.

“Yea, Sejanus said he'd tell Ma to send us something.” He tells you removing his coat and hanging it up

“It was addressed to Coriolanus and Y/N Snow.” You get up from your seat at the kitchen table. Making your way over to Coryo, you ask, “How did they know we got married, did he tell them?”

“Mail from the Capitol takes at least a week to get here, so Sej didn't tell them.” He begins, making large strides towards you. “But I know he told Ma Plinth about us, so I think she just had a motherly hunch that I'd be making an honest woman out of you.” Coryo smirks, coming up to you.

“Oh.” You nod, mouth in an open O shape. Pointing to a bare corner in the one room flat, you announce, “Wouldn't that spot be a good one for a Christmas tree?”

“Yes, it would be.” Coryo agrees, nodding his head. Looking at you, he asks, “Are there tree lots here?” But before you can answer him, he's going on about the Capitol. “The Capitol has tree lots, but most families just started buying trees and decorating them again over the last few years.”

Your husband didn't say why and you didn't ask. The unspoken words of after the war hung heavily in the air. You knew that wealthy families only just started decorating trees again because of the aftermath of the war.

A war that took your parents from you; took the childhood you should've had from you.

“There's Christmas tree lots here, but the trees are small. Barely 4 feet tall.” Was the answer you gave your husband. Pointing at the table in a silent gesture for him to sit down, you go to make him up a plate. As you place a piece of chicken on the plate along with scooping some riced and peas onto the plate as well, you tell your husband, “The trees in 12 are huge. Bigger than any you've ever seen before. Infact, the only place I imagine to have bigger trees would be District 7.”

“Yes, I imagine the lumberjack district would have larger trees then District 12.” The platinum blonde peacekeeper chuckles, taking his seat at the table. “Do you want to pick a tree out after I'm done with my exam, darling?” Coryo asks, watching you intently as you make yourself up a plate.

“Usually men just bring home the tree in the districts; women and children don't help pick it out.” You explain while grabbing your plates and heading over to the table.

Your husband rolls his icy eyes at your words. “Well, in the Capitol families pick the tree out together.” He says, his tone dripping with superiority. Looking at you as you set the plates down on the table, he says, “We're upholding that Capitol tradition; we're picking out the tree together.”

You're not surprised that he wants to hold onto as many Capitol traditions as he possibly can. It's his heritage after all. But, in a way, isn't it also yours? Your father was a Capitolite after all.

“Okay, then we'll pick out a tree when you're done with the exam.” You smile, turning away from the table and going to the cupboard.

“You can buy whatever decorations you want while shopping with Sejanus.” Your husband informs you as you grab some glasses.

“People usually make ornaments in the Districts; make popcorn and berry strings, things like that.” You explain, going to the fridge and grabbing the bottle of milk.

“People buy them in the Capitol. They're made of the finest spun glass, ribbons, metals, and jewels.” Your husband said while watching you make your way to the table with the milk jug and glass in hand. “My family, unfortunately, had to sell ours when I was a child for money and never had the chance to buy anymore.”

Your heart lurches at your husband's words. Just knowing that Coriolanus grew up poor without a pit to piss in while living in the richest part of Panem made your heart bleed for him. You know how it is to be poor, hell if it wasn't for your relationship with Coryo you'd most likely be starving or frozen right now. And the fact that being poor in Capitol City, Panem is better than being poor in the Districts is very telling; disturbing even.

“One day when we return to the Capitol I'll buy you all of the fine, elegant ornaments that you want.” Coryo promises, his baritone steady and unbreakable, as you fill the milk glasses and take a seat at the table.

Passing him his milk glass, you faintly smile. “Thank you, Coryo.”

As you begin to eat, your husband stares right into your soul and makes you the promise of, “I'm going to become an Elite Officer and I'm getting us out of this shithole. We'll rule Panem one day; we'll take back everything that should've been ours- and more.”

Coriolanus’ head was on his pillow while his large, strong hands were on your hips as you rolled them up and down, up and down, while straddling him. His large cock was stuffed in your tight, wet pussy; making you feel full and him feel as if he's going to combust at any second.

“Fuck, baby, just like that.” Your husband praises. “Just like that.” He groans, feeling your cunt squeeze him just right as you spear yourself on his cock.

“Feels so good, Coryo.” You whimper, feeling the knot in your stomach begin to tighten.

“Make yourself cum, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock; make us cum.” Coryo orders, his tone husky, as he smacks one of your ass cheeks. The smack to your ass lights a fire in you and suddenly you're digging your nails into his shoulders while bouncing faster on his cock.

The feel of his large length inside of you lights your nerves on fire. His swollen cock head kisses your cervix just right, sensing socks of pleasure throughout your dripping core. You're shuddering and shaking in pleasure with every move you make, which causes his cock to slide deeply in and out of you; hitting your special spot just right. And the way your wet, velvety walls hug him so tightly has Coryo ready to shoot his hot load into your cunt. Oh gods, how your tight cunt makes his head spin.

Fucking you is a mix of something primal and sensual in his mind. It's different with you then how it's been with others. He can't get enough of you. Coriolanus also cares about your pleasure, more so than his own. He loves to watch the way your lips part as you moan, the way you shudder and shake as pleasure washed over you, the way your eyes widen and pop as you cum with his name on your lips like a prayer.

And your pleasure being more important than his is why he grips your hips firmly and begins bucking up into you; meeting your grinding movements. He needs you to cum hard around his cock so desperately. So much so that the two of you become a frantic mess of movements.

Coryo manages to sit up; slightly changing the position you're in. But that doesn't stop your heated, frenzied pace. You're still bucking and grinding, desperate for release. Your hands are clawing at each other for purchase. Your faces are so close that your noses are nearly bumping into each other; your hot breaths dance over each other's mouths while whimpering and moaning.

Both of you are close to your peek whenever Coryo huskily swears, “I'm knocking this cunt up tonight. You're gonna be so fucking full of my baby.”

You never gave any real thought to motherhood, but right now your pleasure muddled mind thought that getting knocked up by your husband was a good idea. Or maybe his dirty breeding talk was a turn on. Whatever it was, you found yourself loudly moaning, “Yes! Coryo, yes, yes, yes!”, while cumming hard around his hard cock.

Coryo's lust blown eyes rolled into the back of his head as he witnessed you squirting messily around his cock. It was the hottest thing he's seen in his life. Oh, how you're fucking perfect for him. “The idea of being round and full of my child has you making a mess on my cock, baby.” Your husband points out while pistoning in and out of you at an uncontrollable speed. “Fuck, baby, you're so wet. Fuck, I'm gonna cum soon.”

Resting your forehead against his, you blissfully order, “Cum inside me, Coryo. Knock me up.”

And that was all Coryo needed to hear to release his pent up please. His balls tensed as he bucked up deep inside of your cunt, only to unleash rope after rope of his cum. You hold on to his shoulders as he empties his balls inside of you; painting your room white with his thick, hot seed.

And when he's spent, he finds your lips with his for a glowing, lazy kiss.

“I promise, after tomorrow things’ll change for us.” The platinum blonde declares while pulling you to lay down in the bed with him; covering the two of you up with a thin duvet. “Our kid’s not going to grow up like we did- poor without their parents.” Coryo softly strokes your back, mindful of the still healing wounds amongst the freshly raised scars. Of which he's partially responsible for. Pressing a kiss to your hair, he says, “They're going to grow up as proud Capitol citizens with both its parents. With an Elite Officer for a father and a loving, caring mother.”

“But they'll still be born in the Districts, Coryo.” You remind your husband.

“At the hospital on the PK Base, which is Capitol sanctioned grounds.” Coriolanus counters. Pressing a hand to your flat stomach, he confesses, “I can't wait to watch you grow our child.”

“Coryo, we don't even know if I'm pregnant yet. We haven't been married for too long.”

“Oh, I know you're pregnant.”

“You do, don't you?”

“Mhm…” Your husband hums. “Father's intuition.”

“I thought it was mother's intuition?” You ask, brows slightly raised.

“No.” Your husband shakes his head. A small smile graces his face. “It's father's intuition and I just happen to have it.”

Coriolanus didn't have father's intuition. What he had was a penchant for survival; for rising to the top no matter what. And he’s determined to get his beautiful wife pregnant and to move the two of you as far away from 8 as possible. He's sure as hell that having a child with you will cement his claim on whatever inheritance that Capitol owes you. By being both the husband and the father of your child, the Capitol has to grant him whatever money or property the late Halvirs had in probate to him. Also, Coriolanus is positive that he'll pass his officer's exam; that you'll be heading to District 2 for his Elite Officer's training sometime after the New Year.

One thing Coriolanus Snow knows well is how to stay afloat, how to survive impossible odds. And he's determined to win again, but with you by his side.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[alisaint]

absolutely obsessed with the fact that coriolanus is always .00002 seconds from strangling sejanus (who's oblivious to this and thinks coryo's the best ever) homer simpson style

[kisses4kaia]

coriolanus snow, who takes any chance he can get to make you feel like you need him.

struggling to grab a book off the top shelf? he’s got it, no worries. can’t quite put a word to your emotions and thoughts? he’s finishing your sentences for you, as though he knows you better than you ever could. can’t make yourself cum with your dainty little fingers? poor bunny, let him take of you.

it’s a tactic, he slowly invites himself more and more into your life, encroaching enough to the point where you feel you have to look to him for permission before every step you take.

coriolanus knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help but want you all to himself. he cannot bear the thought of you gracing another person, let alone another man, with one of your winning smiles, or worse, pleasured moans.

and at the end of the day, it’s not like you’re bothered by it. he takes care of you, and don’t you owe him your life for it? you don’t know it, but if he keeps down this road, you’ll end up locked in a tower like the pretty little princess you are. all of you just for him. <3

[crazyexshipper]

[1loveonelifetime]

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes… Memes?!

I admit I’ve been obsessing. This will be my only unrelated post for a while. 😔🔥❤️

[sweetestbasil]

RUBATOSIS || chapter one: self digestion

PAIRING : Dr.Gaul's Assistant!Coriolanus Snow x Experiment!Reader-Insert ( afab, they / them, sometimes it )

RATING : 18+ ( no smut in this chapter, but it's very unsettling )

WORD COUNT : 13, 776

WARNINGS : infidelity ( coryo's engaged to livia ), power imbalance, unreliable narrator ( it's 3rd POV but focuses on coryo's view ), unhealthy dynamics, dehumanizing language, medical experimentation, body examination that has... strange vibes, body horror-esque, coryo and gaul are messed up in this fic, he's more like his book version than movie

SUMMARY : 🙶 rubatosis - noun. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 🙷

Fortune, marriage, and success - all within the hands of Coriolanus Snow, and it still isn’t enough to satisfy him. Tigris has grown distant and Livia is far more trouble than it's worth. 

Dr. Gaul has just the solution for him.

A/N : This is my first time posting my fanfic work on tumblr, so I hope everyone has fun reading this. If there are any mistakes, lemme know. This is the first of five chapters!

[ If you want to read it on AO3 instead ]

self digestion || autolysis - stage one of decomposition 

Oh, he hated this. 

He absolutely despised this.

A click of the soles, stepping against the freshly clean sidewalk, rid of any possible careless litter and debris. Had it not been for others who, too, were using the same path, even if they were going in opposite directions, had he half a mind, Coriolanus would have taken the moment to prop himself against a wall and let out the loudest sound of frustration. It wouldn’t be unwarranted, it wouldn’t be uncalled for. Dare he say, he almost feels he should be entitled to it. It had only been four days, but four days should have been enough time for Tigris to get back to him already. The correspondence was not even something of dire content, at least, Coriolanus imagined so. Questions of Grandma’am, if her time with Mrs. Plinth ( he was not going to refer to her as ‘Ma Plinth’ ) had been going well, how was the solo business venture regarding Tigris’s fashion going, was there any renovations that the home needed, how were they — things that he assumed, wrongly he guessed, that would be so simple to answer. 

God forbid that he still had the decency to still check in with his family even after he long moved out into his own place. 

If Tigris thought she could play him for a fool, she was the one in the wrong; the signs were as clear as can be, that Tigris was trying to ice him out as much as she could. And after all he’s worked hard for? Fixing the home up, making sure the fridge never stays empty, stabilizing the family. He’s even gotten engaged before Grandma’am could even croak, and is letting Tigris design his fiancé’s wedding gown! What else was he supposed to do to try and gain back her warmth? Dance and clap like a District to make himself seem smaller, more dumb, to please her? There was a lock to his jaw, a small grit in Coriolanus’s teeth, as he sipped down the coffee in his hand, the other in his coat pocket. 

He didn’t even wish to broach the idea of his fiancé on his walk to the Citadel. The heavy breath, a sigh, that breached itself out his lips. A hand raised to rub a gloved thumb briefly at the bridge of his nose. 

Ugh, Livia… It was a pain to even internally taste the words of her name on his tongue. 

It was an arranged marriage of convenience that he sought after, an extra piggy bank that he could expend on; and how quickly the elder Cardews lapped up at his palm when he planted the idea of marrying their daughter. A man who was of the old guard elite families, an assistant of Dr. Gaul’s, inheritor of the Plinth’s fortune, a gamemaker in training? They were downright salivating, that he almost felt embarrassed for Livia having to witness her parents’ stripped to their barest of greeds. The keyword being almost. Coriolanus needed to play his cards right to ensure his future, it was only fair game. If that meant taking his chance with the Cardews’ and their banks, he’d be just the fool that Tigris would want him to be if he turned them away. But, he could reluctantly suppose that the arrangement could be considered an equal drain on both parties. He seized their assets and their daughter seized up his free time. How could he forget the fundraiser dinner that Livia had invited them both to later on in the evening? She was delightful enough to remind him of it while they shared breakfast together, between his bites of quiche so that he couldn’t show a hint of a frown. 

Coriolanus sucked in a careful breath between his teeth. 

If she could only put herself to better use than just the one redeeming quality of a socialite. There was a slim chance he may have miscalculated. Perhaps it would have been an easier time, having something set up with Clemensia, or Lysistrata. 

“Mr. Snow! Good morning and welcome back, Dr. Gaul is already waiting for you in—“ 

“In Lab H05, got it! And a good morning to you, too.” He smiled back effortlessly to the front desk worker, giving them a wave and just the right, charming amount of teeth with the upwards pull of his mouth. 

Entering into the Citadel and seeing the hive of workers shift from one place to another in constant movement; they all tried to keep their voices at a low volume, but there was a constant buzz in the air, as they went from one hall to the other. Coriolanus maneuvered himself around them, slipping his deep mahogany overcoat seamlessly folded across his forearm. Full-Grain leather gloves that kept him warm from the cold, taken off his hands and instead placed neatly into the pocket of his overcoat. What a marvel it would have been for his young, naïve self to bear witness the luxury of a full wardrobe he now had. Never again did he have to spend long nights studying for the Academy besides an equally tired Tigris, who busied herself with trimming down the sizes of his father’s discarded shirts to fit him for school the next day. 

It was a muscle memory at this point, the path to one of the many labs that Dr. Gaul had established her practice in. She had told Coriolanus that she had a lab for each different study and project she was passionate towards, ones that were more… presentable, to the average Capital citizen, and ones that were more uncensored. Having worked for over a year under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage, Coriolanus had seen a decent amount, the clean and the vile, but even then, he knew very well he had not seen all. He wasn’t even sure if he did want to see all. Especially regarding what happened last time he wandered around the Citadel during Academy days. The doors to Lab H05 were wide open, Coriolanus noted, seeing it in his line of sight, getting closer and closer. It was inviting, telling any worker to come in and step in at any time ( should Dr. Gaul be around ). 

The air here was entirely different from what it was in the hallway. Where the air from when he first entered had been warm, inviting from the nipping cold outside. The vague smell of coffee, and an even fainter scent of something chemical, had mingled and intertwined to give the vaguest illusion that the Citadel could pass for a workplace like any other. However, the lab was as if entering an entirely different building. The lights that shone uncomfortably glaring, fluorescent lights that were hung overhead, on the ceiling. There were small lights, embedded into the floors and columns as well, guiding the path to any who walked in. It drowned the large room in an almost blue light. Lab H05 was one of the “clean” labs. A sterile scent in the air, the chemicals that were so faint in the halls were far more prominent, evident here. But, to the trained nose, there was something faint here too. The rusted scent of iron tickled under Coriolanus’s nose, but it barely registered to him anymore as anything concerning. Seeing the endless shelves of… odd specimens, the scent of blood was the last thing that should ever scare him away. 

“Dr. Gaul, good morning,” He kept a steady tone, not one that sounded tired, nor too joyous. Being seen as her “favorite” didn’t mean he could speak to her as casually as he pleased. It just meant that he took her current attention. A fickle thing that could be stripped away at any moment if he showed any less than acceptable. 

“Coryo,” He tensed his shoulders the same time she breathed it out in loving fashion. Her back once facing him, now turned as she walks towards him to cut the distance between the two. Since the gap started to form between Tigris and him, Dr. Gaul had taken to using that nickname on him. If it was to be used in terms of endearing him to her, or to mock him with the name that ghosts had called him, none could say for sure.

Coriolanus liked to believe it to be both, if he believed his assumptions of her character were right.

He never once let his eyes leave contact with her own, but he could hear the movement of her prominent, red latex gloves being peeled off her hands. She always thought it to be ironic, to wear such a color despite her profession. It matched the dye job that she had done on her surgical gown. He felt the weight of hands touching either side of his forearms, the smile on Dr. Gaul’s face caused a crinkle in her eyes as she bared all teeth in her smile. He wondered if she knew how threatening her grin looked.

“A morning to you as well. Has it been treating you good?”  

It felt as if some sort of warm feeling was spreading out from Dr. Gaul’s hands, through his arms and into his body. What a disgusting sensation, it made goosebumps rise on his skin. 

“As well as it could be.” Coriolanus’s voice spoke softly. 

Livia drained his energy far more than he expected with her morning rambles and gossip. 

Dr. Gaul’s hands smacked against his arms in a laugh, loud and knowing, she always knew, turning around to walk deeper in the lab. “Hah! By the sounds of it, it seems you’re not getting some peace of mind when you head home,” She turned back to look at him, giving him a glance, she was prying something out of him. “That’s no good, Coryo. You need to be in top shape to work, I can’t have my assistant become so… drained.” 

The crease in her eyes showed again. 

“If this is your preferred state, there is a new species of leeches I am working on. I assure you it is far more efficient than a Cardew of species.”

Well, now it was his turn to laugh. 

A dry chuckle that slipped from Coriolanus’s lips, moving to follow Dr. Gaul. Placing his coat on a table made of rich wood, something less… aseptic looking. There were moments where he often froze under the woman’s gaze; a humiliating, bodily reaction that made him feel so small, so vulnerable as he used to be. Yet, it was in times like these, where he could understand how Dr. Gaul still managed to hold sway over people besides just exemplary displays of fear and power. There was a sense of humor to her, if he could call it that, where if a powerful woman like her involved yourself in - you felt so included, special. 

“It was nothing like that. Livia just reminded me that after work today, she and I have to attend dinner later in the evening. It’s a fundraiser for the improvement and reconstruction of the Corso.” He turned his sight away from Dr. Gaul’s eyes, not being able to keep the contact any more. Flicking to the sight of the endless, bright shelves that lit up the tubes containing various specimens and experiments. Some failures, some on pauses, some successes, and some were just creative ‘what-ifs’; that would explain some of the seemingly useless fusions, like the jellyfish that had spider legs mixed in with some of its natural lappets, now encased in a resin tube. Coriolanus can’t recall if he was employed at the Citadel yet when this specimen was made. His fingers briefly touched upon the cool glass of it. What a disgusting idea. “I almost nearly forgot about it.” Dr. Gaul hummed at his response. 

“Why, doesn’t that sound riveting! What a joy young life is, flitting from one function to the other, all the night-time glamor. You know, before I was transferred to work in the Citadel, I was the same. I thought of giving my children some of my old wardrobe from my youth, but it’s so out of the current trends, it just collects dust now.” What a blessing, for her kids. They could avoid the embarrassment of coming into the room looking as if they robbed the Pre-Dark Days exhibit at the Capital’s museum. The heels of Dr. Gaul’s heels clicked against the smooth, waxed floor. Coriolanus could feel the brief sliver of her heavy presence pass him by from behind, as she went to head over to another area in the room. It sounded vaguely close to the center of it. 

“You must be excited, Coryo. Are you going to wear,” Her words paused. She was tasting the air for something. “Ah, what’s her name… That cousin of yours, the one who started her new business a while ago.”

What was the point of this conversation?

“Tigris.” 

A brief flare tickled behind his ribs, reminding him of his thoughts earlier before. Standing up from his spot, fingers now leaving the glass of the odd ( sickening ) creature, his prints left slightly behind on the glass. Stretching his shoulders back with his arms, muscles pulled, away from their previously hunched position. Coriolanus walked over to where Dr. Gaul was, who stood nearby another table at the center of the lab. This time, this one was far cleaner, made of what seemed to be a material of stainless steel. In her hands she carried a manila folder, or two, in her hands; her painted nails sifted through the papers carefully. She was writing something quickly down inside of it. He wanted to know, but he held his tongue. Gaul would tell him if it was something he needed to be aware of. 

“And I’m not sure. Livia is still picking out her dress and I want to match with her.” He smiled at her. 

“Aren’t you a romantic,” She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, the blue one that matched his. It made his skin crawl, he hated the feeling of it. “Is your heart melting, Snow?”

Coriolanus hopes she sticks to her career as a Gamemaker, being a comedian looks like a bleak future for her. 

The smile on his lips grew wider, a small laugh at her words, his hand reaching to cover his mouth slightly to muffle the sound in the large room. 

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.” 

He wouldn’t say it at all. Livia? Melt his heart? Sure, she could melt his eardrums when she had that obnoxious snort to her loud laughs. It made her sound like a pig, shipped straight to the Capital from the farms of District 10. That would defeat the purpose of why he married her in the first place. It would be the utmost betrayal to himself, after he had promised to close himself after– 

“Since you have a date tonight,” His ears perked up immediately. “I’ll reduce the amount of work you have for today, I’ll be merciful.” He wouldn’t argue if she decided to give him more. She pressed a manila folder into his open hands, her grip was tight on it. This was a folder that not many eyes needed to be on. Taking it carefully from her hands, he raised it to his eyesight curiously, catching the sight of the project name written on top of it. 

PROJECT: CAPTIVE – A.01 PROMETHEUS 

Coriolanus brought his gaze back towards Dr. Gaul. He assumed he slipped a confused gaze at her, because before he could even ask her, she’s already speaking up:

“This is a project I had started around the time you were exiled in District 12.” 

His jaw slightly tightened. She didn’t have to use that exact word to describe it. 

“It’s far more… unique,” Her eyes rolled around the room as she sought out the word, the moment it landed on her tongue, she locked her sight immediately onto him. Gaul’s smile pulled a bit more at her cheeks, a festering excitement that was slipping out from her internal confines. The threat of teeth in her smile was no longer an attempt of niceties, but far more sinister in its intentions. Coriolanus would argue on a good day that both were the same, that Dr. Gaul’s cruelty was her being kind. “Than my other projects. Far more different than any of my other muttations, this is a beast of a different breed, but one that you and I know intimately well.”

 So this was a human experimentation, Coriolanus deduced. 

Dr. Gaul would never dare to refer to those below Capital ranks as something human, there was always something else she had to refer to them by. Animal, beast, plague, insect, if it stripped them of their humanity, she was eager to take it. They shared similar sentiments, but sometimes, he had to give them some form of distinct name to separate them. “I’ve actually grown quite fond of it. Usually, I’d handle its tests and exams, but you seem like you need a pick-me-up.” 

It should make him disgusted at how easily she could see through him. 

The older woman stepped further away from him, into one of the dark recesses of the room. Lab H05 was one of the main center labs within the Citadel, meaning it earned itself the privilege to have its layout be connected to other rooms, outside areas, halls, and the like. It just happened to be, the darker areas that Gaul was heading in were towards the direction of one of the elevators connected to the room. Coriolanus watched her body retreat into the dimly lit area, not quite following after her. He didn’t know why. His hands felt stiff with the folder in his hands. The pounding beat of his heart in his ears matched in tempo with the steps of her heels against the floor. If he was going to move, she was going to need to ask him. She knew too, the doctor knew her own footsteps, and she was very aware when others’ joined in. Turning around to look at where he still was, standing, watching, she looked back at him. Coriolanus could make out her faint silhouette in the dark, but Dr. Gaul’s blue eyes shone brighter in the dark. As if she had tapetum lucidum, how it reflected so wildly. She was not helping the rumors made against her, that questioned if she ever used herself for a subject of fascination. 

“Come now, Coryo. You don’t want to waste time.”

A silence fell upon them both. 

“Understood, I’m right behind you.”

Walking after her, Coriolanus descended the small set of stairs that she had gone down from, he stepped into the dimly lit area. The manila folder was still grasped tightly in his one hand, at his side. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand her. Yes, she said that she wanted to cheer him up, but he’d be a fool if he was to believe that’d was to be the only reason why she was doing this. Volumnia Gaul, telling confidential secrets because she cared for his well being? No, there was always something else. An ulterior motive she wished to serve, or a lesson she wanted to teach. When he was brought back from his sentence of being a peacekeeper, it was not because her heart broke over him. She was not weeping at him having to tread his feet into the muck and grime of District 12. It was because she was holding him up to an ambition that both him and her both wished to see. 

“This one,” Dr. Gaul started her words, occasionally turning her head to the side to make sure he was still following her ( he was ). “Started out as a simple curiosity. I had to sit with myself quite a bit to figure out a punishment that would actually serve some productivity.” Her hands reached behind her, flicking at the folder that Coriolanus was holding. He opened up the folder, finally, to look through the report. Whatever the Doctor was gesturing vaguely in conversation, it would be more explicit in her writings. “Displays of cadavers, desecration of the human silhouette, trauma to the cerebrum, these punishments can only go for so long before new ideas must be made. If the rebels expect the same disciplinary action, you can expect them to gain a tolerance to it.”

Squinting at the paper, he leaned his head slightly down to get a closer look of the subject. A small photo was attached to the report by a paperclip, it was a person who seemed to be in a similar age group to his. They looked clean, proper - they wore an ironed, white button up shirt under a dark vest, with unique, yet simple earrings they donned on. Pearls and tiny opals that dangled from a gold chain earring. A family heirloom, if Coriolanus had to guess. They smiled widely in the photo. Their teeth weren’t perfect, their upper cuspid was a bit more pointed in comparison to all others. 

They had once been a capital citizen, turned rebel, to… this. 

“I wanted to truly push my mind forward, and see if the impossible would truly be… well, possible.” Dr. Gaul grinned at the end of the sentence. Coriolanus lifted the photo up, after hooking his gaze unto the former for a moment. It’s a shame, he thought to himself. How pretty they are, had they not tainted their mind with childish ideas they would have continued to live in the comforts that they were so comfortably lavishing in before. He was curious as to whose family they once belonged to. A filthy curiosity enticed him, a want to digest more at the report at the risk of tuning out Gaul’s feverish ramblings. 

“Personally, I outdid myself.”

There was a small desire to curse her under his breath, the writing for the subject’s name was far too rushed and messy to read properly. Did she want him to read the report, or play word scramble? 

Dr. Gaul’s steps had stopped, the white noise of her chatter turned to silence was enough to bring his head back from the report. She stood between him and the elevator, holding her hands in front of her, folded. Peeking to the side, the button for the down level was lit up in a glow of red. Her smile widened. 

“Curiosity eating away at you, Coryo?” 

It still made his skin crawl, everytime she used that name. How frightening it was, that it also brought him a strange sense of the coldest warmth. 

“You’ve talked so vividly about them,” Not clear enough. “I want to see what makes you so excited about them.” He wants to see if they could come close to bringing him out of his frustrations. Fingers that touched the edge of the subject’s photo twitched in tempo with the small ding of the elevator. Doors opening, Dr. Gaul stepped to the side. Hands gestured, letting him know to step in first which he obliged. Yet, no other steps than his own followed him in. Coriolanus turned around, a puzzled look on his face when he noticed how Dr. Gaul was standing in the middle of the elevator’s doors. 

“Expected me to come join you? You can’t be so attached to my hip, Coryo.” She laughed, her hands reached in between her surgical gown and work attire. Pulling out a set of keys attached to her worker’s ID, she tugged a key off. Dr. Gaul dipped her body slightly in to twist at a lock that had revealed another panel of floor buttons aside from the usual floor ones. This must have been the key designated for the Citadel’s researchers and engineers. He had a private key of his own, but that was reserved for Game Makers. Still in training, but Dr. Gaul had persuaded the others to give him his own copy. “I have other things that need tending to, so you’ll have to have your fun without me.” Pushing a floor button that was labeled C09, glowing red under her touch, she gave him her key. She pressed into Coriolanus’s free palm, closing his fingers to clasp around it. 

“You can keep this one. I’ll ask for another copy.”

Was it because this one almost seemed rusted over to hell and back? Coriolanus wasn’t an idiot. He could feel the textured sensation of something that, usually, was supposed to be smooth metal. 

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.” He spoke softly back to her. 

Dr. Gaul sent him another smile towards his way, the abominable sight of her gradually leaving his sight as the doors closed. A divide now between the both of them. 

Instantly, a breath of air was released from Coriolanus. His head reeled back, eyes closed,  leaning against the wall of the elevator. He was now by himself. Free from that imposing woman, he finally could be released from her watchful gaze. Always gauging him, examining him as if he, too, was another subject on her surgical table. Perhaps, in a strange, distant sense, he was. Which is why he likes it far more when their interactions are limited. Even if it makes him feel guilty if he hasn’t spoken to her for any prolonged amount of time. 

Another breath, he brought his head back down, eyes open. Opening his hand to where the key was held in his hand. It was frighteningly warm in his hand, most likely from when both Dr. Gaul and him held onto it. The material of the key was dark in color, rust having formed around some of the edges. Spots of dark stains marred its dull shine, it almost looks black in contrast to the key’s natural dark hue. This most definitely was blood, now dried. In his head, Coriolanus could see the vivid picture in his head: Dr. Gaul barely bothering to remove her gloves after leaving the examination room, holding the key between sticky gloves. A sneer pulled on Coriolanus’s face. He pocketed the key away. 

He wanted to focus on something else. 

The weight of the manila report at his side stuck out glaringly obvious, he still had yet to fully read through everything. His fingers were still thumbing between one of the pages, bookmarking a random place in the report. Should he wait to see the project on his own? Give himself something ‘fun’ to surprise himself with? A discomfort prickled at the hairs on his neck. No, he didn’t like surprises too much. Surprises meant no control, and no control meant chaos that wasn’t under his hand. And what more could be asked, when what he needed to know was right here. Hands flipped back open the manila folder while he waited for the elevator to finish its descent. 

On the first page, there was only one photo of the subject, before the project had started. Dr. Gaul was always so thorough, so there must have been more to see. And how he loved to be right, when the sight of more clipped on photos peeked through in between pages. He stopped at the sight of them. These had been nude, taken in what was most definitely an examination room. They must’ve been in captivity for a few days for how haggard they looked. Gleam completely gone, with only a dark emptiness seen on their face. Signs of minimal swelling on their left cheek from when they were hit by a peacekeeper when resisting arrest. Bags under the optics, suggesting either sleep deprivation or developed insomnia. His eyes lingered on the photos that took in zoomed in shots of identifiable beauty marks that were scattered around their body. One around the back of their left acromial, around the sternocleidomastoid, one on the left mammary gland, and another on the right femoral muscle. Unconsciously, his fingers traced along the edges of each photo as he examined them until they traced after the words of ink. 

The objective of the project: engaging and testing pain receptors on the subject. By use of non-licensed medication and surgical operations, the subject’s NTRK1 gene was mutated to a certain extent to gain the closest imitation to Congenital Analgesia ( while still keeping the subject alive ). If Coriolanus recalled, in his textbooks, Congenital Analgesia was a condition that always was given to a patient by a pass down from the parent. It was never really something ‘made’, or ‘given’. He could understand now why Dr. Gaul was so pleased with herself for accomplishing this feat. Curiosity was beckoning him, wanting to see more of what the report entailed. 

Pages dedicated to each operation, each test done. There were pain charts made, scales from 1 to 10, to test out the nerve receptors. Each test, the numbers on the chart went lower and lower; 10s that went to 9s, to the current lowest being a 6 for the majority of the subject’s body. The more sensitive areas, such as the frontal or the palmar of the body, were around 7 to 8 on the chart. Flipping to the back of the contents, there was a small note in Dr. Gaul’s handwriting.

Today, please take care of Project Prometheus’s nerve exams. The last surgical operation was done last month and they have just now fully recovered. Update the report by the end of today, to measure if there are any fluctuations on their pain receptors.

Sounded simple enough. If this was all he had to do today, then there was a chance he could clock out from work even earlier to give himself space before tonight’s event. A ding finally was heard from the elevator, he was here at Lab C09. Folder closed in his hands, his foot stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor. What a drastic difference Lab C09 had been in comparison to Lab H05. If it hadn’t belonged to Dr. Gaul, Coriolanus may not have been able to believe that this was an actual functioning lab. It almost seemed forgotten by the Citadel, half of the fluorescent lights not working, or blinking at different intervals. It bathed the floor in a very gray, almost vile green hue. The scent of copper and rust was far more noticeable, and the smell of medicine felt almost nauseous here. There were no grand columns in sight, and no endless amount of shelves dedicated to new specimens and ideas of creation. The floors were unkempt, specks of dirt packed into the corners of where the wall and once sleek tiles met. Occasional cracks on the floor, parts of the design broken and shattered into bits of ceramic. The halls were long, with endless doors that ( thankfully ) all were open, empty, or both. With the exception of the large corridor doors at the other end. He could make out the sight of Peacekeepers that stood on guard, near the corridor door and by the elevator entrance. 

This definitely was Dr. Gaul’s more… uncensored labs. 

Coriolanus took a few more steps into the lab and noticed the large stain of dried blood that dragged from where his feet stood, past the corridor doors. Eyebrows raised at the sight, but his eyes did not widen. Marvelous, the subject might still be rebellious. If this was to be the case, he’d be severely unimpressed. All these exams to change the NTRK1 and nothing done to affect the amygdala. 

Sloppy work here, Dr. Gaul. 

Pushing through the corridor doors, after giving the briefest of nods and acknowledgement towards the Peacekeepers, he found himself exactly where he needed to be. Entering an area that was entirely void of light, except for one thing. 

A large window glass on the other side, showing the examination room on the other side. It lit up this half of the hall, shelves of varying medicines and chemicals lined against the walls of the examination room. Surgical tools were lined up high on the wall, out of reach, not yet pulled out and placed on the side. Today there was no operation to be done. Examination lights shone overhead, and under it was the examination table where Project Prometheus sat. 

They sat down so compactly, so politely, knees folded to their chest and arms wrapped around them, their face leaned against the crevice their legs gave. The subject definitely had changed, physically, since the projects had begun. Their skin barely had the warm glow it had in their photo, had it not been for the peeks of color on their joints, he’d assume that there was no more blood rushing through their body. Their hair that once looked so well maintained, luxurious, was cut at awkward angles. Yet, it still managed to frame their face well enough. Figures, that was former Capital genes at work. Their body has taken significant damage since then. Scars of various shapes were scattered all across, bandages wrapped in some areas, and stitches that dragged around entire limbs, like their arms, thighs, feet, even one on their face. As if they were some over-played ragdoll that was patched up far too many times. There was no fight he could see from their eyes, and no anger. Was the blood on the floor halls really theirs, or did that belong to someone else?

This could not even be called anything, but a shell of a husk. 

Coriolanus stood there, watching, taking in the sight of them. It barely felt like he was breathing. And that alone irritated him. It’s like his body was trying to make itself seem smaller; as if he was somehow bothering them. He sighed out his frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t even hear him from the thick glass, what would he be so concerned with? Bringing his hand back down, about to open the manila folder once again to compare their ID photo to their current state - he peeked at their form again. 

He had been noticed by it. 

His breath felt lodged in his throat, his original action now tossed to the side, as they and him both just… watched each other. Their eyes that had looked so sullen and distant before, were so focused and vigilant of him. But, they didn’t seem scared of him. Their body didn’t look tense, their expression didn’t twist into any wrinkles. What feeling was running through their body? Could they possibly feel anything? Coriolanus stepped away from the glass, slowly, and down further into the hall, to where the door of their examination room was. A peacekeeper stood guard near the heavy door, beside them a surgical gown, cap, goggles and gloves were on a hook. Excusing the other to the side, so he could reach and grab the attire to put on himself. Coriolanus questioned, as he tugged the latex rubber gloves on, if he still wanted to entertain the idea of holding their test today. Teeth grinded inside his jaw, he hated to admit weakness, but it was no lie that they unsettled him when they had stared back. 

That probably contributed to why Dr. Gaul favored the project so much, both must take joy from bringing him such unease. A sigh hissed from his teeth, as he put the surgical mask on. 

“I’ll be back out in just a moment. I’ll let you know if an emergency comes up.” 

It’ll be easy work, and then he can leave.

Opening the door, the sterile smell of the room rushed past him as the metal door was moved from its tight seal and then closed heavily behind him. Their head had moved away from where the glass window was, turned to stare at where he stood near the door, their folder still in his hands. Thinly-veiled sweat was forming inside the gloves, with the silence that fell heavy in the room. He opened the folder. 

“Good morning, Subject A01, I am–”

…? 

Did they say something? 

“...I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Another tense silence fell in the air. 

“... That isn’t my name.” Its voice was quiet, slightly hoarse but not entirely. Unexpected, considering their length of stay here. His fingers pinched tightly at one of the pages. 

“...What do you mean?” He was not going to call them by their Capital name. They had long since lost the right to use it, after rebelling against Panem. 

“Dr. Gaul calls me something else.” Coriolanus was going to kill it if they did not clarify. 

“And what does she call you?” This was the nicest tone he could muster. 

They spoke it once into the air, still looking at him with those dead eyes of theirs. Had Dr. Gaul been so fond of it to have given it an entirely new name? And they accepted and went along with it? That didn’t feel right, from what he’s examined about them so far. They were a rebel, they had fought against a Peacekeeper, they were dragged around the halls bleeding. 

And they gave up their old name?

It had shifted out of its cradled position, their legs dangled off the examination table and their arms were placed on their side. Coriolanus could see the patient gown they wore more clearly. It kicked its feet in the air idly, as it waited for his response. 

… Do they even know the situation that they’re in? 

“...Right. Well, do you know why I’m here?” 

“Not really. I’ve never met you before.” Was context clues also something it gave up while in captivity? “I know the guards, and I know Dr. Gaul. I don’t think I know about you,” They’re a prisoner, it’d be counter-intuitive if people were giving them info about every single staff member here. His mask covered the lower half of his face, but he hoped the slight shift of facial muscle was enough to convey that was trying to smile towards them. He walked further into the examination room, closer to where it sat and where the shelves of drugs and medical equipment were lined up. Their stare was burrowing holes into his back, while he shifted around, opening and closing shelves and drawers to check inside for what he needed. 

“Well, I am Dr. Gaul’s assistant. You can call me Snow,” He was not giving his first name to a former rebel. “I’m here today because Dr. Gaul is a bit busy today to handle your check-up, so I’ll be filling in her role.” Gloves shifted bottles around, turning them around to read the labels. The disinfectant, cotton swabs, tweezers, needles, rubbing alcohol, syringes, the bite-rag, marker, he had it all except the custom medicine that Dr. Gaul had made for it. In the instructions of how to construct their exam, Dr. Gaul had explicitly mentioned that they were to take specific medication, as they had helped keep it conscious at all times for operations and exams. It was needed so that they’d be able to relay the ratings, which is why Coriolanus was reading yet another prescription bottle in his hands, squinting in frustration. 

“It’s this bottle over here.” 

A delicate, scarred hand had pointed at another bottle that sat idly on the shelf. Coriolanus turned his head slightly, seeing the subject no longer on the examination table, standing behind him quietly. Not staring at him, they were entirely looking at where their hand pointed. They were only standing just a couple inches away from his body, careful not to touch him as they stood on the tips of their toes to point at the medicine. With this proximity, it was easier for him to get a closer look at them. The stitches on its body were done with thick, prominent threads; there were far more beauty marks he could pick out on their face that the photos didn’t display. The patient gown was made from a material far thinner than he expected, a visible silhouette could be seen from underneath the flimsy cloth. His mouth felt unusually dry. 

A cold chill trickled down his spine. He barely noticed them. He doesn’t even think it made a sound when it moved. 

“Careful, keep your space from me.” He spoke, a careful warning to their ears and a threatening promise on his. He didn’t want to risk being so close to them like this, he barely knew the extent of how violent the project could possibly be yet. Still, they listened, backing away from him and putting their hand back down to their side. Both it and him stared at each other again, the tense air dancing back inside the room. They looked as if they had wanted to say something, and Coriolanus, internally, felt almost violent for how demure they were being with him. It repulsed him, how it felt almost endearing if he looked at them for a second more. 

“Is something wrong?” Eventually he bit the bullet, speaking first between the two of them. He can’t bear another moment of silence with it. 

“... I don’t need a bite-rag. I don’t think I really scream much anymore.” They still had an issue with explaining context to him more, he’ll tell Dr. Gaul that needed some work lat– His jaw ticked… Why did he care about your abysmal social skills? It was a captive, it had no one to speak to other than their own captors. Pulling down their prescription from the shelf, a dark, thick liquid, he said in return: “It’s best to have it on hand, just in case you need it. Now, return back to the examination table.” For a split second, he thought he could see their gaze soften at him. Were they seriously entertaining the idea that he was being nice to them? Coriolanus just didn’t want to deal with their sounds while he worked. It’d be like trading one screaming fit for another, for when he had to go on his date with Livia later in the evening. 

They nodded, and followed his command, walking back to sit on top of it. Their body was sitting in his direction though, observing, waiting for him. Coriolanus still felt unsure about them, but… it was strange, their obedience. It made him suspicious of its intent with all this. Trailing back to the center of the examination room, he placed all the tools on a metal tray. Pulling out an exam stool from under one of the tables, he set the syringe to the cap of its prescription. He pulled the plunger of the syringe up, watching as the barrel filled up with medicine, until it sat nicely. The needle left smoothly from the cap, and a drop of the liquid dangled at the edge of it. This form of silence he liked far more better. 

“...Do you have family, Dr. Snow?” 

So close. Coriolanus flicked the needle harshly, the drop hitting somewhere else. He placed the ready syringe down, and picked up the black marker. Turning back towards them, their head rested in their palms, watching him intensely. 

“That’s none of your concern. Now please, remove your gown so we can get started on the examination.” Grabbing the stool to pull it underneath him, he got comfortable in the seat while it moved to get up. As their hands reached behind them to undo the tie around their waist first, it still spoke ( much to his chagrin ). 

“I was just wondering since Dr. Gaul usually talks whenever she comes to visit.” That explained why their throat was not as hoarse as he was expecting. Dr. Gaul was treating her trials with them as a morning brunch. “She sometimes talks about her day, or talks about her family.” They loosened the tie around their waist, the fabric more flowy around their lower body. Coriolanus stared intently, taking in the first peek of skin. Looking past the scars, despite the stitches pulling at parts of their skin, and the dented scars, their skin looked soft, malleable. They must’ve been popular on weekend nights, back then. Their hands reached up to undo the tie around their collar. Rather than watching him while he worked, it was his turn to watch them. There was that beauty mark on their left acromial. Eyes leisurely trailed back up to their fingers, the smallest note with how it fumbled around behind them to untie the flimsy string. Their movements were clumsy, in his eyes, which almost surprised him. “She likes to talk about her three kids often.”

Coriolanus looked away from their stitched fingers, confusion on his face. 

“Dr. Gaul only has two kids.” He’s seen the photos she has in her office. She has two sons, both who have gone on to have families of their own. Not once has she mentioned a third kid, Coriolanus isn’t even sure it was possible at her age. Didn’t menopause usually affect a person’s chances of getting pregnant? Maybe it was a secret child she had abandoned at the maternal ward while dropping off her resignation as an obstetrician. 

“No, she has three. She told me their names: Caius, Martius, and Coriolanus.” 

Oh. 

Oh, now that’s… 

“I see. You must be closer to Dr. Gaul than I am.” 

He didn’t know what to really say to that. There was really nothing for him to go and argue about, especially with the patient. Coriolanus couldn’t quite outright say that the third child was him, especially when he specifically told them to refer to him by his last name. And if he revealed that this was an entire lie on Dr. Gaul’s end, he wasn’t quite sure how the woman would react for doing so. It wasn’t his place, when he had no idea what Gaul had wanted to achieve. He understood the physical punishment and hypothesis being put upon Project Prometheus, but he had yet to understand where the emotional, and the mental, aspect of this punishment was. Dr. Gaul will tell him if it was needed, or he’ll figure it out based on his own conclusions. That must be one of the purposes Dr. Gaul had assigned this task to him. 

“Alright. I’m done.”

Coriolanus blinked. He didn’t even realize he lost focus on them, he let out a small exhale as he lifted himself from the exam stool, marker ready in hand. 

“Right, for the next step of this exam, I need to…” 

Words trailed off for him. 

What an entirely different view it was, from before, looking at them only from the back. From behind, it was just read to him as a large canvas of skin that had already been stained and painted on. Nothing that gave way to what person under the flesh could be. Yet, the front… There was more to regard and take note of, a far more different feeling than just having viewed from the photos alone in the reports. If he were to ignore the marks left on their body, had they stayed perfect from before, he could’ve made the argument about their body being more alluring than the average Capital citizen. That familiar, dry feeling touched his throat again. What a waste, for genes like that to be wasted on a rebel. There were more beauty marks and moles in the front, along with more stitches and scars. Coriolanus could see the surgical scars that were healing between their pectoralis major area. A curiosity rose, questioning how scarred tissue would feel under his gloves. He raised an eyebrow, as his gaze dared to move to a lower section on their body. Must be for easier mapping, that Dr. Gaul decided it was best to have their pubic area shaved clean.

“...Dr. Snow, are you okay?”

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips under the surgical mask. 

“Fine, just thinking about Dr. Gaul’s instructions.” He was going to go insane before he could even head to the fundraiser tonight. Coriolanus reached his free hand out, hovering it over their shoulder area, guiding them to stand closer to the area between the exam table, and his stool. He took note, that despite the way their body has changed since their captivity, their body still held a warmth that radiated off from their skin. “Stand here, please. For this next step, I’ll be using this marker here to map out the different muscles and areas on your body. Are you familiar with this?”

The subject nodded, a yes from their lips. 

Good. 

The sound of the marker cap popping off filled in the lack of words on Coriolanus’s part, the black cap falling on the tiled floor and rolling off to a dark, distant corner of the room. “For today, we’ll only be focusing on the external pain chart. Meaning skin surface only,” He lifted the subject’s hair, pushing up against the subject’s head, strands that were long enough to block full access to the neck. Bringing the marker up, he pressed down the chiseled tip of alcoholic ink on the subject’s skin, making the first section of dotted lines. Writing on their skin in careful, small letters, the areas that compromised their neck; the semispinalis capitis, the levator scapulae, the rhomboid minor–

“How long have you worked for Dr. Gaul?”

Fingers nearly stumbled in drawing when the muscle stretched in movement, he lifted the marker carefully away from its skin. The idea of putting in Gaul’s suggestion box the order of a mouth gag was becoming all the more tempting to him. 

“It doesn’t concern you.” Coriolanus responded, coolly. 

He pressed the marker back down on its skin, moving himself to the anterior of its body. Between his gloved fingers, he held their chin. The muscle limp in his hands, letting him lift their chin up to show more, exposing the unfolded expanse of their skin. The project was an annoying one, but at the least,they were a pliant one. The black dotted lines drew itself across the subject’s body: the sternocleidomastoid, the sternohyoid–

“How has your day been so far, Dr. Snow?”

Would Dr. Gaul throw him to the curb if he strangled one of her projects?

Coriolanus lifted himself slightly from his leaned down angle, his fingers that once lifted its chin up, had pulled their chin back down to look at him eye to eye. Its gaze stared back at him with such emptiness, a lack of anything to be seen, no anger, no defiance, no discomfort, not even joy. His eyebrows narrowed down slightly as he took in the face that held no question to how, and what, manner he held their body in. Were they trying to please him? Make his guard drop down by asking questions, hoping that he’d become more sympathetic towards them? 

“Dr. Gaul isn’t here. You are under no requirement to attempt conversations like you’ve done with her.” He spoke, trying his best attempt at sounding sympathetic to their ears. That would be the easiest explanation. The soul of them was sucked out by Dr. Gaul forcing them into an illusion of a grotesque socialite. That’d explain away the project’s incessant speaking. 

Yet, the subject had tilted their head under his fingers. The slightest push against his grasp. 

“... Do you not like talking, Dr. Snow? Dr. Gaul always looks so happy when she’s talking.”

So they were trying to suck up to him. He locked his teeth. And to think, he was giving them a chance of redemption, by assuming that they had been conditioned to engage in meaningless conversation. Maybe he was wrong about their obedience. There was still a spark of a rebel within them regardless of their time, their experiences, in captivity. 

“I only ever see Dr. Gaul, so I got excited to see someone new. I’m sorry for upsetting you,”

They could’ve fooled him with that tone of voice. They sounded as dead as their eyes had looked. Yet, Coriolanus bit his bottom lip as the doubt touched his head; the subject’s stare, if he gazed deeply enough he felt as if he could almost make out a sullenness to them. Were they legitimately apologetic? He didn’t want to even know the answer, he just wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible. He let go of their chin, releasing it. Gloved fingers now traced the space between their shoulder and collarbone, the subject angling their neck to the other side to give him room. He brought the marker back down to their skin, more dotted lines appearing under his wake. 

“... What exactly is your relationship to Dr. Gaul, if I may ask?” He hated them, he decided. He hated how quickly they managed to rope him into this dumb small talk. It was almost audible, the sound of the subject blinking, feeling their gaze boring under the layers of his clothes. Did he say the wrong thing? Did they not want conversation? He adjusted the weight of his stance, uncomfortable under the silence the subject had unwillingly placed him in. Was he not doing what they wanted, was that not enough for them?

“Dr. Gaul is…” Their words trailed off. They were trying to find the words, unsure of what to say to him. They most likely didn’t want to try and insult her, considering her assistant was in the room with them. They don’t want to risk possibly earning more punishment. Project Prometheus may have been smarter than what he initially assumed. Coriolanus moved back to the posterior, hands trailed themselves across the subject’s shoulders, feeling, to remind him of the muscle underneath before he marked it down. Trapezius. 

“Dr. Gaul is my caretaker, I think.” 

Well isn’t that something unique. 

If the subject had decided to say captor, overseer, punisher, he wouldn’t have cared. It would’ve been honest. Caretaker? That was something different, that was something sympathetic. The thought of them turning this twisted dynamic into something heartfelt, fell sour on his tongue. It made him feel repulsion towards them. Why bother to lie? “Tell me about that.” His voice was soft, inviting the project to open themselves to him. As the marker continued to mark their skin, Coriolanus took one of its arms under his hand. The subject’s fingers twitched slightly, when he brought his hand under theirs. Their hand was not that big in comparison to his own, unable to fully fill out of his palm. The fingertips were usually the more sensitive parts, when it came to sensations. He hummed. Adductor pollicis. 

“...I’m not sure how to describe it well.” They sounded unsure. Spending this extended amount of time with them, Coriolanus could make out the slight tonal differences they had in their voice. It was very small, though. The muscles in his hands seem to slightly tense.

“Do your best for me.” 

Their fingertips, the slightly yellowed nails, tapped slightly at the latex material of his gloves. Almost as if fidgeting to gather the words, the right ones, to say to him. 

“Dr. Gaul has always been… someone there, I suppose.” Because she has to. “The guards are there too, but they don’t really notice me in the way Dr. Gaul does.” He wrote down on another part of the subject’s arm, drawing another dotted line. Brachioradialis. “Even though the tests kind of hurt, but I’m getting used to it now, she’s been the only one so far to give me a name, a birthday, check up on me, tell me about her day,” He was almost impressed at how their were trying to upsell the ‘normalcy’ of their captivity. A new name and birthday? Maybe the secret third child of Dr. Gaul wasn’t him, but actually them instead. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect of it. Coriolanus turns to the other side of their body, taking the other arm of the subject to write on after finishing the other. Biceps brachii. “That’s like a caretaker, right?” And now it was asking for his confirmation? It truly does want to appease him. He let out another hum, as if he was thinking to himself when he was going to go along with their delusions. “It sounds like Dr. Gaul cares a great deal for you.” He lied to them. 

Making his back to the anterior of the subject’s body, he stood in front of them, the subject tilting their head up to him. Project Prometheus was shorter, in comparison to him, standing at eye level against his chest. Latex touched the area of the linea alba, Coriolanus kept his gaze steady on them and they did the same. There was a silence that fell between them, but it felt so uninviting to him now that he finally had it. The subject still held their indifference, their apathy, and he wanted to know why it bothered him so much when he should like how easy of a prisoner they were being. No, there had to be something more. There was always something more. His fingers dragged down their skin, and his marker followed behind, writing down the names of the muscles he touched. The subject had moved their arms, and Coriolanus tensed for a second, thinking they were finally going to react, going to grab him, hit him, something – yet, their arms shifted away from the angle of his body, moving in to hold the muscles of the pectoralis major up in their hands, cupping them. They were making more room for him to write on their upper abdomen. 

Coriolanus loathed them. 

Had he had half the control, he would’ve smacked the stitched hands away. He liked it far more when they acted like a ragdoll, instead of this game of pacification it was trying to play. Writing down on the external oblique aponeurosis, he brought his hands back up their skin until it rested under their wrists. He held both their wrists on either hand. “Please, bring your hands down so I can continue mapping.” The words came out more as a whisper than he had intended. They instantly had listened to his command, letting their arms fall back on either side and their chest exposed to him. His eyes lingered briefly on the sight, taking in the small details that made the subject unique. The beauty mark on their left mammary gland, now in his line of sight. No longer blocked by the limit of only just a photo. There was that dry feeling in his mouth again. 

Carefully, bringing a hand up, gauging their reaction, he held one of the mammary glands in his free hand and a marker up in the other. Judging their face, they seemed neutral, no frown or smile, no wrinkle, no squint. He could assume there must have been discomfort under those dark pits for eyes. He knew that’s what he felt, doing this right now. Coriolanus wondered if it would have been better or worse, if Project Prometheus were to be more… reactionary. 

“Let me know if anything bothers you.” Dotted lines followed after his hand. He’d take it, the laborious small talk. It was much more preferred right now than this tortuous silence that had fallen between them. Thick and constricting, had it gone on any longer, Coriolanus knew he would drive himself internally insane if he was to be left alone to his own thoughts. If Project Prometheus had done nothing while he was holding onto their very own breasts in his hands. Had it been any other person, they would’ve squirmed under his touch. Possibly even a twitch to unconsciously move away, as the marker moved against the skin of the areola. The mapping of the right gland was dotted and marked completely. 

“You don’t bother me.” 

Now, that felt deliberate. 

Ink halted, stopping after writing out the final letter of the pectoralis minor. The words were written next to the beauty mark he had noted before. Coriolanus was tempted to make dotted lines around the area, as a place of special interest, though marks like these were no major muscle or nerve. Blue eyes had looked up through thick lashes, he slightly lifted his craned head up to get a better look at the subject. Peering towards their face, he didn’t know why he expected anything different. It was the same look of disinterest, the broken lights hung above them casted a haunting shadow over their face. Did he also look similar, when they stared back at him? In certain angles, despite the unnerving look the room had given them, Coriolanus might’ve thought their eyes seemed naturally soft towards him. Innocent, maybe. 

Did they see nothing wrong with what he was doing? … Or had all the tests and operations ruined not just their nerves, but fried them, that their sense of danger seemed near non-existent? 

Was this another form of appeasement that it was trying to pull on him? 

Unconsciously, his hands had released themselves, finally, from holding onto Project’s Prometheus’s breasts. Both now marked, his free hand slid down the expanse of their abdomen. The ridges and bumps of their scars and stitches were felt briefly, the full grasp of the sensation blocked by the barrier of latex rubber wrapped around his fingers. Not once did he look away from the subject as his hands made its way down, and neither did Project Prometheus. His hand stopped at the tensor fasciae latae. Something was wrapping itself around the cavity of his chest, making the activity of breathing a difficult feat for him to do. Coriolanus didn’t know what he was doing. Was he trying to garner a bigger reaction from it? An attempt of possibly stirring violence, even? 

Maybe it was delaying his own discomfort, he realized. Looking down, he stared to see the spread of skin below that had no splotches of black ink. They were shorter than him, he’d have to get down on his knees if he wanted to have clear and easy access to mark its legs. How humiliating… Having risen up through the ranks and bringing the Snow family back to its rightful place of acclaim and fortune; only to fall back down on his knees to a prisoner, a former rebel. If the other families caught wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Reluctantly, still holding onto their hip, his body moved itself to the floor. Knees touched against the uneven grout of the tiles, the position a bit awkward. He was thankful, for the surgical gown he wore, that the vile floor of the examination room wouldn’t stain against his clothes. Tracing his hand down to the stitch mark path of their leg, he rested it at the back of their thigh. Coriolanus tilted his head up, ready to command that Project Prometheus moved their leg more towards him. But, his words fell into a silent, held breath as he gazed up at them from his position. The shadow that had cascaded over their face briefly from before was now entirely enveloped around their body. Sickly green fluorescent lights shone above their head, akin to a haloing effect. Illuminated around the edges of their body, their hair, the subject still looking at him. Only him, and nothing else. A thrumming noise was loud in his ears; it felt dangerous. It felt like a warning that something was wrong here. He had felt it before.

Project Prometheus moved its leg forward, more into him, without a word ever spoken between the two of them. How pliant it was with him. 

He pressed the marker against their skin as thank you, dipping his head back down to their thigh. It would be risky, if he lost focus. There was still so much he had yet to know of the subject, the layers that were contained behind the flimsy shield of flesh and tissue. He dotted the area of the vastus medialis, careful not to press the ink against the subject’s stitches so as not to irritate the healing skin there. Maybe its attempts of appeasement were working on him. Not once did he think he’d have a shred of enough care to think about the possibility of ink seeping into their wounds. 

He marked down the region of the knee. Patella. 

“...You’re a very gentle person, Dr. Snow.” The subject spoke quietly, in a whisper just loud for him to hear. “You treat me so carefully, I barely feel a thing when you hold me.” 

It mistook his lightweight hands for kindness. Reality was that he was just wary about setting them off. 

“Does Dr. Gaul not treat you in the same manner?” The words came out softly from him. Reaching now the ankle of the subject, gloved hands reached down underneath the sole of its foot, lifting it up for better writing access. Instinctively, Project Prometheus placed their hands on either side of his shoulders so as to not fall. Their body leaned itself more into him, using him as a steady weight of support. The proximity of their small body bent over his, the glare of the fluorescent lights was entirely swallowed up, casting a dark shadow over him, blocking the light from reaching him. Could they feel, under their ragged fingers, the tenseness in his body at their action? If the subject wanted to, they could easily go in to attack him in this vulnerable position. He’d do the same if he was in their position. He continued to write, marker steady in hand. There would be no satisfaction to be gained for the subject, in seeing him stumble and cower. 

He wrote the words ‘abductor hallucis’ on their foot.

“She… does not treat me rough, no. If I had to describe it, I think the word for it is more… ‘inanimate’.” He doesn’t quite recall if a new law was passed that required captors to treat prisoners humanely. It sounded as if it was trying to recall certain words again. Should the exam go entirely smoothly with no problems, he might feel generous enough to convince Dr. Gaul to bring Project Prometheus a dictionary for them to study up on. Not like it would do much. It wasn’t like they had anyone to really practice their knowledge on. 

Coriolanus wondered what the prisoner was exactly before all this, back when they were formerly Capital. They lacked the air of dignity and ignorance that most Capital elites donned well, but maybe that could be attributed to their decay while staying here. Or perhaps the prisoner had come from a small, simple family. The kind that handled all the manual labor that the Capital never liked to speak loud about. The workers who were hardly ever seen, or acknowledged. That could explain why he never heard any recent fuss over a family’s child being ‘sent away’. No one would ever care for a background prop. 

It held onto his shoulders more tightly, as he adjusted the subject’s position. It didn’t want to topple over him. 

Project Prometheus's right foot now marked accordingly, he placed its foot back down on the rotten floor. Ready to reach his hand to hold onto their left, the subject moved without the need for his touch. The left leg was gestured forward for him. How sweet of them to realize a pattern. “I don’t mind it, though. As long as she still talked to me.” How fascinating. The subject was pacified by the easy act of conversation. Such a simple thing to be pleased by, Coriolanus could think they were joking. Regardless of how things were going so far, he still didn’t forget it. The bloodstains on the halls was something he could not erase so easily. That suggested, no, it told him, that Project Prometheus had something up their sleeve still. Though, nothing had occurred. Nothing had happened because they were still speaking to each other. Coriolanus continued to write on its foot. Lumbrical.

“...Do you get upset if she doesn’t speak to you?” 

He couldn’t help but ask. 

He wanted to know. He needed to know. 

“...I get lonely, and sad.” Was it trying to downplay its emotional reactions to him? “I wonder if it's because I did something wrong to upset her.” If a prisoner of his tried to fight back numerous times during their captivity, he’d get annoyed too. It was strange, though. Coriolanus knew that morals and values were of no concern for Dr. Gaul, especially against rebels. Any torture, punishment, placed on them was not seen as being done onto another person, but just another animal, a specimen in her collection. It would not be above Dr. Gaul to cut off a limb, or two, to get a prisoner to stop fighting. So… why not do the same here? Perhaps, this form of mental and emotional punishment was more lethal than he assumed. Another curious test from the mad woman, it was impossible to ever understand her whims. 

“Sometimes, I think it might be one of her tests.”

Coriolanus didn’t say those words. 

He didn’t like this. Such a statement, spoken so simply, brought him a sick swirl of unease. 

The movement of ink had halted, yet his mind continued to race. The thin hairs at the back of his neck stood at its ends, and he held tightly onto the marker in his hand. Quietly, carefully, he placed the plantar surface of Project Prometheus’s foot back down on the uneven tiles below the both of them. Reaching his hands up to his shoulders, where the subject’s extensor retinaculum were, he held onto it firmly. The subject put up no sign of objection. Sweat was slowly building up under the tight material of the gloves he donned on, but it was not a sweltering warmth. It was a cold, clammy sensation. 

“What do you mean by ‘one of her tests’?” Punctuating the words at the end, he kept his tone inquisitive, curious. Perhaps, a dabble of suspicion. Not towards the subject, but more towards the matter. What was needed in this situation was caution, and he’d be a gutted fool if he was to let the rebel become aware of how much the question startled him to his core. For right now, he’d play the gentle, confused assistant that it assumed of him before. He already told the lie of it knowing Dr. Gaul better than he did. 

“Her tests,” 

It spoke as if he knew! He knew very well what it was. What once was a flash of fear, had become a steady stream of anger. He knew because he is Dr. Gaul’s assistant. It was his job to follow in the steps she’s placed out for him, and more. Why would a prisoner, a subject, know about the ways Dr. Gaul operated? How much does Dr. Gaul tell it in these ‘conversations’? 

It made him sick, that the lie he told before could actually become true. 

“I never notice it until it’s done, until she tells me at the end. She never shares the results with me.” For once, he is tempted to strip his pride and beg for more details. “Most days, it’ll be physical tests, like today. Others, it’s more… talking, or writing.” 

“Writing?” 

It came out quickly before he could properly think his words over. He doesn’t recall seeing possible writing exams in Subject A01’s report. To be fair to himself, he did skim it briefly since he was only just now introduced to the project. There wasn’t much time for him to familiarize himself with all the tiny details written inside. At least, the things that were legible. 

“Dr. Gaul hands me scraps of paper and just asks me to write what I think. Like uh, a journal…I guess.” Keeping a diary couldn’t be the only test Dr. Gaul was having it do. If writing random streams of thought was enough to be intellectually challenging, he wouldn’t be seeing students at the University fighting to win passing grades. “I don’t understand the reason why, and I never remember what I write. My memory is not the best.” It was giving him an excuse to try and shift the conversation. How funny it was, trying to take control of the situation. He’d never let such a thing happen. In this examination room, there was only one person and a subject, the dynamic that was at play was clear. The grip Coriolanus had on their extensor retinaculum tightened, an unconscious movement on his part. Project Prometheus had taken in a soft breath of air at the action, the sound loud enough between the both of them. Had it not come from a prisoner, what a sweet sound it could’ve been. 

“Could you explain it to me,” His voice came out softly, despite the gnawing irritation that he held back. The tight grasp he had loosened, one hand stroking down a careful thumb down the stitched wrist of the subject in gentle circles. He shifted in his kneeled position, adjusting to a more comfortable weight as the layers he wore started to wear at him, an uncomfortable shift. Wearing the surgical uniform could be sweltering. Tilting his head up slightly to gaze up at the subject, praying that his eyes did not betray and reveal his inner thoughts. “Try to remember.” 

Coriolanus could’ve sworn he saw a slight falter, a tremble, in the dark optics of Project Prometheus. Its supercilium furrowed just the slightest inch upwards; did it look apologetic? The first visible change of expression he’s witnessed in the time he’s spent here in this examination room, and it’s one of regret. The subject’s fingers twisted itself into the fabric of his surgical gown, opening its mouth partially as they sought the right sound, the right word. He could make out the faint peeks of its canines. 

“... I’m sorry, Dr. Snow. I can’t remember at all,” They breathed out, in admission, surrendering. It treated it as a guilty confession. 

“Not a thing?” He whispered softly to them, prompting them to speak more. Coriolanus applauded himself internally, for how sympathetic he sounded. 

The subject shook its head. 

“My memory is not good.” Again, it reaffirmed its previous statement. 

Was his question that hard? Surely, specks of small details, flashes of imagery, that would be sufficient enough of an answer for him. He wasn’t asking for a full essay of their inner workings ( though, he wouldn’t mind it ). However, as both their eyes continued locked in a stare, his thumb slowed its movements. The leathered finger stopping at the center junction of its stitches, the feel of the raised, textured skin apparent under the feel of the material. Project Prometheus was being sincere. Its face hadn’t changed, its body had not moved away from him. Dare he say, the minimal space between them; something he did not mind earlier before, had become much more apparent in his feverish mind. The subject answered him so honestly, it made his suspicions of before seem so ridiculous now. One thing did nag at him though, the writing, the insistence of journaling, the memory. 

…

“... Do you remember how long you’ve been here?” Two years ago, Coriolanus recalled. Two years ago, that was when he was abandoned in District 12. When Dr. Gaul had started the experiment on Subject A01, busying herself with curiosities while he was drowning himself in depravities and vices, waiting out like a dog for some form of mercy to reach him. 

A new, tense silence consumed them both. He watched the subject carefully, taking note of the slightest movement that could give any indication of anything more. Tracing with his eyes, following how Project Prometheus’s cuspid snagged at their chapped bottom lip. A faint flush of red spread across the muscle, from the pressure exerted on it. Unconsciously, it reminded him of how dry his own mouth felt, the hoarse sensation in his throat. He darted out his own tongue for a brief moment to wet his own mouth, hidden underneath the surgical mask he wore. Nothing was being said between them, but yet there was so much being told. A fierce feeling was soaring, running through the veins of Coriolanus; he knew what it meant and he feared for it. Not for what the answer could be, but what it possibly could bring up. 

“You don’t remember how you got it here at all, do you?” His voice was so hushed, spoken as if taboo. It gave him the same feeling of it, the rush as the blood was entering his head and his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

A form of dissociative amnesia. 

Project Prometheus had developed gaps in memory due to an extended amount of isolation and exposure to severe trauma. It all clicked in Coriolanus’s head. He understood now what Dr. Gaul was attempting to achieve in her games with the subject. The tests, the daily conversations, the journal writing – Dr. Gaul was examining the subject’s mental decay as part of the Project’s ongoing research. Not only has the woman deteriorated and changed the way the prisoner’s nerves had worked, but their mind as well. Is continuing the Project even viable to do anymore? It was a form of punishment. Would it be ethical to operate on a being of flesh, when the subject no longer knew what it was being punished for? The question would most likely give Dr. Gaul a kick of joy. She loved to ponder questions worthy of debate. Coriolanus wouldn’t put it past the woman if she already gave the inquiry out to one of her classes in a lecture hall. 

“I vaguely do,” 

His eyebrows rose in interest. 

“But only in subtle feelings.” 

Nevermind. 

“I think I experienced some form of confusion. And bits of anger, too. Dr. Gaul… For a moment, I used to be so scared of her. Now, I can’t even remember the reason why.” 

Project Prometheus’s indifference, Coriolanus realized, it was not just solely based on apathy. What had become of it was a blank state, unsure of how to process things so the mind refused to process it all. But, it was still something highly susceptible to influences, shown in how Project Prometheus had become conditioned like Pavolv Dog, to associate Dr. Gaul’s silence with anger and disappointment, and her socialness with satisfaction and joy. It all was dawning on him. He could see it now, why Dr. Gaul was so disturbingly fascinated by this project. Gloved hands moved away from the subject’s wrist, and reached out to lay in gentle manner against the side of their bare thighs. The subject allowed him to, never raising a sign of objection. Could he teach it to experience anger once more, when he treated their body like this? Maybe discomfort, disgust, despair - he wanted to show their blank canvas of a mind what it felt like to fully immerse themselves in these ugly emotions. He knew why they were like this, but there still was a lingering crumb of vexation directed at the subject. Somehow, in their newfound state, they still felt far more free than he ever did; how they almost felt nothing, and he had to feel everything. 

And yet, there was another thought that touched him. He wondered, if he spent enough time with the subject, could he too, be able to condition them to other things. They thought of him as merciful, kind, in comparison to Dr. Gaul. Could he make Project Prometheus worship him, and in the same quiet breaths they were fond of, resent him? The thought of making them accustomed to anticipating his attendance, and lamenting his absence sounded tempting. 

How nice it would be, to have someone other than a deranged crone enjoy his presence. 

Tigris certainly didn’t anymore. 

Coriolanus rose himself from the ground, gripping on the meat of Project’s Prometheus’s flesh to lift him. Under his touch, the pliant stretch of skin and tissue made the subject remove their hands from his shoulders. Another faint breath escaped their exhale. It was a sound he was slowly getting used to. Back to their original height difference, he no longer had to crane his head up to look at the subject. The subject had to lift their head up to look up at him, now. What did Project Prometheus see, in their gaze as they stared at him, Coriolanus thought. Was he too, consumed in shadow and bathed under the gritty lights of the examination room like they once had? 

“We’re done with the mark-up.” It took him a moment to move away from the subject. “We’ll move to holding the nerve exam now, after I administer a low dosage of your medication.” 

The uncapped, black marker was placed back down on the metal tray, aside from the examination table. Replacing its empty space was now the syringe he had filled out before, the dark color swishing as he picked it up. The needle gleamed under the fluorescent light. Turning his back around, Project Prometheus had already sat themselves up nicely on the edge of the examination table for him. Their legs dangled off, their hands held at the edges of the worn-out leather cushion, eyes fixated on his person. They were waiting for him. He’s almost bothered, how easily the subject could anticipate his next set of commands. He hoped that this was just due to routine, not because he had become easy to read. Coming up to meet them there, the only sound that filled the air was the sole of his shoes stepping against the tiles. Gloved fingers reached to grab at the jaw of Project Prometheus, the syringe held close to their face. It shone particularly brilliant, mere inches away from their face. The subject showed him no fear, no resistance, despite the way the skin of the cheeks had moved under his grasp. 

Already, he wanted to break them.

“Show me where to inject you.” 

He’d be sweet, Coriolanus would let them pick where it was most comfortable for him to inject the medication in. Project Prometheus complied immediately to him, holding on the hand that held their needle to adjust the position. They guided him to the back of their neck, moving their hair to make space. To reward their compliance, he pricked the syringe quickly under the skin, careful not to touch an artery or nerve. The dark liquid inside the barrel slowly filled out, emptying itself as he pushed the plunger down. The subject did not let out a sound, a favorable contrast to Livia, who waited for him outside these Citadel walls. 

He was going to mold them into something useful.