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ofheroesandvillains · 5 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 1

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 1 Warnings:

Graphic depictions of gore, death, creative depiction/signs of untreated PTSD, some bullying, subtle hints of Sejanus x Reader, mentions of going hungry (poor Snowball 🥺), mention of bribery, otherwise a light chapter

Ready? Level 1 Start:

“Nellie, we’re going to play a game.”

You groan audibly at your dad’s playful tone. You always hated his games. He’d always jokingly cheat and say he’ll let you win this once, and the prizes at the end would always be something you could’ve gotten from the cupboard yourself when propped on a booster chair.

Grinning from ear to ear, your dad shakes a tiny paper bag in the air. He says he has a handful of caramels, a rare treat these days, which he had been able to get his hands on in exchange for one of his golden pocket watches.

“Come on, little plumcake, humour your dad?” your mom pipes in just as cheerfully. “He really liked that pocket watch, you know.”

“The fastest to the car gets two pieces after dinner!”

Your dad hops across the parking lot, leaving you and your mom behind, with her laughing lightly and you pouting at the thought of earning dessert by something as trivial as getting to the car first. Your mom walks ahead and follows him at a leisurely pace.

You contemplate whether running in the midday sun across the parking lot was worth two measly pieces of rancid caramel. You had just come from an apartment of one of Dad’s friends. A friendly visit, Mom had told, but you’ve been on many of these visits to know they were buying food from these so-called friends. Food is hard to come by, you know that much, so you’re thankful. It was better than in District 3, they would say, because Dad would make so much more money working for the Capitol.

“The fighting will be over soon, and you’ll be able to eat as much candy as you liked once President Ravenstill fixes everything.”

You wonder how long ‘soon’ would take, and whether it’ll arrive just as soon as Dad opens the car door and gets inside.

“Nellie, I’m getting the keys to the car! Last chance, plumcake…”

Mom beckons you to follow before letting out another chuckle. “Nellie, come, dear, we have to be quick, dad’s winning! He’s getting the keys, he’s about to open the car!”

It was unfair, really, this stupid game. Dad’s got really long legs. But you take a few steps forward. Besides, it had been a while since you had heard them laugh like this. You don’t get far when you realise you had dropped your pink stuffed rabbit.

“Mommy, wait! Bunny is missing,” you call out.

“You must’ve dropped Bunny, plumcake. Oh, there it is, just right behind you. Go pick it up, I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” you sidestep to where Bunny is, making sure you could still see your dad. The game is still on and once you get Bunny, you’ll be running as fast as you can to the car. You’re getting those caramels and you’re demanding four.

But you don’t even reach Bunny. You get thrown back as you feel little bits of something hit you and whizz past your ear. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and you hit the ground hard. Your left side takes the brunt of the fall. You could’ve screamed at the pain, but you concentrate on your breathing. The first greedy gulp of air you take is used to let out a pained scream, because even breathing hurts, and you don’t hear it. Instead, all you hear is this ringing in your ears, unbearably loud and louder than the raid shelter alarm that blared all over the streets of your home. The first thing you call for is your mom, so when your vision clears, you try to spot her, but you see nothing in front of you through a thick cloud of dust, except for a raging fire where the car had been just seconds ago.

“Mommy!”

Your arm is hurting so bad it hurts to even move your fingers. You remember Dad’s words to you as he was bandaging your first scraped knee: be brave no matter how much it hurt. You had learned since then to dress and bandage your own wounds when they’re not around. With his words replaying in your mind, you limp forward, covering your mouth so you can breathe through the thick smoke. The dust is now clearing slightly and there’s a lump of something just a few steps more from where you are.

Another sound starts coming through amidst the ringing: the faint sound of car alarms. The lump is moving, slowly rising, but it doesn’t get to its feet. It just lies back down, trying to use its arms, bent awkwardly, to get up. The glint of the watch on the wrist catches your attention.

“Mom?”

Your voice is faint and muffled, but you rush to her side. You try to ignore the distant screaming you hear around you and the throbbing pain around your arm reverberating through all your muscles. Mom needs your help. Concentrate.

With great effort, you turn her over. You find it odd that her legs don’t move with her body even as you turn her torso. She’s wet as you hold her. The liquid coats you and seeps through your soiled clothes – thick, pungent, metallic, dark.

“Mommy?”

She tries to open her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgling sound, along with blood, which trickles freely down her skin. That’s when you realise what you’re drenched in.

Right where her stomach should be is gaping nothing, where the blood is coming out in spurts.

Her legs are no longer attached to her torso. You stare at the exposed, bleeding flesh and begin to feel the panic creeping in. You try to gather her, and what’s coming out of her stomach, together.

This had to hurt. The last time you saw blood from a careless nick of a sharp kitchen knife, it had stung like hell and it made you cry out so loud your dad had to rush to you. But your mom...she hasn’t a made single noise since that awful sound she made. She’s unable to speak, so she must be mouthing you something. Now desperate, you search that normally animated face, those bright eyes that would crease around the edges when she smiled – but the face you know so well isn’t moving at all, and her eyes: they were empty, glassy, unseeing. Something in your mind clicks in an instant. Somehow, you know. You just know you couldn’t help her anymore. There is no amount of bandages you can place that could make her right.

You aren’t going to cry, no sir, not now. You had to find your dad. He can help, right? He’s much better at bandaging wounds than you could ever be. You place your mother back down on the pavement as gently as you can and tumble closer to the burning car. Dad is right there, you think. Your pace increases, and then you trip over something.

You scrape your knees on broken glass. It should hurt, but the pain does not come. Not anymore. You find that strange, but before you can try to find out why everything in you stopped hurting despite the pain you had just dealt with when you came to, your eyes land on the object you tripped on.

A hand.

There’s an arm that’s supposed to be attached to it. Except it isn’t. In an instant, somehow you know whose hand it is. Or was. That gentle hand had bandaged you so many times more than you could ever remember. That hand had admonished you on the many occasions you got too curious and landed yourself in trouble. That hand had ruffled your hair every chance it got as a way of saying it was proud of you and it loved you.

That hand had just been holding a paper bag full of caramels just a few seconds ago. You know that hand.

Just like you know whose hand it is waving right in front of your face.

“Hey, Nellie. Prunella. Nellie!”

Your eyes focus on Sejanus Plinth, who had taken the empty seat across the library table.

“I’ve been calling your name several times now. Ms. Metzer’s been giving me the side-eye.” He jerks his head at the old woman arranging books not far from your table. “I was wondering where you were, we’re about to start. What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? Clearly, you had a book spread open on the library table, which you seem to be reading. You’re on page twelve, it seems, and your open notebook seems to indicate you had attempted to scribble notes, except you had seemed to abandon the attempt and resorted to doodling on the paper instead. Vaguely, you remember rushing to the library after that dreadful announcement: that twenty-four of the best of the best in your senior class were to be chosen to actively participate and be complicit in the murder of twenty-three innocent human beings for the sole purpose of discouraging the Districts against rebellion and entertaining the minds of sick, superficial Capitol pigs. You remember seeking peace and quiet, but all you got were flashes of chaos no child deserves to ever witness, and Sejanus wrenching you out of both. It’s welcome, nonetheless.

“Studying, in case the open books, the notes, and the fact that we’re in a library don’t give the hint,” you finally respond with a bit more sarcasm than you had intended. “Start what?”

Sejanus merely laughs at your clipped tone. He’s used to it, after all. It’s the kind of banter your friendship has taken to – one interlaced with dark humour, witty remarks, and a genuine care for each other’s welfare. He makes a quick swipe at the notebook you’re writing on. He purses his lips comically when the librarian stares at him pointedly with her hands on her hips for the laugh he let out that had absolutely no place in her sanctuary.

He responds with just as much bite. “So studying just means doodling a bunch of creepy-looking hands on paper, wow. Is this some sort of new fetish?”

You reach across the table to snatch the notebook back in mock irritation, unable to hide your grin of amusement. “What’s about to start?”

“Most of the class is brushing up on their Hunger Games knowledge, starting with watching the past ones in the projector room. I’m obligated to ask, but I already know your answer,” he shrugs. It’s nonchalant, the way he brings it up, but the mention of the games tenses the atmosphere between you two. Out of all your classmates, he’s the only friend whom you share an open disdain for the Games with.

“I mean, we can just hang out if you’d like…not here though,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood. He tilts his head in the ageing librarian’s direction and whispers, “Not with that old crone breathing down on our necks. The coffee shop, maybe?”

“No, you go watch with the class,” you say as you absently run your fingers on the macabre drawings. “You’re a sure pick at that mentor thing, you’re going to need that more than I am.”

With a scrunched-up face, Sejanus asks, “What are you talking about? You’ll be there, too, you’re third place.”

“Not for long.” From your periphery, someone tall and blond is making his purposeful way in your direction. “Oh look, there’s your boyfriend. You should go with him, Janus. He looks cross.”

Sejanus whips his head behind him, only to roll his eyes at you. “He always looks like that,” he mutters under his breath.

Coriolanus Snow finally reaches your table and without a preamble, questions, “Are you coming or not?”

Ms Metzer shushes him loudly.

Coriolanus completely ignores the warning but lowers his voice. “We’re not waiting for you, they’re putting the films in the projector.”

Sejanus’ brows are raised questioningly as he stares at you.

Come with? He says with a look.

But you simply cross your arms to drive the point.

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat and gets to his feet. You wince at the noise his chair makes as it scrapes the floor.

“You too,” Coriolanus nods in your direction.

“Nah, I think I’m going to stay here,” you flippantly reply. “Have fun watching heads blow up, I guess.”

Coriolanus opens his mouth to speak, but Sejanus drags him away, waving you goodbye as he does. You notice Coriolanus’ jaw tick for a fraction of a second just as Sejanus grabs his arm. He could be an elitist little prick sometimes, manifesting in subtle ways just like you witnessed. Maybe it’s what makes it hard for you to trust him like you do Sejanus. Maybe it’s something else you can’t see yet, something in him that is yet to surface. It’s stupid sometimes, the way your instincts refuse to give him – and other people for that matter – a chance, despite being presented with no proof of any wrongdoing. Sometimes you wonder if that’s your fate: keeping him, and other people, at arms’ length because you’re so damn scared of what’s underneath those masks they’re so fond of wearing. If only you could get to peek underneath without being wary of injuring yourself in the process.

Except you know that isn’t how the world works.

With a sigh of resignation, you pack your books in your bag once they're gone and decide to go home. There isn’t any point studying for the final terms now when you can barely get past three sentences and the thought of getting soaked in your own mother’s viscera is heavy on your mind.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Juno’s mocking voice floats to you from across the locker room as you retrieve your stuff. The entire senior year seems grateful that the teachers are being so generous with handing out free periods, and there is an overall sigh of relief that the finals are over. A whoop of victory for some, especially for those whose names have topped the finals result chart on the senior bulletin board.

Strolling past you with a taunting tone, Arachne’s annoying pitch calls out, “Hey Nellie, did it hurt? When you landed at the bottom?”

You ignore the loud guffaw she lets out as she exits the locker room with Juno in tow, who joins along with her laughter.

Festus pokes his head out of his open locker door, clearly miffed at two. “Hey, cheer up, Nellie. Grades don’t matter,” he says with a shrug, before adding with a more playful tone, “You still get to pull the pretty face card. That should count for something. Hey, got any of those fruit mints left?”

“Nice pick-up line, Festus. Try not to use that one on Persephone, though, I don’t think she’ll like it very much,” you tease back as you throw him the entire bag of candy from across your locker.

“Hey, shut your mouth!” he whispers, almost missing to catch the pack of sweets. He looks around nervously to see if anyone has heard you. Another wave of your classmates enter, with Persephone among them. He is momentarily distracted by her entrance, then glares at you and hisses, “How did you know?”

But you’re already leaving with a book in tow as you reply, “Have fun guessing!”

Of course, you know. You had an inkling, then, even before you saw the way his face lit up in your third-year History when he learned they’d be partners for a two-month-long project. There are things that you just know.

And it irritates you at times how irrational, yet correct these instincts could be.

You hurry as much as you can to your favourite hidden spot in the Academy. It’s the shadiest tree in a grove south of the Academy, where other students rarely go, even for romantic trysts. Probably because there are rumours of a dead peacekeeper's soul wandering among the trees looking for his missing lover from the districts. It’s hidden from view, but you could spot other people coming from a long way away, giving you enough time to leave (or run if absolutely necessary) before they even reach you.

It’s the perfect location to get some reading done now that your mind is oddly clear of ghastly flashes of dead parents and disembodied hands. Before Sejanus finds you and begins interrogating you for what he would call self-sabotage.

As if on cue, your eyes catch the incoming blur of brown curls and red uniform.

You let out a groan to yourself. You’ll never finish this book at this rate. Sejanus doesn’t even bother to sit down.

“Twenty-six,” is all he manages to say. “Twenty-fucking-six.”

“Problem?” You glance up at him from your book with an innocent wide-eyed look. He rubs his face with his palms and furrows his brows.

“Look, I know you’ve been distracted lately, I get it. But if you were having trouble with anything, you could’ve said something,” he rants flailing his arm. You keep yourself from commenting on how dramatic he’s being; it’s not like you betrayed his deepest secrets. “You could’ve asked me, borrowed my notes, or some shit.”

Instead of your normally clippy tone, you opt to try and calm him down. “Don’t worry about it, Janus. I’m perfectly fine. Best I’ve felt in days. Honestly, I didn’t think it’d work, but it’s exactly how I predicted.” You give him your best reassuring smile. He doesn’t seem so convinced.

“Well, enlighten me,” he presses. “How exactly is dropping from the third place to the twenty-sixth going according to your pla- oh.”

“Finally caught up, have you?” You flash him a grin while you watch his brows unfurl and his features relax, your purpose dawning on him.

Sejanus does not offer any more words to confirm his thoughts. He sits cross-legged right in front of you and simply takes your hand in his. His gaze is soft, as is the squeeze he gives the hand he’s holding. It’s the same look of understanding, the same squeeze of reassurance he gave you the day you allowed him to get close.

You were in a bathroom stall hugging a toilet as you emptied what little contents of your stomach you’d managed to down for breakfast. You had just run away from the class, a free period graciously given by Professor Demigloss in favour of watching the 7th Hunger Games being broadcast live on TV. You had not even lasted an hour, and what drove you to excuse yourself was a tribute hacking another tribute in half with a blunt machete and dragging the severed torso across the arena.

It had made you see red.

Your classmates were quick to call you a wuss. A crybaby. A chicken.

Honestly you had not known what you had expected then. Your Uncle Cas had always been transparent about what the Games were when you were eight and had not spared you of its horrific nature. You had actively avoided watching then until Demigloss.

The urge to vomit had finally died, and you had been readying yourself to get back to class with nerves of steel to endure the other kids’ taunts. But then you heard him call your name.

You thought he was there to make fun of you.

“Nellie? Nellie, I know you’re in here,” he had called, knocking on every bathroom stall. Before he reached yours, you had spoken up.

“Sejanus? Go away.”

But he didn’t. “Nellie, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“You’re in the girl’s bathroom, that’s what’s wrong,” you had said in a biting tone, already on the defence.

He had seemed just as stubborn as he is now.

“Well, I’m not leaving until you come out and tell me what that was all about.”

It took you a while to budge.

“Nellie? Please?” his voice had seemed so genuine then. “Or, I could just stay here all day, get caught peeping, and eventually be branded a freak and a pervert...”

You nearly laughed at that. Maybe it’s what made you emerge from the stall. You wiped your mouth with a handkerchief and ignored him as you washed your hands.

Eventually you reveal, “No one ever comes here. They think it’s haunted.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Any place the students claim is haunted is a good place to be alone in.”

And that’s when you had burst into tears and sat on the cold, tiled floor.

Sejanus followed beside you, awkwardly patting your back.

He never left your side then, waited until your sobs died down. You had spilled everything to him. How there was nothing left of your father you could hold close, how your mother died in your arms as you desperately tried to cram her innards back into her, how you got so soaked in her blood and guts it had taken a week for you to get rid of the pungent scent, how you often wake up screaming and thinking you’re still soaked in it, how at the present you couldn’t stand seeing a single drop of it without getting sick to your stomach...

Everything.

And then you laughed, because you had found it ironic how you’re being called a chicken for not wanting to ever relive that day in any way.

“They can call me a wuss all day, I don’t care. But no one in the right mind would willingly watch more of that over and over, especially not on TV, advertised as a show like it’s a fucking primetime, family-friendly sitcom.”

And you had talked about so much you had forgotten to read him, what he thought of all of it. Would he judge you just like the others? Call you a weirdo?

But he never did.

He had taken your hand in his. You didn’t know back then what his expression meant, so were gauging whether it was a farce or not.

But then, he squeezed a little, and then you understood: that look he had on, the same look he has on now, told you everything he couldn’t put into words: that he wasn’t, he isn’t going anywhere. The corners of your mouth curled in a small, thankful smile.

The same smile you’re showing him right now.

Your corner vision spots a glint in the horizon, of warm yellow rays hitting platinum blond curls. You let go of Sejanus’ hand and abruptly get to your feet as soon as Snow reaches the cool shade of your tree.

He has on an annoyed expression, just like he does when things don’t go his way, except he normally tries to mask it with cold indifference. Today, he doesn’t bother keeping up that appearance. He associated with you in some way, after all. A friend, one might conclude at a glance. Maybe he does consider you as one, and the hint of disappointment in his eyes means he expected better of you?

“What kind of game are you playing?” he snaps, clearly directed at you.

Sejanus is immediately at your side in an attempt to intervene, but you shake your head at him once. You can fight your own battles. “In case you haven’t connected the dots yet, Coriolanus, I’m trying not to play at all.” You ignore his look of realization and affront and continue, “And it worked. Twenty-sixth means I have two places worth of buffer zone in case a couple of you lot backs out. I’m not trying to rebel, I just don’t want bloo-“

You pause as flashes of shrapnel whiz past your ear and loud ringing invade your senses, your hands coated in a thick, red, sticky substance –

You swallow that lump in your throat to regain composure. “I’ve seen enough of that.”

Maybe that’s a flash of understanding in those calculating eyes you see, and he hides it well with a squint. Maybe you imagine it. Maybe it’s a look of contempt. Maybe he couldn’t comprehend the fact that you were arrogant enough to throw away an opportunity he wanted so badly merely because you hate the sight of blood. Maybe it’s all those all at once.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said simply as he puts on a blank mask and purses his lips.

“Yeah, and everyone here is the textbook definition of sanity.” You do not wait for their reaction to your retort. You waltz past the two of them, but you could feel Snow’s stare burning holes at the back of your head even from a distance away.

Monday rolls by. The day of the Reaping. A day when district children are gathered, and from among them the chosen twenty-four who would go on and forced to become adults overnight, face gruelling horrors they’ve likely never seen before – which is funny in its own, dark right, seeing as some of them had already endured hunger and abuse and loss even before they’re thrown into a pit to kill each other for survival.

In other words, a special Monday morning in the Capitol most of these pigs look forward to.

Speaking of pigs...

A classmate of yours, Livia, had just emerged from the girls’ bathroom. As soon as she sees you, she comes marching to you in her pointed heels clacking against the floor, wearing a fine suit dress with gold trimmings on the neckline.

“Nellie. You’re wanted at the Dean’s office,” she says with a sneer. “Hey, don’t be nervous! If they ever kick you out, you can always go back to being the district trash you always were.”

Livia, ever the lovely Capitol lady she is, is somehow attempting to be meaner today, you observe. Snow appears from around the corner and follows right behind her, looking smart in a double-breasted waistcoat over a crisp, white shirt. The red rose clipped on his vest completes the look. To you, it’s no wonder why some of the younger girls at the academy fawn over him. Odd, however, that despite how good he looks today, he keeps glancing around him and fidgeting at his collar. What could Coriolanus Snow possibly be unsure of?

He seems to hear Livia’s backhanded comment and raises a single eyebrow. “The name Innis has been consistently topping in the quarterly Math and Sciences Hall of Fame charts since our first year. I’ve only seen Cardew thrice on that list, barely scraping top ten.” He tips his head slightly in your direction and adds, “You’ll be fine, Nellie.”

A compliment? From Snow? The world has truly gone mental. Perhaps another effect of this so-called anticipated Capitol Monday. Maybe it’s like a fever and it’s spreading among your classmates. You might have to wear a hazmat suit tomorrow if this goes on.

“Tch. Whatever.” Livia dismisses him with an eye roll. “Excuse us, the top performers are needed at the Heavensbee Hall.”

He doesn’t follow suit, though, smoothing over non-existent wrinkles on his vest. As soon as the sound of Livia’s heels fade, you address the other classmate before you.

“Thanks, Coriolanus. You too. At the Games, I mean. You’re good at that kind of stuff.” Crafty. Cold. Calculating. That’s him. You know. He’ll be just fine. Hell, he might even win, too. He blinks at your compliment and lets out a subtle sigh as his shoulders relax a little.

“Thanks.” His eyes roam on your uniform-clad state with a small frown. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I forgot,” you reply with shrug. “Works just as well. I think I’m just about to be suspended.”

Coriolanus just scoffs, a corner of mouth lip tugging upwards. “High-as-a-kite-bottom can’t suspend you. No matter how thoughtless and ridiculous what you did was.”

There it is. The old Coriolanus you know. You find yourself grinning back at him and peering into his face a little better. Handsome, truly, but you could also tell he’s paler than usual and his cheeks have never been hollower. Has he had anything to eat?

“Again, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll see you around, Coriolanus.”

You both proceed the opposite ways with a wave. You catch a faint whiff of roses as you pass by him.

Before darting over to the Dean’s office, you had to make a detour. The senior locker room isn’t too far off and you had done this too many times to count. You reach the locker labelled ‘Snow, Coriolanus,’ enter the lock’s combination (he’s never bothered changing it since Sejanus figured it out) and from out your bag you fish a box of chocolates you had taken from the fridge this morning.

Using one of Coriolanus’ post notes and his pen, you write “Don’t let Festus see this or he’ll eat all of it,” and place it on top of the box. Remembering you had a pack of lollipops in inside your own locker, you move quickly to get it and leave it beside the chocolates, labelling it “for sharing.”

Maybe that Capitol-Monday-fever had finally gotten to you, too. But no matter what your insides seem to keep telling you, he does not deserve to go hungry.

Satisfied with your handiwork, you take long strides to Dean Highbottom’s office to greet your fate like a martyr. Or a lamb leading itself to slaughter. You get past the empty reception room and softly knock on the carved wooden door. The door swings open to reveal Acacius Innis.

“Uncle Cas?”

Your puzzled look is met with a raised eyebrow from him. He steps aside to let you in, revealing Dean Highbottom sitting behind his desk with his fingers laced together. Your uncle takes a seat at the opposite side, his chin propped on his hand.

“Good morning, Professor. Uncle. I was told to come here.”

Highbottom points at the empty seat beside your uncle. You sit, folding your hands on your lap.

“Let’s make this quick, the Reaping is about to begin.” As the Dean fishes out something from his drawer, he adds, “I invited your uncle over to help get to the bottom of this. He’s an extremely busy man, what with the Games and all, but he was willing to come here because of this.”

He throws a test paper across the desk unceremoniously.

“Care to explain that?”

It’s your test paper for Literature, with barely any writing on it, and a big fat ‘F’ scrawled the in middle and encircled in red. You lower your head slightly and fidget at your sleeves in feigned embarrassment.

“I reviewed the wrong set of notes, sir,” you begin softly.

Dean Highbottom’s eyebrows raise as he slowly repeats, “You reviewed the wrong notes.”

Nodding, you explain further, “Yes, sir. I was under the impression that we were going to write short essays on 16th century literature and its impact on 21st century multimedia. But when I read what it was about, I kind of...blanked,” you end, trailing off at the last word. “I’m very sorry, it was my fault. I should’ve listened better.”

Highbottom releases a weary sigh and starts tapping his glass desk. “I guess there’s a first for everything,” he concludes finally. “Ms. Innis, in the history of the Academy, there are very few who have shown such aptitude for all advanced branches of mathematics the way you have. Minds like yours have great potential to shine at the University, which is why I am disappointed that you would make such a careless misstep at this crucial point in your academic career. Do you realise, if it wasn’t for this, you’d be in the gala right now? Placed in the mentorship program for the 10th Hunger Games?

“Simple mistakes can make you miss great opportunities.”

You know it isn’t a mistake, but his disappointed tone gets you nonetheless. You bite the inside of your cheeks, unable to find words to say.

“If I may, Professor,” your uncle starts, businesslike in manner. He leans forward on his seat with his palms on his lap. “I’d normally argue that grades don’t really matter in the end, here, but Nellie,” he turns to you with a rigid expression, “Dean Highbottom is right. The University would look at this gap in your records and think you got complacent.”

Dean Highbottom points his finger to him, showing he agrees with your uncle.

“Well, in any case, what has been done is done.” The Dean gets to his feet and pours himself an amber coloured drink from the mini bar cart on the corner, before adding a small vial of clear liquid that you suspect is morphling. He holds out the bottle to your uncle as an offer, which your uncle politely declines with a “no, thank you.”

“Ms. Innis, if you’d kindly wait outside my office so your uncle and I can discuss a solution to this quandary,” Highbottom says in an exasperated tone after a sip. “Also, I’d admonish you for not looking your best for the Gala, but, I suppose it’d be beating a dead horse, at this point. Dismissed.”

You bow lightly in thanks and do as you’re told.

Within ten minutes, your uncle emerges from the office like nothing happened. He waves his forefinger in the air and points to the office exit, beckoning you to go with him.

Acacius Innis, or Uncle Cas as he likes to be called, had been your guardian since your parents’ death. Before the accident, he and his younger brother, your dad, had already made a name for themselves in District 3 for being excellent inventors. The Innises had always been drawn to innovation, people kept saying. They established Innis Tech together and sided with the Capitol during the war, providing them with the technology they needed to quell the rebellion and eventually put an end to the fighting. Just like the Plinths, they were allowed to move from the Districts to the Capitol, only that your parents made the move while the war was ongoing. They hadn’t even lived in the city for two years before the rebels decided they were a threat and had them taken out. Your uncle has since then taken responsibility for you and managing the company alone at the same time. He often claims it was your dad who had a flair for business, but he grew Innis Tech to what it is today: the biggest tech company supplying the Capitol with its much-needed technological advancements.

As soon as your Uncle was satisfied with the company’s growth, however, he turned over the management to a distant Innis relative in District 3 and kept the majority of the company shares, so he could focus on his other passion besides computers: teaching. The University welcomed his tech know-how despite his lack of formal education. It was through his efforts that the University established a Computer Sciences College, to which he became the Dean.

Your Uncle Cas is a force of nature, and you love him for it.

The only thing that doesn’t sit well with you is how he became involved, inevitably, with the Citadel as a gamemaker.

He’s involved in designing the Hunger Games.

He knows you don’t approve of it, too, and out of respect for you, he tries as much as he can to keep you away from that part of his work, despite your shared interests in computers.

As soon as you get inside the car, Uncle Cas releases a heavy sigh. He instructs the driver to take the both of you home.

“Guess who’s been suspended for a day,” he says lightly to break the quiet. Mild mirth dances in his eyes as he leans heavily against the car seat, muttering to himself. “Fucking Highbottom getting high on the job...”

This is the Acacius Innis only you get to see.

“Ah, and you’ll be taking a remedial test tomorrow. So, think of it as a study-at-home kind of thing. And because I’ve so kindly promised to donate a state-of-the-art computer lab so the Academy can begin training kids like you a little earlier, they will overlook this misstep, erase that failing grade from your record and let you pass with high honors. No harm done, it seems.”

This is exactly the outcome you have been expecting, but you were hoping that your uncle wouldn’t have to shell out any money in the process.

Perhaps he’s confused as to why you’re being quiet, so he looks at you questioningly.

“What’s with that look on your face? You look like somebody just died. This is about the money, isn’t it?”

You nod, looking at him sombrely. He never had to clean up your mess before, so why was he acting like there was nothing to it? He hums to himself, glancing at you sideways with a thoughtful look.

“So, let me ask you this: you think manipulating your grades so you could avoid mentoring in the Games was worth spending a fortune and getting yourself into trouble?”

Your uncle never misses anything.

“Yeah...” you admit.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your tone. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you snap. It’s getting on your nerves a little how nonchalant he is about all of it. If he’s angry, he should be telling you outright, instead of whatever the fuck this is supposed to be. You’re not twelve, he doesn’t have to be this condescending. “Yes I am,” you repeat with a firmer tone.

“There you go.”

His softness surprises you. You peer into his face curiously, expecting to see disappointment, but all he has for you is the gentlest, most affectionate smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That’s the spirit. Nellie. You fought for what you thought was right, and there should be no shame in that.” He places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair fondly.

You may have lost your dad, but your Uncle Cas more than makes up for it.

“I’m proud of you, little plumcake.”

Your eyes start to burn with tears of relief. You had not disappointed him, after all.

“Thank you, Uncle Cas.” It means the world to you. “I was scared I’d embarrass you, though.”

“Yeah, you should be,” he says with a chuckle. “That could’ve easily blown up on our faces. Loathe as I am to admit, image is placed a high degree of importance in this city. So, next time you think of pulling another stunt like that, consult me first and we’ll put our heads together to come up with something better, yes?”

“I will.”

Your uncle nods, clearly satisfied. “Well, since that’s settled, why don’t we get some ice cream?” He chirpily declares, and instructs the driver to stop at your favourite creamery.

“I thought they needed you back at the Citadel?” you ask.

He just dismisses your concern with a small shrug. “I told them it’s a family emergency. Besides, it won’t take us fifteen minutes.”

“So ice cream is a family emergency,” you make a mental note to yourself out loud with a hint of amused realisation.

Your uncle hears this, and jokingly narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t get smart.”

Next Level: Level 2 - soon

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

I'll work on putting this on Ao3 when I get the chance. Work is supposed to be hectic rn but the Muse wanted to feel loved today 😅😆

More of Corio next chapter, I promise. I just had so much fun giving the reader so much trauma 😈😈😈 all the more broken and delicious for our little Snowball 😈😈😈

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ofheroesandvillains · 8 months

Text

In Cold Blood (pt 1)

Synopsis: A slew of murders have you and the other detectives scratching their heads, but the killer himself seems beyond fascinated with you.

Warnings: This is probably my most warning heavy story- mentions and graphic descriptions of blood/gore, death, murder (serial killer!billy is a giveaway), weapons including gun/knives, home invasion mentions, eventual smut lets just say EVERYTHING IS 18+- read at your own discretion

You turned a corner, feet hitting the pavement as fast as they could. Water splashed up from a puddle but it didn’t slow you down. The buzz of traffic didn’t calm your racing heart as you skidded to a stop down a corner alley.

How had this happened? You were so sure of yourself. So careful. At least that’s how it felt.

It had started innocently enough, well maybe innocent wasn’t the correct choice of words.

It had started with the death of a local businessman. He’d been found in an alleyway, shoved between trash bins. Multiple knife wounds scattered across his torso and neck. You’d been called to investigate the scene with the other officers.

It had left your mouth dry, the other officers you worked with were rarely left speechless but this….this did it. The brutality of it was unmatched from anything you’d investigated before.

Then a few weeks later there was a woman found murdered in a similar fashion, body left in Central Park for anyone to find. Then there was another and another. It made your stomach turn.

Then you found yourself volunteering to be on the case. To figure out who the bastard was. Why they were doing this. And to put them away for as long as possible.

The longer you researched and devoted your time and energy to figuring out how to catch the murderer the less it made sense. There was no rhyme or reason or outright motives that stood out to you. Just a building body count.

That’s when you got the first call.

You’d been working from the office late one night, pouring over the latest crumb of evidence you’d been able to scrounge up. A blurry cctv blip of footage capturing a large figure in a black hoodie up over their head leaving the building where the last victim was found.

The noise jolted you from your seat, the blinds drawn in your office and the steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead wearing away at your eyes. It was late. Very late. No one you knew would be up at this hour. Not unless it was an emergency.

You didn’t recognize the number. So not a friend or relative popping up on caller ID. You let it ring another few times before sighing, with a roll of your eyes and sliding to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Detective Archer.” You felt your body freeze at your name being used. The voice crackled on the other end. Deep. Male. But it was edited somewhat, like he was speaking through some sort of device to conceal his voice.

“Who is this?”

“Ah ah ah that’s on a need to know basis.”

“And I don’t need to know?” You pushed away from your desk standing to walk over to your closed office door. Peeking through the blinds to see the still empty office.

“I’m not in your office if that’s what you think.” Your blood ran cold as you froze in place, fingers just pulling away from the door.

“Are you…watching me?” Your eyes flitted to the windows on the right side of your office, rushing over and drawing the blinds closed.

“Always.”

The word hung on the phone line, heavy silence.

“You’re him.”

“There’s a lot of “hims” out there, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He was taunting you.

“The killer.” Laughter rang out in the other end.

“It took you a little while there, detective. Here I was thinking you were the top of your class.”

“Why are you calling me?” You moved back to your desk wondering if there was some way you could trace the call from your cell phone.

“To ask what your favorite scary movie is.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re gonna get.”

“Come on Detective, play a little game with me.”

“Is that what you think this is?” You hissed into the phone. “A fuckin game?” Your heart pounded in your chest. Rage bubbling up and leeching into your voice.

“It is to me.”

Then with that the line went dead. You swore, tossing your phone onto your desk falling back into your seat.

Hands scratching your head, fingers twining furiously through your hair. Eyes squeezed shut as you’re cursed once more before calling your boss and the rest of your team to alert them to this new development.

Another victim was found a few weeks later, a single stab wound to the chest right over the heart. A Large Bowie knife was left in the body, with a swath of paper folded and held in place by the weapon.

You talked with witnesses and scribbled into your notes after consulting with another officer before turning on your heel to head back to the office.

Knowing tonight you’d drink a pot of coffee and review how out of character this kill was from the previous victims. Was this even done by the same person? Did you have another murderer out there to watch out for? It made your head spin.

“Detective, I think you need to see this.” A cop named Thomas motioned you over to him holding out the piece of paper just removed from the victim.

You took the now unfolded paper from him eyes roving the page. A large red heart was drawn on it with blood. Whether it was the victims or someone else’s you couldn’t be sure, but that wasn’t the thing that worried you most.

Inside the heart was writing, scratchy red ballpoint pen spelling out in large letters, “Archer.” A gift, a love letter, a taunt, you weren’t sure which one it was but it made your blood run cold.

Hot water poured over your skin in the shower, hoping the scalding heat would strip away the knot in your stomach. Whenever you closed your eyes all you could see was the heart, teasing you.

The paper had been placed in an evidence bag and was now being tested but you couldn’t shake the visual from your head. Turning the water off and reveling in the steam before you wrapped a towel around yourself stepping into the bedroom.

All your scattered notes and random photographs littered your home desk and you were starting to feel pathetic at your lack of purchase on this slippery case. How many people needed to end up dead because you couldn’t do your fucking job?

Then the phone rang. A million thoughts ran through your head before you said fuck it and answered.

“Hello?”

“Did you get my gift?”

“You’re sick you know that?” You flipped on the tracer you’d installed on your phone after your last call.

“Detective, I’m wounded. I gave you a lovely gesture of our relationship.”

“The only relationship we have is going to be when I arrest your ass and put you away for the rest of your life.”

“I love when you flirt back with me.”

You rubbed your brow absentmindedly, hating how limited you felt. How you felt like back in training being ridiculed by higher ups.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I enjoy talking to you, Detective.”

“No. Killing people. Innocent people.”

“Who said they were innocent?”

“Who says you get to be judge, jury and executioner?”

If you stalled long enough it’d give your tracer a better chance of locking onto where the call was coming from. Giving you a shred of further evidence.

“You look very nice tonight.”

Your fist subconsciously gripped your towel tighter to your chest. The curtains in your apartment were drawn, and you had checked the lock over four times out of habit.

“How do you know how I look?” You wedged your phone into the crook of you neck, holding it in place as you reached into the end table pulling out your gun and checking the chamber was full.

“Are you close to catching me, Detective? Have I been occupying as much space in your mind as you do mine?”

You padded slowly down the hall, weapon held firm, pointing into each room as you passed. The heat from the bathroom emanated into the kitchen and you swiveled around the corner poised for an attack.

It never came.

He was toying with you. He wasn’t here.

“Why would I be in your head?”

You heard a thump back in your bedroom and the hair on the back of your neck stood up at the sound. The line was silent as you waited for a response, slowly inching back towards your room, gun held aloft.

The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your chest as you eased into the doorway, ears straining to hear any other movement. In a rush if adrenaline you tossed the phone onto the bed throwing open the closet door.

It was empty.

Keeping with your agitated pace, falling to the floor and checking under the bed only to see it bare as well. Angrily snatching the phone back and biting into the mouthpiece.

“Where the fuck are you?!”

At that you heard footsteps back from the bathroom, thumping through your apartment and your front door being thrown open, the alarm blaring.

Scrambling to catch up you stumbled into your living room and were greeted by the open door leading into the hallway of your apartment complex broken open, the chain lock busted and scraping back and forth as it hung limply.

The line went dead and you immediately dialed 911, waiting for a familiar operator to answer as you relayed your predicament. When you heard confirmation they were on the way you rushed back into the bathroom to grab your robe.

There on the mirror was drawn a heart, like that from the note found on the victim. The condensation beaded up as it bled in various water droplets from the remaining steam from the shower.

The months continued on, all leads turning up nil. The tracer you had used only led you to a discarded burner phone in a trash bin by soho. The murders had briefly slowed down.

The phone calls however had not.

Their length and timing varied but it was always the same voice. Slightly skewed but a man’s voice all the same. It had helped you rule out a female suspect.

The continued goading wasn’t the main thing grating on your nerves. No it would be much simpler if that was it. The true horror was how you began to wait for the calls.

You refused to use the term, enjoy. But they no longer caused your blood to run cold in the same way. One day to your absolute dismay after a long stressful meeting you actually felt your shoulders unclench when your phone rang.

“Long day Archer?”

“How can you ask me that when you’re the source of my stress?”

“Am I?”

Besides the phone calls there was the disturbing hints of affection. A bouquet had appeared at your desk at work one day. No note, but you didn’t need one to know who it was from.

Then a bottle of expensive wine was left on the steps of the precinct with another card bearing only a simplistically drawn heart inside.

The bottle was immediately taken in as evidence and dusted for prints. There obviously were none. No matter what you did he was always ten steps ahead. 5D chess in the most infuriating way.

“How was the wine?”

“If you’re so aware of my every move you’d know I didn’t drink it.”

“Shame, 1913 was supposedly a good year for that merlot.”

“I’m growing tired of our Hannibal Lecter and Clarice dynamic.”

“Who says that’s what we are?”

“WE are nothing.”

A tsk’ing crackled over the line.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Then what are we?”

You put the phone on speaker as you pulled out a container of chinese food leftovers from your fridge. Popping the lid off and shoveling it into a bowl before sliding it into the microwave.

A chuckle came from the other end. You hated how it didn’t feel gross and malicious like it should.

You continued on, mind listing a slew of options as you watched your food rotate in the microwave.

“Phantom and Christine. Michael Myers and Laurie strode. Billy Loomis and Sidney Prescott.”

“You never did tell me your favorite scary movie.”

you sighed dramatically as the oven dinged and you removed your food, returning it to the counter, pulling your hair into a messy bun.

“You do look stunning Detective. I’m shocked someone of your caliber went into law enforcement.”

“I think it’s unfair you know what I look like and yet Ive never seen you before.”

“Nice try Archer.” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh that shook your shoulders a tad.

“It was worth a try.”

Walking into work the next morning you were immediately greeted by another detective, John Lawson. His cheeks were ruddy and he seemed to be out of breath.

“What’s going on?”

“We have a photo of our killer.”

You felt your stomach flip, either from excitement or nerves.

“What?”

He took out a printed sheet of paper, it showed a dim alleyway and a victim from the other night slumped in the background.

Sure enough there in the foreground was a man, in a black hoodie, black pants and military boots. The hood pulled up over his head and underneath the hood a stark white mask, covered in a multitude of scratches and cracks that seemed to be painted on.

He was staring straight at the camera, knife glinting in one hand, the other raised in a mock wave.

“Smug bastard.”

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ofheroesandvillains · 1 year

Text

⭑ tom riddle.

observations [i] [ii] 18+

you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true... (11.4k words)

patience, please, and thank you 18+

you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops. (6.4k words)

your kitchen table

tom hates summer. fortunately, he loves you. (1.4k words)

more to come!

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ofheroesandvillains · 1 year

Text

Untouchable (Billy Russo)

A/N: My first attempt at a soft angsty Billy Russo fic. Plus I'm a sucker for angst and unrequited love.... so I just couldn't help myself with this. Hope you enjoy lovelies.

I also have enough already written for a part 2 if anyone is interested!

Words: Far too many.... I'm far to wordy for my own good.

Pairing: Billy Russo X OFC

Warning: Angsty feelings, Billy being soft and adorable when he isn't being obtuse

She wasn't sure when her feelings had slowly turned from platonic friendship to harboring feelings towards one of her best friends. There was a part of her that wished she remembered exactly when the change happened, when the shift in her mindset had taken hold of her conscious thoughts. Maybe then she could figure out what Billy had done the day that sealed her fate.

Was it that time in sixth grade when she had tripped down the stairs at school and he had been the only one to stop and make sure she was ok. Helping her collect the binders and papers that flew everywhere in the chaos. Or had it been when he started leaving gentle touches on her skin in passing. A brush of his hand against her wrist, his fingers pushing her hair away from her face when they lounged on the couch together when he returned home on leave. Perhaps she had been fooling herself this whole time and Billy always held her heart in his hand in some sort of way.

Billy Russo was quite the character, much different then he was as an awkward teenager when the two of them first met. Now he was the charming, painfully attractive, CEO of Anvil and had just that air of danger surrounding him that had women flocking to his side in droves. He could have any woman he wanted, and he did on many occasions. All he had to do was flash that devilishly handsome smile and they were all like putty in his hands.

Which is what he was currently doing now, flashing that brilliant smile of his as he wandered around the party. A gaggle of women trailing behind him, hanging on every last word that came out of his damn mouth. She would never be on par with any of those girls, and she definitely wasn't about to try either. Mattie knew her place in the hierarchy of attractiveness, and it was somewhere teetering on the verge of plain Jane and homely. Depending on the day and the lightning she swayed in one direction or the other.

"You're doing that thing again." A voice from beside her broke her free from the self deprecating thoughts she found herself drowned in. Tilting her head she noticed Curtis sitting beside her, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"What thing?" She asked before grabbing her glass of champagne and downing what little was left. It was terrible, certainly not the high priced liquor the people attending this type of event expected. But Mattie never turned down free booze.

"Torturing yourself." He reached out and took the glass from her and set it down next to himself. Fingers drumming at the base of the intricately blown champagne flute. "You could, I don't know, tell him how you feel?"

Curtis was good, too good at reading people. His years as a counselor made it incredibly hard to get anything by him. His eyes were always watching, taking in people's moods and body language. It was quite the party trick if it wasn't pointed directly at yourself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Curtis." Mattie smirked, playing stupid with his pointed accusation. Much like she always did when he brought the topic up.

Quirking a brow up in utter disbelief, Curtis tilted his head in the direction he had watched Billy wander off too. A herd of money hungry women were more than likely following closely behind the exceptionally dressed man. Afterall the news headlines before this event were wild with the notion Billy was the most eligible bachelor in the city now.

"Look Ms Masochist, I was just stating an obvious end to,” leaning over towards her, Curtis used his knuckles to rap on her thick skull gently, "whatever you have going on in that head of yours."

"You mean daydreaming?" She huffed dramatically, as she pulled his hand away from her head and placed it down on top of the table. Her fingers squeezing his hand reassuringly before letting go. "I appreciate the concern Curtis, I really do, bu-"

"But?" He added in before she could finish her sentence. His eyes panning her face with a quizzical gaze, taking in the subtle shift of her lips and the quiet sadness radiating from behind her own eyes. "Billy really cares about you, Mattie. Kid will not shut up about what you two get up to when he stops by the meetings. Even got some of the other guys invested in your little adventures. You really think he'd not give you a chance?"

"Give who a chance?"

Mattie internally cringed when she heard Billy's all too familiar voice, her eyes only drifting in the direction after a few moments of staring Curtis down. A silent threat looming behind her eyes that told him if he opened his big mouth she was about to be charged with murder and she didn't particularly care.

"The weird champagne." Mattie attempted to recover, picking up the bottle the cocktail waitress had left behind earlier. "Curtis says it tastes like static." Holding it out to him, she gave the bottle a jiggle hoping he'd take it from her. "Didn't you, Curtis?" Using her leg that was hidden under the table she kicked his foot, trying to get him to play along.

"Yep, static." He agreed, noting it was easier to play along then have Mattie angry with him. The girl could hold a grudge worse than Frank, so that was saying something.

Mattie watched as Billy furrowed his brows in confusion, taking the bottle apprehensively from her grasp, clearly not expecting the conversation she had just forced with Curtis. But she decided not to push her luck and quickly rose from the table. "Now that you're here, and not being hunted for sport by those women, I just want to say congrats on the award." Grabbing her small canvas bag from the edge of the chair, before pushing her seat back underneath the table.

"It's truly amazing they even let you over here, Russo." Curtis stated from behind her.

Mattie sighed softly, knowing exactly what Curtis was referring to. Whether it was a party or all of them casually at the bar, they were always on some form of borrowed time. Before some skinny little number came walking up in her barely there outfit, inserting herself in whatever conversation that was going on to get Billy's undivided attention. It got so bad, Frank started ignoring anyone who walked up to the table, including the waitresses. He put all his drink orders through Karen, the saint of a woman she is.

"I told them I'd be back." Billy shrugged nonchalantly, looking over his shoulder with a smug grin tugging at his lips. Mattie followed his line of sight, seeing the trove of women clustered together, waiting on bated breath for him to make his way back towards them.

"Well I'm headed out then." Mattie took this opportunity to reach up and hug Billy goodbye. It must have caught him slightly off guard because his hand instinctively wrapped around her waist, keeping her securely in place. "I have work tomorrow, and I really need to get out of this get up. Its fucking uncomfortable." She gestured to the too tight black dress she had underneath one of her studded leather jackets. She had tried to leave the house in her usual jeans and sweatshirt, but Karen had stopped her dead in her tracks. Showing up at her door unannounced, knowing Mattie would try to get away with the bare minimum for this event.

Before Mattie even opened the door Karen barged in, turned her right back around and forced her into an outfit Mattie detested for the most part. Even the shoes, a pair of black leather booties she had bought years ago and never wore, were cutting off the circulation to her feet.

"Didn't you just get here?" He drew his attention back to Mattie, arm still wrapped around her waist almost possessively. Billy's obsidian eyes locking with her own, the blackness of them always drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

"Yes she did, our anti-socialite here is trying to get out before all those boring acceptance speeches." Cutis' voice pulled Mattie out of her slight daze. Allowing her to slip from Billy's grip and take a few steps back.

"I don't belong here, you know that. Billy asked if I'd come and I did, my end of the bargain was held up." Mattie chuckled softly, remembering those few weeks back when Billy practically begged her to attend the party for a bit. She agreed only if she was allowed to sneak out when things got too much for her to handle. Crowds were never really her thing, especially crowds of people who she didn't know.

"I'll walk you to your car then." Billy shoved his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored slacks, shuffling his Louis Vuitton shoe against the marble floor.

Raising her brow in question, Mattie looked at Billy like he had grown three heads. She searched his face for a moment, trying her best to read his dark eyes, wondering what had gotten into him tonight suddenly. He never willingly walked away from his strategic game of cat and mouse he played when he was in the mood for some pussy. Perhaps he had already secured his evening's closing act, and didn't feel the need to prowl like a hungry cat anymore.

"If you insist." She shrugged her shoulders, before looking over and waving her goodbye to Curtis. She would have to ask him at the next meeting how the rest of the party went. Get all the juicy gossip about which guest got the drunkest and made an absolute fool of themselves.

The two of them secretly already took bets on the woman with the cherry red lipstick and dressed in the all white evening gown. She had been stumbling around, laughing at her own reflection in several of the mirrors the venue had when Curtis and her had rode up in the elevator before this shindig even started. The look the two of them gave one another was of shared amusement and Mattie knew Curtis would keep a tab on the alabaster woman.

"So what were you and Curtis really talking about?" Billy casually asked, pulling Mattie from her thoughts.

"Champagne." She didn't miss a beat, knowing he was prying for the truth. Billy was too smart for his own good, but Mattie knew when he was fishing for answers. One of the perks of being friends for so long, his tells were more obvious to her.

"You and I both know that isn't true. So would you like to try that again?" Just as easily as she read him, Billy could read her. Picking up on the small tells she gave off when she lied.

Huffing an amused laugh, Mattie thought about how she'd rather have teeth pulled from her skull then tell him any of that conversation. She wasn't about to risk a life long friendship over some stupid crush she continued to harbor, despite her trying so very hard to get over it.

Billy Russo didn't play the relationship game well, pulling away from any and everyone who wanted more than a fuck buddies status. She was actually surprised she managed to stay in his life so long with his fear of commitment, but then again she had been there from the beginning. And Billy never looked at her with the thought of a relationship, she probably wasn't even fuckable in his eyes. Which classified her in with his family, his brothers, like Frank and Curtis.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you I'm afraid." She joked, diverting his attention away from the current direction the conversation was headed.

Smirking devilishly, Billy shook his head at her antics. "Fine, but I'll figure it out. I have my ways."

"Karen doesn't count, you know." Using her elbow, Mattie nudged him in his side gently. Wiggling her brows at him, knowing full well he was gonna run to Karen for answers. "Plus she has nothing to do with this." It was true, Karen wasn't privy yet to Matties feelings towards Billy. But the woman was hot on the trail, her journalism background making it all too easy to put pieces together.

"If you say so." He shrugged his shoulders, before motioning for her to follow him across the dance floor.

Their playful bickering quickly died down as they continued to walk. She felt his hand hover behind the small of her back, as he led her through the crowd of people mingling about. He gave a few obligatory waves, to what she assumed were high end clients of his as they made their way towards the elevators. All the while Mattie tried to ignore the pointed stares from a group of gorgeously dressed women who they passed by. Their eyes burning a hole into the back of her head, one large enough that Mattie subconsciously shrank in on herself. Pulling the edges of her leather jacket closed in a lame attempt to shield herself from their judgmental gaze.

Mattie was used to this happening, it came with the territory of being Billy's friend sometimes. Except she never got accustomed to the looks of pure hatred or disgust when their eyes panned from Billy to her. It bothered her more than it should have, but she'd never admit that to anyone. Especially not to Billy.

Mattie didn't realize she'd been staring blankly at the lit up elevator button before she heard Billy speak again. So engrossed in her thoughts, oblivious to the world around her, that she barely remembered how they came to be standing at the elevator doors. "You look pretty tonight." He reached up from beside her and tugged on the few loose strands of hair that fell from behind her ear. Trying to draw her attention up to him. "Who knew Mattie could clean up so well." He chuckled playfully.

"Yeah, who knew." She sighed, shifting her bag onto her shoulders. Tightening the straps as she looked up and watched their distorted reflections slowly disappear as the elevator doors opened.

"Billy, there you are! I have been wandering all over this place looking for you." Mattie tipped her head towards the femaine voice that shouted out from behind them. Her eyes instantly landing on a dark haired woman in a figure flattering, red strapless dress, with heels that would certainly kill Matties ankles if she ever tried them on.

The woman instinctually snaked her arm around his waist, inserting herself between the two of them. Staking her claim, on a man who probably wouldn't even call her back in the morning. Billy was ever the player, and very few of his hookups evolved past the first night, the commitment phobe he was. The lady was delusional if she thought she could change him, be the female in Billy's life that would finally tame the man enough to settle him down.

Mattie cautiously watched as she smiled sweetly up at Billy, batting her fake eyelashes, as if it would bring him to his knees before her. Then swiftly turned to give Mattie a scrutinizing once over. Her pretentious nose held up and a possessiveness darkened her eyes the longer she stared.

"I told you, just like everyone else, that I'd be back." Even from here Mattie heard the annoyance laced in Billy's words. Though it appeared that fact was completely lost on the woman.

"She must not have gotten the memo then either." The snark in the woman's voice was enough for Mattie to want to roll her eyes so hard she wouldn't be able to see straight for weeks. But she held it together, knowing Billy's award party was not the place to act so immaturely, no matter how much she desperately wanted to.

After all, his clients and potential clients lined the room. People that had more money and power then Mattie would ever have, even if she managed to sell her soul to the devil for those two things exclusively. Last thing she wanted was to be blamed for a deal gone bad because she made a dramatic show when she should have just sucked it up and let the woman's condescending words run off her back.

"I was walking Mattie out, now if you'll excuse us." He made an attempt to push her away, but the woman clung on for dear life instead. Wrapping her arms tighter around his waist in protest.

"So this is Mattie, huh?" The fake smile that pulled slowly across the woman's face could have won her a well deserved Oscar. "Billy here," she lifted her free hand and gently patted his chest playfully, "just cannot stop talking about what the two of you get up to. He almost had me believing you were one of his buddies from the Marines."

"Nope, just an old friend." Mattie calmly stated, keeping her words curt.

"I was worried there for a split second, but Billy doesn't quite appear to be your type. Now does he?" It was the smugness that punched Mattie in the gut, knocking the air out of her lungs. Chest tightening as her anxiety once again spiked higher than any building new york had to offer.

At this point Mattie knew where this was headed, some backhanded compliments and a few fake words of endearment, that frankly she wasn't in the mood for tonight. However, her escape route of the elevator was no longer accessible. The doors had shut since so much time had passed.

Not taking her eyes away from them, Mattie hit the call button a bit overzealously, the smack of her skin against the metal button loud enough it caught the attention of a few people nearby. "Never thought about it. Like I said, he's just a good friend." Mattie nervously tapped the toe of her boot against the marble floor, desperately wanting the elevator doors to open up and save her from whatever was happening.

"I'm sure you think that." The woman chuckled.

Mattie slammed her hand on the call button once more. Wanting to get out of there and away from the woman. It had been awhile since one of his floozys grew a pair and came after her for being so close to Billy. Laying the seeds of doubts in Matties head, not that she needs much to push her over the edge in that direction of thought. It however was new that someone did it in front of him, so openly and blatant. They were usually much more passive aggressive, cornering her in a bathroom or just giving her the stare down from across the room.

Mattie didn't give Billy a chance to respond, or worse take the side of the woman, the ding of the elevator doors instantly had her stepping inside. Running away from problems was her forte afterall. "Have a great night, Billy, and congrats on the award again." Mattie gave an awkward little wave before slamming the close door button.

"Christ, Matt..." She watched as Billy pulled the woman's arms off him, and rushed towards the elevator doors. "Wait, will you…"

Thankfully they closed before he could stop them. Instead she watched Billy's figure disappear behind the reflective metal, before taking a step back to lean against the handrail and heaved a heavy sigh. Her hand coming up and running down her face in exasperation. It was no wonder why Frank ignored these women, they were all insufferable.

*******

It didn't take her long to make her way to the parking garage, weaving her way up the ramps until she got to the floor she parked on. In truth she was in no rush to get home, remembering the long trek up the twelve flights of stairs to her apartment she more than likely had.

There was a newly wed couple a few floors below her that enjoyed hitting the emergency stop while they got all hot and heavy inside. First of all, it gave her the absolute creeps and she refused to touch anything with her bare hands when she stepped inside the damn elevator anymore. Secondly, it would not surprise her one bit if she walked into her complex and the elevator was off at this time of night.

Maybe she would swing by Karen's and crash the night on the couch. She always had a stash of clothes in her closet and Karen had never turned her away before. Not to mention Frank was more than likely still up at this hour, which would mean someone would hear her if she knocked on the door.

Deciding that was the best course of action, Mattie reached around and shifted her bag onto her side. Allowing her to dig through the worthless contents until her fingers grazed her phone that had sank to the bottom.

"I was starting to think I was at the wrong car?"

With the night so quiet and the concrete garage muffling the noises from the city, the voice that called out made her jump slightly. Causing her to fumble with her phone, dropping it to the ground after a few failed attempts to catch it.

For a brief moment Mattie was all but certain she was going to be murdered and end up on one of those true crime shows she had become addicted to. Girl alone in a parking garage, late at night, no one around to hear her? However, when she looked up she saw Billy leaning against the side of her Jeep. Arms crossed over his chest as he stared at her, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well I thought I was gonna be murdered, so I guess we were both wrong." She sighed to herself as she leaned over and picked up her phone. Giving it a quick once over, noticing the corner of her screen now had a huge crack in it. "What are you doing out here anyways? Don't you have a party… I mean women to woo?" Standing up, she shoved her phone back into her bag.

Quirking an eyebrow up, Billy pushed off the side of her car. "Why? Someone jealous?"

And there he was, the Billy she never really cared for. The one shot of tequila to many, overtly arrogant, smug son of a bitch that made her want to recoil. He didn’t rear his ugly head too often in her presence but on the occasions he did, Mattie hated it. And she really hated that it happened tonight. Especially since he had been so good twenty minutes earlier.

"If you just followed me down here to harass me, Billy, I'm not in the mood." Running a tired hand through her hair, Mattie gave him a pleading glance. Hoping he would see and have some mercy on her.

She watched as his eyes flickered around, taking in the surroundings before finally settling on her face. To which he lifted his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I understand you get caught in the crossfire more than I care for when it comes to the women following after me. Just want to make sure you didn't take anything she said seriously, Mattie."

"Comes with the territory, I'm used to it by now." Mattie shrugged her shoulders, pushing off his concerns like she so often did. Wondering why Billy was even down here telling her all this. What was so different about tonight, that he felt the need to follow after her? To, in a roundabout way, apologize for some floozies actions? That certainly wasn't the Billy Russo she knew.

"You shouldn't have to be used to it though," he took a step towards her, his dark eyes honing in on her own. "Frank always called me stupid, and I never realized why until tonight." Billy sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Pushing the stray strands that had fallen in front of his face back in place.

"Frank's a little instigator, he likes pushing your buttons." Subconsciously Mattie took a half step back, keeping some distance between them. "He likes pushing everyone's buttons for that matter." Frank was not particular about who he bothered, whether it was Curtis or Karen. If he saw something you were ignoring or trying to hide he'd call you out on your shit, which caused many an argument.

Shaking his head, Billy glanced at the ground as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "No, Matt." He peeked up at her, a flash of nervousness appearing behind his eyes for a fleeting moment. It happened so quickly she wasn't sure if her mind made it up. Billy Russo and nerves weren't exactly synonymous with each other. "How often do things like that happen when I'm not around?" He cautiously asked, seemingly hesitant to know the truth.

His question took her slightly aback, letting out a sad chuckle as her mind started to mentally tally up the incidents. However, like always, she tried to divert the conversation onto another topic, avoiding answering him. "How much have you had to drink tonight?" She asked, her chest tightening with each word she spoke. A flaming heat starting at her feet and creeping up her body as anxiety consumed her entire being.

"What? Mattie, I've only had three glasses of champagne. I promise you I'm not drunk, if that's what you're implying." Taking another step towards her, Billy reached out trying to take hold of her arm. But Mattie side stepped him, reaching in her bag for her keys instead.

"This just seems out of character for you, is all." She admitted, looking Billy over with a scrutinizing gaze. Wondering if she would be able to read his body language enough to steer this conversation in another direction.

"Me caring about you is out of character? Mattie, I'd do anything for you. You know that, right?"

"Well you don't have too. I can take care of myself." Running her free hand through her hair once again, she let out a heavy sigh. "Why don't you just go back to your party, Billy? I need to get to Karen's so I can get some decent sleep before I start work in," she clicked the home button on her phone, lighting up the screen to read the time. Noticing it was almost 1 o'clock in the morning, far later then she realized. "5 hours."

"Karen's? What's wrong with your place?" He stepped closer once more, closing the distance between them further. Placing himself in front of her car, making it difficult to maneuver around him. "You can stay at mine, it's a lot closer and you don't have to kick Frank off the couch."

Shaking her head, Mattie finally decided to push him aside. Her hands rested against his chest as she tried to move him. Like if she used enough force he would take the hint and just let her go about her evening. "Like that's gonna go over well with your hook up tonight." She tilted her head, giving him a pointed look. "I can see that tantrum coming at me like a bullet."

Billy opened his mouth to make a retort but quickly snapped it closed, knowing she was more accurate than he cared to admit. She always was. Mattie had always been the realistic friend in his life, the only person who called it as she saw it with him. Her being at his apartment would have put a damper on any evening romps. But for the first time in his life, Billy didn't want one of those women waiting for him upstairs. No, he wanted Mattie.

Frank always called him stupid, and in truth Billy thought it was Frank being Frank. Busting his balls for not being the brightest bulb in the box. That wasn't entirely the case though, Frank was stating the obvious. Billy had feelings for Mattie. He’s had feelings for her since he left on his first tour as a Marine. They were both eighteen and, as he hugged her goodbye, he noticed the pained look in her eyes. It was the first time in his life that he ever felt loved, truly and unconditionally loved by someone. Like if he died in combat there'd be somebody to mourn his loss… And that both terrified and excited him.

Growing up in a group home, being abandoned at such a young age, only being wanted for his looks left him a mess emotionally. But Mattie didn't care about any of that bullshit. And despite his feelings towards her, he would rather eat a live grenade then follow through with his thoughts. If he lost her because he sabotaged everything good in his life, he'd never live with himself after that.

Tonight, however, was a catalyst for him needing to change that. Billy knew the women he typically went after were catty and possessive, but he had no idea they'd have the nerve to go after Mattie. It was clear by her desperate attempt at leaving, as if the building was on fire, that this wasn't the first time this had happened. And that thought alone made him feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Shaking his head, he cautiously reached for her hands laying against his chest. Lamely trying to push him away. "I'm not taking anyone home tonight but you."

"Billy…." She started to protest, like she always did. Putting his needs above her own in every situation.

But he was quick to cut her off, using his hands, he pulled her against him hard. Head dipping down to place his lips against her own. Billy half expected Mattie to fight him, and she did briefly, her hands gripping into the fabric of his dress shirt. Tugging at it in hopes to pull away, but Billy refused to let her move. Needing her soft, warm lips that sent a ball of heat through his entire being when they touched. It was far too good to end it so quickly. Soon though she settled down and he couldn't help fighting the smile that spread across his face, mouths still melded together as she no longer fought him. Instead moving her lips wantonly with his.

After a few breathless moments he pulled a hair's breadth away from her, eyes searching her face for any sign of what was going on in that constant turning mind of hers. It was a rare moment that Billy couldn't figure out what Mattie was thinking, but this was one of them. Her eyes were narrowed in contemplation, staring at his chin, refusing to meet his own gaze. Her tongue poked through her lips, gently licking at her skin where he could see the sheen from their mixed saliva.

"Gonna say something?" He playfully asked, hoping it would break her from her trance like stare.

Instead of words, she lifted her head up to look at him. Matties eyes glossy, and teeth now sunk into her bottom lip as she seemed to struggle with herself.

"Hey." Billy moved to pull her to him again. Brows furrowed in deep concern seeing her this distraught. He would have never done what he did if he thought this was the reaction it was gonna provoke. "Mattie, talk to me?"

She sidestepped him, hand coming up and viciously rubbing underneath her eyes. Trying desperately to will the stinging threat of tears away. "If this is some joke, it's not funny Billy."

"Joke? You think I would kiss you for some joke?" He for the life of him he never expected that accusation, and it left his mouth open slightly in disbelief. "You really think that little of me? Christ, Mattie, I know I can be a dickhead sometimes, but I'd never do something like that to you."

"Then why now of all times?" She crossed her arms over her chest, dropping her head as her eyes panned the cracked concrete floor.

Running a hand through his hair in exasperation, Billy hesitantly moved closer to her. "Ever since I've known you, I've put you in this untouchable category in my head. Something I can't taint by fucking it up."

"How considerate." He could see her eyes roll even with her head being down. The typical amount of sass in her voice when she was mildly annoyed.

"Let me finish." He warned, taking on a dark tone. Not exactly in the mood to play these games with her anymore. "I've loved you since we were eighteen years old, Mattie. You've been the only person in my life I've known thats given a fuck about me. But I fuck up everything I put my dick near. I didn't want to lose you ‘cause I did something stupid, ‘cause it would have happened. I would have fucked us up, and in the process lost the only good thing in my life."

"Why is tonight so different then? What happened upstairs that made you change your mind all of a sudden?" She asked cautiously, however she didn't leave him time to answer as she continued on. "What made you decide I'm not 'untouchable' anymore?" Feeling like he would rip the carpet out from under her feet at any moment Mattie looked away from him again. Unable to hold his dark gaze out of fear.

Shaking his head he let a sad chuckle escape his lips. "I should have known all along the way some of those women treat you." He reached out and gently grasped her upper arm. Using his thumb to sooth circles against the leather of her jacket. "How cruel they are. How fucking righteous they think they are, pretending like they speak for what I want." With his other hand he nervously ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time that night. "I…" He started but couldn't bring himself to finish his thought as he watched a stray tear roll down her reddened cheek.

Instead he stepped closer and, with a gentleness Billy didn't know he had in him, used the pad of his thumb to wipe away her sadness. "Talk to me, Mattie, please." He whispered almost in desperation after what felt like hours of silence between them.

With sullen eyes she peered up at him briefly, allowing Billy to get a glimpse of the torment behind them. "I can't hold a candle to the women you've been with Billy. You and I both know that this," she vaguely gestured between them, "won't work."

If there was ever a question that Billy had a heart, he certainly knew it now. Her defeated words slapped him across the chest like spiked lead weights.

"Do you know how long I wished you'd see me as something other than a friend?" A dry, pathetic laugh escaped her lips as she finally admitted her feelings out loud. Only to pull away once again, recoiling at how stupid it all sounded. "Years…" He barely heard her answer her own question. "But even after all these years I knew I'd never be on the same level as you, Billy. I don't fit your playboy, millionaire lifestyle and I never will. It was a nice daydream but that's all it ever was. I'm much better friend material."

Shaking his head at her words he wished he hadn't wasted so much fucking time convincing himself she was the one that deserved better then him. That he would fuck up whatever relationship developed between them, but here he was ruining their relationship anyways. He was practically seeing it crumble away like dry sand in the desert right before his eyes.

"Mattie…" He started, keeping his voice as soft as he could muster. But she stopped him from continuing, raising up a hand to silence him.

"Just drop it, please." There was a desperate plea hidden behind her eyes. An emotion Billy only ever saw once before this moment and that was when he had been seriously injured on one of his first tours. "You're drunk, don't do something you're gonna regret."

She thought she was going to lose him, and this was her way of protecting herself.

Furrowing his brows, he stepped a few feet away from her to give her space. "I'm not drunk, Matt, you out of anyone knows what I look like wasted." He held his hands up, trying to get her to calm down. Knowing she was moments away from jumping in her Jeep and driving off. "This ain't it." Pointing a finger back at himself.

"Then don't do something you'll regret tomorrow morning."

Shaking his head, Billy took note of how her shoulders sagged in defeat. "The only thing I regret is not realizing how much I've hurt you." He took a hesitant step back in her direction when he noticed she wasn't moving anymore. "That me not being able to trust myself with you, made you think you weren't good enough."

He closed the gap between them, gently grabbing her hands that were fisted at her sides. Feeling them tremble ever so slightly in his own, as his eyes tried to search her down cast face. "Mattie please…"

She didn't pull away from his touch, which gave him a little bit of hope. If she wanted out she would have ended this conversation and left him standing alone in this cold ass parking garage.

"Billy!" A woman's voice echoed through the parking garage, causing Mattie to stiffen. "There you are! They're looking all over the place for you upstairs. I told them you probably just needed some fresh air." As the woman grew closer, Mattie realized exactly who it was, making her pull away from Billy almost immediately. "Come on Billy, you can walk me back upstairs. Show me off to the crowd a little." The high-pitched laugh had Mattie cringing as she reached for her keys once again.

She didn't have the willpower to deal with the girl's judgemental looks for a second time that evening. Once at the elevator upstairs was enough for a lifetime.

"I'll be up in a minute." His eyes bored into Mattie as he watched her physically shrink in on herself. Wondering if she was always this visibly bothered by people interrupting them, or if he was just more aware of it because of the current state of things between them.

"Everyone's waiting for your speech though." She added while placing her hands on her hips. Clearly annoyed that Billy wasn't just immediately following her command.

"Well they can wait." He snapped.

"Billy, it's ok, really. Go do your speech." Mattie sighed softly to herself, using her hand to push some hair away from her face. Allowing him to see a redness growing in her eyes and her bottom lip trembling before she sank her teeth into soft flesh again. "It's important to Anvil."

"She's right, now let's go." With an outstretched hand the woman beckoned Billy towards her. A devious smirk pulled across her face thinking Billy would jump when she demanded him to. But that was far from reality.

Mattie expected him to turn on that professional charm of his, straighten his suit coat out and head back to the elevators to finish the evening out. At that point the woman might have thought she had been the one to convince Billy, but Mattie knew he'd be doing it only because she asked. However Billy didn't move, nor did he even pay much attention to the woman as she stood there tapping the toe of her high heel against the concrete floor impatiently.

Shaking his head, Billy ignored the woman behind him. Instead he took hold of Mattie's hands once again, his fingers prying her keys from her vice like grip she had on them. Placing them down on the hood of her Jeep once he got them free.

"You're more important to me." He whispered softly. "There would be no Anvil or Billy Russo if it wasn't for you, Matt." Billy admitted, seeing her head shake ever so softly in refusal at the facts.

It was the truth, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Billy would have turned into some punk ass jerk, probably locked up behind bars right now, if she hadn't been there to pick up his pieces. If Mattie didn't straighten him up and push him to be the man he was this very day. As for Anvil, when he pitched the idea to her she had been so onboard for him to try the venture. Deep down Billy knew as long as he was out of the military Mattie would have gone along with basically any of his half-baked ideas.

Mattie wasn't well off but he remembered her reaching into her bag that night, whipping out her checkbook so she could write him a check for what little she had been able to save up. It was a couple thousand dollars, an amount he certainly didn't deserve and didn't want, but she had insisted. Practically shoving the check down his shirt when he tried to give it back several times.

"I know you don't want to believe that but it's true." He whispered again, his face inches away from hers now.

She was torn, a part of her desperately wanted to fall into his arms and be swept away like she had always dreamed of. However the realistic part of her was still apprehensive, treading on paper thin ice as she tiptoed towards him. Waiting for the ice to finally crack beneath her weight and send her spiraling back into a reality where Billy would never in a million years stare at her like he was doing currently.

Mattie was never a risk taker in life, and with the glowering eyes of the woman behind them she wasn't going to change that aspect about herself now. "If I mean that much to you, go upstairs and sweet talk those investors. If not for yourself, but for me." She reached for her keys Billy had placed on the hood, gripping onto them tightly, grounding herself in the action. "I'm not worth throwing all that away for." Her words were barely audible as she leaned up and kissed him on his cheek.

She felt him try to reach for her again, his hands desperate to pull her back to face him. Mattie shrugged them off though, walking quickly around to the drivers side door, clicking the lock button so she could climb inside. "I'll see you around." Was the only thing she could bring herself to say, before shutting the car door and driving off. Leaving the two of them standing in the parking garage alone.

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