Chapter Text
"They name their children such pedestrian things, in the Districts," President Snow commented.
You were out of bed, now, and standing up- through no strength of your own. He'd been the one to lift you off the cozy mattress, to carry you across the room and stand you up on a mat which felt like foam beneath your feet. Your back was propped against the wall, and to keep you from sliding down or tipping over, your wrists were buckled snugly to a horizontal bar which stretched between two giant wardrobes. He'd started methodically rifling through the wardrobes, after standing you up, to change you into what you were currently wearing: a fluff-covered pink dress, too short to quite cover your plain, unassuming diaper-thing. Then he'd gone back to perusing the contents of both wardrobes. For what, you didn't know.
"Almost always, the name is either a food or a trade. Sometimes both. Exceptions, of course, being Districts 1 and 2. Two emulates Capitol names, One borrows names from any trifle or bauble they can think of. Which is no less tacky than the conventions of the other Districts, but at least it's a departure from all those plants. Your name is one of the more passable ones, but still, Daddy gets to pick the name. Nothing District. And it doesn't feel quite appropriate to give you a Capitol name, either. No, something like 'lamb' or 'fawn' is more fitting. Something as quaint and cute as you are." He withdrew from the left wardrobe with a pair of fluffy white socks. "Give me your foot."
Of course, if you were too weak to stand, you were much too weak to lift your foot to his hand. Nor did you try very hard to, given how explicit he had made the connection between his treatment of you and his disregard for the Districts. With every word he spoke, it registered all the more heavily that this was the man who, with a single command, could end the Hunger Games for good. The man who chose not to, who wanted them to continue.
The soft, snug feeling of him slipping the socks onto your feet was emotionally indistinguishable from the soft, snug feeling of him buckling your wrists to this bar.
With your hands bound above your head like this, you were essentially just a thing for him to dress.
The president rose to his full height again, gazing down at you with those eerie eyes of ice. "Do you like the new clothes Daddy picked out for you?"
Your reproach for him didn't lend you any strength, under the expectant weight of those eyes. After a short hesitation, you nodded meekly.
"Well then...what do we say?"
You had to look away. "Thank you, Daddy."
He clicked his tongue chidingly, lifting your chin to make you meet his eyes again. He pointedly waited.
"Thank you, Daddy," you said again, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact.
He leaned in close, and his lips brushed yours again. A softer, more chaste kiss than the one he'd stolen while feeding you the cake. But a longer one. It was several seconds, breathing in the smell of roses, before he withdrew and slowly unbuckled the straps on your wrists.
"I know the Gamemakers like to call the tributes piglets or maggots," he continued to muse, "but that won't do at all. Lamb, fawn, kitten, even calf or colt...those are much better-suited." With long strides, he crossed the room to sit in a fine, pink rocking chair. He patted his lap. "Come to Daddy."
Your weight was resting against the wall behind you, and already you were halfway through sliding to the floor, as your legs failed to hold you up. "I can't."
"You can," he said with finality. "Don't keep me waiting, yearling."
The only way to obey his request was by crawling on your stomach across the soft carpet- which was no small feat, either, in your state. Your arms and legs straining to pull your weight, drawing whines of discomfort from you unwittingly. Your fluffy pink dress riding up as you went, further exposing your diapered behind. (And was it better or worse that the diaper didn't look like one, when it was empty? That it just looked like normal underdrawers?) The only saving grace was that you could look at the floor, instead of at the president who was certainly watching you crawl to him.
When you reached his expensive black shoes, President Snow scooped you up into his lap with a strength you would never have guessed he possessed, his arms snaking around you. "Very good, little lamb. Daddy could tell that was difficult for you."
Your heart was still sprinting. Once again, your lungs filled with the smell of roses, as your head fell against him. "What did you do to me?" you whimpered quietly. "Why do I feel so weak?"
He hummed in a mocking approximation of pity. "Your lungs were spasming, after you almost drowned, so the doctors relaxed all your little muscles." His lips pressed against your temple for a moment. "But aren't you so thankful that you have Daddy to hold you, when you can't sit up for yourself?"
It turned your stomach, having to keep calling him by that name. To keep giving him...whatever it was he got out of this. To sit in his lap and let him wrap his arms around you while your fellow tributes died by his hand. But disobedience could too easily be punished. And there had yet to be a moment when the indulgent fondness in his voice and his smile had lacked an unsettling undertone of warning. "Thank you, Daddy," you said quietly.
"Like you mean it."
Your eyes met his again, and he laughed at your expression.
"Gratitude never does seem to come easily to your ilk, does it?" he crooned. "Maybe that can be your first lesson, here."
Your pulse sped up all the more. "Do you do this every year?" you had to ask. "Do you...collect tributes?"
He didn't answer for a moment. His lips curved into a cold, almost hollow smile. "Good question," he praised quietly. "You'd like to know how disposable you are. Ideally, I would answer back that you're special, but of course you aren't. Not inherently. You're only as special as I make you. This year and any year, I could always choose a different person to make special. Feel free to let that knowledge inform your behavior, little thing." His embrace suddenly tightened. "But I've chosen you, and only you. And do you know why that is?"
You felt the creep of tears down your cheeks. Fear kept your throat too tight to speak. I could always choose a different person to make special. Feel free to let that knowledge inform your behavior, little thing. Wasn't it cruel, how delicately he formed his threats? How he cloaked them in just enough silk to drag you into his pettiness? Because he didn't threaten, directly, what would happen to you if he chose someone else; he only threatened that you'd cease to be special, as if his esteem was what you were chasing.
He hummed pityingly again. "It's because Daddy loves you. Can you say 'Daddy loves me'?"
In the scheme of what he'd just said, what did love even mean? "Daddy loves me."
"Like you mean it."
Your tears came hotter and faster, and you shook your head. You tried to hide your face in his shoulder, or his chest, but he didn't allow it.
"No, no. Let Daddy see your cute face. What, don't you believe me?" His breath tickled your skin. "You don't believe Daddy loves his little fawn? But I do. Your pretty eyes, your quaint accent. And I especially love...that you need me, to survive. I love that you need me, like air, to live. And you love it, too, little foal. Do you know why?"
You shook your head.
"Because that's how you know I'm telling you the truth. I have no reason to lie to you, do I? You'll obey me whether I love you or not, so why should I lie about that? Daddy loves his little lamb so much, doesn't he?"
After the blunt reminder of how easy it would be to replace you, the force-fed affection felt like a refuge. When his lips met yours for another kiss, you were too dazed to know whether you reciprocated or just didn't put forth any resistance, as it grew deeper and longer. His fingers started to tickle the backs of your knees, making you wriggle slightly in his arms.
He paused in the middle of the kiss- without allowing any space to grow between you -to add, "And I love the way your little heart races. The fear in your eyes. Fear can make people behave very badly or very well, and I just know it's going to make you try so hard to be good for Daddy, isn't it, lamb?"
You didn't have to dwell on the threat. Not with that silky voice feeding you the only answer. "Yes, Daddy."
He drew you back into the kiss, devouring you like someone who had a clue what hunger was.