#hg oc

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

Grey Dove is on my mind 🖤🤍

Saw @anathea-kermes do this and wanted to do it 😂 also-- using the same actress that played Tigris in tbosas... Because-- yes. Like mother, like daughter I guess but it's genetics so... She's sooo pretty 😭

[nyxanarchy]

This is the first chapter of my self indulgent fanfiction for the 25th hunger games. I'm currently waiting for the moment I'm brave enough to post it on AO3, but honestly I'm too excited about it and I can't wait so I decided to start by sharing it here. (I should be able to post it on ao3 on the 24th may.)

It's the first FF of my life, so please, don't destroy me in the comments, I'm doing this only for fun and to try to beat my writer's block. (Also since the rise of Ai, I'm feeling like I should never ever feel shame about my art again, no matter how bad it is since at least it comes from my brain and heart and not from a stupid computer without soul. So I have to be brave.) Last disclaimer. English is not my native language.

The FF follows a covey girl from the 8th district (the coveys were forced to stop traveling and since the eighth is very close to the twelfth, I imagined they could have found themselves there too), in the year of the first quarter quell, when the districts were forced to vote their own tributes. (I imagined it was a surprise, courtesy of the capitol)

No smut, but a lover boy in the tradition of Hunger Games.

Tw: mentions of death, death thoughts, sibling loss.

The song the coveys sing is a translation of "Chiena e' scippe" written by La Nina, a Neapolitan songwriter I'm currently obsessing over.

Birds of a feather.

Chapter 1

Prythee weep, May Lilian!

Gaiety without eclipse

Wearieth me, May Lilian:

Thro' my very heart it thrilleth

When from crimson-threaded lips

Silver-treble laughter trilleth:

Prythee weep, May Lilian.

Praying all I can,

If prayers will not hush thee,

Airy Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,.

It’s not the sun that wakes me up, but the music of the mourning dove outside. She calls me so gently until I open my eyes and I find myself where I fell asleep last night, on the table where we eat and where I write. I look around: the bed is freshly made, but there is no trace of my sister. She probably already went to the seashore, and is waiting for me with the others.She knows I stay up too late, she must have seen all the papers I trashed last night and taking pity on me, she left me to sleep.She even left me some breakfast, bread and some feral blackberries. They are in season, easy to find. Sometimes when I don't feel lazy I make jam with them. The sugar is not as easy to find, especially since Rosalind Mauve lost her job at the factory, but Enoch Green always brings some at the end of the month.

He is like a weird uncle, Enoch Green, always around when you need him. Rosalind Mauve says he is family, and he must be, he is covey like us, even though he is a Bells and we are Reeds. Anyway, there are so few of us that even distant family feels like blood. He was a friend of our Ma, so he thinks he has to keep an eye on us. He is not the best when it comes to comfort and kind words, but he has a good heart and a voice that could make the trees cry.

July just started though, so he won't bring anything today. If I'm still around at the end of the month I will make jam for everyone, but today the blackberries will have to do.

The first year I had to go through the reaping I didn't sleep for at least three days. It wasn't only the thought of being reaped that kept me awake, but the dread of the possibility of having to watch my sister going on that stage. But since she turned eighteen two years ago, today I only have to worry about myself. Myself and Melton really, the only person I care about who is in danger like me.

Probably he is on the seashore with my sister and the others coveys, so after I dress up, I take the fiddle and start walking to join them. I know they are probably fishing, it's the way we are able to sustain ourselves since Rosalind Mauve is out of work, and they will probably appreciate some music to keep them company.

Outside the sky is cloudless, and I have to walk under the trees to get away from the sun. Unfortunately the beautiful day is ruined by the industrial fumes. I can see them even though our house it's outside the real city.I hate the way they are expanding it. It’s eating away our woods, polluting the air. The smell is horrible, the sounds are worse.

Welcome to district 8. If you are lucky enough to survive the hunger games, and the factory work, you’ll probably die of lung cancer. Long live the capitol.

Can’t wait to go to the central square later today, where it’s so hot people consistently lose their senses. I walk until I feel sand under my feet, and then I run until I hear them singing.

“The wind brought me

A soft touch from the past

I close my eyes in front of roses

When I want to think about you

And then I look out the window

And I lose myself in a painting

Of a beautiful mountain

under the tinted clouds

And the birds keep singing

like they always did

But when I was a babe

I only chased the cats

Black, red and white cats too

I called out to them: «little cat!»

until I suddenly caught them”

I see Rosalind Mauve, radiant as always. She is working on a net with Bobby, next to them it’s a basket full of freshly caught fishes. Looks like I'm late. If I'm honest, I'm not sure I like Bobby, but he is Melton’s cousin, so I kinda have to like him. Moreover, he has a thing with my sister.He is crazy about her, and it's not a wonder. She is beautiful, always turning heads when we go to the city.Enoch Green says I stole her whole face when I was born, but I really can't see it. We resemble each other, but I fear I will never compare to her light.

One time this winter, when we were searching for wood, my sister walked away and Bobby softly whispered “she has soulful eyes you could get lost into” in a voice so pathetic Melton and I laughed until our stomach hurt, until we were both in the grass. He didn't really like that. When he ran away, red and angry, Melton got really close to me and cupped my face in his hands.

I froze, it was the first time he did something like that. He looked at me like he wanted to paint me, and then he whispered «Lilian Bone, you have the sharpest eyes I have ever seen, and your laugh is the best song of the Coveys».

Then he went after his cousin, like that meant nothing. For some reason those words didn't sound half as pathetic on his lips.

In a way I guess I should be grateful to Bob. If it wasn't for him I would still be obvious to Melton's endless flirting.

We are taking things slowly, but what can I say? I like him. A lot. I like him all-fire, so to speak. Unfortunately, that means Bobby is always around. But I guess it's fair. My sister likes him, good taste doesn't run in the family. Lionel Plum and Simon Stone see me, they are in the water, and while my sister is still singing they run to greet me.They are soaking wet from the sea, so I try to escape their arms.

«You are late!» they laugh and scream, and I run away from them.

“This moon woke me up

she found me inside my house

Without words

She sang me about you

And now with a chest full of sugar

I closed my locked window

Without any tears in my eyes

Now I laugh thinking about you.

And the birds keep singing like they always did

But when I was a babe

I only chased the cats

Black, red, and white cats too

I called out to them «little cat!’»

Until I suddenly caught them

And I used to run back and forth

And I had hands full of scratches

Hands full of scratches, but my heart was still untouched”

When she stops singing, the twins have caught me, and I'm no longer dry, sea water dripping from my dress. But I managed to save my fiddle, so all is well.

«Rascals.» my sister laughs. The twins are nineteen, but like Rosalind Mauve they look older. Like her, they didn't have anyone to take care of them, so they grew up fast. But on the reaping day we all get to act childish. If that wasn't the case we would go mad. They squeeze me extra hard, before I get them to leave me be. I sit against my sister's shoulder.

«Look who finally showed up. Late night?» Bobby's voice it’s almost cheery. I shrug. I love being up during the night, I can't help it. it's the only time I feel it's really mine. I manage to write my music only when the sun goes down.

«In this life you have to rest when you can.» Rosalind Mauve smiles at me. But it's a forced smile.

On this beach we are all trying to ignore the elephant in the room: that even though this year is my last, I'm still not safe. Even though we were extremely lucky, and thanks to Enoch Green we managed to not use tesserae, there is the very real possibility that I will be dead next week. Even so, the sun is warm, and the wind is pleasant.

I keep reminding myself that even without reaping life is not guaranteed. I know it better than others.

We had another sister. Her name was Susan Pearl. She died in her sleep three years ago. Nothing gruesome, no factory death for her, no horrible cancer. One week she had a mild fever, the week after she was dead. She went to sleep, and never woke up again. The doctor said her heart simply gave out. Something about the strain of the fever and a defect of her little heart. Rosalind Mauve found her dead in our bed.

Of course she wasn't really there. That body wasn't really her. Just the shell she left behind.

It was hard. I try not to think about it, because I feel like if I really think about it I will go crazy like one of the girls of the ballads we sing.

I rather think about the fact that she escaped the games, that she is somewhere safe, with our mother, with our nameless father. Frankly, since she died, I obsessively think about what it means to die.

Even though I saw plenty of dead people, I really didn't think it could happen like that. I mean, I knew it could happen, but I just didn't think it could happen to anyone, at any given moment. It surprised me, almost. Before my sister died, death was for me a faceless fear, something almost abstract. Death for me was my mother, someone distant and unknown.

I really can’t wrap my mind around the concept of going to sleep and never waking up. The thought of non-existence is, for me, horrifying. For months I was scared of going to bed, the dark terrified me.

Maybe this makes me a coward. I don't really care. I obsess over the thought, and then I try to ignore it. I have no balance. Having to watch the hunger games year after year doesn't help me in this regard.

Suddenly, my eyes are covered by calloused hands I know too well.

«Who am I?» His voice. Oh! If only he would sing.

«A feral sparrow?» Every time we cover each other's eyes, we try to guess the animal the other is thinking about. A silly game we have played since we were children.

«Wrong. Will you play for us? As a penance?»

I turn to face him, and I feel my heart leaping from me, a trapped animal yearning to go back to its home, his chest. He really is handsome, my lovely smith. His dark hair is like coal in the dawn, his eyes almost green. I softly touch his cheek, his skin pales in comparison to my hand. He won't kiss me, not when there are others around, he knows I don't like being watched. We are still pretending to be only friends, but I know the others are onto us. They definitely suspect we like each other, but I'm not sure they know we talked about it. But I'm sure they saw us holding hands.

When Rosalind Mauve tried to talk me about it, I suddenly became extremely busy and I had to immediately leave the room.

She let me leave. She has her secrets too. We respect each other too much. She knows that when I'm ready I will tell her about it.

«Please?» How could I deny such a sweet request?

«Fine.» I say, with a fake hint of annoyance, as if I didn't bring the instrument myself. I start to tune it, filling the air with the familiar sound.

Bobby immediately stops talking, his eyes fixing on my hands. Mean jokes aside, he is not a bad guy. I can see why Rosalind Mauve would fall for him. He is not bad looking, he is sweet, caring, and he really respects our music. Last year he asked me to teach him to play something, he told me he wanted to surprise her.Unfortunately, he lacks whatever sense of rhythm needed for this art. The music moves him, but it moves him ugly. His words, not mine.

When the music starts flowing from my beloved instrument, he looks a little melancholic, so my sister put his head on his shoulder. Even though they have been together for a while, he still looks surprised when she touches him. He is growing on me, I guess. Or maybe the reaping day makes me kinder.

I keep playing until everyone is clapping their hands, until the twins join me playing their guitars and my sister is singing over the cheerful tune.

There was a time where we could have lived off this. When Enoch Green and our Ma were young they used to play in the squares of the city, and people used to pay them to hear them sing. They would organize shows, parties where people would dance together.It was before most of our songs were banned. Now we sing only for each other, only for our friends.

Maybe it's for the better, maybe the city is not worthy of our songs. I'm perfectly content singing only with the people I love. I know my sister doesn't agree with me.

Anyway, for a moment I feel almost happy. If this is the last day I spend with my family, with the boy I'm crazy about, with his weird cousin, it’s a day well spent. I close my eyes, trying to lose myself in the music I'm making, trying to picture their faces in the dark. I want to remember them, if I have to ride that damned train today.

If my sister could hear my thoughts she would scold me. She lives her life in the absolute conviction that misfortune is attracted by bad thoughts. I think that if Iulia Creek hands are bound to find my name in the bowl, they will find it regardless of what I'm thinking right now.

When the sun is almost up in the sky, we know it's time. We have to go, since we have to make ourselves presentable. We all have to look our best, in case Capitol Tv decides to put us on its screens.

It’s not the real reason why we do it, though.

We are effectively choosing the dress we want to be buried in. At least, me and Melton are.

My sister and the twins are safe. They can't take them from me. It's just me and him against misfortune.

We let the others walk in front of us, we stay in the back, and when they are far enough he puts his hands around me, and finally kisses me. I like our stolen glances, and I like these stolen kisses. Maybe I don't want to let the others know just yet because I like having this secret. I never had one before.

I let his lips soothe me, he smiles on my mouth.

«I missed you. Why did you take so long?» he says softly, and my heart is pounding in my ears.

«I’m sorry. Rosalind Mauve didn't wake me up.»

«Lilian Bone. Always blaming other people for her own fault. Cruel little Lilian.»

When Melton quotes my ballad I roll my eyes, but he keeps going.

«She’ll not tell me if she love me, cruel little Lilian, when my passion seeks pleasence in love-sighs. »

It's cute. I like hearing him recite it, trying to impress me. He always impresses me, but I try not to show it, because I don't want him to stop trying.

The first time I met him I was eleven. We went to the city with Enoch Green, since he had an old horse who desperately needed shoes. While he was inside the blacksmith’s shop, Rosalind Mauve went to look around the market, while I sat outside with said horse.

At some point, a boy I had never seen before sat next to me. He was already tall, all legs and pointy elbows.

«I’ve seen you at school.» he said.

«I didn't.» I replied, even though I hadn't even looked at him. I never liked city boys.

«What’s your name?»

«Lilian Bone.»

«Hi, Lilian.»

«Lilian Bone.» I repeated it harshly. We have been here since the war, since we were separated from the others coveys, but people still don't get our naming tradition. Sometimes it gets frustrating.

«What?»

«My name. It's Lilian Bone, not Lilian.»

«Ah.»

He sat in silence for some time, looking at me and the poor malnourished horse.

«Aren’t you gonna ask my name?»

«Is there a rule?»

«What?»

«Should I ask the name of someone just because he asked mine?»

«It’s polite.»

We locked eyes. In spite of myself, I asked him, I don't know why.

«What’s your name?»

«Melton. Just Melton.»

At that point, Enoch Green came outside, with a grim face and bad news.

«Let’s go.» he said, and he called me by his side, taking the horse’s bridles from my hands. He was in a hurry to leave.

«Lilian Bone, I'm gonna find you tomorrow at school, and I'm gonna sit with you at lunch.» He almost shouted.

I didn't reply, I just glared at him.

But he did. He really did. We have been inseparable since then. He worked himself into my heart. Constant, like it was a job he had to complete. It’s in his nature. I like that about him. If he wants something he is gonna put in the work to earn it.

He is still reciting my ballad

«She, looking thro' and thro' me, thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks.»

«No need to be dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not sleeping well.»

He steals another kiss. I'm not sure stealing is the right word, since I put my arms around his neck.

«I know. No need to be sorry. I will steal you after the reaping.»

«If we both are still here.»

He must have sensed something in my tone, the fear I'm shoving down my own throat, so he puts my hands on his heart, and then he puts his hands over mine. I feel it beating under my fingers.

«We are both gonna be safe. We have been safe every year. This is not different. We escaped six years in a row. We are lucky. So very lucky.»

«Very lucky. What’s another year?»

«Right! What's another year?»

«Nothing.»

«Louder!»

Rosalind Mauve must have heard us, cause she calls out to me.

«Lilian Bone, we have things to do!»

I roll my eyes, brush my lips against his.

«For luck. I’ll kiss you again after the reaping.»

«Fine.» but he doesn't let my hand go until we rejoin the others. Then, after stealing a glance, he walks away with his cousin, while we go to the only place I won't allow him to follow me.

Deep in the woods there is a safe clearing, where Enoch Green buried our Ma and the twins’s parents. We all go there every year before the reaping. It's an old tradition. When we were little, Enoch Green used to take us, but now we are all grown up, so we go alone.

We go our separate ways, and me and Rosalid Mauve rapidly find the lavender colored stone that guards our Ma’s remeanings.

"Farewell! and when thy days are told,

Ill-fated Ruth! in hallowed mould

Thy corpse shall buried be;

For thee a funeral bell shall ring,

And all the congregation sing”

She softly touches the stone, she cleans it from the leaves like she always does, while I do the same thing to the white stone next to it. Our sister sleeps here, forever.

“Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot and has heard

In the silence of morning the song of the bird.”

Being superstitious as we are, you would think we would refrain from naming our children after tragic poems. How could my little sister escape her death when it was written in her name since birth? If I ever have a daughter I will choose her name from the happiest song I know of, so she’ll die when she is eighty.

But first I have to survive this day.

We sit for a while. I don't particularly love coming here. I don't know where they are, our dearly departed, but it's not here, under these rocks there are only bones. Rosalind Mauve always looks at the graves like they could someday reply to her silent prayers, so I keep her company. The truth is that I can't bear to leave her alone with the dead.

When she is finished we head back to our home.

Last night, while I was searching for blackberries, my sister repaired two old dresses of our Ma. This morning, she dresses herself in a purple shade, more lavender than mauve.

«It was her favourite.»

I believe her, mostly because I can't remember anything about my poor dead ma.

I’m not jealous, the dress suits her more than could ever suit me and I can't complain, because the one she chose for me looks perfect.

A white bodice, sewn on a red skirt. It’s beautiful.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I kinda get where Enoch Green is coming from when he says I look like her. Dressed like this I could almost believe him. I almost love it. How could I not? Everyone would grow to love their faces, if they would see someone they love in it.

I wish I could hug Rosalind Mauve, but today it would make her worry.

Instead, we spend some time doing our hair. I keep trying to make sense of my curls until I give up and let her do it, like when we were little.

She softly hums while she is at it. When she is finished, I stop her from moving away, pressing her hands on my face. I feel her stiffness. I know she would like to open my head, to chase away the bad thoughts.

She knows she can't help me. She crouches next to me and speaks in a calm tone, like she is pronouncing some kind of incantation.

«You are safe.» she says, cupping my face. I nod. «Last year.»

«Last year.»

We get interrupted by Enoch Green's whistle. Our ride to the city is here.

[districtfourmermaid]

My sweet summer child gets her hands dirty in Blaze of Glory Chapter 9: Blood.

[cloudy-roro]

How many games has d14 won?

So this is very embarrassing..... the truth is I created district 14 and the characters related to it specifically for tbosas only and I fully intended that it's characters are involved in @majorsoapfan and @moreespressoformydepresso fix it aus because thinking any further than that would mean that my babies ruthis and Rycee 's death and I can't express to you how much it pains me to kill off my characters I don't know how do other creators do it but I genuinely can't bring myself to kill my ocs it's the whole reason why I abounded my first quarter quell fanfic because once the reality of me having to kill my ocs even those who I haven't put too much effort in sunk in it genuinely caused me to be distressed I know this is silly but to me my ocs are my creations and I put ridiculous amount of thoughts and effort in creating them so the idea of putting developing them so much then killing them off genuinely hurt me again ik that this is stupid but I can't help it okay? I get emotionally attached to things especially my creations it's the whole reason why I haven't deleted my first fics from docs and kept all my drawings from when I was a kid, so basically I created Rycee and ruthis with the whole intention that they will survive along with the other tributes and I completely ignored the canon and previous trilogy as I have fallen into a tbosas hyperfixation

But if I had to implement the canon universe id say that they don't survive the games as often and perform as bad as district 12 with only 4 to 5 victors at most, besides the malnourishment and childhood injuries their industry doesn't provide them with exposure to the elements due to being an industrial island surrounded by pollution and their industry won't provide them with fighting skills or weapons training, and the stylists won't be of help because similar to district 12 they won't know how to make good costumes related to recycling and waste management and purification of the elements and add on their green skin caused by argreen and the stylists would want to put excessive amounts of makeup on them as their green skin would be considered ugly by the capitol standards wich would lead to them having a clown like appearance in both the parade and interviews which would make the capitol citizens see them as jokes and they won't want to sponsor them, so yeah all the odds are stagged against district 14 tributes to perform well and they are as much of a joke as district 12 although much worse because the attempts to glamour them up would fail miserably and no stylist is interested in having to work for them

Sorry about all of this ranting

But genuinely thank you for being the one most supportive of this little project of mine it means alot to me

[misfittq]

*Taryn is laying on the floor with their eyes closed*

Aylin: Hey, are they sleeping or dead?

Jay: Hopefully dead, I hated them.

Aylin: Yeah, me too.

Taryn, sitting up: First of all, fuck you guys.

Jay: Taryn won’t wake up, what do I do?

Aylin: Did you try kicking them?

Jay: Yes.

Aylin: I’m out of ideas.

Aylin: It's locked. You got a lock pick?

Taryn: Yeah-

Jay: *kicks in the door*

Taryn: What’s your name?

Aylin, whispering to Jay: Can I tell them my real name?

Jay: No!

Aylin: I’m… Jay.

Jay, whispering to themselves: The ONE TIME they get my name right…

Taryn, learning how to drive: What happens if I press the gas and the brake at the same time?

Jay: The car takes a screenshot.

Aylin: Please pull over. I’m driving now.

Jay: We’re about to do the taser challenge. You want in?

Aylin: What's the taser challenge?

Taryn: We tase eachother, then drink.

Aylin: How do you win?

Jay: What are you, a lawyer? You want in or not?

Taryn: *out cold on the ground*

Aylin: Oh my god, do you think they’re okay?!

Jay, holding a bucket of ice water: Who cares?! *dumps all of the water on Taryn’s face*

Taryn: So what’s the plan?

Aylin: I don’t know. You’re smart, *points at Jay* they’re mean, come up with something.

Aylin: You have to apologize to Jay!

Taryn: Fine!

Taryn: Unfuck you, or whatever!

Aylin: Taryn, Jay, I’ve left a letter telling your guardians not to worry—

Taryn: They won’t.

Aylin: That you’re safe—

Taryn: That’ll just depress them.

Aylin: —and you’ll see them in a few weeks.

Jay: Do we have to?

Taryn: Adulting is hard.

Taryn: How do I quit?

Aylin: Time travel.

Jay: Die.

[neptunnnnnne]

doodles

[stormbreaker-290]

H

Finished a fem Mal sketch I did a few days ago,,,,,,,,,

Im . Norma l

@bumble-the-sun-bee

[flea-eats-bugs]

I was just supposed to color in this line art so I would know what colors to paint him; I got a little carried away TwT

I've also been designing his pilot and her girlfriend + giving them fun lore so I'm excited to finish drawing them too. I literally just had a Wing Gundam kit that I kept losing pieces of and wanted a quick kitbash to fix him and it turned into three blorbos. What is my life

[welldonebeca]

Happier Than Ever: Year 0 (2/2)

I'm starting to think I'm stuck in a dream, cause we're young and we don't know better.

Summary: Cato comes home from winning the 74th Hunger Games, and Luna has to adapt to how such a thing changes not only their once-peaceful life, but Cato himself. WC: 7.5k words. Warnings: Canon divengence - Cato wins the 74th Hunger Games. Tension. Pregnancy. Luna is autistic, and we deal with quite a bit of autistic overstimulation here. A little bit of angst because of that. Fluff. Smut. Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Smut. D/s undertones. Husband/Wife kink. Pregnancy. Pregnant sex. Praising kink. Dirty talking. A little bit of degrading kink. Orgasm control/denial. Smut.

masterlist

Year 0 (Part 1)

Luna stayed there, unmoving, on the floor. She turned onto her side, curling up into a tighter ball, the plushness of the carpet keeping her comfortable.

She stayed in there for a long time before getting up and turning on the light inside, and just then realise the closet wasn’t exactly empty.

This one was enormous, easily the size of her bedroom back at her parents’ house. She stared for a moment, taking in the high ceilings, the built-in shelves, and rows upon rows of empty hangers, and it wasn’t filled all around, but there were enough clothes in there to surprise her.

At least ten dresses hung on display, delicate and impossibly feminine, all of them airy and light, as if they were meant to lift off the ground at the slightest breeze, all in pastel, soft tones.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers along the soft fabric of one. It felt expensive, like they were for someone else much more important.

Not for her at all.

Luna peeked into the room before opening the door fully, and held her dress to her chest as she made sure it was empty, and peeked out through the curtain at the sound of people in the garden.

It was a nice garden. There were flowers in there and lights. Cato was out there, looking every bit the part of the charming victor as he spoke animatedly to the camera, his smile wide and seemingly genuine – though, if she knew him, that could be an act.

Lyme had told her about the Capitol, what it really could be like. If she was to marry Cato, she had to understand that they were the ones who dictated the terms. They wanted to craft a story, a fairytale of romance and triumph, and they had certainly been getting their wish.

And since her interview with Caesar – when Cato was one of the last tributes in the arena – they were getting it.

It had to be partially her fault, how easily she folded and gave them fuel. They wanted to make Cato interesting then, when it became clearer how he was going to win. He was not only a hero whose victory was not just a personal achievement, but part of a grand narrative. He won the games, and then he came home to collect his prize: his blushing bride.

Luna.

She watched him from behind the curtain quietly, not sure of what to even do as they kept rolling and laughing and entertaining. It felt like a lifetime until the crew finally left, and she was able to take a deep breath before slipping back into her dress.

She smoothed out the fabric nervously, and was about to leave when the door opened and Cato walked inside, completely stiff as he stepped inside.

Luna squeezed her fingers nervously, embarrassed and he huffed for a moment before clearly forcing himself to calm down.

“The closet?” he asked, his frustration barely masked. “Really?”

Luna he twisted her engagement ring.

“She was on my face,” she mumbled. “And touching me.”

“We talked about this,” Cato reminded her, his eyes strong as he stepped up to her. “You promised me you would behave well, that you could do it, and then I come home and you hide in the closet!”

She looked down at her feet, her skin burning in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she twisted the ring more.

“Do you know how lucky we are they even let you be here?” Cato hissed, snappy. “That they let you welcome me, and all you do is cry and hide!.”

She glanced up at him.

Didn’t he understand all that she had gone through?

The horror of watching him fight with two dozen people for his life in the Hunger Games? Waking up to see him covered with blood in the TV, not knowing if it was his or someone else’s, escaping death time and time again?

“We haven’t seen each other in weeks,” she shot back. “Of course I was crying. I spent half that time scared you might not come back.”

He stopped, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of everything was pressing down on him.

“Everyone always knew I was gonna win,” Cato declared.

But he didn’t even sound like he believed in it.

And how could he? He had barely escaped the giant wolves – dogs? Beasts! - before his fight with Thresh.

She’d seen him almost fall down not once, but six times. It almost killed her!

If something had happened to him… Luna couldn’t even think off what would be of her.

“Well, I didn’t,” Luna mumbled, not looking at him as she crossed her arms tightly.

She couldn’t say it looking at his face – she knew she shouldn’t doubt him. As his wife, Luna should be his first fan and louder cheerer.

“You were expecting me to die?” he asked, a mix of hurt and disbelief in his tone.

She looked right back at him.

“I was afraid you were going to die!” she corrected him.

Cato exhaled heavily, and she turned away again just as he walked over, gently pulling her arm to uncross it.

“Well, I didn’t,” he said softly, parroting her words right back to her.

Luna looked away, but he moved his hand to her face, holding her by the chin and making her look at him.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “I didn’t die.”

She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes again as she struggled to hold them back.

He moved his fingers up to her face, and ran his thumbs over her cheeks, careful.

“I’m sorry you felt like that.” he told her. “It must have been terrifying.”

Luna swallowed down, her throat tightening.

It was. Very much so.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, and that was all it took. Luna broke down into his chest, crying and whimpering like a child. Cato cradled her gently, holding her so tightly it was like he was afraid she would slip away.

They didn’t stay in that room.

Actually, after that day, the third floor just remained empty and untouched even by the staff.

The wedding preparations were… inexistent. Between the day Cato came back and the day of the wedding, a month later, Luna visited her home twice, spending a week there each just to get everything moving.

Mum was desolated that she had to leave, and Juno even cried at saying goodbye to her the day she officially left her bedroom – even after saying so many times she would love to be able to tear down her wall and make a mega room for herself now.

The studio was given back, and she gifted her old stone-cutting machine to some other aspiring sculptor, and tried on her dress for the first time two weeks before the actual wedding.

It was… terrible.

No, not terrible.

But it was strange.

Everything of the wedding was strange, like it was made for someone else – and it was; it was made for the Capitol, from start to end.

They skipped the bread ceremony, took their traditional vows away, and made it so different it was barely a wedding for Luna and probably anyone watching it in the district.

Yes, watching it. They made a wedding special about it and filmed every little thing – from the moment she had her dress on to the moment they closed the door of the top floor bedroom for their ‘wedding night’.

Luna didn’t remember a moment of it. The whole day was a blur of following instructions. And then, the two days after were a blur of trying to recover because she was so exhausted she could barely speak and couldn’t take a single brush of a hand against her arm, much less do anything a married couple was meant to do.

“Layers and layers of translucent chiffon and organza, gracefully cascading over the other on the skirt and sleeves,” Caesar Flickerman read on his card as the camera paned on an image of Luna herself smiling shyly to the screen on the TV show. “The bodice was embroidered with silver and pearls in the motif of flowers and took eight days of nonstop work to complete, that is fantastic, look at her.”

Luna was looking. And it wasn’t her – herself. The woman on the Wedding Special rerun was a stranger, decorated with so many shining things it almost hid the dull of exhaustion in her eyes.

“You looked like doll,” Cato rubbed his hand down her thigh, his touch very gentle. "They even made you blonde."

Luna was sat on his lap, her face hidden on his neck, her nose right where he used to have a beautiful mole.

“I was,” she sighed. “Ellyn just made me into a walking mannequin.”

Her hair was still growing out that colour change.

She glanced up at the screen, and the Bride was smiling at her Groom, slipping a ring into his finger with a shy smile.

“She looked straight out of a dream,” the commentator affirmed. “What was that nickname you gave her when we were talking?”

“The Capitol’s Delight,” Caesar declared openly.

Luna recoiled in discomfort, and Cato turned to look at her.

“You want me to turn it off?” he asked softly.

Luna sighed.

They hadn’t watched the special when it first aired, and she had no intention of watching it again now.

“We’ll be seeing them together soon on the Victory Tour!” Caesar’s voice boomed before she could respond. “Do you think she’ll have that marriage glow? She’s just so adorable, the way she looks at him.”

The commentator chuckled alongside him.

“Well, she’ll certainly have something new to show off,” he added, motioning toward his stomach in a crude gesture.

Her tongue soured.

“Please,” she mumbled.

Cato didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the remote, switched the TV off, and then turned back to her, his hand gently cradling the small curve of her belly where their baby grew.

They were having a boy — a very healthy, big boy. The doctors had told her that repeatedly, though one could barely tell by looking at her. She was ten weeks away from giving birth, and her belly barely showed it. Something wasn’t translating between the size of the baby and her own body - she was tall and strong, the doctors said. It was normal, apparently.

Cato was going to leave for his Victory Tour the day after tomorrow, and when Ellyn came to show her the dress she would be wearing to accompany him when stopped at their District to his way to the Capitol, the moment she put it on, she looked no more pregnant than she had on her wedding day.

“I don’t even look like I’m carrying him,” she mumbled, frustrated.

Cato’s fingers gently drifted to the spot where their boy usually kicked, tracing light circles over her belly.

“Well, he’s right there,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “We’ve been seeing him every two weeks for months now, little Loony."

Luna chuckled, the silly nickname lifting some of the weight from her chest.

“Our little Prince,” she corrected with a teasing smile. “Cato II.”

His cheeks flushed pink, the name still embarrassing him. It had been her choice, something she’d been quietly thinking about ever since he returned;

“I still can’t believe you picked that name,” he muttered.

“You deserved it,” she whispered, reaching up to caress his jaw. “Our son deserves it too.”

Cato’s face softened at her words, but there was still that boyish nervousness, a side of him she adored to see. It meant he was still himself.

Slowly, he looked down and away from her, focusing on the baby before sighing.

“Speaking of him,” he spoke slowly. “And the tour.”

Luna focused on him again, frowning.

He would leave for the tour the day after tomorrow, and spend a day on each district.

Cato promised a lot of things. Little trinkets from every place – a lump of coal from 12, some fruit that was only ever available on 11, fish and pearls from 4… things like that. It was silly and adorable.

“I was talking to Ellyn,” he looked at her face, very serious. “And we talked about what you will be wearing when I stop at two.”

Luna exhaled.

Yes, she would be there with him at his stop at District 2. She would give him his flowers and his hero welcome.

“Yeah?”

He moved his hand a bit more, caressing her belly under the big shirt she wore for sleep.

“She told me to… tell you... to wear something for the day,” Cato spoke slowly.

Luna hardened herself, clenching her jaw. That didn’t sound good at all.

“Which would be?”

Cato swallowed down, exhaling.

“A belly,” he told her, his voice barely loud enough. “So you’ll look… bigger.”

Bigger.

More pregnant, they had probably said.

She could almost hear the Capitol’s stylist team talking — round and glowing, a perfect picture of maternal beauty. Not… this. Not her little bump that barely showed at all and looked like a bloat after lunch and not an actual baby.

She got up from his lap, not meeting his eyes as she put on her shoes again. It wasn’t like they could say anything, was it? It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

“Sure,” she mumbled, putting on her shoes. “Just tell her to bring it with the dress.”

Cato sighed, not moving from his spot on the couch.

"Luna," he called softly, his voice gentle, almost pleading. "Please."

But she didn’t listen to him, feeling her eyes already stinging with tears, and the lump in her throat tightened as she stepped away from him.

He hated to see her cry, they both knew that. What did falling into tears do? It didn’t help anything.

She stepped outside into the garden, the cold biting at her skin almost immediately, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she looked over the little strawberry bush the gardener had been nice enough to plan for them, boxed up in order to not infiltrate the soil.

Why couldn’t they just let her be?

She hadn’t won anything. She wasn’t a victor, she was just a random sculptor who happened to be married to one.

No other Victor’s family was expected to perform, and yet, they put all that on her.

The door to the house opened behind her, and she felt the big covers being put over her shoulders before Cato even spoke up, standing by her side.

“You know it’s not something I approve,” he murmured. “If it was for me, you’d have all the privacy you want. You wouldn’t have to show up, you wouldn’t have to wear those stupid clothes and that fucking…” he let out a long, angry breath, as if words alone couldn't express the size of his frustration.

Yeah, she knew that.

She didn’t doubt, even for a second, that if Cato had his way, she would never be subjected to the Capitol’s whims. But knowing that didn’t ease her own frustration.

If she didn’t have a choice in all this, then Cato — even with all his strength and status as a victor — had even less.

Luna’s hands tightened on the edge of the blanket, her knuckles turning white.

“They would ignore me if I was normal,” she breathed out, staring at the big fruit tree they hadn’t seen giving fruit yet.

“Normal,” Cato echoed quietly, his voice barely louder than a breath.

“Normal,” she looked at him, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

He had to know that.

She had heard it her whole life, how she wasn’t normal. How she was defective and would never be good enough.

"If I could perform, smile on cue, play the part like they want me to. If I didn’t hide the second someone wanted to talk to me, didn't flinch when they touched me... they would ignore me. I'd just be another wife, someone who would be blended into the background."

Cato’s jaw tensed as he looked down at her, the frustration evident in his eyes. He knew she was right. If she played along, if she gave them what they wanted—acted like the Capitol’s perfect little puppet… they wanted her because they knew she didn’t like the attention, because she wanted to blend in. They called her adorable because they knew she couldn’t help herself and it wasn’t an act!

Because she was odd.

“You wouldn’t be yourself, then,” Cato spoke suddenly, breaking the silence.

Luna turned her head slightly, confused as she met his eyes. Before she could ask, Cato leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her temple, his warm breath against her cold skin.

“If you weren’t… yourself,” he repeated, his voice more resolute this time. “The way you are now? That’s what makes you you.”

Luna blinked, trying to process his words.

“It's what’s right about you, your oddness,” he affirmed. “Normal girls are boring.”

She chuckled, feeling her heart warming up.

“I wouldn’t love you more if you were any different,” he told her. “If it helps.”

Luna smiled, breathing.

It did, a little bit.

“Let’s get inside,” he patted her shoulder. “It’s cold here, you don’t want to catch a chill.”

He led her inside, his hand warm against her back as he ushered her back to the couch where they’d been before. Cato didn’t hesitate — he pulled her back onto his lap, just like before, wrapping his strong arms around her as if shielding her from the world. Luna didn’t resist; she tucked her head into the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent that hadn’t changed since the first time she’d been close to him.

They could have touched his face, but he was still himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on her thigh. He paused, as if savouring the words before speaking again. “My wife.”

The word set warmly in his chest – Cato loved repeating it into her ear, and now they didn’t need to hide that.

She shivered, feeling moving right up her skin, making her breath hitch. Cato knew exactly how sensitive she’d become lately, and he seemed to fucking adore this.

“My very beautiful wife,” his touch climbed higher, and his fingers ran over the back of her thighs, tickling her.

“Cato,” she squirmed, her voice coming out in a half-whine.

But he only hummed, feigning innocence as he leaned closer, his face hovering near hers.

“Yeah?”

His breath was warm against her cheek, as his eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint she knew all too well.

Her face burned and she cast her eyes down, but Cato simply grinned, nuzzling his nose against hers, and his hands moved higher up, grazing the sensitive spot on her inner thigh, and she parted her legs just a little, instinctively.

“What are you thinking?” he taunted her gently, brushing his fingers against the inside of her thigh from behind.

“Cato…” she took a hand up, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt

He just pouted teasingly.

Luna leaned in, closing the space between them, her lips barely an inch away from his before he pulled back.

“You have to ask,” he reminded her.

She glared at him.

He was such a tease.

“Kiss me,” she mumbled.

Her husband’s smile widened into a bit grin before he finally leaned in and closed the distance. His lips met hers, soft but insistent, and she melted into the kiss, moving her hand up and around his neck

There he was, firm and delicious – damn intoxicating. And maybe his lips felt a little bit different, but what he knew to do with them was still always perfect.

Cato moved his hand around her thigh, and she stretched one of her legs to give him space to touch her between them, but he just caressed her knee, dragging his teeth over her lower lip as he pulled back.

Well, at least he tried.

She pushed her fingers into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer again, and he met her right away again.

Cato devoured her as much as she devoured him, until her lips were aching and she was so hot that the feeling of his hand just caressing her knee was torture.

He pulled away from her lips, taking his kisses down to her jaw, and she was panting when he start giving her jaw little nibbles. And his hand hadn’t fucking moved.

“Cato,” she whined. “Your hand…”

His tongue licked up the skin of her neck, and she gasped when he dragged his teeth over her sensitive spot.

“My hand?” he cooed back.

Luna spread her legs more, giving up on being subtle.

She had barely anything on – a big old shirt of his and her panties, nothing much.

“Please,” she sighed, closing her eyes when he sucked a bruise on her skin.

He chuckled right against her neck, his hand travelling up, and she nearly cried in relief as his fingers caressed her skin, up her sensitive inner thigh and to her cotton underwear as he sucked onto her skin.

“Yes, please,” she panted.

“Right here?” he hummed, rubbing his knuckle over her seams.

She arched her hips, chasing the touch, but he took it away just as she tried to.

“Please,” Luna whined. “Husband.”

His knuckle ran over her pussy lips and pressed against her clit, and she couldn’t help her moan.

“Wife,” he whispered back.

And he pulled his hand away!

Luna reached for his wrist, completely impatient, and he laughed.

“So impatient!” he clicked his tongue.

She kicked the couch, and he pushed her hand away from his own, holding her in place.

“Behave, wife,” he taunted her.

She pouted, and his touch moved right up her torso, pushing her shirt up with it, and Luna knew too well the way he hoisted her up with an arm on her back, dragging the fabric over her belly and her chest right as his lips came to her tit.

Her breasts were so sensitive since he came back. Maybe even before, but she hadn’t paid attention.

“Cato,” she moaned.

His lips curled against her skin as his teeth dragged over her poor nipple as she squirmed, hot between her thighs.

He didn’t relent, sucking onto her, holding her in place as she writhed in his grip. By the time he changed to the other side, she was moaning wordlessly and her underwear was probably fucking soaked.

“Cato,” she reached for his arm, his grip too strong to escape.

Cato just hummed against her chest, licking up her skin and flicking her nipple before sucking her flesh into his mouth.

Luna tried to close her legs, but he was much faster, slapping her inner thigh and spreading her more as she cried at the sting, not even taking his lips away.

Fuck, he was so fucking mean. Her pussy clenched around nothing, empty as his fingers squeezed her.

“Cato,” she cried, arching her body. “Please. Please.”

His hand was free, couldn’t he just fucking touch her?

Cato let her breast go, his chin wet with saliva when he looked up at her, his eyes dangerous and predatory, and she gasped when he slapped her poor thigh again, holding her so tightly she could barely squirm.

“Ask nicely,” he commented.

She whined, spreading her legs as far as they would go, trying to thrust her hips and make his hand move higher.

“Please,” she begged. “Cato, please.”

Didn’t he know what she wanted?! What she needed?

He raised his hand, and instead of slapping her thigh, he smacked her right between her legs, practically over her clit, and she cried out and jumped in surprise.

It was maybe the third time he did that, and fuck it if it didn’t make her brain melt.

“With words,” Cato corrected her. “Not trying to shove that needy pussy on my hand.”

Her whole face burned in embarrassment as she panted, trying to hide her face in his neck, but he didn’t let her, resting his forehead on top of hers, looking into her eyes.

“Go on,” Cato nearly purred. “Be a good wife.”

She could feel herself getting wetter at that

“Please,” she closed her eyes, her voice as soft as it could be. “Touch me.”

He didn’t relent, rubbing his nose on hers.

“Where?” his fingers caressed her inner thighs. “Where do you want it?”

God.

“My pussy,” she whimpered. “Please, Cato.”

He moved his hand up slowly, his knuckle caressing her up and down.

“Like this?” Cato asked, all sweet.

Oh, she wanted to fucking cry.

“Please,” Luna whined. “You know it!”

He kissed just her chin sweetly.

“I do?” her husband asked, practically fucking cooing at her, like she was a puppy. “I know what you want?”

She felt her eyes all wet, filling up with tears.

“Yes,” she practically whispered.

“You want me to touch your pussy?” he pressed his knuckle on her clit.

Luna whimpered.

“Inside me,” she pleaded, panting whining.

He hummed along, not stopping his slow caresses.

“And what do you want inside you?” he circled her clit mindlessly.

She couldn’t even speak, thrusting her hips forward for more pressure, but he took his hand away.

“No, darling, use your words,” Cato insisted. “I can’t read your mind yet.”

Luna grabbed his wrist, clenching her hand around it.

“Take it off,” she whispered. “Please?”

He licked her lip and moved slowly, hooking his finger on the gusset of her panties and chuckling.

“Oh, my wife,” he purred. “Look at that.”

She wanted to hide even more as he pulled her panties down her thighs and legs, obediently letting him strip her.

Cato moved his head away from her, and she opened her eyes just in time to see him moving the fabric in his hand.

“Look at this,” he smirked, showing it to her. “I buy you all that pretty fancy underwear and what do you do with it? You soak it up.”

He clicked his tongue and Luna’s neck burned along with her face in her embarrassed flush. The gusset was shining completely, she couldn’t even look. But she did, and Cato didn’t even think before sticking out his tongue and licking up her wetness from the fabric, and she whimpered, even emptier now.

“Poor wife,” he looked at her face. “So wet you’ve ruined the pretty panties.”

Luna panted, trying not to pout more, and gasped when Cato moved his hand between her legs, caressing her wet lips with two fingers, and she felt her eyes moisten as small tears slipped down her face.

“My poor darling,” he mocked her, circling her entrance with the pad of his finger, and she moaned softly, unable to keep her sounds down. “I know better, don’t I?”

She panted, unable to tear her eyes from his.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Cato.”

His thumb gave her clit a wide circle.

“Don’t I?” he insisted.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, Cato, yes.”

He pushed two fingers into her slowly, rubbing against the sensitive entrance of her cunt, and she practically sobbed in response as he curled them against her sweet spot.

Luna couldn’t help how loud her moan was, and he fucking mocked her by opening his mouth the way she did as she moaned.

“Like that?” he purred. “You like that, wife?”

She couldn’t even answer him, his fingers taking her whole mind, and he grinned when she only nodded.

“So pretty,” Cato licked his lips, his eyes moving right down her body.

The praise climbed up her spine and made her brain tingle.

“Why don’t you take that off, my pretty girl?” he told her. “So I see all of you while I give you what you need?”

She barely thought before tugging on her shirt, and though it was a bit of a struggle, she took it off and tossed it away, earning a very intense look from him.

It would never tire her, the way Cato looked at her like she was the hottest woman he had ever set his eyes on.

He moved his fingers slowly, keeping his eyes right on her as he moved his lips down to her chest again, kissing her raw nipple again before taking it in his mouth again, sucking and biting, making her brain go haywire with the double stimulation. Her eyes outrightly rolled back when he pressed his palm against her clit, and she couldn’t help the big moan that came out of her lips.

It was fucking heaven.

He played her like her body was an instrument, too well-versed in it to keep her wanting at all, and soon Luna was a squirming mess.

“You hear that?” he asked, his fingers moving fast, and it took her mind a minute to process what he was trying to make her listen to.

Squelching?

Wet-

“Oh, fuck,” she groaned.

Herself.

She squirmed, unable to keep her walls from clenching around him as she tried to hide her face into his neck. But he was faster, pushing his fingers into her hair and holding her right in place.

“What a good wife I have, don’t you think?” Cato praised as the knot in her belly tightened. “Taking my fingers so well in her needy cunt, like a good, good, good wife.”

Each time he repeated good she clenched more.

His eyes were right on hers, the beautiful blue almost gone in a pool of darkness, and she struggled to keep her own eyes open.

“No, no,” he pressed the heels of his hand against her clit when they fell closed. “Look at me.”

Her whole body roared in response.

“Cato,” she grabbed his shirt.

Please, she was so fucking close.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded. “I wanna see.”

Luna squirmed more, her vision blurring with the tears.

“Please,” she stuttered. “Cato, please.”

She inhaled deeply, nearly dizzy as he kept moving, fucking her in and out, rubbing her everywhere.

“You want to cum on my fingers?” he asked, his voice too soft against her moans, too controlled when her mind was all his and not hers at all. “Is that why you’re squeezing me so sweetly?”

Luna nodded, panting, desperately clinging to him.

“Yes, Cato, please.”

He moved faster, keeping his eyes right on her, and Luna’s whole body just gave in to him, melting as she was pushed closer and closer and closer to the edge, and she could practically felt her foot sleeping over it before he fucking pulled away.

She cried out at the loss of his fingers, her whole body shaking with the unfulfilled pleasure, and he laughed cruelly at her reaction.

Cato moved like a blink of an eye, so fast that her melted mind couldn’t notice. All she knew was that he was holding her wrists together, her hips were pinned down and her back was against his chest.

“Cato!” she cried out, trying to free her own hands as hips thrusting against nothing. “Please!”

His cock twitched against her ass, already hard in his sleeping pants.

“Please, what, my darling?” he spoke against her ear. “You had asked me to touch you, I did. I gave your pretty pussy my fingers, I touched your pretty clit and sucked you pretty tits… what else could you want?”

Her voice was broken and raw when she found it.

“I want to cum,” she pleaded, her head falling on his shoulder. “Please.”

He laughed, completely amused by her suffering.

“Oh, my poor wife,” Cato lamented. “You want to cum? You do?”

Luna pressed her ass against him, trying to at least get him to break.

“Please, please,” she pleaded. “Cato.”

He raised her hands, moving them all the way to behind his neck.

“Keep them right there,” he commanded, kissing her cheek.

Luna squirmed. God, please, she couldn’t take more teasing.

“It is a craving, my little wife?” he caressed her torso, running his hand over her belly before going up to her tits, squeezing both. “Are you craving cock?”

He pinched her nipples, tugging on them.

“Am I keeping a poor,” he spoke slowly, twisting them. “Sweet, needy, pregnant woman from her biggest craving?”

She tried to move her hips more, but he just moved a hand down, holding her in place.

“My darling, poor you,” he mocked her.

His fingers came right between her legs again, caressing her faintly.

“I mean, you are making a big, big mess,” he noted. “Got my pants all messed up already, my darling.”

She pushed her fingers into his hair to stop herself from moving her own hands.

“What are you going to say to the cleaner?” Cato asked mockingly. “That my wife is ruining her underwear and my clothes because she can’t stop craving cock?”

Her whole face burned, and he exhaled longingly.

“Well, I can’t deny a craving,” Cato sighed, dramatic. “I did promise you that, right? Can you imagine if the baby came out looking like… well. Me.”

Well, Luna didn’t have time to laugh or think about if the old midwife joke was funny or not, he was already moving her.

The couch stretched under her body as he lied her down on it, expanding to at least a small bed – the size of the bed they first had in her little studio.

Cato slipped to her side, turning her to her side and slipping right behind her, moving his lips right to her neck.

“Say please again, darling?” he kissed her earlobe. “Please, husband, fuck me with your cock?”

She closed her eyes, melting as his hand came came around her side, squeezing her breast.

“Please, husband,” Luna moaned. “Fuck me with your cock?”

He let out an amused chuckle behind her, so soft she only knew it because she felt it.

“So obedient,” he praised her, squeezing her neck, pinching her nipple, tugging and twisting it for effect, making her moan in reaction.

“Cato,” she panted.

“Shh,” he kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, my darling, you were so good, weren’t you? Waited for me so well…”

He moved his free hand down, and Luna’s eyes fell closed as she felt his cock brushing against her wet lips, and Cato teased her with the tip, up to her clit and down to her entrance before going up again.

“Please,” she whined, reaching for his arm. “Please, no more teasing.”

She couldn’t take it. Please.

“My poor sweet wife,” Cato kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, it’s okay...”

The tip of his cock finally – finally, God, fuck – breached her.

He pushed inside so patiently it burned her up, and the sound that left her lips was a raw moan – desperate really, but she couldn’t control it.

Cato moaned into her neck right before taking his hand up again, pressing her whole body against his.

“Like, this, darling?” he moved his hips slowly, fucking her ever so gently.

Luna’s eyes practically rolled back.

“Cato,” she pleaded.

But he just adjusted her to make it easy to touch both her breasts, and Luna gasped out when he simply moved back to playing with her nipples, running his short nails over the tips and making her mad with pleasure and frustration.

“Love how sensitive these have become,” he bit her earlobe. “Could spend a whole da playing with them, making my sweet wife so needy.”

Luna clenched around him, moving her hips, trying to thrust them back to his.

“Please,” she cried, breathless, trying to grab his hand and push down between her legs. “Cato, please.”

His grip was soft enough she could drag his hand down her torso and to her pussy, and Cato chuckled into her neck, slapping her thigh.

“Please, please, please,” he mocked her. “Don’t I have my cock inside you, wife?”

She whined, trying to move his hand again, but he didn’t budge, pushing his cock all the way in slowly and pulling out just as gently.

“I was so excited, thinking all about the ways I can touch you and make you feel good,” Cato taunted her. “How I would spend my day worshipping your tits, making you cum just from them...”

Luna felt herself squeezing him just from the thought of it.

“But you are so impatient,” he slapped her other thigh. “So demanding…”

He moved the hand he had on her breast up, wrapping it around her neck, and she felt her whole body twitching.

It was how he did it, how he teased her when they were like that.

A hand on her neck and another on her clit. He never squeezed or hurt her – it was about power.

“What do you want?”

Well, he knew what she wanted. He always knew.

And he never gave in.

“I want to cum,” she pleaded again. “Cato, please.”

It wasn’t fair.

He turned her head to make her look at him, and Luna practically melted when their eyes met.

“Of course,” Cato gave her lips a little peck. “How can I ever deny you?”

And then he did it all at once.

His hips picked up pace as his finger came right to her clit, and she practically screamed in reaction to him, fighting to keep her eyes on his as he gave in to her pleas.

“Like this, wife?” he practically growled.

The muscles of her torso tightened in reaction.

“Yes, Cato, yes.”

She fucking ascended into the high of space.

Luna still remembered when they were starting, when he was a bit too big and she was a bit too nervous, but how eager he was for this – for what they had now.

“Always takes me so fucking well,” he rubbed her clit in tight circles. “Always so good for my cock, aren’t you? It’s why you’re giving me a baby.”

Her eyes nearly crossed, the pleasure pumping in her blood.

“My sweet darling, my sweet wife,” Cato moaned into her sin. “Drenched every single time I get inside her, so easy to arouse… just a couple of kisses and firm touches, right baby? Almost like you want me to put another baby inside you already.”

Luna moaned out, the thought making her drift even more.

Another baby, yes. He could give her as many babies as he wanted.

“Let’s make you cum first,” Cato rubbed his nose on hers. “Get that sweet cunt to milk me.”

Her toes curled against the soft fabric of the couch, and his finger didn’t stop, smart and trained on her body, and she shook under him.

“Cato,” she pleaded, feeling the knot in her belly so tight it was all she could feel.

“Go on, darling, cum on my cock.”

Maybe she said his name – maybe she just said something that didn’t make any sense in English. Luna just became a mess, her cries flowing out in pants as she rolled her hips, desperate, floating.

“There you go, there you fucking go,” Cato slammed his cock into her, hips hitting her ass so hard and fast the sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the room.

And Cato didn’t stop.

Not with his hips, not with his fingers, and he took his hand from her neck to play with her nipples again, teasing and twisting and taunting her beyond her mind’s power of processing.

He was everywhere and everything at once.

It overwhelmed her in the first few times – how big and good it felt when he focused on her, so eager.

And it overwhelmed her in a completely different way now.

Luna could barely do more than breathe and moan, limp, being thoroughly fucked and used by him.

“Please,” she panted. “Please, it’s too much.”

Cato’s fingers twisted her poor nipple, and she yelped in shock.

“I can’t-”

“Again,” he commanded, the circles on her clit tight and fast. “You’re gonna cum again.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t help the way her whole body sobbed as he pused her further and further, completely out of control.

“Ca- ah,” she cried.

He slammed himself into her hard and tight.

“Cum on my cock again.”

Luna did so, her throat dry and her cheeks wet when she did, and Cato squeezed her breast so tightly it was bound to leave a bruise.

She was still riding her high when he pushed her and spread her legs wide open, slamming his cock into her as his hand held her hips in a bruising hold, hurting her deliciously.

His face came to her neck and he sunk his teeth tight into her skin, moaning right into it as he filled her to the god damn brim.

He kept fucking her, slowly down little by little, into they were just wrapped around one another quiet, panting, and she rested against his chest when Cato leaned in and kissed her tear stained cheeks, probably tasting them.

“I love you,” he whispered, nuzzling her skin. “I love you.”

She rested her headon his shoulder, panting and sniffing as Cato rubbed and kissed her skin, and she squeezed his shoulders when he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up to go to bed.

They had taken the biggest bedroom on the second floor, right beside his office and across a nice bathroom.

It was better than the top floor room – much closer to everything in the house, less isolated and with way less empty space.

When the baby was born, they were going to keep his crib by their bed, and there was a room nearby when little Cato was old enough to stay in his own bed.

Luna was half-sure they'd spend years with their little Prince between them in the bed anyway, even after he was weaned out.

Caro held her for a long time before leaving her, and Luna exhaled as she rested on the cool mattress, feeling the sweat drying on her skin, and opened her eyes when he came back into the room.

Oh, he was a vision. Tall and strong, chiseled like he was sculpted by hand on every little inch of his body.

She tried to keep it off her mind that in some ways, he was.

"Open up," he spoke softly, coming to her.

Luna spread her legs, and winced in surprise when he cleaned her skin with a soft warm cloth - she was still sensitive!

"So sensitive..." he spoke softly, running it over her thighs. "My enduring mystery of a woman..."

She chuckled, but kept herself in place, and he kissed her ankle before stepping away.

Luna spread herself on the bed for a moment, relaxing on the cool, soft sheets.

They had good sheets.

He came back and slipped into bed by her side, settling a little lower, resting his head right by her belly before cradling it in his big hand.

Luna looked down at him, and his eyes distant as he ran his fingers over her side.

"Is he awake?"

She chuckled. Oh, God, she hoped not!

Their baby was a little bit of a night owl. He usually woke up around eleven at night and made sure she knew he was unsatisfied that the night was for sleeping.

“No,” she reached down, petting his hair. “But I’m sure he’ll be awake soon.”

Cato didn’t say anything, only brushing his lips against her skin.

“Do you think he’ll like me?” he asked suddenly, raising his eyes to meet hers.

Luna’s shoulders fell in surprise, and she felt herself softening as she petted his hair.

“Of course he will!” she affirmed.

But Cato shook his head, looking away from her.

“I hate my dad’s guts,” he reminded her. “It might be a family curse.”

She moved her hand down to his cheek, caressing his skin, but he refused to meet her gaze.

“Your father deserves to have his guts hated,” she reminded him.

Luna knew enough about Mr Hadley, and she was very glad that even when he returned from his tenure as a Peacekeeper, he would be far away from them.

He would never meet their baby, and he wouldn’t ever insert his bitterness into their little family.

Cato kissed her belly slowly, as if he was doing it to their baby.

Luna ran her fingers up to his hair again, breathing out slowly.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

She knew that face of his.

But Cato didn’t answer for a long time.

“The nightmare,” he mumbled.

Luna swallowed down, closing her eyes.

He had many nightmares since the games.

The Trackerjackers, the explosion of the mines, the death of Clove, the mutants, the fight with Thresh…

But that wasn’t what was he was speaking of. It was an old nightmare, not from the games.

“His hands,” he hissed, eyes completely unfocused as his face curled in anger and he too his own hands to his neck. “Squeezing her as she fought him, like she was some enemy. Not his wife!”

Cato almost spat the word, and Luna was quick to move down, pulling him up, holding his face in her hands.

She caressed his cheeks as he grimaced, never one to cry, but she just knew him. She knew it hurt.

Luna kissed his skin, all over his face – every bit she would reach.

“You’re not him,” she affirmed, emphatic. “You’ll never be him.”

Next chapter: YEAR 3 (Part 1)

[sparklebear11]

Arena ideas:

Everyone votes for what happens

It's an audience vote

So like they could vote for like good things or bad things

Or

An arena where no one knows whos been reaped, they got banned from watching other reapings, there's mutts which act and look like humans which may act like your district mate and then they kill you in the nights

The nights are freezing so people want to cuddle and then they get killed

The cannons also don't go off- no one knows whos dead or who isn't (apart from the capitol viewers-) and the people back home

The last victor doesn't even know their the last victor till the voice comes over the speakers

🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

[theprincelyking]

High Guardian Spice OC, Maria

So I made a Guardian OC

Her name is Maria, she is a magical girl cowboy guardian that slings crossbows across the deserts of Sueno (Hence the tan lines). She is Rosemary's cool older cousin. She is a lot like Rose, adventurous, loud, and a lover of fighting for justice. But she’d far more cocky and likes to show off. Not a very practical guardian, but a showy one at that.

Rosemary asked once why she doesn’t wear armor? She said “You don’t need armor if you don’t plan on getting hit”

Also just for shits and giggles, I have decided she has a Cursed Mimic Boyfriend

Funfact: She is based on Rosemary's first design from the "Treasure Hunt" animation Raye did. Had to lean in on that magical girl aesthetic, y'know?

[szilverer]

been slacking off on liveblogging but i read this text like 20min ago & immediately had to doodle my ghostie looking pathetic

[districtfourmermaid]

When I call Pyra my babygirl, know that my brain says it in Wammawink's voice.

[misfittq]

Aylin: When Katniss was born, the gods said, "They're too perfect for this world." Peeta: Please. When they were born, the devil said, "Oh, competition." Katniss, at Peeta: Would you like to stay for dinner? Aylin, from the kitchen: Would you like to stay forever!?! *Katniss and Aylin flirting with each other yet again* Peeta: And you two are sure you're not dating? Katniss: 100%. Aylin: Of course not! Why would you think that? Peeta: I wonder why that possibility would even cross my mind, Aylin. I fucking wonder. Peeta: You have to apologize to Aylin! Katniss: Fine! Katniss: Unfuck you, or whatever! Peeta: How did you even get in here? Aylin: Katniss's window! Or, as I like to call it, "Aylin's door"! Katniss: I’m closing the window. Aylin, walking into Peeta and Katniss’s bedroom in the middle of the night: I had a bad dream. Peeta: What was it about? Katniss: No, don’t ask them that! Peeta: Why not? Katniss: Cause they’ll answer! Aylin: I'm not doing to well. Peeta: What's wrong? Aylin: I have this headache that comes and goes. *Katniss enters the room* Aylin: There it is again. Katniss: I don’t need any more friends. I already have four. Peeta: Don’t you mean five? Katniss: *looks directly at Aylin* Katniss: No, I’m pretty sure I meant to say four. Peeta, to Aylin and Katniss: *holding knife out in front of them* Are you or are you not an enemy of the people?! Aylin: ... Katniss: ... Aylin: That is such an open-ended question. Katniss: Yeah, it really depends on a lot of different factors- Peeta, staring at Katniss in a cage: ...Why are they in a cage? Aylin: Because they growled at me.

[nyxanarchy]

I'm thinking about writing a FF of the 25th hunger games from the point of view of one of the coveys of the other district (8, because it's very close to the 12th district). Someone would be interested in knowing about her? I need inspiration to actually write. I spent an entire day just researching ballads to choose a name (I'm picky)

EDIT: you can find the FF on Ao3 here or on wattpad here

[thebluelittlewitch]

Silly lil spices

Trying to do something w thymes hair idk