liyliths

[liyliths]

.˚ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 inspired by we live in time and mr. plankton

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

series summary: when you accidentally hit a handsome stranger with your car, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to dinner. the two of you form an unlikely connection, not quite realizing you're both carrying more baggage than you expected. relationships have never come easy, but for him, you're willing to try.

The heavy silence stretched between you and the white-haired man, until Satoru’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, but… do we know each other?” Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing as you caught his questioning gaze. “Oh, yeah—no, I…” you let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Sorry… I kind of ran you over.”

pairings: gojo satoru x athlete!reader

contains: fem!reader, terminal illness, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, cursing, miscommunication, a little bit of ooc satoru, this will have a bittersweet ending, sorry in advance

word count: 4k

playlist

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Satoru Gojo didn’t expect that a pen—a stupid pen with no ink left—would be the reason his life changed forever.

It was quite ironic, really, how quickly it seemed your life could fall apart.

Satoru had once believed that his marriage was built on something solid—love, or maybe just the naive hope that young love could last. He’d wanted connection, a family, something to last a lifetime. His wife, however, wanted more to her marriage—none of which aligned with the life they tried to build together. Their marriage came to a quiet resignation, they both knew they were holding onto something that had already slipped through their fingers. 

Since then, Satoru hadn’t tried to connect to another human being on that level again. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to hurt anymore, or hurt anyone else. When the divorce papers arrived on the kitchen counter along with a note to (not so) kindly leave the house, Satoru could only stare at it before making a quiet vow to himself. 

Never, ever, again, would he get married.

Unfortunately, there is the terrible desire to be loved, and there is the horror of being left behind. Satoru was unsure of what was worse.

Satoru found himself pacing his hotel room he’d rented out while his wife, or now he guesses ex-wife, was staying at their once-shared home. He’d been putting off signing his dreaded divorce papers for as long as humanly possible, and when he finally worked up the courage to put the ink to paper—the damned pen had run out of ink.

After rummaging through his room and finding no signs of any other writing tools, he stormed outside the hotel into the night with just his robe and slacks he’d left on the floor and found the nearest convenience store, checking out with a couple of pens just for good measure—and his favorite snack, strawberry coated pocky sticks.

Only then did he notice how insane he must have looked when the young cashier’s eyes flicked up and down his questionable outfit, hesitating for just a moment before bagging his items and offering him the most unconvincing attempt at a non-judgmental smile.

Working up a sheepish grin, Satoru simply put his explanation into one word: “Divorce.”

Munching on his treat with one hand and clutching a convenience store bag full of pens in the other, Satoru glanced both ways across the street at the intersection in front of his hotel. Seeing the coast was clear, he stepped off the curb and started across. Halfway through, the convenience bag slipped from his grasp, hitting the pavement behind him with a dull thud.

Groaning at his own clumsiness, he turned back to retrieve the bag of pens he was now convinced were cursed. He crouched down, the crinkling of plastic faintly audible over the quiet street. Just as his fingers closed around the handles, the sharp blare of a car horn shattered the silence.

Satoru whipped his head up, eyes widening as headlights bore down on him—there was no time to move. The sound of tires screeching echoed through the street, and the impact came hard and fast, a brutal force knocking the air from his lungs and sending him sprawling to the asphalt. Gradually, his hearing faded into a dull hum with urgent voices sounding in the back as darkness pulled him under.

-

The last thing you expected to cross off your bingo card during this hell week was hitting a white-haired man in a hotel robe with your car.

At first, you thought you might have hit a disoriented old man or maybe some drug addict. But when you scrambled out of your car, heart pounding, afraid you might get sued for all you’re worth—you froze at the sight before you. The man you had hit wasn’t old—far from it. He was tall, young, and you hated to admit it—but quite handsome. 

That was beside the point, though. The more pressing matter was that you had just hit said handsome, white-haired man with your car, and he was now lying unconscious in the middle of the street.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, panic flaring in your chest as you dropped to your knees beside him. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, you found yourself pacing the waiting room, guilt gnawing at you as you replayed the scene over and over. You weren't sure why you insisted on staying by his side, maybe it was the fact it felt wrong to leave the man by himself, or because you wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be sued, or maybe because the mystery man you ran over was quite handsome.

Or possibly, all of the above.

Now, sitting stiffly in a plastic chair beside his hospital bed, you stared at the man who had, against all odds, survived your inattentive driving. He was dressed in a hospital gown with a neck brace and arm cast, his body littered with purple bruises and a few cuts strewn across his face. Wires connected him to a host of monitors, the steady beep of his heart rate the only sound in the room. 

You folded your arms, sinking back in the chair, unsure of whether you were more relieved or terrified. A sudden groan broke through the silence, low and hoarse, drawing your attention instantly. Your eyes darted to the bed as the white-haired man shifted slightly, his face twisting into a wince.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing sharp, bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the haze of pain. He blinked a few times, clearly trying to orient himself before his gaze locked onto you, immediately feeling yourself stiffen in your seat.

“What happened to my underwear?” the man rasped, his voice close to a concerned whisper as he attempted to sit up.

You hesitated, your eyes darting around the room as if you’d find the garments lying around. “I have no clue. But,” you cleared your throat, grabbing the bag of belongings that sat on the floor beside you. “These were all of your belongings when you got hit. Some pocky sticks and… pens?”

“In my defense,” the white-haired man replied, his smirk growing faintly despite the pain, “I dropped my pens.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. “Pens? You almost died over pens?”

“They were important pens,” he said, his expression serious enough to make you question if he was joking.

“Alright then…” you swallowed hard, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of your jacket, eyes flicking briefly to the man in the hospital bed. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Y/N?” The man tilted his head slightly, his movement limited by the neck brace as you gave a soft nod. “Satoru,” he said, his voice still raspy. “Well, I meant to say I’m Satoru, but yeah. That’s me.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you awkwardly nodded, your gaze faltering and drifting away from his bright blue eyes. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your jacket, the sterile hum of the hospital room making you all the more aware of how out of place you felt. 

You weren’t family. You weren't even a friend. So why were you still here?

The heavy silence stretched between you and the white-haired man, until Satoru’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, but… do we know each other?”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing as you caught his questioning gaze. “Oh, yeah—no, I…” you let out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Sorry… I kind of ran you over.”

Satoru blinked, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed, lips parting into a small “O” that quickly curved into a faint smirk. “It’s alright.”

You shifted uncomfortably, guilt creeping into your voice. “I feel awful. How can I make it up to you?” your words faltered, but your eyes widened in alarm as a thought that's been gnawing at your mind struck you. “Wait—you’re not planning to sue me, are you?”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing slightly as he leaned back against the hospital pillow. “Sue you? Nah, that sounds like way too much paperwork. Trust me, I’ve had way too much paperwork to deal with lately,” he teased, his voice still hoarse.

Relief washed over your face, but it was short-lived as he continued. “But if you’re looking to make it up to me… how about dinner?” His smirk deepened, and he added casually, “On you, of course. You know, as a peace offering.”

“Dinner?” Your brows furrowed at the proposal, but you gave a small nod. “Yeah, okay. I owe you that much. But shouldn’t we call a doctor first?”

Satoru let out a chuckle but instantly regretted it, his expression twisting into a wince as pain shot through his ribs. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained, “probably a good idea.”

-

A piercing ding echoed through your wired headphones—because you don’t trust yourself enough to use your AirPods on your runs—snapping you out of focus as your stride faltered, then stopped altogether as you bent forward, hands resting on your knees. You attempted to catch your breath, drawing in a deep breath to calm your racing lungs, the air feeling sharper than usual. As your heartbeat began to slow, you reached for your phone, thumb swiping up and inspecting the text message on your lockscreen.

Unknown Number: So, where were we thinking for dinner?

Dinner? Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, assuming this person must’ve gotten the wrong number—you typed out your response: Who is this?

Just as you were about to shut off your phone, it buzzed again—Unknown Number: Ouch, you didn’t save my number. It’s just the guy you ran over a couple days ago, Satoru.

Shit, how could you forget about that! How terrible of a person must you be to forget about the poor man you ran over!

You: Oh, I'm sorry! When did the hospital discharge you?

As you nervously waited for his reply, you quickly opened your contacts, typing his name in and saving his contact with a wry smile before your phone buzzed once again.

Satoru: Just a few hours ago.

You: Well, that’s good news. About dinner, are we talking today?

Satoru: Yeah, tonight. For our peace offering, remember? Does that old diner on 4th sound good to you at 5 PM?

Your gaze darted to the top of your screen—4:34 PM. You practically felt your stomach drop to the soles of your feet. Less than thirty minutes? You glanced down at yourself, clad in sweaty running clothes, hair sticking to your greasy forehead. There was no way you’d be ready in time. Couldn’t this guy at least plan ahead instead of so last minute? 

Letting out an exasperated groan, you bit your lip. You couldn’t exactly turn him down—you did hit him with your car, after all.

You: Yup! See you at 5, then!

After what felt like a record breaking sprint, you burst through the door of your apartment, your lungs burning and your heart racing—not from exertion, but from sheer panic. You tossed your keys onto the counter with a loud clatter and made a beeline for the bathroom, peeling off your sweat-drenched clothes as you went.

The shower water hit you like a shockwave, and you barely gave yourself time to enjoy it, scrubbing at your skin as quickly as you could manage. Your mind raced as you calculated the time. Ten minutes to shower, ten to get ready, and ten to drive… Give or take a minute or two if the traffic gods are on my side.

Once out of the shower, you tugged on some clothes, glancing at yourself in the mirror as you hastily ran a brush through your damp hair. Not perfect, but decent enough. You swiped on some lip balm, grabbed your bag, and sprinted back out the door, your phone buzzing with a reminder of the time—4:53 PM.

The drive to the diner felt like a race against the clock. You tapped your fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, silently begging every traffic light to stay green. When you finally pulled into the parking lot, you glanced at your phone—5:04 PM.

“Shit, I’m late!” you mumbled to yourself, rummaging through your car to grab your purse and find your way into the diner.

As you stepped inside, the cool air of the diner welcomed you, carrying the scent of coffee and freshly grilled food. You glanced around, taking in the neatly decorated diner—adorned with patterns of red, old-fashioned booths, and neon accents. You glanced down at your phone, hoping to see a message from Satoru—maybe he was running late too. That would’ve been a relief.

“Hey, over here!”

Your head snapped up, and there he was, waving you over with a lazy grin, his white hair almost blinding underneath the diner lights, already settled in a booth near the window. Of course, he wasn’t running late. As you awkwardly shuffled through the crowded diner toward Satoru, the first thing you noticed was how put together he looked compared to the night you met. His bruises were still there, but you could only notice them if you squinted—and his cuts seemed to be almost completely healed.

Satoru’s blue eyes watched yours carefully as you slid into your seat across from him with a polite smile. You set your purse carefully on your lap, your fingers brushing against its strap as though seeking something to occupy them. 

For a moment, silence stretched between you two, the faint clatter of dishes and murmurs of the diner filling the air. Satoru tilted his head slightly, studying you, before clearing his throat. The sound drew your gaze, and your eyes met briefly—yours tentative, before you quickly looked away, reaching for the glass of ice water in front of you.

“You look nice.”

You froze mid-sip, your eyes widening at Satoru’s compliment. A second later, you sputtered, choking on the water as it went down the wrong pipe. You coughed, setting the glass down hastily, avoiding the man’s gaze as you felt your cheeks warm, attempting to quiet your racing thoughts.

Jesus Christ, you’re acting like a teenager on her first date ever. Grow up!

Satoru bit back a grin as you grabbed a napkin, dabbing at your damp lips while finally meeting his gaze. “Really?” you asked, laughing softly as you glanced down at your half-assed outfit—the best you could manage on such short notice. Unfortunately, you aren’t quite the type to have your laundry put together 24/7.

“Really,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his seat with a playful smirk. “Although, you were cutting it close. Five minutes late, and I was starting to think I’d been stood up by the girl who, you know, ran me over.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “I didn’t stand you up, and I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” he teased, his grin widening. “I’m just saying, I could’ve started charging late fees.”

"Could’ve been worse," you said with a shrug. "When you texted me, I had about twenty minutes to get home, shower, and get ready."

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a smirk. "Wow, you know you could’ve just asked to push it back, right?"

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping. "And inconvenience the guy I ran over? Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not risk getting sued.”

Before Satoru could reply, a monotone voice interrupted you, and you two were met with a waitress reciting the diner greeting. "Welcome to Metro Diner. Here at our diner, we pride ourselves on offering a taste of the classic ‘50s with fresh, quality food. What can I get started for you?"

The waitress turned to you expectantly, her pen poised over her notepad with an impatient expression. You glanced at Satoru, panic flashing across your face. "Oh, um… I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu. A burger’s fine, just a classic one, I guess."

The waitress nodded, then shifted her attention to Satoru. "And for you?"

"I’ll take the special, your number four," he said easily, closing his menu and taking yours for you, handing it to the waitress as she finished jotting down your orders. Without any other words, the waitress departed, leaving you and Satoru in silence.

“So… how are your injuries?” You asked, breaking the silence. Your fingers couldn’t help but toy with the edge of your napkin. “You seem to have healed up well.”

“They’re better,” Satoru replied, leaning back in the booth. “Finally got out of that damn neck brace yesterday. My face is healing up too, so I guess I can’t complain.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you glanced away. You looked out the window, the golden glow of the sunset blinding you. Your gaze wandered, until your eyes landed on Satoru’s hand resting on the table, the faint gleam of a ring catching your eye. Wait… is that?

“Oh god, you’re married?” you blurted out. “I would’ve invited your wife if I’d known! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Satoru blinked, then let out a laugh—more at your panicked expression than the situation itself. “Well, funny story…” He paused in thought for a moment, brainstorming how he might explain his case. 

“Divorce.”

Your face fell. “Geez, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he said, waving you off. “You didn’t know. It’s… a work in progress, let’s say.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “What about you?” Satoru asked, tilting his head. “Got anyone waiting for you at home?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Definitely not. I don’t have time for that.”

Satoru leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as curiosity took the best of him. “And what, exactly, keeps Miss Y/N so busy?”

“The track,” you say, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’m a sprinter.”

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like, as a hobby, or are you one of those people that enjoys running willingly?”

“It’s my job. I’m D1, actually, so I’d hope I enjoy it.” 

“Wow,” Satoru grinned, leaning back in the booth with an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I guess you are crazy after all.”

“You know, you should come to one of my meets.” You shrugged, lightly suggesting the idea. “I have one scheduled for this weekend.”

“Sure, why not? I’d better not watch you lose, though.” 

You let out a soft chuckle. “Not exactly planning on it. I’ll send you the info once my coach sends it. If you can’t make it, it’s fine, I get it.”

Satoru shook his head, as if the idea of him not making it was ridiculous. “Just give me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

“Now, enough about me. What do you do for work, Mr. Gojo?” You ask, sarcastically remarking his last name.

“Well,” Satoru starts, pausing as the waitress appears and sets your burgers down on the table, giving her a quick thank you before getting back on topic. “I own a real estate brokerage company.”

“Wow, you’re into real estate? I guess it seems…” You say, looking at his expensive-looking clothing that seems as if it was tailored to his body. “Fitting.”

Satoru scoffs at that, picking up his burger to take a big bite before speaking with his mouth full. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you look… put together enough.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it in a nice way! You seem like you are good at your job.”

“I sure try. My schedule is going to be crazy once I get back to work.” Satoru says, taking a lazy bite of a fry. “Probably good for me to be busy right now, anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

“Keeps my mind off everything. Once I get this cursed divorce over with, I’ll finally be able to breathe.” He says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “Relationships and I don’t have the prettiest track record.”

Wow. This beautiful man hasn’t had a good relationship? How could someone with such good manners, a well paying career, and good looks end up in his position? You can’t help but ask, “Really? You of all people?”

“I guess so. And people… they just remind you why keeping them at arm’s length feels... safer.”

“I get that.” You say, being reminded of a pact you’ve made to yourself. “It’s kind of like why I’ve never seen myself as the type of woman to be a mother.”

Satoru pauses his chewing. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not that I don’t like the idea of being a mother, it’s just… once that kid pops out, the rest of your life is dedicated to that thing, you know?” You say, giving a small shrug as you dip a fry in some ketchup.

Satoru seems to understand where you’re coming from, giving a small nod. “I’ve never thought about it like that, but you’ve got a point.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can see myself fitting that role. It’s something you’d have to be so sure about, and seeing all of my friends get married and have kids has made me wonder.” You say, letting out a small sigh. “And honestly? It’d have to be with the right person, and I don’t even know if that person exists.”

“Huh,” Satoru says, glancing at you up and down. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t exactly jumping at the idea of settling down.”

You can’t help but grin, raising your glass of ice water to a toast.  “Well, here’s to figuring it out... eventually.”

Satoru’s drink clinks against yours, his grin matching yours. “Eventually.”

The diner was nearly empty by the time the waitress drops the check at your table, slipping it beneath the edge of the salt shaker with a soft clink. Before Satoru can make a move for it, you’re already reaching, sliding your card into the little black billfold.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wow, you’re really paying?”

You shoot him a look. “You called it a peace offering. This was the deal.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But next time’s on me.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile still finds its way to your face. When the waitress returns, you sign the receipt quickly and stand, grabbing your leftovers. Satoru rises with you, a quiet wince passing over his features as he puts weight on one leg.

“You alright?” you ask, eyeing the limp.

“Still a little sore,” he says casually, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “But not dying. Yet.”

You step outside into the cool evening air. The sun has long since set, but traces of lavender still streak the edge of the horizon. Streetlamps flicker overhead, casting a warm yellow glow on the pavement as the two of you walk to your car.

“So…” he says beside you, “your meet’s this Saturday?”

You nod, unlocking your car and tossing your leftovers into the passenger seat. “Yeah. Should be around noon, unless my coach changes it again. I’ll text you the details.”

“Good,” he replies, voice softer than before. “I want to see you win.”

You look over at him, surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “You just want to be there if I trip and fall.”

He shrugs, smirking. “Sure. That too. But… I am rooting for you.”

That catches you off guard. The quiet sincerity of it. “Thanks, Satoru,” you say. You open the driver’s side door, and he steps back with a slight limp.

“Drive safe,” he says, flashing a lopsided grin. “Try not to run anyone else over.”

“No promises,” you reply, smiling as you get in. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"No need to apologize anymore." Satoru waves you off. "Have a good night, Y/N."

You give him a small wave through the window before pulling out of the parking lot, catching a last glimpse of him in your rearview mirror, standing beneath the flickering diner sign, hands in his pockets, limping just a little more now that no one’s watching. The poor guy.

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a/n: hello dear reader! thank you for checking out the first chapter of this story. i have the outline written from start to finish so all i need to do is write everything out! i haven't been able to stop thinking about this story, the first chapter has been in my drafts for months now and i am finally getting around to posting it! i don't want to say too much about the story, but if you've ever watched we live in time or mr. plankton, the story is heavily based off of those movies so we are in for it lol! i can't wait for you to read more! <3

taglist: comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[liyliths]

𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 masterlist

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౨ৎ 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 a jujutsu kaisen college au

pairings: gojo satoru x reader

you, a journalism major in the newspaper club, get assigned to interview the hottest star quarterback on usc's football team for the season, satoru gojo. he’s everything you avoid, charming to a fault, a notorious womanizer, and the king of the college frat scene. the real question is, will you see through his charm, or will you fall for the one person you swore you never would?

.˚ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 inspired by we live in time and mr. plankton

pairings: gojo satoru x reader

when you accidentally hit a handsome stranger with your car, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to dinner. the two of you form an unlikely connection, not quite realizing you're both carrying more baggage than you expected. relationships have never come easy, but for him, you're willing to try.

[liyliths]

.˚ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 inspired by we live in time and mr. plankton

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❝ i can lose everything, but not you. oh god... not you. ❞

when you accidentally hit a handsome stranger with your car, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to dinner. the two of you form an unlikely connection, not quite realizing you're both carrying more baggage than you expected. relationships have never come easy, but for him, you're willing to try.

pairings: gojo satoru x athlete!reader

contains: fem!reader, terminal illness, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, miscommunication, a little bit of ooc satoru, this will have a bittersweet ending, sorry in advance

current word count: tba

playlist

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𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜

CHAPTER ONE (6/24/25 @ 3 PM PST)

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

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taglist: @momoewn @ilovebeansyay

[liyliths]

hope your doing okay girl!!

thank you anon i am alive!!! life got super crazy in april on top of school and finals, but i’ve made it through to summer, yay! i have yet to start writing anything again but i’m looking forward to when i can :)

[liyliths]

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

“Oh, yeah?” Levi scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “Then what the hell do you call running straight into the bloodbath for a damn bow?" Yeah, as if you didn’t know that. You feel your jaw clench. “I made it, didn’t I?” Levi shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose before turning away, readjusting his backpack. He must’ve grabbed it back at the Cornucopia.  "Whatever,” he takes a few steps forward into the darkness of the tunnel before glancing back at you, barely containing the dirty look on his face. "Well? You coming?"

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 6.2k

playlist

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Sixty seconds.

Your head darts in every possible direction, desperate to take in everything you can see. The Cornucopia stood at the heart of a dam, a metallic structure rising from the cracked and flooded ground, with you and all the other twenty-three tributes circling the structure and goods inside it. If you were to fall off the base of the Cornucopia, you’d dive right into a mouth of water with no way to climb out. The walls of the dam loomed impossibly high in every direction, with the faint sound of rushing water loud in your ears.

Beyond the dam, glimpses of the outside practically taunted you with the sight of forests and rivers, as well as mountains on the horizon. Freedom was just beyond the curdling walls, but the only exit you spotted that you could escape the dam from was through these dark, flooded spillway tunnels. 

Thirty seconds.

You take in the contents of supplies in the Cornucopia, and there it is, your bow paired with a quiver filled to the brim with arrows. Your name is practically written on it with the way it’s sitting in your path, right in the heart of the Cornucopia with all of the other rare weapons at its side. By human nature, temptation is a challenge to go against, and it just might lure you straight into the lion’s den. 

Though, what would you do without your bow? You are not particularly skilled with any other weapon, having used long distance your entire life to hunt your prey. Short-ranged weapons are not your strong suit, either. You could try to get your hands on some throwing knives, but you’re not nearly as skilled as Levi.

Levi. Where is he?

Twenty seconds.

Your eyes frantically dart around the tributes circling the Cornucopia, searching for any sign of the raven-haired boy. You spot a familiar head of blonde hair, Armin, about four platforms to your right. When you glance to your left, chills run down your spine as your eyes land on none other than the District 4 tribute, Mikasa, just two platforms to your left. There’s no time to worry about her.

Then you spot him, just to the left of 4. You expect him to be focused on either grabbing some supplies or making a run for it, but his eyes are locked straight onto you. He seems to have noticed you’re looking at him as you watch his hand rise, his finger pointing to something on his jacket. You try to squint through the sunlight to see what it is.

Ten seconds.

A distraction, is what it is. You couldn’t see whatever he was trying to point out. You look back to the Cornucopia, your eyes landing on your bow and arrows. You could run, you should run, but you can’t just leave it behind. Your eyes find Levi again, and he must’ve seen you eyeing the bow, shaking his head no in disapproval.

Five seconds.

Why does he care? Is he just going to run off without grabbing anything for his survival? You’d rather take the risk. You clench your clammy hands in fists at your side, planting your feet in preparation for a sprint, only focused on one goal… getting your bow and getting the hell out of there.

Three.

Two.

One.

The gong sounds. In the blink of an eye, you feel your feet before you have time to think. You don’t think you’ve ever run faster in your entire life. You nearly trip over yourself as your legs move faster than you can keep up with, but you manage to steady yourself. You’re just about a few yards from your bow, it’s right there!

You check your surroundings as you near your weapon, spotting a girl with brunette hair held in a high pony heading directly toward your bow. No! Even if you stop in your tracks here, you’ll have no choice but to defend yourself with nothing, as all of the other tributes are seconds away from being at the Cornucopia at once. 

It’s a gamble. A gamble of who can run faster for their survival. 

Somehow, you run even faster than before. It’s right in front of you, your bow and quiver full of arrows leaned against a crate of supplies. You reach for it, positioning your feet to run in the opposite direction toward one of the spillways, ready to make an escape. Just as your hand wraps around the metal material of the bow, a body collides into you, sending your body flying backward.

You are quick to scramble to your feet, looking up to see the brunette girl in the exact same position as you, recovering from the clash just feet away. Then, you recognize her face. It’s the girl from 10, Sasha. She must be a hunter too, coming from the livestock district. 

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Like two predators, backed and cornered, one ready to pounce. You won’t be the one who falls. Quickly, you lunge for the bow, managing to snatch it and sling the quiver over your back just before the girl can. You equip an arrow faster than lightning. She is now the one who is cornered. 

You’re no murderer, though. With no words spoken, you leave the girl and hurry into the opposite direction toward a spillway nearest to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the horrors of the bloodbath unfolding in the Cornucopia.

A girl was shoved off of the edge into the body of water below the Cornucopia by one of the Careers. It takes a few agonizingly long seconds for the sound of splashing to echo from below, but when you hear it, you feel bile rise up in your throat. You’re practically frozen in place, as good as a deer in headlights, only able to watch the brutal acts before you just meters away.

There’s a young blonde boy running beside a brunette girl his age. They got weapons and supplies, and they’re sprinting for the spillways to get out of the Cornucopia. Just when relief seems to cross them, thinking they’re moments to safety, you can only watch as another tribute catches up to them, knocks the boy to the ground, and axes him. 

It’s terrible. The girl’s scream is blood curdling, and she raises a machete straight to the chest of her ally’s assailant. Someone this young shouldn’t be forced to do something like that. You feel nauseous, your head spinning in circles as you try to push forward.

No. Now is not the time to be weak. You have to leave. It’s either kill or be killed, and you don’t want to be forced to do either. You don’t allow yourself to look behind your shoulder. You can’t help any of them.

Just as you think you've put enough distance between yourself and the other tributes, something slams into you from behind with brute force. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, sending you crashing onto your back, the weight of another body pressing down, pinning you in place. Before you can react, cold steel presses against your throat.

"If it isn’t the girl on fire," a voice growls.

Fuck, you can’t breathe, nor can you choke any words out in your defense. You blink up at him. The boy pinning you down has sharp ginger hair and a wicked grin, his brown eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. He presses the knife harder against your skin, and your breath shudders in your chest.

Damn it. Where the hell did he come from?

With what little air you have left in your lungs, you attempt the disarming technique you practiced back in training. Your fingers find his wrist, twisting sharply, and for a second, you think you have the upper hand, but he’s stronger than you expected. He overpowers you with ease, slamming your wrists above your head with one hand. You grit your teeth, thrashing beneath him, but it's no use. His weight keeps you caged.

“I was hoping I’d have the honors—”

A warm spray coats the side of your face. The boy’s words die in his throat as his grip slackens, a sharp, gurgling sound escaping his lips. His expression contorts with confusion, pain, and then… nothing. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move. Then, he collapses. Right on top of you.

Blood fills his mouth as his body jerks one last time, and you watch, paralyzed, as life drains from his eyes. You shove him off with trembling hands, rolling to your side as air finally graces your lungs, your chest heaving as you gasp for oxygen. 

Is he… dead?

You need to go. Just as you’re about to push yourself off the ground, you see it. A pair of boots just feet away from you. Dread grips you like a vice.

Is this it? Are you really going to die here? Not even a full day into the Games, and you’ve already failed. You promised Petra you’d try. You swore. And yet, you can already picture your name flashing in the sky tonight. How pathetic.

Mustering up the courage, you lift your head to look your assailant in the eyes. Short structure, a deathly glare, and… an all too familiar head of black hair.

Levi?

Your stomach twists. So this is how it happens. You knew it. You knew better than to trust him. The boy who spared you bread. The boy who taught you how to properly wield throwing knives. The boy who spent that night with you on the rooftop. The boy who watched you sneak past the fence and into the woods.

Now, here he is, standing over you, ready to finish the job. The proof of your mistake of even trying to trust another stares you right in the face.

"Did you hear me? We need to go!" A demanding voice cuts through the haze.

You blink, stunned. It’s Levi, who isn’t reaching for a weapon. He isn’t lunging for you. Instead, he’s holding out a hand to help you to your feet, impatience evident in the scowl twisting his features.

"If you stay here, you’ll be killed!" he snaps.

His words barely register. "You… you’re not going to kill me?" you rasp.

His response is immediate. He shoves his hand closer, fingers twitching in a demand. "Trust me, remember?"

You do remember. That night at the City Circle. The opening ceremony on the chariot. The moment he took your hand, raised your intertwined fingers to the sky, unifying yourselves. You remember when he told you to trust him, and you did. 

So, against every voice in your head screaming at you to run the other way, to do anything but trust him, you reach up and take his hand.

Levi hauls you to your feet without hesitation. The moment you regain your footing, you reach back instinctively, and surely, your quiver is missing. Must’ve fallen off, shit. Frantically, you search for it on the ground, but before you take a step, Levi has already beat you to it.

He plucks your quiver from the dirt, quickly gathering a handful of arrows that must have scattered in the struggle. Then, your eyes flicker to the boy before your feet. Dead. He’s… dead. There’s a knife embedded into the side of the boy’s throat, angled back far enough that you hadn’t even noticed before.

Levi didn’t kill you, no. He saved you, even when he had every reason not to.

"Let’s go," Levi orders, shoving the quiver into your chest before moving past you. You follow, throwing the quiver on your shoulder as the two of you break into a sprint for the spillway just a couple yards before you.

Thankfully, you were at a spot just far enough from the bloodbath in the middle of the Cornucopia. If you were any closer, there was no doubt the Careers would’ve taken it upon themselves to finish you off. Even now, with distance between yourself and the other tributes, your hammering heart refuses to calm. 

The spillway is just ahead, a gaping entrance into what you guess to be the dam’s network of tunnels. You don’t have a plan yet. You don’t know what’s waiting inside. But right now, it’s your only chance. When you reach the opening, you realize the ladder is broken. Too high to reach.

Levi barely hesitates before kneeling, lacing his fingers together. "Climb."

You don’t argue. Placing your boot into his hands, you push up as he lifts you. You grip the edge of the opening, scrambling to pull yourself in. The damp metal beneath your palms makes it harder, but with enough effort, you manage. Once inside, you turn, reaching down.

Levi wastes no time grabbing your arm. You brace yourself, using every ounce of strength left in you to haul him up. He climbs up beside you with a grunt, brushing the dirt from his hands.

“I knew you were an impulsive freak, but I didn’t take you for a suicidal one,” Levi remarked, making one last wipe of his hands.

“I wasn’t trying to get myself killed!” you hiss at him, tightening your grip on the bow in your hand.

“Oh, yeah?” Levi scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “Then what the hell do you call running straight into the bloodbath for a damn bow?"

Yeah, as if you didn’t know that. You feel your jaw clench. “I made it, didn’t I?”

Levi shakes his head, exhaling sharply through his nose before turning away, readjusting his backpack. He must’ve grabbed it back at the Cornucopia. 

"Whatever,” he takes a few steps forward into the darkness of the tunnel before glancing back at you, barely containing the dirty look on his face. "Well? You coming?"

You hesitate. From what you observed, the only way out of this hellish dam was through these dark spillways, and you have no idea what could be inside them, or what could be on the other end. You take a breath, steadying yourself.

“I guess I have no other choice,” you mutter, stepping forward.

-

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Five canons echo throughout the confinements of the dark spillway. Five tributes have died, leaving nineteen standing. You won’t know who is gone until they show the tributes on the projection tonight. Honestly, it’s surprising more didn’t go. Usually half the tributes get wiped out at the Cornucopia, and that’s why the very start of the Games are called a bloodbath.

You have no idea where the other tributes could have gone. You just pray that none of them have followed you into this spillway, either knowingly or unknowingly. The Careers might stay back at the Cornucopia to hog the supplies, so you assume everyone else will pack out in the spillways, too.

It’s been at least a half an hour of walking through pitch darkness. At a certain point, the water level rose to your shins, making it ten times more difficult to cover more ground. You and Levi didn’t talk much. He’s been walking in front of you for the most of it, and you’re surprised he’s let himself turn his back on you. It would be easy to shoot him if you wanted or needed to, but you don’t. 

You can’t bring yourself to trust him quite yet, though.

Sure, he’s had plenty of opportunities to kill you. You have, too. But neither of you did it. You know what an alliance means, that is if you end up being allies. One of you will have to betray the other, and only one of you will be making it out of this. You’ve decided you need to leave him when you get the chance so that doesn’t happen.

“These spillways are filthy and dangerous,” Levi notes, still continuing his tread forward through the water. Every step sends ripples across the surface, echoing off the damp concrete walls.

“I agree. We can’t see shit,” you mutter, your boots dragging slightly against the slick ground as you trudge behind him. The air down here is thick with the scent of mildew and stagnant water, making every breath feel heavy. “Plus, if these tunnels flood, we’re screwed. Probably best not to hang around.”

Honestly, the both of you are ready to get out of this tunnel. This place is giving you the creeps.

“No shit,” Levi scoffs. He grips on one of his throwing knives in his hand as his eyes scan the darkness ahead. “We need to find an exit before that happens.”

“Yeah, hopefully, we can get out of this damn maze soon.”

You hear Levi huff softly. “It’s not really a maze if the path’s gone straight this entire time.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well, if the straight path leads to a dead end, it might as well be a maze.”

“Then we’ll turn around.”

“Yeah, and run right back toward the people trying to kill us? Great plan.”

Levi glances back at you briefly, his hair falling in front of his face beneath the dim light. “Better than drowning.”

Yeah, you’d rather not try either of those scenarios. Your eyes trail down to the bag on Levi’s back, and you wish you would’ve grabbed one when you were at the Cornucopia. There were tons of backpacks scattered around, but you were too focused on getting your bow and staying alive.

“What’d you get in your backpack?” you ask. 

While Levi walks, he shrugs the bag off of his shoulders and tosses it at you. “Take a look.”

You catch the bag, briskly unzipping it. You couldn’t see much through the dark, so you started pulling things out to get a closer look. The first thing you grabbed was a flashlight, and you flicked it on, the beam of light shining through the seemingly never ending tunnel.

“You had a flashlight this entire time?” you question, now using it to look at everything else in the bag. Levi turns to look at you and you accidentally flash the beam into his eyes, slightly blinding him.

“Watch the light, idiot.” Levi scolds you, squinting his eyes through the light. “I didn’t have time to see what was in there, so I shoved the knives I grabbed inside and ran.” 

You hum in response, moving the beam to the bag, continuing your rummage through the supplies, careful with your hands to not hurt yourself with the knives scattered. “Water bottle with no water, a rope, your knives, and…” you pause, eyeing down foreign material. “Oh, and a sleeping bag. That’s it.” 

Levi opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get the words out, a sudden splash echoes through the tunnel. Both of you freeze. The sound didn’t come from either of you. Levi stiffens immediately, stepping toward you with one hand shooting out in front of you, pushing you back slightly.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper, already reaching for an arrow over your shoulder.

The raven-haired boy doesn’t answer. Instead, his head tilts slightly, straining to listen for any other noises. Then, another splash, closer this time. Neither of you dare to move. The first thing your mind goes to is the possibility that it might be another person. But wouldn’t you have heard them through the water by now?

The air grows thick with silence, save for the slow drip of water from the tunnel ceiling. You strain your ears, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from. Then, another splash but this time, but it’s right behind you. Your fingers squeeze the arrow between your fingers, equipped on the string of your bow and ready to aim.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You take a cautious step forward. Just as you plant your feet down, you feel something wrap around your ankle with a deathly grip, yanking you forward and knocking you completely off your feet. You yelp as your back meets the shallow water on the ground, your bow slipping from your grip. You desperately try to free yourself, but you’re being pulled forward so violently, you don’t have enough momentum to reach your ankle. 

“Hold on!” Levi calls out.

You hear the whir of a knife fly past you, feeling the grip on your ankle falter. Whatever was dragging you stopped, and you took the opportunity to reach to your foot and free yourself. Your hands wrapped around what felt to be something slimy, but it was no use. You noticed the knife Levi had thrown at it stuck into its skin. Quickly, you reach for it and dig it even deeper into the creature’s skin, watching it violently thrash in the water.

Finally, it’s grip on you released as you dug the knife deeper, and you hopped to your feet. You run to Levi who already picked up your bow for you, tossing it. You catch it and reach over your shoulder to equip an arrow on the string of your bow. Whatever the fuck just grabbed you was definitely not a human being.

As you and Levi raced in the opposite direction of whatever that thing was, not wanting to wait until it recovered, more splashing erupted from in front of you a distance away. You screeched to a stop, suddenly feeling cornered. Now, you couldn’t believe your eyes. A faint blue glow shone underneath the water before you, forming the shape of some kind of creature.

Your eyes widened when you realized. “Mutts!” 

Levi throws a knife at the creature just in front of you, landing in the middle of its long body, almost reminding you of a snake. “Run!” 

You don’t think twice. You struggle to keep a fast pace through the water, fighting to trudge through it at the high part of your shins. You feel as if you’ve heard of these creatures you’re seeing, they are obviously some kind of water predator, but you’re from the forest. You have no idea what they could be. All you know is that you need to get the hell away from them, you refuse to go down by Capitol mutts.

You run past the one Levi staggered with his knife, following closely behind him. Another glow emerges from in front of you two, blocking your path, but this time you don’t hesitate. You pull back the string of your bow, letting your arrow fly straight into the head of the vile creature. 

Just as you’re starting to think these spillways are truly endless, a beam of light shines from the end of the tunnel — an opening! A way out, you’re almost there! You glance behind you, seeing dozens of flickers of glowing light catching up to you. These creatures can easily outrun you in this water, this is what they’re made for. To catch their prey. 

Despite that, you keep going. Your legs are growing restless, struggling to fight through the water, but you have no choice but to keep pushing forward. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting closer and closer, you are so close to your escape! Levi begins to stagger behind a bit, barely tripping over himself before he regains his footing in the water. 

You two are reaching your limits. You can’t do anything but pray to whatever god that might be out there that these mutts don’t follow you out of the spillways.

The water surges violently around you as you and Levi race through the spillway, your breath ragged, muscles screaming with exhaustion. The tunnel slopes downward, forcing you to wade through the water faster, and you’re careful to not slip. The dim glow from the mutts flickers violently beside you, their bodies slithering through the water, closing in.

You glance behind you once more, watching as the glow intensifies. You hear the hum before you feel it, a deep, unnatural vibration that pulses through the tunnel. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and a sickening realization hits just as Levi grabs your wrist.

"Get out of the water!" he snaps, trying to drag you to the side of the tunnel where the water is more shallow.

But you’re too late. A sudden surge of electricity rips through the tunnel.

Pain explodes through your body. Every nerve ignites, locking your muscles in place. Your lungs seize, your chest tightening as your vision bursts white. You try to scream, but nothing comes out, your jaw is clenched too tight, your body frozen as if something invisible has snapped every single muscle inside of you.

You don’t even realize you’re falling until your face hits the water. A second later, hands grab you, yanking you upward. The shock still lingers in your limbs, pulsing in waves, making your fingers twitch uncontrollably. Your body doesn’t listen when you try to move, despite hearing frightening ripples of water closing in on you.

"Come on, breathe," Levi growls, his voice strained. His grip tightens as he reaches under your arms, dragging you forward. "You’re fine. Just move."

You aren’t sure you can. You try to move, but all your body does in response is twitch. Your lungs feel like they’ve been crushed, your heart hammering erratically in your chest. A raw, stuttering gasp finally escapes your lips, sending a violent tremor through your body.

Levi exhales sharply. "Keep breathing, you’re okay." The glow from behind brightens again, the hum of another charge building. Levi swears under his breath.  "I’m getting you out of here."

The tunnel narrows ahead, leading into an open spillway with a steep path leading downward into who knows what. The slope is slick, the water rushing down faster now, and your body still refuses to cooperate. Levi barely hesitates before shoving you forward, forcing your hands to grip onto the edge before you start sliding forward.

Your fingers fumble against the wet surface, unable to grip onto anything as you slide faster and faster down the end of the tunnel. Another pulse of electricity crackles behind you. Your body is too weak to fight back. You scramble, your legs barely responding, but Levi is right there beside you, clutching onto your wrist as the two of you slide. The slope gives way to open space, the water dropping off just ahead.

Too late, you realize where it leads. The spillway ends, and beyond it, nothing but open air. The slope disappears beneath your feet, and suddenly, you’re falling. Your scream is lost in the rush of wind as you plummet downward, your body twisting uncontrollably before you slam into something cold and unyielding.

The lake swallows you whole.

The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, stealing any remaining air you had left. Darkness engulfs you, the weight of your soaked clothes dragging you under. You kick wildly, but your body feels sluggish, the electric shock still numbing your limbs. Panic surges in your chest as the surface slips further away.

Then, a hand.

A rough grip closes around your arm, pulling you upward. Your head breaks through the surface, and you cough violently, choking on lake water as you gasp for air. Levi is beside you, breathing heavily, his grip still firm around your arm as he treads water. 

"You alive?" His voice is hoarse.

You cough again, struggling to get air back into your lungs. "Maybe."

The two of you float for a moment, letting the water carry you toward the shore. The tunnel looms above, distant and dark. The mutts don’t follow. Maybe they can’t. You sure as hell hope so.

By the time you drag yourself onto the muddy bank, your body feels like dead weight, limbs shaking violently from the lingering effects of the shock. You collapse onto your back, breathing hard. Levi flops down beside you, equally spent. For several moments, neither of you speak. The only sound is the distant rush of water and your ragged breathing. 

You two were lucky enough to hold onto your supplies. Levi still had his backpack and goods, and you’d managed to hold onto your bow and quiver through it all. 

You’re the first to break the silence. “What the fuck were those things?”

“I don’t know. I think they were some kind of mutation of electric eels.” Levi presumes.

“We are never going into those tunnels again.”

“Deal.”

-

After catching your breath on the shore for a while, you and Levi cleaned yourselves up. You scrubbed all the dirt and blood off, and the two of you agreed on moving forward to find a safe place to camp out for the night. You settled on a spot in the forest surrounded by tons of brush, out of sight from prowling eyes. When the sun set, the cool night air began to take over, leaving you clutching onto your jacket for warmth. Even now, your clothes aren’t completely dried off, but you know it would be a death wish to light a fire.  

One thing that is pissing you off more than you’d like to admit, is him. Your eyes flick to his figure propped against a tree, his dark hair falling in front of his face as he carves out a spear with his knives and a piece of wood he found in the dark of the night, the moonlight being the only source of lighting provided.

First,he did you huge favors before the Games by helping you gain the public’s approval. Second, he saved your ass back at the Cornucopia, when all he had to do was let that boy kill you. He had no reason to save you. And back in those terrifying spillways? Yeah, he saved your ass again, when he could’ve left you to die countless times before. 

You’re his competition. Wouldn’t it be easier to just let you die so you don’t have to betray each other in the end?

What really pisses you off now is the fact you don’t think you could bring yourself to let him die, either. If you were in a situation where you had to save his ass, you don’t have a single bone in your body that could possibly leave him. No way. You don’t want an alliance, but you don’t want to be enemies with him, either.

You know what, whatever. Maybe the sooner you can leave him on his own, the better for the both of you. It can save the burden of everything that comes with an alliance. You’re better off on your own, anyways. Levi might be, too. He’s capable enough. You don’t think you’ll ever understand why he does the things he does, and unpredictability is dangerous. 

Alliances are dangerous, too. You need to leave when the time is right.

“You look like your head is about to explode with all that thinking you’re doing.”

You glance at Levi, who’s already finished carving out his spear. “Sure feels like it,” you say, bringing a hand to your head.

“What’s on your mind?”

You sigh. Should you thank him? Express your undying gratitude for saving your life? You think you’d rather throw up than make yourself feel like you owe him something. But you guess you do, a simple thank you, at the least.

“You didn’t have to save me,” you start, wondering if you should stop yourself now. Too late. “Thank you.”

“It’s what allies do, right? Back when we were on the platforms,” Levi says, recalling the moment. “When I was pointing at something, it was this.” 

Oh, no. The last thing you want this boy to do is have him think that you’re allies when you’re planning on abandoning him!

His hand points to the same spot he was pointing at earlier, and you swear you feel your heart stop. It’s an exact replica of the gold mockingjay pin you got from Petra, embedded onto his jacket. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” you ask, glancing down at your pin to make sure it was still there. 

Levi gives a light shrug. “Where do you think?”

Your mind goes to Hange, first. Only because what are the odds that there are multiple replicas of a pin this unique from your district? It belonged to Petra, the mayor’s daughter, who is rich, at least from where you’re from. Their money would amount to nothing compared to the people in the Capitol.

Hange saved your pin when she took your reaping clothes, so maybe somehow, she made a copy of the pin for Levi? But why would that be necessary? It was your token to take into the arena, surely Levi had his own. Did Hange give it to him so when you saw it, you knew he wouldn’t harm you? You figure that’s the best answer, considering how he pointed to it before the Games even began.

“Oh,” you say, thinking out loud. “A genius, as always.”

Hange, that is. You figure it’s best to not mention her name out loud, just in case there might be any consequences for making another token to bring into the arena. 

A jarring sound flinches you from out of your thoughts. You scan your surroundings for any threats, only to realize it was the anthem for the fallen tributes. You look up through the trees to the stars, seeing the fallen tributes being projected into the sky. It was the Capitol’s way of ‘honoring’ them, apparently. 

Yeah, right. Innocent lives taken away in the sake of a war that occurred almost one hundred years ago. How far must the Capitol go? If you think about it, that has to be over thousands of children’s lives lost over the course of 98 Hunger Games. That is more than enough punishment for the districts, but apparently, nothing is enough for them — the Capitol, its citizens, and even their presidents. 

Nothing will ever satisfy their thirst for entertainment and most of all, power and control.

The first to appear in the sky is the girl from 3, which means all of the Careers have made it through the first day. Next was the boy from 6. Their district was wiped out entirely on the first day. Your heart aches at the innocent portrait of one of the youngest tributes in here, the boy from 8. Next was the boy from 8, his name being Floch, who tried to kill you. Last was the boy from 11.

That means Armin is still alive, good. If he goes, you hope it’s quick. That girl from 10, Sasha, who tried to take the bow made it, too. You can’t help but wonder how she made it out of the Cornucopia.

“Nineteen left.” announces Levi. 

“Nineteen left.” you echo. 

That means eighteen more people have to die before one person can be crowned victor of the 98th annual Hunger Games. Eighteen people that don’t deserve a brutal death, televised live for the entire nation to witness for entertainment. It’s cruel, even evil, and you know it. You’ve known it since you were a child.

Levi’s voice is quiet when he speaks, snapping you away from your thoughts. “I saw the boy from Six and the boy from Eleven die.” 

You feel yourself stiffen, fingers tightening around your bow.

“I was grabbing my knives in the Cornucopia when I saw it happen.” He says, his fingers feeling the tip of his spear, testing the sharpness. “The kid from Six was trying to protect the girl from his district. One of the Careers got him.”

Your stomach twists, but Levi doesn’t stop.

“The boy from Eleven ran inside the Cornucopia,” he continues, glancing at you briefly before looking at his spear again. “I didn’t need to kill him. I had to get out before the Careers boxed me in, so I ran.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “But that kid... he was foolish. He stayed behind. He was too scared to move.” Levi’s jaw tightens. “The Careers got there before he could pull himself together.”

You don’t know what to say. You saw the others that were killed today, too, but you figure it’s not worth mentioning. Not when he needs to have his moment of mourning. You can do yours in your own time.

Levi doesn’t wait for you to respond. “They didn’t deserve to die. None of them.”

“I know,” you say. That’s all you can say, though you truly understand what he is speaking about. You wonder if the Capitol is streaming your conversation for the entirety of Panem to see.

No matter how much someone might want to, no one can do anything to prevent it. To stop any of it. What the Capitol does, the Games, the trauma, and all of the deaths that come with it. But you figure, maybe, just maybe, for your family, your sister, for Petra… you can make the Gamemaker's lives hell by going out trying to. 

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a/n: bit behind schedule with this update, i actually had this chapter done a week ago but totally put off editing. a tuesday afternoon sure is an odd time to post, lol! apologies for poor quality of writing or any mistakes you might find, i honestly just skimmed through it once and i'm posting it so i can get it out! i will be rewriting (editing, better foreshadowing and details, etc.) the entire series once it is done so i can upload the finished product to ao3! i hope you enjoyed the first chapter for the games, and like i've said, i can't wait to introduce more dynamics and get to know other characters besides levi! thank you for reading!

taglist: @fleshandbonez @reivelmin @estella-novella @zoozvie @snoopyluver20 @honeybunbunn @jjune-07 @lovetwiyor @levisbrat25 comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[liyliths]

Hi im new here, do you still write stranger things content? If so is there gonna be another rewrite season?

hi! thank you for stopping in and asking!

unfortunately my stranger things and jjk fics are on a hold until i finish up my aot fic! i am terrible with committing to the bit but i am going to see this aot fic through and finish it up!

i miss my stranger things fic so bad but that thing needs some heavy rewriting 💔 i’m so happy to see that people are still enjoying it! i’ll def be updating by the time season five comes out! 😁

have a great day anon!

[liyliths]

Did i accidentally unfollow you??? Did I not follow you to begin with? what is wrong with me, I’m so sorry lmao

I yap in your comments already so I’m just here to say thank you for your big brain!! For writing your fic!

ITS OKAY!!! thank you so much for following me and following along my aot x hunger games series! truly, it means the absolute world to me when i see you in my comments/inbox when i update! i love to hear you yap and hear all the thoughts!

i estimate the fic will be finished in about 3 - 4 months if i stay consistent, roughly around 100k words. i can’t wait for you to see all the things i’ll be tying together and cooking up for this plot, i cannot thank you enough for your support. have the greatest week ever, zoozvie! <3 <3

[liyliths]

I was SOOOOOO scared you were gonna kill hange like in catching fire. Like with the dress being the Mockingjay I was so sure this would be their end thank god I was wrong.

OMGGG STOPPP i could never kill the icon!!! though… i was thinking about scaring you guys by having her beat when the reader got launched into the arena and having you guys think she’s dead, but i would’ve brought her back!

i might end up doing that when i rewrite the story tho to post on ao3! i basically want to get it out on tumblr and once the story is finished, ill go back and refine some things, fix up some foreshadowing, and add / takeaway whatever i need to! once that’s done ill update the chapters on tumblr and post the whole story on ao3 ;)

can’t promise everyone is safe, though… 😖 (sorry not sorry? but sorry.)

jokes aside thank you for reading and thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to pop in my inbox! i love seeing asks from you guys, it makes my whole week. i hope you have a great week yourself, anon! much love! <3

[liyliths]

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

"I don’t sleep," Levi finally mutters. You scoff. "Ha, funny." He pushes off the railing. "Fine then, I’m going back to my room." "Wait," you say instinctively, your free hand catching his wrist before he can leave. "Don’t go." Levi closes his eyes, considering for just a moment before sighing, pulling his hand from your grasp. But instead of leaving, he places his hands back onto the railing. "Alright." You glance down at the city below, your fingers tracing the patterns of your dessert plate. "I’m sorry I went after you earlier," you say.

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 7.4k

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After a night of slumber, your team got to work on you and Levi by noon in preparation for the interviews. Your lessons with Hannes and Valerie are over, now the day belongs to Hange. You’re washed down, re-waxed which wasn’t pleasant in the slightest, and your hair was done into a neat updo. 

By late afternoon, your makeup was done. You were all ready aside from the finishing touch being your dress, which you were anxious to try on. Hange mentioned something about more fire, and even though you survived the first outfit, you wonder how this one will work. 

Will you and Levi be matching once again? Will you end up getting burnt? No, you trust Hange enough now to not question that. 

Hange returned to your room with what you guessed to be your dress. “Close your eyes,” she smiles.

It’s surprisingly heavy, the weight of it pressing against your shoulders, cascading down your frame like a waterfall of silk, and something feathery. It clings to your form perfectly, as if it were sculpted just for you. Hange moves quickly, fastening clasps, smoothing the fabric against your waist, adjusting the shoulders.

The texture is unlike anything you’ve ever worn. It isn’t the rough, patchy fabric of District 12, nor the sleek artificial materials of the Capitol. Instead, it’s a blend of soft and sharp, of feathers that ripple like shadows and embroidery that feels like embers beneath your fingertips.

“Alright,” Hange breathes, and you can hear the excitement underneath her voice. “Open your eyes!”

You blink your eyes open, readjusting to the bright lights above as you try to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the full length mirror before you. Your breath catches in your chest. The girl staring back at you is unrecognizable. Is it really you?

The dress is made of layered black feathers, so intricately placed that they look as if they were real, shifting with even the smallest movement. The bodice is tight, sculpted to fit you perfectly, the details glimmering like the dying glow of embers beneath a thick layer of ash. 

Your hands trail down the dress, where the feathers grow heavy and thick until they transform. The hem of the dress burns. Not literally, but the illusion is flawless. The edges glow with hues of orange, red, and gold, flickering like a dying fire, like a bird ready to take flight. It isn’t still, the flames seem to breathe, to move, licking at the ground but never consuming.

“Well?” Hange glances at you, watching your reflection in the mirror.

“Wow…” you breathe. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Hange clasps her hands together excitedly. “Of course, darling! You look gorgeous. Are you ready for the interview?”

Judging by the look on your stylist’s face, you can tell she’s talked to Hannes and Valerie by now. They’ve probably told her you’ll be hopeless in earning over the audience with your words, but you know they’re not wrong.

“No, not really. Hannes told me I have about as much charm as a dead slug,” you admit, absentmindedly fiddling with the feathers on your dress.

Hange does her best to stifle a laugh, gracefully clearing her throat. "Well, you charm me. Why don’t you just try and be yourself?"

Those words grate on your nerves, but you don’t find yourself mad at Hange. No, you’re mad at Hannes for even telling you those excruciating words yesterday in the first place. You are being yourself, but apparently, that won’t be enough. Not charming, witty, or charismatic enough to win anyone over.

You exhale, forcing the frustration down before it can fester. "Apparently, that’s not working out for me," you mutter, shrugging as you turn away from your reflection to meet Hange’s gaze.

She hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her chin. "Say, when you answer the questions, why don’t you pretend you're talking to a friend from back home?"

The suggestion makes you pause. A friend. Petra.

You could answer the questions as if you were talking to her. The way she’d listen, the way she’d smile, the way she always made you feel like your words meant something. Why didn’t you think of this? Not even Hannes or Valerie could have! God, Hange is a genius.

“Thank you, Hange. It’s a plan.” 

“Of course, dear. Now, let's get you going,” Hange quips, briskly guiding you by the shoulders to the waiting room where all the tributes prepare for their interviews. 

You two took the elevator to the waiting room just behind the huge interview stage. The ride was quiet, but just as you exchanged a small goodbye with Hange when the doors slid open, she grabbed your shoulder to stop you.

“Oh! How could I forget!” Hange says excitedly, fixing a few feathers on your dress and neatly smoothing them out. “Make sure you spin when you’re on stage.”

“What?”

Hange couldn’t help but laugh at your confusion. “It’ll be a surprise.”

Now your guess is more fire, just as she had mentioned earlier. “I’m excited to see what you’ve planned out.” you smile.

“Me too darling, me too. Now, move along. Levi should be waiting by now!” Hange exclaims, ushering you out of the elevator door. You don’t even get a chance to say goodbye before the doors slide close, leaving you on your own to find your seat.

You look for Levi, brisking over the tributes in their seats, who are all anxiously waiting for the interviews to begin. As your eyes scan the room, you catch a glimpse of blonde hair—Armin. You were going to wave, but you noticed he wasn’t exactly paying attention—too busy in a hushed conversation with the black-haired District 4 tribute. 

What business do those two have with each other? You’d never admit it out loud, but if you’re already petrified of that girl, Armin should be the last person that would ever want to be that close to her, let alone conversing with her! Well, even though he’s not very strong, that boy does have some brains. What if he’s trying to form an alliance? 

Though, if he were smart, he wouldn’t form one in the first place, because that’s a real easy way to get yourself betrayed and killed.

You don’t have much time to ponder on their business with each other, as you’re snapped out of your thoughts by none other than Levi calling your name. He’s sat in the back row of chairs, of course, being District 12. He’ll be the last tribute of the night to be interviewed, with you going right before him. 

It is hardly a laughing matter, but you can’t help but hold back a snicker at the thought of that boy in front of hundreds of thousands of Capitol citizens attempting to be charming. You imagine he’d give simple yes or no answers, or even be bold enough to ignore the questions entirely.

“Hey,” you whisper, picking up the bottom of your dress to sit beside the raven-haired boy. This time, he isn’t styled identical to you. He is dressed in a charming all black suit with fiery red accents, his hair neatly styled in a slick back. You can’t help but think he looks handsome, though you’d never dare to admit that out loud. 

“What took you so long?” Levi questioned, scooting over slightly to give you more room with your dress. 

You smoothed out the black feathers, exhaling in an attempt to blow out all of your anxiousness. Then, of course, just as you feel your nerves settle, you remember the fact he’s practically betrayed you, going behind your back to get trained on his own! How can he act like everything is normal?

“Hange just had to go over a few things with me,” you simply say, to which Levi gives a small nod. You notice the way he leaned forward, elbows propped up on his knees, nervously fiddling with the ring on his middle finger.

Don’t. Don’t ask. You don’t care.

But he’s anxious. Though, so are you. So is everyone! It doesn’t matter. Don’t ask!

Don’t—

“Are you okay?” you blurt out, your mouth moving as if it had a mind of its own. 

Fuck. Someone needs to cut out your damn tongue.

“What?” Levi is snapped out of his trance entirely, his scowl deepening impossibly more as if you’ve said something absolutely vulgar.

“Nothing.” 

“Fine.”

“What?”

“Idiot, I said I’m fine. You can probably guess crowds aren’t my thing.” Levi admits, now leaning back in his chair in an attempt to get more comfortable, his arms strung over the top of the backrest. 

“Yeah,” you make a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “Not either of our strong suits.”

A jarring voice interrupts your conversation from the television hung on the wall. Darius Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interview for the games for over twenty years, bounces onto the stage with his bright purple wig, styled with a matching purple suit. Really, what is with the Capitol and the ridiculous style?

The massive crowd erupts into cheers, a dizzying blend of colors screaming together. The introduction music blares, and Darius quiets down the noise. “Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the 98th annual Hunger Games!”

As the interviewer addresses the crowd, you watch as the District 1 tributes stand and make their way to the entrance to the stage, the black-haired girl who mocked you in the training center being first to go. 

While the interviews go on, you’re sitting in quiet concentration. This is your chance to get to know the people you’re up against. You finally learned District 1’s names, Pieck and Porco, and from what you observed, the two of them are pretty cocky. Though, what can you expect from careers? 

Next is District 2. Those two aren’t nearly as cocky, although they are clearly strong. The blonde girl, Annie, didn’t talk much in her interview, but the male tribute who you swear is built like an ox, Reiner, presents himself well. District 3’s girl was younger, probably about thirteen. The male tribute for 3 was Armin, and he was great at winning over the crowd.

Following District 3 was the black-haired girl who could rip you to shreds with just her glare, Mikasa. She doesn’t talk much, giving short and simple answers for Darius. He tries to challenge her and make her spill a bit more, but she doesn’t falter. Jesus, it would be one thing if she was eying you out of cockiness, but no, based on the fact she didn’t even try to win over the crowd, she’s even more frightening. 

The District 4 boy, Eren, had a bit more of a personality to present. He seemed cocky, but not as the District 1 tributes were. More confident, you’d say. Darius even brought up their team, complimenting their stylists for the designs this year, as well as pointing out their mentor, who's name you learn is Erwin Smith.

The next few tributes that stood out to you are a boy named Jean from District 7 who was quite the charmer, the tributes from District 8, Gabi and Falco, who are the youngest in the entire pool of tributes, and the pair from District 10, Sasha and Connie, who are from the livestock district. 

Now, you’re face to face with the entrance that goes straight into the stage. The District 11 boy is just about to finish up, and you can’t help but feel absolutely terrified. You’re up next. 

The thought of being in front of hundreds of thousands of people that are betting on whether you live or die is sickening. You feel bile threatening to rise in your throat. You squeeze your hand into a fist, feeling your clammy palms. Your feet feel as if they could give out in your heels, as if you’d topple over yourself the moment you start walking. 

The sound of your name pulls you out of it, and you look to see Levi gesturing toward the entrance to the stage. “What?”

“You’re up,” is all he says, and you swear you could feel your stomach plummet to the ground. 

With a shaky inhale, you try to ground yourself. All you have to do is answer the questions honestly, and if even Valerie said you’re likeable, you might say something that will win over the crowd. All that matters is getting through it. What’s the worst that could happen?

You feel yourself walking forward, as if you were in some kind of dream. You make your way toward the center of the stage, finding your seat beside Darius. You can’t tell if you’ll throw up, pass out, or blank everything out, or all of the above. The spotlight on you is absolutely blinding, and the crowd blends together in a dizzying array of colors that makes you nauseous.

Darius begins speaking, and you try your best to focus on exactly what he’s saying. “Back at the City Circle, that was quite an entrance you made,” he begins, tilting his head in admiration. “I think all of our hearts stopped, I know mine did.”

You force a small smile, gripping the armrests of your chair. You’re fine. Just answer honestly, as if you were talking to Petra. It’s okay. You’re okay.

“I was just hoping I wouldn’t get burnt to a crisp.”

Laughter ripples through the audience, Darius joining in with an easy chuckle. “Well, thank goodness you didn’t! You and your district partner certainly made an impression.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Now, I think we are all dying to know. You had the highest score among all the tributes. Can I ask how you managed an eleven?”

“Well, I—” you started, but stopped yourself before you needed to cut your tongue out yourself for speaking without thinking. You glance at Darius before shaking your head with an almost apologetic smile. “I don’t think I’m allowed to say, am I?”

Through the crowd from one of the balconies, you see the same bald gamemaker that fell into the punch bowl shout out, “no!”

Darius gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest. “Alright then, folks, I guess we’ll never know!” he jokes, earning another wave of laughter from the audience.

Your shoulders relax slightly, but the reprieve is short lived. His next words send a chill through your spine. “On a more serious note, back at the reaping…”

Your heart drops. No.

Darius reaches out, gently taking your hand in his, his expression softening. “You are the first volunteer in District 12’s history. What made you step forward for that girl?”

A pit forms in your stomach. You should’ve known they were going to bring Petra up. Your breath catches as your mind races, scanning the sea of faces for something, someone, to ground you. You manage to spot them in the crowd—Hange, then Hannes, Valerie beside them, all watching intently. Your eyes lock with Hange’s and she gives you a slight nod, encouraging you. 

Be honest. Don’t say too much. You have to keep Petra safe.

You steel yourself, your fingers curling slightly in your lap. “Well,” you begin carefully, “I don’t have much to lose.”

The audience murmurs, their intrigue only deepening. That surely was not the answer they expected nor wanted from you. But you don’t owe them anything.

Darius tilts his head, his brows furrowing before he pushes you more. “Really? I’ve heard you’ve got a sister. Some people say you volunteered because that girl reminded you of her. Is that true?”

Your blood runs cold. What the fuck?

In the midst of your panic, your fingers twitch as you instinctively pull your hand from the man’s grasp before you could compose yourself. Great, now that wasn’t very likeable of you! Though, how could you be likeable when they just asked you about your passed sister? Damn them! Damn Darius and everyone in the Capitol! 

You glance at your team in the crowd, and there’s a split second of hesitation, just enough for you to see them stiffen, their smiles faltering, uncertain of how to guide you through this. You notice Hannes gulp down a huge swig of his alcohol, shrugging as Hange whispers something in his ear.

How could they know about your sister? Let alone, why would they bring her up here of all places? Did they seriously dig that far back into your past? How much do they know? No, calm down! They’re just trying to get a reaction out of you.

Your lips part, but the words don’t come at first. Then, without thinking, they tumble out, sharper than intended. “Had.”

The weight of that single word lingers in the air. The audience is mostly silent, with a few “awes” echoing through the stadium. Fuck them.

“And that’s not true,” you add quickly, forcing steel into your tone. “I hardly knew that girl.”

It’s a lie. A blatant, ugly lie. And you hate yourself for saying it, you know Petra is watching this back home. You can only hope she understands why you had to say it, why you have to protect her, no matter the cost. You know her, and you know she’s kind and selfless. But they don’t need to know that.

Darius blinks, clearly taken aback, but he recovers quickly, pasting on a charming smile. “Well then,” he muses, “I think that was very brave of you.”

The crowd hums in agreement, though the tension still lingers in the air. You force yourself to breathe. You’re okay. 

Darius brightens again, shifting gears. “Your stylist truly outdid themselves this year. Can you tell me more about this dress you’re wearing?”

You seize the change in subject, pushing down the unease still crawling up your spine. “Yes, actually,” you say, straightening your shoulders. “My stylist said she has a surprise in store for us. Would you like to see?”

The audience erupts into cheers before Darius can even answer. He laughs, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Wait, is it safe?” he teases, throwing his hands up playfully. “Well, what do you think, folks?”

The cheers grow even louder, an eager chant building in the stands. You push yourself up from your seat, walking to the center of the stage. The lights shift slightly, dimming just enough to focus on you. You take a deep breath, then turn. Once, then twice, and around you go. The moment you move, the dress ignites.

Gasps echo through the crowd, followed by thunderous applause. The fire spreads along the black feathers, illuminating the intricate details of the design. You knew it, more flames. Hange, you damned genius. Then, the flames flicker and morph. The fire transforms into wings, feathers curling up your arms, shimmering like embers.

You spread your arms straight out, and almost gasp yourself. It’s just like a Mockingjay.

Darius reaches out instinctively, steadying you by the elbow as you regain your balance, fighting the spinning world in your vision. “Woah! Steady, steady!” he laughs, though his awe is evident. You regain your balance, holding his gaze.

“That,” he announces, turning to the crowd, “was extraordinary.” He extends his hand, gesturing toward you with a grand flourish. “Let’s give it up for her, folks! The girl on fire!”

The stadium shakes with applause, the roar of the Capitol deafening. As you retreat toward the backstage, you catch Hange’s eyes on you, giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up. By the time you make it backstage, you watch as Levi brushes past you toward the center of the stage for his interview. You can only imagine how much that boy hates crowds. 

You’re still in a daze for the first part of his interview, catching your breath in your seat. From what you hear, the interview goes as you expected. Levi gives short and blunt yes or no answers, though surprisingly he didn’t ignore any. Probably best not to, anyways. Then, just as you think they’re almost done, the sound of your name catches your attention.

"Your district partner has certainly caught the Capitol’s attention. Brave enough to volunteer along with that outstanding training score. Tell us, what’s it like working alongside someone like her? Is she an asset or a challenge?" Darius asks, eager to know more.

Levi slightly leans back in his seat, his expression unreadable. “She’s not weak, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, not weak at all according to her training score,” Darius agrees, eyes gleaming with interest before prodding some more. “But beyond that, does she stand out to you in any particular way?”

Levi tilts his head slightly, as if considering. How do you even answer that question? The pause stretches just a little too long, enough for the audience to lean in.

“She’s… different,” he starts. “Most people either break or bend when they’re afraid. She doesn’t do either.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Interesting,” Darius muses, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “So, would you say she’s someone you’d trust in the arena?”

“I don’t trust anyone. But if I had to?” he says, then pauses. The stadium is so quiet with anticipation you could hear a pin drop. “It’d be her.”

A ripple spreads through the crowd, soft gasps, whispers exchanged like currency. The Capitol adores moments like these. It’s exactly what they want, tension wrapped into something they can shape and manipulate. You can see right through it. They’re going to manipulate you two into something you’re not, and it’s going to make you look weak!

“Well, well,” he chuckles, turning toward the audience with a flourish. “Unfortunately, we have run out of time. It seems District 12 has given us quite the pair to watch, wouldn’t you say? Let’s give it up for the male tribute, Levi Ackerman!”

You watch as Levi casually waves into the crowd, exchanging a quick handshake with Darius Flickerman before retreating towards backstage. What the fuck was that?

By the time Levi makes it backstage, the other tributes have departed to their apartments. When the black-haired boy is just about to pass you, you grab him by the collar of his suit, shoving him into the back of a wall. He barely resists, letting you pin him down. The muffled roar of the audience still rings in your ears, but it’s nothing compared to the irritation burning in your chest.

You release his collar with a shove, your glare practically burning holes in his eyes. “What the hell was that?”

Levi doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he adjusts the stiff collar of his suit like this conversation is nothing more than an inconvenience. “What are you talking about?”

You scoff. “Oh, I don’t know. First, you go behind my back to get trained separately, and then act like everything’s normal. Now, the interview? Didn’t you want to keep your distance? Because it sure didn’t seem like that back there.”

Levi exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed by your outburst. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You blink, thrown off. “Worked?”

Before he can answer, Hannes strides up behind you, rubbing his temple like he’s been dealing with a headache all night. “You two done having a lovers’ quarrel?” he mutters, shaking his head. “Because I’d love to go to bed without needing to drink an entire bottle of whiskey first.”

You whirl on him. “Hannes, what was fuck that?” you demand, motioning toward Levi. “Why did he—”

Hannes groans dramatically, cutting you off. “Because it made you look desirable! The audience eats that shit up. Tension, a little unresolved something, they love it.” He waves a hand vaguely. “You were already intriguing enough with your training score and that whole volunteering stunt, as well as your dress, but Levi’s little interview sealed the deal. They’ll remember you now.”

You blink, the weight of it settling over you. You knew they wanted you to be likable. You knew the approval of the Capitol, the gamemakers, and the sponsors were everything. But hearing it like this, like a game being played right in front of you, makes your stomach turn.

“It’s strategy,” Levi says simply.

And damn it, he’s right. You hate that he’s right. This stunt, though maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, had to be what he and Hannes had agreed on during prep yesterday. 

You sigh, rubbing your face. “Fine, whatever. But next time, I’d appreciate a warning.”

Levi shrugs, his gaze flicking past you. “Next time? Let’s survive this first.”

You felt your chest tighten at that. Let’s? Only one of you is making it out of this. And now, for the first time, you truly wish you could do something about it.

Hannes claps his hands together. “Great, now that that’s settled, let’s wrap this up. Eat some dinner, say your goodbyes, get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

Everyone lingers. Valerie offers a surprisingly sincere well-wish, Hannes pats you on the back before heading for a drink, and Moblit nods politely before following Hange off to deal with last minute preparations.

But Hange, she lingers behind.

She doesn’t leave like the others. Instead, she rests a hand on your shoulder, her usual manic energy dimmed just a little. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she says, voice soft. “In the morning, I’ll be the one sending you off.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. Somehow, that makes it all feel more real. The Games are tomorrow. You’re running out of time. Then, you remember your interview, the way they practically used everything they could learn about you against you.

“Hange,” you call out. She stops in her tracks, turning back to face you. “Why did they bring her up?”

Hange must’ve understood who you meant by ‘her’ judging by the way her eyes softened. “My dear, the Capitol will do anything to break you. You just have to stand strong enough to not let yourself be another piece in their games.”

You don’t know what to say. Levi lingers too, standing just a few steps away. For a moment, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to say something. But you don’t. Instead, you just turn and walk away.

Damn the Capitol and anyone that has anything to do with the Games.

-

You were quick to make it back to the top floor of your apartment. You couldn’t help but feel sentimental, knowing this was the last night you’ll truly be safe. Surprisingly, you think you’ll miss hearing the banter between Hannes and Valerie. Tomorrow, you’ll be fighting for your life in an arena in which you don’t know you’ll make it out of. 

You know your team won’t be going with you. Hannes and Valerie will be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up your sponsors. Hange will be travelling with you from the very spot you will be launched up into the arena.

You scarfed down as much food as your stomach could possibly handle, even bringing some extra desserts and drinks to snack on before bed. Before you could make a break to your room, your team insisted on saying their goodbyes, even though they might still see you early in the morning before your departure. 

Valerie takes you and Levi by the hand, and with actual tears in her eyes, wishes you two well. She thanks you for being the best tributes to ever have the privilege to sponsor. And then, because apparently Valerie is required by law to say something awful, she adds in, “I wouldn’t be surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!”

She hurries out of the dining room, and you’re left with Hannes. He crosses his arms and looks you and Levi over.

“Any last advice?” you ask.

“The moment the Games start, make a run for it. Screw everything inside of the Cornucopia, it’ll be a bloodbath. Put as much distance as you can between yourself and the other tributes, and find a source of water. I’ll try to cover your backs with the sponsors.” he says. “Got it?”

“And after that?” Levi questions.

“Stay alive,” is all he says. It’s the same advice he gave you two on the train, but he’s not drunk and mocking this time. And you only nod. What else is there to say?

When you finally depart to your room with hands full of food, Levi stays behind to talk to Hannes. You’re glad. You two can exchange whatever words of parting you might have tomorrow. 

You shower after snacking, having hung up your dress neatly in your closet, scrubbing off all the makeup and fragrances that were meticulously placed onto you today. The warm water feels nice, and you wish you could stay here forever. Away from everything and everyone. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Unfortunately, since those kinds of luxuries do not exist in the world you live in, you finally step out of the shower. You dried yourself off with a fluffy towel, then retreated to your closet to find a robe. You spot your dress, now transformed into something that reminds you so much of a Mockingjay. How can Hange even come up with these design ideas? Like you’ve said—genius. 

You finally roll into bed, and after just about five seconds, you realize you will not be getting a wink of sleep tonight. You know you desperately need it, whatever ounce of energy you can preserve in the arena can make a difference of life or death. The arena. What kind of lands will you be in? Desert? Swamp? Ruins? 

Maybe, God be willing, you will end up in a forest. You know how to hunt and navigate, so you presume that could work. But there are also your fellow tributes, you won’t be alone, you could be stalked like prey with every step you take. 

Now, your heart is racing and you can’t seem to calm it down. You stand up from your bed, smoothing a hand over your face as you exhale and pace the room. Jesus, just rest, won’t you? 

But you know you can’t. You won’t. Your feet practically move on their own, grabbing a plate of leftover dessert and heading straight for none other than the rooftop. Seeing the stars underneath the moon one last night before you’re hunted like an animal would be nice, so you don’t stop yourself. 

The moment you burst through the door to the rooftop, you finally seem to catch your breath, feeling your heart slow as you take in the fresh cool air. Your bare feet track toward the railing, resting your elbows on top as you take in the city lights, taking a chocolate covered strawberry from your dessert plate and popping it in your mouth. There are exhilarating colors, echoes of cheers and laughter from below as the party goers celebrate. 

“You should be getting some sleep,” a voice calls out from behind, though you don’t have to look to know who it is. 

“Shouldn’t you be as well?” you quip back.

A pair of hands grip the ledge beside you. From the corner of your eye, you see Levi lean forward, dark hair falling slightly over his face. For a moment, you consider leaving. Going back to your room, forcing yourself into whatever restless sleep might find you before morning.

But the thought of being alone, of staring at the ceiling with nothing but the weight of tomorrow sitting on your chest, makes your stomach twist. The crisp night air wins, even if you have company.

"I don’t sleep," Levi finally mutters.

You scoff. "Ha, funny."

He pushes off the railing. "Fine then, I’m going back to my room."

"Wait," you say instinctively, your free hand catching his wrist before he can leave. "Don’t go."

Levi closes his eyes, considering for just a moment before sighing, pulling his hand from your grasp. But instead of leaving, he places his hands back onto the railing.

"Alright."

You glance down at the city below, your fingers tracing the patterns of your dessert plate. "I’m sorry I went after you earlier," you say.

“I get it. I might’ve done the same,” Levi says, his gaze not meeting yours as he watches the city, too. Another roar of cheers echo from the streets below, loud enough to hear it clearly from the top floor of the Tribute Center. “Jesus, listen to them.”

"I know." You shake your head, the absurdity of it all settling into something disturbingly familiar. “I just don’t want them to change me.”

Levi’s gaze finally settles on you, his brows furrowed together, laced with confusion. “How could they change you?”

You exhale, glancing away. “I don’t know,” you admit, shrugging. The thought has been gnawing at you for days, but putting it into words makes it feel heavier. “I just don’t want to become something I’m not.”

It reminds you too much of what Hange said earlier, the way she warned you about the Capitol breaking people down, twisting them into pieces that fit their narrative. The idea makes your stomach churn.

“I don’t want to be another pawn in their game.”

Levi hums quietly. A small acknowledgment, not quite agreement, not quite dismissal. You wonder if he understands.

“If I die in there,” you continue, voice quieter now, “I want to die as myself. Does that make sense?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you, really watches you, like he’s trying to figure out the weight of your words. Finally, he nods. “Yeah.”

You hesitate before speaking again, letting the words form before you let them out. “I keep wishing I could find a way to show them, to show the Capitol that they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their game.”

Levi exhales sharply, barely a laugh, barely a sigh. “Aren’t we all?”

You blink, considering that. Maybe he’s right. Maybe every person in Panem, at least in the districts, feels the same way, buried under the weight of a system designed to destroy them.

“Maybe,” you murmur. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m tired of living like this.”

Levi doesn’t say anything else. The two of you watch the night life, cars bustling through the city and parties ongoing at every block. In the morning, just around ten, you will be in the arena with every citizen of Panem watching you and the rest of the tributes on live television, rooting on who they believe should win. 

You’re terrified. Hundreds and thousands of eyes will be on you, watching your every move, either mocking you or cheering for you. It’s hard to believe that in just a few hours you’ll be shipped off to that damned arena. 

Though, for now, you’re okay. Now, you are safe on the rooftop, watching the Capitol. For now, you can breathe. You might as well take in the peaceful moments before they’re stripped away from you. You look at Levi. Maybe talking to him will keep you from getting lost in your own head.

"Why did you do it?"

Levi turns slightly, brow raised. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you decide to train separately?"

His fingers tighten against the railing, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. Then, after what feels like forever, he exhales sharply. “Because it was the best move,” he says simply. “You needed the sponsors more than I did.”

You blink, thrown off. “What?”

Levi finally turns to face you fully. “They already expect me to be strong. You? You’re different. The Capitol loves a story, and that’s what I gave them. Hannes and I agreed on it.” 

He pauses, his gaze flickering over you like he’s trying to gauge your reaction. “As for the training… it was better to know where we stand before we get thrown into that arena.”

You scoff, shaking your head. Maybe he has betrayed you, after all. “And where do we stand?”

Another pause. The night air feels colder now.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I do know I don’t want to stab you in the back.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “That makes one of us.”

Levi’s gaze sharpens slightly, but he doesn’t argue. He just watches you, as if waiting for you to make the next move. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you want to believe him. You want to believe that not everyone in the Games is out to kill you. Maybe, he doesn’t want you dead, either. 

Absentmindedly, you take another chocolate covered strawberry from your plate and toss it over the edge. It meets the forcefield, flickering slightly before recoiling back, landing somewhere behind you.

"Why do you think they put a forcefield on the roof?" you ask.

Levi shrugs. "To make sure none of the tributes take it upon themselves to be eliminated before the Games."

“Geez,” you wince at the thought. You can’t really blame anyone for that, though. Might be an easier way to go, that or be mauled by someone in the arena. “And do you remember what that boy, Armin, was saying about the forcefield?” 

"Yeah. Why?"

"What do you think he meant by that?"

Levi sighs, rubbing his temple. "Good grief, is this another interview?"

"No!" you exclaim, waving your hands in defense. "I’m just curious."

Levi’s lips twitch slightly. "Who knows? That kid seems too smart for his own good."

"I guess so."

For the next hour or so, the two of you fall into a much more comfortable silence. You snack on the desserts you have left on your plate. You even came up with a game where you throw a strawberry at the forcefield, attempting to catch it when it bounces back. For a little while, it feels like things are normal. 

Though, you know that tomorrow, everything changes. For now, you let yourself pretend that the world isn’t about to fall apart.

Exhaustion finally begins to creep up on you, and you end up saying goodnight to Levi, retreating to your room in an attempt to get some shut eye. You spend the rest of the night in and out of sleep, thinking about all of the possibilities that might come in the arena. Despite your exhaustion, you don’t rest much. 

-

You don’t see Levi in the morning. Hange comes to you before dawn, gives you a simple dress to wear, and guides you to the loading area. Your final dressing and preparations will be done in the catacombs under the arena itself. A hovercraft appears out of thin air and the aircraft opens up, leading to a few seats. Before you get the chance to sit, a woman in a white coat approaches you carrying a syringe.

“This is just your tracker,” she says. You reluctantly hold your arm out, feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on the inside of your forearm. You assume that it’s for the gamemakers to keep track of you in the arena. 

The ride to the arena is quiet. Hange respects your space, and the only thing to distract you was your breakfast, and the barren windows in the hovercraft. When you glance outside, you’re so high up that the trees are just a cluster of specks. This is what the birds must see. Though, the only difference between you being that one is free.

When you arrive, you and Hange are escorted to the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. You’re led into a chamber for your preparation. In the Capitol, they like to call it the launch room, but in the districts, it is referred to as the stockyard. A place where animals go before they’re slaughtered. 

You are instructed to shower by Hange, and when you do, you fight back the urge to throw up the contents of your breakfast. Once you get out, you clean your teeth and change into the outfits all twenty-four tributes will be wearing in the arena. Hange, unfortunately, did not get a say in the design. 

The clothing is nice, though. The jacket’s material is clearly made for cold weather, so you can expect some cold nights. The quality of the boots are better than anything you could get at home with a great fit, good for running. 

You think you’re finished getting dressed when Hange pulls out a familiar pin from her pocket. It’s the gold Mockingjay pin Petra had gifted you. You had almost completely forgotten about it between the chaos of the days. 

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

“Off the blouse you wore on the train,” she says. “I figured you should have it. Though, it barely passed through the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an advantage, which is ridiculous! What could you do with such a small needle?”

You can’t find the right words through your nerves, so all you do is offer her a faint smile while she fastens the pin on the side of your jacket. “Anyways, they eventually let it through. They eliminated a ring from the District 2 girl, though. If you twisted the ring, a sharp metal piece came out, sharp enough to cut through flesh.”

“Why would she even try to bring something like that through?” you question.

“Who knows, darling. Here, walk around for me. Make sure everything fits right.” Hange gives a small shrug, sending you off to walk around. 

You shuffle around, rolling your shoulders back to make sure the jacket wasn’t too confining. “It all fits well.”

“Good then. All we can do now is wait for the call.” Hange says, offering a smile, though you can see the sadness behind it. “Do you think you can eat anymore?”

You decline, but chug down a massive glass of water. You find a seat on the couch, nervously messing with the hem of your jacket. Your palms are growing sweaty, and you can practically feel your heartbeat through your ears. 

No. You’re okay. It’s okay.

Nonetheless, nervousness seeps into terror as you imagine what is to come. You could be dead within the hour, or even before then. On top of that, you are going to watch people die. The same group of people you’ve spent training and prepping with for the past week are all going to die, aside from one lucky victor.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on top of yours, resting on your knee. You see Hange offer a comforting nod, and you smile. You sit like this until a female voice announces to prepare for launch.

Sixty seconds.

Still clenching onto Hange’s hand, the two of you walk over to the tube that will take you into the arena. “Remember what Hannes said, run and find water. The rest will follow,” she says. You nod, feeling your fingers tremble as you clutch her hand like it was your lifeline. “And remember this. If I could bet on anyone, I would place everything I have on you, girl on fire.”

You feel your lips tremble. “Really?”

Thirty seconds.

“Really,” Hange nods. She squeezes your hand before pulling you into a tight embrace. You can feel your body tremor underneath her hold, though neither of you say anything about it. She only lets go once you hear the glass cylinder to the tube slide open and the female voice counting down the seconds before launch.

Carefully, you step onto the platform, your gaze locked onto Hange’s. “Good luck. Remember, I’m betting on you.”

Ten seconds.

You can only watch as the glass cylinder closes around you, fully encasing you inside of the tube. It begins to lift, and Hange gives you a reassuring nod. Right, get yourself together. Hange disappears from your sight as the platform rises. You’re in darkness for a few seconds, feeling the platform pushing you up into the open air, straight into the arena.

For a moment, your eyes are completely blinded by the bright sunlight, unable to take in your surroundings. As your senses adjust, you’re conscious only of a strong breeze with the hopeful smell of fresh pine trees, accompanied by the sound of rushing water.

A forest.

Then, you hear the legendary announcer, Paladin Templesmith, as his voice echoes all around you. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the 98th Hunger Games begin!” 

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a/n: yippe! interviews are done and we are heading straight into the games! in my outline, we've finished the first out of three "acts" ! i presume there will be about twenty chapters to this fic in total. next up obviously will be the games, and i am so excited to dive into reader and levi's dynamic, as well as start introducing the other characters on a more personal level. i can't wait for you to read it all! thanks for tagging along! <3

taglist: @fleshandbonez @reivelmin @estella-novella @zoozvie @snoopyluver20 @honeybunbunn @jjune-07 @lovetwiyor @levisbrat25 comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[liyliths]

hello ^_^ so sorry for the late ask </3 was quite busy but YAY new chapter!! ugh your series is reigniting my love for the hunger games. <3 are you gonna read haymitchs book? it’s coming out soon!

anyways i LOVE reader. she’s so unintentionally funny, so is hannes! the comment about levi and reader having the same charm as a dead slug made me giggle 🤭 also i see some hints of protective levi…ahhh the best levi!! he’s gonna be so protective in the games 😭🫶 don’t apologize for the minimum levi! i love your writing with or without him LOL.

omg nawt levi wanting to be trained on his own LMAOO poor reader she felt so betrayed :( i love the inner conflict of reader wondering if she really trusts levi or not. i totally get her position! arghh i think about this fic sm i can’t WAIT for the games !!

also i don’t thibk i asked but can i be added to the taglist? thank you in advance <3 keep up the great work 🫶🤗

HI AGAIN!!! i love to see you in my inbox! no worries for the late ask and i apologize on my part for the late response lol!

yes i have preordered haymitch’s book, i am so excited!!! i hope you get to read it too! i also have tickets for the hunger games marathon on the 16th in theaters, so i am so excited for that too!

and omg YES reader and hannes are both so funny without meaning to be 😭 AND YES YES YES protective levi!!! im glad you’re seeing that early on!!! the games are gonna be quite eventful but i am so excited to write levi and the reader in the arena ;)) AND THANK YOU SO MUCH i was sad i couldn’t fit in more levi in chapter 3 so that means so much to me!

and yea why is bro being trained by himself? 👀 men are so confusing. anyways, rip reader, just know it’s in your favor. hope i didn’t give away too much LOLLL

and yes! i am so happy you noticed the inner conflict there cuz shes like ok first of all why tf do i even care what he’s doing we’re literally getting ready to kill each other it doesn’t matter (yes it does unfortunately HAHA)

i will totally add you to the tag list! thank you so much again for your little rants in my inbox they make me smile every time i see them :) i can’t wait for you to read more! have a great day or night! ❤️

[liyliths]

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

His voice is quieter this time. “You’re an idiot.” “Gee, thanks.” You scowl at him. “It’s not my fault they weren’t paying attention.” “If you would just control your impulsiveness,” he mutters, voice low, dangerously close to a warning, “you wouldn’t be the first person the careers try to slaughter.” You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “Not like it makes a difference. If the Capitol wants me dead, they’ll find a way to make it happen.”

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 5.5k

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Your muscles ache. It’s not like physical activity is anything new for you, but you think your body is caught off guard by the amount of strain you’ve been putting on it.

Hannes had encouraged you and Levi to practice at every station in the training room, so for the past three days, all you’ve been doing for the majority of the day was training at every skill station, practicing and picking up new things. Despite Hannes’ orders to appear mediocre, Levi excels in knife throwing and you ace the edible plants test.

Though, you haven’t gotten to the damn bow and arrow. You’ve been itching to get it on your hands, but you know Hannes is right. You can’t show the other tributes what you’re good at.

Today was the last official day of training, and everyone has their private sessions with the gamemakers where they score you on whatever skill you choose to present. Finally, you’ll be able to shoot.

You and Levi were pulled from lunch to the waiting room for your sessions, along with the other tributes. You’ve memorized a few new faces but haven’t been able to catch anyone’s names besides Armin. One of the familiar faces was a girl of a shorter stature with bright blue eyes, complemented by lucious blonde hair, always followed around by a taller brown-haired girl with freckles.

Being District 12, you and Levi are the last to go. You watch the tributes leave district by district, first the boy, then the girl. No one comes back after they leave. As the room empties, you feel less and less inclined to appear friendly. You and Levi sit in silence. You’ve exchanged mostly friendly conversation per Hannes request to appear as ‘allies’, though you’re against the idea.

You figure it would increase your odds if you stuck to yourself and waited out the Games, hiding and surviving until you have to protect yourself. If you’re with allies, or even just one ally, it’s no secret one of you will have to betray each other. It’s like a ticking bomb until someone decides to do it first, and you’re not willing to take that risk. 

The intercom summons Levi, and he rises. You two exchange a glance, unsure of what to say.

“Make sure you throw those knives straight,” you call out. He hesitates in his tracks for a moment before glancing back at you.

“You too. Don’t miss,” he says, and with that, you’re left alone in the waiting room.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, your name is summoned by the intercom. You stand up after a deep breath, smoothing back your hair and rolling your shoulders. Summoning the courage, you walk forward, straight to the sliding door that leads to the private session room.

Once you walk through, you quickly realize you might be screwed. The gamemakers have sat here far too long, at least in their heads, after seeing the other twenty-three tributes. Most of them are probably stuffed full and have consumed too much wine, itching to get home.

There’s nothing you can do, you realize, so you continue. Your eyes set on the weapons, and you see it—your bow and arrows. The bow is made of exclusive material you can’t even begin to describe, paired with matching arrows. You run your hands over the bow before you pick it up, slinging a quiver with the arrows over your shoulder.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you stride over to the targets. They’re similar to what you and Levi practiced on with the throwing knives, with a red bullseye in the chest on a human figure. When you equip an arrow and pull back on the string, you realize just how different this bow is compared to the one back home. The string is stiffer, and the arrows rigid. 

When you shoot, you miss the center of the target by a few inches, and you’re met by a few scoffs and laughter, losing what little attention you had. For a moment, you feel humiliated, but you move on to the next target and shoot, the arrow landing straight on the center of the bullseye, finally getting a hang of the new weapon.

It was a great shot. You turn to the gamemakers—a couple are nodding in approval, but the most of them are fixed on the roasted pig with an apple stuck between its mouth being served. You can’t help the anger you feel rise in your chest. If they’re going to send twenty-four kids to fight to the death, the least they could do is have the decency to pay attention to them. 

You refuse to be treated like another animal in their zoo.

Your heart starts to pound wildly. Without thinking, you ready another arrow and shoot straight at the gamemakers, your arrow piercing through the apple perched in the pig’s mouth, landing directly through the wall behind. There are a few gasps and sounds of alarm as people stumble back, but then you’re met with quiet.

Everyone stares at you in disbelief. These are the gamemakers, even the head gamemaker, and you just shot an arrow straight at them.

“Thank you for your precious time, I will ensure I don’t waste any more of it,” you say, giving a slight mock bow before throwing the bow and arrows on the ground, making a beeline to the exit.

-

You don’t think you’ve ever walked faster in your life. After your session, you went straight for the elevator and retreated to your apartment, shutting yourself in your room. Your team tried to ask you how it went when you got inside, but you pushed past them. So much for being damn likeable.

You feel so much regret. You shot at the gamemakers, the ones who have the power to help you live or die in the games, the ones who can earn you sponsors with a high score, and you’ve absolutely ruined it. You shot straight at them!

Well, your intention wasn’t to shoot at them, you shot at the stupid pig out of anger. To get their attention, because no else would have done it.

What will they do to you now? Arrest you? Execute you?

Though, does it really matter? Because you are being shipped off into that arena in just a few days time, where your odds are close to zero. You want to believe you can make it out of there, you can go back home to the woods, but what are the chances?

What really scares you, though, is what they could do to the people you’re close to. You wouldn’t deem yourself close to Petra, no, but since you volunteered yourself for her, people would assume you’re close, which is probably why Levi asked about it. She and her family could suffer because of your idiotic actions and impulsiveness.

You ended up locking yourself in your room until dinner, when Valerie beckoned you outside to eat and watch the scores announced on television. The gamemakers probably wound up giving you the lowest score, which will get you no sponsors, and no sponsors means you’re royally screwed in that arena. 

You may as well consider yourself dead already, then.

When you sit yourself down for dinner, your team is already chit-chatting with each other and excitedly discussing their theories on who scored what. You’re surprised Hannes has been laying off the liquor, but he did make a deal with you after all. At least he’s a man of his word.

Even if you get a bad score, you hope it won’t deflect all the hard work Hange and Moblit put into your costume just to get you to stand out. It feels like you threw away all their hard work without a second thought. Well, you presume you did stand out in the scoring session, but clearly not in the right ways. 

As the others talk, you meet Levi’s eyes across the table. His eyebrows raise, and he’s almost asking something upon the lines of what happened?

You just send him a small shake of your head. God, how readable must you be for him of all people to notice you like this?

Someone clears their throat, and you look up from your plate to see everyone’s eyes on you. Quickly, you panic, your eyes darting around to see what you missed.

“How did your session go, sweetheart? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Hannes asks, looking as if he’s repeated himself. Somehow, him calling you sweetheart ticks you off more than usual and you find the will to speak.

“Oh,” you say, smoothing the napkin out on your lap. “I shot an arrow at the gamemakers.”

Everyone stops eating, and Valerie’s fork drops from her grip before she practically roars. “You what?!”

“I shot an arrow at them. Well, not exactly at them. They were ignoring me and I couldn’t stand it, so I… I lost my head, and I shot an apple out of their stupid roasted pig’s mouth!” You confess.

After a beat of silence, Hange speaks up. “And what did they do?”

“Nothing… Well, I don’t know. I just walked out.” you say.

“Without being dismissed?” Moblit questions.

You pinch your lips together. “I guess I dismissed myself.”

“Well, that’s that,” Hannes shrugs, grabbing another butter roll. 

The table continues to eat, and now you’re unsure of what else to say. You want to ask if the gamemakers will do anything to you, but you think you already know the answer to that. It’s too late now, and if anything, they’ll just make your life hell in the Games.

But then you think about Petra. Will they do anything to her? You want to ask, but you can’t risk anyone using that against you. You can’t risk the Capitol harming her and her family, so you silently hope your actions only have consequences that will effect you.

“What do you think they’ll do to my score?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you already have the answer yourself. There’s no way you’ll be scoring above a five.

“Scores only matter if they’re very good, otherwise, no one pays attention to the mediocre ones. If anything, it’ll help you not become a target in the arena with a high score, the careers tend to take the other high scores out quickly.” Moblit explains, and that makes you feel more at ease.

Hannes nods in agreement, going to pick up a piece of pork loin with his fingers, which Valerie frowns in disapproval at. He rips off a piece of the meat and starts to chuckle. “What were their faces like?”

You can feel the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile. “Well,” you start, thinking back to when it happened. It all happened so quickly, you can only remember it in a blur. But then, an image flashes into your mind. “They were shocked. Even terrified. One bald man tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”

Hannes cackles at that, almost spitting out his wine, and everyone starts to laugh together. Well, except Valerie, although even she is suppressing a smile. “Well, it serves them right. It’s their job to pay attention, and just because you come from District 12 is no reason to ignore you.”

Then, her eyes dart around as if she said something totally outrageous. “I apologize, but that’s just what I think.”

Wow, maybe Valerie does have some compassion for you. Crazy concept. She is sweet, but you can’t help but think she is a little idiotic. Though, isn’t everyone that comes from the Capitol?

“Well,” you change the topic. “How did your session go, Levi?”

His eyes dart up from his plate, clearly caught off guard. He swallows down his food and finally speaks. “Fine.”

That’s it? 

You arch a brow. “Fine?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to the others at the table, Hannes sipping lazily from his drink, Valerie watching the two of you like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, Hange stuffing their face with dessert, and Moblit shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

He’s avoiding the question. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, challenging him. “What did you do?”

Levi’s fingers tighten slightly around his fork. He shifts in his seat, clearly irritated—though whether it’s at you, the question, or something else, you’re not sure.

“Nothing special,” he finally says, voice flat. “Got in, threw some knives, got out. Same thing for me, too. They weren’t really paying attention.”

You glance at Hannes, expecting some sort of reaction, but he just snorts and takes another bite of his pork loin. “And? How were you with the knives?”

“Half decent.” 

You can’t help but scowl at him. Half decent? Even though he handles those knives like he’s  done it his entire life? Fine then. He doesn’t like talking much about himself, anyways. Who are you to pry?

-

After everyone finishes up dinner, you and your team gather in the sitting room to watch the scores on live television. The soft hum of the Capitol anthem plays as everyone converses while waiting. There is a tension you can’t quite shake, even as Hannes leans back into the couch with his drink, feet kicked up as if this is just another routine event.

It isn’t. It really annoys you how Hannes seems to take everything so lightly, but you guess you can’t blame him.

But right now—this is the moment the Capitol sets the stage on who to place your bets on, and who to kill first. People wonder, who might be the most dangerous tribute? Who will be the weakest?

You take a seat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed as you stare at the screen. Levi sits a short distance away, arms resting against his knees, his gaze unreadable as always. Hange and Moblit are pressed together on the far end of the couch, their expressions more eager than anxious. Hannes sits laid back a distance away while Valerie sits beside you, practically buzzing with anticipation.

The broadcast has begun, and as the photos of the tributes appear with the scores beneath them, you feel sick to your stomach. These are the tributes you’ll face in the arena, the same people that could be the ones to kill you.

The first to broadcast of course is District 1, meaning you’ll be up last, as per usual. You recognize the two blondes from District 2—the male tribute named Reiner Bruan, scoring a total of ten, and the female, Annie Leonhart, with a score of ten as well. You see Armin in District 3 with a score of six, not terrible. 

Next up was District 4—you immediately recognize the picture with the cold stare of the black-haired female tribute. Her name is Mikasa Ackerman, and she scored a total of ten. You can practically feel your stomach drop to your feet. Even though you don’t want to admit it, that girl is frightening. 

Most of the other tributes score an average of five, with a select few getting a decent high score. District 12 comes up last, male first. Levi managed to score a nine, and you swear he would’ve scored higher if those damn gamemakers had been paying attention. 

Not bad, though. More than not bad. For a District 12 tribute, that’s practically unheard of. You glance at Levi, expecting some reaction, but he doesn’t give one. He just stares at the screen, expression blank, like none of this matters.

But you know him well enough now. The slightest tension in his jaw tells you otherwise. You wonder what he might be thinking right now, but before you can delve into the thought—the sound of your name makes you pause.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek as your photo comes up, expecting the worst. Then, they’re flashing a number on the screen… it’s an… eleven?

An eleven!

You stare at the screen, willing it to change, as if maybe you read it wrong. The room erupts into excited screeches, and everyone is congratulating you with a slap on the back. How? How did you manage to score that? It can’t be right.

“An eleven?!” Valerie nearly shrieks, gripping your arm like she might shake the answer out of you. “You got an eleven?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“That must be wrong, right?” You look at Hannes, scanning his features for an answer, but all he does is laugh at you.

“Well, kid, I guess you left quite the impression.”

You scoff. All you can think about is what Moblit said at the dinner table, If anything, it’ll help you not become a target in the arena with a high score, the careers tend to take the other high scores out quickly.

You’re as good as dead now. The gamemakers knew what they were doing. If they were to give you a low score, you would have been viewed as weak and non-threatening. But now, since they’ve given you this outrageous score that not even the careers achieved, you are the number one target in the arena.

Well, this must be your punishment. And judging by the way Levi’s fingers clench against his knee, he knows it, too.

His voice is quiet. “You’re an idiot.”

“Gee, thanks.” You scowl at him. “It’s not my fault they weren’t paying attention.”

“If you would just control your impulsiveness,” he mutters, voice low, dangerously close to a warning, “you wouldn’t be the first person the careers try to slaughter.”

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms. “Not like it makes a difference. If the Capitol wants me dead, they’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “So you’re just giving up?”

You glare at him. “I never said that.”

He leans back slightly, his jaw tightening as he exhales through his nose. Then, softer, but still laced with irritation, he says, “Then start acting like it.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should have. He just watches you with that same cool, calculating expression, but there’s something behind his eyes, something unreadable. Frustration? Concern? You don’t know, and it’s infuriating. Why would he care about what happens to you? You wanted to punch him and understand him at the same damn time.

“Well!” Hange claps, standing from her place on the couch. She shuffles over to you and helps you up. “Our girl on fire,” she smiles proudly, reaching her hands out to tuck you into her embrace. “Oh, just wait until you see the interview dress.”

You pull back from her, a smile threatening your lips. “Oh, more flames?”

“Perhaps,” she says with a mischievous grin.

-

The next morning, you lie in bed for a while before you have to get up. Today is prep for interviews, then tomorrow you’ll be with the interviewer in front of the entirety of Panem. The next day, you’ll be sent to the arena. You don’t even know if you’ll be alive by the end of the day, but you bury the thought. As much as you’re dreading it, like enough to bring you to the brink of a panic attack, you refuse to let yourself think about it.

You can’t help but wonder how things are home. You wonder how Petra is doing—if she’s safe, if she’s eating, if she’s sleeping enough. She worries too much for others, putting their needs before her own. As much as you admire her for it, you wish she’d think about herself sometimes. She’s so selfless, it honestly drives you mad. 

The first time she helped you, you barely knew her. About eight months after your sister passed away, you had been on your own. You didn’t have much given the circumstances. Then, the reaping of that year had arrived. Your wardrobe was terrible, but it’s not like you had much of a choice there.

Everyone dressed their best for the grim occasion, but you had nothing that even remotely passed as formal. The only dress you owned was threadbare, stained, and stretched too thin from being worn for too many years.

That morning, you sat outside, scrubbing at the fabric, trying in vain to make it look somewhat presentable. You knew it wouldn’t make a difference, but still, you tried. Then, amidst your focus, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned, and there she was. Petra. 

You knew her from school, but neither of you interacted with each other up until then. She was kind, always smiling, but you had never imagined that kindness would extend to you. Then, of course, you noticed she didn’t come empty handed. A dress. Neatly folded, clean, simple but beautiful in a way yours would never be. 

“I brought this for you,” she said, holding it out.

She didn’t say anything about your own dress. Didn’t comment on the stains, didn’t try to pity you, didn’t make you feel small. She simply gave.

You hesitated. “Thank you, but I can’t take this.”

But she didn’t argue, nor did she give you much of a choice. Without saying anything else, she carefully set the neatly folded clothing on your lap and left you alone. From that day forward, she never stopped giving.

It didn’t matter how many times you tried to refuse, how many times you insisted that you were fine. She would still leave food on your doorstep, press an extra piece of bread into your hand at lunch, and sit next to you when you were alone. She was happy to share what she had and give her company, even with nothing in return.

And now? Now, you’re here. You wonder if Petra ever regrets that kindness. If she blames herself for the fact that you took her place.

You hope she doesn’t, because you don’t.

A jarring knock at your door startles you, and in comes Valerie, chirping at you to get up and ready for another big day. You take a shower, a luxury you didn’t even have back home. After you get dressed you head for the dining room, joining your team. Levi is nowhere to be found.

“So, what’s going on today?” you finally ask, breaking the lull of conversation as you take a sip of your orange juice.

That catches Hannes' attention as he chews on some bacon, his mouth full as he speaks. “You and Levi have interview prep with me and Valerie.”

“Well, why aren’t we starting? You don’t need to wait until I’m done with my food, I can eat and listen.” You propose, eyeing your mentor as you reach to cut up some sausage on your plate.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Hannes shrugs, reaching for his drink. “Levi asked to be coached separately.”

You go still. Your fork hovers inches above your plate, your appetite evaporating in an instant.

Betrayal.

That is the first thing you feel, which is appalling. For betrayal to be felt, there had to be trust first. You knew better. Trust is not meant to last, especially in the Games. But the boy who spared you bread, the one who taught you how to throw knives, the one who noticed your hunting skills… it was hard to not feel some sort of trust toward him.

How foolish of you.

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart.” Hannes waves you off, taking another swig of his drink.

“Right,” you murmur, fighting back a scoff. 

Levi doesn’t owe you anything, nor do you owe him. But it sure as hell feels like he just took a knife to your back.

“Today you’ll start with Valerie for presentation and those kinds of things, then me for content.” Hannes explains. 

You can’t imagine what she might teach you, but you already know you won’t enjoy it. She’s not the brightest, and those are the kinds of people you can barely tolerate. At least she’s somewhat tolerable. You figure she’d scold you about your manners, tell you to hold your back straight, to be more ladylike, and to stop glaring.

And that’s exactly what happens.

After dragging you into a separate room, she shoves you into a long gown and forces you into heels so high you’re convinced they were invented as a method of torture. For the past four hours, you’ve endured a relentless onslaught of corrections, criticisms, and backhanded compliments.

“Hold your chin up! You don’t want to look like a petrified rabbit!” Valerie scolds, pulling out her ornate fan and lifting it beneath your chin to physically force your head up.

“I’m trying here, but it feels like my feet are on fire!” you snap through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear, get used to it.” Valerie shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. “And that face! No one wants to see a scowl on that pretty face of yours!”

You roll your eyes, your scowl deepening out of pure spite. “Really hard to not do when I’ll be looking at a bunch of people that will be betting on whether I live or die.”

“Try and pretend, young lady!” Valerie snaps, dramatically releasing her fan from your chin, only to smack you lightly on the head with it.

You blink. Did she just—?

“See?” she says, as if nothing just happened. “I’m smiling at you even though you are currently on my last nerve.”

You rub your head. “Yeah, well, you just smacked me.”

“Nevermind that!”

With an exaggerated sigh, you finally reach your breaking point. The heels have to go. You kick them off, relishing in the immediate relief as the cramps in your feet subside. You collapse onto a nearby chair, throwing your head back in exhaustion.

“I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

Obviously, performing is not your strong suit. You don’t think the talking part is, either. Hange did wonders with making you look the part, but so far, everything else? A disaster. Your wardrobe seems to be the only good thing about you.

Valerie exhales, folding her fan as she gives you a once over. “Well, that’s the best I can do.”

You arch a brow. “Wow. Such confidence.”

She huffs. “Just remember, you want the audience to like you.”

“Great,” you mutter. “Because apparently, I’m extremely likeable.”

Valerie pauses. And then, unexpectedly, she shrugs. “I hate to admit it, but I think you are.”

That catches you off guard. She flicks her gaze to the side, as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge it too much. “At least once I got to know you.”

You stare at her for a second. That’s… probably the nicest thing she’s said to you. Still, you smirk. “Huh. You must be losing your mind.”

Valerie rolls her eyes. “Don’t push it. You’re definitely a firecracker, but I think you can use that to your advantage. At least try, will you?”

“I’ll try.” you nod. It’s not a promise, but it’s the best she’s going to get.

-

Next up is Hannes. When you went to switch off with Levi, they both seemed to be in a decent mood, so maybe the content session might go well, but that idea changed as soon as you and your mentor were one on one. He escorted you to the sitting room, and then just frowned at you for a while.

You stare at him for some time, waiting, but the frown remains. Finally, you ask. “What?”

“I can’t figure out what to do with you.” He says, clasping his hands together in thought.

Your brows knit together. “What do you mean?” 

“How we’re going to present you.” He exhales, rubbing his chin. “Can you be sweet? Friendly? Charismatic? Because so far, you’re lacking in every department.”

You scoff, slumping into the couch. “Wow, tell me something I don’t know.”

“But,” he continues, undeterred, “you have a great story. Hange made you look unforgettable, you volunteered for that young girl, being the first volunteer in your district’s history. You’ve also got the top training score. People are intrigued, but have no idea who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide the fate of your luck with sponsors.” Your mentor explains.

He’s right. The more likeable you are, the more of an advantage you’ll have in the arena. People will be rooting for you, wanting you to win, and so the gamemakers have to try and keep the people happy by keeping you alive. 

You understand your team is just trying to help you, but the idea of performing for the Capitol makes you sick to your stomach. It feels physically impossible. 

“Well, what’s Levi’s approach? Or am I not allowed to ask you?” you question.

“Like I said, the both of you have about as much charm as a dead slug.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch.

You scowl at that.

“I couldn’t really get through to him, but we both settled on something that I think will work.” He admits, scratching his stubble. “You, though? When you open your mouth, you always manage to come across as hostile.” 

You blink. “Are you serious?”

If even Valerie thinks you can be likable, then this guy must be delusional.

Hannes shrugs, completely unbothered. “Look, I’m trying to be real here, dear. Just pretend I’m the one asking you questions.” He shifts, posing as an interviewer.

For a few agonizing hours, you two go back and forth, and you really do try to answer the questions in a likeable fashion, but you just can’t. You can’t be another piece in their games, performing for people you hate just for their own entertainment. The whole thing is sick. It makes you angry. The longer the makeshift interview goes on, the more hostile you grow.

“Alright, enough.” Hannes says, rubbing his temples. “Let’s try a different approach.”

“Like what?”

“They don’t know anything about you, so when I try to ask you personal questions, get personal.” He says.

You shake your head. “No.”

“No?” Hannes questions you.

“They don’t need to know anything personal. They’ve taken enough away from me. No one needs any more than that.” You shake your head, shutting down the idea completely.

“Then just try and make something up, huh?”

“I can’t. I’m a terrible liar.” 

“Well, sweetheart, you better learn fast,” your mentor shrugs, reaching for his glass and taking a quick swig of wine. “Or, here’s an idea… try being yourself.”

Your hands curl into fists. Now he’s really pissing you off. “I am!”

“Whatever you say, girl. I give up.” He says, lazily standing from his seat on the couch and swiping his glass of wine. “The best advice I can give to you is to answer honestly, but don’t scare them away. Got it?”

You sink in defeat. “Fine.”

By the end of your session, you find yourself as no one at all. You tried. Tried to be someone else. Tried to be confident but humble, charming but real, likable but not a puppet. But none of it felt right. None of it felt like you.

You exhale sharply, forcing down the unease curling in your stomach. Maybe Valerie is right. Maybe, if they got to know you, they’d like you. Not that they’d ever get the pleasure.

-

The grand office of President Rod Reiss is silent except for the soft clink of ice swirling in a crystal glass. He holds it loosely in one hand, his thumb tracing the rim as he stares at the screen before him, expression dark and unreadable. The broadcast replays the final training scores, the numbers flashing in stark gold against a velvet black backdrop.

District 12—Female Tribute. Score of eleven.

He exhales sharply before turning his attention to the man standing near the door. “Pixis, fetch Zeke for me.”

Pixis, the gamemaker second in command, ever composed, dips his head and steps out, returning moments later with Zeke Yeager—the head gamemaker. Zeke strolls in, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, a smirk already tugging at his lips. 

“Yes?” he says innocently.

“An eleven?” The president questions, swirling the drink in his hand. “You gave her an eleven. Need I remind you two, we do not give out elevens.”

Zeke raises his hands in mock surrender, quick to defend himself. “It was Pixis’ idea, sir, not mine.” 

Reiss’s gaze flicks to Pixis, who simply shrugs, unfazed. “I believe she earned it.”

“She shot an arrow at your head.”

“Well,” Pixis corrects smoothly, “at an apple, sir.”

“Near your head.”

Pixis nods his head, unapologetic. Reiss lets out a slow breath, gesturing toward the two velvet chairs before his desk. “Sit.”

The president clasps his hands together as they gamemakers obey, resting his elbows on the polished desk. “That was a clear act of defiance. And you know what is dangerous?” He raises his eyebrows. “Hope. Contain it.”

Zeke gives a small nod. “We will, sir.”

“Well, you want a target on her back, yes?” Pixis questions.

“I do, indeed. I want her dead.” Reiss nods. “Hope can lead to rebellion. We need to show everyone what happens when someone dares to defy the Capitol.”

“Yes.” Pixis nods in agreement. “Putting such a high score on her will only make her a big target in the arena. The tributes will see her as a threat, so they’ll want her dead first.”

Reiss finally leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Very well. Make it happen.”

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a/n: hi guys thank you for reading! sorry for the shorter chapter and minimal levi this chapter, just working on some build up here! i promise after this pretty much every chapter will have a lot of him up until the end! also the games will start after the next chapter, yay! i hope you enjoyed <3

taglist: @fleshandbonez @reivelmin @estella-novella @zoozvie @snoopyluver20 @honeybunbunn @jjune-07 @lovetwiyor @levisbrat25 comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[liyliths]

hiii! just finished reading chapter two of the hunger games au :-) also noticed you have a playlist! def gonna listen to it soon!

arghhh this chapter was so !!! levi’s and readers interactions were so cute especially when levi held her hand during the parade ☹️ and the rooftop scene, reader trying her hardest not to care about levi…little does she know that he’s the love of her life 🤓 IM SO CURIOUS ON WHAT ARMIN MEANT AT THE END. i haven’t watched thg in a hot minute so everything is blurry for me so i have no clue if that was in thg or not LMAO.

wonder why mikasa is so interested in reader! like damn….also wondering if her and levi are related her ^^! unless if that’s a spoiler ofc 🤭 and omg hange mentioned but at what cost ☹️ she’s probably gonna die js like cinna…UR ALSO SPOILING US WITH THE LONG CHAPTERS AHHHH!! so excited for the next chapter and not so excited for the games bc i love all aot characters 💔😞 keep up the good work :)

hiii again i am so happy to see you in my inbox! i hope you enjoyed and thanks for tuning in, you should definitely check out the playlist ;)

THANK YOU i totally agree i was so excited writing levi and reader interactions finally, the parade was SO cute! the rooftop was so hard to write but i am so happy with the way it turned out, ugh inner conflict is the worst rip reader

as far as what armin said, i don’t want to give away too much but if you rewatch catching fire you might catch on to what’s happening there hehehe ;))))

i love that you noticed mikasa, i didn’t want to overdo it but i made sure i got the point across haha! and i guess we’ll see if they’re related ;)

UGH HANGE i love her so much! i definitely want to keep it canon compliant on both sides of the hunger games and aot, but there will definitely be a few exceptions haha

AND YAY FOR LONG CHAPTERS it’s a lot of work but it definitely pays off, in the past i’ve been so used to chapters below 5k words so this is definitely a stretch but it works for what ive outlined such it’s such a huge story to go over

the games will definitely be fun but rip so many beloved people </3 who? i guess we’ll see :0

THANK YOU FOR READING AND STOPPING BY IN MY INBOX! it truly means the world to me, never be afraid to stop by and i love to hear all the thoughts and theories, have a great day! <3

[liyliths]

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

Levi notices how you’ve tensed up as the others bicker beside him. "What?" he mutters under his breath, his tone sharp but quiet enough that no one else hears. You blink, tearing your gaze away, forcing yourself to breathe. “Nothing,” you lie. “Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles, his voice low, barely audible over the murmur of the tributes and the pounding of the capitol’s drums. His gaze shifts past you, following the path of whatever had caught your attention. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 7.6k

playlist

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R-i-i-i-p!

You grit your teeth as a wax strip is peeled off your legs, trying your best to conceal the pain that flames up. Paris, the prep team assistant catches your eye as she prepares another wax strip with her best attempt at a sympathetic expression. 

“Sorry this is taking a while, but the good news is that we’re almost done with this part!” She quips in her silly capitol accent.

Apparently, your stylist has no interest in seeing you until you’re in top-notch shape for the opening ceremony.

You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been in the Remake Center, the building where the tributes are hauled off to get cleaned up for their stylists. It’s a nice building, however you can’t help but not appreciate the dull modern layout, it isn’t comforting in the slightest. Not that being in the pit of the capitol is necessarily comforting, either. You’ve been hosed and scrubbed down countless times, your nails cleaned of the grime and filed into a neat shape, and every hair from your body has been plucked bare like a raw chicken.

This is the cleanest you’ve felt in your life, but it doesn’t take away from how bare and exposed you feel. You wanted to protest, but you had to abide by what Hannes told you—comply with the damn stylists. 

Finally, the prep team finished their waxing and gave you one last hose down, they ran lotion over your tender skin to finish you off. The trio hands you back your modesty, giving you a silky, thin robe to wear that is worth more than you could even fathom. They look you over once more, admiring the little details, taking in their hard work.

“After getting off all that filth and hair, you look just like a gem! I can’t wait to see your costume tonight!” The pink-haired girl beams as her partners nod beside her with excitement.

They gush at you one last time before making their way to the exit. “Your stylist should be here shortly, we’ll leave you to it!” The other blue-haired prep team girl smiles, and the three of them leave you in an austere waiting room.

You lay on the prep table, unsure of what to do. Everything is too nice to touch, and your prep team told you to not mess with their work, but you can’t help but run a hand through your hair. It’s clean, the freshest it has ever been, silky smooth as your hand traces through. You can’t help but feel anxious—tonight, you are heading into the pit of the capitol with all the other tributes for the chariot ceremony.

Your hands unconsciously move to find a pocket, a habit you recently picked up to fiddle with the pin Petra gave you. The one thing you could hold on from home. However,  you realized you’re in a damn robe, your blouse and skirt along with the pin you were given are in custody of your prep team. Maybe you can get your belongings back, but you wouldn’t put it past them if they threw your clothing away. You hope you can get that pin back.

The door opens suddenly, and you’re met with a young woman. She has bright brown eyes, with wild shoulder-length dark brown hair strung up into a ponytail. That was definitely not what you were expecting, you don’t think you'd spot one citizen of the capitol with a natural hair color within the few hours you have been here. 

“Hello, darling!” The woman beams, and she strides over you to shake your hand. Unlike most capitol people, she lacks the preppy accent. “I’m Hange, your stylist. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

You take her hand in yours, shaking it with a cautious grip as you introduce yourself. She’s excited, but you’re definitely caught off guard. Your stylist was not what you had envisioned, you imagined someone with a hideous bright outfit and straining voice, but that was definitely not Hange. She is overly excited, like most capitol citizens you’ve met, but it doesn’t bother you unlike how it did with Valerie. 

“Here, come stand,” The brown-eyed woman gestures to the middle of the room, ushering you over. You comply, and she does a full circle around your body, examining every detail. “You’re extravagant! Exactly what we were looking for…” 

She continues to take your appearance in and you can’t help but shift uncomfortably. Your stylist seems to take notice of that and stops in her tracks, her eyes softening when you meet her eyes. “How despicable we must seem to you, I apologize.” 

Either she read your mind or the look on your face must’ve been obvious, though you’re grateful she noticed. She’s right, the capitol people aren’t exactly pleasant, but at least she acknowledged it. 

“I’m surviving,” you manage to say, and your stylist smiles.

“And survive you will,” she says with confidence, giving you a reassuring nod. It’s not exactly comforting, because no one truly knows what will happen in that arena, you guess it is the thought that counts, right?

“Back at the reaping, when you volunteered for that girl, that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen!” Hange praises, clasping her hands together.

You nod graciously. “Thank you.”

"Anyway, about your costume for the opening ceremony tonight..." she starts, stepping back before casually straddling a metal chair, resting her arms on the back as she looks at you. "My partner, Moblit, is handling Levi’s styling. Normally, the Capitol loves dressing District 12 tributes in those ridiculous coal miner outfits, hard hats, soot-streaked faces, the whole thing." She rolls her eyes, smirking.

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, they aren’t exactly the prettiest thing to look at.”

Your stylist points a finger at you as if you landed on the mark. “Exactly! So, we’re going to do something different this year. Something to make you two unforgettable.”

You want to have faith in your stylist, but it is hard to imagine what you can do with those coal miner costumes to make it unforgettable. One year, the stylists had the tributes stark naked, covered head to toe with coal dust. It was dreadful, and did absolutely nothing to win over the crowd. 

You can’t help but shudder at your next thought. She’s going to make us naked, for sure.

Your stylist leans forward in her seat, clapping her hands together. “So, what do we do with coal?” Hange quips excitedly. “We burn it!”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow at that. What exactly is she planning? 

She notices your hesitance, a smirk growing at the corner of mouth. “You’re not afraid of a little fire, are you?”

-

A few hours later, you can’t decide if you’re dressed in the most sensational or deadliest costume you have ever seen worn in the ceremonies. Black lace boots go up to your knees, and you’re covered from head to toe in a shiny black leather suit. You shift, testing the range of motion, immediately regretting it. Too tight. Too stiff. If you stretch too far, the leather resists, making movement more of a struggle than you’d like. 

You’re not quite sure how Hange will be incorporating fire in this costume, though at least you weren’t naked, because just a few hours ago, you were completely convinced that was your fate.

“Look at you! This is turning out even better than I imagined!” Hange beams, holding her hands out toward you. She rushes closer, absentmindedly adjusting a stray strand of your hair. “And your hair is just styled gorgeously. They’re going to love this!”

You shift under the weight of her enthusiasm, a little uncomfortable at the shower of compliments. You manage a small, “Thank you.”

The thing is, she’s not wrong—the costume looks genius, and it is definitely a step up from the lousy coal miner outfits District 12 is usually dressed in.

Now, you’re standing just before the City Circle outside of the enormous amounts of crowds lining the streets and stadium with the chariots and other districts. The noise outside is loud, you can hear the capitol people in a blended murmur, as well as the steady beat of drums echoing in the background.

The chariots stand in formation, district by district, prepping for the ceremony. In your peripheral, a familiar short stature approaches, and judging by the well-dressed man trailing beside him, it’s Hange’s stylist partner you’ve heard about, Moblit. Your stylists wear outfits you can actually tolerate compared to the rest of the capitol citizens.

And then, your eyes land back on Levi. He looks pissed.

“Levi, my dear! Your costume fits perfectly!” Hange practically gushes, shifting her attention to the group approaching your chariot. Judging by the look on Levi’s face—he is not exactly pleased by the form fitting costume either, and you can only imagine how much he enjoyed the costume prep beforehand. You two are wearing identical leather suits, just warped into male and female versions.

The raven-haired boy’s scowl grows even sharper, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to tear off the suit entirely. “This is suffocating,” he mutters under his breath.

“Oh dear, stop pouting.” Hange waves him off. “Once the flames go off, the capitol will lose their ever loving minds.”

Oh. So this is what she meant by fire.

“Flames? Are you insane?” Levi deadpans, his scowl deepening impossibly more. 

Hange grins, as if she’s savoring the moment before explaining herself. “They’re not real flames, of course, just a little synthetic fire Moblit and I came up with!” she says, though you’re not quite convinced you won’t come out of the City Circle as burnt as barbeque. 

“Controlled flames,” Moblit adds, catching your hesitance. “It won’t burn you, it’ll just make for a great show.”

“I want the audience to recognize you when you’re in the arena,” says Hange, her face dreamy. “The girl who was on fire.”

Right. The capitol is always hungry for a spectacular show. You just get to be a part of their puppets this year, instead of being on the other side of the television screen at home.

Home. 

You miss home. The woods are usually quiet around this time. You wonder what Petra is doing right now, the sun is well past the horizon and the moonlight has cast upon the sky. She’s probably had dinner with her family, now anxiously waiting for the capitol to televise the opening ceremony, where she’ll be watching you.

While the rest of your team talks, you look around the Remake Center—you’re just outside of the capitol circle with all twenty-four tributes gathered together. As your eyes explore your surroundings, you catch sight of what looks to be District 2 by their golden costume. 

There is a blonde boy built just like an ox talking to what must be his stylist. Beside him is a blonde girl of a shorter stature, but judging from the uninterested look on her face, she doesn’t really seem like someone you’d want to mess with. To be honest, you’d rather not mess with any of these people if you had the choice.

Your eyes drift just in front of District 2, catching sight of the District 1 tributes. Their opulent costumes drip in gold and silver. The male tribute with a dirty blonde slick back catches your eye, smirking, like he already knows you’re not making it past the first few days. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking away first.

You feel your stomach coil. Those are the careers—the loyalists to the capitol, and the kids that have trained for the games from the moment they could walk.

Then, your eyes land on District 4. 

At first, you barely register them as anything special, the crazy costumes all blend together. Being the fishing district, their outfits shimmer in oceanic hues, flowing like liquid metal, reflecting the artificial lights with each small movement. Their stylist made them look elegant, powerful, like they belong. Their costumes every year are usually the capitol favorites, aside from District 1, the luxury district.

The male tribute with dark brown hair listens intently to his stylist standing beside a tall, stout blonde man with blue eyes, who you assume is their mentor. The brown-haired boy is relaxed, his shoulders loose, a self-assured smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He carries himself like someone who’s already won. His mouth moves as he speaks to the girl beside him—but she doesn’t respond.

Not at first.

Shiny raven hair, stoic, standing like a soldier rather than a tribute. Her back is impossibly straight, her hands resting lightly at her sides. At first, she seems disinterested in whatever he’s saying, her gaze fixed on something else. You squint to catch sight of what she’s looking at, but then you realize.

She’s fixated on you. You feel yourself tense up.

She’s watching you.

Your grip tightens at your sides. You’ve had people look at you before—with disgust, pity, even fear. But this?

No, this girl is studying you.

Her dark eyes don’t waver, don’t blink, don’t shift away even when you catch her staring. Their blonde mentor standing with her follows her gaze, locking eyes with you, too. There’s no hostility in them, no outward malice. There’s something else you can’t quite figure out. It’s almost like she’s already determined what kind of threat you are. Or maybe, if you’re worth being considered as one at all.

Levi notices how you’ve tensed up as the others bicker beside him. "What?" he mutters under his breath, his tone sharp but quiet enough that no one else hears.

You blink, tearing your gaze away, forcing yourself to breathe. “Nothing,” you lie.

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles, his voice low, barely audible over the murmur of the tributes and the pounding of the capitol’s drums. His gaze shifts past you, following the path of whatever had caught your attention. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Levi’s words grate against your nerves, and you tear your gaze away, shooting him a glare. How obvious had you been? You force yourself to relax, unclenching your jaw, steadying your breath. You need to fix that. The capitol is already watching, as well as the tributes that will be in the arena with you—they don’t need to see how easy you are to read. 

Before you can string together an excuse to hide the fact you were probably just targeted by another tribute not even a day into your time at the capitol, a sudden, sharp clap cuts through the air, startling you and harshly snapping you back into reality.

“Alright, you two!” Hange beams, ushering you and Levi to the sleek chariot pulled by two stocky, restless onyx-coated horses. “It’s time to get you going!”

You hesitate for just a moment before stepping up onto the chariot, following Levi’s lead. The polished metal beneath your boots is smooth, and you instinctively grip the rim to steady yourself. Hannes, who had stumbled over after Levi arrived in the middle of the bickering, lazily grins at you and your partner, no, district partner, pulling out one of his alcohol canisters with a flick of his wrist and lifts it toward the two of you in a half hearted cheer.

“Be likeable, sweetheart,” he remarks. 

You snort at that, the absurdity of it breaking through your nerves, while Levi just sends a sharp glare at Hannes. Hange and Moblit send you off with a reassuring smile, and the chariot lurches forward, the movement forcing you to square your stance and steady yourself.

“Just don’t fret over the fire and smile! They’ll love you!” Hange calls out one more time from behind you, waving you and Levi off as you depart. You give her a small nod and face forward, watching as the enormous gates open to the long path straight to the City Circle. 

District 1’s chariot trots through the gate as the capitol anthem sounds, and you see the sun has set long ago, the sky now painted in stars. As you follow the eleven chariots ahead of you, the chill in the air bites at your skin, but you feel a warm tingling sensation on your back. You look at the screencasts zooming in on tributes up above, and you catch sight of your own face alongside Levi’s being broadcasted.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

The warm tingling on your back is the flames, and you can't believe you aren’t actually being burnt to a crisp. You have no idea how Hange and Moblit assembled it, but they were right. You and Levi look spectacular, with the light of the fire breathtakingly illuminating your faces in the night—turning the two of you into something otherworldly. 

“Just don’t fret over the fire and smile! They’ll love you!”

You remember Hange’s words and force the ends of your mouth to curve into a graceful smile, looking into the crowd lined up on both sides of you. The capitol people are a dizzy array of bright colors that make you nauseous as they blur together. Their cheers grow even louder as you smile. You even find yourself raising your hand to wave at the crowd, and you start to hear chants being called out. The citizens reach out as if they could touch you, as if you were something divine.

Your pulse hammers in your chest. Through the overwhelming attention and deafening noise of the crowd and capitol anthem, you hear Levi’s voice break through, his breath fanning into your neck as he leans in beside you. 

“Do you trust me?”

You turn to look at him, tearing your attention away from the crowd. You can’t quite find any words that might answer his question. Should you trust him? Do you have any reasons to trust him given the circumstances?

What good is trust in a place where it’s meant to be shattered?

Levi doesn’t wait for an answer. You feel rough fingers brush against your own, but your instincts kick in, and you pull back your hand, sending a sharp glare at him. He barely reacts, just rolls his eyes and grabs your hand once more, firmer this time. Your fingers stiffen as you hesitate. Then, you allow his fingers to intertwine with yours.

Your grip tightens for just a moment, and in that instant, you feel it. The calluses lining his palms, rough and familiar, just as they were the first time you shook his hand back at the reaping.

Then, before you can fully process the action, Levi raises your interlocked hands boldly into the air, uniting you as one.

The capitol citizens go absolutely crazy. They toss flowers your way, shouting your names—your first names, which they have gone out of their way to look up on the program. You’re relishing in more attention than the careers, who usually always have the spotlight by tradition every single year. For the first time, you feel hope start to flicker in you.

Maybe you can go home.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, pulled up right in front of President Reiss’ mansion where the most prestigious people in the capitol sit, including the President himself, eyes on you as if you are nothing more than puppets in their show. The capitol anthem ends with a flourish, and the cheers of the crowd die down with it. 

You realize your hands are still glued to Levi’s, and you loosen your grip on his hand, gently letting go of him as he gives a small nod, not protesting against you. 

It was a bold, but strategic move. Two tributes from the slums of District 12 uniting with each other, refusing to be ignored by the capitol. Two can win over a crowd, and you need to do that if you want a chance at winning. Hange and Moblit were geniuses, the spotlight was on you two with the flames and the capitol loved it, yet you still can’t help but feel doubtful. 

In the end, there can only be one victor. And trust?

Trust was never meant to last.

The President, a short man with neatly combed black hair and a meticulously groomed mustache rises from his seat, stepping up to the pedestal with practiced ease.

Rod Reiss. He’s the third successor to the capitol, being president since the 60th Hunger Games. Each one upheld the same twisted traditions, the same broken system that thrives on suffering. 

He is the reason the districts bleed.

The one responsible for the way you grew up starving, malnourished enough to put you on the brink of death. The reason your father died, alone in the dangerous mines with terrible working conditions. The reason your mom and sister died, unable to receive proper medical assistance in harsh conditions. Everything you had is gone because of him, because of the capitol and its desperate hunger for control.

“Welcome!” 

A hush falls over the stadium. Not a single voice dares to rise against the weight of his authority.

“Tributes, we welcome you to the capitol. We salute courage and your sacrifice.”

Sacrifice. The word is a mockery. You glance at Levi, who meets your gaze, his expression unreadable, but you both know. Courage and sacrifice mean nothing when the choice isn’t yours and entirely against your will.

The president’s voice booms through the circle once more, wrapping up his speech with an excited grin. “We wish you a happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!’ 

The capitol citizens erupt into an ecstatic cheer once more, celebrating the bloodbath to come as the chariots pull forward to retreat to the training center. Your gaze remains locked on the pedestal. On him. 

The president, still smiling for the cameras, turns to scan the tributes, but then his eyes land on you. His smile falters. He hesitates, almost as if he recognizes something beneath your stare. 

You don’t look away, even under his own threatening gaze, as if he were daring you to try something. Even as the chariot pulls you in the opposite direction, you hold his gaze, silently refusing to break eye contact. You want him to remember your face. You need him to remember you.

You are going to make him pay.

When you and Levi hop off the chariot once you’ve returned to the Tribute Center, your team ushers toward you. “That was just splendid, darling! You two are all anyone is talking about!” Valerie muses, gesticulating with her hands, guiding you and Levi inside to the elevator.

Hannes chuckles, shaking his head. “Girl on fire,” he quotes Hange, mocking Valerie’s extra hand movements.

Levi, striding beside you and desperate to get away from all the people, is the first one to step inside of the elevator as Valerie follows beside you two, pressing the button to the top floor.

“Unforgettable, that’s for sure,” the raven-haired boy rolls his eyes, rolling his shoulders back, his movement restricted by the tight leather.

“Exactly!” Hange muses, then excitedly glances at Moblit. 

He smiles, nodding in agreement. “Yup, that was our goal.”

“Well,” you say, shifting in the suit with the tight leather restricting your movements, looking forward to the moment you can strip yourself of the costume. “I’m just glad we didn’t burn to a crisp.”

-

You and the rest of your team take the elevator up to the top floor—the penthouse, a luxury according to Valerie. Since you’re District 12, you get the top floor, although you’re not sure if that is truly a convenience or not since the ride down to the training center will take a while, but who are you to complain? The elevator doors slide open, and you follow everyone through the hall to your temporary apartment, taking tentative steps on the expensive marble tile.

When Valerie opens the door to your apartment, you are at a complete loss for words. If you thought the hallway was already luxurious enough, the living quarters are on a complete new level. Chandeliers hang upon the ceiling, with beautiful decorations you can’t even begin to describe. It pains you that the capitol has all of this at their disposal, yet everyone back home is starving in terrible disease-ridden conditions. 

Your team must have noticed how you and Levi were gawking at the interior, as Valerie, of course, commented on it. Hannes brushed her off, and you think about the fact that he, too, was once inside of these living quarters, preparing for his Games. It is hard to not wonder how he won all those years ago, but you don’t bother asking. You figure it is most likely the last thing he wants to talk about.

After you change, dinner is served for all, and you feast, stuffing your face with as much as your stomach can store. Food is of course scarce in the districts, and if you figure if you want a shot at the Games, you better load up on as much as possible to preserve carbs for energy. Your team does some pointless bantering, and you and Levi do nothing but eat in silence unless talked to. They converse about the opening ceremony, the other tributes, strategies, and even ask you about what life was like back home.

You spare them the details. All you know is that you miss the woods more than anything, the capitol was becoming quite suffocating.

After dessert, you excuse yourself to your private bedroom. Sleep is important too, of course, but it’s not exactly something that comes easily for you. Back home, you were always on edge since you lived by yourself, afraid you’d get robbed, or worse. Even when you managed to catch some sleep, you’d be pulled awake by terrible nightmares.

When you lay down, the bed is softer than clouds. It swallows you whole, the silk sheets cool against your skin, the pillows more than comfortable beneath your head. And yet, you can’t sleep.

You lie on your back, blankly staring at the intricate chandelier hanging above you, the dim golden glow barely lighting the room. Your stomach is full for the first time in years, your body should be exhausted from the events of the day, but your mind won’t let you rest.

Everything about this place is too foreign. The silence is unsettling, too quiet compared to the muffled sounds of the wind rattling your windows back home, the rustling trees beyond the fence, the distant hum of the mines. You try to will yourself to sleep, squeezing your eyes shut, forcing your breaths to slow. It doesn’t work. Your thoughts are too loud.

Eventually, you give up.

You push the covers aside and slip out of bed, bare feet meeting the plush carpet before you grab the robe hanging from the massive wardrobe. You drape it over yourself and quietly pad to the door, careful not to make a sound as you step out into the hall. The luxury of your surroundings doesn’t register this time, you just need air.

Navigating the penthouse is easier than you expected, and before long, you find the stairwell that leads up to the rooftop entrance. The cool night breeze high up in the sky greets you the moment you push the door open, crisp against your flushed skin. The city sprawls beneath you, a sea of lights that stretch endlessly into the distance.

It should be beautiful. But all you can think about is how many of those people down there will be watching as you fight for your life in less than a week with enjoyment.

When you look around for a place to sit, you realize you’re not alone.

You spot a figure, and you realize it’s him. A head of black hair stands near the edge of the rooftop, arms resting against the railing. Levi doesn’t turn when the door clicks shut behind you, but you know he heard you. His posture doesn’t change, his gaze locked on the city below.

You hesitate for a moment before stepping forward, your footsteps soft against the sleek flooring, pulling your arms together to fight off the chill of the air. “Couldn’t sleep either?” you murmur.

His head tilts slightly, acknowledging your presence, but he doesn’t look at you. “No.”

You move to stand beside him, resting your forearms against the railing. The wind lifts a few strands of your hair, the chill biting at your exposed skin, but you welcome it. The silence stretches between you, but for once, it doesn’t feel awkward.

After a moment, Levi exhales, low and tired. “This place is suffocating.”

You stifle a laugh at his comment, feeling your lips twitch into a grin. “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

There’s a pause, and then he turns his head slightly, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. You can see that he hesitates before he finally speaks, his mouth opening but no words spilling out. 

“That girl you volunteered for,” he starts, looking back forward, glancing at the city lights and the pre-game parties below. “Why did you do it?”

You blink at the question. He hasn’t asked you anything personal yet, up until now. 

“I don’t know,” you simply say, and for a moment, you believe it.

But that’s not entirely true, is it?

You don’t know why you volunteered, not in the logical sense. You’ve spent your whole life trying to survive, holding onto the little you had. And now, here you are, standing on the rooftop of the capitol’s Tribute Center penthouse, awaiting your inevitable death in the Games.

But then you think about her.

You remember when you heard her name announced, the petrified look on her face, like she knew she was going to die in that arena before even stepping foot in there. Before you could even think, it felt like your voice reacted on instinct.

Petra has so much to live for. She is the mayor’s eldest daughter, with several siblings of her own, and a family that depends on her. She is genuinely kind and generous, not in a performative way like those who use it to take advantage of others. She’s helped you more times than you can count, even against your will, offering her own clothes for the reapings, slipping you extra food even when she barely had enough for herself.

And what about you? You have no one.

Not anymore.

You used to. Your family… your sister, when it was just you and her. She was yours to protect, but you failed her. You failed your family. It was your job to keep them safe, yet they’re gone. They left nothing behind but the painful memories you have to remember them by, and a grief that aches in your chest like an open wound, refusing to close up.

Maybe that’s why you volunteered, because Petra still has a future, people to take care of, and you don’t.

If you had succumbed to starvation, or one of the many diseases passed around in District 12, would anyone have cared? You have no family left, no one who relies on you. And even if you wanted to help others, to share what little you had, to be more than just another starving, nameless person on the streets, you couldn’t. 

You don’t have anything to give. You can’t protect everyone.

Levi doesn’t push for an answer. He waits, almost as if he knows you’re still searching for the truth yourself. There’s a reason for everything, right? After a long moment, you exhale, your breath curling in the cold night air.

“She deserves to live more than I do,” you admit finally. The words leave your lips before you can take them back, and regret prods at you.

Levi’s head turns, just slightly. In your peripheral, you catch the way his silver-blue eyes soften when they flicker toward you, the scowl in his face disappearing just slightly.

“Tch,” he then scoffs, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you let out a short, breathy laugh, pushing yourself off the railing. “I’m going to try and get some sleep,” you say, shifting your weight between your feet before adding, “You should, too.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you curse yourself for even caring about the boy. He’s not your ally. Not really. In a few days, you might have to kill him—or he’ll have to kill you. You can’t save everyone. 

Levi doesn’t move, his eyes still fixed on the city below. For a second, you think he won’t respond at all. Then, without looking at you, he exhales through his nose, a barely-there scoff. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, before glancing at you with a small nod. “Get some rest.”

You linger for a moment longer than you should, searching his face for something. What? You don’t know. But then you shake your head, pushing the thought aside. Without another word, you turn and make your way back inside, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts above the city lights.

-

The next morning, you managed to sleep in. It was almost ten by the time you were woken up by none other than Valerie, who chirped at you to grab some breakfast and get to the training rooms at once. You’re going to be officially meeting the other tributes, though you can’t help but feel anxiety rise in your chest. You try to block it out. Now is not the time to crumble.

After you stuff your face with some eggs, you meet Levi along with Valerie who is escorting the two of you to the training room. The elevator ride lasts a few minutes, it’s not terrible, but you can’t stand Valerie’s small talk. Once you arrive on one of the lower floors, the doors slide open to reveal the training center.

The first thing you notice is how much the place resembles a prison, but a nice one at that. There are weapons of all sorts displayed for practice, even a bow and arrow, along with obstacle courses, survival stations, and even a place to set a campfire. There is also a glass window above, a room filled with what you assume are the gamemakers and other capitol pigs.

You and Levi join the tense circle filled with the other tributes, as well as the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman. She begins to explain the training schedule, experts in each skill will stay at their training stations to help, you are free to travel from area to area as you choose. Though, you’re forbidden to engage in any combat with the other tributes, there are assistants on hand if you wish to practice with another partner.

When the head trainer begins to read down the list of stations, you feel yourself being watched. Your eyes flick toward the edge of the training circle, and there she is again, the black-haired girl from District 4. She’s watching you with that same exact glare, but this time you are the first to look away. 

You recognize some of the other tributes you examined yesterday, the boy built like an ox whose broad muscles you can see stick out as he rolls his shoulders, the one with a slick back and a mean grin, his sharp eyes flicking over the other tributes with amusement.

But there are new faces, too, even a young brunette girl and blonde boy, tributes you hadn’t been able to observe at the opening ceremony. Strangers whose skills, strengths, and weaknesses you don’t yet know. A reminder that you’re in a room full of people who might be the reason you don’t make it out of here alive.

When the head trainer releases the tributes, you watch as the careers head straight for the deadliest weapons in the room. You’re thinking about how grateful you are to be a fast runner, when a hand taps your arm and you flinch. You look to see Levi, who is still beside you, per Hannes odd instructions to stick together in public.

“Which station would you like to start at?”

You observe the tributes, seeing the careers obviously trying to intimidate with their skill, as well as the weaker tributes shakily learning new skills at different stations. Your eyes lock onto the bow and arrow station with targets, then you glance at Levi. Hannes told you not to show off whatever your skills are in front of the tributes, so that way you can save it for the private scoring session with the gamemakers.

“I guess we could try throwing knives,” you shrug.

Levi simply nods, trudging along to the station. The careers are beside you a few stations over, though you can’t help but feel nervous underneath their watch. Levi gestures at the knives hung on the wall, but you shake your head. No way in hell are you going first. You’ve had experience with knives, you’re not terrible, but it is definitely not your strong suit.

“You first,” you say, stepping back so the black-haired boy can grab one of the knives.

He scoffs and snatches a pair of knives off the wall in annoyance. “Fine.”

Feeling satisfied the boy actually listened to you, your arms fold as you watch him do his work. Levi grips the handle of the knife, adjusting his stance. He focuses on the target, a worn plank ten feet away, and exhales slowly. In one fluid motion, he brings the knife back to his shoulder, his wrist straight, eyes locked on the mark. With a sharp flick of his arm, he releases. The blade spins once, twice, then sinks deep into the center of the target with a satisfying thunk.

“Your turn,” Levi glances at you, holding out the second knife he grabbed for you to take. 

You accept it, grabbing it by the end. You roll the knife in your palm, feeling its weight, the cool metal pressing against your skin. It’s heavier than you expected, not like a bow, not like an arrow, nothing like the weapons you’re used to. But you’ve seen Levi do it, and even though you have little practice, it didn’t look that difficult.

Lifting your arm, you take a breath, trying to mimic his form. You square your shoulders, line up your shot, and let the knife fly.

It misses entirely.

The blade clangs off the edge of the target, hitting the ground with a dull thud before spinning to a stop. For a second, you stare at it, your brain struggling to process just how poorly you threw it.

A pang of snickering grates your ears from behind, and you turn to see the careers laughing. At first, you thought it could have been directed at anything else but you, but judging from the smug grins on their face and the fact they’re looking directly at you, they’re actually mocking you.

The boy from District 1, the one with slicked-back hair and an arrogant grin leans against a spear like it’s some kind of walking stick, watching you like a predator that just found easy prey. Beside him, his district partner, a girl with sharp blue eyes and black hair with a smug expression, stifles a laugh behind her hand.

Levi doesn’t react, but you can feel the switch in his stance. His shoulders roll back slightly, his fingers twitching like he’s debating whether or not to throw another knife—this time, in their direction. 

“I’ll try again,” you say, but as you storm toward the knives, a hand lands on your shoulder to stop you. 

“No. I’ve seen your hauls when you come back from the woods, you shoot your game clean through the eye—”

You’re quick to cut Levi off. “What are you talking about?”

Levi rolls his eyes as if what you said had the most obvious answer in the world. “Screw what Hannes said about not showing your skill, just go and use the damn bow and arrow. Those careers are looking at you like a piece of meat.”

“You’ve seen my hauls?” You question, ignoring the fact the careers are eyeing you like their next meal. Even though Hannes is a drunken idiot, you do think what he said is right—don’t show the other tributes what you’ve got.

The black-haired boy shakes his head in frustration. “Come on, quit acting like an idiot. I’ve seen you selling your extra game at the market, you’re lucky the peacekeepers never caught you. Your shots are the cleanest I’ve ever seen.”

So he has noticed you, not just in that moment he spared you bread, but beyond that. 

Your stomach twists at the realization. You were as careful as possible, you had to be. Sneaking past the prohibited fence into the woods was punishable by death, but it was what you had to do to survive. You had memorized every blind spot, every weak section of the fence where you could squeeze through without raising suspicion.

How long did he notice you sneaking into the woods? Did anyone else catch on, too?

You force your voice to stay even as you mutter, “I didn’t take you for a stalker.”

His silver-blue eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting just enough to show mild irritation, but he doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t say he wasn’t watching you. Why?

Still, you go to grab another knife, ignoring the weight of his gaze. “But I can’t shoot, not now,” you add, glancing away. “They don’t know what I’m good at, and it can stay that way.”

Levi scoffs, shuffling beside you to reach for another knife, his arm rudely cutting in front of yours. “Fine, do what you want.”

You glare at him as he snatches the same knife you were going to grab, but a question pops up in your head. “How’d you get so good at knives, anyways?” 

“An old friend. It doesn’t matter,” he waves you off, readying a knife to throw.

Just as you’re about to question further, a small voice interrupts. “Um,” a boy with shoulder-length blonde hair says, nervously tapping his fingers at his sides. “Would you be willing to show me how you throw knives?”

You and Levi exchange a small glance, and you know what Levi is going to say—no. 

Just before he can manage to get his answer out, you interrupt him, earning a deadly glare. “Yes, we can. Levi here is the expert. What’s your name?”

The boy’s blue eyes flicker between you two. He’s definitely younger, maybe fifteen or so, and he doesn’t look to be strong in the slightest. “Armin.”

“Well here’s a knife, Levi can teach us.” You say with a small smile, handing Armin the knife you just grabbed off the wall to get yourself a new one. You guess you could learn a thing or two about knives from Levi as well.

“Thanks,” Armin smiles back, following you over to your district partner who is attempting to hold back a scowl.

Levi bluntly goes through the basics, and you even manage to hit a target almost center in the chest, so at least that got the attention of the careers off of you. Armin did hit the target, but not as accurately as he had hoped. 

The boy exhales in frustration, lowering his arm as the knife barely sticks into the target, its handle wobbling slightly before coming loose and clattering to the ground. His brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Well, at least it hit something,” you offer, trying to lighten the mood.

Levi, ever blunt, crosses his arms. “Barely.”

You scowl at him before Armin sighs, pushing his bangs back with one hand. “I don’t think knife throwing is going to be my strong suit.”

You study him for a moment, noting the way he analyzes everything, his own movements, Levi’s form, even yours when you had managed to land a decent shot. He’s strategic, calculating. It reminds you of how he watched the other tributes earlier, picking up on details no one else noticed.

“Then what is?” you ask, tilting your head.

Armin blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“If knives aren’t your thing, then what is?”

For a second, he hesitates. Then, his gaze drifts upward, toward the high ceiling of the training center, specifically, toward the barely visible shimmer of the forcefield lining the top of the room.

“The capitol's security,” he says thoughtfully. “Not that this is my strong suit, but I’ve noticed it is weaker than it looks.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Levi’s posture subtly shifts beside you, his attention snapping fully onto Armin. You feel a set of eyes watching you, and you glance over your shoulder to see that District 4 girl observing you. Her eyes flick between you, Levi, and Armin. She and the blonde boy exchange a glance, but he is quick to shift his focus back to you.

He seemed to realize what he just said, and quickly waves a hand. “Not that it’s weak enough for anything crazy! Just… I’ve noticed something.” He chews on his lower lip, eyes darting toward the nearest peacekeeper standing watch. Then, lowering his voice, he leans in slightly.

“The forcefield,” he murmurs. “It’s energy-based, right? But when we walked in earlier, did you see how the lights flickered just before the doors opened?”

You frown, trying to recall. The security was supposed to be impenetrable, completely under the capitol’s control. But you do remember noticing a small flicker, a glitch, barely noticeable. 

Levi’s eyes narrow. “What are you getting at?”

“There’s always a flaw in the system,” Armin says with a shrug, stating it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before handing a knife back to Levi. You two exchange an uncertain glance, not entirely able to pinpoint what the boy’s thought was. 

Maybe he’s just too smart for his own good.

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a/n: a huge thank you to my friend who is also my beta reader, wouldn't be able to do this without you lol! also, based off the outline we should be entering the games by chapter five, i am so excited! thank you for reading <3

taglist: @fleshandbonez @reivelmin @estella-novella @zoozvie @snoopyluver20 @honeybunbunn @jjune-07 comment and ask to be added!

likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

[liyliths]

hi! just finished reading the first chapter of your hunger games levi fic and i’m in LOVE!!! i love the hunger games, tbosas rlly bought back the obsession 💗 thg and aot deal with such similar themes and plots so it always brings a smile to my face to see aot x thg fics :-) i adore them both!

i’m excited to read more about reader and levi! wondering if their dynamic is going to be like katniss and peeta, or just their own little thing! i think it’s gonna be like everlark bc of the whole bread thing!

also, thank you for including petra! most levi fics include her but…not in the most positive light. so it’s a breath of fresh air to see reader and petra having a positive relationship + her giving reader the mockingjay pin 🤭 i have one question tho! will your fic span the entirety of the hunger games trilogy or just the first book? i will eat up either option!

sorry this is so long LMAO but have a good day/night :)

okay first of all, as soon as i saw this in my inbox i got the biggest smile ever. thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to do a little ramble, i love these ❤️

i totally agree with you, tbosas was so good! aot and thg definitely deal with similar themes and i am so excited to combine the two and make some parallels 😉

i am also so excited to start writing more of reader and levi! it’s definitely going to be a mix of their own thing with a lot of parallels from everlark, as you’ve seen with the bread so far! imo, levi is so difficult to crack open especially in fics where he’s shipped with someone, so handling that is tricky but i am so excited for all the slow burn to pay off hehe

and of course, i love petra! i think it’s kind of silly most people use or view petra as someone that is a homewrecker, my girl deserves more than that </3 the mockingjay is very intentional and you will see why soon hehehe

to answer your question, this fic should span the entire hunger games series! i so far estimate about 25 chapters and potentially up to 200k words!

don’t apologize! i love when people talk to me about these things and i am so glad you did! thank you again for taking the time out of your day to ramble about this fic! i hope to see you in my inbox soon, and have a wonderful day! ❤️

[liyliths]

little sneak peak for those waiting for the mockingjay sings chapter two! i’m about a bit more than halfway done with chapter two, also been working on outline stuff and figuring out what i need to be foreshadowing! chapter two should be out by sunday or latest monday night :)

[liyliths]

You have given me Hunger Games Levi brainworms jsyk I’ve been thinking about him all dayyy omg.

Obviously I can’t tell much from the first chapter, but I’m curious to see what similarities and differences there will be between your story and the canon hunger games/attack on titan universes. I’ve already clocked that reader and Levi are in the 99th hunger games instead of the 74th and I don’t know if it means anything, but it’s fun! Lol

OMG IM SO GLAD YOU’VE GIVEN ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO TALK ABOUT THIS!!!

i decided to bump the years up between the canon hunger games just so we aren’t following the exact timeline! i don’t want to give away too much, but the arena will be different! someone suggested a victor!reader with levi who just won the previous games where they were selected for the quarter quell, and i was going to follow that but ended up brewing up a different plot instead 😉

i am trying so hard to keep levi in character, he isn’t a very talkative dude but i am so excited to crack his shell throughout the plot. i am planning on making he and peeta similar, not the same of course, but similar purposes to the story because i love the dynamic between them! i am super excited to develop levi’s character through the story, one thing that i can say is that the protective ackerman instincts will be kicking in 👀

i also definitely want to stick as close to canon in both the hunger games and attack on titan, so mentally prepare yourself for the angst 😅 there are a few changes i might make just because i don’t have it in me to let everyone bite the dust. plot wise, i want to change up some things because i don’t want the story to be too predictable, that way people are guessing like oh wait, we didn’t follow what happened in the hunger games here - what’s next?

this story will definitely push my limits because i want to bring justice to the aot characters, as well as the amazing plot and writing of the hunger games. i am such a perfectionist and thankfully i have a huge outline to help me out!

feel free to ask away please!!! any ideas, comments, suggestions, or even little drabbles you’d like me to write i can do!

[liyliths]

.˚𓅆࿐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 an aot au / inspired by the hunger games

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

series summary: survive. that's all you've known you're entire life - to survive. survive district 12, survive the reaping, and survive the capitol. but when you're reaped for the 98th annual hunger games alongside levi ackerman, will you seize the opportunity of rebellion when it arises? the mockingjay is singing, dear reader, please choose wisely.

“Pretty.” A voice calls from behind you, and your gaze catches the reflection of light ginger hair in the mirror. “You look pretty.” You turn around, but can’t quite come up with the right words to say. “Thanks,” you muster up, meeting the girl’s amber eyes.  “Are you ready?” The ginger tentatively asks. Judging by the dread hidden beneath her eyes, she doesn’t look like she wants to face the reaping either. “I guess so.”

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

contains: fem!reader, strangers to lovers, slow burn, hurt and comfort, semi canon compliant, character death, descriptions of blood, phycological trauma, rebellion, this is gonna hurt but be so rewarding, and any other warnings that come with aot characters/the hunger games universe

word count: 6.5k

playlist

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You've hated the capitol for as long as you can remember. You hate them for everything they've taken away from you. The people you've lost, the cruelties woven into everyday life, the way you've had to survive, and the games. The Hunger Games. Who came up with them anyway?

You know better than to ever dare say anything out loud about it.

It was all about control. After the thirteen districts were defeated in the rebellion, twelve remained. The capitol created the Hunger Games—a brutal punishment for the districts, forcing their children to fight to the death in an arena every year on the anniversary of the capitol's victory. The games are broadcast across Panem, turning slaughter into spectacle, while the people in the capitol sit comfortably with their champagne, watching children kill each other for their entertainment.

It was cruel. You hated how you couldn't do anything about it, how you couldn't save any of the innocent children sent to be slaughtered. All you could do was live with it. That's all anyone could do—and hope to hell they wouldn't be selected for the games.

You don't think the people in the capitol quite understand what the districts go through, especially in the slums of District 12. You can't remember how long it's been since you've been fending for yourself... it feels like that's how your entire life has been. All you know is survival.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, fidgeting with the collar of your blue blouse, styled with a neat beige skirt you borrowed from the mayor's daughter. Even though you've never been particularly close, a few years ago she was kind enough to offer you presentable clothing for this dreadful day every year. It became a tradition between you two.

Perhaps she pitied you, or maybe she is genuinely kind. Probably both.

The reaping was today. Today, they gather all the children from each district to their town center and draw two unlucky names from a bowl to fight to the death. You know better than to expect to see someone from twelve make it back from the games. No one in District 12 comes back.

"Pretty." A voice calls from behind you, and your gaze catches the reflection of light ginger hair in the mirror. "You look pretty."

You turn around, but can't quite come up with the right words to say.

"Thanks," you muster up, meeting the girl's amber eyes.

"Are you ready?" The ginger tentatively asks. Judging by the dread hidden beneath her eyes, she doesn't look like she wants to face the reaping either.

"I guess so."

This was the last year either of you were eligible for the games, with the cutoff age being eighteen. The final reaping you'd ever have to endure. You're not sure if that's a relief or a curse because after this, you can't put your name in for extra rations anymore.

You've put in extra entries since you were twelve for more rations, or tessare. As they've stacked up over the years, your odds are now seventeen times worse.

That means nothing to lose, right?

One thing about District 12 is that it's never quiet. Usually, the bustling sounds of conversation come from the market, along with the sound of pickaxes against coal, and kids running around with the town strays. The only sounds you can hear today are the dread-filled footsteps of children and anxious parents walking toward the town center. Everyone takes their time heading to the reaping.

Not even the birds sing today.

-

The peacekeepers with ugly white suits stare, making sure everything is going smoothly. You see two girls holding hands. The mayor's daughter walks in silence beside you. Her father said his goodbyes, he said he'll see her for supper and she believes it. You know better than to tell yourself you'll be back, just in case the worst happens. Boys and girls alike between the ages twelve through eighteen file into the town hall after getting their identities verified by the peacekeepers.

Everyone is quiet.

After the children get checked in, everyone settles to their selective spots—the girls and boys in opposite sections and parents nervously waiting for their children on the sidelines. A tap on the microphone in center stage rings through your ears from the speakers, startling you amidst the silence.

"Welcome!" A lady beams with a twisted smile, excitedly surveying the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games! And, may the odds be ever in your favor."

You feel yourself scoffing at that. This lady recites the same shit every year, with the same bright ugly hair and outfit, although they change colors each time. You always wonder what she's going to wear next.

"Now, before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the capitol!" The lady announces, shifting her focus to the projection screen strung up in the town center for all to see.

You tune the video out every year. You don't want to hear the capitol bullshit about "generosity" or "forgiveness", you find it rather ironic. If this was about a lesson for the districts after the rebellion, why carry it on for generations?

You don't think you'll ever find the answer to that, that is just how it is. However, one thing is certain—you know the capitol is twisted.

"Are you alright?" The amber-eyed girl whispers to you, genuine concern etched on her face. She is nervous too—you notice the way her hands fumble with the insides of her skirt pockets.

"I'm ready to get this over with," you lean over, whispering to the girl. You see her nod in agreement out of your peripheral vision. Soon enough, the bullshit video was over and the bright-haired lady's insufferable voice echoed through the town hall once more.

"I just love that!" The lady gushed, but was quick to move on to the next "exciting" order of business. "Now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 98th annual Hunger Games!"

She paused, as if waiting for some sort of applause. She didn't get one.

"Well, as usual... ladies first." She flashed a bright smile, disappointment lingering on her face. It makes you wonder if she enjoys being the one picking children to be sent to the games, as if she should be praised.

You watch her waddle to the left side of the outdoor stage in her heels, oh-so-gracefully dipping her hand into the reaping bowl for the girls and filing through the pieces of paper with entry names. You look at the ginger next to you, she looks even more nervous than just a few moments ago. You want to comfort her, but before you can say anything, the capitol lady on the stage pulls out an entry and waddles back to the microphone.

Seventeen entries. Your name is entered in that bowl seventeen times.

The bright-haired lady awkwardly fumbles with the paper and squints through the sunlight beaming under the clouds as she reads the entry. She takes a deep breath before she announces the name. Everyone is holding their breath. It's quiet.

"Petra Ral!"

You think you can feel your heart stop.

The ginger next to you, Petra—froze in place. Everyone knew her as the mayor's daughter, which meant everyone knew exactly where to look for her in the crowd. All eyes were on her. You glance up to the stage where you saw her father, the mayor, stand up in his seat to protest, but was quickly blocked by peacekeepers.

"Come on up, dear." The bright-haired lady quips, beckoning the ginger to the stage with an oh-so-welcoming smile.

You glance at Petra, and your eyes lock with her amber ones. You think the look on her face might haunt you for the rest of your life.

She knows she's going to die in those games. You know she's going to die in those games.

The crowd around you and the selected tribute clear the way for the two peacekeepers marching toward the ginger. You can only watch as they grab the side of her arms and escort her toward the stage. She tries to thrash away from their grip, but it's useless.

She won't last a day in that arena. Between the careers, the mutts, and whatever else the gamemakers throw at her, she won't make it. It's not fair.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not...

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The words burst from your mouth before you can even think about stopping them. The peacekeepers stop in their tracks. It's quiet again.

"Oh! I believe we have a volunteer!" The capitol lady claps enthusiastically from the stage.

You feel a new set of peacekeeper's arms wrap around yours. Your limbs feel practically numb as they drag you up to the stage. You pass Petra as the other peacekeepers take her back to her place in the crowd. You don't even look at her. You have to stay strong. You know every camera in the town hall is on you.

It just shows the capitol doesn't care who gets picked for the games, mayor's child or not.

She has everything to lose. What do you?

"This is District 12's very first volunteer!" The bright-haired lady announces excitedly, putting her hand on your back once you bring yourself up the steps to the stage, carefully guiding you toward the center.

"What is your name?" She asks, her colorful eyelashes batting at you.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "Y/N L/N."

"Well now, let's have a big round of applause for our very first volunteer!" The lady requests, but no one follows her as she begins to applaud.

Your eyes lock with Petra's from the stage. Then, something unexpected happens. Three middle fingers of her left hand touch her lips, and she raises them to the sky. The rest of the crowd follows Petra, one by one, putting three fingers in the air as a salute.

You know what that gesture means. It's an old and rarely used sign of your district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

You can tell the bright-haired lady doesn't know what to do at this point. She pauses for a moment, but quickly moves on. She's good at deferring. "Now, for the boys!"

This time, she doesn't take her time grabbing an entry, most likely eager to get the ceremony over with. She hastily waddles in her stilettos back to the microphone from the entry bowl, unfolding the paper and putting on a gleeful smile.

"Levi Ackerman!"

You watch the tension among the crowd of boys visibly drop, a collective sigh of relief settling over them, except for one. His posture remains rigid, muscles tight as all eyes shift to him. He's lean, with dark raven hair that looks vaguely familiar. His gaze darts around in disbelief as peacekeepers move in, gripping his arms. He brashly jerks against their hold, trying to break free, but it's no use. His expression shifts sharply, anger flashing across his face like a spark ready to ignite.

You wonder if he'll accept it—his fate. You don't even know if you have. No one from District 12 comes back from the games.

The black-haired boy is placed beside you as the capitol lady reapproaches the microphone after greeting him, rather cheerful. You think her voice might give you a headache. "Here they are, our tributes for District 12!"

You know what everyone's thinking. I'm sorry it was you, but I'm grateful it wasn't me.

You flinch at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, turning to see the bright-haired lady grinning at you. "Well, come on you two, shake hands!" She says and takes a step back, allowing you to get a good look at the boy next to you.

Now that you've met his eyes, the unmistakable silver-blue irises staring back at you—you do recognize him.

He wasn't much better-off than you, he was an orphan too, fighting to survive in a world that gave him nothing. One night during a terrible rainstorm, the bakery burned a batch of bread, and that's when he saw you, hollow-eyed and starving. Despite his own hunger, he was able to salvage one loaf of bread out of the pigs pen and shared it with you after getting chased off by the bakers. He split it with you without a word, expecting nothing back in return.

You're forever grateful for that.

He is the first one to reach out his hand, his eyes carefully gazing into yours. You wonder if he remembers too. You raise your hand and return the handshake. You grip his hand, rough calluses brushing against yours, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze. The bright-haired lady starts to speak again before you two can finish.

"Happy Hunger Games! And, may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Though, you both know your odds are fucked.

The guards escorted you and your district partner to waiting rooms inside of the town hall to say goodbye to anyone who might want to, usually family or friends. You're only given a handful of minutes, but you don't exactly expect anyone to walk through that door. Hell, you wouldn't even blame Petra if she didn't.

With your hand on the windowsill, you rest your weight against it, taking in these last few minutes until you're hauled off to the capitol. You know you aren't likely to ever see your home again. You know you'll miss it, the woods have always been home. Unexpectedly, the doors burst open and you're met with none other than the mayor's daughter, Petra.

"You didn't have to," you whisper. It's no use. Although you two were never particularly close, she still rushes up to you and scoops you into a big hug. Your arms reluctantly reach around her back, taking a shaky breath.

Petra pulls back from you, her expression almost in shock. "I thought—I thought I was... I don't know how I can ever repay you for this!"

You can't help but smile at her generosity. "You don't need to. There's no use anyway."

The ginger shakes her head furiously. "I've seen your hauls when you come back from the woods! You can hunt," she speaks quickly, she knows she's running out of time with you. "You can hunt, and you're a survivor. You can win this."

Your smile fades, and you feel yourself sigh. You don't want to let her get her hopes up for your return. You can't.

"Petra, you and I both know no one from District 12 comes back—"

"Don't you dare speak of such things. Make them pay," she interrupts, her voice lower. She nods, almost to herself, cautiously scanning her surroundings before reaching into her dress pocket to pull out a shiny pin.

She hands it to you—it's gold, with a bird in motion of flight in the center. It's a Mockingjay.

The Capitol originally engineered a mutation known as the Jabberjay, designed during the rebellion to eavesdrop on rebels and spies by recording and repeating conversations. However, the districts quickly caught on, using the Jabberjays to spread false information. Once they outlived their usefulness, the capitol abandoned them in the wild, expecting them to die off. Instead, the Jabberjays mated with female Mockingbirds, creating an entirely new species—the Mockingjay.

You're not quite sure what Petra meant by 'they', either, but before you have the chance to ask, or rather, thank her for the pin—a peacekeeper barges through the door announcing your time is up, and begins to escort Petra out of the room. You shove the pin in your skirt pocket, hoping to the gods the peacekeeper didn't see it, only able to watch as Petra gets dragged away from you.

"You have to try!" She says one more time, but this time, you give an optimistic reply, though you can't help but doubt yourself. "I will!"

As soon as you finish your sentence, the door is slammed shut behind the peacekeepers as they drag Petra out. You are left alone in the suffocating silence of the dim room once again, aside from the sound of your uneven breathing.

You hate this. You hate knowing that you're never going to see her or your home ever again.

-

You and Levi are hauled in a military vehicle to the bullet train along with the annoying bright-haired lady. You can't help but tune her blabbering out, and judging off the look on Levi's face, you think he's doing the same. After a short while, you are escorted onto the train that travels between the districts and to the capitol.

You'd never seen it in person, but it definitely exceeded your expectations. The train's shiny silver metal reflects against the sunlight, almost blinding you. It is infamous for the high speeds it travels at. You're not exactly sure how fast it goes, but you know it can reach the other side of the country within a day.

When you step inside of the train, you're met with the most luxurious interior you've ever laid your eyes on. There are sets of velvet furniture, walls adorned with exclusive wallpaper, paired with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A delicious scent overwhelms you, and your mouth waters at the next thing you lay your eyes on—food. Practically enough to feed the entire population of District 12 if rationed out properly.

There are pastries, plenty of fruit, along with a great selection of cheese and meats. The only time you've been able to eat meat was when you caught your own in the woods, usually squirrels or rabbits, but on rare occasions—deer.

The dark-haired boy beside you seems just as stunned as you are, both of you frozen at the sight of the food laid out before you. It feels almost selfish to have this much when everyone back in District 12 is starving. Guilt knots in your chest as you hesitate before slowly stepping toward the table overflowing with beautiful dishes. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your district partner fall into step beside you, just as hesitant.

It's not fair.

You both eat anyway.

The first thing you reach for is a fresh roll of bread, still warm, its soft crust glistening with a light coat of melted butter. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Levi picking up a pastry—a cheese danish. You'd had the chance to try one once, traded by a kind woman at the market for a couple squirrels. To this day, you think it was the best thing you've ever tasted.

As you're stuffing your face with bread rolls, a bubbly voice chirps from behind you. "Pace yourselves, you two!"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. It's not like she'd understand—raised in the capitol, she's so out of touch it's almost humorous. Nothing you can do about that.

"Good grief," a gruff voice follows after the sound of a door opening. You turn from the table to look at the man, his expression almost as unimpressed as you feel. "Let them eat."

The first thing you notice about him is the unsteady way he staggers toward you, followed quickly by the sharp, rancid scent of alcohol hitting your nose. He's drunk, no question about it. As he draws closer, you get a better look at him. Short blond hair, fair skin, and hazel eyes that flick lazily between you and Levi, sizing you both up disinterestedly.

"Congratulations," the drunkard slurs, snatching a glass from the nearby table, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he hovers over the selection of bottles. After a brief, careless scan, he settles on an amber-colored liquor, filling it to the brim without a second thought.

You and Levi exchange an uncertain glance before shifting your attention back to the man, watching as he stumbles toward a seat beside you. He drops into it with an exasperated sigh, taking a long swig of his drink before grandly gesturing for you and the dark-haired boy to sit across from him. Hesitant, but with little choice, you both obey, sinking into the stiff cushions of a square sofa.

The man says nothing—just sits there, staring at the two of you. You grow uncomfortable underneath his gaze, but before you get the chance to break the silence, your district partner does it for you.

"You're supposed to be our mentor?"

The drunk lets out a low chuckle, taking another swig of his drink before setting the glass down with a dull thud on the table beside him. From behind, the bright-haired woman pipes up, her voice demanding. "Show Hannes some respect! He's won these games before!"

You scoff under your breath. Respect? You're expected to put on your best manners while being shipped off to the Hunger Games—on top of discovering your mentor is a washed-up drunk? What a joke.

You doubt this guy will even try to be of any help, but it's worth a shot. You lean forward in your seat, raising an eyebrow. "So, what great advice do you have for us, Hannes?"

The drunk smirks. "Well sweetheart," he exaggerated, "the best advice I can offer you is to accept, deep in your heart, that you will not be making it out of that arena."

The bright-haired lady, whom you have yet to figure out the name of, gasps. "Hannes! Don't be absurd!"

Levi's jaw tightens, a scowl settling across his face as he stews in silence. Then, without warning, he shoots up from his chair, reaching to snatch the glass from Hannes' hand. You can only watch as the drunk resists, gripping the glass stubbornly until Levi yanks it free with more force than necessary. The amber liquid sloshes out, splattering across Hannes' white button-up, leaving dark stains that will definitely not wash out.

"Sober up, then we can have a mature conversation." Levi hisses, his glare burning into the drunk's hazel eyes.

Hannes lets out a frustrated huff, snatching the now-empty glass from Levi's hands before storming off from his seat through the automatic door, disappearing into another room. Shifting your gaze, you glance up at the dark-haired boy as he settles back into a seat across from you, looking surprisingly content after the outburst.

"What?"

You can't help but roll your eyes. "That went well."

"He'll come around! I'll be back," the bright-haired woman chirps, her arms swinging dramatically as she strides after Hannes, disappearing into the other room and leaving you alone with Levi.

Silence settles between you. You don't know what to say to him—not that it would matter. You're both thinking the same thing anyway. Hannes was probably right. The odds of either of you making it back home are slim, between the careers, mutts, and whatever other nightmares the gamemakers have waiting.

"Do you have anyone back home?" You break the silence, solely in an attempt to escape your thoughts, even if it's just for a moment.

"No," he says without looking at you. "You?"

You purse your lips together. "Nope."

Silence suffocates the room once more. You figure there's nothing more to talk about at this point, it's just a matter of getting through the week until the games commence. You're not exactly eager to get close to Levi. What's the point? Neither of you are making it out of the arena. And even if you did, it wouldn't be together. One of you might turn on the other. The idea sounds ridiculous, but when it comes to survival, you can't doubt the intentions of anyone.

As your eyes drift to the wooden grandfather clock by the automatic door, you can't help but wonder—is there a way out? A way out of the games, a way out of the system. But after 98 long years of their existence, you're certain the capitol has thought of everything. Every possible scenario, every desperate attempt a tribute might make to escape—it's all definitely been accounted for.

-

Later, the bright-haired woman whose name you learn is Valerie, returns alone, clearly unsuccessful in coaxing Hannes back. To pass the time, she decides to give you and Levi a tour of the train. You can't even begin to fathom how much one room might be worth, let alone the entire bullet train. When she finally shows you to your bedroom, offering some privacy, you almost gape at the sheer luxury laid out before you.

Dark wallpaper with undecorated walls surround the room, with a chandelier reflecting a beautiful dim yellow glow in the center. The bed is massive, you figure you could fit about six people on there if they squeezed together, and the decor is nothing you've seen before, rich with details you can't even name. Off to the side, you have your own luxurious bathroom with unlimited warm water, along with a huge walk-in closet, its walls lined with endless amounts of clothing. It's overwhelming, to say the least.

You find yourself shuffling toward the bed laden with silk sheets, taking a seat as the canvas of the bedframe embraces you. As you sat, you felt something in your pocket prod at you—the pin Petra gave you. Carefully, you pull it out of your pocket, examining the details. You were never sure about Petra, but you suppose that maybe after all... she was the closest thing you had to a friend.

Your fingers delicately trace the pattern of the Mockingjay on the gold pin.

It brings back memories of simpler days, sitting beneath the trees, listening to the Mockingjays sing alongside your younger sister in the forest sometime after you both lost your parents. You remember it was her favorite bird—you'd listen to her hum melodies, and they'd sing the tune right back.

Those days weren't exactly simpler. Food was always scarce. Your mother wasn't around, and your father was always too busy in the mines to help with food. You managed, but once your parents were gone, it was your responsibility to keep you and your sister alive.

And it was hard. Really hard.

Your father had taught you how to use a bow and arrow. On rare occasions, he'd sneak you past the electric fence into the forest outside District 12, strictly forbidden territory, to hunt a few squirrels for supper.

Once, you snuck out into the forest on your own without his permission. When you returned with two squirrels in hand, proud of your catch, your father was furious. You knew it was because he was scared for you and your family, worried about what could've happened if you'd been caught. You understood the risks—but you also understood the consequences of coming home empty-handed.

You stopped sneaking out into the forest, and yes—your family barely scraped by. Once it was just you and your sister, you had no other choice for your survival to go back into the woods just to eat. Sometimes, if you got extra game, you would sell or trade it at the market, and that always helped.

The winters were always harsh. So harsh.

You and your sister were lucky enough to keep living in your parents' house, but luck didn't mean much when there was hardly any food or warmth. By the time winter crept in, the rations from extra entries were nearly gone, and the thick layers of snow drove all the animals into hiding. You were only thirteen, just a kid when you had to fend for you and your sister.

That was your only job—keep yourself going so you can keep your sister alive. Yet, you managed to fail.

The winter was particularly terrible that year, you and your sister were living off just about nothing. You had no firewood, no food scraps, and no warmth—just each other. But it wasn't enough. She fell ill and you did everything you could. You tried to access medical assistance, which was practically unheard of in District 12, so you did what you could with what little you had, trying to nurse her back to health on your own.

But it wasn't enough.

One morning when the sun rose, you went to wake your sister before you planned to go beyond the prohibited fence into the forest, desperate to find any signs of game. She had been sick—terribly sick, and deep down, you knew it. When you tried to wake her, gently cupping her cheek in your cold hands—you found no signs of warmth in her skin. You felt her hands. Her arms. Her body. Everything was frozen cold.

You tried to shake her awake. But she didn't stir. She never woke.

So yes, the capitol never did anything to you, but you've seen the way they've neglected your family, children, the homeless, the starving, exploited the districts—everyone. Even the privileged among the districts, such as Petra, the mayor's daughter—were not safe from the capitol. No one was.

It's not fair.

So yes, maybe they have done something to you. Maybe it is personal.

You remember Petra's words. "Make them pay," she said. You didn't understand what she meant back then, but now you think you do. You're not sure how, but you know you want to.

You need to make them pay.

-

"Rise and shine, dear!" A jarring voice ruptures you from your slumber, forcing you to rise from your bed with a gasp—only to see the bright-haired lady... what was her name again? Oh... Valerie.

"Breakfast is getting cold!" She adds with a sing-song voice as she draws the blackout curtains open, revealing the mountains you're passing through in flashes of speed your vision simply cannot keep up with. You groan as the morning light meets your eyes, covering your vision with your arm for some relief as your senses are overloaded.

She prances out of your room, only before adding in a quick, "chop, chop!"

That was the best sleep you think you've gotten in years. Though, today is the day you arrive at the capitol, one day closer to the games. You take your time getting up, you don't really care if your food is cold—food is food. You can't complain, long story short. Finding the bathroom connected to your room, you turn on the warm faucet water and splash it onto your face, refreshing yourself before you make your way to the dining room with the others.

When the automatic door slides open, you're met with Valerie who flashes a polite smile at you whilst sipping on a fancy cup of warm coffee, along with Levi and your bright mentor, Hannes, sitting at the wooden dining table. Your presence catches Hannes' attention, and he beckons you over to the table.

You grab a pastry before sitting down with the two of them. You're not sure what it is, but it's still warm, fresh out of the oven, melting in your mouth with the first bite. Sliding into a seat across from Hannes and beside the dark-haired boy, you catch the fresh, crisp scent of clean fabric—briefly comforting—before it's quickly overpowered by the sharp, bitter sting of alcohol wafting from Hannes, making you grimace.

You scoff, gesturing at the empty glass sat in front of the blonde mentor. "Really? Starting off your day strong, I see."

He chuckles at that, shaking his head lightly. "It's not the strong stuff dear, relax."

"Levi here was the one to convince the man to lay off, be sure to thank him." Valerie chimes in from across the room, sitting in a velvet chair as she sips her coffee.

You steal a glance at the boy beside you, meeting his sharp, silver-blue eyes. He's clearly holding back a scowl, though his face doesn't seem built for anything resembling a warm expression. You guess you can't really blame him.

As you settle in your seat, you're suddenly swarmed with enormous plates of food placed in front of you from the maids. There's eggs, sausages, and even pancakes with a side of syrup. They set two glasses of juice in front of you and Levi, and you can't help but give a small nod as a thank you when they depart.

You gratefully accept the plate of food set in front of you, digging into the pancakes first. They remind you of a Christmas morning long ago, when your mother had managed to gather the ingredients for a special breakfast. These pancakes don't taste quite like hers, but it's a rare treat nonetheless. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Levi beside you, silently forking a sausage and slicing it apart with precise movements of his knife.

As the two of you ate, Hannes couldn't help himself but watch you and Levi try and act polite before the abundance of food, because he too lived in District 12, starving like the rest of you. He knew what it was like, but he wouldn't judge the tributes that ate like it was their last meal, because likely—it was.

"So," you mumble as you chew. "You sober enough to try and actually help us out now?"

Your mentor can't help but stifle a laugh as he refills his beverage with some sort of new red colored alcohol—you have no idea what it could be. He simply ignores your question, reaching for a fabric napkin to wipe the few drops of alcohol he accidentally spilt on the table. You see an opportunity to get his attention.

If you want a shot at this, you'll have to make him realize you're serious about it.

Swiftly, your hand reaches over to Levi's table knife and you clutch it in a fist, plunging it into the napkin Hannes tried to lift. It gets pinned to the wood of the table just right between his fingers. Your mentor's eyes go wide, shock plastered across his face as if you've completely lost your mind. Beside you, Levi fights back a grin, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You hear a gasp across the dining room from Valerie, who slammed her almost-empty cup of coffee on the table beside her. "That is mahogany!"

You watch her get up and storm off to the other room. You're not even sure what that word is supposed to mean, but you realize she was talking about the wood that the table was made of.

"Well then, look at you!" Hannes raises his eyebrows, yanking his nearly punctured hand back from the table. "You killed a napkin."

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulls the knife from the wooden table, setting it neatly back with Levi's silverware. His expression shifts, growing slightly more serious. "You really wanna know how to stay alive? You get people to like you."

You don't respond, your gaze locked on his with quiet defiance. Hannes gestures to the center of the room, his patience thinning. "Stand over here. Both of you."

Reluctantly, you and Levi obey. He rises from his seat, moving to circle you and your district partner. Surprisingly, he's not stumbling like he was the day before. You guess he is in-fact a bit more sober, although it is just the beginning of the day. His eyes rake over both of you, scrutinizing every detail—your features, your posture, the tension in your muscles, examining everything visible on the surface.

"You're not entirely helpless," he mutters, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Once the stylists clean you up, you might even secure a few sponsors." He pauses, then smirks. "Though, you both have about as much charm as a dead rat."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Gee, thanks."

Levi's glare sharpens, but Hannes ignores it, leaning in slightly. "Listen, if you can agree to not interfere with my drinks..." His eyes narrow, reluctantly finishing his sentence. "...I'll help you, but you have to do exactly as I say."

You raise an eyebrow at that as you feel a pair of eyes on you. You turn to Levi, exchanging a quick glance before he turns back to face Hannes. "Fine."

"So what do we need to do first?" You ask. "How can we—"

"The first thing you need to do is comply with your stylists," Hannes starts, grabbing the glass left on the mahogany table to take a swig of his red drink. "We'll be at the capitol station in a few minutes, and you'll be put in their hands. You're not going to like what the stylists do, but don't resist."

You furrow your brows together, shaking your head in confusion. "But—"

"No buts, just trust me." says Hannes. He takes his glass drink along with a new bottle of amber alcohol, treading toward the automatic door to the other room, leaving you and Levi alone.

As the door slid shut, the windows in the dining room darkened. You realized you're in the tunnels of the mountain that lead into the city of Panem, just where the capitol and all of its citizens reside. The chandeliers in the room still keep it well-lit, but it is still dark enough to assume it's night if you weren't paying attention.

Both you and Levi can't help but feel yourself drawn toward the windows, tentatively walking to them. As you watch the tunnels blur past, a sudden burst of blinding light floods your vision, forcing you to squint against the harsh glare. When your eyes finally adjust, the sight before you steals the breath from your lungs.

You're in the heart of the capitol—a bustling city with modern buildings and skyscrapers stretching as far as you can see. It's overwhelming, far more vibrant and abundant than anything you've ever seen broadcasted back home. You realize now just how much you underestimated it.

The train begins to slow, and soon you're met with the sight of the capitol's grand train station—along with swarms of people, hundreds of capitol citizens gathered outside, cheering wildly as they catch sight of you and the dark-haired boy through the window. Their outlandish outfits are a chaotic blur of colors, so bright and jarring it's almost blinding. Each shade is louder than the last, a dizzying mess of vibrance that's almost too much to take in all at once.

You shake your head, watching as the swarm of capitol citizens wave and cheer at you while the train grinds to a halt. "I can't believe they look at us like we're..."

"Animals in their zoo," Levi finishes your sentence, his stoic eyes meeting yours.

"Yeah," you breathe, fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the small pin tucked into your skirt pocket.

Levi gives you a slight, reassuring nod, his silver-blue eyes steady on yours. "You ready?"

You can't help but feel nostalgic at those words, remembering it was just yesterday when you told Petra you were ready to leave for the reaping. You thought you were. And even this time, you're not entirely sure.

"I guess so."

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a/n: a huge shoutout to my friend, aka my beta reader! i am so excited to write this fic and please let me know your thoughts, if you have any questions/theories, or if you want me to write a drabble for levi! thank you for reading! :)

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