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joluvsfinnick · 18 days ago

Text

What Was Never Mine

f!reader x finnick odair

summary - bound by capitol lies, she stood at his side, pretending. then pretending turned to actually feeling. but when the war ends, so did the illusion. he runs to the sea, to the woman he’s always loved. she was his partner in name, never in heart. yet now, she must learn to let go of what was never truly hers.

warnings - sfw ! mentions finnicks backstory slightly. heartbreak? slight angst. unrequited love. both of you need a hug tbh.

authors notes - i haven’t wrote a fanfic since wattpad was a huge thing so bare with me. idk the word count i’m sorryyy!!! you win the 70th hunger games instead of annie. i want to write a part two of this!

—

Your relationship was built on lies. A scheme crafted by President Snow to amuse the Capitol. It began as a joke. During your victory tour after the 70th Hunger Games, Caesar had made a quip about your mentor, Finnick, hinting there was more than just a mentor and tribute bond between you. You blushed, of course. Finnick was striking. A handsome young man, only a year older than you, and very flirtatious. Of course, that was simply part of his persona. But how could you have known? You barely knew him. All you knew was he was extremely good with a trident and helped you survive in that arena.

You brushed Caesars question off with a giggle and wave of dismal, shaking your head as you lowered it. The blush on your face was, no doubt, burning through your makeup. The Capitol viewers notice this, and begin a string of ‘awww’ and ‘coos’ while Caesar wiggled his eyebrows, hungry to know more.

“I mean, hey, who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” He asks the crowd, his lips quirking into a smirk before giving an obnoxious laugh. You look up at him, your face hot with embarrassment. “And– oh! Well look at that, maybe I’m getting at something here?” He says, pointing out the obvious blush on your face. This makes the crowd erupt with excitement and delight.

Snow wasn’t a fan. He loathed how much the crowd adored you, but he despised even more how much they loved the idea of you and Finnick together. After all, Finnick was one of the finest bodies he owned in the Capitol. Praise poured in endlessly for the perfection of the District 4 victor, yet that praise began to wither the moment whispers of a relationship between you and him reached the ears of his buyers.

After a few weeks of people fawning over the idea of such a thing, Snow decides to give the people want they want. Give them a show to enjoy. A mentor and his mentee. How scandalous yet… riveting! It wasn’t long before your relationship was announced to the public, and you both began making appearances together. He was good at this. He seemed to effortlessly slip into the role. He’d take your hand with a tender squeeze as you walked into Capitol parties, press soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, even your upper neck, if he was truly aiming to show off. And wrap his arms around you from behind whenever the cameras were rolling.

Yet behind closed doors, he was never really yours.

You only found out about his relationship with Annie after Snow had proposed, no, commanded you two to get married. Finnick was outraged. You could tell on the train ride home that something was obviously bothering him. When you brought it up, he got defensive. He was almost rude with his responses, scoffing when you ask what was bothering him and if there was anything you could do to help.

“No, quite the opposite. You’ll make it worse.” Oh. That made your stomach drop. He had never once spoken to you like this, but something in you can see that he’s hurting, and hurt people sometimes hurt others without meaning to. You stay silent, your lips in a thin line as you observe him. He lets out a deep breath, regret racking his body once he realizes how rude his comment had been. “I’m sorry– I didn’t mean that.”

“No, no it’s okay.” You speak softly, as if talking any louder would get another reaction out of him. You hesitate for a moment, but when you notice he’s calming down you reach over the table you two are sitting at on the train and take his hands into yours. “Tell me what’s wrong.” And oh, how you regret asking. He explains everything. How there’s a girl at home waiting for him, how they’ve loved each other for years, and how he never imagined Snow would take this fake relationship so far.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You whispered, your eyes falling to your shoes as you avoid his gaze. You purse your lips into a thin line, anxiously awaiting his response.

“I was trying to protect her. The fewer people who know about her, the less chance Snow has of finding out. If he does, he’ll use her against me.” He muttered, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, trying to steady himself. That night, your heart broke for two reasons. First, because Finnick may never truly know peace. He is haunted, by Snow, by the Capitol, by the sick things they’ve done to him. The torment they’ve inflicted never seems to end, not as long as he’s forced to perform for their amusement. And second, because the feelings you’ve come to nurture over these past few months… are feelings that will never be returned.

Now that the news of your wedding-to-be was swirling around the Capitol, Snow had decided it’d only be fitting if you two were to move in with each other. Because obviously, people are going to be watching you two like hawks. Two district 4 victors, especially one as stunning as Finnick, always have eyes watching them.

It’s easy at first, you both decide that your house will be the one they share, so he starts bringing his few, but precious, belongings over day by day. You guys stay in separate rooms, of course. He takes the guest room down the hall from yours.

You don’t complain, you know how dedicated he is to Annie. And although you can’t say you wouldn’t love the idea of sharing a bed with him, cuddling up next to him during those stormy nights, you respect both of them.

It doesn’t take long after he moves in for you to realize that you aren’t the only victim of nightmares from your games. You wake up in a cold sweat from your own nightmares sometimes, only to be met with shouts from his own.

Was it nightmares from just his games? Or did what he experience in the Capitol also take part in it? You never ask, you just get up and run to his room every-night you hear him. You sit on the edge of his bed, whispering soft nothings and you lightly touch the skin of his back, trying to soothe him. It works, he relaxes into your touch and feels comfort knowing he’s not alone.

The first night it happened, you hesitated for half an hour on whether or not you should go in there. A major part of you wanted to, knowing exactly what he’s going through, but another part of you was worried.

Would going in there to try and help even do anything? Or would it make it worse, seeing someone he’s been forced into a relationship with by the name of someone who’s put him through hell on earth.

Eventually, your heart outweighed your head, and you found yourself twisting the doorknob of his door. He’s sitting up now, hands cradling his head as he seems to rock back and forth on his bed.

“Finn?” You whispered, not wanting to scare him. His head shoots up, and that’s when you notice how tear stained his face is. He looks miserable. He looks vulnerable. You’ve never seen him like this.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more quiet.” He mutters, his voice cracking as some tears escape his eyes. You shake your head, not daring to move any closer.

“No, it’s okay.” You keep your voice soft. “I get them too.”

He knew that, of course. Every victor gets them, the nightmares, the ghosts, but knowing it doesn’t make enduring them any easier. When you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back to face him. The misery etched across his face made it impossible to walk away. So when he asked you to stay, staying was the easiest thing in the world.

You tried to distance yourself, you truly did. But on those cold, lonely nights, you’d find yourself in the warmth of his bed, wrapped in the comfort of his arms. And each time, you felt yourself falling for him a little more. The soft words he’d whisper to soothe you when you woke up gasping from dreams of the arena. The gentle caress of his hands as you spoke of your hopes, your dreams, for a world that might someday be good again. And the warm, smug glances you’d exchange across crowded Capitol rooms, silently acknowledging what you both knew: that most of these people were complete idiots.

“You mean you really did have a crush on me?” He teases, his hand coming to his stomach as it shakes with laughter. Your eyebrows pinch together, trying to appear frustrated at him.

“I was 18, Finnick. I saw a tall, blonde, muscular man that was nice and flirty. What else do you expect?” You playfully scoff, rolling your eyes. You’d never tell him, but even now at 21, those feelings still remain. His laughter calms down, his gaze meeting yours before giving you a light shove with his elbow.

“I thought you were just trying to get some attention from the Capitol.” He admits, leaning back into the couch of the house you two now share.

“Trust me. I already had enough of that.” You mutter, crossing your arms as you remember the endless amount of sponsors that supported you throughout your games. “I didn’t want you to find out. Well, in that way of course.” This gets an eyebrow raise out of him.

“So you planned on telling me yourself?”

You pause. Had you planned on telling him? Absolutely not. He was intimidating, impossible to be around without feeling small. The moment you learned he would be your mentor, you became a nervous wreck. Your knees would buckle, your voice would tremble every time you answered one of his questions.

“No. I didn’t,” you admit, inhaling a sharp breath.

The conversation more or less ended there. He teased you about it now and then, until he realized the crush hadn’t entirely faded. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, he saw it. In the lingering glances you cast his way. In the soft touches that stayed a moment too long during public appearances. And most telling of all, in the quiet sadness that settled over your face whenever he spoke of his love for Annie.

You’ve met her twice. Both times, she was so sickeningly sweet and beautiful, it made it impossible for you to have any ill feeling towards her. You understood why Finnick loved her so dearly. She was the epitome of gentleness. Soft-spoken, radiant, and heartbreakingly pure in a world that had taken so much from them both. They were perfect for one another, and here you were, a brick wedged in between them.

One night, you both found yourself out on the shore as the comforting light of the moon shined down on both of you. You spoke for hours, discussing the future that we’d more than likely be spending together because as long as Snow is around, you have no choice. You feel like a monster admitting it, but a part of you is slightly in love with the idea of being with him forever.

“One day, when all of this is over, we can both be ourselves.” He had whispered, staring up at the different constellations that scattered the moonlit sky. “We’ll go our separate ways, have our separate families,” He pauses, turning to look at me before continuing. “But I will always remember the nights we shared like this.”

Your heart shattered hearing him speak of a future that didn’t include you. You couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t need him. and yet, he already seemed to have one where he didn’t need you. Yes, you’d grown close over the years, maybe even become best of friends. But you would never be someone he couldn’t live without.

At least, that’s how it felt.

“I’ll remember every night.” You had replied, your voice almost in a hush as your pain stricken eyes searched his.

He let out a soft chuckle, one you couldn’t quite decipher. Was it laced with sympathy, or did he genuinely find it amusing? He sat up, steading himself with his hands behind him.

“It’d be hard to forget them, wouldn’t it be, sweetheart?” he said, his voice low, almost wistful. You sit up with him, a half hearted smile on your lips. That stupid nickname. One that began as a joke when an old man overused it while trying to flirt with you at one of the Capitols parties. And when you say overused, you mean it. He would add it on to every sentence. Finnick got a kick out of it, and decided that would be what he called you from now on. It’s stupid. So stupid. The worse part of it is how it makes your heart flutter, even knowing it’s not genuine.

It’s almost unfair how effortlessly your heart can fall for someone who may never be yours. To love them in silence, in stillness, in moments they may never notice. And yet, still find a kind of joy in the nearness. Because even if you’ll never own his heart, a part of yours will always feel at home in him.

2 years later

You’re 23 now, Finnick 24, and the quarter quell announcement had just been made.

“The tributes for the Third Quarter Quell are to be pulled from the existing pool of victors,”

Snow’s voice booms from the television, and a sick, hollow feeling anchors itself in your stomach as the words register. In District 4, there are only two living female victors: you and Annie. Only two males as well. Finnick and an older man whose name escapes you, though you know he must be nearing seventy. And you know, with chilling certainty, that Finnick will be reaped. It’s too perfect. Just the kind of twisted spectacle the Capitol feeds on.

As for you and Annie… all you can do is hope it’s you. Because if something were to happen to her, Finnick would break. Not just bend, but shatter completely. And if that happened, you know you’d lose him, the small part of him you have. Not just for a while.

Forever.

As expected, Finnick is reaped. He offers the crowd a smug smile, shoulders squared, confidence painted on like armor. But you know better. You know from the last few nights you’ve spent tangled in whispered fears and quiet embraces that all he really wants is to run. Far, far away from here.

You draw in a shaky breath as they reach into the bowl for the girls’ names. Only two slips of paper lie inside. Only two possible fates.

“Annie—” they begin. Your heart drops straight to your stomach. You turn to look at Finnick. His smile vanishes, replaced by a shadow that passes over his face as his gaze drops to the ground. In that moment, you know exactly what you have to do. And maybe, just maybe, it even plays into the Capitol’s twisted love story a little more.

What could be more tragic, more romantic, than volunteering in her place?

“I volunteer,” you shout, the words bursting from your lips before you can second-guess them. Annie flinches beside you, already trembling, already too close to breaking. Finnick’s eyes snap to you, wide with shock, and something else you can’t quite name. Annie sobs, her relief immediate and overwhelming. She doesn’t have to go back into the arena. But the fear remains, for the man she loves, and for you. A friend she’s come to care for, now walking willingly into the fire.

—

When asked why you did it by Caesar, you just shrug.

“I can’t imagine a world without him.”

Truth.

“If something happens to him in that arena, I can only pray I’ll receive the same fate. Living in a world without him is like living without sunlight, cold, dim, and unbearable. He’s in everything now. Every breath I take, every hope I hold. Without him, I’m not sure I’d know how to keep going.” This response gets a kick out of the crowd, some crying while others shout about how unfair this whole situation is.

You couldn’t agree more.

The night before you head into the arena, you once again find yourself in the comfort of his bed. You both just lie there, looking at the ceiling. No words are spoken for what seems like hours, before Finnick finally speaks up.

“What are you taking as your token?” He murmurs. You shrug, not having thought about it.

“Not sure. Guess it’s too late now, right? Games are in…” You pause, glancing at the clock. “Seven hours.” It’s ridiculous, really, how soon it all begins. And yet here the two of you are, wide awake, restless, lying side by side in silence, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold some kind of answer.

It’s quiet for a long moment before he finally speaks, his voice rough around the edges. “I have something I want you to take… if you want to.”

He sits up, reaches into the bedside drawer without looking at you, like it’s easier not to. When he turns back, there’s a bracelet in his hand, ocean-blue thread woven through with tiny seashells and pale, glimmering pearls.

You sit up with him, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. “I made it a long time ago,” he murmurs, still not quite meeting your gaze. “Before any of this. Before you.” He runs a thumb over the shells like they still hold pieces of who he was. “I didn’t know who it was meant for until now.”

You swallow hard, heart twisting. This isn’t a confession of love, not the way you once wanted. But it’s something else. Something heavier. A bond built in shadows, stitched together by fear, survival, and the strange, silent comfort of knowing someone else understands the weight you carry.

He gently presses it into your palm. “We’re both walking into hell again,” he says. “I just… I don’t want you to forget that someone sees you. That someone knows you. Even if it’s not the way you hoped.”

And for a second, it’s almost worse than if he had said he loved you.

—

The moment Katniss shot that arrow at Coin and left Snow to die at the hands of the others was the moment you realized the Capitol had been officially taken down. No more fighting. You, and everyone else, were finally free.

Which means so was Finnick.

He was free to return to his one and only true love, Annie. You knew there was no stopping him, and even if you could, would you want to?

You’d seen him break, crying into your chest on those endless nights when the nightmares of Snow using her against him wouldn’t relent. Nights when the ache of missing her was so raw all he could do was clutch the worn picture of her he kept tucked safely in his pocket.

Those painfully bittersweet weekends you shared, the forced smiles, the carefully scripted dates, the stolen touches meant only for the cameras’ eyes, all to make your charade more believable to the Capitol.

A performance of love that was never yours to hold.

And the night of your wedding. How could you forget? He sobbed for hours, his heart heavy with a mix of guilt and anger. It wasn’t fair to any of you, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Annie. She loved him so deeply, so completely, and yet here she was, forced to watch another girl marry him, to witness him share moments with you that she had only ever dreamed of. She longed to hold his hand in public, to place gentle kisses on his lips, to show the world he was hers. And yet here you are, living out everything she had silently wished for.

You knew all of this. Yet it was so hard to let him go.

Reluctantly, you did.

You had taken on his last name, by Snow’s orders, but when the rebellion toppled the Capitol, Plutarch found a way to end the charade. To terminate your marriage. Finnick was more than willing to sign the papers, his signature a quiet surrender.

But you? You couldn’t shake the ache.

Because even if it was never real, at least not in the way others saw it, a part of it had been real to you. And maybe, just maybe, it was real to him too, if he ever dared admit it.

That strange, fragile connection you both had, a tether woven through fear, hope, and a love that wasn’t quite love.

You sit alone in the quiet that follows, the weight of years pressing down like a stone on your chest. The echoes of laughter, whispered promises, and stolen moments haunt the empty spaces where he once was. You reach for the bracelet he gave you, tracing the worn threads between your fingers, a fragile reminder of a bond that was never meant to be.

After all, was it right of you to miss someone that was never really yours?

The question lingers in the silence, unanswered and aching, as you finally let the tears fall for what was lost, not love, not quite, but something painfully close.

Something you’ll carry with you always.

Beside your chair, a half-empty bottle of amber liquor catches the light, its surface smudged with fingerprints. The glass in your hand is nearly empty, warmed by your grip, its burn long since dulled by repetition.

At first, it was just to sleep. The nightmares seem to come back full force and stronger now that you don’t have the gentle embrace of his arms. Then, to forget. Now, it’s just something to hold when there’s nothing else.

You sit still, curled into yourself, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the window. Outside, waves crash against the shore in a rhythm that hasn’t changed, even though everything else has. A jacket hangs untouched over the back of a chair. His.

The room stays quiet.

The world goes on.

And you don’t move.

Psssttt. Pt. 2 & Pt.3

#finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader #thg finnick #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #thg fic #unrequited love #the hunger games fluff #the hunger games x reader #fluff #president snow #mockingjay #first post #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair #annie cresta

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months ago

Text

On the tail end of Nico di Angelo's eleventh month of observing Will Solace, he notices what he classifies as a 'significant change'.

"Will's had his hair up for a good couple days," he comments, as passively and casually as he can manage. Cecil Markowitz immediately sidesteps Nico's half-hearted lunge and pushes both their swords to the floor, plopping down next to them, falling for nothing.

"It's hot," he points out. Which is a ridiculously logical conclusion for someone who once genuinely believed bees were mammals. Nico scowls.

"It's odd."

"Whatever you say, Professor."

The disarming now makes sense, and infuriatingly Nico's attempt to skewer his friend is unsuccessful. He cackles, sommersaulting away.

"Do not call me that!"

"Professor, Professor," taunts Cecil, running backwards, "decorated doctorate in Willology --"

He does not expect the knife Nico has in his boot, and his subsequent pained shriek is deeply, darkly gratifying. Nico leaves him to writhe in agony for a few minutes before hauling him upright, slapping a hand on his shoulder to stop the bleeding, and dragging him out of the amphitheater.

"Butchering!" Cecil hollers, digging in his heels. "Bloodshed! Gehenna! Fratricide!"

"I'm gonna butcher the other side," Nico promises.

This does not sway the man in any capacity.

"Foul play! Maiming! The wicked fate of Caesar Augustus --"

"Alright then."

He squeezes just lightly and Cecil crumples, wheezing, scrabbling at Nico's hand and mouthing the word evil at him incessantly. For good measure, he does the three-claw ward off, because he is an asshole, and Nico would feel guilty if it weren't for the slightest smirk below the agony and the fact that Cecil once crushed his own legs under collapsed marble to avoid stable cleaning duty.

"Are you done," Nico says, tapping his foot.

"One more round." Cecil inhales. "Slaughterer! Destructor! Slayer of men!"

"I could get behind Slayer of Men."

"Of course you could, gay ass."

It is funny and Nico is mad that it is funny, so he refuses to laugh, but Cecil hears it anyway and snickers victoriously and mutters masters degree in counting Will's freckles under his breath intentionally loudly enough that Nico can hear it. Nico reminds himself to kill him at a later date when he is not awake to complain about it. He shoves him through the infirmary doors via swift kick in the ass and takes a minute to himself just out the entryway, fanning his face and breathing deep breaths until the heat on his cheeks has faded. He shakes out his hand, pushes his shoulders back, and swaggers into the infirmary, sword at his side, doing his best to communicate to any and all onlookers that he is to be equally as revered as feared. He also makes sure his hair looks okay.

Just for -- fear factor, obviously. Very important for the Prince of Hell to look put together when he drags souls from bodies.

"Good afternoon, Gerard Way. I see you've gotten some illegal maiming in this fine afternoon."

"Seemed like the day for it," Nico agrees. "And how are you, Kayla?"

She sighs. "I hate being stand-in head medic. Will should go on strike."

Nico frowns.

"He's not -- here?"

Now for someone with a reputation as a rule-following goody-two-shoes, Will plays a whole lot of hooky. He's good at it, too. The dryads are on his side.

But never in the summer.

"He's not feeling well," Kayla says shortly. She grabs a stitching kit and nudges Cecil onto a cot with her disgusting, duct-taped Converse, ignoring his whining about manhandling and doesn't she have any respect for her elders. She rips off his mangled sleeve without so much as an eyetwitch and gets right into it, unflinching at the mess of muscle and flesh. Nico and his suddenly queasy stomach face the wall.

"I thought you guys didn't get sick."

"Will does," Cecil says between wincing. "And not just the headaches." He stares at his own gaping flesh wound with interest, because he's a weirdo. "He got chicken pox, once, when we were kids. That's why people call him Spots, although it's been so long some people think it's the freckles."

"...Oh."

"Anyways, it's good that he's not working." Kayla threads the last stitch and pats blindly around with bloody hands until Nico pities her and hands her scissors. "He's been in here too much lately and it's good to see him sleeping."

"Aw, that's sweet."

"Cecil, you ever wonder why you get stabbed so often?"

"Never crossed my mind, no."

"Interesting, that."

To save his dumbass friend from another maiming, and not at all because he is disappointed by the Will-less infirmary, Nico walks over and grips the fool from the back of his shirt, pulling him to the door and away from Kayla’s twitching eye. (Head medic truly is a job for children of Apollo who did not inherit his impatience.)

"Well," he says, and nothing else. Kayla raises a knowing eyebrow. "Bye."

"Don't bother him," she calls, as they make an exit at normal speed. "I am not as nice as he is! Medical malpractice is my favorite hobby!"

Nico smacks Cecil in the side of his head before he and his big mouth get any ideas.

It does not deter the commentary. Nico vows, by the third mention of the Solace Syllabus, to be present and prejudiced at his judgment day.

-- -- --

#not sure if this one is staying up so we’ll see #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #cecil markowitz #nico di angelo & cecil markowitz #nico di angelo/will solace #pining nico di angelo #solangelo #quick literacy circle questions: what do you predict is going on with will? why?#is it hard understanding (i’m incomplete)#longpost #my writing #fic

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bunni-v1 · 6 months ago

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Hnnghh christmas Lighter smut where reader is dressed in nothing but a long ribbon and bow bc he’s been a good boy this year

🍓Did u read my mind? Get outta there… jkjk, but seriously this is EXACLTY what I was thinking about. I really can’t dedicate the time to a full fic, which breaks my little gay heart, but imagine with me if you would… (this is a full fic btw i fucking lied to you and myself)

Tw: Nsfw; kinda rough (not too rough); UNEDITED ITS HORRENDOUS

Mdni

Christmas with the Sons of Calydon is pretty atypical. They have their own traditions that most New Eirduians would scoff at, but they’re rather important to those who live in these parts. Drinking, singing together (usually drunkenly and offkey), taking bike rides out to start a fire and literally burn away past regrets of the year, and of course fights — plenty of fights.

You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting part, usually meant more work for you to do, but Lighter always seemed to have fun. Obviously he did, he never lost — he hardly broke a sweat for the most part. And he loved showing off, especially if you were there to watch him. Everything else was mostly normal, though… a little odd but custom made to your little ragtag group, and you loved it.

It felt warm, cozy, like family. They passed out gifts, most of them hand made or incredibly thoughtful since money was scarce for most of you. Lighter had gotten you a (rather expensive) bracelet with your and his initials engraved on it. It was sweet, and unexpected from the guy who pretended like the holiday was nothing for the months leading up to it.

It made you melt on the inside and feel nice and warm. However… his nonchalance about the holiday cause you one… teeny tiny, itty bitty problem. You had no clue what to get him, and you hadn’t gotten him anything — time had run out and no one would give you any good hints.

His insistence that you didn’t need to get him anything in return made your stomach ache. It was hard to focus on his fight when your head was rushing with ways to rectify the horrific mistake you’d made quickly. The red ribbon of the jewelry box wrapped around your fingers tightly, then unwound as you mulled over your options.

You could get him something for his bike, but you’d have to drive to the city and it’s unlikely he’d let you go without him — that’s if the stores were even open this late on a holiday. Maybe you could craft up something quick and easy, if you could get back to your place there surely would be something, but… that felt cheap. Especially compared to the bracelet.

“That ribbon’s pretty,” Caesar says next to you, drawing you from your thoughts, “Must’ve been one real fancy place he went to for ya.”

You sigh, leaning back against the wall a little, looking at the ribbon as you twisted it around, “I’m sure it was. He’s so hopeless sometimes.”

“Only because you’re so sweet on him,” She teases, nudging your shoulder lightly.

A laugh huffs out of your chest, then an idea strikes you. The ribbon is pretty. You actually had some like it back at your place, stored away from last years festivities. You twist the ribbon one last time, and then you grin, wide and wild. Lighter catches your eye as he socks his opponent in the jaw, smirking at you like he’d won a prize.

“Hey, Caesar,” You hum, turning to your friend who seemed a little uneasy at your expression, “How long do you think you can keep him distracted for me.”

She hums, watching him thoughtfully, “I’ll buy ya fifteen minutes — wait, why?”

“You’ll hear later~” You hum with a wink, and practically skip back to your place, leaving Caesar alone to deal with your very adrenaline filled boyfriend on her own.

It takes you half the time Caesar said she could get you to find the damn ribbon, and the other half is spent fighting for your life to get the thing on and look at least a little sexy. You tried to recall old articles you’d read on bondage and shibari, but it was hard to do without a guide. You’d managed to get all the good bits wrapped up and hidden, with a few extra crosses to make it look pretty.

You don’t get a chance to check because you hear Lighters heavy footsteps outside the door nearly as soon as you’ve tied the bow comfortably around your neck. Your able to sort’ve arrange yourself seductively on the bed for him just as the front door open and he calls out to you. You could tell he was annoyed from his voice alone. He never liked it when you left his shows early.

“Caesar told me you headed back here,” He called, boots thumping as he threw them off, “We’re you not enjoying the show?”

It’s a tease, you know it is, but there was an underlying annoyance in his voice that sent a tingle up your spine. He pushes the bedroom door open incredibly slowly, to the point you think he’s trying to surprise you with something. You have the gall to feel stupid for a moment right before his eyes land on you, and he stops at he takes in the sight.

There is an audible shudder as his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing those pretty green eyes that rake in every inch of you with hunger. Then, he smirks, shoving the bedroom door closed with his shoulder already working his gloves and jacket off to the floor. Forgotten without a second thought. The rest of his clothes follow quickly after.

“Merry Christmas!” You cheer, though you’re more nervous than happy. He clearly likes it, according to the quickly growing tent in his pants and how fast he is to strip himself, but he’s a little too quiet for your liking.

He sinks onto the mattress in front of you, hands ghosting around the bright red ribbon. Like if he touches it, it’ll all fall apart in his grasp. He traces each inch of it with careful practiced restraint, following the fabrics flow across your body until he remembers that you are under the fabric and he lands on your face.

His eyes soften when you smile nervously up at him, fingers tracing the apple of your cheek with such admiration it nearly makes you cry. “You like it?” You ask softly, unsure of yourself.

He scoffs like you’re stupid for wondering, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It draws a genuine laugh out of you, which he follows with his own as he comes down to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Then a soft kiss that trails down to your lips, easing you into a slow careful dance of love and passion.

He readjusts your position so carefully, you almost don’t notice he’s doing it until he’s between your legs. Pressing them open then pressing his dick to the ribbons wrapping up your folds from him. You’re already dripping, the adrenaline from earlier enough to get you going, but the added friction just makes it worse. You’d never be able to reuse this stuff, that’s for sure.

His hands glide over your stomach, following the ribbon with lazy easy until he’s found the one covering you from him. His thumbs slide under the pieces, rubbing over the flesh of your abdomen gently. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva keeping you connected as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” He murmurs quietly, “You could’ve given me a smile and I would’ve been happy.”

You shy away, “Well… I almost didn’t have anything to get you, but your gift, mmm, inspired me.”

He chuckles at you, reaching down to run his dick against your still covered folds. The silky fabric oddly making everything feel more intense. “I can see that. Very cute, by the way.”

“I know, thank you,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he presses the two of you back into a laying position, “Now are you gonna unwrap your present, or are you gonna keep teasing yourself.”

A roll of the eyes and another smirk, “Y’know, I’ve never been a fan of ruining the wrapping paper. Shits expensive… so how about we go nice and slow.”

As he says that, he slides his dick between the ribbon, right up against your throbbing clit. You let out a surprised sound, quickly melting into sighs of pleasure and he fucks into the ribbon. Each push and pull stimulates your aching pussy into gushing out more for him, clenching on nothing as he fucks himself against you at a leisurely pace.

You take the chance to look down, moaning out as he head of him touches your thigh. The sight is something you’d see in a porno. Lighter follows your eyes, smiling to himself when he catches you practically going cross eyed at the sight.

“We look good together, don’t we, sugar?” He purrs. A rare nickname, sweet and extra praiseworthy — just like he thinks you are.

You nod along with him, fluttering your eyes back to his with a dumb little smile. Each drag of his dick makes your toes curl and nails dig into his broad shoulders. He sighs at the sensation, pressing kisses into your skin to quiet himself up. He’d rather listen to you, after all, and this was a gift for him.

His fingers begin to crawl up your body, dancing along the ribbon excitedly. They make sure to stop and tweak your nipples through the fabric, humming when he feels they’re sufficiently hard and sensitive under his touch. Then, finally, they reach the neatly tied bow around your neck.

The tug at it, gently unwrapping it from your neck and pulling it away with ease. Replacing the red of it with his tongue, licking and sucking new marks into the flesh. Your hips stutter against his, and he lets out a groan, squeezing your tit as warning. You whine, but don’t fight him anymore. His hands returning to unraveling the ribbon, pressing into the skin revealed until he is the only thing keeping the ribbon and his dick pressed against you.

You pout a little when he pulls away, pussy aching for friction once his dick is gone. You feel it clench as it looks for him, and god it makes you feel like a whore. He takes your hands from his shoulder and leans over you to tie them to the bed board above your head. You can feel how wet your were at the wrists, especially when he kisses them reassuringly.

“I love you tied up,” He hums, “You’re so pretty when you can’t do anything.”

You pout up at him, but he doesn’t stay to admire the look long, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condoms. It occurs to you, in a state of lust driven stupor, that he shouldn’t have to fuck his christmas gift with a condom on.

“Ah, wait—“ He raises an eyebrow at you, hand just inches away from the condoms, “Would you wanna do it raw?”

He blinks at you, again surprised in the same way he was when he first saw you. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have to—“ You quickly try to rectify the situation, but he cuts you off.

“No, no, we definitely have to,” He shakes his head, closing the drawer with one swift motion, “You’re trying to kill me out here, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, but he’s not listening as he pulls you up into the position he likes most. Legs over his shoulders, body bent in half so he can fuck you hard and fast. He gives you a few seconds to adjust to the position, then he’s pressing his dick into you at a painfully slow pace.

It’s because he’s just so big, he always has to go slow, but you wish he’d just fuck you through the pain right now. The stretch is perfect as always, and you suck him in like it’s nothing with how wet you already were.

He cusses when he finally bottoms out, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel his hot breath fan against your skin, tingling deliciously. “Fuck you’re always so tight. I’m never gonna get used to it, sugar.”

You hum, though you’re in no better shape. Shivering and shuddering every inch, and still quaking as he sits still inside you. You play with his hair to distract from how hot you are, and how you wish he’d make you hotter.

He gives himself a moment to calm down, then he presses a kiss you your cheek, readjusts you just a little so your muscles don’t tense up, and then he moves. The first three thrusts are slow and easy, then he starts to slam into you hard.

“Oh fuck—“ You cry out as the deafening smack of his hips into your ass rings out across the room.

The pace he sets is brutal and unrelenting, you were hoping for it all night. The unspent adrenaline from his earlier fights coming right back to fuck you so good you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. Each slap of his balls against your quickly reddening ass is accompanied by a stifled moan.

He watches you with an intensity you weren’t aware he was capable of, eyes drinking in every single inch of your expression. He looked crazed, but that’s what made it so hot. He was obsessed with every little look, every little sound that left you.

“Don’t be quiet, sugar,” He hums, pushing two of his fingers along your bottom row of teeth to force the sounds out.

“They’ll hear—“

“Let ‘em,” He dismisses, “They know you’re mine anyway, who cares.”

You really couldn’t argue with that, especially not when he shifts ever so slight to hit your g-spot head on. A salacious moan rips out of your throat, and your sure Caesar has figured out what you were up to earlier from that alone. He doesn’t stop ripping sounds out of you, though, continuing his brutal pace and hitting that spot so well you think you’re seeing stars.

The build up to your orgasm is so quick you hardly have time to realize it’s happening. One second you’re fine the next your throwing your head back and moaning like a whore.

“Lighter- Baby, I’m— fuck me- god I’m gonna cum, Lighter.” You admit, way too loud for your liking.

He hums, seeming to switch gears and fuck you faster somehow, “Go ahead, I’ve got you. Lemme feel you cum for me.”

You nod, chest rising and falling rapidly as start litter your vision. You think you nearly pass out, but Lighters hard thrusts fuck you through your orgasm. You squeeze him so tight, like you’re trying to milk his own out of him. You want him to fill you up, want to feel his warm cum deep in your belly. Want to see it drip down your thighs and pool onto the bed when he pulls out.

“Cum inside, please.” You beg.

“Fuuuck… ‘re you—“

You nod, “I need it, please cum in me. ‘S part of your present.”

He groans, fisting the sheets next to your head, “Suagr, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Always one to please, Lighter does exactly as you ask. Filling you to the brim with his thick hot cum. You revel in his moans, and only slightly wish you could curl your nails into his shoulders to leave another christmas gift for the morning.

He eases you into a more comfortable position before collapsing on top of you. His weight is welcome against your spent body, as are the wet kisses he presses into your sore skin. He unties your hand with one of his, and you quickly wrap them up into his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “So much. You’re the best gift a guy can ask for.”

You giggle at the praise, “I love you too, Lighter.”

#zzz #lighter zzz #zzz lighter #lighter #lighter lorenz #zzz lighter lorenz x reader #zzz lighter lorenz #zzz lighter x reader #lighter lorenz x reader #lighter zzz x reader #lighter x reader

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giotanner · 5 months ago

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PLEASE take a few seconds to read this. I need to talk about it at least here, or I swear steam will start coming out of my ears.

For weeks now, Luca Marinelli has been surrounded, humiliated, and mocked by a large portion of Italians (spoiler: fascists, but without saying it) just because, in some interviews (interviews he HAD to do—it’s not like he volunteered—purely to promote his new high-profile project M, The Son of the Century on SKY TV), he stated that he is antifascist, that his grandmother and entire family were too, and that it was difficult for him to take on Mussolini’s appearance and portray him.

The series is outstanding, making it untouchable from a production standpoint (JOE WRIGHT is the director! The same director of Pride & Prejudice and Atonement with McAvoy).

So what did this disgusting Italian ignorance do? Of course, it could ONLY latch onto Marinelli’s words.

Words that should be completely normal in a democratic government, right? An Italian actor says it was challenging to portray a historical figure who was atrocious and horrible for Italian families themselves.

And yet… no. They attacked him, mocked him. From then until now (to the point that he was interviewed again, and he admitted that yes, of course, it hurt him because he was speaking genuinely about himself). And now that a second season is confirmed, they’re mocking him even more.

But what exactly are they saying? Well, the usual ignorance:

That he took the MONEY, so he should shut up. (He worked. Obviously, he got paid. He worked for a production team and even said he was thrilled to collaborate with them. But he still despises the historical figure he portrayed.)

That he's a nobody. (Sure, he’s not super famous outside of Italy. But in Italy, he’s REALLY well-known. He’s one of the few Italian actors who has worked with Charlize Theron, starred in an American series, won at the Venice Film Festival, worked with foreign directors, acted in LGBTQ+ projects, and performed in English, Italian, and German.)

That he should shut up (again) because other famous actors have played bad characters and stayed silent. (Completely false. Leonardo DiCaprio and even Evan Peters—who played Dahmer—have both said it wasn’t easy to portray a real-life serial killer. Plus, we’re talking about Marinelli, an Italian actor playing an Italian dictator from the 1900s, not Caesar. This is recent history, and it still carries deep wounds in our country. You can’t compare it to an "American actor" playing a fictional villain or even a real historical figure from another country—someone who didn’t harm their homeland or cause them personal pain or shame.)

That he only said it to get attention and his moment of fame. (FALSE. GUYS, GUYS, GUUUYS… we’re talking about Luca Marinelli, who DOESN’T have social media, whose private life is completely unknown, who is genuinely shy outside of acting, and who has never been involved in any gossip.)

All of this disgusts and saddens me… The only thing I’m "happy" about is that at least The Old Guard 2 is happening.

#luca marinelli #m the son of the century #the old guard #the old guard 2 #immortal husbands #m il figlio del secolo #tog #nicky di genova #talk tag #text post

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graceroll · 3 months ago

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this is what summer feels like

✿ Summary: After watching a tape of the second Quarter Quell, you immediately fall for the handsome and brave victor - Haymitch Abernathy. Since then, you've been a loyal sponsor for District 12.

✿ Pairing: Haymitch x fem! Reader

✿ Warning: NSFW | mentions of prostitution, creampie, unprotected sex, Older Man x Younger Woman

✿ Words: 5.2k (also available on AO3)

It's late at night, your friends just scattered home. You're sitting alone in the home theater, the large screen casting flickering shadows on your face.

Outside, the lights are on. You can see the giant posters of tributes hanging on the wall of the building across the street. Although nights in Capitol are usually restless, it is livelier now than usual. Bars on the street must be crowded with people, all gathered to enjoy the annual event. Every year, you watch the Games with friends. Different from most people here who are crazy about the Hunger Games, you just don't want to seem too out of place.

You look at the girl on the screen - unlike before, District 12 is no longer silent and obscure this year; there is a rare volunteer. You study her closely and find that she is really just like him, the same olive skin, the same gray eyes. More so when heard sister was reaped, she shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!" and resolutely stepped forward, with determination on her face. That look is familiar, one you saw years ago when first laid eyes on him. Perhaps it was then that you thought he was different. But over the years, you never see that in him again.

Although you come from a wealthy family that runs the largest shopping mall and body alteration center in Capitol, you never place a bet on the Games before this year. Maybe it really is as they sarcastically put it, that you are sanctimonious; no matter how hard you try, you can only be a casual spectator, unwilling to gamble with the lives of young children. Just thinking about it makes your throat tighten and bile rises. You believe that war is a double-edged sword, that the defeated don't become inferior and degraded just because they lose. It is too cruel to sacrifice young boys and girls for decades. But clearly, the great President Snow – Panem's #1 Peacekeeper - doesn't think so. Your opinion is obviously rebellious, so cannot air it out.

But this year, before the Games has even officially started, you're already throwing money down on Katniss and Peeta. Katniss wins the hearts of many by volunteering to stand up for her sister, while Peeta's heartfelt confession during the interview with Caesar captivates everyone. Additionally, they both got good grades in private sessions with Gamemakers. But there are more reasons compelling you to place your bets; somehow, you think they are like no other previous tributes from District 12.

Snapping back from flashback of the memory, you look up at the screen again, where Katniss lies pale and sweaty in a sleeping bag high up in the tree. She has been hiding deep in the woods since the Games began, until Gamemakers deliberately released fireballs to force her into the confrontation with the Careers. This agile and clever girl has managed to hold them off for now, but fireball burned her calf, leaving ugly, bloody wounds exposed to the air. Without proper medication to treat, she'll get infected. Although gifts in the early stages of the Games are not expensive, specific medicines are usually not placed in the Cornucopia and are hard to get directly in the arena, so generally worth a lot of money. But you still give a call.

After changing into a silk nightgown in bedroom, you just lie down on the bed when there is a knock at the door. At this late hour, only one person can arrive at your bedroom without the need for an announcement. You get up joyfully and jump forward to open the door.

Door opens. He is leaning against the doorframe, a dark blue suit slung over shoulder, few buttons of shirt undone and tie already loosened. He holds a bottle of wine in the other hand, but isn't drunk. Katniss and Peeta still need him, he cannot be drunk yet.

"I was thinking you wouldn't come." You say in mock annoyance, crossing arms over chest and not letting Haymitch in directly.

He eyes you teasingly when hearing that. "Why?"

"Sponsors for District 12 must be lining up right now, eager to send gifts into the arena."

He laughs. "Not that exaggerated. Even so, my number-one sweetheart still has the privileges."

Satisfied with this answer, you smile and pull on his tie, dragging him into the room as he closes the door behind.

You walk to the loveseat. He tosses suit aside and slumps down. You sit beside him, legs on the couch, cradling the hand he's not holding the drink and resting your head against his shoulder.

"No guards from downstairs to here, it's quite unsafe." He says, raising the bottle to drink, but you snatch it away and take a swig. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, head twisting to look at you in mild surprise.

"No need for that; you're taking the private elevator. I purposely don't arrange for anyone. Unless, of course, that dangerous person - is you." After swallowing the liquid in the throat, you reply. It's not his usual favorite hard stuff.

"How do you know I'm not? I am a victor, after all."

You look into his eyes, gaze moving from brows to nose and then to his lips. You think that he is no different from when you first met nine years ago, except for a bit of grayish stubble on the chin. But you really like the feeling of it brushing against inner of the thighs when he eats you out. Just thinking about it makes you clench your legs involuntarily and get a bit wet.

Nine years ago, you were in the University. One day at the party with friends, someone suddenly said that he had gotten a so-called 'uncensored' tape of the second Quarter Quell. Everyone was exceptionally excited. The rules of that one was different from usual, as each district had to send double tributes. But for some reason, the video of 50th Hunger Games was rarely shown publicly, and the widely available version was heavily edited. It was said that the original version was much more watchable, much gorier, and exciting, so you and your friends watched it together in a home theater.

At the beginning of the tape, sixteen-year-old Haymitch did not cry like most non-Career; instead, he walked up to the stage with steely eyes. Coupled with black curly hair and silver-gray pupils, he appeared surprisingly handsome. Once stood on the stage, he looked fondly into the crowd as camera cut to a woman and a young boy, then - a girl.

The subsequent parade was quite dull. He was a lone ranger in training center. After the Games began, initially he was on his own, then met one female tribute from the same district and dutifully protected her. Later, he encountered three Careers. Although had not been specifically trained for the Games, he still managed to kill two of them, which made you see him in a different light. What truly changed your perception of Haymitch was the final showdown, where he used the arena's force field to kill the final opponent - so clever. You seemed to have a hard time not falling for such a handsome, brave, committed and intelligent victor. The 65th Games was coming up, and you decided to find a chance to meet him then.

On the first day of the 65th Games, you wore a dove-gray strapless dress and a simple pearl necklace to the banquet hall, where mentors would be here to pull in sponsors for their tributes. You wore light makeup, and purple hair was simply styled in curls, no wig. You might be the least Capitol-like person here, not even taking various injections into the face or alternate body like the others. Most of the sponsors in the room were gathered around the mentor from District 4, which had sent an exceptionally good-looking boy this year, who also got high scores in his private session. Before the Games even began, all your friends had already become his loyal followers.

You looked around for your target and immediately spotted him sitting alone on a large couch, staring blankly at a glass of wine in hand. You were struggling to endure the high heels, so felt a bit relieved to be able to sit down.

You scooted small steps towards him and were about one foot away when he noticed you, his eyes scanning you up and down. Your heartbeat began to race and as you came to sit beside him on the couch, you said, "Mind me joining you?"

He raised the eyebrows, "Of course not." You beckoned an Avox to come over, hesitating a little at the various drinks on the tray in his hand. At this point, you naturally took the glass from Haymitch's hand and took a sip—it's whiskey—then handed it back and took the same thing for yourself. Looking over at Haymitch, you found him staring at you. Then he took a sip as well, lips just covering the spot where you left lipstick mark on the edge of glass.

"District 12 is off to a good start this year." You've dated boys, but never been with a man and didn't know how to approach him. In the past, scrawny tributes from District 12 mostly died in the bloodbath. While the girl didn't survive long either in this Games, the boy made it to the evening of the first day, which is a good sign, so complimenting his district might be a good choice.

"Perhaps. But it seems Capitol already has its favorite." He nodded towards the crowd surrounding the mentor from District 4.

You followed his gaze but said, "I believe that the scenery is better on the road less traveled."

You soon arrived at the door of the Hotel Suites. This was the most luxurious hotel in the Capitol, conveniently located near the game center, probably to make it easier for sponsors to get a more in-depth sales pitch from mentors for their tributes.

Haymitch stood close behind you, one hand on your ass. You could feel his wet, hot breath brushing against the back of your exposed neck. Your hand trembled slightly as pulling out the room key from clutch. Door opened with a 'beep'. He wasted no time, almost pushing you into the room.

After the door shut, you immediately turned around, wrapping arms around his neck and forcefully pressing lips to his. His lips were already slightly parted, inviting your tongue to enter. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and explored hungrily, sweeping across palate and licking teeth before tangling with his tongue. His grabbed and squeezed your ass. You withdrawn the tongue, luring him to follow into your mouth. There was much saliva, but for some reason, the sounds of kissing made you get more aroused.

You pressed tightly against him, feeling the hard erection against the small of your abdomen. You couldn't help but stop kissing and started moaning. He took the opportunity to bite your lower lip and tug it lightly, moving his hands from your ass to back and unzip the long dress. You stepped back to slip out of the gown and kicked it aside in high heels. Without a bra, your breasts were fully exposed to summer air.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and smirked at the show. In the next moment, he took one nipple in mouth, licking and tweaking it. Of course, he wouldn't ignore the other one, pinching it between fingers while mouth sucked harder. You gasped involuntarily, threading your fingers through his hair and pressing his head against your tits, a clear signal that you don't want him to stop. He understood, moan escaping from deep in his throat in approval.

His mouth moved to the other side, sucking eagerly as hand trailed down to your stomach, eventually reaching the destination - between your legs. Two fingers slid along your folds. "Shit, you're so wet. Do you always get this wet for all the victors?" He paused the attention on your breasts and lifted head to talk to you. Hot breath sprayed over your nipples, making you shiver.

"No, just you. I think I've been wet for you for a while." You looked down directly into his eyes and replied. It was truth.

"Then it will be a waste if not to taste you." He said matter-of-factly, standing up and pinning you against the corner by the door. Knowing what was about to happen, you spreaded your legs openly. "Please."

He pecked a kiss on your lips, then ran tongue from your jaw to the hollow of neck, leaving a trail of kisses between your breasts and down the abdomen. Your shut eyes in pleasure.

He dropped to the knees, smoothly draping one of your legs over his shoulder as lips move to your pelvis. "Can you take off your shirt?" You opened eyes suddenly, seeing his curious look, and added, "It doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one naked." He smiled and nodded knowingly, pulling back to remove his suit jacket. As he dealing with his shirt, you reached one hand toward your thighs, fingering the clit slowly.

"Stop, I'm the only one who can make you come tonight." He commanded while undoing the buttons. "First with my tongue, then my cock."

You seemed to get even wetter at this and obediently stop the movements. After stripping off his shirt, he kneeled between your legs again, resting your right leg on his shoulder. You placed one hand on the back of his head and looked down at him. He held your left thigh with one hand while sliding index finger from your clit to entrance with the other. He lifted his gaze to meet yours, slid finger inside, then covered your clit with mouth, swirling tongue around it. You almost imperceptibly began to wiggle hips along with the movements of his tongue.

"Ah," You arched back and gasped. He licked harder, adding another finger to pump in and out. His head prevented you from closing your legs. "Haymitch -" You moaned. Then he alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you. You involuntarily grabbed his head and pressed it between your legs to fuck his mouth. You got even wetter. "Yes, yes, just like that." You pleaded. He responded with a hum, sending tremors through that bud. The quiet room was filled with your gasps and whimpers, only a little louder than the sound of his tongue and lips sliding between your wetness. His back beneath your legs grew hotter, covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your breathing became rapid as pleasure suddenly surged between thighs. Just then, Haymitch took your clit into his mouth firmly, hands supporting your trembling legs. Now the stimulation was overwhelming - you tried to push his face away but only made him suck harder. "Haymitch!" you cried out as clutched at his soft curls, "Ah, I'm coming." Your whole body shuddered as inside clenched around his fingers. He didn't stop, dutifully kept going until your orgasm subsides before withdrawing fingers and licking into your pussy to clean up the gushing wetness.

Once your body calmed down, he pulled back and wiped his mouth with hand, then rubbing it on pants before standing up. You were still panting heavily, limbs weak and barely able to stand straight. He wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a kiss. You just responded lazily and could taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste so good," he murmurs against your lips, and you smiled. "I can't wait to feel you come on my cock."

"I can't stand now." you said. He picked you up and carried you to bed, tossing you onto it. On one side of the bed was a floor-to-ceiling window, with one-way glass overlooking the cityscape, and the other side faced with a large full-length mirror. He took off your high heels that had tormented you for so long, then turned on the bedside lamp. You spread your legs toward the mirror and could see slickness on pubes glistening in the light.

He walked to the opposite side of the bed. As you started to turn around, his voice dropped into a commanding low growl. "No, face the mirror and get on your knees." The firmness in his tone sent another throb through your still oversensitive clit. Obediently, you positioned yourself on all fours and looked into the mirror. He unbuckled the belt, then yanked down pants and underwear altogether. His thick, swelling erection poked out from the dirty pubic hair, up against the lower abdomen. You swayed your ass slutly.

He swallowed hard, then took off shoes and immediately got on the bed as well. His large palms grabbed and kneaded the round flesh of your ass eagerly. You closed your eyes and let out a soft moan, instinctively arching back into his touch. Suddenly, a sharp slap echoed, sending the stinging pain across one side of cheeks. You flinched and gasped, but he bent down and kissed there. The pain quickly melted into pleasure.

He repeated the same on the other side, and slid the thumb into your slickness, groaning as he felt how soaked you were. "Seems like you're enjoying," he murmured.

"Stop teasing me." You huffed impatiently.

He grinned at that and gave his cock a few firm strokes, then grabbed it in hand to glide the head gently up and down your ass. It brushed against the slick precum beading at his tip. You lowered upper body even more, presenting yourself in anticipation. When he finally pushed in, both of you released sighs of relief. Between assignments and exams, it had been a while for you to date - let alone sex.

He was thicker and bigger than any guy you had ever been with before. He slowly thrust into the halfway, pulled back a bit then buried completely. "You're so tight." he gritted through clenched teeth.

You were kind of proud and asked in mock innocence, "Do I feel good?"

"I'll show you how good I feel," he said, slamming hard. "It'll feel even better when you come inside me." You half moaned, half gasped as he growled low and started fucking you in earnest. You were soaked that there was no resistance to his movements at all. You looked up and locked eyes with him in the mirror; he hooked the hands under your thighs, pulling you frantically towards his pelvis. The lewd watery sounds of his cock going in and out drove you wild. You slipped one hand down to where your bodies connected, cupping his balls in palm and massaging gently. He gasped in surprise and slowed the pace. "Yeah, I like that."

"Fuck me harder, ah—" you demanded impatiently. He immediately pounded you more violently. Each time, he would pull the head to the entrance, then slammed it back all the way in. Your slick lips pressed against his pubic hair, his balls slapping rhythmically against your thighs. Although this felt good, your clit craved attention. Your hand moved to rub it, fingertips occasionally brushing his dick slick with your arousal. "Good girl, touch yourself for me." He moaned.

Your cries grew louder as the hand supporting your body began to go limp. Eventually you could only collapse onto the bed, but he still held onto your ass. After a few minutes, he wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted your upper body, so your back was pressed against his chest. He didn't stop; seeing your bouncing tits in the mirror, he grabbed them in hands to knead. You moaned as your fingers tangled in his hair while the other hand still moved between your legs. His tongue licked over your earlobe, "Want me to rub your clit?" You squeezed your eyes shut, barely managing to reply, "No, just pinch my nipples. Please." He immediately twisted your nipples, both thumbs pressing down and circling them. "Mmm..." you wiggled your ass in rhythm with his fingers.

But he always slipped out in this position, and after the fourth time he pulled out. "No -" you just began to protest at the sudden emptiness without him, but he pushed you onto the bed and flipped you over. He spread your thighs, grabbed a pillow to prop under hips, and without wasting any time, thrust back inside. This angle allowed him to go even deeper, and you could feel every inch of him.

He leaned down to swallow your cries. You grabbed his veined forearms with both hands, only able to tangle his tongue mindlessly in the intense pleasure. When he slid hand down between your bodies, you clenched inside around him, had to push his face away and screamed into the air. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"You like that dick? Huh? You fucking like that dick?" He asked with a growl.

"I love it, so much, don't stop." You closed your eyes and shook your head from side to side begging him.

"Open your eyes. Look at me," His tone left no room for refusal.

You struggled to open them; his gaze was wild. Neatly styled hair became disheveled under your eager rubbing. Sweat dripped from his hairline to chin. He lowered his head to take one nipple in mouth. You moaned and played with the other, with legs tightening around his waist.

After a while, he released your nipple and pressed lips against your breast. His movements grew erratic. "I - ah – gonna come."

You squeezed him tighter and said, "Come for me." With an embarrassingly loud moan, he thrust hard a few more times. His cock was pulsing inside as he filled you up. The sensation was incredibly intoxicating. He collapsed onto you gasping for air, but you didn't mind the weight of his body at all, even like it. He lifted his head to kiss you, and you respond languidly. He pulled out and rubbed the length between your folds. Semen flowed down your thigh and the head brushed against your clit made you break the kiss.

As if remembering something, Haymitch propped himself up, grabbed the shaft and flicked your clit with the tip. "Shit." You pushed at him, but he instinctively grabbed both of your wrists. The pleasure between legs built higher and higher. You closed your eyes and stopped resisting. The hotel had great soundproofing, so you screamed loudly without any worries. "Theretherethere!" A flash of white light burst behind your eyelids, and you cried out, arching your back as he pressed you back down and hastily thrust his semi-hard cock inside again. Feeling the rapid contractions of your pussy, he let out a soft moan.

You both panted heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. He planted several kisses casually on your neck and face before getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. The sound of running water came from inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a wet towel. Seeing his softened cock sway with each step, you were surprised at how quickly you could become aroused again. But there were more important matters at hand, so you thought, next time - next time you wanted to find out how many rounds he could go in one night.

He cleaned you up with the warm, wet towel. You were so touched by his thoughtfulness, reaching out to let your fingers glide across his chin. "You can tell them that I will pay for all the gifts."

He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. "Thanks."

However, as soon as the parachute landed in the arena, the Careers hunting at night slit the throat of the male tribute from District 12.

Ever since then, if the tributes from District 12 are not eliminated at the very beginning of the Games, you send gifts every year.

"Thank you." He turns his head slightly, pressing his lips in your hair as he says.

"For what?" You asks curiously, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Thank you for sponsoring District 12. Katniss has already gotten the ointment." You secretly breathed a sigh of relief, withdrawing one of the hands holding him and moving to rub his crotch. Then you kneel on the ground to unbuckle his belt and pull out the shirt tucked into his waistband. "I thought I was the one who should be thanking you." Haymitch raises an eyebrow in amusement, lifting his hips considerately as you help pull down his pants. He takes off his tie, then grabs the back of collar to pull the shirt off directly.

"I have the right to define my own rewards," You eagerly grasp the hot length and stroke it slowly. "And this is exactly what I want." One hand rest on his thigh while the other grips the shaft of his dick, you lick away the precum gathered at the tip, then swirl tongue around the head before sucking hard. "Fuck." He curses. You moan in response, looking up at him through long lashes. His eyelids flutter, like he's not sure whether to close them completely and enjoy, or just watch you suck his dick.

"I love your cock." You spit out the head and hover over it, saliva pooling in your mouth before you spit it onto the tip. "Yeah, that feels good" He closes his eyes again as you take him back in, swallowing more. He's big, but after these years, you get used to it. You lick the underside of the shaft, hands pumping the rest you cannot take. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth filling the air.

Suddenly, you want to try something you haven't done much before.

You gently caress his balls, then swallow him as much as you can until the head hits the back of your throat. "That's it, do it again." You do it once more, gradually picking up speed and fucking your mouth with his dick. He instinctively thrusts up. You must hold him down to prevent choking. You suck your cheeks in hard, and a few minutes later, he says, "Stop, stop." You widen your eyes and his cock still in your hand - this must look funny. But he just laughs, "I love it, but there's no time for round two today. I want to come inside you."

You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand and climb onto his lap, straddling him. "Me too. I want to feel your cum dripping out of me." You murmur against his lips. He grabs your ass and stands up abruptly, your legs subconsciously wrapping around his waist. He carries you to the bed, lays you down, and then lies on his back. "Come on, use my cock to make yourself come."

You take off the nightgown and throw it on the floor. He spreads his legs, and you kneel on either side of his thighs, gripping the erection pressed against his abs and slowly lowering yourself down until his balls hit your ass. "You're so big…" You can't help but sigh, and he looks quite smug. "I've heard that before."

You don't respond, hands braced on his chest as rocking back and forth. The reward is instant - the coarse pubes rubbing against your clit sends mild pleasure. He tugs at your nipples, and you grind harder. "Oh God!" Suddenly, you scream out, stopping completely as you come hard on his cock. "Damn, that was fast." You're still too dazed from the orgasm to say anything.

You collapse forward onto him, lips brushing his ear. He grips your waist and thrust up to fuck you frantically. Even though you've just come and are still sensitive, you bite his earlobe and whisper, "Harder."

Haymitch tightens his arms, "You want me to fuck you harder." He says, slamming his pelvis into your ass passionately. "Yes." The only sounds in the room are the rhythmic slapping of flesh and your moans. You hazily licked the stubble on his chin; unexpectedly, he pushes you on the side to fuck in spooning style. He slips one hand between the mattress and your body to palm your tit, while the other lifts your leg to rub the clit. You grab his hair and whimper, turning your head back and searching for an open-mouthed kiss from him. For a moment, his fucking loses the rhythm but soon resumes. The familiar sensation erupts between your legs again, forcing you to let go of his lips and collapse onto the mattress with legs squeezed together. "No, I don't think I can -"

"I think you can, sweetheart. Come on, just give me one more." You scream as he pins you down on the bed, his arms braced on either side of your head, continuing to pound hotly. Your cries are muffled in the pillows when he suddenly stops and starts grinding in circles. "Haymitch…" You squeeze him tighter. He lets out a trembling moan. "Yeah, squeeze me like that again, good girl." You obey, and he leans down to whisper dirty words in your ear, talking about how much he wants to fuck your mouth, how much he loves your tight little pussy, and how he always cums so hard when he jerks off thinking about that time you squirted all over his dick, even made his balls dripping. "I'm gonna come." This finally pushes you over the edge. Your walls fluttering rapidly, milking out his orgasm.

"Shit." You can feel his cock pulsing inside, thrusting forward with each spurt of cum before becoming completely still. Gasping for air, you turn your head. Instead of pulling out right away, he kisses you tenderly. A few minutes later, he gets off you and lies on his back beside. "You okay?" He asks.

"Never been better." You answer with a smile.

District 12 has two victors all at once and this is your first time attending the celebration dinner at the president's mansion. Haymitch has been busy introducing Katniss and Peeta to all the dignitaries and sponsors, but you don't care about such socializing so stay away. After all, you come here only just to see him again.

Theoretically speaking, he should be happy. This is the first time he has truly achieved success since becoming a mentor. Perhaps it's just your illusion, but Haymitch looks worried.

You want nothing more than to feel joy and quickly shake off that thought. When he is finally on a break, you pull him to a dark corner where no one is around to kiss him. He hesitates at first but soon responds eagerly. And before long, both of you are panting and have to pull away.

You step back, gazing at his swollen lips under the dim light. "Guess we'll see each other again soon." Victory Tour in six months, Capitol is the final stop. He will accompany Katniss and Peeta back here. In the past, you could only see him during the Games when he came to Capitol for mentoring the tributes. Although you are a generous sponsor, you won't call Haymitch back at will like others do with Finnick Odair.

He doesn't say a word, just smiles and wipes away a hint of saliva from the corner of your mouth. "Congratulations, Star Mentor. I'm sure there will be more victors from District 12." You say hopefully.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, his face suddenly thoughtful. "Yeah, I think these games are gonna be different."

End.

☪English is not my first language, so all the mistakes are mine. ☪Likes, reposts and comments are much appreciated.

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