#Hunger Games Read Alikes

[fated-mates]

There are no wallflowers in space!

Voyage back to 2019 when we first investigated SPACE ROMANCE.

[pinkfey]

the moral grandstanding of hunger games fans has to come to an end rn

[pennjammin]

PONYTAIL.

JJK HALLOWEEN! gojoxreader

SUMMARY ❥ you have a huge, embarrassing crush on the star of the jockey team on campus. you thought you’d kept it low key, ‘till he approaches you at a halloween party, and shows you that the mechanical bull isn’t the only thing you can ride.

CONTENT ❥ collegestudent!gojo, smut, unprotected, slight breeding kink mention, college!au, athlete!reader, afab!reader, athlete!gojo, drug/alcohol use, spit kink, switch!gojo, switch!reader, masochism, sadism, aftercare, car sex.

song inspo: can’t get enough - j. cole

WC: [8.1K] MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Crisp fall air brings out the gooseflesh among your skin; hair that's not there trying to rise at the thrill of tonight's festivities. The sidewalks are packed to the brim of frat boys, sorority sisters, general slackers and... even an alumni or two. So many people to choose from, you think.

Everyone’s in costume; faces concealed by masks, clouds of smoke mixing with the breeze, and overstimulating noises from animatronics. The holidays were here. You should be trying to find a relationship, to cuddle you through the cold, but right now you just want to bone.

"Where do we even start?" you hear your friend ask from behind you, as your whole group walks - stumbles, more like - down the middle of a road that has been closed to through traffic.

"Whatever house has the most fine men standing outside," your other friend answers with a grin.

You agree, because you had already shot down a fair amount of Don Julio - and the heat of the drink had travelled straight to your core, a small throb arising in your cunt the more you glance around and see the variations of muscles poking out from underneath masked strangers’ costumes. You’d easily find the satisfaction to your hunger, but you’re impatient.

You hum longingly as your eyes fixate on a crowd outside of a large house, painted black. There’s fog rolling over the lawn, but that’s not what draws you in; it’s the group of men deep into a drinking game out front.

Without warning your friends, you beeline over. You wonder if any of them are as needy as you feel right now. The liquor alone could not justify the painful feeling of heat all throughout your nerves; it was mostly your hormones. Pathetic, you tell yourself, so incredibly ready to sit down on someone’s cock.

As your friends follow you down the pathway to the large house, you feel several pairs of eyes stick to you like bologna on hot asphalt. That's right; you and your girls are just pieces of meat dangling in front of a den of lions.

You're not surprised, though, because you’re in a brown leather brazier, accentuated by puffy white sleeves that hang off your shoulders, tucked into a skirt. You have a whip on your hip, and your boots are up to your fishnet-covered knees - one of which leads to the garter holding a toy gun against your thick thigh; to add, it shoots out a little pow flag when you pull the trigger.

And it's clearly mesmerizing in the way that you wear it well, walking right into the party with your liquid confidence through the roof, aware of one of your friends falling behind to entertain someone who had called out to her.

Once inside the belly of the beast, you're farther away from the center of attention; it seems that everyone on campus had read your mind about picking this particular house to step into. It made sense; the house was huge outside, but even bigger within.

The room is littered with men and women alike; most sloppily grinding on one another on the edges of the room, others filling their noses with bad things, but above all: you notice there are cheers coming from somewhere in the center.

You realize why as you part through the crowd, dusting your friends to see what the excitement is. And when you see it, you feel yourself grow both confused and aroused.

There, under a bright red spotlight, is an entire brown and white mechanical bull. Somehow, it had fit into this massive room, and there’s still plenty of room leftover for the influx of students. You're as impressed as the rest of the group, who watch as an ebony-haired man lacking a costume walks around to check the plugs on the bull, and bleakly instructs everyone to take several steps back.

Bass had been booming under your feet, competing with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, but it’s slowly fading away now; a voice travels over the remaining bustling.

Everyone seems to freeze as out from the crowd walks a tall, lean individual with powdery skin. He's wearing something similar to you: a black button-down shirt, leather pants, and brown boots, but most importantly - you feel your breath hitch when your eyes land on the delicious black Stetson that rests atop his contrasted snowy locks.

You feel mixed things blossoming in your chest: unease, desire, and… embarrassment.

You’ve been completely obsessed with the boy in the Stetson for months. Satoru, ‘Toru, and Gojo all being the names he answered to. You’d hopelessly pined over this Satoru, each time noting in your mind just how attractive you find him. He’s on the jockey team; you always see him in a tight, white riding suit with his helmet perched against his hip. You’re the soccer team captain, so you share a field for practice, and, well… Satoru doesn’t make it any easier for you to lock in while you train.

Your friends had noticed your infatuation and would giggle about him to you, saying how you looked like a cockdrunk puppy when he would kick himself on top of the horses - all of the muscles in his legs and arms moving underneath the skin you desperately wanted to crawl into.

He managed to pour gasoline directly onto your fire the first time he’d bumped into you on your way to the locker rooms.

“Careful, ponytail,” he’d said, a smug wink fluttering from his eye.

Then it happened again. And again. Each time you bumped into one another, he barely said two words to you, never seeming to truly notice you or take you in. This didn’t stop you from wearing your hair in a ponytail every single time, though.

He would likely not even recognize you now, given your costume and heavy finesse of makeup, a striking contrast to the sweat sticking your hair to your forehead and your muddy soccer jersey every time he’d seen you in the past. But you knew you recognized him, given the way your body was already responding to his presence.

"Alright now, y’all can't all be this shy," Satoru’s horrible attempt at a country accent booms into the crowd, gesturing wildly to the mechanical animal. "Anyone wanna be the guinea pig? Someone's gotta. I'm definitely not doing it."

A bit of laughter erupts but yet, the crowd remains still. You notice people trying to egg their friends on to test it out, but no one is either drunk or brave enough yet. Satoru continues to glare around the room, walking slowly as the spurs on his boots clack against the hardwood floor, as if he is genuinely a westerner interrogating everyone.

You suddenly feel a gush of pressure hit your back, and four hands send you lurching forward, causing you to accidentally step out beyond the crowd and into the center of the room with the snow-haired man. You exclaim loudly and your friends cheer, which prompts him to turn and look at the commotion.

"Well," Satoru’s velvety voice says, lowering his eyelids into a heated squint. "Seems we have a winner."

His lips disappear as they tuck in to wet themselves, and when they pop back out they are glistening under the red light. Though you cannot see his eyes under the harsh lighting, you can feel them, as well as the heat traveling up through your belly. You wonder then if he might possibly be remembering you.

No way, you tell yourself.

You attempt to turn and look at your friends, who are no doubt giggling endlessly at their little prank, but your head hardly cocks to the side when your hand is being grabbed by a larger, warm one.

You instantly look in the direction of it, your eyes traveling up your arm in disbelief, only to find Satoru is smirking at you.

"N-No, this was a mistake," you try to argue, but he is already gently coursing you towards his body, and your legs feel like jelly as you mindlessly obey like a little doll.

"Don't be afraid," he murmurs to you, hypnotizing you with his voice as he walks backwards, guiding you right to the steps that will allow you to get onto the bull. "You look like..." he pauses, cocking his head to the side and your heart drops, "you'd know how to hang on, no? You've got those strong legs."

You let out a breath. He still doesn’t recognize you. But you know he is referring to your thighs, which are on the larger side from all of the exercise you do for soccer. He's right, you do have the strength to keep yourself on the bull, but whether you want to do it in front of everyone remains to be seen.

"My friends pushed me forward," you blurt out, "I-I really… don't think I can do this."

His voice has lowered by now. It seems like he wants only you to hear him. Not that it mattered, as the crowd is still quite loud and so is the music thumping from another area of the house.

"I think you can," he responds, dipping his head forward like a proper cowboy, feeding into the twisted little costume he’s in. "My name is Satoru, but you can call me ‘Toru. What's yours, madam?"

You almost blurt that you already knew his name, but catch yourself.

"It's Y/N," you say bleakly, knowing he’s only asking to tell the crowd, not because he is interested in knowing who “ponytail” really is.

Not that he has indicated at all that he remembers you, which makes a little twinge of jealousy poke you in the heart because of the way he was looking at you. He must look at every woman like this.

"Y/N," he repeats slowly, as if memorizing the name, simultaneously gliding his piercing eyes down your body again and stopping briefly on your leg — the one with the gun strapped to it. "Give us a show, pretty girl. I think everyone is looking forward to this."

You'd reached the steps to the bull. You begin to suspect that Satoru is the “everyone” in question. You want to try and fight him more, but something about his voice, his unhindered belief in you despite being a total stranger caused you to want to prove him right.

You can do it, you can ride it and not fall off, no matter how intense the settings.

One final look at him, and you release your hand from his, realizing the two of you had been standing there holding hands this entire time. He broke away, but not before giving you another look that might as well have had fire attached to it in the way it sent searing erotica up your body. You’re disgusted at just how awfully, hopelessly, desperately in love with him you are.

The crowd had been falling more quiet as you approached the chopping block, it felt like. But now, it's returned to cheers and whooping as you get on your tip-toes and sling one leg over the side of the bull, your skirt bunching up around your hips.

You spot your friends, who have acquired more drinks; colorful green and purple ones. They lift their cups when they notice your eye contact, and make kissy-faces as encouragement. Or perhaps they’re making fun of your obvious puppy-like expression every time you so much as look at Satoru.

"Alright everyone," he announces suddenly, clapping his hands before walking around to the front of the bull and patting its headless neck. "Y/N has bravely stepped up to the plate tonight. Since you’re all too pussy.” Laughter from the crowd. “Let's see how long she can last."

He turns and looks up at you, dropping an eyelid down into a familiar wink and clicking his tongue.

An irritating piece of man, he is. He doesn’t have to be so damn gorgeous, easily distracting you as you grip onto the reigns around the bull's nonexistent neck, all the confidence draining smooth out of your mind.

You don't have time to think about it much more because of the sheer level of noise that erupts from the room; the crowd has erupted into whoops and whistles, music’s blasting around you. A good old fashioned hype party song, that has prompted the crowd to lose their mind.

The red light makes it hard to see much of anything beyond the first row of people, which is helpful for your nerves, but it also means that since Satoru is standing the closest to you and the bull, he is the only thing you can clearly see, as he presses the button to trigger the ride.

You gasp as it begins vibrating, something you had not expected to happen. The bull jerks to the side, before the rear end perks up, knocking you plain forward and winding you. Your breasts bounce upward and the crowd oo’s.

Satoru smugly continues to operate the bull, keeping it slow as he courses it to knock forward and back, forward and back. You sit back up, trying to defeat gravity, your grip still strong on the reigns. But little do you know that you’ve been out of control since you stepped on the floor. Satoru’s taking his precious time sinking his claws into you.

Your thighs dig into the side of the bull and Satoru spins you, jerking up the rear again; the force knocks your skirt up.

You gasp, wanting to let go of the rope to adjust it, but you know you’re going to fall off if you do. You've made a vow that you cannot fall in front of Satoru, no matter how far he pushes you to your limit. Besides, you figure, having your ass our in front of him wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The crowd cheers, realizing Satoru is operating the machine solely for their gaze, and not necessarily to challenge you.

But you have yet to put that puzzle piece together.

You continue innocently focusing on staying up, but make the mistake of looking at Satoru again. He's looking up at you from beneath his eyelashes, his top teeth poking out as he tugs on his bottom lip with them.

"Doin' so good," he mouths, pushing at the the controls again.

You groan a bit, the vibration of the bull suddenly feeling even more intense, though it's likely just a combination of your imagination and the tequila.

Your head falls back as the bull begins to move in a galloping motion. More cheers erupt, and a darkening gaze is shot from Satoru that you can't see with your head tilted.

The vibrations shouldn't feel this good, you think. You start to feel embarrassed at the thought of getting wetter on top of this bull, in front of all these people, but you can't help it; your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus beyond the pleasure.

Satoru is drinking up the sight like a glass of water in the middle of the night. He can see his effect working more and more on you, your thigh muscles flexing harder as you dig them deeper into the side of the bull. You must not think anyone notices, but he can. A sick fuck he was to currently be jealous of a literal robot.

You suddenly spring your eyelids apart and cry to Satoru that you have to stop. You can't handle the ecstasy creeping up on you, your embarrassment outweighing your desire to prove yourself a strong bullrider. If he keeps operating like this, you’ll cum all over the back of the bull.

Satoru looks hesitant but he ultimately stops the ride, and you take a deep breath when the vibrations come to a halt. The bull steadies and you loosen your thigh muscles.

Despite feeling like a failure, the crowd cheers anyway; you were up there for what felt like a lifetime, but realistically it hadn't been long, and you were expecting people to clown on you for not lasting. It's not like you couldn't stay up; it was more like you couldn't hold your pathetic desire to bone the cowboy at bay.

Satoru comes around and helps you down, the same routine as before with his hand in yours, only this time you're putting some weight on him as you feel yourself struggling to stand with your legs apart.

"You did so good, pretty girl," he coos, not even phased by your body weight. "Rode so well. Thighs a bit sore now I bet, hm?"

You feel your stomach knotting up at his word choice. "A bit," you answer grimly. "The vibrating didn't help."

"Really," he drawls, not even attempting to make it sound like a question. "How so?"

You begin to suspect he knows exactly how. His hands have found your elbows, his arms wrapped around you to keep you steady, and you find yourselves in a darker corner of the room with a convenient lack of a crowd. You blink and the bull seems a great distance away. No one is looking for you, either.

"Doesn't matter," you huff, looking at the floor. "It's embarrassing to say."

"Say it," Satoru purrs, taking your hands in his before placing them both right over his chest pecs. "Tell me what it did to you, hm? Maybe I can help, ponytail.”

You gasp then, your eyes immediately shooting up to meet his face. You almost fall over at the idea that he knows who you are, that he’s recognized you. This means that now he absolutely cannot fix what the bull had done to your poor cunt, although... with the way he's eating you alive with his pupils alone, your morality wants to fly right out of the window and beg him to fix it.

"Made me so horny," you breathe, immediately smacking yourself in the mouth at the coercion of your confession. “Th-That is not what I meant to say.”

Satoru's chest shakes against your palms as he laughs, "Adorable. Got all hot and bothered from a bull ride? Should’ve known that’s all it would take.”

Your face heats immediately. "I've been drinking," you admit with a slur, sinking farther away from sobriety. "Normally it-it’s not that easy.”

You laugh, trying to mask it as a joke, but Satoru's face is dangerously still.

“It is,” he murmured, “you always have the same little expression on your face at practice, just from seeing me.”

You want to be embarrassed that he’d caught you. But right now, your darkest, perverted fantasies are coming alive right before you; and you’d be a fool not to feed into them.

"Because..." you breathe out, feeling your back hit a wall, unsure how you ended up here. "Why do you always look so good?"

"Been thinking the same thing," he mewls, leaning over you with his hands still holding yours to his body. He lets them go then, and puts his own flat against the wall on either side of you. "Got up there and rode the bull like a champ - you can imagine what it did to me."

"What could a perfect stranger have done?” you whisper, knowing, begging, wanting the answer to be something raunchy and wet in your ear.

Instead, in a flash, his rock-solid pelvis is digging into your stomach, and he twists his hips to allow you to feel the even more solid length under his leather pants.

"We’re not strangers, ponytail," Satoru hums in your ear, just like you’d wanted; warm breath traveling through your hair and down your neck. “Always see you eyein’ me on the field. Goin’ outta ya way to knock into me afterwards. Been at this for months.”

You can't help the little whine that escapes your mouth. Your cunt had been pulsing all night, but now you can almost hear it. It's screaming at you to slide your hands down his body, to reach the waist band of the leather on his pants and then dare to explore further—

His gasp takes you out of your clouded fantasy, as you realize it's not a fantasy at all. Your hand is resting cutely over his bulge. You had been acting on your twisted, unwarranted desires from weeks ago all along.

"Ngh, knew I chose the right costume," he murmurs in your ear. "Knew it’d finally get your attention, get you to wanna ride me.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You’d been caught, being so obviously needy. You wish you can say you’re embarrassed, but when your hand doesn’t immediately move away from his dick, you know you’re fucked.

You feel yourself shuddering, your hands moving from his waist, over his ribs, passing to his shoulders; your palms sliding over thick, unidentified shapes and running down the curves in his arms. You couldn’t stop, you needed to know what all of him felt like.

“You didn’t have to be a cowboy to get me to ride you,” you whisper, “but if you care about saving horses that much-“

"Hah- shut up," he grunts. "'Fore I take you against this wall. Shouldn’t - hngh - be doing this here.”

“Isn’t this your frat house?” you question. “Take me,” you pause when his gaze darkens, “take me to your r-room.”

He groans, a velvety sound that raises the imaginary hair back up on your neck.

“Not mine, but I’ve got an idea.” He backs away from you, and the cold sensation of his body heat leaving yours makes your heart thump in pain. “C’mon, pretty.”

So he takes your hand again, and again you let him lead you around like a little pony. You don’t see your friends anymore, but you imagine the groupchat is blowing up. They no doubt saw you disappear into the shadows with Satoru.

You manage to escape to the outside without so much as a second glance from anyone, as you’ve started a riot for a turn on the mechanical bull. The memory of riding it seems so distant now.

“So tell me,” Satoru begins suddenly, pulling you hard against him, and you stumble before he puts a hand on your waist to steady you. “Just how long did you intend to keep watching me? Makin’ me all nervous before you made your move?”

You are stunned by his bold line of questioning, but he knows full well how tipsy you are, and that you’re going to answer as honestly as you can.

“I made a move the first time I ran into you,” you squeaked. “Thought you’d take it from there, but guess your balls aren’t big enough.”

This makes him grunt a bit. “If I would have made the first move, you’d still be limping. I don’t like all the small talk.”

“I see,” you purr, “otherwise you wouldn’t be leading me to this field, would ya, ‘Toru?”

“Not a field,” he corrects. “I’m parked back here. What do y’think I am, a serial killer? Wouldn’t just fuck you in the wilderness. ‘Less you asked.”

It had a nice ring to it, but you aren’t quite wasted enough to not care about being seen out in the open like that.

You reach his car and, pretending to be a gentleman, he opens the door for you, and while you sink in, he goes to the trunk. You begin to feel your heart race; you hardly know this man, actually, and maybe you’re stupid for thinking with your cunt instead of your head. Letting him lead you out back, all alone to his car.

Your nerves ease when he joins you in the back seat, nothing more than a bottle of liquor in his hand.

“Think we need to loosen up some more,” he says sternly, unscrewing the cap. “Not that I need alcohol to take care of you, ponytail, but it’ll definitely make things interesting.”

You nod in agreement, knowing you can certainly use more liquid courage. You wait for him to pass you the bottle, but instead you feel chilly fingers connect to your chin, and his thumb courses your face towards his.

“Open those lips f’me,” he murmurs lowly, tilting your chin up towards his face and bringing the liquor bottle closer to yours.

Your eyes widen in realization of what he’s about to do, but the throb between your legs has resurfaced full force at the ghost of a grip he has on your chin.

Hot liquor is sliding down your throat before you even register that you’ve parted your lips. You gasp and close your mouth into a bubble, trying to breathe through your nose as the liquor starts to go down harshly.

Satoru’s watching you intensely, “Don’t swallow it all,” he instructs quickly, to which you find yourself glaring at him.

The interior of your cheeks is going numb, and he’s telling you not to swallow.

What he does next, though, makes your skeleton jump out of your skin and back in again.

He opens his mouth; his long, fat tongue sticking out as far as it will go with a delicate curve in it. He points to his open mouth, while looking at you through his eyelashes.

You feel your face go numb. Your cunt was pounding now, secretion wetting your inner thighs and covering your pussy. You spread your legs a bit, trying to use Satoru’s backseat as something to grind down onto.

You begin doing so as you sit up straight a bit and lean forward, before pushing your cheeks out to spit a steady mix of liquor and your saliva right onto Satoru’s glistening tongue. He hisses immediately, before gripping you by the neck; taking you by surprise when your air flow becomes restricted. Your face is jerked to his as he swallows the liquor you just spit into his mouth, nipping your bottom lip.

“Tastes s’good,” he rasps, “Know you’ll taste even better.”

“But—“ you want to ride him already.

Wanna get him deep in your belly, use your hips to wring more of those deep moans from the depths of his throat. You don’t know if you can wait for that.

“But what?” Satoru challenges, applying pressure to your massive thighs with his palms. “Y’should know by now you can trust me. Didn’t I take care of you on the bull?”

He slides his finger up your stomach and to the cups of your brazier, tucking the tip of the digit inside and tugging the material down, a nipple begging to be exposed.

“Had it vibrating as hard as it could,” he continues, cocking his head to the side, careful not to let his Stetson slide off. “Still can’t get you riding it like that outta my head. Fuck.” He hisses again and—

Crack!

His hand comes down hard on your thigh, pulling a pathetic cry out of you. You look up at him through your lashes; he’s so beautiful with the way the moonlight casts a glow along his jaw, his wet lips, and the brim of his Stetson.

“Quit looking at me like that,” he says, creeping closer to you.

“Make me,” you mouth brattily, and so he does.

Keeping his hands both occupied on your thigh and your throat, he finally crashes his desperate lips against yours, creating harsh reverberations through your teeth. He starts the kiss off hard and unsure, but once you’re kissing him back, the kisses get sloppy, ferocious, desperate.

You let out a whimper against his lips, and in the split second your mouth is open his tongue has made its way inside. The muscle clashes with yours, drenching your mouth in his saliva as he takes your tongue for his own.

Meanwhile, his hand has left your throat. It’s back on the trim of your brazier, and without warning, his fingers gives it a harsh tug and your breasts are out.

He doesn’t break away from the kiss but he does glance down and start palming the meat of your chest, pinching one nipple between his index and thumb.

Not much noise is made besides your shared frustrated grunts as he breaks away from your sloppy kiss, leaving his drool all over your mouth and chin as he dips his charming head down to latch onto your nipple.

He pulls one of your legs up onto his lap, as he nestles himself next to the other one, now between your legs, and you’re forced to lean back against the window and press your hand against the back of the passenger seat for balance.

Satoru is not showing your breasts any mercy. His hand glides across the skin on your leg, before he takes his fingers in a walking motion up your thigh and then quickly grabs your tits into each hand, gathering large loads of spit and hacking them onto your chest, the glorious sound of the fluid hitting your skin making you wetter and wetter and—

He takes a big hand and pop! smacks your achingly solid nipple, dragging a loud, embarrassing cry from you.

“S-Satoru—“ you moan, undecided if you want to tell him that it’s too much.

“Hmm?” he questions, the word coming out muffled as he now has a mouth full of breast again, his tongue swirling greedily over your areolas and sending signals to your tingling nerves.

“S’alot,” you stutter, “feels t-too good.”

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, pulling away from your chest and bringing his face back up to yours, “not finished with you. Not even close.”

You whine as he cracks a smack on your tit one more time for good measure. Now he’s pulling your legs, causing you to lose balance and fall onto your back.

The back seat is spacious, but you think there’s no way he’s going to be able to bend his body to do whatever he thinks he’s about to do.

He doesn’t seem to be thinking like you, though, because his hands hike up your skirt and he hisses at the sight of your panties, not even hesitating.

“S’cute, look at the little cherry,” he grins seductively, poking the fat of your pussy with a sharp finger.

He’s referring to the pattern on the front of your tiny white thong, but you’re hardly paying attention because your mind is still ringing at his sudden contact with your cunt.

Rip!

His hands are tearing apart your poor little fishnets, paving a way for him to get your panties off. He succeeds, struggling a bit to get them past your boots; folding your knees up to your face as he does so, commenting on your flexibility.

“Hah- I love athletic girls,” he says aloud. “So flexible. Gonna have your ankles by your ears, ponytail.”

You squirm underneath him at his threat, but he’s already pinning your legs up, your boots grazing across the ceiling of his car as he stares down at your glinting pussy - dripping all over his expensive white leather.

If the alcohol wasn’t currently hitting you like a train - your brain mushing and swirling from being slapped and pushed around - you’d be trying to force your legs closed to hide from him.

“Such a fucking pretty pussy,” he grits out, leaning forward and shooting a collection of spit out of his mouth right onto it. Your eyes roll, the warmth of his body fluid landing right over your clit, making the bottom half of your body twitch. Satoru grins.

“Don’t even need my spit, y’so wet; I just love the way it looks on you,” he murmurs, keeping his hands firm on the underside of your thighs, “‘M gonna mark you with all my fluids, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you cry out, “if you’re still talkin’ it means your face isn’t stuffed with pussy.”

“Mm, ponytail gets fiesty,” Satoru looks at you from between your thighs and bites his lip, “there’s no fun in rushing right into these things, you know.”

He turns his head to the side, still wearing his Stetson - it’s somehow managing to hang on through all of the filth - and he plants a soft little kiss to your inner knee. Then another to the other leg. He rinses and repeats this process until he’s far up your thighs, and you can feel his breath dancing over your dripping hole.

“F-fuck,” you scream out, getting more frustrated, “‘m gonna shove your face if you don’t stop.”

“Try,” he challenges, but his eyes say that if you do, you’ll be teased for even longer.

"Wh-Why are you doing this to me?" you pant, ramming your knee into his rib playfully.

"Cause truthfully," he says lowly, "I liked the little game we had going. Building up the tension. Hate to see it end..." he drags his finger down the side of your thigh, making you shiver. "And hmm, you are such a pretty girl, begging like this. Imagine if your teammates knew that their beast of a captain was in the backseat of a car, begging to have her pussy eaten? Imagine!”

His breath tickles your cunt as he cracks a mean laugh, his head tilted down so that you can’t see his expression under his hat.

You swallow in embarrassment. You always go for a little teasing, but this is extreme. Before you know it, your hand has popped out before you, and your fingers splay out over the cowhide of his Stetson as you push - hard - and push until his arrogant little mouth is against your pussy.

He’s shut up instantly, groaning softly against your skin as his tongue darts out on instinct, lapping up your juices.

“That’s right,” you whisper with ache in your voice, “shut up and eat that shit.”

Your head lolls back against the window panel in Satoru’s car. He’s not even bothering to argue with you now, lost in his own heaven of your delicious nectar. If you could see past his hat you’d be able to watch as his face becomes wet and shiny, as your secretion dribbles down his chin in a heavenly mix of saliva. His tongue drags down between your folds, making you squirm, but it’s nothing compared to when he shoves his tongue right into your wanton hole.

The cry you let out vibrates against the interior of the car. Satoru’s hand has come up underneath your thigh, pulling your leg to rest across his back as he’s slid down into a crouch on the floor. His hand cracks down on your leg in the same spot as before, this time digging his fingernails down into the flesh after the slap.

You hiss, but ultimately feel even more turned on as he drags his tongue back through your juices, finding your clit, narrowing it out as he flicks it back and forth, back and forth, the same way he had been rocking you on that damned bull.

“S-Such a fucking mess,” he moans against your skin, trying to catch all of your secretion but it’s impossible with the way he keeps eating you - you’re flooding the seat, your inner thighs, and his smug little pale face. “Tastes so good. Can’t imagine how good you taste after a long game, fuck.”

You furrow your eyebrows embarrassingly at the the thought of what he was implying - your cunt all sweaty after soccer and he’d prefer that over this? You want to shudder in disgust but, picturing yourself hiked up on the wall with your soccer shorts discarded, a leg over his shoulder as Satoru ate you alive like this - works you up more than you figure you can even get at this point.

“S-Satoru,” you whimper, feeling the pool of heat twist up your insides as the familiar feeling of ejaculation creeps up on you.

You reach and grab his hat, digging your fingers into the leather, your legs clenching against his cheeks as you try to control the shaking that you know is to overcome you the second you orgasm.

“I know that sound,” Satoru purrs against your clit, “cum for me baby. Cum all over my tongue, like y’been wanting to for months.”

That’s all it takes. And god, Satoru does not show mercy as the wave starts at your clit and pushes all the way through your body, down to your curling toes in your boots and up to your nipples, which are still dancing free over the rim of your brazier.

The shakes come quickly, intensely, harsher than you’ve ever felt them before, as Satoru’s tongue rides out your high for you, not stopping until you’re just slightly twitching.

“Beautiful,” he hums, parting his mouth from you and sitting up in the backseat. “Satoru one, Y/N zero.”

You frown at his use of scoring, knowing it’s just to get under your skin.

“I’ll even out the score, fuck you,” you hiss.

“Please do, ponytail,” Satoru grins.

You find yourself pulling your legs back quickly, your thighs still a little weak and shaky as you sit up on your knees. You quickly unzip your boots and toss them somewhere in the front. Then, you grab Satoru by his ungodly black button-down and drag him to the middle of the seat.

He’s looking up at you in a mix of awe and smug, but you’re trying to pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you so that you may maintain your confidence.

You throw your right leg over his waist. Now, you’re straddling him, bare cunt over warm leather, dragging all of your juice and cream over his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind.

You fumble between your legs to unbutton his pants and then unzip them. He assists you when he raises his hips for a second, allowing you to get his pants down just enough that his bulge is pressing against you through his boxers.

He’s looking up at you with slanted eyelids, his pupils blown to black with the rim of ice-blue hardly visible. He’s clearly so tipsy, just off of the little bit you’d spit into his mouth, meanwhile your body is hot and your vision is getting blurry, nothing on your mind except getting his cock inside of you.

But oh, he deserves the teasing he’d given you. You use your hand to palm him, but simultaneously drag your hips over his lap, your sensitive cunt twitching as you do so.

His head falls back, his Adam’s apple thumping gloriously in his throat. His eyes flutter closed but only briefly.

“Fuck- shit,” he groans. “‘M sorry ‘bout the teasing, ‘kay? Want you to take advantage of me already. F-fuck, please-“

His begging is so delicious. If he thinks this is going to decrease the teasing you’re bestowing upon him, he has another thing coming.

Probably you.

“Oh?” you hum, giggling. “What’s that? Satoru begging now? How the tables have turned…”

He groans again, “S-Sick, innit? The way I want to be balls deep in that wet ass cunt. Don’t wanna wait anymore. You’ve kept me dangling for so long. Please-“

He whines. He actually whines, followed by a low whimper as he pokes out his bottom lip and lifts his head to look at you again.

A smart move on his part because you are absolutely hypnotized by his eyes, and before you know it, your hand is passing the elastic band on his black boxers. You find your hand running over bare skin - what a slut, he’d shaved. You gasp as you continue to slide your hand down to try and grab his tip - but it’s not there. It’s so far deep into his pants because he’s simply that large.

You scoot back on his lap a bit and finally whip his cock out, and it bounces a bit at its own sheer heft. There’s a pretty curve in it and thick veins swirling the sides, leading to a fat pink tip.

You realize you’ve been staring, but also slowly stroking it, admiring the fuck out of this perfect cock that you knew you would be thinking about for weeks.

“Like what you - hah - s-see?” he coos, closing one eye and glancing down at your hand sliding delicately over his length with his other.

“Mhmm,” you reply, “just imagining how good it’s gonna hurt. Your cock gonna make me cry, ‘Toru?”

“F-Fuck yeah,” he shudders, “gonna have you screaming, pretty. Loud as you want - no one can hear. Need you to milk this cock.”

“S-Shut up,” you groan, only because his words were driving you mad - and you would not last even another sixty seconds without his length penetrating your poor insides.

But, you suddenly remember the whip on your waist. Albeit made out of a cheap, rope-like material, the gears in your head start twisting like the delinquent that you are.

You catch Satoru’s wondering eye as he silently asks you why you aren’t bouncing on his cock yet - but you manage to ignore the expression as you thwip out the long black prop and quickly get it around Satoru’s neck before he can so much as gasp in surprise.

His eyes widen when he realizes you’ve made a leash out of your whip, tightening it at the base of his throat and coiling it around your wrist, bringing his face closer to you.

He’s so stunned that he remains silent, but his plump lips are parted in surprise, which you take as an opportunity to bite into the bottom one - harshly.

You suck on it as you lift your hips and your free hand finds the base of his cock - then you slide it between your folds very purposefully and agonizingly slow.

“Holy fuck,” Satoru whimpers against your mouth. “Y’doing me so dirty, Y/N, fucking ruining me. God…” he adds, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you.”

You gasp at the confession, and then at the feeling of his tip pushing into your dripping hole, as you drag your hips down to sink yourself onto him.

His eyes immediately roll back, and you let go of his lip, keeping your grip on the whip as your pussy adjusts to his size - feeling the drumming pulse coming from his veins tap your walls erotically.

You try not to clench, but as you suspected, it hurts so good - you’re trying not to focus on the pain. But he’s just so thick, so filling.

You whimper and in the same moment, feel a coil of fingers wrapping into your hair, curling it around his knuckles to keep you from moving your head.

“Ride this shit,” he growls, his eyes suddenly back open and completely aware. “Put those sexy ass hips to use.”

He grips one with his free hand for emphasis, tightening his grip on your hair, suddenly making you wish you’d opted for the ponytail tonight. You cry out at the mixes of searing pain and pleasure, as you’ve managed to take all of his cock inside of you - his tip kissing your cervix painfully. You decide now you can try to move, so you use your toes to push yourself back up, finding your pace.

“It’s too big,” you complain, albeit very fakely; your grip on the whip turning your knuckles white as it’s the only thing you can do to distract yourself.

Your other hand digs into his shoulder, and he hisses.

“Nuh-uh,” he coos, “you can take it, pretty. Deep breaths, know you can be a good cockwarmer f’me.”

Your breaths are coming out in short little pants. Slowly you’re adjusting to his size, and with you slicking up his cock it’s easy to start gliding sinfully up and down, up and down-

Satoru leans forward against your restraint and greedily takes your mouth onto his. He squeezes your hip harshly to get you to moan, then shoves his tongue hungrily inside your mouth. While his tongue works on harassing yours, his cock works on bruising your uterus. You’re bouncing quicker now, but he’s meeting you halfway with animalistic thrusts of his own.

Aside from heavy breathing, the squelching sound of your wet walls against his dick accompany the clapping of your ass against his groin. You start rotating your hips, bringing one forward before the other, creating a wave-like motion as you ride your slutty little half-horse into oblivion.

His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes shut tight, his mouth only hanging onto yours by his teeth as he continues to whine into the air. You yourself have gone up a few octaves, your moans competing with his, making the atmosphere even more erotic.

“Oh, fuck,” Satoru moans, “s’tight. S’good. Such a perfect fucking pussy, fits right over me. This shit was designed just f’me. Fuck, wh-why you fuckin’ me like this?” He shudders under you, releasing your lip from his teeth and opening his eyes. “Y’must want my fuckin’ babies, all in your stomach.”

Your eyes roll back as you repeat a very sultry, “All in my stomach.”

So cockdrunk off him, if he wants to fill you to the brim you’ll let him. You’ll let him have his way with you however he wants, at this moment, if it meant he’d keep fucking up into you this good - if it meant you could have his cock more than just tonight. You’d never wanted to obey and be so good for someone before now.

“You are being so good,” Satoru purrs, which makes you realize you said the last sentence aloud. “My pretty ponytail. Taking me so well. I know it hurts, baby, but you got it. You can have all of my cock - anytime you want. I-I’m…” he had been speaking clearly, but a particular thrust had made him lose his footing, bringing back his tipsy voice, “I-I’m yours to use. To ruin.”

Your eyebrows furrow, you gasp at the velvety statement. You know he’s just drunk, you are too, but you’re so incredibly fucked. Despite his words, he’ll probably never even look at you again after this, and it pains you deeply. You can’t think about that now though, because heat is rising in your stomach.

���God, Satoru,” you mumble, “keep fucking talking. Keep talking so I can cum all over you. Please, please, f-fuck.”

“Ngh, need you to cum,” Satoru says. “Wanna feel the way you pulse when you cum. Bet you can squirt f’me too, huh? Know you’ve got it, so wet like that.”

You shake your head, your hand loosening the grip on the whip; you just don’t have the strength anymore.

You lean back, arching against him, and he takes the opportunity to pop your breast right into his mouth, gripping onto your nipple with his teeth before he sucks like a starving man.

“P-Please, God… mmph,” you drag out, eyes rolling as you can barely bring yourself to make noise with the overwhelming amount of pleasure you’re experiencing.

But you’re taken by surprise when his hand is suddenly coming away from your hair, and his arms wrap around you in a tight bear hug. Your hand has no choice but to fall from the whip as your own arms wrap behind his neck to steady yourself - and just as you think you’re about to regain balance, Satoru starts mercilessly slamming his hips up into your ass.

“SHIT!” you scream out, the loudest you have since being in the car.

Flap, flap, flap - as he absolutely destroys the inner workings of your slick pussy - determined to bruise your cervix and leave it swollen and aching for him.

“You. Are. Gonna. Cum. For. Me,” he grits, punctuating each word with a hard thrust.

You feel tears brimming your eyes; it’s just so good, hurts so bad, you can’t get enough.

You find yourself seeing and saying nothing but his name over and over for the few seconds right before your orgasm, and then your poor body is spasming on top of Satoru’s as he fucks you through your high - your insides clenching and twitching, and then a gush! as your body has decided that an inner orgasm isn’t enough. Satoru was right - you’re squirting all over him, his pants, and the backseat.

His eyes bug out as his eyebrows furrow, taking in the sight of the magnificent pool you’ve left on him.

“So fucking hot,” he moans, “can feel that shit pulsing on me. F-Fuck. My turn—“

This brings him over the edge right along with you. You’ve gone limp against him, leaning your entire torso on his as he maintains his hug on you and squirts his thick ropes of hot cum all into your uterus.

You cannot see anything except white stars in your vision as you’ve lost yourself in recovering from your orgasms, and he’s not bothering to slide himself out of you just yet.

“S-So addicting,” he sighs, leaning his head against your shoulder, his hat finally falling off behind him, revealing the fact that his hair is stuck to his sweat-covered forehead.

His cock is twitching inside of you, but you can’t think about that now. You’re trying to regain your sight as well as the ability to breathe.

You lay there against each other, still filled up. His grip has loosened on you, but his hands are delicately petting the skin between your shoulder blades, his arms not letting you go.

You’re now just trying to catch your breaths, bodies pressed together in a lustful bliss as you come down off of your highs, soberness creeping up on you.

“Was better than my fantasies,” Satoru says softly, his hands still gently roaming the skin on your back.

“Mine too,” you giggle in response, the pants slowly becoming normal breaths again.

Satoru gently tugs on your hair to bring your face back level with his, and looks up at you, as innocent as can be.

“Y’know what this means, right?” he questions, squirming a bit underneath you just to remind you that his cock remains inside of you. “You’re never gonna be able to get rid of me. M’gonna need access to this pussy, at least once a week. If not more…” he tapers off before adding, “Only, of course, if you’re up for it.”

“Absolutely!” you squeak out a little too fast, to which Satoru gives you a charming crooked smile and leans forward to peck you on the lips.

“Well then,” he hums, “don’t think we can go back in the party with our cum all over us. Can I offer you a ride home, ponytail?”

You blink down at him. His gentlemanly nature from the party has returned, truly taking you aback, because of the way he was just muttering filth a moment ago.

You took him up on his offer though, legs shaking as you crawled to the front and got your skirt and boots back on. He’d had to exit the car and get back in, his long legs prohibiting him from just crawling to the front.

You can tell he’s sober now, he better have been, otherwise he wasn’t driving you anywhere. But you knew he was when his hand gently rested on the thigh he had abused the entire time, rubbing soft circles to soothe the red handprints he’d left.

You sigh, knowing you’re completely fucked. Hooking up with him was a step in the right direction, but who was to say he’d ever want to be anything more than this? Lots of things to think about, but right now, you just relaxed under his touch as he drove you back to your dorm.

And when you saw him again, it would be at your scrimmage a week later. You’d already filled your girls in on everything, down to the nasty details they’d begged to hear. That’s why they shoved you off the bleachers the minute it appeared that Satoru’s team was done practicing.

Satoru arrived in the hallway right on cue, and you hit him with your customary bump of the shoulder.

“There you are, ponytail,” he mutters, glancing around before gently pulling you into a maintenance closet. “Thought you’d bailed on me.” He presses a fat kiss to your forehead, making your heart flutter. “Been thinking about you all week, need to take some stress out on that pretty pussy.”

You squeak quietly, running your fingers through his hair, missing the way he looked in his Stetson but being able to appreciate his practice attire just the same. His hands find the band of your jersey shorts and begin tugging them down.

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” you coo quietly, your back hitting the wall. “How d’you wanna do this?”

“Well, I certainly enjoyed you on top last time,” he purrs, “but - hah - sometimes, even the cowboys need a break from riding.”

I. AM. SO. FERAL FOR JOCKEY/COWBOY GOJO WTFFF

And he’s such a gentleman STOPP <33

ok this was the most fun thing ive ever written. that’s all bye.

~ pennjammin

[maraudersilver]

DOE EYES (Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Summary: No one ever wins the Games. You survive. And that's what you did at the 66th Hunger Games. Years later, you find yourself on an annual routine of mentoring tributes from your district to send them to slaughter, just as they did with your fellow tributes back in your Games. Decaying would have been the option if Finnick Odair hadn't offered his hand as a shield. However, a certain drunkard from District 12 earns your curiosity after judging him for more than a lustrum.

A/N: Hello! I've been missing for a while, but I promise the new Despise You chapter has been half written by now. However, after reading Sunrise on the Reaping, I've been on a Haymitch brain rot that cannot be stopped until I write a whole fanfic for him where he gets his happy ending. In this account we respect and love Lenore Dove, so she'll be honoured as someone who was the most important person for Haymitch for a huge part of his life. Also, the reader is from District 6 and has a very interesting cultural heritage that you'll be learning as the story moves forward. Haymitch loved his Covey girl, so it's natural for him to fall for someone with such a cultural difference for him to learn from.

Warnings: Age gap! 15 years age gap, Haymitch is 40 and reader 25. In this chapter and until we reach the 74th Hunger Games he's 38 and she's 23. Future smut. Alcoholism (is Haymitch, what were we expecting). Hunger Games in general is a warning. Mentions of sexual abuse (we have Finnick here, girls). Future spoilers for Sunrise on the Reaping. Slow burn.

Wc: 4,3K

Blasting through the cannons of sound came the soundtrack of class difference. Ever since you won the Hunger Games six years before, the music had barely changed. Fashion, however, tended to go worse each time you made it to the Capitol under orders of Snow. Apparently, having victors around was la creme de la creme for everyone who was anyone in the rich men world. 

Holding a glass of white wine fetched from the waitresses choreographing around the main hall, you made your way towards the only person at that party that could give you enough serotonin to not jump out the roof at that very moment. His blond, curly hair moved in waves that brought in the attention of harpies ready to stab his neck with their fangs. Never getting tired of consuming everything that he was since he won at the age of fourteen. 

“Ladies!” you greeted with a wide, fake smile. The same one you had put on since the moment you were reaped. “How lovely you all look. Is that the new Dires’ dress, Miss Seedpipe? No wonder you seem so radiant!”

The bunch of old, decrepit women filled with anti-aging treatments that did little to conceal their ugliness laughed pleased at your compliment. Your friend, on his part, just grinned his characteristic crooked smile, so loved by everyone in the Capitol due to its mischievous implications. 

“Always so sweet, my dear,” said Miss Seedpipe with a hand pressed to her heart. “You look rather dazzling yourself.”

“She definitely does.” Finnick raised his glass as if toasting, to which the women followed him like a herd of sheep without critical thinking. “What do we owe the honour of your presence, hotstuff?”

On any other occasion, you would have rolled your eyes. However, you pulled out your white feather fan and giggled dumbly. If you knew this would be your destiny back in the arena, you would have killed yourself in the bloodbath. “I just needed to steal Finnick from you, ladies.” The nosferatu look-alikes booed in complaint, yet your smile stood steady. “Won’t take long.”

“All yours.” Finnick grinned wider if even possible, offering me his left arm to run away in a slow pace from the bunch of vultures. 

Once out of earshot and behind a purple, velvety curtain, Finnick sighed in relief. “Thanks for that. Madam Dominatrix wanted to pull at my pants.”

Although the nickname had been incredibly funny to refer to the woman who’s outfit consisted of a red latex body, the feeling of doom at your friend’s fate prevented you from laughing. Silently, you placed a hand on his bicep, caressing in comfort, to which he just gifted you a sad smile.

“Anyway. What did you want?”

“Nothing, I was bored.”

Finnick looked at you with a deadpan expression, huffing in amusement. “Can’t say I wasn’t, either.”

It had become a habit. On your first big Capitol party, while many of the citizens surrounded you and asked you for a ‘chance’ you weren’t quite sure of what they were referring to, Finnick had come to your rescue. The, at that moment, fifteen-year-old had grabbed your hand sweetly and brought you to an adjacent room where you were safe from the critical and lustful looks of the animals that called themselves humans. 

You didn’t know it back then, but Finnick had made it his mission to be the person who freed you of as many uncomfortable situations as he was able to, something he had wished he had when he had first appeared at the Capitol after winning. So, what started as a survival relationship in the feisty claws of the most sadistic people to ever exist on Earth, ended up blossoming into the most platonic, meaningful friendship you had ever had. Finnick became your beacon, your lifeline in the moments of darkness that surrounded you whenever you stepped a foot on Snow’s mansion or in any other important building. And, without knowing it at first, you were Finnick’s excuse to disappear from the claws of any rich member who attended the parties.

So sad people only saw him for his looks, because he was definitely the most gorgeous on the inside.

“Have you seen Johanna?” you asked, looking around as if you would find a secret passage from where she could appear.

“No. Thought she would be with you,” muttered Finnick with furrowed brows.

You shook your head, trapping your lower lip between your teeth. “Maybe she’s not here?”

“Lucky bastard, if that’s the case,” laughed him mirthlessly.

Johanna won the games two years ago. She had been the new rising star among the Capitol, and Finnick and you agreed to save her from the awful fate Finnick had been prey to. Maybe you weren’t as close to her as you were to Finnick, but under all that rough exterior and mean words, Johanna had won your trust, something very difficult to gain after your games. 

Commotion exploded outside the curtain. Sharing a confused look, both Finnick and you peeked your head out to see Haymitch Abernathy vomiting the rug in the middle of the living room. Couldn’t say you were surprised. After years of roaming around the Capitol, you had been witness to the famous drunk performances of the District 12 sole victor. 

The vultures who had been pestering Finnick not even five minutes ago were gagging and gasping in horror as Haymitch fell down on his own puke. Some Capitol staff rushed towards the passed out man and grabbed him down his armpits, dragging him down the hall to where you could only assume was his room. It didn’t take long for the party to resume. They were also used to Haymitch’s shenanigans at that point. 

“Well, that was a hell of a way to flee the party. I have to give it to him,” Finnick said, chuckling once his head was back behind the curtain.

“Not funny. He’ll have an awful hangover tomorrow,” you mumbled. However, the pull of your lips upward conveyed the silent laugh that was rumbling your chest. 

“He’s never hungover. Can’t be if you never stop drinking.”

By then, both of you were guffawing and trying to regain some composure and breathing. On the inside, you pitied Haymitch. You didn’t really know what happened to him apart from the trauma of his games. If twenty-four tributes were a nightmare, forty-eight was the epitome of horrors. You couldn’t really blame him for his copying method.

“A dance?” Finnick offered, exaggerating a bow that had you snorting while you took his hand.

“Lead the way, fish boy.”

That was the last time you had sight of the victors until the following Hunger Games. The reaping back at District 6 had given you a thirteen year old boy and a fourteen year old girl. Both of them starved to the point their cleavages were visible and as sharp as knives. Another two kids to bring to the slaughter. 

“Do not resist the prep team,” you had advised back at the train, while the kids looked at you with terrified eyes. “It doesn’t matter what they do, keep still and be compliant, okay?”

“Okay,” Ruby, the girl, agreed, while the boy just nodded. 

“I’ll be able to see you before the parade. We can agree on a strategy once I see how the stylists have dressed you. Until then, rest and try to calm your nerves.” You stood up from your seat to exit the compartment, but stopped when you passed by the snacks. “Oh! And make sure to eat. Some pounds more are welcome in the arena.”

Andromeda, District 6 escort, and you made your way to the Tribute Centre, installing before sending the kids towards the prep team to be showered, disinfected and, well, prepared. You smiled at them softly, both children shaking like leafs as they left with Andromeda in the elevator. 

With nothing else left to do, you had three hours for yourself, so you went down to the Tribute Centre bar, placed there for the Mentors and escorts. If you were lucky, you would be able to spot Finnick and Johanna there. 

Soft jazz played at the dimly lit establishment. There was not much music left after the rebellion, but those melodies without lyrics were the ones used for occasions. Much to your detriment, none of your friends were yet there, so you made your way to the bar to ask for a non alcoholic beverage. As much as intoxicating yourself to oblivion was a tempting offer, your job was to protect your new kids as much as you could from where you stood as their mentor, and sobriety is the bare minimum requirement for that. It had been years since a drop of alcohol had soaked your tongue. 

Yellowish light trespassed the glass bottles behind the barman, and you felt guilty of enjoying the fake cozy feeling settled at the bottom of your stomach. There weren’t many people yet, and the stools were comfortable. How disgusting to be so lightheaded in a place like that while twenty-four kids were being prepared to be sold to sponsors down in the basement. You thought of your Mentors drinking themselves stupid in the bar while you fought for your life at the arena and your stomach crumbled; you hated your predicament as a perpetrator of bad practices. 

Suddenly, there was movement on your right. Lifting your head from where it looked at the counter, you found the sluggy, yet big form of Haymitch Abernathy. His curly hair was unkempt, and although he was wearing a suit, the state of the collars of his white shirt gave the impression of unlaundered. Even if he had just arrived at the bar, the smell of raw liquor reeked from him. The only clean and tidy part of him was his dove coloured vest. 

“Your tributes on prep team already?” you asked, looking for a topic of conversation to clear your troubled mind.

Haymitch lifted his head clumsily, almost disoriented. With furrowed brows, he nodded. Great. A man of few words.

“Yeah, mine too.”

He didn’t even hum to acknowledge your pathetic attempt of small talk, already lost on whatever the barman had served him. Shaky hands gave you the impression that he had been drinking for a while already, and your heart constricted at the thought of the poor angels who had to count on him for sponsors. Irresponsible. That’s what Haymitch Abernathy was.

You observed him. Fine lines covered his forehead, increased by the snarl on his face. He definitely looked older than thirty-eight. Yet he conserved some of the youthful beauty you had heard many Capitol citizens talk about.

After an hour of silence and brooding, and with no signs of Finnick and Johanna, you decided to leave the bar. The grey coloured walls of your Tribute Centre floor was definitely better company than the drunkard victor.

“See you around, Haymitch.”

“Hmm.”

At least he had the decency to give some answer. Without paying no mind to him, you left the confines of the bat to the floor designated to your District, Haymitch’s gaze lost in the grey wall in front of him. 

There weren’t seats reserved for victors on the parade; part of the job consisted of looking for the best spot to talk to sponsors since that very moment. Cashmere and Gloss were already roaming the wealthiest of them, all sat together at the centre of the bleachers. Finnick and Mags were talking, mostly Finnick, if you were being honest, to the women who had been fanning over him a few weeks ago. Johanna was somewhere on the other side. Beetee and Wiress lost in the crowd. Funny enough, Haymitch had settled on the left side with a hip flask in hand. 

That year you had decided to mentor alone, the mental health of your fellow victor too damaged to be of any help. So you made your way to the sponsors who usually paid attention to your words. Every year it was more difficult to earn their trust on bets, District 6 not having a victor since you won. And, truth be told, this year would be more of the same. Those poor teens would probably die during the first few minutes of the Games. But you had to try. For them.

With a fake, sweet smile you approached the Rainwalls, a couple whom you’d had a fairly close relationship with since you started to mentor. “Would you mind if I take a seat?” you asked with the smoothest of tones.

The old pair looked up with annoyed expressions until their eyes settled on you, and their smiles grew so much you wondered if botox could come out of their pores. “Oh, dear! How are you doing, darling? Of course you can sit with us! Come, come.” Miss Rainwall urged you with her hand to take the place right next to her, and you did with a small nod of gratitude. 

“It’s been a while, dear. Are you excited for these games?” she asked, her hands moving in cheerful spams. Your stomach churned in disgust, but you continued grinning and nodding enthusiastically.

“Absolutely! Tributes look very interesting this year.” Both she and her husband nodded in agreement. “District 1 strong as ever.”

“Yes, although District 5’s boy has a je ne sais quoi,” Miss Rainwall said, peeling an orange in the meanwhile. “Let’s see what they pull up at the parade. Do you know anything about your kids’ stylists?”

You shook your head. “Not much. I’m as clueless as the rest of you,” you giggled, and both of them followed you. She placed a hand on her husband's bicep, something she did whenever a District person said something funny. As if you weren’t humans at all and she was surprised at how clever you could be. “Can’t wait to see them, though. Witty tributes I have.”

“Really?” There it is, Miss Rainwall took the bait. You nodded with another sweet grin, and she smiled along. “I prefer them to strong tributes. But don’t let the word spread,” she chuckled in whispers, and you passed your fingers over your lips as a zipper.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” The older woman nodded in agreement.

“They last longer. Don’t look for conflict, which is boring, but if I have to bet, I prefer to do so with those who live more.”

It was upsetting, hearing her speaking so lightly and detached from reality about dying kids. How could she say that kids that look for shelter instead of battling to death were boring?

“I’m pretty sure my kids will get far. At the very least one of them.”

You hadn't even thought about it. Didn’t know their strengths or weaknesses, if they were clever or clumsy, or if they managed any weapon at all. But you would get them sponsors even if you had to lie through your teeth. 

“Good to know. I’ll take it into account when- Oh, look! It’s starting!”

Miss Rainwall settled her gaze on the District 1 chariot, and the conversation died completely as her attention shifted from District to District, criticizing the styling, deciding who had her benefit based on their clothes. From afar, you saw Haymitch looking down at his shoes, unable to pay any mind to the Coal Miners that ended the line of chariots parading around. Maybe he was embarrassed of his state, or maybe he was so intoxicated his brain could not even process where he was. 

You looked back at your kids, dressed in silver and metallic colours representing manufacturing. It wasn’t the best, but definitely not the worst. However, their terrified gazes did nothing to fuel the entertainment of the Capitol citizens, and you knew you would have a hard time finding sponsors. 

“You did great!” you lied to your tributes after they arrived at the apartment once the parade ended. “Now just focus on the training days. I’ll help you come up with strategies and Andromeda will also be here for the interview training, alright? Now go shower. We’ll have dinner and then straight to bed.”

Ruby and Tyler nodded, too tired to pronounce a word, and left in a hurry to the safety of their rooms. You sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose. Andromeda placed a hand on your back in comfort, but it did nothing.

“They seemed marvelled by the Capitol!” she cheered, and you kept the temptation of choking her guarded. 

“Sure,” you huffed, disappearing in your room once more.

The next few days were tiresome. Ruby knew how to manage a knife, but Tyler barely even knew how to differentiate edible from poisonous plants. It ended up with a six for Ruby and a four for Tyler. You kept your tears for the secluded area of your room, wanting nothing more than to tear the Capitol to shreds. Those two kids who had hoped you could help them would more than probably die within the blood bath. The odds weren’t in their favour. 

In the interview, the public was awestruck by both of them. So sweet, so young, so clever and spirited even in their terrified states. And you somehow gathered hope enough for them, because if they survived the blood bath, sponsors wasn’t a deluded idea. 

“Remember. The moment the gong sounds, flee from there. You don’t have strength enough to fight in the blood bath. Look for high ground and for water. Water is your new friend, understood?” 

“What about food?” Ruby asked, tears gathering at the base of her precious brown eyes. You placed your hands softly on her face, cleaning the tear stained path from her cheeks.

“That’s the next step. In the Cornucopia you’ll see bags. They usually have food, water, and some elements of importance for the nature of the arena. Don’t grab them. Don’t look at them. Only go back if you don’t find any fresh water or food. Get as far away from the other tributes as possible, especially because you don’t have any allies.” The elevator was almost reaching its destination, so you turned to both of them, rubbing Tyler’s head. “That doesn’t mean you won’t find allies once the Games start. But always keep your guard up.”

Tyler leaped on you, hugging your torso with an abnormal strength for a boy his age. Terrified, trembling, and wetting your shirt with his own tears. You were able to pull down the sobs that threatened to come out of you.

“Come here, Ruby,” you called the girl, and she complied. A hug of three. The last one you’d share with them.

“Thank you,” Tyler mumbled, pulling away from you and angrily drying his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Whatever happens, remember I’ll be watching. I’ve been working on sponsors, so I’ll try to send you anything that you need. Stay alive.”

You didn’t have time to hug them one more time, as Peacekeepers grabbed them by their arms towards the train that would send them to the arena. Once they were out of sight, you broke down on your knees, sobbing uncontrollably for you didn’t even know how long. Until someone pulled you on your feet again, placing your head on their shoulder. His smell comforting and familiar.

“They won’t make it,” you sobbed, clenching your fists on his clothes, to which he shushed you and kissed the top of your head.

“You’ve done what was in your hands,” Finnick whispered your name, rocking you from left to right. “Now work hard for sponsors, yeah? C’mon, let’s go to the Headquarters. And clean your face, people won’t do business with you looking like that.”

You nodded against his chest, snorting at his words, and grabbed the arm he offered to walk back up to your floor to change.

Unfortunately, your gut was always right. Your two angels died not far from the Cornucopia, assaulted by the Careers as they tried to flee. At least, it was a quick death. Ruby gor pierced by a spear, and Tyler hit by an arrow. When both cannons sounded, you felt bile rising at your relief. They wouldn't have to suffer in the arena any longer. 

Finnick caressed your back, while Johanna, who had sat with you both and Mags, grabbed your hand in a white knuckled grip. No one apart from you four mourned the poor kids who had just cruelly died on the projectors, Capitol citizens too preoccupied cheering for the blood bath. It made you sick with fury, wrath running down your veins instead of blood. Harshly than you intended, you pulled your hand away from Johanna’s and stood up. Both of your friends looked at you with alarm.

“I need to be alone.” Was all you said without waiting for a response before storming out of the viewing hall.

Your ears were buzzing with white noise. Blinded by your own tears and consumed by a sadness difficult to explain to anyone who wasn’t a victor. You heard your name being called a few times, not stopping until a hand grabbed your wrist.

“Dear, I’m so sorry about the kids.” Miss Rainwall said, although the lack of grief on her face was telling enough. “Your predictions didn’t aim well this time, though. Such a pity.”

You wanted to rip her face with your nails, but in a controlled sob, you smiled. “Seems like it.”

“How adorable! Your accent’s back!” Miss Rainwall applauded, calling her friends. “Can you repeat that for them? You have such an… interesting accent we haven’t been able to hear since your games!”

She deserved to be punched. She really deserved it. But you didn’t do it, opting for a more friendly approach. “I would, but I really need to- Need to make arrangements. You know, for their trip back home.”

It took everything in you not to whip in front of them, storming away again until you reached the secluded bar. No one was there, not even the barman. Everyone too occupied watching kids battling to death. 

It didn’t matter. You served yourself. Again, nothing alcoholic. You didn’t deserve oblivion. Those kids didn’t deserve to be forgotten at all. And you couldn’t bear the voices that would surely plag your mind and tear your sanity out the balcony. 

Hours passed, or so you thought until a clock on the far side of the room marked just ten minutes had gone by, when another figure sat beside you on the counter. Sighing, you mumbled, “Not in the mood, Finnick.”

“Good I’m not Finnick, then,” a slurred voice muttered, gripping a bottle of Nepenthe by its neck and chucking it like a thirsty man.

Haymitch Abernathy was already wasted, sweat covering his hairline. How you had ignored the reeking booze of his breath thinking it was Finnick, you were clueless. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Doe Eyes, your tributes are as dead as mine.”

Doe Eyes? But what infuriated you the most was the indifference with which he talked about those kids. Your blood was boiling. “You could show a little sympathy to the very least,” you snarled, taking your eyes off him and looking down at your own beverage. 

“Oh, but I do. Early death is the best thing that you could wish upon a tribute.”

You had heard people say Haymitch was sarcastic, always thinking it was a trait to be admired. However, your grieven state processed his words as a direct attack. “You’re heartless.”

“Hmm. Absolutely. My heart was taken from me ages ago.” He shrugged, swigging another mouthful of Nepenthe.

“We’ve all survived the Games, Haymitch. Don’t act as if you’re the only one affected by it.”

“But I’m not the one judging others by their stances, am I?”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, searching for something clever to counter. “It’s not the same.” It wasn’t your day, that was clear enough.

He snorted, rolling the bottle like you would a glass of wine. “Is it not? And what’s the difference then?”

Stumbling over your words, you huffed in indignation, grabbing your glass and drinking to prevent answering. Although Haymitch didn’t relent.

“For someone who prides on empathy, you don’t apply it on others when it doesn’t fit your narrative.”

“Shut up.”

“Stroke a nerve, Doe Eyes?” He chuckled, emptying another quarter of the bottle. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

Haymitch snorted, bottle forgotten for a moment on the counter. He looked at you with his deep, grey eyes, which matched the colour of the walls. His dove coloured suit also enhanced the dazzling, yet dull light of his gaze. For a moment you stood breathless. Never had you ever seen such a look on somebody. And then, his rough voice brought you back to the present.

“Not one to obey orders, Doe Eyes.”

Scorching was your skin. He was shameless, ill-mannered, rude and a pain in the ass. Left was the unfinished glass on the counter when you walked past him to leave, only to feel his rough hands grabbing your arm softly. 

“I’m really sorry about the kiddos,” he mumbled your name, his look now solemn, though fixed on the counter. It surprised you the fast change between prick to somewhat gentle. But you were too angry at him to indulge, so you just nodded.

“I’m sorry about yours, too.”

And with that, you hoped to see nothing about Haymitch Abernathy until the following Hunger Games. 

Back in the confines of your room, tears fell down your eyes to your cheeks. There was no more air your lungs could transform into sobs, too strained by the misery of the last few days to continue working. With a small sigh, a whisper left your parted lips. “Goian bego, Ruby and Tyler.”

Translation - Goian bego: rest in peace.

[coweye]

The Life of Victor Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

❝The games don't end when you get back home, from now on your job is to be a distraction, so people forget what the real problems are. ❝

Following the life of a district 12 victor on the slow road to the revolution.

Warning: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of non-con (no description.) Snow's Panem is hell. Eventual Smut 18+. Please don't read if any of this too much for you my sweet angels.

Act I : The before Part One

68th Hunger Games

You were 18 years old on the fateful day your name was plucked from the dreaded glass bowl.

It was no small feat, to have made it through six reapings unscathed, watching on year after year as acquaintances and strangers alike were marched to the Capitol to meet their grisly ends. 

It had been your final year and your mother had always been steadfast in her refusal for you to take tessera, meaning your name was only in the bowl six times.  The odds were entirely in your favor, until suddenly they weren’t.

“Y/N L/N.” Effie Trinket, district 12’s escort for the 68th Hunger Games calls out in her tinkling Capitol lilt.

No one leaps to valiantly volunteer in your place - after all why should they? 

You hadn’t volunteered when 13-year old Violet Swane had been chosen last year. No, you had watched on in stony silence as she whimpered her way up onto the stage, then again not six days later as she was disemboweled at the cornucopia. 

Squaring your shoulders and swallowing your terror, you make your way to the stage, doing your very best to not look back at your wailing mother for fear of allowing the horror to consume you. 

You stare blankly as your mother sobs whilst she holds you, you can only watch feeling utterly empty as she’s dragged away after a teary goodbye and then as Effie tells you how much of a lucky young lady you are.

It's many hours later whilst sitting at the dinner table that you finally face what has now become your reality.

“You’ve got a good chance, kid.” Your mentor Haymitch Abernathy praises cheerily though his voice has a hollow edge to it, his horrific words wake you from your catatonia. 

The victor from 18 years ago sits opposite you and your district partner, he’s utterly belligerent in his intoxication.  “You’re old enough to make a real difference. If we get a little meat on those bones of yours you’ve got some real potential - they’re all pretty young!”

Haymitch is animated for the first time in hours as the three of you watch the reapings from the other districts, the glass of amber liquid sloshing dangerously in Haymitch’s palm is clearly the cause of this. 

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Hazel flinching.  Your mentor's artificially buoyant words not quite landing the same for the thirteen year-old boy at your side.

Hazel sniffs, his despondent mask of bravery slipping. He stares at Haymitch forlorn, as if the man who had broken him down in the first place would ever offer him any comfort.

As expected the drunk makes no effort to fix his faux pas, only taking a deep sip from his glass shrugging at your harsh gaze as if to say ‘not my problem’.

It was only natural that Hazel’s round grey eyes turned to you. The fat tears streaking his cheeks made your stomach drop and it was a struggle to reclaim your voice.

“Don’t cry.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak your first words since leaving your home for the reaping this morning. You see Haymitch rise in his seat in your peripheral vision but you pay him little mind.

“Sorry.” Hazel sniffs fighting to regain control. You want nothing more than to indulge and join him in a sob, but you have the feeling if you started crying you’d never stop. 

“I am not killing children.” Your voice is harsh, even to your own ears. 

“You wait until those children start swinging their axes at you. Something tells me you’ll change your mind real quick. .”

As it turns out, Haymitch was right; on both accounts.

You are the only tribute over the age of fifteen in the arena, which is a definite advantage. 

Your body is bigger, your mind is clearer. You don’t quite have the muscle density of the careers, your week of weight gain wasn’t quite enough to equal the playing field entirely but they aren’t your primary focus. 

You are practically dragging Hazel behind you as you trudge through the frozen tundra that is the 68th arena, hoping against hope to put some distance between yourself and the other tributes. 

Scarlet is blossoming through the thick white fabric of the boy's winter coat from where Lux, the girl from 1’s, arrow pierced his shoulder. Your gloved fingers have gone numb from the grip they have on the fabric of his coat, but you can’t relent. 

You have done your best to treat and bind the wound, but without the sponsor gift that refuses to arrive you know Hazel’s days were numbered. 

“Y/n…. Y/N. Please… I can’t.” He begs as he stumbles in the knee deep snowfall.

“Hazel! She’s hunting us!” You gasp breathlessly at the thirteen year old. You stop for a moment to take stock. The thirteen year old is gray from the bloodloss, his eyes have gone glassy and unfocused. 

The end isn’t far off for your little ally, but you’ve never been good at facing the facts and this truth is far too awful to accept. 

“Leave me… please Y/N. I'm so tired, I want to go to sleep…” Your eyes water, though you replace your agony with rage, an easier emotion to digest in this arena. Nowhere is safe anymore, the only thing you know for certain is that death is chomping at your heels.

“Don’t be so damn stupid!” You hiss and grab at his coat to pull him along. Though the second your hand makes contact with the white fabric, red splatters in your face. 

You taste the iron on your lips as your brain struggles to consolidate the warm liquid on your face with the horror of Hazel’s throat being pierced with a black tipped arrow.

Blood spurts out, soaking your own coat ruby. The boy panics and grabs at you and in your shock you haven't the wherewithal to push him away.

Lux aims another arrow, you aren’t sure if she’s playing with you or if she’s just a bad shot as her second arrow lodges itself in Hazel’s chest. You think you have your answer when in quick succession a third pierces his spine.

Your breath shudders out of you as she uses your little friend as a pin cushion. 

The light has drained from his eyes. Hazel falls to the floor in a pool of his own blood without your hands on him keeping him steady.  

You’re on her before she can notch another godforsaken arrow.

You aren’t a born and bred fighter like her.

Hell, before this arena, the most confrontation you’d had was sharply telling the Mellark boys to stop hitting your mothers storefront with their ball. 

You are fueled by injustice, grief and above all a burning rage.

Lux, however, is a born weapon. 

With ease, she blocks your swing, utilizing her bow to keep you at bay. The two of you are locked in a stalemate, pushing against one another. Desperately grappling, you know your longer arms are the only thing keeping the fourteen year old at bay as she smirks at your blood covered face.

Instantaneously it becomes clear to you with that smirk; Lux had filled Hazel with all those arrows on purpose. 

Something happens within you at this sadistic realization. 

Animal instinct takes over as you pull back and slam your forehead against hers. In an instant you quite simply don’t care if you die, so long as you take this evil little bitch with you. 

She's discombobulated, but so are you. 

The girl grabs at your coat to steady herself, though her hands can't find purchase on the slick fabric. In her frustration Lux shoves you hard enough to make you lose your footing, though you manage to grab her fur lined hood.

The two of you tumble down the incline you had just spent the better part of an hour hiking.

Everything aches as your body finally comes to a stop at the bottom. 

You are back at the stream at the base, the one you had used to clean Hazel's wound. He had called it beautiful, as he had been utterly enraptured by the flowing water.

Your grief is agony as you force yourself to your feet, though you needn’t have bothered, as Lux swings her fist at your face. 

The punch is devastatingly accurate. Her years of training drop you on your ass as you stagger backwards, unable to find your footing, having taken far too many blows to the skull for a 24-hour period. 

Stumbling, you fall backwards, right into the stream. 

Fuck.

The water is freezing, though freezing isn’t strong enough of a word for the numbness that takes over your limbs the second it touches your flesh. Your arms are instantly heavy and sluggish. 

All of a sudden Lux is on you,  sitting on your chest and using her entire body weight to force your shoulders down below the flowing river stealing all of the oxygen from your lungs.

You can barely stand to open your eyes as the flow of the water burns at your corneas, your legs are splashing frantically in the weak current desperate to find purchase and unseat her. 

It’s of no use. Your boots slide against the silt of the river bed as if it’s made of ice. Despite your larger frame you can’t get a foothold significant enough to buck her. 

In an act of sheer desperation you heave your chest forward allowing your head to surface for less than a millisecond before she regains control and forces your shoulders back under with strength you could never hope to muster after a life-time of scraping by in twelve.

Your mad gasp for breath does more harm than good as what little oxygen you manage to inhale is of little consequence when compared to the sting of the water that follows it.

You are going to die. 

It is primal. 

That singular thought shuts down your already panicking brain. With your heart pounding in your ears there is no time to be smart, no time for careful calculations.

You are going to die. 

Your animal instinct kicks in. Your palm, the one that her foot isn’t painfully grinding into the sediment, wraps around a smooth rock about the size of a fist on the bed of the river. 

You are going to die.

With the stone in your grasp you flail your non-dominant hand wildly in her general direction. Against all odds it connects with something solid and her weight shifts allowing your head to finally surface.

Breathless but alive - you’re not sure if it's your wingspan advantage or sheer dumb luck but you don’t linger on it long enough to thank the sadistic God that had put you in this arena in the first place.

Black patches infiltrate your vision as you desperately try to refill your lungs. You’re delirious with a cocktail of fear and oxygen deprivation - scarcely a moment away from passing out. 

Somewhere in your deprived brain you notice that Lux has a head wound she’s cradling as she crawls up the river bank disorientated, trying and failing to put space between the two of you.  

You had clocked her hard, blood was gushing from her wound.

You are going to die.

She begs you for her life as you advance clumsily stumbling on the loose mud of the riverbank. 

Lux pleads with you but it’s not a rational decision you make, it's no choice at all, it’s that  fear again, consuming you entirely until there’s nothing left of the person you were.  Reduced to nothing more than the animal the Captiol believed you to be.

Shamefully, you don’t think of Hazel as you bring down the rock on her skull.

Your animal brain has taken over, the need to kill to make yourself safe has taken over. 

You hit her over and over and over again until she doesn’t look like Lux anymore. 

A scream you're not sure is even your own echoes through the arena. Your lungs burn with every breath and your hands are now once again covered in the crimson of blood, only this time there’s some brain matter stuck to your flesh.

Those black patches return though this time they’re a welcome reprieve, as the world fades away to the sound of the canons. 

The surgical smell is the first thing that hits you. 

That disinfectant aroma that burns your nostrils as you awake with a start. Somehow you’re right back in that hospital bed, your arms and legs restrained. 

You scream for help, for your mother, for anyone that can ease the burn in your veins. 

Only when you feel warm flesh against yours do you realize there are no doctors pumping their poisons into your veins, no game makers currently plotting your diabolical torture, only haymitch holding you against his warm chest.

The scent of him, grain alcohol mixed with something that smells like bergamot and home encompasses you, slowly acting as an improvised calming agent to your nervous system.

“I’ve got you.” He grunts, holding you close as frantic tears pour down your face and you struggle to orientate yourself. “Say it… say it, sweetheart.”

You attempt to gather yourself, and it takes every ounce of strength left in you to repeat back your mantra to him. “I’m … Y/N … L/N, I … I’m … back home..  in twelve … I am…  safe.”

It takes four times all the way through to ground you, for the lingering pit in your stomach to recede back into the barely-manageable anxiety that has accompanied  you through your day to day life ever since leaving the arena. 

The two of you sit like this; with your forehead buried deep in his neck for an amount of time you have no way of quantifying. 

Eventually though, his large hand begins stroking your hair offering you what little comfort he can. 

Little does he know, his mere presence calms your soul as before long your breath has evened out. 

It's a little while after that before your brain begins firing again, albeit sluggishly, partly from the night terrors but also due to the sleep syrup open capped on your bedside table.

Haymitch doesn’t say a single word in this time, he simply holds you against him. 

First your mentor, now your friend. 

In his palm he holds out a tiny white tablet from the Captiol.

“Take it.”  He grunts when you hesitate. 

You recognise this tiny pill, it's a sedative. You’re well versed in their effects in the years since your games, the tortuous three years as a mentor hadn’t helped your mental state. 

You and sleep were no longer on speaking terms.

The nightmares had driven you to seek your neighbor out, normally a reclusive man.

Haymitch had become your only family in the years that followed the games. Your mother had passed before you even made it home, there were ridiculous rumors she had died of a broken heart, but you knew the seamstress had most likely failed due to the stress of watching you fight for your life in the arena.

She had died thinking you were doomed. Part of you is glad she never saw the monster you became. 

Despite your initial and overwhelming dislike of Haymitch, the shared trauma of the arena had bonded your souls in a way that went far beyond the realms of logical reasoning.

In spite of his best efforts to dissuade you, every year for three weeks before the annual reapings you had begun taking up residence in one of his spare rooms when the empty halls of your home in Victor's Village made your nerves unbearable.

There was nothing in this world you hated more than being alone.

Your fingers brush against his palm as they pinch the tiny pill that you know will bring you the temporary abyss you yearn for.

In a decision fueled by the grief of the coming days, you reach Haymitch's hip. Your fingers wrap around the flask attached to the buckle of his trousers.

“Sweetheart-” He protests for all of a second, before your eyes meet his. He must see the desperation that lurks beneath them. He acquiesces the flask, filled with what smells like paint stripper. Yet you take a gulp or three and then swallow down the pill with the fourth.

Pulling back you’re now vaguely embarrassed of your behavior and you’re acutely aware of his tired eyes watching you. Your legs have gone to sleep and you can only assume Haymitch is far worse off as he has nearly twenty-years on you and has been bearing your weight, yet he hasn’t voiced a complaint once. 

It's with that thought that you realize you must present a truly sorry state indeed, for the snarky bastard that is your closest friend to not have tossed a single jape your way, you decide to push your luck. 

“Don’t-” your voice is hoarse when you finally gather the courage to speak, you’re terrified that uttering the words will break the spell and his warm encompassing embrace will abandon you, leaving you to the cold sheets and fear of the weeks to come. “Will you stay with me, just til’ I’m asleep?” 

Haymitch stares you down seemingly weighing up your request, his eyes aren’t angry or annoyed at your request. They give away nothing of the inner workings of his complex brain, his baby blues are quite simply exhausted in a way that goes far beyond a lack of sleep. 

Haymitch says nothing, only nods his head towards your haphazardly strewn pillows, which are a mess from your tossing and turning. You’re quick to leap across the bed to fluff them up as if this will entice him to stay, though you needn't have bothered as he throws himself down into the pile with very little care. 

He huffs out a long suffering breath as he gets comfortable and pulls the duvet up to his chest before finally settling.

“You better not get handsy in the night, Sweetheart.”

You chuckle though you’re already face down in your pillow, the tablet and booze making an excellent pairing in your descent into oblivion. 

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself, old man.”

He chuckles at your muffled words as he crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve awoken to him holding you after a nightmare, it had become something of a tradition in the weeks before the last two reapings when your shrill screams disturbed whatever it was Haymitch did all night. It is, however, the first time that he’s agreed to stay.

To some degree you understood this distance he was desperate to maintain. It was a relatively easy logical leap to understand his reluctance to give Snow any leverage to use against him.

As a Victor, caring was a weakness, you knew this better than most and yet, you couldn’t help but watch him as your eyes grew heavy.  

⇢ Next Part✨ coming soon

[maidragoste]

Chapter Three: He ruined it

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader

Chapter One Chapter Two

A/N: I'm happy to bring you a new chapter of this series, sorry for the delay in publishing and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. Thank you for reading 🥰🥰💖💖

My inbox is open so I’m always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions 🤭💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

The elevator ride takes less than a minute since the training rooms are below the floor of your floor, but Jacaerys could still feel the tension in the air. He doesn't know if it's because you're nervous like him about seeing who they'll have to face in a few days or if, like him, you're upset because Larys told you two to spend all your time in public close to each other. Jace doesn't understand the reason behind his uncle's instructions, first, he made you two hold hands at the parade and now it seemed as if he wanted you to become friends while training. Jace doesn't like this, he doesn't want to get attached to you. That would only make things more difficult in the arena, but when he complained his uncle reminded him that he had already promised that he would do whatever he told him. He had to do it if he wanted to return home to Lucerys and Joffrey.

When they both get out of the elevator they find a giant gym full of weapons and obstacle courses. It's not even ten o'clock, yet you two are the last to arrive. The rest of the tributes are gathered in a tense circle, each one has a piece of cloth attached to their shirt with the number of their respective district. While they give his number, Jacaerys in a quick assessment realizes that you two are the only ones who are dressed alike. Was it another way to appear like a united front to others?

Once you and Jacaerys join the circle the head trainer steps forward and introduces herself as Atala and then begins to explain the training schedule, how each position has an expert in the skill in question, that some positions teach tactics survival and other fighting techniques. She also warns that it is prohibited to perform combat exercises with another tribute and that if someone wants to practice with a partner, there are assistants.

“We don't have to be together all the time if you don't want to,” you whispered to him, once Atala finished reading the list of skills and gave them the freedom to start training.

“But Larys said”

“Larys isn't here,” you interrupted, making him frown. “He's not going to know if we don't follow what he tells us one hundred percent.”

“If you don't want to train with me just say it” he snapped, feeling annoyed although it made no sense because he should be happy that you don't want to train with him either after all Jacaerys wanted to avoid spending as much time with you as possible.

“I'm not the one who complained at breakfast,” you reminded him, making him blush and feel ashamed of himself for his attitude. If he weren't so impulsive he would have at least waited for you to go to your room before complaining to his uncle.

“I'm sorry about that,” he apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you shrugged, downplaying it, but even so, your district partner still felt like a fool because of his attitude. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let's tie some knots,” Jacaerys responded, thinking that his uncle had said not to attract attention so he was forbidden to take a bow at least until the private session with the gamemakers. Besides, Jace had no desire to be around the professional tributes, who had gone straight to the weapons that looked more deadly and handled them without difficulty, nor the trembling tributes who received their first class of knives or axes.

The stall is empty so the coach seems excited when the two approach. When he realizes that Jacaerys knows something about traps, he teaches them how to make a simple trap that would leave another tribute hanging from a tree by their leg. They practice for an hour until they both master the technique well and then move on to the camouflage station. Jacaerys notices that you seem more excited in this position as you mix mud, clay, and berry juice on your skin. It also seems easy for you to braid costumes out of vines and leaves. The coach for this position is excited about your work.

"I make the cakes" you blurt out of nowhere.

"The cakes?" He had been concentrating on watching Royce Baratheon swing a mace directly into the chest of a mannequin.

"Those from the bakery. I make the decorations"

Jacaerys remembers those cakes, which are on display in the shop window, with flowers and other pretty designs on the icing. Before he went to live with Uncle Larys he was never able to eat one of those but since they lived with him there was always cake for special occasions like birthdays and New Year's. Every time they went to buy the cake Joffrey and Lucerys always argued about which one looked the best before choosing which one to take. If he came home he didn't think he would be able to accompany them back to the bakery. He couldn't see your father and brothers in the face again. Nor could he see the disappointment in his brothers' eyes when they saw that the cakes were no longer as pretty as before.

"They're cute, but you won't be able to glaze someone to death," he hadn't meant to sound so scathing but thinking about your death, your family, and his siblings put him in a bad mood.

"You never know what might be in the arena what if…?"

"Let's continue with another position" he interrupts you, he wasn't in the mood for some joke.

"Okay, go ahead with whatever you want, I'll stay here a little longer. I'll catch up with you later" you responded.

The smile on your face had disappeared and Jacaerys felt a tightness in his stomach but he decided to ignore it, he just nodded and went to the fire-making station. He is so focused on the coach's instructions and getting the technique right that he doesn't even realize that he has spent so much time there until they announce that it is time for lunch. Jacaerys looks at you with the idea of telling you to have lunch together. He frowns when he sees that you are no longer alone but are talking to Jason Mallister, the thirteen-year-old boy from District 4. What were you doing? Larys said not to attract attention and you found yourself talking to one of the professional tributes, of course, that would attract attention.

Annoyed, Jacaerys went to the carts that had been brought with food and began to serve himself and then sat alone at one of the tables. Professional tributes gathered around a table. They were loud, unlike the rest they seemed carefree, as if they were not afraid.

A few minutes later you sit next to him. Jacaerys can't hold his curiosity for long so he asks you.

“Why were you talking to him?”

“Stop frowning, we're supposed to be friends,” you scold him in a whisper and he struggles to put on a friendlier face. “He reminds me of Joffrey,” you admit.

“My brother is nothing like him,” the brunette denies instantly. He wouldn't tell you but when you two saw the District 4 reaping he also thought about his brother when Jason appeared on screen. But he couldn't allow himself to see his brother in one of his opponents, that would only hurt him in the arena, so he instantly forced himself to push that thought away from him. The only thing in common between the two of them was that they are both thirteen years old, he just repeated to himself.

"I just showed Jason how I made my camouflage and I remembered when I tried to teach Joffrey how to frost a cookie." Jace must have made some funny face in his surprise because you were smiling again. "He made a mess, I don't know how he ended up with frosting on his hair and face, the only reason my mother didn't get mad is because Joffrey bought the cookies he ruined. If you ask me, he didn't ruin them, he just took artistic liberties" You said the last thing as if you were telling him a big secret, leaning towards him and putting your hand a few centimeters from your face, hiding it from the other tributes, as if you didn't want to they will try to read your lips. At your antics and the image of his younger brother covered in icing, Jacaerys can't help but laugh.

"I didn't know Joffrey spent so much time at the bakery."

"And with you", he added in his head. He couldn't help but wonder why his brother never told him. Although he shouldn't be surprised because at home there is always some bread or cookie from the bakery, but he always thought that the one who was going to buy it was Uncle Larys. He might have missed some things by spending so much time in the forest and the Hob with Baela.

"Your brother is addicted to sugar so he usually comes often after school to buy something. He says he deserves a treat after spending hours locked up in hell."

Jacaerys notices the affection with which you speak of his brother and he can't help but feel warm. He has the feeling that you have even more stories to tell about his brothers and he wants to hear them all.

"Yeah, that sounds like Joffrey," he agrees with a smile.

During the rest of the days of training, Jacaerys feels a whole mix of emotions fighting within him. You two continue training together in some positions such as setting up shelters, recognizing edible plants, and throwing knives and spears, but at some point, you always end up separated by your decision because you want to train with a partner so you look for one of the assistants. In those moments Jace can't help but distrust you because for a while he sees you fighting with the assistant but then the next time he sees you you are in the same section as the professionals, he never sees you talking to one of them but he still can't avoid feeling restless. On the other hand, he can't continue denying that something is forming between the two of you; it's impossible not to form a kind of friendship after sharing so many anecdotes during lunch. At first, you were the one who did most of the talking, telling him more about Joffrey's visits to the bakery, but then Jace wants to know about you and starts asking you more about you and your brothers. And before he least realizes it, he is also sharing his own stories. He tells you how Uncle Larys once made them believe his house was haunted only to make them stop wandering around at night because they wouldn't let him sleep. You laugh when he tells you how he once challenged a bear to fight in the woods to keep a beehive and how his father had never scolded him so much.

On the second day of training before you go to train with an assistant you whisper to Jacaerys that he has a shadow. When he turns to see Rue, the little girl from District 11 spying on them, you encourage him to talk to her but Jace refuses because he has no idea what to say to her and also because he is afraid of meeting her and she will remind him of his brothers or Baela's little sisters.

When the private sessions arrive with the gamemakers it is evident that both you and Jacaerys are nervous because neither of you tries to have a conversation while waiting your turn or even when the two of you are alone after Rue enters.

"Good luck," Jacaerys wishes you as he stands up when he is called. He couldn't tell you later because once a tribute finishes the session he has to go to his apartment "Try throwing the weights, impress them."

"Thank you" It is evident that you were not expecting his words because you keep looking at him impressed "Lucky for you too. Remember to shoot well" you smile at him.

He nods and starts walking towards the door.

He ruined it. What the hell was he thinking? No, he didn't think about it. He just let his anger get the best of him, he was outraged that the guards had stopped paying attention to him after he missed his first shot, he was furious that he could die within a few days and they wouldn't deign to watch his entire performance, so he took the arrow and shot at the gamemakers' table. Of course, he didn't shoot any of them, his arrow hit right where he wanted it, in the apple that the pig had in its mouth. When all eyes were on him he sarcastically thanked them for their time while bowing. He didn't wait to be fired, he stormed out of the training room still feeling his blood boil. Only when he was alone in the elevator did he feel the weight of what he did, he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and his throat was burning. He ruined it. He hadn't tried to kill any of the gamemakers but maybe someone would think that. He was sure he must be the first tribute to do something like that. He lost any chance he had of winning the games. But what scares him the most is that because of his attitude, they will now punish his brothers. He would never forgive himself if something happened to them because of him.

When the elevator doors opened, tears had already begun to roll down Jacaerys's cheeks. He ignored the questions from Effie, who was waiting for him in the hallway, and locked himself straight into his room. It didn't take long for knocks to sound on his door and the woman's voice asking him to come out but he didn't move from the bed. When silence came he thought that he had finally given up and they would leave him alone. But minutes later he heard the cold voice of his uncle:

"Jacaerys, open the door. Stop acting like a child."

Jacaerys was about to ignore him but then he realized that the only one who could help him protect his brothers was his uncle. So he took courage and got out of his pile of blankets. He unlatched the door and nervously opened the door. For a moment he thought he saw something different in his uncle's eyes. He couldn't figure out exactly what but that only made him more nervous. Without saying anything he went to sit on the edge of the bed while he watched Larys enter and close the door again. Surprising him, did his uncle think that he would try to escape in the middle of the conversation?

Larys took the chair that was at the desk placed it in front of the bed and then sat down.

"I ruined it," said Jacaerys, his voice breaking when he saw that his uncle did not seem willing to start the conversation. "They are going to punish Luke and Joff because of me." The teenager's desperation was clear by how he tugged at his curls as he spoke."You have to do something, uncle, please. It's my fault, let them punish me."

"What did you do?" the victor demanded to know.

Then Jace told him everything, how the gamemakers were drunk and how after he missed his first shot they stopped paying attention to him, missing the circuit he made and how he hit the center in the rest of his shots, that he didn't think about his actions, that he got carried away with anger and shot at the apple that was in the mouth of the pig that the gamemakers were about to eat, gaining their attention again and how he left the training room without waiting to be fired but not before thanking them sarcastically for their attention. As Jacaerys continued speaking Larys's hand turned white from the strength with which he gripped his staff.

"I told you that you won't attract attention" his uncle's biting tone only made Jacaerys' discomfort increase and he couldn't help but take one of the blankets again and wrap himself in it. It's not like he expected Larys to comfort him but he also shouldn't have been surprised that the first thing he did was scold him. "But you can rest assured, they're not going to punish your brothers." There was that strange look in his eyes again.

"Are you sure?" The uncertainty in his voice was clear, he wanted to trust his uncle but at the same time, he couldn't help but think that Larys would tell him any lie as long as he kept concentrating on the games.

"If they are going to punish Lucerys and Joffrey, they would have to tell what you did in the entertainment center so that it has some effect on the districts, but they won't because it's secret," Larys explained with a little more patience. "The only one you hurt with your actions it's you"

Upon hearing that nothing would happen to his brothers, Jacaerys felt that part of his discomfort disappeared. He still had to worry because surely the gamemakers would now make his life miserable in the arena but at least he knew that his brothers would be safe.

"I know, the gamemakers will make my life miserable in the arena" he stated "And today they will give me the worst score so I won't have any sponsors" he sighed thinking that now it would be even more difficult for him to survive in the arena without sponsors, the food wouldn't be a big problem because he knew how to hunt but if he got hurt then he would need medicine.

"Don't worry about the sponsors, I'll take care of that," Larys promises and this time Jacaerys doesn't doubt his uncle because he looks too confident. "Well, it's done, it's not something we can change. Stop getting depressed and let's go have dinner before they give the scores."

During dinner, Jace barely joins the conversation and feels your worried gaze the entire time. It seems that Effy told you about the state he arrived in after his private session.

In the middle of dinner, Effy can't stand his curiosity anymore so he asks them both how it went. Jacaerys wasn't going to say anything until he heard you speak.

"I don't think I impressed them, some paid attention to me but others were more focused on whatever was on the table," you said resignedly.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry" he apologized, feeling guilty because apparently he had also harmed your private session.

"How is it your fault?" Cinna asked curiously.

"I shot them an arrow," Jace replied.

At first, he ignored Effy's indignation and the rest of the team's questions, focusing more on your reaction. You still looked at him with concern. He was relieved to not see you angry. The truth is, he couldn't blame you if you got angry with him after all his act had attracted the attention of the gamemakers when it was essential for you to have a better score.

"I actually shot an arrow at the pig's apple they were about to eat. They were drunk and I got angry because they weren't paying attention to me."

"And what did they tell you?" You asked anxiously and looked at the doors as if you were expecting that at any moment the peace officers would come in to look for him.

"I don't know. I left"

"Did you leave without permission?" Effie asked to see if she understood correctly.

"I gave it to myself" Jace replied and a laugh escaped your mouth, you quickly stifled it with your hand before Effie's gaze. Jacaerys was pleased to see the worry disappear from your face.

"Larys, aren't you going to say anything about it?" Effie questioned evidently expecting the victor to side with her and scold them.

"It's done, Effie. There's nothing we can do," he responded boredly as he buttered a piece of bread.

"What was their face?" you asked, looking at him curiously.

"They seemed terrified. A man stumbled backward and fell into a punch bowl." At the time Jacaerys had been so angry that he couldn't enjoy the watchman making a fool of himself but now he remembered it with fun.

Everyone laughed, except for Effie but she seemed to hold back a smile so Jace didn't take it the wrong way.

“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” you said with a smile. If Jacaerys hadn't been so focused on you then he would have noticed that his uncle seemed to be studying the two of you.

Once everyone finishes dinner they go to sit in the living room to watch the scores announced on television. How every year a photo of the tribute appears while Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith announce the score. What is striking with the group of professionals is that this year not everyone has a score between eight and ten like previous years, but the boy from District 4 gets a seven. The same score that Rue gets, Jace can't help but wonder how she managed to get that score. But any thoughts of the little girl from District 11 disappear and are replaced by euphoria when he hears Caesar announce his score. An eleven.

Applause and congratulations filled the room. Jacaerys smiles until he realizes that his uncle is quiet and doesn't look as excited as the rest about his eleven. He starts to feel the anxiety in his body and he wants to ask his uncle what the problem is but he doesn't want to have this conversation in front of everyone.

“Good” is the only thing Larys says after they also announce your eight. And Jace feels stupid for worrying so much, surely his uncle didn't say anything before because he was still hanging on to your score after all he wasn't the only tribute Larys had in charge. “You should go to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow” he ordered them while motioning to the avox to bring him more wine.

You and Jacaerys say goodbye to the entire team and head toward the hallway where your rooms are.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to break the bad streak of twelve and go down in history?” you said while leaning on your door.

“You're exaggerating,” Jace said, trying to sound exasperated by rolling his eyes, but there was no annoyance in his tone.

“I'm not,” you shook your head, smiling. You just beat the score of the professionals, I think it's impressive” you said while crossing your arms. “Surely the entire Capitol is talking about you and you are going to monopolize all my sponsors.”

Your last words brought Jace back to his senses. You two were in a competition and his live were at stake. He couldn't keep joking with you. He should be focused on making a good impression on Caesar and the people at the Capitol tomorrow.

“We should go to sleep,” he said abruptly, resting his hand on the handle of his door, trying not to feel guilty as he saw how the spark in your eyes seemed to go out at his tone. “Have a good night,” he didn’t even wait for you to respond before walking into his room and closing the door. His father would be disappointed in his treatment of you.

a/n: I'm grieving because I had to delete the scene I had with Larys and Sea Dragon bc if I left it, then there were going to be things in Cathing Fire that didn't make sense 😫

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as I always say the comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

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[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | minor character death, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo finds out the consequences of his actions and finds one of his friends dead

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 third chapter is here!! Do remember to give feedback, thank you!!

beta read:: @nowitsmissing <33

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According to Coryo, Dean Highbottom deserves to be punched. Coriolanus truly wishes he could punch that man's face and break his teeth in the process.

As soon as he entered the classroom, with you in tow. Highbottom doesn't waste a second to praise your insight into welcoming the tributes at the zoo and how you acted in front of the cameras. Creating the very spectacle they had been aiming for. Snow was fuming because he was sure it was because of his songbird, not his soulmate that the views had gotten up.

But, he doesn't think Mr. High As A Kite cares. Coriolanus almost thought he wouldn't even get any attention, neither positive nor negative. He was willing to accept that outcome considering the fact he perhaps broke several rules being inside the cage along with the tributes.

He was wrong.

‘Three demerits and you will be expelled.’

And he officially has his first demerit, on his perfect darn record. He opens his mouth to speak against it-

“Snow falls down on the cage.

It falls down on the cage

But it landed…” Dr. Gauls’ voice echoes around the classroom as she walks down the stairs to Coriolanus level.

“On stage,” he replied, his face nonchalant but his hands fisted on his lap, hidden from view. He had an urge to kick at the table, his mind reeling over what if Dean Highbottom removed him from the games. Would that mean he will be disqualified from the Plinth Prize?

He can't have that. He can't.

Before his mind spirals into a panic attack, dr. Gaul steals his attention with her words.

“You're good at Games,” she said, “Perhaps one day you'll be a game maker like me.” Coriolanus Snow couldn't possibly think of a future in which he's a gamemaker, he never thought of it as a real career. Nothing of his interests nor challenging enough for him. Of course, he doesn't say his thoughts out loud.

He doesn't reply at all, he doesn't have to because Dr. Gaul asks him a question. What are the Hunger Games for? There's no true answer to that. Something so cruel, something so horrible. There's no way to justify that with the truth. Lies perhaps, lies he was taught in the textbooks.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, only to be replied with “Dull, dull, dull,” by Dr. Gaul.

“Why the games?” She asked again. And Coriolanus had no answer. Because there were plenty of ways to punish the districts. Starvation. Bombing. Public execution.

Why the games?

Coriolanus Snow had no answer and Sejanus Plinth took over instead. As usual, he spewed about the wrongness of the games. The words that will go one ear in and another ear out. Dean Highbottom butts in the discussion as well, talking about how the game had run its course.

Coriolanus can't have that, he can't even fathom the thought of the games gone and in return losing his chance of winning. Coriolanus stands up, gaining the attention of his peers and authoritative figures alike with a daring but simple sentence.

“Dean Highbottom is wrong. My classmates too,” he said, his voice filled with the confidence he didn't feel.

His fingers twitch, feeling the urge to touch the burned soulmate mark on his wrist as a way to calm his soul down. He did no such thing, burying the urge deep in his mind as he began to explain his reasoning.

“People need someone to root for and to root against. . .” He continues, “And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even get people to place bets.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had begun to sweat as he waited for a reply. After a bit, dr. Volumnia Gaul grinned. Her smile made his bones chill.

“Very well, Coriolanus Snow,” she said, her tone calm yet underneath laid excitement. “I’d like you to write a proposal of these thoughts, Mr. Snow.”

Before Coriolanus could agree to the opportunity, you jump in. You stand up, beside Coryo. Your soft voice rang in his ear and he subconsciously closed his eyes to savor your voice no matter what it said. For a moment he didn't even seem to hear what you were saying, he quickly opened his eyes, looking down on the wooden floor instead. His pale cheeks burning, praying that no one saw that.

He finally hears what you say.

“Let's not limit the Games to the Capitol. Let's unite the whole of Panem with it,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. “I am sure Dr. Gaul if you give me the chance to write a proposal too, you won't be less than impressed.”

“Very well, miss,” she said, cordially, “I will be looking forward to seeing what the star mentors have to say.”

“Do not disappoint,” Dr. Volumnia Gaul grins before taking herself out of the classroom.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

After a quick lunch (not, he decided to sneak food for Lucy Gray) and a plan to meet up with you in the library at night. He sets out in the Zoo with Sejanus Plinth on his toe. The rich boy carrying a whole bag of food, something Coriolanus could only dream of. While Coriolanus had some sloppy sandwich and cold cookies wrapped in a napkin.

Shamed filled his veins about the fact that in his current abilities, he could bring stolen food for his tribute. He takes solace in the fact Sejanus’ tribute refused the bacon sandwich offered to him. A satisfaction in his mind to see Sejanus being rejected by his tribute while Lucy Gray was cooperative as before.

She takes the food, giving some of it to the district twelve boy. Coriolanus frowned as he saw her share the food he bought her. He leaned into the cage to whisper, “Are you going to share everything I give you?”

Lucy Gray replied, not skipping a beat, “You think I ought to build up my strength so I can strangle him in the arena?”

Coriolanus wishes to snap at her and say yes but he knew he had to show kindness to the songbird for her to do his bidding. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, as Lucy Gray's eyes divert to his classmate, Arachne, his classmate who was busy amusing herself with her district ten tribute.

“Hunger is a weapon in the districts,” Lucy Gray comments, “Seems like your friend here knows it.”

Coryo barely suppressed a snort as he replied, “She's not a friend. She's poison with perfect teeth.” He smiles along with Lucy Gray. He leans down to Lucy Gray's level, his fingers gripping the bars between them. He whispered, “I may have the chance to help you. Make suggestions. I might even get the chance to send you gifts in the arena. Food and water.”

Lucy Gray replied, her voice hardening with the fact that she knew there was a catch, “What's the catch?”

“You might need to sing.”

“I don't sing when I am told. I sing when I have something to say.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows as he hears her response. She would rather die in the arena than create a spectacle of herself. Stupid in his opinion, to value the integrity of art over their life. He opens his mouth to convince her otherwise but then an incident happens that leaves him shaken to his core.

The district ten girl, the tribute Arachne was playing with snatched the water bottle from his peer, smashes it against the cage… and in a blink of an eye, Arachne had her throat slit.

Horror fills Coriolanus as he rushes to her side. His hands over her wound, putting pressure to stop the flow of never-ending crimson blood. He sees her eyes losing life, he almost didn't hear the gunshots killing the tribute who caused this. He cried out for help, only to be ignored. He was grabbed by the shoulder by a peacekeeper. He was dragged away, as Arachne Crane bled out in front of him.

She was dead.

The people from the district were truly animals is his last thought, as he blinks away the tears and shock and goes to his home.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

In the comfort of his ruined home, he had taken a shower and had dinner with his family. He listens to the warnings his grandma’am spewed and hears Tigris voice her opinion against it. He doesn't say a word in between, his fingers tracing the scar over and over again, it was the action that managed to keep him sane for the moment.

After the dinner, he begins to change his outfit. He wears a black shirt, something from his father's closet, and too-tight grey pants. He looks at his hands and imagines Arachne on them. He takes a sharp breath and watches the red fade away from his mind. He tugs at his shirt sleeve and the burned tissue comes into view.

He does so hoping that you're waiting for him in the library. Lucy Gray was a disappointment, Sejanus too. Arachne death is a disappointment too. You were the only one he could rely on not to do the same.

He pressed his lips to the scar and for a mere flash of the moment imagines kissing you instead. For a moment, he forgets you're District, for a moment you're just his and he indulges himself in the fantasy of having your soft lips against his.

Tigris breaks him from his daydream by asking, “Are you sure that she will be waiting, Coryo?”

He looks back at Tigris, his lips pulled in a smirk, his thoughts free of mourning. He covers the scar and replies,

“She was never one to disappoint.”

Next Chapter

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[cosmic-giraffe]

We also read the hunger games in my year 8 class... in 2019. I think there's a fairly decent chance it's still being used today

That's so cool to hear!!!!

I definitely think THG series is a modern classic, especially with how relevant its themes are to modern society. It resonates with young adults and grown adults alike, so there's definitely value in its lessons and storytelling.

Thank you for the ask as well!

[fadedapparition]

blackwall and class: relevant excerpts

most of my posts about him in some way return to his perspective on the political domination of the peasantry by the aristocracy, the use of the impoverished and desperate as cannon fodder in conflicts between aristocrats, etc., but because so much of this is contained in his banters or location barks, encountering it in-game is conditional on party composition and location. i decided to put it all in one place and make an effort to explain my reading of his convictions.

the first signs of blackwall's general sentiments/descriptive beliefs appear pretty early, often packaged alongside his personal, overt hostility towards the nobility. this banter with sera can trigger as soon as you've recruited both:

Sera: The kitchen wouldn't give me cakes because Josie, oh so prim, was sending them to allies. Blackwall: Why cakes when you can give them a two-fingered salute and a box full of dog shit. Sera: (Laughs.) Blackwall: You know I hate the aristocracy as much as you do. I hate that they sit in palaces, sipping wine while people starve outside their gates. I hate that good soldiers die in senseless wars over who gets the fancy chair.

he then describes the inquisition's formation of alliances with the aristocracy as something of a necessary evil, before reiterating:

Blackwall: They're dogs, all of them, and even the primped and powered ones have teeth.

the general impression here is that while he sees the ruling elite as brutal and dangerous, bickering amongst themselves and starting massive wars that kill thousands of lowborn innocents and conscripts alike, he's also disgusted by them. nobles, per blackwall, are vain, "primped and powdered," superficial, weak — unlike him, a salt-of-the-earth workingman who chops wood, sleeps in the barn, knows real hunger, lives by the sweat of his own brow, et cetera et cetera. his dim assessment of the personal characteristics of the nobility, especially when compared to working people he relates to, will recur in his first impressions of dorian and vivienne.

another sera banter that showcases these recurring juxtapositions between disgust and fear or frivolity and brutality:

Blackwall: You were in Denerim during the Blight, Sera? Did you see many Grey Wardens? Sera: Not a one. Not in person. They were killed or something? Blackwall: Or something. Betrayed while defending a nation. Sera: Right, well, I suppose there’s worse, yeah? Blackwall: Is there? Sera: Well, yeah? Could have died defending some poncy fool’s hat(...) Blackwall: Point made. Could have been worse.

he sees inter-aristocratic conflicts as too trivial to justify the mass death they demand from the lowborn, and he sees the nobility themselves as personally undeserving of the power to spend lives that aren't theirs the way they spend currency (also not "theirs"). all that changes is who gets the “fancy chair” or silly hat, symbols of individual political influence, while the common people live in the same state of indignity as always, provided they survive at all.

dorian is in fact part of the aristocracy of a state reliant on chattel slavery, so blackwall's assessment of him as a class enemy is more reasonable. his assumptions about vivienne's class position are much less accurate. because she has expensive taste/social ties to the nobility/the general demeanor of a lady, blackwall assumes that she, like dorian, is part of the ruling elite. the reality is that all political influence vivienne might have is dependent on her usefulness to the actual elite, the orlesian monarch and her court. pre-game, she occupies the same position blackwall used to: a lowborn marcher the aristocracy wields as a weapon but intends to discard at the first inconvenience. both of these people have been targeted for assassination by different aristocrats.

but blackwall doesn't know that. he assumes dorian and vivienne are nobly-born, which means he sees them as both highly dangerous (dogs with teeth, monsters) and undeserving of respect (primped and pampered, clad in silk and velvet, sipping wine, talking, judging). notice the repetition in vocabulary; vivienne's accurately apprehending how he sees her.

Blackwall: You must miss the comforts of your mansions, traveling with us as you do. Vivienne: I miss them. I do not require them. Vivienne: But please, continue to imagine me a pampered lady, if it makes you feel superior.

and again, using imagery with a class connotation to communicate his disrespect:

Blackwall: Would you like a silk handkerchief to wipe the mud off your greaves, Lady Vivienne?

dorian receives the same treatment, and unlike with vivienne, blackwall doesn't even make a cursory effort to begin from a position of civility (i personally believe this is gendered, but i won't get into that here when blackwall's weird complexes around women could fill their own post):

Dorian: A Grey Warden Recruiter. That sounds interesting. Blackwall: It's not easy finding people willing to shoulder such a terrible responsibility. Dorian: Here I thought you poked around prisons, hunting for murderers desperate to escape the noose. Blackwall: That's what you think of the Wardens? Dorian: It's not such a terrible thing. Some of my best friends are murderers. Blackwall: They are men and women, atoning for what they've done by giving of themselves. They fight for people like you. People in silks and velvets. Who talk... and judge. Dorian: Who's judging now? Blackwall: I know your kind.

this is the same distinction he always draws between people who do the fighting (people like him or sera) and people who force them to fight (the class enemies of people like him). he and his men are projected onto the lowborn soldiery, while those who hired them to kill callier, destroying their consciences and ruining their lives, are projected onto everyone born with a title. the instinctive sympathy for people in desperate economic straits applies to everyone, from miners to bandits…

Blackwall: Lots of bandits in these parts. Can’t blame them, I suppose. It’s hard making a living these days.

Blackwall: Can you imagine coming out here for a mining contract? Blackwall: You know, one thing about abandoned mines? The tunnels deteriorate. Then collapse. And if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time...

...while the antipathy for the aristocracy, who send these people to do their "dirty work," is similarly expansive.

Blackwall: You enjoy mocking my involvement with the Inquisition. What about yours? Blackwall: People like you, nobles, you send men to do your dirty work, your killing. Blackwall: And here you are getting your hands dirty. Curious. Vivienne: There is nothing curious about it. Vivienne: So much is at stake. Why would I leave any of it to someone else?

his separation of society into "my kind" and "your kind" is consistent throughout.

Dorian: What do you know of "my kind", Blackwall? Blackwall: I know that what comes out of your mouth is the same drivel that comes out of theirs.

Dorian: I've often wondered what the average man thinks about mage freedom. Blackwall: If you really cared, you could ask. Blackwall: Oh, but wait. That would involve talking to a dirty commoner like me. Dorian: True. So much for that.

and the apparent simplicity of his analysis doesn't go unnoticed. i like this next one because it reminds me of some common real-life criticisms.

Blackwall: It's odd how you've won over so many at Skyhold, Dorian. Dorian: You're surprised they haven't all dismissed me as "the charming but ultimately wicked magister"? Blackwall: Never. You're more the "spoiled prince," and I question your reasons for being here. Dorian: A prince? I've moved up in the world. My reasons for being here are the same as yours, thank you. Blackwall: I find that difficult to believe. Dorian: Perhaps when you get past the simple heuristics that define your world, we'll get along.

a common criticism of analyses that foreground class is that they easily become reductive, which is exactly what dorian's saying here. vivienne, likewise, pooh-poohs blackwall's vulgar populism:

Blackwall: Why do you care so little for those in need? Vivienne: You presume to know my feelings? Blackwall: It's obvious. Vivienne: I merely believe the world's problems are more complex than you imagine. Vivienne: I could travel the whole world, righting wrongs as you do, and still accomplish nothing in the end. Blackwall: Changing lives is hardly "nothing." Vivienne: You are naive. And arrogant, if you think passing through a life has the power to change it.

setting aside vivienne's pessimism about the possibility of economic transformation here, i don't actually know that blackwall's expressed thinking is that simplistic, broadly. one of the benefits of foregrounding class is that it both allows you to relate to and makes you cognizant of your shared interests with people who might look or live very differently. this is also the case with blackwall; in locations you visit bearing some connection to elves, he often says something appreciative, sympathetic, or mournful.

like in the emerald graves:

Blackwall: Impressive. Wish I could see it as it was.

Blackwall: It's sad to see Corypheus corrupting a place like this.

or in the exalted plains, where he offers a light critique of orlesian colonialism:

Blackwall: There’s… not much here, is there? Perhaps that’s why it was given to the elves. Says a lot about the ones doing the giving.

or in the temple of mythal, where he expresses admiration on arrival. his only objection to completing the rituals properly is that the longer you take to progress through the location, the more of your soldiers ("my kind," his class, people he relates to) will die holding their positions.

he shows similar sympathy to dwarven and kossith inquisitors. while none of this commentary is particularly complex or in-depth, it stands in contrast to the more disrespectful posture towards thedan minorities from other human characters. i think he’s able to recognize super-exploitation because the people harming non-human populations are often the same people harming the human peasantry, the group with which he most closely identifies. his class consciousness seems pretty inchoate, but it's there.

i like all of this. i think referencing the fact that the prevailing systems of the setting kill thousands for the benefit of an absurdly privileged few betters the game, and this character is one of just a couple who can even describe that. what bums me out a bit is every character, including this one, is at best only permitted to describe it.

the reason for that, i assume, is that the main narrative (imo the least compelling, most inexpertly-written piece of the game) demands some kind of alliance with various elements of the aristocracy. in order for the player character and their team to be plausibly presented as entirely "good guys," the only characters with anything resembling a class critique can't go too far — can't, as sera puts it, get "weird and serious." no one can fully advocate for transformation. economic injustice is something characters can bear witness to and decry before bemoaning their powerlessness in the face of it and quickly moving on.

Cole: A sack on the side of the road, struggling. The boy runs from it, crying. Blackwall: Fine, so you're dangerous and insane. Cole: You would stop it if you could. That is enough.

not really. but that's as close as we get.

[highly-flammable]

Sunrise on the Reaping Reaction: Chapter 1-2

I am a very pro-spoiler person so this will be very liberally spoiler-y. Read at your own risk.

All parts can be found here

Chapter 1:

* Haymitch knowing how to brew alcohol is quite interesting, like in the main trilogy he would struggle without alcohol but still never make his own, which perhaps tells you how far gone he is by that point.

* It’s clear that Lenore Dove is Maude Ivory’s daughter, but I can’t figure out how she and Burdock (Katniss’ father) are related.

* I don’t know how I feel about Katniss never knowing her dad and Haymitch were friends. She must have seen them around, or if she didn’t, how come? I’m curious to find out.

* Haymitch and Katniss are alike in the sense that they would rather keep their head down, and I can sense it’s Lenore Dove’s rebelliousness that will rub off on Haymitch. Her death has to be the reason he takes up with the rebels, even though he comes from a rebel family line himself.

* Haymitch is so in love with Lenore Dove that I can tell there will be no Hayffie agenda in the book even if the ending goes as far as the war, or a time beyond that. Hayffie was strictly a movie thing and it shall remain that way. Book Haymitch would never.

Chapter 2:

* Haymitch not being reaped but basically being forced to be a replacement tribute was not something I saw coming.

* Well hello, Plutarch Heavensbee! I have to say I understand the criticism of fanservice with regard to this book, what with Katniss’ parents, Peeta’s dad and Plutarch all showing up within the first couple chapters. But I’m willing to keep an open mind.

* Those of you who thought the main trilogy was too heavy on romance when the romance subplot was “irrelevant”, joke’s on you. Suzanne Collins seems to be doubling down on love this time around. This book is a love story. A tragic one, but a love story nonetheless.

* The irony of the Capitolites not offering champagne to children because they are not old enough, but making them go through the freaking Hunger Games where they fight to the death, is not lost on me.

* Sid and Haymitch’s relationship breaks my heart.

* Plutarch is being an insensitive showmanning prick, as I suppose is his job.

* I have tears in my eyes reading Haymitch’s farewell to his family. I am not gonna survive reading this book.

* And then there is Lenore Dove singing/screaming her lament as the train takes him. Damn it.

Next: Chapter 3-6

[amanita-muscaria-things]

Libby Reads - Sunrise on the Reaping

*spoilers below the cut*

Young Haymitch ❤️

Haymitch's internal monologue is so unique

Daddy Everdeen name drop?!?!?

It still really astonishes me how alike Haymitch and Katniss are

"I love you like all-fire." WHAAAAAT 😭

Oh this book is gonna hurt

Why does Johanna's line "There's no one left that I love." keep running through my head?

Mama Everdeen name drop ?!?!?!?!

Asterid and Burdock Everdeen shut upppppp

"Town girls don't marry Seam boys."

Daddy Mellark name drop ?!?

Plutarch ?!?!

Haymitch had twin sisters that died as babies?? I literally cannot

Lenore Dove is so Lucy Grey Baird coded holy shit

Well their stylist is a loser

Godddd the Tribute Parade is a dumpster fire!!

Louella 💔💔

Wiress?!

Mags?!?!

"Louella is my one and only sweetheart." A LIE HAYMITCH ABERNATHY YOU JUST HAVEN'T MET KATNISS

I'm happy Mags is one of their mentors. It makes the "She's actually a lovely lady." line from Catching Fire hurt more.

"Louella and I will be reunited soon enough."

Ampert is Beetee's son?? GOD WTF

Oh my god they waited until Ampert was of age and automatically reaped him

What the fuck? Fake Louella??

SHE'S HIJACKED SHE'S HIJACKED

Haymitch's interview is crazy

I'm loving Wyatt tbh

"This is a family show." Are you fucking serious?

Haymitch being fucking poisoned immediately like babe what

WYATT 💔💔💔💔

LOU LOU 💔💔💔💔

"Fire is catching." AHHHH

What the fuck is up with those squirrels

Oh my god Ampert 💔 (I am horrified)

Damn I was expecting Panache to last as long as Cato. But Suzanne knew that, I'm guessing

You can see the similarities between Haymitch getting gifts and Katniss getting gifts

Uhhh the Gamemakers ? Like what are they doing here ??

MAYSILEE 💔💔💔💔

"I'm almost as decorated as Miss Donner herself." GODDDD

"Good-bye, Maysilee Donner, who I loathed, then grudgingly respected, then loved."

"A sister is someone you fight with and fight for." SUZANNE I SEE YOU

HE GETS SENT MAYSILEE'S FAVORITE AHHH

"She just had a lot of unlearning to do."

Katniss and Haymitch think about their mentor the same way when in the arena.

"It's okay to cry around Mags."

"The Capitol's weapon of choice: starvation."

"They really are for the greater good. The Hunger Games." EFFIE GIRL WHAT

The games footage being edited is horrifying

Lenore Dove was never released?!

Noooo the other 12 tributes in coffins 💔 my heart!

Not The Hanging Tree making an appearance

"The Capitol has won. I can't tell them apart."

Oh my god Ma and Sid!

Burdock + Asterid ❤️

Not Haymitch confusing Merilee with Maysilee

Burdock's singing at the funeral has me like 😭

"Don't leave me at all."

Plutarch takes Haymitch to the attic in the District 11 courthouse! Where Haymitch takes Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire!

"Every year for my birthday, I get a new pair of tributes, one girl and one boy, to mentor to their deaths."

"The snow may fall, but the sun also rises."

All in all my heart hurts.

[maxiemumdamage]

I just read a really juicy AU where, after the Gamemakers’ announcement, Katniss’s flinch at Peeta drawing his knife (he meant to throw it away, but she didn’t know that, after all) means she shoots him — really interesting stuff, covering the grief she tried to suppress, the anger of the Capitol audiences, and the fact she ends up causing an uprising anyway.

But now I kinda wanna read the reverse — a story where Katniss dies in the 74th Hunger Games, and Peeta has to continue to stoke the fires of rebellion.

I think it has to diverge at the end. After Cato is dead, when they’re supposed to have won, when the twist is announced. But maybe…maybe Katniss doesn’t have her realization, her decision to make an all-or-nothing gambit, at the statement “they have to have a winner.” Maybe instead she decides that if one of them deserves to live, it’s Peeta, who was willing to risk so much for her even when she didn’t love him back.

They don’t eat the Nightlock berries together as a threat to the Gamemakers. Instead, Katniss, consumed by guilt and fear, pretends to play along, to agree to let him go. She kisses Peeta, says she loves him, and then asks him — “take care of Prim for me, okay?”

And before Peeta — taken aback, distracted by his own plan to die, injured and exhausted — can realize what’s happening, Katniss swallows the Nightlock berries herself.

Peeta is the Victor. But he’s angry beyond belief, mourning Katniss and the future they could’ve had. Angry at her, maybe, for dying, but Peeta was always good at knowing who his enemy was — who he was. He directs his anger at the Capitol, but is enough of a wordsmith to do it carefully. Haymitch helps, sharing in the grief and also full of guilt towards Peeta.

I think that when he returns to District 12, Peeta talks to the Everdeens first. To Prim. He apologizes — once on camera, but he’ll say it many more times in privacy — for the fact Katniss couldn’t come home with him.

The Mellarks probably still don’t join Peeta living in Victor’s Village. But if he can get away with it, and if he can convince them, the Everdeens might. And if not, his father likely still does the same as he promised to do before Katniss left — still keeps an eye on the Everdeens. Like father, like son.

The Victor Tour comes around. President Snow makes his visit — the Capitol audience and Districts alike are probably left unhappy to say the least after Peeta’s acceptance speeches.

And so, Peeta Mellark is left to become the Mockingjay.

[snwpcktz]

A GAME OF CRUELTY (pt. 1)

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader (ft. heeseung)

GENRE: hunger games au (pre second rebellion), neighbors to friends to lovers, angst

SYNOPSIS: after years of praying to not get picked for the reaping, the odds end up not being in y/n’s favor and she is chosen as district 7’s female tribute. she plans to simply sacrifice herself early, since it would be nearly impossible for her to beat all the other tributes and make it back safely to her now ex-boyfriend, ethan. but her perspective of the games change when her next door neighbor, jay, is chosen as the male tribute—and maybe her feelings towards him will change, too.

WARNINGS: mature themes (violence, death), major character death, descriptions of violence and injuries, love triangle, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the binary genders to refer to the reaping tributes

WC: 10.3k

NOTE: hello hello !! the first part of my hunger games fic is finally here!! again, i tried to keep things as accurate as i could but this is set in the year before katniss and peeta were reaped, which means i don’t have a lot of set info to use. there will be a pt. 2, so if you’d like to be tagged pls reply to this post or my wips page! thank you and i hope you enjoy the read!! <3

reaping day. the most dreaded day every single year.

every year, two children between the ages of twelve and eighteen would be chosen as tributes to participate in the annual hunger games. they would fight against twenty-two other tributes to death, leaving only one survivor as the victor of the games. it was cruel, vicious, and the reason why y/n couldn't sleep peacefully every summer night.

y/n exited her house with a slip of paper in her hand. her boyfriend, ethan lee, had just sent her a little note asking for her to meet him in a nearby forest. it was the last year he would be reaped, so y/n brought a deer trinket from the local market as a gift.

once she locked her front door, she took a quick look around her neighborhood. it was like any other day in district 7, except that anyone could sense the dread in every single civilian's face. parents, grandparents, and children alike all held the same expression.

it only soured y/n’s mood. being the only child of her family, y/n’s mother stressed every single year over the possibility that her daughter could be chosen for a game that leads straight to death. it broke y/n’s heart to see her mother cry next to their fireplace every night, praying that her only child wouldn’t become a victim of the games.

her father wasn’t any different. although he was a man of few emotions, y/n could see how relieved he was when her name wasn’t called out during past reapings. his way of showing care was by teaching her how to throw axes from a young age. although he claimed that it was just a skill for her to use in “necessary circumstances”, y/n knew that he meant for it to be used in case she got reaped.

clutching onto the deer trinket tightly, y/n began her trek to the forest. it wasn’t uncommon for her to meet up with ethan in a forest--after all, they lived in district 7. the sounds of birds chirping filled her ears as she entered the area, accompanied by the droplets of rain falling from the night before.

she stepped over logs of wood on the ground, most likely left over from a recent lumber job. passing by the stream that marked the center of the forest, y/n made a sharp right turn, walking in the direction of the border to district 9.

y/n stopped several meters away from the fence that marked the border, decorated with large warning signs. she scanned the area around her but there was no sight of ethan.

“ethan?” she called out, her voice reaching to the dense tops of the forest.

it was silent for a moment before she heard movement above. “up here.”

she snapped her head towards the sound, now noticing ethan on top of a tree branch. he pushed himself off, landing safely on both feet on the padded ground.

“hey,” he said, approaching y/n.

“hey,” she whispered.

they stood in comfortable silence for a moment, savoring the seconds they could spare with each other. y/n was the first to speak, fiddling with the metal trinket in her hand.

“i brought you this,” she began, holding out the deer-shaped item to him. “take it as a good luck charm.”

ethan’s hand gently took the trinket, running his thumb over its grooves. his lips curled into a smile as he responded, “thanks, y/n.”

but the smile didn’t last. he swallowed thickly before continuing, “so, uh, i asked to meet you to tell you something.”

y/n nodded. “i’m listening.”

ethan paused for a moment, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath. “we…we need to break up.”

y/n could feel her heart drop. her breathing slowed as her mouth ran dry. she couldn’t understand the sudden request. hadn’t she been a good girlfriend?

“w- what?” she spluttered. “why?”

“it’s reaping day,” ethan solemnly stated.

“yeah, but this happens every year!” y/n retorted, feeling frustration rise in her voice. “plus, it’s your last year being reaped!”

“that’s the point, y/n!” ethan groaned, brows furrowing. “it’s my last year! do you know how many times i’ve applied for tesserae? my name’s in there twenty fucking times, y/n.”

y/n gulped. she knew ethan’s family wasn’t well off and that he had family members he needed to provide for, but she didn’t expect that he applied for tesserae that often. she could feel tears well up in her eyes, heartbroken for his situation.

“i have such a high chance of getting picked,” ethan whispered, worry clouding his eyes. he delicately held y/n’s hands, causing her to raise her head. “if i die, i don’t want you to hold onto me.”

“you’re not getting picked!” y/n screamed, ripping her hands away from his. “ethan, you’re the only man i love! you can’t just end things like this!”

she crumbled to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, feeling the gentle rubs of ethan’s hand on her head.

“it's not fair!" she wailed. “it’s not fucking fair!” deep down, y/n knew that ethan was right--he did have a higher chance of being picked, and that tore her apart.

"nothing is fair here," ethan mumbled, hand tangled in her hair. "but i just want you to know that if i do get picked, please...take care of my family for me."

y/n sniffled and nodded her head. "thanks," ethan whispered, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

a sudden gust of strong wind blew onto them, causing both of them to look up. a blimp flew across the forest, stripping trees of loose leaves and ground of dry dirt. they both immediately knew what it meant, sharing a look together.

"it's time."

rows of teenagers stood in front of the hall of justice, surrounded by members of the capitol with cameras and film equipment. peacekeepers had already flooded the district, running identification checks and bordering the area for the reaping. y/n could still feel her finger throbbing from the prick she received mere minutes ago as she stood in line.

the large screens next to the stage had already began running, displaying the various members of district 7. y/n could spot a pixelated version of herself, clad in a modest white sundress and matching white ballet flats. she turned her head to the left, spotting ethan standing in his row in no time.

but he wasn't looking at her. he kept his head forward, a solemn gaze on his face. y/n turned her head back around, letting out a pained sigh. she knew that whatever emotions he was feeling at the moment could never be experienced by her, a girl who lived in an only child household in a moderately well off neighborhood. but she couldn't help but feel selfish, desperately wanting ethan to be spared from the cruel hands of the reaping.

so she prayed. she clasped her hands together and lowered her head. please, she thought. please don't pick ethan. please let the odds be in his favor, just this once.

the sounds of footsteps coming to a stop and doors opening caused y/n to raise her head, eyes now fixated on the marble building in the front. members of the district government and previous victors of district 7 entered the stage, followed by a woman with a bright smile on her face.

luxurious, velvety, emerald green clothing adorned her body along with a matching sun hat and dozens of gold jewelry. her heels clicked on the wooden stage as she made her way towards the podium, perfectly glossed lips framing her pearly smile.

"welcome! welcome, welcome," she announced, her cheery voice echoing throughout the area. "once again, i am your district escort, tiffany young! happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor."

tiffany cleared her throat before continuing, "now! before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the capitol!"

she raised her glove-clothed arm towards the screen as a video began playing. "war. terrible war," president snow's voice boomed from the speakers.

y/n noticed several girls around her rolling their eyes. she couldn't blame them. it was boring having to watch the same video every single year, especially when it did barely any justification for the games.

she turned her head to look behind her at the crowd of parents. she spotted her mom, head down and whispering words, most likely prayers for her daughter. her father was next to her, a comforting arm wrapped around his wife as he stoically stared at the screen.

it was just like every year. what was there to worry about?

y/n glanced at ethan. he had the same expression as her father, but she could see that he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. a soft sigh left her lips. there was one thing to worry about--ethan.

she decided to pray once more, lowering her head and squeezing her eyes shut.

please, pick anyone but ethan. i beg for you to spare him.

"this is how we remember our past," the voice of president snow stated. "this is how we safeguard our future."

"what a remarkable film!" tiffany gushed as the music began to quiet. "now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing district 7 in the 73rd annual hunger games."

y/n felt her heartbeat quicken as she watched the escort's smile grow. "as usual, ladies first."

tiffany walked to the reaping bowl with poise, heels echoing in the silence that overwhelmed the district. she reached a gloved hand in, fishing for an entry slip. she gently selected one, returning to the podium elegantly.

tiffany took the liberty to clear her throat as she undid the delicate tape on the paper slip. she glanced at the crowd before announcing the name with a smile.

"y/n l/n."

the world stopped for a moment. y/n couldn't prevent the ringing in her ears as her lips parted in shock. the pounding in her chest increased to a ridiculous speed as the girls around her turned, isolating her from the crowd. her hands grew clammy as tiffany laid her eyes on her, the smile on her face appearing more sinister than before.

"come on up, dear!" the escort called, her voice sounding sickly sweet in y/n's ears.

y/n's feet moved slowly, dragging against the gravel on the ground as she passed by her fellow civilians. she didn't dare to look up from her pathway, shrinking at the feeling of thousands of eyes on her.

she could feel the peacekeepers behind her place their hands on her back, guiding her to the stage. her eyes were shaking, losing sight of each step she was taking.

she grasped onto the railing of the stairs, barely feeling the soles of her feet. she could see tiffany at the top of the stairs, reaching a hand out to her. "come, come!" she said to y/n, gesturing to her with her hand.

y/n gratefully took it, allowing the texture of her velvet gloves to bring her back to reality. tiffany placed her other hand on her shoulder, gently leading her to the left side of the podium.

"well, let's have a big hand for our first tribute, y/n l/n!" tiffany declared into the microphone.

the weak applause clouded y/n's head, contrasting the striking speed her heart was thumping at. she used the last of her strength and consciousness to lift her head, searching the crowd in front of her.

she could spot her mother's face, frozen with shock and panic. her father's mouth was open, completely bewildered and in disbelief. y/n moved her eyes to the crowd of teen boys, where she found ethan already staring straight at her, a fresh tear sliding down his cheek.

y/n swallowed thickly, not breaking the eye contact. here she was, standing on a stage that she never thought she would be standing on. her lips quivered as she gained the strength to mouth an "i love you", triggering a rush of tears to ethan's eyes.

she chose to cut the eye contact after that, unable to watch her ex-lover cry. she stared straight at the wooden floor, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to hold back the tears in her eyes.

"and now for the boys!" tiffany stated.

the escort walked to the reaping bowl on the opposite end of the stage, quickly plucking a slip from its depths and returning to the podium. she let out a small hum before unfolding the slip.

"jay park."

y/n raised her head to look at the crowd. the boys had distanced themselves from the said person, who looked just as surprised as y/n was when she was chosen.

y/n recognized him. he was her next door neighbor, a boy known for being respectful and hard-working. at just a year older than y/n, he was preparing to enter the workforce full-time, learning the ups and downs of his family's lumber business. he was known to be skilled with axes and saws, his muscular arms and broad chest proof of it all.

he wore a white dress shirt and black slacks, dark hair slicked with gel and neatly combed. the peacekeepers guided him to the stage, his dress shoes sounding every step he took up the wooden stairs. he stood on the other side of the podium, observing the crowd from his new perspective.

y/n turned to ethan, a part of her relieved that he wasn't picked. but he clearly did not feel the same, his eyes now red and cheeks stained with tears. he looked at y/n so hopelessly, it made her feel ashamed for feeling even a bit of relief.

"shake hands, you two!" tiffany's voice said, snapping y/n out of her trance.

she glanced at jay, whose eyes were already on her. they quickly joined hands, jay's large one wrapping around y/n's shaking one.

"happy hunger games!" tiffany announced, her smile brighter than before. "and may the odds be ever in your favor."

y/n had spent the last few minutes curled up in the corner of a room in the hall of justice, sobbing to herself as she processed what just happened. in the span of just several minutes, she had been chosen as a tribute for her district in a game of death.

her grip on her knees tightened. although her father had somewhat prepared her for this scenario, there was no way in hell that she would survive the hunger games. sure, she knew how to throw axes and she was pretty good at climbing trees, but she was sure that it was nothing compared to what other tributes can do.

she felt her tears flood out as she fell into a hole of despair. it was impossible for her to win, huh? i'll just die first, she decided, choking out her sobs. i'll die first so that my parents won't gain false hope. i won't let them waste tears over me.

the creak from the door opening caught y/n's attention. a peacekeeper held it open, allowing her parents to step inside the room. "you have three minutes," he stated before shutting the door.

y/n immediately stood up, running to her parents. "mom! dad!"

her mother engulfed her in a tight hug, warm tears falling onto y/n's shoulders. "my precious, sweet little baby...why is the world so cruel to you?" she whispered, her voice thick with anguish.

y/n only cried harder, burying her face into her mother's neck. "you don't deserve this, baby," her mother weeped. "you deserve to live a happy, long life with us."

"m- mom, i'm gonna die," y/n babbled, feeling her words slur after crying for so long.

"don't say that, please," her mother begged. y/n could feel more droplets of warmth land on her shoulder. "please, please! don't ever say that again."

"y/n, you have to try your best," her father's voice reasoned. "you need to fight until the end."

y/n could only cry more, letting out a gut-wrenching scream. "i- i don't wanna leave so early..."

she could feel her mother squeeze tighter as her sobs got louder. "baby, y- you know we love you so, so much, right?"

"yes, mom...o- of course i know."

"please, live. for us."

the sound of the door opening caused y/n to hold onto her mother tighter, watching the peacekeepers heard towards her parents through her swollen eyes.

"no! stop!" she yelled, gripping onto her mother's arm. she could feel another peacekeeper restrain her from behind, ripping her away from her parents.

she wailed, pushing away the peacekeeper. she watched her mom get dragged out of the room, burying her face in her hands as her back shook from the intensity of her sobbing. her father turned around, sending a solemn smile to her.

she watched a stream of liquid drop from her father's eye. it was the first time she saw her father cry.

the door slammed shut for a moment before it reopened, a tall man entering with a peacekeeper at his tail.

"ethan!" y/n ran to the boy, who let her press her puffy face on his chest.

he rested his head on top of hers, hugging her hair while closing his eyes. "i thought it was going to be me," he whispered, breath shaky. "but it turned out to be much more worse than that."

he gently cupped y/n's face before bending down, swiftly connecting their lips. wet with tears, their lips molded against one another, filled with desperation and despair.

they separated after a moment, allowing ethan press his lips against y/n's forehead as she sniffled. "i still love you, y/n."

his words only caused her to choke out another sob. "i'll love you forever. you know i love you so."

the dreaded door opened once again as a peacekeeper pulled on ethan's arm, forcing him away from her. his eyes welled with tears once more as he mouthed another "i love you" before the door shut, physically separating the two.

y/n collapsed to the ground, screaming as she punched the ground with her fist. i love you too, ethan.

after what seemed like hours of crying and peacekeepers forcing her into a carriage, y/n had somewhat collected herself, lightly sniffling as she gazed out of the window.

tiffany seemed almost unaffected by the girl, chattering about the capitol to jay with a grin on her face. she would spare a glance at y/n every so often, but decided to not speak to her, assuming that she wanted some personal space in the cramped carriage.

before they knew it, they had arrived at the train station. "just an hour and we will arrive at the capitol!" tiffany cheered as they boarded the train.

as soon as they entered, the tributes were greeted with luxury they had only dreamed about before. crystal chandeliers, gold-plated silverware, and plush cushions were laid out just for them. glass displays held varieties of baked sweets and savory bites, followed by an impressive selection of beverages stored in crystal pitchers.

y/n’s mouth gaped at the sight, slowly stepping into the train cabin. of course, the capitol is different.

“now, now, sit down children!” tiffany sweetly said, guiding the two with gloved hands on their backs to a table. “i’ll be back in just a moment!”

y/n hesitantly sat down in a chair that was much too lavish for her, practically swallowing her in the lush cushioning. jay followed in suit, seating himself next to her.

“this is insane,” jay muttered, eyes fixated on the delicate china set on the table.

y/n hummed in response, blinking her swollen eyes as she took in her surroundings. “it’s crazy how we went from being neighbors to sacrificing ourselves for our district,” she mumbled, a frown etched onto her face.

jay could only sigh at the comment. one day, they were going about their daily errands, chatting as the children of families who lived next door. the next, they were seated in a high-speed rail train on the way to the capitol, where their desperate battle for survival would be broadcasted for all of panem to see.

“y/n, jay, i want to introduce you to someone!” tiffany’s bubbly voice rang.

the escort approached the table, followed by a woman sporting a coffee brown blazer and a matching pencil skirt. her raven black hair was highlighted with scarlet red streaks, all tied back into a ponytail that moved from side to side with each step she took.

she slid into the seat across from y/n, a cold expression on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. “this is johanna mason, victor of the 71st hunger games!” tiffany introduced, elegantly seating herself next to the said woman. “she will be your mentor as a victor from district 7.”

silence overcame the room. y/n and jay stared at johanna expectingly, who was avoiding their gazes by locking her eyes onto the table in front of her. tiffany sat perfectly straight, her smile slightly faltering at the sudden change in volume.

“well,” she said, standing up and brushing off her velvet skirt. “i will leave you three to it!”

her emerald green stilettos clicked against the hard floor as she moved to a cabin next door.

“so, you’re the unlucky pair that got pulled into the games this year,” johanna grumbled, eyeing both of the tributes. “i’m not someone who’ll sugarcoat things, so you both better be fucking prepared for what i’m about to say.”

y/n and jay nodded, eager to hear from a fellow district citizen and a victor of the games.

“you have literally no chance of winning.”

johanna’s words caused y/n’s heart to drop. she could tell that jay was experiencing the same, tension quickly swarming around the table.

“but you have a good chance of surviving longer if you follow my advice,” she continued, resting her elbows on the polished table.

johanna picked up a gold butter knife, running her fingers along the edges. "you're not a career district, but you're not the most disadvantaged. that's what 7 is--always stuck in the middle. lumber is all we're known for, so everyone who watches the games knows that we can handle our axes. but don't let them think that."

she stabbed the table with the knife, causing both of the tributes to flinch. "you need to act weak," johanna declared, looking at both of them in the eye. "that's how i won. make them believe you won't survive anyway, hide, and attack at the last moment. fool them. use their stupidity to your advantage. that's the only way a middleman can win."

she turned to jay, ponytail following her head movement. "you. jay park, seventeen. i heard you're already in the lumber business."

"yes, ma'am," jay replied, a little intimidated by johanna's stare.

"don't call me that, it makes you sound like a pussy," johanna spat, leaning back in her seat. "call me johanna."

"yes, johanna."

she let out a hum of approval. "are you good with any weapons?"

"i've worked with axes and saws," jay answered. "i've done mostly chopping, cutting, and sanding my whole life. some heavy lifting and business communication, too."

"great, strength and customer service," johanna summarized with a nod. she turned her head to the right, locking her eyes onto y/n. "now you. y/n, seventeen. any experience with weapons?"

"my father taught me how to throw axes since i was little," y/n responded. she found herself fiddling with the hem of her dress, nervous for her new mentor's reaction.

"axe throwing, i like it," johanna replied. "unfortunately, there are no throwable axes offered in the games, so you're sort of fucked there."

y/n felt her breath hitch. before she could speak, johanna continued, playing with the knife stuck in the table, "but knife throwing isn't far from axe throwing. plus, if you train enough, you might be able to throw the axes they have."

y/n let out the breath she was holding in, somewhat relieved by her mentor's response. she had never felt so grateful towards her father.

"now, this whole week is dedicated to preparing for the games," johanna stated, changing the topic at hand. "you will spend your time training, being interviewed, being tested, and kissing up to sponsors. unfortunately for you both, your first day has already started."

the windows of the train transitioned from dark to light, beams of sun flowing into the cabin. a huge body of water could be seen surrounding hundreds of high-rise buildings made with sleek designs and accompanied with phenomenal technology.

johanna eyed the two tributes with astonished looks on their face, curling her lips into a small smirk. "welcome to the capitol, bitches."

y/n stood next to a chariot, adjusting the corset on her body. she had just spent the last few hours being completely tortured, aka hours of waxing and plucking. if that wasn't enough, her stylist completely ridiculed her for having a puffy face after crying, embarrassing her in front of the whole prep team.

she had never wanted to go home so badly.

but here she was, dressed like a capitol darling in getup she could have never pictured herself in. a forest green corset was bound tightly around her waist, hugging the black long-sleeved bodysuit embroidered with gold leaves underneath. a matching black maxi skirt was wrapped right under the corset, with layers ruffled and seams sewed with gold thread.

thick, gold hoops hung from her ears and gold cuffs banded her wrists. her hair was combed and let down, decorated with a single gold barrette embellished with emeralds. her eyes flaunted deep, green eyeshadow shimmering with gold pearlescent glitter and long, curled and lengthened eyelashes. her lips were painted with a warm brown lipstick, matching the color of her nail polish.

y/n had never felt so out of place. she shifted her weight, feeling uneasy standing in such tall heels. how do people in the capitol dress like this everyday?

her eyes caught jay heading to the chariot, adjusting his own gold cuffs. his chest was covered with forest green armor, accented with gold leaves. his biceps were framed with a long-sleeve compression shirt, perfectly sculpting the curves of the muscles. black slacks accentuated his long legs, held on his waist by a black and gold belt. his hair was slicked back and his ears were cuffed with gold earrings. glittery green eyeliner bordered his eyes and his lips were plush and pink- wait, why was she looking at his lips?

y/n blinked. she couldn't believe how stylish (and incredibly attractive) her next door neighbor looked. the most they had seen each other in were the formal attire they wore for reaping day every year to look somewhat acceptable on public television. but now, now she understood why he was such a hot topic among the girls in her neighborhood.

jay's eyes met hers and he flashed a small smile, finishing his trek to the chariot. "you look amazing," he said, a few strands of gelled hair slipping out of place and framing his forehead.

"same goes for you," y/n breathed out, sending back a smile of her own.

they could hear a dramatic gasp and turned, spotting tiffany and johanna heading towards them. "my darlings, you look absolutely stunning!" tiffany squealed, clapping her hands as she walked.

"trees, trees, trees," johanna groaned. "that's all that damn stylist can do. get some fucking creativity, people!"

"johanna!" tiffany yelped, slapping the mentor on the shoulder. she faced the tributes once again, adorning a bubbly smile. "well, i think you both look absolutely wonderful."

"at least it's better than mine, i guess," johanna grumbled, crossing her arms. "now, today is all about beginning to attract some fans. act friendly, smile, and wave. don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine."

the static from a speaker could be heard as caesar flickerman appeared on a screen. "that's our cue to go!' tiffany exclaimed. "we'll see you later, darlings! and remember, smile!"

their escort and mentor left, following the crowd of other district team members. jay let out a soft sigh before saying, "it's time for us to get ready, then."

y/n hummed. jay stood next to the entrance of the chariot and held out a hand. "ladies first," he stated with a smile.

thump! y/n was glad she had a full face of makeup on to hide the heat spreading on her cheeks. she delicately took his hand, feeling her heartbeat increase as she stepped onto the chariot and held onto his gentle hand.

jay followed after her, accidentally brushing his shoulder against hers. she could feel the warmth radiating from his body due to their close proximity. her hands gripped the railing of the chariot, squeezing the metal tighter as she tried to not focus on the boy next to her.

the crowd outside began to grow louder as the first chariots were released. she could hear caesar flickerman from the screen, gushing with claudius templesmith about each of the tributes' stylistic costumes.

before she knew it, the horses in front of her began moving, pulling their chariot closer to the entrance. bright stage lights shone in y/n's eyes, blinding her for a second.

she felt jay place his right hand on her left, tapping her two times. "smile, y/n."

and so she did. y/n parted her lips to reveal the most dazzling smile she could, the sound of cheers filling her ears. but she missed the sweet smile jay gave her as her eyes adjusted to the new lighting.

the unsteady movement beneath her feet and the overwhelming amount of viewers caused her stomach to churn, but the hand on top of hers provided her a newfound source of comfort. she swiveled her head around, making sure to keep her bright smile plastered on her face.

the audience was full of people sporting vibrant garments and bizarre accessories. colored eyelashes the length of a hand, dyed hair in all sorts of purples and pinks, and puffy sleeves adorning shoulder after shoulder. it was beyond anything y/n could've imagined wearing, but here she was, standing in almost identical clothing while they observed her like a character in a game.

after all, that was all she was to them--a new addition to their cruel game that they watched eagerly every single year. to the ultra-wealthy, it was all fun and entertainment. but to her, it was a one-way ticket to her death.

she felt the smile on her face falter, gulping before stretching the corners of her lips wider. now was not the time to think about those things. she needed to attract sponsors to gain even a minute more of survival in the arena.

so she stood up straighter, flashing her most welcoming face that she could. the heat from the torches that they sped past only added to the adrenaline rush she felt running through her veins. her eyes flickered to the dual screens above the audience, catching the cameras filming their chariot.

she glanced at jay, who's smile was just as charming as ever. his jawline was firm and sharp, a charismatic feature that the capitol's cameras easily captured. his eyes shone with determination, a look that many could only find in the careers.

y/n felt a sense of pride in the moment. proud to have jay as her partner, proud to hear positive reactions from the audience, and proud to be from district 7.

the horses made a turn, slowing their pace down as they brought the chariot to a stop. a gust of air brushed past them as they left the heat of the runway, ending their time in the spotlight of the tribute parade.

y/n allowed her lips to relax, scanning the environment around her. the last few chariots were filing in, all carrying tributes dressed just as extravagantly as them. she watched as the sponsors in the audience screamed with energy, enjoying the last moments of the parade.

she could see the cameras pan to a podium above the tributes and turned to face it. there president snow stood, waving to the crowd with a small smile.

the audience grew quiet as he cleared his throat. "welcome. tributes, we welcome you," president snow announced. "we salute your courage and your sacrifice. and we wish you, happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor."

y/n felt her eye twitch at his words. before she knew it, the chariots began to move again, pulling all of the tributes out of the spotlight as the crowd cheered one last time.

in just a couple of more days, y/n had found herself on the last day of training.

johanna had taught her the differences between throwing knives and throwing axes, and so she had adjusted her training accordingly. she had quite a bit of trouble at the beginning, but eventually adapted to the new weapon quickly.

now, she was more determined than ever to try her hardest in the games, no matter what it took.

she practiced climbing structures and creating fires with jay. they talked more over identifying sources of water, studying types of infection, and spying on the other tributes. jay had taught her how to properly use a tactical axe and y/n had showed him how to aim weapons in long-range fights.

she learned that jay was talented at cooking and often tried new recipes for dinners on weekends. he informed her about the small pieces of etiquette he picked up on at formal business meetings at meals in their apartment. within just two days, she found herself closer than ever to her next door neighbor.

they shared secret smiles during training sessions, had late-night talks after hot showers, and gave each other words of encouragement every morning. he cut her steak for her at dinner, she wiped his sweat after training, and they held hands on the way to the basement of the training center, squeezing each other tightly as a way of supporting each other.

they had become close friends in such a short span of time, but they wouldn't tell each other about the deeper feelings that were brewing in their chests.

johanna slapped both of their backs as they stood in the elevator on the way to their private training sessions, where they would be officially scored by the gamemakers. "now, i would say act weak, but you two have showed off way too much during your training," she spoke, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

"so instead, go for something more average," she instructed. "like a seven. or a six. miss two shots but hit one. you won't get as many sponsors but at least you'll be off of some of the tributes' radars."

johanna sent both of them a small grin. "good luck to you two, and be as average as you can!"

her words caused both of the tributes to chuckle, exiting the elevator once the doors opened. "bye, johanna!" y/n called, waving to their mentor.

johanna just leaned against the glass windows of the elevator, shaking her head with a smile.

the two district 7 tributes entered the gymnasium's waiting room through automatic sliding doors, finding many other tributes already sitting inside. thick tension clouded the room, causing the small smiles on their faces to drop.

they were finally here on their last day of training, two days before the games would begin.

they sat down on stools labeled with their district's number, eyeing the other tributes warily. the careers sat with confidence in the front, cocky as ever with smirks on their faces. on the opposite end, the lower districts were hunched and fidgeting, anxious for the evaluation.

once again, y/n and jay stood in the middle, both figuratively and literally. y/n swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling a little parched. sure, she had trained long and hard to adapt to knife throwing, but her skills were definitely not on par with a career who had been throwing knives her whole life.

she glanced at the district 1 female tribute, who was giggling at something her partner had said. y/n had observed her throughout their training sessions, taking the time to understand her style of fighting and her precise aim. y/n wasn't unaware of her surroundings either, finding the tribute's gaze on her multiple times.

she fiddled with her fingers, suddenly feeling her hands grow clammy. "jay," she whispered, catching the boy's attention who responded with a soft hum. "do...do you think we can ever defeat the careers?"

jay glanced up, taking a quick look at them before replying, "well, they're not invincible, are they?"

y/n let out a soft chuckle at his words. "sure, they attended a special training academy and whatever, but we've played around with axes since we could hold a pencil," he continued, wrapping his arm around her and rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "like johanna said, we just need to deceive them to win. after all, we might not need to fight them for them to die. a nasty ego is just as bad as a sword through the chest."

jay gave her one last pat on the shoulder before facing her. "don't underestimate yourself. you've worked hard and deserve to show off a little."

y/n smiled, gazing into his kind eyes. "thanks, jay," she said. "you deserve it, too."

he smiled back, staring straight into hers. they sat in a comfortable silence, neither of them breaking the eye contact. y/n was thankful that the room wasn't dead silent, otherwise everyone could hear how loudly her heart was thumping.

the warmth in his eyes, easing all of the tension in her body. the way his pupils dilated the longer he stared at her. the reflection of the light in his eyes, highlighting his soothing gaze.

for a moment, she swore that she saw jay's eyes flicker to her lips. but the sound of an alarm interrupted their silence, catching the attention of all the tributes.

"the private training sessions will begin now."

y/n let out a quick breath, seeing jay do the same in her peripheral vision. she squeezed her eyes shut, holding her head in her hands. how could she think about anything else other than the evaluations at hand?

but no matter how stressed her mind was, it couldn't stop the pounding in her chest. heat rose to her cheeks as she replayed the moment in her head, remembering the split second jay eyed her lips.

time flew by as her head ached, split between worrying about her private session and processing the feelings in her heart. she felt ashamed with herself--it had not been long since ethan broke up with her and she was confident that she still had feelings for him. so why was her heart fluttering around another man?

before she knew it, district 6's tributes had finished up and the waiting room was half empty. "district 7, y/n l/n," the electronic voice announced.

y/n stood up, stretching her limbs before heading towards the gymnasium entrance.

"hey y/n!" a voice called through the silence.

she turned around, looking at jay, who now had everyone's attention. "be average," he said with a grin, causing y/n to smile.

"you too," she replied, pointing at him.

she could hear him chuckle as she left through the sliding doors, taking one more deep breath before entering the gymnasium. the training room was cold, with little light illuminating the large area. she could hear the chatter of the gamemakers in a room above, observing their little festivities with food and drinks.

y/n walked to the marking in the center of the room, making sure to look at all of her surroundings. three targets shaped like humans were placed at a certain distance from her marked spot. to her left was a spread of different knives, all set neatly on a placemat and a table.

she turned around to face the gamemakers, who were enjoying their cocktails above. "y/n l/n, district 7," she introduced herself, catching the attention of the head gamemaker, seneca crane.

he swallowed his sip before nodding to her, prompting her to begin her chosen skill. she picked up a knife, gripping the wooden handle tightly.

she held her breath, focusing her eyes on the target and balancing herself. be average. she let her eyes lower before throwing the knife as powerfully as she could.

the thigh. not a critical area but definitely a shot that could cause lots of pain. she heard some pleased reactions and some mocking chuckles from the gamemakers.

y/n continued, grabbing a longer knife. she planted her feet, eyed her target, and threw the weapon.

the edge of the arm. another painful area, but not a critical one. definitely less impressive than her last shot. she heard more chuckles this time but didn't mind them.

she brushed her hands over the rest of the knives, taking the time to weigh her options. she decided on a thicker knife, with more weight and less speed.

she stood on the marking, once again. she took in a sharp breath, holding it as she positioned herself. eyes straight on the target, soles flat on the floor, and arm in the air, tensing with energy. she threw with all her might, a shout coming from her lips.

right smackdown in the heart. she huffed, staring at her work in disbelief. a few whistles and weak applause could be heard from the gamemakers as she faced them and bowed, taking her leave.

she was met with johanna and tiffany at the entrance of the district 7 apartment, who clapped loudly for her.

"that was wonderful, darling!" tiffany cheered, flaunting a hot pink tulle dress and matching accessories. "you did amazing!"

"great job on being mediocre, y/n," johanna commented with a chuckle. "that last shot was nice, though. definitely will bring you some sponsors."

"thanks, guys," y/n replied with a smile.

"come, come! jay's evaluation is playing," tiffany said, ushering y/n to the couch in front of the television screen.

she sat down on the soft cushion, shimmying a bit to get more comfortable with the skin-tight training clothing she was wearing. johanna stood behind her, resting her arms on the frame of the couch as tiffany elegantly sat down.

y/n could see jay on the screen with a tactical axe in hand. he swung the weapon around, hitting vital spots of the dummies surrounding him. the camera panned to the gamemakers, broadcasting their impressed faces as they discussed his skills.

he finished up by chucking his axe straight at a dummy’s head, the weapon slicing the head straight down the middle. jay took a moment to catch his breath before bowing in front of the gamemakers, ending district 7’s private training sessions.

y/n gulped. she knew jay was good, but the evaluations showed her a new side of him. one that was vicious, determined, and confident. there was no doubt that he would be a threat in the arena.

the television screen flickered off and tiffany stood up immediately, clapping her hands. “marvelous! just marvelous!” she gushed. “what talented tributes we have this year!”

“you should’ve seen the beginning, he purposely dropped the axe on a dummy’s foot,” johanna said with a light laugh. “i think he took my advice a little too seriously.”

y/n snickered at the comment, standing up from the couch. “he’ll be here any minute now!” tiffany exclaimed, rushing to the door to greet him.

as soon as y/n and johanna caught up to the escort, the door opened, revealing jay with a tired smile on his face. sweat stuck his loose hair to his forehead and his chest puffed with each breath he took.

“darling, you were outstanding!” tiffany squealed, patting him on the back. “just wonderful! the sponsors should be piling in as we speak!”

“nice job, jay,” johanna complimented. “i liked the part where you dropped the axe on the foot.”

jay chuckled, giving the mentor a playful glare. his eyes shifted to y/n, who was already smiling with pride.

“you did amazing, jay,” she said, causing him to grin.

“thanks, y/n. you did well, too.”

“now, wash up, children! i don’t want this apartment to be reeking of sweat!” tiffany ordered, prancing off to the kitchen. “and remember that they will broadcast the results this evening!”

after an afternoon of resting, a hearty dinner, and a lighthearted sunset watch, the district 7 team sat around the television screen, patiently waiting for their results. caesar flickerman held a rare serious expression on his face as he relayed all the information off of his cards.

the room was filled with a thick silence with everyone sitting perfectly still. the anticipation grew every minute as everyone watched eagerly, paying close attention to the other tributes' scores. per usual, the careers scored high, with the district 2 male scoring an eleven. y/n chewed on her bottom lip, the worry at the back of her mind beginning to grow.

there was less than 48 hours before she would be in the arena, fighting against each and every one of the tributes displayed on the screen.

once the district 6 tributes' results finished up, y/n could feel her heart beating unbelievably fast. it was the first time a test result could determine life or death for her, and the tension in her body came to an all-time high.

as caesar flickerman changed his cards, y/n felt a hand creep towards hers, gently intertwining their fingers. she turned to her left, spotting jay mouthing an "it's okay" to her. her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself down, forcing herself to breathe slower.

jay gave her a quick nod before facing the screen once again. "from district 7, y/n l/n..."

y/n whipped her head to the screen, not blinking once as the world stilled around her. she could feel herself squeeze jay's hand tighter, holding her breath for a single moment.

"...with a score of six."

she released the breath she was holding, relaxing her grip on jay's hand. she could feel johanna pat her shoulder in approval. "that was very average, y/n. an exact 50%."

a part of y/n was glad that she would be able to escape the careers' watch, but another part of her was worried about receiving little support from sponsors. but she chose to not fret about that as she flinched at how strongly jay held onto her hand.

she glanced at him, realizing that it was the first time she saw jay so visibly anxious. the typically calm and laid-back boy was now tense and nervous, a light sweat forming on his forehead. she could feel his palms grow clammy as he clutched her hand tighter, awaiting his results.

"and from district 7, jay park...with a score of eight."

cheers erupted from the room, a delightful squeal coming from tiffany. "jay, darling, you are spectacular!" she gushed, clasping her gloved hands together.

"great job, jay," johanna said with a nod. "but you'll have to be careful now. you're on par with the careers, which means that you've spiked their interest."

"nice job, jay!" y/n exclaimed, taking his hand into both of hers. he grinned and replied, "yours was good, too."

"well, all that's left for you two is to charm the audience tomorrow!" tiffany cheered, standing up. "rest well and wake up early! i will teach you all the interview etiquette you need to know!"

"and don't get too comfortable with each other!" johanna sternly teased. "you are on a survival show, not a dating show."

as they shared the final laughs of the night and prepared for bed, y/n couldn't help but ponder over her mentor's words. what johanna said rang true, even if it was intended to be a lighthearted joke. in the end, they were competitors in a game, even competition for each other.

she climbed into her bed, burying herself underneath the lush covers. she knew it was wrong for her to think about anything other than survival, especially when her inevitable death was approaching extremely fast. so why did her heart beat so fast when he touched her? why was she so unbelievably comfortable with someone she had just began considering a friend four days ago?

why was jay on her mind every night as she fell asleep, worrying about the games?

the eve of the hunger games. y/n stood in line, right behind the district 6 male tribute. she shifted her weight, watching the interviews commence from the screen backstage.

her stylist chose to dress her in a cream chiffon gown, the torso embellished with pearls and yellow topaz. her shoulder straps were loosely draped with layers of chiffon strung together. gold droplet earrings and a thin, double-layered gold necklace accented her ears and neckline. her hair was tied up elegantly, bound with matching gold ribbons. her eyeliner was drawn with gold glittery liquid, two yellow gemstones glued right underneath her lower eyelids. she shifted once more, balancing on her gold stilettos cuffed to her ankles.

the district 6 tribute in front of her peeked over her shoulder, throwing her a sultry grin. "looking good, seven," he commented, adjusting his black tie.

before y/n could respond with a snarky remark of her own, a hand was placed on her shoulder as she felt the heat from a body close to hers.

"i suggest you turn back around, six," the voice of jay, now sarcastic and brooding, spoke out. "your interview is starting."

as the slightly flustered tribute entered the stage, y/n faced jay, now realizing exactly how close they were. his face was mere centimeters from hers, a firm stare in his eyes.

unlike her, jay was clad in a sleek all-black suit, with gold cuffs and a gold handkerchief in his breast pocket. his hair was styled into a comma, eyebrows brushed and sleek, and ears adorned with multiple gold studs and loops. his eyes were painted with the same gold eyeliner as y/n and his fingers were wrapped with gold rings.

she could feel the heat from his breath, smell the subtle scent of his body wash, and hear the low beating of his heart. the hand on her exposed shoulder dropped, causing her to look up at him. he had taken a step back, repositioning himself in the line.

"you good?" he asked, a concerned expression on his face.

"yeah...i'm okay," she mumbled, turning back around.

she stood still, trying to calm the clamoring in her heart. she fanned herself with her hands, cooling down the heat spreading on her face. to others, it looked like she was flustered to be next on stage. but she knew that the fluttering in her stomach was for a completely different reason.

the audience applauded as the district 6 male finished up his interview, taking a large bow before leaving the stage. caesar flickerman laughed loudly and faced the cameras, microphone right underneath his chin.

"now, district 7, with gorgeous outfits for gorgeous tributes. let's hear it for y/n l/n, seventeen from the seventh district!"

y/n inhaled sharply before stepping into the spotlight, flashing a bright smile as she waved to the audience. the cheers grew louder with each step she took, shaking hands with caesar before sitting down in the interviewee's chair.

she sat with one leg crossed over the other and hands placed on her top knee, just like tiffany instructed her to. "welcome, y/n!" caesar exclaimed with a grin. "how are you liking the capitol?"

"it's very different from home, that's for sure," she responded with a light nod. "i have to say, the fashion here is quite extraordinary. never could i have imagined that i'd be wearing a ballroom gown, talking to a man with bright-red hair in front of the whole nation."

caesar paused for a moment, touching his said hair. "are you talking about me?"

"yes, i'm talking about you, caesar," y/n replied with a laugh.

the host let out a hearty chuckle, causing the audience to laugh along. "now, speaking of home," he continued, leaning towards the tribute. "is there anyone special back there? someone you're interested in? there has to be someone interested in you--who wouldn't fall for this stunning smile?"

y/n felt her smile falter as the audience cheered at the comment. caesar's question suddenly reminded her of the boy back at home, most likely watching the broadcast while he worked late hours to provide for his family. how could she forget? the day he ended their relationship, right before she got pulled into the games. she realized that the days she spent in the capitol were void of ethan, her mind completely focused on training and the day she was dreading.

and maybe a different boy, too.

but caesar's question caused her to swallow thickly, feeling guilty for forgetting about him. the boy she promised her heart to, the one who gave her his love seconds before they were ripped apart.

"well...uh..."

she found herself unable to think of a straight answer. "there...there's this boy..."

caesar hummed, egging her on. "he's the most wonderful person ever, kind and caring, a complete family man," she added, a smile forming as she thought about ethan. "he always prioritized others before himself. took care of his siblings when his parents couldn't. made sure to ask me if i ate even when he had no food."

but the smile didn't last long, soon dropping before she continued, "but we ended things before the reaping because he thought he was going to be reaped. he didn't want me hanging onto him if he died in the arena."

a dry chuckle escaped her lips. "but here i am, standing here instead of him. i guess things didn't turn out the way we expected them to."

caesar had a pitiful expression on his face as the audience cooed, some sniffling in the crowd. "i'm sorry about that," he said, placing his hand on top of hers. "i wish you the best of luck in the hunger games."

"thanks, caesar," y/n replied, shooting him a small smile.

"well, there we have it, ladies and gentlemen," the host concluded, helping her stand up. "from district 7, the brave and courageous y/n l/n!"

he raised her hand, letting y/n take in all the applause as the crowd stood and cheered. she left momentarily afterwards, welcoming herself into tiffany's arms backstage.

"darling, you did amazing," she said, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. y/n knew why tiffany was reacting this way but chose not to speak, appreciating the moment of comfort the escort provided her.

she escaped her arms, stepping closer to the screen backstage to watch jay's interview. he was already on stage, seated next to caesar with a charming smile.

"so jay, tell me, how is it that such an attractive man is sitting here right next to me? hm? do tell."

jay chuckled at the host's comment. "well, i'm just alright. but if you insist, i think it must be the brows."

"no need to be humble, jay. but are my red eyebrows as dashing as yours?" caesar questioned, raising his brows repeatedly. "if i'm being honest, i think mine are better." the audience howled with laughter, causing both jay and caesar to join with the crowd.

"now, tell me," the host continued. "do you have a special someone? our gorgeous district 7 tributes surely do not lack in the beauty department, do they folks?"

the audience cheered as a soft smile formed on jay's face. "look at him! jay park, with the jawline and the muscles! surely you had admirers back home, didn't you?"

jay chuckled again before speaking, "well, caesar, i wasn't really that desirable-"

"humble again," caesar interrupted by fake-whispering to the audience, inducing more laughter from the crowd.

"-but i did have my eyes on this girl from home," jay finished, piquing the host's interest. "oh! do tell."

"she's from the same neighborhood as me," jay added. "actually, we're next door neighbors."

the audience gasped with excitement and shock. but y/n froze, eyes never leaving the screen backstage. she knew that no one in the capitol knew they were next door neighbors--nobody except for y/n and jay themselves.

"i wish i could've talked to her more before i left, but i was reaped unexpectedly," jay said with a frown.

caesar matched the frown on the tribute's face. "well, you go out and win those games, and you tell her how you feel when you get home, okay?"

jay awkwardly smiled, responding with a small, "okay."

"ladies and gentlemen, the charismatic jay park from district 7!" caesar finished, triggering cheering and applause from the audience.

y/n watched as he exited the stage, approaching where she was standing with their team. tiffany immediately sauntered up to him, patting him on the back. "marvelous, darling! you answered so well!"

jay shot a weak smile at the escort before meeting y/n's eyes, already knowing that she figured it out. he quickly left backstage, heading towards the elevator to go to their apartment.

but y/n followed him, narrowly squeezing into the elevator just before its doors closed. jay gulped, avoiding her eyes as she stepped closer to him, leaning against the glass windows.

"jay," she began, softening her voice. "was...was that about-"

"yes."

he locked his gaze with hers, clenching his jaw tightly. "it was about you."

y/n's eyebrows furrowed, parting her lips to speak. "but-"

"i'm sorry that i feel this way and i completely understand if you don't feel the same," jay interrupted. "but nothing is going to change how i feel. i know that one of us will die, or maybe even both of us. but i can't help it."

the elevator dinged, its doors opening to the seventh floor. jay exited, followed by y/n, not turning around to look at her as he stopped at the entrance of their apartment. "i have feelings for you, y/n. and i know i shouldn't be having them when we're fighting against death in less than 24 hours."

"jay, wait-"

he opened their apartment door, immediately leaving her at the foyer as he made a beeline to his room. the loud slamming of his door echoed around the apartment, making an obvious statement to y/n.

y/n could barely force herself to sleep last night. with the hunger games dawning upon her and jay's words ringing in her ears, she spent most of her night tossing and turning under the covers.

but as she sat in the jet, transporting her to the arena with a tracker in her arm, she realized that the one event she dreaded most was finally happening. there was no turning back--the games were about to begin.

johanna led her to her tube in the launch room, brushing off her brown jacket seconds before the tributes had to be ready. y/n's hair was tied up away from her face, sporting a cropped vest of armor and black cargo pants under her long track jacket.

"remember, avoid being lured into the cornucopia but grab anything nearby," her mentor advised, straightening the collar of the jacket. "and find a source of water and food as early as possible. burn out all fires before it gets dark and make sure to hide well."

johanna paused, placing her hands on y/n's shoulders. "and please, stay alive. i believe in you."

y/n nodded. "thanks for everything, johanna."

the mentor smiled, a hint of uneasiness in her face. "they'll start the countdown soon. don't jump off the pedestal early, or they'll blow your guts out."

y/n stepped inside the launch tube, watching as the glass door swiveled around to a close. she felt the ground beneath her rise as johanna waved goodbye to her, causing y/n to smile sadly back.

she turned her head upwards, squinting her eyes as the dark space flooded with light. her tube stopped moving, locking into place as a burning heat overwhelmed her body. she scanned the arena, her heart beating faster than ever.

"the countdown begins now. 60..."

it was a ruined city. all rubble and dry concrete. the sunlight was pelting on them like a fire, breaking the tributes out into a sweat. a single pillar, chipped at some of the edges, was surrounded by backpacks and weapons alike. some of the supplies were spread out, varying in locations across the cornucopia.

"...45..."

y/n noticed a backpack a couple of meters away from her. she locked her eyes on it, planning to grab it before running.

"...30..."

she blinked harshly, the dryness of the heat getting to her eyes. she noticed jay several pedestals away from her, already looking at her.

"...20..."

her hands were already sweaty and shaking from both the anxiety and heat. but jay's eyes comforted her, slightly relaxing the stress in her body. it was as if all the tension from last night between them evaporated into thin air.

"...10..."

she felt her chest heaving, struggling to breathe from the rapid beating in her chest and the dust in the air.

"...9..."

she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down.

"...8..."

she inhaled slowly and took her time to exhale.

"...7..."

she opened her eyes, adjusting her eyes to the bright sun again.

"...6..."

she eyed the backpack in front of her, feeling her heart racing even more.

"...5..."

she looked at jay, who was preparing to run.

"...4..."

he met her stare, their eyes locking with each other.

"...3..."

she mouthed a "stay alive."

"...2..."

he nodded as his lips said, "you too."

"...1..."

within the end of a second, the 73rd hunger games had begun.

© snwpcktz

taglist: @kpopstanmeg @kyunlov

[thewordswewrite]

do we get to know what happened to the first baby? the one they lost? like from the vibes alone, it seems like either a miscarriage or stillbirth. what happened?

Our Condolences

The Drought of an Ocean Universe

Pairing | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Original Story Summary | Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

Oneshot Summary | Three months after they realize they’re expecting, things take a turn for the worse for Finnick and his girl.

Chapter Warnings | loss of pregnancy, explicit language

W/C | 1.5k

Taglist | @lem0ns77   @lostintheendlessvoidthatislife @curlycarley​   @bela-nov​ @lilylovelyxo​   @jaydiann @shynypeacekitten​ @dd122004dd​ @jyessaminereads​   @aquawhore420   @qallaghereid  @bazzaza​ @zulpix-blog​ @mrsjna​   @americanstarlette @lou-the-confused-bisexual​ @maxinehufflepuffprincess​ @cecepop15   @pavard-leto-girl  

A/N | We're currently making our way through the asks so as they come in we will complete this type of oneshot for them. Please enjoy!!-Smoe

Donations |  Link

|Masterlist|

Again and again, she watched the shadow of a figure cast across the living room from the front window as they had for weeks now. She buried herself deeper in the blanket and tried to fall back into the mindless dirge of whatever was on the TV. From the other part of the house, she could hear Finnick and Mags puttering about and even with the faint movements she knew exactly what room they were in; the room that she hadn’t stepped foot in in weeks, the room whose door Finnick would shut if she even took a step towards. The figure passed by again, blocking the sunlight from bleeding through the window and despite her best interests, she thought she might just go outside. It’d been days since she’d felt fresh air and she’d be in and out before Finnick could say anything. 

Her bare feet hit the polished wood floor, sending a shiver up her spine and she kept the blanket wrapped around her, the end of it trailing behind as she made her way towards the door. It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the sunlight but as they did, she could see the front porch was once again covered with vases of flowers and various ornate gift bags and boxes alike. She filled her arms with as much as she could take in one go, though caution didn’t matter much when every gift was an empty gesture…

“Hey, hey, no. You shouldn’t be lifting that.”

“It’s just a couple of vases. I think I can handle it.” Her protests went unheard as Finnick gathered the gifts in his arms leaving her with a ‘don’t you touch those’ about the rest. They’d hardly accepted the news themselves before it was Capitol official and it didn’t take long for the gifts to come flooding in; they already had a full nursery with enough for a family of ten. Any significant spares they received, like the surplus of bassinets, were donated first to their own District, then to the others.

Finnick had barely let his eyes off her since she told him she was pregnant and despite being terrified, as the gifts multiplied and the entire country buzzed her excitement began to grow. She never thought herself a mother, having decidedly condemned her future to one as a failed career before she met Finnick and then a captive in her own life after. Though now she supposed things had changed, her life, though not entirely hers, was made tolerable by Finnick and now, their child.

A small smile graced her face as she plucked a card from the bouquet of flowers. ‘Congratulations! We are so…’

‘...sorry to hear about your loss, our condolences–’ She was unable to finish reading the note before it was torn from between her fingers, the vase of calla lilies obstructed from her view.

“Finnick, please–”

“You don’t need to keep reading all of these,” His voice soothed, leaving the numerous gifts out on the porch as he closed the door, softly nudging her inside. “I’ll throw those out later.”

“I’m fine,” She tried to reassure him but her stomach clenched at his pained face. “You don’t need to be the one to do everything. I’m okay.” Despite her words, she didn’t expect the grief she felt when they lost the baby. She turned away from him, heading towards the kitchen where...

Their lunch was forgotten in her haze. The memories of intense pain and blood running down her thighs as she yelled for help had left her drained, and nearly unresponsive in bed. The only one around to help had been Mags, Finnick’s elderly mentor. The older woman had rubbed her back and helped her clean herself up before making her lie down in bed.

She must’ve done something; she couldn’t wrap her mind around how it could’ve happened. Maybe Finnick had been right and she should’ve been doing less than she was, maybe she ate something she shouldn't have, maybe she wasn’t meant to be a mother.

Her eyes pricked with tears, salt running down her cheeks at the revelation of what this would mean for her and Finnick. President Snow told them before they left for their honeymoon his expectations from them and not even three months since the official announcement of her pregnancy had she messed it up. She didn’t know how they would be punished but once again she’d dragged Finnick down with her. She was deep in her thoughts when a hand gently laid on her waist, startling her.

“Mags told me that…” She couldn’t bear to look at him when his voice choked up. “That you lost the baby?”

“I’m sorry.”

Finnick circled around the bed and crouched in front of her, his eyes red-rimmed and hair disheveled. “It’s not your fault,” He clutched her hand in both of his. “Not even a little bit.”

“But President Snow–”

“Fuck Snow. He doesn’t matter, you matter.” Finnick’s face was earnest…

…his eyes swirling with worry as he looked across the room at Mags who was already pulling out utensils to start making lunch. Although she found it tough to be taken care of, she knew the woman was happy to have someone to tend to again, especially when it came to Finnick who had l been bending over backward lately to be there for her every waking need. 

He’d done everything he could to help her. Never-ending assurances and thoughtful words were thrown at her constantly, but she worried for him. All he had left was Mags and now her; a baby would’ve expanded his family and she knew he was crushed over it. Selfishly, she’d felt almost a bit relieved to have been released from the responsibility of taking care of a baby. She was eighteen and Finnick only a year older, they hadn’t grown up with much of any sort of role model and she felt ill-equipped to raise a child.

After what happened, they contacted The President before he could decide they were hiding something from him and she was quickly ushered to The Capitol and met by the best doctors in the country. Though, it was too late and they'd confirmed what she already knew: that she’d lost the baby.

“Hey, Mags, could you keep an eye on her while I take care of the rest of this stuff?” Finnick called out from behind her. Mags shook her head, gesturing first to herself and then towards the door, indicating that she’d take care of it and in turn leaving him no choice but to face her. 

As soon as Mags was far enough away, she bit out, “I don’t need someone to babysit me.” 

“Sweetheart, I didn’t–”

She was already walking with only one destination in mind and though she knew it wasn’t something that would be good for either of them, it was something she needed to do. Finnick’s footfalls were quick behind her on the stairs and she felt a pit in her stomach growing at the knowledge that he had already realized what she wanted.

When she reached the door, his hand was already on the handle holding it shut, his strength overwhelming her own. She smacked open palms and then fists against the door to no avail. Snapping her head to look at him, she stilled, letting the look on her face speak for itself as it met his own strained expression. His head fell, the unspoken exchange leaving him with no choice but to let go.

Turning the handle she opened the door…

…to see Finnick in deep concentration, trying to assemble the bassinet that they had been gifted from Sagan when they heard the news. Despite Sagan’s flare for the dramatics, the bassinet was sweet and simple, a classic cream color with a sea-themed mobile to accompany it. 

She didn’t want to say anything as she leaned in the doorway, watching her husband hard at work. While it was hard to get used to the idea of being a mother, it didn’t take much to imagine Finnick as a doting father. She must’ve made some noise as she thought for Finnick jumped, the paper detailing the instructions falling out of his mouth and onto the floor.

“I, uh, I wanted to surprise you,” Finnick blushed as he stood. She couldn’t help but grin and she turned back for the door.

“Well, I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything,” She called as she closed the door…

…and was met with Finnick’s grim face, her own likely mirroring his. Her heart was pounding at the sudden memory of a happier time and she felt sick. Their lives had been so strained recently that she worried for them.

She sighed walking past him towards their room. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

A beat passed before Finnick spoke. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”

[heliads]

I recently re-read the hunger games trilogy, so can you write a katniss fic with a fem!reader being secretly haymitch's daughter?? nothing much, just the two of them spending time together, hunting or spending some quality time together, ignoring the capitol, the world and individual problems to enjoy the hours they have together

please let me write for thg i love this request

masterlist

It is a terrible thing to be a Victor. Most people only look surface level, choosing to focus on the gilded trappings and gaudy praise the Capitol heaps upon you. Beneath the facade, living with the memories of what you’ve done is far harder than finding a way to burn through all the money they give you for killing twenty-three other children while all the world watches on. The price of blood was always worse than the price of gold, anyway.

You’ve seen this once before already. The Capitol does its best to stay up to date on every little detail of their lovely Victors’ lives, but when Haymitch Abernathy had his first child, he did everything in his power to ensure that no one would ever find out. That infant would live in someone else’s home, kept out of sight of the cameras and the Arena alike, and she would grow up to be you.

It wasn’t the worst of lives. It kind of was. No one can pick their place in life when they first come into the world, obviously. Otherwise, we’d all be living up in the Capitol and no one would be down here, choking on coal dust, waiting for their bones to turn ash so their body can be burned to heat the homes of the rich and prosperous a million miles away from them.

Haymitch watched out for you as best he could. He sent your foster parents money when he remembered it, always a little out of schedule, a touch too much to cover up for the fact that he forgot the last time around. He started remembering as you got older, though. He stopped feeling ashamed of you and started feeling ashamed of himself.

You see him a lot, although the frequency of your meetings always picks up around the time of the Games. He needs it as a reminder that not everything about him always leads to death and ruin. Once in a blue moon, Haymitch Abernathy is responsible for something good. Something, someone, like you.

There’s a schedule to the Games, one that isn’t known or enforced by the Peacekeepers, and it goes like this:  first there is the before, and then there is the after. Prior to the start of the Hunger Games ceremonies, Haymitch will be over at your place. You’ll talk a lot. Both of you will do your best to keep the conversations light. Remember when you were a kid, crawling around all the time? How you used to laugh like crazy whenever it snowed?

Then he’ll get dragged off by the Capitol to go mentor two kids until they die, and then you reach the second phase of the schedule, the after. Haymitch will hole up in his estate in the Victor’s Village, the only occupied house there, the only living being around because he couldn’t save a single person other than himself, and you will find him because no one else will. It’s quiet most of the time. He doesn’t want to think about anything at all, and certainly not the additional two kids who placed their faith in him just for him to let them down again.

After a while, he’ll manage to claw his way out of it, and then you’ll have the better part of a year before the cycle repeats. You’ve had plenty of time to grow used to this pattern, and you’ve perfected it like a pastime. The right words to say get easier to remember when you say them every year. And now, as a reward for getting it right, you get to repeat the process with Katniss Everdeen.

You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Truth be told, it’s easier spending time with Katniss than anyone else, even right after her first Games when everything is bloody and terrible. You could see yourself doing this again next year, and the next one, and the next. You don’t think you would mind it. Not at all.

Perhaps that’s why Haymitch set this up in the first place. Maybe he knew it would be okay. Or maybe he was just so ridiculously pleased that he managed to save not one tribute but two that he was only thinking about prolonging Katniss’ survival. The reasons don’t always matter. What happened, happened, and secretly you’re glad of it now.

Katniss had been locked in a death spiral of nightmares and bad memories. It soon became clear that she would lose herself to it if someone didn’t intervene, so someone did. Haymitch took Katniss by the shoulders, shook her a little and told her to get it together, and pointed her to you. You knew what it was like to befriend someone who wanted to shut out the world, who couldn’t sleep without nightmares and couldn’t talk without thinking that someone was watching. You could understand Katniss better than anyone, and Haymitch knew it. Daughters are such wonderful pawns to play, aren’t they?

Again, a cruel way to put it, but this is the truth nonetheless. It’s what Katniss suspected the first time you visited her house, and the second, but after a couple of weeks passed and it grew obvious that you weren’t giving up on her without a fight, she begrudgingly let you in. The two of you had been observing each other for years now, the consequence of there only being so many girls your age in a small town in District Twelve, but things accelerated rapidly after the Games.

You’ll never be entirely certain why. Katniss doesn’t let people in, and she threw up her walls tenfold after she partook in the Hunger Games, unable to discern if someone was talking to her because they wanted to or if they wanted to kill her. She even started growing distant from Gale, because Gale didn’t understand her completely, not anymore. Not like you did.

Over the course of the summer, Katniss’ icy demeanor started to melt. She is hesitant and cautious, but she still smiles at your offhand jokes, always a little surprised, like she can’t believe she’s having this good of a time either. The two of you start meeting up in the forest surrounding District Twelve where no one can see you, where it’s just the two of you and the blissful sunlight waving through endless flurries of leaves above your heads.

And, not according to plan, you realize that you’re starting to fall for her. Katniss is like no one you’ve ever met before, even your dad. You knew how to operate around Haymitch, but Katniss doesn’t require an assembly guide or how-to explanation. You just know her. It is as easy as that.

After realizing such a thing as that, how could you not begin to love her? You can steal your dad’s drinks and get properly sloshed on them, but it’ll never match the tipsiness you feel when you look at her; when she laughs at one of your jokes, always reluctant at first but more easily as she gets more used to you. It makes you want to try again and again, and so you do. Katniss listens every time. She says she likes to hear you.

Instead of running away, you decide to embrace the feeling. You head to the woods more and more often, although never at the risk of the Peacekeepers’ attention. Katniss never tells you when she’s going out, nor do you mention when you’re out here, but the two of you have a habit of finding each other nonetheless. You turn around and there she is, emerging from a stand of trees; she crosses a bank at the same time as you; you climb a tree to get a better vantage point of the forest and you’re instantly drawn to the sight of her doing the same across a clearing. Katniss makes sense.

If you squint your eyes just right, you can make your entire world double. The hazy afterimages of present day will swim before you, a hair out of line but still there, still two instead of one. For example, right now, walking through the woods beyond District Twelve, it’s as if you can see two exact images of the current moment instead of only one.

On one version of this day a few years ago, when you hide away from the world in the forbidden greenery past your district’s limits, you come across Katniss Everdeen and you hide from her, too. You do not know her. Not well, at least. You see her and pretend otherwise. She does the same. She heard your footsteps first and thought herself visited by a deer instead of a girl. Her finger tensed on her bowstring, but she released it the second your face finally came into view. Katniss could not kill a person.

Would not. Katniss can kill a person, as it turns out, she can outlive twenty-two tributes through various purposes and keep one other alive, then do it again, but she does not know that yet. All Katniss knows in this past moment, this one half of a fractured memory, is that she will not kill you, and that is true today, too.

On the other version, the one that happens today, you do not run from Katniss, you go to her. That is the whole purpose of risking the Peacekeepers’ wrath by ducking under the fence to escape to the forest. The wilderness means Katniss, and Katniss means you’ll be able to spend another day relatively free from the concerns of a girl from District Twelve who has increasingly little between herself and the violence of not having enough.

Katniss doesn’t turn when you approach, but you can hear the quiet smile in her voice when she admonishes you, “You’re going to scare away all my game.”

You chuckle. “No, no. I’m drawing them out of the bush so you can shoot them. It’s teamwork.”

“If it were teamwork,” she argues, “you would also have a bow.”

You lift a shoulder. “I would never dare steal your favorite weapon. I want you to feel important.”

This does make her laugh. Almost indignantly, yes, but still a laugh. Still a win for you. She manages to nab a few birds before setting her bow down for the morning. The two of you sit side by side in the tall grass, a cool breeze blowing upon your faces, bringing with it the tender tangy scent of the forest.

Usually, neither of you have ever suffered from awkwardness when you’re out here. You could spend hours out here, not saying a word, and it would be just as fulfilling as if you’d spoken the entire time. Today, though, there’s something stuck on the tip of your tongue, a truth that refuses to go unsaid no matter how you fight it.

At last, you give in and, keeping your eyes resolutely ahead, you tell her what’s on your mind. “I’m glad you’re with me, Katniss.”

You can see Katniss frowning out of the corner of your eyes. “Where else would I be?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. You could have heard me coming and avoided me the second I stepped into the forest. Probably would have caught more, too.”

Katniss shakes her head doubtfully. “No, we’re good. This is good.”

She sets her jaw determinedly, like this settles everything. It does, in a way. It gives you the courage to continue. “I’m glad to hear it. I like spending time with you.” A pause. “I like you.”

Katniss’ brow knits. “Why would you like me?” Genuinely confused, she adds on, “I’ve done terrible things, Y/N.”

“We’re all terrible,” you whisper back softly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been in the Games. You haven’t.”

This is true. No matter how much time you spend with Haymitch or Katniss, nor how many stories you hear about the Hunger Games, it will never be the same as actually taking part in them yourself. With all luck, you never will. Both Haymitch and Katniss would fight to keep you out of them, and then to keep you alive, should that happen, but the possibility shrinks with every year as you get older.

“I still want you,” you tell her. More the empty forest air; you can’t quite say this to her face, not yet. The fear of rejection after everything is too great a burden to bear.

When you do risk a glance over at her, though, Katniss doesn’t look affronted. Instead, she looks more at peace than you’ve ever seen her. Slowly, carefully, her face upturned to catch the morning sun, Katniss smiles again. You’re not even sure that she’s aware of doing it. It is simply the only way she can process that this, you wanting her, would make her happier than anything else.

And, sitting here in the forest, surrounded by a million memories of all that you have done together, a thousand hopes of all that you have yet to do, you look over at Katniss and you know. You know that she loves you. You know that she can’t say it, not yet, not until she’s certain that you love her as much as she loves you.

She will tell you, though. In time. Perhaps it’ll happen another day out here past the confines of District Twelve, in a space that has always been safe to the two of you and will thus protect her from the fallout of confessing to a friend. Perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re asleep next to her, to avoid a response, or perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re pretending to be asleep, so she knows you’re heard and you don’t have to tell her anything.

Or, maybe she’ll just say it now, unspoken but still startlingly loud, audible in every glance your way, every faint smile she never bothers to hide. That, you think, would be enough.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[flashypunches]

emf and the evil champion's dynamic:

the evil champion @ emf: wow, I trust you so much I would let you sit up on my throne without asking when I do not allow the man I love to do so. You are my only equal btw.

emf @ the evil champion: when will you kill me for my disrespect. I've ruined you because I made you raise me. I'm going to betray you btw.

rewrote the evil champion's POV chapter. under cut

The people say that there were just plains before. That grass and ground lay untouched, contiguous, as if the land were nothing more than a patchwork quilt of color and growth.

But that time had been before the players’ arrival. They walked, sprinted, jumped as much as much as they could, their only adversary their own hunger and of the night’s monsters. With hands sturdy and strong, they went as they pleased, destroying and creating whatever caught the horde’s attention.

Courses were just makeshift, play during this time. Rolling hills, edges of mountains, tricky terrain were what consisted of Parkour. It had not been established within its greatness yet.

The splitting changed that. Straight cuts through land and water alike, the players were separated into only one set of skin for each of them.

Attention sparked crowds, waged wars along blocky ground, and that was the name of Parkour’s game for a long time. Elaborate courses of wood and sand and gravel constructed, then that of candles and other as intricate objects like brewing stands. 

Recognition was cast to Parkour now. Respect was a thing that laid much to be gained.

One had not liked that. It was sweet, fresh, singular and without a need for becoming a multiple again. It wanted Parkour to be with respect, wanted it so much that the land around for miles on end was torn apart into a grid. Individuality was the thing, said to be the curse by sinners, that it offered.

Diamonds, commands, obedience, those were what was offered to the people, within just a cookie’s crumbling under biting teeth and soft tongue.

Oh, how he wishes to have seen it in the flesh. Or dough, he would guess is more accurate to say.

*

He used to go towards the Temple every morning. Made the journey whilst knowing of his legs’ future ache, of how much worse he’d feel throughout his workday. 

Now instead, the champion leads himself and his brother up the stairs, towards the marble layer placed down by Parkour itself.

His brother’s face stretches with each yawn they take, and he often has to hold their hand along the way to prevent a potential stumble, meanwhile his own feet are weighed down by diamond and exhaustion, but it’s nice. Besides, in the books that he has read in an attempt to guide himself on the matter of raising his brother, most of them say that it is beneficial to give structure in their life. 

It helps that it is peaceful up here as well. There’s no noise of busy people pushing and shoving their way towards the banks, of any busy battles, or that of people clamoring for the Champion’s judgement on petty grudges. 

Instead, the only disturbance is the sunlight that peeks through the darkened sky, warming both his layer and the Master layer with morning.

The only person he allows to, his brother rests upon the throne whilst he recites prayer after prayer, same whispers for greatness as is his routine every other day.

He descends with them, once the layer is fully engulfed in the sun’s glow. Before, he had stayed on the marble floor just a little longer, lingering and watching, but Seawatt does not take to the invisible parkour as quietly as his brother does.

It is his only point of contention with his assistant, he likes to tell himself. He ignores the glares shot across the dinner table during the first and last meal Seawatt had attended with his brother in tow. In the same vein, he disregards Seawatt’s murmurs of betrayal and the suspicion cast their way by the excursions they take away from his sight. 

Hurrying along the highway, he is in no rush to be recognized and eventually mobbed with questions by the other Masters. He goes towards the outskirts, travels to the lab he knows is just ahead, to Seawatt.

A shame, is what the man calls it, the fact that he has chosen no other way of referring to himself or his brother than just a title. There’s no need for his annoyance though. After all, Seawatt has a name and a role of his own, his brother is just that, his brother, and they are the only forms of companionship he requires. 

What else could he need?

Despite that, AJ is the thing Seawatt chooses for him, calls him in that low voice of his. It’s arguably, virtually useless. He is an equal to no one but his brother. 

There’s no need for nicknames, not when you are within the confines of professionalism. But Seawatt cares not for those courtesies, as he has learned. But it’s not a matter of importance either, so he bothers not to deal with it in full seriousness.

The name is not carved into history books however, not upon the statue that displays diamond, not within his own file as his player ID. That spot is empty, alongside his brother’s. Familiarity is not a thing he demands within his rule.