#hunger games fluff

[leviathanspain]

little hell

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: you wished more than anything that he had left you to die in that arena, because nothing could hurt more than seeing him with her

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

watching their ceremony had felt like you had drank poison. a burning fire had been brewing in your abdomen, and as they kissed, you had to swallow the bile that threatened to come out.

finnick had turned to face the onlookers, and smiled as he held annie’s hand. only you could notice the smile faltering as he gazed over you, and you looked down, not wanting to look at him any longer.

you had abandoned the wedding early, excusing yourself with the pain in your leg, that hadn’t bothered you since your days in the infirmary, but it was good enough.

you fought tears until you got behind closed doors, where with the commotion of the celebration, hid away the noises of your sobs. finnick knew, and you too had known, that annie would always hold a flame to his heart, but it was you who allowed yourself to fall in love, and it was him who gave you the hope.

days later, a soft knock on your door rang out and finally you had peeled yourself out of your bed to answer it. you couldn’t hide your surprise when you saw it was katniss, looking pale in her grey jumpsuit.

you let her in without question, and moved to sit on your bed, with katniss closing the door behind her.

you raised an eyebrow, “katniss. honestly you’re the last person i would expect to be here.”

katniss didn’t say anything for a moment, until finally, “i doubt you expected anyone at all.” you let out a bitter laugh, and nodded, “i suppose you are correct.”

katniss nodded, “but i’m not. finnick has been asking about you.”

you scoffed, “why does he even care? he’s a married man, he’s with her..” you trailed off, “im just here, the other woman..” you trailed off, and katniss swallowed thickly.

“i cant say anything for him,” she admitted, “but i will say that he is horrible for what he did- and how he lied to you both.” you nodded, forgetting completely about annie, who was oblivious to his indiscretions.

katniss had stayed with you for another moment, where she sat in a comforting silence.

finnick had been looking for you throughout the compound. he had hug onto annie as she did to him, but his eyes would still clear a room looking for you.

he had finally found you, and pulled himself away from annie with just a good enough excuse.

he made his way to you, and you turned to meet his eyes. you rolled your eyes, and sharply turned back on your heel, your feet carrying you to somewhere you didn’t even know you were going.

finnick called your name, desperation in his voice, you felt him hot on your feet. without thinking, he grabbed your arms, and threw you against the wall.

you gasped, and turned to see no one had even batted an eye at his slight aggression, but you were now in no position to ignore him.

finnick swallowed, looking down, “i’m sorry. for having to do this but you won’t talk to me otherwise.” you nodded your head slightly, and sighed, “and?” finnick inhaled, “i should have told you about annie. i- i don’t know what i was thinking.”

“i don’t either finnick. if you had any fucking brains, you would’ve left me to die out there, so you wouldn’t have to see my face around here, and feel that guilt.” you felt your eyes rim with tears, and you sniffled, “you should’ve killed me. done the mercy, finnick. and there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t hate you for what you didn’t do.”

finnick exhaled, and his voice felt shaky, as did his grip on your hands, “i know. i should’ve told you about annie, i should’ve stopped it but-“ he shrugged, “i love you.” he whispered.

you blinked and tears fell onto your cheeks, “you cant say that. you cant say that!” you pulled your arms free and threw him back. finnick fell back onto the wall and stared at you in shock, “you don’t get to fucking say that.” you yelled, and felt yourself heat with anger.

you shook your head, giving finnick one last look before you left him there.

[neteyamslovrr]

I'M JUST RESTING

summary: just a cute wee drabble of my man peeta.

contents: 300 words, fem!reader, no warnings just fluff

authors note: im baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

It was as if all gods had turned their heads away from us. Too guilty to look at the state of the lives of puny humans below them. Yet, they had carved a beauty with their godly hands. Soft eyes, perfect hair, a calming smile… all put together to make the masterpiece of Peeta Mellark.

If it wasn’t these circumstances you wished you two had a cliché romance. One where you met as your fingers brushed together by accident, where your eyes would click, and sparks would fly. That was for the fairy tales. You were nowhere near a fairytale.

Sat on the beach of the arena you rested on Peeta’s shoulder. Exhaustion taking over…you were sick of fighting…you just wanted a rest.

“Don’t get sleepy on me pretty girl.” He whispered in your ear, voice as sweet as honey. He smiled his large hand caressing the small of your back. This was the nicest time you two had spent together in the past hellish week.

“ ‘M not. Just closing my eyes” You’d whisper back, as if you were trying to hide your voices from the thousands of cameras in the arena. Peeta chuckled pulling you closer.

His presence could clear any tension in your body. His breathing rhythmically calming you. He was all you needed.

“It’s not good to lie y’know? Rest my girl…I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kisses your forehead, yours sweaty, his lips chapped. Yet it was as perfect as it could ever be.

“Told you I’m just closing my eyes.” I grin cuddling into your shoulder. The crashes of the waves on the tide were calming, even if they claimed so many lives in the past few hours. How could something so calming be so deadly? A mystery your sleepy mind had no time to contemplate.

i didn't proof read :0

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I love writing pissed off Johanna dialogue!

Content warnings - death (it’s the hunger games)

As much as he wants to chase after you, he can’t. Katniss would kill you and he can’t abandon the plan, not until he can pass off babysitting duty to Johanna.

You spent the evening wandering the jungle, unnerved by every little noise you heard. After you left, you circled back the way you had originally come, hoping the others would carry on in the other direction.

Your arm was still bleeding but you didn’t care. It’s not like any sponsors were lining up to send you stuff. You’ll have to kill a career and steal their supplies using the only weapon you have, the arrow that landed in your arm.

A few hours after dark, the faces of the fallen appear in the sky. None of your allies are on the list so you don’t really care. It’s not like you knew these people.

You opt to go deeper into the jungle, opposite of where Finnick must be. This whole place is starting to look the same, though, and it’s hard to get your bearings.

Hours later, a gong rings twelve times. You don’t have time to ask yourself what it means as the hairs on your body stand up and a large blast of electricity shoots down mere yards away from you.

Lightning.

You have to move. Now. Your ears hurt and panic rises in your throat. They’re here to kill you. You’re gonna die.

Running, you collide with someone, another tribute. They don’t even have time to scream before your arrow is through their neck and their cannon is sounding. Move. Now.

You run until you can’t anymore, scared that something is chasing you. The game makers must have caused the lightning to force you and the other tribute closer together.

There were other canons throughout the night, but you paid no attention to them. You sat under a tree, hugging your knees, trying to ignore the burning in your dry throat and the pain in your arm. Of course Katniss had to shoot your dominant arm.

When the day is bright enough to illuminate your section of the jungle, you decide to head back towards where the lightning was. If another tribute was over there then there may be some food or water close by. Maybe they even had sponsors.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you make it back to where the fight occurred. There’s no trace of it but you know the spot. Your hair stands on edge again and you panic, knowing exactly what this means. The lightning strikes and you bolt, running from whoever must be near.

They’re going to kill you. You’re dead. You need to run faster.

You run downhill, towards what you think is the lake. Despite not being allowed in the ocean for the past five years, you’re probably still the second best swimmer in the arena behind Finnick. If you could lure whoever is chasing you into the water then you could drown them.

Your legs barely make it to the beach, completely drained from your lack of sleep and sustenance. Whoever was following you must have realized your plan and stopped. Maybe nobody followed you at all.

As you make your way out of the jungle and towards the water, you pause, spotting a large group of people a ways down the beach. It’s Finnick and his alliance. Maybe they would give you food, or shoot you. Honestly, who knows?

They spot you approaching and Katniss aims another arrow at you. You’re still clutching the one she shot you with in your hand, ready to stab anyone who comes near.

“Y/N!” Finnick exclaims as he runs over to you. “I was so worried.”

You look over at the group and back at him, silently asking if they’re ok with you being there. He sighs, realizing that Katniss probably isn’t ok with you being there but he needs you with him anyways. He can’t lose you.

“Have you eaten?” he asks. You shake your head no. “We have food and water. Oh! And some first aid stuff for your arm. Katniss is sorry by the way.”

“Skin?” you ask him. Noticing the scabs on his body and the cuts on his face.

“We got caught in some poisonous fog last night and ended up in a fight with some monkeys this morning,” he explains. “I’m alright. Nobody in our group has died except Blight. He hit the force field last night and they couldn’t revive him.”

You hum in response, catching a whiff of the fish Finnick must have caught for the group to eat. He notices your hunger and gently guides you to sit on the edge of the group close to Johanna and far away from Katniss.

“Glad you could join us feisty!” Johanna chuckles as you sit near her. You give her a shrug as if to say that you’re currently indifferent to your existence. She gets the memo.

“Nuts and Volts,” she states. “Have you met fiesty?”

The man and woman look up at the group.

“Yes,” Beetee replies. “I believe we briefly met Y/N at her victory tour celebration in the capital but it’s been many years. It is nice to see you again Y/N, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You guys aren’t letting her stay with us, right?” Katniss asks and you tense up. They need her for their plan. You’re disposable.

“Back off firebird,” Johanna barks. “She’s sticking with us.”

“She tried to kill me!” Katniss exclaims.

“Because you touched her,” Johanna shouts. You flinch at the volume. “Rule numéro uno is don’t touch fiesty. Plus I thought you were a good fighter, Katnip. You mean to tell me you couldn’t win a fight against her? She hasn’t been outside in over five years. She’s practically harmless!”

“Let’s settle down,” Finnick states, noticing you becoming tense due to the yelling. “Here’s your fish Y/N. I’m gonna go grab you some water.” You smile at him in thanks and begin to eat the fish. The smile fades when you notice Katniss watching you eat like a hawk, so you turn around and sit with your back towards her while you eat.

You need to convince her of Johanna’s words. You’re harmless.

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[5sospenguinqueen]

Y/N: I love you and all your flaws.

Coriolanus: So you think I have flaws?

[theheartboyshome]

Hunger Games characters reacting to you seeing their imperfections

Gale. Finnick. Peeta. TW: Unedited; mentions of abuse; mentions of bl**d; mentions of violence; implied s*x; mentions of harm

Gale.

Not one. Many. Many scars littering his back, across every hemisphere of his tense muscles and tender bruises. Strokes engraved into his skin, scattered across every slope of his back. Ugly. He hates looking at them. They’re everywhere, it seems. Not faint lines, either. That’s what Gale hates the most. His pain, the reminders of it, are never going away. They’re deep lashes embedded into his body, shiny pink trails that remind him of home. Of how terrible 12 really was. How unfair everything was. He doesn’t want to remember home like that. Not like the painful scars that seem to mark every inch of his back. District 12 was…

He doesn’t want to think about Peacekeepers, especially now that he’s the equivalent of one himself. He doesn’t want to think of all the pent up hurt he had left behind in 12 for him to pick up. Part of him wanted to feel the pain again, if only it would patch the holes he feels inside himself. Like he needs something. And these scars… the pain… is all he needs to obtain whatever it could be.

Gale is standing in front of the mirror stapled into the wall of his room. Not so much preening as he is… examining. He turns his back to the mirror more, straining to see the scars that riddle the plains of his back. He runs his finger along one of them, feeling the shiny repairs contrast with the unmarked skin. His fingers press more firmly into one of the deepest gashes. It doesn’t hurt anymore… which he’s grateful for. He only wishes they’d go away- the scars. He really hates them. The creaking door grates his eardrums, and he turns sharply towards the doorway. He looks around for his shirt, albeit a little frantic.

“Can I come in?” The door isn’t completely open, which was very polite.

Gale pauses, pushing his arms into his shirt sleeves as he glances headlong towards the door. “Yeah, in a sec,” he continues dressing, ignoring the heat that’s rising to his face.

“Gale?”

His shirt isn’t even over his head, leaving his back completely exposed to the doorway. He pauses, turning away from where you stand.

“Yeah?” He calls back in the most nonchalant voice he can muster. He didn’t really intend for anyone to interrupt him, especially not you. “Sorry I-” you look down at your hand sheepishly. “I thought you were just procrastinating.” Gale scoffs; his calm and collected act is completely contradicting his wild heart rate. “Procrastinating? What, from seeing you?”

It’s the Gale you like. Not serious Gale. Not captain Gale. You like youthful, District 12 Gale. You nod, still a little sheepish. “Well, I’m not,” he pulls the shirt over his head, “I was just-” “-changing?”

You interrupt with a knowing smile, although Gale would argue that it’s a smirk. “Yeah I noticed.” He looks down at his hands that are now tucked into his pockets. The scars, fragments of pain left behind from twelve, running the length of his back, deep gashes that would never go away; you had seen them. Gale figured as much. He just really hoped you’d never have to see them again. But of course…

“Gale,” you breath against the crook of his neck. You’re both sitting on his bed, but you were clever enough to let time pass before pressing. It was a week later. “Let me see.” As you chide him, gently- mind, your fingers slip underneath his shirt. Gale sighs heavily. “I don’t know…” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s just… they’re really- uhm…”

You listen patiently, hands stationary at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t… let a lot of people see them.” You chuckle, “I hope not.” And on a more serious note, “I promise to be gentle. You know me.” He does know you, how tender you can be. Reluctantly, he complies. Your hands ride the shirt up his back and over his head. Elegant, gentle fingers run along his spine, so soft that Gale hardly suppresses a shiver. You apologize quietly. He hears you murmuring idle comments- something about cruelty and mistreatment. He already knows all that. The way you describe the scars is different than the means in which he got them. Your fingers trace a particularly long stoke that winds from the top of his shoulder blade down to the middle of his back. The soft flesh of your index finger sends goosebumps in the wake of its touch against the shiny scar.

“They’re beautiful.”

Gale almost chokes on air, his jaw tightening.

Heavy silence follows as he tries to comprehend what you said. His scars are ugly. They always would be. “What did you say?” You look up from your trance, seeming a little dazed, “Hmm? Oh!”

You look at his back again, avoiding eye contact. He turns towards you, observing you intently. Your gaze is still downwards, and more color is flaring in your cheeks. “I said: they’re beautiful, because… I- er -I think they are.” Gale’s eyes soften and his face relaxes. He leans forward, capturing your lips in his. You might not know it, but you made him genuinely happy. Maybe the pain and hurt from the scars could be healed.

Finnick

The footprints of lips were all over him; more hickeys spanning across his skin than he could count. Tender brown splotches with defined Cupid’s bows that nestled in the crook of his neck and across his chest and shoulders. Finnick slowly drew his finger across the curves and dips in his skin, letting his thumb rest on a particularly sore spot, rubbing against the print of a fleshy bottom lip. He felt a smile creeping onto the corners of his mouth as a scoff built up in his chest. The smile wasn’t genuine, and the scoff was partially out of disbelief. His latest visitors really left their mark, and he hadn’t been eighteen for more than a month. He averted his gaze to the floor, staring at his bare feet instead of the open scratches and dark hickies that ran across every plain of his upper body. His fingers still rubbed subconsciously on the sorest splotches. The blood dripping down his thigh was probably from a newly created scar. Finnick’s eyes darkened with distaste. There was something about this job that made him feel hollow. The throbbing in his crotch and aching in his muscles were the highlights of his evening. Not that anyone cared- but he really hated the whole thing.

Damp fingers turned on the faucet as he finally mustered the courage to back away from the mirror. The room was chilly, and his legs and body shook as he leaned against the bathroom counter, rubbing his hands until they pruned in the sink. Finnick was aware he was good looking- he had always known that. However, as he stared at his reflection, he was beginning to get the impression that beauty was cruel. There was a soft rapping on the door. Abruptly, he was snapped out of his trance. The knock on the door startled him, and he turned off the water hurriedly, shaking his hands dry as best he could. “Ye-ah?” His voice cracked, eyes swarming with alarm as he looked around for his clothes. Of course...seeing as they were in the other room where he left them, they were completely useless to him. “Finnick? It’s me.”

He recognized the friendly voice, but didn’t intend to let you see him like this. If he was too young, then you certainly were. The bathrobe would do, and as he fastened it, he let you inside. Of course, he couldn’t cover up everything. The dark lip stains that riddled his neck were still displayed to you. He felt an increasing amount of self consciousness, something he doesn’t feel often, as you stared at him with lips pursed and eyes sickeningly blank. “Bad time?” You asked, averting your eyes to the floor. Finnick tried smiling, but once again it felt as plastic as the capital, “Course not. Come in.” He had hardly clicked the door in place and you were already grabbing the hem of the robe. Finnick shuttered the moment your fingers grazed his skin, flinching away from you. “It’s fine...” he breaths, “It’s nothing.”

You nod, looking a bit sheepish.

“Sorry,” you mutter, letting your hands fall limply to your sides. “You’re-just bleeding.” “Am I?” He chuckles, staring at you with an empty gaze and a tiny smile, “Would you look at that.” His head tilts as he examined the rusty, slightly transparent, liquid that sits on his fingertips.

You eye him wordlessly, your brows drawn together in concern. Finnick doesn’t enjoy the attention at this particular moment. “You need something?” Of course it’s a lame attempt at changing the sore subject, he knows that. He also knows that you’ll be gentle with him. However, the last thing he wants is for you to see him. Not just the hickies and temporary scratch marks. Lines of crescent moon scars where sharp nails drew so much blood he got dizzy mid-session. Rope burns on his wrist and less-than pleasant marks scattered across his body. No, his first “lover” wasn’t pleasant, and his second was hardly better. He didn’t need you to see. To know. “What did they do to you?”

You stand across from him, and despite your lack of contact Finnick’s body still vibrates and tingles. He waves it off, “Nothing really- worth sharing- if you know what I mean...” his gaze falls onto the ground before rebounding onto you. “So- what did you-“

“Finnick,” you cut him off sharply. He blinks, in a daze. “Yes?” You creep closer to him, cold fingers dragging against his skin and underneath the robe. He knows how gentle you’ll be, and he does trust you. But why would he let anyone see something that’s so horrible? Suddenly, the curiosity vanishes on your face. Finnick gets the feeling that now you understand. Your hands are just short of completely undressing him, your face so close to his that he can feel your warm breath. “I’ll take care of it,” you promise quietly, “And you don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want to.”

Finnick holds his breath, staring at you with sober dark eyes. His lips form the tiniest of smirks, his brows drawing together partway as he lets his head sag. It’s subtle confirmation, and he bids you to begin. Cool fingertips begin peeling away at his clothes, and warm palms begin caressing his most tender muscles. “Just be gentle, kay?” His trembling voice cracks slightly.

You nod, “I will be.”

Peeta

It reminds him of a paint spill or something of the like. Dark purple, underlying tones of red; colors that are normally beautiful to him suddenly aren’t. The grooves and dips in his hands are stained purple-black, from his fingertips to his knuckles, some even extending to his wrist. Peeta scolds himself. He doesn’t even think to apply any sort of medicine to his hands, or cool them off in water. His able fingers are rendered sore- useless. He knows the burns will leave a mark, they’re sure to. It’ll just be another imperfection, he reasons. Another freckle, another scar, there’s no difference. That’s what he keeps telling himself anyway. Peeta is sitting at his kitchen table, rubbing the outline of one of his burns with a gentle thumb. His gaze is vacant and hollow, lips slightly parted, like he’s concentrating. Which, he is; he’s concentrating on the contrast between the plump flesh of his finger pad and the coarse burn that covers his knuckles and fingertips. He only got these burns recently, and wasn’t intent on letting anyone know. He had quite a few old burns on his hands and wrists- they had turned into pink scars that reminded him of sunbursts. Peeta never would be vain. Another imperfection, that’s all scars were to him. But for now, the dark burn only reminded him of his stupidity, and caused him discomfort throughout the day. He turned his head to the front of the house, hearing the screech of the screen door and quickly averting his gaze. He had taken to drawing imaginary shapes on the table, and began doing it then. It was an excellent distraction. His eyes didn’t waver from their target; his gaze was solely fixated on his cramped fingers working their magic. He didn’t look up to the doorway when you appeared, and despite knowing who it was, nothing could deter his intent stare for the moment. Dark eyes that followed the stroke of his hand against the dark oak tabletop. It wasn’t until your voice coaxed him out of his own inner musings that he focused on anything other than his imaginary house. You had a very— hooking voice. Had you said nothing, Peeta might not have given you a second glance. “Peeta?” You call distantly. Your voice sounds thick at the moment. Distant... but packed with emotions so raw that Peeta is forced to look your way. “Huh? Uh- hi! He smiles. There’s nothing fake about the smile; nothing fake about the cheeriness in his voice. Yet somehow... he gets the impression....

“Something wrong?” He asks. His brows draw together. He’s always been expressive— gently animated, that is. You nod, leaning casually on the doorframe, a small pail of soapy water weighing down your shoulders. “Yeah, actually,” you begin with an easygoing- open tone. “I was wanting some help with washing the bathroom-”

“Oh... yeah! Totally,” He replies, sliding out of his chair. He extends his hand out to take the bucket; offering help that you can’t refuse. “Thanks.” “No problem-“

Then you notice the sudden tautness of his jaw, and he releases a tiny hiss, clunking the bucket to the floor. “Very helpful, Peeta.”

“Yeah- Sorry...”

He starts ogling his hand, running his index finger down the tips of the opposite fingers, scouring the surface for any signs of agitation. His pretty eyes hover over the pink burns and he begins to frown even deeper. He at first, he doesn’t realize that you’re looking over his shoulder, and when he does he can tell that you in fact do see the rotten burn on the backside of his hand, and that at this point he really can’t hide it from you. Yet, he’s Peeta, and doesn’t want you to worry, so he’ll try anyway. “How about I meet you in the bathroom, I just-” “-Peeta.”

You cut him off in such a gentle voice, your eyes flickering to meet his gaze apologetically, that he shuts up immediately. Once again he finds himself asking: just who the hell is this person?

You stare somberly at skin shining a silvery pink. Your lip quivers as you pause for words, “When did you burn yourself?” “I-dunno...” he sort of jumbles his words together, his sheepishness apparent, “I can’t really remember.” You give him a hard stare. “Mellark.”

He tries smiling at you, shrugging his shoulders, anything to get you off his case. Yet, you’re persistent.

“Can I take a look?” You ask inquiringly. He complies. Your hands reach out to his own, the contact of each other’s skin sending a tingle of goose bumps rippling up his arm. Your eyes roam over his hands; the dips, the curves, the pink burns and the pale skin. Peeta concentrates on your fingers that line the edge of his fresh burns. Your thumb rubs along some other cuts and burn scars. He bites his lip, relaxing the knit in his brow. “They’re just some old scratches,” he tells you softly, his brown eyes flitting up to meet yours. “Nothing really to look at.” You nod silently. You pull him back into the kitchen, past the empty dining chairs and oak table, over to the sink. “Okay Peeta. Let’s take care of these-”

“No- No, (Y/N)...” he whispers with a smile. “You don’t need to take care of me. I can do it myself.” “Embarrassed, Mellark?” He smiles wider, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Just a little.”

End.

[feelingdozy]

A Little Less Dreadful

Finnick Odair x Reader

Hunger Games Masterlist

Summary: You and Finnick see each other one day at a Capitol gathering. You two have some alone time and bask in each other's company.

Warnings: implied but no smut

You've been sitting at the same table, with the same boring citizens of the capitol. It's one of the times where the capitol likes to hold events with the victors of the districts being invited to update the capitol of all that's gone on in their life since winning. Not like the capitol could invade your privacy enough, they invite capitol citizens there. All the snobby, rich people who think they own you when they can give you a sum of money like that's all your life and time is worth.

The chair beneath you has gone uncomfortable, and you're ready to go outside again for your 20th 'breath of fresh air'. You go to finally get up as a pair of hands land on your shoulder

"y/n!"

Of course you recognize that voice. It's no other than him.

"Finnick!"

You finally have a valid excuse to get up from the awkward conversation the capitol people put you in, as you wrap yourself in his arms.

"it's been so long y/n"

You've fallen into his charm again. The way he says your name whenever he sees you makes you fall a little more each time.

"It sure has Finnick"

It's finally time for you to take your revenge. 'Tease him' is all that goes through your mind for the rest of the day. He wants to seduce you with that soft and charming look of his? You can do just the same.

The time has passed and Finnick has been by your side since he met with you at the dreaded table you were at. His presence has definitely made the whole trip something to enjoy, instead of dread the whole time. People file out the place the party was hosted, and within seconds it's just the small group of winners from the districts remaining. Finnick is the first one to break the silence that has spread throughout the huge room.

"How about we go outside for a bit, yeah?"

"Definitely."

He takes your hand in his, and leads you out into the garden that is found within the venue. He picks a flower from the vast amount that has grown, and puts it behind your ear.

"you look beautiful, darling"

His name for you sparks a little shock in your mind, but you quickly dust it off as it was nothing new for Finnick. He was always kind and sweet to you, so you had a thought. Why not reciprocate?

"well, you look quite handsome finnick. Quite charming as usual, hm?"

After that, he quickly got flustered at your comment. He always saw you as less of the bold type of person, but he didn't mind this change of attitude. You two sat there for awhile, admiring the flowers that surrounded you two. Caught in the comforting silence, neither of you wanted to break it.

"well, uhm.. would you like to come to my room for..hm. An afterparty?"

[darkeunology]

hey! i saw you’re looking for requests and boy do i have so many but most of them have to do with Peeta lol. so maybe something where it’s like Peeta and reader sneaking out to look at stars together while they’re best friends and maybe in a modern au? hope this’ll inspire you! :)

♡ In the Stars I see you ♡

Word Count: 721 (Sorry it's so short)

Pairings: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Summary: Peeta sneaks you out of your University dorm to lie on the roof and watch the stars with him.

Requests Open. Not Proof read

I haven't actually written for Peeta before as far as I can remember but I loved writing this, I would love some more Peeta requests if anyone has any!

Peeta and yourself had been close friends since childhood. You lived in a small village which meant you’d gone to the same school together, becoming fast friends in the playground after you’d defended Peeta against some of the meaner children in the school. From that day when you were both 5 years old, you’d been almost inseparable. You’d gone to the same high school together and spent almost all your waking moments together, helping each other with homework, calling on each other at 2am when partners had broken up with you, finding the desperate comfort needed between each other's embrace. You’d both hated each other and healed through each other. 

So when the two of you went to different Universities, it was a definite adjustment, Peeta had moved to another state, going to study business in the hopes to open his own bakery, a dream he’d shared with you years ago - whilst you’d managed to get into the University close to your childhood home, moving into the dorms to have some independence from your parents, but still going home to see them as much as you could. Peeta and you both struggled for a while with the newfound distance between yourselves, it was weird not having the person you’d spent so much of your life with around you anymore, knowing that you could no longer just go round to Peeta’s house whenever you needed his comfort, knowing that you now could simply just facetime each other and that was as close as the two of you would get to each other during term times. It was an adjustment, but one that both of you eventually got used to. 

You weren’t expecting to see Peeta again until the spring break, one month from now, so when you heard the tapping on your window late at night on a Wednesday night, you were confused to say the least when you opened the window to see Peeta standing below, throwing rocks up at the window, “What are you doing here?” you asked, a fond smile plastered on your face at the sight of your best friend. 

“I wanted to see you.” Peeta spoke, being as quiet as he could be whilst still needing to be heard by you, “Go up to the roof.” he spoke again, a mischievous glint in his eyes that you could see from here, 

“I can’t, curfew was 2 hours ago, if I get caught out of dorm security might kill me.” you joked, knowing that no matter when curfew was, you’d always sneak up to the roof to be with him again. 

“Go to the roof.” he repeated again, grinning up at you as he walked away to climb the fire escape up to the roof. 

Shaking your head, you closed your window, putting a hoodie on to shield yourself from the chilly spring night before quietly sneaking out of your room, climbing up the few flights of stairs up to the roof, opening the door to see Peeta stood there waiting, a blanket layed down at his feet, 

“Hey sweetheart.” he spoke, his arms stretched out for a hug, an achingly wide smile on his face. Easily, you walked into his arms, yours wrapping tightly around his waist as his wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth flooding through your body, it felt in that moment like all your stress from this semester just left your body, every part of you relaxing as you hugged Peeta. 

“I missed you.” you mumbled into his chest, he hummed lightly, 

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” he kissed you on top of your head before unwrapping you from the hug, “Come lie down, I thought we could spend some time looking up at the stars.” he suggested, looking slightly nervous at the idea, hoping you’d like it. 

“Sounds amazing.” you confirmed, following him down onto the blanket, him wrapping his arm around you as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calming you down as you both spent the last few hours of the night staring up at the stars painting the sky, both of you laying in content silence, just drinking in each other’s company whilst you still could.

[darknight3904]

It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[ghostfacd]

MR. AND MS. SNOW | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. where you’re one of the main characters for the ballad of songbirds and snakes and fans ship you with your co-star, tom blyth!

part two ~ part three

ynuser snow would be so boygenius cottage girl core if he wasn’t crazy!

tagged @/tomblyth, @/rachelzegler

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tomblyth boygenius what now?

user1 YES QUEEN INTRODUCE HIM TO BOYGENIUS

user2 she’s so unserious i love her hello

rachelzegler if only he wasn’t crazy 😔

iloveyn miss girl saying this as if she wasn’t his literal girlfriend and as crazy as him in the movie

➥ ynuser afraid you ate me up with that one 💔

➥ iloveyn OMG HI

tomblyth thanksgiving

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ynuser 🦃🦃

user3 hi bae

user4 are those.. yn’s hands.. in 3rd pic

➥ user5 WAIIIIT CAUSE…

yndaily miss yn in her new video with vogue! here are all the times yn mentioned tom blyth (you’re welcome) 🤭

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user6 girly was mentioning tom like 100 times in this video

user7 imma be sick

user8 if they’re not inlove i dont even know what they are

user9 they’re INLOVE YOUR HONOR

iloveyn HIM CALLING HER? HER TELLING US THAT HE TRIED CHEERING HER UP AFTER SEEING HER IN TEARS?

user10 yn avocot try not to mention tom blyth challenge failed

ilovetomblyth they never beating the dating allegations

ynsboyfriendreal who is this white man of the month and why is he with my gf

➥ iloveyn LMAOO REALL

tomblyth well, the jig is up! mr and ms. snow. dating this beautiful girl not only in the ballad of the songbirds and snakes but also irl (p.s yes, it was me calling her during the interview! sorry love!)

tagged @/ynuser

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user11 “love” im crying

user12 siri remind me to book a therapy appointment

user13 time to listen to phoebe bridgers and cry. a LOT.

ynuser “jig is up” you old man

➥ tomblyth well u love this old man

➥ user14 OH MY GOD???

rachelzegler finally! no more secrets!

user16 everyone going insane over this is so real

user17 casually drops bomb like rebels did at arena

➥ user18 SICKKK😭😭😭

[shellxrls]

SFW

lovedrunk!snow who loves to fall asleep with his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent to lull him into a restful sleep. freeing him of the paranoia that you might leave him in the middle of the night.

lovedrunk!snow who wraps his entire arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, burying his face into your hair and peppering kisses along your hairline.

lovedrunk!snow who ignores his capitol duties in favour of letting you sit in his lap and tell him about your day.

lovedrunk!snow who lets you call him an assortment of cutesy nicknames - "babe", "coryy", "coryoo", - that he would rather die than hear coming out of anyone else's mouth.

NSFW - mdni | 18+ content cw: explicit smut, unprotected PinV, breeding kink, cockwarming

lovedrunk!snow who fucks you sloppy n dirty against whatever surface he can find, desperate to get his hands on your hot skin and ravage you with his mouth, his fingers and his cock.

lovedrunk!snow who lets you dig your nails into the muscled flesh of his back and claw red and raised marks because he wants to be able to carry lasting reminders of you with him.

lovedrunk!snow who prefers fucking you in missionary bc that way you get to lay there all pretty, hair spread in a halo, while his abs tense and he fucks into you as hard as he can.

lovedrunk!snow who'll let you ride him just so that he can bottom out every time and watch your combined fluids dribble out onto his pelvis and stick to each other with every thrust.

lovedrunk!snow who wants to breed you - "ah f-fuck baby im gonna cum inside you, 'm gonna push all this cum deep inside, you're gonna look so beautiful pregnant."

lovedrunk!snow who lets you cockwarm him when you wake up in a restless fit, holding your back tight against his chest while he does his work.

[avoxrising]

Isla - Part 5

(Part 4) (Masterlist)

These days were the best days of both of your lives. When Finnick had recovered from his wounds, you moved back to your house in District 4, alongside Annie and her girlfriend she met in District 13. Eve, Herd, and Kara went back to District 12 but they promised to write often. Johanna is back in District 7 but she already has plans to visit next summer.

Finnick sits with your now two year old on the beach as you hide away in your room again. Most days you were able to deal with the trauma of your past but today was not one of those days. All you wanted to do was curl up under the covers and sleep.

“Daddy?” Isla asks. “Why doesn’t mommy like me?” Finnick’s heart breaks as his daughter asks him this question.

“She may not show it like how I show it,” he explains, “but she loves you so much. She went through some bad things after you were born and she’s still healing from them.”

“What kind of bad things?” Isla asks.

Not wanting to give the innocent two year old all the details, he briefly explains, “She was taken from us during the war but she made sure that Auntie Annie brought you to safety so you weren’t taken too. It was just you and me in District 13 until they were able to rescue mommy.”

The toddler seems to ponder this as they watch the sunset.

“So mommy does love me?” she asks.

“More than you will ever know,” Finnick replies.

A year later, Finnick and you welcome Rye into the world. Isla has become the best big sister and is super protective of her younger brother.

Something about having a second child seems to have broken you out of the funk you had been in for the past three years and you finally become the mom you always wanted to be.

Finnick can never stop telling you how much he loves you. Annie officiated your small wedding on the beach so you could finally make your marriage official.

The Odair family felt complete; you, Finnick, Rye, and Isla.

-

AN: Ahhh that’s the end of Isla! Going to be working on finishing my next mini series (Cardigan/August/Betty) and editing Capital Nights so I can start publishing it on Wattpad. I’m also in the mood to write one shots so feel free to request things!

[5sospenguinqueen]

Highbottom: Can someone give me an example of a mistake?

(Corio raises his hand)

Highbottom: That's a very good example.

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[darkeunology]

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