#hunger games reader insert

[undercoveravenger]

Rising Tides

Pairing: Siren!Finnick Odair x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Siren finnick odair trying to enchant the reader with his song and beautiful muscles but can’t get it. Take the story whatever direction you want”

A/N: Happy Spooky Month! This is post #2 of my Spooky Month writing event - #3 will be launching on Tuesday, October 17th. Hope you enjoy!

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Throughout Finnick’s years he’d seen the other sirens of his pod pick off humans with ease, using their stunning looks and alluring voices to draw their prey below the inky waves of the sea. The human’s mistake dooming them to be torn apart by the pod, sirens ripping and tearing the human apart until the wisps of blood in the water is all that remains of them.

He’d doubted he would have any issues when his turn for the Hunt arose- he’d grown up knowing he was beautiful, with fins and scales the same cool seafoam color as his eyes and hair that shone almost golden. He had learned how to be charming, to play coy, and to use his looks to draw people in. He hadn’t learned how to deal with someone like you.

Finnick had known you would be his prey as soon as he saw you, a sharp pain seizing in his chest when he saw you walking along the seaside edge of your district, picking at bits of seaglass and shells absently as you meandered along the sand. He’d been transfixed by the way the sinking sun made your skin glow, the soft look in your eyes as you looked out over the waves reminding him a bit of himself and his family. 

He hadn’t been quick enough to sing for you that day, too distracted by you to remember how to string notes and words and melodies together before you wandered back up the beach and into town, but he had plenty of other chances. Apparently you were no stranger to the beach, making it a nightly habit to stroll down the sand, watching over the waves and examining the small treasures brought up by the current. Sometimes you were joined by one or two others, but Finnick could never really bring himself to pay them any mind, fixated on you the same way he always was.

He’d tried to sing for you on one of the evenings that you wandered the beach alone, voice echoing quietly over the low rush of the waves coming and going, smooth and soft and sultry just the way he’d been taught. Like he had expected, you perked up at the sound of his song, taking a thoughtless step closer to the waves lapping at the shore before seeming to snap yourself out of his spell, turning swiftly on your heel and making your way home with your hands clasped over your ears to block out his voice. For the first time, Finnick doubted himself. Was his voice not as alluring as he’d been told? What if you didn’t like his song? Was he not perfect enough to draw you in? Would his pod think him a failure?

His doubts gnawed at him further when you continued to flee from him when you heard his voice, and further still when he had laid himself out along a large rock protruding from the water so you could get a good look at the way the light gleamed off his muscles and still turned away from him.

He got lucky one day though, arriving at the shore just in time to see you set off in a small boat - something he’d heard you call a ‘kayak’- with several of your friends paddling off ahead of you in their own small crafts. He smiled a bit to himself as he heard a laugh escape you, slipping soundlessly back into the water and darting swiftly after you, tail propelling him effortlessly through the water in pursuit of his prey.

With your friends’ head start, it was pretty easy for him to separate you from them, waiting until they had rounded the edge of the bay before latching onto the small handle at the front of your kayak and tugging you further out to sea. You had scrambled to try to paddle back toward the bay and to your friends, but Finnick was stronger than you. He was faster. Built to cut through water without faltering. He was an apex predator.

Eventually Finnick deemed that he had you far enough from shore that you could no longer ignore him, releasing his hold on your tow line and moving to circle your boat, watching you curiously from just below the surface of the water. A laugh bubbled out of him at the way you twisted sharply in your boat to keep your eyes fixed on him and then having to scramble to right yourself when the sudden movement threatened to overbalance you.

He surfaced right beside the kayak, clawed hands gripping tight to the edge of the kayak, just beside your own. Finnick does his best not to put too much weight on the plastic vessel, knowing he could tip it easily and not wanting to scare you more than he already had. He wasn’t sure when his fixation on you had shifted from hunger to something so much softer but he didn’t want you to fear him. He didn’t want to hurt you, he just wanted- Well. 

He just wanted you.

He opens his mouth and for a moment he is torn between singing and speaking to you. There is a split second when he thinks about how easy it’d be to tip you out of the boat, to drag you beneath the waves and present you to his family like he was supposed to. He thinks about it for longer than he should’ve, but he knows he can’t. 

“Why do you keep running away?” He finally forces out, words twisted and strange on his tongue without the saccharine sweetness he’d been taught to use. “Why wouldn’t you look at me? Why did you leave when I called for you?”

You are visibly shocked by the way he looks at you and he knows it must seem strange, to see a predator like him begging at your side like a love-struck dolphin. 

“Because you’re going to kill me,” you say simply, edging back in your kayak despite there not being far to go. “I’ve heard the stories about your kind. If I got too close-”

Finnick’s brows furrow as he looks up at you, “Was.” he says, releasing your boat in favor of swimming slow circles around you. “Not anymore.” He tips his head back, studying the way the clouds drifted in front of the sun. 

“So you’re… not trying to kill me?” you ask cautiously, eyes not wavering from Finnick even as he started to preen at the attention.

Finnick laughs, tipping his head to look at you and flicking water at you with the fluke of his tail. “No, not anymore.” He dips under the water, reemerging on the other side of the kayak and propping his head up on the edge of it, studying you intently. “I should, if you listen to what my family says, but I don't want to. You’re… interesting." 

He can tell you're really not sure what to make of that, but his heart jumps in his chest at the hesitant smile you give him in return.

"Swim with me?" The words escape Finnick before he can catch them, coming out breathy and desperate in a way he'd never expected to find himself sounding. He rushes to continue before he can consider the weight of what he'd asked you to do, the way he might brush against you or his tail might curl around your legs and the way he might get a look at you in something less… covering… than your usual clothes if you agreed to swim with him. "Maybe not now," he amends, eyes dropping sharply to where one of his pointed claws taps out a rhythm on the thin plastic of the kayak. "You don't trust me yet and I don't blame you. But maybe meet me tomorrow? Give me a chance?"

Finnick could see the way you jerk up straighter in your seat and your grip on your paddle shifts as you pick up on the sound of your friends calling for you. He's not sure if your answer is just an attempt to shoo him off in time to get back to your friends or to keep them from seeing him or just something you said without thinking, but the second that yes escapes you he's pushing himself up out of the water to press a sea-salty kiss to your cheek and promising to meet you at the beach at sunset the next day. 

He dives then, submerging himself well below the waves and trailing slowly after you until he's sure you and your friends made it back to the beach and then watching for just a bit longer as you disappear out of view before beginning to meander back to the labyrinth of sea caves his pod calls home.

Sure, Finnick isn’t sure if you’ll actually show up, but for the first time in weeks, his confidence has been restored and his charm feels as secure as ever. He’s definitely going against his pod pursuing you like this, but with his luck rising with the tides, he can’t bring himself to care, not with someone like you at stake.

[x-gabrielle-x]

Tides Of Survival | 6

Pairings: Finnick Odair x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death, (eventual) smut, mentions of prostitution.

Summary: The white swan of the Capitol; gracious, elegant, and innocent. You catch many of the Capitol's attention in your games, whether that was due to your agility, cleverness, or looks in all, even managing to capture the gaze of your young mentor and old friend, Finnick Odair.

Series Masterlist | Pinterest Board

Time seemed to be blurring together.

You weren't sure exactly how long it had been since the Peacekeepers had closed you into this small room, dark and alone, suffocating in your grief.

Your heart hadn't yet settled its racing. If anything, it had only thumped harder against your ribs as if threatening to break free and run. Your desperate hopes for this all to be only a horrible nightmare had left you disappointed, and the reality of it all hit you like a hard brick. Your legs had shaken so bad that you could barely keep upright, having to pull one of the small rickety chairs out to sit down from the loud thumping in your head. The light streaming in through the small window beside you only made you want to mourn what you were to lose harder. You'd miss the ocean, the rays of light reflecting off the shimmering waves and the laughter that echoed off the beach. Now, it would be only a memory. A memory that would soon be lost.

You couldn't even feel the tears streaking down your face anymore. The second the doors had closed behind you; they had come like a tidal wave. Hot and heavy, leaving streaks down the slope of your cheeks and drying, only to be replaced again. You had never felt more pathetic than how you did now, compared to Nathan's bright smile before he was separated from you into the room directly across from your own. You were just glad you were able to keep your emotions at bay long enough to stay away from the prying cameras.

There was a small knock on the door opposite you, and you half expected a Peacekeeper to walk in or hear Electra's high-pitched voice drilling you about what was to come next, but instead a pair of familiar eyes peeked around the door.

You gave no second thought as you quickly stood up and ran into Emma's tight embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around you and supporting your weight. You didn't miss how her hair was almost falling apart, the ribbon slipping off to the side of her head, her eyes red and watered with tears. You knew you were no better. You could barely even hold back the tears that soaked into her beautiful dress. You nearly felt bad for ruining it.

"I only have a few minutes," she said, voice shaking between shallow breaths. You felt her hands tremble against your back.

She stepped back, grasping tightly onto you as though you'd slip away.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you sniffed, lip threatening to wobble. "I'm not a killer, Em. And my dad, he needs me."

Emma shook her head, brows knitted together tightly. "No. Don't be silly. You can survive without putting up a fight. You're smart, you can hide somewhere, make traps." she inhaled sharply, her gaze solemn. "And your Pa. I'll make sure he's fine. You don't need to worry about anything else other than getting out of there."

You held your arms close. Maybe you could. You could run off into the arena, hide within small caves or trees or ditches. That was to say if there was any of those things within the arena. People in the past had won by hiding away, but the Gamemaker's always wanted a show. They'd force you out if they had to.

"Where is my dad?"

The question seemed to have shocked her, her eyes widening just ever so slightly before they landed at her shiny shoes. She nibbled on her bottom lip until you swore it would bleed.

"The Peacekeepers think he's too unstable... He's not coming to say goodbye, Y/N."

"Unstable?" you shook your head, throat tightening painfully. "That's ridiculous! He'll be fine once he sees me, he- I just need to see him."

Emma's lip wobbled. "I'm so sorry."

You looked away, instead turning to look back out the window just like minutes prior. For the first time, you didn't want Emma to see you so vulnerable, either. You were never one to hide your thoughts from her, your fears and worries, to let her see your tears and seek her comfort. Emma had seen you at your worst, holding you close once you opened up about your mother, about your father becoming weaker and sadder, about Finnick. Now, as she stood beside you it was like a taunting reminder of what the Capitol was taking from you. Or perhaps what you were going to lose.

You hated the way your chest tightened with anger. The very least the Capitol could do for you was give you a proper goodbye. Perhaps the world was against you today.

Emma seemed to hesitate beside you, fingers itching to reach out. You heard the slight crumple of paper, and you glanced over through blurred tears to see her holding out a torn piece of scrunched parchment and a cracked pen.

"If you quickly write something, I can give it to your Pa."

You stared down at the blank parchment, the corner stained in what you could only imagine to be a coffee spill. You tenderly took it from her grasp and placed it on the small wooden bench, scribbling down whatever came to mind first. You felt Emma's gaze linger on your back, silent, but her presence louder than ever. You didn't dwell on it for too long, fingers flexing around the grip on the pen.

Dear Pa,

Emma told me you couldn't come say goodbye. That's ok, because at least you'll have this whilst I'm gone. I'm sorry I can't come home tonight to have dinner, maybe you can invite Emma instead to help you cook. I'm sure she'd enjoy that. I love you so much, please remember to let the others help whilst I'm away. I'll try my hardest to come home for our next dinner together.

(PS: I'll keep Ma's dress safe for you :))

You blinked, a tear dropping onto the parchment and causing for the ink to bleed just slightly. You wracked your brain, thinking if there was anything to add. For the little time you had, you wished you could have better prepared yourself for what you would've liked to say. Emma gently gripped your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Time was catching up.

She smiled, her hand warm against you, but it wasn't comforting like it usually was. This was goodbye. "He'll appreciate it - more than you know."

You turned, bringing her into one last hug as the door swung open behind you. Emma's grip tightened to the point you could barely heave a breath, but you didn't care. You squeezed her tighter, her lips just barely brushing your ear before she was yanked away by Peacekeepers.

"Finnick will look after you. I know it!"

Her figure disappeared behind the door, and you wandered briefly if she was right.

The car ride to the train station was nothing but awkward.

You were more than aware of the dried tears staining your cheeks, sticky and tight on your skin despite hastily swiping at your face with the end of your dress. Your eyes must've been puffy and red, considering the long stare you received from Electra once she came to retrieve you from your room, as if she saw no reason for you to be crying.

You were ushered into the limo, squeezed in-between the door and Electra with Nathan on her left. It hadn't even been five minutes, and already you felt as though you were suffocating. Electra's ruffled dress scratched against your leg at every small move you made, and you were tempted to swat it away. Not to mention the endless rambling you had to listen to the whole way to the train.

What made it all worse, was the body sat right across from you.

You could feel Finnick's gaze burning into you, practically taking you apart piece by piece. You dared not look at him, instead opting to stare out the window as district four continued to fade away into the distance. It was a weird feeling, knowing that you might not be able to see the crashing waves and hear the sea gulls anymore. Your fingers had found a frayed loose strand of string at the hem of your dress, twirling it around your fingers in a way that you knew your Pa would scold you for. The thought made the corner of your lip twitch, both reliving the funny memory as well as longing for it to come back.

"I must say," Electra hummed, all too happy. "You two will do us absolute wonders, this year! You're both sure to get heaps of sponsors, no doubt."

You swallowed, stomach churning uneasily the longer you stared out the window.

"Not to mention, I requested you two have some of the best stylists from the Capitol! Oh, I'm so excited! Cheer up, little Swan, you'll have all the men and woman on their knees for you by the time you've made your first appearance."

Her touch was like flaming thorns on your skin as she patted your thigh in three quick taps. You held your tongue, willing yourself to keep the brewing insults at bay.

A throat cleared.

"Maybe save the parade talk for later," Finnick said, voice smooth but sharp. "She knows better than most what the Capitols expectations are."

You glanced at Finnick for the first time, heart fluttering in what you couldn't decide was anger or bittersweet grief. He sounded the same, but so different at the same time. There was no denying his voice had become deeper, more guarded, yet it still held the same familiarity that only twisted the knife deeper.

With him this close to you now, you realized just how long ago your friendship had been. He had matured not only in age, but in everything. Sea green eyes that would look at you with so much curiosity and mischief, now instead shadowed in secrets and built-up walls.

And what hurt most was the way he looked at you as if he still knew you. As if nothing had changed, his eyes boring into your own with recognition. You wondered if, maybe deep down, at least a little part of your friend was still left behind.

You looked away first, turning your gaze back to the window once again as your home faded out of sight.

The train had nearly everything you didn't.

You hadn't been raised into a life of luxury. Sure, you had all the necessities needed to grow happily within your district, even having more than most, but standing here now practically bathed in the Capitols wealth was eye opening.

From the moment you stepped into the train, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Pastries and citrus tarts, daring to make your mouth water, sat delicately arranged upon a large mahogany table in the center of the room. Velvet couches lined the walls, each having a pair of navy cushions with golden stitching. A crystal chandelier hung above, casting and reflecting a shimmering light across the room in a sense that reminded you too much of the ocean. You wondered briefly if that was an intentional decision.

Did every Capitol citizen live in such luxury?

Nathan stood close at your side, gaze wandering just as your own had. It was obvious he was new to this, too.

Finnick and Electra walked in behind you, barely just brushing against you as they moved to make themselves comfortable. Whilst Electra went straight to the wine glasses, pouring herself a decent amount of sparkling wine, Finnick sat himself onto one of the couches with a hand brushing through his golden hair. You imagined that they'd both been in here more than enough times for it to not amaze them anymore.

"It's warm," Nathan hummed, barely audible, but you heard it. You nodded in agreement, instinctively going to brush at your arms like you could still feel the chilly wind from home.

Electra glanced over, smile as delicate as her outfit.

"I had heaters installed last year into all the rooms. I've always hated your district for being so cold, didn't you?"

You internally scoffed. District four had to be one of the warmest places you could be, bathed in sunlight and hard work. It was rarely cold, mainly ever when a storm was about to hit or winter was beginning to swoop in. You don't think Electra ever had to lift a finger so as to get anything she wanted, polished and spoilt since before the day she was born.

You merely shrugged your shoulders. "Can't say I noticed."

You didn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it did, but by the way Electra had eyed you for a second too long, lips falling just enough for you to notice, she must've taken slight offence. You didn't care to feel bad for her.

Clearing her throat and standing tall, she walked over to where Finnick was sat and brushed her long fingers upon his shoulder. You noticed the way he shifted, but smiled, nevertheless.

"I'm sure you're both aware of our most prized victor, Finnick Odair! He'll be the one to be mentoring the both of you this year."

She gave a quick 'come here' motion, patting to the seats that sat directly across from Finnick. Your eyes briefly met his, before you carefully lowered yourself onto the plush cushions. Nathan was quick to follow behind you.

You dared to open your mouth, to say that you did in fact know him. Knew him, you corrected. But you held your mouth shut tight. Finnick, the charmer he is, sank back into his seat with a lighthearted smile, the dimples you remembered showing themselves like a taunt.

"We'll see, these two might outshine me by the end of the week," Finnick said through breathy chuckle. You ignored the flutter in your stomach.

He placed his elbows on his knees, leaning in close and expression serious.

"I won't throw everything at you both so soon, but I do want you to be prepared before we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. That means you both need to get your acts together if we want to make them like you."

You folded your arms, subtly glancing to your right. Nathan's brows were furrowed in deep concentration, leg bumping yours due to the closeness. You didn’t think he noticed considering he seemed to ignore it, attention solely set on Finnick’s every word.

He continued. "I need to know both your strengths and weaknesses. The Capitol will eat up whatever performance we give them. We can give them a reason to adore you."

Nathan cleared his throat, propping his foot up onto his knee.

"When are the interviews?"

"The interviews with Caesar won't be until the day before the games. However, the Capitol will be broadcasting every move you make. The tribute parade is tomorrow, so that will be your first official appearance," Finnick said.

He turned to you, and you straightened subconsciously.

"I know you can swim. Fast. Thats good, we can work with that."

Part of you was almost charmed that he'd remembered such a crucial factor about you, that he hadn't completely forgotten about you like you thought he might've.

Key word, almost.

The bitterness of the day was catching up to you, and you all but wished to find whichever room you were staying in and sleep until the sunlight hit your eyes and you were back home. You refrained from showing the frown threatening to appear, instead letting the words slip before you could think to stop them. In all honesty, you didn't have the patience to care.

"I didn't know you knew so much about me."

You saw the change. The flicker behind his eyes and the twitch in his jaw. He didn't look at Nathan or Electra despite the long silence that followed, eyes burning into your own like he was determined to break you down. It nearly amused you as much as it haunted you. His eyes narrowed, slow and careful.

"Look, Honey," he started, tone soft but edged with something deeper. "You can either accept my help or figure it out on your own if you wish it, but for now, I'm all you've got. I'd suggest choosing carefully if you want to survive."

You held his gaze, throat tight, and it was only when Electra hummed an odd tune that you tilted your head to her.

"I hear Nathan is quite strong, some Peacekeepers were rumoring that you can haul in large nets alone!"

Finnick readjusted, exhaling a long breath.

"Can you handle any weapons?" he asked to which Nathan lowly chuckled.

"I was trained through the academy for a few years, didn't think I'd be back in this year, but things change. Spears and strength are my strong points."

You didn't doubt that. You had occasionally seen Nathan out by the docks handling spears like an extra limb, and whereas those spears were always aimed at fish, it could soon be targeted right into somebody's chest. Nathan was already a big guy; you were sure he'd easily throw anybody and pin them in seconds if he wanted to.

You were a fast swimmer, no question. But you'd never been able to use spears as well as the fishers back home or gut fishes ready for dinner plates. Finnick had once tried to help you with that back before he left for his games, though you both discovered you were terrible for it when you kept stumbling over your own feet and missing every catch. You wished now that you'd have tried a little harder. You could handle knives, well in fact, using them to catch fish with Emma ankle deep along the shoreline, but other than that it was between net tying and swimming with your head above the water.

"We have something to work with, then," Finnick's voice snapped you from your thoughts. "For the both of you. We'll talk more strategy tomorrow, but for now I'll let the two of you settle until arriving. Show the Capitol your worth and that you belong."

You flexed your fingers, eyes once again roaming the room. Deep down, you thought if he felt something when your name was called. It might've been selfish, but you wondered if his breath caught just as yours had when his name was called all those years ago, if he'd watched you walk onto the stage with his chest closing in and thoughts spiraling into chaos.

"I don't want to overload you," he said, voice steady. "Rest before tomorrow. You'll need it."

You didn't argue.

The only thing on your mind right now was to leave this room and bask in the last few hours of silence before your world changed.

Tags: @lunar-stars-world @sundawn1990 @harlemdream @teataryn @fluffyflamingo20 @cheese10001 @heidiland05 @xoxpetals @katnipwintergreen @finnickodairsnumber1fan

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

Part Two

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister, Mabel, with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked. 

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel Mabel’s breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home. 

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Arcturus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, never to be recovered, because it was followed up by a small yet firm: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world square himself against his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were protesting, crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior, was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games. 

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat, only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his dirtied face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds of the carriage were shut. 

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage. 

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius. 

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor. At just 14, he had made history.

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace. 

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. No one seemed willing to talk about him either. You were left completely and utterly alone. 

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptor, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you except those two harrowed names.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed tighter, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions – alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger, you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage. 

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air. 

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No. 

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish. 

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers that he had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was. 

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time. 

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway. 

“Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers. You were lucky enough in 7 that their presence was limited.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice. 

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body. 

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”. 

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life. 

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t. 

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when you saw him last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering. 

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently. 

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!” 

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete. 

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.” 

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately. 

“Sirius–”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

Part Two can be found here<3

[allisluv]

aaahh yay for a new charger!! Hmmm ok if it tickles your fancy, can I request a Finnick x reader fic post-rebellion where she’s feeling perhaps a touch soft, maybe not even realizing it (like just a heavy/triggering day where she’s feeling anxious) and Finnick knows, doesn’t comment on it, just hovers/takes over stuff for her to lessen her load? (Sorry if it doesn’t make sense - I got excited & wanted to send something in hahaha)

farmers market.

pairing: finnick o'dair x shy!wifey

content warnings: reader is having a rough go of it, use of petnames, pre-established relationship, set post-rebellion, finnick is so soft and sweet it's giving me a tooth ache (/pos), teasing, banter, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, not edited.

word count: 2k

author's note: elle, i hope you don't mind me writing this one for finnick x shy!wifey! i hadn't intended to originally but i started writing and i was like this is so them coded for me not to, you know? so, without further ado... here's my first finnick x shy!wifey oneshot. requests for them are open!! please do note that this can be read as a finn x reader insert too if you prefer that!! also this is my first time writing in a hot minute so please be kind. reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

Bad days tend to creep up on you like the calm before the storm, and without really knowing why, you welcome those days back like an old friend.

Its strange, when you think about it; you would think that the promise of a life without a constant war would feel reassuring but in reality, all it does is instil you with greater fear, and that is saying something.

In no way shape or form are you saying that you would have preferred to live under Snow's rule-- even less under Coin. You're simply saying that it feels terrifying to have this glorious taste of freedom, when in the back of your mind, there's a voice that reminds you it could all be taken away from you in a matter of seconds.

Finnick can tell something is weighing heavily on your mind when you toss and turn in bed all night. He combs his fingers through your hair, and presses soft kisses to your forehead, but no amount of comfort is able to soothe those reeling thoughts.

Eventually, you manage to doze off with Finnick's arms wrapped tight around you. Still, your sleep is broken and even then, you cant escape your anxiety.

Finnick watches over you as you rest. When a crease forms between your brows, an indicator that your dreams are not being kind to your weary soul, he uses his thumb to smooth it out. When a pitiful whine slips past your parted lips, he holds you closer and mutters words of reassurance into your hairline.

It's nearing noon when you finally start to stir. Finnick's arm had gone dead long before now, but he figures the pins and needles that shoot through his arm are well worth it if he has you in his arms like this. He watches as your eyes lazily flutter open and you absentmindedly sink deeper into his embrace. "Hi," He whispers into the silence. You wipe your eyes and mumble something incoherent. He smiles. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

You hum sleepily as you nuzzle your cheek against his bare chest. He is warm and soft and he smells like home. You can't help noticing the absent scent of saltwater and a frown tugs at the corner of your lips. "You didn't go swimming?"

Finnick wraps his ankle with yours under the duvet. "Didn't want to."

Your frown deepens and even in your half-asleep state you know he's lying, so naturally, you call him out on it. "I call bullshit." You try to sit up straighter but he eases you back down onto his chest with a quiet hum. "Why didn't you go? You always go swimming in the morning."

He kisses your forehead. "Maybe I just wanted to stay here with you." His fingers trace a path up your back. He normally does go swimming every morning; it's somewhat of a ritual for him. But he doesn't want to leave you when he knows you're having a rough go of it, especially when you're almost as stubborn as him and won't ask for his help. "Is that okay with you?" He teases.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but his hands are gentle and soft on your body, and it eases some of the pent up tension in your frame. "Hmph. I suppose so." It's meant to be a joke, but your voice falls flat.

He doesn't seem to mind. He knows you're bound to be snippy or sad or on edge or all of the above. Hes had his own fair share of triggering days since the war ended and he's been the exact same. He just gives a quiet hum so you know he isn't ignoring you, and then he allows the silence to settle.

There's still a pit of unease in your stomach, but it's lessened slightly by his presence. "What time is it?" You ask after a while.

Finnick cranes his neck to one side to check the alarm clock on the bedside locker. "One."

You swear you give yourself whiplash as you shoot up and he grunts softly at the loss of contact. "In the afternoon?"

"No, in the morning. See the stars outside?" Finnick deadpans, trying to lighten the mood. You shoot him a withering look, and he grins and sits up now, too. "Its alright, angel. We're allowed to have a lie in every now and then." He soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder blade.

"We've got to go grocery shopping today," You argue, but it's a weak protest, even to your own ears.

"And we've got plenty of time," He responds patiently, smoothing his hand up and down your back once more. "It's a Sunday. The market doesn't close until seven. Just relax, my love. It's all okay." He knows you need to keep yourself busy on days like this; it's a way to remind yourself that you're controlling something.

He shifts onto his knees, the bedframe creaking underneath him, and wraps his arms around your midsection. "It's all okay." He promises. A kiss to your shoulder again. "We can get changed and leave right now if you want to, alright?"

You melt into his touch before giving a stiff nod. Maybe if you're out of the house, it'll ease your worries a bit, or at the very least distract you. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss to your neck this time around. "Okay."

"Yeah? That sound like a plan?"

You nod, more relaxed this time. "Yeah."

Finnick gets changed in a matter of minutes, and is ever so patient as he waits for you. He watches you flit between your wardrobe three or four times, choosing an outfit and changing your mind once you go to put it on,

"I'm sorry," You say quietly on your fifth time around. Your deft fingers anxiously toy with the hem of your sleep shirt as you sift through the contents of your wardrobe.

He's perched on the edge of the bed, and he offers you a gentle smile as he sees your fingers move to your mouth. You gnaw on a hangnail, and he pushes down the urge to lovingly scold you. "It's okay. Take all the time you need, angel. I'm in no rush."

Once you're finally dressed and out of the door, Finnick can't help but notice the way your eyes dart around nervously. He knows that you're no doubt feeling more wary, and he wants nothing more than to help soothe your heightened emotions. "So, angel, I was thinking." He slips his hand into yours as you move. He doesn't seem to mind how damp your palm is.

"Hm?" Your head whips around to see him. "Sorry?"

"I was thinking." He repeats patiently, matching your pace. He knows that you need a distraction right now and he Is more than eager to be of assistance. "There's this lovely cove off the coast. Malcom-- you'd know him, he's the coast guard-- was telling me about it. It's about an hour or two from here by boat. It's meant to be gorgeous out there. I was thinking we could go snorkelling there one day, if you'd like."

"I've never been snorkelling," You remind him softly.

He squeezes your hand. "I know. I could teach you." He offers. "We'd be able to make it a day trip. We could bring a picnic for the boat and we could sail for a while before getting to the cove." He presses a kiss to your cheek. "What do you think?"

The weight in your chest is shifting now that you're not tangled up in your thoughts. You can breathe a bit easier. "Yeah." You nod. "It could be fun. When were you thinking?"

Finnick hums in thought. "Maybe the day after tomorrow? If you're up for it. We can always do it later, I'm easy." He shrugs.

You nod. "Sounds like a plan."

The market is practically empty when you two arrive. Finnick insists on carrying the wicker basket you brought with you, and he follows your lead as you drift between stalls.

On your way out of the market, he tugs you toward a jewellery stall. Without even giving you time to ask what he's doing, he holds up a necklace, testing it against your complexion, before turning to the seller. "I'll take this one please."

You arch an eyebrow and give his hand a tug. "What're you doing?"

"Buying you a necklace." He replies simply.

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"You don't have to."

"I said I want to, not that I have to." He corrects you, pressing a kiss to your joined hands. He pays the vendor for the necklace and secures it in the basket before letting you lead him out of the gazebo.

It doesn't take long to get back home, even with your goods from the market weighing you down. Finnick flicks on the air-con once you are inside, and once he sees you moving to turn the stove on, he secures his arms around your waist and practically manhandles you all the way back to the sofa. "Nope. Not happening."

"What are you--"

"Youre gonna sit there and watch something or read or... I don't know, do whatever you want while I cook dinner." He grins as he lets go and you flop down on the sofa. You open your mouth to complain, but he simply kisses you quiet before pulling away and pecking your head. "I have it covered. Don't worry about it, okay? Just relax. It's fine. Relax."

You sigh, but admit defeat, anyway. "Alright. Just... don't burn the house down."

Finnick arches a brow. "Are you doubting my cooking abilities?"

"Yes."

"Says the one who nearly did burn the house down making toast on my birthday."

"That was one time! And I was doing something nice!"

Finnick laughs and pecks your forehead again before sauntering into the kitchen. He's glad you seem to be feeling a bit better. "I know. But it still happened." He calls over his shoulder.

It doesn't take long for you to follow him into the kitchen; you're a tad bit clingy when you're feeling anxious like this. He doesn't make any remarks on it; he simply taps the countertop beside him in invitation and goes back to stirring a pot of sauce.

You swing your legs back and forth before finally finding your voice. "Finn."

He glances up from the pot. "Yeah, baby?"

You sigh. You've never been very good at naming your feelings, even when you were a kid. It makes you feel stupid. "I'm anxious today." You finally blurt out.

Finnick turns down the heat on the stove to give you his undivided attention. He nods sympathetically. "I know. Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head. "No. I'm just letting you know."

He nods. "That's okay. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You've done more than enough," You rush to say.

"That's not what I asked." He retorts gently. "Is there anything you need?"

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Asking for what you needed or wanted was also another thing you weren't very good at, but Finnick doesn't make you feel silly for it, and it feels easier to tell him. "Can I have a hug?"

Finnick wastes no time in reaching for you. His arms fit around you as snugly as possible but it doesn't feel constricting. It just feels safe. He rests his chin atop your head and nuzzles his nose into your hair. "Love you."

"I love you," You reply, melting into him. You can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips when you see the steam bubbling from the pot over his shoulder. "Hey, Finn?"

"Yeah, angel?" He pulls away just enough to smooth your hair out of your eyes.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's awful at cooking."

He frowns and looks over his shoulder when you laugh. "Shit!"

[gogogodzilla]

day 31, sex pollen

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, unprotected sex, fuck or die, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, reader gets sad at the end, multiple orgasms, dedicated to @omgbrcat hope you enjoy it bestie kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast and wildly in your life. Well, except for last year when you were fighting for your life and running away from everything that was trying to kill you. 

Peeta was a few steps behind you, slower and stumbling a bit due to his prosthetic leg. You threw a glance over your shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure he was still there with you. 

The various leaves and foliage of the jungle hit you as you ran. You hardly even notice as the foliage shifts from a  normal lush green to unnatural shades of pinks, purples, and blues. You did notice, however, when one of the plants shoots a dusty substance directly in your face as you run past it. 

You lost your footing as you attempted to wipe the dust off your face. Peeta came up beside you, arms outstretched and ready to pick you up. 

“Don’t!” you shouted as you slowly stood, slightly relieved that your face didn’t immediately burn off. “I don’t want it to affect you, whatever it is.”

Your ears strained as you tried to discern if the mutts were still on your tail. 

“Do you hear them?” Peeta questioned, echoing your thoughts. “Y’know since you have a Capitol-engineered ear and all.”  

You huffed out a laugh as you listened. You couldn’t hear the familiar rustle of leaves, and you relaxed slightly. You knew never to get too comfortable in the arena, but your lungs were burning and you needed to get this stuff off your face. 

“Do you still have the spile?” you asked, attempting to avoid the way your body felt like it was on fire and your heart was pounding in your chest. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he began to hammer it into the trunk of a nearby tree. You prayed that the trees wouldn’t be as hazardous as whatever was covering your face. You watched as he stuck a finger under the liquid flowing out of the spile, checking to make sure it was safe. 

He wrapped his hand around your elbow and it felt like fire bloomed under his touch. He was gentle as always as he guided your face under the water. You dragged your hands over your face as you washed off the dusty substance that had covered it. You attempted to rid yourself of the inferno burning under your skin. 

Your cheeks flushed as you pulled away from the stream of water. Peeta’s touch was fleeting but your entire body ached for him. It was a strange feeling, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest with every shaky breath you took. You hunched over, attempting to calm yourself. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover your skin, and your eyebrows furrowed in something akin to pain. 

You heard Peeta call your name, but the only thing you could get out was a whimper. He was on you within seconds, gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly. You scrambled out of his touch, thinking clearly enough to know that you needed to get away from him. 

“What’s wrong?” he questioned, voice desperate and eyes frantically searching over your form. You hurriedly crawled away from him. 

You shook your head, as you pressed your back against a tree. “I— I don’t know. I feel hot,” you breathed, conflicted between clenching your thighs together and spreading them for him. 

 Peeta kneeled in front of you, eyes soft, “How can I help?” 

You remembered before you’d entered your first Games together how he didn’t want the Game to change him. You were thankful that he was still the same sweet boy you entered the arena with. He was different in some ways, of course. No one left the arena unscathed, but who he was at his core was unwavering. 

Your vision was becoming hazy, and a dull ache where you’d never felt it before emerged. You let out a low groan as the heat blistering down to your bones becomes almost unbearable.

Peeta crawled between your legs and cupped your face. You hissed at his touch, leaning into him. You gripped onto his sides, nails digging into the soft flesh through his suit. His touch felt heavenly against your skin, a ravenous hunger for more filled you to the very brim.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Please, Peeta.”

He swiped a thumb across your cheek, and your grip on his tightened. You tugged him closer, your limbs seeming to move on their own. You made a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. 

Peeta’s lips were hesitant against yours as he kissed you. He was always so gentle with you, never wanting to cross a line. You moaned against him, and swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, desperate to taste him. 

You wrapped your arms around his back and clawed at the zipper to his suit, tugging it down as much as you could. He sucked in a breath as you yanked his suit off of his shoulders, practically manhandling him. You were giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted, but you didn’t care. 

The ache deep between your legs was growing with every moment, and your body temperature rose along with it. Your kisses increased in desperation until you were pleading against Peeta’s lips and writhing against him. 

“It’s okay,” Peeta soothed, reaching behind you to unzip your suit. “I’ll help, it’s okay.” 

You hurriedly peeled your suit off your shoulders, letting out a sigh as Peeta’s fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck and your chest. 

You ran your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, the feeling doing little to quell the electricity crackling under your skin. His tongue circled your nipple, eliciting a breathy whine from you. 

You raked your hands through the hair at the nape of his tugged and tugged on the strands. A groan vibrated in his throat, and his hands splayed against your ribcage. 

“Peeta,” you whined as he kneaded your other breast and you clenched your thighs around him. 

You couldn’t stand not having him for a second longer and you hooked your arms under his, gripping him tightly as you rolled to the side. You landed on top of him, straddling him. You panted as you finally got a good look at him. His eyes were half-lidded and he was flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at you. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “Is it getting to you, too?” 

He nodded, attempting to steady his breathing. You stood and shimmied out of your suit, tossing it to the side. You leaned down to hook your fingers into the waistband of Peeta’s suit and looked up at him through your lashes. The quick dip of his head was all you needed, and you were practically ripping his suit off of him. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken off Peeta’s pants, but you flushed all the same. You were too focused on saving his life last time to worry about being embarrassed. 

You were back on him faster than your hazy mind could process, your hips moving on their own accord as you ground against his thigh. His length pressed against your belly, warm and unbelievably hard, as you dragged your hips against him. 

You reached down and stroked him in time with each rut of your hips. He let out a mix between a whimper and a sigh as you did. Your movements quickened, and you buried your face in the crook of Peeta’s neck. With each twist of your wrist around his cock, he was letting out noises that had heat pooling in your belly. His tip was leaking, and you loved the sound he made when you ran your thumb over it. 

Peeta’s fingertips dug into the plush of your hips so hard you didn’t doubt that he’d leave bruises. The animalistic part of you that had taken control wanted him to mark you in every way possible. Your slick had begun to cover Peeta’s thigh, allowing you to easily grind against him.

Your strokes became more erratic as your pace against Peeta’s cock increased. You both were so wound tight you might burst. You’d never been so aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, and you came with a strangled cry. Tears coated your cheeks as warmth encased your entire being and you spasmed against Peeta. You had a moment of respite as you thought the plant’s effects had subsided, but the drive to ravish him returned with a vengeance. 

He followed you off the precipice soon after you calmed down, back arched and head thrown back as his release covered your knuckles. The fog that surrounded your head cleared just enough for you to realize just how pretty Peeta looked like this. If you were going to die, you didn’t think you’d get a better view. 

Your pace slowed but Peeta was still hard in your hand. The boiling heat still lingered under your skin, and your pulse quickened. You wondered if that was the Capitol’s goal; to make you so fucked out you succumb to exhaustion or burn you from the inside out. 

Peeta looked utterly exhausted and a coil of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach. 

“Just one more, please,” you begged, trailing kisses down his neck. He nodded against you, and you could’ve cried from the relief that washed over you.

You lifted your hips and aligned the tip of his cock with your entrance, gasping at the sensation. Peeta’s hips bucked up unconsciously, shoving himself deeper inside you. A pained hiss left you, and Peeta cried out a thousand apologies, his iron grip returning to your hips once more. 

“I’m sorry. You’re just— Fuck… So— tight,” he babbled out, brown eyes glazing over. You pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek, thoughts too consumed with his cock inside you to reassure him properly. You slowly lowered yourself onto him, sighing when your hips were finally flush. Peeta had his eyes screwed shut, gritting his jaw in thinly veiled restraint. 

Your hands settled on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the tree as you rode him, releasing little pants and moans with every thrust of your hips. 

With each moment that passed your movements became more erratic, desperate to reach your peak once again. Peeta’s hands frantically roamed your body, grasping and kneading whatever inch of skin he could reach. 

He reached a hand between the two of you and drew hurried circles around your clit. He lifted his hips to meet yours, jutting himself deeper inside you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, and you prayed you were the only ones trapped in this portion of the arena. 

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you clenched around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy, and for a moment you feared you’d pass out. 

Peeta finished with a few more rolls of your hips against his. He filled you to the brim, his release hot and steady coated your walls. 

Your vision cleared as you came down from your high. The fire within you had finally dissipated, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You felt exhaustion consume you as you slumped against Peeta. 

“I’m sorry,” you slurred out, clinging onto Peeta like your life depended on it. Your face screwed up and you felt your throat tightening. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he rushed out, running his hands over your body, attempting to soothe you as quiet sobs wracked your body. Your last thought before drowsiness overtook you was of how much you didn’t deserve Peeta Mellark. 

Your heart pounded as you awoke, adrenaline spiking as you heard someone calling your name. You jumped to your feet, eyes frantically searching your surroundings. Your movements caused Peeta to stir and his eyes shot open, the same panic gracing his features. 

You tugged on your suit, grimacing at the dried cum that covered your inner thighs. You tossed Peeta his suit and pulled him to his feet. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, and the thought turned your stomach. Someone could’ve easily come along and killed you both. 

You grabbed your weapon while Peeta removed the spile from the tree. 

“Let’s just hope our sponsors enjoyed the show,” you joked, immediately cringing as soon as the words left your mouth. 

The corners of Peeta’s mouth quirked up, “I’m sure they did.”

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii I don’t know if you are taking requests….but if you are I have a slightly odd one of you don’t mind.

I was just rewatching the hunger games and idk if you have read or seen the book/movies but I was wondering if you could do any of the marauders x reader in a sort of hunger games AU?

Okay hear me out… it’s like the cave scene in the first movie, one of the marauders (your choice) is injured and the reader finds them and tries to help them and it’s angsty with hurt/comfort and confessed feelings and the reader is like “I need to go get medicine for you” and the marauder is like “no I don’t want you to risk your life for me”

Anyways just a silly little idea bc I love your writing smmm

<3333

Babe calling this idea "silly" is absolutely absurd of you haha, thanks for the request <3

cw: disabled Remus, typical thg universe angst, imaginings of death

tribute!Remus x tribute!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Since Remus’ name was drawn at the reaping, he’s known he was going to die. He can’t run fast or far. He’s no good for throwing spears or swinging an axe or really wielding anything that requires him to use both hands. He doesn’t have the charisma or good looks to win sympathy from sponsors. His best bet was always to survive on the vegetation in the arena for as long as he could and then curl up in some hidden place like a sick cat to die. 

But you. Lovely, generous, softhearted you. You just won’t let it happen. 

Your cave is damp. Dirt clings to Remus’ clothes and the air tastes of mildew. Every now and again, a drop of water will fall somewhere to his left, making an echoey plopping sound in some unseen puddle. It’s the loudest noise that’s passed through the cave for nearly an hour. Maybe it’s that taut silence that makes Remus’ voice come out so soft. 

“You’re not really thinking of going.” 

“I’m not?” you hum, noncommittal. 

“No. You’re too smart for that.” He watches your face carefully. You’re looking down at your hands, practicing knots on a bit of rope, but at his words your brow tenses. Remus says gently, “You know it’d be a fool’s errand, and you’re not a fool.” 

Your eyes flicker up to his. Dark in the low light of the cave, though it’s daytime outside. They’re Remus’ favorite color. “It doesn’t seem foolish to me.” 

“It is,” he practically pleads. “It is.” 

“Remus.” Your expression is resolute. “You need medicine.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do.” 

“It won’t matter.” His right leg is as fucked as it’s always been. Remus wasn’t allowed his cane in the arena, though it hardly mattered; even when he found a good stick to use as a substitute, he was never going to be as fast or as lethal as the other tributes. The throwing knife that sliced through his left thigh seemed almost a cruel joke of fate. Now he truly is useless. “I’m no good to you.” 

“Yes, you are,” you insist stubbornly. You tug at the knot you’ve made, tossing the rope away from you.

“Sweetheart,” he gentles his tone, “I’m not. This is nothing to give your life for.” 

“What about yours?” 

Remus gnaws the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know how to tell you what he’s known for weeks; that he was never going to make it out of here. That he was never driven by survival, only a half-desperate hope to distract the careers well enough to keep you safe. Now, your safety relies on him in a different, much more frightening way. 

You move closer to him. Your hand twitches as if on instinct toward the torn-up shirt bandaging his leg, seemingly forgetting for a moment that you checked on the wound only a couple hours before. 

“If they have medicine there,” you say, your voice gone quiet, “it could save you.” 

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Remus looks at you imploringly. “If they have medicine, and if you’re able to get it back here, and if it works, I still won’t be any use to you.” 

“Would you stop saying that?” You sound pained. “I don’t care about how useful you are. You’re not a tool.” 

“Y/n, these are the games,” he says. “Please, listen to me. I’m the worst ally in this arena. You need someone who can protect you. Or if not that, at least someone who can watch your back and keep up with you. I can’t do any of those things.” 

“I don’t need you to.” Your hand lays over his on the cold stone floor of your little home. Remus thinks he might be trembling. He loves you so hopelessly it twinges like a stitch in his side when he breathes. Your next words come out in a whisper. “They said tributes from the same district can win together. All I need is for you to stay alive.” 

Remus shakes his head. It hurts him to make you so solemn, but he needs you to understand. “That rule won’t do us any good if you die first.” 

“I won’t.” You sound surer of yourself than Remus thinks can possibly be true. “I’ll go tomorrow, at night—” 

“The careers will be waiting.” 

“—and I’ll make some sort of distraction somewhere else to be sure they’re not around. It’ll be quick.” 

“You can’t know that will work.” Remus’ voice scratches against the emotion welling in his throat. “They could leave someone behind to keep watch, or they might not go at all.” 

You’re resolute. “It’s our best bet.” 

“Our best bet is for you to stay here.” He’s definitely trembling now. He doesn’t care. You can chalk his shining eyes up to the fever or whatever you wish, all that matters is that he convinces you. “Please, y/n. Please. I’m asking you not to do this. Not for me. It isn’t worth it.” 

“It’s not just for you.” Your fingers tighten over his hand. In the dark of the cave, some of your fear finally shines through. “It’s worth it to me. I need you to be okay. And I’m—I’m sorry if you want to die peacefully, but I can’t just watch it happen.” 

Remus shakes his head. His thoughts won’t stop running a feverish, horrific loop—your terrified, panting breaths as you sprint away with the careers on your heels; you not returning by the nightfall, and Remus crawling outside to watch your picture project across the false sky; your mutilated corpse being scooped up by a hovercraft’s unfeeling claws, a vial of useless medicine falling from your pack to lie on the forest floor. 

“I can’t help you,” he says. “You can’t go. I won’t do you any good.” 

“Remus.” You say his name like your throat tightens around it. Like a wish, or an ache. “I can’t do this without you. Okay? I won’t make it. I need you.” 

Remus feels like his chest is cracking open. “Why?” 

“Because I do,” you say, and now it’s you who sounds pleading. “I just do.” 

You’re both silent for a heartbeat, one that feels too heavy in Remus’ chest. And he finally understands. Maybe it’s something he’s known for a while, only he hasn’t wanted to know. Because it’s so, so much easier to think that he could just die here, with this awful, twinging, unrequited love for you, and you could simply go on. It’s worse if you both have to weather the ache. 

“I need you more,” Remus tells you selfishly. 

“It’ll be okay.” You lean against his side, letting his head rest on your shoulder and combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you all healed up, and then we’ll get out of here together, yeah?” 

Remus has about a thousand and one objections to that. The first being that he’s simply never letting you leave this cave until the packs of supplies are surely gone and you need to go out again to find food. Whatever you think, his life isn’t worth you risking yours. He’ll restrain you if he has to, or threaten to crawl out of the cave and shout until somebody comes to kill him and your fruitless mission is truly for naught, or do whatever he has to to keep you from letting your tender heart get you killed. 

But for tonight, you’re still safe. He can indulge you in your sweet fantasy. So Remus only utters a soft, “Yeah,” waits for your breaths to even out, and goes to sleep. 

[petriwriting]

Falling in love all over again. - Finnick Odair X Reader

Summary: Finnick is with you while you recover in District Thirteen.

A/N: Re-reading the hunger games series and I just love Finnick.. I couldn't resist. Feminine pronouns for reader. Takes place during mockingjay. Reader is rescued from the Capitol.

Angst! Fluff

Your shrieks haunted the halls of the District 13 hospital. Guttural, vile in nature. Finnick found himself rushing to the source of the sounds. while terrified, he pushed forward, disregarding the voices that shouted at him to stop, pushing past the security team that tried to stop his efforts. Finnick was strong, making it through the barricade of people without any serious casualties.

He emerged into the room where you had just woken up from sedation, and his heart ached immensely. The sight of you there, thrashing against your restraints. You looked drained of color, nutrients, and life. Emaciated and with a raspy, hoarse voice, you still shouted, convinced you were going to be tortured again. convinced that the doctors were going to hurt you, that the excruciating pain might never go away.

Finnick stopped himself; security had grabbed his arm and gently urged him to leave the room. The doctors were saying you would need time, which was something Finnick felt he did not have a lot left to spare. He choked, standing there watching you struggle. You hadn't even noticed him, until you did. Your eyes locked onto his.

For a moment you saw something comforting, something real in Finnick's eyes, but the capitol's torture methods took over you, the distorted images of him hurting you came back and your body recoiled. You shrieked louder, thrashing in your restraints, distressed. Finnick felt a piece of him breaking.

"Please, Sir," a strong voice urged.

"She needs space,"

He finally complied with Security's plead to get him to leave, not wanting to cause you any further harm. As they escorted him out of the hall, he choked out sobs, and the hot tears ran down his cheeks.

. . . .

Finnick found himself back by your room, unable to sleep. He had fallen asleep for a short time with his back leaning against the wall by the door, woken suddenly when a doctor had opened it and stepped out into the hall. Finnick quickly swept up onto his feet.

"How is she?" he asked, wanting to barge in there, to see you, hold you, and tell you it was okay. but he didn't want to cause you any distress. He was terrified for your recovery and worried everyday for you after seeing what they'd done to Peeta.

"She is stable." the doctor said, taking a short breathe. "We need you to be patient." he continued. "Recovery will have its ups and downs, and we will do everything we can..."

Finnick's heart raced. The doctor made it seem like you would never come back. "When can I see her?- Can I please just sit with her?" he asked. The doctor gave a sympathetic look.

"In a few hours, when she wakes again, we can allow you visitation."

Finnick nodded, he knew he had to wait, but he still longed for you.

"It's best if both of you are well rested when you visit, " the doctor said, offering a comforting hand to Finnick's shoulder and giving him a squeeze. "I'm staying here." Finnick insisted. The doctor gave a soft sigh. "Very well." he said, nodding at him.

Finnick sat with his back to the same wall by your door all night, softly dozing to sleep for a several hours when exhaustion overtook him.

In the morning, the hustle of the nurses and doctors woke him, and his eyes fluttered open softly. He rose back up to his feet quickly when he heard the faintest calling of his name.

"Finnick," you sounded rough, you had lost your voice almost entirely.

The door slid open, and he stood in the doorway. You came too, fully, your brain feeling unclear. you stared, now conscious looking at the figure. He was unarmed. That's the first thing you noticed. You looked at him in confusion as he cautiously and gently approached you.

He sat by your bedside and looked at you; his sea colored eyes were glazed over, filled with worry and fear. A strange feeling came over you. Finnick said your name so tenderly, so gently, barely above a whisper. Do I know him? did he hurt me? Is this real? you thought. He reached his hand out to set it on your own, but you pulled away and flinched as if he was going to strike you. Finnick pulled away quickly, the movement startling you more.

They had done unthinkable things to you, and it hurt him to know that they had distorted your image of him, that they had taken the sweetest, kindest person you loved and twisted them into some kind of monster. Your memory of Finnick was vague, plagued by images of violence that felt blurry. Deep down he knew that there had to be the same girl he fell in love with somewhere in there.

He took a step back, noticing your distress. "It's okay, you're safe." He said softly. "Who are you!" you spat, anxiety rising in your chest.

"I want to go home!" you shouted.

This alerted the attention of one of the nurses, who came over and administered some kind of medicine. The liquid quickly entered your system, and you dozed back off to being half awake, mumbling and uttering unintelligible words while the nurse checked your vitals.

The nurse turned to Finnick, apologizing.

. . . .

You can hear them coming. Mutts. They stamp onto the arena's grounds furiously, and you are out running them, just barely until they catch up with you are the group. First, they tear apart Peeta, Katniss' shrill cries haunt you, then they devour her, and you turn to see the rest of your friends being attacked by the mutated beasts.

You run, your feet carrying you far enough that you are in a small wooden shack, something that's safer than being out in the open. The beasts rack the walls, beating against the now locked door, as you notice Finnick emerge from the shadows. His eyes are different. he looks cold, sober, and menacing. He lets out a growl and lunges towards you, tackling you to the ground.

His hands hold you down, finding their way to your neck as they begin restricting your airway. His expression is void of emotions. His hands feel cool, and his calloused fingers force bruises on your skin. You struggle against him, begging for your life . . .

After one week of recovery, the nightmares begin to plague you. That was the first of many to come. You woke up with a gasp, desperately trashing and trying to save yourself, Once you realize where you are, you try to rationalize with yourself. You gasp, unable to catch your breath, feeling you neck as if you are hurt, and upon examining yourself, there are no bruises. It had to have been a dream.

Finnick appeared at your bedside, scared to touch you and agitate you more, "Hey, hey," he cooed, his voice was soothing. you felt conflicted, the man in your dreams had eyes devoid of color, and Finnick's were the color of the sea, remaining calm, concerned.

"It was just a dream, you're safe." He said softly.

"You," you managed to rasp out between hyperventilation.

"You tried to hurt me," you said, tears now spilling from your eyes.

"No, love, It was a bad dream. I would never lay a hand on you." he said gently, he was being patient. It was clear to you now that he did not intend to hurt you, because if we was going to he would have tried before the nurses came rushing in to check on your heart monitor that was making a raging beeping noise.

Finnick stood by your side, looking at you with worry.

"You're okay, just try to get some more rest." the nurse said. You nodded, exhaustion once again taking you as you rested your head back against the pillow. Whatever sedatives they had you taking were working well, lulling back into a slumber, hopefully this time without nightmares.

. . . .

After another week you hadn't been sleeping well now relying on the sedatives too heavily, with fear the images from the nightmares would take you out of reality again, each one more painful than the last.

Your eyes fluttered open, nothing too bad this time. The room was dimly lit, it had to be at least midnight. The halls were quiet, your restraints were still there, for your own good, the doctors had said the previous day. You attention was drawn to the gentle snoring of the man sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

You looked at him and a sickly familiar feeling came across your chest. There was something about watching his chest gently rising and falling in his uncomfortable-looking sleeping position that seemed unthreatening.

You gazed at him, a glimpse of a memory surfacing, you could remember him, you couldn't quite place where you were, but you were standing in water and the sensation of the cool lapping waves against your body somehow felt like home. It calmed you. He was there, you recognized him, a vague figure standing with you in the water. No strangulation, no weapons, just standing in the water in his arms. You couldn't tell if that was real or not, but it seemed happy, calming, the first decent memory you had in a long time.

After a while, you warmed up to his presence, watching him sleeping, you were far too weak to do much else. you still hadn't determined if the memory was real or not.

His eyes fluttered open, and he noticed you were awake.

"Hi sweetheart," he said sheepishly with a yawn.

"Did you get some sleep?" he asked you. you reluctantly shook your head. "I can't sleep," you said, your voice was low, still scratchy but a vast improvement from before.

"Do you want me to stay up with you?" he asked. you waited, hesitating for a long time, before nodding honestly. It was nice to have another person near you, even if you weren't entirely sure who they were, you were beginning to see him as a non threat. baby steps.

After another bout of silence, your voice carried across the quiet room. "I can't tell what's real anymore," you confessed. Finnick frowned. "You don't have to right now," he said. "All you should know right now is that you're safe, and I'm here." he said. you felt comforted.

The two of you stayed up for a while, and he stayed up to watch over you as you stared at the ceiling for a while, contemplating everything, before finally feeling relaxed enough to rest again.

. . . .

After that night, you felt more comfortable, and would sometimes laugh at a small joke Finnick would make. You had even warmed up enough to allow him to sit closer to you, and after several weeks, you allowed him to hold your hand. His felt soft and warm, nothing like the memory of his hands you weren't sure you could trust.

One month of treatment and therapy and conditioning. you were starting to feel somewhat like your old self. Somewhat normal, despite your questioning of your own memory. The doctors had helped you work out ways of differentiating your memories from what was real. It was tough. It felt like a daily battle. But at least now you had someone to tell you what was real, and what was not.

Your eyes fluttered open that morning to see Finnick in the chair in by your bed, flipping through the pages of some novel he had found, pretending to read the page, skimming the words but not really reading them. He noticed your gaze and smiled softly.

"Good morning, love." he said in a quiet voice.

"Hi." you said.

Finnick just stared, admiring your beauty, yearning to have you back. He was beyond thankful you were alive and here with him, so now he focusses all his energy on your recovery.

You were lost in your thoughts for a long while. The memory of the two of you in the water kept resurfacing. Bits and pieces came back to you as time passed, now you were able to form a somewhat coherent image.

you were in his arms, on the beach, back home, in District 4. He held you while humming a gentle song in your ear, the waves pushing and pulling against your bodies, gently complementing Finnick's melody. The safe feeling warmed your whole body, and you felt a love surround you. The gentle sea breeze combing through your hair, the smell of the sea flooding your senses...

"Can I ask you a question?" you spoke suddenly. Finnick leaned forward in his chair. "Of course," he said honestly.

"I think," you said, still unsure of the memories.

"I think you loved me."

the words hung in the air softly and fell upon Finnick like a melody.

"That's not quite right," he said. you gazed at him in confusion. "I Love you. still, always," he said. "No matter what happens." he smiled at you, wanting to cry.

"I love you," Finnick said softly, brushing a piece of hair from your face. "That is real." he said. you nodded, this time initiating contact and placing your hand over his. There was a mutual understanding that day.

"Everything is so fuzzy," you begin.

"But I remember being in the sea with you, back home, I think."

Finnick nodded. "Is that real?" you asked him, gazing into his eyes, the same ones from the memory that brought you comfort now, even if you couldn't remember much else or any other context. It came back in fragmented parts. "Yes," Finnick said without hesitation. "I remember it too."

"That was the first time I realized I was in love with you." he said. you took his word for it, why would he lie? "We had just met up when I had come home from the games; we were so young." He continued on, as you listened to his story, eager like a child to hear more.

"You told me you were scared that you'd never see me again, and you were happy I was home." You smiled softly, tears filling your eyes, flooding with a warming, loving feeling. "And I said to you," he stopped himself, smiling softly, tears gently falling from his cheeks. he hesitated, but your memory became a brighter beacon now, and you finished his sentence for him.

"I'll always come home to you."

The words caused Finnick to sob. he nodded, taking your hand and gently caressing your bony hands with his fingers.

"I'm so sorry they took you." he said with a bit of guilt.

"It's not your fault," you whispered gently.

"I thought the Capitol had taken you from me. I almost lost hope." He confessed. you stayed quiet for a moment.

"Finn?" you uttered softly; his heart fluttered when you said his nickname. "Yes, love," he exhaled, wiping his tears away.

"Will you hold me?"

and with that, Finnick situated himself on the bed next to you, close enough he could hear your heartbeat. You laid your head on his chest, that warm feeling flooding over you again. You finally felt safety, comfort and content. You realized you had all you needed.

[haymitchsbunny]

Drink Me Away

dividers by @anitalenia

Series: Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x F!Reader

Warnings: Age gap, porn with so much plot, smut, vaginal sex, daddy kink, slightly weird dynamic, traumabonding(?), underage drinking/alcoholism in general

Summary: You were never more than just drinking buddies with Haymitch, until you came to him for consolation when your parents disowned you. He never planned to make a move, but you couldn't handle it. He was your favorite person- but that could never progress, right?

A/N: Absolutely no writing of the actual Games- just there for plot reasons. I've loved Haymitch for so long and theres absolutely no xreader fics with him, so I wrote my own.

Please let me know if i missed any warnings! happy readings ☆

You came from a well-off family, one that had never had to put their children in danger with tesserae, one that got the freshest bread, one that had no idea about their eldest daughter's after-school activities; heading to the hob as often as possible, paying anyone she could for a bottle of spirits. You began when you were 16.

Your only true drinking competition was Haymitch Abernathy- he had known your family for years, but as close as he was with your father, he had never known you. You never cared to approach him when he entered your house or when your parents spotted him in the square.

When you became a regular Hob attendee, you saw much more of him. Drinking competitions became a regular occurrence between the two of you when you were 17, praises of your tolerance always boosting your ego at 18. This lasted until you were 19.

Your father had a rough day at work. He had visited the Hob for the first time in year, accompanied by Haymitch. He had come to try and spot you before your father could and tell you to book it. It didn't work out that way.

Haymitch spotted you two seconds too late, after hearing the deafening screech of your father yelling your name across the Hob. You froze in place, glass in hand and arm on a man who's name you couldn't remember. The sounds around you died around somewhat, all eyes on the father-daughter exchange.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hissed, approaching rapidly.

"I'm 19, dad, I'm allowed to have fun," you huffed.

"Since when is 'fun' illegal drinking in the black market?"

"A while now, actually."

"You're grounded."

"I'm 19."

"Then get your shit," he snatched the drink from your hand, throwing it back like water. "And get the fuck out of the house." He slammed the glass against the table, turning tail and leaving.

You sat, stunned at the confrontation. You slipped off your barstool and followed your father's path in a haze. You jumped when a hand clamped around your wrist, eyes flickering to Haymitch standing there, concern splashed through his features.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He questioned genuinely.

"Nothing, Haymitch, don't worry about it," you sighed, trying to pull away and not drag him into family business.

"I said 'what happened', kid. Not 'do you want to tell me'," he demanded.

"I- nothing," you stopped yourself. It was none of his business!

"I want to help you, let me, please." Well you never thought you'd hear him say please.

"My dad kicked me out- happy?" You fumed, a sudden rage building in your belly as you yanked your wrist away from him with all your might and began stomping off.

"You can stay with me," he called after you. "The couch is comfy." You turned on your heel back to him.

"You're kidding," you blanched. "Seriously? You'd let me stay with you? Why?" The questions spilled out, confusion and appreciation mingling.

"Because I care about your wellbeing, kid," he chuckled. "And if you're living with me you ain't gotta head all the way to the Hob for a drink or two."

And so began the complicated relationship between the two of you. Two unemployed day drinkers with no hobbies, no friends, and no family. You found out that your mother wanted nothing to do with you, and they wouldn't allow your siblings to see you. Haymitch had no family left alive. You were both stuck drinking away your sorrows together.

He didn't make you get a job- just run errands. Get food, get living supplies, relax. He got the liquor. He kept you from drinking too much, usually limiting you to three glasses at a time. A good majority of your time was spent cuddling. It wasn't weird. It was just.. comforting. For the both of you. Nothing weird.

The night you had moved in with him was the first time. You were vulnerable, and ended up sobbing on the floor with a bottle in your hand. He slipped it out gently, setting it on the ground next to you. He leaned down and picked you up off the ground with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. He laid down on the couch with you in that position, letting you blubber and yap until you fell asleep.

When you awoke, you were squished between the back cushions and his body comfortably. His arms laced around your waist, holding you to his chest, his face in the crook of your neck. You dozed back off and when you awoke he was sitting at his armchair, unphased and watching the news.

it had been 6 months since that night. You drank with him almost every day, had two friends which were men you had drank with at the hob, and had hobbies and a black cat that roamed freely through Haymitch's house. Things were.. good.

And you were falling for your housemate.

He was nothing more than someone who you cared for. You were legal, yes, but he was so much older than you. He was a respectable man- sure, drinking the days away with a friend's disowned daughter wasn't exactly mature behavior, but at least he held you close every time you cried. But that was purely platonic affection, him caring for your well-being and holding you through the night being the only way he knew to comfort you.

That night, you drank your feelings away with him. He was getting louder and you were getting quieter, watching him carefully. Trying not to expose the vile thoughts running your mind into the dirt as he blabbed about his favorite liquor.

The heat in your tummy only got worse as you drank more, giving him professional fuck-me eyes by your 4th. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. But by the way his eyes never left yours, even when you looked away, you were sure he had.

"H-Haymitch," you hiccuped, certain you were bordering alcohol poisoning. You never drank this much- either you had enough or he stopped you. Not tonight. "I'm not, I'm really, uh," you couldn't get your thoughts straight. "Take me to our room, please." You managed to get out.

"Our room?" He questioned, brighter than you'd ever seen him. "Last I checked, we've never slept in it at the same time. If anything, the living room is our room." He sauntered over to you slowly, placing his bottle on the table in front of you. You reached for it and got your hand smacked. You were already feeling a little green.

"Just take me," you groaned, choking back a gag. "I'm sleepy." You whined at him.

"Sure you don't need to vomit, sweetheart? Do it before I tuck you in, if you would be ever-so-kind," you shook your head no, but then stood swiftly and shook your head yes. He guided you to the sink as you emptied the contents of your stomach in it. He held your hair. You tilted your head back up and turned the water on, washing the liquid away.

"Atta girl, let's get you some water, why don't we," you groaned and nodded, washing your hands and turning back to him as he handed you a bottled water. You chugged it, feeling a tad more sober, and you began to walk to the bathroom. Haymitch sat back down and swirled his finger around the lip of his cheap whiskey bottle.

You brushed your teeth and tongue thoroughly. You wouldn't have cared, you didn't. But something in the way Haymitch's fingers continued to linger on your skin made you start to. You exited the bathroom, swishing a bit of mouthwash through your teeth before walking to the kitchen sink and spitting it out there.

"Take me to bed." You requested, standing in front of haymitch in your big tee-shirt and shorts.

"Awfully bold now, aren't you sweetheart?" He rasped, standing almost as soon as you had asked. He walked towards you, leaning down and scooping you up bridal style. You were not expecting this- a belly laugh escaping from you as he began to walk you up the stairs.

You were drenched. Absolutely soaked through your panties. You just prayed he wouldn't notice anything off about your demeanor- maybe he would just chalk it down to the abundance of alcohol in your system?

"Haymitch! Do you have to be so rough?" You gasped as he nearly threw you and himself onto the bed. As you recollected yourself, he stood. "Leaving so soon?" You whined playfully.

"Not if you don't want me to, doll," he chuckled. His raspy voice sent a chill down your spine.

"Well, I mean," you sputtered. "I would- I don't, no. I don't." You finally got your words out, pursing your lips and peering up at him through your lashes as he laughed at you.

"God, you're a mess, aren't you sweetheart?" He mocked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. "I would almost think it's more than just the alcohol at this point, wouldn't you?" You inhaled sharply through your nose at the insinuation.

"What? No, I'm just really drunk, that's all-" he pressed his thumb to your lips.

"Quiet," he whispered, leaning closer to you. "Lying won't get you anywhere in life, sweetheart." God, he was so close. You could smell him, more than usual. Pine and whiskey, mingling into the sexiest thing you had ever had the pleasure to smell.

You whimpered out loud when he pulled away. He smirked at you. Your eyes went wide as he began stripping. "Wh- why, what-" You tripped over your words, nearly beginning to crawl towards him. He was clearly relishing in your newfound behavior.

"Calm yourself, doll," he chuckled, flopping down next to you on his bed. "I'm just getting comfortable- you wanted to sleep after all. Right?" He was asking for your honesty.

This was the make-it-or-break-it of the night- he was giving you the chance to tell him what you were feeling. "I, uhm," you began with so much confidence and hope. But then, your critical thinking kicked in. He didn't actually want you to respond like that! He was warning you not to act on your obvious desires.

"Yes, just want to sleep," you muttered, beginning to pull your shirt from your body. You stood before you could finish. "I'll go to the bathroom, sorry." You apologized, melancholy. He grabbed your wrist.

"You're fine, sweetheart," he was serious. Your heartbeat increased and you suspected he was feeling at your pulse with the way he was squeezing. "Lying won't get you anywhere." He intentionally repeated his words from earlier. A shiver ran down your spine and settled in your bones. You were on edge and dripping wet. You whimpered.

"Haymitch, please," you whispered. "Don't make me say it." You pouted at him with glazed eyes and he pulled you back onto the bed in front of him. You were looking at him with need in your eyes, and he nearly matched your expression.

"Well, if you're so tired, you'd better get ready for bed, right, sweetheart?" He rasped, and you felt disappointment settle in your gut.

"Oh, uhm, yeah, I guess," you spoke quietly, scooting yourself to be more comfortable as you reached under your shirt to unclasp your bra. You were looking away from him, trying to avoid facing the cause of the weight on your chest.

A featherlight touch on your abdomen drug your attention away from your failed attempt, arms falling to your sides as he replaced your hands, unhooking the garment with ease. The straps fell from your shoulders as he reached to the bottom of your shirt. You raised your arms and let him lift it, leaving you in nothing but shorts and your loose and unsecured bra.

You looked at him in curiosity. He noticed and smirked. "You have to be comfortable to sleep, don't you, sweetheart?" His gentle grip turned demanding and you gasped as he snatched the only thing covering your breasts. Your arms flew to cover yourself and he slowly reached to restrain your wrists, shifting his weight so he was holding himself over you, pinning your wrists into the mattress.

"H-Haymitch," you whispered, barely audible.

"Yes, love?" He matched your volume, leaning so close that you could taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Kiss me," you asked. "Please." He looked from your eyes to your lips, silent for a moment.

"There's no going back if we do this," he warned, staring into your eyes for any tell of your thoughts. All he could see was desire. The same burning desire that fuelled the hard-on in his briefs. "I won't pretend anymore, especially not if you let me do what I want right n-"

"Shut up and kiss me, Haymitch," you groaned, bucking your hips up and rubbing yourself against his clothed erection. "Before I change my mind." You giggled.

He pressed his lips to yours fervently, touching you in a way that all the hours you had spent together could have never prepared you for. His hands flew from your wrists and his weight shifted to his knees, pressing your heat to his cock as he practically dry-humped you through your makeout. He was rubbing his thumb into your hip, squeezing it so tightly but you relished in it. His other free arm was pressed into the pillow next to your head, keeping him from crushing you under his weight.

"Good God," he groaned out needily, pulling away from your lips to begin kissing and sucking on your throat. He threaded his fingers through your hair, tilting your head for more access to your quickly purpling neck. "Sweeter than candy, you know that?" He grumbled against your skin. Your hands were settled in his hair and on his broad shoulders, taking in every sensation.

"There's something I would like to taste," you smirked slyly, pushing at his shoulders gently, sitting up with him.

"Oh, really? And what might that be, darling?" He reached up and held your hands as they sat on his shoulders. You reached down to his briefs and pulled them until his cock sprung from the waistband. You gasped at the size of it, watching it slap against his stomach with a soft sound.

"Y-You're so," you stammered. "I'm not sure I can take all of that, Haymitch.." He chuckled, replacing his hand in your hair as he pushed you towards his cock, pulling you with him as he readjusted against the headboard.

"You'll learn." Was all he said as he pulled you until your lips were wrapping around his broad head.

"You're so," you spoke around his tip. "So girthy, Haymitch.." He laughed at your muffled words, spoken with his cock bumped against your cheek. You began to swirl your tongue around his tip and he sighed, letting his laughter die down. He shifted his hand and shoved his dick straight into the back of your throat. You gagged and sputtered, pulling off and coughing with your cheek against his rigid member.

"It ain't Haymitch to you anymore, sweetheart," he growled. Your eyes widened, not sure what his next words would be. "It's daddy. Got that, doll?" You gasped- how vulgar, why would he ever think you would call him something so, so-

"Yes, daddy," your own words caught you off guard. You picked your head up and proceeded to gag on his cock until you felt as though you could throw up. A few times, you were enveloped in pure bliss. Those were the moments when he groaned and shoved your head down so far that your nose buried in the thick hair at the base of his cock. You felt so used and proud of yourself.

"Atta girl," he praised, lifting your head off his cock and smirking at you. You were panting, saliva and precum coating your chin. "So gorgeous like this, should get you drunk like this more often." He kissed you gently, contrasting the roughness of which he just fucked your throat.

"Please," You begged quietly. "Please fuck me." Haymitch chuckled at you.

"Say my name, darling," he growled. You began to say Haymitch, but he interrupted you. "Not that name, doll." He corrected, grabbing you and pulling you on top of himself until you were straddling him. You were slightly caught off guard, grinding down on him and moaning. You were still clad in your shorts and panties.

"Please, daddy," you whimpered. He chuckled, gripping your hips and pressing you harder against him. "Please fuck me, daddy!" You cried out, throwing yourself forward into a kiss. He flipped you over, pressing your back into the mattress. He sat up and yanked your shorts down before ripping both sides of your underwear. You yelped in surprise and scolded him.

"Consider it a souvenir, sweetheart," he chuckled at you. "A souvenir from the first time you're getting fucked by me." You gasped, feeling him begin to align his thick head with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, and you cried out.

"Daddy! Be gentle, plea-" You were cut off by a silent moan getting caught in your throat as he bottomed out. "Mmhm, please wait a- a momen- mm." You could barely speak, he wasn't thrusting but he was circling his hips ever so slightly, giving you friction in parts of your pussy you didn't even know you had.

"Oh, I'll be gentle for now, sweetheart," he groaned, beginning to thrust gently. "But I can't promise that'll last." He kept a slow and rhythmic pace, bottoming out with every lingering thrust. You let out a sharp breath every time.

He picked up his pace, your breath hitching with every thrust. You did your best to hide any moans, but could barely contain yourself. He began suckling on your neck and unintentionally digging his fingers into your hips.

Then, he pulled out. You whined at the unwanted emptiness, but then he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. He began pounding into you, faster and harder and deeper than before. You became a slurred, moaning mess. He didn't stop, ignoring all of your moans and pleas of pure pleasure.

He had already begun to bruise your hips, squeezing and pushing and pulling to fuck you oh-so-nicely, penetrating you over and over.

He started getting rough, leaning over you and removing his hands from your hips. He started fucking you with the force of his whole body weight, leaving you moaning like a whore underneath him.

"I'm close, sweetheart," he growled. "You?" Not taking a break to let you answer, if anything going faster.

"Ah, uh, mm-mhm!" You cried. "K-keep, nn, going! Please daddy!" and with that, he lost all tempo and fucked you ruthlessly. He picked you up, put you on your back, pressed your knees into your chest, and slid back in one smooth motion.

This new angle was so deep, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You cried out, reaching to Haymitch and gripping your hands in his hair.

"Daddy! Please, please, please, PLEASE," you screamed, begging for release with all your might. He reached down, playing with your clit for a moment, and you burst.

You felt the heat in your tummy rush to all your pleasure points, overwhelming you. Haymitch didn't slow down, but when you began to squeeze his cock like a vice, he pulled you close and started with short, deep thrusts.

You fell asleep immediately.

When you awoke, you were alone in the bed. You looked around groggily, no sign of your newfound lover. You slipped your feet to the side of the bed, attempting to stand. Your knees gave out, but you caught yourself on the bed.

You noticed that there was no trace of your earlier activities- a clean bed that you had just been tucked nicely into, your legs had no residue of either yours or his juices. Your hair was neatly combed.

You heard the sound of water shutting off, and figured Haymitch had been showering. A few minutes later, he exited with damp hair and a towel around his waist. You were intrigued.

"Good mornin', darlin'," he chuckled at the way you were looking at him. "Looking so eager for another round, huh?" He teased. You settled back into bed.

"Soon," you told him. " But for now, come lay with me." You smiled, scooting further into the bed to give him space. He dropped his towel and walked towards you. You dampened at the sight of his semi-hard cock.

He slipped into bed next to you, flipping you over so your back was to his chest. His cock rested between your legs, the head bumping your clit.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, moving his hips and making his cock bump your sensitive nub. "That's what you wanted, right dear?"

A/N: hope you enjoyed! please leave asks/requests! BEGGING YOU!!!

[swanimagines]

Please can I ask for E39 for Finnick Odair (The Hunger Games)? Thank you!

Prompt: E39. Forbidden love

OFF-LIMITS

Being an original Capitol citizen had its perks, but when you fell hard for the District 4 golden boy, who won the Hunger Games? You being a Capitol citizen was suddenly something you would have given away if it was so simple as that.

Snow had adopted you when you were a child, your parents had died in a fire. You were nothing but his puppet under the surface, a porcelain doll who stood by him looking pretty. Yet to the public, he was seen as your saviour. You were like a phoenix in a way, risen from the ashes, Snow laying his eyes on you and deciding to take you under his wing out of pure goodness of him.

And in public, he did appear as a loving father. Protective, making you a strong leader like him.

But behind closed doors, none of that was true. Well, except for him attempting to make you a strong leader, a successor to him.

As said, Capitol offered a lot of things. Endless luxury, never worrying about food or shelter, and of course, access to every Victory Tour and Games event like it was your personal front-row seat. But none of it mattered when your eyes met his.

Finnick Odair.

Victor. Heartthrob. Fisherman.

And entirely off-limits.

Snow would lose his mind the moment he saw what you were to him.

A lover. Someone who seriously considered running away with him. A traitor to the Capitol.

You had tried to stay away from him, oh how hard you had tried — but no matter what, you always ended up in his arms, your lips on his, still talking about running away.

“Do you think we’d ever be able to pull it off?” you asked one day as you laid against him, tracing your finger along his jaw. “Just… leave everything behind and start a new life somewhere he can never find us.”

Finnick was quiet for a moment. “Every so often, I let myself imagine it. I close my eyes, and I open them to see news how you were a traitor and were executed by Snow, who has now retreated to his palace to mourn his only successor being a traitor. How they’d come for me too within minutes.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. You agreed that would be exactly what Snow would do. He’d pretend to mourn for the loss of you, but he would actually only be furious you refused to be kept in a leash like he had taught you.

So you nodded, silently letting him know how you agree with him. Running away was not an option right now. Maybe someday, if Snow one day slipped, or if the raging crowd got their hands on him… maybe something would open a window that would make your escape possible.

But for now, you had to live assuming nothing like that would happen and you’d have to just manage. Even when it killed both of you from inside.

You felt Finnick’s lips press against your head as he cradled your body closer, and you let yourself just imagine, for a moment, that there was no one in the whole world who would be against your love.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[ladythornofrivia]

THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL, THE LOSER HAS TO FALL ||

Coriolanus Snow x Volunteered Tribute!Reader

summary: reader takes lucy gray’s place for the Hunger Games, and Coriolanus underestimated the reader.

warning: death, stalking, manipulation, violence, mdni, blood, bloodlust, reader’s a skilled tribute

a/n: hi guys! i’m back. here for part one of coriolanus snow and reader. i read the ballad of songbirds and snakes.

There will be no Plinth prize for the Hunger Games, according to Sejanus Plinth, who everyone assumed is Coriolanus’s friend. Coriolanus anticipated the prize for him to enter the university. As Dr. Volumnia Gaul announced for the 10th annual Hunger Games, she declared that she won’t be around forever. Meaning the new gamemaker must take her place, meaning the Hunger Games will continue on, for who knows how long. As for Casca Highbottom, he wished for the Games cease to exist, drinking morphling from a little trinket.

Casca Highbottom warned to not cheat, but something inside of him said he doesn’t want to have the Hunger Games every year.

Putting the spectacle on, he read off the paper contained the list of the tributes and the mentors by the Reaping Ceremony began. Students cheered and congratulated the mentors, depending what kind of tribute the mentors were getting.

Arachne Crane’s smug worn when she got a different district.

“Oh, you’ll be happy about this, Miss Crane,” Casca began, standing up, “The runt girl. District 12.” Then he had his eyes fixed on Coriolanus, as Casca Highbottom said, “She belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Coriolanus darted his pale blue eyes up to the screen, to see a selected tribute.

+++

You were nothing compared to Lucy Gray, the songbird from District 12. She’s part of he Covey, traveling from place to place, singing her songs and writing music is all she could do. She had charm and class, and you had none.

A special songbird, singing with her guitar and her special charm exuding her aura for all to see and to be swayed by her. She’s the perfect. But you were nobody. You were born from District 7, lumber, somehow you moved here in District 12, the sector of coal mines and soot. Everyone was unclean.

During the day of the Reaping, everyone stood still, awaiting for the mayor’s words. Until he came up to the mic and announced, “Lucy Gray Baird”.

Several gasps entered, immediately looking at Lucy Gray. Watching afar, you knew she’s not a fighter. She has extreme charm, but she’s not a great asset to the Games.

Reluctantly, Lucy Gray went out and approached the stage. The cameras panned on her as she strode.

Before even stepping onto the stage, you intervened. “Lucy Gray!”

All eyes were on you. And the cameras panned onto you quick—a girl in a crimson dress—red amongst the blues and grays.

Meanwhile the Capitol students in the academy, whispered.

On the screen, you appeared in a red dress with a bow behind your hair, flowing in the wind as you approached Lucy Gray but the Peacekeepers stopped you with the rifles pointed at you.

Lucy Gray’s eyes widened in shock, telling you, “No, (Y/N). No.”

“Lucy Gray,” you shouted, but then the Peacekeepers seized and blocked you, tackling you on the ground as you shouted, “I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!”

As you stand up, you pushed the guards aside. “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!”

Their hearts stopped. The Reaping went silent as a grave, but the shock on their faces was haunting.

Meanwhile the Capitol, the students in the Academy murmured in an agitated anticipation as Coriolanus got his interest piqued. Not in years during the annual Games ever volunteered in the previous years. This has to be the first.

“Is she crazy?”

“She’s willing to take Lucy Gray’s place?”

“This is the first time I heard of volunteering.”

“She must be out of her mind. Suicidal much?”

“Either she’s crazy or brave. Or both.”

Coriolanus’s heart stopped, too, feeling like the world has ended on his part.

She…volunteered, he thought.

On the screen, you’ve been let go off and embraced Lucy Gray.

“See? I’m fine. We’re both fine,” you said, not minding the cameras. “You’re gonna be okay. Take care of yourself, okay?” you said with a bright smile, patting her shoulders.

Lucy Gray liked your bright smile, but her tears were dripping up close. She can’t cry, not in front of the cameras. You knew that she’s a strong soul to provide comfort within District 12 with her songs with The Covey.

She can’t go.

“Take care of my friend,” she whispered, quivering a little, she eyed on the stage regarding to address on watching her friend, Jessup Diggs.

You nodded with determination fired within you.

“Everything will be okay,” you mouthed as the Peacekeepers escorted you with brute force up on the stage. As you look back, Lucy Gray mourned, but she wasn’t showing it as she’s placed back into the row, safe and sound.

There, you met the Mayor, who was discontented at your sudden volunteer. So does the Mayor’s daughter, Mayfair. As for Lucy Gray’s ex-boyfriend, Billy Taupe, was shocked at the revelation, a changed course in destiny.

“What’s your name,” Mayor Lipp asked, he stepped back for you to take the stage.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).”

Mayor Lipp is still displeased. His fists clenched at the folded paper—the once was once called now has taken its place to a different direction.

The crowd now knew your name. You weren’t just some nobody anymore. You’re the person who’s brave enough—or stupidly reckless—to volunteer in taking Lucy Gray’s place.

Meanwhile in the Capitol, in the grand ceremony in the Heavensbee Hall, everyone spoke of your name.

Nothing like the tributes since the first Games. Something stirred inside Coriolanus, and it made him felt…honorable and important. You made him powerful within an instant. He needed a strong presence and a strong conviction, and you were just a perfect tribute.

Maybe the Games won’t be terrible, after all.

As you turned around, Mayor Lipp still gave you a death glare before being escorted by the Peacekeepers. And there, you met a certain tribute named Jessup Diggs. Your head dipped into a bow, and gave him a brief handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jessup,” you said with a gentle smile.

Something’s never been seen before from a tribute. Not only she’s brave, but graceful.

Something out of the ordinary.

The students gossiped again. It was out of nowhere, and changing, as if your presence was welcoming and inviting.

Coriolanus was overwhelmed with a newly presence you’ve brought onto the stage. A duality. Again, is what he needed from his tribute. But you exceeded from his negative expectations. Perhaps this could be his chance to win the Games, and restore his family name to a proper glory. A proper welcome, a proper reputation and money.

Meanwhile, Casca Highbottom wasn’t pleased at your rebellious nature on taking someone’s place, but there were no rules on regarding to the Games. His gloomy eyes darted in subtle anger towards Coriolanus. Coriolanus knew he hated everyone, and despised Coriolanus the most. For what reason, he never knew why Casca despised Coriolanus. The minimal effort of glare told all stories.

Coriolanus, on the other hand, was enamored with the idea of winning the Games, as you were waving at the cameras farewell.

+++

After encountering with Casca Highbottom’s veil threats, Coriolanus spoke to Tigris.

“She’s friendly. She seems healthy. But she looks weak,” he said, pacing the room.

“Coryo, it’s not just about winning,” Tigris protested.

“Everything’s about winning,” he said. “She may wave and gave a handshake in front of the crowd, but she won’t win with friendliness in the arena.”

Tigris shook her head. “She’s brave. Braver than I thought. She took someone’s place.”

Coriolanus did not like her statement. “If there’s something I could pull out of her, maybe there’s a chance to have a great advantage.”

“I wouldn’t be friendly to you, if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all. Unless I could trust you.”

“She’s from the District, Tigris. She knows were against her, and her against us. How am I supposed to get her trust?”

“Imagine if it was your name that they pulled and you have been ripped from your home. I just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s from District, Coryo,” she said to him dearly. “Who knows you might get along with her. And who knows she might bring the best in both of you and herself. She needed strength and confidence, especially from a mentor.”

The next day, Coriolanus examined the white rose in his hand as he waited at the train station.

By the time, it arrived, he has searched for you. And when you got down with the help from Jessup, you spotted Coriolanus and gave him a kind smile, watched as he extended the white rose towards you.

“Welcome to the Capitol,” he greeted.

You looked at the white rose before taking it. “Thank you, for your kind welcome, sir.”

His brow flicked.

“Please, call me Coriolanus,” he said. “No need for formalities.”

You nodded. “Thank you for the rose, Coriolanus.”

Then you offered a handshake. To his shock, he complied.

And nodded.

Then you both stood still, hands still folding with each other.

“Um, what are you doing here exactly?” you said, looking at his fancy school attire.

“I’m here to welcome you,” he answered.

You giggled. “I can see that. But then it feels like you’re here for some reason.”

“I shouldn’t, but I’m your mentor,” he said.

You whistled. “Quite a rebel, huh?”

Coriolanus cringed at the word “rebel”, a poisonous word and threat in the Capitol. He’d to think himself as a good and well-behaved top academic student who likes to seize the opportunity.

“I’m only doing my best to take care of you.”

Another tribute screeched, not wanting to participate in the Games, but everyone knows it’s already too late, still whining like a child.

“Thank you so much, Coriolanus. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” your smile shone brighter as the Peacekeeper escorted you to the truck with other tributes.

Soon, Coriolanus followed you inside the truck, and soon got attacked by Reaper. “I’ll kill you right now,” he threatened.

“He’ll do it,” Dill said, coughing. “Reaper killed a Peacekeeper back in 11.”

“Quiet, Dill,” Reaper warned.

The others were ganging up on him, after being shoved onto the wall.

“Do you guys have a death wish or something? If you kill him, Capitol will do worse than the Games. Don’t you want to at least think about that?”

“Nobody has to know,” the tribute told you.

“Killing my mentor would be a bad idea, dumbass,” you said to them, annoyed. “Unless you’re looking for a worst aftermath, then be my guest.”

The tributes were shocked at your profanity, but others begrudgingly released Coriolanus.

Coriolanus straightened his attire.

“How come you get a mender?” Coral said.

“Mentor,” Coriolanus corrected. “You each get one.”

“And we’ll just trust you on that,” she dared.

“I’m just here to help you,” he said.

“How come this lady in red have a special treatment? The other menders weren’t here.”

You looked at Coriolanus. “None of them are inspired, my guess.”

Then you winked at Coriolanus.

And he smirked at your confidence.

Then the truck tipped over and the tributes slipped down, while Coriolanus took your waist and stayed intact, trying not to let go of the rope. Then his hand slipped, and slid, rolling off with the rest and they were trapped in the Capitol Zoo.

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[undercoveravenger]

In Your Arms

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader

Requested: Yes

Request(s): “I heard you wanted HungerGames and came running 🏃‍♀️ Alright so it’s after the book series and Finnick and reader are finally living the life they want and obviously Finnick is alive and well because fuck that he deserved so much better. Finnick isn’t on his capital diet and he has a little fat on his body and reader loves it and always touches it but Finnick gets insecure because he thinks reader hates it.” + “Can I request a finnick x male reader with angst and comfort where they comfort each other after the quarter quell?” 

A/N: Combining these two requests since they seemed like they could fit together well

—--

For the first time since the revolution, Finnick wakes up alone. He is cold - the damp sand at his back has long since lost its warmth - and freezing water laps at his legs as he jolts upright. His first instinct is that he’s back in the Arena - that something, someone, is coming after him. He scrambles to his feet, sand sucking his feet down in a way that feels claustrophobic rather than the way it normally grounds him and the cold rain plasters his hair to his face.

Thunder booms in the distance, the sound echoing the canons that haunt his nightmares and sending him further into his panic. He’s jerky, out of practice in a way that he can normally take comfort in but now only serves to make him feel all the more on edge. He could see shadows flickering in his peripherals, tree branches and whispering grasses coalescing into hunters, other tributes just out of sight and beyond his perception though just close enough for him to feel like a fish being hunted by a heron.

As he struggles to regain his balance he realizes that he is alone, the indent you had left in the sand beside him long abandoned. His heart stops in his chest, feeling suddenly like he’s had the air kicked out of him - if you were gone, did that mean you were…? No. No, you couldn’t be. If you were dead-

“Finn?” Your voice snaps Finnick out of his spiral almost instantly and he whirls to face you, a massive smile breaking across his lips as he stumbles up the beach toward you. 

“Where were you?” He gasps, tucking his head into your shoulder as he throws himself into your arms, unable to even pretend to care as he knocks whatever you’d been carrying out of your grasp.

His nerves start to settle as you clutch him close to your chest, arms curled tight around him. “I’m sorry,” the words rush out of you quickly as you realize what he must’ve been thinking, “I’m sorry Finnick. I woke up and it looked like you were cold so I went to get blankets from the cabin. I meant to be back before you woke up and then it started raining and it took me longer to get back-” You trailed off as you took in his state, pulling back just far enough to look at him, “God, you’re freezing. C’mon, Finn, let’s get you home and warmed up before you get sick. I’ll come back for the blankets later, when it’s not raining.”

Finnick allows himself to be tugged along after you, stumbling over the slight hills in the sand as he follows you back to your shared cabin at the other end of the cove. He’s still a little out of it as the front door swings shut behind the two of you, but he has enough presence of mind to toe off his shoes and follow you into your bedroom. 

“C’mon love,” you say, digging through his dresser to find him some dry pajamas. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

He blanches at that, suddenly far too aware of the way he’d changed since the Games. His wet clothes clung to him, sticky with water and plastered to the soft stomach and curves that’d formed in the years after the Hunger Games had been ended. He knew that you liked knowing he was comfortable and felt safe enough to relax, but he couldn’t help but feel less worthy of the attention, especially with the way he had been treated in the years between his Games and the Quarter Quell. He eventually follows your request, tugging off his soaked shirt and holding it in front of his chest and stomach subconsciously.

You turn back, eyes narrowing as you notice his defensive body language. “You okay, Finn? You seem… tense. Is it still the nightmare?” 

He shakes his head, slowly forcing himself to approach you, dropping his shirt as he gets close. “‘M’okay.”

You step toward him, cupping his face in your hands fondly. “Sweetheart, I’m here for you. You know I love you, right? And whatever you’re dealing with, I’m here to support you.”

Finnick hesitates, but presses into your palms and closes his eyes after a moment. “I don’t feel strong enough for you anymore.” He can feel the way your hands start to shake where he rests against him and he knows that you must be heartbroken to hear what he had been thinking. “I just- I don’t know if I could protect you if something happened and I don't look-” his voice breaks a little as he voices his insecurity.

You interrupt him with a fond eye roll and a tender kiss, “You look like the love of my life,” you murmur quietly, pressing soft kisses across his cheeks and forehead. “And I love that you are safe and don’t need to be fighting ready unless you want to be. I love who you are, Finn, not just how you look and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if that’s what it takes for you to know it.”

Finnick feels like crying - to have gone from being treated as little more than a toy for strangers’ pleasure to being so wholly loved in just a few short years was a little overwhelming to think about, but he knows that he couldn’t be happier if he were anywhere else and he wouldn’t want to be. He is more than happy to be here, safe and loved and willing to carve out a new place for himself in the world with you. He knows that there is nowhere he would rather be than in your arms.

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then; Part 2

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Part 1 of the The Hunger Games AU

Chapter Synopsis: On a Capitol Train filled with all the people that might give you answers, in their own unique ways, you find yourself feeling more confused and conflicted than before. Peter isn’t managing well, Sirius wants to talk but remains cryptic when you let him, and Bellatrix and Barty prove to be unpredictable companions to say the least. 

WC: 8.4k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Use of Y/N, Hunger Games typical warnings of corruption, oppression and widespread pain, mentions of imminent and past death, references to loss and grief, heavy hurt/comfort, bittersweet moments, Barty and Bellatrix are their own warnings, disassociation, kind of miscommunication trope, yearning, childhood best friends (to mentor/tribute to lovers), unwanted physical touches

A/N: huge thanks to my darling aimee (@ailoda) for taking on the feat that is beta-reading this series! keep in mind that this thg au is not thg compliant; i do what i want lol. i am open to doing a taglist if people are interested<3

Perhaps it was an odd aspect to focus on, but the chairs on the Capitol train were ridiculously comfortable.

While District 7 was far from the poorest region, there was not an emphasis on luxury goods either. In large families like the McKinnons, it was not uncommon to struggle to make ends meet, and no waiting room you had ever spent time in had plush seating options. The closest you had come to riches was through Sirius’ parents, who moved from District 1 prior to Sirius’ birth on request from the Capitol. They never would say why; they would never really say anything. At least Sirius and Regulus did not have to want for anything, and they gave whatever support they could to their friends. To you.

Yet, the chairs on the train felt like the most abundant lounge you could have pictured. Textured and ruffled like it was designed for angels.

In a few weeks, that was all you could hope to be, really. Angels. 

It felt easier at this moment to focus on the chair. How it felt against your thighs, how it removed aches from your bones, the ones you would have preferred to focus on, because pain was the most distracting thing of all. You wished to place your whole attention, your whole burdened soul inside the soft down of the pillow, to disappear into the microscopic world and not have to face anything.

To hide in your mind was a skill you had always excelled at, especially the past few years. Despite your mastery and best intentions, Sirius broke through.

Even as you blocked out the rest of the room, you were acutely aware of Sirius. You knew he was sitting across from you, table pushed to the side so there were no real barriers between you two. You knew he had his head in his hands, occasionally dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling, as if it would do him any good. You knew he sounded like a man at war; occasionally huffing, grunting, sighing into the nether. 

And because you were so aware of Sirius, you unfortunately remained aware of Peter, as Sirius kept looking his way and occasionally speaking to him. 

Curled up on the sofa a bit to the left of you, Peter laid crying. Not loud wailing, though he would have been well within his rights to do so. Just silent tears and the occasional hiccup. It tore your heart open and made you want to run further away into yourself. 

Bellatrix and Barty – who you had learned seemed to only bring out the worst in each other – sat on the sofa across from Peter, chattering away as if they were not witnesses to this ironic train wreck in motion. Last time you checked in, they were gushing over the potential costumes you and Peter might be dressed in and what dynamics they hoped to see between the tributes in the arena, how their champions would play into it all. Or, at least Bellatrix was talking at Barty with enough enthusiasm to power District 12, You tuned them out long ago, until they became nothing to you.

Like you hoped you would be to them soon.

Sirius nudged your shoe with his. 

Your gaze fell to where his foot laid beside yours. You had matching shoes. Even after 5 years in the Capitol, he still wore black boots, as if he was moments away from heading into a forest.

You trailed up to find his insistent eyes on you already. He seemed to have been studying your face, one corner of his lip twitching into a half-smile. He tilted his head at you, almost in question – you had no answer, so you merely shrugged. 

That seemed to be enough for him. 

Sirius clapped his hands together, loudly enough to disturb Bellatrix and Barty’s conversation – the latter of which sent Sirius a nasty look you had yet to decipher – but not so loud as to startle Peter. “Alright, we have no more time to spare,” Sirius declared, ending the short period he had awarded you all to absorb the shock of the moment. Though, perhaps mostly himself. “Peter, Y/N, why don’t you head to your rooms to breathe or change – there’s rows of clothes to choose from already hung up there – and then the three of us meet up in 30 minutes in the parlor to start talking strategy?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Barty beat you to it.

“What do you mean the three of you, Black?” He somehow managed to snarl and laugh at the same time. “News flash, but your Capitol representatives are meant to be along for the whole ride.”

Sirius didn’t move his gaze to meet Barty’s as he spoke. “You are meant to be just that – representatives. You can join us for meals and public outings, but you have no business joining us outside of that.”

“How lovely of you to think you have a choice, Siri!” Bellatrix purred in a sing-songy tone of voice that did not at all match the contents of her speech. She rose from her seat and began walking in Sirius’ direction. “The parlor in 30 minutes sounds absolutely splendid. We can then discuss how to frame the tragedy that is the three of you in the most entertaining way for the interviews.”

The line of Sirius’ lips was tight and you caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing, but Bellatrix moved in front of him before you could read him further, blocking your view. You could hear him open his mouth, but Bellatrix lifted an arm to place a finger in his face, presumably over his lips. “Sh, sh, sh, little Prince, save the tantrums for the cameras.” 

She flicked the finger over his nose as she moved past him to float towards the door. When you saw Sirius’ face again, his eyes were squeezed shut, head turned to the side.

Bellatrix made a whistling sound that had Barty rolling his eyes and standing up – did she call on him? If that was what she did, he apparently listened for all intents and purposes, striding through the space between you and Sirius. These Capitol people seemed to walk as if it took no effort, as if they weighed next to nothing, movements all tied together in beautiful elegance.

The smirk and wink Barty shot you as he passed was neither.

The door slammed shut with a bang that, though expected, made Peter jump in his seat where he was just beginning to sit up and gather himself. You smiled sadly at him as he stared down into the floor.

Sirius, on the other hand, opened his eyes with a sigh. He took a moment to look between you and Peter, lingering on you when you actually met his eye. There was a miniscule shake of his head, seemingly instinctive, before he cleared his throat. “Alright. I meant what I said. I’ll take you two to your rooms to collect yourselves alone, and then we’ll talk strategy.”

So much for catching up.

There were a hundred things to be said, but the mere thought of raising any of the points made your blood heat uncomfortably. Instead, you nodded and got up from your seat, squaring your shoulders.

Half on instinct, half to make some connection with the one person you truly know in this place, you moved past Sirius to give Peter a hand up. At last, when you stood before him, he looked up to meet your eyes, tears still swimming in his blue irises. 

“C’mon, Petey,” you whispered, squeezing his shoulder with one hand and grabbing his hand with the other. He huffed a breath you wondered if maybe was supposed to be a friendly sign as he clutched onto you in turn, allowing you to help him up. You brushed off the invisible dust on his sleeves and smiled more assuredly this time, before turning on your heel and facing Sirius.

When he didn’t say anything, just stared emptily at the scene before him – your hands hovering over Peter, Peter’s lip audibly quivering – you once again cut through the silence. “Go on then.” Not your most politest, but you did not have it in you to be right now. You figured you should be allowed some sins, now towards the end.

Sirius seemed to snap out of it but merely nodded in turn, gesturing for you both to follow as he made his way out of the room.

The atmosphere was nothing short of awkward as you and Peter trailed behind Sirius through the impossibly long and winding corridors of the train. You had never really felt the age difference between you and Sirius while growing up, it was barely a year and you both assumed the positions of the older kids looking out for younger siblings and friends. Yet now, walking directly behind his broad back, defined with lean muscle that rippled with how tense he was, you felt so impossibly small. Not necessarily physically, just in every sense that mattered. You and Peter were like a set of puppies, stumbling after the seasoned elder, and you despised it. 

You reached out a hand behind you to find Peter’s. Some of the tension seeped out of you when he gripped you in return, his firm fingers settling beside yours like a welcome weight.

“That one there is Peter’s room.” Sirius came to a stop at the end of the hall, four doors on each side. He nodded with his chin towards one that was slightly ajar as he spoke. “And yours is across the hall.” He didn’t say your name, just set his intense eyes on some vague point beside your head.

You looked away. 

Squeezing Peter’s hand, you let go and gestured for him to enter his room first. Though it might not make a difference, you wanted to be with him as he entered, so he didn’t have to do it alone. Peter took small steps towards his room, pushing the door open with the tips of his fingers. To both your and seemingly Peter’s surprise, he gasped, and took a proper step into the room – it was huge, much more so than you would have expected to be possible on a train. Sirius had been right, there was an open closet filled with clothes to the right, and a bed in the middle that looked just as plush as the sofas.

“Yeah, live it up, Petey,” Sirius said dryly, a semblance of that old humour of his you remembered leaking into his voice. “It’ll be even better in the Capitol. See you in a bit.”

With more ushering than perhaps necessary, Sirius encouraged Peter to walk completely in, and shut the door gently behind him.

As Sirius turned to look at you, you turned away from him, hand already placed on your own door handle. You pushed it down and made to enter when you felt Sirius’ cold fingers curl around your elbow. It was a stark contrast to how Bellatrix would grab you, this was a featherlight touch, as if you were delicate, as if you were precious.

It made you look up at him through your lashes to find him already scanning your face.

“Y/N…” He trailed off.

You placed your fingers over his, careful to study how his face seemingly perked up at your touch, only to fall when you peeled his hand off of you. “Later, Sirius. If you want to explain, absolve your soul while you can or whatever, then do it later. Spare me right now. I just want to lay down.”

You took a small step towards the door again. Sirius pressed his lips harshly together before nodding, putting on a forced smile for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, we can talk it out later – but until then, quit talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“About absolution and doing things while you can. Quit talking like you’re dying.” You could tell by the look on his face that he was being serious, but that didn’t ease up the knot in your chest at all.

All you could do was to hum noncommittally and turn around to enter your room. You didn’t lift your eyes to look at Sirius before you shut the door in his face.

You did not have it in you to change; you would rather cling to what you had from home. Instead, you sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of a full body mirror and leaned your forehead against it, slumping in preemptive defeat.

With laboured but increasingly measured breathing, you tried to get an overview of your situation thus far, playing over the past three hours to digest.

You wish your first thought was something poetic, something deep – some grand final words you could write in your diary that would be distributed all throughout your district as an ode to your memory once you’re slaughtered in an arena by some District 2 child for entertainment. You wished that if not your life, at least your mind could be worth something.

Nothing came to you though. Your first and most eloquent thought remained: fuck.

You were truly and genuinely fucked, why would you think of anything else? A part of your mind tried to remind you of Sirius’ request, his near-plea, to not talk like that, but how could you? He didn’t tell you what else to think of if not that.

Staring at your increasingly hollow reflection, you found you were left with more questions than answers.

The events of the day flashed before you and you did your best to file away only what you thought might be of significance to you going forward. Mary’s teary face and Marlene’s insistent eyes were important to you but not helpful, so you pushed them aside. Instead, you tried to bring forth any mention of this year’s games, anything Barty and Bellatrix have said or done that can give you an indication of what lays ahead of you.

It was clear that Bellatrix knew that you and Peter knew Sirius. Reunion, conundrum, loverboy. Her hints were a far cry of subtle, let alone tasteful, though you thought perhaps that was her goal exactly. At this moment, feeling like a young girl stowed away in your room, you had no idea what to do with that knowledge – but you held onto it, knowing you had to gain answers somehow.

The one thing you could do in what felt like an ocean of confusion and despair was to try and grasp onto some form of strategy to carry you through. Not the strategies Sirius was talking about for the games, but a personal strategy, a perhaps feeble but significant attempt at maintaining your sanity. Yourself. 

Thoughts would float by and you would try to keep only those that might help you survive mentally until it is finally your physical life on the line, on the pods in the arena.

Yet, even as you managed to let your hometown and your fears go, your thoughts still snaked away towards Sirius, a miniature betrayal it had committed against you every day for the past 5 years. You didn’t understand him, you didn’t understand how he avoided your every question and statement, yet still seemed so insistent on your survival and his apologies.

It had been years and all you had wanted was to hear his voice again, even hear some of the specific words he said – but now, they felt hollow even in their sweetness.

I had to go, I’m sorry, I know you.

It reminded you painfully of the words that had haunted you up until this day: I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you. 

I bloody swear to you, he had said to you just some hours ago, you will make it through these games. As you envisioned his face when you saw Peter and recalled how you yourself felt when you listened to his quiet cries, you knew he could not mean that anymore. There was more than you on the line.

Whether it was a panic attack or a fit of rage that was brewing, you knew you needed to shake it off. Far from 30 minutes had passed, you thought maximum 10 – you really would need a clock in the arena – but you couldn’t stay put any longer.

Climbing to your feet, you ruffled your hair and squeezed your cheeks to try and feel better, paving away the chaos to instead focus on what is right in front of you. That had to be your strategy then. Moment by moment, step by step.

Opening your door tentatively, you stepped outside it, stopping for a mere moment in front of Peter’s. Wondering if you should go inside, listening to catch whether he was crying. 

You didn’t hear anything distinct, and even if you had, you didn’t think you would be much comfort for him at the moment. 

The corridors you walked through were highly industrial, another stark contrast to your hometown that was mostly built on wood and a few bricks. They felt the perfect amount of inhuman – while you were sure some design and craftsmanship had gone into building even this train, it felt void of interest and love. Just as a Capitol train should be.

The humming of the wheels were distant but ever present as you explored, feeling almost like you were sneaking out past curfew.

Not that you used to have a curfew, but Sirius did, and you would ditch it together. He was never one to be construed by Walburga and Orion’s chains – as he called them – and would ask you to meet him at the corner of their property at midnight. You might run through the woodlands surrounding you, lay down in a field and watch the stars, climb onto the roof of your primary school and point out whatever landmarks you spotted across town, sharing memories even though most of them had been made together.

Sirius’ childlike laughter echoed faintly in your ears when his real voice cut through your thoughts.

At the very end of a hallway that opened up into a larger room filled with seating arrangements and shelves, there was one final door to your right. It was slightly ajar, not enough for you to look in, but enough for you to hear.

“You mean to tell me this is a fucking coincidence?” Sirius’ tone was seething even in its whisper, but the anger didn’t seem to be directed at any one individual.

There was no response in the momentary silence before he continued. “She was never supposed to be picked, which means they did it on purpose. Pete is just the nail in the bloody coffin.”

Your brows furrowed, your hand coming up to steady yourself on the wall. It sounded like he was talking to someone, but you couldn’t hear anyone else.

“I don’t bloody care if they do, I–” He drew a sharp breath, you could picture the slight parting of his lips revealing white teeth. “Sorry. No, I know, fuck. Sorry, gods – I don’t want to keep saying that. Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

His voice faded into indecipherable mumbles.

You knew he was talking about you. He had to be, and the implications hit you like an arrow – both the implications of his words and of him talking about you in the first place.

If you were trying to clear your head, this surely was not helping you in the slightest. With the effort only a tribute must possess, you pushed off the wall and kept walking into what seemed to be the parlor, head keeping straight forward and not trying to steal a glance through the gap in the door.

You set your focus on the chandelier they had somehow managed to squeeze into the middle of this open space in the middle of the train. It cast the room in a light yellow glow, highlighting the different textures in the many pieces of even-more comfortable cushions across the room.

It was a comfort you didn’t want at the moment; you walked towards the window at the end of the room instead, seeing the outskirts of your district disappearing in a haze of browns and greens.

“You’re early.”

You only turned your head slightly to see Sirius walking slowly into the room, putting a small rectangular object into the sidepocket of his sturdy trousers. His face was carefully measured, but his eyes still betrayed him, eyes boring into yours with an underlying current dancing through the grey. 

“Oddly enough I didn’t feel like being cooped up.” You made an active effort to not add some comment about spending your final days in a more worthwhile manner. 

Sirius still felt it based on the way the corners of his lips twitched. He neared you, standing at the edge of the sofa closest to the window you were tracing with your fingertips – it wasn’t as cold as you were hoping. “Even though you said you wanted to lay down?” he asked, a certain mirth mixing into his tone, referring to your excuse from earlier.

You shrugged, nonplussed. “I did. I only needed a minute or two.”

Sirius’ gaze softened as he leaned his weight against the sofa, crossing his arms as he regarded you. “Take as many minutes as you need, princess,” he whispered.

You turned then, mirroring his stance as you leaned against the window. His face was open, laid bare for you even in his continuing torment.

“Can you make this make sense to me?” It wasn’t the question you wanted to ask the most, but it was the one you figured you might gain the most help from. Sirius used to be your clarity in situations like these.

He breathed in deeply, looking down in respite. “Five years ago, I survived the Hunger Games and was asked to stay in the Capitol. I did. Today, against all bloody odds, you and Peter were reaped, and got stuck with me as your mentor, and those two as your Capitol escorts. Together, we have to figure out how to get you through it.”

It was a rehearsed speech, laid prepared on his tongue, the Sparknotes poison you had asked for. His tone was controlled, some bitterness still leaking through

Asked to stay.

“Why?”

Sirius looked up at you then, an exasperated smile teasing his lips. “Which why are you searching for, princess?”

Why did you stay? Why were we reaped, if you don’t think it was a coincidence? 

For some inexplicable reason, you took pity on him and shook your head, trying to reflect his half-smile. “Let’s not. Let’s not.”

If Sirius could soften more with all his muscles and grit on display in his skintight black tshirt, he did. He pushed off the sofa, as if on his way towards you, beginning to speak. “Whatever you wan–”

When a high-pitched giggle made its way down the hall, he cut himself short with a frown and turned his head – you did the same.

“I’m happy to see we’re at a respectable distance this time,” Bellatrix said through a grin as she walked in, swirling down into a seat on the sofa Sirius was leaning against. “Your fans will be much more pleased this way.”

Sirius’ jaw ticked, gaze moving from Bellatrix to Barty who had trailed in behind her and opted to lean against the doorway, arms crossed much like Sirius’ and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I thought I told you to stay away for this meeting.” Sirius tried, despite all of you remembering just how that went last time.

“And I thought I told you where to stick it.” Barty’s tone was somehow both teasing and menacing.

Sirius scoffed, but the sound was tight as his eyes twitched at the sight before him. He looked between the two Capitol representatives with disdain. “Try to be of help then, why don’t you? Scaring the tributes is not going to help anyone win.”

Bellatrix twirled her black curls as she grinned. “You don’t want us to upset your sweetheart, Siri?”

“I don’t want you to terrify my friends, no.” Sirius’ tone was cool as he replied. “And we’re still waiting for Peter.”

“Pipsqueak is lost somewhere behind there.” Barty pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Didn’t know where the parlor was.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t help him?”

Barty snorted. “No, why would I?”

Tired of simply witnessing this miniature battle of wits, you pushed off the wall and began walking towards the doorway Barty was currently blocking. “Don’t bother, I’ll go find him,” you announced. “Then we can get this over with.”

Barty didn’t move. He still filled the doorway, grinning at you like the Cheshire cat. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“Would you move so I could go get Peter?” You were already exhausted by this, not willing to entertain his games.

“Junior,” Sirius warned quietly behind you. It took you a second to realise he was talking to Barty.

Barty’s gaze flitted between the two of you, grin never faltering. “Aren’t you going into the arena? You can’t let someone standing in the doorway stop you. Move me yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have an axe right now. So. Move,” you said dryly, referring to Sirius’ infamous weapon of choice. 

Barty chuckled, but – despite your assumptions – moved to let you pass, instead walking over to plop down on the sofa, sprawled out like he owned the place. “You might make the games less boring for me after all, birdie.” 

You didn’t deign it with a response as you headed down the less-lit hallway to find Peter. You could hear Bellatrix’s voice faintly in the background, grateful for a short reprieve.

It wasn’t hard to find Peter, yet you purposefully stalled on the way back. He had been roaming in the other direction, apparently on advice from Barty, utterly lost and confused. His face when he heard your voice and whipped around was enough to soften the stone in your stomach somewhat and you walked in comfortable silence on the way back.

“Ah! There they are!” Bellatrix sounded elated, clapping her hands together as you and Peter emerged. Sirius’ head picked up too, offering you both a tight smile. He had moved to stand by the window you had been by earlier, fingertips lingering the same way yours had.

As you went in, you moved to drag a chair up beside the two sofas, creating a half circle of sorts, and brought your knees up to your chest. 

“Petey, why don’t you sit with me, mate?” Barty said, faux friendliness dripping all over his sentence. 

“You don’t have to do that Peter.” Your response was immediate.

Peter looked between you for half a second, eyes wide, before smiling nervously. “It’s, erm, alright Y/N. I’ll just sit.” He sat down on the end closest to you, but Barty moved closer, arm over the edge of the sofa, fingertips almost tickling Peter’s hair. He was enjoying this way too much.

Sirius seemingly agreed with you, pushing off the wall with his foot and walking to stand beside your chair where he could see all of you. “Okay then. Let’s talk business.”

“Yes, let us,” Bellatrix said, sitting up in her seat. “We should start with optics. How shall we frame our little triangular tragedy here?”

“There is no more tragedy here than in every other district.” Sirius’ arms were folded, displaying every muscle he had earned over the past five years, and his face was equally as focussed. “We should focus on their strengths as individuals instead. Peter is resourceful and Y/N is–”

“Desirable. That’s how we should market her – if the Capitol’s heartthrob is all sweet on her, then surely everyone else would be too.” Her eyes were gleaming, set dead on Sirius, as if you weren’t there despite the way she was talking about you.

Your breath was caught and there was a twinging of your heart warring with the rage in your stomach, but Sirius beat you to it.

“Stop.” His tone was firm, one that would leave no room for argument had he been addressing any other two people in the world. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Focus on what matters.”

“Stop what?” Barty laughed, inserting himself into the ridicule unfolding before you. “Addressing everyone’s favourite rumours? We would be stupid not to add it to our narrative. Just because you don’t want to say you lov–”

“That. Stop that, right now.” Sirius’ eyes were hardened as he set his sights on the two of them. “I don’t give a fuck about any rumours. These two, Y/N and Peter, are like my siblings. Sister and brother. The younger kids I looked after back home. We grew up together, yes, but we also grew apart when I moved to the Capitol. That is the true narrative and the one we will be sticking to, disproving all others. You want to be a team? You want to join our meetings? Then we must front the same picturesque storyline.”

Your neck felt like it had been snapped and your lungs punctured from the whiplash. It took every last bit of your willpower for your face to remain neutral, even as Sirius metaphorically slapped it. 

You were embarrassed that the cryptic rumours they were referring to was not what spread the most alarm in your head. 

Siblings. It wasn’t even funny how sour that word tasted on your tongue, and it hadn’t even been you who said it.

The Sirius who was speaking now was not one you had grown apart from, it was one you didn’t know. It was evident to you that this was a theatre, a performance, even if it lacked the theatrical joys you had previously associated with this very same boy. His face was firm, disconnected and determined all at the same time, a mix of opposites that only the Capitol could concoct in someone.

Bellatrix barked a laugh, seemingly not buying it. “Siblings? That is the narrative you prefer going with?” She tsked. “You have so many juicy television opportunities here, Black, and you go for the most boring one?”

Sirius sat down on the armrest of the sofa, shoulders squared to look broader. More intimidating. “Television, Lestrange, is supposed to last for the entirety of the games, not just the preparations before it. If you limit these tributes to a storyline that cannot follow into the arena, they are doomed to irrelevance. You don’t want boring tributes do you? You want a victor.”

He leaned back, looking at her with a gaze that told you he knew he had her. “Instead of some irrelevant rumour sob story, we explain their connections to me as a strength. An older brother who taught them, who they learned from. Give them framings and stories within their own rights. It will carry on into the arena through intrigue and comparisons in a way soapbox drama never will. I thought you knew this. It’s basic strategy, Bella.”

He was smirking now, an expression of glee that seemed more for effect, a final push, than a reflection of any genuine mirth. Bellatrix, on the other hand, had lost a lot of her usual fanatics, instead of staring Sirius down in an indiscernible manner.

“While I love that you get to hash out your drama,” you said, irony poison dripping from your words, “would somebody explain what teh fuck we’re talking about? What rumours?” You didn’t care that you were rude, you didn’t care how Sirius’ eyes twitched. You were wounded and frankly irritated to be spoken of and not to.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Barty’s bark of laughter interrupted him. “What, Capitol news doesn't trickle all the way down to 7?” There was no hiding the condescension in his tone, but his glee somehow shone even brighter. “Beloved victor Sirius Black is rumoured to be in love with some girl from his district, much to everyone’s utter heartbreak.”

“Which is ridiculous considering I haven’t even been to 7 since I volunteered.” Sirius was strictly looking at Barty, ignoring your burning gaze. “Tabloids getting bored and sparking up irrelevant drama shouldn’t be involved in the Hunger Games where there is actual action to focus on.”

Bellatrix tsked. “Don’t underestimate the power of a good love story, Siri.”

“This wouldn’t be a good one – it would be far-fetched. Y/N and Peter are like my siblings. I haven’t even seen them in 5 years. Can we focus on strategies that are actually worthwhile, please?”

You felt nauseated and dizzy but nodded to signify that you were in agreement. Anything that would ease the teasing and bring you back to the fact that you were mere days away from the end of a blade.

You were beginning to grow nervous that they would refuse, that they would try to analyse the potential of a love story, when Barty kicked his legs up on the table with a loud bam and folded his hands over his stomach. “Alright, then. Whatever. Big Black and his two woodchippers take on the arena.” 

Bellatrix scoffed.

“If we’re to have learned from Sirius… does that mean we have to use axes like you did?” Peter, to your surprise, piped up, looking uncomfortable with the idea.

Sirius kept his business-face on as he bobbed his head side to side. “Maybe pose with one for a couple of promo shots, depending on the public’s reactions. But in the arena, you use whatever you need whenever you need.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, despite yourself and despite the fire in your veins. 

Siblings. 

You watched Sirius expressionlessly and noticed how his eyebrow closest to you kept twitching. You caught him casting a quick side glance your way, but it didn’t linger enough for you to analyse.

“Have you got no input on this, birdie?” Barty’s voice drawled, and you knew he was talking to you.

Without looking at him, you bobbed your head much the same way Sirius just had. “I don’t really give a shit about rumours or narratives or what anyone thinks of anything. I care about the part where I’m stuck in an arena to fight to the death.”

In a swift movement, Barty lurched up from his seat on the sofa and crossed Peter to sit on its armrest, body leaned forward into your personal space. His fingers were somehow elegant even in their bordering-on violent endeavour as they shot out to grip your chin.

“So you want to die then?”

“Junior,” Sirius hissed, pushing off his opposite armrest at the same time as Barty to stand before the two of you. Ready to intervene. 

The latter shot him a sideway glance with a wicked smirk looking between Sirius’ face and yours. “You are not fooling anyone,” he laughed heartily at Sirius before zeroing his green eyes in on you. “And you are choosing imminent death if you keep up your nonchalant attitude. It’s the Hunger Games. Play your part or get played.”

You held his gaze despite the churning in your stomach, biting back a comment about that choice already haven been taken from you. Instead, you said, in a voice a tad bit quieter than you would have preferred, “What game do you want us to play then, Junior?”

His smirk faltered for only a second before he released you with a huff. Leaning backwards, he let his body tip over the side of the armrest to land on his back on the sofa across Peter’s lap, who froze with his hands hovering in the air. You could just barely see his teeth flash. “I’m the one who gets to not care. I’m here for the circus, not the show, darling, and I’m counting on you to make it interesting. Show a little heart.”

Your eyelashes fluttered in confusion at the biting yet uncaring tone he sported, entirely uncertain where to place him. Bellatrix just scoffed once more, clearly upset with the day’s developments, while Sirius remained overtly tense beside you, fists dangling at his sides, clenched.

“Well, I think–”

Sirius cut Bellatrix off immediately. “Enough! That’s enough, alright? This is a brainstorming session, not a bickering one. The narrative is that the District 7 tributes this year are close friends, two kids I used to train and look after like siblings when we were younger. I will make a plan for how we present Y/N and Peter together and then I will go over individual strategies with them at a later point. Need I remind anyone that all of us rely on a good presentation?”

He spoke to you all, but it was clear it was pointed in the direction of Barty, who was quite literally kicking his feet over the armrest, much to Peter’s heightened nerves, and Bellatrix, who was beginning to look utterly bored with you all.

Their silence was their consent, so Sirius went on to look at Peter, accepting his meek nod. Then he turned to you, almost hesitantly. 

There was a storm in your eyes at how you were being spoken of, how you were being treated – but you didn’t know if Sirius could interpret that anymore. If he could, it didn’t stop him as he nodded to himself as he began to pace around the lot of you.

“Alright. Alright. Any final inputs before we part ways for dinner?”

“What, you don’t want to dine with us, Siri?” At Sirius’ increasing distress, Bellatrix seemed to find her footing once more.

“We don’t have the time to spare. It’s late anyway.” He stopped for a second to look at his two former friends. His siblings. “There’s a dining hall around five rooms down that way. Pick out anything you want. This place is yours, be comfortable.”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yes, I know where– I, uhm, found it… earlier.” He shot Barty a weary look, referring to his earlier diversion, making the older boy nearly giggle with delight.

“Great.” Sirius’ voice was calmer now, tired. He looked between you and Peter, but struggled to let his gaze rest. “Good job today. I– I’ll see you tomorrow.

You swallowed hard and realised you would probably struggle eating any dinner. Yet, you tried to stick to your earlier idea of moment by moment, step by step, so you nodded with your lips tightly pressed together.

“Yeah thanks. Same. Let’s go, Peter.”

It took some time to wrestle an entertained Barty off of Peter, but you headed back down the same hall you retrieved him from earlier, not looking back over your shoulder as you did so.

Just like the seats, the food provided by the Capitol was delicious. It was lush and rich, to an almost too intense degree, making you feel more like cattle fattened up for slaughter and less like important guests. 

You ate what you could as quickly as you could, and then you were left jumping your leg beneath the table as you waited for Peter to finish too – you knew you couldn’t leave him alone lest Barty or Bellatrix found him, but you were suddenly craving being cooped up in your room in the very same way that had stifled you earlier. 

Luckily, it didn’t seem that Barty and Bellatrix wanted to play with you any longer. Maybe it wasn’t as fun when Sirius wasn’t there, or maybe they were just too focussed on plaguing him wherever he was. 

You told yourself you didn’t feel bad for him. You had grown accustomed to lying.

You kept lying to yourself as Peter finished and you went back to your designated rooms, you kept lying as you hugged him goodnight and went each your way, you kept lying as you laid down on your ridiculously soft bed. 

The lies were many and merry; that you didn’t care; that you cared too much; that you were okay; that you were not okay. That you had any hope of sleeping tonight.

Sleeping had never been your forté, so after the violence of the Reaping and the reunion of a lifetime, you had little luck. 

You even lied as you told yourself you had tried for long enough. Truth be told, despite your time blindness you had a feeling you hadn’t been in bed for too long before you got out of it to stand in front of the mirror once more. Memorising yourself. 

You did eventually change into some of the clothes the Capitol provided, though they didn’t seem real. You were wearing what was supposed to be pyjamas, but they were much too reminiscent of normal trousers and shirts for you to feel like you were about to go to sleep. It made you miss your old ratty sleep shirt at home, but even the thought of it worsened your ache. It had been Sirius’.

With a sharp breath, you decided to explore the halls once more. Not for any thrill of adventure, you just had an inexplicable need to find a window to look out of. To watch the world pass by. 

You walked in the opposite direction of the parlor, further and further back, wanting to find the very end of your district’s compartment of the train. To know that behind yours were two tributes from District 8, two people you would soon be pitted against, brought a chill up your spine.

At last you meet a door in the middle of the hallway. The train was long and huge, but it cannot go on for longer than this, you thought. This must be the final room of your compartment, the one with the huge windows you had always noticed when you watched it from the outside.

Your hand falls to the handle. Gently, you open it.

“Oh–” The first thing your eyes landed on when you entered the room was not the landscape you had so longed for, but Sirius’ own staring back at you. Grey like the mountains cornering you but deep like the oceans you would pass in District 4. He was sitting down, as if he had had the same thought as you to come here to watch the windows. The thought pained you.  “Sorry, I didn’t– I’ll go.”

Sirius shot up and out of his seat, taking just one step forward. “No! You don’t… you don’t have to. You shouldn’t. Come sit, I’ll go, if you want.”

There was a lot to decipher in that sentence, a lot that you frankly did not have the energy for. Instead, you regarded him for one more second before slowly closing the door and moving to sit on the opposite side of the sofa from him. It was a cream – also, stupidly comfortable – sofa that stretched out in a half-circle at the very end of your compartment of the train. The wall above it was steel grey, barricading you from the next part of the train, but the walls on either side were wide floor-to-ceiling windows; the ones you had longed for. They were certainly reinforced to a degree you could never even imagine to ensure they wouldn’t break. 

You didn’t tell him whether you wanted him to leave. You just sat sideways on the sofa, leaning your head against the last bit of grey wall and looking out the window closest to you. 

“If you sit down on the floor and stare straight ahead, it’ll feel like you’re flying.” His voice was softened, a stark contrast to your earlier meeting. 

You still couldn’t help but bite back. “What a nice brother you are, giving out advice to the younger kids.”

It sounded like it pained him when he sighed. “Y/N–”

“Don’t.” You still weren’t looking at him, staring blankly ahead. “Just… don’t.”

You weren’t quite sure why you were upset with him. It was so much and yet nothing at all, stretching out across the past five hours and five years. You were upset with him for leaving, of course you were, and you were upset with him for changing, but of course he had. You were upset with him for confusing you so much, both through his words and actions, and perhaps, through your feelings. 

There was no time or need to address them now, yet they ruled much of your visible dismay as you got caught up on how he wanted to present you to the world.

Siblings.

Sirius was quiet for a moment; then, you heard the soft sound of him walking across the room to settle down on the floor in front of the window closest to you, just like he had said you should. He stared out, but you could feel him observing you in his periphery.

“There is a lot for you to resent me for,” he whispered. “Please don’t let that be one of them.”

Part of your brain wanted to rage against him for being cryptic.

The other just asked, “Why?”

He leaned back on his arms, biceps flexing, looking with an empty gaze into the mountainside. “It’s for your own good.”

“Why?”

Maybe you were being petulant. Maybe he deserved you being petulant if he wanted to cast himself as your older brother. 

Sirius made an exasperated sound and shook his head, turning to look at you – you didn’t return the gesture. “Princess, don’t make me spell it out for you, it’s worse enough as is. Everything will be better if people think we see each other in a familial sense.”

“As opposed to the truth, which is what?” At last, you turned to face him, doing your best to school away your pain, but still being left with an indent between your brows. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

Evidently, neither did Sirius. All he did was whisper your name, so pleadingly, so achingly it made your throat hurt.

“Being your sibling didn’t make them think any more favourably of Regulus.” The words were out of your mouth before you could help them, though thankfully with less ire than before. Just a mixture of your own confusion and heartache. 

Sirius closed his eyes as if he got nauseated. He seemed to weigh his words carefully, face scrunched up as his muscles tensed. With memories of Sirius throwing Regulus around in circles, their laughter harmonising as they ran after you through the streets, you had no choice but to give him time.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the first apology you uttered to him. “Is he…?” You trailed off. To ask was insensitive, it was cruel – but it was necessary. You needed to know.

Sirius’ face remained trapped in his pained scrunched up expression. He didn’t seem angry with your question, though you never had seen him angry with you.

“Yes.” 

The word hung heavy in the air between you like a suspended body. It was everything you had expected and nothing you had hoped. You didn’t ask how he knew.

Silently, you slid off the edge of the sofa and scooted over to sit beside Sirius, whose breath hitched. Just like him, you faced the window, but you had your knees hiked up and your arms wrapped around them. You laid your head tentatively down on top of them, turned towards him. Watched as the environments flurrying by cast coloured patterns over his alabaster skin, watched as his eyebrows twitched as if he would start crying.

Watched as silent, warm tears rolled down your own cheeks.

When he peeled his eyes open and met yours, they softened. His brows were still furrowed together and he swallowed heavily.

His hand just barely shook as he reached up to wipe the tear on your right cheek away with his thumb, touch gentle and cool against your skin. You closed your eyes and sighed.

Sirius let his hand drop from your face and it felt like a loss. 

Neither of you said a word for a minute. There were so many things you wanted to say, needed to ask. Yet nothing came to mind. Just two kids sitting beside one another, trying to remember how to breathe. 

“Tomorrow when you arrive at the Capitol…” Sirius whispered, trailing off. You found his eyes to be redrimmed when you opened yours, once again staring out the window emptily. “Just… don’t trust anyone, okay?”

He sounded more haunted than ever. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered in return, half-wanting to lighten his torment.

“And, I know– I know that should include me. I know you don’t trust me. But please, can you try to listen to me anyway?”

You watched him silently. You couldn’t deny him even if you wanted. “I will.”

Sirius nodded once, twice. Then, he shook his head and rose to his feet effortlessly. He looked down at you and reached out a hand, an open invitation. 

You held his gaze for longer than you should have before you turned your head back forward to look out the window, resting your chin on your knees. You were grateful to not have to see his reaction.

Still, you could hear his soft sigh. “Get some sleep soon, alright princess?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the granite. “Soon.”

Your every muscle sat at rapt attention, listening to his footsteps as he walked to the door. They ceased for a minute when he reached it, and you almost turned your head to look back at him – before the hinges finally creaked and Sirius disappeared.

You doubted you would get to spend enough time with him before your games to make the aching panic stop seizing your chest whenever he leaves. You reminded yourself that he is headed off to bed to sleep, not to the annual Hunger Games.

This time around, that would be you.

You turn your blurry eyes back to the window and find that when you stare into the middle of it, it does feel like you’re flying. 

[risingoftime]

AGAINST ALL ODDS | CORIOLANUS SNOW X PLINTH!READER

As the last heir to the Plinth family, you're caught up in an arranged marriage with no one other than Coriolanus Snow. In a civilization that relies on power and survival, Strabo Plinth, for once, has obtained his ultimate desire - something that money can't buy - to secure his position within the Capital's commonwealth and establish the Plinth family as an influential figure in Panem.

You've always dreamed of a life beyond societal expectations and political alliances, where you can make your own choices in life and love. On the other hand, Coriolanus Snow is a cold and calculated individual known for his ruthless nature and thirst for power.

Tasked with redeeming the tarnished Plinth name after your brother Sejanus's death - you'll stop at nothing to ensure that you get the life you've yearned for and do not meet the same fate as your brother.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

all chapters will also be posted on AO3

[gogogodzilla]

peeta mellark being you to let him eat your 🐱

Just a Taste || Peeta Mellark

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, cunnilingus, porn with plot, panty sniffing, reader is wearing a dress, panty stealing masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

The stage of the training center under your heels was a familiar feeling. The stage lights shone brightly, and you squinted slightly as you walked out with Peeta hand in hand. The air practically crackled with energy as the booming applause from the audience of Capitol citizens nearly deafened you. 

Caesar Flickerman warmly welcomed both of you. He gave you a good-natured kiss on the cheek and shook Peeta’s hand. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to how touchy the Capitol people were. 

Once the crowd settled down, Caesar gave the two of you a beaming smile. “It’s an absolute delight to have the two of you here once again,” he exclaimed and you wondered how he got his teeth to be so white. “The Victory Tour has been a success, wouldn’t you say? What has been the most memorable moment for you both?” 

Peeta squeezed your hand before answering, “As much as I’ve loved spending some time in all of the districts, the most unforgettable part was spending time with the person I love and sharing our love with the districts.” 

You feigned embarrassment at his words and looked away. You couldn’t avoid the heat that flooded your cheeks, which brought a boisterous laugh from Caesar. “You two are adorable. I love it!” he gushed. 

The audience cheered in response, and Peeta kissed your knuckles. After a few moments, Caesar settled the audience down and turned back to the two of you. “I’m sure you both know that we have immensely enjoyed seeing your love blossom in front of us. It’s truly a marvelous sight.” 

“Thank you, Caesar. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to be here with you and the rest of the Capitol citizens,” you give him a dazzling smile before turning to Peeta. “I am also incredibly grateful to be here with the love of my life. I couldn’t ask for anything better,” your gaze softens as you look at Peeta. The audience ‘awws’ and cooed at the two of you while Caesar pressed a hand to his heart. 

“Ugh, we can’t get enough of you two. What does the future look like for the two of you? I’m sure we’re all eager to see more of your love blossoming,” Caesar questioned and the audience buzzed with excitement. 

You shared a glance with Peeta. You gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and he turned to Caesar. 

“The future looks bright as long as I have my love by my side,” he answered, allowing a hush to fall over the crowd. Damn, he was good at this. “And I would like to have my love by my side for as long as we both shall live,” his voice trembled slightly as he pulled out a small velvet box. He got on one knee and looked up at you. Your hand covered your mouth in feigned shock. “My love, you have been my light in the darkest times, and I can’t imagine a future where you’re with me. Will you make me the happiest man in Panem and marry me?” 

Emotions swelled within you. Peeta was laying it on a bit thick, but you didn’t care. You nodded your head, forgetting to speak for a moment. He slightly raised his brow, and you forced yourself to speak. 

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding rapidly. Your voice returned and you spoke louder, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

Applause and cheers thundered throughout the room as Peeta got to his feet and slid the ring onto your finger. Peeta’s smile was radiant as he pulled you into a kiss which caused the audience to roar even louder. You grinned as you kissed him back. You truly did care for him, and didn’t mind being stuck with him forever. You would’ve been dead without him. 

As you pulled away, Caesar dabbed his eyes theatrically and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. Peeta kept his hand around your waist as you curled up against his side.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, a proposal during the Victory Tour! This is certainly a night to remember, wouldn’t you say?” Caesar beamed as he swept an arm out toward the crowd which roared in response. 

Peeta held you close as the interview wrapped up. The crowd buzzed with excitement, and you couldn’t fight the grin that graced your features. Eventually, your time with Caesar was over and you were ushered off the stage. 

Effie met you as you exited and she clapped her hands in excitement. “Wonderful work you two. Now, time to get ready for the reception President Snow offered to throw to celebrate the two of you. It’ll be a party of the ages,” she declared, walking quickly as you returned to your quarters. 

Cinna intercepted you as you stepped off the elevator. You clung onto Peeta’s hand until the last possible second. 

Cinna grinned as he led you away, “Don’t worry, you’ll have some time to catch up before we leave.” 

“Can’t I just wear what  I have on?” you thumbed the fabric of your dress as you walked, frowning slightly. 

He chuckled, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

He led you to your room and helped you onto your podium in front of the mirror. Cinna got to work almost immediately, fluttering around you with practiced movements. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied his steps as he brought the dress over to you. He quickly got you changed, his gentle hands working wonders as the fabric draped over your body. Cinna’s hands danced delicately over your hair, weaving it into an elegant style perfect for the celebration tonight. 

“You look radiant,” Cinna complimented as he stepped back to admire his work in the mirror. 

You met his gaze in the mirror, a grateful smile on your lips, “It’s all because of you.” 

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and a knock sounded at your door. You both turned and Peeta poked his head in.  A soft smile made its way onto your features as he stepped into the room and finally got a good look at you. His eyes widened as they raked over your form, and your cheeks flushed. 

“You look…” Peeta’s words faltered as his gaze remained on you. “Wow,” was all he managed to come up with as he took a few steps toward you. 

Cinna chuckled, “I’ll let you two have a moment. You have 15 minutes before Effie’s going to come knocking.” 

He gave you a suggestive look as he left, and the flush of your cheeks spread. Peeta held out his hand so he could help you down, and you graciously took it. 

You ran your fingers over his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his suit. “Portia outdid herself… You look amazing,” you grinned, tugging him closer. 

His hands wrapped around your waist, enveloping you like they had done so many times before. This time it was different though. The soft scent of his cologne engulfed you as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, but there was something more to it. Something hungry. 

“Is it bad that I’m glad we’re stuck together forever?” you whispered as you pulled away to catch your breath. 

He grinned, “You make marriage sound so pleasant.” 

You chuckled in response and pulled him into another, deeper kiss. You tugged him by the lapels toward your bed, acutely aware of the seconds ticking by before Effie would be knocking. 

His hands wandered across your hips as the backs of your thighs hit the edge of your bed and you slowly fell back. You parted for long enough to scoot back and Peeta eagerly followed you. His lips were back to devouring you within moments. You let out a small noise as he slotted his knee between your legs, the smooth fabric of his slacks brushing against your inner thighs. 

 You pulled away, attempting to catch your breath. Something shifted between you, and your entire body seemed to hum with need. Peeta caged your head between his forearms and his nose bumped against yours. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” you trailed off as Peeta scattered kisses across your neck. 

He grinned against your collarbone, “I’m sure they’ll understand if I want to take a few minutes to ravish my fiancée.” 

Your cheeks flared at his words. There had been rumors going around all tour that Peeta’s nightly visits to your room were far from innocent cuddling. You did little to dispel them, though. You couldn’t deny that this was the first time you’d felt this hunger for Peeta. 

He ran his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, and your heart fluttered. 

“Just a taste,” he murmured as he scattered kisses across your covered breasts and moved down your body. “Please, my love. I just need a taste.” 

He ran his fingertips over your thighs as he situated himself between them. You craned your head to look down at him, and the sight of him had heat pooling between your legs. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes you couldn’t resist, begging for permission to ruin you. With the slight inclination of your head, he was sliding the fabric of your skirt to the side, letting his hands wander across your hips and thighs. 

He pressed featherlight kisses across your inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin there. He wrapped his arms around your legs, keeping them in place. His breath fanned over the thin fabric of your panties, and you instinctively clenched them together. His grip held you in place as you squirmed, aching for more. 

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your under and tugged them down and off your body. Your eyes widened as he brought your panties to his nose and inhaled your scent. He let out a noise that was something like a whimper combined with a groan, and you flushed. 

He set your panties to the side and settled between your thighs. A gasp escaped you as he swiped his tongue through your folds. His grip tightened on your thighs as he desperately pulled you closer to his eager mouth. His tongue worked relentlessly against your sopping core, circling your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. 

You wanted desperately to tangle your fingers in his blonde locks, but you settled for the blanket below you. You were sure that Peeta’s prep team might have your head if you messed up his hair. 

You slapped one hand over your mouth, muffling the desperate pleas and whines that escaped your lipstick-covered lips. Peeta eagerly lapped up everything you were giving him, and his nose bounced against your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance. Peeta reached up to intertwine his fingers with yours, grounding you.

Peeta whined against you, sending vibrations coursing through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your hips jutted against him, grinding against his tongue. Every fiber of your being was tensed and ready to snap. 

Peeta’s tongue circled your clit once more, and your release had you arching against the mattress, pushing you closer to his mouth. Your thighs attempted to clamp around Peeta’s head as you spasmed against him. He helped you to ride out your high, and his fingertips dug into the plush of your thighs. 

After a few moments you stilled, and Peeta pressed comforting kisses against your inner thighs. You lifted your head to look at him, and your cheeks flushed at the sight. Your arousal had covered the bottom half of his face, and a satisfied grin covered his features. 

“You did so good,” he praised as he crawled forward to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips, and a groan left you. 

You were able to sneak in a few more lingering kisses before Effie’s knock sounded at your door. Peeta crawled off of you and helped you to the edge of your bed, your skirts only slightly getting in the way. 

He grabbed your panties before you could and shoved them in the front pocket of his suit. 

“For safekeeping,” he murmured with a grin plastered across his face as he leaned down to kiss you. You scowled at him in response but kissed him nonetheless. 

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the rest of your arousal off his face before neatly tucking it back in its rightful place. You shuffled to the bathroom to clean yourself up, returning moments later looking slightly more put together. 

Effie knocked once again, more insistently this time. You cringed, sensing the inevitable lecture you’d receive later. 

Peeta held his arm out for you to take, and you gladly clung to him. 

“Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes, “Let’s get this over with.”

[allisluv]

blurb idea!! your children (two girls one boy) plan a dinner date for you and finnick! they have a table set up on the porch and a whole menu (5 and 7 year old’s handwriting) of gourmet meals (grilled cheese and tomato soup) for the both of you. they dress up in their nicest clothes while they play chefs and waiter. i can imagine desert just being two scoops of ice cream and a chocolate chip cookie 😭. but nonetheless, the children receive all of the earned extra cuddles and kisses before bed for their effort🤗.

grilled cheese and tomato soup.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship (duh), finnick and reader have three children (kai, cordelia and marina), set post war, not edited, minor angst at the beginning but it's only for like three paragraphs i promise, other than that, it's just pure fluff <3

word count: 1.4k

Summers are always warm in District Four, and beads of sweat roll down the back of your neck as you sit at your vanity table and slowly but surely add the finishing details to your latest project for work. The window is cracked open to let a breeze in, but even that in itself is warm.

Finnick is folding laundry and putting it away into the wardrobe. As the two of you work away in silence, you can hear the occasional giggle or squeal from your three children, reminding you that they’re fine in the other room.

You’re the first to notice that their laughter has seemed to fizzle out, and dread fills your veins as you pluck the pen from between your teeth and set it down on the table. “Finnick.”

He must take note of the panic in your voice, because he immediately stops what he’s doing. “Are you okay?” He asks, brows furrowed as he maneuvers around the king sized bed and stops at your side. He tilts your head in his direction and coaxes you into looking at him when he tips your chin upwards. “Talk to me.” His voice is steady and even, and it helps ground you.

“I can’t hear them.” You choke out, pressing a hand over your heart. Every single instinct in your body tells you to move, but your feet are rooted to the floor. “The kids. I can’t hear them anymore. I can’t hear them laughing.” You gesture to the bedroom door that leads into the other rooms.

Finnick strains to listen, and he realises that he can’t hear them, either. Still, he remains calm; he knows that freaking out will not prove to be any good for either one of you. “It’s okay. That’s more of a mischevious silence that anything.” He teases, mentally reminding himself that everything is alright. Coin and Snow are both dead. There are no more games. They’re safe now. “Come on. Lets go see what those three are up to.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat and grip his hand. Finnick squeezes once then twice, a silent reassurance that he is there with you.

When you don’t move an inch, he puts a steady hand on your lower back and steers you out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. The sound of childish whispering meets both of your ears and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in the first place.

Finnick offers you a small smile as he slowly feels the dread being pulled out of his body. “There. See?” He presses his lips to your forehead. “It’s all okay. I mean, they might burn the house down if we don’t go see what they’re up to, but they’re okay.”

You laugh and lean into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand. He presses another lingering kiss to your forehead before using his hip to push open the kitchen door and stepping inside.

“Daddy!” Your youngest, Cordelia, screams, and abandons whatever she was doing in favour of running through the length of the kitchen towards her father.

Finnick lets go of your hand to catch Cordelia when she throws herself at him. Hoisting her onto her hip, he boops her on the nose, and grins when she dissolves into a fit of giggles. “What have you three been up to, hm?” Cordelia buries her face in the crook of his neck instead of answering, and he lets out a hum. “Something mischevious then, I’m assuming.”

You shake your head fondly and peek your head around the corner, where the twins, Marina and Kai, are wearing their best clothes and arguing over the George Forman maker.

“I should do it!” Marina protests, cocking her hip out.

“I’m older!” Kai retorts with just as much overexaggeration.

“By, like, three minutes! And you’ve never used the grilled cheese maker before.”

“Then show me!”

“You’re seven.”

“So are you.”

You laugh from where you’re standing and their little heads whip around so fast that you wonder if they gave themselves whiplash. “Technically speaking, neither of you should be using that. It’s too dangerous. And get off that chair before you break a bone, please, Mari.”

Marina does as she was told and uses her brothers shoulder to steady herself as she clambers back down with a huff. She stirs a pot with something inside of it, while Kai tries his best to distract you with his award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

Kai tugs on the bottom of your sweatpants. “Mommy.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Come with me.” He demands. You raise a brow. “Please.” He adds, and you relent, letting him take you by the hand and lead you out of the kitchen. He collects Cordelia and his dad on the way to the back door, and then he pushes down on the handle and opens it, pushing both Finnick and you out onto the patio.

Golden fairy lights have been poorly strung up around the wooden bannisters that allow you a bit of privacy and a linen tablecloth has been draped across the patio table. Two chairs are perched on either side of the table, instead of the usual five, and an unlit candle is positioned in the middle.

Cordelia’s chewing on her fingers, but takes them out of her mouth long enough to say, “Ta-da!”

You look around incredously, trying to take in the transformation of your back patio. “What’s all this for, hm?” You ask as Kai pushes you to sit in one of the chairs and then moves to do the same with his father. Finnick laughs but goes willingly, settling in the seat opposite you.

Kai stands up straight before shooting his little sister a pointed look and gesturing for her to stand up and get off of their father’s lap. Cordelia pouts but does as asked, sulking next to Kai. “We have made you dinner.” He announces.

Finnick arches an eyebrow and glances at you from across the table. You shrug, instructing him to go along with it. “Is that so?” Kai nods earnestly. Finnick leans forward in his chair, rests his chin in the palm of his hand, and indulges his son. “So, waiter, what’s on the menu tonight?”

Kai pulls a crumpled pad of paper out of his pocket and you stifle a laugh into your hand. Kai looks at you, not impressed in the slightest. “It is not funny, Mommy.” You school your expression and nod to let him know that he has your full attention. Finnick snickers. “We have tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

You gasp dramatically. “No dessert?”

Kai rolls his eyes, ever the moody one. “That’s a surprise, Mommy.” He says as if it was obvious.

“Oh, yes, silly me.”

Kai pretends to look at his non-existent watch. “I got to go.” He takes Cordelia’s hand and leaves without another word.

You and Finnick break into hysterics the second your children are out of earshot and you reach for his hand across the table. He brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses your wedding band. “Well, at least we can’t say they never did anything for us.” He muses.

You laugh. “No, I suppose we can’t.”

The both of you sit in a comfortable, loving silence until Kai, Cordelia and Marina come out with a bowl of tomato soup and a bread roll for each of you. Cordelia sneaks back onto her dad’s lap, robs his bread roll, and munches away on it happily.

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters under his breath about how, “Its impossible to find the staff these days,” before marching back into the kitchen.

“I swear, that kid is an old man reincarnated,” You giggle.

Finnick hums his agreement and blows on a spoonful of soup to feed Cordelia.

As promised, the next course is a grilled cheese sandwich that is practically as hard as a rock and disintegrating in your hands. Nevertheless, both you and Finnick reassure Marina that you prefer it that way.

Cordelia spills the secret on dessert, but the two of you promise not to tell Kai and Marina that you know. Both of you put on your best surprised faces when two scoops of vanilla ice-cream and two chocolate chip cookies are served, and the kids are none the wiser.

Finnick gives the three of them a well-deserved massive slice of chocolate cake and a mug of hot cocoa each for their effort. You and Finnick take them to the beach to burn off some energy, and when you come home, they crash out, but not before getting the cuddles and forehead kisses that they earnt.

[x-gabrielle-x]

Tides Of Survival | 3

Pairings: Finnick Odair x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death, (eventual) smut, mentions of prostitution.

Summary: The white swan of the Capitol; gracious, elegant, and innocent. You catch many of the Capitol's attention in your games, whether that was due to your agility, cleverness, or looks in all, even managing to capture the gaze of your young mentor and old friend, Finnick Odair.

Series Masterlist | Pinterest Board

"The female tribute for the sixty-fifth Hunger Games... Gwenn Livestone!"

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as soon as the name was spoken. It wasn't you; you were safe for another year. A pang of sympathy struck when you saw a younger girl crumble to the floor in sobs. Blonde and small, she couldn't have been any older than twelve. Her body shook violently in trembles, and her desperate cries filled the hall in echoes. Nobody spoke, only watched as the girl at her side, possibly a friend or classmate, attempted to get her back onto her shaky feet.

Two Peacekeepers strode over within seconds, grasping the young girl from under her arms and practically dragging her up the stairs of the stage. Her wails grew louder, and her face was streaked with hot tears. You watched as the two Peacekeepers roughly threw her to the floor in a heap, her crying out at the impact against her knees.

You noticed Electra Vantell, the escort for this year's tributes, visibly cringe at the noise. There was no sadness you could detect on her painted face, only the wide grin that practically split her face in half. She went to awkwardly cover her ears, waving her hand dismissively at the girl, Gwenn.

"Oh, hush now. You don't need to make your cries any louder," she spoke, and you watched as Gwenn tried desperately to hold in her tears.

Electra dressed head to toe in a twinkling blue as if to match with the sea. Her hair was styled as if to mimic the District Four waves, and you could faintly see the small details of what looked to be fish on her dress. You wondered how it could ever be comfortable to wear, your skin feeling itchy just by looking at it.

Clearing her throat into the microphone, voice chirpy as ever, she spoke.

"And for the boys..."

As if it were instinct, you turned your head to the left in search of a pair of green eyes and a mop of blonde hair. Through the crowd of boys, you managed to spot Finnick hidden within them a few rows back, however he wasn't looking at you. His gaze was set forward, stoic and hard, his shoulders tense with nerves. Usually, you could read Finnick easily, but now as you looked at him, you wondered what was going through his head. His jaw was clenched and hair dishevelled, and you found yourself unable to look away. Even as your stomach was churning at the small possibility, Finnick seemed to be holding his emotions much better than you.

Electra's voice broke your thoughts, and you watched with your heart hammering as she reached into the round fishbowl, digging her hand in and swirling the slips of paper around as if taunting. Finally grasping a small slip between her thin fingers, she eagerly unfolded it before reading over the name.

"Finnick Odair!"

The bile rose into your throat, heart plummeting like it had been ripped from you.

Finnick Odair was now a tribute.

You hoped, prayed, that it was nothing more than a horrible nightmare. A nightmare that you'd be able to laugh about with him when you woke up, but reality set in when you turned back to where you originally saw Finnick. He stepped out of the crowd and began walking his way toward the stage, no falter or hesitation in his steps.

This was very, very real.

He sauntered past, all eyes trained on him and even some small gasps emitting from the crowd. Finnick was a well-loved boy within the district. You could barely hold yourself up right when for only a brief moment, his gaze flickered to yours. Still, you couldn't place his expression, and it bothered you beyond belief. He shouldn’t ever have to be hiding his emotions from you.

You even felt the stares of many others on you - all filled with pity. It was no secret that the two of you were close. His gaze averted away from you quickly as he stepped up the short steps and stood tall beside a trembling Gwenn.

Despite the pain in your chest, despite the loss you felt, despite your fear, you didn’t feel any tears. You couldn't, wouldn’t cry now. You could only keep your eyes locked on him, looking over him and all his features as though it may just be the last time.

Perhaps it was.

You didn't listen to any more of Electra's ridiculous comments. You didn't even notice the hall slowly begin to empty out. It wasn't until you watched Finnick and Gwenn being escorted into a smaller room behind them that you were already moving on your feet, practically stumbling due to your knees nearly giving out.

You ran to the Peacekeepers stood in front of the door they'd just entered, the wood and paint chipped away with age. Your heart was pounding with fear, the thought that they'd leave without getting a goodbye was terrifying.

The Peacekeepers only stood in silence as you swallowed thickly, fingers itching to pull at your dress uncomfortably with every passing second.

"I need to see Finnick Odair. Please." Your voice cracked at the end, and this time you could feel the hot tears gathering at your waterline, threatening to spill. With only a curt nod, the first Peacekeeper swung open the door.

"Three minutes," he said behind the mask, but you were already running in before he could finish. You heard the door click quietly behind you, and looking over to your right in the small room, there he sat.

Finnick was already facing you, and instead of the stoic expression he held only minutes before, his face was streaked with tears. He was sat on a poorly made wooden chair, knuckles white as he clenched them into fists.

"Finn." Your voice broke, and your tears began to fall freely.

Upon hearing your voice, his head snapped up just in time to see you throwing yourself into his arms, sobbing. He held you tighter than ever, your tears soaking into the fabric of his sea-blue shirt. You felt his body shake in your hold as you grasped at him tighter, feeling his warmth and inhaling his scent.

"Please, Finn." Your voice was muffled with sobs, and you weren't even sure he could fully understand what you were saying. Not with him sniffling into your shoulder, holding back his own cries. "Please come back home.”

You pulled away only slightly to get a good look at his face. Despite his eyes being slightly red from crying, they were still their vibrant green.

He bit his lip, hard, looking at you as his gaze flickered over your face as if trying to remember every curve, every freckle, every dimple. He lightly shook his head, mind searching for words.

"I will," he assured. You could hear the unease in his tone despite him trying to appear confident. "I will," he repeated as if trying to make himself believe it. He even attempted to flash a small smile, though it barely masked his fear.

"You will," you confirmed with a wobbling lip. You glanced down at your hand, taking a step away from him and pulling off the small bracelet from your wrist. Finnick watched with furrowed brows as you took his hand into your own, placing the bracelet onto his wrist.

He examined it carefully. Seashells of varying colors and a small worn string. He knew this bracelet well.

He shook his head. "I can't take this, Y/N."

He tried to take it off, but you quickly stopped him.

"I want you to have it as your token." You attempted a weak smile. "It was important to my Ma; I want you to have it."

He stared down at it, glancing back up at you and pulling you into one last crushing hug. You accepted just as fast, your grip tighter when you heard the door swing open again behind you.

"Times up."

Before you were pulled away from him, he whispered one last thing into your ear.

“I’ll win, I promise.”

You felt your grip slip when the Peacekeeper took you by the arm, and the last you saw of Finnick was his piercing eyes locked on your own.

You didn't know whether you were relieved that Finnick quickly became a Capitol favorite or unsettled by the fact he was adored so much.

The first few days after Finnick had arrived in the Capitol, it was no secret that he quickly became a favorite. His charm, confidence, cunningness and striking looks had them obsessed. He showed none of the fear he held when you last saw him. He refused to let them see. Instead, as his carriage strode through the streets, he held his bright, dashing smile that caused for loud cheers and praise. His hand was up in the air as he waved into the crowd, though you knew Finnick all too well. You could see the hesitation in each wave through the small television in your home, the unease in his eyes behind every smile, the way his fingers gripped at the edge of the carriage like a source of stability.

They loved him, but for all the wrong reasons.

He was layered in beautiful fabrics, a combination of bright blues and greens as if to mimic seaweed and the shimmering ocean. A knotted rope dangled from around his neck like a necklace and his torso was left bare. Jewels and pearls were weaved delicately into the fabric at his waist that glimmered within the bright lights. Beside him, Gwenn was dressed mostly similarly, though her hair was curled into loose waves and adorned in seashells. The clothes she was dressed in did little to cover her body, and you couldn't imagine how she must've felt with all the prying eyes. She looked so tiny and out of place compared to Finnick who stood beside her looking tall and proud, shrinking into herself and hands desperately trying to cover anything they could.

Throughout the rest of the week, Finnick and the rest of the tributes hadn't been shown much. You figured it was because they'd be training within the Capitol, preparing for what the games were to bring. It made you physically ill, and every few hours you were running to the bathroom to empty the contents within your stomach at the thought. Your poor father had tried everything in his best efforts even whilst at work. He couldn't afford to take any days off, so he'd ask friends from your school to come and check in on you every so often. Later in the evening when he was home, he'd sit beside you and offer any bits of food he could get you to eat.

“You need to eat, baby,” he pressed his lips to your forehead as he held up a fork to put into your hand. You took it, but only poked and prodded at the food set on the plate before you.

“Finnick is strong and smart,” he said, hand brushing through your hair. “He’ll be fine.”

Even during the night, your father would slowly peek through the crack in your door only to find you curled up into a ball and crying into the sheets on your bed. All he could do was sit beside you and hold you close, murmuring apologies into your ear which only made you feel worse. Why was he apologising for things that were beyond his control? He shouldn’t have to apologise; it wasn’t him bringing you, or Finnick, this pain.

The day the interviews were being broadcast you were already at the edge of your seat. It had been a while since you'd seen Finnick’s face, heard his voice. The moment Caesar announced for the District Four male tribute to enter the stage, you nearly jumped off your seat when Finnick walked into view. Clad in fishing nets and seaweed-like fabrics, he strode in as if he'd owned the stage. Again, his expression held no signs of fear or anger, only the act that he'd seemed to have perfected for the audience over the weeks. Caesar's booming laughter filled the room at every one of Finnick's jokes and comments to the crowd. The Capitol's Sweetheart, Caesar had named him.

"Finnick," Caeser cackled, wiping away a fake tear. "Your District must love you! You do plan to win these games, don't you?"

Finnick, charming as ever, flashed a grin into the crowd. "Of course. I'd be leaving too many good things behind if I didn't. Plus, I made a promise.”

When the morning of the games arrived, you found that you didn't sleep at all throughout the night. Plagued with nightmares and what you hoped would never happen. You were a wreck. Your head was throbbing from days without proper food and water, and you were exhausted. The moment the games had begun to be live-streamed, you refused to move from your seat, gaze glued to the screen. A part of you wanted to watch, to ensure that Finnick was ok and well protected, though the other part of you wanted nothing more than to look away from the bloodshed and gore. You had to keep a bucket at your side, face pale and flushed.

The fear within you was haunting. You weren't sure how you'd cope if somebody were to drive a giant blade through Finnick's abdomen or watch as he struggled to survive without food.

The moment the gong had gone off; you watched as he launched himself off his plate and dashed toward the cornucopia. Within seconds there was death and bloodshed. You'd realized early on that Finnick had managed to join an alliance, retrieving a spear from within a crate and fending off anybody who came at him. Your heart was pounding so hard you swore it was about to burst out of your chest. Finnick was fighting off a girl, the one from District Six, you'd realized, and you swallowed thickly as his spear drove into her chest. Her body fell limp to the floor in blood, and you noticed the way he hovered over her, eyes trained on the crimson that spilled from her and pooled at his feet. Finnick was good at hiding his emotions, but you knew him better. You wanted more than anything to assure him, to help him forget his fears and worries, the regret in his gaze was almost haunting. Without a word, he drew the spear out from her corpse and made his way over to his formed alliance.

The arena was surrounded by water, small islands and tall trees. You began to have more hope that perhaps he really could win, even more so when he began to receive sponsor gifts; medicines, food, and a golden trident that was beautifully crafted and detailed. Finnick, though littered with cuts and small injuries, was easily making it through the days in the arena.

On multiple occasions, you’d been terrified that he wasn’t going to make it. Betrayed alliances, wounds beyond what his medicine could heal. You were relieved every time he managed to overcome what the gamemakers threw at him. Even now, as he stood over the corpse of the boy from District Two with his trident, the announcement confirmed what you'd been waiting desperately to hear.

Finnick Odair, winner of the sixty-fifth hunger games.

He was battered and covered in blood, no doubt exhausted and pained from all the injuries he'd gathered, but you couldn't have been happier. He was going to come home. You felt a pang of regret and selfishness. You wondered what Finnick would have said if he knew you were so relieved... ashamed? Disgusted? You weren’t sure.

After days of waiting, Finnick had finished his last interview with Caesar and stepped off the train into District Four. The moment he stepped off, he didn’t even get a chance to glance up before you were almost knocking him over, crushing him into a hug.

He was here. He was real. He was alive!

You swore you'd never been so happy to see anybody more than this. But as you glanced at him, your smile faded. His gaze shifted into an expression that, for once, you didn't know. His eyes were saddened and his face worn with tiredness. His arms didn't wrap around you like yours did, only stayed limp at his sides. He held his chin high, even as your grip slipped from around his neck, and you looked at him quizzically.

"Finn," your voice broke from happiness, confusion and rejection. Your eyes searched his own, looking for any hint of what he could be thinking. You were quiet for a moment, searching for words. "You’re home.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, his gaze flickering over the platform as if unsure where to look first. You supposed it must have been a lot for him to process.

This time, your voice was quieter. “I missed you.”

Finally, he looked at you, and for a moment you swore you saw his eyes soften. "I did too," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flicked past you as if he couldn't bear to look at you anymore.

He was already stepping off the platform before you could say anything else. Confusion and hurt struck you like lightning as you watched his figure retreat into the crowd.

Maybe he really did die in that arena.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.