#thg fanfic
Text
requiem masterlist
“will you still love me when i’ve got nothing but my aching soul?
i know you will.”
summary:
according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.
based on this request
tags/warnings:
capitol!prodigy!reader x bsf!coriolanus, violence typical for the source material, depictions of poor mental health and suicidal ideation, friends to lovers trope, yeah that’s p much it. oh! and intentional use of lowercase. (sorry).
authors note: i can hear you already- “omg raye, another coryo series? are you crazy?” yes. yes i am. anyway welcome back! third times the charm (not that the first two aren’t a massive success for me) but now for REAL i’m completely departing from the plot of tbosas and doing something totally new. thank you so much to @puredreamagination for sending in the request that inspired this whole thing! i can’t wait to get into this one :). it won’t be as long as the last two probably, but still i think this will be fun as a kind of mini series!
important disclaimer!: okay so let me make something clear from the beginning bc the playlist for this is already flowing- in this au their idea of “opera” music is slightly skewed. the main idea is that it’s old, and takes a very powerful and talented singer to do it justice. aka, if you see adele or celine dion on the playlist or mentioned in the fic, don’t come at me hahaha i know that’s not technically “opera” music but i thought it would be so fun to include. those are just some songs that i think survived the test of time and r would absolutely eat up.
*playlist coming soon!*
main series
*coming soon!*
flashbacks
*also coming soon!*
playlist // moodboards
all your thoughts // let’s talk ab it
masterlists // fic recs // nav (please read!)
follow my library and turn on notifs for updates when i post this!!
-> @runningfrom2am-library
tagging some of my faves!: @that-veela-girl @soulessjourney @keziahcore / @winterrrnight @becauseseaotters @fantasticchaosthing
#requiem <3#tbosas#tbosas fic#tbosas fanfiction#tbosas x reader#tbosas playlist#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#thg#thg fanfic#thg series#thg fanfiction#thg fic#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus x y/n#coryo x you#coryo x reader#coryo snow#coryo#snow x reader#snow lands on top
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we (8 billion people) are begging for dom fem reader and coryo dynamic. Why she always gotta be sub like my dom ass would slap the shit out of him ong
ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ’ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !
Synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?
Content warning . power dynamics, loss of virginity, face riding, multiple orgasms, marking, sub!pussydrunk! Coryo, dom! Reader that’s a lil fucked up
notes: me when coryo has hair real . This kinda sucks I’m sorry
When you see Coriolanus Snow, you see a desperate man.
A boy, actually. You see a boy. A desperate, handsome, power hungry boy. You can see it in the way he towers over his peers in a sort of fake dominance, the fauxness behind his sugary sweet words directed to anything or anyone in a higher position— some even directed towards you, when that blush isn’t flushing his cheeks with a feral intensity.
As the daughter of Dr. Gaul, it’s quite easy for you to advance some of your friends in their studies. You are not only her daughter, but in a position of power yourself. You know people— and Coriolanus knows that. You aren’t dumb. You can tell by his eyes, the empty, icy blue orbs not quite telling the truth.
Coriolanus, in a way, is just like you.
Maybe that’s what intrigues you so much about him. Besides that pretty smile, or those golden curls or those muscles that make you drool, you admire his determination. You know about his poorness (not all know, but some do, as Dean Casca Highbottom once quoted to him), and you know one will go far to satiate their own greed.
It’s just a matter of how far.
—
Coriolanus walks into your lab crying, one day.
Not obviously. It’s subtle, as you demand he sit down and take off his shirt so you can stitch up his wounds. Your hands graze it softly, and he winces.
“Does it hurt?” You ask him, even though you already know the answer.
He lets out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at the seat.
“Yes.”
An honest answer. He must trust you.
You hum, beginning to work on his wound with taught precision. Looking at him now, his jaw is clenching tightly and the boy is shaking so much you fear he might break.
“I killed someone.”
He states it in a remorseful tone, the tone of someone weak and pathetic.
“Someone in the games, if I’m correct?”
He turns to look at you in surprise, as if you didn’t have access to your mother’s decision of allowing him to walk in there and save his friend Sejanus. He says nothing, then. He sniffles, and cries silently.
“You know,” you state, beginning to stitch him. “I’ve killed someone too. Someone I needed to kill.” You smile, remembering the one time a student who was threatening to take your place mysteriously fell into the pit of snakes. “It was necessary.”
Coriolanus tries to stay nonchalant, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He doesn’t say a word, so you continue.
“Was it necessary to kill the person you killed?”
He looks down at his hands. Caked with blood, knuckles drawn taught. You want to bite them.
“No,” Coriolanus answers slowly. “No, it wasn’t.”
Maybe there’s more darkness to the boy than you originally thought.
You speak to him in a much lower tone now.
“Maybe it was. You just don’t know it.” And then, “There are a lot of things certain people can do to get to the top, Coriolanus.”
Your insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his head to look at you.
“And what would that be?”
Typical. Someone so power hungry that his head turns at the mere mention of an opportunity. You’ve got him right where you want him.
You finish up his stitches. You move around to his front, your short red skirt all of a sudden incredibly suffocating as he looks up at you with something utterly pathetic in his gaze.
“How far are you willing to go, Coriolanus?”
And that’s when, a few moments later, you get your wish: that skirt, oh so suffocating, is strewn on the floor, Coriolanus’ big hands massaging the skin of your thighs as you straddle him. Your lips press against his in a hot and heavy kiss, your tongue massaging his lips with fervor. He may be doing this for advancement, but the blonde wants you nonetheless. You can see in the way his hips grind up, the way he lets out desperate whines as you lick up his tears with your tongue. Pulling away from him, your cunt clenches when he tries to push your body down onto his crotch.
“No, Coryo,” you demand, though your voice is desperate. “I want you on the floor, okay? You’re going to taste me first.”
He hesitates, his eyes darting to your lacey panties and then to the colorful tiles.
“… the floor?”
He seems nervous, jittery. It’s not as if he’s afraid of getting dirty, or something.
No, this is something else. In the way he nervously twiddles his fingers, the way his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. It’s not as if he wants to stop— it’s more so that he’s inexperienced.
And then it hits you.
Coriolanus snow is a virgin. This big handsome boy, beautiful and delicious, has never done had sex before. He’s never felt the touch of a woman, never eaten pussy or got his dick sucked.
And for some reason, that makes you want him more.
“Oh,” you coo to him, soft. “Coryo, you’ve never done this before, have you?”
His face turns dusty pink, but he tries to deny, deny, deny.
“What? No! Of course I’m not. I’m just..” he looks at the floor, his lie clear on his face. “The tiles are cold. Dirty.”
“You’re caked with blood and sweat, sweet boy. I’m sure the tiles will be fine.”
He looks away from you, his lips drawn up into a pout.
“I’m not a virgin.” He states, merely to himself. You raise a brow, an amused smile playing on your lips as you move farther away from him.
“Then why don’t you come and eat my pussy, baby?”
His cock strains against his zipper, and you swear you can see it twitch from where you’re standing. He gulps, and with a submission you would’ve never expected, the boy drops to his knees on the tile and makes his way towards you. His shirt, unbuttoned, shows the pretty lines of his chest and his rippling back muscles, and when he gets to you, he stops at the front of your still standing knees. Satisfaction wades through you when his hands move up to the waistband of your underwear and yanks them down with shaking hands. Your smell hits his nose, makes his head tilt back as he lets out a throaty sound in the back of his throat. His tongue laves over the skin of your inner thigh, his hands going around the back of one of your knees to pull you close. You spread your legs to allow him access, your pussy lips drenched with arousal as his breath laves over you.
“Go on, Coryo,” you urge. “You want me to put a good word to my colleagues, yeah? So you better do a good job.”
He moans, his tongue finally slipping in between your folds as he tastes you. He’s messy, sloppy, and it’s good but it’s not good enough.
“God. I thought you were experienced? Huh, Coryo? Don’t you wanna make me feel good? Are you even fucking trying?”
He pulls away from you, shame in his eyes as you scold him. He pleads, his lip wobbling, his arms holding onto your legs.
“Please, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry. Teach me, please…”
He tries to press a kiss to your cunt, but you kick him away with your foot. He falls to the ground, helpless.
“Lay down—I don’t care if it hurts your back. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
He does as he’s told, all sweet and sweaty and bloody. His back hits the tile, injured but he ignores it when he watches you tower over him. You move down, pressing your knees on either side of his head. He grabs your thighs to place his mouth back on you, but you grab his golden curls in your hands and yank him back. He groans in pain, his feet kicking in a sort of pleasured resistance.
“You use your mouth when I tell you to, coryo,” you scold, watching the way his eyes flutter and only focus on your dripping pussy. “You do what I say. If I guide your head, or press myself down at a certain spot, you go along with it. Do you understand me?”
He nods, desperate to get his mouth on you, his cock thrusting into the open air.
“Good. Now, go slower. Stick out your tongue.. wider… therrre you go, baby.” His eyes focus on that one spot, his tongue hovering right over your clit. He must have read up on this a time or two. You press him closer, shoving his face into your heat as his tongue hits the swollen bud. “You see that? That’s my clit. Yeahh, stick your tongue right there…”
He groans, the taste of your sweet slick making his eyes roll back. His palms splay across your ass, digging crescent moons into the skin. You move your hips in a circular motion, giving Coryo the impression to move his tongue that way. He’s a smart boy, so he knows exactly what you’re communicating to him. His tongue moves in slow, languid circles, your slick already dripping down his chin. You can’t help but give into the pleasure he’s giving you for a moment, riding his face like your life depends on it before slowing down and stopping.
“Good, coryo. You’re being such a good boy. But you need to move your tongue down. You don’t want to play with my clit too much, because I’ll cum quick if you do.”
He makes a noise of understanding, moving his tongue down to your hole. It’s much funner this way, he thinks. The tip of his tongue can gather up the awaiting slick that’s spilling out of you, it makes your taste all the more prominent. You give him some room to experiment now, letting him move his tongue in between your clit and your hole. He catches on, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was experienced now— he’s a natural learner. Your hips grind down into him, and when he tongues your hole you use his strong nose to grind lazily against. Coryo can only breathe in your slick, his brain becoming fuzzy from his lack of air. But it’s okay. It’s okay because he’s doing good.
You can feel yourself getting close, the languid strokes of his tongue making your legs shake. You hump against his mouth, your head thrown back.
“Gonna cum,” you say to him. “Gonna cum on this slut mouth.”
He groans, his jaw working even harder now. He focuses on your clit more, save for the few times that he slurps up the slick from your hole. Your orgasm is fast approaching, your body drawing up tight.
And finally, you’re cumming on his mouth, moans spilling from your lips and Coryo’s. He’s desperate to catch all of your cum onto his awaiting tongue, his legs still moving around as he consumes you like a man starved. Your eyes roll back and you grind your hips against him as you come down from your high. Coryo pulls away once he’s satiated, looking up at you with his chin coated in slick.
You sigh, pulling your hips back to give him some air. You move your body off of him, going to your knees to watch his pussy drunk face still follow your cunt as you move. You want to return the favor, now. It’s only fair.
But looking down, you notice a wet spot soaking through Coryo’s pants.
He lifts himself up on his elbows, looking from his crotch to you. He flushes, apologies spewing from his wet lips, shaking his head.
“I tried not to. I really, really did. ‘M so sorry.”
He tries to reach out to touch you, but you just move away and down to his crotch. You unbutton his jeans, and he lets you. You look down at his red briefs, watching the white stain peeking through.
“Oh, baby. You just couldn’t help, it could you?”
You mock him, your hand palming his shaft. He lets out a whimper, his head falling back against the tile. He knows it’s too much, but he isn’t stopping you. You pull his briefs down, and boy is he big. Thick and long, all pretty and red with cum dripping down to his balls. Your mouth waters, but you figure that can wait another day. His seed can be used for other things.
You flutter your lashes at him, your hand wrapping around his shaft, jerking him to hardness again. He’s got this look, contorted and pained and pleasured at the same time. You straddle his meaty thighs, your cunt lips brushing over his cockhead, and he gasps.
“W-Wait—“ he starts, choked. “It’s.. ‘S too much—“
“Then why are you hard again?” You tilt your head at him, your movements paused because he didnt give you full permission. “Don’t you want my warm, tight pussy? Don’t you want to make it to the top?”
And that gets him going, his arousal for you and power and riches. He nods, eyes rolling back as you sink down on him. The cum from his last orgasm coats your walls and makes it easier to fill yourself up, warm white streaks dripping down his cock again.
“Oh.. oh my god,” his mouth drops open, and you’ve never heard a boy so vocal. “Please… I want it, I want it!”
You know what he’s asking for. Your stilled hips are non moving, letting him stretch you and sit heavy inside your cunt. You smile, moving your hips just a bit, letting him feel your gummy walls sucking him in. His mouth is in the shape of an o, his hair messy and disoriented. He tries to grab your tits, your hips, and with a surprising force your palm strikes his cheek haughtily. He cries out, his thighs shaking, his hips thrusting up.
“No touching,” you demand. “You don’t get to do that. Give me your hands.”
He lets you take them, and you push them far over his head as you begin to work your hips harder, faster. His balls make plop plop plop-ing noises as they hit your ass, quivering and begging for you to let them empty inside you. You move down to his neck, leaving purpleish bruises over his skin, marking him as yours. You let go of his hands so you can rest your hands on his torso, and his hands move up. Not necessarily to touch, but to hover over your tits bouncing through your tight fitted shirt. You give him permission, just a moment, to squeeze the soft skin in his hands, give them a teasing, bold little slap. You breathe shakily, his cock filling you up in ways no other has. You watch as Coryo’s head tilts back, and you know he’s close.
“Gonna cum?” You taunt, your nails scraping against his chest. He groans, nodding. “Gonna fill up my tight little pussy? Cmon, give it to me, I know you want to.”
And when he spills into you, rope after rope of warm, hot cum filling you to the brim, you let out a cry. His fingers find your clit— he’s thought this through, hasn’t he? He rubs you until you’re seeing stars and clenching around his overstimulated cock with a loud sob. He moves up to kiss you hot on the mouth.
“Did I do good?” He asks.
You smile, your hand threading your hands through his hair as you both relax against each other.
“You did very good, Coryo. I’m so proud of you.”
He breathes out a chuckle, shoving his face into your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he winces. His wound has been withstanding a lot of pressure.
“You probably want to put some ice on that.” You suggest to him. He shrugs.
“The tile was cold enough.”
#coriolanus snow#Coriolanus snow x reader#Coriolanus snow x fem! reader#Coriolanus snow smut#sub! Coriolanus snow#Coriolanus snow fanfic#Tom blyth#tbosas#the ballad of songs and snakes#the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic#thg#thg fanfic#the hunger games#hunger games#hunger games fanfic#Coriolanus snow tbosas
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HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!
Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)
And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣
Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x
hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes
cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything
You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.
When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.
During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.
But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.
When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.
You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.
You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.
Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.
He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.
He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.
He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.
He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.
During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.
Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.
The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.
You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.
You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.
Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.
You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.
When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.
--
When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."
The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."
Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.
You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.
The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.
As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.
You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.
Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.
"I have a plan."
"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."
Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."
You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."
Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.
"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."
--
It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.
You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.
Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.
You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?
You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.
You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?
"Hello, Y/N."
You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.
He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."
You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.
"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."
You shook your head. "No."
He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"
"No." You said again, louder.
He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."
He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.
If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.
They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.
"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."
You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.
"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"
Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.
Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.
You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.
It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.
You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.
But you knew that was just the beginning.
--
You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.
"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.
A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.
"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."
You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.
He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.
As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.
That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."
You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.
--
There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.
"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.
"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.
"Are you.. Are you really here?"
"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.
His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."
You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.
Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.
Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.
You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.
When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.
You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.
"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."
#finnick odair x you#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair#thg finnick x reader#thg finnick#finnick x reader#finnick x y/n#hunger games finnick#finnick odair angst#finnick odair smut#finnick odair fanfic#finnick odair x female reader#thg headcanons#thg johanna#thg fanfic#thg fanfiction#thg rp#thg peeta#thg: intro#thg katniss#thg x reader#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#catching fire#mockingjay#katniss x peeta#the hunger games x reader#the hunger games fanfiction#the hunger games haymitch#the hunger games katniss
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right here waiting | f.o
finnic odair x fem!reader
summary: after the quarter quell you vanish, no sign, no trace. you left behind your boyfriend, finnick, who could just not wrap his head around your disappearance. what happened?
warnings: typical hunger games violence, blood, torture, strong language, descriptions of wounds.
a/n: this fic is a long time coming. i love finnick and is one of my favorite characters but i can never find the right storyline for his character. it’s also been a hot minute since i’ve watched the movies so if there are any inaccuracies just look away lmao. hopefully, i can continue to write for him. i hope you guys enjoy this one !! feedback is appreciated ! also since i haven’t written in a very long time this came out shorter than i wanted it too. sorry about that.
requests open
not proofread
Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
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“run!!” your voice echoed, the dome was collapsing. “finnick, run!” you turned around, grabbing his wrist to pull you along. the arena was exploding as you tried your best to dodge the debris. katniss had used one of her arrows and shot the border of the arena causing it to collapse. now, all the victors began to spread out to take cover from the panels.
“holy shit, y/n, look out!!” finnick was ripped from your grasp as the ground below you rumbled and sent you falling.
"y/n!? “y/n!" you could hear someone calling your name in the distance, it was a panicked finnick searching the forest floor for your body. you opened your eyes trying to search for him but your vision was too blurry. everything was spinning. "finnick."
in seconds you were back on the ground and eyes falling back, slipping into unconsciousness.
it had been weeks since your disappearance, at first most people just assumed you had died that day in the arena. either by debris or the capital, but finnick knew that you were still out there somewhere.
for finnick, it was a nightmare. he barely left his room. every day that you stayed missing he slowly began to lose hope that he’d find you again. so, he began to mourn.
he was almost unrecognizable. finnick was letting himself go. he began to neglect his health, he refused to eat, he couldn’t sleep, and he was killing himself.
guilt heavy on his shoulders after losing you, even though the people around him had assured him that your disappearance wasn’t his fault. but finnick thought that had he held on to your hand just a little tighter you would’ve made it out.
katniss came to him one day, finding him lying on his bed staring at the ceiling like any other day. “this isn’t like you.” she stated. finnicks eyes found her, standing at the edge of his bed. the girl sighed, crossing her arms. “you’re killing yourself.” he shrugged. “what else am i supposed to do?” “fight for her?” “how?” katniss fell silent, she wasn’t sure how to proceed with the news she had just received. slowly, she moved to his side and sat down. “she’s alive.”
everything froze, he was sure he even stopped breathing. finnick sat up slowly so he could face katniss. “what?” “she’s in the capitol. with peeta.”
the bright fluorescent light of the hospital room burned your eyes, you brought your hand over your eyes to adjust to the light. once your eyes adjusted to the light you scanned your surroundings. you looked at your hand, you had an iv in, and you heard the faint beeping of the monitor next to you.
what happened? how did you get out? where were you? you barely remembered what happened in the capitol, it was all a blur. you began to panic, searching around the room wondering if you could get out.
the door opened, and you looked to your left and saw someone entering. “kat?” your voice was scratchy and hoarse. she now stood at your bedside holding your hand. she hummed, “hi, y/n/n”. “thank god” you breathed, tears welling in your eyes. “i thought id never see you again” katniss hushed your cries, wiping away the tears falling from your eyes. “shh, it’s okay. you’re okay” she smiled. caressing your cheek.
you had lost a lot of weight at this point, your face was sunken in. your body thinner than it had ever been, and you were beyond exhausted both physically and mentally. “oh, honey” she coaxed. you held onto her hand tightly, “there’s someone here who wants to see you.” she gently escaped from your grasp, walking to the exit.
"fin. you breathed, watching him enter the room. it felt like a dream you had wanted to see him for so long. it felt like an eternity. the one you loved so dearly, the one who has saved your life multiple times. "y/n" he walked over to your bedside. he was hesitant at first, but when you held your hand out for him he gained confidence.
"you're here." you weakly smiled, reaching for his hand. he found himself on the edge of your bed, holding you
“of course i am, sweets. where else would i be?" he chuckled softly, and you hummed. you brought your hand to his cheek. you examined his face and he placed his hands on yours. finnick studied you, making sure to soak in every detail.
"you'll never have to go through that again, y/n. i promise i'll do anything to keep you safe." he kissed the top of your head.
you smiled as he pulled back, and tears fell from your eyes again. "i know, fin" you said softly. "you look tired, love" he sighed. it had been such a long time since you'd been in his embrace, you missed everything about him. his jokes, snarky comments, his grin. he was your everything. "i am." you hummed, while he sat holding your hand. “rest, i’ll be right here when you wake up.”
#finnick odair fluff#finnick x you#finnick odair x reader#finnick x reader#finnick imagine#thg finnick#finnick odair#finnick x y/n#hunger games finnick#finnick odair x you#thg imagine#thg fanfic#the hunger games
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blurb for finnick and the reader’s first public kiss in the arena? they’ve been secretly dating and the capitol has always seen them as ‘best friends.’ one night finnick couldn’t help him seeing her look so in the moonlight and he just pulled her in for a kiss.
pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!victor!reader
content warnings: not proofread and probably not my best work, mostly fluff
The waves crash against the shore and the foam soaks the ankles of your wetsuit. You had offered to take the first watch while Peeta and Katniss slept, and Finnick had insisted on staying up with you.
Your fingers trace shapes in the damp sand and Finnick tilts his head to lock eyes with you.
"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?" Finnick asks, reaching up and running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones.
You squirm under his intense gaze. It's like he can look right through you and see into your soul. "Nothing," you whisper innocently. Finnick fixes you with a look that says he believes otherwise. You manage to hold your ground for another few seconds before relenting. "I hate it here," you sigh.
"I know honey," he offers you a sad smile and falls quiet, running his thumb over your knuckles. "Would a kiss make you feel better? Cause you look real gorgeous in the moonlight baby," he grins.
Your eyes go wide and you itch to put some distance between the two of you. "People are watching," you point at the cameras hidden in the tall trees.
"Let them," Finnick shrugs. "I love you, honey. I'm tired of pretending I don't."
Your heart flutters in your chest and your insides turn to goo. "You are such a sap," your lips quirk upwards into a smile and you pull him into a kiss.
#the hunger games#grace talks🐚🌷#thg#headcanons#hcs#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair#the hunger games x reader#hc#blurb#blurbs#finnick odair x you#fanfic#thg fanfic#finnick odair fluff#finnick odair x y/n#writers of tumblr
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Our Song and Dance⁴
Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader
Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end.
Warnings: LONGGGG, descriptions of torture, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and some unhealthy coping mechanisms
Words: 18.2K
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a/n: since it's that time of year, i decided to give u guys a lil present. merry christmas and enjoy!!!
You had never felt so cold.
Growing up in a working home, you sometimes went through winter just hoping that your sheets would be enough to keep you alive, unable to afford a heater. In your first Games, you nearly froze to death, your matches being the only thing that saved you. Then once you had won and made it to the Capitol, you went through those cold nights with Finnick, sometimes hoping that you really would freeze to death, even if you never told him that.
Yet none of those times could compare to how cold you felt now.
Cold as you were brought out of the Capitol. Cold on the hovercraft. Cold when they sedated you. Cold as you were wrapped in blankets. Cold as Finnick went to touch you. And now, as the doctors examined you like you were an artifact, you were still just as cold.
But you were an artifact, weren’t you? You were the Princess.
So it didn’t really matter how cold you were at all.
You had been transported from the open medical area to your own room. It was almost like you blinked and, just like that, you were in a different room. Like magic.
Even though magic did not exist. Not in Panem. Not in this world.
Someone named Boggs had come to see you, explaining that you were in district 13, a district that you thought didn’t exist for your entire life. This is the revolution, he said. He was meant to bring you up to speed, ease your confusion, but you weren’t sure that was possible at the moment.
Throughout his explanation, you didn’t say a word, just staring up at him. This may have been seen as rude, but you weren’t doing it on purpose. You really didn’t know what to say.
He eventually left, not getting anywhere with you. From what you could tell, he had a lot more to deal with than just one girl. For a supposedly dead district, there was a lot going on in 13, but that wasn’t where your mind was.
Your body was in 13, but your mind was in the Capitol.
“Please, don’t-”
You closed your eyes, trying to rid yourself of these memories, but that only made it worse, images appearing underneath your eyelids. Your eyes quickly snapped open, darting around the room, your chest rapidly falling and rising.
You were in a bed. There was a desk, some chairs, a glass of water on the night stand next to you. The floor was white, tiled, not grey concrete. There were lights. You were in 13, where the lights were on, not in the Capitol, surrounded by darkness.
You’re alive, Y/N, you told yourself. But that didn’t seem to make anything better.
When did it ever?
You ran your hands up and down your arms, feeling new scars that hadn’t been there before, scars that could maybe heal one day, but you knew there were still open wounds you had that couldn’t be treated, open wounds that may never scar at all.
You didn’t think the wounds you had right now would ever close.
Your heart was racing, beating so loudly that you could hear it, so you imagined it wasn’t yours at all, that it was Finnick’s heart that you heard. Though you supposed that your heart did belong to him.
Even though you didn’t want to see him.
Nevertheless, imagining him sitting with you and pretending to listen to his heartbeat was what calmed you down. It always would. In a way, that was the only thing about you that remained sure, the only thing you had left from the life you lived.
Because that’s what it was: a life lived. Y/N Y/L/N lived her life. For a time, she was happy. She fell in love. And then she died. Now… now, you didn’t know who you were.
What you did know was that you weren’t the same Y/N that Finnick knew, the same Y/N who’d fall asleep in his arms. Now, you weren’t sure you could fall asleep at all, not for long, never for long.
Johanna and Peeta’s faces flashed through your mind. Their screams still echoed in your head. They were different now, too. Johanna wasn’t so fearless anymore, and the golden boy wasn’t so golden. His bright gold had been captured by darkness, and you weren’t sure if any of you would ever see it again.
At that thought, you finally got up, ignoring the ache in your bones. You couldn’t just sit there. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t think anymore- you wouldn’t. You had to see them.
You left your room, a nurse coming up to you right away. “Ma’am, please, you need to rest-”
“I’m fine.” Your voice was raspy and scratched at your throat, so you cleared it. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you knew it couldn’t have been great with the way the nurse was looking at you. “Could you please take me to my friend Johanna?”
Hesitance was painted all over her face, as well as fear. You didn’t know why; you weren’t in any position to fight. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”
You cut her off. “I just want to see my friend.” Annoyance laced your voice, but if one listened closely, they’d also hear the desperation. You needed to see her, you needed to see someone familiar, someone that wasn’t there just because you were their responsibility, someone that wasn’t the boy you loved.
Her mouth opened and closed for several seconds before she responded, “I- she’s with a counsellor right now-”
You sharply inhaled, blinking and seeing Johanna, hearing her cry. When you opened your eyes again, you only saw the nurse staring at you anxiously, expectantly. You ran a hand through your hair. You needed to see someone. “Peeta then,” you said. “Take me to Peeta.”
Her fright seemed to increase. She looked at you like you weren’t in your right mind, which was right, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. There was something else in her expression, like there was something you didn’t know, something she didn’t want to tell you, but she nodded, anyway, agreeing.
This nurse was young, kind, and even a little naive. If you were in your right mind, you’d feel more empathy for her, be more compassionate or soft, but you weren’t. Your mind was in all of the wrong places all at once.
She reminded you of the nurse you had in the Capitol. She wasn’t there to ease your pain but to keep you alive, make sure you didn’t bleed to death so that you could go through the whole routine all over again the next day. She looked at you like that, too, like she was scared of you, even though you were the one that was powerless, even though you were the one on the brink of death.
Now you weren’t. You’re safe now, Boggs had told you. You didn’t say anything in that moment, but what you wanted to say was that he was wrong.
You’d never feel safe again.
When the nurse brought you to Peeta, Katniss was also there, but she didn’t notice you, staring through the glass of a white room. There was a blond boy in that room, strapped down to the bed.
But this boy wasn’t Peeta.
He wasn’t Peeta at all.
“Y/N?”
You turned away from the sight in front of you to the voice that called your name. The voice belonged to none other than Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and second Quarter Quell, but you knew him better as the man who drank his sorrows away until he couldn’t remember all that’d happened to him.
You nodded in greeting, but didn’t speak. He looked like he had more he wanted to say but held it in as he glanced back at the room, a young blonde girl entering it and carefully going to sit on the bed.
“She’s too close,” he remarked.
“It’s okay,” someone else responded. You turned and saw a greying man on the other side of Katniss, recognizing him immediately as opposed to when you first met him. Plutarch Heavensbee.
You glanced to Haymitch who was already looking at you. He glanced at the Gamemaker then nodded to you. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t fully translate, and you didn’t understand why this man who had caused so much pain was standing right next to Katniss like it was nothing, but for now, you still remained silent, choosing to let it be.
Throughout this interaction, Katniss had practically been none the wiser, eyes fixed on the inside of that room. When you redirected your attention to the scene, you realized why she was so focused. You still recognized the blonde girl from the reaping, even though it’d been over a year since they took place.
Primrose Everdeen.
Yet little Primrose never went into The Games. Her sister took her place. This was Katniss’ sister.
We live in district 13 now, she told him, her voice soft, soft enough to tell you that even though she was surrounded by war, her childhood was still there. It’s a real place. Stories are true. A pause. You were rescued.
Peeta didn’t look fazed by what she was saying, his attention on something else entirely. The look in his eyes was contained, but you saw it. Anger. My family hasn’t come to see me, he said, but he was talking to himself more than he was talking to Prim.
Family.
You saw your mother’s face in your mind, but you weren’t sure if that was still what she looked like. The last time you saw her was a year ago, her face stricken with grief, tears leaking from her eyes.
She hadn’t come to see you, either.
And you realized it was probably for the same reason Peeta’s family hadn’t come to see him.
At that realization, anything else Peeta or Prim said fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear a thing, your song playing in your head on a loop, dancing so fast that the world blurred and you couldn’t see a thing.
Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-
“Y/N.”
The call of your name cut through the music, making you turn your head to see Katniss staring at you. You glanced around; Haymitch and Plutarch were gone now, so was Prim. It was just Peeta on the other side of the glass, kicking and yelling, people in scrubs going to sedate him.
You actually looked at her now, noticing the purple marks around her neck that matched the bags underneath her eyes. She looked different now, different from the last time you saw her in person and different from when you saw her on TV.
The Girl on Fire looked like her spark had been extinguished.
And, suddenly, she reminded you of yourself now more than ever.
You nodded to her and then turned to walk away, but her hand caught your wrist. Like a reflex, you yanked it away, spinning around to face her. She muttered a sorry under her breath, making you inhale.
“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice quiet. She couldn’t be blamed for how you could no longer handle touch, neither could Finnick. You felt guilt wash over you as you heard his voice cracking in your head, remembering how you didn’t say a word to him.
He’s fine, you told yourself. He has Annie.
Your thoughts were diverted away from him and back to Katniss as she spoke. “Has anyone explained it all to you yet?” This was a question, even though her voice was monotone while she asked it.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, thinking back to Boggs. “Yeah- um, a little.”
She looked at you like you were a puzzle and she was rearranging the pieces in her head, using what little energy she had. “Did they tell you?”
You furrowed your brows. You were just as if not more tired than her, your mind all over the place, too all over the place to understand what she was asking you. “Tell me what?” You questioned.
She didn’t respond right away, still looking at you as if she was trying to figure you out. Her eyes told you this story; however, her expression was blank. You’d seen snippets of her videos, not in full, never in full, but even from a snippet, you were able to see that look.
The way a victor looked.
When you met Katniss, you thought to yourself that she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough to have been burned.
But with the spotlight they had on her now, she’d gone up in flames.
After a beat, she ceased her mental debate and decided to speak her thoughts. “I think we should talk.”
And she may not have known it, but what she told you may have just changed the course of your life.
Katniss took you to her room, sat you down, and with her raspy voice, she explained your situation to you. I’m The Mockingjay, she said. And they wanted you, too, Y/N. They wanted the Princess of Panem and The Mockingjay to be the voices of this revolution.
You stared at her wordlessly as she went on, just listening. To her, you must have looked crazy, listening to everything she said without any reaction whatsoever, but you knew that Katniss had been dancing long enough now to read you, too.
You were mind-blown. She was telling you that they wanted you to be a voice for the people, but wasn’t that so ironic? Your voice had been on mute for years. You were silent as you were used in the Capitol. You were silent as they made you go back and take everything from kids, kids just like you. Even when you thought you were about to die and had so many things to say to the boy that you loved, you didn’t say any of it.
How could you ever be a voice?
They chose the wrong person. Katniss was good. She was good at being The Mockingjay, good at saying the right things, and great at being a voice for Panem. But you? You weren’t cut out for this.
Why would she tell you this? This revolution had been well-planned and was proceeding fine without you. Why would she tell you this- why now?
You cut her off mid-sentence. “Katniss, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”
She paused as if she didn’t know the answer, either. Her red eyes glazed over and, for a few seconds, you both sat in silence. You thought she wouldn’t say anything until she looked back up at you. This time, her eyes were full of light, like she’d just realized she held the key to all she ever wanted, all you ever wanted.
And, in a way, she did.
“Hope,” she breathed. “I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.”
A better world.
Once, you had hopes, too. You hoped that your kids would make it through The Games. You hoped that you could be loved back by the person you loved. You hoped that you could one day mend your relationship with your mother. You hoped that you could be happy.
But each of these hopes were crushed until nothing remained but disappointment.
You didn’t have any hope left.
After Katniss’ declaration, you sat silently before eventually leaving without saying a word.
She was so young. Sometimes, you forgot that. She wasn’t a child, but she was supposed to be. She was supposed to have a childhood, not the weight of a country resting on her shoulders.
But you’d carried the weight of the crown for years now.
You knew better.
You abandoned the idea of hope as soon as you dived off that pedestal in The Games, and then it abandoned you for good the second you woke up in the Capitol.
There wasn’t any hope left, not for you.
You got back to your room, ignoring your nurse who opened her mouth to speak to you but ultimately didn’t say anything, letting the door close in her face. It wasn’t personal. There were too many different people on your mind to think about her, so many words you said and didn’t say floating around, things you did and what was done to you.
You didn’t want to be awake anymore, to think about these things. Sometimes, nightmares offered more relief than your real life ever could.
But as you went to go lie down, you suddenly stopped, seeing something on your bed that hadn’t been there before. It was a sleek black box, one that wasn’t so common back where you were from but became an everyday custom after you won The Games. You picked up, clicking the side button and watching light shoot of it and project an image in front of you.
For a moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.
Because that image that the box projected was of Finnick Odair.
It was a video shot here, in 13, similar to others you’d seen, but you’d never seen this. This was the first time you saw him on camera since before the Quell. And this was also the first time you’d looked into his eyes since you left that night.
Even if you weren’t really looking at him.
Finnick was always charming, the corners of his lips always quirked upward. He had mastered this façade- oh, Finnick knew how to dance, dance around all of the hard topics, dance around everything that was wrong with your lives to make you seem like the perfect happy couple, like victors.
But he didn’t look like that in the video.
He looked solemn. And maybe even a little scared.
No matter his appearance, you could’ve never expected the words that came out of his mouth, never from Finnick, never from one of you, from a victor. But he still said them.
Your mouth fell open. For the first time since you arrived in 13, you let tears fall down your cheeks, though you didn’t know if you could stop them, even if you tried. They burned on their way down, rubbing salt into the bruises you could see and the bruises you could never fix.
May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.
The box in your hands clattered to the ground, the video cutting out as you ran to the toilet, but Finnick’s voice still echoed in your ears. You threw up what very little you had eaten, head spinning.
Dancing, dancing, dancing.
This song didn’t sound right anymore. This dance didn’t feel right anymore. You were so tired of dancing- you just wanted to stop.
But Finnick hadn’t stopped at all.
Finnick was still dancing. Katniss was still dancing. Peeta, Johanna, every single person in Panem was now dancing with you. They knew now. They could hear the music, too. And who would save them?
You had wished for years and years that someone would pull you off the dance floor, that someone would make it stop. There were so many people that knew, so many people that just let you endure it- let you all endure it. How could you let any more people endure anything close to that?
You couldn’t stand on the sidelines and watch as everything burned to the ground. No, you wanted to help them set fire to the Capitol and burn Snow alive.
Hope. I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.
You may not have had this hope. There was no better world out there for you.
But you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make one for every kid out there that cried and prayed their name didn’t get called at the reapings.
You would not get to live in this better world.
But you would make it in memory of the younger you that could have.
You later found Katniss again, telling her that you’d do it. You left out the part about how you sobbed for hours at the recording you knew she left you because that wasn’t what was important right now. You were not important right now.
This was about something much bigger.
She took you to Coin, who cleared the room at the sight of you, a surprised expression on her face. “Ms. Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She stood up, shaking your hand, glancing at Katniss periodically before looking back to you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you sooner-”
“It’s alright,” you cut her off, trying your best to pull your lips into a smile. You had barely been in the room with her for a few seconds, but there was something about this woman that threw you off.
Katniss explained her story to you, how she was a widow, how her entire family died in a day. You sympathized with that, but Alma Coin did not remind you of a widow in the slightest.
She reminded you of the people you saw in the Capitol.
Clearly, she sensed the tension, giving you a smile and letting go of your hand, beckoning you both to sit. You sat down in the chair across from her, surveying the room, looking at the blueprints and papers sprawled everywhere. Your attention was drawn back to the woman when she spoke.
“So, how may I help you? I know adjusting to life here must be hard for you. But I will be here every step of the if you so need it.” You opened your mouth to speak, but she kept going, “You are an incredibly strong young woman. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live through those Games, nor could I imagine what it must have been like within the walls of the Capitol.”
No, you couldn’t, you thought, but you didn’t say that. Instead, you gave her a stiff smile, hoping that all your practice faking it could make it look believable. It seemed that President Coin had some practice faking it, too.
However, you cut straight to the point. “Madam President, I want to help the rebels in any way that I can.”
Her mouth fell open slightly, as if that was the last thing she was expecting. She looked to Katniss again, like you were out of it. And maybe you were, but so was The Girl on Fire. So were all of you.
It wasn’t fair of her to treat you like glass because, the truth was, she was right. You went through The Games not once but twice, and then you were immediately thrown into the Capitol, facing horrors that you weren’t sure you could ever speak aloud, horrors that flashed before your eyes every time you blinked, even as you sat across from her.
But you were. You were sitting across from her. You were ready to do something.
You may have just been pulled from the Devil’s clutches, but you were ready to walk through Hell all over again if it meant you got to kill him.
Katniss didn’t waver. “So do I.”
Coin’s hesitance was easier than expected to spot. For someone who wanted to lead Panem, she surely wore her heart on her sleeve. Or maybe you had just gotten too good at this dance that you could spot anyone’s slightest misstep.
Slowly, she cautioned, “You both are going through a lot right now-”
The brunette sharply cut her off, “That doesn’t matter.” Your eyes were trained on Coin, but if you stole a glance at Katniss, then you knew you would’ve seen the fire in her eyes. In a way, she hadn’t changed at all since the last time you saw her.
And you wished that was true.
“Send me to the Capitol- send us to the Capitol.” Underneath her demand was pleading. “I’ll do anything.”
Coin brought her hand to her mouth, an indent on her finger where her ring was supposed to be yet no ring in sight. “I can’t.” But she wanted to. “I can’t send you there. We can’t get into the Capitol until we control district 2.”
“Then send us to 2,” you spoke up, her eyes moving to yours. There was some emotion in her eyes, pity or fear, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t want to know what you looked like to find out. “I can fire up your troops, call out to the loyalists. You’ve seen what The Mockingjay can do, and I don’t doubt that you know what I am capable of.” You paused. “Let us win this for you, Madam President.”
She was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at you as if she was waiting for you to break, to do something that showed her that you weren’t capable of this, but she wouldn’t get that opening. You wanted this more than anything, and you would stop at nothing to get it.
Finally, she blinked, and you knew you had her.
“It would be an honour.”
You didn’t tell Katniss, and you certainly didn’t tell Coin, but a part of you was relieved that you weren’t going back to the Capitol so soon. You just left, and yet it felt like it had both been a world ago and just yesterday.
You didn’t know if you could handle it so soon, going back there. You could barely even handle looking at Finnick.
It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault. You could never blame him, never for this.
How could you blame him when picturing his face was what got you through it?
How could you blame him when the only reason you survived was to find out if he was still alive?
They told you he was dead. They played his screams on a loop until you couldn’t tell that they stopped. His screams now blended in with the music so well.
Oh, you loved him. You loved him so much more than you could ever express. And maybe that’s why you never told him, but now you knew it was for the best. Finnick was strong, and beautiful, and he had a long life ahead of him with the woman of his dreams. You weren’t gonna get in the way of that.
You knew that you’d never truly be happy without him.
But you also knew from experience that he’d never be happy with you.
These were the thoughts that filled your head on the hovercraft. Even as he was nowhere in sight, his face was still all you could see.
He was here, too. You knew he was. Katniss told you beforehand. She didn’t know the whole story between you two, but she still told you. She had no idea how grateful you were.
You were hiding from him. You accepted the fact that the two of you would never get a happy ending, but that didn’t mean that you were ready to see him, knowing that. If you looked into his ocean blue eyes, God knew that he’d only pull you in and drown you in them.
You couldn’t do that.
It wasn’t fair to him.
It wasn’t fair to Annie.
It wasn’t fair to you.
And it wasn’t fair to all the people that were depending on you.
Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off the sound of footsteps came your way. You looked up, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw it was just Haymitch.
He nodded to you. “Princess.”
You held back a scoff as he sat down next to you on the floor. “Haymitch.”
You still remembered when you met him. He was one of the first people to actually speak to you after you won your Games. For some reason, the others were too “intimidated” by you, but Haymitch didn’t have much left to be scared of, not when he went into an arena with 47 people and was the only one who walked out.
What you couldn’t remember was the last time you had an actual conversation with him, or at least the last time you had a conversation and he was sober.
“How’d you find me?” you asked, but your eyes were still trained on the floor. He didn’t seem to mind.
“I hang around here sometimes, go through the boxes and see if there’s anything medicinal in ‘em,” he responded, making you chuckle.
If he was looking for something medicinal, then you weren’t such a great replacement.
“Well, sorry you couldn’t find what you were looking for.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. “No, I need to be brought back to reality, anyway. And you, uh, you do a good job at that.”
You snorted, sensing the compliment was backhanded, even if he didn’t see it that way. Or maybe he did, but Haymitch was never one to hold his thoughts in. “Why, because I’m so fucked up?”
“No.” A beat of silence passed. “Because you remind me of a human’s will to live better than those Games ever did.”
You finally looked up, seeing that he was already looking at you. The sincerity in his eyes was so strong that it burned into yours, making you look away before it burned just enough to spark tears. “I don’t think I’m the best example of that.”
His reply came quick, like he didn’t even have to think about it, but he had no idea how much you would after he said it. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”
Aren’t you?
You didn’t say anything after that, nor did you look at him, and he didn’t force you to. You spent the rest of the ride pondering over his words.
You thought of every painful thing you ever went through. The Hunger Games. Being sold. The Quarter Quell. The Capitol. Falling in love.
You went through all that, and you were still here. You were still standing.
Weren’t you?
Or were you just waiting for the right moment to fall?
Your thoughts were halted as you felt the hovercraft come to a stop, realizing just how long you’d been thinking. You both stood up, going to leave this room. Like most real conversation you’d had with victors, you thought you both would just pretend it never happened, but right before you were about to enter the main ops room, he stopped you, grabbing your wrist. This time, you stopped the flinch before it could happen, looking up at him.
Haymitch Abernathy was not a soft man. After being cut so many times, his edges were jagged and sharp, but looking at you in that moment, he looked more than just soft. He looked sorry.
He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure to say what he wanted to say or not, something unusual for him. He seemed to have made up his mind, telling you, “Stay standing, Y/N. There are still people out there that can’t do that by themselves.” Then he paused, eyes glazing over.
“Show them that they can.”
Getting off the hovercraft, damage surrounded you. The once pristine nature of district 2 was gone, replaced by devastation, rubble everywhere. If this was district 2, then you couldn’t imagine that any of the other districts were any better, that your district was any better.
Your mind was drawn back to your mother before you shook it away. You couldn’t be thinking of that right now.
A man in black attire carrying an assault rifle greeted you. Not a Peacekeeper. But a chill still went down your spine.
You couldn’t really tell if it was because of the soldier or if it was because you felt Finnick staring at you.
He wasn’t far behind you, in the row behind you and Katniss with Boggs and Gale. You tried to ignore it, but that proved to be harder said than done.
Katniss carried her bow in her hand while a sword was strapped to your belt, lightly hitting your leg as you walked, but you got used to this feeling during your first Games. In a way, it was almost comforting, even though it never should’ve been, even though weapons should’ve never been comforting to a child so young.
But you weren’t a child anymore.
In your hand, you carried a crossbow, Beetee’s special arrows on your back. The sword was really only there for show. This wasn’t The Hunger Games; no, this was a very different and special game entirely.
This was war.
You wouldn’t be getting up close for combat very often, so a crossbow made more sense, but after The Games, weapons started to hold sentimental value, both for the victors and the viewers that watched them. For Katniss, it was her bow; for Finnick, it was his trident; and for you, it was your sword.
Suddenly, as you were making your way to the Justice Building, a bomb went off, shaking the ground and making you spin, your grip on your bow tightening. Your heart was beating rapidly, but Corporal Homes wasn’t fazed, even letting out a little laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s just how the loyalists say good morning.”
You let out a shaky breath, holding the bow tighter to try and stop your hands from trembling. You shut your eyes, trying to calm down, but all that did was bring you right back to the Capitol. Your eyes quickly reopened, but when they did, they met those ocean blues that you’d been trying to avoid.
Your body went rigid. It begged you to look away, but you couldn’t. You were pulled to him like a magnet, a magnet that scraped against you, a magnet that nearly stopped your heart with how strong it was, but no matter how much it hurt you, fighting against it was useless.
Concern swam through his eyes, along with another familiar emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. It had been so long since you last saw him, since you last really saw him. Maybe that was why you couldn’t decipher it.
But, really, it felt like no time had passed at all.
“Are you okay?” God, and his voice. How was it possible that his voice could both fill and create a hole in your heart at the same time? It was both quiet and loud, both sure and uncertain, and caring in every sense of the word.
So warm but made you feel so cold at the same time.
You just looked at him for a few seconds, as if you were hypnotized, until you realized you needed to respond. You nodded, afraid that your voice would crack if you tried to speak.
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but a hand came to your shoulder, yanking you out of trance. You turned to see Katniss, glancing between you both for a second before her eyes rested on you. She nodded towards the building and the rest of the crew who had walked ahead of you. You nodded back, walking away from Finnick without another word.
How did we get here? you wondered.
We’re gonna be fine. Look, whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.
He was right there. He was still right there.
But the difference between then and now was that you could no longer just hold his hand.
He was right there.
But you were still alone.
Once you had put some distance between yourselves and Finnick, Katniss whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned your head, but her eyes were directed in front of her. “That looked personal.”
“No, it’s fine,” you assured her, and then you left it at that. Because, truth be told, you were grateful for Katniss interrupting you. You weren’t sure you would’ve ever walked away if she hadn’t. But you did. And now you had bigger problems to worry about than your love life, if you could even call it that.
You finally made it into the Justice Building, being greeted by both Commander Lyme and Paylor. While they lived in higher ranks, they were still soldiers. You appreciated how they cut right to the chase.
You and your squad from 13 stood around a table projecting a hologram of district 2’s mountains with at least a dozen other soldiers, more littered throughout the room with Coin on a TV in front of you.
Lyme started, “President Coin, we’re indebted to you for the reinforcements, the Princess, and the Mockingjay.” She glanced at you. “But I’m not sure that anyone outside of 2 knows what we’ve been up against.” She pointed at the hologram. “This is The Nut. The Capitol’s headquarters for all offensive operations. It’s manned by both military and civilian personnel from district 2.” She then continued to explain what all more or less knew, that it lied so deep beneath bedrock that it was untouchable.
“Yesterday, we attempted to take the northeastern gate. The enemy countered from higher up and we were forced to pull back.” She momentarily looked down, her mask of a stone cold commander falling and showing the human behind it. “We took heavy losses.”
Another commander spoke up. “Could we create a decoy? Send troops towards one gate, launch a staggered attack on another.”
Paylor didn’t miss a beat. “Whose troops do you propose as a decoy, Commander?”
Although the question was not directed towards her, Coin still responded, “We have the Mockingjay and we have the Princess of Panem. Do not underestimate their influence. We could use them to erode support, sway some of the loyalists.”
“You’ve been underground a long time, Madam Coin,” Lyme said. “This isn’t like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.” And why wouldn’t it? When the oppressor had done just about everything but oppress you, then how could you see the oppression happening everywhere else?
Coin quickly retorted, “Then there is no sacrifice too great.” Her voice was like that of a widow: soft enough that you could tell what she’d been through but firm enough for the exact same reason.
No sacrifice too great… but wasn’t there?
“We need to control the arsenal inside that fortress. Even with every district in this alliance, we are outgunned.” All twelve other districts could band together, but without 2, none of you stood a chance.
No sacrifice too great.
“I won’t commit my people to a ground assault just to pillage weapons.”
“Commander Paylor, your people have suffered more than just about anyone else at the hands of the Capitol.”
“Which is why I won’t condone a mass suicide.”
“If we don’t take district 2, we won’t get into the Capitol.”
For the first time since your entrance, you spoke up. “What if we don’t have to take it?” You felt everyone’s eyes on you but yours remained focused on the hologram in front of you, unblinking as if you weren’t there at all.
And maybe you weren’t.
Lyme responded, “What are you proposing, Ms. Y/L/N?”
What were you proposing? You couldn’t be sure. But you knew what you needed, and that was this war ending in Snow’s final breath.
No sacrifice too great.
“What if we don’t need The Nut to win?” You looked up. “What if we could take it away from them instead?”
Gale seemed to be the only one who caught onto what you were saying, or at least the only one willing to speak it aloud. “We could disable it, trap them inside or flush ‘em out.” He continued, gesturing the hologram. “If we can’t attack straight on, then couldn’t we use our hovercraft to strike around it? We’ll use the mountains; we’ll hit weak spots in the peaks.”
“We could design the bomb targets in sequence using seismic data.”
“Trigger avalanches,” you muttered just above a whisper, imagining it in your head. Something like this happened in The Games once, one of the years you were mentoring. It was catastrophic, akin to a bloodbath. It was a miracle there was even anyone left alive to fight for a victor’s title.
You wondered if Finnick thought of this, too, but you didn’t dare look over at him, looking back to hologram and trying to block the images of blood and terror from your mind.
But as you stood there and spoke about war, you didn’t know if that was possible.
Not when the war in your mind had still yet to be won.
“Block all exits, cut off their supplies. You make it impossible for them to launch their hovercraft.”
Paylor had a look of realization on her face. “Bury them alive.”
“We’d forfeit any chance to control the weapons-”
Beetee cut Coin off, “Yes, but we’d face a weakened Capitol.”
“There’s civilians in there,” Boggs interjected, stoic but any hearing person could hear the compassion in his voice. Civilians. Is that what they were?
You were a civilian too, once. Then you were a tribute, a pawn, a victor, the Princess. Did civilians still exist? What kind of civilians could support the Capitol? What kind of human beings could support the torture you were subjected to, the torture people in the districts were subjected to on a daily basis?
You wondered if your mother was given the courtesy of a civilian before the Capitol took her life.
You weren’t.
“They should be given a chance to surrender. Could use one of the supply tunnels for the evacuees.”
“It’s a luxury we weren’t given when they firebombed 12,” Gale said, as if he were reminding you, as if any of you needed a reminder.
“There’s gotta be a better way.” You were already so focused, but if you were losing attention in any way, Katniss brought it back, the disbelief in her voice audible to everyone in the room. She glanced in between Gale and you, but she didn’t get whatever response she expected of you.
Katniss may have had hope for the good of humanity, but you didn’t have that. The Capitol took that away from you without a second thought. She may have been driven by hope, but you were driven by anger.
There was no sacrifice too great.
“I suggest we try the avalanche, but leave the train tunnel alone,” Coin decided. “Civilians can escape into the square, where our armies will be waiting for their surrender.”
“We should have every available medic standing by.”
“And if they won’t surrender?” Lyme challenged.
Coin’s lips almost formed a smile. “Then we will need a compelling voice to persuade them.” And a voice was something she had.
The Mockingjay and the Princess, two sides of the same coin. Heads or tails, luck was on the President’s side either way.
You tuned out after that, letting everyone else talk logistics. Throughout the entire conversation, you didn’t hear Finnick say a word. He was perhaps the most talkative person you had ever met, and yet now, he had nothing to say.
He only looked at you the whole time, like an artifact.
And even as you walked away, you still felt the cold burn of his stare.
You watched from a broken window of the Justice Building as the hovercrafts started, rubble blowing in the wind. The sight was magnetic, pulling you in to look at it. It was almost beautiful.
This world could’ve been beautiful.
You wished that this dance could have been more beautiful before it made your feet bleed.
You watched as the hovercrafts danced in the sky before dropping bombs on the mountains, dancing to the sound of explosions and then to the sound of cheers around you.
Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-
“This isn’t right.” A voice brought you out of your trance. You turned to see Katniss, her eyes on the scene outside the window, as mesmerized as you were. But mesmerized wasn’t the right word. She was stricken by horror.
Oh, if she saw what happened to you that could make you ever justify this. If she saw what happened to Peeta to make him hysteric. If she saw what happened to Johanna to make her numb. If she saw, then would she still be so transfixed then?
If she saw, would she still be standing?
If she saw, would she understand why you still were?
You stared at her for a moment, contemplating if you would say any of this before deciding against it, turning back and monotonously replying, “It’s fire catching, Everdeen.”
She scoffed, “And we’re lighting the match.”
Sharply, you countered, “Don’t forget that the Capitol poured gasoline everywhere first.” You turned back to see her already looking at you. A sigh left your lips. “They did this, Katniss.”
“And so anyone that had anything to do with it deserves to burn for it?”
No.
Yes.
“Did we deserve to burn, Girl on Fire?” You caught her off guard, anger slipping through the cracks of your voice, resolution filling your eyes. “Did we deserve to burn in those reapings, in those parades, in those damn Games as they all made a spectacle of it? All those kids and their families, did they deserve to burn just because the Capitol saw fit?” She was silent, tears coming to her eyes that she refused to let fall, so different from that girl you were with in the arena yet the exact same. Your eyes burned, too. “The way I see it, we’re fighting fire with fire.” You scoffed. “At least we’re giving them a way out.”
You didn’t stick around to hear Katniss’ response, walking away to find whoever would tell you what do next. You could’ve stood by that window for the rest of the night, watching as the terror unfolded, but you had more important things to do than watch the fire.
You had to go light a match.
You examined yourself in the mirror blankly. You were donning a black costume, and a costume it was. Because what was a costume if not an impersonation of something you were not?
But someone thought that this was what you were. Someone thought that you could be a leader. Cinna did—or at least that’s what Effie Trinket told you. You didn’t know why she seemed to be in charge of “design” or why she showed such an interest in you, but you supposed it wasn’t so unusual for an artifact.
Your makeup artists did their jobs fabulously, painting your face until you were almost unrecognizable, until you looked like that girl from before The Games, that girl that the people of Panem knew and loved. With this makeup, you couldn’t see the circles under your eyes, the discolouration of your face. They made you look alive again.
On the outside, at least.
On the inside, you weren’t sure if there was any makeup that could repair the damage that’d been done.
Your hair had been braided into an updo, like a crown. They tried to give you back your necklace, the one Finnick gave to you before The Games, but you never wanted to see that necklace again, never wanted to see a rose ever again.
You would hate the smell of roses for the rest of your life.
“It’s time.” You looked away from your reflection to see Haymitch standing at the door. You nodded to him, glancing back at the mirror one last time before exiting the room. Katniss fell into step with you both as you made your way toward the train tunnel, but remained silent. You didn’t speak, either.
Soon, you were joined by the rest of your Star Squad, but you avoided any and all eye contact with Finnick. It’d be a shame to cry and ruin all that beautiful makeup on your face.
It’d be a shame to feel something right now when you felt so numb.
But you’d quickly be feeling a lot.
“Don’t worry, Katniss. There’ll be survivors,” Boggs tried to reassure. She glanced at him, but didn’t respond.
Haymitch was more concentrated on what you came here to do. “Let’s focus on what it is you gotta say.” He looked in between both of you. “Now, Plutarch wrote a speech that either of you can read-”
“No,” you both simultaneously said, briefly glancing at each other.
Haymitch sighed, throwing the cards to the side. “Okay, didn’t think so. Let’s, uh…” he stopped you both, standing in front of you. “But just remember you’re talking to everybody. Not just the rebels, but the Capitol, the survivors in 2. We want them to lay down their arms. So you- both of you might wanna experiment with a little sensitivity, warmth.”
They have the upper-hand, that’s what he was really saying. But you understood how this worked. You’ve danced this dance a million times already.
“Don’t worry, Haymitch. I know how to fake it.” He looked over at you as if he wanted to say something, but Boggs spoke before he could.
“Make it quick, you’re exposed.”
Katniss walked toward the tunnel first, turning once she was far enough to face the rest of you. They decided that she would go first. She had been at this for a while now, much longer than you.
You’re lucky, you know.
How so?
You just are.
Maybe the Katniss Everdeen that you met in the training centre was lucky, but this one, the one who shot an arrow at the force field in the Quarter Quell, the one who became a symbol before she could even blink… you weren’t so sure that this one was so lucky. Not anymore. Not in this world.
Luck didn’t exist in this new world.
“This is Katniss Everdeen, speaking to all of the loyalists from the heart of district 2-”
“Survivors! Inbound!”
The sound of the train’s horn became audible to you, its wheels screeching against the train tracks. Boggs went running for Katniss while a hand grabbed your shoulder. This time, you couldn’t hold back the flinch.
“We need to go, Y/N.” And then your body went rigid.
That was your name.
That was your name coming from Finnick Odair.
You didn’t even notice when he moved so close to you.
You swallowed, nodding, but it was like your feet were cemented to ground. You couldn’t move. If you moved, if you turned around, then you’d be looking right into his eyes.
Oh, there was time when the only thing you wanted to do was stare into his eyes all day. And maybe the problem was that you still wanted to.
You closed your eyes, inhaling a shaky breath, and when you opened them, the survivors were jumping off the train, being forced down to the ground, guns pointed at them, loud noise everywhere. Suddenly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of what was happening, even as every bone in your body begged you to, even as your head spun.
Finnick’s hand was still on your shoulder, but neither of you moved. None of you did.
Another man jumped off, looking disoriented, but what drew your attention to him wasn’t his appearance but the gun in his hand. The grip on your shoulder got tighter.
“Drop it! Drop your weapon! You! Drop it,” Boggs shouted, aiming his machine gun at him as he moved in your direction. “Drop the gun! Drop it-”
Suddenly, a gun went off, and everyone was screaming. You ducked down, eyes frantically darting everywhere before they settled on Katniss, running towards him, yelling. Your eyes widened, a wave of déjà vu passing over you as you remembered this exact scenario in the Quell, Katniss running towards danger and you running after her.
And just like that, even though you were paralyzed by fear, you quickly shot up, running after her without a thought. “Katniss!”
“Y/N!”
“Stop! He needs help!” She screamed as you were about to reach her. The next moment happened too fast for you to grasp it, the man jabbing his gun at her chin and cocking it. You skidded to a stop where you were, your breath catching in your throat.
Boggs was shouting, but your ears rang. It was almost as if you could feel that barrel on your own skin, and maybe it was because you had.
Snow’s voice rang through your head, Tell me about the rebel plan, Y/N.
You’re gonna have to kill me first.
Oh, sweet girl. He had knelt down next to you. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.
The man’s voice shook you out of your daze. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”
“Drop the gun!”
Katniss was silent, staring right into his eyes, but you saw what was behind the brave façade she was putting on. She didn’t have a reason.
“She can’t.” His eyes went to you, widening as if he hadn’t realized you were there. You stepped forward, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Inside, you were shaking, but on the outside, you were calm and collected. On the inside, you were just a tribute in this game, but on the outside, you were the victor that everyone had crowned you.
“We blew up your mine. But you burned her district to the ground- my district to the ground.” You stepped closer, your resolve hardening. “So I guess we both have every reason to want to kill each other, but, really, does that make sense?” You asked, not looking away from his eyes once. “You know who I am. You know who she is, and I can bet that you know a few of the people standing behind me. So many people that the Capitol has rooted for, that you have rooted for- why would we be doing this? After the riches, and the glitz, and the glamour, why would we fight back against a system that has supposedly given us everything?”
Because they took everything from you first.
You took another step closer, putting your hands up when he jabbed the gun in Katniss’ neck. “Look around you.” He quickly glanced around before his eyes fell back on you. “Are these the people you want to kill? The same people that you cheered for?” Slowly, your hands fell. “Why are you fighting us? Why are you fighting the rebels? You’re neighbours. You’re family.”
He looked up at you for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. In his eyes, you could see evil, chaos. But you also a sliver of humanity, and you prayed to God that you reached past the chaos to the humanity. You prayed to whoever would listen that he heard you. And, maybe, for the first time, the universe was on your side, because his gun slowly lowered to the ground.
You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Katniss was stuck in a trance until you pulled her up, but you weren’t so focused on her. Your eyes panned over the people, your people and the loyalists alike, but they were all just people, you realized.
They were all just people.
“There is no our side or your side,” you yelled, backing away from the man and facing everyone. “There is only freedom and captivity. These people are not your enemy.” You turned, facing the rest of the crowd. “We all have one enemy. And that’s Snow.” Tears gathered in your eyes. “He does not care who you are or how loyal you are, how important you are—to him, we are all just pieces in a game.”
You pointed to your people behind you. “Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria- we are all that is left from three generations of victors. The rest of them are dead.” The faces of those that you killed flashed through your mind. “Slaughtered in the Quarter Quell or killed in the aftermath, it’s all the same. They were murdered by the Capitol—and it didn’t matter how important, or loyal, or loved they were- their lives were ended like they didn’t mean a thing.”
“And they would do the same to any of you if it benefit them.” You shook your head, raising your voice. “Stop killing for him.” You paused, breathing heavily. Your fight was not with people in the districts. Your fight was with one person and one person only. It was time that everyone else saw that. “Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow.”
Before you could say another word, gunfire erupted and you were falling to the ground.
And then your vision went black.
“Please, I don’t know anything,” you sobbed, fighting against your restraints, but it was no use.
Snow tutted, coming out from the shadows in which he hid. “Oh, Y/N, I wish I could believe that.”
Your body shook. “Please, I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about a revolution.”
“And yet all of your comrades did?”
You rapidly shook your head back and forth, worsening the pounding in your mind. They kept telling you about an uprising, but you didn’t know what they were talking about. They said you knew, but you didn’t know. They said that Katniss knew, that Peeta knew, that Johanna knew, that Finnick knew, but they couldn’t have.
You didn’t know.
You didn’t know where they were.
You prayed that Finnick was safe, but if he wasn’t, then you prayed that he was dead. You’d rather him be dead than ever face what you were facing now.
“They didn’t. I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Snow looked at you silently for a few moments, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Then brought his hand up. You flinched, but his hand only went to your hair, petting it. The look in his eyes was almost something like pity, you realized, but it wasn’t real. You didn’t know how long you’d been there, wherever you were, but in the time you there, you learned that President Snow was incapable of sympathy.
You even thought that he enjoyed this.
“Oh, my dear princess… I would’ve hoped that you would’ve learned to be honest with me by now,” he sighed, and then he took his hand away and looked away from you altogether, looking to the Peacekeeper that’d moved to the wall. “Again. And let’s be a little more… effective this time.” He moved to walk away, and you shook your head.
“No, no- please don’t- please, please- no- no!”
You shot up, panting, your hands digging into blankets. Your eyes darted around the room and you realized you were back in your bed in the medical centre. A hand was placed over yours and you immediately shuffled away, your eyes going to the person and meeting blue, concerned orbs.
Finnick held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Your chest still rapidly fell up and down, but for some reason his presence calmed you down and put you into a panic all at the same time.
Only Finnick could do that to you.
You closed your eyes, blinking the remnants of your nightmare away, even if that nightmare wasn’t a nightmare but rather just the life you so happened to live. You’re here, Y/N. You’re alive.
But why?
“How am I alive?” you croaked, looking down at the dull bed sheets instead of into his eyes. It was funny: you looked down to avoid the blue of his eyes, but the colour of these sheets was so similar.
What’s your favourite colour?
It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.
Now that colour just made you want to cry.
Finnick didn’t say anything for a moment, as if he was shocked that you were even speaking to him. And you were, too. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and if you went back to the last time you spoke, back in the arena, you would’ve never thought that this was how it would turn out. Even if you went back to just your first days in the Capitol, you still could’ve never imagined a reality where you didn’t speak to Finnick.
But you could’ve never imagined any of this happening in the first place.
If you went back to the night you met him, you could’ve never imagined how deeply you’d fall for this boy.
And you never could’ve imagined how much it’d hurt when you hit the ground.
Finnick’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You were shot back in 2. But the bullets were stopped by your costume. Cinna made sure that it was bulletproof.”
Cinna.
The way people spoke about him, in the past tense, the way you hadn’t seen him anywhere. You’d figured that he was dead.
You wondered how many more people would die for this revolution before you could all be free.
“The doctor says you sustained minor injuries, bruised rib, bruised lung. But nothing worse than the injuries you came back from the Capitol with.” At that, you turned your head to face him, meeting his eyes immediately. His eyes were soft but almost hard. He was almost looking at you the same way he did after you volunteered for Annie. In his eyes, you saw care, confusion, sadness, some anger, and emotions you couldn’t name, but most of all, you could see the pure exhaustion weighing him down.
He stared at you for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, maybe longer than that—time didn’t seem to exist. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He whispered. And in that moment, you knew you weren’t talking to the Prince of Panem, the victor of The 65th Hunger Games, or the soldier who wanted to build a better world.
You were just talking to Finnick.
And that scared you.
Your breath hitched.
Why would you do that?
Finn-
Why would you volunteer?
Because you had to.You volunteered for Annie because you had to, the same way you did what you just did because you had to. To you, there was no choice, only one path to follow.
“I did what I was meant to do, Finnick.” Even as you willed it not to, your body betrayed you, your voice cracking on his name, but this time, you kept eye contact. And even though you were talking to Finnick, the Finnick that held you at night and soothed you when you cried, your Finnick, he was not talking to Y/N, not the Y/N that he held and soothed.
That Y/N could not talk to Finnick, not this Finnick.
If she did, you didn’t know if you’d ever get her back again.
He was shaking his head before you even finished speaking. “No, you could’ve died.” I’m already dead.
“But I didn’t.” But I did.
“But you almost did!” You flinched as his hands went up in the air, and then he froze, freezing you with him. You flinched. You flinched like he was gonna hit you, and he saw that. You cursed yourself immediately, wishing you could take it back as the look that encompassed his eyes became hurt.
There were few times when Finnick ever looked at you like that, and you could remember each as if they just happened. You never wanted to see that look on his face again, to be the reason for that look.
Time stopped again. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t find the words. And before you could, time picked back up. Finnick’s hands fell down to the bed, and he looked away from you, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”
Tears welled in your eyes. He didn’t know what he was saying. “You could have the world at your fingertips, Finnick.”
“There is no world for me if you’re not in it.” He looked back at you. And you couldn’t tell if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes, too. “You’re my world, Y/N.” And just like that, any hope you had of remaining invulnerable shattered and the dam you were trying to hold in your eyes broke, tears falling down your face.
You shook your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Did he have any idea what he was doing to you? “Why are you saying these things?”
Something akin to a scoff left his lips. “Because it’s true-”
“No- no, they’re not-”
Finnick latched onto your hand, making you look right at him. This time, you saw tears trailing down his cheeks, and they seemed so real. “Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I’m telling you the truth.”
You wished it was the truth. You wished that this was real. You had been wishing that your pretending could become real for ages now.
But you’d danced this dance long enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.
Even if Finnick had convinced himself that it would.
“It’s impossible.”
“I l-”
“Ms Y/L/N?” You both turned the source of the new voice, finding your doctor at your door. She glanced between you both carefully as you ripped your hands away from Finnick’s, wiping at the tears that’d fallen and the ones that continued to fall. “May I speak with you, please?” She requested, glancing at him.
He quickly stood up, but this time, you weren’t looking. “Yeah, I’ll, uh- I’ll head out.” He paused for a second, like he was waiting for you to say something, but you weren’t sure that you could continue to speak to him right now, even if you wanted to. When you remained silent, you heard his shoes pitter-patter against the ground as he made his way out of the room.
When he was gone, you exhaled and Dr. Terren looked back at you. She hesitated, “Did I… interrupt something?”
“No,” you breathed out. “Nothing important.”
She nodded after a beat, getting right into her medical talk, but she didn’t look so convinced.
And you weren’t sure that you were, either.
You were hit bad, the doctor said, but it could’ve been worse. And she was right. It could’ve been worse.
You didn’t feel a thing. Lung, ribs—all you felt was heartache. Maybe it was good that you couldn’t feel the pain. But you couldn’t be sure.
She kept pushing the same idea: therapy. That’s where Johanna was. That’s where Peeta was. But that wasn’t gonna be where you were. Terren kept talking about trauma, about how this near-death experience called for you to talk to someone, but really, what good would that do?
Would that therapist understand? Did they go through what you went through? Did they understand what you were going through? You didn’t have time to stop and talk about your feelings, if you could even sort them out into words, nor did you want to reminisce over anything that happened while you were in the Capitol.
Even if reminiscing was all you could do.
When Terren left, you ripped the IV out of your arm, leaving your hospital room to go to the other room they gave you. At least that one wasn’t filled with your favourite colour.
Your room in 13 was grey, like most things here. It was drab, but you wouldn’t complain. Anything was better than the Capitol. The door to your room slid open, and then you stopped. On your floor was the same black box Katniss left you, the same one you watched Finnick from.
Poison.
You swallowed, deciding to ignore the box altogether and go to your ensuite. You never wanted to see that video again. Watching it from that box was the first time you ever saw it, and it would be the last.
They must have gone through extra effort to hide it from you in the Capitol. They made you believe he was dead. You believed this was such conviction that, when you saw him again after the rescue, you thought you were dreaming.
You even thought you’d died.
You even wished you did.
As you looked at yourself in the mirror, dead is what you looked like. That bullet may not have killed you, but you still looked like a corpse. You’re very lucky to be alive, Y/N, Dr. Terren told you.
Luck.
If luck was what kept you alive, then it wasn’t good luck at all. Luck would’ve been that bullet puncturing like it was intended to.
Your hand went to your ribs, looking at the bandages wrapped around them in the mirror. Then your hand travelled to your hair. Long and silky, so sought after in Panem. But as you ran your hands through it, you didn’t feel its softness. All you felt was Snow’s hand, petting you as you begged him not to kill you.
And then that turned into you begging for the exact opposite.
You don’t know how long you were looking at your reflection before you were opening and closing the sink drawers, your hands moving with a mind of their own. Part of you didn’t know what you were doing, but another part of you must have as you suddenly stopped, having found what you were looking for.
Scissors.
You picked them up, staring at them as if they were treasures, watching the light glare off the blades. You didn’t know what you were doing.
All you knew was that this feeling was tearing you apart.
And that’s all you could focus on.
Suddenly, your hand holding the scissors was moving. You still didn’t know what you were doing, but before you could find out, your name sounded.
“Y/N?”
You looked up, seeing Katniss stand in the doorway, confusion on her face that slowly contorted to fear. She glanced down at your hands, making you do the same. Quickly, you moved the scissors away from your wrist, unknowing of how they even got there.
You looked back at Katniss, your mouth opening and closing. You didn’t know what to say. Finally, you stammered, “I- I-” she looked back up at you and you realized that she, too, didn’t know what to say. “My hair. It’s- I want to cut my hair.”
That’s not what you were doing.
Katniss seemed to know that, not looking convinced in the slightest. She was quiet for a few moments, eyes on the scissors before she was walking towards you. Gently, she pried them out of your hand, as if you were a child holding a gun.
Then her eyes met yours. The eyes that were once hard as stone now looked at you with softness. “I’ll help you,” she whispered. She nodded to herself, repeating, “I’ll help you.”
You were grateful for her going with your story, even if it was just because she didn’t know what to say to what she really saw. She moved behind you, exhaling and getting ready right away.
And she may not have known this, but in just her walking in, she had already helped you more than you could’ve ever helped yourself.
Muffled chatter came to your ears as you sat in one of the common areas. Most people ate in the cafeteria, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there. Finnick was in there, along with Katniss, and you couldn’t really talk to either of them right now.
With Finnick, you didn’t know where you stood. He said so much to you in your hospital room, after you were shot, but you didn’t know what to make of any of it. He was talking to you like you were more than just fake lovers—and truth be told, that’s what you were. You may have forgotten that for a while or pretended for too long, but it was fake. The dance changed every so often, but at its core, it was the same.
Finnick was acting like this was a dance you engaged in voluntarily, like this was a dance he enjoyed dancing. While you had no one you’d rather dance with, you knew it wasn’t the same for him. You saw the way he looked at Annie; you saw it for the entirety of your “relationship.” He looked at her with such tenderness and care, like she put the stars in the sky. The second you saw her, the second you saw the way he looked at her, you knew that you didn’t stand a chance.
But for some reason, in that hospital room, you almost felt like he looked at you that way.
And that didn’t make sense.
That didn’t make sense at all.
Another part of you didn’t want him to see you like this, not again. Katniss did, and you weren’t ready to see her so soon, either. It was a weak moment, you told yourself, but you were fine now. You were here for a reason—you were still here for a reason.
Show them that they can.
You didn’t have hope, but you were still the hope of so many people, the hope of Panem. You weren’t gonna let them down. You were not going to stand by and let Snow’s reign of terror continue.
You made a pact with yourself. As Katniss was cutting your hair, you promised yourself that you would see this through. Afterward, it didn’t matter what happened, but you would fight until this country was free.
Even if you died for it in the process.
“Looking good, Princess.”
Your head shot up from your tray and, for the first time since you arrived in 13, you felt a smile arise on your face. “Johanna.” Your tray was pushed to the side as you stood, wrapping your arms around her.
“Easy. I hear you’re injured.”
“I’m fine, Jo,” you reassured her, pulling away. She mirrored your smile, a sight you never thought you’d see again after what you heard in the Capitol.
“You always are, aren’t you?” She retorted. You only continued to smile, opting not to respond. She must’ve seen your discomfort—of course she did, she knew you so well—so she changed the subject. “It’s good to see you.”
“Ditto,” you responded, even if it was a little untrue. You loved Johanna. She was the first person you looked for when you got to 13, and seeing her right now made you so unbelievably happy, a happy you didn’t anticipate feeling for a long time, but it wasn’t good to see her like this.
She had always put on a brave face, was always so much stronger than you, but right now, she looked like she was barely holding on. Her eyes were hollow, bags underneath them that matched yours. Her face was pale. And the beautiful red streaks that had once filled her hair, the hair that she loved, was now gone. It was all gone.
The Capitol took it just to show her that they could.
And even though you cut yours out of your own will, they still took yours, too.
Eventually, she sat down with you, resting her head on your shoulder. Before, when things were bad before they got worse, you’d sit together in the Capitol, you, her and Finnick, and you’d pass time together, just like this.
Except Finnick wasn’t here.
However, you convinced yourself that it was for the best.
Annie. He had Annie. You volunteered for Annie, got yourself in this position for Annie, so that he could have a life with her, the life he always wanted. He may have denied it, or maybe he didn’t know that you knew, but some nights, he’d dream about her, talking in his sleep. He wanted to marry her, to have kids with her.
He could do that now. This is what you did this for, so that he could have his happy ending. Even if it meant taking away yours for good.
Like she was reading your thoughts, Johanna muttered, “How come you aren’t in the cafeteria with prince charming?”
You stiffened, but you still knew how to dance this dance, deflecting, “Why aren’t you?”
She lightly chuckled. “Good point.” She didn’t answer, even though you knew the reason why, just as she probably knew the answer to her question. You expected her to drop it, but you supposed you should’ve known better from Johanna Mason. She was silent for a few moments until she spoke again. “He loves you, you know.”
You sighed, “Jo-”
“That boy loves you with all he has, Y/N.” She lifted her head up from your shoulder, making you look at her. “Always has, still does.”
Oh, Finnick and you were incredible. You made the masses believe that the love you shared was real- he made them believe it. You didn’t have to do any work. It wasn’t acting for you, but you knew it was for him.
Not even Johanna knew that it wasn’t real. She might’ve suspected, but for all she knew, you two were really in love. You wished that was true. For years, you wished that was true.
But your wishes rarely ever came true.
“It’s not that simple,” you said.
She slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it?” Her words echoed throughout your head. Isn’t it? It should’ve been. In a different world, maybe it was that simple. In a different world, maybe the two of you really were as in love as everyone thought you were. In a different world, maybe all those wishes and all that pretending could’ve been a reality.
But that was not this world.
So you didn’t say anything, instead resting your head on her shoulder this time, conveying your thoughts to her without speaking them.
I wish it was.
You lied on your bed in silence, staring up at the plain ceiling and imagining patterns of your own. Back at home, the ceilings had colourful swirls on them, muted tones swooshing together. But that wasn’t really your home. The home you came from didn’t have pretty designs or fancy furniture. The home you came from had paint peeling off the walls. The home you came from didn’t have furniture at all.
But that wasn’t really your home, either.
At some point, you think, that place was something like a home. When your dad was still alive, you’d wake up every morning to the scent of food cooking in the kitchen, even if it was only a bit. But then he died, and there was no one to buy food at all.
That year, you barely ate a thing.
The next year, you picked up the slack. You could still remember it, being ten years old and finding your father’s hunting gear. Going into the forest, you were scared. You didn’t want to harm an animal.
But you did.
And then you did it every time after that.
When you came home, you saw the way your mother looked at you. Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Somewhere inside of her, she saw something that you couldn’t. And, after that, she started looking at you a lot less.
Five years later, you were sent off to The Games. You could remember seeing your mother in the crowd, but when you got into the Justice Building, she wasn’t there. You waited. And she never showed. But you held your tears and told yourself you had to stay strong, for her, because she couldn’t.
You thought about her in the arena. You thought about her when you picked up that sword. You thought about her when you took your first life. You thought about her when Bay died. And you thought about her when Claudius announced that you, Y/N Y/L/N, had won the 67th Hunger Games.
Was she watching? you wondered. Is she happy?
When you got back to 4 and opened the door to your house, her jaw fell. Like she didn’t know. Like she was shocked. Like she never thought you’d win at all.
Like she didn’t want you to.
Mom, I- I won. Did you watch?
Silence. I watched. I tried, I just- I couldn’t watch you kill after that first- that-... The boy. A boy your age. A boy you stabbed into. A boy who you watched bleed out. A boy whose blood was on your hands–and with the way your mother stared at you, you almost felt like the stains were still there.
And they might as well have been.
She hugged you. But it didn’t feel like she was doing it because she missed you. It felt like she was doing it because that’s what a mother is supposed to do. They’re supposed to hug you–they’re supposed to love you.
But you weren’t you anymore.
You moved into the new house together. Then, soon after, you were moving into Finnick’s, leaving the house to her. You think she was relieved, relieved that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the same house as a killer.
And now, as you lied on this rough bed in 13, there was no house at all. No old house, no new one, no Finnick’s house, no district 4 at all. No mom, either.
What was the last thing I said to her? you wondered. Why can’t I remember the last thing I said to her?
Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t even remember when you last spoke to her. Your own mother. She was the woman who gave birth to you, the woman who raised you. Yet you couldn’t remember the last time you were in the same room.
And now you’d never be in the same room again.
A burning grew in your throat, but you didn’t let the tears fall, blinking them away. You’d cried an ocean of tears already. Now wasn’t the time to cry anymore. Now was the time to be strong.
You never wanted this. You didn’t choose this, to be princess of a country that only abused its citizens, a country that threw you to the wolves then claimed they loved you when you came out seemingly unscathed, a country that wouldn’t have loved you so much if they knew just how scathed you were.
You did not choose this. But, for some reason, it chose you. The people chose you. The people believed in you. They believed that you were some sort of hero, coming to save them all from this villain that had hurt them all so badly. They didn’t know that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t a hero. They didn’t know that you were scared of the villain, too.
But if the people in the districts could believe in you, the people being bombed and attacked, the people grieving the loss of their loved ones–if they could believe that, then you could, too.
If the people of Panem believed you could be a hero, then you promised yourself that that’s what you’d be.
“So I changed the chemical compound of the powder, adding more fluorine to excite the electrons, causing them to jump more rapidly from orbital to orbital and ignite faster as-”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Beetee paused, like he was surprised that you couldn’t understand. To him, it was so simple, but to most people, like yourself, it had no meaning. “Chemical reaction,” he reiterated. “I increased the strength of the chemical reaction so you can hit more.”
Your mouth formed an O shape. “Makes sense. That’s all you had to say, y’know.”
His mouth opened, likely to say something sweet and snarky as per usual when the two of you spoke, but he was halted by the door to the armory sliding open. You both turned to see The Mockingjay making her way into the room.
Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment before you regulated it, calming yourself down. You hadn’t seen Katniss since she walked in on you in the bathroom. The way her eyes met yours told you that she remembered that day well, too. But if you knew anything about Katniss Everdeen, it was that feelings were not her strong suit. If you knew her as well as you thought you did, then she’d pretend it never happened.
You hoped she’d pretend. If you knew Katniss as well as you thought you did, then she was just as good at pretending as you.
“You wanted to see me?” she queried, directing her vision to Beetee. A breath left you.
“Yeah, I wanted to show you both your new arrows. I adde-”
You cut him off, “He did something to the chemicals to make the arrows better.”
“Reaction. I increased the force of the chemical reaction.”
“Same difference.”
Beetee took a deep breath, closing his eyes and then reopening them. “Since you’re so… well-versed, you can explain it to her.” You snorted at his response while he wheeled away. Beetee always had the ability to make you laugh, even if it wasn’t his intention.
When you looked away from his retreating figure, you were met with Katniss staring right at you, realizing she was still in the room. Her brows furrowed, a light, light smile on her face that would otherwise be invisible to a stranger. “I’ve never seen Beetee get so… irritated.”
The tension in your shoulders dissipated as they shook with your laughter. Nobody had seen him get annoyed often, unless you were around. “Yeah, that happens when you're stuck in the Capitol with someone for years on end.”
Beetee was always a pretty good friend. You met at a Capitol function, of course, and from then on, you made it a point to annoy him whenever you could. Besides amusing you, it also served as a reminder that he was a human, too, not just some Capitol pawn.
Snow didn’t sell Beetee, but he used him in so many other ways. You and Finnick were their pride, but insiders knew that Beetee was their prize. He was perhaps the smartest person you’d ever met, but you figured that, every once in a while, he deserved to let his guard down and just be normal for a few minutes.
And, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he seemed.
Even though you were laughing, the smile on the brunette’s face slowly dimmed as she looked down. Your smile disappeared. “What is it?”
She was quiet for a second until she spoke, “You and the other victors… you all seemed close.”
Seemed.
Pictures flashed through your mind, pictures of your time in the Capitol. Normally, when you thought about your time there, you pictured all the bad, all the conversations behind closed doors, all the grown men and women who used you when you were still a child. What you didn’t think about was all the kids who were there with you, all the kids who had to grow up just as you did.
Some of these people were people you killed, the same people you had conversations with, the same people who were going through exactly what you were going through.
You were close.
Until you weren’t.
You didn’t say anything for a while, letting yourself remember it all. “Yeah,” you finally responded. “Yeah, we were.” And you didn’t say anything more on the matter. You didn’t know what more there was to say. You cleared your throat, changing the topic. “Anyways, this is what Beetee wanted to show us.” You picked up the arrows, showing them to her.
She hummed, looking back up. You knew that she knew what you were doing, but fortunately, she went along with it. “Never knew you could shoot.”
“Oh, please, Everdeen, anyone who grew up in the districts can shoot.”
“Yeah, doesn’t mean they’re any good,” she retorted, shrugging.
You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a challenge?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know, is it?”
Another laugh left your lips, your third time laughing since arriving in 13. “You’re on, Girl on Fire.” You grabbed one of the non-incendiary arrows and a random bow lying on the table, loading the arrow in.
You faced your body to the targets across the room, bringing the bow up to your ear, pulling the arrow back, and eying the red. The corners of your lips quirked upward and, as soon as you turned your head to face Katniss, you let it fly. The look on her face made your smirk widen, turning to see that you hit the target dead-centre.
“How the hell did you just do that?” She walked closer, shock etched onto her face.
“Precision. And years of experience,” you replied, lowering the bow. “My father was a hunter.”
When you looked back at her, she had a different expression, like she was remembering something. Her eyes glazed over. “So was mine.” Her eyes found yours again, and this time, there was something there that wasn’t there before.
Back when you met, she was just Katniss Everdeen, and you were just the Princess. But now, you were both a lot more than that.
It seemed that you and Katniss Everdeen were more alike than you thought.
Right before the 74th Hunger Games, when you and Finnick were watching the training scores on TV, you didn’t think the tributes from 12 stood a chance, even though the girl had the highest score.
Watching the Games, you disregarded them completely, even as they got just as many sponsors as your tributes. You watched as Haymitch Abernathy actually tried, actually cared for these kids, but not even that deterred you.
You ignored the possibility of them winning at all. You wanted it to be your tributes, so badly. They were good. You wanted them to survive, one of them to survive, to make it out of this, to live the rest of their lives. But you should’ve known better.
No matter your best efforts, those kids died, and there was nothing you could’ve done about it.
After that, you assumed it’d go to the Careers. Glimmer and Marvel were crowd favourites, flashy and luxurious, but not as cutthroat as Cato and Clove. A part of you even rooted for them. Maybe tradition would be broken, you thought, maybe it’d go to that kid from 11. Thresh had the determination and resilience to win.
That’s why you were surprised when you turned on the TV to see Peeta and Katniss as the last ones standing.
One of us has to die; they have to have their victor.
No. They don’t.
You were even more surprised when they both walked out of that arena alive.
Peeta became Panem’s golden boy, and he knew exactly what strings to pull, as if he’d been doing this his whole life. Katniss, on the other hand, was not a performer, not the performer you knew Snow wanted her to be. You could tell she was angry, but being angry was not her job.
You knew this because it wasn’t yours, either.
People like you and her didn’t get to be angry. You were supposed to be grateful for the opportunity that the Capitol so generously bestowed upon you, not angry or sad or guilty. That wasn’t for you.
You saw so much of yourself in her. And for that reason, you thought you’d never meet her. Too rebellious, too jagged, too questioning–she was nothing that Snow wanted around the Princess. You were right; you didn’t meet her.
Until the time came for the 75th Hunger Games.
You were surprised when she was the one who came up to you. She was confident and put-together, but you knew better. This was your dance she was dancing. You could hear the lyrics so well.
She was scared.
And she was angry.
Her attitude made you like her. You could’ve been friends, you noted, but not in this lifetime, not when she was meant to be your opponent. You never thought that you and Katniss Everdeen would be friends.
Little did you know, she’d become one of the only friends you had.
“C’mon, Everdeen. You’re going easy on me,” you said, holding your arms out. Katniss stood opposite to you, lightly panting with her hands held up.
“I’m just- I’m just tired-”
“No, you’re not. You’re going easy,” you deadpanned. “Stop stalling and hit me.”
The brunette hesitated for a moment before going in for a punch that you easily caught. “You call that a punch? Where’s that Mockingjay fire?”
She scoffed, yanking her fist out of your grasp. “I’m not going to hit you, Y/N. You were just shot-”
“Well, the revolution doesn’t care if I’m shot or not.” You gestured to your body. “I’m perfectly fine. So hit me like you mean it.”
“No-”
“Hit me like I’m Snow.”
She scoffed again. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to hit you. You’ve barely healed-”
You cut her off. “Fine. If you won’t, then I will.” Without another word, you threw a sharp punch for her face that she narrowly dodged. You didn’t miss a beat, throwing another one right after, and another one right after that like rapid fire.
She blocked your hits, but your pace didn’t alter. The two of you moved around the ring, but Katniss' hands remained in front of her face, not once swinging. You weren’t relenting; you weren’t gonna stop until she swung back.
You had almost backed her into the corner when, suddenly, the wind was knocked out of you and your back was hitting the ground. The world spun. You blinked and you were back in the arena, lying on the ground with Johanna hovering over you. You opened them and you were back in the training room, and now it was Katniss that hovered.
“Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay?” Her eyes were worried and her voice was panicked. Holy shit, she actually hit me. With that realization, a smile slowly formed on your face. “What? Why are you smiling-”
She was abruptly cut off as you swept her feet out from under her, sending her to the ground right next to you. She groaned while you laughed, almost hysterical.
If the old you could’ve seen you now. You never thought you’d be friends with Katniss Everdeen, much less that you’d be laughing with her after she kicked you.
“It’s not that funny,” she heaved, but you didn’t stop, uncontrollably giggling.
“You- you actually did it-” you cackled, tears in your eyes. She looked over at you, still panting, until you made eye contact and she was laughing, too.
You stayed there on the floor together for a while, laughing your hearts out. For all you knew, you wouldn’t get many moments like this for a while, moments where you could just lie down and rest. For all you knew, this revolution would kill you.
So there you were, the Princess and The Mockingjay, pretending that you were just Y/N, and she was just Katniss.
And for now, that made you forget about everything else.
“Please. Please, I’m begging you- please don’t do it again.” Your shoulders shook with sobs, vision blurred.
“Ah, you know that that is not how the game works, my dear.”
“Please- please, I don’t want to play anymore.”
Snow tutted. “You know the rules. You give me something, and you get something in return. If you do not give me anything, then I will take something.”
“Please, I don’t- I don’t have anything more to give-”
He sighed. “Is that so?” He didn’t give you time to say anything else. “In that case, I won’t take from you.”
You blinked the tears in your eyes away to look up at him, a chill going down your spine at his expression. He didn’t look angry. No, he was smiling. “W-what?”
He hummed. “I’ll take from Peeta.” Your heart dropped. You pulled at your restraints as he turned to leave the room.
“No, please! Please, stop! Stop!” He ignored you, walking out the door and letting the door slide closed behind him.
And then the room went black.
You shot up out of bed panting, heart racing with your eyes darting around the room. The walls were grey, but there was a window. There wasn’t a window where you were in the tribute centre. Moonlight shone into the room. There was light. There weren’t Peacekeepers waiting by your bed, waking you up when you fell asleep. You were alone. You were safe. It’s okay. You’re in 13. You’re alive.
You’re alive.
Somehow, that didn’t make it any better.
You breathed in and out slowly, trying to regain control of your breathing like how Dr. Terren showed you. When you were rescued, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t be consoled. This feeling that you felt right now was like that, but you don’t know if any panic attack could ever compare to that one.
You were rescued. But it didn’t feel that way.
It didn’t feel that way at all.
Once you calmed down or reached some semblance of feeling calm, your mind went right back to Peeta. You hadn’t been to see him since you first arrived in 13–and even then, you didn’t speak. He wasn’t really in a condition to be spoken to. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. But there was more to it than that.
There was always more to it than what you were willing to acknowledge.
As if your body was moving on its own accord, you threw your bed sheets to the side, slipping on a sweater and sliding your feet into the slippers next to your bed. Walking out of the room, you didn’t spare the clock a glance, walking with a subtle determination that many wouldn’t understand.
You called it a victor’s drive. It was a certain determination that came with fighting for your life, even if it meant taking another’s. It was not wanting to kill, but doing it anyway. It was not wanting to live, but doing that, too.
There were many things a victor did not want to do.
And there were just as many things that you’d do, anyway.
A part of you didn’t know where you were going while the other part was sure of herself. Regardless, you let your body take you to where your mind didn’t want to go, making your way through the dark hallways with no sound other than your feet heard.
Before you knew it, you stood in front of the glass wall that you hadn’t seen since you first got to 13. On the other side lied Peeta, looking no better than the last time you saw him. His screams echoed throughout your brain.
Please! Stop! No-
You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise that surrounded you even in such silence. His screams quieted after a few seconds, but no matter your resilience or techniques the doctor taught you, no matter what, you’d never be able to silence your song.
There was a time when you almost believed that you could escape it, the music. When Finnick and you were pretending, it felt like you could really have it, a family, like one day it would be more than pretending. But now you knew that wasn’t possible.
This song would never skip.
And you’d be dancing until the day you died.
When you opened your eyes, you were met with blue ones staring back at you, as if he knew you were there. You took in a sharp breath, scared, but maintained your stare. His hair looked shorter and more unkept than you’d ever seen it. It wasn’t so gold anymore.
Peeta’s eyes were blue, but not blue like Finnick’s. They were bright like the sky and full of a childlike innocence that you no longer saw. His eyes weren’t so bright anymore.
He looked like a ghost.
And maybe that’s what you looked like, too.
Without thinking, you went for the door, pulling the handle only for it to remain still. You furrowed your brows, trying again with the same outcome. That’s when you saw the pin pad on the side and realized that it was locked.
Of course, it was. They weren’t gonna leave Peeta Mellark in a room by himself with the door unlocked. Not this Peeta.
This Peeta had to be strapped down to the bed because his one and only objective was to kill the woman he loved. This Peeta wasn’t the same Peeta you met at the parade.
This wasn’t him at all.
With that realization, you turned around, letting his eyes burn into your skull as you walked away. You weren’t sure of anything, but what you were sure of was that you couldn’t be alone right now. If you listened to the music by yourself right now, you didn’t know what you’d do.
Your feet pitter-pattered against the floor in quick motions. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to find Johanna. If you couldn’t talk to Peeta, then you needed to talk to her.
Suddenly, you turned a corner and went tumbling to the ground. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the fall, but it never came. Slowly, you opened them and the first thing you saw were another set of blue eyes, not bright or vibrant, but your favourite colour.
Finnick.
Your heart sped up. Suddenly, you could feel that the hands on your arms were his. Suddenly, you realized you were in Finnick Odair’s arms.
You think he only just realized that, too.
He cleared his throat, helping you up and letting you go. As soon as his hands were no longer on your skin, you felt cold. You felt just as cold as when the two of you were in the Capitol, standing outside together.
Except, now, you couldn’t hold each other like you did then.
Even if it was the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world.
Your breath got caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was. He was right there, in front of you.
You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.
Right here.
And not at all at the same time.
He looked at you quietly, not saying a word, but after so long, you’d learned to read Finnick well. He looked like he had so much to say but couldn’t find the words to put them in. He looked like how he looked that night, that night that you were in the Capitol and that poor boy and girl died, that night that you kissed for the first time.
But as you looked at him, really looked at him, he also looked nothing like the Finnick you knew. You’d avoided looking into his eyes ever since you got to 13, in fear of what you’d see, and now that you finally were, you could see that his eyes weren’t so lively anymore. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Could you ever?
“What are you-” he cleared his throat again, “What are you doing up?”
At his question, you diverted your eyes, suddenly finding the floors much more interesting to look at. “I, um, I couldn’t sleep,” you reasoned. You didn’t explain why.
“Yeah, neither could I,” he muttered back, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t explain, either.
There was a time when you’d seek him out if you couldn’t sleep, a time when you’d go to him if you had a nightmare. That wasn’t possible anymore.
If you danced with him, you didn’t know if he’d be enough to keep you from collapsing.
If you danced with him, you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to keep going.
After a beat of silence, you spoke, “I should, um… I should get going now.”
You moved to leave, but Finnick grabbing onto your wrist stopped you. You masked your flinch, not because someone was touching you anymore, but because of who that person was. Your skin ignited so hot that it burned.
“Wait, can-” he hesitated, “can we talk?”
Your breath hitched, back still turned to him. His voice was pleading, a tone you never would’ve imagined him taking when you first met. You closed your eyes at the memory, feeling tears gather.
You wanted to say yes—oh, you always wanted to say yes to Finnick. His happiness became the only thing you strived for. You stayed with him even when you knew he loved Annie, you fought for her, you volunteered for her, you pretended you were okay, you pretended you didn’t love him, you pretended all the time.
But you couldn’t pretend anymore.
A nation was counting on you. People were counting on you. People needed you.
You couldn’t fall apart right now. And if you talked to Finnick, you weren’t sure you’d be able to put yourself back together again.
“I-” your voice cracked, “I can’t-”
“Please. Please, Y/N, I just need to talk to you.” You shook your head, holding in the sobs that were begging to escape.
Why was he doing this to you? Why, why, why, why, why, why-
“Please.”
Y/N, please. I’m just asking you to trust me. Please just trust me.
Trust you to do what?
I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.
I trust you.
You would die for this man. You died for this man. And if it came down to it, you’d die again if it meant that he’d get to live in a better world. But you couldn’t talk to him now.
If you talked to him, then it didn’t matter what the Capitol would throw at you, what bullets you’d take. Those eyes would drown you.
You couldn’t do this. Not now.
“No.” You removed your hand from his grasp and walked away as fast as you could, even as your feet felt anchored to the ground, each step hurting more and more. You didn’t turn back once.
The tears that you held in fell as you walked away, running down your face like a waterfall. You walked faster and faster until your walk escalated into a run. The door to your room slid open before you ran in, locking it as it closed. You slid down the metal and let out a sob, more and more following it.
Your hands went over your ears, trying to block out the music, but it only got louder and louder.
No, no, nothing is okay!
We will never be free, Y/N.
Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.
Mom?
President Snow used to sell me.
We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.
May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.
You screamed in agony, nearly ripping your hair out, uncaring if anyone heard you. Your body shook with sobs and your heart ached. It hurt so bad. You never thought it could hurt this bad.
You didn’t wanna dance anymore. You didn’t wanna feel like this anymore. You didn’t wanna feel anymore at all if this was all it’d feel like.
But it didn’t matter. How you felt didn’t matter. What you wanted didn’t matter. It stopped mattering the second you won those Games, the second you stabbed that boy. You stopped being a person and became the person Snow wanted you to be. You became the Princess.
And now it was your job to make sure there wouldn’t ever be another Princess, another you, another Finnick, another Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch, Annie, Bay—it was your job to make sure this never happened to anyone again, that there would never be another group of kids that were forced to kill each other and themselves in the process. It was your job to make sure nobody else ever felt how you felt right now.
As you reminded yourself of that, your sobs gradually subsided and your heart rate came down. You weren’t okay.
But you had to be. You still had things to do- dancing to do.
You were gonna dance one last time, for this country, for all the kids that died, for the kids you were, for the kids you could’ve had, for yourself, and for the man that you loved. You were gonna dance until you couldn’t anymore. You were gonna dance until the music stopped. And amidst all the unknown, one thing was certain.
The day the music died, so would you.
It’s the things we love most, that destroy us.
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#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair#thg#i love finnick odair#the hunger games#finnick imagine#free palestine#free gaza#talking ab what's happening in palestine doesn't necessarily have to do w this post but it's happening so we should talk about it regardles#thg fanfiction#thg fandom#the hunger games trilogy#finnick angst#catching fire#mockingjay#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas#thg fanfic#quarter quell#the hanging tree#angst#angsty imagine#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#katniss and peeta#everlark#johanna mason#the golden alliance#odesta#annie cresta
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tis I with a prompt: I request the first time post war Katniss lets Peeta into her bed again 🥺
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AN : wrote this the night you sent the prompt but I absolutely hated it until now. I finally got around to cleaning this up a bit and now I think it’s cute? Lemme know, all of y’all, if you like it! And my writing muscles are rusty so send me a prompt if you like, to try and work me out please! Can’t make any promises about what’ll trigger my brain but I can sure try! Anywaysss hope y’all enjoy this lil post-mockingjay-pre-epilogue drabble here!
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I watch with dread as Peeta scrubs away the last bit of sauce still dried to his plate.
“You really don’t have to do that,” I murmur halfheartedly from where I lean against the counter, watching him.
“It’s rude to not wash your own plate after dinner,” he says, his tone somewhat coy. He’s teasing me, I realize. He’s maybe even flirting with me but I can’t be sure and even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to make of it.
“I never wash mine after eating at your house,” I mumble, mostly to myself. I know he doesn’t care about cleaning off my plate for me. I know that he knows that I don’t mind washing his plate either.
But I don’t push the point and neither does he. Because we’re both stalling the inevitable.
It’s past ten at night and it’s time for Peeta to go home now. This time comes every day and we should be more prepared for it by this point, but every single night when the sun has long since left the sky and you can barely make out five feet in front of you without a flashlight, Peeta walks out the front door and my chest aches, as he disappears out into the night.
Ask him to stay, a tiny voice that sounds weirdly like both Haymitch and my mother — at the same exact time — pressures me.
But my tongue won’t cooperate and I can’t make the words form on my lips and I feel my stomach flip as I stutter out an awkward goodbye instead.
“Goodnight, Katniss,” Peeta says evenly, his face smooth and peaceful and totally level as he reaches out and squeezes my hand before moving to grab his coat.
He’s walking towards the door and I feel the familiar dread — the dread that’s been my constant companion for longer than I care to remember — rise up in my stomach and for a split second I want to reach out and grasp his elbow. For a split second I want to grab onto him and stop him from leaving.
And for a moment I plan to ask him to stay, to come upstairs with me, to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth by my side at the sink, to crawl beneath the sheets and hold me until we hear birds begin to chirp with the morning light. In that moment I plan to ask him to do exactly what we used to do on the train, exactly what we used to do every single night, back before everything between us completely shattered beyond recognition.
My hand drops midair before I can make the contact with his arm but it catches his attention just the same.
“What’s wrong?” He inquires, his face becoming concerned.
“Nothing,” I brush off tightly. Instead of saying what I’m thinking, instead of saying what I want, I just force a smile and lightly graze his hand. “Get home safe.”
At that, he shoots me a bemused look. “I live three houses from you. Somehow I think I’ll be fine.”
I nod and chuckle as he leaves, as he disappears into the night, making the shortest of journeys home, unwittingly leaving me to dwell in regret for all the things I wish I’d just come out and said.
As soon as the door shuts between us regret the size of an elephant lands on my chest.
And I know, without a doubt, this is going to be one bad night for me.
-
The funny thing about my nightmares is they never lose their edge. Not with time, not with practice, not with comparison. I’ve seen Cato get eaten by the mutts hundreds of times. I’ve watched Clove stab me with her knives and Brutus chase me through the jungle and Enobaria break my neck with one hand, more than I could possibly count.
I’ve witnessed my sister detonate, as if I’m still standing right there, in the city circle of the Capitol. I’ve witnessed it thousands of times since that day. I’ve witnessed it more often than I’ve managed to actually sleep since that day.
And it never gets easier. It never becomes routine. I’m never ever prepared for it.
Instead I’m left paralyzed as the same dreams plague me over and over and over again.
Other things do change though. I used to thrash around, kicking and screaming as the dreams tortured me for minutes on end. I used to wake up, sweat covered and coiled up in my bedding, trapped in a physical sense that only manages to make my dreams even more intense somehow.
But over time something shifted and somehow, between the bomb that killed my sister and taking down Coin and the trial I scarcely remember, the thrashing stopped and the walking began.
For months now, I’ve woken to find myself in strange rooms, in small crawl spaces I didn’t know existed, inside cupboards and beneath beds no one’s ever used in guest rooms I barely recognize.
But I’ve never found myself outside before. Never, in all the time I’ve dealt with these dreams, have I ever once ended up in my front lawn.
Never, in my wildest imagination, did I picture myself waking from my nightmare, facedown in some dirt, ripping grass from the ground as I let out a rabid scream.
“Katniss,” I hear a voice softly murmur, like speaking to an injured fawn, terrified of scaring them away. “Katniss, it’s okay.”
And my lips cry for the voice before my brain fully recognizes it. “Peeta?”
“It’s just me,” he says, and I feel his hands grasp the tops of my arms, gently pulling me upright. “It’s only me.”
I pry my swollen eyes open and take in Peeta’s kind, worried face, mere inches away from mine.
“You’re here?” I croak, still groggy and confused. “What’s going on?”
“You were having a nightmare,” he explains, thumbing away my tears as more come pouring out. “But it’s over now. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” His hand cups my cheek softly, holding the weight of my head.
I nod plaintively, my body still completely exhausted despite the fact I was just asleep. “I’m okay,” I try to say but all that comes out is a guttural raspy sound and I watch as his face softens even more.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside,” he whispers, offering me his hand.
I take it without question, but find that I’m not upright for long. The moment I’m standing, my bare feet touching the dewy grass, Peeta bends down and scoops me up in his arms.
I don’t question it though. Maybe secretly I wanted him to do that. I definitely didn’t want to wait around to see if Haymitch came outside, asking why I was screaming at this hour of the day.
Peeta carries me into the house as if I weigh as much as Buttercup, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and drops his arms, as if to let me decide the next move. I could either crawl away from him, put some distance between us, or I could remain where I am.
To me, the choice barely takes any consideration.
I curl up closer to him, the images from the dream still too fresh to handle alone. I press my face into his neck and fold myself into him and hope he reciprocates in kind.
It doesn’t take more than a second for him to respond. As soon as I initiate it, he’s there, pulling me tighter, cradling me against him, rocking me back and forth like I’m something precious to behold.
“It’s okay,” he repeats again and again and again, as if we entered a time warp and we’re back on the train, back in the Capitol in our little apartment, sharing a bed, guarding against nightmares we stupidly thought would be the height of our troubles. “I have you, Katniss. I won’t let anything hurt you now.”
I cry into the collar of his shirt, drained and shaking and still half-crazed, feeling slightly better only when his fingers begins to smooth my hair away from my face.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Peeta whispers gently, his hand moving from my hair to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles there to alleviate my trembling.
Time begins to pass. My tears dwindle to nothing. I feel the shaking come to an end. Every last ounce of energy I have left seeps from my body. My eyes grow heavy.
And pretty soon, I feel myself lifted once again, into strong, protective arms, cradling me like a baby as they carry me up the stairs and down to the end of the hall.
I’m tucked into bed gently, with the utmost care. The covers are brought up to my chin, my hair is brushed off my forehead and his fingers lightly dance upon my cheek. But it’s not enough. I still crave more.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, and my voice still isn’t mine, it’s someone else, someone who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants. For who she wants to lay beside her in the darkness.
“Okay,” he murmurs and it sounds like a promise but as he sits down on the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, planting a soft kiss upon the back of it, I know he doesn’t understand what I’m truly asking.
“No, Peeta, that’s not what I meant,” I say, shaking my head, before pushing the covers back. “Can you get in? Can you stay with me?”
I don’t really grasp my word choice and all the underlying meanings until it’s already slipped out and too late to take back again.
But I only have a moment to be filled with regret. Because that’s how long it takes Peeta to slide in beside me.
And as I curl into him, wrapping my leg around his waist, burrowing my face in the curve of his neck, basking in the feeling of utter safety and happiness that I have never, ever found in another pair of arms, he whispers the only thing that could erase my chagrin.
“Always.”
#everlark#thg#hunger games#thw#Katniss everdeen#Peeta mellark#300#my drabbles#my writing#drabble#everlark drabble#thg fanfic#everlark fanfiction
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peeta tells katniss she snores
(scene from a modern au wip)
EDIT: you can find the completed fic here
***
“Why don’t you sleep with white noise anymore?”
“What?” he asks groggily. He’s half asleep.
“Your white noise sound thingies. You haven’t put them on since, like, the first night I stayed over. I’m starting to think you’re a liar.”
We’re cuddling in my favorite position, facing each other where I’m able to hold his head against my chest and his arms are wrapped around my waist. We’re completely clothed. Well, I’m in a tank top and underwear, and he’s in boxers. We didn’t have sex tonight. Sometimes we don’t have time for anything other than studying and sleep. I don’t know when it became okay to have sleepovers with no sex, but now I can’t usually sleep without his arms around me. Even if I had to fuck him every night just to sleep next to him, I’d take it in stride and count my blessings. But he doesn’t seem to mind this way, either.
He chuckles, and the sound tickles the skin on my shoulder. I instinctively tug on his hair some, and I know it makes him wake up more because I hear his breath pick up speed a little. “I haven’t had to play them. When you stay over.”
I pause my scratches on his scalp. “What do you mean?”
His hands tighten around me and he seems to hesitate. “It’s um, easier… to sleep when you’re here, sleeping with me.”
My brows furrow at his nervousness, making me sense he’s hiding something. “What are you saying?”
He sighs. “Katniss… there’s no easy way to say this.”
“Spit it out, Peeta.”
He rubs circles on my back in a comforting manner. “You snore.”
I fake-slap him on the back of his head, sitting up. “I do not!”
He holds up a hand in a surrendering gesture, smiling. “You do, unfortunately. Well, not unfortunate for me. The sound helps me sleep.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lying. I’ve never snored a day in my life.”
“A night in your life.” I roll my eyes. “And you do.”
“My sister and I have had sleepovers my entire life! She’s never once mentioned something like that!”
“Baby,” he reaches out to rub my thigh, and I’m used to the feel of his body on mine, but the new term of endearment makes my eyes widen and my face heat. “I’m sorry she never told you.” He smiles. “But I’m not lying.”
I look at him for a moment too long, then scoff. “Whatever.”
I pretend to be making my way off of the bed, but he wraps his arms around me, “Uh-uh, not so fast, Everdeen.” I giggle while he pulls me to lay flush against his chest, so we’re face to face. His eyes are slightly crossed from looking at me so closely. His eyelashes are so long. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He sighs in what seems to be contentment. “I really like being around you.”
My heart skips a beat. “I like being around you, too.”
“And I like it when you stay over. It means that my white noise won’t be top five on my Spotify Wrapped for this year.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t know about that one, Mellark. It’s already November.”
He rolls his eyes, “Fine. Then I like it when you stay over because…” he trails off to gesture between the two of us.
And I thought he was so good at words. “Because the sex is great?”
His brows furrow, and his grip on me tightens. “No.” He observes me a second longer before continuing. “I just like who I am when I’m around you. Don’t you feel like that with some people?”
I search his eyes. I feel like that with Annie. “Yes.” With you.
He gives me a soft smile that I match, and then we both lean in for a kiss, slowly. Just when our lips touch, I pull back a centimeter, taunting him. “Peeta?”
“Yeah?” His lips move against mine.
“I don’t snore.” I try to keep a straight face.
He chuckles against me, grabbing the back of my neck to bring me closer. “Whatever you say, baby.”
#katniss everdeen#the hunger games#thg#nightlocked-in#everlark#peeta mellark#thg blurb#thg one shot#thg drabble#thg fanfic#fanfic#umbrella boy
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Maybe when you're older
Katniss and Peeta Age: 5-6
“You better give that back Colton, or else.” the dark-haired girl sneered.
“Or what?” the older boy taunted.
“I’ll stick one of my daddy’s arrows in your eyes,” the girl retorted, glaring into his flesh like an angry bear from one of her daddy’s stories.
Th older boy bent down and tugged at her pigtails. Katniss’ face flushed bright red, she felt heat coursing through her veins. She unclenched her tight jaw and threw herself over the older boy’s arm and bit down, hard.
Colton let out a let out a loud yelp, dropped the crayon and scurried like a scared mouse.
“Here,” Katniss said, handing the orange to the blond-haired boy behind her.
“Thank you," the boy replied, attempting his best smile in between tears.
“Don’t cry. I got your crayon back, it’s all okay now.” Her silver eyes softened as she watched long steaks run down the pale boy’s face.
The boy nodded, lifting his shirtsleeve to wipe his wet face.
“Come, you can sit with me and Madge,” Katniss offered with a sweet smile.
The boy beamed up at her and grabbed her shirtsleeve as they strolled down the lunchroom.
After that day the boy and the girl followed each other everywhere like lost puppies. He never let go over of her hand and neither did she.
---
“My daddy took me swimming last weekend, “the girl said.
“I wish my daddy would do anything besides bake all the time. Was is nice? What colour was the water?”
“It was sooo fun. I keep begging daddy to take me again, but he keeps saying something about the Capitol adding more work time. It was so pretty Peeta, so many colours I can’t explain. It was blue and green and clean and sparkly and I just love it, love it.”
“Can I come with you next time,” the boy raised his head expectantly.
“Mmm, I don’t know. I’ll have to ask daddy.” She said, watching the boy intently as he unwrapped a piece of bread. Her mouth watered, she shifted her gaze quickly trying not to give away the fact that she hadn’t had a proper meal in days. But the boy knew her better, he pressed a piece of bread into her hand as her stomach let out a loud lurch.
“Thank you.”
She had watched her parents kiss multiple time, she never quite understood why they did it, but at that moment looking at her best friend’s face an idea crept into her mind.
Katniss grabbed both his hands, leaned up close and pressed her tiny lips against his. They both pulled back surprised, flushed and embarrassed.
---
They sat by side in art class, Peeta was immersed in painting his tree. While Katniss half-heartedly drew scribbles on her notebook, peaking at her best friend every so often.
She leaned in close, brought her hands to his eyelashes and stroked them, The boy pulled back surprised
“You’re eyelashes are very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
The boy turned around and kept colouring his tree a dark shade of green, the girl’s hair brushed against his shoulders as she watched him with droopy eyes.
Peeta turned once again and twirled her red ribbon against his index finger, the girl lifted her head, smiling and unwound her ribbon.
“Here.” She said, scruffily wrapping the string around his wrist.
---
“Daddy, I like a boy”.
“Really sweety? What’s his name?” The tall, dark-haired man asked his little girl.
“Peeta.”
The tall man laughed deeply thinking about Mr Mellark’s deep affections for his wife when they were kids.
“Daddy can I stay with him, he has bunk bed and bread and crayons and everything.”
“Won’t you miss daddy? And what about Prim? How will she fall asleep if you don’t sing to her.” The man pouted.
“Hmm. I can’t leave Prim, you’re right. Maybe when I’m older?” The girl earnestly questioned the silver eyed man.
“Maybe when you’re older.”
#idk what this is#wrote this quickly instead of studying#I don't love it but likee ehh#also I have no idea how 5 years old talk#I hope this is close enough#like I rrly don't know if they the eq to understand social ques#everlark#everlark fanfiction#katniss and peeta#peeta mellark#the hunger games#katniss everdeen#thg fanfic#everlark fanfic#The typos helpkhhh#Just corrected#I can't believe myself sometimes#feather writes
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𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 (fem reader)
𝟗.𝟕𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲, 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲.
As the words leap off the tip of my tongue, I freeze. Time stills, and all that I can hear and feel is the hurried beat of my heart. The tips of my fingers begin to prick, just like on that day.
I'm taken back to an icy, cold, windy day. Some of the water at the harbour had frozen over, large shards of ice hitting against the wooden structure. We were carrying large nets filled with all kinds of creatures; fish, crab, lobster, abalone, the whole lot. The children would often come to help out, as the work was long, tiring and difficult, stretching out until it became pitch black outside.
Me and Annie had been helping my mother out with carrying the nets, as she had been pregnant back then, her stomach too large to let her do anything but sit and debone the fish, or pack it away into freezing boxes that were to be transported straight to the Capitol.
On that day, the excess water that had been brought by the creatures had dripped heavily onto the wooden flooring, freezing over. Everyone was aware of it, some going out of their way to warn the others. I listened, focusing on the floor beneath my feet. It creaked heavily, and Annie had to catch me by my arm a couple of times.
I remember it like it was just yesterday; the water was scalding cold.
It pricked at my skin with invisible nails, burning every inch of it through my coat. The water had instantly gotten through my throat, and then it began to freeze my lungs over. My hands felt like burning icicles, but I did my best to swim my way up, panicking for air. Gurgled screams escaped my throat.
I didn't swim for long enough, as my limbs began to become numb. I had ceased all of my movement, convinced that I was gonna to die. Feeling too worn out to continue swimming, even though just a mere moment ago I was ferociously fighting for my life.
The cold was engulfing me like a spikey blanket, wrapping around every crevice of my body as my lungs sputtered out water, though more replaced it in mere seconds. My entire body kept twitching, but the icy water kept burning me.
My body began to slowly sink, exhaustion taking over as I inched further down, surrounded by darkness.
Then, in the far distance, I saw it. The splash.
I saw it from the corner of my eye, a figure swimming towards me. At first it was just a blur of bronze, but then it became slightly clearer. Arms extended, it reached out to grab a hold of my hand and pulled, and I floated up after it towards the surface, arms latched loosely around his neck. My eyes slowly closed, too exhausted to stay awake.
I don't remember anything after that. All I know is that it hurt, and I almost died. I struggled to walk for a while, the stinging pain reappearing from time to time.
That's how I felt in this moment; legs frozen, heart pounding violently, lungs burning. I guess it took me too long to keep moving, as I quickly felt a pair of hands harshly grab my arms from each side, ushering me up and onto the stage.
"Wonderful!" Sylvia Borgnino exclaims, reaching her pointy gloved fingers towards me. "What is your name darling?" She asks in a heavy accent, her breath lightly fanning over my face as she leans in close. I clear my throat, looking between her own honey-brown eyes and the audience. "Y-Y/n..." I stutter, feeling my hands tremble.
"Y/n?" Sylvia asks, her eyebrows raised questioningly, nudging me on.
"Y/n Montford." I finish quietly, my throat has dried up, my voice coming out croaky and timid. I look around, noticing the shocked faces of the people around me. Some of our school friends have taken Annie to the side, consoling her with hugs as they all solemnly stared at me.
Suddenly I feel a light squeeze on my forearm, and look up to see Sylvia looking at me gleefully. "Our most recent tribute in District 4! Let's give her a round of applause, everyone!" She excitedly speaks into the microphone, clapping her gloved hands. Some people in the audience join, not out of excitement or joy, but rather out of respect. Or so I assume. I wouldn't know.
Clearing her throat, Sylvia begins, "Thank you! Now, onto the male tributes." She says gleefully, stepping over to the other glass bowl, repeating the same actions before dipping her hand in, fishing around for that one piece of paper. Once she found it, she walked back over to the podium, leaning over slightly. "And the male tribute from District 4 is... Beau Murland! A round of applause for him, everyone!" She shouts excitedly, clapping her hands once again.
Some people form an empty circle around a young boy, he must be no older than 14. He was stuck in place, his wide, innocent eyes staring ahead at the stage. Someone in the crowd poked him, fishing him out of whatever trance he put himself into. With small, timid steps, he made his way over to the stage, hugging himself.
Now that he was closer, I could see his features clearer. He had big, bright blue eyes that stared into your soul, soft wavy caramel hair, and sun-kissed skin. He just barely reached the height of my shoulder. He looked skinny and frail, like he barely ate. Sylvia quickly begins asking for any tributes, but no one speaks up. The mayor quickly takes over, beginning to speak out a memorised essay on the Treaty of Treason, as he does every year. It goes by quickly, and before I know it, me and the boy are being asked to shake hands, before the national anthem begins to play. From there, we're escorted by peacekeepers into the Justice Building, led to separate rooms before the doors are closed on me.
I sighed loudly, the initial shock having washed away like a morning breeze. I turned away from the door, and was welcomed by a grand, red room. The windowsills seemed to be lined with gold, glazing lazily in the sunlight that streamed through. There were curtains that extended all the way to the ceiling, probably made of some expensive material. In the middle of the room there was a couch and two armchairs, a coffee table separating all three. Further down, against a wall, a big chimney rested, but there was no fire crackling.
I seat myself down in the middle of the couch, gasping quietly at the sheer softness of it. To be honest, I have never felt such luxury. What was it? Velvet or something?
With a loud creak, the big wooden doors slid open, and I was greeted with the sight of my teary-eyed mother and trembling little sister. As the peacekeeper closed the door behind them, I stood up, not daring to move in fear of my legs trembling. Hali ran up to me, and her slender arms encircled my waist. Her tears stained my dress, but I didn't mind.
My mother stayed a bit back, a pained expression present on her face. Her hand was covering her mouth, though I could tell there was a scowl on her face, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"Why-" She paused, taking a deep shaky breath. "Why did you volunteer?" She asked quietly, yet still loudly enough for me to hear. I shook my head, closing my eyes as I felt tears well up.
"I- I don't know. I had to." I respond, and my chest begins heaving up and down, and I begin to hiccup. "Annie has- she's helped us so much... I owe it to her." I say quietly, my hand caressing Hali's head. A loud sob escaped her lips.
An exhausted sigh leaves my mothers' lips, and she sniffles.
"You don't owe her anything! It's normal for everyone to help each other out, that's how we live!" My mother shouts, hiding her face in her hand. "Y-you're just throwing your life away... If you hadn't volunteered, you'd be free." She says quietly, more to herself than to me. Her legs slowly begin moving, and she's quickly pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.
The three of us stand there for a bit, just embracing and crying. Hali's sobs began to quieten down, but she's started biting down on her nails. "Hali, stop it. You'll hurt yourself." I mutter quietly, taking her hand into my own, squeezing it reassuringly.
She shakes her head, and more tears spill out. I pull away from my mom, and lead them to sit on the couch on either side of me.
"Take care of yourselves, okay?" I asked, looking between the two as I caressed Hali's head. My mother nodded, her hand coming up to hold my cheek. "We'll be okay. And so will you. You have Finnick, he w-won his games right?" My mother asked, stumbling over her own words. I nodded my head, before leaning into her hold.
"I'll be okay..." I whispered brokenly. We sat there in silence for the remaining few minutes, exchanging hugs. As the peacekeepers escorted them out, I shouted 'I love you's' to them. My mother opened her lips to respond, more tears escaping her eyes but the door was slammed in my face before I could hear what she said. A strangled sob left my lips, and in a combination of frustration and stress, I kicked the door, slamming my fist against it with a strained scream.
After a minute or so, it opened again.
I saw her fiery red hair first, bouncing up and down as she ran over to me, tears streaming down her face yet again.
"Y/n! Why?! Why did you volunteer for me?!" She shouted at me, shaking my shoulders. Her nails dug into my skin, and her eyes looked desperately into mine.
"You didn't have to and you know it! What if something happens to you?! What if you get seriously injured or- or killed?!" Annie continued, leaning her head on my chest. Her voice was strained and hoarse. I held her in my arms, gently stroking soothing circles into her back, as I always would. After a while, she looked up at me, her eyes teary and her face flushed.
"I'll look after your mom and sister, I promise." She said quietly, resting her chin on my shoulder. "When you're in there-" She paused, taking a shaky breath. "You won't need to worry about them, okay?" She asked, her hand caressing the back of my head, the other caging me against her body.
I nodded my head, looking up to the ceiling as tears began to prick at my waterline, "I'd appreciate that, thanks." I say, my voice tender, barely above a whisper.
I squeezed her tighter, and we sat there silently comforting each other until the peacekeepers returned, escorting Annie out of the room, just like they did with my mother and sister. For a minute or two, the room is completely silent. My breaths are shallow, and I've successfully stopped the tears from falling.
I won't cry. I can't cry.
I sit there for a while, and soon the doors open once again. For a moment I believe that the peacekeepers will take me to the car, but I'm faced with a much more disappointing sight.
"What are you doing here?!" I screech, my lips forming into a disgusted scowl. The sight of him made me sick. He was a tall, skinny man. His skin was saggy, hanging onto his body, and he was permanently stuck looking tired and sickly.
He took his hat off, twisting it between his hands. He sighed heavily, smacking his lips. For a moment, he said nothing. But then he began.
"I- I came to wish you luck. Sweetheart, I know I hurt you, but you must know I still care about you." He said quietly, keeping his distance. "I know you don't want to see me, but I had to give you this." He said, stepping closer as he extended his hand to me, something green and golden glinting in his palm. I know what it is-
"It was your grandmothers... I kept it after she passed away," He pauses, stopping in his tracks. His gaze shifts from anywhere, to my eyes, and I can see the pain in them. "She wanted you to have this, so take it, it'll keep you safe." He insisted, and had come close enough to place the bracelet into my hand. My heart swelled, and I became overcome with pain.
After my grandmother passed, my scumbag of a father had packed his bags and left for another woman, leaving no trace of himself or my beloved grandma in the house.
"I hate you..." I said quietly, my heart hurting too much to even be angry. I spun the bracelet in my palm, though slowly and gently, I was suddenly afraid that it would break if I held it too hard.
"I know, I know you do. But I needed to give you this. No matter how much you hate me, I still love you." My father says quietly, looking into my eyes hopefully.
I shake my head, looking away. "Get out."
A gasp escaped his lips, and I raise my voice. "Get out!"
I can hear his footsteps moving away, but I'm not looking. Instead, I stare out the grand window, my arms crossed over my chest as my thumb massages over the bracelet. I can hear the door opening and closing, before I'm completely swallowed by a deafening silence.
I swallow thickly, and a lone, strangled sob escapes my throat. I refuse to cry though, as he doesn't deserve my tears, or sympathy or gratefulness. I continue to stare out of the window, at the beautiful garden behind the Justice Building, until the peacekeepers come to retrieve me. I put the bracelet on though, afraid that I'll lose it otherwise.
The peacekeepers reappear after a short time, and escort me out to the car. When I arrive, the other boy is already sat there, twiddling with his thumbs, head hanging low. Next to him is sat Sylvia, the announcer and District escort, looking at a notebook as she busies herself with ticking something off. I seat myself next to her, and the door is promptly shut on me.
No words are exchanged, and the car ride is short and swift.
The cameras are relentless and blinding. The crowds of cameras are thick, and refuse to make way for us. I look at the train ahead, patiently waiting for us to board it. And then I catch a glimpse of myself on a large TV screen.
I look confused, shell-shocked. My eyebrows are scrunched together, the corners of my lips tugging downwards. The boy next to me, Beau, looks absolutely terrified. It is clear that he has been crying, his cheeks are freshly stained red, his hair unruly and tremors gloss over him from time to time.
The cameras continue to bombard us with clicking sounds and flashing lights, taking pictures of every angle until we reach the doors of the train. Sylvia instructs me and Beau to smile and wave, and even insists on me blowing kisses into the lenses.
Eventually we're let onto the train, the doors behind us zipping shut. I have to take a moment to adjust to the barely-lit train cart, as I can still see the colourful lights flashing in my vision. I'm quickly pushed into another cart by Sylvia, who doesn't give us a moment to recollect our thoughts.
Finnick and Mags are already there, sat waiting at a dining table. Sylvia ushers us forward, her heels no longer making that daunting clicky-clacking sound as she walks over a soft carpet. Finnick turns in his seat, his gaze instantly catching mine, observing.
I don't lift a finger, don't utter any words. Instead, I shift my gaze to look over the interior of the cart. There are large, crystal-clear windows, thick mahogany curtains embracing the edges, and golden ropes keeping the curtains bound to the sides. The carpet itself is also red, with golden lining travelling parallel on both sides as it extends into another cart. Most of the furniture is silver; chairs, table, sofas, cupboards. The wallpaper is a faint blue, with diamond shaped-patterns stretching out across the expanse of the cart.
A voice rips through the air, struggling. I look to the source of it, and notice Mags trying to speak. She gestures for us to sit down, and we reluctantly do so. Beau takes the empty seat next to Mags, whereas I have to sit next to Finnick.
"So," Mags starts, taking in a breath, "How are y-you two feeling?" Her voice is quiet, croaky, and her accent is much more noticeable than mine or Finnick's.
I look to Beau, who stares at his hands. I look back to Mags, and manage a faint smile.
"Not so good, but does anyone feel good after realising they're taking a train to their death?" I ask quietly, my smile faltering as I look away, rubbing my arm. She heaves a heavy sigh, moving around a bit.
She coughs quietly, and it's evident that she is struggling to speak.
"Me and Finnick are going to do our best, okay you two?" She asks again, her hand shakily moving to hold Beau's in a tight grip as we both see that the boy has started to tremble.
Beau takes in a deep, shaky breath, and shakes his head. "I don't want to die, I can't die. What will happen to my sister?" He asks, his free hand coming up to wipe away his tears. Mags has a big frown on her face as she moves her chair closer to Beau, holding him in her embrace. "You'll be okay, child. When Finnick was your age, he won the games. You can do the same." She reassures, clearing her throat as she shakes her head.
I look towards Finnick, and notice that his eyes are slightly puffy. His gaze is fixed on Mags, and he doesn't acknowledge me or Sylvia.
He's silent throughout the rest of the interaction, but his hand eventually inches downward, his fingers tracing the silver framing of my chair, dancing over it. I look down at it as Mags, Sylvia and Beau talk to each other, digging into their food that the kitchen staff had brought for us. All of a sudden, his fingers wrap over the framing, and pull on my chair until it's close enough for our arms to touch. Though it doesn't ease the constant ache in the pit of my stomach, it feels nice to have his skin brush mine, even if it's not romantic whatsoever. It's still enough to make my heart rate spike, and my breathing to become shallower.
I turn to face him, looking at his eyes, but he's not looking at me.
If he were to turn his head to look at me...We'd kiss.
I force myself to look away and towards Mags as I feel the heat suddenly rush up to my cheeks.
Turning to the trio, I tune in on their conversation. Mags was speaking quietly, just barely above a whisper. She was asking Beau about any special talents that he may have, and at that, Beau straightened up, dropping his cutlery, his face flushing instantly.
"I... I can sing." He responded, his voice as light as a feather, and a small, barely noticeable smile tugged at his lips. At that, Sylvia's eyebrows rose, and she looked up from her food, intrigued. "Well then, can you sing for us?" She asks, placing her cutlery down, placing her elbows on the table as she locks her hands together. So now she's paying attention.
"W-well, I don't know that many songs!" Beau exclaimed, an unsure laugh leaving his lips as he scratched the back of his head. "My mom taught me a few bits and bobs, b-but that's it really!" He continued, looking between Mags and Sylvia, before he turned to me, diverting their attention.
"Do you have any special skill? Uh-" He asked, pausing a little as he looked away, scratching at his chin. "Y/n, was it?" He looked to me, his eyes glinting with uncertainty. I nodded my head, biting down on some duck meat. I take a moment to chew, before replying with, "Yeah, uh, I'm not sure if it counts as a 'special' skill but..." I paused for a second, thinking of my answer. "I'm quite good at playing the guitar." I continue, looking down at my plate.
I had gotten myself a rather large portion of a duck, some mashed potatoes and greens. I opted for a simple combination, as the chefs had brought more food than any of us could eat. It was so much better than any meal I have ever tasted, the duck was juicy and tender, melting away in my mouth. The potatoes were smooth and soft, with a hint of salt in them.
Though I can confidently say it doesn't beat my mothers fish stew. Nothing beats home cooking.
I feel Finnick shifting next to me, and from the corner of my eye I can see that he's looking at me. For a moment, I doubt that he'll say anything.
"I believe I've made up a plan." He says curtly, reaching for my hand. He takes hold of it, pressing the plush skin of my fingertips, scarred by numerous hours of practice, feeling how it springs back. Everyone's attention has turned to him, and nobody speaks.
"For now, I believe that the best way to gain sponsors is for the two of you to stick together," He pauses, looking between me and Beau.
"Beau. You're small, you're adorable. During your interview, Caesar will lead the conversation. It would be a good idea to offer to sing for the audience, if you're nervous." Finnick pauses, waiting for some sort of response from Beau.
The boy nods, his big eyes gazing up at Finnick from underneath thick eyelashes.
Finnick then turns to me, his hand having shifted from my fingertips to the bracelet I was given just a few hours prior. He spun it slowly around my wrist, his eyes fixed on the object.
"As for you, Y/n, I think Caesar will be willing enough to make some... Accommodations." He states, his thumb glazing over the bracelet, tracing its' golden lining.
"I'll speak to him beforehand, and ask him to prepare a guitar for you, so that you can play a song. It'll create a kind of 'connection' between you and Beau, the audience will love it." He finishes, looking up into my eyes.
"How are we going to do that?" I ask, swallowing the shame I feel as he rests my hand on his thigh. "It's quite simple, really." He quickly replies. "With your guitar, you and Beau can work on a song together. I'm sure the editors will make a montage of sorts, pairing Beau's singing with your guitar. It'll make the audiences go wild." He finishes, and for the rest of the evening doesn't say add on much else, leaving the planning to Mags and Sylvia, with Beau and I occasionally butting in.
After all of us finish eating, and the conversation dries up, Mags quickly ushers me and Beau to our chambers, mumbling about how we're going to have a busy day tomorrow.
The silver doors once again zip shut behind me, but this time I'm left all on my own. All on my own to process the days' events, emotions and weariness. In my room, there is a simple bathroom, it is adorned with a pretty white porcelain sink, a cubed shower, and a large mirror.
There is a whole collection of soaps and shampoos to choose from, and I decide on a honey-scented soap, and a chocolate-scented shampoo. Chocolate is some sort of dark brown, squared treat that nobody in District 4 has even dreamed of.
The walls are tiles in the colour of a deep red, and the ceiling light casts a golden glow on the interior, creating a false sense of comfort.
I stare at myself in the mirror as I strip, observing my skin, the different marks, moles and bruises that decorate it. I look at my face, noticing the deep shadows, or rather eyebags, that hang on the crease under my eyes, painting the area a darker tone of my skin. My hair, once a beautiful picture-perfect net impersonation, is now a tangled mess, and I hiss in my pain as I tug at the knots in it. This will be a long night, I think to myself.
A shiver runs down my spine as I step into the shower. The small cube-shaped space consists of clear doors, a porcelain seat of sorts and a tiled floor with a drain situated just below the showerhead. The water is at first scalding hot, burning my skin before I'm able to adjust the heat. After that, it's all bliss and comfort as I dip my head under the water, the droplets feeling like a warm summer sprinkle. I've never had a shower; those are only accessible to the wealthiest.
Usually, at least in my area of District 4, we have showers just outside of our houses, sheltered away from curious, and perverted, onlookers by four wooden walls and a roof. There is a pipe that connects to another pipe that connects to some treated water, and although it's freezing cold, it is much better having that than sea water. After spending hours on a boat fishing, or working at the harbour, many people grow to hate the salty wrinkles that take hours to completely disappear, only to reappear the next working day.
But this water is so much different. Warm and gentle, it detangles my hair, and cascades down my back, easing my sore muscles. I've never felt such luxury. Does everyone in the Capitol have access to this?
I lather my hair with the sweet shampoo, and have to fight off the urge to taste it. My fingers move across my scalp, rubbing the liquid into the roots. It takes a while to wash out, but I eventually get out of the shower, brushing through my hair with my fingers.
After I leave the bathroom, having washed myself and brushed my teeth, I feel as though I just left heaven. My muscles feel relaxed, my head is in a state of bliss.
As I sink into the bed, I am welcomed by the soft material of the sheets. The sheets wrap around me, my body melting into the soft mattress, swallowed by warmth and fuzziness. For a moment, I am stuck in that blissful state, but then my mind wanders.
Do Capitol citizens have access to this? Do any Districts have access to this kind of luxury? Is it 24/7, or do only the wealthiest have access? It doesn't seem fair.
But I shake those thoughts away. After all, I will most likely be dead soon. It won't matter anymore, whether I suffer or not. Another tribute will probably kill me quickly and swiftly, ending my short-spanned life.
The least I can do for myself now is enjoy the luxury that is being thrown so viciously at me. For the first time in my life, I've been able to go to bed with a full belly. For the first time in my life, I feel relaxed after washing myself. For the first time in my life, I can go to sleep without any pain, or hunger, or anything. Just bliss. Just comfort. Just luxury.
But that doesn't last long either. Oh, I forgot. Materialistic luxury is fleeting, sleep is the true luxury. But even now, as I'm trapped in this rich-laid room, I cannot afford the luxury of sleep. I twist and turn in the bed for what feels like hours, unable to sleep.
My stomach twists into knots, and I soon have to take the duvet off of me, as I'm drenched in sweat. The stillness of the room allows my thoughts to wander.
I'm scared. I'm absolutely fucking terrified. I just willingly threw myself into the hands of death. What was I thinking? That I can win the Games? That I can kill someone, let alone a child? Children?
I take in a deep breath, feeling as the air enters my lungs, and a shiver runs down my spine. The heat I was feeling just moments ago has dissipated, and I'm left a trembling, cold mess.
I wrap the duvet over myself again, trying to contain the tremors. I'm shivering uncontrollably, my legs and arms twitching as I pull the duvet impossibly closer.
I start thinking of Hali and my mom. Of Annie, her tear-stricken face, the mess her flaming hair had become in her panic. I think of Finnick. Was he disappointed by the fact I had volunteered? Was he angered by it?
I couldn't tell. But it didn't matter in the end; I couldn't let Annie go into that arena. She was too kind, too gentle, too fragile. If there is a world full of those who deserve to be put into an arena, fighting to the death like wild animals, Annie isn't a part of that world. She took care of me after my deep-dive into the icy waters, helped my mother nurse me back to health, she took care of me when we were kids, provided me company and listened to all my secrets and grievances, helped me deal with my fathers sudden abandonment. And now has even promised to look after my loved ones as I willingly shove myself into a gruesome bloodbath.
I could never repay her. I could never repay her for all the things she's done for me and my family.
With a loud sigh, I sit up, clutching the bedsheets tightly in my fists. With the back of my hand I wipe away a few stray tears.
A cup of water sounds nice.
I put on a bathrobe that has been hung in a fancy wardrobe, still shivering, I put on my fluffy slippers, and press a button. The doors in front of me zip open, shaking lightly as the train passes over something rough.
The corridors are dark, as only a single light shines. I trudge through the cart, sliding another door open. It's even darker in here, this cart being much longer than the one that carried Beau and I, and I think Mags and Finnick and Sylvia have their rooms in here. I quietly walk through, looking at the doors. Maybe Finnick is behind one of them, and if he is, then it's just my luck.
His silence at the dinner table was unnerving. I need to know what he was thinking.
There's two doors on my left, and one to the right. Any normal person would assume the left is for the ladies, right? With that, I gently knock on the door to my right, and I hear someone shuffling about, before the doors slide open and I'm standing face to chest with a shirtless Finnick Odair.
At my height, the tip of my head reaches just the top of Finnick's shoulders. Goddamn, was he always so freakishly tall? I slowly look up to him, my neck bending slightly. He's already staring at me, though there is haziness in those beautiful green eyes of his.
He doesn't utter a word, and instead reaches for my hand - his skin is scalding hot against my icy hands - and he swiftly pulls me into his room, the doors sliding shut. I bump into his chest head-first.
"Are you okay, Y/n?" He asks, his voice as warm and sweet as honey. I almost melt on the spot, though the shivers continue travelling down my whole body. It takes me a whole minute to compose myself. He definitely knows I like him. My lips open and close, no words leaving, and I'm stuck. What did I come to him for again? With a sigh, Finnick gently takes a hold of my hand and leads me to his bed. As he sits me down on it, I notice that it is far bigger than mine. That's unfair. Though he is the 'Capitol darling'.
"C'mon darling, I'm waiting." He says softly, again. He stands in front of me, and I finally realise that I'm gaping at him like a fish.
I take a sudden, sharp breath and shake my head. "Uh... I- I needed to talk to you..." I whispered, blinking slowly like a child. A soft smile tugs at his lips, and I instantly know that whatever mood he was in earlier, it's definitely gone now.
"So? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He asks, sitting down next to me. He sits criss-crossed, his knee digging into my side. He pulls me closer, rubbing my arm with his hand, muttering something about how cold I was.
He sure was muscular. What did he do all day? Exercise? I doubt it.
I think for a moment, trying to finalise my words, but with a shake of my head, I decide to shoot straight. "Why were you so quiet at the dinner? I thought you'd be helping out more," I say softly, unsure of whether to continue or not. I look up into his eyes, and see a glint of softness shining in them, "I mean, I know what you're like... But- But it made me nervous..." I finish, looking away and instead choosing to focus on how the skin has begun to peel from my cuticles.
Finnick sighs quietly, his free hand reaching to hold my own.
"I wasn't angry with you, nor disappointed if that's what you're thinking." He states softly, and I swear my heart will collapse if he continues to be so sweet and soft. "It's just that-" He pauses, casting his gaze elsewhere, "I just couldn't imagine what you felt, when you volunteered." He says, gently stroking my hand with his thumb. "You're so good to Annie, you'd do anything for her. And I think it was really selfless." He finished. The words bounced around my head, the meaning completely avoiding any sort of understanding.
Another tremor goes through me, and I tuck my legs against my chest, teeth chattering.
My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion.
"What do you mean? Annie's the amazing one, not me." I scoff. I shake my head, looking up at him. Just how delusional is he? Me? Selfless? Somehow I can't see how the two mix well together.
Finnick's grip on my hand tightens, and he heaves a sigh. "See, you don't actually realise just how kind you are. I mean- Y-You literally provide for Annie and her father. You helped me out so much, you listened to me when I needed an ear." He says, his tone shifting to a more annoyed one.
I look at him in disbelief.
"You're kidding, right? I mean-" I pause, releasing a shaky breath. "Y-you're the one that saved me. Annie's the one that took care of me. You think I wouldn't do everything in my power to repay you?" I asked, tugging my hand away. "You're being ridiculous, Finnick." I quickly add on, but Finnick completely ignores me, instead opting to change the conversation.
I don't know if I'm genuinely upset by his words, or if it's the adrenaline that's rushing through me. I rub at my arms, frantically attempting to warm up.
Finnick doesn't reply for a moment, and as I stare at him, I notice how prettily his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands extending over his lash line.
He sighs quietly, and turns to me again.
"We're not going to argue about this. I see no point in it, and you're clearly too anxious." He says, pulling me closer to his chest. I don't resist or pull away, instead I lean into his warmth.
"I-I couldn't- I couldn't sleep." Softly I admit.
"I thought so... It would be weird if you were completely fine." He responded, his voice was like honey, dripping sweetly into my ears, warming my heart.
"I know it's weird of me to ask, but... Can I stay with you? Just for tonight, I promise." I ask, my gaze fixed on a hair strand that stuck out in front of my face. I don't hear a response, but Finnick doesn't waste a second to lift me up, moving the duvet before placing my body down on the bed, joining after.
"C'mon then, we don't have all night." He gestures to me, a cheeky smile on his face. That's the Finnick I know. I nod silently, and clamber further up the bed. Finnick pats the empty spot beside him, and as I join, he drapes the velvety duvet over the two of us, before his toned, muscular arm slides beneath my neck. He brings me in closer, and my face rests against his hot chest, the warmth radiating off him as if he was the sun. My own, personal sun.
"We're gonna be cuddling?" I ask, giggling slightly. The shivers have eased, though my hand is still quite shaky. Unsure of where to go, I rest my hand on his toned stomach, fingers itching to glide over his skin, to feel every crevice and stretch of skin that he can offer. I've never been this close to him... Am I going feral? What the hell?
Finnick chuckles in reply, and I feel him shifting slightly again. I look up to him, and notice that he's already staring at me, a toothy grin stretching through his lips. "If you have a problem with it, then I can sleep on the floor. That'd be more favourable, wouldn't it?" His voice is low and gravelly, but also husky and comforting, his hand softly stroking circles into the skin on my arm. I shake my head with a smile and thank him.
We sit like this for a while, just feeling each others warmth. It's much better than sleeping alone, that's for sure. Finnick's natural scent has long since invaded my lungs, but I feel myself becoming drowsy, enamoured by his every characteristic. The hand that was stroking my arm eventually stopped, but he never ceased to hold me tight to him, his nose stroking against my hair as he breathed softly.
No words were exchanged, and we laid there for hours. I would often drip in and out of consciousness, startling the two of us awake with a loud gasp. He would comfort me, realising that I was constantly having nightmares, and he would lull me back into sleep with his honeyed voice, whispering sweet nothings into my ears.
Eventually, Finnick moved positions, turning his body sideways, pulling me even closer into his chest - if that was physically possible. Now, with my face flushed against his chest, I could fully relax. It may have been a bit much, but I lazily draped my leg over his own, not thinking in my drowsiness. Though it seemed to help, as my breathing steadied and I almost lulled myself back into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, at least.
Finnick's soft voice gently awoke me, but it sounded as though he'd also been dosed with the natural sleep syrup.
"It's just like back then, isn't it?" He asks sleepily, his voice raspy. His body had slid further down the bed until my nose rested against his neck, inhaling his sickly-sweet scent. I nod my head lazily, grunting out a throaty 'mmm' in response. I earned myself a chuckle, and a quick 'I'll let you sleep now', before I completely drifted out of consciousness.
I don't wake up again on that night, but slowly rouse myself awake as I feel the sunrays poking at my closed eyes.
I can't move, as Finnick's arms grip my body, keeping me close to his own. For a while, I lay there, content with just laying with my eyes closed with Finnick holding me.
But the growing anxiety in my stomach gnaws at my nerves, and I can feel my pulse in my ear.
Though I try to fight it, I eventually raise my head, peeking over Finnick's broad shoulder. Still sleepy, I act before I can think. Placing my hand on his waist, I lean in close enough so that my nose nuzzles against his bicep, inhaling Finnick's sickly-sweet scent. It comforts me enough to settle my nerves.
It's a surprise that I'm not sick of it already.
My eyes slowly flutter open, and I have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light. The train is still moving, though now we're passing by a grand lake, surrounded by some mountains. Wherever we are at, it sure is beautiful. I look down to Finnick, and a startled sound escapes me as his eyes are already boring into mine, though tiredly. No matter the time of day or night, Finnick Odair will always find it in himself to dish out sarcasm. "Having fun, sweetheart?" He asks, though by the look in his eyes, I can see that he needs no answer.
I shake my head, feeling my cheeks flush out of embarrassment. Did he really just lay there? Whilst I literally nuzzled my nose against him? Am I crazy?! Or... Is he?
I can't form a single reply, and my mind goes blank. May the arena take me already.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" He nudges further, that toothy grin making a reappearance as the sun lazily glosses over his skin. I shake my head 'no', though still can't form a single sentence. I swallow heavily, and take a deep breath.
"Isn't it- Isn't it time?" I ask, feeling my brain short-circuiting.
"Time for what?" Asks Finnick, shuffling lightly. His voice is gravelly and husky from sleep. My fingers gently grip at his flesh, unknowingly. "That tickles y'know." He says, chuckling under his breath.
"What?" I ask, confused.
He doesn't say anything, but instead his gaze points towards my hand, his eyebrows rising slightly. My nails are lightly digging into his skin. I blink once, then I blink once again. As if he just burned me, I retract my hand instantly, hiding it behind my back. I take a deep breath, focusing on letting it out slowly. With an accusatory tone, I ask, "How long have you been awake?"
Finnick laughs, crinkles of skin appearing at the outer corners of his eyes, paired with the dimples that form whenever there is even the tiniest hint of a smile. "Long enough for me to feel you sniffing my arm." He admits, still amused. My face grows red, and I could swear steam was coming out of my ears. A shiver runs through me.
Before I can ask any further questions, or even think of a reply, someone's knocking on the door. Then, a panicked Sylvia Borgnino is speaking.
"Finnick? Finnick are you awake?! You better be!" She shouts, and Finnick swiftly gets out of the bed to open the door. His back is muscular and toned... Wow.
The doors slide open, and he asks, "Sylvia? Did you need anything?" Leaning lazily with his body against the doorframe.
"Yes! I did. I went to wake Y/n but she's not answering the door! Come and-" She pauses, as her eyes catch onto someone in Finnick's bed. "Is that-" She pauses, her fingers reaching up to massage her temple, taking a deep breath. "Is that Y/n?" Finnick slowly turns his head, locking eyes with me, he winks, before he nods, and turns back to Sylvia.
"Yeah, it is." He confirms, his head resting on the doorframe. "Did you need anything from us? 'Cause if not... Then I'll get back to what we were doing." He says, his voice raspy from sleeping, yet still soft and melodic. I can almost hear him smirking.
I can hear a gasp, followed by a, "Where are your manners, Finnick?!" Her tone is accusatory as I see Sylvia eyeing Finnick up and down, a clear scowl on her face. She huffs out a breath, and tiptoes to see over his shoulder.
"Hi...Sylvia?" I ask carefully, my voice light and high-pitched as I'm uncertain of what her reaction will be. Her eyebrows are scrunched up in disapproval, and she doesn't respond to me. Instead, she turns to Finnick, glaring at him with a glint of danger in her eyes. "You two better be ready in 20 minutes! If either of you are late I-" She exclaims, but pauses as she deliberates on what to say. "I'll make sure you two regret it!" And with that she leaves, her footsteps thumping down along the corridor.
"She seemed... Pretty angry." I say quietly, meddling with my bracelet, unsure of Finnick's own mood. Though he is quick to reply, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "She certainly is, she won't let us forget this for a while I don't think." He finishes, scrunching his nose at me, a smile now prominent. The crinkles beneath his eyes deepen with the scrunch, and his dimples make an appearance. I laugh quietly, covering my smile with my palm.
"No, no don't cover yourself honey. You don't need to hide your smile from me." He says, his voice hushed yet soft, as he crawls on the bed towards me. He maintains steady eye contact, and neither of us are willing to look away. If I were to look away now, I'd feel as though I've lost a battle.
I feel myself slipping away, drowning in his sea-green eyes, unable to escape. His gaze is hooded, his long eyelashes lazily fanning over his eyes. I blink rapidly, feeling my breathing becoming heavy. His voice, as sweet as Sleep Syrup, whisks me away back into the present. "Well then, shall we get ready?" He asks, now having laid his chin on my outstretched legs, his hands sturdily holding onto my calves.
I gulp, and nod my head, though neither of us move.
Finnick continues to lay still, his eyes boring into mine. I gently nudge him with my foot, which seems to get a reaction. He slowly rises back onto all fours, and proceeds to get off of me. He walks up to my side of the bed, hand outstretched. He wiggles his fingers, and that toothy grin returns.
"C'mon, I'll take you back to your room. Once you're done, I'll meet you in the dining room." He states, and I lend him my hand. He swiftly pulls me up and we proceed to my room. The walk isn't long, but I'm unwilling to let him go, fear flushing over my body like a wave.
"Finnick..."
"You okay honey?" He asks, not sparing a moment to think to respond to me, it felt very much instinctual. I hesitate, and decide not to pursue the topic. "Nevermind, it's okay. I-I'll see you in a bit." I smile unsurely, waving him away, although he remains still, his eyebrows scrunched up in concern.
"If you wanna talk, if there's something on your mind, you can tell me, Y/n." He says, his voice having taken on a serious undertone. I nod my head with a small smile and thank him, before I step into my room and the door slides shut, separating us.
I take a quick shower, the warm artificial rain slightly easing my nerves, I brush my teeth and change my clothes before I take one last look in the mirror. My hair looks fine, my teeth are clean, but I can still feel the rattling of my heart, the shakiness ghosting my legs, and the pricking of nails at my hands.
I shake my head, taking a deep breath. This is not the time, I think to myself, and exit my room.
The train is eerily quiet as it travels. It is much different on the inside than it is to the outside. Whenever I got to see a train, I was overcome with fear and anxiety, as it would travel awfully fast and make tons of noise. It would make me terrified and anxious, and although I'm on the inside of the train, those same feelings are now making an appearance.
I continue on, my feet shuffling towards the next cart, though I feel them becoming numb.
There is loud chatter coming from the room, and as I come closer, I can hear Beau telling a story, and soon I can see Finnick and Mags listening intently, giving their breadcrumb opinions on the matter at hand.
As I enter the room, Beau exclaims a loud, "Y/n!", and everyone turns their heads. Mags greets me with a strained voice and a gentle smile as she smothers a piece of toast with a clumpy liquid, Sylvia and Finnick turn to me with smiles.
"We've been waiting for you, Y/n. Come, sit with us." Finnick says as I make my way towards him, and I notice his smile from earlier is now gone.
"We've been discussing the games, and everyone agrees on what course of action we'll take." Bringing up a steamy cup to her lips, Sylvia says before sipping on some black liquid.
"If you want me to play the guitar then I'm gonna need to know what song I'll be playing to." I state quietly, lathering some toast in jam.
My stomach twists and turns as I'm reminded of what's to come.
The Games. The bloodbath. The paparazzi and the flashy cameras. I'm gonna be put up on display like a wild animal. I'm going to be placed in that arena, forced to fight to the death against twenty-three other tributes. I feel my stomach drop, and one of my legs begins to bounce up and down rapidly under the table.
I might as well step off the metal plate before the gong sounds and blast myself to pieces. I remember watching a tribute in the Games a few years back. She was fiddling with something in her hands, trembling so much that she dropped it. It was far too late for her to catch it, because as soon as it hit the ground, she was blasted into pieces.
I pitied her, though now I considered sharing the same fate. How ironic.
Either way I'm trapped. I'm trapped in this train, I'll be trapped in the Capitol, and I will be trapped in the arena.
The only means of escape is death.
Finnick continues to discuss the plan with the others, and I'm able to get the gist of it. It's enough for me to realise he wants me to help Beau in the arena, which I don't have an issue with in and of itself.
The issue will be when we have to split up, or if we both end up getting through to the final showdown. What will we do? Fight each other?
I lean back into my chair, abandoning the jam toast on a porcelain plate, barely having taken a bite out of it. I can't eat anymore, I don't want to. I swallow thickly, but notice how dry my throat has become.
I take in a deep, shaky breath, and think of reaching for some water.
Water. Water sounds nice. Reaching for it shouldn't be too difficult to do... Right? The bouncing of my leg has increased in speed. I feel goosebumps travelling down my arms.
I can't.
The cart feels so much colder now, so less spacious, and my hands and arms feel numb. I tune out the conversation in front of me, instead focusing on a faraway, high-pitched noise. Was that the train screeching against the tracks? Isn't it supposed to be silent?
It starts off slowly; the trembling. A couple shivers here and there, but it soon turns into full-blown chills. They really must've crammed the air conditioning up. I look to everyone, from Beau to Mags, Sylvia to Finnick. But they all seem fine? Maybe- Maybe it's just me. My hands feel clammy, sweaty. I try wiping them on the long sleeves of my shirt, but the clamminess doesn't go away.
I need to get out of here.
The walls feel too close, and my head feels heavy. I close my eyes, lifting a shaky hand to massage at my temple. My breaths are shaky. My leg doesn't stop bouncing. The shivers continue.
Get up, get up, get up, get up!
My legs don't listen, and I bite down harshly on my bottom lip. Tears start pricking at my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to get rid of them.
I hear a voice.
It feels so close yet so far.
The tears are now fully welled-up in my eyes, on the verge of falling. I bite down harshly on my bottom lip, feeling the skin crackle under my teeth.
The iron taste of blood sits on my tongue.
I look around, anywhere. But I catch the gazes of everyone around me. They have stopped talking between themselves.
They've stopped talking?
Why aren't they talking?
I look down at my lap, heaving in a shaky breath. It sounds as if I'm wheezing.
"Y/n?" It feels distant, and I'm not sure who the voice belongs to. A warm hand nudges me, and I look up, seeing Finnick's sea-green eyes boring into mine.
There is a clear concern glinting across them, and his mouth is slightly parted.
I can't breathe. I can't get enough air into my lungs. Why can't I breathe?
Calm down, Y/n. Calm down.
But I don't calm down. Instead, I begin gasping for air, my chest shakily heaving up and down, the tears escaping like water from a broken dam. My cheeks flush, and I try to supress my sobs. I bring a shaky hand up to my mouth, shaking my head in the process.
I feel arms wrapping around me, and soon I'm scooped up into the air, my head resting against a sturdy chest. It's Finnick.
In any other situation, I'd try to sniff his scent, or focus on the heat radiating from his body. But now, all I can do as I try to breathe, is cover my mouth. The sobs grow louder, and more tears slide down my cheeks.
"Fuck... Fuck, fuck fuck!" I wail out, my knuckles aggressively wiping at my eyes. I'm not supposed to be crying. I'm supposed to be strong, I'm supposed to be tough.
My body bounces up and down as Finnick runs through the carts, eventually leading me into a room.
Finnick soon lays me down into some silky sheets, although I can't tell who's room I find myself in.
My chest is aggressively heaving up and down, but I can't catch my breath.
My chest feels tight.
I supress another loud sob.
The room suddenly becomes dark, and I find some comfort in that.
"I w-wasn't-... I-I wasn't supposed to cry!" My voice is sickeningly high-pitched and drawn out, and I cry out, covering my face with one hand as I turn on my side, gripping the sheets tightly in my other one.
I can feel Finnick's hand softly caressing my hair, but I continue to cry.
His arms wrap up around me, and I can hear him telling me 'It's okay's'.
I manage to supress my sobs and wails, though my lips are tugged downwards in a scowl, my eyebrows furrowed and I'm pretty sure I look pathetic. Not strong, or tough. Just pathetic. And Finnick is witnessing all this.
"Get out..." I say quietly, a small sob leaving my throat.
"What?" Finnick leans in closer, unable to hear me coherently.
"Get out!" I exclaim. "P-please get out!" I shout, though it's not as loud as I convince myself it is. "I don't want you to see me like this..." I insist, my voice hoarse and small.
More sobs break out through me, and I feel more tears welling up in my eyes.
"Please... Just leave me alone-" I continue, wrapping my arms around myself.
Finnick shakes his head, repeatedly saying soft 'no's'. I ignore him, my hands pushing away at his chest.
Without a second thought, he scoops me up into his lap, forcing my face into his chest. My sobbing only becomes stronger, but it soon eases into soft hiccups as Finnick begins humming a lullaby, stroking my hair with one hand, cradling me with the other.
I focus on the sound of his voice.
His voice is so lovely... So soft.
I close my eyes again, grimacing as I let the tears flow.
It takes a while of Finnick humming and caressing me, but my breathing eventually steadies, with occasional, throaty sobs making me hiccup. I continue wiping aggressively at my eyes, but the longer that Finnick hums, the more I let them cascade freely, until eventually they stop and I feel the wetness of my eyelashes against my cheeks.
We sit like this for a who knows how long, long after my crying has ceased. A scowl remains on my face, but I continue listening. It has been a long time since someone has comforted me like this...
The last person I remember doing this... Is my grandma.
She was a wonderful woman, though strict at times and painfully honest, she never failed to show me just how much she loved me. Guiding me through meltdowns as a child, in just the same exact way as Finnick is now.
"I'm tired..." I softly mutter to Finnick, hiding my face further in his chest. My voice is raw from crying, and my eyes slightly burn from all the salty tears and rough knuckles. Finnick's shirt is damp with them, but I don't think he minds it too much.
"D'you wanna sleep? I can stay with you if you'd like..." He whispers softly, his large hand coming down to caress the side of my face, his thumb lovingly stroking the apple of my cheek. I nod my head gently, and feel the tears trying to return, but I blink them away. "Okay, we'll take a nap, and then we can talk about what happened, okay honey?" He continues, his voice sounding as sweet as honey tastes. I sniffle quietly, and nod my head again, doubting that my voice is steady enough to talk more.
Finnick lays us down on the bed, and drapes the duvet over me, his chest presses against my back. I close my eyes, and feel the drowsiness slowly lure me into a dreamless sleep.
@bambikitten @noisyalmonddreamer @avoxrising @honethatty12 @circe143 @dnpo1son @innercreationflower @lagrimasdepandora @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @lil-tracys @i-bitch-you-bitch @pinkigirl @yourdailymemedelivery @nexxus13 @ropickle @spilled-coffee-cup @zucchinimalfoy @l5byrinth @superbfishhumanoidweasel @whens-naptime @nordicvxid @luvrboiwonu @lili19080 @nojustn00 @antoheartit
#finnick odair x you#fluff#angst#finnick odair x reader#finnick oneshot#thg#thg fanfiction#finnick x reader#the hunger games#annie cresta#district 4#thg series#thg fanfic#oneshot#finnick x y/n#finnick imagine#thg finnick#finnick odair#finnick x you#hunger games finnick#finnick fanfic#friends to lovers#mags flanagan#emerald carnation#katniss everdeen
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I wrote this last night when I couldn’t sleep, will I finish it and post it on ao3? Let’s hope.
I sit with my back pressed tight against the wall. I try to hold myself together by the seams, my nails dig desperately into my skin. I thought I had become something of an expert on fear, or at the very least I thought I was familiar with it. But nothing could have prepared me for this universe shifting moment. This lack of control. I squeeze my eyes shut and dare not breathe more than I must. My heart knocks insistently into my chest. Bum, bum it says. Bum, bum, bum, bum, a reminder of this unending life.
“Katniss!” I hear Haymitch before I see him. The storage rooms door flies open, “Katniss, they’re back. Katniss!”
I blink and stare at him uncomprehendingly. He’s still shouting, his hands reaching out to grab me, but the shock is intense. I stare at my mentors’ familiar face, my eyes round and helpless, a child once more.
The child I am.
“He’s alive, Katniss, he’s alive.” Haymitch says in a slower more purposeful tone. He crouches as best as his useless knees will allow him, his hands reaching out to grasp me by the forearms. “Katniss, we did it. We got them back.”
And when I take my next breath, it feels like a car crash. The sounds of the world catch up to me and somehow, the meaning of Haymitch’s words finally enter my mind. Alive. Here.
I keep staring at Haymitch helplessly, but I scramble to my feet. I’m hyperventilating. Haymitch shakes me, but my breathing doesn’t slow. There’s no time. I push past him and nearly fall on my face, rushing down the hall.
I don’t need to ask; I know where to go. He’ll be at the hospital. He’ll be past this hall, around that corner. My body, my heart, something in me knows. It tells me where to go. Keep going, keep going. If I don’t get there quick enough, who knows. I have to get there.
“Annie!” I skid to a stop, taken aback by the absolute emotion in Finnicks’ voice. There’s so much joy, so much love.
“Finnick!” a woman replies, running to him and jumping into his arms. My skin itches, my heart burns. I’m so envious, I have to look away. I used to be held like that, I used to have that much love.
But then my heart stutters. Alive. Here. If I keep running, will the arms that I’m looking for hold me? Will I hear his voice? Will I feel his lips?
“Come on!” Haymitch takes me by the arm and yanks me in the other direction. We’re both running now, I’m surprised Haymitch can keep up. He pulls me towards a hospital room, a very busy one. There are doctors everywhere, nurses too. I shove my way past them because I know, oh god, I know it. He’s here, in this room.
“Peeta,” I gasp, and the longing is so intense. He’s awake and sitting up on his hospital bed. Regrettably, I wasn’t the first face he saw. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, not at all. Peeta’s eyes meet with mine and suddenly nothing else exists on this entire planet. Nothing else in this world.
“Peeta,” I repeat with a sob, my vision blurring. I rush towards him, and he sweeps his doctors aside. He’s so thin, and his face is so sharp. But he’s still my boy, the boy with the bread.
He grasps me, crushing me into his chest and whatever was left of my composure evaporates. Nothing holds the walls of emotions, of suppression after suppression, back any longer. My knees soften, and my hands claw at his back, greedily feeling him, ensuring his solidity.
Peeta’s hands are still big and heavy. They feel amazing on my back and my shoulders. I can feel him gasping against my neck, and the tickling of his breath feels like home.
“Is this real?” he whispers with his mouth pressed against my ear. “Are you here?”
“Yes,” I reassure him. “I’m here.”
“I missed you,” there’s a weight to his words, a reverence.
“Me too, a lot.” I choke and smile around my tears. There won’t ever be enough words to tell him. “So much.”
“They said you were dead, but I knew.” He confesses. “I knew.”
I nod. Yes. There’s a desperation in me borne from his complete understanding. “I knew too. I always knew.”
Peeta pulls away from me then, and I can see his face has broken into an emotional smile. He cups my jaw, and when his lips graze mine, everything is okay again. I can breathe, I’m alive.
I stretch up onto my toes, chasing after him. My arms encircle him. I never want to let go. His tears mix with mine on my cheeks, and we kiss. We kiss and we kiss, and we kiss. My tongue sweeps across his bottom lip and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but we don’t stop. His fingers slip into my hair, and his touch lights me up.
His fingers tug too harshly against my hair and I reflexively pull back. He’s shut his eyes tight, his body suddenly tensed. My hands fly up to his shoulders, fluttering in search for injury.
“Peeta, are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer. To my alarm, he starts hitting the sides of his head with his firsts. “Peeta,” I repeat, pulling at his wrists, but he’s stronger than me. “Stop!”
“Katniss,” Haymitch says, taking me by the shoulder but I can shake him off easily, his heart isn’t really in it. “What do they pay ya’ll for? To stare? Help the kid!”
A nurse reaches out to Peeta, but he cowers away, like a frightened child. He folds in on himself on the ground, hiding his face behind his knees, and tugs on his own hair. I drop to my knees and crawl towards him, slapping away the nurses’ hands when she tries to reach out to him again.
“Peeta?” I ask, placing my hands on his knees. “It’s me, Katniss. Where are you? Did you go away?”
“Don’t,” He flinches away from my touch, leaving my hands hovering midair.
I look helplessly over my shoulder to Haymitch, but he looks just as lost as I am. I look back at Peeta, “I—”
A Doctor kneels beside me. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I fall silent. “Peeta, I’m Dr. Amaltha, I work here at the hospital in District Thirteen. Your friends and I have been waiting a long time to see you. You’re safe. Would it be okay if I touched your knee?”
Peeta stills, a single blue eye peaking through his shaggy hair, “No touching.”
“That’s okay, we’re just a little worried about you, is all.” The Doctor offers him a smile. “Are you in any pain?”
“I’m fine,” he says curtly but reconsiders. “I can manage.”
“I know you can, but if you’re in any pain I can patch you up and you’ll be all better.” She inches ever so slowly closer to him. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go home with Katniss?”
“Home?” he asks.
“That’s right,” she reassures. “Once we check you for injuries, you can go with your friends.”
“No more hospital?”
“None.”
He slowly raises his head. He eyes the doctor uneasily for a moment before moving his gaze towards me. I try to rearrange my features into something less worried but I’m sure I fail. His eyes return to the doctor, “alright.”
She crawls closer to him still and Peeta bumps his head against the wall trying to get away from her. She smiles and he grimaces in return, but he allows her to check his pulse anyway.
“That’s a little fast.” The doctor comments, “Take a few deep breaths for me?”
Peeta complies. After some more goading from Dr. Amaltha he stands and allows her to check him for broken bones. He lets them take his blood pressure, and his shine lights in his eyes with no issues. He puts up a bit of a fuss over the blood work, so they let it go for now, asking instead if he’d let them take an x-ray just to be sure about his bones.
“No machines,” Peeta says insistently.
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cold nights masterlist
“gonna hold my breath until you're here
'cause i can't breathe without you."
summary:
all the stars aligned, and it was you.
word count: 118k (have fun)
tags/warnings:
tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.
authors note: hi again!! its raye back with another coryo series (shocking absolutely no one). i know i said i wanted to stray from the plot so i wanted to see what i could do with tribute!reader that's not just a copy-paste of lucy gray's story (which i eat up every time btw, no tea no shade) so this one is going to be very different from the original and something totally different from LTPF!! i hope you guys love this as much as you loved that one!!
season one
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve
season two
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two
season three
twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.
oneshots
moodboards
black friday
edits
i feel it
playlist // pinterest board
all your thoughts // let’s talk ab it
masterlists // fic recs // nav (please read!)
#tbosas#tbosas fic#tbosas x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x you#coryo snow#Spotify#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas fanfiction#thg fanfic#thg fic#thg series#thg fanfiction#the hunger games
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Cry, Kill, Die
[ part one ]
Synopsis: In which Coriolanus Snow takes you for his own.
content warning . Dark themes— stalking, kidnapping, and Stockholm’s syndrome heavily mentioned // Extremely dubious consent, Murder and gore mentioned, misogynistic elements // housewife kink, blowjob, peacekeeper (ish?) ! Coryo, dom! Coryo, he’s literally a fucking nutcase in this
note: this is probably going to be the darkest shit I’ve ever wrote b4, but I’ve had this idea for a while now 😭 not meant to be taken as romanticization, more of js me talking out of my ass w the plot and slight smut included during bc i wanna fuck coryo so bad . So yeah .
It’s been days.
You know that much— know that the last day you saw sunlight was at least four days ago, when you had been happily strolling through the woods picking flowers. When you had heard a snap of leaves. When you saw him watching you. When he had taken you for his own.
You sit, pretty and dainty, regardless of your current imprisonment, in a brown arm chair in the corner of the room. Your original dress had been torn into shambles, but he had gotten you a new one. A pretty lace thing, a pink babydoll dress with tiny bows all over it. It definitely wasn’t something district, so the mysterious man that had taken you confused you even more.
Not that you hadn’t seen him before all of this— he was a peacekeeper. At least, he was pretending to be. You know this because he had grabbed you from a rundown bar to save you from the hands of a drunken pervert one night.
You had thanked him, kissed his cheek sweetly.
“Thank you, Sir!”
But his niceness was all a lie. An evil, despicable lie. And when you saw him the day he had taken you, you noticed the change in him. The look on his face. Something dark, something not quite human.
Something hungry.
You had fought. You fought hard, too— clawing at his wrists, as his hand covered your mouth and he had shushed you.
“Shut up. Shut up right now, or I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”
And you had understood greatly, had went limp in arms from fear and something else that you didn’t want to mention out loud. He had taken you to a cabin, a run down but still beautiful cabin. He had thrown you into one of the bedrooms, locked the door, and left. Thankfully, there was a bathroom built into your prison and you could relieve yourself anytime you liked. It was stocked with toilet paper, a toothbrush, your favorite shampoos and soap. You were too scared to take a shower, though, in fear of him getting angry with you. So you didn’t. You slept— still sleep— naked. It’s the only way you can get comfortable because of the scratchy material of the dress. The sheets are fresh, blanket soft, and you sleep heavy. To pretend that you’re somewhere else— to pretend that he didn’t take you.
He came back that night with food and water, unlocked the bedroom door for you. He had stroked your hair as you ate the luxury cherry pie that was expensive in the districts, the thick pasty filling forming a lump in your throat. You had asked him where he got it, and he didn’t answer.
The days went like that. Him leaving, bringing you food and water the next day, training you to get used to him like a lost, traumatized puppy. You had begun to ask him more questions, and you had gotten his name. He had revealed it to you on the third day, as he pulled you into his lap and stroked your hair.
“Coryo.” He had murmured, oddly sweet. “Call me Coryo, sweet thing.”
And now, it brings you to the present moment: you hear the familiar click of the doorknob, the thud of heavy peacekeeper boots against thick, run down wood. His helmet is off, and his buzzed hair shows greatly. A handsome man he is, but you won’t admit that to yourself. He has a bag in his hand, made of brown paper. He sighs, as if exhausted. He sits down at the kitchen table, and you can see him from the doorway.
“Come here,” he mutters to you. “Come here now, bunny.”
You can’t help but flush at the name he had given you, though fear curls in your gut at his tone. Your feet nervously pad over to his chair. His big hand wraps around your waist, pushing you down onto his lap as he begins to rummage around in the bag.
It’s a container of warm tomato soup, your favorite. There are probably better dishes, better food, but in the districts it’s the best meal around. Before you can wonder how Coryo knows it’s your favorite, he pulls out a spoon and dips it into the red liquid. He holds it up to your lips, and although you want to reject his offerings the growling of your tummy wins you over.
You slowly put your lips to the utensil, your taste buds exploding as the soup is placed on your tongue. You let out a tiny moan. You can’t help it! The soup is just too good.
“Hungry, aren’t you?”
You can hear the amusement in his voice, as you grab the spoon from him and begin to paw at the cup. You gulp down a few spoonfuls.
“It’s..” you pause, feeling around in Coryo’s lap. Your eyes widen as you feel his cock poking against you, and you slowly set the soup and spoon down. “It’s really good, Coryo. T-Thank you.”
He breathes out a laugh. You squirm against him, and it’s all too much. You lift yourself off of his lap and move to the living room couch. He watches, his brow raised, and if you look close enough you can see the clenching of his jaw.
“Are you scared of me?”
It’s a tone you haven’t heard from him, the faux gentleness gone.
Your breath wavers, your eyes averting from his.
“It’s just that..” you start, cautious, as you see his expression darken. “You— you took me, Coryo. My family must be so worried, so worried about me—“
He holds a hand up, as if to silence you. Your mouth shuts, your heart thudding against your chest. Coryo lifts his body up from the chair, slow and threatening. He makes his way over to you, his boots thudding against the wood once again.
“Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you?”
You cower under him, your fingers gripping the couch cushions so hard that you fear they might break.
“I- I just—“
“You just what?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I come home, give you dinner, a roof over your head, a new dress.. and this is how you repay me?”
Your mouth opens. Closes. You can feel hot, salty tears beginning to well in your eyes. This man in front of you is crazy, unwell. He hardly knows you.
Right?
You do remember seeing him around, as you mentioned before. Always in district twelve because it’s where he was stationed, but—
He seemed to be everywhere. You remember, now; little glimpses of that familiar platinum blonde hair moving through the crowd, big arms holding a peacekeeper’s gun. At the bars you went to, at the crowded reapings that you (thankfully) never got picked in. Outside of your house, as you would peek out the curtained window, marching down the gravel road and making sure that no one avoided curfew. You remember the way his eyes would lock with yours almost every single time. He may have been stalking you for months.
“No,” you breathe out, as his body moves closer and closer to you. “No, that’s not what I meant at all! Coryo, I appreciate everything you’ve done. R-Really! But..”
“But what, you ungrateful brat?” He crouches, his eyes baring into yours like a predator stalking its prey. “Answer me!”
You jump, his sudden change in tone scaring you, and you let out a sob.
“I wanna go home!” You yell back at him, sniffling.
Coryo’s hand grasps your hair firmly, and he yanks your head back. You cry out, his grip making your scalp burn. His breath his hot against your ear.
“You are home now, little girl.”
Your feet kick and flail, as he presses his lips harshly to yours. It’s the first kiss, one of many to come, and you don’t kiss him back, can’t kiss him back, as his teeth clack against yours. He takes your bottom lip in between his sharp, pearly white teeth, and bites. You squeal, holding your mouth, watching Coryo’s icy blue eyes stare into your own as he pulls away. You can feel something wet dripping down your chin and taste warm, metallic blood.
“If you ever say anything about leaving me again… I’ll make sure to take you out to the hanging tree and string you up dead for everyone to see.“
—
He doesn’t leave, on this night. He takes off the top of his peacekeeper uniform and stays in his pants and white tee shirt. You sit, watching his big hands clean the hilt of his gun. Your fears increase as you watch him, wondering if he’ll use it on you by the end of the night, and it’s been quiet since the moment he kissed you and said those horrifying words.
Until he decides to break the silence.
“I hope you like the dress.”
Your mouth stays shut, and you repeatedly tie and untie one of the ribbons on the fabric.
“It’s one of a kind,” Coryo presses, setting his gun down onto the table. And then, in the most amused tone, in the most unsettling tone, “I’m not going to shoot you, darling.”
Your hand goes up to your mouth, taking note of the scab forming there, and you chew on your thumbnail. You hear the sound of rustling as coryo gets up from his spot. He crouches down in front of you again, his big palms splaying across your thighs. You can feel the tears welling up again, and you bring your hands up to your eyes as you let out a quiet sob.
Coryo sighs, bringing his much larger ones up to take hold of your fingers. He pulls them down, revealing your blubbering face to him.
“ I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier, angel. I didn’t—“ he stops, breathing heavily. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. God, I didn’t mean to make you cry…”
His lips go up to the back of your hand, kissing it softly. You look down, not staring into those predatory eyes again. You let him pepper kisses along your wrist and arm.
After a moment, when your tears have dried up, coryo sighs deeply. He stands, and begins to zip his uniform back up.
“I’m going out,” he says. “Okay? I’ll be back… thirty minutes, tops.” he grabs his gun, slips on his helmet. He turns to you right before his hand twists the doorknob. “Do you have any suggestions for dinner?”
It’s the first time he’s ever gave you a choice, and the first time he’s ever allowed you to stay in the living room. You bite your lip, thinking over your options. Of the many, many possibilities of food, of drinks, of comfort.
“Tomato soup, please.”
—
Coryo is true to his word. It doesn’t take him long to return back to the locked cabin, and when he appears through the doorway you take note of the key that he slips from his pocket and relocks the latch with. Your brows furrow, as you see the cup of tomato soup in one hand and a large bag in the other.
“I got you something.” He says, and your curiosity peaks.
He sits the materials down on the table, and you stare at the bag with wonder.
His hand reaches in, and he pulls out a fabric of embroidered silk. He reveals it to be a nightgown; a baby blue slip, with beading along the neckline and a flared hem of knee length. You fake a smile, though in your mind you are impressed. You’ve never been gifted sleepwear so luxurious before.
“It’s amazing, Coryo,” you compliment. “I love it. Thank you.”
You grab the nightgown from his hands, the material soft in your palms. You hold it up to your nose; laundry detergent and parfume. The smell of riches. The smell of the capital.
As you hold your gift, you wonder how privileged this man truly is.
—
“Well?” He urges, sitting down on the couch. His thighs spread, oddly tantalizing. “Try it on, darling. Let me see how beautiful you look in it.”
Heat creeps up your neck, and when he notices your hesitance he chuckles and covers his eyes up with his fingers.
“I won’t look,” he says. “I promise. See?”
You can see his eyes peeking through, but you don’t mention it. You know what he wants, anyway. And it isn’t like asking for privacy is going to change that. He will get what he wants sooner or later.
You feel exposed, hot, and violated all at once as you pull your discarded dress over your head. You’re quick to slip on the nightgown. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
It fits like a glove, and when Coryo removes his hands from his eyes he gets up from his seat. He admires examines you with awe written on his face.
“Oh, honey,” he coos. “You’re stunning. An absolute gem.”
You hate the way your cheeks flush from his words. You hate the way your thighs clench when his fingers brush against your chest as he circles you. You hate it all.
He strokes your cheek, leaning closer to your lips with each movement.
“Think I deserve a kiss for spoiling my girl, yeah?”
Hesitantly, you nod, letting him thumb your bottom lip before pressing his mouth to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, calculated. This kiss is sweet, if you didn’t know any better. You kiss him back this time, in fear of getting bit again. His hand curls into your hair, and he whispers.
“Maybe I deserve a little more?”
You’ve done this before with other men, but not like this. You let yourself slip down to your knees, anyway, and when you slip Coryo’s cock into your mouth he’s almost gentle.
Almost.
You hate it all.
#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#bratty lxndry444#Coriolanus snow#Coriolanus snow x reader#xreader#Coriolanus snow smut#Coriolanus snow fanfic#dark! Coriolanus snow#dom! Coriolanus snow#cry kill die#tbosas#the ballad of songs and snakes#the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic#thg#thg fanfic#the hunger games#hunger games#hunger games fanfic#Tom blyth
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AAAA I LOVE THE HUNGER GAMES !! could u write either peeta or finnick during catching fire they are going oht of their way to protect you and make sure your okay (if peeta that katniss isn’t there u take her place for the story)
happy new year 😚😚
—cw: unedited, established relationships in both, general thg stuff, mentions of SA & prostitution, death
—a/n: HEY SO ik you requested a fic but i thought i could both (finnick & peeta) in headcanons!!!!!! I HOPE THATS OKAY PLS LMK 😭 also this was sooo much longer than excepted i got carried away with finnick’s! HAPPY NEW YWAR TOO!
FINNICK O’DAIR
we obviously know that finnick would go above and beyond to protect the people he loves and cares about
but there’s only a few people he cares about—you, annie & mags
you were three years younger than him, winning the hunger games at just 14 years old (like him) and you had come from district 4
you had volunteered for your younger sister in the games, like katniss would for prim later
people in the capitol found you just as, if not more, charming than finnick because of what you did for your sweet baby sister
they ate the whole thing up, crying at the beautiful gesture because they knew a little girl like you couldn’t win
but you did! it took everything in you, everything you stood for, and your morals to win
and it broke you as it did with any of the other victors
you thought it would have been all over after that but of course not
because you were so loved at the capitol, snow decided to make some profit out of it
he decided to sell your body in exchange for your family’s safety
and that is how you met finnick and became friends
he was 17 when he met you and he took you under his wing, protecting you from everything and everyone
but he knew he could only protect you from so much
when he had turned 18 he knew he had to leave you to do all those terrible things alone but he had to
you guys bonded over similar traumas and soon, you fell in love
when the quarter quell had been announced, you knew it wasn’t fair
and no matter what, you were going to volunteer for annie or mags because you knew neither could make it
annie was too fragile mentally and mags was too old, you were the only who was still strong physically and somewhat mentally
and finnick knew that was exactly what you were planning on doing but he knew he couldn’t stop you
at this point in time, finnick wasn’t wary of the rebellion so he thought he was going to have to choose between himself and y/n; and for him, it wasn’t much of a choice
he swore he would protect you, and when the time came he would kill himself so you could make it home
now you were thinking the opposite; you would pull exactly what katniss and peeta did, and if that didn’t work they might as well just die like romeo and juliet and that would cause an uproar at the capitol
when annie had been picked, you were the first to raise your hand, grabbing mags’ arm stop her
there were tears in both their eyes, looking at you with admiration, terror and slight relief
you had hugged them both tightly, knowing it was possibly the last time you’d feel their embraces
you looked over at finnick, tears brimming both of your eyes and you walked over at each other and brought your hands together, raising them up in union
when you had made it to the capitol, plutarch and haymitch had told you the plan and you immediately accepted, relief seen in both your expressions
when entering the training room, you wanted to work on your skills because you were a bit rusty, leaving all the violence back at the arena
you knew that this hunger games wasn’t gonna be like your last, it much more difficult like plutarch said
katniss always admired you, doing what you had done for your sister
she had related to you ever since she had came back from her hunger games; you were her idol
but after meeting finnick she realized that it may have been a ploy to win over some sponsors
after talking to haymitch, he told her the truth; that she was simply being shallow because you were the kindest person he had ever met
so when you were working on your bow skills, katniss had walked in
she realized you were struggling and decided to help you
you didn’t exchange much words but katniss realized what haymitch had said was true
and she had picked you for one of her allies
when the quarter quell had begun, you quickly sprinted to find finnick and when you did, you found him with katniss, then peeta
you were a pretty strong person, just as strong as finnick but he still had the urge to protect you
from the moment he laid eyes on you, he wanted to take you out of harms way and he didn’t know why until one day you had mentioned it; you had reminded him of himself when he was younger
before you, he had never felt real comfort after the hunger games because of your similarities and bonds that wouldn’t ever break
so even though you were very capable, he still protected you and made sure you were okay at all times
you and katniss bonded as well and him and peeta did
towards the end of the games, you had injured your lower leg very badly and you couldn’t walk
he couldn’t leave you because he knew that it was almost over
you had begged him to just leave, that you were just deadweight and neither him or katniss would budge
so he carried you on his back, right until the end of the games
also gale dies instead 🙄
PEETA MELLARK
basically you were katniss up until catching fire
you guys started dating after the hunger games, bonding over what had happened
when the quarter quell was announced you were heartbroken
you blamed yourself and only yourself because of it
you knew this time, you and peeta couldn’t get out of this one so easily
and you decided that peeta deserved to live and if it came to it, you would die for him
but peeta was thinking the exact same thing
you had a family to live for, you had friends to live for, you had a life to live for
and what did peeta have? nothing but you
he was prepared to take his own life for your own, in a heartbeat
now with katniss, peeta was definitely not as protective because she was more independent
but with you, he was way more protective
of course you were still a baddie like katniss but peeta felt more of a protective nature over you
he hated seeing you hurt whether it was physical or mental
peeta thought of ways to possibly stop the quarter quell, so he pulled the pregnancy stunt on caesar’s show
he couldn’t imagine his life without you, his life wouldn’t be his without you
that didn’t work as we know
in the quarter quell, he refused to leave your side
he also preferred to be in front of you even after you tried to argue that you would be better up front
when you guys slept, he would always lay his head on top of your so he could feel if you got up
he would be ready to kill anyone and everyone for you, in any moment
he hated the idea that the one of you had to die and he tried. it to think about it
the whole time during the games he just thought about ways to get you guys both out but he realized he couldn’t
when you ended up shooting the force field with your arrow and the whole thing went down, he was there
and he was saved with you because mocking jay peeta was scary & he didn’t deserve it 😭
#the hunger games x reader#the hunger games x you#the hunger games fanfiction#the hunger games#thg#thg fandom#thg fanfiction#thg x reader#thg finnick#thg peeta#thg fanfic#thg peeta x reader#thg finnick x reader#peeta mellark x you#peeta mellark x y/n#peeta mellark x reader#peeta and finnick#peeta mellark#the hunger games peeta#peeta x reader#hunger games finnick#finnick x y/n#finnick odair#finnick x you#finnick imagine#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x you#finnick fanfic#the hunger games headcanons#thg triology
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Neighbors — New Everlark One-Shot
fluffy little modern au one-shot about katniss and peeta meeting at a sandcastle competition on the lakeshore where katniss' parents fell in love <3
if you like everlark on the beach this is for you!!
i wrote this in one sitting in a matter of hours this morning lol hope y'all enjoy :)
#the hunger games#thg#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#everlark#thg fic#thg fanfic#thg fanfiction#thg au#hunger games au#everlark fic#everlark fanfic#everlark fanfiction#everlark au#beach everlark
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Sign Up Now Open! (Click Here)
Sign up for writing a fic by simply completing the linked google form so you can be added to the AO3 collection! Once that's complete, you can begin writing based on the prompt!
Prompt: After the 74th games but before the Quater quell! Can be anywhere between missing moments in canon to a complete AU! All lengths accepted!
Submission due May 8th, 2024!
On May 8th, the collection on AO3 will go live and the comment feast begins!
For additional information, visit the FAQ page!
This comment feast is not about which author has the most comments but rather focuses on the commenters! Which commenter can engage with the most fics in the collection?
This blog will be highlighting comments for all fics in the collection once posted!
If you have any further questions or comments, feel free to send an ask!
#thg fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#thg fanfic#hunger games fanfiction#hunger games fanfic#everlark fanfic#thgcommentfeast#reblog to boost please!#thgcommentfeastmay24#May24
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