#caesar flickerman x reader

[dd122004dd]

Silk Dragoness

So, we recently got a Caesar Flickerman Request. It’s...okay. I feel like the smut is a bit....yeah.

Request: The plot I came up with is that fem reader is a tribute from a career district so she likes the games and a crush on Ceaser. So she asks the stylist to make her a revealing and sexy outfit then she has her interview she flirts with him in a very sexual / suggestive way. Caesar accidentally gets a boner on stage which he has to hide somehow till he gets of stage. He then has sex with her backstage. There is an age gap cause reader will be 18 (oldest a tribute can be) and Caesar is in his late 50s at least in the movies

Warnings: Age gap, obsession, rough sex

 Swathes of fabric were effortlessly draped over her torso as multiple stylists worked on her dress, pulling her arms in various directions while simultaneously testing swatches on her skin. 

Her stylist Amarilla waltzed into the large room, her heels clacking on the floor as she walked towards her, clicking her tongue at the three junior stylists. 

 “No, No Never, No! Fuchsia? No. God, which one of you nitwits picked these colors? It’s like you’re blind to her complexion. Shoo, make yourselves scarce. It seems like I’ll have to do all the work myself.” 

“Hello Amarilla.” 

 “Hello darling. Sorry to leave you to be poked and prodded at in the hands of those imbeciles. But fear not, I’m here now.” The stylist greeted. 

 “Aah, my knight in shining armor.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

 “Well, what can I say, you’ve discovered my secret identity.” Amarilla teased. 

 “So, what were you thinking? For my outfit?” 

 “I’m thinking something BOLD, ELEGANT, SEXY something that screams District 1. Something luxurious. Not like the past years’ outfits. I want you to be seen as a warrior, like a goddess made mortal.” 

 “And how do you propose to do that? Douse me in glitter like all the other districts?” 

 “Oh, ye of little faith. Just watch and wait.” The stylist said, smirking. 

 ~

Bred to fight she’d watched the Games since she was a child. Her attention fixated on the heroic champions from her district who ruthlessly conquered the others, yet her gaze was drawn to the flamboyant man who made and broke tributes with a sly word or a well-placed comment. 

As the years passed, his figure changed, his style became more colorful yet she found herself more entranced by his presence, his personality, his charm. With time he became more suave, coy on stage with a twinkle behind his eye, as if he knew a secret yet this served to intrigue her further. 

Her desire to understand him, to learn everything about him from the very lilt of his voice to the curve of his spine consumed her waking moments. Even the night could never provide any respite. Yet, her desire fueled her. 

Determined to meet the man she craved; she worked harder than any candidate before her. And when the opportunity to volunteer finally came, she snatched it, with eager fingers and a wide smile. 

The day had finally arrived, after years of training here it was, the moment she’d waited for, the moment she’d trained for, dreamt about. She could almost taste it; it was so close yet so unbearably far. She was confident she’d snatch everyone’s attention in the dress she wore. 

 Taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves she moved towards her carriage, awaiting the gates opening. 

 ~ 

 His crimson eyes scanned through the tributes of that year. Young, boring adolescents sent to the slaughter like lambs in the stew he so deeply favored. After years of doing the same job, it started becoming more…routine, less thrilling than it was in his youth. The tributes were more or less the same, different faces but the same people reproduced over and over. The monotony made it impossible for anyone to stand out. Everyone was dressed in the same bright shades, the artists repeated styles in garish colors that were too flashy or ill-made. All in all, life had become boring. No one caught his attention anymore. He’d hoped that this year would be different but it was shaping up to be the same as the ones before. 

Snapped out of his thoughts, he watched as the first tribute rode in, stealing his breath away from him. As if a goddess riding into battle on a chariot she held herself with confidence, raising her arms akin to a god summoning their hordes. She basked in the chorus of cheers. A goddess to her fanatics. Her body wrapped in shimmering beige with silver swirling lines standing out from the dress, from a distance it was almost blending in with her skin, making her look almost nude in her visage. Embroidered on the dress was the body of a crimson dragon, slithering and fire-y as it curled around her body before crawling up her neck and merging into a scaly high-neck, flaring behind her, forming a glowing red halo behind her head. The edges of her dress were a gradient of vermillion to beige, depicting a goddess bathed in blood, one who trudged through a field of martyrs. 

 Her hair was placed into an intricate style atop her head, giving a delicious view of her nape. The style was held together with sophisticated looking gold pins that looked dainty to the naked eye, yet only on closer inspection could one truly tell how dangerous they were. 

 The Master of Ceremonies was awestruck at the beauty before him. A picture of deadly elegance that called to a part of him long suppressed within the fanfare of the capitol. He felt arousal stir within him as he gazed upon the beauty enveloped in his colors, a mere coincidence that they’d both chosen crimson that year. As he convinced himself of the pure coincidence, she looked directly at him and smirked before turning her attention back to the crowd. Yes, this year would be one to watch, of that he had no doubt now. 

 He was startled out of his musings by the man sitting beside him, announcing the next tribute, he focused on his job, slightly struggling to ignore the beauty who demanded his attention. 

 ~ 

 Time flew quickly and soon he was once again before the cameras. He felt more in control, in his element as he basked in the attention the audience laved over him. After getting the crowd excited, he called forth the first tribute. The male from District 1 was the same as all the others had been. Arrogant, prideful and a desire to win, paired with a charming smile that made the ladies and gents’ swoon. After him, the next tribute was the fiery goddess herself. 

 “Aah next is our favorite tribute from District 1!” 

 Adorned in a silky-transparent dress that left little to the imagination with an off-the-shoulder sleeves and a plunging neckline that showed a hint of cleavage. If that was not enough to rush the man into an early grave her dress also had a slit that ended at her thigh, giving him a tantalizing view of her smooth legs. Her hair flowed down her back, swaying with every step she took, tempting him to wrap his fingers within her locks.  He felt himself stiffen as she swayed towards him, smiling as she took in his gaze. His eyes traveled down her body, halting at a few places before moving on and before he knew it, she was standing before him, smiling teasingly. 

 “Hello Mr. Flickerman, you’re looking particularly charming. Is that a Carla Rye I see?” 

 “Aah, a flatterer with an eye for fashion, isn’t she just charming folks?” he said, preening at her compliment. 

The audience roared with approval. 

 “Well, I only speak the truth Mr. Flickerman,” 

 “Oh please, my father was Mr. Flickerman, call me Caesar.” 

 “Caesar. Caesar. Caesar. Well, it’s a true pleasure to finally meet you.” She purred, almost caressing his name. As if by just saying his name she could almost taste him. 

 Hearing her say his name was almost criminal to his senses as her crimson lips curled around the syllables. 

 “-everyone was enthralled by your last outfit. So, tell us a little more about today’s outfit, you caught everyone’s eye with your dramatic entry at the Tribute Parade.” 

 “Ah, well it’s all thanks to my dear stylist Amarilla, she’s been truly incredible and her hands are simply magic.” 

 “Speaking of magical hands, I’ve heard your weapon of choice is a spear. A rather unique choice of weapon, wouldn’t you say?” “Oh Caesar, I’ve been playing with sticks since I was young. I know how to handle a rod, how to maneuver it to do my bidding and lastly, I know how to strike with it. My aim is deadly and I know how to get exactly what I want,” She said to him, eyes trailing his body before looking into his eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. 

The innuendo was not lost on the older man as he re-adjusted his position, attempting to hide his growing erection from the younger woman. He knew she was toying with him and he planned on making her pay for it, soon. 

Breathing through his nose, he moved on to the next question. 

 “Aah, a confident woman. How does it feel to be here? To be a tribute in the Hunger Games? Are you excited? Nervous? Anxious? Confident?” 

 “Oh Caesar, I’ve been dreaming of this day since I was a child. Being here, in front of you and all your wonderful people is truly a gift. It’s what I’ve worked so hard for. But I do have to admit, I’m a bit nervous than I expected.” She said bashfully, feigning nervousness 

Seeing her nervousness, he held her hand within his, tingles running up his arm as he said, “There’s no need to be nervous.” 

She smiled, leaning closer to the man in a show of seductive gratitude, exposing more of her cleavage to the man in the process. He felt his heart quicken and his moth becoming drier as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. A perverse image crossed his mind of her, on her knees with smudged lipstick and make-up running down her cheeks. 

 “Thank you,” she whispered breathily. 

 “So, you said you’ve been a fan of the games since you were a child. Do you have any favorite victor over the past years?” 

 “Oh I think I’d be lying if I said all the victors were my favorite but I do appreciate the ferocity with which they’ve fought in the games though I have to admit my favorite victor was Cashmere, she’s truly brilliant but I’d be lying if I said my gaze wasn’t stolen away by- oh I don’t think I should say-” 

 “Oh, you definitely should! Which victor stole your gaze away?” He asked, leaning in. 

 “Well, my gaze was stolen away by you, Caesar.�� She confessed. The audience gasped and awed at the girl. 

 Taken aback by the girl’s confession he felt flustered and flattered. Taking a moment to compose himself, feeling his erection straining against his tailored trousers. The little minx knew what she was doing. 

 “Ha ha,ha. You flatterer.” He said, trying to brush off her confession as a mere joke, yet he saw a glint of sincerity in her eyes before it was quickly replaced by amusement. 

 “Some people call me foxy.” 

 “I’d call you a vixen.” He said under her breath before smiling at the woman and continuing with the interview, readjusting his pants to hide his erection from view.

 ~ 

 The interviews after hers were pure torture. Having to suppress the urge to corner the sly minx and constantly re-adjust in his seat he finally finished the last interview, bringing the show to a close and wishing the tributes good luck. 

 As soon as the lights dimmed, he sauntered back-stage. A composed look on his face as he searched for the object of his new-found desires. He was about to ask someone about her where-abouts when he spotted her from the corner of his eyes. She looked directly at him, grinning slyly as she seductively turned, revealing her open back as she walked away, subtly beaconing him to follow. 

 Straightening his back, he calmly followed her. A predator to prey, though who was truly the predator one could only guess. He sped up his pace till he was so close to her that he could almost feel every curve of her body. Roughly curling his hand around her wrist, he whispered, “That’s enough running, little fox.”

“Who said I was running?” 

 “You’ve been a naughty little minx, teasing me in front of millions,” he whispered against her neck, taking in her scent. 

 Turning her around he pinned her against the grey walls of the little dressing room they found themselves in. Grinning at his display of dominance she taunted, “So? What are you gonna do about it?” 

 At her reply he merely smirked at the younger woman, a predatory look in his eye as he crashed his lips against hers in a battle of teeth and tongue. The pair fought, consuming each other in the kiss, one desperate the other dominant. A battle of the wills as he dominated her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, consuming her.

Pinning her hands against the wall he whispered, “What am I gonna do? I’m gonna punish you for teasing me then I’m gonna fuck you till you cant stand, till you can barely breathe, till all you can feel is me.” 

 She moaned aloud at his declaration, finally she’d be getting what she has always wanted. 

“Such a needy slut.” He whispered before backing away. She looked at him, curiosity coloring her gaze as the distance between them increased. 

 “Well, since you love to perform in front of millions its only fair if you give me a show, isn’t it?” He said, smirking at the beauty. 

 Biting her lip, she looked at him through her eyelashes before humming and slowly peeling off the dress from her body, revealing her skin to him bit by bit till not a single stitch of cloth could be found on her body. 

The older man languished in his need for her, gazing at the young woman who stared at him with equal desire, beaconing him to touch her. “What a pretty girl. So eager to do anything I command of you.” He said before crossing the distance between them and pressing her against the wall once again, devouring her mouth with his. 

 After the heated kiss he smirked at her before weaving his fingers within her hair and forcing her to her knees. “Now, pet. Would you like a little treat for being so obedient? For being a good little girl?” 

“Yes sir.” She said, nodding her head eagerly. Satisfied at her reply he quickly undid his tailored pants and palmed himself before pushing his cock towards her lips. 

 She opened her mouth to have a taste when he tutted, slapping her face lightly. Startled by his action she looked up at him, questioning. 

“Good girls ask for permission,” he stated simply. 

 Understanding his silent demand, she begged, “Please sir, please let me suck your cock. Please, let me be a good girl. Let me give you pleasure,”   

Grinning, he told her to go ahead. She wrapped her lips around his cock, moaning at his salty-musky taste, taking her time in appreciating his unique flavor. She used her tongue to caress the vein under his cock before bobbing her head up and down, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked.

Growing impatient at her slow pace Caesar held her head by her hair before thrusting wildly into her open mouth, the sounds of her gagging on his cock was music to his ears. 

Keeping her mouth lax she enjoyed the feeling of him dominating her, thrusting into her mouth till her throat felt hoarse. As he fucked her mouth, she felt drool slide down her chin and the heat between her legs throbbed, begging to be addressed. 

Mascara bled down her cheeks as pleasure enveloped her senses. Her crimson lips smudged from his affections. Her back arching in pleasure, flexible muscles taut in the face of his ministrations. 

Feeling close to his release he stopped thrusting into her mouth, pulling out quickly and leaving her whimpering for him. 

 He smiled at the girl before him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Make-up smudged and a dazed look in her eyes as she tried to focus on him. 

 “You said you adored me pretty; well, why don’t you show me how much you want me. Kneel. Beg me to fuck you, beg me to have mercy.” He said to the sitting girl. 

 “Caesar. Sir. Please. I need you. I’ve craved you since I was a child. I’ve waited for this moment for years. Please sir. Please use me. Fuck me. Ruin me. Because I can’t take not having you in me anymore. I need to feel you inside me.” She babbled desperately. 

 Grinning at the woman he pulled her to her feet before wrapping his arm around her waist, hoisting her up till she wrapped her legs around his hips. He kissed again as she rubbed herself against his cock, impatiently whining. Breaking away from the kiss he tutted at her, rubbing his cock against her silt as she let out little moans, begging him to slide his cock into her. 

 Giving into the girl before him he slid into her slowly as she gasped, feeling his length fill her till he bottomed out.   

“Fuck,” he cursed, feeling her heat envelop him. 

Her eyes were closed as she savored the feeling of him inside her, his large cock filling her before he started thrusting, stretching her out. She moaned as she begged him to go faster. 

He obliged her request as he thrust into her roughly, rubbing her clit with his other hand as he felt the woman under him moan and whimper against his body, her back arching for him, begging for more.

Tingles spread throughout her body as she mouthed at the skin of his throat, sucking on his skin as she left her marks on the elder man. 

 “Such a pretty little pussy, taking me so well. Such a good little girl.” He mumbled against her as she arched her back once more. 

“Please. Please. Please.” She mumbled repeatedly, though her mind was too cloudy to understand what she was begging for. 

He felt her tightening around him, at the brink of her release as she looked at him with unfocused eyes. His pretty little slut. All his. 

“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” he asked as she nodded her head eagerly. “Then beg for it like a good girl.” He demanded. 

“Please sir. Please lemme cum. Please. I’ll be so good for you. Please let me cum.” She slurred as he thrust into her repeatedly. 

He simply hummed and thrust into her faster, feeling her tightening around him, her muscles straining to hold back her orgasm, awaiting his order. Pleased with her obedience he gave her permission to cum. 

 Stars burst behind her eyelids as she felt herself shudder against the older man, her walls spasming around him as he continued thrusting into her, chasing his orgasm soon after her. 

His thrusts slowed down as he slowly rocked them down form their highs, filling her with his warm seed. 

Feeling full, she looked tiredly up at him before softly pecking him. 

After a few minutes he unwrapped his arms from around her. 

 Pulling away from her warmth he watched his essence drip from her folds as she whimpered, looking at him with dazed eyes. He sighed, placing a kiss on her cheek before saying, “Until next time, little fox.” 

 As he left, she noticed something shining in the corner of her eye. A camera.

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: As a mentor, you do your best to help your tributes. When one of them turns into a victor, she knows just how to embarrass you in front of people you’d like to impress.

part two | part three

You whisk through the backstage hallways of the filming center, wet hair whipping as you turn corners. You’re on a mission. Apparently your tribute, now victor, is having a total breakdown.

Your fellow mentor told you he could absolutely handle her post-games interview. Clearly not, though, since your phone wouldn’t stop ringing while you sat at the bottom of your shower. When you finally pulled yourself out of your stupor to answer it, the district ten escort was on the phone begging you to get down here and fix her. You thought she was exaggerating until your stylist came on and told you it was bad. At that point, you threw on the closest clothes you could find and flew out of the apartment.

Darla is a sweet girl, and you’ve grown quite fond of her. You busted your ass getting her sponsors. Every year you try your best, but you thought she had a good chance and she proved you right. Seeing her in the hospital bed, though, you knew she was different. You thought something like this might happen, but you didn’t think it would happen during your shower.

Rushing around another corner, you crash right into another body.

“Sorry!” You try to quickly remove your hands from where you’d steadied yourself, and sidestep this new obstacle.

“What’s the rush?” The obstacle won’t quite let go of you, though. Now interrupted from your task, you look up to recognize the person in your way. Finnick Odair. It couldn’t have been anyone else?

“Emergency,” you quickly dismiss, trying to get by him again. If you look into his eyes you will be thoroughly distracted. You generally try to avoid Finnick at all costs. His intense stare makes you rather nervous.

“Everything ok?” He raises a brow.

“It will be when I get through here,” you start to get antsy. You tend to accidentally default to short and rude with him.

He lets out a scoff of a chuckle, “you’re a tough egg to crack, you know that?”

You’re really not. The Capitol knows you as the gentle victor, who often visits classrooms and reads to children. You guest star on daytime Capitol tv, making some of your favorite recipes in your houses’s enormous kitchen. You’ve designed gardens and parks and are generally well liked here for your friendliness.

“Look,” you huff, “Darla’s in trouble.” This, at least, you know he’ll understand. “Let me through so I can help her.”

“That’s why everything’s been delayed?” He asks. He’s right, too. The time it’s taken you to get dressed, get a car, and get here is all time that Darla should’ve been on air.

“Finnick,” you snap.

He steps aside in an instant, “good luck.”

You breeze past him.

“Mother hen is a good look on you,” you hear from behind you.

“Shut up,” you bark over your shoulder.

Back on track, you quickly find the right door. Whipping it open and rushing in, the entire district ten beauty team turns to look at you. Their eyes are wide and they look quite upset.

“She’s been staring at the wall since before we called you,” the hairstylist whispers, quickly rushing up to you and taking your hand. You instantly tug it away, they are not your priority.

You breeze past them and slowly approach where Darla is sat. She faces away from you, and is curled up in a ball staring at the wall. Quietly, you sit parallel to her and enjoy a similar view of the wall.

“Hey, D,” you say quietly. Taking a slow approach will probably be more effective than trying to force her up. You’re certain the beauty team tried that approach, but quickly got scared.

She’s silent for a bit, “I can’t do this.” Her voice comes as a relief to you.

You hate what you’re about to tell her. You’d really rather whisk her away back to the apartments, but there’s not exactly another option here. “Look at me, honey, yes you can.”

“No, I-“

“Darla, you can.” You try to be firm, but it falls short.

“You don’t under-“

“Now I know you weren’t gonna say I don’t understand. Baby, I might just be the only one who does.”

Darla starts to cry, and suddenly she looks her age. In this moment she’s not a victor. She’s just a sixteen year old who’s been through far more than she should. You move from your spot to embrace her.

“I know, honey. I’ve been here. Sometimes I’m still here. I know. But they don’t- and they can’t.” You say as you hold her close to your heart.

“So what do I do?” You pull away to see her teary face. You rise to your feet and slowly pull her with you.

“We’re gonna clean you up, and send you out there good as new,” you say, trying to imbue some confidence in her.

Darla’s eyes widen in fear.

“Relax, honey, we’ve got time,” you wipe her teary cheeks. You wave the makeup artist over, as you sit Darla in a chair. “Now in the meantime,” you start, pouring a glass of water and forcing it into Darla’s hand, “I’m gonna tell you a story. How’s that sound?”

Darla nods reluctantly, taking in ice water through the straw. You sit on the glass coffee table in front of the girl as the makeup artist gets to work.

“Now this happened a looooong time ago- back when I was ten. It was a bright summer’s day on the ranch, and I was up nice and early when my Paw came up and told me he’d lost his wedding ring. Now, my Nana was an insightful gal- if she had noticed (and believe me she would’ve) she’d have pitched a fit.

So I was enlisted to help him find it. Well, we searched everywhere. All around the house, the garage- no luck. Finally, we headed out to the pasture. We were digging through manure, when suddenly my foot sank into a pothole and I went flying toward the ground. I landed face first in an enormous pile of shit. But that’s not the worst of it- ohhh no.

When I pushed myself off the ground, I saw my nana had come home. She’d brought four of her friends and all of their grandkids. That included little Jimmy Price, who I happened to be enamored with. (Not that I ever spoke to him since I was so shy.) And in that moment, my Paw, back turned to the whole thing, held up his ring and shouted ‘found it!’ Only to turn and find me covered in cow poop and his wife watching with all her friends.”

Darla smiles a bit at your misfortune, “so he found the ring in the poop?”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, “it was in his pocket all along.” Darla cackles this, nearly messing up the eyeliner her makeup artist tries to fix from her earlier tears.

“So what was the lesson in this fable?” Darla asks teasingly.

“Oh none,” you reply innocently, but a smirk grows on your face, “but at least you’re not heading out there covered in cow shit.” Darla grins and shakes her head, feeling up to the task now. The makeup artist nods at you and dashes from the room.

“Now honey,” you start, pulling Darla up from her chair, “you just blame your tardiness on me. Tell Caesar I was fawning all over you like a mother hen.” At least something useful came out of your run in with the Capitol’s darling.

Darla smiles a little, nodding. “And remember, just be your charming self- everyone here adores you,” you remind her. She seems a lot better now.

“Oh hey, where were you earlier?” Darla asks, about to head out the door.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” You tell her, smile dimming.

“Now you really sound like my mother,” Darla quips back, and you grin again.

With that, a stagehand pulls Darla away to where Caesar’s been waiting. There’s not much else you can do for the girl now. Out of your hands and into the Capitol’s. You can only hope Darla won’t freeze feeling all their eyes upon her.

You shouldn’t have been worried, though. Darla nails her post-games interview. The audience finds it adorable when the girl says she took so long because her mentor was fussing over her hair and her dress.

“You wouldn’t think it- but she’s a real mother hen.” Darla says, and you smile as you watch from backstage. The audience erupts into a gleeful sort of laughter at the comment.

Caesar knows just what to do with it, too, “well it’s no wonder, I’m sure you’ve made her proud!” Darla beams, and very convincingly so. “Let’s take a look back at Darla’s games!”

To your great relief, Darla holds it together through the recap. The girl gets boisterous applause as the leaves the stage, then comes flying into your arms once she’s out of sight. The force of it makes you stumble, but you quickly plant your feet and return the hug.

“You did great, kiddo,” you tell your tribute.

“Thanks!” Darla replies, speaking loudly from the adrenaline rush, “and thanks for telling me about when you face planted in a pile of cow poop back home, it really helped!”

Every single person milling around backstage turns to look at you when Darla says it. Not that the girl notices the extra eyes.

You drop your chin, trying to avoid the stares of these people. This is what you get for comforting her at your own expense. Taking a calming breath, you look up only to meet a pair of sea-green eyes.

Of course Finnick Odair heard that, and of course he’s smirking teasingly at you.

Like Jimmy Price all over again.

You stick your tongue out at him.

———————————————————

I did not edit this so I hope it’s ok lmao. The new hunger games movie was great so ofc finnick’s been on the brain

[asterias-record-shop]

Hello, I wanted to ask if your fic requests are still open? Cos I please want to ask for a Finnick Odair x reader involving major character death

So the reader's personality is somewhat similar to Lucy Gray Baird, ( if you have read A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes). Also, I'd like her to be a victor from District 5. Because of her voice, Snow often has her sing at the capitol. She and Finnick often run into each other because of frequently having to be at the capitol, so they develop a relationship and start seeing each other romantically in secret.

Then, she later on joins the rebellion but ends up getting murdered by lizard mutts in the Mockingjay timeline because she chose to sacrifice herself during that mission. So it's the reader who dies instead of Finnick

If you want to skip this request, then that's okay. But thank you, if you'd like to take it.

Also, the one shot would be inspired by the song Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince by Taylor swift

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

         — a dream is a wish

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

I am so sorry if this is bad, I’ve never been the best at writing angst. Im not proud of it, but i didn’t want to not try :)

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

Finnick wasn’t sure where you had gotten the song you sang to your son. The Capitol had gotten rid of everything that gave knowledge of the old world, but you sang a song that you had heard from a movie.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” you sang, humming continuously as you slowly swayed in your all black tactical gear. He didn’t want you to go, he hated the thought of you going. He just couldn’t get you to stay. “When you’re fast asleep, in your dreams you’ll lose your heartache…”

“Y/N,” Finnick spoke as you smiled back at him. “You… you shouldn’t come.”

You continue to hum, swaying as you slowly set down your son. “Effie said she would watch Alexei. Everything will be fine.”

Finnick shook his head, sighing. “What if… what if something happens? You know we said that someone always stays when we go on missions.”

“Do you think I’d sit this out?” You ask, turning around. “Finnick, nothing will happen, I swear,” you whisper, cupping his face as he leaned down to kiss your wrist. “We said we’d do everything together too, remember? In our vows, we swore.”

“Not when I could lose you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse as he holds your forearm delicately. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you press a firm kiss to his lips, shaking your head. “I said I’d follow you anywhere and everywhere, remember? No matter what.”

He inhaled shakily, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Please don’t come.”

“I can’t let you go on it alone.” You whispered back, shaking your head. “I won’t. Anywhere and everywhere you go, I’m going.”

Finnick lets his other hand settle on your waist, sighing as he pulls you closer, letting his lips press continuously against your wrist before moving to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

On the journey there, he held your hand tightly through every step, enjoying your soft singing as you held his hand tightly. He loved that stupid song you sang about dreams, and how his dream was always to start a life with you somewhere safe and secure. He was fighting for that somewhere, and to be honest, he had mixed feelings about fighting it with you.

“I have something important to tell you when we get back,” you say, smiling as you bumped his hip with your own. “I think you’ll be ecstatic.”

He smiled widely, kissing your head. “Anything you say makes me ecstatic.”

As soon as you both went down that tunnel though, he knew something was wrong. You trailed behind him, much to his dismay, mainly because you were the best with firearms and you knew you could protect him.

“Go up first,” Finnick tried to tell you, but you just shook your head. “Y/N, I'm not asking you.”

“Finnick, I’m not going up that latter first,” you say, your usual strong will making his stomach twist. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Finnick, come on,” Katniss called as you started pushing him up the ladder, tapping his thigh.

“I love you,” you say quickly, smiling as he finally gets up.

Finnick goes to turn around, your scream making him almost fall as he made it to the top. He could barely get out your name when he saw the mutts come out, about to jump down before Katniss yelled into her earpiece.

“No! No, what are you doing?!” Finnick attempted to let go before Katniss grabbed his shoulders and tugged him onto the overhead, the explosion making his heart clench.

His ears were ringing, the wishful thinking of trying to hope that it was fake, that you followed behind him shattered whenever he stared down at nothing.

“What did you do?” He whispers, his voice soft before turning to Katniss. “What did you do?!”

Tears were running down her cheeks as a wail fell from her lips, the only person she ever saw as a friend or an older sister gone.

Finnick refused to believe it, though, already grabbing his trident. “We’re going back down.”

“She’s gone!” Katniss sobbed, running her hands through her hair. “She’s gone, she’s gone…”

Her voice continued to drone on, going into soft whispers as Finnick stared at the hatch.

This wasn’t real.

It wasn’t until he got back to District 13 did everything settle in. Seeing Katniss hold Alexi who was wailing and sobbing, tears in her eyes as she tried to remember the words you always sang so beautifully.

“I don’t… I don’t remember them,” Katniss whispers, thinking back to when you helped calm her down on the beach during the third quarter quell, singing softly as you braided her hair. How could she not remember them?

“I do,” Finnick’s voice was hoarse, his eyebags dark and obvious, a sniffle filling the room as Katniss tried to shake her head.

“You need to go back to sleep-”

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” he hummed softly, his voice cracked and breaking since he wasn’t much of a singer, but he quickly calmed down at the sound of the lyrics. “When you’re fast asleep, in your dreams you’ll lose your heartache…”

Finnick continued to sing the words that you knew by heart, even if it wasn’t the best, but it still made Alexi calm down. He stared down at Alexi’s eyes which were an exact replica of your own, smiling with tears filling his eyes.

Maybe not all hope was lost, afterall.

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© asterias-record-shop

[laceswan]

The Smiling Princess

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!OC

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, canon typical violence

part two is out!

The capitol wasn’t all that different from district one. It was more modern, more luxurious, but not by much. Sylke thought back to the reaping. This year was a strange one. For some reason, none of the training female career tributes volunteered, either too young or not ready. She was only fourteen, never once had she wanted the life of a career. And yet her name had been the one drawn. Standing on that stage next to a man much older who’s trained his whole life for this, she felt more out of place than ever before. The train ride was not long, less than a day, but Sylke found it hard to relax, and time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. She had decided the moment her name was called and no one volunteered, that this was the end of her life. It wasn't even a question in her mind. Normally she would try to maintain a certain amount of optimism, but as she pondered on the train it became evident that such hope was almost always applied to someone not herself. Undying optimism was reserved for everyone else, while a more calculating hope was held for herself. In this case, the odds were not in her favour. The best she could do was enjoy the little bit of life she has left. And she did. Regardless of its strange and bloody traditions, the capitol was beautiful. The gifts she had been offered, the world she got to see from the train window, so much of it was bright and wonderful. And with the little time she had left, she resolved to appreciate it.

The other tribute from 1, Cesare, didn’t seem to like her much. He was cold, offered only backhanded advice, and made a lousy excuse for her only companion. Their mentor, Victoria, was sweet, convinced that Sylke could survive with some allies and sponsors. Their escort, Misty, agreed, and was already assembling a list of rich possible benefactors she planned to meet with. When they arrived in the capitol, Sylke was desperate for a new face, a friendly one. There was one person around her age, the tribute from four. She saw him at the tribute parade, dressed glamourously in blue and green. When they met, she tried to be as friendly and genuine as possible. That was his first instinct as well, to simply be kind, to make a friend, but when the conversation was over, he was swiftly pulled aside and reminded that she wouldn’t make a good ally, that he should put energy into connections with other, more fit tributes. As he tried to talk to Cesare, a broad-shouldered athlete who clearly had an advantage at the game, Finnick couldn’t keep himself from looking in her direction, from thinking about her and what she must be feeling. There was a churning anxiety, an uncertainty, that raged like a storm in the high seas within his core, one deeply tied to being so young in a place full or intimidating older kids. She was probably in the same boat, and he was drawn to that. No one else was that young in this Game, and in a different world, perhaps they even would have been friends. That is what kept him lingering in her mind as well. That they could have been friends. Only to her, they still could be even if only for a short while. It was the only friend she might be able to find in this place.

There was a gala that night, a chance to meet people, network, get sponsors. Sylke’s stylist put her in a long, heavy gown, white and gold with little pearls and jewels, to appeal to sponsors from one as her stylist put it. Something about portraying luxury. As much as she disliked the performance of it all, it had been a while since she’d been in a gown like this, with the heavy silks that draped off her body like water flowing gently over time-smoothed rocks. Something about it felt authentic, the daintiness and femininity. If she looked in a mirror she looked like herself. There had been a few times like that in her life, all of them before or during dance performances. The mirror that hung on the wall backstage was where she would check her costume before going up. She was grateful each time that her character wouldn’t be be frowning. She wouldn’t have to act. It would make her smile like nothing else, to see the dress she was wearing, because the person looking back at her was the girl she would see in her dreams, the princess she always wanted to be. And she would smile, a real smile, and she would go on stage with that smile, and everyone watching would know it’s real. The gala was different. People were closer, meaner, there was a tension in the air that never truly went away. The other tributes were there, closer to her than she’d ever seen them before. They were all so strong, so ruthless, merciless. It became clear to her that she didn’t stand a chance. They all looked out of place in fragile evening wear, like they belonged in a suit of armor on the battlefield. They could kill her in an instant, rip her apart like silk. This was the way she was going to die. She had a week or so until then, a week that she wanted to enjoy. But how would she enjoy what was essentially her deathbed? She would need to look at the little things, just the details could perhaps keep her happy for a week. She would need to distract herself, take comfort in all the things around her that weren’t awful. Those details weren’t as rare as she had thought, not if she looked in the right places. The gala was certainly not the stage, but it wasn’t that different. Those similarities were what she took comfort in that night. The dress, the lights, the few faces in the crowds that were truly friendly. Her dress didn’t flutter like a tutu, it didn’t spin the same, but it still made her happy, she looked liked herself in every glass, every reflective surface, she would see the dress, the jewels, and in a matter of seconds, her smile. She met all sorts of sponsors that night, they loved her. After all, there was no point in trying to appeal to them, and thus she could just be herself. Perhaps they made plans to help her in the arena now that she’d met them, but it didn’t matter. All that she could do was enjoy her night. Bask in the luxury and make some friends. The sponsors weren’t really friends. They weren’t her equals, they weren’t fearing for their lives. Only twenty-three others were like her. One of them was standing alone, at the edge of the dance floor. The boy from four that she had yet to learn the name of. He wore bronze to match his hair and tanned skin, a fairly simple ensemble akin to any other tuxedo or suit. The part that caught attention was the brocade. Just like Sylke’s jewels, they glittered in the light, adorning his chest and shoulders. There was a heavy patterned fabric that was draped off his shoulder like an asymmetrical cape fit for a prince. It hung still as he leaned against the wall, but Sylke pictured it fluttering with every movement and step he took. He was alone, as though waiting for company of some kind. So she walked up to him, the fabric of her dress swaying with each step.

“Hey. I’m Sylke. ”

“Finnick. You’re from one?”

The question was awkward, like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. And you’re from four, right?”

“Yup.”

There was a silence. She wanted to ask how he was enjoying the night, if he liked galas like this, if he’d ever been to one before, in fact she was about to when-

“But you’re not a career?”

There it was.

“I’m not. Just a regular tribute, like you.”

“Actually I’m not. I trained for this.”

“But you’re fourteen, don’t you wait until eighteen?”

“Yeah, usually.”

His answer was short, clearly a sore subject. She wanted to ask why, but as she looked at his face it became obvious that he didn’t know. So she didn’t push.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His mentor, and kind woman named Mags, had told him not to show weakness, to portray confidence, never let the image slip, but it still did when he was talking to her. He let it slip, for some reason that he couldn’t yet identify. Something in him just wanted to tell her everything, every thought, every feeling, every doubt that floated through his head. Or rather he wanted to tell the world, but the world could not be trusted and so he looked to trustworthy individuals. Something told him she was most certainly one of them. Of course he didn’t say everything, but his performance was still weakened by her presence. Mostly by that smile. So genuine it made him want to smile too. They spent most of the night seated at a table in the corner of the room, occasionally beckoned by a mentor or escort, but always returning to the conversation. That conversation began with talks of the games, but it took little time to expand. Finnick told her about his life back home, and Sylke did the same. They talked about almost everything, from the birds that Sylke kept and trained in her garden to the rigorous dental hygiene Finnick was instructed to keep when he was a boy due to his sweet tooth. He was shocked to learn that she’d never eaten fish. On special occasion shellfish, but never proper fish. Soon after, Mags called him to meet a sponsor, and he returned a bit later with a plate of some of the fish being served that night.

“Here. I found some at the table, you should try it. It’s not like I catch at home, but it’s good.”

“Is there a certain way I’m supposed to eat it?”

He laughed, putting the plate on the table and sitting beside her.

“A fork and knife will do”

She laughed with undeniably genuine cadence before taking a bite. It was certainly new, but still familiar. Like a heightened version of the shrimp her family would get for celebrations, something meant only for the most celebratory of occasions. It was rich and just salty enough, and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps fitting for the celebration of one’s life, a good last meal. She made a decision to request this as her final meal before going into the arena.

“So… do you like it?”

She turned to him, swallowing before smiling, with the edges of her lips pulled high and making crescent moons of her eyes.

“It’s really good! If I had that as my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

“Yeah? Wait until you try mine. No seasoning or capitol kitchen can make up for freshness--catching, cooking, and eating it right there on the sand.”

He spoke with confidence, almost arrogance dripping from his voice, with a pearly white grin to go with it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They continued to talk and to laugh, exchanging stories and jokes like old friends catching up after too long apart. At some point she had reveled in the dress she was wearing, how the luxury and flow reminded her of costumes she would wear, how she felt more like herself wearing these than any time before. She spoke with a beaming smile, eyes flitting from his to the fabric to the jewels to the glittering room and then back to him. He said little as she did this, simply watching the joy pour from her every word. It was that genuine joy the pulled him to her, that made his performance slip, that made him content to let it.

“You glow when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“About the things you like, the things that make you smile.”

She laughed.

A minute or two later, the music switched to a new song, and Sylke perked up.

“I know this song!” She stood up and took his hand. “Come on, get up!”

“Wait, to dance?”

“Yeah! What, they never taught you how to dance?”

“Only a little,”

She pulled him to the dance floor and took both his hands in hers. “It’s a waltz, do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s alright,”

She brought one of his hands to her waist with her own on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone so close, someone to trust. They didn’t move.

“It’s slow, do you wanna look at my feet and I can teach you?”

He pulled her a little closer, practically speaking directly into her ear. It hadn't been long since he felt the warmth of another human, just a few days ago he was hugging his family goodbye. But the capitol was so cold, so glamourously sterile, that this closeness with Sylke felt like a moment of fresh air after a month of factory smog. The rest of the capitol felt sickly cold in comparison to this. This comforting, trusting warmth. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Maybe later. Let’s just sway for now”

“Okay.”

They swayed in silence, trying to savor this moment of trust. Gold, ivory, and bronze melded together as they moved, these clothes must have been made to dance together. The music was soft, a subtle background for their movement. The night was coming to a close, the dance floor had few people left on it. It didn’t take long for Sylke and Finnick to be pulled away for final goodbyes, the last chance of the night to get sponsors before they went back to the apartments.

They spent the rest of the week training. Sylke spent most of that time learning about plants. The training centre offered plants from multiple different biomes, and Sylke did try to learn about all of them, but she couldn't help but favour the jungle plants. Something about the vibrant colours striking shapes was absolutely fascinating to her, especially because she grew up in an urban area that held only artificial, staged cactus and succulent terrariums. She learned quickly what was poison, what was edible, and what was medicinal. Often, she learned, something poisonous because helpful when delivered in the right dose. There was a tree near her home in district one, planted in a concrete box in a public square. From midsummer to the first cold breeze, the blossoms would hang from its branches like white handkerchiefs dipped in rosy dye at the bottom. The tree was lovely and admired by Sylke as well as many of her neighbors, but everyone who lived nearby to admire from a distance. Adults told her when she was very young that every part of that tree was dangerous, not to be touched, and deceptively beautiful. The man at the medicinal plants station told her however, that the leaves, once cooked, make for a powerful pain reliever. Still to be ingested with caution, as with any other narcotic, but helpful when taken prudently. Sylke was simply fascinated by such topics. She didn’t care much for violence, which most of the training room was dedicated to. She also learned how to use a friction bow, but that was mostly out of boredom. Her favourite part of the training was most certainly the medicinal plants. She took comfort in knowing that with this knowledge she could perhaps help someone stay alive, and that if she taught someone else they could as well. Perhaps if things were different, if she hadn't been reaped, if for whatever reason she couldn't pursue dancing, perhaps she would have become a healer. Sometimes she would catch a glance of Finnick, throwing his trident and hitting his mark each time. He was so assured in his ability, a security that would certainly serve him well in the arena. He trained for this after all, his confidence was justified. His kills would be swift and painless, and she had no doubt that was how he liked them to be. He never seemed the type to torture something like that, something about him, the kindness that he offered to many (though not all) was too great for such cruelty.

The evaluations came too quickly. The game was approaching too fast. Cesare was first, then she would be up. When she entered the room, a small pile of stalks and leaves sat on a table in the corner of the room. In her fifteen minutes, she separated them into three piles. One she burned, another she ate, and the last she sorted into their different uses. She gave a curtsy before walking out.

She was sitting on a couch in the apartment that night, all eyes staring intently at the screen. The man next to her had gotten ten out of twelve. She got a four. No one was surprised by that. Finnick got an eleven. She hoped he would win. A part of her was sure that he would.

After that was the final show with Caesar Flickerman. Everything was just like back home, just a little more glamorous. There was a mirror just before the entrance to the stage, and in it she fluffed up her skirt before looking at herself in full. She had a tiara too, adorned with little gilded doves. She had once mentioned to a sponsor that doves were her favourite bird, a symbol of peace. Not only that, but the tiara was made to look like branches, with green jewels like olives ready to be harvested. In fact, all of the jewels she was wearing were green, to match the olives and complement the dress as her stylist had put it. And the dress. They had her in a rosy pink ball gown this time. It spun better than a tutu, with even more layers or tulle. It was perfect, everything the little girl inside of her could ever dream of. They were really leaning into the princess thing, and it made her happy beyond belief. The smile on her face was genuine, and everyone in the crowd knew it. She walked out from the steel doors, stage lights beaming from every direction as she took a seat. Caesar introduced her to the crowd, but all she could think of was music. She could hear it in her head, like she was sitting upstage while the principals danced. Like clockwork, he’d back straightened and her hands folded in her lap. She only caught the last bit of Caesar’s words.

“You really do look like royalty, sitting so poised like that. Do you know what people have been calling you?”

“What have they been calling me?”

“The smiling princess.”

He looked out to the crowd.

“Now folks, can you think of anything more fitting? Here she is in her royal gown, with a crown on her head, and the prettiest smile in the world. I can’t think of a better name for such a lovely young girl.”

“Thank you Caesar. I really do feel so lucky to be here and to have been received so kindly. My heart is truly warmed by the kindness you show me.”

“And look at that, such impeccable manners!”

His galavanting smile and raucous laugh shifted quickly to something of a pout as the crowd quieted and he took a more serious tone.

“Now of course, manners and sweetness are all gone in the arena.”

“That’s true. I will be completely out of my element.”

The crowd went quiet as Sylke formed her next words. She wondered if she should tell the audience the certainty of her death, how little hope she had for herself. But she decided against it. Instead, she focused on what she knew, the morals that she upheld and took comfort in.

”You know, I’ve been taught that the way to live a good life is to be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace. I know not how that will apply in the arena but I have no intention of abandoning my morals.”

“Such wisdom at such a young age.”

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes.

“We all know that the arena is deadly. Unfortunately, other tributes are not as kind as you are. But we wish you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The skirt rippled with her as she stood, walking of the stage with cheers sounding behind her. Misty was by her side immediately.

“That was good, you did good. A lot of sponsors are really loving the princess image, and that kindness, mercy, and grace speech really turned some heads.”

Sylke watched the rest of the show from backstage. Tributes came and went, each leaning into distinct personalities crafted by mentors, escorts, and stylists. She wondered how many were real. How many were total fabrication? And how many were what she imagined most of them were, exaggerations and oversimplifications, initially based on truth, but dramatised and amplified to make a good show. That’s what Finnick’s was. When he came on the stage, he had a big plastic smile. He acted arrogant, confident, but in a peacock sort of way. He had confidence in his own ability and his odds in the arena, and in the interview he missed no opportunity to flaunt it. And that was mostly based in truth. He did carry himself with confidence, and he did come off as arrogant when she first met him at the parade. But he was also compassionate, and that same confidence and security in himself allowed him to be wonderful at helping others, caring for the people around him that he trusted. It meant that he wasn’t afraid to step up and protect someone. And Sylke was sorely disappointed when she didn’t see that on the screen in front of her. That wasn’t Finnick, not all of him. But the audience loved it. They had no idea who he really was, and they didn’t care. They cheered and screamed with every toothy grin he flashed. They loved him. If he won they’d love him even more. He’d be their golden boy.

“You know they love him almost as much as they love you.”

She looked up and back to see the speaker. It was Cesare.

“What?”

“You hear the cheering? It’s almost as loud as when you were up there. Looks like the capitol found their prince.”

He slinked away again, with a smirk, like all he came up to do was tease her. But he was right. She wondered what would become of it all. She would die, and hopefully he would live. The capitol would lose their smiling princess. Would they mourn? What about him? If he died would they mourn him too? Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming backstage.

“Hey! They loved you out there!”

“They loved you too, princess.”

They began to walk together, with no defined direction, just aimless, something to do with their bodies as they chatted. Finnick noted how regal her dress was, prompting her to revel similarly to the night of the gala at the way she felt wearing the dress. And again, he watched. She spun, the skirt flying up and revealing layer upon layer of fluffy tulle, and he felt a pang of desire to be the one spinning her, the knight in shining armor to her princess. And then he wondered if it was an act. If even around him she was playing up the princess thing, like he would with his playboy image for the cameras and other tributes. But he didn’t do that with her. Did she?

“Are you really like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“When you’re on stage you’re essentially no different than how you are now. Is this just who you are?”

“I-I guess. I never really thought about it.”

They walked without words for a moment. He began to wonder if he made her uncomfortable.

“I try to be honest with everyone. I know my team likes to have a certain image, but when I get to talk I like to just be me. I’d like to think I’m always like this.”

Always a princess he thought. That’s just who she is.

“You’re not like that though. You were acting different on stage, I could tell. Did they tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m becoming a capitol heartthrob.”

He rolled his eyes, drawling though his words with palpable disgust.

“My escort said I’ll get more sponsors if I do all that flirty stuff.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. There was a question she hadn’t the courage to ask, but he knew it, and answered before she asked.

“It’s not totally fake. But it’s icky, like they’re whittling me down into… it’s not something I’m not, but…”

“It’s not all of you.”

“Yeah.”

Stylists and escorts were moving about, organising the tributes to go into the stage for the finale. As Sylke was summoned to line up, Finnick pulled her close just as he had at the gala and whispered in her ear.

“I wanna come to your room tonight. Will they be asleep by midnight?”

Victoria would likely pass out the moment they returned to the apartment, and Misty always took a sleeping pill at eleven. Cesare would be asleep too, getting a good nights rest before the game in the morning.

“Yes.”

She was pulled away, and soon after so was he.

That night, she asked for fish as her supper. It was similar to what was served at the gala, tender and perfectly seasoned with a certain luxurious richness that she adored. The meal was quiet. They were always awkward, but usually Victoria, or failing that Misty, would try to make conversation. The table was quiet this time. Cesare was eating with vigor, trying to get as much down as possible before the game. Sylke was eating slowly, simply trying to enjoy all of it. Victoria had said all there was to say, now it was just a waiting game. As the night progressed everyone but Sylke went to bed early. She didn’t enjoy silence. Much more pleasant was to have something to listen to. Sometimes that would be bird songs and wind making melodies in the rustling flora, other times it was an orchestra unpacking and tuning as the crowd settled in. Whatever it was, she always preferred noise over silence. And so when all was quiet and everyone was asleep, she closed her bedroom door and found music to play. It was on the vanity, a turntable next to a selection screen. She chose something soft, classical, to remind her of home. She closed her eyes and for a moment she was back home. All was well, all she needed to worry about was the crowd, the choreography, that was it. Music had a power over her, to bring her anywhere in the world so long as she could hear it. Her feet moved across the floor, gliding and stepping with the music she knew so well. The piece was short and coming to an end. Her eyes came open a long time ago, but they didn’t actually look anywhere until the final note, when she would smile and bow to the audience. But of course, the roaring applause wasn’t there, and she was back in reality, back in the cold and grey apartment room. But she had enjoyed her escape, short as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed the midnight was nearing. She made her way to the door and kept an eye peering out the peephole. Right on time, she saw him walking, turning to check behind nearly every step. She laughed to herself at his caution, knowing full well that if she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t look back once. He approached the door and gestured to knock before stopping. He stood pondering a quieter method for perhaps a second before she opened the door. They tried not to make noise until she had closed the bedroom door again.

“You're playing music?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say much for a moment. In the end it was Sylke that spoke first, voicing the question that had stayed at the front of her mind for hours.

“Why did you want to meet tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you again before tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding and reciprocating his sentiment entirely. Another song faded out, and a lively waltz took its place.

“I never actually got to teach you to dance.”

“I’m still interested.”

She stood up come her place seated on the edge of the bed and placed her hands behind her back.

“Watch my feet. You know how a waltz goes 1, 2, 3…”

He nodded and stood next to her, mimicking her every movement. She took two steps and he did the same. She brushed her leg forward and he followed. With each step she counted, one, brush, turn, two, step, three, step. It took him a moment to pick it up, but with time he was able to find the rhythm and it became easier with each turn.

“Great. Face me,”

They kept their hands behind their backs, not wanting to complicate with arms yet.

“Just waltz, and I’ll be going backwards to match you.”

He nodded again and hesitated before stepping forward. She stepped backwards. When he brushed his leg forward she moved hers back. When they turned it switched. Once again, it slowly began to make sense to him.

“That’s great! Do you want to try arms?”

“Sounds good.”

They assumed a familiar position, with his arm on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. Only this time there was significantly more distance between them. Finnick was too focused on his feet to notice, but to Sylke took note of it, how as much as she loved to waltz with him, she did miss being closer. As the moved clumsily about the floor, she smiled and giggled both when he struggled and when he succeeded, finding joy in anything and everything he did. He almost didn’t hear her laugh with his laser focus on taking the right steps. At some point it seemed to get easier for him, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Upon seeing this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gently took hold of his chin to turn his face to hers.

“Look at me. Or to the audience, but we don’t have one of those.”

Just as he was told, he didn’t take his eyes off her. His steps were a bit messier as a result, but they smoothed over in time. Looking into his eyes, she found herself smiling even more, something he mimicked with a grin of his own. It wasn’t the plastic one from the stage earlier, it was different. Genuine. They could hear the song getting closer to its end. Finnick took the hand that was clasped with hers and placed it on her waist as the final phrase played.

“Dip?”

She smiled again, and that was all they needed for a response. He lowered her, with one hand at her waist and the other moving to support her back, keeping his head by hers and his eyes never leaving. The music went quiet before transitioning into something softer, slower, clearly in 4/4 as well. Neither of them moved once again. Her smile had gone slightly, now just doe-eyed and looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. Sweet and slow, they moved closer until their lips met. The kiss was tender, slow and yet fleeting as they pulled apart. With foreheads pressed together, both of them donned massive smiles, eyes thinner than crescent moons. Finnick brought them back upright but kept them close. He didn’t want to let her go, perhaps not ever. He didn't want to think either. The future was too dangerous to consider right now. They mostly stayed cuddled on the bed for the rest of the hours they spent together, talking softly because they were too afraid to fall asleep. The conversation was not nearly as lighthearted as other ones. The game was tomorrow, and it weighed heavily on both of their minds. They talked about what it meant to take a life. Sylke didn’t like to think about it, but with the game so near, she could not pluck the thoughts from her mind. To kill someone, to rob them of their life.

“Have you ever…”

“No. No, never. I don’t think I want to either. I can, I know I can, but… I don’t know. It’s that or die.”

She admired his drive to live. It was amazing, an extension of that security in himself she figured. She was choosing to die, but she couldn’t blame him for choosing to kill instead.

“I don’t think I could. It takes so much, so much that I don’t have. I envy you Finnick. You’re strong and capable and-“

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I-no, but… don’t whittle it down like that. You’re not wrong, I have skills that serve me in the arena. And with those particular skills you’re not as strong. But that’s not the whole story. Sylke, I’ve only known you for a week or two but I’ve seen how incredible you are. I’ve seen your kindness and your optimism and your care for the world around you. Those are skills too, even if they don’t serve you in the arena.”

By the end or his little speech, there were tears making their way down her face. There was quiet between them once more, but not out of awkwardness or lack of things to say. She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. His hand almost automatically moved to her head to play with her hair, something of an unconscious attempt at comforting her. The flow of tears came to an end. He tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was still wet, with doe eyes and little trace of a smile. He’d never seen her look so sad before, and he promised himself to do everything in his power to keep that beautiful smile of hers around.

“You’re wonderful.”

He pressed his lips to hers, this time quicker, more passionate. Time seemed to fall away, and for just a moment so did the music. When they pulled apart she nuzzled into his neck, taking comfort in his arms securely around her. She felt safe here, like the danger of tomorrow could never reach her here. Some amount of time that neither of them bothered to note passed, and the glare of the clock seemed increasingly present. They were tired but still too afraid to fall asleep. Not here, not like this.

“I should go.”

“You need to go.”

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, all was still. Slowly, they rose, making their way to the apartment door. Before she could reach for the door, he took her hands in his and made a point to look square in her eyes.

“There’s gonna be a bloodbath at the cornucopia tomorrow. You should run, but don’t go far. I’ll find you once I get some weapons. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She didn’t need to ask anything more, all was understood. He knew her odds, he knew of her intention to die quickly, this was it. He would kill her in the morning, quickly, painlessly, end her suffering before things could get worse. She opened the door and gave him a melancholy smile. As he began to walk away she spoke quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Better with you than anyone else.”

[xetlynn]

The Hunger Games- The Protector: Chapter Three, The Interview

(Peeta Mellark x Reader)

[two] [three] [four]

"Throw the metal thing over there." I nudge Peeta. He gives me a dirty look.

"What? No. Haymitch said we're not supposed to show our skills." He argues with me, I roll my eyes.

"Those guys are looking at you like you're a meal, throw it." I ignore what he said about Haymitch. The blond glances over to the guys, defeated he does as I say.

I see the Careers grow impressed and I walk away with a tiny smirk. If anything Peeta can ally up with them, make it far in the Games.

I walk away, going to the spears. I probably shouldn't but I need to see what I'm possibly working with. I picked it up. It was hefty, obviously better than anything I've ever had hunting with Gale and Katniss.

I swing it around, stabbing the air. It wasn't something I wanted to work with. I placed it back moving along to the other weapons. The knives were nice, easy to throw. I'll have to make sure I get a few in the Game.

I bite the inside of my cheek, walking around, observing the others and how they fight.

Districts 1 and 2 being slight show offs. Not surprising though.

I spot Peeta in the camouflage station, raising a brow as I walk over to him. "Hi." I speak up. "Hey." He mutters, doing some final touches.

"How did you do that?" I ask him, admiring the work. "I uhh, I used to decorate cakes down at the bakery. I'll show you." He goes next to the tree, showing how similar it is. "See?"

"Wow, that's amazing." I compliment him. "Yeah, thanks. Hey, I think you have a shadow." He directs my focus over to the little girl from 11, who I found out is named Rue. She hides behind a pillar.

I give her a small wave. I don't know how anyone could kill her. The thought brings me back to the whole point of why we're here. My chest tightens.

"Tomorrow they'll bring you in one by one and evaluate you. This is important because higher ratings will mean sponsors. This is the time to show them everything. There'll be a bow, make sure you use it-"

"Haymitch, I told you I'm not the best with a bow." I stop him, he sighs and looks at me. "Peeta said otherwise yesterday, just try, sweetheart." He then continues on with what he was talking about as I slump down.

"Peeta, you make sure to show your strength. They'll start with District 1 so the two of you will go last. I don't know how else to put this. Make sure they remember you." He instructs us. The two of us look at each other then back to our mentor. Nodding to let him know we understand.

We've now been waiting in the Training Center for our evaluation. It's been a while and while each person goes in I wonder what they showed them.

How will I compete against any of them? Would I even want a high score? If I get a high score that means that the rest of the districts are going to target me as being lethal.

Wanting to get me first. But if I get too low that shows me as weak, they might want to get my kill over with but that also means I can act weak and they won't know my true strengths. Less sponsors as well. I need the sponsors though. I'll just listen to Haymitch...

"[Name] Everdeen." The caller announces my name and my breathing hitches in my throat.

Immediately I feel like I'm going to throw up as I stand up. "Hey, [Name]. You got this. Shoot straight." He encourages me, I nod my head as I enter the room where the Gamemakers have been. I observe them, they're obviously bored.

I grab a bow and arrow.

"[Name] Everdeen. District 12." I announce myself, getting into position. I pull the arrow back then release but I miss the center.

I hear the Gamemakers laugh, turning away from me. I grab another arrow hitting the center then another that hits the other one, splitting it right in the middle.

When I faced the men above me nobody was paying attention. I breathe heavily, the adrenaline in my body coming out. I notice the roast pig on their table. An apple in its mouth.

I think about Katniss. How she taught me to aim for the squirrel's eyes. How she told me I was getting better and better.

How I knew if she was in my spot she would because sometimes she makes reckless decisions. But it's okay because I was there to protect her. If I do this though, who would be there to protect me?

"Hey, hey, who ordered this pig?" Seneca Crane questions the other men as they begin to crowd it and I knew this is the one chance I had to do something reckless.

Without giving much thought I quickly pulled the arrow back and shot the apple. The Gamemakers stare at me in shock.

I take a bow, "thank you for your consideration." I place the bow and arrows back. Leaving the room.

Oh god, why did I actually do it? How stupid am I? My family could get hurt. Prim, Katniss, Zayden. Oh god, oh god.

I ran to a trash can as the adrenaline left my body and so did the food I ate this morning.

"Hey, what happened?" A voice asks me after I finish throwing up. I lean my arms against the sides.

"Haymitch?" I mutter out. "It's me. Why are you throwing up." He helps me stand up correctly. "I did something so stupid." I hide my face in my hands. We begin to walk away so no one can hear what I did.

I explain how I missed the first shot and when I did the second and third they weren't paying attention, I got mad so I shot the apple. He was quiet the whole time I spoke. But when I was done he began to laugh. I furrowed my brows. "What's funny about that? They could hurt my family." I exclaim.

"[Name], they would've told you that. They let you walk out. That's nice shooting." He nudges me and I roll my eyes. "I can't believe I missed the first one." I frowned.

"Are you crazy?" Effie yells at me, pacing back and forth. "I just got mad." I mumble. "Mad? You realize that your actions reflect badly on all of us. Not just you." She tells me but Cinna steps in. "They just want a good show. It's fine." He assures her.

"How about it's just bad manners, Cinna! How about that?" Effie huffs. Haymitch walks downstairs to meet where we all are.

"Well, finally! I hope you noticed we have a serious situation." She seems glad the blond is there, not knowing we already talked about this and it seems he wants to feed in her frustration, acting as if he wasn't there to console me earlier.

"Nice shooting, sweetheart. What did they do when you shot the apple?" He smirks, joining me on the couch. "They looked pretty startled." I tell them.

"Oh? Now, what did you say, "thanks for...?" He laughs. "Your consideration." I joined him.

"Genius! Genius." He claps his hands and then points at me.

"I don't think we're gonna find this funny if the Gamemakers decide to take it out..." Effie's sentence quiets down.

"On who? On her? On him? I think they already have. Loosen your corset, have a drink. I would have given anything to see it." Haymitch tells her in all seriousness.

The television turns on, cutting off our conversation. Caesar Flickerman pops up on the screen.

"As you know the Tributes were rated on a scale of 1 to 12 after three days of careful evaluation. The Gamemakers would like to acknowledge... From district 1, Marvel with a score of 9. Cato with a score of 10, Clove with a score of 10." And so on and so on. The only one I really paid attention to is Rue, she got a pretty high score for her age, it being 7. Then it gets to 12.

"From District 12, Peeta Mellark with a score of 8." Caesar's voice says.

"Peeta!" Effie says excitedly.

"Bravo." Haymitch nods his head to the blond.

"That's great Peeta." I tell him.

"And finally," I sit up straighter. "From district 12, [Name] Everdeen, with a score of... 11." My jaw drops.

"[Name]!" Portia, Peeta's stylist exclaims.

"Outstanding." Cinna says. Effie lets out a whoops.

"Congratulations." Peeta smiles and I thank him.

"I thought they hated me." I let out a breath I didn't think I was holding.

"They must have liked your guts."

"To [Name], the protector from district 12!" Cinna pulls me into his arms.

That's the nickname I got from the Capitol and Caesar Flickman. Being a protector of my cousins. Also showing clips of me in the Training Center when I did small things for Peeta. A little excessive but if it helps me get sponsors.

"She's staring at all my jewels. She cannot take her eyes off them. Frankly it was rude." Portia was complaining about some lady, it was getting annoying listening to these people's problems while in my district we're struggling to even live. These people complain about how a color is out of place somewhere.

"Oh, Haymitch. You should join us. We're having some of your favorite dinner." Effie waves over the drunk man, I tilt my head to the side. Wondering why Effie knows that.

"Oh, lovely." Haymitch hums, joining us at the table. "Where's Peeta?" I ask.

"He's in his room. Now listen. Tomorrow's the last day. And they let us work our own tributes right before the Games so you and I will be going down at 9." He explains to me.

"What about Peeta?" I question, not understanding why we're talking without him.

"He says he wants to be trained on his own from now on." He tells me, I felt my heart sink a little bit. Separate? It was just getting easier knowing I had him by my side.

At least making it a little farther in the games. Maybe even survive off of each other. Even though at the end it would be inevitable to fight we could've let nature take its course. I don't know.

That's dumb to even think. He's probably right about making it separate. Not having us depend on each other and get too emotionally attached to die at the end.

"I don't understand... I mean I do. Only one winner in the end." I try to force out a smile.

"We should have chocolate covered strawberries." Effie switches the subject once the atmosphere gets too serious. I was a little grateful.

"Oh my, yes." Portia claps. "Please." Cinna digs in as well. I sit there silently, thinking about Peeta. I shouldn't have been so nice these past few days.

"Thank you! Thank you! Welcome, welcome, welcome, welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games! Now in 5 minutes, they're all going to be out here. All of the Tributes that you've heard about. Are you excited? Let me hear it!" Caesar Flickerman announces and I look up to Cinna with wide eyes.

"Amazing." He says in a hushed voice, admiring his work. "I don't feel amazing." I hold myself.

"Don't you know how beautiful you look?" He asks with a smile.

"I mean I am sure I am because of you. But I just have this feeling that no one is going to like me, what if I mess up? Say the wrong thing?" I begin to panic, holding my chest now.

"You made me like you. You're a natural with people." He attempts to assure me but I shake my head.

"Out there I have to... try..." I slump my shoulders. I'm just glad I'm the last district because I'm not ready to go out there.

"[Name], you don't have to try as hard as you think. I'll be there the whole time. Pretend that you're talking to me, okay?" He places a hand on my shoulder. I think about it before nodding my head. "Okay."

I glanced in the mirror in front of me, I wore gold makeup, red blush that would make you think I was sunburnt.

My dress was black with gold shimmers around the neckline and then at the bottom. If I twirled it the bottom would ignite in flames. It was beautiful.

"From District 12, you know her as the Protector, and girl on fire! Well, we know her as the lovely [Name] Everdeen!" Caesar shouts and I walk across the stage, it was larger than I thought it was going to be.

I waved to the crowd, forcing a large grin on my face. Thinking about happy moments back home to make it more genuine.

"Welcome! Welcome. Well, that was quite an entrance you made the other day." He says and I nod my head.

"I know it was very electrifying. Feeling everyone's excitement about our outfits." I try not to seem like I was out of breath due to my anxiety. "And being on fire I mean, I was worried somehow due the adrenaline I wasn't feeling the burn." I chuckle as he seems to force out this laugh kind of surprising me.

"When you came out of that chariot, I have to say my heart stopped. Did  any of you experience this as well? My heart stopped." He asks the crowd who agree with him. "So did mine."

"Now, tell me about the flames. Were they real?" He switches to the next question. I look over to Cinna who nods his head.

"Yes, I'm wearing them today. Would you like to see?" I ask. "Wait, wait, wait. Is it safe?" He nervously laughs. "Of course."

"What do you think, folks?" The crowd screams in response.

"Ha ha ha, I think that's a yes!" The both of us stand up, his off to the side. I go away from the chairs and begin to twirl around, the flames coming out. I hear the crowd cheer so I start to slow down but in heels it's a little difficult. Caesar helps me balance.

"Woah, steady! Lovely, thank you. That was really something. Thank you for that." He says as we sit back down.

"I have one more question for you. It's about your cousins. You seem to have some protector energy. We were all very moved. I think, when you volunteered for her at the Reaping. Did they come say goodbye to you?" He asks, my chest tightens thinking about them. I take a breath before speaking.

"Yes, they did."

"They did, and what did you say to them in the end?" He quizzes, I look to Cinna again. I didn't want to tell him something so personal and vulnerable but with Cinna. I can so I need to focus on him.

"I told them that I would try to win. That I will give my all to come back home to them." I say .

"Of course you did. And try you will. Ladies and gentlemen, from District 12, [Name] Everdeen, The Protector!" I wave them goodbye, hurriedly but in the same slowly leaving the stage.

"You did it, darling. That was incredible." Effie pulls me towards her. "Thank you." I give a polite smile.

"Nice job, sweetheart." Haymitch tells me. "Thank you." I repeat. "Nice dress, too." He then whispers to Effie. "Not yours."

"Please welcome, Peeta Mellark! Peeta, welcome. How are you finding the Capitol? Don't say "with a map." Caesar laughs.

"It's different. Very different from back home." Peeta answers. "Different? In what way? Give us an example." The host questions, looking very interested. "Uh okay, well, the showers here are weird."

"The showers?" He's surprised by the boy's answer. "Yes."

"Do we have different showers?" Caesar asks, looking at the crowd who are shocked as well. "I have a question for you, Caesar. Do I smell like roses to you? Take a whiff." Peeta scoots closer to Caesar who's hesitant. "Um, alright?"

"Hmm... yes. Do I smell like it?" I fold my arms, feeling a little cold as I listen to this. Watching on one of the screens.

"You definitely smell better than I do." The crowd's laughs make me a little self conscious about my interview now. Feeling like I bombed it. "Well, I've lived here longer." Caesar points out. "That makes sense."

"Very funny. So, Peeta tell me. Is there a special girl back home?" He grows serious asking this question as if it was very important to him.

"No. No, not really." Peeta shakes his head. "No? I don't believe it for a second. Look at that face. Handsome man like you. Peeta... tell me." Caesar denies what he's been told, so shocked about it. I step a bit closer to the screen.

"Well, there is this one girl that I've had a crush on forever now." He says, the crowd all "awes"

"But I don't think she actually recognized me until the Reaping."

"Well, I'll tell you what, Peeta. You go out there and you win this thing, and when you get home, she'll have to go out with you." Caesar advises him.

"Thanks, but, I don't think winnings gonna help me at all." The three stylists behind me feel for him as I just stare at the screen. "Why not?"

"Because she came here with me." Peeta says and I feel like my world just got dizzy. How... How could he say that? Use that in something like this? I look back to Haymitch who has his hands up defensively.

"Well, that's bad luck." Caesar frowns. "Yeah it is." Peeta agrees. "And I wish you all the best of luck." Caesar tells him.

Peeta thanks him, he leaves the stage and I go up to him.

"What the hell, Peeta? Why lie and put me into it!?" I pin him against the wall.

"You say you want to train alone, I understand that but then you drag me into some love story that's not even real!? What if I had feelings for you as well? Huh? You put it out there during our last days! And not even to my face!" I angrily shout in his face.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Haymitch pulls me away from him. "No! I want to know!" I scream.

"He did you a favor." Haymitch tells me and I huff. "He did something stupid. I don't care if it helps. I should've known beforehand if that's the play we're using." I glare at my mentor who sighs.

"It helps that you didn't know. You could've slipped up. You seem to be very anxious even under all that pride. He made you look desirable, sweetheart." He explained to me but I just scoffed.

"He's right, [Name]." Cinna jumps into the conversation.

"Of course I'm right. Now I can sell the star crossed lovers from District 12." Haymitch smirks. "We are not star crossed lovers." I argue.

"It's a television show! And being in love with that boy might just get you sponsors, which could save your damn life. Ok. Why don't you get out of here. Maybe I can deliver you both in one piece tomorrow." Haymitch points out of here. Peeta already left with his stylist. I shake my head in disbelief.

"Manners." I hear Effie whisper as I walk away.

Masterlist

P.M. ML

Taglist: if you want to be added lmk!

[princessleprechaunnn]

But Daddy, I Love Him

Finnick Odair x Reader

warnings: typical thg warnings, mentions of prostitution, fake pregnancy, arguing

notes: hi! this is my first time writing for finnick, i hope i didnt do him dirty. also didnt do a grammar check. lowkey ass

You had thought your time in the Hunger Games was over 7 years ago, but the 3rd quarter quell proved you wrong. You had trained with your father for years, the victor of the 52nd Hunger Games, and decided to volunteer at the age of 16. Coming out victorious from the 68th Hunger Games, you had gone on home to district 1. Not long after that President Snow had approached you regarding your "duties" as a young and "desirable" victor, which is when you met the love of your life.

Upon arriving at your first victor party as a mentor, you saw how happy everyone seemed. It made you sick to your stomach seeing all the smiling faces of well dressed capitol citizens, like 23 children had not just died. Scanning the crowds of people, you searched for the man whose bed you would be in later. Getting distracted, you didn't even notice when a man tapped on your shoulder.

"You alright? You seem awfully lost." You turned to see a charismatic guy, who looked no older than 18 before you. You scanned him for a second and then smiled,

"I'm afraid so, but who might you be?" you asked him, flashing a toothy grin. The man smiled and looked away, then looked at you again.

"I'm quite hurt you don't know of me Y/N, I am quite famous around here." he said with an amusing glint in his eye.

"Hmm, let me guess. A pompous attitude, sea green eyes, Finnick Odair?" He smiles and chuckles softly.

"The one and only. Now that we've been properly introduced, may I ask why you look so lost? I'll always help a pretty girl in need." You blushed, then caught a glimpse of President Snow whispering something to one of his guards.

"Maybe another time Finnick, I've got to go." He smiles grimly, looking over at President Snow and walks away towards the open bar.

You walk to President Snow and his guards, a serious look covering Snow's face.

"We were just about to come get you princess, the man whom you were paying a visit to has become a bit of an issue. So tonight you will be free, take it as a gift from the capitol." You shudder in disgust at the name, as you've grown tired of being "The Capitol's Princess".

Remembering the eyes that are watching you, you smile and say "Thank you President, how kind of you." He soon gets distracted and walks away, toward who ever else has become of use.

You spot Finnick drinking outside alone, and walk toward him. You tap his shoulder and he is startled, but quickly tells you to sit.

Hours have passed, and the party has died down. You had talked to Finnick all night and had learned how kind he truly is. The alcohol had a bit of an affect one you, causing you to confide in him on your strained relationship with your father.

"I just don't think he even realizes how horribly we are getting treated, Finn." He watches your lips dazily, a soft smile on his lips. Upon seeing his expression, you get annoyed and try to get up.

"Hey, come back." he tells you, softly grasping your wrist. You felt butterflies in your stomach, intrigued by Finnick's reaction.

He smirks at how out of it you seem, teasingly saying "Look at the state of you! God, you can barely keep your composure." You look into Finnick's sea-green eyes, seeing a change in them once you did so.

You take another drink of whatever awful liquid the capitol provided, then said "God Finn, are you just gonna keep staring at my lips or are you going to kiss me?"

And with that Finnick put his hand on your cheek and kissed you passionately. What seemed to be years worth of pinning (that was only from a couple hours after meeting) was easily summed up by the dancing of your lips. When you broke from the kiss, You gazed into his eyes again, knowing they would haunt your life forever.

6 years had passed since that night, and you had been been dating Finnick for 5 of them. No one knew about your relationship except for Mags Flannigan, Annie Cresta, and Johanna Mason. You discussed telling your father about the relationship, but decided against it because of his "protective" nature. If your father knew of your relations with Finnick, he would have started spewing lies about how Finnick is a player who will ultimately break your heart.

You were currently training for the quarter quell as you volunteered to be district 1's female tribute. Finnick had somehow convinced Plutarch to let you join the rebellion after informing him of your shared hatred for Snow and the capitol. But the plan had gotten a little screwed up when your father decided to be a mentor in this years games. He was constantly near you, never giving you a second to converse with your alliance.

At the tribute parade, you watched as everyone exited their chariots in elaborate outfits. You were wore a long silver beaded dress that caught the attention of many capitol citizens. You used to feel naked under their gaze, but now you just felt disgusted by it.

You managed to escape your father's eyes, and walked swiftly over to Johanna Mason.

"Jo! I see your stylists were very creative this year." you said with a chuckle.

"Yes, yet another year the stylists have dressed district 7 as trees. Anyway, what do you want?"

"Johanna Mason, always gets to the point. Did you happen to see Finnick?" you asked.

"He is with the girl on fire, trying to get in her head." she states as she rolls her eyes.

You smile at Johanna and start walking towards Finnick.

"Unfortunately, I think that's true." You heard Finnick say as you stood behind him. Katniss glanced at you curiously as you stood there.

"Hello Katniss, we haven't met yet but I'm Y/N. Gosh, I love that dress you are wearing. I assume Cinna made it?"

"Um, yes. You won the 68th games, right?" she asked confidently.

"Yes I did, someones knows their facts!" You saw Cinna and Peeta walking over and decided to cut your visit short.

"Well, we better get going. Goodbye!" You said cheerily.

As you were walking away Finnick turned around and said "Sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you."

Finnick turned around as your eyes widened. You whip your head around to look at him and hit his chest lightly. All you got in response was a giggle from Finnick.

Currently you were practicing your knife-throwing skills to see if they were still good (they were). Mid throw you decided you needed to speak with Katniss, so you told your father to go meet with Gloss and your stylist to discuss the outfits for the tribute parade. Upon his leaving, you speed-walked over to Katniss.

"Hi Katniss! I really wanted to talk with you regarding alliances." The girl turned her head towards you with a look of confusion.

"But you're from district 1?" she asked quizzically.

"Yes, but I would much rather be in an alliance with you rather than Gloss. Between you and me, he is quite boneheaded." You heard Katniss softly snicker as she turned her head for a moment.

Katniss met your gaze again and said "Well, maybe we-" until she stopped talking as a deadpan expression graced her features. She seemed to be looking at something behind you, so you turned around and were met with Finnick's eyes gazing lovingly at you.

"Oh god, you scared me Finn. you can't just sneak up on people like that." you said, lightly pushing his chest. Remembering what you were doing, you turned around to meet Katniss' judgemental glare.

"Hello Finnick." said Katniss coldly.

Finnick decided to loop his arms around your waist from behind you, and said "Oh! The girl on fire, almost didn't see you there."

It was quiet for a moment, until you piped up asking "So what were you saying, Katniss?" She shook her head and walked over to Peeta briskly.

You turned around to look at Finn and said "What did you do?"

He smiled at you, responding only with "I don't know."

You stood backstage with with your father before you went on for your interview with Ceasar Flickerman. You stood fidgeting with the top of your skirt, as your eyes met Finnick's from the other side of the stage. Tonight you would tell of Panem about your relationship with Finnick, as well as a fake pregnancy.

"Hey dad, I'm gonna go see my hairstylist. There is this hairpin that is stabbing my scalp." For a moment you panicked at your father's confused facial expression, but he quickly nodded his head.

You speed walked to the other side of the stage, and pulled Finnick into a secluded corner. "Hey handsome, are you ready for your interview?"

He smiled at the nickname, and said "Yeah, you look really pretty. How did you get over here?"

"Just told my dad I needed to fix my hair." His eyes scanned over your face as he tried to detect how you felt.

"You look nervous, come here." You laid your head on his chest as he held you in his arms. Too enamored by each other, neither of you heard the approaching footsteps.

"What the fuck are you doing near him? Get over hear right now." You broke from the embrace and turned around. Your eyes quickly met with those of your father.

Grasping his hands you pleaded with him, "Dad calm down please, let's have a conversation like adults."

"No, get on over to the right side of the stage," he slowly grabs your wrist and starts dragging you to the other side. "You stay away from my daughter, you hear me?"

At those words a camera man came up to you and said "Get to your side, you are on in 1." Hurriedly you walked over to your side of the stage as Caesar introduced you.

"Now folks, we will be graced by the presence of "The Princess of the Capital". The legacy winner of the 68th Hunger Games, having won only 18 years after her father. Give it up for out female tribute from district 1, Y/N Y/L/N!"

You smiled and waved to the audience as you walked onstage. You could feel your father's disapproving stare burning a hole in your skull. You sat down on the couch next to Caesar.

"Hello Caesar! Thank you for that marvelous introduction."

"Charming as always, Miss Y/L/N. Now, How has you father mentoring you been?"

"It has been very interesting. He pushes me to do my best in training, all he wants is for me to succeed in this years games."

"Aww, what a sweet relationship between a father and his daughter. Am I right folks?" The crowd uproars at Caesar's question.

"Now Y/N, what have you been up to the past couple of years? Other than mentoring, of course."

"Well there are a few things I have kept hidden from you guys. For the last 5 years I have been in a relationship with Finnick O'dair." The crowd shrieks with excitement.

"Oh my, that certainly is a secret. Has it been smooth sailing, pun not intended?" The audience explodes with laughter.

"For the most part there have been a couple problems. People in the districts have a bit of a rude opinion on Finnick. They tell me he is too crazy and chaotic to start a family with, but I disagree." You make your eyes teary to elicit a reaction from the audience.

"That is quite upsetting, but what was that about starting a family?"

"This is not how I wanted to announce this, but I'm having his baby. Before the Quarter Quell we were trying for a baby, and I got pregnant." You hear the audience gasp, and see a few capitol citizens faint. You meet Finnick's eyes from offstage and see him stifling a laugh.

"Oh well congratulations to the both of you! I'm afraid our time is up, but let's hear it once more for our princess and soon to be mother, Y/N Y/L/N!" The crowd goes wild, shrieking with excitement.

You walk offstage to your angry father. "Come with me now, we need to have a talk."

He leads you out of the backstage area to a supply closet nearby. He turns the light on a shuts the door. "First of all, are you really pregnant? 'Cause if you are, Finnick Odair is a dead man!" Your father said angrily.

"Of course I'm not! I just want the Quarter Quell to be canceled."

"President Snow is a good man who only wants to protect Panem. You need to come to your senses and leave Finnick, he is obviously spewing these garbage thoughts into your head!"

You laughed and said to your father "No, I'm not coming to my senses! I believe the Hunger Games is a stupid thing to make Panem do, especially the Quarter Quell!"

"Finnick is a playboy and I will not have my daughter be seen with him! This is the last time I will be telling you, you must end your relationship."

"I'd rather ruin my life than listen to any more of your complaints!"

"You have ruined your reputation, your good name! Imagine all the things the capitol is saying about you right now!"

"You wanna know something about my "good name"? It's mine alone to disgrace! And personally I don't care what any of those snakes say about me. They're only here to seem empathetic to the districts and to entertain themselves."

"Look at how you are speaking!, this isn't like you! Please sweetie I'm your father, I know what's best for you!"

"god you are so judgmental, I'm an adult and can make my own decisions! He is wild, and I love him. He makes me better."

AFTER PRESIDENT SNOW AND COIN"S DEATHS

The sun shined brightly through the window above your bed. You felt the light shaking of your shoulders, and opened your eyes to see to seagreen pair of your husbands.

"Wake up my love, your father came to visit." Finnick smiled warmly at you, softly caressing your head.

You quickly sat up, got dressed, washed your face, brushed your teeth and hair. Walking into your living room you were greeted by the soft smile of your father's.

"Hey kiddo! I was chatting with Finnick, we are gonna go have a beach day." You watched as your husband slowly walked next to your father, knowing now your father loves Finnick almost as much as you now.

[morticafrump]

after I'm done with my career headcanon, what would you guys like to see next :

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

All in your head || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/n: love this request!

Warnings: r is implied to be young, manipulative, controlling Coryo, if there’s anything else lmk

Wc: 564

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The grand hall was adorned with opulent decorations, an extravagant celebration befitting the fifth wedding anniversary of you and Coriolanus Snow. The air was filled with the scent of delicate flowers, and the soft murmur of the Capitol's elite mingled with the distant hum of the city beyond.

It was a spectacle of extravagance, but behind the façade of smiles and enchanting music, your marriage to Coriolanus was nothing more than a carefully constructed arrangement.

"This is ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, hands toying with your necklace as you hear a deep sigh beside you.

"Yeah well, you have no choice," he mumbled, adjusting his cuffs, preparing to step out onto the balcony for an interview broadcasted to all of Panem.

"Let's get this over and done with then," you huffed, smoothing down your dress with practiced grace before the doors opened, and you summoned a well-trained fake smile. Coriolanus, in keeping with the façade of a blissful marriage, rested his hand on your waist, his smile equally forced.

As the camera lights focused on the two of you, the citizens of the Capitol eagerly tuned in to the live interview. Caesar Flickerman, the charismatic host, beamed as he addressed the couple. “Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, we are honored to have Mr. and Mrs. Snow with us tonight!”

Applause erupted as you and Coriolanus exchanged a glance, a look perceived by others as one of love, though the reality was starkly different.

"Y/n, it felt like only yesterday we saw you graduating from the Academy, and now here you are, as gorgeous and powerful as ever as First Lady," Caesar complimented, leaving you slightly off-kilter-a reminder of the day you learned of your impending marriage to Coriolanus.

"Time flies, doesn't it?" You gracefully replied with a polite smile as Caesar chuckled. "Five years of marital bliss, how does it feel?" He directed his question to both of you this time.

You and Coriolanus exchanged a fleeting glance, a practiced smile plastered on both of your faces. "It's been an incredible journey," you replied, your voice measured.

"We've grown together and learned a lot about each other."

Caesar leaned in with a glint in his eye. "Speaking of growth, the citizens of Panem are curious— are there any plans for a little Snow on the horizon? Perhaps an heir to the Snow legacy?"

The questions about children were not new, but the pressure had been mounting over the years. Your father, a powerful figure in Panem, had orchestrated this union to solidify his influence, disregarding any consideration for your personal desires or compatibility.

The marriage had left you with an ache in your heart, and the absence of genuine connection with Coriolanus was palpable. Behind closed doors, conversations between the two of you were few and far between.

tense silence filled the spacious chambers, with occasional glances that spoke volumes but went unaddressed. The thought of children had become a looming cloud, casting shadows over your fragile union.

A polite chuckle escaped Coriolanus's lips, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of discomfort. "Ah, well, we're enjoying our time together for now. The future is unpredictable, but we're taking things one step at a time."

As the interviews continued, the speculation about Coriolanus's fertility surfaced. The whispers in the Capitol's high-society gatherings grew louder, comparing the size of your family to the apparent lack of progeny from the Snow lineage. It became a matter of public curiosity, and the pressure to produce an heir was now a heavy burden on Coriolanus.

Lounging out on one of the day beds, sunglasses perched on your nose, and a book in hand, you felt a figure towering over you. Your eyes move from the words on your page to the figure.

"We need to talk," he declared, his voice firm, as he offers you your robe to which your gratefully take and slip it on your body. The air hung heavy with anticipation as you reluctantly nodded. "Alright." You follow Coriolanus to his study where he closes, and locks the door behind you.

Raising an eyebrow at his odd behaviour he sits down with a loud sigh. You silently sit at one of the seats in front of his desk. Coriolanus took a deep breath, his gaze intense.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for him to clarify. “How do you propose we do that?” His eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his words carrying an unusual urgency. “Let’s have a child.”

The weight of his statement hung in the air, and you couldn’t hide the surprise etched across your face. “What?” you stammered.

Coriolanus’s jaw tensed, his resolve unyielding. “I said, let’s have a—” “I heard you,” you interrupted with a snap, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you can’t just decide that on a whim. It’s not that simple.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I understand that, but the longer we wait, the more the rumors will grow. I can’t bear the scrutiny any longer. We need to put an end to this speculation, for both our sakes.”

The cold reality of the situation hit you—the marriage, the façade, and now the pressure to bear a child for the sake of appearances. You couldn’t deny the logic in his words, but the emotional chasm between you and Coriolanus seemed insurmountable.

“I can’t just bring a child into this world for the sake of quelling rumors,” you protested, your voice trembling with emotion. Coriolanus scoffed, “You can, and you will.” His harsh comment made you gulp, your mother’s words ringing in the back of your mind. “Obey your husband,” “Do what pleases him,” and so you did.

It didn’t take long for you to get pregnant. On your sixth wedding anniversary, this time, you held your nearly one-year-old son in your lap, about to announce that you were expecting again.

[eufezco]

IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE BABY — FINNICKODAIR x FEM!READER

IN WHICH Finnick is interviewed by Caesar.

Caesar Flickerman greeted Finnick. Everyone in the audience stood up from their seats when he entered the stage, men chanted his name and women shouted for his attention. ―Thank you, thank you so much. ―Finnick smiled and waved to everyone in the audience who had welcomed him so warmly. He was especially handsome that night. The white shirt that your stylist had put on him had a large opening in the front that went down to almost his belly button, somewhat revealing for the Capitol but not vulgar at all. The bottom part of his outfit was a skirt that reached his ankles and the necklaces made with materials from your district rested on his neck.

From your place backstage you could appreciate how Finnick's green eyes shone under the spotlights. They also had that lovely glow when he saw you arrive at the back of the stage with your outfit. He wanted to tell you how pretty you looked, he wanted to help you relax before going on stage with Caesar. Finnick knew how uncomfortable those questions, often more private than they should be, made you. But it had been days since the last time you talked to him and you didn't have a Capitol camera on you, and that didn't seem to be the moment when you were going to speak to him again.

You had taken the opportunity to look him up and down when he was not aware of your presence. When his eyes fell on you, you acted unbothered, with a serious face and not paying attention to him for even a second. He was by your side with his hands behind his back minutes before he went onto the stage, you were paying attention to the tributes being interviewed but Finnick was looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

―You look great. ―Finnick dared to say. He didn't receive an answer from you, not even a look of disdain or a grimace. He pressed his lips together, defeated, and stretched the muscles in his back as the host introduced him.

You stayed backstage, watching him with your arms crossed and with still no expression on your face. The trip to the Capitol had been tense. Very tense on your part. Your hostile attitude hadn't made things easy for Finnick, your mentor Mags, and even yourself. From the instant your names came out through your stay at the tribute's hotel up to that moment, you had been avoiding Finnick. Mags had tried to bring you back to him, but you were pissed off. Pissed off with the Capitol for putting you in that arena with the love of your life, with Finnick for pretending that everything was okay, and with yourself for not letting them kill you in your first games.

You looked over your shoulder when a girl covered in white fabric appeared in your visual field. She came closer to you, accompanied by Effie who was constantly arranging her dress, and you rolled your eyes. ―A wedding dress. Of course. ―You pointed out loud enough for the girl to hear you.

You and that girl liked each other. Very similar personalities, highly challenging to the Capitol, difficult to contain for President Snow. You wouldn't say you two had a friendship but your encounters during training definitely could have been the beginning of one if you were not just a few days away from fighting for your lives in the games. Again.

―Snow made me wear it. ―Katniss confessed.

You looked up and down at her and nodded.― Make him pay for it.

―Finnick, it is an honor to have you here with us tonight. ― They both sat and Caesar grabbed both FInnick's hands, shaking them. The smile remained on Finnick's lips. ―We thought we would never have you back but we're so glad that we get to see you once again. Let's show some love to Finnick Odair, ladies and gentlemen!

At that moment the people in the audience applauded and shouted for him again. Your eyes were still focused on your partner, the boy was very relaxed, grateful for all the affection he was receiving from the people of the Capitol. Gosh, he was so good at pretending. At that moment your dress started to feel too tight and your stomach grumbled; was it because of the crappy food you'd been at the Capitol? Because of how tight was the dress around your body? Or was it because of how disgusted you felt with the person Finnick became when a Capitol camera focused on him? Even if you knew he was faking it, you didn't like seeing him like that.

―The pleasure is always mine, Caesar.

―Finnick, we saw that dramatic reaping day that took place on District 4 and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we lived it very intensely. ―Murmurs could be heard in the audience agreeing with the host. Finnick pressed his lips together and nodded. ―First, your name comes out, ten years after your first victory, and then her name comes out and we can see how your expression changes completely. Look, look at that. ―The images from that day played on the big screens for the people to watch and you had to look away.

You swallowed and tensed your back, all the memories of that day came to your head unwantedly. His name. Your heart feeling heavy inside your chest. Him walking to the center of the stage with a smile on his lips. His eyes on you telling you to not worry. Your name. Gasps from the people of District 4. Finnick's jaw clenching. It became difficult for him to breathe. You walking to the center of the stage next to him with no smile on your lips. You shook hands. People clapped for you two.

―Are you okay? ―Katniss placed her hand on one of your shoulders and you nodded, closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing.

―People in District 4 love drama. ―A familiar voice said behind you two. The girl in her tree and wood-inspired outfit approached you and Katniss with a devilish smile on her lips. ―It's already done, girl. Your name came out already and you are here. Get yourself together. Snow is watching, don't embarrass yourself like this.

The relationship you had with Johanna Mason was complicated. You did consider her somewhat of a friend but sometimes she was too much. Finnick definitely knew how to deal with her better than you.

―We have been informed that she has expressly asked not to be here with you tonight, how does that make you feel?

―Well, it makes me feel sad, obviously. As everybody knows, she is a very special person to me and I think we could handle this situation much better together. Things have been difficult but I strongly believe we are the best allies, in and out of the arena. The love I have for her keeps me from having any negative feelings about her not wanting to sit with me here tonight, Caesar. I just hope that you all can enjoy her later.

―I'm sure we will have the best time with her. She's lovely, very lovely. ―People clapped. They loved Finnick. You could see it on their faces every time the boy opened his mouth, how they nodded their heads to everything he said, empathizing with him. In a way you were grateful for it, when the time came you knew they would rather save him. ―As you said, she'll be sitting here later and we know she's back there now, probably watching us and waiting for her moment. Finnick, is there anything you'd like to say to her?

Finnick nodded and acted for a few seconds as if he was looking for the words. As if he hadn't had this planned. ―My love, you have my heart. All eternity. And if I― if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.

―Oh, Finnick! You're going to make our hearts melt! When did you became such a loverboy?

―I've always been, Caesar.

They all laughed.

Johanna giggled and you ran your hand over your face. Maybe Johanna was right and the people of District Four were too dramatic. Katniss was left speechless, he and his ability to make those things sound natural surprised her. He reminded her of Peeta.

―Forgive me but I must ask because I know people are dying to know. Is everything okay between you two? Has the Quarter Quell been the cause of any couple crises?

People in the audience laughed again and so did Finnick. He didn't find it funny but laughed anyway which made you angrier.―No, that has not happened, no. We have had our ups and downs since that day, as you said, there have been a lot of emotions going on. We had plans for the future but we are trying to get through it.

―I'm sorry, Finnick, but you can't leave us like this. Plans for the future? Tell us more about that.

―We were trying for a baby.

That statement hit you like a big wave and swept you breathlessly to the seashore. You heard Johanna chuckling and Katniss, on the other hand, was as surprised and as confused as you were. People in the audience got up from their seats, demanding more information, asking if there was a wedding planned, and questioning if you were already pregnant.

―No we weren't. ―You mumbled getting the attention of the two girls who were with you. ―¡No we weren't! ― You tried to go on stage, angry like the sea during a storm and about to do something foolish that you would regret later and for which Mags would tell you off. Johanna was quick to step in front of you to prevent that from happening. Effie let out a little scream, seeing the scandal that was being made.

―Johanna, move.

The girl shook her head at you, smirking. That smirk. She knew all along.

―I'm not asking, Johanna. Move.

Johanna, again, shook her head at you.

―¡Ladies! Let's mind our manners and let's calm down. Please. ―Effie intervened, aware that there were people from the Capitol backstage watching. Katniss was behind you, silently rooting for Johanna to let you out.

―He knows Snow is not canceling the games. He's saving you.

―I do not need him to save me. I do not want him to save me. If I have come all this way, it is to save him.

Johanna smiled, mocking you. ―Well, he has gone ahead of you.

―What's going on? ―Peeta appeared and Effie jumped on his neck to fix the white suit he was wearing.

―She's pregnant. ―Johanna answered him.

―I'm not.

―Congratulations. ―The boy from District 12 told you sincerely.

―¡I'm not pregnant!

Seeing that people in the audience were not calming down after Finnick's news, Caesar mumbled something in the boy's ear. Unlike the rest of the tributes who had already been interviewed and who remained on the stage, Finnick was sent to the back of it.

―Girl from 4, you're next. ―A man from the staff announced and grabbed your arm. Caesar was distracting the audience while they got you ready to go out.

―Get off of me. I'm not going anywhere. ―You shook your body and managed to free yourself from the grip that was eager to push you on stage. You were still face to face with Johanna who had not taken a single step backwards and waiting for Finnick.

He said goodbye to the audience and walked to where you were. He knew what was waiting for him there, an even angrier you who would not understand why he had done that. All this time moving around the Capitol and with much of your relationship on display for everyone, and you still hadn't learned how to play the real game.

―I'll go for her. I'm ready. ―Peeta offered instead of you. The man seemed satisfied and before walking Peeta to the stage, he warned you that you would go after the boy from District 12 whether you liked it or you didn't.

Finnick walked with his head down. You were no longer interested in Johanna but you were surprised by the way she and Finnick shared a look of complicity when he passed by your side. His eyes never landed on you but they did on his friend. You turned around and walked after him. Your fists were close, your jaw was tight.

You pushed him by his shoulders, now it was Finnick who seemed unbothered. You pushed him again, trying to get any reaction but instead, he continued walking as if you did not affect it. He was calmed, he did what he thought it needed to be done. People in the Capitol will have mercy on you, you will have plenty of sponsors and you will make it out alive. But you didn't want that. You wanted him to be the last one standing, you had already discussed that with Mags. The woman assured you that she'd do anything in her power to get Finnick out alive. ―Why did you do that to me?! Who gave you the right to do that?! Finnick I swear to God if you don't speak to me right now!

―Oh, now you want to talk, don't you? What happens if now I don't feel like it? Would you like that? Would you like me ignoring you like you've been doing with me for the past days?

By the way his eyes looked at you and the way he had said it, practically spitting the words in your face, you knew he had been holding it in for days. You shook your head. ―It's not the same.

―Oh but it is. Trust me. You just don't want to see it. And for your information, it was Mags. She gave me the right.―He turned around and answered your previous question. ―Oh, you didn't expect that answer? Did you think you were the only one she’s made promises to?

You clenched your jaw. You did think that. Whatever she'd promised Finnick would contradict the promises she had made to you, so she was clearly fooling one of you two. And you knew it wasn't Finnick.

―You made me look weak!

―But you're not so why do you care? Right now you have more than half of those people in the palm of your hand. You could need the stupidest thing in the arena and they would send it to you without even thinking about it. They will make you the victor.

―I didn't want that! I didn't want that and you don't even care!

―You're right, I don't.

―You fucker. ―You threw yourself against his chest, hitting him with your small hands compared to his body. He was still standing on the spot while you beat him with tears in your eyes out of anger.

―Come on come on, give him a break. ―Haymitch, who had gone backstage to be with Katniss when he saw Peeta come out on stage, tried to separate you from Finnick by grabbing you around your waist.

―Why don't you save all that anger for when we're in the arena? It'll be better.

―Finnick! ―Effie said, shocked.

―I fucking hate you. ― You mumbled. While Haymitch managed to get you away from Finnick, your hands grabbed his shirt, he wasn't going to get off that easy, not after that comment. Your body shook against District 12's mentor.

―I could really use a helping hand right now, you know? ―Haymitch struggled to hold you. Katniss and Johanna freed Finnick from your grip and he left. You tried to go after him but obviously, you couldn't do anything against three people. As you continued to fight to free yourself from his grasp, Peeta's voice sounded louder over the loudspeakers, getting your attention.

If it weren't for the baby.

You looked at Katniss and she looked at you, still trying to process what had just come out of Peeta's mouth and trying to find a way of not going into that stage and choke him to death. Now you were going to be the one who was going to hold her down.

―Well, congratulations to you two. You are going to be amazing moms if you make it out of this one alive.

[gogogodzilla]

peeta mellark being you to let him eat your 🐱

Just a Taste || Peeta Mellark

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, cunnilingus, porn with plot, panty sniffing, reader is wearing a dress, panty stealing masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

The stage of the training center under your heels was a familiar feeling. The stage lights shone brightly, and you squinted slightly as you walked out with Peeta hand in hand. The air practically crackled with energy as the booming applause from the audience of Capitol citizens nearly deafened you. 

Caesar Flickerman warmly welcomed both of you. He gave you a good-natured kiss on the cheek and shook Peeta’s hand. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to how touchy the Capitol people were. 

Once the crowd settled down, Caesar gave the two of you a beaming smile. “It’s an absolute delight to have the two of you here once again,” he exclaimed and you wondered how he got his teeth to be so white. “The Victory Tour has been a success, wouldn’t you say? What has been the most memorable moment for you both?” 

Peeta squeezed your hand before answering, “As much as I’ve loved spending some time in all of the districts, the most unforgettable part was spending time with the person I love and sharing our love with the districts.” 

You feigned embarrassment at his words and looked away. You couldn’t avoid the heat that flooded your cheeks, which brought a boisterous laugh from Caesar. “You two are adorable. I love it!” he gushed. 

The audience cheered in response, and Peeta kissed your knuckles. After a few moments, Caesar settled the audience down and turned back to the two of you. “I’m sure you both know that we have immensely enjoyed seeing your love blossom in front of us. It’s truly a marvelous sight.” 

“Thank you, Caesar. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to be here with you and the rest of the Capitol citizens,” you give him a dazzling smile before turning to Peeta. “I am also incredibly grateful to be here with the love of my life. I couldn’t ask for anything better,” your gaze softens as you look at Peeta. The audience ‘awws’ and cooed at the two of you while Caesar pressed a hand to his heart. 

“Ugh, we can’t get enough of you two. What does the future look like for the two of you? I’m sure we’re all eager to see more of your love blossoming,” Caesar questioned and the audience buzzed with excitement. 

You shared a glance with Peeta. You gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and he turned to Caesar. 

“The future looks bright as long as I have my love by my side,” he answered, allowing a hush to fall over the crowd. Damn, he was good at this. “And I would like to have my love by my side for as long as we both shall live,” his voice trembled slightly as he pulled out a small velvet box. He got on one knee and looked up at you. Your hand covered your mouth in feigned shock. “My love, you have been my light in the darkest times, and I can’t imagine a future where you’re with me. Will you make me the happiest man in Panem and marry me?” 

Emotions swelled within you. Peeta was laying it on a bit thick, but you didn’t care. You nodded your head, forgetting to speak for a moment. He slightly raised his brow, and you forced yourself to speak. 

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding rapidly. Your voice returned and you spoke louder, “Of course I’ll marry you.” 

Applause and cheers thundered throughout the room as Peeta got to his feet and slid the ring onto your finger. Peeta’s smile was radiant as he pulled you into a kiss which caused the audience to roar even louder. You grinned as you kissed him back. You truly did care for him, and didn’t mind being stuck with him forever. You would’ve been dead without him. 

As you pulled away, Caesar dabbed his eyes theatrically and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. Peeta kept his hand around your waist as you curled up against his side.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, a proposal during the Victory Tour! This is certainly a night to remember, wouldn’t you say?” Caesar beamed as he swept an arm out toward the crowd which roared in response. 

Peeta held you close as the interview wrapped up. The crowd buzzed with excitement, and you couldn’t fight the grin that graced your features. Eventually, your time with Caesar was over and you were ushered off the stage. 

Effie met you as you exited and she clapped her hands in excitement. “Wonderful work you two. Now, time to get ready for the reception President Snow offered to throw to celebrate the two of you. It’ll be a party of the ages,” she declared, walking quickly as you returned to your quarters. 

Cinna intercepted you as you stepped off the elevator. You clung onto Peeta’s hand until the last possible second. 

Cinna grinned as he led you away, “Don’t worry, you’ll have some time to catch up before we leave.” 

“Can’t I just wear what  I have on?” you thumbed the fabric of your dress as you walked, frowning slightly. 

He chuckled, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

He led you to your room and helped you onto your podium in front of the mirror. Cinna got to work almost immediately, fluttering around you with practiced movements. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied his steps as he brought the dress over to you. He quickly got you changed, his gentle hands working wonders as the fabric draped over your body. Cinna’s hands danced delicately over your hair, weaving it into an elegant style perfect for the celebration tonight. 

“You look radiant,” Cinna complimented as he stepped back to admire his work in the mirror. 

You met his gaze in the mirror, a grateful smile on your lips, “It’s all because of you.” 

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and a knock sounded at your door. You both turned and Peeta poked his head in.  A soft smile made its way onto your features as he stepped into the room and finally got a good look at you. His eyes widened as they raked over your form, and your cheeks flushed. 

“You look…” Peeta’s words faltered as his gaze remained on you. “Wow,” was all he managed to come up with as he took a few steps toward you. 

Cinna chuckled, “I’ll let you two have a moment. You have 15 minutes before Effie’s going to come knocking.” 

He gave you a suggestive look as he left, and the flush of your cheeks spread. Peeta held out his hand so he could help you down, and you graciously took it. 

You ran your fingers over his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his suit. “Portia outdid herself… You look amazing,” you grinned, tugging him closer. 

His hands wrapped around your waist, enveloping you like they had done so many times before. This time it was different though. The soft scent of his cologne engulfed you as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, but there was something more to it. Something hungry. 

“Is it bad that I’m glad we’re stuck together forever?” you whispered as you pulled away to catch your breath. 

He grinned, “You make marriage sound so pleasant.” 

You chuckled in response and pulled him into another, deeper kiss. You tugged him by the lapels toward your bed, acutely aware of the seconds ticking by before Effie would be knocking. 

His hands wandered across your hips as the backs of your thighs hit the edge of your bed and you slowly fell back. You parted for long enough to scoot back and Peeta eagerly followed you. His lips were back to devouring you within moments. You let out a small noise as he slotted his knee between your legs, the smooth fabric of his slacks brushing against your inner thighs. 

 You pulled away, attempting to catch your breath. Something shifted between you, and your entire body seemed to hum with need. Peeta caged your head between his forearms and his nose bumped against yours. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” you trailed off as Peeta scattered kisses across your neck. 

He grinned against your collarbone, “I’m sure they’ll understand if I want to take a few minutes to ravish my fiancée.” 

Your cheeks flared at his words. There had been rumors going around all tour that Peeta’s nightly visits to your room were far from innocent cuddling. You did little to dispel them, though. You couldn’t deny that this was the first time you’d felt this hunger for Peeta. 

He ran his hands up the bare skin of your thighs, and your heart fluttered. 

“Just a taste,” he murmured as he scattered kisses across your covered breasts and moved down your body. “Please, my love. I just need a taste.” 

He ran his fingertips over your thighs as he situated himself between them. You craned your head to look down at him, and the sight of him had heat pooling between your legs. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes you couldn’t resist, begging for permission to ruin you. With the slight inclination of your head, he was sliding the fabric of your skirt to the side, letting his hands wander across your hips and thighs. 

He pressed featherlight kisses across your inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin there. He wrapped his arms around your legs, keeping them in place. His breath fanned over the thin fabric of your panties, and you instinctively clenched them together. His grip held you in place as you squirmed, aching for more. 

He hooked his fingers in the sides of your under and tugged them down and off your body. Your eyes widened as he brought your panties to his nose and inhaled your scent. He let out a noise that was something like a whimper combined with a groan, and you flushed. 

He set your panties to the side and settled between your thighs. A gasp escaped you as he swiped his tongue through your folds. His grip tightened on your thighs as he desperately pulled you closer to his eager mouth. His tongue worked relentlessly against your sopping core, circling your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. 

You wanted desperately to tangle your fingers in his blonde locks, but you settled for the blanket below you. You were sure that Peeta’s prep team might have your head if you messed up his hair. 

You slapped one hand over your mouth, muffling the desperate pleas and whines that escaped your lipstick-covered lips. Peeta eagerly lapped up everything you were giving him, and his nose bounced against your clit as he dipped his tongue into your entrance. Peeta reached up to intertwine his fingers with yours, grounding you.

Peeta whined against you, sending vibrations coursing through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your hips jutted against him, grinding against his tongue. Every fiber of your being was tensed and ready to snap. 

Peeta’s tongue circled your clit once more, and your release had you arching against the mattress, pushing you closer to his mouth. Your thighs attempted to clamp around Peeta’s head as you spasmed against him. He helped you to ride out your high, and his fingertips dug into the plush of your thighs. 

After a few moments you stilled, and Peeta pressed comforting kisses against your inner thighs. You lifted your head to look at him, and your cheeks flushed at the sight. Your arousal had covered the bottom half of his face, and a satisfied grin covered his features. 

“You did so good,” he praised as he crawled forward to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips, and a groan left you. 

You were able to sneak in a few more lingering kisses before Effie’s knock sounded at your door. Peeta crawled off of you and helped you to the edge of your bed, your skirts only slightly getting in the way. 

He grabbed your panties before you could and shoved them in the front pocket of his suit. 

“For safekeeping,” he murmured with a grin plastered across his face as he leaned down to kiss you. You scowled at him in response but kissed him nonetheless. 

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the rest of your arousal off his face before neatly tucking it back in its rightful place. You shuffled to the bathroom to clean yourself up, returning moments later looking slightly more put together. 

Effie knocked once again, more insistently this time. You cringed, sensing the inevitable lecture you’d receive later. 

Peeta held his arm out for you to take, and you gladly clung to him. 

“Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes, “Let’s get this over with.”

[dd122004dd]

Would you be open to writing more for Caesar Flickerman?

I would be, actually. Just not anything too weird. My requests are open so if you wanna request something, feel free.

[asterias-record-shop]

FINNICK ODAIR MASTERLIST

❝It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.❞

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

—𓆩[SERIES]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 in our next life                ❥ Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

—𓆩[NON-RELATED FICS]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 N/A

—𓆩[DRABBLES]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 N/A

—𓆩[THIRSTS]𓆪—

𓆩♡𓆪 N/A

© asterias-record-shop

[littledovesnow]

fem!flickerman!reader x coriolanus snow

summary: basically if you were one of the 24 mentors in the 10th hunger games as well as lucky flickerman's younger sister and if you were dating coriolanus snow

a/n: shoutout to me not having a good title for this!!!!! wahoo!!!!!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: canon violence, the usual y’know?

---

“Coryo,” you gasped, locking lips with your boyfriend. “I need to be at Lucky’s soon for dinner. We can’t go any farther.”

Breaking the kiss apart, Coriolanus pecked your lips once more before sitting back on your bed, both of your chests heaving.

You smiled wickedly at him, leaning on your knees to look in the mirror if there were any visible marks, humming when you didn’t find any. “At least he won’t lecture me on protection and safe sex this time.”

Coriolanus choked on a laugh, grabbing his shirt from where it was discarded not long after you two got home from class. “Do you know why he’s inviting you and your parents for dinner?”

Shaking your head, you slipped on the outfit your mother had asked you to wear, watching Coriolanus in the mirror, smiling at him when he looked you up and down.

“He said something about a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I’m sure it’s something absurd like when he invited us all over to show us his parrot.”

“Oh, that was definitely an occasion for dinner.” Coriolanus joked. “You look beautiful.”

Accepting the compliment with a soft “thank you,” you lead Coriolanus out to the front of your family’s home, promising him you’d meet him in the morning before heading to Heavensbee Hall for the Reaping.

“See you tomorrow, Coryo. When we all celebrate the Plinth Prize.” You smiled, teasing him as he departed to the Corso.

---

You rolled your eyes as you heard your older brother trying to get his parrot to imitate your father, each of them nursing glasses of whiskey.

“What silly men, hopefully you’re the brains of the next generation.” You whispered, smiling when baby Caesar babbled as he watched his parents and grandparents gather around the table.

Handing the baby to an Avox, you took your seat next to your mother, acaross from your brother and his wife.

“So, what’s this news that you’ve invited us all over for, Lucretius?” Your mother asked, carefully cutting the steak that was prepared.

“I got the most wonderful invitation from President Ravinstill and Dr. Gaul the other day, regarding this year’s Hunger Games.” Your brother started, wicked smile on his face. “They want to try something new, something to attract more of an audience.”

“Wonderful news, son!” Your father clapped him on the back. The two of them loved being in front of an audience, so this was a dream come true for the younger male.

“They asked you to host? What are you going to do, follow them in the arena? Celebrate their deaths?” You asked, picking your jaw up from the floor.

It was no secret to your family that you weren’t the biggest supporter of the Hunger Games, so this news wasn’t something you thought should be celebrated.

“No, no.” Lucky frowned, hurt that you weren’t in support of him. “Well, frankly, I don’t quite know what they’re going to want me to do. I have some meetings this week with the President and Dr. Gaul, maybe Casca Highbottom if he’s sober enough to make them.”

Snorting, you raised your posca class to the latter half of Lucky’s statement, agreeing that your professor and founder of the Hunger Games tended to rely on morphling a little too much.

“Either way, we’ll be watching in support of you, Lucky.” Your sister-in-law smiled at her husband, causing you to take a rather large sip of the drink in your hand.

---

Coriolanus smiled at you as he met up with you on the front steps of the Academy, lending you his arm. “Good morning, love. How was your evening?”

You wasted no time in telling Coriolanus about your brother’s new resume-builder, keeping your voice low to avoid your classmates’ listening ears. The Capitol was a hive of gossip, and you hated every aspect of it.

“I can’t believe they chose the weatherman for the host.” Coriolanus shook his head, looking down at you. “What did you say when he told you?”

Knowing you weren’t the biggest fan of your family watching the Hunger Games each year, you sighed and plucked a glass of posca off of an Avox’s tray. “I just asked if he was expected to join the tributes in the arena, narrate their deaths and celebrate the winner.”

Coriolanus chuckled, gently guiding you to your classmates with a hand on the small of your back. “Come on, let’s see what Arachne is complaining about now.”

---

“Hey, listen you guys, I know there’s talk about it, but there’s no Plinth Prize today, not anymore.” Sejanus whispered to you and Coriolanus, guilt written all over his face.

“What?” Coriolanus asked, freezing at the news.

Before he could say anything else, everyone was ushered to Heavensbee Hall, top two dozen students taking seats in the front of the room.

Your hand was threaded through your boyfriend’s, thumb rubbing softly across Coriolanus’ hand, grounding him.

Dr. Gaul waltzed to the podium, icy eyes staring at each and every one of the students before she began her speech. Your mind drifted elsewhere after her mention of today being an “auspicious day.”

If there was no Plinth Prize, Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to afford University, wouldn’t be able to afford rent, meals, life. You had offered to lend him money for rent dozens of times, but both he and Tigris were too kind to accept it.

A gentle squeeze of your hand drew your attention back to the present, glancing at your boyfriend.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, listening intently as Dr. Gaul introduced Dean Highbottom, letting him announce the changes to this year’s Hunger Games.

Expecting it to be the announcement of your brother hosting, you felt the air leave your lungs when he mentioned a mentorship between the top 24 students and the 24 tributes. “The Plinth Prize will be awarded to the best mentor of the Games.”

“Well, surely the best mentor will be the one who’s tribute wins the Games, no?” Festus Creed asked.

“Victory will not be the only measurement we analyze for the Plinth Prize, Mr. Creed. You are to make spectacles out of your opponents, not victors.”

“What if I end up with a runt girl from one of the poor districts, like 8 or 12? They’re just going to die in two minutes like they did last year and the year before.”

Rolling your eyes at Arachne’s whine, you did have to admit that she had a point. Those with stronger tributes had a much greater chance to creating a spectacle out of of their tribute, thus a much greater chance at winning the Plinth Prize.

As the trumpets played and the screens were brought to life, you spared one look at Sejanus as you looked past your boyfriend.

Sejanus mouthed an apology when he caught your gaze, moving his legs to let Highbottom take a seat on the step in front of them.

You watched on the large screens as tributes were called district by district, cheers coming from your classmates as the first districts were announced.

Dean Highbottom looked back at you when he rattled off your name, announcing the male tribute from District 10 as the one you would mentor.

Coriolanus nodded once he heard your name, though you could see the nervous beads of sweat on his forehead, his name had yet to be called.

“Oh, you’ll like this Ms. Crane,” Highbottom teased, looking back at the girl. “District 12, the runt girl, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend, his gaze locked on the screen as he watched the girl who would be his tribute get selected.

Turning your attention to the screen, you were mesmerized when the girl veered off the path to the stage and dropped something down the back of another, squinting as the cameras just barely focused on the snake as it slithered out of the dress and off screen.

“What is that dress, is she some sort of clown?”

Arachne’s judgements and comments were background noise, as you and Coriolanus were both watching the girl as she commanded the stage, voice picking up as she began to sing.

“You can kiss my ass!”

Laugher broke the silence of Heavensbee Hall, and Coriolanus looked at you with a smirk on his face.

His tribute had succeeded at one thing, she was certainly going to be a spectacle for the Games. ---

That evening, you had stopped at your home only for a moment to change into something more casual, before meeting Coriolanus at the steps to his apartment, the two of you walking up the dozen flights of stairs to the penthouse.

“When I’m president, I’m going to get that ladder fixed. Perhaps glass walls to see the landscape.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s comment, thanking him as he let you enter the home before him.

“What are you thinking for your tribute?” You asked, smiling at Tigris and the Grandma’am as they welcomed you to their home.

Coriolanus shrugged, depositing his school bag near the door. “I need her to sing again. You saw her, she’s malnourished, underfed.”

You bit your tongue as you subtly looked your boyfriend up and down. He wasn’t one to talk on being underfed.

“Well,” Tigris said, pulling a chair out at the table and sitting next to you, both of you watching Coriolanus pluck petals off of the rose in his hands. “I wouldn’t sing for you if I was her.”

You stayed silent as the cousins argued, Tigris pulling out on top when Coriolanus gave up retorting to her comments, pulling you back into his room instead.

“What are you planning, Coriolanus Snow?” You asked, knowing the look on his face all too well.

“I’m going to meet her at the Captiol station when they arrive in town.”

Gawking, you sat with your legs crossed and watched Coriolanus change into his night attire, frowning at his visible ribs. “You’re going to meet her?”

“I am, you can meet your tribute if you come with.”

At the suggestion of meeting your tribute Tanner, you reminded yourself, you could get an edge in knowing him and figuring out to how “make a spectacle” of him.

“Well, it would be unwise for you to go alone, power in numbers and all that, right?” You asked, smile on your face.

Coriolanus laughed as he joined you on the bed, pulling the ratty, patched-up comforter over the two of you.

---

You stuck close to your boyfriend as you two approached the train station, Coriolanus moving to stand between you and the tracks.

“What time did the sign say the train would get here?” You asked, not wanting to stick around in this part of the Captiol any longer than necessary.

Coriolanus, who was fiddling with the long-stemmed rose in his hand, looked at the increasing number of Peacekeepers at the edge of the platform. “My guess is pretty soon.”

You two waited for only a moment before you heard the train approaching, both wincing as the breaks squeaked awfully loud.

The Peacekeepers paid the two of you no mind as they opened doors to cars, the tributes hopping out once they were able.

Coriolanus nodded over to your tribute, and you squeezed his hand before departing.

He watched you introduce yourself to Tanner, the boy looking nervous but thankful that at least one person in the Captiol was being kind to him.

Focusing on his own tribute, Coriolanus smiled as he walked up to Lucy Gray. “Welcome to the Capitol.”

He handed her the rose, which had been your idea at breakfast, and the girl plucked a petal off and stuck it in her mouth, mentioning it “tasted like bedtime.”

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” She said, gaze moving to you as you joined the two of them, wrapping your arms around one of Coriolanus’.

“Well, we shouldn’t be.” You smiled, introducing yourself.

The three of you couldn’t get too far into a conversion before Peacekeepers were shoving the rest of the tributes into the back of a truck.

“Let’s go with them.” You suggested, and Coriolanus shocked you by not putting up an argument. Perhaps the Plinth Prize lowered his inhibitions.

The two of you watched as the Peacekeepers went after one of the tributes who made a break for it at the rear of the truck, taking the opportunity to hop in along with the tributes.

Once the door closed, the two dozen tributes looked at you two like hungry animals.

“What’s wrong, in the wrong cage?”

Coriolanus pushed you behind him, replying that the cage they were in was delightful.

In the blink of an eye one of the tributes was up against the two of you, threatening to kill you.

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

Your heart was in your throat, grip on Coriolanus’ uniform jacket tight as a vice, until Lucy Gray spoke up.

“You got family back home? You touch either of them and the Capitol will kill your family. Then you. Besides, blonde one is my mentor.”

At her comment, the tributes started arguing why Lucy Gray and Tanner got mentors.

Coriolanus explained that everyone did but was cut off when a back-up alarm started blaring.

The rear of the truck you were all in started dipping, and Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you and gripped on the edge of the truck, though it didn’t work too well.

Everyone tumbled out of the truck, a yelp coming out of your mouth when your knee collided with a large rock in the enclosure.

“You okay?” Coriolanus asked, dusting himself off as he stood up, worried gaze on you.

Nodding, you stood up, favoring your left knee. “Ow, maybe not 100% fine.”

Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you, taking most of your weight, and Lucy Gray frowned when she walked over to you two.

“Are y’all okay?” She asked, though her gaze was looking elsewhere.

You followed her gaze, face dropping when you saw your brother’s back turned to you, speaking into the cameras. “-in the gem of Panem? That’s an Academy rouge, no?”

Coriolanus looked down at you, knowing what was going on in your mind. “Lucy Gray,” he turned to the brunette, “would you like to meet our neighbors?”

Lucky persisted to get your attention, though when he realized who was in the zoo’s enclosure, his on-air persona faltered. “Wh-what are you two doing in there?”

You grunted as Coriolanus helped you to the edge of the enclosure, both of you introducing Lucy Gray. “Tanner, my tribute, he’s back helping his district-mate.”

“Are you okay?” Lucky asked, not listening while Lucy Gray talked to a young girl about her dress.

“I’ll be fine, Lucky. Meet Lucy Gray.”

Lucky, ever the showman, interviewed Lucy Gray, though you could see him watching you out of the corner of his eye, seeing you still leaning on your boyfriend.

Coriolanus, when asked if you two were told to hop in the enclosure, mentioned that if Lucy Gray was brave enough, you two were, as well.

“For the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray quipped, smile on her face.

Lucky saw the Peacekeepers approaching, nodding towards them. “Well, for the record, I think you two are about to be escorted out.”

You looked back to see the armed men approaching, eyes widening.

“Be careful with her!” Coriolanus commanded as you two were separated, the Peacekeepers not noticing your injured knee.

---

Due to your injury, you were permitted to miss the rest of the day at the Academy, with strict instructions to keep off of your leg for a couple weeks.

Coriolanus had gracefully brought your schoolwork, sitting next to you on the couch to discuss strategies for the Hunger Games.

“What in the gem of Panem was that circus act earlier?” Lucky asked, storming into his former home.

You and Coriolanus shared a look, having the same thought.

“Lucky, dear brother, they told us to make spectacles of the tributes. What better spectacle than us joining them?” You asked. “Nothing bad happened.”

Lucky looked at your face, down at your knee, and then back up. “Nothing bad?”

“Pfft, this is nothing, Lucretius. I’ll be fine in a week or so.” You waved off his worries, knowing between Coriolanus and your parents, you would heal perfectly fine.

“Now sit, tell us all about your plans to make the Hunger Games’ first host memorable.”

Lucky dropped into the seat across from the two of you, weaving tales about his plans to bring Jubilee to the Games, even though Highbottom despised the bird.

---

a/n: yuh i loved this i like writing w the reader being lucky's sister maybe perhaps a part 2 in the future!!!

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Five more years of victordom have passed, but the Capitol is still throwing surprises at you.

Part Five | Part Seven

A/N: SURPRISE! This is coming back because I felt like it and some lovely folks left comments recently ♥️ we can blame my absence on this semester, but thank putting off a 14 page final paper for this bout of productivity! (Also I was going for a ranch vibe with this pic? I'll start putting his face back on these soon lol)

Warnings: description of blood

Tears welled in your eyes as you finished dicing yellow onions, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm as you turned to scrape them into the pot. Caesar Flickerman’s voice floated in from your living room, the TV playing in the background so you could keep an eye on the quarter quell special. Count on Caesar to draw the whole thing out, emphasizing the significance of the anniversary and whatnot. You couldn’t help but be curious, though. The last quarter quell had fifty tributes, and you weren’t even alive to see it. You had, however, seen its effects on your occasional drinking buddy, so you were certain this year would be a doozy. 

It seemed Caesar was finally getting to the point as you began chopping a red pepper. He introduced the President, and your hand tightened around the knife as Snow began his address. That voice haunted your dreams, and hearing it at home was far more unpleasant than anywhere else. You did your best to tune him out. That was, until he announced it. 

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tribute are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your ears began to ring, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear the rest. Existing pool of victors. Existing pool of victors. Sharp pain brought your vision back into focus, and you blinked to find blood from the backs of your knuckles spilling over your pepper. Though your brain stopped moving, your hands hadn’t. 

You took a silent step back from the counter, staring at the ruined cutting board. Tearing your gaze away, you started rifling through cupboards trying to find a towel. The ironclad grip your dominant hand kept on the knife wasn’t helping, but it certainly hadn’t occurred to you to let it go. Out of options, you shoved your hand under the faucet and watched water carry excess blood away.

Vaguely, you registered the pain in your hand as your water heater got to work, but your eyes stayed locked on the drain. A loud ring of the phone startled you out of your reverie, to the point where you’d launched your still-dirty kitchen knife into the wall next to it. But it pointed you in the direction of some towels, at least, and you snatched a clean one from the laundry basket on the stairs. 

Sat on the second to last stair, you hunched over to wrap your hand. The world felt surreal as you stared at your shoddily covered wound, only looking up when your door burst open. You weren’t surprised to see Darla. Her scraped knees, bloody nose, and breathlessness didn’t shock you either. She probably fell when running over, but you were sure you looked just as frazzled. Grabbing her a towel from the basket, you nudged her with it before she could sit. 

“Answer Finnick.” 

She picked the phone up from the receiver, doing a double take when she registered the kitchen knife. 

“Howdy,” she huffed, licking her top lip and clearing some blood. 

You could barely hear Finnick’s resigned tone from the other end. “Hey, D,” he breathed. “How’s…” he trailed off. 

“Well, there’s blood on the cabinets,” your head popped up when she said it. You hadn’t even noticed the trail you’d left in your wake, “Water on the floor, and a knife in the wall.”

The faucet was still on, too, and you definitely hadn’t turned off the stove. It was a relatively generous assessment from her. 

“Will you put her on?” 

Darla stuck the phone straight in your face. When you grabbed it she reached for another towel, and pushed it along the floor with her foot. 

“Finnick,” your tone was almost too even for the circumstance. 

“Don’t do it,” Finnick warned, knowing you far too well. 

“Save it,” you shot right back, “I know you’re thinking it too.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” he said firmly. "They all have kids. Who would I be if I didn’t?” 

Though Darla was busy cleaning up after your spell, you weren't stupid enough to think she wasn't listening. “You know I feel similarly,” you chose your words carefully. 

Finnick did know, he’d seen what you’d given up for Darla. How you’d put yourself through the wringer for years just to spare her. He had no doubt you’d act just the same now. Only he didn’t want you to. He would’ve hated seeing Darla in there, but he’d be a dead man if you were in the arena with him. Your stubbornness didn’t stop him from making a final plea. 

His soft call of your name cut your heart worse than you’d cut your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer bear speaking to the man who’d been your constant for the past five years. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll see you soon, Fin. Take care of yourself.” You stood and shoved the phone back on the receiver before he could say another word. Talking to him, thinking about him, neither would help you hold yourself together. 

You stepped away from the phone, but stopped in your tracks to look at the knife. Some of your blood still lingered. 

“Leave it,” Darla called from the kitchen, “it’s a bold new piece of decor.” She’d taken up interior design in the wake of her victory. You shook your head with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lip. 

Coming to her side, you both looked down into the pot she’d taken off the stove. Burnt onion wouldn’t make much of a base. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” you offered, sadly. 

“Yes please,” she nodded quietly. You passed behind her to heat some up, and she settled onto one of the stools at your counter. It took you a minute one-handed, but Darla seemed too absorbed in quiet reflection to care. 

She dug in as soon as you slid her a bowl, but you stopped short before sitting down with your own. She raised a brow. 

“I’ll be back,” you shook your head, taking your dish and slipping on shoes. The wind whisked straight through your clothes as you crossed the street. 

Darby had never been close with you, nor Darla. He was there when she won, and you could tell he was somewhat relieved to only bring home one casket. But you weren’t close enough for him to tell you that, because he wasn’t your trainer.

He wasn’t even there when you’d won. The story was that Darby was too ill. It was true, only the illness was drug induced. District Ten had only one trainer that year. 

The woman who had trained Darby had trained you, and you were the last District Ten victor she’d lived to see. Sam was kind but incredibly sharp. Gentle, yet challenging. Observant and astute, she’d assessed you for all you were and marketed a more palatable version to the good citizens of the Capitol. Beyond helping you survive the games, she helped you navigate the aftermath. Without Sam and without your Nana, you wouldn’t have lasted a month outside the arena. She picked you up and dusted you off again and again like your mother had when you were a girl who thought she was invincible. No time had hurt as badly as losing your first tributes, though, but Sam saw you through that too. 

Before your second try at mentoring, however, she’d died. A horseback riding accident was the official story, but Sam had left the leather watch she loved at your house just before. She insisted on doing the dishes after you’d made dinner, and you later found it by the sink. Sometimes you swore you caught glimpses of her long silver braid. Each time it happened, you opened the drawer of your nightstand to stare at her watch.

Her death hit Darby hard, they’d been the only two Ten victors for a while. He hardly held it together during Darla’s games. Afterwards, he fell apart.

You’d been mentoring with Darla ever since, comforting her with each loss as Sam had with you. But you knew Darby had seen this announcement, and everyone in the district knew what it meant. 

You stood at his door a few minutes after knocking. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt compelled to come over anyway.  

A blue eye peaked from where the door had finally opened a crack. You held up the still-steaming bowl as an offering. Darby pulled the door fully open and stalked off into his house. Trailing after him, and closing the door behind you, you noticed how skinny he’d gotten since you’d last seen him. 

“Thanks,” he said, raspy, when he took the bowl from you finally. You could only nod. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered, knowing full-well how little it meant. Darby only sighed and shook his head. 

He shrugged, stabbing a fork firmly into the bowl. “I always had that feeling,” he shook his head. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he went on, “that it wasn’t over. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. They own us, of course they’d want us back.” 

His passe tone rattled you. You nervously wiped your non-covered palm on your pants, “Right.” You looked around his dusty home awkwardly, “Well, see you soon.” Trying to leave him in peace and for your own, you made for the exit. 

“I’ll say hi to Sam for you,” he said from behind you, mouth full. It stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t even look back at him. 

“Thanks.” 

————————

The months leading up to the reaping were hellish, with you and Darla trying to shed your rustiness. You insisted you both throw your all into prepping for this, but that was mostly a ruse. Volunteering for her had been your plan since the announcement. At the very least, you enjoyed your time at home with her. You hadn’t gotten any calls about trips to the Capitol, and Finnick told you he hadn’t either. At least they were letting you enjoy your last few months alive. 

As Winter went, and Spring too, the day had finally come. Off to die for the second time. 

You zipped the fly on a pair of jeans you hadn’t ever worn. Your stylists had shoved them in your closet a long time ago- since they looked exactly like the ones you’d won in. The head gamemaker your year had a background in fashion, and gave tributes plenty of chances to change dirty or worn clothes in for unique ones.  People loved the look so much that denim had been a brief Capitol fashion trend. You figured it’d send a message to anyone who knew. After all, you’d cheated death in these once, you could do it again. 

You were up early, and since you and Darla had agreed to arrive separately, you took a long walk around your home district. Your long lap, with sights you’d grown up loving and smells you’d always scrunched your nose at, was met with a few pitying glances. Eventually, it lead you to the Justice Building, and you took an extremely early seat. People took their places as the hours passed. 

"Remember, it’s just for show," Sam’s voice rang in your head. It was the last thing she said to you before you entered the arena. 

“Hey,” your head snapped to your right where Darla took her seat. She looked tense. You took her hand and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. It’s not you. You’ll be ok. I’ll miss you. 

The district filed in for the ceremony, unusually unorganized. The only people the Peacemakers were concerned about policing, however, were already on stage. 

Your annoyingly vibrant district escort began the ceremony, and you ignored her for as long as you could bear it. “Ladies first,” you blinked to attention, head held high. This was it. Dug your nails into your palm to stop your hands from shaking. You swallowed. I volunteer as tribute. You willed the words to the front of your brain, hopefully convincing your mouth to form them when the time came. 

But you didn’t have to. She had called your name. You willed your face to remain impassive as you squared your shoulders. You forced yourself to take a proud step forward. Perception was everything here. You couldn’t look weak, not to the capitol, and not to your fellow tributes. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” 

Your well-crafted mask fell with the words. Shoulders sank as you turned to her in shock. Not once did you think she’d volunteer for you. But you could almost hear Finnick’s voice reminding you how similar you were. It was why you got along like a house on fire. Only, this time you had been so recklessly loyal to her you’d miscalculated. And it would almost certainly cost your tribute her life. 

“Darla,” you breathed, quiet enough for only her to heard, and sharp enough for it to come across as scolding. 

She didn’t even turn your way. 

You were escorted straight to the train before Darby could even be picked by default. The new (old) District Ten tributes were escorted straight to the train as well. Only then could you confront your mentee. 

“What the fuck was that?!” You stood in a rage. She walked right past you toward the couches, but you caught her wrist.  

“You don’t get to scold me for saving your life,” she shook her head, and tugged her wrist free.

“Sure I do, when you’ve acted like a fool! It was random, D! We agreed to let it be random!” 

“Oh, that’s rich!” She scoffed. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“You’re still lying! You really think I didn’t know you were going to volunteer for me?” Darla asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. She fell back onto the couch. 

You stepped back, anger fully dissipated. “What?” 

“You hung up on Finnick nearly every time I’d walk in,” she shrugged, “you’re brave not subtle.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you lowered yourself onto the luxurious Capitol sofa next to her. For a second, you let your head fall into your hands. 

“Still,” you persisted, looking straight ahead, “it was going to be me. You didn’t have to-“ 

“I know what all you’ve done for me,” she said simply. You sat straight up, finding her face with wide eyes. No.

“Finnick?” He wouldn’t. 

“Johanna,” she shook her head. Your shoulders sagged. It made sense that Johanna knew, she was almost in the same situation. And you wouldn’t have expected them to keep things from each other, not before they broke up at least. 

“Darla,” you started. Why hadn’t she confronted you when she found out? How long had she been holding on to this knowledge? Did she think differently of you? 

“You’ve been falling on your sword for me for five years,” Darla said solemnly, “it’s high time I took it away from you.” 

Your stomach ached, and tears blurred your vision, “D.” 

She pulled you in for a hug when your voice broke. “You gave me my life back,” she whispered, “I’m only doing the same.” 

You pulled away from her, wiping vigorously at your face. “I won’t watch you lose.” 

She sniffled a wry laugh, “then make me win. Maybe this time it'll stick.” 

————————————————————

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[princessleprechaunnn]

yo ik outfits for fics arent really a common thing anymore but i couldnt help it lmfao, the body types were not implied at all in the fic so ignore the models/mannequins!

the moodboard still eats tho!

[queuestarter]

concede

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: none

link to the request → finnick sharing the plans of the rebellion with reader

open to requests !!

“Baby, I have something to tell you.”

You lift your head off of Finnick’s chest, blinking sleepily at him. It’s early still and you didn’t even realize he was awake.

“What?” 

Finnick gently moves you off of his chest and repositions himself so that the two of you are facing each other. He searches your eyes before speaking again. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”

You raise your eyebrows. You’re not too worried about whatever secret he could be keeping. You trust Finnick with everything you have and know he wouldn’t keep anything bad from you.

You don’t say anything, letting him confess on his own terms. 

“After the Quarter Quell was announced and I was still in the Capitol, I met with the new Gamemaker, Pluratch Heavensbee.” He pauses for a minute, gauging your reaction. You just nod to let him know he can keep speaking.

He bites his lip. “You know about all the revolts in Four. They’re happening in almost every other district, too. Heavensbee told me. And he’s part of the rebellion.”

“What?” You’re confused. This is not where you thought this conversation was going.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. He told me all sorts of things, mainly that he wants us to volunteer for the Quell to protect last year’s victors from 12. Katniss is apparently the key to the whole thing.”

“Hold on. You sound crazy right now, Finn. Start from the beginning and explain everything in depth.” You listen carefully as Finnick starts from the beginning- listing everything in order from when he first met Plutarch to how rescuing Katniss is going to ensure you all a place in the supposedly still functioning District 13.

“I know this is a lot but if we do this, we can have a better life. A life away from the Capitol, without all of the people stealing our lives away from us. We can be free,” Finnick preaches, desperately searching your eyes.

You look back at him, unsure. “Finn, I don’t know if I can go back into the games.”

He holds you closer to him. “I’ll protect you. Even if this plan doesn’t turn out the way he promised me it would, I would never let you get hurt.”

“I know that, but what if he’s lying? What if Snow sent him your way to see if you’re a traitor?” You confess your fears, wanting them to be quenched.

“No,” Finnick shakes his head slightly. “He told me too much. He said that there are at least ten other victors already in on the plan. We have a real shot at this, my love. Let’s take it.”

You’re unsure but Finnick’s optimism is making you excited. Of course you want a chance at a real future with him, one where you aren’t scared for each of your well beings every single day.

“Fuck it, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s end the Capitol.”

Finnick cheers quietly, kissing you square on the mouth. “Just imagine our life together after all of this. Our own house, babies, all of it.”

“Some peace and quiet,” you muse. “No more Caesar Flickerman interviews every month.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Finnick laughs. “No more stupid outfits or listening to those ridiculous accents. Just me and you.”

“Me and you,” you whisper back.

You still feel scared of the unknown, but you know it’ll be fine with Finnick by your side.

-