#hob was game from the jump

[jack-the-fool]

Dream: "Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?"

Hob: *internally* "Weird pickup line but not the weirdest i've heard"

[seiya-starsniper]

WIP Tag Game

tagged by @tj-dragonblade, thanks for the tag friend! <3

Rules: Share 100 words or so of a WIP, and then add an extra line

I'm writing a little thing for @amielot's horse girl AU, and since it's the most recent thing I've worked on, and what I felt like working on tonight, here's a sneak peek, that is definitely more than a hundred or so words 😅

Content warnings: Gun violence, somewhat graphic depiction of a man with his face blown off

Dream turns, aiming now to rush to Hob's aid, but just as he gets close to where they're fighting, the man with the gun ends up behind Hob and then wraps an arm around Hob’s neck. He grins cruelly at Dream as Hob struggles beneath his hold. Dream whinnies angrily, but he can’t move any further. He's furiously close, and yet not close enough to reach Hob in time, even if he gallops, even if he runs. Then the man points the gun directly at Hob's head. Hob doesn’t let him get any further with the threat. He lurches his entire body backwards, the force of the movement knocking them both off balance. While the man is distracted and trying to rebalance himself, Hob frees one of his hands and repositions the barrel directly underneath the man’s chin. He pulls the trigger before the man can react.  The resulting bang! rings loudly in the other quiet forest, and Dream winces as the sound thunders through his sensitive ears. There’s a high pitched whine that follows soon after, and Dream staggers, his entire equilibrium now thrown off balance. He can smell blood and smoke and death. Everything is suddenly too loud; the rustling of the leaves, the screech of the birds as they flee from nearby branches, the sound of his own heartbeat.  Dream shuts his eyes, trying to will the nausea that overtakes him to go away. He barely registers the remaining two men from Burgess’s group running off in the opposite direction, leaving him and Hob alone. Hob. Dream can’t hear Hob, not over the loud, pulsing, ringing in his ears. While he was certain Hob wasn’t dead, Dream still had to see proof of life with his own eyes. Groaning in pain, Dream forces himself to take a few steadying breaths to calm himself, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. Breathing feels like he's swallowing glass, but it gets easier with each slow inhale and exhale. His heart eventually calms, and Dream feels somewhat proud that he's been able to remain upright the entire time. When he’s able to open his eyes again, the first thing he sees is the man with the gun lying dead just inches away from Hob, his entire face blown clean off. Blood and viscera, and what Dream assumes are bits of the man’s brain, are scattered on the forest floor. When Dream lifts his gaze to finally look up at Hob, his eyes widen and he feels his pulse jump as the sight. The majority of Hob’s face and upper body is covered in blood and bits of flesh that slowly drip down the man’s clothes, bathing him in a sea of red. Dream notices that some small fragments of bone have stuck to Hob’s hair, likely parts of the other man’s skull. Hob is panting heavily, but then he suddenly collapses next to the disfigured remains of his assailant, as if whatever invisible force holding him upright had suddenly cut loose its strings. He groans, burying his face in bloodied hands, smearing it across the rest of his face. Hob doesn’t even seem to notice the state he’s in, he’s likely too preoccupied with the same kind of nausea Dream had been feeling just moments ago. Dream imagines whatever ringing Hob must hear in his head is likely even worse than what Dream experienced, due to the man’s proximity to the weapon when it fired. 

tagging with no pressure @bazzybelle @five-and-dimes @kydrogendragon @valiantstarlights @blueberrymffn @gabessquishytum @apocraphelion

[ilguna]

I love your work! Could I please get #17 of list 2 with Haymitch? I was thinking it could be a nightmare from the games or going into the reaping for the 75th? Thank you 💜

☼ history repeats itself (Haymitch Abernathy) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, alcohol use.

wc; 1.6k

prompt; 17. "Hey, listen to me. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you."

—

The last time Haymitch was himself was the night of the reading of the card for the Third Quarter Quell, which happened in the winter. He hasn’t been the same person since, but you weren’t really expecting him to be.

The horror that President Snow presented in front of the entirety of Panem had shook him, and every other victor across the country that thought they were safe. You remember sitting with him in silence on the couch. When you looked at him, it was clear to you that he was slipping away.

It hadn’t even been five minutes since the news reached your ears.

Haymitch stood up from the couch without a word, walking from the living room into the kitchen. You didn’t have to turn around to know what he was about to do. You couldn’t blame him, either. You didn’t even think to hold it against him.

He slammed open the window, you jumped at the noise, and he muttered an apology. The first breeze that came through was nice, it seemed to calm the warmth that had crossed your skin. You looked over to find him pulling a bottle of white liquor out of the cupboard, reaching to open it.

There was a series of hard knocks on the door, you got to your feet to answer it, but it was already swinging open. It was Peeta, a string of apologies leaving his lips for barging in. In the next breath, he was addressing Haymitch, and it wasn’t for what you’d thought it would be.

Peeta started to beg Haymitch to allow him to go inside of the arena again. He didn’t want Haymitch to interfere, to let the reaping run its course. He said that if Haymitch were drawn, he’d volunteer. But if he was drawn, Haymitch wasn’t allowed to lift a finger. He wanted to go back into the arena if it meant that Katniss would be.

You watched as Haymitch cracked the seal on the bottle, taking a long drink of it, before walking over to the dining room table to set it down. “I’m not going to make any deals, Peeta.”

It started out as them talking civilly, and then it began to fade into an argument. With Peeta telling Haymitch that since he protected Katniss the first time around, that meant he owed Peeta. Anything. And Peeta wanted a chance to go into the arena again.

By the time Peeta left, Haymitch was a quarter of the way through his bottle. When Katniss showed up, he was halfway in, drunk. You were sitting at the table with him, asking him if there was any way he could get out of this. You knew what the answer was already, you were just hoping it wasn’t true.

He did what he always does with Katniss—antagonize her. He asked her if she was there to ask him to go back inside of the arena for Peeta. She denied it and sat down with you two, drinking from his bottle. And then, instead of suggesting for him to volunteer, she said she wanted Peeta to be saved from the arena, no matter the situation.

It was only when Haymitch agreed to this, did she leave. The next day, Peeta came by and dumped all of the liquor in the house down the drain. He told you that neither you or Haymitch were allowed to buy it from Ripper down at the Hob—not that he thought you would, anyway.

If you’re being honest, you thought that his whole plan to get Haymitch to train alongside him and Katniss would last a few weeks at best. It wasn’t until the three of them started to show signs of improvement, did you believe that Haymitch wasn’t going to slip back into his habits.

Still, his attitude about the situation hasn’t changed in the past six months, and it’s grown worse over the past week, leading up to today. When you woke up this morning, you were expecting him to say anything about the reaping that will be taking place in the matter of hours. Instead, he pulled himself out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. 

You’ve kept a close eye on him all morning, something you’re sure he doesn’t appreciate very much. You don’t know what else to do. You tried to pretend like everything was alright, when he picked up on it, he asked you to stop. Every attempt you make at conversation falls short. 

It’s like he wants to revel in the doom cloud above him. And who are you to tell him otherwise? If you were in his place, you’re sure you’d do the same. He’s the first victor of District Twelve, and he was a tribute in the last Quarter Quell. If there’s anyone that’s earned a right to silence this morning, it’s him.

That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to see him this way.

“Are you almost ready?” Haymitch asks.

You look into the mirror to see where he’s standing, finding that he’s in the bathroom doorway. You tilt your head to the side as you slide the earring into place. “Almost.”

He nods, turning his body halfway to leave, and then he changes his mind. He leans against the frame, head tilted downward to look at the ground. He’s dressed nicely, considering the situation. You’re even able to see the muscles that he’s built up from training. The only thing he’s missing is his blazer, but if he doesn’t have it in his hands already, that means he’s not planning on bringing it.

“I wish I could go with you.” You tell him, rising from your stool in front of the mirror.

Haymitch’s eyes snap up. “No, you don’t, (Y/n).”

“If it means that you don’t leave me, I do.” You close the drawers, and then begin to walk in his direction.

“You’re safer here.” 

“It doesn’t feel like it.” You murmur. “I’m ready.”

He lets your comment slide, not wanting to fight. The two of you leave his Victor home, going down the steps. He shuts the door behind him and doesn’t stop to lock it. Usually, you’d say something about it, but you’ll be coming back here after you bid him goodbye at the train station. You’ll have the house to yourself for the next few weeks while the Victor’s battle it out in an arena.

You barely make it out of the neighborhood before you’re pulling his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glances in your direction, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. Your head is facing the other way, not wanting him to see your face, and the frown that’s struggling to settle on your mouth. You won’t let it.

What you’re feeling is selfishness and guilt. You hope that Haymitch gets his name drawn first, and you hope that Peeta goes through with volunteering. You don’t want today to be your last day with him. You want him to go to the Capitol as a mentor so that you’ll be able to see him again.

This isn’t fair.

The walk to the Justice Building from Victor’s Village only takes a few minutes. From a distance, you can see the crowd that has gathered around the stage. This year, since there is no giant pool of young teenagers, it’s doubled in size. 

Haymitch stops you, letting out a shaky breath.

You raise your eyebrows, eyes watching his face. He presses his lips together, breathing quicker, eyes locked on the stage.

“Hey, listen to me.” You squeeze his hand. “You’re safe, nothing is going to hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, (Y/n).” He tells you. “I don’t want to lose you, the same way I lost them.”

Your face twists, confused for a moment, until it dawns on you. You haven’t been with Haymitch for long, only about two and a half years now. You’ve seen who he was before Katniss and Peeta, and heard his mindset because of what President Snow did to him.

In the beginning of your relationship, it felt like he was doing everything in his power to hide his history from you. It wasn’t because he was ashamed of it, he just wasn’t prepared for your reaction when he told you all of it. You knew the basics, the stuff everyone knows about his Games.

It was the aftermath of it that was hidden.

At the end of his Games, the Career girl had thrown her axe at him, and Haymitch collapsed because of the wound on his stomach, causing her to miss. The axe flew over the cliff, but came shooting back up, lodging in her skull.

Supposedly, they saw this act from Haymitch as one of rebellion. He was crowned Victor, and two weeks later, his mom, younger brother and girlfriend were all killed in retaliation. He tells you that he tried to put an effort into mentoring, but it was hard to exist everyday without aid. When he figured that he was never going to get a winning tribute, he turned to drinking, and stopped trying altogether.

This is what he must’ve been thinking about all morning.

You pull Haymitch in by your hands to hug him. He places his face in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m going to be right here when you get back, Haymitch.” You tell him. “They can’t take me away from you.”

“I’ll be back, (Y/n).” He pulls you closer.

“I know.”

--

this is part of my 3k celebration!! you can join until the cure is released on Oct, 31st at midnight!!

[cuubism]

unhinged dreamling modern au #409430950

the bachelor

dream is bribed, threatened, and/or physically dragged by his ankle into being on a dating show by death and desire (for very different reasons, death just wants him to be happy and is very very desperate at this point, desire's just fucking with him again), and needless to say dream is not the target candidate for this. at all. sure he's pretty and rich but he's also a complete asshole. this is destined to go poorly.

(unless you're the show's producers who just want an unhinged television trainwreck that keeps people in their seats, in which case it's fucking fantastic)

hob is also there as a contestant because he's bored, single, and always willing to do something stupid. everybody on the show is taking it seriously except for dream, who'd rather jump off a cliff than be here right now, and hob, who's just entertaining himself.

dream: this is stupid (hateful) hob: this is stupid (having the time of his life)

needless to say this whole thing is a disaster. normally contestants are clamoring for the 'bachelor's' attention but dream just keeps being an utter jerk to everyone, making them cry, and causing them to actually drop out of the show. contestants: "i'd rather die than be with you." dream: "glad we're finally on the same page." like. dream doesn't even have to actively eliminate people. they just eliminate themselves because he's so insufferable.

hob isn't put off, though, this whole thing is hilarious to him. dream tries scaring him off and hob just laughs like "oh you're so cute, this is great"

dream: i hope you die hob: you want me so bad it makes you look stupid

the more people drop out of the show the more time dream and hob end up spending together, by necessity. unfortunately for dream's sanity hob is actually very charming and fun and inexplicably good at getting dream to smile. they have at least one proper heart-to-heart and hob is so kind to him, and dream hates him soooo much for it.

(of course he actually likes him, and it's the worst thing that's happened to him, maybe ever. he's in agony. he wants off this ride, please. maybe he wants on a different ride ahem.)

so now hob's properly invested in this stupid game, he's like oh that wretched stick of a man is mine (literally nobody is challenging him but he's being super competitive about it anyway). all it really results in is dream being MORE of an asshole both to hob and to everybody else. (dream: one time i had a crush on this guy and i didn't know how to handle it so i just wrote him a letter saying get out of my tv show). and yet every week dream could eliminate hob from the show but he never does...

anyway soon enough literally every other contestant has dropped out of the show and it's JUST hob remaining and he basically wins by default. dream absolutely will not be beaten or outdone and is like fine hob i'll call your bluff. marry me if you're so committed to winning. hob's like, bet :) (see: always willing to do something stupid).

they do in fact get married because they're both incapable of conceding defeat. then they're like well. what do we do now...

dream: going to divorce me now and take half of my money? run with your spoils? hob: idk, are you going to divorce me and finally 'free yourself from the torment of my presence'? dream: *sniff* then you would win hob: then i bet i can stay in this relationship longer than you :) dream, gritting his teeth: bet

anyway they manage about two months before dream, perpetually in agony over how aggressively he's into hob, is like fine, i concede, i can't take it anymore. leave me if you want, take my money, i do not care, only free me from this pain. hob: so... i win? i get to choose the prize? dream, utterly defeated: whatever you want hob: okay! and he kisses him

[snowsinterlude]

the princess up in the tower.

(peacekeeper!coriolanus x reader)

summary: peacekeeper coriolanus was the only one capable of making you leave your house, where the commander kept you closed, saying it was too dangerous out there.

c.w: gentleman, peacekeeper coriolanus, timid reader, a bit of rapunzel references, fluff, coriolanus protecting and encouraging you, reader with social anxiety.

your father was the commander of the peacekeepers on district 12. thus being explained, he was extremely over protective of you to a point your own mother cringed about it.

c'mon now. you were eighteen. you didn't even know how to socialize without getting embarassed for anything you said. what did he wanted from you? you didn't had friends, you were homeschooled, the only people you were allowed to look or talk was the peacekeepers that he trained when you went to give him his lunch.

in one of those times, you met coriolanus snow. the new peacekeeper, send there for cheating on the hunger games or something like that. you thought he was pretty, and you hated yourself for stuttering when he helped you out.

"miss? is everything okay?" he asked you, offering his hand to get you to stand off the ground since you fell when you bumped into a peacekeeper who was running too fast to say sorry.

"y-yes." you said, taking his hand on yours as you got up, stumbling a bit as he used his other hand to grab your waist when you almost fell again. "i'm s...sorry. i seem to be a little clumsy today." you said, looking at his chest rather than his eyes.

"it's okay. you don't have to say sorry, everyone get's a bit clumsy one time or another." he said, flashing you the prettiest smile you've ever seen, and you swore you felt your eyes shining at the sight of his pearly white teeth. "Is there something you're looking for? i don't see a motive for such a pretty lady like you to be here."

you gagged a bit at the compliment. it was the first time a boy your age said such sweet things to you. and probably the first time you talked to somebody your age.

"yes, yes. i am looking for my dad"

"your dad is..?"

"the commander." you said, and he nodded positively at you.

"you can follow me if you want company" he said, and you nodded, following him.

you've never seen a conversation flow so naturally. he was so charming and pretty that when you both arrived at your dad's study you felt sad.

"so, me and the other guys are planning on going to the hob on sunday to, you know, de-stress a bit. would you like to come with us?" he asked, a kind smile on his pretty face.

"i-i can't, my father wouldn't allow it and if he found out he'd probably punish you for inviting me, and-" you started to explain, your words tangled on one another nervously as you gesticulated, trying to say it was not his fault, but rather your dad's will.

"hey, hey. calm down" he placed his hand on your shoulder, the touch of his hand shivering on your skin. "it's okay. your father doesn't need to know about it."

"what..?" he gave you an audacious smile, and you could feel your heart melting alway from it.

"i'll wait for you 9:00 p.m. you need to calm down a bit." he said, charmingly. "luckily i know how to calm your nerves down."

you didn't even get to say anything. he left, running away with other peacekeepers that called him. he waved his hand to you, and by the evening you were still extremely anxious with what you decided to do.

hands on the window, you gulped harshly and looked down. snow was there, waving at you. you already drank a lot of water to calm down, anxious to the brim as you thought about the many possibilities of your dad finding out.

you breathed in, jumping to his arms and holding up a scream only for him to catch you right on the spot, just like the long haired princess's boyfriend would do to get her out of the tower.

"i can't believe it. oh, what am i doing? he's my dad, i can't betray him like that, i'm a terrible daughter, i-" you panicked, and he chuckled lightly, putting you on the ground.

"you're eighteen, princess. you need to come out of your shell." he said, taking your hand and guiding you away.

the entire path to the hob was silent. you even questioned yourself as to why you were going with him. it was dangerous! you met him only three days ago!! are you crazy??? what if he's going to kill you because your father made him to push-ups one day???

all of your worries went magically away the moment you stepped into the hob, the lights and the music filling your eardrums as you timidly entered the local and looked everywhere with curiosity, taking in the information that you did actually got out of your room and were in such a festive place!

after at least two drinks of posca, you actually loosened up a bit, dancing with an entire group of people and singing all the songs along, laughing happily as the dancing group get on changing partners. then, your partner was coriolanus now.

with a hand on his shoulder and other on his hand, you smiled brightly at him.

"snow!" you beamed, starting to dance again as he tried to keep up with you.

"princess." he smiled, twirling you around the room and even putting you up on the air.

"that- this is the best night of my life! thank you!!" you said, laughing loudly as you kissed his cheek. he felt surprised, letting your hands go as you started dancing again, until the moment you got up on the stage, dancing and singing your lungs out while he watched over you, making sure no one would come at you with bad intentions.

that was the first of the long list of the best nights coryo gave you. one after another, he made sure to keep you happy and treat you as a princess, all those times made you so happy having him in your life that the kisses you gave on his cheek were always getting closer and closer to his mouth.

then his hands were hugging your waist and you were up in the skies smiling and laughing into his lips. and he always took extra care for your father to not find out at the same time he earned your father's trust.

you were the happiest when you were with coryo, and that was the main motive you were always at your window, waiting for him night after night. and you always thanked all god's that supposedly existed for the chance they gave you to be happy.

the end ♡

[gabessquishytum]

Hob was new to the city, so during his first full moon he put on his "collar" and walked about in his wolf-skin. Mostly he looked like a big dog and he chose a werewolf friendly city to move to, so he figured he wouldn't be hassled too much.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

While walking about Hob smelled something delicious! Following the smell lead to a tall pointy fence, but Hob wasn't going let a fence stop him,,,he jumped. Hob landed in a garden (only scraping his side a little).

The garden wasn't what he was smelling, though, as nice as it was. Hob continued to following the smell around the corner of a house where he came upon a pup and its father.

They were his smell!

Hob didn’t want to startle them too much, so he yipped from a distance. If wolves could sheepishly wave, Hob would have.

The larger wolf started to growl, when the pup shot out and started (cutely) yipping at Hob, wagging his tail and poking Hob with his nose.

Papa!wolf quickly changed back into his human form, sighing Orpheus; Hob used that as his signal to change back himself.....apologizing for intruding,, to the still fantastic smelling (beautiful) man.

Hob was screwed.

Himbo werewolf Hob!!! I love him!!! Also Hob in a collar... ajsjdbdhshs ANYWAYS.

Of course Orpheus is desperate to play with his new friend, the big fluffy brown wolf who is twice as broad as his dad. See, his dad is very protective, so Orpheus doesn't have a whole lot of friends to play with, either in wolf or human form! He wants to play!!!

Dream grumbles under his breath but agrees that Orpheus can play with Hob. Only five minutes, though. Hob quickly shifts back to wolf form and immediately engages in tag, play fighting, even a fun chasing game with a football! Little by little, Dream is also pulled into the game, until the play-fighting ends with Orpheus and Dream successfully pinning Hob’s big fluffy body against the ground. They caught him! And Hob has never been more pleased to be caught, it's fair to say.

Unfortunately Hob can't stay forever (and he's polite enough to excuse himself instead of waiting for Dream to shoo him away). But Dream surprises him by inviting him to stop by for dinner after the full moon is over and done with. For Orpheus's sake, obviously - it has nothing to do with the fact that Hob smells so good and is so handsome with his hair messed up and dirt on his face. He just deserves a proper welcome to the neighbourhood. Or something.

Hob accepts the invitation and apologises again for just jumping into Dream’s garden, but Dream just snuffles against him and gives his ear an affectionate nibble. So Hob is starting to think that following his nose wasn't such a bad idea after all...!

[r3leee]

when the mockingjay sings

guess who’s back after two months 🤭 i’m so sorry y’all omfg 😭 anyway, hope y’all have seen tbosas (if you haven’t, IT IS SO GOOD, please watch it.) take some of my current gf <33

pairing: lucy gray baird x fem!reader

summary: your girlfriend comes back as the victor of the 10th hunger games, but doesn’t stay for long

warnings: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, cursing, going off the movie since I haven’t read the book yet

word count: 1,259, should take about ten minutes to read (longest to date!!)

listen to: stubborn love by the lumineers

IT WAS EASY falling in love with lucy gray baird. her charming voice, her sweet smile, her beautiful, beautiful, face, her personality, really all of it made you fall face first for her.

her lust shone over you so easily. she could ask you to jump off a cliff, and you would happily do it just to make her proud. that’s all you ever wanted from her. proudness. acceptance.

so it was really no surprise for lucy gray or the covey when you tried to volunteer for her at the reaping.

you remember the firm hand on your forearm, the one that belonged to your girlfriend after you just pleaded to go in place of her. “don’t.” you gave her a look of anger, eyebrows knitted.

“‘don’t?’ you expect me to let you die out there?” you could see tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill out.

and it killed you. this wasn’t the bold lucy gray you knew. the one who would scare you from behind while you were making breakfast. the one who always kissed you in front of your family.

no, this was a different lucy gray. her voice began to shake. “i’m sorry.” and with that, she was gone, the gentle touch that was once on your arm a near punishment for being in love with someone so intricate.

the next few days were hell for you. You couldn’t eat, go out to your family, anything. all you could do was sleep. and you didn’t dare turn on your tv and watch the games.

so to get news that your girlfriend was not only the victor, but also well was overjoying to you.

the day lucy gray came back was the happiest of your life. the first second she saw you, she immediately sprinted, jumping up into your arms.

you giggled, running your hands through her hair. “i knew you could do it,” you whispered, tears of joy starting to form.

“ya, and i knew you couldn’t,” she whispered back, laughing at her own words. you couldn’t help but laugh, too.

everything returned relatively back to normal; you’d come to her shows, you two would hang out every day and walk in the woods, and you’d sit with the covey.

until one day.

you sat at the hob, waiting for your girlfriend to perform as usual. she had just gone off stage for a brief moment. it was taking longer than usual, though, and you started to grow concerned.

after a while, lucy gray and her band returned back on stage, but something seemed off about the singer.

you knew your girlfriend well, and you knew that this wasn’t the normal her. she appeared to be fine on the surface, singing her songs with a smile on her face, but you knew better.

so, when the performance ended, you immediately ran to catch up with lucy gray. she was two steps ahead of you, immediately sprinting to your seat.

she quickly rested her hands on your face. “i love you and i’m sorry.” she pecked your lips and just like that, she was gone, running out of the hob. no time for you to ask what she meant.

days had passed, and to your fear, you hadn’t heard from your girlfriend. no sign of her around town.

you went to the covey, asking them if they’d seen her. nobody had seen lucy gray since the day at the hob. and allegedly, two people had shown up dead at the hob the same night your girlfriend ran off.

great.

you knew fate was going to catch up to you eventually after your girlfriend survived the games. so you accepted you’d never hear from her again.

you hid in your room, only coming out to use the bathroom or eat. you cried endlessly those few days.

lucy gray baird was your everything, and she was gone. of course she fucking was.

11:30 AM IS when you woke the next day. truly, you woke up at a much earlier time, but you didn’t get up until the cons of staying in bed outweighed the pros.

you slugged into the kitchen, going to fix yourself a cup of coffee. your family was already out at work or school, so you were all alone. nothing to disturb you.

until you heard a knock on the door. nobody ever knocked.

you walked to the door, not knowing who was there or why they were. you slowly opened the door just an inch, just to take a peak at who was there.

you couldn’t believe your eyes. you thought you must be hallucinating from all the sleep, or maybe still dreaming. maybe you never got out of bed at all. “lucy gray?”

you quickly pulled her into your house, making sure to lock the door right after. before either of you could get anything out, you wrapped her in a tight hug.

it was a longing one. you thought lucy gray was dead, and she thought you’d never get the opportunity to see her again. the hug seemed to last ages, only being broken to litter each other’s faces in kisses.

“where the fuck have you been, lucy gray?” you asked, inviting her to sit down on the couch next to you.

“hiding. it’s a long story.” she took a seat next to you, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“did you kill mayfair?” you asked, genuine concern in your eyes. “i’m not mad if you did-”

“no, no, i didn’t,” she interrupted, reassuring you. “i was just too closely related to the situation. and then…other things happened, so i can’t stay for long.” your face turned into one of confusion.

“what happened?”

“i just said it was a long story.” she laughed, prompting you to laugh after her. that laugh sent you spiraling.

“well, at least tell me where you’re hiding.”

“up in the woods. gonna head up north here soon. i just came to visit to let you know i’m still here.”

“let me come with you. please.” you were pleading. you didn’t know how much longer you could live without your girlfriend. having to deal with the past few days for the rest of your life would end you.

“it’s not safe, (name)-”

“then why’d you even come? just to taunt me?” you fought back.

“no. i’m just saying you can’t come.”

“you have to let me. please. these past few days have been hell without you, lucy gray. i can’t have you stripped away from me a second time. i didn’t know much you meant to me until you got reaped, and right after you came back you left again. if you don’t let me go with you i might actually die.”

her face softened during your confession. she’d never had much reassurance in her life. nobody to ever really kiss the tears away. you were different. you were special.

she slowly realized how you were her everything, too. your hearts were both chipping, but they both fit perfectly together.

she sighed. “okay. pack your things.”

your eyes lit up, immediately jumping up from the couch to grab your stuff.

you knew your parents wouldn’t care about this eventually. there’d be the initial shock, but after time, nobody would care. you were always seen as nothing but another mouth to feed.

your bag full, you walked out of your room for the last time. lucy gray called for you from the doorway. “you sure?”

as you gazed at your house for the final time, you nodded, joining her in the doorway. “positive.”

[tj-dragonblade]

popping my head in to ask about Mer Hob 👀 from the WIP title ask game

Finally popping my head back up to answer, my apologies for the wait! Mer-Hob came out of server conversations about mer-Dreamling fish assignments and aquatic mating displays, but he kind of fizzled out with the scene I tried to write. Dusting him off for this, though, I think I can breathe the spark back into it. Take it past where I meant to before, so it will have a more satisfactory conclusion. I have scrapped the lackluster 'how did they meet' that was stalling me out and given them new backstory and now I'm unsure how exactly I want to structure this. Start where I've started and then jump back to the meeting, then bring them back to the present? Make the backstory a separate fic? Rearrange the whole thing chronologically, which would require a lot of rework and shortening of the current opening bit? IDK but I'll figure it out. In the meantime, here is a chunky chunk of drafting for their meet-cute (sfw but cut for length):

Dream is not surprised to find a waterline-level cave out on the rock formation in the bay, on the side not visible from shore. Nor is he overly surprised to find someone stretched out in the handsbreadth of water covering the floor with their eyes closed, as the morning light fills the first several feet of the cave brightly in a way that is conducive to sunbathing.

The fact that the sunbather has a bright orange tail with brilliant yellow fins and blue-black leopard-like spots is rather less expected, however, and Dream gasps his surprise.

The sound startles the man—the merman—surely not?—who sits bolt upright, eyes wide and panicking as he locks gazes with Dream not an arm's length away.

Dream's heart skips a beat. He's beautiful—

"Oh, fuck!" The merman—there is no other explanation, no mistaking the flurry of fins and scales as he moves—the merman twists and flops and dives past Dream, a less-than-graceful plunge off the rock and into the sea and then he is gone.

"Wait!" Dream cries, to the bright flick of yellow vanishing into the depths, but of course it is no use.

He could swim back to the boat, could don his diving gear and follow—but no. The merman is already gone, and will be more so by the time Dream could be equipped to give chase.

He swallows back his disappointment, his disbelief, and tells himself resolutely that he surely imagined the entire thing.

But he did not imagine it, he knows this; the knowledge lodges in his mind, burrows down into his consciousness and curls around his common sense, stokes his curiosity.

He saw a merman.

Merpeople do not exist.

But he saw one.

He returns the next day, hoping perhaps to repeat the discovery, but he is the only visitor to the cave in the hours that he spends there. When the tide has gone out and come back in, high enough once more to cover the floor of the cave, when he has spent all day waiting with nothing to show for it, he admits defeat and swims back to his boat.

He returns again, and again, later each day with the drift of the tide, diving to explore beneath the surface when the cave remains empty. He finds nothing of note, nothing to hint at the existence of merfolk, nothing at all out of the ordinary; by day six, he is trying to convince himself to make peace with the likelihood that he will never find any trace of the merman he knows he had seen.

On day seven, the merman is back, sunbathing at the front of the cave again.

Only this time, he has human legs, is wearing swim trunks, is sitting further away from where Dream is treading water, stunned.

"…Hello," Dream manages.

"Hi," the man says, warmly polite. He is cross-legged with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them, one hand holding the other wrist; he is meant to look casual and relaxed, Dream is certain, but the tension and the nervousness coming off of him are palpable.

He is still beautiful.

"You're. I saw you here, before?" His thoughts are still trying to catch up; he hoists himself into the cave, doesn't move closer.

The man's shoulders drop a tiny fraction. "Yeah, yep! Startled me good, you did!" He chuckles lightly, a carefree and casual sound; the fingers of his dangling hand wriggle, a nervous and distracted sort of gesture that draws Dream's attention to the profusion of hair on his bare legs, and arms, and what Dream can see of his chest.

"You had a. A tail, last time," Dream says, somewhat awkwardly, tearing his gaze from the sprinkling of hair on the man's bare toes.

"Oh, that, yes!" The man grins, bright and disarming. "I'm a mermaid performer, with the, ah, the local carnival."

Dream is convinced this is a lie even as the logical part of his brain points out that this explanation makes far more sense than believing in merfolk. He knows what he saw, the flexing of muscle and the fanning of fins, the bending and twisting that did not match up to the way that human legs would move in that configuration. The merman speaks with casual confidence, but the tension in his frame and the nervous fidget of his clasped hand are easy to read.

"…No, I don't think you are," Dream says, and the man's bright smile dips before returning to full wattage.

"Calling me a liar, are you?" He laughs, a light and enchanting sound that Dream immediately wants to hear more of. "Merfolk, they don't actually exist, I'll have you know."

~ The wip tag has a tiiiny bit more of this one, also.

[samsalami66]

Ball is Life

ITS TIME. First part of the soccer au is done.

Read on ao3!

Hob gasped some desperate breaths between the cool water hitting his face, which was burning hot from the past forty-five minutes he had spent on the pitch. The board showed a draw, one to one, and the game was not going quite as they had hoped for. Fawney’s defence was supposed to crumble a lot quicker under their relentless attacks, but so far their defenders were doing a fantastic job of forcing Dream and him out of position, making it almost impossible to get a good flank towards Dream or vice versa. None of their direct attacks had worked so far, and no free-kick had found its way into Fawney’s goal.

What they really needed right now was a corner. Hob was well known for his headers, his jumping height rivalled by few others in the world, while no one else knew how to prepare a shot for him quite like Dream did. 

When Hob managed to blink through the water in his eyes, he saw Dream staring at him from halfway across the field. Their eyes found each other easily, as they always did during a game. There was something about Dream that made Hob aware of his presence, his piercing blue eyes on him. (That something might just be the crush he had developed for his teammate and best friend of two years, but Hob was nothing if not a master of ignorance. They were friends, and only that, at least as long as Dream didn’t say otherwise. If that ever changed, well. Hob would gladly give his friend whatever he asked for.) 

Once their gazes locked, both of them knew what their next attack would be after the break. Force a corner, abuse Hob’s superior jump-height and finally get that lead against the Riggers. Dream nodded, once, and let his head fall slightly to the right. Right side corner. 

With a last gulp of water, Hob made his way back to his position on the field, waiting for the ref to announce the start of the second half. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, louder than the fans cheering them on from the sidelines, but not louder than the sound of the whistle cutting through the air.

They didn’t immediately get their chance. The Riggers were attacking with renewed energy, a fresh player in their offence wearing down Ken and Cori by the minute. 

But then, in the fifty-first minute, Matthew managed to get the ball from one of the mid-fielder’s, quickly passing it to John, while Dream and Hob were making a run for the penalty area. A glance back showed that the ball was already being passed to them, a high shot from just behind the halfway line. Hob accepted it with his chest, then swiftly turned to dribble it towards the goal. One of their defenders tried to block him, but Hob, instead of trying to get past him and towards the goal, simply shot the ball against his shin and thereby got a right corner for the Fiddlers. 

Part one of the plan was successful.

Hob threw a grin and a wink into the direction of the defender, Alex Burgess, who only stared back at him with a frown. There was no time to analyse that look any further though, as Dream was already jogging towards the corner point and preparing his shot. His friend’s eyes were on the goal, not on any of the players, but Hob knew all too well where Dream would be shooting. They had done this a thousand times in training, knew each other’s passes better than anyone else's. 

When the whistle once again cut through the air, Hob ran from his spot behind Burgess, thereby successfully freeing himself for a header. He jumped, just as the ball came in from above, and with a final push the ball soared for the goal, the angle impossible to stop for the goalkeeper. But just as his feet were about to touch back on the ground pain shot through his head from the right side, the surprise making him miss his landing and hit the ground with a pained groan. His vision was turning and twisting worryingly as he tried to blink through the black coming in from all sides. 

Fans and players alike were shouting around him, most of them in ecstasy, some in anger. Hob was not entirely sure where the shouts were coming from; from above, beneath or before him, but they were so loud. Sure as hell wasn’t a good sign, especially not with the nausea now overtaking his senses. 

He pressed his teeth together against the feeling and tried blinking some more to stop the world from spinning before his eyes, just to see blue eyes staring down at him with obvious worry once he finally managed. The lighthearted grin he wanted to throw at his friend quickly turned into a grimace as his head began to pound at even the slightest of movements. 

“Hob,” He heard Dream’s low voice over the ever-present chorus of cheering fans, and it felt like a warm balm soothing his aching mind. “Hob, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” His voice was little more than a groan, but Dream probably still understood him. Gods above, but his friend really was beautiful from this angle. All untameable black hair and marble skin and eyes like the endless skies above. Perhaps his best friend was not really a person at all, but rather a painting or statue, come to life. He was Greek after all, so maybe he had just escaped one of their museums one night and now they were missing their prettiest marble statue. He was named after a God, so perhaps it was one of the Sleep God’s depictions that he sprang from. 

“Do you know that you look like a Greek God?”

Well, fuck him, that was certainly one thing to say to your best friend. Thankfully, Dream merely raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk stretching over his lips. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, even if it's probably the concussion talking.”

It most certainly was not, but Dream didn’t have to know that. Probably better that way, Hob had different problems right then. 

“I think I might throw up.” 

That was apparently enough to force Dream into action, as he quickly raised a hand to call the medical team onto the field. The worry was back on his face, something that will never fail to make Hob’s heart ache. He remembered all too well, when Dream had still played for the Riggers, the looks of arrogance and indifference he had always faced Hob with on the field, the smug satisfaction when Hob had been fouled by one of their awful defenders. On more than one occasion Hob had had to leave the pitch, with injuries much worse than a simple concussion, and all Dream had done was smirk and feign disinterest. To now be granted his care and affection was more than Hob had ever imagined. 

The Dream he knew now was just so sweet. Hob would have never believed that beneath that exterior of arrogance and smugness Dream could be such a loveable and caring human being, and yet here he was, lying beneath his watchful gaze and knowing that his old rival would fight anyone who came too close to him. He felt safe when Dream was there, even if the man’s fists had once given him a black eye. 

Funny, how time could change people. 

“Don’t pass out on me, Robert.” Hob heard Dream’s voice above him, and he had to blink his eyes open again to look at his friend. He hadn’t even noticed that he had closed them. Or that the nausea was slowly settling back into something more bearable.

“I would never, dove.” he answered, but he could feel his words slur together and his eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. Blasted concussions.

“I will kill Alex the next chance I get.” 

A tired laugh escaped Hob at the murmured statement from his friend and he blindly reached to his side to pat Dream’s knee. He missed and ended up hitting his shin, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“No murder on the pitch, love, we’ve talked about this.” There was no answer to that, but Hob could make out a scoff on Dream’s face which made him snort softly. “How about you win us this game and bring me some Gyros on your way back instead?” 

“You’re terrible, Kollitós.” His friend whispered, fondness clear in his voice.

They ignored the approaching medical team for a moment longer, sharing a long look before Hob would have to be carried off the field. There was fear in Dream’s eyes, almost invisible beneath his carefully crafted mask of indifference. Fear for Hob’s health, for one, but Hob knew that was not the full extent of it. Playing against his old club alone, facing his old teammates on his own, without Hob by his side. The possibility of failure, of losing this match which was so important to him, to disappoint their mates and their fans. 

Dream was always bloody terrified to disappoint. 

But Hob knew he would not. Didn’t even know if he could. Dream always delivered when it came down to it, his crippling anxiety spurring him on and on, way past any healthy limits. Sometimes Hob wondered what would happen the day Dream failed for once; if it might break the one thing his friend still had left for himself. 

If it came to that, Hob would be there to build him back up. To remind him that failure was not the end, and that it would never ruin Hob’s trust in him. 

Which in turn reminded Hob that he could place some well-earned trust in Dream’s hands right then and there. 

Dream’s eyes widened comically as Hob took off his own captain’s armband and wrapped it around his arm, patting it in a friendly manner. 

“Hob-”

“Shhh, love, trust me. This is your game.”

Dream looked about two seconds away from crying, his lower lashes shining ever so slightly in the afternoon sun. They weren’t sad tears, just emotional ones. Both of them were well aware of the message this was sending, allowing Dream to be the team’s captain for the first time in a match against his old club. A Fuck You, as clear as these assholes deserved. And Hob trusted him to show them up, to send them back home in pieces.

If anyone could do it, it was Dream.

Hob gave his arm a last squeeze as the medical team started blocking his view on his friend, preparing to move him onto a stretcher. It was the last Hob saw of Dream before he was carried off the pitch. But that was alright, because they would see each other again at the hospital, right after Dream kicked the Riggers’ asses. 

-

There was a knock on the door of Hob’s hospital room an astounding twenty minutes after the game had been supposed to end. Astounding, because the stadium was about twenty minutes away from the hospital. So either Dream had learned how to teleport, or he had skipped the dressing room completely in order to see him. 

Hob decided it would probably be best not to think too hard on that second option, lest his heart might actually skip out of his chest.

Instead, he called out for Dream to come in. 

And come in he did, sweaty and out of breath and shaking, excess adrenaline still pumping through his system. He was still dressed in his jersey, shorts and even football boots, confirming that he had indeed run from the pitch directly to the hospital, after playing a full ninety minute match… 

Gods above, but Hob really adored this man. 

In the blink of an eye Dream rushed across the room and threw himself into Hob’s arms, breathing hectic breaths into his neck and grasping the hospital gown between them like a lifeline. Hob was helpless to do anything but wrap this ridiculous man into the tightest hug he could possibly manage. Eventually, Dream’s heavy breaths turned into sobs and then into tiny sniffles, tears flowing freely in the safety of their embrace. Hob was so proud of his friend for allowing this, for trusting him enough to hold him in these moments when everything came crashing down. 

It had taken them a while to get to this point, for Dream to understand that his emotions were not a weakness, but an inherent part of him which could make him even stronger. He wasn’t the man he was despite of them, but because of them. 

Old Burgess had done a great job of convincing him of the opposite, and sometimes Hob wished he could still strangle the fucker for what he had put Dream through. 

Not that it mattered much, the man was already six feet under, exactly where he belonged. Still, it might bring Hob a small measure of comfort to kick the dead man’s body.

“You are thinking.” His friend murmured into his neck, voice hoarse from crying, successfully distracting Hob from his violent daydream. “What are you thinking about?”

“Disturbing the peace of the dead.” he murmured, simply, before placing a kiss into Dream’s sweaty hair. “Might even be worth the criminal charges.”

A pinch to his side had Hob yelping and Dream laughing into his neck, the awful grating sound of his best friend’s giggles filling Hob’s chest with indescribable warmth. There was nothing quite like hearing Dream laugh, really laugh, without fearing judgement. Just the thought that such a wonderful human being had been shamed for experiencing and expressing joy in his own unique way never failed to break Hob’s heart a little bit every time. How could anyone hate this laugh, when it was so precious, so sweet and innocent? 

Hob didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand the so-called fans the Riggers had, nor did he understand that bastard Roderick Burgess. 

And even if these people were in the past (or in Hell), Hob couldn’t help the anger he still felt on behalf of his best friend every time he remembered the way Dream had forced down his laugh, had apologised for delighting in a situation. 

Never again. 

Hob squeezed his friend tightly against his chest, closed his eyes to soak up the joy and warmth radiating off of him with appropriate greediness. Appropriate, because he didn’t just kiss this infuriatingly adorable man stupid, even if he really really wanted to. So actually, he was holding himself back here. Or at least that was what he kept telling himself.

A knock sounded from the door, which had Dream’s head shooting upwards in interest. Still, he didn’t move from where he was draped over Hob, much to the other man’s delight. Thank God he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor, else it might have made all his holding back utterly useless with how his heart was racing over this simple display of trust. Dream knew he was welcome, that his affection was welcome, even in the face of strangers. He knew Hob would protect him, and would stand by his side. Always. 

“Come in!” Hob called, voice breaking ever so slightly. If Dream noticed, he didn’t comment. 

The door opened, and in came, well, everyone. The entire team, lead on by Cori and John, filtered into the tiny hospital room, arms overflowing with take-away boxes that smelled of garlic, thyme and oregano and all the other spices Hob had come to associate with Greek cuisine, his favourite ever since Dream had stepped foot into his life. 

He let out a groan as the smell hit his nose, his stomach rumbling in interest. 

“I fucking love you guys, did I ever mention?”

“Once or twice,” John smirked, patting Hob’s shoulder where it poked out from beneath Dream. 

“You scared the shit out of us with your little stunt, Hobert.” Merv remarked from where he had already monopolised the single chair stood to the far side of the room. His tone was rough and grim as ever, but an edge of concern was lodged somewhere near his constant frown. Hob felt oddly touched. 

“Don’t you worry about me, old man, it needs way more than a little concussion to knock me out. After all, you would all terribly miss my voice if I stopped talking for a whole five minutes.”

Cori chuckled by Hob’s other side, sitting cross-legged on the floor and unpacking their food. “I’d be worried if anything ever managed to shut you up for more than a second, Robbie. I have a feeling not even knocking you out would be enough. Though who knows, perhaps it’s worth some consideration if we might have silence during training for once.”

Hob simply grinned at Cori, knowing full well that his mate loved to hear him talk the most out of all these people. On more than one occasion he had called Hob in the middle of the night to talk to him for some hours, saying it helped him with falling asleep after a hard day. Every jab was in good humour, and Hob delighted in Cori’s pout when he stretched a bit in order to ruffle his hair. 

From Hob’s other side, a comforting hand on his shoulder, Gilbert, their trainer, cleared his throat, catching their attention.

“Robert, in all seriousness, I request that you take at least two weeks off for your recovery. I do not wish to see you anywhere near our training facilities until then. A head injury is nothing to be trifled with, and I will not allow you to endanger your health any further on my watch. Once the doctors have given their okay after that we will see to get you back on the field.” 

Gilbert’s eyes were warm and caring, filled to the brim with the same softness he always held for this team and its players. They were his wards, and he the father figure a lot of them had been lacking before they came to Fiddler’s Green. He cared for them, in a position where not many other people would, and had thereby gained their respect, trust and loyalty. It was with that feeling in mind that Hob nodded, obediently, knowing Gilbert wanted the best for him. For all of them. 

“I was due a vacation anyways,” he quipped, which had the other men chuckling to themselves. They all bloody hated vacations, sitting still for days on end. But he would not be contrary to Gilbert. 

Instead he squeezed Dream once more, his weight on top of him calming in its consistency, and pressed a kiss into his hair, simply because he could. And, well, perhaps also because it made Dream nuzzle closer to him. 

This was where they belonged. 

He grabbed one of the boxes Cori had unpacked and smiled at his teammates. “Now, tell me how the rest of that game went guys, you know I hate being left in the dark.”

And if the rest of the day went down in cuddles, laughter and tales of dramatic plays then, well. Hob felt right at home. 

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment VII

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts, swearing, illness, pregnancy, miscarriage

Word Count: 4.2K (she’s kind of long)

Part VI | Masterlist | Part VIII

When you arrived back in 12 you really thought your life was about to get a whole lot easier. Revolution or not, you were no longer a mentor so you wouldn’t be dragged out to the Capitol for a show every year. And after a couple years no one would remember you anymore.

As you and Haymitch returned home, you hesitated to say it, scared there was something you were missing. “Haymitch, are we done?”

“What?” he asked, very confused and a little scared.

“Are we done with all the Capitol shit? We’re not the mentors anymore. I’m just scared there’s something I’m not thinking of and we’re still in the game.”

He pondered for a second. “I think we’re out of the Capitol spotlight,” he answered with a smile. Hope and relief flooded into your chest as you jumped into one another’s embrace. You were both smiling and laughing like never before until it finally died down. “I think Katniss will need our help from time to time and we’ll probably be expected at the reapings but yeah, I think we’re done.”

You two had your own private celebration that night since it would be cruel to rub it in Katniss and Peeta’s faces. You just hoped they could churn out two victors quickly (separate years of course) so they could get out of the spotlight and the Capitol would lose interest in them once they settled into their fabricated domestic life.

~

Your celebrations for a better life seemed to come too quickly because the next day trucks full of peacekeepers were rolling in. You were just sitting in the living room, reading when you saw smoke coming from the center of town. Normally smoke wasn’t an alarming sight in the coal mining district but you could also see people running around frantically. You quickly jumped off the couch, rushing to put your boots on, not even bothering to put a coat on.

You ran outside, finding Prim, observing the chaos. “Prim, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she shouted back to you.

“Go inside, get your mom,” you shouted as you ran towards the center of town.

You reached the Hob, or what was the Hob, finding several peacekeepers, more than ever, burning everything to a crisp. You spotted a young girl, maybe 15, cornered by a peacekeeper, shooting fire at her feet, torturing the girl. You had no doubt he was laughing under his mask.

You approached from the side, the man not even noticing you until you grabbed her hand. “Go, sweetie,” you told the girl. She didn’t need to be told twice as she bolted away as the man was distracted. He ripped his mask off angrily, preparing to yell at you but you watched as realization dawned over his face. “Hurt me if you want, I’m sure Snow would love to hear how you burnt one of his most lucrative victors,” you taunted.

Seeing that burning you wasn’t worth it he pursed his lips angrily before taking the torch to hit you with. It hit your hip, knocking you to the side a little but he seemed satisfied getting a hit in so he went back to burning objects. Not wanting to push your luck, you ran off, heading toward the town square. There you were horrified to see Gale tied to a whipping post, Katniss stood in front of his with a gash on her face, Peeta in front of her, and Haymitch in front of him, talking to a peacekeeper with a gun pointed at him. “…you already marked up her face on the eve of the big wedding,” you heard Haymitch explain as you ran over.

“Move,” the man pointed his gun at you now.

“Man, you really don’t get it. You don’t recognize her either? Y/N L/N? You really think President Snow wants four dead victors?”

The guy looked pissed but relented. “Clear the square!” he suddenly yelled in the scariest voice you’ve ever heard from a human being. “If anyone is spotted out after dark, they will be shot on sight!” The man gave you all a glare, spitting in the dirt before going with some other peacekeepers.

“We have to move him,” Katniss cried as she undid Gale’s cuffs. Haymitch and Peeta both hoisted Gale’s arms over their shoulders. They carried him all the way to Katniss’ house where her mom and sister were preparing for him.

It was a frenzy of Katniss, Prim, and their mom trying to help Gale while you, Haymitch and Peeta just stood to the side. As things calmed down and Gale settled in for what no doubt would be a long, painful night, you and Haymitch headed home.

“So this is Snow’s attempt to suppress the Districts,” you observed, stepping inside. “Crackdown on black markets and insubordination.”

“I guess,” Haymitch sighed, turning on the television. It immediately showed scenes of the lower districts where trucks of peacekeepers were rolling in and terrorizing citizens. “It’s propaganda.”

“Shove it in their faces that any act of defiance will be shot down immediately,” you scoffed. “God I hate him.”

“I know, c’mon, let’s go to bed,” Haymitch said, gently placing a hand on your hip. You flinched when he touched the no doubt forming bruise from that peacekeeper earlier. Haymitch pulled back, afraid that he hurt you. “What?”

“Nothing, just a peacekeeper got mad before I found you,” you explained. “He had this girl backed into a corner, using his flamethrower to torch the ground under her feet like a fucking psycho. I made him stop and he got mad and hit my with it. No big deal,” you dismissed.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine, seriously. Nothing I can’t handle and nothing worth getting whipped or executed for,” you asserted. “Now can we please just go to bed?” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sure,” he agreed, wrapping his arms around your waist with a kiss to the forehead.

~

A couple days passed as Gale healed. There were a few more whippings in 12 but no executions like in some of the other districts where there were riots. The peacekeepers really had locked down 12, Katniss wasn’t able to go out to the woods and you could tell it was getting to her. As for you and Haymitch your home had become a sanctuary. You two finally felt like you could be safe. For the first time since either of your reapings you felt somewhat safe.

All of that came crashing down as you sat down to watch the Quarter Quell announcement. You thought that this must be weird for Haymitch since he won the 50th games and the second Quarter Quell. In some ways you realized that your husband may be the deadliest victor since he won against twice as many tributes.

The screen turned on, revealing Snow on his little speech balcony. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the annual hunger games. It was written in the charter of the games that every 25 years there would be a quarter quell to keep fresh, for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of a special significance. and now on this the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion we celebrate the third Quarter Quell,” Snow pulled out a card for the first time, “as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol. On this the third Quarter Quell the amount of tributes will double. Two male and two female tributes from each district-”

“They did that already,” Haymitch murmured.

“-and they will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.” Your heart sunk in your chest and you let out a dry sob. No, this couldn’t be happening. You just became safe. “All victors from all districts will be eligible for the reaping, no matter the number of victors from a district, nor their age or disability.”

Haymitch angrily threw his glass through the holographic screen, hitting Snow in the face.

You felt the tears slipping down your face as Haymitch threw your glass. Noticing your tears he held you tightly. “Nothing’s gonna gonna happen to you, okay?” He pulled back to look you in the eye, brushing your hair away. “You’re gonna make it out. I’m gonna protect you.”

“No,” you cried. “Katniss has to make it out. She’s the Mockingjay. If we want this to be the last game she has to make it out.”

“But-”

It was your turn to comfort him as tears began to slip down his cheeks. “Haymitch I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you. If you don’t come out of that arena, neither will I.” He sighed quietly, looking down at the ground. “Haymitch…” he looked back up at you, “we’re gonna die aren’t we?” It was a sobering thought to both of you. Neither of you were strangers to the thought of dying but now that you had been happy about two minutes ago, it was a tragic thought.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” you shouted to who you had no doubt was Peeta.

You were proven right when Peeta walked through the door. It wasn’t typical of him to skip pleasantries but then again this was in no way a pleasant situation so he just jumped right in. “Look, I know this isn’t fair to ask but Katniss needs to come out of that arena.”

He went to continue his ramblings until you stopped him. “Peeta, we already agreed neither of us are coming out,” you gestured to your husband. “We can’t guarantee Katniss’ survival but she has two less competitors.” You knew you couldn’t tell Peeta about the rebellion, he was too close to all of this.

Peeta looked broken but grateful. “Thank you,” he cried.

“Why don’t you go be with your family?” Haymitch suggested gently. Peeta agreed, once again professing his thanks before leaving. “This may be a part of Plutarch’s plan,” he suddenly suggested.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s the head gamemaker. Right now he’s Snow’s closest advisor. I’m sure his plan is to get Katniss out. Like ours.”

“Snow will never let Katniss get to top five… much less be the victor,” you pieced together.

“Y/N, we might have a shot at surviving,” Haymitch said as it dawned on him. You both were excited that you may get to actually see the rebellion after a few very sobering moments. “Let’s not get our hopes up though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed.

Suddenly Katniss burst in. She immediately grabbed a bottle of whisky off your bar cart. “I’m here to drink,” she explained.

“Well that’s the only thing I can actually help you with,” Haymitch said, grabbing more glasses as Katniss slumped onto a chair.

“Peeta gets out,” she ordered. In contrast to Peeta’s begging.

“Peeta was just in here begging for your life,” you replied, taking the glass Haymitch handed you.

“I don’t care. He deserves to get out.”

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy,” Haymitch said from beside you.

“I know,” she agreed.

“We’ve already decided we’re not coming out,” you informed her. “We can’t guarantee anything but he has two less competitors.”

“Thank you,” she said stoically. She took another swig of the bottle. “Why couldn’t it have been you two? You actually love each other. You could convince the districts,” she sighed, “and Snow,” she added.

“Just not how we had to play our games,” you shrugged.

You three all drank for a little while until Peeta came back in. “What are you doing?” he asked, startled by the scene. You were laying on the floor, giggling, while Haymitch and Katniss were slumped in their seats, also laughing.

“Accepting our impending dooms,” Haymitch laughed, holding up his thrice refilled glass as if toasting.

“No, you’re not. We have to train and get ready if any of us want any shot,” he insisted.

“Haymitch and I don’t have one,” you giggled.

Peeta shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Forget it we’ll talk tomorrow when at least you two,” he pointed to you and Katniss, “are sober.”

“Wait you don’t wanna drink with us?” Katniss whined.

“No,” he answered bluntly before leaving.

~

The next morning Peeta had the three of you sat in his living room. Both you and Katniss were hungover. Haymitch started drinking to deal with his hangover. “Look we have to start training. We have a week until the reaping. These other victors, especially the careers, have probably continued to train, or trained other tributes, ever since they won. And we’re seriously behind,” Peeta said, taking Haymitch’s mug of coffee mixed with gin.

“Hey!” he protested.

“You have to get sober,” Peeta said. “There won’t be flasks in the arena.”

Eventually Peeta got all of you outside, starting with jogging around Victors Village. You and Katniss took it pretty easily. Peeta struggled a little with his prosthetic leg but fortunately since it was Capitol made it reacted with the rest of his body. Meanwhile Haymitch was struggling. He was stumbling over all the uneven ground and he didn’t exactly have the same stamina he had 25 years ago. You stopped several times to try to help him along but he always brushed you off.

Next you moved onto strength. By now Haymitch’s sobriety was starting to creep in. You knew Haymitch was strong but withdraw was making him physically shake. As for you and Katniss, you were struggling in the strength department. A childhood of malnourishment could never be fixed. As the four of you continued on, Haymitch got worse. He and Peeta were doing pushups when your husband suddenly collapsed. You went over to help him up but he just staggered off into the house. You gave Katniss and Peeta a quizzical look before following him.

You found him in the bathroom, puking his guts out. Letting out a sympathetic sigh you kneeled down next to him, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. “It’s okay, get it all out. Sobriety is hard after 25 years,” you tried to laugh. But the smell was becoming so much you were struggling to not vomit as well.

After a few more minutes Haymitch was done and it was your turn. “Thanks, sweet-” but you interrupted him by also vomiting in the toilet. He held your hair and rubbed your back just as you had done to him while whispering comforts.

When you were done you sat up, finding a comfortable place in between Haymitch’s legs, your back against his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Sorry, I think it was the smell,” you explained.

“Sorry my vomit made you vomit,” Haymitch laughed. You could feel the laughter in his chest, bouncing you the slightest bit.

After a few minutes you shakily stood up. “I’ll get some water. You should lay down, rest.”

“I’m not that tired,” he dismissed.

“Well if we want any hope of you being a functioning sober in the arena you need to rest. Besides, I’m exhausted.” It’s true you were incredibly exhausted. Probably just from the hangover though.

Haymitch complied, heading to the bedroom while you went to get glasses of water. As you returned with the ice water, Haymitch was laid in bed, waiting for you. You handed him his drink before slipping into his embrace. “You really think Plutarch has a plan?” you asked.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t think he’d send us all into the games with no plans to get most of us out. We’ll know more once we get there. But I’m not gonna let anything happen to you before we’re ready,” your husband promised.

“Same to you,” you said, intertwining your fingers with his. You brought you hands up to your lips, pressing your lips to his knuckles.

~

Haymitch got better over the next week. He no longer shook unless he really had pushed his limits. You, however, got worse and you were suspecting that it was more than being sick because Haymitch was. You realized that you had missed your period but you had chalked it up to everything that was happening in the past month. You spent nearly every night and morning hunched over the toilet or trashcan. You had dismissed it to Haymitch as nerves but you could tell he was getting suspicious as well. You were about 90% sure you were pregnant but you could get that confirmed in the Capitol. As for the paternity, you hoped to whatever deity was out there that your timeline was right and it could only be Haymitch’s. Having some Capitol bastard’s baby would be Snow’s ultimate punishment to you.

But you didn’t want to say anything if you were wrong. You were also terrified of Haymitch’s reaction. Would he be excited? Angry? Devastated? Those reactions also dependent on whether or not Plutarch planned to try to keep you alive. There were so many questions racing through your head as you were marched towards the stage for the reaping. It was honestly just cruel for everyone as the two names in each bowl taunted you.

“Welcome to the 75th annual Hunger Games,” Effie said in a pained voice. You could see genuine pain in her expression as she made it as short as possible. “As always, ladies first.” She grabbed a slip and approached the microphone. “For the first female tribute from District 12…” you didn’t know why you were holding your breath. You’d be picked no matter what. “Katniss Everdeen.” A single tear rolled down her cheek “And the first male tribute from District 12… Haymitch Abernathy.” When she finally called your name it felt like you had had an ice bucket dumped over your head. Again, you didn’t know why, it’s not like this was your first reaping where you had been plucked from the bowl by chance. This was a calculated move by Snow this time.

You didn’t bother to listen to the rest of Effie’s speech and you were quickly ushered onto the train. Everything happened in a blur, you were too focused on being tested in the Capitol. But you managed to sober yourself up enough to discuss who you’d be competing with. Fortunately the trains had access to all the reapings and past games so you and Haymitch shared highlights and stories about the biggest names in this year’s games.

“Cashmere and Gloss: siblings won back to back games, the pride of their district. Gloss will be our biggest threat, he won as any career tribute does. At least in the beginning we should be fairly safe from Cashmere. Avoid sleeping with her and you’ll be in the clear. The other two from District 1 are pretty straightforward.”

“Enobaria from 2 is extremely deadly. She excels in hand to hand combat and did anything to win her games. The male tribute from two had her pinned and it looked like he’d win when she ripped out his throat with her teeth. She has since had them filed into fangs. I guess to rip out more throats in two? Whatever. Avoid confrontation with her.”

“Wiress and Beetee from 3 are both brilliant. He won his games by electrocuting just about every other tribute in the arena. Let the last couple kill each other. He’s also beloved by the Capitol because he basically makes all their cool stuff for them.”

“Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, and Mags Flanagan. I don’t know much about the fourth. Finnick Odair is the darlin of the Capitol, people love him. He won his games at 14, youngest ever. He is also very skilled in combat. Weaknesses include Mags and Annie. Mags will not be much of a threat tragically, she truly is a very sweet lady. As for Annie, I’m confident that Finnick will die for her. She sort of won her games by default when everyone else drowned at the end and she went a little nuts after.”

“Nothing really special about District 5, they all won at least 10 years ago, the oldest won 35 years ago. Not threats.”

“District 6 only has three tributes, the Morphling triplets. They all won their games by hiding until everyone else was dead. They’ve all been avid morphling users ever since.”

“In District 7 you have Johanna Mason. She won four years ago and won almost exactly like my wife here did. Extremely angry and violent. The other three? Treat them like careers, best skilled in hand to hand combat with axes.”

“District 8, none are really threats. Woof, here, is really old. Has gone kind of senile so maybe avoid him in the training area. May stab you with a sewing needle before you even get to the arena.”

“District 9 only has one tribute. Also not a threat.”

“District 10, just treat them like careers. They’ve been slitting cattle’s throats since they could walk so avoid close combat with them.”

“District 11 aren’t threats. Chaff is missing his left hand so do with that information what you will. Any questions?”

“What about your games?” Katniss asked.

“Katniss we’re not threats to you,” you sighed. “We already agreed we’re not coming out.”

“I just wanna know,” she insisted, not backing down.

“Fine,” Haymitch relented. “I won the 50th Hunger Games where there were 48 tributes. Like this one is supposed to be. My arena was honestly beautiful but toxic. Everything was poisoned. The bloodbath was… insane. Three-fourths of the tributes died at the cornucopia. Partially because several of them were late to the buzzer because they were so distracted by the meadow we were in. Basically the same thing happened in every game. The careers hunted everyone down. I had allied myself with one of the girls from my district, Maysilee Donner.” You knew that talking about Maysilee was hard for Haymitch. She truly had become his friend in that arena. “We protected each other until around the end when we decided to split up so we wouldn’t have to kill each other. I heard her screaming a couple hours after we split. Some guys from 2 had attacked her. I had managed to kill both but she died in my arms.” Your husband took a shaky breath before continuing. “Not even a day later it was me versus the girl from one. I had discovered the edge of the arena before, it was a cliff and I had figured out that whatever hit it would return to where it came from. So when it came down to her and I, she had managed to wound me with her axe, slicing my stomach. I ran for a mile, bleeding, to the edge of the arena. She threw her axe which missed. She didn’t realize that it was coming back until the blade hit her head and I was crowned Victor. And because I won the way I did, Snow had my family killed,” Haymitch finished bitterly. You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. You knew this was a lot for him. He had been drunk for the last 25 years hiding from his games. Now here he was, sober for the first time and reliving that experience.

Peeta didn’t seem to know how to react but Katniss pushed through the tension, asking you about your games.

“It was set in a canyon. It was so dry but there was a single stream that ran through the middle. It looked really thin, like it’d dry up in only a couple days from above ground but I managed to find a way underground where there was more water. The cornucopia was set in one of the widest spots of the canyon where even then it was a fairly tight squeeze between the walls. if you didn’t figure out how to climb you were pretty much screwed because it was like being stuck in a hallway with the careers. They did what they always did. Group up and hunt everyone down. It was fairly easy for them to do it because a lot of the kids were either too heavy or too weak, a very fine line, to climb up the walls. I basically hid up above or down below everyone, attacking them when I could. As I told you the first day I found a girl who had managed to grab a pack and stole her supplies. I quietly and slowly picked off every career until I slit the boy from 1’s throat and won.” You explained your story stoically but inside you were crumbling, something you had done ever since you won. Everyone thought you were so okay with killing when you won but truthfully, you weren’t. You didn’t think any Victor was no matter what it seemed like.

Part VI | Masterlist | Part VIII

[stvrni0lo]

𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐬

nathan doe x reader (fluff)

summary: in an attempt to bake at a sleepover, you and nate forget to check your baked goods in your sleep-deprived state

warnings/notes: none! lmk if i missed anything

requested?: yes! number 18 “failed cooking/baking attempt” from my actions prompt list

> > >

You and Nate always found a way to make your casual dates more interesting. Whether it be making up random games to play, or watching shitty movies to make fun of them, you guys always ended up having fun.

Today, it was baking. At 1 AM.

You should’ve been sleeping, but upon rolling around and thrashing in the covers uncomfortably, you decided sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.

Nate knew that too. Which is why he suggested baking in the first place.

Flour covered the entire countertop as you and Nate desperately rolled balls of cookie dough onto a baking tray. The mess in the kitchen was too much to bear, but you tried to ignore it.

“I really hope these turn out good,” he said excitedly, jumping on the balls of his feet.

You had never really baked from scratch before, but you didn’t want to rain on his parade.

“Of course they will. Trust the process, Nathaniel,” you said mockingly.

You grabbed the tray and placed it into the preheated oven, turning the timer on for 10 minutes. You didn’t have high hopes but seeing how eager Nate was, you couldn’t help but hold out for his sake. Maybe they’d turn out alright.

Nate crouched down as he stared through the glass of the oven. You giggled at the sight. His eyes were wide and glossy as he stared into the warm light, watching the cookies rise slowly.

“They won’t bake any faster if you watch them, babe,” you said, ruffling his hair from where you stood above him.

He caught your hand in his as he held onto it, using it as leverage to help him stand up. He swayed your arms side to side as he smiled giddily at you. The white light of the kitchen illuminated his features beautifully. His insane bone structure looked sharper than usual.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your head leaning on his shoulder.

His arm came to wrap around you as he leaned his head on top of yours.

“Any time. Plus it was an excuse to get free cookies.”

You both chuckled as you leaned against the island, letting the seconds tick by in silence. In all honesty making the batter had tired you out, and your eyelids seemed to be drooping already.

“Hey sleepy-head,” said Nate, shaking you gently. His hand caressed your hair out of the way as he watched you groggily open your eyes.

“Hm?” you said.

“Do you smell that?”

Your eyes widened as you realized you had left them in too long. 10 minutes was set as a precaution, but you had meant to take them out earlier to check on them.

Of course you never ended up doing that because your boyfriend’s shoulder was just so comfortable. You could fall asleep on him every single time without fail. He always said he enjoyed the fact that you felt safe enough to fall asleep so easily around him.

“Shit!” you exclaimed as you grabbed some oven mitts and dragged the tray out of the oven.

The smoke billowed out as you dropped it onto the hob. They weren’t burnt, but they were as hard as rocks.

Nate knocked on them with his knuckles, wincing at the sharpness and heat of them.

“Wow those are bad,” he said. His shoulders slumped slightly as he rubbed your back.

“I really wanted cookies,” he mumbled.

You wrapped an arm around his waist as you rested your head on him once again.

“How about for now we go cuddle and sleep - we can try again tomorrow?”

Nate hummed in agreement, his head nodding quickly.

You had started to walk towards his bedroom, holding his hand as you pulled him along. Nate, however, picked you up bridal style as he made his way to the bed.

“Could hardly call those baked goods - they were more like baked bads,” he said as he grimaced at the image of them.

You giggled as you rested your head on his shoulder as he carried you down the hallway.

“Nate, what the fuck does that even mean.”

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lollibumblebee

@dwntwn-strnlo

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@sunshinewwx

@gwenlore

@gabbylovesreading

@ssturniolo

@opheliaofficial07

@stargirlv0id

[m0nsterqzzz]

What Did I Say about the Arrows?

pairing: katniss everdeen x reader

summary: your girlfriends hands are like sandpaper, so you decide to fix that.

warnings: none just pure flufffff, wait, one tiny little mention of the bomb dropper katniss kissed like 10 times throughout the movies

a/n: thank you @drima for the request i literally had so much fun writing this. hope i fulfilled your vision dear :)

( not me not knowing how to summarize it and putting whatever that is T-T )

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Humming along to the quiet jazz music playing from the small radio on the shelf, you stir the garlic sauce in the pan. The chicken sizzles in the one next to it, heat radiating off the stove and onto your face and you're suddenly thankful it’s cold outside as you open a window. This also makes it easier to watch the area outside your house, waiting for any sign that your girlfriend is home.

She’s been gone since seven am, out hunting like she does almost everyday. She’s always home in the evenings, usually bringing enough food to sell in the Hob and still have enough to feed you, her, and her younger sister, Prim. You cook while Prim does school work and a few chores, not trusting Katniss anywhere near a kitchen after the time she burned mac and cheese and almost caught fire to your two bedroom house. The instructions are literally on the box.

You met Katniss in school a few years before she volunteered for her sister in the games, and what started as you nervously asking her to be your partner in a school project turned into you guys hanging out everyday while she ate the soup you sell at the Hob in exchange for a few pieces of whatever she hunted that day. You always gave the meat to those in the town who needed it more, but she didn’t know that. She begged you to take of her sister and mother when you visited her in the Justice Hall before she was dragged to the capitol on reaping day, as if you weren't already planning on it. Then she kissed you when she arrived home, mumbling something like, “it’s always been you” as she hugged you tightly.

The sound of the front door opening brings you out of your memories, and you let out a small squeal when Katniss calls out, “Honey I’m home!” She uses the same line every single day, but you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“Kat!” You run to the living room, practically jumping into her arms before she even finishes taking off her scarf. Her shoes are already off, as she knows the rule about not dragging snow into the house you and Prim clean everyday. The brunette easily catches you, letting you wrap your limbs around her like a koala bear as you guys stand there in the entryway, just basking in the bliss of being with her.

Suddenly somebody gags behind you, and you giggle as Katniss gently drops you on the ground. You land on your feet, turning to face the noise and laughing when you see Prim staring at you two with a disgusted face. “Can you guys like….not do that here? You’ve only been apart for like half a day.” You and Katniss share a glance before you both burst out laughing.

“Can we like, not kiss in our home?” “Exactly! You guys do get it! Thanks for understanding.” With that she walks away, and yours and your girlfriend's laughter slowly dies down as you stare into each others eyes. Her hand reaches up to gently caress your cheek, but you gently push it away.

She sighs, placing her hands into her pockets as she nervously looks down. “Katniss….I love you but I don’t want to rub sandpaper on my face. I thought I told you to start caring about your hands.” The archer sighs, placing her bow and arrows on the counter as she follows you into the bathroom. You always get on her about the damage she's doing to her hands, and she seems to care until the next day comes around.

The two bedroom house you bought a little closer to town than your girlfriend's original home wasn’t originally meant for you and her, but it just slowly happened over time that the two girls moved their stuff into your house. Now Prim's room is covered in all her old stuff, and you even bought a cat bed for Buttercup, her cat. You didn’t have much of a family growing up, so you didn’t exactly mind being surrounded by your favorite girls all day everyday.

You force her to sit down on the toilet lid that now always stays closed unless someone is using it after the time Buttercup fell in, and then grab a tug big enough for her hands and fill it with warm water from the sink. She lets you take her hands in yours, placing them in the warm water and beginning to gently rub the calluses. Eventually, they will soften and it will be easier to rub them off. Obviously they won't all come off, but her hands will feel a bit softer than they do right now.

“You told me you would start watching out for your hands Katniss.” “Oh….no nickname? You're mad.” You chuckle, leaning over to kiss her cheek before going back to the task at hand. “I'm not mad I just worry about you okay? I know it may not seem that important to you but it is to me alright? You need to start wearing gloves while you're hunting. Something to protect your fingers.”

She playfully scoffs, sending you a small smile as she asks, “And who is going to buy these luxury items?” She's not wrong. Prim asked for a new dress to wear to a school event a few months ago, and you and Katniss had to spend extra hours hunting or collecting things to sell at the Hob so there would still be enough money to survive and buy a dress. That was made of cotton and didn't cost too much but something like leather? Well that would cost a lot here.

Prim walks by the door at the moment with a cookie in hand, looking through the open door and making sure her family is okay before she says with a mouth full of the baked goods Peeta brought over, “Can you guys stop acting like an old married couple for like two seconds?” You both laugh, but she just playfully rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at her sister. You swat her hand gently with a chuckle. “Stop acting like a child, Katniss.” She huffs, narrowing her eyes at you. “She started it! She acted childish!” “Maybe that's because she's a child!”

Your laughter eventually fades and then it’s peaceful silence. “We'll figure something out okay? We always do.” You mumble, gently patting her hands dry and instructing her to try and remove the top layer of the calluses.

The girl nods, quietly sitting there as you take care of her before she begins to hum, “in the meadow” you hum along, and giggles are shared when the song ends.

The next day, she leaves around the same time she did yesterday, but today it’s heavily raining and you're worried. You know she's careful and wouldn’t do anything too risky, but sometimes Katniss gets caught up in providing for her family that she doesn’t exactly think about her own safety. But I guess you only have to fall in a ditch while it’s raining and wait for townspeople to help you once to learn to watch where you're stepping. At least you hope so.

While she's off doing that and Prim is at school, you spend the day lounging around the house reading books or drawing. You can’t stop thinking about what Katniss said though.

“And who’s going to buy these luxury items?”

Money has never really been an issue when it came to living with the two girls unless you wanted someone extra. You guys have enough of it to survive, to live off of, but you don't have enough to constantly go spend it on things like dresses and leather gloves.

Your mother taught you how to sew when you were a teenager, but you never used it because there wasn’t exactly a need to. She was well known and liked in this town for her clothes that she sold in the Hob, and everyone was a bit disappointed when she died and you didn’t carry on that business. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, but you had never had much interest in it. She’d always told you that it was an art, and one that also payed well.

If you could make Katniss some clothes with the leather that your friend sells in the Hob, then use your mothers sewing machine that was given to you by her right before she died to sew some gloves for your girlfriend, her hands wouldn't take as much damage while she's hunting. 

Now with an idea in your head, you bring the latter leading to the attic down from the ceiling and search through a few boxes. You come to one labeled with your name, opening it to see your mothers sewing machine. “You’re lucky mom. I’m finally trying your hobby again.” You mumble, grabbing it out of the box and taking it back downstairs. 

You hide the machine under your side of the bed so Katniss won’t question why it’s out, then put on your coat and boats. Grabbing the woven basket that always sits next to the door after it’s been emptied out, you make your way to the edge of the forest. You stay by the edge and use tall bushes as your cover, praying Katniss won’t see you as you make your way to the garden she made for you. It’s got flowers, plants, and food. When your girlfriend realized how much you love cooking and finding different plants in the forest, she made you a garden about 130 years into the forest. It was originally a spot of land surrounded by trees, and you and Katniss would have picnics or hang out there when you were bored. You guys still do, but now you enjoy the sight of your beautiful flowers and plants while doing that.

Katniss is definitely deeper into the forest, but you’re still cautious about making too much noise so she doesn’t hear you as you pick some flowers and vegetables. Your friend sells a square of leather (about 7 inches wide and 11 inches long) for 3.30$ a piece. It would take a few of those to make the gloves, so as long as you pick enough good vegetables, flowers, and herbs from the forest, you should make enough to buy the amount of material needed.

You put a ton of stuff in the basket, leaving enough room for some herbs around the edge of the forest to sell to the doctors and give to Prim. Then it’s time to go to the Hob, looking around before sneaking back into town as if you were never gone.

The trade goes quickly. Money from the first few stands in exchange for the vegetables, then to the sweet old woman who always buys your flowers to give to her children or plant in front of her house, and then the herbs to some doctor who keeps his booth open at the market walkway. You don’t know his name, and you're not sure he knows yours, but you see him almost everyday and both hold a certain understanding of each other. You sell him the herbs to help save lives, and he doesn’t ask where you get them.

Lastly, you make your way to one of the last booths in the market, greeting your friend with a small smile. He has a few pieces of leather left, just the right amount for your project that he gives to you without hesitation. He offers a discount, but you know his kids need school uniforms after Prim asked you for some money for said outfit.

Then it’s finally time to go home, and it’s like four pm when you get home. Katniss will be back soon, so you decide to hide the materials next to the sewing machine and just make dinner with Primrose.

You spend the next few weeks sketching up ideas for the gloves, then making said gloves, also spending some evenings helping your girlfriend sooth away even more calluses. She doesn’t suspect a thing, and you're suddenly thankful that Prim is so good at keeping secrets when she comes home early from school one day and catches you sewing the left glove. 

So, about four weeks later, you have a decent pair of leather gloves for your girlfriend. Thick enough to keep her warm and protect from the harsh string on her bow but still not be a bother to her while she's hunting. You’ve seen other gloves like the ones you were making at the market, so you copied them down to the last stitch. Their three fingered gloves, the pointer, middle, and ring finger being the ones with fingers as those are the three fingers Katniss holds the string of her bow with.

You're nervous to show them to her, but you’ve spent enough time with Katniss to know that she’d never make fun of you for giving her a gift. In fact, when you took up painting and made a horrendous picture of Buttercup, she hung it on the wall near her side of the bed without hesitation. She will never let you take it down.

You and Prim are making dinner when she comes home, and your hand fly's to your back pocket to make sure the gloves are still there. The young girl was off school today, so she helped you with the final details on the gloves and spent the rest of the time talking about a girl in her class as you waited for your girlfriend to come home. “Honey I’m home!” She calls out, and it’s silent for a second other than the sound of her removing her coat and boats before she walks into the kitchen and smiles at you two. “Hey guys.” She smiles, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Hey Kat.” You mumble, letting your body relax into her arms as you stop stirring the food. You almost forget about the gift for a second, but the way Primrose sighs makes you remember. “I have a present.” “For me?” “No. For Casper the ghost.” “Yes for you Katniss!” She chuckles, removing her arms from around you and leaning against the counter as she waits expectantly. 

You take a deep breath before pulling out the gloves, and then all your worries fade away with the grin that crosses her face. "You said we didn't have the money to buy them and you were right so I sold some flowers and veggies out of my garden and made them." Her smile falters a bit.

“But you love your flowers….why would you sell them?” You smile a bit, moving your hand up to caress her cheek as you say, “Let me ask you, do you like them? Is that why you're smiling?” Your girlfriend nods, the smile slowly coming back to her face as she looks down at the gift in her hand. “Well….yeah. I love them.” “Then it was worth it. And besides, they’ll grow back. Your happiness is much more important to me than some flowers.”

The smile never leaves the archer's face as she puts the gloves on, squeezing her fists closed and then opening them as if testing them out. “What do you think?” You ask and her gaze doesn’t move from her hands until she suddenly sprints out of the kitchen. “Kat?” You run after her, almost bumping into her when you get to the living room where she’s already lining up an arrow with her bow. “Katniss!” She doesn’t listen as she lets the arrow fly through the open window, and it’s silent for a second before Prim begins to laugh behind you.

You sigh, gently swatting the brunette's arm and then you sternly say as if lecturing a child- which isn’t far from the truth, “What did I say about the arrows Katniss Everdeen?” She sheepishly smiles before setting her bow back down on its spot next to the door.

“You said not to shoot them in the house unless there was an intruder or Gale came to visit.” “Exactly. Now go get the arrow.” She playfully sighs, going to put on her boots before she turns back around to place a small kiss on your lips. “Thank you my love. They’re amazing.” This makes your smile grow a bit, and it remains there as she puts on her boots and leaves the house to find her arrow.

“You know, I think she’s gonna marry you.” You practically choke on your spit as Prim speaks, but the girl is already gone by the time you gain your composure and turn around to face her.

[cuubism]

For the WIP game--obviously I want to know about all of them, but if I have to pick one, tell us about the fight in the Dreaming against logic? ❤️❤️❤️

A fic where I was like wow, wouldn't it be cool to write a battle against a concept? and then belatedly realized how hard that would be to execute 😂 I hope to work on it more eventually, but this was the opening.

--

Logic.

It wasn’t Dream’s strong suit, and didn’t Hob fucking know it. If it was, perhaps the fragile, lovable twit wouldn’t have run off on him whenever Hob tried to be his friend.

But he’d come to understand, over time. It just wasn’t how Dream worked. You couldn’t demand logic from your dreams.

Linearity.

This, too, Dream struggled with. Linearity of time, the cause and effect of experience. Dream thought about things in a scattered cloud of images Hob could barely begin to visualize. He experienced so many things at once, fast and slow, unbounded from the regular turning of the earth. Another thing Hob had had to make peace with, that Dream’s devotion was more like the coming of storms than the coming of night, was like the coming of dreams: one could not predict when they would strike, but strike they would, inevitably.

In the waking, Dream always seemed like he didn’t quite belong. In the Dreaming, though, he was beautiful. God, he was gorgeous. Hob had to experience him his way, in scattered images and illogical collisions of moments, and he always woke after feeling like he’d lived several possible lifetimes in the span of an hour, only they were all real, they had all happened. And Dream, in the Dreaming, he was— he was hands ghosting on skin, and whispered poetry, a faint memory of walking along a beach, hands entangled and feet parting timeless waters; starry eyes, and past meetings turned over and over in a hundred configurations, ending in a hug, a kiss, a caress, a tumble into bed, Dream was—

He was walking away from Hob?

“—you lot only do it ‘coz you’re stupid—” Hob was saying, tankard of ale halfway to his lips and sloshing onto his hand. From across the room those discerning, starry eyes turned his way, and then passed him by, skated over him like he was a paltry annoyance at best, and Hob, not knowing why— he should want more? should have more? surely?— froze, and Ben clapped him hard on the back, spilling more of his ale.

“There’s our Hobsie, always on about something or other.” The group laughed, but fondly. “Careful or you’ll find yourself like that there fellow, nought but spinning strange yarns in a tavern all yer life.”

Wait, Hob thought, though there was no one there to direct it to, come back?

He felt like he’d stepped off the hidden edge of a riverbank. Something— something was missing, wasn’t it?

“Oi,” said Colm, “Hobs! You among the living or chasing ghosts?”

Ghosts, Hob thought, wildly. Then, bereft, turned his attention back to them, but something was wrong, something was missing under his ribcage.

“I for one hope you cheat Death, Hob,” said Thomas, clinking his tankard against Hob’s in a toast. “God be with ye, I say. I ‘spec we’ll be meetin’ in the hereafter, though. Hopefully the good one!”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Colm, and raised his ale.

Hob kept staring off into the darkness of the tavern, unsettled. Then, possessed by mad impulse, he jumped to his feet and ran towards the door, ignoring his mates’ cries behind him.

Outside, the crisp evening air greeted him, but nothing else. What, or who, was he expecting to be there? He paused in the alley, breathing the river-mud scent and woodsmoke from the inn.

He was chasing phantoms.

A pain struck him deep in the chest, ghostly loss. The stars above taunted him. He sank to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Where,” he said, though he didn’t know who he was talking to, “Where are you?”

A hand grasped his.

The world turned inside out, his stomach lurching, and then he was in Dream’s bedroom in the palace of the Dreaming, wavering by the bed with Dream holding onto him.

Dream. Dream. Thank God.

“Dream,” Hob said. “Oh, love. What the hell was that? It was like a terrible nightmare.”

I lost you, he thought. And I didn’t know it.

“There is,” said Dream, breath heavy like he was having trouble speaking, “a plague. In the Dreaming.”

Hob turned to look at him. Dream’s face was sallow, his hair lank, he trembled in Hob’s arms. Hob clutched him tighter.

“A plague? What kind of plague?”

“Logic,” said Dream, and passed out cold in Hob’s arms.

[seiya-starsniper]

Mer Dream and Pirate Hob part 2 and 3 please and thank you <33

Ahahahaa of course! 😄 Part 2 is a lot more fleshed out than part 3 so you're only getting a snippet from Part 2 for now

“I hope you’re not planning to jump, after all that trouble we went through to save your hide,” a voice chuckles from behind Dream. Dream lifts himself from his position leaning over the deck, and finds himself face to face with the ship’s captain.  “I was not planning on ending my life, if that is what you thought,” Dream huffs indignantly. “Besides, the fall would not kill one such as I.” “Right,” Hob replies, moving to stand next to Dream and glancing downwards. “Wouldn’t kill me either, but it sure would hurt like a bitch.” “That is because you are not of the sea,” Dream says, amusement creeping into his voice. “Aren’t I?” Hob replies, grinning back at him. “Poseidon would have words with you about that.”

Part 2 is a nice little mix of Hob's backstory, as well as a nice little fluff moment shared between them 🥰🥰

For Part 3, I'm likely going to focus on Dream getting to know Hob's crew a little better, but I haven't yet decided if I want to focus on just one or two characters he befriends, or if I want to do the whole crew in one go. And of course, I have other parts planned after that, but we're taking things one step at a time ahahahaha

✨WIP File Tag Game✨

[haymitchabernathymybeloved]

Drink Me Away

dividers by @anitalenia

Series: Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x F!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A while now, actually."

"You're grounded."

"I'm 19."

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

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

"What happened, sweetheart?" He questioned genuinely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were falling for your housemate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fell asleep immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gabessquishytum]

Morpheus "Dream" Endless used to be one of the top pole dancers in the city; he worked his way up from seedy clubs (where he had to supplement his income with private "dances" with less select clientele) to the most premier gentleman's establishments in the city where his extra "attention" was tipped and gifted at a proper worshipful rate.

Morpheus was able to use his earnings to get out of the business himself, and open a classy co-ed club that paid dancers well enough that if they didn’t want to work private engagements or outside of dancing, they didn’t have to.

In the beginning, Morpheus was able to convince his brick sh*thouse of a brother to bounce for the club, so the place got a reputation for taking care of it's staff with extreme aggressiveness - Ollie is always happy to help when he was in town; now that things have settled down he gets to make appreciative eyes at the dancers and maybe get friendly with any who are interested (what Ollie's cute!)

To make sure the club is seen as welcoming and open to its community, Dream hosts a pole dancing class series for all adult-aged people who pay to take the classes. All the club's dancers can be on the class teaching rotation, if they want, but the real draw is when Morpheus teaches the class series, 2 or 3 times a year. Word got out (book club, twitter, a TikTok or two) that when "Dream" teaches the class, it's even better than normal.

Hob is not a great dancer, generally, but he's always game to get out on the floor. His boyfriend got him pole dancing lessons for Valentine's Day/their anniversary. Now this didn't really seem, to Hob, like a gift to & for him, it seemed more like a passive aggressive "you need to be less vanilla in the bed room gift" (when to Hob's mind he would be less "vanilla" if he trusted the ass more ~ it's probably time to breakup).

So Hob's ex-boyfriend got him pole dancing lessons and Hob is never one to turn down a gift; he is able to get into the next series of classes as someone canceled just as he was calling in the see if there was space for him. His instructor is a Dream E. (Hob had a chuckle; one must make ones own fun.)

Dream does actually like teaching college kids and housewives how to dance on the pole - for them it's not some fraught thing about livelihoods and next meals, it is just fun.

The class got even better when a cute but terribly uncoordinated man joined the class. He was not good at pole dancing at all, but he had a great attitude, was flirty and so very cute! And the yoga pants that Hob wore to the class hugged a fantastic ass. Dream might have to give him some private lessons.

Akajshdhaha yes!!!!!! I love it. Clumsy Hob and dancer Dream!!!

Hob’s first revelation of the class is that the poles apparently spin around??? He's not sure how he never worked that out before, but he's a little less worried now. At least he has the advantage of body weight, to give him some momentum when he swings around...? That's what Dream says, anyway, but Hob thinks he's just trying to be nice.

Even so, he tries his best! He focuses in the warm-ups, tries so hard to memorise each movement, and even practices a bit at home (without the pole). Hob really wants to be good at it! He wants Dream to be impressed, he wants compliments, hell he just wants Dream to look at him... unfortunately it seems like Dream only looks when Hob is flat on his ass. Or stuck, wrapped around the pole in a very awkward position, needing to be retrieved by both Dream and the assistant teacher. So embarrassing.

Hob is just starting to think that maybe his ex has a point. When Dream smiles and sits down beside him, and tells him that its not all about getting everything right. It's about having fun. He thinks that Hob is way too hard on himself. He's so nice and encouraging to all the other students, maybe he should try being nice to himself?

Hob grins and helplessly kisses Dream on the cheek, before jumping up to give it another try. He's going to have fun! And yes, he can feel Dream’s eyes on his ass as he walks away.

Several months later, Hob sees the pole in Dream’s bedroom for the first time... and gets his first private show. Dream is still a flawless dancer, and he's an even better lover. And while it's probably best not to mention Hob’s dancing, he certainly knows how to use his body to make Dream cum again and again. Poor Ollie has to put on his noise cancelling headphones.

It's ironic that Hob ended up being Dream’s best student. But there are so skills, you really just can't teach. Hehe.