#just the three of them in Victors Village

[mollywog]

That’s right. If we win, we’ll each get a house in the part of town reserved for Hunger Games’ victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most of the others have never been lived in at all.

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!”

“Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.”

They’re joking here - but this is their happily(ish) ever after

[bayjaruchel]

Strawberry Blond

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Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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You know that your relationship can never be normal. 

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company. 

Peeta lives alone in his. 

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes. 

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not. 

The way he looks at you is certainly real. 

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him. 

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him. 

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration? 

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting. 

You can dream. You can hope. 

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.  

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them. 

Instead, there's just fire. 

Tonight, you dream of fire. 

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? 

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough. 

A scream, crystal-clear. 

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help— 

There is so, so much blood— 

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone. 

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this. 

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore. 

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped. 

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself. 

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms. 

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory. 

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go. 

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch. 

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans. 

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest. 

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms. 

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors. 

You're still not sure if you like him or not. 

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing. 

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled. 

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.  

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves— 

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"Hello," he replies. 

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case. 

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat. 

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?" 

Peeta hesitates again. 

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?" 

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule. 

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine." 

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality. 

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand. 

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."  

Peeta audibly exhales. 

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually." 

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that. 

"What is it?" You ask, finally. 

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out. 

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now." 

Ah. 

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave—  his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain— 

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few." 

-- 

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted. 

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all. 

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else. 

"I'm here," you echo. 

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes. 

"Been baking?" You ask. 

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you. 

"Smells nice." 

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?" 

"If that's okay." 

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?" 

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask." 

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?" 

"It's called being polite, Peeta." 

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…" 

You let out a short sigh. 

"Just show me where they are." 

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is." 

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove. 

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow." 

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful. 

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—" 

His volume drops, and he pauses. 

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries. 

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak. 

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks. 

"Eat." 

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away. 

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again. 

So, you take a pastry. 

It's really, very good. 

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers. 

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away. 

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips. 

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension. 

 "Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—" 

He snorts. "Not this time." 

"More for me, then." 

"And your family, you mean?" 

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight. 

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same. 

-- 

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night. 

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always. 

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now. 

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks. 

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second. 

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all." 

You find your voice. 

"But you still tried?" 

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless. 

"Yeah, I tried." 

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions. 

"What happened?" You ask, quietly. 

 A beat. 

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—" 

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid." 

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that." 

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine." 

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache. 

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here." 

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!" 

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you. 

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant. 

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking. 

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries. 

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear. 

That you'll cease to exist. 

That you'll become not real.  

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first— 

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same. 

Peeta returns the gesture. 

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek. 

There's a moment. 

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that. 

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games. 

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do. 

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance— 

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic. 

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.  

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—  

It's real. 

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet. 

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop. 

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth. 

"Is this—" 

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you. 

"Please." 

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on. 

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—" 

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on: 

"Need you," he says. "Please." 

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed. 

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then. 

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can. 

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so. 

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants. 

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower. 

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too. 

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you. 

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open. 

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut. 

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in. 

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck. 

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still. 

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you. 

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most. 

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give. 

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak— 

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—" 

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body. 

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm. 

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet. 

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy. 

"I should get you a towel or something," you say. 

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?" 

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me." 

"So demanding." 

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—" 

"I'm getting up." And he does. 

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face. 

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing. 

You're comfortable. You're safe. 

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first. 

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness. 

"Of course." Without hesitation. 

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you," he breathes.  

The words are stuck in your throat. 

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable. 

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same. 

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off. 

You love him. 

[thefloatingwriter]

the victors as complex characters will always be more interesting than making them amazing people.

like these are people who did absolutely everything in their power to survive something as traumatic as the games. most of them probably sleep with weapons in their hands. the thought on the forefront of most of their minds is survival. everything else—anyone else—can wait.

they sacrificed everything to crawl out of a killing game. their mental stability. their innocence. their childhood.

and after all of that, they realized that the games never really end. that they would sacrifice ever having a good night sleep without being plagued by nightmares. they would sacrifice their brains to help the capitol. they would sacrifice their bodies, something that should have always been their own, now snatched away from them. all for surviving a killing match that twenty-three children didn’t.

no victor is immune to this either. do you think cashmere doesn’t regret being so excited to go into the games after her brother after staying the night in a strange man’s bed that she doesn’t know? do you think gloss doesn’t regret not warning his sister about the horrors that await her after she wins? do you think brutus doesn’t sometimes wake up in a cold sweat after having yet another nightmare about being on the receiving end of his weapon, just as all of his victims were before everything faded to black? do you think enobaria doesn’t run her tongue over her sharpened teeth and wonder if it was worth it?

do you think beetee doesn’t flinch every time he sees lightning? do you think wiress doesn’t think of how if she hadn’t learned acrobatics that the 48th hunger games would have gone very differently? do you think finnick doesn’t see nets in the same way ever again, after he saw the girl from nine begging for her life tangled in a net he set up before he stabbed her with a trident? do you think annie doesn’t think about if she hadn’t spent all of that time on the beach growing up, playing in the water, that she wouldn’t have survived the dam breaking in her arena? do you think mags doesn’t think about how she left her district partner to die in the first ever traditional career pack? how if maybe, if she had been there to take the blow for him, there would be a different victor of the 11th hunger games?

do you think that blight doesn’t wonder what would have happened if the boy from two had looked up a little bit sooner, looked a little bit closer at the treetops above him, before the knife previously in blight’s hand found it’s way to the boy’s back? do you think that every time johanna picks up an axe, she doesn’t think about what if felt like to stab someone with it, what blood felt like when it splattered you? do you think she doesn’t wake up in a sweat, thinking the moisture on her skin is blood, that she’s back in the third quarter quell? do you think she doesn’t ever walk into her house in the victor’s village and think she sees a glimpse, a shadow, of her lost loved ones?

do you think that woof doesn’t use real knives anymore because every time he sees one, he remembers how it felt to stab blindly at the boy from seven? that even when he was seventy-five and the male tribute from eight for the third quarter quell, he couldn’t even look at the utensil and had to get cecelia to take it away from him? do you think cecelia can’t look at seashells anymore, that she could barely stand district four on her victory tour, because the girl from four was her last kill? that her necklace, a pretty one her sister made for her with a seashell strung through the string, was what cecelia used to choke the life out of her?

do you think that chaff doesn’t ever feel the phantom feeling of his hand? doesn’t ever touch the stump where it used to be and feel the phantom pain of it being sawed off like it was yesterday, even thirty years later? do you think that seeder doesn’t ever feel the hot sun of her arena on her body, doesn’t ever think she’s back, waiting for her death to come?

do you think that haymitch doesn’t start shaking every time a blowgun is provided at the cornucopia? do you think that he didn’t see the gold pin on katniss’ arena wear and have to sit down, remembering a very different girl with blonde hair and a quick witted humor with the same pin? do you think that peeta doesn’t hear foxface’s voice during her interview, over and over and over, until it’s so distorted he can’t even remember what she had actually said? that he doesn’t ever think of the girl from eight, a girl he might not have even known the name of?

do you think that, years down the line, katniss doesn’t realize the fate that waited for glimmer if she had won? do you think that she doesn’t wonder what would have happened if cato was a little quicker to get to the cornucopia to save clove? do you think she doesn’t wonder what the girl from four was like, what her name was, what her parents were like, what she was like? do you think that she doesn’t think about what would have happened if marvel was just a little bit quicker with his spear than her with her arrows, what would have happened if she was just a little bit slower to get to rue?

the what-ifs plague them. their games will never leave them. they will never escape their experiences. their lives will never be their own, if they ever were, ever again.

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

’i know, sugar, i know.’

summary: finnick comforts reader after a nightmare

warnings: mentions of violence, death, pain, fear and forced prostitution (let me know if there’s more)

hot tears are running down your cheeks over already dry ones, like the adrenaline through your body. your hands are trembling as you hurry along the path that goes through victors village. it’s covered in sand. almost everything in your district is. sand from the beach, little stones and pieces of seashells, crushed under the peacekeepers’ boots. you’re running away. why? isn’t that obvious? you’re a victor, haunted by nightmares like every other one. where to? you don’t even know yourself. just away from your house, not your home. the house you got gifted in return for your cruel actions. actions that still haunt you and always will. you never wanted this. yes, before you did all of this you had to work hard to survive and still only barely made it. but was it really worth it? you know the answer. no.

definitely not.

when you win the hunger games, you can be free, live a happy life and the games are over for you. that’s what they say. well, guess what. that’s not true. the games never end, even if you won them. you can never really win. you aren’t free and president snow makes sure for you to know that.

your life had never been perfect but before you were thrown into an arena with 23 children that wanted to kill you, you were happier. the ones you killed yourself still haunt you, you see them in the scared, little kids at the reaping, your new mentees. the capitol is cruel. the four words repeat in your head. over and over again, the sand is hurting your feet but you don’t pay attention to that. you’re running through the village without stopping. you are just a kid. just a kid. 17 years old. you should be living your life instead of being sold to people at the capitol. but you can’t do anything about it. your family has no protection except you. you suddenly stop running. where’d muscle memory bring you? you’re standing at the end of the path in front of a house identical to yours. 

finnick. your mind clears up and you find your original intention. the one you had when you left your house. you just want to see him, know if he’s okay, want him to tell you that it’s not real, that he understands you, that he goes through the same things. you want him to hold you close, whisper sweet words to you and wait until you fall asleep. without thinking any longer, you knock on the door. one, two, three, four seconds go by before the door opens. surprisingly fast.

finnick is standing before you, his hair disheveled but perfect, as always, wearing a white shirt and sweatpants. he looks alarmed but sighs loudly when he sees you. his sea green eyes are tired but as piercing as always. he seems to stare directly into your soul but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. 

‘y/n? what’re you doing here?’ 

‘i’m sorry i woke you,’ you murmur with a soft sniffle.

‘no,no, don’t be. are you okay?’ he asks with a worried frown. you weakly manage to shake your head before the adrenaline from earlier is completely gone. two muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest where you let out a choked sob. finnick’s heart breaks for you, seeing you like this. to him, it’s a miracle you’re not able to hear it shatter in your position.

without thinking much about it you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his torso before he picks you up and carries you inside, closing the door behind the both of you. the next thing you know, you’re standing in the kitchen, feet now on the ground but still close to the young man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing as your crying slowly stops and your breath calms. 

‘hey, it’s okay, i’m here. i’ll protect you, alright? promise,’ he softly mutters into your hair. you can feel his lips move against your scalp as guilt washes over you. you shouldn’t burden him with this. he goes through the same things and you don’t find him knocking at your door in the middle of the night. he’s been doing it for a year longer than you now and he’s never really talked about it to you and how he’s getting by.

‘i’m so, so sorry, finn’ 

‘there’s nothing to be sorry for, sugar’ 

‘but- but you don’t show up at my front door step in the middle of the night because of some-‘ 

he interrupts your ramble. 

‘maybe sometimes i want to.’ he gives you a soft, sad smile. ‘c’mon now. tomorrow’s the reaping, we gotta get some sleep,’ he states and without waiting for a reply, he picks you up again and carries you upstairs to his bedroom. finnick crawls into the bed next to you and pulls you close to his body again where you both lie in a comfortable silence until you start talking. 

‘i saw her again,’ you whisper. ‘the girl from 10. she was only 13 years old.’ your voice breaks. ‘she was just a kid. and i shot her, i killed her. i feel horrible. i’m a monster, finn.’

it’s true. you saw her again in your dream. almost every time your brain puts you back in the arena you see the little girl, your arrow in her chest, the clattering of your bow on the ground as you realise what you had done, the cannon that signals her death.

and then the booming voice that announces you as the winner of the 68th annual hunger games, the winner. 

what a lie. no one ever really wins. 

‘you were just a kid yourself. you didn’t want it, you were forced. it’s not your fault, sweetheart. you’re in district 4, safe,’ he  mutters as you let a few silent tears fall onto his chest, dampening his shirt but he doesn’t care. finnick just wants to hold you, make it stop, protect you from the capitol, snow. if he could take all of your pain and fear away, he would without hesitation. without even thinking about it. ‘but so were you,’ you whisper. ‘you were 14, finnick, 14 and then 16. and now 19. it’s not fair.’ he repositions himself to look at you. there it is again. the sad smile. it says more than a thousand words. and you return it.

‘i know, sugar, i know.’ 

you fall asleep soon after but finnick stays awake for now, unable to bring himself to sleep as well. he watches your facial expressions shift, watches a frown form on your face as you mumble quietly. all he does all night is whisper sweet things to you and hold you close in the hope to ease your mind and help with the nightmares. he silently thinks about the situation you’re both in; forced into prostitution by president snow. an object to buy. he knows that you’re only doing it because you want to protect him and he only does the same to protect you.

ironic, isn’t it? he chuckles softly at the thought before silently vowing to find a way for you out of this, away from the capitol, into a happy and free life. maybe with him. you’d want that. a life with him somewhere down by the coast. 

‘i love you, sweetheart, you don’t even know how much,’ he whispers and plants a soft kiss on your hairline before finally falling asleep with you in his arms. 

a/n: please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it <3 luv ya also I’m laughing at the gif rn because it’s literally finnick casually laughing about his own death i love him

edit: i just noticed that finnick being 19 in this and the sentence ’tomorrow’s the reaping’ means that annie is going to get reaped the next day

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 1

Finnick Odair x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The first thing you remember after they lifted you from the arena was the hands of Capital doctors grabbing at you. Three weeks in the arena had left you extremely weak and you had a bad cut on your face but none of that mattered. They were touching you and you didn’t like that.

The second thing you remember after they lifted you from the arena was waking up chained to your hospital bed, surrounded by peacekeepers and President Snow.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the old man stated. “I wish you wouldn’t be so difficult with us.”

“Difficult?” you ask with what little voice you have left.

“It seems that you won’t let us treat your wounds, or let anyone get close to you for that matter,” he states. “The poor doctor was just trying to take your temperature when you stabbed him with a scalpel.”

“He was touching me,” you reply.

“Oh my dear we have a long road ahead of us if you are planning on remaining… difficult.”

You hadn’t meant to kill so many people. First it was 6 in the arena, then it was the doctor in the capital, then it was your first client, then it was another capital doctor and a peacekeeper trying to restrain you. By the time you came down from your lapse in sanity, you had been sentenced to house arrest in District 4’s victors village.

“Feral” is what they called you. To everyone outside of your home you were uncontrollable; crazy; even dangerous. To yourself, you were broken; confused; misunderstood. To him, you were everything.

“Y/N Y/L/N!” Linessa, the District 4 escort, calls out as she reaps the tributes for the 75th annual Hunger Games. Mags moves to volunteer but you quickly shoot her a look and she backs down. She knows you won’t hurt her, in fact, she’s one of the few people who genuinely cares for you, but she knows not to interfere when your mind is made up.

Annie shrinks into Mags’ side as you shuffle past her towards the escort. She’s another poor, misunderstood being like you. The two of you have never been friends for the simple reason that she is absolutely terrified of you and sometimes her meltdowns set you off. Maybe in a different reality you two would be friends, but not in this one.

Peacekeepers follow you to the front of the stage as you drag your shackled feet forward. This is the first time anyone besides the victors has seen you in around 5 years, and they’re getting a good look at what “feral” looks like.

The peacekeepers hold a gun to your back as you stand on the stage, head high. It’s so hot out you’re hoping you’ll sweat enough to slip your hands out of your cuffs. The district center looks the same as the last time you saw it all those years ago.

“Finnick Odair,” Linessa reads out and your head immediately snaps towards her. She lets out a small shriek and the peacekeepers tighten their hold on their guns as Finnick makes his way to the front to stand next to you. Of course, they don’t let him get anywhere near you, but you wouldn’t hurt him. You would burn the whole world to the ground if it meant protecting him.

The peacekeepers allow Mags to join you and Finnick on the train but they don’t let her anywhere near you. Finnick tries to tell them that you’re fine and won’t hurt anyone but they won’t listen.

You’re done trying to advocate for yourself. In fact, it’s useless. You haven’t spoken to anyone besides Finnick in five years. Not since your client…

Anyways, peacekeepers escort you to your room and set up guard in the hall. They’re too scared to be in the room with you, and none of the avoxes will go near you.

You wouldn’t have even been fed if it weren’t for Finnick barging into your room (despite the peacekeepers’ protests) with a plate of food. The peacekeepers made him keep the door open so they could monitor the situation but at least you could eat.

“How are you feeling?” Finnick asks as you pick at your food. You shrug your shoulders in response. He goes to lay his hand close to yours in comfort, causing one of the peace keepers to pipe up.

“Hey!” he yells, causing you to jump. “Back up Mr. Odair. We’ve been advised not to let anyone get within five feet of it.”

Finnick stands up and moves himself between you and the peacekeepers.

“First of all,” he states. “She is not an ‘it’. She’s a human being like the rest of us. Secondly, she is not a danger to me. She would never hurt me and even if she tried we both know I would win that fight. Scaring her like that is only going to set her off, and I won’t hold her back if she does. The best thing you can do, for everyone’s safety, is treat her like a human being, absolutely do not touch her, and no yelling. She’s not an animal, she’s traumatized.”

“Sir we’ve been ordered to shoot her at the first sign of agression. The capital doctors have advised us that she’s a danger to those around her,” the peacekeeper states.

“The capital doctors haven’t seen her in over five years!” Finnick exclaims. “They don’t know the first thing about her. Now get out and let us eat in peace. Don’t forget I’ve killed people too.”

The peacekeepers, visibly shaken, leave your room and allow the door to close. Finnick sits back down on your bed with you to resume your meal.

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[agent-grey-fics]

Oh, I love it and hate it at the same time. - Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem reader Wordcount: 6k pure filth

Warnings: porn without a polt, filth, drugs, mentioning of prostitution, sex, mental breakdown Summary: Finnick and y/n both won their games and when they returned home it became clear that they were puppets in Snow's hands. They’re the same, something they love and hate at the same time.

AN: This is pure filth, you're welcome.

A victor. That’s what you are. 

A victor of a game you never wanted to play in the first place. When you got reaped at the age of fifteen you never imagined getting out alive, you thought that you would get killed in the first couple of days by one of the careers. But the usual alliances never formed, the careers started killing each other off by day three and the odds ended up being in your favour after all. You were the victor of the 67th Hunger Games and became a Capitol favourite. Not that you won much. You got PTSD and woke up almost every night screaming bloody murder because of the flashbacks that haunted your dreams. That was the life of a victor. Well not only the haunting dreams but you were also expected to show your face at the presidential balls organised by Snow in the capital. It was no secret that he played the victors as puppets and used them in any way he pleased. That’s how you ended up on the dancefloor with a middle-aged man whose hands kept creeping lower and lower on your back. That’s what you hated the most. They made you a killer and when you got out you weren’t free at all. They promised you a life full of prosperity and serenity in the victor's village back home in District 5 but it was all a lie. You had your peace for three weeks, four tops, but after your victor's tour Snow invited you for a chat in his office and you finally realised you were on this train forever. He made it clear that you were his property from now on and that he could use you as he pleased. 

The guy you were dancing with was one of Snow’s associates, he was surprisingly friendly. Most of them didn’t treat you as a person, you were just a warm and desirable body for them to use as they pleased. You let your eyes wander over the dancefloor when all of a sudden they locked with a familiar green pair. Finnick gave you his famous cheeky smile but it didn’t reach his eyes, they had a sad tone to them. That’s when you noticed the lady on his arm, another Capotil elite. You gave him a small smile. The two of you were caught in the same trap, he a bit longer than you were. You met him at the end of your Victor's tour, after your chat with Snow. Finnick asked you to dance and while he spun you around the floor he warned you for the president and made sure you understood the danger. After that day he started looking out for you. The two of you stuck together, tried to save each other as much as possible and looked after one another. He became your safe haven. The capitol wondered out loud what kind of relationship their favourite victors had. They speculated that they spend their nights together in his bed. Even after it became public that they both had multiple lovers, the gossip continued. You did share his bed but not in the way they expected. You shared it when both of you were lonely, longing for loving touches instead of hungry ones. You could count the times you’ve kissed on one hand and never went further than that. You always wondered how it would be if the two of you had a normal Victors’ life. Would you have met during the next games as mentors and become friends? Would you be as close as you were now? You would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to the male Victor, but it went beyond his good looks. The two of you just clicked, probably because of the shared trauma but there was so much more to him. He was kind, warm and loyal. He would do anything to protect the ones he loved. Finnick was just Finnick, he was one of a kind. 

‘Don’t you agree Miss Green?’ The man's lips almost touched your ear and a shudder ran down your spine. ‘I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that please?’ You averted your gaze from Finnick so you could look at your client. His laughter roared deep in his chest as he saw your confused expression. ‘I said that this party was getting boring and that we should go back to my place.’ Your heart dropped when you heard his proposition. ‘Is it okay that I go to the bathroom quickly and that we leave afterwards?’ He nodded. ‘Sure, I’ll wait for you in the foyer.’ With a small smile, you made your way across the room. Some partygoers greeted you as you passed them by. When you stood in the bathroom you slammed the door shut as you tried to calm yourself down. ‘Come on y/n, you’ve done this a million times. It’s just another guy and it’s just sex. You will be out of there in no time’ you mumbled to yourself as you stared at your reflection in the mirror whiles you fished a little baggy out of your bra. Another side effect of the games was your drug dependency. It started as a medical treatment to keep you sane but now all you wanted was to forget the games and their hands touching your skin. 

After swallowing the pill you waited a couple of minutes until you felt the familiar haze creeping into your system. You washed your hands and walked out without paying attention to where you were walking. You bumped into a tall person, their hands encircling your waist to prevent you from falling to the ground. “Shit, sorry.’ When you looked up you were greeted by the sea-green eyes you learned to love. ‘Oh Finnick, hi.’ He gave you one of his dashing grins when he saw the shock on your face. ‘You’re leaving with him?’ A soft sigh left your lips. ‘One of Snow’s associates.’ He nodded understandingly grin still on his lips but that faded when he saw your dilated pupils. ‘Are you kidding me y/n? You’re high right now?’ You took a step back and shrugged your shoulders. ‘You’re high all of the time, so it’s really not your place to tell me what I can do and what not.’ Finnick knew that the two of you were in the same boat, being sold to the highest bidders and you both had developed your own coping mechanisms along the way. ‘Never whiles I’m on the job.’ It was a mumble when it left his lips and he gave you an accusing look. ‘Yeah sorry Finn but I cannot do this sober. I should get back, let me pass please.’ Finnick dropped his head as he took a step aside to let you pass. ‘Text me when you’re done? I’ll pick you up so you don’t need to stay over.’ You just nodded as you brushed past him so you could get to the foyer. ‘There you are, ready to go?’ A fake smile found its way to your lips as you nodded your head. ‘Let’s go.’

Most of the time they took you to fancy hotels so their partners didn’t find out about their little affairs but he took you home. When you walked into his flat it was striking how neat his place was, you weren’t expecting this. There were pictures of groups of smiling people, holding champagne flutes and landscapes. He was wealthy, hence the penthouse and the ultra-modern design of the place. ‘What did you say your job was again?’ He had talked about boring meetings and how the dance was a much-welcome distraction. ‘Military detail.’ You jumped a little when you heard how close he was. ‘Right, sorry it was a busy night.’ His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, tracing soft circles on your hips. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His hands spun you around and he planted his lips on yours. Throughout the years you learned that the more you fought the harder it was, so you just went along with his moves. You hoped that you could get out of this place soon. 

02:45 Can you come to get me?  - y/n

You texted Finnick fifteen minutes ago with your location attached after you told the client you didn’t stay over. He offered to drive you home but you said it was okay. When you walked out of the apartment complex you noticed Finnicks bike, of course he rode his motor here instead of his car. He held a spare helmet out and you took it without saying a word. The two of you had established this relationship where you showed up but didn’t ask questions. As you swung your leg over the passenger seat you mumbled a small thanks. He sped away, the wind gave you goosebumps but so you pulled yourself even closer to Finnick. You had your arms tightly wrapped around his waist as a support so you didn't fall off. He placed one of his hands on yours as the two of you rode through the night. The ride back to your place took you less than ten minutes. You were standing in front of your small studio, looking for your keys. Finnick leaned nonchalantly against the wall next to you. ‘You know who that was, right?’ You just shrugged your shoulders. ‘Some military guy, didn’t pay too much attention.’ A soft laugh escaped his lips. ‘He’s head of the peacekeepers and Snow’s personal security personnel.’ ‘Oh.’ You finally opened your door and walked in, Finnick following close behind. ‘I’m gonna take a shower, please stay?’ He nodded as he made himself comfortable on your couch, kicking his shoes off. ‘I know the drill.’ The roles had been reversed hundreds of times when he was a mess and you had to put him back together. You immediately turned o the shower when you entered the bathroom, the water as hot as you could handle so it would burn the feeling of his wandering fingers away. The clothes you wore were thrown in a pile on the floor and you looked at your body in the mirror, bruises started to form on your thighs. At least it wasn’t in plain sight. When the water made contact with your body it stung a bit, but after a while it was a pleasant feeling. You washed your hair and body with a sandalwood-smelling shampoo and body wash and thirty minutes later you walked back into your living room where Finnick was flipping through tv channels, long shirt covering the black sleep shorts you were wearing. He patted the cushion next to him, signalling for you to sit down. The blissful haze you fell a couple of hours ago was wairing off and your hands were trembling a bit. ‘It’s getting late, I would rather go to bed.’ You mumbled as you pointed over your shoulder to your small bedroom. ‘Sure, whatever you want honey.’ He reached for his shoes to put them back on and leave you alone, you looked exhausted. ‘No stay please, I don’t want to be alone tonight.’ He didn’t say anything when he got up out of his seat, when he passed you by towards your room he grabbed your hand so he could pull you along. You immediately crawled into your bed and left the covers open for Finnick who was taking off his clothes so he could slip into the pyjamas he kept at your place. When he stood at the side of your bed he just saw the broken girl he met after her games when she first came out of the arena. The girl he nursed back to life to the best of his abilities. You looked so broken and small.

Your back was turned towards him when you felt the bed dipping in next to you. ‘Come here,’ he mumbled whiles he threw an arm across your waist pulling you into his chest. A shaky breath left your lips as you felt his body heat against your skin. You turned around in his hold so you could face him. ‘Finnick I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. The appearances at the parties I can handle, I can pretend to be happy to be there but the sleeping around with half of the Capitol’s elite is killing me.’ Tears welt up in your eyes and your vision got blurry. ‘You know what happens if we stop, you saw what they did to Johanna.’ She was the victor of the 71st Hunger Games and her entire family was murdered when she refused to be Snow’s puppet. ‘My family doesn’t even want to see me anymore, they think I’m some cheap whore.’ It was true, They were embarrassed for you when you visited them since your whole life was smeared on TV and in the tabloids. Everyone knew what you were doing but they didn't know why you were doing it. That didn't matter to them, they had already decided who you were. ‘He already took everything away from me.’ He gently rubbed your back, a comforting gesture. ‘They just don’t know what’s going on.’ You pressed your cheek against his chest while you sneaked your arm around his waist. ‘We’re going to be ok y/n, we’ll be ok.’

A week had passed since Finnick had spent the night at your place, you hadn’t heard from him since. It wasn’t unusual, the two of you needed space and alone time as well. You had spent the last hour on your makeup and hair since you were expected at a party again when your phone lit up with a text.

08:15 Need a ride? - F 

You replied a simple yes, knowing that he would show up within the next fifteen minutes. Tonight you were invited just as a guest, no clients or hidden agendas. Just you and Finnick socialising with the elites as usual. As you stood in front of the mirror in your room there was a knock at the door. ‘The door’s open Finn!’ You yelled back while you fixed the straps of your dress. You decided to wear a red floor-length dress with small spaghetti straps, it was a simple look but you were in love with the gown. ‘Y/n, are you ready to go?’ He turned around the corner when he saw you standing in front of the mirror and let out a wolf whistle. ‘Too much?’ He shook his head. ‘No, just enough you look great.’ A smile spread across your lips as you took his own appearance. ‘You look not too bad yourself either.’ It was a joke, he looked handsome and he knew he did. He gave you a wink as he stretched his hand out towards you. ‘Let’s get the gossip mill going again.’ You shook your head as a laugh rolled off your lips.  ‘Yeah let’s go.’ Finnick’s driver dropped the two of you off at the entrance of the mansion where the party took place. The stairs towards the house were packed, some of them turning their heads as they saw the two of you arrive. ‘Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?’ With those words he slid his arm around your middle, placing his hand on the small of your back so he could guide you through the mass. You could feel their gazes burning on your skin as the two of you made your way towards the entrance of the building. You said your hello’s too familiar faces and plastered a smile on your lips. When you were inside Finnick walked in front of you whiles he grabbed one of your hands in his as he pulled you along. ‘What do you want to drink?’ He came to a stop at the beverage table. The table looked like a full-on bar with fancy drinks on display. ‘Something strong, need to be tipsy as soon as possible.’ Finnick reached for two tequila-based cocktails and handed one to you. ‘There you go, love.’ You took a sip and pulled a shocked face, those were strong. The two of you walked to the entrance of the main room so you could take a look at all those who were attending. Without thinking about it, he put an arm around you, his hand resting on your hip and you leaned into his touch. ‘What was the party for again?’ You asked him. Finnick had always been better at these events, he always knew who was hosting and what the occasion was. ‘The oldest daughter of the Pierces and the second eldest son of the Oakleys are engaged, so their parents threw an engagement party.’ You nodded as you remembered when you heard his words. ‘Right.’ His thumb traced small circles over the dress’s fabric at your hip and you were wondering if he was doing it on purpose. ‘They will gossip no matter what we’re doing so you don’t have to give a big performance,’ You joked as you nudged his side softly. ‘Mh?’ For a minute you thought that he didn’t know what he was doing but then you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Finnick Odair, unbelievable.’ A hoarse laugh left his lips before he took another sip of the drink in his hand.

‘What do you think of a dance?’ He looked down at you, waiting for your answer. ‘Yeah sure, but I was hoping for more than one tho.’ Finnick emptied his glass and you followed his lead, pulling a face when the alcohol burned down your throat. ‘You have my undivided attention all night Miss Green.’ You rolled your eyes at his comment as you pushed him in front of you. ‘If you say so Odair.’ Once the two of you found a place on the dancefloor he pulled you in by your hips taking one hand in his and started slowly swaying to the music. You placed your cheek against his chest and let him lead as you closed your eyes. His heartbeat pounded softly in your ear. Finnick lowered his head so he could whisper in your ear. ‘They are all staring.’ A small smile spread across your lips as his warm breath tickled your skin. You lifted your head from his chest and looked around, they indeed were eying the two of you. You could almost see the wheels spinning in their heads trying to figure out what you guys were to each other. ‘You wanted to give them a show.’ He rolled his eyes and a laugh left his lips. ‘I’m not complaining, I just warned you about what’s happening.’ You shrugged your shoulders. It was in these moments that you felt free and normal. Just a girl dancing with a guy she liked. He softly stroked a lost strand of hair behind your ear, it was such an intimate feeling that it made you blush. ‘Did I make the Miss Green blush?’ He had this cocky grin on his lips when he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Oh shut up Finnick.’ As the song ended the two of you found your way back to the bar, going for shots of tequila this time. 

The more alcohol flowed the more handsy you both became, not that you minded. By two in the morning, Finnick had your back pressed flush against his front and moved his hips along with yours to the rhythm of the music, hands roaming your body at the same time. You had thrown one arm back around his neck pulling him closer. You knew what they say, ‘Tequila is nasty but after a few shots, so am I’ and you definitely were far past acting descent and composed. But you weren’t the only ones, the dancefloor was packed with grinding couples who could not keep their hands off each other. Your little performance ran out of hand. Maybe you should have stopped after the fifth shot of tequila but you had gotten carried away. At one point Finnick had placed the lemon wedge between your lips and almost kissed you when he took it out of your mouth with his own lips. You had not meant to be glued against each other in the middle of the dance floor but there you were. Finnick leaned down and placed a trail of soft kisses on your jawline. ‘Mh, Finn maybe we should go home. I think you made your point clear and gave them a show.’ A chuckle left his lips and he spun you around in his arms. You weren't sure how much of tonight was staged and what was real but you hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, that’s for sure. He clasped his hands together behind your back and you swung yours around his neck. ‘Do you wanna go?’ You nodded. ‘Okay let’s go then.’ Once again he took one of your hands into his and started guiding you towards the exit before you were stopped by a middle-aged guy. ‘Y/n, do you have one more dance in you for me?’ He had this grin on his face that made you shiver, not in a good way. ‘Sorry mate we’re just leaving.’ Finnick spoke for you as he saw the hesitation in your eyes. ‘Oh come, you had her all night Odair let the others also have some fun.’ He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the guy. ‘I said that we’re going, so back off okay?’ Finnick spoke, his words laced with a threatening undertone. Everyone in his right mind would back off, he was one of the most deathly tributes the capitol had ever seen, crazily skilled in hand-to-hand combat. The other guy eyed him up and down and he then shifted his gaze towards you. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. ‘Finn let’s go.’ You softly pulled Finnick back indicating you wanted to leave as soon as possible. His hand tensed in yours and squeezed your fingers as he turned away from the guy, ready to leave. ‘Whatever dude, everyone already had her.’ Before you could say something, before you could pull him back, Finnick had spun around and his fist made contact with the guy's jaw. He almost stumbled to the floor when he got punched. ‘You fucking asshole.’ Several shocked gasps were audible all around you. No one expected the Capitol's favourite to lose his temper like this, he was known for keeping his composure in public. ‘Finninck!’ You stepped forward and clung to his arm in an attempt to hold him back. The man clutched his jaw in surprise as if he had not seen the blow coming at all. ‘If I ever see you near her again or even hear you talking about her I’ll fucking kill you, understand?’ All he could do was nod, still not getting what just happened. ‘Finnick let’s go.’ You urged as you saw people pooling around the scene you just caused. As he turned around and started walking away he pulled you behind him by your hand. It was because he was drunk otherwise, he would never have thrown that punch you thought to yourself. The alcohol was the only explanation. ‘Guess the rumours are true then, he’s sleeping with her.’ You heard a girl say to her friend when the two of you passed them. 

Once you were finally outside, he let go of your hand and went through his hair in frustration. ‘Fuck.’ he grumbled to himself. What the fuck just happened? You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it again when you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Snow was going to make you pay for this, you just knew it. Finnick’s driver drove the car out front and opened the door of the back seat. Finnick got into the car without saying a word and kept silent the whole drive back to his place. When the car stopped in front of his building and he got out, you stayed put expecting that Finnick didn’t want you there at the moment. When you didn’t follow him out he gave you a confused look. ‘Get out of the car y/n, I’m not letting you spend the night alone at your place after what just happened.’ You were still confused but you did as you were told and climbed out of the car. Finnick said a thank you to the driver and started walking towards the entrance of his building. It was one of the most modern places you had ever seen, you needed a keycard to enter the building and a code for the elevator since they went straight into his living room on the top floor. He got everything he wanted because he was so loved by the Capitol, he was their golden boy. 

As the two of you stepped into the elevator he only needed a second to push you up against the wall. A small gasp left your lips at his sudden movements. He didn’t give you any time to react as he crashed his lips against yours, these weren’t the sweet touches he used to give you, this was pure anger. You kissed him back, placing your hands against his chest and parting your lips giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue in. Not even trying to gain dominance you let Finnick take the lead, almost melting under his touch. He only stopped kissing you when the elevator opened, ushering you out of the small box into his apartment. It gave you a couple of seconds to catch your breath, a heat rose to your cheeks when you realised what just had happened. But those few seconds were all you got because the moment your feet touched the wooden floor he spun you around and his lips found yours once again. The two of you started walking, you backwards as he guided you through his living room. ‘Finn, what are you-’ He didn’t give you the chance to finish your question as your back hit a wall. One of his legs came up between yours, hoisting up your dress as he spread them apart with his thick thigh. ‘I’m done playing his games.’ His lips found their way to your neck where he softly tucked at your skin. A moan left your lips when he found your sweet spot under your jaw. He sucked on the tender skin until it stung to then soothe it with his tongue. That was gonna bruise. ‘I’m done pretending to be ok when I see you with other people and pick you up afterwards. I don’t want the pieces, I want all of you.’ It took every ounce of self-control left in your body to pull away so you could look at him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders. ‘Finnick-,’ This wasn’t new, you had this kind of conversation before but he never said that he wanted you. You longed for him in a whole different than the Capitol did. You didn’t want him for his body, you wanted him for the man he was. He was kind, caring and loyal. He had this great sense of humour and would do anything to save the people he loved. ‘As you said, we cannot do this. Remember?’ He pressed his forehead against yours

He pressed his thigh firmer against your core and your breath hitched in your throat, you were dripping wet. You were already turned on the moment he had you flush against his chest on the dancefloor at the party. He softly bit your neck, making your head spin. ‘Finnick, we’ve been drinking-’ You were going to say that you didn’t know this was the right moment for this situation, heads being clouded by alcohol but he didn’t give you the chance. He pressed his lips full force against yours, not asking for permission as he forced his tongue inside your mouth. This was a mix of pure anger and lust, you had an idea where this came from but you were still not sure if it was because of you or if you were just at the right place at the right time. His hands found their way around your body and rested on your ass, softly squeezing and not giving you any time to second-guess the situation. He softly tucked at your lower lip when he pulled back. ‘You have no idea about all the things that I want to do to you, y/n.’ A small gasp left your lips when you felt his teeth graze your ear as he softly spoke, his voice more sensual than usual. You just gave in. Your body reacted before you could and without thinking you started rocking your hips over his thigh hoping to gain some friction between your legs, almost sure that you were going to stain his pants with your juices. Finnick smirked when he felt your movements and started guiding your hips over his leg while he pushed you down, creating more pressure. ‘C’mon baby, be a good girl and make yourself feel good.’ Your legs started to tremble as you rode his thigh, swinging one arm around his neck and placing the other hand on his hips to stabilize yourself. With a swift movement, he pulled your panties aside and watch how your pussy rubbed against his thigh. A pink blush rose to your cheeks when you saw the wet spot starting to form where your cunt touched his pants. ‘So wet and I haven’t touched you yet.’ He mumbled as he saw your juices on his thigh. ‘All for you Finn.’ His name rolled in a moan of your lips as you were getting to your high. ‘Were you already wet when we were dancing?’ He breathed in your ear, followed by his teeth scraping your neck. You nodded frantically. ‘Use your words.’ ‘Yes, yes. Fuck’ you threw your head back and screwed your eyes shut. ‘So desperate for a good fuck y/n?’ The way he was treading you combined with the sound of his voice made you only wetter. ‘Fuck Finn, I’m going to come just like this.’ A chuckle left his lips. ‘Look at me.’ You were chasing your high and ignored his order. When you didn’t comply he grabbed your chin and pinched lightly with his fingers, forcing your face down. ‘Look at me I said.’ His dominance excited you. ‘Sorry.’ You muttered and looked at him. His pupils were dilated and radiated pure lust. ‘Sorry who?’ ‘Sorry, sir.’ It rolled off your tongue without thinking twice about it.  ‘Come for me’ After hearing those words the knot inside exploded, your orgasm washing over you like you never experienced before. Legs trembling and Finnick needed to support your upper body. This was pure filth and you were all for it. ‘Fuck.’ You tried to stop but Finnick kept pushing your hips in a grinding motion over his thigh. Your clit grazed over the fabric of his pants, it overstimulated you completely. 'Finn, stop too soon,' you muttered when you felt the knot in your lower abdomen tighten again. Tears began to sting your eyes when he didn't stop. ‘Ah, fuck.’ Your second orgasm came faster than you wanted. You pushed against Finnick's chest. 'Finn stop.' Tears streamed down your cheeks from the overstimulation. It was too much. ‘Are you going to let me fuck you like all of Snow's pawns?’ You nodded, that was all he needed. He took you in his arms in one smooth motion and walked toward his bed. 

'On your knees.' You had never obeyed anyone so quickly. He placed his hand gently on your cheek and stroked your lips with his thumb. 'Are you going to be a good girl for me?' Your hands found their way to the button of his pants. In one swift movement, you undid them and pulled them down eagerly. Finnick followed your every move. His boxers quickly followed causing his cock to stand up proudly against his muscular stomach. You licked your lips. ‘You know what to do.’ You nodded. You took his member in your hand and pumped up and down a few times, his head looking painfully red as pre-cum glistened on it. You teased him by rubbing his head slowly with your thumb. Then you bent over, and with your outstretched tongue you licked a long line from his base to the tip. A hissing sound left his lips. ‘Stop teasing’. You pulled your lip over your teeth and took his cock in your mouth. Gently you moved up and down, building the tension. A blissful sigh left his lips.  You relaxed your jaw and took his length as deep as you could in your mouth. His head pushed against the back of your throat eliciting a gag reflex. Finnick grabbed your hair with one of his hands and pushed against the back of your head as a sign to take him even deeper. 

When you looked up through your eyelashes you saw that he had his head thrown back in delight, his mouth gently agape. A sense of pride spread through you. That you could make Finnick feel so good did something to you; it got even wetter between your legs. ‘Fuck y/n, keep going.’ He wrapped his hands around your neck and squeezed gently. He pushed his hips forward and began to fuck your mouth. Obscene sounds echoed in his bedroom. Your gurgling filled your ears and tears pricked your eyes. 'You look so good like that.' Your mascara by now had to hang everywhere as tears ran down your cheeks in thick drops, saliva running from your mouth. 'Almost there.' he growled between his teeth. He didn't want to admit it but seeing you sitting there made him even hornier and harder. 

You didn't like to admit it but being degraded like that turned you on. You were super horny and couldn't stop your own hand. You slipped your hand into your panties and moved like crazy over your clit. You couldn't wait to bounce on his cock. A moan left your lips, the vibrations drove Finnick crazy and he began to pound even harder into your mouth. After he moaned your name, he squirted thick ropes of cum down your throat and mouth. With a plopping sound, you pulled your mouth off his cock and swallowed his cum obediently. 'Good girl. Now I know why they all want you.’ You had never been so submissive and it turned you on.  ‘Please fuck me.’ It was pathetic, you were begging him to feel his cock inside you. You were still rubbing your clit and he noticed. ‘So desperate for my cock, aren't you?’. You nodded, knowing he was going to give you what you wanted: a good, rough fuck. He pulled you up and pushed you on his back. Your back hit the soft matras. ‘You're never going to want another cock again’ said Finnick with an arrogant grin on his face. ‘Stop teasing, just fuck me Finn.’ The message was clear. He took your leg and pushed it up so that it rested against his shoulder. Without warning, he pushed his cock into you all at once. ‘Fuck.’ You hissed as you clawed at his shoulders, trying to contain the overstimulation. ‘I want to be the only one who can give you this feeling.' He pounded into you at a gruelling pace. It hurt, but it was a pleasurable pain. A moan rolled over your lips. ‘They’ll never touch you again.’ he murmured hoarsely in your ear. You felt the knot in your lower abdomen begin to tighten again. Your walls pinched his cock; he was also near his climax again. ‘Say it.’ Your breath stuck in your throat. 'Fuck, Finn you can only t-' You couldn't hold it back anymore, your orgasm taking over your whole body. Your legs trembled a blissful feeling spread throughout your body ‘-touch me'. He growled approvingly. He lowered your leg but continued to thrust for his own orgasm. He found your neck and began sucking around your pulse point. He left marks, you just knew it.

He moaned your name and came inside you. He leaned his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. 'We'll figure this out.’

[allisluv]

Finnick finding out reader has not slept at all. Like maybe she has insomnia, or just refuses to sleep. When he finds out he's ready to give her a hot shower to relax her, he's giving her one of his shirts bc he knows she feels safe and comfortable in them the most, he takes her into his lap and caresses her temple bc he knows how soothing it is for her and how it makes her sleepy till she's asleep

-🎸

enter sandman.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings: insomnia, reader can't sleep, illusions to finnick's trauma in the capitol.

word count: 512

It's early in the morning when Finnick takes the train back from the Capitol and slips through the front door of your shared house in Victor's Village. Even just being home has the tension dissipating from his shoulders. He takes his brown sandals off at the door and pads through the house in his bare feet, making a beeline for your bedroom.

Finnick knows you suffer with insomnia, and he wills the hinges not to creak when he pushes down on the handle. He peeks his head through the crack in the door and isn't really surprised when he sees the double doors to the private balcony open and your double bed empty.

He closes the door softly behind him and crosses the room in three quick strides. Out on the balcony, he catches sight of you sitting in the rickety rocking chair. Your hair is wringing wet from what he assumes to be a last-ditch attempt to tire yourself out by swimming in the sea and a blanket is wrapped around your shoulders.

The wooden floorboards creak under his feet, giving his position away. You look up from the book you were reading, and offer him a tiny smile. "You're home," you sigh happily.

"You're still up," Finnick retorts, crossing the balcony and leaning against the wooden banister that provides you with a bit of privacy. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You lift your shoulders up into a shrug. "Couldn't sleep."

"I know just the thing for that," Finnick offers you his hand. Despite your scepticism, you link your fingers with his. He pulls you up and out of the rocking chair and leads you into the kitchen, where he lifts you onto a marble countertop.

As he rustles around in the overhead cupboards, you ask, "What are you doing, Finn?"

He doesn't bother turning around to look at you as he replies. "I'm making you some chamomile tea and then I'm gonna run you a warm bath with some melatonin salts in it."

"You don't have to do that--"

"I know," Finnick pours boiling hot water from the kettle into a cup and hands you the mug. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "But it's not a matter about having to do it. I want to do it, and there's a difference."

Your heart might just melt in your chest at that. "I love you, Finn."

He smiles. "I know you do. And for what it's worth, I love you, too."

Finnick stays true to his word and runs you a bath, lighting candles and massaging your shampoo and conditioner into your scalp. When your muscles no longer ache, he helps you swing your leg over the side of the bath and lets you towel off while he finds his favourite t-shirt.

He slips it over your head, runs a brush through your hair, and coaxes you into lying down with him. "I love you," he whispers, threading his fingers through your hair and carressing your temple.

Half-asleep, you murmur the words, "I love you," back to him.

[witchxxjpg]

im happy that you liked my previous lestappen hunger games au🥳🥳🥳 and asked for a part of it. it is alive purely because of you, so enjoy!!

******

Charles got picked when he was just 12 years old. It was rare for a tribute to be that young but it happened sometimes.

Jules volunteered for him that year. He could've been 18 the following month but he stayed 17 forever. Charles would always remeber staying up all night to pray for him.

Charles would forever remeber seeing another tribute slashing his throat with a sword.

The whole 10th district mourned his death that day, raising a finger to the sky, pointing to the place where all people went. He was a caring and passionate guy. Even some other districts said their sorries. He was loved by everyone. And by Charles the most.

In just 5 years Arthur was picked. And Charles knew exactly what he needed to do.

The Capitol played his life as a tragic story of a boy who repayed his debt by volunteering himself for his little brother. He knew that Jules didn't want that, but he also knew that Arthur was too small and scared to be a tribute.

He won his games.

He portrayed the role of an innocent brother with angelic face and a pure goal. He wanted to believe the lies that the Capitol made him play. But everyone saw how Markus, a boy from district 4, died. With a dagger in his heart.

Charles was always good with daggers and knives. In his district he was terrible at caring for animals that his family was all looking after. But he was extremely good with skinning and preparing the meat to be sent to the Capitol. He used his skills well during his games.

He never had nightmares. But he saw traits of lost tributes in faces of all people.

Charles lived peacefully for 6 years.

He was more or less lucky with how the Capitol treated him afterwards. He was well aware of how pretty looking tributes ended up. But his role was to motivate all the districts to behave. They filmed a lot of videos with him that they called 'promotional'. To show what happened to people who disobeyed and to people who behaved themselves.

Charles was sick of doing all these lies, but it was better then being a toy for some moneybags.

After 6 years the 75th Hunger Games were announced. The Third Quarter Quell.

There were only three male winners from District 10. Sebastian and Kimi. And Charles.

Charles was picked again. He said his goodbyes to his family.

He was aware that these games would be different and he knew that he won't walk out of them alive. He at least was happy that Sebastian agreed to be his mentor this time too.

******

Max was born to win. That's what his father always said. He was trained all his early childhood to become a winner of the games.

That's why as soon as he turned legal age he volunteered.

His father pressured him into the games and never helped. Max was lucky to have Daniel as his mentor.

He won his first games of course. The youngest winner ever and with a record of most tributes eliminated.

He'd thought that he'd never have nightmares. But now he knew.

Max was just 13 when he won, but as soon as he started to understand the world he knew that he was doomed.

Doomed ro relive memories of his father's puppet.

Max dreamed of his snowy arena. Of all 12 kids that he killed with his axe. Of their distorted faces and hoarse screams. He never wanted to fall asleep again.

After the games he continued to study in the academy to be a peacekeeper. He wanted ro do at least something good. He finished with the highest grades and best results. He was offered a position as a Head Peacekeeper. He chose District 10.

He saw people from District 10 selebrate its win when that boy returned home. He saw them raising a finger to the sky. 'The chosen one'. That's how they called him. Charles.

Max saw him sometimes. When he went to the central fair or left to the Victor's Village. He saw how people treated him. Like a son or a close friend. And he treated them the same.

He was their victor.

All winners had perks and Max saw how he gave them all away to people of his district.

Max had to suppress his inner urge to reach out for him. To ask if he felt the same way.

Like a broken tool that no longer had a purpose to serve

Probably he didn't. He helped his people. And Max was a peacekeeper, wearing a mask to hide his face that's outlined by all the deaths that he'd caused.

He tried to reduce people's suffering.

He was a peacekeeper for 8 years.

When the time of the 75th Hunger Games came closer, Max knew about the Third Quater Quell and how it would be like.

There were a lot of winners to compete for District 2, but during the reaping Daniel was chosen. Max didn't doubt that Daniel would've won the quill, but Max saw the trace that the games had left on him. He saw how the games had treated him. He knew Daniel's story.

Max volunteered again.

Long time ago he cared about himself. But he didn't anymore.

He saw that boy from District 10 being chosen too.

******

Daniel was born in District 2, but his parents weren't.

He never felt like he fit with all the others.

Since young age he had to attend the academy to train there like every child of the second district muct do. He always hated it.

He read once in some old book from the library a phrase that made him understand what he felt. 'Like a bird in a cage'. His 6 year old self was very impressed.

Daniel liked all his survival classes, the ones that didn't include murders. All of his classmates hated them.

He was never like the others. When he first got to his class he tried to make friends. That's what his parents advised him to do. He tried to smile and tell stupid jokes, to share home-made food with the others and help them study. He tried to be himself.

But it never quite worked.

Everyone laughed at him and not with him. They pointed at him, calling him 'a dumb weirdo'. They took his food away and threw it in a garbage bin. They locked him in storage rooms to skip classes that caused him a lot of warnings and later detentions.

Daniel tried not to notice them but he couldn't. He spent most of his life in the academy with bruises on all his body parts and tears on his cheeks. He knew that he was not like the others but he didn't think that he was so difficult that people can't be in the same room as him.

Until he turned 17.

All students from the academy had a queue for games. Everyone fought to have a chance to win the games. And when the reaping started someone from the list of volunteers would go.

Daniel was picked for the 64th Hunger Games. He thought that someone from the careers would volunteer as they always did. But everybody kept silent.

It felt like a death sentence.

His mentor was Mark. He was fun and helpful. He advised to make friends.

On the first meeting with tributes Daniel decided that he liked only Jev from District 8 and Jules from District 10. They were both nice and didn't laugh at his attempts to be nice too. It was the first time that he thought he could have a friend.

It didn't last long.

Jev was one of the first to get eliminated. Daniel and Jules tried to stay together. But one day into the games they had to part ways to get food and water.

The next time Daniel saw him was with a sword slashing his throat.

He tried to heal the wound but his knowledge wasn't enough.

Before Jules passed away he gave Daniel his lucky charm - a small wooden statuette of a bird. Daniel wouldn later return it to his godson.

Daniel won the games. He knew that nobody from his district expected that.

The following year he decided to become a mentor. For 13 year old Max.

Max was always angry with his bright icy eyes shining with rage. But he also wasn't like others.

He was one of the careers, but Daniel didn't see their traits in him. Max didn't want to win for glory and pride.

He just wanted to make his dad happy with him.

Daniel tried to teach him how to live in this world. He tried to make him realise that he didn't need to kill all 23 of tributes for his dad to be happy with his son. He tried to make him feel better. He tried to joke and make him laugh as all early teenagers his age should do.

And he felt pretty cool when he succeeded in that, hearing his small laugh with a shy smile.

He knew that the boy liked him but he didn't know what to do.

And then Max won his games.

He stood there on the podium with a prideful expression on his face, but all Daniel saw were his empty eyes filled with something.

And Daniel was well aware what was that something. He saw it in himself every time he looked in the mirror.

Daniel tried to reach out when Max told him that he's going to be a peacekeeper. They even met sometimes when he was still studying in the academy.

After Max graduated he was sent to District 10 to serve there. And Daniel tried to still talk to him. Even when Max was very busy with his duties they called each other. And Daniel was always happy to hear his voice.

Daniel made friends among other winners. He had Lewis and Sebastian. But there was still something about Max that made Daniel care.

The next time they saw each other was right before the reaping for the Quarter Quell. All of the victors from District 2 were in the same hall, and there were a lot of them.

Daniel barely recognized Max with all the years that they spent apart. He looked broad and tall, even taller then Daniel. Nothing like a 13 year old boy that had won the games. His face was completely different, a strong jaw and no chubby cheeks.

But his eyes. They were still empty.

They shared an awkward hug and Daniel felt too good in his arms. He wished they could stay together for longer.

And he felt fine until his name was called.

He was picked.

Almost third of all the winners were from District 2, so Daniel thought that he wouldn't be in the games again.

He didn't have the time to think because Max volunteered.

When he looked at Daniel his face didn't hold a trace of uncertainty. He looked calm and sure. And his beautiful eyes flickered with something. But it wasn't the same something as after his games. It was something different.

And in a week he found himself in the same situation like 10 years ago.

Helping Max win.

******

Sebastian though he was a good mentor.

He took this role after his win at the 61st Hunger Games. He was the second male victor from District 2.

Kimi was a good mentor too. He was always calm and confident. Sometimes he felt distant but Seb never had a feeling that he didn't care about his tributes.

Sebastial saw a lot of good children that competed in the games. He saw all of them die.

He was a mentor for 8 years until he met Charles.

Everyone in District 10 knew Charles. His family had one of the biggest farms and Charles was extremely skilled with daggers. And everyone knew his story.

Sebastian still remembered mentoring Jules.

For Charles he decided to go for a sad story. That's how they can get more sponsors.

Charles was a pretty good actor and quickly understood what worked the best to get a reaction from the audience. He played well with his adoring face and big eyes.

Even before the games started they had enough donations for Seb to sent him daggers as a sponsor dift, so he didn't need to fight for the weapons.

And Charles won.

It wasn't something that Sebastian was surprised about. But he didn't think that he'd ever experience some kind of happiness. And here it was.

They both lived in Victor's Village. It was almost empty except for 5 houses that were also occupied by Kimi, Silvia and Lily. Both women preferred to live in the Capitol, so usually there were only three of them.

They even met every day for dinners together. It could get lonely sometimes.

Kimi had a family. A beautiful wife and two amazing kids. Seb loved them.

He didn't understand how Kimi could live knowing that his children might go through the same thing in the future. Seb knew that he didn't want kids because he wouldn't be able to live if one of them was picked for the games.

Sebastian waited for the Third Quarter Quell.

When it was announced Charles said that he would go for them if he or Kimi were chosen.

It wasn't necessary. Charles' name was called.

Sebastian knew that it was his duty to protect him.

They decided on the same strategy. Play nice and innocent for the sponsors.

When asked about alliance, Charles said that he wanted Carlos and Max. Seb would've advised on Lewis. But knowing that Nico from District 1 was participating, he would be too occupied fighting his biggest enemy.

Sebastian thought that Carlos was a good option. He was strong and not that arrogant. His help would be great.

But Max was different.

Even though Seb trusted Daniel who said that he was good, he still wasn't so sure.

Max was always quite complicated. He was too aggressive and forward, and despite everything that Daniel told him Seb didn't like him.

The games started in no time.

Charles knew their strategy well. He teamed with Carlos as soon as everything started.

They ran together.

They did pretty good during the first couple of days. Even succeeded in stealing an axe for Carlos and a knife for Charles.

This time the arena was a forest and it got pretty cold fast. They had to help each other.

They found a beautiful lake and a well-hidden cave nearby. There was also a small field with a lot of growing poppies that made it look as it was cowered in drops of blood.

On the first day near the lake Carlos made a small bouquet of them and gave it to Charles.

Sebastian thought that they were a good team. Trusting each other. He saw that something was growing between them.

Until one day Carlos got a spiked arrow in his right shoulder.

Everyone understood that he wouldn't be able to walk out alive.

Sebastian saw Charles trying to help him with all his herbalism skills, Seb himself sent them some good ointment to heal the wound. But it still wasn't helping.

He saw Carlos screaming in agony and Charles crying over his feverish body. Carlos begging Charles to kill him and end his suffering.

They all saw Charles putting his knife on Carlos' throat, choking on tears.

Charles buried him near the shore of the lake, filling his grave with bright red poppies.

The next day Charles decided to go search for the others. He packed all his things and took Carlos' axe. He was shit at working with it but it was his only great weapon as his knife had become dull. And he still remembered some of the tips that Max had shared with him during their training out of the blue.

He walked the whole day and thought that he wouldn't see anyone. But just as the sun set he saw a flicker of light in the distance. As he quickly and quietly approached the bonfire, holding the axe at ready, he noticed him. It was Max.

And Max noticed him too.

"I don't want to kill you", Charles said.

And Max answered, "I don't want to kill you either".

They were awkward at first but Max reached to his backpack and pulled three daggers. "They might suit you better then me. I have no idea what to do with them".

Charles took the gift and decided to give Carlos' axe away in return.

They didn't sleep at night, not really trusting each other yet, and talked. And appeared that they had a lot in common.

Sebastian saw all of this.

He just hoped that it wouldn't end up terrible. And that he wouldn't need to mourn another friend.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Home Again

Does anyone even read Hunger Games fanfics anymore?? I don't know, and I don't really care! I recently reread the series to get out of a reading slump, and now I'm hyperfixating again so... you guys get this which will probably turn into a multipart series because I FEEL LIKE IT, OKAY? Tl;dr: I'll do what I want.

Johanna Mason x fem!reader Warnings: Massive HUGE warnings for violence, blood, murder, etc., but also an especially HUGE warning for sexual assault, trauma in general, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything) Word count: 2.5k

Summary: You're freshly home from winning the 73rd Hunger Games, and all you really want is for things to go back to normal for you and your brother. But now you're in the Victor's Village. And now Johanna Mason, who won the year before you, is your neighbor.

It’s not that you didn’t like the house in the Victor’s Village. It was objectively better than the cabin you and Leevee had lived in before. But at the cabin, you’d had neighbors. People who knew you, who looked after you and Leevee after the fever took your parents, even though you insisted you work in exchange for every loaf of bread, every mended pair of pants.

You took care of him as best you could, after your parents died. You dropped out of school and went to work in the lumber yards. Leevee went to school, of course, but his teachers didn’t teach him much of anything. There was something different about him, a bit off. Always had been, since he was born. The people in Seven called him slow, and maybe he was in some ways, but he was also kind and bighearted and quick to laugh and full of joy–traits hard-pressed to come by in a place like this. So everyone took to him and everyone looked out for him. They had a name for his affliction in the Capitol. But you didn’t like them naming something wrong with Leevee, as if what made him different was all there was to him. So you paid it no mind. To you, he was just your Leevee. Perfect just like he was.

It was hard to believe it'd only been three weeks since the Reaping. When your name had been called, you kept your eyes lasered in on the branches of a pine tree in the distance. You could hear Leevee calling your name from the crowd, confused about why you were on stage, and your heart felt like it was being pulled apart. But you would not cry. You wouldn’t let these Capitol people see you cry. It was not for them to see.

Your neighbor, Otta, a widow, had brought Leevee to see you before you had to leave. Only then did you let yourself cry and, even then, he hadn’t understood. He’d taken his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to your face, and you told him to listen to Otta and the neighbors. That you were going away and you might not be back for a while, but that you loved him very much. Listen to Otta, you said. Keep those listening ears on, young man. And then he was gone. Or, rather, you were.

Before the Games, you hadn’t fancied your chances at winning. Sure, you were strong and, at eighteen, one of the oldest tributes. But you were very small, barely five feet tall, lithe and wiry. You could handle a saw and an ax fairly well from your time in the lumber yard, but you couldn’t imagine sawing through someone. You couldn’t imagine killing someone at all. Even worse was the thought of Leevee watching you kill someone or watching you die. You hoped Otta would cover his eyes.

The arena was the only thing in your favor during the 73rd Hunger Games. A coastal ecosystem. Not rainforest, like parts of Seven, but tall, spindly pines that bent in the wind. It wasn’t exactly like home, but you were nothing if not comfortable around trees. Your saving grace in the Games turned out to be your size. The trees were impossible but all for the smallest of the tributes–you and the youngest–to climb. The first night you spent in one of those pines, you thought you might crash to your death from all the swaying, but once you acclimated, it was like the tree was rocking you. It would have been nice if not for the cannons in the air, if not for the constant terror.

You managed to find plants to eat, to catch fish in the small river that trickled into the artificial ocean. Your Games lasted six days, and you spent most of it in the trees.

That last night… You knew you’d have to kill him. The Career from One. But he was so big–a full foot and a half taller than you and stocky to boot–and vicious. You didn’t even have a real weapon, just some river rocks and a bit of your shirt you’d been using as a sling. But One–you didn’t even like to hear his name now, didn’t like to remember it–he’d found the superior weapon. You’d woken up to your tree shaking, to the tell-tale crackling and groaning of a trunk in distress. One had an ax, and the trees here were so spindly, it’d be a matter of minutes before it toppled, especially with your weight at the top. You tried to scramble down far enough that when the tree fell, you wouldn’t die from it, but you still had a long way to go when the trunk cracked.

It was the landing that did you in. You hit the ground so hard it knocked your breath out. Knocked your brain pretty good, too, based on how blurry everything was afterward. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, and that few seconds was all One needed. He was on top of you, and the weight of him made it even harder to catch your breath. You were faintly aware of your body fighting back, but it was like fighting back against a mountain. You screamed when he stabbed long hunting knives into either of your forearms, all the way through, pinning you to the ground, and almost passed out from the pain. This was it. This was how you'd die. You’d like to say you thought of Leevee, but all you thought of was how scared you were.

But… he wasn’t killing you. He wasn’t getting another weapon. He was… undressing? And suddenly you remembered that there were things worse than death. You screamed and screamed until your throat gave out. You didn’t care who saw you cry now, couldn’t have stopped the tears if you’d wanted to. People didn’t do this in the Games. They murdered each other. They hurt each other. They tore one another to bits. But they didn’t do this. Surely, the Capitol wouldn’t let this happen, wouldn’t let this air on TV. There was a line, surely. But as soon as you thought it, the hope left your body deflated and empty except for the man–the boy, mere months older than you–grunting above you. There was no line. Not where the Capitol was involved.

But somewhere in your pain-addled brain, you realized that he was… occupied, which meant he wasn’t keeping a close enough eye on his weapons. You screamed as you wrenched one of your arms out of the ground and pulled the knife from your other wrist. There was a moment, right at the last second, where he looked up and understood what you were doing, but it was too late by then. The last thing you remembered from the arena was plunging the knife into his neck.

When they made you watch the replay of your “victory,” you’d hardly recognized yourself. Covered in blood, lips curled up in a snarl, as if you were an animal. You hadn’t stopped at his neck. You’d stabbed him over and over and over. You’d stabbed his genitals so many times there was nothing left but a mangled, bloody mess. And then you’d passed out.

And, to be frank, you could never bring yourself to feel any remorse over it. For the others you’d killed, the ones who’d happened by your perch over the river, and died quickly from a stone to the temple–you felt awful. It tore you apart. But One? For what he had done to you, he deserved every moment of his gruesome, painful death.

Now that you were back in Seven, back with Leevee, and moved into the Victor’s Village, you knew that it would never be the same. Not with the people that knew you before. Everyone looked at you like a wounded animal, like someone to be pitied. The assault had traumatized the entire nation. Even the Capitol viewers had so disliked the “assault narrative,” that the Games Committee had put forth a blanket statement that, in the future, sexual violence would be met with a swift and immediate death. One of your old neighbors told you that you should feel proud that you made a difference in the future games, protecting future tributes. You’d gone home and vomited, as you did every night after you woke up screaming, sweating, feeling the weight of One on top of you.

Your solace these days was Leevee. You were struggling to get used to the isolation of the Victor’s Village, even though your tendency now was to isolate yourself anyway. He was so happy to have you back. He didn’t really understand where you’d gone. Otta and the others had told him you were “camping,” and that’s where you were when he saw you on the screens.

You didn’t need to work in the lumber yard anymore, so you spent long days with Leevee. Now that you had time, you were teaching him things that the instructors at school didn’t bother with, like how to read. And you’d left school so early to take care of him that you had learning to do, too. There wasn’t much of a library to speak of, in Seven, but oddly enough your house at the Victor’s Village had come stocked with books, and you were making your way through all of them.

Your favorite part of the day was your afternoon walk with Leevee. Long and leisurely. You spent a lot of time at the fountain in the center of the Victor’s houses. You gave him stones to throw in and fished them out, barefoot in the water. You had the fountain and the Village pretty much to yourself. Just Blight, who kept to himself, and Johanna, who’d won two years ago. You had known Johanna a little, at school, but you'd never spoken much, just in passing. You’d dropped out so early, there hadn’t been much time for friends.

Johanna seemed to have built some kind of improvised woodshop outside of her house, and she was out there quite a bit, but you never approached her. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who took kindly to strangers, especially since her Games, two years before yours. She’d been belligerent and hostile in the Capitol and, in retaliation, they’d killed her family. Officially, of course, they’d died of the fever. Unofficially, Snow’s roses, left on each of their deathbeds for Johanna to find when she’d returned from a day in the forest, were warning enough.

But you noticed her watching you on your walks with Leevee, when you played with him at the fountain. Felt her eyes on you and tried to ignore them. They were like everyone else’s–full of pity. And you were so tired of being pitied. Yes, it had been awful. Yes, there were nights that you jerked awake and wished One had just killed you instead of leaving you like this. But then who would Leevee have? He needed you.

One day, when you and Leevee walked past Johanna's house on the way to the fountain, you found her sitting on her porch steps, staring as usual. Her eyes were hard and direct, and you found it hard to meet them. You were tired of this. So tired.

“Leevee, go ahead to the fountain, young man. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Leevee happily ran ahead, and you whipped your head around to face Johanna, pulling yourself into as imposing a figure as you could manage in your tiny frame. Which, given that you had stabbed a man to death, was maybe more than you could hope for otherwise. 

You glared at her, finally meeting her cool eyes. “Stop looking at me like that,” you spat, your voice steady and sharp.

Johanna looked almost… amused? She stood and walked toward you, smirking. “Like what, half-pint?”

You hadn’t really expected her to engage with you at all, and you were losing confidence quickly. Johanna was taller than you, more confident than you, cooler than you, tougher than you, prettier than you. You stopped yourself. Prettier? Who cares about prettier?!

“Like you feel sorry for me! Look at me like an animal or a fucking murderer, I don’t care. Just…” You deflated slightly, shifting your eyes to the ground. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Johanna was quiet for a moment, as if she was sizing you up. You wished you could tell what she was thinking. You wanted Johanna to like you or at least tolerate you but, then, did Johanna actually like anybody?

“Okay,” she said and shrugged. You couldn’t quite believe it. Would it really be that easy? “I’ll look at you like you are.”

“Like I am?”

“Mmhm.”

You waited for her to elaborate, but she never did, instead turning and walking back toward her porch. You shook your head and went to meet Leevee by the fountain. You hoped you hadn’t fucked it up. Was this Johanna’s version of friendly? You weren’t really sure. You got the feeling you’d know if she didn’t like you.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You stopped and looked behind you to find Johanna trotting up, holding something in her hands. She handed you the object–a small sailboat carved out of wood. You looked at the boat–so smooth, so beautifully crafted–and then at Johanna, confused.

“For your brother,” she explained. “To use in the fountain. It’s made of cedar, so it’ll float.”

You were stunned speechless, watching Johanna, who kept her eyes on some fixed point in the distance and wrung her hands as if she were… nervous? Johanna, nervous? And suddenly, she didn’t seem so intimidating to you, this girl who’d orchestrated a bloodbath to win the Games. Who’d been so filled with rage and hurt by the part she’d been forced to play, only to have everyone she loved taken from her. She wasn’t scary at all, you realized. Not really. She was like you. She was a scared, angry girl who’d done what she had to do to survive.

“Anyway,” she said, eager for the moment to end. “See you never, shortstuff.” She hurried back toward her house, but you yelled after her.

“Hey, Johanna! You could go on a walk with us sometime. You know, if you wanted.”

“Why would I want to hang out with you!?” she called without turning back.

You grinned. So Johanna might take a little work. That was okay. You had time. You had nothing but time now.

You approached Leevee, who was finding nearby sticks to throw in the fountain.

“Hey, young man,” you said, beckoning him over. “Look at this! Johanna made it for you!”

And, oh, you wished she could have seen his eyes light up. You had a hunch that she was still watching, from her window or her woodshop or wherever she’d planted herself. Leevee could melt anyone’s heart, even yours. Maybe even hers.

[coryosmin]

Confessions - Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW Content MDNI, Talks of Trauma from Hunger Games, Talks of Prostitution, emotional sex, vaginal fingering, p in v, i love yous during sex, friends with benefits, sex with feelings, unprotected sex

please guys this is 3,000 words 😭😭😭

based off of an ask to do finnick x shy reader and one where reader admits her feelings for Finnick because her crush on him is so obvious (i definitely did not make the crush part obvious but pls enjoy it nevertheless)

It all started when you had won your Hunger Games. You were the victor of the 69th Hunger Games from District 4. You had grown close to Finnick as he was your mentor during your time as a tribute. And the night before the Games, you had confided in him with all of your fears, all of your weepiness, your goodbyes.

So when you won your games, it was more than a shock to you. You were in a daze. You didn’t comprehend that you won right away. When you had gotten picked up by the hovercraft, you didn’t react. When Finnick greeted you with a bone-crushing hug, you thought it was nothing more than your imagination. Nothing felt real. Not after murdering all of those innocent children simply as a means of survival. Your victory interview passed like a blur. You didn’t even realize when President Snow had gifted you the crown. You didn’t even realize how you had gotten on to the train back home.

You had been in this daze until you arrived back in District Four and heard the ocean for the first time in two weeks. You had been moved to a house in Victor’s Village without your family. Being eighteen years old, you didn’t need to rely on them any longer. So, in your daze, when you saw the ocean for the first time, it hit you. Everything hit you all at once. You were lucky that it had been only Finnick who guided you to your home.

You immediately began to cry, shaking as you understood what all happened. You had killed ten of the twenty-three other tributes which is more than what previous Victors had. You went through hell and back, so much emotional and physical turmoil, and now the repercussions of it all were finally catching up to you. And Finnick? He hugged you immediately, rubbing your bath soothingly as he held you tight, squeezing you to ground you.

The next six months that had followed was all about Finnick being there for you. He made sure you ate, he helped you find a hobby to help you process everything, he was there for you through all of it. And when your victory tour had arrived, you were almost yourself again.

That was until you had spoken to President Snow and everything you had any hopes for came crashing down. To become the Capitol’s Black Bird, he said. You were so shy and humble, you’re attractive too. President Snow thought you were desirable. And therefore, you must become an asset to the Capitol or he will kill everyone you love.

And you couldn’t have that.

That night when you had gotten back from your victory party, Finnick had noticed something was off about you and asked if you had spoken to President Snow. To which you began to cry. You were eighteen years old when you did your games, now being nineteen years old. You hadn’t had sex yet let alone your first kiss. A week later when the news had finally sunk in and you came to terms with it back in District 4, you lost your virginity to Finnick. He suggested the idea saying “I know what it’s like to have that choice taken away from you. You can say no of course but if you’d like, I am here.” So you shyly said yes. It was magical.

And friends with benefits situations were made. Whenever you guys had gone to the Capitol to entertain the Capitol citizens, you both would end up going at the same time, attending the same events. And when you’d get back to the penthouse, you both sought comfort in each other.

Three years later, at the 72nd Hunger Games, you and Finnick were mentors like you have been in the past three years. You both had just gotten back to the District Four Tribute suite with your fellow tributes from the tribute interviews. Everyone had made their ways to their bedrooms, knowing tomorrow would be the beginning of the Games. You unfortunately knew what that meant. Sponsors in the Capitol tend to place bets on their favorite tribute. However, in order for your tributes to get sponsors, you practically have to whore yourself out. It was disgusting but unfortunately something you were used to.

You felt saddened by the thought, knowing tomorrow your tributes will be in the arena and rather than actively helping them, you’ll be getting fucked by some random Capitol stranger in hopes they’ll sponsor your tributes. It was disgusting.

You had gotten yourself showered and into pajamas, wanting to wash off all of the makeup you were wearing. And when you were finished, you had gone to Finnick’s room. He understood how you felt as he currently has to go through the same thing, even doing it before you became a mentor. He likely did it when you were in your own games. You sighed before knocking on Finnick’s door.

A few minutes later, Finnick answered the door in just a towel wrapped around his torso. He gave a small smile before letting you into the room, closing the door behind you. “Hello,” He greeted, walking back into his bathroom.

“Hi,” Came the soft tone of your voice. Your cheeks were slightly red at the sight of Finnick. You’ve seen one another naked so many times and yet he never failed to make you blush. “I just didn’t feel like being alone, i-if that’s okay.” You said as you sat down on the bed.

Finnick walked back out of the bathroom in a pair of underwear, taking a seat next to you on the bed. “Of course that’s okay,” He replied, giving a soft smile. “Anything on your mind?”

You gave a small and sad smile. “Just what tomorrow brings.”

Finnick nodded in understanding, reaching an arm out to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “It’s going to be tough. It always is.” He said, sighing. He pressed a kiss to your forehead which definitely made your heart flutter more than it should.

You didn’t reply, just allowing yourself that moment to be held by Finnick. You’d never admit it out loud, it would be too embarrassing, but you loved just being in his presence. You loved the feeling he gave you when you were with him. How he always listened to what you had to say, how he never failed to comfort you, just like you never failed to comfort him, he’s helped you through so much. And you couldn’t help the feelings you had for him. But with your current positions, a relationship would not be possible. And it was the sad truth.

You and Finnick sat there in silence for a few minutes until he placed his pointer finger and thumb under your chin, lifting your head up. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?” He murmured softly, his green eyes looking into your beautiful [color] one’s.

You simply nodded your head. And Finnick gently placed his lips on yours. His kisses were always so soft and gentle, like you were the most delicate thing in the world. It warms your heart. You kissed him back just as gently, your eyes closing naturally. Soon the kiss began to get more heated, his tongue exploring your mouth as you allowed it to. And eventually, Finnick’s hand was at the hem of your shirt. He pulled away briefly. “May I?” He asked breathlessly, asking for your permission to take your shirt off.

God he was perfect. You shyly nodded your head, biting your lip as you did so. Finnick gave a small smile as he lifted your shirt up, throwing it onto the floor. You weren’t wearing a bra underneath so your breasts were just exposed. “Can I touch you?” His voice held the same breathless tone as he asked.

“Yes.” Your voice was so soft and quiet.

Finnick leaned in to kiss you again, bringing his hands to grip your shoulders briefly before cupping your boobs. He kneaded the flesh, massaging them gently in his hand. You let out a small whimper into Finnick’s mouth as he began to play with your nipple while his hand played with the other one. You ran your hand through his hair, careful to not tug on it. Finnick pushed you down gently, laying you on the mattress. His mouth never leaving your boob as he leans on you.

He moves his mouth to your other breast, doing the same with it as he done previously so. You bit your lip to avoid moans escaping your mouth. You’ve been sleeping with him for so long and yet, you were still too shy to make noise for him. Finnick trailed his hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your pants. His green eyes look up at yours, as if asking for permission. And you nod your head in confirmation. He sneaks a hand into your pajama pants, realizing you weren’t wearing panties. “Going commando tonight, huh?” He teased against your skin.

You blushed. “Uh…” You bit your lip. Finnick simply chuckled as he began to kiss your chest and abdomen. His fingers trailed your slit, causing you to gasp as he spread your wetness around.

“You’re always so wet for me,” He murmured, kissing right above your naval. His thumb began to toy at your clit, rubbing it in sweet and slow circles. You continued to bite your lip as you inhaled sharply. He slowly eased a finger inside of you, causing you to whimper as he continued to rub your clit with his thumb. He immediately curled his finger, causing you to actually moan. You covered your mouth with your hand, embarrassed. “Don’t hide your moans from me, darling. I want to know that you feel good,” Finnick said reassuringly.

You were still quite shy, being embarrassed of making noise. Finnick moved his thumb off of your clit to give him better access to finger you. His finger moved slowly inside of you, hitting your g-spot so nicely. You closed your eyes as you relished in the pleasure. And after a few moments he added another finger and then a third. And you couldn’t help the small moans escaping your mouth as he fingered you. You felt the familiar clench in your abdomen as your orgasm approached, causing you to arch your back. “Cum for me darling, you’re doing so good,” Finnick praised, pressing a kiss on to your stomach.

When your thighs clamped shut, your walls contracting on his fingers and your body began to quiver as your orgasm overtook you, Finnick was praising you, telling you how beautiful you were and how lovely you felt around his fingers. It was actually quite magical. And when you came down from your high, you were breathless and couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you as you looked at Finnick. His eyes were full of such…adoration and there was a softness to them. He looked almost as though he were in love. But you quickly pushed that thought away.

“Do you want to continue or are you done for the night?” Finnick asked softly, taking his hand out of your pants.

You bit your lip before replying. “Need you, Finnick.”

And with that, Finnick grinned. He stood up from the bed, standing at the end. He reached forward to grab the waistline of your pajama pants, pulling them off of your body as gently as possible before throwing them to the other side of his room. He took off his own boxers, revealing his cock to the cool air.

He crawled back on to the bed, hovering over you as you opened your legs to him. He held himself up by his arms. “You’re sure you want this, darling?” He asked you softly, looking into your beautiful eyes.

“Yes.” You nodded your head, reaching up to caress his cheek. Finnick kissed your wrist as he reached an arm in between the two of you, guiding his cock to your pussy. He spread your wetness around with his cock before lining up with your entrance. He leaned down to kiss you as he slowly eased himself into you.

You moaned into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Finnick’s neck. And as he entered you all the way, he pulled away slightly, leaning his forehead against yours. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He whispered, already breathless. You looked into his eyes, your heart fluttering in your chest. He gave you a few moments to adjust before he slowly began moving inside of you.

Finnick let out a soft moan as he thrusted slowly, leaning down to bury his face in your neck. Your other arm wrapped around Finnick’s shoulder as you moaned softly in his ear. The closeness to Finnick, the feeling of him inside of you, making you feel so good. You closed your eyes in pleasure as he fucked you slowly. It felt different than all the times you guys have had sex. In fact, it felt very similarly to when you had lost your virginity to him.

Finnick began to move a little bit faster, still maintaining a slow pace as he relished in the pleasure of your wet cunt on his cock. “You feel so good, baby.” He murmured, moving his face to look you in the eyes.

You looked up at him as he continued to thrust into you. Your cheeks were red, your hair was sprawled out on the pillow. You looked absolutely beautiful to Finnick. And he looked so handsome as well. His cheeks were dusted red, his eyes were just so comforting and warm as you looked up at him. He always made you feel so good and just so wonderful. And you couldn’t help it when you moaned out “I love you,” in such a soft tone.

Finnick froze, stopping his movements as he heard you. “W-what did you say?” he stuttered as his heart fluttered in his chest.

Your eyes widened as you realized what you had said. “I-uh” Your heart was beating fast, suddenly worried about ruining this moment and even your friendship with Finnick. But as you looked up into his green eyes, you could see a flicker of hope. “I-I said I love you.” You whispered.

And suddenly Finnick whines, thrusting into you faster. “Fuck. I love you so much, baby,” He says, leaning down to kiss you. You whine and moan, arching your back as he fucks you so deeply. Finnick grabs your hand with his, intertwining your fingers as he holds them near your head. He pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavily with his forehead on yours. “I love you,” He murmurs.

You look up at him so prettily, your eyes glistening with tears of pleasure and also of emotion. “I love you,” you murmured back, breathing just as heavily as he was.

Finnick’s pace quickened as he fucked into you hard. It was all so passionate and romantic as emotions were high. Your second orgasm of the night was approaching as you felt that pressure in your lower abdomen. Finnick must’ve been getting close too as he moaned, repeating the words “I love you” over and over again as he kisses your neck.

And after a few more thrusts, you’re cumming on his cock, your walls clenching around his member so tightly. Your fingers grasped his as your eyes closed in pleasure and you’re moaning. Shortly after, Finnick is cumming deep inside of you, burying his face in your shoulder, with a loud moan.

You both stayed like that for awhile, coming down from your orgasms as you stayed close to one another. And after a few minutes, Finnick pulled out of you, causing you to whine, but he stayed on top of you. He held himself up to look into your eyes. “Did you really mean it?” He asked, his tone holding a level of vulnerability to it.

You looked up at him and nodded your head. “I’ve loved you since I came out of the arena.” You murmured.

And Finnick couldn’t help it when his eyes began to water. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly to push away the tears before looking back at you. He cleared his throat. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N.” He said, removing his hand from yours to run it through your hair before caressing your face. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you so very much, Finnick.” You said, reaching your hand up to his face as well.

And thus began your relationship with Finnick. You guys stayed relatively the same but now with your feelings out in the open, you could enjoy more romantic evenings together in District Four. And every time either of you had to go to the Capitol, the other was always there to comfort them. You guys loved each other more than anything in the world.

Which is why it made it hard when you were both chosen for the 75th Annual Hunger Games.

END.

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.1k

Please bear in mind that this is my first fanfic. It will be multiple chapters but release dates are uncertain as I am fairly busy and also procrastination is my best friend. I am open to constructive criticism if you have any. Thanks and enjoy!

Prologue:

The moment President Snow said those words I froze. I couldn’t breathe. Because I could be going back in. Back into the arena. My breath came in short gasps and I leaned against the wall. When I finally gathered the courage to go out the others were already there, Annie, Finnick and Mags. Huddled together in the centre of victor's village, Annie’s face red with tears, Mags opening and closing her mouth in what could only be anger. And Finnick holding himself together, just barely but managing it, holding Annie tightly in his arms as if she was the only thing stopping him from breaking. 

I stood on the porch, leaning against the wooden frame of my house, arms crossing my body. None of them noticed me, I was invisible to them. I was the victor they didn't need, I was just a pretty thing for the capitol to put on display every night. Most of the time I stayed away from victor's village and none of them ever made any attempt to get to know me, I guess I just faded into the background for them. It's not really their fault, they didn't expect me to survive my games, no one did, I was just another tiny thirteen year old in the 68th Hunger Games, no allies, no weapons, no food and no hope. Just a pair of worn ballet shoes and a small bag I had nicked to keep them in. I would have died in the bloodbath had a tribute from 10 not stepped in front of an axe meant for me. I remember the blood splattering across my face as he fell onto me, I had pushed him off, grabbed his bag and ran into the forest. 

I barely managed to survive, the frozen wasteland was unforgiving, animals were scarce but there had at least been enough water. At the end of the first day there had been eight cannons, the second three, the third five, the fourth two, the fifth another two. There were four of us left, the others all career tributes who had plentiful supplies and an alliance. I was able to hide from them for five more days before they had found me. Their leader, Arion from district 2, had shot me in the arm as I tried to get away, I fell and my blood painted the crystal white snow red. They weren't smart now that I think about it, they wanted to play with me; that was their mistake. I killed the girl first, hit her over the head with my ballet shoes, the hard box disorienting her long enough for me to slit her throat with her own knife, the cannon sounded and I killed her district partner as well, piercing his heart with the same knife. That had only left Arion.

I avoided him for a few days but he found me again, probably following the trail of blood I left behind. Except this time I was ready for him. I struck first, flinging my shoes through the air, hitting him on the temple, a trickle of blood falling from the cut formed. He reacted quicker than I expected, swinging his sword wildly, but I was small and fast- like a little bird my mother always said- I threw the knife in a practised motion, letting go of the handle, spinning it slightly, my hand following the line as it hit him dead centre in the chest. He had stared at me. In shock and disbelief that I'd been able to best him. The final cannon went off and I had won. I was the victor of the 68th annual Hunger Games.

For a while it was okay, chauffeured around, fussed over and doted on by my stylists, I was living the dream of every child. But it got old, I became used to people cooing over me, patting my hair, asking me questions. And then I discovered that even if you get out of the arena, you never truly win, you always have to give back something of yourself, a repayment of sorts. You get to live and we get you was how it sounded when President Snow made me the offer. Except it wasn't an offer, it was an order; that's how I found myself as a Capitol slave at the age of fourteen, performing night and day for the rich, barely getting a second's rest. Dancing until my toes bled through my shoes, smearing red across the delicate satin. Singing until my throat was raw and I coughed up the same red my shoes now were. 

The only person who ever offered me some comfort was Finnick. About a month after my games had ended I started having nightmares, I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he would hear me and come over to make sure I was okay. We formed a kind of friendship, me thirteen and traumatised, him seventeen and still carrying on. He would fall asleep watching over me, reassuring me that I was okay, I got out. We fell into a routine and by the time I was fifteen the nightmares were a rare occurrence. Then Annie won and it all changed. She became the priority for him, the priority for everyone, she had been broken in the arena and her mind never seemed to fully return to her. I thought he would come back to me, but as I woke up screaming one night and there was nobody there to hold me while I cried, as another scream pierced the air; a door slammed open and I saw Finnick running across to Annie's house, I knew I had lost him. I had lost the one person who I had loved and who truly seemed to care about me. 

I watched them grow closer to each other. He built her up again brick by brick, unknowingly tearing me apart again piece by piece until I was nothing but an empty shell. He stopped her nightmares, whispering soothing words to her as I tossed and turned, eventually I would wake up, sweating and screaming, eyes wide and frantic as I clutched the knife I kept by my bedside. But no one ever came. I couldn’t blame Annie, she was the kindest person I knew and it wasn't her fault Finnick loved her, it wasn't her fault he didn't love me. 

So I dealt with it. I swallowed the pain that welled up in me and buried every thought I had ever had about him deep in my memory, never to see the light of day again. And it worked, I got on with life, going about my daily routine, dancing, singing, eating, sleeping, then doing it all again. I attended parties in the Capitol, laughing and smiling at people, agreeing with their every word. I wasn't happy, but I didn't need to be, I just needed to be alive.

So that was how I found myself after the announcement of the Quarter Quell, watching Mags, Annie and Finnick from the sidelines. My face blank as they comforted each other, not sparing me a second glance. They had all but forgotten I existed. I waited for them to go inside before I ran out of the large gates separating us from the rest of District 4. I ran along the cliffs, wind whipping my hair into a tangled mess. I reached the edge and stood still, staring out at the roiling ocean, grey waves crashing against the shoreline, foam spraying the cliff face. My heart was pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of the sea. The air grew cold around me as my chest constricted and I gasped for breath. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. 

Tears poured down my face as I sank to my knees and cried. Guttural sobs tearing from my throat, my chest heaving with each one as I clutched the grass beneath me. Fingers digging into the wet soil, clenching and unclenching in time with the beating of my heart as I tried to ground myself. Gradually, my heart slowed and I pulled my hands out of the ground. I breathed shakily, dirt trapped under my nails as I scratched at the skin on my wrist. I lifted it up so I could see the mark laying there. Stark black against pale skin. Forever inked on my body. A trident and a flower, interwoven with each other.  

It was a soulmark. It appeared when I turned 17, as they did for every other person. The person with the same mark is my soulmate, they could be anyone. But I already know who it is even if he doesn't. I saw it one night and then when I got mine I knew immediately but by that point it was already too late. He was already in love with Annie. I stared at it, it wasn't very noticeable, easy to hide from people; pretty as well I suppose, then again they say it's the most beautiful things that are the most dangerous. And this mark, this tiny little mark held the power to destroy me if the wrong person so much as caught a glance of it. I let out a soft laugh, how pointless it all seemed now that everything I had could be taken from me again. I had worked so hard to build up this facade, pretending everything was fine and with a few words it had all come crashing down. 

I shook my head and stood up, giving a last look to the sea as I turned and walked back the way I had come. People talking about the announcement anywhere I pass, I paid them no mind, holding my head high as my feet hit the cobblestones with sharp thwacks. 

“Who do you think will be reaped?”

“It's such a shame really.”

“We only have three victors anyway.”

I ignored them all, they pretended I didn't exist and I'd do the same for them, it's not as if they cared. I finally reached the small gathering of houses the victors lived in and stood outside the gate. The metal tarnished from years of standing in the elements, wooden stakes seeming to wilt under my heavy gaze. I reached out a shaky hand and pushed the metal forwards, opening it only slightly so I could slip in without making the usual clanging sound. I slowly walked towards the fountain in the centre of the square and sat down on the edge, trailing my fingers in the water as my gaze focused on the centrepiece. A mermaid, carved from marble, her hair flowing in the current, tail curving up to the sky, each scale distinguishable. A steely expression was painted on her face, that of a commander, a leader. An odd message from the Capitol, to show the mermaid as being powerful, to show us as powerful, and yet hidden in the water below the statue, in the basin of the fountain, laid a golden net. A message that we had won, but we would always be theirs and we could never escape. 

My hand ran through my hair as I hummed quietly to myself, my other hand drifting along the water as I sat cross legged on the edge of the fountain. My eyes wandered across to Mags’ house where they had all decided to go. They were talking amongst themselves, Mags placing a reassuring hand on Finnick's shoulder and him muttering calming words to Annie. I felt sick, all the feelings I had locked away bubbled back to the surface because why could it not be me? Why was it her? What had I done wrong? My eyes watered slightly as I tried to hold back tears at the sight of them being so sickeningly perfect for one another. Not that it should've been me in his arms but it would be nice to know someone cared enough to check up on me, help me through the hard moments in life. Once upon a time I had thought he was that person and look where that got me, in deeper pain than I had been before. 

I sighed deeply, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, and started up the steps to my house, the front porch, a few small plants in ornate pots, wisteria growing up the trellis, light purple blooms adding a little something to the otherwise grey picture. I took a last look at them across the square, smiles on their faces as if they had forgotten the news we received earlier. I guess that's what happens when you have people you can talk to, who understand and try to help. I twisted the doorknob, stepping inside, closing the door behind me, leaning against it for support. I didn't notice the eyes that watched me. Or maybe I just didn't want to. 

[murdrdocs]

ugh god that little beach piece u just wrote for the baby odair was so good and cute but now i’m wondering if finnick has an extremely complex web of who to call if he needs babysitting….. tier lists upon tier lists that shift depending on the context/who’s available/what age they are….

i think peeta and katniss would be upper 1/3 all rounders due to them not being menaces with kids. gale isn’t allowed in the same district as the babies tho. prim is too young he would think but def a welcomed cousin(?) if katniss is chosen for auntie duty

he’s so biased for his district 4 victor friends and his own family (barring his partner cause that’s not babysitting in that case that’s just their baby)

maybe beetee n wiress as a duo? i also want to suggest glimmer n cashmere as a surpisingly high option…. the kids probably think enobaria looks cool but finnick would pass out if her teeth were near his kids sadly

the funny thing is, he has actual lists. like there's a binder with full tier lists and profiles and pros and cons. finnick is so serious about babysitting duty, and he rarely ever needs one. but there's times, instances where both his partner and him have something to do, so out comes the binder and he has glasses perched on his nose and a cup of tea and he gets to planning.

the top of the list is peeta, katniss, of course. peeta and katniss have two sweet kids of their own, peeta is responsible, the odair's love katniss. it's finnick's top choice often. but if it takes too much to get to twelve, there's a family in the victors village that finnick trusts. one of his fellow victors settled down, had three kids, and they're friends with the odair's so he'll just walk his kids down there and drop them off. also, mags is little odair's grandmother so she's totally allowed to babysit. the first option, actually, but finnick doesn't like to bother her so he goes the mellark-everdeen family.

gale isn't even considered. finnick doesn't trust him. just a vibe. and prim is entirely too young. not that finnick doesn't trust her, he just thinks she would get overwhelmed by his kids hyper attitude and constant needs.

then he has the "dire situation" category. other tributes from other districts that he would trust maybe. cashmere is high up there. finnick overheard her talking about how she wishes to have kids one day while he was in the capitol and he picked up a maternal vibe from her so she's an option. but enobaria is totally not there. at least, she wasn't. but the kids must've gotten ahold of the binder because one day finnick goes to check it, and scribbled in red crayon is 'enobra'.

[diiwata]

my district 4 masterpost!

to me, district 4 is a mix of se/east asian, lat-am, and even a bit of black influence. had a bit of help from @blackoutdays13, creds to her too <3

let's dive in (joke intended). more below the cut!

CULTURAL TIDBITS

i like to think dance is an important part of the d4 culture. many artists that contribute to hip-hop culture originate from california, especially dances :) not to mention cultural latam dances, the dragon dance from china, and maybe even tinikling (projecting so hard rn)! movement is how they get through the day.

their diet may consist of mostly seafood, but grains are also a staple. rice, bread, noodles, and tortillas are often paired with meats and vegetables to make meals more fulfilling. of course, they aren't the same to the grains we produce now, but it's close enough to what they are able to get their hands on.

as stereotypical it is to asian culture, i like to think education holds some importance there, too. it doesn't just involve hitting the books, but also street smarts and survival skills. even if you're working, there's some downtime saved for learning/passing on knowledge from the older to younger generation.

there is a large sense of community in the districts. it's a staple in asian culture to identify with your community. your achievements and your failures are not just yours, but is a reflection of the people you identify with. this is touched more on my asian d4/d7 analysis.

since california legalized this, they definitely had... recreational uses for certain substances. you know. mary jane, the 🍃. it's a whole thing in the district and a "hidden gem". it's more popular with the lower class, but the capitol thinks it's used by the best of the best. they don't have to know, though ;)

LOCATIONS

their marketplace is concentrated in the docks! similar to the piers of santa monica and san francisco, there's a lot of street vendors, kiosks, and street performers.

the further away you are from the shore, the more impoverished you are. the people of the "inner lands" probably process the food for safer consumption, or travel to the shore to find work (hence the kiosks and such). grains could also be grown in the inner lands, which is how they're able to supply the district with rice and such w/o having to rely on d9 imports too much.

a train or trolley system helps large capacities of people travel to and fro their work. the trolley might be a bit more for tourists, though.

lots of cliffs. lots of mountains. houses on cliffs and mountains are seen as a privilege. I imagine the victor's village is somewhere here!

the houses in the victor's village look like italianate homes in san francisco (1). houses by richer folks look like malibu/southern californian beach houses (2). inner lands houses are either the older, fenced homes or apartment units (3)!

RELIGION

(i read these in some fics!!) considering that latinos are also big in california, and that a lot of asians share a catholic faith in the state, i could see them using rosaries or crosses. not because of a belief in it, but as an equivalent of a good luck charm.

to add onto this ^ they celebrate ash wednesday, but with their own twist. the ash on their foreheads is instead a reminder of who they lost.

speaking of holidays, the festival that they celebrate during the victory tour months probably closely mimics lunar new year! of course, they don't follow the lunar calendar, but their traditions and rituals to celebrate that day look awfully similar. red envelopes could be passed around, but I highly doubt that there's much in there if you're from the inner lands.

dia de los muertos is celebrated too! possibly during the victory tour months, too. imagine a festival that's just spilling with the golds and reds of lunar new year and the vibrant colors associated with dia de los muertos!

NATURAL DISASTERS

earthquakes. wildfires. droughts. those are the holy trinity of natural disasters in d4. protocols for all three are drilled into the minds of d4 citizens since youth.

thanks to the indigenous practice of controlled fires that persisted during the building of panem, they are often able maintain these wildfires. but sometimes, the wildfires do get out of control and turn the sky orange.

their structures are relatively stable to help accommodate for the earthquakes, but of course, damage will be done especially during a huge one that occurs in california every few centuries.

in my finnick/oc fic, "the big one" occurs before the 65th games. after finnick's victory, they paid more attention to d4.

droughts are not to be taken lightly in d4, especially in the inner lands. don't shower for more than five minutes. turn off the faucet while brushing your teeth. never keep the sink running. fix leaking faucets whenever you can b/c every drop counts.

a water limit is imposed on them. most of the water goes directly to the upper class and the capitol resorts by the coast.

CLASS DIVISIONS

the inner lands' lower class, the coast's merchants, the officials, and the victors are all classes in district four. the lower class harbors some resentment towards the upper class, and it's the other way around, too.

since most of the water travels to the upper class, that's where the main resentment lies. everything is for tourism and to maintain appearances.

because of this maintenance and carefully curated appearance, I can see the capitol citizens romanticizing d4 to an extreme degree. with finnick as the "face" of the district, it only worsens. they think of d4 as beaches, tropical fruits, and a sunny paradise. but once they take the train that passes through the rural lands and the poorer urban areas with the fog limiting their view, they realize that district 4 isn't all what they shaped it up to be.

I also imagine the upper class trying to dismiss the lower class because they don't look appealing enough to the capitol. they ARE a career district, after all. this could tie into the model minority myth, which I discuss in this post using hannah's ask, as well as the d4/d7 hc I linked previously. to summarize, reputation is ingrained in asian cultures. this need for a good rep could bring d4 to try their hardest to appeal to the model minority myth and keep up with the other career districts.

all in all, d4 is my little try-hard district rich with culture, mary jane, and the impending doom of "the big one". I love it with all my heart. if you have anything to add, or things you want me to touch up on, feel free to drop an ask or say something in your rb!

stream "california love" by 2pac 🙏🏽

[heliads]

I recently re-read the hunger games trilogy, so can you write a katniss fic with a fem!reader being secretly haymitch's daughter?? nothing much, just the two of them spending time together, hunting or spending some quality time together, ignoring the capitol, the world and individual problems to enjoy the hours they have together

please let me write for thg i love this request

masterlist

It is a terrible thing to be a Victor. Most people only look surface level, choosing to focus on the gilded trappings and gaudy praise the Capitol heaps upon you. Beneath the facade, living with the memories of what you’ve done is far harder than finding a way to burn through all the money they give you for killing twenty-three other children while all the world watches on. The price of blood was always worse than the price of gold, anyway.

You’ve seen this once before already. The Capitol does its best to stay up to date on every little detail of their lovely Victors’ lives, but when Haymitch Abernathy had his first child, he did everything in his power to ensure that no one would ever find out. That infant would live in someone else’s home, kept out of sight of the cameras and the Arena alike, and she would grow up to be you.

It wasn’t the worst of lives. It kind of was. No one can pick their place in life when they first come into the world, obviously. Otherwise, we’d all be living up in the Capitol and no one would be down here, choking on coal dust, waiting for their bones to turn ash so their body can be burned to heat the homes of the rich and prosperous a million miles away from them.

Haymitch watched out for you as best he could. He sent your foster parents money when he remembered it, always a little out of schedule, a touch too much to cover up for the fact that he forgot the last time around. He started remembering as you got older, though. He stopped feeling ashamed of you and started feeling ashamed of himself.

You see him a lot, although the frequency of your meetings always picks up around the time of the Games. He needs it as a reminder that not everything about him always leads to death and ruin. Once in a blue moon, Haymitch Abernathy is responsible for something good. Something, someone, like you.

There’s a schedule to the Games, one that isn’t known or enforced by the Peacekeepers, and it goes like this:  first there is the before, and then there is the after. Prior to the start of the Hunger Games ceremonies, Haymitch will be over at your place. You’ll talk a lot. Both of you will do your best to keep the conversations light. Remember when you were a kid, crawling around all the time? How you used to laugh like crazy whenever it snowed?

Then he’ll get dragged off by the Capitol to go mentor two kids until they die, and then you reach the second phase of the schedule, the after. Haymitch will hole up in his estate in the Victor’s Village, the only occupied house there, the only living being around because he couldn’t save a single person other than himself, and you will find him because no one else will. It’s quiet most of the time. He doesn’t want to think about anything at all, and certainly not the additional two kids who placed their faith in him just for him to let them down again.

After a while, he’ll manage to claw his way out of it, and then you’ll have the better part of a year before the cycle repeats. You’ve had plenty of time to grow used to this pattern, and you’ve perfected it like a pastime. The right words to say get easier to remember when you say them every year. And now, as a reward for getting it right, you get to repeat the process with Katniss Everdeen.

You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Truth be told, it’s easier spending time with Katniss than anyone else, even right after her first Games when everything is bloody and terrible. You could see yourself doing this again next year, and the next one, and the next. You don’t think you would mind it. Not at all.

Perhaps that’s why Haymitch set this up in the first place. Maybe he knew it would be okay. Or maybe he was just so ridiculously pleased that he managed to save not one tribute but two that he was only thinking about prolonging Katniss’ survival. The reasons don’t always matter. What happened, happened, and secretly you’re glad of it now.

Katniss had been locked in a death spiral of nightmares and bad memories. It soon became clear that she would lose herself to it if someone didn’t intervene, so someone did. Haymitch took Katniss by the shoulders, shook her a little and told her to get it together, and pointed her to you. You knew what it was like to befriend someone who wanted to shut out the world, who couldn’t sleep without nightmares and couldn’t talk without thinking that someone was watching. You could understand Katniss better than anyone, and Haymitch knew it. Daughters are such wonderful pawns to play, aren’t they?

Again, a cruel way to put it, but this is the truth nonetheless. It’s what Katniss suspected the first time you visited her house, and the second, but after a couple of weeks passed and it grew obvious that you weren’t giving up on her without a fight, she begrudgingly let you in. The two of you had been observing each other for years now, the consequence of there only being so many girls your age in a small town in District Twelve, but things accelerated rapidly after the Games.

You’ll never be entirely certain why. Katniss doesn’t let people in, and she threw up her walls tenfold after she partook in the Hunger Games, unable to discern if someone was talking to her because they wanted to or if they wanted to kill her. She even started growing distant from Gale, because Gale didn’t understand her completely, not anymore. Not like you did.

Over the course of the summer, Katniss’ icy demeanor started to melt. She is hesitant and cautious, but she still smiles at your offhand jokes, always a little surprised, like she can’t believe she’s having this good of a time either. The two of you start meeting up in the forest surrounding District Twelve where no one can see you, where it’s just the two of you and the blissful sunlight waving through endless flurries of leaves above your heads.

And, not according to plan, you realize that you’re starting to fall for her. Katniss is like no one you’ve ever met before, even your dad. You knew how to operate around Haymitch, but Katniss doesn’t require an assembly guide or how-to explanation. You just know her. It is as easy as that.

After realizing such a thing as that, how could you not begin to love her? You can steal your dad’s drinks and get properly sloshed on them, but it’ll never match the tipsiness you feel when you look at her; when she laughs at one of your jokes, always reluctant at first but more easily as she gets more used to you. It makes you want to try again and again, and so you do. Katniss listens every time. She says she likes to hear you.

Instead of running away, you decide to embrace the feeling. You head to the woods more and more often, although never at the risk of the Peacekeepers’ attention. Katniss never tells you when she’s going out, nor do you mention when you’re out here, but the two of you have a habit of finding each other nonetheless. You turn around and there she is, emerging from a stand of trees; she crosses a bank at the same time as you; you climb a tree to get a better vantage point of the forest and you’re instantly drawn to the sight of her doing the same across a clearing. Katniss makes sense.

If you squint your eyes just right, you can make your entire world double. The hazy afterimages of present day will swim before you, a hair out of line but still there, still two instead of one. For example, right now, walking through the woods beyond District Twelve, it’s as if you can see two exact images of the current moment instead of only one.

On one version of this day a few years ago, when you hide away from the world in the forbidden greenery past your district’s limits, you come across Katniss Everdeen and you hide from her, too. You do not know her. Not well, at least. You see her and pretend otherwise. She does the same. She heard your footsteps first and thought herself visited by a deer instead of a girl. Her finger tensed on her bowstring, but she released it the second your face finally came into view. Katniss could not kill a person.

Would not. Katniss can kill a person, as it turns out, she can outlive twenty-two tributes through various purposes and keep one other alive, then do it again, but she does not know that yet. All Katniss knows in this past moment, this one half of a fractured memory, is that she will not kill you, and that is true today, too.

On the other version, the one that happens today, you do not run from Katniss, you go to her. That is the whole purpose of risking the Peacekeepers’ wrath by ducking under the fence to escape to the forest. The wilderness means Katniss, and Katniss means you’ll be able to spend another day relatively free from the concerns of a girl from District Twelve who has increasingly little between herself and the violence of not having enough.

Katniss doesn’t turn when you approach, but you can hear the quiet smile in her voice when she admonishes you, “You’re going to scare away all my game.”

You chuckle. “No, no. I’m drawing them out of the bush so you can shoot them. It’s teamwork.”

“If it were teamwork,” she argues, “you would also have a bow.”

You lift a shoulder. “I would never dare steal your favorite weapon. I want you to feel important.”

This does make her laugh. Almost indignantly, yes, but still a laugh. Still a win for you. She manages to nab a few birds before setting her bow down for the morning. The two of you sit side by side in the tall grass, a cool breeze blowing upon your faces, bringing with it the tender tangy scent of the forest.

Usually, neither of you have ever suffered from awkwardness when you’re out here. You could spend hours out here, not saying a word, and it would be just as fulfilling as if you’d spoken the entire time. Today, though, there’s something stuck on the tip of your tongue, a truth that refuses to go unsaid no matter how you fight it.

At last, you give in and, keeping your eyes resolutely ahead, you tell her what’s on your mind. “I’m glad you’re with me, Katniss.”

You can see Katniss frowning out of the corner of your eyes. “Where else would I be?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. You could have heard me coming and avoided me the second I stepped into the forest. Probably would have caught more, too.”

Katniss shakes her head doubtfully. “No, we’re good. This is good.”

She sets her jaw determinedly, like this settles everything. It does, in a way. It gives you the courage to continue. “I’m glad to hear it. I like spending time with you.” A pause. “I like you.”

Katniss’ brow knits. “Why would you like me?” Genuinely confused, she adds on, “I’ve done terrible things, Y/N.”

“We’re all terrible,” you whisper back softly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been in the Games. You haven’t.”

This is true. No matter how much time you spend with Haymitch or Katniss, nor how many stories you hear about the Hunger Games, it will never be the same as actually taking part in them yourself. With all luck, you never will. Both Haymitch and Katniss would fight to keep you out of them, and then to keep you alive, should that happen, but the possibility shrinks with every year as you get older.

“I still want you,” you tell her. More the empty forest air; you can’t quite say this to her face, not yet. The fear of rejection after everything is too great a burden to bear.

When you do risk a glance over at her, though, Katniss doesn’t look affronted. Instead, she looks more at peace than you’ve ever seen her. Slowly, carefully, her face upturned to catch the morning sun, Katniss smiles again. You’re not even sure that she’s aware of doing it. It is simply the only way she can process that this, you wanting her, would make her happier than anything else.

And, sitting here in the forest, surrounded by a million memories of all that you have done together, a thousand hopes of all that you have yet to do, you look over at Katniss and you know. You know that she loves you. You know that she can’t say it, not yet, not until she’s certain that you love her as much as she loves you.

She will tell you, though. In time. Perhaps it’ll happen another day out here past the confines of District Twelve, in a space that has always been safe to the two of you and will thus protect her from the fallout of confessing to a friend. Perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re asleep next to her, to avoid a response, or perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re pretending to be asleep, so she knows you’re heard and you don’t have to tell her anything.

Or, maybe she’ll just say it now, unspoken but still startlingly loud, audible in every glance your way, every faint smile she never bothers to hide. That, you think, would be enough.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[oweninadaydream]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar. 

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" 

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead. 

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept. 

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her. 

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However,  nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body. 

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature. 

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience. 

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day. 

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured : 

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 27

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

Will you die? Will you live? Find out in this chapter lol

Content Warnings - mentions of drug addiction, surgery/injury

Johanna was hospitalized the day of your surgery after a nurse caught her stealing morphling from a supply station. Finnick was so worried about you that he didn’t notice how high she was the whole time she was with him. All he could focus on was you.

The brain surgery lasted six hours. Finnick silently cried outside your room the whole time, wishing he could be by your side during it. Mags and Annie found him distraught in the hallway a few hours in.

“Finn,” Annie sighs, sitting down next to her mentor. “She’ll be ok. Beetee is really smart.” Mags also sits and pulls Finnick’s head onto her lap.

“They won’t even let me see her,” he explains. “She’s completely alone in there.”

“You’ll see her soon,” Annie tells him.

“What do you want to do when we all go home?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I’m moving out,” Finnick states. “I can’t stand to be in victors village anymore. I never want to see that place again.”

“Mags and I can come with!” Annie exclaims. “Where are we moving to?”

Annie successful distracts Finnick for the remainder of your surgery. He only notices how much time has passed when Beetee approaches him, still in his scrubs.

“We were successful,” he states, causing Finnick to smile for the first time in ages.

“The doctors are going to keep her sedated for another week but as long as her vitals remain stable, you should be able to see her in a few days.”

“Will she still be feral?” Annie asks. Mags swats at Annie’s arm and mumbles how we aren’t supposed to use that word.

“We don’t know,” Beetee states. “We will have to wait and see.”

Your eyes slowly open, revealing a hospital room. What happened? The last thing you remember was being in the sewers…

OMG were you dead??? You begin to panic at the thought, causing one of the machines to start beeping.

“Hey,” you hear someone say but you can’t turn your head to look at them. Your body feels too heavy.

You attempt to respond but the only noise that comes out is a weak moan.

“You’re ok,” the voice says. “You’re in the hospital. You were injured in the sewers and had to have surgery.”

“Finn?” you groan, recognizing the voice.

“Yes love,” he responds. “I’m right here.”

A doctor enters the room and begins to unhook you from some of the machines.

“Welcome back Miss Y/L/N,” they state. “You’ve been out for three weeks. We can go over what happened with you later but for now you need to take it easy.”

The doctor takes some notes before leaving the room, stating that your vitals were good and you were healing perfectly.

“Finn,” you wheeze.

“Yes love?,” he worriedly asks. “Do you need anything?”

“It hurts,” you reply, still unable to move.

“You had two surgeries,” he explains. “You lost too much blood in the sewers and they had to perform surgery to heal your wounds. A week later they removed a mass they found in your brain. That was the timer Peeta talked about. They can’t give you any more morphling unfortunately.”

“Did we win?” you ask.

“Yes,” Finnick responds. “We’re free.”

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