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ilguna · 1 year

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☼ breathtaking pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.5k

part two.

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The worst part about the announcement of the Quarter Quell was by far the amount of questions you were asked about it afterwards. In the months leading up to the reaping, all you kept being asked was, “How do you feel?”

In the beginning, you would just stare at them for a second, hoping that they’d realize how stupid they are for asking it in the first place. How do they think you feel? While they’re all grown and get to live the rest of their lives without worrying about dying, you’re having your rights taken away from you yet again.

You aren’t supposed to do this again. Everyone was promised that once they win, they are done with the Hunger Games. They were no longer eligible to go inside, the only time you’d come close would be during mentoring. You’d get to live that week in the Capitol over and over and over again, watching different tributes get reaped, and then die in the arena.

As the reaping drew closer, the question died in their throats. The idea of reminding you about your potential fate made them uncomfortable. They never considered the idea of how irritating it was to answer the question every day of the week and then for it to slowly fizzle out.

You could handle the odds of going back into the arena. With only four girls in District Five, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the name pulled out of the bowl would be yours. It bothered the other girls, but you knew you had to let it go if you wanted to be even remotely happy for what could be your last weeks in your home.

Actually, the part that upsets you the most is the fact you’ll never get to see the world in color, because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. You’ll never get to see the sky, or the trees, or the color of the clothes you wear everyday. All the features that make someone who they are is absent in your sight. You’re left with black, white, and grey.

You thought that you would have years to try and find them. You’re only in your twenties. You were supposed to take over mentoring, which would’ve allowed you to get a better chance at finding your soulmate.

It was ruined as soon as your name was the one drawn out of the bowl. You felt your heart sink into your stomach, because you weren’t stupid enough to think anyone would volunteer for you. The sighs of relief that came from the other girls was salt in the wound.

For a few hours, you were stupid enough to hope that you’d win, until you saw exactly who was drawn this year. It ended up being the last nail on the coffin. You are going to die inside of the arena, you’re sure of it. That’s why you haven’t taken a single thing seriously this past week.

Why does it matter? Why would sponsors matter? They don’t want you, they want the siblings, they want the volunteers, they want their darlings, and they want the newest trouble. You are just a minor victor in the crowd.

When you were telling your stylist about your pessimistic views, all he could say was that they were entirely justified. The Capitol loves their victor’s unfairly, and then it ruins the chances for the rest of you. Anything that would normally catch the attention of the crowd on a regular Hunger Games is useless here. The parade, the scores, the interview you’re about to do. It’s for nothing.

You trace patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, watching as your prep team and stylist move around the room. They’d briefly gathered a few minutes ago to talk, and ever since they’ve been running around pulling things off the shelves in the closet. You’re guessing it’s jewelry.

Your stylist pulls out one of those protective bags for dresses, except this one is bigger and stuffed with fabric. He unzips it to take a look inside, and you can see the smile come across his face. His eyes dart up to yours, looking at you through the mirror.

“(Y/n),” He begins, coming closer, “I’ve been saving this dress for a special occasion, since I will never be able to use it again in any of my work. Tonight, you will be my muse.”

You give him a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for anything else?”

“I’m sure.” He says, unzipping the bag, “I’m aware you can’t see the color, but you should know that it’s not the most important part. It’s the design.”

Together, he and the prep team work to get the dress out of the bag. It’s a light shade of grey, so you’re going to guess that it’s a pastel color. It’s uncommon for stylists to go for something so gentle, because the lights on the stage tend to wash the tributes out. That’s why the colors are bright and hard, so they can pop and shine.

You think that it’s going to be some small dress, but the fabric never stops. There’s so much of it. He tosses the dress bag off to the side, and then unzips the back for you to get into. It takes a minute, they have to adjust and pin the dress where it’s too big or too small. By the end, you can’t even tell that it’s been altered.

One of the prep team members gets to work on fluffing the dress, while the other fixes your hair, and then gets to work on putting the jewelry on you. She focuses on your earrings and the necklaces on your collarbone to make sure they’re positioned perfectly. They get you in heels, and then your stylist shuffles in front of you to settle something on the top of your head.

You’re ordered to close your eyes until you’re in front of the mirror and finishing touches are made. They fix your makeup, and then spray something wet and sweet smelling on your skin. You’re guessing it’s perfume, but as soon as you open your eyes and sway slightly, your skin sparkles.

The dress is floor length, off the shoulder but with long and loose sleeves to keep you from getting cold while waiting for your turn to be interviewed. And the object he snuggled in your hair is a tiny tiara that sparkles with your skin each time you move.

You run your hand over the gorgeous patterned lace, letting out a breath, “What color is it?”

“Pink.” He says, coming over to stand behind you, “A gentle and loving pink, one that resembles innocence and beauty.” He fixes a curl, “It’s light and uplifting, and it looks beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“You’re good to go out, (Y/n). I believe in you.” He says.

You wander out of the room and down the hall, absently tracing one of the closest flowers while you near the line to the stage. The other victor’s are in varying outfits. This year, District Two is subjected to looking like gladiators, the Ritchson siblings are eye-catching in their sequin outfits. Johanna Mason wears a long dress, but she doesn’t look out of place.

A few eyes land on you as you draw closer, but they don’t linger longer for more than a second. They don’t care, a victor from District Five is anything but a threat to them at this point. You’re sure half of them have already decided how they’re going to get rid of you in the arena. And if they haven’t, it’s because they know they can take you in a fight. There’s no use planning it.

It’s only a few minutes later, when the entire hallway is going completely silent. You look over to see Katniss, dressed in a large wedding dress. You should’ve guessed, that was the whole obsession after their Victory Tour. Of course, her stylist would try one more thing to catch the Capitol’s attention.

“I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.” Finnick says, there’s a look of bewilderment on his face.

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him.” Katniss defends.

Cashmere flickers her hair over her shoulder, “Well, you look ridiculous!” She spits, taking Gloss’ hand and walking off with him to stand at the front of the line.

You swallow, closing your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to survive this, really. You know nothing about any of these people, except for what you’ve seen on the screen. You’re at a severe disadvantage compared to the other female victor’s back home. At least they got to talk to half of these people.

The only two victor’s that feel the same way you do must be Katniss and Peeta, but even they’re fitting in more than you are.

You resist the urge to rub down your face, but you do let out a slight huff. You guess you’ll just have to resort to hiding in the arena, even though you didn’t win through that strategy. You mostly fucked around with trying to set off traps and force the gamemakers to accidentally kill the tributes for you. It worked, it’s why you’re standing here today.

That’s not going to fly in the arena, though. These people have watched your games, the same way you watched theirs. All strategies are on the table, which means that you’ll need to figure out how to camouflage and hide, immediately.

Cashmere and Gloss lead the way onto the stage, and one by one, you make your way to the seats at the back of the stage. The audience is loud, cheering and whistling. The lights are blinding, you squint through them, relaxing your face when you’re adjusted to the brightness.

You tuck the dress beneath you before you sit down, as soon as you’re planted in your seat, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle. You haven’t been on a stage in a few years, you remember hating every minute of it. From the parade, to your face being shown for scores, to all the interviews and speeches you did after you won. You hated every second of it.

Caesar’s hair is a different color, it’s some type of grey, so you’re thinking it’s a muted color. You know that he changes it every year, you wish you could see, because you’re sure he looks fantastic every time. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for a long, long time. That’s a lot of colors to go through, repeating or not.

He does his usual opening-interview spiel with the audience by cracking a few jokes and getting them in a fun mood. From what you’ve heard from your mentors, the citizens of the Capitol are torn between hating the Quarter Quell and adoring it. It’s clear on why; most of the favorites are here. It’s a shame they don’t know how much power they hold.

Cashmere starts the interviews with a speech on how she’s been crying ever since she was chosen. She’s so heartbroken over the fact that the Capitol is suffering because of how many victor’s they’re losing to the games. Gloss follows up with talking about how they’ve been so kind to them ever since they won, and it’s been a pleasure mentoring since.

Enobaria expresses how sad she is that she won’t be able to experience the Capitol’s wonders, since there’s more to live through. She was hoping to get more body modifications and possibly become one of their featured darlings, or a modeling icon for the people back home.

Beetee does his intelligent rambling, talking about how the Quarter Quell is technically illegal and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. He asks if the experts—Gamemakers—have considered this and examined it as of late. You watch as Wiress goes up and backs him up calmly, explaining that this isn’t fair.

When Mags takes the stage, it’s filled with Caesar guessing what she’s trying to say, but you can tell that she’s outraged, too. She’s too old for this, and yet she volunteered to come to save a girl she mentored. Finnick talks through a bright smile, and when Caesar asks if he’s got anything to say, his eyes darken. He proceeds to recite a love poem that’s clearly talking about his home district and how he might not get to see it ever again. It’s misinterpreted and too many people in the crowd think it’s aimed at them.

“For District Five, we have the lovely (Y/n) (L/n)!” Caesar shouts, hand held out in your direction.

You get to your feet with a smile, heading toward the front of the stage. You place your hand in his, he squeezes your knuckles, “Hello, Caesar.”

“Hello!” He laughs, looking over what you’re wearing, “Well, don’t you look pretty! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this before on stage.”

“My stylist was saving it for a special day, and that’s tonight, I suppose. I was just as surprised as you are.” You look out to the audience.

“Yes, it has been an interesting night so far.” He agrees, “Tell me, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

You give a half-shrug, “I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“And why’s that?” He asks.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.” You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s an honor for some people to be back here again and have the opportunity to compete, but I’m losing out on one of the most important parts about living.”

“Let me guess, getting to mentor tributes?” He smiles.

You shake your head again, “No Caesar, it’s getting to see color.”

There’s enough gasps at once that makes your smile inwardly. You know what the other victor’s are trying to do, so you’ll help them. Even if they don’t invite you into their alliances, you’re with them on this. You don’t want the Quarter Quell to happen. You want to go home. That’s why you’ll expose yourself to the Capitol, because you’ve heard how colorful they are. They’ll eat up the idea of living this long without seeing color, ever.

Caesar gapes for a second, “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

You look out, “I will never get to see the Capitol the way the rest of you do. I hear the buildings are brightly colored, I hear how gorgeous the clothes are. And I will never get to experience that, because it’s being taken away from me.”

You can feel the tears build in your eyes. They’re partially real, because all you’ve ever wanted was to see the world the way your parents did. They saw real beauty everywhere they looked, and you saw nothing. And you will see nothing, until the day you die in the arena.

You hard blink to force the tears down your face, throat clogging. You have to play it up for them, otherwise they won’t care. You take a few seconds to dab at the corners of your eyes, with Caesar comforting you. The citizens are eating it up, there’s a few of them crying, you can’t see them past the light in your eyes, but you can hear them out there.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Caesar squeezes your hand.

“I am too.” You sniff, fanning your face, “For what it’s worth, I think the city is beautiful without color, too.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of your interview. There’s shouts complaining over how short it felt. You kiss the tips of your fingers and blow a kiss to the crowd before turning away and walking back to your seat. You struggle to hold in the smile that wants to break over your face.

The next few interviews are just as brutal. Johanna questions whether or not the creators can do anything about it. They never anticipated that the Capitol and the victors would form such a bond. Cecelia does a number by saying goodbye to her kids on camera, which has the whole audience in tears.

Seeder’s calm when she says that Snow is considered powerful. If he is, then certainly he can change the fate of the Quarter Quell, right? Chaff comes in swinging, reciting the same thing as Seeder but enforcing the idea that Snow must not care about the way his people feel.

And then Katniss walks to the front and the audience is in shambles. She’s unable to speak for several minutes, and by the tame she can, she’s speaking about her wedding. How none of them will be able to attend it, now that she’s been reaped for another Hunger Games, but Snow wanted to show them what could’ve happened.

She starts twirling like she did last year, except the minor flames from the year before have turned into large ones. They consume the end of the dress and eat away at the layers, until it reaches her shoulders, and suddenly the flames are gone. You’re left staring at a black dress with feathers. When she stretches her arms out, wings appear.

Katniss’ interview ends almost a minute later, and she takes her seat. This allows Peeta to come to the front of the stage, where they go back and forth being comical. Caesar changes the topic to the Quell once he sees an opportunity to, and there the mood slowly spirals downward.

He says that he and Katniss are already married, and they did it privately while they could because they wanted the moment to be theirs. Then he quickly says that it’s unofficial because the traditions back home mean almost nothing to a piece of paper confirming it. Caesar and the crowd eat it up, completely on the edge of their seats.

“As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Caesar says. There’s a round of applause, Katniss briefly looks up from her dress.

“I’m not glad,” Peeta suddenly ays, “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

There’s a shock that goes through Caesar, he doesn’t say anything for a second, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta spits, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Silence.

The words sink in the air, but as people get to their feet, shaking their fists, voices raised and screaming about injustice, it sparks others to follow. It’s not long before the whole audience is a wreck and nothing but an indiscernible noise. Caesar stands there dumbfounded, speaking into the microphone but not gathering any attention.

You press your lips together to hide the smile cracking at the corners of your lips.

Caesar’s trying to get the crowd to calm down, chaos has broken out. There’s no point in saying anything once the anthem begins to play. The volume’s so loud that you can feel it in your chest when the deeper parts play. It lets you know that it’s time to get to your feet to say goodbye on the program.

You lace your fingers in front of you, but quickly notice that others are not doing the same. As you look down the line of victors to your left, where Peeta is at the end, you can see that they’re holding hands, and your district partner has his palm open to do the same.

You grab his hand, and turn to Finnick, who has this little smile on his face, hand held up for you to take. You carefully place your hand on top of his, he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze tightly, hoping for some reassurance, and find him squeezing back.

When you look up to the crowd, your face twists. The light is just as strong, but you can tell what’s beyond it, because it’s no longer a sea of different shades of black, white and grey. They’re in color, they’re bright, and they almost hurt your eyes from the shades they’re wearing.

You gasp, tears filling your eyes when you look out. You remember what your stylist said about the dress you’re wearing, and look down at it. Gentle, loving, innocent, beauty, light and uplifting pink. He was right. He dressed you as a princess for these people.

You tear your eyes away to finally, finally look at Finnick, your soulmate. The reason why you’re seeing these colors. You’re met with bright and breathtaking eyes, watching your face with a crooked smile. You can’t help the laugh that comes from you as the tears overflow your eyes.

“It’s you.” You breathe.

“It’s me.” He agrees.

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underoospeterparker · 3 months

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Ahhh I luv your work! Can you pls do a plus sized reader x finnick where reader is a bit self conscious due to maybe something another victor said or how the capitol people were

thank you!! and thanks for requesting <3 i love this so so so so so so much!

victor!finnick odair x plus sized!victor!fem!reader

tw: body insecurity!! don't read if you are uncomfortable please

"Is something wrong?" Finnick said, his voice deep and uncharacteristically quiet. His face looked both raw as he stared at you, silently pleading with you to tell him something. Anything.

You forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," you replied, averting your eyes from his heavy gaze and focusing on the mirror in front of you.

They were right, you thought. You were ugly. Too ugly to be with Finnick, anyway. He was skinny where you were curvy, he had muscles where you had rolls of fat. He had a pretty face and you had a chubby one. You were nothing special.

He tilted his head, unbelieving. "Honey," he murmured. "Please."

The elevator doors opened and you stepped out, away from him and his piercing look. You glanced back, and the hurt on his face was evident as you turned around again. "There's nothing wrong," you whispered.

Later, you lay face down on your bed, head shoved into your pillow. Your tears were silent, but even if they were loud, they would have been muffled anyway.

You heard a knock on the door. Finnick. "Can I come in?" he asked, too good for his own good.

Knowing he wouldn't stop until he found out what was wrong, you relented, a sigh so heavy he could hear it from outside the room.

He pushed open the door softly, his head peeking out from behind the frame. Spotting you on the bed, he immediately crouched down by your side, pulling you to face him with ease.

Finnick's gaze softened at the tear tracks on your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice oozing with honey. "You gotta tell me what's wrong."

He cupped your cheeks in his warm palms, nothing in his eyes but care and concern. "I don't know," you whimpered, and his heart shattered. "They were just-"

His face hardened, his body becoming almost unresponsive except for the occasional thumbing away of your tears. "They? Who's they, honey?"

You sobbed, and he climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay," he cooed, "you're okay, baby."

Once you felt okay to speak, he pulled away from you, just slightly. "Some of the victors," you said, hesitating slightly. He motioned for you to keep going. "They were telling me awful things. About how I didn't deserve you. How I was fat, and ugly, and-"

Finnick cut you off with a finger to your lips. "And you believed them?" he asked, incredulous. "Honey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tightening his hold around you. "You're absolutely gorgeous, alright? Just the way you are."

"Really?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Really. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll kill them myself."

You giggled wetly, pressing your face into his chest. "By the way," he said, "I'm just curious. Who said this to you?"

"I'm not sure," you admitted, wiping the remaining tears away from your cheeks. "I think they were the two from District Three. Why?"

He smiled. "Just wondering."

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darby-rowe · 3 months

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cw plus sized!gn!reader, coriolanus being called scrawny and malnourished

the snows’ penthouse was prone to losing power during the most vicious of winters, effectively cutting off their heat. they had to get creative in order to stay warm and survive the freezing weather.

tigris took it upon herself to stock up on blankets, scarves, and sweaters right before the temperatures drop. spending all day and night knitting, sewing, and crocheting for her family. coriolanus seemed to be the one to suffer the most; his malnourished body providing him no protection from the raging winter outside his window.

thankfully, he had you.

in the sense that spending the night over at the snows’ penthouse were spent by having coriolanus koala-hugging you in bed, savoring the extra body heat you inhabited. you’d gladly let coriolanus warm his hands up between your thick thighs or underneath your armpits, giving the scrawny boy a brief respite from the freezing temperatures.

and on those especially bad nights, where coriolanus just couldn’t seem to stop shivering, you’d have tigris pile on a few more blankets onto his body. and you’d make sure his body was as close to yours as possible.

stroking his hair, kissing his head, providing him comfort with your warmth.

#♡; dally writes!#gn!reader #gender neutral reader #plus sized!reader #plus sized reader #this ficlet was brought to you by my pcos #giving me hot flashes at the age of TWENTY FUCKIN TWO #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

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saveahorserideaspacecowboy · 4 months

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Me waiting for young snow/tom blyth x plus size reader fanfics, so I feel valid too.

#tbosas #the hunger games #tom blyth #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x plus size!reader #coriolanus x reader #fanfic #snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #young snow #young snow x reader #oneshot #thg #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x plus size!reader

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faetreides · 2 months

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i'd really like to know if he'd have any types of kinks or a type?!!

like from what I've read from you, maybe it's just my impression, but does he find chubby people more attractive? (self-insert hihi)

or just kinks he'd have; like, modern!coryo screams corruption kink (maybe even a virgin!reader 👀), and things like degradation/praise, as well as a pretty big dom situation 👀

anyways, love your stuff!

I can't help coming back to your modern! coryo au literally everyday, I'm in love 🫡🫠

CW: implied-ish plus sized reader but i use “chubbier” so it’s a bit ambiguous i guess but that’s how i picture them, don’t like don’t read

First of all, thank you so much for loving the au, it's kind of getting demotivating a bit to see the fandom slow down but I'll ALWAYS have modern! coryo brain rot. So, I guess someday I'll be shouting into the void lmao.

I do think that when it comes to preferences, he does prefer chubbier people. He's one of those guys that likes being able to just really grab and slap anything and everything because you've got more than enough meat on your bones. Also, idk how to quite explain it, but I think he enjoys what he believes is a more realistic (?) body, like he'd deadass get so offended if you thought you had to shave or cover up stretch marks. He comes from a very superficial world where the beauty standards are impossible to achieve (edit: i’m NOT talking about being skinny being impossible, i’m talking about general beauty standards and having an unrealistically proportioned body like the ones in media, i’m aware that skinny people exist) . It's like how for a while, Aphrodite and other similar goddesses were depicted in media as very skinny but when you look back at how they were actually worshiped, there are statues and carvings and etc. with belly rolls and all kinds of versions of bigger bodies. That's what reader's body reminds him of, gets him feel closer to God and all that.

I'll get to some actual kinks in a second, but I do think he likes more of a reluctant person. He's someone that is built for the chase and that really revels in the wooing process, he'd never been in love before you, so the rush of intense feelings kicks his adrenaline into overdrive. It's a sort of predator/prey thing without being a full-blown kink, Coryo stalks and he circles around you until you're given such a small window of escape that you already missed your chance by the time he decides that he's done waiting around. You have the whole cutesy 'will they? won't they?' thing going for a bit until you just don't anymore.

In my head, modern!coryo's reader is a virgin for that exact purpose lol like he does have a fuck boy past that's typical for his place in society, so I just love the idea of sex suddenly becoming so "special" to him now that he's possessed with the need to mold your experience around him so you could never be satisfied by anyone else. I think he'd want to keep some of that shyness and insecurity no matter how much experience he gives you, so he can reassure you and praise you and tell you to suck on his fingers so the stretch of his cock won't be all you can think about.

He does favor praise over degradation but when he does degrade it's more... positive (???) in his eyes, calling you dumb because he wants you know you don't have to be smart, saying you're his slutty whore because he wants you to feel comfortable enough being as nasty as possible with him, etc. No matter what name he calls you, he's adding 'my' in front of it. The words will be the same, but his tone will change based on if you're driving him crazy (basically if he gets jealous for no reason again)

I also think that's he way more of a Dom type, he'll never go into extreme type stuff and he's more of a gentle Dom depending on the situation that led up to you fucking or making love. My modern!coryo is never going to let you have more control than letting you ride him (and you always end up getting tired, so he has to take over, which he is more than happy to do!). His control issues are severe like they are in canon, he's exhausted trying to hold himself back from just losing it on everybody. So, having a stress toy of an s/o that he can micromanage and love without limits does wonders for his mental health.

He's obviously obsessed with spanking/LIGHT impact play. The only bruises you'll get will be from him squeezing you too hard or littering your body with hickies, he'd bite you to pieces too but he likes to think that he has some sense of decorum.

He could get behind silk bondage, whether it's patterns on your body or spreading you out on the bed with your ankles and wrists tied to the bed frame. But he wouldn't do it because he wants to keep you from touching, he just wants to love you properly without you hurting yourself because you got shy and squirmed all over the place.

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dotieeee · 3 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 8

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 8 Warnings:

Noncon elements, drugging, somnophilia, Snow being creepy af, experiments conducted on children (because it isn't Hunger Games without it lol), jealous Snow if you squint, violence

Replay Level 7

Ready? Level 8 Start:

You’re startled back to your senses when your communicuff beeps in your pocket. Not even halfway through the week and you’re already feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep since you began working for Coriolanus Snow. Even during the weekend before, when you were supposed to be resting, or going out for coffee or shopping, or whatever the hell it is that young adults such as yourself do during their spare time, you were hiding in your room, paralysed with worry for the direction your uncle’s project has gone to.

His name and yours, now part of the mindless slaughter of district children whose only crime was to be born poor in the wrong place.

You get nightmares almost every day now since you began working at the Citadel. Not that you can remember any of them; they slip from your grasp like smoke the moment your Uncle Cas wakes you. Every time he gently shakes you back to reality and tells you that you’ve been crying out for your parents again, all you see is his face, worn beyond his years of working, toiling, taking care of you, worrying about you, making sure you were happy. Knowing what you already know about where his life’s work is heading, kills you inside just thinking of telling him.

You play the voice message, thankful it isn’t from your tyrannical new boss who always seems to find new ways to hog your time all to himself. It’s embarrassing enough you got woken up by him to find his coat draped on you, with F3 arriving for his shift just in time to see him plant a kiss on your head. This morning, you had hardly placed your bag down on your desk when F1 made teasing remarks about you being in denial.

What’s the old saying? About denial not only being a river in Egypt? Did it also say anything about being willing to drown oneself in it to be put out of misery?

The message you play is from F2. She says there’s a shipment waiting at the gates for Acacius Innis, which they suspect are the drives your uncle supposedly ordered for his station, and you need to sign off on it as his replacement. Maybe he ordered them before discovering he was going to be promoted.

You take your barely coherent self to the entrance where a man in courier uniform flipping through receipts on a clipboard is waiting for you, a few medium-sized boxes stacked by his feet with the Innis Tech logo and a District 3 seal. He looks up from his clipboard and greets you with a smile as soon as you get near him. You know that greying hair and the lines at the corner of his eyes.

The bartender at Strabo’s party.

“Sign here, please,” he says as he hands you his clipboard and a pen.

He doesn’t seem to recognise you, but even in your sleep-deprived state, those features are unmistakable. He acknowledges your signature with a tip of his hat, a small ‘thank you,’ and walks away.

Maybe he works two jobs, you surmise. You think nothing of it any further as you head back to your work, while a couple of peacekeepers lug the boxes along. They take them to your office where you pore through their contents – as expected, they’re just empty drives, plus a single floppy disk with a blank label. You stow the disk in your drawer, thinking it must’ve been just a freebie or some playful inside joke between your uncle and his ex-wife.

It's almost nine by the time your final batch of unit testing is finished, and when Coriolanus Snow arrives in your office to check your progress, you give him the news he’d been waiting for:

“We’re ready for integration testing.”

The perversely delighted expression that grows on his face is something you’d never like to see in many other circumstances.

This night’s sleep proves elusive, just hours of tossing and turning, drifting in and out, only for you to fall asleep then wake up again with your uncle’s worry-plastered face, your lack of proper rest affecting the both of you. In the end, you don’t get any more shut-eye aside from the three or four hours you already had.

As you take your third cup of coffee at a quarter past eight in the morning on a Wednesday, that’s when you know you’re eventually going to crash. You just hope to anyone who bothers to listen that it doesn’t happen during your presentation to Volumnia Gaul.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re making your way to the designated testing room a few doors away from your office. The night shift crew from last night scrambled to finish the set-up according to the end-of-day report from F3, and since you’re early anyway, checking for last-minute adjustments can’t hurt.

You flick the lights on inside the room, gasping at the sight that greets you.

The space is humongous, with its high ceilings and carpeted floors. The room slopes towards a flat centre which has already been fitted with several computer sets, just like you instructed, arranged in the form of a pyramid, with the three in the middle set-up with multiple screens. The entire set faces a total of twenty-nine monitors built into the wall: twelve on either side, with four more below the largest one at the centre. To your left are three windows made of glass, covered from the inside with curtains you can’t see through. You find it peculiar that three more sets of computers are installed just before the windows, but you decide to ignore it, thinking it might just be something they couldn’t remove before this day. The thing is massive, after all.

You look around, your eyes landing on the glass observation deck where you assume Dr Gaul would stay. From that cushy little box, she would observe the entire experiment with her piercing, mismatched eyes, revelling in the future horrors your work will bring about.

The door to the testing room echoes as it opens, making you almost jump in place. You can’t tell whether it’s the nerves, or the caffeine, or the lack of sleep that’s making you more agitated than usual, but also maybe it’s because of the person who had just arrived, taking calculated steps towards you with his footsteps echoing despite the carpeted floors.

“Good morning, Nellie,” Coriolanus Snow greets you with a tilt of his head and a smile, and as warm as that greeting might look, it’s often hard to tell what lies behind that mask of his. Whatever it is isn’t good.

Still, you greet him back just as warmly as if the fact that he’d be evaluating your performance today isn’t bothering you at all. “Good morning, Coryo.”

Your mentor comes close inches before you, invading your space as always. He peers into your face with those striking blue eyes before worry etches into his. “Sugarplum, you have not been sleeping well,” he deduces correctly. “Are you okay?”

You wave off his concern with a shake of your head. “I’ll sleep better when the tests are over.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a chuckle. He pauses for a while, his gaze never straying from your lips. You quell the need to move away from him. As an afterthought, he assures you, “You’ll do perfectly today; I know that much.”

You wish you had the same confidence he has in you as you have for yourself.

The twins arrive for a final inspection thirty minutes before your presentation to Dr. Gaul. You spend the rest of the remaining time inspecting the equipment with them, ensuring everything is in place. Every monitor mounted on the wall is turned on, and the computers begin powering up, prompting the screens to flash the Hunger Games screensaver. They check the computer facing the glass windows last, which as far as you remember, isn’t on the list of equipment you had asked them to prepare. You ask them why it needs a look over, but their response is vague.

“It’s the first agenda for after lunch’s presentation. Mr Innis supervised the testing for this before, so we’ll take care of the demo,” F2 says.

Volumnia Gaul arrives exactly at nine, escorted by two stoic peacekeepers in their grey-blue uniforms. Today, she wears her usual lab coat, pristine white morphing into scarlet, her gloves made of leather of the bloody shade. You join in when everyone in the room welcomes her.

“Mr Snow.” Her drawling voice greets your mentor. “You have been hard at work, you and your little apprentice,” she glances at you, drumming her gloved fingers together her smile widening in anticipation. “Now I gather you’ve a little show for me, Mr Snow. Let the theatre commence!”

At her cue, Coriolanus officially welcomes her to the integration test, while you initiate Begin Game on the main command console.

You step aside so you can show Dr Gaul the main command console’s user interface: everything from camera control, drone management software, motion tracking and the tribute odds system, the vital signs tracking software, and overall game environment controls software, each displayed on a single monitor hooked on main – everything you and your uncle spent blood, tears and sweat on, contained in a single computer station.

“...In other words,” you conclude, “The main command console is the brains of the entire operation. It oversees everything, even the consoles used by the gamemakers, the mentors, and the operators. This is what we use to begin the Game, and it’s programmed to automatically save game data when only one tribute remains, which it detects because of the vitals tracking device. Override requests go to this console, as well.”

Dr Gaul’s eyes are glowing, but you know that it isn’t because of the lights on the monitors. A despicable grin dances on her features as she chuckles lowly to herself.

“My, oh my, what a promising start, Ms Innis,” she says softly with delight, her eyes shifting only from screen to screen. “This is just magnificent.”

You move on to the console beside the main, the one you’ve programmed as the gamemaker console which F1 will demonstrate. She navigates the interface while you expound the functions: the ability to shift camera angles, alerts for donations made to a tribute on the tribute status screen, tribute status and odds percentages onscreen...

“...and most importantly, the game environment control. Basic commands such as the activating of traps and releasing of any mutts...availability, of course, depends on the environment.”

F1 chimes in, “If I may direct your attention to the test arena being flashed on the monitors, please.” He waves a hand to the camera angle showing the Citadel basement: nothing but grey walls and decommissioned equipment archived or otherwise abandoned.

“Putting that useless old space to use, I see,” Dr Gaul smirks.

“The team has installed several mini explosives in the space, which we can activate with a single click,” says F2.

“That, and an artificial weather control system – bring on the heat, or the cold, or the rain,” F1 adds proudly. F2 runs a command on the console, letting artificial rain down on a small section of the makeshift arena, which darkens the grey walls and initiates a spark in one of the abandoned equipment.

“Some of those might still be plugged into an electrical source, which could prove hazardous,” you comment, but F1 brushes off your concerned look.

“Oh yeah, we hooked it up to a separate source,” he just replies vaguely.

“Add acid rain.”

Everyone’s heads turn to Dr Gaul at her suggestion. Her smile just widens, revealing her white teeth, her eyes brimming with barely contained excitement. She drums her fingers together and elaborates, “Acid rain, acid rain; melt their skins, o what great pain!”

You turn away to feign browsing through the console’s tabs, while Coriolanus clears his throat and casually suggests adding burn medicine and burn relief ointments to the mentor inventory.

F1 and F2 merely nod, and you three move on to the mentor console.

“We decommissioned the bulkier communicuffs from the previous games to make way for this,” you gesture to the computer F2 navigates. A wave of nausea hits you, but you attempt to mask it by leaning into the back of a computer chair for support. “The mentors will be assigned one of each console, which they will use to send items and gifts and track their tribute’s odds.”

You go on further by establishing the best modification yet to the way the mentors send their items: mentors can now send multiple items at once, with a maximum weight of five kilograms.

“That way, we minimise drone damage and repair costs. Also, before the mentor hits send, they will get a preview of how their tribute’s odds will approximately change when they receive and use the items, thus helping drive mentors’ decision-making in looking out for their tributes and ensuring their win.”

Your boss’s boss tilts her head in curiosity. “I just love it when they get competitive – that drive, you could almost smell in the air, it just makes it all the more fun to watch.”

You nod once at F2, who clicks on a bottle of water and a slice of bread on the inventory and hits send, and all of you watch with bated breath as the drone circles the area and drops it gently on a flat surface, directly on top of an ancient analogue computer.

“We don’t have a tribute registered as an official player yet, but once we do, it will deliver the goods just like before, but with better accuracy rates owing to enhancements in the facial recognition software,” F2 explains.

Dr Gaul hums. “And what of the sponsor system?”

F1 takes care of the operator console demo, and your mentor chooses this moment to draw closer to your side, his face radiant with pride. I guess that means he likes your performance. His eyes then hone on your hand still clinging to the chair’s backrest, but before he can say something, you approach F1 and look over his shoulder as he explains how the last console works.

Pretty simple, actually: the operator receives a call for a sponsorship; they enter the sponsor’s bank account details, the amount or the item on the system and their designated benefactor, the system alerts the mentor who received the gift and gets an alert on their console, and an alert goes to the gamemakers’ and the main as well.

F2 adds helpfully that the operator console should be run by a representative from the Citadel’s finance department, to which Gaul agrees.

You surmise it’s the same entity running the betting system where the Games rakes the most money.

To finish the demo, you mention the existence of backup computers on standby in the event of a hardware malfunction. While it’s unlikely as all the equipment is brand-new, it’s something your uncle would do: to be one step ahead of everything.

Something you wish you would’ve done before ever engaging with Coriolanus Snow.

The first part of the integration tests finishes with you and your team opening the panel for questions, which you all answer with practised ease. When she seems satisfied with everything, she announces lunch on her, and within minutes, you’re being driven by a large van to The White Knight, where you’re all waited on graciously by the restaurant staff. Everyone takes their seat at a rounded table, with you beside Coriolanus, who has taken you here for dinner a few times since last week.

And all of those times, you made sure to order the angel food cake.

Today, however, you can’t bring yourself to eat that much, so you skip the cake, thinking it doesn’t deserve a half-assed digging-in, and opt for an affogato instead. That counts as dessert, right? Still, the ever-observant Coriolanus squeezes your thigh gently under the table, making you peer into his face, subtly questioning you. You just flash him a smile and concentrate on your dessert. You could slap that hand off too, but then he takes it off slowly, dragging your skirt up a little in the process.

You lose whatever remaining appetite you have, but you push through. Only half a day left, and you can maybe just hand in your resignation tomorrow and forget about this whole thing. And then maybe live in the woods, after.

Everyone is taken back to the Citadel at twelve-thirty, and Dr Gaul gives the go-ahead for the second part of the integration test at one.

Nursing an incoming headache courtesy of the espresso from lunch, you miserably accompany F1 and F2 to prepare for their demo on the computers right before the glass windows. Dr Gaul makes her entrance on time, so you stand back and watch with Coriolanus as the siblings take the reigns on the stations they set up before the windows.

F1 runs a command on his computer, which turns the lights on behind the curtains before they’re drawn to the side, and what you thought were initially windows reveal a shocking sight – something else you hadn’t been expecting to see.

Behind each glass pane, separated by thick walls, are three captives, one male and two females, all of them looking not much older than in their late teens. They seem to have been awakened by the sudden blaring of lights inside their enclosure and are stirring awake from their cots. They look a little thin and pale, but there is not an ounce of confusion in their expressions, as if they had been there for a while and are used to being woken up like so. The brown-haired male mouths something that you read on his lips as ‘hello.’

You could feel your own eyes widen at the sight of them, your mouth opening on its own accord to let out a protest, but your throat dries up as a cold, firm hand closes on yours. Coriolanus Snow’s cold cerulean orbs, pinning you to place, spell a single, well-understood warning:

‘Don’t.’

F2’s voice floats in the space as she introduces the second stage of the integration test.

“What you’re currently seeing is one of our many additions to the game interface: we’ve inserted a microchip into the test subjects you see in the windows which transmits real-time data to our system: heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, and other vital signs, plus levels of cortisol, serotonin...”

F2 drones on with her explanation of how the microchip works, just as you watch while the three teens are served food through a small slot at the far end of their cells.

“We will spend the next three hours observing how the chip works and how it transmits data that could influence audience betting, sponsorship, and decision-making. Mr Innis designed a learning algorithm that makes use of motion-tracking software to study the tributes’ every move in real-time, which contributes largely to the accuracy of the odds on our screen. We hope to gather their responses to a number of stimuli we’ll be exposing them to within the said time to demonstrate the software’s capabilities.”

When they begin eating, F1 begins explaining to Dr Gaul, who approaches the computer screens to look at the data, how the system measures hormones related to food intake, among others.

You could feel your head start to throb and can’t help wincing at the pain. Coriolanus’s hand is still on yours, he feigns looking over at the computers then meets your eyes, shooting you a questioning look.

Are you okay?

You blink once, indicating you’re fine and break the eye contact just as he releases his grip on you. He doesn’t really care, you know that much; his only concern is the success of this presentation, and you’re not about to fuck it up for him. Instead, you peer curiously at the food they served the three teens, noting how little they’re given: a slice of stale, brown bread, a small bowl of soup, and a single bottle of water.

The male, however, finishes his meal rather quickly and raps on the glass impatiently, mouthing something you can’t quite make out.

“Their enclosure is soundproof, even their walls so they can’t hear each other; they can’t see through the glass, either. In each cell, however, we placed a screen on a corner of each wall, where they could see and hear us individually when we address them through the intercom,” F1 says. That’s when you notice that each computer station is equipped with a small, built-in camera on top of the monitor.

F2 nods and elaborates, “We figured they’d be more likely to cooperate if they see a face guiding them through the experiments.”

You take the remaining computer station beside F2, activate the teenage male’s intercom and place him on speakers.

“...Hey, hey, I can see you!” He shouts at the screen, waving frantically. “Can you hear me? Been talkin’ for a while now, did anybody get that?”

“No, I’m sorry...” you say through the microphone. You scan through his uploaded background information on the computer. “Callahan, you’ll have to say that again, please.”

“Whoa,” Callahan stares in wonder at the intercom screen in his room. “Uh, I was just askin’ when ya’ll’re gon’ let me out, but...it’s nice to hear from anyone, really. Been cooped up here a long time.”

You inhale sharply as you turn off your mic. This is going to be a long three hours. “Honestly, I don’t know,” you confess to him on the mic. According to all the files on the test subjects, they're promised a sum of money and a year’s worth of grains once they’re sent home. In seventeen-year-old Callahan Brody’s case, home is District 3.

Where the Innises began building their empire.

“Our timetable is based on the success of the experiments you’re recruited for,” you add.

He bats his eyelashes at the monitor, his eyes innocently bulging in awe. It’s odd to see him ogle at the piece of tech, knowing he’s seen much more impressive stuff in his line of work if his file is to be believed. “Hey, as long as...I’m not talkin’ to meself all the damn time.”

Coriolanus approaches your side, placing his hand on the back of your chair.

“Whoa, you’re really pretty.” Callahan chuckles bashfully at the screen. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ stuck here for days if it means I get to see you.”

He was staring at you and not the tech, you belatedly realise. Your glance automatically goes up to your mentor, whose hardened eyes betray his displeasure at the interaction, no matter how blank he keeps his expression.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this sooner,” you say.

F1 casually mentions an increase in oxytocin and testosterone levels detected by the software on Callahan’s profile tab.

You could feel Coriolanus’s ire radiating off him in waves.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Callahan asks through the intercom.

You give him a false name for the experiment’s sake. This a scientific pursuit, you remind yourself. You and the siblings take turns getting him to talk about himself, so the software can continue logging his vitals in the process.

He tells you that his favourite food is roasted chicken and gravy, but that he only gets to eat it on special occasions. During his spare time, he likes taking apart the family radio and the old television that he inherited from his grandfather, and he had two siblings who’d help him put them back before their father got home. He says he used to work for one of your family’s factories before he came here, confirming the data logged on his file. He talks about the assembly line he was a part of before A.I.-powered machinery replaced him, rendering his job, and him, obsolete. He says he was just one of the hundreds laid off and replaced by robots.

Does your uncle know about this?

“I used to be a computer technician,” he continues. Really? That isn’t on his file, you note. “But then I lost my drive.”

You had to put your hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh brought about by that unexpected joke.

“Nerd.” F2 pokes your arm teasingly as she laughs along.

F1 verbalises a spike in endorphins in between soft bouts of laughter. “Sorry,” he tells Dr. Gaul, whose eyebrow is raised in mild amusement. “We’re a sucker for puns.”

“Of all the people they could get from the districts, they settle for another nerd,” F2 says under her breath.

Callahan seems to be delighted to entertain. “Hey, I got ‘nuther one: why do programmers hate going outside?”

F1 quips excitedly. “Ooh, I know that!”

“Because outside’s full of bugs.”

F1 and F2 both crack up, with F2 suggesting ‘we should keep him.’

You decide to play along with Callahan if only to get a rise out of your mentor, the only one who isn’t finding anything amusing out of the exchange.

“What’s a computer’s favourite snack?” you ask him on the intercom.

“What?” He and your computer engineers ask in unison.

With suppressed smile you say, “Chips.”

The laugh you get out of your subject from District 3 records the spike, while Coriolanus rolls his eyes in exasperation. He suggests moving on to the other test subjects, and the three of you oblige, repeating the same experiment.

The girl beside Callahan’s cell is significantly more reserved, and it takes a while for the three of you to elicit a response from her. Tansey Page, barely fourteen with her curly red hair and wide, almost scared eyes, is from District 11. Based on her file, she’s been living with an aunt, her only living relative, since her parents perished in the war. Her aunt had been unable to work due to a bad fall from a nectarine tree from which she never recuperated, and Tansey had to earn a living for both of them at the age of nine. As your software does its job logging spikes to her vitals, you can’t help but think about how dire her situation was that she had to enlist for this test and leave behind an aunt who barely seems to have the capacity to take care of herself.

Once Tansey opens up, you discover she’s a soft-spoken, sweet girl who loves jellied blackberries. She says she loves to read, but since they couldn’t afford books, she would often copy stories by hand on paper from borrowed books. Hearing her recount this pains you, but you follow the siblings’ example and not let it affect you. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do for her at this point but succeed in the tests so they can all go back home to their families in the districts with the payment they’re promised.

The third and last subject, Audrey Mills, blond and pale with shifting reddish eyes, is the most difficult to work with out of the three. She barely looks at the screen in her cell, just huddled on her bed with her knees to her chest, only tensing slightly when she hears anyone of you three ask her a question through her intercom. The uploaded file tells more about her than she does: she’s from District 7, aged sixteen, abandoned by rebel parents who are presumed dead, and raised by her grandmother who recently passed away. She was targeted by a trafficker nicknamed ‘The Wolf,’ probably due to her unique features, but she fought him off and murdered him by bashing him on the head repeatedly with a blunt axe. It took four peacekeepers to haul her away from the body, and unlike the other two teens, she didn’t willingly sign up for the tests and was sent here with only the promise of being pardoned for her crime.

In the end, F1 gives up with an annoyed sigh, and having only an hour left for the tests, he decides to move on to another pursuit.

“This last portion of the test will showcase the software’s ability to record vital signs in the event of negative stimuli. The subjects will be injected with a slow-acting compound laced with a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala, or the fear centre of the brain, and mimics anything the test subjects may define as hostile. We hope to gauge the effectivity of our software by recording any physiological and hormonal changes on each subject as they would in a natural, stressful environment.”

F1 fishes out a walkie-talkie from his lab coat and through it, he says, “Begin with Test Subject 3.”

Even before you can open your mouth to object to the experiment, two peacekeepers enter Audrey’s cell from a concealed door behind her bed, followed by a female nurse carrying a large syringe. Audrey puts up a fight and tries to evade what to her would be an unknown chemical being forced upon her, but her weakened state proves no match to the peacekeepers who pin her arms and legs to the floor, while the nurse injects her with the compound. She just lies on her belly, presumably screaming, and they eventually leave her alone in her cell, having done their job. She gets to her feet and back to cowering on her bed, visibly shaken by the way she was manhandled.

These are the kind of tests Uncle Cas had to endure conducting under his supervision.

F1 commands through his walkie-talkie for Test Subject 2 to be injected with the same compound.

You and F2 exchange looks. She explains, trying to keep her voice straight, “We’re dosing them at the same time because it takes about fifteen to thirty minutes for the drug to take effect,” she glances sideways at her brother and asks, “Aren’t we going to give the dose to Test Subject 1?”

F1 considers the question, but replies, “No, we leave him as control. Besides, he’s the only one that didn’t piss me off today.”

You watch numbly as the peacekeepers and the nurse from a while ago enter Tansey’s cell. Compared to Audrey, Tansey keeps perfectly still, her eyes fearful and wary and darting from between the peacekeepers’ guns to the syringe needle. She exposes her arm mutely to the nurse, who promptly sticks the syringe into her before stepping out of the enclosure and taking the peacekeepers with her. The wait begins – a long, depraved contest of who gets affected first between Test Subjects 2 and 3.

Tansey’s breathing rate begins to increase at the fifteen-minute mark. She slowly rises from her perch on the cot while she stares with wide eyes at something in the air. Her heart rate increases, according to the system, along with rising levels of adrenocorticotropin.

“Cortisol levels are also rising,” F2 observes aloud. “Test Subject 2 exhibiting signs of stress.”

“What are you seeing, Tansey?” you ask the teen.

But all you get from her is panicked screaming, so you put her to mute at once, helplessly watching as she flails her arms and runs around in her cell in an effort to swat away whatever she’s seeing, which seems to be attacking her from the air in all directions.

“I think she’s seeing tracker jackers...” you whisper to no one in particular. “Which makes sense, given her work environment...”

You’re about to ask if they also developed an antidote for this compound, but a dull thud on the glass startles you – Audrey just banged on the glass with her palms, her vitals are a disarray, and her blonde hair is matted with sweat. She keeps glancing behind her and screaming and hitting the window with her balled fists, almost like she’s begging to be let out.

F2 urgently asks through the intercom, “Audrey, I need you to describe what you’re seeing.”

For the first time today, Audrey opens her mouth to speak, her voice hoarse and filled with despair. “The Wolf.”

“She’s hallucinating her attacker,” F2 says as she turns her mic off.

“That means the drug is working, and the software seems to have an accurate read on all physiological and hormonal spikes. Control subject is fine and his vitals are stable,” F1 notes in a matter-of-fact tone. “Everything in their cells, by the way, is being captured by our motion tracker and being fed to the algorithm in real time.”

But, what for, when you’ve already covered that portion in the first part of the integration tests?

You spend the last fifteen minutes of the tests completely dumbstruck, petrified and wishing everything to be over so you can put this horrible job behind you and move on with your life. You keep stealing glances at Coriolanus, but his face is as stony as ever, and Dr Gaul just seems to be having the time of her life watching the test subjects run about in their cells letting out screams only they can hear, tormented by horrors only they can perceive.

By the time F1 declares the tests a success, you’re barely paying attention to his words – you just stare at the computer monitor, waiting for the save progress to reach a hundred percent before you can shut it down. Coriolanus places a hand on your shoulder, which you take as your cue to stand while your department head gives her verdict.

The Head Gamemaker dons a pleased smile as she delivers her final feedback. She seems absolutely thrilled with the tests so far and commends everyone hard at work on seeing the program to completion.

Dr Gaul clasps her hands together as she asks, “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I heard your team mention a trial Hunger Games using the test subjects?”

It can’t be, it just might be your physically and emotionally exhausted state mishearing her. You just blink, careful to pay more attention.

F2 gives an affirmative nod as she adjusts her glasses. “It’s called grey-box testing. The idea is to pool in end-users, ideally those who have partial knowledge of the internal structure, to help us test the software. We have F3, whom we’ve already asked prior to this, and Mr Snow has also volunteered himself and his apprentice, Ms Innis, to participate as test mentors.”

Dr Gaul nods her head in approval. “Indeed. I am glad that your team understands the exigency of this project, Mr Snow. The Twelfth Hunger Games is upon us, and I’d like to see this thing of beauty put to great use.”

Your world is in a tailspin. Your grip on the back of your computer chair is the only thing that keeps you from falling. Your hands are shaking even as you pretend you only had to grab the bottle of water on the station behind you to dissuade your mentor’s worried looks.

So, this is what they were recording them for, you conclude. To top it off, your boss has enlisted you as a test mentor, which means you will be responsible for the death of one or more of the teenagers you had just observed minutes ago being needlessly tortured so more could take their place this July.

Unable to control your lightheadedness any longer, you fall sideways with nothing to break your descent but the chair you had been sitting on.

A pair of strong arms is on you at once, gathering you and carrying you bridal style, ignoring your weakened protests. Everything is a blur, and you get dizzier in its hold, but you fight to stay conscious no matter how fleeting. The world only steadies when you’re set down on what feels like soft leather.

You wince at the bright light that floods your eyes. There’s a muffled voice you can make out that seems to be calling your name. When your vision and hearing clear, you finally make out the source of that blinding light: a penlight held by Dr Gaul herself, which she turns off; that voice belonging to none other than Coriolanus Snow whose hands are clasping one of yours.

“There she is, your little pet. Poor thing is fatigued, by the looks of her,” Dr Gaul chuckles lightly and raises an eyebrow at him. “You ought to keep your hands away from her every so often.”

Coriolanus merely exhales in relief, but his jaw remains tense. “She is merely preoccupied with the program, Dr. Gaul. She hasn’t been sleeping very well for the past weeks.”

The woman simply clicks her tongue in impatience. The sound of peeling latex gloves breaks the quiet in the room momentarily, followed by the opening of a sliding door shelf, the clinking of glass bottles and the closing of said shelf. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the doctor hand your mentor something you can’t see.

Gingerly, you sit up on the infirmary bed, and Coriolanus helps steady you by placing his hands on your shoulders.

Dr Gaul’s voice echoes in the room. “I’d like you to be in tip-top shape, Ms Innis, so I will give you the day off tomorrow. I will delay the trial, but only for a day more. Take her home, Mr Snow. Get some rest, both of you. Come this Friday, we’ll continue.”

She turns on her heels and walks away. Coriolanus’s sharp eyes follow his mentor’s retreating form until she disappears from the room. He then turns to you, his concerned blue orbs raking your form.

He cups your cheeks as he whispers, “You gave me quite the scare, my sugarplum.” He kisses you on the forehead, then asks, “Tell me what you’re feeling. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Other than my head pounding? I’m fine, I guess. I just need some sleep,” your hushed tone says. And other than your tights sustaining a rip on the right thigh from your fall on the computer chair, everything else on you seems to be intact, so you try to stand. The floor seems to move the moment you get to your feet, and Coriolanus catches you before another stumble.

“You’re coming with me to my place,” he says firmly.

You begin protesting, “Coryo, I can just go home –”

You’re interrupted by your own yelp of surprise – to your mortification, he carries you in his arms just as he did when he brought you to the infirmary.

He raises a chastising eyebrow at you. “I’m having none of your complaints. You’re in no state to walk, or to go to your home – it’s too far. My apartment is closer.”

You can’t find the words to argue this logic, so you burrow your face further into his coat in embarrassment. He carries you to his car and instructs his driver to head to his home. You count a few blocks before you arrive at the entrance to this new luxury apartment building. You remember this building from a flyer; despite its ridiculous markup, it targeted uni students, promising luxury features that somewhat rival that of The Corso’s.

It takes a while for you to assure him that you can walk fine on your own, but he relents in the end with a purse of his lips. You could tell he’s displeased by your refusal to be carried like a damsel in distress, but he settles for putting his arm around your shoulders as he walks you across the building’s fine lobby and to the elevator. It’s his private elevator, he says – a perk of owning the largest penthouse spanning the entire top floor. That and exclusive access to the rooftop, he adds.

All this extravagance bought and paid for by the family of a man he presumably betrayed, you bitterly think.

This begs the question: how much longer you can overlook the possibility that he had Sejanus executed?

You silence that snide voice in your head, only because it just served to amplify your pain.

He’s greeted by a maid right in his foyer, who takes both your coats, before he instructs her curtly to make some tea. With his hand on your lower back, he leads you to his spacious living room with windows overlooking the Capitol bathed in the orange gleam of the setting sun, and you can’t help but look around you in amazement at the sheer elegance of his unit. You could see why it would appeal to students; it certainly favoured contemporary interior decor compared to that of The Corso’s art deco leanings. He ushers you into the velvet crimson loveseat in a corner near a window adorned with silky throw pillows.

“Take your shoes off and lie down if you want,” he suggests. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You lean against the backrest with a sigh of relief. Finally, a friendlier surface than the computer chair you’d been lounging around in all day. You’re almost tempted to do as he instructed and make yourself comfortable, if it isn’t for the fact that you’re technically in enemy territory, and you’re a war prisoner being lured with the promise of freedom in exchange for betraying your side.

Instead, you make do with hugging one of the pillows, cursing yourself for landing in this situation – after all, it’s partly your fault that you’re here instead of home where you’re sure you're safe, and most importantly, away from Coriolanus Snow’s clutches.

Coriolanus is back within minutes, taking a seat beside you. He’s taken off his waistcoat and unbuttoned his white shirt halfway through, you observe. He rolls up his sleeves as the maid enters with a steaming teapot, cream, and sugar bowls on a tray along with two sets of teacups. She sets them all down on the coffee table in the middle. He instructs her to bring out the cake from the fridge as she exits.

He pours you a cup of tea, the inviting aroma of a rooibos and valerian root blend drifting in the living room air before he adds just the right amount of milk and sugar as you would make it yourself.

“Drink this, sugarplum. It’ll help, trust me,” he says as he pushes the teacup towards you. He pours some himself, only adding two cubes of sugar and a lemon wedge squeeze, as is his occasional preference. You watch him take a sip before you do.

And of course, your cup tastes perfect. It’s almost scary how he knows the littlest of details, including how you take your tea, of all things.

The maid arrives with what looks like a matcha-flavoured angel food cake from The White Knight before he instructs her to go home early for the night.

You try not to be nervous at being left alone with him in his apartment and focus on the tea.

Coriolanus takes the liberty of slicing you a piece of the cake and placing it on the empty plate the maid had brought in. He urges you to eat.

“I noticed you didn’t order that angel food cake you seem to be partial to when we had lunch. I thought you might like to have a bite after such a successful day.”

The smile he gives you is full of pride, while you feel nothing but shame at the abomination you had just willingly participated in. Still, you take a few bites of the cake to placate him. You’re in his turf where his rule is absolute, and heaven forbid any missteps on your part that would warrant any sanctions.

He watches you quietly for a short while over sips of tea while you contemplate the best exit strategy. Even with your slice of cake gone and your cup of tea empty, you come up with nil excuses. Surprisingly, the food helped a bit with the nausea, and you could feel your limbs starting to relax further into the couch. You can’t even fight your yawn, only stifling it with your hands, as you sink into the pile of throw pillows.

Okay, maybe just a little nap…surely, he wouldn’t mind.

The last thing you see as you drift off to blackness is Coriolanus and his lopsided grin, his slender fingers brushing off the hair framing your face.

According to Coriolanus’s watch, it took about thirty minutes for the sleeping draught he put in the milk bowl to take effect, but he allows ten more minutes to make sure you’re deep in your sleep and won’t be waking in at least a few hours. He still had some of the draught in his medicine cabinet as he’d used in the past, making sure not to touch the other bottle he’s supposed to give you courtesy of Dr Gaul.

He spends the rest of the ten minutes just admiring your face, finally deep in your own little world, blissfully unaware of your reality. For the first time in a long while, he’s completely alone with you, so allows himself this little treat of brushing your cheeks and stroking your hair. He wonders what you dream of. He wishes it was filled with the things you love. He wishes he was in it somewhere.

He eventually decides that this loveseat is no place for his sweet, little sugarplum to spend the night in.

He carefully removes your shoes and places them neatly by the foot of the couch. He carries you with ease like a prince claiming his princess bride before walking off to the sunset. He is gentle when he sets you down on his bed. He doesn't need to close his door; it’s just you and him on the entire floor, after all. He straddles your hips as he climbs on top of your sleeping figure. His eyes greedily take you in: your hair spread out on his pillow, your lips slightly parted, the curve of your neck beating your pulse...it’s what he’s dreamed of for so long; you sprawled underneath him ready for his taking...

He finally just lets his intrusive thoughts take over and licks that enticing pulse point of yours.

The moment his tongue latches on your skin, Coriolanus knows he wants more. He hurriedly unbuttons your blouse and gently peels it off your torso, exposing the swell of your breasts, modestly covered in a cream-coloured bra. Watching your exposed bosom rising and falling in steady breathing has his blood rushing from his head to his groin.

And then you had to let out a tiny, adorable whine from the back of your throat.

Coriolanus groans in frustration as he wipes a bead of sweat off his temple. The rational part of him tells him to stop, put your shirt back on and keep away from your sleeping figure because he’s aware your first time with him shouldn’t be while you’re asleep and unable to respond to his touches. He knows you’re a virgin and he’d prefer that you remember your first experience with him, and that taking you on the night of your wedding means you’d have no reason to refuse him as your husband.

But there’s this other side of him – primal, impatient, irrational, and ravenous, that part of him he normally conceals from you, most especially – that’s threatening to surface. The part of him that knows he’s been so good to you, and he’s waited long enough for even just a taste of how right at home you’d make him feel when his rock-hard cock is burrowed deep inside you...

As his gaze dips further down the skirt you’re wearing, now slightly hiked up and revealing your stocking-wrapped thighs, a thought successfully marries his rational and irrational side: he doesn’t have to fuck you tonight – he can still save you for your wedding night and still get to taste you and satisfy that painfully growing erection of his.

He seals your lips with a searing kiss, which eventually dips to the valley between your breasts, which he then squeezes through your bra. He fights the entire time not to suck on your skin and leave bruises, figuring you’d easily see if he did. He kisses and licks and massages every part of your body he can reach, while his hand travels underneath your skirt. He gathers the material to your waist, revealing your lower half and peels off that pesky pantyhose, careful not to aggravate that little tear.

And once again, Coriolanus pulls away to admire the sight of you, on his bed, in your underwear, his breathing turning shallow in anticipation.

Just a taste, he assures himself, as he removes your panties, leaving your cunt bare to him and sending more blood to his already-engorged cock. He hastens in taking your legs apart and hooking them under his arms, and from there, he begins his worship.

The kiss he plants on your inner thigh slowly travels downwards, and he allows himself to suckle on your soft skin while still avoiding any visible welts. He does the same with your other thigh, but this time, he suckles and bites down on a tender spot near that hole in your stocking, and he only stops when an angry little red blotch begins to bloom on the flesh. He kisses it one more time for good measure, just before he dives in to feast on his main course.

Coriolanus moans indecently when his tongue begins to part your folds. He chuckles to himself when he feels you jerk a little in his hold – his sweet, delicious sugarplum, so sensitive to his touch...

What was that thing they used to say as children? I licked it, so it’s mine.

He runs this tongue over his lips before continuing his quest of lapping at your cunt, making sure he takes everything you offer him. He sucks on your clit as he listens to your breathy little whines, your body tensing in your sleep as he drinks and licks your juices – you taste just like honey on his tongue – he’s parched like he’s been that way since he can remember, and your cunt is the only thing that could quench that life-long thirst, and he doesn’t stop drinking you in until your entire body is tensing up and your thighs are quivering in his arms. He pulls away in time to watch your pretty face, frozen in pure bliss, your mouth parted as you let out those airy little moans and whines.

Did he just give his little sugarplum her first-ever orgasm in her sleep?

Your limbs relax eventually as he releases your thighs. Still drunk on the taste of you in his mouth, he quickly takes his shirt off and wastes no time unzipping his pants. He can only ignore his raging erection for so long, after all.

Like he’s done countless times, he takes his cock in his fist and begins pumping himself as he watches you – as per usual, he indulges himself in fantasies about you, moaning and screaming his name, writhing underneath him in pleasure and making a mess of his bedsheets, except your face in his mind is clearer than ever before, now that he’s seen the expressions and the sounds you’d make as he makes you come around his cock again and again. He imagines himself taking you over and over even as you stay limp underneath him, too fucked out to moan anything coherently.

It doesn’t take Coriolanus long to reach his peak. With a loud, guttural groan, he finishes on your stomach, making sure he doesn’t spill anywhere else even amidst the waves of pleasure engulfing him. He brings his forehead close to yours as he steadies his breathing and lets his high fade. Once he’s regained his composure, he pulls away from you, zips his pants back up and gets off you completely, opting to sit beside you as he leans against the headboard to collect his thoughts.

He knows he couldn’t leave you in your half-dressed state for long lest you catch a cold, so he begins to erase any evidence of the little bit of fun he had with you. Shame, really, when you look so inviting covered in his spend.

He starts by gently wiping his cum off your stomach with a damp towel, ensuring that he leaves no trace of himself on you. He finds wiping you clean easy and satisfying, vaguely wondering what it would be like to have the two of you soaking in a bathtub together and doing the same for him. The next task, getting you back in your stockings, isn’t as easy as the previous, given that he has to arrange the run on the cloth back where he remembers it to be. Miraculously, he too, gets that task out of the way, and putting your shirt back on proves way less challenging. By the time he’s done, the only sign he’d been on you is the little love bite he left, now purplish-black, conveniently camouflaged by that little tear on your stocking you’d be quick to dismiss it as a byproduct of your fall.

For now, that little beast in him has been sated and has retreated to the far corners of his psyche. He kisses your crown as he tucks you in the covers, but notices how troubled your expression looks.

Are you having a bad dream, he wonders?

You stir in your sleep as you turn away from his side of the bed, muttering a word he couldn’t catch. He climbs back in beside you, leaning against the pillows, his eyes landing on the vial of smelling salts on his nightstand. If this worsens, maybe he could use that to tear you away from the dream that’s bothering you.

Then he hears sniffling.

You curl up in a ball beneath the sheets as the sniffling grows more audible. He peers further into your face, finding fresh trails of tears on your temples.

Coriolanus almost internally panics.

Did he do this to you? Had he somehow given you a dream you’re now struggling with because of what he did? He rubs his face as he thinks of the possibilities.

Maybe you’re dreaming of Sejanus. Perhaps in this dream, he’s breaking your heart, or he’s hurting you, maybe even cheated on you and you had caught him in the middle of messing around with another girl.

Things Coriolanus would never, ever do to you.

He finds comfort in the thought somehow, and he can at least hope this dream version of himself would come in and punch the daylights out of dream-Sejanus for making you cry.

“Mommy…”

It’s faint, but he hears it.

“Mommy, wake up, please…We have to find daddy..."

Ah, you’re dreaming of that day.

Coriolanus recalls the day Sejanus approached him with good intentions (like always, he couldn’t help his nature) and began talking to him about you. It was one of his many deluded attempts at igniting friendship with him. He didn’t really care back then whatever he had to say, much less about you, but then he had to reveal how your parents died.

Such needless deaths brought about the vindictiveness of rebels who were bitter about your parents choosing the correct side.

And Coriolanus knew, better than anyone, and certainly better than Sejanus, what it was like to lose a parent the way you did.

For a moment there, he sees his younger self in you, calling out for his dead mother in the middle of the night and waking up realising she’ll never come back.

His heart wrenches at your pain, so he gathers you in his lap as you sob in your slumber. He’d never thought he’d see you this vulnerable around him, so it gives him an odd sense of ease knowing he’d seen a side of you you’d normally hide from him, and making you feel safe in his arms like this is something a dutiful husband would definitely do.

He almost ignores the phone ringing in his living room in favour of keeping you in his embrace.

Except the call drops and the phone rings insistently three more times, making him gently peel you off his lap and wanting to yank it off the plug.

Instead, he picks it up. What compelled him to do so, he doesn’t know, and he can’t pinpoint whether it was a good or a bad decision.

“Coriolanus. This is Acacius Innis.”

Fuck. Just when he’s finally got you to himself.

Acacius Innis inquires more persistently on the other line. “Is my niece with you?”

“Yes, Mr Innis. She –”

“Why?”

Coriolanus does not appreciate Innis senior’s tone, nor the way he just cut him off. “She almost passed out at work this afternoon, sir,” he says. “My place was the closest I could bring her to.”

A pause on the other line. “I’m coming over,” says Mr Innis.

“I can bring her over instead, sir –”

“No, I’m picking her up,” Innis says, as sounds of scuffling are heard in his background. “I know where you live. And, young man, if you so much as try anything funny with my niece, if you dare lay a finger –”

“I have no such intentions, Mr Innis,” Coriolanus replies with just as much conviction.

My tongue did all the work. He licks his lips, extremely pleased he could still taste you on them. “Nellie is safe with me; you have my word.”

“Good to know. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Coriolanus hears the click of the receiver, followed by the dial tone.

The meddling prick.

A sharp sensation in your nose stirs you awake, followed by fingers softly stroking your hair to help you come out of it.

“Sugarplum, I’m sorry to have woken you up, but you were crying in your sleep.”

The compassionate voice of none other than Coriolanus Snow makes you rise at once and assess where exactly you have ended up.

You remember falling asleep on his couch, and yet, here you are, on a bed with his shirtless self, and a just few seconds ago draped all over his lap, apparently crying in your sleep again.

"What was I saying?” you ask as you wipe your tears with your palms.

“You were calling for your parents,” he explains. “I assume you were dreaming about the day they died.”

Damn this day. You just had to fall asleep in his presence. It’s a stupid move, you berate yourself. You extricate yourself at once from what obviously looks like his bed. Coriolanus's eyes follows you with a doleful look. “I had no idea you still had nightmares about them.”

He too, gets to his feet, picking his shirt up from the sheets and putting it back on. What the fuck even was it doing off? He approaches you with eyes cold enough to freeze your blood. “And we know gave us this pain, Nellie. We’ll make them pay for it. Every single one of them.”

You’re relieved when he finally leads you away from his bedroom and back to the living room where your shoes are. You sit on the loveseat so you can put them on, but he’s on his knees at once, assisting you with your shoestraps.

“Your uncle knows you’re here,” he says as he ties your laces. “I told him you had a long day and you were resting. He’s on his way to pick you up. He also mentioned a subtle, tasteful threat of bodily harm if I ‘tried anything funny.’”

He looks up at you, smiling as he brushes his knuckles on your cheek.

“Like I’d ever harm my little sugarplum.”

The two of you retrieve your coat in the foyer, and you quietly thank him for letting you stay at his home. Instead of responding, he just fixes your hair and wipes your cheeks with his thumb, which later brushes over your lips.

Please, don’t let him kiss me…

“Coryo? Please…” you whisper shakily.

But then he releases you, donning a satisfied look. “There, all better.” When you look at him with questioning eyes, he adds, “I don’t think your uncle will ever forgive me if he thinks I made you cry.”

“Th-thanks.”

“You can thank me by getting better,” he says lightly. He leads you to the elevator with his hand on your back. “You have the entire day off tomorrow, so get all the rest you need. In fact, I have something that may help you get better sleep.”

He fishes this small, crimson vial from his pants pocket and places it in your hands. The cork stopper on the bottle is still sealed with wax.

“That should help. Take a teaspoon before you go to bed. It’s a non-addictive formula they developed at the Citadel. Tell me if it works for you so I can get you more.”

You nod and mutter your thanks. “Coryo, can I ask you something?

“Of course, sugarplum.”

“When do you think I can start working for my uncle again? Now that I’ve already finished fixing the code?”

His eyes darken at your question, but he blinks and it’s gone, replaced by simple curiosity.

“Why, sugarplum? Are you that eager to wriggle free from me?” he jests.

“No,” you deny, no matter how much his observation rings true. “It’s just that he’s been looking unwell lately, and he won’t tell me anything. He’ll never tell me if he’s sick or what, and I worry about him.”

What you said is partly true, but you also just want to be done with everything that has to do with him. If you don’t work for him anymore, you won’t ever have to interact with him ever again and be part of whatever he’s building. He’s not your friend, no matter how much he tries to make it look like so. He’s dangerous, you know that, and the faster you can keep him at arm’s length, the better.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sugarplum. I know the past week has been stressful for you. For both of you. But you don’t want to leave the program now, do you? Not when we’re so close to accomplishing what your uncle had started. And if you really want to help your uncle, finish his work, and help build his legacy.”

So, it seems you’re stuck with him, and you’ll still be participating in the trial Hunger Games this Friday.

The air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re pinned against the cold, steel walls of the elevator, and the gasp you let out is silenced by Coriolanus’s mouth latching onto yours.

Having caught you off-guard, you attempt to push him off, but he’s always been leagues above you in physical strength. As his tongue finds yours, you simply close your eyes and let him.

However, just as soon as it happens, he releases you, just in time for the elevator door to reveal the lobby with a ding.

“How about I recommend people I know who’d be perfect as his apprentice?” he suggests as if nothing happened. “After all, I have a track record for finding the perfect one. I’ll have it sent to his desk next week.”

You’re exhausted beyond words, not having the will to snap, so you just nod along. Through the glass doors, you spot your uncle leaning against his car with his hands inside his coat pocket, looking more cross than you’ve ever seen him in public. Still, you have never been more relieved to see him.

You open your mouth to greet him as you step outside, followed by Coriolanus, but Uncle Cas’s eyes land on the tear on your stocking. Acacius Innis’s eyes harden, and the next thing you know, he’s lunging at the younger man behind you. You hear a dull thud, indicating he landed a punch somewhere.

“Uncle Cas, no!” You squeal, wrapping your arms around his torso and attempting to wrench him away from Coriolanus.

“What the fuck did you do, you little – !”

“Uncle, I fell, and I tore my tights. He didn’t do anything!”

Uncle Cas simmers down upon hearing your words. “Is this true?” He asks Coriolanus.

Your friend holds a slightly bleeding lip with his thumb, but he smiles just as disarmingly as if he wasn’t at all fazed by your uncle’s outburst. “Yes, sir. It was merely an accident.”

Your uncle huffs to himself. For a moment, he seems like he's considering punching him again with the way he furls his fist, but then he dips his head in apology. “Then you’ll have to forgive me, young man. I truly am sorry for jumping to conclusions. Are you alright?”

Coriolanus merely chuckles, but it's bereft of any humour. “I was a peacekeeper once, sir. I have certainly taken much worse.”

This was a clear challenge, and you wish with all your might that your uncle wouldn’t take the bait. Fortunately, the older man just tenses his jaw and nods. “Once again, you have my apologies. I thought you had hurt my niece, and it was wrong of me to not reign in my temper.”

Snow straightens to his full height and graciously replies, “I completely understand, Mr Innis. I’d protect Nellie just as ferociously as you would.”

Your uncle all but drags you to the car’s passenger seat and follows you inside, taking his place in the driver's seat. Now, even with everything that happened that day, this is a bizarre sight, as Acacius Innis has not driven a car himself in a long while. You remain quiet as the engine roars to life, almost swearing to yourself that you hear him mutter “insolent fucking cunt” under his breath as he drives off at full speed.

Enter Level 9

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Sorry for any typos, I am not the best of health rn and I will be editing this when I wake up 😊 please stick around!! Snowball has more tricks up his sleeve 😈😈😈

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #x OC2ndPOV #or #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 years

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✨💫 NAVIGATION 💫✨

About me:

My name is Christina, I'm 20+, and I love Halloween, makeup of all genre, horror movies, 2000s rom-coms, writing, cats...and Taylor Swift more than anything. I'm a creative person at heart and share personality type with Kat Strattford and Wednesday Addams. I've been writing since I read the Twilight books and currently write for Scream, Wednesday, TSITP, Marvel, and more

☆ My taglists form here

☆ My 2024 prompt list is here and you can send requests here at any time

Who I write for:

MCU characters (Peter Parker + Loki Laufeyson) | Masterpost

Teen Wolf (Stiles Stilinski + Derek Hale) | Masterpost

Outer Banks (JJ Maybank + Rafe Cameron) | Masterpost special fandom prompt list

Jess Mariano (Gilmore Girls) | Masterlist

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon (Daemon Targaryen + Aemond Targaryen + Aegon II Targaryen + Jacaerys Velrayon (NEW) + Jon Snow) | Masterpost special fandom prompt list NEW

Wednesday (Xavier Thorpe + Ajax Petropolus + Wednesday Addams) | Masterlist

Marcus Baker (Ginny & Georgia) | Masterpost

Scream (Ethan Landry + Chad Meeks Martin + Mindy Meeks Martin + Tara Carpenter + Billy Loomis + Charlie Walker + Amber Freeman) | Masterpost special fandom prompt list

The summer I turned pretty (Conrad Fisher + Jeremiah Fisher) | Masterpost

Tate Langdon (American Horror Story: Murder House) | Masterpost

Young!Coriolanus Snow (Hunger Games) | Masterpost special fandom prompt list ** crossed fandoms/characters are on hold

REQUESTS RULES

I have the ability to deny and delete any requests I don't want to write

If the request is from a list, adding the quote with the number helps me a lot (I have more than one list and it gets confusing for me)

I don’t have a set word count for requests, but I try to keep them between 0.5k - 1k

Do not send me the exact same request you sent to many other writers. If see it, I'll then delete it

Smut is allowed, and welcomed

I WILL NOT WRITE

These NSFW themes — feet fetish, a/b/o, innocent!reader , humiliation/degrading kink, water sport, graphic SA or anything non-con (unless it’s part of a ‘game’)

RPF (real people fiction)

Romanticization of mental health (eating disorders, depression, any type of self harm, etc.)

Anything yandere related

Anything involving someone being sick or periods

Peter x Tony (romantically) or any form of incest (with the exception of GoT and HotD)

Pregnancies / main characters being a parent

male!reader

nb!reader or gn!reader (nothing against it, I just wouldn’t want to write it wrong)

male!reader

black!reader or plus size!reader (nothing against it, I just would want to offend anyone by writing something I don’t know about)

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eufezco · 2 years

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🧃EUFEZCO'S MASTERLIST🧃

## A B O U T M E

( euphoria, stranger things, house of the dragon, wednesday, alice in borderland, the last of us , the hunger games )

she/her. bi. 9teen. sag ☼

english isn't my first language.

this isn't my main so i can't really reply to you in the comments nor follow you back. but i always read every comment and i appreciate them so much <3 and if you want to be moots, my dms are open and so my emoji anons

📬 REQUEST STATUS: OPEN !

## M Y L A T E S T W O R K S

❥ THREE LIES AT ONCE (FINNICK ODAIR)

❥ A SEASHORE CONFESSION (FINNICK ODAIR)

❥ REQUEST: FINNICK X READER WITH A TROUPE RIVALS TO LOVERS

## M O S T P O P U L A R W O R K

1. THE STAINS (EDDIE MUNSON)

2. CONFIDENCE (STEVE HARRINGTON)

3. THE GRIEF OF LOSING EDDIE MUNSON

M A R V E L 🇺🇸

B U C K Y B A R N E S

-> I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART

S T R A N G E R T H I N G S 📿

S T E V E H A R R I N G T O N

-> YOU'RE TOO DRUNK FOR THIS

-> CONFIDENCE (S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> HELP (S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> POOL SEX (S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> WAIT FOR IT (KING!S. H. x FEM!READER)

-> THE GRIEF OF LOSING EDDIE MUNSON (S. H. x BYERS!FEM!READER)

-> REQUEST: SOFT!DOM STEVE HARRINGTON

-> JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY (STEVE HARRINGTON X READER)

-> REQUEST: STEVE, NANCY, ROBIN AND EDDIE ARE IN THE UPSIDE DOWN, READER IS PARANOID THAT SOMETHING MIGHT HAPPEN TO HER AND STEVE HAS TO REASSURE THAT WON'T HAPPEN

-> IF I WERE TO KISS YOU THEN GO TO HELL, I WOULD. SO THEN I CAN BRAG WITH THE DEVILS I SAW HEAVEN WITHOUT EVER ENTERING IT (STEVE HARRINGTON X READER)

-> REQUEST I FEEL LIKE HE’D BE NEGLECTED IN ALL HIS RELATIONSHIPS, GIRLS JUST WANTING TO GET WITH HIM BECAUSE OF HOW GOOD HE IS, TAKING ADVANTAGE OF HIM. THEN WHEN HE IS FINALLY WITH READER AND SHE REALIZES THIS BECAUSE SHE ASKS HIM WHAT HE WANTS OR HOW HE LIKES HIS BJS AND HE DOESN’T KNOW SO SHE SPENDS THE WHOLE NIGHT SOLELY FOCUSED ON MAKING HIM

-> VECNA'S CURSE (S.H. x HARGROVE!FEM!READER)

-> REQUEST I HAVE THIS IDEA OF STEVE AND Y/N JUST DOING POTTERY TOGETHER AND THEY END UP MAKING OUT AND LEADING INTO MORE

-> THE FAMILY YOU CHOSE (S.H. X FEM!READER)

-> FORGIVENESS IS A NICE THING TO DO (S.H. x FEM!MUNSON READER)

-> ...READY FOR IT? (S.H. x FEM!READER)

E D D I E M U N S O N

-> STAY SAFE (EDDIE MUNSON X READER)

-> THE STAINS (EDDIE MUNSON X READER)

-> REQUEST WOULD YOU WRITE ANYTHING FOR EDDIE X PLUS SIZE!READER?

-> REQUEST BEGGING YOU TO DO A EDDIE INSPIRED BY THIS TIKTOK

-> FOUR TIMES EDDIE MUNSON KISSED YOU ( x FEM!READER)

-> DREAM OF A LIFETIME (EDDIE MUNSON X PREGNANT!READER)

B I L L Y H A R G R O V E

-> REQUEST: BILLY FIC WHERE READER IS A BADDIE BUT THEN BILLY FINDS OUT SHE ALSO GOT SOME TRAUMA FROM HER PARENTS

-> REQUEST: BILLY IS DATING THE GOOD GIRL FROM SCHOOL AND EVERYONE TELLS HER THAT HE'LL BREAK HER HEART BC IT'S BILLY HARGROVE BUT IN REALITY BILLY WANTS SOMETHING SERIOUS WITH HER

-> REQUEST: BILLY HARGROVE X READER WHERE READER AND BILLY ARE AT A PARTY TOGETHER AND WHILST SHE’S THERE SOMEONE PUTS SOMETHING IN HER DRINK AND SHE STARTS FEELING ALL FUNNY, LUCKILY BILLY FINDS HER BEFORE ANYTHING BAD HAPPENS AND INSTANTLY REALISES WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER AND HE’S SO MAD AT WHOEVER DID IT BUT AT THE SAME TIME HE’S SO SCARED BECAUSE HIS GIRL IS LITERALLY ALMOST UNRESPONSIVE IN HIS ARMS.

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> SEX HEADCANONS (BILLY HARGROVE, EDDIE MUNSON, STEVE HARRINGTON & JONATHAN BYERS X READER)

-> DADS (BILLY HARGROVE, EDDIE MUNSON, JONATHAN BYERS, STEVE HARRINGTON)

-> REQUEST: FIRST TIME WITH BILLY AND EDDIE

-> 💗💜💙 (BI!FEM!READER X STEVE HARRINGTON)

-> WE (STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER)

-> TAKING CARE OF MAX AT THE HOSPITAL (HOPPER!FEM!READER X STEVE HARRINGTON)

THE HUNGER GAMES 🩸

F I N N I C K O D A I R

-> IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE BABY

-> HEART TO HEART

-> A SEASHORE CONFESSION

-> THREE LIES AT ONCE

-> REQUEST: FINNICK X READER WITH A TROUPE RIVALS TO LOVERS

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSING THEM (CORIOLANUS SNOW, FINNICK ODAIR, PEETA MELLARK, SEJANUS PLINTH)

T H E L A S T O F U S 🍄

J O E L M I L L E R

-> SARAH WANTS JOEL TO ASK YOU OUT (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> YOU DENY HIM A KISS AND JOEL DOESN'T TAKE IT WELL ( J. M x FEM!READER)

-> MOM!READER MEETS JOEL AGAIN AFTER THE OUTBREAK (J. M X FEM!MOM!READER)

-> PREOUTBREAK!JOEL VS POSTOUTBREAK!JOEL SMUT (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> UNNOTICED (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> PREOUTBREAK!JOEL DEALING WITH HIS THREE GIRLS (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> SUPER SHY (J. M X FEM!READER)

-> WEDDING DAY (SISTER'S FIANCE!JOEL X FEM!READER)

-> JELOUS OF TESS (J. M X FEM!READER)

P E D R O P A S C A L M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSES (OBERYN MARTELL, JAVIER PEÑA, DIN DJARIN, JOEL MILLER)

-> SEEING HIS FACE FOR THE FIRST TIME (DIN DJARIN X FEM!READER)

W E D N E S D A Y 🎟️

T Y L E R G A L P I N

-> TASTE OF YOU (T. G. x VAMPIRE!READER)

-> I DID IT FOR YOU (T. G. x VAMPIRE!FEM!READER)

-> DAD HEADCANONS (T. G. x WEREWOLF!FEM!READER)

X A V I E R T H O R P E

-> LOVER (X. T. x VAMPIRE!READER)

A L I C E I N B O R D E R L A N D 🧶

C H I S H I Y A S H U N T A R O

-> BACK TO YOU (C.S. x FEM!READER)

-> CHISHIYA REFUSED MEDICINE UNTIL IT CAME TO YOU (C. S. x FEM!READER)

M U L T I P L E C H A R A C T E R S

-> KISSES (ARISU, CHISHIYA, KYUMA, KUINA, NIRAGI, USAGI)

H O U S E O F T H E D R A G O N 🐉

D A E M O N T A R G A R Y E N

-> THE ROGUE PRINCE AND THE FORBIDDEN LADY (D.T x FEM!STARK!READER)

-> SHORT HAIR SUITS YOU (D.T. x FEM!READER)

A E M O N D T A R G A R Y E N

-> HIS PERSONAL REVENGE (A. T. x FEM!READER)

E U P H O R I A 🪻

F E Z C O

-> THIGH RIDING (FEZCO X READER)

-> REQUEST: COULD YOU PLEASE MAKE ONE WHERE Y/N TELLS ASH THAT SHE'S PREGNANT BECAUSE SHE WAS SCARED TO TELL FEZ PT. 2

-> REQUEST: CAN U DO A FEZ SMUT OF HIM WANTING TO EAT THE READER OUT?

-> REQUEST: HI, CAN YOU DO A LENGTHY FEZ SMUT WHERE HIM & READER SPEND THE DAY TOGETHER SHOPPING AND STOP AT A LINGERIE STORE. SHE'S TRYING STUFF ON TEASING HIM AND THEN THEY GO INTO THE DRESSING ROOM TRYING TO BE QUIET EVEN THROUGH FEZ IS GOING HARD.

-> RUE INTERRUPTS YOUR NIGHT WITH FEZCO (FEZCO X READER)

-> YOU ASK FEZCO TO CHOKE YOU (FEZCO X READER)

-> FEZCO FUCKING YOU IN YOUR NEW DRESS (FEZCO X PLUS SIZE!READER)

-> REQUEST: FEZCO X READER. THEY ARE DATING AND EXPLORING THEIR SEXYAL LIKES AND DISLIKES. DO YOU THINK FEZ WOULD BE DOWN TO THE READER PEGGING HIM?

-> REQUEST: CAN YOU PLEASE DO ONE WHERE THE READER AND FEZCO ARE TOGETHER AND ONE NIGHT THE READER GETS DRUNK AND FEZCO TAKES CARE OF HER??

-> I SENT HER BACK TO HER BOYFRIEND WITH MY HANDPRINT ON HER ASS CHEEK (FEZCO X READER)

-> FRIENDSHIP WITH FEZCO (FEZCO X READER)

-> REQUEST: FEZCO SMUT X READER. HE TAKES THIS GOOD GIRLS VIRGINITY AND ASKS HIS GRANDMA FOR TIPS ON HOW TO TREAT HER WELL

-> FEZCO HAS TO SAVE YOU FROM YOUR DISASTROUS HOUSEHOLD (FEZCO X READER)

N A T E J A C O B S

-> NATE FINDS YOUR DILDO AND HE'S NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT (NATE JACOBS X READER)

J U L E S V A U G H N

-> MEETING JULES (JULES X READER)

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writersblockiskillingme · 5 months

Text

WritersblockiskillingmeMASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

JOIN THE TAGLIST HERE!!

Feel free to send asks and requests. Don't be shy. This is a safe space and no judgment zone. No hate of any kind on this blog will be tolerated.

Måneskin Masterlist

Damiano David

Thomas Raggi

Ethan Torchio

Marvel Masterlist

Bucky Barnes

Eurovision Masterlist

Jan Rozmanowski/Jann

Bojan Cvjetićanin

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

The Hunger Games Masterlist

Finnick Odair

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Spencer Reid

Taylor Swift Masterlist

Taylor Swift Inspired Fics Masterlist

Characters that I refuse to write for:

Old!Coriolanus Snow (The Hunger Games) -> romantically [I do, however write for, young!Coriolanus Snow]

Seneca Crane (The Hunger Games)

Gale Hawthorne (The Hunger Games)

Lord Voldemort (Harry Potter)

Lucius Malfoy (Harry Potter)

Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Peter Pettigrew (Harry Potter)

Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Severus Snape (Harry Potter)

Thanos (Marvel)

John Walker (Marvel)

Nick Fury (Marvel)

...that's it for now

Things I don't write about:

foot fetish

SA kinks

forced pregnancy

innocent!reader

yandere

dark![insert character]/dark!reader

incest

male!reader

romantic ships like Katniss x Haymitch or Peter Parker x Tony Stark...

gn!reader, black!reader or plus size!reader [I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST IT, I just don't want to offend anybody by writing something I don't know about ♥︎]

romanticizing depression, anxiety, SA, SH and such

#imagine #fic #masterlist #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x reader #jan rozmanowski x reader #joker out #bojan cvjeticanin x reader #damiano david x reader #ethan torchio x reader #thomas raggi x reader #requests are open #please request #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds masterlist #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift #johanna mason x reader

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coriolanussnowslover · 4 months

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The Ballad of Snakes, Songbirds, and Sorrow.

A Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader FanFiction.

He saw everything in her, so why is he so intrigued by her.

Word Count: 3,621.

*Reader is from a prestigious family in the capital. They have been best friends their whole lives and dating for years now. Cearo means Sorrow. Follows the film loosely, but as canon as possible.

*Warnings: Genral Hunger Games Canon Warnings. Death. Etc. Some Suggestive Themes. Possessive Behavior. Not Proof Read.

Masterlist

Part Two.

The Night after the Reaping

(Y/N) sat with Tirgirs and Grandma’am at the table while Coriolanus paced the dining room in front of her. She tapped her fingers against the table, the tips of them wrapped in gauze from Tirgirs when she arrived with the bloody raw skin picked off around her nails. She knew Coriolanus was having a meltdown about his tribute, sure most everyone was, but all she could think about was Wovey. She looked so small and sweet, reminding her so much of Wilby. She had already cried to Coryo in the back room of the academy while nervously snacked on whatever he grabbed off the buffet on their way out.

“You saw her. She's underfed, unstable.” “The dean said it's not just about winning.” “Everything is about winning! If not the games then the crowd!”

(Y/N) was tuning them out at this point, she knew Coryo needed to win this for their future. She was not about to let him lose everything he fought so desperately for to Highbottom’s distaste for his last name. They needed a spectacle. The capital loves anything showy and daring, and that they could work with. “I wouldn't sing a note for you if I was her.Imagine it was your name they pulled and you were ripped from your home! I’d just wanna know somebody still cared about me.” “She's district, Tigers. She knows we hate her, and she wants us dead.” “Don’t discount her just because she's district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.” (Y/N) watched the cousins discuss Lucy in front of her.

“Why don't we go meet them tomorrow at the train station Coryo?” They both turned to her, eyes the size of pancakes at her suggestion. “They get here tomorrow, why don't we go there, meet Lucy and Wovey. The Dean said we have to help them win over the capitol hearts, but so do we. What if we show the capital how caring and dedicated to our tributes we are. If we show them we feel something for them, they will too, boosting their incentive to watch the games. Plus we can show them we care about them, like Tirgris said. All I’d want is a friend.”

Coryo walked over to (Y/N) and planted a long kiss on her lips, his smile contagious. “You’re Brilliant (Y/N/N). That's my first lady of Panem.” He pulled her up and dragged her back to his bedroom, grin on his face. She loved when he called her his.

—

They waited hand in hand at the train station, both taking turns squeezing the other's hand in reassurance. Coriolanus had picked her up that morning, both clade in their academy uniforms. She had brought Wovey a scone and a small juice box wrapped in one of the many handkerchiefs her mom had given her years ago. He had a rose pinned to his coat, as did she, and one in his hand for Lucy, a peace offering.

They stood and watched as the tributes were taken off the train one by one, waiting to see their tributes. (Y/N) watched for Wovey as Coriolanus spotted Lucy, dragging (Y/N) by the hand over to her.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Coryo extended his hand with the rose out to her, his eyes locked on Lucy Grey’s.

“When I was little my mother used to bathe me in buttermilk and rose petals.” (Y/N) watched as Lucy Grey plucked a petal from the rose and ate it. Eyes never breaking contact with Corilanus.

“Tastes like bedtime.” Her thick accent made her seem so kind. Even with the bizarre actions. “You two look like you shouldn't be here.” Lucy snickered a bit. We shouldn't be, (Y/N) thought.

Then (Y/N) spotted Wovey. Breaking her hold on Coriolanus’ hand to walk over to her.

“Hi Wovey!” (Y/N) knew her voice went up an octave, it always did around Wilby. “Welcome to the Capitol! I’m (Y/N) Cearo, your mentor!” Wovey looked at her inquisitively.

“Hello….” (Y/N) smiled at her even wider. She was smaller than Wilby height wise, big eyes looking up at (Y/N) with so much fear.

“Here, I brought this for you.” She crouched down to her height and held out the small package for Wovey, her eyes lighting up immediately at the colorful gift.

“What is it?” She looked between her and the package. “It's a snack, I know you probably haven't had anything since the reaping and so I packed you one of my brother’s favorites! And my boyfriend’s, the other boy in the red over there but don't tell him I said nothing.” She winked at the small girl as she took the little gift from her with a small laugh.

“I promise I won't.” Wovey clutched the snack to her chest, the older boy from eight nudging her along to the truck meant to take them to tribute holding. As Wovey and Lucy got into the truck (Y/N) saw Coriolanus trying to ask the peacekeepers if they could escort their tributes when all the sudden one of the boys ran off.

“Come on.” Coryo grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the back of the truck, both staying turned away from the guards.

“What’s a matter pretty boy, you in the wrong cage?” one of the male tributes taunted. Coryo instinctively pushed me behind him as he turned to look at the tribute addressing him.

“No, this cage is delightful.” Coriolanus tried to sound kind, she assumed, but if anyone didn't know him they might find it condescending, as the other boy did.

She heard the other boy yell and was knocked to the ground as Coriolanus was shoved against the back wall by Reaper.

“Ill kill you right now!” Shouted the boy, Reaper she heard someone call him. “He’ll do it too, Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.” “Quiet Dill!” “I say we kill him! Her too.” “I’m in.”

(Y/N) sat on the ground looking at the people around her nervously as they plotted her and her boyfriend;s “Are you okay?” (Y/N) looked up and saw Wovey sitting with her gift on her lap above her and next to her she saw Lucy, who was looking at her shoes, when she suddenly spoke up.

“Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt either of them. Then you.” She locked eyes with (Y/N) for a brief moment, then looked up at Reaper and Coriolanus.

“Besides, he's my mentor. I might need him.” The short red headed girl leaned over Lucy’s lap to get in her face.

“How come you get a mender?” She practically spat in her face.

“Mentor.” (Y/N) spoke up. “You all get one. I’m Wovey’s mentor.” She said from the ground still.

“Oh, and we’ll just trust you, right?” the girl replied back sarcastically.

“We’re just here to help you guys.” Coryo spoke up this time. As he looked between Lucy, her, and the redhead, Coral if (Y/N) remembers correctly from reaping day.

“Why aren't our menders here?” Coral asked, looking also between the four other kids.

“Just not inspired I guess.” Lucy smiled as she looked back down at (Y/N) on the floor, suddenly she felt a little insecure under the gaze of the girl who, even on her way to her death, looked so put together. (Y/N) stood up and dusted herself off, looking at Coryo then down again to Wovey’s toothy grin at her.

Suddenly the truck started to rattle and shake as it tilted upwards.

“Alright, hold on!” Coriolanus grabbed the bar in front of him as he reached for Lucy. (Y/N) reached out and grabbed Wovey along with the district eight boy and then grabbed the seat. (Y/N) was practically clutching Wovey in her lap as the eight boys held her legs,the younger still clutching the gift still to her chest, as they started to slip.

‘Coriolanus!” (Y/N) looked up at him as she screamed. Feeling the boy slip and fall as she still held Wovey. When suddenly the truck reached peak height and all four of them started to fall, all three tumbled down the rocks into the zoo exhibit.

(Y/N) landed first, still holding Wovey surprisingly, then was immediately crashed into by Lucy and Coriolanus.

“Ow…” She held her head as she sat up. “Are you okay?” she looked at Wovey.

“Mmmhmm, so is my gift!” Wovey smiled at the girl, she stood up and tried to offer (Y/N) a hand in getting up.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay!” Coriolanus had pulled himself and lucy up and wiped the dirt off himself. He immediately ran over and picked (Y/N) up off the ground by her armpits and started dusting her off, she felt like a child.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches. Are you two okay.” They locked eyes for a minute as they checked each other over.

“Excuse me! Hello Sir! Hello Ma’am!” (Y/N) and Coriolanus turned towards the voice neither of them could miss from outside the cage bars. Lucky Flickerman. Coriolanus’ neighbor and dear friend of (Y/N)’s family. Great, she thought, more people to tell her dad she was out here. He’s gonna love this one. “Yes you two, in the red! Who are you! And why are you in there with them! We’re live, the capital is watching!”

“Oh great, live television coverage. My dad will love this.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, sweeping off the dust from her outfit. Even Coriolanus looked shaky with the knowledge the capital was watching their performance.. (Y/N) took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

“Own it.” Lucy said to the two of them, though with the look she was giving him, (Y/N) felt it was more towards Coriolanus then her. Coriolanus locked eyes with her, a smile on his face.

“May I introduce you to my neighbors?” If his grin wasn't enough, the second Coriolanus dropped (Y/N)’s hand in exchange for putting the rose he bought in Lucy’s hair, she felt extremely uncomfortable. The way they looked at each other was interesting for two people who just met, at least in (Y/N)’s opinion. When he proceeded to take Lucy’s hand in his was when (Y/N) started to feel like maybe she was third wheeling her own boyfriend.

“Maybe you can introduce Wovey as well, (Y/N).” Coriolanus looked back at her as he started to walk Lucy over to the cameras. Leaving (Y/N) standing alone. Well with Wovey, but without her boyfriend. Maybe (Y/N) would have thought more about it if it wasn't for the small girl next to her.

“Well, that's something you don't see everyday! They're holding hands! Who are you sir, what are you doing in the cage here?” (Y/N) heard Lucy say as she turned her attention to Wovey, she had almost forgotten her job here.

“Wovey, would you like to say hello to the capital?” (Y/N) crouched down to the small girl’s height. Wovey looked at the cameras and then back to (Y/N).

“Can I open my snack first?” Wovey looked up at her with the biggest eyes.

“Of course, would you like help?” Wovey nodded and (Y/N) gently unwrapped the small package. She handed the scone to Wovey and opened the juice box for her. Wovey looked at the snack and then shoved about half of it into her mouth.

“Don’t choke now!” (Y/N) laughed at the face she was making, cheeks stuffed and face smeared with blueberries. (Y/N) pulled a, less extravagant, handkerchief out of her bag and whipped the girl’s face. “Here, you keep this one for later.” (Y/N) took Wovey’s arm and tied the handkerchief around her wrist in a bow.

“Now isn't that pretty, all the capital will be copying this soon. You’ll be a trendsetter!” Wovey raised her arm to inspect the bracelet as she ate the last of her scone, taking a large sip from her juice box with a smile.

“That was the best thing I have ever eaten. Thank you Miss. (Y/N).” Her toothy grin made (Y/N)’s heart melt.

“Well, are you ready to say hi!” (Y/N) tried not to dwell on the fact this poor girl was probably going to die after she just ate her first scone. She’d have to bring her another one. At the very least. Maybe too. Wovey nodded and took her hand as they walked over to Lucky, Coriolanus, and Lucy.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N) Cearo! How are you? Does your dad know you're in here?” Lucky recognized her right off the bat, she knew he would, they have dinner at the same restaurant every weekend.

“If he didn't before he does now!” She laughed along, playing up a smile as the cameras rolled. “To be fair, no one said I couldn't be here though! Plus I wanted to make sure my tribute, this beautiful young lady here, got the introduction she deserved!” (Y/N) crouched down again to Wovey’s heigh, taking both her hands in her own.

“And who might this be?” Lucky also crouched down and pointed the mic towards them both.

“My name is Wovey and I’m 12 years old.” Wovey spoke shyly, earning aws all around.

“Well Wovey, aren't you just the sweetest thing? And what district are you from?”

“Eight.” Wovey nervously shifted a bit in place with the spotlight on her.

“Well, that's great. For the record I think you both are about to be whisked away.” (Y/N) turned to see the peacekeepers coming to get her and Coriolanus. She turned back towards Wovey as she stood up. She could hear Lucy talking to Coriolanus.

“Be safe, I will bring you some more food soon. I promise.” Wovey nodded and ran over to Bobbin as (Y/N) and Coriolanus were dragged out of the Zoo by the peacekeepers. (Y/N) could hear Lucky closing out his show. Her dad was gonna kill her. — They both got a slap on the wrist for what happened and told to get back to the academy as soon as possible. What was worse punishment was the walk back to the academy. He held her hand, the same one he held hers with. Which was fine, she gets it, or at least she guesses she does. Their future relies on making sure the capital thinks he cares about Lucy, but he didn't have to be so convincing. Although she herself couldn't help but care for Wovey. So she guess she got it, in some way. What she couldn't stand was the smile on his face. He looked so. Happy. Like meeting Lucy Grey Baird was the best thing that's happened to him yet. Did he smile like that with her? Has he smiled at her like that? Of course he has you've talked of marriage and kids. Just last night he held you in his arms, not her. He loves you.

Or at least, that's what (Y/N) was telling herself to feel better.

As they walked into class to take their seats Dean Highbottom spoke up. “You two’s little excursion was in violation of about five different Academy rules, Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo. Chief amongst them endangering Capital Students.” Coriolanus looked between the class and Dean Higbottom, his face reading one of shock.

“What? Who?” (Y/N) looked down at her shoes. She couldn't think of a single time either of them had been in trouble in class. Especially herself.

“Yourselves. I'm moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you both as mentors.” (Y/N)’s head shot up at that. Wovey.

“That’s not fair!” Her voice spoke before her brain caught up.

“You said we had to get our tributes to perform, not that we had to stay away!” Coriolanus fought back as well.

“I’ll add insubordination as well.” Dean Highbottom added, still not looking at either of them.

“Holding their hands, introducing them to people, guys. You make them look as if we’re one in the same.” Clemmie spoke up next, (Y/N) shooting a look at her from her seat.

“They both didn't show those people anything they didn't already know!” Serjanus spoke up next. The anger in his voice as a previous member of the districts. (Y/N) felt bad for what was happening now.

“I don't need your help, Serjanus.” Coriolanus’ voice sounded angry too. This was all getting out of hand, but he went wrong.

“That the tributes are human beings, just like us.” Serjanus continued even though Coriolanus told him to stop.

“We just wanted to make sure our tributes knew we were there for them.” (Y/N) spoke up now, she knew this fighting was unnecessary but she was in this now too. At least for Wovey’s sake.

“It's because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn't justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!” Serjanus’ voice was rocky at the end, his feelings on the matter strong. They knew the games were wrong. No one wanted to admit it but him.

“Snow fell down in the cage. It fell down in the cage but it landed.” Dr. Gauls' voice silenced the whole class. “On Stage.” She stepped down to the bleachers to look at the class.

“You're good at Games, Mr. Snow. You too Miss. Cearo.” She smiled at them and (Y/N) felt a shiver down her spine. “Maybe one day you'll be a gamemaker, like me.” (Y/N) knew she should take the praise as an honor, but she felt uneasy in the woman's presence.

“If the games continue at all.” Dean Highbottom replied to her, tapping mindlessly at his paper.

“Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo in that zoo.” She stepped down a bit more, turning her attention to Corilanus and (Y/N). “and I came here to ask your star mentors a question.” The class around them started to mummer.

“What are the Hunger Games for?” Dr. Gaul may have said she asked you both, but her stare locked on Coriolanus. Which (Y/N) felt relief for.

“They are to punish the district for their uprising, to commemorate the end of the war.” Coriolansu answered.

“Commemorate the… dull dull dull.” Dr. Gual started. “Punishment can take many forms. Why not drop bombs! Cancel food shipments. Stage executions? Why Games?” She looked around the class now, waiting for an answer from Coriolanus.

“Shouldn't we be asking ourselves whether or not the games are right?” Serjanus spoke up again now. (Y/N) looked at him. He was right, but that's not what the games are for.

“You don't like my games?” Dr. Gaul now turned to Serjanus, eyes wide with interest. “Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended, the oldest of them only eight. The capitol is supposed to be everybody’s government now. It's supposed to protect us all. I don't see how making children fight against each other is protecting anyone!” “That sort of Sympathy may interfere with your mentoring assignment.” “Perhaps the Capital students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the game's times have passed.”

“The Hunger Games are a performative way to instill fear.” (Y/N) spoke up now. “After 13 was destroyed they were instilled as a reminder that the people, the rebels, who turn against the capital are against Panem in whole, and the capital will do what it takes to protect Panem.” (Y/N) looked up at Dr. Gaul, waiting for a reaction.

‘Now that's a different take Miss. Cearo. A strong one.” Dr. Gaul’s stare made (Y/N) uncomfortable to say the least, but all eyes were on her now.

“I say performative because theyre a show, you want us to have our tributes perform, you want people to be invested in the games. We were simply trying to push our tribute's popularity ratings by showing the capital who they're watching.”

“Dean Highbottom is wrong.” Now Coriolanus was speaking up. “My classmates too. Serjanus may be onto something though. Maybe we should be viewing those tributes as human beings. I mean you saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Grey. If we need people, we should be letting them get closer to the tributes before the games. To make the stakes personal. Who will watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes.” (Y/N) was proud of Coriolanus, he would make a great public relations specialist if not president.

“Everyone.” (Y/N) replied. “Everyone loves a good competition. Sports were popular in the old world, and maybe people chose and rooted for specific teams from each sport. Everyone wants someone to root for.”

“Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. We need people to invest.” (Y/N) was liking this side of Coriolanus, even if she knew it was just for the Plinth prize.

“Look, I know Lucy Grey may not win in the arena but if you give her a chance, I would bet the Plinth Prize she can win people’s attention.”

“I’d like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul was gleaming at Coriolanus. Yeah, (Y/N) had spoken up too but she was okay with not having Dr. Gaul’s attention on her.

“Wait.” (Y/N) turned to Clems as she now stood up. “You mean you might actually use his ideas?” Now she was just feeling ignored.

“If it helps the ratings, why not.” Dr. Gaul replied with a eerily cheerful tone.

“Coriolanus and I are class partners, Dr. Gaul. We do all our assignments together.” (Y/N) watched as Dr. Gaul laughed at her friend.

“It'll be an interesting test.” She said as she began to walk out of the class.

This will be an interesting experience indeed, (Y/N) thought to herself.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus x you #tbosas #hunger games tbosas #president snow #corionalus snow #tbosbas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 10 months

Text

Hello everyone I am ballad-of-birdy-lamb but you can call me Birdy! I used to be @Mystic-bumble but I accidentally deleted my account. 😭

I will write for The Hunger Games, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Band of Brothers, The Pacific, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Brave New World, 1984, and To Kill a Mockingbird!!!

The Hunger Games:

Katniss

Peeta

Johanna

Finnick

Annie

Cato

Clove

Thresh

Gale

Haymitch

Effie

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes:

Coriolanus

Lucy Gray

Sejanus

Billy Taupe

Mayfair

Jessup

Reaper

Dill (nothing romantic)

Coral

Mizzen (nothing romantic)

Treech

Lamina

Clemensia

Tigris

Dr. Gaul

Tanner

Brandy

Band of Brothers:

(Reminder: I am writing for the characters in the show, not of the actual people. Also, please recommend more characters if I haven't already put them here)

Eugene Roe

Ronald Speirs

Lewis Nixon

Richard Winters

Babe Heffron

Joe Liebgott

Bull Randleman

Joe Toye

Donald Malarkey

George Luz

William Guarnere

Wayne Sisk

Henry Jones

The Pacific:

(Reminder: I am writing for the characters from the show, not the real people. Also please send in other names if they aren't already on the list, I forgot some of the characters)

Eugene Sledge

Snafu Shelton

Robert Leckie

Sidney Phillips

Chuckler Juergens

Hoosier Smith

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream:

Ted

Ellen

Gorrister

Brave New World:

John Savage

Lenina Crowne

Bernard Marx

1984:

Winston Smith

Julia

To Kill a Mockingbird:

Atticus Finch

Rules for asks:

You can do:

1-4 characters

Specify gender (I will choose gender neutral if I'm not given one)

Specify if platonic or romantic

Male reader

Female reader

Gender neutral reader

POC reader

Plus sized reader

LGBT reader

Disabled reader

Platonic

Romantic

X reader

Vs. Reader

Angst

Fluff

Hurt comfort

Yandere content

Polyamory

Headcanons

Oneshots

You cannot:

Ask for NSFW

No aged-up character scenarios (usually weird)

No adult x child (reader being either)

No extreme themes (r4pe, self-harm, pedophilia, zoophilia, etc.)

Ask for over four characters

Extreme gore (unless it is referenced in the fic)

character x character

Rules for following:

You can be:

POC

Disabled

LGBT

A minor

An adult (kinda iffy)

A lady

A man

Anything inbetween

Vegan

British

Pro-palestine

French (kinda iffy)

You cannot be:

A ped0

A n4zi

Zoophile

Terf

Homophobic

Transphobic

Racist

Misogynist

RCTA (race change to another. Y’all are broke Oli London 💀)

Proshipper

Pro-Israel

antisemitic

true crime enjoyer

Zionist

Etc (will add more as time goes on)

You can ask to add characters to the list if they are not already on here!

I will be trying to get my old fanbase back, so if you see any posts that seem copied that you have seen from @mystic-bumble, please know, that was my dumbass.

Thank you so much for reading this! Please ask in my inbox! I will be posting just shortly!

Like and follow for more!!

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venuslore · 9 months

Text

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐐𝐒.

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖.

please be mindful that this blog contains nsfw content only intended for those over the age of eighteen. any and all minors who view this blog are responsible for their own media consumption. that being said, for your safety, and mine, if you are a minor, you are prohibited from interacting with any content that is not sfw. if you do, you will be blocked.

𖥔 before sending anything in please make sure to check over this post and that your request follows the criteria provided below. if you are unsure about something, feel free to message and ask me.

𖥔 i will accept anything for any of the characters listed below, unless specified otherwise. italic characters are my favourite to write for and are more likely for me to post.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑?

𖥔 stranger things ; steve harrington, robin buckley, eddie munson, steve x reader x eddie.

𖥔 outer banks ; jj maybank, rafe camero, sarah cameron.

𖥔 the hunger games ; coriolanus snow, finnick odair, peeta mellark.

𖥔 the summer i turned pretty ; conrad fisher, jeremiah fisher.

𖥔 the wizarding world ; ron weasley, draco malfoy, sebastian sallow.

𖥔 miscellaneous ; astarion ancunin, cole walter, joel miller, peter parker, poe dameron, walter mckey.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

𖥔 all requests will be in the form of blurbs.

𖥔 reader inserts only (fem!reader, plus size and poc friendly)

𖥔 fluff (ex : cute dates, finally saying 'i love you' )

𖥔 angst (ex : break-ups, suspected cheating, fighting )

𖥔 smut for certain characters ( ex : consensual, oral, handjobs, p in v, threesomes, breeding, scissoring, dom/sub, voyeurism, exhibitionism, orgasm control, warming )

𖥔 tropes (ex : best friends to lovers, enemies to lovers)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

𖥔 certain reader inserts ( male!reader, sick!reader )

𖥔 sensitive topics ( ex : abortion, self-harm, mental health issues, physical/mental/sexual abuse )

𖥔 smut ( non-consensual, age play, race play, sadism/masochism, bondage, incest, pedophelia, age regression, ddl, anything to do with feet )

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abodyfromthebalcony · 2 years

Text

The day that I met you I started dreaming

Pairing: Hughie Campbell x Reader Wordcount: 1.4K words Summary: after a long mission you and hughie go to your motel room and realise it only has one bed! Fluff ensues! A/N:Hughie my cancer moon boy!!! Fluffy one bed fic <3 First fic in a while had a lot of fun with this! rbs and comments are greatly appreciated

“Shit.” You say letting out a sigh. After hours of being out on a mission chasing down a supe Butcher thinks might lead to Homelander, all you want to do is crash on your motel bed and forget about everything. For the past several weeks the only way to get away from all the stress of trying to take down Vought, was sleep. A sleep deep enough that makes you forget about your life is all you need, but when you walk into your motel room you’re sharing with Hughie you see only one king sized bed.

“Oh shit.” Hughie says when he walks into the room. His eyes dart from the bed to you and back to the bed. He immediately looks stressed

“Who was in charge of booking the rooms?” You ask. “Uh Butcher I think?” Hughie says putting his duffle bag on the bed. ”Fuck” You mumble under your breath.

Butcher knows you like Hughie, he teases you about it constantly but Hughie is still none the wiser to your crush on him.

You feel very embarrassed about how you feel about him. You’re supposed to be a badass, cut throat, supe killer but god when he enters the room you just melt.

The way he can come up with a unique solution for any problem when you’re on a mission, the way he can make you smile even when things seem hopeless, his stupid Billy Joel shirts, the way no matter how bad it gets he still tries to do the right thing, it all has made you fall head over heals.

Butcher has picked up on this and has set you and hughie up in a motel room with only one bed. Either he is making fun of you or he’s giving you a push, regardless of which it is you are going to kill him for this later. You throw your bag onto the floor and fall onto the bed. You look back to Hughie, he has tensed up every muscle in his body.

“Do you want to switch rooms or something? I can go ask the group if anyone wants to switch with me, I don't want to make you uncomfortable” Hughie says, sort of rambling.“No, no, it's ok. If I’m sharing a bed with anyone I’m glad it's you.” Your heart drops, realizing what you just said. “Um I mean like I’m glad It's not like Butcher or M.M. they both snore super loud you know ha ha..” Good save.

“And hey maybe we can watch a movie or something before we get some rest? Maybe plus one, the new scream movie or maybe a hunger games rewatch?” you say as you start taking off your boots. “I'd love to but I do smell like um…” “Like shit?” “Yes, yes like shit so I’ll be taking the longest shower I've ever taken but how about tomorrow?” He says, smiling at you. “Yes, definitely, I would love that.” You say, smiling back.

When he leaves to take his shower you change into an oversized t-shirt and pajama bottoms and get into the bed. Your heart is beating out of your chest, you’re left fantasizing about Hughie. You hear the sound of the shower and Hughie humming “uptown girl” in the bathroom. You think about the water hitting his smooth skin, his fingers running through his wet hair..

You try to shake off your fantasies by switching on the tv, there’s nothing on that you're very interested in but it occupies your mind. The motel itself is dingy and cold but it was better than the pawn shop basement. You focus on the tv and the state of the motel until Hughie comes out of the bathroom.

He’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and one of his many billy Joel t-shirts. “How many Billy Joel shirts do you own?” You tease. “What, do you not think my collection is cool?” He jokes “Is the fanboy thing not working for you?” “Oh of course it is! How could a girl not be turned on by a guy who is obsessed with Billy Joel?” You both laugh before Hughie says “Really I can sleep on the floor if you want.” “No hughie we both need the rest and again i really don't mind sharing a bed” Hughie turns off the lights and shuffles into the bed.

You try to close your eyes for a couple of minutes but you can’t sleep, knowing that Hughie is right beside you. When you open your eyes you see Hughie has practically shimmied his body to the very edge of the bed to give you as much space as possible. You roll your eyes lovingly. “You can come closer Hughie I’m not going to bite your arm off, I’m not Butcher.” You half joke but you do really want him to come closer. “Are you... Are you sure?” Hughie says turning over to face you. “Yeah of course. If you stay there you’re going to fall off.” You say as confidently as possible but you are terrified of doing something wrong or something that makes him uncomfortable.

He moves a couple of inches but still so far away. “Oh cmon, you can’t be serious.” You say. He gives you a puzzled look before you grab him and pull him to the center of the bed. “Oh well if that's how it is i'll just take up the whole bed.” He laughs, moving himself even closer to you. “Yes exactly!” you giggle. You move yourself even closer. “See super comfortable!” you say still laughing. He presses his forehead against yours “how about this? Is this close enough?” He says sarcastically, you both giggle “Yes perfect thank you goodnight.” You say as you turn your back to him, still pressed against each other

He’s so close to you now. You smell that strawberry kids shampoo he’s always using and that axe body spray he uses to cover up the stench of blood after missions. It's honestly very endearing. Just being near him brings a wave of calm over you. He has always made you feel safe just by being in the room with you. Being this close feels like the world has stopped in its tracks. No Vought to worry about, no compound v, no supes just you and him lying beside each other.

Suddenly you feel his hand on your shoulder and his arm around your other shoulder. He holds you, resting his head against the back of your head. You can feel his heart beating fast in tandem with yours. You lie there in silence for several minutes as you try and summon up the courage to say how you feel but you’re afraid if you say the quiet part out loud this will all stop. All the joking around during missions when you know you should be working, all the singing songs loudly enough to annoy M.M. on long car rides and more than anything these quiet moments, you are so scared to lose all of it. But he's holding you and it feels right. So you say it.

“I really like you Hughie” You say turning to him, there's a beat of silence where Hughie tries to form words but can't find what to say “It's ok you don’t have to say anything i… I know it’s a lot.” you say trying to reassure him. “I just… I really really like you too and I don’t want to lose you. It feels like… whenever I get close to people something bad happens to them.” He says

“You won't lose me, I promise. I’m all in.” You say holding his face, even in the dark you’re admiring every inch of his face. He lets out a breath “Is it ok if I kiss you?” He says, your heart skips a beat, you nod, he leans into you, kissing your lips, you lay one hand on his chest, one hand running through his still damp hair, kissing him back, it all just feels right.

You don’t know how this is going to work in the morning. You know it's going to complicate everything, you know at the very least the rest of the team are never going to get off your ass about it if you ever tell them. At worst vought will use it against the both of you but.. Right now you don’t care. Right now it’s just you and him.

“Could we maybe stay like this until morning.” You ask. “Yeah.. yeah sure.. I’d really like that.” Hughie says. You can hear a slight smile in his voice. For the rest of the night he holds you close and doesn’t let go.

You both get the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

#hughie campbell #hughie campbell x reader #the boys #the boys tv #hughie campbell x you

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darby-rowe · 3 months

Note

plus sized reader x coryo where coryo finds comfort in holding you against him because he just wants to feel safe and protected and you make him feel so safe and protected

oh 🥹

cw plus sized!reader, gn!reader, soft!coryo

coriolanus made it a habit of finding safety within you.

you would often find him gently playing with your fingers and taking your arm in his as means to ground himself. but when he really needs protection, he’d ask you meekly, “can i… have a hug, please?”

and so whether you’re at his place or yours, one thing that’s for sure is that boy is never leaving your side — finding refuge within your warm, cozy hugs.

#☽｡⋆ dally’s asks;#♡; dally writes!#plus sized!reader #plus sized reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #this lowkey sucks im sorry #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #x reader #x reader fanfiction

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plus-size-reader · 2 years

Text

Against All Odds

Finnick Odair x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2247 words

Warnings: Just a little Finnick Fluff

Summary: Finnick and the reader have been seeing one another in secret, until they are both reaped into the 75th annual Hunger Games

—————————————————————————————————

Love always found a way.

That was what your mother had always told you, for as long as you could have remembered, but you didn’t ever believe that.

You didn’t want to believe it.

If love could have found a way, there was no reason you would have found yourself here again, staring down almost certain death for the second time.

It had to be a joke.

Not that any amount of pinching your skin beneath your fingers and waiting for the nightmare to end changed anything. All that did was leave welts on your skin, skin littered with long healed scars you tried to ignore.

Skin that you couldn’t believe you were still living in after all this time.

You should have been dead, but no amount of days lived could force you to be grateful that you weren’t. All those past tributes, dead before their nineteenth year, were no longer slaves as you were to the capitol.

They couldn’t be pawns in Snow’s game, a game you hadn’t been able to escape since your own reaping into the Hunger Games.

A game you were playing even now.

The same game that you couldn’t have escaped if you wanted to, and the one that was currently tearing apart any semblance of a normal life that you’d built for yourself since the first time.

It was all going to be gone soon enough, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Not even if you wanted to.

Still, the almost certain death wasn’t even the worst part of the whole thing. You had come to terms with your mortality when you were fifteen, fighting for your life. The worst part was that the other tributes weren’t strangers now.

They weren’t other kids you had never met, and didn’t have to care about if you didn’t want to.

This time, the other tributes were people you had known, friends bonded to you by the trauma only they could understand, and you weren’t kids anymore. Now, you were much older, and much more skilled.

…and the facts remained.

Just because you had survived the Hunger Games once, didn’t mean that you stood any chance of doing it again.

Then, there was the biggest issue of all.

Finnick.

Finnick Odair had won the Hunger Games the year before you, placing him the closest to you in succession. He understood what it was like to win something like that young, and how it felt to live with yourself after.

He knew you, and at first, it was a gift.

You finally felt seen by someone, who wanted you for more than what you could do for them and what you had done. He knew that just because everyone else praised you for winning, you would regret those actions all your life.

He knew, and you never felt alone when you were with him.

Not that being with him was as much of a blessing as it seemed to be, because before long, this world found a way to take it from one just like everything else.

Another Hunger Games.

A Quarter Quell made up of entirely victors.

At first, you could hardly believe it, but the more time that passed, the more numb to it you seemed to find yourself feeling.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. In fact, the only thing that shocked you about being back in the Capitol was that they hadn’t thought to drag you back here before now.

In a sick way, it felt like home.

Like where you had always been meant to be, even when you were away.

Even the training room felt more familiar to you than your own home, because here, everyone saw you for what you were. You weren’t some incredible warrior to be revered in the streets, you were just that scared kid again.

Terrified of every moment after the last, and constantly waiting for the world to crumble down around her.

It would have been an almost welcome reunion, if it hadn’t been for the one nagging piece of information, forcing itself into your every thought even as you tried to ignore it.

He was here somewhere.

You had seen him during the opening ceremony, all decked out on his chariot, but even then, you didn’t have the guts to face him.

It wouldn’t change anything.

There was nothing either of you could do that was going to make anything any different and you’d be fools to think any differently.

It was what it was.

You had accepted that, but you knew that Finnick would have a hard time doing the same.

He always thought that he could make the world what he wanted it to be but having people like him wasn’t going to be enough to save his life now.

Nothing could save either of you.

The sooner he realized that, the better off he would be. You were just trying to speed up the process before you had to watch him die or bleed out yourself in that arena.

Your fingers were tight to your knife as you swung it at the dummy in front of you, desperately trying to focus on the task at hand. This should have been easy for you, it had always been easy before.

There was just too much on your mind right now.

Too much going on.

“Are you avoiding me?” Finnick hummed, closing the space between the two of you just enough to call out, without being within arms length of your blade. He didn’t need reminding of how good you were with it.

As long as he could avoid it, at least.

“Nope” you allowed, a frustrating breath leaving your lips as you swung again, missing your mark for the third time.

If you didn’t get a handle on this, you were going to get yourself killed, you knew that. Though, at this point, you weren’t even sure you cared.

At least if you were dead, they couldn’t make you kill anyone anymore.

“Really? Cause this is the first time I’ve talked to you since you got here” he sighed, acting as if he’d caught you in a bluff, knowing that it didn’t matter. This whole thing had been hard on everyone.

Himself included, but Finnick knew how you’d react.

How you always reacted.

“There isn’t anything to say” you spoke again, your jaw locked tight as you tried to focus more on the task at hand than the man at your back, who you both knew wasn’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon.

You weren’t shocked he was here.

In fact, you had been waiting on this conversation since the news of his reaping had met your ears but that didn’t mean you were ready to dive head first into it.

It wouldn’t change anything.

Whatever it was the two of you were before, you couldn’t be it anymore. You weren’t married, and you weren’t a couple. You had just had a couple good nights, and bonded over some drinks.

Hell, even if you were a couple, it didn’t matter now.

You were tributes before anything, and before long, one or both of you was going to be dead. Pretending that wasn’t the case wasn’t going to change it, and it would just hurt to act like anything else was possible.

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but you weren’t delusional.

There was no instance where the two of you could be together, not anymore. When you were both just two people who had won the Hunger Games, two victors in your own right, maybe you could make it work.

…but now, now you are competitors.

Finnick was the enemy, no matter how much you wished he wasn’t.

“That’s a joke” the male scoffed, not understanding why you were acting as if you were already dead. The situation you were in wasn’t ideal, of course, but he’d always preferred to live in the moment.

At least, until he couldn’t anymore.

“No, it isn't,” you countered, finally turning to face him after you’d lodged your knife directly into the soft thoracic cavity of the dummy in front of you, boht out of frustration with yourself and with Finnick.

This wasn’t like anything else in his life.

He couldn’t just charm his way out of this, not this time.

“You know what happens when the cannon goes off. You know that we can’t do this anymore” you continued, emphasizing the word ‘this’ gesturing between the two of you. You didn’t know what to call it, and you didn’t care enough to figure it out.

It was over.

That just was how it had to be.

“You know, if you relaxed, you’d have ripped that thing open by now” he pointed out, ignoring your words entirely, as if he hadn’t heard them at all.

You were one of the most capable hand-to-hand fighters he’d ever seen, and you could have done this in your sleep. The only reason you were struggling today was because your heart wasn’t in it.

You were too busy using your head to focus.

“What?” you groaned, probably looking at the man as if he’d sprouted a second head. He could never just say on topic.

It was almost as if he was living in his own little world within his head, making up the rules as he went.

Just once, it would have been nice for Finnick to explain himself.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he scoffed, thumping you lightly with his finger on the center of your forehead, earning another frustrated groan from your lips as you tried to come to terms with the fact that he’d just done that.

He was such a child sometimes.

“I hate you” you bit, trying to ignore the way the smirk on his lips made your stomach tighten, instead setting your attention on the task you’d been focused on.

The dummy gave way rather quickly under your grap, the knife coming loose with a little force. If only it was so easy in practice, maybe then you could actually stay alive out there, against all your old allies.

As stubborn as always, you got to work, trying to keep your mind at bay as you struck the surface, intentionally ignoring the blonde at your back.

You could only hope that if you kept ignoring him, he would eventually go away.

“I don’t think you do,'' Finnick hummed, and you could practically hear the grin on his face, followed by his breath on the back of your neck as he closed the distance between you that much more.

He was insufferable.

You let out another audible sigh, a clear cue to him that he needed to back up but he had already made up his mind.

Finnick wasn’t going to let you shut him out because you were scared.

You were better than that.

You have always been better than that.

“I do. I hate you” you repeated, this time sounded more as if you were trying to convince yourself than him.

Perhaps that was because you knew that you couldn’t convince him of anything, or because you knew that what you were saying was a lie. In any case, it didn’t matter because you didn’t have time to figure it out.

All you had time for now was trying to make it out of this alive.

Again.

“Prove it” Finnick pushed that much more, resting his hands on your hips lightly and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You faltered lightly, feeling his strong chest against your back but did your best to hide it.

You had to stick to your guns.

This wasn’t something you were doing out of spite, or because you were trying to punish him.

You didn’t have a choice.

Quickly, you spun on your heels away from him, leaning your weight against the dummy at your back now, pressing your blade to his throat.

Now, it was Finnick’s turn to draw in a breath, his jugular pushing against your knife.

“This isn’t about us. This is about survival” you explained, your words little more than a whisper as you kept a close eye on the man in front of you. You both knew he could get out of this if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to.

Believe it or not, he would have preferred this over the silent treatment.

“When are you going to learn?” he questioned, drawing the words out like honey from his soft lips as he admired the fire in your eyes.

It had always been there, blazing just beneath the surface, waiting for any excuse to come out. It was one of the things he’d always found so captivating about you, even now.

You were going to question him, watching as Finnick took another step toward you, the tension between your blade and his skin threatening to snap at any moment, not that he seemed to care at all.

He wasn’t even phased, not that you should have been surprised.

“We are all there is.”

You wanted to argue.

More than you had ever wanted anything, you wanted to tell him that he was wrong and that he was being unreasonable, but you couldn’t.

Deep down, in the sparkling pools of his blue eyes, you could see just how much Finnick meant what he was saying and even though it didn’t make any sense, you believed him.

Against all odds, you believed him.

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