MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR .ᐟ .ᐟ ˎˊ˗
summary. it's the eighty-fourth annual hunger games, and surprise, your name has just been reaped. with increasingly slim chances of making it out alive, you find yourself entangled with a certain cocky career from district one, and in a shocking turn of events, his ally— allies that fuck, of course.
word count. 4.1k
content. mdni fem!reader, hunger games!gojo, alcohol consumption, violence, gore, character death, injuries, class difference, dystopian!au, petnames, smut (upcoming)
author's note. IN MY HUNGER GAMES ERA CURRENTLY
p.s this is going to be a series
ACT I: THE TRIBUTE.
today was reaping day.
the dreaded day where the capitol chose a male and female tribute from each district to fight to the death in an arena for “entertainment”.
the thought makes you sick as you get dressed for the grueling afternoon ahead, fitting yourself into a neatly starched dress and putting your hair up into a braided updo, making yourself perfectly presentable and curated for the capitol’s viewing, no matter how disgusted you feel by it all.
there truly was no hope for you— your name had been entered forty-seven times as a result of your poverty, your need for the meager helpings of tesserae you garnered in return almost outweighing the risk of getting your name drawn.
but, with the lingering hopeful thought of this being your last year of having your name reaped, being eighteen almost nineteen, you put on your nicest polished church shoes, and head out the door.
attendance was mandatory and you’d rather be in the square early than get dragged out of your own home by a peacekeeper for tardiness.
and as expected, the crowd gathering is big, slowly moving through the line to get fingerprints and blood drawn where peacekeepers jotted them down on sterile clipboards.
“next.” a woman calls out, gesturing toward you and you wince at the small prick she gives you before bringing your finger down on a sheet of listed names.
moving along to where the rest of district twelve stands gathered around the stage, you see a heavily powdered, jewelry-adorned woman from the capitol standing before a microphone. her face is stickily caked in makeup, and unusually spider-like lashes flutter as she waits for the rest of the district to steadily trickle in.
and as the last few people squeeze into the crowd, she taps the microphone twice for attention, all pairs of grim eyes turning to her.
"welcome, welcome!" she exclaims excitedly like this was an event she had been looking forward to for weeks. "to the eighty-fourth annual hunger games!"
her face creases as she flashes a toothy smile to the crowd. "now, before we begin, i have a special treat for all of you straight from the capitol!"
on cue, the yearly propaganda video starts, explaining why there was a need for the hunger games to keep the districts in line─ "war. terrible war.."
as the video continues playing, your gaze wanders and you find yourself watching the capitol lady mouthing the words to herself like a mantra, brightening as the video finishes up.
"well, i just love that!" she gushes. "and with it, the time has come to select a courageous young male and female to represent district twelve in the annual hunger games! as custom, ladies first."
her heels click across the stage as she makes her way over to the glass bowl containing countless slips of paper holding name upon name of young citizens, your breath catching in your throat as unusually sharp acrylics fish out a folded paper at the bottom, holding it up and clearing her throat for the anticipated announcement.
her lips part in an exhale, the name floating off her painted lips easily and echoing around the too-silent district, embedding itself into each of their ears soundly.
the name that belonged to you.
time seems to slow, your heart stopping in your chest entirely as everything around you blurs and distorts, all the heads turning toward you becoming unrecognizable.
“well, come on up!” the woman preens, slightly bending over awkwardly as she tries to usher you toward her, hand outstretched.
you glance around, swallowing hard as blank faces stare back at you.
no one would ever volunteer for you, the small, humble girl from a tiny rundown shack of a house, and so with slightly unsteady steps up the stairs, a thought stirred in the back of your mind, one that told yourself that the games were already over before they ever had a chance to begin.
as the rest of the ceremony drones on, faces swirl together, voices mere hums in the background, you watching faintly as a boy you had only briefly met before gets called up, no older than sixteen with chubby cheeks and a babyish face.
he stares straight ahead, barely acknowledging you save for a customary handshake, his palms sweaty and a bit shaky.
the rest of the day passes in a blur of peacekeepers escorting you through countless corridors, faces dipped in condolences, empty visiting rooms, and finally, the rough jostling of them pushing you into the futuristic train headed for its final destination— the capitol.
and as you board, with your nose pressed against the cold window and the gentle thrum of the train's engine reverberating through you, you can only watch as your familiar, coal-mining district fades into nothing, your eyes beginning to water.
your mentor— none other than toji zen'in, a man notoriously known for how he liked to drink his troubles away, was sat at the smooth table in the train’s bar car, already halfway into a bottle of whiskey, scarred lip curling as he looked you and your fellow tribute over when you both join him.
he clearly had no hope for you two, and you couldn't blame him, eyeing the boy you had come with, his chest heaving as tears streak down his face in rivulets.
“any advice for the games?” you say, trying to break the silent tension settling over all of you, much to toji’s displeasure, setting his glass bottle down with a loud clank!
“don’t die.” he sneers.
that settles it, and all of you lapse back into uncomfortable silence.
and just when you think you can't bear another second of being in this train, you catch sight of the shining capitol in all its glory outside the window.
colorful arched buildings rise high, adorned with domes and spiked centers, each impressively arrayed to show off glittering centers, the epitome of luxury.
sliding glass doors, magnetic monorails gliding past, and whizzing sleek sportscars all come into view, as well as strange-looking people of all kinds clapping as the train finally slows to a stop.
from their shaved eyebrows and colored hair to their big frilly outfits, they were something to be ogled at, your eyes scanning them all in wonder.
how were people living like this when your district was starving for even the tiniest morsel to spare?
they clap and cheer as you draw nearer to them, foreign mouths opening in delight at this year's tributes, likely already betting on their favorites.
"come on." toji grunts, hauling himself up to clap a large hand on both you and your fellow tribute's shoulder, walking you out of the train with a fake smile plastered onto his face, absolutely reeking of alcohol.
the next few hours seem to happen in a blur, with several stylists taking you to a dimly lit room, lying you flat and getting to work on your body, with hot wax and sharp tweezers and razors and polishes of all sorts.
they exfoliate, and brush, and put hot curlers in your hair, all while whispering amongst themselves indistinctly, sharpening various tools.
and then comes your stylist, the one who would be dressing you for the infamous tribute parade, wearing a simple yet elegant outfit with her hair up, dark bangs swept to the side.
"utahime." she greets you, gold bracelets jingling on her wrist as she tilts your chin up to give you a once-over.
she snaps some bubblegum, before rolling her eyes. "district twelve, right? coal?"
you nod once.
her lips quirk up. "well then, i suppose it's up to me to make you look the part."
-
the tribute parade was where the capitol got their first glimpse of each and every tribute in all their glory, riding carriages that represented each of their districts and costumes with extravagant headpieces and jewelry.
you had been clad in lavishly excessive silken robes that hung off your figure and left practically nothing to the imagination as they displayed the curve of your waist as well as your plush hips, dangling waistbeads cool against your flushed skin.
the idea was to mock that of coal, your outfit a rich black with studded gemstones and a glossy sheen that radiated off you.
but, it had a twist.
because in a blink of an eye, and change of perception, your pure black robes would transform into countless shards of glittering silver, effervescent and blinding.
a choice masterfully chosen by utahime that represented even coal could turn into diamonds under the right amount of pressure.
however, your thoughts are quickly interrupted by the rough jostling of a shoulder pushing past you, causing your whole body to spin out with its force, almost tripping over yourself in the process.
"hey!" you protest. "watch it!"
the one who had bumped into you, a white-haired hulking, broad-framed muscular wall of a man spins around, his hands up in mock surrender, pink sheened lips curved into a cruel smile. "oops. such a tiny thing like yourself has to be more careful, sweetheart. wouldn't want to get hurt before the games, yeah?"
the last part comes out as more of a threat than anything, and you watch as he turns around, firing daggers at him with your eyes.
just who was he, anyway?
toji, noticing your gaze, steps closer, the warm tickle of his breath fanning against your neck as he bends down closer to you.
"that's gojo. career, district one. best to stay away from, he's most likely been training for this moment since birth, if you couldn't tell by the rippling pectorals." he finishes the last part with an exaggerated sarcastic tone, waving his hand around in the air while eyeing critically gojo's costume of choice.
and oh, was it a choice.
being from district one, the luxury district, he was dressed in nothing but a glittering, bedazzled toga skirt that hung low at his waist, displaying his sculpted v-line and tantalizingly close to revealing a prominent bulge outlined against the fabric.
you risk another glance toward him, only for his frosty cerulean blue eyes to meet yours, his mouth curving up almost imperceptibly like he already knew you were going to take another look.
your eyes quickly dart away, as you let out a breath of air you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
but before you have time to dwell on what just happened, toji's got a large hand clamped around your wrist as he hauls you toward the carriage you were to ride in, your fellow tribute already in and looking nervously out at the crowd.
"parade's about to start, c'mon." he grunts.
-
the next day is training, where all twenty-four of you are placed into a room full of various weaponry, swords, bows, daggers, weights, camouflage, and fire kindling areas where you could work on any and every skill you would end up needing in the arena.
you had started by wandering over to the edible plants station, examining all of the different-shaped leaves and what they meant about a berry's fatality, while most of the other tributes had forgone the basic survival necessities for swords, which they thrusted into the target dummies relentlessly, growling and making a show of themselves— gojo, included.
he was dressed in a tight suit, his biceps bulging out from underneath, with the thin material unable to hide his washboard abs and muscular physique.
his azure-colored eyes glint at you as his head turns, as if sensing your gaze.
and with an overexaggerated cry of "hah-ah!", he puts all of his force into slicing a dummy clean in half, silver sword clutched in his hand firmly, chest heaving up and down in exertion.
he turns back to you to make sure you saw it, licking his lips as his mouth curves into a smirk.
you really weren't going to make it out of the arena.
and of course, a few days following training came evaluation.
evaluations were where each tribute got to truly show off any skill of their choice, and receive a score of one through twelve, with twelve being the highest.
you were going to demonstrate your ability to throw a dagger, with the only problem being that you had never thrown a dagger before in your entire life.
but, with a limited array of options laid out before you and all of the gamemakers, as well as capitol figures of authority sitting in the higher wing, watching you keenly, you were running out of options so quickly grabbing a small switchblade, you widen your stance before a target dummy, aiming toward the heart.
you take a deep breath, the cool silver of it in your palm doing little to ease your nerves.
and finally, with a flourish you rear your arm back before letting the sharpened edge of it fly through the air, only with one problem.
it was headed straight toward the gamemakers.
you gasp, covering your mouth as it completely misses the dummy in front of you, instead whizzing past it toward a tall, bearded capitol man.
shit.
you only manage to scream a, "look out!" before it firmly embeds itself into the wall behind the gamemaker audience, narrowly missing the man by a centimeter.
you can only stare, your heart pounding in your throat as they all slowly turn toward you, various eyes sweeping across your figure and mutters of disbelief ensuing.
and after what seems like years but was really only a few terse moments stretching between you and the gamemakers, they dismiss you with a, "next."
you walk away, your heartbeat thudding heavily and your breathing coming faster.
if you didn't think you were going to make it out of the arena before, you definitely weren't going to now.
-
quickly after your whole dagger fiasco, the scores of each tribute were to be broadcasted on live television for every possible sponsor to see, and as a result you were a nervous wreck, all over the place and begging toji to see if you could redo your evaluation.
"sorry darlin'.." he drawls, taking a long drag from a cigarette, legs manspread apart on the couch, unbothered as always. "what's done is done."
you run your fingers through your hair anxiously, but before you get the chance to reply, the sudden staticky blaring of the tv cuts through, along with the theme song signifying the capitol tv program was starting.
you quickly find a spot to settle on the rug, eyes nervously darting over the man filling up the screen with his larger-than-life persona, ready to begin announcing the scores for everyone watching.
"as you all know, the time has come to reveal which of this year's tributes are the strongest, and which are the weakest!"
the screen breaks away to a live, clapping and whistling audience, all unnatural hair colors and strange outfits, their smiles bright in anticipation for what's to come, only worsening the twinge of worry in your gut.
after the cheers die down, he begins again. "starting off with district one, we have satoru gojo, our male tribute with a score of.."
he pauses for effect.
hesitates as he looks down at the scoring sheet.
"oh? what's this?"
immediately, hushed murmurings of curiosity break out amidst the crowd, all craning their heads toward what he was about to say.
"ladies and gents, it seems we have a new record on our hands!"
the whispers in the audience grow stronger.
"satoru gojo with a score of a perfect twelve!"
the crowd bursts into a raucous, all bets being placed under his name, with sponsors scrambling to be the one who backed the infamous career, each one rallying in his honor.
you hear a small huff of annoyance next to you, looking over to see toji leaned back, idly flicking cigarette ash on the carpet much to the disapproval of utahime, sashaying over with a hand on her hip to reprimand him harshly.
but all that fades into background noise for you, your attention fixed on the screen, which had now turned to a live cam with gojo on the other end, looking as stupidly smug as ever, a slight curl in his lips and a twitch in his eye giving away just how excited he was about the achievement he had just accomplished.
"unbelievable! well folks, i really don't know how any of our other tributes are going to beat that, but there's always room for surprises! let's continue on to district.."
the next few minutes tick away while he lists out all the other scores, your foot anxiously tapping as you await your own.
"moving to district four.."
"..the female tribute in district seven.."
"district nine.."
and finally, "last but certainly not least, we have district twelve!"
your breath catches in your throat as he announces the score of your fellow district tribute, a solid seven which earns him a nod of approval and slap on the back from toji.
"and for our female tribute.." the man on the tv pauses, letting your picture fill up the screen, eyes flicking down to your score for only a moment before they widen in surprise.
your spine stiffens at his eyeing of your paper, body going completely rigid as chills race down your spine.
"a score of one."
-
"ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for the games, suguru geto!"
a man with long, raven-black hair that glinted in the light when he moved came out grinning, only to sit in a plush chair, his legs spread wide and a fanged smile on his face.
he was all piercings— with black gauges, angel fangs, tooth gems, and even a shiny barbell on his tongue, he immediately drew your eye even in the strange place that was known as the capitol.
"heh.. thank you, thank you!" he waved to the audience whose cheers only grew stronger, half the women in the crowd swooning.
tonight, he was wearing a glittering purple suit that matched the color of his monolidded, almond shaped eyes, alluring and swirling with all that was to come tonight.
"it is my honor to be here, meeting these brave tributes which you are about to see in all their glory! so, without further ado, let's bring them out!"
of course, as always, district one was first.
"you know him, you love him, please give a warm round of applause for satoru gojo, with his astounding score of twelve!"
and there he is, strutting out in a sluttily unbuttoned dress-shirt, tight in all the right places and outlining the hard slopes and ridges of his chest with an infuriatingly smug expression on his face as he goes to sit down in his assigned spot.
when the whistling and applause die down— after what seems like hours— geto begins questioning him, gojo’s icy azure eyes roving over the crowd before finally settling.
"now, with that kind of score, what did you perform as your skill? i mean, that can't have been an easy number to come by, did you, what, flash the judges?"
that earns a smattering of chuckles from the congregation of people watching, all leaning forward, desperate to hear gojo’s answer.
"nah, i'm extremely skilled in all forms of combat whether it be a bow, dagger, or sword. got good aim, and strength to match." with that, he looks over to geto, smirking. "you'd like that though, wouldn't ya?"
at everyone whistling in agreement in the crowd, geto looks around, indulging them with a charming smile. "i think we all would, yes."
slowly, one by one, all the tributes go up, speaking about their motivating factor or particular skill that sets them apart from their opponents, while the only thing you can think about is that irritable thorn in your side, gojo.
he was just so arrogant, how were you going to..
"miss, you're up." comes the polished voice of one of the backstage managers, guiding you gently toward the stage.
shit, you hadn't gotten a chance to practice your speech!
"w-wait i'm not..!" you try to protest, but with a quick shove, you're on stage, the blinding spotlight solely on you as geto turns toward you with a warm smile and a gesture that urges you closer.
when you do take your seat reluctantly, the cameras panning over your face and bright light in your eyes, geto immediately begins attacking you with questions you had been dreading.
"well hello! district twelve, huh? what's it like back home for you?"
and just as you’re about to plaster on a fake smile, and appeal to the capitol’s glamorized view of district life, you hesitate, taking in the throng of people watching eagerly for your answer.
you couldn’t lie. not with how much you had struggled to stay alive, and you couldn’t keep that to yourself like the other tributes.
it’s not like you had much to lose, anyway.
"it's.. hard." you finally say after a beat of silence too long. "i struggle to get by everyday, not knowing where my next meal will come from, which is why i put my name in so many times, hoping against hope it wasn't enough to get me here. and truly, i am nothing but a humble servant girl from district twelve. i have no skills, no motivation, no family, i don't even know how to hold a bow." your lip begins to quiver, but you hold strong, your honesty jarring even to you. "i don't really have a chance at winning this, and in all truth, i don't want to win. there’s nobody left for me to win for, anyway."
you stop, looking up as you realize you had spoken for too long with too little of a response, only to see geto looking at you with an intensity he hadn't given to any other tribute.
"wow." he finally starts, eyes never once leaving yours as he takes your smaller hand into his own. "that was very touching, and i think i speak for all of us when i say that you have us rooting for you."
you nod, and with a few more words, your time is up, and the interviews are over, the curtains coming to a close, and the tributes beginning to mill about, heading back to their mentors and rooms to prepare for the big day tomorrow, when the games officially begun.
just as you're about to slip away however, a large hand snakes around your waist pulling you, your back meeting the warmth of a toned, hard-lined chest with an "oof!"
"hey darlin'.." an all-too-familiar, sultry voice drawls into your ear, drawing an involuntary shiver down your spine.
gojo.
"quite a speech you made out there, huh? planning to win the sponsors over with sympathy for the poor girl from district twelve?"
you struggle in his grasp, finally managing to push him away with a slight growl in your voice. "well at least i'm not whoring myself out for their entertainment."
that seems to only amuse him, his eyes glowing brighter as he leers down from where he towers above you. "mhm, some of us use our attractiveness to our advantage, though i don't imagine you would know as you'd have to be hot in order for it to work."
you don't exactly know what comes over you next, something in gojo simply setting you alight with rage.
all you know is one minute you had your tight, form-fitting dress on, and the next you were reaching around for your zipper and pulling it down angrily to let your breasts spill out, nipples pebbled in the cool air and your eyes blazing.
"oh-ho, i can be hot." you reach down to push your tits up obscenely, letting your head tip back and tongue loll out like something out of a porno.
"look at me, look at me! i'm flaunting my body for the capitol's pleasure!"
you look up just in time to see gojo's normally teasing blue eyes alight with.. something else.
intense and heated, they rake up and down your body, his throat dipping in a swallow before he steps closer to you, his chest blocking your body from anyone watching, and the heat of his fingertips lightly brushing your skin as he reaches for your zipper.
when your dress is back up again, leaving you to watch him, still simmering with anger, he steps back, a hazy, half-lidded look in his eye like it was taking everything in him to walk away from you.
"if you wanted me to see you naked darling, you could've just said so." he says before turning away, and walking back over to his mentor, leaving you to curse furiously after him under your breath.
-
a/n. gojo was heavily inspired by cato, fun fact!!
