#thg x reader

[spencersmopbucket]

Jabberjay Calls | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: You black out in the Quarter Quell — when you awaken, you believe you've killed your husband. The jabberjays don't help.

The next thing you knew, you were sprinting.

Your chest heaved with full, panicked breaths, each less relieving than the last. You ducked tree limbs, jumped over rocks, did anything you could to just keep running. You were confused. You were terrified.

A scent caught your nose. Metallic, one you'd smelled before. One you hadn't smelled since your Games. Since you'd last slit a throat.

Glancing down, you let out a gasp, almost loosing your footing.

Your hands were covered in a thick sheen of blood, shining in the light of dusk.

You stumbled to a halt, chest rising and falling as the world tilted beneath your feet. The blood was warm, sticky, too real. And it wasn’t yours.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the trees around you pressed in too close. “No, no, no—”

What the hell had you done? What had you done that was so bad you couldn't remember it?

Your legs gave out beneath you, knees slamming into the mossy forest floor as you stared at your stained hands. You didn’t remember what happened — and that was the worst part. Because in the arena, if you couldn’t remember, it meant you lost control. And losing control meant someone else had died.

A sob left your lips. Your breaths became more frantic, shorter, and not relieving at all. You felt like you couldn't get a single molecule of oxygen into your lungs.

“Finnick,” you choked, your voice breaking on his name.

The jabberjays heard it.

They swarmed.

Suddenly, the trees were echoing with his voice — agonized, screaming in pain. Your name on his lips. Begging. Crying. Screaming like his soul was being ripped out.

Your hands flew to your ears. “No! Stop it! It’s not real!”

But it was real, wasn’t it? You’d blacked out. You’d been covered in blood. You’d heard nothing from him since you'd come back to. You'd heard nothing from the one that was usually always by your side.

You curled up, sobs wracking from your body, until you felt it. The acidic feeling in your stomach, crawling up your throat. Leaning over, vomit sprayed from your lips. You choked and coughed as the jabberjays continued to wail, your husband screaming in despair.

Blood smeared onto your clothes and onto the ground as you tried to brace yourself. The smell of the blood unearthed another wave of vomit.

You collapsed forward on your hands, shaking so violently it felt like your bones might crack under the weight of your grief. The jabberjays were merciless. They repeated his voice like a broken record —twisting it, warping it. "Please! Don’t — Name — please don’t leave me!" His cry pierced the air like a knife through flesh. "It’s me! I love you!"

And you believed it. You believed every damn word.

Because why else would the blood be there? Why else would you be alone?

Your mind was spiraling, slipping into that abyss you hadn’t touched since your own Games. Since you’d thought survival meant severing yourself from humanity. But Finnick had stitched something soft into your heart again. Something real.

Now it was tearing apart.

You retched again — dry this time, your throat raw and lips trembling. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes? Hours?

You looked up to the sky, a scream tearing through your throat. Hot tears flowed down your face.

You didn't even register the strong arms wrapping around your frame. The familiar scent. The quieting of the jabberjays as you were hauled off somewhere else.

You didn’t fight the arms pulling you in — maybe because part of you thought you were finally dying, and it was death cradling you. Maybe because it didn’t matter anymore.

But then — a voice. Not the high-pitched mimicry of the jabberjays. Not a hallucination.

A real voice.

“Hey. Hey, hey — breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Finnick.

You blinked, your vision swimming, unable to believe it until his thumb brushed under your eye, wiping away tears and blood and dirt like he was afraid you’d shatter.

"I hurt you—" You sobbed frantically, looking down at your hands. "Blood, there's blood—"

“Honey, no, no, hey — look at me.” Finnick cupped your face in both hands, gently but firmly pulling your gaze back to his. His eyes —those sea glass eyes — were wide, desperate, but whole. “You didn’t hurt me. Not a scratch, okay? This isn’t my blood.”

You shook your head, breath hitching, but he didn’t let you slip away again.

“I swear it,” he said, his voice trembling now, cracking like a wave against rocks. “You blacked out for maybe two minutes. You bolted into the trees. I ran after you. I never stopped.”

Your hands hovered uselessly between your bodies, stained and trembling. “Then whose blood is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There were mutts in the area. Could be one of them. Could be one of the other tributes who didn’t make it out in time. But it’s not yours, and it’s not mine.”

“I thought I killed you,” you whispered, eyes welling again. “And the birds — they used your voice. They knew what it would do to me.”

Finnick’s expression crumpled for a brief, unbearable moment before he pulled you in, arms wrapping tight like he could protect you from everything if he just held hard enough.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”

Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, still trembling, still unsure if any of this was real. But he was solid. He was warm. His heartbeat thrummed steadily against your ear, proof of life.

“I couldn’t hear you,” you whispered, voice wrecked and thin. “I kept calling, but I couldn’t find you. I thought — God, Finnick, I thought—”

“I know,” he said, breaking a little with every word. “I know. I was calling for you too.”

You felt his hand slide up your back, anchoring you, grounding you. He didn’t try to rush you or pull away. He just held you, like he was trying to hold your broken pieces together.

The jabberjays were gone now. The screams had faded. All that was left was the humid quiet of the jungle and your ragged breathing as you clung to him.

You began to cry again. To sob. You didn't know why. Fear. Relief. You clutched the material of Finnick's suit.

"Shh, baby. I've got you." He cooed, pulling you impossibly closer.

He rocked you gently, as if you were something fragile — and maybe you were. Maybe the Games had finally cracked you down the center, and only Finnick’s arms were keeping you from breaking apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into your hair, over and over. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You wept into his shoulder until your throat burned and your fingers ached from how tightly you were holding on. It was primal, wordless. A grief too big for language, a terror too deep for sense. But Finnick never let go.

Eventually, the sobs quieted into hiccups, then shaky breaths. You were still trembling, your whole body aching with exhaustion, but the panic had dulled — replaced now by the awful throb of aftermath.

Finnick pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering. “Let’s get out of here, alright? Let me clean you up.”

You nodded against him, too tired to speak.

He helped you to your feet like you weighed nothing, like he’d carry you if you asked. You didn’t have the strength to argue.

And as he guided you through the trees, his hand in yours, you realized something that terrified and comforted you all at once:

You would do anything to keep him alive. Even if it meant breaking yourself open all over again.

The walk was quiet.

Finnick kept his hand clasped with yours the entire way, thumb stroking the back of your fingers like he needed to remind himself you were still here. Occasionally, he’d glance over, watching you like you might vanish again — like if he looked away for too long, the jungle might swallow you whole.

Eventually, the trees broke into a clearing, revealing a small stream winding through mossy rocks. The water sparkled in the early evening light, soft and cold-looking, untouched by blood or nightmares.

“Here,” Finnick murmured. “Sit.”

You obeyed, letting him guide you to a flat stone by the edge of the water. Your hands were still shaking, your body humming with fatigue, but Finnick was steady. Solid.

He knelt beside you, pulling a small packet from his belt — standard Games-issued medical gear. But in his hands, even something as impersonal as gauze looked like an act of love.

“Let me see,” he said softly, and you gave him your hands.

He dipped a cloth in the cold stream and began gently wiping the blood from your skin. He didn’t flinch at the stains, didn’t comment on the cuts or bruises blooming along your arms from your frantic run through the trees. He just worked in silence, careful and slow, like he was afraid of hurting you further.

The cold made you hiss a little, and Finnick looked up instantly, his brows pulling together. “Sorry. I’ll be quick.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I scared myself,” you admitted, voice barely audible.

Once your hands were clean, he dried them gently and started wrapping a few fingers with gauze, where the skin had torn. His hands were warm, sure. So careful.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, brushing your knuckles. “Want to sit back? I’ll do your face next.”

You let him maneuver you like a doll, leaning against a mossy boulder while he soaked another cloth. This time, when he touched your face, you didn’t flinch — not even when the water traced over scrapes or when his fingers ghosted beneath your jaw.

“Better?” he asked when he was done, voice low.

You nodded, watching him with wide, wet eyes.

He reached out, brushing a thumb beneath your lower lip, wiping away the last streak of blood you hadn’t noticed.

Finnick didn’t speak. He just leaned in.

His kiss was soft — impossibly soft for someone who’d seen so much war and horror. His mouth tasted like saltwater and something sweeter, like a promise. He kissed you like he was trying to stitch all your broken pieces together again. Like if he loved you hard enough, the Games couldn’t touch you anymore.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"You're so beautiful. So strong, yeah? The strongest woman I know." He said softly, a gentle smile on his face.

Your breath caught, tears stinging your eyes again — but not from fear this time. From the sheer weight of his tenderness.

You shook your head slowly, voice cracking. “I don’t feel strong.”

Finnick leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “That’s the thing about strength,” he whispered. “It’s not about never breaking. It’s about surviving even when you do.”

You blinked at him, lips parted slightly, as if trying to memorize the shape of every word. Every look.

“And you,” he continued, pressing his forehead to yours again, “you survive. Even when the world tries to rip you apart.”

His hand found yours again, fingers threading through like it was second nature.

"I love you." You said, a tear slipping down your face. Through the blurry layer of your tears, you spotted the glint of Finnick's wedding ring. You gently stroked it with a finger.

Finnick looked down as your finger traced the silver band around his finger, the symbol of a promise made long before this nightmare began. His lips trembled with something that looked like awe, like reverence, like he couldn’t believe someone as shattered and beautiful as you had ever chosen him.

He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, slow and tender.

“I wear this because you’re my home, you're the best choice I've ever made,” he murmured against your skin. “Even in here. Especially in here. I love you more than words could ever tell you.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — not quite a sob, not quite a laugh — and leaned forward until your forehead was tucked beneath his chin, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the shaking inside you.

“I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered. “I thought the Capitol had finally taken everything.”

Finnick wrapped his arms around you again, holding you like a man clinging to the last piece of light in the world.

“They can’t have you,” he said, voice fierce and low in your ear. “They’ll never take you from me.”

You stayed there for a long time — just the two of you, curled together by the water as the sun dipped lower and the jungle quieted around you. For now, you were safe. For now, the blood had dried, the voices had gone silent, and you had each other.

And somehow, that was enough.

[bruisedboys]

hi!! could you write something about r and finnick in the quarter quell and they are in an established relationship? maybe j how they are with each other in general, and how others perceive them? hope that makes sense xxx

hi lovely, you requested this forever ago but I hope you’re still around to read it!! thank you for your request x

finnick odair x tribute!reader (quarter quell)

“It’s so hot.”

Finnick hums beside you. You’re both stretched out on the damp jungle floor, sweat shining on your foreheads. It’s so sticky in here. Peeta’s alseep a little ways to your left, and you and Finnick are supposed to be asleep too, but it’s much too hot for that. Katniss is perched on a rock keeping watch.

Your boyfriend props himself up on one elbow. Despite the heat, despite the frankly terrible day you’ve had, despite everything, he’s still so pretty. And he’s still yours. For as long as you can both stay alive, at least.

“Do you want me to get you some more water?” He asks. The tips of his curls glow in the soft white moonlight. He brings a hand to your face and brushes some hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. “Might help.”

You nod, turning your head to the side to kiss his palm. You think it’s sweet that he’s still trying to make this okay for you, even though it’s far from that. “That would be nice.”

“Alright. I’ll be two seconds, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

He squeezes your shoulder before getting up and moving away. You hear him ask Katniss for the spile, hear the thud thud thud as he knocks it into a tree.

A few quiet moments pass, and then there’s a soft rustling to your left. You startle, but it’s just Peeta, rolling onto his back. Apparently the heat’s keeping him up, too.

“He’s different to what I expected,” he says quietly.

You roll onto your side. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess I just … didn’t expect him to be so nice. He’s really lovely to you.”

You hum. You get what he means. Finnick might put on a show of arrogance, but it’s nothing but that. Just a show, for the Capitol, for Snow. Alone with you, with the people he cares about, he’s the sun, warm and bright.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “He’s lovely.”

Heavy footsteps crunch towards you and Finnick appears out of the half dark, a leaf cupped in his hand, water sloshing inside of it.

“Hey.” He kneels next to you, grinning, his dimples sinking into his tanned cheeks. “What’re we talking about?”

You lift yourself onto your elbows and smile at him. “Just you.”

“Oh, really?” Finnick raises his eyebrows as he gets one hand behind your back, helping you sit up properly. He brings the leaf to your mouth and helps you drink, his hand steady at the small of your back. “Were you telling Peeta how good of a boyfriend I am?”

Peeta audibly sighs, but you just smile at Finnick, properly lovelorn.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Something like that.”

Finnick grins wolfishly and presses a chaste kiss to your mouth.

[babiicatt]

breeding for babies young president!coriolanus snow & f.reader content. dubcon towards the end, p in v.

corio under pressure for an heir + his pretty little wife...

coriolanus is deadly with his thrusts, making you positively throb around his length as he takes you over and over again. “m-mmph!” you squeal when he pushes the pads of his fingers on your clit just right, teasing you closer to the edge.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” your president coos into your ear, as sly and seductive as ever. he’s only got one thing on his mind - getting you so fucked out that you won’t notice when he pumps his load into you.

he’s got you in a mating press and everything, trying to melt you under him, so he presses at the back of your legs a little harder so he can get deeper into your guts. “shh,” he hushes you, stuffing his big fingers into your hot, wet little mouth. using all the strength you have left, you lazily suck on them between your messy moans.

“don’t worry, just give me one more n’ i’ll be done, kay?” his whispers nearly go unheard until he says, “just gotta fill you up. yeah, i got you - fuck…” your eyes change into saucers filled with tears of pleasure, making a half-hearted muffled protest that goes unheard.

“my pretty little wife, about to be a pretty little mother,” he groans as he doubles over your body, spilling into your insides, your own body already shaking with an orgasm. both his cock and his fingers slip out of you simultaneously, gooey strings of bodily fluids attatched to both appendages as he retracts from you, leaving your holes feeling completely empty.

you let out a gurgling whine as corio wipes some of your spit on his fingers on your cheek as he cups it lightly. “god, you’re going to be the prettiest mother in all of panem.”

[hauntedfictionland]

Go out there, and make them remember you.

THE HUNGER GAMES (2012-2015) SUNRISE ON THE REAPING (2026)

winners of district twelve. haymitch abernathy won the 50th hunger games, and later went on to mentor katniss everdeen in the 74th hunger games. teaching her how to survive the way he did. both rebelled. both were unexpected winners.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Drunk Magic and Other Domestic Miracles

masterlist

i think haymitch would be suuuuuper sweet while he’s shit face drunk (he’s sweet in his own ways all the time, but he’s overtly sweet when wasted) and only when he’s that drunk so i based this off that lil headcanon i have of him and this request. i hope you guys like this:)

pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader

warnings: haymitch being drunk, haymitch makes a comment about strangulation but it’s nothing bad, this is kind of just cute intimacy lol

word count: 1.74k

He’s a mess when he’s sober, all sharp edges and muttered curses. But when the whiskey kicks in, he starts doing the impossible—braiding your hair, baking you pies, knitting sweaters with crooked little hearts. He says it doesn’t mean anything. You’re starting to realize it means everything.

You don’t even remember what you were talking about when it happened—something about booze, probably, or the vaguely alarming contents of his pantry. One second Haymitch was slouched sideways on your couch with a bottle hanging from two fingers, muttering half-formed insults about your concerns with his pantry, and the next he was suddenly behind you, all grumbly focus and clumsy determination.

“Hold still,” he slurred, already combing his fingers through your hair with shocking gentleness. “You’re all knots and chaos. Can’t concentrate with it lookin’ like a damn rat’s nest.”

You blinked. “What are you—?”

“Shh,” he whispered, like he was performing surgery. “Makin’ you presentable.”

And then he braided your hair.

Not just some pathetic attempt, either. A real braid. Tight and clean and even, tugged with practiced pressure and tied off with a hair tie—a hair tie, which you’re certain you didn’t give him and have absolutely no explanation for. Where did he get it? Why does he have it? The questions multiply, unanswered.

“There,” he said proudly, swaying just slightly as he surveyed his masterpiece. “Now you look like a girl who hasn’t been raised by wolves.”

You stared at him. “How the hell did you learn to do that?”

He shrugged, acting like he hadn’t just done something so out of the norm as he flopped back down onto the couch. “’S just rope made of hair. Braids are braids.”

You sat there, stunned, touching the braid like it might vanish if you weren’t careful. It was beautiful. Which was somehow the most confusing part.

“Haymitch?”

“Mm?”

“I’m terrified to say this, but… that was weirdly impressive.”

He smirked without opening his eyes. “I’m full of secrets, sugar.”

You blinked at the nickname. It’s not biting or sarcastic—it doesn’t carry the usual edge. Just something warm and unexpected in the drunken haze. You let it pass, unsure what to make of it, but somehow it stays with you longer than it should.

The braid’s perfect. He’s drunk. The world is upside down anyway.

A week later, you find yourself sitting at his kitchen table with damp hair and hopeful eyes, a comb in your hand.

“Can you do it again?” you ask, offering the comb like a peace treaty.

He squints at you like you’ve just asked him to solve a riddle using only mushrooms and spite. “Do what again?”

“The braid. From the other night.”

“What braid?”

“Haymitch,” you say slowly, “you braided my hair.”

He looks mildly offended. “No I didn’t.”

“You did. With a mystery hair tie that may or may not have come from another dimension.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“It was you!”

After a long pause, he snatches the comb from your hand with exaggerated flair. “Fine. Move.”

You turn around, triumphant. That is, until two minutes later, when he growls in frustration.

“Why the hell is your hair so slippery? Is this sabotage?”

“It’s wet!”

“Feels like trick wire!”

He ends up tying your hair into what you can only describe as a deranged tumbleweed secured with a kitchen twist-tie. You stare at your reflection in the window and blink slowly.

“Beautiful,” you deadpan. “Like a noble shrub.”

He squints at it. “Looks fine.”

“You were surgical when you were drunk. Are you telling me liquor gives you hair-braiding superpowers?”

“Apparently.” He sounds offended by the fact. “Don’t ask me to explain it.”

“You’re like a fairy godmother who needs to be drunk to do magic.”

He grins at that, leaning back in his chair with smug satisfaction. “That’s right. You want a decent braid, you bring whiskey.”

A few hours later, he’s drunk again.

You find him in his living room, sprawled on the floor with his back against the couch like gravity gave up halfway through. The bottle is nearly empty. You weren’t even planning on going back over, but your hair’s still a little damp, and curiosity—or maybe something else—dragged you across the lawn.

He squints up at you like you might be a hallucination. “You came back,” he slurs.

“I live next door.”

“You came back,” he insists, like it’s a romantic gesture instead of you standing in your socks with a blanket over your shoulders.

Then he pats the floor between his spread legs with the kind of solemnity reserved for important ceremonies. “C’mere, sugar. Let me fix it. M’gonna make it right.”

“Fix what?” you ask, but you already know.

“The rat’s nest,” he mumbles. “Tried earlier. Failed. I failed you.” He looks devastated. “Twist-tie was not the answer.”

You almost choke trying not to laugh. “No, it really wasn’t.”

He holds his hand out for the comb you didn’t even realize you brought again. “Gimme another shot. I got the magic back.”

You hesitate only for a second before settling down on the floor between his legs, your legs stretched out in front of you, one arm resting casually on his knee. The contact is small, steadying—quietly intimate in a way neither of you acknowledge.

His fingers are clumsy at first, warm and wandering, but then something shifts. The same rhythm from before returns—steady, practiced. He hums to himself, off-key and tuneless, as he works. It shouldn’t feel comforting. But it absolutely does.

“Sorry ‘bout earlier,” he mumbles near your ear. “Didn’t mean to make you look like an angry bush.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“’Cause you’re sweet,” he mutters, tugging the braid just tight enough to ground you. “Sweet, sugar. Let me do right by your hair. Deserves better than me sober.”

You smile without meaning to, the corner of your mouth tugging up as his breath warms your neck.

When he ties off the braid—with the mystery hair tie again, of course—he leans his forehead against the back of your head for a second like he’s hit the emotional wall of drunken sincerity.

“There,” he murmurs, pleased. “Now you’re shiny again.”

You don’t know what that means. You don’t ask.

It’s a few weeks later when you learn he has another absurd drunk talent.

You weren’t expecting to see him that night—you were just coming by to return a book he lent to Katniss, because apparently even she has limits on how long she can tolerate his handwritten notes in the margins (“this guy’s an idiot,” “wow, murder again?”). You don’t knock. You never do anymore.

But you freeze halfway through the doorway.

Because Haymitch Abernathy—victor, drunk, emotionally stunted disaster of a man—is sitting on his couch with a half-empty bottle at his feet and a pair of knitting needles in his hands.

Knitting.

Knitting a sweater.

It’s light blue. There’s a tiny uneven heart on the sleeve. You know it’s a heart because you can see the failed first attempts in a little pile beside him, a lumpy collection of false starts that clearly pissed him off.

And he’s muttering to it like it’s got opinions.

“Been workin’ on it whenever I drink,” he slurs proudly, barely glancing up as you stare at him like your brain has short-circuited. “Was gonna be a scarf. But you’re cold all the time, so it… evolved.”

“You knit.”

“I drunk-knit,” he corrects, stabbing the needle through a loop like it insulted him. “Tried it sober once. Ended up stranglin’ myself with the yarn.”

You walk in slowly, in complete disbelief. “You’re making me a sweater.”

“Not just you. Made Peeta socks.” He scowls. “He doesn’t know. Gonna sneak ‘em into his drawer. Real covert-like.”

You honestly don’t know what’s more ridiculous: the fact that he’s doing it, or the fact that he’s actually good at it. The stitches are neat. Focused. Full of care he’d never admit to while sober. The little heart on the sleeve is uneven, but it means something. It feels like being seen through a haze of whiskey and grumbling affection.

“You’re a menace,” you say, sitting beside him, careful not to touch the project. “A drunk, secret-knitting menace.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Better than fightin’. Or drinkin’ and fightin’. Or fightin’ the sweater.”

That one’s muttered under his breath. You don’t ask for details.

It spirals from there.

A few days later, you catch him in the kitchen making a pie from scratch at two in the morning, completely plastered and dusted in flour like he lost a fight with a snowstorm.

He turns slowly when he hears you in the doorway, one eye barely open. “S’for you,” he slurs. “Wanted you to have somethin’ warm in the morning. Don’t eat enough.”

“You’re making me a pie?”

He nods solemnly, like this is a sacred task. “Been practicin’ my crust technique. Had to drink three glasses just to get it right.”

He burns himself pulling it out of the oven, curses loudly, and then proudly presents you with a lopsided apple pie that somehow smells like it came from a professional bakery.

You can’t even mock him. You just eat it, silently stunned, while he watches with the wary expression of a man who put too much heart into something and doesn’t know how to ask if you liked it.

There’s no pattern to it.

Sometimes it’s a perfectly carved wooden bird on your porch step.

Sometimes it’s him fixing a squeaky cabinet hinge like it’s a goddamn life mission.

One morning you wake up to find your leaky roof patched with tar and spare sheet metal, and when you confront him, he just mumbles, “Was worried mold would start growing. Thought I’d… do somethin’ about it. Had to drink half a bottle first. For focus.”

You’ve never seen someone so functionally incompetent while sober and yet domestically gifted when plastered. It makes no sense. It breaks physics. You don’t understand it, and honestly, you’ve given up trying.

But one night, when he’s working on your sweater again, arms moving clumsily but steadily, he murmurs, “You always looked like you needed someone to take care of you a little.”

Then, after a pause, without looking at you: “Think I like tryin’. When I can.”

You don’t say anything. Just rest your head on his shoulder, watching the needles move, the yarn tug, the world settle into something oddly steady for once.

Haymitch Abernathy is a drunk, foul-mouthed, emotionally constipated man with hair-braiding hands, secret pie recipes, and a sweater in progress just for you.

And somehow, despite everything…

It feels right for him to be so soft.

[kazwritesthings]

your smile

peeta mellark x fem! reader

summary: peeta mellark has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. yet not once has he ever mentioned the dark haired girl he is now claiming to be in love with. did you read his signals wrong? did he not trust you enough to tell you about his crush? more importantly, why do some of the stories he’s telling about her sound… oddly familiar?

word count: 8.1k (yikes)

(note: hello!! i haven’t written in yearssss so please be nice about any spelling or grammar errors you find lol)

_________________

you've had three near death experiences in your lifetime.

the first was when peeta's older brother, jayce, had taken you out to the lake not too far from the edge of district 12. he had been bragging about how beautiful the ice looked early in the morning to try and make little peeta jealous since he wasn't allowed to go see it. being the stubborn thing you were, you bribed him to take you and peeta with him one morning. you were only tiny, barely 6 years old, so even though he caught you before you fell completely through a cracked section of the ice, it was enough to soak you up to your waist. you developed a terrible fever that you only survived because your mother sold most of her belongings to pay for the best doctor she could.

the second near death experience you had was when you were a little older. when you were 11, you had wanted to explore the woods past the fence on the outskirts of 12. you'd tried to convince peeta to come with you, but he did want to get in trouble. you didn't make it very far anyway since you fell backwards when you tried to climb the first tree you came across . your head landed inches away from a large rock which definitely would have caved your skull in had you landed on it. luckily you escaped with a bruised butt and even more bruised ego.

as for the third near death experience... you're living through it now

"the male tribute for the 74th hunger games is... peeta mellark!"

physically, you’re fine. your name wasn’t called; you get to go home once this is all over. but your soul. your other half isn’t so lucky.

hot tears stream down your face as you watch peeta make his way through the crowd of boys. you look around at his brothers, praying above anything that one of them would volunteer for him, take his place like the female tribute had done for her sister moments ago. but when you see them, their faces are solum, staring at the floor as peeta walks past their rows.

peeta looks as shellshocked as you feel as he walks up the stairs and stands next to the woman with the crazy outfit and weird hat. his eyes dart around the crowd of girls until they land on you. you’ve never seen him look so scared before, and it causes you to cry harder.

“go on! shake hands!” the crazy capitol lady says, moving out the way so peeta and the other girl, katniss, can do as she says. peeta is barely able to rip his eyes off you when he does, still staring out into the crowd when he takes katniss’ calloused hand into his own.

you don’t really register what happens next, your brain foggy with the hellish news that’s just been forced upon you. before you know it, your stood outside a room in the town hall, waiting for peeta’s family to say goodbye. the heat of anger you had directed at his brothers has cooled to an almost debilitating fear. all you can taste is blood from biting the inside of your cheek to try and calm yourself - it doesn’t work.

after five minuets, the peacekeeper next to the door opens it and calls that their time with peeta is up. he then turns to you and nods his head towards the door. you push past his mother in your rush to get to him, making her curse at you under her breath. she never liked you, calling you a bad influence on peeta, but you never really cared.

you stand across the room from him, waiting until the door shuts behind you and you can finally be alone. peetas eyes are red as if he has been crying, yet his face is dry. it’s clear he’s been holding back his tears, letting them build up like a dam moments from bursting. the damn breaks the second he sees you.

“y/n,” peeta mutters, his entire body collapsing in on itself. he would have fallen to the floor if you hadn’t ran to him in time. your arms wrap around his waist to hold him up while his loop around your neck, pulling you to him faster and closer than he ever has before. his tears are hot against your neck, soaking into your one nice shirt. you don’t care.

“oh god… this isn’t fair” you cry into his neck, trying your best to hold yourself together. one of you needs to be strong, and it definitely shouldn’t be peeta right now.

and yet it is. he pulls away and takes you by the shoulders. his big brown eyes, always so warm and full of life, have grown sad and watery. you hate it.

“you’ll be okay. i made my brothers swear that they’ll look after you and your mom when i’m gone, discounted bread and everything. mother wasn’t happy about it but i made it my dying request” his chuckle has your blood boiling because of how calm he sounds. how accepting he sounds.

you slap him gently on the shoulder, glaring up at him with a look that usually has him taking back his teasing jokes. “shut the fuck up, peeta. you’re not dying in there. you’re strong, the strongest person i know,” you hiss, slapping him again when he rolls his eyes.

“y/n it’s no use-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“yes it is! you’re strong, so you could wrestle any of the other tributes if it comes to it. you’re charming, so you can win sponsors before you go in and make allies with other strong tributes. and i’ll work my ass off out here so i can send you things when you need,” you ramble, squeezing his hands on your shoulder as you try to think.

“y/n i’m not making it out,” peeta tries to cut you off, which is what finally pushes you off the edge.

“STOP SAYING THAT!” you yell, cutting off his depressing words. he stares at you, surprised. you very rarely raise your voice, let alone at him. “you can’t give up before you’ve gone in! you can’t…” your voice cracks before it trails off. you begin to cry again, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as you hold onto him again. “i can’t lose you.”

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound being the muffled voices coming from next door where you can only assume katniss is saying goodbye to her family. it is broken again by peeta’s gentle voice.

“did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he mutters against your ear, sending shockwaves down your spine. your head shoots back to look him in the eyes, your mind suddenly blank.

“w…what?” you stutter breathlessly, not sure you heard him right.

peeta gives you a smile you’ve only ever seen him aim at you. it’s fond and warm, with an unspoken, uncertain glint in his eyes. he opens his mouth, to repeat himself or explain himself you don’t get to find out. the peacekeeper that was outside barges in and storms across the room faster than you can think.

his hand roughly grips your arm and drags you away from peeta. panic floods you as you yell and reach out for peeta. “no! no! i need more time! please!” you scream, your fingers barely linked in peeta’s before you’re violently pulled apart.

“hey! let her go,” peeta tries to run after you, yelling at the peacekeeper who is dragging you across the room, but is stopped by another peacekeeper grabbing his shoulder and throwing him backwards.

everything is happening too fast. there was so much more you had to say to him, do with him. this was never the way you wanted to tell him, yet this may be the last chance you will ever have.

“peeta! peeta i love you!” you call as the peacekeeper gives you one final push and throws you out of the room. you stumble into the chest of one of his brothers, and quickly spin around to get one final look at him.

for a moment, the colour is back in his face. his eyes are bright in the way they used to be, crinkled in the corner as he smiles at you again.

“y/n i-” a door slams in your face, cutting peeta off and leaving you a husk of your former self.

——————

the following days are agony. peeta’s brothers kept their word, checking in on you once a day with a loaf of your favourite bread. you mainily spent your days helping your mother at her stall in the hob or picking up little jobs wherever you can to put towards helping peeta.

the only time you felt any semblance or relief was when peeta was on the television. your heart soared when you saw him in the chariot during the opening ceremony. he looked so different: his usually messy hair slicked back, dark makeup around his eyes and a black suit that’s literally on fire making you wince out of nervousness for him. he looks incredible. and so does katniss next to him.

you can’t help but frown when you see him reach for her hand and hold them in the air. it’s stupid to be possessive over him at a time like this, yet you can’t help it. its a gross, sticky sensation that claws at your chest and stops you from fully filling your lungs with air. and it only gets worse with time.

you don’t see peeta for a while since the tributes have started their training, so you continue working in the hob. people give you saddened looks when you walk past them in the streets, since anyone who had visited the bakery at least once would have known how close the two of you are. it is probably why you’ve been able to find so many tasks and errands to do over the past few days. people pity you.

you and your mother watch the training scores together, cheering out of joy when you see peeta receive an 8. it’s high enough that sponsors will notice him yet low enough for the careers to not see him as a threat. it takes the weight off your shoulders for a moment.

the days continue to drag by until it’s the day before the games begin, meaning it’s interview day. the only thing that’s been keeping you going is the fact that you get to hear his voice, see him properly speak today. there aren’t enough words in the english language to describe how difficult it is to go from being with the person you love all day, every day, to not being able to see him at all.

your skin tingles with nerves as you take a seat at your kitchen table and turn on the interviews. most go by slowly, the tributes all doing their best to make themselves stand out and more likeable. your heart bleeds for the young girl from district 11, rue.

katniss does amazing in her interview. while she is very clearly nervous, she’s able to make people laugh at her accidental jokes, cry at her love for her sister and awe at her beautiful dress that bursts into flames. you had only briefly spoken to her before, a word or two when you would buy game from her. still, you are proud of her for doing well.

peeta does even better. he’s just as charming as you knew he would be, maybe even more. he cracks jokes left and right making you grin.

when laughter calms down, the host ceaser flickerman, gives him a serious look that he jokingly mimics.

“now peeta, tell me. is there a special girl waiting for you at home?” ceaser asks. my heart pounds in my chest as i wait for his answer.

peeta opens his mouth to speak when he pauses. a look of sadness appears on his face for a moment and disappears even faster. the only reason why you’re able to catch it is because you’ve spent years analysing every face he’s ever made.

“well… there’s this one girl that i’ve had a crush on forever,” peeta says shyly.

your breath hitches. could he be talking about you? he looked happy when you said you loved him. you bite your lip anxiously, curling your legs into your chest.

ceaser grins, showing off his overly white teeth. “ahh… i’ll tell you what, peeta. you go out there and you win this thing. when you get home she’ll have to go out with you”

once again, peeta’s face changes for a fraction of a second. for just a moment, he smiles. he smiles your smile. the one he reserves for you and you only. it makes you heart lurch and a smile appear on your face.

your smile disappears off his face as fast as it came, and your nerves return.

“thanks, but i don’t think winnings gonna help me at all” he mutters, looking away from ceaser and the audience.

ceaser frowns, his tanned skin folding until it looks like crumpled orange peel. “why not?”

peeta takes a deep breath before speaking.

“because she came here with me.”

oh

you feel like the floor has disappeared underneath you, and you’re free falling into darkness. your chest burns with every breath you take. there’s a ringing in your hears that you’ve never heard before, and all you can think about is… how?

is there any way that you could have missed that? not once had peeta ever spoken about katniss, in the romantic sense or otherwise. sure, he’d come with you to buy game from her occasionally, but that’s the only time you’d ever seen them interact. could it be possible that he just didn’t tell you?

you don’t even realise that you’re crying until your mom reaches over and wipes your tears. you choke back a sob as your grip the table tightly, blurry vision fixed on the screen. you need to know more.

the look ceaser gives him makes my skin crawl. a look of pity that’s clear to anyone who has eyes. “ahh. well that’s bad luck.”

peeta nods, and looks back at ceaser. “yea it is. i’ve liked her for as long as i can remember,” he smiles fondly, a far off look in his eyes. it makes you want to scream.

“would you mind telling me when you first started liking her?” ceaser asks, leaning closer to peeta as he begins to push the conversation further than you want to hear.

another micro expression that only you could see flashes on his face. panic.

he quickly covers it and nods, sitting up in the chair uncomfortably. “uh yea. we were both in school together. one time in class our teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song, and she raised her hand so fast,” he laughs, covering his face slightly to hide a blush that was slowly growing on his cheeks.

ceaser laughs in a way that you can’t tell his happy or sad. “and i’m guessing that this girl,” he looks knowingly at the audience, “was a good singer, no?”

“the best,” peeta nods, the blush reaching up to his ears and down his neck now. “i’ve gotta admit something kinda weird. i watched her go home every day after that. i was desperate to get closer to her.”

that’s throws your for a loop and sends your mind spinning even more. you and peeta walked home together every day since you first began school. there is no way you could have missed him watching her, right? your head throbs with unanswered questions and more emotions than you can comprehend. you shut off interview when you realise that peeta is finished, walking past your mom to your bedroom.

you cry yourself to sleep that night. not just because of what you witnessed today, but because it may just be the last night that the love of your life is also alive.

——————

you could count on one hand the amount of times that you have watched the hunger games from start to finish. you’d never had much of a stomach for violence in the first place, but you had to stomach it to make sure that peeta was still alive.

it was easy to push down your messed up feelings about peeta and katniss when all you were focusing on whether he was alive or not. you watched as peeta joined the careers, only to betray them and get attacked by cato. you were nearly inconsolable when he was injured and forced to hide out by the river. you were so scared for him that you didn’t sleep until they finally showed him being reunited with katniss.

you had never been so relieved when they announced that two victors from the same district could win. katniss obviously was attached to peeta, so she’d do anything to keep him alive so that they could win together.

you were grateful beyond words to her for looking after him. she cleaned his wound to the best of her ability and hid him in a cave. however, this is when it started to become harder to ignore the ache in your chest when you see them together.

the longer they spent together the more your heart hurt. you tried to distract yourself by working, yet you couldn’t get the image of them in the cave out of your mind. the only good thing that came about because of your work is that you finally had made enough to send peeta some medicine.

after collecting all the money you had, you ran to the town centre. you quickly filled out the application on what you wanted to send him and gave them everything you had. originally you had been saving the money to one day buy a cow that you could sell milk with. peeta was more important than that.

when you arrive at the section of the form that allows you to write a message to your chosen tribute, you feel slightly stumped. this may be the last thing you get the chance to say to him. you wrack your brain for something to say, but all that comes to your head is the lyrics to your favourite song. it makes you smile. they sum up how you feel about him perfectly, so you scribble down the words as quickly as you can.

once you finished the form and handed him the money the peacekeeper said that the medicine should be sent shortly, so you rush back home as fast as you can.

you arrive back just in time to see a parachute land just outside of the cave. katniss walks over and opens it, frowning when she sees the message that you had written for peeta inside. anger bubbles up inside you when she frowns. what the hell is her problem?

you watch as she walks inside and holds out the pot.

“someone sent you medicine,” she tells him, kneeling by his side.

“oh really? who?” peeta shuffles to sit up slightly, wincing as the pain flares in his leg.

you sit with baited breath, waiting for her to tell him the truth.

“haymitch,” is all she says as she begins to gently apply it to his leg.

the anger from before simmers up into a white hot rage. how fucking dare she. who the fuck does she think she is? katniss must recognise your name, she has to know how close you two are. why wouldn’t she tell him?

you smack the table in front of you, tears flooding your vision as someone else takes credit for your effort. however you pause when you look back at the screen, your bottom lip wobbling. the relief that spreads across peeta’s face forces you to take a deep breath. he got the help that he needed, and you were able to give that to him. that’s all that matters.

a few tears escape from your eyes as you watch the two of them. there’s an aching in your chest that you can’t seem to escape from, one that’s separate from the jealousy you’re feeling. a nagging sensation, like you’re missing something.

“why are you doing this?” peeta asks, staring up at her with his big eyes that make you swoon every time you see them, and he knows that. you hate that he’s using them on her.

“you helped me once,” katniss responds.

a silence lingers over them for a moment before peeta practically bursts to life. “i think about that day all the time how i tossed you that bread.”

“peeta,” katniss sighs.

“i should have gone to you. i should have just gone out in the rain and…” he trails off, using those big eyes of his to wear down her defences. and it works. she leans down and kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands.

you hate how you look away from the screen. the amazing mic quality picks up on the sound of their lips locking together so there’s no escaping what they’re doing in front of the entire country.

everything makes sense now. you remember peeta telling you about the time that he burnt bread to feed katniss. he never mentioned it again, so you assumed at the time that it didn’t mean anything. how wrong you were.

when she pulls away from him, peeta begins to mumble. “i remember one time i followed you into the woods. i was terrified of getting in trouble, but i was so desperate to keep an eye on you. i watched as you climbed a tree not too far from the edge, then watched as you fell like fifteen feet to the ground when one of the branches snapped. i was so scared for you… but you stood up and carried on like nothing had happened. that’s the first time i saw how strong you are,” he smiles softly up at her.

you frown again, a small voice nagging in the back of your mind. he followed her to the woods. the only time you went, you had begged him to come with you and he had refused. yet he went with her? it made bile rise to your throat. when you finally look back at the screen, what you see breaks you.

your smile. being aimed at her.

you turn the screen off and it stays off for the rest of the night.

——————

“attention. attention, tributes. there has been a slight rule change. the previous revision, allowing for two victors from the same district, has been revoked. only one victor may be crowned. good luck. and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

only moments ago you had been crying tears of joy. peeta and katniss had made it. they were coming home. he was coming home.

not anymore it seems.

a terrifying sound echoes throughout your kitchen, and it takes a moment for you to realise that the sound is coming from you. desperate, wet sobs wrack your body as you dig your nails into your wooden table in front to ground yourself. you watch, horrified, as katniss takes out the nightlock berries from earlier. are you really about to see the love of your life kill himself on live television, just so that he doesn't have to live without the love of his?

your body is numb, eyes glassy, tears and snot running down your face as you watch them stand inches from each other, raising the poison to their lips. you don't realise it but your mother is gently running her hands along your back to try and calm you, it clearly having no effect.

you look at those eyes. that smile that he has on his face as he raises the berries. it's your smile again. it makes you wonder, just for a moment, if you could be his last thought.

"stop! stop! ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the of the 74th annual hunger games," a voice booms loud and clear over the speaker.

air floods your lungs once more, and you can breath again. he's coming home. your peeta is coming home.

you choke out a laugh, reaching over to hug your mom tighter than you ever have before. the two of you laugh and scream in delight, and everything is right in the world again.

when you finally let go, you turn back to look at the screen. peeta and katniss are locked in an embrace similar to the one the two of you had shared just before he had left. and once again, your smile is on his face, aimed at her.

he is coming home. but he might not be yours anymore.

——————

its another week of interviews and celebrations before peeta and katniss are finally on their way home. on the way to the capitol, peeta couldn't really pay attention to much other than the look on your face when you told him that you loved him. he wasted so many years being terrified that you didn't feel the same way, only to find out days before he died that he had a chance after all.

now that he's on his way home, he doesn't plan on wasting anymore time.

he has to admit, his idea was a stroke of genius. when he first brought up the idea of pretending to be in love to receive sponsors, katniss had laughed in his face. she refused to be seen as weak, and didn't want to spend what could be her last days alive pretending to be someone she wasn't. haymitch, on the other hand, loved it.

as much as he hates to admit it, pretending to be in love with katniss came to him easier than he was expecting it to be. it was a thousand times easier since he was already in love. with you.

every time he had to talk to her, about her; when he had to hold her or kiss her, he was always picturing you. even the stories he told, the ones about the woods and the valley song. they were some of his favourite memories with you.

he had warned katniss before they went in how he felt about you, and she was more than happy to be a place for him to project his feelings for you as long as it kept them both alive. and it did.

he had just hoped that you had been able to see through the stories he was telling and understand that none of it was real, that it was all an illusion to keep them alive. and he'd never forget the sense of relief he felt what katniss showed him the message you had sent him along with the medicine.

"roses are red, love, violets are blue. birds in the heavens know i love you." - y/n

it was the lyrics to your favourite song. the valley song. you knew he was waiting for you.

——————

you waited with baited breath as the train pulls into the station. the crowd of people surrounding waiting with you are honestly pissing you off. they didn't care about peeta before they left for the games, so why are you having to fight your way through strangers to get to him now?

it's only when the doors to the train open and he finally steps onto the platform that you feel alive again. he looks the same as he did the day he left you, and it takes your breath away. the crowd erupts in applause as he takes katniss' hand and holds it in the air, the same way that he did in the opening ceremony. your breath hitches when you remember that he isn't yours anymore. it has slipped your mind in the excitement of getting to see him. a deep heat spreads from your chest down to your stomach, and you feel like you might throw up.

that's when your eyes meet his. and time stands still. for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, he smiles at you. he gives you your katniss' smile, and for a moment everything is okay again.

peeta and katniss are ushered off the platform before you get a chance to do more than stare at him. as they rush off you begin to push your way out of the crowd. you push past katniss' family, prim and her mother and her best friend gale. they give you a small smile as you pass, one that you return tenfold. nothing can bring you down in this moment. despite the fact that peeta isn't yours anymore, he's alive. it will take some time to adjust, but you can learn to live with that. as long as he's okay.

——————

scratch that. this fucking sucks.

not once have you ever been nervous to see peeta. despite the fact that you're hopelessly in love with him, talking to him always came easy. but now that you're stood here in front of him, who you can only assume his girlfriend stood feet away, and it's like you fell out of that tree all over again. you're winded despite the fact that nothing hit you. you can't catch your breath despite how hard you inhale.

you don't even know how you got here. one moment you were at home, the next peeta's brother was dragging you here, throwing you in and shutting the door behind him with a smile on your face that you completely didn't trust.

you try to focus on him and this moment, but all you can see is the room you're in. peeta's new house in victors village is more grand than anywhere you've been before. the each of the rooms are at least the size of your entire house with enough space to fit everything from your mothers stall at the hob tenfold. you wonder what peeta is going to use the space for since he doesn't have many possessions.

you're able to snap out of it seconds before he reaches you. everything feels like its stuck in fast-forward as his arms loop around your waist and pull you straight into his chest. despite his jokes in the interviews before the games, he smells the same. somehow he still smells like flour and that scent that you can't place that's just so him.

"hey," he whispers in your ear, and it feels like you are hearing his voice for the first time ever. it breaks something inside of you that has your knees buckling and your eyes watering.

"i told you you could win," you whisper back, seconds away from breaking down. he barks a laugh that has you choking back a sob. your hands shake as you grip onto his shirt, desperate to pull him closer to you. he's here. he's really here.

"you're really going to have the first thing you say to me be 'i told you so?'" peeta laughs, pulling back so he can look you in the eyes. he holds your cheek in his hand as he scans your face. you feel exposed in a way you never have before, and it makes you blush.

someone else in the room laughs at his joke too, and you're instantly aware of how bad this looks. you pull out of his grasp as fast as he pulled you into it, your eyes flickering to where the laughter came from. of course, it was his girlfriend.

you've never felt so embarrassed in your life. here you are getting all touchy feely with him when his girlfriend, the reason he is still alive, is standing right next to you. you cough awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh.

"yea, well you know me. i'd never pass up a chance to say it, especially since you're always wrong" you laugh, looking anywhere but him. if you had been you would have seen the confusion, and the hurt, written on his face as clear as day.

you turn to katniss and fight back anger rising when you remember how she had hid the message you had sent him with the medicine. she had let their mentor take credit for your entire life savings. but she had also looked after him and saved his life more times than you can count. it's a debt you'll never be able to repay.

as quickly as peeta ran to you, you ran to her. you hugged her tightly, surprising everyone in the room.

"thank you for keeping him alive," you say, surprising her even more.

katniss hesitantly wraps her arms around you in response. she's clearly confused, though you're not too sure why. "y-you're welcome. he saved me too," she responds and you fight back a wince.

once you let her go, you look back and forth between the two. you suppose there is a way that you can repay the debt you owe her. you can let him go.

you sniffle and wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. "i suppose i should let you two get comfortable in your new house! it's really nice," you look around the room, avoiding not only peeta's gaze, but katniss' as well.

quickly, you walk back over and give him another hug. "i've got to get back to work, but i'll see you later, okay?" the smile you give him doesn't reach your eyes, and he can see that.

"hey, wait-" peeta goes to call after you, but it's too late. you're already out the door and off into the cool evening air of district 12.

——————

why are you doing this?

you'd spent every waking moment while he was in the capitol wishing that peeta was by your side. yet here you are, running between your mother's stall and your home just to avoid seeing him. every time you start to question yourself, you get a flash of them in the cave. he deserves to be happy, and if katniss makes him happy, then you'll step back.

it's pathetic honestly. running between houses, hiding behind walls every time you go out just so you won't accidentally run into him. the only time you've ever been grateful for how small your house is was the other day when you jumped out the window to avoid him when he dropped by to see you. you hid by the the side of the house until you saw him walk away and deemed it safe to climb back inside.

your mother isn't happy with you. she says your punishing him for something that wasn't his fault. but you're not punishing him. you're trying to help him.

you press yourself against the cool painted wall of one of the buildings near the hob. the good thing about peeta being famous now is that wherever he goes, chatter follows him, which is usually enough to warn you that he's nearby.

it's not enough today though. just as you're about to make a run for it to the next building, a firm hand grips your upper forearm. without looking you know who it is, and you flinch. there is no way you can possibly talk your way out of this.

you slowly turn to face peeta. the look on his face stops your heart and kills any excuses you had on your tongue. he looks just as pale as the day that his name was called on that stage. his brows are furrowed, and a heartbreaking frown pulls down his face. he looks older like this, so much like his mother that it puts you on edge more than you already had been.

"hey peet. what's wrong?" you ask once you finally get your breath back.

without a word, peeta turns and pulls you off of the wall and down the street the way that you had just came from. anxiety builds in your stomach. part of the reason why you'd avoided him for as long as you have was to put off the conversation on why you're avoiding him in the first place. the urge to rip your arm out of his grasp and flee to the woods and spend the rest of your days living in a tree consumes you. but he deserves more than that.

by the time you arrive at peeta's new house in victors village, the humiliation that comes with your recent actions had finally sunk in. you walk into his house with your head hanging low; if you had a tail it defiantly would be between your legs.

the two of you stop in his kitchen. its uncomfortably quiet since victors village is so separate from the rest of the district. you're not used to this level of silence, especially when your with peeta.

"peet?" you hesitantly call his name. he's not facing you. instead, he's bent over a table, his palms pressed flat against the wood with his back facing you.

"i don't understand," his voice comes out quiet, hoarse. has he been crying?

you take a hesitant step towards him, your hand hanging in the air as you debate reaching out to touch his back. "you don't understand what?"

your words seem to have woken something in him. he spins around so fast scares you. he doesn't look like his mother anymore, but the doesn't mean he looks any less angry.

"i don't understand you. i don't get it. you tell me you love me, then you ignore me for a week?" he hisses. you'd heard peeta get angry before, but it had never been aimed at you. you flinch when he yells, but then you register what he said.

"i thought i was helping you adjust to your new life," you frown, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you look at him. you knew he would be angry at you for avoiding him, but you didn't think he'd bring up what you said before he went to the games.

peeta scoffs and leans back against the table. "how the hell would that help me? and what do you mean my new life?"

"your new life with katniss," you say like its the most obvious thing in the world.

that is clearly not what he was expecting. it's almost like his body does a full reset. his face relaxes into neutral and his body relaxes so he's sat on the table.

"what does katniss have to this?" he asks, confused.

you tilt your head at his question. "well... i assume that you and katniss are going to be together now, and i thought that you would't want to be around someone who has a crush... who is in love with you while you have a girlfriend. so i gave you some space," you explain.

just like his first ever interview, micro expressions flash across his face, except this time they pass too fast for you to clearly work out what they are. he falls back to neutral, but this time his eyes are softer.

"i thought you understood... the parachute letter..." he trails off.

it's your turn to be surprised now. "you knew about that? i thought katniss told you haymitch sent the medicine."

peeta lets out a laugh, and you swear your knees could give in there and then. the atmosphere in the room is different now and you can't place it. its not as soft as it was when he first told you that you were beautiful, nor is it as tense as it was when you were reunited.

"that was just for the camera's, she showed me the card later. haymitch said that it wouldn't be a good idea to let the capitol know that i had someone waiting at home for me when i'm supposed to be in love with my fellow tribute," peeta takes a step towards you, a fond smile spreading across his face.

his words make you pause as you look at him confused. you blink slowly as you try to absorb what he just said.

"wait... what do you mean 'supposed to be?'" you breath out.

peeta pulls a face that this time you recognise, mainly because you've been on the receiving end more times than you would like to admit. it's a fond look, one that you would give a cat runs into a wall while playing with a laser or a child when it falls over doing something you told it not to do. it's his nice way of telling you that you're being an idiot.

he slowly reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "did you really think that after hearing the girl i've hopelessly pined over for my entire life say that she loves me i would turn around and date someone else? let alone someone who i'd interactd with maybe three times maximum."

his touch sends a spark that shoots through the rest of your body, setting you ablaze. you're still confused beyond belief, but your heart feels like it might burst. did you really hear that right?

"y... you what? your whole life?" you sound no better than a toddler learning to speak, and it makes peeta laugh once again.

you shake your head in attempt to clear your mind and get your thoughts in order. "i don't understand. you told those stories about when you first saw katniss and when you started liking her? the bread, peeta! i remember you telling me about the bread!" you ramble, stepping back slightly to get a better look at him. you're so all over the place that you barely hear his reponse.

"well, yes. the bread thing actually happened. so did everything else, to be completely truthful. but they didn't happen with katniss. i was talking about you," he grins, taking another step closer and reaching out to take your hand in his. "i mean seriously. how did you not realise i was talking about you? do you not remember singing the valley song when we were little? and when i said i watched 'her'," he uses air quotes around the word, "walk home every day after that. i did! i watched you walk home because i would walk you to your house! every single time i had to kiss her, touch her, god even just look at her... i was thinking of you," he sounds exasperated by the time he finishes.

you feel like smacking yourself in the face. that's why the story felt so familiar and why you had that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. you remember it so clearly now you feel like you could scream. your first day of the first grade. you had been incredibly nervous up until the moment that the teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. it was your fathers favourite song to sing to you before he passed away, so your hand immediately shot up. singing your father's favourite song instantly calmed you down, and it had been your favourite ever since. you used to sing it to peeta when he would come to you crying after an especially harsh beating from his mother.

your entire body slumps as the embarrassment you were feeling returns tenfold. "oh."

peeta grins at you and it's so bright you can hardly stand to look at it. "oh," he repeats. he gives you a few more moments to collect your thoughts before he continues. "i though you had realised that i was talking about you when you sent me the lyrics to the valley song with the medicine."

the urge to slap yourself silly comes back so hard that your hand twitches at your side. "oh," you say again, closing your eyes and grimace.

"why did you send the lyrics then? it's clear now that you didn't catch on to what i was trying to say, so why?"

your silence has peeta taking another step towards you. he slowly reaches up to cup your cheek and gently nudge your face up to look at him. his brows are raised curiously, but his eyes are as patent as always. and that smile. that fucking smile. he gave it to katniss so many times in the arena because he was thinking about you. it was never hers, in the same was he wasn't. the thought alone has your knees moments away from buckling. almost as if he can tell, his free arm snakes around your waist and pulls you against him. his grip is featherlight, yet you've never felt so secure.

you lean into his touch as you speak, relaxing in his hold for the first time since before his name was reaped.

"i didn't know what to say at first. it felt like the only right thing to say. it's what i would sing to you when you were in pain, and i can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you were in when you were in the arena. also, the lyrics summarise how i feel about you pretty well," you trail off at the end, suddenly feeling shy once more. your eyes wander away from him, only for peeta to draw them straight back by guiding your face once more.

he looks moments away from crying, bottom lip trembling as he leans his forehead down against yours. the two of you stand there for a moment, bodies pressed against each other so hard that each can feel the others heartbeat pounding against their chest. your hands hesitantly trail up until one is holding the hand against your face and the other rests on his arm.

“you know, i never actually heard your response to me telling you that i love you,” you mutter, your eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. the tension in the room is so thick you are about to choke on it.

a tear slip from from his eye as he lets out a wet laugh. “if you think there is any way that you could say things like that and i wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with you then you’re crazy. i love you y/n,” the words flow out of him so smoothly that it’s almost like he’s told you this a million times before. it feels so right that it pushes you to do something you have always wanted to; always been to scared to do.

it’s horrifyingly cliche, but the moment you push forward and press your lips to his, fireworks explode throughout your body, setting you alight like peeta had been in the opening ceremony. he pushes back against you just as intensely, the desperation he's feeling as clear through the kiss.

time slips away as you kiss your best friend, the two of you only parting when you run out of air. you pull away slowly, heart leaping when peeta's lips chase yours to give you another short kiss before backing away.

you both stand still, foreheads pressed against one another as you process what just happened. a breathy laugh escapes peeta as he gently rub a thumb against your cheek.

"we could have done that a week ago if you hadn't been so insistent with avoiding me," he laughs. you groan and shake your head.

"i was upset! i thought you had gone after another girl days after i told you that i loved you!" you whine.

"i had to do it! it save my life, didn't it?"

"i guess so, but-" you go to joke back, but peeta shuts you up with a kiss that wipes your mind of anything you were about to say.

when he pulls back he laughs at the stunned look on your face. "i'm going to look forward to shutting you up like that," he teases, snapping you out of the trance he had put you in enough for you to slap his arm.

"shut up!"

he laughs again, pulling you into a tight hug. the two of you rock back and forth. a peace that you have never felt before fills you, and for a moment you wonder if you're dreaming.

"what are you and katniss going to do about the capitol? they believe you're in love," you speak before you think, and you're terrified that you've broken the bubble that the two of had been living in. peeta tenses for a moment before leaning his head against yours.

"i don't know. but whatever happens, i'm not leaving you. never again," he whispers, his breath tingling across your forehead. you can feel his lips against your skin, and without even looking you can tell he's smiling your smile.

you relax back into him, smiling harder than you ever have before. your peeta made it home. and he'd never going to leave you again.

——————

thank you so much for reading!! i can't work out if i like the ending or not, but still i'm pretty happy with this considering i haven't written in years!!

[thedelicatearcher]

nothing calms finnick odair more than the sound of your steady heartbeat. that is why, when he was lying on top of you, his head comfortably (for him) resting on your chest, you didn’t dare to tell him you were getting breathless. instead, your fingers traced soft, lazy patterns across his back, whispering sweet nothings to him with the little air you had left. your heart fluttered every time he hummed in contentment and nuzzled into your chest, trying to bury his face impossibly deeper.

“c’mere,” you murmured softly. the familiar request that meant you wanted him to bring his forehead close enough for you to press a tender kiss on it. and he complied swiftly, as the smitten man he was. just like he always did.

“are you comfy?” you whispered, your fingers drifting from his back to his hair, playing gently with his golden locks.

he immediately closed his eyes and let out a soft hum, completely defenseless under the sensation of your fingers in his hair. “very,” he whispered. “couldn’t get me off of you even if you paid me, honey.”

you laughed softly, a little mischievous smirk appearing on your face. if cuddling with your lover was one of your favorite pastimes, then teasing and annoying him had to be your absolute favorite.

“yeah?” you asked, trying to hold back a giggle. he nodded softly, your fingers in his hair making him far too drowsy to speak. “and what if-”

“hush, sweetheart,” he immediately murmured, a silly, knowing smile on his lips as he knew what game you wanted to play. “don’t even start. you know i’d choose being like this every single time. i’d choose you.”

his words made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help the warm sensation in your chest, turning you all giddy.

“you’re no fun,” you teased, sighing dramatically and feigning defeat. yet your smile gave you away, holding so much love for the man resting on top of you.

finnick scoffed and looked up at your face, his mischievous grin making you burst into soft giggles. “i am fun! i can show you fun!”

he got off of you and stood up, looking closely at you for a few seconds before scooping you effortlessly in his arms. “i’ll show you fun,” he grumbled playfully, already carrying you toward the door.

the warm sand prickled under his feet as he strode with determination towards the shore, ignoring your protests to be left on firm land. “finnick!” you squealed between loud laughter. “put me down! you win! you’re fun!”

“too late for that, honey,” he said with a grin, glancing down at you in his arms. the beach was so familiar to him, he could walk to the shore without even looking where he was going. or so he thought.

gasps of surprise quickly turned into loud laughter. he had accidentally stepped on a prickly seashell, which led to him stumble and fall with still you in his arms. nothing would have prevented him from falling face-first into the sand.

his first instinct was to make sure you were okay. but the moment he lifted his head from the sand and turned to look at you, you couldn’t help but laugh even louder. it was a sight to behold. his gorgeous features, the ones your fingers traced every night in bed, were now comically covered in sand.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” he tried to ask, but before he could finish, some of the sand on his lips slipped into his mouth and he started coughing. “dear god,” he muttered as the sand on his eyelashes started to be a problem too. meanwhile, since you had fallen on your side after being carried like a bride, the sand wasn't being nearly as much of a hassle for you as it was for him.

“i’m alright, my love,” you said, brushing sand off his face with the clean side of your shirt. “i think you’re the one who had it worse,” you teased, but you could tell he was genuinely relieved that he hadn’t hurt you by accident.

while he thanked god the sand had cushioned the fall, you thanked him for stopping finnick’s determination. you already knew exactly what he was planning to do. he always loved teasing you by swinging you dangerously close to the shoreline, a playful threat to toss you into the water accompanied by a wicked grin.

you had never been much of a swimmer, always leaning to the weak side. a funny thing, considering you were born and raised in district 4. his final trick was always the same: he’d wait until you were fully convinced he was bluffing, and then toss you straight into the sea.

still, he was always careful. he made sure to throw you where water was shallow, always close enough that he could rush in right after you to get you. the not-so-bright side is that he usually didn’t care whether you were wearing a swimsuit, and more often than not, you ended up in the water still wearing your casual clothes.

“i think we should head home, finn,” you say softly, longing for a long bath and the feeling of being clean again. you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, only to gag when you realize you have sand-covered lips now. “you know, you could run me a bath,” you add. your voice is gentle. trying to coax him into heading home before he can think of getting up and going towards the shore again, “maybe i’ll even ask you to join me.”

those words, along with your big eyes pleading with him lovingly, were all he needed. he scooped you back into his arms and began the walk home. this time, actually watching where he was going.

[marvelsswansong]

perfectly poisonous pair

summary: the three times Coriolanus realizes you're his perfect match, his eternal soulmate: darkness and all.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and dark soft!Corio with equally unhinged reader (an anon previously said morticia x gomez addams vibes), fluff, violence, non-canon compliant, CW for graphic descriptions of violence, kidnapping, murder, possessive/dark thoughts - please take care of yourself first!

☆ word count: 6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Marriage is, at first instance to Coriolanus, an institution and an act that he doesn't quite see the point of.

The legal and financial benefits, sure. But committing himself to one person, to be bound to them body, heart and soul for the rest of his life? That level of vulnerability and permanence feels too foreign. Too abstract, even, that thinking about it quickly makes his stomach churn with sickness.

Coriolanus spends the majority of his upbringing, consoling himself that he doesn't have the time to worry about such things as romance. After all, there was always the next bill to pay and the next threat of eviction to dread.

Not to mention, he thinks, no one will truly ever get him. Not even grandma'am or Tigris understands his inner being. The man deep within his guts, the cunning voyeur who enjoys violence and manipulation. And if they only knew, he believes, they'd be horrified.

No one really knows Coriolanus for who he is. And no one will truly be able to understand what it's like to feel and think like him.

So marriage is completely out of the question for him.

At least for a long time.

Until he meets you.

------------------------------

the beginning: "must be a coincidence."

You're the first person (other than the wide-eyed idealist, Sejanus) to treat Coriolanus with kindness at the academy.

You come in as a transfer student mid-way through the semester and he comes to notice the small ways with which you show your appreciation for him. Slyly backing up his answers in class discussions. Smiling at him in the hallways. Sticking up for him in conversations, not caring if the others give you odd looks for defending a 'clear outsider' amongst them.

"If you ever need anything, you can always count on me." you'd once told him after school, his knees barely brushing against yours in the car you've invited him into so that he wouldn't have to walk home in the freezing cold.

Suppressing the urge to interrogate the reasoning behind your kindness, his numb fingers felt sudden warmth when you delicately placed a crumbled up note into his fist with your address in it.

"Stop by whenever you need something. Don't suffer alone, okay?"

He never takes you up on your offer.

At least, not until a few months later, when he finds himself knocking on your door late at night. Three in the morning to be precise, with a busted lip and dark red stains blossoming across his white shirt.

And when you open the door, you don't react to his disheveled state in the same way he'd expect from his family. No pity and shock like grandma'am, nor is there a trace of light apprehension and fear like there would be from Tigris.

Instead, your eyes crinkle with kindness as you invite him inside your home and sit him down on a nearby chair in the living room.

"How bad is it?" you ask, cutting him off with a stern glare before he can lie. "And don't lie to me, Snow. I need to know if you're going to need a drive to the hospital instead of my attempts at first aid."

Sighing, the blonde gives in, his bones aching too much to put up a fight.

"Not that bad, I promise." he grumbles, trying to keep his breathing normal as you lean in closely to examine his injuries. At this proximity, he can see the reflection of the overhanging yellow lights in your irises, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration before you leave the room and return with a soft towel and warm bowl of water.

"Could you look up for me?" you question, your cold fingers steadying his neck to carefully crane it upwards.

The warm, wet fabric in your hands then trace the edges of his jaw, picking up the droplets of blood scattered across his face.

Keeping his eyes forward at the line of bookshelves by the fireplace, time seems to slow down. His senses are overwhelmed by your hairwash - rosemary and vanilla, he thinks - and the room is awfully quiet. All he can hear is the muted sounds of your soft breaths and the rustling of leaves outside, the pale moonlight creeping in through the gaps of the floral curtains in the dead of December.

"Do you mind me asking what happened?" you ask, now switching your attention to the trail of blood buried into the crevice of his neck. You cringe right afterwards, almost wincing at your audacity. "Sorry, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

If anything, it just makes him smile. He likes seeing you embarrassed, he thinks.

"No, it's fine. I'll say. It was just... a party gone awry. Felix managed to convince everyone to go downtown."

You frown at the mention of the downtown area - it was common knowledge that it wasn't safe to wonder the south of the Capitol this late at night, especially if you were obviously from central.

"And then?"

"Got jumped. Felix and his friends ran away quickly. Sejanus got caught up in the mix and I couldn't just... leave him."

Coriolanus hates admitting the slightest sign of weakness, that perhaps he had a friend he cares for, so he's eternally glad that you don't dwell on it. Humming in response, you squeeze the towel in your hands, the water below now a murky shade of brown.

"And how much of this blood is your own? Do I need to get the sewing needles out?"

"I-"

His response is staggered by brief flashes of the fight playing in his mind. He recalls there being a lot of heavy breathing and fast movements. A slash there. A broken nose there. His feet driving down onto the man's chest repeatedly, down, down, down - he hears bones cracking at some point and Sejanus is suddenly pulling him backwards, begging him to stop but Coriolanus can't-

"Coriolanus."

Your voice snaps him out from his dazed state. He then swallows nervously, not knowing how much is safe to disclose.

"I'm fine. Really. Just some bruises and a split lip. The blood is from dodging a few knife attacks and the criminals stabbing one another."

It's a half-truth, really. Coriolanus had dodged a few stabs his way, but only because he tripped the man charging him and grabbed the knife instead to drive it into the man's sides. Enough to severely wound, but not kill. He feels the soles of his left shoe drag on the floor, the fabric nearly coming off from the repeated force with which he'd stepped on the other accomplice's ribs. It makes his jaw clench with embarrassment.

If you notice it's a lie, you don't say anything.

You ask him if he can undress, so that you can wash his clothes for him. After all, you tease in a lighthearted manner in an attempt to lift the mood, you still have school tomorrow at eight.

"You can leave the dirty clothes hanging by the chair outside the bathroom. I think you're overdue for a long, hot shower."

All arguments die in Coriolanus' mouth when he realizes how nice this feels. The foreign comfort of being cared for by someone else, of having his guard down and following someone else's lead for once. So he wordlessly follows you to the bathroom in the back and discards of his dirtied clothes outside.

The hot water is a nice luxury, the scalding temperature starting to erase his memories of the fight. He rubs his scalp raw and watches the water beneath his feet fade into the drain, the steady dripping of water droplets calming his mind.

When the blonde finishes, he comes out and sees that you've folded a set of new, clean clothes for him by the door of the bathroom (your father's old clothes, he learns). Once changed, he wanders outside and finds you hanging the freshly washed clothes outside on your front lawn.

"You should go home, Corio." you say quietly. "Your cousin and grandmother must be worried sick." you look back at him, a reassuring smile on your face.

"How... how can I ever repay you for all this?" he finds himself asking, desperate for an answer. Surely, you'll want something back for this. Certainly, this was all to get something back from him-

You shake your head sideways, waving your hand in dismissal.

"There's no need to repay me. I like to think you help me out every day at school, so think of this as more of... a much delayed gift."

Once you're both back inside the house, no longer shivering from the cold, he finds the silence to be oddly tense. You're in your sleepwear, after all, a silky night dress stopping right above your knees with a gray knit cardigan on top.

He swallows, nervously. He hopes you can't tell how fast his heart is beating.

"Uh, thank you. Seriously. I owe you."

"You really don't."

"I really do."

You roll your eyes playfully.

"The only person who owes me anything is Felix. He shouldn't have suggested you all go to downtown when it's dangerous, and he especially shouldn't have left you and Sejanus to nearly get stabbed to death." you spit, and your angry expression makes him chuckle.

"Ah, well, but he is the president's son. What can we do." he jokes. A small grin flickers onto your lips for half a second at that comment.

"So he is. Good night, Corio. I'll see you tomorrow."

It's initially an uneventful day for Coriolanus the next morning when he walks into the academy, naturally catching your eyes from across the room. You give him a reassuring nod from behind the door of your locker, where the majority of your attention is being held up by an overeager Felix - your assigned partner for the week.

Due to his schedule, Coriolanus doesn't see you again until lunch time. By which the newest rumor sweeping the academy has been the sudden violent illness which has fallen upon the president's son.

"I heard he was puking blood." he hears Clemensia whisper to Arachne, who nods furiously.

"Sejanus had to carry him to the medic's office - Felix looked like a half-dead ghost."

He's itching to speak to you as he quickly rounds the corner and runs up the flights of stairs leading to the library, where he's shared many lunches with you before. He knows your favorite sport by heart, that being the cozy seat under the large arched windows overlooking the front lawn.

As expected, he finds you there, sitting cross legged and gazing out towards the lawn. Upon closer inspection, he sees that you're watching Felix get escorted into a dark vehicle, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Have you heard that Felix is sick?" Coriolanus carefully asks, sitting down from across from you. You turn to him, your face scrunching up in sadness.

"Yes I have. Terrible news, really. Something about nasty nausea and uncontrollable vomiting."

Your tone is sympathetic and your face has all the features of genuine worry, but there's a small twinkle in your eyes that indicates a secret.

It makes Coriolanus delirious with want.

"And would his illness have anything to do with you being close to him as his project partner?" he questions, sliding in closer towards you to keep his voice down.

He looks down at your lips then back up at you, smirking.

"Just seems strange, don't you think? Given that he seemed just fine last night?"

A half-second smile, you shrug.

"Must be a coincidence."

He kisses you right then and there.

---------------------------------------

the point of no return: "you're quite a messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Finding you is a miracle to him.

And now that you two are officially dating, he sees the glimmer of hope for something permanent like marriage in the future.

But Coriolanus is still unsure of the publicity of that kind of arrangement, which leads him to request that you two keep the relationship under wraps. At least until graduation, he justifies, to keep the romance hidden away from the judging eyes of the faculty and fellow classmates.

You don't seem the least bit bothered by the news, your lips only quirking up into a warning smile as you tease that you may then have to bring other men as dates to public events to save face.

At the time, he'd just shrugged at that, playing it cool. "I don't get jealous easily." he'd said confidently.

Oh, how he was wrong.

It's only after he becomes your boyfriend that he becomes acutely aware of and sensitive to how desirable you are to others. Visitors to the academy flirt with you openly, not knowing that Coriolanus is watching from the background, fuming with anger. Your male classmates are too eager to carry your books for you, their body leaning ever too close towards yours when you ask them to pass on the papers in class.

But this, right now, seeing you with another man at the spring gala... It feels different.

Those people, the strangers and classmates, you let down firmly but gently. Those people, you wouldn't even let their hands hover above your skin, always placing a firm distance between you and them. Those people-

Fuck.

You didn't smile at those people like you're smiling at this date of yours. The tall, dark haired man's arm is lingering just above your waist, too close for Coriolanus' comfort, and his thoughts turn lethal when the man leans down to whisper something in your ear that seemingly makes you laugh.

It takes everything within him to not lose control then, when Sejanus speaks up.

"You alright?"

His friend's voice cuts into the tirade of violent thoughts playing in Coriolanus' mind, the whiskey starting to taste sour in his mouth. Forcing another sip of alcohol, he meticulously coaches himself to nod along, feigning disinterest in you and the mystery man.

"Just fine, Plinth." he grits out, but with his steely blue orbs not deviating from where you and your date are standing, it's obvious to any bystander that he's lying. So Sejanus chuckles, nudging the blonde playfully.

"Yeah right. Though, I'm not surprised that (Y/n) brought him along." Sejanus takes a sip of his wine, before pausing at seeing the blonde's expression remain hardened. "You do know who he is, right?"

"Am I supposed to?" Coriolanus scowls.

"That's Harrison Bramford. His grandfather was one of the main generals back in the days of the war and his family single-handedly leads the weapons manufacturing industry in Panem."

"Hm." is all Coriolanus says in response, the revelation doing little to appease his anger. His left arm rises in a reflex to force more alcohol down his throat, only to find the glass half empty.

"I need another drink." he announces, not caring to hear his friend's response.

Sliding into the bar, he hears your soft laugh and whisper before you disappear into a nearby hallway, leaving your 'date' alone. Out of the corner of Coriolanus' eyes, whilst he leans forwards and pretends to watch the bartender grabbing him another glass of whiskey, he sees the tall dark haired man also beelining towards the bar.

"Vodka on the rocks." Harrison growls, nearly slamming his glass down onto the counter. It's only then that Coriolanus lets himself look into the man's light green eyes, taking care to keep his expression fairly neutral and his voice calm.

"Rough night?" Coriolanus asks, deciding to play the unassuming role of a concerned stranger. Harrison chuckles, wiping his hands on his thighs whilst shaking his head.

"You have no fucking idea. Women are such pieces of work."

The blonde tastes blood with how hard he bites his cheek in an effort to stay silent.

"Your whiskey, sir."

He's grateful for the interruption of the bartender sliding his drink down towards him, as with every word leaving your date's mouth, Coriolanus is feeling his rage boiling and threatening to spill over like toxic waste.

"This chick asked me to come here tonight, you know? Me. A Bramford. I put up with her annoying stories and stupid questions all night, I even held her fucking bag for her to go to the bathroom." the man rants, his skin starting to twinge red with how fast he was speaking. "But will she even let me kiss her? Nooooo. Apparently it's too quick. Wouldn't even let me grab her ass."

It's then that your boyfriend finally loses it, and there's a muted sound of something shattering and the feeling of something sticky and hot running down his right hand. There's a few gasps of shock, the bartender hurrying over with a spare napkin as Coriolanus' blue eyes adjust to the blurry scene in front of him.

He's shattered the glass in his hand.

"Shit, you alright?" Harrison asks, leaning over to see and then pulling back with a disgusted expression after seeing the bloody sight. Remaining calm whilst pulling out the chunks of glass, Coriolanus chooses to play nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yep. Sorry, not used to..." he pauses, trying to find the right excuse. Instead, he finds a brilliant plan. "Not used to going so long without smoking."

The dark haired man nods in agreement, seemingly sympathizing.

"Ah, I get you. Nasty withdrawal symptoms, huh? Seen a lot of my buddies get them whenever they try to quit smoking."

Securing the makeshift tablecloth wrap around his injured hand, Coriolanus pushes his chair in with his legs, his uninjured hand strategically reaching into his pockets.

"I think I need a cigarette. Care to join?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the overwhelming scent of cigarettes spayed over the man's clothes.

"Why not."

Suppressing a smile, the blonde leads the drunken man out the door and far away from the venue, down a few shady alleyways and into narrow dirty streets crowded by graffiti and trash bags.

"Uh... you sure this is the right way?" the man behind nervously asks, and Coriolanus almost wants to roll his eyes at how pathetic he finds the man's fear.

"Don't worry, Bramford. Just avoiding the 'no smoking' signs and security guards by the venue."

Once the blonde is sure that they're both sufficiently far away from the venue, at a dead end alleyway sandwiched between a run down bike shed and abandoned dumpsters, he stops in his tracks. Coriolanus then uses the split second of confusion felt by the other man to strike him directly in the chest, forcing the taller man's entire body down.

Grabbing the nearest object next to him - a wooden crate- Coriolanus smashes it into bits on the man's head, whose face is now pressed up against the dirty cement.

"You absolute piece of shit." Coriolanus swears, adrenaline pumping through his veins in irregular rhythm as his boot kicks into the pained man's ribs repeatedly. "You disgusting, vile, privileged piece of shit."

Each insult is compounded by a stronger kick, the three glasses of whiskey and pure rage emboldening his thoughts and strengthening his attacks. Coriolanus thinks he may have heard a bone or two cracking, but he isn't sure. He can't even bring himself to care, not when his mind's fixation switches to the enticing sight of a broken glass bottle laying to his right, the jagged scars glistening under the moonlight. Coriolanus snatches it up in half a second, before pressing the edges of the makeshift blade against the whimpering man's throat.

"W-why are you doing this?" Harrison barely gets out, mouth already filled with blood, his gasps stuttered in pain.

The blonde only chuckles, his left knee coming down to press the man further into the ground, right hand beginning to trace the edge of the glass down the man's neck.

"Because, Bramford. You denigrated the love of my life. You dare try and place your filthy hands on her. Hell, for the crimes of your family and your disgusting behavior tonight, I should do the Capitol a favor and ki-"

"That's enough, Corio."

Your boyfriend nearly drops the bottle in his hand out of shock at hearing your voice ring out from behind him, the development so unexpected that for a second he almost wonders if he's hallucinating. But no, when he tilts his head backwards, he sees as clear as day you standing there with an amused grin on your face.

"Darling, I-" Coriolanus begins, stepping back up carefully and setting the glass bottle aside (but far away from Harrison's reach).

You just shush him, that ever-so-understanding twinkle in your eyes, your heels clicking on the uneven cobblestone as you stand with your body right up against his.

"I warned you about this, you know." you sigh. Coriolanus frowns, confused.

"What?"

"That you'd be jealous. He's just a toy, love. Nothing happened nor was ever going to happen tonight." you assure him, taking his uninjured hand in yours and squeezing it in comfort. You frown at the sight of his other bloodied hand, but he waves it off as an explanation for a later time.

"It's not that I don't trust you, petal. It was just... this scumbag was speaking about you in a revolting manner. I just couldn't contain myself." he slowly explains, a mix of guilt for being caught and anger for not being able to finish his actions creeping in. "He deserved it."

"Not denying that, love." you assure him again, smiling. "But goodness... What a mess you've made. You're quite the messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Coriolanus then can only watch, mesmerized, as you walk up next to Harrison's squirming body on the floor. Crouching down next to the man, you tut, as if you're saddened by the sight in front of you.

"Here's what's going to happen. We'll do you the favor of making it looking like you had too many drinks and got robbed. We'll take your wallet and expensive jacket. You'll survive, only a few major injuries but nothing life-threatening, and that's the story you'll tell your father and his friends." you pause, letting out another sigh, as if explaining this whole ordeal is tiring you. "In return, I will keep quiet about your nasty drug addiction to your father. One more strike and you're out, as your daddy said, so let's not aggravate him further. Deal?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

When the man stays silent, only letting out pained breaths in response, your right hand snaps out to press his face further into the concrete.

"I said, do we have a fucking deal, Bramford?"

Coriolanus finds himself completely transfixed by the attractive sight playing out in front of him: your pretty face scrunched up in fury, your delicate fingers dipped in blood as the man beneath you pathetically sobs and agrees. You then smirk, harshly dropping the man's head back down. Your boyfriend is by your side immediately, taking off the man's jacket as you pocket the wallet, your eyes finding Coriolanus' once more.

"I think I'm in love with you." the blonde confesses, the words coming out faster than he'd anticipated. It's a mix of things that causes the sudden confession, the adrenaline from having beaten a man nearly to death, the way your hair is being caressed by the harsh winds, the smell of your sweet perfume mixing with the harsh stench of copper in the air...

It's all making him dizzy and lovesick.

But all you do is roll your shoulders back and chuckle, kissing him quickly on the lips.

"I know."

But, Coriolanus thinks, you can't know - the real depths of his love, the unbridled fire now lapping at his skin, the overwhelming desire to claim you as only his.

And when he finally comes back home, he digs through his cabinets and finds the family ring. Swallowing thickly, he stores it in a small jewelry box and tucks it right underneath his bedroom's windowsill.

One day, he knows. He'll marry you.

----------------------------------------

the final act: "sorry for worrying you."

He'd meant to propose sooner.

He really did.

But then the games happened, his victory came with the assistant position to Dr Gaul and a full ride scholarship to university from the Plinths, and you'd be called away to District 2 to assist on your family's business operations.

Coriolanus missed you, fiercely. No amount of blurry phone calls and monthly visits lasting no more than the short weekend could satisfy his ache for you. Your melodic laugh. Your soft touch. Your witty observations and jokes, your soft breathing on his chest when he'd hold you at night.

But it's necessary, you'd remind him, lips trailing across his cold skin. It was how you and him were going to conquer the Capitol. Together.

On an assuming Tuesday in April, on the day you were due to arrive in time for Tigris' birthday, the phone rang in the mansion. The housekeeper, mid-way through dusting the library in preparation for your arrival, had come running into Coriolanus' room without even knocking. He'd woken up bleary eyed, a few swear words of annoyance on the tip of his tongue, all of which dissipated upon seeing the alarmed look on the housekeeper's face.

"It's for you, sir. Says it's urgent."

Brows furrowing, but not thinking anything much, Coriolanus answers the phone.

"Coriolanus Snow speaking." he mutters into the receiver, eyes still foggy from the remnants of sleep. The voice on the other end chuckles, a dark and pompous sound which makes him scowl in annoyance.

"Mr.Snow... when was Miss (L/n) set to arrive in the Capitol?"

The sinister question jolts the blonde awake immediately, a quick glance at the clock hanging by the door confirming his worst fears. It was four am, at least three hours past the time you were set to arrive.

"Is this a ransom call?" Coriolanus growls into the phone, his fingers clutching the receiver so tight his knuckles were beginning to redden. Teeth aching with how tensely he's clenching his law, his frantic eyes find the housekeeper's worried ones, before he urgently signals for the older woman to fetch the guards roaming the front of the property.

The stranger on the other side only chuckles in response, clearly gleeful at the distressed sound of Coriolanus' voice.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Snow. Would you like to perhaps ask her instead?"

The string of curses and violent threats bubbling under his throat never get spoken when he hears the sudden shuffling of feet and muffled arguing on the other side of the phone, before your voice fills his anxious ears.

"Hi, Corio."

Huh.

You seem awfully relaxed for someone taken as hostage.

Yes, he recalled having numerous discussions with you about such a scenario occurring once Coriolanus' status was elevated in the Capitol and you'd agreed to take on some share of the family business. And your boyfriend also knew that you'd grown up training in archery and fencing, so it wasn't as if you were wholly unprepared to defend yourself.

But still, it shocks him how your voice is completely aloof and calm, with even a hint of a smile at the end of your sentences.

"Hi, darling. Are you alright?" he carefully responds, pondering if you are perhaps being held at gunpoint and forced to speak in an unnatural manner. But you just hum in response, the same noise you'd make if he'd asked you something simple like what you wanted on your toast, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Just don't forget to water the lilies, they get very temperamental this time of the year. Wouldn't want a repeat of last April, now would we?" you joke, and Coriolanus feels himself slightly relaxing into the conversation.

"Of course not."

"And don't forget you promised me pancakes the moment I came back to the house. I've been missing your banana pancakes dearly."

He can almost picture your smile at that comment.

"Well then... you should hurry back soon." he calmly responds, only for the phone to then be ripped away from you and the stranger's voice returns - grating and aggravated. Coriolanus can tell that your kidnapper is frustrated and dumbfounded by your seemingly calm disposition and mundane conversation with your boyfriend, a revelation which fills him with great satisfaction.

"If you still want her alive, leave a suitcase of $20,000 by the coordinates sent to you. You have two hours."

As if on cue, the housekeeper rushes back in with a note - tied to a bird sent over to the house, she says - and the security team behind. Unravelling the coordinates written onto the piece of paper, and looking back at the clock, Coriolanus' mind whirls with endless possibilities.

Explaining the situation in brief, he directs three of the guards to go out into the location with a briefcase loaded with fake cash - one to drop off the bag, the other two to keep extensive watch to see who picks it up. The other two, he commands to stay by watch at the house.

Sitting in an unmarked van whilst staring at the spot where his security guard had placed the suitcase, Coriolanus' leg won't stop bouncing up and down.

He's riddled with anxiety and doubt, hating himself for being unable to protect you, worrying about your whereabouts. As even if you sounded awfully calm and capable on the phone, a part of him can't help but wonder if that was all for show, to prevent him from worrying too much.

A torturous hour passes before Coriolanus gets a call from the housekeeper.

"Sir, she's home."

He nearly drops the phone.

"What?"

"Miss (Y/n) is home. She is sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea as we speak."

It's a blur as Coriolanus commands the car to race back towards the house, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as he bursts through the doors of the main hallway.

And there, calm as ever with a light grin on your face, is you.

You're sitting in his favorite velvet cushioned chair by the dining table. Your face smeared with blood, your clothes are torn and hanging in loose threads, and your hair is wet, red crimson droplets falling onto the floor in steady drips. And as the sun rises over the estate, the golden light illuminates your hairline and Coriolanus swears he sees a halo above your bloodied form.

"Hi, love. Sorry for worrying you."

Without a single word, he rushes over to you and nearly yanks you up to a standing position, backing you up against the wall to kiss you fiercely. Your knees almost buckle from the force with which he grabs your neck, his shaky breaths so desperate, his hooded eyes still looking into yours as his left hand suddenly shows a ring box in his hand.

"Marry me, darling."

You blink twice, surprised at the sudden action, as he chuckles and laces his fingers with yours - blood on blood.

"We're perfect for each other. You are my soulmate, my perfect pair: body, heart and soul. Truthfully, I've had the ring with me for almost two years now, but it never felt... quite right." he pauses, taking in your shaky, happy smile. Your cold hands warming in his embrace. "Not until now. You're the one for me."

"Even if I bleed all over your kitchen?" you croak, as he slides the cool metal onto your ring finger, before kissing your bruised knuckles.

"Especially if you bleed over my kitchen. As long as it's not your own blood, of course."

It's you who closes the gap this time, nearly tackling him with the force with which you kiss him, arms encircling around his back. Smiling into the kiss, he tastes the mix of your strawberry lipgloss and the metallic hint of blood on your lips, an intoxicating combination.

When you two finally part for air, the silver band now glistening on your ring finger, Coriolanus chuckles.

"Now, would you like those banana pancakes?"

------------------------------------------

epilogue: "nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

"I think I'm starting to see a gray hair. on you, Corio."

Your husband scowls at the playful joke in the bedroom mirror, standing up to straighten his tie as you get changed in the walk-in closet.

"Please, I'm barely 30. Are you sure you're not hallucinating, darling?" he fights back, and you peek out half-dressed from the closet, pouting.

"You're questioning my eyesight now? How could you be so cruel."

Your faux sour expression is quickly kissed away by two cold hands cupping your cheeks, and you would've lost the balance in your heels had he not steadied you immediately, his hands dropping to your waist.

"Aw, I'm sorry, petal. Will you ever forgive me?"

You pretend to think about it, cocking your head sideways.

"That would depend."

"On what?"

"Mom! Dad!"

Your snarky response is cut off by the sound of small feet pattering on the marble floor, the front doors swinging open as a small figure runs straight to you and crashes into your legs. A spitting image of you and Coriolanus, your daughter, looks up from your knees before grasping onto her father's hand.

"Up, please."

Clearly amused by the sudden burst of energy in the room and his daughter's politeness even in moments of silliness, he crouches down and picks up the squealing child who comfortably settles into his arms.

"Guess what."

"What is it, honey?" you ask, brushing the stray hair out of her eyes.

"I got the highest score in my entire class on my math test."

"Wow, that's incredible, sweetheart." Coriolanus practically melts on the spot, bouncing the child up and down as she giggles into his neck. "You are the smartest person ever, Belle."

"Not as smart as mommy." she sasses in response, looking up at you for approval. You coo, ruffling her hair affectionately before looking up at your husband with raised eyebrows.

"See, Corio? Even our daughter is kinder to me than you are."

He rolls his eyes in response, left hand sneaking out to pull you in close as his lips kiss the top of your head.

"Nonsense. I love both my girls equally." he says, only for the picture perfect moment to be interrupted by another figure rushing into the room.

"Mrs Snow, the car's just arrived for you by the fr-" the intern freezes in his steps, having clearly caught the Snow family at a private time. You of course don't mind, just being amused by the situation, and your daughter is just curious at the new person who just walked in. All the while, Coriolanus' reaction couldn't be more different, his glare sharp and mean.

"I thought I made it clear, I don't want to ever be disturbed when I'm with my family. Unless it's an absolute emergency." Coriolanus states, his tone icy and unforgiving.

By the furrowing of his eyebrows and the cold stare in his eyes, you can already anticipate the flurry of murderous thoughts filling his head before you cut in. After all, the interrupting intern, a 17 year old boy by the name of Elijah, is only trying his best. And you find him oddly endearing and sweet, particularly with how badly he tries to impress your husband.

"It's fine, Elijah. Please ignore my husband's rude comment. I'll be right out."

Setting your daughter down, Coriolanus leans forward and growls into your ear, watching the young boy scatter away quickly.

"You're too nice to him, darling. Don't you think we should dispose of him and get a new intern...."

You slap his shoulder.

"What do I always tell you? No need to create unnecessary messes. Besides, he's really good with Belle and easy to control."

He smirks at that, irises filled pink.

"You're probably right. Can't have another bloody mess on your hands to clean up."

"Or vice versa."

He leans in close, cold lips touching your forehead.

"Nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

And he truly means it.

a/n: andddd that's another major Corio fic down! thank you to everyone who showed me love on my last Corio oneshot ("melting snow") and for those who answered my poll - dark soft! and possessive Corio won out but girldad!Corio also got a TON of love so I included it a bit here and will probably write a whole standalone fic with girldad!Corio as the concept. thank you again to everyone for remaining patient, I had writer's block for a bit and I've just had the most awful few weeks ever (mental health wise and life wise) so it was difficult to find moments to write.

as always, please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed. the interactions is what motivates me to write! I hope you liked it hehe x