Inside out| Steve Harrington x black!reader masterlist
ao3 link
description:
You are Lucas and Erica's older sister, After the disappearing of Will Byers strange things start happening in Hawkins, and in the midst of you and your childhood best friend trying to find your missing friend, you form surprising relationships and realize your hometown isn't as quiet as you thougt.
Steve Harrington x Sinclair reader Steve Harrington x black reader slow burn Reader insert
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
heâs just as horny and unfiltered as before, but now he has a girlfriend who itâs all directed at. luckily for him, sheâs the same, if not more forward.
surprisingly fits in at college. he knows how and when to let loose, heâll drink and smoke sometimes, and he is shockingly good at drinking games.
over time, his admiration and want to be in the police force like his dad changed into wanting to be in the fbi, which eventually settled on to lawyer. he likes to argue.
he eventually figured out how to play lacrosse, and even plays (casually) at college. he knows heâll never go pro, but he doesnât want to.
he also grew into his looks more than before. you always thought he was hot, but you never had to worry about other girls finding him hot. until now. issue is, he has no idea, he still thinks heâs unattractive and ugly.
stiles seems confident on the outside, with how he dresses himself, how he can talk to random people. but you know heâs secretly twitching his fingers against your side, fiddling with your shirts hem, or gently scratching your skin.
has the best music taste youâve ever seen in a boy. plus he loves your music and plays it so often with you, he listens to it without you.
hi !! I wanted to request maybe something for young haymitch where reader is his gf and is reaped along with him & how heâd react to that/treat her in the arena? love ur work đ
ahhh u ask and you shall receive!! (disclaimer: NO SOTR SPOILERS!!! DIFFERENT EVENTS FROM THE ORIGINAL STORY!!)
The Three Times
young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader
content warnings: angst, normal hunger games warnings, descriptions of death (NO SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!)
summary: the three times haymitch tried to keep you safe.
wc: 1.6k
masterlist.
The First Time.
Haymitch isnât afraid of the reaping.
Not because he thinks heâs safe, heâs not that stupid. His name is in there too many times, and if past games have taught him anything, itâs that the odds donât favor poor kids from District 12.
He doesnât fear it because fear wonât change a damn thing.
He stands in the square, jaw tight, arms crossed as the escort steps up to the microphone with their sickly sweet Capitol drawl. The sun beats down, dust rising with every shuffled step of the crowd. Haymitch barely listens, staring at a crack in the stage instead.
Then they say his name.
He exhales through his nose. It was bound to happen. He keeps his shoulders squared as he steps forward, ignoring the murmurs from the crowd. His mother gasps somewhere behind him. His little brother starts crying. Haymitch doesnât turn around.
He wonât give them that. Wonât let them see him panic.
He climbs the stage, feet heavy, and keeps his face blank as he looks out at the crowd. It doesnât matter. Itâs done.
Then the escort reaches into the second bowl. Their manicured fingers pluck out a slip.
They unfold it slowly.
They read the name.
Haymitchâs stomach drops.
He mustâve heard it wrong. Mustâve misunderstood. But then he sees you, the way your whole body stiffens, the way your hands curl into fists.
You donât move at first. The silence stretches too long.
His heart slams against his ribs.
This canât be happening.
Not you.
You finally take a shaky step forward. The crowd parts for you, all those wide, pitying eyes. Haymitch hates them for it.
His whole body feels locked in place, stiff and wrong. He wants to run, to shove you back into the crowd and take your place.
He wants to tear through the square and shake every single person until someone does something.
You step onto the stage. The sun casts a glow over your face, and for a second, you almost donât look real. You look too soft, too good for this place. For whatâs about to happen.
Haymitchâs throat is dry. He knows what happens to people in the arena. Heâs imagined his own death a hundred times over. It never scared him much before, not until now. Not until you.
You stand beside him, your breath coming in quick, uneven pulls.
Haymitch twitches, fingers flexing at his side. He wants to reach for you. Wants to lace his fingers through yours and promise that heâll fix this. That he wonât let them take you. That heâll find a way for you to make it out.
Instead, he just looks at you.
And you look back.
And in that single moment, nothing else exists. The cameras, the escort, the whole world, they all fade into white noise. All thatâs left is the two of you, standing side by side on a stage that might as well be a graveyard.
His fingers brush against yours. Not enough for anyone to see. Just enough for you to feel it.
He couldn't protect you from the reaping.
But he could protect you from the arena.
Haymitch swallows hard. Then, finally, he speaks. Low enough for only you to hear.
"I wonât let them take you."
Itâs a promise.
He knows, only one of you is getting out.
And if it comes down to it, it wonât be him.
The Second Time.
Haymitch runs.
The second the gong sounds, he doesnât think, he just bolts to you, grabs your wrist and runs.
He doesnât go for the Cornucopia. Not yet. Thatâs where tributes die first. Instead, grabs two stray packs and pulls you toward the tree line, shoving past another tribute before they can react. You stumble, but his grip tightens, dragging you with him.
The air is hot, thick with something wrong. The trees around you are too perfect, branches too symmetrical, leaves too still, the flowers too beautiful.
The whole place feels like a puppet stage, something stitched together by hands that never touched real earth.
You donât stop running until your legs give out.
You collapse against a tree, gasping for breath, hands clutching at your knees. Haymitch crouches beside you, every muscle in his body tight, his ears straining for sounds of movement. Screams echo from the Cornucopia, first one, then two, then more.
Youâre shaking. He can see it in your hands. He hates it. Not you, never you, but the fact that the Capitol has already won. Theyâve already made you afraid.
He exhales sharply, schooling his face into something steady. Strong. You need him to be that.
âGotta keep moving,â he says, voice low.
You look up at him, eyes wide, but you nod.
"Okay"
Good. Thatâs good.
He keeps you alive. Thatâs his only priority
****
Youâre no killer, he knew that before, and it only becomes clearer the longer youâre in here. Haymitch doesnât hold it against you. Itâs not a weakness, itâs what makes you you. And if you canât kill for yourself, heâll do it for you.
He takes down a tribute the second night. A girl from District 4. She didnât see him coming. He doesnât let himself think about itâjust focuses on the supplies in her bag, the water canteen, the knife.
Things that will keep you alive.
You donât look at him the same way after that. Not in a bad way. JustâŚdifferent.
Like you understand what this means.
Like you know he wonât stop.
Like youâre starting to wonder if heâs going to make it out at all.
****
You donât get sponsors.
Haymitch does.
It pisses him off. Itâs not a coincidence. He plays the part, the tragic lover, the desperate protector, the boy who would do anything to keep you alive. He knows the cameras are watching every time he presses his forehead to yours, every time he cups your face like youâre the last real thing in this whole damn world.
And the gifts come to him.
Not you.
And thatâs how he knows.
They donât care about you. They care about him.
Theyâve already picked their Victor.
It makes him sick.
But maybe he can still keep you safe.
The Third Time
It happens on the seventh day.
The arena has been quiet. Too quiet.
Haymitch doesnât trust it.
Heâs on edge as you both walk through the forest, your fingers brushing his arm every now and then, like youâre making sure heâs still there.
He doesnât blame you.
You havenât slept. Neither has he.
Youâre starving, weak. The sponsors havenât sent anything in days. Haymitch knows why. Heâs seen the writing on the wall since the first night.
They want a show.
And theyâre about to get one.
The trap triggers so fast he doesnât even have time to react.
One second, you're walking beside him. The next, youâre screaming.
A spear, thin as a needle, fast as lightning, shoots out of the ground and impales you through the stomach.
You choke. Stumble. Collapse to your knees.
Haymitch hears his own breath leave his lungs.
âNo. No, no, no-â
Heâs on you in an instant, hands scrambling to hold you up, but youâre already fading.
The wound is bad. Fatal. He knows it the second he looks at it. The spear is barbed, meant to cause maximum damage.
He grabs it, tries to pull it out-
But your hand covers his, weak, trembling.
âDonât,â you whisper.
His stomach drops.
Your breathing is shallow, your fingers curling into his shirt like itâs the only thing keeping you here. He sees the blood staining your lips, the life slipping from your eyes.
And thereâs nothing he can do.
His hands shake as he cradles your face, pressing his forehead against yours.
âYouâre okay,â he says, his voice breaking. âYouâre okay, dove. Just hold on.â
You let out a weak laugh, barely a sound at all.
âLiar.â
His vision blurs.
This isnât happening. It canât be happening.
He should have seen the trap. Should have stopped this.
He should've protected you.
Your fingers brush over his cheek, soft, loving. The way youâve always touched him.
âYouâre gonna win,â you whisper.
He shakes his head. âNot without you.â
You smile at him, but thereâs something in your eyes that destroys him. A quiet kind of acceptance.
âI love you...always and foreverâ you say.
It shatters him.
He canât do this. He canât.
âNo- donât say it like that-â His voice cracks, desperate.
You just look at him. Memorizing him. Saying goodbye.
His throat closes.
His heart stops.
Your hand goes slack in his.
Your eyes flutter closed.
And then...
The cannon fires.
Haymitch makes a sound he doesnât recognize. Something raw, something that sounds like it was ripped out of him.
Youâre gone.
Youâre gone.
And the worst part?
The cameras are still rolling.
The Capitol wanted this.
And now they have it.
After.
He wins.
Not because he wants to. Because he has to. Because thatâs what you wanted.
He uses the arena against itself. The force field, the Capitolâs own arrogance. He beats them at their own game.
He goes home.
Alone.
They try to clean him up, paint him into something pretty for the cameras. He doesnât let them.
They tell him he should be grateful.
They donât understand.
There was never a victory. There was just you and then there wasnât.
heyyy iâve been recently going into a a sotr spiral and am obsessed with the idea of a haymitch x everdeen!reader (burdocks sibling) and was wondering if you could write a fic on that??
YES OFC OMG
Someday, One Day.
young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader
content warnings: none!! (SLIGHT SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!)
summary: a crush on your big brotherâs best friend
wc: 1.9k
masterlist.
For the longest time, you've had a crush on the one and only Haymitch Abernathy. From his olive skin, his dark curly hair, and gray eyes you've been hooked. He had you wrapped around his finger since you were thirteen. Maybe even earlier than that.
The only problem?
He was your big brother's best friend.
Youâd grown up watching them together, the two of them inseparable in the way that only childhood friends could be. Haymitch was always there, laughing at Burdockâs dumb jokes, sharing stories that made you blush or roll your eyes. You were just the little sister who tagged along, always feeling like the third wheel.
Until you werenât.
Until Haymitch started looking at you differently.
Every now and then, youâd catch him staring. His gaze would linger a little too long, his smile would falter. And when he spoke to you, it was never quite the same as how he talked to everyone else.
Especially when he called you âsweetheart."
It was dangerous, that nickname. It made your heart flutter in a way you could never explain. It wasnât like you hadnât seen him act affectionate before; he had a way with people, a teasing warmth that made everyone feel like they were his best friend. But when he said it to you, it felt different. It made you feel like maybe...just maybe he saw you as more than just Burdockâs little sister.
But that was just a fantasy, right? Haymitch couldnât like you that way. You were the kid he looked after, the girl who tagged along to make sure he didnât forget to laugh once in a while. He didnât have time for someone like you.
âSomeday, one day,â youâd whisper to yourself late at night, as you stared at the stars, convincing yourself that it was nothing more than a silly crush. You werenât anything special, just another face in the crowd.
Still, those moments, those stolen looks, kept you wondering. Was there something there? Or was it just a product of your overactive imagination? Youâd never know.
The woods were always your escape. Burdock had shown you a safe way to them, so when things got too loud at home, when the world felt too heavy, youâd wander out here, into the quiet stillness, where you could be alone with your thoughts. The sunset was just beginning to stain the sky a deep orange, casting a soft glow over the trees and the dirt path beneath your boots. You felt a sense of peace as you walked, the rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig beneath your feet the only sounds that accompanied you.
You had been walking for a while when you heard it, a soft crunch of leaves behind you, a familiar step. You froze. Then the voice you had been secretly hoping wouldnât find you called out, low and teasing.
âYou get lost, sweetheart?â
You turned to see Haymitch emerging from the tree line, his figure framed by the fading light of the sunset. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual cocky grin was replaced with something softer. Something almost hesitant. He always seemed to know where to find you, didnât he?
âNo,â you replied, trying to sound casual as you crossed your arms, the breeze ruffling your hair. âJust wanted to get away from the noise.â
âYeah, I get that,â Haymitch said, taking a few slow steps toward you. He glanced around at the woods, his eyes narrowing a little. âBut you do know itâs getting dark, right? You might want to head back before it gets too late.â
You smile faintly, your gaze lingering on the horizon where the sun was just starting to dip below the treeline. âMaybe I just like it out here. Feels...quieter. Like the world stops for a second.â
There was a pause. Haymitch didnât speak right away, his gray eyes scanning you with a sort of intensity that made your heart skip. âOne day, Iâll figure out why you always look at things like that,â he said, his voice soft, more serious than youâd ever heard it before.
You tilted your head, not quite understanding. âWhat do you mean?â
He took a few more steps toward you, his boots soft on the forest floor. The last rays of sunlight caught in his curls, and for a brief moment, he looked almost... like he belonged here, in the quiet of the woods, far away from the noise of the village.
âI mean,â Haymitch started, his voice quieter now, âyou see the world differently than most people. You donât just see the mess. You see the moments in between. The things most people miss. Even in people...Even in me."
You swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through your chest show. Was this just some Haymitch thing, where heâd tease and then leave you wondering what he meant?
"What are you talking about, Haymitch?"
Haymitch stopped in his tracks, just a few feet away from you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt thick, full of something unsaid. Then, he stepped forward, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was warm, almost hesitant, like he wasnât sure if he should be doing this.
âSweetheart,â he murmured, the nickname now feeling tender, almost like a confession, âyou donât get it, do you?â
You blinked up at him, confusion and hope swirling in your chest. âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean,â he continued, his voice now low and full of something raw, âI canât stop thinking about you. Not since⌠well, not since I actually started to...see you...â he paused, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. âIâve tried to keep my distance. Tried to ignore it, but you make it damn near impossible.â
Your heart raced in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, âButâŚI thought you didnât see me that way.â
âBeen tryinâ not to. For a while now. Figured Iâd be the worst kind of idiot, wantinâ my best friendâs little sister.â
You swallowed hard. âBut you do?â
His laugh was soft. âEvery damn day.â
You stared at him, your voice catching in your throat. âThen why havenât you said anything?â
He looked away, up toward the woods where the deer were starting to step into the clearing, quiet and watchful. âBecause if I let myself want you, Iâm not sure Iâll be able to stop.â
Silence fills the air as you look at him with a soft gaze...then...
âYou drive me crazy,â he said, barely above a whisper. âYouâre all I think about lately. When Iâm out by the meadow, when Iâm with Burdock, when I try to sleep- hell, even when I try not to think at all.â
You stared at him, speechless, your mind reeling. The boy youâd secretly hoped might feel the same way was standing here in front of you, his gray eyes filled with longing. Slowly, you took a step forward, your voice barely a whisper.
âSo...you...you like me? Like that?â
Haymitchâs gaze softened, and his smile was gentle now, sincere. âMore than youâll ever know."
You stood there, frozen, heart pounding in your chest. His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, it felt like time had completely stopped. Youâd spent so long wondering if this was just a fantasy, if you were just imagining something that wasnât there. But now, standing in the dimming light of the woods, with Haymitch Abernathy looking at you like heâd been waiting for this moment just as long as you had, it felt real. Too real.
Haymitch seemed to sense your hesitation, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His presence, so familiar and yet so different in this moment, made your breath catch. âSweetheart,â he said, his voice hushed, almost reverent. âYouâve got no idea how much Iâve wanted to kiss you. How many times Iâve stopped myself because I didnât want to make everything weirdâŚbut I canât anymore. Not after everything Iâve been feeling. Not after how much Iâve missed this.â
Your stomach fluttered at his confession, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. You had dreamed about this. Dreamed about him confessing, about him seeing you, about him wanting you, but the reality of it was still overwhelming.
âHaymitchâŚâ you started, your voice trembling with emotion. But before you could say anything more, he reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. You didnât pull away. You didnât even want to.
He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You barely breathed, your pulse rushing in your ears, but you nodded slightly, unable to put words together. It was all you could do.
Haymitch closed the gap then, his lips soft and hesitant at first, as if testing the waters, feeling his way through the moment. When you kissed him back, just the smallest motion of your lips against his, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. All the years of stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, it was all there in that kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way his hand cradled your face, the feeling of being held by someone who wanted you, needed you. It was overwhelming.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. His gray eyes were darker now, filled with something raw and unguarded. His thumb traced the line of your jaw gently, as if making sure this moment wasnât just a dream.
âYou have no idea how long Iâve wanted this,â he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. âIâve spent so many nights just thinking about you, about us, but I didnât know how to make it happen. I didnât want to risk losing you, sweetheart.â
You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. âYou donât have to risk losing me, Haymitch. I...I feel the same way.â
His smile, a soft, sincere curve of his lips, made your heart flutter. âYeah? Well, in that caseâŚâ
He kissed you again, this time deeper, more certain. The world seemed to fade away as you kissed him beneath the trees, the sounds of the forest around you fading into a distant hum. It was just the two of you now, and nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the complications, not the fears.
For once, there was no hesitation, no wondering what could be. There was only Haymitch and the way he kissed you like heâd been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. And for the first time in years, you felt like the world had stopped spinning, just for the two of you.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Haymitch rested his forehead against yours again, his hands gentle on your shoulders. âYouâre something else, sweetheart,â he murmured, his voice filled with awe. âIâve never wanted anything more than this.â
You smiled, a warmth spreading through you. âMe neither, Haymitch.â
You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught in the quiet of the woods, where nothing could disturb you, not even the past. It was just you and him. And for once, that was enough.
greyson tolliver arc of a scythe you will NEVER know how good you had it⌠the omniscient supercomputer AND the genderqueer character fell for your ass
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Synopsis: the games are over now and Peeta finds out your relationship was all an act
Masterlist
It was the day you were finally set to arrive back home in District 12 after completing your victory tour for winning the games. Youâd been anxiously waiting for this day and wanting nothing more than to trade the makeup and tight dresses for your boots and own bed. The train was running late, ironic considering how fast it was, and you were too anxious to sit still. You noticed a pathway near the train platform and longed to be alone with your thoughts in nature.
âIâm gonna take a walk while we wait for the train.â You announced. Effie sighed and shut her compact mirror before looking at you.
âI suppose thatâs all right. But donât go too far. We board in 15 minutes.â She reminded you. You nodded and started to walk away when Peeta stood up.
âCan I come with you?â He asked. You gulped and forced a smile before nodding your head.
âAlways.â You told him. He smiled back and walked beside you as you headed down the walkway together. Your hand bumped against Peetaâs as you looked up at the trees around you. As soon as he slipped his hand into yours, you felt tremendous guilt fill your stomach. You were yet to address the nature of your relationship now that the games were over. You had blurred the lines so much between faking a relationship for the camera and navigating your true feelings for Peeta that you had no idea where you stood now. Peeta saw the uneasy look on your face and let go of your hand to walk ahead. He picked some flowers for you and handed you the bouquet he had arranged.
âFor you.â He blushed as he presented them to you.
âOh.â You smiled in surprise. âThank you.â
Peeta returned the smile before continuing to walk down the pathway. You watched him as he walked, feeling like the distance between you was matching the distance you felt inside.
âI canât believe weâre actually going to be back in District 12 tomorrow. I really didnât think weâd ever see it again.â Peeta said as he continued to stroll along the flowerbeds.
âNeither did I.â You admitted, making Peeta stop. He turned around and looked at you for a long time, making you uncomfortable in the silence.
âWhat do we do once we get back?â He asked as he earnestly stared into your eyes. He looked just as lost as you were and you wished you could give him some answers.
âI guess we try to forget.â You answered, making Peetaâs eyes soften.
âI donât want to forget.â He said quietly. You stared into his eyes as you guilt built up and up until it threatened to spill out your throat. Before you could say anything more, you heard a voice behind you.
âHey. There you two are.â Haymitch said as he approached. âYou guys should be proud of yourselves. Iâve seen a lot of victory tours but I havenât heard crowds cheer like that in years. You really sold the whole star-crossed lovers who survived with the power of love thing. Especially you, sweetheart. Keep it up exactly the way you were playing it.â
âThanks.â You said immediately as your entire face burned in embarrassment. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peetaâs look of confusion. Haymitch had no idea what he had just done and was too drunk to realize it. He patted your shoulder with a drunken smile and stumbled back to the train.
âWhatâs he talking about?â Peeta asked as soon as you were alone. You opened your mouth to answer him but found yourself speechless. You knew this moment would come eventually, you just didnât think itâd happen before you even got a chance to go home.
âWhat was he talking about? What are you keeping up?â Peeta asked again when you took too long to answer. You looked into Peetaâs eyes and stumbled over a few broken sentences as tears filled your eyes. You didnât even know why you were crying, you just felt full of emotion over the fact that you knew Peetaâs world was about to shatter. You had grown an immense fondness, even love, for him since the start of all of this and you knew he was about to hate you. Before you could confess the truth, Peeta put it all together. He took a step back from you as his hand went over his mouth.
âOh my God. It was all an act, wasnât it?â
Peeta whispered. âThe way you behaved in the games wasnât real. Waking me up with kisses, feeding me, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. You were just pretending, werenât you? You did it all for the cameras.â
âNot all of it. Some things were real.â You promised him. âBut Haymitch and I knew that if I played up the romance, weâd get more sponsees. And it worked. We did.â
âYou and Haymitch had a plan? And you didnât tell me?â Peeta shouted. He was usually so soft spoken that hearing him yell made you stumbled back in surprise.
âWe never officially made a plan.â You tried to explain. âBut after I kissed you and we were sent food, I realized that Haymitch was telling me that thatâs what we had to do to get sponsors. So I kept doing it. And we kept getting sponsors.â
âI shouldâve known.â Peeta shook his head. âI shouldâve known you didnât just happen to fall in love with me.â
âPeeta.â You said tearily as you watched his heart break. You knew heâd be upset, but this was harder than you thought.
âI knew it was too good to be true. You never actually felt the things I felt. You were just playing a part.â Peter said quietly as he wiped his eyes.
âYouâre the one who started the romance plot anyway, remember? Why are you mad that I kept it up?â You folded your arms, angry now that he wasnât seeing your side of things.
âBecause I didnât know there was something to keep up. I didnât know you and Haymitch had a secret plan behind my back. I was just dumb enough to believe I could actually trust you. How stupid am I?â
âYouâre not stupid, Peeta. And you can trust me. You have to understand that I wanted to tell you about it but I couldnât. There were cameras everywhere. If I told you, everyone watching wouldâve known it wasnât real. I had to keep the illusion. And that meant keeping it a secret from you too.â
Your anger subsided for a moment when you heard the pain in his voice. Your choice of words had just thrown salt in his wounds. You stopped trying to win the argument for a moment and realized that you had a right to be angry, but so did he. You walked over to him and cupped his face to make him look at you.
âPeeta, there were so many times I wanted to draw the curtains closed and block the rest of the world out and just be with you. I swear, I did. But we didnât have that choice. If things were different and we had gotten together in a normal situation, maybe Iâd know where my feelings lie. But I donât, Peeta. Iâm sorry.â
âI thought things were going to be different now. I thought something good had come out of the games.â Peeta said as he stared at the ground.
âThings are different.â You insisted.
âYeah. They definitely are.â Peeta wiped his face and turned away from you so you couldnât see him cry.
âHow can you be mad at me for this? We were strangers before the game. I wasnât thinking about romance. I was thinking about saving our lives.â
âI know that. In my heart, I know that. I just canât get it through my head yet. God, I canât believe you were acting.â Peeta said and stressfully tugged at his hair.
âI know this is upsetting to hear but I wasnât trying to deceive you. I thought you were acting too.â You protested. âI assumed you knew we had to play up the romance for sponsors and thatâs why you kept kissing me and saying the things you did.â
âNo. I didnât know. I was never pretending.â Peeta snapped, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was never one to be quick to anger, so it surprised you that you were having such a hard time getting him to calm down.
âPutting on the act got us both out, okay? There is no other circumstance where we wouldâve both come out alive. This was the only way.â
âI know that. Iâm sorry. I just wish I knew sooner.â Peeta sighed and sat down on the ground. You looked at him for a minute before looking around and behind you. You wished there was someone, anyone, to tell you what to do in this situation. You wish you had a script or some cards form Effie telling you what to say. Peeta was just sitting on the ground, staring into space, and you had no idea how to bring him back. No one had ever been mad at you in this way before and you didnât know what to do. Realizing no one was coming to help, you walked over and sat beside Peeta. You could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry but it wasnât exactly working in his favor. He turned his face away from you and he quietly sniffled.
âIf there was a way I couldâve told you, I wouldâve.â You said as you placed a hand on his back. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his face before giving you a sad smile.
âI believe you.â He said. You returned the sad smile and rubbed small circles on his back. Peeta stared off into space again while you stared at him. You let silence sit between you for a long time until you broke it.
âWere you really never pretending?â You asked quietly. You saw his mouth tug into a slight smile as he shook his head.
âNever. I meant every word I said.â Peeta said, sounding almost proud. You smiled a little when you thought of all the kind things he had said about you in the cave and how you now knew they were true.
âHow much was fake for you?â Peeta asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you now with those puppy dog eyes of his and it made you feel ten times worse.
âI donât know, Peeta.â You sighed. âI donât remember every little detail.â
âI do. What about our first kiss? Real or not real?â He asked with a certain desperation in his voice. You cracked a smile in surprise and looked at him.
âReal. I couldnât bear listening to you talk about dying, so I kissed you to shut you up.â You told him, making him smile as his face turned red.
âI have a feeling youâre forgiving me.â You chuckled and pointed at him, making his smile drop.
âIâm not.â He cleared his throat. âThe kisses when you got the broth the first time. Real or not real.â
âNot real. Iâm not really the type to wake someone up with kisses.â You said sheepishly.
âI guess I always kind of knew that about you.â Peeta admitted. âWhat else was fake?â
âWhen I asked you about your crush on me when we were in the cave. I was trying to get us to have some kind of grand emotional moment because the kisses werenât cutting it anymore. I needed to go bigger.â You admitted.
âOh.â Peetaâs face fell. âYou didnât really want to know?â
âI really wanted food.â You confessed. âAnd I honestly thought you made that story up because you were hungry too. Did your dad really want to marry my mom?â
âYeah. And heâs not thrilled I told that story, by the way. Apparently it was really quiet in the bakery that night.â Peeta said, making you genuinely laugh for the first time in a while. Peeta couldnât help but smile when he heard you laughing but wasnât done with the questions.
âWhen you said I didnât have any competition, real or not real?â Peeta asked a a he looked into your eyes.
âThat was real.â You replied, and you meant it.
âWhat about Gale?â Peeta asked, sounding like he didnât believe you. You looked Peeta up and down
âHeâs not your competition.â You laughed like it was silly, making Peeta smile.
âHeâs not?â He asked hopefully.
âHeâs basically family. I think if something were to ever happen between us, it wouldâve happened already.â
âHm. Good to know.â Peeta blushed and looked away again.
âAny other questions?â You asked him. âI really do want to make it up to you. Iâll answer anything you want.â
âWhen you said I walk too loudâŚâ Peeta asked and trailed off.
âReal. Very real. You were so loud I wanted to kill you.â
âWe couldâve avoided all this if you had.â Peeta muttered, making you laugh again. Peeta laughed as well and looked at you for a moment.
âDid you try as hard as you did to save my life for the romance plot?â He asked quietly as if fearful of the answer.
âNo.â You said immediately. âI did what I did because I couldnât handle the thought of you dying. I still canât. I almost broke a steel door down when they separated us after we won. You were the only thing on my mind. That was the moment for me when I realized I wasnât acting all that much. I love you deeply, Peeta. I know that for certain. Iâm just not really sure what kind of love that is yet.â
Peeta looked into your eyes for a while and eventually, he seemed to be satisfied with your response. You knew he understood where you were coming from even if it hurt him to know the truth.
âIâm sure what my love is.â He said after a beat of silence. It wasnât reproachful, more like a passing thought. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to know it too.
âCould you wait for me? Until I figure it out?â
âI will.â Peeta nodded, making you smile on relief. He smiled too and the faintest blush crept over his cheeks. He looked out into the distance for a minute and a comfortable silence settled between you. He then turned to you and leaned in for a long, slow kiss. Just in case it was his last time for a while getting to do such a thing. It was your first kiss without a single camera present and you felt that familiar hunger sensation in your chest that left you wanting more. When he pulled away, you wanted him to do it again.
âAre you any closer to figuring it out?â He asked completely serious, making you laugh. You stared into his eyes and truly could not imagine your life without him.
âYou know what?â You cracked a smile. âYeah. I am.â
Summary âWhat do you say when the person you love most gets sent away to the most brutal games of them all.
Warnings âmention of the games, angst, crying, not book accurate, authors first language isn't english.
Authors note â I've never written for any of the hunger games characters before so this is interesting, and i'm so nervous đ¤ Aww idk what to say I just hope everyone enjoys reading and requests are ofc open! We need to wake the hunger games fandom on tumblr up again haha.
Not proof read cause i'm a lazy btch
Your heart was beating fast against your chest, fast in a way you didnât quite understand. Everything was spinning and your vision blurred, and all of a sudden it was just as hard to breathe as to understand.
Haymitch was reaped.
Your Haymitch.
You turned around in panic at the feeling of someone touching your shoulder, your mother. You couldn't see the expression on her face, you could just feel what she was feeling.
Grief.
And the games hadn't even started yet.
Somehow, you felt it too.
The grief, you wanted to scream, cry and run into the woods to never return again.
Ever.
But instead you just stood there, not even noticing the weight of your mothers hand on your shoulder.
But you did notice the way his eyes watered as he made his way to the stage, the way he clenched his fists, as if he wanted to punch someone and then quickly regretted it.
As if he felt all emotions at once.
â â  Ë . ââââ ŕźś
The moment you saw him you threw yourself into his arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck as quiet sobs escaped you.
He wrapped his arms around you, gently stroking the back of your head, your hair.
The way he always did.
As if nothing had happened at all, as if he wasn't going to die in the next few weeks.
You pulled away from him, taking a deep breath before speaking.
He was so beautiful, just like usual. Except now he had this heavy energy around him, like a cloud of anxiety threatening to swallow you both.
â "I love you" you begun, the sobs quickly returning as you spoke.
He hugged you again, â "I know" he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too."
You pulled away from the hug once again, grabbing his hands, your heart beating faster at every second that passed. Knowing that you soon had to say your goodbyes.
Perhaps you'd never see him again.
It was quiet for a moment, the only sound filling your ears the shaky breaths that left both of your lungs. You forced a smile, he noticed, of course he did. â "Happy birthday" you whispered, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
His eyes softened at that, as if something inside him absolutely shattered.
â "We'll celebrate you when you get home" you spoke, and your voice cracked. "Please come home." You pressed out, tears running down your face.
He inhaled, as if he was about to say something. And then two men walked in and grabbed you from behind, pulling you towards the door.
â "The time is up" one of them said, his voice strict, stricter than it should be when talking to an absolutely heartbroken girl.
You tried to push them of off you, â "No! No!" You shouted, but their grip was too strong.
The door closed with a thud, and the last thing you saw of Haymitch was the terrified look on his face, and that was it.
You never watched the games, couldn't bring yourself to watch all that gore, real human beings with loved ones waiting for them at home getting crushed to death inside an arena built by the government.
But that was before your Haymitch got reaped, maybe you had to watch the games this once, just to see his face one last time.
Š femalebutterflybug - Do not use or copy my work without permission âĄ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
sorry if it's too soon in your grieving process but like, i've gotta ask...young!haymitch hcs??đ
too soon? baby, this is how i cope.
sort-of spoilers forsotr, but these hcs are like kinda canon-divergent!!
haymitch is seriously a hopeless romantic, like?? i was so shocked by that aspect of his character. he's a lovebug!!
he has 100 pet names for you, and rotates through them all like once a day
he has a great memory and never forgets important dates (birthdays, anniversaries) and if you off-handedly mention that you want/like something, he'll get it for you a month later because he remembers the little details
he's a great listener, too - he gets to know you very deeply and intimately, and he only falls deeper in love the more he learns
has nightmares constantly, and tries to hide them from you so you don't worry - you can hear him whimpering in his sleep often, and you try to soothe him as best as you can, rubbing his back and stroking his hair
big dick. sorry i just gotta get that one out. i know it's big.
someone asked for a haymitch addition to this post, so here you go: i don't really think he's very ticklish, but if you get the right spots - under his arms or his hips - he'll crumble. because it's you, he doesn't fight too hard and just lets you have your fun, and he has the cutest laugh - he'll ramble through it, saying "wait, darlin', c'mon, don'tâ". he will get revenge though, so beware.
love language is words of affirmation (he's always saying i love you, affirming his attraction and devotion to you) and physical touch (he always wants to hold your hand, kiss you all over, and cuddle you)
but he also loves giving you little gifts??? he's just. genuinely a great boyfriend
Hii i love your work and i wanted to ask for headcannons for the spiderverse or THG characters (men or/and women depending on what you are comfortable with) when you scratch their scalp while playing with their hair and how they would react or if they would like it, hope you have a good day<33
hi, tysm for asking and the lovely words!! i decided to do the thg boys bc i only write for 2 atsv characters and one of them is black and as far as i understand a lot of black ppl donât like having their hair played with so i wasnât sure what to say for hobie?? if iâm wrong about this plz correct me lol but i didnât want to be like insensitive soâŚyeah!!
peeta thinks itâs really sweet. having his scalp scratched would soothe him to sleep super fast, i think, so use this mode of affection with caution if it isnât bedtime. if heâs had a nightmare or is having trouble falling asleep, heâll ask you to âdo the thingâ aka essentially pet him like a dog.
gale finds it soothing when heâs in a bad mood or has a bad dream. it doesnât make him sleepy, it just helps him relax. he would never ask you to do it, though, you have to just infer that heâs restless and needs to have his hair played with.
finnick loves any and all tender forms of intimacy, so hair playing is definitely included in that. he finds it really soothing, especially after a bad dream. he likes to rest his head in your lap and give you puppy dog eyes til you get the hint and play with his hair.
coryo tries to act like it doesnât do anything for him, but it really does. academy!coryoâs hair is the perfect length to run your fingers through his curls, but peacekeeper!coryo likes when you scratch at his scalp with your nails since his hair is buzzed. it makes him turn to butter, honestly, he practically purrs, but he gets flustered that it works so well.
sejanus loves it, it was something his ma did for him when he was little and couldnât sleep. so, heâs developed a sense of comfort in the action, it really just makes him melt. it does make him sleepy, though, so thatâs a bedtime activity!!
Hey! I would like to request Gale Hawthorne x gn!reader headcanons when they reunite in 13 after reader was taken by The Capitol (along with Annie, Peeta, Enobaria and Johanna like one of the victors) and ofc you ain't gotta but I would be thankful if you do :)
Words: 210
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Ships: Gale/reader
Warnings: none
Gale would absolutely try to keep you as close as possible, at least for the first few weeks of you being back
He would try to keep you away from any triggers, although it's a fool's errand
Gale would be extremely affectionate, always holding your hand or wrapping an arm around you
He would be hesitant to let you stay with him when he makes weapons, worried that it would upset you
He wouldnât be sure exactly how to comfort you, but he does his best, holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your face
You woke with a start, fear rushing through your veins. An âoomphâ noise came from your left, making you flinch.Â
You hesitantly looked to the side, only to see Gale lying on the floor next to the bed.Â
âGale?â you whispered, furrowing your brows. He sat up and frowned, looking at you with worried eyes.
âNightmare?â
You nodded, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Gale climbed back onto the bed and pulled you into his arms.
â..Sorryâ you mumbled into his chest.Â
âDonât beâ He pressed a kiss to your forehead. âYouâre safe here, alright?âÂ
You nodded, hiding yourself against him. Gale held you tighter. âIâll protect you.â
âI want to write a fic about this but I donât think anybody will be interested in itâ ummm hello excuse me maâam what do you mean you donât think anybody will be interested in it??? YOU. YOU ARE INTERESTED IN IT???? write it because YOU are interested in it and YOU want to write about it. fanfic writing should always be first and foremost about YOUR enjoyment, not other peopleâs.
2.5k words, pure fluff
A Wyatt Callow x Reader Fic that a friend requested of me. I hope you enjoy <3
Pre-50th Hunger Games.
Odds, numbers, sequences, and routines. Those were all things that Wyatt would find some solace in. He liked the repetitiveness of his days in District Twelve. Wake up, go to school, get home, help his family. The next day, he would do the same. After that, yet again nothing changed. Rarely did he break this pattern, and that's how he planned to keep it.
He likes the predictability of sequences and numbers. They always had a reason behind why they were what they were. There was always a journey to the conclusion, one Wyatt never had an issue finding.
Of course â what he's known for in the Booker Boy family â his talent for being an oddsmaker. Every single one of his comforts fell into one neat basket with this aptitude of his. All he had to do was analyze information, sort it into a pattern, and see where the bet lay. After years of bets by his family, Wyatt had perfected this system. Narrowing his time down to just a few moments before he churned out statistical odds.
Did constantly muttering and murmuring the odds of certain events help his social life? Well, no. But neither did being a booker boy, so he was used to keeping to himself.
He would entertain himself with worlds of baffling probabilities. Muttering to himself the odds of even the most mundane events. Like the odds of chicken being served for lunch at school? "25 to 1 that chickens on the menu," he'd mutter. "Against, of course. They wouldn't serve us something that good."
When asked about the odds that the teacher won't come in? "6 to 1. Wouldn't count on it, about an 85% chance she doesn't show... Saw her coughing badly the past few days. Always does that before she gets a cold this time of year."
People saw this as creepy, wondering if Wyatt would watch them as intently as he did the teacher. Placing odds on their actions like he did on everything else. Well, he did. He wouldn't deny that if asked, but truly what was the harm?
The day he saw you was just like any other. A long walk from school back to the edges of the seam. His strides were long, purposeful. Not in a rush, but not in any mood to be leisure either. The leftover autumn leaves crunched under the soles of his boots. The ragged, beat-up brown ones he's had for the past 3 years. He's nearly outgrown them, the leather suffocating the end of his feet. But money rarely left his family to go towards useful stuff. It just kept circulating between the same few people as they continuously made one bet after another.
For once, he found himself debating whether to even go home. Not permanently, of course; his odds of survival without the grudging support of his family were slim â especially considering the reputation of the bookers. But maybe he would delay himself an hour or two. Go sit in the meadow where one covey girl raises her geese and just relax.
He didn't need a break from the numbers, no. Just one from the pressure.
After he finally made up his mind, Wyatt stepped from his usual path. Treading through the woods that lead to the soft meadows. The silence was nothing new, but he heard the few chirps of Mockingjay's. While they werenât uncommon, Wyatt never took the time to observe them outright. Silently, he hummed a 5 note tune. A moment passed, and his tune echoed back in his ear multiple times over. They seemed to enjoy the small gift of music.
Finally, Wyatt had reached the edge of the meadow. Looking over the way the evening sun stretched over the green. The gentle breeze flows through the tall grass. In the distance, tending to her geese was that covey girl he mentioned earlier. Along with someone else, you.
You and Lenore Dove laughed together, while another boy â Haymitch â stood a few feet away. Messing with something to the side, likely the geese. Yet Wyatt wasn't worried about what he was doing, nor did he care for Lenore Dove. He stared at you, and you alone. His lips parted ever so slightly, making them even more chapped than they usually were.
He wasn't sure what captivated him. Maybe it was the way you smiled, like there was no tomorrow. But Wyatt was inexplicably drawn to you.
He didn't like it.
People, crushes, they were unpredictable. Irrational. He couldn't figure you out with logic if he tried. That worried him a lot more than it should have. Despite the worry. He stayed. Planting himself down in the dry grass that lined the edge of the woods. Eyes still intently on you. Wyatt determined that if he kept his distance, nothing would come of it.
He never could have been more wrong.
After that, he began to see you everywhere. At the Hob, when his father finally sent him out to use the money he earned. You? Well, you were there trading buttons for ribbons. Wyatt wanted to ask why; he wanted to ask a lot of things, actually. More than he would ever admit.
Before he could even muster the courage to take a step, you were gone. Idly making your way back to your house. Which was, to his luck â or lack thereof â the entire opposite of where Wyatt had been standing.
Then, at school. It turns out, you two had the same lunch period. Honestly, Wyatt wasn't even sure you went to school. But there you sat. This time, sitting between the twins, Merrilee and Maysilee. Happily scarfing down your chicken, while talking about God knows what.
As time moved on, Wyatt learned more about you from passing conversations and intensive listening. Your name, favorite colors, and what part of the district you lived in. Even your family trade, which was shoemaking. He debated finding an excuse to go to your shop. Asking for something better, something new. Maybe he'd pretend to be well off. Saving enough money to buy something expensive. Be a bit of a showoff.
Wyatt would slow his walk home from school to silently watch you walk the other way. Sometimes, more often than not, he would go to the meadow and wait in that same pile of grass. Seeing if maybe you'll show up again.
You were affecting him badly. He was losing his routine, his predictability, his comfort. You made his face flush, his mind race, his breath slow, and his pulse quicken. All of that because a girl he had never once spoken to glanced in his direction.
It was a nuisance, yes. Annoying, and worrying. God, did he love the thrill of it, nonetheless.
It was a day almost like any other, truly. You're on your way to the meadow, where Lenore Dove and Haymitch always hang around. You were getting tired of third wheeling, though. They are both hopelessly in love. It was cute the first 200 times, but the 201st got to you.
You decide to take a different path than usual; having just come from the Hob, you don't feel like going the extra half mile towards the easier route. Walking through the hardly used path was more trouble than it was worth, with your ankles and calves now littered with small cuts and lacerations from the vines and bushes that were scattered through the forest. If you knew no better, you would have gotten angry. Yet nature does as nature wills.
You reach the edge of the trees, hearing your friend giggle and gawk at each other even from some yards away. Although your focus isn't on them. Instead, you see a boy sitting at the edge, on a heap of dried grass, gazing off into the distance as he contemplated everything and nothing at all. At least, that's what you thought that looked like.
He didn't even seem to notice you until you were right behind him, tapping his shoulder with a friendly smile.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
He flinched, stunned by your sudden appearance. Looking up at you through his messy black hair. It curled in every which way, disobedient and coiled against his olive skin. He was handsome, you would admit.
He swallowed, looking back in the distance as he muttered softly, "Just, sitting here."
He didn't seem one to talk much, but he looked awfully familiar. You stood there silently, trying to put your finger on it, when you finally remembered.
"Wyatt?" You asked, "Wyatt Callow?"
Once again, the poor boy was at a loss for words. Looking up at you with furrowed brows, his gaze softened almost an impossible amount.
"Yeah," his voice was still low, but he seemed more receptive to conversation. "Thats me. We're in the same lunch period."
He tells you your name, and you're just as surprised as he was moments ago. You two had never quite spoken before, unless you consider a few polite words when you didn't know who the other was. Or at least, when you didn't know who he was.
You two sit down, deciding that talking to Wyatt is better than watching your friends kissing for a few hours. You ask questions, he answers. Each one gets more and more details before it moves from a Q&A to a full-on conversation.
The topic of family comes up, and suddenly, that progress is lost.
"I don't know," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't think I should share. my family, they..."
Wyatt trailed off, his hands gesturing in the air as if to say he couldn't find the words.
He could, but he just didn't want to.
"Hey," you smile, "My family works with feet for a living. I don't think you can be much worse, yeah?"
You had earned a chuckle from him, a soft one that carried through the air with its own clumsy grace. Wyatt shifted in his spot, his legs crossed over each other as he looked up into the tall maple that stretched above you two.
"Well," he started, pausing as if to give himself time to back out. "I'm a part of the uh, the Booker family. Y'know. The gambling ones?"
"Really?"
Your head tilted, and his mirrored it â only slightly. He was clearly confused about your reaction. And you? Well, you were confused about why that mattered.
"Wyatt, I've got a question for you."
"Shoot," He nods, "I'm an open book."
"Do you gamble?"
"No."
"How about smoke?" you try.
"Course not, that looks painful."
"What about drinking till you blackout and throw up?"
He tore his eyes away from you, looking into the distance again. He started to get a little hurt. Did you really expect this from him?
"No, of course not."
"Then," you said, with a small nod. "You're alright in my book. Unless you like, kick babies. Then i'd have to differ."
He stares at you, like really stares. Trying to read you, to figure out what you meant by, well. Any of this. Suddenly,
he laughs.
Not a small chuckle, not a huff of air from his nose. No, he's laughing. So loudly that it catches the attention of Lenore Dove and Haymitch in the distance. Your cheeks burn, and before you realize it, you find yourself laughing along.
You really were unpredictable, and irrational, and he couldn't figure you out if he tried.
But maybe he liked that.
After the laughter dies down, you both relish the silence. Before you speak up, with yet another question.
"Well, if you don't gamble, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking."
He leans back on his hands, the dry grass digging into the calloused skin of his palms. He shrugged.
"Probabilities and odds. The men in my family come to me before solidifying any dumb bets."
Probabilities. A math term you remembered learning in school a year or so back. You didn't understand it at all; it seemed like useless jargon. Especially considering most of the kids would be going into the mines regardless of how many numbers they could calculate.
You wanted to keep talking to Wyatt. You couldn't say why, but you just landed on the fact that he provided a fine company.
"How do those work?"
Wyatt and you sit and talk for hours. He explains how the two concepts work. Probabilities were the chance of something happening, out of everything to happen, and odds were telling you how much more likely something is to happen than not. You were still a bit lost for a while, but soon after many, many trial questions, you started to understand.
"Okay, okay," You grin, "So, tell me the odds that... Tomorrow we play dodgeball."
He thinks for a moment, his eyes drifting like they did every time he began to process something.
You were picking up on his small habits already, oh no.
"Considering all the games we play, and the fact that the gym teacher prefers to make us run. I'd say 19 to 1 against it."
You pause for a moment, your lips pressed in a thin line as you thought.
"So, that means that out of 20 outcomes... 19 are bad, and 1 is good? Making the probability 1 out of 20, right?"
Wyatt snaps his fingers, a toothy grin bringing itself to his face as he confirms, "Exactly! Ya got it."
"That is..." you began, lips hung gently open as you searched for the right word, "deceptively easy."
His grin turned to a soft smile at those words, and instead of responding, he only looked into the distance. The rock that Lenore Dove and Haymitch occupied was barren, and the sky decided it was time to stretch its orange and pink hues across the horizon. Wyatt couldn't help but steal another glance at you. Your face looked so pretty in the sunset.
"What are the odds," He began, his nails absentmindedly scratching at the peeling leather of his boots. "That I get to meet you here again?"
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Same time."
You pretended to think, but your mind had already been made up. You knew your answer. You knew it before he even asked.
"Hmm, you'd phrase that as a 1 to 1 probability, right?"
"Yeah, you would." He couldn't hide his smile. Neither could you.
"So, I'll see you here tomorrow?" You lifted your pinky, head tilted just barely as you giggled.
"Yeah," He took your pinkie into his. "You'll see me here tomorrow."
Darkness fell, and the two of you left in your separate ways again. Wyatt to the bookerboy home, and you to your family's shop. Unable to hide the smile on either of your faces from your family, forced to face their teasing.
Author's note: JESUS, that took forever. Holy. This was meant to be a gift from the near bEGINNING OF THE SCHOOL YEAR. ITS AB TO END NOW. SORRY OOMF. lwk not proofread but we ball.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
isa's 700 celebration!
đ- send me a character/character + reader pair and i'll write a picnic date moment!
wyatt callow x fem!reader (pre 50th hunger games)
content warnings: none! all fluff!
summary: a picnic with your boyfriend
wc: 1.3k
masterlist.
You leaned back against the rough bark of the tree behind you, eyes half-lidded from the sun and the lazy warmth of Wyattâs body just beside yours.
He sat with his knees pulled up, arms draped loosely over them, face tilted toward the sky like he was trying to memorize the shape of every cloud.
It was always quiet like this when you were with Wyatt.
Not awkwardâjust comfortable.
Your fingers were barely brushing his where your hands rested on the grass. Just a few centimeters of contact, but enough to make your heart do that stupid fluttering thing.
You glanced at him sideways. âYouâve been weirdly content all day.â
He hummed. âWeirdly?â
âYou havenât done a single probability breakdown. Not even once.â
Wyatt cracked a small smile, still not looking at you. âIâve done three. Just kept them to myself.â
You laughed. âFigures.â
A breeze swept through and ruffled his hair, and your hand twitchedâtempted to reach over and fix it.
Instead, he turned toward you finally, gray eyes soft and steady. âIâve been thinking about tomorrow.â
You raised an eyebrow, curious. âYeah?â
He looked a little sheepish now. The tips of his ears went pink.
You waited. Youâd learned with Wyatt that you had to let silences sit sometimes.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. âYou probably donât remember, but...tomorrowâs the first time we ever held hands.â
Your heart squeezed.
âYou were nervous,â he added, voice a little rough with memory. âKept flexing your fingers. I thought maybe I did something wrong. But then you reached for me. JustâŚall of a sudden.â
You remembered now, barely. But what you did remember was how warm his hand was. How steady. How it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, nothing else mattered for a second.
âSo,â he said, scratching the back of his neck. âI thought Iâd, um. Mark the occasion.â
âMark it how?â
His lips curved, mischief and affection playing tug-of-war in his expression. âYouâll see. JustâŚwear something you donât mind getting a little grass-stained.â
Your stomach flipped.
âYouâre planning a whole thing just because we held hands?â you asked, breathless with the sweetness of it.
Wyatt shrugged, eyes flicking to where your fingers now were entwined. âIt was the first time you let me hold something important.â
You didnât answer. You couldnât, reallyânot with your throat suddenly tight and your chest warm and full.
Instead, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering.
Wyatt didnât say anything after that. But you caught the little twitch of his lips. The way he squeezed your hand. The way he didnât let go for the rest of the afternoon.
You had no idea where Wyatt was taking you.
Heâd met you early that morning just as the sky was shaking off its fog, a quiet little smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. He didnât say muchâhe never didâbut there was a brightness in his eyes that made your heart stutter.
âCome on,â he said simply, curling his fingers around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The two of you walked for a while, weaving through the softer parts of District 12âs outskirtsâpast the rusted fencing that barely held the wild back, past the last of the old miner trails, where the air grew sweeter and the wind carried the smell of earth and something blooming. Wyatt led with a quiet certainty, like heâd been thinking about this for days.
When the trees finally opened up, your breath caught.
A wide clearing unfolded before you, the grass tall and golden in the sunlight, dotted with bursts of wildflowers. Bees drifted lazily between blooms. At the center of it all, like a secret someone had whispered into existence, was an old patchwork quilt. Faded from years of use, but clean, soft-looking, and carefully smoothed flat. A small basket sat near the edge.
And on top of it, balancing gently, was a single dandelion.
You turned to him, lips parted, unsure what to say.
Wyatt gave a half-shrug, eyes a little shy. âCouldnât find roses,â he murmured. âBut I figured youâd like something that doesnât need to be perfect to matter.â
Your chest swelled at the quiet honesty of it.
You knelt beside the quilt, fingers reaching delicately for the dandelion. Its bright yellow petals were messy and half-flattened, but still soft. Still alive. You twirled the stem slowly between your fingers.
âItâs beautiful,â you whispered.
Wyatt sat beside you with a soft grunt, pulling the basket into his lap. He started unpacking it carefullyâhalf a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a wedge of cheese, some slightly bruised apples, and a tiny glass jar of honey you knew he had to trade something good to get. He didnât look at you while he worked, but you could see the faint flush on his cheeks.
âWyattâŚâ you said softly, warmth blooming in your chest.
He didnât respondâjust handed you a slice of bread like it was nothing. But it wasnât nothing. None of this was.
A few minutes passed like that, the two of you eating slowly, quiet and easy. The breeze ruffled your hair and played at the ends pf Wyattâs hair. The sunlight hit his face in a way that made you want to memorize itâhow soft he looked when he wasnât watching the world for danger.
Then you shifted and reached for your bag.
âI brought something for you,â you said, digging into the side pocket. âItâs not much. But⌠I thought youâd like it.â
Wyatt raised a brow, eyes flicking with interest, and you handed him the small cloth pouch youâd been keeping hidden for a week.
He took it with careful fingers, brows drawn slightly. When he opened it and the two dice tumbled into his palm, you saw his breath catch.
They werenât perfect. Made from leftover bone pieces one of the butchers gave you after a trade, carved down with care and hours of quiet sanding. The dots were etched gently, darkened with coal dust and sealed with oil. They looked oldâbut they werenât. They were new. And they were his.
âI figured,â you started, suddenly nervous, âthe ones you use are kind of chipped. And these are just for you. Yours. No one elseâs. Just⌠your own lucky pair.â
Wyatt didnât say anything at first.
He just stared down at them, thumb brushing over the six-side like he could feel every bit of work you put into them. Then he let out a slow breath and looked at you.
His eyes were soft.
âI donât think anyoneâs ever given me something like this before.â
You swallowed thickly. âYou deserve nice things.â
He rolled the dice across the quilt, watched as they bounced and came to a stop....a two and a five. His mouth twitched.
âSeven,â he said. âLucky number.â
Then he looked up, leaned in slowly, and pressed his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling the press of himâhis warmth, his breath, the weight of this tiny, perfect moment.
âThis,â he whispered, voice barely audible, âthis right here, itâs the safest Iâve ever felt.â
You reached up and cupped his jaw, your thumb stroking gently at the corner of his mouth. âYouâre the safest Iâve ever been.â
Neither of you said much after that. Words werenât needed. You laid back together, tangled in the softness of the grass and the quiet sounds of summer. You braided a tiny chain of dandelions and placed them on his head like a crown.
He didnât take it off.
Instead, Wyatt lay beside you with his eyes half-lidded and your hand resting on his chest, and whispered, âNext year. Same day. Same place.â
And you nodded, because of course you would. There wasnât a version of the world where you wouldnât.
ummm can i get uhhhh snow lands on top for wyatt callow?? i have no idea how requesting really works i just assumed it was like ordering at a wendyâs. but yea i just thought it would be cute if u could pretty please write some hcs on wy having a crush on a girl from town/him having a crush in general!! if not thatâs ok i luv that youâre doing this the hashtags have been kinda dry >< okay ily bye.
SNOW LANDS ON TOP - send me a character and a scenario, au, or trope and i'll write some hcs!
đđđđđđ đđđđ || wyatt callow x town girl!reader
most everyone in the district stayed away from the callows
seam kids, miner's kids, and especially town kids
they always made fun of wyatt especially; they found his affinity for odds and numbers unsettling, especially because he was always right
you ran in different circles; wyatt tended to keep to himself, always in the hob collecting bets or in the mines working, and you were always with your friends or in your parents little clothing shop
you never had a concrete opinion on him. of course, you found the callows disgusting for gambling on the lives of children in the games, but you had always been kind of intrigued by the youngest
when wyatt first noticed you, it had been when he was still in school. he'd seen you outside at lunch, talking with the donner twins and asterid and otho. you had stood out from the other kids. maybe it was your laugh, or the way your eyes glimmered in the weak sunlight, or maybe it was the fact that when you'd caught his eyes, instead of scowling like other kids would have, you smiled
from that day onward, wyatt had been nursing an ever-growing crush on you
he'd watch you from afar, fascinated by everything about you; your hair, your eyes, your smile, your laugh, the way you carried yourself
he didn't know too much about you. all he knew was that you were a merchant's kid
he'd had a crush on you for two years at this point, and he was always surprised by the way his heart fluttered when he saw you
he thought it was ridiculous. he'd never been one for pointless crushes before, instead sticking to his odds. odds were predictable, they were safe. crushes were not. crushes were unstable and unpredictable
but when his mother had asked him to take his brother's shirt to the tailor to mend a tear, he had jumped at the opportunity.
it was a chilly november day. leaves were crunching under wyatt's boots as he walked. he felt out of place; he'd just been in the mines, and now he was walking down the slightly-nicer streets of town. he had a shirt in one hand, the other in his pocket fidgeting with a scrip coin.
he caught sight of you through the window -- you were sitting at the counter, a dress draped over your lap and a needle in your hand.
he paused, his breath catching. there was something about you that made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach
he pushed open the door, clearing his throat
"hey there, how can i help you?" your cheerful voice rang out across the store, looking up from where you had been cutting the thread and setting the dress aside.
he stared at you for a few moments; he was actually going to talk to you. he realized he hadnt answered your question and quickly snapped out of it.
"uh, my brother's shirt has a tear," he said awkwardly, holding up the coal-blackened shirt.
you took the shirt from him, and to his surprise, insisted that he stay as you fixed it; it was only going to take a few minutes, anyways. you had waved away his payment, insisting that the tear was so small it would be rude to take the money
from that day on, he had started going to your shop more often, finding even the littlest rips in his clothes for you to fix
and you started to talk, to become friends
sometimes, you'd ask him about odds and he'd go on tangents, rambling on and on about numbers and probabilities until he caught your cheeky smile and quieted down.
but the look on your face, the way you told him to go on, only made his heart pound against his ribcage even harder
he had always told himself that the odds of you liking him back had been slim to none; you were a town girl, a merchant's daughter, and he was a seam boy, a booker boy at that. no way would you ever like him
one day, you had been fixing a pair of his father's pants as he stood awkwardly behind you. when you finished, you had turned, handing him the pants
he was reaching into his pocket to find the money you would refuse, the same way you always did
"let me pay you," he'd say
"no, its alright," you'd reply
but this time, when he insisted you take his money, your answer changed
you leaned forward, kissing him
not on the cheek, but full on the lips. he stood there, shocked for a moment as his brain went into overdrive
when you pulled away with a small smile, he stayed staring at you. his brain was doing the only thing it was good at; running the odds.
the odds you liked him back had suddenly gotten way better