you beautiful tropical fish (kolms) wrote,
you beautiful tropical fish

[ ficathon ] the girl on fire

Tags: book: hunger games trilogy, ficathon!
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Katniss/Gale, "I'm not your best bud, I'm not your security blanket. I'm a man who's in love with you."
Lost crossover, Careers as the others, Katniss as Kate, Peeta = Jack, Gale = Sawyer? Hahah or whatever you want
clove, “I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.”
Katniss, even Death himself listened, and said, "Go on, little nightingale, go on."
“The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn:
And a-hunting we will go.”
This is amazing!
right in the otp.
Well, i dont like Hunger gamaes that much - and the movie sucked IMHO
cato/clove & peeta/katniss, au in which cato and clove are from district 12 and peeta and katniss are district 2.
wow that was hot and sad and guh. I'm a huge fan of P/K\G and this hit the itch that was needing to be scratched.
TITLE: The Games They Play
PAIRING: Katniss/Cato, PROMPT : "Why can't we make this darkness feel like home?", Rated R for dark themes and sexual content and heavy angst.

Cato doesn't play gentle with her. Doesn't pretend to care. Doesn't even remotely try to act like he should. He hates her.

It's all a game in the end, isn't it?

So, when his slender fingers reach for her, the Mockingjay lets herself go. He kisses her roughly, the action- unlike most- unmeasured and impulsive as his hot hands (killer's hands) work his way through the buttons of her nightshirt. He pulls it away, hissing when she wraps her thin legs around his hips, pulling him into her heat, fighting him each step of an ancient dance that they modify into an animalistic struggle. His tongue, wet and hot, enters her mouth, and her teeth bite down on it. He groans a sound of approval- the pain is a head-fuck, but then, so is she. He enjoys being hurt. And the sick part of her enjoys hurting him. Her nails dig into his scalp, angling his mouth over hers with precision as his hands pull away her underwear.

His fingers, calloused and scarred (like her soul) find her slick folds. They enter her heat without a warning. Her lips part into a wide O and she body arches off the wall, heels digging into the dimples at the bottom of his spine. Short, shuddering breaths escape her mouth. Slipping fingers, wet with her juices. Chapped lips, dry tongue runs over them. He watches her face twist with pain and lust with malign interest and lust. His eyes are dark, like a deep indigo of the sky and he watches her lashes flutter. He pushes his fingers in, right into her and she lets out sounds- a first in their indulgences. Breathless, keening mewls. She writhes. He tortures.

She finds courage, somehow, after opening her sinful eyes and pulls him toward her, fingers deep inside her core. Licking the salty skin of his sensitive neck, she places a hand on his abdomen. His pectorals clench tightly, breath coming out in hot pants. She wants to be used. Abused and broken, over and over because she's a sick girl who couldn't save the boy she loved. He pulls his fingers out, member throbbing. They kiss, a clash of tongue, teeth and blood. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes. She delves deeper into his mouth, her tongue searching. He pulls her hair. Her nails draw scars across his back- a constellation of caked blood and half-moons.

There, pain. He growls in appreciation. She swallows the sound.

He pulls away from her, takes to licking his way up the column of her burnt neck right up to her ear. They can't mend- can't heal, could never have been sane in the first place and will never become human again. His hot breath raises goose bumps.

"I fucking," he hisses in her ear, in a low, dark, desperate voice, strained and tenuous. "...hate much,"

She repeats it all in her mind.

And with another foul word that comes out as a half-choked, half-dying sound, he pushes into her.

Like all the games that they've been in and the games that they've designed, this one isn't nice. His thrusts are hard and intrusive, as if he were robbing her of something lost long ago and he hits the right spot in a matter of minutes. She's writhing, aching and the coiling burns within her. Her eyes, at some point, fly open and he sucks on the hollow of her neck, muttering dark promises that he will hurt her with as she grapples with his sweaty back, wanting release and hating him for give it to her. Peeta. Peeta. Her body meets his, rhythmic, and thrumming- hips lifting up to meet each thrust. She isn't sure how Cato knows so much about her, how to angle his hips just right, how to bite down on her neck at the very moment when she needs it but she can't question. Not now. So she throws her head back and lets the coil snap, echoing in her head like a reminder of the thing she's become. His thrusts become faster and faster and just the moment she lets go, he lets go too. He spills inside her with a dark curse, convulsing.

She comes, screaming another boy's name.

Somehow, though, Cato can't bring himself to hate her for that.


July 23 2013, 21:46:30 UTC 3 years ago Edited:  July 23 2013, 21:47:40 UTC

gale/katniss, post-war: "Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck—you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite."