Trigger warning for rape. Written because I like humanizing Capitolites. Just as a note, these are all three separate stories with three different Capitol citizens.
She smiles as he runs his hands down her bare body, from her breasts to her hips. A shiver runs down her spine, which tenses as his hands make their way further down and into a part of her that was previously untouched.
She wants him. She'd known since she'd watched his games that he'd be hers someday, that bronze-haired boy with the charming smile and the laughing eyes.
She'd counted the days until her eighteenth birthday when she could finally have him, at a price, of course, but she'd pay anything for love.
She ignores that, with his fingers inside her, his eyes aren't laughing, not exactly. She ignores that there is no smile upon his lips because, for the moment, he is hers.
She'd never really felt love. She had very few friends in the Capitol and boys had told her she was ugly. She was a child born from incest, unloved and unwanted. An abomination. She just wants someone to love her.
She reaches up and touches his hair, then grabs hold of it as he makes his way further into her, her manicured claws digging into his scalp. His jaw tightens; she's hurting him, but she's paying for his services and he can't complain.
He whispers sweet lies in her ear, his breath hot on her neck.
"I love you, Finnick Odair," she moans as he positions himself on top of her. He breathes pretty words, any words but I love you, but, in her mind, he reciprocates her love and says more. She pretends that the sex wasn't solicited by her, but was a mutual decision because she'd caught his eye with her beauty. She pretends that he sees her as more than just another Capitol woman he'd have to screw. She pretends that she hadn't bought her own eighteenth birthday present with the money from her inheritance.
She pretends that she's a beautiful bride on her wedding night, and not the ugly daughter of a politician and his sister; a product of love, not regret.
She closes her eyes and savors the moment, an intimate moment with her one true love.
Then she's finished and he's gone the same way as he came in, with no confessions of his love for her and no kisses goodbye, except for a slight kiss on her hand.
She feels empty again.
She books another appointment.
She just wants to be loved.
She sees him from across the room, the new president. It is her first Capitol party, the presidential inauguration party, and the world is a burst of color. The rainbow-colored swirls of elegant dresses dancing through the room dizzy her as she sips on her champagne.
He sees her too. He moves toward her slowly and with grace, as if he's a king rather than an elected official. He kisses her hand like a true gentleman.
They make small talk and she blushes as he compliments her baby-pink wig and her long, white ballgown. He asks her how old she is had she tells him sixteen. He hands her another glass of champagne. He never asks for her name.
When the world becomes hazy, he takes her hand. She doesn't know where she's going, but she lets him lead her there. The new president is a good man, he'd never hurt her. She didn't notice the lust in his eyes.
He leads her to a bathroom in a corridor of his mansion that is entirely empty and locks the door behind them. She smiles as he kisses her lips. He tastes of dry wine, a flavor she doesn't particularly enjoy, but he was her leader, so he must be right.
The world seems to be moving so fast and her thoughts become entangled as did their tongues. His kisses grew more hungry, more forceful. She found herself unable to breathe.
Before she can stop him, his hands are pulling up the hem of her dress, feeling up her legs. She wants to tell him to stop, but her lips can't seem to form words.
He decides that it would be easier to just undress her. He pulls her dress down violently, not bothering with zippers. He pushes her up against the wall forcefully and she gasps, the air knocked from her lungs.
She realizes what he's doing as he unbuttons his own pants. She says no, but he only smiles. She doesn't have a choice.
She screams, but is silenced by a slap to her face. Her skin stings and she is crying when he pushes himself into her. He's being aggressive; he doesn't care if he's hurting her.
When he finishes, he lets her go and she crumples to the floor, sobbing and frantically trying to cover her exposed body with her dress, as if it matters. The damage is done. He doesn't want her anymore.
He leans down and grabs her chin, pulling her face upward so she's looking into his eyes. "You will tell no one about this, you understand?" he hisses, but she doesn't say a word. He digs his fingernails into her neck and she grimaces. "You will tell no one about this or I'll kill everyone you love, everyone that you've ever loved. I have that power. I will use it." She nods.
"Now wipe your damn tears and get back to the party, you stupid, sniveling bitch."
He is her leader. She complies.
She sobs onto a corpse, her hands stained red with the blood of her baby.
It had all happened so fast. One moment, they'd been running, trying to reach their home, where they hoped to be safe. Next moment, fire rained from the sky and her little girl was ripped from her grasp, being thrown in the air before falling to the ground in a crumpled heap of detached limbs and burned flesh.
Her hair is seared black and there is blood on her face, but all of this seems irrelevant. All she wants is her baby.
She runs her fingers through the child's hair, whose body is almost unrecognisably contorted. The little girl's limbs are entirely separate from one another, but the mother sobs still, hoping that her eyes would flutter open and she could see those big blue eyes once more.
Of course, the child is still.
The child is still until the second wave of fire-rain hits. This time, the whole world explodes in red, child with mother in motion once more, together once more.