Hunger Games Chariot Outfits Novels & Stories

His expression was stormy as he roared, "What are you doing? How dare you resort to violence in my shop?! So much for being rich young heirs! You're useless ruffians! Men, toss them and their guards out of here." Instantly, a bunch of men marched into the fray. They were all wearing black vests, camouflage pants, and combat boots, with all sorts of scary tattoos plastered over their arms. They grabbed Charlie and Josh aggressively before carting them to the door, scaring the two young heirs out of their wits.

he grins, "but I was expecting jeans and a tee-shirt...." Charlotte is dressed in brilliant green trimmed with fur, her foxy hair in sharp contrast to the colour, along with jewellery and shoes in a similar contrasting shade. She could have stepped from the set of a nineteen-fifties Hollywood musical and looks like some sort of Christmas Elf, if Santa had the kind of helpers that gave him gritted teeth and a raging hard. She smiles widely as I step out of the car, gathering her into my arms, my mouth open over hers, before I remember myself and step back to allow James a bit closer.

(Charlie) "You’re not wearing that." Rohan stands in the doorway of my bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s staring at the dress I’ve chosen. A simple, fitted black sheath that accommodates my small bump but still looks professional. "Excuse me?" I turn from the mirror, a comb in my hand. "It’s too thin. It offers no protection," he says, walking into the room and grabbing a thick Kevlar vest from the bed.

she descended the platform. The indicated packs’ main fighter, the substitutes and supports headed towards the ring. The main fighters were shirtless and wearing shorts and wristbands while substitutes wore transparent crop tops and loose pants along with their armbands. The supports wore white t-shirts and black joggers along with various coloured ribbons tied around their heads. Erion’s substitute fighter, a tall, slim and dark-skinned man with dyed golden, braided hair, was the first to go up.

Jayden's POV Loud banging music. Drinks filling in with meatballs to compliment. Laughter echoing through the room. Freya tucked to me, she and Agatha in a twerking contest. But my attention was still pinned to the door, tapping my fingers on the plush sofa I sat on. Charlie hadn't shown up yet. Minutes rolled to an hour. The brass door of the clubhouse finally turned open. Charlie stepped in. Not in baggy jeans. She wore a long silky peach gown, with deep openings right up to her thigh.

I push the idea from my head, knowing it's impossible, and glance around the chariot, resigned to my fate. The inside is black and red themed, with red seats and shining black door handles, and the doorway is studded with precious jewels that appear to be rubies and diamonds. This dude must be loaded, I decide with another glance around. A little bit over fifteen minutes later, the chariot rolls to a stop, and I breathe a soft sound of relief. A few moments later, the door swings open. My legs are shaky as I stand, glaring furiously at the man as he stands with his arms crossed outside of the chariot, his foot tapping impatiently.

I froze. My thoughts ran to that night. How I had stripped myself naked for Hunter and threatened him to fuck me… how I enjoyed having his cock inside me, pounding over and over…. Maybe I am a slut. I belonged to Charlie’s Omega harem, and not in the arms of Ethan Greenwell. Or even Hunter Black. The angry ripping of fabric snapped me back. And I looked down in a shocking gasp, my anger shooting through the roof: Charlie had ripped my dress open. If it weren't for my bra, Charlie would've gotten his private strip show.

XERXES I shifted in my seat, suppressing a groan as my fingers drummed against the polished arm of the chair. Gold embroidery gleamed on the sleeves of my ceremonial jacket, catching the dim candlelight, while the heavy, royal-blue fabric weighed on my shoulders like a boulder. This suit was made to command attention, crafted from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate golden designs that reflected my family’s standing. But right now, it felt like a straitjacket.

Her outfit was simple: a navy blue high-collar jacket that was slim-fitted around the bust and waist and flowed down to a few inches above her knees, where a pair of dark pants tucked into a solid pair of black boots. It was practical, spartan, boyish. Something her father had tailored as a matching set with Charon once upon a time when he had tried to harden Helena and include her in the running of the pack, with the hope that she would one day be a leader at Charon's side. Those dreams had been crushed in her last life when it was clear Helena didn't have it in her, his carefully selected clothes meant to make her look intimidating shoved to the back of her closet, but things were differen

Instead we began to tackle the zips with a vengeance and slowly, bit by bit, they gave in to our superior might. “Ha! Take that sucker!” Violet shouted. “Now for Cal’s and my outfits.” Suddenly I was extremely grateful for my toga, slipping it on with ease and putting on the golden manacles and torc which were part of the outfit. Even Violet’s hooped and corseted velvet dress and killer white wig, which stood five inches high and streamed down her back like a river, were easier to put on than the hamburger. Kayla refused to wear any makeup with her outfit, saying that she wanted to display the ugly truth of fast food – although there was nothing ugly about her so it sort of defeated the poin