#Haymitch Abernathy fanfiction

[nebulablakemurphy]

Horn Of Plenty

Summary: The Capitol sends a very special gift for Y/N and Haymitch’s son on his first birthday. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe, can be read as a stand alone. SoTR Spoliers

Warning: SMUT 18 + ONLY, mentions of trauma

Today is a big day.

Through all the diapers and sleepless nights, they made it. One year of being parents to this perfect little boy. Haymitch is still in awe of him.

“Vanity sent clothes.” Y/N tells Haymitch, watching as he turns to her with their son in his arms. “Cameras will be here later.”

“Surprised she’s not here.”

“She’s got a show,” Y/N inches closer, enough to tickle Everest’s little belly. “High fashion waits for no one.”

The boy squeals, hiding his face in his father’s shirt.

Haymitch smiles, keeping hold of the wiggling child. “On a scale from ugly to hideous, how bad are they?”

“They’re pretty tame,” Y/N shrugs.

I love you. Haymitch has to bite his tongue to keep the words from escaping. He just can’t risk it.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s family joins them for the festivities and cake of course. Though there is only so much a one year old can do, Caesar Flickerman is hosting live from the Capitol. And they’ve sent Everest a very special gift.

“Now, we’ve sent this all the way to district twelve.” Caesar narrates, as the cameras in their living room move of their own accord. “I do hope it’s to your liking.”

“I’m sure it is, Caesar.” Haymitch says, “you know us all so well.”

Everest, in his white collared shirt and powder blue overalls, claps his hands, watching his father remove the lid of the box. The sides fall free, revealing a black rocking horse.

“Oh,” Y/N gasps. “This is beautiful!”

Haymitch wants to play his part, to smile and admire the craftsmanship, but he can’t move. He can barely breathe.

Y/N carefully seats her son on the horse, keeping hold as he begins to rock. Drawing the camera away from Haymitch, to a tight shot of the birthday boy.

‘Oh, Horn of Plenty. One Horn of Plenty for us all. And when you raise the cry, the brave shall heed the call, and we should never falther. One Horn of Plenty for us all.’

The anthem ends only to begin again.

Everest babbles, toying with the horse’s mane.

“He loves it!” Y/N rejoices, and through the camera’s speaker she can hear similar applause in the Capitol.

“Ahhaha! We are so pleased to hear that.” Caesar’s voice booms through the camera speaker. “As much as we hate to see you go, I’m afraid it’s time for our next segment.”

“Of course, we understand, Caesar.” Y/N says. “Thank you all for your generosity and for celebrating Everest’s birthday with us!” She waves. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, bye.” The little boy coos.

“Bye, bye!” Caesar replies, tearfully.

The cameras power down and wheel themselves out the open door, leaving the birthday boy and his family.

“Get him off that horse.” Haymitch demands, slamming the front door closed and turning the lock.

“Why?” Y/N’s father laughs, “surely we don’t need to be so strict about bedtime. It’s my grandson’s birthday.”

“Dad,” Y/N whispers, taking Everest back into her arms. “It’s been a long day.”

“Haymitch?” Madge waves a hand in front of his glossy eyes. “Are you ok?”

“I need a minute, Maysilee.” Shit. Fuck. “Madge. I’m sorry. I meant Madge.”

Too late. Y/N’s mother bursts into tears, clutching at her head.

Madge’s face crumples, “it’s ok, Haymitch. I know you didn’t mean to.” This happens a lot, not with Haymitch, but her mother. Maysilee or Merrilee. I’m whoever you want me to be.

He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“They took them all, they took them!”

“Melodiee, please my love.” Y/N’s father sighs, stepping around his daughters to his wife. “Where’s your medicine?”

With the commotion, Everest begins to cry.

“It’s ok,” Y/N forces a smile, looking down at her son. “You’re ok.”

Haymitch moves, as if in a trance toward his son. Oh my baby. My poor, sweet baby. What have I done? Can I spare you? He says nothing, caressing the back of Everest’s head. No, I fear, they will not let me spare you.

One might find humor in the fact that a rocking horse could cause a family to collapse; splintering apart on what should be a happy day.

The Undersees clear out, leaving only Haymitch, Y/N and Everest. Who still needs to be rocked to sleep, despite what the morning may bring.

Y/N sits with Everest in the rocking chair of his nursery. They’d hoped to wean him off of nursing, but tonight he is too restless. And Y/N is too tired to be in this chair any longer than necessary.

She hums and sways until the little hand fisted in her shirt releases. He’s out like a light.

Haymitch watches from the doorway as Y/N eases their son into his crib. Waiting until she closes the door to his room before speaking. “I took it to the other house.”

The ‘other house’ had once been hers. Now plagued with unwanted cameras and haunted horses.

She nods, before taking his face in her hands. “Haymitch, I know that after everything we’ve been through, things can seem worse or bigger than they are. It happens to me too. But if anything, Snow just wanted to rile you up. I don’t think the horse means anything.”

“We got thrown off the chariots. Louella died and I took her body to him using a horse that looked just like that.”

“I know,” Y/N nods, “I hear you.”

“Tributes are drawn by black horses in the parade while the anthem plays.” Haymitch snarls, “Snow wants him for the games.”

“Then we have eleven years to change his mind.”

“Beetee had twelve.” Haymitch’s heart is beating itself out of his chest. “We’re raising a lamb for the slaughter.”

“No,” Y/N stops him. “No we’re not.” She passes her thumb over his cheek. “We can learn from Beetee. We’re gonna play our parts, we’re gonna do whatever Snow says.”

Haymitch knows he should object, this isn’t what Y/N wants. She longs to be wild and free, to storm the Capitol, guns blazing. But he needs her, like air, to breathe. “It’s too late, Y/N. He knows.”

“He knows what?” Y/N breathes.

“That I love-” Haymitch tries to stop it, to stuff the words back down, but he can’t. “You! I love you and he knows.”

“Oh, Haymitch.”

He presses a hand to his mouth to contain the unbidden sob.

Y/N wraps her arms around him. “I love you too.”

He clings to her, as though she will slip right through his fingers. “I love-” he wants to tell her a hundred, thousand times, but the words burn, like acid in his throat.

“I know,” Y/N strokes his hair, the same color as their son’s. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

He holds her and weeps. For his Pa, Ma and Sid. For Maysilee and Louella and Lou Lou. For Wyatt and Ampert. And for Beetee, who surely lives in unimaginable pain. For Lenore Dove, who despite her own untimely death, surely sent him an angel. “Everyone I love is dead; except for you and that little boy. Everyone I love.”

“I’m so sorry, Haymitch.” Y/N buries her face in the junction between his neck and shoulder. Kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, doing everything she can to ease his pain. “So sorry.”

Even she can’t stop it. He is broken, defeated and tired. I cannot lose you.

“We’ll be alright.” Y/N promises, “I’ll do what it takes to stay right here with you and keep Everest safe.”

He brings her impossibly closer. I cannot lose Everest. “He’s ours.”

“It’s like you’ve always said, if we make the Capitol fall in love with him, they won’t be eager to watch him fight to the death.” Y/N believes that, she has to.

She’s right, he knows she is. But he’s at the point of no return, words cannot calm him.

“Here,” Y/N snakes a hand between them to unbutton his pants. She knows it is wrong, to comfort him this way. To place a bandage over a bullet wound but she can’t stand his tears. Or the sound of his ragged breathing, cannot bear the thought of him in any kind of pain.

Haymitch helps her shuck his pants down around his ankles, knowing they stand no chance of making it to the bed.

“Ask me again.” Y/N pants, against his mouth. Gentle fingers find the waistband of her panties, forcing them to the ground.

“What?” Haymitch can’t think of anything beyond shoving himself inside her, as deep as he possibly can, on the hallway floor.

“It’s real,” Y/N gasps, welcoming the feel of his length stretching her. “Ask me again.”

“I wanted to do something special.” Not now, within an inch of losing his mind.

“This is special,” Y/N assures him. “Ask me again, I want to be your wife.” If we’re running out of time…I want to be your wife.

“Marry me.” Haymitch says, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Marry me and you’ll never be alone. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours. I want to be your husband.” He admits, “I want you to be my wife. Marry me.”

“Yes.” Y/N nods.

Haymitch kisses the side of her face, the corner of her mouth, relishing her little whimpers. Rutting against her harder, faster, until he feels the familiar flutter of her walls around him. Milking him dry.

Y/N sighs contently as Haymitch’s arms give out and he rests his full weight against her.

“I wanna do a toasting.” Haymitch tells her.

Y/N yawns. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, angel,” he smiles, “tomorrow.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch wakes to the sound of Everest fussing in his crib. The noise used to send him sprinting from bed, to see what danger had befallen his son, but he knows better now.

“Sometimes babies cry, Haymitch.” Y/N reminds him, “he’s alright. Just wants a clean diaper and milk. Or to be held for a while; he’ll calm right down.”

Haymitch sits up, stretching both arms above his head. Y/N is sound asleep beside him. He presses a kiss to her head before padding down to their son’s room.

Everest leans against the pristine, white slats of his crib. Peeking out to see who’s come to his rescue. “Dada.”

Haymitch grins. “Good morning.”

Everest squeals as he’s lifted from the confines of his bed.

“Well, kid, I’ve got bad news.”

Everest babbles, shaking about the rattle laid beside him on the changing table.

Haymitch tosses the soiled diaper into the waste basket. “Your mama is still sleeping and we need eggs to make breakfast.”

“Mamamamama.”

“Which means we have to raid one of those wild goose nests outback.”

Everest only smiles as his father dresses him for the day.

“They don’t like me very much, so I’m hoping to distract them with your cuteness.” Haymitch tells him. “Not sure how well it’ll work, given that you look like me and all, but it’s worth a shot.”

[ssweeterthanfiction]

heyyy i’ve 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 brother’s 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.

You’d 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 Burdock’s 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 weren’t.

Until Haymitch started looking at you differently.

Every now and then, you’d 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 “sweetheart."

It was dangerous, that nickname. It made your heart flutter in a way you could never explain. It wasn’t like you hadn’t 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 Burdock’s little sister.

But that was just a fantasy, right? Haymitch couldn’t like you that way. You were the kid he looked after, the girl who tagged along to make sure he didn’t forget to laugh once in a while. He didn’t have time for someone like you.

“Someday, one day,” you’d whisper to yourself late at night, as you stared at the stars, convincing yourself that it was nothing more than a silly crush. You weren’t 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? You’d 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, you’d 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 wouldn’t find you called out, low and teasing.

“You get lost, sweetheart?”

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, didn’t he?

“No,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you crossed your arms, the breeze ruffling your hair. “Just wanted to get away from the noise.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Haymitch said, taking a few slow steps toward you. He glanced around at the woods, his eyes narrowing a little. “But you do know it’s getting dark, right? You might want to head back before it gets too late.”

You smile faintly, your gaze lingering on the horizon where the sun was just starting to dip below the treeline. “Maybe I just like it out here. Feels...quieter. Like the world stops for a second.”

There was a pause. Haymitch didn’t speak right away, his gray eyes scanning you with a sort of intensity that made your heart skip. “One day, I’ll figure out why you always look at things like that,” he said, his voice soft, more serious than you’d ever heard it before.

You tilted your head, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

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.

“I mean,” Haymitch started, his voice quieter now, “you see the world differently than most people. You don’t 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 he’d 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 wasn’t sure if he should be doing this.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, the nickname now feeling tender, almost like a confession, “you don’t get it, do you?”

You blinked up at him, confusion and hope swirling in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he continued, his voice now low and full of something raw, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Not since… well, not since I actually started to...see you...” he paused, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve tried to keep my distance. Tried to ignore it, but you make it damn near impossible.”

Your heart raced in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “But…I thought you didn’t see me that way.”

“Been tryin’ not to. For a while now. Figured I’d be the worst kind of idiot, wantin’ my best friend’s little sister.”

You swallowed hard. “But you do?”

His laugh was soft. “Every damn day.”

You stared at him, your voice catching in your throat. “Then why haven’t you said anything?”

He looked away, up toward the woods where the deer were starting to step into the clearing, quiet and watchful. “Because if I let myself want you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

Silence fills the air as you look at him with a soft gaze...then...

“You drive me crazy,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re all I think about lately. When I’m out by the meadow, when I’m with Burdock, when I try to sleep- hell, even when I try not to think at all.”

You stared at him, speechless, your mind reeling. The boy you’d 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.

“So...you...you like me? Like that?”

Haymitch’s gaze softened, and his smile was gentle now, sincere. “More than you’ll 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. You’d spent so long wondering if this was just a fantasy, if you were just imagining something that wasn’t there. But now, standing in the dimming light of the woods, with Haymitch Abernathy looking at you like he’d 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. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you. How many times I’ve stopped myself because I didn’t want to make everything weird…but I can’t anymore. Not after everything I’ve been feeling. Not after how much I’ve missed this.”

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.

“Haymitch…” 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 didn’t pull away. You didn’t 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 wasn’t just a dream.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ve spent so many nights just thinking about you, about us, but I didn’t know how to make it happen. I didn’t want to risk losing you, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t have to risk losing me, Haymitch. I...I feel the same way.”

His smile, a soft, sincere curve of his lips, made your heart flutter. “Yeah? Well, in that case…”

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 he’d 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. “You’re something else, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “I’ve never wanted anything more than this.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you. “Me neither, Haymitch.”

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.

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 7)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

SOTR spoilers

Part 6

Y/N doesn’t know Haymitch terribly well, but she does know him better than most. So she can tell by the look on his face that someone did have a bug in their ear. And that someone had once been very dear to him. “Haymitch, I don’t need to know everything.” She sighs.

“No, I-” he breaks off, in an attempt to collect himself. “I’ll tell you.” I’d tell you anything.

“Let’s sit.” She leads him to the couch, grabbing one of the open bottles from the coffee table and holding it out to him.

His response is caught between a snicker and a sneer. “You might want a swig or two for this one, angel.”

Y/N plops down beside him, raising the alcohol to her lips and choking down a few mouthfuls.

Haymitch accepts her offering when she holds the liquor out again. Chugging down the remains of the half empty bottle before he begins. “Back in my day, we didn’t have the pretty, well trained, ponies you did.”

The games are ever changing, more ‘show’ each year. Like the Capitol is trying to outdo itself. Even Y/N’s stay at the tribute center was less grand than the accommodations made for Maximus and Denali. “Sure.”

“Some idiot let a firecracker loose, spooked the horses and they threw us off. The other female tribute from district twelve…her name was Louella McCoy.”

‘Turns out, somethin’ like this happened before. With the McCoy’s girl.’

Haymitch feels Y/N’s hand close over his. “I tried to get to her.”

“Of course you did.”

“It happened quick.” He tells her. “Louella was gone. I wasn’t sure what would happen. They needed her for the games.” Not like back in the early days when tributes were lost before the arena. They needed four tributes from district twelve. “Maysilee told me they were going to take her body. I couldn’t let them. Not yet.”

Y/N nods, hanging off every word.

“I jumped back on the only chariot with any chance of ending up at the mansion and showed Snow what he’d done. Applauded him even.”

“I’m sure he loved that.”

Haymitch chuckles, reaching for another open bottle. “When they finally did take her, I thought it was over.”

How could they bring her back to life?

“I received a belated birthday present from the president himself.” Haymitch tosses back another swallow. “It was ‘Louella McCoy.’”

“How?” There is something sick about the inflection in his voice.

“We called her Lou Lou.”

“So if she wasn’t Louella, who was she?”

“Our best guess was a rebel’s kid out of district eleven.” Haymitch squeezes his eyes shut against the unbidden image of the girl. “They’d starved her, injected something into her face to make it fuller. They…” He can hardly bring himself to say it, “god, Y/N, I don’t even know what they did to her.”

Y/N shifts closer, wrapping her arms around him.

“They had some kid of device in her ear that controlled her.” Haymitch recounts, “Wyatt died trying to save that little girl. He didn’t even know her real name.”

‘The Callow boy died a while before she did and didn’t smell half as foul when he got home.’

“I can’t imagine they buried her.”

“I’m sorry, Haymitch.”

“What aired in the districts…they doctored it.” Haymitch tells her, “there were things that happened in that arena they didn’t want anyone to know.”

Y/N guides the bottle in his hand to her own mouth. The liquid is still foul, burning its way down her esophagus.

“You told Plutarch you wanted to break the board.” Haymitch breathes, “I need you to know that I’ve already tried. It’s not possible.”

“Maybe we just had to be on the outside.”

“Angel.”

“Maybe we have to keep playing the game for while. But I think we can do it together. We can still break the board.”

“It will take years of playing the game.” He warns, “people are gonna hate you for it.”

“People already hate me.” Y/N scoffs.

“They’re going to hate you more.”

“Then they can hate me.” She decides, “one day they’ll understand.”

“I can’t let you do that to yourself.” Haymitch argues.

“You can’t stop me.” Y/N arches a brow.

He groans, tossing his head back against the sofa. Staring up at the ceiling as he releases a disgruntled, “I’m tired, Maysilee! Your niece doesn’t listen for shit and she’s drinking up all my hooch.”

Y/N laughs, a deep belly laugh that fills the baron walls of Haymitch’s house with joy. Breathing life back into it. Making it a home. “He’s lying, Lee. He’s the one who doesn’t listen.”

“Lee?” Maysilee never struck him as a ‘Lee.’

“It’s kind of silly,” Y/N says. “When I was really little, I couldn’t remember who was Maysilee and who was Merrilee. So I called them both Lee, when I got old enough to tell the difference it was too late. The name stuck.”

“Nicknames’ll do that.”

“It’s weird sometimes…how much you miss people who’ve been gone longer than you ever knew them.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch’s mouth twitches. Love is funny that way.

“That’s why we have to break the board, Haymitch.”

Haymitch grins, passing a hand over his face. “I’m not agreeing to anything, but that was a great pitch. I’ll give you that.”

“Come on, Haymitch!” Emboldened by the alcohol, Y/N turns toward him, straddling his hips. Their noses pressed together.

He can’t help but laugh, resting his hands against her waist.

“Everyone is rooting for us.”

“This is very compelling,” he assures her.

“We can do this.”

Haymitch inhales, pulling his face away from hers, a fraction of an inch. “I will consider it.”

She’s kissing him then, hot and heavy, hands buried in his hair.

His own hands wandering, catching on a folded piece of paper in the back pocket of her pants. It falls to the floor.

Neither of them can be bothered with it.

————————————————————————

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Y/N rubs at her eyes, forcing them open.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Someone is pounding at the front door.

Haymitch is still sleeping soundly, one arm draped over her waist.

“Haymitch,” Y/N shakes the limb, gently.

“Hmm?”

“There’s someone at the door.”

“And they can stay there until morning.” Haymitch nuzzles against her shoulder.

“Y/N!” The mayor calls, “Haymitch!”

“It’s my dad.” Y/N springs from the bed. Tossing one of the nightgowns, gifted by the Capitol, over her head. Shrugged on the matching robe.

Haymitch is slower to dress, pulling on pair of black silk shorts and button up pajama set.

In their slippers and bedhead, the victors of district twelve meet him at the door.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N demands, breathlessly.

“I’m so sorry,” her father pulls her in for a hug. “The house is up in flames.”

“What house?”

“The Carell house.”

No.

No.

No.

“They’re in the house.”

Haymitch rushes past them, taking off like a bat out of hell. Sprinting from Victors’ Village to the house at the far end of the seam.

The scene is familiar to him. The fire, everyone running either to or from it. Buckets of water that do little but fizzle in the heat.

“Are they still in there?” Haymitch asks one of the bystanders.

“Where else would they be? We ain’t all got a village to ourselves.”

I hate this. Haymitch is now the one holding someone he loves away from the flames, as they beg and scream to be released. I hate this.

The fire takes the house down to the studs, despite everyone’s best efforts. The Carell house is gone and so are they.

“Everyone please return to your homes, we are looking into this!” The mayor’s voice booms into the night air.

Onlookers scurry away from them and the shadow of death and destruction that follows. As though they are cursed…perhaps they are.

————————————————————————-

When there is nothing else to be done, Y/N and Haymitch are dismissed.

“If there’s any word, you’ll be the first to know.” Y/N’s father promises.

So they return to Haymitch’s house, locking the door behind them. In a state of shock, Y/N moves toward the nearest piece of furniture to lie down.

“No,” Haymitch steers her away from the couch. “You need to bathe, you’re covered soot.”

Y/N stares down at her hands, stained with ash and dirt. She allows him to march her up the stairs and draw her a bath.

Haymitch washes her meticulously, though he himself remains dirty. The water is black when he’s finished. So he drains it, only to fill it again. When he is satisfied, he towels her off. “Do you think you can get dressed while I shower?”

Y/N nods.

He doesn’t dare close the door between them. The distance from the bedroom to the ensuite is excruciating enough.

She’s two bottles deep when he returns, passed out on the duvet, with the evidence in each hand.

Haymitch moves them away. Glass clattering to the floor. This game is going to break your heart. She is different than him. Better. Not nearly as selfish. Oh no, my angel. This game is not for you.

————————————————————————

Haymitch wakes to the afternoon sun, the mattress is cool where Y/N had been. He sets out in search of her, finding Y/N standing at the fireplace; note in hand.

As he moves closer, Haymitch is able to make out the words etched into the parchment.

‘Burn after reading.’

Part 8

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00 @solacestyles @inky-sun @dadbodfanatic-x @sandorcleganeslutt @indigoashh @mustainelove @darkened-writer @ch3rrybutterfly @boredomquest @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @kisskittenn @kwllakka @feeblemindedfool @oopsieikilledan @that-one-fangirl69 @just-levyy @thisisthepartwhereishutup @alixxhere @quackitys-amor @pepelachanel @lurkingsparrow @faithalsip09 @cwallace02sblog @animaloversammy @peachiesnsilk @libbyaller @juiceboxfullofslime @libra-2409 @heidiland05 @evansorry @caraxes-syrax

[drfleetflower]

Mislaid Conviction

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

Summary: You're recovering from the Capitol torture in District 13. The only person left to comfort you is Haymitch, which brings up weird feelings you're not able to face yet.

Warnings: Angst, light fluff, mentions of torture, mentions of alcohol/drinking, mentions of medical drugs, self-deprecation, mentions of therapy

WC: 2.2k

Part Two

As a victor who was reaped in the 75th Hunger Games and part of the rebellion, the odds were the furthest from in your favor. You weren’t rescued from the arena. Nor were you rescued from the six weeks of torture. But now you were rescued. After the damage had already been done.

Sure, you knew that the goal was never you. Katniss Everdeen was the face of the rebellion and at least you made it out of the arena, right? Many hadn’t. So that was something to be grateful for; your life. Your life was something to be grateful for. 

Did it hurt that the only man- only person that you trusted had left you to die in the Capitol hands? That was what the shrink they assigned to you should have asked. He asked how you felt about not being rescued the day Katniss blew open the arena’s sky. So you answered vaguely about District 13’s need for Katniss in these and those trying times. But the answer to the real question? Yeah. Yeah, it hurt like hell. But you wouldn’t be able to tell the deep need for repair of the relationship with the way Haymitch walked so casually into your hospital room.

His eyes scanned your face, searching for clues to your well-being. "How's the pain, sweetheart?" he asked softly. Softly. Was he pitying you? The thought made your blood boil.

“Painful.” You said quite ambiguously. 

He clearly didn’t appreciate the answer but didn’t make an effort to press, instead looking around the silent, white room. "How about sleep?"

You sighed, but decided to answer the question. "I can only get it with whatever drugs they give me. And usually the nightmares still wake me up anyway."

A deep line formed between his brow. "Have you talked to anyone about them?"

You didn’t even really want to talk in general, your throat sore from screaming, but especially not to a stranger who thinks they can fix you. Hell, you didn’t want to talk to Haymitch. Why were you? “They gave me a therapist but I haven’t said a word to him.”

“Why not?” Haymitch asked, but he clearly didn’t look surprised. 

You shrugged. “I don’t trust him.” Did you trust Haymitch anymore though? 

He seemed to mull over this for a moment. “I guess I can understand that. But… don’t you think talking it out might help?” It sounded forced.

You looked at him like he was insane for suggesting the idea, immediately thinking how hypocritical that was. But you find yourself answering the question earnestly instead of throwing it back in his face. “I don’t know… I get- I just don’t like to think about it.” How did he always seem to weasel some emotion out of you? You’re supposed to be mad at him right now. You’re supposed to hate him right now. Yet, here you are, answering his questions and wondering why he’s asking them in the first place since it’s so unlike him. 

"Can't say I blame you, sweetheart," he admitted quietly, "but at some point you have to face it."

You looked down, not answering. To which he studied your face for a moment before speaking again. "Do you have anybody outside of me to talk to? Friends, family?"

“You know I don’t.” You said, harsher than you intended, but Haymitch didn’t strike back.

He just exhaled quietly. "Yeah, I just thought I'd check." His eyes flicked around the bland hospital room, as if searching for some help.

“It’s just you.” It hurt to say. Because it was true. There was no one else for you except Haymitch and so hating him… Where did that get you? Alone, that’s what.

Haymitch's expression softened a bit more and he looked sad. "Well, I'll be here as long as you need me." 

Who was this man? Sure he had helped you survive the Hunger Games and navigate being a victor afterwards but never had he been so emotional about it. So forthcoming with care and understanding. He always preferred to grunt anytime you said a sweet thing (which wasn’t often but still), or drown in a bottle instead of having a serious conversation about his past. Oh, that was part of it for sure. They definitely weren’t giving him alcohol here. You looked him over, you had seen him sober-ish before but this was different. You realized he looked… Awful.

And despite the twinge of sympathy, you figured you might as well say as much. “You look like shit, by the way.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. You expected some good ol’ banter, ‘you don’t look too hot yourself, sweetheart’, you missed that. Instead, “Thanks.”

You frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”

He looked up at you, someone else might not be able to, but you could tell he was at the very least; annoyed. “What?” The word was slightly snippy.

"Is it because I’m in the hospital?" 

He became more impatient. "What?'"

“You’re not- I don’t know, you.” You tried to explain, your brows furrowed with your own frustration. “It’s weird. You’re so.. docile.” You continue, maybe in order to get a rise out of him.

Haymitch crossed his arms in protest. "Okay, hold on. Don't get used to this, got it? It's only because you need me to be nice to you."

"Yeah, I might just break if you speak too loudly?" You snarked.

"Yeah, pretty much." He snapped back.

"There we go.” You smirked in a way you knew irritated him, finally having gotten something normal out of him.

He still looked annoyed for a moment before he just chuckled and shook his head, giving up the facade. "Alright, well, just so you know… I intend to return to my usual self once you get all patched up."

“I doubt it.” You sighed, folding your hands on your lap.

Haymitch's brows shot up in surprise at another unexpected admission from you. "Oh yeah?" He asked. "You think I've softened?"

You giggled. "Definitely. You're a big softie now."

"A big softie?" Haymitch shook his head earnestly. "You're crazy. I'm still as angry and bitter as I ever was. I’m like this now because...well..." he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish the thought.

"Because... They took away your alcohol?" You brought up.

Haymitch grunted in annoyance which made you smile. "Yeah, I suppose that could have something to do with it," he muttered, still not willing to admit that was the only reason for his newfound care. But you assumed it was. That, and maybe a hint of guilt for leaving you to die.

You decided to play in idle chit chat. "How are you doing with that transition?" 

Haymitch scowled at your question. "It's not been easy," he admitted. "The first long bit, I was the meanest I’ve probably ever been. Good thing you weren’t around, you would've loved that.” You tried to keep from scrunching your nose at that comment. Good thing you were being tortured in the Capitol? He continued, “Not gonna lie, I've thought about breaking the rules a few times, but I've refrained because I don't wanna screw up getting you out of here...or getting myself in trouble."

Your bitterness was quickly thrown out the window for the opportunity to mess with him. Some might call it flirting, but flirting with Haymitch didn’t sound right. It was just harmless… Something-ing. "Awww, you quit for me?" You bat your eyelashes, acting overly affectionate. And when he rolled his eyes, you laughed, bringing on a coughing fit. 

Haymitch's expression shifted to concern as he heard you cough, "Hey, you alright?" He asked, his tone now serious.

You swallowed thickly. “Define ‘alright.’” 

He frowned and you continued to cough, throwing up your hands in exhaustion. "I just want to be out of this place." You groaned. "I'm useless and ugly, I'm all stitched up and bruised, broken." And there you went again, telling him things you wouldn’t anyone else. Letting him see inside your messed up brain because surely he can help? You trusted him to help, not anyone else. No matter how much you desperately try to tell yourself you hate him now. n

Haymitch sighed, his expression reflecting a mix of sadness and understanding. "Look, I know you're in a tough spot right now, but... this is temporary. You’ll be back into action in… Well, at some point." He tried, not actually sure what your recovery time is. 

“I just feel… gross.” You continued to complain anyway. 

Haymitch's frown deepened at your frustrated admission. "Gross?" He asked, genuine concern making way for a bit of humor. "What, because of how you look? Cause I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sweetheart, but you don’t look much different.”

A small part of you wanted to at least give him a smile in appreciation of his attempt at cheering you up, but you didn’t. Instead, you chose to wallow even more in self pity. So, he sighed and went back to seriousness. "Listen, you're not gross just because you've gone through something painful. Healing takes time. You're still..." He trailed off, hesitating before continuing. "...you're still as attractive as ever."

You rolled your eyes, hoping the way your face heated up didn’t show. And why did your face heat up anyway? Sure, you’d gotten flustered around him before but not because he had said something like that. Such a clear compliment, not a drunken observation. The delivery made a shiver go down your spine.

But if he noticed the tint to your cheeks he didn’t comment on it. He just chuckled at your eye roll. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. You're not interested in compliments or reassurances?" he grumbled. "You'd much rather have me back to my bitter old self, snapping at you and calling you stupid."

You firmly shook your head. "No... I like the new Haymitch." Then silence. Then staring. Then more color to your cheeks. Then you coughed again. He handed you a glass of water and you took a sip once you could.

He silently watched you as you took sip after sip, trying to calm your throat. And then, because today was apparently all about emotions, he sighed. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

You felt more pressure on your throat, an involuntary spasm maybe, that made it impossible to say anything that wasn’t sarcastic. "See? I told you I was all gross and ugly."

Haymitch's expression darkened at that statement. "Hey, don't talk about yourself like that," he said firmly, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're not gross or ugly, got it? You're injured and healing. That doesn't diminish your worth or your attractiveness."

“So I’m just stupid then, huh?” You tried to keep the smile off your face.

He didn’t try. “Yeah, just stupid.” His eyes fell down and he took in a breath. “Now, don’t go actually believing that, okay sweetheart?”

"Well, if I wasn't stupid, I would've been able to get out of the arena too."

Haymitch sighed, clearly frustrated with your flip-flopping emotions. He shook his head emphatically, his expression a mix of irritation and sadness. "No, don't go there," he said firmly. "None of it was your fault. You didn't choose to be in the arena. You didn't choose to get hurt. Blaming yourself for things that are out of your control is just a waste of energy."

"It wasn't out of my control. If I had paid better attention to what was happening, you could've gotten me out too." You insisted. 

“That’s not true. You did the best you could. And, hey, you’re still here. That’s something.” He sounded as if he was now trying to convince himself, his hand gripping the arm of his chair tightly.

You scoffed. "What? So at least I'm not dead? Trust me, there were times when I wished they'd be so kind as to kill me."

Haymitch’s frown deepened at your dark admission. “Don’t-” He sighs. “What happened in there?”

You tilted your head at the question before shaking it, your mouth shut and your gaze away from him.

He abandoned the question quickly, like flicking a switch. “Don’t go there, alright? There are people who care about you.. Who would miss you if you were gone.”

You looked at him and raised a brow, waiting for him to continue but he just stared back at you, making no effort to. So, you held his gaze and now there was a challenge there. You two were unblinking and you wondered who would break first. But you didn’t wonder for long as Haymitch looked away after a surprisingly short time.

You tried to catch his eyes again, smirking. “Come on. Say it.” You said.

"Say what?" He asked, feigning ignorance, knowing precisely what you were insinuating. 

"I dare you..." You replied in a sing-song voice.

Haymitch chuckled at your eager expression, his eyes locked onto yours once again. "Alright, alright," he said, an amused glint in his eyes. "You want me to say it? I will..." He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze intense as he spoke. "I...care about you. You, you stubborn, pain in the ass girl."

You chuckled at his admission. Of course there would be a little insult to act as a barrier. But there it was, so you returned it against your better judgment. "I care about you too. You cranky old man."

Part Two

[auroralwriting]

gracie abrams songfic challenge

mess it up - billy dunne x reader (out 4.14)

us - finnick odair x reader (out 4.16)

long sleeves - billy dunne x camila!reader (out 4.18)

wishful thinking - haymitch abernathy x reader (out 4.20)

the blue - finnick odair x reader (out 4.22)

this is my first ever songfic challenge and im sooo thrilled to be doing it with my girl gracie! each fic will come out two days after the last one, links to them will be here and on my masterlist! ୨୧

[your-averagewriter]

hi! Would mind writing a part two to your young!Haymitch x reader? Maybe with both of them winning and just developing a relationship through the aftermath.

Summary: Haymitch and (y/n) struggle to adjust after getting out of the Games together but find comfort in each other.

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: Kissing, swearing, mention of gore (a little at the start, not really though).

-

-

“Are you ready to go home?” Haymitch asks, snapping me out of my frozen state, staring out of the window of the train.

I turn to look at him, seeing the empty train cart, unable to stop seeing the two other tributes from our district, they came with us and now we’re leaving without them. Their bodies lie on the floor and are draped across the table, forcing me to see their mutilated states.

“I’m gonna throw up.” I say after a second, standing up and hurrying to the bathroom on the train cart, my hand covering my mouth.

“(y/n)?” I hear before I fall to my knees in front of the toilet, throwing up into the bowl, gripping the sides to stabilise myself. Haymitch pulls my hair out of the way and rests his other hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He asks during a break in throwing up.

I lean back, sitting on the back of my feet as I look back to face Haymitch, wiping my face with one of the towels provided.

“I’m just not feeling very well.” I say, standing up slowly and walking back out to the main section of the train cart once I’m sure I’m done throwing up.

“Come on, (y/n), what’s wrong? We both know that’s not it.” He says as we sit down by the window again, I turn to look out the window, staring at the scenery despite the train not moving yet.

“They’re not here.” I say quietly.

“Who’s not here? Do you want me to get the escort lady or shitty mentor guy?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly confused.

“The other two tributes from 12.” I say. “They came but they’re not leaving. They won’t ever leave.” I mumble, resting my head on my hand, wiping away a tear by my eye.

“Don’t think about them.” He says gruffly and I’m slightly appalled by his uncaring statement towards dead children.

“Don’t think about them? Are you telling me you don’t feel bad about any of it, sad, guilty, anything?” I ask, my voice is louder as I get more upset.

“No, I don’t.” He pauses as I stare at him confused and disappointed. “Because if it didn’t happen then you wouldn’t be here and neither would I.”

His response shocks me. “What?” I ask quietly.

“You’re alive, I’m alive, that’s all I care about at the moment and so should you.” He says more softly, opening his arms and offering me a much needed hug.

Shuffling towards him, I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his chest.

“Let’s just think about getting home first and all the fancy food we can eat on this train.” I chuckle at the end of his sentence and it’s clear he’s trying to distract me. He places a kiss to the top of my head before standing up, taking my hand and leading me after him.

“Come on, let’s cost them some money.” I chuckle again, standing up with him and wiping a final tear from my cheek as we walk to the food carts.

Walking into the next heart lays a table full of fancy food and colourful drinks.

“Oh my god they have whipped cream.” I smile as I quickly sit at the table, Haymitch not far behind, chuckling at my newfound excitement. “I’ve only had whipped cream like…” I pause thinking. “Once.” I reach for one of the deserts covered in whipped cream, placing it in front of me and swiping some of the cream with my finger, lifting it to my mouth and tentatively tasting it. “You need to try it.” I smile, reaching for one of the spoons and scooping a bit and feeding it to Haymitch.

“That is good.” He says smirking.

I turn back to the table, seeing a bowl of strawberries and liquid chocolate to dip them in whilst Haymich grabs his own food.

Dipping a strawberry in chocolate, I taste the delicious combination, making a bit of a mess with the chocolate but enjoying it nonetheless.

“You’ve made it a bit of a mess with that chocolate, it’s all over your lips.” He says and quickly moves towards me pressing his lips against mine, cleaning the chocolate with a satisfied hum. “Delicious.” He pulls back, smirking at my flustered state.

“You caught me off guard, don’t look too proud.” I huff, biting into another strawberry.

-----------

The train pulls up to the station and I’m instantly jumping up from my chair to get to the door, not expecting the crowd that appears in front of me when the door opens.

“Mum?” I ask quietly, my voice being drowned out as I search over the crowd, looking for her.

Haymitch appears behind me after a moment and is blinded by the bright light of the sun and deafened by the sounds of the crowds.

“Fucking hell.” He groans as I look over the crowd, still looking until I see her waving, kept back  by the crowd a little while away.

“Mum? Mum!” I shout as I disappear into the crowd, avoiding the questions as I dart past people and into my mum’s open arms. Upon closer inspection I can see the tears that stain her cheeks and the weight she’s lost whilst I was gone, I imagine she can feel the same has happened to me.

After reuniting with my mother, she heads home to pack herself, ready for us to move into Victors’ Village. Some of the crowds have dissipated so I look around for Haymitch, wondering where he went, knowing he’s not the biggest fan of crowds.

“Haymitch?” I cup my hands around my mouth calling his name whilst looking around. “Haymitch?” I wander around before seeing him leaning back against a tree, eating an apple from the train. “Haymitch.” I smile, walking over to him. “You okay?” I ask softly, sitting next to him and resting my head on his shoulder. “I know you don’t like the crowds.”

“What’s there to like? No one’s even waiting for me.” He grunts out.

“Your dad didn’t come?” I ask gently, knowing his dad is a sore subject as he’s always been a little absent in Haymitch’s life. Actually, him not turning up to meet Haymitch is quite in character for him but Haymitch just shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” I say quietly.

“‘S not your fault.” He mumbles fiddling with a small blade from the train, cutting off bits of an apple.

“They gave me a house, a real fancy one in the village down there.” I point. “You’ve got one too, we can move in when we want.” I try to lighten the mood. “Do you wanna check it out?” I offer with a small smile, trying to distract him a little.

“Fancy houses? Like rewards?” I shrug.

“I guess so.” He chuckles darkly. 

“That sounds about right from the President.” I nod and we both stand up, walking to the village.

Feeling the cold nipping at my skin I walk close beside Haymitch, reaching for his hand in an attempt to warm myself up.

“There’s like ten houses here, which ones do we get?” He asks, looking around.

“These closest ones have name plaques on them.” I say, leading him to one of the houses and seeing my name engraved on a gold plaque. “I guess this is mine.” I quirk a small smile, excited as the door clicks open and we walk in.

It’s silent except the sound of creaking floorboards under our feet as we explore the house, hand in hand still. 

“This house is massive.” I say in awe as we walk around, inspecting the rooms. “There’s like a million rooms.” I chuckle excitedly as he follows me around, entertaining my exploration with a small smile. “Do you think your house is built differently?” 

“I don’t know, love but I’m sure you’re gonna take me to look in a minute.” I nod, a telling smile on my face as we both know it’s true.

“You know,” I pause. “You could stay with us.” I say, turning to face him as we walk down the stairs.

He quirks an eyebrow, looking slightly confused.

“If you didn’t want to stay with your dad, I mean there’s plenty of space in this house, so many bedrooms!” I chuckle. “You don’t have to, but the offer’s there.” I smile softly.

“No, I’d like that.” He says, a smile emerging on his face. “Sounds real nice. It’d do us both some good.” He says and I look at him confused.

“Your nightmares, I know you don’t think I know about ‘em.” He says as I react a little shocked.

“So you’ll help with my nightmares and I’ll help with your antisocial tendencies?”

“Antisocial tendencies?” He scoffs.

“Your habit of ignoring and avoiding people.” I point out and he is forced to conceive. “You won’t be able to ignore me if we live in the same house.” I chuckle.

“Are you trapping me? This sounds like kidnapping…” He jokes.

“It’s not kidnapping because you want to be with me.” I point out with a smirk as we walk into the kitchen, still looking around.

“Goddamn right I wanna be with you.” He says, lifting me up in the air, causing me to shriek slightly in surprise before he presses his lips against mine.

He places me back down on the ground but doesn’t pull his lips away from mine, instead wrapping his arms around my waist leaving my hands free to reach around his neck, pulling him closer to me. 

He pushes his lips against mine, harsh but not too harsh, pouring all the pent up emotions from the last few weeks into the kiss, the passion and fears combined. My fingers tangle in the threads of his hair, the soft curls situated on the back of his head.

“(y/n)!” I hear my mum shout through the house before walking in the door, not giving us time to separate or jump apart before she appears with a few bags in hand. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She says, looking a little embarrassed although not as much as us. “I’ll leave. It was nice to meet you, Haymitch.” She says quietly before walking out the door.

Once I hear the door close, signalling she’s walked out the house, I bury my head in Haymitch’s chest, cheeks burning as he chuckles lowly.

“Your mother seems nice.” He jokes and I groan only causing him to laugh more.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

Sorry I'm taking a while to get through requests!

I have rewritten this part two at least four times, I'm glad I've finally got a better version to post.

[elektrantchios]

be enough? | h.a

pairing: haymitch abernathy x gn!reader

summary: Reader watches Haymitch propo

word count: 500 ish

warnings: mentions of what happens to desirable victors, death (what happened to haymitch’s family), swearing, angst and fluff

a/n: written in 3rd person, wanted to try something new 😅 hunger games trending has me really thinking of new fics @nebulablakemurphy haymitch fic also a big inspiration (finnick mini series maybe 👀 been playing with an idea for awhile too) Everyone needs to read it.

Very unsure how to feel about this, feedback is highly appreciated

I saw this prompt and thought it was very haymitch

In the control room they watched the screen nervously, the capital was seeing the same thing but would no doubt they would be watching with interest. That had always been how they viewed the tributes and victors, like they all were animals in a zoo.

Finnick had just finished his propo when Haymitch took stage, with a frown the other district 12 victor looked to a guy working the computer. “He agreed to this?”.

The tech guy gave a shrug, “up top said he had something to say”.

Still worried they looked back to the screen, Haymitch had been sober since reaching 13, it was hard at first for both, having to watch him almost broke their heart. But he had risen through the detox and became an almost new man.

“You’ve already heard what Snow did with the wanted Victors, but what you don’t know is what he does when you say no” Haymitch said. He went on to say how everyone he had loved was taken from him. The small details had been known to them, how the way he had won the games cost him his whole family.

By the time Snow was done he was no one to threaten Haymitch with, so he became an example. This is what will happen if you don’t agree.

His jaw tightened. Something was happening in his head, choosing what words to use. He laughed dryly. For a moment they thought he was having a breakdown live for everyone to see.

“For the last 15 years I have been in love with my fellow mentor” the room fell into a hush, all eyes found them, standing still. “The rebels will win and you will not need to live in fear, stand up and join us”.

Something else played but they couldn’t say what, was he even telling the truth? It wouldn’t be the first time he had come up with a lie to move a crowd. Even themselves weren’t a stranger to lying.

Someone called their name as they turned and ran from the room. They ran up all the stairs until what they guessed was half way when they ran straight into Haymitch. He caught them before they fell.

“Watch it sweetheart,” he laughed.

Eyes wide they stepped back, “was it real or not real?” They asked.

Haymitch nodded, watching them.

Their chest shook. “Why did you never tell me?”.

“It was a personal issue,” he shrugged.

“You being in love with me kind of also involves me." They exhaled. They looked down the never ending stairs, then back to Haymitch. “I wouldn’t have expected anything. Not kissing me, not touching me. Fuck we wouldn’t even have to live together. Just you”.

“What kind of love would that be?” he mumbled, his blue eyes shining.

In return they grabbed his jacket and held up close, “enough. I would have you and that’s all I’d ever need. Wouldn’t that have been enough for you?”. His reply didn’t come come, the tears were slowly starting to fall now. “No don’t answer” you shook your head, “this isn’t easy, i know that I do”.

You brushed away a tear from his face.

“When they war is over and we have nothing to fear, i’ll tell you those three words and eight letters and we’ll go from there, okay?”.

“Okay”

[theboardwalkbody]

So I've been kicking around some of those "scenes" from my Haymitch x OFC fic (that's only written in my head). I was thinking about writing one of them but it's kinda the middle of the story (most of these "scenes" I imagined are) so if I post them they are probably going to be out of order and, at the moment, not much connecting them together.

I was thinking about posting each I get to as a standalone thing and adding them to a greater collection so if I do ever end up connecting them I can just stick them together in their own thing.

Anyway- the one that I worked on at work today was a particularly dark scene. Mid Catching Fire. Very, very drunk Haymitch + very, very angry and fearful Haymitch = Very, Very Mean and Aggressive Haymitch.

Starts around the scene where he's watching the quarter quell announcement. I have from there to arrival in District 13 planned so far.

Will be 18+

Wanted to put this out there just to see if anyone would be interested in anything.

[ama0310]

A Pawn Once More

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: For years, Haymitch has kept his biggest secret buried—his love for the one person he couldn’t afford to lose. But when the Quarter Quell announces that tributes will be reaped from the pool of Victors, his worst nightmare becomes reality.

A.N: Scene from Catching Fire. No, I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader.

Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

Part 2: Here

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. As you know, in every Quarter Quell, we do things a little differently. To commemorate the 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, we have decided to add a new twist to the tradition."

"The tributes will be reaped from the pool of existing victors."

The air was thick with the screams and desperate cries of your family, their voices echoing in your ears as your own face twisted in horror. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

After surviving the 66th Hunger Games, after securing your place in history and your district’s fleeting pride, you were supposed to live out your life in something resembling peace. You’d be called back each year to mentor, yes, but never again would you be dragged into the arena. Never again would you face the bloodbath.

But now? Now you were nothing more than a pawn again.

You had to leave. You had to run. Your little brother’s tiny fingers clung desperately to you, his sobs vibrating through your chest as your mother—your mother—threw things in fury, her heartbreak spilling over. Every instinct told you to stay, to comfort them, but you knew better. You had to leave or you’d lose your mind. Or worse, you’d drag them down into your nightmare.

You ran. The pounding of your feet against the dirt was deafening, a frantic rhythm of escape, but your body couldn’t outrun the reality clawing at your soul. You ran until your legs gave out and you collapsed, crumbling to your knees, gasping for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It had to be alright. It had to be. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You wiped away your tears, your breath ragged and uneven, thoughts spinning wildly. Out of the eight victors from your district, only you and one of your mentors were women. And you weren’t about to let your mentor go through the Games again. There was no chance. You knew the nightmares she’d endured, the scars that marked her body. Like you, she had survived, but she wasn’t as capable as she once was when she won during the 47th Games. At least you still had a fighting chance.

Your mind turned to your family next. You just needed them to promise you one thing. They couldn’t watch. They couldn’t watch you die. It was the only mercy you could give them. You couldn’t let them see that.

Your death would rip them apart, you knew it. Your mother would be left without her daughter. Your brother would grow up without his older sister to protect him. Your father, already a shadow of the man he once was, would be broken, lost in the absence of his “princess.” And Haymitch—Haymitch.

The thought of him hit you like a physical blow, your heart constricting in your chest. He’s a victor too. A chilling realization gripped you like ice in your veins. He could be reaped. He could be sent to fight.

Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless, as you gasped, your breath stuttering. The weight of it crushed you. He could be reaped. And that terrifying thought shattered you more than the fear of your own reaping ever could.

You let out a scream—gut-wrenching, heart-shattering—your body shaking as it tore through you. It was a sound so full of anguish, so desperate, it seemed to rip apart the very fabric of the world around you. Haymitch. He could be reaped. And with that, all your nightmares, every awful memory, every twisted fear, came to life.

-----

“Get me that damn tablet,” Haymitch barked, shoving his way through the train car in search of the device. His mind was a tangled mess, his body still buzzing from the alcohol he’d consumed in an attempt to dull the gnawing pain. 

The last few days had been a blur, but he could still feel the sharp sting of the announcement ringing in his ears. The tributes... the victors... and his own twisted fate. He should’ve been focusing on how he’d somehow managed to cheat death. Instead, his mind was consumed with one thing—and one person—from District 5. You.

When the announcement came about the victors being reaped, he hadn’t reacted with surprise. No, he’d gone into a frenzy. He’d torn apart his house, broken everything in sight, and drunk himself into oblivion. His fingers had clutched his most prized possession with a desperation he couldn't explain—a beautiful gold chain, wrapped tightly around his finger, holding the most precious ring. 

The night before, Katniss had begged him—no, pleaded—for him to volunteer for Peeta during the reaping. He had agreed. Not because he wanted to, hell no. But because he had to be there if you were reaped. And now, as Peeta decided to take matters into his own hands, Haymitch found himself thrust into the role of mentor. It infuriated him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want you in the arena again.

The other districts should’ve already been reaped by now, and his mind was frantic, itching to know if you had been chosen. Unfortunately, he’d been trapped in the mentor role, unable to watch the reaping unfold. Now, though, he was pushing everyone aside, his hands shaking as he aggressively swiped across the tablet screen, searching for answers.

“What's his deal?” Katniss scoffed, watching Haymitch swipe frantically at the tablet.

Effie, doing her best to keep the secret Haymitch had entrusted her with, attempted to downplay his urgency. “Oh, he’s just trying to see which victors got reaped. Don’t worry about it yet.”

“I can’t find it. Turn on the damn video on the TV,” he snapped, his patience gone. Effie scrambled, finally finding the footage and flicking it on.

As the video began, Haymitch subconsciously started playing with the gold band around his neck, his fingers caressing it absently as his heart hammered in his chest. The room fell silent as the broadcast began—District 5’s reaping.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort’s overly cheery voice rang out, her ridiculous outfit blinding in its absurdity. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and the 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games, as always, ladies first…”

Haymitch’s leg started bouncing in nervous anticipation, his pulse quickening. District 5 had eight victors, but only two were women—and you were one of them.

He couldn’t help it. His eyes locked onto the screen, unable to tear himself away. You stood there, dressed in black, your face a perfect mask of stoicism. Your eyes were red, your pain carefully hidden beneath a practiced, blank expression—the one you’d perfected from years of surviving. He’d taught you that. How to hide everything. How to show nothing. How to survive.

He watched you hold hands with your mentor, the two of you standing in quiet solidarity. A tiny part of him hoped that it would be you—the one they called forward, so your mentor could volunteer for you. He knew she would. You just had to let her.

The escort’s voice cut through his thoughts, though he barely heard it now. She gave both you and your mentor a small, sad smile before unfolding the slip of paper. “The female tribute of District 5…” she began, and the words hung in the air like a death sentence, “Abigail Winston.”

Effie’s sigh of relief was audible, probably thinking that you were home free, that everything was going to be okay. But Haymitch knew better. He knew you. And that’s why his entire body tensed in an instant. The anger surged through his veins like wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.

And then he saw your movement. The way you stepped forward. No.

Before your mentor could even make a move, your voice steady but fierce rang out, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Time seemed to slow. Haymitch’s heart stopped, the world around him blurring as he felt everything he’d been holding together shatter. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps as the glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The tablet in his hands followed, crashing to the ground in a violent thud.

Katniss and Peeta exchanged confused glances, unsure of who you were or why Haymitch had reacted like that. Effie’s tears fell silently, a mix of sorrow and disbelief. But before anyone could speak, Haymitch turned away, his mind consumed by rage and heartbreak. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

He stormed down the train, away from them all, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to rip the world apart. Every part of him, every inch of his being, was focused on one thought: You. You had volunteered. You had sealed your fate. And now, all of his nightmares were coming true.

-----

Haymitch wished he were drunk. He wished the alcohol could drown out the aching pain of having you step into that arena again. It wasn’t fair.

You barely had two years together. Two years of being an official couple, and yet it felt like it wasn’t enough. He’d first met you at the end of your Victor’s Tour, when you decided to escape the attention and hide at the bar. You outdrank him that night, which, frankly, was impressive.

At first, he never expected to care for you. You were just another survivor, bound to the same cruel fate as him. But then, over time, as you grew up and proved yourself in ways he never imagined, he couldn’t help but fall in love.

You were 15 years younger, and he had always kept his distance, hiding his feelings behind a wall of friendship. But as the years passed, and you all met yearly for the Games as mentors, one thing led to another. A night full of too much alcohol, too many unspoken feelings—and before he knew it, you had shared a night neither of you would ever forget.

The next morning, you confessed what had been lingering beneath the surface for so long. It took him months to work up the courage to ask you out, battling his own demons of self-doubt and guilt.

And then, for two beautiful years, you two had kept it secret. Notes passed in shadows, stolen kisses, quiet smiles, and letters filled with raw emotion. Two years of sneaking around, being completely, utterly in love.

And now, it was all coming to an end.

Effie found him passed out in the train’s aisle, and without hesitation, she put him to bed, understanding that he needed space.

The next morning, Haymitch tried to seek you out. He wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay, but his duties as a mentor took priority. Effie begged him to focus, to speak to Katniss and Peeta first, and then find you. He was torn between his heart and his responsibilities. And in the end, Effie dragged him to the kids.

He spent that day drinking and half-heartedly trying to teach them about the importance of allies.

“Finnick Odair, right?” Katniss asked, as they went through the list of reaped victors.

He nodded, pointing to the screen. “Yes, he won at fourteen—youngest victor ever. Extremely humble.”

“You're kidding, right?” Katniss scoffed.

“Yes, I’m kidding.” He flipped his hair dramatically. “He’s a... peacock. A total preener, but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peeta leaned forward, glancing at the screen. “What about weaknesses?”

“One person, Mags.” A frail, wrinkled woman appeared on the screen. “She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor, basically raised him. If Finnick’s trying to protect her, it exposes him.”

Katniss stared at the screen, watching the woman bravely volunteer for the young girl in tears. “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her.”

Sadness flickered in Haymitch’s eyes. “Well, Katniss, I just hope when she goes... she goes quickly. She’s a wonderful lady.”

He pressed a button on the tablet, knowing exactly who would appear next, but his body tensed involuntarily as the screen flickered to life.

"District Five: Mason Cover and Y/N L/N." Haymitch stared at the screen, his eyes locked on you, unable to look away.

"She's the girl we saw on the train," Katniss said, sensing the weight of Haymitch’s reaction. "What's her story?"

Haymitch glanced at Katniss before downing his drink. “She won the 66th Games at 16. The last hour of the Games, there were five tributes left. She killed each one of them single-handedly—arrows, spear, you name it. Extremely skillful, resourceful. And beloved by many of our victors.”

He pointed to Mason Cover, “Mason won the 55th Games at 18. Lethal in hand-to-hand combat. The last 30 minutes of those Games were a triple threat match. Those two are close friends. You want them as allies. And if you trust me... trust them. They're who you should be allies with.” He repeated, his gaze locked on Katniss. “Trust me.”

“Who is she to you?” Katniss asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We all saw the reaping. We saw the way you reacted. Now you want to team up with her... why?”

Haymitch squinted at her, his fingers subconsciously playing with the chain around his neck. “She's just a friend. I've known her for years. I know both of them. Good people. Trustworthy people.”

“I don’t believe you,” Katniss retorted.

“Katniss,” Peeta interjected, sensing the simmering tension. "Let it go."

But before anyone could speak, Effie burst through the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she hurried toward Haymitch. "Haymitch, thank God you're here!" she said, voice strained with urgency. She then saw Katniss and Peeta standing in the room, and immediately faltered. "Oh... uh... Haymitch, you're needed outside of this room." She gestured quickly toward the door, trying to keep the situation under wraps, hoping the kids wouldn't notice.

Haymitch caught the hint, and without a word, he practically flew out of the room. Before the door even clicked shut behind him, he was pulled into an embrace. Your arms.

And for a moment, everything around him seemed to stop.

"Haymitch..." you whispered, your voice trembling as tears flooded your face. After days of terror, the weight of the world finally seemed to melt away in his arms. He was here. You needed him more than anything.

"Y/N..." He squeezed you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. His heart hammered in his chest, sobering instantly from the haze of alcohol. The warmth of your skin, the sweet scent of you, and the soft wetness of your tears soaking through his shirt — this was real. You were here, with him... for now.

He pulled back slightly, needing to see your face, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks. He smiled at you, the corners of his mouth trembling with something he couldn't quite control. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice breaking.

It hurt him to see you like this—eyes red and swollen, your hands shaking, a look of grim acceptance in your gaze. The kind of acceptance that made his heart shatter. What had you accepted? What were you preparing for? That thought alone gnawed at him.

"It's going to be okay. I’ve got you, pretty girl." His voice cracked with desperation, the words pouring out in a rush. "I’ll get you sponsors, and you'll be okay. Then when this is over, we can go back to my district, or yours, and live the rest of our lives together. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever." He whispered it, desperate for you to believe him, for you to feel safe, for the horrible weight of your future to somehow lift.

But then, you shook your head, sobbing. "You can't... Katniss and Peeta are your responsibility. You need to help them. You need to save them." The words broke out in a cry, your eyes locking with his in raw, painful clarity. He shook his head, his heart sinking.

"No," he muttered firmly, "I’m not leaving you alone for this." His hands gripped your shoulders, holding you as if he could keep you safe, as if he could protect you from the arena, from everything.

"I’ll be alright," you tried to smile, wiping away the fresh tears that fell. "You don’t need to worry about me." You forced the smile, trying to push him, to focus on the kids, on them. You knew the truth, knew the game was rigged. Katniss needed to be victorious; you were just collateral damage, nothing more.

Your hand reached up to caress his face, your thumb tracing the rough outline of his jaw. "The kids need you, my love. You have to choose them over me. You have to choose Katniss over me. She... she is important."

"You're important." His voice cracked as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control, but it shattered as soon as he looked at you. "You're everything to me. You're my world. My wife... You don’t know what you’re asking me to do..." His voice broke, the words too raw, too heavy. "I can’t leave you in that arena. I won’t. I will save you."

You stared at him, tears running freely down both of your faces. He looked at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with an agony he couldn't hide. You had accepted your death, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this. He had already lost so much. He wouldn’t lose you too. Not like this. Not again.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He shook his head, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "I can’t let them take you from me." His mind was already spinning, heart racing with frantic thoughts—how could he get more sponsors? Who could he talk to in the Capitol? There had to be a way. Anything to keep you alive. "Why the hell did you volunteer? Why—Jesus Christ, why you?" The words cracked through his chest, his heart shattering with the pain of it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was losing you, and he couldn’t stop it.

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing over the rough, scarred lines of his cheek, your touch a silent plea. You saw the desperation in his eyes—the panic, the fear that he couldn’t hide. Your voice trembled as you whispered, "Haymitch... I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine." The words tasted like ash on your tongue, but you said them anyway, because you needed him to believe it. You couldn’t bear the thought of him falling apart, not when you knew what was coming. You had to be strong for him, even if it broke you to lie like that.

And then, with everything breaking inside him, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that spoke of everything: grief, love, fear, and an unbearable desperation. It was rough and frantic, a mixture of tears and longing. The kiss was an apology, a plea, and a final, desperate act of love.

What neither of you knew was that Katniss, Peeta, and Effie were watching from the crack in the door, their eyes wide with shock. 

Haymitch has a wife.

And she was about to die.

[slaymitchabernathy]

haymitch: “yeah, i have a girl back at home. her name is lenore do-“

coriolanus:

like don’t even finish that sentence bc he’s already plotting lmfao.

[nebulablakemurphy]

What’s in a name?

Summary: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader set in the moves & countermoves universe. Y/N is currently pregnant with their second child and they need a name.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI (Smut)

They struck gold with Everest, the child and his namesake. The people of Panem loved the grandiose nature of the name Everest.

The novelty of his existence dwindled over the years, in the public eye. But to his parents, he becomes more perfect each day. By the age of three he possesses luxuries other children his age could only dream of.

Y/N and Haymitch are more than happy with just him. The thought of another child rarely crosses their minds.

Y/N is reading to Everest on the living room couch when Haymitch receives the pristine white envelope stuffed through the mail slot. He skims over the letter three times, painting on a smile as he returns to his wife and son.

Y/N knows him well enough by now that she can feel his distress. Waiting until after Everest is tucked into bed to whisper, “Haymitch, what’s wrong?”

“Snow wants us to have another baby.”

“Ok,” Y/N takes the blow better than she had the first time. “We knew this was coming.”

Haymitch curls his fist around the open bottle of liquor on their bedside table. He gulps it down, unwilling to admit how much he hates the way she isn’t surprised. Even when she cries or screams or throws things, she is fighting. This time she doesn’t fight at all, doesn’t resist in the slightest and it breaks his heart.

He takes it out on her two days later, without meaning to. Instructions from Snow come, sentencing them to the “room” in Y/N’s house with the cameras.

Madge stays with Everest at their house, oblivious to it all.

Before long Y/N is face down, fisting her pretty hands in the sheets as he fucks her.

Haymitch can’t see her face, perhaps that’s why he positioned them this way. He doesn’t deserve to see it.

Her fingers search for his, longing to entwine them, but his mind is far from here, far from his body and her. Going through the motions.

“I love you, Haymitch.”

No, his hips falter. Not that, anything but that. He runs a hand along her spine, her sweat damp skin. “Turn around,” he pulls out, rocking back on his heels to give her room.

Y/N turns to face him, catching her breath. Watching with worried eyes. They don’t switch positions during a recording unless it’s been requested specifically. The goal is always to finish as quickly as possible.

Haymitch closes the space between them, leaning onto his forearms as he eases himself back inside her. “I love you so much.” He murmurs against her ear, causing Y/N to shiver. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, burying her hands in his hair. Understanding how hard those words are for him to speak. “I know.”

“I love you.” A plea, an apology.

“I love you too.” Y/N holds him to her, kissing any part of him she can reach.

————————————————————————-

Haymitch wastes no time, the minute the test is positive, he is on his knees. Talking to their sweet baby, kissing Y/N’s belly, telling them stories. The way he feels about his wife hasn’t changed much since her first pregnancy, he just knows how to communicate it better. He knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, he knows the extent of reassurance she needs to feel safe.

As her belly grows, Y/N comes to him often, seeking comfort in the form of physical intimacy. He welcomes her with open arms, makes her happy. Makes her laugh. Makes her cum. Doing everything he wishes he would have while she was pregnant with Everest.

“Do you think it’s another boy or a girl?” Y/N wonders, watching her husband trace patterns across her belly.

Haymitch smiles, “girl.”

————————————————————————

A few months later his suspicions are confirmed, they are expecting a daughter, announced via Caesar Flickerman and a slew of pink confetti.

Everest squeals in his father’s arms, until Haymitch sets him down so he can dance under the falling pink glitter.

Y/N turns to her husband, with a knowing smile.

“I told you so.” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

Y/N is in his arms a moment later, silencing him with a kiss.

————————————————————————-

“Is there a name you like?” Haymitch asks; she gets first pick.

Y/N shakes her head, “this one’s all you.”

Finding a name suitable for this child takes months.

“Can’t you just tell me, kid?” He whispers to his unborn child. “What’s your name?”

Y/N chuckles.

“Help me out here.” A swift kick to his nose tells Haymitch that he’ll just have to keep looking.

He searches high and low for a name. In books from the hob and passersby on the street, until finally he passes over the third page of the potential names again.

Arista.

‘The name Arista has its origins in the Greek language and signifies 'Best.’

“Arista,” he murmurs.

“That’s pretty.” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over her belly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[lycheepoo]

“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby.

But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The Velveteen Rabbit

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 8)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves. SOTR SPOILERS

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 7

“I’m tellin’ you somethin’s goin’ on with Y/N. The way she’s actin’.” The footage they’re showing of that little girl mentoring the games, makes it look like she’s having the time of her life. “That ain’t her.”

“You need to leave now.” Y/N’s father insists, attempting to close the front door between them.

“Valor, please.” Cherry presses her hand against it. “She’s your daughter.”

The mayor’s eyes narrow, full of rage. “Do you think I’ve forgotten that? Don’t you think I’ve tried to buy her way out? Barter and plead her way out? She’s my daughter, for god’s sake!”

“So what then? You just give up?” Tucker places his boot between the door and its frame.

“My daughter will be home from the Capitol any minute.” Valor reminds them. “After which time, I have one year to come up with a solution that doesn’t end with my entire family dead. I advise you to do the same.”

Tucker yanks his boot free of the slamming door. “Prick.”

“What do we do now?” Haymitch doesn’t have any family left. No real friends. Just that girl and him, exiled in Victors’ Village.

“There is someone who might know something, but it’s a long shot.” Burdock hasn’t spoken to Haymitch in years. Not since Haymitch started pelting him and his girl with rocks.

Doesn’t matter who it is. “It’s the only shot we’ve got.”

————————————————————————

Burdock and Asterid are not expecting visitors. So when there is a knock at the door after supper, Burdock answers, warily.

Waiting at the stoop is their neighbors from a few blocks down. Cherry and Tucker Carell, lost their oldest in the games a few years back.

“We need to speak with you about Haymitch Abernathy.”

Burdock steps out onto his porch, floorboards creaking beneath him. “What about him?”

“I remember you were close as kids.”

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“Please,” Cherry cuts in. “It’s Y/N. I know you don’t know her, but we do…we did.”

“The laryngitis girl?” Haymitch’s wife.

“Yes,” Cherry snaps her fingers. “She said she lost her voice because she didn’t want them usin’ her words to glorify somethin’ she didn’t believe in.”

Burdock sighs, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Their loss. They’ve lost that girl.

“We want to get her back.” Tucker explains.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can’t. Once a person belongs to them, there’s no turning back. Whatever is happening to her…cannot be undone.”

“That’s not true.” It can’t be.

“Haymitch was my best friend.” Burdock presses on. “He changed, and I don’t blame him. For all he lost…the things he’s seen…”

“Did it happen all at once? The change in em?” Cherry asks.

“No.” Burdock admits, “it took time.” The drinking didn’t help.

“This happened in a week.” Tucker points out.

“Are you sure it is her?” Burdock mutters.

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know how true this is,” Burdock clenches his jaw, “the person who told me was…indisposed at the time. But there was a tribute from twelve, reaped for the Quarter Quell who was killed in the parade. They replaced her with a girl who looked enough like her…”

“A body double?” Cherry’s brows pull together.

“She had something in her ear to control her. They could speak into it and even pump some kind of medicine through it.”

“Some kind of bug.”

“Must’ve been.” Burdock nods. “Haymitch said it would bleed.”

“Haymitch told you this?”

“Like I said, I don’t know how true it is. He wasn’t well. But Wyatt Callow died before her,” or so the story goes. “Louella’s casket smelled a lot worse than his when we buried them.”

The silence hangs heavy between them. 

“You seem like good people,” Burdock says, “and I am truly sorry you’re wrapped up in all this. Please be careful, or people are gonna start dropping like flies again.”

Tucker tosses an arm around his wife, leading her away. “Thank you for your time.”

Burdock watches them go, with a heavy heart. To the victor go the spoils.

Cherry and Tucker make their way back home, leaning into each other as they walk.

“We gotta do it.” Run. This could be their last chance.

“We can’t take her.” Not like they wanted to. Not the way they planned it before.

Tucker hangs his head, staring down at the ground. “I know.”

Can’t even tell her goodbye.

“This is what she would want.” He reminds his wife. “The little girl who showed up on our doorstep with flowers for our boy and a gift for each of his siblings. She would’ve wanted us to go.”

“We could leave her somethin’ at least.” Cherry suggests, “a letter.”

————————————————————————

“We’re packin’ just a couple things, like we talked about.” Cherry reminds her children.

“When are we leaving?” Micah, her second oldest son, asks.

“After dinner.” Tucker tells him.

“Can I take my bear?” Peach, their youngest, newly six, holds up her favorite stuffed animal.

“Of course,” Cherry taps her nose. They’ve already packed up everything the little ones would need.

Interdistrict travel is strictly prohibited, but Cherry’s mother was always telling stories about when she was a girl. ‘Free as birds, we were. There’s life outside these districts, Cherry. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.’

District thirteen was said to be destroyed by the Capitol, turns out that isn’t true. A couple of their friends have trickled out to test the waters, sending signs that the coast is clear. They were only waiting for Y/N to get home.

Cherry sits down at the table, paper and pen in hand.

‘My dearest, Y/N.

I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans. I once suffered from some delusion that Tyson’s memories are tied to the walls of this house. That some part of him resides in the bones, buried outback. But I was wrong. My son is not trapped in a place, or a body or even this earth. We are.

Trapped in a district the president has no love for. Where children are starved and slaughtered for entertainment. There’s got to be more than this. We’re going to find it, for our boy, for all of our children, for you.

We tried waiting for you, couldn’t bear leaving you behind. I can hardly bring myself to do it now, but you belong to them. And they will never let you leave.

I know, in my heart, that if the girl we opened our home to and love like our own is still inside you; she’ll understand. I hope we find each other again, somehow, someway, in a new, free world. But for now we’ve gotta go and you’ve gotta stay. We’re still rooting for you, little girl.

Love always,

Ma, Pa, Tyson, Micah, Hudson, Rixi, Adelaide, Hoytt, Valley, Iverson, Olivette, Harvest, Fauna, Wells and Peach.’

When she is finished, Tucker raises the letter to eye level. Resting a hand on her shoulder as he reads it over, then folds it in eighths. Taking the pen in his own hand to jot down, ‘burn after reading.’

“I’m going to sit with Ty for a while before we go.” Cherry tells him, leaving the note and their simmering stew, in his care.

“Alright, baby.” Tucker presses a kiss to her cheek as she passes.

Cherry treks through the house and out the back door. Tyson’s headstone is decorated by a beautiful arrangement of wild flowers. Each picked by hand. She all but collapses onto the ground beside him.

“Tyson, I need a sign.” She murmurs into the evening breeze. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

Nothing.

Even the electric fence beyond the yard is silent. Silent because it’s off.

Knocking from the front door carries through the house. Cherry rises, brushing dried grass and dirt from her dress. “Tucker, who is that?” She closes the back door behind her, watching her husband peer through the peek hole.

“It’s Y/N.”

————————————————————————

When Y/N is finally permitted to leave, Cherry and Tucker are left with a truth much more devastating than any hypothetical they’d considered.

Y/N is still herself.

Fully aware; in her own body.

What controls her now is the fear of losing people she loves.

“We can’t leave her. Not now, not like this.” Cherry whispers.

Tucker covers his mouth. “Cherry, I put the note in her pocket.”

“What? Why?”

“Because nothing changed,” he takes her face in hand. “All we’re doing by staying here is giving Snow more leverage against her. Are you willing to put the blood of every name you signed in that letter on Y/N’s hands?”

“No,” Cherry shakes her head.

“Neither am I.” Tucker huffs, “we have to do this now. Like we planned, the fence is off. It’s now or never.” He doesn’t want to do this, he has to do this.

————————————————————————

Valor is still pacing in the foyer, after his unexpected visit from the Carells. Given their status, they’re not being watched by the Capitol very closely, if at all. They may be able to help Y/N in ways he can’t.

Donning his coat and shoes, Mayor Undersee sets out to visit the seam. The stares he receives from those who reside there are not the kindest. Still he waves and offers a quiet, “hello.”

There’s some commotion, near the far end, the very house he’s headed for. Smoke and screams greet him as he rounds the bend. The Carell house is on fire.

“Get up! Everyone, out of your houses. There’s an active fire. We need water.”

————————————————————————

Y/N is still holding the letter when Haymitch wakes the next afternoon. She’s so far gone that she doesn’t even realize he’s behind her, until a pair of arms encircle her waist.

“They’re gone.”

“I’m so sorry, angel.”

“They left,” Y/N waves the proof at him. “The fire was a distraction.”

Haymitch inspects it carefully, reading over the letter twice, before clearing his throat. “Gotta get rid of it.” Too damning all around.

“I know.” Her fingers clutch the corner.

“Come ‘ere.” Haymitch turns her away from the fireplace. Slowly working the parchment free from her hand. “Hold onto me instead.”

She does, desperately fisting his shirt in her hands.

Haymitch tosses the evidence into the fire, watching flames eat away at the words, until there is nothing left. He keeps her close, shuffling backwards toward the sofa.

“Don’t go anywhere, Haymitch.” Y/N says, softly.

Haymitch mulls it over for a moment. Hoping that some great words of comfort and encouragement will flood his brain. But there is no divine intervention, just the weight of her head against his shoulder. “I won’t.”

“Hold onto me instead.”

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00 @solacestyles @inky-sun @dadbodfanatic-x @sandorcleganeslutt @indigoashh @mustainelove @darkened-writer @ch3rrybutterfly @boredomquest @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @kisskittenn @kwllakka @feeblemindedfool @oopsieikilledan @that-one-fangirl69 @just-levyy @thisisthepartwhereishutup @alixxhere @quackitys-amor @pepelachanel @lurkingsparrow @faithalsip09 @cwallace02sblog @animaloversammy @peachiesnsilk @libbyaller @juiceboxfullofslime @libra-2409 @heidiland05 @evansorry @caraxes-syrax

[drfleetflower]

Mislaid Conviction (Part Two)

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

Summary: You're free to leave the hospital, having been recovering from the Capitol's torture, but you feel more confined outside of the hospital. Something strange is going on but you can't place your finger on what.

Warnings: Angst, light fluff, mentions of torture, mentions of therapy, self-deprecation, coercion/bribery

WC: 2.9k

Part One

In the next couple weeks after your moment with Haymitch, you let your guard down quite a bit. Haymitch cared about you. You had gotten him to admit that. So, what did your previous grievances matter?

You smiled at him as he entered your room and took his seat. "So, what’s it like out there? Anyone caught your eye so far?" You inquired, resting your chin in your hand. You were trying to be perceived as playful, not the increasingly jealous person you had become without being able to keep tabs on him. But you weren’t worried. Really, you weren’t. And jealousy was a strong word anyway. What was there to be jealous about? Haymitch? You would laugh if it didn't still cause you pain.

"Oh, so now you're interested in my love life, are you?" He teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He paused for a moment, contemplating your question. "Eh, nah, there ain't anyone I have my eye on at the moment," he admitted. "But don't get your hopes up, darling, you won’t always have me to yourself."

You felt a sharp exhale leave you and tried to play it off as a laugh, even though you couldn’t do those at the moment. "Poor me. The Haymitch Abernathy wants nothing to do with me." 

Haymitch chuckled, thoroughly amused by your tone. "Oh, it's a tragedy, isn't it?" He mocked pity. "How will you survive without my attention?"

"Well, I suppose I'll have to find some way to move on... Some way..." You sighed dramatically.

He chuckled again, shaking his head in amusement at your over-the-top theatrics. "Just how will you cope with such a devastating loss?"

“I just don’t know.” You shook your head slowly. "What's the living situation out there, anyway?"

Haymitch thought for a moment. “Well, it’s very small apartments basically. Except there are no windows unless you’re at the top floor. Family’s live together and loners get their own place.” He explained.

"Alright. So I'd be alone?" You clarified, feeling a lump form in your throat.

"Oh, you'd rather have some company? Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart, but it's mostly private rooms. You'll have your own space, free of any messy roommates or drama."

"Alright." You said again, a twinge of nervousness in your voice.

“What's the matter? You don’t like people anyway." He said, point blankly.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

He sighed at the admission, concern etched into his features. "Hey, don't worry about it," his voice was surprisingly comforting. "You'll be fine. It's safe here, they've got security checkpoints all over the place and everyone's on high alert. You'll have your own room, and you can lock the door if you feel uneasy."

You tried your best to open up. "It's not that... I'm... I don't want to feel like I did in the Capitol..." 

Haymitch's expression softened further as he sensed your vulnerability. He understood what you were getting at, and his usual aloof manner melted away completely. “Listen to me. You're not in the Capitol anymore. You're not a prisoner. You're safe now and I’m- we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, got it?” He said rather firmly.

You nodded, feeling somewhat comforted but at the same time, you dreaded the idea of being alone in a room like that again. Cement, no windows, no air. You tried not to choke just thinking about it.

“Sweetheart… What happened there?”

You shook your head, your throat feeling as though it was being squeezed. You wouldn’t be able to get out the words even if you tried.

---

After several more days, Haymitch returned to your solitary room, his expression light but serious. "Hey," he gruffed. "I've got news."

You didn’t need to look up, having gotten used to this routine. But you looked up anyway, finding comfort in just seeing him. “What?”

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for your reaction. "You’re cleared to leave the hospital," he said. "They think you're stable. You won't have to stand these blinding hospital lights anymore. Well, mostly anyway."

“I can leave? Right now?” You sat up.

He nodded, with a hint of a smile. "Yeah, darling, you can leave right now. They're getting your things together as we speak. You'll be out of here whenever you’re ready.”

"Woah." You sighed and got up. "Guess I'm gonna need a new uniform.”

Haymitch laughed. "Yeah, they’ll want you to ditch the hospital gown. Can't have you running around the base in that thing, can we?"

You chuckled, finally able to after these past few days. 

He noticed your expression and gave you a smirk. "Nervous?" He teased.

“Shut up. Yes.” You couldn’t help but smirk back.

"You survived the Hunger Games, remember? This'll be a piece of cake for you."

You rolled your eyes and soon were whisked away.

You found yourself being led through a maze of corridors, guided by one of Coin’s closest to your new living quarters. The halls were empty aside from the occasional rebel soldier stomping their way to their destination, as if on a mission. Haymitch was right beside you, and you found yourself reaching for his arm. He was a bit startled by the contact but accepted it quietly. "Almost there, sweetheart." He told you, leaning to the side closer to you.

When you got to the rows and rows of doors you presume to be housing, you wondered how long it would take for you to get lost. Not very, you assumed.

The man who led you to your room opened the door for you and before he left without a word, you stopped him. “Hey.”

He turned, still not speaking and you wondered if he could. There had to be quite a few Avoxes here searching for refuge from the Capitol.

“What’s your name?”

“Thom.” He answered and left before you got the chance to ask any more questions. 

“Don’t take it to heart, everyone’s a bit stiff here.” Haymitch said, giving your arm a quick squeeze and taking it upon himself to give you a tour of the small room. “There’s your bed, and there’s the bathroom.”

“Great observations.” You scoffed. 

“Listen, soon they’ll start giving you a schedule every morning that you’ll have to follow. Stick your arm in the wall here and voila. Also, you only get a limited supply of water everyday for showers and the works, so make it count, sweetheart.” He explained. 

“Alright. What’s the schedule usually?”

“It varies from person to person. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all the same. You’ll probably have some free time and mandatory therapy. Other than that I’m not sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great.”

Haymitch sighed. “You’re going to have to get used to it, they’re not going to let up anytime soon. Especially if you continue to refuse to speak to him.”

“So, I’m saved from the Capitol just to still be controlled. Do you get how demoralizing it is to be told over and over how I’m safe from someone who doesn’t even understand what unsafe looks like?” You chose to continue when he didn’t respond. “I mean, I honestly don’t think I'll ever feel ‘safe’ ever again.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He answered.

You looked at him appalled. “What kind of response is that?” 

“Look, this is just exactly the reason why you should be talking to him.”

“Do they have a shrink antagonizing you?” You demanded.

“No. I’m not the one who got tortured.” Haymitch answered, his tone becoming increasingly more frustrated. 

“You don’t think so? Maybe my way was more obvious, but I’d call what they did to you torture.” You could tell he was clenching his teeth now. “Either way, until you’re being forced to listen to the crap that doctor is spewing, don't act like you know what’s good for me.” 

Haymitch left without a word at that and you regretted the bite in your tone. You knew he was trying to help, that’s all he did. He took care of you. At least, he tried to. So why did it feel like something was off? You tried blaming it on the lack of alcohol but something was still eating at you. 

You walked in circles around the room, slowly feeling the walls closing in on you. Cement walls, no windows, suffocating. You would leave the room, but you wouldn’t know where to go. You longed for Haymitch again, and realized you didn’t even know where his living quarters were. So, you stayed there, curled up in the middle of the room, resenting Haymitch for leaving you like this. You knew you deserved it though, for treating him like he hasn’t only ever tried to protect you. Even when he left you in the arena.

Before he was able to visit you while you were recovering, the nurses were surprisingly chatty - not native to District 13 you presumed. Apparently, Haymitch was fighting tooth and nail to get you out. One of the nurses who was working on you had to sedate him to calm him down. Then, he spent almost the entire time you were in the Capitol getting sober. That must have been like being tortured right along with you. 

Guilt ate at you as you sat on the floor for.. Minutes? Hours? Days? Who knew? All you had been doing from the moment you got to 13 was treat Haymitch like all of this was his fault. You’d been up and down since he came to your hospital bed, all because of what? If you couldn’t even understand yourself, you couldn’t imagine how Haymitch was feeling. He lost everyone he cared about and now, it was like you were forcing him to lose you too. 

After a while, you heard footsteps outside your door. Then, the door slid open and you felt a presence standing in front of you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You stop. Upon lifting your head out of your knees, you didn’t see Haymitch, but that rebel who helped you to your room. Thom. “Oh.”

“Dinner is being served. Most everyone is required to show. Are you alright?” Thom offered you a hand, he was much warmer than when you met him. 

You didn’t take his hand, preferring to get up on your own. “Most everyone?”

“What?” He was surprised by your refusal of his help, lowering his hand.

“Most everyone is required to show?” You clarified. 

“Yes. You fall into the category of most everyone. Only those who are hospitalized or unable to leave their room are allowed to skip the meal time.” He clarified in return.

“I see.” 

You follow him down the bright, headache-inducing hallways to the cafeteria. It’s a jarring experience, going from one or two people in your hospital room, to almost the entire population of District 13 surrounding you. 

“Is Haymitch here?” You choke, feeling as though the air has been ripped from your lungs.

“Like I said, only certain people are exempt. If he’s not hospitalized or bed ridden, he’s here.” Thom answered. 

It only served to spike your anxiety. Could he have been hospitalized? Relapsed after your harsh words?

You scanned the room, but it’s giant and all the gray jumpsuits seemed to blend together.

You jumped when Thom spoke up, forgetting he was there. “You have to grab a tray and get in line.” He said, pointing to where the others were getting their food. 

You looked over your shoulder at him. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugged. “I just want to make sure you’re settling in alright.” 

Bullshit. You rolled your eyes, much to his dismay, and walked over to the line, grabbing a tray. When you find a relatively empty table, Thom still trails behind you. He sits next to you and it’s as if he’s studying you. You ignore his watchful gaze though, your gaze focuses on the crowds of people eating and still getting their food. Looking for Haymitch. 

No sign of him. 

“I heard…” Thom spoke up, taking a moment to think carefully about his words. “You had a rough time in the Capitol.”

You looked at him, was he seriously trying to.. What, make small talk about your ‘rough time in the Capitol’. You could only scoff a laugh.

“I told you I’m only here to make sure you’re adjusting to life here. I know you won’t talk to anyone. And, you have no reason to talk to me, but if you’d give me a chance I-”

“Just how many people know about my life? My therapy sessions?” You couldn’t believe he thought you’d open up to him. “What makes you think I’d tell you anything if even my therapy sessions are apparently being repeated to some random soldier?” You shook your head, scanning the crowd again.

Thom promptly switched tactics, maybe offended by your attitude at this point. “You want to know where Haymitch is?”

Your head snapped back in his direction, you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Spill it.” You sneered, eyelids sliding down to slits. 

“You first.” He replied coolly. 

Taken aback, a long breath left your lungs and you deflated. This guy was bold, you’d give him that. Bribing you to talk about your trauma? Coercing you even? He had no motive to be doing this, so who? 

“Fine. But, I’m not talking until you tell me where Haymitch is.” You stated firmly.

Thom thought this over for a minute. “Deal?” He held out his hand.

You looked between him and his hand before taking it, figuring it wouldn’t make a difference whether you shook his hand or not. 

“He’s in his room.” Thom shrugged. 

It pissed you off, the simplicity of his words. “What number?” Your tone was sharp now.

“First, you’ve got to give me something too.” His demeanor pissed you off too, the calmness.

“Do you think this is a game? I don’t think I need to remind you I have won much worse ones.” 

Silence. 

Must be a game, then. Suddenly, you jumped up out of your seat and bolted out of the cafeteria. You weren’t entirely sure what your destination would be, but you would knock down every door if that was your only way to find Haymitch. 

It was almost like you were in mania. What had caused you to gain the obsession? Why did you feel like you had no choice but to find Haymitch? As if he could fix all your problems that arose the moment you pushed him away.

After a plethora of hallways and doors, you had to stop. There was no Thom in sight when you finally looked behind you and you wondered if he had even attempted to follow you. You took the time to breathe. Your back found a wall, and shortly after your bottom found the floor, your knees your forehead. Choked sobs were forced out by your body as you struggled to inhale the much needed air. 

Maybe it was luck? A coincidence? But a hand rested on your shaking shoulder. Not just any hand. “Get up, sweetheart.” Haymitch’s hand.

You wiped your nose on your shirt before you looked up, but of course you knew it was him. And, you did get up, without a word. He guided you back to his living space, laying you down on his bed and getting you a glass of water. 

You started to think maybe you did need to talk to someone, because it seemed your body was desperately trying to release everything you’d been feeling over the past months, in any way possible. 

“What are you doing?” Haymitch had waited until you were almost finished with your glass of water to speak, but he was exasperated. His voice was practically only a sigh and grumble.

You knew what he meant, your behavior was unsettling even to you and it could get you into a lot of trouble, but so was usual for you. All you could do was shake your head and fill your mouth with the remaining water so you didn’t have to speak. 

“You know, for some reason I thought I could stop playing mentor once you got here. Once I knew you were safe.” He shook his head and laughed at his apparent stupidity. 

“I get it, I’m a burden. But, I didn’t ask you to come get me from the hall.”

“No. You didn’t”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Someone else asked him?

“It’s not supposed to mean anything.”

You felt your head begin to spin at his cryptic answer. “What?”

Haymitch sighed, “Sweetheart, you’re not a burden and you didn’t have to ask me to get you because I care about you. So, stop playing these games.”

“What games?” You challenged, offended by the idea.

“The games called ‘How Long Until I Can Convince Haymitch to Abandon Me’ and ‘Play Pretend That Nobody Likes Me So I Can Wallow in Self-Pity!’” He snarked.

“I am not playing those games.” You felt hot tears begin to stream down your face again before you could stop them.

“Ah, the ‘Cry and Make Haymitch Feel Bad’ game.” He said, his tone was softer now though, less mocking. And he sat down next to you.

You didn’t take the offered comfort though, opting to run off again.

“Y/n!” You heard Haymitch shout, but, like Thom, he didn’t follow you. 

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Twenty-year-old Y/N returns to the ruins of District 12, seeking something—anything—of the life she lost. Grieving, self-contained, and carrying the weight of a brutal past, she finds herself quietly drawn into the lives of Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch. As unexpected friendships form and long-buried parts of herself begin to resurface, Y/N starts to wonder if it’s still possible for something soft to survive the wreckage.

Pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader (romantic), Katniss Everdeen x Female!Reader (platonic), Peeta Mellark x Female!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: themes of grief, past emotional and verbal abuse from a parent, past physical abuse from a parent, past self-harm (cutting), past alcoholism (Y/N) / ongoing alcoholism (Haymitch), references to non-consensual sexual experiences (no explicit scenes), PTSD, mental health struggles, age gap romance between adults (20s and 40s), eventual smut, death, descriptions of death/gore, mentions of bombing, descriptions of district 12 after the bombing, might be slightly divergent from canon, peeta was not hijacked

All heavy topics are treated with care, but reader discretion is advised.

this is basically just a suuuuper long slow burn friends to lovers. Y/N’s backstory is very detailed but i have not and will not describe her appearance. the first 5 or 6 chapters are basically just providing Y/N’s background and building a foundation for the rest of the story.

Shadows of the Past - Six months after the Second Rebellion, you return to the ruins of District 12. Haunted by memories and loss, you wander through the wreckage—until a flicker of light draws you toward something, or someone, unexpected.

Fragments of Home - In the unfamiliar stillness of Victor’s Village, you find yourself cared for by an old friend and a stranger. As wounds are tended to, new connections begin to take root—quiet, cautious, and strange in their kindness.

The Space Between - You move through the stillness of what remains, caught between memory and reality. In the space left by loss, something quieter begins to grow—unspoken understanding, and the first fragile steps toward connection.

The Club - A nightmare drives you outside in the dead of night—and you’re not the only one who couldn’t sleep. An unexpected conversation beneath the stars begins to chip away at the walls you’ve built.

The Quiet Shift - You wake to a new day and begin to settle into your new reality. A simple visit turns into something more, as laughter and conversation spark the beginnings of something long forgotten: friendship.

Porchlight - Three months into your return, you’ve slipped into a quiet routine—baking with Peeta, trading late-night banter with Haymitch. But comfort doesn’t come easy, and even the smallest moments of ease shine like a porchlight in the dark.

The Shape of Warmth - You spend the day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—what begins with a truth leads into something softer, steadier. Something that feels almost like belonging.

Shoulder to Shoulder - The weight of your thoughts pulls you under, but an unexpected knock reminds you that not all doors stay closed. Some nights don’t feel as heavy when you’re not alone.

Dust and Danish - The distance between you and the people around you is starting to shrink. Not all at once—but in the soft space of banter, taste testing, and old memories that still ache. You don’t trust it yet. But you’re trying.

Mint and Memory - You spend the morning in the woods learning the quiet language of herbs, your scars aching in more ways than one. In the comfort of kitchen light and soft laughter, something fragile and steady begins to form. But even in the warmth, some voices still echo.

What’s Waiting Inside - You leave with a smile that doesn’t quite reach, and a voice in your head that cuts too deep. But when you ask not to be alone, you’re met with quiet understanding—and something steady enough to lean on.

Something Real - As summer settles in, so do you. What once felt unfamiliar begins to feel like home. You spend a day with Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch—harvesting herbs, sharing dinner, teasing each other in the living room. And somewhere in the middle of the quiet laughter and small comforts, you realize you’re not surviving anymore. You’re living.

Almost Subtle - A quiet afternoon puzzle turns into something softer—shared teasing, easy silences, and the kind of presence that lingers longer than either of you mean it to. When Katniss and Peeta suggest a trip to the lake, you drag Haymitch along, sun and sarcasm pulling something looser from him. You see him—truly see him—and say something you didn’t mean to. Maybe he doesn’t mind. Maybe neither of you do.

She Fell First - You wake up with one goal: figure out what the hell is wrong with you. Why does your heart do gymnastics every time Haymitch talks? Why do you want to be near him 24/7 like some kind of emotionally confused barnacle? Naturally, you barge into Peeta’s house to demand answers and are promptly diagnosed with a crush. Disgusting. Mortifying.

Totally Chill - You’re totally fine. Completely normal. Not at all losing your mind over accidentally massaging mint balm into Haymitch Abernathy’s scarred, shirtless stomach. Nope. Nothing to see here. Except maybe the part where you sprint to Peeta’s house afterward to dramatically declare your emotional demise. Totally. Chill.

Paper Spine - The sharpness guts you like it always has—like it did before anyone ever said your name gently. You fold, crumple, unravel. And when the panic finally breaks you wide open, all you can do is hold your chest and hope it doesn’t stay like this forever.

Back to Steady - A few days after everything cracked open, you find your way back to normal—soft sarcasm, warm tea, and limbs pressed a little too close on an old couch.

Pinecone Problems - You spend the day with Katniss and Peeta, basking in cinnamon bread, emotional whiplash, and whatever flavor of denial you’re currently fermenting. Feelings are talked about. Trauma is unpacked. And Haymitch—unfortunately—still exists, looking unfairly good doing absolutely nothing. You’re not in love. You’re just dramatically inconvenienced.

Pinecone Emergency - You’re pretty sure spraining your ankle after dramatically chasing Haymitch through the woods wasn’t part of your character arc, and yet—here you are, face down in the grass, in pain, in denial, and in love. Probably. Unfortunately.

He Fell Harder - Haymitch starts the night in a classic spiral—staring at a wall, brooding about feelings he definitely didn’t mean to catch. Then Y/N shows up at his door (again), and things only get worse. Or better. It’s hard to tell when she’s stealing his couch, insulting his snacks, and looking entirely too good while doing it. He’s not in love. Definitely not. He just… likes her a little. A lot. Maybe forever. Who knows.

Storm Spirit and Sunshine - You feel the storm coming in your knees and immediately decide it’s your entire personality. Haymitch thinks you’ve lost it—until the sky starts throwing tantrums and the power goes out. Cue unexpected darkness, shared candlelight, emotional trauma bonding, and accidental (but very intentional) hand-holding. Turns out, thunder’s not so scary when you’ve got a grumpy ex-victor and his veiny arms beside you.

Tension? What Tension? - You go to the lake to cool off, not to feel warm all over. But between the splashing, the teasing, and a few glances that linger a little too long, things start to shift. It’s just a normal day with friends. Nothing’s different. Nothing’s changing. Except maybe it is. Not that you’ll admit it.

Don’t Ask Me How I Slept - Something wakes you in the dark. You follow it upstairs and find more than you expected. A name, a moment, a quiet unraveling. You stay. And when morning comes, everything feels a little different—though no one says it out loud.

Just One Good Day - It starts with laughter and leans too close to something real. For a moment, it almost feels safe—almost. But soft things are fragile, and you learn again how quickly warmth can vanish. When the silence finally breaks, it leaves you reaching for someone who’s still here.

One Good Day, Gone - You try to hold onto something soft. He tries to push it all away. But some silences say more than words, and when the quiet settles, it leaves you both with nothing but the truth—and the space where one good day used to be.

As Long As It Takes - You don’t expect to see him. He doesn’t expect you to stay. But when the night unravels and the ghosts are named, you offer him the one thing he’s never been able to ask for—time. You don’t know what this is. You just know you’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Casual, Right? - You and Haymitch are fine. Totally normal. Just two emotionally stable people moving a table and not at all panicking about how close you’re sitting. But when the teasing turns soft and the space between you disappears, you start to wonder if pretending it’s casual is getting harder to believe. Especially when Peeta and Katniss walk in and feel every inch of tension in the room.

This Year is Different - On the day before his birthday—and what would’ve been another reaping—Haymitch starts to unravel. You stay. Through the silence, the memory, the ache. And by the end of the night, with moonlight on the sheets, something shifts. He lets you in. You let yourself stay.

I Hope It Keeps Becoming - On the morning after everything shifts, you wake to the warmth of something you’re scared to name. There’s laughter. There’s teasing. There’s a quiet moment where something almost happens. And later, after the chaos settles and the kitchen quiets, you let yourself hope this softness might stay.

What We’ve Been Becoming - A quiet day drifts into something warmer, softer—something that feels a little too good to question. You spend it in good company, with laughter and teasing and quiet truths. But when the evening settles and it’s just the two of you again, something finally shifts in the stillness you’ve both learned to trust.

Now, Not Then - You wake up from the past like it never left you. But this time, you’re not alone. And even when the words won’t come, he stays—gentle, steady, and real. This is now. Not then.

Without Needing to Say It - You end the night wrapped in warmth, in quiet, in something that feels a lot like love. You both haven’t said the words. But you don’t need to. Not when it’s already there—in the way you touch, the way you stay, the way you keep choosing each other. Again and again.

Clinginess Is a Symptom - He’s got a minor fever and a major case of “don’t leave my side.” You make the tea, the soup, the rules—and he, apparently, makes whiny affection into an art form.

The First Time It’s Safe - In the quiet before sunrise, wrapped in shared breath and steady hands, you and Haymitch finally speak the truth that’s been living between you for months.

Soft Things Stay - You and Haymitch settle into something slow and safe—until Katniss and Peeta burst in, convinced you’re dead. The rest of the day is filled with teasing, toast, and sunlight, the four of you slipping into a rhythm that feels like home.

Soot Sprite - You return to the ruins of District 12 for the first time since coming home, with Peeta beside you. The walk is harder than you expect—but softer, too. Just as the past begins to settle, a reminder of the settling past latches to your leg.

Did You Just Whimper? - With Soot spending the night at Katniss and Peeta’s, you and Haymitch finally get the alone time you’ve been craving.

We Are Not a Normal Family - Soot causes chaos. Peeta makes up a game with no rules. Haymitch suffers. You laugh until it hurts. And for a moment, under stars and mismatched blankets, you remember what it feels like to belong.

I’ve Been Yours

Epilogue

[your-averagewriter]

Hi,

Can I please request a young!Haymitch x reader where they’re both in the 50th Hunger Games and they team up and there’s like romantic tension (+ some rivals to lovers) and they end up having a steamy make out please?

Word count: 3.4K (I got so carried away here.)

Warnings: Blood, weapons, murder, death, usual Hunger Games warnings, kissing, make out session.

“I think we should work together.” I say, planting myself down on the seat in front of Haymitch.

“And why would we work together?” He says, bringing the fork full of food to his mouth.

“There’s gonna be 48 kids in that arena, do you really want to go in there alone?” I ask him.

“Why would I team up with you?” He asks as if I’m disgusting.

“You know me.” He looks at me unconvinced. “Well, sort of know me. Know of me then.” I correct. “We’re from the same district, similar age and I’ve got a good set of skills. I could be a good asset to you.” I say, with less confidence than I intended as this boy towers over me, even sitting down.

“What skills do you have?” He asks, still doubtful and rightly cautious of me.

“I can track, animals or people. I can identify most if not all plants and roots and I can prepare them for eating. I can also hunt with minimal tools, I only need a blade, the size doesn’t matter.” I say with a smile, content with my pitch.

“And you want to be allies?” He asks.

“Yes. You and me until the final five or six.”

“If we get that far…” He chimes in.

“Yes… If we get that far.” I sigh. “So, what do you think?”

“I’ll work with you but I’m not gonna put myself in danger for you.” He says, with a dark, snarky tone.

“Okay.” I say and chuckle slightly nervously. Having Haymitch with me not only offers me a bit more protection but company and companionship.

“In training tomorrow we can figure out more of a strategy and how this is gonna work.” He says signalling to the two of us. I nod, happy that he’s changed his mindset.

“I’ll see you then.” I say, hopping up from my seat, grabbing a bread roll and leaving the room but not before Haymitch stops me.

“Also, this is exclusive.” He signals to us again. “Don’t go partnering up or inviting other people.” He says and I nod before leaving the room.

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

“(y/n).” I hear someone whisper as I enter the training room. Slightly overwhelmed by the sight of masses of armed kids in the room and the loud noises they’re all making I turn around, slightly stressed looking for the voice. “(y/n).” I hear again although slightly louder this time and I manage to clock the direction of the voice. Turning to face the voice I’m met with Haymitch sat on one of the benches sharpening a set of knives.

“Hey.” I say quietly, walking over with a smile and sitting next to him. “What are these for?” I ask.

“You. I wanna see how good you are with them.” He says, focusing on the blades.

“I thought we were going to plan a strategy.” I say, confused.

“We can’t plan a strategy if we don’t know what each others’ skills are.” 

“Okay.” I say and he stands up, gripping the knives.

“C’mon.” He says and I follow him blindly towards one of the stations. We move to stand by the throwing mark, luckily the station is unoccupied. “Go on then.” He says passing me three blades for the three targets.

I step forward to stand on the throwing line and take a deep breath before preparing the blades. Each one I throw hits right in the centre of the target (the meaning on the target has taken on a much darker meaning after being thrown in these Games). I turn around to see Haymitch with a small smirk on his face causing a hint of a smile to emerge from mine.

“I told you I could hunt.” I say and tries to suppress his smile.

“You did. Okay, you’ve held up your end of the deal, my turn now.” He says and I follow him again through the training room to the weapons rack. Collecting an axe he walks over to a different station to present his skills.

He prepares to throw and hits the bullseye quite impressively and I cheer for him despite him looking back at me with a scowl which only makes me chuckle. It’s funny how an action so small can make you forget about having to fight to the death. 

“That was impressive, where’d you learn that?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask where you learnt to hunt in a district lacking in nature so don’t ask me where I learnt my shit.” I’m taken aback by his response and the abrasiveness of it.

“Sorry.” I say quietly and trail behind him again, suddenly all too aware of the eyes following us.

“It’s fine.” He says reluctantly, the depth of his voice finally revealed. “Let’s just get on with the strategy.”

The next few hours were spent either eating (lunchtime) or spent planning for the arena: tactics, plans, strategy, weapons, everything. Luckily during our planning session he relaxed a little and we ate lunch together (separate to the other tributes, there’s no point getting to know people who we’re gonna kill or will get killed).

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

Today’s the interview day which means a day packed full of fancy clothing and fake smiles. Every year we’re forced to watch the Hunger Games and nothing feels more fake than the interviews. This year because it’s a Quarter Quell and there’s double the number of tributes we’ve been paired with another from our District so Haymitch and I are getting interviewed together. 

I’m smothered in perfumes and fragrances and a dress is fitted to me, needles prodded in me on multiple occasions. It’s a fairly horrendous dress - it’s black and form fitting with trails of rock  like material symbolising the coal mines of District 12. I’ve got red lipstick and a fairly generous amount of blush.My hair is pulled back and pinned as tight as they could without pulling it and similar black “gems” are dotted on my head.

Rolling my eyes, I walk out of the dressing room to go and meet Haymitch (who is hopefully dressed better than me but I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re matching) in the tribute queue. I walk through the corridor and curse the black gems stuck to my eyelid preventing me from blinking without them irritating me.

I find the queue and look for Haymitch.

“Haymitch?” I question, craning my neck to see down the line.

“Down here!” I hear him say, sticking his hand out from the line, waving.

I make my way down the line, careful to look out for Haymitch as I trail past the districts, a slight wobble in my step because of the unnecessarily large heels.

“Hey.” I say, finally reaching the end of the line, tripping slightly at the end on my dress but mostly because of my heels.

Haymitch reaches his arms out grabbing onto my hands so I don’t properly fall over. I feel his warm palms against mine and manage to restabilize myself.

“Thanks.” I say, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look… beautiful.” He says, looking up at me and still holding onto my hands just a little more gently.

“Really? I hate the dress.” I say looking down but luckily the excessive blush covers my natural blush. “The lumpy bits are so tacky.” I say, looking at the things that are meant to represent coals.

“Okay, maybe not the rocky parts…” He says trailing off with a chuckle.

“I can’t believe you don’t have these stupid rock things on your suit, that’s so not fair!” I say and he finally releases my hands to straighten his tie. “You’ve only got the little gems on your tie!” I point out and cross my arms in frustration.

“It’ll be fine. We’re last anyway so most people will have stopped paying attention by then so no one will even care.”

“You don’t think anyone will watch?” I ask, slightly down about it and he seems to ponder the question. “How will we get any sponsors?” I say, disheartened.

“I’m sure our scores of 9 and 10 will help there.” He says with a small smirk referencing our private training sessions that were assessed.

“We did pretty well.” I say.

“Now, you’ve just gotta look pretty and answer their questions with a smile. Shouldn’t be too hard.” He smirks.

“Only if you turn on the charisma and show everyone your dashing smile. Maybe then we’ll get sponsors.” I already have a smile on my face.

“You’re making this too easy to win.” He replies, a smirk planted on his face.

-----------

After a successful interview filled with smiles and sponsors and small flirtatious comments we finally got to sleep, ready for what the next day had coming: The 50th Hunger Games.

I wake up the next morning and after choking down some bread and butter we’re all sent straight to our prep teams then off to the arena.

I get to talk to Haymitch once more before we’re thrown into the arena so it’s our last chance to finalise our plans.

“As soon as we get in the arena you don’t go for the Cornucopia - I’ll grab what I can from the outskirts before meeting you by the edge of the forest or whatever it is, the edge of the Cornucopia. Got it?” He asks, holding onto my hands and emphasising the plan. I try to listen to him but the nerves make it harder and harder by the second.

“Y-yeah.” I manage to breathe out but I can feel my heart thumping in my throat.

“You sure?” He asks, aware of what I’m feeling, at least partially.

“I’ve got it. Basically run.” I say trying a smile but only managing to upturn the edges of my lips. He nods and grips onto my shoulders grounding me before we’re separated.

In my tube (separate from Haymitch) I can’t help a hopeless feeling overwhelm me before we start rising. Finally in the arena, I survey the area, it’s woodland which optimises both our skill sets and offers us resources. My eyes scan across the tributes, searching for Haymitch, he’s a little less than half way around the circle of tributes meaning our positioning could be better but it could be worse.

Looking behind me I check for possible meeting points before spotting a backpack which we were told includes a water bottle, rope, a small weapon (likely to be a knife) and possibly a sort of medicine, bandages or food. My mind replays the conversation I just had with Haymitch about running but the bag is so alluring. Our chances could be greatly increased by the contents of that bag so I make the decision as the countdown starts to race to grab the bag before running.

The clock is counting down and as it reaches the lower numbers I prepare to launch myself off the podium but I’m careful not to step off before the countdown is up.

As soon as I hear the gun fire I dart off of the podium towards the bag keeping an eye on the tributes around me. A lot of them ran but because there’s a greater number of tributes a greater number ran towards the Cornucopia including, surprisingly, me.

Sprinting across the field I feel my heart thumping in my chest, terrified of the prospects of a battle but desperate for the chances the backpack could provide. I get to the bag and reach for it, wrapping my fingers around the straps and hoisting it onto my back before shooting back away, towards the treeline but I feel someone’s hands on my shoulders pushing me to the ground. I fall and knowing it’s not Haymitch I try to roll over and squirm away only to be met with the smirking face of one of the District 4 boys. My chances at life diminish as time goes on and I feel the tears fall down my cheeks as he makes mocking remarks and motions, shoving a knife in my face - playing with me. I try to move out of his way but he has me pinned down by my shoulders and he’s sat on my torso, legs around my waist.

I try to push him off and when he budges, falling off of me I know that it can’t have been because of me. He’s at least twice the size of me, at worst three times.

I look around and shuffle backwards hurriedly trying to remove myself from his grasp. Once I’m out of his reach I turn around to see him being tackled by another boy who then knocks him out but I’m not sure whether he’s dead or not as there’s so many cannons going off it’s hard to tell who's is who's. Now scared of this unknown boy who just beat up my attacker I shuffle further, stumbling as I try to get to my feet but he turns around to reveal a familiar face. Haymitch. I let out a small sigh of relief before he’s running back towards me, grabbing at my arms and yelling at me to run.

I shake my head, slightly, snapping back into the Games realising that these moments define our lives or our deaths. He grabs hold of my arm and I’m careful to grip onto the bag as we run. We make it to the treeline and I watch him turn his head quickly, looking for the other tributes but he makes sure to keep it brief and turns, pulling me into the woodland with him.

We run for what feels like forever but could’ve only been a matter of minutes. There’s no noises other than that of the cannons and our fast breathing, and I swear that I can hear his heart beating over mine. His hand remains securely lodged in mine, careful not to release me as we make our way further into the forest, for I’m not sure how much longer.

After a few more minutes, Haymitch’s pace slows down and I’m glad it does because my lungs feel like they’re gonna explode.

He slowly lets go of my hand as we draw to a stop in a grassy, wooded area. Immediately, I fall to the floor, on my hands and knees to try and catch my breath whilst he stands leaning over, his hands on his knees, gasping like I am. Whilst I can run, I’ve never run like that before.

Dumping the backpack beside me I notice that Haymitch has a large cut on his calf. I quickly open the backpack, desperate to see that it was worthwhile running for the bag. I start pulling items out of it: a rope, water bottle, small set of knives, a bundle of bandages and a wound cleaning kit. I sit back on my heels and feel a sense of relief as I make my way towards Haymitch. 

“S-” I swallow, clearing my throat. “Sit down, please.” I say quietly, still struggling with my breath.

He sits down on the grassy floor and I shuffle towards him, preparing to clean and bandage his wound. “I’m sorry.” I say, quietly, ashamed that my quick thinking got him hurt. “I’m so sorry.” I say and I struggle to focus on the medical equipment in front of me when my tears blur my eyes.

He doesn’t say anything so I move to clean his wound.

“I thought I was gonna die.” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “He was mocking me, had his knife in my face and that.” I say, finally in control of my breathing, my heart rate still too high. “He would’ve killed me if you weren’t there.” I say and pause looking up at him even though he’s not looking at me. “Thank you.” I wrap the bandage around his leg, careful to tie it tight enough but not too much. “I owe you my life.” I say. “I hope I can repay you one day.”

“I hope you can’t.” He says and I look at him, confused but also happy that he’s talking.

“What? Why?” I say getting up after finishing with his leg.

“I don’t want you to die for me.” He stands up a mere moment after me and finally looks me in my eyes.

“You just put your life on the line for me. You could’ve died.” I point out even though it’s obvious. “Because of me being stupid and not following the plan.” I say with a frown. “You said you wouldn’t do that.” I say, remembering the conversation we had when we first became allies. “You said you weren’t gonna put yourself in danger for me.” I repeat his earlier words.

“Yeah, well, things change.” He says.

“What changed?” I ask, my hands threaded in my hair, stressed out by both the conversation and the situation we’re in.

“I changed.” He says before leaning in towards me and tentatively placing his lips against mine, it’s experimental and he pulls back after a few seconds, nervously. My eyes are wide and my mouth lies open, confused but also in awe of what just happened. It takes me a few moments to process what just happened before I see Haymitch staring at me, looking slightly disheartened by my reaction.

“Forget about it-” He starts and turns to walk away but my hands reach for the sides of his face and I pull him back round so his lips meet mine again. This time more fervently and with a sense of desperation and longing. Now it’s his turn to look confused but he quickly gets into it and his hands move to find their place on my waist. He deepens the kiss, his lips desperate against  mine, determined to make the most of these moments. One of my hands stays cupping his face whilst the other moves to the back of his neck where I find myself playing with the tufts of his hair.

After a few more seconds I pull away, needing to breathe but I place my forehead against his as we both breathe in unison. There’s a smile on my face, the feeling of stress has now been replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach - butterflies as some would say.

“You do seem to have changed…” I say with a quiet laugh.

“Shut up.” He says, suddenly embarrassed by his previous words before pushing his lips against mine harder than before,

The force sends me back a little bit due to my surprise but his hands on my waist reassure me of my safety as he pins to a nearby tree. The bark is rough against my back but I can’t say that I care when his lips are on mine. His lips move roughly against mine and I gladly allow his tongue entrance as it presses against my lips. Mingling with mine, his tongue pushes through my lips and seems to search through the corners of my mouth. His lips are dry but so are mine after our run. He pulls away only for his lips to meet the skin of my jaw, he peppers kisses along my jaw but makes sure each kiss has all his attention and care. 

I tuck my head to the side, embarrassed at how bare I am, standing, pinned against a tree by a boy I only really met a week ago.

“Don’t hide your face, love.” He says and the pet name at the end makes me feel weak and my knees suddenly become wobbly which doesn’t seem to bother Haymitch as he just holds us both up - one of his knees pushed against the tree, between my legs to keep me up. I look into his eyes as he’s focused on my jaw, making his way up my face to my lips once again with nothing but desire consuming his eyes.

“They’re watching.” I say quietly, indicating with my eyes towards the cameras hidden amongst the arena.

“I don’t care.” He says between kisses. “Fuck them.” He breathes out as he presses his lips against mine with one of his hands trailing down my torso to my leg, stroking the plush skin of my thigh causing me to feel hot and flustered, the feeling tingling and travelling through my veins and making my body hot.

“Fuck them.” I say, quietly against his lips, feeling him smirk against mine.

-

AN: I really enjoyed writing this, it was such a good request and I loved it so I hope you do to! Thanks for the request!

I got a bit carried away with this piece, I only intended it to be about 1,000 words but it turned out at three times that much.