#and haymitch will be more useful as a mentor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

auroralwriting · 1 month ago

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𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴

pairing: finnick odair x district 12 victor!reader

summary: when it feels like the weight of the capitol is drowning you, finnick is there to keep you afloat

warnings: minor sotr spoilers, no use of y/n

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

Being the only other District 12 victor was tough. It wasn’t just the pressure of the appearance or the pressure you felt from the people in your district, but it was taking care of Haymitch, traveling to and from the Capitol over and over again for appearances on Caesar's show. There was a lot of pressure on your shoulders.

The worst part was the watch parties during the Games. Capitol socialites would invite the highest of high, the top notch elite citizens, Capitol employees, and Victors to their extravagant penthouses to watch the Games. Now those--those sucked. Keeping a stone face when your tribute dies, or any other for that matter. Watching children slaughter, starve, and fight. It was dreadful, even more so when under the watchful gaze of the Capitol citizens.

Dragging Haymitch to one of these was impossible. He hated being around those people. He refused to be their entertainment, which you understood. If he did come, it was because Effie gave him no other choice in the matter. She was very persistent when she wanted to be. Tonight was one of those times.

Haymitch was very drunk. Drunk off his ass. To put it simply, he was hammered. It was a coping mechanism, that much you understood, but being this drunk at this type of event was a recipe for disaster. Haymitch slurred his words, swayed like a drunken sailor, yelled at the television whenever a tribute did something that wasn’t to his liking– even if it wasn’t his tribute.

From afar, you could feel the watchful gaze of other mentors. A couple of them had caught your eye, like Beetee and Cecelia, but you ignored their gaze. Your focus needed to be on Haymitch. However, when Finnick Odair started whispering to his mentor, Mags, you couldn’t help but keep your gaze flickering to them.

It was blatantly obvious the two whispered about you and your mentor by the way they kept their eyes on him. You had no clue what they were saying, thinking. Maybe they were disgusted with his behavior or felt bad for you and your babysitting duties. It didn’t take long for Haymitch to follow your gaze. First, he had settled on Mags, but then it fell to Finnick. The party around you was a blur of colors and laughter, but none of it mattered. Not when Haymitch and Finnick were locked in a silent battle of wills, tension crackling between them like a live wire.

Finnick was a friend, as was Mags. It wasn’t like they were judging you, per se. You knew Finnick better than that. You’d known him since your first year mentoring. He loved to ruffle your feathers that year. It was the fun you learned the other Victors liked to have with the new ones. Hazing, in a sort of sense. But even through the teasing, Finnick cared. That much was obvious. It was sweet; he was sweet. You became quick friends. That was something Haymitch didn’t care for. Being friends with the Capitol Peacock will only bring more attention to you, he said. Maybe it didn’t matter because at least you had a friend.

Haymitch swayed on his feet, his drink sloshing dangerously close to the floor. He pointed a lazy but sharp finger at Finnick, eyes bloodshot but far from unfocused. "I know your type, Odair," Haymitch drawled. "All pretty words and empty promises. What, you think you’re any different from the rest of them?"

Finnick’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. It was barely there, but you caught it. The others around were quick to keen on the interaction, not surprising because Haymitch practically yelled his words across the room.

"You drink yourself half to death, Haymitch, and somehow you still think you have the moral high ground?" Finnick shot back, voice quiet but cutting.

Haymitch barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Moral high ground? Kid, I lost that the day I won my Games." He took another drink, then gestured between you and Finnick. "But at least I don’t pretend this place hasn’t already chewed me up and spit me out."

Finnick quickly walked over, his voice low and accusing. "And you think I do?" Finnick’s voice was sharper now, his grip tightening around his glass. He stepped closer, his usual smooth confidence cracking at the edges. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to be a puppet? To be paraded around for their amusement?"

The way he said it—low, bitter—sent a chill down your spine.

Haymitch scoffed. "Oh, I know you do. But the difference between us, Finnick, is that I don’t pretend any of this is real. I don’t make someone think they can be saved when we’re all too far gone."

Your stomach dropped as both sets of eyes turned to you.

"That’s enough," you snapped, stepping between them. "Both of you, just-just stop."

Finnick’s expression softened the slightest bit when he looked at you, but Haymitch just sighed, downing the rest of his drink like it was the only thing keeping him standing. “And you,” you snatched the glass from Haymitch, “that’s enough for tonight.”

"You wanna play hero, fine," Haymitch muttered, turning away. "Just don’t say I didn’t warn you." With that, he staggered off, disappearing into the crowd. You weren’t too worried. If he got into too much trouble, Effie would find him and scold him.

The tension lingered between you and Finnick, the party noise fading into the background. The attention quickly went back to the Games, two groups of tributes had run into each other. Much more interesting than two victors simply arguing. Finnick let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. The air was thick, charged with something raw and unspoken. Haymitch was gone, lost in the crowd, but his words still lingered, hanging over you and Finnick like a storm that hadn’t quite passed.

Finnick exhaled sharply, tilting his head back for a moment before looking at you again. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was something almost… weary in his gaze. "You think he’s right?" His voice was low, careful. "That we’re all too far gone?"

You hesitated. Because honestly? You weren’t sure anymore.

You crossed your arms, shifting on your feet. "I think Haymitch is drunk and angry and tired of fighting a war no one else seems to see."

Finnick scoffed, rolling the glass between his fingers. "Yeah. Well, aren’t we all?"

You frowned, watching him. He was doing that thing—deflecting, hiding behind sarcasm because it was easier than being honest.

"Finnick." You stepped closer, lowering your voice. "Why do you even care what Haymitch thinks?"

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around his drink. "Because he’s not wrong."

Your stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Finnick’s eyes flickered to the crowd, scanning the Capitol elites dressed in their absurd outfits, laughing and drinking as they watched children slaughter each other on massive screens. When he looked back at you, his expression was unreadable. "I know what they see when they look at me," he said softly. "I know what I am to them."

Your throat felt tight. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was more than just a Victor, more than just something for the Capitol to own, but you weren’t sure the words would mean anything. Not when he had spent years being told the opposite.

Finnick must have noticed your hesitation because he let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "See?" He lifted his drink in a mock toast. "Even you can’t say it."

"That’s not—" You stopped yourself, forcing out a breath. "That’s not true, Finnick."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied you, like he was trying to decide if he could believe you. If he wanted to. Then, after a long pause, he took a step closer, so close you could smell the salt of the ocean beneath the expensive Capitol cologne. "You’re different," he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. "I don’t know how, but you are."

Your heart pounded. "Different how?"

Finnick searched your face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled a quiet laugh and shook his head. "I don’t know yet," he admitted. "But I think I’d like to find out."

The party had finally died down, but the tension in your chest hadn’t. You had spent most of the night cleaning up Haymitch’s mess—pulling him away before he could piss off the wrong person, keeping him from collapsing in the middle of the Capitol socialites. Eventually, Effie had managed to drag him out, throwing you a look that was equal parts exhaustion and exasperation before disappearing with him toward the District 12 penthouse.

You should have stayed with them. But instead, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, gripping the marbled countertop with a glass of water in front of you. The ice had already melted, the condensation on the glass was already making a small pool of water on the countertop. A soft knock on the door made you turn.

When you opened it, Finnick was standing there, Mags at his side. His hair was still perfectly tousled, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder like he had just left another party. But there was something off, a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

Mags smiled up at you, tugging on Finnick’s shirt. "She wanted to check on Haymitch," Finnick translated, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "And so did I."

You sighed, shutting the door behind them. "He’s passed out." You gestured toward the couch, where Haymitch was sprawled, one arm hanging over the side, a half-empty bottle on the floor next to him. His chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths. Mags walked over and knelt beside him, her weathered hands brushing his hair back gently. Finnick stood beside you, watching the scene with something unreadable in his expression.

"I don’t know why I keep trying," you muttered, rubbing your temples. “He’s a disaster. He’s done it for years before me.”

Finnick tilted his head, glancing at you. "Because you still think you can save him."

You scoffed. "And you don’t?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his arms. "I used to. A long time ago."

Mags looked up then, nodding to Finnick like they already had a preplanned conversation. He nodded. "She says he’s lucky to have you," Finnick said, watching you carefully.

Your throat tightened. "It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he wished I died in that arena–”

“Don’t you even dare finish that sentence!” Effie said from across the room. You sighed, rolling your eyes. She just didn’t get that maybe it was a better fate to die than to live.

Finnick was silent for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, gently taking your wrist and guiding you to sit beside him on the armrest of the couch. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, close enough that the warmth of him was grounding, steady.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he murmured eventually. "You know that, right?" You turned to look at him, and for once, there was no Capitol bravado, no charming mask—just Finnick. Tired. Understanding.

“It’s not like I’ve had the best help adjusting,” you eyed the sleeping, more like passed out, Haymitch beside you.

Mags gave you a knowing look as she settled into the chair beside Haymitch, gently patting his arm. She signed something quickly to Finnick, who huffed a quiet laugh before turning to you.

"She says you need some fresh air."

You frowned. "I’m fine."

Finnick raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Yeah, sure. Because standing here looking like you're carrying the weight of all twelve districts is just a fun little hobby, right?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mags was already waving you off, her expression firm. She was staying, and Finnick wasn’t going to take no for an answer. With a sigh, you gave in. "Fine. But just for a little while."

Finnick grinned. "That’s the spirit."

The air outside was crisp, a stark contrast to the stuffy, artificial warmth of the penthouse. Finnick led you through the nearly empty corridors of the Tribute Tower, moving like he had done this a hundred times before. Eventually, he pushed open a set of doors, revealing a quiet rooftop garden, one of the few places in the Capitol that didn’t feel suffocating.

You took a slow breath, letting the stillness settle over you. It wasn’t home, not even close, but at least up here, the Capitol felt a little farther away.

"Better?" Finnick asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Yeah. It is."

He smirked, nudging your shoulder. "Mags knows best."

You let out a small laugh. "She always does." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant hum of the city buzzed below, but up here, it felt like a different world.

“I can’t imagine what it was like to do all of this on your own. Settling back home, learning the Capitol’s unspoken rules..” Finnick trailed off.

"I didn’t have much of a choice," you murmured.

Finnick was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming absently against the railing. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. "You shouldn’t have had to do it alone."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the raw sincerity in his expression. "You had Mags," you pointed out.

Finnick nodded. "Yeah. But even with her, it was still hell." He exhaled, shaking his head. "I was fourteen. Barely old enough to understand what had happened to me before they were already parading me around, expecting me to smile and play nice while they pulled the strings."

You swallowed hard. You had never asked about Finnick’s own struggles, had never been sure if he’d even want to talk about them. "I didn’t have anyone," you admitted. "Just Haymitch. And he was..." You glanced away. "He was barely surviving himself."

Finnick studied you for a long moment before he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding. "Well," he said, voice steady, "you have me now." The words were simple, but they settled deep, easing something in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there.

You looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him. "Yeah. I guess I do."

Finnick’s lips curled into the smallest smile. "And I don’t plan on going anywhere."

For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t standing in this fight alone.

The Capitol had a way of making time feel strange. You weren’t sure if it was the blinding lights, the artificial air, or the way no one ever seemed to sleep. But in this place, the Games stretched endlessly. Every morning, you woke up knowing you’d have to sit through another day of watching kids die, pretending it didn’t break you apart piece by piece.

Tonight was no different.

You had left the latest watch party early, the weight of it all pressing too hard on your chest. The screams from the arena still echoed in your head, the flickering images burned into your mind. You needed to breathe, needed space.

You barely registered where your feet were taking you until you found yourself at Finnick’s door. Before you could second-guess it, you knocked. It only took a moment before he answered, blinking at you with tired, sea-green eyes. He didn’t ask why you were there. He just stepped aside, letting you in.

The room was dim, lit only by the city lights filtering through the windows. Finnick closed the door behind you and leaned against it, watching you carefully.

"Couldn’t take it anymore?" he asked softly.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I just.. needed to get out of there. Caesar and his tech guys were hounding me– I think the only reason I was even invited is because one of my tributes is still alive."

Finnick nodded, pushing off the door and walking over to you. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face before tucking it behind your ear. The touch was so gentle, such a stark contrast to the brutality of everything happening around you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Okay."

That was the thing about Finnick. He never pushed. Never asked for more than you could give. Instead, he simply took your hand and led you toward the bed, sitting down and tugging you with him. You let yourself collapse against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. His arm came around you without hesitation, warm and steady.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was safe. After a moment, Finnick shifted, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. "You’re too tense," he murmured.

You exhaled shakily. "Hard not to be."

He hummed, his fingers trailing soothing circles against your back. "You need a distraction."

You lifted your head, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

Finnick grinned, but there was something softer beneath the usual mischief. His fingers slid down to lace with yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

"I was thinking we could talk about something good for once."

You scoffed. "Good? In this hellhole?"

"Mhm." Finnick shifted, leaning in slightly. "Like… the first thing you're gonna do when you finally get out of this place."

You thought for a moment. “I’m gonna go home.. and I’m gonna go to the meadow.. and I’m just gonna sit there. I’m gonna sit there in silence and just listen to the breeze and the birds.”

Finnick tilted his head. "And after that?"

You blinked at him. "Why does it matter?"

He studied you for a long moment before exhaling. "Because I want to know what your life looks like beyond this place. Beyond the Capitol, beyond the Games." His fingers tightened around yours. "I want to know what you look forward to."

You swallowed hard. It had been a long time since you allowed yourself to dream about anything beyond survival.

"I guess… I’d like to fix up my house. Grow something. Maybe actually enjoy living there instead of just… existing in it."

Finnick smiled. "That sounds nice."

"Yeah." You paused, then nudged him lightly. "What about you?"

He hummed, pretending to think. "One day, when our world is better, I’d really like to see District 12. See what all the fuss is about."

You snorted. "There’s no fuss. It’s miserable."

"Oh, I don’t know." Finnick smirked, leaning in just a fraction closer. "You’re there. That’s reason enough to visit."

Your breath caught for half a second, your heart stumbling in your chest.

"Finnick—"

But before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate, wasn’t meant to be an escape. It was soft, a promise, a quiet understanding. A reminder that there was still something left in this world beyond the horror you both had endured.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far, his forehead resting lightly against yours. "See?" he murmured. "Distractions can be nice."

You let out a soft breath, your fingers still curled around his like you were afraid to let go. "Yeah," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "They can."

Finnick smiled against your skin, his nose brushing lightly against yours. "I think I could get used to this."

You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling the warmth of him seep into you. "What, kissing me?"

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression turning more serious, more real. "Being close to you," he corrected. "Knowing you trust me enough to be here. To let me be here."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the unspoken weight behind them. You hadn’t let many people in, not since winning, not since realizing that survival meant keeping your heart locked away where the Capitol couldn’t reach it. But Finnick… Finnick made it feel safe to open that door. Even just a little.

"I do trust you," you said softly, holding his gaze. "More than I probably should."

His lips quirked into something between a smirk and something much gentler. "I won’t hold it against you." You rolled your eyes but smiled, and for the first time in days, it didn’t feel forced. “Go back to your floor, get some rest. Something tells me the Games will be over soon. You’ll need that rest before you go home.”

“Alright,” you said. “Will I see you? Before we go home?”

Finnick nodded, “Yeah. You will.”

For once, you believed something someone told you in the Capitol. And you didn't regret it.

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nebulaafterdark · 1 month ago

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Exile (Part 5)

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 4

“Sorry I…freaked out.” Are the first words out of Y/N’s mouth, the moment she realizes that Haymitch is awake.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain.” If she were bleeding on the outside, there are things he could do to help. A bandage, a tourniquet, kiss it better. There is almost nothing he can do to stop her from bleeding on the inside.

“It hurts less when you’re here.”

“I’ll be here.” Haymitch vows. He’ll hold his hand over her broken heart and apply steady pressure to her wound. He’ll make it better.

“But you won’t let me get too close.”

“You’re plenty close.” This is all there is. All that’s left of me and it’s yours.

“Snow’s gonna use me against you anyway.”

Haymitch huffs a laugh. “I’m very aware.”

“I meant what I said.” Y/N reminds him, “I won’t leave.”

“I’m not afraid of you leaving.” Good on you if you get away.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

Haymitch pauses for a long moment to consider, weighing the risks and benefits of telling her everything.

Forgive me, Lenore Dove and know that I do not love her like all-fire. I love her much gentler than that. No more and no less. I love her softly as the mangled sunflower held precariously together with Maysilee’s glue made of flour and spit.

“There was a girl…someone I loved.”

Y/N nods.

“Snow killed her too, not just my family.”

“Haymitch,” Y/N sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Being happy with you feels like I’m-”

“Betraying her?”

“I thought I’d never…” love again.

“Thank you for telling me.” Y/N rests her hand over his. It all makes a little more sense now.

Once he starts talking, the dam breaks, with every dirty detail pouring through the cracks.

Her name was Lenore Dove.

She was eternally proud of her Covey roots.

She loved the woods.

She believed there was freedom outside the districts.

“She used to raise geese.”

“Makes sense.” Y/N lifts a shoulder.

“In what way?” Haymitch laughs.

“You’re like a goose,” she tells him. Taciturn, loyal to a fault.

“You might be onto something.” If I tell her that I love her, Snow will surely kill her, somehow, someway. Maybe he’ll make me do it myself. But if I never get the chance to tell her, it will surely kill me…and as she once confessed in the arena, Y/N is afraid of being alone. “We gotta get ready.” The tributes are waiting.

It must feel better, getting it off his chest. One day maybe she could talk about…things. The things that upset her mother enough her father forbade Y/N of speaking on them.

“Do you think that…. maybe with a good sponsor we could save one of them? If so, which one?” The boy or the girl?

“The girl.” He decides, “a good sponsor isn’t gonna save her from the careers but if she plays her cards right…maybe.” She’s not going to leave her kid brother behind.

“Ok.” Y/N nods.

————————————————————————

“When the gong sounds, don’t forget to run, grab a pack of supplies if you can. Search for water and high ground.” Y/N reminds Maximus, on the elevator to the hovercraft.

During Haymitch’s…sabbatical from mentoring, Y/N had to decide which tribute to join in the elevator. Usually the child who seemed most afraid. To bring some sort of comfort to them in their final moments. Last year she took the girl and Haymitch the boy, now they’ve switched.

Maximus is shaking and trying hard to hide it. “When will I see my sister?”

“Denali is waiting for you on the hovercraft, you’ll be together there.” Y/N assures him.

The boy nods, “thank you for trying to get us sponsors. It was real nice of you.”

“Honey, you have sponsors.” Y/N says, “all you need to worry about is-”

“Water, high ground, grab a pack if we can.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiles, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

“Do we hug or something?” He asks as the elevator doors open.

“We can.”

“Just don’t tell my sister.” Maximus insists, wrapping his arms around his mentor.

“Ok,” Y/N rests her cheek against the top of his head. Feeling the bones of his shoulder blades beneath her hand. Even though he hasn’t got much of a shot, she will not turn her back on this little boy.

“Time to go,” a peacekeeper reaches in through the open doors, dragging the boy away.

“I’ll be watching the whole time,” you won’t be alone. “Don’t be afraid.”

————————————————————————

The viewing room is full, with Capitol higher ups crowding around Y/N. Naturally the cameras follow.

“Look at you! So beautiful.”

“Your dress is a masterpiece.”

“Y/N! Did you see?” A particularly eccentric woman, wearing some sort of orange fur, motions to her nose. “Just like yours.”

Over the woman’s shoulder, Haymitch is laughing it up with a man she’s not familiar with.

“Wow,” Y/N smiles. “That is very nice.”

“I know the best surgeon. Everyone who is anyone-”

Y/N catches a glimpse of Cecelia, a fellow victor, from district eight. The first year Y/N came to mentor alone, most of the victors had already settled into cliques.

They were all polite enough, but no one was overly eager to explain the sponsorship system or how to send parachutes once she raised the money.

“You have to take the money up to the table and select from the menu.” Cecelia whispers.

“Oh, uh…thank you.” Y/N nods.

“Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Cecelia purses her lips, “you can sit with me if you want.”

Y/N sits with her for the next two years. Until last year, when she convinced Haymitch to join her, effectively sparking Snow’s curiosity.

The Capitol woman is still talking.

“Would you mind showing my husband?” Y/N asks. “He’s going to love this.”

“Of course!”

“Haymitch,” Y/N hails him over.

“You better go.” The Capitol man claps him on the back. “We mustn’t leave your lovely bride waiting.”

Haymitch’s blood runs cold. Did you watch? No. He stops himself. Knowing won’t help anyone. Instead he nods, stepping a few feet away to wrap a protective arm around his wife.

“This is my new friend, Synchrony.” Y/N tells him.

Some part of the woman is familiar to him, though he can’t put a finger on it. “Haymitch. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand, which the woman swiftly takes.

“Likewise.”

“She was just showing me her nose.”

Her nose…your nose?

“Almost an exact replica.” Synchrony gushes.

“What do you think?” Y/N turns her head, so he can see from all angles.

“Well,” Haymitch chuckles. “It’s a great nose.”

“I thought so too.” The woman says, before flitting away at the sound of the anthem. “The games are about to begin.”

Y/N surveys the room, District one is cocky, as usual. Gloss, last year’s victor, has a sister who volunteered. And he couldn’t be more proud.

“District one, number one!” He exclaims at the sight of his younger sister lined up on her pedestal.

Her long blonde hair is held away from her face in two intricate braids. Cashmere.

Denali and Maximus have been placed at a notable distance, with careers on either side of the boy.

Haymitch sighs. She’s not gonna be able to get to him.

The surrounding forest seems to chitter with a life all its own. Cameras pan over the trees, revealing the horrors within. Spider mutts with fangs dripping venom and glowing red eyes. Weaving glistening webs, large enough to catch their human prey.

“Spider forest.”

“Not my favorite.” Y/N shifts closer to Haymitch.

The games begin with the sound of cannon and the tributes are off. Denali makes a mad dash for the cornucopia, grabbing two packs and a weapon. She does manage to reach her brother. They are nearly to the trees when Maximus takes a spear through his spine.

It’s the boy from two.

“Wooohooo, let’s go two.” His mentors rejoice.

First blood is always celebrated…by those who partake in celebrating death.

In a blind rage, Denali charges the careers, wielding her blade as though she’s trained for years to do it. She manages to take out the male from one, now abandoned by his partner.

Perhaps Cashmere did not consider the careers could become the target of a grieving girl from twelve.

Denali runs her weapon through the girl from two, after taking a good beating herself. Saving the boy for last.

“I was just playing the game.” He stammers, realizing that he will now have to take on the crazed girl, hand to hand. No more spear. No weapon at all.

“Game over.” Denali murmurs, all the light has left her eyes. She does not fear death. She has nothing to live for, apart from killing her brother’s murderer. She feels no pain.

Her cannon sounds not long after the boy from two’s, as though she hung on just long enough to hear it.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, twelve.” Gloss calls, raising his glass to Y/N and Haymitch, “that was one hell of a show.”

I hope you choke.

————————————————————————

The viewing room begins to clear out around sunset. With both their tributes gone, the Abernathys are expected to attend the nightly festivities. Plutarch Heavensbee is hosting tonight.

Y/N excuses herself to the restroom before they’re escorted to a second location. In the fleeting moments, standing before her reflection at the sink mirror, Y/N has a moment to process what has happened.

Grabbing for the pristine white hand towel and dabbing it directly along her waterline. A trick Vanity taught her.

‘I do not care if you cry. Just don’t ruin your makeup.’

She used to cry more, in those first years after the games. Like a faucet that never stopped running.

“Are you ok?” A voice to her left whispers, announcing their presence.

“Cecelia,” Y/N whispers back.

“This is the only place the cameras don’t follow you these days, huh?” Her friend remarks. “That’s what happens when you buy into their agenda.”

“You think I bought into the Capitol?”

“You married your least favorite person in the world.” The woman lifts a shoulder. “If that’s not selling out, I don’t know what is.”

“I didn’t sell out, they were gonna sell me.” Y/N fights the urge to scream at the top of your lungs.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Cecelia blanches.

“You could’ve asked,” Y/N snaps.

They stand in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“They didn’t though, did they?” Sell you?

“They…recorded us. And sold it.” Y/N lowers her voice even further.

“Jesus Christ.” Cecelia’s stomach turns. “B-because you’re married? Do they do that to all victors?”

“Cecelia, I don’t know.” Y/N shakes her head.

Terror etches itself into the features of her face.

“I think it’ll be ok.” Y/N decides, “Teddy isn’t a victor. If they wanted to sell you, they would’ve done it by now.”

Cecelia nods.

“Just don’t draw any unnecessary attention.”

“Y/N,” Cecelia breathes. “You draw the attention.”

“Oh.” Oh, that hurts. It burns.

“They don’t care what I do, they never have. I’m not terribly interesting, or knowledgeable or pretty, I’m just Cecelia. The cameras and the people only hung around-”

“Because of me,” Y/N finally understands.

“It’s probably best if we…” keep our distance.

“Yeah,” Y/N twists the obnoxious diamond of her engagement ring around her finger.

————————————————————————

The Heavensbee estate is sizable, while lacking the grandiosity of President Snow’s mansion.

“Welcome, welcome.” Plutarch himself greets them. “Can I get you anything? Wine? Champagne?”

“How about some real liquor? Don’t hold out on me, Plutarch.” Haymitch says, keeping hold of Y/N’s hand, as they step over the threshold.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Plutarch grins. “Follow me.”

Party goers smile and wave as they pass, making their way to Plutarch’s personal stash. He hands Haymitch a bottle of deep caramel liquor.

Haymitch uncorks it, lifting the bottle to his nose and inhaling with an appreciative hum.

“Two glasses?” Plutarch looks to Y/N now.

“No thanks,” Y/N shakes her head, “just for Haymitch.”

Plutarch doesn’t argue. Reaching quickly for a crystal tumbler, before Haymitch can begin chugging directly from the bottle.

“Thank you,” Haymitch fills his cup to the brim.

“Of course.” Plutarch replies, “I was hoping you’d show.”

“Why’s that?”

“I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself to your wife.”

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N extends her hand for a shake. “I’m Y/N.”

“Plutarch,” he grips her hand, firmly, before releasing. “I know you’re the talk of the town, so I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Would you join me for a game of chess?”

“Sure,” Y/N catches Haymitch’s gaze as Plutarch begins leading her away.

If she were in any real danger he would follow, but he doesn’t. Leaving only Y/N, Plutarch and his chessboard, in a room unsuitable for a party.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess, I don’t have many visitors here.”

“The all exclusive chess room,” Y/N deadpans, “everybody has one.”

The man chuckles. “I assume you know the rules.”

“My dad and I used to play.”

“Wonderful! You’re a shoe in. Please, sit.” Plutarch motions to the chair.

Despite the layer of dust and cobwebs covering a majority of the room, the purple velveteen chairs are perfectly preserved.

Y/N takes a seat, his pieces are red to her white. “This is a beautiful set.” Handcrafted, down to the pawns.

“It was a gift.” Plutarch says, making his first move.

Y/N considers trying to get more out of him, but it’s late and she doesn’t care all that much. Instead she moves her own piece into place. Her favorite play is the Queen’s Gambit, but he’ll surely be expecting that. She’ll have to take a quieter approach.

He’s paying more attention to the way she moves than the number of pieces she captures.

What’s your game, Plutarch?

“See that?” Plutarch grins, “you won.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning the game, I want to break the board.” Y/N smiles, in return.

“Life is a series of choices, much like chess. If you break the board, there will be a new board. You’ll get where you’re going a lot faster if you learn to play the game.” The man says, “moves and countermoves.”

Part 6

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lias-writings · 8 days ago

Text

cruel world

pairing: finnick x district12!victor!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of: forced prostitution, violence, and death but not described, established relationship, kissing, pet names (sweetheart, love, honey etc.), one slightly dirty joke, other characters mentioned, usual thg stuff, set in catching fire

a/n: uhhhhh i’ve been writing this for two weeks now, just couldn’t get myself to finish it, it’s here now tho so enjoy!!! ALSO IM THINKING ABOUT MAKING THIS A SERIES WHAT DO WE SAY?? (divider by @dollywons)

word count: 4.6k

finnick o’dair thought that he will never feel worse than when he was reaped for his games, barely at fourteen years old having to fight for his life in an arena with twenty three other kids. when he won his games and had to live with the heavy weight of the lives he took or when he was being sold and used by the capitol ever since he was fifteen.

that all changed when finnick met her. the love of his life with the same fate. a victor that was desirable for capitol’s citizens. a big mistake. he felt horrible whenever she was pulled from his arms to be used by violent, greedy men.

the feeling that beat those was when the quarter quell was announced. finnick he was the only male victor in district four and when mags, his mentor, volunteered as tribute for his friend annie cresta it was even worse.

finnick put on the typical mask of arrogance and pride, smiling into the cameras while his eyes hid fear and worry, his mind begging for his girlfriend not to volunteer, as he watched the screen from the justice building in his district.

“as always ladies first.” effie said into the microphone, cameras pointing at her face as they finally streamed the last of the twelve district. it was different this time, sadder. everyone was confused, heartbroken and angry.

katniss’s name was called and before anyone had the time to process it, the only other remaining female victor immediately raised her hand.

“i volunteer.”

finnick’s vision went black, he suddenly felt nauseous and sick. he didn’t know if he wanted to strangle her or hold her and never let her go. probably both.

the train ride was a lot less calmer than two years ago, when you were reaped at sixteen years old, as a tribute for your district.

the setting was quite familiar, really, haymitch was trying to drink himself into oblivion as always, effie was speaking about manner and being a team, peeta was quiet probably bracing the probability of death more than last year and you were thinking about finnick. what he’s gonna say, what are you gonna say, everything.

you wouldn’t really blame him if he was gonna get mad at you. you would too. you had the chance to not go back, yet you decided you will. although, you knew finnick would do the same in your place, katniss had a family she had to take care of, you had only finnick and friends, that all were going to the arena as well, making you wonder, how could anyone think you’d stay home and just watch? a lot of people would, but not you.

the train finally stopped in the capitol and from the window you saw people on the station, screaming and cheering and waving, greeting you and peeta. you just gave a fake smile, before disappearing behind the curtains again and following after effie to the exit.

deep breaths. in and out. your brain repeated to you, as you walked through the familiar hallway, hand in hand with peeta, showing each other support, through a little gesture.

“they all know each other, have been friends for years which gives you two a disadvantages since y’re newbies, try to make a good impression and allies, that is the most important.” he warned looking straight at you and not at peeta at all.

“but- that makes no sense, getting too close to them will just give them an opportunity to kill us right away.” you argue with your mentor.

“sweetheart, if you two stay alone, they’re gonna hunt y’ down, immediately. say what’cha want but i know these people.”

“how can we even trust them?” you throw your arms defensively, sitting on the chair, in between your blonde friend and effie.

“hey, c’mon…” peeta tried to convince you. of course he thought that your trust issues were valid, but he also understood that if you wanted to live at least after the bloodbath, you’d have to make alliances with some of the other victors.

“it’s not about trust it’s about staying alive.” haymitch gave you a strict, pointed look, ending the debate, placing the empty glass that smelled of whiskey, back at the table.

after the talk with haymitch you both were send to your quarters before your prep teams would call you and discuss the opening ceremony.

the elevator felt too small, too slow and too hot to keep your nerves in check. you knew you wouldn’t be able to calm down until seeing finnick, yet everything around you was making it even more unbearable, the feeling of being pressed together into a little ball, like the walls would close around your body, squishing you together.

“see you later?” your blond district partner’s voice echoed in your ear, taking you out of your thoughts and you give him a brief nod of agreement as an answer. if it was not for him maybe you wouldn’t even notice that the elevator’s door clicked open at your destination.

walking into your room, you slump on the bed, diving back into your restless mind. the room was just so capitol like. modern and luxurious, brightly coloured. a king sized bed places in the very middle of the chamber, a lone painting of the city’s skyline hung on the wall, soft carpet covered the first three feet of a measure from the edge of the bed so coldness of the floor would not be the first thing waking you up in the morning as if to make up for the coldness of the room on it’s own. there was nothing personal, nothing idiosyncratic that would make it imperfect, that would make it human and feel like home.

the swirls of your own brain would maybe swallow you whole if there was not a knock on the door and then a face of your district’s escalator appeared.

“sweetie, be ready in few down at the hall, pleas. also, special someone is waiting for you.” effie smiled, and her eyes held a sparkle of mystery. oh, how much she rooted for you and finnick, how much she rooted for katniss and peeta. she tried to hide it, but you were an observant person and the lessening ignorance from her was just making you like her more but you understood the importance of keeping up a mask.

“thank you, effie.” sparing her a small smile, watching her leave, you walked toward the mirror that decorated one part of the wardrobe’s door. you fixed the mess your two braids had become and tied the bows of ribbon on each side again. it was there to ground you. maybe you were crazy, but that little flashes of colour in the grey and dusty district you grew up in, were giving you hope. hope that not everything was black and white and that there was a way out. you hoped they would work the same in here. to remind you where you’re from, that fighting is a second nature to you.

impatiently stepping, from foot to foot, in the elevator you waited for it to get to zero. you didn’t know why you felt so sick. you did this before. you can do it again, right? maybe if finnick’s fallen, worried face wasn’t the first thing you saw when the elevator let you into the lobby, where prep teams were supposed to pick up their victors in no time, those affirmations would’ve been more affective. just maybe.

puffing out your chest, straightening your back, and walking towards the group of much older and skilled victors with confidence seemed like a good idea second ago, the other second when enobaria pierced through you with her gaze, not so much. you had a deep respect for that woman.

swallowing down you walk up to the other duo standing there. you counted five victors in total, which was not much, but you assumed others were or requested to be escorted from their private rooms. few meters from the career pack, there was no one other than finnick with mags next to him.

finnick chatted with his career co-victors for a while, trying to appear as indifferent and as charming as he always is. there was no way for him and you to be in a public relationship, no. it’s been just a secret between you and your closest friends. you did try to hide it from snow, but he found out in a matter of weeks anyway. surprisingly he let it slide, a thought forming in his head how great of a extortion method this could be for him.

“i won’t look into what you do in private, but for everyone else, you and her have to appear available and willing, mr. o’dair.” snow’s voice ringed in finnick’s head often, killing him from the inside like a parasite.

a good way to describe president snow, who always found ways to hurt and destroy more and more. increasingly often you and finnick found yourselves escorted at the capitol from your districts, to satisfy the greedy clients that simple objectified and violated you, leaving you feel used and dirty.

finnick had a comforting arm around mags’ shoulders, few moments after excusing himself from the conversation with the other careers, waiting for their prep teams. a familiar sounding footsteps echoed through the room, familiar scent lined through the air as you neared him, finnick adverted his eyes from mags’ looking up so he was met with a warm, soft but confident gaze of his lover.

he wanted to run to you, take you into his arms and kiss you senseless. instead he just gave you that warm smile, waiting. he was still upset about earlier events but also incredibly understanding and content to see you alive.

giving a brief nod of acknowledgment to the careers you hurried to hug finnick, while trying to make it look like he wasn’t the love of your life or something.

“finnick.” you breath out loud in relief almost, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his muscular arms envelop you once again after all the long weeks of being out of reach, just relaying on a belief the other one was safe.

“my love…” he whispered softly, almost inaudibly so no one would hear, but you did and that was enough.

he didn’t wanted to pull away from you, almost felt like he physically couldn’t until you did, leaning back, taking away the warmth you provided for the brief moment the embrace lasted.

“hi mags.” you greet mags, the wonderful old lady you’ve grown so much to, finnick’s mentor and the female tribute for district four. she returned your hug, giving you a smile, her gentle motherly hand brushed your cheek.

the next day the training began, you were given your training suits and alongside peeta, you walked into the training room. so similar to how you remembered it. the survival stands, fighting matts and of course simulators, for archery, knife throwing, sword fighting and much else.

you part ways with your district partner, for now, walking around slowly, trying your hardest to smile at the other occupants of the room, but most, just hissed or glared at you, until by the corner of your eye, you caught those crazy geniuses from the third district or whatever haymitch said, struggling to make a fire.

“you should move your hands downward and faster.” you try to advice putting a smile on your face, as you tried unnoticeably take a closer look at the pair, sitting down next to them, watching beetee try again.

“a little brutal force..” wiress gasped as she saw the smoke coming out of the wood.

“is always helpful. thank you.” beetee finished the line for his district partner and smiled at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose.

“by the corner of the table.” the female tribute whispers mysteriously, making you look up at the balcony, the gamemakers watched you from like hawks analysing their preys. you squint your eyes trying to figure out what was wiress talking about, so you ask.

“plutarch?” the head gamemaker had talked to you, at the victor’s party very briefly, few momths ago, but wiress shook her head and beetee seemed to be only remaining from the trio to catch on what his co-victor was talking about.

“force field.”

“how do you know?” you ask curious, scanning the area, but you just didn’t know what to catch onto.

“the shimmering. top left side.” beetee explained lightly turning your head towards the imperfect edge of the figurative border, “you see it?”

you nod along, fascinated by the occurrence. “almost like glass.” you commented.

“it separates them from us.” wiress sighed and you frowned knowingly.

“i know who’s fault that is..”

“electro-magnetic.” beetee stated after analysing the force field for few another seconds.

“how can you tell?” you ask again, confusion settling in your expression a they laughed. “is it obvious or something?” you pout almost as they giggled some more while you were trying to figure pit if there was something you were missing.

“they might as well put a sign there.” wiress laughed some more as beetee tried to explain it to you.

“look around, the holograms, the lights, every once a while, they flicker. why?”

“because the force field is taking up too much energy.” you answer, nodding understandingly, feeling a little better after seeing his pleased smile at your correct answer.

“there’s always a flaw in the system.”

and that made you think for few seconds, just about how true that was, but before you could dive too deep into those waters, by the corner of your eye, you caught mags, making fish hooks. you excuse yourself politely, from the district three victors and made your way towards the eldest mentor and this years tribute.

your gaze scanned over her creations. you knew how to make those, because finnick taught you some time ago, it came in handy a lot, you just wanted an excuse to talk to her.

“volunteering for annie was really brave.” you say standing next to her, giving her a soft encouraging smile.

mags just shook her head, her gentle hand touching your chest, which was your answer. you knew what she meant. that she admired your bravery to volunteer for your best friend instead.

before you had a chance to say anything else, finnick appeared behind you with a trident and a rope in his hand, grinning, like he was having the time of his life.

“you know this is the best knot you can know in the arena.” the blonde said hanging a noose around his neck.

you just gave him an unimpressed look but barely could fight back the smile as you were looking at him, knowing full well that was his only intention beside showing off.

“don’t look at me, look at the knot.” he chuckled as he tried to lecture you, dramatically tugging on the end of the rope, towards you.

“hilarious.” you comment, crossing your arms over your chest, but an amused smile was plastered on your face, reaching your eyes even.

“do you wanna take me for a walk?” finnick cocked his eyebrow, while keeping his tone light, his bronze waves already were a mess after his training, and maybe you even would if it wasn’t for the given circumstances so you just roll your eyes over him coyly, walking past him, for your chosen weapon to train more your skills.

“oh, really?” you heard finnick’s voice call behind you and you just had to smile for yourself before focusing on the task at hand again.

“good news.” haymitch walked into the lounge room of their floor that peeta and you were occupying, stopping right in from of the couch you were sitting on.

“more than half of the tributes want you as their ally.” haymitch said, arms folded over his chest, but what he said, was meant as a praise, he was relieved you made a good impression.

“well they saw her fight.” peeta said, standing next to haymitch, mentioning how you left everyone speechless at the training earlier today after showing your chosen skill in full swing.

“well sweetheart, who’s your pick?” haymitch asked expectantly before muttering under his breath. “beside o’dair of course..”

“i want wiress and beetee.” you say without much thinking, blinking as you saw haymitch’s expression shift ever so slightly.

“johanna calls them mats and voltes.” your district partner comments, not so sure with your choice of allies.

“well honey, who’s else?” haymitch tried again, his last hopes mirroring in his eyes.

“mags.” you shrug softly almost pouting at the looks you have gotten from your mentor and co-tribute.

haymitch swallowed, hard. looking at peeta who was right now rethinking all his life choices before looking back at you.

“i’ll tell them y’re still makin’ up your mind.” he settled on before walking back towards the elevator.

soon enough the prep teams plugged out their victor, to make them look as significant as attractive and as glorious as they can. you were waxed off of all your additional body hair beside those on your head. they bathed you, scrubbed and soaped up your body with the expensive products that held rich scents of vanilla, strawberries and sweet cakes.

it didn’t take more than hour before cinna walked through the door of the room where you were supposed to wait for him.

“cinna..” you hug him, your hair still wet. he was the first person from the capitol, you ever trusted. he was a great stylist and even greater man. as a stylist for district twelve, he dressed both you and katniss for your games.

breathtaking, mesmerising, magnificent, enchanting and just simply beautiful. all those words could describe the dress you wore. white, wedding like, but incredibly revealing even if they were floor length. that’s how you first would call it, they wanted you to be desirable. you knew why. you knew it was all president snow, teasing, poking and provoking. it was just so him.

“and if i die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.” you watched finnick say on the stage, next to caesar flickerman, and god did it sounded so fake. the audience swooned, some of the other victors beside you made disgusted faces and you, you were the only one in the room, knowing it was real.

flickerman sent him off the stage with a laugh, and called the female tribute from district five on the stage. the victors kept changing and before you could listen more to johanna’s screaming, finnick’s voice stole your attention away.

“break a leg, or whatever you say in twelve.” the typical arrogant smirk decorated his perfect face as he snickered, throwing yet another sugar cube into his mouth, you knew it always did ease his nerves.

“maybe johanna will break his leg.” you mutter adverting your gaze to johanna mason, raging on the podium. when finnick introduced you to her first, you found her hard to trust, but soon enough you got used to her unpredictable, fierce nature. your calmer and rational thinking was a great contrast to your friendship.

the observation earned a chuckle from finnick as he took a little step closer to you, looking at you with his sea green eyes, for a long moment as if complimenting your beauty with just the look on it’s own. finnick had his way with words, there was no discussion about that, but his eyes always spoke for him first.

“see y’ later, honey.” his thumb ever so gently brushed against your chin, as he turned to walk to the other already interviewed victors.

“peeta.” finnick acknowledged your district partner with a brief nod, and he got one back, from the younger blonde.

“finnick.” peeta muttered, walking up to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder briefly before he saw haymitch nearing both of you with effie trying to keep up with him on her dramatically tall heels.

“you know what to do?” haymitch switched gaze between his protégés, before sipping some alcohol from his flask again, to make sure they understood. earning a nod from both you and peeta he sighed, for now leaving it to the fate.

“it’s time.” effie chimmed when your name was called and started lightly pushing you towards the staircase leading up the podium.

“our lovely girl, all the from twelve, doesn’t she look beautiful?” caesar gushed putting a hand over his chest, while holding the microphone in the other. the audience cheered, they loved you here, you were such an interesting victor to the capitol.

“tell us, did you leave a special someone at home? i don’t believe you didn’t.” laugh erupted from the crowd but everyone awaited your answer.

“thank you, caesar. what a..nostalgic feeling to be here again., but i didn’t, really.” you smile sweetly, your eyes searching for a head of bronze waves underneath the podium but the moment of silence flickerman left you was way too short, for you to be successful. and also technically, you weren’t lying. the special someone was there with you.

“unbelievable. such a beautiful young lady. ain’t i right gentlemen.” the crowd cheered once more before caesar asked you other number of questions.

“you did good, now you two should get some rest, the raiting starts early again tomorrow.” haymitch said as he walked with you and peeta to the elevator after introducing you to his friends, seeder and chaff, the victor tributes from district eleven.

you gave a hum in an answer, leaning against the glass wall of the lift while it gone up, not paying attention to the conversation haymitch had with peeta, getting lost in your thoughts once again before johanna’s loud voice pierced through the compressed space.

“care to unzip?” she grinned at peeta which you just rolled your eyes over, until by the corner of your eye you caught familiar tall frame that stepped in just behind johanna. finnick.

“haymitch.” the victor from district four cocked at your mentor, who just gave him a nod, brief annoyance flashing over his expression, just before johanna completely stripped off her clothes having all of the three blond’s eyes on her.

“thanks. lets do it again some time.” she called over her shoulder winking at you, before walking away into the hallway of the seventh floor where her quarters were.

“thank you.” the oldest member of the group answered and finnick threw a smirk at you making you roll your eyes once again, not even noticing haymitch’s judging look thrown into your boyfriend’s direction.

“not tired, o’dair?” your mentor uttered indifferently, looking everywhere around just to not catch your gaze.

“ve got a great stamina.” the younger blond mused while peeta just shifted awkwardly not comfortable in the position between the two older victors.

you just fake coughed lightly into your fist, reminding everyone of your presence so all the male victors around went quiet rather than being scold for the childishness of their arguments.

“twelfth floor.” the voice in the elevator announced and peeta was the first one to get out just to disappear into his bedroom, wanting to leave you and finnick some space, knowing he will talk to you later, but mainly wanting to get away from any other possible drama.

haymitch almost lazily shuffled out, into the hall, drinking the liquor from his flasks once more, before turning his head to look at you, making that disapproving face.

“use protection.” he just muttered before getting lost as well, before you had any chance to yell something back at him.

“are you even allowed to be here?” you turn to finnick, before he led the two of you slowly to the balcony railing, his hand holding yours.

“i didn’t ask.” is your answer from him along with that charming, kind smile of his. finnick leaned against the railing, reaching his free hand out to cup your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

it was more than comforting, to after weeks of loneliness, spent the night in finnick’s warm, loving embrace, his presence always had the charm to keep the nightmares from haunting every minute of your not so peaceful sleep.

the four days went even faster than it did last time. the individual rating was something that went completely around you and your brain wasn’t able to process much of the given informations, when it was occupied by the thoughts of what is gonna happen tomorrow and if you will live to see what happens after tomorrow.

“pst. hey, hey baby.” the familiar gentle voice took you out pf your thoughts and you turned around to see finnick standing at the doorway of your bedroom. for tonight, you had agreed to sleep separately, so you’d be strong and fully rested at the dawn.

“finnick!” leaping into his arms you take the feeling in, as if it was the first and last time, you ever get to feel his love and care.

finnick smiled, holding you close to his chest his arms supporting your weight as he leaned his head down, kissing your lips gently. then again, and again.

“i’ll see you in the mornin’ m’kay, sweet girl? ‘s all gonna be okay.” he gave you a reassuring look pecking your forehead.

“yea, in the morning.” you mumble, just clinging close to him, not being able to say much right now, feeling your insides being tangled in a one knot and squeezed tightly.

“good night, my love.”

“good night, finn.” unwillingly you let him go only comforting thought being that it all, might soon be over.

#finnick odair x reader #the hunger games #finnick odair #angst #thg #thg finnick #catching fire #thg fanfiction #lia writes 🌷🛍️

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liberalk1tsch · 27 days ago

Note

Drabble where Peeta isn’t hijacked when Katniss is shot in Mockingjay, and we see his reaction to it and he takes care of her and everything?

well this is gonna hurt. and just cos i prefer it, here’s it on ao3 too bc i 🫶🏻 pain

The screen goes black, but the shot continues ringing in my ears long after the cameras shut off.

Shot.

She’s been shot.

I feel Haymitch’s hand on my shoulder, leading me away. I feel numb as he pulls me around a few corners, down a set of stairs, and pushes me into some sort of room full of warm, whirring machines. I quickly recognize the room as one where I’ve previously stumbled upon Katniss hiding out in when she gets overwhelmed with her duties as the Mockingjay.

“What’s happening?” I ask frantically. “Is she okay?”

“Shut up, boy,” scowls Haymitch. “I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.” He’s still got the radio headset on that he was using to communicate with her only moments ago. I’m not sure if he’s switched to a different channel and is trying to listen in on the medics’ coms now, or if he’s simply trying to make out what they’re saying through Katniss’ microphone, but either way, whatever he’s hearing has left him with a furrowed brow and ashen face.

A few minutes of baited breath later, we have an update: the bullet didn’t penetrate her suit, thanks to Cinna’s design. She’s being transported to District 2’s clinic under suspicion of a ruptured spleen and broken ribs.

“Why isn’t she in the hospital?” I ask.

“Just ‘cause 2 is better off than 12 doesn’t mean they’ve got everything. She’s lucky they have a clinic for the peacekeepers. She’ll probably need emergency surgery for that spleen.”

“I need to go, I need to be with her,” I say. It’s not a question.

“You can’t —”

“If this is about my safety —”

“It’s got nothing to do with you, kid, and everything to do with her. She’ll probably already be on a hovercraft being transferred back here by the time you get there,” says Haymitch.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” I say helplessly, burying my face in my hands.

Haymitch sounds genuinely sorry for me when he says, “I don't know.”

I pause for a moment. “Haymitch, what if she doesn’t make it?”

“She will. She’s a fighter.” He stops, as if contemplating his next words. “She’ll come back to you in this world.”

There's something devastating about the way he’s phrased it. As if he knows what it is to lose the love of his life in this world, as if he’s holding out hope to find them again in the next. But it’s that very devastation that’s oddly comforting in a way that Haymitch so rarely is. He and I don't see eye-to-eye on most things, but — funnily enough — he’s the only one who seems to understand how I feel about Katniss.

I wonder if love’s a big enough word for my feelings for her.

When my dad was around, he understood the crush I had on her, but Haymitch knows what it’s become. Maybe even more than I do — or at least am willing to admit — sometimes. I never thought of him as a romantic guy, but he continues to surprise me, even now.

We don’t sleep, my mentor and I. And while it’s not the first sleepless night I've spent thinking about Katniss, it’s by far the worst. Nothing else can compare.

Not when I awoke to her lying in a pool of her own blood, and spent the next 36 hours making sure she didn’t die in my arms. Not when we were separated in the Quell, and I hacked my way through the forest, through mutts, through Brutus, following her screaming my name.

Not even the countless nights I’d spent in the Capitol with only Annie’s sobs and Johanna’s screams for company, holding on to a memory of her in an attempt to hold on to the remnants of myself.

I’d gotten used to abuse from an early age. Growing up in my mother’s household will do that to you. I knew how to retreat to the corners of my mind, to block out the pain. To react just right — not too strongly where it would invite her to prey upon my weakness, but not stoically enough to invite a harder blow either. I’d despised my mother my whole life for the way she treated us, Dad included. I never thought she’d be the only reason I’d survive Snow’s torture.

Well, not the only reason.

When I’d withdraw from reality to hide in my head, it was Katniss’ arms that I’d flee to. I could never tell her, she’d probably freak out too much if I did, but she brings me a comfort like none I’ve ever known. Even when I was laying on the concrete floor of my cell, doubled over in pain with my nose bleeding, my body and bones bruised everywhere that wouldn’t show on camera. Broken toes. Burns lacing my arms. Welts on my back from caning (I’d almost smiled when they brought out a proper, old-fashioned cane — didn’t they know a wooden spoon could do just as much damage?). And through it all, I’d just go back to that place. To her. To our last good day, on the rooftop of the very place they held me prisoner. Where I’d spent the afternoon with her head in my lap, my fingers in her raven hair. She pretended not to stare up at me, and I pretended not to notice. I told her I wanted to freeze that moment and live in it forever.

So that’s what I did.

Maybe not forever, but I lived in it whenever I could. Whenever I needed. Which turned out to be a lot more than I ever thought it would be.

I hide there now, the sun warming my face, watching as her nimble fingers expertly fashion the flowers in her hands into a crown.

Desperately trying to ignore the pit in my stomach at the idea that I might never see her again.

She'll return to me in this world, I remind myself.

Haymitch jerks his head up suddenly, eyes bloodshot, but alert. “She’s here.”

I move to stand, but Haymitch grabs my arm to pull me back down.

“She’s not in good shape, kid,” he says gruffly.

“I don’t care,” I say, wrenching my arm from his grasp.

He sighs. “Didn’t think you did, I just had to make sure you knew.”

I make a beeline for the hospital, Haymitch on my heels. I quickly realize I have no idea which room she’s in, but it’s no matter because as soon as we near the entrance, the doors burst open, revealing Boggs and a few other unknown faces from 13 pushing along an empty gurney, flanked on either side by medics, one of which I immediately recognize as Prim.

“Where is she?” I ask her, eyeing the empty gurney anxiously.

Prim stops, letting the others continue on without her. “She’s stable, Peeta. She’s all right.”

“I have to see her,” I say.

Even though I’m four years her senior, I feel like a child as Prim takes my hand and leads me and Haymitch through a maze of hallways to Katniss’ room.

Katniss lays in her hospital bed, but in spite of a few scary-looking tubes sprouting from her arms and alarmingly large bandages banded across her torso, visible through her paper thin gown, she looks extraordinarily normal. Paler than I’ve ever seen her, but her nonetheless. Alive, and so so beautiful.

I take the first deep breath I’ve had in hours as I sidle up to her bedside. “Prim, what can I do?”

She’s in that haze she goes into whenever she’s healing someone. I know it well, it’s the same one I go into whenever I’m painting. I know her first instinct is to tell me to buzz off, but something about my presence has cracked the glazed look in her eyes, and I know she’s speaking to me as a sister — not a medic — when she places my hand in Katniss’ and says, “Stay with her. Please.”

“Always,” I mumble, my words barely audible as I take a seat in the chair beside her bed.

I’ve given this answer before. To Katniss, as she drifted off into the clutches of sleep syrup. I wonder if she remembers it. She probably doesn’t. There’s a lot she doesn’t remember. A lot she doesn’t know. Like how I had stayed until dawn, until Prim relieved me of my vigil.

Prim exchanges a look with Haymitch before giving my arm a friendly squeeze and leaving us alone with our girl.

I cup her face in my free hand, brushing my thumb over her cheek, causing her to stir lightly, her fingers twitching infinitesimally. “I’m right here, Katniss.”

Haymitch takes up the seat opposite mine, giving me a wary once-over. “You okay, kid?”

“I will be when she wakes up,” I say honestly. “I just . . .” I hate being vulnerable with Haymitch, and I’m sure he hates it just as much as I do, but it doesn’t do any good to lie to him about how I feel about Katniss; he has a way of cutting straight to the truth with me, and always has — ever since the first day we met. “I really do love her, Haymitch. I always will. In any way that she’ll have me. And this is terrifying.”

Haymitch gains a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s looking through me instead of at me. “You love her like all-fire, huh?”

All-fire? “Something like that,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck bashfully. All-fire. I hadn’t heard anyone use that word in years. The last time I’d heard it had probably been from Katniss’ dad. I’d never really understood what it meant either, but now that Haymitch has said it, it feels fitting.

Haymitch continues to stare through me for a moment before finally breaking away his stare. He pushes his chair into the corner and snags a hospital blanket from the foot of Katniss’ bed. I shoot him a look, but he just shrugs. “What? It’s not like she’s gonna notice.”

He turns out the harsh fluorescent lights before curling up in his chair, tucking the blanket up to his chin and closing his eyes, leaving only a single candle burning on her nightstand.

I’m getting pretty tired myself, but I can’t bring myself to sleep.

All-fire.

I hold Katniss’ hand in both of mine. Her hand’s still warm.

Still her.

Still here.

All-fire.

I think maybe it’s the kind that blooms brighter in the dark, when there’s no one left to watch us, to scrutinize our every move.

So I sit in the quiet glow, and I wait for her to come back to me.

#thanks for the submission!#i love them a totally normal amount #the hunger games #everlark #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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emptyjunior · 1 year ago

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Let's talk about Peeta, I believe he's a fully genuine person and a lot of what he said was authentic. Like he can be manipulative, he has that gift of gab, and we see it a lot more in Catching Fire or later on in the series.

But I do believe he was being very strategic in the first book as well! Like right out the gate!

Kind of the story presented to us is:

-katniss suspicious of him for being nice

-thinks he's playing the game to screw her over

-oh she was wrong he's just a good human being

And I think a lot of elements of that interpretation are true! Katniss is wrong about him trying to screw her over!

But he is still being strategic, he does have plans and he is trying to save himself, not just sacrifice for her.

We all remember the "she came here with me" moment, life changing, showstopping, hilarious. And that was a true moment! He does love Katniss!

And Haymitch interprets it as what it is, a gift to Katniss to make her seem desirable = attract sponsor attention.

But it was also very beneficial to him as well! Like ask yourself what happened just before that.

Katniss had just received a 12, the entire team was excited about just her, immediately forgetful of his 8. Peeta had just told Haymitch they could train without him, something Haymitch says he offered himself (which I believe) but Peeta is not a fool. He was aware that what happens now is: the mentor focuses attention on the one who will win! And Peeta was sparing himself the pain of Haymitch telling him that first.

So Peeta is being forgotten about by Effie and the wardrobe crew (their entire PR/propoganda department) and he is losing training from Haymitch.

So what does he do?

He goes on television and presents the plot of Star Crossed Lovers. Sells the story of the Duo, the Couple.

And it's a valuable story! Effie eats it up, Haymitch knows he can sell it, but the only way to sell it is if the two are a pair. Two lovers training together, coordinating together, being publicly mentored together.

Peeta made sure he was given every advantage Katniss was getting with one simple interview, he's always been strategic. Even more strategic then Snow cause he actually knows how to sell the truth.

And immediately after that is him and Katniss's little moment where they talk about humanity together. Peeta confesses that his greatest fear is becoming like the people in the capitol, becoming not himself.

And Katniss doesn't really understand what he's talking about! And my first read I didn't either!

He's feeling guilty cause he just sold himself. He participated in the bread and circuses, and he's reeling at how easy it was and how good he is at it.

#bread boy does it again #hunger games #peeta mellark #katnis everdeen #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #books #movies #the hunger games #ballad of songbirds and snakes

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bearambles · 9 months ago

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sober (haymitch a.)

words: 3.9k

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f + m receiving) , teasing (?), too much plot 😭

notes: this is so late! i am so sorry to whoever requested, i got super busy and couldn’t post it the day i planned. also, this is my first ever smut! so i am sorry if this is terrible, i’ll get better over time. enjoy!

The party lasted hours. Your feet hurt, your stomach is churning, and your head pounds. You've never wanted your district bed more than now. This place reeks of wealth and lies.

Unfortunately, skipping these monthly events would anger Snow. He already dislikes you and your district, so you have to do whatever it takes to please him. If that means enduring long nights of drinking and throwing up, so be it. It's better than death, you suppose.

There's only one other District 12 victor here with you, and he disappeared halfway through the night. Haymitch, despite being a good friend and your former mentor, is possibly the worst person to rely on in these social situations. He's been sitting at the bar for who knows how long, drinking who knows how much. It's only when the host literally announces it's time to leave that you find him, slumped over the counter on a stool.

"Haymitch? Come on, we have to go," you urge, shaking his shoulders.

"What? No, let me stay. I'm sleeping," he mumbles.

"You're not sleeping. You're fine. Here, I have one of those drinks that make you throw up. It'll sober you up enough to say goodbyes," you say, handing him the glass. He pushes it back towards you without even looking up.

"I don't want that Capitol shit."

"This Capitol shit will help you a lot right now. Haymitch, get up!" You push his head to the side so you can see his face. He opens his eyes to look at you.

He's only in his late twenties, but his eyes seem older. He looks as rough as he acts. His hair is too long, and his beard is starting to come in slightly, despite him saying he'd groom himself for this occasion. Still, he looks handsome. Not that it matters; his current state reflects his antisocial night.

"Please. I'm trying to keep us out of trouble. You've been alone all night. At least come say goodbye to people with me. Then we can go home, okay?"

If harshness isn’t working, you'll try being soft with him. Sometimes, just sometimes, it works. It seems to today.

He sighs and sits up, steadying himself with his palms flat on the counter. He reaches for the purple liquid and swallows it like a shot, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.

"Okay, I'll be back then," he says, going off to throw up.

You nod and take a seat on the stool next to where he was sitting, waiting. You can't help but feel guilty. You should have stayed with him longer that night before he went off on his own. You knew he'd go drinking, but you didn’t know it would get this bad.

Since you've known Haymitch, he's had a bit of a drinking problem. Mostly under control when he mentored you—never more than tipsy. But in recent years, as more of his tributes lost the Games, it's gotten worse. It's weighing on him, you can tell. You want to help so badly.

"Okay, let's go," he says, returning a few minutes later, running his fingers through his hair. He's clearly sobered up a bit, maybe even washed his face. His breath smells of mint.

The host and his wife are among about a dozen people remaining by the time you leave the bar and walk to the main room together. Nonetheless, you both put on a show, shaking hands and smiling, thanking them endlessly. You never know who's watching, present or otherwise.

As you make your rounds to the last few victors, Haymitch latches his arm closely with yours. The move surprises you; you realize he hasn't been this physical in a while. It seems to come with sobriety or maybe just part of the Capitol's show. Together, you almost look like a couple. It's odd.

When you leave through the doors, he doesn't let go of your arm. It's a cold night, and you shiver, but the warmth of his body next to yours feels weirdly nice.

"Thank you," you say, looking up at him on the train ride home.

"For what?" he asks, furrowing his brows.

"For taking the glass. I know you hate that stuff, but—"

"But I need to get sober," he says, looking away from you into the distance.

"I didn't say that, but it's nice when you are. I mean, it's helpful with the image when you aren't stumbling around—"

He detaches his arm from yours.

"So I shouldn't drink because the President said so?"

"He didn't say so, Haymitch. I'm saying so. You shouldn't drink because I say so."

"And why's that?"

"Because I like you better like this."

He goes quiet, then looks down at his feet, his hair falling in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, it's harder than it looks, sweetheart."

"I know that. I'm sorry," you say softly.

The rest of the ride is quiet. It's just the two of you on the train, and any sound you make seems to echo for ages. Neither of you wants to speak; too much is unsaid.

You care about him; you know that. You just aren't sure how. Though it seems increasingly clear to you in moments like this when all you want to do is tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss him softly. You have no idea how he'd feel about that, though. You have no idea how he feels most of the time.

In fact, just then, it's the first time he's seemed to feel bad about his drinking. And it doesn't seem like he cares about his health or the Capitol's opinion on his image. It seems like he feels bad for disappointing you.

When the train stops, you both get out, him first, then you. He offers his hand as you step down, and you take it with a slight smile. His hands are cold, as is the night.

Your houses are directly next to each other in Victor's Village, making the walk there excruciatingly awkward. You can't tell what he's thinking, or if he's thinking at all. Finally, after what feels like an hour, he speaks.

"That stuff is really nasty, you know that?" he says.

You look up at him. "The purging stuff?"

"No, the desserts they were serving," he says, rolling his eyes and bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah, the purging stuff."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You're right. What you said and stuff. That's all right. You're right."

You smile and look up at him. He looks back at you and smiles softly, then looks away. He clearly hates to admit it.

"Don't be cocky about it, though. And don't expect me to stop. It's not that easy."

"I don't. I just like you like this."

"Yeah, you mentioned that. What do you mean?"

You've reached your house, and he stops in front of your door, feet planted. He looks down at you with a questioning gaze, and his blue eyes seem to dart across your face. Your cheeks flush. You have no idea what to respond.

"You know, just... sober," you say, looking away.

"No, I know, but the 'like' part. What do you mean? Because you got all shy when you said it," he says, swaying a bit where he stands, impatiently waiting for a response.

"I don't know," you say quietly.

"You don't know?"

"No. I think we should go to sleep. You should go to sleep. No more drinks. At least wait until tomorrow."

You try to push past him to your door, but he takes both hands out of his pockets and gently shoves your shoulders back. Not hard, but enough to make you stumble. He gazes down at you and steps forward, closing the space between you.

"Whoa, you're so eager all of a sudden. Look at me," he says, tilting your head up with a hand under your chin. "Why are you so embarrassed?"

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. You like me?"

"Haymitch, stop. You're—" You stop, tears pricking at your eyes. He's teasing you, you're sure of it. The last thing you want is for him to figure out your feelings. Not after he's been your mentor, not after he's seen you at your worst, after he's been your friend (?) for this long. It doesn't make sense. You know that. And he knows that, most definitely. That's why you're sure he doesn't feel that way towards you. He can't.

"You're crying. I thought you were all tough?" he says.

He's right. You were tough. Crying makes you weak. You hate talking like this. So honestly.

"Stop it," you jerk away from his hand, which had crept up to your cheek. "Go to bed."

But you don't take a step forward, don't shove past him again. You just stand there, your breath heavy, looking away. He gazes at you like he's seeing you for the first time, his eyes darting from your eyes to your mouth to your body.

"I don't want to. I want to talk to you," he finally says.

"About what?" you say, still looking away.

"Us," he says softly.

"What about us?"

He takes a step forward.

"Come on, sweetheart. You're so good to me. Take care of me. Trust in me. Give me hope."

Your breathing speeds up as you feel his hand stoke your arm gently up and down as he speaks. You’d always been cautious of his words, so used to his drunken thoughts being untrustworthy and sometimes cruel. But this feels honest. Real.

“I know you feel something.” he says as you lift your head to look back at him. “You might not know what. I don’t know either. But c’mon.”

He starts to lean closer and your eyes drift closed. Before you can even register, his lips are on yours, and you’re kissing back. Your hands hold his elbows and his hold your face.

His mouth tastes of the mouthwash from the capitol washrooms. He’s so slow with you, like he’s trying not to scare you. You aren’t sure if he possibly could.

Suddenly you pull away.

“What’s wrong?” Haymitch asks, his eyes wide.

“We should go inside.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He registers quickly what you mean.

All along the village are cameras for the capitol to see what goes on. Although it’s unlikely you’d get in much trouble for a kiss, you never knew what would land you a meeting with snow. Or just become the talk of the next victor event.

You push past him and unlock your door quickly, before turning back to him, motioning for him to come inside. By the time you close the door, he’s kissing you again, this time the careful act gone. He catches your lips and kisses you like his life depended on it. It’s messy and wet and you’re so turned on it’s insane.

His hands both reach down to hold yours, and he pushes them up against the door. The motion catches you by surprise and you moan softly into his mouth. He hears you and holds down tighter on your wrists, just enough to feel but not to hurt.

His knee starts to spread your legs apart slowly as he kisses down your neck, and you let his name slip from your mouth.

“Haymitch~”

He stops to look at you.

“Yeah? You like this?” He sounds like he’s genuinely asking. Like he needs to know.

You nod, your brain already fuzzy.

“Okay. Okay.” He sounds out of breath but resumes

his task, getting down to your collarbone.

Hes rough with his kisses when he’s below where any marks would be seen. As he unbuttons your shirt, he looks at you, smiling like an idiot. It hits you then that he seems to have wanted this as badly as you all along. He leans in to leave a soft kiss on your lips before pulling your sleeves off your arms and throwing your top to the floor.

“Jesus…” He mutters as he looks down at your tits.

You reach behind you to unhook your bra, and let it all forward and land next to your shirt.

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh quietly at his words. He looks up at you in awe and with a look of asking as he creeps his hands from your waist up to your chest. You nod and let out a sharp breath when his cold hands hold your tits and knead them slowly.

You wonder then if he’d ever done this with a woman before. He was younger than you when he won, so probably not before the games. And after…he’d never really seemed the type. But then again, he was attractive and still young, so you couldn’t be sure.

Besides him, you’d only been with one or two boys from district before you were reaped. They were, however, nothing like this.

He takes one nipple between his thumb and pointer, pinching slightly. Between the pressure and his cold hands, you let out a noise of surprise and pleasure.

“Does that hurt?” He asks

“No, just…it’s a lot.” You say through deep breaths. “K-keep going.”

He smiles and does the same with the other, and your hips jut forward slightly in reaction. He doesn’t notice, which you’re grateful for. You’re so eager it’s embarrassing. Every touch makes your stomach flip and your underwear wetter.

Slowly he starts to kiss down from your collarbones to your chest and takes a breast in his mouth. He looks up at you as he sucks softly, his tongue swirling your nipple. His big eyes looking into yours makes you feel like you could cum then and there. you let out a moan instead.

He plays with your breasts for a while longer before they’re nice and covered in both his spit and dark, red marks. He knew what he was doing, putting them where nobody could see. you thought of changing in front of a mirror days to come, just looking at them. Knowing it was from him. sober. He wants this.

He gets to his knees before you can stop him, and begins to pull down your skirt.

You’re left in your underwear, your slick having left a clear spot in the front. You turn your head in embarrassment as he touches up your thighs and leaves open mouth kisses.

“All this from that, huh?” he asks, laughing softly

“Shut up.” you mutter into your hand.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, his fingers hooked under the sides of your panties.

“N-no.”

“What was that sweetheart? C’mon, look at me.”

“Don’t stop.” you say, clearer now, making eye contact as he kneels in front of your pussy. You couldn’t be more vulnerable, and yet, you trust him with every inch of your being.

He looks back at your core for a moment before licking a stripe up the thin fabric. You curse quietly and he pulls them down, the air hitting your heat before his tongue does. But when it does…

He laps at you like he’d wanted to for years, which you’re now sure that he has. The urgency makes your legs buckle and he uses both hands against your knees to hold them open. He switches between your folds and your clit, paying attention to both. Every so often he stops and just admires.

At some point haymitch sucks at your clit, and your hands fly to his hair, pulling slightly.

He lets out a groan of surprise against your core.

“Sorry, sorry…” you mutter, loosening your grip.

“No, keep going, I like it.” he says, stopping to look up at you, his eyes nearly glazed over in bliss.

You resume your hold on his head and tug as he continues. Between his lips and his tongue, you’re overwhelmed. before you know it, you feel the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Stop…stop…” you manage in between moans.

He gives you one last kiss to your clit before standing up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You okay?”

“Just don’t wanna finish yet.” you say without thinking, before getting flushed. Even after all that, you couldn’t believe you were speaking to him like this. Haymitch.

He smiles lazily and goes in to kiss you again, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. It should repulse you, but instead, it turns you on more. He's so happy right now, and it’s so hot.

“Do you wanna go to my bed?” you ask him when you get a breath, his forehead resting against yours.

He picks you up and carries you.

Haymitch knows your house as well as his from all the press training, meetings, and late night conversations you’ve had there. He practically lives with you at this point (Besides the sleeping over part. Usually. Unless he’d passed out.)

He drops you on your mattress and pulls off his own shirt in one motion. Your breath is caught in your throat.

You knew he was in shape, at least he was when he had mentored you all those years ago. But even now, behind the big shirts he wears and raggedy jackets, soft abs trace his stomach. His arms as big as your thighs. No wonder the pressure on your neck felt so nice.

He sees you staring and smiles, leaning down to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“You gonna say anything, pretty girl?”

You try, but you find no words. Instead, you kiss him, and slowly trail your hands down his chest. you can feel raised scars and for a moment, remember what he’s been through. What you both have been through.

You reach his belt and whisper into his mouth,

“Can i?”

He nods against your forehead and you start to undo it, throwing it to the side. You pull his pants down with urgency and run your palm against his boxers.

He lets out a noise you’ve never heard him make before, a mix between a whimper and a moan. You smile and start to palm him faster, before taking him out of his underwear and looking between you at his length.

He’s bigger than you expect, and definitely bigger than the boys you’ve been with before. A solid seven inches and thick. Your eyes can’t look away and your breath rises and falls.

He takes your hand softly into his and guides it to his length. He looks up at you as he does, searching for any hesitation in your eyes. Instead, you look up at him before flipping you both over quickly, so you sit on his thighs.

He’s strong, but so are you, and he doesn’t resist as you take charge over him. He does, however, look a bit surprised, and reaches to hold your hand again. You take it and kiss it, which he smiles at. Then, you lean down, and let a glob of spit dribble from your mouth to his cock.

“Jesus christ…” he mutters, as you use your free hand to pump up and down. “When did you…fuck…feels so good sweetheart”

You smile and take him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down quickly. His other hand still holding yours, he grips at your hair (much gentler than you did his) and makes a make-shift ponytail so he can see your pretty face.

Despite the view, his eyes flutter shut in pleasure, and your pace quickens. You feel him pulse inside your mouth and you’re sure he’s about to cum.

You take him as deep as you can before pulling off, leaving his cock hard as a rock and covered in your saliva. You admire your work for a moment before he reaches forward and pulls you on top of him by your hips so you’re right against his chest.

“C’mere” he moans, fucked out, before taking his cock in his own hand and looking over your shoulder to position himself in front of your entrance.

“You want this?” he asks, taking your cheek in his free hand and stroking his thumb against it.

“Please.” you whisper.

Slowly, he inserts himself into you, catching your moans in his mouth as he kisses you slowly. He stretches you out so well, and your slick helps him move without much pain. Still, you bite down on his lip at the feeling of being full once he’s in. You let out a whimper.

“I know baby, I know. Shhhh. Tell me when to move, okay?” he looks into your eyes.

For a moment you just kiss him, his mouth so warm on yours and his cock so warm inside you. You could die like this.

Then, you pull away, and lift your hips, before slowly moving back down.

“Fuck…” he moans, before catching into the pace you set and moving you up and down on his cock. “So perfect for me, yeah? You feel that?”

You nod dumbly at his words. He could say anything to you at this moment, and you’d agree. He feels so good. So right.

“You wanted this huh? Is that why you want me sober? To fuck me?” he asks, and you shake your head as you bounce on his dick.

“Hm, but that’s part of it, yeah?” he insists, “You like this. Me. C’mon sweetheart, you’re needy. That's okay, I'm givin’ it to you. I'm here.”

You fall against him and place your head on his shoulder as he fucks into you like you’re a doll. He knows just what to say to get you so embarrassed and so wet. The words only add to your pleasure and you can feel yourself getting close.

“Haymitch…” you moan against his shoulder.

“M’ close pretty thing.”

He takes one of the arms holding your hips and moves to your clit, rubbing quickly. The feeling sends you over the edge.

“Fuck, haymitch, i’m cumming~” you mutter, raising your head to look at him as you fletch down and your orgasm washes over you.

As you come down from your high, he speeds up rutting into you, and you put each hand on one of his shoulders for support. His eyes are closed and his mouth slightly open as he mind your name over and over like a prayer.

He lifts you off of his cock and back onto his thighs before cumming all over your belly. You reach a hand down to stroke him as he does, but he catches your wrist. He’s sensitive, you can tell, and you laugh softly.

“Sorry pretty girl. Made a mess.” he says, looking in between the two of you. Between his cum and yours, there’s not a part of either of you that isn’t slick. He takes a finger and swipes a bit of his own before putting it in front of your mouth. Grinning, you take it in your mouth and suck, tasting him.

“Jesus.” he says softly, as you lay down next to him, your face buried into his neck.

You lay there like that for a moment, breathing. His hair sticks to his face in certain places, and his cheeks are rosy. The reality of what had happened hits you.

“You know, this isn’t the only reason you should drink less-“ You begin, propping your head up on your hand.

He sighs.

“I know. I’m too happy right now for lectures though, alright?”

You consider for a moment before deciding that’s fair. Laying back down, you cuddle into his side.

“You admit this is part of why though, huh?” he says after a few moments, and you can hear the smugness in his voice.

“Was it worth it?” you ask

There’s a pause.

“I’d do anything for you.” he answers.

And for now?

That’s all you need.

tysm for reading! like + reblog if you enjoyed :)

#haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch smut #haymitch abernathy smut #the hunger games #the hunger games smut #the hunger games fic

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ilguna · 3 months ago

Text

☼ odds are (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you and Finnick have never seen eye to eye, despite both being close friends with Johanna. it isn't until you save his life in the arena, does he see you different.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, blood, ehhh gore, death, drug mention, kinda starvation mention, suicide (mags), puke mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 9.6k

If there’s one thing that you’ve learned so far about the other district’s personalities since becoming a mentor, it’s that District Four produces the most annoying people by far. You don’t know if they’re born that way, or if it’s the water they drink, but they take that top spot without a close runner up.

Which is crazy, considering people like Enobaria and Gloss exist. They don’t know when to stop even when it’s obvious, yet they can be more mature than Finnick Odair is half the time.

He has the ego the size of a hovercraft and he just uses it to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants. He thinks that if he can smother someone enough, they’ll back down and let him have his way. Arguing with Finnick is truly like talking to someone who always assumes they’re right just because they’re older than you.

Except, in this case, it’s because he’s been mentoring longer, since he won ten years ago. It gives him seniority in calling the shots, or it does in his mind, at least.

He wants to be the main ally that corrales Katniss and Peeta into doing what’s best in the arena. The problem with that is Katniss doesn’t like Finnick, which will make it a huge ordeal trying to get her to do anything for him. He seems to think that as long as Peeta trusts him, Katniss will follow.

Only, Peeta’s not a complete idiot and he knows how to think for himself. Beyond that, in a setting where there’s going to be twenty-two other tributes that have also won the Hunger Games in their own unique ways—Peeta’s going to follow Katniss’s lead. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he’s going to let her take the reins and trust her to protect him in dangerous situations.

So, in the end, while Peeta might have his own opinions on what he’d like to do, he’s going to value Katniss’s opinion first.

Finnick can’t seem to understand that. It doesn’t matter how you explain it to him, he doesn’t want you to be right. Even with Johanna standing here, telling him that you’re not wrong, he refuses to believe it.

“You’re just going to make her mad.” You tell him again, throwing your hand up. “We all saw the way she looked at you yesterday, and today she’s gone out of her way to make sure she can’t talk to you.”

Finnick glances over in Katniss and Peeta’s direction. They’re on the far side of the Training Center, sitting with Cecelia from District Eight. This morning’s the last chance you get to train before the private session with the Gamemakers in the afternoon. From what you’ve been watching, they’re taking it easy.

“We already knew she wasn’t going to like me.”

“Does it have anything to do with the way you approached her during the parade?” You ask back, tilting your head. “You’re terrible at first impressions.”

“I am not.” Finnick’s face twists.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re friends, right?” Your tone sarcastic. “I’m not asking for your permission, I’m going to tell Haymitch that you’ll meet up with us later on down the line.”

Finnick shakes his head. “That makes no sense. You are not a strong fighter, I need to be there to help with Katniss.”

“Katniss doesn’t need help!” You exclaim quietly. “What Katniss needed is someone she can trust, and that’s obviously me. I just spent the past two days getting to know her. She doesn’t want to be around either of you.”

You then place your hand on Johanna’s shoulder, but she gives you a shrug. “I don’t care. She’s going to have to deal with me sooner or later. I have no preference.”

“You have basically no fighting experience, all you’ll do is get in her way.” Finnick tells you.

“Excuse me, I do know how to fight. I set the highest score when it came to hand-to-hand combat with a weapon.”

“When?” Finnick asks, not believing you.

“Today.”

“Bullshit.”

“Finnick, she’s not lying.” Johanna sighs. “And that’s besides the point. We can’t keep (Y/n) out of the plan just because you can’t get along with her. She’s right about Katniss.”

“I can and will keep her out of the fight.” Finnick tells Johanna, causing your face to scrunch up. “Who’s going to get to the Cornucopia first, you or me?”

“I’m not airheaded enough to think it’s me.” You snap back. “But—”

“Katniss knows how to swim, we saw it last year. She’s going to get there second. What stops me then?”

“Me, when I get my fucking hands around your neck.” You point at him. “What happens on the off-chance you chase her off? What’s your big idea then?”

“Haymitch is going to get me something to signal to her that we’re already allies.” Finnick shrugs. “I bet he didn’t talk to you about anything like that.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You laugh. “That’s the entire point. I don’t need him to signal to her about anything. She picked me as an ally on that first day. You can’t say the same. It says a lot about your character.”

“My character?” He’s unimpressed.

“No one likes you!” You shout at him.

“Okay,” Johanna says. “Let’s talk with Haymitch tonight, see what he has to say about the situation.”

“Fine, but I’m not spending the rest of my day with this idiot.” You tell her.

—

Monkeys.

At first, it was only a couple that were hanging above Peeta, who couldn’t be more oblivious. Now, a troop of them have gathered in the twilight in the time it’s taken you, Finnick and Katniss to assess the situation. They’ve completely appeared out of thin air, gathering on open branches.

And they’re all watching Peeta.

You eye Finnick, wondering what he’s thinking on how he wants to handle this. After all, he’s been directed to take charge in situations where Katniss and Peeta’s lives are in danger. Or rather, he asked Haymitch to make it official, because he couldn’t live with the idea that you might be the better fit.

Either way, there’s several different approaches you could take. Does he want to go to Peeta and guide him out of the jungle to make sure he keeps his head down or will that trigger the monkeys? You could try gathering around Peeta and set off the monkeys on purpose to ensure you’re in control, because they’re bound to go off anyway… right?

Or maybe it’s a better idea to lure Peeta out of the jungle and hope for the best?

Katniss makes a decision before Finnick does, carefully arming her bow with two arrows, just in case a fight shows itself. This causes Finnick to nervously adjust the trident in his hand, not ready for what she’s planning on doing.

You, on the other hand, trust her.

“Peeta.” Katniss’s voice is calm, but there’s a slight edge to her voice if you listen closely. “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” Peeta tells her, fiddling with the tree so he can put the spile in the bark. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at,” Katniss continues. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

Katniss has decided to lure Peeta out, then. It’s not a bad plan. With how the monkeys are tracking Peeta’s every movement, anything mildly offensive could cause them to attack. And since eye contact is a form of aggression, he needs to keep his head down.

Peeta turns to face the three of you, panting from trying to drill into the tree with the awl that Mags had passed over before she died. “Okay.” He agrees, not an ounce of hesitation.

He begins to come in your direction, but he’s not at all being quiet whatsoever. This is expected, he wasn’t last year, either. He’s not used to hunting or gently shuffling your feet through leaves. He worked in a bakery, carrying heavy bags over his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, as long as the monkeys are holding their position—and they are—despite the amount of noise he’s making. He’s only five yards from the beach, where you’re standing, when he finally feels how off the air is. His eyes dart up for only a split second, but that’s all it takes.

Their shrieking fills the air, almost causing you to cover your ears at the pitch. The monkeys launch themselves off the branches and aim straight for Peeta, ready to kill. They’re too quick for your eyes, making them one blur. They slide down vines, jump from the trees with teeth bared, hacked raised and claws as sharp as knives.

You jerk forward, drawing your sword back to swing as soon as you get into range.

“Mutts!” Katniss blurts, in case you haven’t figured it out by now.

Katniss and Finnick take off after you. You swing hard, right at the first monkey that thinks they can get their paws on Peeta. The blade cuts right through fur, slicing skin right open, blood flying everywhere. The mutt collapses, struggling to breathe.

It’s just the first of many.

You move on, drawing Peeta in closer to protect him easier. Katniss shoots her arrows two at a time, taking down twice the amount of mutts you can. Finnick tries to keep up with her pace by spearing several of them at once and flinging them aside. Peeta can’t do much with his knife, but you’re able to keep them off of him with just your sword.

The fight grows harder the longer it goes on as you try to see through the darkness, breathing in the cloud of blood and must. Even as you end up back to back with your allies, it doesn’t get any easier.

“Peeta!” Katniss suddenly shouts. “Your arrows!”

Peeta stops swinging, briefly looking over at Katniss to see what she means. In an instant, he begins to slide out of his sheath so that he can hand it over to her. He doesn’t even wait to make sure the coast is clear before he does.

“Peeta!” You blurt.

You swing at a mutt that’s already coming at you, catching the sight of another one flying out of a tree, heading in his direction. For a moment, you think you have just enough time to fling the monkey off your sword to save him, but the mutt at the end of your blade grabs your wrist, yanking you out of the formation.

You’re thrown into the jungle, a blur of green and brown passing by, until you hit the ground. You roll for a couple of feet, and then come to a stop, staring at the leaves above your head, trying to get a hold of your air. There’s a dull pain on the right side of your body from the impact.

And then you get back up.

Katniss is running for Peeta, hands outreached to grab him before the mutt does, but she’s too far.

A body materializes from one of the trees, screaming, jumping in front of him just in time. The mutt’s claws swing inward pulling—who you believe to be—the morphling from District Six in for a deadly hug as it sinks its canines into her chest.

You’ve managed to regroup with them now. Peeta wiggles out of the sheath, letting it fall to the dirt so he can bury his knife into the monkey’s back. He stabs it repeatedly until it finally releases its jaw, kicking it away. Katniss retrieves her arrows, loading her bow, waiting for another attack.

You turn to look at the monkeys in the trees, curious to see what they’re doing. They stare back at you, unmoving, observing you the same way. Beside you, Finnick is breathing heavy, trident resting on the ground. He must think that the fight is over, then.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, trying to egg them on.

They seem disinterested in continuing though, satisfied with the life they’ve taken, retreating. They disappear into the darkness of the jungle silently, and even though it appears they’re gone, it doesn’t feel like it.

“Get her,” Katniss says, she’s talking to Peeta. “We’ll cover you.”

You eye the morphling, who’s audibly wheezing, not quite dead yet, but she will be soon. Peeta carefully lifts her, turning to leave the jungle, the beach being a few feet away. Finnick motions for Katniss to follow Peeta, you don’t even bother to argue with him about who goes next after that.

There are several orange bodies on the ground on the way out. You step over them, wary of the possibility that they could be pretending to be dead. As soon as you step foot onto sand, a shiver runs up your spine, causing your neck to shrink into your shoulders.

You tense too harshly, the pain in your side returns. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you reach to grab your exposed skin. Since you no longer have a jumpsuit to protect you because of the poisonous fog, several cuts and scrapes have been inflicted across your skin.

“Cold?” Finnick asks, it sounds like he’s teasing. Before you can answer, he keeps going, “Or does your body hurt because you couldn’t handle some hand-to-hand combat?”

You look over your shoulder to see him, eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you’re so funny.”

“What about my observation makes you think that I’m joking?” He asks, coming to a stop. “You just proved me right.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, face twisting. “Prove you right, how? We’ve barely said anything to each other since the Cornucopia.”

“You have no fighting experience.” He tells you with a straight face. “You’re a danger to the alliance.”

You press your lips together, staring at him, holding back the urge to scream profanities in his face.

What would he have liked you to do at that moment? You were occupied with a mutt, and Peeta just straight-up abandoned his job to give Katniss a sheath without thinking twice. You were off your game because you didn’t know what to do with a monkey flying at him, while trying to defend yourself at the same time.

You’ll give it to Finnick, you made an error which could’ve easily have resulted in your death, but it didn’t. What he doesn’t realize is that you will learn from it, you don’t often make the same mistakes twice. You’re not a fucking child, either.

“You forget I was invited to the alliance.” You tell him, choosing not to engage in his behavior. “I don’t know why I bothered responding to you.” You start to move away from him. “All you’re capable of doing is criticizing people.”

You turn away from him, heading to Katniss and Peeta, who are hovering over the morphling girl. They have cut away the jumpsuit over her chest, revealing the four puncture wounds from the mutt’s fangs. There’s blood slowly running out of them, making the situation appear better than it is.

She’s gasping for air, desperate for every lungful, holding onto Katniss’s hands, unable to control her twitching. A part of you wonders if she accidentally got caught up in the fog, but that can’t be the case. It has to be withdrawal, considering the green shade of her skin, her prominent cheekbones. She watches the clouds in the sky blankly, trying to hold on.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says, right before turning away from the scene.

You stare at the back of his head, and then turn your attention back to the morphling. Peeta moves to be on the other side of her, crouching down to gently stroke her hair, speaking quietly. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”

The morphling is completely encapsulated by his words.

“One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one.” Peeta murmurs.

Rustling of leaves drags you out of what he’s saying, you look over in time to catch the back of Finnick’s body, heading back into the jungle. You give a glance to Katniss, who seems to be in her own world at the moment, and decide that they can protect themselves for a moment while you have a conversation with Finnick.

You head straight in without an ounce of hesitation, following the sound of muttering, leading you straight to him. He’s picking the arrows out of the grass, swinging them out periodically to rid them of the mutt blood they’re soaked in.

“Listen,” You start, Finnick pauses long enough to look at you, before going back to what he was doing. “I get it, you don’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. I don’t need you up my ass about every decision I make. So, worry about yourself, and I will worry about me.”

“I’m not up your ass.” He scoffs. “I was pointing out what happened. You can’t fight, it’s a fact.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “While I was trying to kill the mutt, I was figuring out how to save Peeta, there was a monkey—”

Finnick holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I don’t need your excuse.”

You tilt your head at him, lips parted, actually speechless. You knew Finnick’s personality resembled a dumpster, but you’ve never experienced it yourself. It’s always been second hand retellings from your friends.

“Anything else?” Finnick asks after a moment of silence.

You’re stewing again. It’s insane how easy it would be to tear him down from the horse he sits on, but you can’t afford ruining the alliance. With how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to throw in the towel and tell you to do it yourself. Which you can do, it’s just a matter of whether or not you’d like to at this point.

While you’re glowering at him, thinking of a response that doesn’t end in the two of you fighting, something moves from behind his head. You take a step to the side, eyes searching the ground, but you quickly realize that’s not where it is. It’s up in the trees.

“What?” Finnick asks.

“We should leave the jungle.” You tell him, not wanting to mention it in case your eyes are playing tricks. “It’s not safe here.”

Finnick digs his heels in. “Now you’re being paranoid.”

He turns around, going back to rummaging through the greenery to find the arrows for Katniss. He’s already got a good handful already, does she really need the rest?

A branch dips, your eyes flicker to it.

Even though the sun is finally rising, the light hasn’t quite reached this part of the arena yet. You pat your hip for your sword, afraid of what’s to come, and realize that you left it out on the beach with the Twelve tributes.

“I’m serious, let’s go.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says back, inching closer to the tree.

A hand creeps out of the darkness, a furry hand wrapping around the branch further down, as if preparing itself to launch at him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t lure Finnick out the same way that Katniss did to Peeta. And you can’t fight your way out of this situation without a weapon. As nice as it would be to turn around and leave him in here, knowing what’s behind him, you’d never be able to live with it.

“Finnick, just trust me this once. Katniss has enough arrows.”

Finnick stands, the movement is too quick, causing the monkey mutt to jerk into the light, revealing itself too soon.

“If you’re scared, you can go back to the beach, (Y/n).”

“Finnick, get down.”

He takes a step toward you, mouth opened to continue what he was saying. You watch in horror as the mutt’s body tenses, getting ready to attack Finnick. You rush at him, the same way the morphling did to Peeta.

“Get out of the way!” You shout, jumping to tackle him.

Finnick turns in time to dodge you and the monkey, putting you into each other’s path, forcing you to collide. The monkey’s claws dig into your skin as it throws you down, your head flying back. A sharp pain strikes your skull, your vision immediately going black.

A rough hand grabs the underside of your arm, jolting you awake. You blink quickly, trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you’re harshly brought back to reality. The person tries to pull you to your feet, but your legs aren’t ready for the weight. Your knees buckle, hand grabbing the shoulder of whoever it is to steady yourself.

The throbbing in the back of your head begins, feeling like a giant headache. You wince, gritting your teeth, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The back of your neck feels wet and sticky.

“Can you stand?” An irritated voice asks.

It’s Finnick, face twisted into a hard expression. The grip you have on his shoulder loosens, you lock your knees to keep from falling over. You’re trembling though, you can see it when you let go of him completely.

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

You reach back and dab your hand against the sore area on your head. Your fingers are coated in blood, shining in the sunlight that manages to escape the leaves. A sigh leaves your lips, hand falling at your side.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “There was a monkey in the trees.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?”

“The same way we could’ve told Peeta?” You counter, and then motion to the jungle. “I didn’t know how many there were. I left my sword on the beach.”

“Another great idea of yours.” He says.

You don’t say anything to him at first, turning to go back to the beach. Just before you hit the treeline, you murmur, “A thank you would be nice.”

Whether or not Finnick actually hears you is a mystery, because he doesn’t respond.

Katniss and Peeta are sitting together in the sand, side by side, looking out at the water. Your sword is tucked at Katniss’s side, right next to her bow. You come to a stop a foot or so behind them.

Finnick passes you, dropping the arrows in the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” Katniss says. “Where’s (Y/n)?”

“I’m here.” You tell her.

You continue dragging your feet through the sand, wanting to go to the water to clean the blood out of your hair before it dries. Katniss comes to join you soon after, mostly to clean her weapons. When she sees that you’re having trouble, she carefully massages the blood out.

When you’re done, Katniss goes to get moss from the jungle to dry off her arrows. You sit in the sand with your sword, haphazardly playing with the blade.

“Where did they go?” Katniss asks.

“The bodies? We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick says.

Katniss hums. The four of you sit on the beach in silence, staring at the water, watching the sky come to life. Katniss starts to scratch her arm, and then stops suddenly, looking at you, and then to the boys. You follow her gaze curiously, and find them scratching at their faces.

It’s the scabs from the fog, Katniss’s skin is covered in them, so is half of Peeta’s body and Finnick’s face. You, however, not so much. You were able to stay ahead of the fog, you thought to guide them out with the best possible path. Still, Peeta has trouble with his prosthetic leg and he needed support and…

Finnick never should have asked Katniss to carry Mags down the hill. You knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that he was making a mistake. Katniss doesn’t have that sort of strength, she’s a skinny girl. She might’ve put on some weight since her Games, but it basically replenished what was taken in the first place.

He should’ve asked you. And even though you tried to object, he shut you down and told you to keep running. You didn’t have time to argue with the fog closing in, so you went right back to what you’d been doing before. It wasn’t even three minutes later when Katniss fell with Mags on her, causing Mags to take the situation into her own hands.

She kissed Finnick goodbye and walked into the fog.

None of you have mentioned it since it happened. You would like to say something to Finnick, but you’re sure it wouldn’t go over well with him. You can guess what he’d say back to you, taking none of your feelings about her into consideration. Besides, he seems to be holding it together pretty well, the last thing you’d want to do is accidentally send him over the edge.

“Don’t scratch.” Katniss tells them. “You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You don’t move from where you sit, letting them go back into the jungle to gather water. You’ve already had more than your fair share of injury in the past hour and a half, you’ll let them take their chances.

Peeta brings back a shell of water for you to drink, and even goes back one more time for a refill. You thank him and tuck the shell of water into the sand for later.

“Why don’t you three get some rest?” Katniss asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Katniss concedes. “All right, Finnick, thanks.”

Katniss and Peeta lay down in the sand, you don’t bother. You turn your back to Finnick to ensure he knows you’re disinterested in conversing with him. You spend the next few hours picking the clumps of bloody sand from your sword and flicking them toward the water.

You’re not entirely sure what Finnick does, and you don’t really care. The more you think about him and the alliance, the more irritated you grow, causing your pounding headache to get worse.

First, he tells you that he’s going to get you kicked out of the alliance by talking to Haymitch before you, and he nearly does. It’s a good thing that Haymitch doesn’t make rash decisions, otherwise you’d be on your own right now. He was almost convinced that you’d be more harmful than useful to the rebellion.

It wasn’t until Katniss made a comment about how much she trusts you, did he make up his mind and tell Finnick to deal with it. Katniss doesn’t like people easily. It was different for Mags, Wiress and Beetee because they don’t really pose a threat to her, and she doesn’t think that they’d go out of their way to kill her.

With you, all she told Haymitch was that it was easy to talk to you and she didn’t feel like she had to hide her true feelings. Which is an accomplishment and something you can use to your advantage later if needed. For right now, it’s pretty clear what she’s thinking even if she’s doing her best to hide it.

Anyway, Finnick doesn’t like that you don’t have to try with Katniss. And just like he told you in the Training Center, Haymitch had to give him a gold bracelet to symbolise to Katniss that he can be trusted. Which was funny when you found out at the Cornucopia.

Finnick was right, you didn’t make it there first—not that you thought you were anyway—but you did show up a minute later. Katniss was the one that saw you and welcomed you onto the island, despite Finnick trying to tell her not to.

He’s been pretty pissed and cold since.

By the time Katniss stirs awake, it’s about midmorning. Your sword is clean, the shell cup empty of water, and you’re surprisingly feeling a little bit better. And it appears that Finnick has been busy this entire time.

He’d woven a grass mat and laid it on some branches to shield Katniss and Peeta’s faces from the sun. There’s two bowls full of fresh water, and a third that contains shellfish.

He sits with them in front of him, cracking shellfish open with a stone. “They’re better fresh.” He tells Katniss, ripping flesh from the shell and popping it in his mouth. His eyes are puffy.

A tang of sadness hits you, you can’t imagine how difficult it’d been for him to cry silently with you sitting so close. His eyes lock with yours briefly before you turn away, getting to your feet. You brush the sand from your skin.

Katniss goes to reach for one of the shells but stops. She then holds her fingers close to her face, observing the blood beneath her nails.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says, getting up to wash the blood off in the water. She stomps back up to you two a moment later. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.” She tells the sky.

A second later, a parachute swings out of the jungle, heading for her. She reaches up to catch a tube in her hands. “About time.” She says, going to sit next to Finnick in the sand.

She unscrews the lid, squeezing the thick, dark ointment into her palm. Her face twists, whether it be from the color or the smell, and then begins to massage it into her leg. A sigh escapes her while she closes her eyes.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick says after she hands him the tube. But looks must not matter to him for the moment, because he gives in and starts to treat his skin as well.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks back.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.”

Katniss offers the tube to you, but you hold up your hand, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, save it for yourselves.”

“You’ve got a couple spots.” She motions.

“I’m good, really. But thank you.”

You swing your sword, and then wander away from them, trying to put some more distance so you can sit alone for a while longer. They wake Peeta up a few minutes later, and then you can hear the cracking of shells against rocks. You don’t bother to join them for the meal, you’re still full from last night.

You draw shapes in the sand, smooth them over to start over, and then write names. It isn’t until you’re on the third one, do you realize it's the names of dead tributes that you’ve mentored recently. You stare at them, mystified as to why you’ve chosen them, of all the people you know.

A scream from across the arena interrupts the silence of the arena. Your head jerks up, eyes searching the trees beyond the Cornucopia to find the source. A wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate, a huge wave crests over the trees, coming down the hill. You get to your feet, sword clutched tightly in your hand as you watch the wave hit the center water, and distribute evenly over the Cornucopia.

The wave that comes toward you reaches your knees, going as far back as the treeline, before retreating back to the center lake. Katniss, Peeta and Finnick gather their belongings before they float away.

A cannon fires. The hovercraft appears over where the water had come from, dipping down to collect the body. The claw comes back with the body, and that’s the last you see of the hovercraft.

You go to sit back down when Katniss’s head whips in your direction. “There.”

You turn your head, curious as to what she’s found. It’s three people stumbling on the beach, one of them being dragged onto the beach by the second, and the third is wandering in circles. They’re red, blood red.

“(Y/n), get back here.” Finnick hisses.

You don’t move from where you are, squinting at the figures.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

The second person dragging the first suddenly drops the body, throwing their arms down at their sides and stomping their foot in anger—a move that you recognize from someone else, but can’t place your finger on. It isn’t until the person marches over to the third one to shove them over, do you realize.

“Johanna!” You shout, delighted. “Finally!”

“(Y/n)!” She replies.

You run toward her, sword swinging at your side, excited that you’re not stuck with Finnick by yourself anymore. Johanna will be able to act as a buffer between the two of you, and she’ll be able to shut him down when he gets mouthy with you now.

You throw your sword to the side, slamming into a hug with Johanna. The two of you rotate, her laugh is musical in your ear. You’re so happy that she’s alive, you don’t know what you’d do without her.

When you pull away, you motion at her. “What are you covered in?”

Finnick walks up beside you, “Hey, Johanna.”

“Finnick.” She says, and then she motions to the jungle. “We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That’s when Blight hit the force field.”

A small gasp comes from you as you cover your mouth. “Johanna, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She sighs. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with her foot, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

Wiress has gotten back to her feet, wandering, murmuring, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” She rolls her eyes, but at the mention of Wiress’s nickname, she’s drawn to Johanna, placing her hands on her. Johanna shoves her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

Lay off her.” Katniss snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at her. “Lay off her?” She hisses. In an instant, she raises her hand and goes to slap Katniss, but you’re able to grab her wrist before she’s successful, pulling Johanna away from her. “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

Finnick steps in, tossing Johanna over his shoulder, forcing you to let go of her while he brings her to the water. You listen and watch as she screams some really insulting words at Katniss, and then Finnick drops her into the water to silence her. He does this until she goes quiet.

Katniss and Peeta take Beetee and Wiress to the water to clean the blood off of them, since they’re both incapable of doing it themselves. You wander to join Finnick and Johanna in the water, despite the unwelcoming glares you receive from Finnick.

—

“Get up.” Katniss suddenly orders, shaking Peeta, Finnick and Johanna awake. “Get up—we have to move.”

It’s about noon, judging by how the sun is positioned directly overhead in the sky. It’s been a relatively quiet morning these past couple hours, mostly because the entire group has spent it napping on the beach. For a while, you were sitting with both Johanna and Katniss, but Johanna eventually got tired and laid down on the beach.

You’re not entirely sure why Katniss suddenly feels the need to move. The only event that has happened recently is an announcement of sorts from the Gamemakers. A bell tolled twelve times like it had late last night, and the lightning started again. It must mean something to her, because she stood up to look around the arena.

“What is it?” Johanna slaps Katniss’s hand away.

“I think the arena works like a clock.” She says, Peeta rubs the sleep out of his eyes, while Finnick squints at the surrounding jungle. “(Y/n), you remember last night when the bell tolled?”

“Yeah.” You pull your knees to your chest, watching her.

“It was because it was midnight, and the start of the clock.”

“Twelve bongs.” Finnick murmurs.

“Yes.” She nods. “Wiress figured it out first, that’s why she’s tick-tocking. She’s trying to tell us the arena’s a clock.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Johanna says, shaking her head.

“It does.” Katniss tells her. “Lightning at midnight, blood rain at two, poisonous fog at three, monkey mutts at four…” She trails off, assuming you get what she’s saying.

Peeta’s nodding, looking down at the sand. “It’d explain why we had to deal with the fog and monkeys back-to-back.”

“So what’s going to happen now, then?” Johanna asks.

“Blood rain.” Finnick tells her.

The group of you sit in silence for a moment, digesting this. If she’s right, then that does mean you have to move, or at least get to a point in the arena where you can observe. After that, you could move from wedge to wedge to avoid what lurks in the jungle.

“What should we do, then?” Peeta asks.

“We need to move, get out of the way.” You say, looking at Katniss. “The Cornucopia?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Johanna agrees.

Katniss nods.

You break apart, going to collect your belongings out of the sand, securing them to your body to carry them with you. Finnick and Peeta work together to get Beetee back into his jumpsuit, now clean of blood.

Katniss goes to wake Wiress, who’s been murmuring in her sleep this entire time. She jolts awake, grabbing onto Katniss’s arms tightly. “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a clock, Wiress, you were right.” She tells her. “You were right.”

Wiress relaxes considerably, nodding a little. “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.” Katniss confirms.

Wiress nods at one of the wedges. “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there.” Katniss says, pointing at a different area of the jungle. “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles and stands. “Are you thirsty?”

As soon as the woven bowl is handed over to her, Wiress gulps it down. Finnick gives her some of the bread from a sponsorship you missed, she slowly chews on it. From what you can see, it’s the salty seaweed bread from District Four. Yuck.

You hand Katniss her weapons, watching her secure the spile and the tube of medicine to a square cloth of a parachute before using a vine to tie it to her belt.

Beetee’s not entirely conscious, so Peeta goes to lift him out of the sand, causing him to stir and become deadweight. “Wire.”

“She’s right here.” Peeta says. “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee tries to push Peeta off of him. “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants.” Johanna rolls her eyes, crossing the beach to pick up a cylinder. It’s still covered in a thick layer of blood, making it impossible for you to see what it is. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. THa’ts how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

You snort, she tilts her head.

“He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap.” Peeta tells her. “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Katniss chimes in. “Seems like you’d have figured that out.” She says slowly. “SInce you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She asks. “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off?”

The air becomes hard to breathe, you steal a glance at Finnick out of the corner of your eye and find his eyebrows drawn in, thinking. You can’t believe Johanna just threw that out in the open.

Katniss’s hand grips the knife on her belt.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna tilts her head.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick says, trying to calm the situation. He gives Katniss a look, taking the coil from Johanna to set it on Beetee’s chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

This allows Peeta to pick up Beetee without an issue. “Where to?”

“To the Cornucopia, like (Y/n) said.” Finnick says. “I’d like to watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

One at a time, you approach the nearest sand strip, heading to the center island. You take up the very back with Johanna, who has her arms crossed, seething. Or maybe not, you can’t see her face at the moment. Every time Katniss tries to call her out for her behavior, you know they get closer to considering killing each other.

The Cornucopia is barren of any Careers, allowing you to spread out and pick where you’d like to be in the mouth. The weapons that remain have been thoroughly picked-over, the only thing you could possibly grab now are knives. You don’t really have any specialty weapons. You had to teach yourself how to fight with a sword.

Peeta lays Beetee in the small bit of shae that does exist. As soon as Beetee’s comfortable, he calls over Wiress. She crouches beside him, and he hands over the coil of wire. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods, and hurries over to the edge of the island. She dunks the coil in the water, quietly singing a song to herself about a mouse running up a clock.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna groans, throwing her head back. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

She suddenly stops, standing up straight, coil of water in her hand, dripping watery blood onto the black rock. She points to the jungle. “Two.”

You look to where she’s pointing, and find a wall of fog seeping out onto the beach.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.”

“Like clockwork.” Peeta says. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

All she does is smile, and then she goes right back to singing and cleaning. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, coming back to life. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss explains.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks morbidly.

“It stops signing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.”

This is clearly a topic of conversation that Katniss doesn’t want to participate in, so it drops. Johanna turns to head inside of the Cornucopia, flicking her short hair over her shoulder. Katniss and Finnick follow soon after, going to stock up their weapons.

Johanna comes out with a pair of axes, looking over the blades with a fairly impressed look. She then swings the axe forward, at the golden walls of the Cornucopia. Since it’s been softened by the sun, the blade sticks. Johanna grabs it with one hand and yanks it out.

You watch as Peeta draws a circle with his machete on a large leaf he took from the jungle. He seems to draw a map of the arena, with the jungle and beach having its own sections. And then he divides the circle into wedges. “Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss comes over to look, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to write the numbers one through twelve around his circle. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes lightning in small print in the wedge, working clockwise to add blood, fog, and monkeys to the next three sections.

“And ten to twelve is the wave.” Katniss says, he writes it in.

Finnick and Johanna come to see what they’re doing now. Tridents, axes and knives hanging off their bodies. Johanna pulls one of her knives from her belt, twisting it in her hand, holding the handle out to you.

You take it from her, holding it in your hands while you watch Peeta.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks JOhanna and Beetee, but they haven’t experienced anything other than the blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta murmurs, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look over the clock in silence.

Silence.

Your eyes dart up, and you find that Katniss is one step ahead of you, an arrow armed on her bow, pointed at a soaking wet Gloss. Wiress is sliding toward the ground, her throat slit open, it’ll be impossible to save her. The arrow slams into his temple, killing him instantly. Johanna is already on her feet, swinging her axe into Cashmere’s chest.

The sound of sand crunching beneath boots causes your head to whip in the direction, finding Brutus and Enobaria running up the other side. A spear drawn back in Brutus’s hand, aimed in your direction.

And furthermore, Finnick’s.

“Get out of the fucking way!” You scream, shoving Finnick down.

The both of you hit the sand, the spear whizzing right over your heads, where you had been standing seconds prior. It slams into the golden Cornucopia, the entire head buried in the structure. Brutus had thrown it with enough force to kill you both in an instant.

Two arrows are sent back by Katniss in retaliation, but neither of them must land, because she jerks forward to chase after them. Three cannons blast in quick succession, confirming three dead; Wiress, Gloss and Cashmere.

Katniss disappears around the mouth, with Johanna and Peeta right behind her. You and Finnick are just picking yourselves out of the sand when the ground jerks beneath you. Your shoulder slams into the sand, and then you begin to quickly roll, as the rock island that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, fast.

You desperately reach out, trying to find a ridge to dig your fingers into, but you only come up with handfuls of sand. The jungle has turned into a blur of green and beige as you pick up speed, water turning to mist in the air.

You’re almost at the edge of the rock when a hand clamps around your ankle, stopping you from falling off. You’re left to face the water, dizziness beginning to overcome you, until you slam to a sudden stop.

The urge to vomit rises up your stomach quickly. You yank your ankle free from whoever it is that has a hold of you, quickly crawling to the edge to puke up water and bile into the water. You try to close your eyes to make yourself feel better, but all it does is speed up the rate that you’re spinning.

The throbbing in your head returns in full swing.

When you finally finish gagging over the rock, you pick yourself up from the sand, wiping it from your skin. The others have gathered together at the mouth of the Cornucopia, just as disheveled as you are.

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks.

You sit down while they circle the Cornucopia to confirm he’s off of the island. Finnick apparently spots him about twenty feet out in the water, and dives in to retrieve him. Katniss, on the other hand, finds Wiress in the water, the coil still clutched tightly in her hands.

“Cover me.” She tells Johanna, racing down the strip closest to her body before diving in. She swims hard, battling the hovercraft on who will get to Wiress’s body first. She reaches her first, working to loosen Wiress’s fingers, and then comes back to the center island.

By the time she makes it, Wiress is gone, as well as the two other bodies that were floating in the water. Finnick lays Beetee down in the sand, letting him get a hold of himself again. Katniss places the wire in his lap, now clean of blood, sparkling in the sunlight.

Beetee unravels a small bit of the wire, running his fingers over it. It’s a pale golden color, and it’s incredibly thin. You know Johanna was joking about him using it to garrotte people but it would be completely impossible to. As soon as you’d tighten it, it would snap.

For a while, you sit in silence together, catching your breath, wringing the water out of your clothes or shaking sand out of your clothes. When it appears as though you’re ready to move on, Johanna stands. “Let’s get off this stinking island.”

You’re forced to recollect your weapons, since they had been strewn across the island due to the spinning. Your sword and the knife Johanna handed you are relatively easy to find. While the others have to take a moment to dig.

Beetee tells Peeta that he thinks he can walk now, as long as he’s patient and willing to go slow. It’s better than carrying him again, so Peeta helps bring him to his feet. It’s then decided you all should go to the beach at twelve o’clock, because it should give you several hours before you have to face the jungle again.

Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off in three different directions.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail point at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick reasons. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.”

“I think Katniss’s point is, knowing the time doesn’t mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well.” Beetee says.

You squint, face twisted. You would hope the Gamemakers didn’t shift the jungle too, that would give the entire secret of the clock away, wouldn’t it? But then again, you guess it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.” Katniss says, offering you a shrug when you look at her.

You circle around the Cornucopia as a group, picking out every detail of the jungle, only to discover that each wedge has been almost perfectly replicated. Katniss says something about how there was a tall tree in the lightning section that stood out, but now she can’t find it.

Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s footsteps, but the sand has been blown away completely from the wind. Katniss lets out a heavy sigh, “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“Only temporarily.” Beetee says. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says, trying to make her feel better.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s tone impatient. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She pops a hip out, crossing her arms. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

A path is chosen at random. At the beach, they peer into the jungle, trying to judge what could be inside.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta shrugs. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“(Y/n) can do that.” Johanna waves her hand. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She yanks one of the leaves off of a tree to hand it to him.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to this.” You make a face, shaking your head.

“Then Katniss can go with you to keep the peace.” Johanna motions, Katniss nods.

You smile at her, but send a glare in Johanna’s direction, irritated that she’s already working to pair you and Finnick together. You’re tired of his presence and being forced to talk to him. You liked it yesterday when he was stubborn and refused to talk to you the entire day unless he had to.

Either way, you have no choice now. Finnick leads the way into the jungle. About fifteen yards in, he stops in front of a tree that looks like it’ll give you a good stream of water. He then holds his hand out, “Knife.”

“You have your own.” You tell him.

“Johanna gave you the best one.” He says, fingers beckoning for the knife. “It’s thinner.”

“You’ll make it dull.”

“Don’t be a pain.”

“Use your own knife.”

“No, I’m not ruining my own knives.”

“So you’ll ruin mine instead? Don’t you have like ten of them?” You motion at his belt. “Choose one of them.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“You do realize that the knife is the only weapon I have beside my sword, right? You’re carrying like three different tridents, why don’t you use one of those?”

Finnick’s face twists at you. “Don’t tell me you’re actually that dense.”

“No, but you are.” You tilt your head at him.

Katniss shakes her head. “I know why Johanna sent me in here now.”

You look over your shoulder. “You can go, Katniss. We won’t kill each other.”

She purses her lips, thinking. “I’ve got to pee, so I’ll do that and come back.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Finnick tells her.

Katniss wanders off with her bow, heading deeper into the jungle, completely out of your sight. You look back at Finnick, who still has his hand out, waiting for your knife. You grab it begrudgingly, placing it in his hand.

He starts to drill into the tree with the tip of your knife, ruining it immediately. You’ll get him back for this later. You’re not sure how, because trying to use his trident would make you look stupid. Maybe you’ll steal a knife off of him when he’s sleeping, since he seems to place a lot of trust in the others to watch over him.

The silence between you and Finnick is fine for the first few minutes, but you really don’t like standing over him like this without saying anything. You clear your throat, turning your body away so you don’t have to look at him.

“I’m sorry about Mags.” You tell him. “I didn’t know her well, but she was always kind to me when I was with her. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine.” Finnick tells you. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “I should’ve taken Mags during the fog, I could’ve carried her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” He mutters. “Either she died during the fog, or the monkeys, or even the Cornucopia. At least she didn’t suffer.”

You hum. “I guess that’s true.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then he sighs. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

You make a noise, not really interested in this topic. All he’s going to do is start keeping score. You’ll even bet he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want to be in your debt.

“Hardly.” You tell him.

“You saved me from the monkey in the jungle, and if you hadn’t moved me out of the way, I could’ve died because of the spear.”

“We could’ve died.” You correct him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” Finnick says, he stops drilling into the tree to look at you. “I was wrong when I said that you’d get in the way.”

You shrug, not really feeling the need to thank him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “Really.”

“Forget about it.”

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fangirlingalittletoohard · 3 months ago

Text

Reunion

Your relationship with Haymitch is... complicated. Both victors. Both mentors. Rarely able to be in the same place at the same time. Yes, it's complicated, but your reunions are always worth the wait.

1,046 words

Haymitch Abernathy x reader

No use of y/n, but second person perspective.

Warnings: fast-paced smut without plot.

................................................................................................

It had been too long since you’d seen him. You weren’t exactly sure what you’d call your relationship. It was more than friends with benefits or casual sex. But you weren’t together often. You were barely able to contact one another when you were back in your respective districts. The one perk of the Games was that it gave you and Haymitch an excuse to be in the same place at the same time.

Your tributes were good. They usually were. But you couldn’t get too attached. Even if your district won, only one of them would come home.

District Twelve’s were average at best.

It was the evening of the opening ceremony. The ceremony had gone relatively smoothly. You had sent your tributes to bed. Now, you were tapping your fingers against the glass wall of the elevator as you rose to the twelfth floor.

The two of you would use this first time as stress relief, as you had fallen into the habit of doing each year after the opening ceremony. You needed it. Desperately.

Haymitch’s hands were on you almost instantly as the elevator doors opened. Desire pooled in the pit of your stomach as his strong arms wrapped themselves around you. “I’ve missed you.” He murmured between kisses. It was electric. You felt safe but were simultaneously buzzing with energy.

“I’ve missed you too.” You replied, your hands finding his hair and tangling in the locks by the base of his neck, just how he liked it. Your feet were lifted from the ground and your legs found their way around Haymitch’s waist.

You were vaguely aware of being carried into another room, but your thoughts were too occupied by Haymitch’s tongue in your mouth to pay much attention to anything else. A door was kicked shut and your feet were on the ground again. Haymitch’s hands found the zip in the back of your dress and it was promptly slipped off your body and discarded on the plush carpet.

For the first time since the elevator doors had opened only a few minutes previously, Haymitch detached himself from you and took a step backwards. He looked you up and down, taking his time to take you all in. You had worn the lingerie you knew drove him crazy. A little black lacy set that left very little to the imagination.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He greeted, his hungry eyes burning into you.

“Hi.” You replied breathily.

Haymitch fell back into you, his hands roaming over your body as if trying to confirm whether his memory of you was accurate. You fumbled with the hem of his sweater before he stripped himself of the garment in one swift movement. Next, were his jeans. Then, your underwear followed shortly by his.

Again, your feet were lifted from the floor and you were spun around. Your stomach lurched as you felt yourself falling backwards, but your fall was broken by a soft mattress and satin sheets. Haymitch was on top of you within seconds, his lips attached to the side of your neck and his hands busying themselves with your breasts.

You whimpered as his teeth grazed your jugular and your hips bucked upwards, your core desperate for some attention. There was no time to drag this out. The two of you were hungry for one another. One of Haymitch’s hands had made its way between your bodies and a cool, calloused finger dipped into your core. Simultaneously, a moan escaped your lips and Haymitch groaned into the crook of your neck. “So wet for me.” He murmured. You whimpered again in response, hips grinding against his hand.

You needed more. Haymitch was evidently impatient too as after barely a few moments working you with a single digit, his finger was removed and he was lining himself up to your entrance.

Haymitch stilled himself and leant down to kiss you tenderly. Your hips bucked involuntarily, pressing his tip against your soaked entrance. Surfacing from the kiss, Haymitch held eye contact with you in a silent request for consent. You smiled and placed a peck to his lips in response. Haymitch pressed his forehead against yours as he slowly entered you. The two of you groaned in unison.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this for months.” Haymitch admitted quietly, stilling himself once he was fully sheathed inside you.

“Haymitch.” Was all you managed to reply, clutching at the sheets beneath you.

You remained for a moment, Haymitch buried deep inside you, breathing in synchrony, before Haymitch began to move. The first few thrusts were slow. You felt every inch of him. It was bliss. You were not satisfied yet, though. “More.” You requested breathily. Haymitch complied.

His previous slow, tender thrusts transformed into Haymitch fucking you. Your legs wrapped around his waist to give him access to a deeper angle, your hands clutching his back for support. Haymitch fucked you relentlessly and you were helpless to do anything other than cry out his name. He held you close to him as he ploughed into you, hitting just the right spot every time.

As his thrusts began to lose their precision and he became more desperate to chase his high, Haymitch reached a hand between your bodies once again and drew tight circles around your clit. You threw your head back, body arching against his at the new sensation.

It didn’t take either of you long. The combination of Haymitch’s rough digit against your clit and his cock pounding your walls finally sent you over the edge, walls clamping around his cock as pleasure sent a shiver down your spine.

The sensation of your spasming walls finished Haymitch off, too, and your orgasm was followed quickly by Haymitch coming hard, deep inside you.

He lazily thrust a few more times, before coming to rest inside you and lowering his body comfortably over yours. One of Haymitch’s hands stroked your waist and you placed a kiss to the top of his head.

You didn’t need to speak. Words were meaningless in moments like these. Instead, you held each other and slowly caught your breath. You gave yourselves to each other, and in these little moments of peace amidst the horror of the Games, you found something worth living for.

#haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch smut #thg haymitch #the hunger games #thg #thg smut #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch x reader smut #haymitch abernathy x reader smut #sunrise on the reaping

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 month ago

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Haymitch Abernathy & The Dead Donner Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Haymitch is forced to mentor the niece of his former ally, aka the prequel to all things Moves & Countermoves. (Warning: Sunrise on the Reaping spoilers.)

Part 1

Haymitch knows it is bad when he’s summoned by letter to the Capitol, the week before Y/N’s victory tour. He knows it is worse when Snow wants to recap her interview following the games.

“Well I didn’t win because I was the smartest, or the strongest, or even because I deserved it the most.”

“Then how did you do it, Y/N?” Caesar leans in, “we’re all dying to know.”

“I won because someone loved me.”

“Aww.” The audience coos.

“Tyson was more than my ally, he was my friend. He protected me. He deserves to be here today, not me.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” Caesar says.

“I think if we all loved each other; everyone in the districts and everyone in the Capitol, maybe we wouldn’t need the games to remind us of the rebellion. If we all love each other, why would anyone rebel?”

“How sweet,” Caesar holds a hand to his heart. “What a sweet girl.”

The audience roars with applause.

“I have no idea what the future holds, for any of us. But I would very much like to be your friend.” Caesar tells her.

Y/N smiles and nods, extending her hand to him. “Of course.”

“She wants to end the games.” Snow tuts, “didn’t you warn her what a careless mouth could do?”

“I haven’t spoken to her,” Haymitch admits. “I’ll get her under control before the tour.”

The man hums. “I’m not sure you can.”

“All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At this the older man smirks. “If I grant you the opportunity to correct her behavior, what are you willing to give me in return?”

“Anything.” Haymitch decides.

“Does loyalty to your former ally run so deep that you would do anything to save a girl you can’t even bear the sight of, simply because she is her kin?” President Snow cocks his head to the side.

“I guess it does.” It’s all for you, sis.

Coriolanus steeples his hands on the desk before him. “A car will be sent for you this evening, I have something special in mind for your retribution. Be sure to wear something nice.”

“Nice?” You want me to dress up to be tortured?

“Suit and tie,” Snow nods.

“Fine, alright.” Haymitch agrees.

“And moving forward, do keep her contained. I know you’d hate for her to join you.”

Haymitch purses his lips, where the hell are you sending me?

————————————————————————

“Man, I wish you had to do this instead of me.” Y/N laments, arranging flowers against Tyson’s headstone.

“Little girl, there’s a train rollin’ in for you.” Tyson’s mother, Cherry reminds her.

“I’m aware.” Y/N sighs, turning to face the woman.

“You be good now, ya hear? Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cherry.”

“That’s Ma to you.” The woman taps her chin, affectionately. Tears welling up in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma.” Y/N forces a smile. She can’t cry now or she’ll never stop.

“Wish we coulda met you different, but I’m glad to know you all the same.”

Y/N allows herself to be pulled in for a chaste hug. “Me too.”

“Make us proud.” Make our boy proud.

“I will.” Y/N takes off, out the side gate. Purposely skirting Tyson’s father, Tucker, and his siblings, in an attempt to keep her composure. Racing home to her house in Victor’s Village.

Haymitch is back. The lights in his house are on next door.

She wonders where he ran off to, but Haymitch never tells her anything. Still she pushes through the open door of his house. “Knock, knock.”

No answer. She finds her mentor passed out on the dining room table. “Haymitch, it’s tour day.” Again nothing, he doesn’t even stir. Hesitantly, she reaches for his shoulder, giving it a jostle.

“AHHHHHHH!” The man springs to his feet, knife at the ready.

“Haymitch,” Y/N holds up her hands, “it’s just me.”

“Why are you here?” He blinks rapidly, attempting to settle his nerves. He’s not in the arena, not in that house in the Capitol where he had to-

“It’s tour day.” She reminds him, before turning on her heel to leave.

“Wait.” Haymitch calls after her, “wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Careful how?” Y/N asks, “I’m not kissing Snow’s ass in front of the people whose kids he just killed.”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“You want me to sell out?”

Haymitch slams his fist against the table. “People are going to die. If you say the wrong thing, people are going to die.”

“Haymitch, they believe in what I’m saying about the games. They-”

“Aren’t going to stand between you and Snow if it comes to that. Nobody is gonna do that but me!” That’s never been more clear.

“I never asked you to!” Y/N shouts back, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you.”

“And you think it was my dream to become responsible for you? Whether you live or die? You think I want that on me?”

“Then let the peacekeepers take me off your hands. A public execution ought to be enough to stop whatever I’ve started.”

“I made a promise!” Haymitch snaps. “I promised Maysilee that I would take care of her family. Bang up job I’m doing, already lost Merrilee.”

A promise like that is something Y/N understands very well. “That wasn’t your fault, what happened to her.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.” Haymitch digs the soles of his hands into his tired eyes.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Look, I won’t say anything reckless.” Y/N whispers, “just stop blaming yourself. You tried your best to keep your promise, Maysilee would understand.”

————————————————————————

Vanity arrives, zipping her victor into a lime green dress with feathers around the neckline and wrists. When she is deemed camera ready, Y/N is escorted to the stage in front of the justice building. Y/N bounces into view, clutching what appears to be cards in her hand.

President Snow shifts in his seat, waiting for a proper performance.

The victor finds the cameras, waving them closer with a smile.

What’s your play? Coriolanus leans toward the projection.

The shot tightens to the words scrawled on her index card. ‘I’m sorry! I lost my voice.’

Y/N taps her throat for emphasis.

You

little

shit.

———————————————————————-

President Snow sends a doctor to assess Y/N in district eleven.

“Her throat is raw and her vocal cords are inflamed, other than that she appears healthy. It’ll be at least a week before she can speak again.”

What have you done?

The tour must go on. Without a voice booming from the microphone, the fallen tributes from each district are able to speak for themselves. With no sweet words to sugarcoat and glorify their crimes, the Capitol is forced to own what they’ve done. After all, how can she say the wrong thing if she says nothing at all?

Y/N grins and waves, blowing kisses to the crowd and paying special attention to the cameras.

Haymitch says nothing about her antics, all he can do is sell the lie. But in this lie, there is some truth. Y/N cannot speak. Not in any meaningful way, not in the only way she would.

Punishment for this act will surely come, but for now she is free.

Miraculously, Y/N’s voice returns just in time for her tour to end, in the heart of the Capitol. The audience for Caesar Flickerman’s show is packed full, practically overflowing into the aisles.

“It is such a pity that you didn’t get to speak in any of the districts. I, for one, was eager to hear your speeches.”

Y/N makes a show of unwrapping her cough drop and popping it into her mouth. “Well Caesar, laryngitis is no joke. If I could have spoken, you know I would have.”

“Of course, of course.” Caesar smiles, “we are so happy that your voice has returned in time to see us all here tonight.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/N tells him.

————————————————————————

Two years pass and Haymitch does not speak to her, the girl whose noose hangs around his neck, in lieu of her own. Mercifully she leaves him alone.

Bam!

The pounding on his door alerts Haymitch to the fact that the dead Donner girl is back with a vengeance. Only she would dare to visit him on his birthday. His eyes remain cast downward, looking anywhere but at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping you can.”

She sounds different. Older.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he looks at her, for the very first time. Because she has outgrown her nickname, too old and too alive to be the ‘dead Donner girl.’

This is the girl the Capitol can’t wait to get their hands on? This is the girl men fall to their knees for? Who he’s spent the past three years in servitude to? This is Y/N? “I imagined you’d be different.”

Y/N crosses both arms over her chest, “that’s what eyes are for.”

Pain in my ass. “What do you want?”

“You, actually.” Y/N informs him, “come mentor with me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Haymitch can’t help but laugh.

“Because I need you.”

“Laying it on thick there.”

“And,” Y/N raises her brows, “because you’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Haymitch shifts between feet, uncomfortably.

“Allies?” The girl offers, holding out her hand.

Haymitch sighs, looking up towards the sky. For you, sis. “Don’t make me regret this.”

#haymitch abernathy fanfic #moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #exile #the hunger games fanfiction #haymitch abernathy fanfiction #haymitch Abernathy & the dead Donner girl

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caesarflickermans · 4 months ago

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Analysis on the SOTR excerpt

The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there.

This is his last "happy" birthday with his family. By this time next year, he'll celebrate his birthday by being shipped off to the Capitol, having watched two kids get reaped and mentor them until their death.

“Happy birthday!” My 10-year-old brother, Sid, gives my shoulder a shake. “You said be your rooster. You said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

This level of family care and love is a strong entry to the book, as this is Haymitch's last day being surrounded by loved ones. There will never again be a morning where he wakes to his brother being his 'rooster'. It's a clashing contrast to the brief glances we receive in his victor's home.

Haymitch & Katniss parallel + Did Haymitch know Mr. Everdeen? Are they friends gathering (Haymitch) and hunting (Mr. Everdeen) in the woods? This could imply a similar relationship as Katniss and Gale initially had (potential parallels between each character?)

It’s true. I’m hoping to finish my work before the ceremony so I can devote the afternoon to the two things I love best — wasting time and being with my girl, Lenore Dove.

LENORE: Edgar Allan Poe reference: "Lenore" by Poe is a poem that explores themes of mourning, loss, and the hope for a better afterlife. The poem is about the death of a young woman named Lenore and the grief of her lover, who laments her passing but also finds solace in the belief that she is now in a better place. The poem contrasts the sorrow of those left behind with the idea that Lenore has transcended to a more peaceful and heavenly existence. Poe's use of language and imagery creates a haunting and melancholic atmosphere, reflecting the deep emotions associated with loss and the hope for eternal peace.

DOVE: Although no colour, her double name might suggest a potential Covey relationship. Dove could be a reference to the bird (grey or white) which might reference both Lucy Gray (grey) and Snow (white).

“Haymitch!” wails Sid. “The sun’s coming up!”

Wonderful reference to the title, 'Sunrise' on the Reaping. It starts at Midnight Sunrise.

“All right, all right. I’m up, too.” I roll straight off the mattress onto the floor and pull on a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack.

This implies that Haymitch is taking tesserae, making it likely that this already existed during the 50th Hunger Games

The words "courtesy of the Capitol" end up stamped across my butt. My ma wastes nothing. Widowed young when my pa died in a coal mine fire, she’s raised Sid and me by taking in laundry and making every bit of anything count.

Haymitch's and Katniss' mothers are stark contrasts here. This increases the parallels between them and what he might have seen in Katniss when she was reaped.

In addition, Katniss remembers the loss of her father as a deep cut into her life. Potentially, Sunrise might answer whether Haymitch feels that way, too, or if he had been too young. Does he feel sorrow when walking not only around the Seam (mother, brother), but also around the colliery (father)?

Out back, my ma’s already stirring a steaming kettle of clothes with a stick, her muscles straining as she flips a pair of miner’s overalls. She’s only 35, but life’s sorrows have already cut lines into her face, like they do.

His fondness for Hazelle as his housekeeper and potential friend might be due to seeing a resemblance of the mother he lost in Hazelle.

What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern’s a two-hour job even with Sid’s help.

The brotherly connection he has with Sid being one of mutual aid, in contrast to Katniss' motherly role toward Prim. Haymitch had a real chance at a (relatively) normal family life and an actual childhood until this very day.

A blanket of mist wraps protectively around the worn, gray houses of the Seam.

It's interesting that Haymitch perceives mist as protecting the seam. Mist could potentially link to poems akin "Spirits of the Dead", where mist is a "symbol and a token", "a mystery of mysteries". This Poe poem itself reflects on the inevitability of death and the idea that the spirits of the dead continue to exist in a different realm. This could be a foreshadow for Haymitch and his relationship with the seam; insofar that his past life and soon-to-be-deceased family resided there; still lingering due to his own grief.

Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.

"When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, everyone will make note of my tears, and I’ll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction." (Katniss) and "Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping" (Lucy Gray)

#sotr #sunrise on the reaping #thg #the hunger games #haymitch abernathy

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jetblack4realz · 13 days ago

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protector - haymitch abernathy

hey hello (also kinda prologue)

masterlist

your grandmother sure has a soft spot for that district 12 rascal - and she's convinced you will too.

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: 1.3k

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

mags had done a really good job preparing you to enter the wild world that was the capitol. she warned you about smiling judgements from everybody and the strange clothes and drinks that make you throw up so you can just keep eating. you knew all about caesar flickerman and his awkward and too blunt questions. and you knew, even, that victors were used as tools for snow to make more money, earn loyalty, and win the support of many hunger games sponsors.

you just didn't know that she really meant you.

you, the newest and brightest young victor, 18 years old and easy on the eyes, a shining star from district 4, the golden new heartthrob of the capitol that had men way into their late forties salivating at the thought of meeting you.

you were the best target.

"why was he looking at me like that - and why did he say that? that was completely crude and disrespectful and he acted like i was some girl who he had easy access to, like a bloody slab of meat, and why-" you turned sharply to your grandmother, "do you have no reaction?! why aren't you saying anything? why do you just sit there and listen to me and not do anything-"

"my dear," mags sighed, a hand in the air to cut you short. "i tried. i do try and i will continue to try, but i told you. i told you before you volunteered, before your games, and before this party - this is snow's way. this is his game. the gamemakers and sponsors, they can do whatever they want in the arena he couldn't care less but here, in the real world... he loves to play this game."

"but this is my life, gigi," you breathed out, sitting next to her finally. "i can't - i won't be played like this. i can't handle it. i should've listened to you."

"you should've." she nodded and finally met your eyes. "but you can still listen to me now."

you sat straighter, your brows furrowing but you nodded anyways. "i'm listening, gigi."

"there's a boy that i mentored a few years ago - young, charming, a bit of a throwaway victor because he was rebellious. the capitol loves it, they consider him more of a rascal as opposed to a threat but snow... he hates him because he can't use him. i think he could be a great help to you, help protect you in ways that i can't," mags explained.

you let out a breathy laugh. "you can't mean-"

"haymitch abernathy."

"but, he's all out for himself. he won't help someone like me. i - i'm a career, a volunteered tribute who was an idiot enough to do it. he won't help me," you told her, shaking your head.

"he will."

"i doubt it."

"he's already agreed," she said. a small, sad smile pulled at her lips. "it's another game you'd be playing if you go along, but at least you have some control over it. and you have a partner. and we both know that having a partner in the capitol's games can help your chances of survival."

you considered her words even though you knew immediately she was right. you just couldn't wrap your head about the idea of haymitch abernathy - the victor of the second quarter quell, the only living victor from district 12, famed for his solidarity and genius and charm and brewing of illegal alcohol - helping you.

"what's the play?"

"you flirt. pretend to be a couple. it's your only chance of snow leaving you alone, if you're in a very active, very public, and very popular relationship," she answered with a sigh. "i know it's not ideal, but sweetheart, i think it's the best chance you have."

you hesitated again, but only to ask: "he's a good man? you like him?"

mags didn't hesitate with her response, only smiling slightly. "he's a good boy. his heart is in the right place. and he's got spirit, spunk - i think you two would get along really well."

"okay," you breathed out, nodding as you looked up from your hands to meet her familiar seagreen eyes. "if he's in, i'm in. i'll take my chance."

"he is your chance. and he's waiting to meet you," she said, squeezing your hands before standing from the couch in the greenroom and nodding towards backstage. "come along now. caesar is set to interview him in a couple of minutes, just a bit before you, and i'd like you to meet beforehand."

she ushered you along sidestage to the massive curtain that made up caesar's backdrop, making sure to stay quiet as you crossed behind it to where you just noticed a messy tuft of sandy blond hair slip to.

he was taller than you expected, and had more muscle too. you figured it had to due with the last few years of finally eating right, but still, with all the alcohol you heard he consumed you were impressed with how he held himself.

his eyes were a deep gray that flashed blue as he turned his head, and they softened when they spotted your grandmother, settling into a clear silvery ocean color when they finally rested on you. his posture straightened, the glass in his hand never swishing or threatening to spill even as he crossed a few steps to meet you both.

"hello haymitch," mags said with a smile.

"hi mags," he answered, matching her smile genuinely. he glanced behind her to you, one brow twitching up as his smile grew a bit lopsided. "hey."

"hello," you said, bouncing on your heels a bit as you heard caesar's interview wrap up and edge closer to yours at the end of the night. "i'm-"

"mags' granddaughter, i know," he said, waving his hand with the glass and not spilling a drop. "i watched the games. you were very impressive."

you'd gotten that a lot. "thanks."

"quite honestly i thought you were going to fail. that dry as hell desert was a far cry from district 4, but you held it together," he hummed. "good job."

you shifted on your feet, offering him a bit of a smile. "i do my best."

"haymitch is good at that too," mags said, glancing between you and the boy. "especially out here in the capitol. he can show you the ropes."

it was like ropes was a keyword for something they'd previously discussed, because as soon as it left her mouth his eyes were back on you with a strange intensity that turned them back to steel gray. he tilted his head. "yeah? you want that?"

you had to break eye contact with him to breathe and actually think about anything other than how annoyingly perfect his face was, especially for a district 12 boy. and then the only thing you could think about was going out to meet caesar for the fifth time since being in the capitol and how every word you said was like honey to some psycho sponsors who was just waiting for snow to let them sleep with you.

you chewed on your lip, your eyes on the curtain and your ears trying to tune out the laughing crowd behind haymitch. and then, with a nudge from mags, you finally met his gaze and nodded. "yeah. that'd be great."

"okay," he agreed. and then, all at once, his seriousness was gone and a boyish smirk was on his lips. he took a dramatic sip of what you assumed was some sort of whiskey and then stepped back, his hand in the air in a vague gesture to the stage. "and that's my cue. wonderful seeing you ladies."

your brows furrowed as he stepped away, glancing at your grandmother. "what's his cue?"

and then you heard the laughter change to applause and then as he slipped out of sight onto the stage they turned into screams and whistles and loud universal giggling.

"they love him. they want him. they can't have him," mags told you, a small smile on her lips. "and when he's yours, you'll be untouchable too."

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy #sotr #thg sotr #sunrise on the reaping

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ssweeterthanfiction · 3 months ago

Text

Glimpse of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

previous part | masterlist | next part

Chapter III

You couldn't sleep and Finnick was trying his hardest to get you to sleep, even if it was for a little while.

"Come on angel...you've gotta sleep, you need energy for tomorrow" he says as he strokes your hair.

You've always had trouble sleeping, ever since you won your games. Nightmares were something that came with winning, but Finnick was always there to console you. No matter how long it took, he was always there.

When he finally got you to sleep, he held you for a little while longer before slowly pulling away.

He went to the living room and sat in the dark. His mind was racing. What if you get hurt in the arena? What if you die? His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the soft swish of the door open.

He thought you had woken up, but when he turned his head he saw Haymitch.

"Haymitch. What brings you by?"

"Just came to drop this off.." he says as he holds up a gold bangle.

Haymitch tosses it to Finnick and he catches it with ease. "Put it on before you go in tomorrow, then show it to Katniss, she'll know that you guys are allies."

Finnick quirks an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"

Haymitch shrugs, "We'll only be able to see tomorrow"

"About tomorrow..." he says, spinning the bangle around his finger, "This whole plan. Are you sure it's gonna work?"

"About 90% sure it'll work"

"Can you promise me something?"

Haymitch nods, "Sure"

"If anything goes wrong, you save her. Get Katniss, get Peeta, get whoever else you need to and save her. Leave me if it comes down to it."

Finnick watches as Haymitch hesitates, "Promise me Haymitch or I won't protect Katniss and Peeta." he says in a low threatening tone.

Haymitch puts his hands up in mock surrender, "Alright, alright. I promise."

After Haymitch leaves, Finnick returns to you, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

The next morning, you both woke up at the same time and decided to stay in eachothers arms for as long as possible.

Neither of you wanted to get up, you both knew what it meant if you did.

Finnick kisses the top of your forehead. He could feel the heat of your skin against his, the soft thrum of your heartbeat. For a brief second, he allowed himself to pretend that everything was normal, that this wasn’t the last morning he might spend with you. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he wanted to hold onto that feeling of peace for just a little longer.

It was only when the silence grew unbearable, when the weight of what was coming came crashing down.

Finnick pulled away just enough to look at you. Your eyes were wide, searching his face as if to find an answer, a reassurance he wasn’t sure he had.

"Finnick... I..." you started, but the words faltered on your lips. He could see the fear in your eyes. The same fear that he saw in your eyes when he mentored you.

"Don’t," he whispered, gently cupping your face in his hands. "You don’t have to say it. I know."

You swallowed hard, but your gaze never left his. Finnick felt his heart crack a little more as he saw the vulnerability in your eyes. He planted his lips on yours, "We’re going to make it through this," he said firmly, more to himself than to you. He didn’t know if he believed it, but he had to say it. For you. For both of you.

You nodded slowly, he could tell you didn’t believe it either, but you were trying for his sake.

He kissed you gently again, as if trying to imprint that feeling of safety into you for the storm that would come. "I’ll never leave you. Not now. Not ever."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held each other, that was until you heard the high pitched voice of Lyssandra call out for both of you.

"Guess it's time.." he says in an annoyed tone.

You both get up from the bed. Finnick pulls you close, cups you face and gazes into your eyes, kissing you one last time before letting you go. "I'll see you soon." ***

"I'll see you soon tadpole."

Finnick watched as Kael gave you a big bear hug before being ushered onto the hovercraft with the other boys. He could see that you were nervous, well of course you were, you were basically being sent to your death. But Finnick knew that Kael would protect you in the arena.

Your voice trembled as you spoke, pulling him from his thoughts. "Any last advice?"

Finnick takes a step close and give you a tight hug, "Stick with Kael and stay alive."

He pulled away from you reluctantly, his hands lingering on your arms for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "Stay alive," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly.

You nodded, though Finnick could see the uncertainty in your eyes. He wanted to say more, but the hovercraft’s engines roared louder, drowning out everything else.

As he watched you board the hovercraft, he wanted nothing more than to pull you back into his arms where you would be safe.

But he couldn't.

He could only hope that you would survive and make it back to him.

***

Finnick blinks a few times as he adjusts to the light of the arena. Looking around him he noticed that the cornucopia was in the middle of a lake and so was everyone's starting podiums.

"Let the 75th Hunger Games begins. May the odds be ever in your favor."

He looks around frantically for you but can't figure out where you are. Wherever you were, he needed to find you, Katniss, and Peeta fast.

"Ten."

Finnick’s heart pounded as the countdown began. He scanned the expanse desperately, his eyes darting from one podium to the next.

"Nine."

Where were you? Were you close by or on the opposite side? His chest tightened at the thought of you being too far away, out of reach before the bloodbath began. He had to find you. You had to survive. He wouldn’t forgive himself if you didn't.

"Eight."

Finnick’s hands tightened balled into fists. He felt the anxiety again. The same anxiety he felt when he was fourteen.

"Seven."

His gaze landed on Katniss, a few podiums to his left. Her face was set in determination, her body tense like a coiled spring. He knew it would be easy to get to her

"Six."

Where were you? His jaw clenched as frustration and panic built in his chest. He should’ve been able to spot you by now, to gauge how far you were and what he needed to do to get to you. The lake wasn’t large, but it felt infinite when you weren’t within his sight.

"Five."

His mind raced with possibilities. Would you run for the Cornucopia? No, that wasn’t your style. You’d likely stay back, wait for the chaos to thin out before making a move. But this was different. What was smart in your first games wouldn't be as smart now.

"Four."

Finnick reminded himself that you're strong. Stronger than you gave yourself credit for.

"Three."

His muscles tensed. He could already hear the splashes of water, the frantic scrambles of tributes who’d dive in as soon as the cannon sounded. He could picture the chaos, the blood, the screams. It was always the same, no matter the arena.

"Two."

Finnick took a deep breath and locked his eyes on a trident. If he couldn’t see you now, he’d find you once he got to the center. He had to. He’d promised himself that much. He’d protect you, no matter what it cost him.

"One."

The cannon sounded, and Finnick leaped into the water, the world exploding into chaos around him. His only thought, his only focus, was finding you before it was too late.

It wasn't long before he reached the center. He grabed his trident and after a quick encounter with Katniss that would establish the alliance, he was quick to make the first kill of the District 5 male that tried to run up on him and Katniss and after that was taken care of he went to the other side to look for you and Peeta.

He calls out your name and then sees you standing on the strip of rocks with a spear in hand as you look into the water. He calls out your name again.

Your head snaps up, "Finnick! It's Peeta!"

Finnick holds up his hand, "Just wait there! I'm gonna go get Katniss!"

He doesn't take long to come back with Katniss.

"He's there!" you say as you point to Peeta fighting a tribute in the water.

Finnick hands you his trident and immediately dives into the water. As he swims to Peeta, he panics when a cannon goes off and a body floats up to the surface.

But once he sees Peeat pop his head out he lets out a sigh of relief, one that he's sure everyone shared.

Once he has Peeta, you all start making your way to the jungle, the one place you all think you'll be safe.

Finnick takes your hand, holding it with a firm grip and runs behind Katniss and Peeta.

The four of you pushed deeper into the jungle, the thick canopy above shielding you from the blistering sun. Finnick’s mind raced as he scanned your surroundings.

"Okay, hold up. Hold up!"

Now in the middle of the jungle you all stop and crouch down, trying to desperatelt cath your breaths.

Finnick puts his hand over yours and squeezes it, a silent way of asking if you're okay, when you nod Finnick relaxes a bit.

"God it's hot. We gotta find fresh water." Peeta says, panting slightly.

Before anyone can respond, the cannon fires three times. Three more tributes are gone.

"Well I guess we're not holding hands anymore." Finnick says as he laughs.

He watches as you shoot him a 'shut up' look, silently scolding him for what he said.

Katniss glares at him. “You think that's funny?” she snaps, her voice icy and accusatory.

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s like music to my ears,” he says smoothly. “I don’t care about any of them.”

He feels you nudge his shoulder and watches as you shake your head.

“Good to hear,” Katniss bites back, her expression hardening as she draws her machete with a metallic scrape.

"Wanna face the Career Pack alone? What would Haymitch say?"

"Haymitch isn't here."

You and Peeta exchange a look and Finnick watches as you both start to get up.

"Let's keep moving." Peeta says as he gets up.

You get up as well, but Finnick and Katniss don't. They stay crouched on the ground, glaring at eachother.

"Finnick." you say in a firm, yet soft tone.

Finnick finally stops glaring at Katniss, "Right...okay."

As you all start to traverse through the jungle, Finnick could feel the tension between the two of you.

"Did you have to say something earlier?" you say in a hushed tone.

Finnick scoffs under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on. I’m the one who kept everyone alive so far. I grabbed the trident, took out a tribute, and got Peeta out of the water, didn’t I? Forgive me for cracking a joke.”

You stop walking for a split second before catching up to him again. “It’s not about the joke,” you mutter, your voice quiet but firm. “It’s about the way you said it. You sounded like you didn’t care.”

Finnick’s steps falter, and he glances at you, his expression softening just slightly. “I care,” he murmurs, his tone barely audible. “You know I do.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your annoyance fading but not entirely gone. “Then show it. Because if she thinks she can’t trust you, this whole thing isn't gonna last long and then the plan will be out the window."

Before he could even think of responding, the sound of Katniss screaming cuts through the air, and before anyone could even react, Peeta goes flying off the force field and crashes into everyone.

Finnick groans, "Are you okay?"

You nod but then start hitting his shoulder and pointing to Katniss.

"He's not breathing. He's not breathing! He's not breathing- Peeta!"

Finnick dashes towards the two and pushes Katniss off of Peeta to start CPR.

You see Katniss go to reach for her machete, her movements quick and defensive, but before she can strike, you call out sharply, “Katniss, stop!”

Her hand freezes in mid-air, fingers gripping the hilt of her machete, eyes wild with confusion and fear. The tension in the air is suffocating, and for a moment, everything stands still.

"Come on Peeta. Come on."

A painful silence hangs in the air as Finnick continues, his heart hammering in his chest. The seconds stretch out like an eternity, every beat of his pulse ringing in his ears.

Then, finally, finally a shudder runs through Peeta’s body. Finnick’s breath hitches, and he shifts, leaning in closer as Peeta coughs, sputters, and gasps for air, his chest heaving as life returns to him.

"Peeta?" Katniss breathes, her voice soft with disbelief as she touches his shoulder gently. "Peeta oh my god”

Finnick takes a step back and you take a step closer to him.

You both watch as Katniss kisses and as she pulls Peeta into a tight embrace.

"It's real." you whisper.

Finnick looks down at you for a spilt second and then back at Katniss and Peeta.

It defineitely is real.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

After walking for a bit longer, the group stops as Katniss climbs up a tree.

You step closer to Finnick and reach out for his hand.

You look flushed, the heat and dehydration was catching up to you.

"You okay angel?" he says in a gentle tone.

"Yeah... just had a little déjà vu back there.”

Finnick tilts his head, brows furrowing as he watches you, “Déjà vu? What do you mean?”

You stay quiet for a moment, "When you were giving Peeta CPR...it reminded me of what happened in my games." you whisper, looking down at the ground.

Finnick frowns, he knows exactly what you're talking about.

***

He was sitting in a lavish Capitol viewing party, surrounded by jeering, laughing citizens who are oblivious to the weight of the lives being traded for their amusement. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching as the Games unfold in front of him.

You and Kael were safe, you were both deep in the forest, away from all the other tributes. The cameras were constantly following the two of you, you were both already deemed Capitol favorites.

“Oh, aren’t they just adorable together?” one woman gushed, her hair a shock of neon pink feathers. “Kael is such a protector. Did you see how he looked at her when she almost tripped over that root?”

The party goers continued to comment and make remarks while the cameras continued to follow you both as you forged for something to eat.

He was already thinking of how if neither of you found anything, he could just persude one of these partygoers to send you bread, soup, anything to keep you alive.

He watched as you picked a few berries and examined them, he could tell that you weren't sure if they were safe to eat, but you still set them down onto a small leaf ontop of a rock.

He watched as you turned your back to try to find some more...but then he saw a tribute. He felt his heart stop. Kael was no where near you, so if this tribute attacked, you would have to fight on your own.

But instead of going after you, he watched as they lunged for the berries and as they ate all of them.

The tribute had collapsed almost immediately. The camera zoomed in on their lifeless body, the effects of the poison quick and deadly.

He watched as you turned around and froze. Your face twisted in horror, your hands were shaking violently. You realized what had happened. You hadn’t meant for this.

Without hesitation, you dropped to you knees beside the fallen tribute, desperately pressing your hands to their chest, trying to revive them, trying to save them.

But it was too late.

He wanted to turn away, to block out the sight of you cradling the body in your arms, your face streaked with tears as you whispered frantic apologies.

“Oh, she’s so sweet,” one Capitol woman remarked, her hand pressed to her chest, her voice high with faux sympathy. “She never meant to do that. She was just trying to help. Poor thing.”

The women around him murmur in agreement, calling you “sweet” and “innocent". “She doesn’t belong here,” one woman says, tsking as she crosses her legs. “Such a delicate thing. She’ll never survive, not with that soft heart of hers.”

He wanted to tell them to shut up as they all continued to make comments. But he couldn't. All he could do was hope that you come out of this alive.

***

"The force field. It's a dome, we're at the edge of the arena." Katniss says as she adjusts her bow. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water."

Everyone shares a look of disappointment. It was now hotter than before, almost too unbarable.

"It's gonna get dark soon." Finnick says, "We'll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp."

"We can take turns sleeping" you say.

Finnick nods, "I'll take first watch."

"Not a chance." Katniss scoffs.

He scoffs and stands up.

"Honey. That thing I did for Peeta back there? It's called saving his life."

"If I wanted to kill either of you, I would've done it by now."

"Finnick.." you say as a warning.

He starts walking away but you tug on his arm.

"Finn. Come on. Stop acting like this."

"Like what?

"Like you don't care!"

He gazes at you as you put your hand on his cheek.

"Finn. I know you care. More than anyone I know you care." you whisper. "But they don't." you say as you motion to Katniss and Peeta.

"I know.." he whispers, "But you know I can't just break this whole act."

You nod, "I know...I just- I don't want Katniss to not trust us."

He puts his hand on you cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he gazes into you eyes. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “For you. But it’s not gonna be easy.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” you whisper back, your voice soft yet firm. “Just… don’t make them think you’re the enemy. We need them as much as they need us.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, “Alright, angel. I’ll behave. For now.”

You let out a small, relieved sigh and drop your hand from his arm, giving him a nod. Finnick straightens, his gaze briefly flickering to Katniss and Peeta, who are both watching the two of you from a distance. Katniss still looks wary, her hand resting on her bow, while Peeta’s expression is one of observation, as if he’s trying to piece together what's going on between you and Finnick.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

It's not long before nightfall hits. Finnick and Katniss are the only two awake as you and Peeta try to rest.

He keeps his gaze locked on you as you sleep next to him, admiring how pretty you look under the moonlight of the arena. Then he looks over at Katniss.

"How's Peeta?"

"He's okay I think. Dehydrated like the rest of us." Katniss says as she looks over to you, "How's she?"

Finnick sighs, "She's fine, just like you said, dehydrated. I just hope she doesn't get sick." he says as he runs his hand through your hair.

"You really care about her, don't you?"

Finnick look at Katniss, who has a look of skepticism on her face. He nods, "Course I do."

Before Katniss can say anything back, the anthem starts playing causing you and Peeta to wake up.

You all look up and watch as the holograms of the fallen tributes appear on the screen. You and Finnick share a sigh of relief when you don't see anyone that's apart of the plan up on the screen.

Except for Seeder and Cecelia.

Finnick watches as you tear up when you see Cecelia up on the screen.

"Her kids Finny..." you say as your voice breaks, "Her kids...they’re all alone…"

He's quick to put his hand against your cheek to console you, "I know angel. I know." he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your forehead rests against his shoulder, your quiet sobs muffled by the crook of his neck.

“It’s not fair,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he says, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s never been fair. But that’s why we have the plan, angel. To make sure it ends.” he says so quietly that only you can hear, letting you go from his arms.

Once the holograms finish, Katniss says she counted eight. Sixteen tributes are still out there.

The familar sound of the chiming of a sponsor gift fills the air.

Katniss walks over to it and Finnick follows her.

When Katniss realizes its a spile, she goes over to a tree and using a rock she taps it into the tree. The minute water starts trickling out of the tube, everyone starts to drink from it.

Before you can even move, Finnick comes up to your side with a leaf full of water.

"Finn..I could've gotten it myself.."

He smiles, "But I wanted to get it for you. Here, drink" he says as he brings up the leaf to your lips.

He watches as you drink from it, "Better? Do you want more?"

"I'm fine, I don't need anymore, this is enough."

He nods and places a hand on your cheek, "Come on, let's get you back to sleep."

A few minutes pass and you're sound asleep next to Finnick again, he idly runs his fingers through your hair in a soothing motion.

Only when you hear the banging of what sounds like a gong do you wake up.

"What's going on?" you say sleepily.

"I don't know.." Finnick says, looking around.

"I counted 12." Katniss says.

"For midnight?" Finnick says, continuing to stroke your hair.

"Or for the number of Districts"

You then all hear and see a huge strike of lighting hit a tree in the distance multiple times.

You all look at it puzzled by what it meant.

Finnick sighs, "Well..if you're not gonna sleep, I will" he says to Katniss as he moves to lay down with you.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

You were lying on Finnick's chest as he holds you close. Both of you were fast asleep. Hearing the distance sounds of the waves coming from the beach made it feel like you were both back home.

That you were both back in four in the comfort of your house.

But the ugly reality came crashing down when you were both awoken by Katniss' screams of pain.

A/N: AND THAT ENDS DAY ONE OF THE GAMES!!!!!! i hope u guys enjoyed! next chapter will be filled with more finnick and angel moments I PROMISE. also if u guys have any questions or just wanna like chat my asks/requests are open! i don't have school AT ALL this week so i will be able to respond to a lot more than usual!

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd **if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #thg finnick #the hunger games #finnick odair imagine #finnick fanfic #i love finnick odair #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #catching fire #thg

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