#haymitch abernathy x fem!reader

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[moonlightkitties]

Chapter One

Summary: Your 18th birthday came by like a flash, it was your last year until you could stop putting your name in the reaping and work in the coal mine. Everything was going smooth, until your name got pulled from the cup as the female tribute for the 69th annual Hunger Games.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,596

You stare out of the window of your family's little run down shack. It wasn't the best, the wooden floors creaked each time you or your siblings walked, the windows would barely close making it colder at night, and you could hear your parents arguing from the too thin walls. You were the oldest of three younger siblings; Fern, eight. Glenn, fourteen, and Grayson, sixteen. Today marked your eighteenth birthday which always fell on July 4th, or more specifically Reaping Day. You were nervous, as always, but giddy, if you could just get through the dreaded afternoon then you would be in the clear and start your early shift at the coal mine with your father.

You glance at the worn down clock at reside in your makeshift living room, it was four hours before two in the afternoon, when the escort for District Twelve would pick the names from the reaping bowl. You hadn't expected to survive this long, though you'd always hope you would. There was something in the air that made it seem like this year it would be different, like a good different, the type of different like you didn't have to fear for your life every year and the type of different where you didn't have to rely on a slip of paper to decide your future.

You pulled yourself off of the window seal and made your way down to the bedroom where you sleep with your siblings. Outfits, which were only used for special occasions such as these, were set on your bed. A nice blue dress that reminded you of the sky on clear days, the same for Fern and matching shirts and pants for Glenn and Grayson.

After bathing in the lukewarm water your mother left out for you, you pulled on your dress and helped Glenn button his shirt.

Your mind wandered towards the reaping and if, which it was a rare chance, you would get picked, you would have to deal with...Haymitch Abernathy. Even thinking about him made you cringe. You've seen him around the hob, drinking his days away at the makeshift bar and at sometimes you felt bad for him but you've seen his drunken outbursts and the way he treated people. You shook your head and glanced at the clock, an hour passed since you got dressed. The front door swung open and your father, who got the day off since it was a "federal" holiday, walked in. Fern squealed and raced into his arms, a protective feeling and wave of anxiety rushed through you as you realized that one day, little eight year old Fern would turn twelve and have to put her name in the reaping bowl.

You took a deep breath, she would have four more years until then, you had nothing to worry about.

Your father gave you a smile and you noticed he had something behind his back. Fern tried to look behind him but he gently pushed her away and walked over to you. "I heard it was someone's birthday," he said, pulling his arms in front of him and held a black and white puppy. You gasped "No way!" you exclaimed, you picked the puppy up and she instantly started licking your cheeks, "Did you talk to mom about this?" you asked, holding the pup close.

"Of course I did, stop worrying so much," he said, scratching the puppy behind her ears.

"Where'd you find her?" Glenn asked, coming into the hall.

"A co-worker had pups and gave them to whoever wanted em'" he explained.

Your mother walked in, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled at her husband and her eyes landed on the puppy that was in your arms. Although she looked happy for you, you could tell she wasn't happy with the extra mouth to feed.

"Your cake is in the oven, I was thinking we could have it after the reaping," you mother said, kissing your forehead. You nodded "Yeah, that's fine," you said. Your mother nodded "Right, well, what are you going to name your puppy?" She asked and you shrugged "I dunno...I gotta think about it first."

Fern pouted and stomped her foot "I wanna puppy!" she whined and your father tutted "Fern, we don't act like that, the puppy is (y/n)s gift, not yours." Fern huffed but didn't say more.

You walked into your room and set the puppy on your bed and tried to conjure up some names.

You're mind wander back to the song your parents would sing you and your brothers at night, way before Fern was alive.

"How about Willow?" you asked the pup, it's tail wagged, possibly indicating that she liked it.

"Maybe when you're older you can go out hunting we me and dad," you told her.

Every Saturday and Sunday you and your father would go out and hunt, so you could illegally sell it in the Hob and your mother could fix food for the week.

-----------

Hours passed and hugged your parents, brothers and Fern as you made your way towards the square where the reaping would take place. Fern, like every year, starts crying and holds onto you as your mother tries to get her off. You promise her you're going to be okay and make your way towards the huge group of other young women waiting their fate.

The escort, a young woman named Robin Daebreik, has been District Twelves escort for at least three years. According to the peacekeepers you regular hangout with in the hob, she is an incredibly strict and like you, can't stand Haymitch.

"Welcome, to the 69th annual Hunger Games," she began, her capital accent ran across the square, her bright colored red wig and too much makeup made her stand out between the emaciated children that stood in front of her.

You looked over towards the stage, usually the mentor, ergo Haymitch, would stand near the mayor. You spotted him, his messy dirty blonde hair was unkept and greasy and you cringed at the thought of being near him.

"As always, we will start with the girls," she walked over to the reaping bowl, put her hand in and pulled out a white slip of paper. You could hear and see the girls around you freeze and whimper in fear. Friends and sisters alike grabbed onto each others hands. You froze to and your breath felt like it was caught in your throat.

She opened the slip and her pursued lips let out nine words that you never once in your eighteen years of living would hear.

"The female tribute for District Twelve is (y/n) Nightingale."

You froze for what seemed like forever before you forced your legs to move in between the other girls. Robin gave you a smile and motioned for you to come up onto the stage of the Justice Building. You could hear your mother cries from the back of the crowd and you could spot Glenn and Grayson looking horrified as they stared at you.

You glanced back at Haymitch, who caught your eye and smirked, you rolled your eyes and faced forward, waiting for Robin Daebreik to announce the male tribute.

"Now, for the boys," Robin continued once the crowd calmed down.

She put her hand in the boys reaping bowl and pulled out a single white paper, she unraveled it and said "The male tribute from District Twelve is Rowan Novak." You looked towards Grayson, you could tell he was about to raise his hand to volunteer as tribute, but you quickly shook your head, he had to take care of them and take over your place when you and your father went hunting during the weekends.

Grayson stayed down and Rowan, whos lightly tanned skin shone and his dark brown curly hair was unkept like he didn't mind brushing it at least for this "occasion" and his green eyes held a twinge of mischief.

"Well then," Robin giggled "Lets give it up for District Twelves tributes!" she exclaimed. Your mother was still sobbing in the back of the crowd and no one clapped. You and Rowan were escorted into the Justice Building and were held in separate rooms. The door opened and Grayson quickly walked over to you, his eyes were saddened and he looked grief-stricken, like you were already dead.

"Listen to me," you began, "you're going to have to step up, okay?" Grayson nodded "I-I will, but, what are you going to do?" he asked "You've never killed someone before," he finished. You put your arms on his shoulders "I'm going to be okay, alright?" he nodded and a Peacekeeper took him away and your parents, Fern, and Glenn replaced him. Your mother wailed and pulled you into a hug, her tears were soaking your dress and Fern whimpered from behind your father's leg.

"I'm going to be okay, Ma," you tell her, hugging her back. She sniffed and pulled away "You don't know that," she whispered "This isn't fair, we were supposed to go back home and eat your cake," she hiccupped out. Your father gently pulled her away and into his arms. You bent down to hug Fern and when your mom and her both left, your eyes filled with tears as your father pulled you into a safe, warm hug. He shushed you and you felt safe for a few moments until a Peacekeeper took him away.

After the door slammed shut, you looked around, you were alone, and absolutely terrified for what the future held.

Tag List: @nevermorefanfics

[websterss]

FINNICK ODAIR

ONESHOTS: ‣ Coming soon

PEETA MELLARK

ONESHOTS: ‣ Coming soon

YOUNG!HAYMITCH ABERNATHY

ONESHOTS: ‣ Coming soon

‣ BACK TO: MASTERLISTS

[allisluv]

First off congrats on 200!!! I feel like it hasn’t been that long since 100 followers.

💍 I would like to request something with the victors ie Johanna, Finnick, Haymitch (gloss, Enobaria, cashmere, Cecelia, Mags if you want) before the quarter quell. Reader is a victor from District 8 and their talent is crocheting so they go around crocheting little animals for the other victors. Could you write something about what animal Reader would give the victors and their reaction? 😁

ooooo i love this so much!!

i think you would crochet johanna a black cat. its her spirit animal like if i cracked her soul open, that's what i would expect to see.

finnick would love a blue whale or a starfish. i think theyre his favorite animals and he would give them designated spots on his bed.

you would make katniss a copy of buttercup and she scoffs, pretends to hate it, but sleeps with it in her arms every night.

i feel like peeta would really appreciate a koala or maybe a sloth. don't ask me why because i dont have a clue, its just a gut feeling.

haymitch would recieve a grizzly bear with a bottle of alcohol in its hand. he fucking loves it

[oweninadaydream]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar. 

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" 

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead. 

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept. 

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her. 

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However,  nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body. 

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature. 

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience. 

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day. 

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured : 

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

[asterias-record-shop]

—𓆩[in our next life || EPILOGUE]𓆪—

𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 1.7K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - that I know of, there is none! maybe besides cursing(?) but it's pure fluff, just let me know if you think i should add anything!

Ten years later…

This would be the second rope being tied around your wrist, to the same man. Things were different now; the games were over, Finnick built you that house on the river bank, and you had a son this time too.

Your dress was similar to the one you had before, especially because Cinna designed this one too, but this time, it was much smaller than the ballgown you had before. It was still poofy, yes, but this time it was lined with pearls taken from your first dress in strands of gold. Your hair was pulled into your preferred style, a flower crown of white camellias, pearls stranded in your hair as well.

You probably loved this more than your first outfit, a white bouquet in your hands as well. You were going to cry even more this time, you were sure of it. When someone knocks, you turn with a quick confirmation for them to come in, Katniss peeking her head inside. “Someone wants to see you��”

You giggled as your son ran in, gasping loudly. “Momma, you look so pweety!”

You laughed at his childish dialect, smoothing down the front of your dress. “Yeah? You think papa will like it?”

He nods his head vigorously. “Yeah! And if he doesn’t, he’s crazy!”

You giggled, offering your empty hand. “Wanna walk mommy down the aisle?”

He continues to nod, running over. “Momma, I’m glad you’re getting remarried. That bracelet is dirty.”

You laughed, nodding with him. “Is it baby? Well good thing papa’s getting me another one, right?”

“Yeah!”

You named your son Atlas, and for heaven's sake, he came out exactly like Finnick. Golden hair and bright sea blue eyes, a perfect smile and the freckles you loved since you were a child.

He takes your hand, leading you out the room as Katniss follows behind. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

You smiled back at her, giggling. “Thank you, Katniss.”

You walked out the back door, stepping down the steps of the large wrap around porch Finnick had built himself. The second you stepped into the meadow of different kinds of wildflowers, all of the memories came flooding back.

“Finnick, we’re not supposed to be here!”

You whisper yelled at him as he dragged you to the edge of District 4, laughing.

“So? Come on, we’re almost there!” He pulls you harder, groaning. “Y/N, don’t be a scaredy-cat!”

You groaned. “My mother will kill me.”

He snorts. “Fuck your mother.”

You gasped, slapping his bicep before he sharply tugs you forward, a gasp falling from your lips before you screamed out as you both began rolling down the hill. His hand keeps your face in his neck as he laughs, your arms wrapping around him as his other hand holds your side.

You finally get to the bottom, Finnick laughing like the funniest thing in the world just happened as you sit on his chest, looking down at your grass stained dress. The Reaping would happen in a few days, and your mother had just bought you this dress. She would kill you if you came home like this.

“Finnick, my dress is all dirty!” You whine as he sits up.

“You’re so over dramatic, darling. We can clean it when we get back, look at all the flowers,” he says, smiling as he picks one and puts it behind your ear. “I know they’re your favorite.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as you picked one and tucked it behind his ear. “My favorite wildflower, Finnick. Not my favorite in general.”

He laughed, clearing his throat. “My apologies, your majesty, your favorite wildflower. Is there any way you could possibly forgive me?”

You giggle, humming. “I mean… I guess so,” you say, making him grin before you boop his nose. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

He starts to blush, but hums. “Oh yeah? What?”

You purse your lips, letting out a soft ‘hmph’ as you fix yourself on Finnick’s lap. “Well, if I’m your highness, that means I’m queen, right?”

He purses his lips in response, nodding. “Yes, it does.”

“Well then, you can be my knight. To protect me and stay with me for the rest of my life. Sounds good?”

He smiled widely, nodding. “Sounds good. I’ll be your knight, Y/N?”

You put up your hand, offering your pinky. “Promise?”

He smiled, nodding as he wrapped his pinky around yours before pushing his hand up. “Lock it.”

You do, watching as he kissed your overlapping thumbs before doing the same. “You can’t break it now, Finnick!”

He nods before smirking. “Y’know, we just shared saliva.”

Your brow ruffled. “No we didn’t.”

“You kissed after me,” he teased, chuckling. “That means you got some of my saliva in your mouth.”

You blushed madly, quickly wiping your lips. “Finnick! Don’t say that!”

He laughed as he pressed his face into your neck. “Oh come on! Knights and queens belong together.”

You purse your lips. “No, kings and queens belong together.”

“Knights and queens make better pairs,” he says immediately before humming. “Y/N, I want to do something.”

Your brow ruffled. “Okay?”

He shook his head. “With you. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop and I will, I promise, but I’ve been wanting to do it with you for a while.”

You nodded. “Okay, I will. What is it, Finnick?”

He blushed madly, cheeks turning a bright red as he looked away. “C-Can you close your eyes?”

You do, closing them tightly before something soft lands on your lips. You don’t realize it at first, but Finnick was kissing you. Your lifelong crush was kissing you.

You don’t open your eyes until he pulls away, slowly finding his eyes as he swallows. “W-Was that okay?”

You look at him confused. “Did you just kiss me, Finnick?”

He looked away, mumbling under his breath. “Yeah, yeah I did,” he was blushing madly. “I just… I‘ve been wanting to do it for a while and-”

You pressed your lips to his before he could even finish, holding his cheeks before pulling away. It was soft and quick, but that’s all you really needed. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you rub them softly, clearing your throat. “I uhm… you don’t have to ask next time.”

He starts to smile. “So I can kiss you whenever I want?”

You shove him. “Of course not, dummy! We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend!”

His smile falls. “Why not?”

Your brow furrowed. “You… you want to be?”

“Yeah, I do,” he says quickly, fixing the flower over your ear. “I want to love you until the end of time.”

“Forever?” You ask and he nods.

“And when we meet again in our next life.”

You inhaled shakily as you stood at the end of the white carpet rolled out between the chairs of people, only the most significant you truly wanted to come. Finnick stood on the dock, hands ringing together nervously before he saw you. His jaw drops as he stares, Cinna grinning as he stands between him and where you were going to stand.

Mags had sadly died a few months before Atlas was born, peacefully with you and Finnick by her side. Of course you were heartbroken, but you also knew you would meet again in your next life.

The drums started to play as Atlas tugged on your hand making you look down at him.

“Mama, are you okay? Daddy’s crying.”

You look at Finnick who, sure enough, had tears rolling down his cheeks before he wiped at them.

“Yes baby,” you whisper, your own eyes filling with tears. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m amazing, I’m so, so happy.”

“Well, come on!”

You laughed as he tugged you down the aisle, waving at everyone as Haymitch and Effie grin at you. You smiled widely at them, wiping at your cheeks as you finally got to the dock where the drums stopped.

Atlas ran around you both, running to Cinna who sighed loudly.

“And at last, the day has finally come,” he says, announcing it to everyone here. “Where the King and Queen of Panem are getting married again.”

You can feel the rope being wrapped around you both, your hand holding one end as you stare up at Finnick who leaned his forehead against yours. Cinna continues to speak as Finnick takes the other end, Katniss and Peeta stepping forward to do the same thing they did the first time, but this time, they cut off the previous rope from your wrists before melting the second one around again.

“I have a gift for you both,” Cinna says as the rope stays wrapped around you both, slowly taking a box from his pocket before opening it. “To add onto your rings.”

You gasped as he took out two more rings, one a thinner band with a pearl on it made for Finnick while the other was a vine-shaped gold with a pearl on it as well. He slips them both onto your fingers as you look up at Finnick, eyes watering as he sighed. “I fucking love you, Y/N Odair. I love you so much.”

You giggled, stroking his cheek. “I love you, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and in our next life.”

He sighs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Until the end of time and in our next life, darling.”

“Give her a real kiss, Finnick!” Effie shouts, Atlas groaning in disgust as Finnick pulls his hand from the rope, both of his strong palms resting on your jaw as he pulls you closer, kissing you passionately.

You could taste the slight saltiness from the tears, but you groaned against his lips as you pulled him closer, lower. Everyone cheers as Atlas groans once again.

“Stop being nasty!”

You giggle as you pull away, smiling up at him again. “I love you too, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and when we meet in our next life.”

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪

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omg. OMG. THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! OMG!

This is the last chapter, omg. With a heavy heart, this is (kinda) the end! I will start taking requests for Finnick in this universe, the link to request is in at the top! Don't be shy my loves!

© asterias-record-shop

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING

HELLO! The lack of Haymitch content makes me wanna cry so I decided to step in. English is not my first language so please have mercy ✌���

Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

MASTERLIST

*gif not mine*

1. Bad feeling

Life in District 12 is nowhere to be great, but there are few aspects that make life easier. You can grow plants in the garden, if you have it. People are nice, mostly they threat you with kindness, even Peacekeepers. You are always nice to everyone, and nobody has been a problem. Your adoptive mother, Holly, taught you to stay out of problems and riots and focus to become a great part of the community instead. You are so grateful towards her that you would do anything to make her happy, not to mention it isn’t hard to act kind.

You are quite happy with your life. A part from the fact that you are always hungry - quite a habit, but at the age of twenty four you are strong and ready to work a lot. 

You are a great babysitter for the children of the district, when the mothers have to work after the pregnancy you step in line and take care of their babies. You clean the houses of the Major, of the Peacekeepers and the Victors - which is one, by the way, but always pay in time. You want to become a teacher, but you have to wait a year or so to try the test again. You failed. Yes, big time, big tears, but you got back to work and have faith for the future. 

At the age of 24 you look nice, you think. Raven hair, hazel eyes, not really tall, you are content with your physical aspect. You aren't married, though. You never had any suitors, your family being miners and you being… busy. You are gentle, but never open. To boyfriends, to new possibilities. 

Oh, and you are utterly in love with the kinda-old-man you are working for. But that is just a little detail.

Life in the District is a routine, and you like it.

Yes, you are happy. The kind of happiness who leads you to sing while you are cleaning, at least until your surly boss yells at you to stop.

You were happy. Until you watched the television.

After the 74th edition of the Hunger Games everything changed in the district and, I think, in the Capitol too. For the first time in ages a girl and a boy from our home won, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. And for the first time ever, two kids. They managed to stay alive declaring their love for each other. You were really happy at first, because you have known Katniss and Peeta since they were kids. And for the food they provided with the victory too, you have to be honest. After several months, though, you can sense something is wrong. Everybody, including your boss, is nervous. Well, more nervous and skittish - and drunk -  than usual. Katniss and Peeta are always around Haymitch’s house, never together - which is weird since they are supposed to be a couple - and they talk with a low voice, usually in the garden where the geese are. You stay out of the way, not wanting any of that business. You are here to clean the mess, tidy up the rowdyness he calls home and settle a way of living that’s tolerable. One time you opened the door and Capitol men were there, looking for Haymitch (who was in bed, drunk as hell). They were terrifying, and you practically hide until they were gone. 

It happens in a brief moment. You are cleaning Haymitch’s house, the biggest house you’ve ever seen, and the television is on. It’s almost mandatory to watch the television during programs like these, because Snow wants every citizen to know the news. You expect to see the same statement, like every year. “And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.”

Not this time, tho. President Snow, seated in his white luxurious chair with his devious blue eyes and white hair, pronounces these words: “This edition of the Hunger Games is the 75th Quarter Quell, a glorified year. For the 75th Hunger Games it is therefore decreed that this year the various districts of Panem will offer up, in tribute, a man and a woman from the age of eighteen to the age of thirty to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.” 

From 18 to 30. And you are twenty-four. 

You can barely register what you’ve seen that you feel your legs abandoning you, and you faint.

You wake up in someone's arms, confused and horrified.

«Let's get you on the couch, sweetheart.»

Haymitch. You are surprised he is sober enough to acknowledge you are there, even if not enough to catch you before the fall.

You feel so stupid. You fainted. But then again, you were sure you escaped the torture of the Hunger Games the minute you turned nineteen.

He trembles to the couch and you are so grateful for him.

Haymitch Abernathy. The man who pays you to keep his house - his life - in order and clean. The old grumpy man who sometimes makes you laugh, but most of the times shut his door because he’s too drunk to be seen by anyone, let alone a young girl. He’s never violent towards you, but you can see he is very scared of the possibility. 

Six months before you were struggling with your job, wanting something more to feed your family. You were just have been rejected from the teacher test, and very sadly began to ask anyone for work. After two or three men who mentioned in hilarious tones the kind of jobs you definitely didn't want, Haymitch stepped up and just looked at you.

«How do you feel about geese?» Was the only, very odd question.

«They are fine.» You lied. You hated geese, they were filthy animals who liked to bite. But you needed a job that didn't require a lack of clothes.

And it was Haymitch, everybody knew him from the district and even if he wasn’t so beloved he was respected. A victor at fifteen, now forty one, despite his drinking problem made him look older, dark circles under his grey eyes and a weird long haircut for his dirty blonde hair. Still pretty handsome in a rough way, in a very rough way, in a “I need a shower for days and maybe a new shirt” way. 

«Here's the deal: you clean my home, I'll give you money. You stay out of my way, and never wake me when I'm drunk. Understood?And I say that for you. Deal?»

«Yes sir.»

«Deal.»

Six months later you are on his couch, as pale as a ghost.

«Your geese.» you mumble. It doesn't really make sense, but the first thought is that if you are on Capitol and Haymitch is your mentor nobody will feed the birds from hell, as you lovingly call them.

«My what? I'm the one who's drunk, right?» He seems worried, in spite of his inebriation.

«Right.» You agree. You have to adjust a little. Not to mention, he is the one who can give you money, and it’s for the best if you don’t act like you lost your mind. «I was just thinking… I better go. I’ll come back later for the bottles.»

«Darling.» He stops me, just for a brief moment, without smiling. «They won’t pick you.»

You smile right back at him, but you can’t help to have a bad feeling about that.

The day of the reaping you are standing over your bad, unable to put your dress on. You clearly remember the fear of the Games, of the names, of the voice of frickin’ Effie Trinket. You were never paralysed, tho, not like this. Maybe because you were younger and reckless, maybe because something in your head always told you the name wasn’t gonna be you.

Daisy Pinecone. It wasn’t even your real name, Holly just picked it when you were little because it reminded her of a fairytale, and adoptive parents can decide their children’s names. 

“You sound stupid, Daisy. There are a lot of young people in the district, it’s not gonna be you”. You immediately feel guilty about the thought, because even if it’s not you, it’s going to be your friend, colleague or school mate. 

These games are so fucked up. You could never say that out loud, but this is the reality everybody thinks. If only someone could gather them together, maybe… the districts are more than the Capitol City. They provide food, minerals, Panem would starve in a week. 

You shake your head, it’s nonsense. They already tried, and this is the whole point of the Hunger Games, a punishment. But it’s not unfair. 

Holly helps you with the hair, making a simple braid with daisies in it, that you think it’s nearly too in brand for someone who won’t be picked, but you can’t bet against the odds, and in the worst possibility it’s great for publicity. 

Holly is a wreck, but it’s always sad at this time of the year. She’s the midwife of District 12, she knows every child in this place, and every year she watches someone she loves who’s going to get murdered. Something like this led Haymitch to perpetual drunkenness. 

You wish you could say a word to comfort her, but nothing comes out from your mouth. You can’t make promises. You have to thank her for everything, she literally saw you being born and then, when your mother died, she decided to adopt you. 

She pats your shoulder, and you give her a brief smile. 

The street to the place is full of people with nice dresses and a scared expression of their faces. You take your seat, as you realise you have weird thoughts, like that you are grateful because you don’t have a dog that could miss you, or worse, a child. 

Effie Trinket is approaching in a bright pink dress, pink skin and a violet wig, and you almost feel bad for the names you called her during the previous nights. You begin to like Effie, she always smiles at you when she visits Haymitch, unlike the other people from Capitol. And right now you could swear that she’s shaking despite the smile she puts on her face. You saw her with Katniss and Peeta, the way she pats their head and caresses their cheek it’s not faking, she actually cares about them. She may be a brainwashed Capitol starlet, but she is a kind hearted one.

Haymitch arrives, drunker than usual - every year is worse, but this year it’s different, after the awards at Capitol everybody thought he would’ve act presentable - and so Katniss and Peeta. 

Your heart skips a beat. “Your name is there only once”, you keep repeating to yourself.

Effie stays five minutes with her hand in the bowl, reluctant to pick a string of paper. After what it feels to be an eternity, she says a name.

No - not a name. 

Your name.

[moonslesbology]

The Lucky One I

prologue - next chapter

YEARS HAD PASSED AND NOTHING ABOUT FINNICK ODAIR REALLY CHANGED, ALWAYS REMAINING THE KID WITH CUTS ON HIS HANDS AND HIS HEART ON HIS SLEEVE. Though, he was always annoyed at Eleanor for taking longer shifts than necessary at St Magdalene Rossetti  and exhausting herself to an unneeded extent. That was his only complain, though Eleanor didn't care though. She preferred the serenity of a doctor's office over the dead silence of a house. Yes, she was only seventeen, but doctors in District 4 were a rarity, not to mention the teenager had been learning all you can about anatomy since she was eight.

She had decided that her potential future as a doctor was much more plausible than becoming a career, fully leaving the academy after Finnick's games just two years prior. Though both Annie and Finnick were annoyed at Eleanor, they both understood why she made her choice.

So, instead she traded her knives and spears for needles and a pair of surgical gloves, content with a life of service to her community. Every year she watched as innocent children were saved in reapings, and while she couldn't save them from the games, she could save them from the grief and guilt.

Eleanor Eves, District 4's local sweetheart, was nothing short than a gentle being with a softness for children, flowers, and her best friends, Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. If she wasn't working in St Magdalene Rossetti, she was always seen with them, mostly her and Annie tackling Finnick whenever they had a chance.

There wasn't a single bone in her body that allowed Eleanor the ability to take a life.

Breathing in heavily, Eleanor rubbed her eyes as she opened the door for Mr Ives, an older man with greying hair but warm eyes. Everyone knew of his unlucky streak down at the docks, always managing to cut his hands with the knives he weaved through the scales of fish caught at sea. 

Mr Ives, a man who seemed to have a streak for always cutting his hand whenever he cut the fish, seemed overtly fond of the brunette for her sweetness. Men from The Quay had brought him in just fifteen minutes before and he had adamantly insisted only Eleanor stitch up his cut. He had known her since she began working properly and trusted her to work on his wounds after she had expertly patched him up after a nasty cut on his hand, something her mother's unsteady hands struggled to do. At the time, the thirteen year old was figuring out the busy environment of a doctor's office, and watched as her mother struggled to steady her hand over Mr Ives' bleeding wound. Eleanor had logically gone and took the instruments off her mother, patching him up quickly and without many words. Ever since then, it was always Eleanor who helped him.

"You know Sweetheart, you have a real talent," Mr Ives had remarked, wincing as Eleanor injected the Morphling into his arm. She unwrapped the cloth that had been tied over the cut, immediately wiping away any of the excess blood. She grabbed onto the thread, tying it to the needle, before exhaling as she began sewing up the cut.

Eleanor gave him a small smile. "Believe me I wouldn't be this good if you didn't get injured this much, Mr Ives." She laughed apologising as she saw him wince slightly from the sight of the needle. "How's Martha and the baby?"

He gave a laugh. "The little lady's getting proper done with the kid, I'll tell you that." Mr Ives was a sweet man, Eleanor always thought so. He had always given her family extra fish whenever he could spare some. He was eternally grateful for her mother helping his wife get through a nasty case of the flu two winters prior and by association, was in debt to Eleanor. "She keeps demanding I wash in the garden since she pukes whenever I'm near her after my shifts."

Eleanor shook her head. "She is seven months along now and fish does smell bad when it's on you." Eleanor ignored the playful glare Mr Ives gave her. She decided on changing the topic. "Do you guys have any name ideas?"

"None Sweetheart." He shook his head with a laugh. "Wanted to call her Eleri and Martha nearly throttled me. She said that name made her feel sick as a fish." She laughed as he rolled his eyes, mimicking Martha's thick District 4 accent with a shake of his head. Martha Ives had come from The Cove, a region seemingly alienated from the rest of District 4. Their accents stood out like sore thumbs and Martha's was thick and rich, something Mr Ives adored. 

Eleanor grinned, finally finishing off the stitches. She finally cut away at the thread, patting down on the stitches before pulling out a bandage. She wrapped it carefully around the hand, finally nodding up at him as she finished.  "There, you better go home now." She told the man with an authoritative tone. There was a hint of playfulness in her voice as she instructed him.  "No fishing for at least a week. Keep the stitches dry and come back in about a week. Mary'll remove them then." She pulled Mr Ives into a hug, laughing as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Sweetheart you are an absolute gem!" He laughed. He reached into his pocket, trying to pull out any spare change he had, only for Eleanor to shake her head at him. "Oh come off it, it's the least I can do."

She shook her head adamantly. "Policy is policy, Mr Ives. We don't care about money here, we aren't struggling for it at all. Now go, I don't want to see you until Martha has the baby."

He kissed her on the cheek once more, getting up and leaving the room. Eleanor sighed heavily, grabbing the cup of water which sat on the desk and taking a sip. She yawned, rubbing her eyes slightly. Then, she finally heard his voice and sobered up, blinking quickly to wash away any feelings of exhaustion.

Finnick Odair despised the days where Eleanor worked longer than necessary. Sometimes, his hatred took the literal form of him storming into St Magdalene Rossetti, just like today.  As much as he tried convincing her otherwise, often using the excuse that he misses her way too much, Eleanor always found herself spending most her days cooped up with foolish men who injured themselves down on the docks. It wasn't a bad job per say, just tedious with how frequently the same men came back constantly. 

As Finnick walked in, Eleanor exhaled heavily.

There were several ways in which Finnick Odair could be here:

A. He's injured.

B. He helped someone get here injured.

or

C. He simply wanted to annoy her.

Most the time, well at least nowadays, C was always the most logical and most likely explanation. "I swear to god, Finnick, you better not be injured again!" Eleanor raged as she walked around the room, pulling out bandaids and gauzes. She could already hear his choked laughs, rolling her eyes as she finally got off the ground. Finnick was stood in the centre of the room, holding a bouquet of tulips, scratching his head with a bashful smile. Her eyes softened, a blush already brewing on her cheeks. "Flowers?"

"Tulips," He grinned as she finally stood next to him, Finnick moving to smell the tulips and sighing breathlessly. He watched with fond eyes as she grinned at the bouquet, clearly not expecting the gesture. "My favourite which should be your favourite."

Eleanor grinned, a small blush already coating her cheeks. She couldn't help the way her heart fluttered as she took the tulips, holding them up to her nose and smelling them with a sigh. She wondered if flowers meant anything to Finnick, and if so, did they mean anything because he was giving them to her?

"Flirt with me when I'm not working, Odair." She rolled her eyes as he audibly groaned, quickly moving to grab a vase from the window. She gave the flowers one last smell, placing them in the empty vase and turning to see Finnick simply grinning at her. She gave an exhausted smile, hoping her cheeks weren't obviously red. She hoped she could just pass them off as a small sunburn if they were. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"Can't a guy miss his best girl?" He gave a lopsided grin, bouncing from one foot to the other.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Bother Annie, I'm sure she's not busy." She sighed, placing the bandaids down on the desk. She could feel Finnick's eyes on her, those stupid sea green eyes fixed on her figure as she finally took off her scrubs. "Don't tell me, you can't find her."

He nodded. "She's a good hider." Finnick scratched the back of his head with a bashful grin, watching Eleanor with a warm gaze.

"We always did beat you at hide and seek."

Finnick's eyebrows furrowed at Eleanor. "You mean, Annie, always beat me. You just followed her." He gave a laugh as Eleanor pushed him a way, scoffing in offence. Finally though, he held his hand out to her, looking at the clock momentarily before deciding for the both of them what they'd do next. "Come on, you're taking a break. Tell Ida and Margaret you're clocking out. You need a break."

Eleanor shook her head. "No, I've only got," she paused, looking at the clock before counting in her head. "four more hours." But it seemed as though Finnick wasn't having it, grabbing onto Eleanor and dragging her out, much to her protests. It seemed as though both Ida and Margaret were elated seeing the pair, waving Eleanor off with grins. "Finnick!"

Finnick grinned back at her, practically skipping alongside her. "You've been working all day! Have some fun!"

[onlybeeewrites]

What are The Odds

Pairing: plantonic (?) Haymitch x fem!reader, Burdock Everdeen x sister!reader, plantonic!Maysilee Donner x reader, Asterid March x reader

word count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N was always stuck in the middle of good and bad luck. But what happens when maybe her luck finally runs out?

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!! violence, blood, death, cursings

A/N: THANK YOU GUYS for all the requests I’ve gotten! I promise I’m gonna get to them soon in the next few weeks. But I’m almost done with Sunrise on the Repaing (I have like 3/4 chapters left) and I needed to write. So pls feel free to send in any requests for SOTR <3 thank yall and enjoyyy

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The morning was crisp, the air biting at the exposed skin of your calves.  Where the end of your dress ends, just a few inches until the tops of your boots begin. 

As you step out of your small home in the Seam, the weight of the day’s significance hanging over you like a heavy fog. It was funny. How such a terrible day could look so beautiful.

As the morning sun started to shine down, the clouds above them almost too perfect. Too perfect for this terrible, terrible day. Because today was the Reaping.

Not just any Reaping though.

No.

Because that would be too easy. No, today is the Reaping for the 50th Hunger Games. The second ever Quarter Quell. And this year? The Capital was especially cruel as they announced just two weeks ago that twice the amount of tributes would be entered into the games.

Two boys and two girls from each district.

48 tributes.

And the whole district felt it. The weight that suffocated your small district. The sword that hung over your heads. It hard to ignore the tension in the streets of District 12, of the Seam. 

The square will be filled with hopeful faces, but you can’t help but feel a cold knot in your stomach. Her hands tightening around the small paper bound package, not much bigger than a roll from the bakery.

Beside you, your twin brother, Burdock walks with his broad shoulders hunched against the growing warmth of the morning. 

Both of your boots crunch against the dirt and gravel of the ground. The two of you silent as you head through the Seam and towards the center of town. Around you, lingering kids do the same. 

But know Burdie is already gearing up to say something about your usual “distractions” today. You do it every year. The same packaging in your hands. A little hope in the dark time of July 4th. 

“I saw you,” he says, nudging you with his elbow, his voice a low, teasing growl. His eyes narrowing down on you. “Making eyes at Haymitch again? You know better than that, Smalls,”

Smalls. You hated that he called you that. You had always been shorter than him, not by much. But you have. 

You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly. “I wasn’t making eyes at him. You’re imagining things, Burdock. Why would I made eyes at Haymitch?” You ask as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. But your twin knew better. 

“Oh, right, like you weren’t just staring at him across the Hobb yesterday.” His voice takes on an exaggerated, sarcastic tone. “What’s next, you going to hand him a love letter too? I’m sure Lenore Dove wouldn’t appreciate that,”

Lenor Dove. Your beautiful, and fierce cousin. The troublemaker. And Haymitch’s girl. 

You huff, pursing your lips as you push the thoughts away. You weren’t angry with your cousin. You couldn’t blame her for falling for Haymitch. With his wit, the charm, everything about him was magnetic.

But you’re too stubborn and embarrassed to admit that, let alone let Burdock know that his teasing is getting to you. “I wasn’t staring. I was trading. He just so happened to be in that direction,” she said simply.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, clearly enjoying the way his teasing is getting under your skin. “Well, maybe you should be careful, or he or Lenore Dove might think you’re a little too… interested.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” you mutter under your breath, though you’re unsure who you’re trying to convince. But the last thing you wanted to do was get between your cousin and her guy, who also is happens to be your brother’s best friend.

Burdock smirks and nudges you again. “You know better, Smalls. Besides, you can do better than Abernathy. So can Lenore Dove but god forbid we tell her that,” 

“Yeah I’ll keep that in mind for when I see Asterid,” you added, a smirk growing on your own face as you bring up your brother’s crush. Well, more like unofficial girl. Though the whole district probably knew about their feelings for each other. 

Though before he could retaliate with another word, the two of you approached the town square. The whole space has been transformed for the day’s festivities. Banners of Panem were hung. Large screens and other decorative items. 

And then ahead of you, a figure emerges from the crowd—Haymitch. The air feels like it shifts when you see him, and for a second, everything else fades into the background. He walks towards you both, his face shadowed though his usual smug expression crossed his face, hands in his pockets.

You step forward, swallowing back the nerves swirling in your stomach, hand over the package. “Hey, Haymitch,” you say softly, your voice trying to sound like everything was normal. Like the odds weren’t completely stacked against all of you. 

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering in his gaze when you hand him the gift. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice giving away the curiosity growing as he takes it from you.

“Happy birthday,” you say quickly, offering a shy smile. “I made it for you.”

His expression softens for a moment, though he’s quick to hide it behind his usual guarded look. He pulls the wrapping away with practiced hands, revealing a small leather bracelet, the stitches tight and neat. It’s simple, but it’s a piece of you—something you put effort into, something that’s yours to give. 

You always tried to give him something handmade, or something he could use. With the hunting your family does, it gives a little extra coin. But this year with the Quarter Quell? Something in your stomach told you do to it. You just weren’t sure if it was for you, or him.

Burdock, standing a little behind you, rolls his eyes and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “Gods, you’re so weird.”

Haymitch chuckles low, glancing at Burdock with a smirk. “She’s considerate, Burdie. That’s more than I can say for you.”

You quickly step back, feeling a flush creeping up your neck at Burdock’s teasing. “I have to go,” you say, your heart racing a little faster as the reaping draws closer. You don’t want to linger too long.

You look between the two boys, “I’ll see you guys afterward,” you say, giving your brother a hug and Haymitch a nod and smile before going and checking in. Afterwards,  youtoward the girl’s side of the square, the weight of the moment sinking in as you join the others, trying to push away the nerves, the fear, the uncertainty.

As you reach your spot in the crowd, you find your group of friends. Asterid March, and Maysilee and Merrilee Donner.

 you glance back one last time at Haymitch, who’s now inspecting the bracelet with a small smile. Burdock is standing beside him, muttering something that you can’t hear, but you catch the shake of Haymitch’s head, that wry grin on his face.

For a moment, everything feels normal. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. But you know that’s not true. Today, everything will change.

And as you stand there, heart thumping in your chest, you know that you’ll never forget this moment, even if it’s the last one that ever feels like it.

The square is packed, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and dread. The Capitol’s anthem blares from the loudspeakers, a stark contrast to the somber faces of the District 12 residents. The parents and families of all the children packed away in the square like animals. Watching and waiting to see which four unlucky children get picked.

Which four they have to mourn this year.

It wasn’t long before the mayor gave her speech. Replaying the clips and propaganda of the Dark Days, the games, and the past Hunger Games.

Drusilla Sickle, the Capitol-appointed escort, steps onto the stage not long after. Her presence is as flamboyant as ever, her face adorned with thumbtacks and tiny buzz saw blades, a grotesque display of Capitol fashion. She raises her hand as she begins, and you feel the knot in your stomach growing, playing with the ring on your right ring finger. 

“Welcome, District 12!” Drusilla’s voice rings out, dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Today, we gather for the 50th Hunger Games Reaping, a special Quarter Quell year,” she said adjusting her clothes again.

Drusilla continues, her tone mocking. “First, we shall select our female tributes.” She turns to the glass bowl beside her, swirling her hand inside before pulling out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, she announces, “Louella McCoy!”

You feel absolutely sick. You know Louella. A little girl from the Seam, just down the street. You had seen her grow up. Knew her family. You helped them as much as you could. 

And as you watched, Louella steps forward, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Though she doesn’t cry. She slowly joins Drusilla on the stage, standing stiffly beside her. And you try not to think 

Drusilla’s hand delves back into the bowl, and she pulls out another slip. “And for the second female tribute. Y/N Everdeen!”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your name. Your heart races as you feel the weight of countless eyes upon you. Burdock’s gaze meets yours across the square, his face a mixture of concern and helplessness. 

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Not when your blood has absolutely run cold. You were going to die. It was as simple as that. You were a hunter sure. But hunting animals were much different than hunting humans.

So incredibly different. 

So how the hell were you supposed to do this? Against 47 other tributes? 12 of them being Careers.

Swallowing harshly, you finally snap out of your daze. You turn to your three friends give them biggest hug you could muster. And before you leave, your eyes land on Asterid, “Take care of my brother. Please,”

A final wish. You can’t imagine what your death would have on your twin. The guilt he may feel. Would he tell stories about you to his children? Would Asterid? Or would you be a missing piece of him that he never speaks about.

You hear people crying off to the side. Ma. It’s your parents. But still, you school your features the best you could while you force your legs to move, each step heavier than the last, until you stand beside Louella on the stage. And you don’t look anywhere in particular. Just staring off into the crowd of kids that you grew up around. Grew up with. 

Drusilla gives a theatrical sigh, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Now, for our male tributes.”

She draws a name. “Wyatt Callow!”

Wyatt, known for his quick wit and math skills. His family are gamblers. He was always the one picking out the odds of things. Especially when the games came around, he was particularly handy to his father and brothers. 

Drusilla reaches into the glass bowl again, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulls out the second slip. “Woodbine Chance!”

Woodbine, a lanky boy with wild eyes, freezes. His gaze flickers toward the crowd, then back to Drusilla. He walks out to the aisle that leads to the stage and pauses for a moment. 

Then without warning, he turns and bolts, pushing past Peacekeepers and scattering bystanders. A gasp ripples through the crowd.

“Stop him!” Drusilla shrieks, her voice high-pitched with panic, echoing into the microphone and bouncing off the walls of the square.

The Peacekeepers react swiftly, drawing their weapons. Woodbine’s desperate sprint is cut short as a single shot rings out from the rooftop of the justice building. The gunshot echoing through the square. 

He collapses, lifeless, his defiance snuffed out in an instant. Woodbine is sprawled on the ground, a dark stain spreading beneath him, his wild eyes frozen open.

Then, everything erupts into chaos.

Someone screams—a raw, broken sound that cuts through the cold morning air. Peacekeepers move in a blur, shouting orders, raising their rifles. The crowd surges in confusion, some people shoving to get away, others frozen in place. A woman—Woodbine’s mother, maybe—cries out his name before a Peacekeeper tries shoves her back from the body of her boy. 

You barely register any of it. Your body moves on instinct. Louella is beside you, trembling. Without thinking, you grab her and shove her down, pressing her against the stage, your own body curling over hers.

“Stay down,” you whisper, though your voice is swallowed by the rising panic.

A second shot rings out. Then another.

Something cracks against the stage beside you—wood splintering, or maybe stone. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your grip around Louella as she shakes beneath you. Her fingers clutch at your sleeve. 

People are shouting, Peacekeepers are barking orders, but it all blurs together, muffled, distant. You focus on the rough wood beneath your hands, the sharp edges digging into your palms, the way Louella’s breath stutters beneath you.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the chaos dulls. The shouting ebbs, the frantic movement slows.

You don’t move. You don’t lift your head.

A voice—sharp, commanding—cuts through the settling dust. “Get them up.”

Hands grab at you, hauling you off Louella. Your legs buckle as they drag you upright. The world tilts and sways, your vision swimming. Louella is being pulled to her feet beside you, her face pale, her eyes wide.

Drusilla Sickle stands at the podium again, though her elaborate Capitol mask of composure is cracked at the edges. Her mouth is tight, her hands trembling as she smooths down her ridiculous outfit.

“Well,” she says, voice brittle. “That was… unfortunate.”

The Peacekeepers have formed a barricade around the stage, their rifles held stiffly at their sides. In the square, bodies are still. Woodbine is gone—dragged away, erased.

Drusilla clears her throat, shaking out a new slip of paper with a forced smile. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Back to your places! We only have a few minuets!”

You have no idea what’s going on before the peacekeepers bring you and Louella and Wyatt back into the crowds. Right where you were.

Stunned, you realized what was happening. The beer making you do everything all over again. And for what? The camera? You try your best to seem like this was the first time. But it’s almost worse knowing what’s coming.

Louella is called again. Then you. Then Wyatt.

But it’s the name she reads next makes your stomach drop.

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

No. No no the second boy was already called. It was Woodbine. They couldn’t get replacement. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. Not for Haymitch. Not for anyone who saw what really happened.

You wanted to scream. To shout. To cry that Haymitch didn’t deserve to be sent to the games like you, or Wyatt, or little Louella. But no sound came out. Like they completely stole your voice from you.

A silent murmur ripples through the crowd. You turn your head just in time to see Haymitch step forward, his usual smirk absent, his expression unreadable. Why had they called him? What did he do to get himself here? Or were the odds not in his favor.

He takes his place beside Wyatt Callow. The four of you—Louella, Haymitch, Wyatt, and yourself—stand before District 12, before the Capitol’s watching eyes.

Drusilla claps her hands together, as if that will erase the blood, the fear, the chaos.

“There we have it! Our tributes for the 50th Hunger Games!”

The anthem plays. The ceremony continues until it wraps up. 

As if nothing happened at all.

As if you, Wyatt, Louella and Haymitch didn’t just have a promise of your deaths handed to you on a silver tray.

[msmk11]

a hunger games fic where there’s tension between reader and haymitch but he feels conflicted because of the age gap i don’t know lots of pining and angst so i can go insane

Drunk on You

Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader

WC: 4k

CW: Drinking/being drunk; mentions of death and blood; age gap (legal and consensual- reader is 21)

A/n: Thank you for the request!! I'm so sorry this took so long. I have been in a writing rut and also very busy, but I hope you enjoy this! I know I sure did.

You’d been lucky enough to avoid mentoring the first two years after your games- your first year by claiming insanity and the second merely because of the abundance of victors in your district. But the Capitol, and Snow, were ravenous for the return of their Angel- the sweet, innocent girl they painted you to be despite the blood they knew was on your hands.

And while the nightmares of your games were as fresh in your mind as the day they started, you persisted nonetheless. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else die at your hands, even if the cost to you was great. 

So the day of the reaping you stood by Mags’ side- four’s other mentor this year- as you watched kids be chosen to be sent off to their deaths like pigs for slaughter. 

The girl, someone you barely recognized but knew you’d gone to school with, looked strong. Like a potential competitor. She was tall enough, fairly lean, and the definition in her arms was obvious. Her age- eighteen- was a benefit too.

Whatever her name was (you’d been too anxious to pay attention), would be your mentee this year while Mags took the boy. 

The boy.

Finnick Odair. 

And while the age difference between you two was large- almost 7 years exactly- you guys were close. Like sibling-level close. It took everything in your power to not let the tears brimming at your waterline spill. 

The aftermath was a flurry of rushed goodbyes, heated whispers, and your begging Mags to just help you make it through the games. 

Though every instinct screamed at you to put all your efforts into Finnick’s survival, your mind knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. The girl, your mentee, may not have meant something to you, but she certainly meant something to someone. And she deserved life just as much as Finnick. 

It didn’t make it any easier though. 

And in the nights, when the nightmares and fears came creeping in, you turned to drink. 

That’s how you met Haymitch.

Haymitch Abernathy. Blonde, 31, borderline alcoholic, victor of the second quarter quell. And your new drinking buddy. 

Apparently. 

When you get to the bar in the Tribute Center the first night it’s totally empty except for a few Capitol stragglers giggling in a corner booth. 

You take a seat at the actual bar and order from the bartender- a brunette avox who couldn’t be much older than you. You’re sure to be extra polite as you accept your drink and take a sip of the strong concoction. It burns and you know it’ll fuck you up just enough to take the sting off the emotions squeezing your heart. 

“Drinking alone? Seem a bit young to be doing that, sweetheart,” a voice interrupts from beside you.

You turn to find Haymitch Abernathy standing next to you, his appearance a little disheveled, but still obviously very handsome. 

“Not sure you’re the one to be making judgements, Abernathy. You even sober right now?”

He smirks at you a little, “only buzzed for now. Care for some company?”

You scan the blonde suspiciously and decide he’s basically harmless, “fine, but you buy the next round.”

The District 12 victor lets out a chuckle and slides onto a stool beside you, “thought you had more money than you knew what to do with, four.”

“So do you,” you remind him with a shake of your head, “anyhow, it’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

Haymitch doesn’t reward you with an answer, instead turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey. 

“What brings you to the bar so early in the games?”

“Wanted to fully reacquaint myself with the tribute center,” you huff dryly, “I’ve missed it sooooo dearly.”

“You’ll get used to it pretty damn fast. Especially now that the Capitol’s got its claws back on you, you won’t be able to escape it.”

He takes a sip of his drink thoughtfully, “I mean, their angel has made her return.”

A scoff escapes you in spite of yourself and Haymitch smirks. 

“What would they think if they knew you were getting wasted with the Capitol’s most disappointing victor? Your reputation would be ruined.”

“Then maybe I should stick around you a little longer, Twelve. Let some of your bad energy rub off on me. Maybe even have them catch me leaving your room.”

Haymitch chokes on his drink and you smirk. 

“What?! Catch you leaving my room like, like we?”

“Had sex,” you tease, “goodness Abernathy, I didn’t pin you for a prude.”

He rolls his eyes at you and huffs cockily, “me, a prude? Babydoll back where I come from I have a reputation. I’m just shocked that the Capitol’s perfect little angel could be so naughty.”

It’s your turn to choke when he sends you a wink, and you try to cover it with a cough. 

“Looks can be deceiving, Abernathy.”

***** 

You’re not sure if it’s the booze or the blaring music that’s giving you a headache. Or maybe it’s the relentless stares and unwanted approaches by dimwitted Capitol folks. Regardless, you want to be anywhere but here right about now. 

A party. Celebrating. The arrival of tributes. The arrival of doomed children.

It makes you sick. 

You forget someone is yapping away in your ear until they’re suddenly interrupted by your savior. 

Haymitch. 

“I’m sure the story you’re telling is lovely, really, but unfortunately we’re being pulled away for important mentor business,” he shares calmly, barely suppressing a smirk. 

“Oh, oh. Yes, of course,” the blue-haired person before you chatters, “I’ll have to catch you another time.”

Haymitch, thankfully, is already pulling you away before they can make you answer.

The blonde pulls you through the crowd, hands intertwined, and you can’t help but shiver. You figure it must be the evening chill in the air. 

You seem to be walking forever, further and further away from the party until the voices and music are a faint hum. He’s hidden the two of you away in one of the President’s many flourishing gardens. One that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a rose in sight. 

When Haymitch finally comes to a halt you look at him and smile, eyes darting between his face and your joined hands, “what was all that for?”

He looks at you disbelievingly, “I was saving you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “who said I needed saving?”

“The poor glass in your hand that you nearly squeezed to death.”

You once over the glass full of some colorful drink in your hand and shrug noncommittally, throwing it back and then setting the empty glass on the wall. 

“I think you just wanted time alone with me, Abernathy. Seems like an awfully convoluted plan….showing up to the Capitol party, stealing me away so dramatically….”

He releases your hand and leans back against the wall, “don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the free booze. I only brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

A scoff escapes you and you roll your eyes. 

“Anyhow, you owe me now- for saving you. And for missing out on free drinks because of it.”

“Let me guess, with more booze?”

“How else?”

“I don’t know… a meal, a simple favor…. My friendship?”

Haymitch winces and taked a large gulp of his drink, “don’t think the last would be much of a reward.”

You go to slap his arm but he stops you, his hand grabbing yours.

“You’ve got wicked fast reflexes,” you choke out, trying to suppress the gasp that escapes your lips.

“I’m a victor, remember?”

When you look up at him, his smile seems to briefly vanish, replaced with something much darker. 

You take his drink and finish it while squeezing his other hand. 

*****

“You clean up nice.”

Haymitch looks more than disgruntled to be stuffed into a fancy suit and you can barely suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

It reeks of booze. 

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice that you’ve changed up the homeless look.”

The blonde eyes you with a glare, “And I see they’ve stuffed you into another ridiculous costume.”

Haymitch is right. You do look ridiculous, and you’re not even the one on stage tonight. The white, feathery dress made for you was certainly intended to represent your angel persona. You think you look more like a white duck. 

“I suppose it’s better than usual,” you scoff, flattening out a few ruffled feathers, “though it itches like crazy.”

You begin to fidget with your dress again as the group of mentors slowly gather in their assigned seats near the front of the auditorium. The shrill voices of an excited audience echo loudly throughout the room as you step inside. You prepare for the stares and whispers, donning your mask and armor bravely.

Still, your hands shake. Your body’s thrown back in time to your games. You can remember clear as day standing up on that stage as Cesar talked and prodded, guiding you right into the role that had already been decided. 

Sweet. Innocent. Lovely. An angel. 

You’d fallen for the trap, mistaking the net for a lifeboat.

And had you ever really escaped it? 

The knots in your stomach are answer enough, and the seat soon before you is a welcome reassurance for your wobbly legs. 

Somehow, you’ve ended up between Mags and Haymitch. The former smiles at you warmly, nodding in a way that is inexplicably reassuring. Deep down, you know that she’s telling you that Finnick will be okay. That you’ll be okay. 

And when a hand lands on your knee, you’re doubly reassured. 

“Stop tapping your foot, it’s even making me anxious,” Haymitch grumbles. 

You still, turning to look at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… weird being back.  I feel like I’m back in my own games, being in this room again. I hate it.”

Haymitch shifts a little and you see him reveal a small golden flask in his hand. 

“Want a drink?”

As tempting as it sounds, you shake your head, “I think I’d puke if I drank. And I want to be present anyway. Ready for anything.”

Your eyes flit to his hand still on your knee and you recall the pleasing warmth as he held yours those few weeks ago. Carefully, you reach out and intertwine your fingers, resting your clasped hands between you. At first he stiffens, and you think he’s going to pull away. But then, he doesn’t. 

And the flask disappears into his pocket, unused. 

*****

The blare of the horn through the speakers nearly sends you into a meltdown on the spot. It feels so deeply real to you, even though you’re miles away from the games. Your eyes are trained on your tribute as she sprints forward towards the cornucopia, and towards her potential death. Still, she’s technically a career, so you have hope that she’ll survive the bloodbath. 

Your eyes stray to Finnick too and your stomach rumbles in worry. But you know that he’s strong and determined, so you try to relax. 

Like usual, the bloodbath is ruthless and you can barely stomach it. It’s worse too because you have a stake in the outcome. Not just your own life or strangers’ lives, but someone you’ve trained, someone you care about. 

It doesn’t register with you that the death of strangers might actually affect you more than you realize. In particular, the two tributes from twelve. They’re struck down quickly, as they often are, and your heart twists. While the death of children is certainly part of the cause, it’s the image of Haymitch that really pains you. Another year, another loss, and you wonder how he bears it. You suppose he doesn’t. 

Hence, the booze. 

Once the initial craziness of the bloodbath calms down and you’re sure that both your tribute and Finnick are safe, you go on a hunt for Haymitch. 

It doesn’t take you long if you follow the trail of beer.

Not literally, of course, but the bar is certainly the right place to start. Haymitch is slumped over on a stool and your heart breaks a little. 

“Drinking alone?” you say quietly. 

The blonde looks at you unimpressed and you’re immediately taken aback by the pain swimming behind his eyes. 

“Care if I join you?”

He hums noncommittally and you don’t take that as an outward no. After you take a seat you order a drink and sip silently for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry about your tributes.”

Haymitch shrugs, “I knew they were never gonna make it.”

“But it can still hurt,” you remind him. 

Haymitch scoffs a little, “I don’t care. I barely knew the kids.”

You study his face and can tell that he actually does. Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you reach out and grab his hand. This time, he doesn’t even flinch as he grips yours back. 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You drag him along to the fourth floor suite and bring him inside. 

“I’ve entered enemy territory,” the blonde says gruffly.

You smirk at him and hold up a bottle of whiskey, “what about now?”

He smiles a little and you pour a drink for each of you before settling on the couch next to him so that your knee is touching his thigh- so you’re fully facing him. 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be strong,” you tell him softly. 

“I’m not pretending, I’m fine.”

Haymitch turns his head away and you hear a small sniffle. 

“Sweetheart,” you coo.

You grab his chin and gently turn his face towards you. He looks embarrassed and teary eyed and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. Haymitch’s eyes flutter shut and you think it’s a rather pretty sight. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper very softly. 

When Haymitch opens his eyes you’re inches apart, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

You both lean slightly closer, your breaths mingling. 

“Haymitch…”

He abruptly pulls back. 

“I think I need another drink.”

*****

You suppose you’re glad it was quick. Hopefully pretty painless. No chance to be afraid or to bleed out slowly. 

But it also happened so fast. One second your tribute was breathing, and now she’s gone. You’d had such high hopes for her, and now she was dead. Was it your fault? 

Was there something you could’ve done to warn her? To prepare her better? 

You feel even more guilty because you’re sort of relieved that she’s dead. Not because you wanted her to die, but because it means Finnick is one step closer to getting out of the arena. Back home to District Four where he is relatively safe- or at least in your dome of protection. 

When the guilt subsides, it’s replaced by numbness. That’s all you feel. 

You understand now why Haymitch drinks. It provides some semblance of warmth when all you feel inside is coldness and emptiness. 

Knocking. You hear knocking. 

You stumble to the door, bottle in hand, and there he stands.

“Haymitch!”

You lunge towards him and he catches you, gripping your waist firmly. If you were sober, you would’ve been able to suppress the shudder that runs through your body from his touch. 

“Want a drink?” you slur, your boozy breath blowing in his face. 

He shakes his head at you and you shrug, “more for me then.” 

You lift the bottle neck to your mouth but he stops you, gripping your wrist gently.

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart.”

A loud laugh escapes your lips and Haymitch shushes you, shuffling the both of you inside and closing the door, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just funny- you telling me I’ve had too much to drink. Hilaaaaarrious!”

“Well I have a better tolerance.”

You shuffle back and topple over the couch arm, sending Haymitch down on top of you.

“Oooooops… sorrrrryyyyy” you giggle. 

The blonde pushes himself up off of you and sets the bottle down on the side table.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks softly, more kind than you’ve ever heard him before. 

You sober up a little at the question and scoff, “Of course I’m not fine. My tribute just bled out on

television in front of millions of people.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters gruffly.

“Why? What was it you said? You barely even knew your tributes…It’s not like I did either. Why should I care? Or be torn up?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” Haymitch adds gently, “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about people.”

He grips your knee and smiles at you sadly. 

“Well I’m done with caring,” you slur, “It only hurts more. I like your way- drink yourself to death.”

You lunge towards the bottle behind him and he reaches out, stopping you again by grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go when he pulls you away from the bottle. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you. 

“What’re you doing?” you mumble into his chest.

“Giving you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

He scoffs exasperatedly, “I can stop.”

“NONONO don’t! Don’t.”

You shift back a little to look him in the eyes, “It’s… nice. You’re…nice.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.”

You look at the blonde softly, infatuated by his face- the stubble across his chin, his piercing eyes, his lips…

By some unknown force, you’re pulled to his lips. You reach out and close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, he reciprocates, his mouth melting against yours. But then he pulls away, “Stop, stop. You’re drunk.”

“So? You’re always drunk and I don’t stop you from doing things you want,” you remind him.

“I don’t- you’re. Even then, it doesn’t matter. You’re too young and I-”

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, abandoning you on the couch, alone. 

*****

Finnick’s return to the Capitol should be more joyous than you currently feel. You’re beyond relieved that he’s back and safe, within arms reach. In fact, you haven’t let him out of your sight in days and you think he’s starting to get annoyed by you. 

Still, something continues to burden your mind or, rather, someone. 

You haven’t seen Haymitch since you drunkenly tried to kiss him a few days ago. Though you were incredibly wasted, his words still ring in your mind clear as day- “you’re too young.”

It’s more painful than flat out rejection, really. Him not having feelings is one thing, but the knowledge that he potentially does and still won’t let you in hurts much more. What-ifs haunt you constantly, and the memory of the look on his face when he pulled away slowly rips your heart to shreds. 

Now there’s only an evening left until you’re set to return home to District Four, only one night until you won’t see Haymitch again until…well you’re not sure how long it will be. 

“You know, I’m the one that should be moping about,” a voice says.

You look up to see Finnick staring at you from the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m not moping…I’m just tired,” you say.

It is true, but so is Finnick’s statement. Not that you’ll tell him that. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you and walks into the room, plopping down on your bed, “Such a bullshit response. Come up with a better excuse if you’re going to lie.”

“I’m not lying I-”

You shut up as he looks at you unimpressed. 

“Come on, I can read you like a book. What’s wrong?”

You sigh and look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Nothing I- I kissed Haymitch,” you murmur.

“What’d you say? I can barely hear you.”

“I kissed Haymitch,” you say more boldly. 

Finnick’s eyes widen, and it would be comical if it were any other situation, “Abernathy? You kissed Haymitch Abernathy?”

“Yes, Abernathy. Is there any other Haymitch?”

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief, “I owe Mags five dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mags told me she thought you two liked each other. But I didn’t believe her, so we bet on it. Guess I can’t be that mad though.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, we’re not together or anything.”

Finnick looks at you intently, “why not?”

You sigh and pause for a moment, “Because he said I was too young.”

“That’s such bullshit,” the blonde scoffs, “you’re only like, what, ten years younger? Anyhow, you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”

You shrug your shoulders and sigh, “I just wish I never would’ve done anything. I was drunk and stupid and now he won’t talk to me.”

A pillow gets thrown at your face and you wince, scowling at Finnick, “what was that for?”

“Drunk you was smarter than sober you. She acted on her feelings. Now you’re just sitting around moping.”

“I-”

Finnick looks at you seriously, “Don’t waste your chance. We both know life is too short to have regrets.”

You stand up quickly and kiss Finnick on the cheek, “when did you get so smart little bro?”

He only rolls his eyes at your endearment and shoves you out the door.

Your hand shakes as you hold it up to the twelfth floor door. It’s ridiculous, really, how you’re more nervous to confess your feelings than you were to fight in the games. 

You take a deep breath and finally knock stiffly. 

There’s momentary silence and you think maybe Haymitch is asleep or not there. But then you hear shuffling from the other side and the door is yanked open- “Wha-?”

Haymitch freezes at the sight of you, his likely nasty reply hanging off of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks more calmly.

“I-I came to apologize.”

Then, you shake your head, “that’s a lie. I’m not here to apologize because I’m not sorry for what I did… for kissing you. I’m only sorry you left too soon and I was too drunk for us to talk about it.”

Haymitch stands in the doorway still and only stares at you dumbfounded.

“Can-can I come in?”

Finally the blonde nods and steps aside, welcoming you into his space. It’s slightly messy and you suppose he hasn’t left the suite in days, not that you blame him or mind. 

You find a seat on the couch, comfortably separate from Haymitch on the other end. 

“Haymitch-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For walking out on you. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I-I panicked and you were drunk and…and I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

You stare at him softly and your heart beats in your chest, “So you did feel something.”

Haymitch runs his hand through his hair exasperatedly, “Fuck, of course I did. I mean, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful, how could I not?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look down at your hands awkwardly… “but you think I’m too young. You said that.”

He sighs, “I-I did. And I meant it. I still do. You’re young, you still have a life to live. You deserve to be with someone young and put together and better…”

You scoff gently, “Did you ever think to ask me what I think I deserve? Why do you get to decide for me?” 

Haymitch’s mouth opens and closes silently like a fish.

“Maybe what I want- maybe what I deserve- is a kind, handsome guy who might be a little rough around the edges, but who is gooey and sweet on the inside. What then?”

“But I’m a drunk and fucked up and…”

You reach out and grip his hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drink in days. And also, look who you’re talking to. I don’t exactly handle my trauma well either. I’m a victor too, remember?”

You shuffle closer to him, “Please don’t push me away, please-”

Before you can finish your response you’re cut off as Haymitch moves forward and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

You melt into his touch and sigh, finally being rewarded with what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, “you know, you’re right. I haven’t drank in days because I found something better. I got drunk on you instead.”

[ssweeterthanfiction]

hi !! I wanted to request maybe something for young haymitch where reader is his gf and is reaped along with him & how he’d react to that/treat her in the arena? love ur work 😊

ahhh u ask and you shall receive!! (disclaimer: NO SOTR SPOILERS!!! DIFFERENT EVENTS FROM THE ORIGINAL STORY!!)

The Three Times

young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader content warnings: angst, normal hunger games warnings, descriptions of death (NO SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!) summary: the three times haymitch tried to keep you safe. wc: 1.6k

masterlist.

The First Time.

Haymitch isn’t afraid of the reaping.

Not because he thinks he’s safe, he’s not that stupid. His name is in there too many times, and if past games have taught him anything, it’s that the odds don’t favor poor kids from District 12.

He doesn’t fear it because fear won’t change a damn thing.

He stands in the square, jaw tight, arms crossed as the escort steps up to the microphone with their sickly sweet Capitol drawl. The sun beats down, dust rising with every shuffled step of the crowd. Haymitch barely listens, staring at a crack in the stage instead.

Then they say his name.

He exhales through his nose. It was bound to happen. He keeps his shoulders squared as he steps forward, ignoring the murmurs from the crowd. His mother gasps somewhere behind him. His little brother starts crying. Haymitch doesn’t turn around.

He won’t give them that. Won’t let them see him panic.

He climbs the stage, feet heavy, and keeps his face blank as he looks out at the crowd. It doesn’t matter. It’s done.

Then the escort reaches into the second bowl. Their manicured fingers pluck out a slip.

They unfold it slowly.

They read the name.

Haymitch’s stomach drops.

He must’ve heard it wrong. Must’ve misunderstood. But then he sees you, the way your whole body stiffens, the way your hands curl into fists.

You don’t move at first. The silence stretches too long.

His heart slams against his ribs.

This can’t be happening.

Not you.

You finally take a shaky step forward. The crowd parts for you, all those wide, pitying eyes. Haymitch hates them for it.

His whole body feels locked in place, stiff and wrong. He wants to run, to shove you back into the crowd and take your place.

He wants to tear through the square and shake every single person until someone does something.

You step onto the stage. The sun casts a glow over your face, and for a second, you almost don’t look real. You look too soft, too good for this place. For what’s about to happen.

Haymitch’s throat is dry. He knows what happens to people in the arena. He’s imagined his own death a hundred times over. It never scared him much before, not until now. Not until you.

You stand beside him, your breath coming in quick, uneven pulls.

Haymitch twitches, fingers flexing at his side. He wants to reach for you. Wants to lace his fingers through yours and promise that he’ll fix this. That he won’t let them take you. That he’ll find a way for you to make it out.

Instead, he just looks at you.

And you look back.

And in that single moment, nothing else exists. The cameras, the escort, the whole world, they all fade into white noise. All that’s left is the two of you, standing side by side on a stage that might as well be a graveyard.

His fingers brush against yours. Not enough for anyone to see. Just enough for you to feel it.

He couldn't protect you from the reaping.

But he could protect you from the arena.

Haymitch swallows hard. Then, finally, he speaks. Low enough for only you to hear.

"I won’t let them take you."

It’s a promise.

He knows, only one of you is getting out.

And if it comes down to it, it won’t be him.

The Second Time.

Haymitch runs.

The second the gong sounds, he doesn’t think, he just bolts to you, grabs your wrist and runs.

He doesn’t go for the Cornucopia. Not yet. That’s where tributes die first. Instead, grabs two stray packs and pulls you toward the tree line, shoving past another tribute before they can react. You stumble, but his grip tightens, dragging you with him.

The air is hot, thick with something wrong. The trees around you are too perfect, branches too symmetrical, leaves too still, the flowers too beautiful.

The whole place feels like a puppet stage, something stitched together by hands that never touched real earth.

You don’t stop running until your legs give out.

You collapse against a tree, gasping for breath, hands clutching at your knees. Haymitch crouches beside you, every muscle in his body tight, his ears straining for sounds of movement. Screams echo from the Cornucopia, first one, then two, then more.

You’re shaking. He can see it in your hands. He hates it. Not you, never you, but the fact that the Capitol has already won. They’ve already made you afraid.

He exhales sharply, schooling his face into something steady. Strong. You need him to be that.

“Gotta keep moving,” he says, voice low.

You look up at him, eyes wide, but you nod.

"Okay"

Good. That’s good.

He keeps you alive. That’s his only priority

****

You’re no killer, he knew that before, and it only becomes clearer the longer you’re in here. Haymitch doesn’t hold it against you. It’s not a weakness, it’s what makes you you. And if you can’t kill for yourself, he’ll do it for you.

He takes down a tribute the second night. A girl from District 4. She didn’t see him coming. He doesn’t let himself think about it—just focuses on the supplies in her bag, the water canteen, the knife.

Things that will keep you alive.

You don’t look at him the same way after that. Not in a bad way. Just…different.

Like you understand what this means.

Like you know he won’t stop.

Like you’re starting to wonder if he’s going to make it out at all.

****

You don’t get sponsors.

Haymitch does.

It pisses him off. It’s not a coincidence. He plays the part, the tragic lover, the desperate protector, the boy who would do anything to keep you alive. He knows the cameras are watching every time he presses his forehead to yours, every time he cups your face like you’re the last real thing in this whole damn world.

And the gifts come to him.

Not you.

And that’s how he knows.

They don’t care about you. They care about him.

They’ve already picked their Victor.

It makes him sick.

But maybe he can still keep you safe.

The Third Time

It happens on the seventh day.

The arena has been quiet. Too quiet.

Haymitch doesn’t trust it.

He’s on edge as you both walk through the forest, your fingers brushing his arm every now and then, like you’re making sure he’s still there.

He doesn’t blame you.

You haven’t slept. Neither has he.

You’re starving, weak. The sponsors haven’t sent anything in days. Haymitch knows why. He’s seen the writing on the wall since the first night.

They want a show.

And they’re about to get one.

The trap triggers so fast he doesn’t even have time to react.

One second, you're walking beside him. The next, you’re screaming.

A spear, thin as a needle, fast as lightning, shoots out of the ground and impales you through the stomach.

You choke. Stumble. Collapse to your knees.

Haymitch hears his own breath leave his lungs.

“No. No, no, no-”

He’s on you in an instant, hands scrambling to hold you up, but you’re already fading.

The wound is bad. Fatal. He knows it the second he looks at it. The spear is barbed, meant to cause maximum damage.

He grabs it, tries to pull it out-

But your hand covers his, weak, trembling.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

His stomach drops.

Your breathing is shallow, your fingers curling into his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you here. He sees the blood staining your lips, the life slipping from your eyes.

And there’s nothing he can do.

His hands shake as he cradles your face, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice breaking. “You’re okay, dove. Just hold on.”

You let out a weak laugh, barely a sound at all.

“Liar.”

His vision blurs.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening.

He should have seen the trap. Should have stopped this.

He should've protected you.

Your fingers brush over his cheek, soft, loving. The way you’ve always touched him.

“You’re gonna win,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “Not without you.”

You smile at him, but there’s something in your eyes that destroys him. A quiet kind of acceptance.

“I love you...always and forever” you say.

It shatters him.

He can’t do this. He can’t.

“No- don’t say it like that-” His voice cracks, desperate.

You just look at him. Memorizing him. Saying goodbye.

His throat closes.

His heart stops.

Your hand goes slack in his.

Your eyes flutter closed.

And then...

The cannon fires.

Haymitch makes a sound he doesn’t recognize. Something raw, something that sounds like it was ripped out of him.

You’re gone.

You’re gone.

And the worst part?

The cameras are still rolling.

The Capitol wanted this.

And now they have it.

After.

He wins.

Not because he wants to. Because he has to. Because that’s what you wanted.

He uses the arena against itself. The force field, the Capitol’s own arrogance. He beats them at their own game.

He goes home.

Alone.

They try to clean him up, paint him into something pretty for the cameras. He doesn’t let them.

They tell him he should be grateful.

They don’t understand.

There was never a victory. There was just you and then there wasn’t.

So he drinks.

And drinks.

And drinks.

Because that’s the only way to make it stop.

So now not only were you gone.

But so was Haymitch.

Because Haymitch was the boy who loved you.

And now, without you, that boy is dead, too.

[kahlanmars]

This would totally be a Daisy creation

Cucculelli Shaheen

[allisluv]

Ooh what do you think THG characters ended up like after the rebellion? (Btw I wanna hear ALL the thoughts you have bc this topic is so interesting sorry if it's kinda weird)

i have so many thoughts so i apologise in advance.

katniss suffers for years after prims death and the only light in her life is knowing that she is healing with peeta right by her side. its hard for peeta to tell what's real and what's not, even years down the line, and katniss starts sticking up post it notes around the house so he knows that he's not in a dream. katniss goes hunting in her spare times while peeta opens up his very own bakery in what used to be the hob. when peeta and katniss officially start a relationship and realise that they're wanting to spend the rest of their life together, he ropes johanna into helping him build a house in the meadow.

johanna moves to district four to help annie with the baby--- whether or not their relationship is platonic or romantic is up for debate. annie helps johanna get over her fear of water and johanna helps annie with her episodes of disassociation. finnick jr is a lovable menace, just like his father. his mom and auntie jo make sure he knows finnick died a hero.

unpopular opinion, but i think haymitch stopped drinking. there was no need to drown his sorrows for any longer -- he had to face the fact that president snow killed his family and although it was a tough pill to swallow, it was a necessary thing to come to terms with.

effie moves to district twelve to be closer to her found family and she slowly comes to the realisation that she likes being around haymitch. the two of them skirt around their feelings but eventually she kisses him and the rest is history. they adopt a family of geese and haymitch names them after his children (katniss, finnick, peeta etc...)

beetee moves back to district three to start a technological firm but stays in touch with the others. gale is consumed with guilt from what happened to primrose, so he moves there, too, and helps beetee as a distraction from what really happened. he never speaks to katniss or peeta again.

[phefics]

haymitch abernathy headcanons

someone requested haymitch x younger!virgin!reader. content warnings for age gap (reader is of legal age). otherwise includes fem!reader, losing virginity, a mixture of fluff, angst, and smut!!

haymitch is a very closed off person when you first meet him — he isn’t interested in making friends unless it benefits him in some way, like getting sponsors for his tributes or a good price on liquor

but you manage to worm your way into his heart, and he quickly finds himself enjoying your company more than he thought possible

the age gap between you two definitely crosses his mind as something odd, but honestly, he is very emotionally stunted — he lost his childhood to the arena; he is both wise and tortured beyond his years

haymitch doesn’t exactly get around…he isn’t a virgin by any means, but he’s normally too uninterested to bother or too drunk to get it up — he would start off with a teasing comment, probably, when he finds out you’re a virgin but would apologize if that comment truly offended you, he is just often tactless with sensitive or embarrassing subjects

he would be incredibly gentle with you, the first time, would try to sober up as much as he could to make the experience tender and memorable

fucking you is one thing, but falling for you is a whole new can of worms for him

he cracks jokes just to hear you laugh, shaves if the feeling of his stubble bothers you (or grows it out, if you say you like it), and slowly but surely tries to pull himself together so he can be worthy of you (in his own words)

[asterias-record-shop]

𓆩[in our next life || III]𓆪

𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[next part]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 2.6K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and other foul language || no smut this chapter || mentions of wanting children || Finnick gets a little frustrated, but it doesn't last very long || you and Katniss have a talk || mentions of forced prostitution || baby names inspired by water || pregnancy test || eating shared candies if that makes sense || you and Finnick cry together, this chapter is really more fluffy and you and Finnick are just loving each other || (All of the warnings I can think of, lemme know if you think i should add anything else! warnings for full fic in the masterlist)

When the interview with Caesar was over, you collapsed into Finnick’s arms, sobbing. You didn’t care who saw, it didn’t matter who saw. As much as you needed Finnick in one area of your relationship, you needed him even more emotionally.

“You did good, darling, so good,” he whispered into your hair, fixing himself to sit down on the floor as your fluffy dress pooled around your sitting form. “Look at me, darling, you did so good.”

You inhale, looking up at him as he grinned down at you. His thumb rubs your chin, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Every part of you, forever and always.”

You exhaled, nodding. “I love you, Finnick. Every part of you, until the end of time.”

You hear footsteps as you lay against Finnick’s chest, his fingers drawing patterns against your bare upper back. You probably looked insane as you looked up, tears staining your perfect makeup, but when you saw Peeta and Katniss, you smiled. Your arms wrapped around Finnick’s shoulders as he pulled you closer, inhaling as Katniss paused.

“Smile, Katniss,” you say, exhaling. “It helps them believe you.”

You saw her fists relax as you nodded at her. She nods back, a slight smile developing on her lips before you giggled. “Wider, honey. If I can’t stop these games, maybe you can, Mockingjay.”

Her brow ruffled as Cinna ran over. “Y/N, darling, your makeup! Come on, we need to fix it.”

Finnick sighed. “Cinna-”

“Of course, Cinna,” you smiled as you stood, stepping off of Finnick. “Will you come with me?”

He nods as you grab onto the edge of his shirt, his other quickly taking both of your shaking hands into his own. You smiled at Peeta and Katniss, mouthing ‘smile’ at them as Cinna took you down to the salon to fix your makeup. “I like the blue, Cinna, put more of it please.”

He smiled, nodding as he does as you say. Finnick’s lips stay pressed to your skin, anywhere from your shoulder to the back of your hand. He watched the interviews of Peeta and Katniss, gasping when Peeta pulled the same trick he did. “Guess everyone has baby fever, don’t they?”

You hum. “I hope so. Maybe the more babies we make, the more they’ll want to shut down the games.”

“I wish that was how it worked, Y/N,” Cinna whispers, smiling sadly. “What names were you thinking?”

You purse your lips, pausing. “Finnick, of course,” you say, making him laugh as Finnick squeezed your hand before sighing. “I’ve always loved the name Nautilus. Or Atlantis.”

Finnick smiled. “I like those.”

You laughed before Cinna turned you back into the mirror. “You like?”

You smiled, nodding when you saw how beautiful the makeup looked. “I love Cinna.”

He grins. “Perfect. Now go, you’re going to be late!”

You quickly get out of the chair as Finnick grabs your hand, quickly leading you down to the stage so you both can raise your hands together. You grab the person’s hand next to you, grinning as you raise your arms before Caesar announces, “And we will see them at the wedding of Panem’s Prince and Princess, Finnick and Y/N!”

Your mind was hazy as you went back to the room, leaning on Finnick for support with his hand in yours as you both stood in the elevator. It was quiet on the way up, his hand softly stroking your hair as you squeezed the other. “Fin?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can you go get me a pregnancy test?”

He pauses as the doors open, walking in with you. “Why?”

“You made me think,” you whispered, sitting on the couch. “I just want to take one.”

Finnick scoffed. “Why if you think we’re going to die?”

You pause, looking at his form; his arms crossed in a way that made his biceps bulge, jaw clenched and eyes glaring down at the floor. “Fin, come on,” you say, sitting next to him to pull him down to the couch. “It was for effect, Finnick.”

“No, no it wasn’t,” he says, looking over at you, gaze softening. “You don’t think I will protect you? I promise you, I swear to you, I will get you out of that arena alive.”

You smiled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know you will, Fin,” you whisper, sighing. You let your fingers curl into his golden hair, softly brushing your nose to his. “I will do the same for you, and you know it.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” he says immediately. “It’s been my job to protect you since you were born. I’ve always, always protected you. Remember when we were little and that fucking asshole kept untying your nets and I fucking pummeled his ass? And then-”

“I couldn’t protect you when you were Reaped, Fin,” you say, remembering when his name was drawn and you fought against Peacekeepers to get to him. You ran onto the stage, ignoring the scolding of your mother and jumped into his arms, sobbing until you were dragged away from him.

“Finnick! Finnick, don’t go!” You wailed. He had just turned fourteen, you still eleven and unable to understand the point of the Reapings and what you were feeling.

“Y/N, go, please,” he whispers into your ear, his hands still at his sides. “Go before someone kills you.”

“No! No, I'm not leaving you! Finnick, please, please don’t go. Don’t leave me, you promised,” you sobbed into his shoulder, arms around his torso. “You promised.”

His hands twitch as they slowly wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’ll come back. I promise you.”

And he did. He did come back, but two years later, you went too when you were fifteen. And then, you came back.

Even then, nothing was the same as when you came back. After being sold by Snow, you and Finnick’s relationship was broken. You both blamed the suffering and traumas of the other on yourselves, and because of that, you stayed apart for about a month. It was even more torture than the literal torture of Snow, and when you both saw each other again, you never let the other go since then.

“Let me protect you now.”

He inhaled shakily as you pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. “We’ll protect each other, Y/N,” he says, kissing you again. “I swear on it.”

You smiled as he paused. “I’ll get you that test.”

You nodded, thankful as he opens the door, and when you don’t hear it close, you look over the couch. When you see Katniss standing there, Finnick’s arms crossed as he raised a brow. “Can I help you?”

“I want to speak with Y/N,” she says before Cinna comes into view.

“Finnick, darling, the rings are done.”

You jump over the couch, still in your long flowy dress. “Cinna! Let me see!”

“Ah!” Finnick says immediately, pushing you away. “No, you can’t see until tomorrow.”

You pouted, whining. “Fin, come on!”

He laughs, pushing you back slightly. “Go. Katniss, come in, Cinna, walk with me.”

You pout as he walks over, kissing your lips. “Get changed, darling. I’m sure it’s hard for you to walk around in that.”

You giggled, brushing your lips against his again. “I love you.”

He stroked your head. “I love you more.”

Finnick walks out, leaving the door open for Katniss to walk in. You hummed as she slowly closed the door. “Where’s Peeta?”

“Speaking with Effie and Haymitch.”

“Oh? So you’re here alone?” You giggled as you walked toward your room, looking back. “Can you untie my dress for me?”

Your words make her inhale, but she steps forward to let her nimble fingers tug at the satin string that tied up your dress. Easily, she gets it undone, and you let it fall from your form and step out of the dress and corset. She gasped as you walked toward the closet, basically completely nude besides your lacy panties that did little to nothing to cover you up. You pull on one of Finnick’s oversized shirts, opting to not wear bottoms as you come out and sit on your bed.

“Well? What can I do for you, Katniss?”

“What is up with you and Finnick?”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the Prince and Princess!” She yelled, covering her mouth soon after. “You both just… you, especially, you’re like… like-”

“Undeniably attractive?” You say, outstretching your leg with a giggle before leaning back on your hands. “Sexy? The epitome of lust?”

Her face falls. “I’m leaving.”

You laughed. “I’m playing! What’s your question again, Kat? Kitty Kat? Can I call you that or-”

“Why are you so self absorbed? Princess like?”

You giggle. “I was in the public’s eye since Finnick’s games. I was his girlfriend, Katniss, and when I was reaped two years later, we suffered the same fate over again,” your smile disappears. “Finnick and I’s lives are not everything you see on TV, Katniss. Even if you didn’t watch our show.”

She grimaced. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re lucky you survived with Peeta, Katniss. Lucky that Snow wants you dead.”

She glared. “How is that lucky?”

You don’t look away from her, slowly hiking up your shirt. “Because it’s better than him wanting you alive,” you said, showing her a mark on your upper thigh that Cinna always covered with makeup. “Do you know what this is, Katniss?”

She pauses, but shakes her head.

“This is the mark of the people sold by Snow,” you say, pressing on it. It disappears for a few seconds, but comes back. “Only some know what it is. It’s impossible to take off, I have scars to prove it,” you say, pressing on it again to see the faded scar before it comes back. “Your games weren’t even a year ago. If Snow loved you like he did me and Finnick instead of wanting you dead,” you stand, walking in front of her to force her back against the wall. “Then you would’ve gone through the same things as us and come out just as twisted. Maybe worse.”

She inhaled, choosing to stay quiet as your fingers slowly stroked her hair. “You’re beautiful, Katniss,” you say. “And I’m glad you didn’t suffer like us. We do what we have to to survive, Katniss, and if being a whore in both the light of a camera reluctantly and behind closed doors willingly, then so be it.”

You hear the door open, stepping back. “I’m sorry- I am.”

“I don’t need your apologies, Everdeen,” you say, sitting back on the bed as Finnick walks in. “I need you to do two things for me,” you raise a finger. “One, I need you to be my maid of honor. The girls who get pregnant together, stay together. It’s good for popularity.” You raise your second finger. “Two, I need you to end these fucking games. For all of our sakes.”

Finnick pops a candy into his mouth, tapping your chin making you look up at him. He holds your chin, pressing a kiss to your lips before letting the candy slide into your mouth. You smiled, cherry flavor popping into your senses before you pulled away. “My favorite.”

He smiles. “Good thing I have more then,” he says. “Can I have another kiss?”

You giggle, nodding as you pull him on top of you.

“I’m leaving,” Katniss says immediately, turning around before you hum against Finnick’s lips.

“Oh! Wait!” You say as Finnick quickly got off, moving the bag he got before collapsing onto the bed. You go to your dresser, pulling out the box that Cinna had given you after the interview with a gift for the person you chose to be your maid of honor. As much as you wanted it to be Mags, you didn’t want to bring her out to the Capitol to watch you go back into an arena you only wanted to escape.

You took it out, ignoring the two boxes that held your matching gold bracelets before closing the drawer. Turning, you hand her the box. “For you and Peeta. Matching. I want you to be my maid of honor and Peeta to be Finnick’s best man. It works out that way.”

She slowly takes it, gasping when she opens it. She slowly takes out the necklace, cascading pearls wrapped in gold rope chains to cover her entire chest like a throwing net. She grabs the other, a thick rope chain with pearls studding each intertwined link for Peeta. “This looks-”

“Expensive? It is. Do you know how hard it is to get pure gold these days? Everyone wants those new carbon things but no, I want the classics,” you smiled as you went to the bed, quickly crawling over Finnick’s legs to sit on his lap. You push the candy around your mouth, covering it in your spit before leaning down, watching his mouth lull open obediently and let the cherry flavored candy fall into his mouth. You giggled, lulling out your tongue to lick at his own before looking over at Katniss. “Get to the estate at around nine in the morning. Finnick and I will be there earlier, but you know it’s bad luck when a groom sees his bride. Cinna’s assistants will begin dressing you when you get there.”

Katniss nods. “Okay, I will uhm… we’ll be there, all of us.”

You smile. “Sounds good. Make sure Haymitch and Effie wear black! If I see one speck of color, she’s leaving.”

Katniss laughs slightly. “Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You look up, smiling at her. “See you tomorrow, Katniss.”

With that, she leaves as a loud crack makes you look down at Finnick who chews on the candy. He grinned, his tongue stained pink as you kissed his lips. You groaned as he pulled your hips into his own, rutting them softly into yours before his hands squeezed your sides. “You gonna take that test?”

You almost forgot about it, but you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” He whispers, hands stroking your side as you inhale shakily.

“Yes.”

He lifts you up, taking you to the restroom, slowly setting you down onto the ground. You go to the toilet, sighing as you slowly pull down your pants and opening up the test. Quickly, you do your business, clean yourself off and wash your hands before tapping on Finnick’s shoulder.

You whimper into his back, rubbing his arms. “Fin, I’m scared.”

He turns around, stroking your cheeks. “It’s okay to be scared, darling. Just remember I’m here and I’m here to help you, to protect you, to save you.”

You sobbed into his hands, gasping as the timer Finnick must have set and quickly grabbing the test. You inhaled shakily, the words Negative not registering in your mind.

“Y/N, honey?”

“I really wanted it to be true, Fin,” you whisper, your eyes burning almost as though there were no more tears left to cry. “I really wanted to be pregnant with your baby.”

A choked sob fell from Finnick’s mouth, his arms immediately pulling you into his chest as you both crumbled to the ground. You sobbed into his chest, his hands pulling you into his lap as you rubbed his shoulders and he rubbed your back. “We’re going to get out of there alive, my darling. I promise.”

This time, you believed him. Looking up, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Finnick Odair.”

“I love you, Y/N L/N. Forever and always.”

“And when we meet in our next life.”

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪

in our next life taglist: 𓆩[@poppet05]𓆪   𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪   𓆩[@jewelrybean25]𓆪   𓆩[@arzua10]𓆪   𓆩[@savagemickey03]𓆪   𓆩[@ok-boke]𓆪   𓆩[@instabull]𓆪   𓆩[@maxinehufflepuffprincess]𓆪   𓆩[@starryeddie]𓆪   𓆩[@ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations]𓆪   𓆩[@taestrwbrry]𓆪

next part will be uploaded this Wednesday! (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.17.23)

© asterias-record-shop

[ulltraviolences]

let the light in | haymitch abernathy

pairing: haymitch abernathy x fem!covey!reader

synopsis: deciding to indulge in old habits after a particularly hard night & glimpses of his past life, haymitch doesn’t expect to be comforted by the voice of a beautiful songbird in the hob of 12.

warnings: mentions of war, canon violence, ptsd, alcohol, mention of blood, flirting, age gap (reader is in early 20s), slight sexual themes, kissing, fluff-ish, sweet haymitch

song included: the ballad of lucy gray baird

a/n: this is something I’ve had for so long in my drafts & now that we’ve got the prequel announcement, what better time than to post it! <3

Maysilee’s loud screeches echo through the trees, the mockingjay’s repeating the blood curdling sound as they start to encircle him. Haymitch’s feet moving fast beneath him against the dirt trail in order to lose the career pack behind him. His movements beginning themselves before his mind can process them and the fact that she’s gone. The wind being his sole helper in drying the tears that threaten to keep flowing, catching a glimpse of his hands still stained red from the way he held her before she passed.

The only thing on his mind now being that he survives this, for her, for his family, for his district, and more importantly so he can show that they don’t control him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of glass shattering against the hardwood floor is what finally pulls his consciousness out of the nightmare of the arena. Flailing his arms around as if to protect himself from ever being touched again, haymitch is quick to his feet to stand up and surveil the empty dining room for the slight hint of the ghost of a past tribute looking to attempt to take his life once more.

He stands completely still as he finally takes into account his surroundings, his heart still pumping out an extra beat per minute and silently waiting as he catches his breath. it’s just a dream. you survived. you’re here. you’re home. He repeats the mantra in his head over and over again till it hopefully sticks this time.

It isn’t until he feels a slight trickle drip down onto the table that he sees the fallen glass shatter all over the floor and mixed with the hint of crimson from the shards stuck to his palm.

It feels like a cruel joke almost, a reminder. The blood that he’ll forever have stuck to his hands. The mess of blood that no matter how hard he tries to clean up will just keep flowing in an endless cycle no matter what he does to prevent it from happening again.

A bitter chuckle escapes him at the thought. Amused by his own misery and the situation he’s found himself in. He backs up and slowly treks himself to the kitchen sink to turn on the faucet, relishing in the slight sting that the lukewarm water elicits from his wounded hand.

A small price to pay for the families he thinks about every waking moment that he’s, no doubt, wounded for life by surviving the games against their children. Their loved ones that they’ll never get the chance to see again. Yet, whose faces and names haunt him every night since he’s stepped foot out of that arena.

The pain of not only them but his parents. His sisters. His girl. And Maysilee. Her family. People who he couldn’t save even here at home and after the games. All because he wanted to show them, the capitol, that they couldn’t control him they way they did everyone else.

The growing pit in his stomach now feeling inescapable the longer he stands in front of the running faucet. Shaking his head, he slams the faucet switch off, grabbing the alcohol beside him to disinfect the wound. Hissing and banging his leg against the drawer beneath his sink when when the liquid hits his palm. He slowly bends down to open the drawer and finds the bandaging wrap that he keeps for instances like these, which have happened to become routine for him. He bandages up the rest of his hand until he looks down and hums in slight satisfaction at his work.

As soon as he’s finished, his mind is already preoccupied with what the next choice, or beverage, of distraction he is in need of. It can’t be here though. Anywhere but the empty, cold house in the almost unoccupied, lone victor’s village.

Walking towards the front door, he quickly shrugs on a light coat and his boots. Stepping out into the cool, autumn night out in district 12. He continues down the path towards the main part of the district. Letting the sound of the wind be the only thing present in his mind before he decides to sit down at the hob and think more about his decisions in life so far.

As he nears the hob, he can hear the slight sound of music making its way through the open doors to the outside. Both young and old residents of the district out tonight and drinking, the only semblance of fun and normalcy you’ll find them indulging in despite the circumstances of their situations.

He walks in, immediately making a straight beeline towards the bar. Trying as hard as he can to ignore the lingering stares and pointed whispers of those who recognize him. The only lone alive victor of district 12. Eyes filled with both curiosity and pity as they follow his frame to the bar. All were surprised that he had decided to grace them with his presence for once. As his absence was growing long enough for him to almost be forgotten till the painful reminder on reaping day each year.

Haymitch settles onto the stool near the end of the bar, ordering whatever scarce brew is available for the night. Once it’s placed in front of him, it’s almost gone just as it was full. Already raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender for another glass. Opting to ignore the judgmental stare and low warning given to him before the bartender hesitantly slides another glass his way.

Lost in thought of the nights earlier events and his second helping of beer, his mind is pulled away by the loud cheers of the people in the hob. Still nursing his beer, he takes a small peak from the corner of his eye to where everyone else’s attention is on to the girl twirling her way onto the stage with guitar in hand.

He’s a bit taken aback for a second, not ever having seen much of her before around the district or even hearing of her name. Yet, he might be the only clueless one as to who this girl is, he thinks. Spotting even, off duty peacekeepers who’ve decided to join in once they see the young woman take the stage.

“Well hey y’all!”, The girl beams, “Now just how might all of you fine folks out here in district 12 must be doing tonight?”

The crowd roars in excitement at the question. Never had he ever seen in life someone command the attention of a majority of a district in such a way that wasn’t related to the games. In a joyful way, nonetheless.

“Alright! Alright! Settle down y’all, I hear you all quite clearly, no need to go rupturing my ears now!”, You say as you playfully roll yours eyes at the crowd, “For those of you who may not know, or have been living under a rock, my name is Y/n Ivory!”

As the crowd around him laughs at the charming display of your personality in full force, Haymitch finds out he’s not immune to the power of your charisma either. He finds himself, still secluded in the dark corner of the room, cracking a small smile at your undeniable stage presence.

Pale white dress flowing freefully over your body landing just right above your knees with flowers woven through your hair and all. You’re the purest untainted vision of beauty he’s ever seen dancing in a place that has seen so much violence and pain as 12. It’s a wonder, he thinks to himself, how he’s gone so long without ever seeing or hearing of you.

He doesn’t know if he should be mad at himself for not getting out more or grateful for the fact that he chose to leave tonight. By having it lead him right here tonight as he watches you illuminate the room with every step you take and smile never breaking off of your face for even a second.

“Now don’t you worry, I’m gonna sing y’all a special one tonight,” you say, strumming the guitar as you continue to speak, “this one is a little tune some of you might know, a ballad we’ve all heard passed down, figured something slow is fitting for a nice night like this”

Haymitch watches you slightly clear your throat a little as you strum the chords on your worn leather guitar. He marvels at the intactness of it, such a prized possession to be in hold of that he’s sure has seen so much in its time. Figuring to himself that it has to be some sort of heirloom, as he knew at least no one, not even him, could afford such a luxury except if you lived in the capitol.

“ When I was a babe I fell down in the holler

when I was girl I fell into your arms

we fell on hard times and we lost our bright color

you went to the dogs and I lived by my charms ”

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. Melodically beautiful, just as he expected, yet it doesn’t take away his surprise nonetheless. The glide of the strings paired with your voice forces him to shake his head a bit just to make sure he wasn’t dead yet from the alcohol and your voice was mistaken as angel from above.

He concludes that regardless, there’s not much of a difference. As he takes in your frame, almost floating above the crowd as high as the sound of your lungs can take you, he figures that you might as well be an angel.

“ I danced for my dinners, spread kisses like honey

you stole and you gambled, and I said you should

we sang for our suppers, we drank up our money

then one day you left, saying I was no good

well, all right, I’m bad, but then you’re no prize either

all right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new

you say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither

just let me remind you what I am to you

‘cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

and I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I’ll take that and more to my grave ”

The lyrics are familiar, he concludes to himself. He remembers the ballad well, one his mother would often sing to him & his sisters when they were younger. It would be a way for her to calm them down each night before a reaping.

He remembers the stories she would tell along with it, of how before the rebellion, there were these people who’d call themselves, “covey”, traveling from district to district singing to their hearts content for the enjoyment of others. She knew them well, she’d tell them. Telling them how the covey eventually settled into district 12.

His mother would talk about the nights where she would go to the hob and dance away. Making great friends with the girl who sang these infamous songs that had been passed down. The girl who also coincidentally introduced his mother to his father one night. Pushing his father until he asked his mother for a dance.

She would end each story by telling Haymitch, “well, now you know that you have someone to be thankful for making sure that you exist”.

The story seemed so mythical to him then, as it still does now. To think of a time when there was so much free will that people once held, especially outside of the Capitol’s restraints. To how something so frivolous as singing was enough to be one’s way of survival. A life of fulfillment and light melodies sung with no threat or existence of the games to ever ruin them.

The sound of Y/N’s voice sweetly coaxes him out of his thoughts. It is then, as he hears her, that he does believe in the stories. That if he continued to hear her voice for the rest of his life, it would be enough to ensure his survival for good. Not even the games would be enough to take him away from her. Not if he could help it.

This line of thinking scares him as it does entice him. He hasn’t felt this way since his first love, the one that they took away him. He feels like a teenager once again, heart practically bursting at the sight of the girl in front of him.

Her eyes roam the crowd as she continues singing, before they eventually catch his awe stricken expression. She smiles slightly, lightly fluttering her lashes at the attention. All before closing her eyes, swaying and losing herself in the music once again.

Not one for ever caring about appearances, he suddenly feels hyper aware of himself. He’s not used to feeling like this, he’s not quite sure how to process it. Just desperate, hoping that when her eyes linger a bit longer on him that she hopefully is feeling what he is too.

When she eventually looks away, he finds a part of himself chasing the high that she had bestowed upon him. Thinking how nothing could ever compare to the way he’s feeling now, not even the smooth liquor that would soothe his mind enough to make him forget things that have happened to him.

Now abandoning the half drank pint in front of him, he finds himself wanting to remember this night. This moment where he doesn’t need anything stronger than your presence to tell him that everything is okay.

The song ends, much to his dismay. The last few chords of your guitar lingering in the air before the hob breaks out in a harmonious applause, praises & hollers being shouted out your way. He watches you graciously thank the crowd, letting the band behind you take over. His eyes linger on you as you exit the stage, watching you laugh & thank everyone who meet on your way through the crowd.

It isn’t until he sees your frame slowly getting nearer that he suddenly feels shy, quickly diverting his attention down to his drink. Hands getting slightly clammy as he registers your sweet voice beside him, asking the bartender for a pint for yourself.

“Well my, my, to what do I owe the pleasure of dragging a victor out to one of my shows tonight?”, you say while letting out a slight giggle at the sight of him.

He’s a bit bewildered at first. Not exactly not knowing how to respond out of fear of embarrassing himself. His mouth slightly opens, letting out a playful scoff at the nickname victor, before replying back in the same playful manner you had.

“Just had to come down to hear what all the yapping around the district was about a pretty girl singing her heart out here each night”, he lightly flirts, hoping it lands well with her.

The action is thankfully welcomed as her laugh floats through the air. He wishes he could bottle the sound up so he could hear it over and over again.

“Now you’re just a peach aren’t you? Trying to butter me up .. hm?”, she says. Poking fun at his attempt of flirting before adding on, “And? Did I meet your expectations?”

His heart flutters at the question, chuckling to mask his nervousness that she so easily seems to trigger.

“That you did, sweetheart. Better than I could’ve thought”, he says, relishing in the way her wide eyed expression lights up at the praise he gives to her.

He feels himself mirroring her contagious smile. Nerves still present, but easing themselves when he sees her relaxing into his gaze.

“You’re a very sweet man, Haymitch Abernathy”, you tell him. Warmth slightly flooding your cheeks as his eyes remained fixed on you.

Quickly, taking the opportunity to glance away from the intense eye contact to take in the details about him. You take notice of the way his hair falls around his face, carefully framing it in a way that was too-professionally done to be of his own doing as the rest of the men in the district. A small testament to his time back and forth between his home and the calling of the Capitol. His slightly rugged appearance combats this, a small show of rebelliousness in the appearance the Capitol attempts to smooth over in a Victor, yet still seeming so distinctively him.

To anyone else, his demeanor would have been enough to ward off lingering stares here in the district. To you, it radiated a rare aura of comfort & warmth around him that you had never felt around another man before. You had wanted to get lost in it, envisioning yourself spending late mornings, running your fingers through his locks and humming a secret tune just for you both.

He chuckled dryly, swirling around the ale in his pint before glancing back up at you, “Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, tell anyone else here that and you might get a different answer”.

He watches as you cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face, “Well good thing I wasn’t planning on asking anyone else”, sternness lacing your tone before scooting closer towards him, “Anyways, I think I like that I might be the only one in this damn district that can tell the difference”.

Haymitch could feel the way the way his heartbeat practically sped up, his hands fidgeting around the handle of the pint in front of him. Taking a deep breath before turning his attention back to the way your wide eyed gaze is fixated on him, eyes slowly analyzing him as if he’ll run right off. The thought crossed his mind for a minute, more so out of fear of embarrassing himself.

Taking a leap of faith, he brings his hand up to run his hand through a lock of your hair, tucking it behind the flower adorned between your ear. He hums at the pretty detail before plucking it to hold out in his palm, “A primrose?”.

You can feel your body still at the motion, warmth pooling in your chest at the feel of his hand. Carefully eyeing his expression, something that reads as a mixture of wonder and adoration at you. You remember to let out a small breath in the midst of the intimacy this situation, softly smiling as he hums in notice of the flower that lays against your hair.

“It was one of my mama’s favorites”, he can feel the wistfulness in your tone as you recall her, “She used to tell me stories of how my grandma and her great aunt would collect different flowers from their travels in the covey to use to bathe her and her cousins, since the borders between districts closed in the dark days, she gathered primroses here from the fields instead for me”.

He takes notice of the way you softly grasp onto his hand, your smooth palm contrasting with his hardened one and its tiny scars littered that hold unspoken memories of the arena. Your finger lightly traces the petals he holds in his palm, he watches as the mixture of nostalgia and sadness battle in your mind as you recall these memories.

Haymitch feels his own heart twinge, thinking back to what he can remember of his own mother, her voice, her stories, her mannerisms, anything. There’s a thick layer of understanding in the air between the two of you, unspoken feelings and experiences of loss and familiarity. The scattered chattering of the hob and instrumentals seem far away as the two of you take in each other’s presence.

He makes the first move to break the stillness between you two, bringing his hand back up to place the flower in your hair once again. You sigh softly as you feel his hand go to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb softly tracing back & forth on your skin. Haymitch feels the ghost of a smile threatening to overtake his lips as he feels your nestle your face further into his grasp before asking, “Would you wanna get out of here?”.

You softly nod at his question, not trusting your own voice to betray you and tremble at the delicateness in which he’s treating you. Standing up, you envelope your hand into his as his other finds it’s way onto your waist to lead you through the crowd. A motion so easily done as if it is second nature to you both. There is nothing but comfort and safeness in the act.

The cold air hits you both as you walk out, not feeling quite sure if the goosebumps forming on your skin is a result of that or the proximity of the man that still has a firm hold on you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You take a small peek over to him, watching the internal battle with himself as it plays on his face, eyebrows creased in deep thought. Yet still, he holds onto you, as if it’ll ground him.

You stop walking after a minute or so, watching the confusion in his expression as he snaps out of his thoughts. You pull him over to the small alley way, taking his face in both of your hands and forcing him to look into your eyes. His eyes trace over your questioning expression, taking a hard swallow before he speaks, “I .. I haven’t done this in a long time, sweetheart”.

“And what exactly are we doing?”, you say while lightly laughing.

He feels his nerves dissipate little by little at the sound of your amusement, still battling with the lingering fear in the back of his mind. He hesitates in his action, slowly leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, hands tightening their hold around your waist.

He can feel your breath hitch, your nose slightly touching against his own as your lips part, begging for him to make a move.

“If I do this, I don’t think I’d want to ever have another day where you’re not near me, at least to where I know you’re safe”, he whispers gently as his lips begin to ghost above yours.

“You won’t have to, I’ll be right here”, you whisper back. Your voice filled with reassurance and desperation, willing to give almost every part of you to him if it takes.

You feel the wind knocked out of you, as if you’ve forgotten to know how to breathe once you feel his lips against your own. Your mouths molding perfectly against one another as if this is what you’ve both have been waiting for your entire lives.

You whine softly as he deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming you with purpose. Whether it’s his way of subconsciously ensuring to himself that he won’t let anything happen to you or to convey his own worthiness to you, he can’t tell. The only thing taking up space in his mind being the way you sound as he familiarizes himself with you, tongue exploring yours while his hands grasp at your body.

You both finally break apart after what feels like an eternity, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. Unable to shake the burning feeling of that his lips left against yours in their wake. Your lids flutter open, already finding his gaze with what reads as both love and protectiveness staring back at you.

“I …”, he clears his throat before finding a way to gather the right words he wants to say to you. He goes over every possibility of what this could mean between the two of you, of letting you in. It would be easier if he could just act like this was meaningless, that he could walk away now and never think of it again. But as with everything else, he knows that you will ruminate in the back of his mind forever with no avail. Not now that he already has you in his arms.

“I won’t be able to give you much”, is all he is able to choke out. A twinge of disappointment lacing his words.

“That’s okay, I’m not looking for much anyways”, you hum. You tip your head up slightly to look at him, “Just want you, it’ll be enough for me”.

“Yeah?”, he says softly. His eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, relief blossoming in his chest when he doesn’t find any. The only thing staring back him being the firmness in your vulnerability as you hold him in your palm. He pulls his hand from your waist to grab ahold of your hand against his face, bringing your knuckles to his lips, before leaning back in to press another kiss to your lips.

A part of him knows that it’ll always never be this simple. He will do his best to make sure he can protect you from what he can, if it ever comes to it. But right here, right now, in this moment. It’s not something even, Snow himself, can ever take from him.