#young!haymitch abernathy x you

[maysileeewrites]

bittersweet symphony || prologue

Haymitch Abernathy x f!reader || series masterlist

Summary: After being reaped as a Tribute for the 61st Hunger Games, you and your mentor Haymitch Abernathy are off to a rather rocky start …

contents: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions off death; Haymitch being a drunk, snarky asshole; angst; bantering, Haymitch and Reader having a rather rocky start; gratuitous use of Princess as a nickname (you'd better get used to it); age gap! (Haymitch is in his late 20s, Reader is 18 at the start)

w.c: 5.3k (it's worth it, I promise!!)

AN: Here it is! I’m so excited but also incredibly nervous … Also don’t worry, this is in fact a Haymitch/Reader story, but the lovely @imnotcryingyouare1 suggested a way that wouldn’t make Haymitch the only one experiencing guilt for falling in love again and because I like drama and heartbreak and pining, I took it and ran haha. In other words: I really, really hope that you all like the prologue!! 

It’s fascinating how drastically a person’s life can change within just a few seconds. 

A few seconds ago, you were standing together with the other seventeen and eighteen year-old girls, desperately hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be your name that would be drawn from the large glass bowl. 

A few seconds ago, the bittersweet taste of freedom was right there on the tip of your tongue. This is the last year you’re eligible for the Reaping - you were supposed to come out unscathed on the other side. 

A few seconds ago, your heart was slamming against your ribcage and your hands were slick with sweat.

And then, Effie Trinket, your District escort read out your name, and everything changed - all of that within the span of a few seconds. 

Numb with shock, you walk onto the stage in front of the Justice Building, trying to keep your head up high. Trying not to cry, trying not to break down in front of the entirety of District Twelve, and - worse yet - all the cameras. 

You might be from the poorest District in Panem, but you won’t give the Careers and whoever else may be watching the chance to brand you as a weakling already. Though you know that the chances of you actually surviving the Hunger Games are slim to nonexistent, you can’t allow yourself to give up  already. 

And so, you take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders as you come to stand next to Effie Trinket.

She’s saying something to you, but her words only register as a light, unpleasant buzzing in your ears. When you don’t respond, she frowns, before plastering a smile back on her face again, walking over to the other bowl of names. 

You bite down hard on your lip, and your hands twist into fists behind your back. 

Not Felix, please. Not Will, please.

Not Felix, not Will. 

Please. 

But Effie calls neither of your little brother’s names out. The relief that both your brothers will be safe for at least another year is only short-lived, though. 

„Kai Foster! Come on up, come on up!“ 

Your eyes widen with shock as you watch your best friend walk up onto the stage, coming to stand right beside you. 

This can’t be happening. Not Kai. Not your best friend. Not the only other boy besides your brothers you hold so close to your heart. 

The only thought that rings through your head as you numbly reach for Kai’s hand is that this can’t be happening. 

This can’t be happening. This was supposed to be your last year, you were supposed to get through this final Reaping together. Both you and Kai are already eighteen, in fact, Kai is turning nineteen in just a few weeks. 

And now, it seems highly unlikely that either of you will ever get to experience another birthday again. 

After the Games, who will be there to look after your little brothers? Ever since your mother died giving birth to Felix, it’s been you and your father looking after the boys, but your father’s a miner and while he’s doing his best to take care of you and your siblings, his work in the mines is already taking a big enough toll on him. Who will be there for your brothers? Who will be there to-

Breath hitching, you square your shoulders. You can’t afford to think like that, not yet. 

Not now. Right now, you have to hold yourself together, at least until you’re safely on the train headed to the Capitol. And so, you concentrate on the touch of Kai’s hand, as you’re looking out at the crowd, trying to hold yourself together. 

Then the Peacekeepers are ushering you off the stage and into the Justice Building, and then you and Kai are separated and you’re brought into a small waiting room, and before you get a chance to sort your spiraling thoughts and compose yourself, your family’s ushered into the small room. 

Your little brother Felix is crying, but Will, who’s only two years older than Felix and yet always trying to act all tough, is trying his hardest to keep himself from crying. He finally breaks when you turn to embrace him as well, begging you not to go, to please come back. 

You can’t lie to him, not to your little brother, and so just hold on to him tighter, catching your father’s gaze. He just gives you a sad, pained smile and somehow, that says more than all the words in the world ever possibly could. 

And then, the Peacekeepers are back again, ushering your family out and even though Felix and Will both cling to you, the Peacekeepers just drag them away, before ushering you out of the Justice Building and into a car that’ll take you to the train station. 

At least Kai is here with you, you think, as he silently reaches for your hand, threading your fingers together. At least he’s here with you as you’re being shipped off to your inevitable deaths together. 

The next few moments pass you by in a blur. Kai and you are being escorted onto the train by Effie Trinket. Her chipper, hyper-positive attitude is quickly starting to get on your nerves and so, you excuse yourself, saying that you just need to be alone right now. Kai shoots you a worried look, but you just shake your head, before heading off to your room. 

For hours, you just lie on your bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of home, of your family and friends - all people you’re almost certain you’ll never see again, because while you certainly don’t want to die, don’t want to be just another quick, easy kill for the Career, you just know that there’s no real, tangible chance of you possibly winning these Games - race through your head, spiraling and spiraling and spiraling. 

Finally, when you can’t take it anymore, you stand up, feeling dizzy from the sudden, quick motion. You briefly consider going to find Kai, but somehow, you don’t really feel like you could stomach talking to him right now. 

And so, you head off to the compartment you were ushered into earlier that day, thinking that after grabbing a bite of food, maybe you won’t feel so bad anymore. You don’t encounter anyone as you walk through different train compartments, which is probably for the better, seeing how you’re still feeling incredibly dizzy and light-headed and the movement of the train underneath your feet isn’t exactly helping. 

You finally stumble into the dining compartment, only to freeze when you realize that the compartment isn’t empty as you’d been expecting it to be. 

„So, there she finally is.“ 

The words are delivered in a dry, mocking tone, yet there’s a slurred edge to them. Is he ever not drunk?, you find yourself wondering as you look up into the bright, grey eyes of Haymitch Abernathy. 

Haymitch Abernathy. 

The only living Victor of District Twelve.

Your mentor - he’s supposed to coach you, to help you and Kai get through the Hunger Games. The only problem is that he’s not even once managed to keep his tributes alive for longer than the first few days of the Games, which, you suspect, has a lot to do with him being constantly drunk out of his mind. 

He doesn’t seem to take anything in life seriously, especially not his job as a mentor, seeing how he’s failed to show up to the Reapings ever since you can remember. 

He wasn’t there for your own Reaping as well, and somehow, it’s that thought that finally manages to shake you out of your state of numb shock. 

„You were supposed to be there“, you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, „you were supposed to be there - you’re our mentor and yet you can’t even give us the grace to show up to our Reaping?“ 

Your voice has gotten louder with each word, and your hands are shaking with anger. 

Your eyes find Haymitch’s grey ones again. 

For a second, you think you see something akin to hurt flash in his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant, and his features twist into a scowl again. 

„Well Princess, I’m sorry for not clearing out my entire schedule for you“, he says, his tone sarcastic and mocking. 

Trying to suppress your anger, you bite down hard on your lip, shaking your head in disbelief. „Really?“, you grit out, „I can’t believe that there would’ve been much to clear.“ 

In reply, Haymitch just laughs. 

He laughs - he actually laughs in your face. 

„You’re unbelievable“, you seethe, not at all caring that he’s your mentor and nearly ten years older than you. 

He’s only twenty-seven - you’re not quiet sure, but you think that he was sixteen when he won his Games eleven years ago -, and while you have to admit that even with all the damage he’s done to his own body with all the drinking, he’s still fairly good-looking, with his short dark curls, tall stature and distinct features, yet the look in his eyes tells you that in his twenty-seven years he’s seen and experienced far more than most people do in a whole lifetime. 

Haymitch’s eyes find yours again, and something he sees in your gaze must get through to him, because he finally stops laughing, his expression turning serious again.

„I don’t really see that it would’ve made much of a difference either way“, he says, shrugging. „You and that boy would’ve still been reaped.“ 

„His name’s Kai.“ 

You expect another condescending reply, but when you look up at Haymitch again, he’s looking at you with a thoughtful expression. 

„Tell me something, Princess - why are you here?“ 

You frown. „Because I was reaped for the-“

„No“, he interrupts you, shaking his head, his gaze locking onto yours, „why are you here?“

„What - I don’t …“, you stammer, backing away from Haymitch , who, even though he’s still standing a few feet away from you, is too close, too close, too close. You feel as if even through his drunk stupor, he sees you, really sees you. He sees too much, way too much, and you just want him to stop looking at you like that. 

But, of course, he doesn’t. „Why are you here?“, he repeats his question again, „why are you here - why are you not in his room, pouring your heart out to your boy- Kai, right?“ 

At your sides, your hands clench into fists, but Haymitch continues talking, not giving you the chance to say anything. „Finally couldn’t take it anymore? Finally caught up with reality, did you now?“ 

„You’re one to talk“, you grit out through your teeth, angrily shaking your head. 

He’s unbelievable. He doesn’t even know you, and yet he just attacks you with all of these presumptions of his. He’s twisting the knife right where it hurts, and you hate him for it. 

For a moment, Haymitch just looks at you, his bright grey ares boring into yours. Then, his lips curl into another crooked grin, and he raises his glass, as if to toast you. „Touché, Princess.“ 

It’s disorienting, the way he’s switched from condescendingly provoking to a twisted, almost sarcastic kind of genuinety in just a few seconds. 

„Stop calling me that, just because you can’t be bothered to remember my name“, you snap, crossing your arms in front of your chest. 

Haymitch chuckles, before saying your name. At that, you quickly turn away from him, trying to hide your surprised expression. „I do know your name“, he says, chuckling again, „it’s just that I think Princess seems much more fitting for Your Highness who demands that I schedule my whole day according to her, wouldn’t you agree?“ 

And just like that, he’s managed to destroy the small inkling of sympathy you might’ve felt for him in these last few seconds. „Well, seeing as you’re supposed to be our mentor, I’d say that it’s not that outrageous a request.“ 

Haymitch doesn’t immediately answer you, instead, he takes another swig of his drink, then swirls the remaining liquor around in the glass. Finally, his eyes find yours again. 

„You really want my advice, Princess? Stop wallowing, and embrace the very unfortunate, very likely possibility of your imminent death once that gong sounds.“ 

You scoff. „Wise words, truly.“ 

Haymitch just shrugs. „You asked for advice, you got it.“ 

You roll your eyes, scoffing again. It seems pretty clear that there’s not much more you’ll get out of Haymitch, at least not right now. Whatever his deal is, you won’t get through to him by trying to appeal to a conscience he may or may not have. 

Normally, you’d up more of a fight. He’s your mentor, and whatever else he may be - a sarcastic, drunken asshole right on top of that list - he’s probably the best chance you’ll get at trying to survive in that arena, like it or not. 

But right now, you don’t particularly feel like trying to crack to complex riddle of Haymitch Abernathy. Right now, you’re just glad that your anxious thoughts have finally stopped spinning and you’re really looking forward to truly lying down in your bed and to finally just fall asleep. 

Your father always says that things look brighter in the morning, and maybe that’s true. 

Tomorrow, you promise yourself, as you walk towards the table holding all of the fancy liquor bottles. Tomorrow, you’ll talk to Haymitch, really talk to him. 

And so you take a glass, before reaching for a bottle on the table. You can feel Haymitch watching you, his own glass still between his long fingers, as you open the bottle. 

„So, I take it that you’re not in the mood for advice anymore?“, he asks you dryly. 

You laugh darkly. „No. I’ve had a shitty day, and right now, I just need a drink.“ 

Haymitch considers you for a second, before waking closer towards you and setting his glass down right next to yours on the table. „Well, there’s something I can help you with.“ 

You don’t bother with a reply, instead only rolling your eyes, trying to fight off the smile that’s tugging at the corner of your lips.  

Once you’ve finished pouring both glasses, you take yours, watching as Haymitch takes his as well. For a moment, you consider him, then you hold out your glass towards him. 

Haymitch raises his eyebrows at you, but then there’s that crooked grin of his again and you almost feel like grinning as well. „Well, what are we toasting to?“ 

„Staying alive“, you say, shrugging. 

Haymitch considers you for a second, then clinks his glass against yours. „Well, I’ll drink to that.“ He downs the contents of his glass in one swig. The same definitely can’t be said for you. Even before actually drinking the liquor, your eyes start burning. Then the sharp, almost acidic taste hits your tongue, and you immediately start coughing. How Haymitch willingly chooses to drink that stuff with abandon is beyond you. 

Haymitch watches you, chuckling. When you shoot him a dark look, he only shrugs, but his expression quickly turns serious again. 

He clears his throat. „Listen, Princess. If you stay off my case, I’ll - I’ll do my best to help you.“ 

You raise your eyebrows, looking at him. His expression’s sincere, his grey eyes are searching yours. He really does seem to mean it. 

So you nod, allowing a small smile. „Deal. But only if you stop calling me Princess.“ 

Haymitch just chuckles. „I fear it’s far too late for that, Princess.“ 

🏹☀

The next few days pass you by in a dizzying blur of differing impressions. It seems that at every corner you’re meeting new people. 

First, the morning on the train after your nightly run-in with Haymitch, there’s Effie Trinket, your District Escort. Of course, you’ve already met her the day before, but you weren’t really paying attention then, only registering that her forced positive attitude gets extremely annoying really fast. You still find her forced brightness and her constant exclamations of it being a ‚big, big, big day! for you and Kai‘ incredibly irritating, but you soon realize that underneath that flashy Capitol accent and all her twisted beliefs of the world of Panem, there’s actually a genuinely kind soul underneath. 

Even more surprising is the fact that Haymitch seems to know her. Of course, with him being Twelve’s only living victor and her being your District’s escort, he has to know her, but these two seem to know each other in more than just a superficial way. 

When you try to ask Haymitch about it, he avoids your searching gaze, only saying that him and Effie do indeed go way back. 

You want to press on the subject, but with the way he’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and still refusing to look directly at you, it’s clear that he’s not willing to say more on the subject. So, you just sigh, before walking back towards the breakfast table. 

At least Haymitch actually showed up to breakfast. You’re pretty sure that you’ve seen him spike his juice earlier, but still, he’s here. And he’s actually making an effort with both you and Kai, asking you about your strengths and skills and warning you that the Games don’t just start in the Arena - they’ll start the minute you get off this train. In fact, they’ve already started the moment you were reaped. From here on out, every single move either one of you makes will be watched, studied, analyzed. Public perception is key and public goodwill an advantage not to be underestimated.  

After breakfast, Haymitch’s the first one to excuse himself from the table, leaving the train compartment - not before picking up another bottle of liquor and winking at your irritated expression. 

You don’t have time to dwell on his behavior, though, because Kai’s already turned towards you. „Glad to see that you’re feeling better. Not to say that this doesn’t suck immensely, but, well - you know …“, he trails off, smiling sheepishly. 

You can’t help but grin as well, feeling blood rush to your cheeks when Kai continues to look at you with a soft, warm look in his eyes. 

„I know“, is all you say. Really, it’s all you need to say, even though the words somehow feel like both too much and not nearly enough all ot once. 

You’ve known Kai practically your whole life. He’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember. What else is there left to say, really? 

For a short, fleeting moment, doubt creeps into your mind. 

The truth is that there are things you could talk about. Things still left unsaid. 

Like how you’re not all that sure anymore whether what you feel for him is really best described as friendship. There’ve been those moments - moments where you’ve felt breathless just from the way he was smiling at you. Or when he’d gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and your heart would start beating wildly in your chest.

You’re not really sure whether those are normal things to feel when in the presence of your best friend, but the thing is that there’s no point in dwelling on these thoughts, not now. 

Just as you’re most likely never going to see your family ever again, you’re also most likely never going to have a chance to explore those new feelings. 

„- hey, you still with me?“ 

Kai chooses that moment to break the silence and you’re glad to have your thoughts interrupted. 

You blink, forcing a pained smile on your face. „Yeah, it’s just - I … I ..“, you trail off, unable to put your thoughts into words. 

But Kai only nods, reaching for your hand and squeezing it. „Yeah, I know.“ 

Your eyes lock and when he squeezes your hand again, you somehow feel less awful. Kai’s always been that for you - a bright, hopeful spot in your otherwise dreary world. 

And he continues to be that for you during the next few days in the Capitol. 

He’s there for you, all the time. He never lets go of you, his hand is always there to catch you. 

When you stop off the train and are swarmed by Capitol citizens who all want to get to know this year’s tributes. He guides you through the crowd of eager, overbearing Capitol citizens, never once letting go of your hand. 

Then, before you’re both sent off to your prep teams, he hugs you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, promising you that it’s going to be alright, somehow. 

With his words in mind, you manage to get through the grueling procedure - you’re washed and scrubbed and cleaned until your entire skin feels irritated. At least your prep team isn’t so bad. Sure, they’re self-absorbed, somehow managing to make everything about the Hunger Games about themselves, but at least they treat you with some respect. Your stylist’s alright as well, though she puts you in the same baggy miners outfits the District Twelve tributes have been put into during these last few years. 

After being deemed as presentable for the parade, you are reunited with Kai. There’s no time to talk though, because you’re already ushered into your chariot, surrounded by all the tributes from the other Districts. 

To you, the parade’s a blur of faces and voices and your heart beating wildly in your chest, but through it all, Kai is holding your hand, steadying you, grounding you. 

„Nice touch with the hand-holding“, Haymitch tells you, as soon as you’re all back in your rooms above the training center. „The people loved it.“ 

You just nod, though you could swear that Kai’s cheeks are turning rather pink. When you try to catch his gaze, though, he turns away, excusing himself and saying that he needs to go to the bathroom. 

Then, it’s just you and Haymitch. For a moment, neither one of you says anything. 

Haymitch’s eyes find yours. He looks as if he’s debating whether to say something, but then he just sighs, and that crooked grin of his is back. „Well, you should get some rest, Princess. The next few days are going to be crucial.“ 

And with that, he leaves you as well. 

For a moment, you just stand there, looking at his retreating form, but then you decide to heed his advice and to try and get some rest. 

Only that sleep evades you for hours. That first night in the Capitol you lay awake for hours, tossing and turning. Several times the thought of going over to Kai’s room, seeking his comforting presence, crosses your mind, but you decide against it every time. He’s got enough to deal with on his own, you don’t want to distract him as well. And, if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you’re also afraid of what might happen if you decide to completely let your guard down around Kai. 

Like that one evening in the woods, some months ago, when - 

No, there’s no point in thinking about that now. Not when come morning you’re both going to be prepared for you own death. 

So, you turn over, but still, sleep evades you. You lie awake for the better part of the night, only dozing off for a few minutes at a time, until thoughts about the fate of your family or what might await you in the arena rouse you with a chilling clarity. 

The following days, it’s the exact same thing every night. 

Every evening, after a grueling day of long training sessions with the other tributes, followed by private sessions with Haymitch and Effie - Haymitch does his best to give you and Kai strategy pointers for the Games and your interview, whereas Effie concerns herself with preparing you and Kai for your interview, teaching you important Capitol manners - you’re beyond exhausted. Your head feels fuzzy and there’s barely any strength left in your body to step underneath the shower and then out of the bathroom and into your bed. But the moment your head hits the pillow, you suddenly feel wide awake, plagued by anxious thoughts of what-ifs about the Games and your loved ones back at home. 

It’s the worst the night after the interviews - the last night before the Games. 

You toss and turn for hours, scenes of the last few days replaying in your mind over and over again.

The way Kai always encouraged you during training. The way Flora and Dalton, the tributes from District Eleven - both only twelve, so incredibly young - started following you and Kai around during training. How you eventually agreed to an alliance with them, even though Haymitch tried his hardest to convince you otherwise. But you and Kai stayed strong, wanting to protect the little ones, as Kai soon took to calling them. Soon enough, the tributes from seven and nine had joined your alliance as well, their tributes not as young as Flora and Dalton, but all still younger than you and Kai. When you’d told Haymitch about Cassie, Finn, Sarah and Lucas joining your alliance, he’d only sighed, shaking his head at you. 

„Well, I guess that no matter what I’ll say, you’re not going to reconsider?“ 

„Definitely not“, you’d replied, crossing your arms in front of your chest. 

Haymitch had sighed again, though this time it sounded far more weary than just simply frustrated. „Well, I did try to warn you“, was all he’d said, before pouring himself another drink, effectively signaling the end of that particular conversation.  

Remembering that conversation with Haymitch has doubt creeping back into your mind. What if he was right in trying to discourage you from forming that alliance? What if, if it comes down to it, you won’t be able to protect all these kids? You’re fast and aced the edible plants station at training, and though you’re not entirely useless when it comes to throwing a knife, when it really comes down to it, you’re not much of a fighter. 

Kai, having had to learn how to hunt illegally to in the foods to provide for his family years ago, is good with a bow and arrow and with setting traps, but who’s to say that the arena will even have a bow and arrows? 

What if it’s like that arena a few years ago, when the whole place was a desert? What if there won’t be any weapons at all? And even if there were, there’s still the biggest question of all that’s gnawing at you - would you actually use a weapon to end another life, even if it’s self-defense or to save someone else? 

Because no matter how you might try to spin it, telling yourself that you swore to protect those kids, that you want to protect Kai or that you just want to survive - in the end, it’s still another life you’re taking, just to preserve another one. 

Suddenly, you can’t take it anymore. Your thoughts are spinning and you feel too hot underneath your sheets, so you throw them aside, standing up and leaving your room in a split-second decision. 

You have no idea of where you want to go, you just know that you can’t spend even another second in that room right now. 

In the hallway, you cross your arms in front of your chest, trying to fight off the chilly night air. Where just seconds ago, your hands were sweating and you were feeling way too hot underneath your sheets, you’re starting to freeze in your thin, satin nightclothes. They’re pretty, the fabric’s incredibly soft and they’re probably more expensive than all the clothes you own back at home put together, but they’re doing nothing to ward off the chill you’re feeling. You really should’ve grabbed a sweater to throw on over your night clothes. 

Uncertainly, you turn towards Kai’s room. 

„Can’t sleep either?“ 

You freeze. Even without turning around, you know that it’s Haymitch standing in the Hallway with you, not Kai. 

„I mean, I get it, last night before the Games and all …“ 

Slowly, you turn back around. Haymitch is standing just a few feet away from you, arms crossed in front of his chest, a small bottle of liquor in his right hand, like always. 

He looks like he’s about to say something more, but before he gets the chance to, you quickly say: „Please, not right now Haymitch.“

Your voice sounds raw and uncertain, not exactly the strong, defiant tone you were aiming for. But you really can’t handle another one of his signature sarcastic remarks, not right now, not when thoughts about what awaits you in the Arena and what might happen to your loved ones back at home have been plaguing you for hours already. 

Haymitch looks ready to retort something, but then his eyes find yours, and his expression seems to soften. „Don’t worry Princess, I was just going to say that you should really get some rest … you know, get your beauty sleep and all that.“ 

Somehow, you find yourself laughing dryly. „Beauty sleep, yeah, right.“ 

Haymitch’s eyes widen when he hears you laugh and he grins as well, but then his expression turns serious once more. „I mean it, though. Adrenaline’s only gonna get you through everything for so long.“ 

You sigh tiredly. „I know, it’s just - I can’t stop thinking about … about … about-“

„About what the arena might be like?“, Haymitch interrupts you, a knowing look in his eyes. „About how your family and friends back home are doing? What you’ll do if one of your allies doesn’t make it out of the bloodbath alive?“ 

He trails off, and for a moment, neither one of you says anything. Haymitch’s grey eyes find yours again, and suddenly his eyes seem to be full of guilt and regret. 

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his dark curls. „Look, Princess, I know that that’s not the answer you want to hear, but I don’t have the answer to any of these questions, and neither do you. And driving yourself crazy over all of the what-ifs isn’t going to do you any favors.“ 

You nod, sighing. „I know. I - I know that, I - it’s just … “

„You can’t help it“, he finishes your thought, and you nod again. 

You look at him again, and something in his expression seems to shift then. There’s a dark, heavy look in his eyes, and his lips quirk into a twisted grin. „Look, I won’t - I can’t make any promises, because who knows what these Gamemakers might have up their sleeve, but trust that I’ll be looking out for you and these kids, alright?“ 

You want to say something in reply, but suddenly your throat feels all chocked-up. There’s pressure behind your eyes as well, and you blink heavily. Haymitch thankfully doesn’t comment on it, instead averting his gaze, as you try to compose yourself again. 

„I - thank you, Haymitch really“, you finally manage to say, your voice sounding small. 

Haymitch just nods, still avoiding your gaze. „Don’t thank me just yet, just - try to stay alive, because that would make my job a whole lot easier, you know?“ 

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his words, scoffing. „I’ll try my best.“ 

„Good. And now try to get some rest, you need it“, he says, his gaze serious once more. 

You nod. „Yes, I will - I - good night, Haymitch.“ 

„Good night, Princess.“ 

For a moment, he looks at you, but then he turns around and starts to walk away. 

„Oh, and Haymitch“, you say, causing him to turn back around to look at you again, „any last advice?“ 

His grey eyes find yours, an emotion in them you that can’t quite decipher. For a moment, you find yourself unable to look away from him and you can feel your heart starting to beat faster in your chest. 

Haymitch holds your gaze, nodding, a sad smile on his lips.

„Stay alive, Princess.“ 

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read the next chapter here!

[darknight3904]

Between the Comfort and the Chaos

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ' ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴋᴀᴛɴɪꜱꜱ (ʏᴀʏ) ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɴᴏᴡ'ꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴇɴʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀʀ��ᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴏ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ "ᴏʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴡᴇɴᴛ!" ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴡ. ᴛʜᴀᴛꜱ ᴡʜʏ ɪᴛꜱ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ / ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴛ ʙᴜʀɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴ ᴀꜱᴋ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ @squidscottjeans ,ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴄᴇɪʟɪɴɢꜱ ʙʏ ʟɪᴢᴢɪᴇ ᴍᴄᴀʟᴘɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ʙʏ ɢʀᴀᴄɪᴇ ᴀʙʀᴀᴍꜱ.

Italics designate that it is a dream.

The sun is warm on his skin as his eyes meet yours. Musical laughter fills his ears and soft hair tickles his nose.

"What are you laughing at now?" He asked, his voice deep with sleep.

"Your hair is ridiculous, Coryo." You tease pointing at his head

"And who did that hmm? I seem to remember you pushing your fingers through it a thousand times last night." He replies shifting around in the soft white sheets so he's sitting upright.

"You lie! I'd never." You laugh, sitting up beside him, clothed in a soft-looking nightgown he picked out for you.

"Sure you would, you're a menace." He says, wrapping his arms around you and caging you to his chest

"How rude to say to the only person who puts up with that terrible attitude of yours!" You say trying to free yourself from his iron grip.

His muscles flex slightly and his fingers begin to tickle you.

"Coryo!" You laugh, wiggling around in his lap "Coriolanus Snow! I'm going to pee!"

He relents and lets you go at the threat of urine. Wetting the bed is unattractive.

Coriolanus wakes with his heart feeling full. A smile fights for a spot on his face amongst the wrinkles that have formed over the years.

"Now there's something you don't normally see on a dead man's face, a smile."

His smile falls and his gaze snaps to the voice. He groans and straightens up in the uncomfortable chair he dozed off in

"I'm Commander Paylor. From District 8. I wanted to see you before the Mockingjay executes you tomorrow."

Coriolanus isn't entirely sure what to say to the woman in front of him.

"You wanted to meet the monster up close?" He asks, pulling a pure white rose from its spot next to a fountain.

"Yes." She confirms.

Her voice is unshaken as he steps towards her and holds his hand with the rose out.

"Give the Girl on Fire this for me. As a gift." He requests

The woman, rebel, Paylor, slowly takes it from him, undoubtedly suspicious. He smiles when she does, a sign of good faith, but it must scare her because he can tell she's not charmed.

Unsurprisingly, his good looks had vanished years ago.

"What makes you think she'll want this?" She asks shoving the rose back at him.

"You're right, maybe she she wouldn't want it. Although perhaps she'll find me herself, then I can give it to her directly."

Paylor doesn't say another word to him and instead takes her leave. He watches her mumble something to the guards before walking. Most likely demanding that they watch him closely. Like he had somewhere he could run off to, the moment the Capitol's children were killed by bombs, he had lost any bits of support he had left.

He isn't surprised when she appears in his greenhouse. She looks laughably out of place amongst the dazzling white and green, clad in black as she admires one of his roses.

"That's a nice one."

His voice must frighten her because she spins around quickly. How easy it is to startle a bird outside of its cage. It reminds him that Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion that will kill him tomorrow is nothing more than a scared little girl.

"Nothing says perfection like white." He says, wiping at his mouth, " I was hoping you'd find your way here. There's so many things we should discuss."

Katniss walks towards him as he sits down on a bench, old knees prevent him from standing the way he wanted to. She's silent but he catches her eyes and how they watch the blood on his handkerchief.

Katniss is quiet, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I was 18 when I killed my first person. It was a boy, in the arena. I was there to rescue my friend who was stupid enough to enter the arena to administer burial rights to a District 2 boy he believed was important."

"I don't care," Katniss says getting ready to walk away, clearly uninterested in his life.

"You don't want to know the thoughts of an old man? After all, I'll be dead this time tomorrow. Then my story won't matter. I'll be nothing but pages on a history book one day. You'll be the only one to know how my mind worked back then."

His words get her to stay. Perhaps she is curious about him. Or maybe she doesn't have anything else to do, now that the Districts have taken the Capitol. How terrible it must be to lose your purpose so early on in life.

"I saved him, Sejanus Plinth, that fool. I saved him only to sign his death warrant later. Plotting to escape Panem and killing the mayor of District 12's daughter. You see, Miss Everdeen, taking life without purpose is wasteful. The mayor's daughter never did anything to Sejanus."

"You say don't take life without waste but what about your Fiancee? The one who killed herself. There have been whispers about it for as long as I can remember. I've never bought that she died on her own accord."

"Patience, Miss Everdeen." He smiles, surprised that the rumor about you still has life, he could have sworn he had covered that up perfectly.

"Have you ever heard the name Lucy Gray Baird?" He asked, genuinely curious if that foolish Covey of hers had passed her name down the way her songs had swirled around the rebellion.

"No," Katniss says

"She was a victor of the Hunger Games, just like you. The first victor of District 12 to be precise." Coriolanus watches Katniss' face as she listens, "There's nothing left of her though. She is but a whisper in the wind, I saw to that myself. I must not have done it thoroughly though, after all, you know her songs. The Hanging Tree, and that sweet song you sang that little girl who died in your arms in your first games."

Coriolanus smiles as Katniss' face knits into a mask of displeasure and anger.

"Stop it." She demands, no begs.

"Calm yourself, Miss Everdeen, I'll be finished shortly."

He watches her fists clench, suffocating the stem of the rose she picked between her fingers.

"You asked about my fiance. You're right about your theory, she didn't kill herself the way the gossips spread their lies across this country say. I rid myself of her one day, it was an accident you see. She attacked me first...I regret it though. I regret it most when I'm alone."

Coriolanus sighs, suddenly overcome with sadness as he thinks of you, Lucy Gray, and even Sejanus.

Katniss is quiet for a moment. Her fingers turn the rose over in her fingers, examining it for nonexistent imperfections.

"You deserve it. You deserve every bit of pain her death causes you. You deserve to know the pain you've caused countless families by sending their children into the games. What you've caused me and my family by killing Prim."

He can hear the emotion dripping in her voice when her sister's name leaves her lips. In a way that sister is responsible for where he is now, a prisoner in his own greenhouse.

"Yes, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your sister. I was about to release an official surrender when they released the parachutes." He says, truthfully.

"You released those parachutes," Katniss says, her tone cold.

"You think I gave the order? We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for specific reasons. I always have. There was no reason for me to destroy a pen of Capitol children."

He coughs, wiping at his mouth, wishing his sores would stop aching.

"It was a masterful move on Coin's part. It turned the last of my guards against me." He smiles "There was no resistance left in the mansion. Did you know it aired live?"

He watches as Katniss takes in his words, her face remains stoic but he can tell she understands him. Understands that Prim is dead because of the woman who is to take his place as leader of Panem.

"I'm sure she wasn't gunning for your sister...but these things happen in war."

"I don't believe you," Katniss says, determined to convince herself more than him.

"Oh my dear Miss Everdeen, I thought we had agreed never to lie to each other."

Sleep is something that has usually evaded Coriolanus Snow. Whether it be his old bones aching, the sores in his mouth, or just a busy mind, he hasn't had a peaceful night in many years.

Tonight is different though. Perhaps it was his conversation with Katniss, or maybe the fact that he would die tomorrow. Tonight Coriolanus Snow falls into a deep slumber, avoiding what his future holds.

Coriolanus!

Coriolanus!

Coryo!

He can't believe eyes. Here you are, healthy and whole in front of him. Not a winkle or smile line, pollutes your face.

You are as beautiful as the day you left him.

"Y-You're here...with me." He stammers, cursing himself for his blunder.

"Where else would I be, silly?" You smile "This is my room after all."

He glances around and sure enough, you're right. Your sunroom is here, he's in it. Coriolanus sits across from you on the plush baby blue furniture you hand-picked. It's color is as vibrant as ever, not faded like the last time he saw it. Your overflowing desk is to his on his right, burdened with books, drawings, and wildflowers of every color.

"You look lost, Coryo." You observe, taking a sip from the tea cup in front of you.

He takes in your appearance. A pretty sundress sits on your figure. Its yellow flowers make you look as delicate as the teacup in front of him. Your hair is done immaculately and a soft touch of makeup enhances your already stunning features.

"I'm sorry." He suddenly blurts out

"For what?" You ask

" I'm sorry for looking like this." He apologizes, suddenly self-conscious that he's an old man.

"Looking like what?" Your musical voice fills his ears.

Suddenly a mirror is there, in his lap. He looks down and is met with a familiar yet unfamiliar face. Sure, his reflection stares back at him as it always is. But, this time he is met with how he looked the day he killed you. His youth is back, curly hair a mess on his head, out of the confines of the gel he used to slick it back. It is styled just the way you like it.

"Are you sorry for anything else?" You ask sweetly

Coriolanus thinks for a split second that you're testing him. But what reason would you have?

"For everything that happened between us. I regret it all." He admits

Silence feels like a weight on his chest as he waits for you to speak.

"Do you regret what you did to me then? How we ended?" You ask

He can't look at you as he disgests your words.

"Yes." He says, his voice barely a whisper.

"Look at me, Coriolanus."

His gaze remains down, has he always been wearing blue socks?

"Look at me, Coriolanus!"

"Look at me!"

"Look at me!"

"Look at me!"

His eyes open to meet the bright light of a flashlight being shown into his eyes.

"He's still alive." A gruff voice says, switching the light off.

"Unfortunately." Another snickers " Here I thought we might get to tell Coin he died of old age."

"Stay alive, snake. We want a good show tomorrow when Katniss shoots you." The first one says tossing him backward onto the small cot that has been placed in his greenhouse for him.

"You're a monster, Coriolanus."

Your voice. It's you!

He turns around and there you are, a gray scarf has been added to your outfit. It's out of place and clashes with your pretty yellow dress. He wants to tell you to get rid of it.

"I'm not." He denies

"You are. Look what you did to Sejanus, to Lucy Gray, to me, to every child who ever stepped foot in an arena. There were never any victors, not really, only you." You hiss

"It is the order of things." He tries to defend his actions, hearing you spout this incorrect information is angering him. Every life he has ever ended has served a greater purpose.

"Snow lands on top, isn't that how it goes?"

Your words send a shiver down his spine.

"I wish I could have changed what happened to you." He says

"No, you don't. You wanted to do it. You wanted to hurt me." You spit

"No, I didn't you're wrong. I never meant for any of that to happen!" He panics, wishing your harsh tone would stop. He haunches over elbows resting on his knees, hands over his ears like a child.

"Yes, you did." You say

He looks up at you now. The ugly scarf is gone but Coriolanus wishes for its return. Deep purple bruises mar your once-perfect skin. From his position, he can see the chinks of the chain that had pressed into your skin.

"You can't even accept what you did to me. You're disgusting, Coryo."

And just like that you're gone. A figment of his imagination comes to life and vanishes just like that.

His chest heaves as he wipes his bloody lips on his deep red robe. His heart rate slows and he wishes someone would bring him a warm cup of tea to soothe his burning throat. Perhaps those guards might indulge him.

A low whistle reaches his ears as he fiddles with the string that sticks out of his pillowcase.

I've taken some hits, so

No wonder I'm wary.

It's why I

Need you-

You're as pure as the driven snow.

Lucy Gray Baird's sweet voice fills his ears for the first time in decades.

"Hello, Coriolanus." She greets him, stepping out from behind a display of roses.

"What do you want?" He snaps

"Well now, there's no need to be rude." She scolds

"Say your piece I'm tired." He says, uninterested in playing her games

"Ah, did she tire you out? She's feisty. I understand why you went back to the Capitol for her." Lucy Gray says

"No, you don't. You barely even met her." He says

"Now thats where you're wrong. She and I know each other well. After all, we're connected through you." Lucy Gray taunts

"You're not real!" He exclaims. "You're gone! Nothing but a whisper of songbird chatter left behind in the woods of District 12!"

His outburst doesn't faze Lucy Gray Baird who smiles at him.

" I can see you're not interested in talking to me the way you did her."

"You're right, I'm not," Coriolanus confirms, wishing Lucy Gray would disappear again.

"Very well, then. I'll leave you to it, then."

The rest of the night is sleepless for Coriolanus. He lays on his back and tries to shake the whispers that flood his mind. Your voice dances with Lucy Gray's tonight, taunting him, driving him mad. Lucy Gray's singing swirls through him like a thick fog over city lights and clouds his mind. At some point, you join in and Coriolanus can't even fathom how you've learned the words of a ghost's songs.

The sun has arisen by the time your voices finally go quiet. He suspects the guards that stand outside his greenhouse doors will come to lead him to his execution any moment now.

"Did you ever stop and think that what you were doing was wrong?"

Sejanus Plinth. He should have known his mind would save the most annoying for last.

"I've never viewed my actions as wrong. Maybe I didn't mean them all but they all served a purpose." Coriolanus affirms, not bothering to look at Sejanus who is apparently behind him.

Sejanus lets out an amused laugh and Coriolanus feels his blood boil. What does a dead boy have to laugh at? He is the one who got to live a long life, not Sejanus Plinth.

"You meant every wrong you've ever committed, Coryo. You're a monster that's going to burn in the deepest pits of hell."

He finally turns, ready to rip Sejanus apart for his words and the use of his personal nickname, a name reserved for you only. He is ready to send Sejanus back to whatever corner of his mind he resided in but is met with nothing but roses.

He runs a hand over his face. Coriolanus Snow has never felt more weary than he does now. He wishes to bury his head beneath his blankets and let the world melt away.

He never gets a chance though because as he relaxes back into his mattress, the greenhouse doors open, signaling his time here has come to a close.

"Get up." a voice orders "It's time."

Coriolanus can see Katniss Everdeen growing closer with every beat of the drums that play. The bow in her hand is as pitch black as the costume she wears. A soft breeze threads its way through the tense scene as he awaits his doom. He's not so worried about it now, his mind has dragged him through the dirt so much within the past twelve hours that he wants an out. He never wants the ability to listen to Sejanus' garbage or Lucy Gray's sweet voice, Coriolanus doesn't even want to have another conversation with you in your sunroom.

No that's not it. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he does want some of those things back. Maybe not Sejanus or Lucy Gray but he does yearn for you. He wants you to wrap your arms around him and tell him it's alright. He wants to sit down with you and exist with you in between the comfort and the chaos of this world. He wants you to stay by his side and say that you didn't mean to say that you disgust him.

Maybe none of it was real. No none of it was. You had left him that night in the basement. Your eyes had glazed over and you had stopped fighting him and the chain that brought about your doom.

He can feel hysteria creeping into his mind as Katniss Everdeen stops walking. Behind her, the victors that escaped him stand tall. He catches the gaze of Peeta Mellark, the boy he had kept in your room after he used tracker jacker venom on him.

Three birds fly over him, they flap their wings in perfect harmony. Their black feathers are a stark contrast to the light blue sky that he stares up at now. Coin's words fall on deaf ears as he ignores her whole speech.

"Mockingjay...may your aim be as true as your heart is pure."

Coriolanus watches Katniss Everdeen release her arrow. He expects something, perhaps a dazzling white light or maybe even pitch darkness but it never comes. Instead horrified gasps fill his ears and the thud of a body.

Coriolanus doesn't have to even try to turn around to see what has happened. He knows what the Mockingjay has done to what was Panem's future.

Time slows down as the mob behind her rushes forward. The birds have flown away, off to start a different life, away from darkness and all things bad.

His laughter rings in his ears as his eyes comb the crowd. He can't see much but the red rouge of an academy uniform catches his eyes, accompanied by a flash of rainbow. Sejanus, Lucy Gray. What were they doing here? They couldn't possibly be in the crowd that was running towards him.

They're growing closer, the mob that will end his life. He looks at them, ready to let go. They collide with him, their fists are brutal but justified and he can feel his end rapidly approaching.

"Coryo."

And there it is, at last. Your sweet voice is calling him home.

Thank you for reading this little bonus story. If you enjoyed it please comment, like, or reblog! I love getting feedback. Follow me for more content or check out my master list.

Taglist:

@katherines-imagines

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@snowtargaryen

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[voxslays]

Just read sunrise on the reaping….

POOR MAYSILEE. Killed by the dumb flamingo ass birds 😭😭😭

[xxtherookxx]

After reading sotr, I’ve doubled down on the idea that this is me trying by Taylor Swift is absolutely Haymitch’s song

[tatumrileyslover]

Accidentally wrote 1k words on what was supposed be a “plot idea” for a Haymitch fic so I wouldn’t forget my idea when I woke up. It was supposed to be like 10 sentences max.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Really wanna write something for Haymitch now.

[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.

[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]

heyyy i’ve been recently going into a a sotr spiral and am obsessed with the idea of a haymitch x everdeen!reader (burdocks sibling) and was wondering if you could write a fic on that??

YES OFC OMG

Someday, One Day.

young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader content warnings: none!! (SLIGHT SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!) summary: a crush on your big brother’s best friend wc: 1.9k

masterlist.

For the longest time, you've had a crush on the one and only Haymitch Abernathy. From his olive skin, his dark curly hair, and gray eyes you've been hooked. He had you wrapped around his finger since you were thirteen. Maybe even earlier than that.

The only problem?

He was your big brother's best friend.

You’d grown up watching them together, the two of them inseparable in the way that only childhood friends could be. Haymitch was always there, laughing at Burdock’s dumb jokes, sharing stories that made you blush or roll your eyes. You were just the little sister who tagged along, always feeling like the third wheel.

Until you weren’t.

Until Haymitch started looking at you differently.

Every now and then, you’d catch him staring. His gaze would linger a little too long, his smile would falter. And when he spoke to you, it was never quite the same as how he talked to everyone else.

Especially when he called you “sweetheart."

It was dangerous, that nickname. It made your heart flutter in a way you could never explain. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him act affectionate before; he had a way with people, a teasing warmth that made everyone feel like they were his best friend. But when he said it to you, it felt different. It made you feel like maybe...just maybe he saw you as more than just Burdock’s little sister.

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

“Someday, one day,” you’d whisper to yourself late at night, as you stared at the stars, convincing yourself that it was nothing more than a silly crush. You weren’t anything special, just another face in the crowd.

Still, those moments, those stolen looks, kept you wondering. Was there something there? Or was it just a product of your overactive imagination? You’d never know.

The woods were always your escape. Burdock had shown you a safe way to them, so when things got too loud at home, when the world felt too heavy, you’d wander out here, into the quiet stillness, where you could be alone with your thoughts. The sunset was just beginning to stain the sky a deep orange, casting a soft glow over the trees and the dirt path beneath your boots. You felt a sense of peace as you walked, the rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig beneath your feet the only sounds that accompanied you.

You had been walking for a while when you heard it, a soft crunch of leaves behind you, a familiar step. You froze. Then the voice you had been secretly hoping wouldn’t find you called out, low and teasing.

“You get lost, sweetheart?”

You turned to see Haymitch emerging from the tree line, his figure framed by the fading light of the sunset. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual cocky grin was replaced with something softer. Something almost hesitant. He always seemed to know where to find you, didn’t he?

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

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

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

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

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

He took a few more steps toward you, his boots soft on the forest floor. The last rays of sunlight caught in his curls, and for a brief moment, he looked almost... like he belonged here, in the quiet of the woods, far away from the noise of the village.

“I mean,” Haymitch started, his voice quieter now, “you see the world differently than most people. You don’t just see the mess. You see the moments in between. The things most people miss. Even in people...Even in me."

You swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through your chest show. Was this just some Haymitch thing, where he’d tease and then leave you wondering what he meant?

"What are you talking about, Haymitch?" Haymitch stopped in his tracks, just a few feet away from you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt thick, full of something unsaid. Then, he stepped forward, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was warm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should be doing this.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard. “But you do?”

His laugh was soft. “Every damn day.”

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

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

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

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

You stared at him, speechless, your mind reeling. The boy you’d secretly hoped might feel the same way was standing here in front of you, his gray eyes filled with longing. Slowly, you took a step forward, your voice barely a whisper.

“So...you...you like me? Like that?”

Haymitch’s gaze softened, and his smile was gentle now, sincere. “More than you’ll ever know."

You stood there, frozen, heart pounding in your chest. His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, it felt like time had completely stopped. You’d spent so long wondering if this was just a fantasy, if you were just imagining something that wasn’t there. But now, standing in the dimming light of the woods, with Haymitch Abernathy looking at you like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had, it felt real. Too real.

Haymitch seemed to sense your hesitation, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between you. His presence, so familiar and yet so different in this moment, made your breath catch. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss you. How many times I’ve stopped myself because I didn’t want to make everything weird…but I can’t anymore. Not after everything I’ve been feeling. Not after how much I’ve missed this.”

Your stomach fluttered at his confession, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. You had dreamed about this. Dreamed about him confessing, about him seeing you, about him wanting you, but the reality of it was still overwhelming.

“Haymitch…” you started, your voice trembling with emotion. But before you could say anything more, he reached up, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t even want to.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, as if asking for permission. You barely breathed, your pulse rushing in your ears, but you nodded slightly, unable to put words together. It was all you could do.

Haymitch closed the gap then, his lips soft and hesitant at first, as if testing the waters, feeling his way through the moment. When you kissed him back, just the smallest motion of your lips against his, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. All the years of stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, it was all there in that kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way his hand cradled your face, the feeling of being held by someone who wanted you, needed you. It was overwhelming.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. His gray eyes were darker now, filled with something raw and unguarded. His thumb traced the line of your jaw gently, as if making sure this moment wasn’t just a dream.

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

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

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

He kissed you again, this time deeper, more certain. The world seemed to fade away as you kissed him beneath the trees, the sounds of the forest around you fading into a distant hum. It was just the two of you now, and nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the complications, not the fears.

For once, there was no hesitation, no wondering what could be. There was only Haymitch and the way he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. And for the first time in years, you felt like the world had stopped spinning, just for the two of you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Haymitch rested his forehead against yours again, his hands gentle on your shoulders. “You’re something else, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “I’ve never wanted anything more than this.”

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

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught in the quiet of the woods, where nothing could disturb you, not even the past. It was just you and him. And for once, that was enough.

[coweye]

The Life of Victor Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

❝The games don't end when you get back home, from now on your job is to be a distraction, so people forget what the real problems are. ❝

Following the life of a district 12 victor on the slow road to the revolution.

Warning: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of non-con (no description.) Snow's Panem is hell. Eventual Smut 18+. Please don't read if any of this too much for you my sweet angels.

Act I : The before Part One

68th Hunger Games

You were 18 years old on the fateful day your name was plucked from the dreaded glass bowl.

It was no small feat, to have made it through six reapings unscathed, watching on year after year as acquaintances and strangers alike were marched to the Capitol to meet their grisly ends. 

It had been your final year and your mother had always been steadfast in her refusal for you to take tessera, meaning your name was only in the bowl six times.  The odds were entirely in your favor, until suddenly they weren’t.

“Y/N L/N.” Effie Trinket, district 12’s escort for the 68th Hunger Games calls out in her tinkling Capitol lilt.

No one leaps to valiantly volunteer in your place - after all why should they? 

You hadn’t volunteered when 13-year old Violet Swane had been chosen last year. No, you had watched on in stony silence as she whimpered her way up onto the stage, then again not six days later as she was disemboweled at the cornucopia. 

Squaring your shoulders and swallowing your terror, you make your way to the stage, doing your very best to not look back at your wailing mother for fear of allowing the horror to consume you. 

You stare blankly as your mother sobs whilst she holds you, you can only watch feeling utterly empty as she’s dragged away after a teary goodbye and then as Effie tells you how much of a lucky young lady you are.

It's many hours later whilst sitting at the dinner table that you finally face what has now become your reality.

“You’ve got a good chance, kid.” Your mentor Haymitch Abernathy praises cheerily though his voice has a hollow edge to it, his horrific words wake you from your catatonia. 

The victor from 18 years ago sits opposite you and your district partner, he’s utterly belligerent in his intoxication.  “You’re old enough to make a real difference. If we get a little meat on those bones of yours you’ve got some real potential - they’re all pretty young!”

Haymitch is animated for the first time in hours as the three of you watch the reapings from the other districts, the glass of amber liquid sloshing dangerously in Haymitch’s palm is clearly the cause of this. 

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Hazel flinching.  Your mentor's artificially buoyant words not quite landing the same for the thirteen year-old boy at your side.

Hazel sniffs, his despondent mask of bravery slipping. He stares at Haymitch forlorn, as if the man who had broken him down in the first place would ever offer him any comfort.

As expected the drunk makes no effort to fix his faux pas, only taking a deep sip from his glass shrugging at your harsh gaze as if to say ‘not my problem’.

It was only natural that Hazel’s round grey eyes turned to you. The fat tears streaking his cheeks made your stomach drop and it was a struggle to reclaim your voice.

“Don’t cry.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak your first words since leaving your home for the reaping this morning. You see Haymitch rise in his seat in your peripheral vision but you pay him little mind.

“Sorry.” Hazel sniffs fighting to regain control. You want nothing more than to indulge and join him in a sob, but you have the feeling if you started crying you’d never stop. 

“I am not killing children.” Your voice is harsh, even to your own ears. 

“You wait until those children start swinging their axes at you. Something tells me you’ll change your mind real quick. .”

As it turns out, Haymitch was right; on both accounts.

You are the only tribute over the age of fifteen in the arena, which is a definite advantage. 

Your body is bigger, your mind is clearer. You don’t quite have the muscle density of the careers, your week of weight gain wasn’t quite enough to equal the playing field entirely but they aren’t your primary focus. 

You are practically dragging Hazel behind you as you trudge through the frozen tundra that is the 68th arena, hoping against hope to put some distance between yourself and the other tributes. 

Scarlet is blossoming through the thick white fabric of the boy's winter coat from where Lux, the girl from 1’s, arrow pierced his shoulder. Your gloved fingers have gone numb from the grip they have on the fabric of his coat, but you can’t relent. 

You have done your best to treat and bind the wound, but without the sponsor gift that refuses to arrive you know Hazel’s days were numbered. 

“Y/n…. Y/N. Please… I can’t.” He begs as he stumbles in the knee deep snowfall.

“Hazel! She’s hunting us!” You gasp breathlessly at the thirteen year old. You stop for a moment to take stock. The thirteen year old is gray from the bloodloss, his eyes have gone glassy and unfocused. 

The end isn’t far off for your little ally, but you’ve never been good at facing the facts and this truth is far too awful to accept. 

“Leave me… please Y/N. I'm so tired, I want to go to sleep…” Your eyes water, though you replace your agony with rage, an easier emotion to digest in this arena. Nowhere is safe anymore, the only thing you know for certain is that death is chomping at your heels.

“Don’t be so damn stupid!” You hiss and grab at his coat to pull him along. Though the second your hand makes contact with the white fabric, red splatters in your face. 

You taste the iron on your lips as your brain struggles to consolidate the warm liquid on your face with the horror of Hazel’s throat being pierced with a black tipped arrow.

Blood spurts out, soaking your own coat ruby. The boy panics and grabs at you and in your shock you haven't the wherewithal to push him away.

Lux aims another arrow, you aren’t sure if she’s playing with you or if she’s just a bad shot as her second arrow lodges itself in Hazel’s chest. You think you have your answer when in quick succession a third pierces his spine.

Your breath shudders out of you as she uses your little friend as a pin cushion. 

The light has drained from his eyes. Hazel falls to the floor in a pool of his own blood without your hands on him keeping him steady.  

You’re on her before she can notch another godforsaken arrow.

You aren’t a born and bred fighter like her.

Hell, before this arena, the most confrontation you’d had was sharply telling the Mellark boys to stop hitting your mothers storefront with their ball. 

You are fueled by injustice, grief and above all a burning rage.

Lux, however, is a born weapon. 

With ease, she blocks your swing, utilizing her bow to keep you at bay. The two of you are locked in a stalemate, pushing against one another. Desperately grappling, you know your longer arms are the only thing keeping the fourteen year old at bay as she smirks at your blood covered face.

Instantaneously it becomes clear to you with that smirk; Lux had filled Hazel with all those arrows on purpose. 

Something happens within you at this sadistic realization. 

Animal instinct takes over as you pull back and slam your forehead against hers. In an instant you quite simply don’t care if you die, so long as you take this evil little bitch with you. 

She's discombobulated, but so are you. 

The girl grabs at your coat to steady herself, though her hands can't find purchase on the slick fabric. In her frustration Lux shoves you hard enough to make you lose your footing, though you manage to grab her fur lined hood.

The two of you tumble down the incline you had just spent the better part of an hour hiking.

Everything aches as your body finally comes to a stop at the bottom. 

You are back at the stream at the base, the one you had used to clean Hazel's wound. He had called it beautiful, as he had been utterly enraptured by the flowing water.

Your grief is agony as you force yourself to your feet, though you needn’t have bothered, as Lux swings her fist at your face. 

The punch is devastatingly accurate. Her years of training drop you on your ass as you stagger backwards, unable to find your footing, having taken far too many blows to the skull for a 24-hour period. 

Stumbling, you fall backwards, right into the stream. 

Fuck.

The water is freezing, though freezing isn’t strong enough of a word for the numbness that takes over your limbs the second it touches your flesh. Your arms are instantly heavy and sluggish. 

All of a sudden Lux is on you,  sitting on your chest and using her entire body weight to force your shoulders down below the flowing river stealing all of the oxygen from your lungs.

You can barely stand to open your eyes as the flow of the water burns at your corneas, your legs are splashing frantically in the weak current desperate to find purchase and unseat her. 

It’s of no use. Your boots slide against the silt of the river bed as if it’s made of ice. Despite your larger frame you can’t get a foothold significant enough to buck her. 

In an act of sheer desperation you heave your chest forward allowing your head to surface for less than a millisecond before she regains control and forces your shoulders back under with strength you could never hope to muster after a life-time of scraping by in twelve.

Your mad gasp for breath does more harm than good as what little oxygen you manage to inhale is of little consequence when compared to the sting of the water that follows it.

You are going to die. 

It is primal. 

That singular thought shuts down your already panicking brain. With your heart pounding in your ears there is no time to be smart, no time for careful calculations.

You are going to die. 

Your animal instinct kicks in. Your palm, the one that her foot isn’t painfully grinding into the sediment, wraps around a smooth rock about the size of a fist on the bed of the river. 

You are going to die.

With the stone in your grasp you flail your non-dominant hand wildly in her general direction. Against all odds it connects with something solid and her weight shifts allowing your head to finally surface.

Breathless but alive - you’re not sure if it's your wingspan advantage or sheer dumb luck but you don’t linger on it long enough to thank the sadistic God that had put you in this arena in the first place.

Black patches infiltrate your vision as you desperately try to refill your lungs. You’re delirious with a cocktail of fear and oxygen deprivation - scarcely a moment away from passing out. 

Somewhere in your deprived brain you notice that Lux has a head wound she’s cradling as she crawls up the river bank disorientated, trying and failing to put space between the two of you.  

You had clocked her hard, blood was gushing from her wound.

You are going to die.

She begs you for her life as you advance clumsily stumbling on the loose mud of the riverbank. 

Lux pleads with you but it’s not a rational decision you make, it's no choice at all, it’s that  fear again, consuming you entirely until there’s nothing left of the person you were.  Reduced to nothing more than the animal the Captiol believed you to be.

Shamefully, you don’t think of Hazel as you bring down the rock on her skull.

Your animal brain has taken over, the need to kill to make yourself safe has taken over. 

You hit her over and over and over again until she doesn’t look like Lux anymore. 

A scream you're not sure is even your own echoes through the arena. Your lungs burn with every breath and your hands are now once again covered in the crimson of blood, only this time there’s some brain matter stuck to your flesh.

Those black patches return though this time they’re a welcome reprieve, as the world fades away to the sound of the canons. 

The surgical smell is the first thing that hits you. 

That disinfectant aroma that burns your nostrils as you awake with a start. Somehow you’re right back in that hospital bed, your arms and legs restrained. 

You scream for help, for your mother, for anyone that can ease the burn in your veins. 

Only when you feel warm flesh against yours do you realize there are no doctors pumping their poisons into your veins, no game makers currently plotting your diabolical torture, only haymitch holding you against his warm chest.

The scent of him, grain alcohol mixed with something that smells like bergamot and home encompasses you, slowly acting as an improvised calming agent to your nervous system.

“I’ve got you.” He grunts, holding you close as frantic tears pour down your face and you struggle to orientate yourself. “Say it… say it, sweetheart.”

You attempt to gather yourself, and it takes every ounce of strength left in you to repeat back your mantra to him. “I’m … Y/N … L/N, I … I’m … back home..  in twelve … I am…  safe.”

It takes four times all the way through to ground you, for the lingering pit in your stomach to recede back into the barely-manageable anxiety that has accompanied  you through your day to day life ever since leaving the arena. 

The two of you sit like this; with your forehead buried deep in his neck for an amount of time you have no way of quantifying. 

Eventually though, his large hand begins stroking your hair offering you what little comfort he can. 

Little does he know, his mere presence calms your soul as before long your breath has evened out. 

It's a little while after that before your brain begins firing again, albeit sluggishly, partly from the night terrors but also due to the sleep syrup open capped on your bedside table.

Haymitch doesn’t say a single word in this time, he simply holds you against him. 

First your mentor, now your friend. 

In his palm he holds out a tiny white tablet from the Captiol.

“Take it.”  He grunts when you hesitate. 

You recognise this tiny pill, it's a sedative. You’re well versed in their effects in the years since your games, the tortuous three years as a mentor hadn’t helped your mental state. 

You and sleep were no longer on speaking terms.

The nightmares had driven you to seek your neighbor out, normally a reclusive man.

Haymitch had become your only family in the years that followed the games. Your mother had passed before you even made it home, there were ridiculous rumors she had died of a broken heart, but you knew the seamstress had most likely failed due to the stress of watching you fight for your life in the arena.

She had died thinking you were doomed. Part of you is glad she never saw the monster you became. 

Despite your initial and overwhelming dislike of Haymitch, the shared trauma of the arena had bonded your souls in a way that went far beyond the realms of logical reasoning.

In spite of his best efforts to dissuade you, every year for three weeks before the annual reapings you had begun taking up residence in one of his spare rooms when the empty halls of your home in Victor's Village made your nerves unbearable.

There was nothing in this world you hated more than being alone.

Your fingers brush against his palm as they pinch the tiny pill that you know will bring you the temporary abyss you yearn for.

In a decision fueled by the grief of the coming days, you reach Haymitch's hip. Your fingers wrap around the flask attached to the buckle of his trousers.

“Sweetheart-” He protests for all of a second, before your eyes meet his. He must see the desperation that lurks beneath them. He acquiesces the flask, filled with what smells like paint stripper. Yet you take a gulp or three and then swallow down the pill with the fourth.

Pulling back you’re now vaguely embarrassed of your behavior and you’re acutely aware of his tired eyes watching you. Your legs have gone to sleep and you can only assume Haymitch is far worse off as he has nearly twenty-years on you and has been bearing your weight, yet he hasn’t voiced a complaint once. 

It's with that thought that you realize you must present a truly sorry state indeed, for the snarky bastard that is your closest friend to not have tossed a single jape your way, you decide to push your luck. 

“Don’t-” your voice is hoarse when you finally gather the courage to speak, you’re terrified that uttering the words will break the spell and his warm encompassing embrace will abandon you, leaving you to the cold sheets and fear of the weeks to come. “Will you stay with me, just til’ I’m asleep?” 

Haymitch stares you down seemingly weighing up your request, his eyes aren’t angry or annoyed at your request. They give away nothing of the inner workings of his complex brain, his baby blues are quite simply exhausted in a way that goes far beyond a lack of sleep. 

Haymitch says nothing, only nods his head towards your haphazardly strewn pillows, which are a mess from your tossing and turning. You’re quick to leap across the bed to fluff them up as if this will entice him to stay, though you needn't have bothered as he throws himself down into the pile with very little care. 

He huffs out a long suffering breath as he gets comfortable and pulls the duvet up to his chest before finally settling.

“You better not get handsy in the night, Sweetheart.”

You chuckle though you’re already face down in your pillow, the tablet and booze making an excellent pairing in your descent into oblivion. 

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself, old man.”

He chuckles at your muffled words as he crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve awoken to him holding you after a nightmare, it had become something of a tradition in the weeks before the last two reapings when your shrill screams disturbed whatever it was Haymitch did all night. It is, however, the first time that he’s agreed to stay.

To some degree you understood this distance he was desperate to maintain. It was a relatively easy logical leap to understand his reluctance to give Snow any leverage to use against him.

As a Victor, caring was a weakness, you knew this better than most and yet, you couldn’t help but watch him as your eyes grew heavy.  

⇢ Next Part✨ coming soon

[maysileeewrites]

bittersweet symphony || series masterlist  

Haymitch Abernathy x f!reader 

“There might be another option, though”, he says hesitantly. “I don’t know whether it’ll work, and you’re sure as hell not going to like it, Princess.” 

You sigh, trying to brace yourself for the worst. “Just tell me.” 

He laughs dryly, avoiding your gaze. “Well, we could get - you could marry me.” 

Or: Eleven years after the second Quarter Quell, Haymitch Abernathy’s life takes a sudden turn for the unexpected when your name is drawn in the Reaping. 

After weathering through a less than ideal start, you slowly start to realize that there’s more to Haymitch than just the drunk, cynical recluse you’ve always known him to be. And though he’d never wanted it to happen, Haymitch starts to feel the walls he’d built to keep everyone away crumbling whenever he’s around you as well. 

But the Capitol, and especially President Snow is always watching, and soon enough Haymitch finds himself faced with an impossible choice …

contents & t.w.: mentions of canon-typical violence; angst!!, arranged marriage; slow-burn with a sprinkle of enemies to lovers; age gap! (Haymitch is in his late twenties, Reader is 18 at the start of the story); mentions & discussions of alcoholism; mentions of trauma; eventual smut in later parts; lots and lots of pining and mutual notions of unrequited love; spoilers for SotR (we’ll be encountering many familiar faces throughout the story - also there will be some canon-divergence concerning Haymitch’s arc post-SotR)

AN: After finishing SotR, I just wanted to give Haymitch a big hug. And that’s kind of how this incredibly self-indulgent fic came to be. 

I will try to do my best to honor his love for Lenore Dove in a way that doesn’t disregard his growing feelings for Reader. Yes, she’s is an incredibly important part of him and he’ll always love her, but he also deserves some happiness.

Also James Gaisford will forever be my og young Haymitch, so I used a pic of him for the moodboard, even though the Haymitch we’ll encounter here is over a decade older than QQ Haymitch.

key: 🦋 fluff || 🪷 angst || 💫 smut

Prologue 🪷🪷 || After being reaped for the 61st Hunger Games, you and your mentor Haymitch Abernathy are off to a rather rocky start … 

Chapter 1 🪷🦋 || Surviving the Hunger Games was only the beginning. As you try to navigate through this strange, terrifying new life, you find comfort in someone you least expected it from, but new threats are already rising … 

taglist: @sundawn1990 @star611 @psychicfartvendor @madz22 @pervigilatrix @bemissconstrued @neonawax @not-the-teen-witch @luvlyluxx @cocastyle @mannythemunchkin @alitaar @juiceboxfullofslime @imonmyvigilanteshh @queenofnightdreamland @chenellearose @bluecookies08 @laramcflyyyy @nikki-is-a-nerd @jaybbygrl @face-the-grace-blog @knights-of-ni @mel3484 @heidiland05 @qtkarma @things-i-will-never-say-to-you @nyra-42 @eatmyheartdear @jarofshells @fanfiction-she-wrote

[supersaddoubled]

something to fight for

haymitch abernathy x reader

warnings: fluff, trauma, alcoholism, angst, depression, age gap, pet names, mentions of death and violence, most things you would expect to be involved in thg lmao. also just bad writing could be a warning, we will see

wc: 4.1k

a/n: nobody writes for haymitch and i'm going crazy waiting for sotr, don't mind me and my minimum proofreading <3

The soft morning sun brightens the dim kitchen, rays dancing off the colorful glass on the table. The smell of freshly baked cake and homemade icing permeates the still air in the house. It’s early yet, most people remain bundled in their beds due to the nature of the day. Normally you would have been the same, staying coddled in the thin blankets atop your bed as long as possible on a day when you will learn which two children will be sent to die this year. Yet, you were up before the sun, heading to the cold kitchen where you had hidden all the necessary ingredients. After all, today is no longer the same day for you.

Today is Haymitch’s birthday.

You had grown up with the knowledge of Haymitch. Obviously as twelve’s only living victor, he was quite well known. You watched him age himself tenfold through alcohol he certainly could only have obtained in the Hob. Your observant, young eyes noted the way worry lines etched themselves upon his face before you had even aged out of the Reaping. He was only sixteen years your senior, yet he often felt aged beyond that of your parents. Funny how spending your life alone at the whim of the Capitol after witnessing mass amounts of death and agony as a child will do that to you.

After successfully going through your teen years without being sent into a death arena by the government, you became well acquainted with odd jobs in your community. Wealth wasn’t exactly well known by your family, unfortunately, love never put food on the table. You spent most of your childhood watching your mother tailor the clothes of miners. Interestingly, cheap fabric that has already been passed down for a few years doesn’t tend to hold up in rough working conditions. Your father was a jack of all trades, always finding something to do to earn money for your family. Thankfully, he had the foresight to pass along some of his knowledge to you, well aware that he would not stumble upon a small fortune before you were grown. 

After a year or two of hopping from job to job, an idea struck you. Though it was a bit outlandish and if we’re being honest, anxiety inducing, it would pay off if you could make it happen. 

What if you could get hired by twelve’s victor?

Based on his own physical appearance as well as that of his house, he was in desperate need of a housekeeper. Or maybe even just someone to run errands for him? The point was, you could make a lot more money out of a victor than you ever would from the impoverished citizens of twelve.

After a few weeks of deliberating and working up the courage, you found yourself in the Victor’s Village, feet planted in the snow in front of Haymitch Abernathy’s door. Clouds escaped your mouth with every deep breath you took to assure yourself. Your eyes wandered to the windows, covered by what looked to be ragged old sheets so no one could peer in. You weren’t really even sure if he was in there, but you hadn’t seen him wandering the square in a drunken stupor today, so you assumed he must be here. After a few minutes of staring at the door nervously, as though it were the only thing between you and immediate regret, your numb fingers raised from your side to rap on the door. 

Little to no noise was heard after a moment, so you knocked again, this time with more force. Something seemed to hit the ground inside, as you heard a heavy thud, before the sound of a chair scraping the floor followed by shuffling feet. The noise paused for a moment right as it seemed to reach the door, before suddenly the wood between you and the stale air inside the house was ripped open. 

Haymitch’s eyes took in your nervous, freezing form. He looked like he hadn’t changed clothes or left one room in the house for days. He stood there wordlessly, waiting for an explanation as to why in the hell this random girl had come pounding on his door in the middle of winter.

“Hi.” You waved and tried to sound confident, but your voice wavered on quite possibly the simplest word you could have said.

Haymitch remained silent, his glare seemed more frigid than the air outside.

“I’m- uh, I’m looking for local work,” you began, trying to keep a smile on your face to seem as personable as possible. “I thought you might be looking for someone to, umm help you out? Like, around the house or something?” Your cheery attitude was lessening with every word that left your mouth with zero reaction from the hardened man before you.

After a silence that seemed to drag on for what felt like hours, he finally spoke.

“Why the hell would I need that?”

Shit. You can’t exactly spout off that he seems to be an emotional and physical wreck and that his house is probably qualifiable as a biohazard at this point.

“Well, I’m not saying you need that necessarily. I just thought maybe you-” He interrupts before you can finish your weak explanation.

“You think I can’t take care of my own house, kid? You think I’m lookin’ for handouts?”

Panic. It’s too late to run away from the house and never look back, you’re officially on the verge of pissing off one of the few people with power in the district. Luckily, your self blame and pity was built in as someone born in the poorest district in Panem.

“I don’t think anything, really. I’m just looking for a job, ya know? That pays money. And you seem to be maybe the only person around here with money, so I thought it was worth a shot. I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything, I’m just kind of, um, poor?” Your words flow out like blood from a stab wound, all sense of manners and normal human introductions out the window in a sad attempt to save your metaphorical–and maybe physical–ass from being handed to you.

He looks at you for a moment, taking in everything you just said. Finally, as you are about to run back home and plan on avoiding him for the rest of your life, he quietly chuckles. You are immensely confused, not sure whether this is a bad sign or a good one.

“I appreciate the honesty.” He says with a small smirk. His eyes meet yours with a renewed spark that wasn’t there moments before, your nerves increase, though for a new reason.

Your fingers tug at your gloved hands, anxiously awaiting some more information from him. 

“What exactly do you do?” he asks, arms folding in front of his chest.

It takes a moment for you to find your tongue, once you realize he is asking you a question.

“Well, um, I can do a lot of stuff. I clean, I cook, I know how to sew, I can garden, I mean.. anything really.” A nervous laugh punctuates your sentence, shocked that you didn’t blow this yet.

He nods, thinking for a moment. His gaze falls to the snow covering the entryway of his home. After a minute of consideration, his eyes return to yours.

“We start off small, don’t get the idea that this is permanent, this is a test drive. You can come in once a week and do some cleaning. Once I see how that goes I’ll think about changin’ your job description, but don’t count on it.” He begins firmly.

“Thank you so much! Really, I-”

“Don’t get too excited, I’m not done. I have rules. What you see in this house is for your eyes only, this isn’t a new fun story to tell your friends about. You don’t bring people in here, you’re lucky you’re allowed in here. This is a private gig, I don’t need to go to the Hob next week and hear all about my own business, understand?”

You nod at his stern instructions, before nervously adding, “I don’t really have any friends to speak of. So.. you’re in the clear.” 

Three years after that fateful day, you found yourself in a steady job under Haymitch, obviously expanded from the original plan of once weekly cleaning. You had become an assistant of sorts to him. Keeping his once rotting house neat, stocking his kitchen with items other than liquor, and reminding him of important events that he unfortunately had to keep up with as a victor.

On top of all of your paid duties, you also became a companion to Haymitch. You were the person who spoke to him the most in his life, always aware of what was going on and what his routine was like. It was honestly the most intimate connection he had since before his games. It was a dangerous feeling for him, to become so involved with someone else besides himself. Good things didn’t happen to people he cared about. Why else did he keep himself locked away from society?

Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from growing fond of you, more and more everyday. You became his confidant of sorts, one of the only people he trusted in a world filled with deceit and pain. He tried for a while to keep a wall between you two, never wanting to risk getting close to another person. But eventually his resolve crumbled, your smile melted away all the barriers he had put up. The way you understood him without judgment, and never failed to shine light into his dim existence. He felt like your voice gently cradled his heart, protecting it from the hurt and anger that had enveloped it for so long. 

He felt so fucking stupid.

He couldn’t believe he had torn down every wall he built up to protect himself. And for a girl almost twenty years younger than him nonetheless.

Of course, he wasn’t going to act on it. He wasn’t that stupid. He wouldn’t risk running off the one person he now had, or being seen as a pitiful old man who looked for comfort in the first young girl to show him a modicum of kindness. But most of all, he wouldn’t risk putting you in danger. Giving Snow a new target for the next time Haymitch inevitably fucked up was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Unfortunately, none of Haymitch’s plans ever worked out the way he wanted them to.

You had been tidying up like usual around his home, this time with the addition of fresh bread baking in the oven. Reaping day was nearing closer and closer, and Haymitch’s mood had turned sour in anticipation. His drinking was far heavier than normal, you rarely saw him sober this time of year. He lost the small amount of humor he often saved just for you, burying himself in alcohol to ease the sting of his past and the future he has grown far too good at predicting. Your hope was that something warm and filled with carbs would somehow soothe him, if only a little.

You were just finishing putting a clean tablecloth on the small wooden table in the kitchen, when you him come through the front door. The erratic shuffling of his feet told you how many bottles deep he was already. He made his way to the kitchen where he flopped down into a wooden chair, bottle in hand.

You turn to check on the bread in the oven, letting him settle in. He shifts a bit in his seat before slurring, “Was’ ‘at?” referring to the warm smell emitting from the oven.

“Bread.” You reply simply, reaching in to pull it from the oven before setting it down on the counter.

He watches you for a moment, slightly perplexed. 

“Why?”

You slice a piece from the warm loaf, laying it on a plate with a small pat of butter. “To help your feelings.” You say gently, as you turn to place the plate in front of him at the table before grabbing one for yourself.

He looks more confused than before, “What th’ hell d’you mean?” His eyes follow you once more as you come back to the table to sit next to him.

“I know.. I know it’s a hard time of year for you. With.. a certain day coming up. I just wanted to help.” You say softly, trying not to let your extreme worry shine all the way through your ‘mildly concerned friend’ exterior.

He looks down at the buttered bread before him. A simple gesture, but so rich in comparison to anything anyone had done for him. He bites into the bread, warmth spreading through him, not only from the food, but from the unbridled affection he held for you in that moment. In his drunken stupor, he decides to admit something he hadn’t told anyone, ever.

“You know,” he mumbles as he finally looks up from his plate, “my birthday is coming up.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, that having been the last thing you expected from him right now.

“Really? When? I could make you something! We could have some sort of mini celebration-” You begin to ramble with all of these new ideas to brighten Haymitch’s mood filling your mind. 

“Reaping day.” He says so casually it makes you question if you heard him correctly. Your jaw drops, all words leaving your mind at the news.

After a moment of watching him take small bites of his bread, you find your voice again. “Are you serious?” You ask so tentatively he almost doesn’t hear you.

He nods as he continues to finish off his bread.

“Haymitch I-,” you almost apologize, but you stop, unsure if that is more hurtful than sympathetic.

“Yeah, me too.” He grumbles as he rises from his chair to grab more bread from the pan, almost like he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

Your eyes are fixated on the pattern of the tablecloth as you try to process all of the implications behind what you just learned. He was sent into the games on his birthday. He has spent the last twenty three years watching children be sent to their death, on his birthday. No wonder he was so distant, no wonder his liver was almost dust. Suddenly, you understood more about Haymitch Abernathy than you ever thought you would. Your heart ached in your chest at the thought of him holding this knowledge within himself for as long as you have been alive. 

He returns to the table with more bread, finding his spot next to you once more. He looked up to find your gaze and was met by tears welling in the place he always found solace. 

“Hey..” He gently breaks the silence, as though you might run off like a wild animal. Your lack of response worries him, pushing him further than he would normally go, especially in a sober state.

“Sweetheart?” He says a bit more firmly as he reaches out to place a hand on your arm on the table. 

You are brought back to the moment by the feeling of his calloused hands grazing your soft skin. Your eyes dart to his face, where you are met with a look of concern you have never seen on him before.

“Sorry!” You try to laugh off the anguish filling your mind by the second as you attempt to blink away the tears forming in your vision. “I must be tired tonight.” You try to offer a sad excuse for an explanation. Unfortunately, the tears were a bit too heavy to blink away as they make their way down your cheeks, glistening in the lamplight for Haymitch to see.

His hand slowly rises from your arm to the side of your face, thumbing away the tears the fall there. The simple gesture is enough to completely break you, sobs starting to wrack through your body.

In what feels like an instant, Haymitch has pulled himself close enough to envelop you in his arms, cradling your head to his chest as your agony takes physical form. He sits there rocking you for a moment, gently shushing you to try and calm you down. Your fingers somehow found a grip on his shirt, as though he is all that anchors you to the ground anymore. 

“I’m so sorry.” You say through shuddering breaths, head still buried in his chest.

“Sweetheart, what the hell are you sorry for?” He laughs humorlessly.

You raise your head enough to meet his eyes to find him already gazing down at you. 

“For all of it, everything they did to you. It shouldn’t have happened!” You say through heavy tears, feeling suddenly like justice must not truly exist in your world.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He pets your head in an attempt to soothe you, though the only thing that truly could right now would be the public execution of President Snow.

“You should’ve gotten so much more from life, Haymitch,” you sob inconsolably, “you deserve so much better than this.”

“Well, now I’ve got you.”

It comes out before he can think about the implications. Before he can rationally think about how dangerous and stupid it is to even show an ounce of affection toward you. Had he drank one bottle less before coming home, it might not have happened, yet, here he is, drunkenly giving a half assed love confession to his employee. His very young employee.

Your body seems to freeze at his words. What the hell does that mean? Is this your chance? How are you karmic retribution for all the shit he has had to put up with?

“Fuck,” he sighs as he feels your body tense at the accidental emotional spill.

“What do you mean?” You ask hopefully quietly.

“I don’t mean anything, kid, I just-”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

He’s shocked by your interruption, but resigns. Fuck it, he could die tomorrow.

“You.. are the first thing I have cared about.. in a long, long time.” He says after a deep breath. “Actually, I care so much, it makes me sick. Because after so long..” he lets out a shaky breath, “I feel like I have something to lose again.” 

The last part of his sentence is almost a whisper. You start to wonder if maybe you’re the one that was drinking. This isn’t logical, this isn’t normal. Your mind is racing so fast you can’t decide what the hell to do, he’s searching your eyes for an answer, anything. You decide to do something else illogical. 

You lean up from his arms to meet his lips. It’s a quick decision, it’s sudden. You definitely didn’t think it through or you never would have done it. You feel him pull back from you, and your stomach drops. Fuck.

“Sweetheart,” he starts with a conflicted sigh, “I can’t- I- you work for me. I’m too old for you and I don’t want you thinkin’ that you need to act like you feel the same to stay on my good side. Ok? It’s ok, it’s better if we don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit about your good side, Haymitch!” Suddenly, your emotions overpower your fear of humiliation. “I care about all of you, every side and facet that exists. I care so much it hurts, I don’t know what to do without you. I can’t imagine life without you. Don’t act like I’m some dumb kid that can’t make her own decisions.”

He’s in awe of the confession he never hoped to get in a million years, he wants to pull you as close as possible and never release you. Until his logic comes back to tear it all away from him.

“We can’t.” He says with such finality it makes you want to flip the table.

“What do you mean we can’t?”

“It’s not- It’s not safe for you. Ok? You can’t be associated with me like that, they’ll..” he can’t finish his thought as a lump forms in his throat at the idea of anything harming you, especially if it was his fault.

You push away from him, creating distance between you before yelling, “You don’t get to decide that for me, I get to make my own choices, and I’m choosing you!”

“This isn’t up for debate!” His bite returns as his fist meets the table harshly.

“Yes it is, I love you!” You retort fiercely before the heavy meaning of your words can sink in.

He looks at you, completely stunned and speechless. You return the same look for a moment.

“Please.. I love you.” You can’t believe you’re practically begging a man to act on his feelings for you, but here you are. We all do things we aren’t exactly proud of.

Suddenly, you’re swept up in a rush of heat, your lips captured in his as his arms press you close to him. Your senses are filled with him. You taste the remnants of alcohol on his lips, the smell of smoke mixing with it. He is so warm in the cold room, so sturdy. You are completely consumed by him.

Finally, you gather the strength to pull away from him, not yet leaving his arms.

“I really hope that meant what I think it did.” You say breathlessly.

He chuckles softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“It did.”

Now, here you stand in his kitchen. Your kitchen. Making birthday cake for him for possibly the first time in his life. Finding a small beacon of light on possibly the worst day in existence.

As you are finishing up smoothing out the icing over the cake, you hear a groggy voice from behind you.  

“What the hell are you doing up this early?”

You whip around to find Haymitch leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, looking slightly annoyed that he is also awake now, and very confused.

“Get out! Don’t look!” You position the cake behind your back to keep him from ruining his first damn birthday surprise.

He looks even more confused than before, and tries to peer around you to see what you could possibly be hiding that was worth waking up so early for.

“I mean it! Get away, I’m doing something important.” You urge him to back off as you wave the spatula in his direction.

A small smirk grows on his face, “Is that frosting?” he asks as he points to the utensil in your hand.

You look down to see the evidence smeared all over your spatula and quickly shove it behind your back.

“No.” 

He hums in reply, heading for a cupboard on the other side of the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting a drink?”

You shoo him away from the cabinet with your free hand, urging him to the table so you can finish the cake that started this whole thing.

“Sweetheart, I know you don’t like it, but I don’t usually get through this day without something in my system.” He says from the table once you have your back turned to place a candle in the cake.

“I’m well aware of that, but,” you strike a match to light the little candle on top before picking it up to bring it to the table, “I want you sober for this.”

You smile as you place the plate down in front of him, candle illuminating his face that is so often shadowed by his hair.

“Happy birthday.” You smile softly as you wait for a reaction.

He looks down at the cake, silent.

“You got up, on the worst day of the year, before the damn sun was even out, so you could make me a cake?”

You can’t read his tone, you aren’t sure if this was a major fuck up on your part or if he is just that bad at showing appreciation.

“I mean… yeah? It’s your birthday.” You answer gently, hoping you didn’t trigger something you were unaware of.

You stand in front of him in silence, your fingers pick at the thread on your sweater as you wait for any sort of response from him. After a minute, he leans down and blows out the candle on his cake.

“So are you gonna give me something to cut it with or d’you want me to use my hands sweetheart?” He looks at you expectantly.

You smile before turning to find a knife in a nearby drawer. You bring it over to him, but as you place it down in front of him, he grabs your hand softly.

“Thank you.” He says softly, as his thumb gently rubs over your knuckles.

“What did you wish for?” You ask in reply to his gratitude.

“Can’t tell.” He replies, looking at you with a new light in his eyes, a new hope, a new reason.

Something to lose. Something to fight for.

[lias-writings]

haymitch x younger!reader

warnings: fem!d12!victor!reader, WE’RE TALKING LIKE 15-20 YEARS AGE GAP, smut, oral f! a m!receiving, mentions of trauma, alcoholism, fluff, established relationship

a/n: if you’re reading about haymitch in the first place you prolly have daddy issues so i know y’all gon love this hehe

MDNI!!

haymitch abernathy who calls you sweet pet names before you even get introduced properly.

“watch it, sweetheart, you won’t got far if you kill your mentor sweetheart.”

haymitch abernathy who got way too attached to you, during the training week. it was hard not to love the young, pretty and sweet tribute from district twelve.

after they let you into the arena he’s for the first time in years begging sponsors to sent you gifts and he prays you’ll come back to him.

“am so proud of ‘y sweetheart.” haymitch says as he was holding you in his embrace, after you were released from the area.

haymitch abernathy who lets you stay every night at his house in the victor’s village so you wouldn’t be alone when the nightmares come hunt you in the night.

“shh ‘s okay sweet girl, i got you.” he’d reassure you anytime you’d wake up with tears streaming down your flush cheeks.

haymitch has them too, he just doesn’t cry or scream no more, numbing all the feelings with alcohol. but it was devastating watching how the arena changed such innocent sweet little girl.

and no, you weren’t his girlfriend or anything, when he’d hold you in his lap, kissing your forehead and rubbing your back while you cried into his chest, or when at some point you basically started living with him, he’d just pick you up, needing to feel you.

it was hard to not fall for the older victor that was a little (a whole lot) broken, when he treated you so gently.

haymitch abernathy who was blind or wanted to be blind to the hints you were dropping until you’d literally jump at him.

“haymitch.”

“i have…somethin’ very importa-“ haymitch was cut off with your lips smashing into his.

haymitch abernathy who would have that kind of talk with you and i know you what i mean.

“sweetheart you’re too young..” he’d say stroking your thigh gently, to do everything but prove his point.

“am not.” it would be back and forth for hours before he’d eventually give up and fuck you dumb right after.

haymitch abernathy who’d eat you out so good and gently. his lips and to tongue working on your pretty pussy, while his stubble would scratch against the inner parts of your thighs, making you feel so and whiny and loved. he wouldn’t stop until you’re crying and moaning his name like a prayer and your thighs are all shaky.

“shh that’s it, baby.” he’d coo you, making you cum from his tongue alone for the third time tonight.

as much as haymitch abernathy loved giving he loves receiving. the sight of you on your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, lips around his cock, moving your head forward and back, swirling your tongue around his tip and all , was just mesmerising to him and it would never take him too long before he’d come into your mouth, watching you swallow like the good girl you are<3

haymitch abernathy who’d time from time let you drag him out of the house, taking him to the hop. not to buy more liquor, but so you could excitedly jump around like a little bunny, meeting with some of your friends (haymitch’s worse nightmare) would make you even happier and no one around understood if you’re just bad in the head or drugged.

haymitch abernathy who’d go feral seeing you in sundress, after you whined about wanting a cute picking date near the forest and he submitted, you put on smiling st him like an angel sent from the heavens.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart.” he’d says over and over again just staring.

it did not take much time from the moment you two settled on the grass and you started to talk his ear off until pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you. a kiss turned into a make out and that turned into him bouncing you on his cock, the straps of the dress fallen down to your arms and your cleaved was pushed down to reveal your tits just enough for him to see.

“haymitch..” you moan, holding onto his shoulders tightly, your head rolling back as he hit all those spots inside you.

“shh you’re taking me s’ well, pretty girl.”

haymitch abernathy who tries to protect you as much as he can, even from himself sometimes. you were such sweet baby angel he was so afraid he’ll hurt you one day.

“sweetheart, no.” haymitch said gently, but firmly as he pulled his hand, that was clutching the bottle of brownish liquor, away from your reach.

“but haymitch-” you whine and pout at him. you were sitting on his lap, just existing together which was his favourite thing to do, and you wanted to silent your brain as well.

“jus’ want you to be healthy, pretty girl, you cant ruin yourself like that.”

haymitch abernathy who does get a bit (lot) jealous when he sees you talking to someone else at a capitol party. like you’d laugh at one of finnick odair’s jokes and his are shooting daggers at that man’s back.

“haymitch, ‘s something wrong?”

“you can ask finnick that.” he’d mutter going somewhere for another glass of whiskey.

and finally haymitch abernathy who’d post rebellion actually want to start a family with you since you’d always babble about how cute and adorable babies are.

“what if i drop it?”

“you’re not gonna drop him, haymitch, you’re fine.” you’d comfort him, handing him his firstborn son.

“if she starts crying am crying with her.” two years later he’d welcome his daughter a little less after he’ll drop her, but seeing the eyes of his beloved in a tinier form was making him tear up.

“okay, haymitch.”

[graceroll]

this is what summer feels like

✿ Summary: After watching a tape of the second Quarter Quell, you immediately fall for the handsome and brave victor - Haymitch Abernathy. Since then, you've been a loyal sponsor for District 12.

✿ Pairing: Haymitch x fem! Reader

✿ Warning: NSFW | mentions of prostitution, creampie, unprotected sex, Older Man x Younger Woman

✿ Words: 5.2k (also available on AO3)

It's late at night, your friends just scattered home. You're sitting alone in the home theater, the large screen casting flickering shadows on your face.

Outside, the lights are on. You can see the giant posters of tributes hanging on the wall of the building across the street. Although nights in Capitol are usually restless, it is livelier now than usual. Bars on the street must be crowded with people, all gathered to enjoy the annual event. Every year, you watch the Games with friends. Different from most people here who are crazy about the Hunger Games, you just don't want to seem too out of place.

You look at the girl on the screen - unlike before, District 12 is no longer silent and obscure this year; there is a rare volunteer. You study her closely and find that she is really just like him, the same olive skin, the same gray eyes. More so when heard sister was reaped, she shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!" and resolutely stepped forward, with determination on her face. That look is familiar, one you saw years ago when first laid eyes on him. Perhaps it was then that you thought he was different. But over the years, you never see that in him again.

Although you come from a wealthy family that runs the largest shopping mall and body alteration center in Capitol, you never place a bet on the Games before this year. Maybe it really is as they sarcastically put it, that you are sanctimonious; no matter how hard you try, you can only be a casual spectator, unwilling to gamble with the lives of young children. Just thinking about it makes your throat tighten and bile rises. You believe that war is a double-edged sword, that the defeated don't become inferior and degraded just because they lose. It is too cruel to sacrifice young boys and girls for decades. But clearly, the great President Snow – Panem's #1 Peacekeeper - doesn't think so. Your opinion is obviously rebellious, so cannot air it out.

But this year, before the Games has even officially started, you're already throwing money down on Katniss and Peeta. Katniss wins the hearts of many by volunteering to stand up for her sister, while Peeta's heartfelt confession during the interview with Caesar captivates everyone. Additionally, they both got good grades in private sessions with Gamemakers. But there are more reasons compelling you to place your bets; somehow, you think they are like no other previous tributes from District 12.

Snapping back from flashback of the memory, you look up at the screen again, where Katniss lies pale and sweaty in a sleeping bag high up in the tree. She has been hiding deep in the woods since the Games began, until Gamemakers deliberately released fireballs to force her into the confrontation with the Careers. This agile and clever girl has managed to hold them off for now, but fireball burned her calf, leaving ugly, bloody wounds exposed to the air. Without proper medication to treat, she'll get infected. Although gifts in the early stages of the Games are not expensive, specific medicines are usually not placed in the Cornucopia and are hard to get directly in the arena, so generally worth a lot of money. But you still give a call.

After changing into a silk nightgown in bedroom, you just lie down on the bed when there is a knock at the door. At this late hour, only one person can arrive at your bedroom without the need for an announcement. You get up joyfully and jump forward to open the door.

Door opens. He is leaning against the doorframe, a dark blue suit slung over shoulder, few buttons of shirt undone and tie already loosened. He holds a bottle of wine in the other hand, but isn't drunk. Katniss and Peeta still need him, he cannot be drunk yet.

"I was thinking you wouldn't come." You say in mock annoyance, crossing arms over chest and not letting Haymitch in directly.

He eyes you teasingly when hearing that. "Why?"

"Sponsors for District 12 must be lining up right now, eager to send gifts into the arena."

He laughs. "Not that exaggerated. Even so, my number-one sweetheart still has the privileges."

Satisfied with this answer, you smile and pull on his tie, dragging him into the room as he closes the door behind.

You walk to the loveseat. He tosses suit aside and slumps down. You sit beside him, legs on the couch, cradling the hand he's not holding the drink and resting your head against his shoulder.

"No guards from downstairs to here, it's quite unsafe." He says, raising the bottle to drink, but you snatch it away and take a swig. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, head twisting to look at you in mild surprise.

"No need for that; you're taking the private elevator. I purposely don't arrange for anyone. Unless, of course, that dangerous person - is you." After swallowing the liquid in the throat, you reply. It's not his usual favorite hard stuff.

"How do you know I'm not? I am a victor, after all."

You look into his eyes, gaze moving from brows to nose and then to his lips. You think that he is no different from when you first met nine years ago, except for a bit of grayish stubble on the chin. But you really like the feeling of it brushing against inner of the thighs when he eats you out. Just thinking about it makes you clench your legs involuntarily and get a bit wet.

Nine years ago, you were in the University. One day at the party with friends, someone suddenly said that he had gotten a so-called 'uncensored' tape of the second Quarter Quell. Everyone was exceptionally excited. The rules of that one was different from usual, as each district had to send double tributes. But for some reason, the video of 50th Hunger Games was rarely shown publicly, and the widely available version was heavily edited. It was said that the original version was much more watchable, much gorier, and exciting, so you and your friends watched it together in a home theater.

At the beginning of the tape, sixteen-year-old Haymitch did not cry like most non-Career; instead, he walked up to the stage with steely eyes. Coupled with black curly hair and silver-gray pupils, he appeared surprisingly handsome. Once stood on the stage, he looked fondly into the crowd as camera cut to a woman and a young boy, then - a girl.

The subsequent parade was quite dull. He was a lone ranger in training center. After the Games began, initially he was on his own, then met one female tribute from the same district and dutifully protected her. Later, he encountered three Careers. Although had not been specifically trained for the Games, he still managed to kill two of them, which made you see him in a different light. What truly changed your perception of Haymitch was the final showdown, where he used the arena's force field to kill the final opponent - so clever. You seemed to have a hard time not falling for such a handsome, brave, committed and intelligent victor. The 65th Games was coming up, and you decided to find a chance to meet him then.

On the first day of the 65th Games, you wore a dove-gray strapless dress and a simple pearl necklace to the banquet hall, where mentors would be here to pull in sponsors for their tributes. You wore light makeup, and purple hair was simply styled in curls, no wig. You might be the least Capitol-like person here, not even taking various injections into the face or alternate body like the others. Most of the sponsors in the room were gathered around the mentor from District 4, which had sent an exceptionally good-looking boy this year, who also got high scores in his private session. Before the Games even began, all your friends had already become his loyal followers.

You looked around for your target and immediately spotted him sitting alone on a large couch, staring blankly at a glass of wine in hand. You were struggling to endure the high heels, so felt a bit relieved to be able to sit down.

You scooted small steps towards him and were about one foot away when he noticed you, his eyes scanning you up and down. Your heartbeat began to race and as you came to sit beside him on the couch, you said, "Mind me joining you?"

He raised the eyebrows, "Of course not." You beckoned an Avox to come over, hesitating a little at the various drinks on the tray in his hand. At this point, you naturally took the glass from Haymitch's hand and took a sip—it's whiskey—then handed it back and took the same thing for yourself. Looking over at Haymitch, you found him staring at you. Then he took a sip as well, lips just covering the spot where you left lipstick mark on the edge of glass.

"District 12 is off to a good start this year." You've dated boys, but never been with a man and didn't know how to approach him. In the past, scrawny tributes from District 12 mostly died in the bloodbath. While the girl didn't survive long either in this Games, the boy made it to the evening of the first day, which is a good sign, so complimenting his district might be a good choice.

"Perhaps. But it seems Capitol already has its favorite." He nodded towards the crowd surrounding the mentor from District 4.

You followed his gaze but said, "I believe that the scenery is better on the road less traveled."

You soon arrived at the door of the Hotel Suites. This was the most luxurious hotel in the Capitol, conveniently located near the game center, probably to make it easier for sponsors to get a more in-depth sales pitch from mentors for their tributes.

Haymitch stood close behind you, one hand on your ass. You could feel his wet, hot breath brushing against the back of your exposed neck. Your hand trembled slightly as pulling out the room key from clutch. Door opened with a 'beep'. He wasted no time, almost pushing you into the room.

After the door shut, you immediately turned around, wrapping arms around his neck and forcefully pressing lips to his. His lips were already slightly parted, inviting your tongue to enter. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and explored hungrily, sweeping across palate and licking teeth before tangling with his tongue. His grabbed and squeezed your ass. You withdrawn the tongue, luring him to follow into your mouth. There was much saliva, but for some reason, the sounds of kissing made you get more aroused.

You pressed tightly against him, feeling the hard erection against the small of your abdomen. You couldn't help but stop kissing and started moaning. He took the opportunity to bite your lower lip and tug it lightly, moving his hands from your ass to back and unzip the long dress. You stepped back to slip out of the gown and kicked it aside in high heels. Without a bra, your breasts were fully exposed to summer air.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow and smirked at the show. In the next moment, he took one nipple in mouth, licking and tweaking it. Of course, he wouldn't ignore the other one, pinching it between fingers while mouth sucked harder. You gasped involuntarily, threading your fingers through his hair and pressing his head against your tits, a clear signal that you don't want him to stop. He understood, moan escaping from deep in his throat in approval.

His mouth moved to the other side, sucking eagerly as hand trailed down to your stomach, eventually reaching the destination - between your legs. Two fingers slid along your folds. "Shit, you're so wet. Do you always get this wet for all the victors?" He paused the attention on your breasts and lifted head to talk to you. Hot breath sprayed over your nipples, making you shiver.

"No, just you. I think I've been wet for you for a while." You looked down directly into his eyes and replied. It was truth.

"Then it will be a waste if not to taste you." He said matter-of-factly, standing up and pinning you against the corner by the door. Knowing what was about to happen, you spreaded your legs openly. "Please."

He pecked a kiss on your lips, then ran tongue from your jaw to the hollow of neck, leaving a trail of kisses between your breasts and down the abdomen. Your shut eyes in pleasure.

He dropped to the knees, smoothly draping one of your legs over his shoulder as lips move to your pelvis. "Can you take off your shirt?" You opened eyes suddenly, seeing his curious look, and added, "It doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one naked." He smiled and nodded knowingly, pulling back to remove his suit jacket. As he dealing with his shirt, you reached one hand toward your thighs, fingering the clit slowly.

"Stop, I'm the only one who can make you come tonight." He commanded while undoing the buttons. "First with my tongue, then my cock."

You seemed to get even wetter at this and obediently stop the movements. After stripping off his shirt, he kneeled between your legs again, resting your right leg on his shoulder. You placed one hand on the back of his head and looked down at him. He held your left thigh with one hand while sliding index finger from your clit to entrance with the other. He lifted his gaze to meet yours, slid finger inside, then covered your clit with mouth, swirling tongue around it. You almost imperceptibly began to wiggle hips along with the movements of his tongue.

"Ah," You arched back and gasped. He licked harder, adding another finger to pump in and out. His head prevented you from closing your legs. "Haymitch -" You moaned. Then he alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you. You involuntarily grabbed his head and pressed it between your legs to fuck his mouth. You got even wetter. "Yes, yes, just like that." You pleaded. He responded with a hum, sending tremors through that bud. The quiet room was filled with your gasps and whimpers, only a little louder than the sound of his tongue and lips sliding between your wetness. His back beneath your legs grew hotter, covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your breathing became rapid as pleasure suddenly surged between thighs. Just then, Haymitch took your clit into his mouth firmly, hands supporting your trembling legs. Now the stimulation was overwhelming - you tried to push his face away but only made him suck harder. "Haymitch!" you cried out as clutched at his soft curls, "Ah, I'm coming." Your whole body shuddered as inside clenched around his fingers. He didn't stop, dutifully kept going until your orgasm subsides before withdrawing fingers and licking into your pussy to clean up the gushing wetness.

Once your body calmed down, he pulled back and wiped his mouth with hand, then rubbing it on pants before standing up. You were still panting heavily, limbs weak and barely able to stand straight. He wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a kiss. You just responded lazily and could taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste so good," he murmurs against your lips, and you smiled. "I can't wait to feel you come on my cock."

"I can't stand now." you said. He picked you up and carried you to bed, tossing you onto it. On one side of the bed was a floor-to-ceiling window, with one-way glass overlooking the cityscape, and the other side faced with a large full-length mirror. He took off your high heels that had tormented you for so long, then turned on the bedside lamp. You spread your legs toward the mirror and could see slickness on pubes glistening in the light.

He walked to the opposite side of the bed. As you started to turn around, his voice dropped into a commanding low growl. "No, face the mirror and get on your knees." The firmness in his tone sent another throb through your still oversensitive clit. Obediently, you positioned yourself on all fours and looked into the mirror. He unbuckled the belt, then yanked down pants and underwear altogether. His thick, swelling erection poked out from the dirty pubic hair, up against the lower abdomen. You swayed your ass slutly.

He swallowed hard, then took off shoes and immediately got on the bed as well. His large palms grabbed and kneaded the round flesh of your ass eagerly. You closed your eyes and let out a soft moan, instinctively arching back into his touch. Suddenly, a sharp slap echoed, sending the stinging pain across one side of cheeks. You flinched and gasped, but he bent down and kissed there. The pain quickly melted into pleasure.

He repeated the same on the other side, and slid the thumb into your slickness, groaning as he felt how soaked you were. "Seems like you're enjoying," he murmured.

"Stop teasing me." You huffed impatiently.

He grinned at that and gave his cock a few firm strokes, then grabbed it in hand to glide the head gently up and down your ass. It brushed against the slick precum beading at his tip. You lowered upper body even more, presenting yourself in anticipation. When he finally pushed in, both of you released sighs of relief. Between assignments and exams, it had been a while for you to date - let alone sex.

He was thicker and bigger than any guy you had ever been with before. He slowly thrust into the halfway, pulled back a bit then buried completely. "You're so tight." he gritted through clenched teeth.

You were kind of proud and asked in mock innocence, "Do I feel good?"

"I'll show you how good I feel," he said, slamming hard. "It'll feel even better when you come inside me." You half moaned, half gasped as he growled low and started fucking you in earnest. You were soaked that there was no resistance to his movements at all. You looked up and locked eyes with him in the mirror; he hooked the hands under your thighs, pulling you frantically towards his pelvis. The lewd watery sounds of his cock going in and out drove you wild. You slipped one hand down to where your bodies connected, cupping his balls in palm and massaging gently. He gasped in surprise and slowed the pace. "Yeah, I like that."

"Fuck me harder, ah—" you demanded impatiently. He immediately pounded you more violently. Each time, he would pull the head to the entrance, then slammed it back all the way in. Your slick lips pressed against his pubic hair, his balls slapping rhythmically against your thighs. Although this felt good, your clit craved attention. Your hand moved to rub it, fingertips occasionally brushing his dick slick with your arousal. "Good girl, touch yourself for me." He moaned.

Your cries grew louder as the hand supporting your body began to go limp. Eventually you could only collapse onto the bed, but he still held onto your ass. After a few minutes, he wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted your upper body, so your back was pressed against his chest. He didn't stop; seeing your bouncing tits in the mirror, he grabbed them in hands to knead. You moaned as your fingers tangled in his hair while the other hand still moved between your legs. His tongue licked over your earlobe, "Want me to rub your clit?" You squeezed your eyes shut, barely managing to reply, "No, just pinch my nipples. Please." He immediately twisted your nipples, both thumbs pressing down and circling them. "Mmm..." you wiggled your ass in rhythm with his fingers.

But he always slipped out in this position, and after the fourth time he pulled out. "No -" you just began to protest at the sudden emptiness without him, but he pushed you onto the bed and flipped you over. He spread your thighs, grabbed a pillow to prop under hips, and without wasting any time, thrust back inside. This angle allowed him to go even deeper, and you could feel every inch of him.

He leaned down to swallow your cries. You grabbed his veined forearms with both hands, only able to tangle his tongue mindlessly in the intense pleasure. When he slid hand down between your bodies, you clenched inside around him, had to push his face away and screamed into the air. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

"You like that dick? Huh? You fucking like that dick?" He asked with a growl.

"I love it, so much, don't stop." You closed your eyes and shook your head from side to side begging him.

"Open your eyes. Look at me," His tone left no room for refusal.

You struggled to open them; his gaze was wild. Neatly styled hair became disheveled under your eager rubbing. Sweat dripped from his hairline to chin. He lowered his head to take one nipple in mouth. You moaned and played with the other, with legs tightening around his waist.

After a while, he released your nipple and pressed lips against your breast. His movements grew erratic. "I - ah – gonna come."

You squeezed him tighter and said, "Come for me." With an embarrassingly loud moan, he thrust hard a few more times. His cock was pulsing inside as he filled you up. The sensation was incredibly intoxicating. He collapsed onto you gasping for air, but you didn't mind the weight of his body at all, even like it. He lifted his head to kiss you, and you respond languidly. He pulled out and rubbed the length between your folds. Semen flowed down your thigh and the head brushed against your clit made you break the kiss.

As if remembering something, Haymitch propped himself up, grabbed the shaft and flicked your clit with the tip. "Shit." You pushed at him, but he instinctively grabbed both of your wrists. The pleasure between legs built higher and higher. You closed your eyes and stopped resisting. The hotel had great soundproofing, so you screamed loudly without any worries. "Theretherethere!" A flash of white light burst behind your eyelids, and you cried out, arching your back as he pressed you back down and hastily thrust his semi-hard cock inside again. Feeling the rapid contractions of your pussy, he let out a soft moan.

You both panted heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. He planted several kisses casually on your neck and face before getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. The sound of running water came from inside. A few minutes later, he returned with a wet towel. Seeing his softened cock sway with each step, you were surprised at how quickly you could become aroused again. But there were more important matters at hand, so you thought, next time - next time you wanted to find out how many rounds he could go in one night.

He cleaned you up with the warm, wet towel. You were so touched by his thoughtfulness, reaching out to let your fingers glide across his chin. "You can tell them that I will pay for all the gifts."

He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. "Thanks."

However, as soon as the parachute landed in the arena, the Careers hunting at night slit the throat of the male tribute from District 12.

Ever since then, if the tributes from District 12 are not eliminated at the very beginning of the Games, you send gifts every year.

"Thank you." He turns his head slightly, pressing his lips in your hair as he says.

"For what?" You asks curiously, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Thank you for sponsoring District 12. Katniss has already gotten the ointment." You secretly breathed a sigh of relief, withdrawing one of the hands holding him and moving to rub his crotch. Then you kneel on the ground to unbuckle his belt and pull out the shirt tucked into his waistband. "I thought I was the one who should be thanking you." Haymitch raises an eyebrow in amusement, lifting his hips considerately as you help pull down his pants. He takes off his tie, then grabs the back of collar to pull the shirt off directly.

"I have the right to define my own rewards," You eagerly grasp the hot length and stroke it slowly. "And this is exactly what I want." One hand rest on his thigh while the other grips the shaft of his dick, you lick away the precum gathered at the tip, then swirl tongue around the head before sucking hard. "Fuck." He curses. You moan in response, looking up at him through long lashes. His eyelids flutter, like he's not sure whether to close them completely and enjoy, or just watch you suck his dick.

"I love your cock." You spit out the head and hover over it, saliva pooling in your mouth before you spit it onto the tip. "Yeah, that feels good" He closes his eyes again as you take him back in, swallowing more. He's big, but after these years, you get used to it. You lick the underside of the shaft, hands pumping the rest you cannot take. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth filling the air.

Suddenly, you want to try something you haven't done much before.

You gently caress his balls, then swallow him as much as you can until the head hits the back of your throat. "That's it, do it again." You do it once more, gradually picking up speed and fucking your mouth with his dick. He instinctively thrusts up. You must hold him down to prevent choking. You suck your cheeks in hard, and a few minutes later, he says, "Stop, stop." You widen your eyes and his cock still in your hand - this must look funny. But he just laughs, "I love it, but there's no time for round two today. I want to come inside you."

You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand and climb onto his lap, straddling him. "Me too. I want to feel your cum dripping out of me." You murmur against his lips. He grabs your ass and stands up abruptly, your legs subconsciously wrapping around his waist. He carries you to the bed, lays you down, and then lies on his back. "Come on, use my cock to make yourself come."

You take off the nightgown and throw it on the floor. He spreads his legs, and you kneel on either side of his thighs, gripping the erection pressed against his abs and slowly lowering yourself down until his balls hit your ass. "You're so big…" You can't help but sigh, and he looks quite smug. "I've heard that before."

You don't respond, hands braced on his chest as rocking back and forth. The reward is instant - the coarse pubes rubbing against your clit sends mild pleasure. He tugs at your nipples, and you grind harder. "Oh God!" Suddenly, you scream out, stopping completely as you come hard on his cock. "Damn, that was fast." You're still too dazed from the orgasm to say anything.

You collapse forward onto him, lips brushing his ear. He grips your waist and thrust up to fuck you frantically. Even though you've just come and are still sensitive, you bite his earlobe and whisper, "Harder."

Haymitch tightens his arms, "You want me to fuck you harder." He says, slamming his pelvis into your ass passionately. "Yes." The only sounds in the room are the rhythmic slapping of flesh and your moans. You hazily licked the stubble on his chin; unexpectedly, he pushes you on the side to fuck in spooning style. He slips one hand between the mattress and your body to palm your tit, while the other lifts your leg to rub the clit. You grab his hair and whimper, turning your head back and searching for an open-mouthed kiss from him. For a moment, his fucking loses the rhythm but soon resumes. The familiar sensation erupts between your legs again, forcing you to let go of his lips and collapse onto the mattress with legs squeezed together. "No, I don't think I can -"

"I think you can, sweetheart. Come on, just give me one more." You scream as he pins you down on the bed, his arms braced on either side of your head, continuing to pound hotly. Your cries are muffled in the pillows when he suddenly stops and starts grinding in circles. "Haymitch…" You squeeze him tighter. He lets out a trembling moan. "Yeah, squeeze me like that again, good girl." You obey, and he leans down to whisper dirty words in your ear, talking about how much he wants to fuck your mouth, how much he loves your tight little pussy, and how he always cums so hard when he jerks off thinking about that time you squirted all over his dick, even made his balls dripping. "I'm gonna come." This finally pushes you over the edge. Your walls fluttering rapidly, milking out his orgasm.

"Shit." You can feel his cock pulsing inside, thrusting forward with each spurt of cum before becoming completely still. Gasping for air, you turn your head. Instead of pulling out right away, he kisses you tenderly. A few minutes later, he gets off you and lies on his back beside. "You okay?" He asks.

"Never been better." You answer with a smile.

District 12 has two victors all at once and this is your first time attending the celebration dinner at the president's mansion. Haymitch has been busy introducing Katniss and Peeta to all the dignitaries and sponsors, but you don't care about such socializing so stay away. After all, you come here only just to see him again.

Theoretically speaking, he should be happy. This is the first time he has truly achieved success since becoming a mentor. Perhaps it's just your illusion, but Haymitch looks worried.

You want nothing more than to feel joy and quickly shake off that thought. When he is finally on a break, you pull him to a dark corner where no one is around to kiss him. He hesitates at first but soon responds eagerly. And before long, both of you are panting and have to pull away.

You step back, gazing at his swollen lips under the dim light. "Guess we'll see each other again soon." Victory Tour in six months, Capitol is the final stop. He will accompany Katniss and Peeta back here. In the past, you could only see him during the Games when he came to Capitol for mentoring the tributes. Although you are a generous sponsor, you won't call Haymitch back at will like others do with Finnick Odair.

He doesn't say a word, just smiles and wipes away a hint of saliva from the corner of your mouth. "Congratulations, Star Mentor. I'm sure there will be more victors from District 12." You say hopefully.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, his face suddenly thoughtful. "Yeah, I think these games are gonna be different."

End.

☪English is not my first language, so all the mistakes are mine. ☪Likes, reposts and comments are much appreciated.

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odds Pt. 10

Okay guys, let’s see if smut written by a virgin cooked. MDNI!!! Please god give me feedback because i don’t know what im doing lol.

previous

X: My Pain Fits into the Palm of Your Hand. 

For the first time since I’d been here, Haymitch Abernathy’s house looked lived in. 

I expected a mess even though I had cleaned this morning. He was starting to put in a little effort, not nearly as much as other people put into their spaces, but there was one less bottle rolling around on the floor each time I came over. 

If the bar was in hell, he'd hit purgatory. The place was mostly spotless, blankets folded neatly on the couch, his fireplace spotless, even roaring with heat. I didn’t realize it worked, or that Haymitch knew how to turn it on. The lights were low, a lamp or two turned on to illuminate us gently. He ushered me to sit, mumbling something about grabbing drinks. 

I ran my hands over the cushions while I waited, fingers twitching over the rough fabric. I tried to take a few breaths, a piss poor attempt at steeling my nerves. 

Why are you freaking out? It’s just Haymitch. It’s just Haymitch…

He came back in with two copper cups in tow. I accepted it with a smile, the warmth of hot tea, lemon, and dark liquor filling my nose. The couch flattened as he sat down, closer than usual so his knee was glued to mine. I went rigid, sipping the drink and disregarding the fact that it was burning my mouth to hell and back. I felt him relax, slumping back and widening his legs, his arm coming behind me on the couch. 

“I can practically hear your heart going from here.” He smirked, his eyes glued on me. My hands shook around the cup, liquid starting to splosh around as I set it on the coffee table. Red was blooming up my neck, blushing like a goddamn schoolgirl. My brain was on fire, fighting itself . 

You’ve done this before. Jesus, get a grip. 

That was forever ago, and it was quick and rushed before I could even start to get nervous.

Haymitch took my silence as an opportunity to move his hand, rubbing soft circles on my knee, not daring to go higher… yet. 

“Hey.” he spoke softer now, as gentle and soothing as his rough and rugged voice could go. My eyes snapped to his, melting as he searched my face for the anxiety that was eating me alive. His mouth opened just an inch, brows furrowing as his hand behind me started to rub matching circles on my shoulder. 

“Haymitch I-” He cut me off, a sweet smile I know he hadn’t given in years. “I know. Been a while.” My mouth snapped shut, an embarrassed nod was all I could manage. 

He pressed his lip together for a minute, thoughts running through his head. “I never- not with her. A few long nights after the games, while I was drunk and careless I guess.” 

Haymitch’s voice rang in my head “The life of a victor isn’t as good as I might have made you believe.” Carp Delmar’s sea green eyes flashed, ushered off the stage. They didn’t… did they?

He must have picked up on what I was thinking, hand seizing circles on my knee to grip it tighter. 

“No. Not- that. Not exactly.” I bit my lip to ground myself. The mere image of Haymitch, young, dark circles under his eyes, shaking from grief as faceless Capitol citizens forced drinks down his throat and took him to their rooms. Rage threatened to swallow me whole at the image. 

I took a shaky inhale, breathing harsh as it exited my nose. I could barely bring myself to look into his gentle gaze. He didn’t need my rage right now, this wasn’t a moment for any sort of anger or pain. 

My hand moved on its own accord, reaching up to caress the side of his face. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering close for just a second. It was tender, gutted in a way only some semblance of love could be. He’d never known the sweet side of intimacy, what he had with Lenore, it hadn’t been this raw.

“Do you want to?” I asked earnestly, our voices kept to just above a whisper. He released the breath he was holding, our eyes boring into each other with electric intensity. His hand on my knee came up to hold my face in his hand, both of us having a palm on the other’s cheek. His thumb brushed under my eye, moving down to my lip with a featherlight touch. 

“Yes.” He gulped, caressing my lip. “Do you?” I nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in, pressing his warm lips to mine. It wasn’t hurried, no rush in whatever we were about to do. It was new again, for the both of us. 

Our lips moved in sync as he brought his arm from the couch and ever so gently pushed me to lie down. The hand that wasn’t on his cheek moved to the hem of his shirt, sneaking under it and running over the plane of his stomach, stopping at the scar that almost killed him, caressing it. 

He readjusted so his knees rested on the couch, lightly nudging my legs apart. I hitched a breath, letting him slot between me to gain access. I sat up, never breaking the kiss as I lifted his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders with one hand while the other ran through his stomach to his chest. It fell off to the floor, the noise breaking us apart for a moment. 

“Can I take this off?” He said, motioning to my rumpled dress. My breaths came out heavy, lips swollen as I nodded quickly. He waited a moment, needing to hear me verbalize it. “Yes Haymitch. Take whatever you want off me.” Take whatever you want from me. 

He inched it off with no rush, his hands tracing my knees and hips as the fabric pulled upwards. Inch by inch it left me bare, his hands coming to warm the area the moment it left.

 My stomach, marred by stretch marks, soothed by his fingers tracing over the razor thin lines as he explored.It felt as if he was counting all of them, committing them to memory. Fingertips traveled my sternum, going to my bra and undoing the clasp with ease. 

I shrugged the straps off my shoulders, tossing it to the side along with my dress and his shirt. He sat back for a moment, our breaths heavy as he took in my chest for a moment. His palm laid on my stomach, the heat soothing the butterflies. 

“You’re everything I imagined and more.” He whispered, his other hand coming up to cup my breast in his palm. I let out a sigh, closing my eyes a smidge. 

The sensation of him touching me, the intimacy of the moment, the fire roaring in the room, it all seemed like too much and not enough. I couldn’t help the tear that slipped down my cheek, sniffling it back. I didn’t think his eyes could get softer than they were, laced with panic at the sight of my tears. 

“Hey. Hey, what's wrong? Is it too much?” He cooed, hand going to move before I grabbed his wrist, keeping it in place. 

“No. No, No. I’m sorry, it’s perfect. It’s just been so long.” I breathed, trying not to panic at the thought of him leaving. He seemed to understand, moving to pet my hair back before leaning in to kiss me again. 

“It’s alright. It’s okay, we can take this as slow as you need. You set the pace, sweet pea. It’s all you tonight.” Haymitch murmured between kisses. This man is trying to kill me. 

I let a hand trace towards his pants, raising an eyebrow as a silent question. He nodded, moving his hips to help me pull them down. 

We both took a minute after, my hair mussed against the throw pillow, his body slotted between my legs, just in his boxers, sitting on his heels above me. He pushed a knee slowly between my heat, damp from need, a breath sucked in from both of us at the contact. 

I felt his hand trail from my stomach towards my panties, a finger hooking under the waistband. 

“Can I?” he asked, and god if he didn’t I might go insane. I moved my own hand from the cushion to his boxers, eyes silently asking the same question. I let him pull mine off first, leaning down and leaving kisses from my hip bone to my ankle.

His came off quicker and without the extra kisses. Partially because the moment was heating up, and partially because I could barely get his mouth off my neck to reach and kiss him back. Sweet bruises would be left in the wake, littering my neck as he gently sucked before moving down my sternum again. His knee was back as he did it, firmly planted between my legs. I arched my back off the cushion as he unknowingly rubbed, his hands softly palming my breasts. 

“Haymitch… Oh-” I whimpered, his ministrations starting a fire of need down south.

“Shhh, I know, I know sweet girl.” his lips brushed my ear as he cooed, breath husky with need and tenderness. I arched my back higher, hands clawing at his back as I felt myself go over the edge. It had been 12 years since someone had touched me, had held me in the palm of their hand and kissed away all of my worries. 

I rocked on his leg, coming down as he held my face in his hands, smoothing away the stray hair that clung to me. 

“Sweet girl. It’s okay, let yourself feel it. You’ve got it, you’re doing so good for me.” Praises fell out of his mouth in succession, feathering kisses over my face. 

My eyes opened to his boring down at me. A grin that held nothing but awe at the sight of me losing myself, hands smoothing away the tears that I hadn’t realized fell in my throw of passion. 

“Haymitch?” he leaned even closer, his hair falling into his face. He was fully on top of me at this point, cradled between my spread legs. I could feel him hard against me, my release mixing with his need. So close, yet not quite where I needed him most. 

“Yeah pretty girl?” he asked, his breath warm and sweet with tea and whiskey. 

“You gonna make love to me?” I asked, feeling him groan at the question. My hands traced his back, the moment sweet and low. 

His eyes searched for any sign of hesitation in mine, and when he found none, he let out a breath and nodded, as if words were too hard to find. 

Finally, finally, he reached between us, carefully slipping into me. I gasped, face screwed up at the feel of him. It wasn’t as big of a stretch as Wyatt had been, but the length of him was beyond what I had felt before. 

“Almost there baby. Almost there I promise. You doin’ ‘kay?” he asked, words slurring at the end as his face contorted into pleasure. Still, I knew one word of protest from me and he would be gone in a second. I nodded, unable to speak as his pelvis met mine. 

Suddenly a wave of anxiety ran through my blood. What if it isn’t as good as he’s had? I’ve had a child, I’m sure it isn’t as snug as it should be, not as good. 

He seemed to understand something was going on, taking a sharp breath and pulling back a bit. 

“What’s wrong? Y/N, do you need me to stop?” His voice was urgent, worry evident. I tensed, hands coming to his chest. 

“No, no you’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect, Haymitch. I just- if I’m not… I had a baby…. and I don’t know.” He sensed where I was going with that, a small chuckle before capturing my lips again in a searing kiss. 

“You are perfect. Better than anything I’ve ever experienced. Absolutely the best a man like me would ever dream of getting.” I teared up again at that, nodding as he kissed me again. 

“Can I move?” he asked tentatively, I nodded again, a silent plea on my lips as he gently rocked into me, small thrusts that hit something I’d never felt before, but would never get enough of. 

My hands went to his neck, holding on tight as he quickened his pace, letting out sweet whimpers in my ear. My own moans filled the space between, his hand sliding under my back to pull me closer to him. 

“My sweet girl. My sweet, strong girl. Taking me so well, taking care of me so well.” He murmured, each thrust earning him a moan from me. 

I felt myself clench up, an orgasim approaching me before I had a chance to warn him. “Hay-” I barely got out, he pulled back to grin, capturing my lips as I let go, utter love shaking me to the core. Bliss wasn’t a word strong enough for what I felt, a sob escaping my throat. 

He came quickly after, my climax triggering his. A deep groan came from him, chest heaving as he released his warmth inside of me. I stroked his hair, cooing my own words of praise and adoration in his ear as he came down. 

Haymitch collapsed on top of me, bodies pressed tight together as we held onto eachother. The fire was still going strong, the only sounds being our breathing and the crackles and pops. 

After a few minutes he pulled out, reaching behind him to snatch a blanket. I felt myself lifted, placed on his chest as the blanket was pulled over both of us. I traced shapes on his chest, not bothering to look up at him as I felt myself being lulled into a deep sleep. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, one hand on my hip while the other cradled my back. 

“For what?” I mumbled against his skin, eyes rapidly closing. 

“For being here. For being you. I didn’t think- I didn’t know I could have something like this again.” He breathed, chest tightening as he struggled to get it out. I kissed his chest, sleepily looking up at him. 

“I didn’t either. I want to see where it goes, or where it doesn’t. I just want to be here.” I sighed, both of us love struck and treading carefully over this new thing we just cracked open. 

He nodded, giving me one last grin before I closed my eyes, falling into a soft sleep for the first time in years. Safe, secure, loved. 

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Tease

You have been hooking up with Haymitch for a while now, and decide to have some fun at a Capitol party by flirting with other people in front of him. To your dismay, you don't get a rise out of him until he finally snaps and drags you to a semi-secluded area of the garden to teach you a lesson. (Inspired by this request!)

1,877 words

Haymitch Abernathy x reader

No use of y/n, but second person perspective.

Warnings: VERY possessive Haymitch, occasional swearing, alcohol, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, a little bit of overstimulation, dom Haymitch, bratty reader, semi-public sex, praise, a little bit of degradation & humiliation (let me know if I've missed any...)

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It had been weeks since you’d seen one another. What with the ceremonies, the afterparties, the interviews, and everything in between, you had barely had the time to say ‘hello’ to each other, let alone spend any quality time together. 

Now, you were at an afterparty for the latest episode of Caesar Flickerman’s Victor catch-up talkshow. Your stylist was surely being paid off by someone here, as your sheer, skin-tight gown left very little to the imagination. Still, if you got yourself drunk enough and charmed the right people, maybe you could slip away early and forget the night had ever happened. 

You were stood by the fountain, the occasional splash of water inevitably making your dress even more transparent, but hardly caring as you sipped champagne from a ridiculously tall glass. Your hand was on the shoulder of a rather precocious young man who you had recently discovered oversaw editing together the ‘behind the scenes’ footage of Victors captured by the absurdly high-res CCTV cameras installed throughout the districts to keep the public up-to-date with their favourite Victors. 

You were trying your best to flirt with him. You didn’t want the footage which you were sure existed of you smuggling bottles of alcoholic contraband back to your house, which there was also inevitably footage of Haymitch spending a suspicious amount of time inside, leaking and causing a scandal. You were laughing at his jokes, making sure to be extra touchy with him, pushing your breasts out just so and swaying your hips as you walked. 

Just as you leant closer into him, making to whisper something in his ear, you caught Haymitch’s eye across the garden. He was leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed, drink in hand, watching you closely. You winked at him as you let your lip brush against the Capitol man’s earlobe the same way that made a shudder run down Haymitch’s spine every time you did it to him. You allowed your hand to fall from his shoulder to his chest, making a show of commenting on his physique. Haymitch was still watching you, his expression unchanged. 

Realising that your performance wasn’t getting a rise out of Haymitch, you excused yourself politely and made your way over to a group of girls dancing by the bar. You’d met a few of them before and were welcomed into the group with a fresh glass of champagne. A quick glance behind you confirmed that Haymitch’s eyes were still on you, so you took the hand of one of the girls and pulled her close to you. She wrapped her arms around your waist and slotted a thigh between yours as she began to move with you. You laughed and allowed your head to fall back, exposing your neck. Haymitch could never resist such a gesture, always immediately latching his lips onto your soft flesh and sucking little bruises into it. You turned your head and locked eyes with Haymitch as the girl pressed a kiss to your throat. Still, his expression remained stony. 

Still failing to rile Haymitch up, you took your leave of the girls just as this year’s head Gamemaker made his way towards Haymitch and struck up conversation with him. You sauntered over, placing your hand on the Gamemaker’s bicep as you greeted him. You kissed his cheek, again making a show of being overly touchy with him. “Your job must be so much fun,” You commented, your tone sickeningly sweet, “getting to design all these games!” You turned to Haymitch, hands still on the Gamemaker’s torso and beginning to slip towards his trousers. “You love playing games, don’t you, Haymitch?” You asked innocently. The Gamemaker placed a possessive arm around your waist, his hand resting on your behind.  “To an extent.” He replied, shifting a little awkwardly. You were finally having an effect on him. “I don’t like to play with my food, though.” He added, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly to anyone who didn’t know his demeanour as well as you did. Your confidence faltered a little. One tiny warning look had your heart racing, and his mention of food had images of the countless times he’d eaten you out with the hunger of a starved man flashing before you, making your knees weak.  “That certainly isn’t in the spirit of the Games!” You rebuked, turning back to the Gamemaker and leaning into his ear. “And I know a little something about winning.” You murmured, your hand brushing against his crotch.  “I wouldn’t get so cocky, doll. You weren’t in the Arena with me. Excuse us.” Haymitch concluded, grabbing your wrist harshly and leading you away from the crowds of people and further into the gardens. 

You hurried to match his pace, and once you were almost out of sight of the partygoers, placed a kiss to his shoulder, your free hand tracing up his spine. Haymitch stopped abruptly and yanked you behind a line of bushes. He pulled you close to him, his face millimetres from yours and his hand still gripping your wrist.  “You think you can go out wearing that and swan around flirting with any Capitol idiot you like, hm?” He hissed, warm breath fanning across your face. He smelled like whisky. It was intoxicating.  “I wasn’t flirting.” you protested innocently, pouting over-dramatically.  “Don’t lie to me.” He interrupted. “Do you know how many men I’ve seen looking at you?” He whispered, his lips moving closer to your ear. “What they’ve been saying about you? What they want to do to you?” His breath tickled your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He knew how to render you utterly immobile.  “Haymitch…” You managed to whisper.  “I ought to take you out there, bend you over the bar, and fuck you in front of them. Show them you belong to me.” He threatened, nibbling your earlobe. You whimpered a little pathetically. Your body was on fire. God, he knew exactly how to push your buttons. “Who do you belong to?” He asked, pulling back and gripping your jaw.  “You.” You whispered.  “Speak up, doll.” He demanded.  “I belong to you, Haymitch.” You repeated. He pulled your face towards his and caught your lips in a searing kiss. Your body was like putty in his hands, moulding to him and moving exactly as he wanted you to. He slipped a hand between your bodies, pulling your underwear to the side and pressing a warm finger inside you. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan.  “Flirting with all those other people made you this wet, huh?” He asked condescendingly.  “No, Haymitch,” you began, but were cut off as he slipped a second finger inside you. You gripped onto his shoulders and let your head fall back. Haymitch took the opportunity to press his lips in exactly the same spot as the girl had done earlier. Whereas her kiss was soft, Haymitch sucked harshly, his teeth grazing your skin. It would definitely leave a very obvious mark.  “Or were you just getting off on being a brat?” He asked, admiring his work on your throat. He curled his fingers, and you moaned loudly. Your walls began to flutter around his fingers, and he removed them as soon as he noticed the familiar sensation which signalled a rapidly approaching orgasm.  “Haymitch!” You gasped in protest, hips chasing his fingers. Haymitch brought his fingers up to your lips and you parted them obligingly, taking his fingers in your mouth and sucking them clean of your arousal. Haymitch’s pupils were blown wide. He was trying so hard to punish you, but you knew that he couldn’t resist you. He had never been able to. 

“You want to behave like a whore all night,” Haymitch interrupted, pulling his fingers from your mouth and wiping them dry on the thin fabric of your dress, “then you can put those skills to good use.” He stepped back and unzipped his pants, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it. “On your knees, doll.” He instructed gently. Your mouth was watering at the sight of him. Despite his unwavering expression all night, he had been desperate for you. He was so hard, pre-come leaking from his swollen tip, you almost felt sorry for him having been in such a state all night. You dropped to your knees and opened your mouth, squeezing your thighs together to ease the tension as he slipped into your mouth. He didn’t ease you into it as he usually would, but instead slowly pressed himself as far as he could down your throat. You closed your lips around him and sucked gently, just how he liked. His hands gripped your hair, holding you in place as he began to fuck your throat. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes as he repeatedly hit the back of your throat. It occurred to you suddenly that you weren’t all that far away from the rest of the partygoers, and one of them could stumble upon you being throat-fucked by Haymitch Abernathy at any moment. The thought had heat pooling between your thighs. You were in a state of complete bliss as Haymitch used your mouth to get himself off. You loved being open and obliging and ready to please him. You could tell he was close from the stuttering of his hips as his rhythm began to falter. You looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes and he snapped. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.” He decided, pulling himself out of your mouth and joining you on the ground. He bent you over, your hands colliding with the cool ground and breaking your fall. He groaned when he noticed that sucking him off had made you even wetter, and thrust into you without warning. “Such a pretty thing,” he murmured, leaning over you and kissing your shoulder. “Always take me so well in your pretty little mouth.” He praised, making you clench around him. Clearly, he had forgiven your earlier teasing as he reached underneath you and began drawing tight circles over your clit with his thumb, making you moan loudly again. He was hitting all the right places, and you were a mess. You were so worked up that it took less than a minute before you were coming around his cock. “Who do you belong to?” He asked, still pounding into you. “You, Haymitch.” You confirmed, overstimulation poking at your nerves. “I’m all yours.” With your words, he came inside you, head dropping to your shoulder again to kiss your skin soothingly. 

After a few seconds, he pulled out of you and put his clothes right again. You sat back on your knees and held out your hands, and he helped you to stand again. He kissed you gently, holding you close to him. “Shall we head back to the hotel?” You asked, feeling his cum beginning to dribble out of you and soak your underwear.  “Oh, no, doll.” He drawled, a devilish grin forming. “Now it’s my turn to tease. You’re going to stay at this party for at least another hour with that mark on your neck and my cum slipping out of you. You’ve got some making up to do.”