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sleo00 · 16 days ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎIT'S LATE౨ৎ꣑ৎ

꣑ৎHaymitch helps you fall back asleep꣑ৎ

fem reader x haymitch abernathy thank you @phantomamour for proofing!! <3

Luxury wasn't something you were sure you could ever get used to. It was hard when your mind drifted to the outside world. How could you enjoy your fresh bread with butter and jam when so many in your district had never known the feeling of being full? Snuggled up warm and cozy in your comfortable bed, you couldn't help but imagine the mat on the floor you used to sleep on. Haymitch was more accustomed to it than you were. You knew it bothered him too, but he had four years of practice. You had one.

He told you it would get easier. Every time you woke up shivering, you weren't so sure.

Tonight, Haymitch had gruffly coaxed you into eating most of your dinner, and you were grateful for it. Going to bed with an empty stomach would make the anxiety worse. He dressed for bed quietly along with you, pulling you under the covers at his side. An elbow at your waist, his arm crossed diagonally up your front, his fingers tracing your collarbone gently. "Close your eyes, sunshine."

Your defenses were torn down with him, and so you did what he told you without a second thought. Fingers finding his arm, you held onto it like a teddy bear. His other hand reached for your far hip, grazing the edge of your sleep bottoms, tips of his fingers on your skin. When he started to stroke up and down, your eyes filled with tears and a sniffle escaped.

It was so easy for your memories to fog your senses like smoke, voices telling you that you were too much, your burden too heavy. And here he was being gentle, sleeping beside you because he didn't want to be away. This man who didn't seem to like anybody at all, except for you, whom he adored. He spoiled you to no end and followed you on your doctor-mandated walks into the woods. Made sure you fed yourself. Held your hand on the Reaping Day you both were forced to attend. You cursed the day for what it had become, but loved it for birthing him.

The reality of it all hit you all at once, and you tried to hold back your hot tears, but failed yourself with a whimper. Haymitch used his hand to nudge you until you were lying on your side, face pressed to his chest. He kissed your head before tucking your head under his chin.

"Haymitch…" you stuttered, but he shook his head, lifting your hand to his hair. He knew you loved to run your fingers through his hair and play with each curl. The familiar texture soothed your rapidly beating heart, and you played with his hair until your eyes were dry, falling shut in heavy blinks.

"It's okay," he murmured, letting your hand stay in his hair. "You're okay. You're safe with me." Since you were practically wrapped up in him, there was no choice but to believe him. He would never tell you anything that wasn't true.

When another wave of anxiety rushed over you, causing your nails to dig into his arm, he reached up to your hand in his hair, rubbing your knuckles and encouraging you to keep stroking his curls. When your fingers started moving again, he secured that arm around your waist, rubbing under your shirt. His other hand found yours on his chest, thumb moving up and down idly. "I know, sweet girl. You're okay."

He repeated it over and over like mantra, and you counted it like sheep. Your hands grew limp, your tired body molding against his. Haymitch rewarded you with a kiss to the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep.

At this point in time, he was an expert at calming your storm. You often wished you were as good at guiding him through his. Haymitch insisted you helped more than you thought, but you knew it wasn't enough. You couldn't guide him away from the bottle or prevent his nightmares. The Reaping has been a particularly awful day that ended in tears. He had been sharp with you when you meekly pleaded with him to put his drink away for the night. You'd needed him and he'd been lost in his memories. Needing you too, but not knowing how to say it.

"You're the only thing holding me down," he'd whispered that night, drying each of your tears with his thumbs. "My whole world, baby."

Your dreams tonight began with that moment, sitting in front of the fireplace with him. His hand, gentle on your cheek, his soft eyes. Quickly though, it shifted into the cold darkness of the arena. Teeth chattering, you tried to pull your legs to your chest, but they wouldn't move. Mutts darted at you from every direction, and when you screamed, nothing came out.

Reaching out for Haymitch, you only found the dark, shameful embrace of the Victor's title, twenty-three faceless ghosts watching you below your platform. The winning crown grew spikes that dug into your skull, and you choked on your own blood as you cried.

Plummeting back to earth, your eyes flew open, chest heaving. You tore out of Haymitch's arms, your lost cry in your dream wrenched from your mouth. It was too vivid, so much so that you could feel the sticky blood still on your skin. It was cold, burning trails into you.

Haymitch muttered your name frantically, corners still blurry with sleep. You listened to the rustle of the covers as he sat up, warm hand finding your back. "It's not real. You're safe, baby."

You were breathing so deeply that your throat was itchy with soreness, and Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck. "Honey, what do you need? What can I do?"

"I don't know," you gasped, looking at your hands. They were quivering atop your thighs even as you tried to grip the fabric of your sleep shirt to make it stop. Outside there was a deep crack of a sound and you gasped, shaking your head. "The…the…"

"No," he soothed, shifting toward you. "Sweetie, there's nothing there. It's just the thunder."

A shuddering sob worked its way from your throat, and tears poured down your cheeks like rain. Haymitch ran his fingers up and down your spine, trying to inject calm into you. "How about we get up? Let's walk around for a minute."

"No," you begged weakly, but he ignored you, standing and lifting you up carefully to stand beside him.

"Just for a minute. C'mon." Haymitch steadied a hand at your lower back, intertwining your fingers with his other. "One step at a time. You've got it, sunshine." His pet name coaxed you to move, and then again. Before you knew it, he was flipping the bathroom lights on, lifting you to sit on the counter. You didn't ask what he was doing.

Scratching his head and turning to hide a yawn, he moved sluggishly to the shower. Gripping the knob, he twisted the handle to the left, the hiss of the water breaking through the ringing in your ears. Haymitch padded back, his fingers at the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes bleary, but the question clear. You nodded, and he lifted it with care, bunching the fabric in his fists. Raising your arms as he worked your shirt off, goosebumps ran veiny paths over your skin when the cool night air hit.

Haymitch kicked off his shorts, helping you from the counter and into the shower. You sighed involuntarily as the warm water rained down your body. You turned around in time to see his curls flatten over his forehead, and darted into his chest, ear flat over his damp skin.

"Shh," he hushed, and you let the water drown everything else out. This was the safest place in the world because you were both bare and it was warm and you were so surrounded by noise that you could hear his gentle voice. "Just breathe for me. In, out."

Obeying, you let the steamy air pass through your lungs, untensing your shoulders and slowing your quickened heartbeat. He stroked down the line of your hair, holding you to him. "Just relax."

You sniffled, hand on his chest. "Haymitch-"

"Baby," he cut in, shifting you closer to the soap. "Can I wash your hair? Might feel good." His tone was sweet, and so you nodded, arms tightening around him.

"Here-" He carefully lowered you to sit on the shower floor with him. You shivered at the feel of the cool tile, and he pulled you so you weren't sitting on the drain, flush against his chest. It was cozy between his legs, and you settled as he reached up to retrieve the soap. "Lean forward for me- atta girl." His gentle fingers scrubbed at your scalp, and you sighed. "Feels good, huh?" Nodding, you let him lean you forward so he could rinse out your shampoo.

He repeated the motions with your conditioner. More than a year after your first time being primped by the prep team at the Capitol, and you still weren't quite used to the idea of having multiple soaps. Haymitch had it memorized though, and you swore your hair was always softer after he washed it.

You sat sideways between his legs while he ran a razor over each of yours with the precision of a surgeon. Your eyes were on him instead of his motions, taking in his concentrated stare. He tapped the razor against the drain once more before capping it. Turning around to face him sitting on his leg, you brushed a curl from his forehead. "Can I do you?"

He waved it off. "Washed my hair yesterday-" he cut himself off when your lips turned down, amending, "-so yes."

You straddled him while you scrubbed his hair, taking care of each hair on his head. His eyes never left your face, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips. When you wanted to rinse him, he scooted forward into the spray with you still in his lap. You giggled, holding onto his shoulders, his arms clasped around your waist.

Haymitch kissed your forehead, rocking back and forth. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," you mumbled, hiding your face in his shoulder.

"You hungry?" he asked softly, palm at the crown of your head.

"Little bit."

"Mkay." He helped you stand up, turning off the shower and getting you out in the blink of an eye. Retrieving one of your fluffy towels, Haymitch dried you off and you let him, even though you weren't shaky anymore.

He paused when he noticed a little cut from the razor on your leg. You opened your mouth to downplay it, but he laid the towel on the counter, lifting you to sit on it. Rifling around in the cabinet, he ripped open a bandaid and dabbed at your skin with a tissue before smoothing the protectant over the wound. You smiled, and he rose from his knees, setting his hands over your thighs and rubbing lightly. "You okay?"

"Hungry," you reminded him, and he nodded, kissing your nose.

"Alright, sunshine." He retrieved your shirt. "Lift your arms." When you complied, he worked it over your head and pulled it over your thighs. Haymitch made quick work of his sleep shorts, and you reached for him with both your arms and legs. His smile was like sunlight to you as he brought you into a hug, mouth buried in your hair.

"Let's get you some food, huh?" You nodded into his chest. The thunder crackled outside but you paid no mind, lost in the scent of him. When you pressed a kiss to his chest, he rubbed his thumb over your crown. "You're my angel, y'know?"

"Then you're mine." When you pulled back, he was making a face, and you lifted your thumbs to drag the corner of his lips up into a smile. "Yes."

He surged forward, lifting you off the counter and spinning you around once much to your delight. Shrieking, you buried yourself in his neck, holding on for dear life. "Haymitch!"

Laughing, he held you up as he walked to the kitchen. You smiled into his skin, fully aware that he could feel it.

"You're scaring the nightmares away," you mumbled, watching from the counter as he opened the refrigerator. Rain was pounding at the roof, and you were beginning to see the beauty in it. The cozy sound of muffled chaos outside, your lover right in front of you, buttering your bread.

He was the perfect picture of domesticity as he put down the knife and reached for your hand, lifting it to kiss your knuckles. "If that's all I'm good for, I'd be happy."

When you bit into your slice of bread, he leaned against the counter at your side, munching on his own. You took his free hand. He squeezed it so you'd know he was there.

Thunder rattled the windows, but you didn't hear it, his whisper overpowering it.

#omg #this is so adorable #how he treats her?#oh my god #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x reader #sleo00recs

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sleo00 · 1 month ago

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HARDER TO BREATHE [H.A.]

pairing: (young) haymitch abernathy x fem!reader

word count: 6.1k (she's a longer one)

content warnings/contains: slight spoilers for sotr, angst, fluff, ptsd (from the games), Capitol pigs being disgusting, graphic talks of death, suicide and violence, swearing, classic hunger games stuff, mentions of forced prostitution, canon divergence, not everything i write makes sense, use of y/n, maybe ooc Haymitch (?) - i fear i'm not very good at portraying a character's personality accurately, reader is supposed to be 18 in this and Haymitch around 21, reader is the winner of the 55th games, let's pretend Haymitch's drinking problem wasn't as bad yet during that time

a/n: second story, whoo :) and i'm actually quite proud of this. I'm currently reading sunrise on the reaping and i'm just beginning to love haymitch even more than I already did before (and i got fully thrown back into my thg phase), so i just had to write for him. and i fell hopelessly in love with joseph zada, so here we go. hope you enjoy :)

playlist: burn alive - the last dinner party / bishops knife trick - fall out boy / we'll be young forever - denmark + winter / home - good neighbour / softcore - the neighbourhood

link to masterlist

God, how you abhorred Capitol parties.

On one side, it felt like you’d already attended a thousand or more of these gatherings. On the other hand, it sometimes felt like one big party without a break. Because honestly? Each and every single last one of these idiotic festivities was the same as the others. Stupidly large amounts of sizzling food and especially alcohol, consumed by the oh so great and elegant people of the Capitol. Mindless chatter about the newest fashion trends, everyone thinking their extraordinary dress was the most eye-catching. Absolutely unnecessary discussions, in your opinion. They were all hideous anyway. And of course, the gawking at the most recent victor of the Hunger Games.

You wanted to drive a spear through all of their obnoxiously decorated heads.

Obviously, at a classic Capitol party, a handful of victors couldn’t be missing. The Capitol favourites. The ones that those pigs in their bright suits and dresses loved to drool over, about how strong and intimidating they were, staring at them and touching them like they were caged animals in a petting zoo.

And this year, you had the honour of being the special guest at every party. You were the main event, the newest and most exciting addition to the zoo At least until a new victor would take your place in a year, only lessening your suffering in the slightest. The people you had met before your games – the one’s who had told you that winning the games was a curse rather than a blessing – they had been right. Oh, how right they had been. That exact thought ran through your head as you walked towards the double-doors that would lead you to yet another horrible evening of feeling like an exposed object, exhibited for everyone to observe and touch. Because in their minds, that’s exactly what you were. Through their eyes, they didn’t see a person – a human being – when they looked at you. No, they gazed upon you as if you were a precious diamond necklace or a golden ring, something they could possess. Something they could own.

Your arm was linked with your mentor’s, bare skin brushing against the soft fabric of his suit-jacket. The dark grey dress your stylist had forced you to wear was tight, scratchy and rubbing the skin beneath it raw. And they said everything in the Capitol was supposed to be comfortable and luxurious. As if. You would’ve scoffed at the thought, if you’d had the energy. The countless pins holding your hair together in a ridiculous updo stung and pulled at your scalp, making you want to rip your entire hair out in one go. And those damn shoes – the height of the heels bordering on stilts, if anyone were to ask you – it would prove to be a miracle if you’d able to walk in them without the support of the arm currently linked with yours. But the worst part had to be the corset, the fabric adorned with an incredible amount of cheesy embroidery that was supposed to represent your district. Your stylist had decided to bind the thing so tight, that after spending less than fifteen minutes in it, you already felt nauseous. It was putting entirely too much pressure on both your stomach and your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

They way your breathing grew shallow, your lungs trying to preserve as much air as possible, did not go unnoticed by the taller figure next to you. Just before you both reached the double-doors, separating you from the misery looming behind them, he stopped. He untangled his arm from yours, turning you to face him with a gentle yet firm grip on your upper arms, just below your shoulders. You were so focused on trying to breathe normally and calm your racing heart that you barely noticed how his pale blue eyes roamed over your face and body, observing every inch as if it would grant him with all the answers to the reason of your distress.

When he felt your breathing become more erratic, your chest rising and falling in short and fast intervals, his eyes snapped back up to your face. He took in the distant look in your eyes, the way your stare seemed to go straight through him, as if your pupils were clouded over by a thick fog. When he realized you weren’t going to snap out of whatever prison your mind had locked you in anytime soon, he let one of his hands wander from your bicep to the side your neck, gently resting it there as his thumb softly ran over your jawline to try and ease you back to reality.

“Y/N…” he paused. “Hey, look at me.” You didn’t budge, so he tried again, his grip on you tightening, trying to ground you. “Sweetheart, look at me.” He tried again, voice soft, deep and laced with a slightly pleading tone.

Your eyes seemed to flicker as you registered his voice, lashes fluttering rapidly before your gaze finally settled on him, eyes meeting his. He let a small breath of relief leave his chest, one corner of his mouth twitching up the slightest bit. “There she is.” He whispered, more to himself than you. One of your hands – which was previously hanging limp by your side – came up, your fingers curling around the wrist of the hand that still rested on the side of your neck. “The corset.” You muttered, voice coming out raspy and quiet due to the lack of oxygen in your system.

“It’s too tight, Haymitch.”

His eyes dropped to your midsection, only now seeing how impossibly tight the corset wrapped around your upper body, cutting off your airflow. His hands detached themselves from your neck and arm, falling to your waist instead, slowly turning you around so your back faced him. He took a hold of the laces tying your corset together, beginning to untangle the bow. While his fingers worked on the strings, his voice met your ears once more. “I’ll loosen it up, okay? Just hold still for me, sweetheart.” He said in a low tone. You only gave him a nod as a response, a small shiver running down your spine from feelings his knuckles graze your lower back and his breath hitting the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he had untied the bow at the lower end of the corset. Haymitch then began to pull at the laces, loosening each of them as he worked his way up until he stopped at the top end of it, just between your shoulder blades. “Better?” he questioned as he leaned down so his face hovered slightly beside yours, searching for any sign of discomfort in your facial expressions. Your eyes flickered to the side, just able to see him in your peripheral vision. You nodded once.

Haymitch then proceeded to tie the loose laces of the corset back up, securing it in place, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe. He tapped the side of your hip once when he was finished and you turned around to face him again. “Thank you.”

The silence that followed lingered between the two of you. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. Just two broken souls finding a moment solace in each other before the inevitable downfall that was to come when they stepped through the grand double-doors to their side. You kept your eyes locked onto each other’s, taking each other in.

Ever since you had been reaped and he assigned as your mentor for the games, there was an unspoken and unaddressed connection between you and Haymitch. A tension that slowly grew stronger as time progressed. But it wasn’t the electrifying and wanting feeling that you had read about in a novel once or twice before. It felt calmer, deeper and stronger. More like a warm blanket that wrapped itself around you, sheltering you from the cold und the numbness that threatened to seep into your bones.

You had first met Haymitch on the train to the Capitol. You had reluctantly stepped into the wagon just behind Jason, your district partner – flanked by a handful of peacekeepers. It was then your eyes landed on his rather lanky but lean form, slumped one of the velvet cushioned seats, a half-empty glass of some alcoholic beverage dangling from his fingers. Effie Trinket – the escort for district 12 – had pointed to him with one of her hands, long nails painted a bright pink and sparkling.

Effie had let out a high-pitched yet sorrowful sigh as she gestured to Haymitch in the chair, the corners of her lipstick-stained lips downturned just the slightest. “This is Haymitch Abernathy. He will be your mentor for the games. He will give you advice on how to survive in the arena and how to get sponsors.” She had started explaining in her high voice as she waltzed over to him, her heels clicking on the floor of the moving train. When she reached him, she wrapped her long fingers around the glass that was still tightly clutched in his grip, taking it and setting it on the table before him. This seemed to rouse him as he lifted his head, blinking heavily.

“Your tributes, Haymitch. Don’t let them down.” Effie had murmured to him, squeezing his shoulder before straightening her back again and making her way to the exit of the wagon that led to the next. She turned back to face you and Jason, giving you a smile.

“May the odds ever be in your favour.”

Then she left, leaving you two alone with Haymitch.

Jason had been furious at first, already angrily muttering about how you both were going to die within the first hour if this was how Haymitch was going to act. All the while, the latter had been shaking his head back and forth, trying to gain back full consciousness, blond curls falling over his face. You had to admit, you were worried first as well. But somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry at him for hanging onto the bottle of whiskey like it was his lifeline. You had seen his games. Snippets of it, anyway. Had seen how Maysilee, Wyatt and Lou Lou had died. And others he had seemed to be close to. You also hadn’t been oblivious to the fire that had burned down his house, his family with it. No doubt a warning from president Snow himself.

He had helped you and Jason as much as he could. Told you all the ways you could woo the Capitol and the gamemakers to be in your favour. All things he didn’t do back then, earning him a total of one point in his individual assessment with the gamemakers. He never made any of you two any hopes. Said that the chances of your survival could be sky-high and lower than the earth all the same.

You had been lucky enough to earn an eight in your assessment, impressing them just enough with your skills with an axe. When they started to drift off, their attention wandering, you had smashed the axe right into one of the metal tables displaying various knives. The sound of the impact had echoed throughout the whole room and their eyes had snapped straight back to you. You had let the axe stuck in the table and bowed your head once before wordlessly leaving the room.

All of those memories that ran through your head all day long – paired with the horrors of the arena – seemed to wash away when Haymitch looked at you like he did now. With a soft and gentle understanding. With this intensity that suffocated you in the best way possible. At this point, he was the only one that treated you like a human being. And you ate it up like you were starved, which honestly, you were.

After what could’ve been mere seconds, minutes or even hours, Haymitch let out a small breath. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? The president wouldn’t appreciate us being too late.” His tone clearly expressed that he couldn’t care less about being late. Or about displeasing the president. But unfortunately, it would only lead to punishments neither of you would be pleased about. So wordlessly, you linked your arm back with his and with that, you made your way through the double-doors.

The sight you were met with wasn’t anything you weren’t used to by now, but it overwhelmed you each time nonetheless. The countless colours were entirely too bright the endless smells of various foods and drinks paired with too many strongly-scented perfumes making your nose itch and your head ache. And of course, the eyes that immediately landed on you as soon as the doors opened. The stares were something you were never going to get used to. You wished the carpeted floor beneath your feet would swallow you whole and never spit you out again. Almost anything was better than having their greedy and wanting eyes on you.

Haymitch led you over to one of the long tables that served drinks, knowing you could need one as well. The short journey to that table took way longer than necessary, having to stop every few steps to smile brightly at yet another Capitol inhabitant and tell them how honoured you were to be here. How grateful you were to have returned victorious from the games, as if you wouldn’t have rather died a gruesome death by some mutts than stand here and let them run their hands over your arms as they told you how absolutely marvellous you were.

When you finally stopped in front of the mahogany table, covered in a pristine white clothe, Haymitch grabbed one of the many glasses and took a big swig. In the process, he reached over and handed you one of the glasses as well. Just like him, you let the alcoholic – yet still way too sweet – beverage run down your throat, the burning sensation feeling oddly pleasant in this situation.

Before you knew it, you were being whisked away by various journalists, aspiring stylists and other political figures in the Capitol. They treated you like a sensation, a spectacle they could feed off of.

The journalists asked you about the most horrific happenings in the arena. The one’s still stuck in your head. The one’s you still saw each time you closed your eyes. Like seeing your district partner, Jason, get killed during the bloodbath after barely making it out yourself.

As soon as the gong sounded to announce the beginning of the games, everyone bolted. Straight for the Cornucopia. You remembered Haymitch telling both you and Jason it was basically suicide. That a lot of tributes never made it out of the bloodbath that occurred at each start of the games.

So, you didn’t. You sprinted forward with the intent on grabbing one of the backpacks strewn a bit farther around the Cornucopia before running to the forest on your left side. That plan was interrupted, however, when you barely managed to dodge the blade of a sword that was swung at you, sending you stumbling and landing on the damp and muddy ground with a thud.

You rolled to the side just in time as the same sword came down upon you once more, lodging itself in the ground where you had been mere seconds ago. You were breathing heavily, the adrenaline pumping through your veins like electricity through a wire. While the tribute that had attacked you – the girl from 5 – was occupied with pulling her sword out of the ground, you were trying to pull yourself to your feet again. That was when a hand appeared in front of your eyes, outstretched in a silent offer to help. You had looked up and sighed in relief when you saw Jason, a backpack slung over his shoulder and already covered in grime. You placed your hand in his, letting him pull you up into a standing position.

You were just about to thank him as you heard a wet sound that sounded scarily like something sharp lodging itself into flesh. You stared at Jason in shock, seeing how the life slipped from his body in seconds. He dropped to the ground in a heap, dead. Behind him stood the girl from 5, bloody sword clutched tightly in her hand. It seemed she had also just realized what she’d done, staring at the glistening red liquid on her blade in horror.

Her stunned form gave you enough time to escape. You ran away from them as fast as you could, ignoring the screams of the other tributes around you. When you caught sight of another backpack that hadn’t been claimed yet, you bent down just enough to lift it up mid-run, swinging it over one of your shoulders and taking off towards the forest.

The sight of the light leaving his eyes would forever haunt you. You saw it every night in your nightmares, the ones in which he reminded you that it was your fault. That you should’ve seen the girl approaching him before she could stab him.

They also loved to ask you about your first kill. The very same girl from 5 that had murdered Jason.

You had stumbled upon her by pure coincidence. You were crouching by the river bank that ran through the arena, letting the water run over your hands and dragging them over your face, trying to calm your racing thoughts and heart. It had been almost seven days in the arena. 7 fucking days in this hell.

16 tributes had already fallen, leaving 8 remaining. It would only be a matter of time now until that number would drop and drop until only the victor would be left. And you were still convinced it wouldn’t be you. You closed your eyes, taking in a deep yet shaky breath, willing to calm yourself down. Your thoughts strayed to Haymitch then. How he had tightly gripped your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes as he told you to fight. To fight and survive for your family, for yourself. And for him.

That’s when you heard the scrunch of boots meeting gravel, coming closer and closer. You had whipped around, on your feet in seconds and knife clutched tightly in your hands, prepared to strike if you had to. Though you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to. You hadn’t killed anyone yet – and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to.

Your eyes met those of the district 5 girl, Ronya, if you remembered her name correctly. Her eyes widened upon seeing you, remembering you from the bloodbath. Remembering that she had been the one to murder your district partner in cold blood. For what seemed like an eternity, you two simply stared at each other. Then, she bolted. But not to attack you like you’d expected. She ran away from you, as if you’d kill her if she didn’t – as revenge for Jason.

You could’ve let her run. You could have just continued on without getting blood on your hands. But this time, you didn't. Without thinking, you took off after her, sprinting as if your life depended on it. Or well, hers.

It didn’t take you long to catch up with her, grabbing the back of her jacket and pulling her back. It sent her tumbling to the ground immediately. You went right after her, setting your body atop hers, digging your knees into the forest-ground on each side of her body. You were just about to move your knife to her throat when you felt pain explode in your thigh, spreading through your whole body. You looked down and saw a small dagger buried deep into the side of your upper leg, Ronya’s hands still holding onto the handle.

She took advantage of your frozen state, rolling you both over so she was hovering above you now. She ripped the knife out of your leg, a pained cry leaving you. She knocked your blade out of your hands, going to plunge hers into your chest. Your hands flew up to stop her, gripping her wrists and strenuously holding the knife at a safe distance from your body. You were both trembling, scared and desperate to survive. Using all of the strength you had left, you managed to push her off, her body slumping to the floor next to you.

Your hands blindly scrambled for your knife as you kept your eyes on her quickly recovering body. As you fingertips touched it, you leaned a bit farther, taking a hold of the blade and turning back to Ronya. She was almost back on her feet now. Before you could think about what you were doing, you lunged over and stuck the blade into her calf.

She cried out, stumbling and tumbling down once more. This time you didn’t let her overpower you. You pulled the knife out of her leg and pinned her to the floor again, like you had done when you first caught up with her. She started crying then, tears streaming down her face and leaving traces in the dirt that covered her face. She cried and begged, pleading with you not to do it. That she was sorry for what she did to Jason. After all, she wanted to survive just as badly as everyone else in here did.

You stared down at her with wide eyes, hands trembling around the tight grip you had on your knife, raised just above her chest. But in that moment, you only saw Jason’s dead body dropping to the floor and the girl now beneath you standing behind him, her sword soaked in his blood. And so you ignored her begging, bringing the knife down. Over and over again.

By the end you were sobbing as well, flinching when the cannon echoed through the arena, sealing her fate.

It had taken everything in you not to break down in sobs and cries during your victory tour in district 5. Seeing the girl’s family standing on one of the pedestals, looking at you with nothing but hatred and grief.

And oh, how those journalists thrived off the last hour of the games. Their questions were endless. How you felt, what it was like – wanting you to repeat what happened, as if they couldn’t watch it on recording.

Only three tributes left after eleven days. You, the boy from 1 and the girl from 4. So it came down to you, a lowlife tribute from district 12, against two careers. You reluctantly approached the Cornucopia, blood dripping down your arm where the mutt that had chased you here left its mark. Your thigh was still throbbing from the stab wound you’d gotten four days ago from the district 5 girl – though the bandages you’d gotten that night as a sponsor gift had helped immensely. With the bandages, there had come a small note. It would’ve been a lie if you said that damned note wasn’t the reason you were here now, not having let the mutt take you.

“Survive for me, sweetheart. – H”

The small slip of paper was still in the inner pocket of your jacket. Maybe it was pathetic, but it had kept you going for the past four days. After killing Ronya, you’d been just about ready to let hunger and thirst take you, ending it once and for all. But that note. That fucking note. Silent sobs had started escaping you when you read it, clutching it tightly in your fingers.

And now here you were, trudging the rest of the distance between you and the Cornucopia. You knew what the Capitol wanted now. They wanted the final fight. The final battle of a district 12 tribute against two careers, one from district 1 and one from 4. The axe you had found laying next to the dead body of the boy from 3 dangling from one of your hands.

The two careers had apparently seen you approach as they left the Cornucopia, heads held high and staring straight at you. Cora, the girl from district 2, with her trident thrown over her shoulder, regarding you with a murderous glint in her eye. And Locke, the boy from district 1, his sword clutched in his hands, grinning at you like a predator flashing its teeth at his prey.

They came running at you – both at the same time. Weapons raised, they sprinted straight towards you. Thankfully, Cora was a bit faster than Locke, leaving you with enough time to dodge both attacks. You sidestepped just in time, causing Cora to bury the tips of her trident in the ground. Right after, you raised your axe, blocking Locke’s sword from finding its target – you.

You stepped around them, rushing for the Cornucopia. You knew you had to get some kind of leverage, some kind of higher ground. Otherwise you had no chance in surviving this. They had trained their whole life just for this. You were basically thrown in at the deep end without knowing how to swim.

You scrambled, pulling yourself on top of the Cornucopia. Climbing was thankfully one of your strengths, having had enough practice climbing trees back in 12. You raised your axe, ready to attack should one of them make it up. They reached the bottom of the Cornucopia just seconds after you made it to the top. Locke immediately crouched and locked his hands together, helping Cora by launching her up onto the surface.

A mistake. While she was trying to regain balance and stand up straight on her feet, you attacked. Your axe wedged itself deep in her shoulder. Cora had stared at you with wide eyes, not expecting your sudden attack. You pulled the axe out and without further delay, let it lodge itself in her neck, separating her head from the rest of her body seamlessly.

You didn’t even look at her dead body. The adrenaline running through your veins was too strong, the will to survive overtaking your senses. Jumping down from the Cornucopia, you barely registered the pain the impact of your feet meeting the ground sent through your legs. You swung at Locke without hesitation, the blade of your axe stuck in his side. He let out a pained grunt, but he didn’t give up yet. His sword cut a clean gash across your hip, leading you to stumble the slightest bit.

You pulled the axe from his side and before he could think, you struck again, this time sinking the sharp edge of the axe straight into his chest. Like you did with Jason, you watched as the life drained out of Locke’s body before it crumpled to the ground like a sack filled with stones. Two more cannons fired. One for Cora, one for Locke.

And with that, you’d won the 55th hunger games. Standing in the middle of the arena, axe still clutched in your hands, entire body covered in blood, grime and dirt.

They loved to hear the story of how you killed the two careers. It was a miracle to them. A tribute from district 12 killing two careers. It seemed almost impossible to them. And yet, here you were.

By now, you were used to all of these questions however, to their greedy and insensitive curiosity. Their desire for anything slightly exciting. You answered them just like you always did. With a smile playing at your lips, always putting emphasis on how glad you were that you were the victor. That you were honoured and thriving in this role when in reality, you wanted to curl up into a ball on the floor and cry until there were no more tears left in your body. But you handled it, swallowed it all down – just like you were told to do.

That changed when you got strung into a conversation with a middle-aged couple, Capitol people no doubt, the matching rings on their fingers implying that they were married. The woman, hanging onto her husband’s arm, grinned at you in a way that made an uncomfortable shiver run down your spine. Like bugs crawling their way all over your skin. Her husband, a man of average height and on the thicker side, let his eyes rake over your entire body, an almost hungry look in his eyes.

The woman leaned over, as if to whisper in her husband’s ear, but she purposely spoke loudly enough for you to hear her words as well. “Isn’t she even prettier up close, my love? Such a precious girl our victor is this year.” She almost purred, her tone sultry as she looked you up and down. Her husband answered immediately, a short but loud laugh escaping him.

“Indeed she is. But she’d look even prettier in my bed.” He muttered, eyes not leaving you – who was now frozen in place. With his next words, he directly addressed you, rather than his wife. “Wouldn’t you, dollface? I’d pay a good fortune to get you beneath my sheets for a night, looked so pretty every time you cried in the arena. I can practically imagine how much better you’d look with tears of pleasure running down your face.” He drawled, his lips spreading into a wide and disgusting smile as he reached out, running his thumb across your cheekbone in what was probably supposed to be a gentle manner.

It made you want to recoil and put as much distance between you and the man as you could. You had heard of it before. Whispers among fellow victors. That president Snow picked the prettiest and most desirable one’s to sell to the people of the Capitol, forcing them into prostitution. They couldn’t refuse, the lives of their loved one’s one the line.

Until now, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind that Snow could possibly see this kind of potential in you. But now, as this repulsive couple gawked at you with nothing but burning thirst and need in their eyes, their words still echoing in your head, it dawned on you that it wasn’t impossible. It made you nauseous, terrified. You could handle anything. Their questions, their stares, being treated like a puppet at these events. But having to give them your body and let them live out their sickest fantasies? You’d rather jump off the nearest building.

You took a step back, the man’s hand falling from your face, his smirk faltering a small bit. “I… excuse me, just one moment” you sputtered out through the panic rising in your chest. You turned on your heels, speed-walking off and as far away as you could from the couple. Unbeknownst to you, Haymitch had seen almost the entire interaction. He had searched the whole ballroom when he lost sight of you. Ultimately, his eyes landed on you just as the man put his hand on your face. Haymitch didn’t hear what he had said to you, but even from the distance, he could see the wanting look in the man’s eyes.

He had begun rushing over, rage clouding his mind. He wouldn’t let this happen to you. He refused. Anything but this. He wouldn’t let those Capitol pigs put their filthy hands on your body, shattering you even further. When he was just seconds from reaching you, from ripping the man’s hands off of your body, even if it would cost him his life, you’d turned and darted off into the crowd. This time, Haymitch was hot on your heels, pushing past all the people to keep sight of you, occasionally uttering a quiet apology under his breath he didn’t mean.

He found you in one of the far corners of the gigantic room, back pressed flush to the wall and hand over your stomach, trying to slow your erratic breathing. The second you saw him, you felt tears welling up in your eyes – relief washing over you – knowing you were not alone. Not anymore.

Haymitch took a quick look around, seeing that right now, everyone was too occupied to keep their eyes on you. He took your hand into one of his, pulling you along with him. He waltzed over to the nearest door that lined the walls of the room, and opened it just enough for both of you to slip through. The room was rather small, lined with various bookshelves and a table on one far end of it, no windows. A bright red carpet decorated the floor, complimenting the colour of the wooden floor beneath it.

He closed the door behind you, his reflexes just fast enough to catch you as you crumpled to the floor. Your side was against his chest, both his arms wrapped around your upper body as he sank down to the ground with you. The sobs wracked your body, your smaller form shaking and trembling in his arms. Your face was buried into the fabric of his suit-jacket, your tears leaving wet spots he couldn’t care less about.

At first, he didn’t say anything. He simply held you, feeling his heart break in his chest as he listened to your pained and guttural sobs. You practically curled up in his arms, making yourself as small as you could. Eventually, your voice broke through your sobs, weak and stuttering:

“I- I wanna go home. Please, I just w-wanna go home. Please, Haymitch”

Your words, desperate and broken, shattered him even further. He tightened his hold on you, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” Haymitch muttered, lips still pressed to the top of your head. He closed his eyes, blinking away the tears that threatened to escape him as well. “Just breathe for me, alright?” he added in a whisper, one of his hands coming up to stroke the side of your face in a soothing manner, shielding you from the world around you.

He continued this motion for what seemed like hours, until your sobs had turned to smaller whimpers, the tears finally seizing. When you had calmed down for the most part, you rested the side of your temple on his shoulder, gazing up at Haymitch with a look in your eyes that filled his entire chest with warmth. You looked at him as if he was your entire world. And no matter how selfish, he wanted it to stay that way.

Your voice eventually cut through the comfortable silence that had settled itself over both of you, lost in each other’s eyes. “Haymitch?” you whispered softly. His response was a gentle and deep hum, letting you know he was listening as his blue eyes didn’t stray from yours.

“I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I.. I love you.” What?

It was as if his brain stopped working in that moment, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest. You loved him? It seemed that the shock and confusion was rather clear on his face, because you swallowed hard before breaking into a nervous ramble.

“I know we haven’t known each other that long. Only since – well – since after the reaping. B- but it was the thought of you that kept me going in the arena. I don’t think I would’ve made it without you. Knowing that if I made it out of there alive, I’d come back to you, it kept me from giving up. And I know love is a big word – and that you might not feel the same, but I just had to –“ You were cut off by the sensation of soft and slightly chapped lips meeting yours, a hand settling itself over your cheek, pulling you even closer. You closed your eyes and melted into the kiss straight away, wrapping your arms around Haymitch’s neck and pressing yourself flush against him. The kiss was passionate, filled with emotion. But it wasn’t needy or even remotely sexual. It was a simple and strong expression of love.

Haymitch was on cloud nine. No drunken rush he’d ever experienced could compare to the high he felt right now, his lips on yours and you in his arms. Knowing you loved him. The kiss said more than a thousand words could. But still, he reluctantly broke away from the addicting feel that was your lips, muttering a breathless “I love you too.” His mouth brushing against yours in the process. Hearing his words, you pulled him back in, planting a gentle kiss on his lips, losing yourself in him once more.

Snow had taken a lot from both of you – too much. But this was something he couldn’t take. This moment. The sensation of your joined lips, of your arms wrapped around each other. The passion and happiness that coursed through your bodies even for just these few minutes you had with each other.

This feeling of love that burned bright in your hearts – like all-fire.

#haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch x reader #haymitch fanfic #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x y/n #hunger games x reader #hunger games x you #haymitch abernathy x you #the hunger games fanfiction

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sleo00 · 1 month ago

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[TEASER]

HARDER TO BREATHE [H.A.]

pairing: (young) haymitch abernathy x fem!reader

word count: 6.1k

content warnings/contains: spoilers for sotr (maybe), angst, fluff, ptsd (from the games), Capitol pigs being disgusting, graphic talks of death and violence, swearing, classic hunger games stuff, mentions of forced prostitution, canon divergence, not everything i write makes sense, use of y/n, maybe ooc Haymitch (?) - i fear i'm not very good at portraying a character's personality accurately, reader is supposed to be 18 in this and Haymitch around 21, reader is the winner of the 55th games, let's pretend Haymitch's drinking problem wasn't as bad yet during that time (might change for final fic)

release date: 27/07/25 (here)

Snippet of what's to come:

#haymitch abernathy x reader #sleo00 #sleo00writes #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #hunger games x reader #haymitch x y/n #haymitch x you

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sleo00 · 1 month ago

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LEO'S MASTERLIST

Hi everyone!

Here you will find all of my already published works. If you want to request something for any of the below listed characters, feel free to message me :)

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker

About To Break

Obi-Wan Kenobi

coming soon...

Padmé Amidala

coming soon...

Luke Skywalker

coming soon...

THE HUNGER GAMES

Haymitch Abernathy

Harder To Breathe

Johanna Mason

coming soon...

Finnick Odair

coming soon...

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sleo00 · 1 month ago

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ABOUT TO BREAK [A.SW.]

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 1.5k

content warnings/contains: unrequited love, angst, no comfort, the mustafar fight scene, reader basically doesn't have much backbone and devotes her whole life to a man (it's Anakin though, so can we blame her?) violence, i don't think there's much else, it's short and basically just a snippet of what could be a whole story

a/n: Hi, so this is my first ever story, I hope you'll like it :) English isn't my first language so there will probably be some mistakes (mainly in grammar). Check out my introduction post and my account if you like this to see more or request me to write something :)

link to masterlist

The only things you saw were black mountains of solid rock, scorching hot lava forming rivers and seas as it burned and melted its way throughout the whole landscape. Your spaceship approached the atmosphere, breaking through it with a shake that rattled through the whole aircraft. It was almost as if the heat of the molten stone forced its way through the thick glass into the cockpit. Though, to be quite honest, you wouldn’t have felt it anyway. You could have probably jumped out the ship right into the lake of lava below you, and still only felt the same coldness chilling your bones that had done so for the past years, the one that seemed to grow with each breath you took, consuming your very being, freezing you from the inside out.

As you slowed down your spaceship, flying just high enough above the ground so the lava-spitting lakes wouldn’t cause damage to it, your mind repeated the same words over and over. Snippets of the message Obi-Wan had sent you through the intercom echoing in your head.

Anakin… Dark Side… Mustafar… please help… maybe… make him see the light.

Those were the only parts of the message you could still remember. Your brain had shut down the second you had heard Obi-Wan mutter his name. Anakin.

On one side, his name caused pain. Excruciating pain that tore through your entire being, making you want to beg anyone who dared to listen to just make it stop. To make it go away. It wound itself around your throat like a murderous snake, suffocating you. On the other hand, it was like hearing his name breathed life right into your lungs, making you feel more alive than you ever had. Making your heart soar and race faster than you thought possible.

Ironically, those were all emotions you were told you weren’t supposed to feel. That they weren’t the Jedi way, against the Jedi Code.

You couldn’t even fathom how you had once believed in that exact code. It were lies, all lies. There was no peace, no harmony. Not in your soul, anyway. In the depths of yourself, there was a storm that even you didn’t know how to tame, driven by love, anger and grief. It was truly fascinating. How inside of you, this turmoil took place, a total mess of emotions. But still, you felt numb, as if nothing could hurt you anymore.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the force.

Just as your mind wandered, you caught sight of two small sources of light, clashing upon each other repeatedly, blue meeting green. Anakin and Obi-Wan. The two were standing on a narrow beam just a few meters above a giant sea of simmering lava, their lightsabers entangled in a violent dance.

You pressed one of the buttons on the control panel in front of you, the ship letting out a hiss as the glass hatch above you opened. You climbed atop the spaceship with practiced ease, feeling the weight of your own lightsaber hanging from your belt. Without you steering the ship, it began to sink and shake, almost knocking you off balance. In the right moment, you leaped, landing on the same fallen pole Anakin and Obi-Wan were still balancing on. You didn’t even watch as the ship crashed into the lava not too far away from you, sinking and melting as if it was being swallowed by the planet itself.

Obi-Wan had seen your ship approach, a feeling of relief coursing through him. He had worried you might not come after you hadn’t answered as he spoke to you through the intercom. The fight with Anakin had already drained so much life out of him. The problem wasn’t the toll it took on him physically. As an experienced Jedi Knight, he was well trained and long-ongoing fights like this barely bothered him anymore.

It pained him to fight against who he had once considered his brother. The little boy from Tatooine he had seen growing into the young man he now was. Though now, he barely recognized him anymore. The hatred with which Anakin regarded him was awful. He imagined it felt worse than if someone had stabbed him right through the chest with a lightsaber.

He felt desperate and lost. He had come to Mustafar with Padmé in the hope that the pregnant woman might help make Anakin see reason, that it didn’t need to end like this. But when Obi-Wan saw how Anakin almost ended his own wife’s life right there, his hand raised, using the force to drain the life out of her, he felt all hope was lost.

There was only one other person that he knew might break through to Anakin, though after what went down with Padmé, he wasn’t entirely convinced anymore. Obi-Wan wasn’t about to give up, however, which led him to contact you, pleading with you through the intercom to make your way to Mustafar. To help him stop Anakin from falling deeper and deeper into the dark side of the force. So when you gracefully landed on the other side of Anakin, trapping him right between you two, Obi-Wan felt hope.

You were too far away for Obi-Wan to see your face clearly, but he could see that it was distorted in what seemed like anger and sadness. Though your posture was straight, as elegant and steady as ever, he felt through the force just how broken you were. As he regarded you and felt the force-disturbance of the storm that was brewing inside of you, he slowly began to realize that while calling you, he had forgotten one important detail. You had always been a faithful and trustworthy jedi, never to be suspected to betray the Order. But as much as you were loyal to the Jedi, you were even more loyal to Anakin.

Said loyalty was driven by the intense feeling of love you harboured for him. Love you knew he would never return as he built his life with Padmé. But you never seized. Not in the hope of him changing his mind about you, but because you weren’t able to leave him behind. You would never be able to part from him, no matter what were to happen. Anakin could burn down the entire world and Obi-Wan was certain you would be right by his side, supporting him. It seemed, that in your eyes, Anakin could do no wrong. It was frightening, the lengths you would be willing to go. Just for him.

As this realization dawned upon him, he could see you moving towards both of them. You broke into a sprint – and just before you reached either of them, you took a leap, flipping right over them and landing behind Obi-Wan this time, hand reaching for the unignited lightsaber hanging by your side. Obi-Wan spun around on the beam, focused on you now, knowing Anakin was too surprised by your sudden arrival to attack him right now.

Now, as Obi-Wan saw you up close, the pain was even more evident on your face. Tear streaks marred your face, the soot of the smoke and burning air around you already having settled on your face. As you looked at him, it felt like you were looking right through him, rather than at him. Your hand clutched your lightsaber as if it was the only thing tethering you to earth, to life. As if you might fade away if you let go. Your grip was so tight that your hand was trembling, tremors shooting through your whole body.

Although with hesitance, Obi-Wan spoke up, still holding onto the hope that you were here to stop Anakin, not fall to the other side with him. “You came…”, he began, slowly. “We need to stop him.”

Your lips were tightly pressed together, tears still brimming in the corners of your eyes as you shook your head slowly. “I’m sorry.” Those were the only words that you managed to force out, your voice breaking in the process. Obi-Wan felt that you only partly meant your words. That you only felt a tiny bit of remorse for what you would do next. That your unhealthy devotion to Anakin would lead you to do anything.

With a small flick of your wrist, your lightsaber buzzed to life, the blade expanding to its full length in seconds. Though it wasn’t it’s normal blue colour, matching Anakin’s. At least not entirely. The blade shimmered in a combination of blue and red, the two colours bleeding into each other in the middle of the blade.

Obi-Wan’s face fell.

He had come to realize it was highly unlikely that you would help him fight against Anakin. But he hadn’t expected that you had long since fallen as well, the dark side of the force having also taken a hold of you.

The red seeping into the blade of your lightsaber chilled him to the bone, despite the heat surrounding him. It was then he realized he would have to fight two people he saw as family today. That he had lost the two people most dear to him. And there was no way to safe them.

And he would do what he must.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #star wars x you #sleo00writes

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