#mockingjay headcanons

[houliheart]

finnick getting off by watching your previous interview with caesar

MDNI 18+

Maybe it was because he missed your warmth, the way you'd clench around his cock, mewling out his name. He couldn't help it. Downright shameful and humiliating, but god, if you didn't look divine.

Finnick's hand wrapped around the base of his cock, one arm behind him on the bed. He exhaled, head falling back, eyes closing as his hand began to move. Slow at first, trying to draw it out. But, the moment you walked on stage, Finnick couldn't hold back. Not with the way your hips swayed as you walked, with the way you waved at the crowd, with the way you kissed Caesar's hand with a flirty smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing. Finnick groaned, biting his bottom lip to quiet himself so he could hear you talk.

"Well, no, as sweet as everyone is here, I've got a boy back home. He's really just perfect. Pretty hair, pretty dimples, sun kissed skin. I think you'd all would just die for him."

Damn you. It got him every time. Another quiet groan escaped Finnick, his thumb rubbing over the tip of his cock, mimicking the way you'd do it. If you already weren't sexy enough, the subtle way you claimed Finnick was enough to make him moan.

Finnick's rhythm was sloppy, desperate, and needy. If you weren't in the Capitol, he'd have fucked you right there. But, his hand would have to be enough for now.

"Caeser!" You exclaimed, and Finnick pretended it was his name you gasped out. "No, no, I won't tell who. A girl has to have her secrets, right?"

Finnick moaned loudly, head falling back as his hips canted up into his tight fist. You continued to answer questions; laughing softly on cue, adjusting yourself in your seat to show off more of your body to the vultures. He remembered seething despite the fact being a siren was his idea to earn you sponsors, but now, he had a guilty appreciation for it.

His soft moans were short, quick, and raspy. He was so close, hand pumping as quickly as he could. Sea green eyes watched you stand, holding your arms out to show the crowd your pretty sea-themed dress. In the direction of the camera, you bowed, the sweet curve of your breasts accentuated.

Finnick's hips stuttered, the fingers on the bed curling into the comforter. His fist closed around his tip, continuing to circle the swollen head of his cock. Within another second, he was moaning your name and cumming into his fist.

[totallywoman]

grandpa haymitch!!!

my biggest epilogue headcanon is that i 100% believe haymitch decides to quit drinking when he finds out katniss is pregnant (because i REFUSE to accept he doesn’t live to see their kids). i can see him reaching the point in his life where he thinks katniss and peeta don’t need him anymore, and starts letting go of living. i imagine that lenore dove visits him in a dream, her hair gray and face wrinkled (but as beautiful to him as ever). she tells him that his time with his family is not over and they will need him more than ever.

then, he finds out katniss is pregnant, and everything changes. he finally sees an opportunity to start over. everyone he has ever loved has been hurt by him, but he refuses to burden another soul he loves. he loves katniss and peeta too much to break their trust like that yet again, and already sees himself holding their sweet baby in his arms. he can’t imagine stumbling around, slurring his words in front of someone so precious. it’s simply unthinkable.

he thinks of burdock. his adored daughter having her own child. he makes a silent promise to him to take care of his grand babies, something that was taken away from him.

so one night, soon after katniss and peeta break the news, he dumps all the white liquor down the drain. he ends up miserably sick, but just the thought of that baby or the sight of katniss’ growing belly is enough to keep him from going into town and buying more liquor.

he eventually comes back to life, and is more present in katniss and peeta’s lives than ever. he helps them put together the baby’s room, cares for katniss when she’s not feeling well while peeta’s working, and never comes back from town without something for the baby.

when katniss goes into labor, he spends the entire day pacing back and forth downstairs in the living room. he is so worried about her. the sound of labor pains is almost enough to put back a drink. almost.

when he goes upstairs and meets their baby girl, he breaks down. katniss and peeta have never seen him cry until this moment. all he can see are the two people he loves most in the world, wrapped up into a tiny bundle of dark curls and chubby cheeks. she looks just like katniss, remembering the days where burdock showed her off in the hob. he imagines the future he wanted with lenore dove, how they were going to have their own babies and grandbabies. she would be so proud of him, so happy he got to experience the love of being a father and a grandfather in this world.

as baby girl and her brother grow, haymitch becomes their favorite person. they love to ride on his shoulders, chase around with the geese, and play dress up with him (which is katniss’s favorite thing to watch - he looks ridiculous and can’t help but scowl at her as she laughs at him dressed up in a dress and tiara. he does it anyway, it makes the kids happy).

he eventually teaches the girl how to play piano (because he obviously learned it to honor lenore dove), and brings her a bundle of wildflowers after her first recital. he is there for every birthday, every school performance, every sport event, and every sunday (at the very least) for dinner. he walks with katniss every afternoon to pick them up from school, and carries the boy on his shoulders while he holds the girl’s hand.

he loves her beautiful voice and her kindness toward everyone she meets. he loves his curiosity, his belly laugh, and the mop of blonde curls on the top of his head. he often finds himself ruffling them, just as he would do to sid so long ago.

they remind him of all the innocent souls he loved and lossed. sid, louella, ampert, lou lou; all too innocent for the creulty of the world. the difference is, they are out of the capitol’s reach.

finally, he is not defined by his faults. he is not the rebel tribute who got his family and his girl killed, a victor, a mentor, or a drunk. he is grandpa haymitch. loved to death by two little kids and their parents, just for being him.

lenore dove often visits him in his dreams, telling him she’s so proud of him, and to keep living for her in this world where the sun rises on days full of love, hope, and peace.

[hayffieee]

A sobering up Haymitch + Effie without make-up is my Roman Empire and 3AM fanfic spiral.

So anyways new edit 👀

[clearlyundefeyened]

Haymitch loves both of his grandchildren deeply, but there's something special about him finally getting to watch a little brother grow up in a world without a reaping.

[lenorayoder]

i know when katniss was pregnant peeta endlessly told people she had a bun in the oven. i know peeta is a pun boy.

[allisluv]

Finnick Odair who considers everything with reader to be his first! Also they never had the chance to properly fairly and safely develop their relationship until probably d13/post rebellion and now he feels the rush and gets nervous and imagines things and whatnot. Do you think in the beginning he’d be confused on why his meticulously crafted Capitol Charmer persona suddenly doesn’t work anymore?

i yapped so bad and idk if any of it makes sense but we move! this is giving me ideas for finnick and shy!wifey ugh i miss them. also this is the first time i've wrote properly in like a month so please be nice or i'll cry (/hj) <3 // tw: mentions of finnick's trauma and slightly nsfw content? idk not really but i'll add it anyway

oh my heart is melting !! finnick is so nervous when he's around you; i am talking palms sweating, heart racing, mouth dry, stumbling over his words kind of nervous--- and that scares him. not that he's scared of you; he's just scared that the persona he's crafted so delicately, so carefully, over the years is beginning to crumble. and honestly? he's got no clue who he is, not after spending years mastering the act of being different people to suit the situation and the people around. he doesn't know how to be finnick. he just know how to survive, and that is by being the capitol darling, by being whoever you want him to be.

after the war, there's a hell of a lot of self-discovery (not only for the victors, but for people as a whole), and the first time finnick and you go out on a date-- a proper one, not a propo for the capitol or thirteen --, he's so nervous that he nearly ends up knocking over a candle and setting the only rebuilt restaurant in four up in flames. hes so nervous that the table shakes as his knee bobs under the table, and when you reach across to take his hand in yours, telling him to relax and just be himself, he doesn't know what to do with that advice.

...because he doesn't know who he is!

there would be a lot of conversations between you and finnick about finding your sense of self again, even when the relationship between the two of you progresses from something sweet and easy-going to something more serious and long-term. finnick would suggest having date nights where the two of you try something new each time in an effort to figure out what you really like and what you were told to like if that makes any sense at all.

and you are so right about finnick classing everything with you as his first! if anyone asks who his first kiss was, he'll answer you without a second of hesitation (because florence in primary school didn't count and the people from the capitol definitely didn't). you were the first person he made love to, the first person he had sex with (yes, there is a difference, especially to him), the first person he genuinely thought about a family and marriage with, and the first person he slept safely beside.

and, boy, does he intend for you to be the last, too.

[justsummr]

i’ve never posted on tumblr before i’m scared,,

some post war katniss doodles/thoughts. I thought a lot about katniss getting a hunting dog but in reality I think she’d find an ugly starving little mutt who she couldn’t help but take in. prim took in poor animals, buttercup is a mangy old cat, the goat had health issues. it runs in the family. i think katniss would find a dog who had been abandoned sometime in the war, or never belonged to someone at all

[notsocooljess]

i think my favorite not-explored-enough detail from Mockingjay is how after Katniss breaks down when she is reunited with Buttercup, she falls asleep on her sitting room floor but later wakes up in her bed.

i just imagine Peeta tagging along with Greasy Sae and her granddaughter to eat with Katniss for dinner, and they walk inside and see her laying on the floor, unconscious, her features red and puffy from crying. they see Buttercup curled up near her (but not next to her, since he’s still a little weary from the thrown pillows). the two of them exchange a brief look, and with no words said, Greasy Sae offers Peeta a nod and walks herself and her granddaughter home.

Peeta steps closer to her, noticing that she washed herself and changed her clothes from when he saw her earlier in the day. he silently studied her features. then, as gently as he can, he scoops her up into his arms and carries her upstairs to her room with Buttercup, awoken from the movement, trodding at his feet. he tucks her into bed, wanting to stay but knowing he shouldn’t. he gives her hand a gentle squeeze and goes home.

the next morning, he and Sae show up for breakfast. they don’t mention how her face looks puffy from fresh tears. they know this means she’s finally trying to heal.

[you-askedforthis]

Everlark Headcanon #4

Katniss wrote a song for each member of her family. One for Peeta, one for each toast baby, and one for Haymitch.

[ella467c]

I know that sotr was hearthbreaking enough, but now imagine Peeta writing a letter to Effie inviting her to 12 and telling her how much he, Katniss and Haymitch miss her. Not realising that she’s ubeen in love with Haymitch for quite some time and hopes that he might be doing better, now that everything is over.

The first time since Plutarch forced that damned job upon her she’s truly happy. Till the first evening she spends there. They eat dinner at Haymitch‘s as they usually do and she just can’t stop staring at the lovely drawing in his living room that Peeta made for him, because as she sits there looking at the portrait of the stunnig young woman with the wild hair and bright smile, she realises that she never was even an option.

She still stays. She takes care of Haymitch as she always did. She cleans the house and she washes his clothes. She even overcomes her fear of the geese, just to be able to feed them, when Haymitch lies blacked out on the couch again. She asks Peeta to teach her how to cook, which she couldn’t do till that point, because as her mother used to say „You don’t need to know how to cook, because you don’t need another chance to eat more and someone who looks and behaves as horrid as you, will never have a husband to cook for anyways.“ (every time she looks at that beautiful portrait she believes it a little bit more) just so the kids don’t have to spend every meal with Haymitch so he wouldn’t starve. Effie Trinket does her best to keep him sober, as she always did.

But that doesn’t seem to be enough. She doesn’t seem to be enough.

[houliheart]

you wore southern!finnick's cowboy hat and he teaches you what that means

mdni 18+

warnings: literally just pure smut. p in v, creampie, finnick eating you out after, brief mention of alcohol, nothing too crazy, porn without plot tbh

how did you get here? all you remembered was slamming back a few shots at your father's bar, flirting with the cute dimpled boy whose eyes lit up like lightning bugs when you took his cowboy hat and danced around with it. now, you were on top of him, bucking your hips.

"i tell you how good you looked with my hat?" finnick groaned, his fingers holding tightly to the plush on your hips, pushing up into. "awfully pretty, baby."

you moaned, his hat slipping down to cover your face. his cock was buried deep, stretching your walls deliciously. your eyes fluttered shut when he grazed that sweet spot inside of you, his name on your breath. "finnick..."

"baby," finnick tutted, one hand leaving your hips to tilt his hat up. with it fixed and your pretty face back on display, finnick sighed and stroked your cheek. "y' feel so good. so warm and soft."

you clenched around him, which caused finnick to laugh around a moan. he hummed when your hands landed on his chest for extra support, your movements becoming unsteady. being the gentleman he was, finnick wrapped an arm around your waist and thrusts up into you. the way you fell apart almost instantly had his cock twitching.

"best pussy i've ever had," and, in your cock drunk state, you weren't going to argue. "i'd let you wear my hat anytime you want, pretty girl."

you cried out, walls spasming and clenching around finnick's cock, not letting him pull out as you came. finnick chuckled, kissing your pretty lips as he sloppily thrusted into you a few more times. then, his dick twitched, filling you up with his warm cum.

"you did so good," finnick cooed, laying you back on the bed. he loomed over you, sea-green eyes raking over your naked body. then he did the unbelievable. he positioned himself between your legs, kissing up your legs until he got to your folds. he smirked when you shuddered, tongue dipping between your folds. "gonna clean you up as thanks, sweetheart."

[totallywoman]

i have a post-mockingjay headcanon that katniss eventually teaches herself to play the guitar. i imagine peeta finding one and gifting it to her as a birthday present, or as a gesture to cheer her up on an especially hard week. she loves having something to do with her hands and she has such a natural (biological!!) connection to music that it comes so easy to her. at any given time peeta or haymitch will just find her strumming away on the porch, the couch, or sitting on a hill in the meadow, surrounded by a field of wildflowers and dandelions. it helps her stay grounded, especially on bad days. being able to express herself through music instead of words is comforting.

those little toast babies grow up with music always playing in the house, just as their covey ancestors once did.

[hayffieee]

“While the world was burning, they found something neither of them expected— each other.”

First Hayffie edit :)

—Thinking of starting to write Hayffie fanfics.

[lucy-gray1075]

finnick odair who's always picking you up like it's second nature to him. he doesn't even have to expend any energy, he just wraps one big arm around your waist and tugs you into him, lifting your feet off the floor. he grabs your thigh with his other arm, hand squeezing your ass as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his torso so he can kiss you harder.

[not-mary-sue]

Imagining Haymitch, 12 years after Mockingjay. It's July 4. It's peaceful. Everyone is going about there day as normal. More importantly, the children are in school, as this day is no different from any other, and for the first time he fully realises the freedom they've given them. Not only will these children never a face a reaping, they don't even remember the fear of it.

[jabberjjs]

The first time I felt her stirring inside me, I was overwhelmed by a fear as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could make me push through it.

Carrying little Willow in my belly, I decided to make her a bow. Well, I tried. My days swung between excitement for her arrival and terror at the thought of losing her to the cruelty waiting outside. And it was during one of those euphoric moments that I decided to craft a bow for my girl, just like my father once did for me.

Yes, I would teach her to hunt. The thought that she’d know how to survive in my absence brought me some comfort — just a little.

I made countless attempts. Started over hundreds of times. I’d rescued all my bows from the forest a few years after the rebellion, trying to copy them — and failing almost every time.

But I was persistent. And I kept at it.

When Willow was born, I kept working in the small workshop Haymitch helped me set up at the back of the yard.

By her first birthday, I finally got it just right. I could hear my father’s voice, telling me I’d done a good job. The thrill of giving her that bow filled me with a nervous excitement, but I knew I had to be patient — after all, she was only one year old.

I stored the bow on top of the wardrobe, inside the big cover that held Beetee’s bow from the war — a bow I’d never used again. I found a spot for it in the attic, as it brought back painful memories.

But I’d wait for her to grow up. And she did — curious, brave, determined. Smart too. The second baby came just a few months after her six-year-old sister’s birthday, which made me postpone plans to take her into the woods.

In early autumn of the next year, I woke Willow before sunrise. We had a hearty breakfast while she looked confused about the change in our routine.

“Why are we waking up so early?” she asked.

“Because I want to take you somewhere,” I replied, trying to stay calm and patient, though inside I was buzzing with excitement.

We dressed warmly, put on our boots, and remembered to tie two knots—just like her dad used to do. And finally, the moment arrived — the bow was handed to my girl.

She hugged it tight, speechless, but her blue eyes sparkled with so much happiness that a few tears slipped down her face.

“Now I can be just like you!” she exclaimed, glowing with joy.

And that love, already in my heart, seemed to double or even triple in size.

We ran into the forest as the first rays of sunlight appeared. Even though she’d never been in the woods before, Willow felt so safe and at ease that I knew I’d made the right choice.

Our first lesson was a long, mostly theoretical. I taught her about plants, herbs, some birds, and places to avoid, along with simple traps. She asked endless questions about when she’d be able to shoot, and I told her what I always said “When you’re ready for the forest.”

At first, she didn’t take it well, but I could tell she was eager to learn everything I could teach her.

And so, almost every morning, we raced the sun into the woods. There was still a fence, but it only kept out the bears in spring. Beyond it, we assumed our roles as hunters.

Over time, Willow started carrying a small notebook. She listened carefully to everything I explained, not missing a single detail. Months passed… One year… And then more months.

Our trips became daily, and Willow grew impatient — she still hadn’t learned to handle her bow properly.

“Just like her mom,” Peeta joked during dinner after I responded to one of her many pleas, and she stomped off in a huff.

The next morning, no trip to the woods — there was a school thing. But we went the day after.

I noticed she was unusually quiet during our run. I wondered if I’d been too strict. Still, there was so much she needed to learn. I was about to cave to her requests when a somber question broke the silence.

“Mom… were you really a tribute in the Hunger Games?”

It was bound to happen; I just didn’t expect it so soon.

“Yes,” we stopped in the middle of the trail leading up to the hill where wild strawberries waited to be picked.

“Was daddy a tribute too?” she frowned.

“Yes. He was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because... we were waiting for the right moment,” I said, feeling my heart crush in my chest as I tried to imagine what she already knew.

Silence fell.

I was trembling, but I was determined to answer any questions she had.

“They said you were the Mockingjay… during the revolution,” she looked at me, curious. I only nodded, watching her process the information.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked with a sad smile, and I nodded again.

And I told her. Not everything, just what was necessary — in a way that wouldn’t scare her. I talked about the Quarter Quell, about the District 13, and how her dad was captured, but I spared her the horrors he endured in the Capitol. I told her about the districts uniting and how many people lost their lives in the war — including Prim.

There were no lessons that morning.

The ride back home was even quieter. I could hear the gears turning in her mind.

As soon as she left for school, I told Peeta about the conversation in the forest, and the book was taken from the closet. It was time.

Explaining what had happened to Willow was easier than I expected. She asked so many questions, we lost track of time leaning over the book. Even though it was painful to talk about those we’d lost.

The next morning, Willow still seemed to be absorbing everything she’d learned, and I wondered if it was too much for her.

Maybe a day off..., I thought.

“Let’s go somewhere different today.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see. No school, no dad, no Haymitch, no Rye. Just us,” I said, and hearing that, she quickened her steps, grabbing my hand, a smile spreading across her face that barely fit her little cheeks.

The walk to the lake was filled with music — all the songs my father had ever taught me. The mockingjays sang along, and Willow was thrilled. She knew the story of the mockingjays, but seeing me sing and the birds echoing it back made her truly enchanted. Yes, I was the Mockingjay — the leader of them all, she said. It was a magical moment for both of us.

Willow wondered if she’d ever be like me, while I remembered my father with pride, knowing I was passing on your legacy.

At the lake, we played and swam almost the entire morning. Willow learned more about the birds there; the Sun made everything more enjoyable. We talked for hours and ate bread and cookies we’d brought along. We picked some Katniss from the lake and Willow loved sticking her fingers in the lake mud.

We headed back to District 12 late in the afternoon, greeted on the porch by Haymitch and Rye.

Willow ran to the bathroom at my command, too excited to complain about anything.

“Peeta told me,” Haymitch said as soon as I sat on the last step of the porch. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I smiled, picking up my sleepy boy. “I think we’ll be fine,” I said, and Haymitch kissed my forehead, proud of the woman I’d become.

The seasons changed, slowly taking my little hunter’s childhood away. She was so dedicated and studious — she and her father had made a book about all the bird and animal species she learned from me. Insects too, though she was still cataloging them in her notebook.

At twelve, she finally learned to use a bow—but she already had the steps and the instincts of a true hunter.

By fifteen, she brought home her first deer and climbed trees so tall it worried me.

After all these years, I finally had someone I could trust to watch my back in the forest—someone who would stay alert for hours or cover me when things got out of control.

She’d done a good job, just like her father taught her.

Willow grew up. She learned more about me, about her dad and about our traumas in the woods than she ever learned at home. In the woods, I confided everything — completely transparent with my oldest child.

Her parents’ past haunted her a little; knowing what they had endured at the Capitol filled her with a fierce determination, a kind of rebellion, and she kept repeating that it could never happen again.

Willow Mellark had a bit of a rebellious spirit and a strong political sense—she was so good with words, and everyone loved her for it. Haymitch always said she was a perfect copy of her parents.

But now, I had other lessons for her.

Never stop believing in the goodness of people. That it’s worth living for those who’ve passed — because they’re the ones who freed Panem. We played a repetitive game together… A game that helped me get out of bed on my darkest days.

Willow agreed that the game could get pretty boring over the years, but she also agreed there were worse games to play.