#*plays catch with peeta*

[shinynewmemories]

Final lines of every chapter in Catching Fire (Hunger Games book 2)

Chapter 1:

I’m staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.

Chapter 2:

Then the door clicks shut behind him.

Chapter 3:

I’ll have to marry Peeta.

Chapter 4:

And putting a bullet through his head.

Chapter 5:

In answer, he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Chapter 6:

This is what President Snow calls an uprising.

Chapter 7:

The pieces of the picture do not quite come together until I see his arm raise the whip.

Chapter 8:

He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

Chapter 9:

It’s my mockingjay.

Chapter 10:

But what makes me jerk back my hand is the sound, like the buzz of a tree full of tracker jacker nests, indicating the fence is alive with electricity.

Chapter 11:

Which begs the question, What is?

Chapter 12:

I am going back into the arena.

Chapter 13:

And I’m left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.

Chapter 14:

And surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get Peeta home alive.

Chapter 15:

Our new Avox is Darius.

Chapter 16:

SENECA CRANE.

Chapter 17:

Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

Chapter 18:

This is no place for a girl on fire.

Chapter 19:

Instead, I find silence.

Chapter 20:

In the few seconds it takes to rouse them, I begin to blister.

Chapter 21:

The insane morphling from District 6 throws up her skeletal arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks its fangs into her chest.

Chapter 22:

[“]This is a clock.”

Chapter 23:

From reaching my little sister.

Chapter 24:

Where Peeta’s child could be safe.

Chapter 25:

Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26:

Right before the explosions begin, I find a star.

Chapter 27:

“Katniss, there is no District Twelve.”

[sweetlucygray]

katniss' thoughts: this boy is manipulating me. he is pretending to be kind so i will find difficulty in killing him later. but i see through his lies and deceptions. as to show that i am aware of his mind games and manipulations and will not tolerate it, i will further aggravate his bruise. but i will do so in a manner which hides my intentions from the views of others so that this battle only remains visible to us. this is a masterful move on my part as it shows that i am aware of the poisoned honey that has filled his words all throughout our journey and am willing and ready to respond in kind

peeta's thoughts: omg katniss gave me a kiss on the cheek.

[starrrbakerrr]

The Hunger Games trilogy, text to screen (in/spo)

[highly-flammable]

Do you think Peeta mostly recovers his core self and core qualities that the hijacking tried to strip away?

Well, he still had his core values, as clearly demonstrated during the mission in the Capitol (he was upset that he killed someone during his episode, wanted to die rather than bring more danger to the squad, was trying to be kind to Pollux, gave logical inputs when Katniss tried to plan to draw out Snow, wanted to go out into the Capitol undercover instead of hiding in Tigris’ basement, etc). He had his memories from the first 16 years of his life as well. I think the memories that were targeted were events with Katniss that were on footage. Aside from that he had a private life, one which Katniss was part of (they spent a lot of time together and he was even confused about those memories as mentioned in MJ).

While trauma can change you, and it certainly did for Peeta, I don’t think the hijacking could really take away who he was deep down. The thing about hijacked Peeta is, he was mainly just extremely afraid, primarily of Katniss. A lot of his anger and hatred came from that. Plus he had been physically abused a lot, that will also leave its negative impacts on someone’s mind. He was also still righteously angry about everything the Capitol did and part of the hijacking was to make Katniss look like a Capitol mutt to him. But we see that he was still capable of being gentle (being nice towards Annie in District 13 cafeteria), and he was still in touch with his artistic side (the wedding cake for Finnick and Annie). And then since he made newer memories with Katniss during the mission (not good memories but memories that counterbalance the negative, fearful view he had of her), I think by the time they went off to the city circle, he was fairly at peace with the idea of her, even though he had so many messed up memories (I’m sure the real or not real game helped a little, especially the bit where Katniss told him all the little things about himself, which is a clear proof that she genuinely cared about him). This is demonstrated by the fact that he saved her life multiple times during the mission and didn’t recoil when she touched him (the time when she tries to put him to sleep by stroking his hair, the kiss, her bandaging his wrists, the farewell hug). It’s also entirely possible Peeta was the one who managed to follow her to the city circle and help her during the bombing because he was one of the only people who knew her disguise, and he was later in the burn unit too.

The biggest proof that Peeta, in spite of everything he went through, was still Peeta, is this: he immediately shot down the idea of a Hunger Games with the Capitol kids. His values were still intact. He was appalled that Haymitch would agree to it, and furiously confronted him in front of everyone, calling it an atrocity that Haymitch was going to be party to. Even with everything that he was subjected to by the Capitol - being in two Hunger Games, losing his leg, losing his entire family, being tortured and brainwashed to the point of utter brokenness - he still did not want mindless revenge and a spectacle normalizing the things the Capitol used to do, in the name of giving them a taste of their own medicine.

And after Katniss killed Coin, he immediately stopped her from ingesting the nightlock pill, saying he couldn’t let her go, proving pretty damn well that he loved her. Then after his treatment had progressed enough that he could return to district 12, he went back there, and made the very sensitive gesture of planting primroses around Katniss’ house in memory of Prim (btw he was doing this at dawn, the day after he was allowed to leave the Capitol, so it was basically one of the first things he decided to do after getting home). Then he and Katniss and Haymitch just lived their lives, they did their thing, made their memory book, Peeta and Katniss actually got together and had kids eventually. And those kids clearly were growing up happy, because while they knew their parents had some trouble being relaxed (Peeta’s flashbacks maybe and Katniss’ nightmares), they were well-fed, cheerful kids. Peeta even comforted Katniss when she expressed her worry about telling the children about their role in the Hunger Games and rebellion, and this was what he said: they could make the children understand in a way that will make them braver. That very much sounds like the considerate, quietly optimistic, mature character we know and love.

So Peeta was alright in the end. All that torture and brainwashing still couldn’t take away the values that he had, and this is why he is one of my favourite characters ever.

[r-u-living]

I know I talk a lot of smack about thg movies but the cinematography is a peak part of them.

The shaky camera and different angles but sometimes it lingers on katniss or peetas faces? Perfect.

The blinding white light when the tributes come onto the arena? Amazing.

They could have done so many things better but the cinematography is not one of them.

[leclercskiesahead]

SCUDERIA FERRARI

Las Vegas GP Opening Ceremony

[catastrxblues]

i have no business staying up until 1 am to finish catching fire knowing i have to wake up at five this morning to start the week but oh well what’s done is done

[fruggin-bitch]

It’s literally 4am and I just finished listening to the first hunger games book

Heartbreakingly good

I had like 6 hours left when I started reading today and now I’m staring at my ceiling what do I do now

[narrie]

watching thg with my mom has been hilarious btw

[livingfandomly]

SotR is a realisation. A realisation that the rebellion didn’t start with Katniss. That all the people we see supporting her or helping her have all been wanting to fight but they’ve been failing. That there weren’t merely “rumours” of a revolution but there were many active plans playing out and failing.

It’s a reminder that the perfect Hunger Games we saw in the first hg book was an illusion because we had Katniss as our narrator. We didn’t have Haymitch, hell, we didn’t even have someone like Peeta because these people played the games. Katniss didn’t.

Katniss was introduced to us as a mad, simple, naive girl who literally only survived because of others. She didn’t know how much her taking Prim’s place mattered because she didn’t realise what it meant to everyone who came before her. To everyone who had heard rumours of how the last District 12 victor actually fought his games. No, Katniss had just kept her head down, hunting and providing for her family.

See, she grew up way before the Games got to her. She’d already lived through her dad’s death and watched it destroy her once lively mom. Haymitch didn’t have to go through that. Lucy Gray didn’t have to go through that. They were both angry, yes, but at the Capitol. Katniss? She was first and foremost angry at her mom. At her dad. She knew who was to blame but she had too much to do and deal with to think about that. She was already jaded in a way that the Games couldn’t touch.

Peeta? He was Haymitch. He knew what he was getting into and realised he was just on a chess board with no control. So, he adapted. He played the knight, the rook, the king, the pawn. Katniss? She just… did. Changing directions, not playing the piece she was assigned because she didn’t realise that’s what was going on. Remember her surprise at the crown twisting into two after the Games?? She was so oblivious. Until Catching Fire where everything caught up to her. Where everything so many other people had been waiting and working for caught up to her.

SotR is a history book. Rewritten and edited and published as a piece of fact. SotR is a mirror and it’s a reflection of what actually happens vs what ends up being shown. SotR is the playbook of those in control of any and every kind of media that we come in touch with. SotR is a wake up call and I truly don’t know how many will see it as such.

[rejewish]

It just hit me a new way of looking at the moment from Catching Fire where Finnick says Peeta might be the only victor by chance, and Katniss attributes that to Peeta being better than the rest of them morally. Because like, she’s so wrong, I’d like to think what Finnick is saying is actually that Peeta was a victor by chance because KATNISS is better morally than the rest of them, which led to them both surviving. When the two victor rule was revoked, it was expected by the Capitol and the audience that she would kill Peeta. And even without a temporary hope of two victors, how many times must that have happened, that district partners or allies were the last two and had to make that terrible decision? For 73 years, the last person standing had to kill or at least allow the death of the only other person left. But Katniss refused to allow that. Peeta begged her to kill me so she could go home, and yet she still wouldn’t. She could have let him bleed out or shot him and instead she said we either die together or both live, no other option. Peeta is a victor by chance not because he was so much better than Katniss, he’s a victor by chance because Katniss refused to let him die alone and play by the rules. She was morally above the other victors in the way she refused to kill her final “opponent” even though she knew it was what she was required to do to go home. But Katniss has such a terrible self view she’d never see it that way.

[disregardcanon]

i've been reading catching fire for the first time this year and i don't, personally, think that the quarter quell was a "smart move" for snow and the capitol even if things went the way that he wanted them to and katniss and peeta and all the rest died and he got a victor he could control. sure, it would have taken out katniss. but taking out katniss wasn't actually going to be the quick fix he wanted it to be.

because even the capitol citizens were upset about all of this. the capitol citizens, who had grown so used to having pretty victors to smush together like dolls and gush over and show that people from the districts CAN do something and make their lives better. it's the american bootstraps ideal made hideously manifest.

yes, they've been fed this propaganda diet that the games are proper retribution for a crime that happened a lifetime ago, but they're also supposed to bring out these Ideals TM the capitol claims to hold to and then the Beautiful Shiny Model Minority winner gets fame and fortune and safety and a promotion into capitol society. because they beat the odds and they won all these things! they *deserve* this!

now all of the privileged masses have these strong parasocial relationships where they thought they'd see their favorite athletes become safe and glamorous and happy. the social contract says that the capitol citizens get to have these lovely dolls to play with and now he's taking their toys away in a way that shows the propaganda never held any truth in the first place. if we don't actually value these people and what they represent, then why do we actually do it? (it's the cruelty. but the average capitol citizen doesn't understand that the cruelty is the point, because it took snow years and years and years of building up that Capacity for Cruelty, and most people never get to that point. there has to be a pretty facade over this for it to run smoothly for those average citizens like the prep team. and now it's not there anymore.)

and that's not even mentioning the different sort of horror this becomes for the districts, as the idea that's been sold to the wealthier districts is that if these children win they get fame and fortune and protection for life. but you're dragging them back into the horror that was supposed to buy their eternal glory? the careers aging out this year don't even have their "chance" in the arena to make their mark and gain their fortune. they'll just be losing some of their mentors in a pointless rehash.

in the poorer districts, perhaps there is some relief because their kids are safe this year but that means their only victors are being shipped off to die instead. and then their kids who won't have a chance in hell next year! because the hunger games are a perpetual motion exploitation machine, and the only way people were able to be numbed to it was figuring out the rules and then gritting their teeth and living their lives. but the rules are out the window, now. those rules that were supposed to make this terrible system something they could navigate and grit their teeth and suffering through are being blown to bits because snow tried to stomp out the tiniest embers instead of letting them burn out.

[onlybeeewrites]

A Change of Plans

Request: hi!! could i request a oneshot for haymitch where theyre already in a relationship, takes place during the 75th hunger games and shes reaped, reader is very similar to annie cresta - soft spoken, shy, kind but emotionally fragile due to past trauma - maybe haymitch and katniss’s alliance negotiations are more desperate because he promised to get her out of the games? please and thank you!!

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader 

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, spoilers for Catching Fire 

A Change of Plans: Next

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The train hummed beneath them—too smooth, too quiet—like it had no business carrying something as ugly as death. Haymitch sat stiffly in his usual seat, a glass in hand he hadn’t touched. For once, the burn of liquor wasn’t enough. Not for this.

The reaping was over.

For District 12, at least.

Katniss and Peeta were reaped.

Well—he was. Technically.

Peeta volunteered, though it wasn’t like Haymitch could do much to stop him. Not when the Capitol stacked the deck so neatly, not when Snow already knew every move they’d make before they made it.

It was all exactly what he feared.

And somehow worse.

Because it wasn’t just Katniss and Peeta.

It was who else had been chosen.

The third Quarter Quell.

Where the victors themselves became the tributes.

A punishment wrapped in a celebration.

He hadn’t seen her yet. Hadn’t let himself imagine it. Wouldn’t allow her face to take shape in his mind—not until he had to. He thought he could delay it. Maybe she wouldn’t be reaped. Maybe, for once, the odds would lean in their favor.

Now, the screen played the recaps—district by district. A slow, cruel countdown. Effie had turned the volume up, her voice unnaturally chipper when she said they should “know who we’re up against.”

Peeta sat with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed. Katniss sat rigid beside him, barely breathing.

A notepad lay in Peeta’s lap, filled with frantic notes and rough sketches. Names circled, others crossed out, arrows and question marks scribbled into the margins. He wrote based on Haymitch’s earlier comments—strategy, personalities, strengths. He wanted to be ready. Wanted to protect her.

They didn’t know how impossible that would be.

Haymitch sat bracing himself. His hands were already trembling, though he hadn’t taken a sip. He didn’t look at the others. Didn’t dare.

District 8.

The screen flickered.

There she was.

Standing alone on the platform, washed in that horrible blue-white Capitol lighting that made everyone look a little more ghost than human. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers white at the knuckles. Her shoulders hunched slightly, like she was trying to make herself disappear into herself.

Just her and one other female tribute.

She hadn’t changed much. Maybe a few more lines around her eyes, a new softness in her features. But the essence of her remained untouched. The gentleness. The quiet strength. The kindness.

Even now, she looked soft.

Everything the arena was not.

Katniss inhaled sharply beside him. “Oh.”

Effie’s hand fluttered up to her mouth, her expression crumbling. “Oh no…”

Haymitch didn’t look at them. Didn’t acknowledge anything but the screen. His heart thudded slow and sick in his chest, and his fingers curled tight around the glass he still hadn’t touched.

Y/N stepped forward when they called her name. Her voice was low, trembling—barely above a whisper. But she walked. Unflinching. No dramatics. No sobs. Just the quiet dignity she always carried, like a thread sewn into her very bones.

She didn’t look surprised.

She didn’t cry.

That was her.

Always braver than anyone realized.

Braver than him.

“Won’t the other volunteer for her? She’s…” Peeta’s voice trailed off, uncertain, trying to say the right thing. “She’s not the most violent, is she?”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched. “I doubt it,” he said tightly. “The other female victor, Cecilia. Sweet woman. But she’s got three kids. If she wasn’t picked, she wouldn’t volunteer.”

Katniss was watching him now, not the screen. Her voice dropped into something softer than he’d ever heard it. “You didn’t think they’d pick her.”

“No,” he said flatly. “But then again…” He raised the glass, whiskey burning his throat. “Sometimes the odds are leaned into our favor.”

He tasted bitterness more than alcohol.

Because he knew.

He knew Snow did this on purpose.

Picked this Quarter Quell theme.

Picked Katniss.

Picked her.

This wasn’t justice. It wasn’t random. It was Snow’s hand around his throat, squeezing harder every time Haymitch dared to hope for something better. Dared to love something again.

Haymitch leaned forward and set the glass down, scrubbing his hands over his face like he could erase the image burned into the back of his eyelids—his wife, his wife, standing stiffly as Peacekeepers took her from the stage. They cut the footage just before she looked back.

But he didn’t need to see it.

He knew that look.

He’d seen it before.

The first time she was reaped, before they’d ever met.

Before she won.

Before he ever dared to let someone in again.

He had spent years protecting her in the only way he knew how—keeping her name quiet, keeping her out of the Capitol’s grasp, tucked away in the shadows of District 8. She had always felt too good for this world. Too soft for it. But she’d survived it once.

Her condition, her fragility, her gentle demeanor—none of it ever made her weak. It just made her precious. To him.

Now they were throwing her back into the fire.

“Haymitch,” Effie said gently. Her voice had lost all its Capitol shine. “I am… so terribly sorry.”

He didn’t answer. What was there to say?

There was no plan. No maneuver. No clever twist of words that could undo this.

All he could see was her. That quiet smile she gave him when she mended his clothes. The way she held his hand in bed when the nights were too dark. The smell of her hair. The small kiss to his wrist when she thought he was asleep. Her voice saying his name like it meant something.

Gone.

No.

Not gone.

Still within reach.

The plan was still in motion. The one he’d built with Plutarch piece by piece. But now… now it needed to be reshaped. Bent to save her.

He stood abruptly. His voice was rough, slurred at the edges, but solid where it counted. “She’s not dying in that arena.”

“Haymitch—” Peeta started, knowing that at the end, only one of them could get out. There was no way they’d let them get away with it a second year. 

He turned, eyes burning. “I mean it. I don’t care what it takes. If we’re—” He stopped himself. Too many ears. Too many cameras. He gritted his teeth.

Katniss nodded slowly, picking up what he was putting down. “We’ll watch her back. But you know how this works. Especially now. Only one can make it out.”

Only one.

That’s what the Capitol wanted them to believe.

But Katniss and Peeta didn’t know what he did.

Didn’t know Beetee’s plan.

Plutarch’s plan.

Didn’t know the ship hovering beyond the clouds that would be ready for when the time comes.

Didn’t know he’d already laid the groundwork to get her out. He just needed to get the other Victors on board.

He just had to keep Katniss alive long enough to make it happen.

For the rebellion to happen.

But now he had another factor to worry about. His wife was now stuck in the games. Haymitch needed to figure out a way to keep her safe. Sponsors would only do so much, and Cecelia would ensure you were looked after. The capital loved you and all the clothes you made. A Capital favorite, especially to all the designers like Cinna.

Maybe Finnick would do. He could be trusted.

Or Johanna. She liked Y/N. Had a soft spot for her, even if she’d never admit it.

It could work.

It had to.

Effie dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “She’s one of the good ones,” she whispered. “Always has been.”

Haymitch didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

He turned and left, boots heavy against the floor as he crossed the car to his compartment. Once the door slid shut, he walked to the window and leaned a hand against it. The tracks blurred by below, the sky painted in ash and dying light.

Somewhere out there, she was being powdered, painted, packaged for the cameras. Being forced into a dress she didn’t want. Touched by hands that didn’t know her. Made to smile through the terror.

Somewhere, she was alone.

And he was here.

But not for long.

This time, he wouldn’t watch from the sidelines.

This time, if the world wanted war—they’d get it.

Because no one was taking her from him again.

Not without burning for it.

[beautyofattolia]

I think the order of reasons Katniss gives for why Peeta shouldn't be mad at her for playing up their romance is so funny. Like she starts with the fact that they didn't know each other and she was trying to survive and that she doesn't understand what exists between her and Gale. But then she goes into "well I'm never going to get married and he'll just hate me for that!" and "I can't afford love that leads to children or family!"

Girl. Why are you thinking about marriage or children with a man you claim you have no feelings for? Did Peeta ever say he wanted to get married? Did he ever say he wanted children?

NO! Katniss is literally doing this all on her own! She's coming up with a happily-ever-after-domestic-bliss-married-with-kids fantasy in her head with absolutely no input from Peeta and then is like "I could never give him what he wants!"

What he wants? Or what you want, Katnsis?

She's down so bad for him and we're not even in Catching Fire yet.

[haymitchsbunny]

Sob Story

haymitch abernathy x victor!reader

Series: Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x F!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (implied), porn with so much plot, smut, vaginal sex, ANGST, alcoholism, brat taming, regret, hair pulling, unspecified relationship, trauma.. stuff?, breath play (unintentional)

Summary: The games were over, everything was over. It's just the four of you in the pathetic remains of district 12 now. You never stop arguing, how could you? But god, Haymitch can be so mean sometimes. Maybe you are too. But the arguments never last too long, and it's always worth it with the way he makes it up to you.

A/N: Sorry I don't write much. Hope y'all can forgive me.. here's my apology piece <3

If you would like to be put on a taglist, reblog or comment <3

"Haymitch, you know how much of a fucking cunt you are?" you hissed at him as he watched Peeta stumble through the snow, yourself glancing back at Katniss storming off in the other direction towards her old house in the Seam.

"You have no room to talk," he practically spat, eyes ripping from Peeta's back to your enraged glare. "You're just as irreverent as she is, you brat."

You felt a twinge in your chest- taken aback by his diligence in simultaneously insulting you and his victor at once. Poor Katniss had recovered from her games, the war, her sisters death, all that trauma as much as could be hoped for and yet still picked fights. You were no better in that sense.

Years of living as a drunken survivor alongside Haymitch should've taught you to withstand his low blows- especially when he was a bottle deep, and yet he still manages to make you want to run off to that hole in the earth. Stare into its depths for hours as you had as a child, as you had for the 5 years after he had led you to victory up until the bombings.

"Fuck you," you managed, suddenly feeling entirely drained. These arguments were so frequent now, you could hardly keep up. Your singing quartet of a symbol, a painter, a drunkard and whatever the fuck you were at this point, all dumbed down to bumbling idiots at the slightest trigger. Setting off landmines so terribly similar to those you had all been surrounded by in your games.

You set off at a quick pace to his home, snatching a bottle of spirits from his counter and practically running towards what used to be the Seam. You heard him yell something that surely would've set you ablaze once more if you had listened, but you were too far enveloped in your thoughts to care.

By the time you reached the softly smoking chasm, you were completely out of breath and exhaling some mix between a wheeze and a cough and a pant. You collapsed on the snow soaked cushions on the black metal bench that you had dragged painstakingly from the square a week or so ago.

You half sat, half lay on your left side. Dry, trembling fingers attempting to open your bottle. Nearly failing but refusing to relent, you finally cracked the cork from the opening. A froth spilled from the top, landing on your hand and sleeve. You sighed, internally blaming Haymitch though he had nothing to do with this particular struggle.

You sit, sipping the vulgar liquid for hours. Til your knuckles were red and puffy and your nose was runny and you were sure your lips were some shade of blue. Every rustle of branches or shift in snow catching your eyes, from any angle or position. Every movement spiking some sort of anxious overflow, hoping that it was Haymitch.

Haymitch isn't the first person you see, though. It's Katniss, emerging from the woods through a decently sized opening in the fencing near your spot. She looks much cozier than you, bringing some minor comfort in knowing she's better off than you at the moment.

She quietly approaches, game bag in hand stuffed with something heavy. You nod to her but she doesn't reciprocate. She stands next to you, glaring down into the mines with you.

"Do you think they're- their spirits, or something- that they're still down there?" You try to speak strongly, but after hours of silence it comes out hoarse.

"No." She says after a few moments, turning on her heel and beginning towards the Victors Village. You sigh, regretting something, but not sure what. Maybe the fact that you stayed as separate as you could from her over the time you'd known her. Maybe the fact that you hadn't tried to relate to her greif from this pit of despair sooner. Maybe none of it mattered.

You wanted to get up- wanted to stumble away and trip through that fluffy, gorgeous snow and back to Haymitch. Beg for forgiveness and plead for him to hold you. But it took you thirty minutes to tear your eyes from the horrible comfort.

When you finally attempted to move, your muscles were so stiff it felt impossible. You flexed each joint independently, pain shooting through your ankles as you bore your weight into them. Still weak in your bearings from the spirits, you took slow, trembling steps in the possibly correct direction.

You took the final swig from the bottle, gait faltering as your head tilted backwards. You flung the carcass of your comfort into a nearby mound of snow and it disappeared, leaving a concave in its wake.

It took you much longer than it had ever to return, at least if felt like it. When you reached the house, you turned the handle without knocking. You fully anticipated a blackout Haymitch, collapsed in a pile of clothes or hunched over his kitchen island. Instead, he sat on his stairs in a rather uncomfortable looking position.

"I'm sorry," you supplied without even a 'hello'. His bloodshot eyes flitted up to your diverted gaze and he stayed silent. An overwhelming feeling of rejection took you over, tears pooling across your waterline almost instantaneously. A stream of incoherent babbles took place of the distasteful silence and you fell to the floor in a heap.

Tears blocked your vision more than the view of your legs as you curled up in a ball on the floor, whispering the things you'd been thinking of saying aloud to Haymitch since you stormed off this morning. You thought he was still seated on the stairs, embarrassment rising to the forefront of your emotions along with regret and longing.

You were about to rise and stumble out of his home when you felt his strong, though shaking, hands on you. One on your back and the other coaxing between your calves and thighs up under your clenched knees. You relaxed ever so slightly and let him lift you.

You expected him to carry you to bed, as he had done so many times over the years, but instead he sat you on his counter in the only clear spot. You slouched, rubbing your eyes. He poured shots for the two of you as you pulled your legs up and rested your head on them. Your fingers toyed with the fluffy hem of your socks.

He threw his drink back without flinching and you attempted to do the same, but you winced as you swallowed, feeling bile rise to your throat then lower slowly. He took your glass and sat it on the counter next to you with his own.

You observed eachother for a moment, saying nothing. You waited. He watched. Your eyes flitted towards his hands, clenching into tight fists then relaxing over and over again. The silence was deafening.

"I was-"

"Do you-"

You brought your gaze back to his eyes, observing the same guilt and shame reflecting in your own. He sighed, stepping forward and pushing your legs apart to stand between them. His calloused hands found their way under your jacket and shirt, drawing patterns in the soft hair on your back. He pressed his lips to your forehead, trailing down until he was at the corner of your mouth.

"You aren't a brat," he whispered. You felt tears begin to well as you leaned up to meet his lips. The feeling was familiar and yet still felt uncertain from time to time. A rhythm always in sync with that of a decades long romance, and yet sensations still as new as young teens fawning over eachother. You loved him.

"You aren't a cunt," you pulled back slightly. Looking deep into his beautiful blue eyes. "Most of the time." You grinned. He chuckled and moved his hands from your back to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Most of the time?" He questioned, expression matching your own. "Sweetheart, remember who feeds you."

"Uhh, Katniss?" You giggled, snorting softly.

"Okay, well, remember who gets you drunk,"

"I do that all by myself." He scooped you from the counter, eliciting a soft squeal. You wrapped your legs tight around his hips, allowing him to carry you. He walked to the couch, letting his knees hit the cushion before dropping you and kneeling over you, elbows on either side of your head.

He gently stroked your hair from your face, observing you quietly. He pressed his lips to yours at last, setting a slow but intense pace, slipping his tongue between your lips and quickly dissapating your thoughts.

He pulled back slowly, looking at you with a ferver you hadn't noticed a few minutes ago. He pushed his knee between your legs, forcing them open as he stroked your jaw and throat.

"Remember who makes you feel better than anyone could." And with that, your body was heaved up, clothes being pulled and tugged and thrown into the piles of everything else he had no use for.

In no time, you were stripped and helping him remove his own garments, leaving you bare and him in his briefs. He slipped down to the ground, pulling you by your knees until you were slouched with your legs over his shoulders.

He wasted no time in eating you out, licking and sucking at your core until you were whining in less than a minute. Your hands found their way to the back of his head, forming tiny fists and pulling him into yourself deeper.

He was sucking at your clit, flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, doing everything he knew you couldn't stand. He held your thigh with one hand, grazing the underside of the other with his knuckles before reaching to tease your soaked slit.

"Please, please fi- oh my god, finger me already," you cried, and he almost immediately sunk a finger knuckle deep, curling upwards as he increased the intensity of his oral ministrations. "Ohh, don't stop, please." Your words were drawn out and slurred.

He slipped another finger in, setting a brutal pace, your hips rutting against his face. He was abusing that spongey spot inside of you, making you cry out obscenities.

"Haymitch, I'm gonna cu-" you were cut off by him completely withdrawling from your cunt. You gasped, trying to pull him back, but he stood over you, eyes trained hungrily on your figure as he yanked his undergarments from himself, hard cock slapping his stomach before he stepped towards you, bare for your enjoyment.

He grabbed your hair firmly, stroking his cock inches from your face as you tried to reach it, body begging to taste him as you salivated. He pushed your head towards him and you took him in your mouth, gagging hard as he forced it to the back of your throat.

He pulled you off, a string of thick saliva connecting you to his manhood still. He released your hair, leaning down and grabbing you by the hips, nearly throwing you over the armrest of the couch. He was directly behind you, one knee planted on the cushion behind you, one leg on the floor.

He leaned down, his cock aligning with your slit as he pressed his face to your neck, whispering gruffly into your ear.

"I'm gonna fuck the brat out of you if it's the last fucking thing I do, got that, sweetheart?" Butterflies flared in your stomach as you nodded as much as his grip in your hair would allow. He yanked your head back slightly, stubble tickling your throat now.

"I said, got that? Use your words."

"Yes, sir!" You cried, and with that, he straightened himself and thrusted into you. He gave you no time to adjust, setting a vicious pace immediately, causing the couch to shift with every slam of his hips into yours, the wood floor screeching in resistance to the friction.

You screamed, going limp beneath him as he fucked you senseless. He grabbed your hip with bruising force, dragging you back into him with every thrust. There was a puddle forming beneath your head, saliva and tears mixing into a salty mess on the dirty floor.

You were enveloped in pure bliss, barely able to moan due to breathlessness. He was genuinely winding you, lungs compressed between the couch and his chest. You were gasping for air and he was only fucking you harder and harder. The coil in your belly was becoming tighter, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

You were whimpering and he was groaning, he pulled his hand from your hair, leaning into you further as he reached beneath you, pinching your clit and rubbing, sending jolts through your body. You cried harder, pushing back into him as much as you could, you were so close.

"I'm gonna cum, Haymitch, please," it came out hoarse and whispery, throat dry and lungs on low capacity. Then, he rose from his position leaning on top of you, letting you take in your first full breath in ages. You gasped and couldnt stop yourself from coming undone around his fat cock, a scream escaping you.

Your vision went black, your back arched, and he didn't stop. Warmth spread through your body as he pounded you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping their little pinches and rubs on your clit.

"I'm gonna cum inside of you, sweetheart." He growled, and your limp body shivered with anticipation. You were overwhelmed and fucked out, but you didn't want him to stop.

He grabbed your hips with both hands and pulled you back onto him completely, groaning deeply as he emptied his balls into your wet mound. You couldn't stop trembling, the feeling of being full, fucked out, and overstimulated all at the same time overwhelming your senses.

He groaned, keeping his cock lodged inside of you as he lifted you and lay down on the couch. He squished you between himself and the back cushions, yanking an askew blanket from the top of them and pulling it over the two of you. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and you sighed lovingly.

"Gonna start acting right." He said it like a statement.

"Maybe," you teased, and he squeezed your chest firmly, causing you to quietly gasp. "Yes, I meant yes." You corrected yourself.

"Good girl."

[catastrxblues]

the c in catching fire (2012) stands for comfort movie by the way