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haymitchsbunny · 17 days ago

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Haymitch Abernathy x Victor!Reader (smut)

word Count: 4.5k

warnings: Haymitch's perspective, slight angst, porn with too much plot, emotional Haymitch, drinking, overthinking (self deprecating), f/m smut, soft dom Haymitch, making love not fucking (but fucking too)

summary: you're such a little stuck up princess the second the train leaves 12, acting like a capitol girl. Haymitch is sick of it, but with a little coaxing, maybe you arent as bratty as he had thought.

A/N: so sorry for the months since my last fic.. i had one almost finished then deleted it by accident. was genuinely heartbreaking. this is NOT an ask, but ASKS ARE ALWAYS OPEN!! i love any and all feeback + reposts, i look at everything! did i mention asks are open?

have a nice read ♡

The Capitol; beauty, wealth, significance, ease. The definition of luxury. With a simple location change, the district scum could forget their mistreatment in absolutely no time. Just like you did.

Haymitch couldn't help but to judge. Sure, he abused the free selection of drinks, but you? It was like you completely changed when you arrived. Abandoning him every year with the tributes, rarely speaking to him or them.

It was like you wanted them to die on your watch.

Detached behind the scenes, yet when the cameras were on you, you worked them like you had private lessons from Flickerman. All smiles and positivity and, quite frankly, more charm than he had ever managed himself. Selling your tributes to the audience the way you had before your own games.

Some sickly impressive show of survival instinct, such a dramatic shift from your demeanor at home. The sweetest girl turned manic at the sight of gold and cat whiskers. You would get at least three new tattoos every year. You would buy a whole new closet worth of clothes. You weren't you.

So to see you sitting across from him, the pretty little Seam girl he grew to adore, turned complete stranger when you got off that train every year.. He couldn't articulate his true feelings. His bemusement with you back home had begun to turn cold when you behaved so strangely.

Half of him still saw you as the kid you had been the first time you were in the capitol; small but smart, articulated but loud. Admirable.

But the part that was far from sober, the dense and hurt bit that was looking at you now, was disgusted.

He had come with you because you offered, hoping for at least a fragment of your normal self to shine through when you were alone with him. Yet as you lay on your stomach getting a fresh back tattoo, all he could think of was what could be.

You had been so reserved around others, but when you were on his couch, sitting close to his side, you always giggled and joked, squealed and snorted. Encouraged any semblance of humor he could muster. You changed him, transformed him from a bitter, aging man to someone all-together new.

If only you knew that he was putty in the palm of your hand, one of Pavlov's dogs salivating at your attention, confused when it led to nothing of substance or nothing at all. He groaned aloud, placing his empty glass on the table next to him as he stood from the crushed red velvet couch.

He stumbled away from you, thoughts a cesspool of his adoration and contempt for you swirling together into an incoherent dumpster fire he wasn't sure he'd be able to decipher sober.

He wondered if he would ever tell you he loved you. If you would give a damn, if you would say you loved him back. If you would call him a disgusting old man or reject him in a more painful way than he could imagine.

His currently muted rationale was very well aware that you were truly nicer than that, you had always admired him and would never treat him the way his irrational fears were promising you would. He knew your insanity was part of the same defense mechanism you used to win, it was the way you defended yourself from breaking apart every year, but it didn't hurt any less.

He grabbed a whole bottle from the parlor's bar, bringing it back with him. When he entered, you craned your neck to look at him. A confident smile graced your lips and he attempted to reciprocate, but could barely manage.

He was crumbling, overwhelmed and drunken and becoming irritable. Why were you doing this to him? Why was he letting you dominate his thoughts in the way only you could? You were always there for him and he had never been so frustrated with your behavior this year when it had barely been a minor issue in the past?

He knew why, he knew only he had the power to mend this emotional turmoil you had thrown him in. Because in reality, he had reached the apex of infatuation. He had to tell you, and it would either be from you breaking him or on his own terms.

He took his seat back on the couch across from you, allowing himself to take in your form. The current tattoo you were receiving was a pair of angel wings, stretching from your shoulder blades to right above your rounded ass. His eyes traced the shape of your curves, the tight little black thong causing your hips to bulge ever so slightly around the strings.

He felt his blood pumping to his groin in no time and forced himself to avert his gaze, shifting uncomfortably to hide his erection. His awkward shuffle caused your artist to look up, giving a low chuckle that caught Haymitch's attention. He kept his eyes trained away from the two of you, doing his best to distract himself from the crude imagery flowing much too freely through his consciousness.

"What's so funny?" Your muffled voice came from the jacket bawled up under your head. Your artist simply shook his head and dismissed you with a 'nothing'. You persisted though, arching your back and propping your arms beneath you to look around.

"C'mon Cyprus, let me in on the joke," you giggled, his favorite sound in the world breaking through the night's resentment and reminding him that you were still you. Your eyes shifted to Haymitch, and he was lucky as hell that your angle stopped you from glimpsing his hard-on. You flashed him a grin.

"Lay your head back down, pretty girl," the words fell from his tongue smoothly but he felt far away. "Don't want cyprus to accidentally clip your wings now, do you?" He offered you a drunken grimace for a smile, your giggles encouraging him.

"What does that even mean?" You questioned into your makeshift pillow, clenching and unclenching your fists. "You ain't gonna clip my wings, are you, Cyprus? You better not."

Haymitch could barely make out your muffled words, but you were back. The normal you, lying ten feet from him.

Maybe he should have accompanied you to at least one of your last 6 tattoo appointments. Were you always this.. Unburdened? Free from the shackles of fear, needles poking into your numbed skin, beautiful and pain free the whole process with the Capitol's high-tech ointments purely for cosmetics like this.

Bile rose in his throat when he remembered that ink drilled into your skin had you fucking pussywhipped for Snow.

His spiteful glare flickered from the back of your head and up to Cyprus as he let out a finalizing sigh and leaned back, flicking his machine to a halt.

"You're done, angel," He announced. "Take a peek in the mirror, see if you're happy with it." You launched yourself from the table, giddy with excitement. Scampering over to the mirror, you backed yourself up until your ass was nearly touching the surface, pastie clad tits bouncing as you tiptoed back until you had a clear view.

Haymitch should definitely have come with you sooner.

"Ugh," you groaned, face filling with satisfaction. "I look sexy, Cyprus. God himself lent you his hands for this one."

What you did next took Haymitch by such shock, he wasn't sure he would've been able to shield your eyes from his election if he'd tried.

You sauntered over to him, confidence in your stride, jiggling thighs and tits taking every last ounce of self restraint to avoid staring at. When you reached him, you turned your back to him. You placed your palms on his thighs and sat down on his knees, leaning forward to give him a full, perfect view of your back.

"What'cha think, Haymitch?" You crooned, and what he took for pure confidence before became something that felt near intimate, your tone setting his stomach ablaze.

"You make quite the pretty angel, sweetheart." He rasped, voice nearly catching in his throat. When you giggled and shifted your weight from his lap, his first instinct was to pull you back. So much so, that he actually reached for your hips.

The split second he wasted allowed you to stand and look back at him, and of course, your eyes flickered to the noticable arousal in his jeans. You flushed, confidence transformed into something fiercer, something that took more than yourself to exist.

Lust.

All it had taken was that one little touch, your plump ass planted on his knees, and the floodgates burst.

"C'mere, girl, let me get that finished up for you." Cyprus spoke, breaking your wide eyed stare from Haymitch. His neglected bottle took the entirety of his attention now, the lingering, consuming focus on you previously needing a new target.

Yet, as he took a big swig, avoiding letting his eyes even wander within ten feet of your spot, he was scarcely aware of anything aside from your presence.

"All good, love," Cyprus announced, helping you up from the table, the pleather surface sticking to your sweaty skin. You sauntered to Haymitch's side, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your jacket.

"I've got your bill," Haymitch grunted, approaching the register in the parlor. You attempted to protest but he ignored you, paying up and tipping generously as you struggled into your pants. You had just finished knotting your boots as he reached the door to leave. Your long ass Capitol escort limo was faithfully parked aside the sidewalk. Haymitch stepped out the door and held it for you to follow suit.

The drive back was tense. You stared. Unlike he'd ever seen you, something strange in your gaze. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, reaching to pick up the bottle he snatched from the shop. He offered it to you, tensing as your fingers brushed over his.

"Somethin' on your mind?" He questioned lowly, watching the way you shook your head while sipping, eyes never leaving his. "Keep mean-mugging me and I might start feelin' hurt." He rasped, half to himself and half to you.

"'M sorry," You whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. His heartbeat swiftened, what did you mean by that? What could you be apologizing for when you just ruined his entire concept of what you felt for him and made him want nothing but you?

"What're you sorry for, princess?" He questioned softly.

"I pushed it in the shop, that was inappropriate," You sounded guilty. "I know you're not like that."

"Like what?" He asked, pushing off of the seat and turning to sit next to you.

"Uh," You stumbled over your words, unsure of what to say. "Well, I know you aren't one to..." You trailed off, yet he understood what you were trying to say. He wasn't one to sleep around. Hadn't been. He hadn't touched a woman aside from you in years, so of course you'd get that impression.

"One to touch women?" He offered, and you flushed red.

"That's not what I was going to say!" you exclaimed, a giggle breaking through as you smacked his arm.

"But you'd be right," He countered. "Ain't touched a woman in years." He was so close to you, breath fanning your neck, and yet you didn't seem to notice.

"That's.. embarrassing." You grimaced.

"Unless you count yourself," He smiled. "Rubbin' that ass on me like you wanted a little more than for me to just look at that tattoo, huh?"

"Well, that's kinda why I'm apologizing, Hay."

"Uh-huh."

"Uh-huh.."

He grabbed your hip, gently pressing his lips to your neck. He had an arm behind you, supporting himself against the tinted window.

"Mind showing it to me again? Didn't get to look at the details." And there it was. His offer to you, a choice motivated by something he wasn't sure you had. You finally met his eyes, practically cradled in his warmth, nose grazing the scruff on his chin. You sat like that for a moment, the only noise a mix of quiet music about sex and your own breathing.

"Of course. You sat through the appointment, didn't you?" You stood, hunched over as to not hit your head on the ceiling. You moved until you were hovering over his lap and sat down slowly. He didn't hesitate to put his hands on your hips this time. He heard the unzipping of your jacket and watched as you pulled it off. You shrugged it down until the only thing it was covering was your ass on his lap. He swallowed hard as you pulled it away and to the floor.

"It suits you," He was so quiet, as though speaking up would scare you away. "Beautiful angel."

"What?" You craned your neck to look back at him. "What did you call me?"

"Nothin'," He felt a pit open up in his stomach. "It looks good on you." He was gripping your hips tight, tighter than he'd ever dared to hold onto you. You wriggled out of his grip though, and he feared the moment was over, but you turned and faced him, lips brushing against his cheek.

"Say it," You whispered. But instead of obliging you, he roughly trailed his hand up your spine, stopping as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck, massaging with his thumb. A light whimper escaped from you as he watched goosebumps rise on your skin.

"Fuck," He groaned, picking you up and pushing you to the floor of the vehicle in one swift movement, pinning you beneath himself. You gasped and he chuckled. "So fucking sick of the games you play, sweetheart." Your eyes widened.

"Huh? What games-" You attempted to speak, but his lips were on yours. Sparks flew as years of quiet glances and deafening laughter collided at last. It took you a moment before you reciprocated, confusion, as you tried to finish your sentence. He kissed you hard, short circuiting your senses with deep love he'd waited to show you for so long.

He could take the distance. He could handle the cold. You could give him frostbite every day of the year, so long as you let him kiss you like this for one more second. And of course, you did. Every moment of uncertainty became a single vision of one thing; he was a fucking idiot.

Of course you felt the same. How could you not, it wasn’t like there was anyone else either of you could even somewhat relate to. You were his lighthouse in the open sea of trauma and fear, and with your lips molding perfectly to his, he knew he was the same to you.

“Don’t listen to me, sweetheart. Don’t listen to a word I say,” He sighed against your lips. “Just let me love you.” You sucked a sharp breath in at his words. He looked in your eyes and watched your irises disappear, watched the smile form, felt the warmth spread from every point of contact he had with your body. He had so much contact with your body. His chest pressing into yours, one hand pinning both of yours above your head and the other supporting himself so he wasn’t fully crushing you. His knee slotted between your plush thighs.

“Am I supposed to listen to that?” You questioned softly. “Should I let you ‘love me’, Haymitch?” And all he could do was smile. Before he could answer you, the limo halted.

He attempted a quick maneuver off of you, but was quickly reminded by oncoming vertigo and aching knees that he was in fact not young enough for that. He pressed a kiss to your temple before rolling onto his back on the floor next to you. You sat up and looked over at him, smiling. As you helped his sorry self from the ground and towards the door just in time for the valet to open it, he saw something shift in your demeanor once more.

Your grin turned bittersweet and your eyes filled with the sort of sorrow he had felt for decades. He wanted to pull you back to him that instant, embrace you with the warmth your smile had given him moments before. But he let you step out, he followed suit, and he wrapped his arm around your waist as two peacekeepers led you to the elevator, swiping a keycard and pressing a button on the outside of the transportation before the doors opened and you stepped in, immediately soaring towards the penthouse.

He somewhat expected tension- for you to pull back and hide from him once more. But instead, he simply felt a sadness he hadn’t truly seen before radiating from you. Your breath, your movements, your goddamned, beautiful eyes, all hurting in a way he knew all too well and wished he could fix. The two of you sat on the loveseat in the lounge of District 12’s annual abode and caught up on the parts of the games you missed while you were at the shop.

He saw you cry. Something you rarely did in front of him anymore. Not since the months after your survival of the Games. With all of your behavior, he knew he should be concerned. Yet, he knew this was nothing new. You had felt this way every waking second of every day, and yet a kiss was all it took for you to finally feel vulnerable enough to show it to him.

With a flicker, the footage on the screen looped. The young boy from your district was standing still, leaning against a black barked tree, until realizing the girl from 9 was quickly approaching. He turned and began running, surely outpacing her by an insane amount, before he stopped and bounced back strangely. As he fell, it became clear he ran into something. Shining tripwire was laced back and forth between two trees.

Before you could take it all in again, Haymitch flicked a button on the remote and shut the footage off. The blood making the wires visible, the ripped flesh of the boy, his wide eyes, the cannon, seen once and avoided until necessary to be seen again.

Haymitch looked at you. Watery eyes to the floor with your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. He sighed and pulled you towards him, your strange position causing you to collapse into his lap. He coaxed you to sit up, your knees pressing into his thigh and your forehead to his shoulder. He placed a hand on your hip and with no further urging, you moved until you were straddling his lap.

This wasn't new; you’d sat on his lap before, accepted affection as comfort when words weren’t enough, exactly as right now. But something about it was different. Something in your breath fanning against his neck, the twitching of your hips, as if you were trying as hard as you possibly could to be still. It was a horrible time- you had just sobbed next to him, but you were so close, so pretty.

“Haymitch,” He would’ve never heard you if your lips weren’t so close to his ear. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” He nodded without hesitation. This wasn’t new, either. Nightmares plagued the two of you constantly, and when it got bad, he was always here, right next to you.

Wordlessly, he stood with you in his arms. You yelped, he almost dropped you, but in a few moments he was walking down the hall with you steady in his arms. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers intertwining in his hair as he turned and opened the door with his hip after a moment of struggle.

He carried you to the bed and laid both of you down gently. He knew it was no different from your own, just as your homes in the Victor’s Village were the same. The Capitol handed you both so much, and if it weren’t so impersonal you could take it as a reward. Never an apology, though. Just a fucked way of keeping Victors complacent after killing other children and having friends die in front of them. Payment for participating in the show, for being an entertainer.

He was brought back to reality as you curled your body into his, forehead to his chest and little hands tracing patterns on his abdomen. He couldn’t help but smile at how soft you looked. He felt bad, but he sat up and slipped his shirt from his back. You stayed curled up, but watched him carefully. When he laid back down, you moved closer. Chin on his pec and temple on his bicep, you ran your fingertips through his chest hair.

He moved his hand to the back of your head, practically petting you. You gave him a small smile, eyes flickering to meet his. You both sat like that for a moment, methodical movements continuing in a comforting manner. Your eyes began to water and he brought his palm to your cheek, you closed your eyes and he pulled you towards himself.

Your lips met his, softly melding against his own. He set a slow pace, and you pushed yourself closer to him, clamoring up the bed until you were straddling his stomach. He placed his hand carefully on your hip and wrapped the other around your waist, sitting up and placing you beneath him without breaking your kiss. You pulled back for air, hand bracing yourself on his chest.

“You’ve been so damn good to me, Haymitch.” You whispered. “Thank you for everything.” A tear slid down your cheek and he kissed it.

“Don’t thank me, sweetheart.” He pecked at your neck and you choked up a sob. He felt himself cringe, hurting to see you in pain. He held your jaw between his fingers. “Let me make you feel better, pretty girl. Please?” And you nodded between your tears. He offered you a soft smile.

He made quick work of undressing you, having you fully bare beneath him in a matter of minutes. He couldn’t stop just caressing you, running his fingers from your neck to your breasts, from your ribs to your hips. He watched gooseflesh rise on your skin and began kissing your tits, soft little pecks filled with love and care, tongue flicking at your pebbled nipples, giving you love bites until purple marks covered almost every square inch of your top half.

You laid there, breathing heavy and whining quietly as he entertained himself and pleasured you. His lips began gravitating downwards, and soon enough your bare thighs were sticking to his shoulders as he lapped at your cunt. He had you a moaning mess beneath him, hips twitching and toes curling. Tongue fucking you into oblivion, he brought you to the edge and pushed you right back down. He knew what he was doing and he was relishing in your frustrated pleasure.

“H-Haymitch, stop, just make me- fuck, please?” Your mumbling was barely understandable but he chuckled nonetheless. “I know you’re doing that on purpose, please just-” He began relentlessly repeating all of the little things he had noticed you liked in the short time he had been squeezed between your thighs, holding eye contact as he pushed you over the edge.

You screamed his name, fists balling up in his hair as you humped his face. He was rock hard against the mattress and let you come down before pulling himself away.

He collapsed next to you and you giggled at him, grinning as you reached forward to wipe your slick from his beard. He stuck his tongue out and tried to lick it from his own face. You blushed and he kissed you once more.

“Do you want to fuck me, Haymitch?” You asked, looking deep into his eyes with such genuine question he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Of course I fuckin’ do, sweetheart,” He rasped, and you smiled, leaning in once more.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

And quicker than he thought possible, he had your knees hooked over his elbows and his cock dipping between your sopping folds. As he sank into you, he had to stop for a moment. Halfway sheathed in your mound and he was already holding on for dear life. Tight, wet, and pulsing with need, he was halfway to heaven and getting all the way without cumming was a task.

Over the next minute or so, he took his time filling you and letting you adjust to his size. You were ready faster than he had anticipated and he wasn’t going to keep you waiting. Slow and deep, he had you trembling in a matter of thrusts.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve dreamed of this, sweet girl,” He grumbled. “More perfect than I could’ve ever imagined.” The praise began spilling out of his mouth. He rambled on and on about how good your pussy was, words distracting him from his pacing until he was fucking you into the mattress fast and hard. He was sure you couldn’t hear a word he was saying over your own moans.

“Haymitch, I’m gonna-” You were gasping for air, tears streaming down your face for no reason other than pleasure now. “Faster- fuck, harder!” You cried out, and he obeyed without question. He threw your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward to support himself, your knees to your chest as he plunged into you with more force and speed than he had ever imagined you could take.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmy-” Your incomprehensible cries turned to one long, drawn out whine as your whole body tensed, nails digging into Haymitch’s back as you came hard around his cock. Your pussy clenched like a vice around his dick and his hips stuttered. He fucked you through your orgasm before pulling out and finishing all over your belly.

With an exasperated sigh, he fell once more to your side. He pulled you into him, sweaty arms sticking to your back as he held you tightly to him. You said nothing, head resting against him once more as you stared at his face.

“Thank you,” you finally said, face glimmering but devoid of tears this time.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” He grinned.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” His heart raced in his chest, not expecting that response from you. A smile spread across your lips. “I love you, too.”

Moments later, you were drifting off in his arms.

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haymitchsbunny · 19 days ago

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things are happening.. drafts are being finished.. i am cooking

#progress update #fanfiction #haymitch abernathy

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haymitchsbunny · 2 months ago

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this bucky with this steve

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haymitchsbunny · 2 months ago

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Besties....I am begging you. Please put your age or indicate that you are 18+ somewhere on your blog. I will not interact with your asks/reblogs/comments if I can't verify you aren't a minor.

Please and thank you.

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haymitchsbunny · 2 months ago

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whoever sent me a request about d12 council member daughter.. i nearly finished it and just accidentally posted the draft and deleted it.. so.. send in another request?

#fanfiction #haymitch abernathy

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haymitchsbunny · 2 months ago

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i just accidentally posted and deleted a fic i spent days on. im sobbing

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haymitchsbunny · 3 months ago

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😝😝😝

State of Play

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: You and Joel can’t keep things quiet.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think that’s it.

Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial

Word count: 8.2k

Airplane food tasted like shit.

Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someone’s unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.

The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissed—your second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, ‘Fuck it, let them go.’ You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.

And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.

You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadn’t had any exams at the end of the week, so you’d decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldn’t be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldn’t tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, you’d savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didn’t want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.

Just thinking those words made you smile.

Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.

Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.

You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didn’t mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place you’d be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.

You looked around, eager as ever.

Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?

Around Joel, that was never really a thing—but anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?

From: Joel

Just parked

Headed in now

That had been twenty minutes ago.

I’ll be over by the stairs

Except he wasn’t there.

You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasn’t there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your age—evidently, all colleges started break at the same time—that were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldn’t spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.

You pulled out your phone to text him.

From: You

Sooooo did someone kidnap you or—

You didn’t get to finish that message.

Before you could hit ‘send,’ you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.

The same grin crept onto your face—you couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me, I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend…”

You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someone’s body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.

“Oh, yeah? Then where is he?”

Joel turned you to face him.

Well, shit, there he is.

Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepy—and who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when he’d likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didn’t miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.

Perhaps you’d come on a little strong.

Easy now, he’s probably tired as shit.

“Sorry. Just missed you,” you mumbled into Joel’s neck.

He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.

His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

‘Don’t be sorry. I missed you more’ was all he said.

And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house you’d grown up in, though, you went over to Joel’s cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time you’d spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.

Cold as shit.

“52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?”

You’d pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.

“It ain’t that bad. We got blankets,” Joel huffed.

He hadn’t talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didn’t blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way he’d fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.

But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.

You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.

“My nipples could cut diamonds right now.”

And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.

To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.

He left the room shortly after that—ostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.

Guilty.

What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since you’d gotten here to make him take on that expression?

Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story you’d told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because you’d jumped him too fast—opted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?

Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinking—overthinking, really. You couldn’t help doing it.

In spite of the near-dizzying excitement you’d felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.

“Shit,” you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.

You were standing in Joel’s room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joel’s dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joel’s. Or naked.

Did he want to have sex tonight?

He’d looked so tired, and he hadn’t touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, but—

“Hey.”

A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you

It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before you’d snuck him into your communal showers.

You smiled faintly at the memory.

You looked back up at Joel.

“I figured you’d get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.”

Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. He’d bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.

You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.

You decided you’d dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joel’s bed at the other end of the room.

How long you waited there was anyone’s guess.

Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. He’s probably just tired.

And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.

You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.

Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldn’t really blame him.

He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, ‘Night, sweet pea,’ and you couldn’t ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joel’s pants was impossible to ignore—he was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.

Okay, well…maybe we don’t have to sleep just yet.

You weren’t entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joel—helped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimes—and right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, you’d grown self-conscious again, and you weren’t sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joel’s dick in you might help.

So you turned around and climbed right on him.

You straddled Joel’s hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress relief—a way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deed—and it didn’t take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joel’s cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didn’t move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.

Joel’s eyes flew open.

He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.

“Sweetheart—” he started, strained.

It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.

Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.

You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joel’s grip really constricted.

His fingers seared your skin.

A groan rumbled in his chest.

“Baby, please…” he croaked. He swallowed hard.

Was he trying to beg? That wouldn’t be a first, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll get on top,” you offered, quiet.

With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.

“This…I need to…fuck.”

Words seemed to evade him, and that wasn’t surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.

Joel always teased you for it, so now you’d do the same.

Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since you’d gotten back, and now you didn’t feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.

“Baby,” he hissed.

He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.

It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.

So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didn’t waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt it—his grasp pulling back.

You heard him, hoarsely:

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since you’d slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.

“We can’t do this,” Joel blurted out at once.

You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.

“What’s wro—”

“I— I need to tell you something. Now. I’m sorry.”

At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didn’t hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.

Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you might’ve done something wrong, or crossed some line.

That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There weren’t tears, but that wasn’t far off.

How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?

You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me to—”

“No, I’m sorry. We just can’t do this right now.”

His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.

You couldn’t help the words that followed.

“Did— did I just do something wrong?”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anythin—”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

Your pulse leapt and sped up.

“No, no, not at all. I’m jus—”

“Because you can tell me.”

“That’s not what I was—”

“If you want to break up—”

“What? That ain’t what I said.”

“So what is it? What’s going on?”

Your worst thoughts were winning.

You were jumping to conclusions again.

There wasn’t time to be rational or sedate.

“Joel Miller, if you’re gonna dump me right now—”

“Sweetheart, there’s a chance I might be your uncle.”

“What?!”

In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.

Joel could’ve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, he’d done it horribly.

The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.

The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.

You’d been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?

The look on your face as you shuffled back didn’t surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.

“Listen, I can explain…” he started, speaking slowly.

He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.

“What do you mean you’re my fucking uncle, Joel?!”

His widened, too. You might’ve misheard him.

“No, no, I’m not. I’m probably not, I just—”

“Probably?! What is ‘probably’?!”

You’d all but screeched that.

You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, ‘What did I just do? What have we been doing?’ and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like you’d just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldn’t blame you for that. He needed to fix this.

He’d meant to handle this himself. He’d called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.

It was a stretch.

As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time you’d been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasn’t the case.

There was no way.

But if there was…

Joel hadn’t planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadn’t wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. He’d intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brother—if he ever would pick up his fucking phone—and he’d meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then you’d changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays you’d had, Joel still wasn’t able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. He’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dad’s secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.

Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—lay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you weren’t his niece. He hadn’t wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So he’d tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then you’d wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.

He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.

“Tommy might’ve— might’ve fucked your mom.”

It was graceless. Just like everything else.

Your eyes went even wider.

“What?” you breathed.

He kept going.

“There’s…your dad was tellin’ me, there’s a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messin’ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, and…and he isn’t completely sure—there were a few other guys, but he doesn’t know—and he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, and…well, I’ve been tryin’ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ain’t pickin’ up. I wanted—”

“Get your keys,” you cut in suddenly.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Wait, what?”

Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.

“Where are we—” Joel tried again.

You snapped your fingers, like you’d found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.

He wasn’t sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keys—they were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as always—and just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.

You were already headed for the car port. You didn’t look behind you, and wouldn’t so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.

“Where are we goin’? You gonna talk to me, honey?”

Joel tried sounding soft. You weren’t having it.

You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.

You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.

First, a frown.

Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.

“I have Tommy’s location. We’re gonna go beat his ass.”

Life was great for Tommy Miller.

Like, really great.

He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.

Cool. Calm. Serene.

He should buy a house of his own out here one day.

The place they were staying at used to be his granddad’s. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.

Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joel’s fixation with you.

If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.

What he couldn’t totally comprehend was why you two wouldn’t come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddy’s back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasn’t that intolerant that he couldn’t be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. You’d be graduating in a few months—you could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.

These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.

He was about to turn and drape an arm over Maria’s side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.

Someone was knocking.

Banging.

Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they might’ve been apt to knock the whole thing down.

For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.

He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.

And there you were, looking just as enraged.

“You motherfucker!” you hissed at him.

Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didn’t have time to talk to his brother.

Tommy didn’t have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.

Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.

Disbelief and…something like disgust?

“Did you fuck my mom?!” you spat.

What the— what? What?

When he was too stunned to speak—from both drowsiness and the initial shock—you stepped in again. You didn’t touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.

“Answer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!”

“Sweetheart—” Joel started behind you.

Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.

“Did you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!”

Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.

For some reason, his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.

“Oh god, you did!” you shrieked. Words high and shrill. “You fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!”

Oh, fuck.

What the fuck?

What the everliving fuck?

At last, he found words: “No! No, I never—”

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Maria must be thinking.

You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.

“We are so fucked!” you said to him. In shock.

Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.

Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether they’d actually make sense was anyone’s guess.

“I— I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,” he said.

Decent enough.

But you didn’t believe him.

“My dad said you did,” you bit back. “He said that you and—and some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since I’ve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!”

Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.

Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.

“Just…just come clean if you did. We need to know.”

That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didn’t really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joel’s niece.

Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.

This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.

Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.

“I never…in my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,” he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. “I was—what, like…twenty-two when you were born? I didn’t even lose my virginity ‘til I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.”

“But her dad said—” Joel started.

“Her dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasn’t, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.”

He felt stupid.

Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadn’t gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldn’t matter—it didn’t matter, and he didn’t regret his choice in the slightest—but still, he felt a pang in his chest.

And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he might’ve slept with Amy? He knew damn well they’d never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but that’s all they ever were, or appeared.

None of it made any sense.

Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.

And where he’d expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sun’s first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.

Your family’s kind of insane.

I still love you, by the way.

Maria didn’t need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldn’t help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.

Unfortunately, Tommy didn’t get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.

You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.

“Shit. Tommy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry,” you said.

His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.

In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.

I’m so sorry, Maria.

Also, I love you more.

“It’s all good, kid.” Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct he’d always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. “If I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckin’ my uncle, I’d also try to kick their ass.”

You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.

“You’re too big. I could never actually do it,” you said.

“I might,” Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.

That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadn’t steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.

“Even if he ain’t your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? He’s an ass, as you can see.”

He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.

The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.

He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joel’s lap.

“Too late. We’re dating,” his brother hummed back.

Dating?

Well, shit.

Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surprise—and muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if he’d had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.

He would have to keep this quick.

“Goin’ steady, huh?” he pressed.

“Don’t start.” Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.

You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldn’t resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. He’d been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.

He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didn’t intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.

“And y’all didn’t ask for my permission?” he called over his shoulder. Taunting. “A father has a right to know!”

Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:

“Sorry, Dad, Uncle Joel’s dick was too good to resist!”

Eeeeeewwwwwww.

Tommy made a face as he left.

“I’m going back to bed. Y’all are sick.”

And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.

“Your life is a Folgers commercial,” she chuckled.

“Pretty much,” he murmured as he joined her.

Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriend’s way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.

“You’ll need this. Use it to cover your ears,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I know anything about those two, they’re about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.”

You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.

It always was, though, wasn’t it?

The concern wasn’t one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brother—who was not your biological father—and his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.

Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?

Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?

There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.

Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, could’ve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.

If you’d had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.

You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:

‘WE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!’

‘WE’RE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!’

Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest now—having just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, well…it did things to him.

It did things to you, too.

It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper

“Joel—”

“Look at me, darlin’,” Joel said, gruff. “You’re close, hm?”

You were.

You nodded your head against his firm hold.

Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldn’t stay on his like he’d wanted. Joel grunted.

He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.

Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standing—more a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joel’s gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.

And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. You’d been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since you’d gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.

With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didn’t hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasn’t pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.

“Y’know, I meant what I said. Last time,” Joel murmured.

What?

As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?

You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.

“Wh— Huh?” You sounded dumb as shit. “What?”

Joel’s teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.

He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.

You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didn’t hear it when he spoke again:

“I told you that I was ready.” Another gentle withdrawal. “To tell your dad.” A thrust back in. “Whenever you were.”

Shit.

So that was what this was about.

You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.

But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might say—or do—to the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.

From what you could tell, though, Joel wasn’t feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.

Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.

He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.

You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.

Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull you’d left, Joel went on.

“You— you want that, too, don’t you?”

There was patent need in that tone.

The slightest tinge of insecurity.

You didn’t want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah, Joel. I want it,” you whispered. “I’m just scared.”

Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.

“I am, too,” he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. “We— we can wait. I just wanna…take you places, hon.”

You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joel’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.

You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.

“I love you. I…I don’t care how long this takes us.”

“I love you, Joel.”

You couldn’t manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joel’s gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.

On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as you’d ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.

‘I love you’ was almost like a refrain between you both.

Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsed—muttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.

There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldn’t help but savor the warmth and weight of Joel’s spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.

You weren’t surprised, and didn’t flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what he’d wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after you’d swallowed, and Joel’s first instinct was to smile.

“You did so good for me, sweet pea,” he praised.

His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joel’s chest and shoulders were glistening.

“Shower?” you murmured, turning around to face him.

Joel hummed in agreement.

He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his

You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasn’t high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.

It was Tommy’s. You could tell.

Sensing the same, Joel called out:

“We’re sleepin’, man, c’mon. Go on now.”

You were certain Tommy and Maria could’ve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joel’s arm around your waist.

The knocking continued.

This time, it was accompanied by Tommy’s voice.

“Are y’all decent?”

In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.

Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.

Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.

Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.

You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, ‘Relax.’

“Wh— why is my dad calling you?!” you demanded.

You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommy—he was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or something—and when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.

“What?! What does he want?” you pressed again.

Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the ‘unmute’ button, and his grin grew.

“I dunno, why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said.

At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: “DON’T!”

It almost would’ve been comical if it wasn’t also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?

As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didn’t take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokehold’s illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.

“Tommy, you’re bein’ a—” you started, sharp.

“Fuckin’ dickhead!” Joel finished for you.

He’d almost wrestled the phone out of Tommy’s grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both again—he threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.

Force of habit.

You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.

And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key you’d been trying to avoid

“Shit,” you cursed reflexively.

“Sweetheart?”

The phone was on speaker.

Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.

“D-Dad?” you stammered.

You half-expected him to shout—‘What on earth are you doin’ home early? And with Tommy?’—and you winced. For a second, you thought your friend might’ve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.

“Hey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Y’all at the airport?”

You swallowed.

You must’ve said yes, because your father went on.

“Good, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?”

“Why?” You hoped he didn’t hear you falter.

Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joel’s expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brother’s stayed amused.

Tommy knew something you didn’t.

Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dad’s voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.

It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.

You hadn’t thought you’d ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:

“I’m down in Galveston—I want y’all to come too, ASAP!”

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haymitchsbunny · 4 months ago

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mini update: i have 2 fics in the works - one is a random one and one is a response to an ask... speaking of.... SEND ME YOUR ASKS!!! :3 if you wanna fuck haymitch in a specific position lmk ;3

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haymitchsbunny · 4 months ago

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Drink Me Away

dividers by @anitalenia

Series: Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x F!Reader

Warnings: Age gap, porn with so much plot, smut, vaginal sex, daddy kink, slightly weird dynamic, traumabonding(?), underage drinking/alcoholism in general

Summary: You were never more than just drinking buddies with Haymitch, until you came to him for consolation when your parents disowned you. He never planned to make a move, but you couldn't handle it. He was your favorite person- but that could never progress, right?

A/N: Absolutely no writing of the actual Games- just there for plot reasons. I've loved Haymitch for so long and theres absolutely no xreader fics with him, so I wrote my own.

Please let me know if i missed any warnings! happy readings ☆

You came from a well-off family, one that had never had to put their children in danger with tesserae, one that got the freshest bread, one that had no idea about their eldest daughter's after-school activities; heading to the hob as often as possible, paying anyone she could for a bottle of spirits. You began when you were 16.

Your only true drinking competition was Haymitch Abernathy- he had known your family for years, but as close as he was with your father, he had never known you. You never cared to approach him when he entered your house or when your parents spotted him in the square.

When you became a regular Hob attendee, you saw much more of him. Drinking competitions became a regular occurrence between the two of you when you were 17, praises of your tolerance always boosting your ego at 18. This lasted until you were 19.

Your father had a rough day at work. He had visited the Hob for the first time in year, accompanied by Haymitch. He had come to try and spot you before your father could and tell you to book it. It didn't work out that way.

Haymitch spotted you two seconds too late, after hearing the deafening screech of your father yelling your name across the Hob. You froze in place, glass in hand and arm on a man who's name you couldn't remember. The sounds around you died around somewhat, all eyes on the father-daughter exchange.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hissed, approaching rapidly.

"I'm 19, dad, I'm allowed to have fun," you huffed.

"Since when is 'fun' illegal drinking in the black market?"

"A while now, actually."

"You're grounded."

"I'm 19."

"Then get your shit," he snatched the drink from your hand, throwing it back like water. "And get the fuck out of the house." He slammed the glass against the table, turning tail and leaving.

You sat, stunned at the confrontation. You slipped off your barstool and followed your father's path in a haze. You jumped when a hand clamped around your wrist, eyes flickering to Haymitch standing there, concern splashed through his features.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He questioned genuinely.

"Nothing, Haymitch, don't worry about it," you sighed, trying to pull away and not drag him into family business.

"I said 'what happened', kid. Not 'do you want to tell me'," he demanded.

"I- nothing," you stopped yourself. It was none of his business!

"I want to help you, let me, please." Well you never thought you'd hear him say please.

"My dad kicked me out- happy?" You fumed, a sudden rage building in your belly as you yanked your wrist away from him with all your might and began stomping off.

"You can stay with me," he called after you. "The couch is comfy." You turned on your heel back to him.

"You're kidding," you blanched. "Seriously? You'd let me stay with you? Why?" The questions spilled out, confusion and appreciation mingling.

"Because I care about your wellbeing, kid," he chuckled. "And if you're living with me you ain't gotta head all the way to the Hob for a drink or two."

And so began the complicated relationship between the two of you. Two unemployed day drinkers with no hobbies, no friends, and no family. You found out that your mother wanted nothing to do with you, and they wouldn't allow your siblings to see you. Haymitch had no family left alive. You were both stuck drinking away your sorrows together.

He didn't make you get a job- just run errands. Get food, get living supplies, relax. He got the liquor. He kept you from drinking too much, usually limiting you to three glasses at a time. A good majority of your time was spent cuddling. It wasn't weird. It was just.. comforting. For the both of you. Nothing weird.

The night you had moved in with him was the first time. You were vulnerable, and ended up sobbing on the floor with a bottle in your hand. He slipped it out gently, setting it on the ground next to you. He leaned down and picked you up off the ground with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck. He laid down on the couch with you in that position, letting you blubber and yap until you fell asleep.

When you awoke, you were squished between the back cushions and his body comfortably. His arms laced around your waist, holding you to his chest, his face in the crook of your neck. You dozed back off and when you awoke he was sitting at his armchair, unphased and watching the news.

it had been 6 months since that night. You drank with him almost every day, had two friends which were men you had drank with at the hob, and had hobbies and a black cat that roamed freely through Haymitch's house. Things were.. good.

And you were falling for your housemate.

He was nothing more than someone who you cared for. You were legal, yes, but he was so much older than you. He was a respectable man- sure, drinking the days away with a friend's disowned daughter wasn't exactly mature behavior, but at least he held you close every time you cried. But that was purely platonic affection, him caring for your well-being and holding you through the night being the only way he knew to comfort you.

That night, you drank your feelings away with him. He was getting louder and you were getting quieter, watching him carefully. Trying not to expose the vile thoughts running your mind into the dirt as he blabbed about his favorite liquor.

The heat in your tummy only got worse as you drank more, giving him professional fuck-me eyes by your 4th. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. But by the way his eyes never left yours, even when you looked away, you were sure he had.

"H-Haymitch," you hiccuped, certain you were bordering alcohol poisoning. You never drank this much- either you had enough or he stopped you. Not tonight. "I'm not, I'm really, uh," you couldn't get your thoughts straight. "Take me to our room, please." You managed to get out.

"Our room?" He questioned, brighter than you'd ever seen him. "Last I checked, we've never slept in it at the same time. If anything, the living room is our room." He sauntered over to you slowly, placing his bottle on the table in front of you. You reached for it and got your hand smacked. You were already feeling a little green.

"Just take me," you groaned, choking back a gag. "I'm sleepy." You whined at him.

"Sure you don't need to vomit, sweetheart? Do it before I tuck you in, if you would be ever-so-kind," you shook your head no, but then stood swiftly and shook your head yes. He guided you to the sink as you emptied the contents of your stomach in it. He held your hair. You tilted your head back up and turned the water on, washing the liquid away.

"Atta girl, let's get you some water, why don't we," you groaned and nodded, washing your hands and turning back to him as he handed you a bottled water. You chugged it, feeling a tad more sober, and you began to walk to the bathroom. Haymitch sat back down and swirled his finger around the lip of his cheap whiskey bottle.

You brushed your teeth and tongue thoroughly. You wouldn't have cared, you didn't. But something in the way Haymitch's fingers continued to linger on your skin made you start to. You exited the bathroom, swishing a bit of mouthwash through your teeth before walking to the kitchen sink and spitting it out there.

"Take me to bed." You requested, standing in front of haymitch in your big tee-shirt and shorts.

"Awfully bold now, aren't you sweetheart?" He rasped, standing almost as soon as you had asked. He walked towards you, leaning down and scooping you up bridal style. You were not expecting this- a belly laugh escaping from you as he began to walk you up the stairs.

You were drenched. Absolutely soaked through your panties. You just prayed he wouldn't notice anything off about your demeanor- maybe he would just chalk it down to the abundance of alcohol in your system?

"Haymitch! Do you have to be so rough?" You gasped as he nearly threw you and himself onto the bed. As you recollected yourself, he stood. "Leaving so soon?" You whined playfully.

"Not if you don't want me to, doll," he chuckled. His raspy voice sent a chill down your spine.

"Well, I mean," you sputtered. "I would- I don't, no. I don't." You finally got your words out, pursing your lips and peering up at him through your lashes as he laughed at you.

"God, you're a mess, aren't you sweetheart?" He mocked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. "I would almost think it's more than just the alcohol at this point, wouldn't you?" You inhaled sharply through your nose at the insinuation.

"What? No, I'm just really drunk, that's all-" he pressed his thumb to your lips.

"Quiet," he whispered, leaning closer to you. "Lying won't get you anywhere in life, sweetheart." God, he was so close. You could smell him, more than usual. Pine and whiskey, mingling into the sexiest thing you had ever had the pleasure to smell.

You whimpered out loud when he pulled away. He smirked at you. Your eyes went wide as he began stripping. "Wh- why, what-" You tripped over your words, nearly beginning to crawl towards him. He was clearly relishing in your newfound behavior.

"Calm yourself, doll," he chuckled, flopping down next to you on his bed. "I'm just getting comfortable- you wanted to sleep after all. Right?" He was asking for your honesty.

This was the make-it-or-break-it of the night- he was giving you the chance to tell him what you were feeling. "I, uhm," you began with so much confidence and hope. But then, your critical thinking kicked in. He didn't actually want you to respond like that! He was warning you not to act on your obvious desires.

"Yes, just want to sleep," you muttered, beginning to pull your shirt from your body. You stood before you could finish. "I'll go to the bathroom, sorry." You apologized, melancholy. He grabbed your wrist.

"You're fine, sweetheart," he was serious. Your heartbeat increased and you suspected he was feeling at your pulse with the way he was squeezing. "Lying won't get you anywhere." He intentionally repeated his words from earlier. A shiver ran down your spine and settled in your bones. You were on edge and dripping wet. You whimpered.

"Haymitch, please," you whispered. "Don't make me say it." You pouted at him with glazed eyes and he pulled you back onto the bed in front of him. You were looking at him with need in your eyes, and he nearly matched your expression.

"Well, if you're so tired, you'd better get ready for bed, right, sweetheart?" He rasped, and you felt disappointment settle in your gut.

"Oh, uhm, yeah, I guess," you spoke quietly, scooting yourself to be more comfortable as you reached under your shirt to unclasp your bra. You were looking away from him, trying to avoid facing the cause of the weight on your chest.

A featherlight touch on your abdomen drug your attention away from your failed attempt, arms falling to your sides as he replaced your hands, unhooking the garment with ease. The straps fell from your shoulders as he reached to the bottom of your shirt. You raised your arms and let him lift it, leaving you in nothing but shorts and your loose and unsecured bra.

You looked at him in curiosity. He noticed and smirked. "You have to be comfortable to sleep, don't you, sweetheart?" His gentle grip turned demanding and you gasped as he snatched the only thing covering your breasts. Your arms flew to cover yourself and he slowly reached to restrain your wrists, shifting his weight so he was holding himself over you, pinning your wrists into the mattress.

"H-Haymitch," you whispered, barely audible.

"Yes, love?" He matched your volume, leaning so close that you could taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Kiss me," you asked. "Please." He looked from your eyes to your lips, silent for a moment.

"There's no going back if we do this," he warned, staring into your eyes for any tell of your thoughts. All he could see was desire. The same burning desire that fuelled the hard-on in his briefs. "I won't pretend anymore, especially not if you let me do what I want right n-"

"Shut up and kiss me, Haymitch," you groaned, bucking your hips up and rubbing yourself against his clothed erection. "Before I change my mind." You giggled.

He pressed his lips to yours fervently, touching you in a way that all the hours you had spent together could have never prepared you for. His hands flew from your wrists and his weight shifted to his knees, pressing your heat to his cock as he practically dry-humped you through your makeout. He was rubbing his thumb into your hip, squeezing it so tightly but you relished in it. His other free arm was pressed into the pillow next to your head, keeping him from crushing you under his weight.

"Good God," he groaned out needily, pulling away from your lips to begin kissing and sucking on your throat. He threaded his fingers through your hair, tilting your head for more access to your quickly purpling neck. "Sweeter than candy, you know that?" He grumbled against your skin. Your hands were settled in his hair and on his broad shoulders, taking in every sensation.

"There's something I would like to taste," you smirked slyly, pushing at his shoulders gently, sitting up with him.

"Oh, really? And what might that be, darling?" He reached up and held your hands as they sat on his shoulders. You reached down to his briefs and pulled them until his cock sprung from the waistband. You gasped at the size of it, watching it slap against his stomach with a soft sound.

"Y-You're so," you stammered. "I'm not sure I can take all of that, Haymitch.." He chuckled, replacing his hand in your hair as he pushed you towards his cock, pulling you with him as he readjusted against the headboard.

"You'll learn." Was all he said as he pulled you until your lips were wrapping around his broad head.

"You're so," you spoke around his tip. "So girthy, Haymitch.." He laughed at your muffled words, spoken with his cock bumped against your cheek. You began to swirl your tongue around his tip and he sighed, letting his laughter die down. He shifted his hand and shoved his dick straight into the back of your throat. You gagged and sputtered, pulling off and coughing with your cheek against his rigid member.

"It ain't Haymitch to you anymore, sweetheart," he growled. Your eyes widened, not sure what his next words would be. "It's daddy. Got that, doll?" You gasped- how vulgar, why would he ever think you would call him something so, so-

"Yes, daddy," your own words caught you off guard. You picked your head up and proceeded to gag on his cock until you felt as though you could throw up. A few times, you were enveloped in pure bliss. Those were the moments when he groaned and shoved your head down so far that your nose buried in the thick hair at the base of his cock. You felt so used and proud of yourself.

"Atta girl," he praised, lifting your head off his cock and smirking at you. You were panting, saliva and precum coating your chin. "So gorgeous like this, should get you drunk like this more often." He kissed you gently, contrasting the roughness of which he just fucked your throat.

"Please," You begged quietly. "Please fuck me." Haymitch chuckled at you.

"Say my name, darling," he growled. You began to say Haymitch, but he interrupted you. "Not that name, doll." He corrected, grabbing you and pulling you on top of himself until you were straddling him. You were slightly caught off guard, grinding down on him and moaning. You were still clad in your shorts and panties.

"Please, daddy," you whimpered. He chuckled, gripping your hips and pressing you harder against him. "Please fuck me, daddy!" You cried out, throwing yourself forward into a kiss. He flipped you over, pressing your back into the mattress. He sat up and yanked your shorts down before ripping both sides of your underwear. You yelped in surprise and scolded him.

"Consider it a souvenir, sweetheart," he chuckled at you. "A souvenir from the first time you're getting fucked by me." You gasped, feeling him begin to align his thick head with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, and you cried out.

"Daddy! Be gentle, plea-" You were cut off by a silent moan getting caught in your throat as he bottomed out. "Mmhm, please wait a- a momen- mm." You could barely speak, he wasn't thrusting but he was circling his hips ever so slightly, giving you friction in parts of your pussy you didn't even know you had.

"Oh, I'll be gentle for now, sweetheart," he groaned, beginning to thrust gently. "But I can't promise that'll last." He kept a slow and rhythmic pace, bottoming out with every lingering thrust. You let out a sharp breath every time.

He picked up his pace, your breath hitching with every thrust. You did your best to hide any moans, but could barely contain yourself. He began suckling on your neck and unintentionally digging his fingers into your hips.

Then, he pulled out. You whined at the unwanted emptiness, but then he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. He began pounding into you, faster and harder and deeper than before. You became a slurred, moaning mess. He didn't stop, ignoring all of your moans and pleas of pure pleasure.

He had already begun to bruise your hips, squeezing and pushing and pulling to fuck you oh-so-nicely, penetrating you over and over.

He started getting rough, leaning over you and removing his hands from your hips. He started fucking you with the force of his whole body weight, leaving you moaning like a whore underneath him.

"I'm close, sweetheart," he growled. "You?" Not taking a break to let you answer, if anything going faster.

"Ah, uh, mm-mhm!" You cried. "K-keep, nn, going! Please daddy!" and with that, he lost all tempo and fucked you ruthlessly. He picked you up, put you on your back, pressed your knees into your chest, and slid back in one smooth motion.

This new angle was so deep, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You cried out, reaching to Haymitch and gripping your hands in his hair.

"Daddy! Please, please, please, PLEASE," you screamed, begging for release with all your might. He reached down, playing with your clit for a moment, and you burst.

You felt the heat in your tummy rush to all your pleasure points, overwhelming you. Haymitch didn't slow down, but when you began to squeeze his cock like a vice, he pulled you close and started with short, deep thrusts.

You fell asleep immediately.

When you awoke, you were alone in the bed. You looked around groggily, no sign of your newfound lover. You slipped your feet to the side of the bed, attempting to stand. Your knees gave out, but you caught yourself on the bed.

You noticed that there was no trace of your earlier activities- a clean bed that you had just been tucked nicely into, your legs had no residue of either yours or his juices. Your hair was neatly combed.

You heard the sound of water shutting off, and figured Haymitch had been showering. A few minutes later, he exited with damp hair and a towel around his waist. You were intrigued.

"Good mornin', darlin'," he chuckled at the way you were looking at him. "Looking so eager for another round, huh?" He teased. You settled back into bed.

"Soon," you told him. " But for now, come lay with me." You smiled, scooting further into the bed to give him space. He dropped his towel and walked towards you. You dampened at the sight of his semi-hard cock.

He slipped into bed next to you, flipping you over so your back was to his chest. His cock rested between your legs, the head bumping your clit.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, moving his hips and making his cock bump your sensitive nub. "That's what you wanted, right dear?"

A/N: hope you enjoyed! please leave asks/requests! BEGGING YOU!!!

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haymitchsbunny · 4 months ago

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Haymitch Abernathy Headcannons

first time writing any headcannons PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK!!!!!

kinda short because i need advice on how to improve these <3

mentions of alcoholism

(shitty) HAYMITCH HEADCANNONS

- Haymitch who has never held hands with a woman until you and gets cocky over it

- Haymitch who sobers up a little bit any time you make eye contact

- Haymitch who WILL cut your supply off if you start to seem half as dependant as he is

- Haymitch who fought with you about his habit of sleeping with a knife and the compromise was to switch it with a butter knife

- Haymitch who kisses all over your face any chance he gets, leaving slobbery, stinky marks

- Haymitch who keeps ahold of you any time you're in public, no matter what

- Haymitch who will force the sidewalk rule from day one (even though there's no cars in district 12)

DISTRICT 13 HC

- Haymitch who fought Coin for weeks before you made it to 13 for your shared space

- Haymitch who held your hands to stop your trembles from the withdrawls even though he was shaking harder

- Haymitch who will squeeze you so tight it hurts when you're both trying to sleep off the need

- Haymitch who refused to assist Coin in anything to do with the Mockingjay project if you weren't involved, insisting he needed you as his emotional support animal

-Haymitch who lets you braid his hair to distract yourself

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haymitchsbunny · 4 months ago

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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."

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