#dad!haymitch abernathy x reader

[thedelicatearcher]

do you have any headcannons for dad!haymitch???

also i love ur writing smmmmm<<<<<<3333

yess!!! also thank you so much, really appreciate it <33

dad!haymitch abernathy headcanons

• being a dad was incredibly hard for haymitch at first. he had spent his entire life afraid of forming real connections, terrified that the capitol would kill them off as they had done before. the first time he held his baby in his arms, he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, suppressing his sobs as his newborn daughter wrapped her tiny hand around the tip of his finger.

• haymitch spent many nights in the nursery, staring protectively at the baby while she slept. his anxiety constantly warned him that if he looked away, even for a second, something terrible would happen to her. you often woke up to find haymitch asleep in the rocking chair you use to help the baby fall asleep, in such an awkward position that you knew he would be grumbling all day about a sore neck.

• the warm sensation in his chest at the sight of his baby looking at him with adoring eyes was unforgettable. that is the mental image he tries to focus on whenever he has a nightmare and tries to ground himself back to reality. closing his eyes tightly, inhaling and exhaling consciously, he tries to stop himself from hyperventilating. finally feeling calm, though still weary, he quietly enters the nursery and, with great gentleness, caresses his daughter’s cheek with his finger, careful not to wake her.

• haymitch absolutely despised changing the baby’s diaper. ever since his daughter peed on his face, he had been reluctant to do it again. he used his persuasion skills to negotiate his way out of diaper duty. ‘look, sweetheart,’ he started to bargain, trying to hide the desperation in his eyes, ‘if i never have to change the baby again, i promise the house will be spotless. no more of my dirty clothes lying around, and no more toys on the floor.’ when you lovingly laughed at his face, his businessman facade immediately dropped, realizing he had to overcome his distaste.

• eventually, he did it again. haymitch mastered the art of temporarily blocking his sense of smell. he focused on his daughter’s infectious laughter and the pleasant scent of baby powder, rather than the lingering odor of diapers that haunted his nightmares.

• with no experience in carpentry whatsoever and never having built anything in his life, haymitch so innocently decided to make some toys. ‘it shouldn’t be that hard,’ he thought, envisioning a wooden rocking horse in his mind. his calloused hands were clumsy, and he ended up with cuts from the small knife he attempted to was a mini, weird-looking horse that resembled more of a whale. he huffed dramatically before standing up and heading to the market, where a perfectly crafted  wooden horse seemed to call his name to be bought.

• HE IS A GIRL DAD!!! he has three girls, and he learned how to braid hair so he could brush and delicately braid theirs. most of the time, however, he found himself being the one getting his hair braided rather than doing the braiding. his daughters absolutely adore playing with his locks. one day, one of them suggested they start a braid train, and he spent the entire hour trying not to let out any sounds of discomfort as his 7-year-old daughter pulled on his hair, clumsily trying to make a ponytail.

• he frequently invites katniss and peeta over. his girls adore baking sweet treats with peeta and enjoy playing with the small wooden bow and arrow toys gifted by katniss. she mentions that when they are old enough, she can teach them how to hunt. his heart almost leaps out of his chest at the thought of his children venturing into the woods, vulnerable to the dangerous flora and fauna. 

• his little family is what he holds dearest to his heart. they are what keeps him going after a tumultuous life. some days, he questions whether he deserves them, asking the gods the reason for blessing him with a beautiful family. yet, the grounded part of his mind silences those thoughts, reminding him to do his best to be a fully present father, and ensuring his kids don’t miss out on anything.

[allisluv]

Mom Effie and dad Haymitch looking after fainted reader 😭

mom!effie is freaking the fuck out. she doesn't know what to do, so haymitch steps in. he carries you to the couch and leaves effie with you while he goes to get a glass of water. he comes back and effie's got a fan from her handbag and is just viciously fanning you LMAO. when you regain consciousness, they let you rest but they're still so worried and you're definitely being mollycoddled by mom!effie for at least another week.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Prologue)

Haymitch x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

The Sixtieth Hunger Games will begin in five, four, three, two, one.

“Mom.” The boy at his mother’s bedside whispers, “Mom.” He shakes her shoulder lightly. She’s dreaming again and now, at the age of nine, he understands why he must be careful when waking her.

Y/N gasps, springing from the mattress, prepared to fight. But then she sees him. Everest, her sweet boy, forged in his father’s image. There is no denying, he’s her husband’s child through and through. “Sorry, sweetheart.” She sighs, letting both hands drop to her sides.

“S’ok.” He shrugs, stuffing worried hands into his pockets. “Dad’s with Arista, she’s pretty upset…doesn’t want you to go.” I don’t want you to go.

“Well,” Y/N forces a smile. “We don’t want to go without you either.” It was just like President Snow to demand they have children and then drag them away each year to mentor the games. Everest and Arista have only been required to join them in the Capitol for fanfare. The games are not about them anymore.

With Y/N aged twenty-nine and Haymitch forty, the novelty of their winnings has worn off. The most fascinating thing about them now is this, their love story and the family created from it. The anomaly that is Y/N Abernathy, Mayor Undersee’s eldest daughter, plucked from the reaping bowl at age fifteen. The girl who once hated her drunk of a mentor and grew to love him as the years passed.

The Capitol adores her, she is their darling. People hang off the edge of their seats, feasting on crumbs, anticipating her next move. What will she be wearing? Which victors sit within her inner circle?

Haymitch allows this, encourages it even. Because it keeps her safe. There is no cost too great. Y/N is everything Haymitch conditioned himself not to want. Snow knows exactly how deep his hooks are in. Killed Haymitch’s family because he didn’t appreciate the way he won the games; with an axe to the force field. Gave him a new family to dangle over his head years later.

Unfortunately for Haymitch, the cost of these theatrics means allowing Y/N’s former stylist to preen over her on reaping day.

Y/N can hear Vanity being ‘warmly’ welcomed by Haymitch on the first floor.

“Come on,” Y/N pats her son’s cheek. “Let’s go.”

Everest grins, racing toward the stairs. They do love their mother’s stylist and they only get to see her twice a year, if they’re lucky.

“You sure that headpiece is getting through the door, V?” Haymitch remarks, watching as the chandelier like dome attached to her skull pushes its way into their home.

Vanity scoffs, “good to see you too, Haymitch. What did you do to my darling?” The blue haired woman gasps at the sight of his five year old daughter, all but hysterical.

“I’m leaving her,” Haymitch sighs, shifting the little girl lightly in his arms.

“Tut, tut, my love.” Vanity coos, “Daddy will be back soon.”

“I want my Mommy to stay.” Arista sniffles, “you can’t take both.”

Everest reaches the bottom stair, saving Vanity from having to respond when he launches himself at the Capitol woman.

“Now this is a welcome,” Vanity ruffles his hair. “Look how big you are, my goodness.”

“I’ll be ten soon.”

“How the time flies.” Vanity catches sight of her victor. The first and only. “Y/N.”

“Hi.” Y/N smiles, wrapping both arms around herself. She is wearing a long sleep shirt with mismatched bottoms. The other woman is surely appalled at the sight.

“Let us…” Vanity’s eyes, unnaturally colored by contacts, flit about her, “get to work.”

————————————————————————

This year there is a bit of excitement at the reaping. Their female tribute actually volunteered, not something people really do in twelve. But it was for her sister and when it comes down to it, if Y/N was put in a position to choose between her little sister, Madge and herself facing the games, she would’ve done the same.

Y/N’s family will tend the children until they return, same as they have every year since the kids were born. Leaving them never gets any easier, especially if one or both is crying when they go. Y/N steps onto the train to the Capitol, still in her ridiculous mirror ball of a gown. Waving their children goodbye.

Haymitch is there, tense hands resting at her shoulders. “They’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Y/N nods.

“We’ll be alright.”

“I know.”

Part 1

[morganwrites12672]

🩰, haymitch’s daughter!reader x Finnick O’Dair

My 800 follower celebration is still going on through March 1st!

Finnick Odair x Abernathy!Reader

Summary: You attend a Capitol party!

Genre: 99% fluff

Warnings/Tags: Finnick Odair x reader (romantically), established relationship, Abernathy!reader, female!reader, Haymitch Abernathy x Reader (Platonic), sweetness, a few kisses, nothing super explicit, a few curse words, mention of prostitution, finnicks work, few sentences about THG

----------------------------------------------------------

Finnick finally found you in the crowd of crazily dressed capitol assholes. The party was begining to get extremely suffocating and he needed to find you.

"Hello darling," he whispered in your ear before sneaking off with you to a bare corner. His eyes quickly dart around the room looking for an escape.

"Left," you whisper and he sees the door you were referring to. God, these stupid parties got old very fast. Especially after years of them.

Finnick grabs your hand and carefully navigates the way to the door, without getting caught up in any unruly conversations.

You both reach the door way and sneak into the hallway. You rest your head against the nearest wall and finnick wraps his arm around you. He presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his forehead against yours.

You both sit in silence, listening to the others breathing and heartbeat, for what fells like eternity. He finally pulls away and you place a quick kiss to his lips.

He smiles before giving you a proper kiss. His lips crash onto yours, the excitement of sneaking away from the party combined with the wine you had oth been sipping, makes every sloppy move feel eletric.

His lips move in sync with yours as his tongue begins to find it's way into your mouth. He finally breaks the kiss and you lean back.

"And then we get to do all of these again tomorrow night," finnick complains. These parties did suck. I mean, who wants to hang out with rich dickheads that think prostituting teenagers is acceptable?

The answer is no in their right mind.

"Hey, don't worry. It will all be over soon," you remind him. Sure, the parties were held almost every few days, but there was a small loophole.

You and finnick were both victors. The 74th Hunger Games would be starting soon. You would be training district twelve, and he would be training district four.

In a few weeks the both of you would have very few parties to attend. The only downside was, well, everything you would be doing.

Training kids for their certain death was hard. If you weren't being forced to prance around and sleep with every rich asshole who had the money, you were helping aid the Capitol in murdering innocent children. It was great.

"At least we will be together a little bit," finnick says with a smile before kissing you again. When everything was wrong, finnick could count on you to make it all right.

His lips moved in syc with yours. The buzz of the alcohol and the adrenaline from kissing him made you forget everything. His tongu-

"I don't like seeing your tongue down my daughter's throat," Your dad says, clearing his throat. Finnick jumps at the man's voice and moves a few steps away.

"Much better," Your dad says before drunkenly stumbling off. He had coping mechanisms all right. There was a reason you helped train the kids. Your dad hates that you had to participate.

"Let's go suffocate," Finnick jokes as he grabs your hand and leads you back into the party. Everything was wrong, but a few right things could make you forget it.

Even if it's just for a few minutes.

---------------------------------------------------------

Requests are open! Reblogs and feedback are always enjoyed!

[haymitchabernathymybeloved]

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!!!

[queenpiranhadon]

- Love Like You, Rebecca Sugar

I...write for pretty much anything! You can check my fandoms list through the main navigation on my intro post!

Here are the ones I'm most comfortable writing for though:

ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ ➜

› My Hero Academia / Boku No Hero Academia

› Jujutsu Kaisen

› Spy x Family

› Demon Slayer

ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱ ➜

› Harry Potter

› Riordanverse (check my fandoms list to which series I've read)

› The Inheritance Games

› Keeper of the Lost Cities

› The Hunger Games

ᴛᴠ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ + ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇꜱ ➜

› MCU

› Avatar the Last Airbender & Legend of Korra

› Lego Ninjago

ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ➜

› Stardew Valley

› Genshin Impact

ᡣ𐭩 = romantic pairing; ✩ = platonic pairing, ✿ = x another character (usually canon ship)

ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ ➜

› ⎸ Bakugou Katsuki ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Kirishima Ejirou ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Takami Keigo / Hawks ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Todoroki Touya / Dabi ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Aizawa Shouta ✩ ⎸ Hitoshi Shinsou ✩ ⎸ Todoroki Shouto ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Midoriya Izuku ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Eri ✩ ⎸ Ashido Mina ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Jirou Kyoka ✩ ⎸ Asui Tsuyu ✩ ⎸ Yaoyorozu Momo ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Usagiyama Rumi ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Gojo Satoru ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Sukuna Ryomen ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Itadori Yuji ✩ ⎸ Fushiguro Megumi ✩ ⎸ Nanami Kento ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Geto Suguru ᡣ𐭩 ⎸

› ⎸Kugisaki Nobara ✩ ⎸ Maki Zen'in ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Anya Forger ✩ ⎸ Yor Forger ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Loid Forger ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Kamado Tanjirou ✩ ⎸ Hashibira Inosuke ✩ ⎸ Agatsuma Zenitsu ✩ ⎸ Tomika Giyu ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Uzui Tengen ᡣ𐭩 ⎸

› ⎸ Kamado Nezuko ✩ ⎸ Kanroji Mitsuri ✩ ⎸

ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱ ➜

› ⎸ Sirius Black ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Fred Weasley ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Remus Lupin ✩✿ ⎸ James Potter ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Hermione Granger ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Luna Lovegood ✩ ⎸ Ginny Weasley ✩ ⎸ Nymphadora Tonks ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Percy Jackson ✩✿ ⎸ Grover Underwood ✩ ⎸ Nico DiAngelo ✩✿ ⎸ Will Solace ✩✿ ⎸ Jason Grace ✩ ⎸ Leo Valdez ✩ ⎸ Luke Castellan ✩ ⎸ Frank Zhang ✩✿ ⎸ Carter Kane ✩✿ ⎸ Walt Stone ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Annabeth Chase ✩✿ ⎸ Piper McLean ✩ ⎸ Thalia Grace ✩ ⎸ Hazel Levesque ✩✿ ⎸ Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano ✩ ⎸ Sadie Kane ✩✿ ⎸ Zia Rashid ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Jameson Hawthorne ✩✿ ⎸ Grayson Hawthorne ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Nash Hawthorne ✩✿ ⎸ Xander Hawthorne ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Avery Kylie Grambs ✩✿ ⎸ Libby Grambs ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Keefe Sencen ✩✿ ⎸ Fitz Vacker ✩ ⎸ Dex Dizznee ✩✿ ⎸ Tam Song ✩✿ ⎸ Kesler Dizznee ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Sophie Foster ✩✿ ⎸ Biana Vacker ✩✿ ⎸ Marella Redek ✩✿ ⎸ Linh Song ✩✿ ⎸ Juline Dizznee ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Finnick Odair ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Peeta Mellark ✩✿ ⎸ Haymitch Abernathy ✩ ⎸ Coriolanus Snow ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Katniss Everdeen ✩✿ ⎸ Rue Barnette ✩ ⎸ Cressida ✩ ⎸ Lucy Gray Baird ✩✿ ⎸ Johanna Mason ✩ ⎸

ᴛᴠ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ + ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇꜱ ➜

› ⎸ Bucky Barnes ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Stephen Strange ✩ ⎸ Tony Stark ᡣ𐭩✩✿ ⎸ Peter Parker ᡣ𐭩✩✿ ⎸ Steve Rogers ✩✿ ⎸ T'Challa ✩ ⎸ Peter Quill ✩ ⎸ Thor ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Natasha Romanoff ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Yelena Belova ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Kate Bishop ✩ ⎸ MJ ✩✿ ⎸ Pepper Potts ✩✿ ⎸ Shuri ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Aang ✩✿ ⎸ Zuko ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Sokka ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Iroh ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Katara ✩✿ ⎸ Toph ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Cole Brookstone ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Kai Smith ᡣ𐭩✩✿ ⎸ Zane Julien ᡣ𐭩✩✿ ⎸ Lloyd Garmadon ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Jay Walker ✩✿ ⎸

› ⎸ Nya Smith ✩✿ ⎸ Skylar Chen ✩✿ ⎸ Pixal Borg ✩✿ ⎸

ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ➜

› ⎸ Sebastian ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Sam ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Alex ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Krobus ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Haley ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Leah ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Sandy ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Maru ✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Diluc Ragnvindr ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Zhongli ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸ Kaeya Alberich ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Tartaglia ᡣ𐭩✩ ⎸

› ⎸ Beidou ᡣ𐭩 ⎸ Klee ✩ ⎸

You are totally fine to request for any of the characters in the fandoms listed, but these are the ones I'm the most comfortable with :)

ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ➜

› ⎸ x reader ⎸ fem, gn, male readers ⎸ gore/blood ⎸ AU's ⎸ family relationships - ex. Dad Aizawa, brother Megumi ⎸ character x character ⎸ friend relationships (you and Haymitch are best friends) ⎸ character x character family relationships (Weasley twin shenanigans) ⎸ poc readers ⎸

ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ➜

› ⎸ smut ⎸ racism in a positive way ⎸ homophobia in a positive way ⎸ incest + stepcest ⎸ sexism in a positive way ⎸ slander to any religion or culture in a positive way ⎸

ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ➜

› If I don't answer a request- I promise I don't hate you I'm super slow I'm sorry 😭

› I will not write any requests I am uncomfortable with.

› Happy requesting ~

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero.

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Life after the Hunger Games was a lesson in adaptation. Prologue. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle Pairings: Finnick x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: No Next Time - Chasing Madison

Hey guys! So this is a prologue for the series I’m writing, the Not Your Hero series, just setting up the world, giving some context and introducing some important characters. I’m going to try to add a new moodboard with every chapter, some of which will have hidden clues as to plot points (like this one does). I’ll also include links to any songs, poems, pics etc. that may have inspired that particular chapter. Let me know what you think!

--------------------

------------

You had good days and bad days. Well, no, not quite. You had middle days, bad days and worse days. On the bad days, you could barely get out of bed, food turned to ashes in your mouth (if you could stomach it at all) and you couldn’t keep from crying, just sobbing your eyes out for hours on end until someone came and sat with you. Usually it was one of your parents, sometimes it was James or Ivette. 

On worse days you felt like a coiled spring; panicked, alert, ready for danger at any moment. The slightest sound or smell could set you off and, when it did, weeks and weeks and weeks of work would vanish into the terror of the arena. On worse days you could forget about going outside. It was all you could do to not go crazy in the confines of your own home, let alone brave the world that waited beyond your front door. When you were like that, the outside world became a labyrinth of hidden triggers, just waiting to activate your fight or flight response and send you back into the dark, shadowy recesses of your own trauma. Ivette said it would get better. She said it would just take some time, that’s all. You weren’t sure you believed her.

Middle days weren’t so bad. On middle days, like today, you didn’t feel much of anything really. You dragged yourself out of nightmares, into waking and just felt...tired. On middle days, your continued survival was exhausting, but you could manage it so long as you followed a few simple rules. You had to get out of bed as soon as you woke up no matter how early it was; take a shower without flinching when the water hit; avoid looking in the mirror. You had to get dressed quickly, minimize the amount of time you had to be naked; never ever wear beige; brush your hair without catching sight of yourself; list three beautiful things you had seen since the last middle day. If you followed all these rules then, usually, by the time you made it downstairs for breakfast, the layer of glass that separated you from the world would have been beginning to crack, and you’d be feeling almost human again.

Today, you had managed to follow the rules and so were feeling almost happy as you took a seat at the kitchen island, watching your mother cook. Her dark hair was glossy and neat, falling down her back in a long, straight wave. She must have blow dried it, you thought, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that you could provide for her and your father now, just as they’d always done for you.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, as always slightly shocked by the sound of your own voice, “you’re up early.”

Your mother turned and smiled, the scar running along the left side of her face just barely visible in the early morning light. She looked relieved to see you, just like she always did these days, as though she was worried you might have vanished some time in the night, never to be seen again.

“Yes, well,” she started, walking over, “you know I never was one for sleeping in. That’s why I always tried to get morning shifts at the plant” She raised her hand, as though to touch you, but paused, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

You gave her a sad, knowing smile, but nodded, letting her brush the hair out of your face and press a kiss to the top of your head, tensing your muscles to keep from flinching.

“But you don’t work at the plant anymore,” you reminded her gently, trying to regain some of your earlier happiness, “you don’t have to. I can take care of us now.”

“I know that, love,” she said softly, “old habits I guess. Maybe my body just isn’t used to...the way things are now.”

Your stomach dropped. There it was. ‘The way things are now’, that little innocuous phrase that had come to represent so much in your house. She meant the games, of course, your time in the arena. She meant that things had been different ever since that awful day, when your name had been read off a little slip of white paper and the silence of the crowd had doomed you to die.

Only you hadn’t died, you reminded yourself, you hadn’t died, you’d won. You’d come home, you were alive. You weren’t dead, you were alive.

You took a deep breath in, tried to clear your mind and nodded and searched the room with your eyes, desperate to change the subject, “What’re you making?”

“Porridge, the nice kind with fresh berries and honey.” your mom answered, following your lead, “Do you want some?”

“Yes please,” you replied with a semi-forced smile, “I’m starving.”

Your mom placed a steaming bowl in front of you and, without giving yourself time to hesitate, you dug in, savoring the sweet, heartiness of good food and letting it wash away the tickle of anxiety that had started making its way down your spine.

“That’s four days in a row now, Y/N/N,” your father said happily, appearing in the kitchen and walking over to give your mother a kiss, “good job.”

“Thanks paps,” you greeted, swallowing quickly, “been trying my best.”

“We see the hard work you’re doing, love, and we’re proud of you,” he smiled, “real proud.” he paused, taking a bite of his oatmeal, “Big day today, huh?”

You swallowed again but tried to smile as you nodded.

“What’re we proud of?” a third voice called, right as you opened your mouth to speak.

Your older sister, Alayah, appeared at the foot of the stairs, still wearing her pajamas and pointedly avoiding your gaze. At the sight of her, your chest pinched again, and you quickly clenched and unclenched your fists.

“Of all the work Y/N has been doing recently,” your dad explained, glossing over the palpable tension, “just letting her know that we’re all rooting for her, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she said in monotone, “yeah, congrats on eating breakfast I guess, Y/N/N.” she finished, sitting down three seats away from you, all the while still not looking you in the eye.

You sighed and swallowed another bite of oatmeal, feeling the anxiety start to work its way back in.

“Alayah-” your mother started, as your stomach started to twist with dread.

“What? What did I do now?” Alayah argued.

“You know things have been tough for Y/N since-”

“Stop,” you interrupted warningly, “stop it.”

“Since what, mom? Say it! We’ve all been tip toeing around this place like mice for months, just say what you want to say and let’s be done with it.” Alayah argued, her voice rising just enough to betray the depth of her anger.

“Alayah Y/L/N don’t you dare take that ungrateful tone, after everything Y/N has put herself through for this family the very least you could do is-”

“Stop,” You repeated as the warning signs of a panic attack began to spike in your head. 

“Y/N, I’m just saying, since the games your sister has been nothing but-”

“Stop it!” You demanded, pushing your chair back and standing suddenly.

The chair legs grated against the tile floors, making your skin crawl and effectively silencing everyone in the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you fought back the urge to lash out against an enemy you knew wasn’t really there and you clenched your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms, hard.

“Stop. Talking about it.” you managed to say, “Stop. It’s done.”

“Not really,” Alayah answered, even if her tone was slightly more scared than before, “they’ll all be here again later today to kick off the Victory tour, all the cameras and the capitol people...it’s not done yet.”

The Victory Tour. You’d been trying so hard not to think about it but, as usual, Alayah would never let you escape the reality of what you’d done. Things had been tense with her for months now, maybe it was time to accept that it would never be the way it was. 

You snorted as irritation sparked in your chest, “Thanks for the reminder, Ally,” you spat, trying to choke down your panic, “that’s real helpful.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed out, desperate to fill your rapidly tightening lungs with cool, fresh air. As the wind hit you, you gasped, but pressed on, breaking into a run. The snow slowed you down and made you clumsy, but you didn’t stop, sure that your parents must have been trying to follow you, even though you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heart in your ears. Your eyes stung from a combination of the cold wind and the tears that were building behind your eyes and you knew you couldn’t face your family, not now.  

You weren’t sure where you were going exactly, just that you needed to be away. Away from that house and all its looming grandiosity, away from your sister and her cutting words, away from the sound of screaming that you knew was coming from inside your own head.

You collapsed behind a dilapidated old house, far away enough from Victor’s Village to assure you some privacy, and let the tears flow over your cheeks hot and fast. You gripped the snow surrounding you tightly as your lungs tightened and tightened and tightened in your chest, forcing you to fight for every breath. Cognitively, you knew you must be cold, you knew the snow must’ve been biting your exposed skin and soaking you to the bone, but you felt none of it.

Instead, you felt the burning sun on your face, you felt the long grass brush your cheeks as you knelt over the blonde boy and tightened your fingers around his throat.

Dried mud along with fresh blood caked both of your skin, making it difficult to grip and hold, but you didn’t let go, squeezing tighter and tighter, even as he clawed at your fingers and gouged at your face with his nails. Hot, coppery blood filled your mouth, sliding down your cheeks and mingling with your tears from three deep gashes he’d left above your right eyebrow. Everything inside you was focused on this boy, this final obstacle, this last thing standing between you and home. Home, Home. Home. You engraved that word in your mind, letting it override your horror and disgust and shame.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m sorry, I have to-I have to-I-”

Suffocating someone is painstakingly slow but, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the last glimmers of life leave the boy’s eyes. His hands went limp on your wrist and his last, gurgling breath hung in the air like clouds. Still, you didn’t let go, you couldn’t. Not until you heard that final canon and Claudius Templesmith’s booming voice calling out through the silence;

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victor of the sixty-ninth annual Hunger Games!”

You gasped and snapped back to reality, the vast grasslands fading away before your eyes, back into ice and snow. And you were alone. You were shaking, whether from cold or terror you couldn’t quite tell and your hands were going purple from gripping the snow. In the distance, you could hear people calling your name, and you fought the urge to run away and hide. You were safe, you reminded yourself. You hadn’t died. You were safe.

“I’m here,” you called out, hating the way your voice croaked, “I’m over here.”

The footsteps came closer and you stood, steeling yourself for the inevitable. Oh well, you thought, better to get it over with now.

Your stylist had nearly had a heart attack when she’d seen you, soaked to the bone with red puffy eyes and wet hair tangled by the wind. She had scolded you pretty thoroughly as your prep team worked, but softened when you apologized profusely and swore on your mother’s life to never be so reckless on a filming day again. You thought you’d laid it on a little too thick but, as usual, Arketia ate it up and, before you knew it you were practically the best of friends again.  

As the prep team bustled around, gossiping and gushing and just generally saying nothing of importance, you settled back into the routine, letting their words wash over you like a river and numb your panicked heart. Your hair was washed and combed, styled to look graceful and effortless, even though it had taken nearly an hour to do. Every unwanted hair had been plucked and waxed and stripped from your body, leaving you smooth to the touch under the outfit. Your clothes were form fitting, but warm, accentuating your curves as much as they could considering it was still the dead of winter, and your make up was done to make your face look more angular and striking. All in all, you were seductive without being salacious, a balancing act your team had perfected months earlier. With the clothes and the hair and the make up, you felt yourself sliding back into your alter ego, shifting your weight slightly to accentuate the fabric where it hugged your frame and tucking your real self away, to be brought out at a later date. You smirked at yourself in the mirror, or at least tried to, imagining how it would look to an outside observer. Oh yeah, now you were all shiny and new again, and ready for the cameras.

While the crew set themselves up downstairs, you observed yourself in the mirror some more, perfecting smiles and laughs and little movements that read as confident, strangely calm considering the state you’d been in only a few hours before. There was something comforting about being back in the spotlight, like now all your fears made sense again. With the cameras back on, and the games being brought to the forefront of everyone’s minds once more, your fight for survival didn’t seem so out of place. Everyone was in your world now and, in your world, you were the one that knew the rules. A faint knocking on the door brought you back to the present and you smiled when James Logan, your mentor stepped in.

He was a middle aged man with olive skin and a shadow of stubble across his jawline, neatened up by a capitol prep team for the cameras, you were sure. He had a stern face, and hard eyes, when he wasn’t addled by drink but, you knew, he had a kind heart and a real love for you and Ivette, the only two tribute’s he’d managed to save in nearly 26 years. He’d worked hard to bring you home, and even harder to keep you from wasting away once you were back and now, it seemed, he’d be accompanying you across Panem for your Victory Tour. 

“You ready?” he asked, his usually cloudy eyes clear and discerning.

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

---------------- 

tag list: @i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst​

[thedelicatearcher]

No offense, but could you not tag your dad! Haymitch fics as "Haymitch Abernathy x reader"? It's just weird when I'm trying to find the most earth-shattering, thigh-clenching, toe-curling, ungodly smut that the green mother earth has ever seen and then I start thinking about my dad 😭 You can just tag it "dad! Haymitch Abernathy x reader" or something like that or just "Haymitch Abernathy" but my family members are really the last thing I wanna think about when I'm getting off 😭 Especially for those of us who had incestuous OCD. I don't think that I am the only person who feels this way. Again, I hope you understand, and I am trying to he nice but I really don't know how to over text

hi! okay, i’ll be more mindful with my tags. i’m sorry about that