Pennywise x reader. SFW. No gendered pronouns or description given of reader. It/its pronouns used for Pennywise. You discover that Pennywise ate someone you cared for before the two of you met. Pennywise confesses its unconventional (and messed up) feelings toward you. Angst and fluff. I am very very soft for Pennywise and that is probably apparent here.
Pennywise isn't bothered by the rain.Â
The clownâ or the thing that looks like a clownâ spends most of its time beneath the sewers, drenched in filthy water, unaffected by cold or discomfort.
Yet it shivers at your feet, huddled pathetically in a moonlit alleyway while pelted by the rain. Its copper hair hangs limp, clinging to its painted face. And the ruffles of its costume are heavy and waterlogged as it reaches out a trembling hand toward you.
âYou forgive me?â it whimpers, âyou always do. You always forgive silly little Pennywise. You and your kind, kind heart.â
âI don't think I can. Not this time.â
It flinches, withdraws with a whine, as if your rejection burns. Big, watery blue eyes blink up at you beneath clumped, sooty lashes. âOhh, then⌠what I did was unforgivable?â
âYes.â
âOhh⌠no, no,â It crumples, hugging itself and weeping softly. âPennywise, what have you done? You've really gone and messed it up this time. Why, you don't even deserve forgiveness.â
It's a facade, but one you absolutely toe the line of falling for. Your fool heart longs to forgive as Pennywise clings to your heartstrings with an iron grip.
But you force yourself to focus on the subtle curl of its lip, the expertly disguised snarl beneath the tears.
The thing at your feet is a predator. Nothing more. One who, you only recently learned, once killed someone you held dear.Â
âWhat will poor Pennywise do without you?â it laments, gloved fingers forlornly tugging at the drenched ruffles of its sleeves. âAll alone. With no one to talk to⌠no one to dance with⌠no one⌠to loveâŚâ
âYou never loved me,â you say, your voice wavering despite your stoic exterior. âI don't think a thing like you is capable of love.â
From the look it gives you, you might as well have torn Pennywise's heart out of its chest.Â
It stares, eyes suddenly unfocused and slowly changing from blue to gold, its crushed expression more genuine than any you have ever seen.Â
The cynic in you wants to believe itâs simply disappointed you saw through its act, but that doesn't feel right. It's more than that. The tears are only a mask because they can't be anything else. It can't feel the way humans do.
But it can be wounded.Â
âOh,â it says finally, apparently unable to even look at you.
Your blood runs cold, your heart hammers from the heat of the argument and the harrowing realization that you may have struck a killing blow. That there is no coming back from this.
âI'm sorry, that was cruel,â you backpeddle, but you suspect it only makes things worse. âBut you can't love me, can you?â
It pauses, considering your question before it breaks into a smile. âNo.â
Perhaps you've been kidding yourself that it does for far too long.Â
You had been mourning when you first met Pennywise, but you couldn't have known that your grief and its hunger were one and the same. Intrinsically and horrifically linked.
The thought of that alone brings bile to your throat.Â
And yet, the fear of losing it, the fear of living without Pennywise is somehow worse than the knowledge that you kissed the same lips that had once been drenched in the blood of someone you cared for.Â
Rain bounces off the two of you, the droplets rushing off together down the storm drain. Neither of you speak for a long time.
You have half a mind to break the stillness and silence, but Pennywise beats you to it, slowly rising from the curb and shaking the rain from its skin. Playful bells jingle, but deep deep down in its chest, you hear the harrowing rumble of a growl.
Instinct flares in the back of your mind, begging you to get away, but you remain steadfast, unflinching as it draws closer to you.Â
And sniffs.
âHmâŚâ it chuckles, âI haven't smelled your fear in a long, long time.â
It steps closer, looming above you, impossibly enormous. And subconsciously you prepare to die.Â
You close your eyes, hold your breath...Â
And wait.
You wait in the gentle night air, listening to the patter of the rain and that primal growl echoing through Pennywise's chest.Â
But you realize you don't feel the rain anymore, and the reason for that becomes apparent the moment you open your eyes. Pennywise stands closeâ far closer than necessaryâ sheltering you from the downpour with a bright red umbrella.
âOh,â you sigh, more than a little relieved. âThank you.â
Pennywise simply continues staring into the night, watching the moonlit leaves of plants pushing their way through the brickwork bowing and swaying beneath the onslaught of raindrops. It tilts its head with the curiosity of a being determined to learn all there is to know about your world.Â
âI have thought about eating you,â it says calmly, âMmh, yes I have. I've dreamt of your taste. I have dreamt of how you would feel between my jaws. Oh, I dreamt of your helpless cries and the light leaving your pretty eyes.â It grins at you, giggling to itself at the thought, or perhaps at the uneasy expression you wear. âOh but it doesn't please me, not at all. Why, I would miss you! I would never forget your scent but I would wish I could fill myself with it again. I would miss your touches and keeping you close. So I would rather never know your taste and keep you with me until your little bones turn to dust.âÂ
There is no expectation to speak in the silence that follows. Pennywise simply stands still, eerily silent, one eye wandering off toward the end of the alleyway, distracted by something you can neither see nor hear.Â
Besides, there's little you can say. Nothing will change. After all, your grief, its hunger, and your heart have always been intrinsically and horrifically linked.
Yet despite knowing what it did, you still long to bask in the warmth of deadlights and sleep contentedly in the arms of a monster. You relish the caress of the same pointed teeth that tear through flesh. You dance happily with death.
Loving Pennywise could never be the same as loving someone else, and it could never love you back the way a human could.Â
But it sheaths its hunger for you. It goes against its nature for you. And even though Pennywise isn't bothered by the rain, it knows you are and conjures a bright red umbrella. For you.
You close the distance between yourself and it, resting your head against that eternal distant roar, deep in the abyss where its heart should be, and in the hum you find comfort.Â
You always do.
âI love you,â you confess. âI don't know what that makes me, but I do.â
Claws caress the contours of your skull, terrifyingly sharp and impossibly gentle. âOh, I know,â it says, âYou always forgive your Pennywise. You and your kind, kind heart.â
Thank you so much for reading! I was nervous about posting this one so if you liked it please let me know! Also, you may be interested in my other Pennywise stories (please note, most of them are explicit and intended for adult readers only, so I ask that minors do not interact with them.)
hi omg i loved stalker!reader, she's literally me with penny lol i'm that level of unhinged for him â. đ Ëđ¤
but could i request a pennywise fluff oneshot idea?
like maybe it follows stalker!reader, and he saves you from a scary situation involving ppl in town, allbeit begrudgingly, but then carries you home and makes sure you're okay, and he holds you as you fall asleep âËęŠď˝ĄâĄđđĽş
i think it could be an interesting challenge to write him being sweet to reader, but in his own way, while keeping him as in character as possible
It Keeps You Safe.
pun intended
Pennywise x fem!stalker!reader
â fluff & comfort, snuggles, townsfolk prick, catcalling, possessivess, vague mentions of canon violence, Penny being Penny-yay!
This fic is directly linked to my Adoration Headcanons, where stalker!reader made her first appearance đŠˇ
Hope you enjoy, lovely moot!
Alertness.
It's the kind that goes under the skin, a subtle shift in the air when someone is watching you too long.
You're just walking home, shoes a little muddy from the Barrens, head full of things you shouldn't love this much.
You've been out too late again, too close to the drains. Too close to him.
The town is half-asleep, streetlights humming low and orange.
And then someone whistles.
Your stomach drops.
The sound follows... Sloppy footsteps, lewd laughter. Some guy from the pub, or maybe he just looks like someone from the pub. You don't look long enough to find out.
You walk faster.
He calls something after you.
Something that's supposed to sound flattering but drips instead, thick and mocking and objectifying.
When you don't answer, he gets bolder.
Boots scuff the pavement.
You turn a corner and that's when the air goes wrong wrong.
The wind dies entirely and the lights flicker momentarily.
And from the gutter comes a balloon.
Crimson like wineâor blood.
It bobs once, twice.
The man behind you laughs, nervous now.
"The hell is thatâ"
You don't have to see what happens next.
You just hear it... Garrulous laughter. Not human...
Then the man is gone. Just gone.
Running, screaming something about a clown.
And suddenly, everything's quiet again.
Not peaceful though.
You're shaking, clutching your own arms, trying to remember how breathing works.
Then a huge shadow moves in front of you.
Pennywise steps into the streetlight like a nightmare unfolding.
Ruffled collar, too many teeth hiding behind a smile that's only now turning back to gentle. His eyes are gold, fixed right on you.
"You're trouble" he says, voice low and lilting. "Little thing wandering around my streets⌠collecting attention that doesnct belong to you. Oho..."
You swallow hard. "Heâhe followed me."
His head tilts, curious.
"I noticed... *sniff* You smell like fear. Not yours anymore, though. His."
He giggles.
Your pulse stutters.
You open your mouth to thank him, to say something sane, but then he's crouching, face inches from yours.
His gloved fingers trace a smear of dirt on your cheek.
"So fragile" he murmurs, almost to himself. "Soft little thing, all cracked china and heartbeat."
You forget to breatheâagain.
He sighs dramatically, theatric as ever.
"Humans, humans... Always needing rescuing."
Then he stands, looming impossibly.
"Up up up!"
"What?"
Clawed hands slide around your waist before you can argue.
Effortless.
Like you weigh nothing.
He scoops you up against him, your shoes dangling, and the air hums faintly where his skin touches yours through fabric.
You cling out of reflex.
He chuckles, deep and sharp.
"Oh relax, little magpie. I'm not hungry tonight."
That shouldn't be comforting, but somehow it is.
The world blurs.
You blink, and then you're home...
His way of moving, reality bending to suit his whim.
He sets you down on the bed, surprisingly careful. His claws catch the blanket, tucking it under your chin.
"Youâyou scared him off."
"I do that." He grins, the corners of his mouth twitching wider than humanly possible. "Scaring is easy. And fun! You're⌠harder."
He studies you for a long moment then, gaze flicking from your eyes to your trembling hands.
Then, almost absently, he sits beside you, weight making the mattress dip.
The room feels too small with him in it.
His voice softens.
"Don't go walking out there alone again. Unless you want to see good old Pennywise go all angry."
"Mhm... I like seeing you" you murmur, half-asleep already.
He laughs quietly, an eerie musical sound. "Of course you do."
One gloved finger taps your forehead, then your collarbone, then he pokes your knee just because.
"Hmm. Still in one piece. Mostly."
You blink up at him.
"What'd you mean? Mostly?"
He leans closer, eyes glinting.
Now electric blue.
"No bite marks, no missing bits⌠Shame. You mortals bruise so easily. It's adorable!"
Then, without warning, he pinches your cheek like a nosy grandmother.
"Soft! See? Perfectly soft. Very snuggleable."
"You're mad." You say, entirely smitten...
He looks equally delighted.
"Awee... Compliment accepted."
You're soon drifting, warmth seeping through your limbs, safe in the strangest way possible.
Somewhere above you, the bed shifts, and you feel a heavy arm curl around your waist. Claiming.
He's really warm for something that shouldn't have warmth at all, or pulse.
Is It simulating all these things for you? Knowing humans find comfort in them.
The ruffles of his collar brush your neck.
His chest rises and falls slow and deliberate, like he's mimicking your breathing just to lull you.
Here's your answer. Even him breathing is intentional.
Long fingers trace patterns over your ribs, almost like he's mentally counting them.
You burrow closer anyway.
His laughter fades into something like a purr.
When you wake in the morning, he's gone. Only a single red thread is tied around your wrist, knotted neat.
Thank you for reading! You can support me by commenting, reblogging, and tipping!
The test for allyship isn't how you treat an oppressed person who is your friend, family, spouse. It's how you treat an oppressed person you absolutely can't stand who is vile and loathsome in every way.
Do you gender trans people correctly even when they're being absolutely terrible people? Do you refuse to use the r-slur against someone who suicide baited you but is neurodivergent? Do you refuse to snark at a mentally ill person who is being genuinely unpleasant, "go take your meds!"
Do you allow members of marginalized groups to be terrible people without judging their entire demographic for it? One of the most invisible yet vital forms of privilege is the right to be terrible people as an individual rather than as a group. Do you acknowledge that there are bad people in every group, that it doesn't make their group less worth fighting for? Or do you shake your head if you happen to get mistreated by some who belong to a group and insist the entire group is awful and not worth your allyship?
Oppressed people can see how you treat those of us you like, but do you still treat the worst of us with the basic dignity you treat the worst of other groups with?
my ex is ftm and once we broke up people in my family started using she/her pronouns for him. it upset me so much. like yes, the relationship was very toxic and unhealthy, but that is NOT how we deal with it. If we want to be petty we put fake hickeys on my neck and go to the movie theater they work at. we donât misgender people
denki kaminari finds your tinder account after your breakup with your ex 18+ MDNI!!!
denki has been waiting a year for this. a year of watching from the sidelines, of side hugs, of laughing at his jokesâŚalways with him by your side. the prick whose hand always lingered a bit too tight around your waist, whose words would dim your spark for the rest of the night, from a bubbly girl having fun at a party to non-verbal. he never liked him, and god knows how guilty denki has felt for saying nothing, just like the rest of your friend group.
but now he had a chance.
you didnât tell him when you and your ex boyfriend broke up, he got a whiff of it from hanta before mina flooded his phone with texts about itâ yeah, he didnât do a great job at keeping his so-called crush very hidden. he was sure you had caught onto it at some point, but never showed any signs of it.
and thatâs exactly why hanta had made him a tinder account, because everyone knew that denki couldnât hold a conversation with a pretty girl in real life to save his life. one time a girl asked him for his number and he said heâd lost his phone (even if it was literally in the back pocket of his jeans).
perhaps it was his sign when, among the countless accounts heâs scrolled through, he sees you. it had barely been a week since the breakup, you being on tinder was definitely a bad decision on your part, but hey, who was he to pass up on this chance?
he didnât swipe right away, guilt rearing its ugly head at the back of his mind when heâs already shoved a hand down his pants. he remembers when you took that picture in your bikini, on that summer trip of tortureâ torture being the fact that youâd slept in the room next to his, and all he could do for a week straight was jack off to the barely muffled sounds of you and your ex having sex.
denkiâs already palming himself through his boxers, his dick having started to jump obnoxiously the moment his eyes had registered you on the screen. he looks through the other photos on your profile, snorting when he sees the one youâve obviously cut your ex out of, before going back to his favorite one.
he couldâve masturbated to every other one of your pictures, but the one you took at the beach is just so beautiful. he remembers you running in the sand, coming up after a swim in ocean or just sunbathing. your laugh when denki got hit in the head during beach volley, and how you were the only one to ask if he was okay.
his dick twitches impatiently, a groan rumbling in his throat when he finally lets it free, spitting on his palm before wrapping it around his shaft. denki knows this is so wrong, but at least now youâre single, so in his mind itâs not as bad as the other times he's done it when you were taken.
precumâs already beading at his flushed tip, hand stroking in slow, up and down motion with the slightest rotation of his wrist, and heâs already gone to delusion land. imagining itâs your hand instead, or your mouth or - if the universe will ever grant him - your cunt. warm and gushing around his cock while you use him, tugging at his hair while you beg him to fuck you harder, because heâs such much better than him.
or it would still be his own hand, but his mouth would be stuffed with your pussy, tongue lapping up at your juices like a madman, thighs bracketing his ears, muffling the moans he would be wrenching out of you. and his eyes would be open the entire time to watch you gyrate on top of him, to watch you come undone. and heâd be the one who did it.
the mere thought of making you cum is what makes him spill embarrassingly all over his hand, a choked cry of your name on his lips. and shit, some of his cum got on his phone, too.
only after heâs cleaned himself - and his phone - up, and has recollected some sort of rationality, does he sit back down, thumb hovering over the screen before he swipes right. denki almost faints when it lights up.
ITâS A MATCH!
ââa/n. FINALLY GOING BACK TO MY KAMISLOP TRUTH!! also this might or might not be half based on my actual lore...who knows...
What do you mean âchatâ is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
Hi, just wanted to thank you for feeding me some very nice Graves treats đĽ°
I've become a bit unreasonably obsessed with this man (for no reason, I have no idea, i swear) recently and your writing on him is lovely and I would like to eat it đĽş
OMG THANK YOUUUU i <3 this man and this made my week
Since winning your Games, you've become the Capitol's golden girl. With a squeaky-clean reputation you're everyone's favourite goody-two-shoes. It comes as a surprise, therefore, when you catch Haymitch's eye and he introduces you to a world of pleasure that you've been wishing for for years. (Inspired by this request!)
3,737 words
Haymitch Abernathy x reader
Second person perspective.
Warnings: Haymitch with a bit of a corruption kink, occasional swearing, alcohol, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, dom Haymitch if you squint, praise, a little bit of degradation & humiliation, v brief mentions of death (let me know if I've missed any...)
You didnât mind being the Capitolâs golden girl, and your facade wasnât completely false. The Capitol knew and fawned over you for your innocence. Being a Victor, there was only so far you could present yourself as such, but it was a lot better than people remembering the brutal murders you had committed in order to survive. People seemed to forget about your violence in the Games when you were on screen or out in public. Your look had been carefully curated: short skirts, floaty materials, modest but a little cheeky. You never drank too much at Capitol parties and were never seen leaving with anyone. You had had one relationship since becoming a Victor, and there was never any rumour of you sleeping with anyone else. It was all true. You tried your best to live up to the squeaky-clean image which had been painted of you since your Games. It was sort of healing, playing innocent. Sometimes you could almost forget that you had killed four people. Almost.Â
Your last relationship hadnât been a very passionate one, and in reality, it wasnât a real relationship - you had been advised that being with a well-respected Capitol citizen would play into your image. He had treated you as if you were a delicate little doll, like he would break you if he wasnât careful. You might be relatively sexually inexperienced, but his demeanour irritated you to the point of you leaving him.
So, here you were, newly single at yet another Capitol party. Tonight, you had been dressed in a sparkly pink mini dress and matching chunky heels, your hair curled delicately around your face, your lips plump and glossy. You were bored. Capitol parties were torture when you had to stay relatively sober, and you didnât think you could stand to be engaged in another dull conversation. You excused yourself as politely as you could and made your way to the bar, desperately needing another glass of the bright pink cocktail you had been nursing for the past hour.Â
As you stood waiting for your drink, you eyed the dozens of bottles of liquor which lined the shelves behind the bar. Your drink was being made mainly of things from the fridges - various sweet juices with little to no alcohol content. What you really wanted was a swig or two from one of the crystal bottles of amber liquor on the higher shelves. Carrying around a bottle of hard liquor didnât really fit your image though, so you accepted your sickly-sweet drink with a smile.Â
âYou really like that stuff?â A gruff voice next to you asked as you took a sip.Â
You turned to find yourself face-to-face with Haymitch Abernathy. You had never actually met him before, only spotted him on occasion at the past few Hunger Games opening ceremonies. âNo.â You admitted, watching enviously as he was handed one of the bottles you had been eyeing and took a swig straight from it.Â
âWant some?â He asked, laughing a little as he noticed you staring.Â
âNo, I really shouldnât.â You replied, tearing your eyes away from his drink and taking a sip of your own. It tasted syrupy and unsatisfying.Â
âIt wonât kill you.â Haymitch insisted. He reached behind the bar and grabbed a glass, decanting a little of the liquor into it. âHere.â You looked around briefly to check that no one was watching, and swallowed the contents of the glass. Again, Haymitch laughed as you grimaced and coughed. âNever had whiskey before?â He asked, refilling your glass.Â
âIs it that obvious?â You replied, taking a sip of your cocktail to remove the taste from your mouth.Â
âIt gets better with time.â He promised, watching you closely as you swirled the liquid around your glass. Once the burning sensation had subsided, the whiskey left a pleasant warmth which travelled down your oesophagus and into your stomach. You shuddered and sipped at the liquor again.Â
âIâm [y/n], by the way.â You introduced finally.Â
âI know.â Haymitch replied.Â
âAnd youâre Haymitch, right?â You asked, already knowing the answer. Haymitch nodded and took another swig from the bottle.Â
You continued to sip at the whiskey despite already feeling it going to your head, and Haymitch watched you, smirking a little every time you winced. You really werenât used to drinking such strong alcohol. He poured you another glass, and your head began to feel fuzzy. âYou trying to get me drunk?â You asked, raising an eyebrow as you brought the glass to your lips again.Â
âJust enjoying watching you loosening up a little.â He replied, leaning his elbow against the bar. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he took another swig from the bottle. A warmth began to grow in the pit of your stomach, and you werenât entirely sure whether it was a result of the whiskey or the way he was looking at you.Â
âWant to dance?â You asked, beginning to feel restless as you stood pinned to the spot by his gaze.Â
âI donât dance.â He replied simply. âBut you can.âÂ
âMaybe I want to watch you loosen up.â You replied, surprising yourself with your forthcomingness.Â
âTouchĂŠ.â Haymitch replied, smiling at you as he took one final swig from the bottle, leaning over the bar to stash it out of reach of other partygoers. He placed an arm around your waist and led you back into the crowd, coming to a halt once you were surrounded by people dancing. He brought both hands to your hips and slotted a thigh between yours, beginning to move his hips slowly against yours in time with the music. Your eyes widened as you felt his clothed crotch against your own. âThought you wanted to dance?â He asked, wearing that smirk again.Â
âYeah.â You stammered, placing your hands on his shoulders.Â
âYou can get closer than that, doll. I wonât bite.â He laughed. He was testing you. Your heart was racing as you moved your chest closer to his until there was no space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck. His breath was warm against your lips and tasted of the whiskey the two of you had been sharing. You allowed him to guide your hips against his own, his large hands easily manoeuvring you. You felt hot. You were breathing deeply and all you could smell was the whiskey on Haymitchâs breath and the musky scent of his skin. You became very aware that all that was separating him from your uncomfortably sensitive core was the fabric of his trousers and your skimpy underwear. âYou okay, doll?â He asked, one eyebrow raised sightly in amusement. He was just so close. Despite yourself, you leant upwards and pressed your lips against his. You felt Haymitch smile against your lips as he began to kiss you hungrily. You tightened your arms around his neck, and he pulled your hips even closer to him. You didnât care if anyone was watching. You knew that tomorrow morning, images of the Capitolâs golden girl pressed against Haymitch Abernathy, his tongue in her mouth, would be plastered across TV screens, but it didnât seem to matter. He just felt so good against you.Â
Too soon, Haymitch pulled away. You frowned, and Haymitch laughed a little. âCome on, doll, Iâll take you home.â He promised. Heat pooled in your core. You had never done this before, never left a party drunk with a man. It was exhilarating. He laced his fingers with yours and led you back out of the crowds, over to the bar to retrieve the remainder of his bottle of whiskey, and out of the party and into a cab. Once inside the car, he let you sip liquor from the bottle, chuckling as you began to hiccup. You arrived at your hotel and Haymitch insisted on opening your car door for you and leading you inside. In the elevator, he pressed you against the wall and kissed you again. When you got to your door, however, Haymitch hung back.Â
âArenât you coming in?â You asked, a little confused, swaying slightly and having to use the door for support.Â
âNot when youâre drunk, kid.â He replied.Â
The new nickname angered you a little. Yes, you were younger than him, but you were an adult. âIâm twenty.â You protested, realising how petulant you sounded as soon as the words left your lips.Â
Haymitch just smirked. âIâll see you at Fridayâs party. Get some sleep.âÂ
Haymitch turned and left, leaving you alone in your doorway. You shut the door and flopped down onto your bed, still in your dress and shoes. Why get you all worked up if he wasnât going to come in and sleep with you? Wasnât that why men got women drunk at parties in the first place? You kicked off your shoes and shimmied out of your dress without getting up, and pulled the duvet over yourself. The alcohol was making your head spin. There was a lot on your mind, but sleep sounded like a very good idea, so you rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately.Â
~~~
You woke up with your head pounding. The benefit of never drinking much, you realised, was that you never woke up with a hangover. You rolled over, groaning a little at the pain in your temple, and pressed a few buttons on the screen next to your bed. Almost instantly, a bottle of water and some medicine had appeared on your bedside table. You gulped it down, feeling relief within seconds.Â
The pain in your head receding quickly, you sat up against your headboard and flicked on the television. Again, you groaned. Sure enough, there sat Caesar Flickerman in front of an enlarged video of you and Haymitch dancing, then beginning to sloppily make out. Next, a picture of Haymitch guiding you into a cab, bottle of liquor in hand, replaced the video. You flicked the television off again. You didnât regret what had happened between yourself and Haymitch, you just felt annoyed that you had undone yearsâ worth of reputation building in a single evening.Â
~~~
The following few days were spent in your hotel room on the advice of your team. You couldnât get Haymitch out of your head. You were restless. You were dreading Fridayâs party because you knew that people would be more scrutinising than usual but simultaneously couldnât wait to get there so that you could see Haymitch again. He had stirred something in you, and you wanted to pursue it further.Â
Your restlessness peaked on Friday evening, sat in your cab on your way to the party. You were dressed almost identically to the previous party, only this time your dress was a pretty shade of cornflower blue. The drive seemed to take an eternity, but finally, you arrived. You hurried inside, refusing the drink offered to you. You were not going to get drunk tonight. You wanted Haymitch to take you home, and you werenât going to give him any excuse to leave you alone tonight.Â
You headed straight for the bar. Sure enough, Haymitch was there, leaning back against it and watching you approach him. âWant a drink?â He asked as you slipped onto a barstool beside him.Â
âNo, thank you. Just company tonight.â You replied, smiling sweetly at him. His eyes seemed to darken a little.Â
âBack to being the Capitolâs favourite good girl?â He asked, sipping his liquor. You blushed, and he smirked over his glass.Â
âI donât want another hangover.â You complained.Â
âThat bad, huh?â Haymitch asked, laughing as you frowned.Â
âI donât know how you do it.â You replied, unable to stop yourself from staring at his lips twisted into a smile.
âWanna dance again?â He asked after a pause, knocking back the remainder of his drink.Â
âI thought you didnât dance.â You teased.
âIâm making an exception.â He replied. You took Haymitchâs hand and led him onto the dance floor. As expected, people were watching, but again, you didnât care.Â
âSo,â you began, wrapping your arms around his neck and beginning to sway your hips, âhow come youâre making an exception for me?âÂ
Haymitchâs hands found your hips and he leant in close to your ear. âI still have a lot to teach you.â He replied, lowly. His grip on your hips tightened and he turned you around and, again, used his hands to control your hips. He began to grind against you from behind, moving your hips in synchrony with his own. Again, your eyes widened. Haymitch loosened his grip on your hips a little, and you continued the motion he had demonstrated by yourself. He removed one of his hands and instead used it to take one of your arms, bringing it up to drape over his shoulder and behind his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. Instinctively, you arched your back a little, getting the hang of the movement. âAtta girl.â He praised, nibbling at your ear and bringing both hands back to your hips. You inhaled deeply, heat pooling in your lower stomach.Â
âHaymitch.â You murmured, your head falling back onto his shoulder as you felt him begin to harden against your ass. He began mouthing at the exposed flesh of your shoulder and neck, hands beginning to wander over your body. âHaymitch.â You repeated, a little louder.Â
âMmh?â He mumbled against your neck.Â
âTake me home.â You requested. Haymitch smirked against your skin, and you spun around to face him, catching his lips in a searing kiss in an attempt to convey your desperation.Â
Wordlessly, Haymitch broke the kiss and took your hand, practically dragging you through the crowds and out into an awaiting cab. His lips and hands never left your body during the short ride back to your hotel, and by the time you stepped out of the cab, you were both sporting puffy lips, wide pupils, and your makeup smeared over both of your faces. You were already unbuttoning his shirt the second the elevator doors slid shut, Haymitchâs jacket long forgotten about in the back of the cab.Â
After what felt like an eternity, you were back at your hotel room door. Reluctantly, you broke your lips away from Haymitch to state, âyouâd better not leave again. Iâm stone cold sober.âÂ
Haymitch laughed lowly. âNot so much of a good girl after all.â He chuckled as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulled him back into your room. Haymitch kicked the door shut behind him and resumed kissing you, his hands wandering over your exposed flesh as you unbuttoned his trousers whilst simultaneously kicking off your shoes. Stepping out of his jeans, Haymitch momentarily separated his lips from yours in order to pull his already semi-unbuttoned shirt over his head, leaving him naked except for his underwear. You took a step back to admire him. Dishevelled hair, broad shoulders, a soft stomach. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes wandered downwards. Even through his boxers, you could tell that he was bigger than your ex-boyfriend. Your eyes flicked back to Haymitchâs, hoping that he hadnât noticed you staring, but his smirk betrayed that he had been watching you closely. You felt your cheeks heat up.Â
âAnyone would think youâd never seen a half-naked man before.â Haymitch teased, stepping impossibly close to you so that you could feel his clothed erection against your abdomen.Â
âThere havenât been many.â You admitted quietly, reaching up to run your hands over his shoulders and chest.Â
Haymitchâs eyes seemed to darken. He took your jaw in one hand and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. âSuch a pretty little mouth.â He commented, staring at your lips. âWant to see my cock inside it.âÂ
You were on your knees in seconds, tugging his boxers down until his cock sprung free. You had been right - it was big. You werenât sure how much of it you were actually going to be able to take, but your mouth was watering nonetheless. Haymitch laughed. âI wonder what people would say if they knew how quickly their innocent little golden girl got on her knees for me.â He mused, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, and took his tip in your mouth, lapping your tongue against his slit. Haymitchâs taunting expression faltered and his eyes fluttered shut for a second. âKnew your mouth would be good.â He mumbled, fingers lacing themselves into your hair as he began gently pressing more of himself inside you.Â
He was barely halfway into your mouth when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, forcing you to gag. âYou okay, doll?â He asked, stroking your cheek again. He was being gentle with you, but youâd had enough of gentle in your previous relationship. You wanted him to wreck you. You hummed against his cock, taking a deep breath through your nose before sinking your mouth further down his cock. It took a few moments and a little more gagging, but you managed to fit his entire length down your throat. You sucked gently, and Haymitch groaned. âKnew you could do it, doll.â He praised, rolling his hips experimentally. You looked up at him again, making eye contact as he pulled out a little and you swirled your tongue around his tip. âFuck.â He cursed, fingers in your hair tightening as he began to fuck into the back of your throat. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you felt a wave of arousal shoot to your core. âHow do you still manage to look so damn innocent with my cock down your throat?â He asked, brushing away a tear which had escaped as he continued to fuck your face. It was downright filthy, and you had never been more turned on.Â
Reluctantly, Haymitch pulled out of your mouth completely. âI could fuck your pretty face all day but I wanna hear the noises you make when Iâve got you underneath me.â He asserted, pulling you upright and yanking your dress off you, your underwear following shortly after. Practically the second you were naked you were lifted off the ground and dropped on your back onto your bed. Haymitch was on top of you seconds later, his hands and lips touching every inch of skin he could reach. Your body was on fire.Â
Finally, a single digit dipped into your core and Haymitch groaned. âHaving your face fucked got you this wet, huh?â He asked, laughing as your hips bucked involuntarily against his hand. He tutted. âSo impatient for someone supposedly so innocent.â He teased, removing his finger and leaving you empty. You whined. âPlease.â You begged, a little pathetically.Â
âPlease, what?â Haymitch asked, sitting back on his heels between your legs and taking his cock in his hand, stroking it lazily.Â
âNeed you inside me.â You admitted, reaching up for his shoulders. Haymitch complied, leaning back over you and kissing you softly. Then, his tip was pressed against your entrance, and he was pushing himself into you excruciatingly slowly. The way he stretched you had your mouth hanging open in a silent moan, your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.Â
âYou want me to fuck you, doll?â He asked, lips brushing against your earlobe.Â
âYes. Please.â You managed to mumble.Â
It took no more convincing for Haymitch to begin to pound into you. He wasnât gentle, wasnât worried he was defiling your innocence. A guttural moan tore from your throat. In any other circumstance, you would have felt embarrassed, but Haymitch was hitting just the right spot inside you and with such force that you were helpless to do anything but moan. When you thought you couldnât possibly feel any better, Haymitch manoeuvred your legs so that they hung over his shoulders, and reached between your bodies to draw tight circles around your clit. You were in a state of complete bliss. âThat feel good, hm?â Haymitch asked, tone as cocky and teasing as ever. âYou like it when I fuck you?âÂ
You were unable to answer with anything other than another loud moan, your fingernails digging into his biceps as you gripped his arms tightly.Â
âLook at you, Little Miss Innocent, so cock-drunk you canât even talk.â He teased. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, walls beginning to flutter against the relentless pounding of Haymitchâs cock. His pace began to falter, betraying that he, too, was close. He increased the speed of his fingers on your clit, and you were done for, walls spasming around his cock as white-hot pleasure washed over you. Haymitch continued to thrust into you for a few more seconds before pulling out and coming over your chest. Your mouth dropped open as you looked down, squeezing your legs together as your core clenched at the sight of your breasts covered in Haymitchâs cum.Â
âWhat a pretty picture you make.â Haymitch commented, leaning down to kiss you sweetly on the lips as one of his hands stroked your hair. The feeling grounded you.Â
âNo oneâs ever made me come before.â You admitted, feeling your arousal dribbling out of you and onto the sheets below you.Â
Haymitchâs jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. âIf you keep talking like that, Iâll have to fuck you again, and I need a minute to recover.â He replied, laughing.Â
Haymitch kissed you on the forehead and disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a warm, damp towel which he used to clean you up. He pulled on his underwear and found a pair of underwear and a large shirt to dress you in before laying back down and pulling you into him, his fingers idly drawing patterns over the clothed skin of your back. âSo,â you began, quietly, tilting your head up to face Haymitch, âwas this a one-time-thing, or will you fuck me again?â You asked as nonchalantly as you could.Â
Haymitch smiled. âDo you want me to fuck you again?â He asked in response.Â
âYes.â You admitted, a flush creeping over your cheeks.Â
Haymitch tilted his head down so that his lips were millimetres away from your ear. âWell, thatâs good. Iâve got a lot still to teach you.â He murmured, causing your breath to catch in your throat once again as you imagined the ways he would ruin you next.
