Warning: These one-shots feature heavy subjects, including alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide and torture... so far. Now adding: depression, cheating, heartbreak, underage, implied prostitution, suicidal thoughts, someone having acid thrown on them, smut, implied rape/non-con. I'll add more as the story wears on, just in case.
Disclaimer: Credit goes to HannahSongla for the story idea. Please go check out her Hayniss story similar to this - Sweetheart. Credit goes to Suzanne Collins for the verse and the characters. I don't really own anything but the text of these one-shots. And no, that doesn't mean the song lyrics or the playlist. Enjoy c:
AN: I wanted this to be a separate one-shot called "To Stand Alone and Say Goodbye" ((not really my title, I saw it somewhere, I think)) but I decided to put it with TSOWAT. And also, plot? What plot? Smut ahoy.
PS: The opening and exiting line was read in a book - or a really good fanfiction, I'm so far in that I can't tell the difference anymore. I'm not poetic enough to come up with something that brilliant.
Song: Flashlight as sung by Jessie J (from Pitch Perfect 2)
Flashlight
When tomorrow comes
I'll be on my own
Feeling frightened of
The things that I don't know
The fallout catches you every time, but you rarely see the explosion.
Katniss knows that waiting will lose you - and everyone else with you. No time should be spared, even when it can. He taught her that, but her father moreover. Not that it matters who taught who what. They're all too outnumbered now - and she knows better than to count the luck she doesn't have anymore. He's on her side, anyway, so there isn't much point in worrying about it. But she's not playing games - although she technically will be playing the Games again soon and that doesn't matter. Haymitch isn't playing anymore either, staring at her with those lust-filled eyes - practically fucking her with his stare. That asshole. And he knows - he knows how weak this shit is, toying with emotions and fanning the flames of desire. He knows how dangerous and he still licks at the fire with that shit-eating grin of his.
He downs the liquor left in his whiskey glass and turns it upside down - challenging her. She flips it and splashes some more Jack into his glass and slides it back across the table with a roll of her eyes. Do you really want to play this tonight?
He pushes it back to her - still full -, eyebrow cocked. Yes.
She downs the shot and upends the glass. Game over - she wins. The whiskey burns trickling down her throat and she wishes to hell that she would stop folding in this stupid fucking Game of his. This dance around what is to happen when the final ounce of Jack is gone and there's nothing between them but an empty shot glass. Katniss wishes that she wasn't so attracted like a moth to his flame, that she can walk away from this man with the slate grey eyes and the tequila on his breath.
His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and she is enticed. She leans across the table, one hand snaking towards his slyly, as if they both can't see it. Both of their hands are calloused and rough from years of abuse and rough treatment, but somehow - when they finally lock fingers - his hands are much softer. It makes her feel too masculine, and she briefly wonders if she's not attractive enough.
Katniss may look impassable, rough exterior and bullet eyes. She may even look care less - femininity escaping her for the majority of her time awake. But Haymitch knows better - he sees her for the scared little girl she is, the little girl with terrible daddy issues and an itching to get her hands on something to make her feel good for a little while. And he knows how to do that for her - how to unwind her. He knows everything about her - which also means that he knows what makes her tick. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to dismantle her bomb.
Time's still ticking, he thinks, pulling her across the table roughly by her bicep. She slides against the sticky wood easily enough, straddling his lap after some brief readjustment. Ticking faster, ready to explode. The fallout catches you every time, but your rarely see the explosion. If she's honestly ever been fearful of him, now's the time, but she's not running. She's not budging, she's just staring at him with those grey eyes full of self-loathing and lust. Tough girl.
She's in a rush for it, and he notices as soon as the spell is broken. She fumbles with the button of his shirt and he sighs, amused by her neediness. Haymitch catches up to her slowly, numbed by the burn of her skin and by the booze warming his throat. He wants to make this last, he decides, because the goodbye is too sweet. Although, only he knows that it is a goodbye.
Tick, tock - Katniss is a clock - and she's getting impatient with him, making frustrated grunts at the back of her throat. His hands catch the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, releasing her ample breasts - held only by a thin pink bra. It's cute. Cute enough to make him hesitate. Not cute enough to make him stop.
He knots his fist in her dark locks and tugs - hard. She growls - the first time she whimpered and he sent her back to the boy - and hisses, bringing her head down to bite hard on his neck. She's learned. She understands that no longer will he train a little girl to dress herself - they both have been through too much shit for him to treat her like a little girl anymore.
Katniss undoes the button her pants and takes Haymitch's hand. She eyes his ring finger - eyes the pale skin where a ring used to sit, but she doesn't say anything - and guides it down and under, then up into her, slow slip-sliding past the hem of her panties to where she's already wet. She presses him into her until she feels the tip of his finger circle beneath her lips, cut in, and she pulls him out, trailing wetness with his finger, dragging it up to her clit. She lets go; he keeps going, just like she wanted him to. Her eyes are on him, but not for long. She dips her head to press kisses alongside of his jaw.
Haymitch turns his head sharply, his finger briefly pausing what it's doing. Don't. She gets the message loud and clear, nibbling on his ear instead. Two more fingers slip inside her, desperate to draw a sound from her. She moves her mouth over his, bringing him in for an angry kiss. She rakes his tongue with her teeth, drawing away by pulling his bottom lip with her.
"Bedroom," she whispers against his ear, her lips sending chills down his back. It's the first thing she's said verbally since they sat down for dinner four hours ago, and it sounds too loud in the room. Katniss punctuates the statement with a tender kiss behind his ear before slipping herself off of his hand and she standing up. His hand curls loosely on the inside of his thigh and she says, "Go on."
Haymitch brushes over his zipper with fingers still wet from her. The metal teeth shine as they pull apart, tooth by tooth. He licks back a shaky breath as he pulls himself out, lips dark as the head in his hand, wet and swollen.
She would go down on her knees, give him something so he would stop smirking that smug 'oh honey' look everytime they wound up this way. But he has other ideas, because he bends her over the table and pins her arms behind her back - growling something that sounds too crude for her ears. She blushes at the way she's so wet at the sound of his voice - at the sound of her gentle degradation.
She tells him to be quick - to stop dallying along because the bomb is fucking ticking, Haymitch. He spares a glance for Peeta's bedroom door, snorts softly, then pushes. She hisses and her nails scrape at the mahogany table - she can practically hear Effie's whining now - before pushing herself further down on his length. He too hisses, because she's so damn tight and it feels so good to have her. Growling her name, he presses harder against her and she twists around to stare at him. The expression on his face is bliss.
She spreads her legs a bit further, looks over her shoulder and doesn't say a word. Eyes say what needs saying, and that's just the dynamics of their relationship. It takes a second for Haymitch to set a good pace - sparing a glance at her whenever he picks up a little speed. The heel of his hand steadies the small of her back, pushing down for an arch.
Katniss pushes against Haymitch, needy for more while he fills her, spreading her wide. His breath leaves a trail of heat on her neck that shoots right down her spine, meets the heat of his balls slapping lewdly against her thighs as he moves in quicker and harder thrusts. His friction is catching fire setting a spark through her body. Katniss hates the way that fire makes her feel good, when it's supposed to burn her down.
Haymitch uses one hand to dance a few fingers on the outside of her folds while he fucks her, because his main focus is getting her off. She pushes herself on him in response, pushes her hand between her legs to guide his. Their fingers twine, tips rippling over her clit, as she urges him to rub harder.
When she's there, when the world drops out of view - leaving only scorching red and orange, because all she is, all they are, is fire - she shudders and clenches around him. He's coming with her, his head tosses back and his eyes wrenches shut as the moment swallows him whole.
They relax afterwards, still in the same position. Katniss doesn't move and neither does he - until they hear the creaking of the bed in Peeta's room and they have to make a mad dash for his bedroom. Once there, they both fall into the bed, naked- stripped raw of more than their clothes. Haymitch pulls her into his side and her hand splays across his stomach. He presses his lips to the top of her head and they stay there, too exhausted and spent to do much more moving.
"Shit," he says, mumbling into her dark sea of locks. "Just, fuck, sweetheart."
He gathers her hair into his hand, twisting it into his palm and raising it against the back of her head. She turns so that her back is to him so that he could play with her hair some more - an after-sex habit of his. His tongue swipes at her exposed neck, lazy and relaxed, but it's enough to start her up again, and it would if she weren't so spent.
She can't help but feel as if he's trying to say something with his actions that he can't say with words. That he's trying to say goodbye, somehow.
"Don't leave me again, Haymitch Abernathy," she whispers at the thought, even though she's already half-asleep. His arm wraps tightly around her waist, but he doesn't say another word. He doesn't need to - he's tired of lying to her.
The fallout catches you every time, but you rarely see the explosion.
I look around me, and see sweet life
I'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight
You're gettin' me, gettin' me through the night