Hello hello-kinda went into M-territory here. Nothing explicit (at all, really), but seeing as how the I originally had another idea completely based off the prompt (domesticity, post-Mockingjay), this is…kinda where it ended up. *shrugs*
She's gained weight.
Stepping off the scales, Effie looks into the mirror at her naked body, looking for her ribs with a frown on her face. Gone. They've all disappeared into a soft pillow of skin, and it's frustrating, to say the least.
Going into the bedroom, she pulls out one of her old dresses, and wrangles her limbs and body into it. The zip only goes halfway, and she lets out quite the undignified wail, but she doesn't care. She doesn't wear them anymore, but it had been a stroke of luck that her apartment in the Capitol hadn't been amongst those destroyed, and sometimes when she dreams, she's back to being Effie Trinket, Games escort- a glamour puss with her wigs and makeup and clothes.
But now…now she's wearing District 12 clothes. Oh, she knows how to accessorise and tailor the plain clothes into something more to her taste without alienating her from the populace, but.
Effie stomps her foot once, twice, and then stops. That's all the tantrum she's giving herself today. Closing her eyes, she calms herself and counts to ten.
"Effie?"
Her eyes snap open to see Haymitch in the reflection of her mirror, spins around to face him. He's leaning against the doorframe, a teasing look in his eyes.
"Effie, what are you doing?" he drawls out, and if she weren't caught up in her dress not fitting, she'd probably swoon a little. His gravelly voice has always been a favourite trait of hers.
What is she doing? There are a number of sensible ways to answer this, but Effie feels her face crumble and hears some pitiful voice (her own, she realises) cry out. "It…it won't fit!"
He just continues to look at her, not quite seeing the dire problem facing her.
"And?" he asks plaintively. Rude.
"Haymitch! I can't- I can't zip this up anymore, and I've, I've- I've gained weight." Her voice is shrill at first, but quickly turns into a whisper at her admission, she stares down to her perfectly cut toe nails, clear of polish. It's been so long.
"Effie," he says, a gentle voice lifting her head back up to face him. "Effie, you look perfect."
"How can you say that? Look," she says, turning around, "my bottom deserves its own District number!" The two of them looking into the mirror, Effie reflecting disappointment in herself.
As his arms wrap themselves around her waist, he kisses her bare shoulder. "I quite enjoy your…bottom." He breathes against her skin, a stray hand skimming down to her posterior, and her breath hitches a little.
"Haymitch…"
"Mmm yes, it's a really nice bottom, you've got there, sweetheart."
Oh god, he's mocking her.
"Haymitch…" and it's almost a growl that comes out of her mouth, but propriety leaves her stern instead. One does not growl. Except…her cheeks flush in memory, a smile forcing its way onto her face that she can't quite get rid of, one traitorous arm resting on his sitting on her waist, the other reaching behind her to meet- ah yes, there he is.
Behind her, she can hear Haymitch inhale sharply, pulling her closer to him, languishing her neck with affection, growling all the while.
She smirks, and with a surprising amount of dexterity most don't expect from her, turns in his arms and pushes him onto the bed. His eyes widen with a smile as she deliberately crawls over him, her now generous décolletage heaving out of her too small dress, pining him down to the soft mattress.
As their lips meet, he all but rips the dress off of her.
