Prompt: Loved this entire collection xx don't know if you are still taking prompts but if you are can you please do one where when Effie was imprison they managed to convince her all Haymitch ever wanted from her was ***and when he rescues her he makes some comment about having to work for her immunity and she thinks that she has to sleep with him to save her life xx sorry it's so long xx
Work For It
Lying is easy when there are people around to lie to.
It has always been.
However, when it's just her and the mirror in the suite Haymitch claimed for himself at the Presidential Mansion, lying becomes difficult. It's hard to pretend she's fine, unaffected, recovered, whole. It's hard to pretend she's back to her old self, sane and healthy once more, worthy of being freed of the hospital room that reminded her too much of a cell.
Yes, Effie muses, watching her reflection in the mirror over the sink, lying and pretending aren't as easy when there isn't anyone to fool.
Her eyes are sunken, there are dark bags under her eyes, her hair is short and tangled, a mess she should just go ahead and cut but doesn't dare touch because Haymitch is still adamant it can and should be saved, her cheeks are hollowed, her body is so skinny the clothes he brought over from her apparently ransacked apartment fall off her shoulders, pool around her waist… She doesn't even dare catalogue the scars. She's ugly, she knows. Worse, her gaze is empty. As empty as she feels.
There is only room for one thing in her head and it's survival.
She hasn't survived through months in a cell and weeks of humiliation and pain to die now. She knows she's not out of the woods yet and that's the only thing keeping her moving, talking, smiling when required, pretending… There were guards in front of her hospital room, there are guards patrolling the corridor outside the suite right now and Haymitch made it very clear she shouldn't go wandering without him.
She heard doctors talk and she watches the news reports on TV when Haymitch is out. There's a Purge going on – or at least that's what they're calling it. All escorts and Gamemakers are already dead save for her and Plutarch; stylists, prep teams and minor game staff are being heard in mockery of trials and soon to be executed… People are calling for her head.
She's not out of the woods yet.
And she wants to survive. She wants to survive or everything she went through will mean nothing.
The problem is she feels powerless. Her weapon has always been her beauty. Always. And now… Now what does she have?
The door to the main part of the suit opens and closes answering that question for her. She listens to the familiar heavy footsteps creeping closer to the bedroom, slowly in case she's still sleeping and then quicker when he realizes the bed is empty.
"Effie?" Haymitch calls out and he sounds so worried…
What is he worried about? That she escaped his room? That she was taken prisoner again? She doesn't understand why he would care, doesn't understand why he bothers. Guilt, maybe. He may never have loved her, not like she had, but he probably never meant for her to be cut to pieces either. He said that much, didn't he? When she woke up. Everything is muddied but she thinks she remembers. And here, right there, is what she has left, she supposes. Her last weapon in her arsenal if he still cares for it. It's who she is. Her last purpose.
Abernathy's bitch.
She flinches when the name echoes in her mind, spat by a cruel voice with even crueler hands.
She doesn't bother trying to answer. She's given up on talking when it isn't strictly necessary. She schools her features in something a little more cheerful, already knowing the chances it will fool him are slim, and exits the bathroom.
She almost bumps right into him.
The anxiety on his face turns to relief. "Fuck, you scared me, sweetheart… Thought you were gone or something…"
"Language." she chides, not because she cares but because it's expected of her.
The last of the tension leaves his shoulders at that simple rebuke and he relaxes, his features softening into something that resembles amusement. When he reaches to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and ends up cupping her cheek, she leans into his palm. Because it feels good, normal. And because it's what he expects, what he wants.
"Don't scare me like that…" he begs, briefly closing his eyes. "I just got you back."
His hand drifts down to her nape and he gives it a gentle possessive squeeze that sends her heart fluttering in her chest. That too feels good but she's not sure why because to him it's just a casual gesture. He doesn't mean anything by it.
"Where do you want me to go?" she replies. She walks toward the window, slow enough that it doesn't look like she's shrugging him off. "You made it clear I needed to stay in your bedroom." Can he hear the bitterness behind the words? She's not sure. "There are worse places to be."
Here. Playful. Flirty.
Abernathy's bitch.
Perhaps if she's flirty and playful enough he will forget she's ugly now. Perhaps he won't stop wanting her. Perhaps she can still salvage something out of this.
Does he even want her still? She was released from the hospital three days earlier and they have been sharing a bed without him trying anything. He holds her at night. That's all he does. Hold her tight and whisper comforting things in her ear when she gets scared like a child. If she had any tears left to cry, she thinks she would weep because of that. She'd like it better if he simply took what he wanted instead of giving her this semblance of affection. Of love. She hates the masquerade.
"Yeah, about that." he says, a smirk stretching his lips. Probably because of the flirting. "I think I'm finally getting somewhere with Coin."
She leans her back against the cold pane of the window, watches him flop down on the unmade bed and toe off his shoes…
"Oh?" she hums to mask her nervousness. He's wriggling up the bed, propping his back against the pillow and rubbing a hand on his face.
"Yeah." he confirms. "But if you want your pardon, you're gonna have to work for it."
It's the way he says it that makes her flinch and it's probably a good thing he's still rubbing at his face and doesn't see. His words are cold, almost hateful, and she figures the act is at an end. The real reason of her presence in his room finally revealed.
Abernathy's bitch.
Her stomach clenches but she ignores it, forces a smile on her lips, reminds herself that she is still Effie Trinket – is she, though? she's not sure anymore – and that it has to count for something. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.
Her lack of answer must have alerted him because he drops his hand to study her, maybe waiting for her to ask questions. She doesn't have questions. She knows what he wants, what she's supposed to do.
Abernathy's bitch.
She accentuates the sway of her hips when she makes her way to the bed, struts – or tries to because her shoulder still hurts and her whole body feels foreign and she's not sure how good she can make sex be right now – like she used to strut everywhere. By the time she slowly crawls up the bed and straddle his thighs, he's frowning.
His hands shot to her waist. "What are you doing?"
Her fingers are already working on his belt, too shaky to be very deft. She will suck him off, she decides, because her mouth is probably the only part of her she trusts right now. Her hands will be clumsy, her body… She's not sure it will respond. He loves her blow jobs and when he'd be spent it'd be hours before he'd be ready to go again.
She finally manages to open his pants, tugs them down along with his underwear… She's leaning down and trying not to notice how flaccid he's still is – trying not to let herself think it's because he doesn't find her attractive anymore – when he grabs her wrists, traps them in one big hand and places his other palm on her shoulder to stop her from bowing over him, from making contact.
"Effie, the fuck?" he stutters. "What are you doing?"
She dares look up, briefly meets his panicked grey eyes… She's confused and a bit self-conscious and suddenly uncertain she hasn't read the whole thing wrong.
Abernathy's bitch, the hateful voice helpfully reminds her like the crack of a whip.
"Working for it?" she hesitates.
Anger flashes on his face, quickly replaced by pain. He pushes her off him. Not too hard but firmly enough that she flops to the side with a soft yelp. Her shoulder throbs but she doesn't dare rub it better. She crawls to the headboard and curls up against the wood, her blue eyes tracking his every move as he jumps out of bed and starts righting his clothes.
"Is that what you think of me?" he half-scowls, half-chuckles. "That I'm the kind of guy who… Fuck, Effie, you think I'd threaten your life for sex?"
"No." The answer is instinctive and slips past her lips before she can think it through. But… Abernathy's bitch. What else could he want bringing her in here? Abernathy's bitch. Abernathy's bitch. District whore. She presses her face against her knees, swallows hard. "I don't know why… Why am I here, Haymitch? What do you want with me? I thought… I thought you wanted me. I thought…"
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
No man will want her ever again. Not the way she looks now. Not with the scars crisscrossing over her body.
She feels the mattress dip next to her and then an uncertain hand is placed on her bad shoulder. It's light enough that it doesn't add to the throbbing.
"I do want you, sweetheart." he offers, his voice gentle. "And when you're ready and you're all better, if you still want to, we're gonna do that again, yeah? But right now you're not… You're still recovering."
The doctor gave her a clean bill of health. As clean as could be nowadays. There still are medical problems but those will last for a while before they get better.
She knows what he's saying makes sense but she can't get past the idea that if he doesn't want sex, there's no reason for her to be here so she presses her face harder against her knees.. "I look terrible and you don't want to have sex with me anymore."
He sighs and, after a moment, wraps his arm around her shoulders, tugs her into his side until she relents and buries her face in the crook of his neck instead, bundles his shirt in her fists because, deep down, she's terrified he's going to leave her again.
"You ain't at your best right now look-wise, true, but I've seen you look worse." he teases and when she doesn't laugh or even chuckle, he sighs again and nuzzles the spot next to her ear. "Sweetheart… Sex is just sex… It can wait."
"Sex is the only reason you tolerate me." she retorts and then flinches.
Abernathy's bitch.
"Now, that's stupid." he snorts. "Come on… We're friends, if nothing else."
"Friends with benefits." she insists.
"Princess…" His voice is coaxing, almost pleading. "You know it's more than that. Look, I'm sorry it took me so long to… But it's more than that. You know."
No, she doesn't.
She hoped, before the war, during the Tour, she hoped but then came the Peacekeepers with their whips and their electroshocks and their fists. And the terrible words. Haymitch has left her behind to rot, he doesn't care, he doesn't love her, she was just a convenient doll to fuck.
"You said I had to work for it." she reminds him.
"Yeah, 'cause Coin wants you to play escort one last time for Snow's execution not 'cause I wanted you to suck me off." he scoffs.
Shame washes over her.
Of course, that's what he meant. Because even if all he wanted from her was sex he would never go about getting it in that way. Another Capitol maybe but not Haymitch. Never Haymitch. He's not that kind of men.
"I am sorry." she whispers against her neck. "I am sorry."
He sighs again and cradles the back of her head in his hand, gently rubs his thumb down her neck. "We never talked about… I know some of what happened to you but you never said that… Did anyone… Were you… Did they…"
It takes her a while to get what he is talking about.
"They did not rape me." she denies.
His relief is obvious. She feels it at the way he hunches forward, lets his forehead fall on her shoulder. The next moment, he's tensing again.
"You're sure? Cause maybe they blackmailed you into sex and… Doesn't mean it was consensual, sweetheart." he hesitates.
"Nothing happened." she insists. "It is just… They said…" She shakes her head, burrows a little more in his embrace, wishes he would just let it go…
"They said what?" he probes, running his fingers in her damaged hair.
Abernathy's bitch.
"They said I was just three holes for you to fill. A whore. Your bitch." She shivers. A full body shiver. She closes her eyes tight and tries to forget the voices, the insults, the spit trickling down her cheek… "I am sorry. You said work for it and I…"
She lets her sentence trail off, not sure how to even finish it without making an even bigger fool of herself.
It takes her a moment to realize he's shaking too now. With anger. She flinches in fright because she's not ready to deal with his rage right now but he only tightens his embrace. It feels protective and it's so good, it makes her feel so safe that she forgets any idea of escaping his arms.
"Listen to me, Princess." he states, his voice firm. "You've never been just something easy to fuck. Hell, you've never been easy. You were a pain in my ass, you were my ally, you were my best friend at times… But you've never ever been just a random fuck. You've never been my whore or my bitch. You're Effie Trinket and Effie Trinket is bigger than life." He presses a kiss against her head. A long hard kiss. "I didn't bring you back here 'cause I wanted to get laid, I brought you back here cause in Thirteen… I spent hours worrying about you. I spent hours… Can't live without you pestering me, sweetheart. I can't."
Her fingers find his arm, follows it down to his wrist where her golden bangle still rests. She's never asked why he's wearing it when he claimed to hate it when she gave it to him.
Now maybe she thinks she knows.
If what he's saying is true.
But why would he lie?
"Guess I wasn't fair." he continues. "I told them you'd room with me, I never asked your opinion. Didn't like the idea of not having you where I can make sure you're safe and sound but… Wasn't fair of me. If you want a room of your own, I can ask Plutarch… Or maybe Jo wouldn't mind sharing if you like that better."
She doesn't even consider it. "I want to stay with you."
"You're sure?" he asks. "It's alright, Princess. I'm a big boy, I can handle it. I want you to be comfortable. Happy."
Happy is a long shot, she thinks, but comfortable…
She draws back to meet his eyes, a little surprised to see just how upset he is because of this whole conversation. Then she feels stupid. Of course he's upset."I feel safe with you. You will protect me."
He snorts and brushes his hand against her cheek. "To the death."
He sounds completely serious and she's not sure how she feels about that.
She's not sure how she feels about a lot of things.
She's exhausted suddenly, tired by the whole conversation.
"I think I need to sleep." she whispers, finally uncurling a little.
"Sure." Haymitch shrugs. "Should head back to Medical. Check on Katniss."
She nods even as she lies down but grabs his forearm before he can stand up. "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?"
His lips stretch into a smirk. "Yeah. Sure."
She tugs on his arm until he accepts to spoon her, holding her tight around the waist.
"I feel so broken." she confesses with her eyes closed. "I am sorry for being so broken."
"Ain't your fault and you ain't broken." he argues. "It's gonna be alright, sweetheart. I promise. Might take a while but… It's gonna be alright."
With his arms around her and his warmth at her back, she could almost believe him.