Chapter Text
Several years had passed since Haymitch was reaped. Several years since his family had been casualties of The Capitol. Several years since his Lenore Dove had died in his arms. Each year his birthday grew more and more insufferable than the next. Each year he wished that he had died in the arena. Even the alcohol was having a hard time suppressing the overwhelming daily sorrow that he endured. Trying to find reasons to justify still living when he had to bear witness to Effie condemning 2 children, 1 boy and 1 girl, to death on an annual basis was difficult.
Drulissa had been, for lack of a better word since no one exactly knew what had happened to her, terminated by The Capitol effective after his victory tour. He hadn’t known until Effie stepped off the train the following year looking like a star — yeah like the ones in the sky — blinding everyone. She was sporting a bright yellow Capital approved exotic outfit laden with heaps of twinkling galaxy colored tool and silver glitter applied liberally to the entirety of her matching wig. He liked to think that she chose that outfit to honor his fallen brother Sid but it was likely just more of a coincidence — there was no way Effie could’ve known Sid’s passion for the universe. Regardless, despite Haymitch drinking himself into a stupor until their tributes inevitably perished in The Games every year, the absurd fashion choice that year would lead to him having a permanent soft spot in his heart for Effie.
This year, the unlucky 57th Hunger Games District 12 tributes were a thirteen year old boy named Breckett and a fourteen year old girl named Cassie. He recognized both of them from The Seam, just like all the other children before them. Their deaths were inevitable. The guilt clung to him, choking him. He needed a drink. On the train ride to The Capitol, Haymitch, after a generous coaxing from his amber liquid courage, convinced himself to assume his role as mentor — not having been the most eager in previous years due to the fact that District 12 was not destined to have another victor. He gave Breckett and Cassie half-hearted, brutally graphic advice on how to die quickly in the arena, much to Effie’s dismay. “Haymitch!” She gasped, horrified.
“Just being realistic.” He responded bitterly, retreating to the bar cart where the guilt of their impeding doom set in again and the ridiculous amount of vodka he drank worked to commemorate the District 12 tributes’ pending sacrifices. Haymitch had to remind himself that Effie was not the enemy. She had been kind and more than empathetic throughout these years of exposure to his near unbearable alcoholism habits. She wasn’t a fan but understood that it was the only accessible option in 12 that could help ease his internal suffrage. The more time he spent with her, the more tolerable, dare he even say enjoyable, that she became but her loyalties were with The Capitol as an escort which made him on edge in her presence. He would always be fond of Effie, but she would never be more than just a Capitol pawn with Capitol quirks. They exchanged few words on the train because there was nothing to say. The outcome of their tributes fate was already sealed. Effie said everything that needed to be said during The Reaping on the podium — may the odds be ever in your favor. The odds would never again be favorable in 12 though. And with those odds, let the 57th Hunger Games commence.
Haymitch sat tucked away in a dimmed corner of one of the countlessly uniform luxury suites of the Justice Building. A large screen covered the expanse of an entire wall broadcasting live footage of The Games. Cigar smoke hung thick in the air and nonchalant chatter between potential sponsors and mentors combatted the brutal sounds of the arena. This arena was a cruel one. Only 4 days into The Games and the tributes were dwindling. The arena this year was equally as detrimental and devastating as every other year -- it was composed entirely of different sized porous rocks and a vast expanse of saltwater. No available food. No drinkable water. Minimal shelter. The only hope of survival had been acquiring a backpack or supplies from the Cornucopia but neither of the District 12 tributes managed. Cassie had died almost instantly in the blood bath due to hesitation on her plate gawking at the ruthless surroundings. She took a quick axe to the face. There were worse ways to go. Breckett was still alive and hanging on by a thread. Exposure to the elements with no aid had taken a hard toll on his already frail young body. This was the worse way to go. Haymitch’s heart clenched seeing the boy stumble on the slick rocks. A sponsor’s help was futile when District 12 had already lost before the games had even begun.
When Breckett finally collapsed a fresh wave of despair set in and Haymitch tore his gaze from the broadcasting screen to chug the remainder of his alcohol. Too hard to watch. Too much to bear. “There’s still hope.” A voice chimed in cheerily behind him. Effie. Fucking hell. His heavy eyes lifted to meet hers. He wished that she would go easy on the makeup. And the clothes. All the pink gave him a headache.
“All hope is lost.” He responded with a defeated sigh, peeling himself from the sticky red velvet couch cushions. Effie gave him a look of disappointment.
“You didn’t exactly install much hope in them on the train ride here.” She smiled, arms crossed with her head high to exploit her annoyance.
“I showed them a mercy that no one else did.” He growled back under his breath. Effie recoiled as if he had struck her. The implication was clear. The Capitol, no /she/, had killed them by pulling their names in The Reaping. He almost apologized. Almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. But the alcohol convinced him not to feel too bad. As he took his leave and passed the marble threshold of the extravagant room he heard the cannon firing to signal Breckett’s death. Fuck this.
Haymitch was nauseous. He reeked of alcohol. It was even too much for him to tolerant tonight. He headed straight back to the Mentors Quarters and locked himself in his room. It was surprisingly plain, lacking the usual tacky knick-knacks that added to The Capitols absurd flare. Effie had requested it for him knowing that he preferred simpler decor. Despite Effie and Haymitch being polar opposite individuals, she did always try her best with him. He should’ve taken it easier on her earlier. Fuck. He’d apologize tomorrow. He had been projecting blame because acknowledging that it was his victory in the 50th Games that was still killing their tributes every year as punishment for defying The Capitol was sickening. Emotions suffocated him. He leaned himself against the wall desperate to stop his spiraling thoughts. A shower. He needed a shower.
Once in the bathroom, he started the hot water and tossed a towel over the visible camera pointing directly at the shower. Perverts. There was most certainly another camera in the room but his diminishing mental state prevented him from looking for it. When he stepped into the running water only then did the tears start. He would never give The Capitol the pleasure of seeing his continued pain. He braced himself against the shower wall and let the tears run freely down his face. Tears for Breckett, for Cassie, for his family, for Lenore Dove— all washed away down the drain with the water. He was useless. A waste of space. Weak. He regretted winning his games every day. The puffy scar on his abdomen ached in response. Why couldn’t he have died in that arena?
A ferocious knocking at his door broke his pity party thoughts. Ignore it. “Haymitch open this door now.” Effie hollered so loud he could hear her clear from the shower. Fuck. He couldn’t ignore her. He shut off the shower and used a fluffy pink towel to dry himself — a personal touch from Effie, no doubt. He also quickly brushed his teeth and acquired some pants. “HAYMITCH!” Apparently taking the time to find a shirt was not in the cards for him.
“Fuckin hell Eff give me 2 minutes.” He snapped back, searching through his bag unsuccessfully and deciding to abandon the shirt for now to go open the door. He opened it to a miserable, questionably tipsy Effie. Her makeup was smudged. She swayed on her heels. Concern set in. This was not his typical District 12 escort. He hadn’t seen her makeup in disarray in 7 years. “Are you ok? What happened?” He reached for her face to take a closer look but she flinched and he dropped his hand instantly. Her bright blue eyes lingered on his exposed muscular torso for a second too long but when they lifted to meet his — outrage. His heart sank.
“Fuck you!” She snarled, pushing him a step backwards into his room. Haymitch’s eyes widened in shock. He was speechless. He had never heard Effie curse in all the years that they had endured the reaping and game misery together. She huffed and pushed herself the rest of the way through his door before slamming it closed. “For you to imply that /I/ choose the tributes. That I want them to die-“ she was furious. New tears streaked her makeup leaving it in further disarray and suddenly he realized that she had been crying. She stumbled in her absurdly tall pink heels and he reached out to steady her before she fell. She allowed it.
“Have you been drinking?” He had also never seen her take a single alcoholic beverage at any event they had attended together. He could smell the alcohol. Whiskey. It was intoxicating.
“Oh don’t— just don’t. Real rich coming from the notorious drunk of District 12.” He winced. Ouch. Okay no more judgement on the drinking. She wasn’t wrong.
“Why are you here?” Haymitch demanded. Suddenly an apology tomorrow didn’t seem as necessary. “The Games will be over soon. I’m leaving tomorrow and then we don’t have to see each other again for an entire year.”
“You left me! You knew Breckett was going to die and you left me!” He was caught off guard at the justified accusation. His mouth opened slightly but no words came out. The silence between them was deafening as Haymitch processed the fact that he had let down the only person that still gave a fuck about him — his only friend. “I have exercised a lot of patience with you over the years Haymitch. I know you’ve gone through more than anyone your age should ever but you’re not the only one that cares!” She stood indignantly tall on her shaky heels. “I care as much as I can.” He let those words sink in. She was careful with her words because The Capitol was always listening. There was a lot left unsaid. With no response from him, she shook her head in defeat and sighed. “So just… fuck you for thinking otherwise.” She wiped the fresh tears from the corners of her eyes and turned to leave but, without hesitation, Haymitch caught her wrist and pulled her to his chest in an embrace. The warmth of his chest made her knees buckle and she leaned closer into him. “I’m sorry—.”
His heart was beating hard, ricocheting against his rib cage. Up close Effie smelled even stronger of whiskey. He leaned his head down with his lips close to her ear, each word expressed in the quietest legible whisper he could manage . “I came back here and cried.” He admitted. She was silent. “Like a little fucking baby. I cried over Breckett, Cassie, all the other fallen tributes that I couldn’t save, my family, my friends,” he hesitated, “Lenore Dove.” His voice echoed the name that had been left unspoken for several years. A ghost. Forever gone but never forgotten. “I’m sorry I left you.” He paused for a moment before pressing a gentle kiss to the shell of her ear. What was he doing? She inhaled sharply at the contact. “You didn’t deserve that. I should’ve stayed for you.” His tentatively planted several more apologetic kisses between her right ear and her neck. He was waiting for Effie to pull away but she stayed steady against his body with soft noises of acknowledgement to his apologies.
“I needed you today.” She sniffed, calmer. His nose nudged at her jaw line to coax her proud head to rest at an angle so he could continue his antics. She obliged, her eyes closing and her body relaxing at the sensation of his lips on her throat.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” He whispered between kisses. He meant to stop kissing her. Why was he still kissing her? But the damn hints of whiskey… delicious. It demanded that he never stop.
“I know.” She gasped out as his teeth grazed her jaw and her body melted impossibly further into his. “But I meant what I said.”
“That you want me to fuck you?” He mused against her skin. An instant pink blush crept over her features.
“That is not what I said! I said fuck you.” She exclaimed, withdrawing slightly in embarrassment. “I look like a mess. I need to go get cleaned up.” She did look like a mess with her makeup smeared into several different shades of pink. Her Capitol mask had slipped and he was captivated.
“So you don’t want me to fuck you Eff.” It wasn’t a question, more clarification. He looked down at her but she didn’t meet his gaze. Her hands were on either side of his bare hips to ground herself. There was a definitive shift in tension between them. Effie’s breathing hitched and she squeezed her thighs together. The action drove him feral. His control was slipping.
“Haymitch you’re drunk.” She tried.
“Always am.” He lifted her chin with his hand and leaned down to kiss her. She moaned loudly against his mouth. He had hurt her feelings good and he’d make it right. “Is this ok?” He asked between sloppy kisses, fighting her for dominance. She doesn’t let him win easily. He backed them into the closed door and she wrapped one of her legs around his torso. The action inadvertently brought his throbbing hard erection to rest against her lower abdomen. She almost cried out. “Such a good girl. Always the best girl.” He mouthed silently “for The Capitol” against her lips and she reeled back breaking the kiss to slap him across the face. He blinked, stunned. And then his insatiable desire for her flooded back instantly. “Fuck Effie.” He growled and she was back in his arms kissing him senseless. She was demanding more grinding against his cock through his pants and taking charge of her own pleasure. Haymitch collected her into his arms and walked them both to the middle of the room to drop her on the couch before falling to his knees and kissing her inner thighs through her thin light pink leggings. Her body tensed and her legs trembled with anticipation. “Forgive me.” It was a statement, not a suggestion.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He coaxed her legs open a fraction further and ripped a ragged hole in the crotch of her leggings to reveal her pink lace panties. So much pink. Suddenly exposed, she tried to snap her thighs shut in protest. “Okay now there’s something to forgive why would you—.”
“I’ll buy you a new pair.” Her irritation ended with a cry out when he leaned down and kissed her wet cunt through the lace.
“Ah Haymitch!” His name sounded so good coming from her mouth. Effie's back arched off the couch and his cock twitched in response against his jeans. He ignored it. Right now, he was only interested in pleasing her. He pulled her panties to the side and pushed 2 of his fingers into her heat. “Oh my god,” she choked out. Effie was so wet and tight and hot and it drove Haymitch to the brink of madness. His tongue was immediately on her clit sucking and teasing and her body was eager to respond to his touch. His fingers curved into her with each thrust of his hand. “Too much!” Her small frame heaved and fought the release he was trying to give her. “Haymitch wait I’m going to..” her back arched in pleasure again, unable to finish the sentence. “.. please don’t stop!” Her long coffin shaped pale pink bedazzled nails dug into the velvet material of the couch.
His tongue greedily licked up her slit and continued to toy with her swollen clit until he felt her body convulse into an orgasm. He sighed in content, his fingers still lazily pumping in and out of her sensitive cunt as she rode the high. Her whimpers were loud in the otherwise quiet room. She was loud. But he’d expect nothing less from Effie with her flamboyant personality. He removed his fingers and licked her clean, her wide blue eyes fixed on his actions. “What?” He chuckled to deflect her attention, feeling vulnerable.
“I just…didn’t think…” she swallowed.
“That I could make you come? Well we aren’t all savages out in the districts Effie.” Her cheeks turned bright red through the remainder of her ghastly white foundation in embarrassment.
“I know that I just didn’t think you..” he cut her off.
“Don’t get used to it Princess because it’s not happening again.” He stated matter of fact, giving her thigh one parting kiss before standing up.
She blinked up at him, slightly taken aback. Quickly composing herself, she let out an overly dramatic sigh of relief. “Well thank heavens. That’s more than fine with me.” He smirked and held out his hand to her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You look like a freak.”
She gasped and swatted his hand away to stand herself. “Don’t start.” She huffed, hurrying to the bathroom.
. . .
By the next morning, the 57th Hunger Games had ended and Haymitch was not interested in attending any of the after parties that would soon begin in celebration of the sole surviving tribute. The pair stood on the janky platform waiting for the train that would take Haymitch back to District 12 until he was due to return the following year. Effie never missed seeing him off. Very few words were exchanged. As always, Effie showed up dressed to impress. She was laden in nearly a thousand layers of pink and lavender ruffled material. She looked absolutely ridiculous. Haymitch smiled inwardly. He liked her ridiculous. The train arrived and he readied his few belongings to board. The door slid open. “Until next year My Victor.” Effie whispered.
“Until next year Eff. ” He promised and boarded the train.