Prompt : I read The Fanclub's President and loved it. Could you write another piece where Haymitch really has a fanclub and the women are all annoying and Effie needs to help him? Although she might be kind of a secret member herself? That would be amazing. Merci.

The Fanclub

There was one thing Haymitch hated even more than brainless Capitol fans of the Games : brainless Capitol fans of him.

Every victor had a fanclub. It was a thing. Most of them nurtured it and used it for sponsoring purpose. Haymitch had never bothered because his fanclub was composed of the most annoying women ever. They were handsy for one thing, always touching him, groping, and cupping a feel. There were a few men in there too but they weren't much better than the women.

He had been so uninterested in the whole thing the club had died down a few years after his victory. Until Effie Trinket came along and made it rise from its ashes, arguing that a proper victor should have a proper fan base. And every year, she forced him into a suit and a tie and paraded him around during an exclusive party she was organizing as the fanclub president – and he had teased her mercilessly about that but she had retorted she preferred to be in charge of his PR all the way – in hope one of those rich people would give them money.

And he hated it.

He understood why that was necessary but he hated it.

Anywhere he went, they swarmed around him like particularly crazy bees. He drank to make the evening bearable but Effie was watching and he knew there would be hell to pay if he got wasted so he plastered his charmer smile on his lips and tried to pretend the clowns pressing against him were actually attractive.

One of them – old, rich and with wandering hands – insisted on dancing with him. He was short of excuses and too slow to think anything up and thus he was dragged to the dance floor. Once there, he couldn't get out. They all wanted their dance and they were all more annoying than the next.

He was at his eighth old lady – and that one was freely fondling his ass as if it was totally acceptable – when he decided he couldn't take it anymore, he caught Effie's eyes, warning her silently that he was three seconds away from causing a scene. That was something he liked with his escort, they had been working together long enough that they were on one mind on a lot of things, they didn't need to talk to understand each other.

She excused herself from the group of people she was talking with and made her way to him.

"If you would excuse me, Mrs Lloyd." she requested with a bright smile.

"Wait for you turn, dear." the woman huffed.

"Sorry, Glinda." Haymitch smirked, firmly extracting himself from her arms. "I have to dance with the club's president. That's in the rules or something…"

He grabbed Effie and dragged her further away.

"I'm getting molested." he grumbled. "Tell me we got money out of it."

"Not enough." she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. At least, he was sure she wouldn't try to grope him, that was always a plus. "And you are making a fuss out of nothing."

"Sweetheart, if anyone else grab my ass I'm going to bruise." he snorted.

"Language." She clicked her tongue in disapprobation "And I can't exactly blame them. Those pants I selected suit you very much."

He lifted his eyebrows, a playful smirk on his lips. "Have you been ogling me, sweetheart?"

"Simply enjoying the view." she retorted with a grin. He let his own hands wander from the small of her back to the curve of her ass. She pursed her lips. "Do it and I will cut your hands off."

"I love it when you make threats." he scoffed. "It's cute."

"It will be less cute when I do cut your hands off." she warned.

"If you say so, sweetheart." He still placed his hands back on her waist. Better safe than sorry. He didn't fancy getting the same stump as Chaff. "When can we leave?"

"Half an hour." she estimated. "At the minimum."

"Stick with me." he begged. "They're scared of you."

"Are you asking me to save you, Haymitch?" she chuckled.

The idea was ridiculous. She was half his size and as strong as a newborn kitten. But she had claws and this was her turf. On the social scene, she was a queen, a mastermind… She controlled her public image with a rule of iron.

"Maybe." he admitted.

She shook her head in amusement. "Very well, then. I shall be your bodyguard and save you from the old ladies with wandering hands."

"Good." he approved. "Next time a guy bother you, I will scare him off."

"I don't need you to scare men off, I can handle myself." she argued. "But you can hold my glass while I scare him off."

"Deal." he snorted.