Prompt : Could you please do something with haymitch calling Effie 'Euphemia'? ;D

4 Times Haymitch called her Euphemia

1.

Haymitch stole the glass of bourbon from Seeder before he even dropped on the free chair at Eleven's team table. The mentor lounge was packed, like often when the Games were advanced enough that only a handful of players were left, and he hoped it would afford him some peace.

"We need a plan." he said very seriously.

Seeder and Chaff exchanged a glance, not bothering to keep their amusement in check.

"Are we having escort troubles again?" Chaff chuckled.

"This woman is a nightmare." Haymitch growled. "A fucking walking nightmare."

Seeder shook her head with a small smile, clearly not understanding the trouble he was in. Effie Trinket was impossible. She was… She was everything he hated. And she refused to be intimidated. She refused to be scared off. She refused everything even his clumsy attempts at seducing her into quitting.

Short of strangling her, he had no idea how to get rid of her.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think we're losing Viola so that stupid bet the two of you have going is still on." Seeder offered, patting his shoulder.

Haymitch made a face, not quite comforted by that. One escort a year was the aim. Driving them to leave was the challenge. It had been going for so long it was a running joke in the business at this point.

It seemed this year they had bitten on more than they could chew.

Or maybe Head Gamemaker Torello had finally gotten tired of their game and had found them women a little too strong-minded.

"I got rid of Summercket." he muttered with a touch of pride.

Viola Summercket was a harpy. Even Trinket wasn't that bad in comparison. He could admit he would rather have dealt with the new one for another year than with Summercket. At least, Trinket wasn't nasty for the sake of it - not with the tributes in any case.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Chaff looked chagrined as he took a sip of his whiskey. "You've played all the usual cards?"

He rolled his eyes. "All and then some. She's just so..."

He stopped, at a loss for words.

He had tried every of his habitual tricks and nothing had worked. She just stared him down from behind her fake eyelashes with disdainful amusement and claimed she would stay whatever he did.

"Hot?" Seeder suggested, definitely amused now.

He made a face at his friend, feeling as if he ought to be insulted.

"Please." he scoffed.

"Well, she's your type..." Chaff agreed. Haymitch glared at him but his best friend lifted his stump and his good hand in the air defensively. "Feisty, difficult and probably easy…"

"She's a fucking pain in the ass, that's what she is." he growled.

He caught sight of his brand new escort entering the room and he slouched a little, hoping she wouldn't notice him. She was exhausting.

Naturally, he wasn't so lucky. Her eyes darted to him as if she already knew where she would find him. Maybe she had magical powers that allowed her to make his life a living hell…

Torello would find her an escort like that just to get even with the troubles he always caused the Gamemakers.

"Euphemia Trinket." he grumbled under his breath as she confidently strode toward their table. "Mark my words, she's gonna be my fucking end."

He fled the table and ducked between Woof and Mags before she could come close enough.

He had no hope of escaping her forever but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

2.

Haymitch followed in his escort's footsteps, trying to figure out through his drunken daze if irritating her further was worth his hide or not.

She had been in a mood since their path had crossed her sister's at a sponsor's party. He wasn't sure what her purse had done to deserve behind flung to the other side of the penthouse's living-room but he was fairly certain she would have no qualm resorting to the same degree of violence towards him that night if he said the wrong thing.

Naturally, the clever thing would have been to retreat to his bedroom but five years of working with her had taught him that not a lot could drive her to that sort of disturbed state. Even his worth gibes didn't rile her up that much and he had made a career of pushing her buttons. And all her sister had done was chat about nothing. There had been no snide comment or hidden mockeries that he could detect… Her sister was actually nice.

Of course, he should have known better than to tell her that. He had shared that thought with her hoping to get more information and he had been treated to the coldest glare she had ever given him. A record, surely. She had told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever only hinted at wanting to sleep with her sister she would never let him touch her again.

He wasn't sure exactly what they were playing at. Hate sex. Stress sex. Rough sex. Make-up sex. Too many possible labels he wasn't sure truly applied.

He was really sure however that he wasn't about to give up having sex with her for a woman that didn't even sound that interesting.

Effie was quick with her tongue and she was sharp when she wasn't stubbornly playing dumb. Her being hot didn't hurt but two times out of three it was her wit that made him lose it and pin her against the closest flat surface.

He should have left well enough alone but he was drunk and he couldn't really remember a time when she had made a beeline for the liquor cart like she was doing right now. Straight for the tequila too...

"Hey, sweetheart…" he started only to backtrack when she glared at him again. He might be drunk but he still had a keen survival instinct. "Why do you go by Effie?"

It wasn't really what he had wanted to know but he was a question like another. The sister had kept calling her 'Euphemia'. She never used her given name so he had completely forgotten about it.

She studied him for a second but eventually relaxed and poured him a glass of whiskey. He saw the peace offering for what it was and took it.

"Euphemia is who my mother wanted me to be. Effie is who I made myself." she explained, clicking her glass against his in an pitiful toast.

He nodded and then pursed his lips. "Yeah… That makes no sense."

She let out a small bitter snort. "Euphemia was supposed to be this perfect lady… A perfect trophy wife for the highest bidder… I wanted more out of life."

"Fame?" he asked.

Something flashed in her eyes but it was gone before he could try to decide what it was. Her lips stretched in a bright smile. "Of course! What else?"

"Euphemia." he repeated, testing it out. "That's a mouthful."

"I have enough troubles convincing you to call me Effie instead of one of your ridiculous pet names… Imagine if I still went by that one." she joked.

He made a face. "Point taken."

3.

It was too bad stars were almost impossible to guess at in the Capitol sky. It would have made this moment almost… strangely perfect.

As perfect as a moment could be when you were lying on your back on a roof, stark naked, exposed without a care in the world, a little sleepy from the aftermath of a very satisfying fuck session. He felt boneless, as if he was floating outside of his body, and the stars would have been the finishing touch to that ridiculous picture.

Thoughts of what it would be like to fuck her in the meadow, in a cradle of fresh grass and with an ocean of stars overhead, entered his mind. He dismissed them of course but even the now familiar jolts of guilt and unease at constantly letting his imagination run wild with her when he should have been getting those impulses under control wasn't enough to stop him from lazily running his fingers up and down her calf.

Effie was sitting with her back against the low wall of the roof, her legs tossed carelessly across his chest, apparently not in any hurry to snatch her torn clothes from the floor. He spared a regretful thought for the – for once – nice dress, then remembered she had mauled one of favorite comfortable shirts in retaliation and rolled his eyes to himself.

"What is it?" she asked, sounding only mildly interested.

He let her enjoy a few more drags of her post-coital cigarette – not that she was a regular smoker, no, of course not, it was just the occasional one; he wondered who she was lying to with that line, him or herself? – before stilling his hand around her ankle, prompting her to wriggle her pink painted toes.

"Just wondering how fast you'd get kicked out of the lady club if they could see you now, sweetheart." he snorted. She huffed but didn't quite deny it so he riled her up a little more. It was always fun. "Or is that a thing? Harlots in the bedroom, ladies in the drawing-room?"

Her foot moved fast.

So fast he could barely brace himself before it was placed over his most vulnerable assets. She pressed down a little, not quite enough to cause damage but enough to get her point across.

"Did you just call me a harlot?" she casually inquired.

"Not an insult." he muttered, trying to move her foot away.

She applied more pressure and rubbed it back and forth, suddenly making it difficult for him to remember why he wanted it gone. He hated it when she was acting like that, all easy confidence and sass. He hated it because it turned him on.

"You could have fooled me." she hummed, grinning around her cigarette.

She planted her heel more firmly, rotated her ankle twice…

He was back to caressing her leg, except it was less lazy and more frantic now.

"Don't get why you get your knickers in a twist anyway." he grumbled. "You'd hate it if I treated you like a lady." He knew that with absolute certainty. The rougher he was, the harder she climaxed. "You wanna try that, Euphemia?"

It was a bluff mainly aimed at salvaging the small amount of dignity he had left. It was a bit off-putting that she could take him apart with only a foot.

"I do happen to like vanilla once in a while." she stated. "Although it has never been my favorite flavor."

"You're made for chocolate." he mumbled, closing his eyes because his erection was now throbbing against his lower belly, entirely dependent on her foot to give the right amount of pressure. It wouldn't be enough to make him come but it was enough to make him lose his mind. "Hot dark bitter chocolate. Not vanilla."

He wrinkled his nose at the offending thought but soon groaned in pleasure when she straddled his hips. He wasn't completely reassured by the cigarette in her hand and it was the only reason he allowed her to stay on top.

"Well…" she chuckled, wrapping her free hand around his erection. "You are certainly dark and bitter. The comparison seems adequate."

"Forgot hot." he pointed out, thrusting in her fist without any shame.

"Did I?" she hummed, blowing out some smoke in his direction.

She had no right to be this hot.

No right at all.

4.

Haymitch knocked on her compartment door once before stepping inside. He never bothered with that kind of things but he figured it wouldn't be clever to startle her that night. The Tour of Hell had taken a turn for the worse in Six. They had managed to keep the children out of it but they hadn't avoided watching a guy's brain being blown out by a Peacekeeper's gun.

Effie had been composed all night but she had claimed a headache to turn in early as soon as they had stepped back on the train.

She was in bed, a book propped open on her bent knee, a mug of what he supposed to be herbal tea clutched in her right hand. She didn't even freak out over the fact that she had her reading glasses on or that her hair was in complete disarray.

"I do not wish to talk about it." she warned, only glancing up long enough to shoot him a warning glare.

Fair was fair, he decided, and he didn't particularly want to discuss it either.

He dropped on her bed and snatched her book instead, snorting at the very pink cover. "Romance trash again?"

"It happens to be very good." she hummed, rescuing her book from his hands. She placed the mug on the nightstand and ran her fingers on the covers a few times as if petting it.

"Yeah? How's the sex?" he teased.

"Actually, hot." she retorted without missing a beat. "You should read it, you might learn something."

He rolled his eyes but didn't try to erase the smirk from his lips. "Let me guess… There's a bad boy and a girl who makes him become good."

She pouted, clearly unhappy with this simplification. "He is a rake actually and a threat to her virtue… I do believe she will reform him, though."

Another glance at the cover told him it was probably taking place in a time long gone of ball gowns and gentlemen in breaches.

"Is he treating her like a lady?" he mocked, leaning in to drop a kiss against her neck.

The book was discarded without another thought and Haymitch's smirk deepened against her skin. She gasped a little when his tongue poked at her pulse point.

"I do not believe he is." she answered, a little short of breath. "I told you. He is a rake. There is only one thing he is after… He is very inventive in bed though."

"Well, lady Euphemia…" he snorted, pulling her on top of him. "Let's see if I can compare with your rake…"

Her giggles, he decided, were the best sound in the world.