You could write something about haymitch loving Effie's ass and be pretty vocal about it and Effie love to tease him. Could be some stories in different years! I love ur fanfics ❤️
5 Times Haymitch Appreciated Effie's Backside And One Time She Did
1.
There was something almost sadistic to watching his new escort realize they had lost.
Haymitch sat there on the penthouse's couch, nursing a glass of whiskey, making the ice click when he brought it to his mouth, listening to the long agonizing beep of the tributes monitors on the coffee table.
She had been a pain in the ass from day one. Effie Trinket. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous woman who actually believed Twelve had a real shot. She had tried to force his hand, to get him involved in the mentoring, every time he had snapped she had simply smiled harder and ignored him… This, though, he had seen coming. He had even tried to warn her, out of the goodness of his dead heart, just because he had noticed she had gotten attached and that… Well, that was never good.
She had been hard on the kids too. Berating them about manners and what not – and they had fought about that because who cared if they knew which fork to use for salad and for fish. But at least… Well, at least she had tried to coach them when it had become clear he wouldn't. She had tried to get him to work with her. That was more than any escort had bothered to do in some years. So, yeah. He had seen her getting attached and in a rare moment of compassion for a stupid woman with a ridiculous pink wig, he had warned her.
She had refused to listen.
She had brushed him off, scoffed at him, told him to watch and learn because now that Twelve had proper management they could not lose…
And there they were now, the bloodbath not even over, six minutes in and already tribute-less.
It would have been funny if it hadn't been so sad.
She was still standing behind the armchair, her lips slightly parted in shock, her eyes comically wide…
Slowly, he leaned in and turned the monitor off so that strident beep that signaled their tributes' death would stop. He tried not to notice everything else on the coffee table. She had prepared herself for days of work at the very least. There were countless notes on sponsors that seemed to be color-coded, the phone, bottles of water, little sandwiches, a list of everything available to send through sponsor shipment and its corresponding prices, a list of people she thought might be swayed into supporting Twelve… Stupid. Genuinely stupid.
He wasn't sure if he didn't like the careless escorts better. The girls who came in at the Reaping and who he hardly ever saw again because they were too busy going from party to party, being seen. He ended up fucking them more often than not – it was easier to get them to quit that way. Those ones never looked crushed when their kids died or, if they did, it was simply because of how humiliating it was to represent Twelve.
"Well." Trinket said at last, battling her eyelashes hard. Haymitch dearly hoped she wasn't going to start bawling because he wasn't going to offer comfort to a stuck-up Capitol. He just wasn't. "We will have better luck next year."
He snorted. Typical. It wasn't the kids she was sad about then. Just the fact they had lost.
"You believe that, you're even more of an idiot than you look." he spat, taking another sip of whiskey.
"I will thank you not to call me name." she hissed, glaring at him.
Her anger was out of proportions, he thought. He had been pulling her leg for more than two weeks now and she was usually very good at either ignoring him or retorting something witty that usually threw him for a couple of seconds. The only times she had lost her temper had been in regard of his complete lack of interest when it came to mentoring. Every time he had made it about her she had just… let it slide.
Maybe it wasn't just about losing then.
"I call it as I see it." he shrugged anyway. "You're an ugly stupid clown."
"You are a disgusting pathetic little man." she scowled and then stormed out of the room.
How she could move so fast or so swiftly on those heels, he wasn't sure, but she certainly made it look easy. He watched her go because, he had already noticed, watching her storm out wasn't a bad view. Fuck, but those dresses of hers were tight. He couldn't vouch for the face caked with make-up as it was and he hated those wigs but it was impossible to ignore her long legs or the shape of her ass.
"Ain't nothing little about me, Trinket!" he called after her, unwilling to let her have the last word. "Just ask around!"
A slamming door further down in the penthouse was the only answer he got.
2.
"That woman's a nuisance but she's got an ass to damn a saint." Chaff snorted in his glass, his eyes riveted on the dance floor over Haymitch's shoulder where Trinket was dancing – if that sensual swaying she was doing could be called that – to the slow beat of the music. "I don't get why you haven't fucked her yet, buddy."
Haymitch scoffed, not even glancing in her direction. He didn't have to. The mirror behind the bar was enough for him to keep an eye on her. "Not interested."
Chaff's gaze darted to him, eyebrows lifted, an amused expression on his face. "Like hell. She's just your type."
"She's a clown." he grumbled.
"They're all clowns." his friend shrugged. "Never stopped you before. You know what I say… Turn off the light, you don't have to look at their painted face while you fuck them."
"Turning off the light won't make her stop talking though." he pointed out, taking a long swing of whiskey. "Nothing makes her stop talking."
Two years of listening to her prattle about fashion or manners had taught him that. The painful way.
"Keep her mouth busy, then." Chaff joked and Haymitch rolled his eyes, his lips stretching into a smirk despite himself.
He switched topics though, bringing the conversation back on that year's Games and what they should expect. They kept the whiskey flowing too.
So much so that by the end of the night he wouldn't have been able to give his whole name without stuttering. He was vaguely aware that Chaff handed him over to someone far more smaller and far less strong than he was but it took him a good ten minutes to realized the person supporting his weight in the elevator was Trinket.
"You know…" he slurred. "I hate you…"
"A sentiment I share, I assure you." she grumbled, adjusting her grip on him because he couldn't really stand straight. Her arms were so strained they were trembling so he decided to help her by wrapping his around her. She huffed and wrinkled her nose, trying to keep her head away from him. "You stink! When was the last time you showered? You reek of alcohol and sweat, Haymitch! It is disgusting."
He didn't bother trying to make sense of that tirade through his alcohol soaked brain.
"I hate you…" he insisted, the words taking weird shapes in his fuzzy mouth. "But you've got the greatest ass I've ever seen…" And to prove it, he seized half of it in one hand and gave it a generous squeeze that made her gasp and whack his arm. He sighed contently before letting go, nodding to himself. "Great ass…"
She stuttered a rebuke but she was crimson under her make-up and he couldn't really tell if she was really angry or not.
3.
Fingers clicked right in front of Haymitch's face, making him startle. He blinked in time to see Chaff rolled his eyes and gesture at him with his stump to decide what he wanted to do. Haymitch glanced at the cards in his hand – cards he hadn't really been paying attention to, to begin with – and wisely decided to fold.
Seven's floor's dining-room was a little clouded from the cigars Chaff, Blight and Beetee were sharing. Haymitch had taken one but it had mostly consumed itself, forgotten in his hand. He had been distracted during the entire poker game.
"What are you thinking about that's so damn riveting?" Chaff complained. "You haven't said a word all night."
"Nothing." he denied while Beetee gathered the chips he had won in that round.
"Like hell." Blight laughed. "I know that face. You've got a new lady, 'Mitch?"
Haymitch hated being called Mitch and only suffered it because Seven's heavy accent made it sound more like an actual word than a nickname.
"No." he lied, grabbing the deck of cards to deal out more. He strongly suspected Beetee had been cheating every time it had been his turn to deal the cards.
Well. It wasn't really a lie.
So what if he had fucked Effie Trinket against a wall a couple of times? Tempers had flown high. It had gotten to the point it was either fuck or murder and it wasn't like they had planned it… Accidents happened. Sometimes you slipped. Against the wall. Against the bay window. In the elevator.
That had been last year though. Quick and rough and probably not that good for her because he had just thrust into her a few times to chase after his selfish release. He had fully expected it to never happened again when he had boarded the train back to Twelve. Truth be told, he had fully expected to never see her again either because most people tried to avoid awkward situations like the plague.
Not Effie Trinket though.
Never Effie Trinket.
She had showed up for the Reaping prim and proper, had invaded his house and ordered him to get presentable, all the while pretending nothing had ever happened… He had followed her lead on that front, thinking it had been for the best.
And then, merely five hours later – perhaps a record for them – they had started arguing again. And he had pushed her on one of the train's couches. And she had parted her legs for him as if that had been all she had been after from the start. And maybe that time he had tried to make it a little better for her…
And then…
They weren't a thing. They never talked about it again.
They fought and they fucked and then they righted their clothes and went on with business.
They had never even made it to the completely naked stage. Hell, they had never even made it to a bed.
But now he knew what her breasts tasted like, what she sounded like when she came, and the previous day he had caught a glimpse of tantalizing creamy round flesh when she had pushed her dress back down and…
He had been obsessed with her ass ever since.
He wanted her bent over.
He wanted her bent over the couch and he wanted to stand behind her and…
"You're gone again." Chaff sighed. "Look, buddy, if you're not gonna play…"
"I'm playing. Fuck off." he snapped, tossing two more chips on the pile in the middle of the table.
The thing was… How to get her to agree to fucking her from behind. They never discussed sex. It happened. And it usually happened fast and brutally. She was demanding and she had no problem showing him what she wanted while they were doing it or going after it herself but there was a difference between having someone against a wall and forcing her to bend over a couch.
He got lost in the fantasy for a second and his pants were definitely too tight the next time Blight reminded him, with a laugh, that it was his turn.
He grumbled about his friends being assholes that night when he added more chips but he was too distracted to really push the point home.
He wanted to do things to her he had never done with anyone else. Would she let him spank her while he fucked her? It was so hard to say with her… She acted like a perfect lady but he had quickly discovered that when it came to sex… She was a tiger. She was… The idea of leaving a reddish mark on her pale skin…
He gulped down the glass of whiskey he still hadn't touched, trying to drown those thoughts away.
At the end of the night, he was very frustrated, very horny and much poorer.
Which was why he let Chaff convince him they should head to the bar and why he let a Capitol woman buy him a drink. That one, he already knew, was so desperate to hook up with a victor she would probably agree to anything.
4.
He should really get out of her bed now, Haymitch thought.
This had been happening more and more lately. The post-sex lingering, the cuddling, sometimes on rare occasions even some napping… But he couldn't really get himself to move, not when Trinket was lying on his chest, all spent and sweaty, and he was warm and comfortable. One of his hands was playing with her hair, the other one was distractedly following the curve of her ass…
She suddenly chuckled, for no obvious reason that he could see.
"What?" he muttered, tugging on a lock of blond hair just to irritate her. It always took far too negotiating to get her to get rid of those ugly wigs. That, too, was a recent development, her reluctant willingness to let him see her bare from make-up and synthetic hairstyles.
"You are obsessed with my hair and my ass." she accused, propping her chin on his chest so she could look at him. Her blue eyes were twinkling with mischief, an impudent grin stretched her lips, and he felt himself smirk in response.
"Wouldn't say obsessed." he denied. Although… He did have something for her hair. And he did love staring at her bare butt.
And he knew she knew.
She certainly took advantage of it when it suited her.
"They're your favorite things about me." she countered.
He contemplated that for a second, his fingers leaving the curve of her bottom to brush against every bump of her spine. He probably should be alarmed at the casualness with which she proclaimed he had favorite things at all but… Well… Sex was such a common occurrence between them nowadays… They had been at it for well over five years now. If he hadn't been attracted, he wouldn't keep coming back for more.
"I like your legs too." he shrugged. "And your tits. Can't forget about the tits…"
He also liked her slender neck. And her eyes. And her mouth. And her bellybutton. And what lied between her legs.
It was something of a shock to realize there was nothing he didn't like about her body. Sure, he usually went for brunettes and she was very blond but there were reddish hues under certain lights he couldn't help but be fascinated with. And it was so impossibly curly that…
"Well, I am extremely attractive." she hummed.
"You're full of yourself." he scoffed, letting himself get distracted by her usual arrogance instead of panicking. "That's what you are."
"I would rather be full of you." she purred in that distinctive tone.
She was a minx. A fiery minx.
"Ain't you already?" he taunted, reaching around her to brush his fingers between her legs, causing her to press hard against his hips. Her thighs fell open and his smirk only deepened when he felt the sticky mess they had made. They hadn't stopped using condoms so long ago that the novelty had worn off yet. He had never done it without protection before her and he had to admit he liked the change. It was… arousing in a primitive way.
She licked her lips, her hips rocking slow purposeful circles against his groin. "Don't pretend you do not want me again."
Oh, he did. It wasn't even funny how quickly she could get him up with the right word or the right move… And when she behaved like this… So sexy and bossy…
He rolled them over but moved away before she could trap him by wrapping her legs around his waist. He turned her on her stomach and straddled her, gripping her wrists high over her head. She gave a token resistance because she never relinquished control easily but soon stilled under him, straining her neck to toss him an impatient look over her shoulder.
"Sometimes today, Haymitch." she demanded.
She was too haughty for his taste and he decided he was going to take his time.
He started by nibbling at her nape and then biting a steady path down her spine, leaving red marks in the wake of his mouth that she would probably rage over later on. For now, though, her breathing was short and heavy and by the time he reached the small of her back, she was wriggling, trying to rub herself against the mattress.
"You keep those hands up there, sweetheart." he ordered, finally letting go of her wrists to move further down. He spread her thighs, like always a bit surprised by how flexible she was, and placed himself between them. By game or frustration, she immediately tried to sneak her hand between her legs. He slapped her right cheek, not hard enough to bruise but with enough strength that it would sting. "What did I say?"
"I am not in the mood for games." she growled. "Just fuck me already."
Vulgarity, in her mouth, was always an instant turn on and he couldn't help himself. He thrust into her hard, making her cry out in pleasure. She wanted him to fuck her, he could oblige. He drove home hard, again and again, spurred on by the noises she was making. Eventually, he shifted positions and just lied down on top of her. The angle wasn't deep enough and she growled in protest but he simply smirked against her shoulder, licking and biting in turns.
"Haymitch." she warned.
"I do like your ass." he confessed, brushing her hair to the side so he could bump his nose against her cheek.
"If you want to be allowed to see it again, I would advise you to stop teasing." she hissed.
He chuckled.
He loved it when she was like that. All riled up and desperate to climax. He loved making her lose that composure of hers. He loved it when she begged.
"Say please." he teased.
"Go to hell." she retorted.
"Sure." he snorted. "But after I come all over your ass, yeah?"
He was close now so he simply slipped out of her to sit up and he would probably have done just that if she hadn't managed to somehow make him lose his balance. He blamed those self-defense classes she kept bragging about. He ended up flat on his back and she lost no time in straddling him and guiding him inside her again.
He very rarely allowed her to be on top like that, with him sprawled on his back. She didn't care though, she rode him with abandon, her eyes closed, her own hands kneading her breasts…
She was a vision.
And it was his undoing.
She kept rocking her hips after he was spent, seeking her own pleasure. He felt a bit shaky but he reached between her legs, stroking her and watching her move up and down…
She came with a sharp mewl, her head thrown back, and then she slumped on his chest again and they were right back where they had started.
Except he was very sleepy now.
He fell asleep clutching her ass.
There were worse way to do that.
5.
"This is simply atrocious." Effie sighed.
Haymitch tuned her out, too used by now to her rants about Thirteen uniforms. He focused on the reports in front him, glancing at Command's door for the tenth time in as many minutes. He wasn't sure if he was anxious for the briefing to start or happy the others weren't there yet. Coin was already grating on his every last nerves and Plutarch's attempts at convincing him to roll with her plans for now weren't helping.
His priority was to keep Katniss out of trouble and to convince Thirteen to launch a rescue mission for the captured victors, though, and that required Coin not to hate him too much.
"I simply look fat." his escort insisted, twisting left and right to better glimpse her vague reflection on one of the turned off screens in the room.
Haymitch dropped the report in his hand to study her, unable to claim she was wrong there. Those second-hand frayed jumpsuits didn't fit anyone and she wasn't the exception to the rule. It actually looked even worse on her because she was so thin the fabric was baggy all over. It was shapeless.
And he still found her beautiful, which was probably telling about his own feelings.
"On the bright side, I don't have to watch people ogle your ass all day long anymore." he shrugged.
She whirled around with a bright smile and far too much amusement dancing in her eyes. "Why, Haymitch… Does it bother you when other people eye me?"
She always delighted on potential displays on jealousy.
He rolled his eyes at her. "Bigger fishes to fry right now, yeah?"
She sauntered to the chair next to his and sat down, far too smug for his liking. He faked reading the reports again.
"Plutarch is still ogling me even with the jumpsuits, you know." she hummed casually.
"Noticed." he mumbled. Because he had. And it irritated him. A lot. "Also noticed you encourage him."
"Well. A girl likes to be admired now, doesn't she?" she retorted.
"A girl should know better than playing recklessly." he commented, not glancing away from the papers in front of him. "Look, I ain't saying it ain't smart for you to be friendly with Plutarch…" Because that was what it was all about, he figured. Cozying up with people in power who could keep her safe from the rebels who weren't too happy with her presence in their District. He didn't think she particularly liked Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker kept treating her like an assistant. "But turn it down a notch, yeah? The next thing you know, he's gonna think he's got a real shot."
"Perhaps he does." she teased.
He let his hand fall from the table on her thigh, grateful that the room was empty.
"Your ass is mine, Princess." he claimed.
"I am not limited to my ass, you know." she sighed with amusement. "And must you always be so crass?"
"I know you're not." he replied. She was cleverer than most but she was very good at pretending to be nothing else than a pretty face. "Ain't sure he does."
"You are jealous." she chuckled.
He squeezed her thigh and took his hand away. "Of Plutarch Heavensbee? Hardly."
"Good." she grinned, tilting her head to the side. She looked him up and down in that provocative way that usually led them to shed their clothes. "There really is no reason to be."
6.
Effie finished loosely knotting the belt of her silk dressing gown as she walked into the kitchen, her lips immediately stretching into a smile when she spotted Haymitch getting busy at the stove. Quiet mornings in Twelve might be her favorite things nowadays. The faint honking of the geese outside, the familiar humming of the old fridge, the plumbing that sometimes clang when they opened a tap…
And Haymitch cooking, of course.
"I suppose I should be happy you remembered to put on an apron." she teased, trying her best to contain her laughter.
To her discharge, it was hard to remain impassible faced with Haymitch Abernathy wearing a kiss the cook apron and nothing else.
With him taking care of their eggs and her back to her, she had a very nice view of his backside and she sat down at the table to better admire it.
"You made it clear you didn't want my junk damaged so…" he shrugged, winking at her over his shoulder.
She had insisted on them buying an apron if he was to go on cooking without clothes on because, yes, she was concerned he would burn himself in areas she liked intact. He had been the one to choose the ridiculously corny kiss the cook design – so she had no choice but to kiss him every time he wore it, or so he claimed.
She couldn't help but laugh. "Well, is it my fault if you insist on always walking around naked?"
"It's my own fucking house. Can walk around naked in my own fucking house." he grumbled.
It was a touchy subject. Mostly because the children kept barging in without warning and Haymitch wasn't always the only one naked.
After a few minutes, he placed the eggs on two plates and she stood up to pour them both some coffee. They danced around each other in the kitchen as they grabbed everything they needed for breakfast in a well-rehearsed ballet. She couldn't help but stare at what the apron wasn't hiding though.
"Like what you see?" he mocked with a smirk before dropping on a chair.
And there was something to be said about him sitting naked on furniture but it was a fight she had long accepted to lose.
"There are worse sights." she grinned, leaning down to steal a kiss because they had yet to properly greet each other that morning.
They were so domestic those days…
But she wouldn't have changed it for the world.
There really were worse things than having to stare at Haymitch's naked ass every morning.