YOU KNOW THE USUAL: I'M NOT SUZANNE COLLINS. I'D MUCH RATHER BE JK ROWLING. LIKE… ANY DAY.

A/N: Hello Loves! SO I wrote this because there are literally a million one-shots of Hayffie floating around in this head of mine, so I thought I'd go ahead and just put them all in one story.

These stories won't be in order. I'll just write them as I think of them.

Also, I'm taking suggestions. I'd love to interact with everyone, so anyone who would like to suggest a story line, please feel free to do so in a Review. I can't promise I'll do them all, but I'll certainly try. My only request is that it be Hayffie related, as it is supposed to be about them. I am not opposed to including other characters, of course. If there was ever a scene from the books AND MOVIES (yes, I'll cater to the movie Universe as well), from Haymitch's and Effie's POV, here's your chance.

This first story is one from my own head. I'm SO looking forward to hearing from you all.

-thamockingjayandpeeta

THE FALL OF THE CAPITOL

Rated M for smut

Effie made her way to Haymitch's softly lit room, not even bothering to knock. She slipped in and immediately leaned back against the door as she shut it.

He stared at her for a moment, taking in the silk red dress she wore to the Victory Dinner that worked wonders for her body. Effie had always been a petite little thing, but she certainly had curves in all the right places, and that dress showed off every single one. It was a complicated little number with a corset back and a sweetheart neckline in the front. There was a high slit up the middle that was way too daring for Haymitch's liking.

"Forget where your room is on the train?" he asked, because he hadn't had enough to drink, and he didn't like where his thoughts were leading him.

She didn't answer. Instead she took a shaky breath and slowly let it out.

"What's wrong with you?"

Still no answer. She just kept leaning against the door, this time closing her eyes.

"Isn't it fucking rude to ignore a question?"

When even his bad language failed to get a rise out of her, he finally walked up to her, concerned.

"Effie, what it is it?"

Maybe it was the use of her real name, which he hardly ever used. Or maybe it was how softly he asked the question. Whatever the reason Effie finally looked up at him.

"We have two Victors," she said softly.

Haymitch scowled, annoyed that that was all that was wrong. She damn near scared him half to death for that? "Well nothing ever gets passed you," said Haymitch sarcastically.

He backed away and started undoing his tie.

When he'd been struggling for a few moments Effie took pity on him and walked up to him, moving his hands away, not at all with her usual impatience.

"This will probably be the last time I see you," said Effie, barely moving her lips, and Haymitch arched an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll probably get moved to another District, and you'll probably be fired."

Haymitch stilled as they locked eyes. "Still pining for that promotion?" he asked coldly.

"It's what I'd do," continued Effie as if Haymitch hadn't spoken. "If I were him. I'd immediately split us all up."

She took his tie off and let it flutter to the floor, finally meeting his gray eyes.

They were void of any emotion whatsoever.

"Trinket, what the fuck are you talking about?"

His eyes may have been guarded, but he couldn't quite hide the panic in his voice.

"I believe, Mr. Abernathy, you owe me a dance," she said casually, and she stepped away from him and walked over to his bedside table, turning on the radio.

When she turned back around to him his mouth was hanging open.

Effie smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. It wasn't until she dug her nails into his neck that he wrapped his arms around her, and together they started dancing around his room.

Thank God an Avox had cleaned up after him, otherwise it'd be impossible.

"Do you honestly think I'm as stupid as I look?" Effie said carefully in his ear, and Haymitch stiffened, but didn't respond. "I'm talking about the berries, and what it means."

Haymitch jerked violently and pushed her back, looking into her eyes. Gray searched blue, and she watched as his eyes widened in surprise, and then quickly turned to anger.

He pushed her against the wall none too gently, his countenance dark. She gasped. "Are you fucking stupid?"

"No. And I think that's the problem."

"You have no business—"

"Oh, yes I do," she said icily.

"You're fucking Capitol, got damn it."

"So is Plutarch. And Cinna and Portia. But you embraced them with open arms."

"That's different," he snapped out angrily.

She jutted out her chin. "Why?"

"Because."

She let out a hot breath. "Complete sentences, Haymitch."

"Because it's you!" spat out Haymitch rather loudly, and she shushed him, glancing at the radio. "Fuck it to hell." He backed away from her, punching the wall in frustration. "You can't. You absolutely cannot. I won't allow it."

Effie stood tall, scowling. "You can't stop me," she told him.

He looked at her, approaching her again. "Wanna bet?"

He could be downright scary when he wanted. It was no wonder how he won his Games. Still, she didn't back down from him, and his eyes narrowed at her when she stood her ground.

She reached out and grabbed his hand, looking at his knuckle. "You should get some ice on that," she told him softly.

"Don't try and change the subject."

She ignored him and walked over to his bar where she grabbed some ice, put it in a napkin, and bought it over to him.

He threw it on the ground.

"Will you stop being so dramatic?" she scolded.

"How did you even—" He stopped himself as it hit him. "Cinna."

"Don't be mad, Haymitch," she said quietly, gently reaching out to touch him. "I thought you'd be happy."

"Why the fuck would you think that?"

"Because maybe then you wouldn't have to fight so hard against how you feel," murmured Effie.

She refused to blush, and forced herself to keep her eyes locked with his.

"And how do you reckon I feel?" he asked with contempt.

"Don't," warned Effie. "We're passed the point of pretending. That's why I came in here tonight: to be honest with you. You could show me the same courtesy."

He just scowled at her.

"We've been dancing this dance for quite some time now, Haymitch," she told him softly.

He looked away then, as the anger started deflating back to panic.

She was right. It'd been at least ten years, give or take a few years, that they'd been sharing longer touches, glances that turned to blushes, frowns that turned to smiles. For ten years he hadn't minded her nagging him, or chastising him, and after a fight he actually found himself feeling bad. Ten years of apologies, and drunken truths, and late night train rides.

Ten years of blurred lines that had never officially been crossed.

They'd taken special care to ensure that they never really came close.

Got damn that night ten years ago, when he'd walked in on her crying and throwing up at the death of their Tributes.

The night he realized Effie Trinket wasn't just a Capitol mannequin but a bleeding human being.

He should have known then.

And there lied the true reason for his anger. The fact that he hadn't picked up on it. He knew Cinna for what he was the minute they met.

He wasn't even this blindsided when he found out Finnick O'dair, peacock extraordinaire, was apart of the team.

But Effie?

His heart lurched at the thought, because damn it to hell they had been dancing this dance for ten years.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed silent, lost in his thoughts, but after a few moments Effie walked back up to him, gently cupping his cheeks.

"They'll kill you if you don't play your cards right." And there it was. His underlying fear.

"I fooled you for this long."

"That's different. I saw what I wanted to see," he said, and she cringed, dropping her hands. He closed his eyes briefly, catching her hands and clutching them before they fell to her side. "I didn't mean that how it sounded, Princess."

"I understand you, Haymitch, more than you know and think. I know it's easier to see a Capitol bitch than to ponder the quiet disdain radiating from my very being."

"It's so much easier that way."

"I know," whispered Effie softly, and for the first time ever, they crossed the line.

When Effie's lips touched his, Haymitch's first reaction was to pull away, and he did, after several moments.

"We can't do this," Haymitch told her.

"I know," said Effie again, and then she was kissing him again.

He jerked away and she tilted her head at him.

"Effie, we can't. It's not allowed. It's dangerous. You're an Escort, and I'm the fucking Mentor, damn it."

She just stared at him for a few moments.

And then she lifted her hands to her hair. It took him a few minutes to understand what she was doing, and when he realized it, her wig was nearly off her head. He wanted to tell her to stop, that it wasn't proper—and that was her line, if any line ever was—but the words wouldn't form.

His breath caught in his throat when she shook her dark red hair curls loose.

Effie Trinket, a redhead.

That explained the bloody temper.

She dropped the wig at her feet, and he took it for what it was: the fall of the Capitol. She made her way passed him and to his en suite bathroom. She turned on his light and closed the door. She was gone for quite a few moments, enough time for Haymitch to fear the worst—that she'd come out of his bathroom naked, and how the fuck would he be able to deny her then?

He was, after all, nothing more than a man, as broken as he was.

And damn her for reminding him that he was.

But when the door opened, he'd have much rather have had her undressed than to be presented with the real Effie Trinket.

She was definitely naked, even if she was fully clothed.

The Capitol was gone.

Her face was completely bare, and fucking shit was she gorgeous. She looked younger without the gunk and powder, and somehow her sparkling blue eyes were more pronounced than ever. Her lips were full and pouty and luscious and he would have been better off if she'd just stripped down to nothing instead of showing him this.

"Effie," and he fucking hated the plea in his voice.

She wasn't playing fair.

She walked up to him again, slowly, so slowly, almost in slow motion, and he should have run, he could have outrun her, damn it, but he was frozen in place.

And then her lips were but millimeters away from his. "Your Escort is gone," she breathed, and this time when she kissed him he wasn't able to pull himself away.

His hands found their way down the small of her back and he nearly groaned when she shivered at his touch. His hands acted on their own accord and started fiddling with the strings on her back.

"Tell me to stop," and the same plea was still present in his voice. "Please tell me to stop."

"Not a chance in hell," she said against his lips, and then her hands were on his chest, and then her nimble fingers were unbuttoning his shirt.

With the greatest effort he possessed he grabbed her hands. "Walk away, Trinket." His voice was dark and serious, but also husky, and it'd been years since he'd heard himself use that voice.

"Not a chance in hell," she repeated.

He had no fight left. None.

He was undone.

He mashed his lips to hers and she moaned, and it was honestly the most thrilling sound he'd ever heard, and he'd do anything, anything to hear her make that same sound again.

He heard himself growl when she slid her tongue into his mouth, and he happily granted her access, his heart pounding faster once their teeth scraped and she bit his lower lip.

She was going to kill him.

His hands tried to make quick work of the back of her dress, but he couldn't untie her corset. He grew increasingly frustrated until he thought fuck it, and reached behind him to grab his knife. He broke away from her, not trusting himself to do this without looking, and turned her around.

Haymitch took a calming breath, forcing himself to breathe, because his hands were shaking with desire, and he needed to be careful, because the truth is he sharpened his knife every bloody day, and one wrong move and he'd hurt her.

Not hurt her like he wanted to do by sinking his teeth into her flesh or biting her or digging his nails into her skin, but hurting, hurting her, like sleeping with her tonight would probably inevitably end up doing to her.

The dress slithered down her small frame, and any thoughts of hurting her were forgotten. He dropped his knife—he wouldn't need it tonight—and picked her up, dropping her onto her vanity, kicking her dress from around his feet as he did so.

It landed off in a corner somewhere, near her wig.

The Capitol had fallen, and he was left with Effie, just Effie.

She undid his belt and he watched, transfixed, as prim and proper Effie Trinket pulled his pants down with no embarrassment present on her pretty, porcelain face.

Guess this Effie wasn't always prim and proper.

He would have been amused if he weren't so bloody turned on when she slithered her hands underneath his shirt and tore it open, buttons flying everywhere.

"Cinna's gonna kill you for that," were the first words he muttered that were coherent.

"I know how to deal with him," she responded, and then her lips were on his chest, and then down, down, down, and—

He lost himself when she wrapped her lips around him, his hips thrusting forward on their own accord.

He couldn't wrap his mind around the noises he was making, but what he did know is if she kept that up, he'd be done for, so with surprising gentleness he pulled her hair.

"Princess you're going to kill me," he told her, his voice strained.

And that seemed to undo everything.

"Don't," she hissed, her eyes immediately welling with tears. "Don't talk like that, Haymitch. There are already so many whispers…."

And suddenly he understood it all: the dance they shared at the Victory Ball, the way she came into his room, slightly undone.

And this. This was what she really thought was their goodbye.

"Maybe we shouldn't…." His voice trailed off as he looked at her. "You seem… fragile right now."

She stepped closer to him, her nails digging into his hips. "You've never much cared for my feelings before," she said coolly. "Please don't start now."

That hurt more than he cared to admit, but he didn't get a chance to rebuttal because her lips were on his again and this time there was certainly no stopping it. Her mouth found its way to a particular spot on his neck he never knew existed, but oh how he favored it.

It made him literally lose control when she bit his shoulder blade, and with strength he didn't know he possessed he picked Effie up and dropped her on the bed, lowering himself so that he was squatting.

His lips were fire as his tongue lapped at her, biting along her inner thigh. The most beautiful plea came out of Effie's mouth after a while, and Haymitch knew what was about to happen moments before it happened.

She came undone in his mouth, her hands gripping a fistful of his hair, and it did nothing more but fuel the fire.

She pulled his hair, not at all gently like he'd done, and he growled at the welcomed pain.

"Stop teasing," she mumbled as she pulled him up, and she immediately slid her legs around him.

"Well someone's certainly impatient," smirked Haymitch, and the smile she gave him made his heart do something stupid, like flutter around in his chest and land somewhere safely in his stomach.

Shit. He hadn't had a heart in nineteen years.

When he entered her he plainly saw stars. Lots of them.

He was in heaven.

He had to be, because nothing on earth had ever felt this good before. Nothing at all. Not in a million years. Never ever.

And even though he wanted nothing more than to pound into her, so hard that the bed would break, he stayed still, because of the sharp in take of her breath, and the way her nails dug painfully into his back.

It worried him that he didn't want to hurt her, even though by default, this act in itself would bruise her like nothing else.

There could be no happy endings.

Would be no happy endings.

"Stop it," she scolded him, and he wondered when she'd been able to see right through him.

Seriously, when the fuck did that happen?

He stared at her for several moments, understanding he was going sentimental in his old age, and she seemed to understand it, because her features hardened.

"No," said Effie darkly. "Not now. Not ever. When it's all over, maybe. When the Uprisings have stopped. When you pull off whatever you pull off. Feel it then. Right now…? Right now it's goodbye, okay?"

It wasn't lost on him that he should be saying these words to her but damn it to hell she started moving her hips against him and he was lost again.

He was not kind and gentle.

He couldn't be, because despite what she said, being kind and gentle would break her more than the heat, and the pain, and the carelessness of the way he was about to do her.

Because truth is he saw her too.

She clutched him tightly as he pummeled into her, again and again and again, and again, and something about the way she said his name had him forgetting everything but hers.

So when she moaned out 'Haymitch,' her breath hot on his ear, he groaned out 'Effie,' his stubble tickling her neck and cheek, and when that orgasm clawed its way out of her, he forgot his own name as he spilled himself into her, gasping for breath as her hips took in every drop.

Afterwards, lying side by said, Effie said, "Not bad for an old drunk," and he could hear the smirk on her lips.

He knew he shouldn't, but somehow his finger found its way to her cheek. "Not bad for a Capitol bitch," responded Haymitch, and even he couldn't deny the fondness in his voice.

She smiled at him and his thumb traced her lips, his gray eyes locking with hers.

"You're fucking beautiful," he mumbled. "Never needed all that cake."

"It's the way things are in the Capitol," said Effie, sitting up.

"Yah," he sighed.

She turned to him, playing in her hair. "It's quite funny how easily the mask comes off, though, isn't it? When the right person is doing it."

That was awfully cryptic, so he just blinked at her.

She stood up, rummaging around for his shirt. Upon finding it she buttoned up the few buttons that were left and made her way over to the bar, pouring them both a drink.

She handed him a glass of wine and said lowly, "I hope you get to see me like this again." She raised her glass. "To the Capitol falling, be it all at once, or one by one."

He raised his glass to hers and then drank, his eyes landing on her stupid dress and that ugly damned wig.

Her mask had fallen.

The Capitol would be next.