thewriterisme1987

[thewriterisme1987]

A Very Hayffie Story. Part 5.

Warning, mature content, nothing explicit but theres lots of kissing!

The house was quiet, save for the occasional groan of wood shifting in the wind and the distant howl of the storm outside. 

Haymitch sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. The dream still clung to him like smoke, its vividness leaving him shaken. He felt restless, his skin prickling with the kind of energy he couldn’t shake. A drink crossed his mind, but instead, he settled on water—something to cool him down and, maybe, clear his head.

Padding down the hallway barefoot, he made his way to the kitchen. The faint glow of embers from the living room fireplace flickered through the darkness, enough to keep him from tripping over the uneven floorboards. As he reached the doorway to the kitchen, he froze.

Effie was already there.

She stood by the sink, the soft light from the fire casting her in a warm glow. She’d pulled his shirt on over her bare skin, and it hung loosely on her small frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh. The top two buttons were undone, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone, and her hair was down, slightly mussed from sleep. She was holding a glass of water, staring out of the small window into the storm, her profile delicate and striking.

For a moment, Haymitch considered turning back. But then the floorboard creaked beneath his foot.

Effie startled, turning sharply. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered against the floor, water spraying across the room. Before she could step back, his hands were on her arms, steadying her and shifting her away from the broken glass. 

“Careful,” he muttered, his voice low, rough from sleep.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide in the dim light. Her hands had flown instinctively to his chest when he’d grabbed her, and now they rested there, her fingers splayed across the fabric of his worn shirt. He could feel the warmth of her touch seeping through, her breath brushing his neck as they stood frozen in place.

“Haymitch,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He should’ve let go. He knew he should. But he didn’t. His hands stayed where they were, his fingers tightening slightly against her arms as his gaze dropped to her lips. He didn’t know if it was the remnants of the dream still lingering in his mind or the way she looked at him now—wide-eyed and breathless—but something snapped inside him.

“Effie,” he said, her name like a growl in his throat.

Before she could respond, he kissed her. Hard. Desperate.

Effie gasped against his mouth, her body stiffening in surprise, but only for a moment. Then she melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back with equal fervour. Her lips were soft, but the way she kissed him was anything but. It was raw, urgent, like years of unspoken tension had finally erupted into this single, blistering moment.

His hands slid from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer as he pressed her against the counter. She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan against her lips. The sound seemed to spur her on, and she nipped at his bottom lip, her teeth sending a sharp jolt of heat through him.

“Effie,” he rasped, his mouth moving to her jaw, her neck, tasting the warmth of her skin. She tilted her head back, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he pressed kisses along the delicate line of her throat.

Her hands fumbled at his shirt, pushing it open, her fingers running over the bare skin of his chest. It wasn’t a gentle touch—it was hungry, almost frantic, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He gripped the hem of her borrowed shirt, tugging it up slightly, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her thighs.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room, mingling with the distant crackle of the fire in the living room.

“Haymitch,” she gasped, her voice low and breathless. Her hands slid down to his waistband, and he groaned again, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought for control.

But there was no control left.

In a flurry of movement, they stumbled out of the kitchen, their hands roaming, pulling, desperate. They crashed into the wall once, Effie laughing breathlessly against his mouth before pulling him back in. By the time they reached the living room, the shirt she’d borrowed was barely clinging to her shoulders, and his was hanging open, his chest bare as they collapsed onto the rug in front of the fire.

The heat from the flames was nothing compared to the fire between them. Effie’s hands were everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, his hair—and Haymitch couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t touch her enough, couldn’t kiss her enough.

He pulled back for a moment, just to look at her. Her hair was splayed across the rug, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared up at him. Her eyes were dark, filled with something he hadn’t seen before—something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“What?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He shook his head, his thumb brushing across her cheek. “You’re... I don’t know how to describe it.”

Effie’s lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile, and she reached up, pulling him back down to her. Their mouths met again, slow at first, but it quickly grew deeper, hotter, more consuming. Her nails dug into his back, and his hands slid under the shirt, pulling it off her shoulders, his touch reverent and desperate all at once.

And then, just as they were teetering on the edge of something they couldn’t take back, Haymitch stopped. His breath was ragged as he looked down at her, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on her bare skin.

“Effie,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Are you sure about this?”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing across his stubble. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with that, the last of his resolve shattered, and he kissed her again, the fire crackling beside them as the storm raged outside.

[thewriterisme1987]

A very Hayffie story. Part 4.

— —

By the time the fire had dwindled to glowing embers and the storm showed no signs of letting up, Haymitch finally said what they were both thinking.

“You’re definitely not walking back to the Inn in this mess,” he said, glancing toward the window, where snow had piled high against the glass. “You’ll freeze before you even make it out the garden.”

Effie, perched cross-legged on the sofa with her mug balanced delicately between her hands, sighed but didn’t argue. She was clearly too tired, and even she couldn’t deny the storm was merciless. “But all my things are there,” she said after a moment. “Clothes, toiletries—everything.”

Haymitch shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to make do”

Effie arched a brow but said nothing. Instead, she set her mug down and stood, smoothing invisible creases in her trousers. “Fine,” she said. “But I’ll need something to sleep in, unless you expect me to wear this all night.”

Haymitch tried not to react too much to that—tried not to think about what she meant by this—but his mouth still felt dry as he grunted, “I’ll grab you something.”

He disappeared into his bedroom, cursing under his breath the entire time. What the hell was he doing, offering Effie Trinket a place to sleep? And why, of all things, had she agreed? This whole thing was edging into dangerous territory, and he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to stop it.

He rummaged through his wardrobe until he found a clean shirt—an old, soft button-down that had seen better days but was still good enough for sleeping. When he returned to the living room, Effie was standing by the fire, the glow casting warm shadows across her face. She looked up as he entered, and for a brief second, he was struck by how out of place she seemed here—elegant, composed, and completely at odds with his threadbare furniture and the cracks in the walls. And yet, somehow, she fit.

“Here,” he said gruffly, holding the shirt out to her. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

Effie took it, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. “Thank you,” she said softly, the warmth in her voice catching him off guard.

He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely toward the hall. “My rooms all ready for you. I’ll crash in one of the spare rooms.”

Effie opened her mouth to protest but stopped, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. Whatever argument she’d been about to make dissolved, and she simply nodded. “Goodnight, then,” she said, clutching the shirt to her chest as she disappeared down the hall.

Haymitch stood there for a moment, staring after her before shaking his head and retreating to one of the unused bedrooms. The room was cold and smelled faintly of dust, but he didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, threw a blanket over himself, and tried to forget the image of Effie holding his shirt like it was something precious.

But forgetting her, it turned out, was impossible.

The dream crept into his mind like a thief in the night. He was back in his house, the storm still howling outside, the fire glowing faintly in the hearth. But this time, the shadows seemed warmer, heavier. And then she was there, standing in the doorway of the spare room.

Effie.

She wore his shirt, and nothing else. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs, the fabric hanging loose and soft around her frame. Her hair, which she always kept so carefully styled, was down and slightly mussed, framing her face in waves of gold. She looked at him with an expression that made his chest tighten—a mix of vulnerability and determination, as though she was daring herself to be here.

“Haymitch,” she said softly, her voice like silk.

He sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. “Effie, what’re you—”

She crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, her bare feet silent against the floor. When she reached the bed, she stopped, her gaze locked with his.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were steady, holding his like they’d always meant to. “And I didn’t want to be alone.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at her, at the way the firelight danced across her skin, at the way his shirt clung to her curves in all the wrong places. She was beautiful—breathtaking, even—and in that moment, Haymitch knew he was completely undone.

Effie leaned down, her hands resting on the edge of the bed. She was so close now, her scent—soft and warm, like lavender and something faintly sweet—filling his senses. “Haymitch,” she whispered again, her lips hovering just inches from his.

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Effie, I—”

“Shh,” she said, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You talk too much.”

And then she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in the barest, softest of touches. It wasn’t a kiss—not really—but it was enough to steal the air from his lungs, enough to leave him dizzy and aching for more.

He reached up, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she tilted her head slightly, her mouth so close he could feel the heat of her breath against his.

And then he woke.

The dream shattered like glass, and Haymitch sat up with a jolt, his chest heaving as he struggled to orient himself. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the fire in the next room, and the storm still raged outside.

For a moment, he sat there, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them over his face. It had felt so real—her touch, her voice, the way she’d looked at him. He could still feel the ghost of her breath against his lips, the warmth of her skin under his fingers.

Shaking his head, he threw the blanket off and stood, pacing the room in a futile attempt to calm himself. But the dream refused to leave him, the image of Effie burned into his mind like a brand.

And somewhere, down the hall, she slept in his bed, wearing his shirt.

The end of Part 4.

I promise part 5 will get a little steamier… 🤭

[thewriterisme1987]

A very Hayffie story. Part 3

— —

Another snowstorm rolled in as expected, thick flakes cascading from the grey sky and blanketing District 12 in icy silence. By mid-afternoon, the wind howled through the streets, rattling shutters and burying the newly rebuilt town under a heavier layer of snow than before. Haymitch had been splitting logs in the back garden when the first gusts hit. By the time he hauled an armful of wood back to the porch, his face and hands were numb, and the storm was in full force.

Effie stood at the window when he came in, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched the swirling snow outside. She turned at the sound of the door slamming shut, her eyes darting to the stack of firewood in his arms.

“Well, that was bracing,” Haymitch muttered, stomping the snow off his boots. “Looks like you are stuck here for the night, sweetheart. Hope you weren’t planning on skipping back to the Inn in those.” He nodded towards her heeled boots

Effie quirked a brow. “Hardly. I do have some sense, you know. Was going to borrow a pair of… whatever you call those monstrosities”

The both looked at his crumbling snow boots.

“Is this not fashion?” He quirked. She rolled her eyes in reply. “Good, looks like you are my guest for the evening.” He dumped the logs near the fireplace. “The roads’ll be shut till morning. I’ll ah, make up my room with some fresh bedding. The spares will be a little too cold for you. I’ll take one of those”

Effie smiled graciously when suddenly the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out entirely, plunging the house into darkness. She gasped softly.

Haymitch sighed, reaching for the matches on the mantel. “Figures. The power lines around here go down if you so much as sneeze.”

Within moments, the room was bathed in the flickering glow of firelight as he coaxed the flames to life. Effie stepped closer, her hands held out to the warmth, her features softer in the amber light. She looked different like this—more natural, less guarded. For a moment, Haymitch let himself watch her, the way the firelight caught the curve of her cheek, the slight smile that tugged at her lips despite the cold and the dark.

“Do you do this often?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Do what?”

“Play the rugged, self-sufficient woodsman.”

He snorted, tossing another log onto the fire. “Someone’s got to keep the place running.”

Effie shook her head, smiling faintly. “I have to admit, you’re rather good at it.”

Haymitch glanced up at her, surprised. “High praise, coming from you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t reply, instead lowering herself onto the worn sofa in front of the fire. He joined her a moment later, sinking into the cushions with a tired groan. For a while, they sat in silence, the storm raging outside as the fire crackled between them.

Then, Effie turned to him. “Do you have any tea?”

“Tea?” he repeated, arching a brow.

“Yes, tea,” she said patiently. “Something to warm us up.”

Haymitch pushed himself up with a grunt. “I think there’s some old stuff in the cupboard. No promises on quality.”

When he returned with two steaming mugs, she was curled into the corner of the sofa, her feet tucked beneath her. She accepted the mug with a soft “thank you,” and he settled back beside her, closer this time. The space between them felt smaller than it had any right to.

“This is awful,” she said after a sip, wrinkling her nose.

“Welcome to District 12,” he replied dryly, smirking over the rim of his own mug. “Don’t like it, you’re free to freeze.”

Effie laughed, the sound low and warm, and Haymitch couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He realised, not for the first time, how much he’d missed her laugh. How much he’d missed her.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, setting her mug on the table.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

She turned to look at him, and the teasing light in her eyes softened. The air seemed to shift between them, charged with something neither of them spoke aloud. The fire crackled, the only sound in the room besides the distant howl of the storm. Haymitch’s heart thudded in his chest, slow and heavy.

“You know,” Effie said softly, “I was wrong earlier.”

“About what?”

“You haven’t just changed,” she said, her gaze searching his. “You’ve… softened.”

Haymitch swallowed, the words settling deep in his chest. “Don’t let that get out,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

She smiled, but her eyes didn’t leave his. The distance between them felt like it had all but disappeared. He could see the faint freckles on her nose, the way the firelight danced in her irises. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, pounding like a drum in the quiet.

“Effie,” he began, his voice rough. He didn’t know what he was going to say, only that he needed to say something. But she leaned forward slightly, her hand brushing against his on the sofa. The touch was light, hesitant, but it set every nerve in his body alight.

Her gaze flickered to his mouth, and for a moment, he thought she was going to close the distance entirely. He could feel her breath, warm against his skin, and he found himself leaning in, just enough to test the waters. His fingers brushed against hers, lingering, and she didn’t pull away.

Then, all at once, she shifted back, breaking the spell. She reached for her mug, her movements quick and deliberate, as though she hadn’t just come within inches of kissing him.

“I suppose it’s good we have this tea, after all,” she said lightly, though her voice wavered ever so slightly.

Haymitch leaned back, exhaling slowly as he tried to calm the storm raging inside him. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Real lifesaver.”

But as Effie sipped her tea, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flickering to the fire, Haymitch couldn’t help but notice the small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. It was enough to keep his own hopes burning, just like the fire between them.

End of Part 3.

*Authors Note*

Hello new friends. If you have gotten past chapter 3, you must like my story? Feel free to offer any feedback. I’m alway gracious. I’m a new writer here but Hayffie is my Jam. More parts to follow, and even more new Hayffie stories. Will follow for a follow, let’s keep the community alive! Xoxo

[thewriterisme1987]

A very Hayffie story. Part 2

— —

The storm had been bad the first few nights and of course, the trains had all been cancelled.

Effie had found it quite comfortable at the inn, returning each night to its very vibrant host, Algarve, who always wondered about her day.

“Oh, you know, work work work!” Effie would always sing back before retiring to her room for the night and thinking about anything but work. She was distracted, hideously so, and she knew this would happen. Maybe it’s why she came back after all.

It also unnerved Haymitch at first—how easily Effie seemed to settled back in to life in 12. He’d grown used to being left behind, to people brushing against his life briefly before vanishing again. But Effie stayed longer than just a couple of days, and he was enjoying it. He grew suspicious to the lack of her own ‘work’ she was actually doing, but that intrigued him more, maybe her work was done and she was just staying… for him.

One evening, as the last light of day painted the horizon in a cool dark pink, a gentle snow fall started up again. Haymitch found Effie crouched in his garden. She was inspecting the wild flowers that had taken root alongside his long forgotten flower bed, her fingers brushing the snow lightly from the petals. She wasn’t dressed for gardening, of course, nor for not snow for that matter, Effie Trinket might have simplified her wardrobe since the war, but she was still Effie. She’d traded in her Capitol couture for tailored jackets and silk scarves, but she still looked entirely out of place among the frost and wet weeds.

“What’re you doing?” he asked from the porch, startling her slightly.

She straightened, brushing her hands off on her dress, though there wasn’t a speck of dirt on her. “Your garden, what an absolute mess, Haymitch. The cold has killed everything decent. These weeds are a nightmare, they’re wild.”

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Yeah, well, I don’t mind wild that much.”

Effie sighed, shaking her head in that familiar way she always used to when dealing with him. She yanked at another weed, but it was rooted deep and wouldn’t budge “Honestly. Even your plants are stubborn.”

“Must’ve learned it from me.”

She crossed the garden to stand before him, her arms folded in mock exasperation. “Don’t you ever think of putting in the effort to make things… orderly? You could have a proper vegetable patch, by summer, maybe even some roses. It would be beautiful.”

Haymitch looked past her at the tangle of greenery and white. “Nah,” he said after a pause. “I like it like this. It’s not perfect, but it’s somewhat alive. That’s enough for me.”

Effie tilted her head, studying him in a way that made him uncomfortable. She did that a lot now, as if she were trying to unravel some secret about him he didn’t even know himself. He shifted under her gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

“What?” he asked gruffly.

She smiled faintly. “You’ve changed.”

“Not that much.”

“Yes, you have,” she said softly. “You’re… kinder now.”

The words hit him harder than they should have. He didn’t know how to respond, so he shrugged, grumbling, “Maybe you’re just seeing things.”

She laughed, a sound so warm and rare it made something tighten in his chest. She stepped closer, her scarf fluttering slightly in the frosty breeze, and suddenly, she was standing too close. He could see the faint lines around her eyes now, the ones that hadn’t been there before the war. But they didn’t diminish her. If anything, they made her more real, more Effie.

He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the sudden tension. “You’re one to talk about changing. What happened to the woman who used to yell at me for drinking too much?”

“She’s still here,” Effie said, her voice quiet. “She just knows you’re not the same man you were then.”

Her words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Haymitch didn’t know what to do with them. He wanted to retreat, crack a joke, anything to break the moment. But he didn’t. Instead, he held her gaze, the air between them crackling with something he hadn’t felt in years.

Effie’s expression softened, and she took another small step closer, as if testing the distance between them. Her fingers brushed against his arm, hesitant but deliberate, and Haymitch swore he forgot how to breathe.

“We should… go inside,” he muttered, his voice rough. “It’s getting colder”

But he didn’t move. Neither did she.

“Haymitch,” she whispered, and there was something in the way she said his name that made his resolve falter entirely. He tilted his head down, and she tilted hers up, and for one impossible moment, he thought he might actually kiss her.

Then the wind shifted, and a loose shutter on the house banged loudly, snapping them both back to reality. Effie startled slightly, pulling her hand away, and Haymitch stepped back, clearing his throat.

“Looks like I might have a repair to make,” he said gruffly, pointing to the offending shutter.

“Yes,” Effie said quickly, her cheeks flushed. “You should fix that before the snow gets worse again. Definitely.”

The moment was gone, but as Effie turned and headed into the house, Haymitch caught the smallest smile on her lips. Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t gone entirely.

The end of Part 2

[thewriterisme1987]

A very Hayffie story. Part 1

——

Haymitch Abernathy never expected to see Effie Trinket again. After the war, after all they’d lost, he’d figured Effie would return to the Capitol’s glittering embrace, leaving District 12 and its scars far behind. He wouldn’t have blamed her—Effie had always belonged to a world of order, polish, and poise, not the rubble-strewn chaos that was his home. But here she was, standing at the edge of his overgrown garden, her bright blonde wig replaced by her natural hair, now soft and streaked with grey.

Five years had passed since the war ended. Haymitch had spent most of it rebuilding—not just District 12, but himself. He’d finally stopped drinking (mostly), and while his house still creaked with loneliness, he’d become a quiet constant in the district. He helped plant crops, repair homes, and occasionally mentor lost souls who couldn’t shake the horrors of what they’d seen. Effie, though, had disappeared into the Capitol. He’d heard whispers of her working with a cultural restoration programme, trying to preserve art and history after the chaos Snow had left behind. He figured that suited her.

“Effie,” he said, the word foreign on his tongue.

Her lips curved into a nervous smile. “Hello, Haymitch.” Her voice was softer than he remembered, no trace of the clipped formality she used to wield like a weapon. “I wasn’t sure you’d be… well, home.”

“I live here, don’t I?” He gestured to the house behind him, though it was clear Effie had already noticed its peeling paint and ramshackle porch. “What brings you to this side of Panem?”

Effie hesitated, fidgeting with the belt of her fitted winter coat. It was of course still designer but a far cry from the extravagant outfits she used to parade. “I’m working on a project for the districts. Restoring lost traditions. I… I wanted to see Twelve again. To see what’s left. To see you.”

Haymitch blinked, caught off guard by her honesty. “Well, you’ve seen me,” he said gruffly, then softened when her expression fell. “Want to come inside? I’ve got bread… though you might want to avoid the butter. It’s a bit questionable.”

Her laugh startled them both, light and warm in the quiet afternoon. “Bread sounds lovely, questionable butter and all.”

Inside, Haymitch watched her take in the house. Effie Trinket, always so perfect, now sitting in his mismatched kitchen, sipping tea from an old tin mug. She told him about the Capitol—how hollow it had felt in the years after the war, how she’d tried to find meaning in rebuilding a city she no longer recognised. She confessed she’d been scared to return to District 12, scared of what it would stir up.

“And yet, here you are,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Still full of surprises.”

Effie met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t quite name. “I suppose I missed the one thing that never belonged to the Capitol.”

His throat tightened. “Effie…”

“I missed you, Haymitch.”

The words hung between them, fragile and brave. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her too—her nagging, her sharp wit, the way she’d always managed to coax the best out of him when he was at his worst.

“You picked a hell of a time to tell me,” he muttered, but there was no anger in his voice.

She smiled faintly. “Well, I figured five years was long enough to wait.”

Haymitch stepped closer, the barriers he’d built around himself beginning to crumble. “You staying long, Trinket?”

“A few days, perhaps more…” she replied

“You know there’s a storm due tonight” He warned. Noticing her thin designer winter coat and heeled boots “Heavy snow…”

“Then we best catch up quick” she smirked “My things are at the Inn, I’ll head back in an hour or two”

“An hour or two huh?” Haymitch chuckled “Could get snowed in in that time… you could end up staying the night with me”

Effie blinked at his brashness. Ever the flirt, but nothing had changed. Nothing had ever happened and probably never would.

“Well, wouldn’t that be something” she smiled, wandering past him towards his living room.

He caught her scent as she passed. Lavender and jasmine oil, it almost made his mouth water.

He prayed the storm would roll in quick. A couple of hours was not going to cut it.

End of Part 1