Prompt : I've already read a lot of Hayffie fics, in some of them, Effie always loved Haymitch, since she was a child and watched his Quarter Quell. In others, they first hate each other and then start to have hate sex just to blow off some steam. And most people tend to write about the moment when Haymitch realized that he was in love with Effie, but I wish you'd write one, if it's possible, about the time she realized that she was hopelessly in love with him. Thanks, I love your stories!

Love Is For Children

Love was for children and brainless girls who had no ambition.

Or at least, that was what her mother had drilled into her head since she had been old enough to understand.

Love ruined you, slowed you down, made you weak.

Love was a burden.

Effie had stood by that lesson most of her life. She had flirted, seduced and left more than one broken heart in her wake. She had made grown men cry. They were her toys, her puppets…

It was easy, oh so easy…

Haymitch had been a challenge. He had repulsed her at first, she had resented him, loathed him even. And then they had fallen together – in bed and in despair, the two were linked when they were concerned – but she had remained detached, adding him to her list of lovers and moving on. Except he wasn't so easily swayed. Unlike her other suitors, he didn't pursue her, he left that to her. When he wanted her, he took her – he always paused long enough to make sure she was alright with it which, embarrassingly, usually lasted only a second because she was always eager; but he didn't lose any time in courting. If she wanted him, he made her beg for it, teased her mercilessly, forced her to take it almost by force.

Effie wasn't in control.

And she hated it.

She tried to stop it, to end things, she even told him they would never have sex again. It made him smirk. One touch was all it took. His fingers trailing down her wrist and she was tearing at his clothes. It was too late.

She had fallen in lust.

It only occurred to her late one night, as she laid on her stomach, waiting for Haymitch to finish rubbing the balm on the small of her back – because she had accidentally bumped into the dresser earlier on their way to the bed and she had realized only when they were done that it actually hurt and that the spot was too hard to reach on her own – that love and lust might not be so different after all. How would she know the difference when she had never loved anyone?

Love was for children and brainless girls who had no ambition…

She wasn't a child and she didn't lack ambition, but Haymitch loved to repeat she was brainless. And perhaps, she was.

They were always rough, always wild… They bit more than they kissed, they squeezed more than they caressed… Sometimes a single look was enough for him to pin her to the wall. Sometimes the temptation of sliding her hand down his pants was too strong and even the risk of being caught wasn't enough to stop her.

That was lust.

"It's a nasty bruise, sweetheart."

She could hear the frown in his voice, the guilt. It wasn't his fault, though, she hadn't been paying attention.

"The salve will make it disappear." she hummed. "In an hour I will be as good as new."

"Still." he grumbled. "Nasty. We'll be more careful next time, yeah?"

Maybe that was love, she mused. The desire to completely abandon herself to his hands, the wish he would cradle her close and never let go…

Maybe when she had fallen in lust, she had also fallen in love.

The idea was frightening so she closed her eyes and pretended she didn't feel that way, she pretended it was still easy, she pretended she was in control…

She was very good at lying at herself.