Prompt: Hi ! I love your stories about Hayffie.I'd like to give you a prompt ? So here it is: in your stories, you always pretend that Effie and Haymitch had sex during the games and they had a complicated relationship. I always thought they didn't. And I was thinking: what about a post-mockingjay story, where Effie lives with Haymitch. They start to have a relationship, but when they try to have their first time ever, Effie can't because.. prison. And Haymitch tries to make her confident again ? xx

Of Shellfish, Rum Babas and Lemon Cupcakes

Effie barely paid attention to what the merchant was telling her about the silk she had just bought. She paid the required amount of money, keeping her eyes three stalls down where Haymitch was flirting – there was no other words for it – with the pretty redhead selling seafood. She came from Four on every market day with fresh goods and on every market day she convinced Haymitch to buy her some whelk or oysters even though neither he nor Effie were big on shellfish.

Well, pretty… The woman wasn't that pretty. She had big brown eyes, a tiny nose, thin lips… However, Effie mused, touching her own blond hair dejectedly only to check it was still encased in its fancy bun, Haymitch had a thing for redheads.

It was her fault, she supposed, she was the one who had dragged him kicking and screaming to the market the first time, a few months earlier, threatening to forget his liquor or dispose of what was left of it in the house if he didn't come and help her do the grocery shopping. It was only fair, after all, she was the guest in his house. Unwanted guest, he had muttered under his breath at the time, and that had been true, naturally, she had come to Twelve with her suitcases and an armful of problems, had set camp in Haymitch's guestroom and she was still there a year later. His gibes about her being unwanted had only been jokes at first – she had known him long enough that she could tell the difference – he had been concerned for her, eager to help with the nightmares and flashbacks and whatever space she felt she needed. Now, though… She wasn't so sure.

Perhaps, she thought, watching him say goodbye to the redhead with a genuine small smile, it was time for her to move on. She didn't think she could go back to the Capitol even if she wanted to. She had let too much time go by, everything had been different when she had left, she couldn't imagine what it would be like now. She had no family left aside for a sister who now hated her and next to no friends still alive. Twelve had her victors and thus Twelve won in her mind. Still, perhaps it was time to think about long term arrangements. Of course, she couldn't stay at Haymitch's forever, they weren't… They weren't anything. They were friends who lived together and who occasionally exchanged kisses in the dead of night when she sometimes crawled into his bed because she was terrified, kisses they never talked about in daylight, kisses that she could never tell if he regretted or not. There weren't a lot of women crawling into his bed, perhaps he simply couldn't help himself.

"We're done?" he asked, easily finding her in the crowd. He took her basket from her without her having to ask and added it to the bags he was already carrying. They went to the market once a week but it was usually enough to stock up until the next market day.

"Why don't you ask her out?" she blurted out in the middle of the street. She hadn't planned to broach the subject like that – or at all.

"Ask who where?" he frowned, nudging her on the path that would take them back home. He still wasn't fond of crowds. "Say, you want to stop at the bakery on the way? I could go for one of those rum things Peeta does."

"Rum baba." she supplied absentmindedly. "I suppose I wouldn't say no to a lemon cupcake."

"Bakery, it is, then." he shrugged.

It was good to see him that relaxed. The war and everything else was looming a respectable enough distance in the past that they had all started to be less on their guards. They were living their lives normally again, less afraid that everything would collapse from one day to the next. Somewhere along the line, they had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They walked the newly paved streets at a lazy pace, enjoying the stroll under the pale autumn sun. The bakery, as was now the norm, was packed and Peeta didn't have much time to chat. Content in the knowledge that he and Katniss would probably swing by later anyway, they left with their pastries. They ate them on the bench outside his porch – a bench she had insisted he washed and hd made sure it was safe to sit on because it had been all rusty and disgusting when she had first arrived – once they had put away the groceries. They led such a domestic life, she mused, nibbling on the yellow frosting, they might as well be married. And she had indulged in the fantasy for entirely too long…

"You really should ask her out, you know." she insisted, her eyes firmly set on the patch of cyclamens she and Peeta had planted in front the house to make it look less abandoned and more joyful. She was proud of the garden. She felt she had done a good job with it. She had done a good job with the house too, it was beyond recognition : it was clean, almost every room had been reorganized and redecorated, they had painted every wall inside and out with warmer colors… She had nested, she thought with a tinge of sadness, and she would miss it. "You've been flirting with her for a month now. She will be expecting you to ask her soon. I would advise flowers. And a clean shirt."

She could hear the bitterness in her own voice but could do nothing to curve it.

He froze, the last piece of the pastry halfway to his mouth. He finished it in one big bite and licked his fingers clean instead of using the provided paper napkin. Disgusting, she wrinkled her nose.

"What in Panem are you rambling about now?" he frowned. "I can't keep up with your deliriums, sweetheart."

"The shellfish vendor." she snapped. "There's no need to be coy. I saw the way you looked at her."

He lifted his eyebrows, an amused smirk on his lips. "Are you jealous, Trinket?"

"Certainly not." she huffed. "I'm just saying. No woman will wait forever. Ask her out."

She walked inside the house before he could answer. She wasn't interested in his answer anyway, she told herself, what he did and with whom was none of her business. She went straight to the study she had claimed as hers when it had become obvious Haymitch had never even put a foot in it, and started putting away the fabrics she had bought at the market. Designing and sewing her own clothes had been a hobby of hers lately, the haute-couture dresses too expensive for her to afford anymore. It was no matter, she was good at imitating the style and she found creating pretty things soothing.

"So, care to tell me why you're having a bitch fest?"

He nearly startled her out of her skin. He rarely followed her to the study, like she rarely followed him to the geese pen. It was their private spaces and they had a tacit agreement that those spaces should be respected, particularly when they were angry – to avoid killing each other.

She glanced at him but remained focused on folding the fabrics just right. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms across his chest. She was almost surprised he wasn't nursing a drink.

"I was thinking… Peeta is practically living with Katniss those days." she said, staring at the pieces of silk. "Do you think he would sell me his house?"

"What for?" he asked. "You want to rent it out? 'Not sure that will make good business."

Now that rebuilding in the District was mostly over, people who had sought refuge in the Victor Village had left again. The place remained haunted by the Games and people were eager to forget. Aside for the children and a few other family further down, closer to the entrance, the Village was mostly deserted. It suited Haymitch, he wasn't a fan of people.

"For me." she clarified.

The silence that resulted was deafening.

"You're not leaving." he scoffed at last.

"You've been telling me I am unwanted for a year now." she pointed out. She lacked more fabrics to put away so she squeezed past him and headed to the kitchen, feeling the need for a cup of her favorite tea.

"And you never listened before." he grumbled, hot on her heels. He grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around before she was even halfway to the kitchen. "What's this about, Effie?" He tentatively brushed his fingertips against her cheek, his fingers shaking lightly against her skin. The tremors were permanent now, a reminder of the forced withdrawal in Thirteen. "Look, the vendor… She knows Annie, she tells me about the kid. That's it."

"It is none of my business." she answered, looking down.

"No?" he snorted, tilting her chin up with his hand. "When you say a woman won't wait forever, you're talking about her or about you?"

She coiled her fingers around his wrist, wishing he would just put back some distance between them but unable to request it out loud. "Don't play games."

"I'm not." he growled. "Look, sweetheart, I'm not… I thought…" His face crumpled with obvious frustration. "Fuck it."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, his hand had slid to the back of her neck and his mouth crashed on hers. It wasn't their first kiss by any mean even though she could still count them on one hand, but she fell into it with an ease that confounded her. His other hand fell on her waist and tugged her closer. He deepened the kiss without pausing or checking that it was what she wanted. Although she supposed it was clear that it was what she wanted, the moan would have given it away. Before she understood what was happening, her fingers were tangled in his hair and she was kissing back almost aggressively. Soon, she was pinned to the corridor's wall, so hard the painting near her head rattled on its nail, and they were tearing at each other's clothes.

"Tell me you don't want her." she whispered while his mouth trailed down her throat, leaving burning kisses in its wake.

"I want you." he mumbled against her skin, working frantically on the row of tiny buttons keeping the corsage of her dress closed. She had sewed them herself, they were little nacre things that had been a pain to sew and were always a pain to do and undo. "Only you." He cupped her breast over her clothes, still fumbling with the buttons with his free hand.

"Rip them off." she snapped.

He lifted an eyebrow and glanced up at her with a smirk. "Impatient, are we?"

She should have kept her cool. He made it a point of teasing her to no end, carefully taking care of one button after another until she was panting of frustration and anticipation. When the dress finally pooled at her feet, leaving her in her blue bra and matching panties, she tensed. He had seen the scars before, most of them anyway, but she was still nervous about them. He acted as if he didn't even noticed them. He kissed her again, his left hand roaming on the back of her thigh, guiding it up so she would wrap her leg around his waist…

"Can we…" she asked, putting an end to the kiss. "Bed?"

It was almost pleading.

She had nothing against wall sex but not right now.

"Yeah." he nodded at once, either eager to please her or, more likely, eager to go down to business. "Bed, yeah."

He kissed her again and she relaxed a little. She wasn't sure how they ever reached the bedroom, the kisses had become frantic and their hands were everywhere. He had lost most of his clothes by the time they tumbled on the bed and he did a quick job of taking off what was left. It was a passionate affair, and she was in the mood, she really was, but something was off and, when he took off her bra, she shoved him away instinctively. He frowned but didn't make a move to touch her again.

She reached for him slowly, sorry for having pushed him away and confused by what was going on in her own head. She grabbed his arm and tugged so he would lie on her but he didn't move.

"You're sending mixed signals here, sweetheart…" he offered carefully.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, wrapping herself in the sheet to preserve a dignity that was mostly nonexistent anymore. "It's just… I haven't done that since…" She chewed on her bottom lip, feeling her cheeks flushing red. It was embarrassing.

"Prison." he finished for her when it was clear she wouldn't. Something dark flashed in his eyes, something hard and twisted that told her he wanted to kill whoever had hurt her. "Did they…"

"No." she cut him off quickly. "I don't know why I'm reacting this way… I'm sorry." She had no reasons to be scared of that, she had been lucky enough that nothing of that sort had happened to her. But the thought of being intimate with someone, of allowing someone else a complete control over her body… "I'm sorry." she repeated.

"It's alright." he lied. It was clearly not alright. He was hard and aching and she wanted him, that was the worst thing.

"I… Maybe we can try again but more slowly, yes?" She made a face. "I'm sorry, this isn't very romantic."

"I'm not great on romance anyway." he shrugged, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "We don't have to do anything, sweetheart. We can wait."

"But I want it." she pouted. "Just… slower. It's been a while anyway, slow is probably a good idea."

He studied her, obviously not convinced. "We don't have to. I swear I won't go running to the shellfish vendor."

His teasing helped her relax and she snorted. "It's in your best interest not to. You are mine now and I don't take kindly to other people taking what is mine."

"Yeah?" he smirked, flopping on his back. "What are you going to do with me then, Princess?"

He was giving her control, she knew, and coming from him that meant the world.

So she showed him.

She showed him until she forgot to be scared.