Prompt: Love your stories. How about some one shots on Haymitch watching Effie being domestic. Watching do the laundry, or make the bed, gardening. Things like that nature. Marveling at how his capital princess is happy and good at living a domestic life. Thanks

A Domestic Princess

Haymitch couldn't help but hide his smile in his mug of green tea when Effie started humming along to the music coming out of the radio in the kitchen. It wasn't his kind of music, it was something upbeat and with slang words he wouldn't have understood even if they hadn't been strung together so fast, but the volume was low enough that it didn't bother him much and he did like how much she liked it. Surely enough, a few seconds later, she started moving her ass left and right in time with the music, completely oblivious to anything that wasn't the soapy water in the sink and the dishes she was washing.

The kids had long gone back to their own house and, in his opinion, dishes could have waited until the next day but she claimed that if they did that then the next day they would let it rest for another twenty-four hours and, before he knew, they would be living in a dumpster again. He didn't argue mostly because he knew how important it was to her that everything remained clean and smelled fresh. Bad smells triggered bad memories.

Every night after dinner, it was the same routine. When he cooked, she insisted on doing the washing up; when the kids brought food, she made him do it. Afterwards, they would retire on the porch for a while – sometimes it was a whole hour, sometimes just a few minutes – they would drink their tea or infusion and talk about their day and then they would come back inside either to go to bed or end up in the living-room because they didn't feel like facing the night and its potential nightmares yet.

If he was particularly unlucky, she would declare they should get a start on the laundry and he would have to help her fold clothes – he was useless at folding clothes and she usually got frustrated with him so fast, he spent the remaining of the evening sulking in his corner.

Their life was absolutely ordinary. Banal. Dull. Someone might even have called it boring.

Oh, how Haymitch loved his life…

He had been weary for a long time that Effie would wake up one day, remember that she was made for parties, bright lights and the ephemeral happiness of the city, get her luggage and jump on a train. He didn't fear it so much now. It always impressed him how good she was at adapting. Going from the Capitol to Twelve was a huge leap. Going from a life with servants to a life where you had to do your own laundry was a huge leap. Going from parties every night to quiet evenings watching stars was a huge leap.

Then again, so was going from being the Capitol's darling to becoming Panem's most ambivalent figure.

So was spending months in prison.

He chased those thoughts before he could dwell on them and felt the need for the alcohol he had been so good at not indulging in lately. He still drank but he tried to curb it down. He was at three glasses a day these days and he knew both Effie and the kids – well not so much Katniss but she had always been the best at understanding the need for a crutch – were hoping he would eventually give it up. He might. Maybe. Times like this one, it didn't seem so impossible because he had Effie Trinket swinging left and right in his kitchen, hitting notes she shouldn't have been hitting with her lack of singing talents, and her pretty pink nails buried under soapy water…

'You've got to stop this…' Chaff had scoffed once when he had caught Haymitch looking at her a little too insistently. It had been in their fuck or die phase, when they couldn't have stopped if they had wanted to, when they had jumped each other's bones every time they could even at parties, even when it wasn't safe, even when… It was also when his best friend had stopped being amused by what he had thought to be a silly crush and has started getting concerned that it was becoming serious. Haymitch had always mocked him for it, denied the whole thing, buried his head in the sand so far he had actually believed she was just convenient, that the only reason he cared for her was because they were sort of friends – sort of best friends even – and that was it. 'You've got to stop this… Think about it. Where do you think you will be in five years? You think she's gonna give up everything and follow you to Twelve? Or what? You're gonna stay here full time? Come on, man… That woman's been engaged how many times? She doesn't do steady. She doesn't do domestic. And I know you… Eventually, you're gonna want to settle down and you're gonna want a wife not a nice pretty piece of ass to fuck. Five years, buddy. Think about it. '

If you had told him then that Effie Trinket would be in his kitchen doing dishes five years later, he would have laughed. For real. He had laughed, if he remembered right.

'Five years from now I'm gonna be dead and half-eaten by rats in my house.' he had snorted. He remembered because that he had had no troubles believing. He had been able to picture it even. Dying from alcohol poisoning on the couch or even on the floor… Or of a heart attack maybe. Nobody finding his body for days, maybe even weeks, the rats would eat him. And he was pretty sure the smell would have attracted other carrion-eaters from the woods too. Maybe that was how they would have found him. Because his body parts would have ended up all around the District.

The song ended and she stopped singing with a little content sigh.

He finished his tea in a long gulp and stood up to join her at the sink. He dropped the mug under the soapy water, ignoring her clucking her tongue to wrap his arms around her waist and press a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Someone's in a mood." she teased. She pushed back with her ass, feeling around for the hard-on she was expecting to find. Maybe because he had been staring at her for a long time and she might have been lost to the music she was never unaware when someone was watching her. She liked it, reveled in the attention. When she didn't feel anything pressing against her butt, she tilted her head to the side, straining her neck to get a good look at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…" He smirked, pressing another kiss on her cheek. "Just happy the house's free of rats."

She froze, stared at him for a few seconds and then lifted wet hands in front of her in a surrendering gesture. "I do not even want to ask."

"Nah, better not." he agreed, letting go of her waist. He patted her ass once and grabbed the dish towel. "Come on, I'll dry. Be faster."

Her blue eyes were sparkling with simple happiness when she glanced at him and that was how he liked them best.

"How surprisingly nice of you." she remarked. "Are you buttering me up because you have ulterior motives?"

"Never needed to butter you up… You get wet enough…" he joked because she knew she would do that thing when she simultaneously tried to swallow back a laugh and look stern.

"Crude." she commented, unable to entirely bite back her grin.

He reached for her blond hair, gently pushed it back behind her shoulder…

"I'm just glad you're here, Princess." he said, more seriously than he intended.

Her face softened and she leaned in to peck his lips. "Me too."

Fuck, was he ever glad Chaff hadn't been a visionary.