Prompt : (Effie always has real sexy underwear on) so how about one wiere haymitch walks in on effie and shes wearing regular underwear like boy shorts or something and shes embarrassed but he finds in really cute

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Clothenapping

Haymitch was in an exceptionally good mood when he walked back into the penthouse. He was whistling a merry tune that died on his lips when he stepped out of the elevator and caught sight of his escort. He burst out laughing at the sight of her, which naturally only infuriated her more than she already was.

Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed in warning, the pink monstrosity on her head was slightly crooked and, most of all, she was wearing nothing but a short silky camisole she usually wore to bed and men boxers that he was pretty sure came from his own drawers.

She actually didn't look that bad – there was something to be said about her wearing his clothes – but the expression on her face was so irritated he couldn't help his amusement. Miss I-only-wear-haute-couture-Haymitch reduced to wearing pajamas and his underwear in the middle of the day was a funny sight.

"Cute." he mocked. "What's up? It's laundry day or something?"

He hadn't thought her blue eyes could narrow further but he had been dead wrong. If looks could kill, he would have already been dead.

"Haymitch." she said in a very, very measured voice. "Where are my clothes?"

"Your clothes?" he repeated, sounding appropriately clueless.

"Do not play the fool!" She took a threatening step forward, pointing an accusative finger at his chest, and it might have been scarier if she had been wearing her usual puffy armor. "I know it was you. Who else would make my life miserable on purpose? Oh, you better not have damaged a single piece! And did you have to take my lingerie too? Do you have to be this difficult or is this just your ridiculous way of trying to get my attention, I wonder? You and your pranks, Haymitch! You have gone too far this time! Too far! A woman's wardrobe is off-limit! Everyone knows this! Oh, if you damaged one single dress…"

He bit down on the inside of his cheek not to burst out laughing at her outraged rant. He wondered if she knew how ridiculous she looked right now with that pink wig slowly but firmly leaning to the side, eyes sparkling in righteous fury and her hands dancing in the air to make her point… Yeah. She looked completely ridiculous. And little bit hot too. Maybe more than just a little bit.

"A woman's wardrobe's off limit?" he scoffed. "How about a man's liquor, sweetheart?"

She didn't even have the decency to blink. "So, you do admit it was you."

He shrugged and lifted his hands in ignorance. "Never said that. What do I know where your stuff is… Maybe the thief who took my booze came back and nicked your clothes too…"

"My lingerie, Haymitch." she hissed. "Have you any clue how expensive…"

"Don't know, don't care." he cut her off. "Maybe if you give the booze back, the clothes are gonna come back too."

"Where are they?" she hissed.

They were currently hidden away in several cupboards on Eleven's floor. It had taken him and Chaff half an hour to empty her room of every single piece of clothing and another hour to find a way to make sure someone accidentally spilled their glass on her dress so she would have no choice but to come back up and change. He must have missed the pajama top she was wearing somewhere, probably in the bathroom.

His whole afternoon had been devoted to getting back at her for the sudden disappearance of alcohol from Twelve's floor. She claimed not to be responsible but he knew better. He had refused to help her, the fight had escalated and she had sworn he would regret it. The next day, the penthouse was absolutely liquor free. Even the stash of Ripper's moonshine he kept in a sport bag in the wardrobe in case of emergency was gone and she was the only one who knew about that. She might as well have signed her crime.

Revenge was his and he wouldn't give her precious couture back until he had his booze.

Taking the lingerie, admittedly, might have been a tad of an overkill but, as Chaff had pointed out, she would be quicker to cave if she had nothing to put on her own back. He had handled that part himself though. The thought of his best friend rummaging through her underwear didn't sit well with him.

"Where's the liquor?" he retorted.

She put her hands on her hips with a huff and glared. "I hate you."

He rolled his eyes. "'Cause I'm so fond of you."

She scowled. "Well, I do hope you were not too fond of my lingerie because that was the last time you saw it, I can assure you."

He let his eyes roam on her, lingering on the hard nipples he could guess at under the camisole and her long legs. "That's fine. You don't look so bad in my boxers."

"It is also the last time I get into your boxers." she snapped.

"Promises, promises…" he taunted.

She stomped her foot indignantly. "Enough games. My clothes, Haymitch. Now."

"Say please…" He smirked and pushed past her to the living-room, listening to the hurried clicking of her heels following after him.

"You are impossibly childish." she accused.

He almost made a beeline for the liquor cart before he remembered he wouldn't find anything worthwhile there so he settled for dropping on the couch, resolutely ignoring the muted TV that was showing a live feed of the arena. Their kids had been dead six days already and he wasn't in any mood to torture himself by watching the Games.

"Ain't the one who started this." he reminded her.

"I stand corrected." she deadpanned. "What a mature response."

"As mature as taking my booze." he scoffed. "Come on, Princess. Let's end this, yeah? You give me my liquor, I give you your clothes… We kiss and make-up." He wiggled his eyebrows, openly ogling her. "You look fucking hot in my boxers."

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "We are not kissing and making up. You have annoyed me far too much."

"Your loss." He shrugged.

"However." she amended. "I will give you back your precious alcohol if my clothes are back in my room uninjured in ten minutes."

"Gonna need more time than that." he chuckled. "You've got an awful lot of stuff."

She was glaring again. "My lingerie. Really, Haymitch? Don't you think it was a little overkill?"

"Did the trick, didn't it?" he teased, hauling himself off the couch.

He planted a kiss on her lips on his way out just to drive the nail in that particular coffin, ignoring the fact she didn't respond to it at all.

She would calm down eventually and she would see the joke for what it was – or at least she would calm down enough to remember she actually liked kissing and making-up.