Prompt: Can you write a Freaky Friday Hayffie please? Where they switch brains or whatever. Like the movie. Thanks!
Some crack at last! Buckle up and enjoy the ride!
Are You Sure You Want To Play That Game, Sweetheart?
The first thing Effie was aware of was her furred tongue. She opened and closed her mouth several times as she rolled out of bed, feeling as if she had downed a bottle of hard liquor the day before. She had a stomach burn, her back didn't feel quite right and her face was itching. Even her balance wasn't great. She felt heavy.
It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn't in her room but in Haymitch's.
She couldn't remember for the life of hers what had happened the night before. She didn't remember drinking to the point of oblivion, she didn't remember sleeping with Haymitch… Everything was fuzzy, blurred.
She glanced at the bed but it was empty. That was odd. He was never up first. Besides, the penthouse was otherwise silent and usually your heard Haymitch when he was around. He might keep complaining she was loud but, truth be told, he wasn't much better. He was always grumbling or complaining.
The room was a mess and she couldn't find her clothes. The odd feeling kept increasing. Her body didn't feel right. Her balance was off. She felt… Physically stronger.
She reached down to grab a shirt from the floor – giving up on the idea of finding her own clothes – and she froze when she caught sight of her hand.
A very big, slightly hairy, not manicured hand.
A hand she was familiar with but not because it belonged to her.
Her heart started pumping harder in her chest, making her feel even more light-headed.
She gasped and it sounded wrong. Way too low, way too rough.
She almost tripped on her way to the bathroom's mirror, the floor was layered with clothes and empty bottles.
She sort of expected it but seeing Haymitch's face reflected in the mirror was a shock. She hit her cheeks, hit her forehead, pulled on his ears to make sure but it was her face.
She screamed.
What was the other rational thing to do?
She screamed and screamed and it sounded all wrong because it wasn't her voice and she had never heard Haymitch produce such girly shouts. Even when he screamed in his sleep, it never sounded… like that.
She wanted to burst into tears. The worst thing was… She looked hideous. Haymitch was attractive. For a man. But Effie wasn't a man. And she took such painful care of her body…
She wasn't sure how she ended up in her own room but suddenly there she was, looming over Haymitch – or rather her own body – who was peacefully sleeping on his stomach, the covers kicked to the foot of the bed like he tended to do, the nightgown riding high on her bottom.
It was indecent.
She hadn't been aware she looked indecent in that nightgown.
She shook Haymitch awake without softness or care. He shot awake with a pained hiss, slapping her hand away and rubbing his arm.
"What the fuck, sweetheart?" he snapped. "It hurts!"
She realized, quite suddenly, how big Haymitch's body was compared to her tiny frame, how much stronger he was… For a moment, she was amazed that in all their fights and bouts of rough sex, he had never hurt her. It required control. A control she clearly didn't have if the way he was glaring at her – with her own eyes and that was an entirely new side of disturbing – and still rubbing his arm was any indication.
She saw the moment he realized.
His eyes widened and he suddenly crawled back away from her, almost falling off the bed in the process. He scrambled up, the bed acting as a safe buffer between the two of them.
"What the fuck!" he spat.
"We switched bodies." she explained, trying to sound calm.
He stared at her, then he looked down at himself.
Who knew why his first reflex was to grab his breasts but he did.
"Weird." he muttered.
"Weird?" she repeated, her voice – his voice – rising an octave. "We switched bodies and all you find to say is weird? How about how? Or why? What did you do, Haymitch?"
"Me?" he spluttered and it was so odd to hear her own voice… Her own voice didn't sound like that in her head. "Why would it be me? Why not you?"
"Oh, let's see!" she huffed, imitating him to the best of his abilities. "'Cause I'm a drunk who's always getting in trouble?"
He lifted his eyebrow – her eyebrow, and at least she was happy to see she looked good. "Are you sure you want to go on the imitation field? Are you sure you want to play that game, sweetheart?"
She pursed her lips and stared at him. "Oh, please! You don't have a gift for imitation, Haymitch."
It was so ridiculous bickering about this like it was the main problem.
Haymitch placed a hand on his hip and waved the other in the air in a mocking way. "Oh, I'm so pretty and arrogant and everything has to be fabulous…" The mocking turned cruel suddenly. "Such a stupid little girl who thought she was it… Pretty butterfly with scorched wings… What do you say, sweetheart?"
He looked threatening. Her body looked threatening and she was scared all of a sudden. Terrified, even. She knew what would happen next. She knew there would be pain and blood and…
She jerked awake.
Her heart pounding in her chest, already sitting down before she even opened her eyes… She checked her hands first, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw her two own hands.
What an absurd weird dream…
She felt around but their bedroom was empty, Haymitch's side of the bed was cold and she could hear the geese honking in the backyard so he must have already let them out of the pen for the day. She got up slowly and wrapped herself in his shirt, because it was warmer than anything she owned, before tip toeing to the kitchen.
Haymitch was standing in front of the counter, bare-chested and barefoot, watching the coffee pot as it brew. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, burying her face between his shoulder blades.
"I had the most peculiar dream." she hummed, shivering a little.
The familiar smell of their house was helping calming her down though. This wasn't the penthouse, the dream hadn't been real – nobody switched bodies without, at least, a good explanation, not even in the tackiest novel – and Haymitch was often mocking but he would never be cruel.
"Yeah? What was it?" he frowned, turning around to kiss her good morning properly. She told him, pouting with annoyance when she reached the last part. All he did was snort. "Weird dream, yeah."
"I hate it when you mimic me." she muttered with irritation.
He knew it, of course, that was why he insisted on doing it.
"Yeah, well…" he teased, pushing her curly hair back from her face to better frame it in his hands. "You know what they say… Imitation's never as good as the original."
"That is true." she grinned. "And your acting talents are poor."
That wasn't strictly true. He had a good poker face. As far as actual acting went, however…
"You're ridiculous." he chuckled, pressing a kiss against her forehead. "Switching bodies… Freaky."
"Thankfully, it is Friday." she sighed. "I am granting myself a lie in tomorrow morning."
She never went to the bakery on week-ends.
"I like that plan." he smirked, his hand drifting from his waist to her ass. "I've got ideas…"
"You always have ideas, darling." It was her turn to mock, giving him a long peck before ducking under his arm to reach the now hot coffee.
After a dream like that, she needed coffee.