mary jane "mj" watson (justhitjackpot) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-10-08 08:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, mary jane "mj" watson (616), peter parker / spider-man (616) |
Who: MJ Watson, Peter Parker - 616
When: This morning!
Where: Peter's bedroom in Casa de Spiders
What: Freaky Friday.
Rating: Well, there's some nudity, but it's kept pretty PG.
BRAAAAAAAP! BRAAAAAAAP! BRAAAAAAAP! BRAAAAAAAP! It was still dark outside when she jolted awake. Peter made a noise, a whimpering whine as she tried to roll over. Her arm was stuck. Peter must have ended up on top of her arm, and now it was numb. She tried to flex her fingers, but yeah, the arm was pretty much a mass of tingling sensations. Man, it really hurt. "Peter, you're - " Okay, that was weird. Why was Peter talking in third person? I mean, when he's not Spider-Man and referring to himself in third person? Frowning, MJ reached over and slapped the alarm with her good arm. It barely registered that this was wrong. She didn't sleep on the side with the alarm. She didn't have to be up before 4pm; she could lay around in Peter's bed if she wanted to. She certainly wasn't expecting the alarm to cave in on itself when she smacked it. It didn't even hurt, and she was vaguely aware that there was more hair on her arm than usual. "Hey, Peter, something really - " she rolled her neck to look at him, but all she saw was a mound of red hair on her pillow and what was most definitely her curves beneath the sheets. And there was Peter's voice again. "Peter. Wake up." He was awake, maybe more than MJ was. But the problem was less about his mental alertness and more along the lines of being unable to swat the button on the alarm. Because the alarm wasn’t in the right -- wait, no. He wasn’t in the right place. How’d he get on this side of the bed? A hand reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, pausing there when he heard a voice calling his name. Which, easily enough, could have been Kaine or Ben. It wasn’t much of a concern until that familiar voice was pinpointed as over his shoulder. In bed. With him. All right, that made Peter speed up the process a little, crooking an elbow underneath and hoisting his upper body up to look over more properly. “What the --” Several things: MJ’s voice, a veil of red hair in front of his eyes, and a distinct shift in balance from what he remembered this position normally feeling like. A strand of hair was spluttered out of his mouth, the other hand lifting to sweep its respect shock out of his face. That did the trick with fixing visibility enough to make out his own face looking back at him. “Uh.” The sudden confusion of seeing her own face looking back up at her was enough to send MJ skittering backwards out of the bed. She reached out for the lamp on the bedside table, yanking the lampshade from it and wielding it like a weapon. She held it out in front of her, aware that something was different in her stance, in her usual height, the way she held herself. But she was way too concerned with the redhead in her bed. "What are you? The Chameleon? A wizard? What?" There was a pretty speedy realization that MJ was the one steering his body; sure, the flipside should have been apparent, but Peter’s mind just wasn’t on that at the moment. “MJ, caaaalm down. I --” At which point the busted alarm tumbled off the side table. He merely stared at it for a moment as the light bulb over his head flickered to life. “Actually, yeah. Let’s stick to the calm-down thing before you take out a wall,” he added, hands out in front of him to ease her a bit. “Or the lamp. I really don’t have the cash to start replacing all my appliances.” At that point, MJ looked down at her hands. Wait, no, those weren't her hands. Those were someone else's, and either someone else had very masculine hands or they were, in fact, a dude. Okay. So that was weird. Fine. Something was weird and wrong, and she looked down at the rest of her body. No breasts. She suddenly had no breasts and pretty hairy legs and oh god. The lamp was set down, her fingers sticking to it slightly. Oh! She remembered what this was. Back on Spider-Island. It was like her hands had a whole new texture. She could turn it on or off, but only after she'd gotten used to it (that happened quickly, seeing as everyone had turned into spider-monsters). "Peter." She cringed, that voice was going to take some getting used to. "What. Is. Happening?" That was actually a really good question. Peter let his eyes sink downwards, until he was staring down at what was absolutely not his body. If it wasn’t apparent already by the voice and the odd sensation that something was different about his chest, then the sight of it was enough to seal the suspicion. He paled at the instant and obvious conclusion: the Tesseract had to be at it again. The covers were gripped in either hand, Peter tugging them slowly upward to cover what was an entirely female -- entirely Mary Jane Watson -- figure. It wasn’t shame so much as feeling really, really exposed. Unfamiliar body, not sure what to do… the easy solution was to creep down further into the bed. “I think we got Freaky Friday’ed, MJ,” he quietly replied, eyes wide as saucers as he stared over at MJ and his body. Funny thing, hearing MJ’s voice spoken with his usual tone. It didn’t exactly sync up to his ears. "No. Oh, no, that can't actually happen, can it?" But MJ already knew the answer. They were in a world not unlike theirs, and things like this did happen very much. They said things like this couldn't happen, but they did. On a scarily regular basis, actually. At least that made it somewhat easier to digest. On second thought, though, that meant that she had Peter's powers, didn't it? She didn't have the organic webbing - which was sad - but she could stick to walls and had the strength to go over there and scoop him and the bed up in the air if she wanted. The tiniest of smiles emerged on her face. "Tiger, I think I got the better end of this deal." MJ’s green eyes were narrowed as Peter sighted the ghost of a grin across the room. Paired up with that statement? Yeah, he had his suspicions. “Please don’t tell me it’s because you’re due for lady things soon,” he murmured into the bedsheet. But a moment of courage had him hoist himself up again -- it was only MJ and it wasn’t like neither of them hadn’t seen the other with and without clothes. “Then again this might be just a short thing. Call out today, be ready to get back to work tomorrow…” MJ’s hands were more than familiar, but seeing them from this angle was just flat-out trippy. Peter flexed the fingers, watching the slim digits wriggle under his command. “No reason to panic. Nope. Just a Tesseract thing, and they always resolve before long…” "Last week," she announced before flopping down on the bed. It was super weird not to jiggle in certain ways, but jiggle in others when she did that. Okay, not doing that again. MJ held out her hands, then frowned. "You take horrendous care of your nails, you know that? Look at these nail beds. Can I take you for a manicure?" She rolled over onto her side, batting her eyelashes and tucking her hands under her chin. From the reverse view, it had to look really ridiculous, and maybe she could get Peter to ease up a little. If she could roll with the punches in a male body - something she knew absolutely nothing about - he could handle a woman's body. After all, women had more methods of distraction than men did. The landing of MJ down next to him had a little more ripple effect than Peter was used to. He crossed his arms over his chest, and pulling a grimace in reply to her teasing. Ah, well. At least he wasn’t about to experience anything more, uh, aggressively womanly than the situation at present. Silver lining. But the small show beside him was enough to tug a grin forward. “You look ridiculous. Not even sayin’ that because you have my face on, but… that part doesn’t help. Man, is this really the view you get?” He reached out, poking MJ in the nose for good measure. “Honk.” MJ wrinkled her nose in return. At least she was going to have some fun with this, making Peter make her expressions. My god, walking was going to be a sight, because MJ had one of those model-y ultra feminine walks. In Peter's body? Comedy gold. Then she remembered that he had hers, and oh man, he was going to go around in no make-up, wasn't he? No make-up and baggy sweatshirts and jeans. She liked to lounge around, but she wouldn't set foot outside like that. "What? You don't like it?" Out of some weird sense of vanity, she began to run her fingers through Peter's hair. Maybe she could get it to lay flatter. "Is that why there's no mirror in here?" And, again, the eyes were squinted at MJ before they rolled up to watch whatever he could see of MJ’s -- his, really -- hands messing around with his -- MJ’s, really -- hair. “Either that or I’m a vampire. Aaaand I’m pretty sure I’ve dodged that one so far.” A pause. “Are you petting me? What’s going on here? Because even though I’m sure I didn’t see my week going like this, it’s getting a little abstract. Mind you, I’m so glad some insane doctor with an ego problem isn’t the other half of this right now. Just… am I talking too much again?” "A little bit," came MJ's sincere reply. She gave a gentle tug on the ends of her own hair before covering his mouth with her hand. When he was quiet, she let it drop onto the pillow below. "No Doc Ock talk, not right now, because I might get mad enough to go out and do some damage to stuff that may or may not end up as this world's version of him. And that would be a bad idea, given that I have all your powers now." She frowned, puckering up her face as she thought. "What do we call out with? Tesseract weirdness? Sorry, I can't come in today, I'm Peter slash MJ?" Peter relieved a sigh; it wasn’t intentional about making the mood dour, but the more his mind wrapped itself about what today was shaping up to be, the more he did feel grateful that it was MJ. There wasn’t anyone else he’d trust without flinching like he did with her, and that actually eased a tension in his shoulders that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. To the topic of Otto Octavius, a small nod was given. To the rest: “Maybe you have the flu. I know you can pull off the acting, so… just tell Max that you’ll keep plugging away at home? Should do it, I think.” He raised a hand, forgetting despite all clear and apparent signs, to ruffle his hair. It only set the progress MJ had made back several steps as strands of red jutted out in every direction. “Uh. And I’ll… I’ll figure out how long hair works. Whoops. Sorry. Off to a bad start, huh?” "Flu? I can do flu." MJ stopped. Her eyelids fluttered open and closed as she pretended to fight back a sneeze. Her nose twitched. And then she "sneezed" right into her hand. When she looked back to Peter, she had a pitiful look on her face and sounded severely stuffed up. "Like this? Hey Doc Modell. I can't come in together on account I've got the plague. I mean, I guess I COULD come in, but then I'd get snot and germs everywhere, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that. Oh god, my stomach again! I gotta go!" “Perfect,” Peter replied, mouth squiggling into a loose barricade against a laugh trying to break out. A glance was stolen at his bedroom door, then at the busted alarm on the floor. “Okay, pretty sure I should still be wigging out about this, but… I think I’m gonna just take this at face value. Still have to see May off to school, and -- god, do I ever hope she didn’t get his by this.” He swung two legs off the bed, planting them down on the cool floor. Instinct had him hooking his own shirt from a pile by his right foot. "Petey." She eyed the shirt in his hands. "I'm not sure that I can wear my clothing. Not without compromising your reputation." She held out her hand and pressed both lips to a thin line and mock-frowned. She could certainly wear the track pants and t-shirt she'd worn over here, but there might be some stretching. His butt would look good in them, at least. “Oh.” Eyes were turned down to the shirt, and, after a moment’s careful thought, it was handed over to MJ. “Right. Riiiight. I’ll just…” There was a glance around for where MJ had stashed her clothes before, uh… well, before the night had taken a direction that didn’t require that stuff getting in the way. “Wait, I have a whole dresser of stuff. More than enough for everyone! Wow, talk about morning brain fog,” he started again, with a renewed sense of confidence. It didn’t take much to stride over to said dresser and tug it open. Weird how there wasn’t any need to control that -- no super powers, no worry that the whole thing would fly out and get tossed across the room. A black and white baseball shirt was withdrawn and held out proudly. “I can do this. I can so do this.” MJ shuffled off and around the bed to pick up her track suit pants. She had no problems walking around naked, not even in Peter's body, and when she bent over (at the waist) to pick the pants up, she realized that this was, perhaps, not the best way to do that. Not as a guy, at least. It probably wasn't all that attractive. And maybe a little bit awkward for Peter, given that it was his ass in the air. Shirt in one hand, pants in the other, she held out one and tossed the other over her shoulder. "Here. You can't wear your pants. I've tried. It doesn't work well, not even with a belt. But your shirts, those'll fit just fine. And you'll look pretty sexy in 'em." There was a first for everything, right? Such as getting mooned by his own body. Peter kept his mouth shut, though, merely waiting with the baseball tee in hand before MJ walked over to give him her pants. An amused grin lit up his face, which shifted MJ’s smooth features into something almost cartoony. “Y’know, I’m actually aware of that one,” he replied. He slipped by to fetch her underwear, then sat on the edge of the bed to start making some sense of the ensemble. “You can help yourself to whatever I got, by the way. Running theory is that stuff in the drawers is clean,” Peter added, lifting up the bra and narrowing his eyes at it. Taking these things off a woman was one thing, but trying to get one on? Oh boy. She'd pulled out a pair of jeans and a set of boxers to throw on. It was way too early in the morning to even think about anything else. Besides, when you were a guy, there wasn't all that much in the way of getting ready to actually do. MJ was a little put out that she wouldn't be able to do any of her normal morning routines. Showering, shaving, hair styling, make-up. That was pretty much out. So long soothing ritual. On the other hand, more time in the day for something that wasn't body maintenance. "Give it here. I'll show you how." Once the pants and shirt were on, she sat down on the bed behind Peter. She untangled the straps and went to righting the bra to fit over his arms. Once that was accomplished, there was a moment where she hooked it in the back. It wasn't nearly as strange seeing it from this side; everyone helped everyone get dressed at the theatre, but this was really surreal. For a moment, she almost reached her hands inside her bra to adjust her breasts, but caught herself at the last moment. She twirled her finger over the top of the bra, but a few inches away from the skin. "You'll need to… lift and separate. Make 'em more comfortable." Surreal was about right. It was a crash course in wearing a bra, and in all almost 31 years of being a male human, Peter couldn’t say he’d ever thought about this sort of thing. He turned around, twisting at the waist to look at MJ behind him with an expression best summed up as baffled alarm. But he turned back and obeyed, as a few dozen thoughts surfaced about how uncomfortable this was even after a few adjustments were made. “Okay, possibly gotta correct myself about what’s really happening here. I didn’t think I was that bad as a guy, but lesson learned. Seriously, I will never question how hard it is to be a woman ever. A few minutes into this, and I can already feel the self-” He paused as the baseball tee was wrestled down over his head. “-doubt moving in. Not that even I could make you look bad, but if everything is this daunting? Geez.” Peter looked down. Okay, this wasn’t so awful. The shirt was a little big overall, but MJ’s figure was asserting itself just fine beneath it. Underwear and pants were yoinked on in record time after that. "You'll do fine, tiger. Just takes a bit to adjust to. That's what puberty is for, isn't it? You just don't have that much time. I wouldn't worry, though." She hopped off the bed with a spring in her step, which wasn't all that great because she went a little further than she'd expected. She braced herself against the dresser as she skidded barefoot to a stop. "Oops. Forgot about the strength and power you've got here. Gonna take a little getting used to." Turning, she reached out for Peter's hand and yanked him up off the bed. "So, you wanna see how long before May realizes what happened?" Whatever grip Peter had on this whole thing and his cool was slipping a little again. Yeah, it was one thing standing around in his room with MJ. Enclosed situation. It was MJ. But downstairs was May, Kaine, Aracely, Ben. And then the rest of the world -- and he was getting way too big picture now. He shook himself, willing that humor back into place. “Probably about halfway down the stairs. Watch me faceplant,” Peter answered, one brow lifting ever higher. He hopped a little as MJ pulled him up to his feet, center of balance completely different from what he was used to. “Can I just say sorry in advance? Also, how long does it take before you get the hang of hips? Because this is weird. Is it because I’m thinking about them too much? I’m trying to not think about them, but that just makes me think about them more. Not that I don’t end up thinking about them one way or another, but in a different context.” He was staring down again. This was probably going to be a recurring theme for however this lasted. "Peter." MJ's voice was stern, but gentle. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Peter was going off the deep end. A hand to each shoulder rubbed up and down as some sort of comfort. At least, she hoped it was. "First. You've already unlocked the mystery of what guys are constantly staring at, so look up here. At my face. Not your breasts. People will think it's weird, or that you got a boob job. Or something." Then she swooped in and hugged him. "Second. Just walk the way you normally do. If you feel weird, you feel weird. There's no set way to do it, unless you're a model, and then you walk like your legs are sashaying out from under you with your hips forward." It was strange from this point of view; she always thought her body was larger than it was. With Peter's arms around her body, she felt almost small, and definitely more fragile than he felt. Was that how Peter viewed her? “Mm?” Peter looked up, snapping out of a floaty sort of stupor, only to find MJ imparting her usual solace. He mustered up a smile for her, shaking his head. “I’m good. I’m good, I promise. Just takes a little more than ten minutes to mentally accept this is happening, y’know?” He glanced briefly down again. “And these are distracting. Sorry. Guy moment. Guy moment passing now. And --” Only MJ had closed in, and that shut him up for another moment. He slipped his arms around her, focusing less on how different this felt and more on how she probably needed this just as much as he did. “Have I mentioned how much I love you yet today? Keep finding myself wondering how I ever got by without you.” "You know, I'm thinking that you need to say it every single day. I can even keep a tally, you know, so I can remind you if it gets too late in the day." She kissed the side of Peter's head, and gave him a little squeeze to go along with it. "Just imagine how much worse this could be if I wasn't around. Who would you get swapped with? Who would you trust with your body?" MJ laughed, but refused to let Peter out of her arms. She'd have rocked them if she didn't think she'd do it too hard or he'd lose his footing like that. "And Ben doesn't count, because he's pretty much the same as you with blonde hair. But like, Kaine. Could you imagine if Kaine got a hold of your body? Or Magneto? Yeeesh." “Yeah, and feel free to nudge when I slack on shaving. Is that was it really feels like? Guh. What you’ve had to put up with all this time, and hardly ever did I hear a complaint.” Peter towed back, raising a hand to lightly smack at MJ’s cheek. But his expression was a steady smile, holding onto that small bit of seriousness that had crept in. “Remind me whenever you need, if somehow I don’t beat you to saying it every single day. “And let’s not with Kaine. Last thing I need is to accidentally shoot a spike out of my wrist or whatever he’s got going on. Or the height. And the t-shirts that don’t fit. Or you giving me stay-over-there looks because I’m actually convinced his face is just naturally like that. Like, he’s not intentionally scowling. Whatever’s up with his genetics that gave him sandy hair? Yeah, probably gave him perma-scowl, too.” "That… kind of makes me feel bad for him, Peter." One corner of MJ's mouth turned downward. Kaine was a scary creature, no matter what incarnation of him, but she was learning to be more open-minded when it came to him, and to be fair, he did seem as if he'd turned over a new leaf. It was just hard to forget all the time he'd kidnapped her or attacked her or attacked Peter or framed him for murder or… One of MJ's hands rose and scrubbed over her cheek. Yikes. Prickly. "Oh. Right. This is weird. Never had to shave a face before." “Ah, he’s a big boy. More than literally. He’s got two brothers and a couple of adopted kids to keep his spirits soaring high. He just internalizes his smiles.” Peter shrugged, happy to skitter on past the topic of Kaine and keep going. “As for the face, I think we can postpone that until after breakfast. I mean, we kinda got time today after checking in on the troops downstairs.” Peter wobbled back a step, hooking MJ’s arm with one hand and reeling her along towards the door. After a careful thought, he pivoted around. No spider sense. Maybe it would help to see where he was going. “It’ll be fun. Lessons for everyone, right?” MJ bit back her snickers. Peter walking in her body was a sight to behold. She really wished she had a video of it. MJ had never been considered a manly woman, and probably never would be, but watching him try to walk as himself with those hips and legs was comedy. No wonder that movie Freaky Friday made bank. "Do you want me to carry you? Make sure you don't fall down the stairs?" MJ asked, grinning from ear to ear. “I…” Peter paused. “Maybe you should go first. If I fall, you cushion,” he agreed, eyes rolling more at himself than MJ. He prodded a finger into her side and nodded her along. It was only three flights, right? How bad could it be? "Big baby. I climb stairs all day. Without a spider-sense or super strength. It can be done." It was MJ's turn to roll her eyes, though there was nothing truly annoyed with it. She inched her way in front of Peter and opened the door. MJ gave a dramatic throat clearing, and then in Peter's most booming voice, she said, "'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, or close the wall up with our English dead!" “Oh my god, you.” A hand was slapped over his eyes, but a grin was bright and wide beneath. “Just go. Just go. Walk. Mach schnell,” he added, now raising his arms to press into her back and push her forward. “Before the Tesseract realizes we’re coping all right and someone gets zapped into a cat or something. And we’re walking, and we’re moving...” |