Between your head and heart, and somewhere else instead

You show up when he texts, he fucks you, you leave.  That’s… it.  No pillow talk, no dates, hardly any acknowledgement of your existence before or after; ‘fuckbuddies’ isn’t even the right word because at least they’re ostensibly ‘buddies.’  

You honestly didn’t even know each other.  You met once at a party, and it all followed from there.  You had no relationship, you were nothing to each other… nothing with benefits.  There, that’s the best effort you could make in trying to ‘define’ it, if that counts.

A lot of things went unsaid, but you knew more than you let on.  For instance, whenever he blew you off or kicked you out after he made some excuse about ‘needing to work.’  You never asked about his work but you’d deduced it was something incredibly atypical— probably illegal.  He said once he didn’t have time for anything ‘real’ because of it, and you decided not to be offended by the implication that you were, what, fictional?  But you knew what he meant, of course.  Whatever this work was, it seemed to take a toll.  He’d told you not to ask about his bruises and cuts, no matter how bad they looked; they never seemed to bother him that much, actually, even when they looked… very bothersome.

Another thing you figured out was that he was in love.  Not with you, obviously, Jesus— but he loved someone.  Of course you had a lot less concrete evidence for that, it was just a vibe you got… but you could see it on his face sometimes, in his eyes.  That heartbroken look, and more importantly the brave face trying to cover it up: you recognized it because you’d felt it a thousand times yourself.  He probably assumed you weren’t a particularly emotional person considering your openness to such a cold arrangement, but who knows?  Sometimes you felt like he knew more than he let on, too.

But it all was left unspoken, unaddressed, undefined.  Like I said, it was better that way.

“Peter, fuck,” you choked out as he held tighter onto your hips, thrusting harder, faster, deeper all at once.

“Shh, I’m close,” he hissed; he liked you better silent when he came, but you had to bite your lip hard to try not to make too much noise.  Actually, you had to grab hard onto his headboard just to keep yourself steady, your eyes rolling back far enough in your head that you could almost see how empty your brain was at that moment.

How could you think about anything right now, when he was slamming right into that spot that seemed to reset your entire system? 

He was pretty quiet himself, sometimes you couldn’t even really get much of a reaction from him; though you occasionally dared to look back over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him with his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fallen shut, a loose curl sticking to his face from the thin layer of sweat on his skin…

It was only because you were trying your best to be quiet now that you could hear him, the suppressed grunt through his teeth as he finished; he thrusted just once more, sharply, before relaxing slightly with a heavy exhale through his nose.

It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face like this, or he’d probably notice how much even that little noise from him exhilarated you.  Maybe he wouldn’t care, honestly.

When he pulled out, he quickly grabbed his shirt to catch the come that spilled out of you.  Most of it stayed inside until you fell limply down onto the bed— then you felt it all start to leak out, comfortingly warm but annoyingly sticky.

You could’ve stood to lay there for much longer to enjoy the slight numb feeling, but you decided you’d better get to the bathroom quickly.  You didn’t say anything as you ungracefully hopped up and held the shirt between your legs on your way to the toilet.

After cleaning up as best as you reasonably could in the stereotypically bare-bones bathroom of a single twenty-something guy, you cupped your hands in the sink to drink from them for a moment.  Peter wasn’t necessarily cruel, moreso just neutral, but he wasn’t enough of a gentleman to consistently offer you a cup of water after.

When you emerged from the bathroom, he’d put his underwear back on but was still on the bed; this was notable since he was often already working on something when you returned, at which point he would tell you to let yourself out.  But no, this time he was on the bed, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a glassy kind of look in his eyes.

You figured he would notice you and say something, but you watched him for a little while and he never did.  It was kind of a nice moment, but you had to break the silence.  “Tell me about her,” you requested, apparently feeling a bit more brave than usual.

He sat up slightly to look at you; it looked like it took him a moment to realize what you’d said, and he transitioned from a shocked expression to a dismissive laugh.  “What?” he pretended not to know what you meant.

“Did you think I couldn’t tell?” you smiled back.  “Seriously, I’m curious.”

“No,” he shook his head, laying down all the way again, “I… shouldn’t talk about that, with you.”

You shrugged a bit as you grabbed your shorts off the ground and slid them back on.  (Yes, you’d skipped underwear when getting dressed, you knew why you were coming here.)  “Why not?” you wondered.

A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he seemed like the answer was too obvious to verbalize, and you turned your shirt right-side-out before putting it on again.  “Isn’t that, like… bad form?” he laughed, just a little.

This was the most you’d talked since you met him.  It made your heartbeat speed up again, after only getting a moment of rest.  “I don’t care,” you assured.  “I mean— I do, I wanna know… I just mean I won’t be offended.”

He sighed a little and you thought he was just going to ignore you at first; the silence went on just a little too long to feel natural, but you let it ride.  “She doesn’t know I exist,” he finally answered, speaking softly.

You smirked a bit, not sure if that was believable.  “Don’t sell yourself short,” you encouraged, “I’m sure she—”

“No, literally,” he insisted.  You still didn’t quite buy it but you decided to accept it if he was so sure.

Your eyes drifted over his body as he exhaled slowly, reaching up to rest his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like he was remembering something.  You figured if he took his shirt off in front of this girl she’d notice him; he was… hard to ignore, when he wasn’t covering himself with baggy clothes like he seemed to normally.

Not that he spent all too long in clothes when you came over, but still.

“Good luck with that,” you broke the silence, and he seemed to come out of a daze; he’d already forgotten you were there, maybe.  “Just text me when you’re free again?”

He watched you get off the bed and go towards the door where you’d left your shoes.  “Y-yeah, sure,” he agreed— he sat up quickly, like maybe it was rude to just lay there while you left, but that was a bit out of character since you could remember plenty of times he hadn’t even looked at you…

Regardless, you left rather unceremoniously, feeling satisfied and yet already wondering how long it would be until you heard from him again.

The answer was, it turns out, longer than usual.  Long enough that you felt a little weird about it but tried not to notice it; long enough that, when he did text you, you were much more relieved than you wanted to be.

Come over.  A little abrupt after two weeks without any contact, but you weren’t too proud.  You slipped on some sandals and headed for the subway; you probably should’ve taken the time to grab a light jacket, you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten since the sun went down, but the buzzy energy that filled you as you prepared to see him again kept you warm enough.

So, it was a bit of a let down when he seemed confused as he answered the door; “Um, hey?” you greeted hesitantly, wondering why he was staring at you and not just letting you in.

“Did I… text you?” he wondered.

“Uh… yeah?” you responded now with a confused look of your own.  “Are you drunk?”

“No, I— sorry,” he sighed a little, “that was a mistake, I— now’s not a good time.”

You swallowed, trying not to take it personally— trying not to imagine why he changed his mind.  He was shirtless already, did he have someone else coming over, was she already there?  Oh, you really didn’t want to know— so why were you leaning to try to see past him into the apartment?

He shifted to try to block your view, leaning on the doorway, but you caught a glimpse— no girl that you could see, but the place looked like it had been turned upside down.  Your fear shifted to concern.  

“What happened, is everything okay?” you asked quickly.  “Did you get robbed?”

You slipped in past him, and he stammered out a protest that he never really finished.

“Oh my god, Peter—” you began, but he turned you around to look at him.

“You need to go,” he insisted again, “I’m sorry, I— I’m really not trying to be a dick.”

You snorted a little, not really meaning to, and he exhaled.

“Okay, I know I’m already kind of a dick to you, but I’m… not myself right now.”

“If you’re normally a dick to me, and you’re not yourself right now, then isn’t that a good thing?” you mused, but Peter just shook his head in confusion.

“What?” he panted, but it definitely just wasn’t a confused look anymore— he reached up and put a hand to his head, his palm pressing above his eye and his fingers starting to curl tightly.

“A-are you okay?” you asked, all the playfulness lost from your tone. 

He winced and bent over suddenly, grabbing his head tightly, making you look at him with wide eyes.  

“Peter?” you continued, trying to lean down with him, but he reached up and pushed you back slightly.

“M’fine,” he choked out, but the whine of pain through his teeth seemed to prove him wrong.

You weren’t sure how to help, you couldn’t tell at all what was wrong, but you couldn’t just leave him like this even if he seemed to want you to.  “How can I help?” you pleaded.

“You can’t help me!” he insisted.

He straightened up again, throwing his head back for a moment, the agony on his face perfectly visible now.  His hands moved to cover his ears, his eyes shut tightly— maybe it was a migraine or something?  You looked around for a lightswitch, hoping turning off anything too bright might make it better, but the second you tried to step away, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into him; you yelped a little and hurried to hold onto his shoulders, nearly losing your balance as he yanked you forward.  

It seemed like he had changed his mind very suddenly about you being able to help him— and had a very different idea of how you could help than you’d originally imagined.  His eyes were scanning your face, his nostrils flaring as they fell on your lips.  You opened your mouth slightly just before he covered it in a rough, punishing kiss.

You couldn’t even remember the last time he kissed you— but he definitely never kissed you like this.  It was hard and fast and dominating, his head forcing yours to tilt back, his tongue handily overpowering yours.

His hand wrapped around your neck and your knees wobbled for a second; fuck, if this was Peter not being himself, then you were starting to like this guy better.

He made quick work of your clothes, too quick actually, you were pretty sure you heard something ripping but you didn’t care at all.  His hands grabbed you anywhere and everywhere they could reach, rough and eager until they all but shoved you onto the bed.  You gasped but went along with it, you weren’t sure what was going on with him but you’d never questioned him before— you just gave him what he wanted.  Even if you knew better than to take it personally, the way he was acting now… could he really want you this badly?

You tried to turn around to get on your hands and knees like usual, but he roughly turned you back to face him; he climbed over you and shed himself quickly of his sweats and underwear— god, when did he get that hard?

His hand pushed your thighs further apart, making you shudder a little just before he shoved his cock into you— all at once, no warning, making you choke on your own breath.  

You couldn’t try to complain that you weren’t ready for it, even if you wanted to, because you were already plenty wet enough despite it all happening so suddenly.  Maybe his new attitude just had that effect on you, maybe you’d been building anticipation since you got on the subway to meet him here; and, both could be true at once.

“Peter,” you whined as he filled you, back arching off the bed, but he pushed you back down at the hips to make sure you took it all.

He laid himself down over you, keeping his face close to yours as he thrusted fast but deep, holding you tight enough to make sure you couldn’t rock too far away and would be forced to take every inch.

You felt your face tighten up— actually, all of you, not just your face— in response to him going just a little too far, pushing on something a little too sensitive; you whined, some pain tinting the noise, but he only made sure to press his hips against you even more.

You groaned deeply, feeling pleasure grow from the intensity, though it still had a sharpness to it.

Overwhelmed by… everything, you tried to close your eyes just to focus on the feeling; “Look at me,” he demanded instantly, catching you off guard.  You obeyed, of course, meeting his stare as he requested, though you definitely couldn’t match his intensity.

He grabbed your hips and tilted them up towards him slightly, forcing his cock to press against something that made you shake and grab the sheets under you.  “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, noticing the way he flexed his jaw as he watched you.

You weren’t proud of how quickly he was getting you there; but was there any room for pride in a situation like this?  It’s not like you’d had much in the first place, when you were just coming over for quick thoughtless fucks, but at least then you didn’t say much or look at each other much and you could go through it all without acknowledging much of anything.  Now he was staring right at you, watching your body respond to him so quickly, purposefully making you so desperate for him.

He let go of your hips to slide his hands up the back of your thighs, hooking them under your knees and pushing your legs up towards your chest.  “God, yes,” you breathed, struggling to stop your eyes from rolling back.  You watched him, too: the way his mouth fell slack to let his panting breaths through, his chest rising and falling, his muscles rippling as he fucked into you…

You heard the smallest chuckle and looked back at his face to see a smirk there; apparently he caught you gawking.  Surely he knew already that he had a great body, so he couldn’t be surprised, right?  He’d never seemed to really care that you were attracted to him, or take it as much of a compliment.

But now it made him fuck you harder, which made you whimper and shudder as you clutched handfuls of the sheets under you.  

One hand let go of your leg to rest above where he was moving in you: at the same time, it pushed down right where the tip of him reached inside you, and his thumb circled over your clit.

The added pressure amped everything up and even the slightest touch on your bud made you realize how sensitive you’d become.  You bit down on your lip to try to stop yourself from praising him endlessly— you didn’t need him getting an even bigger ego.  But even still his effect on you was obvious, the way you were succumbing to the pleasure was obvious, though you still felt the need to announce it.

“I-I’m gonna come,” you warned, and he kept his movements and pace exact, eagerly pushing you closer to the edge.

It built up faster with each thrust, his fingers digging in harder under your knee, and you let your head fall limply to the side as it grew and grew within you.

One hand came down and took a tight grip of your face to turn it back up towards him.

“Look at me,” he reminded you, and you swallowed around a gasp but nodded quickly.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “fuck, I— ohh fuck yes—”

He watched you with darkened eyes as it hit you, a heady wave of pleasure that started from somewhere deep within but rippled all over you.  As the feeling peaked and subsided, he kept his grip on your face— not too tight, but far too strong to break away from.

The second you started to relax back into the bed, he pulled out and flipped you over— far too easily— onto your knees.  He was inside you again before you could even find your balance.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, falling forward and barely catching yourself on the headboard in time.  He was thrusting again, fast and hard, like he hadn’t stopped at all; you were still sensitive from the orgasm you’d barely even completed, and the different angle of his penetration into you was even more intense now.  “Fuck, Peter, you—”

He grunted lowly, and you didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence as you moaned desperately.

“Oh my god,” you managed to pant out even as you were getting more and more lost in it— he had never been the gentle type per se but he had always been… restrained, patient.  You never could’ve imagined this kind of brutality, or how perfect it would feel.

You also weren’t used to him being so vocal, and you heard a stream of moans and purrs from behind you that were, for lack of a better word, beautiful.  Filthy and animalistic, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

“So good,” you couldn’t stop yourself from panting out; your first orgasm had left you so… exposed, every sensation heightened, every touch more electrifying.  Now it was building up again, even faster than before, turning you just as desperate and needy as he sounded.

The curve of him inside you was too perfect, the thick stretch was almost too wide— when he pushed all the way in and buried himself to the hilt you actually felt a little sting— his heavy balls hitting your clit made you feel delightfully whorish; pleasure was coming at you from every angle, overwhelming you, washing all the thoughts out of your head and turning your body into his plaything (if it wasn’t already).

The difference really was that before, you had some autonomy about the whole thing— it wasn’t quite an equal partnership, since he was the one who called for you and you were the one who showed up right away nearly every single time.  But it was at least a mutual dynamic: you were a slut and he was using you like one, simple as that.  

Now, those things may have still been true but it had become so much more.  Now, you were totally at his mercy.  Now, he was asserting a previously-unspoken dominance and proving that he owned you completely… and that you loved it.  It may not have been a particularly empowering feeling, but knowing he could do absolutely anything to you in that moment was fucking addictive.  

“I’m coming,” you blurted out, not even really believing it yourself, “I’m coming again, oh shit—”

You moaned pathetically— well, more specifically, you went silent for a moment as you came too hard to remember to breathe, then you moaned pathetically; but then you started to laugh a little, thinking he would slow down to a stop, give you a little break so you could mumble something about how incredible he was before he used you to finish.

But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t give you even a second to breathe as you tried to pull yourself together.  Even when you passed the height of your pleasure into something much more raw and unfathomable, he didn’t falter for a moment.  Your walls tightened repeatedly until they ached, until you whined through your teeth at the soreness of the muscles inside you.

“Peter,” you gasped, “s-slow down…”

He ignored you.

“Stop,” you blurted out; again, he ignored you.  “Peter, stop!  I can’t—!”

A hand wrapped around your throat and your words dropped instantly to silence.  Wide-eyed, you clawed at his hand to try to peel it away, but obviously that didn’t work.  

Your hands fell limply to the sheets— he was holding you up by your neck now, and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat— and they tried to grab hold of something, anything, without much success.

The pleasure he forced on you was excruciating and overwhelming, and totally inevitable.  You tried to force yourself to relax, wondering if that would make it any easier to take all this, but you couldn’t anyways as shocks ran all through your body.  Your toes curled, your legs began to shake uncontrollably— you were saying his name, begging for mercy, but hardly any sound was coming out since you weren’t taking in any air.

You reached back to try to grab his hand, push his hips, anything to slow down this onslaught of sensation; he ignored it at first, before growling a little as he grabbed your hand and pinned it down to the bed.

He was iron, absolute— you could literally fight him with all your strength and he wouldn’t move an inch.  The helplessness made you panic and squirm uselessly, and yet the racing of your heart was more than just fear, even as your vision was getting spotty from how long he’d been choking you.  Fuck, it was good; it hurt like hell, you didn’t think you could take it, but it was fucking good.

The hand on your throat let go to force your head down into the mattress: so, yes, the sound you let out after all that silence was muffled, but still so embarrassingly loud.  A desperate, broken, sobbing scream.  “Oh my god, oh my god,” you heard yourself repeat, though you could hardly recognize your voice at this point.

He slowed down a little, not nearly enough to give you a true reprieve, as he laid over you— you felt his chest press against your back, and he pulled your head up by your hair to lift you out from where you’d buried yourself in the mattress.  “Let me hear it,” he encouraged, as if the whole building wasn’t hearing you even with your face in the sheets.

He bit down hard on your neck until you basically screamed— you’d be surprised if it didn’t break the skin, the way it stung so sharply, but somehow that ache and burn seemed to blend into everything else a moment later.  Chills ran over your skin— pleasure, pain, ecstasy, agony, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His tongue and lips toyed with the spot he’d just marked, before his teeth moved higher to your neck to make another impression in your skin.  You felt a hot tear run down your cheek as a bit of numbness radiated from your shoulder in the shape of his bite.

Apparently satisfied with his work, you felt his breath against your ear as he groaned proudly.  “You belong to me,” he informed you roughly; you sobbed but nodded eagerly.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, though you never wanted to acknowledge it before— you still didn’t, knowing you were his but he wasn’t yours, but you were helpless to him now.

“Mine,” he insisted again.

“Peter, please,” you whimpered, this time not begging for him to physically stop but for him not to make you admit it anymore.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Yours,” you breathed, dropping your head down in defeat as tears fell onto the dishevelled sheets below.  “I’m yours, Peter, yours—”

“Gonna fill you,” he promised roughly.  “Gonna breed you.”

“O-oh god,” you choked out weakly.  “Oh my fucking god—”

“If you beg for it,” he added— oh, of course it couldn’t be so simple.

“Please,” you spat out instantly, you probably would’ve said it anyway, you just had to add the next part; you swallowed thickly, fighting the part of your brain that still experienced shame to get the words out.  “Please… breed me.”

He growled proudly, speeding up his thrusts yet again as you cried helplessly.  “More,” he ordered.

“Please!” you screamed, convinced now that at any moment you might just combust from the sheer intensity of all these sensations in your body.  

Right at the moment that you were sure you truly couldn’t take anymore, that it would build beyond what you were able to withstand, he pulled you back onto him and moaned loudly.  He stopped moving, but it didn’t bring as much relief as you would’ve expected; yes, you were able to relax slightly and actually breathe for a second, but you could feel him… pulsing.  

You started to feel a pressure that only soothed when you felt come start to leak from where you were joined— was he actually coming that much?  You shuddered as the thick drop ran down your thigh which, yes, was still shaking.

You heard a long, satisfied sigh behind you, his fingers digging a little too deep into your sides, but it seemed he was finally finished.

This would be the part where you get up and go to the bathroom— you know, if your legs were working— but instead he grabbed you tightly and fell onto the bed, pulling you down with him.  He hummed as he nuzzled into your neck, forcing you to be his little spoon as he seemed to want to keep you as close as humanly possible.  He hadn’t even pulled out, excess come leaking out as he softened a bit, but it gave you no chance to recover from the soreness as he kept you stretched out.

You couldn’t decide if this was more or less weird than everything else that had just happened.

He fell asleep behind you within a couple minutes, you could tell by the way his breathing slowed; you felt exhausted and wired at the same time, your body totally drained but your brain cycling through a thousand thoughts a second.

But even if you couldn’t sleep, there was no way you were getting up— whenever you dared to shift even an inch, his grip on you tightened even in his sleep.

Actually, you did eventually fall asleep, and he did eventually let go of you and pull out of you— but you couldn’t know exactly when any of those had happened, in fact you didn’t even realize they did until he started to wake you up.  

He did so somewhat abruptly; you heard his voice and started to blink a few times to try to come back to reality.

“Are you okay?” he rushed, looking over your body, moving you around a bit to check everywhere for injuries.  “I hurt you, oh my god, I— I’m so sorry—”

You were still struggling to wake up— you definitely hadn’t slept this hard in years, if ever— and you groggily hummed as he fussed over you.  “Peter,” you mumbled, noticing the bright sun of late dawn coming in from the window, and he held your face for a second before gently brushing his fingers along your neck, your shoulder…

“Oh my god,” he gasped, “what did I do to you?”

There must have been bruises and bites all over you, that was no surprise— so why was he acting surprised?  “It’s okay,” you breathed, “seriously, I’m okay—”

“I wasn’t— I swear that wasn’t…” he interrupted himself before trailing off.  “I lost control.”

That explanation was… cryptic.  Slightly disturbing.  And, annoyingly, a little bit hot.  “I’m fine,” you promised.

“You wanted me to stop,” he seemed to remember suddenly.  “You asked me to stop, and I—”

“Peter,” you rested a hand on his shoulder to try to soothe him— it did seem to slow down his spiraling, at least, and he looked at your face again.  If you didn’t know any better you’d say his eyes were watering.  “It’s fine. I wanted it. I just… didn’t know that I did.”

“That sounds kinda fucked up,” he noticed.

“Well, yeah,” you laughed thinly, “this whole thing is fucked up.  Just don’t worry about it, okay?  Yeah, I got a little… overwhelmed, at one point, but um… I didn’t mind it.  In the end.”

He nodded a little, clearly not totally at peace with it but at least seeming to let it go.  “Okay,” he sighed.

“Is… everything okay with you?” you asked nervously; you hadn’t planned to make a habit out of asking him personal questions, but you figured you earned that one.

“Uh… I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“Is this like, a split personality thing?” you wondered, mostly kidding— he laughed a little, thankfully.

“Well,” he relented, “I mean— no, but, maybe a little bit.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided to just nod.  “I… guess if there’s anything I can do…” you began to offer.

“You’ve, uh, done enough already,” he assured as you sat up a bit on the bed.  “I know this kind of isn’t our thing, but I feel like the least I could do is buy you breakfast.”

“Oh!  That’s, um— don’t worry about it,” you shook your head.  “I should head back to my place, actually.”

“N-no, come on, stay,” he pleaded.  This man was just full of surprises, apparently.  “Not long, I mean, if you don’t want to, but… you definitely need a little more time to heal after that.”

He gently guided your legs apart, chest deflating as he looked between them.

“Yeah, you, uh… definitely need time to heal,” he added, but his voice sounded rougher and breathless.

“What— what is it?” you asked worriedly, pushing your legs back together— you felt much too self-conscious now for him to just openly gawk at your pussy like that.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just, uh,” he started nervously, “it’s kinda, you know… I can still kinda see how much I, um, stretched you…”

You swallowed a little, noticing a flush on his face.

“I mean, I’m sure it’ll, like, go back, but uh—”

“Well, you did stay inside for like, a while,” you added, laughing slightly.  “Fuck, um… yeah, that was different.”

“Good different?” he wondered.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, “it was a lot, but, yeah, definitely.  I mean, if you ever need to lose control like that again, just let me know.”

He seemed a little surprised, his eyes drifting over the marks he’d left on you again.  “You’re sure you can take it?” 

The grocery bags grew heavier by the moment. You tried to shift the weight onto your hip, leaving one hand free to pat around your pockets. 

‘For fuck’s sake,’ you muttered under your breath as you felt nothing but old receipts and chapstick. You could only hope for your purse as a last resort. Putting the groceries down, you delved into the bag's compartments. The collection of everyday junk rattled around while your frustrations grew with each next item. You were ready to cry when you caught a glimpse of something. 

A scrap of pink fabric that could only be one of your many keychains. With an exclamation, you yanked it out from the bottom of your bag.

With some of the weight of the day slipping off your shoulders, you bent over to grab your abandoned groceries and were ready to put the key in the lock of your apartment building when everything went black.

…

Next thing you know, you awoke with a start on a couch that wasn’t yours.

How the hell did you get here?

▣ 20 minutes earlier ▣

Peter sat at his desk. Notebooks were splayed out all around him; crossed-out and rewritten formulas filled the pages, followed by diagrams and design sketches. On the screens in front of him was a mix of interests. He clicked away from a YouTube page to view his personal police radio. It’s been fairly quiet the last few hours, which only made him more fidgety. 

He entered a new formula, and the computer immediately started running trials, but Peter could already tell the result would come out suboptimal. 

‘Hey, E.V., let’s run that again, but could you—’

Then, his spell of concentration was broken with a knock on the door. 

His head shot up, eyes glaring in the direction of the door as if he was ready for it to burst open and off its hinges. The knock returned. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was soft with no sense of hurry, panic or anger. Still, Peter walked apprehensively across the room. It was moments like these that he cursed himself for not having a peephole. The only thing he could do was open the door and come face to face with whoever was standing on the other side.

He took off the chain lock and opened the door. To his surprise, the person standing in front of him was… a neighbour. A young woman he recognised from chance meetings in the elevator. From what he could remember, she lived on the 3rd floor… in other words, nowhere near his attic asbestos-filled bachelor pad. 

‘Hi,’ she chirped. ‘I was just wondering if you had some milk you’d be willing to lend out?’ It was only then that Peter noticed the measuring cup in her hands. 

‘Oh, uhm…’ That was about the last thing he expected. He didn’t even know people actually borrowed products from their neighbours like that. He just thought it was something that happened in really cheap porn. 

Yet, here she was. Standing at his door, smiling sheepishly, waiting for his response. 

‘I’ll have to check.’ He pointed back at his fridge. ‘Just a sec.’ He left the door ajar and walked to his “kitchen area”, which did not really consist of much more than a fridge, a microwave, a sink and a shelf of various protein powders and pre-workouts. In all honesty, he knew he had a carton of milk in the fridge. The question was only how many months it had been since it went bad. 

He sniffed the milk and, again, to his surprise, it actually did not smell too bad. Had he actually remembered to throw out the old milk and buy a new carton for once? 

‘How much do you need?’ He called out, turning to face the door, only to be met with yet another surprise: his neighbour was standing only a few steps away from him in his apartment. 

‘Just a cup should be enough,’ she said. ‘I wanted to make some pancakes but seemed to just run out—sorry, by the way, I hope you didn’t mind I kind of let myself in. I’ve just always been so curious as to how other people in the building… live.’ She said the last word a bit hesitantly. Was it the lack of furniture around them? The cobwebs and layers of dust? The boxes of stuff Peter hadn’t touched since he moved in months ago? Or was it his “murder wall” where he tracked his enemies? Either way, he could not imagine this was what she was expecting when she knocked on Peter’s door. 

He quickly glanced around to make sure his suit was nowhere in direct sight. Luck would have it, he had remembered to store it away after last night’s patrol. 

‘You’re still settling in, I suppose?’ She was kind enough to say after seeing the mess he was calling a home. 

‘Erm, you could say that, yeah.’ He said awkwardly, milk in hand. Remembering he still had it, he offered her the carton. She extended her arm out towards him, providing the measuring cup for him to fill. Once full, she smiled. 

‘Wow,’ but something had shifted, compared to how she looked when Peter had opened the door. The smile was now completely gone; it was replaced with a smirk. Her eyes were devoid of any pleasantness. ‘I can’t believe how easy that was.’

▣

‘Seriously, Peter? Are you just letting anyone in here?’ Jean chuckled. ‘I could have probably knocked on the door myself, and you’d welcome me with arms wide open.’

‘Jean.’ Peter stumbled back. Bewilderment spread over his face, colliding with features taken over by anger. Poor Spidey, must be so confused as to how she got hold of his neighbour. How she even knew where he lived. 

It probably would have been harder to steal candy from a baby. For someone being so paranoid over his secret identity, Peter Parker was incredibly easy to track. By just keeping her (and every person walking down the street) eyes up at the sky, Jean watched Peter around. Just to be sure, she took a few days to ensure he was returning to the same spot each time. Clever little spider, used different entry points. Sometimes through his window, sometimes the roof. Other times he would go into the little alley behind the building and change, before casually walking through the front door. 

By taking over the minds of people in the building directly opposite, Jean figured out where he lived in no time. And then when she saw that woman just standing at the door with her groceries, taking forever to get her damn keys, well, the opportunity presented itself so deliciously. Just a few quick jumps and she was in. 

All Jean wanted was to have a key into the building. A way to get to Peter Parker. Never had she expected the woman she chose to be so perfect for this role. Her attention was immediately drawn to a part of her brain that just YELLED “Peter”. 

No, not “Peter”. Just his face, for she did not actually know his name, did she? Poor Spidey was too afraid to make friends after all. He wouldn’t dare to talk to a pretty girl like that in the elevator. But it was enough for her to catch a little crush. Oh yes, teenie tiny feelings were developing in this woman’s mind, and well, Jean just couldn’t help herself. It had been so long since she had so much fun.

▣

Peter watched Jean stroll around his apartment.

Well, it wasn’t Jean, exactly. He had to remind himself of that. This was the body of his 3rd-floor neighbour, and she was still in there somewhere, only momentarily suppressed by this pesky girl. 

He watched her (them?) walk around, with no idea what to do. He wanted to fight, kick her out of his apartment, do something, but at any minute, Jean could jump back out. He wouldn’t ever let himself live it down if he hurt an innocent person. It had already come too close too many times. He just could not let it happen again. 

‘Get out of her, Jean,’ he practically growled, anger seeping into every part of his body. The people in this building had nothing to do with him. He had specifically done his best to keep it that way. He had moved into the god-forsaken attic to avoid small talk. He didn’t make eye contact in the elevator. And still, somehow, Jean managed to wrap someone up in this fucked up web of a mess. 

And it had to be her… 

It was pure chance that they used the elevator at the same time as often as they did. In the mornings, she was usually in her workout gear, going down to hit the gym while Peter was returning from a night of crime fighting. She would smile politely, and it was a smile that was hard to ignore. No matter how hard he tried.

‘You know,’ “Jean” spoke, completely ignoring Peter’s demand, ‘it’s always so funny to go into someone’s mind. You truly never know what you will find in there.’ She looked out the window, pointing a finger at the building on the opposite side of the street. ‘Like that guy, for example. You’d think he had it all, beautiful apartment, with a gorgeous wife and lovely kids, but no, he goes out every Friday to hook up with a girl on the other side of town.’ 

‘Or that guy,’ she pointed a little higher, to the apartment a few floors up, ‘is sooo totally a furry, even if he doesn’t dare to admit it, even to himself—’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Peter could not understand what the point of all of this was. Why was she here in his room, only to… what? Gossip about strangers?

‘Don’t you get it, Peter?’ She finally turned to look at him, a grin of disbelief stretching at her lips. ‘It’s just so fun to watch you get all railed up.’ She laughed lightly. ‘And I’m not the only one who thinks so.’ 

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ This girl wasn’t making any sense. One day she tries to kill him by possessing his enemies, the next she sits down for a casual chat as his neighbour. Just when he didn’t think his head could hurt more, she made it pound in agony, just from her mere presence.

She left the window and walked up to him. Peter took a few steps back until his back hit the wall. 

‘For a smart kid, you can be so stupid.’ She said in a soft voice, hand trailing over his cheek. Maybe it was because it had been so long since he had talked to someone, touched someone. It had been so long since someone touched him that the simple stroke made his knees go weak. His mind rushed to all those times he saw her– his actual neighbour, not Jean– in the elevator. How often he had wanted to say something, but just never had the guts to. It wouldn’t be wise. He couldn’t even keep people safe that he barely knew, let alone those who knew him better, who knew what he did and the dangers behind it. He was looking into the eyes of a possessed woman, who had no idea what was happening to her body.

Just then, she came closer. Peter didn’t dare to move an inch. 

‘Let this be a lesson, Spidey.’ She whispered in his ear. The anger he felt for “Jean” was being subdued by the sweet sound of the voice with which she spoke. ‘Live a little.’ He could feel her body press against his. Coming closer and closer. 

This could not be happening. Absolutely not. 

Ever since Peter had gotten his powers, he had grown cautious of his movements, as the strength that the spider-bite gave him intensified everything he did. That meant that even the tiniest push, if he did not have enough self-control, could send someone across the room. It had taken him a long time to perfect his everyday movements to avoid accidents, to remember to stay gentle and in control.

Now was not a time for control.

He pushed the woman back with a force that practically hurled her through the room. However, what he did not notice was that another force pushed her body back even further and let her fall onto the couch.

▣

You woke up with a start.

Woke up... Is that right? You couldn’t remember ever falling asleep. The last thing you remembered was… was… was walking down the street. Yes, that’s right: you were walking back home. 

No, you had come home. You were getting the keys to the front door when— nothing.

You must have fallen asleep on the couch, blacking out from exhaustion.

Except, this wasn’t your couch. Or your apartment. You were sitting in a dingy old attic room, and ahead of you was a man. He was breathing heavily. Chest inflating widely with each inhale. His eyes were dark with… no, that was not normal pupil dilation. His entire eye sockets were devoid of colour. Pitch black. But as you were ready to scream, they turned back to normal. Like a switch in the man’s body had been turned, he physically turned smaller, less formidable. In fact, he looked scared himself. 

‘I know you,’ you managed to say. Your voice felt hoarse, weak. 

‘Yes, we live in the same building. We’ve met, in the elevator, a few times actually.’ He started stuttering. ‘I’m Peter.’ He leapt forward to extend his hand, but stopped when he noticed you cringed back in your seat. 

You had, in fact, met before. You had tried to start a polite conversation a few times. Still, he never seemed interested, or was far too shy to say anything, which, in all honesty, had added to his charm, in your opinion, but now you were questioning your judgement, because what in the fuck were you doing on his couch? 

He must have seen the panic-stricken look on your face, as he quickly started talking again: ‘I can explain— I mean, I can, but I don’t know how to explain it to make you believe me because this is crazy, but I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.’ It might have been a bit too late for that, though.

‘Did you touch me?’ you dared to ask the question that was on your mind ever since you “woke up”. The colour left Peter’s face. 

‘No, god, no. I promise you, I did not do anything. No, no.’ But what could he possibly say or do to make you believe him? It was his word against a complete blackout of your memories of the last… how long has it been? Either way, it was best to stay calm. 

You could see him panicking, looking around until his eyes landed on his computer. ‘I can prove it actually.’ He walked towards his desk and leaned over the keyboard to type something in. From where you sat, you could just about see a new window pop up on the screen that seemed to be a live feed from a camera angled right at the centre of the room. 

‘You got security cameras in your own house?’ You asked as you got up to have a better look at what he was going to show you.

‘Uhm yeah… you know, for insurance purposes. In case an Avenger throws a car through the window or something.’ Perhaps a bit excessive, you understood the sentiment. A friend of yours was still looking for a new car since her old one got completely flattened by a loon in a rhinoceros costume. 

‘So… what happened to me?’ You pulled your jacket over yourself, feeling a shiver run up your body.

‘Well, to keep it short,’ Peter ran a hand through his hair, the other one placing the cursor on the feed timeline to a few minutes back, until he stopped at a shot of him sitting at his desk. You watched him walk to his door and open it, only to reveal yourself standing there. ‘You were, kind of, possessed?’

‘Possessed?’ If you had a drink, you would have spat it out in his face, but even if you had, maybe you would have been too focused staring at the recording of yourself. The quality of the camera wasn’t great, but the figure at the door was unmistakably you. You were smiling, looking perfectly normal. From the timestamp on the screen, this had only happened a few minutes ago, but you could not remember a thing about it. Possessed?! 

‘By a telepath.’ Peter explained as you watched on. ‘She can do this thing where she, like, jumps from body to body. Takes over for a bit before she dips and picks someone else to control.’ 

A telepath possessed your body? The information came at you like a freightcar. It was absolutely ridiculous. But the worst of all was that you were actually quite eager to believe Peter. Not only because you were actively watching yourself walk through his living room with no memory of ever doing so, but because this was New York City after all, where alien invasions were just another Wednesday afternoon, and you could casually bump into superheroes on your morning coffee run. So, yeah, a mind-controlling psycho wasn’t totally out of the question. Still, there was so much more you did not understand about all of this.

‘Why me?’ You asked, dumbfounded. You could now see yourself more clearly as “you” moved into the room. It was unmistakably your body, but seeing yourself from this angle, something felt off. The way “you” moved, it didn’t feel natural to you. It truly was like someone took over your limbs. The puzzle pieces were coming into place and, perhaps foolishly, as it did not change the situation at all, you felt your fear subsiding. It helped to see that Peter had calmed down as well. His grip on the mouse loosened. Though understandably freaked out like you, he still managed to explain the situation somewhat cohesively.

‘Jean, the telepath, she has it against me. She was trying to get into the building, to get to me.’

‘The last thing I can remember before this was putting my key in the front door.’ You remembered clearly now. The groceries, how you couldn’t find your keys—next thing you know, you’re in Peter’s apartment.

‘She must have seen it and just took the opportunity.’ Peter confirmed. You watched on as he narrated, ‘So, yeah, she knocked on the door asking to borrow a cup of milk.’

‘People actually do that?’ you raised a brow, thinking that was just something people did in cheap porno’s, but on the security feed, you did notice the empty measuring cup in your hands, and when you looked around, it was standing abandoned on the counter, now full of milk, just as Peter had poured it on the screen in front of you. 

‘I was confused,’ He smiled awkwardly, most likely having the same thought. ‘But, you know, I wanted to do the neighbourly thing. Then she walked in and revealed herself— her identity, that is!’ His eyes bulged at his wrong choice of words. ‘But yeah, she’s been provoking me for the past few weeks, and I think now she is just doing it for the fun of it,  and there isn’t much I can do about it.’

‘Damn, getting bullied by a telepath is a whole new level of bad luck.’ You couldn’t imagine the hell that must be, never knowing when someone you were talking to was actually themselves. 

Peter laughed slightly. ‘Yeah, I’m just sorry to get you involved in all of this. What she does is seriously messed up, I can’t imagine what it must be like to get your mind taken over like that.’

‘She’s never done it to you?’ That sparked another wave of interest inside you.

‘N-no, I’m kind of immune to it, I think, which is probably why she keeps doing this.’ He waved around to allude to the entire situation you found yourself in.

‘Try to get into your head in a different way…’ you thought out loud. There was a moment where your eyes met. He still had that nervous smile across his face, and you annoyed yourself that in a moment such as this you still could not help but think of how cute that smile was.

‘Ye- yeah. Basically.’ He replied before turning towards the computer screen and turning it off. You had seen enough, and one could only handle seeing themselves be possessed for so long. 

▣ 

‘I’m y/n, by the way.’ She cut the momentary silence and extended her hand for Peter to shake. He looked up, not exactly confused, but more so surprised. ‘I realised I hadn’t introduced myself yet,’ she clarified. 

‘Peter.’ He replied as he took her hand, only then realising that he had already told her his name before, but if she had noticed, she didn’t mention it. ‘Again, I’m really sorry about all of this.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ she shrugged, which to Peter felt like a downplaying of the whole thing. She seemed so nonchalant about the whole mind-control thing. He was still making a conscious effort to get his heart rate to drop. What probably wasn’t helping his cause was the fact that she was standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume. Realising he started to grip the mouse tighter again, he dropped it. 

Another moment of silence arose, only to be broken again by her. ‘Well, I should be going, probably.’ 

‘Right. Yeah. Of course.’ Peter got up from his chair quickly. They walked side by side to the door. During those few short steps, all he wanted to do was apologise again, profusely, for everything that happened. A part of him also wanted to apologise for his thoughts. How he felt when she, well, Jean, touched him, and how he focused on her perfume when she was witnessing her own possession on his computer screen. It all felt incredibly wrong, and if he didn’t know better, he would wish to erase everything of the last half hour.

He opened the door, its hinges creaking only a little bit. She was about to walk out when Peter called out.

‘Don’t forget the milk.’ He then turned around to swiftly pick up the measuring cup for her. ‘For the pancakes.’ He presented it, somewhat proudly, but her face fell slightly glum.

‘Oh, that was all Jean. I’m actually lactose intolerant.’ 

‘Ah, right.’ Peter put the cup down. ‘I’ll clean that out for you then and bring it over later’ 

‘Thanks.’ She took the first few steps out of the corridor, and as if pulled in with some invisible force, Peter found himself following her up until the threshold. He watched her make her way through the corridor, some words at the tip of his tongue, but they were supposed to be, even he didn’t know.

Just before turning towards the elevator, she instead turned to face him again. ‘It was nice to finally meet you, Peter.’ And all of a sudden, Peter felt as if he was possessed himself, as if his whole body was frozen. A dozen different responses fought to escape his mouth, but none made it out. All he could manage to do was to wave her way with a tight-lipped smile. Only once she disappeared into the elevator did Peter let himself slump his head against the doorframe. 

‘Stupid.’

▣ 3 weeks later ▣ 

‘Shit,’ Peter cursed as he looked for the right key. The rain was pouring down hard on him, soaking through all the layers of clothing. He stood underneath the small roof ahead of the entrance, but droplets kept falling from the curls on his forehead directly into his eyes. The water kept blurring his vision, making it almost impossible to distinguish the individual keys from one another. He was about to say screw it and zip himself up to his floor and slide through the window that he, stupidly, but luckily, left open, when a familiar voice came from behind him.

‘Here, let me.’

He turned his head to be met with a red umbrella. Underneath was y/n. She had her keys in her hand and excused herself to get past Peter towards the lock. 

‘Thanks.’ In return, he held the door open so she could enter first. As she walked by him, Peter could smell her perfume, even with the rain dulling all the senses. The sweet scent was as strong as when she had been leaning over him at his desk. 

He had been doing his best to forget all that happened when she appeared at his front door. Thinking of it made him want to kick himself for having been so sloppy. He had made it so easy for Jean, then still on her vengeful road, to find him. He had put everyone in this building at risk, and let y/n be taken advantage of. This couldn’t happen again.

While she stayed at the door to shake the water off the umbrella, Peter shook out all the thoughts the perfume brought up and walked over to the elevator to call it down. Luck would have it that the doors immediately opened.

The two of them walked inside and pressed their respective floor numbers.

‘Did you resolve your telepath problem?’ Her voice nearly made Peter jump.

‘Y-yeah,’ he looked down at the keys in his hands, fidgeting with them between his fingers. ‘We talked it out.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ She looked his way, most likely expecting to hear something more about it, or anything, really, but Peter’s throat dried out, and he had no idea what to say. With the silence taking over, they both looked at the numbers above the elevator door as it hit 3. The door opened, and she got out, but not before saying: 

‘See you around, Peter.’ 

‘See ya,’ he smiled. She walked away. Was that disappointment that he saw on her profile as she walked?

Suddenly, a whole new sense was taking over his body. As if, out of nowhere, he knew exactly what to do. The elevator was about to close when Peter quickly put his hand in between to stop it. He jumped out, making her slightly jump in the process.

‘You alright?’ She looked at him with a hint of concern, but Peter didn’t respond to this. He knew exactly what to say, and he had the feeling that if he strayed from the script, that it would all be a lost cause. 

He took a deep breath. 

Jean, as annoying and extremely irresponsible as she was in her methods, did make him realise something. All this time he had been so busy thinking about the what-ifs, the worst-case scenarios, that he completely forgot to actually pay attention to the real world. He had been so blind to the people around him, but also to his own feelings. He had spent so much time saving lives that he started missing out on actually living. 

‘Would you like to grab a coffee together sometime?’ 

Her face lit up at the sound of the question. 

‘I’d really like that.’ 

‘Okay, cool. How about this Saturday?’ Peter finally felt like his words were coming naturally to him. 

‘Sounds great. I’ll see you then.’ They slowly started separating into their own directions, she to her apartment, Peter back to the elevator. He was about to press the button to recall the lift when she called out to him from across the hallway:

‘And don’t forget to give me my measuring cup back!’

‘Right. Sorry!’ 

The End.

Thank you so much for reading <3

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The grocery bags grew heavier by the moment. You tried to shift the weight onto your hip, leaving one hand free to pat around your pockets. 

‘For fuck’s sake,’ you muttered under your breath as you felt nothing but old receipts and chapstick. You could only hope for your purse as a last resort. Putting the groceries down, you delved into the bag's compartments. The collection of everyday junk rattled around while your frustrations grew with each next item. You were ready to cry when you caught a glimpse of something. 

A scrap of pink fabric that could only be one of your many keychains. With an exclamation, you yanked it out from the bottom of your bag.

With some of the weight of the day slipping off your shoulders, you bent over to grab your abandoned groceries and were ready to put the key in the lock of your apartment building when everything went black.

…

Next thing you know, you awoke with a start on a couch that wasn’t yours.

How the hell did you get here?

▣ 20 minutes earlier ▣

Peter sat at his desk. Notebooks were splayed out all around him; crossed-out and rewritten formulas filled the pages, followed by diagrams and design sketches. On the screens in front of him was a mix of interests. He clicked away from a YouTube page to view his personal police radio. It’s been fairly quiet the last few hours, which only made him more fidgety. 

He entered a new formula, and the computer immediately started running trials, but Peter could already tell the result would come out suboptimal. 

‘Hey, E.V., let’s run that again, but could you—’

Then, his spell of concentration was broken with a knock on the door. 

His head shot up, eyes glaring in the direction of the door as if he was ready for it to burst open and off its hinges. The knock returned. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was soft with no sense of hurry, panic or anger. Still, Peter walked apprehensively across the room. It was moments like these that he cursed himself for not having a peephole. The only thing he could do was open the door and come face to face with whoever was standing on the other side.

He took off the chain lock and opened the door. To his surprise, the person standing in front of him was… a neighbour. A young woman he recognised from chance meetings in the elevator. From what he could remember, she lived on the 3rd floor… in other words, nowhere near his attic asbestos-filled bachelor pad. 

‘Hi,’ she chirped. ‘I was just wondering if you had some milk you’d be willing to lend out?’ It was only then that Peter noticed the measuring cup in her hands. 

‘Oh, uhm…’ That was about the last thing he expected. He didn’t even know people actually borrowed products from their neighbours like that. He just thought it was something that happened in really cheap porn. 

Yet, here she was. Standing at his door, smiling sheepishly, waiting for his response. 

‘I’ll have to check.’ He pointed back at his fridge. ‘Just a sec.’ He left the door ajar and walked to his “kitchen area”, which did not really consist of much more than a fridge, a microwave, a sink and a shelf of various protein powders and pre-workouts. In all honesty, he knew he had a carton of milk in the fridge. The question was only how many months it had been since it went bad. 

He sniffed the milk and, again, to his surprise, it actually did not smell too bad. Had he actually remembered to throw out the old milk and buy a new carton for once? 

‘How much do you need?’ He called out, turning to face the door, only to be met with yet another surprise: his neighbour was standing only a few steps away from him in his apartment. 

‘Just a cup should be enough,’ she said. ‘I wanted to make some pancakes but seemed to just run out—sorry, by the way, I hope you didn’t mind I kind of let myself in. I’ve just always been so curious as to how other people in the building… live.’ She said the last word a bit hesitantly. Was it the lack of furniture around them? The cobwebs and layers of dust? The boxes of stuff Peter hadn’t touched since he moved in months ago? Or was it his “murder wall” where he tracked his enemies? Either way, he could not imagine this was what she was expecting when she knocked on Peter’s door. 

He quickly glanced around to make sure his suit was nowhere in direct sight. Luck would have it, he had remembered to store it away after last night’s patrol. 

‘You’re still settling in, I suppose?’ She was kind enough to say after seeing the mess he was calling a home. 

‘Erm, you could say that, yeah.’ He said awkwardly, milk in hand. Remembering he still had it, he offered her the carton. She extended her arm out towards him, providing the measuring cup for him to fill. Once full, she smiled. 

‘Wow,’ but something had shifted, compared to how she looked when Peter had opened the door. The smile was now completely gone; it was replaced with a smirk. Her eyes were devoid of any pleasantness. ‘I can’t believe how easy that was.’

▣

‘Seriously, Peter? Are you just letting anyone in here?’ Jean chuckled. ‘I could have probably knocked on the door myself, and you’d welcome me with arms wide open.’

‘Jean.’ Peter stumbled back. Bewilderment spread over his face, colliding with features taken over by anger. Poor Spidey, must be so confused as to how she got hold of his neighbour. How she even knew where he lived. 

It probably would have been harder to steal candy from a baby. For someone being so paranoid over his secret identity, Peter Parker was incredibly easy to track. By just keeping her (and every person walking down the street) eyes up at the sky, Jean watched Peter around. Just to be sure, she took a few days to ensure he was returning to the same spot each time. Clever little spider, used different entry points. Sometimes through his window, sometimes the roof. Other times he would go into the little alley behind the building and change, before casually walking through the front door. 

By taking over the minds of people in the building directly opposite, Jean figured out where he lived in no time. And then when she saw that woman just standing at the door with her groceries, taking forever to get her damn keys, well, the opportunity presented itself so deliciously. Just a few quick jumps and she was in. 

All Jean wanted was to have a key into the building. A way to get to Peter Parker. Never had she expected the woman she chose to be so perfect for this role. Her attention was immediately drawn to a part of her brain that just YELLED “Peter”. 

No, not “Peter”. Just his face, for she did not actually know his name, did she? Poor Spidey was too afraid to make friends after all. He wouldn’t dare to talk to a pretty girl like that in the elevator. But it was enough for her to catch a little crush. Oh yes, teenie tiny feelings were developing in this woman’s mind, and well, Jean just couldn’t help herself. It had been so long since she had so much fun.

▣

Peter watched Jean stroll around his apartment.

Well, it wasn’t Jean, exactly. He had to remind himself of that. This was the body of his 3rd-floor neighbour, and she was still in there somewhere, only momentarily suppressed by this pesky girl. 

He watched her (them?) walk around, with no idea what to do. He wanted to fight, kick her out of his apartment, do something, but at any minute, Jean could jump back out. He wouldn’t ever let himself live it down if he hurt an innocent person. It had already come too close too many times. He just could not let it happen again. 

‘Get out of her, Jean,’ he practically growled, anger seeping into every part of his body. The people in this building had nothing to do with him. He had specifically done his best to keep it that way. He had moved into the god-forsaken attic to avoid small talk. He didn’t make eye contact in the elevator. And still, somehow, Jean managed to wrap someone up in this fucked up web of a mess. 

And it had to be her… 

It was pure chance that they used the elevator at the same time as often as they did. In the mornings, she was usually in her workout gear, going down to hit the gym while Peter was returning from a night of crime fighting. She would smile politely, and it was a smile that was hard to ignore. No matter how hard he tried.

‘You know,’ “Jean” spoke, completely ignoring Peter’s demand, ‘it’s always so funny to go into someone’s mind. You truly never know what you will find in there.’ She looked out the window, pointing a finger at the building on the opposite side of the street. ‘Like that guy, for example. You’d think he had it all, beautiful apartment, with a gorgeous wife and lovely kids, but no, he goes out every Friday to hook up with a girl on the other side of town.’ 

‘Or that guy,’ she pointed a little higher, to the apartment a few floors up, ‘is sooo totally a furry, even if he doesn’t dare to admit it, even to himself—’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Peter could not understand what the point of all of this was. Why was she here in his room, only to… what? Gossip about strangers?

‘Don’t you get it, Peter?’ She finally turned to look at him, a grin of disbelief stretching at her lips. ‘It’s just so fun to watch you get all railed up.’ She laughed lightly. ‘And I’m not the only one who thinks so.’ 

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ This girl wasn’t making any sense. One day she tries to kill him by possessing his enemies, the next she sits down for a casual chat as his neighbour. Just when he didn’t think his head could hurt more, she made it pound in agony, just from her mere presence.

She left the window and walked up to him. Peter took a few steps back until his back hit the wall. 

‘For a smart kid, you can be so stupid.’ She said in a soft voice, hand trailing over his cheek. Maybe it was because it had been so long since he had talked to someone, touched someone. It had been so long since someone touched him that the simple stroke made his knees go weak. His mind rushed to all those times he saw her– his actual neighbour, not Jean– in the elevator. How often he had wanted to say something, but just never had the guts to. It wouldn’t be wise. He couldn’t even keep people safe that he barely knew, let alone those who knew him better, who knew what he did and the dangers behind it. He was looking into the eyes of a possessed woman, who had no idea what was happening to her body.

Just then, she came closer. Peter didn’t dare to move an inch. 

‘Let this be a lesson, Spidey.’ She whispered in his ear. The anger he felt for “Jean” was being subdued by the sweet sound of the voice with which she spoke. ‘Live a little.’ He could feel her body press against his. Coming closer and closer. 

This could not be happening. Absolutely not. 

Ever since Peter had gotten his powers, he had grown cautious of his movements, as the strength that the spider-bite gave him intensified everything he did. That meant that even the tiniest push, if he did not have enough self-control, could send someone across the room. It had taken him a long time to perfect his everyday movements to avoid accidents, to remember to stay gentle and in control.

Now was not a time for control.

He pushed the woman back with a force that practically hurled her through the room. However, what he did not notice was that another force pushed her body back even further and let her fall onto the couch.

▣

You woke up with a start.

Woke up... Is that right? You couldn’t remember ever falling asleep. The last thing you remembered was… was… was walking down the street. Yes, that’s right: you were walking back home. 

No, you had come home. You were getting the keys to the front door when— nothing.

You must have fallen asleep on the couch, blacking out from exhaustion.

Except, this wasn’t your couch. Or your apartment. You were sitting in a dingy old attic room, and ahead of you was a man. He was breathing heavily. Chest inflating widely with each inhale. His eyes were dark with… no, that was not normal pupil dilation. His entire eye sockets were devoid of colour. Pitch black. But as you were ready to scream, they turned back to normal. Like a switch in the man’s body had been turned, he physically turned smaller, less formidable. In fact, he looked scared himself. 

‘I know you,’ you managed to say. Your voice felt hoarse, weak. 

‘Yes, we live in the same building. We’ve met, in the elevator, a few times actually.’ He started stuttering. ‘I’m Peter.’ He leapt forward to extend his hand, but stopped when he noticed you cringed back in your seat. 

You had, in fact, met before. You had tried to start a polite conversation a few times. Still, he never seemed interested, or was far too shy to say anything, which, in all honesty, had added to his charm, in your opinion, but now you were questioning your judgement, because what in the fuck were you doing on his couch? 

He must have seen the panic-stricken look on your face, as he quickly started talking again: ‘I can explain— I mean, I can, but I don’t know how to explain it to make you believe me because this is crazy, but I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.’ It might have been a bit too late for that, though.

‘Did you touch me?’ you dared to ask the question that was on your mind ever since you “woke up”. The colour left Peter’s face. 

‘No, god, no. I promise you, I did not do anything. No, no.’ But what could he possibly say or do to make you believe him? It was his word against a complete blackout of your memories of the last… how long has it been? Either way, it was best to stay calm. 

You could see him panicking, looking around until his eyes landed on his computer. ‘I can prove it actually.’ He walked towards his desk and leaned over the keyboard to type something in. From where you sat, you could just about see a new window pop up on the screen that seemed to be a live feed from a camera angled right at the centre of the room. 

‘You got security cameras in your own house?’ You asked as you got up to have a better look at what he was going to show you.

‘Uhm yeah… you know, for insurance purposes. In case an Avenger throws a car through the window or something.’ Perhaps a bit excessive, you understood the sentiment. A friend of yours was still looking for a new car since her old one got completely flattened by a loon in a rhinoceros costume. 

‘So… what happened to me?’ You pulled your jacket over yourself, feeling a shiver run up your body.

‘Well, to keep it short,’ Peter ran a hand through his hair, the other one placing the cursor on the feed timeline to a few minutes back, until he stopped at a shot of him sitting at his desk. You watched him walk to his door and open it, only to reveal yourself standing there. ‘You were, kind of, possessed?’

‘Possessed?’ If you had a drink, you would have spat it out in his face, but even if you had, maybe you would have been too focused staring at the recording of yourself. The quality of the camera wasn’t great, but the figure at the door was unmistakably you. You were smiling, looking perfectly normal. From the timestamp on the screen, this had only happened a few minutes ago, but you could not remember a thing about it. Possessed?! 

‘By a telepath.’ Peter explained as you watched on. ‘She can do this thing where she, like, jumps from body to body. Takes over for a bit before she dips and picks someone else to control.’ 

A telepath possessed your body? The information came at you like a freightcar. It was absolutely ridiculous. But the worst of all was that you were actually quite eager to believe Peter. Not only because you were actively watching yourself walk through his living room with no memory of ever doing so, but because this was New York City after all, where alien invasions were just another Wednesday afternoon, and you could casually bump into superheroes on your morning coffee run. So, yeah, a mind-controlling psycho wasn’t totally out of the question. Still, there was so much more you did not understand about all of this.

‘Why me?’ You asked, dumbfounded. You could now see yourself more clearly as “you” moved into the room. It was unmistakably your body, but seeing yourself from this angle, something felt off. The way “you” moved, it didn’t feel natural to you. It truly was like someone took over your limbs. The puzzle pieces were coming into place and, perhaps foolishly, as it did not change the situation at all, you felt your fear subsiding. It helped to see that Peter had calmed down as well. His grip on the mouse loosened. Though understandably freaked out like you, he still managed to explain the situation somewhat cohesively.

‘Jean, the telepath, she has it against me. She was trying to get into the building, to get to me.’

‘The last thing I can remember before this was putting my key in the front door.’ You remembered clearly now. The groceries, how you couldn’t find your keys—next thing you know, you’re in Peter’s apartment.

‘She must have seen it and just took the opportunity.’ Peter confirmed. You watched on as he narrated, ‘So, yeah, she knocked on the door asking to borrow a cup of milk.’

‘People actually do that?’ you raised a brow, thinking that was just something people did in cheap porno’s, but on the security feed, you did notice the empty measuring cup in your hands, and when you looked around, it was standing abandoned on the counter, now full of milk, just as Peter had poured it on the screen in front of you. 

‘I was confused,’ He smiled awkwardly, most likely having the same thought. ‘But, you know, I wanted to do the neighbourly thing. Then she walked in and revealed herself— her identity, that is!’ His eyes bulged at his wrong choice of words. ‘But yeah, she’s been provoking me for the past few weeks, and I think now she is just doing it for the fun of it,  and there isn’t much I can do about it.’

‘Damn, getting bullied by a telepath is a whole new level of bad luck.’ You couldn’t imagine the hell that must be, never knowing when someone you were talking to was actually themselves. 

Peter laughed slightly. ‘Yeah, I’m just sorry to get you involved in all of this. What she does is seriously messed up, I can’t imagine what it must be like to get your mind taken over like that.’

‘She’s never done it to you?’ That sparked another wave of interest inside you.

‘N-no, I’m kind of immune to it, I think, which is probably why she keeps doing this.’ He waved around to allude to the entire situation you found yourself in.

‘Try to get into your head in a different way…’ you thought out loud. There was a moment where your eyes met. He still had that nervous smile across his face, and you annoyed yourself that in a moment such as this you still could not help but think of how cute that smile was.

‘Ye- yeah. Basically.’ He replied before turning towards the computer screen and turning it off. You had seen enough, and one could only handle seeing themselves be possessed for so long. 

▣ 

‘I’m y/n, by the way.’ She cut the momentary silence and extended her hand for Peter to shake. He looked up, not exactly confused, but more so surprised. ‘I realised I hadn’t introduced myself yet,’ she clarified. 

‘Peter.’ He replied as he took her hand, only then realising that he had already told her his name before, but if she had noticed, she didn’t mention it. ‘Again, I’m really sorry about all of this.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ she shrugged, which to Peter felt like a downplaying of the whole thing. She seemed so nonchalant about the whole mind-control thing. He was still making a conscious effort to get his heart rate to drop. What probably wasn’t helping his cause was the fact that she was standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume. Realising he started to grip the mouse tighter again, he dropped it. 

Another moment of silence arose, only to be broken again by her. ‘Well, I should be going, probably.’ 

‘Right. Yeah. Of course.’ Peter got up from his chair quickly. They walked side by side to the door. During those few short steps, all he wanted to do was apologise again, profusely, for everything that happened. A part of him also wanted to apologise for his thoughts. How he felt when she, well, Jean, touched him, and how he focused on her perfume when she was witnessing her own possession on his computer screen. It all felt incredibly wrong, and if he didn’t know better, he would wish to erase everything of the last half hour.

He opened the door, its hinges creaking only a little bit. She was about to walk out when Peter called out.

‘Don’t forget the milk.’ He then turned around to swiftly pick up the measuring cup for her. ‘For the pancakes.’ He presented it, somewhat proudly, but her face fell slightly glum.

‘Oh, that was all Jean. I’m actually lactose intolerant.’ 

‘Ah, right.’ Peter put the cup down. ‘I’ll clean that out for you then and bring it over later’ 

‘Thanks.’ She took the first few steps out of the corridor, and as if pulled in with some invisible force, Peter found himself following her up until the threshold. He watched her make her way through the corridor, some words at the tip of his tongue, but they were supposed to be, even he didn’t know.

Just before turning towards the elevator, she instead turned to face him again. ‘It was nice to finally meet you, Peter.’ And all of a sudden, Peter felt as if he was possessed himself, as if his whole body was frozen. A dozen different responses fought to escape his mouth, but none made it out. All he could manage to do was to wave her way with a tight-lipped smile. Only once she disappeared into the elevator did Peter let himself slump his head against the doorframe. 

‘Stupid.’

▣ 3 weeks later ▣ 

‘Shit,’ Peter cursed as he looked for the right key. The rain was pouring down hard on him, soaking through all the layers of clothing. He stood underneath the small roof ahead of the entrance, but droplets kept falling from the curls on his forehead directly into his eyes. The water kept blurring his vision, making it almost impossible to distinguish the individual keys from one another. He was about to say screw it and zip himself up to his floor and slide through the window that he, stupidly, but luckily, left open, when a familiar voice came from behind him.

‘Here, let me.’

He turned his head to be met with a red umbrella. Underneath was y/n. She had her keys in her hand and excused herself to get past Peter towards the lock. 

‘Thanks.’ In return, he held the door open so she could enter first. As she walked by him, Peter could smell her perfume, even with the rain dulling all the senses. The sweet scent was as strong as when she had been leaning over him at his desk. 

He had been doing his best to forget all that happened when she appeared at his front door. Thinking of it made him want to kick himself for having been so sloppy. He had made it so easy for Jean, then still on her vengeful road, to find him. He had put everyone in this building at risk, and let y/n be taken advantage of. This couldn’t happen again.

While she stayed at the door to shake the water off the umbrella, Peter shook out all the thoughts the perfume brought up and walked over to the elevator to call it down. Luck would have it that the doors immediately opened.

The two of them walked inside and pressed their respective floor numbers.

‘Did you resolve your telepath problem?’ Her voice nearly made Peter jump.

‘Y-yeah,’ he looked down at the keys in his hands, fidgeting with them between his fingers. ‘We talked it out.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ She looked his way, most likely expecting to hear something more about it, or anything, really, but Peter’s throat dried out, and he had no idea what to say. With the silence taking over, they both looked at the numbers above the elevator door as it hit 3. The door opened, and she got out, but not before saying: 

‘See you around, Peter.’ 

‘See ya,’ he smiled. She walked away. Was that disappointment that he saw on her profile as she walked?

Suddenly, a whole new sense was taking over his body. As if, out of nowhere, he knew exactly what to do. The elevator was about to close when Peter quickly put his hand in between to stop it. He jumped out, making her slightly jump in the process.

‘You alright?’ She looked at him with a hint of concern, but Peter didn’t respond to this. He knew exactly what to say, and he had the feeling that if he strayed from the script, that it would all be a lost cause. 

He took a deep breath. 

Jean, as annoying and extremely irresponsible as she was in her methods, did make him realise something. All this time he had been so busy thinking about the what-ifs, the worst-case scenarios, that he completely forgot to actually pay attention to the real world. He had been so blind to the people around him, but also to his own feelings. He had spent so much time saving lives that he started missing out on actually living. 

‘Would you like to grab a coffee together sometime?’ 

Her face lit up at the sound of the question. 

‘I’d really like that.’ 

‘Okay, cool. How about this Saturday?’ Peter finally felt like his words were coming naturally to him. 

‘Sounds great. I’ll see you then.’ They slowly started separating into their own directions, she to her apartment, Peter back to the elevator. He was about to press the button to recall the lift when she called out to him from across the hallway:

‘And don’t forget to give me my measuring cup back!’

‘Right. Sorry!’ 

The End.

Thank you so much for reading <3

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