Chapter Text
Chapter One
Shit, it was hot.
MJ smacked her hand against the stapler, the afternoon sun beating down hard against the back of her body. The warmth of it tried to smolder through the thick mass of curls that tumbled down her back, doing its best to piss her off. In the back of her head, she remained eternally grateful for the heat-defying benefits of Carol's Daughter.
A frown tugged her lips downward when she felt the bead of sweat that made its way down her temple. Reaching up with one hand covered in tawny brown skin, she wiped it away. She hated sweating.
Heading down the hallway of the Art building, MJ stapled another flier to the next corkboard. Her eyes lit upon several other fliers similar to hers, and her heart sank a bit.
Would anyone even call? There were like, seventy-five other people all trying to start the same Summer Art club as her. Why was she trying to start a club anyway? She hated people. She hated gatherings.
Her eyes rolled towards the Heavens, towards a God who obviously thought it was hilarious to watch her swim closer to a whirlpool of failure.
Whatever.
Even if one person showed up, it'd be one more person than she had right now. Which was herself. So the final number would be two. If she remembered anything from high school, it was that math never failed. Two people was a club.
She stapled another flier at the end of the hall, nearly colliding with someone. That person also held a stack of fliers.
"Starting a club?" he asked, arching one thick eyebrow. His accent was thick.
"Yeah," MJ said, flashing a close-lipped smile. Her gaze flitted down to the ones in his hands. As she read the words splashed across the page in punchy, colorful letters, her heart wormed its way deeper into her chest cavern. "An Art club, huh?"
"Yes," Eyebrows replied, and his smile was condescending. "We are in the Art building, you know."
"Right," MJ said, and she bit her lip. She glanced down at her fliers. They were plain, with black ink and white paper. Boring. “Well.”
"You could always join someone else's," Eyebrows suggested, his eyes also landing upon her stack. “Maybe even mine . . . ?”
MJ's hand moved behind her back, as though he hadn't already seen her pieces of shit excuses for fliers. "Yeah, I guess I…could…you know, I'm just gonna…I have a…there's a…okay, bye."
She hurried away, headed back down the hall, forcing the heat out of her cheeks. She cursed herself.
Starting an Art club in the Art building? Really? When there were 375 other Art clubs being started for summer?
Maybe that's why Peter never called her back. Stupid didn't really suit spiders.
When MJ got back to her car, she rested her head against the horn.
Rather, she slammed her forehead to the center of the steering wheel and let the horn blare and blare and blare. Loneliness had been her thing in high school but now, after everyone was elsewhere, she just wanted her club of one to become two. She wanted at least one friend.
"I'm not asking for much," MJ groaned to herself, her voice barely audible above the screaming horn. "I just want someone to draw pictures of dudes with."
A knock came at her window, insistent and firm.
MJ, still with her head against the horn, swiveled her neck to the driver's side window.
A girl who certainly belonged to a sorority stood there, face drenched in make-up and hair perfectly curled past her shoulders. She was saying something, yelling it, and stomping the four-inch platform heel that graced her perfectly-pedicured left foot.
MJ rolled her window down, remaining hunched over.
"Can I help you?" she asked over the horn.
"Uhh, yeah," the girl scoffed, hands on her hips. "Could you maybe like, not sit here and blow your car horn, freak? It's finals week."
MJ’s lips twitched upward. She made a show of lifting her head from the wheel with a cloak of drama that could only be worn by her.
"Happy?"
"Very much so," the girl snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. She stomped off, the angry click-clack of her heels smacking against the campus pavement grating on MJ’s nerves.
MJ surveyed the students who were standing around glaring at her, all sharing the same sentiment as the sorority girl, and she knew she'd better just go home. She rolled her window back up and turned the car on, her feet feeling as heavy as lead as she peeled out of the parking lot. Driving with a muggy countenance and a frown pasted upon her face, she wondered if she should maybe just cry a little so she didn’t feel so overwhelmed.
Nah.
Three fliers. That would probably get her zero people. Damn, her club was going to remain a club of one. That sucked.
She glanced over and down at the rest of her fliers, sitting all haphazard in the passenger's seat. A sighed escaped her lips.
Maybe she'd overreacted. Maybe her fliers were cooler than Eyebrows’ were, or even any of the other 568 fliers littering the Art building walls. Maybe she ought to just go back and put them up later in the evening.
Or maybe she was a dumb bitch and should just go home and mope about it.
When she got back to her dorm, the room was empty.
Her roommate, Bethany, was never home and probably wouldn't be for a while. The small dorm room was littered with clothing, papers, and make-up, though, so MJ knew she'd been back at some point that morning. The nineteen-year-old girl kicked all of the mess over to Bethany’s side of the room, like she always did, and plopped down on the edge of her bed.
What an absolutely shitty day.
She couldn't find a clean pair of jeans and had to wear a fucking dress, was late for Creative Writing, forgot to turn in her Volcanology rough draft, ran over a paint can that splattered yellow all over her front bumper, and now, had only managed to put up three club fliers before chickening out. Her forehead met her palm. She let out her 790th for that day.
MJ picked up her phone, seeing that her mother had called sometime between her first and second classes.
Sigh number 791.
She swiped the notification away. She didn't want to talk to her mother.
It was almost 3:00pm, so her mom was either working on her first bottle of Hennessy or she was starting her second. MJ never knew because it varied by the day. Sometimes, her mom threw her for a loop and drank a pint of Jack.
MJ went to her contacts and pressed Peter's name. Her thumb hovered over the number, hesitant. He never called back like, ever. She could be about to fall into a meat grinder, and he'd probably still be too busy to call her back.
It wasn't like they'd been dating for over a fucking year, or anything.
She pressed the number and held it to her ear. It rang and rang and rang…and rang. And then it rung a couple more times, for good measure.
"Heya, you've reached the voicemail of Peter Parker," came the ever-chipper, ever-delightful, ever-joyous, ever-infuriating voice of her longtime pet spider. "I can't come to the—"
MJ hung up, pulling an annoyed facial expression, muttering, "I can't come to the fucking phone right now because I'm probably balls-deep in some whore."
In a rare moment of irrational and jealous frustration, MJ threw her phone against the floor. The dull thunk of the plastic against the thin carpet was as satisfying as a cat scratch.
She fell back against her mattress, her head scraping the wall, and stared at the ceiling.
Peter would never cheat on her, and she knew that. Even though they'd never done much more than kiss—10 times, to be exact—he was exceeding in his patience and even more generous with his understanding. Sure, they didn't go on dates like real couples and sure, she hated flowers and gifts and hand-holding and touching and expressions of feeling and people and the flesh that was on people, but he was a good guy. If he wasn't answering his phone, it was because he was working on something for school, web-slinging some criminal or another, making sandwiches at work, or messing around in one of the labs at the compound.
Of course, Peter never called back, so she didn't know for sure, but MJ was cool. She was the girl who was chill in the face of relationship drama. She wasn't gonna pry.
He was cool with the lack of physicality.
Her thoughts nudged her, refusing to allow her a moment’s rest.
Is he though?
She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes at the ceiling, as though she could see the physical manifestation of her mind. The envy and suspicion curled its way through her gut, setting her jaw to a clench.
"He's not a cheater," MJ said to herself, shaking her head. “No. Nope. He knows I move slow."
Yeah, but like…a year, though?
"I kissed him before," MJ said, closing her eyes. “Plenty of times. Wasn’t a problem.”
Last peck was pretty much two months ago.
"One month and three weeks. And it was more than a peck. It was a . . . It was a kiss. Like, it was a kiss."
It was an accident.
"No, bitch, it was on purpose…ly unintentional." She grimaced. “I’m talking to myself. I am talking to myself right now. This is fucking cringe.”
Except that it’s not cringe. It’s reality. He’s nineteen. You’re nineteen. Something’s gotta give eventually.
MJ banished the thoughts before her imagination got too out of control, waving her hand as if she could wipe the mental picture of Peter all over some girl with huge boobs and a skintight dress from her brain.
She sat up, leaned down, and grabbed her phone.
Should she call him and leave a voicemail this time? Ask him on a date? Promise him a good time with a dress and some high heels?
A shudder ran through her.
It would be a cold day in Hell before MJ ever put a pair of high heels on again. Last time she did that was for some Avengers fundraiser with Peter, and she tripped over her toes and fell into a fountain. Water and natural hair?
No.
Never. Happening. Again.
She could still remember the frizz. She looked like she forgot to wear her bonnet to bed. Shit.
MJ scooted backward to the wall, phone in hand. Stretching her legs out, she glared down at them. She shouldn't be able to see them at all, but no. No clean jeans, leggings all had holes in the crotches, and it was fucking eighty degrees out every day. The black skater dress she wore felt like she was wearing someone else's clothes. She hated it.
Was the problem really her, or was it Peter? Was her total lack of desire to act like a couple the reason why she hadn't seen him in two weeks?
No. That wasn't Peter.
He wasn't the type of guy to be like that. He'd had a crush on her their Senior year, and he wouldn't have stayed in a relationship with her this entire time if her clothing choices and the lack of high heels in her closet were an issue.
She hoped.
MJ spent the afternoon on her phone, scrolling through Instagram until the ads blurred into the posts. When it said You're All Caught Up! she switched to Tiktok and scrolled through that. Her un-turned-in rough draft nagged at her, but the feeling of procrastination was too sweet.
When she voice-called her online friends on Messenger, they actually picked up, so it was a sign that homework was cancelled for the day.
Around dinnertime, she grabbed a Hot Pocket from her minifridge, shoved it into the microwave, and then logged into her computer.
"Final Fantasy, here we come," she muttered to herself, clad in only a tank top and her underwear.
She bit into her Hot Pocket, the molten lava inside nearly melting her tongue off. She gasped past the pain and like all good Hot Pocketeers, continued to gasp all the way through the entire pastry. As she did, she glanced out the window at the building directly across. Most of the windows were open against the heat, but there didn’t seem to be anyone looking into hers.
Shit, wouldn’t it be wild if Peter was on the roof next door, watching her?
It would be a lie if she didn’t say she fantasized about it sometimes. The concept of being watched by her boyfriend like she was some ethereal princess locked in a tower was so patriarchal, but God, would it make her feel pretty. Which was also pretty patriarchal, but come on.
The thought of her boyfriend being so taken by her that he had to just watch her just existing?
Hours went by, the only sounds coming from the clicking of the mouse and the occasional tapping on the keyboard. By ten at night, the twilight had faded. When she glanced out her window, she saw a dark night sky with stars blocked out by the light pollution of the city. The lights in the apartment windows across the street were on, silhouettes of humans walking back and forth past their curtains, living their lives.
Sometimes, she felt like she didn’t belong amongst them.
Maybe that was why Peter wasn’t calling her back. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see her. Maybe she really was that weird, that bizarre that he wasn’t interested in talking to her because he was surrounded by personable people who did things like fight aliens and punch clouds and shit.
And what did she do?
Eat Hot Pockets and play Final Fantasy online in her underwear?
MJ let herself stare out the window for a minute while her character rested on the screen. Cars zoomed by on the street below. There was a faint crash followed by the yowling of a cat. Laughter echoed upward from the sidewalk.
She wondered what Peter was doing. Without ever really getting to hear from him, it was difficult not to let her insecurities affect her. She wasn't the type to let jealousy claw her from the inside out, but she couldn't deny that it was bizarre that Peter never did anything other than text her.
Like, it wasn't like she was a bad girlfriend, per se, she just…wasn’t good at being a girlfriend. She loved Peter, but she'd die before she ever told him that. Just the thought of his face if she were to tell him made her physically sick.
Like, "Yeah, Peter, I'm in love with you even though we've only ever kissed, and I never let you do boyfriend things, and the last time we held hands was in the airport after our class trip to Europe over a year ago."
He'd probably laugh until he died, and then she'd follow him to the grave right after. She’d die a murderer. She’d die a murderer and go to Hell and when she got there, Satan would laugh at her because she was so pathetic.
She turned back to her game, the permanent frown that seemed to hover about her lips feeling like a second skin to her. She watched her character running across a field, wondering what the Hell she was thinking.
Peter was a hero. He'd been to space, for Christ's sake. Like, to space. Like, his body had been standing on an actual planet with atmosphere that wasn't Earth. He had like…abs and biceps and cute, expressive eyes. And he did that thing with his hair, that thing where he mussed it up with his man-hands and made it look all Peter-y.
He could have any girl he wanted, including the big-boobed and high heeled girl MJ couldn't stop imagining him with. Why the fuck would he want to stay with a girl who would rather play Final Fantasy in her underwear and burn her tongue on pepperoni Hot Pockets? Peter had actually had his hands on Thanos and his fucking giant chin, and MJ couldn't even put up fliers without running scared to honk her car horn for ten minutes straight.
"I wish I didn't love him so fucking much!" she suddenly shouted at her computer screen. She let out a scream of rage. “Fuck!”
"Ooh, girl. Language," came the voice of her friend from her headset. The headset MJ had forgotten she was wearing. "I wish I didn't love Doritos so much.”
"Oh, shut up, Betty," MJ laughed, recovering quickly. "You know you’re never gonna quit Doritos."
"Why don't you just tell him?" Betty replied as though she hadn’t spoken the last sentence. On screen, her character went down. "Ugh, fuck these stupid Behemoths. Can you heal me?"
"Yeah, I got you," MJ answered, the clicking of her mouse a steady noise in the background. "And I can't. We've only kissed like, a few times."
"How many is a few?"
"Bitch, don't ask questions. We kissed."
Betty laughed. "Well, a few can have different meanings, MJ. It could be like, three kisses on the lips, no tongue. Or it could be like three hot, heavy make-out sessions. Or it could be three blow jobs. Those are a type of kiss. You never know."
“Betty.” MJ pulled her head back, looking at her computer screen with a disturbed expression. "What kind of kissing do you and Ned do?"
"I'm just saying!" Betty laughed. "What do you mean by a few?"
MJ sighed. "Just like, pecks. I've never made out with him."
Betty gasped. "Seriously?"
"Betty, shut your mouth!" MJ said, also laughing. "I forget deodorant on the regular. Do you think I remember to make out with my boyfriend?"
Betty was silent for a moment and then she guffawed, nearly choking on her chips. "MJ, what? It's not something you forget or remember. It's something you…you do."
"Yeah, well, it's not something I just do," MJ said, dispatching a Firaga spell on some enemies. She adjusted her headset on top of her curls. "I'm like, shy. Or whatever."
"Well," Betty replied, munching on a chip loudly, "I'm sure he likes you or loves you or has feelings, or whatever. He doesn't seem like the kind-of guy to just like, only want sex. He's like a puppy dog."
"A puppy dog?"
"Yeah, he'd follow you to Hell if you asked him to," Betty snorted. "You'll be fine. Take your time."
MJ sighed and took off her headset, tousling her kinky curls with her fingers. Her gaze slid to her window again.
She wished Peter would come swinging up to her dorm balcony. She didn't know what she would do if he did. It wasn’t like she was going to just sleep with him randomly to try and keep him interested, but she spent her nights dreaming about the what ifs so frequently that she wasn’t so sure.
MJ wasn't the girliest of girls, but she loved him. She wanted to kiss him and see if she could make his hair do the Peter-y thing with her own fingers instead of his, but she just…couldn’t. She'd never made out with a guy before. What if she was bad at it? What if she kissed with teeth? Or used too much spit? Or God forbid, what if her throat did that weird crackling thing that throats do when there was too much saliva in them?
Ew.
Behind her, the door opened and two people stumbled in through the darkness. MJ didn't need to turn around. She heard the creaking of Bethany's bed, heard her giggling, heard a man's dirty talk.
MJ rolled her eyes and picked up her headset.
But then, she hesitated.
The things the guy was saying were so different from anything MJ had ever heard before. So different from anything she’d ever expect someone to say to her. They had to be par for the course for Bethany, a girl who literally looked like an Instagram model on a bad day. But for MJ?
They made her stomach curl.
What would it be like to hear Peter talk like that?
A full-body flush washed over MJ’s entire body. The mental image of Peter pinning her down to the bed by her throat while he whispered words like fuck, just like that and you wanna come all over my fingers? was so visceral that she thought she might pass out.
Where the Hell did those daydreams come from?
With the quickness, MJ put her headset back on, typing to Betty in the chat that she wouldn't be able to speak on her mike anymore. She turned the game music up so she wouldn’t have to hear Bethany’s moaning, and played the game.
An hour later, at midnight, MJ’s phone buzzed. 1 new text message.
Hey, MJ. Sorry I didn't get back to you. What're you up to?
MJ's frown deepened. She'd called nine hours ago, he hadn't called back, and now was texting with no explanation as to why.
Typical Peter.
Gaming. Wbu? MJ replied, not addressing his ghosting.
Typical MJ.
Just got back from being at the compound all day, he replied. I'm beat. Can I text you tomorrow?
MJ left him on Read for a few minutes, trying to decide what she should write. What she wanted to do was write a wall of words that he would probably need a TLDR for. But the insecure side of herself didn't want to scare him off. She wanted to believe he was actually at the Avengers compound, but like, was he?
She bit her lower lip, teeth sinking in as her mind cycled through all of her options, all while her roommate fucked some guy on the bed behind her. Should she call him on the balcony? Should she text him back a stream of insults and accusations? Should she send a nude, for Christ's sake?
Before she could reply, she saw the three blinking dots and sucked in her breath.
Also I miss you.
MJ's heart skipped a beat. She was uber grateful she hadn't sent him the nude.
I miss you, too, she replied. She stared at the screen, debating over typing something else. Something daring. Something that pushed the buttons.
I’ll bet, he replied. Been forever since I’ve seen you.
This was it. This would be her chance. Yeah, Bethany and her whatever were here, but they’d be done soon and the guy would leave. That’s how hook-ups worked, usually.
And it wasn’t like she was going to hook up with Peter. They couldn’t go from kissing occasionally to suddenly getting it on in her dorm room bed. That didn’t make any sense.
But she did want to see him. She hadn’t seen him in so long. She missed him. She had friends, but they were all at other colleges. Peter was the only person she had close by.
She wanted to see him.
Did you wanna come over? MJ typed, pressing send before she could convince herself it was a bad idea.
Like to your dorm?
Yeah.
The three dots appeared and then disappeared several times.
What for?
MJ dropped her head into her free hand, her knees pulled to her chest in the computer chair. He was such a fucking dork. That was the only word for him. It was like, maybe them not doing anything wasn’t even her fault. Maybe he was just that oblivious.
The music of the video game played uncontested for a solid few minutes before she replied to him.
So we can cuddle? Idk.
The moment the message said ‘read,’ MJ felt the panic beginning to settle in.
What was she thinking? Inviting him over to cuddle? In the middle of the night? Good God. What the Hell? What the Hell?
Are you drunk? he replied.
Well, fuck. Fucking fuck.
How embarrassing.
She was that frigid, wasn’t she?
Yeah, she lied. I drank a lot earlier. You caught me.
Not that I don’t want to but like, your roommate is there and it might be weird.
Yeah. Makes sense.
I mean unless you really want me to?
MJ wanted to cry. She actually wanted to shed a single tear. There was no way to know if he thought she just wanted to cuddle or if she wanted to hook up for their first time randomly at midnight on a damn Tuesday, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic about either. It felt like he pitied her.
When the ten minute mark of her ignoring his reply passed, he sent another text.
I’ve been thinking about you, though.
Yeah? was the only thing she could manage to reply. Behind her, a flash of light spilling into the room indicated that Bethany’s hook-up was leaving.
Yeah. I might come over anyway.
MJ’s fingers trembled, her cheeks flushed with heat as she tried to think of something to say. She wasn’t the type of girl to send flirtatious texts but what if the anxiety she’d been having lately wasn’t unfounded?
What if he was getting bored because she wouldn’t put out?
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She was just terrified. The thought of never doing anything with him was less horrible than the thought of doing things with him and being bad at it.
What would you do if you did? she replied, taking a deep breath and trying to set her anxiety into a more bearable place inside her body.
He replied faster than he’d been replying all week.
Hold you.
Well, that wasn’t what she’d expected. It was sweet, rather than sexual or lewd.
But maybe that was the problem.
And what else would you do? She asked, her legs shaking with the sheer intensity of the situation. She knew she was pushing the boundaries. Pushing her own boundaries as though she wasn’t too scared to.
Touch you, he replied. If that was okay with you.
MJ’s hand shook. More than okay.
God, what was she doing? What was she doing?
Where?
Such a simple question. One word. Five little letters.
They said so much.
Wherever you want, she replied.
His reply took a prolonged moment.
Fuck.
MJ’s heartrate picked up until she felt herself struggling to catch her breath. She couldn’t stop thinking about the things Bethany’s hook-up had said. Couldn’t stop hearing them being said in Peter’s voice. Couldn’t stop imagining him holding her down, taking all of the strength he used to do whatever the fuck it was when he beat the shit out of criminals, and use it on her. Couldn’t stop thinking about what it might feel like to have her hands webbed to a headboard while he did things to her that overwhelmed her until she was begging him to let her breathe.
Maybe that was the real issue. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that she was scared to do it.
MJ closed her eyes against the bright glare of her computer screen.
Maybe she was scared of what she wanted him to do.
But you’re drunk, came his second text, so we really shouldn’t text like this. You might wake up tomorrow and be like fuck that. So, we should call it a night. Have a good sleep.
Her heart sank.
Damn her for lying about drinking.
Okay. Night, Peter.
His reply was the kneeling boy emoji followed by a heart.
MJ set her phone down. She felt like her eyelids weighed two tons. She yawned, stretching her long arms out above her head. Peter may have been a busy guy and MJ may not have been the best girlfriend, but they missed each other. Everything else could wait until another day.
After typing goodnight to Betty, she logged out of her game for the night. She grabbed her satin bonnet from the bedside table and pushed her curls up into it, yawning a second time. The cotton sheets of her bed were a welcome comfort after the horrid first half of her day. She could sense sleep creeping up on her the second her head hit the pillow.
She scrolled through Threads, accepting a follower into her private account, and then prepared to post to her 5 followers.
Remind me never to eat Hot Pockets 2 seconds after they're done again.
Right before she drifted off, a single tear rolled sideways over the bridge of her nose.