#promptmas 2k20

[spiderman-homecomeme]

as long as you love me so (let it snow)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day One

concepts: fireplace cuddles, snowball fight

dialogue: “Why are you staring at me?” “Nothing... You just look really cute right now.”

for @forasecondtherewedwon <3 thank you for the request and for your friendship ily

❆❆❆

There are two things that Peter loves about winter.

One, being the satisfying crunch of fresh snow under his feet as he walks around the park on a chilly night.

And two, being MJ.

Holding MJ's gloved hand as they walk together, swinging their arms between them leisurely as he points to lights in the trees.

The snowflakes that land on MJ's hair, her face, the tip of her nose; watching her blink as they dust over her eyelashes. 

Seeing the peace in her eyes as she looks up to the sky, catching the falling snow with her tongue when she thinks he's not looking. He swears she sparkles more than the snow itself.

Hearing her happy hum as she sidles up beside him, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close, her touch being all that he needs as the temperatures drop.

But his favorite thing of all is kissing her in the snow, her lips warm and soft as the fluffy flakes fall around them.

The chilly weather seems to bring out a side of her that he always loves to see—though, let it be known that he loves to see all sides of her. Michelle in any light is beautiful and perfect. There's a spark of something in her, something mischievous, more daring.

And it comes out now, as they stop on top of the bridge to take in the beauty of this bridge in winter, a good two inches of snow covering the stone railing. Peter's not sure what's more breathtaking—the sea of pretty white lights before them, the hushed blanket that’s fallen over the world as busy as New York City, or MJ surrounded by glistening snow.

There’s a clear winner.

MJ finally catches him staring, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she leans in. Peter's eyes drift closed, his body naturally moving to meet her. He's almost too lost in the warmth of her gloved hand on his cheek, too lost in the way her mouth ghosts over his, her warm breath fanning his face, how he can almost taste the peppermint from her tea—

Too lost to notice the snowball she's packed being smushed against his head.

“HEY!”

Her laugh is bright, a merry sound, one that has his heart doing cartwheels. The way she covers her face with her gloved hand, quickly jumping out of his reach and away; it makes his face warm despite the burning cold on his ear and neck, a pleasant ache in his cheeks from how wide he’s smiling. 

“What the hell?” He asks, brushing the snow from his curls, his lips twisting into a pout as he tries to hold back his own laughter. 

MJ flashes another smile, and his chest swells at the way her tooth pokes through. But she doesn’t say anything else, sticking her tongue out before bending down to gather more snow. 

Two can certainly play at that game. 

Peter’s almost faster, lunging forward, packing snow from the railing into a solid ball. But he’s not fast enough, almost immediately, feeling one hit his shoulder, bursting into a white powder, and he hears a peel of giggles from his girlfriend as she starts to run away. 

And he chases her, the two of them throwing snowball after snowball, until once, when Peter seems to miscalculate how hard he’s actually throwing them, and chucks one right into the side of her face. 

“Fuck!”

“Oh, shit—” Peter freezes, watching as she falls, clutching her cheek, before bolting to her.  He kneels down, a hand on her back. “MJ, baby. I’m so sorry. Oh my God! Are you okay?” 

She’s shaking—with what he assumes to be tears of pain—when she just burrows further into her hand, the other bracing herself on the cold ground. 

“MJ. Babe. Are you okay?” 

And it’s then, when her eyes flash to his, narrowed playfully, a knot twisting in his stomach when he realizes that she’s laughing. In an instant, she’s shoving more snow into his face, nearly tripping on her feet as she scrambles away. She’s cackling as she runs from him, as he chases her, breathless as he tackles her to the ground, pinning her down. 

“Wait! No! Peter! I’m sorry!—” She manages between laughs, squirming as his gloved hands pinch her sides through her fluffy coat. 

“Not cool!” He says, unable to keep himself from laughing along. “That was mean! I thought you were hurt!” 

“To be fair, you were throwing those snowballs a little harder than necessary. I had to teach you a lesson.”

“You started it!” 

Her lips twist into a barely-contained frown, a sad attempt at nonchalance. “I don’t recall.” 

And he kisses her, unable to keep himself from grinning as his lips capture hers, unable to suppress the chuckle bubbling up from his chest when she pushes more snow into his hair. 

“I think it’s time to go home,” he says, pulling away from the kiss, her face glowing as she looks up at him doing more than his coat ever could. 

She shivers as she stands to her feet, her smile unfaltering as he wraps an arm around her. 

They walk home, their step swaying in perfect time with one another. 

It’s truly one of his favorite times of year to spend with MJ—besides all of them. Even in the bitter cold, in the white-out blizzards and crackling ice; none of that matters. There’s a lightheartedness in the air, a joy in the peace and quiet that he can’t quite place. 

Their warmth of their apartment is welcoming, though in all honesty, Peter can’t quite tell the difference, especially with MJ’s hand in his. 

“I’ll get the cocoa, you get the fire?” Peter asks, planting a soft kiss to her temple. 

“You got it, dude,” she replies, punctuating her statement with a chlick, complete with a wink and a wave of finger-guns. 

He laughs, fondly shaking his head as he makes for the kitchen. 

When he returns, two hot mugs in his hands, she’s sat in front of the fireplace, socked feet sticking out in front of her, a deep red fuzzy blanket draped over her shoulders. She pulls it tighter around her, further cocooning herself in the warmth. 

It’s when she looks back that he realizes he’s staring again. He simply smiles, exhaling softly. 

“What?” She asks, squinting at him. “Why are you staring at me?”

Though, she already knows the answer. 

“Nothing…” Peter replies, his voice just above a murmur. “You just look really cute right now.”

A small, somewhat bashful—a word he’d never use aloud—smile tugs at her lips as she looks down at her lap. He sits next to her, passing her hot chocolate covered in tiny marshmallows over carefully. She opens up her blanket, inviting him to snuggle in. 

“Only right now?” She asks after they each take a sip. 

He snorts lightly, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to hold himself together. 

“Not like… Earlier? This morning? Everyday?” 

When he finally stops laughing, he looks at her, so close he can feel and see the warmth from the fire reflecting off of her eyes. And he kisses her again, unable to help himself as he trails his lips to her cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose—where the snowflakes had touched just ten minutes before. 

“Everyday,” he says.

[michellesbohh]

there is just one thing I need

“All I want for Christmas is youuuuu,” he continues singing when he reaches her, leaning into her until she kisses him once before breaking away to tease him.

“You’re Jewish, Peter.”

“So?"

Promptmas Drabble Day 1: Drunkenly Singing Mariah Carey

All the love to @spiderman-homecomeme for organizing this for us! xo

[spideychelleficrecs]

FAV Authors Masterslit

My top three favorite people of all times it’s here! I hope you enjoy this beatiful works as much as I do

..........michellesbohh..........

look at all the things my true love gave to me (my true love)

Summary: Serie

Review: This serie is just espectacular! it has a little bit of everything in the most amazing mix!

baby, can you keep your composure?

Summary: “'Are you ready to go for a ride, Michelle?' 'Are you ready to go for a ride, Peter?'" A "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days" AU

Review: Have you ever watch How to lose a guy in 10 days? if you haven’t... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?! GO WATCH IT!!!! So of course as soon as I read the summary I started to freak out and suscribed and then freak out a little bit more because that it’s like one of my fav movies of all times!

..........spideysmjs..........

There’s Nothing Like Doing Nothing (With You)

Summary: “We’ll quit for a weekend,” he says in between long kisses. “Do nothing for the next two days.” “I’ll give you the best do nothing weekend of your life," she says. Peter comes home after an Avengers training camp

Review: FLUFF!!!!! it’s just pure and adorable and I love it!!

I Wanna Kiss Your Neck (And Make You Purple All Over)

Summary: “I’ll do it,” she said, as nonchalantly as possible. “What?” he turned to her. “It’s just a shot.” “Off my body.” MJ runs into her old high school crush Peter Parker after two years of not speaking. Body shots ensue.

Review: Ammm.... you read the summary, right? well, that happens

Can You Just Hold Me?

Summary: “I’ve thought about this for a long time,” she moans as his strokes move faster. “I always–”“Me too,” he says, moving his mouth from her neck to her mouth, peppering multiple kisses while slams into her. “All the time.”“Yeah,” she breathes. “And it’s everything I thought it would be.”“Everything.”Peter and MJ hook up, and everything falls apart before it comes back together.

Review: Two idiots in love and I enjoyed every step of the way!

..........spiderman-homecomeme..........

Ok... we have a problem here, because G knows I’m like a huuuuge fan of her work and that she made me write ffs again so I could just literaly put all her fanfics here but I picked my favs. Hard to do but I made it!

Misconceptions 

Summary: Faced with an unplanned pregnancy, Peter and Michelle must make a decision regarding their unborn child. A Juno AU

Review: did I cried reading this one?? yes! like a baby!!! The story it’s just amazing and G just managed to make this the most beautiful and heartbreaking but lovable story in the history of fanfics and I don’t care if someone tells me otherwise

Ex on the Beach 

Summary: After an ugly break-up, Peter and MJ are forced to set aside their resentment for each other as they attend the destination wedding of their two best friends. Three months should be plenty of time to heal. They should both be over it by now… Right?

Review: THIS TWO IDIOTS JUST..... AAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!! But I love them, a lot! and guess what? I cried with this one too. G loves to make me cry at 1am at a fanfic and two fictional characters.

When in Vegas (In progress)

Summary: After Ned’s thirtieth birthday party in Vegas, Peter and MJ wake up in the same bed, naked and hungover, and there’s a cheap ring on MJ’s finger.

Review: Can I beg for this to be updated? I can do it. No pressure G just would love to know what happens and how you will make me sob like a baby again somehow

Just go check her masterlist because like... Thotumn 2K20 it’s brilliant, then you can check the Spideychelle Weeks fics, then go read the Spideychelle Promptmas and maybe finish with the Spideychelle Bingo or some One-shots!

[ao3feed-petermj]

by MichellesBoh (michellesbohh)

“All I want for Christmas is youuuuu,” he continues singing when he reaches her, leaning into her until she kisses him once before breaking away to tease him.

“You’re Jewish, Peter.”

“So?"

PROMPTMAS DRABBLE DAY 1: Drunkenly Singing Mariah Carey

Words: 673, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of look at all the things my true love gave to me (my true love)

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds

Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker

Additional Tags: Promptmas 2K20, Drunken Karaoke, They will never outgrow being horny gremlins, Ned is tired

[spiderman-homecomeme]

oh, what a laugh it would have been

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Two

concept: kid fic

❆❆❆

In the three-and-a-half years since becoming a parent, Peter’s learned a lot about himself. 

Or rather, things—facts that have only been confirmed.

Namely, his ability to say no to anyone with MJ’s eyes and wild curly hair has all but disappeared. To be fair, it’s not like it ever existed in the first place. But still, he always likes to think he has some sense of control. 

“Can we read…” His little girl’s words are drawn out as she wanders up from his lap and over to her bookcase, seemingly taking her time inspecting each and every spine; a tactic she’s learned to drag out the bedtime routine. There’s a triumphant smile on her face, a true a-ha! moment as she grabs one of her favorites. “This one?”

Any sense of that control Peter thought he had goes flying out the window when she turns to look at him, holding out the worn copy of Corduroy—the one that Aunt May would always read to him. 

He’s figured out a workaround for this, though, always agreeing to less than what he’s actually willing to read. “Sure. After that, we’ll read two more.” 

“Three more!” She responds with a toothy smile, eyes crinkling as she holds up three fingers. 

Sure, it might not be the best of parenting methods, but if it avoids another meltdown before bed, then it’s fine with him. He’s already had to deal with three this evening; the first, when he gave Lia her a sippy cup of water and, the utter horror, the lid didn’t match the cup. 

The second, when she found out he’d be the one putting her to bed tonight instead of Mom. MJ had already put Ben to bed an hour before, so it was only fair for Peter to take over. Sure, it tugged at his heart a little when Lia ran into her mother’s arms crying, saying she needed Mommy specifically to read her books and sing her songs. 

But he gets it. He’s not MJ. MJ’s cool. MJ’s Mom. 

And the third; when she found out as Peter was carrying her off to her room and her big girl bed—the one she’s always so proud to tell everyone about—that they wouldn’t be lighting the Menorah tonight or opening any more presents until the 25th. Who knew that a toddler wouldn’t understand the concept of Hanukkah stopping after eight days? 

Three books later, and he’s placed her in the bed, clicked off the lamp, letting the soft glow of the nightlight shine, sitting on the floor beside her, his heart soaring in his chest as she holds her stuffed bunny close, snuggling into the blankets. 

“Sing me a song, Daddy!” She requests, stretching her arm out to him. 

“Okay, sweet girl,” Peter says softly, smiling. “One song.” 

She giggles. “Two songs!”

“Okay. Two songs,” he relents without hesitation. “Which one do you want me to sing?” He asks, taking her tiny hand in his. 

“Hush Little Baby,” she answers after a moment of thought, the little sounding more like a widdle, something that definitely tugs at Peter’s chest. 

“Alright,” he grins, his voice hushed. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” Her little voice picks up with his as she quietly sings along, her already drooping as struggles to stay awake. “And if that mockingbird won’t sing, Daddy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…” His thumb draws a line on the back of her hand, feeling as if his chest is about three sizes too small for his heart. “And if that diamond ring don’t shine, Daddy’s gonna buy you a porcupine—”

Sleepy giggles bubble up from Lia as she dramatically shakes her head. “You’re not singing it right!”

This goes on, Peter purposefully—and maybe even a little on accident—getting the words wrong, all to make his little girl laugh, even as he sings Old McDonald for her. He can’t help but chuckle himself when she scolds him for saying a bark bark here for the cow, or a meow meow there for the horse. It’s enough to almost make him sing another one just for her, when he sees her nodding off. 

After kissing her goodnight as he tucks her in, he makes his exit, quick and quiet. Sneaky, like a spider. 

A quiet falls over the apartment, a peaceful hush that only comes from two successful bedtimes in a row. MJ’s sat on the couch, curled up with a mug of tea in her hand, a book in her lap. He comes up behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, pressing a kiss into her hair. She hums leaning into his touch. 

“How’d it go?” She asks as he jumps over the top of the couch, giving him a pointed, warning look when her tea dangerously sloshes in her mug at the movement. 

“Good,” he says, smiling apologetically. “She kinda forgot about everything when I asked if she wanted the dinosaur pajamas or the donut ones.”

Michelle huffs out a knowing laugh, smiling fondly. “Which did she pick?”

“Donut ones.”

“A solid choice.”

“Yes. Very cute.” 

“Read four books, too,” he adds, resting his arm on the back of the couch, thumb softly grazing her shoulder. 

“Only four?” MJ asks from behind her mug, brows raised. “I can see why she wanted me to do it. Damn.” She nudges him playfully, hiding her smile behind another sip of tea. 

“Ouch,” Peter says, placing a hand on his chest, wounded. “At least I make up silly songs on the spot. I’m a good dad, okay?”

Her gaze softens, lips pressing into a faint grin as she takes his hand, interlocking their fingers. There’s a warmth in her eyes that always anchors him, that always makes him feel that overwhelming sense of home. 

“You are.” 

“And you…” He trails off, leaning in to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Are an amazing mom.”

She hums in appreciation when his mouth finds hers, slanting them together in a gentle peck. “I know.” 

He scoffs, more from amusement than anything. 

“You know what would make you amazing though?” She asks lowly, her gaze drifting down to his mouth, her breath tickling as her lips ghost over his. 

“Mmm what’s that?” He replies under his breath, his arm on the back of the couch now fully wrapped around her shoulders, fingers subtly pushing the sleeve of her cardigan down. 

“Now that the kids are asleep…” She trails off, looking to the baby monitor on the coffee table in front of them. “I was wondering…”

“Uh-huh?” A sly grin tugs at his lips. 

It truly is the perfect time for this, he thinks. He’d always heard the stories of certain activities becoming less frequent after kids appear in the picture, and while it’s mostly true—peaceful moments of quiet are few and far between when you have a one-year-old and a three-and-a-half-year-old crawling around the apartment—they’ve still been able to find some time for themselves. Especially in the late evening hours after putting their precious little ones to bed. 

Peter sits up, ready to pounce the second the words leave her lips. He’s learned to be ready for anything. 

“If you could go to the store and get me more of that winter earl grey?” 

Okay, almost anything. 

He deflates, eyes screwing shut as he hangs his head, laughing into his palm. “MJ… That wasn’t nice.” 

But he looks up at her, and the look in her eyes is enough to make him commit to anything ever. “Please?” 

It doesn’t take much at all for him to give in, rolling his eyes playfully as he hops up from the couch. He looks over at her, a satisfied little grin tugging at her mouth as she folds her legs underneath her. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when you get back.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, pointing a finger as he disappears into their bedroom to grab his suit—the faster he gets to the mini-mart and back, the faster she can make it up to him. 

“Please do,” she replies. 

She’s still curled up on the couch when he emerges from the bedroom, now covered in red and  blue spandex, sans mask. “Winter earl grey?” he asks, though it’s not as if he’s ever made a mistake buying her tea. He always knows what she likes, what her favorite brand is. 

“Thank you,” she says, smiling behind another sip. 

And he pauses, unable to help himself as he takes the sight of her in; adorably curled up, looking so soft under the twinkling lights of their Christmas tree, her soft flannel pajamas, and he wants nothing more than to snuggle up next to her right at that exact second. 

He cracks a lopsided, somewhat dopey smile, still as gone for his wife as he was in high school. “Anytime.” He has his mask half-way on, almost to the window, when she stops him. 

“Wait,” she says, rising from her place on the couch, approaching him slowly. “Consider this motivation.” Her hands find their way to his mask, holding it still just above his nose as she leans in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. 

It’s instinctive, the way his hands come to rest on her waist, his touch gentle as his gloved hand smooths over the plush fabric of her robe. 

But then, as he feels himself smiling against her lips, they hear a high-pitched gasp, and they nearly jump away from each other. 

From the archway, they see Lia peeking her head from behind the corner, little eyes wide with wonder, her mouth hanging open in surprise. 

“Ohhh no…” Peter hears MJ mumble under her breath. 

The problem here being that neither of their children know of their father’s second life. It was something that Peter and MJ had decided long before they even had kids, knowing that it would be better to tell them when they were old enough to understand—and old enough to know the concept of a secret identity. 

Certainly not at three-and-a-half years old.

In an instant, before either dumbstruck parent can say anything, Lia dashes down the hallway, out of sight, giggling to herself. 

“You couldn’t hear her sneaking up on us?” MJ asks. 

Peter grimaces. “Oops.”

But all hope doesn’t seem lost. 

“Ben! Ben!” Lia shouts, no doubt waking up her little brother from his restful sleep in his crib. 

MJ curses, chasing after her. 

“I saw Mommy kissing Spider-Man!”  

[spiderman-homecomeme]

‘cause spider-man comes tonight

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Four

concepts: holiday smut

dialogue: all I want for Christmas is you.” “You’re Jewish?” “So?” 

The sequel to the dirty talk fic, but make it ~festive~

❆❆❆

i.

“Good moooorning.”

Peter’s voice is gentle, almost singing against her bare skin as his lips trail kisses along her shoulder. 

Michelle shifts, grumbling at the soft, dragging touches. 

Still, he persists, his breath tickling. “Wake up.”

And as annoyed as she is for being woken up, she can’t help but smile as he snuggles against her, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. “Too early…” She mumbles sleepily into the pillow, nestling further into the blankets. 

Peter huffs out a laugh, his lips pausing momentarily over the strap of her tank top before he keeps going. “Didn’t you wanna go to shopping today? For the party?” He reasons, though MJ knows for a fact that the purpose in all of this isn’t to get the two of them out of bed, per se. 

No, his intentions are perfectly clear. 

“Not at—” She barely cranes her head up, glancing at her phone on the bedside table. “—nine in the morning.” 

“Wow, so early,” he mumbles against her skin. 

Her expression contorts when he finds a particularly ticklish spot on her neck, half-heartedly warning him as she tries to twist away from his mouth. “Hey.”

“What?” He chuckles, cuddling closer, arms locking around her, pressing his cheek into her shoulder blade as he gives her a loving squeeze. “Does that tickle?” 

He knows the answer already, the little shit, and she can’t help but lightly smack his arm in response. 

He laughs again, a sound that makes a comforting warmth bloom in her chest. It’s good that he can’t see her face, that his is burrowing into her shoulder, to see the light smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes close again as she breathes out a contented sigh. 

Though, his touches soon turn less than innocent, and he’s whispering filthy nothings into her ear as his hands shamelessly roam her body, as he presses his hardness against her. While some of what he says is of the highest quality—he’s actually great at dirty talk when he wants to be—there’s always that one line he has to sneak in there. 

Sure, “I have a big present for you,” as he pokes her in the back of thigh with his morning wood isn’t necessarily groundbreaking, or his worst yet, but it’s still enough to coax a slightly undignified snort out of her. 

Finally, she turns over to face him, eyeing him carefully, a single brow raised. “Oh really?” 

Peter nods, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I sure do.” 

“Of course.” Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek as she fights the urge to roll her eyes and laugh. 

When she doesn’t say anything else he nudges her. “Are you not gonna ask what it is?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea—” She glances down. “—It’s either an actual present… or, if I know you well enough, which unfortunately, I do—” She meets his gaze again. “It’s your dick.”

“Bingo.” He throws in a wink for good measure. 

“I thought I already got that present, though?” MJ asks, trying to stay casual. “Eight nights in a row?”

“That was for me,” Peter insists. “This—” He bites is his lip, pressing himself against her again. “Is for you. You can even have it early. As a treat.”

She can’t help but laugh as he leans in to kiss her, pressing her palm against his chest to keep him away. “Not supposed to open anything till Christmas. Come on, man, you know the rules.” 

“Good thing I’m not wrapping it.”

The double meaning gets another snort out of her, and she playfully dodges him again as his lips press into the corner of her mouth. “Peter—”

“I can put a little bow on it if you want?”

All she can do is shake her head in response and pray that she can suppress her laugh for just a second longer. “I swear… To God.”

“Love you, too,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her fully this time.

But once again, she stops him, scooting away from him. “Wait, no. Morning breath.” 

Peter pauses, his hand lingering on her waist, lip caught in his teeth in thought. She has a point there, at least she sees him thinking it through. He shrugs. “I mean, there’s doggy… reverse cowgirl… deck the halls.”

“Deck the halls?” Michelle’s brow furrows in confusion. 

“I’ll deck your halls with my boughs of holly,” he winks again.

“That’s not even a position, you just wanted to make a joke,” she playfully pushes him.

He shrugs.

Does she hate him?

Who knows?

Is this turning her on still, as stupid as it is?

Maybe.

“Now, come on,” he says, patting his legs, inviting her to climb onto his lap. “Hop on.” 

“So romantic,” she deadpans with a quirk of her brow. 

But does that mean she’s giving in so soon? 

Absolutely not. 

Some restraint and discipline would be good for them both. 

They have things to do today. 

Namely, getting ready for Flash’s big holiday bash tonight. 

“Maybe later, okay?” A knowing, sly grin stretches across her face as she pats him twice on the cheek, climbing up from the bed before he can protest. 

He huffs out a laugh, looking up at her with borderline pleading eyes. So innocent a look for so definitely not-innocent a request. “Please?”

“Nuh uh,” she says as she starts rifling through her dresser. She makes a show of getting dressed, slowly peeling her tank top off. He grins, his eyes instantly taking in the sight of her bare chest, before she’s tossing the shirt at him. He catches it easily, his gaze never leaving hers. 

“We have to go shopping.”

ii.

Why she thought it was ever a good idea to let Peter peruse the holiday section of the local Michael’s with her, she has no idea. 

Especially when he’s in the mood he’s been in all morning—for the entirety of their relationship, really.

One minute, he’s by her side, holding out different festive candles for her to smell as she looks at the different coffee mugs and tea sets, and the next he’s throwing her a wink and a subtle kiss as he points at a sign that says fall on your knees. 

He seems especially thirsty today, for some reason—though she would argue that Peter never really needs a reason to try and seduce her with his own brand of dirty talk, however horrible it may be, however it makes her blink unimpressed at him, however it makes her laugh until her sides hurt. 

While it had all started as something kept strictly to the confines of their bedroom, more and more, it’s started to bleed into their everyday conversation. And every time, it has the same effect on her. She’ll stare at him, slow-blinking, lips twitching as she tries to suppress a smile. 

And, she’d be lying if she said that no matter how cringey some of his lines are… damn it, they kind of work. She’s too attracted to him as a whole for them not to. 

“MJ.”

She hears his voice on the other end of the aisle. Insistent, a self-indulgent chuckle hiding under his tone. 

Her lips press into a thin line as she pointedly ignores him, continuing to browse the different tea towels. 

“MJ,” he says again, louder this time. Childish, even. 

Still, she doesn’t look at him, shaking her head as she purses her lips.

“MJ!”

His voice is suddenly right next to her, and she jumps, turning to see him holding up one of those weird Elf on the Shelf dolls. 

“What?” She hisses. 

There’s that damn, stupid grin on his face as he pokes the felt figurine, his bottom lip caught between his teeth when she narrows her eyes. “When I think about you, I touch my elf.” 

And as usual, it takes everything not to smile. She bites the inside of her cheek. “You’re an idiot.” 

His smile widens to levels of supreme dopiness. “I’m your idiot,” he says with all the affection in the world. 

 “Unfortunately,” she shakes her head, huffing, though she can’t help the way her lips curve into a smile, the way her face warms. And for a moment, she thinks he’s done. He’s had his fun. He’s made her smile. 

“Wanna cradle my dreidel?” He asks under his breath, his hand dangerously low on her back. 

The sudden snort of laughter she lets out startles some poor old lady on the other end of the aisle. 

iii.

If she thinks she’s free the minute she gets back to the apartment, she’s sorely mistaken. Okay, maybe not sorely, per se. But she is very much mistaken. 

It’s again, as they’re deciding what dish to bring to Flash’s holiday get together later in the evening, rifling through their pantry and fridge in search of any usable ingredients. 

“We’ve still got these pie shell things,” Peter says, holding up the box of premade pie crust from the freezer. “Pie’s are always nice. For holidays and what not.” 

Ah, yes. The ones they forgot to bring to May’s for Thanksgiving—making them have to run to the store on a major holiday for something that was pretty much already sold out. Perfect. 

“Great. A pie’s good,” MJ says, feeling a sense of relief that they don’t necessarily have to leave the apartment again. At least until tonight. “What kind do you think?”

Peter looks up, titling his head as his lips twist in though. But then, his gaze flits to her briefly. 

“I’ve always liked creampies.” 

This time she might actually hit him. 

iv.

She’s just pulled her sweater on over her head when Peter walks into the bedroom, his eyes instantly drinking her in, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. His appreciative gaze sets a warmth in her stomach and chest, and she bites back her smile as she pushes her hair over her shoulder, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

His smile is is bright, and his eyes meet hers in the mirror as he comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he murmurs into her hair, “God, can’t wait to hurry down your chimney tonight.”

And to think she’d started to lean into him. She scoffs, smacking his arm gently. “Shut up.”

“Seriously,” he says, a laugh under his tone as he steps back. His hand lingers though, falling to play with the hem of her black skirt, gently brushing her thigh through her black tights. “You look really pretty. Easily one of my top favorite outfits.” He pauses, tilting his head in thought. “Besides nothing. You should wear nothing more often.”

“Note taken,” she says, nodding slowly, holding herself together—at least attempting to. 

“And honestly,” He muses. “I think taking this off—” he tugs at the sweater, his voice lowering. “—would really elevate the look. You know what? The skirt too.”

She quirks a brow at him in the mirror, though there’s nothing she can do to prevent her smile from widening. “Oh, so I should just… take my clothes off?”

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he replies, trying to be serious, his hands holding her waist, dropping to her hips and giving a tempting squeeze. “You should always be taking your clothes off.”

It’s amazing how this idiot can make her feel so lightheaded, how he can make her entire body feel that blurry warmth. It’s him, clearly it is, because she’s not sure she’d ever take that kind of shit from any of her other past relationships. 

Peter’s just Peter. 

“Keep it in your pants, Parker,” she teases when he tugs her closer, her back against his chest. She knows what he’s doing; exactly what. 

And again, it’s not going to work. 

Unlike him, she has a sense of self-control. 

No matter how hot her boyfriend is. 

His laugh causes her stomach to flip pleasantly. “But, baby, all I want for Christmas is you.”

“You’re Jewish?”

“So?” 

She turns in his arms, facing him now, her palms pressing into his chest. “Also it’s not Christmas yet?” 

“Christmas eve is pretty much Christmas.”

She blinks.

“Where’s your sense of imagination? Your holiday spirit?” He asks earnestly, squeezing her gently. “Now what do you want? Naughty? Or Nice?” His face lights up. “Oo! Both.”

It’s a wonder her eyes don’t roll out of her head and onto the floor, or that her cheeks fall off from how hard she’s trying not to smile. She ignores the conversation. “We’re gonna be late to Flash’s. Come on.” 

“Eh, I think there’s time.” Peter’s hand falls to hers, locking their fingers together as he pulls her close, his lips finding his favorite spot on her neck easily. 

In spite of the ticking clock in her mind, she closes her eyes, sighing softly at the feeling of his soft kisses pressing into her skin. 

“Flavortown has holiday hours right?”

And it’s the wicked grin on his face when he pulls back to look at her that causes her to snap back to reality. She laughs, her body practically screaming in protest as she steps fully away from him and out of his warmth. 

v.

The whole car ride to Flash’s feels like an eternity, given the lack of time for a pre-party quickie back at the apartment. Peter’s hand stays on her thigh, the other on the wheel, and it’s clear that he’s not paying all that much attention when he stalls at one or two red lights, startling when there’s a chorus of honking from behind them. 

Though it’s a seemingly innocent touch—he never ascends past the hemline of her skirt—it still burns her skin through the thin material of her tights. It still causes her mind to go places where it really shouldn’t go while he’s driving, while they’re on their way to a friend’s holiday party. All day, it’s been a constant game between them, and at first, MJ had assumed that she had the upper hand. 

Now, however, she’s not sure. 

She’s tried her best to ignore his dumb jokes mingled with legitimate propositions, and for the most part, she’s been successful. 

But she just knows he’s going to try something stupid at the party. She doesn’t know what, but she knows him. 

Surprisingly, however, Peter’s able to behave himself for the first hour. He mingles with everyone, never once making a suggestive comment, never once does his hand fall past the appropriate spot on her back. It’s honestly a bit of a shock. 

But of course, all things must come to an end. 

It’s as Flash is overexplaining the different stockings on his fireplace—all for him apparently—when Peter returns with a drink in hand, his voice lowered as he leans in to whisper. “Did we bring any stocking stuffers?”

Michelle’s brow furrows in confusion. “No? Why would we?”

Peter seems puzzled for a moment, lips twisting in thought, before his eyes light up. “Oh! I forgot.” 

“Wha—”

“I brought the most important one.”

She’s ashamed that it takes her more than five seconds to process what he’s said, to get it, but when she does, it’s a slow blink and a heavy sigh. “Is it in your pants—”

“—It’s in my pants.”

+i

Okay, so maybe she doesn’t have as much self control as she’d originally thought. 

But she can’t honestly find it in herself to care, especially with Peter’s mouth hot on hers, pushing her into the dresser in one of the spare bedrooms, his hands greedy as they travel her body, hungrily twisting and pulling at her clothes. 

She’d dragged him in here not two minutes ago, after one “candy cane” joke too far. She’d been pushed right over that edge. 

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and she lets out the softest of moans as his tongue slips into her mouth, one of his hands falling to grip her ass. His groan as he presses his hardness against her causes the heat in the pit of her stomach to flare, her hold on him to tighten, clinging desperately. 

When she finally pulls back, her chest is heaving, her breath catching as his lips and tongue drag along the underside of her jaw. How he’s so good at just this, something so seemingly simple, how he can reduce her to a puddle of nerves with a few touches, she has no idea. 

But, God, she needs him now. 

Her hands move to his shoulders, gently pushing him down to where she wants him. 

But he holds still, pushing back against her, stubborn. His gaze meets hers, almost challenging, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What do you want?” He asks, knowing perfectly well what.

Her eyes narrow as she smirks. “You know what.”

“I don’t follow,” he says, pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm. “You gotta be more specific.”

On one hand, her body’s screaming at her to just jump his bones, to climb him like a tree, etc. But on the other, it wants her to drop kick him off of a mountain. “Peter…” She groans, her head falling back. 

“Am I gonna be a DJ?” He asks, and she snorts. “Am I gonna spin you all night long like a little dreidel?”

MJ’s brow furrows. “I thought your dick was the dreidel?” 

He playfully pinches her sides, shaking his head with a laugh before looking up at her again. “Am I going somewhere? To eat, maybe?”

“God, just—” she shakes her head, lips pressing together stubbornly. It’s the mischievous glint in his eyes that tells her exactly what he wants her to say. 

And dammit, she’s too horny for this.  

“Go to Flavortown.”

His giggle makes her heart nearly burst out of her chest. 

“I dunno. Is it open right now? It is almost Christmas.”

“Doors are always open for you,” she almost laughs.

“I’m on it.” She’s cut off by Peter spinning her around, his hand splaying on her back and pushing her chest into the top of the dresser as he bends her forward. A heady rush of excitement flares within her, and she shifts on her feet in anticipation. His hands slide under her skirt and up to her waist, thumbs hooking under the waistband of her tights. The brush of his knuckles against her skin leave goosebumps in its wake as he peels them—and her underwear—down to her knees, and she gasps as the cool air hits her center. 

He’s mumbling some song under his breath—one that sounds suspiciously festive. She looks back at him, a confused grin tugging at her lips when he sings aloud, “Spider-Man is coming to Flavortown…”

He bunches her skirt at her waist, and before she can even think to say anything about his song, his mouth is on her. Her knees buckle, glad to be gripping the dresser as tight as she is, when he licks a long stripe up—or down for her—her slit. His tongue is all over, languidly lapping at her, gathering her wetness and spreading it messily over her swollen clit. 

A wet gasp falls from her lips as he brings two fingers up to tease her entrance, circling lazily as he sucks her clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Peter—”

The warmth in her belly grows hot, boiling even, as he fervently and eagerly works her heat, moaning openly into her cunt. His fingers are skilled as they curl into her, sliding in effortlessly and finding her spot. The vibrations of his hums are addictive, intoxicating, but still make her smile when she realizes it’s even more holiday music that he’s humming. 

“You’re such—fuck—such a dork,” she says, breathless, mouth curved into a wavy smile as her cheek presses into the wood of the dresser. 

He laughs against her, though his pace doesn’t falter. It stays relentless, and continues eating her out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. 

She comes with a choked, strangled moan, her knuckles tense as she grips the side of the dresser for purchase as his fingers fuck into her, as his tongue swirls around her clit in his mouth. 

The ground feels shaky underneath her, and she doesn’t dare stand. Instead, she only melts further into the furniture, her eyes fluttering closed as she gathers her breath. 

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, dumbly, hearing the lewd sound of him licking his fingers clean.

There’s nothing she can do to hold back her the laugh that bursts out of her

But then, the sound of the metal of his belt clinking reignites that same heat, and she finds herself almost whimpering in anticipation. She nearly jumps at the feeling of his tip sliding through her folds, gently tapping against her clit as he soaks himself in her arousal. The sound of Peter’s breath hitching makes her smile, and she suddenly finds energy in herself to push back against him, to grind herself on his erection. 

He doesn’t wait another moment, a throaty groan spilling past his lips as he pushes into her, inch by inch, up to the hilt. 

His pace starts slow, giving her time to accommodate, but soon, neither of them seem to have patience. In the next second, he’s fucking into her, his rhythm almost desperate as he matches it to their ragged breaths. 

“Fuck, yes. MJ. You feel so fucking good,” he moans, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day. Fuck.”

It’s almost impossible to form words, her mouth hanging open, a croaking gasp leaving her lips when he shifts the angle. 

She only nods, too lost in the sound of skin slapping against skin, the feeling of him filling her so well.

“I love you so much, Em,” he breathes, his voice shaky. 

“I love you, too,” she manages somehow, miraculously. 

And she looks up in the mirror, seeing the slight uptick of a smile on his lips. “Hey, Em?” He asks, his eyes meeting hers. 

“Fuck—Yeah?”

His grip on her hips tightens as he picks up his pace, one hand placing a hard, but loving, smack on her ass. 

And as that smile grows, instantly, she understands. 

“Looks like we’re gonna have a white Christmas this year.”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

the cold (hands) never bothered me anyway

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Five

dialogue: “Your hands are freezing!”

❆❆❆

Michelle tiptoes into the apartment with a stealth that could rival any cat burglar. It’s quiet, save for the gentle hum of the heater as it clicks on. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she shrugs her coat off and drapes it over the back of the couch.

Her hands are cold, stiff from the biting December wind outside. No thanks to her cheap gloves—the very same ones she’s had since high school—of course. She flexes her fingers once, then twice, trying to get some sense of feeling back, but to no avail. 

A shiver rolls up her spine, spreading goosebumps over her skin as she walks to the bedroom. And her smile only widens at the sight on her bed; her boyfriend still asleep—and still very much naked—on his stomach, his face smushed into the pillow. The blanket only covers just enough of him to not be too indecent, but it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her eyes immediately drink in the sight of his muscled back, the way the sheet follows the curve of his ass so nicely. 

But then, as he shifts slightly, the sheet drifting just an inch, she gets an idea. 

A horrible, terrible, evil, awful idea.

As quietly as she can, she pulls off her shoes, placing them gently on the floor. She tiptoes to the bed, slowly crawling up to meet her boyfriend’s peaceful face. She lowers herself next to him, careful to keep her hands away, placing a soft, sweet kiss on his cheek. 

Peter stirs, brow furrowing in slight confusion as he grumbles something incoherent. 

She plants another featherlight kiss on his temple. 

This time, he smiles, his eyes still closed. He hums when her lips trail to his forehead, back to his cheek. 

“Mmmm hi,” he mumbles sleepily, his eyes fluttering open. 

MJ lets out a light laugh. “Hey.” 

“How was class?” He asks, voice thick with sleep, one hand reaching up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. 

“Good.” She leans forward, her lips finding his cheek again, trailing to the corner of his mouth before she pulls back. 

There’s a pout on his face when she opens her eyes. “You missed.”

Her grin widens as she closes the distance between them again, her lips pressing to his, deceptively chaste. He twists a little onto his side, giving them both easier access and deepening the kiss. 

But just as he starts to melt into her, just as his hand comes to rest on her cheek…

Hers sneaks down, icy fingers grabbing a handful of his cheek. 

Payback’s certainly a bitch. 

Peter yelps, letting out a comically high-pitched, involuntary giggle as he practically jumps away from her. “MJ! What—”

“My hands are cold,” she half-smirks, half-pouts. 

“God! Your hands are freezing!” 

Her face aches from how much she’s smiling, the very act of breathing like a normal human being almost impossible from how hard she’s laughing. “That’s what you get.”

“For what?” He asks, jaw dropped, backing away to the other side of the mattress when she holds her hands out again. “What did I ever do?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one that says he knows exactly what he did. What they’ve been doing for the past few weeks. It had started as a perfectly innocent gesture on Peter’s part, offering MJ a neck massage while she’d been stressing over her final paper for Dr. Scuderi, only for her to cower away from his frigid hands. 

It had then spiraled, MJ thinking it wasn’t fair that Peter didn’t experience the sudden surprise, tickling his sides after being outside with no gloves on. Each time they’d up the surprise factor, how cold their hands were. 

A frozen hand on the small of her back when she’d been cooking their dinner. 

An icy touch on his stomach as they’d cuddled on the couch. 

It was only a matter of time before it escalated out of control, a line had been crossed.

It’s a game they play. Albeit, a stupid one. But a game nonetheless. 

“You came in and woke me up to ‘cuddle,’” she huffs, complete with air quotes. “And put your cold hands on my boobs.”

MJ certainly doesn’t cut any corners, watching him expectantly with a raised brow. 

“Fair.” Peter gives a single nod, corners of his lips twitching downward into a contemplative frown. After a moment of just staring at each other challengingly, he breaks the silence, eyes big and hopeful as he holds a hand out. “Truce?”

MJ eyes him carefully for a moment, lips twisting in thought. She huffs, leaning forward and nudging his hand aside. Peter smirks, eyes closing as he leans in to seal it with a kiss, only to yelp out in surprise when MJ’s might-as-well-be-frostbitten hand shoots out to grab his inner thigh. 

“Hey! I thought we were truce-ing!” 

“We were!” MJ insists innocently, sneaking her hand down again, fingers wrapping around him, already half-hard.

Again, Peter yelps, sucking in a breath. “Hey!” He catches her gently by the wrist before intertwining their fingers together. “Your hands are too cold,” he laughs as she tries to grab him with her other hand. “Here—hey!—Lemme warm them up.” 

“That’s what I was trying to do, though.”

“Not on my dick!” Peter snorts, already taking her hands and bringing them to his lips. “It’s not your handwarmer!”

Her heart flutters in her chest as he plants soft kisses on each of her knuckles, the backs of her hands, the insides of her palms. “I dunno, I’d say it’s a pretty good one.” 

Peter’s eyes flit up to hers as he fights back another laugh, folding his hands over hers in an attempt to warm them more as he pulls her to him. His lips capture hers in a heated, borderline bubbly kiss, his arms coiling around her and holding her to his chest. A shiver ripples through him when her hands smooth over his back, his breath hitching as they softly press into his skin. 

There’s a small smile on his lips as he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Hands still cold?” She asks with a faint grin. 

He kisses her again. “Not as bad. But—” He shifts, grabbing the blanket and pulling it around them both. He leans in, his lips soft on her neck, and he smiles at the way she hums in contentment. “—Because of you—”  

She can feel his grin turn wicked against her neck. 

“My dick is kinda cold.”

The sudden burst of laughter from her chest only makes Peter’s smile grow. “Oh, no,” she manages. “My bad.”

Peter’s grip on her tightens, his touch more insistent, needy even, as he pulls back to look at her with a raised brow.

“Warm it up for me?”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Ten

concepts: baking, cold sleepy cuddles, holiday smut ❆❆❆

Peter’s mind buzzes as he fumbles with the sack of flour, nearly spilling it all over the counter as he trips over his own feet. He feels as if he’s in one of those dumb infomercials—“there’s got to be a better way!”—when he opens the top cupboard and he’s immediately pelted with the box of disorganized seasonings and extracts. There’s a sense of relief when he manages to catch the red, green, and blue food coloring before it hits the ground, though the feeling fades into a mild panic when he can’t remember if the recipe MJ had sent him called for baking soda or baking powder.

It also does not help that his hands might be the tiniest bit sweaty. 

So he’s a little nervous for some reason. It’s fine. It happens to everyone when they invite their best friend over for some holiday baking. 

Just some casual, friendly holiday baking. 

Sure, Ned’s not coming, but that doesn’t mean that this is any different, right?

Right?

So why does his heart skip one or two beats when MJ sends him a text that says she’s five minutes away?

It’s strange. 

MJ’s great, she really is. She’s smart, funny, just an all around cool, amazing, good person. The best that he knows. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous around her. Yeah, she can be a little mysterious, closed-off even, but as he’s gotten to know her, he’s seen glimpses of that soft, gooey person that’s inside. 

Yet, even with all of that, lately Peter’s been feeling the exact opposite of “at ease” around her. His stomach always feels like it’s training for the olympics when she’s around, his brain going all fuzzy anytime she talks to him, like he’s stood up way too fast. 

It’s the exact feeling he gets when he hears a knock at the front door. 

And again, he nearly spills sugar all over the tile. 

His body’s kind enough to carry him to the door, and he takes a deep breath, gathering himself before opening it. “Heyyyy.” 

He mentally kicks himself for being so weird. 

“Hey,” she gives a single wave, lips pressing together into a thin, casual smile. “You ready?”

Nodding quickly, he swallows, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.” 

He stays like that a moment, his eyes unconsciously taking her in—her soft-looking hoodie, the cozy looking joggers, her black converse. 

“Uh… can I come in?”

Peter immediately snaps out of whatever daze he was in, huffing out a laugh as he steps aside. “Shit. Yeah. Sorry.”

She gives another small smile and a single nod, walking past him, her hands twiddling together. 

It’s odd, Peter offhandedly thinks, as they walk into the kitchen, as they each put on one of his old hand-me-down aprons from May and Ben, how quiet she’s being. Of course, MJ’s not normally a loud person, by any means, but there’s usually a lot more snark when it comes to anything Peter does. 

He’s especially surprised when she only lets out a quiet snort when he drops one of the bowls in his haste to get everything out and ready. 

She’s still quiet as she whips out her phone, pulling up the recipe, lips twisting in thought as she scrolls. “Wow, I’m so glad that this lady decided to tell us about the time her sister smashed her gingerbread house before telling us the recipe,” she deadpans, though the corner of her lip quicks upward into a slight grin. “Every cookie recipe needs a good backstory.”

Peter snorts. “If there’s no plot, what’s the point? What’s the motivation?”

He feels MJ’s gaze drift up to him from behind her phone, and he can see her smile growing from the corner of his eye. 

For some odd reason, it’s enough to make his ears burn. 

A beat passes, neither of them saying anything as MJ continues to read and scroll through the recipe, Peter absentmindedly twiddling with the rim of the mixing bowl. 

The silence is broken when she clears her throat, her hand moving to smooth over the back of her neck, resting there. “So, um—I guess uh, preheat the oven to 375. And… Prepare baking sheets by lining with parchment paper,” she reads. 

Peter nods, inside of his lip caught between his teeth as he turns to the oven, a slight jitter to his movements as he presses the appropriate buttons. “What next?” He asks, as if he’s just completed the hardest part, grabbing an old cookie sheet from the cabinet beside the oven.

MJ cracks a smile, though it fades quickly when she goes back to the recipe, reading off the list of dry ingredients for them to mix together. The bowl is too small at first—a lapse in Peter’s judgement of what small means—a few patches of flour spilling out onto the counter when his overexcited mixing gets the best of him. The light teasing that MJ throws his way makes his heart do backflips, his stomach leap up into his chest. 

It’s the strangest sensation that he’s starting to not really mind all that much. 

MJ mixes the butter, brown sugar, and egg in one of the bigger bowls, tongue sticking out between her lips as she wrangles the electric mixer, deep in concentration when they add in the molasses and vanilla; it’s a look that Peter offhandedly thinks is very cute.

Especially with the bit of flour dusting her nose when they start to add the dry ingredients. 

And it’s even cuter when they start cutting out the shapes in the dough, the Hanukkah cookie cutter set he’d gotten from May when he’d first moved in finally getting good use. There’s only one man, and they grab for it at the same time, both of them yanking their hands back when their knuckles brush. 

MJ takes it, smiling quietly. 

It seems like all of these feelings should feel new, given that he’s only just now noticing them. But, in a weird way, they feel nothing like that. Almost the exact opposite. Like they’ve been around forever and he’s just never thought too much about them, whatever they are. 

It’s more confusing than anything. 

Especially when, after getting the cookies in the oven, and they start mixing the icing together, MJ’s hit with a bold streak, swiping her blue-icing covered thumb over his forehead when he’s busy mixing his own bowl. 

“Simbaaaaaa,” she says, her voice comically low and raspy—her best Rafiki impression. 

“Hey!” Peter jumps away from her, a laugh bubbling up from his chest as he holds in hands up in self-defense. “What the hell?!”

“You got a little something—” she gestures to her own forehead, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. 

He feels his own smile nearly take over his entire face, feeling a challenge flaring in his chest when he dips the tip of his finger into his own icing bowl, booping her on the nose before she can dodge him. 

“Hey—”

“You got a little something,” he says, mocking her from two seconds before, unable to keep his smile from growing even more. There’s a giddiness in his stomach, and he feels as if he’s lighter than air itself when she laughs at him. 

MJ’s so cool, he can’t help but think. 

And pretty. 

Peter shakes his head when she doesn’t look away, and he wipes at his forehead, trying unsuccessfully to get the sticky blue off of him. 

“You’ve still got some—right there,” she gestures to herself again. “Do you want me to get it?” She asks, a jitteriness to her tone as she lets out a chuckle. “I can lick it off.”

Peter’s sure that his face is every shade of red at this point. He nearly chokes on nothing, and he suddenly finds that he’s lost all ability to speak as he stares at her with furrowed brows, thoroughly dumbfounded. 

“I’m kidding,” she says quickly, laughing it off, looking back down at her hands, stained blue and green from the dye in the food coloring. “Jeez, Parker.” 

There’s a hint of something to her tone, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is; maybe nerves, maybe the awkwardness from him literally not saying anything at all in response. He’s not sure. 

And he tries to brush it off as they clean up while they wait for the cookies to finish baking. A quiet falls between them, both pleasant and at the same time wildly uncomfortable. He clears his throat, placing the mixing bowl in the sink, his focus as he scrubs the dough from the sides failing. 

When he turns around and catches her eye, his heart skips as she snorts at the sight of him, blue icing still caked onto his forehead. 

“God, okay, let me get that,” she huffs out, grabbing a paper towel. He can almost smell the soft lavender notes of her shampoo when she leans over him to wet the paper towel in the sink. It’s dizzying, he finds, especially when she smiles at him as she wipes across his forehead. And he finds when her eyes meet his, he can’t look away, drawn in. He offhandedly thinks how pretty her eyes are, how soft they look, even when they’re teasing him.  

“There,” she says, giving him one last, playful, less than gentle pat on the forehead. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, still seemingly lost in his trance, blinking slowly. “You’ve uh—you’ve still got some. On your nose.” 

And almost disappointingly, she wipes it off herself with the same paper towel. 

Why he’s disappointed, he has no idea. 

MJ’s quick to change the subject—or, start one—before he can even think of anything to say. She’s warmed up by now, less tense, though there’s still a jitter to her movements, a certain breathiness to her laugh that makes the butterflies in his stomach seem to kick into overdrive. 

And it’s a back and forth as they start decorating the cookies—after they’ve cooled, of course. MJ wouldn’t let him anywhere near them when she’d taken them out of the oven. 

“What did you do to that Menorah?” She asks him through a laugh as he struggles to even out the too-big dollop of icing he’d put on his first cookie. 

“I’m not good at this, okay?” He laughs back, letting out a comically quiet scream when the icing drips down onto his hand. He does a double-take though, looking at her cookie. 

A man with a too-big, borderline dumb smile, eyes nearly on opposite sides of the cookie, wearing all red and blue. “What is that?”

“It’s you,” she says with a toothy grin, as if it’s obvious. “Do you like it?”

“Why does he look like that?” Peter finds himself laughing more. 

“I think he’s cute,” she says simply. 

Peter nearly short-circuits, but he honestly has no response. At all. 

Because she can’t mean what he thinks she means, right? No. Absolutely not. MJ’s calling the cookie cute. Get your shit together, Parker. 

He does feel her glance at him a few times after that comment, almost as if she’s waiting to see if he’ll say anything. Then again, that’s literally just his brain making him think that, making him see and feel things. Obviously. 

There’s no way MJ likes him like that. 

And it doesn’t even matter really. They’re just friends. 

Just some good pals. 

The cookies are even more delicious than they’d smelled, and Peter finds himself caught up in just how cozy and safe it feels to be eating gingerbread cookies with his best friend, even when said best friend pointedly bites off the bottom half of the cookie that supposed to look like him. She can’t keep a straight face, though, nearly choking on the gingerbread when he snorts, crumbs flying. 

“Gross,” she says through her mouthful, unable to keep herself from laughing. 

Peter finally swallows, struggling to get a word out. “You started it!” 

They turn on some documentary—though, if he’s being honest, Peter’s finding that he can’t pay much attention to it. He keeps wanting to look at Michelle, glancing at her every few seconds. It’s a sight that makes his whole body flood with warmth, seeing her curled up on the other end of his couch, absently munching on a cookie as she stares at the screen. 

There’s a moment where she catches him looking at her, the corners of her lips twitching into a quick smile when they both immediately look away. 

Peter swears he can feel his heart beating in his ears. 

Though he has no idea when he started feeling this way about her, this weird nervousness, he now realizes how not new it is. He’s always thought Michelle was cool. That she was smart. That she was funny. That she was so pretty. 

But if he’s always thought this, then why is this… realization suddenly hitting him like a train? Why is it that he can’t even look at her without his stomach wanting to jump right out of his body? Why when every time she so much as talks to him is he smiling like a damn idiot? 

Why now?

And then, it dawns on him when she looks over at him, her lips pressing into a shy smile before quickly looking back at the TV, curling her legs to her chest more. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Well, shit.

There’s been a number of time’s where Peter’s questioned his own intelligence. Sure, he’s good at school—ignoring the late and missing assignments—he’s made his own web formula. 

But, fuck, he’s a dumbass. 

Because he’s been stupidly, deliriously, ridiculously in love with his best friend and he’s only just now realized it. 

He’s lost track of time by the end of the documentary, barely registering as the credits roll, and they sit there, neither one saying a thing. Peter feels the awkwardness—again, not entirely the worst thing, for some reason—creeping up his neck. He jumps up from the couch, needing something, anything to do. 

With this new realization, Peter feels almost more nervous, terrified of doing something stupid like exposing himself. 

It’s almost midnight by the time they finish putting the cookies away, saving the rest for later, of course. 

MJ stretches her hands above her head, moving them down to hold herself. “It’s getting pretty late,” she says, her voice soft, tired. 

Peter nods, pressing his lips together, leaning on the counter. “Yeah…” 

Neither of them move. 

“I should probably go…” She trails off, rocking back on her heels, though she still doesn’t make any kind of move to the door. She looks out the window, groaning at the sight of the heavy snow falling. She huffs out a nervous laugh, her eyes meeting his expectantly. “It’s so cold though.”

“I could… lend you a coat? Or something?” He can’t help but cough into his arm, glancing around the apartment as his lips curve into a shaky smile. 

MJ seems to get a kick out of that. “Nah. ‘Cause then I’ll have to give it back… and then I’d just end up keeping it.”

There’s nothing that can stop the faint dusting of pink on Peter’s cheeks as he thinks about he wouldn’t mind that at all. 

After a beat, however, Peter’s brow furrows in concern, altogether missing the way she’s looking at him. “Did you walk here?”

She purses her lips. “Yeah.” 

“I—” Peter clears his throat, not wanting to seem to eager at the idea of her staying. “I could call you an Uber?” 

She shakes her head, brow pinched. “No. No, that’s fine. Then I’d have to pay you back.”

“Yeah, you’d probably forget that, too,” Peter finds himself teasing. 

“Hey!”

“Kidding…” Peter clears his throat, biting back his smile. 

A beat passes again where neither say anything, the two of them awkwardly shifting on their feet as they wait for the other to speak. 

Peter’s the first to break. “I mean, if you want, you could… stay here. Wait the storm out.” It feels like it takes about five-hundred years to get those words out, and even longer when MJ’s eyes meet his. And it’s not his best idea, given he’s just figured out he’s in love with her. Having her in such close proximity overnight seems like the las thing he should do. 

But he can’t seem to stop himself. 

“When it’s not so… cold.”

Her fingers drum against the other side of the counter, the inside of her lip caught between her teeth. 

“Good point,” she finally replies. 

Peter breathes out a smile, finding himself relieved, though he’d never admit to it. “So…” He clears his throat again, disguising it behind a cough into his arm. “Sleepover?” He asks lamely. 

MJ’s expression breaks, and she snorts out a laugh, a sound he wants to hear over and over again. 

It goes quiet again though, MJ seeming to be deep in thought before she says anything again. 

“I hope it’s okay, though…” She glances left and right, a tint of insecurity in her gaze. “I like to sleep without pants on. If that’s cool… with you.”

And for a moment, Peter wonders if he’s died, or if he’s having a really vivid, cruel dream. He’s short circuited for a split-second; getting any kind of sentence out is damn near impossible. He blinks. Once. Twice. 

“Um—” He finds himself saying, though he has no idea where that thought is going. “I mean. Whatever. Makes you… more comfortable. I guess?” He huffs out a nervous laugh, the idea of sharing a bed with a very pantsless MJ drilling it’s way into his brain. 

There’s a minuscule upward twitch of her lips as she looks at him. 

“I can take the couch,” Peter says dumbly, and instantly, he’s mentally kicking himself. 

But it’s for good reason. 

MJ needs to be comfortable. 

She doesn’t feel the same way, and he doesn’t want to push himself on her. He doesn’t ever plan on telling her how he feels, so there’s no reason to make this any more difficult for either of them. 

“And you can take my bed?”

He doesn’t see the way her expression falls ever so slightly. 

“Oh—” Her head jerks back slightly, mouth tugging into a faint frown. “I mean. Sure. I guess.” 

Peter only nods, feeling his shoulders squeezing up to his ears, every muscle in his body tight. He nearly trips over himself as he walks past her, leading her to his bedroom. She only throws him a fleeting smile as he pulls out a spare t-shirt for her to wear—what friends do—leaving just as quickly as he’d come into the room. 

In his haste to get her out of his sight, he’s forgotten to grab his own pajamas. Or blankets. Or pillows. 

Oh well. 

It’s not like he’s going to walk back into that bedroom. That would be the most dangerous thing he could possibly do. 

But then, as he lays down on the couch in just his boxers and his shirt that still has a few flour stains on it, his brain decides to bring back the cruel thought, the tempting image of Michelle in his bed. Without pants on. 

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. He’s an adult. Not some hormonal teen anymore. 

But everytime he closes his eyes, he can just see so vividly, and he can’t help but wonder what she’s wearing—

No. 

Bad Peter. 

That’s your friend. 

Stop that. 

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to rid his mind of the idea of her long, bare legs tangled in his sheets. 

Damn it!

It feels like the entire night’s passed by the time he opens his eyes again, only to realize that it’s only been thirty minutes. He huffs, flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. It’s a fruitless endeavor, he knows, trying to fall asleep. He knows that as long as MJ’s in his room, there’s no way he’ll have any sort of peace. 

He debates getting up and checking the cabinets in his bathroom for some melatonin or maybe even benadryl, when the floor at the entry to the hallway creaks. “Peter?”

He jolts upright, looking over the back of the couch to see MJ standing in the archway, the Stark Internship shirt he’d loaned her just reaching the tops of her thighs. 

One wrong move, and he’d definitely see what she’s wearing. 

He swallows, whispering a pathetic, “hey.”

“Uh, hey,” she responds breathily. “So… It’s like… really cold in your room.”

“Yeah?” Peter sits up more, the throw blanket pooling at his hips as he rubs his eyes. “Do you want like an extra blanket or… something?”

She shifts on her feet, her hands toying with the hem of the t-shirt, Peter finding his eyes instantly drawn to the movement. 

He drags his gaze back up to meet her face. 

“I was actually—uh… wondering if you could just come get in bed?” 

He wants to say that all the blood’s left his body, but it’s honestly gone in two different directions. His face, and… well.

A faint, nervous chuckle spills out of him as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It’s a terrible idea, saying yes, but there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from nodding silently and getting up from the couch. “Another blanket would… would probably be too much.”

A wavy smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah. Exactly.”

It’s strictly for that purpose, he reasons with himself. MJ’s cold. She needs another body next to her. Nothing more. No, sir. 

And it stays that way in his mind as he crawls in next to her, as they turn to face each other, their knees barely brushing one another’s. It’s dark, but he’s close enough that he can just make out the soft curls on her forehead, the slight uptick of her lips as she looks at him. 

It surprises him when she scoots just the slightest bit closer, the way she tilts toward him. A shiver ripples through her. 

“Still cold?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

A light chuckle bubbles up out of her. “Yeah. Could you—” 

“Do you want me to hold you?” He asks before he can even think. 

She laughs again, a breathy, borderline nervous sound.

And he’s frozen solid, a ringing in his ears, unable to move as she nestles against him, his arms wrapping around her. He has no idea what else to do, every muscle in his body tensing when she breathes out, and he knows then that this is where he’ll be the entire night. No sleep. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and he tries not to concentrate on the feeling of her bare legs slotting against his, the warmth of her skin making his brain go all fuzzy. 

“Is this… Is this better?” He asks, clearing his throat again. 

She hums into him, and he can almost feel her smile into his chest. But she pulls back slightly, twisting so that she’s on her back and he’s propped up above her. “Almost,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving his. 

“Are you sure you don’t want another blanket? I can—”

His words are cut off as she leans up to press her lips to his, her hand gently resting on his cheek. 

It’s brief, barely five seconds, before she pulls away, biting at the inside of her lip. 

Peter’s barely had time to process it; the softness of her lips, the warmth of her hand on his cheek. But it hits him in a dizzying flurry as she looks up at him, eyes sparkling, a glint of vulnerability in them as she waits for his response. 

“What?” Is all he can ask, breathing out a giddy laugh. 

“Was that okay?”

Peter’s smile widens. “God, yeah. But I mean—I’m just… Um… I’m a little surprised.”

Even in the dark of the room, Peter can see the way her face contorts. “Surprised? How?”

And then, it’s Peter’s turn to be confused. Was he not supposed to be? 

“Uh… I don’t know it just kinda… came out of nowhere. Again—” He breathes out a chuckle. “—Not a bad thing. At all.”

She stares at him for a few seconds. She blinks. “Peter, I’ve been throwing myself at you this whole night.” 

He almost falls off the bed. “What?!” He hisses.

“I thought I was being obvious,” she says, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. When he does nothing but stare at her in shock, she shrugs. “I was.”

“The… I—what? You…?” He laughs. “How?” 

“Well—” Her fingers drum over the blanket. “—the icing fight was kinda classic flirty shit. Eating the gingerbread version of you that I said was cute.” 

“I thought you were threatening me,” he quips. 

“Who says I wasn’t?” She deapans, though he doesn’t miss the way the corner of her lips twitch upward. A beat passes. She blows a puff of air through her lips. “I mean, I dunno, I thought for sure you’d get the message when I said I slept without pants on.” 

Pursing his lips, Peter nods slowly. “I did not.” 

The silence afterward breaks when MJ lets out a sudden snicker. 

“I’m such an idiot,” Peter scoffs to himself, covering his eyes. “God.” 

MJ’s hand falls on his shoulder, gently—yet stiffly—patting him. “There, there,” she says. He can hear the smile in her voice. “I still think you’re cute,” she adds quietly. “So there’s that.” 

He peeks out from behind his hands, unable to bite back his smile. “I’m a cute idiot?” 

Her smile widens, even as she presses her lips together to keep it from growing. She reaches out, smoothing down his curls that had fallen onto his forehead. 

“The cutest idiot.” 

And as gross and sickly sweet as it is, Peter never wants this to end. 

But when she leans in to kiss him again, he doesn’t mind. Not at all. 

Her lips are soft against his, gentle and wanting. Her hand falls to his cheek, moving to cup his jaw as his arms coil around her waist, pulling himself closer as he leans over her. It feels like a dream, the warmth of her skin under the fabric of his t-shirt, the soft sighs she lets out as he deepens the kiss, and there’s a pang in his chest when he wonders if he’ll wake up from this, cold and alone. 

But he knows it’s real. All of it. All of her. 

His hand falls to her hip, slipping just underneath the hem of her shirt to draw soft lines into her skin. “MJ,” he says simply, breaking the kiss only for his lips to find a spot on the underside of her jaw. “I like you. So much.” 

He hears her breathy laugh, a sound that makes his heart skip. “I like you, too. So much.”

And he grins against her neck, lips and tongue dragging back up to meet hers again in a searing kiss. Though the room is cold, there’s nothing but warmth underneath the blanket, under her touch, and he thinks that he could stay here forever. 

Goodbye college. 

Goodbye anything that’s not this bed and MJ.

It’s been a whirlwind; for one, realizing these feelings only just a few hours ago, and now he’s kissing her. His head’s spinning, slowly finding himself getting more and more addicted to the feel of her soft skin under his fingers and palms as they smooth down over her behind, along her bare thigh, drinking every inch of her in. 

The sound of her moan against his mouth causes a flooding rush in his brain, the heat pooled in the pit of his stomach to burn, and he’d give anything to hear it again. His hand travels up the inside of her thigh, settling on her stomach, thumb resting on the trim of her cotton underwear. 

She breathes in sharply, her muscles twitching underneath him. And he breaks away, muttering an apology into her lips. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she breathes back, and he can feel her smile against his lips as she pulls him back down. “I’m cold.” 

It’s at the moment that he wonders if his heart will actually burst through his ribs with the way it’s pounding against them. He laughs breathily before eagerly kissing her, his fingers toying with the waistband of her panties. It almost makes him chuckle again when she subtly raises her hips, encouraging him, but he holds back, still not able to keep from smiling against her as his hands moves to cup her over the fabric of her underwear. 

It’s so dizzying, how much warmer she is where his hand holds her, the heat radiating from her, and he has to screw his eyes shut to concentrate, beginning to draw slow lines up and down her center over the thin, damp cotton. 

She sighs shakily against him, her head falling back, breaking the kiss as his lips find a home on the underside of her jaw. He brings her closer to him, nestled into his chest as he continues his ghost-like touches. 

When his fingers finally brush over her clit, she sucks in a breath, one of her hands coming to comb through his curls. 

He’s achingly slow as he circles the bundle of nerves through the fabric, matching the relaxed rhythm with his kisses on her neck. He knows he could go faster, that he could just get a move on, and judging from the way MJ’s grip in his hair tightens when he increases his pressure, she does, too. 

But this moment is one he wants to stay in. To savor. He wants to pack up everything he owns and live in it. 

But he also knows that his self-control might not last that long. 

Again, for the nth time that night, he finds himself smiling, both at her soft whines as he picks up his speed and at the way her hand falls to cling to his shoulder. He can hear in how her breath hitches and quickens, feel how her muscles start to twitch underneath him, how she stiffens, that she’s close. 

And right at that moment, he pulls away. 

“Peter—” 

Her whine is cut off by his hand dipping under the waistband of her underwear, finally touching her. Her mouth hangs open, a choked gasp spilling from her as he dips his fingers into her entrance, gathering her arousal and swirling it over her sensitive clit, and he can’t help but groan into her neck, feeling how wet she is. 

How wet she is for him. 

Her back arches as she pushes herself into him, his pace on her clit quickening when she moans out his name. And he murmurs hers back, his soft kisses on her skin a contrast to his feverish touches as he eagerly works her heat. 

His fingers dip down again to her entrance, teasing faint circles before he slides one in, his eyes once again screwing shut at the warmth, at the feeling of her clenching around him. He works a steady pace, pumping his finger in and out, smiling at her wet gasp when he pushes a second one in, instinctively curling them as he glides through her wetness. Her grip on his shoulder tightens even more, nails digging as he finds that perfect spot inside her. 

But then, when he feels her getting close again, he stops, and he wonders if she might hit him by the way she groans in frustration. Still, he smiles—cheekily—as he grabs the hand on his shoulder, guiding it down to her center. 

“Can you touch yourself?” He asks, his tone too innocent for such a request, and he knows it. 

MJ finds it in herself to laugh, shaking her head and closing her eyes as her hand sneaks under the waistband of her underwear and starts toying with her clit.

And for a moment, in all honesty, Peter almost forgets that he’s a part of this, too entranced in watching her face as she touches herself. 

But then, he remembers. A true gentlemen, he peels her underwear from her legs, helping her kick them off before sneaking his hand down again to play with the wetness at her entrance, drowning his fingers in it. An airy smile tugs at her lips when he pushes his two fingers back in, languidly pumping in and out of her. 

“Teamwork,” he mutters dumbly into her neck. 

Her laugh is a beautiful sound, but it’s broken by a low moan when Peter’s fingers curl inside of her, her eyes screwing shut as she matches her pace on her clit with his buried in her cunt. 

“That’s it, MJ,” he whispers hotly as she clenches around him, her muscles fluttering, feeling her teetering on the edge as her thighs start to close around his hand. He watches her expression for a moment, seeing it building and building, before moving to capture her lips into a heated, messy kiss. It’s clumsy, all tongue and teeth as her high climbs. 

And she comes with a loud cry, breaking the kiss, her other hand clinging to him for dear life, nails digging into his skin as her muscles flex and twitch. Her breathing is ragged as she comes down, her hand on her clit moving to grab his working her heat. She holds his hand for a moment, leaning up to kiss him again. 

It’s slower, yet just as hungry. 

Peter moves to wipe his hand on his boxers before placing it on her hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her skin as he kisses her. 

When they break apart, she pushes her forehead against his, smiling dreamily. 

“Still cold?” Peter asks, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Is that better?”

She huffs out a breathy laugh, planting another quick kiss on his smile. She curls further into him, nuzzling into his neck, her breath tickling. 

“Much better.”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

kiss you once (and then some more)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Three

concept: mistletoe kisses

❆❆❆

                            when i close my eyes (it’s just you and i)

It’s almost a mystery, why he’d ever agreed to put himself through the torture of end of the semester gift shopping for the mentally and emotionally exhausted teachers at Midtown. It’s mid-December on a Saturday afternoon. The Karens are out in full force. The shitty jazz cover of Baby, It’s Cold Outside has lasted so long, he wonders if it’s just on an endless loop.

But... he figures if it buys him precious time he gets to spend with MJ, then as far as he’s concerned, it’s all pretty worth it. 

He’s behind her at a loose follow, his hand shoved into his pockets as he glances around the aisles, trying not to only look at her. 

(He’s slightly successful at that.)

It’s funny how he could almost get lost, seeing her expressions shift as she peruses the shelves, her lips twisting in thought as she picks up various pieces of festive art work. It’s all cheesy, of course it is, though none of those seem to draw any sort of reaction from her. But, the dozens and dozens of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe’s get kind of old. 

Though she doesn’t make any verbal indication of her dislike, her face says it all. Brows scrunched ever so slightly, mouth pulled back just a bit. It’s subtle, but Peter’s had plenty of experience staring at her face to know exactly what it is. 

So, caring and curious friend that he is, asks about it. “What?”

“Eh, nothing,” She says, shrugging, clearly not caring. “Just that the mistletoe stuff is kind of stupid. And a bit creepy, if you think about it. Society only accepts it as a tradition because they think it’s an acceptable way to get someone to kiss you.” 

“Oh,” Peter said, nodding quietly. She’s not wrong. 

But he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of meeting MJ under the mistletoe. 

Though, after hearing her thoughts, he instantly feels bad for ever thinking that about her in the first place, for ever making her play that role in his overactive imagination.

“But,” Michelle adds, still not taking her attention away from the green and red wall decor. “If there’s mutual feelings, more importantly, if there’s consent, then yeah, I guess it’s fine.”

Of course, he agrees with her. Obviously. But… He’s still in that limbo of not being entirely sure what she means by all this. 

“I still think it’s dumb, though,” she concludes. 

Peter nods. “Oh, yeah same.” A beat passes, he knocks his hands together, shifting on his feet as his lips purse.  He’s not sure why he thinks to open his mouth again, to ask what he’s about to ask, but he does. “So, you’d probably never try it, right?” 

She frowns slightly, though it’s not out of upset, only in contemplation. Her brow furrows as she shrugs, and she seems off guard. “Well… I mean—I wouldn’t say… Never…?” Her eyes briefly flick over to him once before training on another interesting sign on the display.

If Peter hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed the slight change in her disposition, the subtle switch from calm and cool to flustered. 

And again, he’s a little dumbfounded as to what to do with this. What could have gotten to her? 

After a beat, she speaks again, any traces of frayed nerves vanishing just like that. “Yeah, I’d do it with someone I liked and trusted. A friend or something, I don’t know.”

His brain short-circuits for a moment.

“Any of your friends?” He finds himself asking, unable to keep the nervous chuckle from bubbling up out of him. 

She tucks an errant curl behind her ear with jittery hands. “Ah—I… I mean. Not just any friend,” she rushes to spit out. “There’s… um—” she swallows, gesturing vaguely. “—one.”

Peter feels his heart jump and skip into his throat, and he just knows that his ears, nose, and cheeks are all turning a bright shade of pink. Though he’s not quite sure if the nervousness he feels is because he thinks she’s talking about someone else—she must be, right?—or if he thinks she’s talking about him. 

But, again, as he tries to think of all their friends, it’s a short list considering how small their circle is, and he’s not sure if he’s seen MJ express interest in any of them. 

That could also mean jack shit, but it’s fine.

“Ned?” He asks, somehow managing to put a teasing edge to his tone. 

MJ huffs out a light laugh. “No,” she replies simply, keeping tight-lipped. 

“Cindy?” 

She shakes her head again. “Mm-mm.”

“Flash?”

The pointed glare she throws over her shoulder is enough to make him laugh in spite of his overactive nerves. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay! Okay! Sorry. Got it. I’ll stop.”

The corner of her lip quirks up into a slight smile, and she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she goes back to the shelves. 

Even though he desperately wants to get to the bottom of this, Peter drops the subject. More than anything, he wants to know who MJ’s thought about kissing under the mistletoe. It fills him with an anxiety he hadn’t known he could feel, the butterflies in his stomach when she looks over at him close to combusting. 

He wonders if he’ll ever find out, if she’ll ever feel comfortable enough to tell him. As much as he wants it to be him—God, he wishes it was—he can’t help but feel that it’s gotta be someone else. 

After all, it only makes sense. 

He and MJ are just friends. 

That’s all they’ll ever be, and he’s perfectly fine with that. 

                         somebody waits for you (kiss her once for me)

Flash’s party is like a minefield; a dangerous plane of holly branches hung above every doorway and low-ish railing, all done in the name of his grand scheme to get some holiday action. It works for the most part; he gets a few kisses from willing participants, and merely moonwalks away from those who scoff and turn their nose up at him. 

It’s not all that bad, Peter supposes. He just has to watch where he’s standing. Sure, he knows he’s not obligated in any way to kiss anyone, but he’d rather avoid the awkwardness if he can. 

The red and green is easy enough for him to spot, just barely visible to where he only has to glance up every few feet. 

Though, maybe he’s paying a little too much attention to where the mistletoe is, and not enough to where he’s actually going.

He runs into MJ not ten feet out of the kitchen. 

She lets out an uncharacteristic yelp as she tumbles back, but Peter’s quick to catch her, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her upright again before she can hit the ground. 

“Sorry,” He winces, losing himself for a moment when she doesn’t look away—or pull away, her palm pressed over his heart. 

He can’t help but notice how heavily she’s breathing, how fast her heart races in her chest, though he knows that that could very well be from the almost-fall. 

“Nice catch,” she breathes, the corner of her lips twitching into half-grin. 

A beat passes before Peter realizes he hasn’t said anything, and that he hasn’t let her go yet. Clearing his throat, he yanks his arm away, reaching back to scratch his neck. “You okay?” He asks, suddenly unable to look directly at her. 

She stares down at her drink—the one he’s just realized she’d been holding, thankfully not spilled—seeming to bite back a smile. 

“Yeah!” She says quickly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She rocks back on her heels, lips pressing into a line. Another beat passes. “Where’s Ned?” She finally asks casually.

“With, uh—” Peter coughs. “With Betty.” 

MJ gives a single nod, huffing out a single, soft laugh. “Should’ve guessed.” It’s her turn to clear her throat. “Do you wanna… hang out?”

It’s funny that she asks that, because Peter’s sure that’s what his exact wish was just a second before. Neither of them should even have to ask, given their closeness and that they’re already at the same party talking to one another, they’re already “hanging out,” but somehow, this feels different. 

Peter nods, and he follows her close behind to a quieter corner of the house—as quiet as it can be, filled to the brim with tipsy, hormonal teenagers and the thumping bass of an aspiring DJ-slash-Influencer. 

They stand awkwardly in the corner, Peter finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes off of Michelle; the way one side of her curls is pinned back, her bangs still falling in her face. The way her flowy dress flutters every time someone opens the door to the backyard and a breeze sneaks in. 

He realizes after a moment too long of just staring that she’s speaking to him. There’s a shake to her voice, a nervous chuckle under every word she says. 

“It’s cool if you don’t want to—”

“No, sorry, I—” He laughs, bashful, feeling a warmth flood his face. “I—didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Her lips press together as she bites back another anxious laugh. “Um—” She swallows thickly, looking upward. “There’s… That.”

Peter follows her gaze, his mouth falling open when he sees the delicate, but cheesy mistletoe hanging just above them. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat passes. 

“I—I um… I made a joke about us. Kissing,” MJ admits, her eyes not meeting his. 

“I mean—” Peter lets out a light laugh, blood rushing to his face, ringing in his ears. He feels dizzy, floaty even. “I—I’d be cool. With—with doing that.” 

Her eyes flit up to meet his, her lips curving into that cute small smile he’s always liked. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, looking down again shyly. “Me, too.” 

And then, she leans in, slowly, cautiously. It feels like a million years pass before her lips touch his in the most gentle and softest of kisses, and his head swims at how sweet it all is. 

Turns out, kissing his best friend might be one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

                                       maybe we’ll be all the love

The three gentle raps at her window make her heart skip. She swings her legs over the side of her bed as if on instinct, wrapping the knitted blanket around her shoulders as she makes her way to the window—the one that her upside-down boyfriend’s enthusiastically waving at her through. 

There’s nothing she can do to hold back her smile, even as she desperately tries to seem nonchalant when she yanks the window open a little too hard. 

“Hey,” he says. 

She can already hear his dopey smile before he rips his mask off, tossing it in her room behind her, already leaning in—to kiss her, she assumes. 

“Hi,” she replies, quirking a brow at him, a hand coming up to his chest, holding him back. “You sure that’s safe to just… show your face like that?” A light laugh bubbles up from her, warmth blooming in her face when he shrugs, clearly not having thought that through, the idea of him being so distracted by the idea of kissing her that he throws all sense of secrecy out the window. 

“Eh, I mean—” He chuckles. “You’re the only one who can technically see my face, so…” 

She peeks over the window pane, looking up to see that he’s hanging by a web from the above apartment’s balcony.

A shiver ripples through her when the cold December breeze picks up. Her eyes narrow into a glare. “Are you gonna come in? It’s cold. And you’re letting that in here.”

His lips stretch into a cheeky smile. “Can I get a kiss first?”

MJ’s mouth twists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“If you come inside, I’ll kiss you.” 

“What if I told you there’s mistletoe right above us?” 

Her expression is blank. She blinks once at him, not looking up like he wants her to. “There’s not,” she deadpans. 

“What if… I’m the mistletoe?”

“Peter—” She almost laughs, wrapping her blanket tighter around her when the cold bites at her skin. 

“Web-stletoe…” He muses. “Mistle-web—”

Michelle leans over the window pane, her hands coming to the back of his hand and pulling him to her, capturing his lips into a sweet kiss. It’s awkward at first, with everything being all switched around, flipped upside down, but they quickly settle in to the feeling. She can feel Peter’s lips quirk upward (down for her) into a smile. 

Suddenly, she finds the cold not so bad. 

When she pulls back, her expression mirrors his own, even as she tries to bite back the dopey grin. 

A light giggle bursts from him, making her heart strings swell with a warm crescendo. 

“Get inside, loser.”

                                     i’m just gonna keep on waiting

It’s cold out on the deck, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as he’s sitting by the fire pit, he can ignore the way the breeze nips at his face, no doubt turning the tip of his nose and apples of his cheeks a bright shade of red. With the fire and a mug of hot cocoa in hand, he’s set for a peaceful night. 

His friends are all still inside, no doubt drinking it up while some holiday movie plays in the background. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be in there celebrating with them, to be listening to Flash tell his likely overdramatized stories about random celebrities he’d met while going to school in LA, to hear Gwen and Cindy drunkenly singing along to every Bublé song that comes on. It’s such an overwhelmingly happy, cheerful atmosphere inside. 

So much so, that he felt he needed a moment of just… nothing. 

But then, the gentle click of the backdoor opening cuts the moment short, though not that he minds really. 

He looks over his shoulder, immediately standing on instinct when MJ walks through and closes the door behind her. 

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling slightly. 

She startles, not realizing he’s been out here. “Oh, hey.” 

There’s an awkwardness lingering in the air, pressing on his shoulders as they both offer half-hearted waves. 

Breaking-up can really put a damper on things. 

It had happened months ago, but it almost feels like a hundred years; so long since they’d mutually ended things before going off to college. There’s no bad blood between them. Not at all. In fact, he considers MJ to still be one of his closest friends. 

Sure, they went from kissing, holding hands, sleeping together—being together—to just friends, but… It hasn’t been so bad. They both knew it wouldn’t last in college, both of them worried about things going south. 

So, they ended everything before it had a chance to. 

And again. It’s fine. These things happen. People grow apart when they go off to college. It’s perfectly normal. 

Plus, Peter’s just glad that he still gets to have MJ in his life at all. 

“What’re you… doing out here?” She asks slowly, folding her arms across her chest to keep warm. 

“Oh, uh—” He shrugs, glancing around the porch, the awning above them, back at the fire pit. He mirrors her actions, rocking back on his heels. “Just needed some air. You know. You?”

She nods before letting out a faint huff of laughter. “Brad, uh—Brad just can’t seem to take a hint. So…”

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face. “You’re hiding from him.”

She recoils in defense, brow furrowing. “I am not hiding from him,” she insists, stepping away from the door and closer to the fire. 

Closer to Peter. 

“I just… thought I’d come out here—” she starts softly, Peter finding himself drawn in immediately as she stops in front of him. She shrugs. “—at the same time he happened to go to the bathroom. Not hiding.”

Peter’s smile grows, and he tips his head at her. “Uh-huh.”

MJ huffs, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly. She glances up to the awning above them, her mouth falling open in surprise at what she sees hanging from the rafters. 

“What?” Peter asks, looking up with her, feeling a warmth bloom in his face when he sees. 

Mistletoe. Of course. 

The two of them laugh quietly, chuckling to themselves. 

“Wow,” MJ says, lips twisting in amusement. “Well. I mean—”

“—I guess—” Peter shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. 

“—If you want,” MJ offers slowly, her eyes not leaving his, the warmth in them making his cheeks burn. There’s something in her smile that takes him all the way back to that first party he’d kissed her at, makes him want to lean in. “For old time’s sake?” 

He chuckles breathily. “Yeah. For old time’s sake.” 

It should be harmless, right? At least, that’s what he thinks as he leans in, his hand naturally finding a home on the side of her face, delicately cupping her jaw as he presses his lips to hers.

But it’s a feeling so familiar, a feeling he’s missed more than words could ever begin to describe, and it’s as if the numbness from the past few months has vanished, giving way to the permanent molten ache in his chest. He sighs softly, pulling her closer, an arm coiling around her waist. Her hands come up to wrap around his shoulder, threading softly through the curls at the nape of his neck as she deepens the kiss. 

They’ve missed this, so much, their chests locking together like magnets, pulled apart for so long. 

And it’s in that moment, as they kiss by the fire, holding each other close, that they both silently thank whoever put that damn mistletoe there. 

                                         and telling me, “i love you”

“Honey, I’m hooooome,” Peter calls into the apartment, bags of groceries balanced in the crook of his arms, one propped precariously on his shoulder, supported only by the tips of his fingers as he kicks the door shut behind him. 

“Thank God,” MJ groans from the couch, not moving from her spot as she holds a hand up and out for him. “Hey,” she calls to him again when he sets the paper bags on the kitchen counter. “C’mere. Check this out.”

There’s a smile already growing on Peter’s face as he walks over, one bag still tucked in his arm. “What?”

Grinning from ear to ear, MJ lifts the bottom of her shirt, showing her growing bump. It’s not huge yet, but twelve weeks in, and she’s certainly bigger than normal. 

“Woah!” Peter’s eyes light up, though he tends to do that every time he looks at her belly now. He puts the bag down, kneeling down next to her, one of his hands coming to smooth over her bump. “There’s a little baby in there.”

“I think we’ve established that,” she jokes, her hand gently patting his. “Probably still looks a lot like a sea monkey right now.”

“In a cute way, right?”

Her smile widens. “Definitely in a cute way.”

His hand stays on her bump as he leans in to place a gentle peck on her forehead, his eyes sparkling when he pulls back to look at her. “What’s the fruit size for twelve weeks?”

“I think the app said a plum?” 

Peter awwwws, now leaning down to place a kiss right on her belly. “My li’l plum.” 

MJ makes a face at that.

“Fine,” He huffs. “Our li’l plum.”

“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, nudging him gently on the shoulder. 

He snickers back before placing another set of kisses along her growing stomach. One spot makes a giggle bubble up from her chest, and she jumps slightly. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna get kicked.” 

“By you or the baby?”

“Me. Can’t feel the baby yet.”

Peter closes his eyes, laughing into her shirt before sitting back on his heels. 

Her smile is soft as she looks at him. Her dork. She shifts her attention to the bag he’d brought over, finding herself curious. “What’s in the bag?” 

Again, his eyes light up as he lets out a gentle gasp. “There’s more in the kitchen, but this bag has all the goodies in it.” He reaches a hand in, pulling out a giant tin of hot chocolate mix and another of loose leaf peppermint tea. “For you, of course.” 

“Amazing.” 

“I also got some of those Hawaiian sweet rolls,” he says, grabbing exactly that. “You mentioned wanting those the other day, I think.”

She did.

“Then…” His tongue sticks out as he searches the bag. “I got some ice cream. I didn’t know if you’d want cookies and cream or chocolate chip… so I just got both.”

“Thank you. You’re so sexy when you can’t make decisions.” 

Peter snorts, playfully shrugging off her hand that’s trying to dramatically caress his face. “And—stop that—and—” He laughs, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he holds out a cheap, plastic mistletoe. “This.”

She rolls her eyes, half-heartedly pushing his hand away. “Peter.” 

“It was in the check-out line! I was waiting a long time. I got bored.” 

And she shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I love you.”

He throws a wink at her before holding the mistletoe up between them, laughing when she grabs it from him and tosses it aside before pulling him in for a tender kiss. 

His eyes are gleaming when he pulls back, one hand moving back to rest on her bump, his thumb drawing soothing lines into her skin. 

“I love you, too.”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

i’ll never feel you (if i don’t tell you)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Eight

For @amyabbotts​ on your birthday, bb!! I hope you’ve had an amazing day!!! <3

dialogue:  “Oh come on, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle!”  

❆❆❆

i. 

It’s strange.

With how long Peter’s been Spider-Man—give or take six years—one would think that he’d be a little better at not getting distracted so easily. 

But when it’s things that remind him of the people he loves, well, he can’t really help it. 

He nearly misses his next swing, just barely grazing rough side of a building, when he sees the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the window of the coffee shop they’d frequent in high school. MJ’s favorite, of course, and that’s immediately where his mind had swan-dived into. Memories are funny like that. Even the simplest reminder and it suddenly all comes flooding back. 

The late night study sessions. 

The after-school hang-outs. 

Peter’s filled with such an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, his chest tightening, that he finds himself pulling his phone out and dialing her number without a second thought. 

It rings three or four times—he’s not sure—before the croaky, confused voice of his best friend greets him. 

“Hello?” She asks, her voice raw with sleep. 

“Hey! MJ!” Peter says enthusiastically, smile impossibly widening underneath his mask. 

There’s shuffling on the other end, no doubt her settling back into her bed. “What do you want?” 

Even though there’s a healthy dollop of annoyance in her tone, the sound only makes him grin. He’s always kind of liked it. 

“Oh come on, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle!”

She does not seem amused.

“Just swung past the Living Room, and uh—” He finds himself suddenly getting nervous, not quite sure as to how this is going to sound to her. “—Just… Thought about you. Wanted to call and say hi,” he sputters out, grimacing as he almost misses another swing. 

He perches on the edge of a nearby building. 

“At one in the morning?” 

Peter nearly falls off his spot as he pulls his phone back to look at the time. “Oh, shit—” He huffs out a painfully nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I—I had no idea… what time it was.” 

“Clearly,” MJ quips dryly. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Peter says after a beat, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. 

It’s silent for a moment before MJ lets out a soft sigh. “It’s okay,” she replies, exhausted, but there’s a warmth in her voice that’s enough to make his chest feel like it’s at least two sizes too small for his heart. It’s been so long, too long, since they’ve talked, and it suddenly hits him—a punch right to the gut—how much he just misses her. 

“So the Living Room, huh?”

“Yup,” he says as his grin widens again, his thumb tapping lightly against his thigh. “I was in the neighborhood and, uh, I saw that they had their tree up. In the window.”

“Oh,” Michelle breathes. “Cool. I haven’t been there in forever.”

“Really?” He finds himself asking, somewhat surprised that she could go so long without her favorite cup of London Fog in the entire world. “I mean, I haven’t either, but like, the amount of times we hung out there,” he huffs in amusement. “How much you spent on tea there.”

“I haven’t had a chance,” MJ laughs. “God, I miss that place.”

“You’re still in New York, Em,” Peter laughs under his breath. “You can go there anytime.”

“I know, but—” She pauses, and he can hear her shift around on her bed, a certain hesitance and vulnerability in her tone. “—It’s… It’s not the same…” Her words trail into a faint cough. “You know?”

It’s not the same without you.

Peter nods, though he remembers that she can’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah. I get that.” 

And he does. It’s the same reason he hasn’t been back. He tried once, in the beginning of freshman year, but it left him without that warm, cozy feeling he always got when he was with MJ. 

“We should—” Peter catches himself talking before he has time to think. “We should go there! Sometime… soon.”

He can almost hear the sleepy smile on MJ’s face. “Yeah, we should. That’d be fun.” 

“Yeah,” Peter replies dumbly, his voice strangely breathy. “Well, uh... I’ll let you get back to sleep. Lemme know when you’re free.”

She laughs sleepily into the phone. “Ooookay. Night loser.”

He knows if it weren’t for his mask, or her being on the other end of the phone, she could see the way his cheeks are dusted pink. 

“Night.”

His smile never fades as he swings all the way home.

ii. 

MJ’s fingers tap against her thigh as she has the world’s longest staring contest with her phone. It’s a dumb idea, she knows it is. In fact, it doesn’t even need to be an idea in the first place. Peter’s quite literally one of her best friends in the entire world. She doesn’t need to have a reason to want to call him so late at night. It’s a friend thing, what friends do sometimes. 

And yet…

It’s stupid, she thinks. This is how high school MJ would have acted at the idea of calling the boy of her dreams, Peter—not college MJ. College MJ is smarter than this. College MJ is over her tiny little crush on her best friend. For the love of God herself, they had coffee together just last weekend. Things are great. 

College MJ has a date next Thursday. 

A date that is cute and relatively nice. A date that seems normal, no superpowers in sight or secret identities to protect. 

A date that doesn’t really get her heart racing or face warming. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t really make her feel all fuzzy and gooey inside, but this is different. It’s not puppy-love. This is what adulthood is like. This is doggy-love.

Wait, no—

Fuck it. 

Before she can talk herself out of it, she’s tapping the little green call button next to his name, phone snapping to her ears as her legs bounce. 

It only rings twice before Peter’s answering. 

“MJ! Hi!” His cheery voice makes her smile on instinct. “What’s up?”

His voice strains slightly, and she can hear the wind whipping wildly around him, and she knows instantly what he’s doing. 

She almost can’t catch her breath before she starts talking. “Just, uh—” She pauses, wracking her brain for whatever bullshit reason she’d decided on before calling. “Wanted to say hi,” she finally gets out, wincing immediately at how nervous she sounds already. “You know.”

Peter lets out a faint laugh, one that makes her stomach flip involuntarily. “Oh. Well, hi to you, too.”

There’s something to his voice that always feels like a nice hug to her. It always has. Even as she’s grown out of her crush for him. 

“I, uh—�� She swallows, laughing quietly to herself. “I also had a question. About… the homework.” Her voice fails her for a moment as she scrambles to think of what class it is that they have together. “In psych.” 

The wind on the other end stops, and she knows that Peter’s probably hanging or perched on someone’s roof. “Psych?” He asks. She can almost hear the confused scrunch of his brows. 

It’s definitely bullshit. She’s already done the homework. And odds are, Peter’s completely forgotten about it. He’s the one who’s usually calling her in a panic at nearly one in the morning the night before. Not her. 

“Yeah—” She replies, not confident in the slightest. “What was—what was the assignment? Again?” Her voice grows impossibly high at the end, and she wonders how long it’ll take him to see right through her lie. 

“MJ, do you really think I know what the assignment is?” The amusement in his voice somehow eases her nerves. Only a little bit. 

She laughs, shaking her head. “It—it was worth a shot, I guess.”

The wheels in his head are turning, she can hear, as a quiet falls between them, and she can almost see the the thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Uh…” Michelle shifts, her free hand toying with the strings of her hoodie. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she rifles aimlessly through her backpack, grabbing her Psych folder and fabricating some I’m-totally-looking-through-the-syllabus noises. “Found it,” she says after a beat. “It’s the questions at the end of chapter six. About Piaget.” 

“Ah, right. Right.” Peter hums. “Cool. Wait—so you haven’t done it yet?” 

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

“I mean—uh…” For some reason—she’s lying, that’s the reason—she can’t get any words out at all. Any knowledge of the English language has all but left her mind, packed it’s bags and ventured out into the world. 

“—’Cause… I could come over right now. And we could do it—the… the homework… together?” 

There’s an edge to his voice that she only faintly recognizes. It causes her pulse to quicken, her hands to sweat. 

And it also reminds her that yes, she’s already done the assignment. Is she going to tell him that?

Probably not.

Is she about to redo a whole-ass assignment that she’s already done? 

Probably.

“Yeah,” She breathes out, unable to stop herself. “That’d be good. That’d be cool.” 

“Cool.” Again, she can hear the smile in his voice. “Be there in fifteen?”

It’s almost impossible to get her heart under control, but she somehow manages. “Sounds good. I’ll probably—” She flinches, waffling. “—I’ll probably get a head start on it—on the reading. If that’s okay.” 

“Wooooooow,” Peter draws out, and she can’t help but laugh. “Fine…” He relents jokingly. “See you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with that, MJ hangs up, her entire body slumping onto her bed as she smacks herself on the forehead. If anything, this phone call is only further proof that she still has some “getting over” to do. Even though she thought—nay, she was confident—that she was safe from feelings, it’s still managed to come back and bite her in the ass. 

As she stares at her phone, at his contact picture, she can only think of how screwed she’s going to be if she keeps this up. She holds the phone to her chest, eyes squeezing shut as she lets out a long sigh. 

Fuck. 

iii. 

There’s a reason that Peter hasn’t gotten a new phone since high school. 

Well, there’s a lot of reasons; one, being the amount of times he drops the damn thing while out on patrol, or how many times he lands on it on the rare occasion when he’s getting his ass handed to him by some bad guy. The cracks on the screen have gotten so out of hand—weblike in appearance—he almost wouldn’t be able to read anything if it weren’t for his enhanced vision. 

Two, phones are expensive, and the last time Peter checked his bank account, he almost cried. 

And three… well… There’s definitely some sentiment with the old thing. There’s a bond that only comes with dropping it nearly ten stories onto the concrete, only for it to survive. That phone’s been with him since sophomore year. It still has a home button at the bottom—one that stopped working months ago. And besides, Peter doesn’t want to go through the whole process of learning how to work a new phone. 

He’s like an old grandpa, set in his ways, angry at the newfangled technology of the world. 

But then, after one fall too many… After realizing that he couldn’t hear anyone who called him…

Peter had known. 

It was time. 

The new phone is nice enough. One of the older models of the iPhone, so it still has that home button he loves clicking so much. It’s not so much different from his android; while he may act like a sixty-nine year-old-man, he’s still young enough to figure out new tech pretty easily. 

But if he could stop butt dialing people for maybe two seconds, that would be ideal. 

He picks up on the quiet voice almost immediately, sitting up in his bed, every muscle in his body on edge, ready for an intruder, before he realizes who it is. 

“Peter?” 

He scrambles, finding his phone under a folded over part of the blanket, seeing that he’s been on a call with MJ for at least a minute. 

God dammit. 

“Shit,” Peter curses under his breath, yanking the phone up and putting it to his ear. “Hey! Sorry. I—uh… I didn’t mean to call.”

“Butt dial?” He can hear the amusement in her tired voice, even at nearly two in the morning. 

Peter snorts nervously. “One might even call it a booty call.” He blanches almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he coughs, covering behind a solid, almost dad-like throat clear. “I… did not just say that. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, no, you definitely did,” MJ teases, a shakiness to her words that he thinks sounds like laughter. “Is this a booty call?” 

He hates that he can’t really tell whether or not she’s joking, that there’s a smidgen of hope in his whole-chest that she’s genuinely asking, that maybe this will lead to something else tonight. 

But he doesn’t want to risk anything at all. 

“No!” He quickly says, feeling his face turn a deep shade of red, burning impossibly hot. “No, of course—of course not.”

It’s quiet on the other end for more than a few seconds. There’s a sinking feeling in Peter’s gut that he’s really said the wrong thing, for some reason. 

“Good,” Michelle finally replies. “I literally just had a date tonight and I dunno if that’d be fair to him,” she adds with a short laugh. 

Peter freezes in place, his heart plummeting into his stomach. 

A date?

“You—you had a date?” He finds himself asking before his brain can catch up. 

“Uh-huh,” Michelle replies simply, not elaborating. 

Peter swallows, his mind racing at more than a mile a minute. “Who with?”

“Some guy from my philosophy class,” she replies, nonchalance in her tone, and he can almost hear her shrug. “His name’s Harry. He’s…” She pauses for a moment. “He’s cool.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes, nodding, though he feels as though his vision has doubled. “How… How’d it go?”

“Really well, actually,” she says, shifting on her own bed—he assumes, he hopes. “We went to this really neat cafe by Rockefeller, then we went and looked at all the Christmas lights after. It was nice.” 

“Great!” Peter forces with a little too much enthusiasm. He clears his throat, almost as if to push his heart back down into his chest. “Did you…” He doesn’t know how to ask this next part, or why he’s even considering it. It’s none of his business. 

But he can’t help it. 

“Is he over there right now? Or—” He laughs lightly. “Are you at his place?”

MJ snorts. “No. I didn’t sleep with him.”

Peter hates how relieved he is. 

“Yet.”

And how quickly the relief turns back into existential dread. 

“How come?” Peter asks suddenly, then proceeding to kick himself for not having a better control over his dumb brain. 

Michelle lets out a weird laugh, nervous even. “I mean—I didn’t want to? I don’t know.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Totally. I get that,” Peter rushes to spit out. He takes a moment, collecting himself. While there’s something strong tugging in his gut, something twisting and pulling, he wants to be happy for his friend—he should be happy. This is great. For her! 

But there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do about the bile rising in his tightening throat. 

“That’s… That’s awesome, though.” 

There’s silence on the other end. 

Two beats pass. 

“Yeah,” MJ replies finally. 

And it feels odd. They stay up most of the night talking, but it’s almost like there’s this unspoken thing between the two of them—all centered around that faceless guy named Harry. Every topic somehow reminds Peter of his best friend’s magical date—his words, not hers. Everything always goes back to that. 

And he doesn’t want to know anything more. 

But he keeps asking questions, hating each answer more and more. 

Their goodbyes are short, yet drawn out too long, as if the other is waiting for them to say something, anything.

But neither of them do. 

And at this point, it seems like neither of them ever will.

iv. 

Michelle’s not sure what time it is when she steps back into her apartment. Moonlight slips through the cracks in the curtains. She’s greeted by pitch black as she nudges the door shut with her foot, her hand fumbling on the wall as she feels for the light switch and clicks it on. 

It’s in the same state she left it in; spaghetti dinner for two still set on the kitchen table, the candles at the center cold and unlit. She hadn’t had time to clean up after the call, not taking a moment to put anything away before grabbing her coat and running out the door. 

Of course, she’d made sure to let Harry know—though it’s not like it mattered really. He’d already accidentally made plans with his friends tonight anyway, completely forgetting about their date. 

It’s fine though.

He’d told her he was sorry, to call when she heard more, etc. 

Yeah, sure, he didn’t go with her to the hospital, but again. It’s fine. 

He would’ve just been in the way. 

There’s an ache in her chest and back as she kicks off her shoes, her movements almost zombie like as she limps over to the couch and slumps down on it. Her eyes are burned dry, the lump in her throat from earlier never having left. 

It had been five long hours sitting in the emergency room with her parents, almost five and a half since her dad had first called. When it had started to seem more and more like an overnight stay, both her parents had sent her home, promising that it would all be okay. 

And while she does believe them, it still hurts. 

Her phone buzzing in her pocket startles her, and she looks down, seeing Peter’s name lighting up her screen. 

And just at that sight, she feels the faintest warmth growing in her chest. 

“Hey, Pete,” she says softly, curling up into the couch. 

“Hey!” He says, his tone filled with cautious positivity. A beat passes before he says anything else. He sounds as if he’s bouncing off the walls with questions. “How’d it go? Did you make it home alright?”

“Yeah…” She trails off, sighing shakily. “Yeah. I did. Thanks—” She pauses, swallowing. “I, uh—actually just got home, so I was—I was about to call you.” 

“Good, good. Don’t uh—don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a gentle laugh. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing a lot better,” MJ replies honestly. “They’re keeping her overnight but everyone’s really… really optimistic. She’s coming home tomorrow.” 

“That’s great,” Peter replies, the warmth and smile in his voice making her close her eyes. “I was… I was actually wanting to know if you wanted me to come over or something? Just as a distraction.” 

Her brows furrow slightly. Peter was supposed to be on a mission, doing Avengers stuff in Philly. “Uh… Aren’t you… Stopping some mass arms deal with Cap? Or something like that?” 

Peter stammers for a moment. “Yeah, I mean. I was… But I… I talked to Sam and Bucky about it and uh—yeah they were more than glad to get rid of me.” He chuckles. “I think Kamala's down there now with them.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, as soon as you called I left.” She can hear a tint of nerves to his tone. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the hospital when you were there.” 

“It’s okay,” MJ replies sincerely, already touched at the fact that he’d dropped everything to come support her. 

“At least Harry was there, right?” He asks.

MJ finds herself sucking in a breath, a faint anger flaring in her chest at the reminder. “No. No he wasn’t.”

“What?” Peter blurts, a certain edge to his tone. “Why?”

“He uh—” Michelle hesitates, not knowing entirely how to say anything at all. “—he had other plans, or something. But it’s fine.”

She can hear Peter about to say something on the other end, but she cuts him off. 

“You can come over though,” she says, frustration welling within her as her vision blurs. She sniffs. “I could use a friend,” she half-jokes. 

Peter doesn’t seem to laugh with her, but his voice softens. It’s enough to make her heart ache even more. 

“I’ll be there in ten.”

v. 

“—yeah, it’s like the billionth time he’s done this, but—” MJ starts on the other end, her tone laced with a calm pettiness and frustration. “It’s whatever.”

Anyone else talking to her wouldn’t notice. They’d think she doesn’t really care all that much, but Peter instantly picks up on it. 

“You’d think he’d be better at… you know… being in a relationship,” MJ jokes, laughing nervously. “I mean, he’s fine with his friends, so…”

Peter’s silent on his end, unsure of how to respond without butting in too much, giving too much of himself away. 

He’d wanted to like Harry, he really did. If MJ liked him, that was all the proof he needed. But there’s been too many slip ups, too many times where his best friend’s casually mentioned being stood up or brushed aside by her new partner. Too many times where Harry’s just forgotten about plans and gone out with his friends instead. 

“I just—” MJ pauses, and he can hear a tint of hesitation in her voice. “I just wish I didn’t have to like… convince him to hang out with me, you know?” 

“You have to convince him?” Peter asks, something flaring in his chest at the idea that anyone would have to be convinced to be in the same room as MJ. 

“Oh, no. That’s—that’s not really what I meant,” she huffs another laugh. “It’s just like… He always already has stuff planned with his friends first. He only ever really hangs out with me when they cancel on him, or something. It’s just… weird.”

“Have you…” Peter trails off, trying to steady his breathing and racing pulse. “Have you talked to him… about this?” 

“What?” MJ almost cackles. “No. Of course not. Why would I talk to him about this?”

“I mean, you are dating him aren’t you?” He asks, more venom to the question than he’d intended. 

There’s a silence on the other end, and for a moment, he wonders if the call’s been dropped. 

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend. I tell you everything.”

“He’s your boyfriend,” Peter says, his tone clipped. “I’m not.” 

The last two words come out before Peter can even think to stop them. Michelle goes silent again, the only sound on the other end being her sharp intake of breath. 

“No… You’re not.”

There’s something in her voice that he can’t quite place; something that makes his stomach leap up into his chest, into his throat. He swallows, waiting for her to say something else. He pulls his phone back to glance at the time, the numbers swimming together as his vision blurs. 

It’s nearly three in the morning. 

“I, uh—” Peter coughs, unable to stop the slight tremor in his voice. “I’m gonna get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later. I guess.”

He hangs up before she can respond. 

+i

Michelle’s not sure what brought her here, standing on the worn welcome mat in front of Peter’s front door at ten past three in the morning, her arms folded across her chest as she tries to work through what she wants to say to him. 

Well, technically, she does know. 

It’s been a week since their last call. Neither of them have spoken a word to each other since. Every glance in psych is ignored, either one of them rushing out as soon as they’re dismissed at the end of class. It’s been a week of the worst stomach ache she’s ever had in her entire life. 

And while she’d thought that breaking up with Harry might make that pain worse, it only provided some sense of relief.

It had been mutual, after all. 

He’d agreed, saying that he felt that he was getting too focused on his relationship and not on his friendships. 

Ha.

The relief hadn’t lasted long, though. All it took was the thought of that familiar curly brown hair and that stupid, dopey smile. And it was the sight of Spider-Man fighting off Rhino on the news that got her practically sprinting to his apartment without a second thought. 

Though now, the idea of facing him after such awkward tension makes fills her with a prickling dread. 

Her hand hesitates, hovering just above the door. She holds her breath, rapping softly on the dark wood. 

There’s no answer at first; she’s only met with the hollow echo of her knock throughout the empty hallway. Then, she hears a rustling from inside. She knocks again. 

Her lips quirk into a faint smile when she hears him curse, before opening the door. 

But her smile falls as soon as she sees him. “Oh, my God.”

“MJ!” He says, genuinely surprised. 

He’s battered and bruised, a long cut following the line of his cheekbone. Sweat and grime covers his face and arms, his hair matted and damp. His white t-shirt is wrinkled, and she can only guess that he’s just grabbed it from the laundry basket, her breath catching when she sees red bleeding through the collar and sleeve. 

And suddenly, she’s brought back to all those nights in high school, when he’d come tapping at her window, in a similar state, after she’d made him promise he’d always come to her when he needed help. It had been terrifying at first—as it is now and every time after—but she’d learned to push past the fear, fueled by the overwhelming desire to help her friend. 

And it hurts now realizing that he hadn’t thought to come to her. 

Without another word, she pushes her way in, grabbing his arm, stabling him before he can collapse on the doorframe. She leads him to the couch, gently guiding him down as he catches his breath. 

“Peter…” Her voices comes out in a broken sigh. 

A half-smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “I take it you saw that fight?” 

She gives him a look, one that makes his weak smile grow somehow, as she stands from the couch. “Where’s the—”

“—In the bathroom cabinet.”

There’s a tugging in her chest at how quickly he answers. She does her best to brush it aside as she grabs the med kit from the shelf, trying everything to swallow the persistent lump in her throat as she walks back out to him. 

She sits next to him wordlessly, her hands moving on their own as they rifle through the small box. It’s all muscle memory, she finds. When she looks back up at him, his eyes are on her. There’s a tiredness in them that makes her heart clench. But then, her attention’s drawn to the growing red stain pooling on his shoulder. “Take your shirt off,” she says, motioning for him to do so as she grabs a clean rag from the kit.

If Peter had the energy, she’s sure he’d make a joke, some comment or whatever about how demanding she is, or he’d quirk an eyebrow, or maybe he’d wink. 

Or all of it. 

Instead, he follows directions, wincing as he peels the shirt from his body, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side.

She hadn’t noticed how much her hands were shaking until she’d placed the cloth on the long cut along his chest. She takes a breath, her lips pressing together into a thin line as she starts to apply pressure to the wound. A moment passes as he stills underneath her, his body rigid. 

“Breathe, Pete,” she reminds him, half-joking, half-serious. 

Peter huffs in amusement. “Right. Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The red bleeds through the cloth, and she reaches with her free hand into the kit, grabbing another to pile on top of it. Though it’s silent between them, their combined thoughts seem to be louder than ever before. She can hear the wheels in Peter’s head turning, as spent as he is, and she’s sure her own are just as bad. 

Another eternity seems to pass before she can gather any kind of courage to speak. 

“I’m sorry—”

“—I’m sorry.”

They both freeze, gazes immediately snapping to each other’s, the two of them laughing lightly at the jinx. This time, Michelle finds it easier to meet his expression, soft and warm. “I, uh—” she clears her throat. “I’m sorry for… Last week. For dumping all of that… Harry stuff on you.”

Peter shakes his head, gently waving it off. “It’s okay. Harry’s a dick.”

That gets a snort from Michelle. 

“Absolutely. That’s why I dumped him.”

Peter seems to perk up at that.

“I’m sorry for… for hanging up on you and... for not being a better friend and just listening,” he says, shrugging. 

Her other hand comes up to push his shoulders down, stabilizing him with a gentle, warning look. 

“Dude, you’re an amazing friend,” she insists. “The best friend. You’re just—” She finds herself looking away, trying to find the words that she’s wanted to say for so long. To tell him how much he means to her, and how she’d been so scared that she’d ruined everything. “—You’re just always there, Pete. You somehow just always… know. I don’t know...” She huffs out a laugh. 

When she looks back up, there’s a faint smile tugging at Peter’s lips. 

“Just so you know, you can literally vent to me anytime about anything ever,” he promises quietly. “I think I was just being… stupid… and… and jealous. I don’t know.”

One of those words piques her interest. 

And it’s not stupid.

“Jealous?” She asks carefully.

Peter coughs lightly. “Uh. Yeah. Just… just a little bit,” he lies. 

Michelle bites the inside of her lip, holding back her smile. 

“Of what?” she presses, though there’s something in her saying that she already knows the answer. 

She just doesn’t want to get too ahead of herself. 

Peter rolls his eyes, scoffing faintly. “MJ—”

“—No, I’m genuinely curious,” she goes on. “What were you so jealous about? What could it be—”

Her words are cut off by his lips suddenly capturing hers. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she tastes the salt and dirt on his face, but as his hand comes to rest on her cheek, his thumb gentle as it draws a soft line on her skin, she finds that she doesn’t mind so much. 

He pulls back though before she can really enjoy it, and he laughs at her bemused expression. 

“Um.” She swallows, laughing. “Okay. I see now.” 

“Yeah,” he huffs, a mix of amusement and nerves. “I’ve kinda liked you for… a while now.” 

“That would’ve been nice to know,” she jokes, shivering with a newfound giddiness as she takes the cloth off his chest, relieved to see that his wound has stopped bleeding. “Like, a long time ago.”

“What?” Peter asks, shocked. He looks dumbfounded. Bewildered. So confused that she could have liked him before. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to get over you, dude,” she shakes her head, more at herself than anything else. “I mean, clearly it hasn’t worked but—”

“I’m not too late... am I?” he asks. Though he seems to be joking, there’s a genuine worry to his tone. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” she says slowly, almost too soft for him to even hear. Her legs are shaky as she stands to wet a new cloth at the sink, returning to gently clean his wound. “Maybe a little late but…” She cracks a smile. “That’s okay.”

“Good. ‘Cause—” He pauses, eyes searching her expression, a smile tugging at his lips. “I really like you.”

Her heart nearly bursts out of her chest hearing him say that, her face warming impossibly. She almost forgets to respond. 

“I really like you, too.”

And this time, she kisses him, slow and sweet, before pulling back and pressing her forehead to his.

“Also,” Peter breathes, laughing to himself. “Sorry I said I wasn’t your boyfriend.” 

A light chuckle bubbles up from her chest as she closes her eyes. 

Her smile grows as she leans in again. 

“We can fix that.”

[spiderman-homecomeme]

i just want you here tonight (holding onto me so tight)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Nine

dialogue: “You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

❆❆❆

The apartment is silent, the air weighing down on her shoulders, almost crushing as she sits, curled up on the couch, staring into the fabric of their old rug. The tree that she and Peter had only just put up last week stands quietly in front of the window, it’s lights off for the third day in a row. 

She hasn’t found it in herself to keep them on. 

Their menorah sits on the table beside it, cold, and it hurts with Peter not being here, their first holiday season as a couple. He’d been so excited about it, about sharing everything he loved about Hanukkah with her. It had filled her with so much warmth, a feeling of soft comfort flooding her chest when his face would light up, eyes sparkling as he’d tell stories of holiday’s past with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. 

He’d promised her up and down that he’d show her how to make the best latkes, that he’d take her to look at Christmas lights on the houses on Candy Cane Lane. 

But now, there’s a hollowness in her chest. And it aches. It hurts so fucking much, Peter not being here. Not sharing this time with her. 

His condition hasn’t improved in the last few days, if anything it’s gotten worse. He’s stayed unresponsive, even as she speaks to him, even as she holds his hand, even as she cries herself to sleep in the chair next to his bed, hoping and wishing that when she woke, he would, too. 

She doesn’t remember the doctor sending her home to rest, promising that they’d take care of him. She doesn’t remember walking home, the shining lights, the joyous laughter of a festive New York City fading around her. None of that seems to matter any more.

Everything’s a blur; the past few minutes, hours, days. At this point, she wants nothing more than to see him, to see his smile as he looks at her, to feel safe in his arms around as he holds her tight. 

Her face crumbles, chin wavering as her lips twitch violently. She sucks in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she buries her face in her knees curled into her chest. 

How the doctor thought she could get any rest without him, she has no idea. 

But then, there’s a click, the tell-tale sound of a latch shifting into place, and the creak of the front door opening. 

She jumps, turning to see him standing in their doorway, a tired grin on his face. “Hey, MJ.”

His voice is weak, fuzzy even, and she barely registers it, her feet carrying her as fast as they can to him. 

It almost doesn’t feel real, seeing him there. He’s here. He’s home. With her. In an instant, she’s wrapping her arms around him, pulling him impossibly close, feeling herself sobbing into the crook of his neck. She thanks whatever higher power exists for bringing him back to her, for making her one wish come true.

And his arms fold around her, but he stays silent, only holding her tighter. “I’ll be home soon, MJ.”

She’s confused by his words, her brows furrowing as a pit forms in her stomach. The world around her is foggy, and she feels as if she’s moving through quicksand as she pulls back to look at him. 

--

She’s not sure what’s woken her up; it could be the crick in her neck, the ache in her back from sleeping hunched over in the chair beside his bed. It could be the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, or the buzzing of her phone in her pocket. 

But it doesn’t matter.

There’s something gnawing at her gut, her heart twisting as she curses into the sheets. She opens her eyes, looking up to see Peter still unresponsive in the bed, the IV still stuck to his wrist, an oxygen mask over his face. 

It was a dream. Of fucking course it was. 

It had been to good to be true, she should have known. 

But even then, there’s nothing she can do to keep her expression from shattering as she looks up at him, his eyes closed, hair matted and messed, bruises littering his skin. Nothing she can do about the tears clouding her vision, falling down her face and onto the bed as she takes his hand. She slumps forward, unable to keep herself upright as she openly weeps. 

It’s then that she feels something; he squeezes her hand. 

She looks up instantly, sniffing, finding herself letting out a choked sob when she sees him open his eyes slowly, carefully. 

He smiles weakly at her. 

And instantly, she’s draping herself over him, holding him as best she can, crying his name over and over into his shoulder. 

His hand is slow and shaky as it smooths over her back in comforting circles, and she nestles closer to him, hearing the distant sound of approaching nurses and doctors. 

He murmurs gently into her hair, as best he can with the oxygen mask. “You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

[michellesbohh]

And we’re back. Buckle up, kids. Rating has changed as well👀

Chapter 2 up now!

Promptmas Day 7: “You did all this for me.”

@spiderman-homecomeme

(count the seconds) between the thoughts of you

“When she sees the envelope in the mail, for a moment she’s excited. She’ll never admit it, but she thinks weddings are beautiful and so she flips over the fancy envelope and nearly drops her oat latte. She stops reading about 10 seconds after she opens it.

“Mr. Peter Benjamin Parker & Ms. Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy request the honor of your company as they join their lives in the presence of family and friends…”

Michelle spends the months leading up to it reliving every moment every interaction that led to the end of their relationship. She revisits every tiny crack, every fracture, and she shows up at Peter’s door with all the broken pieces.

It’s a stupid idea and she has no plan but somehow she still finds herself knocking on his same apartment door anyways.”

Promptmas Day 2

@spiderman-homecomeme thanks for organizing!!!

[michellesbohh]

(count the seconds) between the thoughts of you

"When she sees the envelope in the mail, for a moment she's excited. She'll never admit it, but she thinks weddings are beautiful and so she flips over the fancy envelope and nearly drops her oat latte. She stops reading about 10 seconds after she opens it.

“Mr. Peter Benjamin Parker & Ms. Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy request the honor of your company as they join their lives in the presence of family and friends...”

Michelle spends the months leading up to it reliving every moment every interaction that led to the end of their relationship. She revisits every tiny crack, every fracture, and she shows up at Peter’s door with all the broken pieces.

It’s a stupid idea and she has no plan but somehow she still finds herself knocking on his same apartment door anyways."

Promptmas Day 2

@spiderman-homecomeme thanks for organizing!!!