Archive of Our Own ^beta

The thing about Peter Parker– the terrible, disastrous, wonderful thing– is that he cared about people. Not the hallmark kind of caring that means you care on birthdays and holidays and when people need some sympathy card level attention because their life is really sucky caring; no, like he actually cares about people. He cares about the monotony of people’s lives, their little victories, and it shouldn’t be a thing for MJ but it is.

She could count on one hand the amount of people in the world that weren’t selfish by design, people that cared about their friends and family but only to a point because in the end people worry most about themselves. And if the people on the one hand that she could count that weren’t inherently selfish four out of five of those people cared more about others than themselves because they didn’t really see the value in themselves, caring about others kept them from paying attention to themselves.

Peter was the only person she knew that cared more about people beyond himself because he was good. And his inherent goodness worried MJ because he was the kind of person the world was going to walk all over. Some people would do it on purpose because there will always be assholes. Others would do it quietly and without even noticing because Peter was kind and the unaware majority (the people that walked around claiming they weren’t selfish) would lean on him for support, even to the detriment of Peter himself. And MJ knew she wasn’t being dramatic on that point because MJ knew Peter was Spider-man.

Even if he hadn’t told her, she would have known. She was observant.

So, back to the original point, Peter Parker cared about people and it was problematic. She wanted him to be selfish, oh god, if she believed in god she would have prayed for it. Because being selfish, even just a little bit, would be self-preservation for Peter. And she needed him to be less reckless with his life. Really. The sheer amount of worry that Peter kept her awake, nearly sick at nighttime was staggering and MJ wasn’t ashamed to admit that her worry was selfish. Really, she wasn’t because MJ didn’t care that it was selfish for her to want Peter safe so that she could have him in her life. She didn’t care that it was selfish to want Peter safe so she could see his smile everyday or hear his laugh. She didn’t care an inch that she was selfish because she knew what she wanted and it was Peter Parker.

And the funny thing was that, well, MJ knew that Peter wanted her, too. She could see it in his eyes after their first kiss, the way he gripped her shoulders and dragged her back for more. She felt it in every touch and careless caress he gave her in public and every heated, purposeful touch he gave her in private. MJ knew like she knew her name that Peter wanted her, wanted her badly.

But the goddamn tragedy of their love affair was that Peter Parker cared about people and sometimes, she thought, he cared about no one more than her. He cared about her so much that he was never selfish when it really got down to it. They would steal kisses and borrow a night but it never lasted because Peter would catch himself being even slightly selfish and indulging in the one thing she knew he wanted and he would give it up.

Every time.

He would give her that face and those eyes and tell her that it would be easy to be selfish, to throw away any regard for her safety and give into the feeling between them but he couldn’t. Because MJ’s life mattered more than his own. That’s what her stupid, wonderful idiot would say. His happiness was not worth more than her life. Hell, even her happiness was not worth more than her life. Besides, he would always shoot her that dopey grin, she would find happiness again. He wasn’t the only fish in the sea.

But MJ didn’t like fish, she reasoned. She was a shark, anyway.

Sharks were ruthless and predators and they took what they wanted and, sure, someone could beat them back with a stick or a punch to the nose but they always came back stronger and more fierce.

And it was the shark that slipped into Peter’s bedroom during Christmas break their junior year of college. MJ knew he would be home when she planned her attack because Harvard and MIT had the same winter schedule. She knew everything about him and his bedroom back at his aunt’s house. The crack in the door was from a web slinging test gone wrong their senior year of high school. The tacked up list on the wall in Ned’s hand writing was a contract between Ned and Peter when Ned flew away to Standard and Peter went up to Cambridge that they would always be friends. And the crappy twin bunk bed with the Star Wars sheets were the most familiar to MJ. She had sex for the first time in the bed and most of the times after, too.

MJ liked that bed, it felt like the one place where the past and the future merged. So she unceremoniously sat on it and waited for Peter to return from his patrol.

When he climbed through his window an hour later taking extra care not to wake his aunt, MJ didn’t say a word. It was only when he dropped to the floor and started to take of his suit that MJ spoke. “No fair, you know I like taking the suit off, Peter,” she smirked.

He stumbled backward tripping over his discarded shoes from the afternoon and landed with a thud on the floor. She didn’t even try and contain her laugh. Aunt May’s sleepy voice called from down the hall, “You okay, Pete?”

Peter’s voice cracked, “Fine! I’m fine Aunt May. Go back to sleep.” He pulled himself back up to standing and pulled over the sweater hung loosely over his desk chair. Hissing, he asked, “What are you doing here, MJ?”

She leaned back on his bed like a throne and shrugged, “Admiring the view.”

Peter yanked down the sweater hard over his skin. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s the holidays. I like sleeping here over the holidays,” she practically purred.

He slipped on a pair of his pajama pants and made a show of avoiding her eye, “We don’t do that anymore, MJ.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “Are we not doing that this week? I can never keep up. We’re always on and off and on and off.”

“That’s not,” he started loud but then seemed to think better of it, crossing the room to her so he could whisper, “That’s not my choice. The back and forth. You know if I could I’d be done with this.”

She knew he didn’t mean it in the way it sounded because, after all, Peter Parker was a good person and she knew he was only trying to protect her but the sting of his words were not any less. Her face must have betrayed her because Peter was suddenly sinking next to her on the bed and rubbing his hands with his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You know that I-” Love you were the unspoken words. Between them it didn’t always have to be said to be understood.

“If you did,” she turned her face to him, “You would stop fighting this, Peter.” Her hands reached for his face, “Be a little selfish.” He turned his face away at the last moment, robbing them both of the touch they so desperately wanted.

“Play it out in your head, MJ,” Peter’s voice was childish to cover the pain she knew was underneath, “I’m a little bit selfish with you. With us. I give in to this and then someone spots you with me. Three days later my enemy of the hour has you strung up, upside-down draining you for your blood and making me drink it.”

MJ huffed, “Well that’s a little overdramatic, don’t you think?”

Peter stood, his voice raising slightly, “MJ, you don’t understand-”

“I am never going to be safe, Peter!” MJ interjected, her voice more feral than human. He staggered back as if she had struck him, “I want you. And I’m not going away. You may have some noble, bullshit hero complex about keeping me out of trouble but I don’t care. And I don’t care because I am not some damsel in distress that needs to be saved from her-fucking-self. I choose this. I choose us.” There was an awkward beat of the anticipation of a kiss that pulsed between. “So, you better get with the program, Parker, because this is happening.”

When Peter did not move MJ stood and crossed the distance between them. It was short in reality but every step felt heavy in her fluffy socks.

“MJ,” Peter whispered her name. She wasn’t certain he even wanted to tell her anything, she figured he just wanted to say her name. Her hands went up to hold his cheeks between her hands.

“I love you,” she said strongly. “Don’t worry, Parker,” she quipped, “I can be selfish enough for the both of us.” Her mouth pressed over his, eager and wanting. It had only been a few weeks since they had been like this but it always felt a lot longer. As if everyday without each other was an eternity. And, damn, MJ found herself thinking, sometimes it could be.

She could feel Peter’s hands shaking at her sides, fighting with himself over what he wanted and what was the good, noble thing to do. She hated good, she hated noble. She just wanted Peter. So she grabbed his unsteady hands and tugged them around her waist.

He woke up like a shot, hands smothering every part of her body that he could grab onto.

Their tumble back into his bed was awkward but well-practiced. Both Peter and Michelle had worked around the tiny twin before and with varying degrees of success.

They kissed and undressed and found their peace that night. Over and over again at MJ’s insistence. Not that Peter complained.

And the following morning, after they reacquainted themselves with each other, MJ woke to Peter pressing featherlight kisses to her bare shoulder. She stretched like a feline and smiled at him just as pleased, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he replied without giving up his exploration of the freckles on her shoulder.

She preened and relaxed into his dated sheets, “Someone’s feeling affectionate this morning.”

“I decided,” he bit at her shoulder playfully, “I should probably enjoy this…because its not like I’m going to be able to convince you to change your mind.”

MJ’s heart fluttered but she tried not to give away how hopeful she was at his words. She wanted him for more than just the odd night when she could get him to give into temptation. She wanted study dates and sleepy Sundays and sex on every surface in his shitty, Cambridge apartment. She wanted his dreams and his nightmares, too. She wanted Peter Parker.

“Smart,” her voice hitched, choking on emotion, “Because I’m way more stubborn than you. I’d bet on me to outlast you on your dumb nobility.”

His face crinkled with a boyish laugh and she couldn’t help but smile, too. He snuggled closer and brushed his nose lazily across hers, “You gotta be sure that you want me, want this, MJ. Because if this is what you decide…I’m gonna be,” he paused, “what was the word you used? Selfish?”

She nodded, holding her breath for the bad news that she had learned to anticipate always came. He kissed her mouth gently, “Selfish, then. I’m not sure I know how.”

And she couldn’t help what happened next. She let herself be a little hopeful that perhaps she had ruined Peter Parker. That his nobility had been worn down by her charm and he wanted her more than he wanted her to be safe. That they had a shot at the kind of happiness that only really selfish, in-love idiots could have.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed over his body, a leg swinging over each hip. MJ pulled her curly hair over one shoulder and leaned down, hovering over Peter’s head. She could see his eyes taking everything in, relishing in it the way that selfish people relished in their lovers. “That’s okay,” she grinned, “I can teach you.”