Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights above her buzzed with the kind of incessant drone that made Mary Jane’s temples throb.
They were harsh, clinical — a complete betrayal of the golden sunlight she had glimpsed earlier through the office windows, now long gone. She hunched over her desk, a pen clutched between her fingers, chewing on the cap absently while her eyes scanned the endless string of notes she had scribbled in a fury during her last round of calls. Half-formed thoughts about the mayor’s most recent housing policy blended with a follow-up she hadn’t had time to make about a sanitation strike downtown. Her monitor flickers slightly, adding insult to injury, and in the distance, someone’s microwave beeped three times in a rhythm that felt unnecessarily aggressive.
“MJ,” came a clipped voice from over her shoulder. It was Anna, her coworker and consistent thorn in her side — the kind of person who always managed to look like she'd slept a full eight hours and never wore the same outfit twice. “You mind finishing up the O’Hara profile? Frank said he needs it for the morning meeting.”
Mary Jane didn’t look up right away. She inhaled through her nose, slowly, pressing the pen down against her desk until the paint cracked faintly. Then she exhaled, counted to three, and turned in her swivel chair. “I already have two deadlines before morning, Anna.”
A shrug. “Yeah, but you’re quick. You’ve got that fire.” Anna smiled in a way that meant I don’t care what you say, I’ve already passed the buck.
Before MJ could force out a diplomatic rejection — one that didn’t involve four-letter words — a low, slightly awkward voice interrupted.
“I can take it.”
She turned and blinked. David. The new guy. Soft-spoken, perpetually overdressed, and always carrying a faint scent of cinnamon coffee like he lived at the café on 10th. He offered a small, hesitant smile and took the file from Anna’s hands before she could argue.
“Seriously?” MJ asked, pushing back a lock of red hair behind her ear. She was too tired to hide the surprise in her voice.
David nodded. “You’ve been doing triple shifts all week. I’ve got time tonight.”
The gratitude flooded her so fast it stung. She stood and wrapped her arms around him without thinking — a quick, genuine hug, the kind you gave someone who just saved you from drowning, not realizing how tightly you were holding on until you felt his body stiffen. When she pulled back, he was blushing, mumbling something under his breath about “happy to help,” and MJ just smiled, brushing past the awkward moment like leaves on a windy sidewalk.
Back at her desk, she gathered her things in silence. Her bag was heavier than usual, stuffed with an extra sweater and a notebook filled with scribbles for a personal essay she never seemed to finish. She paused at the idea of calling a cab — the fatigue in her bones practically demanded it — but her bank app’s last notification had been a grim one. A small sigh passed through her lips. Tram it was.
The night air hit her like a cold slap, damp with leftover rain that hadn’t made itself known until dusk. As she approached the metro station entrance, she fished for her earbuds, music already up to drown out the noise of the city and her own spinning thoughts. But just as she reached the top of the stairwell, the ground shook .
Something massive and wet slammed into the street just ahead of her — a creature that looked like a subway train made of muscle and tar, all snarling jaws and slick, glistening limbs. People screamed. Cars swerved. MJ froze, her breath catching somewhere between her lungs and her throat. The monster growled, claws carving cracks into the asphalt.
And then, fwip-thwip-thwip.
Spider-Man descended like lightning — a crimson blur in the dark, webbing the thing across its bloated chest, flipping midair as he landed hard between the crowd and the threat.
“Hey, hey — sorry about this, folks,” he called out, casual as if he’d interrupted a lunch break. “Big guy here missed his anger management group again.”
The monster snarled louder, swinging a claw, but Spidey was already leaping up, tangling the limbs in sticky strands with a practiced grace that came from muscle memory, not thought.
MJ tilted her head, catching his gaze — even beneath the mask, she could feel the way his eyes locked on hers. Her body screamed to run, to hide, but she held his stare, lips twitching just enough to remind him: Not here. Not now.
Spiderman hesitated a second longer, then saluted the bystanders with two fingers. “Stay safe, New York!” And then he was gone, swinging after the beast as it found another building to latch onto—the sound of his webline fading into the bustle of New York and its citizens.
The apartment smelled faintly of rosemary and detergent when she finally walked in. The window in their bedroom was open, curtain flapping gently in the spring wind. She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and peeled off her jacket with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion only young adults juggling dreams and rent could understand.
Just as she reached for the button on her jeans, a whoosh of air and the thud of feet on floorboards announced his arrival.
“I’m just gonna nap for five minutes,” Peter mumbled, already collapsing face-first onto the bed. His suit was still half on, mask dangling from his fingertips. “Maybe six.”
MJ smiled, soft and tired. She bent down to press a kiss to the back of his head before heading into the kitchen, flicking on the light. She pulled out her laptop and opened a blank document, starting a title: “Chaos Underground: A Civilian’s Encounter With the Unknown.” Her fingers began to type, her back aching as she stood, stirring a pan of vegetables in between paragraphs.
Laundry had piled up from her, hoping Peter would do it before patrol—and him knowing that she would do it before he had the chance to. The trash hadn’t taken itself out either. A sock — his sock — was hanging from the chandelier. MJ sighed and got to work.
Peter stumbled into the shower at some point, mumbling about alien mucus and old yogurt smells while she climbed down from the stool with his sock in her hand. She could hear him singing faintly behind the curtain when she entered the bathroom to throw the sock in the laundry basket. She then went back to her writing and cooking.
When he finally emerged twenty minutes later, freshly shaved and smelling like the cologne she had bought him for Christmas, he looked like the boy she’d fallen in love with — still weary, but lighter somehow.
The first thing he did was to press a warm kiss on her temple. “Dinner smells amazing,” he said with a sleepy smile.
MJ raised an eyebrow. “Because I made it, if you had done the same—”
“That was one time!” Peter said defensively. “And I totally cleaned afterwards.”
MJ just rolled her eyes, giving him a teasing smile. What had started as a cute Valentine dinner four years ago had almost turned into a disaster. He had almost burned half their kitchen that day, but luckily turned off the fire alarm before half their apartment woke up.
“How was work?” Peter asked as he pulled out a chair and sat in front of her.
She passed him a plate of rice, vegetables, and roasted chicken, her foot brushing against his under the table.
“Today was crazy,” she started, “but you know David? The one I talked about last week — that new guy — he actually offered to take some of my stuff. It was—”
His phone on the counter rattled suddenly, interrupting her. Peter checked it, his face quickly grimacing. MJ knew that look, it was the same one he gave her each time their date got cancelled because an Avenger-level threat decided that they wanted to take over the world.
‘Sorry,’ he mouthed to her as he answered the call. MJ couldn’t bring herself to be disappointed, not anymore. She knew what she was getting into when she had said yes to be his forever, and all that ‘death do us part’ bullshit. Okay, it wasn't bullshit, she actually loved reciting her woves and she would never stop loving Peter, not even if he... wasn't there anymore.
But the little part of her brain always nagged, did she actually know what she was getting into? She had said yes to Peter, but she didn’t recall saying anything to Spiderman, and these days, it was harder to distinguish the difference between the two.
Peter’s voice dropped low as he turned away from her and stared at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s it this time?”
MJ watched him like a hawk, hoping—praying—that today would be the day the person on the other end of the phone was just pranking them, and that she could finish one conversation with Peter without interruption.
He ended the call and looked at her, sheepish. “Emergency. They need me.”
She didn’t speak, just nodded like she had done the millionth time this week. She watched him pull the suit back on like a second skin, and a part of her wondered when the red and blue had become a curse and not a blessing.
Once he was ready to go, he walked over to her, leaned down, and pressed a wet kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be quick. Promise .”
She wanted to tell him not to go. Those promises meant less and less each time. But instead, she whispered, “Be careful, I love you.”
Because the funniest thing about superheroes was that you never knew when you would lose them.
____
By the time he returned, the clock read 2:34 AM.
MJ was half-asleep, curled on her side, but not gone enough to miss the sound of the window creaking open, or the rustle of Peter’s movements as he changed out of his suit in the bathroom. She heard the low shuffle of fabric, the snap of the light turning off. Then he climbed into bed, slow and quiet, and slid his arm across her waist, like a puzzle piece slotting into place.
His hand found her stomach, the slight curve barely noticeable yet. He stilled, holding her like that for a long time. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just let him feel the heartbeat that pulsed under her skin — small, new, and wholly theirs.
Peter sighed against the back of her neck, and it wasn’t relief or exhaustion, but something deeper. A need to anchor himself.
MJ let her eyes drift closed, one hand settling gently over his.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring — only that it would come too fast, and too loud. But for now, she had him. And he had them .