#Four dipshits and a Michelle

[cantsayidont]

Hateration holleration, teevee edition, with important new critical evaluation features:

APPLES NEVER FALL (2024): Engrossing, often funny seven-part mystery-drama, based on a novel by Liane Moriarty, about the dysfunctional family of retired tennis pros Stan and Joy Delaney (Sam Neill and Annette Bening), whose four adult kids — rich dipshit Troy (Jake Lacy), hot mess Amy (Alison Brie), perpetually resentful Brooke (Essie Randles), and neurotic underachiever Logan (Conor Merrigan Turner) — begin to unravel after Joy mysteriously disappears. Did Stan kill her? Does Joy's disappearance have something to do with their former houseguest Savannah (Georgia Flood), a troubled young woman who had persuaded Joy and Stan to take her in under what may have been false pretenses? Everyone knows something more than they're telling, as the situation brings old resentments bubbling to the surface. Perhaps a smidgen too arch for its own good, and the shifting flashback structure sometimes makes it hard to keep track of the sequence of events, but consistently interesting and refreshingly nuanced, with well-drawn characters and excellent performances. (Neill, Bening, and Flood are particularly good.) Only the finale falls short: Certain key character motivations remain murky, and the final scenes are a bit flat, perhaps an inevitable consequence of a story that flits between tones and genres in a way that leaves it without a natural endpoint. Also, the South Florida setting isn't always convincing; big portions of the series were actually shot in Australia. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Yes! (More than one, even.) VERDICT: Flawed but worthwhile.

THE BROTHERS SUN (2024): One-season action-comedy-drama series about an infamous triad underboss from Taipei, Charles Sun (Justin Chien), who's sent to America to protect his mother (Michelle Yeoh) and younger brother Bruce (Sam Song Li) after a cunningly staged attack by an unknown enemy puts his father (Johnny Kou) in the hospital. Mama Sun scarcely needs protection, but the same isn't true of Bruce, a dorky pre-med student who really wants to do improv, and who's totally out of place in his family's world of ultraviolence and organized crime. Meanwhile, Charles' childhood friend Alexis (Highdee Kuan), who's still sweet on him, is now an ambitious assistant DA who sees taking down the triads as a defining career move. Starts off disarmingly light (though always quite violent), but gets significantly darker as it goes on, which really isn't to its credit — after the cheerful amorality of the early episodes, the increasingly maudlin themes of conflicted family loyalty feel heavy-handed, culminating in a credibility-straining climax with about as much subtlety as a cement mixer. It could also have used more Michelle Yeoh and less Sam Li, whose character is such a feckless dweeb that he sometimes grates. Chien actually makes Charles a more credible character than Bruce, impressive considering the level of pulpy plot contrivance involved. A planned second season was canceled, but except for a post-credits tag in the finale, the story feels reasonably complete. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not so as you'd notice. VERDICT: Starts well, veers too far into turgid melodrama.

PALM ROYALE (2024): Fingernails-on-chalkboard would-be social satire, set in 1969 and featuring Kristen Wiig (with a singularly unconvincing Georgia accent) as conniving but vapid former beauty queen Maxine Simmons, who for some unaccountable reason is determined to wheedle her way into the Palm Beach upper crust, by hook or by crook, while secretly squatting in the mansion of society matron Norma Dellacorte (Carol Burnett), who almost no one realizes is actually in a coma. The glib voiceover narration recalls the early seasons of DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES, but with no bite and no apparent point — there's no reason to care about the premise, the plot, or any of the characters, who are neither sympathetic enough to be likable nor bitchy enough to be fun. Wiig is just awful, straining to prove she can do the kind of role that in recent years has usually gone to Margot Robbie; she can't, and she's obviously at least 10 years too old for her character. The period production design is suitably glossy, but an interesting supporting cast (including Laura Dern, Allison Janney, and Leslie Bibb) is completely defeated by the dreadful scripts, and Ricky Martin (built like a marble statue with acting to match) eventually arrives to stink up the proceedings as Norma's loyal houseboy. I only barely made it through the third episode, and the idea of enduring seven more is too painful to contemplate. If you're in the mood for genteel Southern bitchiness, you'd get more out of a highlight reel of Rue McLanahan scenes from THE GOLDEN GIRLS, which would actually be funny. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not in the first three episodes. VERDICT: Alternately dull and agonizing.

#teevee #hateration holleration #apples never fall #liane moriarty #annette bening #sam neill #alison brie #jake lacy #essie randles #conor merrigan turner #georgia flood #the brothers sun #justin chien #michelle yeoh #sam song li #johnny kou #highdee kuan #alex hewkin #palm royale #kristen wiig #carol burnett #laura dern #allison janney #leslie bibb #ricky martin

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

FDAAM Snippet

A fluffy one, because I’m losing my shit over Taylor’s new album coming out tonight.

“What’s your favorite color?” Brad asked. 

That most definitely was not what she was expecting, but it was easy enough to answer so she decided not to question it.

“Chocolate brown,” she said. “The kind that makes you want to melt.” As an artist, she expected her favorite color to be something bright or spicy, maybe even a muted orange or red like falling leaves, but when Brad had asked that question, all she could think about were Peter’s eyes; the way she truly felt like melting when she looked at him.

She liked that feeling, scary as it was.

#Four dipshits and a Michelle #snippet #wip #next chapter #fluff #spideychelle

[ao3feed-petermj]

by Under_the_water

Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo?

And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Words: 2832, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

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

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Underage

Categories: F/M

Characters: Peter Parker, Michelle Jones, Michelle Jones's Mother, May Parker (Spider-Man), Ned Leeds, Betty Brant, Cindy Moon

Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, High School, Mutual Pining, Mutual Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Eventual Smut, True Mates, Best Friends, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, procrastination central over here, Precious Peter Parker, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #spideychelle #Peter Parker #Michelle Jones #Peter x Michelle #Peter x MJ

[figscribbles]

*stares into the camera like The Office* prompt: rochelle

If you were in the business of crime, you met a lot of really dumb criminals. Not just your run of the mill stupid people, but people who were so sincerely "dumbass is my only employable skill" that all they could do was be a criminal. And commit crimes very badly.

So, here they were. Standing in a government contractor's office, committing what could, on a good day be written off as "corporate espionage" and on a bad day chalked up to "treason" - potato potahto - Michelle was going through the hard copy files while Rowan did his thing copying the hard drives, and four very loud someones came barreling through the hallway, and into the office, already congratulating themselves on a job well done.

Michelle raised an eyebrow at them, before looking over at Rowan. "Really? Really?" Things had been going so smoothly. Their tech guy was good, and for a government contractor, apparently looping security footage was easy peasy. Breaking into things was kind of Rowan and Michelle's thing - the couple that thieves together leaves together and all of that jazz. And here were a ragtag team of actual dumbasses who probably though that they had foiled all of the security measures with a paper clip and a Hardy Boys guidebook.

"What are you two doing here?" the lead idiot, call him Dipshit, demanded, waving his gun around like he had no idea what kind of damage he could do if it just so happened to go off.

"Could ask you the same thing," Michelle said, slowly slipping the file out of the drawer and safely under her jacket. Safe from blood and brain spatter.

"Well, we're asking," idiot two, codename Fuckhead, said, attention fixed on Rowan, having already decided that Michelle was not going to be a problem.

Bad call.

Fixing her gaze irritably over the shoulder of one of the idiots for a moment, she reached for a paperweight and chucked it at one of the offending morons.

And let the chaos begin.

#ship: rochelle #prompts #ohmystudmuffin

[sandwichbully]

Frank from Philly, 28 August 2016

Hey. You want a cheesesteak review? Here.

So, today I was going to go to this art-fair / hotdog thing and buy a couple dogs. Why not? Neighborhood function, cheap, blah blah blah. But I biked up to the event, held in an apartment building basement, and took one look at the folks there - young, very young, looked like MCAD students that had healthy sex lives, dressed like they could talk to you for hours about Die Antwoord and Wolfgang Odd Future Kill Them All. So I said nuts to that and figured I would go to the Wienery, get a couple of Cleveland dogs and that’d be that. Except the Wienery closes at three on Sunday. So does Band Box Diner. So I said alright, let’s see what the cheesesteaks are at this Frank from Philly that Keith has never been to but has been raving about. (Still not sure how that works, Keith.)

OK, so here’s the first problem: Frank from Philly is in Dinkytown and you couldn’t pay me to live, work, or play in Dinkytown. The way Olive Garden is authentic Italian made by your great grandmother, Dinkytown is 1970s Times Square, and the way shop owners in Bowling Green’s “Four Corners” district have to hose the vomit off their sidewalks every Saturday and Sunday morning is a task I imagine Dinkytown businesses have to undertake every day from seven in the evening until seven in the morning JUST TO KEEP UP. Dinkytown is populated by college freshman, hungry for constant stimuli, usually meaning whichever curly-q’d-moustache-and-suspenders version of Mumford & Co is being rammed down their millenial earholes this month that’s playing at the Varsity Theater brought to you by Summit Brewing Company and 89.3 The Current, Great Music Lives Here. And for every reward I was granted in the form of an inch of eighteen and nineteen year old ass hanging out of Daisy Dukes, I was severely punished by the sight of two dozen tie-dye-and-high-top goons with burlap sack colored baseball caps and pinch-an-inch-ish chin hairs that were probably named Josh and could sell me a hit of weak acid. I would’ve taken the art school damaged kids in Whittier any day over these freaks, who looked like the kind of kids who’d never fucked WITHOUT the condom and were constantly poised for their next Instagram selfie, this generation’s version of the Clearisil commercial.

As previously mentioned, Frank from Philly is nestled in the middle of this shit, in a building with all the exterior design sensibilities of an LA Fitness and the interior design aesthetics of a repossessed Jimmy John’s.

Basically, I felt like I was walking into a dentist’s office in a city full of people whose women would never, ever fuck me.

I’m in line behind two typical Dinkytown goons I’ll call Thad and Braden (not Todd and Brandon, mind you; fucking suburban parents) and neither Thad or Braden can seem to make up their mind over what they want on their sandwiches, which is OK because the - oh, shit - stereotypical Asian tourist family at the register can’t decide how they’re going to pay. So it’s not like the line is moving.

Me? I know what I want: A cheesesteak. No, don’t fancy it up. I want the basics. I want the foundation. After all, you have to know how something tastes on its own before you decide to start throwing extra shit on it. (Which is why I always got the Italian Philly Cheesesteak from Caffrey’s, a cheesesteak with pepperoni and marinara added, because the regular one tastes like communion wafers on Wonder Bread.) (And no blood of Christ to wash it down.) They had the option for a Cheesesteak Supreme for a dollar extra which added peppers, mushrooms, and jalapeños or, as I like to call them, basics. But OK, basic at Frank from Philly’s is meat, onion, and my choice of cheese, and I went with cheez whiz, like you’re fucking supposed to.

After the Asian family carts their pizzas by the slices off to a table, Thad and Braden place their orders that sound more like fucking pizzas than the cheesesteak menus they were looking at and I’m beginning to think I don’t like them very much because these two Cillian Murphy looking butt-fingers look like the kind clueless dipshits that call Sbarro authentic. I couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly but it may as well have been a pineapple pizza chicken Philly with sauerkraut and generous dollops of mayo and ranch and of course Sri Racha like a couple of basic bitches - I sincerely hoped they twisted their ankles in a sewer grate on their way to whatever concert passes for Michelle Branch any more.

I get up to the register, the cashier asks me to give him a moment. I say sure, I’m in no hurry. That minute grew uncomfortably long, though, and I had to remind myself to just enjoy the air conditioning, for this is summer’s death rattle, and I’m pretty sure it’s six hundred forty degrees CELSIUS (worse than fucking Fahrenheit, I tell you) in the shade of a goddamned refigerator factory outside.

Eventually the guy takes my order. I want a cheesesteak. What kind of cheese would I like? Cheez whiz. They’ll have that right up for me.

Now, the sandwich is made to order so it’s going to take a minute. Or five. Asian family finishes their pizza slices, Dad comes up to grab a few more slices.

Five minutes turns into ten. Guy comes in and orders a pair of slices. And there goes Thad and Braden’s order. A family of real Eden Prairie pricks comes in and stares at the menu. Asian dad tries squeezing by to get to the pop machine. I scooch over and look back at the grill; three more cheesesteaks go on. Eden Prairie family leaves without ordering anything.

Ten minutes turns to fifteen. Guy with two slices, who was literally the last person to order, right after me, throws his plate away and leaves. Three cheesesteaks leave the grill. Do they have a delivery guy I haven’t seen? I ordered right after Thad and Braden, ten minutes before Mr. Two Slice and there was nobody between me and him aside from Asian dad coming back for seconds, my sandwich was as simple as they get. It stands to reason that I actually had a shot at getting my sandwich before Thad and Braden because of the simplicity. I start looking at Facebook.

Fifteen minutes turns into twenty, I’m actually contemplating asking for my nine dollars back because, at this point, I’ve spent more time waiting on the sandwich than I will eating it and that’s with a string of two - Asian dad and two slice guy - customers behind me who just ordered pizza slices. You know, slices. Of pizza. Already made. Really. How long is the wait on this fucking cheesesteak? And now the cashier asks me, “What kind of cheese did you want? Cheez whiz, right?” Yeah, cheez whiz. “We’ll have that right up for you, OK?” Cool, thanks! “Sorry about the wait.” No problem.

But it is a problem because I’m in Dinkytown. Putting me in Dinkytown is like dropping an unarmed ISIL member in the middle of a Gay Pride Pork Roast: I’m filled with an anxious, nervous hatred stemming from a core of beliefs contrary to my surroundings; I’m lost, adrift in a sea of Connors and Bethanies and music I don’t understand and pussy I’ll never get and I just want to get back to my neighborhood where people work for a living and fuck without condoms and smoke grass when they listen to Sabbath LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE and - “What kind of cheese did he want?” the grill cook asks the cashier even though I’m standing RIGHT THE FUCK HERE. Cashier asks me, “Hey, man, what kind of cheese did you want again? It was cheez whiz, right?” Cheez whiz, yeah. “Cheez whiz,” the cashier tells the grill cook. “Cheez whiz?” the grill cook asks. “Yeah,” the cashier says.

I stare out the window and I wonder if I will ever get home. I am a lost argonaut in the labrynth of the Minotaur and fuck you if you’re about to tell me I’m mixing my mythology there, it’s been a while since I read anything published before the nineteenth century so keep in mind that if you say one fucking thing at this point, I’ll make you kiss my dick and smile, goddamn. “He wanted cheez whiz, right?” the grill cook asks. Before the cashier can ask me again, I turn and say, Cheez whiz, yeah. Grill cook hands me my sandwich and says, “Sorry about the wait, man.” Hey, no problem, thanks.

I find myself a place to sit and try to keep my mind away from the Proactiv Solution commercial that is Dinkytown During Daylight and finally eat my sandwich.

It was big. It was nine dollars big. It was served open-faced and I’d witnessed a family of witless wonders eat their fancy salads disguised as cheesesteaks with forks and knives while I waited for my own. I however found no problem closing my sandwich and eating it like a sandwich. It was good. The meat portion was generous and the onions were soft but with the right amount of snap and sweet the way sautéed onions are supposed to be. I could have used more cheezwhiz, honestly. And the bread was great. Even as the sandwich drained grease out on to the wax paper on my plate, the bread did not get soggy. It was chewy without being rubbery or spongy and it made the perfect vessel for sopping up the grease on the wrapper, which I will probably pay for later.

Was it worth the nine bucks? Yes, absolutely.

Was it worth a half hour bike ride, one way, into the armpit of Tweeville? No. No. No no no. For Christ’s sake, even Lyn-Lake, with its Pabst swilling tattoo-sleeved nineties slacker-chic hipsters posing as cheesecake pinups and quiff-bois from your nose to the horizon has more dignity than fucking Dinkytown.

Was it worth a twenty minute wait on an otherwise dead Sunday afternoon? No but maybe they had deliveries. I really did maintain my cool and thank them and tip them and not bug them and they were really nice even though I have no idea why the grill cook needed two reminders that I’d ordered mine with cheez whiz. Still, though.

Verdict? I’ll go again if they ever open a location in northeast, downtown, midtown, uptown, West Bank or south because fuck me if I ever find myself in Dinkytown again.

#2016 #dinkytown #cheesesteak

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 7

Part 1, Writing Masterlist

Read on AO3 HERE

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

The next day was the first day of senior year, which meant Michelle had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. She practically fell out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, dragging her feet with every step, and when she looked in the mirror, she cursed quietly under her breath. She looked like death. To be fair, she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. A few hours after Spider-man left, Peter had decided to take a shower, and his mark had flared again. She couldn’t really blame him—he did a pretty good job controlling it for the most part, and to be fair, it still happened to her, too.

She brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair, deciding she would just leave it loose today. Throwing her clothes on, she went out into the kitchen and made herself a bowl of cereal.

She greeted Betty and Cindy when she got to home room. Home rooms were split by gender: girls in some rooms, boys in others, so there was never a chance that Peter or Ned would be in her home room. Thankfully, that also meant that there was no chance that Flash would be in her home room either.

Ms. Winninski handed out schedules to all the students, and MJ looked down at hers.

“What classes are you guys taking?” Cindy asked. She was already opening her messages to the group chat, furiously typing away under her desk as phones were not permitted in home room.

“Creative writing—I think Ned is in that class,” Betty said, blushing furiously. “AP Calculus is second period, which will be rough, but then I have theatre, so at least there’s a break. I opted to take dance/health instead of gym/health, and then I have lunch—god, I really don’t want to eat cafeteria food for the next nine months. After lunch I have French, then AP environmental science—oof, those are on opposite sides of the building—and I finish off with AP Econ.” She looked up from her schedule.

Cindy rattled off her schedule next. Then, they were both looking at MJ expectantly.

“Peter and I have AP Chemistry first period.” MJ looked up to find Betty waggling her eyebrows. “Shut up,” she said. “Then I have AP Calc with you and Cindy. AP great books, gym/health—I usually just read in that class anyway—then lunch, Spanish, art, and AP Psych.”

Cindy looked up from her phone and gave the report: “We actually have a few classes with Ned and Peter this year, not just PCB like in years past.”

MJ wanted to look and see but it was too risky with Ms. Winninski prowling around the classroom answering questions and confiscating phones. She sighed and pulled out her sketchbook.

Home room ended a few minutes later and soon Michelle was off to AP chemistry. She smiled at Peter when she saw him, then she remembered what he had done last night and her face reddened.

They sat down at the same lab table and sat in awkward silence, each not really sure what to say to the other.

On days like this, when they were just a bit out of sync, MJ just wanted everything to go back to normal.

Normal—what was normal these days? Michelle wasn’t really sure she knew anymore.

That entire day was exactly like every other first day of school, with teachers taking attendance, going over the syllabus, playing name games (seriously, they weren’t in kindergarten anymore),  and every teacher assigning the same getting-to-know-you packet for homework, which meant that MJ had to talk about herself seven times.

She guessed that part was normal, but everything else? She was part of the 0.02% of the population that had a true mate, she knew who he was, he didn’t know who she was, she loved him, he didn’t love her, they both had this annoying habit of getting aroused at the worst times, and neither of them could shower in peace ever again.

When she got home, she quietly opened the door in case her mom was sleeping in the sitting room. The light filtered in through the windows in a way that basked the room in a golden glow, she thought maybe she would paint it sometime.

Her mom was, in fact, asleep on the couch. MJ tiptoed past and flopped onto her bed. She groaned thinking about all the homework she had—none of it even remotely knowledge-related. She knew she should get started, but she really didn’t want to.

She pulled her bag toward herself anyway.

——————————————————————

Two hours later, Michelle was done with all the getting-to-know-you questionnaires and was perusing her bookshelf. She had quite a few new books checked out from the library, she just didn’t know which one she wanted to read next.

Tap tap tap.

Her head whipped toward the window. There was a masked face hanging upside down outside, red hand tapping on the glass.

MJ rolled her eyes, walking over to the window and opening the latch. She heaved the frame up enough for Spider-man to crawl in and drop onto the floor in a crouch. He stood up. “Fancy seeing you here, Michelle.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that would be,” she quipped. “What do you want this time?” She went back to looking at her bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines until she grabbed one randomly.

“I read The Assistant,” he blurted, reaching a hand up to run his fingers through hair that wasn’t there.

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “What did you think?” She hadn’t much liked the book, to be perfectly honest, only reading it because it was a critically acclaimed story about a jewish deli.

Spider-man shrugged. “I don’t know. It was okay, I guess. I had a really hard time getting behind Frank. There isn’t a sequel, but if there was I don’t think I would read it.”

She looked at him. “You’re a superhero.”

There was a long pause. “…Uh, yeah?”

“And a high schooler.”

“That is also true,” he said tilting his head to the side. “Are we making observations now? Because if we are, that shirt looks good on you.”

MJ rolled her eyes. He was either a shameless flirt in general or the mask made him cocky. Either way, she wasn’t interested. She thought of the way Peter’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled—no, she was definitely not interested. “How do you have time to get through these books when you’re always off saving people—helping the little guy, or whatever the fuck you call it.”

He shrugged. “I read them between ‘helping the little guy’” he said, waving his arms dramatically. “On rooftops and billboards and stuff. Or at school when I’m bored.”

She hummed. “Well, I need to choose another book. Want to help?”

He nodded vigorously, and practically tripped over himself trying to get to where she stood by the bookshelf. For a superhero, he wasn’t very graceful. She smiled to herself, shaking her head, and turned to look at the pile of new books again.  

He pointed at a thick, grey one and said, “This one looks cool.” MJ pulled it from the shelf and read the title Six of Crows followed by the description on the back. His white eyes narrowed at her. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fantasy reader.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to branch out a bit,” she muttered, cheeks glowing red. She didn’t know why she was embarrassed—she had no reason to be embarrassed—but something about him threw her off. For some reason, she wanted to impress him, and somehow reading a young adult fantasy novel, highly rated or not, seemed like a weak choice after A Secret History or The Assistant.

His eyes followed the blush down to the top of her chest, then flicked back up to her face, which only made her flush more deeply. “Sounds like a great read,” was all he said. “I’ll check it out from the library.”

She looked down at her bare feet, flexing her toes against the soft carpet. When she looked back up, Spider-man was looking around her room. “Nice room. Lots of books.”

She felt herself flush again. God, what was going on with her today? “Yeah, it’s my safe space. You know, I don’t actually let anyone in here—you’re the first person besides my mom or me to set foot in here in years." There was a long pause, then, "What does your room look like?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “just another normal room. Bed, desk, closet, bathroom—the works.”

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” Michelle asked. She didn’t know what made her say it, but for some reason she wanted to know—maybe it was a way to make him seem more human, less… other.

“The left, why?” He glanced over to her bed which she realized, somewhat belatedly, wasn’t made and had a lacy bra strewn across it.

“No reason,” she muttered. Then, “I sleep on the left too. So does my best friend, but when I sleep over I kick him to the right side.” She chuckled. “His side of the bed smells like him.”

Spider-man coughed, and rocked onto the heels of his feet. He tilted his head to the side. “I have to go,” he said, moving to raise the window again. He slipped out and crawled out of sight.

MJ looked at her bed again, at that black lace bra, and cursed under her breath.

#spideychelle #spiderman #peter parker #peter x michelle #Peter Parker fanfiction #Peter Parker soulmate #soulmate #soulmarks #fluff #angst #best friends #Smut #eventual smut #michelle jones #Four dipshits and a Michelle

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Teaser #Chapter9

As an apology for the amount of spam you’re about to receive as I catch Tumblr updates up to those of AO3, a teaser for chapter 9:

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s your name?”

“Can’t tell you that,” he said quickly.

“Oh, c’mon. I won’t tell anyone—you know I won’t. Just tell me.” She knew she sounded needy but she was really curious.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

#Four dipshits and a Michelle #teaser #wip #spideychelle

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Masterlist

Spideychelle:

Four Dipshits and a Michelle: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8,

#peter parker #michelle jones #spideychelle #Four dipshits and a Michelle

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Angst?

How do I determine if my writing is angsty? 

Asking for a friend because the soulmate fit she’s writing for Spideychelle might have some angst in the next few chapters.

#four dipshits and a michelle #writing #angst

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 5!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Read the story on AO3 HERE!

Writing Masterlist

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

May answered the door when MJ arrived at Peter’s apartment. She smiled and gave a graceful little nod, moving to the side and motioning her in.

Michelle basically ran to Peter’s room. He turned as she entered, but not fast enough to stop her from tackling him to the ground. She rolled off him quickly and looked over at Ned, who was trying to hold in his laughter.

“Was that really necessary?” Peter complained.

“Yes,” MJ replied. “Happy Birthday, Loser.” She took off her bag and set it down at the foot of the bed. “Hey, Ned. Nice hat”

“Thanks, MJ,” Ned said, tipping said hat at her. She rolled her eyes. Typical.

“So, are we going to play Cards Against Humanity, or what?” Peter said excitedly. “You did bring it, right?”

“Yes, Peter, I brought it,” Michelle said, kneeling down to dig through her bag. She found the box and pulled it out, tossing it onto the floor by her friends, and moved to sit down next to them, forming a small circle around the playing cards. “Ten bucks that Ned wins.” She removed two fives from her wallet and put them in the middle of their circle.

“Hold on,” Peter said, moving to grab his wallet and pull out a ten.

“Do I have to bet against myself?” Ned whined.

“Yes,” She and Peter said at the same time, though MJ’s version was much more aggressive.

Ned sighed and dropped a ten onto the floor in front of him.

              ———————————————————————————

They played for four hours, scream-laughing the whole time. So much so that MJ’s  voice started to get a little raspy after hour two.

Michelle walked away with the thirty dollars because Ned did, in fact, win. No one really knew how he had gotten so good a Cards Against Humanity, but he was brilliant at it.

Peter yawned loudly. “Alright, bedtime,” Ned announced.

“But we haven’t watched a movie yet,” MJ argued.

“Yeah, Ned. It’s only 10:30.” Peter’s point was somewhat undermined by the second large yawn escaping his body, his arms flexing as he leaned back. Michelle tried to pretend she didn’t follow the movement with her eyes. God, his arms looked so lick-able.

Wait, what?

Ned leveled a look at Peter. “Michelle looks like a raccoon that just walked out of a dumpster, and you fell asleep standing up on the subway when we were headed to the mall this morning. I don’t know what you two were doing last night, but you both look like the walking dead.” Ned smiled innocently. “Oh, and since I’m just the best-est friend ever, I’ll take the couch.”

“Ned, you don’t ha—” Peter started.

“No cuts, no butts, no coconuts,” Ned said. “You two are taking the bed.”

Peter opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned to MJ with pleading eyes. She just shrugged, if Ned wanted to take the couch, then he could take the damn couch. She’d rather sleep in the same bed as Peter than next to Ned anyway.

Peter sighed and looked back at Ned. “Fine, you win. This time,” he said.

Ned gave an excited giggle that had MJ’s eyebrows furrowing, and picked up his bag and waddled out into the sitting room, giving them a wave over his shoulder and a rather conspicuous wink in Peter’s direction that only worked to confuse her further.

“Alright, do you want to shower first or should I?” Peter asked nervously. The lights in the room glinted off his hair. Michelle, once again, wanted to run her fingers through it, but she couldn’t.

Best friend.

Best friend.

Best friend.

“I can go first,” Michelle answered. Peter nodded so she grabbed her bag and headed to the bathroom.

Thankfully, her shower went off without a hitch, and she had plopped her hair and slid on her oversized t-shirt and sweats in a little under twenty minutes. She looked at herself in the mirror, the white t-shirt on her head stark against her dark skin. She was attractive enough, she supposed. All sharp cheekbones and clear, brown eyes—nothing like Peter’s, though. Her eyes were cold where his were warm and practically melted her insides every time she looked at him.

She sighed, picking up a hand towel to try and wipe some of the condensation off the mirror, and bent down to grab her bag before walking out of the bathroom.

Peter looked up from the book he was reading and smiled. It made his eyes crinkle in a way that made MJ’s knees weak. She wobbled a little as she made her way over to the bed.

Peter’s eyes dropped down her body, then came back up to meet her gaze. “Nice PJs,” he said. “You look delicious.”

Michelle blushed furiously. She thought that was a weird choice of words, but she shrugged it off, looking down at her bare, dark feet. She knew if she read too much into it she would drive herself insane, and she was already half-insane around Peter to begin with.

The creak from the mattress brought her back to reality as Peter unwound fluidly from his seated position on the bed.

Michelle saw red. He had no right—no right to be so attractive doing the simplest things. She bit her lip, brought her wandering eyes back to his face. He was looking at her strangely. She couldn’t figure out what it meant, so she just trudged over to to the left side of the bed—Peter’s side, she remembered—and set her stuff on the floor.

Normally, getting out of the shower was refreshing, but not today. It was too hot and muggy outside; Michelle wished she had brought shorts instead of pants, she was starting to sweat.

The whole night; She had to wear this the whole night and she couldn’t take anything off because she was sleeping in the same bed as Peter, her best friend and—

And she was getting too worked up. She couldn’t do anything about the clothes, so she leaned down and rolled the sweats up her legs as far as she could and grabbed A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, leaning back and setting the bookmark next to her on the bed.

Peter was out in record time. Michelle was surprised he barely had the water on at all.

Minutes later, he was stumbling out of the bathroom in his boxers, water droplets still clinging to tan skin stretched over tight muscles.

Michelle looked up. And froze.

Her eyes zeroed in on his left pec. Her skin felt too tight, and when she tried to breathe, all she could smell was that damned Pantene. All she could smell was him. And it was too much—that urge to be closer.

Because sitting there, just over his heart… a goddamn spider. His soulmark. Her soulmark.

Her soulmate.

Peter was her soulmate.

“M?” His hair fell onto his forehead and she just wanted to push it out of the way—to run her hands through it and never, ever stop. Her heart squeezed in her chest, and she knew she would combust if she didn’t touch him in that instant.

Her feet moved of their own accord and then she was throwing her arms around him, residual water be damned. “Beautiful?” She quipped. “A fucking spider is beautiful?” She buried her face in his neck. She tried to restrain herself—she really did—from breathing him in. That smell that was fresh and clean and so very Peter that smelling it made her unable to function. “You’re such an idiot, Pete.”

She felt him shrug underneath her arms, felt him smile against her hair, felt his muscles shift underneath her as he brought his arms up to wrap around her too.

But then she remembered what was on his chest, what was on her chest. What that meant. She pulled back, arms slipping over his smooth skin as she brought her hands back to fold across her chest.

What did this mean? This thing between them—this living, breathing bond they shared. What was she supposed to do with this—this mess that was her life.

She took a deep breath and looked back at Peter, meeting his gaze, then dropped her eyes back to that tattoo. She had studied hers enough in the mirror to know they were identical.

She reached out. She wanted to touch it…

Peter gripped her wrist when her hands got a hair’s breadth away. She looked up at him.

“Can’t do that, M. You know what’ll happen.” He dropped her hand, and she let it fall back to her side.

Oh. Oh.

Right. How could she have forgotten? She had been living with the same side-effects for months, she just hadn’t been thinking…

No. She hadn’t been thinking, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? She needed to keep a clear head on her shoulders. She had seen Peter’s tattoo but he hadn’t seen the matching one that lived on her chest, dark ink spilling over her chocolate skin. She had to keep it that way. She might like Peter like that—want Peter like that—but he didn’t feel the same way. And once he saw her mark…

Then it would be too late, and she couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t stomach the idea of forcing something like that on him, not when less than an hour ago she didn’t want anything to do with her soulmate. But now… she had to admit that she didn’t mind it being Peter. Stupid, dorky, intelligent, witty, geeky Peter. It didn’t hurt that he was like walking teenage eye candy, either. God, she needed to stop that train of thought before it got too far. “Yeah, right. Sorry. I—I forgot,” she let out in a strained chuckle.

He just smiled shyly at her, gave her a small shrug, color rising in his cheeks. “Never tell Ned I said this, but he was right—I’m absolutely spent. I, uh, I couldn’t sleep last night, so…” He gestured to the bed with his hands.

MJ nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then, just because she felt bad, “I didn’t sleep well, either.”

Peter started moving toward the bed. “Uh-uh, that’s still my side, Spider-Boy,” Michelle said, reaching up to take the t-shirt off her head, curls falling into loose ringlets over her shoulders.

Peter spluttered. “Spider-Boy? Who said anything about—about spiders.” MJ raised her eyebrows, gaze dropping to his chest. He glanced down, “Oh, right. The tattoo.” Then, almost too quietly to hear, “Stupid. Of course she meant the tattoo, idiot.”

MJ scrunched up her face at that. She realized her sweats had fallen down where she had rolled them up, and she reached down to tug them up her legs again. Peter’s eyes followed the movement.

“Are you hot? I know the AC in here isn’t the best.”

“Yeah. You have horrible AC and I have faulty heating,” she said, rolling her eyes. Honestly, what a mother hen—

“Here,” Peter said, getting up and pulling open one of his drawers. He riffled through it and threw a piece of fabric at her. She looked down at it. Boxers. She shrugged and stalked to the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind her, shedding her too-hot sweatpants and donning the boxers. Now was not the time to get embarrassed. She was hot, it was hot out, he was offering her a solution. She felt her face heating anyway. The loose fabric offered a breeze her sweatpants couldn’t, and she thanked the heavens Peter was as observant as he was.

She stepped back into the room, shoving her wadded-up pants into her bag on the way back to the bed. Peter had shoved the comforter down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the sheet covering him. He was already asleep, mouth parted slightly, breathing deep, even breaths.

Watching him sleep, Michelle realized just how tired she really was. She pulled back the sheets, and was out before her head even hit the pillow.

And maybe it was seeing his tattoo, maybe it was that the pillow smelled like him, but Michelle dreamed of Peter. Well, maybe “dreamed” was a strong word... It was more along the lines of critical thinking.

Peter was her soulmate—her true mate. He had showered last night, that she was sure of; even if he had told her he’d already showered—maybe he got curious? And… oh, god. Had he felt very time she had…? That was embarrassing.

She was so warm—not too hot, but… warm. Comfortable. Everything smelled like him, and she thought she might drown in it, that feeling of being surrounded by him.

She opened her eyes. It was still dark out. A look at the clock in front of her told her it was two thirty in the morning. She shifted, only to realize she couldn’t. There were arms around her: one draped over her, the other wrapped underneath her around her waist, and her back was pressed up against a hard body. Peter’s body. She knew she should move, maybe even wake him up, but it just felt so right, so instead she closed her eyes again and snuggled back up against him.

She felt him tense behind her and give a small groan into her ear. She stopped moving. When he relaxed she realized he was still asleep. She breathed a sigh of relief. Then, because she was curious, she started wiggling around in his arms. She wanted to see him.

MJ managed to rotate in his arms, to look at his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, and even though they were only seventeen, he looked younger somehow—less worried.

Michelle looked down. She was eye-level with his chest, with his tattoo. Her mouth watered. She wanted to kiss it, to lick it—she knew how good it would make him feel, to have that pressure in just the right place. She wanted to do that for him, be that person for him, but she held herself back. It was the tattoo—it was calling to her but she couldn’t. She didn’t have his consent. She settled for leaning her head against his chest. She figured her forehead would be more manageable on his mark than her mouth—but god did she want to use her mouth, to suck on that spider until he was writhing underneath her…

And that was why she couldn’t let him see her matching tattoo. They were young and reckless. Besides, he didn’t want her like that, and once he saw the tattoo, she knew he would feel the same urges—probably even stronger since they would both know then.

He tensed again, hips bucking a bit, but MJ didn’t notice. It was still the ass-crack of dawn and she was already drifting off again, burying her face in his skin, nose scraping across his mark, warm and comfortable and safe.

Part 6

#peter parker #peter x michelle #Peter Parker fanfiction #Peter Parker soulmate #michelle jones #soulmate #soulmarks #au #best friends

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 6

Y’all I’m getting tired of linking all the chapters every time I post an update, so I’m just going to link the first part and my masterlist.

Part 1, Writing Masterlist

Read the story here on AO3

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Also, I know it’s been a long time since the last update (yikes). I actually update every Sunday night on AO3 and just haven't had the time to catch up, so if I ever go a long time without updating just check there first lol. Alright, here we go...

Michelle woke to the sound of a camera clicking and soft snickering. The sun made her head hurt, eyes blinking rapidly.

“I’m sending this to the group chat,” she heard Ned say from somewhere behind her. She yawned into Peter’s chest. Oh no—this was not happening right now. She turned her head to see Ned standing in the doorway, furiously typing away on his phone, grinning like an idiot.

“Ned,” she whined, “please don’t.”

“Too late. It’s already done.”

“Damn you, Ned. It’s too early for this shit,” Michelle complained, though she kept her voice quiet so as not to wake Peter sleeping behind her.

She carefully tried to shimmy out of his grip, successfully turning around to face the edge of the bed, but when she tried to scoot out of his arms she found she couldn’t.

Peter mumbled something and pulled her closer to his chest, arms banding around her waist—going under her shirt—as he buried his nose in the hair at the base of her neck.

MJ felt her cheeks redden as Ned tried and failed to hold in his laughter, letting out a loud cackle that effectively woke Peter up and simultaneously ruined MJ’s morning.

She turned her head and watched as he blinked the sunlight out of his eyes, then looked to Ned, who pointed at MJ, who wanted to sink into the ground and die just to escape the embarrassment she felt crawling like ants under her skin.

Peter looked down at her. He stared for a second—two; then he seemed to realize what he was doing—one hand wrapped around her waist while the other disappeared under her shirt, scraping across her ribs, dangerously close to the undersides of her breasts. “Oh my—oh my god,” he cried, quickly withdrawing his hands and sitting up. The sheet pooled around his waist, and MJ shivered as her eyes dropped to his chest. To that spider tattoo over his left nipple. Peter covered his face with his hands, tight muscles rippling with the movement. MJ bit her lip.

Click.

“Goddamnit, Ned!” Michelle screeched. She grabbed a pillow, soft sheets scraping against the calluses that covered her hands from drawing, and threw it at his head with all her strength.

Ned squawked in outrage. Then seemed to remember what he was doing. “Man, Betty and Cindy are never going to let you guys live this down,” Ned muttered, looking at his phone. “So embarrassing.”

Michelle stumbled out of the bed, grabbing her phone and bag on the way to the bathroom. She flipped them both off for good measure. She slammed the door and collapsed down onto the toilet. Pulling out her phone, she opened up her text messages.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Check it out!

Ned’s text was followed by a photo of Peter and her. She had her face pressed against his chest, his arms were banded around her sleeping form, and his nose was buried in her hair. The sheet had been kicked down to their waists, and Michelle blushed when she realized her shirt had ridden partway up her back. It did look rather incriminating, though it really wasn’t. She scrolled down.

Betty: WHAT THE FUCK?!?

Cindy: I FUCKING KNEW IT ERIJFNCNDLW

Then there was the other image. The one of Peter’s shirtless chest, abs on full display, hands covering his face. And there she was—obviously looking lower than his face, biting her lip, large t-shirt hanging off her left shoulder, clearly showing she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She opened the other group chat with incoming messages—the one with only Betty and Cindy.

Cindy: Well, this is a morning I will never forget

Betty: The way she was looking at him in that second photo, tho

Cindy: I KNOW! MJ with horny eyes is almost scarier than MJ with angry eyes.

Betty: Someone’s got the hoTS FOR PARKER!!!

Betty: MJ, have you locked yourself in the bathroom yet?

Michelle’s fingers flew furiously across her keyboard.

MJ: Those were NOT horny eyes.

There was a split second where the bubble icon popped up. Then it disappeared. Reappeared.

Cindy: They were definitely horny eyes. Betty?

Betty: I agree. The council has convened. Michelle Jones has a crush on the nerd next door.

Betty: Also, SINCE WHEN HAS PETER BEEN RIPPED???

Cindy: Yeah, when the fuck did that happen?

MJ: He’s had abs for a while.

Cindy: You’ve seen him shirtless before?

Betty: !!!

Cindy: Girl, you are so screwed.

MJ: Stop trying to kill me. I died, like, twenty minutes ago.

Betty: But you LOOOOVE him

Michelle shut off her phone at that. One minute. She would allow one minute of embarrassment, then move on.

She leaned her head back against the wall and groaned, trying to use the cool tile to calm her racing mind. Her eyes fluttered shut, slowly counting down from sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.

The way Peter had reacted, like he was uncomfortable waking up with her. She had been uncomfortable, too, but that was because of Ned. What if Peter was uncomfortable because of her?

Forty-five.

Her skin still felt like it was on fire, mark tingling pleasantly in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She cursed quietly.

Thirty. Twenty-nine.

And maybe the unrequited love was starting to drive her crazy, but she could have sworn he had been breathing her in—he had been asleep, of course, but…

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.

Her whole body cried out at her to tell him, to be with him, to make him feel good—body and soul.

Seven.

But she couldn’t.

Three.

Silence. Resignation. Determination.

One. Zero.

MJ stood up and shucked off her t-shirt and Peter’s boxers, nearly tripping in the tight confines of the bathroom. And maybe she was being selfish, but she shoved the boxers into her bag along with her shirt. Peter wouldn’t miss one pair. But wearing his clothes… it just felt so right, and she decided that after this morning, she would allow herself that small satisfaction. She put her hair up into a ponytail and looked at herself in the mirror. Then, before she could think better, she reached out a finger and touched her tattoo. Hissed. It was so sensitive—so sensitive after a night spent curled up with him. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her ears, but she could also feel the pulsing rhythm of a slower heartbeat; Peter, it seemed, had calmed down more than she had.

She put her clothes on and marched out of the bathroom. “Not a word from you,” she snapped at Ned as she stalked past. Peter had already put on a shirt and shorts, thankfully. She didn’t think she would be able to keep her eyes off that spider tattoo and then Peter might start to get suspicious.

Michelle turned to look at them. “So… the park and then lunch at Delmar’s?” She asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Peter replied, running a hand through his hair. Michelle looked away quickly, lest her eyes track the movement.

Ned noticed, though. He smirked. “Shut up,” MJ quipped.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You said nothing very loudly,” MJ grumbled. Ned just grinned at her. She flipped him off.

————————————————————————

By late August, the heat had become pretty much unbearable, the little air-conditioning units used in the cramped New York apartments no match for the sweltering summer.

Which is why Michelle found herself reading on the fire escape with a fold-out chair, trying and failing to cool down, sweating buckets and hating mother earth.

She turned the page. A small breeze swept through the alley and caught her bookmark. She reached out blindly to catch it before it flew out of reach of the fire escape. Just as she caught it, upper body leaning over the railing, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, she felt hands come to steady her waist.

MJ screeched and whipped around, punching her attacker straight in the face.

Spider-man stumbled backward, hand reaching up to cup his masked jaw, and cried, “What the hell was that for?” His voice was clearly being altered by mask. Another way to protect his identity, she guessed.

Michelle shook out her wrist. “You touched me.”

Spider-man’s eyes widened. He reached his hand up as if to run it through his hair, but he was wearing a mask. “I was trying to help!” He said indignantly, bringing his arm back down and crossing them both over his chest. “I thought you were going to fall.”

“I wasn’t even off balance,” MJ quipped. She reached to push some stray curls off her sweaty forehead, then eyed his suit. “Shouldn’t you be dying in that thing? It’s, like, over a hundred degrees out today.”

“Built-in cooling technology,” he said, leaning against the railing. Michelle rolled her eyes; she supposed he thought it looked cool. It did, but that was beside the point.

“Lucky you,” she snarked. “I’d kill for that on a day like today.” She motioned to her sweaty face.

“The sweat suites you, darling,” he said, white eyes shifting down her body.

Michelle’s face reddened. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting. You could be forty—and if you touch me again, I swear—”

Spider-man’s eyes widened in shock. “No—I’m not forty! I’m a boy—I mean—young man!”

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “How old are you, exactly?” She asked. She waited a moment. “If you don’t answer I’m going to assume you’re older than thirty, which is still creepy, by the way.”

“I’m not, okay?” He said. She waited. “…I’m seventeen.”

MJ furrowed her brows at that. She was seventeen. She could know him. “Okay,” she said.

“You believe me?”

“Do I have a reason not to?” She arched a brow at him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

He shook his head furiously. “All I’m trying to say is you’re still really pretty, even with all the…perspiration.”

She looked at him more closely; something about him seemed familiar, the way he talked, or the way he held himself—maybe she really did know him from school. “Thanks, I guess. You’re not too bad yourself for a teenager wearing a spandex unitard.”

His hand slipped from the railing, and he stumbled to keep his footing. MJ’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter as she watched him, forgetting for a moment how hot out it was. “It’s not spandex!”

Michelle reached out and touched his arm. He froze. She chuckled. “It sure feels like spandex.”

“Well, it’s not,” he said a bit defensively. He nodded to her book. “What are you reading?”

“A Secret History by,” she checked the cover, “Donna Tartt.”

He nodded. “Is it any good?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, I’ve actually read it before, though. I ran out of new books and I’m too lazy to go to the library so I just picked up an old one.” She shrugged.

“Maybe I’ll go get it after the superhero gig tonight,” he said. She held out the book to him. He just looked at her, then at the book. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was offering for you to borrow it, dipshit.”

His eyes widened again—it was actually a little creepy how they dilated; like, how did they know when to dilate? “Really?” He squeaked, reaching out to grab the book.

She pulled her hand back. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“What? No, I’m a superhero,” he said, still holding his hand out. “Why is that part of the vetting process for borrowing one of your books?” He made little grabby motions with his fingers.

“I feel like being a serial killer goes hand-in-hand with ruining borrowed books,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She handed him the book. “But if you damage it, I’ll kill you—friendly neighborhood Spider-man my ass.”

“Who’s the killer now?” He joked. Then he tilted his head to the side. “Well, I’ve got to go. Duty calls!” He reached his arm out and shot a web, swinging off the balcony with the book in his other hand.

“Don’t you dare drop it!” She called after his retreating form. She shook her head, not sure why she was smiling.

———————————————————

Michelle saw Spider-man again two days later. She was out reading on the fire escape again when he landed with a soft thud. She didn’t look up right away, determined to finish one last page.

He cleared his throat.

“I know you’re there,” she said.

“Oh.”

MJ let out a hum, reaching blindly for her bookmark and slipping it between the pages of her book. She looked up at him. “What do you want, Spider-pig?” She smiled to herself at her inside joke, remembering that day in biology with Peter.

He held her copy of A Secret History out to her. “I finished. It was really good—I can see why you enjoyed it.” She took the book from his hands, peering at him from her chair. His eyes narrowed at her.

“What do you want? I can tell you want something,” she deadpanned.

“What should I call you?” He hopped up onto the railing. Her eyes widened a fraction watching him. He chuckled, “I’m not going to fall. Spider-man, remember?” He mimed shooting webs out of his wrists in rapid succession.

“You can call me Michelle.”

“Really? Your friends call you Michelle?” He swung his feet back and forth, leaning back over the railing so his body hung precariously over the alleyway below to grab a piece of garbage floating in the breeze.

“No. I have a nickname, but you can call me Michelle.” She didn’t just let anybody call her M or MJ, and just because he could swing around the city on wisps of silk didn’t mean he deserved special treatment from her.

He huffed a breath. “Fair enough. You look nice today. How have you been?”

Wow, that was a lot to unpack. She looked nice? She was wearing a ratty old painting shirt that hung below her knees and her hair was up in a topknot. How had she been? Well—

She decided to ignore the first comment. “I’ve been fine. I painted today so now my back hurts, but beauty is pain, right?” She said, gesturing to her paint-stained t-shirt.

“You have paint on your face,” was his only reply. He leaned forward, reaching his hand out toward her cheek, “Here, let me.” He brushed his finger over where she assumed the paint was, but then his eyes narrowed and he ran a finger over the spot again.

“It won’t come off, Idiot. It’s dry.” She smirked at him as he withdrew his hand.

“You didn’t punch me,” he breathed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t. Don’t get too comfortable, though—I might be in a bad mood next time you try to pull shit like that.” She mimed a quick sucker punch, then blew on her fist as if to cool it off.

Spider-man laughed at her antics. “You could give most common criminals a run for their money, you know.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands. The paint under her fingernails seemed way more interesting than it had earlier that day when she had opted not to spend twenty minutes cleaning it out. “I learned from experience. My dad—” She stopped herself before she could say anything more. That was too much information; information she hadn’t even told her best friends, that she definitely did not want to tell an almost-stranger.

She was saved by a ding coming from next to her on the chair. She picked up her phone.

Four dipshits and a Michelle:

Ned: Has anyone seen Peter? We were supposed to meet to build the millennium falcon.

MJ snorted. She quickly typed out a reply.

MJ: Nope. He probably stayed late at the stupid Stark internship.

MJ: Also, you’re both total dweebs.

She looked up to see that Spider-man wasn’t sitting on the railing anymore. She almost had a heart-attack when she heard a voice right next to her ear. “Peter… Peter Parker?”

She squawked, turning around to see him upside down in an army-crawl position on the wall behind her. “Never,” she panted, “do that again.” Then his words registered. “Wait, you really know him?”

Spider-man propped his head up on his elbows. “Yeah, I know him—from the, uh, the Stark internship—which, by the way, is not stupid.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It’s rude to read someone else’s messages.”

“Well, I got to go,” he said suddenly. “I have somewhere I need to be.” He shot a web to the roof of the building next to hers and launched himself off the fire escape, disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Michelle looked down at the book in her lap. “Hey!” She looked up to see a red and white mask peering at her from above. “What book are you reading?!”

“The Assistant by Bernard Malamud!” She called back.

He gave her a thumbs up and disappeared again.

She waited, but he didn’t come back a second time.

Part 7

#peter parker #Peter Parker fanfiction #peter x michelle #Peter Parker soulmate #michelle jones #soulmate #soulmarks #Smut #eventual smut #fluff #angst #spideychelle #best friends #spiderman

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 1 

Hey, Loves! This is a fanfiction I’ve been working on recently. Hope you like it!

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Michelle Jones never understood the infatuation human society had with soulmates.

As a little girl full of hopes and dreams, she admits she was rather fond of the idea: someone out there who was perfect for her, someone who she could share her life with, her soul-bonded partner.

Until her mom got sick. And her dad started treating his wife like his own personal punching bag and then left them with barley enough money to get by. And that sucked, but Michelle could deal with it. She really could.

(But she was not okay.)

But after that initial honeymoon phase, after seeing a relationship that was supposedly written in the cosmos fall apart, she was wrenched back to a sad, logical reality.

After giving up on her soulmate, she found it grating how often it came up in seemingly normal discussion.

This, Michelle thought, was rather ridiculous, considering they were all freshman in high school, and wouldn’t be turning 17 for at least two years, three for most of them.

When she woke up on the morning of February 27th, she was not expecting the day to be anything special or different.

Trudging to the bathroom, half asleep with hair in her mouth, she thought she might pass out. Damn her for opting to take the PCB (physics, then chemistry, then biology) route instead of being normal like almost every other kid at Midtown Tech.

The only bonus to PCB was that she had the same kids in her science class every year. Betty and Cindy and Ned and Peter. The only downside was Flash, who was insufferable on the very best of days. He was also on the PCB track.

(Ugh.)

Point was, Michelle had stayed up super late the previous night studying for a massive test with Peter and Ned, and she was absolutely exhausted.

(Physics could be a bitch sometimes.)

“Hey, Sweetie, how did you sleep?” Her mom was laying on the couch, nose shoved into her book, right arm hooked up to an IV. When Michelle didn’t answer immediately, she looked up and let out a soft oh. “Rough night?” She asked.

Michelle sighed. “Yeah. Big test today. Studied with the losers last night.”

“Well, good luck, honey.” MJ started walking toward the door. “Oh, and, Michelle? Don’t call your friends losers.”

Michelle ran a hand through her hair, the chocolate curls a tangled mess perched atop her head.

————————————————————

“Hey, MJ.” Michelle looked up to see Peter waving at her, toothy grin and glasses and a dark blue sweater. She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. Too early, Idiot.

Physics went as well as could be expected. Lunch was a different story.

“I can’t wait,” Betty said dreamily. “I wonder what they’ll look like.”

“I wonder what my soulmark will be,” Ned said, looking up from his English notes. “With my luck, it’ll be worse than that senior with a foot tattooed down the right side of his face.”

Michelle snorted. “Yeah, maybe it’ll be a giant dick or something.”

“Maybe yours’ll be a unicorn, MJ. You know, to match your personality,” Ned fired back.

She stiffened, looking around at the group. ‘‘I don’t want a soulmate,” she muttered.

“What? Why not?” Cindy exclaimed, her eyes almost comically wide.

Peter looked up at that. His glasses had fallen down his nose considerably, and he shoved them back up his face. Dork.

Michelle shrugged. “I just don’t. They’re pointless.”

“Well,” Peter started, “maybe one day you’ll change your mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not likely, Parker.”

“Tell that to your soul-bonded partner.”

A soft chorus of oohs echoed from the Table around her. She needed new friends.

“Whatever. Even if I find my soulmate, I’ll just avoid them like the plague. Shouldn’t be that hard with all my practice when it comes to you lot.”

Peter let out a small uh-huh, and went back to whatever the hell it was he was doing.

It wasn’t like she and Peter didn’t argue. As best friends, it was kind of part of the job description. But Peter and Ned already knew how she felt about soulmates and soulmarks. Michelle was surprised he had pushed her on that front. Weird.

She cleared her throat.

—————————————————————

Sophomore year rolled around, and with it came Academic Decathlon. Michelle befriended Liz almost immediately. She was so nice, and perfect, and smart.

About halfway through the year after a field trip for AcaDec, Peter missed school for over a week. Something about catching a bug on the trip. On day 10, Michelle went to his apartment.

May opened the door. “Oh, hey, MJ! Peter is in his room. He’ll be glad to see you,” she said, a smile gracing her face.

Michelle walked past May with a small nod of acknowledgement. When she entered Peter’s room, she was fairly surprised to see that he, in fact, did actually look very sick. He was on the floor covered in sweat and shaking.

“Ohmigod, Peter! Are you okay?”

“Oh, MJ. Didn’t know you cared. How sweet of you,” he managed through chattering teeth.

“I don’t, Loser. Here,” Michelle leaned down, “let me help you to your bed.”

“No!” Peter scrambled backward over a pile of schoolwork, the pages sticking to his hands. The sweat, probably, thought Michelle

She quirked an eyebrow.

“I, uh—I don’t want to get you sick, is all,” he explained.

“Whatever, Loser,” she said. “I brought you your schoolwork, so… here you go.” She dropped the stack onto his unoccupied bed, spared Peter one more glance, shrugged, and turned to walk out of the room.

“MJ, wait. Thank you, for, uh, for the schoolwork.”

She flipped him off on the way out the door. Weirdo.

Peter started changing after that. He started filling out his shirts more. She figured he had started working out or something.

Not that she was looking at him. Because she wasn’t.

He no longer wore glasses, and dropped out of marching band and robotics club. He disappeared at nationals, showing up only for the ride home after the fiasco at the Washington Monument (of all the times to gain a rebellious streak AcaDec nationals was not the time or the place). Michelle glared at him nonstop for a week after that.

People started avoiding the topic of soulmates and soulmarks around her, knowing it was a touchy subject.

Over the course of the year, Michelle grew closer to Peter and Ned than the other kids in Acadec.

—————————————————————

“MJ?” Peter looked back at her from where he was squatting down in front of the DVD player. He was wearing sweats and a math pun t-shirt that stretched tightly across his chest. His arms across his legs were lithe and muscled. How had she never noticed before…

And she was staring. Michelle blushed furiously. Peter smirked. She flipped him off. He chuckled.

“What do you want?” She asked. His hair was gelled back like every day, but it was a bit mussed, falling onto his forehead. Her blood heated. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, wondered how soft it would be.

Peter ran a hand through said hair, biting his lip. “Have you—uh—have you ever seen The Princess Bride?” He asked.

MJ rolled her eyes. This boy. “Bits and pieces. I was never really interested in that mushy, gushy, sappy shit. Besides, we are not watching that.”

“Uh, yeah, we are. It’s simply tragic how your previous social circle failed you,” he said, scrunching his nose up. It was cute annoying.

Michelle squinted at him, mouth becoming a thin line. He smiled back innocently. She flipped him off. Again.

She relented in the end.

Peter hopped up next to where she was sitting, stretching his arms up and over the back of the couch. Michelles’s eyes snagged on the bit of exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up. Were those… abs? She shook her head, looking back toward the now-glowing TV screen. Her nerdy best friend Peter Parker could not have abs. But.

Michelle had to admit that the movie wasn’t actually as bad as she had initially thought. The reason for that was mostly Peter. The absolute dweeb was acting out the fight scenes with himself. Watching Peter try and punch and defend himself at the same time was pretty funny.

MJ looked over at Peter during the end of the movie. He was looking at her.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” He blurted, then proceeded to clap a hand over his mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. You really, uh, really don’t have to answer that.”

And maybe it was the laughter they had shared together. Maybe it was the way she felt safe around him, or how his hair curled behind his ears, but, “My parents were soulmates. It—it didn’t work out."

That was all she was willing to share.

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly and looking back to the movie. “I think Ned’s right,” he said. Michelle raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat, “Your soulmark is definitely going to be a unicorn. Or a pegasus. Or a rainb—”

“Shut up, Parker.”

Peter raised his hands defensively, grinning.

They talked for another hour, but Peter couldn’t seem to drop the conversation about soulmates.

“Hey, MJ?” He said, giving her a curious look.

Michelle hummed.

Peter ran a hand through his hair. With all the posing while acting out the movie, it looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Maybe even just had—

No. Best friend. Peter was her best friend. Nothing more.

“On your birthday,” he ventured, “when you get your mark, will you tell me about it? We could, like, make fun of each other’s or something. Once I get mine, that is.”

Michelle hesitated. Then: “Sure, okay. Yeah, that sounds good.”

Peter beamed at her and her heart did a backflip. It was worth talking about her soulmark to see that smile, different from his usually timid upturned lips. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Awesome! What are best friends for if not to make fun of shit,” he said.

Best friend. The words stung a bit, even if they were true.

-----------------------------------------------------

Junior year came faster than any of them expected, and with it, standardized testing. Michelle was sad that Liz had moved away the year prior when her dad was caught selling alien technology illegally, but she was excited to be team captain this year. She, Peter, and Ned had all celebrated with aLord of the Rings movie marathon, but over the past few months, Peter and Ned had been sharing hushed conversations. MJ wasn’t sure what was going on, but it made her feel kind of shitty—like she was being pushed out of their friend group.

But then Peter would shoot her a shy smile, and she would feel a little better. There was definitely something going on, though.

Betty got her mark over the summer—a small cat’s eye in the palm of her left hand—but she had had no luck finding the person with the matching tattoo, much to her chagrin.

Michelle truly felt like she was rocketing toward her birthday. Somehow, she and Peter had found a way to turn her soulmate into a bit of a joke, which helped. A little.

That’s how Michelle found herself on the phone with Peter, wearing a tank top and shorts in the middle of winter, watching the seconds tick down to midnight.

“I’m so excited,” Peter said over the phone. “I can’t wait to see if it’s a unicorn or a pegasus.”

“Can it, Parker,” Michelle snapped. She was strangely terrified, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Okay, Magic Princess Unicorn—”

“I mean it, Pete.”

“Ten seconds, MJ.”

“Shit,” she whispered, hands shaking as she hastily put Peter on speaker, and set down the phone, turning to face the floor-length mirror.

“Do you see anything?” He asked. Did he sound… nervous?

Michelle scanned her arms and legs in the mirror, turned around and did the same on the back. “Fuck.”

“What?” Peter said, voice crackling over the phone. “What is it? Is it a Unicorn?”

“No,” Michelle gasped out. “I don’t see anything.”

It was true she didn’t want anything to do with her soulmate, but it did hurt that she didn’t even have one.

She let out a sob, then slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“MJ—MJ, calm down. It’s probably just somewhere else. Try taking your clothes off.” Michelle felt her toes curl into the carpet, her breath hitched. “Fuck,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean it like that—fuck, that came out wrong.”

You don’t need to apologize, Michelle thought. Instead, she nodded, then, realizing he couldn’t see her over the phone, she cleared her throat and said, “No, I get it—what you meant, I mean.” She cringed, Christ, she was absolutely horrible at this. “God, I hope it’s not on my ass.”

Peter let out a bark of laughter. Michelle smiled, then remembered her situation, frowned.

“Stop frowning, you’ll get premature wrinkles,” Peter said.

Michelle frowned deeper. “How do you know I’m frowning?”

“I know you, MJ. Now stop frowning. There’s only one way to know if you have a tattoo on your ass,” Peter said, choking on the last word. “Just check.”

Michelle loosed a breath. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”

She turned back toward the mirror, reaching for the waistband of her shorts and underwear, pulling them both down at the same time. Nothing on the front. She shimmied around a bit, before giving in and stepping out of her shorts. She glanced over her shoulder into the mirror. Nothing.

She took off her tank top next, checking her back first, since she was already facing in that direction. Still nothing. She turned around and ran her fingers over her stomach. Nothing there, either. Goddammit.

She slowly reached back to unclasp her bra and let it slide down her arms. “Mother fucker,” she said quietly.

She’s not sure how, but Peter heard her. “MJ? What’s the status? Did you find it?”

“Yeah, I did. And I fucking hate the universe.” She hissed.

Peter laughed nervously. “Well, what is it? Where is it?”

“Like hell I’m telling you!” MJ screeched.

“C’mon, Michelle, we had a deal!” Peter said. She could picture him laying down in bed, then sitting up abruptly, hair mussed like that night they had watched The Princess bride together. And that strip of skin she’d glimpsed and—fuck, she was thinking about him while she was naked.

“Peter, I literally had to take all my clothes off just to find it. I am not telling you about this ever. God, this is so humiliating.” Michelle looked in the mirror again and winced. Staring back a her was her naked body, dark skin gleaming in the moonlight, curls coming down over her breasts. She moved her hair out of the way to get a better look at her mark, and… there it was. A fist-size black spider sitting in the middle of her left breast, right over her nipple. She groaned, burying her face in the crook of her elbow.

“Oh, c’mon, M. It can’t be that bad,” Peter said.

“It’s bad, Pete,” Michelle sighed. “Well, at least this way my soulmate won’t be able to see my mark.”

Michelle stroked a finger over one of the spider’s legs and shivered. Peter swore over the phone.

“What?” Michelle asked.

“Nothing,” Peter said, though his voice was shaky. “Just got a shiver. That’s what I get for not wearing a shirt.

This boy.

And now she was picturing him shirtless. Fuck. With that mussed-up hair. Double-fuck. She looked down to find that the hand near her breast had grabbed on, kneading the soft flesh. Holy mother of god, an infinite amount of fucks. But it felt good. Really good. She let out a quiet moan.

“MJ? What’s going on, are you okay?” How the ever-living hell did Peter keep hearing her? She could barely hear herself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she managed. Thankfully she sounded normal, if not a little breathy. “Just a little messed up after seeing the mark, you know? I wasn’t expecting to feel so… attached to it.” Because that’s what it was, she realized. She could already feel her connection to someone else, and she hated herself for loving it, for craving that sensation to be stronger.

“Okay. We should probably both go to sleep anyway,” Peter said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” He sounded worried, but he was willing to give her space. That was one of the things she valued most about their friendship.

“Yeah,” Michelle said. Then, when she heard him start to shift, presumably on his bed (God help her), she interrupted, “and, Peter?” He hummed in response. “Put a shirt on. It’s cold out.”

He grunted. “Yeah, will do, M.”

Somehow Michelle got the feeling he wasn’t going to put on a shirt. Idiot.

Part 2

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #spideychelle #soulmate #soulmarks #peter x michelle #michelle jones #eventual smut #masterbation #best friends #au #peter parker soulmate

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 3!

Part 1,  Part 2

Read the story on AO3 HERE

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains (very) brief mentions of Pedophilia and Rape.

She woke up warm and comfortable, nestling into the warm body under her.

Wait.

She opened her eyes. It was still dark outside, which wasn’t surprising considering it was the middle of January, but then she turned her head to look down. She was on top of Peter, the only thing separating them from being skin to skin was her (his) thin t-shirt.

She had a ridiculous urge to reach out and run her fingers through his hair (it looked really soft), but she restrained herself. Then, when she moved her hips, Peter let out a soft groan, and she realized three very important things all at once. She was wet (she couldn’t remember her dream but she had a bad feeling she knew what kind of dream it was), she was on top of Peter, and this was very, very not okay. She screamed.

Peter’s eyes flew open and he shot up to a seated position, accidentally throwing MJ to the end of the bed. “Oh, shit, M. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, completely embarrassed. Why couldn’t she have just quietly removed herself from him? Why did her traitorous mouth have to open and ruin everything? Wasn’t the rest of her body bad enough?

“What time is it?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Michelle watched the muscles move under his skin with the movement.

She pried her eyes away and checked the clock. “6:56,” she said. “We need to get up at 7:00 anyway. Might as well get it over with.” Peter was looking at her curiously. “Just say it,” Michelle said, dreading the worst.

What he said next, however, was not what she was expecting. “You make a good blanket.”

MJ stared at him. Then started giggling like crazy, falling into his arms which quickly wrapped around her to steady her. It was all just so ridiculous: waking up to find herself tangled up with her best friend. It would be a great story to tell someday. Definitely not now, but maybe someday.

Her forehead was resting between his pecs as her shoulders shook with silent laughter. She looked up at him, tears leaking out the corners of her eye, to find him grinning down at her. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “Thanks for making that not horrible,” she mumbled into his skin. He chuckled.

Then she remembered he was literally only wearing boxers, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She pulled back and cleared her throat. “We should, um—we should probably get ready for school,” she said.

Peter cracked a smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He made to get up and MJ shifted off his lap, face and chest slightly red.

Michelle pulled Peter’s sweats off, trusting the shirt to cover herself as Peter rummaged through his drawers to pull out the appropriate clothing. “Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“I can get away with wearing the same jeans two days in a row, but I think I should probably borrow one of your shirts, and, um,” god, this was embarrassing, “can I maybe borrow some deodorant?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem at all.” Peter was still digging through his dresser. “Deodorant is in the bathroom next to the sink and shirts are second drawer from the top. Have at it.” He pulled on a pair of jeans and turned to smile at her. Then it disappeared as he saw she wasn’t wearing any pants.

Michelle could feel herself heating up, so she quickly grabbed her bralette and jeans and rushed to the bathroom.

Only after putting it on did she realize that, in her haste to get away from Peter, she hadn’t grabbed a shirt. She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure he wouldn’t be able to see the spider, and steeled herself before walking back into his room.

Peter looked up as she entered, and his eyes dropped to her breasts. He couldn’t see it, could he? The lighting in the bathroom wasn’t the best, and her bralette was white. She decided to try and play it off. “Parker, I know you’ve never seen a girl in her bra before, but it’s rude to stare.”

“wha—I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but it’s not like that!” He spluttered. At least his eyes were back on her face. She walked past him, still gaping like a fish, and opened the second drawer to find over fifteen shirts, all with a different math or science pun. She rummaged through the shirts to find the least offensive one, finally settling on a find x, here it is t-shirt and pulling it over her head. Since it was still rather large on her slim frame, she pulled it up and tied a not in the front just over her bellybutton.

When she looked back up at him, he was grinning like an idiot. “What?” She asked.

“Your soulmark isn’t anywhere on your stomach or back,” he said. “Is it really on your ass?”

“I am not telling you anything about that,” MJ muttered, shaking her head but trying to suppress a grin nonetheless. At least he didn’t see it (but he was looking).

——————————————————————————

When MJ sat down at their lunch table, she was not expecting to look up and find everyone staring at her. “What?” She asked, thoroughly confused.

Betty leveled an unimpressed look at her. “That’s Peter’s shirt, MJ. Why are you wearing Peter’s shirt?”

She looked down. “Oh, the heating went out at my apartment so I slept with Peter.”

Cindy raised her eyebrows and gave Betty a pointed look. Betty sighed and leaned down to dig through her backpack, coming back up with a crumpled twenty dollar bill and leaning across the table to hand it to Cindy.

“Wait. What’s going on here,” Michelle said.

“Cindy bet me you and Peter would, you know, before the end of the school year,” Betty started.

“And you did,” Cindy added, “so I win.”

Shit.

Michelle felt her face grow hot. “No!” She cleared her throat. Everyone was looking at her now. “Um, no, we didn’t sleep together, god, you guys. I stayed over at his house because I couldn’t go back to mine. We slept in the same room. That is literally all the happened.”

Cindy let out a disappointed sigh and handed the twenty back to Betty.

Michelle looked between them. “Wait, is that why you said Peter might be my soulmate? To get us to, uh, to do it?” Cindy’s guilty look gave her away. “Oh my god, you guys. Please never attempt this again.” She flipped them off for good measure.

“What was that for?” MJ looked behind her to see Peter approaching the table, a curious expression on his face.

Fuck.

Cindy opened her mouth to say something but MJ cut her off, “Nothing, Parker. They were just pissing me off. Drop it.”

Thank god Ned wasn’t there. He probably would have told Peter the second he had a chance. She could feel her face flushing again. Damnit.

Peter just shrugged and pushed her to the left a few inches so he could squeeze in next to her. Betty gave her a pointed look, eyes flashing between her face and where her shoulder and arm touched Peter’s. Michelle flipped her off again.

—————————————————————————

January, February, and March came and went. The snow started to melt, and MJ started to get used to her tattoo. After that first night at Peter’s house, the showers hadn’t been so bad. She did learn, though, that she had to be careful about touching her mark. If she so much as accidentally brushed it her loins would start to burn and she’d have to take a brief intermission from actually showering to get herself off.

She was embarrassed to admit to herself that happened at least once a week. She hated soulmates and their stupid tattoos. She felt like she couldn’t talk to anyone about what she was going through. She had tried to broach the subject with her mom, but had learned nothing. For all she knew, no one experienced the same insufferable sex drive she did.

Just like her to somehow have fucked up something predestined by the universe. Stupid soulmark.

That’s how she found herself in Mr. Miln’s health class halfway through April, no longer able to lean her head on her left hand, lest it brush against her soulmark. She had her sketchbook out and was sketching Flash sleeping in the corner, drooling on his notebook when Mr. Miln called the class to attention.

“7th period, listen up, this is the class you’ve all been waiting for.” A loud snore came from the corner, and MJ caught Peter’s eye as they both tried not to laugh. “Flash! Keep your eyes open, please.”

Flash lifted his head off his desk. “Huh?”

“Eyes. Open,” Mr. Miln repeated, clearly irritated. “Today we’ll be talking about soulmates.” MJ rolled her eyes. This would be interesting. She looked back down at her sketchbook. “Now, as I’m sure all of you are aware, everyone has a soulmate, someone who is supposed to be perfect for you.

“Clearly, that doesn’t always work out, but in most cases, soulmates are happy with their predestined partner.” Michelle bit back a humorless laugh at that. Mr. Miln continued, “Everyone will get their soulmark at midnight on their seventeenth birthday, usually it represents at least one of the people in that particular soul bond.” A spider. Michelle was pretty sure she didn’t want to meet the person represented by a fucking spider.

MJ started to drown out Mr. Miln and focused more on her sketch. This one was of Peter with his head in his hand, mouth hanging open a little as he stared at the projector at the front of the classroom. But then something caught her attention.

“Sometimes soulmates can experience strong sexual desire, even before they know who their soulmate is. This is usually stimulated by touching the soulmark, and can even be known to bring the person to climax solely from attention to the mark.”

A fit of giggles broke out across the classroom, but Michelle wasn’t laughing. Her old, fat health teacher was describing exactly what she had been going through for the last three months. She looked over at Peter, who was now sitting forward in his chair, suddenly much more interested in what Mr. Miln had to say. MJ couldn’t blame him, she knew it probably sounded pretty interesting. Unless, of course, it was something you were experiencing.

“Stop laughing,” Mr. Miln snapped. “Strong erogenous marks are the sign of true mates, a very rare occurrence. For true mates, it is impossible to resist the pull of the bond. They are equals, perfect matches for each other, and they always produce prodigal heirs.”

Fuck. That wasn’t good. How was she supposed to ignore her soulmate if she truly was a true mate? She resolved that she would be the first true mate to break the cycle the universe had set. She noticed Peter giving her a funny look, and she realized she was scowling.

Wrinkles, he mouthed. She scowled deeper, flipping him off under the table. He just laughed quietly and turned back to the board. She caught herself smiling, and turned back to the board too.

“Now, with soulmates consent is necessary, but with true mates, it’s a little trickier. Once the bond is realized between two true mates, it is impossible to ignore the urge to procreate, since they are made for each other to create the perfect offspring, so consent is technically not possible.” MJ’s head snapped up at that. Rape, that’s what it was. Rape. This was bad. Really, really bad. She felt sick to her stomach. She was going to puke.

Everyone met their soulmate (or true mate) sometime in their life. Michelle just hoped she had a long time before that point. Maybe she would meet them when she was eighty. That sounded okay. They couldn’t possibly have forced sex as eighty-year-olds.

“Because of the purpose of procreation, true mates will find one another by the time they’re twenty five.” Mother fucker. “Soulmates, however, can meet at any point in their lives.”

Why couldn’t she have just had a normal soulmate? She didn’t feel special at all. She felt violated, if that was even possible when it came to knowledge.

“Just like soulmates, true mates will only know they have found their match when both parties have seen the other person’s tattoo. True mates can also feel the other’s sexual desire, although it is not very strong when neither or only one of them has their tattoo” Mr. Miln looked out to the class. “Questions? Yes, Flash.”

Flash looked from the projector to Mr. Miln. “What happens when one true mate is under eighteen and one is older. Is that considered pedophilia?” He snickered into his hand.

“Ew, gross, Flash,” said Lee from her spot at the front of the classroom.

“Detention,” said Mr. Miln in a bored tone. Flash started to argue but Mr. Miln cut him off, “Speak and I’ll make it two detentions.” He turned to the rest of the class. “Alrighty, folks, Pair off with the person next to you and come get this Venn diagram and word bank. I don’t think I need to explain the activity to you as I’m hoping you all know what a Venn diagram is.”

MJ looked over at Peter, who was already walking to the front to pick up worksheets for them. She used the time to pull their desks together, and by the time she was done, he was back. He sat down at his desk and passed her one of the papers.

“So, was it just me or was all that true mate stuff, like, really creepy?” He said. Michelle could have hugged him for that. She was so happy he understood, even if he didn’t know she thought she was a true mate.

“Yeah. It sounded an awful lot like rape to me,” she replied.

They fell silent, and spent the next ten minutes working on the diagram. After that, they just made fun of Flash. With two minutes to the bell, Mr. Miln asked them to turn in their papers.

“Great job today, class. Don’t forget to follow me on twitter @caramel-health, and have a great day. Dismissed.”

MJ rolled her eyes. Without fail, Mr. Miln had plugged his twitter handle everyday this year, and even when they had a sub, he left it in the day’s notes.

As the rest of the students filed out of the class, MJ lagged behind. Peter looked back at her, but she just waved him on and mouthed go.

When everyone had left, Michelle walked up to Mr. Miln. “Um, I just had a question about—about true mates.”

He looked up at her. “Shoot.”

“Is there any way to, um, to suppress the… the sex drive?”

He looked at her with pity. “You think you are one, don’t you?” He asked. She nodded her head slowly. Mr. Miln took a deep breath, “No, Michelle. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear. It should lessen after the first round of sexual intercourse, but other than that…” He shook his head solemnly.

Michelle swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. There was no hope. The only thing she could do was try and live life to the fullest while she still could. She nodded with a quiet thank you and turned to leave the room.

“Michelle,” Mr. Miln said. “There has not been one case where true mates didn’t work out.”

She shook her head and kept walking.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the school year went by in a blur.

Michelle tried her best to never touch her mark, she really did, but it seemed to grow more and more sensitive as time went on. The worst was when Peter had given her a hug after they won nationals again and the mark had burned hotter than it ever had before. She had fallen into him panting and shaking. He held her, asked her if she was okay, if she needed water. She hadn’t been able to talk. Her knees were weak, the only thing holding her up were Peter’s muscled arms wrapped around her waist. Her whole body felt like it was on fire and she couldn’t get back to the hotel fast enough. When everyone went to sleep after the long day, she brought her hands up to her left breast and stroked the spider until she quietly came. Thank god no one had woken up.

She got up and went to the bathroom, quickly changing into her bikini and sneaking down to the hotel pool. It wouldn’t close for another two hours, so she wasn’t in a huge rush. She just needed to clear her head and be alone for a bit.

She wasn’t in the pool for five minutes when she heard the door open and Peter’s voice said, “Oh, you’re here too. Couldn’t sleep?”

MJ shook her head, leaning back to float on top of the water. One glance at Peter and she saw that he was still ripped as hell, so she closed her eyes. She couldn’t deal with that right now, not in the state she was in. She felt the pool ripple as he slid into the water, then felt him grab her ankles and slowly start to drag her around the pool. It was oddly calming, and Michelle just let go of the tension and tried to relax.

After a few minutes, Peter tapped her ankle and she lifted her head out of the water, but that caused her to sink, and she floundered for a moment until Peter grabbed her and pulled her around to his back. She looped her arms around his back, wrapped her legs around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Peter took a deep breath. “Remember what Mr. Miln said that day about true mates?” He asked. Michelle stiffened, tightening her hold on her best friend’s neck.

“Yeah. What about it,” she asked carefully.

“I think I am one,” he blurted. She could feel his stomach muscles tense beneath her legs.

“One what?” She couldn’t assume. She needed to hear him say it.

“A true mate,” he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. She breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t alone, Peter was like her, or at least he thought he was. “I know I don’t have my mark yet, but I can feel them, Michelle, and it’s really fucking weird. I don’t know if I like it. One moment I’ll be fine and the next I feel this shiver running through my body. It’s kind of the worst, to be honest,” he laughed softly.

“I think I’m one, too,” she said. “Whenever I touch my mark I feel the same way. I’m actually surprised I’m not losing it right now, considering the piggyback ride you’re giving me at the moment.

“I guess that means we’re not each other’s true mates then,” Peter said. Michelle felt a pang of sadness low in her gut at the words, but just nodded against his neck. “Well,” he said, “next time I get randomly horny in class, you can cover for me.”

Michelle laughed. “Ditto.”

“You know what else that means, M?” He asked. She hummed. “It means your mark really isn’t on your ass.”

“Shut up, Parker.”

————————————————————————

Soon after that, the school year was over. Michelle said goodbye to everyone even though she knew she’d be seeing them over the summer, and she, Peter, and Ned walked down the steps of the school entrance arm in arm, laughing and talking about what the summer held for them.

“I’m so glad we’re done with AP Bio,” Peter said. “I don’t think I could look at another picture of a cell with spontaneously combusting.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Pete. Remember you signed up to take AP Chem with me next year,” Michelle reminded him.

Peter grinned at her and her heart did a little backflip. “Nah, that’ll be easy,” he said.

Ned gave Peter a funny look. “Dude, you’re crazy, you know that?”

Part 4

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter x michelle #peter parker soulmate #michelle jones #soulmate #smut #eventual smut #fluff #spideychelle #au #best friends #soulmarks #potentially triggering

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 4!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Read the story on AO3 HERE

Writing Masterlist

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

MJ sat next to her phone, waiting to get the call from Peter. It was August 9th, and Peter would be getting his mark at midnight tonight.

She stood up quickly and leaned over to gather her hair and put it up in a messy bun with the hair tie on her wrist.

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up. It was a text from Peter.

Peter: Ready?

Michelle: It’s your fucking soulmark, weirdo. I don’t need to be ready.

Peter: Touche.

Then her phone started ringing. She swiped right and brought the phone up to her ear. “Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” he replied.

MJ took a deep breath. “So, how are you feeling?”

She heard rustling on the other end of the line. Then, “Nervous.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, on the bright side, you know more about your soulmark than most people do at this point,” Michelle said.

“Yeah. I know I’ll get a boner if someone touches it. Great silver lining right there, M. Good job, gold star, two enthusiastic thumbs up,” Peter said mockingly.

“Calm down, it doesn’t just trigger willy nilly when some random person touches it. You just have to be careful about you touching it. Or your soulmate, I guess.” Michelle put her phone on speaker and set it down next to her on her bed. “You’ll be fine, Parker. I’ve been dealing with this shit since January. You’ll get used to it.” She leaned over to look at the time. “Two minutes, Peter.”

“My god, it feels like it’s been ten minutes,” Peter complained. “Anything else I should know in the time we have left?”

Michelle thought for a second. “Showering’s an absolute bitch.”

Pause. “What do you mean?”

She let out a humorless laugh. “You’ll see.”

“Well, I’ve already showered today, so I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.” Pause. “Shit, we have thirty seconds,” Peter said. “Fuck, I’m nervous.”

Michelle was nervous too, for some unknown reason. Her leg was bouncing against the floor and her palms were starting to sweat. She looked at the clock. Ten seconds.

Nine.

She heard rustling on Peter’s end and she knew he was switching to speakerphone.

Seven.

Michelle tried to steady her breathing. She really shouldn’t be this nervous. Why was she so nervous?

Four.

“Okay,” Peter said. “Okay, I can do this.” More rustling, then, “Hey, M?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“I don’t want to know.”

MJ’s alarm went off. She waited. Looked at her nails. Crossed her legs. Uncrossed them.

One minute.

Two minutes.

She got impatient. “Peter, did you find it?”

“Yeah.” He took a shuddering breath. “It’s—it’s beautiful.”

MJ’s heart sank. She kew she wasn’t Peter’s soulmate, but his audible confirmation still hurt. His tattoo couldn’t be a spider, not with how he reacted to it. Beautiful, he’d said. Beautiful.

“What is it?” She asked quietly. She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know.

Silence.

“Peter?” Her heart was racing.

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m ready to share it just yet.”

Oh. Was she… disappointed?

He was her best friend but he didn’t feel like he could tell her about his mark? After over a year of joking about it, he was backing out. You backed out too, she reminded herself.

She was still disappointed. Peter actually wanted a soulmate—true mate, whatever—and she would be forced to be with hers. Would she and Peter drift apart? She didn’t know if she could bear it. Ned was great, sure, but Peter was her closest friend, her confidant, and she could feel herself losing him and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

She realized Peter was still talking. “You were right, M.”

“About what?” She asked. She hadn’t said anything out loud, had she?

“That night you got your mark,” Peter replied. “When you said you got attached. You were right. I can feel them now, M. It’s amazing. Like my heart is beating for two people.” He sounded so in awe. Michelle envied him, she envied the ability to find beauty in loving someone you’ve never met.

All she felt was bitterness. “I’m glad you like it, Pete.”

“If I told you my tattoo was on my ass, would you believe me?” She barked out a laugh. How he could make her laugh even when she was miserable, she didn’t know. God, she loved him.

Shit.

She loved him. Shit shit shit shit. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Sure, she’d been attracted to him. But up until now, it had been just that: physical attraction.

What should she say? “Shut up, Parker.”

“You love it,” he teased.

I do, MJ thought. I really do. Fucking hell, what was wrong with her? “Don’t make me come over there. I will castrate you if I need to.”

Peter laughed. “Well, on that happy note, it’s past midnight. We should probably get to bed. Ned wants a new hat so we’re going to the mall tomorrow. And then we’re having a sleepover for my birthday, remember? Hey, I’ll be able to show you my mark at the sleepover. I just—I can’t right away, you know?” His voice sounded strained, but MJ couldn’t pinpoint why that would be. He said he loved his soulmark, what else was there to say?

But now was not the time. Michelle could admit that she was, in fact, exhausted, so she put on an oversized t-shirt and sweats (she had been wearing variations of this outfit to bed since her sleepover with Peter), and climbed under the covers with her book.

She always read a little before bed, it helped her sleep better. If she didn’t, she would have nightmares about her father hitting mom, leaving them with nothing when her mom got sick. Nightmares that she would be thrown into the same situation, worse now that she knew she was a true mate to some random person.

What if her soulmate was abusive and cruel? Her mom couldn’t leave her dad, what if she couldn’t either? She felt so trapped in her own body. She loved someone she could never be with.

Her life was so fucked.

Michelle shook her head and opened her book.

————————————————————————

She hadn’t been reading for twenty minutes when she felt her eyes start to droop, so she quickly slid her bookmark between the pages and set Pride and Prejudice (a personal favorite) on her nightstand.

Michelle separated her sheet from her comforter—it was too hot to use both—and pulled her sheets over her body. She was so tired, but as she closed her eyes and waited, she didn’t fall asleep.

She just lay there for a while, staring at her wall, trying desperately to drift off. Tomorrow was going suck balls if she didn’t get any sleep. She was tired, why couldn’t she just sleep?

MJ turned over in her bed. And then she felt it: a subtle burning sensation pouring from her left breast—her tattoo—down to her core. “Fuck,” she cried. “Why?”

She could feel her core clenching, the sensation of hot water running down her body. She gasped as she rubbed her thighs together, trying to create some sort of friction. She tried to get out of her bed, but was tangled in her sheets so she fell to the floor with a loud thump.

“Michelle, are you okay in there?” Her mom yelled from the sitting room.

Shoot, she must have woken her up when she fell from the bed. “Yeah, I’m f-fine. I’m just gonna get in t-the shower!” She called through small gasps.

Her clit was throbbing, she couldn’t think straight. She needed to turn the water on before her mom heard her. She grabbed onto the door frame of her bathroom, trying with all her might to keep herself upright, her knees were shaking so badly and she could feel herself dripping down onto her thighs, her juices sending sparks to her core. At the same time, she could feel the energy flying off her to her other half, as though the pleasure was soaking into their skin as well as hers.

Michelle reached out and turned on the faucet, the sound of water moving quickly through the pipes filled her ears as she clung to the towel bar. She could maybe stay here until the water heated up.

Her legs buckled. Or maybe not. The floor was okay.

She reached down and started to tug off her sweats. She was so hot, she needed to get out of these damn clothes. Her shaking fingers managed to get underneath the waistband of her pants, and she practically ripped them off.

The humid night air didn’t do much for her heated skin, but it was better than nothing. She felt water droplets start to land on her bare legs and looked over to see that she hadn’t closed the shower curtain. Great. She really was bad at masturbating—how was that even possible. Almost nothing had gone correctly today, actually.

She could feel water running through her hair and dripping down onto her forehead even though she was out of the shower. Her soulmate must be taking a shower. Fucking hell, how had this never happened before? Unless her soulmate was a hobo.

Michelle blanched as she reached down to grasp the hem of her shirt. Had her soulmate felt everything she’d been doing for the past eight months? God, that would be so embarrassing. She pulled the oversized shirt over her head and threw it across the bathroom.

She felt a phantom hand trail down her tattoo, and it sent waves of heat down to her already burning sex.

MJ crawled over to the shower and pulled herself in, moaning as the first wave of water cascaded over her quivering form.

She curled up on her right side and let the water run over her soulmark as she let her hand trail down the planes of her stomach and part her lips. She cried out when she found her clit, rubbing furiously as she squeezed her eyes shut.

In her mind’s eye she saw Peter as she had that day she had woken up on top of him, sleep-mussed hair and bare chest. The way her soulmark had tingled as she’d lain there watching him in the moment before she’d screamed. That moment when she’d decided she wouldn’t run her fingers through his hair, a decision she regretted dearly now.

She moved to lay on her back, legs splayed out to the sides, then bending back in to meet the confines of her small shower. Her dark skin gleamed with water droplets as her chest heaved.

Her fingers moved down toward her entrance. She’d never done this before. Slowly, ever so slowly, she eased one finger inside. Her hips bucked up into her hand, begging for more, but her fingers were only so long, and a soft, low moan broke from her lips. She pumped her finger in and out, at first taking it slow, then speeding up a bit. It went from awkward to something she never wanted to stop doing in less than thirty seconds, her body stretching slightly to accommodate her small finger, and at the same time she knew she was built for more.

The hair in her bun was soaked but she didn’t care. She was so close.

She imagined him chanting her name: M, M, M. She remembered that small groan, when she had accidentally moved her hips against his, and she came undone, body shuddering with the force of her climax as she called his name.

What would her soulmate say, when they found out she wanted someone else?

And why did she even care? Fuck them. She didn’t want anything to do with them. She felt her eyes start to water nonetheless, and when she closed them, tears streamed down the sides of her face.

A little while later, she reached up to turn the water off. Then she just laid down and closed her eyes, finally finding the sleep she had been craving.

——————————————————————————

The next morning she awoke cold, with damp hair, and still in the shower. Her neck and back ached. Scratch that, her whole body was sore.

She pushed herself to a seated position. She had a lot to do today before she went to Peter’s.

Part 5

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter x michelle #peter parker soulmate #michelle jones #soulmate #smut #fluff #angst #spideychelle #au #best friends #soulmarks

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 2!  Part 1

Thank you so much for the feedback on AO3. If you want to read the story there, you can find it here.

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Michelle couldn’t meet Peter’s eyes the next day. Not after last night. Not after she had hung up the phone, climbed into bed, and finished what she had started when Peter caught her moaning. When she had touched her heat, and it had felt different than when she just cleaned down there showering, when it had felt better.

And then when her hand had found her soulmark and stroked it, and her orgasm had wracked her body, ricocheting through her in hot blades of pleasure. She had never really done anything like that before, never felt the need to, and as she had collapsed on her bed, she had wondered how--how had she not.

But worst of all, when she had whispered Peter as she came undone, still touching her mark.

She felt dirty. Trapped between two people: a soulmate she didn’t want and an off-limits best friend she did.

Peter kept looking at her during Biology, too. The fact that they were lab partners didn’t make matters any easier. Nor did it help that he was practically a furnace sitting next to her. And it was mid-winter and the classroom was very cold, and she so wanted to lean into that heat.

Their teacher cleared his throat. “Alright, class. We’re going to start the fetal pig dissection today. Now, we’ve been preparing for this for about a week, so I won’t be walking you through every step of the process. Got it?” The class nodded. “Great. Pigs are in the corner, one per table group, and please try to keep the joking around to a minimum.”

Peter looked over and started to say something but Michelle was already gone. When she got back he had his binder out on the table and a pencil in his hand. He started to open his mouth again—

“Don’t,” Michelle said. “It’s not something I want to talk about.” She loosed a breath and looked up. His eyes floored her, warm and brown and so, so deep.

Maybe someday she would look back on this with him and laugh. Laugh about her stupid crush. Without thinking her hand came to rest over her soulmark. Thankfully this could be passed off as a hand to the heart, and not… what it really was.

Peter’s eyes dropped to her chest, then flicked back up to meet her eyes. He licked his lips. Michelle followed the movement, then mentally cursed herself.

“So, what should we name our pig?” Peter asked. Michelle just gave him an unimpressed look. “What? It needs a name.” He looked at her pleadingly.

Michelle sighed. “Fine. What do you want to name,” she examined the pig, “him?”

Peter grinned. “Iron Man.”

She scoffed. “Absolutely not. We are not naming this poor pig after Iron Man. He’s basically an ego on wheels.” Peter looked like he was about to argue. “Look, if you really want to name our dead pig-child after an avenger, let’s name him Spider-Man. Or even better: Spider-Pig.”

Peter cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Why, uh, why him? Why not, like, Captain America or Hawkeye or someone—anyone—else?”

“He protects Queens, Peter,” Michelle explained. “It makes the most sense. Besides, have you seen his suit? Super cool.”

Peter puffed his chest out a little. Weird.

With that step out of the way, they continued with the dissection, cutting a slit down the center of Spider-Pig’s stomach, careful not to puncture any of the organs. They made small talk between trying to locate the different parts of the pig’s digestive system. Little things: how May had been, what kind of stuff Michelle had been drawing (though she only told him part of that), MJ’s stupid landlord problems (they had been having issues with the heating). It was nice talking to him, pretending last night didn’t happen.

The end of the period came too fast, the bell startling Michelle so she jumped. Peter chuckled a bit, and she punched him lightly in the arm, smiling a little herself, too.

English and art passed by quickly, and before she knew it, she was standing in the lunch line waiting for her food.

When she reached their usual table, Betty looked up and said, “Happy Birthday, MJ!” Then, more conspiratorially, “You got your soulmark, right? What is it?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. This girl was never going catch a hint, was she? But MJ just shrugged. “Yeah, I got it, but I won’t tell you what or where.”

Betty pouted, and MJ saw Ned’s eyes trained on her lips. Honestly, could he be any more obvious? Betty didn’t notice, though, instead saying, “Oh, c’mon, M, just tell us.”

MJ glared and shook her head. Conversation over.

Peter coughed from behind her, and she stiffened, slowly turning around to face him.

“You’ll still make fun of my mark with me come August even if you won’t tell me about yours, though, right?” He asked.

Michelle was about to say no, but he just looked so hopeful—a bit like a lost puppy, if she was being honest. So she shrugged, and nodded.

“Ooh,” Cindy exclaimed, “Maybe your soulmate is Peter, MJ.”

Michelle scoffed. Not fucking likely. She and Peter were best friends, nothing more. “Don’t be gross, Cindy. He’s my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.” That last part wasn’t true, but they didn’t need to know that. Especially not Peter, who was blushing and spluttering more than she was.

“Shame,” Betty sighed. “You two would be cute together.”

Michelle flipped her off. Peter coughed loudly to her right, looking like the world’s most uncomfortable teenager. Ned opened his mouth, and Peter elbowed him in the side, his expression going from embarrassed to murderous.

“L-lets, just drop it, Betty. Clearly neither of us is interested,” Peter added.

Ouch, that hurt a little.

                      —————————————————————

That night was spent with Peter and Ned furiously trying to memorize the digestive system of a pig for the pop quiz their teacher had hinted at heavily that morning in class.

“That’s the gallbladder, right?” MJ asked, furrowing her brow.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Peter, leaning over her shoulder. His breath tickled her ear and she bit her lip, trying with all her might not to shiver at the way he made her nerves stand on end. “I think it’s actually that little thing right there. Don’t quote me on that, though.” He grinned at her, then quickly looked away.

They went on like that for a few hours, slowly making their way through the mountain of homework they had been assigned.

MJ’s phone rang suddenly, making them all jump. “Crap,” she said, blindly reaching into her waistband. She managed to pull out her phone to see that her mom was calling her. “Sorry, guys, I’ve got to take this.”

“No Problem, M. Take your time,” Ned responded, giving her a small smile. Peter nodded in agreement, and Michelle stepped away into the Parker’s sitting room. She raised her phone to her ear: “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” She asked.

“Hi, Honey. The heating went out at the apartment, so I’m at the hospital—Nothing’s wrong, so don’t freak out! The doctors just didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be in such a cold house because of—well, you know.”

“Yeah, Mom. I can talk to the landlord about it tomorrow morning. As long as you don’t need anything from the house—if you do, I can run home now and bring it to you—”

“No, M. I’ll be fine for tonight. And, Honey?” Her mom said.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“I don’t want you going home tonight, okay? It’s below freezing and I don’t want you catching a chill.”

“But, Mom,” MJ started.

“No buts, Michelle. Ask if you, Peter and Ned can have a sleepover or something. I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her mom hung up. No room for argument.

Michelle swore under her breath, then turned to go back into Peter’s room. They looked up as she came in, curious expressions on their faces. “Hey, guys,” she said, “the heating in my apartment went out. Is it possible for me to stay here for the night? We—we could maybe have a sleepover?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good with me. Ned?” Peter asked, looking at his best friend.

“I can’t, sorry. I need to look after my little sister tonight.”

“Ok. Pete, are you sure this is okay?”

“Of course. Besides, your mom is right: it’s too cold outside to not have heating.” Michelle briefly wondered how he knew about her mom’s worries as she hadn’t voiced this particular part of their conversation, but she put it out of her mind. She had more important things to worry about, like how she was spending the night alone with Peter less than twenty four hours after she had gotten herself off to the thought of him. She fought back a blush and nodded at Peter to hide her growing discomfort. May would be back soon, anyway. It wasn’t like they would be alone alone.

MJ sat down and pulled her binder toward herself again. The rest of their work was for separate classes, so they couldn’t really work together, but it was still nice to have study buddies to keep her on track.

Soon enough, though, Ned had to leave. After the initial conversion, Ned had explained that his parents were going out for a little alone time, and he needed to make sure his younger sister got to bed at a reasonable time. He did this with much complaint, now that he knew his two best friends were going to have a sleepover together.

Honestly, if MJ was being honest, she was kind of excited about getting a little alone time with Peter. The whole day had been a little awkward, and she just wanted everything to go back to normal.

“Movie?” Peter asked. He started to get up and move to the sitting room.

“Yeah, sure. We could just stick with Star Wars tonight, though.”

Peter grinned at her and her heart did a somersault. Damn those perfect teeth. Michelle followed him out of the room.

They ended up watching Empire Strikes Back as they were both in agreement it was the best Star Wars film. They joked throughout the movie, and Peter, ever the dramatic, acted out his hand being chopped off when the time came.

Soon, though, the movie came to an end. Michelle looked at the time: 11:00. They had school tomorrow and she didn’t want to be a zombie, so, “We should probably get to bed.”

Peter nodded. He got up from the couch and made his way back to his room. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

This time it was MJ’s turn to nod, and she followed him into his bedroom. Peter quickly closed the door to the bathroom and Michelle heard the shower turn on. She pulled out her book and started to read.

Peter wasn’t in the shower for very long, Michelle had only read about fifteen pages when he exited the bathroom. She looked up. And froze.

Peter was wearing his boxers.

Only his boxers.

And she had been right the other night: Peter had abs. And pecs and biceps and every other defined muscle that, put together, made him sexy as hell. Her eyes trailed down his toned stomach to the defined v that led down past the waistband of his boxers. Fuck her, she was going to jump him right where he stood.

“What are you wearing?” She croaked, breath catching in her throat.

Peter looked down at himself, then back at her. “This is what I wear to sleep. I get too hot in anything more.” He grinned at her slyly. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can—”

“No!” MJ interrupted. “I mean, no. It’s fine. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.” Then she realized something: “Um, actually, speaking of sleepwear, I don’t have anything to, you know…”

“Oh—oh, yeah. Here,” he said, ruffling through some drawers and pulling out a shirt and a pair of sweats and tossing them to her. “You can use these.”

Michelle quietly accepted the clothes, trying hard to keep her eyes trained on his face, and moved to the steamy bathroom. She didn’t have any shampoo or conditioner with her, but she figured Peter wouldn’t mind if she borrowed some of his. It definitely wouldn’t be very good for her curls but she was willing to take the risk. She really needed a shower. She hadn’t showered the previous night after her… activities, and she felt pretty disgusting just thinking about sleeping in the same room as him when the sweat that had dried on her skin had been from touching herself with his name on her lips.

She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her shoulders and then the rest of her body. Her mark started to tingle as the water ran over it. Shit. MJ looked up at the ceiling. If there was a god, he had a fucked sense of humor. Her legs started to shake as heat pooled in her core. “Fuck,” she moaned quietly, sinking to the floor. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. She grabbed at her mark, trying the stop the water from hitting it, but it only made it worse, sending hot blades of pleasure down her body.

Her legs spasmed beneath her, completely out of her control, and she let out a small cry. She managed to claw her way up the wall and grab the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, before sinking back to the floor. Pantene. For some reason that just seemed so Peter. She laughed a little to herself, but it turned into a low, throaty moan when she felt another wave of heat fly through her body.

She uncapped the bottle and squeezed the shampoo into her hand. Looking at the gooey, white substance, her mouth started to water. She licked her lips. What was going on with her? What was wrong with her mark? Why was it doing this to her?

She started to slowly massage the shampoo into her head. It felt really good. Too good. Her mark burned, her nipples were so hard its was starting to hurt and she just wanted Peter to barge in and help her finish.

She did her best to ignore it, rinsing out the shampoo and adding conditioner to her ends, then tying her hair up in a topknot with the hair tie on her wrist.

She had to wash her body next. Fuck. She started with her arms. Then her legs, though she didn’t get all the way up her thighs before she moved to her back.

Then, after her stomach, she moved her soapy hands down to the apex of her thighs and quickly tried to clean the slick from between her legs. It felt so good, and she could tell that it wasn’t just shower water collecting on the rest of her body now. By the time she finished, she was leaning against the wall panting and shaking.

She poured more body wash into her hands and moved them to her breasts. She had to bite back a scream when her hand came into contact with the small spider. It was like she was touching herself down there, except ten times stronger. She slowly rubbed the soap into her breasts, tears streaming down her face and hips bucking wildly. It was too much. She had never felt anything like this before. She thought the vibration in her body was going to kill her.

She thought about Peter and his abs, thought about running her hands along his chest.

“Peter,” she moaned softly, and a wave of pleasure cascaded over her as she climaxed. “Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter,” she chanted, thinking of that mussed up wet hair he had walked out with after his shower. She blacked out for a second, caught up in the pleasure so much that her vision stopped working.

Michelle collapsed against the wall, mumbling incoherently. Her orgasm last night had been nowhere near as strong. Something was definitely wrong with her, she decided. That was not normal.

She quickly rinsed off the rest of the soap and the conditioner in her hair, and turned the water off, grabbing the spare towel hanging next to the shower and furiously drying herself off.

Michelle pulled the sweats up her legs. She was about the same height as Peter, but he was a lot more muscular. God, when did he start working out?

Needless to say, when she pulled the t-shirt over her head it was huge on her. And it smelled like him, too. She felt her nipples start to harden again. How could she possibly still be horny after the orgasm she just had. She hated her body. She hated her stupid soulmark. She hated that she let herself think about her best friend inappropriately.

Michelle walked out of the bathroom. “Hey, Peter?” He looked up. “Do you mind letting me borrow another one of your t-shirts? I need to plop my hair,” she said.

“Yeah—yeah, of course,” he said. He sounded a little flustered as he got up and walked back to his dresser, opening the middle drawer and pulling out an I survived NYC shirt and handing it to her.

Michelle leaned over, shaking out her hair and wrapping it up in the shirt. When she stood back up, she found Peter staring a her, and she realized her shirt had ridden up to expose her stomach and the way his sweats hung low on her hips. She cleared her throat, and his eyes snapped back to her face, cheeks glowing pink. Honestly, teenage boys would literally jump anything.

When they were younger and Peter still had a bunk bed, MJ would sleep on the top, Ned on the bottom, and Peter on the floor with an assortment of blankets and pillows, but now he had a full.

Peter eyed the bed suspiciously. “I can take the floor, M,” he said.

MJ scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, Parker. There’s plenty of room on the bed for two people. I’m sleeping on the left, you can have the right.”

“But I always sleep on the left,” he protested.

“I don’t care. You can take the right.”

Peter looked rather uncomfortable at that, but he didn’t argue. Smart boy.

Michelle pulled back the covers and climbed into Peter’s bed. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. She kept reminding herself that they were two best friends having a sleepover. Nothing more.

When her head hit the pillow she realized just how tired she was. Last night she was up until midnight with Peter waiting for her mark. Then, after they had hung up, she stayed up thinking of him. Today had been long, too. Not to mention what had just happened in her best friend’s shower (ugh).

Needless to say, she was exhausted, and so, it seemed, was Peter, whose breathing turned heavy almost immediately after he closed his eyes. But not before he let out a final, “Happy Birthday, M.”

MJ buried her nose in her pillow and took a deep breath. Her eyes shot open. Fuck, it smelled like him. Now she wished she had just let him take his side of the damn bed. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Quicker than she ever could have expected, she drifted off.

Part 3

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