Evil Hate Cow # 1 (perch_and_creep) wrote in dolltongue,
Evil Hate Cow # 1

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bluwyndfaerie part 1

author: bluwyndfaerie
fandom: spider-man the movie
disclaimer: marvel owns these characters not blu, not me. blu has kindly allowed me to host some of her wonderful fics and poems here. To read her other work please follow the link to her ff.net account.
feedback:feedback for blu
website/homepage:bluwyndfaerie's other fanfiction

We Were Caged Butterflies by Blu Wynd Faerie

Rated: PG, just to be safe ;)

Genres: Romance/Angst

Summary: Based on the movie. Mary Jane goes to reclaim the man that is

rightfully hers. Purely ROMANCE! Please read and review!

The sky that evening was the same misty blue color that one could only

see right after a long-needed rainstorm. The hue reminded Mary Jane of

Peter Parker's beautiful blue eyes. She blinked back furious, frustrated

tears and wrapped her coat a little tighter around herself, dodging a few

drying puddles from the storm. As she sunk more into her coat, she briefly

reminded herself of a butterfly in its cocoon. She had always wondered

what would happen if a butterfly became stuck in its cocoon; these

days, Mary Jane was pretty sure that she knew.

Being trapped was a horrible feeling. She felt as if she'd been encased,

bound into a crusty layer. She could see outside that film; she knew

everything that could be - every thing that should be! - and yet, she knew

it was futile to try and reach that impossible fantasy. It felt shaky to

be encaged in this cocoon, hanging from a silken thread from the branch

of a tree, swinging in the breeze, terrified that she just might snap.

The idea of the silken thread snuck back into her mind, reminding her of

that familiar web-slinging superhero of the day. Mary Jane blinked as she

rounded the bend in the street, vaguely recalling a face disguised by his

red mask. She knew for sure that the face underneath was none other

than that of her greatest friend, her greatest love. She wasn't sure how

she knew exactly; it was a combination of things: the similarity between

the masked man's kiss and Peter's, the chemistry she felt pulsing

through her veins when she was near either of them, the suspicious way

that Peter might run off without warning moments before Spider-man

would appear to save the day. At first, it had not seemed plausible to

Mary Jane that Peter could be the superhero. After all, Peter had never

been anybody of great significance; he had always been quieter, out of

the limelight, shy. But he was kind, and thoughtful, and selfless, and that

was why she knew that Peter was Spider-man.

Mary Jane climbed up the stairs of her apartment building and came to her

door. After she had entered and set down her purse and coat over the

arm of a chair, Mary Jane retreated to her room and retrieved a pen and

some white, lavender-laced stationary. She sat down at the table, her

mind on the words she had to so meticulously choose. She had never

really written a love letter before, much less a life-altering one.

Mary Jane went through a few sheets of paper, trying to word her thoughts,

but expressing the flood of emotions she felt was very difficult. A small

pile of crumbled paper balls were scattered across the table, and she

nudged one helplessly with the edge of her pen, leaving a small blue

dot on the paper. She bit her lip; yes, the important thing was getting to

the POINT. Carefully, Mary Jane wrote her loving note and slipped it into

an envelope, then addressed it to Peter Parker's apartment and slipped it

in her mailbox.


Peter Parker had come to the conclusion that his life was slowly spiralling

downhill. First, Uncle Ben had died, which Peter blamed himself for; Aunt

May was nearly killed, as well as Mary Jane, until finally Spider-man had

conquered the culprit, leaving Harry a wretched, vengeful mess. And the

worst part was that for all he did, he received nothing in return. It wasn't

even fulfilling to save the city; rather, it was a penance. It was no fun to

swing through the urban jungle as if he were a modern-day Tarzan; it

was merely a painful duty. And Peter lived enclosed in a box, walking

around in a shell of himself, because he had lost the one woman he loved

to the hands of fate. To Peter, life was cruel and unusual punishment.


His hands were full of mail as he went up to his apartment. The

apartment haunted Peter now; it contained old memories of a dead

man, whom he had killed, of redheaded Mary Jane, whom he could not

have, of a best friend without a family. Peter fumbled for the keys

foolishly and stumbled in the door, about to drop the letters. A few

scattered to the floor, but he managed to drop a few of them strategically

on the nearest chair. He sighed, feeling as if he might curl up and die.

He bent over to snatch up a fallen envelope. "Bills!" he muttered to

himself. "It's always bills." A few more similar letters lay on the floor.

It was almost a comfort to see his name printed on them in dull,

black letters, as if he were a nobody. He reached down and paused

at the sight of a letter without a return address; from that, Peter knew

immediately that it was not from the bank. The handwriting on the

front was cursive, and his name and address were written in blue.

Who had sent him this?

His eyes studying the handwriting, Peter's legs carried him to a chair,

where he sat. He flipped the letter over and ripped at the seal. After

pulling out the paper inside and opening it, he saw that the message

was very brief. It read:

I love the man behind the mask.

- MJ

Peter's heart raced. The letter was from Mary Jane! And as he reread the

note once again, he realized that she knew his secret identity. He blinked

a few times before letting the letter fall from to his lap and burying his

face in his palms. How had she guessed? How had he slipped?

'If she knows, she knows,' Peter reminded himself, biting his lip. 'I can't

do a thing about it.' He reasoned with himself that she probably needed

for him to explain a few details; a part of Peter knew that one of those

details most likely dealt with their ill-destined love. Could he leave her

hanging? To at least try and reason with Mary Jane would be a favor, and

maybe it would right things.

'Nothing can right what I have lost,' Peter said to himself bitterly,

reaching to the phone on the stand next to him. Frantically, he dialed

her number. He recalled as her answering machine turned on that

she probably was working at the diner at that hour. He left a hurried

message: "Mary Jane, it's Peter. Could you ... come over to my place

tonight, please? I wanted to talk with you about ... something ... in

person. You could come at eight. Eight is a good time." He paused

nervously. "Bye." He clicked the phone off and sighed, nearly weeping.

His heart sang out mournfully with a voice edged in tears. Life was never



An hour later, Mary Jane checked her messages. She had been a wreck

since the previous day, when she had mailed her letter to Peter. A million

times she had second-guessed what she had done, but she knew that

it was irreversible. Worriedly, she let the one message play.

"Mary Jane, it's Peter. Could you ... come over to my place tonight,

please?" She gulped as she realized his voice was almost a plea; he

sounded upset, and her heart twisted to think she had caused him that

pain. She suddenly hated herself for what she had done. "I wanted to talk

with you about ... something ... in person," the message went on. She was

certain then that the letter was the reason for his distress. She let out a

pained sob in regret. "You could come at eight. Eight is a good time." There

was a pause in the message, a pause which Mary Jane's voice filled with a

cry of guilt. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have

been so impersonal, as if this were a game? "Bye," said the strained

voice right before the message ended.

'Not for long,' Mary Jane silently told Peter's message. 'I'll be there

soon.' She flew to her room to change from her uniform, yanking

on a red shirt and blue denim skirt in a hurry. Grabbing her coat and purse

on the way out, Mary Jane hoped that she could remedy this mess.


His digital clock had just turned to eight o'clock when the doorbell rang,

right on time. Peter rose from his seat, his chin set worriedly. It was

just him and Mary Jane now; Harry was at a friend's house for the night,

studying for an exam. There would be no interuptions, nothing to stop

whatever good or evil might pass.

Stiffly, Peter opened the door. Mary Jane, looking beautiful and yet very

frazzled. "Hi," she said, trying to sound casual. Her voice nearly cracked

with the effort of staying calm.

"Hi," he said in an equally soft voice. He laughed awkwardly. "Come on

in." She stepped in, a faint, distressed smile on her face. Peter closed

the door behind her and took her coat and purse over to a chair, setting

them there before returning to Mary Jane. She hadn't moved from just

inside the room.

"You can come in," he chuckled, trying to put her at ease, despite the fact

that his own heart was pounding faster than an out-of-control clock.

"No, it's okay," she said, flapping a hand at him. She met his eyes briefly,

guiltily, before looking to the floor again. "I haven't got to see you much.

I've missed you these past few days."

"Me, too," Peter replied, his eyes following hers to their shoes. Instinctively,

before his mind could warn him, Peter took a step towards her. Mary

Jane's eyes lifted to meet his as he looked up. Cautiously, Mary Jane

stepped closer to him, and he took her in his arms in a sweet hug,

his palms against the small of her back.

Mary Jane laid her head on his chest, exhaling shakily, eyes closed. Peter

buried his face in her hair, smelling their intoxicating scent, like strawberries

and cream. They relaxed in each other's grasp.

Mary Jane's eyes fluttered open to the buttons on his shirt. Every button but

the last was secured. In her mind, she knew that underneath that blue

shirt, the Spider-man suit was present. Her fingers wished to expose the

costume, though she was terrified of what Peter might do.

Her right hand hesitantly reached up to the highest of his buttons. Peter

watched Mary Jane, knowing immediately what she intended to do. His

heart raced to the point where he felt it might just pop, but he only looked

at her blankly when she glanced up at him for approval.

The top button came undone at her fingers. Mary Jane could spy red fabric

underneath. Three more came undone in a moment as she popped them out

of their holes. Her hand slightly parted the shirt so that she and Peter both

could see the exposed black spider over his heart at the center of a webbed


She had been right. Mary Jane met Peter's bright, tired eyes. "How did you

ever guess?" he asked curiously, his voice husky and soft. Mary Jane looked

down a little at the black spider again, then touched it with her free hand.

"A lot of things gave me hints," she told him, looking up at him again. "I

know you well enough to recognize that Spider-man acts just like you do.

You leave suddenly just moments before Spider-man appears, and you

don't return until after he's gone." She blushed slightly, diverting her eyes

for a second. "And when I kissed you in the graveyard, I realized. Kissing

you then was so similar to kissing Spider-man in the rain."

He smiled a little bit. "You're a genius," he told her.

She giggled a little and shook her head. "I haven't known for very long. And

I haven't told a soul - and I never will," she said seriously.

Peter brought a hand from her back. He lay on top of her hand on his chest,

his eyes meeting hers gratefully. "Thank you," he breathed. Mary Jane

smiled, nodding partway in relief and partway in response to him. She

moved a little bit closer to him, trying to be a source of comfort as best she


She felt a thunder under her hand. She blinked, suddenly realizing what the

feeling was. Under her hand, Mary Jane could feel his heart pounding,

trembling, as she moved against him. Her eyes fluttered and she met his


"Tell me the truth, Peter," she whispered. "Do you love me?" She almost

cringed to hear the answer, because she didn't want to press on the

subject more than she had to, but something inside of her tingled.

When she felt his heart beating under her palm so rapidly, that

sensation triggered a thought in her mind. Could Peter have been

holding back on her? And if not, why was his heart shuddering


His body stung. He stung all over at her words. Peter felt a tremor colder

than ice wash over him. He hated this. He hated everything that had

gone wrong for him in the past few months. He loathed the tortured

existence that now plagued him. Lying to Mary Jane, the person he

cared for most in the world, made it ten times worse. Could he tell

her the truth, and have a sliver of an anchor left, knowing that

at least she knew the truth? Could he explain to Mary Jane and hope

that she could try to understand?

Peter Parker was sick of holding in his secrets. Twelve years was

much too long to carry such a burden on his chest. She deserved to

know, even if his deepest dream could never become true.

Peter licked dry lips, lifting her hand with his own off of his chest. Mary

Jane gulped hard. He was going to reject her, push her off of him,

and she didn't think she could take the rejection. But, then, Peter

did something that she didn't expect.

He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing the top of it with a touch

so tender that Mary Jane gasped. His eyes fluttered closed as his lips

contacted her skin. "Yes," he replied in a sigh of a response. His breath

tickled her as he exhaled that one meaningful, timeless word. He

turned over her palm in his hand and kissed the lines there, lines

that symbolized her head, life, and heart.

"I love you," he told her, his eyes still closed as he drew her hand up his

cheek. Her thumb haphazardly trailed over his lips, making both of them

tremble involuntarily. His hand tightened on her own briefly before releasing

it and sliding down her arm, down her side, back to its former place on

her back.

Her brilliant eyes spilling over in joy, Mary Jane gasped, "Peter, I don't

understand then-"

"Listen, please," he said abruptly, cutting her off, his eyes springing open

to search her own. "Since I became Spider-man, life has been very,

very difficult. But it would be a thousand times worse if something

happened to you, Mary Jane." He sighed, feeling as if his the world

was about to shatter like glass. "If we were to be together, you would

always be the first target. Any enemies I ever have would try to attack

me, as Spider-man, through hurting you. I can't let that happen, Mary

Jane. I just can't put you in danger like that. Please, try to understand,

if you can."

Helpless, Mary Jane started to beg. "I don't care if I get hurt," she sobbed,

"I don't care if I die, as long as I can be together with you, Peter." Her hand

on his cheek shuddered violently with her upset, but she drew him closer to

her with it.

"But I care, Mary Jane. I know that it's your life, but I can't let you do this.

Your safety matters more to me," Peter answered. He choked on his

words as tears fell from his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Mary Jane's eyes fell to the floor. Now she understood, but she wished

that she didn't. She wished selfishly that he'd never become Spider-man.

She knew that she was being unfair, but everything else was being unfair

to her, too. Crystal droplets ran down her beautiful face, trickling from her

skin to plummet to the ground.

"So, is this how it has to be, Peter?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"You and I will remaining friends yet know our full potential? This is

going to hurt us, Peter, for the rest of our lives."

"I know," he said regretfully, his voice hoarse.

Her eyelashes lowered and then raised quickly. "Can we ... share one last

kiss, Peter?" she asked him, her voice low, as if it was drowning in sorrow.

He nodded immediately. Their eyes fell shut as Mary Jane brought Peter's

face down to hers, their lips meeting. Peter's arms closed around her waist

even more, drawing their torsos together. Mary Jane's hand lingered on

his cheek briefly before wrapping her other arm around his neck and

cradling the back of his head in her other hand. Their mouths mingled,

tasting each other; this third kiss dripped with tears.

She moaned deep in her throat with sorrow at this last kiss. Peter

smoothly broke their touch to look her in the eyes with longing.

"Don't do this to me, please, Peter!" she wailed, clutching him

as if she were a child and he were her favorite doll. "Please, Peter!

This hurts so much!" She buried her face in the spider web on

his chest, hating it for tearing her apart from the man she loved the


He surrounded her with his arms, rocking back and forth, silent.

Mary Jane cried in a muffled voice, "I can't live like this, Peter, wanting

you so much but not having you. I'd rather die a million deaths than

live like this. Please, Peter, don't do this!"

Peter's own cheeks were wet with his salty tears. "If you get hurt-" he

began, his voice shaky. The thought flashed through his mind. He saw

his uncle, dead on the sidewalk. He saw bloodied Aunt May, weary in

the hospital bed. He saw Mary Jane screaming, her mouth open, yet

soundless as she fell like a rock to concrete below.

She cut him off by looking at him with wet eyes, eyes that screamed out

love and passion. "I'm going to get hurt either way, aren't I, Peter? I will

ache forever, thinking of what we could have had, if we don't at least try.

And, yet, loving you will be just as dangerous." When he bit his trembling

lips, Mary Jane pulled herself against him even more, desperate. "Nothing

can hurt as bad as this right now, Peter. Nothing can hurt more than

holding you like this and knowing it might be the last time. Don't make

me suffer like this, without you, please!"

His entire self, mind and all, felt on the verge of cracking. Why was she

making this so hard? He should have guessed that she would not give up

on him; Peter knew Mary Jane was one to persist, but he had never realized

her raw vigor, her undying flame. "Mary Jane-" he started, trying to seal the


"No, don't talk! Please, Peter, I'm begging you," she pleaded. "You've

spent so much time fighting. Just surrender this once, Peter. We need

each other."

Peter was about to open his mouth to say something, but Mary Jane couldn't

bear the sound of him refusing her. She covered his mouth with her own,

invading his space with her tongue, passionately taking over his system.

Raking her hands through his hair, she sighed, praying in an awed way

to freeze time at that moment. "Peter," she sighed as they broke apart for

a moment, only long enough for him to come back onto her lips again.

Peter's eyes slowly opened as they mouths drifted apart slowly. "Please,"

she breathed, about to beg him once more. He covered her mouth with a

finger, shushing her. She quaked as if she was an earthquake, and she

felt the plates of her heart screeching against each other as her insides

twisted and pulled. Mary Jane felt fresh tears pour down her face. He

was going to push her away finally. And she knew that when he did,

she would collapse at his feet and rot away, starting from her black,

empty heart.

'I need her,' he reasoned with himself. 'And she needs me. Which is

crueler - to deny myself to her, or to put her in peril?' She was right;

he knew that no matter way they went, life wasn't simple anymore.

But with the hardships, Peter knew that there also came complex pleasures,

like kissing in the rain, and feeling free as he flew across the skyscrapers

for that first time, and knowing that you were more of a man than you had

ever expected. Without a struggle, none of those things would have ever

been possible.

The decision was a struggle for Peter. But something in him rebeled against

all those stupid reasonings. 'With great power, there must also come great

responsibilty,' his uncle's voice echoed. And, suddenly, that took on a whole

new meaning. Peter Parker had power over the heart of Mary Jane's power.

He could ignore that power - or he could relish it.

"Mary Jane, I love you," he professed suddenly as a flood of white,

pure emotions swarmed over him. "And I am yours. But you've got to

promise me one thing."

Swallowing hard, Mary Jane asked fearfully, "And what's that?"

"Don't let me forget a single moment, good or bad," he replied smoothly,

blue eyes afraid, breathing out in a relieved manner. "Please, don't ever

let me lose faith in what we've got. Keep me grounded, Mary Jane. I need


"Trust me," she said, kissing his lips gently, cupping his face with her

hands. And something inside of her released. A caged butterfly burst open

from within her, soaring its way up the sky on wings made of steel.

Their fingers laced together, and Peter led Mary Jane into the room

from out of the doorway. And, at last, it was like entering a new


Hey! This is my very first Spider-man fanfic, and it's based totally on the

wonderful, wonderful movie. I loved the MJ and Peter romance, so this

is basically one interpretation of how MJ confronts Peter about his

alter-ego. Pure romance, no real plot! Buh-bye!




Never Wake Up by Bluie

Chapter 1 – Peril Aside

Rated PG

She had decided that moping just wouldn't do. Moping didn't get anyone

anywhere except down in the dumps, and she certainly didn't want to be

there. In the past few days, she had been to hell and back, and she was

tired of it. She was going to have to stop herself from plummeting again.

Yes, Mary Jane had decided that action was the best way to remedy

her situation. After all, Spider-man always took action and never hesitated -

or so it seemed.

In fact, Spider-man hesitated a lot. Mary Jane knew. She knew when she

had seen the frightened, regretful, sorry look in Peter Parker's eyes a few

weeks ago that he looked before he leaped every single day, every


Mary Jane looked out of her window, seeing the darkness of the sky and

hearing the soft pitter-patter of rain. It brought back memories, memories

that were haunted, yet intoxicating, and always addictive, an unstoppable


She swooned slightly and fell onto her pillow, oblivious to the fact that she

had schoolwork to do for her college classes. It was hard for Mary Jane to

concentrate on things such as schoolwork when there was the distracting

memory of kissing Spider-man in the rain.

Well, she had to take that back. She had not kissed Spider-man in the

rain that night. She had peeled back, ever so slowly, that treasured

and yet hated mask. She had removed the identity of Spider-man from his

lips to leave her with Peter Parker's mouth on her own, a touch that made

her shiver to think of it. And Peter Parker had kissed her back - not Spider-man.

And that was the part that confused Mary Jane and frustrated her beyond all

reason. He had kissed her back. That alone made her want to scream and

throw her life away, because she could never have that kiss again.

Before the tears could come, Mary Jane blinked and reminded herself that

moping did no good. Moping would only lead to futile tears. Peter Parker

could hesitate, but she would not.


A key glinted in the light. A long time ago, Harry had given Mary Jane the key to the

apartment he shared with Peter Parker, but he had never asked for it back. That

was now to her advantage as she turned the key in the lock and swung the door

open to a moonlit room. The absence of lights told her that no one was home.

Mary Jane knew that Harry was staying for a few days at his late father's house as he

took care of the loose ends his father's death had caused. She hated to think such

thoughts, but that was convenient. She was going to use Harry's absence. Mary Jane

could hear sirens outside in the streets; somehow, she knew that Spider-man was

out and about. He always was.

So Mary Jane locked the door behind her and slipped across the room, watching

shadows fall from her form against the floor. She climbed the stairs, hearing them creak

slightly, and entered Peter's empty bedroom. The neon lights of the alarm clock were

dim against the shine of the moon and the city. And so she waited patiently, thinking, plotting

her attack.

Time to think was sometimes enjoyable, but, as she sat in wait for the superhero to

arrive, thinking was torture for Mary Jane. Briefly she checked her pulse; indeed her

heart was thundering like the hooves of mustangs on the hard soil of a desert plain.

Mary Jane knew she had reason to be nervous; she was about to do something very

bold, very important, very life-changing. If she succeeded, she would grant herself

eternal joy. If she failed - well, she didn't want to think about failure. Shaking, she

settled herself on the floor.

~~She kept seeing blackened visions in her mind of a bleak, dark future. In her

imagined, wretched state, she walked down a dank alley; dim streetlights

sparkled through the rain, making the droplets look like shattered glass

falling upon the city. She was alone, and she was cold, and she was afraid.

Mary Jane's nightmare form walked with a straight, emotionless face down the

alley, finding herself at a wall made of black bricks, splattered with blood.

Looking down in her nightmare, Mary Jane saw the limp form of Peter Parker

at her feet. His shirt was stained red, and his eyes were wide open, their

blueness the only bright color in the scene. He looked dead. Mary Jane

knelt down beside him and went to touch his arm mournfully, but, suddenly,

dead Peter shot up from his place, eye-to-eye with her. In her dream, she

screamed as his face inched close to hers. "I can't, Mary Jane," Peter

said with a voice that echoed as if they were in a cave. Those hated

words screeched in her mind like nails against a black board.~~ With that

final vision, Mary Jane awoke with a start, breathing heavily and sweating,

terrified. She had dreamt that scene before a handful of times, but

each time it was worse as the grisly emotion of fear took her over. She now

feared for his safety as Spider-man; she feared a future without him, a future

that was slow in coming but that was on its way.

Some time later, she heard a slight whisper as something touched ground. She smiled slightly

in the dark; Spider-man was back. She could hear him faintly rustling around in the main room,

where the window had been open, waiting for his return. Mary Jane heard him climb the stairs.


Spider-man swung through the city heights, his eyes searching for more trouble. He felt

no problems. He hoped even the thieves were asleep, since he was tired enough to fall

asleep in mid-swing. Sighing, he watched the city moving beneath him. People, as small

as ants, walked in lines across sidewalks as they made their way home. That was where

he needed to be - home. But even there, he was unable to find a refuge. Below him,

the streetlights shed light on the people. Their shadows laughed and danced and sang.

How long had it been since he had laughed?

Peter was a troubled man. It had all started - well, when had it started? Oh, yes. Now he

remembered. It had been going on since his birth. He could not remember a time when he

felt truly blissful, save when he was holding Mary Jane Watson. But even that thought

pained him now, because he would never have her. He never could have her, or she

would die. Damn, why did life have to hurt so much?

It was his punishment, wasn't it? After all, Peter had indirectly caused his uncle's death.

He had failed to protect his aunt. He was a murderer, of his best friend's father, nonetheless.

If those things did not deserve punishment, Peter didn't think anything did. He felt like

a failure.

The window was open to his empty apartment, as he had left it. He glided carefully into

the window in a red and blue blur. Peter headed for his bedroom, his tired eyes heavy

and not as attentive as usual.

She could dimly see his outline in the doorframe. She could tell from the sharp, chiseled,

precise edge of his body that he was in his costume, not in his ordinary clothes. That was

perfect; she had him right where she wanted him. But could he see her? She wound her hands

together nervously.

When he entered his bedroom, Peter Parker could immediately feel a presence. It was not

evil, and it didn't send him into crime-fighting mode; instead, he felt curious. His mind woke up

some, and his eyes reopened to their normal, active state. He searched the darkness,

his neck craned forward slightly, head tilted in a childlike manner. Stepping forward,

he said in a soft voice, "Who's there? I know someone's in here."

Mary Jane, her face bathed in the outside lights, stepped into the beam of light shining through

the window panes. "I've been waiting for you," she told him, her eyes focused on those she

could not see. The silver sheen over his eyes sparkled as the light from some distant

building hit them, sending light reflections over Mary Jane's face. She looked almost ghostly

due to her paleness, and, yet, to him, she was more beautiful than any other woman in the world.

Her creamy skin, framed by vibrant, gorgeous hair, radiated a peace that seemed so far

away. So much of him wanted to run to her, fall into her arms, kiss her until she lost her


"For me?" he asked, startled. Why would Mary Jane be waiting for Spider-man in Peter

Parker's apartment? He had a feeling about exactly why, but he didn't want to admit it. She

couldn't have possibly guessed, right?

"Yes," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest. "There's been something I've meaning to ask

you, you know." She took another step closer to the elusive Spider-man, the superhero form of

Peter Parker, the man she could not have. When he tilted his head for her to continue, she

forgot everything she'd been planning to say. Damn.

Mary Jane coughed a little, her eyes falling to the square patches of light on the floor. "It's funny,"

she said with a slight chuckle. "It's like when you're looking for something, like perhaps a dollar

bill, for a long time. And then, suddenly, you figure out that it's been in your pocket the whole

time, and you didn't know it."

"What do you mean?" the masked man asked her, coming closer, leaning towards her a little,

as if he hardly could hear her.

"I figured out something that no one else in the world knows. I'd been wondering and wondering

for a very long time, but I suddenly just realized the answer to my question, and I didn't have to

look very far at all," Mary Jane explained.

Peter Parker gulped behind the mask. "What does that have to do with me?" He already knew the

answer. He had to deny, deny, deny until he went crazy from the torture of the lie.

"Perhaps you could tell me, Peter," she whispered, looking up into the mirrors of his costume's

eyes. A part in her pleaded for him to yank off his mask. She wanted to see his blue eyes, not

her own silver reflection.

Peter stumbled back. "I am not Peter Parker," he told her sternly, his pulse quivering. How had

she guessed? And what was she going to do next? Mary Jane had suddenly become a predator;

Peter was usually the victor, but he would have to submit to a higher being that night.

"No, you're Spider-man," she said. Covering the space between them in a few short steps,

Mary Jane inhaled and drew up her courage. She was close to him, their forms covered in

white light, making them shine. Slowly but surely, Mary Jane peeled the mask away from

his face, leaving Peter standing there, exposed and weak.

"YOU are Peter Parker," she told him, breathless to see him watching her with awed crystal eyes.

She threw the mask onto his bed, suddenly hating it for coming between her and Peter Parker.

"How did you know?" he asked her quietly, his voice lacking emotion. He was shocked, dumb-

founded, and impossibly afraid. How could such a woman have such an effect over him? He had

been stronger, more powerful than her, numerous times. The tables were turned. He felt as if he

were melting into a puddle.

"I kissed you twice, Peter, but one time, you were wearing a mask. Piecing the puzzle together

was easier thanks to that," Mary Jane explained, blushing slightly and looking haphazardly at the

spider over his heart on his costume.

Peter briefly followed her gaze before meeting her eyes. "What next?" he asked her, his voice

a mere hushed breath.

"I want to know something, Peter," she said, getting to the point quickly. "But I had to be sure

that it was really you behind that suit. That mask, this superhero in you, has something to do

with us, doesn't it?" It had all made sense, really. After all, she knew that the both of them were

passionately in love with each other. Was this the barrier?

"'Us'?" he asked.

"Us," she repeated, quickly reaching over to grab the mask from the bed. She held it in front of

him. "This mask has become a wall between us, hasn't it? Something about it - I don't know

what! - is stopping us from being together, isn't it?"

"Friends -" he breathed airily.

Mary Jane's hands wound around his neck, and she pulled herself against him. His voice cut off

as he inhaled sharply with shock. His lips parted softly as he listened to her speak. "Tell me,

Peter, if this doesn't make you feel something," she said in something between a beg and a sob.

With that she brought her lips onto his own, her eyes fluttering shut.

Something in Peter snapped, and he lost all self-control. His hands came from his sides to her

own, running down them to latch onto her hips as he crushed her against him. He feared that

without his gloves, he might have burned her, because he felt so fiery all over, as if he'd been

thrown into a fireplace. Unable to contain himself, Peter devoured her mouth with his own, tasting

her familiar lips.

When they broke abruptly, Mary Jane was almost in tears. "Friends don't kiss friends like that,

Peter, and you know it," she said in an almost warning voice. Peter, out of breath, was at a loss

for words. How could he explain? How could he ever keep her safe?

"Say something," she whispered fiercely, her teeth gritted. "Don't just look at me, Peter. I can't

stand this anymore. I can't stand not knowing." Mary Jane's voice was practically angry, but

mostly, she was frustrated that she couldn't get through to him.

Unable to think of a reply, Peter leaned down and kissed her again hungrily, his hands

coursing up her back. She swallowed her words and buried her hands in his freed hair,

tears running down her face. She couldn't let this go, let him go. She would die without his

love; she would wilt like a sunless flower, her roots dried up.

Peter broke their contact briefly only to take her head in his hands and bring his lips to her

forehead. Swallowing a knot in his throat, he breathed, "I love you, Mary Jane." She could

hardly hear it, as if he had thought it more than said it, but that was enough. Her eyes

fluttered closed in ecstasy as more tears streamed over her light-touched cheeks. She

sobbed in her joy, feeling as if someone had opened the gates of heaven to her pearly,

angelic form. And then his next words broke her heart: "But I can't."

She jerked away from him, feeling cold. "Tell me," she hissed, not bothering to wipe her

eyes. "Tell me why we can't be together." She turned away from him to face the ugly,

blank wall, feeling as though she wouldn't even care if she died right then. It would have

been less painful.

"My life is perilous," he breathed, biting wet lips. "Yours will be, too, if we're together. Don't

you see, Mary Jane? You'll be putting yourself in danger. Anyone who ever finds out my

identity will go after you first to get back at me! I can't let that happen. I can't put you at

risk, Mary Jane. Oh, Mary Jane, this hurts so much, but it would hurt even more if you got

hurt." His brilliant eyes lowered to the floor in sadness as he lay his naked heart before her.

He felt as if he were wasting away.

Mary Jane turned around, her eyes troubled. "Peter," she cooed, "that's a risk I'm willing to take."

Her bright eyes, shimmering with her loss, met his.

"It's not worth it!" Peter protested, desperately wanting her with all his soul. "I'm not worth it,

Mary Jane." He took a step towards her and tripped to his knees. Mary Jane rushed to his aid,

giving him her hand so that he could stand. He took it, but he did not stand up. Weaker than

a newborn kitten, Peter remained on his knees, looking up into her gorgeous eyes. Going on,

Peter said, "I can't be everything you want. I'm just an ordinary guy, stuck in this clown suit,

clumsy and unable to do my job right."

"That's not true," she said with a shake of her head, tightening her grasp on his hand.

"Yes, it is. I always let people down, including you. My uncle was murdered, Mary Jane, but

what if I had caught the killer before he did the deed? What if I had stopped him? But I didn't,

Mary Jane. And Aunt May nearly died at the hands of the Green Goblin. So did you. I should

have stopped that before it even happened, but I failed you."

"Don't say that! You aren't a failure, Peter," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Peter seemed to ignore her, lost in his own self-disgust. He leaned forward to lay his head on

her stomach, resting there, his eyes closed. "I love you, Mary Jane, but you're too good for

me; you could have somebody else - anybody else, Mary Jane - and they would do you

more service than I ever could. I'll only bring you trouble, and I'm sure someone else

could bring you happiness. Please, Mary Jane, save yourself. I'm not worth it." Mary Jane

couldn't see his face, but she could almost feel the raw agony that those words caused him.

His hands rested on her hips, clutching her with all his heart.

Mary Jane craddled his head in her arms, rocking him slightly. She shook her head, crying.

"That's where you're wrong, Peter, because you're worth it. Nobody else could ever

give me so much joy, so much pleasure, so much contentment. You are so much to me,

more than anything measurable, and I can't ever give you up. You're brave, selfless, and the

kindest person I know. You're perfect, Peter. I don't want anyone but you. I -

I would rather die than spend my life living without you. Please, Peter." She drew closer to

him. "Peter, I can't live without you. Don't make me live an empty life alone."

He shut his eyes harder, tears falling from them, as he raised his face to the ceiling. "Do I deserve

you?" he exhaled, crying. "All my life, I felt like I always got the short end of the deal. Now, this

feels like a dream that I just might wake up from at any minute." Mary Jane's knees gave out

and she collapsed to the floor, making her at Peter's eye level.

"Don't talk, Peter," she breathed, her heart racing again. "Just kiss me, and you'll never have to

wake up." Peter instantly responded, looking down on Mary Jane, his eyes searching her own.

His lips came down onto her own for the third time that night, and his arms tightened around

her waist in a gesture that showed he'd never let go. He picked her up a little as they stumbled

to their feet, lost in one another.

Kissing each other fiercely, they slowly backed up to his bed, where Peter dipped Mary

Jane onto her back, depositing her on it. Sighing in exhilaration, the sheer rush and joy of

their reunion tracing through her body, Mary Jane drew her love down with her.

Swiftly, Peter broke their kiss. "Stay here, Mary Jane. Don't leave me here alone tonight," he

whispered in a plea into her ear, a contented smile tugging at his lips.

"I wouldn't dare," she replied. He swooned slightly and then got up, telling her he'd be right back.

She lay on her back, feeling the shine of the city lights playing across her face, purring to herself

as she waited. In a moment, Peter walked back into the light, out of his other outfit and wearing

dark shorts; their color was indescribable in the night, and it didn't matter, anyway. He tossed her

a light shirt and some of his shorts. "You can sleep in these," he offered. "I'll turn around so you

can change." And he did just that as Mary Jane slipped into clothes that smelled just like him,

though she could have cared less if he had seen her changing.

While his back was still turned, Mary Jane touched his shoulders with her hands and kissed him

on the neck. "Join me," she whispered huskily, drawing him backwards. He obliged her, letting

her pull him onto his back. Peter closed his eyes as she kissed him passionately, making his

lashes flutter. Mary Jane then covered them both with the quilt and the sheet and snuggled up

against his chest, kissing his lips softly once again.

His eyes still closed as she caressed him, Peter said softly, "Mary Jane, I love you." His gaze

found her face. Her eyes opened wide and she stopped to look him straight in the eyes, her lips

slightly opened. His hand found her own, and their fingers laced together, tightening.

"I love you, Peter," she told him, unable to sum up all she felt into a few simple words. It was

better to say things with a kiss, anyway.

"Never Wake Up" by Blu Wynd Faerie

Chapter 2 - Breathe You In

Sunbeams fell across her face, rousing her. Sleepy, Mary Jane did not even look for

a clock. She didn't care. All that she knew was that she was warm, wound in soft

sheets and a quilt, and that the sun was all over her, washing over her creamy skin

in rivers. Mary Jane had never felt so at home in her entire life, so content, so glad

to be alive, inhaling and exhaling, her heart pumping.

Hello, I've waited here for you, everlong

Mary Jane snuggled up to the person next to her. And, suddenly, that thought sank

in - she was sleeping next to someone. Her eyes fluttered open to see Peter Parker

snoozing like a sweet, sugary baby next to her. Flashes of memories came back to

her: Peter Parker on his knees, crying into her stomach; a red mask crumbled on the

floor; the shirt that she wore that had the smell of boys and perfection and an eternity

so near she could touch it, taste it, sing of it. Sighing, she lay her head on his

chest in a possessive way.

Tonight, I throw myself into and out of the red, out of her head she sang

Red. She saw the red and blue costume peeking out of a drawer, far away from her,

where she wanted it. Mary Jane liked Peter when he was raw and fresh and alone with her,

maskless. She liked just lying next to him, watching his chest rise and fall in that

familiar way, his hair slightly mussed. She smiled faintly, her slits of eyes tracing the

lines and curves of his face and following the faint rustle underneath his eyelids.

Come down and waste away with me, down with me

Slow, how you wanted it to be,

I'm over my head, out of her head she sang

As if on a cue, Peter's eyes opened slightly to see Mary Jane gazing at him. Gasping

a little, he thought he'd never seen her looking so lovely. Her hair, framed by a golden

glint of sunshine, flowed over her shoulders, cascading in a red pool over the white

pillow. A smile tugged her lips. Her eyes glistened with a devotion that inspired him,

yanked at the inner chords of his heart, strummed a beautiful guitar song. Peter

could hardly keep from opening his mouth to talk and talk and try to explain everything

he felt until he ran out of words and could only kiss her until the world melted away,

leaving only puddles of silk in their wake.

That was all he needed, to wake up and see her face. The sky could fall on him,

and the earth could shake up his world until he couldn't tell the parts from each other,

but if he was still holding Mary Jane's hand, then it would all be alright. Painful, slow,

vexing - all things seemed to come this way, but could her hand reverse the cycle?

Challenges paved the roads, and outlets were in sight, but he would pass them by this

time, and every time.

Falling together, and playing violins together as Rome burned down, and hearing the

roar of thousands of waves falling upon waves and upon themselves, they knew

half of the future, saw it was dark and bleary at intervals. But Mary Jane

and Peter were destined.

And I wonder when I sing along with you if everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again

Nothing is more precious than waking up and seeing the eyes of the most important

person in your world lingering on you. Peter knew, because the pieces of every

puzzle, every problem, every mystery seemed to slide into place as Mary Jane flashed

him that star-like grin. She was pretty as porcelain, and far more valuable.

"Good morning," he whispered. He leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. "I hadn't

expected to wake up to the face of an angel this morning." She blushed and glowed

at the praise, cuddling up to him more.

"You're too kind," she breathed into his chest. She traced his collarbone with her

finger, feeling bone, sinew, atoms and cells tingling underneath her skin. "Peter, this feels so

right." She kissed the small V at the base of his neck. "Just lying here as the sun brims

over the horizon, and being here with you- it's perfect, and that's all there is to it."

The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when, she sang

"I know," Peter answered, holding her close. "And, Mary Jane?"


"Don't let me forget, no matter what happens. If something comes up, and I lose

myself in the middle of it all, don't let me forget that this is what it's all about - waking

up to see you here, and holding you, and never wanting to let you go, and not caring

about anything but this," Peter pleaded. He stroked her hair absentmindedly, hardly

believing that he was real and breathing, alive and ticking, free and loving at last.

"Don't let me be swept away, because you're all I want, right now, always and forever.

No matter what, this moment right now is undying."

Breathe out, so I can breathe you in, hold you in

"I don't think you will forget," Mary Jane told him, rubbing his arm with her hand. "Right now,

I know that this is embedded in me, a part of me. You're a piece of this puzzle, a chapter

in my story, starting now, extending into time." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Come on,

Peter. Smile that gorgeous smile at me, and don't look so lost. What are you staring at?" His eyes

were fading as he started far away, past buildings and streets and names and time.

And now, I know you've always been out of your head, out of my head, I sang

And I wonder when I sing along with you if everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again

Her lips touching his face stirred the life in him. "I was thinking," he said softly. "I was

thinking that in a million years, when we're all dancing along the stars and looking back,

we'll remember that this is how it all started. And we'll know everything that's about to

come. Let's find out, shall we?" Peter seized her lips in his own briefly and then whispered

in her ear, "I see this huge road in front of us, stretching along. There's so much potential,

Mary Jane. I see a myriad expanse of futures on the horizon, and I want to end up at the base

of that mountain. It's not going to end, love."

The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when, she sang

"Everlong," Mary Jane sighed, pressing her cheek to the skin of his chest. "Forever. Aren't

those beautiful words, Peter? Just beautiful, like you." She took his hand and held it tightly,

kissing the fingertips, each his identity and memory, his life-beating, never stopping.

And I wonder if everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again

The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when

Over the peaks of the city, the red melon of a sun sprang to life, and the hustle and

bustle's roar rose up from the streets. And as the blue sky snuck in and overpowered

the orange and yellow hues, it echoed in the eyes of Peter and Mary Jane - the soulmates,

free birds, eternal stardust, and each other's breath of life.
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