Archive of Our Own

1. Argument with Aunt May

          The first time and only time he brings Michelle coffee, it’s a dreary Monday morning. She’s sitting alone in a classroom, stacking flashcards neatly and wrapping rubber bands around them. He stands for a moment in the doorway, content to just watch her work for a bit. ( Like a total creeper , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Ned’s says. He tells the voice to shut up before walking inside, making his footsteps slightly louder on purpose. He knows Michelle doesn’t like to be surprised.)

She glances up, a strand of hair falling out of her haphazard ponytail and resting on the curve of her brow. The moment she realizes it’s him, she gives him a glare that could rival Aunt May’s.

“Parker. You missed decathlon practice. Again.” Peter winces at the frostiness in her tone. Just because he maybe has a tiny crush on her doesn’t mean he also can’t be afraid of her.

“I, um…..I had to….water Mr. Stark’s plants. They’re very high maintenance and it’s a really important part of my internship; if I let the plants die, he’d be devastated and I just really don’t want---”

Michelle raises an eyebrow. “Whatever, loser. Just don’t do it again. Your three strikes for this week’s missed practices are almost up. Don’t think I haven’t been keeping track,” she says before grabbing the styrofoam cup out of his hands and taking a huge swig.

She wipes the back of her hand over her mouth and smirks at Peter over the rim of the cup before asking, “So, what’s the bribe for?”

Peter splutters for a moment, amazed that she’s caught on so quickly. But then, this is Michelle. She’d told him that she figured out he was Spider Man the day after the whole Vulture incident without even batting an eyelash.

He sighs, shrugging and taking the seat across from her. “I got into a fight with Aunt May and now she thinks I have a girlfriend, but obviously I don’t actually have a girlfriend so could you pretty please be my pretend girlfriend?” By the end of his sentence, he’s pretty sure his face is bright red and that his palms are sweating. It’s a little pathetic, but he can't help it; he always seems to be at his peak pathetic-ness when he’s around her.

Michelle, thankfully, takes pity on him and doesn’t laugh in his face. She just hums noncommittally and purses her lips. It shouldn’t look cute, but somehow she manages it.

“What’s in it for me? If I have to be forced to spend more time than I need to with you, I’m gonna need an incentive.”

Peter grabs his chest in mock offense. “Hey! I’ll have you know, I’ve been told I’m scintillating company.”

The corner of Michelle’s mouth quirks up, and Peter finally knows what people mean when they say their heart skips a beat because wow, he put that smile on her face.

“Although I’m impressed that you’ve actually been studying my english flashcards, I know you can do better than that. Ugh, god, put those puppy eyes away, you look like I just threw everything you’ve ever loved in a fire. Fine, I guess I’ll help you out. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to watch you make a fool out of yourself.”

At that, Peter lets the mopey look fall off his face (he’s learned that Tony and Happy are just as susceptible to his sad, pleading puppy eyes as everyone else) and rolls his eyes.

“You get to watch me do that every day anyways.”

“I know, spidey. Just wanted you to confirm it.”

Peter fidgets in his seat, twisting his new Starkphone over and over again in his hands. Tony had taken one look at his old iPhone 5 and actually gasped before practically shoving the Starkphone into his hands and refusing to accept any payment for it.

“So...I’ll text you when to come over and stuff?”

“Sure,” Michelle says, shoving all her papers into her tiny satchel and standing up. He absentmindedly wonders how she manages to fit all her books as well as her homework into that bag--because really, he needs a better way of stashing his stuff when he’s in the Spidey suit; he’s lost too many good backpacks--and then decides it’s probably better not to ask. Even if she did have some mysterious, secret way to do it, she’d never tell him.

They walk out of the classroom together in a comfortable silence. Peter thinks that if he stepped just a bit closer, their hands would brush together at every step and then immediately wants to smack himself because he’s NOT the protagonist in a cheesy romance novel. He is, however, clumsy (even after The Bite), and he almost face plants into a wall of lockers before Michelle grabs the hood of his sweatshirt and yanks him back.

“If we’re going to be doing this, call me MJ. You’ve earned it,” she says grudgingly. “Oh, and next time you want to bribe me to do something, just remember I prefer tea, okay, babe?” Michelle seems to channel every bit of saccharine sweetness she can muster into that last word, giving Peter a bright smile before striding out of the school.

Peter tries to think of the last time MJ ever smiled like that directed towards him. ( Never, his brain helpfully provides.) So in his own defense, it wasn’t his fault that he was kind of distracted by it on the way home, okay?

If anyone (aka Tony) asks, the incident with the nice man at the churro cart never happened.

----------

He’s sitting on a rooftop in his suit, shivering a little in the cold December air (despite the heater Karen’s helpfully turned on for him), when he finally texts MJ.

Peter: hey

Peter: so does tonight at 7 work for you for the dinner thing

MJ: Some more of a notice would have been nice, but, yeah, that works for me.

MJ: Should I bring food?

Peter: nah

Peter: my aunt’s gonna order chinese, is that ok with u?

MJ: Oh my god

MJ: Please don’t tell me that you’re one of those people.

Peter: what do you mean by those people

MJ: Those people that switch between using u and you! Honestly, what’s the point? Just stick to one and be done.

Peter: idk sometimes i forget

Peter: we can’t all have perfect grammar like u

MJ: And don’t you ever forget it. *sunglasses emoji*

He’s smiling by the end of the conversation. They’d never really texted before; it was always her texting him and him being too wrapped up in Liz to notice. It’d gotten so bad that she’d just started calling him instead, the calls more likely than not going to voicemail (he still listens to the voicemails, sometimes, on nights he can’t sleep).

Peter sighs, checking the time. It’s only 5:30, but Queens is unusually quiet--in the crime sense, of course. He doesn’t think anyone’s gonna try to kill someone or take over the world tonight (and if they do, FRIDAY can alert him, thanks to Tony), so he heads home.

----------

Aunt May’s looking at him funny. To be fair, he’s pacing like a madman and making sure that all the food on the kitchen table is lined up just so, but that doesn’t mean she can give him that infuriatingly smug look.

“Peter, chill,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be here soon, it’s only 8:05 pm, don’t worry.”

Peter opens his mouth to retort that MJ is never late, and that’s why he’s worried, but just as he does so, their doorbell rings.

Aunt May raises an eyebrow at him as if to say See? before getting up to answer the door. Peter trails behind her, hoping that everything tonight goes well. When it comes to Peter’s friends, he’s learned that Aunt May’s very wary of who she lets around him (especially since she found out about Liz’s dad). He hopes MJ doesn’t fuck anything up by accidently saying the wrong thing, then remembers that MJ could outdo anything he says or does in her sleep.

She swings open the door, and of course it’s MJ, smiling a little and holding a plate of what seems to be brownies. She’s wearing a denim jacket and leggings, her usual black Doc Martens planted firmly on their doorstep. Her hair, which is loose for once, has snowflakes in it. When she catches him looking at them, she smiles a little wider.

“First snow of the year,” she says, using one hand to sweep some hair out of her face. Aunt May grins at her, taking the plate of brownies.

“Michelle, sweetie, you didn’t have to bring anything! But thank you so much. I know Peter’s gonna scarf these down in a week, just watch,” his aunt says, seemingly already smitten with her. “Come in, it’s freezing out there.”

“Call me MJ, Mrs. Parker. All my friends do.”

“Then you can call me May.”

Peter leads the chatting ladies into the living room. He relaxes as they sit down at the table; there’s just something simultaneously terrifying and soothing about MJ and the way she fits in so seamlessly into his daily life..

“So, MJ,” Aunt May says over her carton of chicken fried rice. “How’s school going for you? Done anything interesting lately? Peter tells me you’re captain of the academic decathlon team. That’s awesome.”

MJ actually blushes a little. “Thanks, May. Um, school’s pretty good, I guess? I mean, my classes are good so far--kinda boring though--and leading the acadec team is amazing. It’s a learning experience,” she says in a rush, reaching for another dumpling. “As for doing something interesting, it isn’t really school related, but I’ve been to a couple protests like the Women’s March, March for Science, Black Lives Matter, stuff like that.”

Aunt May’s looking over at Peter, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows again (MJ’s oblivious, chewing on her dumpling and checking out the apartment) before engaging MJ in a conversation about politics today and how she wished she could have gone to some of the protests. She seems so pleased at Peter’s choice of a girlfriend that he can’t help but feel like a terrible nephew. Only a few more hours to go, he tells himself, and then Aunt May will probably just let it go.

----------

It isn’t until 11 pm that MJ finally says her goodbyes and leaves their house (promising that yes, she had a ride waiting just outside and no, she didn’t need one from them). Aunt May stands on the doorstep for a while afterwards, just watching them leave. When she turns around, her eyes are wet.

“Oh, Peter, I’m so proud of you! I don’t know what you did to find her, but you better not let that girl go,” she says, pulling him in for a tight hug.

He inhales the comforting scent of her perfume, hugging her back just as tightly.

“I definitely won’t, Aunt May,” he says. He frowns a little. “I don’t know why that came out so creepy, but you know what I mean!”

She just laughs at him. “Sure, Mr. Serial Killer. It’s your turn to do the laundry this week, by the way, stalking innocent girls won’t get you out of it!”

He tosses a laundry detergent pod at her. It hits her right in the face, and he isn’t even sorry about it. (Ok, maybe he’s a little sorry about it.)

2. Prom Date

          “Oh my god, Ned, what do I do,” Peter whined as he held down Ned’s feet. They were in gym class, and it was fitness testing day (and even though he could easily break all of the current school records, he figured it was best not to draw too much attention to himself and act like he was just another average kid).

Ned did one more sit up before groaning and flopping back down to the floor. “Dude, I don’t know. She’s too hard to read. Also, you’re kinda crushing my feet. Can you ease up a bit?”

“Oh god, sorry, I’m just so nervous about asking her to prom. What if she laughs in my face? Or just straight up says no?” Peter hides his face in his hands, releasing his grip on Ned’s feet. He knows that hypothetically, these are the worst case scenarios, but with someone like MJ, it’s probably best to be prepared.

Ned frowns. “Michelle’s kinda mean, but I don’t think she would do something like that. Or at least, something like that in front of everyone.”

“Hey,” Peter protests. “The meanness is part of her charm.”

As if she can hear them from all the way across the gym, MJ lifts her head from the thick book she’s been engrossed in for the past twenty minutes. She narrows her eyes at the two of them, mouths I’m watching you , and resumes reading her book (pointedly ignoring the resigned look Coach Wilson is giving her).

Ned just shakes his head in resignation. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but she’s good for you. She keeps you in check when May and Mr. Stark can’t.”

“I want to argue with you, but you’re actually right.”

“Guy in the chair, remember? I’m always right. Listen, if you want my honest advice, I say just go for it and ask her. I mean, you’re the one who lied to May and told her MJ was your girlfriend in the first place, so you’re also responsible if you end up making her sad,” Ned states matter-of-factly. He stands up and manhandles Peter into the sit up position, holding his legs down firmly. “Luckily, I won’t be responsible for that, so I get to eat the inevitable cupcakes that she’ll make when she ends up sad-baking. Your aunt may be a bad cook, but damn, she can bake. Except for that walnut date loaf; that stuff’s nasty.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed that you’ve put so much thought into when you’ll be able to eat my aunt’s cupcakes or irritated that you basically only want to eat my aunt’s cupcakes.”

“Peter, you’re acting like Michelle doesn’t even like you. You guys are friends, right? If she says no, just say it’ll be only as friends.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter grumbles as he does his 50th situp. “You’ve already asked Betty and she’s said yes.” In reality, though, he’s pretty proud of Ned. He’d been crushing on Betty for years, and everyone knew she liked Ned back (except for Ned himself), so it was nice to see them get their shit together.

At that, Ned smirks. “Not my fault I can get all the ladies. Now hurry up and do 20 more sit ups, I’m sick of Flash always doing the most!”

---------

Later that day, Peter’s making a quick stop at his locker before AP Chem (he gets hungry pretty often, okay, it’s his metabolism’s fault, so he has 2 boxes of energy bars and a variety of chip bags crammed into the top shelf of his locker for eating whenever he gets the chance) when someone pinches the back of his neck.

He jumps about 3 feet in the air and whirls around to find Michelle standing next to him, holding an armful of textbooks and casually leaning against the lockers. He doesn’t scream (no matter what MJ claims later), but he does let out an undignified yelp. She gives him that funny smirk again, the one that seems to say ‘you’re dumb, but you amuse me anyways’. It’s also the one that never fails to get his heart racing.

Come on, man, ask her already, urges the voice that definitely ISN’T Ned’s. Now’s your chance .

“So, uh, listen….I kinda have a question to ask you?” he says hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, you’ve probably already been asked this question before, so, like, I don’t even know why I’m bothering; you’re really cool and, um--”

“Peter,” MJ interrupts him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Just spit it out.”

He cringes, swallowing hard before blurting, “Aunt May still thinks you’re my girlfriend and I wanted a date to prom so I was hoping maybe you’d go to prom with me?”

MJ just stares at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter. Like, actually doubled over giggling. Oh god, it’s even worse than he thought; she definitely does not see him the same way he sees her and now he won’t even be able to look her in the eyes; how did he let Ned talk him into this, he’s such an idiot for even thinking he had a chance--

MJ snaps him out of it. Literally. Even in his haze of embarrassment, he notices that her nails are, inexplicably, painted a vibrant shade of pink.

“Yo, weirdo, you spaced out for a second there,” MJ says, giving him a contemplating look. She has an eyebrow raised and half her mouth turned upwards as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He knows he tends to display all his emotions on his face--it's why he’s a terrible liar--but she’s always seemed to be able to read him in about 2 seconds (she's almost as good at it as Aunt May, but Aunt May, of course, has the experience of having dealt with his bad lies for 11 years).

“Anyways, I just wanted to say that you saved me from having to be awkward and ask you the same question. I may or may not have Peter’ed things up and told my parents that I had a date to prom to get them off my back, and now I guess I do. So, uh, thanks.” MJ is actually …fidgeting? Her cheeks are slightly more pink than they were a minute ago, and he’s not sure if it’s caused by the horrible air conditioning system in their school or by him, but either way, he vows to make it happen again, because it’s a good look on her.

Wait a minute. “Did you ….. did you just turn my name into a verb? When did that become a thing?” he demands, sounding so scandalized that MJ can’t help but start laughing again.

“My dress is silver, so make sure to wear something that matches. I’ll text you pictures; show them to your aunt because she’s awesome and you're probably hopeless with that kind of stuff,” she says. The minute bell rings, and MJ shoves the stack of books into his arms. “Here, take these, I’ve been holding them all day and my arms need a break. Let’s go, spider boy, we’re gonna be late for chem. I hear we’re doing titrations today and I can’t wait to see people Peter theirs up.”

“Hey! I’m a good chemist, okay, Ms. Warren says I had the highest score on the final last semester,” Peter calls as he traipses after her. To her credit, she doesn't even refute it, just pretends like she didn't hear him and walks even faster. “MJ, wait up!”

----------

“So,” Happy says, glancing up into the rearview mirror and meeting Peter’s eyes. “I hear your date’s a real looker.”

“Oh my god, is that what Tony said to you? How does he even...never mind. Aunt May probably told him. They always gossip about me,” Peter mutters petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest and then quickly uncrossing them, because he’d rather not have MJ tease him about wrinkles in his suit.

Happy smiles at him. He’s been a lot more friendly towards Peter lately for some reason, and Peter’s decided that he’d rather just enjoy it and not question anything. He’s learned lately that it really sucks when the adults in his life are mad at him.

“I guess I’ll find out soon, anyways, because we’re at her house,” Happy parks the car and gives him an expectant look, tossing him the keys and motioning towards the door. “I’m under strict instructions to leave you guys alone for the rest of the night and that I’m only to pick up the car tomorrow morning. Go get her, tiger.”

“Thanks, Happy! You’re the best; tell Tony I said thanks and that I owe him!” Peter scrambles to get out of the car, clutching the box that contains MJ’s corsage so tightly that its hinges are beginning to creak ominously. (Super strength is usually a cool power, but there are times that it kind of sucks. This is one of those times, and Peter’s worried that the flimsy plastic won’t stand a chance against his nerves.)

The house is humongous and beautiful, not that he expected it to be anything less; MJ does, after all, go to an extremely elite, expensive private school and she's not a scholarship kid like him. He brushes some lint off his rented navy blue tux, stalling for a moment and quietly freaking out that he’s actually doing this. He’s actually taking the girl of his dreams to prom. It’s times like this that he thinks Uncle Ben would have been proud of him.

He reaches up to knock on the door, but before his knuckles even make contact with the mahogany wood, the door swings open to reveal someone who looks nothing at all like the MJ he knows, but somehow seems to be her anyways.

“We have cameras,” MJ says in lieu of a greeting, pointing above Peter’s head.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, floor length silver dress. Her usually messy hair has been tamed, the top part flat and sleek while the ends taper off into thick curls. She doesn't have a lot of makeup on (at least, from what he can tell), but whatever she does have on highlights all her best features so that it's not just Peter who’s going to notice how pretty she’s always been. He stands there for a moment just looking at her, and he's probably got literal hearts in his eyes from the way someone behind him (read: Happy) is snickering into their palms.

“You look amazing,” Peter blurts out, running a hand through his hair and ducking his head.

MJ smiles, looking irrationally pleased. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself. Come on in.”

As he follows her inside, he notices that instead of being only a few inches taller than him, MJ is now at least a full head taller. He quickly glances down at her feet to confirm that yes, she has strappy silver heels on and no, he hasn't shrunk a few inches overnight. (Weirder things have happened to him. He won't rule out any possibilities yet.)

The house is oddly silent, save for some faint noises coming from upstairs. When he mentions this to MJ, her face hardens for a moment before returning to normal.

“My parents, surprise surprise, ended up not being able to make it home tonight. They’re both out of town this weekend on different business trips. My older sister, however, is here with her boyfriend, and they’re probably having sex right now so I’d rather not interrupt them,” she says dryly, gesturing for Peter to sit down on a white leather couch before plopping down next to him.

They sit for a minute in awkward silence, MJ straightening out the wrinkles in her dress while Peter discreetly scans her house. (He really, really doesn’t want a repeat of what happened with Liz, so he figures it’s best to try and check if her parents happen to be supervillains before he meets them in person this time.) It’s MJ who finally breaks the silence.

“Is that for me?” she asks, pointing to the corsage.

Peter nods hesitantly, wondering if he wasn’t supposed to. The internet--as well as Aunt May--had insisted he buy one because it was polite, so....

“You really shouldn't have,” she says dryly. “Corsages haven't really been popular since the 1950s and are a huge waste of flowers that bees need to survive and in turn, allow us to survive. But since I knew you’d go and do something dumb like this, I talked to May and got the matching boutonniere. You’re welcome.”

Peter thinks he might be a little bit in love with her.

She gets up, disappearing around the corner and up the stairs into what he presumes is her room. When she returns, she’s holding a boutonniere that, of course, matches her corsage perfectly.

She raises an eyebrow and sticks out her left wrist. “Well? Are you gonna put it on me?”

“Yep, yeah, I’m doing it, hang on,” he stutters as he pries the box open. He carefully takes out the corsage and slides it onto her thin wrist, hands shaking as he centers the white rose and ties the navy ribbon around her wrist. When he looks up and grins at her, she gives him the tiniest of smiles, her eyes warm.

“My turn,” she announces. She grabs the boutonniere in one hand and uses the other to grasp his lapel and drag him closer to her. At this distance, he can smell her (she smells like something warm and spicy--cinnamon?--and he can almost taste her vanilla scented lotion; she doesn’t seem to be wearing any perfume). He thinks he can almost see every individual sparkle on her cheekbones. She places the boutonniere on his left lapel and slides a pin through it, stabbing him a bit at the end.

“Sorry,” she mutters, scowling a little. She uses one last pin to secure it before straightening his tie, her hands lingering on his chest for a beat longer than necessary.

“Are you ready to go?” Peter asks, checking his watch. There’s still about 20 minutes before prom actually starts, so they’ve got plenty of time to kill.

“Ready as I’ll ever be for a mediocre event that cost way too much to attend,” MJ says, grabbing a large, shimmery silver bag from a hook in the hallway. Peter offers her his arm as they walk outside, and she side eyes him for two long moments before he slowly puts his arm back at his side. Upon reaching the car outside, however, she looks surprised; inside his head, Peter does a victory dance.

“I see you’ve pulled some strings with Tony Stark. Impressive.”

“Only the best for my fake girlfriend,” Peter laughs as he opens the door for Michelle and gets in after her.

She sniffs, mock pretentious. “I deserve only the best, Parker.”

They make small talk as they drive to the school, bickering over the music that’s playing (Michelle wants the aux cord to listen to one of her playlists, while Peter prefers to listen to the oldies radio station; after a brief scuffle, MJ somehow manages to steal the aux cord and blast TLC’s No Scrubs as Peter sulks and pretends he doesn’t secretly love the song), chatting about AcaDec (Peter) & how much they still need to study for nationals (MJ), and making predictions as to how prom is going to be. (“I bet you $20 some girl is going to break up with her boyfriend tonight because he’ll catch her cheating on him tonight at an after-party.” “That’s...weirdly specific, but you’re on.”)

They pull into the parking lot of Midtown High all too soon. Peter parks and takes a deep breath, looking over at MJ, who’s watching people walk into the school, all frills and lace and shiny shoes and ties.

“So. We’re here. At prom. What a lot of people say is either the best, or worst, night of their high  school lives,” Peter says quietly. MJ just snorts derisively.

“When you say ‘a lot of people’, do you mean the internet? Because I think they’re wrong. Just like high school, prom is only as good as you make it, Peter,” she replies, twisting around in her seat to look him in the eyes. She's being oddly sincere tonight, and it's all too easy for Peter to pretend this that is real, that she's his actual girlfriend and not just a girl friend helping him out.

“I’m glad you’re my fake date tonight,” she says sincerely. The sentiment is ruined a little, however, when she says with a completely straight face, ”It was either you or Flash and I figured you were the lesser of the two evils.”

“I’m not the lesser of the two evils. Compared to him, I’m not an evil, period!”

“It’s definitely evil that you prefer Billy Joel to Beyonce, Peter. No one prefers anything to Beyonce. It’s a fact,” She checks the time on the dashboard. It’s 6:30 pm. Showtime.

“Speaking of Beyonce, are you ready to go and watch Ned try to grind on the dance floor?”

“I’m more worried about trying to avoid the grinders on the dance floor,” Peter grumbles goodnaturedly. “But yeah, let’s go.”

They get out of the car and walk up to the school together. Once they get to the doors, MJ grabs his hand and squeezes his wrist.

“One more thing. If you end up having to save the world or something like that again this time, I give you permission to ditch me and go, but I’m warning you right now, I will kick your ass when you get back.” Her nails dig into his skin (not enough to hurt, but enough to let him know she means business) and she smiles. “I have a taser and a book in my bag just in case, but I better not be using either of them tonight. Got it?”

He nods meekly, in awe of her ability to both terrify and arouse him.

“Good,” she says firmly, sliding her fingers into his and squeezing once before pulling him next to her. He walks into the school at her side, still holding her hand and wondering what he’s gotten himself into. (And also, how she plans to use a book as a weapon. He hopes he never has to find out.)

3. Tony's team party dinner

           It might seem weird, but Peter and Liz still keep in touch. Interestingly enough, it was MJ who was the buffer that brought them together again after the whole homecoming mess. She and Liz had always been very close (being the only 2 biracial girls in the whole school), and they were a force to be reckoned with when it came to organizing and leading decathlon practices.

A few months ago when MJ and Ned were at Peter’s house for their weekly movie night, she’d gotten a FaceTime request from Liz, and without even missing a beat, she accepted it, pointing the camera and telling everyone to say hi. It was a little awkward for the first few minutes (how do you make small talk with the girl you used to really like but whose dad turned out to be a supervillain who tried to kill you?), but soon enough, everyone was yelling over each other, trying to talk to her and catch her up on everything she’d missed. After the FaceTiming happened at pretty much every movie night, they decided to just hold weekly skype calls with her so they could all equally participate.

It’s weird because Peter never expected to become actual friends with her. He knew that she was smart; she went to a school that specialized in STEM and even captained its academic decathlon team, for crying out loud. But in his mind, she was always just someone too perfect; too pretty, and too popular for someone like him to get to know. When he’d asked her to homecoming, he never expected her to actually say yes; she was someone he’d expected her to reject as he continued to pine for her.

Now it’s the end of his junior year, and the end of Liz’s freshman year of college. He sends her memes he thinks she’d enjoy and she always responds with a new ugly picture of Spider-Man that she’s found online. Sometimes, when he’s particularly high strung after a night of patrolling or after a fight, and neither MJ or Ned are available (or even awake), he’ll call her and she won’t hesitate to tell him about mundane things like how her day was, or her roommate, or something cute her boyfriend recently did for her.

(She was the one to text him first, after that very first FaceTime call with MJ; she’d never changed her number. It was just a simple you’re spiderman aren’t you? He’d responded with a yes and she’d said i’m sorry my dad did that to you. i’m sorry you had to go through that. and i’m sorry i was such an asshole to you afterwards. friends? He was pleasantly surprised to feel not anger or regret, but a sense of closure, texting her a short friends would be great. )

So when he texts her at 2 am saying, I NEED HELP SOS, she’s quick to respond with an explain ?????

Peter: ok so

Peter: mr. stark is holding an “avengers team dinner” the week after next in the new avengers mansion to like ease tensions and make the team bond and be happy together again *eye roll emoji* like that’s gonna happen after what happened in budapest last summer

Peter: and idk why but i may or may not have told the other avengers that i have a girlfriend and that she would love to come

Liz: peter why

Liz: i have a bad feeling about this

Peter: idk!! you know i word vomit when i’m nervous!!

Peter: so anyways i want to ask mj bc she’s helped me out of situations like this before

Peter: i mean i took her to prom as my fake gf so

Liz: you took her to prom???????? as your fake gf???? WHAT???

Liz: mj and i will be having Words about this later ….... but anyways continue

Peter: …… okay then

Peter: so how do i woo her into it?? i’m hoping maybe this experience will show her how good i’ll be at dating her for real

Liz: first of all do not use the word woo ever again

Liz: secondly hm i don’t know i’ve never been on that side of things. usually i’m the one being wooed *smirking emoji*

Liz: just kidding

Peter: that is so helpful

Peter: thank you, queen of relationship advice

Liz: i thought this was a fake relationship? *fake-thinking emoji*

Peter: aunt may still thinks it’s real

Peter: & more importantly, i want it to be real

Liz: then just ask her and stop being a coward

Peter: *read at 2:28 am*

----------

After the entirely unhelpful conversation with Liz, Peter mopes around for a while, generally feeling sorry for himself (even some of the villains he’s fought lately have noticed, asking what’s wrong before trying to kick his ass into next week).

It’s funny how when you’re dreading doing something, time seems to fly by, and he’s saying this as someone who has literally seen Dr. Strange speed up time before. It’s now the week of their “team dinner”, and Peter knows that Liz was right; he’ll only get an answer from MJ if he asks her.

So after a late night fight with a slime monster that some smartass thought would be “fun to make, I swear I didn’t mean for it to grow sentient!”, he finds himself swinging into the turn that leads, not to his comfy bedroom and worn out Star Wars sheets, but to MJ’s house. He gets to her bedroom window and slowly lifts it up, crawling inside and onto the ceiling before dropping to the floor in a crouch. Peter pulls off his mask, opening his eyes to reveal MJ sitting cross legged on her bed and glaring at him, holding a sleeping baby in the crook of one arm and an open book in the other.

He gapes, looking from the baby to MJ, trying to see how it could possibly be hers. When she notices him doing so, she rolls her eyes.

“He’s not mine, Peter. Well, I mean he is, but I’m not his mom; I’m the cool aunt. My sister and her fiance went out on a date and left me with Miles,” she says quietly, voice slightly hoarse. She narrows her eyes at him, taking in his dirty suit with traces of slime still on it and what must be a pretty bad case of mask hair. “I have two rules when I’m babysitting. One, I need you to be clean because I don’t want him getting sick, and two, you need to be quiet because I had to read him 5 whole chapters of Harry Potter just to get him to stop crying before he actually fell asleep.”

Peter nods, putting a finger to his lips and winking (or at least, trying to wink, he’s still getting the hang of not closing both eyes, but by the amused look on MJ’s face, he’s failed) before going over to MJ’s dresser and opening what she and Ned have started to call Peter’s Drawer. It’s got clothes in it for him specifically for when he’s come by after an especially grueling patrol or fight, full of soft, fluffy sweatshirts and cotton t-shirts as well as sweatpants and yoga pants. (“I’m sick of you ruining all my good clothes with blood and whatever other weird shit you have on you after a battle,” she’d said when his jaw dropped after seeing the drawer the first time.) He grabs a worn blue t shirt and gray sweatpants before heading into MJ’s bathroom and taking a long, hot shower.

When he’s finished his shower (and ended his encore performance of Umbrella, complete with choreography), he heads back into MJ’s room to find her cooing down at a now very much awake and wailing baby Miles. She stares at him blankly for a second when he sits down next to her on her bed, then shoves the baby into his arms, hissing, “You woke him up when you were pretending to be Rihanna. Now fix this.”

Peter blinks at her and looks down at the baby nestled in his arms. He’s cute, with little tufts of brown hair, caramel skin, and big brown eyes. Miles quiets down and makes an inquisitive noise up at Peter as if to say, who are you?

There’s a faint clicking sound, and he knows MJ’s just taken a picture of him, probably for blackmail purposes--there’s a reason she has a folder in her camera roll titled “penis parker”. Sure enough, his phone buzzes, and he’d bet his suit MJ just sent the photo to their group chat (titled “the three muskedorks” with a slowly growing list of assorted emojis afterwards).

“Hey, little guy. I’m Peter,” he says happily. Miles reaches up and grabs Peter’s finger, only to immediately try and stuff it in his mouth.

“Aw, baby, no,” he pouts, gently pulling his spit-covered fingers out of Miles’ mouth. Miles screws up his face and opens his mouth in preparation for a loud cry, but Peter rocks Miles back and forth in his arms, humming softly. He’s relieved to see Miles give a big yawn instead and close his eyes, snuggling closer into Peter’s chest.

It occurs to Peter that Miles is what his and MJ’s kid would look like, and damn, if that doesn’t get his heart racing. He knew, deep down, with Liz that they wouldn’t have had a future together, but with MJ? He thinks that if they started dating for real, they might just have a chance.

“How did you do that? I tried so many things and you just--never mind. Next time I’m babysitting, you’re definitely coming over,” MJ says in a hushed whisper, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. “Speaking of, why did you come over tonight? You’re usually not here unless something’s wrong.”

Peter looks down at Miles, who’s now fast asleep and drooling slightly. He glances back up at MJ, noting the worry in her eyes. He tells himself she’s just concerned about her decathlon team member and friend, not her actual boyfriend or someone she would be interested in like that.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m fine. Nothing too bad happened tonight; it was just a slime monster,” he says quietly, trying to placate her. “I actually have a favor to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

“Peter Parker needs me to save his sorry ass again? What a shocker,” she rolls her eyes. “Ask away, loser; I owe you one anyways for putting Miles back to sleep,” she says, curling up on the bed. “Also, can you put Miles down in the crib over there? Thanks.”

Once Peter’s safely moved the baby, she leans back against her headboard and closes her eyes. “Alright, nerd, I’m listening.”

“Okay, so Mr. Stark is holding a team family dinner for bonding purposes, and I may have accidently told them I had a girlfriend so would you please be my pretend girlfriend again?”

MJ, bless her, doesn’t even question it; just says sleepily, “Fine. Will Black Panther be there?”

“Yeah .... why?” Peter’s not going to lie, he's a little jealous. He’d figured her favorite superhero would be Black Widow, but he supposes he can see the appeal in King T’Challa. His suit is pretty awesome and he’s never condescending towards Peter like some of the other Avengers are--he knows they don’t mean to do it, but it still bothers him.

A heavy silence settles over them in the wake of the question, and it lasts long enough for Peter to wonder if she’s trying to mess with him. Then he takes a good look at her and realizes that she’s just fallen asleep. She must have been exhausted, trying to finish her homework and watch a cranky baby all night. Peter tucks her into her sheets and maneuvers her head onto her pillow, stray curls falling over her face.

He doesn’t stay and watch her sleep, no matter how much he wants to. Instead, he drops a light kiss on her forehead (at his touch, she murmurs something in her sleep and rolls over) and Miles’ before slipping his suit on over his clothes and swinging home, content that everything seems to be working out so far.

----------

Everything is not working out in his favor so far. It’s the night of the team dinner, and everyone is lounging around in the huge, new Avengers Mansion Tony had built upstate last year. He’s actually pretty surprised as to how many superheroes/vigilantes/friends of said superheroes and vigilantes showed up; the place is surprisingly packed. He can see Tony and Captain America flirting at the open bar (“Not a single drop of alcohol for you, you hear me? FRIDAY, activate Zero Tolerance Protocol,” Tony had growled when he’d seen Peter looking at the bar) as a scowling Bucky Barnes and Colonel Rhodes watch them from afar over their respective glasses of whiskey. Falcon is sitting with Barnes and Rhodes, looking like he wishes he had popcorn.

(Peter doesn’t want to touch that mess with a 10 foot pole. He figures it’s best to let his eyesight stray and pretend that situation isn’t happening.)

Dr. Banner and Thor are animatedly telling a story about something called Ragnarok to a small crowd of people. Thor has almost knocked someone out with his hammer at least 4 times already--someone’s had the bright idea to have FRIDAY keep a tally--and he swears Dr. Banner almost hulked out at one point. He doesn’t worry too much about it, though, because Dr. Foster and her best friend/intern Darcy seem to be keeping everything moderately under control.

Black Widow is across from them, holding hands with her girlfriend, Ms. Potts, and talking to Hawkeye, who has his arms around Agent Coulson and his wife, Laura. Agent Coulson’s team is standing with them, joking around and generally looking like they’re having the time of their lives.

Peter has to admit, he hadn’t seen the whole “super secret spy boyfriends with the same wife” thing coming, but secretly he thinks it’s really sweet. He’d never say it to Clint’s face though, because he knows he’d be teased mercilessly for it. He does wish sometimes that Coulson’s team were more approachable, because although they seem like fun, easy-going people to be around, they’re also very much like a clique. (He gets the sense that they’ve been through too many life threatening situations together to be able to let others in.)

Ant-Man’s off to the side talking to Hope van Dyne, aka Wasp (who, to his knowledge, is in a relationship with Ant-Man; they’re always bickering like a married couple). His daughter, Cassie, and Clint’s kids are with them, playing a rousing game of tag that’s causing them to run circles around the two adults.

Vision and Wanda are, of course, nowhere to be seen. Ever since their reconciliation, they haven’t seemed to be able to keep their hands off each other, and he’d really rather not think about what they may or may not be doing away from the prying eyes of everyone else.

Finally, his eyes come to rest on MJ. She’s right in the center of the room, deep in conversation with Black Panther, who seems simultaneously interested in and delighted at whatever she’s saying to him. She, in turn, looks absolutely elated to even be in the same room as him.

Peter knows that a lot of people at school always thinks she doesn’t care about anything, with the way she exudes apathy, speaks to people almost robotically, and prefers to be alone. It’s because, he’s come to learn, she cares too much. She cares passionately about a select few things, and none of them include people who don’t have anything better to do with their lives than be racist, sexist, homophobic, or just plain assholes (which sadly, makes up about 80% of their school).

When she finally looks up and notices him hanging out on the ceiling (he was bored, okay, and parties have never really been his scene), she doesn’t even blink, just motions for him to come down. As soon as he does, she pulls him towards the single unoccupied corner of the living room, yelling a hasty “you know where to find me!” over her shoulder at an amused T’Challa.

“Hey,” she says once they get there, eyes sparkling.

“Hi,” Peter breathes, happy just because she’s happy. “Are you having fun?”

“The most fun I’ve had since that time I put Nair in Flash’s shampoo,” she replies. “Kinda sad, actually, because my sister just texted me. I have to go, my parents are gonna be home tonight for once. I brought you over here so I could say bye.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who’s gonna be your ride home? Normal people aren’t technically allowed up here, you know.”

MJ just smirks in her signature, terrifying way. “Don’t worry about that, my sister’s gonna be here soon. Tony Stark and I had a nice little chat about it.”

Peter makes a mental note to ask Tony exactly what she said to him, because she’s grinning in a particularly evil way. He really hopes it has nothing to do with the embarrassing baby pictures May “accidently” sent MJ last week. He already has to deal with her taping a new baby picture to his locker every day--she still hasn't run out--and he’d rather not end up having FRIDAY display those photos for all of the Avengers to see.

He hopes MJ never becomes a super villain, because he honestly thinks she has the potential to take over the world. And because then he would have to fight her, which would really freaking suck. He’d mentioned it to Tony once and he’d shuddered and said, “Same with Pepper. Do me a favor and never let those two meet.”

(But it’s too late, because they'd already spoken tonight, and MJ had happily informed him that they were going to be having tea together next week.)

Her phone beeps the Kim Possible tone, and she glances down at it, firing off a quick response to who he guesses is her sister.

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “See you tomorrow,” she says, checking her phone when it buzzes again. “You’re still picking Ned and I up before school, right?”

“Yeah,” he says absentmindedly, touching his cheek where she kissed him. “Just like always.”

She gives him a little salute, then turns on her heels and stalks off in the general direction of the exit. He doesn't know how she knows which way to go, since this place is so new that even Peter doesn't really know the layout yet, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she'd already gotten the blueprints from somewhere and memorized them.

It doesn't matter, anyways, because Peter’s too distracted by the phantom feeling of her lips on his skin to even think about trying to walk her back to her ride. MJ has never, ever been a fan of PDA unless it's absolutely necessary to make their little act more believable.

I mean, sure, they cuddle during movie nights and she cards her fingers through his hair when he puts his head in her lap and they steal each other’s clothes, but that's what normal friends do; he’d do the same things with Ned. Right?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Tony clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo,” he says, a hilariously solemn look on his face. “We wanted to talk to you.”

And sure enough, all the Avengers are standing around him, trapping him in a circle. Peter takes one look at everyone’s somber expression before his heart rate kicks up and he blurts, “Please don’t take away my suit! I know you guys want to protect me, but I can handle it, I promise! The nightmares have gotten better and I’ve pretty much stopped having panic attacks, I’m fine, I swear…”

He trails off at the bemused expressions on everyone’s faces. Mr. Stark glares at him (oh god, it’s his ‘I can’t believe you just said that’ glare) and mouths We are talking about this later .

Natasha speaks up first. “While that’s good to hear, Peter, that isn’t what we wanted to talk about. It’s about MJ.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“If you hurt her, don’t think for a second that we won’t hunt you down and beat the crap out of you.”

Peter stares at them. They stare back. He feels like he’s just woken up in an alternate universe.

“Why do you all assume I’m going to be the one to hurt her? She’s the mean one! Just yesterday, in class, she threw a paper airplane at me and when I opened it up, it just said ‘get out of my school’!” he says indignantly once he’s gained his voice back.

“That’s our point, Peter,” Dr. Banner says. This is crazy. The guy whose portrait hangs in his science classroom is giving him a shovel talk. Peter doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. “She’s always gonna be the resident asshole in your relationship. So we know that if something happens between you two and she’s the one who’s hurt by it, it’s more than likely going to be your fault.”

Peter opens his mouth, wanting to defend himself, and then realizes that he really can’t argue with that logic. He also realizes that he can never, ever breathe a word of this to MJ because she would piss her pants laughing at this whole situation (well, maybe not literally, but you know what he means).

“I...guess you guys are right. Consider me officially warned.” Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He figures it’s best to ham it up as best as possible so that no one realizes that he & MJ haven’t actually been dating this whole time.

The Avengers give each other satisfied nods.

“Then our work here is done,” Steve says warmly.

Bucky looks at Peter and ruffles his hair with his metal arm. “Don’t worry kid, MJ’s gonna be getting a similar visit from me and Loki real soon.”

Loki nods at Bucky and winks at Peter before vanishing in a plume of green smoke--honestly, he’s just being dramatic; if he were really going somewhere, he’d be gone so fast you would blink and miss it. He doesn’t know when or how he got on Bucky and Loki’s good side, since they’re two of the most powerful and terrifying Avengers, but he’s thanking every deity that might exist for it.

After that completely unnecessary drama, people start to leave. Sometimes, Peter swears they live vicariously through his lame teenage life.

He says his goodbyes to everyone and accepts the various leftovers Tony forces him to take (“Tell Aunt Hottie I say hi!” Tony says gleefully, dodging an elbow to the ribs from Pepper and dumping another container of cookies in his arms) before suiting up and swinging home.

When he calls out for Aunt May, he doesn’t get a response, so he assumes she’s at her mysterious new girlfriend’s house. Sure enough, there’s a pale yellow post it note on the fridge that says she won’t be back until tomorrow morning.

He sighs, loading all the food he brought back into the fridge and then sliding over the floorboards  into his room. It isn’t until he showers and slips into his pajamas that he finally gets a chance to lay down on his bed and process everything that happened.

He’d completely expected everyone to fawn over MJ, because let’s be honest, he does it himself on a daily basis. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for her to kiss him and then for everyone to come up and give him the shovel talk. On her behalf. When they weren’t even dating for real.

“How is this my life?” he moans at the ceiling, shoving his face into his pillow before the ceiling can do something stupid like respond.

4. Decathlon trip to Disney (to celebrate winning nationals for the 2nd time)

          Peter gets off the bus slowly, dragging his suitcase behind him and walking into the hotel, wiping sweat off his brow. It’s a hot and humid Florida night, and even though it's only April, he feels like he’s going to melt.

The rest of the decathlon team has already gotten off and congregated in the lobby. Mr. Harrington is holding a clipboard and taking attendance (Peter doesn't see the point, seeing as there's not that many of them and it's pretty unlikely someone might have left the bus while it was still moving).

“Okay, guys, looks like everyone’s here. Now, let me check our room arrangements with the hotel, I’ll be right back,” he says, going over to the front desk.

Ned went off to call his mom--he’d promised her he’d give her updates on what was going on at least every 2 hours--so Peter turns to MJ. She’d claimed a whole bus seat to herself and slept for the last 2 hours of the drive. The polka dotted neck pillow she’d been using is still wrapped around her neck, and there's a crease on her cheek where it rested on her shoulder. Her hair is in a high, tight bun, a few curls escaping from the back. She’s currently leaning on Cindy, talking to her quietly, and Peter pretends that he doesn't wish she was leaning on him.

“I still think it's unfair that Penis Parker is here right now. I mean, he wasn't even at our very first national win so why should he be here when we’re celebrating our second win in a row?” Flash says loudly to Abraham, giving Peter a dirty look.

“Because even though he may not have been at the first win, he still helped the team get there. Remind me how many questions you answered at both last year’s nationals and this year’s nationals? Because if I recall correctly, it’s a grand total of 5. Now shut your fat mouth, ‘cause Harrington’s gonna come back any minute now, and I wouldn’t mind having to demote you to second alternate.” MJ smiles sweetly at Flash, who pales and crosses his arms over his chest.

He scoffs. “Of course you’re gonna defend your boyfriend. I was just thinking of the team and what a liability Parker is, but suit yourself.”

“At least I have a boyfriend. What about you? Are you too too much of an asshole for a girl to date you for longer than it takes for you to have an orgasm?” She puts her hands on her hips, and it must be a pretty funny sight to anyone watching; a tall, lanky girl in sweatpants, a tank top, and a neck pillow facing down a guy a few inches taller than her wearing expensive clothes that just scream I’m a d-bag . Flash, of course, stays silent, because there’s really nothing you can say to a roast that thorough.

Peter’s a little confused (and in awe) as to what just happened, because he must have too much earwax or something in his ears. There’s no way MJ just said he was her boyfriend. He’s grateful that she saved his butt, though, and smiles at her when she looks at him.

“That's what I thought,” she whispers to Flash right as Mr. Harrington approaches them, looking frazzled. He doesn't pick up on the tension between Flash and MJ, bless him, and instead just tells them he has some news for them.

“So the hotel messed up our rooms a little, and it turns out that if we want to keep it to 2 people per room, we’re gonna need 3 people to be in one room together,” he sighs. “Who wants to take one for the team? Pun completely unintentional.”

No one laughs and no one moves. Mr. Harrington sighs again. They all just look at each other for a moment, no one wanting to have to give up being able to sleep in their own bed and their carefully chosen partner.

MJ yawns, looking supremely done with everyone. “Listen, I’m tired and I want to sleep in a real bed. I’ll do it. Peter, Ned, you losers are rooming with me.”

Mr. Harrington sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Michelle, I’m afraid girls can’t….room with….boys,” He says, trailing off as the glare MJ’s giving him gets more and more intense. She raises an eyebrow at him, he makes a face back, she scowls, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. They seem to be having an entire conversation, and it's over just like that when MJ grins brightly.

“Great! Thanks, Roger, glad that's been sorted out,” she says cheerily.

Mr. Harrington just rolls his eyes at her (he doesn’t bother trying to tell her not to use his first name). “Please don't tell my boss,” he says wearily, handing her their room keys before turning to everyone else and passing out more keys.

Ned and Peter exchange a look. They never expected to have to share their room, much less with MJ. But for now, they go with it, Ned mainly because he hopes his dumb friends might finally figure their shit out and Peter because of his Hulk-sized crush on MJ.

“Parker. Leeds. Don’t tell me you two are having second thoughts,” MJ says, raising her eyebrows. “Come on, I want to be able to get at least 8 hours of sleep before I have to deal with cranky children all around me when we get into the Disney parks.”

Ned looks at Peter and shrugs before they both follow her into the elevators, the rest of the team close behind them. As soon as they get into their room, MJ shoves her suitcase into a corner, takes off her neck pillow, and flops backwards onto one of the two beds.

Before Peter even has the chance to say anything, Ned rests his suitcase carefully against the wall and leaps onto the other bed, calling, “Dibs on having my own bed!” He looks at Peter and smirks, knowing full well that Peter wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with MJ at all.

Peter takes his time lining up his suitcase next to Ned’s and pulling off his shoes before standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Um....I can take that little couch on the corner? Or the floor; Aunt May had me bring like 5 blankets even though I don’t need them, I mean either way, I would be comfortable,” he laughs nervously. “I would probably be fine sleeping on, like, a crusty rock, which actually, come to think of it, I think I did once on a mission in--”

“Peter. Shut up,” MJ says dryly. “There’s room for, like, 4 of us in this bed. Just get in, I promise I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

Ned snickers, and Peter can literally feel the heat from his blush creep up his cheeks. “Um, because of my higher metabolism, I get pretty hot at night, so I usually sleep shirtless? Is that...okay?” He asks, wishing he could smother himself for even asking.

MJ snorts, pushing herself up on one elbow. One strap of her black tank top slides down her shoulder, drawing attention to her smooth skin.

Oh my god, she’s not wearing a bra , he thinks frantically, and then immediately shuts down that train of thought because he knows it’ll only lead to uncomfortable situations.

“I literally could not care less, dude. Just stay on your side and go the fuck to sleep already,” she says, snuggling into the left side of the bed. She’s already put a thick book on top of the desk in between the two beds, which is how he knows she’s claimed it. (Seriously. At school, she’d always save her seat by leaving a book on top of it and glaring at anyone who happened to even glance at it.)

Peter grasps the ends of his shirt and pulls it off, throwing it on top of his suitcase before crawling into the bed, suddenly extremely tired.

“Goodnight, everyone.” MJ says just before he’s about to fall asleep, surprising both him and Ned, seeing as Ned jerks a little. He figures that was the whole point.

“Goodnight.” Peter mumbles, turning his back to MJ to avoid the temptation of moving closer to her.

“G’night.” Ned says. “Hey, did you guys know that when spiders mate, the female usually eats the male?” The smirk is evident in his tone and Peter wishes he wasn’t across the room so he could punch him (gently, of course, because he’d learned that super strength plus physically joking around did not equal fun).

“Shut up, Ned,” both he and MJ chorus. It’s silent for a long while after that, and eventually, Peter finds himself drifting off to sleep.

-----------

Peter sits bolt upright, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Tonight’s nightmare was a brutal one. Just when he’d thought they were getting better....

He’d been trapped under the rubble of the building again, water soaking into his old suit, dust covering his face and swirling down his throat with every ragged breath he’d taken, threatening to choke him.

Every extra minute he spends under the rubble felt like another year. It seemed to get heavier and heavier, pressing down into him until he felt like he wasn’t even a person anymore.

He was crying, calling out for help, but no one was coming. No one had come in real life that night, and no one ever would again.

He shivers and puts the nightmare out of his mind, but before he can get up and grab some water, someone hands him a water bottle. He blinks blearily and takes it, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

It’s MJ. As his surroundings come into sharper focus, he can see Ned across the room, wrapped up in his sheets and fast asleep. MJ’s turned on the lamp that’s resting on her side of the desk. Her pillows are propped up behind her on the headboard in a way that suggests that she hadn’t been sleeping, and a worn copy of a thick book is sitting in her lap, which confirms his guess.

Peter’s hands shake a little as he twists the cap off the water bottle and gulps it down. He’s grateful that it’s chilled, because it feels wonderful sliding down his dry throat.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

“No problem,” MJ says, glancing at him before returning to her book. Her eyes stay on the same page for much longer than they usually do (he’s not a creeper, he just likes to watch MJ when she reads because she’s cute when she concentrates, okay?) before she looks back over at him. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Do you get them too?”

“Sometimes,” she says, biting her lip. “Um, you were crying and yelling in yours....I didn’t want to wake you up, cause you’re not supposed to unless it’s severe, but...do you wanna talk about it?”

Peter shakes his head. He’s not really ready to talk about the nightmares with anyone else; he doesn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all MJ’s.

She visibly relaxes. “Okay, cool, I’m not really good with, like, therapy stuff. Is there anything I can do that’ll help?”

He’s trembling a little as he swallows hard and says, “Human contact usually helps calm me down. When I get really bad nightmares, I crawl into bed with Aunt May.” He doesn’t think twice before admitting that embarrassing secret to MJ, and that’s what scares him, because he trusts her in a way that he never really did with Liz.

MJ just nods gravely. “If you wanted me to spoon you, all you had to do was ask,” she says, moving over until she’s suddenly 2 inches away from him.

“Wait, why am I little spoon?” Peter asks indignantly, already starting to lie down.

MJ just gives him a look. “Do you look like you’re in a position to spoon me right now? Now come on, get on your side, I’m gonna cuddle you so good.”

“Oh, yeah, talk dirty to me,” he says dryly, turning over. The moment she slots herself in behind him, her warmth spreads over him and he can feel his heartbeat slowing down. She wiggles a little, putting one arm behind her head and draping the other over him, using it to pull him flush against her chest.

(He can’t help but feel a spike of arousal at that. What, he’s only human--or least mostly human--and he’s a teenage boy who has a massive crush on the girl whose body is currently pressing into his back; it’s not his fault he’s responding to it. He tells his body to calm down and please, for the love of Thor, do NOT get a boner , taking a deep breath.)

“You owe me a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar for this,” MJ says sleepily.

“Hey, you volunteered,” Peter says, his eyes drooping shut. “But fine. Anything for my fake girlfriend, right?”

“Damn straight, Parker. I’m promoting myself to fake wife for the treatment I’m giving you.”

The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is the feeling of her smile against the back of his head.

(And if he wakes up with his face pressed into her chest, her hair in his mouth, and their legs tangled together, they don’t talk about it. They just grin at each other in a silent agreement that, yeah, they should definitely do this more often, before terrifying a still-sleeping Ned by whacking him with pillows.)

(The resulting pillow fight was epic.)

5. Wisdom Teeth Removal

“Hi,” Peter pants as he skids to a stop in front of the receptionist’s desk. “Could you tell me what room Michelle Jones is in?”

The receptionist looks at him warily, manicured nails flying over her keyboard.

“I’m sorry, only family is allowed in. Are you her boyfriend? Because in that case, I’m sure I can make an exception.” She winks at him.

Peter hesitates for a moment, fingering his camera bag (there’s no way he was gonna miss out on a chance to film MJ high on anesthesia). He might as well just say yes, because god knows they’ve pretended for much lesser things than this. It’s starting to get tiring, though, because it’s just a reminder of what he can’t have. He sighs, mind already made up.

“Yep! I can’t wait to film--I mean, see her,” Peter says, blushing a little. He really needs to work on his lying skills, he thinks wryly to himself.

She just chuckles, falling for it hook, line, and sinker. “Go on, honey, she’s in room 55A.”

Peter walks quickly to the room, rechecking his text messages. He was a little surprised to have gotten a text from MJ’s sister half an hour ago, explaining that she couldn’t stay after MJ had woken up from her wisdom teeth removal and asking if he could get her home safely. Nevertheless, he agreed--of course, he did, it’s MJ--and now here he was in the hospital,

When he gets to her room, he steps in carefully. MJ’s sister Gayle is sitting next to MJ, stroking her hair. She’s still not awake.

“Hey, Peter,” Gayle says, smiling apologetically. “Thanks so much for coming on such a short notice. Apparently, Miles just had an incident at daycare, and I’ve gotta go and smooth that over.”

“It’s no problem, Gayle, don’t worry about it,” Peter says.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you,” she warns, before whispering “I love you” to MJ and kissing her forehead, leaving the room in a whirl of lavender perfume.

Now it was just him and a knocked out MJ. He sits down in the chair that Gayle just left, pulling out his camera and fiddling with the settings on it while he waits.

“Peter, ‘s that you?” MJ’s groggy voice floats over to him, and he immediately presses the record button.

She looks like a mess, hair frizzier than ever, lips chapped and swollen, and skin pale and dry. He still thinks she looks unfairly beautiful, because he knows for a fact he looks like death warmed over after a fight.

“Yeah, MJ, it’s me, how’re you feeling?” He asks, pointing the camera at her.

She’s too busy to respond, though, staring at her hands with wide eyes like she’s never seen them before in her entire life.

“Petey, Peter, look, am I Princess Tiana?” she slurs in awe, holding up her hands. Peter can’t help but grin at her.

“Yeah, I guess you are. You’re just as bossy as she is, now that I think about it,” he teases.

MJ just shrugs. “She gets shit done. I wanna be like her, except not a baker, because they make sweet things and I don’t want cavities in my teeth. They’re perfect, see.” She bares her teeth at him, and the gauze in her mouth almost falls out.

Just then, the nurse walks in. “Hey, sweetheart, good to see you awake.” Peter quickly lets his camera hang on its strap around his wrist, leaving it on so that he can at least record audio.

“‘M not your sweetheart,” MJ mumbles, pushing the bloody gauze back into her mouth. “‘M his sweetheart, because he’s cute .”

Peter blushes bright red, telling himself that she’s so high she barely even knows her own name, so of course she doesn’t mean it. The nurse turns to Peter.

“So you must be the boyfriend,” she says, laughing. “Okay, so, looks like she’s pretty out of it. No extremely hot or extremely cold foods just yet, stick with things like pudding and mashed potatoes. Make sure to change her gauze every few hours or so; she might taste blood, and that’s completely normal. Once the bleeding stops, she should be fine.”

“I like the taste of blood,” MJ says out of nowhere. Peter disguises his snort as a cough as the nurse smiles and continues talking. She gives Peter a thin folder.

“In the folder is more detailed information about when to let her eat, how to change the gauze, stuff like that. Oh, and one of the most important things is that someone needs to stay with her all night. She can’t be left unattended.”

“Thanks,” Peter says gratefully, looking over again at MJ, whose eyes are now filling up with tears. “Uh, is MJ okay?”

The nurse bustles over to her side, checking her vitals and drug dosage. “What’s wrong, honey, are you in pain?”

“My mouth hurts,” she complains petulantly.

“That’s because they cut your teeth out of your mouth,” Peter interjects.

She gasps as best as she can with two rolls of gauze in her mouth. “Why would they do that?”

“They were hurting your other teeth, babe,” he says, hamming it up for the nurse now watching them with fondness in her eyes.

She completely ignores him. “Do you think it hurt them?”

“Hurt who?” He can’t believe she’s so loopy. He has so much blackmail material now.

“The teeth. Do you think they suffered?” She has a lisp. Oh god, she’s so cute right now, it’s almost unbearable.

Even the nurse is snickering, helping MJ out of her bed. She stumbles almost immediately, almost face planting until Peter hands the nurse his camera (mouthing please keep filming ) and grabs her around the waist firmly.

“I don’t need help, I’m a bad bitch,” MJ says, trying to break away from his grip and nearly falling again.

They pass a mirror, and Peter thinks they make a pretty funny sight. A tall, dark skinned girl falling all over a shorter, pasty white boy as a nurse trains a camera on them.

MJ’s lip wobbles. “I look like a fucking blobfish,” she starts to sob. “Do you know what those look like? I saw them on wikipedia; they’re ugly!”

Peter smiles up at her. “MJ, you’re not ugly. I promise.” The words are a little too sincere, and he’s glad MJ’s hopped up on drugs, because otherwise she would have called him out for it in a heartbeat.

“I know I’m not ugly normally! But I am now!”

She stops crying abruptly once they reach the waiting room. Peter’s secretly relieved, because he wasn’t too fond of having her tears splash onto his face.

“That carpet looks so soft,” she says, wrenching out of his grip, only to immediately lie down starfished on the floor.

“Look, I’m making carpet angels,” she says loudly, drawing stares and a few giggles from the other people in the room.

Peter can’t wait to show this footage to her. He walks over and scoops her up in his arms, bridal style (it’s embarrassing how much he’s imagined doing this to her) before walking back over to where the nurse is standing by the exit.

She nuzzles into his chest, swinging her legs freely in the air.

“Whoa, you have muscles now,” she says, poking his pecs. He flexes them a little, glad to finally be able to show off. “I noticed last year, you know, ‘cause you were wearing all these tight shirts. I like those shirts.”

Peter blushes again, because seriously? Why can’t she say all this stuff when she’s not drugged up?

They keep walking until they get to Peter’s car, MJ babbling nonsense the whole way (“Heh,” she’d giggled when they saw a kid with a Spiderman t shirt. “Peter Parkour , get it?”).

She looks at the sleek black car, a gift from Tony to celebrate the official completion of the training to remove the Training Wheels Protocol.

“Can I drive?”

“No,” the nurse and Peter say in unison. She pouts, but obliges as Peter opens the door and the nurse straps her into the passenger seat. When MJ’s all set, the nurse hands Peter the camera back and smiles softly at him.

“You two are really cute together, you know. I can tell how much she loves you when she looks at you. What I wouldn’t give for a man to look at me the way you look at her,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve gotta get back now; call us if you’ve got any questions or if something goes wrong.”

The nurse leaves and Peter stares after her, dumbfounded. Had she really said that MJ loved him? She’d had to have been wrong, because there was no way. It was probably just the drugs. ( You know, they say drunken words are sober thoughts, that dumb voice in his head said. Peter does what he always does with the voice and ignores it.)

He gets in the driver’s seat and positions the camera carefully on his dashboard, only to find that MJ has somehow already put the keys in the ignition, turned the car on, and plugged in her phone to the aux cord (she’s blasting Khia’s My Neck, My Back, which isn’t surprising since she would have done that without being drugged up). He digs his hand into his back pocket only to find that, yes, his keys are gone.

MJ giggles again. “I took your keys when you were carrying me. You have a nice butt.”

----------

It’s a bit of a struggle getting MJ home, since she starts to drift off a couple of times. (He’d finally stopped her by telling her that the dentist said if she closed her eyes for too long, she’d die. After that, she kept her eyes wide open, even going so far as to hold them open with her fingers “just in case, ‘cause I don’t wanna die yet!”.)

They do make it eventually, and getting her inside is a lot easier this time because she actually cooperates during the whole walking part. She’s still pretty doped up, though, and so he keeps the camera on her.

The house is dark and silent, seeing as no one’s home. Peter claps twice to turn on the lights--MJ had showed him that neat little trick the third time he came over--and MJ gapes in awe. She insists on trying it herself a few times before throwing herself on the large, white couch. Peter’s glad Gayle had the foresight to drape a long, brown blanket across it, because a string of bloody drool comes out of MJ’s mouth. She wipes it with her fingers, which doesn’t do much other than smear it into the blanket.

“I want a milkshake,” she says abruptly.

“Okay, but you can’t use a straw. No sucking for you.”

“Where’s the joy in that,” she grumbles, scowling. She brightens a little, leering at him as she says, “And I don’t suck, I swallow.”

“MJ!” He’s laughing so hard the camera’s shaking. “You’re going to regret this so much when I show you this footage. Too bad I’m going to make, like, 20 copies and hide them everywhere.”

“I’ll find them,” she says seriously through the gauze in her mouth.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says just as seriously, staring down at her. He’s sure that if anyone looked at him right now, they’d see literal hearts in his eyes.

“Good,” she says. “Nice to see I have a boyfriend who listens to me. Can we watch Moana now?”

“Sure, MJ,”  he says, not bothering to correct her (sue him, he liked the way she called him her boyfriend) and getting up to grab the remote. Before he can even open Netflix on her tv, however, she’s fast asleep. He covers her with another blanket he finds lying in her room before leaning against her, suddenly kind of tired. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number he’s had memorized since 7th grade.

“Hey, Ned. Wanna come over to Michelle’s and help me edit this footage I got of her while she was high on anesthesia?”

“ Dude. I’ll be there in 10.”

+1. Seven Minutes in Heaven 

“I still can’t believe Flash invited all of us to his party,” Ned says. “Also, what the hell, MJ, why didn’t you tell us he lived in your neighborhood?”

“It wasn’t important,” she says, offering no further explanation. They don’t need to know that she and Flash were actually the best of friends as little kids and stopped being friends over a huge fallout before 6th grade.

They stand in Flash’s front yard, staring up at his family’s flashy (pun intended) mansion.

After a minute or so, MJ speaks up, grabbing both of their hands. “Come on, nerds, let’s go in instead of looking at his house.”

She drags them in behind him, raising her chin defiantly at anyone who gives her a weird look for holding two guys’ hands. She really doesn’t need to, though; most of them are too drunk already to care.

Flash greets them as soon as they get to his living room, a pretty girl on his arm. The girl looks like a sophomore, and MJ pities her, because that means she doesn’t have a clue what Flash is like. Whatever. It’s not like she’s going to warn her or anything.

“Penis. Ned. Michelle. Glad you guys could come,” he says, nodding at each of them. The girl giggles and waves. Peter sighs.

“Are you ever gonna let the penis thing go?”

Flash cackles. “Never.”

MJ just rolls her eyes. “You guys are so childish.”

“Yeah, but she loves it,” Flash coos at his latest girl, moving in to kiss her. “Don’t you, babe?”

The rest of them fake gag and walk away towards the bar, where some kid in the grade above them is whipping up drinks like a pro.

“So, guys, what’ll it be,” he says when he sees them approach.

“I’ll take a rum and coke, please,” Ned says, drumming his fingers on the marble counter. He looks a different these days, a little slimmer and taller, not to mention happier (probably due to his lovely girlfriend, Betty). Puberty definitely worked in his favor.

“I don’t drink,” Peter says apologetically, crossing his arms over his chest. Figures. He’s probably like Captain America, with a crazy fast metabolism that burns through alcohol too fast for him to enjoy it. Or maybe he just doesn’t like the taste of it. She doesn’t know, but now she kind of wants to.

MJ sighs, looking around at the flashing lights, people making out everywhere to the unbearably loud music. She also kind of wants to go home already, but most of all, she wants to get drunk and forget about her feelings for a little, so she turns to the guy and says, “Just give me a whole bottle of vodka. Please.”

----------

A little while later, she’s well on her way to being drunk. She can feel the warmth of the vodka resting in her stomach and spreading everywhere from her toes to her eyebrows (ok, maybe , she’s already a lot drunk).

Some dude dragged her out onto the dance floor, and she’s having a somewhat good time with him, grinding on him and laughing when he tells her some lame joke about being happy to see her.

(He looks like the farthest thing from Peter, tall and tan, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She figures it’s safer that way.)

She gets the sensation she’s being watched, so she maneuvers him into the center of the mass of bodies and ditches him, clutching her half empty bottle of vodka. She stands against the opposite wall, slumping against it and almost having a heart attack when a quiet voice says, “Having fun?”

It’s Peter. She knows it’s him, because she’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s how she found out he was Spider Man, after all.

“I was, but not anymore. What about you?” She takes a swig from her bottle, letting Peter gently pry it out of her hands afterwards.

“I don’t know, MJ. Parties aren’t really my scene, you know that,” he says, fidgeting a little, and her heart sinks. She feels guilty, which is completely irrational because he’d said, like, yesterday that he wanted to come.

“No one asked you to come,” she says with more bitterness than she meant. The corner of Peter’s mouth quirks up.

“I know,” he says sincerely, and damn , she hates when he does that, be all cute and honest and shit. She doesn’t know when she started being more observant of Peter than anyone else, but she simultaneously hates and loves that it’s a habit now.

(“MJ,” Liz says patiently after she’d called her in a panic. “That’s called a crush.”

“I hate that word,” MJ says. She already knew; she just wanted someone to confirm it. “What am I gonna do, crush him with the weight of my unrequited feelings?”)

“Where’s Ned?” she asks, desperate for something to say that isn’t I’m kind of in love with you.

His smile grows. “He and Betty disappeared upstairs somewhere a while ago. I think he’s getting some.”

MJ mulls over this information, not quite sure what to do with it. “Huh. Good for him.”

Suddenly, Flash’s voice booms over his own speakers.

“In honor of teenage nostalgia and all that, let’s throw it back and play a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven! We’re starting in the family room in 5 minutes.”

Everyone cheers and starts making their way towards the room next door. MJ looks at Peter, who seems faintly interested, and then back down at her Doc Martens. She knows this is probably going to be a bad idea--she doesn’t know what she would do if she saw Peter with another girl; she’s not the jealous type but she is the possessive type, and that didn’t really make sense but she’s drunk, okay, so leave her alone.

“Wanna play?” she says, chewing the inside of her cheek. She accidently bites a spot too hard and winces, running her tongue over it.

“Sure,” he says, all easy smiles and agreement. He pushes himself off the ground and then extends a hand out to MJ, who, like always, ignores it and stands up on her own. She sways a bit before righting herself and leading Peter into the other room.

A small crowd has already gathered, and there seems to be an equal amount of boys and girls. She gives Peter a sloppy salute before walking over to the girls’ circle and sitting down next to Cindy, who squeals and starts telling MJ about some new guy she’d started talking to.

MJ’s listening, she really is, but she can’t help but let her eyes stray to Peter, who’s sitting next to Flash of all people. He looks good tonight, better than usual, in an olive green polo (which surprisingly doesn’t look douchey) and dark black jeans.

“Oh, I see how it is, you just want to stare at your man,” Cindy says jokingly, tapping MJ on the shoulder.

“What? Sorry, can you repeat that?”

Cindy looks at her, eyes narrowing. “Michelle Jones. You still haven’t told him?”

“Lucinda Moon. Of course, I haven’t, do you even know him? He doesn’t like me; I’m nothing like his type.”

“I don’t know him, but I know you, MJ. You need to tell him, because you’ll get closure if he really doesn’t like him. Not that I think you’ll need it, have you seen the way he looks at you? Everyone thinks you guys are dating. I didn’t know you weren’t until you told me yourself.”

“Yeah, well, he’s too nice for his own good. How about you drop it, Cindy, and tell me more about this Adam dude.”

But before Cindy can say anything else, Flash speaks up again. He’s got that stupid megaphone in his hand.

“The boys have spun their bottle, and it’s Penis Parker! Sorry, ladies,” Flash says. MJ grits her teeth, because Peter’s blushing and he looks like he wants to be anywhere but there.

“I’ll spin,” Cindy says bravely, reaching for the bottle. She twists it, doing something weird with her wrist, and before MJ can even blink, it’s stopped. Pointing right at her.

This can't be happening , she thinks numbly, even as everyone cheers again, even as she gets up and walks to the designated dark space (aka a tiny closet). Peter follows closely behind her, like he always does, and isn't that just the cherry on top of it all, the way he would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked because that's just the kind of guy he is.

They sit down together in silence. She’s never been scared of the dark, but she knows Peter sometimes doesn't do well with dark spaces and prolonged time in them, so she scoots closer until their arms press together.

She can't tell, but she likes to think he’s grateful for it. They’re so close she can smell him, a mix of some kind of cologne, fresh grass, and for some reason, fresh dirt. It’s good, though, rich and earthy and grounding. She almost wants to lean in closer.

This time, it’s Peter who breaks the silence.

“Is now a good time to mention that I actually have no idea how to play this game?”

MJ smiles despite herself. Of course.

“Peter, how do you not know how to play? The name explains it all.”

“Wait, so we literally just sit here for 7 minutes and do...intimate...things?”

“Well...yeah. 7 Minutes in Heaven. You get to do anything you want to me, but I’d rather do anything I wanted to you,” she says, the alcohol rushing through her veins and giving her an unexpected burst of courage. If she can't have Peter as her boyfriend, she can sure as hell have him as her best friend with benefits. She’s already caught feelings, so she can't really get hurt anyways.

It’s silent for awhile, long enough for MJ to think that she's gone and fucked it up.

“I just want you to know,” Peter says quietly and clearly, “that whatever happens in here might just be a game for you, but it isn't going to be a game for me, MJ.”

She almost can't breathe for the hope that’s clawing its way up her throat.

“You fucking dumbass,” she croaks, and then she’s dragging him in by the collar of that stupid polo and kissing him.

It’s sweet, as far as first kisses go (even though their teeth clink together at first), a soft, warm press of lips that makes her melt against him. Peter whimpers into her mouth, sliding his hands into her hair and his tongue into her mouth, cradling her head so gently she almost wants to cry. She holds on to his polo for dear life and let's herself be kissed, warmth spreading all the way down to the tips of her toes.

She doesn't know how long they've been sitting there, making out, but suddenly the door cracks open, shedding light on them.

They leap apart with an audible pop, but she’s too pleased to want to die of embarrassment. Peter’s lips are a deep red. I did that, she thinks with satisfaction.

She stares at Peter, eyes dark and conveying what she hopes is a ‘come hither’ look.

“Yo, loser, can you not?” She doesn't even bother looking over her shoulder to see who it is and just grins at Peter, who grins back.

“Oh my god,” comes Ned’s voice. “I’m scarred. I’m scarred for life.”

(What they don't know--and never will--is that Ned’s already taken a snapchat of them with the caption “finally” and sent it to Aunt May. She responds with a snap of her and Maria Hill captioned with multiple exclamation points and heart eye emojis.)

She finally turns around and flips Ned off. “Shut up, Leeds. Go tell the others to move the game. This place is occupied.”

Ned looks amused. “The game ended a while ago, MJ. No one else wanted to come get you guys.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair. She thinks absentmindedly that debauched is a good look on him.

“So, MJ, does this mean we’re dating for real now?”

“In case you haven't noticed, we’ve been dating for real. I was just waiting for you to get with the program. Anyways, there’s no going back now, you're stuck with me.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, and it makes her blush until he follows it with, “Except maybe my web shooters. Ha! Get it?”

“Don’t you dare make finger guns, Parker, because that joke wasn't worth it,” she says, even as a bright smile makes its way across her face. “I can't believe I have feelings for such a loser. Are you always going to be like this? Ned, is he always going to be like this?”

Ned, as loyal to his best friend as ever says, “Yeah, but we love him for it. Now come out, they started playing Kesha a while ago and I wanna dance. Betty’s already out there.”

She sighs, crawling out of the closet and grabbing Peter’s hand as soon as he makes it out. She justifies it by rolling her eyes at him when he looks down at their intertwined fingers. The sheer joy on his face is worth it.

Take It Off ends and someone puts on Die Young, the obnoxious techno beats pulsing through the whole house. She thinks of the song and how easily it could apply to Peter and her, how easily he could really “die young”, before deciding that that’s too morbid for a Saturday night (it's more something to mull over on a Tuesday morning) and yanks Peter onto the dance floor.

He’s a horrible dancer, but she doesn't mind. He makes up for it later when they get back to his house. Until, of course, Aunt May comes into his room without knocking, gasping, “What the fu--!”