Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing people don’t tell you about dating your best friend is that it starts off awkward.

Like, really awkward.

It takes about three days to realize sitting beside each other at lunch is just unnecessary—it’s harder to converse, and Michelle feels particularly guilty about unintentionally leaving Ned out of conversations, considering he’s the reason they got together in the first place.

They switch back to having Ned swinging—ha—seats depending on his mood, but usually securing the spot beside Michelle. It’s easier—Peter talks the most (though not by far), so having him face both of them cuts the retelling in half. Besides, when Ned does go off, Michelle gets a better view of her now-boyfriend’s reactions to Ned’s retelling of the now-defunct Star Wars Expanded Universe. It's good sketchbook material, and it is, not gonna lie, a nice view.

And at the classes they happen to share, like geometry, there’s still an unspoken rule that they’re each other’s partners for any pick-your-own-partner projects.

(They were friends first, after all, and Peter liked pairing up with someone who actually helped with the work.)

The only problem with that system now, though, was that they were in that overly-excited honeymoon phase, and uh, well.

Distractions were a thing.

(And Michelle’s smart about it, okay? They meet in public spaces after school because she’s not stupid—Peter’s head-over-heels-under-webs and she is, too, but grades are important if she wants to hit an Ivy for college.

That doesn’t stop him from being ridiculously adorable and attempting any and every sort of possible way to show off to her instead of actually working on homework, though.)

They learn faster on that front, because, again, GPA. By the second class project, Peter’s claimed the kid up front whose name he has never gotten because they sit so far apart, and Michelle claims the kid who always seems to be asleep, but who, she’s noticed, will always wake up and give the right answer if prompted.

They get straight A’s, and by month two-point-five of their relationship, they’ve settled enough to be able to handle doing projects together again, to the disappointment of their substitute partners. Ned’s just glad he can visit them both at the same time again, instead of hopping between two houses on opposite sides of the 7 train. (Thank goodness for unlimited Metrocards.)

The other thing, and honestly the worst thing: their families.

There’s this numb, constant fear between the two of them that their families won’t get along, especially after Peter tells Michelle that May still remembers the ride home from Nationals, when the Parkers took over home-chaperoning duties because the Jones’ didn’t show up for their only child.

Sure, they each like their child’s significant other, but that’s been expected—Michelle’s father had always appreciated Peter’s bashful, emotional attunement; her mother always thought him smart, and hearing those words from her mouth was a miracle in and of itself. Michelle’s glad about it, and glad she’s dating someone they’ve seen as many times as they’ve been home the last two years.

And May? May Parker adores the ground on which Michelle stomps on—or glides, she can do both. They’ve always gotten along well, and been undeniably close in that telepathic understanding sort of way since the day Michelle had first come over, and it warms Peter’s heart to no end that his two favorite girls are also each other’s’ faves.

(No one tell Shuri she’s third place; she might not be willing to help him with another suit upgrade, and he’s not sure he wants to risk reverting back to the non-vibranium-enhanced backup suit unless he has to.)

But it works out, as things do, because Ned’s family invites everyone over for a boodle fight.

Pro tip: if you think your families hate each other, throw a bunch of mega-tasty food on banana leaves, shove all that on a shared table, and watch friendships grow from the simple act of having to share food.

And eat with your hands.

(Michelle gets a special section all to herself because wow, 90% of Filipino food is meat; Peter steals from her pile of rice repeatedly even though it would be easier to grab from the center mountain because he says it “tastes better”.)

But yeah. They kinda wish maybe someone had the nerve to tell them it would be a little awkward at first. And that there would be some things to get used to.

Like personal rules.

Michelle has this thing about not getting into trouble unless absolutely necessary (why is she dating him?), so being rebellious teens who get in trouble for making out under the bleachers is a no-go.

Not that Peter has thought about doing such things.

Pff.

Naw.

“So, the big football game,” he says, leaning on the locker beside Michelle’s. “Yes or no?”

“It’s like you don’t know me,” she says, squinting at him.

Peter waggles his brows.

She crosses her arms. “No. If that wasn’t clear.”

Peter Parker: Dreams Dashed, Hopes Ruined.

“And Pete?” Michelle adds as she walks away backward, “you’re little teenage boy dream? Never happening.”

The sea of students part for her, just like they should.

“It was worth a shot!” he calls, locking her locker in her stead.

(He’s not actually hurt about it, but sometimes he likes to think he’s in a rom-com, because he’s already a superhero, so why not.)

Ned manages to show up right at the end of the conversation, walking past Michelle and turning to her like I kind of want to know, but I think it’s just Peter being Peter.

She gives him a silent nod, and he turns to Peter to say, “Bro, you need to let that one go, man.”

Peter Parker: No Friends, Only Traitors.

Peter is, as some would say, a mess.

But he’s a strategic mess. A smart mess.

A mess that likes his personal mess staying as a personal mess.

Not to say Michelle is one to talk, because the questionable amount of wild, untamed paper in her room could be used to build a mini-Manhattan twice over. But listen, at least her mess isn’t all over the floor in a 8x12 (if that) glorified walk-in closet the night they’re supposed to build and program a drone for Physics.

“Mmk. Peter?”

“Mm?” he hums from the ceiling.

She kicks some of his discarded clothes. “Not all of us can escape laundry by climbing up to the ceiling.”

He grins sheepishly. “Sorry?”

Michelle motions to the pile. “I’m not gonna be that controlling girlfriend stereotype, but...can I?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter replies, jumping down. “I’ll help.”

They finish clearing the floor of his room with a chorus of Oh, sorry, that’s Ned’s, I need to return it and Thief. Hey, wait—since when do you own Doc Martens? and I’LL TAKE THOSE and WAIT, those were my size! Peter! Did you get me Docs?!

This is why Peter doesn’t let other people mess with his Mess™️.

He has rules. Boundaries.

Hidden birthday gifts for his best friend/girlfriend.

“Did you get me Docs, nerd?” she asks with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile. “Where’d you even get the money for that?”

“My boss is a billionaire,” Peter replies from the ceiling, dodging her reaching arms as he attempts to hide the boots. “It’s illegal not to pay interns.”

“Tell that to every industry ever,” Michelle laughs, jumping at him. “I can’t believe you!”

“You know, this is the most emotion I have ever seen on your face,” he quips, ducking and bouncing to another corner. He gives her an approving nod, hastily tying the shoes to his belt hoops. “Suits you.”

She drops the smile, crossing her arms to regain composure. “Don’t tell me what does or doesn’t suit me, barely-legal practitioner of vigilantism.”

“Oh, then, I guess I should return the boots—”

Michelle had dignity, once.

Once being five minutes ago.

She’s wanted that pair for ages, and it’s a wonder Peter remembered her offhand comment from two years prior, before they were even close friends.

She pulls the biggest smile she has in her arsenal, practically begging her boyfriend for the boots. “Nonono, look, I’m smiling! See! Big smile!”

Peter laughs, rising to his full height but upside down. He kisses her forehead, then her nose, snickering. “Nevermind, it’s weird. Please go back to normal MJ.”

“Kiss me again and I’ll think about it,” Michelle whispers, tilting her head up.

Peter does that thing where he kinda flails and freeze-frames, turning red faster than the traffic stops on Old Country Road.

“Sucker,” Michelle smirks, jumping up and tugging the loosely tied shoes off of Peter’s belt loops.

He clears his throat as she moves to his swivel chair, triumphantly trying on the Doc Martens. “...Can I still get a kiss?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ with the kind of satisfaction one can only achieve from tricking their supposedly-genius-level-smart boyfriend to handing over a birthday gift two months early.

Perfect fit.

Peter - 9, MJ - 3.

Michelle grabs his new web-shooters from the desk and thwips him, pressing a button to pull him towards her.

“Kidding,” she says, smiling into the kiss.

He melts enough to fall to the floor.

Peter - 9, MJ - 4.

It’s not bad, though. Like, 90% of it is pretty flippin’ great, actually, and after the whole awk phase, that percentage bumps up to the full hundred. Especially when Ned’s around.

Because for some weird, unknown reason, all the stupid/best/most questionable stuff happens when Ned’s around.

(Well—most, because there’s still that one time May went with them to FAO Schwarz’s mini-revival on 5th Ave and Peter managed to get stuck on the giant keyboard.

Because Spidey-feet and finals-induced insomnia loosely translate into sticky Peter.)

“I’m getting a snack,” Peter says, standing. “Anyone want anything?”

“‘Tubig, or not tubig’,” Ned recites, tossing Hamlet up onto the top bunk. “‘That is the question.’”

“...What?”

“‘Water’,” Michelle translates with a turn of a page. The aged copy of Things Fall Apart in her hands drops dust as she does so. “‘Tubig’ means ‘water’ in Tagalog. Learn a language, doofus.”

“I know other langu—”

“Not a computer one. And not Spanish.”

Peter huffs, wondering why he’s in love with someone who knows how to and takes joy in derail(ing) him at every turn.

“Quote MJ, though,” Ned says. “I mispronounced it for the joke.”

Michelle lowers her book, wiping off fragments of yellowed paper from the hoodie she borrowed (read: stole) from Peter. “That’s what you do for most of your Taglish jokes.”

“No,” Ned argues, rolling in Peter’s bed. “That’s what I do for all of my Taglish jokes.”

Peter stares at them. “So. In English. Water?”

Ned nods.

“I’ll take your best glass of non-alcoholic-yet-edible clear liquid,” Michelle replies smugly.

“You,” Peter points, “drive me up the wall.”

Ned sits up in a rush. “Oh, like last week when she—”

Glare.

“—did nothing, absolutely nothing,” he finishes, but it’s not the fearful response he gives Michelle. His eyes are alight, and his lips are drawn tight, laughter emanating from everywhere on his body except for the vocal bits.

Peter’s aware that his place in the universe has lowered slightly, if only by his own lack of intimidating factors.

Oh well. Better loved than feared.

He comes back a minute later with two glasses of water and a box of (modified—thanks, Bruce) 5-hour Energy cans, because he has nothing left to lose…’cept sleep. He hasn’t read any of the assigned readings, and class starts tomorrow.

Ned’s not entirely sure anymore about how they got on the topic, because they’d started with a quick, interview-style recorded dialogue citing the differences between being vegan vs vegetarian. He just remembers there being a vague comment referencing Flash’s new Snapchat with his latest throwaway girlfriend, another comment on Liz’s Instagram post with her new roommates for sophomore year, and somehow that degraded into Peter pacing on the ceiling, defending the physical attributes of one Michelle “MJ” Jones to his best friend.

“Hey, my girlfriend is hot,” Peter argues. His shoulders are hunched and arms crossed, heavily furrowed brows raining disdain on Ned.

“She’s a stick,” Ned counters in Battle Position. “A tall, lanky, stick.”

“A hot stick!”

Ned pauses. “You know, MJ’s gonna be disappointed we’re even talking about her like she’s some object.”

“You’re the one who called her a stick.”

“You called her hot!”

Peter groans, sprawling on the ceiling. “I’m not objectifying her! I’m stating a fact!”

“It still kinda applies!” Ned half-yells.

Michelle peeks her head through the door. “Fun fact: your walls? Thin.”

Peter unceremoniously falls to the floor. “H-hi.”

“MJ!” Ned turns with a not-cool smile, his voice rising in pitch. “You’re here! Not in Massachusetts!”

“Yes, nerd-son, very much here. Interview was canceled because of snow.” She smirks. “So glad my boyfriend is physically attracted to me, by the way. That means so much to my inner girly-girl.”

Peter squints at her. “Your facial expression says truth, but your voice says sarcasm.”

“Aw, look Ned!” she says walking in and patting the hacker on the shoulder. “He’s all smart now!”

“...Sarcasm,” Peter concludes.

Michelle pinches his cheek and sticks a tongue out at him. “I’m glad you two are at least thinking about what you’re saying now, though.”

Ned hates himself, but adds: “And?”

“And,” she says, corralling them both under her arms, “you should know that I’m judging you, Leeds. I’m gorgeous.” She catches Ned in a half-lock, forcing him closer. “Learn from Nerd #1 over here,” she says, motioning to Peter with a nod.

“See?” Peter yells. “See?!”

“I can barely see, I think I’m blacking out,” Ned says, exaggerating choking sounds. “The stick is cutting my circulation.”

Michelle frees him, then kicks his sorry behind to the doorway and flips him off.

Ned shrugs, raising his hands in defense. “You said honesty is the best policy.”

“Accepting facts is preferred,” she replies, shrugging off her coat. Peter’s breath hitches because he’s still not used to seeing her wearing his old sweaters, even if that particular habit started before the dating thing did.

Ned assumes Star Wars Debate position. “Hotness is subjective.”

“There are exceptions,” Peter argues, gesturing to his girlfriend in a Will Smith-like manner. “Exceptions!”

Ned hums. “You guys are stupid.”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be insulted or proud that you just said that,” Michelle flatlines, contemplatively tilting her head.

“Yeah, it’s making my head, like—” Peter makes an open-close motion with his hands.

Ned smirks. “The student has surpassed the master.”

Michelle frowns. “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far, Yoda-wannabe.”

He clears his throat. “Yes ma’am.” Pause. “But you guys are stupid.”

“Lame comeback, loser.”

“No, I mean,” he says, pointing at the top bunk. “My video cam’s still running.”

Peter opens and shuts his mouth like a fish out of water. “You—since the—”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not showing May this, right?” he flounders. Michelle’s laughing beside him, inhibitions gone. He nudges her. “Right?”

Ned walks slowly out the door.

“Ned!”

Michelle catches Peter’s chin, maneuvering him closer for a quick peck whilst flipping off the camera. “To think, I almost missed this for an advanced entry interview. A tragedy to put Willy Shakes to shame.”

Her boyfriend sulks. “Boo. Boo you.”

She kisses him again, slower. “Wanna say that again, loser?”

“Nope,” he says, kissing her back. “Missed you.”

“I saw you yesterday.”

“I always miss you.”

“That’s borderline unhealthy dependency,” she says, patting his head twice.

Peter smiles, an evil glint in his eye. “Nah, I miss Ned and May all the time too…”

Michelle steps back, ready to run for the door. “No. No. Peter. Sit. Stay.”

He grins, arms outstretched as if to hug her. “...But they aren’t ticklish.”

(Michelle makes it outside, barely. Ned sits on the couch, ignoring her peals of laughter and angry demands for help from the floor behind him.)

This one starts because May’s on speakerphone and is asking for a recipe.

...Okay, that in itself does not start it, because that would make little-to-no sense, but that is what makes them gather into the kitchen and surround Peter’s laptop.

Which in turn makes Michelle spot the 15 Unread Messages from Shuri.

Which of course makes her shove her boyfriend and best friend aside so she can see what these two science nerds are conspiring on.

(She has a very good reason: after the whole Thanos thing at the start of senior year, after Peter and Shuri had formally met, those two had managed not one, not two, but five failed—and explosive—experiments, all dreamed up via the secure Avengers & Friends network Shuri and Tony put together.

For the sake of the safety of the entire world, it was her duty to make sure they weren’t planning another energy-based experiment.)

She scrolls up, because context is key, and isn’t sure if she wants to laugh at or pick on Peter. “‘Your brother’s good looking but mj’s dating me for me so ya i think she’d still pick me’—‘oh n u’re in love w her because she’s smart, not super pretty?’—‘Yes’—‘ok so it’s ok if i send her those snaps from 8 mos ago where all u did was scream abt how pretty her hair n nose n eyes r? u know, THESE:’,” she dictates to raucous laughter from Ned.

The last fourteen messages were all video evidence.

Peter throws himself over the laptop, prying it away from her hands. He says nothing, but looks at her with wide eyes and tantrum-pursed lips.

“Haha! It’s true!” Ned yells, taking cover behind the couch in the living room. “He sent me those, too! I have more, if you want to see...” he says, voice dwindling as he swipes through his phone.

Michelle quirks a brow, looking between her boys. “Oh? That’s how it is?” She steps towards Peter, patting his shoulder. “I thought you were better.”

“How dare you use Tony’s Angry Dad voice.”

“‘Oh, hey, MJ, did you—did you wanna go out? Maybe? To um, study? Brain. Smart. I need help,’” she quotes, reminding him of his very nice, very smooth invitation to their first date.

(Tangent: It was a very good date. 12/10. Would recommend.

They went to the Met and she held his hand and they talked about why high art is hilarious and full of Renaissance memes. They shared cheese fries at Shake Shack and he stole her shake and made her run after him to the street across.

She whispered, “You’re passable,” into his ear.

He yelled, “MY GIRLFRIEND FIXED HALF OF THE NEW SOKOVIA ACCORDS,” into the aether that is Central Park.

She watched his backpack as he chased a bike thief down 3rd Ave.

He walked her home because swinging over buildings makes Michelle feel like death is upon her.

Mhm. Very good. Would do again. Did again. Multiple times. Doing again on Friday, in fact.)

Peter throws his hands up, exasperation evident in his wide eyes. “I don’t love you because you’re pretty! I love you ‘cause you’re smart!”

Squint.

“That came out. Bad. Wrong. Um—the pretty is a nice bonus. But it’s ‘cause you’re smart.”

“Ned, twenty,” Michelle smirks, holding a hand up to the hacker.

Ned tch’s, hands her two tens, and shakes his head at Peter. “Why’d you have to be honest?”

“You—” Peter starts, pointing at them, “—what? What did you do?”

“Bet you liked me ‘cause of my beautiful brain,” Michelle flatlines, holding up the bills like a fan. “Extra ten if you said ‘love’.”

“Why.”

Ned shrugs, guiltless. “It was supposed to be easy money. Can’t believe Shuri ruined my plans from a different continent.”

“I can—watch and weep, Leeds.” Michelle hooks the back of Peter’s knee with her foot and pulls. He falls forward, catching the counter on either side of her, and she closes the two-inch distance with a quick peck. She crinkles her nose with a smirk as she pulls away. “I’m still the Sherlock in this group.”

(Everyone forgets May’s still on the line until she can’t hold in her laughter anymore and chastises her nephew for being a big ol’ dork.

“But don’t change, Peter.”

“I won’t, May.”)

Senior prom is this magical night of everyone being super ready to graduate and not excited about going back to school on Monday.

Because of course Midtown Tech puts it at the awkward end-phase of the year, where any sort of party completely dismantles the student body’s focus.

Michelle had gone with Ned to junior prom the year before, purely because she asked him before Peter could ask her. And Ned, because he panicked, accidentally said yes.

(Peter was supposed to go stag, but Ned managed a switcheroo that had the hero somehow picking up his future girlfriend and Michelle not kicking Ned’s butt at the dance for not alerting her to said plan.

It was a pretty good night, but really, with Ned not having a date they’d all ended up in a group setting with the rest of the Decathlon kids anyway.)

This year, what with them getting together around the end of summer, Michelle and Peter had gone to every social event together without much of a fuss.

But this is senior prom.

Peter’s gonna make a fuss.

(Not big nor public enough for his girlfriend to dump him, but a fuss nonetheless.)

He gets Ned to work on It with him.

(They name It “Panther”, because “It” started sounding creepy after the first hour of working.)

“I can’t believe you’re going through all this trouble even though you’ve already got the girl,” Ned complains from the phone.

“It’s called ‘keeping the girl’, Ned.” Peter blinks, the numbers and letters on the screen before him turning into mush. “But, you know, not keeping-keeping, just—”

He hears high-speed typing from his friend’s side of things. “Yeah, dude, I gotchu. At least you’re not trying to pull the cafeteria stunt Flash did for that junior girl.”

“You kidding?” Peter laughs, getting up to find a snack. “If I did that MJ would kill me. Or the mariachi band.”

“Panther’s gonna be awesome,” Ned says. “If she doesn’t like him I’m using him for my résumé to Stark Industries.”

“...You could use him either way, you know.” Peter grabs three energy bars and a packaged salad, moving his headquarters to the couch as he scarfs down the food.

Ned stays silent.

“Dude.”

“...I did not know.”

“Now you know.”

“Now I know.” His typing resumes.

***

Good morning sunshine!!

it’s 6am

go away

No i have something to show u

I have at least 4 more hrs 2 sleep

Look outside!

no

Pls

it’s saturday go awayyyyjwods

Plsssss

Peter if u arnt BLEEDING 2 DEATH when i look outside u are GOIN 2 B

***

Peter’s a little afraid, because Michelle only uses text shortcuts when she’s half-awake, but if death comes this fine morning, it will have been worth it.

Panther’s in front of him, and when his girlfriend raises the window, Ned presses a button, Peter says a command, and off it goes.

This is where Michelle likes to yell at him. Likes to pretend she hates his guts for 0.3 seconds, because even if they fight on some things, she’s too understanding to be really Mad at him. Likes to flip him off and pointedly only converse with Ned until he hugs her from behind and plops his head on her shoulder in pure apology.

But there’s a robot cat made up of painted-black recycled bottles at her window carrying something, and that’s it, that’s how Michelle Jones dies. It’s got the line PANTHER 4.7 etched across the visible metal serving as its collar.

She picks up her phone—it’s still 6AM; she’s not about to cause a public disturbance by yelling down to the ground from her attic room—and dials 'loser #1'. “Please don’t tell me you stole this from Shuri,” she says to Peter. “It’s objectively really cute and I want to keep it.”

“He’s all yours,” Peter grins, eyes dazzling.

She sees Ned lean over to the phone excitedly. “So’s Pete!”

She laughs, smiling wide. “Yeah, I kinda got that.” She picks up the robot. “So this is what ‘extra credit’ looks like, huh?”

“Maybe. Ned’s using it for his résumé, so kinda.”

“I’d say B for effort.”

“Hey!” Ned cuts in. “Don’t be insultin’ my AI!”

“Fine,” Michelle says with a hum, “B-plus.”

She sees Ned move away from the phone, but his quiet, “Yeah, fine, fair, it still has kinks…” still manages to get picked up by Peter’s Starkphone.

“MJ, check the letter,” Peter speaks into the phone. His voice is soft and careful and so full of The Emotion™️ that it makes her heart do the Beating Faster thing.

Michelle smiles down at Panther 4.7—she’s decided to refer to him as Four-Sev for ease, regardless of whether or not he’s getting an upgrade—and takes the enveloped letter.

It’s a deep maroon, lettered with silver ink and what is definitely Peter’s lazy scrawl.

Hi MJ!

I couldn’t think of a pun, but I would love the HONOR of taking you to prom.

(Ned’s taking Betty; we can actually dance this year! :) <3 )

Love,

The 2nd Coolest Kid At Midtown Tech (and Spidey’s Work BFF)

A badly drawn Zuko is directly above “HONOR”, and tiny web-hearts cover most of the stationary. Michelle turns it over and of course, of course there’s a whole bunch of MJ <3 Peter’s in hearts covering the back side.

Silly boy.

Good boy.

Her boy.

“Hey loser, I’m gonna need to frame this,” she says, laughing softly. “But who’s the first coolest?”

“You.”

Ned’s whistle could be heard down the block.

(Michelle is not swooning. She is stoic. She is a rock. She is...lying through her teeth.)

She swallows, forcing her voice to keep steady. “Boy, you’ve been practicing.”

“Is it working?” he whispers, and yes, yeah, fine, this must be payback.

Peter - 34, MJ - 33.

“Screw you,” she hisses back, picking up her new robo-kitty and letting it explore her room. “My dress is yellow.”

“Keepin’ it classic, I see,” Ned comments from behind Peter.

“Shuri sent it over. Wakandan fashion is lit.”

“It’s not gonna turn into battle armor, is it?” Peter asks. “Like, you’re brilliant, but you’re hand-to-hand is ehhhh.”

“No,” she laughs, “it doesn’t.” Pause. “I think. I hope not. I’m not ready for physical exertion.”

“...You’re gonna go check now, aren’t you?”

“Yup. Go away. I’ll see you tonight.”

Peter laughs, waving goodbye. “Bye. Love you.”

She nods at them, smiling. “Bye, love you.”

“Bye! Love you!!” Ned cuts in.

She snorts. “Love you, idiot. Make good choices.”

“Nah!!” he replies, already tugging Peter away.

“Oi, seriously, please, good choices today.”

“Never!” Ned laughs, but gives an OK sign with his hand.

Peter’s got this dopey look on his face; his lips don’t know if he’s supposed to be in awe or laughing, so they keep twitching up at the sides then returning to a neutral ‘O’. His eyes are shining, and Michelle’s aware that he can hear her heartbeat through the phone.

“Hey, you need to look at the street, dummy,” she says softly.

“Nah, spidey-sense,” he quips, then turns solemn. “You’re golden.”

Michelle blinks. Excuse me? Foul ball? How dare he? It’s too early in the morning to be this in love.

“You’re about to get hit by a truck.”

He spins suddenly, and she starts laughing. “Gotcha.”

“Fine, fine. Later. For real.”

“Peter, hey,” she cuts in, seeing him about to leave her sight. He stares up at her, waiting. “It was sweet. Really. Thank you.”

What she would give to see that megawatt smile for the rest of her life.

(And yes, the dress did transform. Shuri had a good laugh about it when she Skyped in from Oakland, the prankster, but conceded to showing her how to deactivate the transformation.)

Somewhere down the line, you’re gonna end up using pet names. Not the ones you start with, either.

Michelle calls Peter a nerd and a loser, but she calls Ned those things, too.

Peter calls her MJ, but that’s just a general thing—any friend can call her that. It’s not this big secret joke.

Sure, Michelle still kinda thinks the usual pet names are lame at best and derogatory at worst, but now that she’s actually dating someone they don’t seem all that bad. Besides, in most minds, Peter would indeed be considered a “babe”.

He’s the nicest boy in all of America (as far as she knows), and if anyone’s going to use a Classic™️ pet name with the purest of intentions, it’s him.

(Plus, that specific one is what her parents use, and if it can carry through thirty years of teamwork, then she could give it a go.)

Michelle checks her phone, then shoves her books into her bag.“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Gonna buy my grad sweats.” (Graduation is a solemn event and she likes to be solemnly comfy.)

“‘Kay, see ya,” Peter replies, leaning towards her as she walks past him so she could kiss the top of his head.

She obliges. “Bye, babe.”

Wait.

“Wait, what?” He trips, somehow, on the armrest—I didn’t know this was possible—and falls over the side of the couch. “MJ! Say that again?”

She’s out the door by the time he turns his body towards the door.

Peter’s not entirely sure if he was imagining things, but May’s in the kitchen and her mouth is doing the fish thing, so it was, at least, not a hallucination.

“Did she call me ‘babe’?” he asks his aunt.

May purses her lips. “I’m. Hmm. Sweetie, did you pick on her, or something?”

Peter squints.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lifted arms in defense, “I just—I have never heard her call you that. Ever. Or even want to.”

“Because she never does!”

“Well, maybe it’s...I don’t know, I don’t want to assume.”

Peter quirks a brow.

May takes a deep breath. “Maybe she’s, you know, she’s just very comfortable with you now.”

He frowns. “I’ve been her friend for three years.”

“And you liked each other for at least two of those years, right?” May asks.

“Well.” Blink. “Yeah.” Breath. “According to Ned.”

May laughs, getting up to hug the boy. “Ned’s better at spotting things than you give him credit for.”

“He thought I got buff from the flu.”

“Yeah, well, no one could really think of a logical reason to that happening, hon.” She ruffles his hair. “It was the first time someone got bit by a radioactive spider and got superpowers from it.”

Peter purses his lips. “Yeah...yeah, that’s true.” He tilts his head. “You really think she’s like...comfortable? About us?”

May quirks a brow. “Aren’t you?”

He nods vigorously.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Problem? Psh. No problem.” Pause. “Just. You remember when you and Ben would dance in the living room after putting me to bed?”

“Peter,” May chastises. “Did you stay up past nine?!”

He puts his hands up. “We—uh—well, maybe—possibly?” he replies, smiling guiltily. “...Yes?”

She looks at him sternly, about to give him a talk about Lying...then remembers his whole Secret-Spider-Man phase and decides to let it go.

Peter relaxes.

“And yes,” May says softly. “Of course I remember those nights.”

(Slow dancing to classics and having the silent version of a rave on their couch. Delighting in the company and the memories being made. Sharing a glass of cheap wine paired with a sandwich from the deli around the block.

Simple love.)

Peter grins, sheepishly bowing his head for a time. “That’s how I always feel. With MJ.” He rubs the back of his neck, hand swiping up and over his face as he sighs. “I dunno. I guess I’m just happy. Like, super happy. Spidey-happy.”

May coos, then pats his back with silent laughter. “Honey, that’s not a thing.”

“It should be a thing.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “it probably should.”

“Hypothetically, if Ned and I were going to fall off a building, which one of us would you choose?” Michelle asks into the comms, eyes trained on the TV in her room.

Ned sits up by her feet, interest piqued. “‘scuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

(Four-Sev’s bounding around the room, his collar now sporting the number 5.5.)

Peter’s distracted breathing is the only reply, and they watch the TV switch to different camera feeds as he swings past the Highline—which, by the way, not actually that high.

Michelle eyes her laptop, Google Maps opened and zoomed to the southwest of Manhattan. “Take a left at the next corner—the old factory should be right there.”

“Dude, you’re picking me, right?” Ned huffs, still hacking into the security cameras of the apartment building beside the factory.

“Kinda busy here!”

“He’s totally picking you,” Michelle deadpans, and Ned’s not sure if she’s serious or not. “Babe, your other left, you idiot.”

Now that’s new.

“Did you just call him ‘babe’?” Ned asks, code at 97% and completely forgotten.

“It’s a new development. Okay, I see it—do we have eyes?”

“Saying ‘do we have eyes’ every time you go out on a mission does not suddenly make you a military commando,” Michelle quips, but nudges Ned with her foot anyway. “Dude?”

“Oh—” Type, type-type. “—Okay, yeah. They should be at your six. Wait. No. Twelve.”

“And this is why you’re not in the military,” Michelle adds. “‘Left, right, up, down’ are there for a reason, you know.”

Ned frowns at her. “I’m good at military code.”

“Not when you haven’t slept for two days because you’re waiting on your internship app results.”

“...You have a point.”

“I always have a point,” she finishes. “That’s the only reason I use my vocal chords.”

“Uh, guys? Did no one see the big dude with SCALES on the video feed?”

Ned and Michelle turn back to the TV screen in a rush.

“Oops.”

“Yikes.”

“Okay—cool—thanks—uh, help, you know, would be nice.”

***

wait so ud pick me right

Huh?

ud pick me if mj n i fell off two diff sides of a building

Duh dude

PETER WHATS WRONG W U THATS UR GIRLFRIEND

I cant win

DUDE THATS NOT COOL

She has!! Vibranium!! Stuff!! From shuri!!!!

what

Yeah

why didnt shuri give ME anything

Idk maybe cuz u said she couldnt find a way to fit a parachute into a ring

o ya thats probably it

Peter’s squinting at her, in his Peter-y way.

That is, slowly tilting his head this way and that, as if trying to find a flaw, a chink, an opening.

She turns her head slowly, arms carrying a (relatively) small box of books. “Can I help you?”

“I haven’t thought of a pet name for you,” he says, not nearly out of breath enough for a guy carrying three luggage bags on his shoulders. “It’s bothering me.”

Michelle’s about to laugh, but he looks way too serious for this to be an elaborate joke. She settles for a disbelieving sigh. “You call me ‘sunshine’ at least five times a day, Peter.”

“So you want me to call you sunshine? Sarcastically?”

“I’m just saying,” she says, opening her dorm room and plopping the box down, “it’s probably just not meant to happen. We’ll always have the defaults.”

Peter grins mischievously. “‘Sweetheart’?”

“Oh, wow, I’m.” She shakes her head and covers her ears, arms up and ready for the inevitable. “I’m going to murder you. I’m going to murder Spider-Man.”

“‘Honey’?” he says moving closer. He leaves her bags by the door, propping it open. “‘Love of my life’?”

“That last one’s a stretch for a pet name,” Michelle argues, shoving the heels of her palm harder into her ears.

Peter hugs her waist from behind. “How ‘bout ‘snookums’?”

(Four-Sev jumps out onto the bed from Michelle’s backpack at the name, and Peter mentally registers this as her having called it that at least once before.)

An elbow whizzes past his head. He keeps his grip, laughing into her neck. “‘Love’?”

“Don’t try to be English.”

“‘Precious’?”

Michelle guffaws, momentarily freeing her ears. “Really, Gollum?”

“Yeah, not my best,” Peter says, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment. “‘Darling’?”

She hums. “You know, I think that one’s acceptable, but only because you make it actually sound sweet.”

Peter grins. “Really?”

“No, never use it again. Your voice is tiny,” Ned says from the doorway. He kicks in a final box labeled BOOKS #9.

Peter lets go of his girlfriend, frowning. “Dude.”

“Oh, no, he’s right. I was being sarcastic,” Michelle confirms, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it so much, Pete. We’ve got time.”

We’ve got time, he repeats in his head like a mantra.

Like a promise.

“You make me happy,” he says wistfully, stealing a kiss. “Just. Just really happy.”

“Peter, my parents should be the ones crying about dropping me off at college.”

“I’m not crying. I’m happy.”

He’s not crying.

He’s tearing up, but he’s not crying.

Yet.

“¿Por qué no los dos?” Ned chuckles, moving Michelle’s luggage bags into the room. “Hey, you’re helping us with our move-in, right?”

“Yeah, duh.” Michelle offers him a bro-five for thanks. “You wanna bet he’ll cry then, too?”

“Deal,” Ned says, initiating their secret handshake. Clap, snap, Bird-promise. “Don’t mess this up for me, Pete.”

“I got it!” Peter says with a tongue-click. “‘Unhealthy gambler’!”

“Dude, screw. you.” Michelle shoves them out of her room. “Get outta here, I gotta unpack. Tell my parents to come up.”

Peter makes a heart with his hands, grinning madly as she shuts the door in their faces.

“I honestly don’t know how you’re still dating.”

“True love, Ned. True love.”

“No, I get that—but it’s still a complete mystery how you’ve managed to make her like you enough to take your bad jokes.”

Peter leaves him with the heavy boxes when they move into MIT the next weekend.

***

“Hon, what’s this thing Peter was saying about a gambling problem?”

She’s going to kill him.

...After orientation.

“Nothing, Mom. Just an inside joke.”

She mentally debates the merits of knowledge gained for her chosen specialized concentration in the event of the sudden disappearance of Spider-Man while Four-Sev lies down to charge under the sunlit window.

***

Peter cries when May leaves to go back home, and again when Michelle has to leave for class.

Ned gets his twenty back for betting he’d cry twice tops, instead of Michelle’s four-time guess.

There’s this whole “dating a superhero and being his other chair person in the van” thing to take into account, too.

The “van” is really Peter’s bedroom, and May likes to drop by every now and then to offer (store bought) knishes and macaroons as bribes for information.

(Michelle and Ned are under strict orders to never tell her how bad it actually gets, but it’s not like they like bringing up how Peter gets pinned under the Brooklyn Bridge anyway.)

The sheer amount of times Peter gets sent to the upstate New York Avengers facility during his first semester in MIT to get patched up has Michelle finally calling Shuri one day to ask if she can just, I dunno, put one in his dorm room, or something?

And Shuri, because she’s beyond the definitions of both Filthy Rich and Extremely Powerful, gets Tony to agree to putting up Peter—and Ned, because he’s a Stark Industries intern now, too—at a house near MIT with a secret basement for medical equipment.

Michelle whistles the first time she visits.

“I know,” Peter says, nursing a dislocated shoulder. “I know.”

“The girl don’t play,” Ned says, smooshed into the secondhand couch they’d placed in the basement as a sort of “waiting area”. “She offered us furniture too, but.” He motions vaguely at the mini-med bay.

“Oh, believe me, if you two said yes I would’ve decked you out of shame,” Michelle says, breathless at the gear they’d been gifted.

Peter furrows his brows. “You and what arms?”

“...I’m electing to ignore that because you already have a wrecked shoulder.”

He grins.

Peter - 71, MJ - 80.

He’s catching up again.

“Hey, Tony. Can you please tell your protégé that it’s stupid to try commuting via web from Cambridge to Queens?”

“What did he do? Do I want to know?”

“Want the short version?”

“Shoot.”

“Short pole, big pond, no skyscrapers.”

“...I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, ‘ppreciate it.”

“How’s Harvard?”

“Uh-uh. Only one nineteen-year-old can die emotionally today.”

“That bad, huh?”

“If I weren’t so stubborn I’d’ve quit by now.”

“Well hey, cheer up, kid. Summer’s right around the corner.”

“...It’s Feb.”

Chuckling. “It’s college.”

Click.

***

Michelle learns finals season at Harvard during spring semester is like fall semester finals, but on steroids. Hulk-level steroids.

She grits her teeth and staggers through with unyielding support from Peter and Ned in the form of tea, upgrades to her otherwise low-maintenance pet robo-cat (dang, she should’ve named him that instead), and encouraging group texts.

By the time summer begins, Shuri tells her she’s opening an extension for her outreach program at the Bronx and taking some graduate courses at Harvard and MIT. Wanna be my roommate?

***

“What do you mean some graduate courses?”

“It’s fun,” Shuri replies, grinning ear-to-ear on Tony’s more secure version of Skype.

“I hate you geniuses.”

Shuri dangles a set of keys in frame. “Free housing,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“I’m on scholarship, I have free housing,” Michelle bites back with no strength.

“Uh-huh.”

“...Fine, yes, I want whatever cool apartment you’re going to get.”

“It’s on the north side, is that fine?” Peter and Ned’s bungalow was south of the city.

Michelle quirks a brow. “What, you think I actually see my boyfriend? In person?”

Shuri shrugs.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I barely see him unless it’s over break, anyway. Way too much homework.”

“What, no chair duty?”

Michelle holds up her bracelet—Shuri had given their group one each. “Chair duty doesn’t require physical attendance.”

“Aw,” Shuri coos. Nakia’s behind her, fixing some papers at her desk. “Nice to see my gifts seeing use.”

“Ned’s going to call you with some bug fixes tomorrow, by the way. He’s got exams until late tonight, so don’t expect anything til like, 2PM or something.” Michelle furrows her brows. “Wait a sec, they’re letting you go to MIT, too?”

Shuri raise a brow at her, waiting.

“...Yeah, dumb question. Nerd.”

The princess grins. “Thanks.”

“I don’t wanna go baaaack,” Peter complains, hugging Michelle from her side. “I miss Mr. Delmar’s sandwicheeees.”

“Tough,” she replies, keeping to drawing May cooking their lunch. “If I have to suffer from a lack of artichoke pizza, you can suck it up for Mr. Delmar.”

“At least there’re lobster rolls?” Ned offers.

“Sixteen bucks for a tiny sandwich,” Peter hisses, tilting his head to glare at his buddy. “Sixteen. Sixteen, Ned. And they said New York was bad.”

Beeep. Beep beep beeeeeeeeeep.

“C’mon, ya big whiny baby,” Michelle says, propping up a leg to get her boyfriend to move. “Showtime.”

Groaaan.

“You good to go out there on an empty stomach, sweetie?” May asks from the kitchen.

Peter catches a Ziploc bag tossed by Ned. He raises the pack of protein bars so May can see: “I’ll be good. Cap’s recipe.”

“Explains the disgusting taste,” Michelle says blankly, pressing a button on her bracelet. A hologram of the alert with stats and tracking info pop up. She tchs appreciatively. “Wew, never gets old.”

“Tracker’s up,” Ned says, typing something into the holographic keyboard coming out of his bracelet. “Wow, this guy’s bad.”

“Are we living Criminal Minds now?” Michelle asks, squinting at the information in front of her. “Wanted for…” She hushes, glancing at May.

She’s paused from mixing pasta sauce.

“Room,” Ned says, reading Michelle’s mind.

Peter’s gone by the time they enter, and they lock the door and move to the far wall so May can’t eavesdrop. Scattered remains of two of the protein bars’ wax paper wrappers littered the space by the window, and Ned sets to cleaning it up while Michelle pulls up more information on the escaped convict.

“He’s packing,” she says into the comms. “And…” Squint. “Pete, I think he’s got stuff from Toomes.”

Ned stills. “I thought the Avengers cleaned up all of those?”

Michelle flicks her wrist, opening up more menus. She curses. “Definitely has stuff from Toomes. Probably hid it with his friends in Arizona.”

“Middle of nowhere desert? Smart.”

A breath. “Be careful.”

“Was that concern, babe?” he asks teasingly.

“Nevermind,” Michelle huffs. “Get shot, I don’t care.”

“I do! I care!” Ned yelps into the comms, litter forgotten. “Don’t get you-know-what,” he continues, eyeing the door.

***

Never tell your superhero boyfriend to get shot, because chances are he will, even if you didn’t mean it.

***

Michelle watches his monitors do most of the dirty work, with Shuri and Dr. Cho overseeing pretty much anything else. May's off getting debriefed by Tony—the usual protocol.

“I can’t believe he’s got a sweet deal back at MIT and still managed to get blasted in the city,” she says, arms crossed and leg shaking. “On the weekend.”

Ned coughs. “Your fault.”

She glares at him.

He stares back, challenging. “You know he listens to you.”

“What I said wasn’t supposed to be taken literally.”

“He’s an overachiever. He corrected our CompSci 101 professor’s code our first week of school. For fun.”

Michelle exhales, leaning back on her chair. “I hate the med bay.”

“You know, back home, it’s in the same place as my lab,” a familiar voice says from the med bay’s entrance. Shuri makes a swiping motion with her hands, and the gloves retract back to their rings. “Helps keep away the overly-sterile smell.”

The princess walks over, giving her friends a hug each. “Good to see you all alive.”

Ned knits his brows together.

“Peter’s still alive,” she says, replying with an annoyed look one can only master from being a sibling. “Don’t go pessimistic on me now, Leeds.”

“I’m not.”

The girls stare at him.

“It was just a very big blast, okay?” he continues, watching his fiddling hands.

“Can I see him?” Michelle cuts in, freeing Ned from the spotlight.

Shuri passes her rings. “Swipe down, like you’re washing your hands.”

A nod. “Got it.”

***

Dr. Cho leaves them alone after a half hour of stable readings. (She trusts Wakandan tech, but old habits die hard.)

Michelle activates the gloves, tousling her boyfriend’s hair absentmindedly. “Hey Peter, I hope you don’t plan on taking me seriously every time I tell you to get shot.” Pause. “I don’t think I’m gonna tell you to do that again, though. Just in case.”

She sits there, relaxing Peter’s (bruised) furrowed brows with a swipe of her hands. At some point, she grows bored enough to try to get his left eyebrow to stick up a different way, and debates the sterility of a sharpie for use in a medical room.

An hour in, Ned lays a hand on her shoulder. “How’s he doing?”

The monitors beep loudly as if in response.

“Pretty good, I think,” she replies. “That cut on his arm?”

Ned nods.

“It was more like a trench when I got in.”

Ned whistles. “I wish I could heal that fast.”

Michelle looks at him blankly. “That would require getting beat up enough to test the theory.”

“MJ, if I would find out I had superhealing, it would be so worth it.”

“Um. Or you’d die.”

“That’s—” he begins, argumentative. He opens and shuts his mouth. Once. Twice. “—Yeah, no, that’s a good point. Nevermind.”

***

Babe

yeah

Is this sharpie

nope

What is it

dunno tbh, Shuri lent it to me

It’s? Not washing off???

HA serves you right for getting shot with a chitauri beam, dumbass

BABE

michelle cant come to the phone right now, she is fixing her pet’s dinner

MJ. FOUR-SEV DOESNT EAT

leave a message after the tone

Mjjjjjjjjjj pity meeeeee

I didnt do the beep sound yet so your message is void. try again in thirty-six hours

Thats not how voicemails work??

yes it is. I should know, I used to leave you like fifty a week

:(

[Seen: 10 minutes ago.]

:((((((

Shuri says toothpaste gets it off and not to ask why it has to be toothpaste

“Peter?”

He freezes at his name; Ned looks like he’s about to push the battered hero forward into the darkness, but rethinks his decision.

Wouldn’t be nice of him to push his already bleeding friend into a dumpster, anyway.

Peter plasters on a smile, turning to his girlfriend. A string of curses flow through his brain, mostly insulting himself for thinking to pass down this particular alley when he knew she had a night class. “Heeeey MJ!”

Michelle winces. Peter’s confident that it didn’t come out as casual as he’d hoped.

...That, or, judging by the sudden breeze, his coat flew open. Again.

“He’s fine!” Ned blurts out, Peter’s arm still slung over his shoulders. “It’s just a scratch!”

“Oh, sure, and that guy turned out okay by the end of the scene,” she chastises, following her idiots into the alley. Peter’s lip is cut, hair matted with blood, and a large, winding wound is flowing from his upper torso down to his left thigh. She crouches, inspecting it—his long, black fall coat is covering most of the gash (and his backup suit) from prying eyes, but the steady trickle of blood running down his foot is a dead giveaway. “What did you do?”

Peter grins sheepishly, the sides of his eyes crinkling in shame. “Might’ve fought back a machete-wielding lunatic.”

Michelle takes up his other arm, helping them move to the house quicker. She looks pointedly at Ned. “And why didn’t I get a notification?”

“It wasn’t a big deal!” Ned answers, trying to believe his own lie.

Stare.

“Okay, it was a little big, but it was over super quick,” he adds. "None of the news crews even arrived by the time we bounced!"

“How the hell did Spider-Man get cut by a machete?”

“Wasn’t the machete,” Peter mutters, hissing at every step. “It was the band saw.”

“Wh—” Michelle knits her brows together. One more block. “—a band saw?”

“It was in class,” Ned supplies. “Someone didn’t like his midterm grade.”

“I, uh,” she says, clicking her tongue in disbelief. “Yeah, no, Cambridge is insane. New York’s weird, but Cambridge is insane.”

***

wru?

Peter’s

:0 r u stayin over there

[“four-sev’s mama” has attached a photo.]

PARKER WTH

band saw

it’s like i didnt give him a NEW FANCY SUIT that CANT BE CUT

I knoooooow May grounded him

u told her?

not with the pic if thats what you’re asking

good good never send parentals the blood stuff

what

what

what did you do to T’Challa??

nothing

SHURI

NOTHING GOODNIGHT dont forget to push the settings on the control panel to weave n not stitch so it heals ok

Shuri. what. the. hell.

Of course, superhero support duties also mean the occasional nightmare.

Michelle enters the apartment unannounced, not bothering to remove her down coat as she wiggles herself into the middle of Peter and Ned. She says nothing, and the hollow expression on her face puts Ned in autopilot, moving to hug her immediately. Peter leans on the armrest, letting her lie down on his chest, Ned still attached.

There is a single tear track on her cheek when she rises enough to look Peter in the eye. “Promise me you’ll reinstall your parachute immediately after use?”

Oh, he thinks. One of those.

(It’s no secret that she’s afraid of heights, and, subsequently, losing him from a fall.)

“I promise,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Shuri’s kind of made it impossible to forget, anyway. There’s just this constant. Beeping.” He motions vaguely to his ears.

She doesn’t say anything, but a single, light laugh escapes her mouth as she huddles close.

(Later tonight she will write a disastrous poem, and a less nihilistic short story about a boy and a girl and their friends kicking a giant pink alien out of a football field. She’ll slip it to Peter the next day during their lunch date, and he won’t say anything, but he’ll keep an arm around her waist or looped with hers just to let her know he’s there.)

Peter’s not proud of it, but sometimes he wakes up at 3AM and hightails it to her house in Queens, shaking and wheezing and tears falling.

He never wakes her up, just touches the glass and listens for her breathing.

He does the same for Ned.

Being housemates with him in Cambridge makes the trip quicker, at least, but then he’s left with waking up May at insane hours because it’s just not wise to try to get over there every time this happens.

Shuri catches him one night during his sophomore year, herself awake because she’d been caught up in a new invention and conveniently forgot to succumb to sleep.

“Parker,” she whispers, opening her and Michelle’s shared living room window, “don’t tell me you’re a secret creeper.”

His quiet shake of a head lets her know this isn’t some game.

“Peter, you are pale.”

“I—is that a white dude joke?” he laughs shakily. He fumbles inside.

Shuri stares at him, furrowed brows betraying concern.

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Just. Um. Just checking up.” He lets himself crumple to the floor, head in his hands.

“You look like my brother when he’s having a good day,” Shuri jokes, getting him a glass of water.

“What’s he look like on a bad day?”

“Don’t know. He hides. I made the suit too good for stealthing.” She hands him the glass. “You’ve been visiting the therapist?”

Peter nods.

(‘The’ not ‘your’, because they have the same one.)

“She’s great,” Shuri nods approvingly.

He nods again.

“Breathe, bro.”

He does, ducking his head for a minute. When he calms, his eyes are locked on Michelle’s room door. “She’s been sleeping okay?”

“Yeah.” Shuri downs some water—she doesn’t need caffeine to stay up all night, preferring the adrenaline rush of discovery. “Better than last year, from what I know. I think she’s adjusting better to her schedule.”

“Good. Sweet,” Peter breathes. He sips the rest of his water slowly. “And Four-Sev?”

“Her plastic kitten doesn’t sleep.”

“He snoozes. To charge.”

Shuri laughs quietly. “Fine. He’s okay. I fixed his spine. Leeds sent over the files, so I can take care of any malfunctions.”

Peter stands, picking up a piece of paper from their coffee-less table. “Thanks.”

(Shuri watches him write—she’s seen the story letters before; Michelle didn’t want her to worry if she’d read them without her being there to explain.

“It’s just venting,” she’d said, passing the papers. “But fiction.”

“Fiction based on reality.”

“Yeah. I think if Thanos comes back and sees those drawings I’ll be top of the list.”

There’s an ugly pink alien with a head shaped like someone used a pail to form it. It’s got significantly less details than anything else she’s sketched, so Shuri knows how much she hates that particular character.

Shuri laughs anyway. “Heh. I’ll have your back.”

“I’d prefer Four-Sev’s real version, or his wife,” Michelle jokes, ducking as the older girl throws her a disdained look.

“I can kick you out, you know.”

Michelle raises a plain piece of paper from behind the counter as a flag. “But you won’t.” I’m your NY rep for the Bronx outreach program and the kids love me.

Shuri flips her off, caught in a checkmate.

Stupid Americans.)

Peter brings her back to reality with the sound of pencil hitting wood, and she watches him slip the note under Michelle’s door.

Pause.

“Oh. Wait.”

“Wow Parker, I was going to keep your secret, but you’re your own worst enemy.” She pats his shoulder. “I suggest going home.”

Peter facepalms. “She’s not gonna let this go.”

***

oh so you can tell ME off about sleeping at a “normal hour” during college but if YOU get nightmares at 3am you’re allowed to visit my apartment??

Zzzzzzzzzz

Peter

ZzzzzzzzZzzzzzZZZzzz

typing sleeping sounds does not make you look like you’re sleeping

Are u sure

yes

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

whatever

<33333333

your snippet is out of character btw

What? No it isnt

“Dhanos gets bitten by an otter and dies from the cute”

It could happen!!

I have yet to figure out why I love you

“This is Tony Stark, leave a message. FRIDAY will sort it, so if you’re the stalker from 8th Ave, don’t bother.”

“Hey, Tony, um. Is it cool if we can give May like a tracker or something? No, wait. Not a tracker. That’s weird. Like a—um, like a pacemaker but not? That? I dunno. Something. It’s Peter, by the way. See you on Sat. Bye.”

hey uhhhh r u guys dating

???? yes?? the hell Ned???

Ned it’s been 2.5 yrs

ohhhh ok kkkkkk

boy did you have The Dream?

[Seen: 5 minutes ago.]

Ned? U ok dude?

<3333333333333333 thnx

HE DID. HE HAD THE DREAM AGAIN.

Ned answer ur phone im dyin here HAHAHAA

Secrets are kept until you’re ready to cry it out to someone, and for many, many things, Peter’s only confided in either Karen or the Avengers therapist.

“I almost died,” he whispers. Michelle’s halfway to napping on his chest, and Ned’s two rooms away cooking dinner.

“Yeah, you do that a lot,” she murmurs, arms crossed on his torso serving as her pillow. Sleep. So close to sleep.

“No, um, before. At homecoming. I almost died.”

...Nevermind. Sleep unimportant. “What?” she asks, facing him.

Peter furrows his brows. “Twice, technically. Ned saved me the first time, outside.”

“The buses?”

He nods.

“When was the other time?” she asks in a whisper. His heartbeat speeds up slightly and she lowers her head, peeking from behind her arms like a small child.

A breath. The beating maintains its pace; fast, still, but closer to normal. “Mr. Toomes, um. There was a building. And then there wasn’t. And I didn’t have the suit.”

“C’mere,” Michelle coos, hugging his neck. “You don’t need the suit.”

Peter cracks a smile. “Yeah. That’s what Tony said.”

“Wow, Tony was right about something?”

“Hey.”

“Kidding,” she laughs, kissing his temple. “All you need is that great brain of yours.”

“I kinda need the muscles to be Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man’s overrated,” Michelle counters defiantly. “I prefer my nerdy loser of a boyfriend.”

Peter raises a brow. “Dude. I’m not a loser at MIT.”

Stare.

“Okay,” he adds, “I’m not as much of a loser at MIT.”

“You can thank my coolness for rubbing off on you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just apathy.”

She shoves him aside, getting up. “Mmk, away with you. Scoot. To think, I would’ve loved you even without the superpowers.”

Peter’s mirthful laughter rings through the house. “MJ! Michelle! I love you!”

Michelle throws him The Finger, and spends the next half hour helping Ned create an amalgamation of Good Food.

She takes a breath. Then another. “I hated you. Sort of.”

Peter looks down at her, his feet firmly planted on the ceiling. “Why?”

“You were messing up Decathlon,” Michelle answers. She’s hunched over Shuri’s work table, “borrowed” for the evening to be used as her research desk. Hi-res photographs of old manuscripts in Old English and various versions of Arabic are tacked all over the place, sticky notes with simple translations attached to each.

“Good to know you cared more about Decathlon than me,” Peter laughs, walking down the wall behind the desk.

“Shut up,” she cuts in. “I cared about you. I just cared about Decathlon more.”

He tilts his head, half of his face scrunched up. “That makes me feel way better, MJ.”

She blows at the loose strands of hair by her face, doing absolutely nothing. Peter reaches over and tucks it for her, but she still gives him a look.

He smiles smugly. “Sup.”

Michelle frowns contemplatively at him. “Remember when you got sick?”

“...Yeah.”

***

It’s just the flu ill be back in no time

you passed out twice in class and threw up at lab, loser. get checked

Yeah yeah mays taking me to a dr tmrw

good. and don’t make it weird, but Liz was looking for you. I gave her your number, she might call. or something

Dude????

thank me later

***

Peter braces the wall. “You got me talking to Liz.”

A hidden grin. “I’m an excellent wingman.”

“Figures. What about that, though?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Don’t tell me you liked me.”

Michelle shakes her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “No, I didn’t. But.” Sigh. “You were basically my friend at that point. One of two. And then you started disappearing. And lying. A lot.”

He moves to the floor, sitting cross-legged by her chair. Four-Sev jumps into his lap as he leans his head on the cushioned armrest. Silent. Waiting. Listening.

“I don’t know, Pete,” she continues with an emotionless huff. “I guess I was just...really glad for a second there, you know? Had a couple weirdos to hang with during lunch. Had a few more nerds at Decathlon. Sounds dumb because I obviously didn’t even try to talk to most people, but I was still a lonely teenager sometimes.”

Peter reaches up, looking for her hand.

Michelle lowers her arm and he finds purchase. She squeezes his hand. “You...I don’t think...I don’t think you even realized how bad it was for everyone else, too, which made it worse. Like, Ned, probably, but I had Decathlon as my one club. One shot. And you almost ruined that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Peter.”

He looks up.

She’s smiling at him, soft as a feather. “I’m really happy you’re not an idiotic fifteen-year-old anymore.”

He kisses her hand. “Same. It’s nice to be an idiotic twenty-year-old.”

They sit in silence, Peter returning to the ceiling to shadow box while Michelle drowns in her papers.

An hour later, at eleven o’clock, she turns and says, “Hey, nerd?”

He ducks, dodging the imaginary bullet. “Hmm?”

“Hanging out with you is like being in a blanket burrito,” she deadpans, returning to her work just as Shuri arrives with yet another questionable box-full of singed metal.

“Hey MJ! I think it’s time Four-Sev got an up—Parker, what happened to you?”

“She said—she—blanket burrito!” the Avenger grins from the spot on the floor where he’d toppled. “I’m a blanket burrito!”

“Is.” Squint. “Is this an American thing?”

Michelle shakes her head, refusing to turn around. “Introvert thing.”

***

“Oh, so it means you are comfortable with him?”

“Like I feel at home, yeah.”

“That is adorable. Almost as adorable as Four-Sev will be with his new tail. Come here, buddy! C’mon! New special EMP tail for my favorite panther!”

“...Wouldn’t that be your brother.”

“My brother is currently in Germany and not feeding me, so no.”

“That’s fair. I got class in two, I’ll see you at home.”

“Bye. Tell Professor van Leau I read the translation he sent and it was wrong.”

“See ya. I will definitely not.”

“Coward.”

“False. It’s called laziness.”

Click.

***

yo yo yo its ya boii ned!! mjs picking up the food

Uh ned you have a phone. That is yours.

i wanted to know who ‘blanket burrito’ was but turnssss out its jus u

Did you steal her phone to check if she was cheating on me

no i asked who it was cuz she kept texting n she said ‘spider-Man but better’ so i got curious n she handed me her phone

Wow i have. Great friends

One thing they expected, at least, was the mannerism thing.

Peter’s—and thus, Spider-Man’s—sass was officially attributed by mass media to be due to his collaborations with the Avengers, most notably Tony Stark. But everyone who knows knows having two Sass Masters educating him in the art hastened his learning fast enough to sass Thanos himself over two years ago.

And Michelle? Heads would turn the first few times she gave a hug out to her boys in the hallways of Midtown Tech. The kids at the STEM outreach program got the biggest benefits: she always liked helping the youth, but being a little more responsive and empathic could only help her go up.

“Kid, next time, try to go less mouth, more fist, okay?”

“Oh. Haha. Yup. Sorry, Tony.”

“And tell MJ Happy’s sending a care package. Should be there by the end of the week.”

“How come you guys keep sending stuff to Ned or MJ but never to me?”

“When you pay off your suit I’ll send you a card.”

Click.

heard u got Miles to work on hw? guuuuurl

I have a very persuasive personality

did u threaten my kids >:(

no lol I’m not an intergalactic warlord. I shared my lunch

sus

how is that sus??

it’s not but u saying ‘lol’ is. what hav u done to my roommate?

...bye Shuri

c u at home! <3 [panther emoji]

“This is…” Peter winces, the “music” continuing to ring around them, “...kinda terrible.”

Michelle, currently wedged under his arm, scrunches up her nose. “It is, right? I’m not imagining it?”

The sound of...meowing cats? jumps into the track, and for the next five-and-a-half minutes the two squirm in agony listening to Happy’s avant-garde album.

“Would it be rude to shut this off and make out instead?” Michelle asks midway through the second song. She thinks she hears a modified sound of a bike gear, but there’s also a jet engine running and several fire alarms, so she’s not sure.

“Probably,” Peter replies, shutting off the speakers and pulling her closer. “But someone told me sometimes you need to be rude.”

She laughs, their noses touching. “That was about protesting.”

He kisses her cheek reverently. “Missed you.”

“Less talking, more kissing,” she whispers, stealing his lips. “I have to leave for class in fifteen minutes.”

“Lame,” Peter replies, kissing her softly.

(Ned’s been at the table in the back, furiously calculating something, and the only soundtrack the couple has to deal with is the occasional pencil tip breakage and the clack-click-clack of a scientific calculator.

He’d put on noise-canceling headphones before they started Happy’s music, and didn’t even notice his friends being all lovey-dovey until Michelle walked over to say goodbye and looked like a hurricane hit her hair.)

There’s a little important footnote to their specific relationship, too.

Michelle draws.

Michelle draws a lot.

And Peter likes to make short films.

Bar the first one from when he went to Berlin, they’re all things he likes to show off to people. Things he likes to post online for fun.

Stuff with family and friends and his Hot Stick™️ girlfriend whose drawing skills have only grown over the years.

***

Michelle’s brow quirks up, eyes never leaving her sketchbook. “Are you recording?”

“Maybe.”

“Come look.”

The camera surges forward, and Peter flips it over, presenting Michelle with an open palm. “And here we have one of the masterpieces stolen from the Louvre—”

“Quit it, loser,” Michelle says with a nudge, but smiling despite herself. She opens the sketchbook wider, granting the camera access. “Here, see?”

Peter flips the view back around, tilting the angle. A slew of drawings of Peter’s Work Face—exactly what it sounds like—as he meddles with his new video camera cover the two pages.

“You’re okay with me recording this?” he asks off-screen.

“Yeah, doi. Wouldn’t have called you over otherwise.”

“...You really should post these somewhere.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” The camera tilts up to her face, catching Four-Sev lounging on the couch-back. “I’m thinking about it. Shuri wants to get some portraits done for the kids, so. Yeah.”

Peter turns the video to himself. “Thanks Shu! Glad you finally know good art when you see it.”

“...Babe, you gotta let that go.”

“I will let it go when she accepts that the lightsaber fights in the prequels were amazing.”

“She’s never going to even count them as existing in-universe.”

Peter moves closer to the camera. “ACCEPT IT, SHURI. ACCEPT IT.”

Michelle shoves it away, and the feed goes dark.

“So what have we learned?”

“...No videos during patrol…”

“And?”

“And Clint doesn’t like it when you call him a sarcastic old-timer…”

“Good man. Shuri’s waiting to get that suit checked, so get your vibranium-onesie-wearing self over to Massachusetts pronto.”

Sigh. “Yes, Tony. Sorry, Clint.”

Grunt. “Apology accepted. I think. He’s still flipping you off, but mostly accepted. Talk to you later, kid.”

Click.

***

Why are you taking summer classes

im not, jus in town for the weekend to check the apartment

So cant we do the upgrade in queens???

nah i wanna see how long it takes u to get here

Evil

if i were evil ud be dead. bc u’re wearing a suit i made. with an ai i can control.

...Not evil

hurry up parker im timing you

And then, you know, the second you’ve got enough footing to know what you’ve got is solid and—Beyonce voice—irreplaceable, the marriage comments start sneaking into your conversations.

The thinly-veiled “jokes” you make when friends are around, and the semi-serious “tangents” you bring up on dates while you walk through the city that never sleeps on weekends and summer breaks.

Spider-Man’s exclusive (read: ten-second) interview is on loop on every news outlet in...most of the world, actually. Michelle’s beyond grateful to Tony for finally clipping a voice modulator into the suit, but that doesn’t stop the weak, disastrous excuse the guy gives as an exit.

“So why is it that we barely see you anymore?” the interviewer asks.

“Oh! Uh. I work Avengers night shift.” The suit's eyes retract slightly. “We, um, we’re like doctors on rotation, but less awesome—shout-out to all the doctors out there!”

Wow, a walking disaster. And I’m in love with him. Amazing.

Michelle plasters a grin on her face and pauses on her sketch. “Peter, I can honestly say I’d marry you tomorrow if you ask.”

He almost falls off the couch. “Really?”

“No, that was me lying.” Michelle pushes his face gently with her socked foot, dropping the grin. “Something you need to get better at.”

Ned stares at her from the table behind Peter. Excuse me?

What?

Lying? I have Snapchats to prove that wasn’t a lie?

Shut up, or I’ll send Dron-E to dismantle your robot.

I can’t ‘shut up’ we’re having a staring-telepathic conversation.

Fair point. Michelle drops her stare.

Peter looks between the two of them, evidently picking up on the weird. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” they say in unison.

Michelle purses her lips. “I’m. Gonna. I’m gonna get OJ. Want anything?”

“Agua, por favor.”

“Нет,” she replies flatly, turning to present company. “Nerd-son, Princess Knows-a-lot, whattabout you?”

Ned yawns. “Coffee, please.”

“Water for me,” Shuri calls from the far end of the living room. She frowns. “Hey. Why am I not ‘Princess Knows-everything’?”

Michelle shrugs, pouring drinks into glasses. “When you figure out why Peter’s still alive, I’ll upgrade you.”

“Easy,” she answers, “because he’s wearing my suit.”

Michelle nods approvingly, passing her a glass of water. “I stand corrected, Princess Knows-everything.”

“Do you have zero faith in my fighting skills?” Peter balks.

“No, I have zero faith in your supposed ability to stay out of trouble.”

Ned pats his shoulder. “Checkmate.”

Peter - 119, MJ - 120.

The game continues.

“Hey, sweetie, just checking up. Found this gorgeous dress on sale at a thrift store, and—no pressure—but I’d like to be able to wear it before I’m old and grey, if you know what I mean. Call me back, I’ve gotta tell you what happened with Murph’s surgery yesterday. Love you!”

“Parker, do me a favor—try not to propose before finals,” Shuri says while typing up new code at her desk.

Peter would like to think fighting world-ending supervillains on a regular basis has made him less susceptible to surprise, but that would be a falsehood. “Try not to what?”

At least he catches himself from falling off the couch this time.

“Propose,” she repeats, casual as ever. “I know you’re going to do it soon, but wait until we’re done. End of spring semester at least. She won’t be able to focus.”

“I’m not doing it soon!”

Shuri smirks at him. “And I’m not about to build a mini-cityscape that runs and operates like the real Wakanda for fun, but here we are.”

Four-Sev, the traitor, chooses this exact moment to go cuddle with the royal.

“Four-Sev,” Peter gasps. “I built you.”

He tilts his head, plastic crinkling at the movement.

“He prefers me,” Shuri says, scratching at his (new) head sensor. “I’m around more.”

“...Are you calling me an absent father?”

“Yes.”

Shuri’s smirk belongs in a museum.

Or a therapist’s office.

“Bully,” Peter pouts, curling into a ball and hiding under his programming textbook.

***

Michelle arrives home two hours later with Ned, both their arms loaded with food from home.

“Why is Peter sulking?” she asks, handing Shuri a box of empanadas from Jackson Heights.

“I got you mangooooessss,” Ned says, dangling the pack of dried food in front of Peter’s face.

Peter’s pout deepens in an attempt not to smile. “Thanks,” he says gruffly, taking the pack.

“He’s going for a new record, I think,” Shuri says, petting Four-Sev.

Michelle quirks a brow at the motion. “Oh. I see.” She snaps twice, calling the robo-cat over.

Four-Sev bounds over. He looks up at his master, waiting.

“Master access: code ‘Big Cat’. Override: ‘Peter Parker’. Reset role to default.”

Four-Sev’s eyes blink to white. A whirring sound emits from the AI, and Michelle looks pointedly at Shuri.

“What?” she asks, wearing an innocent smile. “I did nothing!”

Click. Four-Sev turns, eyes back to a deep green, and proceeds to jump into Peter’s lap.

Michelle keeps her eyes on her roommate.

“...I may have updated some information along the way,” Shuri concedes, shrugging. “Fun while it lasted.” She returns to her laptop.

Ned shakes his head at her, finding a spot on the kitchen counter to arrange the food.

“There, there,” Michelle says, moving to Peter’s side and petting his head. “The emotional boo-boo’s all better?”

Peter turns his head slowly, annoyed. “Ha. Ha.”

She gives him a peck. “Frowns don’t suit you, Pete.”

“Oh, so I can’t tell you what suits you, but you can tell me what suits me?” he jokes, faux-angry.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” She sits up on the armrest, her old Docs still mostly planted on the floor. She nods at Four-Sev. “Happy?”

Peter looks up at her. The sides of her eyes are crinkling slightly, betraying a (mostly) hidden smile. She’s still got a light scar from the stray debris from two days ago under her jaw. Her hair’s barely tied together, exertion from carrying the food from the car to here freeing strands left and right.

He grins. “Extremely.”

Set the scene: Peter, on the top bunk, playing with a Rubik’s cube. Ned, lying on his side on the bottom bunk, meddling with his surveillance bracelet. Michelle, at Peter’s desk, surrounded by sketches. May, on the couch, watching a K-drama. Peter’s door is open, and the foreign dialogue reaches til the fire escape.

“So when we get married, are you keeping your name or hyphening?”

Michelle chokes on water. “What?”

“I was thinking of hyphening,” Peter continues, oblivious. “But Peter Parker-Jones kinda ruins the alliteration, so I dunno.”

What? What’s happening? Michelle stares wide-eyed at Ned, hair tousled as she spins.

The Useless One just shrugs.

“I don’t know, hon, I think it has a nice ring to it,” May comments from the couch.

Michelle glances at everyone in the apartment, brows furrowed and eyes squinted. Did I miss something? Is it April 1st?

Ned looks up, eyes meeting metal and cushioning. “Pretty sure MJ’s keeping her name.”

“‘scuse you, I’m taking Peter’s,” Michelle says on autopilot. She blinks. “I mean. Adding it. Hyphen, probably.” She stares at her boyfriend, ears dull to the noise around her. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Just wondering,” he says, gaze focused on the multi-colored cube. Spin, flick, spin. “Nice! 35 seconds!”

Something about him here, in his room, blanketed by the fading lights of the afternoon makes Michelle lose her breath for a moment. His brows knit together as he mixes up the cube for the nth time in the past two hours, feet dangling over the side of the bed. Concentrated—not distressed, for once. His posture says I don’t have CEOs around me and I can relax and I’m home, I’m home, I’m home.

And she thinks, Yeah, so am I.

dude did u get it???

Ordered

so whats our code word

Um. Nothing? We’re not gna talk abt it

like ever??

Ever

can i at least tell shuri

Shuri knows

did u take a loan from her

No! Why does everyone think im BROKE

bcuz u r

Tonys been paying me!!

really? do we hav the same rates? should i ask for a raise

…

pete?? my dude?? my bro???

[Seen: 18 minutes ago.]

o i see how it is!! no more dried mangoes for u!!!

Shuri pls tell me u didnt have them inscribe a meme

if i say it says blanket burrito’s #1 fan will u unfriend me

...No?

nice. it says blanket burrito’s #1 fan

<333333333

<3333333333

Do u always have to one-up me

yes

:/

Ned hums, controller in hand as he wrecks Peter in Mario Kart. “So I’m still not sure what happens if you get married.”

“Uh.”

“Like,” Ned continues, “I’m your best bro, you know? But I’m also MJ’s best bro. And at least you could have May or—”

“You can coin toss with Shuri,” Michelle deadpans from behind her Great Big Book Of International Law Stuff. Or rather, her mini-fort of Great Big Books.

(Never double major in History and Literature and a specialized concentration at Harvard. Don’t do it. Especially if your specialized course is International Law for Enhanced Members of Society. It’s a stupid idea and you will regret it when you’re a junior with a regular sleep schedule consisting of scattered 30-minute to 1-hour naps during the day, and three hours tops in the middle of the night.)

“I will cheat,” Shuri says, tinkering with a vibranium-enhanced baseball cap beside her. “And I will pick whoever has the better color scheme.”

Ned squints. “...So I’m getting MJ.”

Shuri nods, ducking behind a stack of books as her roommate glares at her and Ned.

“Thanks for the solidarity, princess,” Michelle frowns, peeking over the mountain of paper-and-hardbacks. She throws a silent glare at Ned’s general direction, guesstimating from the wall of books in front of her.

Shuri presses the logo on the cap—a slick, minimalist panther head—and a holographic, animated version of her brother pops up, shrugging at Michelle. “I love you both, but Peter will definitely try to hire someone or ask his auntie to help, and she’s better than you at colors. Full offense.”

“Oof, babe, I’d try to defend you but May’s got you beat,” Peter coughs, trying to hide his laughter.

Michelle motions to Shuri to pass her her tea; the princess obliges.

“I’m going to let that one go, on account of it’s 1) true, and b) I haven’t slept enough to have the energy to argue,” she says, taking a sip.

Shuri sneaks a glance at the clock in Michelle’s room. “Boys, don’t you have an essay due in two hours?”

Peter shoots up—literally; he jumps to the ceiling—and does a double-take on the clock. “Uh-oh.”

“See you guys for dinner?” Ned asks shoving his hastily-strewn belongings back into his bag.

Michelle hums a reply, standing on instinct as Peter kisses her goodbye.

“Bring lobster rolls!” Shuri calls, pressing the cap again.

Holo-Black Panther mimes yelling in their direction, and Michelle laughs.

There’s this grand thing where if you’ve gone from being friends for two and a half years to dating for three you’ve probably, unintentionally, collected a treasure trove of memories with exceptional playback value.

“Remember when you like,” Ned wheezes, already laughing from his joke, “when you punched the Scorpion in the face like WHAM, and then he just stared at you for two seconds then passed out?”

“You know what was funnier?” Shuri says from across the counter. “When you woke Peter up from a nap and he almost gave you a concussion.”

Michelle snorts. “It’s true, that was funnier.”

“Life was simpler without you,” Ned squints at Shuri. He breaks out into a grin. “Definitely stay.”

“Thanks, Leeds.” Shuri presses a button on her bracelet.

“OW! I said you could stay!”

“Never tell a princess what to do.” Pause. “Unless you are her mother.”

Peter chuckles. “Wise words.”

Michelle steals a piece of stationary from fridge and takes out a pen.

“What are you doing?” Ned asks, hair slightly singed.

“For posterity,” she replies, making quick strokes and holding up the paper side-by-side with Ned’s face. “Cheese.”

Click.

“You’ve created a monster,” Ned wails at Shuri as Michelle posts the picture into the Avengers & Friends group chat.

“Wow, that looked like it hurt.”

Groan. “It did, but still not as bad as Venom’s symbiote.”

“Four o’ clock!”

“Aw, Ned, you called the right direction!”

“I told you! I’m good at this!”

“Hey, Karen, can I get uhhh—”

“—some fries with that?”

“Ha-ha, funny, MJ. Karen, rapid-fire, please.”

shuuuuuuuuri

ya

did u get the clips

yap

ok sweet r u uploading?

ye check the main drive

kk tnx

does parker need me to edit anything?

nah he just needed her files

sus

-_-

haha jk tell him to not yell if he needs anything cuz i have hw

ok!! thnx again

LOL i forgot about the six flags trip

Right?? Best face

its lookin good pete!!

Thanks man :)

shes gna love it

how much longer?

Liiiike maybe ten minutes?

so 20

...Probs

np. hurry up tho shes 2 smart to stall

Thats why we sent you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

flattery will get u nothing

<3

HURRY UP

“Um. What’s—” Michelle squints, brows knitting as she adjusts to the darkness. “What’s going on?”

There, on the wall, a video plays.

It’s her.

“Are you recording?”

Michelle freezes. This is it. This is happening.

“Maybe.”

“Come look.”

Of course he picks the day after finals, when I haven’t slept yet, she thinks, looking around the apartment for Peter’s wavy hair and dumb, beautiful smile.

The video cuts to blurry footage of Ned and Peter walking ahead of her in a Six Flags haunted house. She hears herself guffawing as Shuri runs up, a mask to make M’Baku jealous covering her face. Ned jumps, and Michelle laughs harder, both in the clip and in real life.

“Four-Sev, c’mere!” Peter’s voice says from behind the camera. “C’mere buddy!”

The camera zooms in on the robo-cat, interest piqued but still happily curled in Michelle’s lap. Video-Michelle smirks from behind a book. “You made a cat AI and expect it to respond to dog commands?”

“He does it for Shuri!”

Video-Michelle quirks her brow, smiling like she knows something he doesn’t.

Where are you? Michelle thinks, walking closer to the feed as the video cuts again.

Them at Central Park during senior year, from what she assumes is Ned’s phone—zoomed so far in that it shakes at the slightest twitch. They’re hugging, red and orange and yellow painting the landscape. Peter’s making a face at her and laughter fills the room.

Cut.

May carrying out a cake shaped like a book, the candles reading 20, and everyone singing along like usual, until Peter falls over because he leaned back too far. Video-Michelle kissing his cheek while he’s on the ground. Ned behind the camera, stealing a bit of icing on the back side of the cake.

Cut.

Michelle’s parents celebrating their anniversary. It’s a video from her phone, and she’s going to have a Talk with Shuri about privacy, heard of it? later.

Peter’s making a toast about “choosing to stay in love” and is looking at her the entire time.

Cut.

Michelle, caught on tape, chugging caffeinated tea and leaning on the early beginnings of her fort of Great Big Books. Her bracelet’s activated, the tracker corresponding to Spider-Man’s movements on screen.

(She remembers that day—someone tried to rob one of the banks by the Empire State Building on a weekend, like a True Jerk. She didn’t get to go home that week because of midterms, and her and Shuri got to test the upgraded holo-bracelets hands-on.)

“Schematics show a vent above you,” video-Michelle says gravelly. She shoves her bangs back and holds it there, because whatever.

Cut.

May’s holding the camera like a good prank-enabler, her hair spilling into frame every now and then whenever she leans over to get close-ups of the scrawls on Peter’s sleeping face.

“Sweetie, you missed a spot, by his nose,” she says off-screen, and Michelle sees her hand enter frame to write a mathematical equation that, when executed, forms a heart.

May laughs. “Perfect.”

Cut.

Shuri’s phone.

Peter making funny faces at the camera, and Ned’s got his laptop open, going, “What about this one? They do custom stuff.”

Cut.

Peter, in his room. Just him. Just like one of the segments in his Berlin trip montage, but now on his bunk instead of a hotel room. “Hey. You’re probably looking for me.”

Michelle laughs. Yeah, and I’m gonna deck you if you don’t show up to end my misery in the next ten seconds.

“Sorry, Shuri made the suit super quiet.” Video-Peter looks apologetic.

Real-Michelle is hearing her heartbeat go way too fast.

“Hey, MJ.”

Above her.

Of course.

“Peter, get down.”

“I’m—I’m gonna be honest,” he grins sheepishly, “I’m super nervous and I’m, uh, I’m kinda stuck.”

“Hands,” she asks, and he reaches over. She pulls him free from the ceiling, and he stays in a kneeling position.

“So,” he says.

“So,” she answers.

“You think we should get the yearly pass for Six Flags again?” he asks with a light laugh, eyes trained on her own.

“I wanna remind you that you’re within kicking range,” Michelle threatens, but it comes out shaky.

He smiles softly. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Wanna bet?”

“I can bet my entire life you’d never wanna hurt me. Willingly.”

Yup, definitely been practicing, she thinks. “Peter?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Getting shot is objectively less agonizing than waiting for you to ask me.”

He laughs. “Wanna go out with me?”

“...I’m going to kick you.”

Peter laughs again, taking hold of her hand. He’s shaking. He’s the strongest person she (personally) knows outside of two super-soldiers and a giant radioactive green guy, and he’s shaking as he holds her hand in the gentlest way possible. “Will you let me be your blanket burrito until forever?”

She pulls him up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kisses his stupid, kind, selfless, nerdy face.

“‘s ‘at a ‘yes’?” he mutters out between kisses.

“Mhm,” she hums, breaking away. “You’re my favorite idiot.”

“You’re my favorite in general.”

“Still keeping score?”

Peter nods, pulling out the ring. “Do I get two points for this?”

She kisses him again. “Yeah, why not.”

Peter - 197, MJ - 199.

***

“Does this say ‘Blanket Burrito’s #1 Fan’, or am I hallucinating?”

Shuri laughs from inside her room.

“...I’m marrying a walking meme.”

“You already knew you were dating one.”

“True.”

Smooch.

***

so did u remember to double check if it transforms into a suit

O

ye

Uhhhh one sec

***

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, better half of Spider-Man. Did Pepper get in touch with you?”

“Yeah, Pepper let us know. You sure about it?”

“Easier on my conscience than you’d think. Small affair is all you two want, right?”

“Preferably.”

“Cool. Make a big day of it, one go for anniversaries.”

“Nice to see you taking Peter’s scatterbrain into account.”

“I’ve kind of had to for the past five-ish years, but thanks for the acknowledgment, Double Major.”

Snicker. “Hey, if you’re alive, you’re going to be there, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Thanks again, Tony. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it, MJ.”

“Ha. I won’t.”

Click.

***

DUDE you’re giving us the apartment?

loaning, im a businesswoman

fair. respect.

but ya, ill be done with classes after the wedding. ill be too busy jet-setting like a normal spoiled royal teenager

hmm yeah, so spoiled. helping the less fortunate. how dare you.

:) <3

you’re the best apartment-mate ever

duh

dont even think about reprogramming four-sev before you leave

[‘princess knows-everything’ has attached a photo.]

dont flip off your roommie if she’s the one alone at home and has access to your stash of chocolate

HEY NO

lalala

MJ

see you at homeeee

MICHELLE JONES THIS IS TREASON

They don’t tell you dating your best friend starts off awkward.

But then, they don’t tell you about the inside jokes, either. The weekend trips home with your other best buds, singing off-key to classic R&B. The food your families try to stuff you with whenever your significant other is in the house. The short-distance video calls because you’re both ridiculously smart and insanely busy on weekdays.

The tea you make (and sometimes spill, metaphorically) when they’re feeling like garbage from eating the takeout they probably should’ve left in the restaurant the night before. The letters you write for those hard nights. The songs you associate with them because, they, quote, are the best thing I never knew I needed.

The hugs when you reunite after two weeks apart.

The fifty billion kisses you’re trying to hit before you both turn a hundred.

So hey, who cares if they don’t tell you that the start’s a little rocky...when the end’s nowhere in sight?

Chapter Text

A Definitive Guide to Everyone Who Keeps Asking: Yes, We’re Getting Married; No, The Hashtag Isn’t #SpideyChelle

by Michelle Jones and Peter Benjamin Parker

Thanks for nothing to: Ned Leeds and Princess Shuri of Wakanda

“This isn’t going on the RSVPs,” Michelle deadpans.

“Too late!” Peter yells, already swinging out the window. He has training upstate today and is going to be very late on account of he was busy running down memory lane with Ned and May right up until they left ten minutes ago.

(Michelle curses herself for letting Tony go over the invite details instead of Shuri or Pepper or Nat, why didn’t I ask Nat? because now there are memes which would be fine, she doesn’t care, but she’s never going to hear the end of it from her parents, which means Peter’s going to have a lot of explaining to do during family get-togethers.)

Her phone buzzes.

Peter, predictably.

Just kidding, the hashtag isnt on it <3 but everything else is B)

She texts back: youre dumb, and I’m not saving you when my parents run interrogations

He doesn’t reply, which is a smart move, considering he’s trying to not fall off buildings and such.

Michelle looks around the room; there’s a box of mixed memories sitting on his desk, ready for perusing—she picks up the first stack of pictures and laughs.

Ah, what harm can a couple hours of going through a box of photos do, anyway?

It’s summer.

She aced all her classes.

She deserves it.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” she says to Four-Sev; the robo-cat watches from the top of the couch, curious but content with its perch.

Michelle snorts, then turns back to the picture in her hand.

It’s the AcaDec team from junior year, all medaled-up at the Smithsonian. Mr. Harrington’s trying to keep Flash from smothering the trophy, and Cindy’s sneaking bunny ears on Ned and Abe. Sally’s giving Ned a side hug, and Charles is by Michelle, awkwardly biting at his medal.

Peter’s actually there beside her, smiling like an idiot.

Wait, she pauses, looking closer.

He’s smiling at her.

Michelle squints. I don’t remember that.

And I remember everything.

nationals ala michelle

The bus sways, reminding Michelle why she wasn’t a fan of drawing whilst on it. She follows the cracked pencil tip with Well, that was stupid,  written on her face.

“So are we running drills or what?” Flash asks from one of the seats up front.

“No point,” Michelle replies, reaching for a sharpener. “It’s better to take a break the day before a big exam or competition. Lets your brain rest.”

Pause.

“Oh, I get it,” she adds with a smirk. “Your brain’s been on sleep mode for a while. Maybe we should run some drills.”

Flash glares at her. “My brain’s doing totally fine—”

“No, no—let’s do it.” Michelle takes to sharpening her pencil. “Capital of Belarus?”

“...Prague?”

“This is why you’re first alternate,” Sally quips from the seat across him.

“That’s not even the correct country,” Ned says, scrunching up his face.

Michelle inspects the pencil, aligning it with Flash’s form. “Tell you what, Eugene—if you actually do something useful for the team, I’ll consider your suggestions in the future.”

She hears Peter snort behind her.

“You’re not off the hook from last year, ditcher,” she deadpans without turning.

“Ahem—sorry.”

Michelle nods, returning to her sketchbook. “Now, if everyone else whose opinion actually matters is cool with no cram-session, I think we’d better shut up so Mr. Harrington can get back to his nap.”

“Thank you, Michelle,” comes the teacher’s muffled reply from three rows over.

Michelle had made a promise to Liz to let the kids go be rebellious the night before Nationals if they ever hit it again, so she sends out a group text after lights out to meet at the pool.

This time, Peter and Ned show up.

This time, she actually bothers to dip her feet in.

The water is warm, but Peter splashing her “accidentally” with his cannonball stunt has made her regret dipping her feet in.

Cindy manages to save her book, though, so all is well.

Flash doesn’t answer a single question, surprising no one, but Peter clinches the winner with the title of a book she’d lent him over summer.

Michelle gives him a side hug when Midtown’s declared the winner, but he wraps his arms around her fully, effectively trapping her in the celebratory group hug that follows.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers over her shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And without Anne Blythe, apparently,” she laughs back.

“Oh! The trophy!” Ned says from behind Michelle; he releases his friends, starting a domino effect of everyone pulling away from the hug.

Except Peter.

For another three seconds.

You know, before it could get weird.

“We better take it before Flash tries to smuggle it home,” Michelle says, clearing her throat.

Peter’s out of the hug, but still staying close, and she lets him.

Because it’s Peter.

He just...likes the physical contact.

Yeah.

Ahem.

“Okay, everyone! Line up for the picture!” Mr. Harrington says proudly, hauling the trophy to the side of a model rocket. Flash tries to act cool, standing beside the trophy like he won it, so Sally takes the time to swipe at his leg with her foot right as the tourist taking the group photo clicks.

Abe laughs raucously, and it’s contagious—everyone and their mother and their mother’s uncle within twenty feet lose it, and Michelle thinks, How nice.

And it isn’t sarcastic.

Because Ned’s got a laugh from his belly that gets stronger and higher, and Peter’s coughing politely, masking his chuckle.

And she’s got friends.

She’s got friends, and a team full of people who try to look like bad models in photos, or make bunny ears over other people's heads, ‘cause that’s still funny somehow.

It’s nice.

Peter nudges her softly. “What’re you thinking?”

“Your hair’s a mess,” she replies automatically. “Get a haircut.”

He smiles, and it’s sure. “Yes ma’am.”

 ...In retrospect, she should’ve known.

Michelle thumbs the photo like it’s a secret she wants to hear about thirty-something years from now, at a dinner with three or four other people and perchance a robot cat whose plastics are crinkled and probably disgusting.

Shuri, maybe.

Ned, for sure. May.

Peter.

Peter, she thinks with quiet laughter, you’re really something else.

On she goes, placing the Nationals photo at the back of the short stack in her hands.

Picture two: Ned and Peter are on either side of her, the three of them decked out in semi-formal dress.

Peter’s corsage matches her dress.

Ned’s pointedly got a gap between himself and her, but Michelle remembers what his arm felt like while it tried to pull Peter closer to her.

And, okay, it worked, even though Peter’s Spider-Man, and Spider-Man has built-in traction.

Not to mention super-strength.

The guy had literally had no reason not to resist, except.

Except.

‘He’s just being a good date,’ I said, Michelle frowns, shaking her head. ‘He doesn’t actually like me that way,’ I said. Way to be stupid, past-self.

Because maybe, if she’s feeling honest, she knows that that’s when he kind of started becoming a semi-mess around her.

homecoming 2.0

“Ned, that’s a bad idea.”

“Pete. It’s a great idea.”

“Bad.”

“Great!”

“Dude,” Peter sighs heavily, “she will literally punch me in the face.”

“With her lips, probably,” Ned says, shooting finger guns.

Peter would like to become nothing.

Preferably immediately.

“I can’t ask MJ to Homecoming!” he says instead, clawing at his face.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s gonna kick my—wait,” Peter pauses. He points at Ned. “Those words did not come out of your mouth.”

Someone taps his shoulder and he would like to die now, please and thank you.

“MJ!” he squeaks, leaning on the lockers in an attempt to stay Cool™️. “Wassuuup, giiiirl?”

“Your obvious discomfort is payment enough for that line,” she deadpans, “but never use it again, just in case.”

Peter nods fervently, his face somewhere between a grimace and an apologetic smile.

“Homecoming?” Michelle asks pointedly, taking a snack from Peter’s locker. “Promise I won’t kick your ass.”

“You—you’ll go with me?” he responds with widening eyes.

(Ned is enjoying the view, finally freed.)

“Yeah, why not,” Michelle replies with a nod, stuffing a pack of chips into her backpack. “I can just go with Ned to prom—that’s cool with you, right?” she adds, turning to Ned.

(Ned is no longer enjoying the view.

He is still stuck.

Lame.)

Peter wants to protest, to say he wants to take her as a date-date, but Michelle’s already closing and locking his locker, nudging him and Ned to follow her to their next class.

It would be rude, and May’s taught him better than that.

He elbows Ned.

“Uh, yeah, that’s cool with me,” Ned says, Ow written all over his face. “Or we could all go together.”

“Group thing sounds cool,” Michelle says, walking ahead. “Why don’t we just do that for Homecoming, too?”

“Because Pete—”

Shove.

“Oh, sorry, Ned,” Peter says, picking his friend up. “You know me and my uh. Thing. With. Stuff. Yeah.”

Ned halfheartedly glares at him. “Yup. Your thing, with stuff.” Or lack thereof.

“Would that be a subpar handle on the English language, or…?” Michelle asks, quirking a brow at them.

“‘Or’ is good,” Peter says. “I pick ‘or’.”

“...or uncontrollable habit of super-shoving your friends?”

“I take back the ‘or’.”

“No take-backs,” she grins, nudging him. “That’s how a normal nudge feels like, FYI.”

And uh, remember how Peter’s pale?

So his skin is prone to turning several shades of red and pink?

Well.

“Are you suffocating or blushing? Can’t tell,” Michelle says, rubbing her chin. “Blushing’s funnier, though.”

“Suffocating!” Ned cuts in in a vain attempt at making his friend seem cool.

Peter glares at him. “‘m not suffocating.”

“Ooh, blushing for me, Pete?” Michelle laughs, entering the classroom. She clicks her tongue and winks at him, heading to her seat. “Ask me out loser, it works faster.”

If you could stop saying it like a joke, I would, he thinks, passing a hand over his face to calm the red.

Ned guides him to their seats a row behind Michelle, laughing semi-awkwardly at her joke all the way through. “Good one, MJ.”

Riiiiiiing.

“Shh,” she replies. “Class. Focus.”

Peter buries his head under his Math textbook.

It’s going to be a long couple of weeks.

Michelle wears a blue dress that is much too close to his Spider-Man suit for it to be coincidence.

(Sidenote: Peter feels the air knocked out of him and is very open to it happening again.)

“Like it?” she asks with her hands up, as if to say Compliment me, I’m awesome, and Peter bites because it’s true.

“Yeah, it looks really pretty.”

(He’s probably smiling like a dope.

He frankly does not care.)

Michelle’s lips twitch up to smile, and she lets them run free.

It’s a nice feeling.

A very comfortable feeling.

...But it’s not something she can pinpoint, so she clears her throat and says, “So.”

“Yup,” Peter says.

“May’s outside?” Michelle asks, pointing at the door.

“Uh-huh.”

“My parents are at work, so we can just. Go.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Do you want—? I mean, a picture, or something...um, May can take it, and we could—” he stutters, motioning vaguely at the framed photos on the walls.

He’s thrumming with energy, and Michelle doesn’t know what it is with high school dances and suits and dresses and the yet-developing teenage brain, but something in her gut is yelling, trying to get her to notice.

What, exactly, it wants her to notice is still a mystery, but tonight, something will happen.

Something will change.

Watch out.

“Yeah—yeah, sure, we could take a few.”

“I still can’t believe Peter asked you,” May says, eyes on the road like a responsible adult. “He’s been stressing over it for w—”

“—Okay, I think the past should stay in the past, right, May?” Peter cuts in.

The older woman’s eyes glisten, a mischievous smile the only indicator of Peter’s impending doom.

Michelle scrunches up her face, snickering as she scrolls through the novel on her phone. “Stressing about it? You should’ve seen him in the hallway. He looked like he was gonna have a heart attack.”

“Something like that,” Peter mutters, ducking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Michelle blinks, but elects to ignore it. “But, um, he didn’t ask me. Technically.”

“Oh?” May says casually.

Like she’s not prepared to make a dig at her nephew when he gets home later.

Like she doesn’t know he’s freefalling quicker than gravity allows.

Like she’s not trying to read into Michelle’s real-life chess move.

(She’s not!)

(...She is.)

Michelle shrugs. “Yeah, he was chickening out.”

(Peter is attempting to curl into himself like a dead spider.)

May grins, ducking her chin, but before she can ask a follow-up, Michelle says:

“Don’t know why, either—we’re friends, it’s chill. Not like it’s a date.”

A Darth Vader-esque sound escapes Peter’s form.

May purses her lips, hands tightening on the wheel as she wills herself not to laugh.

Michelle quirks her brow as the cars behind them beep aggressively. “Green light.”

“Mhm,” May hums tightly, humor in her eyes. “Green light indeed.”

“I’m pretty sure if this was a date she would’ve said no,” Peter says with increasing anxiety, careful not to crush the plastic cup in his hand.

“Nah, dude,” Ned consoles.

“Dude. She said, and I quote: ‘It’s chill. Not like it’s a date,’” Peter replies pointedly.

“Oof.”

“Yeah.”

“She still would’ve said yes, though,” Ned says, sipping from his cup.

Peter squints. “Why?”

“Because she likes you.”

“...What.”

“She doesn’t know it yet,” Ned explains with a wave of his hand, “but she likes you.”

“That makes zero sense. You make zero sense.”

“I’m the love guru in this trio, aight? Let me have my metaphors.”

“That wasn’t a metaphor!”

“Love guru, not English major,” Ned says. “But look, if she doesn’t like you-like you, then I’m not king of Mario Kart.”

Peter gasps.

“I know,” Ned nods, “but I also trust myself.”

“Those are big words, dude.”

“I know what I’m talking about, okay?”

“Agreed,” Michelle says, walking over. “Not sure what the topic is, but that’s probably true.”

“In five years, when you two get married, remember you said that,” Ned says solemnly.

Peter turns red.

Michelle ignores the comment. “Unless it’s about girls.”

“Boo, non-believer.”

“You stared at Betty for two weeks because you thought that would make her say yes to a Homecoming invite,” Michelle deadpans.

“It was strategic!”

“It was creepy and I don’t regret hitting you upside every time you did it.”

Peter’s eyes crinkle as he watches them take friendly shots at each other, content to be at a school dance without the threat of a supervillain about to murder him on his shoulders.

He loves them.

He would like to live long enough to not let them forget it.

...He kinda wishes he was paying attention.

“—right, Peter?” Michelle asks, evidently about to win an argument.

“Uhh.”

“If you agree, I’ll do a slow dance with you,” she jokes, nudging him.

Joke’s on her, Ned thinks, as Peter replies in the affirmative after exactly one (1) millisecond.

Michelle blinks, eyes wide with surprise. “Um.” That wasn’t supposed to work. “I was kidding.”

“Oh—oh, yeah, no, yeah, that—that woouuuuld. Be weird. Suuuper weird.” Cough. Squint. “I...abstain?”

Michelle opens her mouth, but no sound escapes for a whole minute, so she clamps it back shut.

“Water?” Ned asks, cutting the tension.

She nods.

“I’llhelp,I’mgoodathelpinglet’sgo,Ned,” Peter whines, like a dying fish.

Flash plays a set of slow songs, and Peter wants to die.

Michelle stares at the punch on the table, tapping the cup in her hand to the beats.

Ned is deciding if he wants to risk his life by bringing up the joke from earlier.

Update: he does.

“What, neither of you are going for it?” Ned asks, corralling them under his proverbial wings. “It’s just a dance.” Saved for couples, usually, but.

Michelle thinks of it, biting the bait. “It would be...a good, uh, Stick It To The Man moment, I guess.”

Peter coughs. “Uhhhh, yeah. Yup. Agreed.”

“Guys and girls can slow dance and not be dating.”

“Guys and girls can be friends.”

“Close friends.”

“Very.”

Me and MJ are the Real example for that, but okay, whatever works, Ned thinks, watching them fake-drag their feet to the dancefloor. He tries to keep his face blank, but watching them smile at each other as the song goes on makes his romantic soul do a little enthusiastic cheer routine, and he finds himself choking up on their behalf.

“Yo, Ned, you okay?” Sally asks, as he rejoins the AcaDec team.

“I’m fine,” he squeaks, a curled hand blocking his mouth from spewing something ridiculous like: MJ and Peter are slow dancing and my babies are all grown up and I can’t handle it or I’ve done the impossible, I hope May remembers to thank me when the grandkids come or I’m way too invested in this, I need another hobby.

Cindy quirks a brow. “Uh-huh. Okay.”

Ned phews, leaning on his legs like he’d just run a marathon.

Abe pats his back. “Bro? Don’t throw up?”

“Oh, I get it,” Sally says, motioning for all of them to look. “Blind birds at twelve-o’-clock.”

“Don’t look at them, they can sense it,” Ned whispers, looking up. “C’mon, let’s go block the view from the DJ station, before Flash does something stupid.”

They all raise a brow at him.

Ned frowns. Smartasses. “You know what I mean.”

Homecoming ends with Mr. Brightside playing on full blast and the not-couple rejoining the AcaDec team on the border between dance floor and not.

“Pics!” Cindy yells, as the music dies down.

“No selfie sticks,” Charles says.

Ned laughs. “Who needs a selfie stick when you’ve got an MJ?”

“Wow, user,” Michelle deadpans, taking the offered phones.

“Thanks Cap!” Abe grins.

They pose as a group and in quads, trios, and pairs, devolving into laughter each time.

Ned shoves Michelle and Peter together, and makes it more platonic by taking the other end, but the rest of the team knows—they are the eventual and the inevitable.

...Besides, they already slow danced.

That’s a freakin’, like, high school requirement to be considered together.

“Take the pic, Sal,” Michelle says, not at all accustomed to Ned’s current grip on both her and Peter.

And, y’know, Peter being.

Extra close.

With no swinging around town excuse to be this close.

Click.

“Got it, boss,” Sally says, handing the phone back.

“Nice,” Michelle says, freeing herself from her friends.

(She finds that the air’s a lot colder without Peter’s overall heater-ness, and tries to think of a way to keep him that close again.

Just to, um, not get sick.

Sure.)

She checks her phone: it’s the three of them with their arms slung around each other, and when she shows it to May later in the night, there is a glint in the older woman’s eyes that makes her wonder if she’d missed something.

Perhaps that thing she was supposed to be watching out for.

Here’s why Michelle didn’t think Peter had some secret crush: he still, for the most part, acted completely normal.

And after homecoming, it was like every ounce of Awkward, Girl-Crazy Peter Parker™️ was six feet under in some unknown province on Mars.

But still.

There were slip-ups.

There were a lot of slip-ups.

She, y’know, didn’t have much reference to draw from—it wasn’t the wild infatuation he’d had with Liz, and she was too busy roasting him with Ned to notice that sometimes those looks were supposed to mean something. Sometimes the stammering was for her.

She shakes her head, Four-Sev deciding now’s a good time as any to try his new suction feet on the wall.

Well. Let’s. Forget I was that stupid, Michelle says to herself, balking as she flips to a selfie of the three of them in front of an old, worn house, drenched from the rain.

Oh, man.

I can’t believe he kept this.

...What a loser.

I love him.

night of the living ned

Note to all high schoolers in Queens: do not go to Six Flags on the last weekend of Fright Fest if the weather channel says there’s a chance of rain.

Heck, even better, check the weather channel.

“It’s going to take six hours to get out of this parking lot,” Ned complains from the driver’s seat. “I don’t wanna buy gas!”

“Why buy what you have plenty of?” Michelle blanks, scrolling through her phone.

Ned turns, his I’m Your Only Ride Out Of Here face plastered on.

She quirks a brow. “Pete,” she says, eyes not leaving Ned, “you got your suit?”

“This part of Jersey barely has buildings—you’re on your own,” Peter mumbles, eyes closed as he reclines his seat another inch.

Sleep. Sleeeeep.

“Yo weirdo, repeating the word doesn’t make it magically happen,” Michelle quips from somewhere above his head.

Peter furrows his brows, debating peeking to check if she’s as close as his spidey-sense suggests.

Ned joins the chorus of beeping cars as another person cuts ahead of the messy line.

“I support your journey into finally becoming a couple, but please don’t make out in my mom’s car,” he says.

Peter has a personal rule of never using his web-slingers for anything other than official Spider-Man business.

Michelle has no such rule.

Thwick!

Peter opens an eye, curiosity winning.

(He barely registers Michelle’s hands on his wrist before she drops it, taking the shooter with her.)

“...Mrrph, mmph-mrmph.”

“Love you too, Ned,” Michelle says, patting his shoulder. “Now make like the Rihanna song and shut up and drive.”

“Mrrph! Mph! Rrmph, mmrph!” Ned replies, gesticulating at the traffic in front of them.

“Suck. it. up. Leeds.”

He grips the wheel tightly. “Rrrmphh…Mmrrphhh, phhhrrr…”

They finally escape the sea of cars two hours in.

(Bonus: the web-fluid disintegrated, too.)

This part of New Jersey is made up of either trees or fields, and every distant house has some light Halloween decorations.

Which is usually fine.

But this is the middle-of-nowhere in Jersey, and it’s a little past eleven.

Plus, what sane person makes their house light up all red? Who does that?

Is that house on the side of the road really abandoned? Why do people keep stopping and going in?

“Look, losers,” Michelle says from the backseat. “We’re about to witness the magic of every horror film in existence.”

“It’s always white people,” Ned mutters in disbelief, their car stopped a safe distance away from the house.

Another car has stopped in front of the house, and a group of raucous-looking young adults hop out and confidently stride into the broken house.

“I promise not to do anything that stupid,” Peter says, leaning over the dashboard to get a better angle.

Michelle balks. “‘scuse you?”

“Yeah, dude, like, did you forget last weekend or something?” Ned asks.

“...I promise not to do anything that stupid in a...a haunted house scenario.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, dude,” Michelle says, wrinkling her nose.

“Maybe we should be nicer to him,” Ned cuts in. “The white guy usually survives.”

“Oh yeah, you’re probably gonna die first, Leeds,” she says, poking his shoulder. “Wanna borrow the web-shooters?”

(Peter had tossed the other one to the backseat sometime in the last hour, and she’d reunited it with its pair.

What a dumb move on his part.)

“Let’s not do that,” Peter says, leaning back on his seat and making a grab for said shooters.

He misses.

Because Michelle takes them.

So he, uh.

He grabs her hand instead.

“Uh,” Peter says.

Michelle stares at him, eyes wide. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

What is that look? And why is he giving it to me? “Can I have my hand back?”

“It’s still yours.”

“You’re holding it, Peter.”

“I’m. Trying to stop. A—um. An abuse of superhero property,” he responds robotically.

“Can you guys tone it down?” Ned says, eyes still trained on the house. “I think Ponytail Girl just ran back outside without her friends.”

“Think they died?” Michelle squints, watching Ponytail Girl now sitting in the car with Frat Boy Sonic.

(He’s not in a Sonic costume, but it is the right set of colors. Ned had pointed it out, and now the three could not unsee it.)

“Can you imagine? Half a car of college kids die in the Middle of Nowhere, New Jersey, and it turns out Spider-Man was literally just down the road and could’ve saved them?” Ned conspires, hyped from suspense.

Peter frowns, unamused. “Fine, I’ll go check on ‘em.”

Michelle grabs his shoulder before he can remove his seatbelt. “If Ponytail and Sonic make out, take a photo—I’m pretty sure he’s got something going on with that Zombie Witch, and she deserves to know.”

Peter could freak out about the physical contact like a normal, hyper-affectionate teen, but nope, he’s in his Spidey-zone now, and Spidey-zone means Be You, But Slightly Cooler.

He exchanges stammering and awkward eye contact for slow, awkward speech and no eye contact at all. “I...will...keep that in...mind.”

“Mmk, note to self: if speaking of zombies around Peter, Peter will turn into one,” Michelle teases, nudging Ned with her forearm.

Ned laughs, shaking his head. “Go, dude. Ghoul-murder could be afoot!”

Peter unbuckles his seatbelt, and scrunches up his face. “If they die from a ghost, can I actually do anything?”

“Attempt to survive a haunting?” Michelle offers, pausing. She tilts her head. “If you come back possessed, we’re leaving you here.”

He remembers their current location, frowning. “That’s worse than getting possessed.”

“Exactly.”

Peter makes a What, am I nothing to you? gesture at them before ducks beside the car, changing into his suit.

“Eyes up, MJ,” Ned jokes.

Michelle frowns, unamused. “He’s already wearing it under his clothes.”

“You should know: that doesn’t make you sound less pathetic.”

“...You’re the true haunt of Halloween, Ned.”

He grins. “Thanks!”

It starts pouring.

“Amazing,” Michelle says, checking the clock. “It took him ten minutes to mess up the weather. Truly skillful.”

“I’m telling him you said that,” Ned says.

“Go ahead, he’ll try to challenge Thor to a weather-machine match. It’ll be awesome.”

Ned tilts his head. “If Peter goes to LA, do you think he could fix the drought?”

“That boy’s capable of anything,” Michelle state matter-of-factly, watching the house.

Oh.

Wait.

She spots Ned in her peripheral.

Smirking.

“Not a compliment,” she frowns, eyes trained on the house.

“Whatever you say.”

“Screw you.”

“Please don’t.”

She flips him off.

Ned’s phone goes off, a female voice serenading them in the car in another language.

“That’s pretty.”

“New song,” he says, picking it up. “Yeah, Pete? You’re on speaker.”

“They’re gonna sneak around back and scare their friends,” Peter whispers, and Michelle imagines him crouched down somewhere.

Probably a ceiling, or the roof. His usual.

“So no murder?” Michelle asks, disappointed.

“Wow. Yes. No murder. Be happy,” Peter blanks.

“Anything for you, Spidey.”

Ned turns to her slowly, smirking.

Yeah, shut up, she mouths. It’s a joke and you know it.

He nods, a look that says Sure, flirting with your best friend’s normal  stamped on his face.

It’s not flirting! she glares back.

“Oh, uh, um—” Peter stammers, and yup, she’s gotta give Ned a point for that one.

Michelle would like to die.

But first.

“I got my phone ready. Are they coming around now?” she asks, clearing her throat.

“Uh—yeah, yeah. From the left side.”

“Cool.”

“Yup.”

“See ya in a bit, dude,” Ned says, cutting the call.

“Say nothing,” Michelle says, leaning back in her seat.

He shrugs.

“Think nothing.”

He tilts his head forward, but she sees it anyway.

That awful thing he does.

When he tries to keep himself from laughing.

“Fine, do it, end me,” she says, getting out of the car.

“MJ, it’s raining!” he guffaws, calling after her. “Hey, wait! C’mon! I was kidding!”

She keeps going, quickly becoming one with the rain.

(At least she’d thought of putting her phone in a waterproof pouch.)

“MJ, I meant like, pull the car forward or something—not get soaked in the rain,” Peter frowns later, once she and he are huddled under the doorpost of the Really Creepy house, college students gone from view. He’s still in his suit, heater on to keep her from catching cold.

(Turns out Ponytail Girl was a good bud, but also prone to being pouty after her friends creeped her out. Frat Boy Sonic passed out.

It was a decently good scare.

A solid 7 outta 10.)

“That would’ve tipped them off, don’t you think?” Michelle replies, arms crossed over her chest but leaning into Peter anyway.

Feels very Titanic for some reason, if she’s being honest.

“I think a lot,” he replies, voice soft.

Snort. “Okay, nerd.”

“Hey,” he says carefully staring into her eyes, “you know, you look really—”

Light flashes on them from Ned’s car, and Michelle’s not sure when she started holding her breath, but her exhale fogs up the space between her and Peter.

(She wonders what he was about to say for much longer than she’d like to admit.)

“I’m pretty sure someone called the cops when those guys started screaming,” Ned says, rolling down a window. “How is it over there?”

“Cold,” Peter laughs awkwardly.

Ned shuts off the car and walks over with Peter’s clothes. “Put ‘em on, we gotta take a pic!”

“Here?” Michelle asks, quirking a brow. “Where we get soaked with gross Jersey rain, indoors and out?”

“Hey, c’mon, I’ve got relatives in Jersey.”

“You have relatives everywhere, you’re Filipino.”

“Ergo, I have relatives in Jersey.”

“Can we just take the picture before you two die of a cold?” Peter pleads, tugging Michelle along as he moves nearer to Ned.

“Fine,” Michelle laughs, lifting her phone and calling for them to pose and Look at camera, Ned, I’m not taking it twice.

Click.

(They get sick anyway, and May makes Peter deliver excessive amounts of vitamins to each of his friends over the next week.)

Flip.

December.

The Green Party, as they’d dubbed it.

Michelle knows, because it was the first time she’d been to Cindy’s house, and because the sea of mistletoe under their—the AcaDec team’s—feet was only in effect once.

disaster december and other short stories

Someone put up mistletoe.

Peter’s willing to bet it’s Ned.

Ned thinks it’s Peter.

Michelle knows it’s Abe.

“It’s not even real mistletoe,” Michelle says, crossing the threshold of Cindy’s house.

“Does that mean it doesn’t count?” Peter asks, staring the plastic ornament down from ten feet away.

Ned whines. “Why’s it gotta be by the bathroom, man?”

“Just...just scoot around it,” Michelle says, demonstrating. “And do not go over in pairs. Ever.”

Peter raises a brow, the lights on his ugly Hanukkah sweater highlighting his features. “You just said it’s fake.”

“The implications are real,” she replies, already walking to the kitchen, “and peer pressure is a real thing that Charles is surprisingly good at instigating. I can ignore it, but you two are—full offense—weak.”

“Hey.” Peter frowns.

Ned freezes. “MJ. Move two steps to your left.”

Michelle squints, but she trusts him, so she does so. Someone passes her to her right.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Wew. Bullet dodged.”

“What is—?” she asks, looking up. There, above the spot she was at earlier, is another, smaller mistletoe. “...You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

She looks around over the crowds of people, aiming to redeem her failed recon skills. There are five more scattered around the first floor, all different in appearance and likely put up by different people.

“Midtown is thirsty,” Cindy says from behind them, grabber in one hand and several mistletoes cradled in her other arm.

Peter and Ned put out their arms and she dumps the ornaments into their catch-all.

“This is...a lot,” Peter says, trying to count them.

Cindy nods, exhausted. “I’ve been taking down a bunch since the party started, but they keep popping up.”

“Trash?” Ned asks.

“Backyard is the easiest,” she responds, taking a deep breath. “We’re collecting them and making a couch for the AcaDec team after I kick everyone out when someone inevitably tries to break something. I’ll walk you guys—someone might’ve put up another one by the door.”

“I can help grab ‘em,” Michelle says, walking up front with her.

“Thanks, guys,” Cindy smiles. “Seriously.”

“What are friends for?” Ned says, grinning.

Apparently, they’re for serving as security at the entrance of a high school party because way too many people thought it would be a fun idea to put up cheesy, pressure-inducing ornaments at what was supposed to be a chill night with lots of food and good music.

(Thankfully, the entry to Cindy’s house is spacious enough to cram the three of them together with enough space between to make it look like the bag check at an amusement park, and they don’t have to stand outside in the cold like the prospective party-goers have to.)

“Ah-ah, Seymour,” Michelle says, grabbing the boy’s bag. “I saw that green. This is staying here.” She motions to him. “Pockets.”

Seymour relents, begrudgingly pulling out a cutout of mistletoe from said pockets.

“That’s just sad, man,” Ned says, shaking his head.

“This is so weird,” Peter says, throwing more away into a large trash bag. “I didn’t even know we had this many kids in our school.”

“Yes, you did,” Ned says, face scrunched.

“You complained about them hogging the lab last week,” Michelle adds, making a group of freshmen empty their pockets. She waves them through.

Ned sighs, zipping up a backpack and handing it back to the sophomore before him, moving aside to let the kid pass. “That’s the last of ‘em.”

“Back in?” Michelle asks, shoving her hands into her back pockets.

Ned sighs. “I just want like, some fried rice, and then maybe to chill in the living room, if there’s space.”

“I’m up for that,” Peter agrees, lazily slinging his arms over his friends.

(He’s not blushing when Michelle leans in; he’s too tired to be blushing.)

“To the kitchen,” Michelle blanks, head held high. “Man, I hope there’s some kimchi left.”

Cindy, the godsend, saved each of them platefuls of food.

(Which, really, means they had enough for the next two days to bring home, even after pigging out on their well-deserved meal.)

“Sorry for not coming over to help you guys,” Cindy says once they’ve settled on the couch with their now-packed meals. “Had to pick out the last ones at the back."

Michelle shrugs an It’s fine, content with the tea in her hand and fully-packed container on her lap.

“You’re hosting,” Peter nods, offering a smile. “It wasn’t too bad.”

“I’ve seen some things,” Ned says, squinting at the distance.

Michelle stares at him for a second, then thinks better of bothering.

Click!

“Charles, c’mon man,” Michelle complains, turning to the camera-wielding perpetrator. “Warning.”

Charles grins cheekily. “Let’s go see the sea!”

“It’s freezing,” Flash says.

“That’s just your brain, lack of use,” Abe quips.

“Son of a—”

“Okay, no murder—too close to Christmas,” Michelle says, getting up. Peter automatically reaches for her container, stacking it over his. “Thanks,” she says instinctively, before turning back to the team. “One picture, and no peer pressure, got it, Charles?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, MJ,” Charles says, still grinning.

“Like hell you don’t,” she squints, waving for the others to get up. “Let’s go, c’mon. The faster we do it the faster we’re back to heaters.”

Cindy follows at the back of the group, marking off the area from the other party-goers.

“Dude, no one’s gonna follow that,” Sally says.

“They will when they see a little Asian girl about to deck ‘em,” Cindy replies, glaring down two freshmen trying to hop over.

“You’re not that short, Cinds,” Ned says, holding the door open for them. “Also, can’t feel fingers, so faster, please?”

“Hindsight says we should’ve grabbed our coats,” Michelle squints, arms crossed to stave off the winter air.

“Here,” Peter says, moving to remove his sweater.

“Is chivalry still dead, M?” Sally asks, walking past them.

(Peter gets one of the bulging lights stuck in his hair in his first attempt at being Smooth™️.)

“Yes, along with the chivalric code,” Michelle replies, not missing a beat.

Sally nods, accepting the rebuttal.

(Peter also fails at his second attempt, his collar somehow managing to stick to the sweater.)

Michelle watches him with a blank expression, arms crossed tighter. “Being accommodating isn’t, though.”

“One half of that word…” Ned stage-whispers with a tilt of his head, walking to her side.

He dodges her elbow as the rest of the team snickers.

(Peter groans, then tries a third time.)

“I control your fates,” Michelle reminds them with a low rumble. “I make the flash cards.”

They quiet down immediately.

Peter manages to get the sweater off, finally. He hands it to Michelle, his face red.

“You look…” Ned starts, pursing his lips, “...winded.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter grumbles, running a hand over his hair.

Michelle spends half a second thinking of fixing the stray strand by his forehead, and another half shoving his—warm, oh, so warm—sweater over her head, determined to come out of this situation without hypothermia.

She manages to avoid tangling with the lights, quietly walking over to the pile of mistletoes currently dotting Cindy’s backyard, Ned and Tomato-Peter following.

“Are we selfie-stickin’ this, or…?” Cindy asks the group.

“Tripod,” Charles says, already set up.

They all blink at him.

“You guys are really good at being distracted, you know that?” he says.

“I resent that,” Michelle says.

Charles quirks a brow at her, unamused.

“...I rescind my statement. This once,” she says, lips pursed.

Charles smirks, running to the middle of the group. “Timer’s at five seconds, get ready!”

“MJ, that’s my arm,” Ned complains, the girl in question tugging him closer.

Peter flanks his other side, muscling him to center frame, and he gives the camera his best Screw these guys face as the flash goes off.

“Last one in’s gotta give Flash a hug!” Abe yells, darting back to the house.

There’s an impossible scramble, and they learn that evening that friendship means zilch when physical contact with Flash Thompson is involved.

(Peter loses.

Michelle and Ned tag-team to trip him right before he hops through the door, and he loses.)

“Thanks for the sweater,” Michelle says, patting his head after the hug is settled.

“‘Thanks for the sweater,'” he repeats mockingly, pouting beside her, chin in his hands.

Michelle scans the room; most of the guests are distracted, mingling and cake-faced; the rest are dancing, or singing along to the pop tunes with too-loud voices.

The AcaDec team is huddled together, facing the other direction, looking over the photo excitedly.

She leans over to Peter. “I’ma keep it,” she whispers, kissing his cheek.

Quickly.

Not lingering.

Like, at all.

Not even one second.

Peter clears his throat, cheeks reddening again. “‘I’m—I’ma k-keep it,'” he echoes shakily, trying to be upset.

Snort. “‘Kay, hotshot. I’m gonna go look at the pic.”

“I’ll—winded,” he says helplessly, exhaling.

She nods, standing quickly.

“Wow, running less than ten yards already has you red?” Ned asks, quirking a brow. “Gotta get on that cardio, MJ.”

Huff. “Just show me the picture, nerd-squad.”

Four-Sev lands on her shoulder hard.

“Owwww,” she groans, sitting down to rub her shoulder. “I guess you need to fix your suction pads, cat.”

The robot retaliates by grabbing the party photo and running off.

Michelle stares at him. “...Okay. Okay, I’m not even gonna bother. Just make sure that’s not crumpled, Four-Sev.”

She stares down at the next photo and laughs.

It’s Ned dabbing in front of a TV screen, her to his side. May’s at the back, mid-jump and awe on her face. Peter’s got his head back on the couch, squished between Ned’s cheering family members.

He’s not laughing.

It’s agony.

Michelle grins, the green-tinted 100 on the screen reminding her of the New Year’s Eve party.

...Then she frowns, remembering the end of the night.

a high school musical fan-made film

It always feels like some sort of initiation ritual when visiting Ned’s family during a holiday.

Michelle gets dragged into at least one song during karaoke against her will, but if she were being honest it’s...fun.

They always have veggie lumpia and empanadas just for her, and she, therefore, gets a whole tin foil container of food to herself, thus having lunch for at least a month following.

“We’re duetting,” Ned says more than asks, leaning over the back of the couch to announce the news right by her ear.

“Any reason you couldn’t have asked first?” Michelle squints, chomping on an empanada.

“Your voice is smooth soul and goes better with mine than Peter’s,” Ned says quickly, keeping a look out for said friend.

“He’s still in the bathroom,” she says.

“I have dibs,” he says in a hushed tone.

She stares at him.

“...May I have dibs?”

“It better be Boyz II Men.”

Ned fistpumps, then hugs her.

“Bro, food,” she says, attempting to keep the empanada in her hand.

“Sorry,” he grins, before running off to reserve the song in the machine.

“One song!” Michelle calls, watching him scan the songbook from her seat.

He waves her off without looking up, and she decides she’s probably screwed.

Peter gives them death glares as they finish up One Sweet Day, the trumpet sound effect announcing their perfect 100 on the screen.

“Dirty tricks, Ned,” he seethes. “Behind my back.”

“All’s fair in love and karaoke, Pete,” Ned replies, smugly running a hand through his hair.

Michelle sighs, opting to capture the armrest by Peter as her new resting place. She looks down at him, expressionless. “‘Sup.”

He glares at her.

She raises her brows briefly, nodding. “Okay.”

“You left me hangin’.”

“Mike’s good, too,” Michelle says, patting his head and nodding at Ned’s cousin. “You just suck, is all.”

Peter switches to pouting, his glare faltering the second she makes contact with his hair.

“I tell you the truth because I love you.”

“...You wanted to win.”

“It keeps me from singing twice,” she shrugs.

“I don’t think anyone would mind you singing twice,” he says, voice going soft.

Michelle’s eyes widen, but only a little bit.

Only enough to show surprise.

Not enough to show interest.

Because: she’s not interested.

(Lie, probably.)

May comes around, pulling her into a hug. “Sweetie, that was amazing! You were so good!”

(Michelle is blushing because May is showering her with affection, not because Peter is still staring at her in that...that soft way he’s been doing lately.

A lot.)

“Thanks, May,” she mumbles, half-smiling.

“I knew you could sing, but that was—wow, new heights, kid,” May laughs, patting her back. “Super great, really.”

(Peter’s moved to awe, but still soft, and Michelle can’t handle it.)

“Uh, I think—I’ma go, um, find Ned,” she says, standing abruptly. “Get more food.”

“Oh, sure, hon. Go eat,” May says beaming.

Michelle feels pity and sings one (1) duet with Peter.

She regrets it immediately, because there’s a constricting feeling that’s gotten familiar, but is still well beyond her control.

Doesn’t help that it’s a love song.

(They score a 94 and she pretends to tease him about “lowering the curve”, but it backfires when he just.

Agrees.)

She steps on Ned’s foot when the boys drop her off at home, and flips him off with extra pizazz as she (gently) closes the front door.

Michelle winces.

Not my proudest moment.

She clicks her tongue, then:

“What the hell?” she squints, turning to the next picture. “What the actual hell?”

This couldn’t possibly have been from her or Peter’s phones.

Like, she knows where it’s from.

She knows exactly what day that was.

But she knows Peter was beyond freaking out that day, and she was in a self-imposed exile in her room, so the probability of this picture even exis—

Wait.

May dropped Peter off.

...She needs to seriously consider having a sit-down with all their friends and family concerning privacy, have you heard of it?

get out of jail free, pass go, collect your 200 years of emotional trauma

February 14th.

Amendments to the Sokovia Accords were being announced today.

Now, see, Peter’s a smart kid. Very smart.

But he tends to get dates mixed up, or forgets certain international holidays, like, y’know.

Valentine’s Day.

And what bringing a box of chocolates to your “very platonic fave teenage girl” could/should/would mean on this fine, chill, sunny Saturday.

(Hint: it doesn’t mean Congratulations on helping with official legislation!)

So when Peter forgets what day it is and visits Michelle in the morning, bearing gifts, she does the logical thing: she slams the door in his face.

Aside: Michelle really wants the chocolates. They were all her faves in a box Peter must’ve packed from home, and she really wants them.

But reopening the door could also mean that she accepts, that she would like the attention he’s giving her, that she likes him.

Which she does not.

At all.

Psh.

“Oh no,” she mutters into her pillow after (calmly) speed-walking upstairs. “I do, don’t I?”

“Whoa, Pete, slow down—start from the start,” Ned says calmly, hastily dressing up.

“IBROUGHTMJCHOCOLATESANDSHESLAMMEDTHEDOORINMYFACE!”

“...Dude.”

“YESIKNOW,I’MANIDIOT.”

“Dude, breathe.”

Peter whines like a puppy whose favorite toy was stolen. “Does she hate me?”

Ned frowns. “I doubt it, but giving her chocolates on Valentine’s Day is kinda cliché.”

“...What. ”

“Cliché?”

“No, today?”

“Valentine’s?”

Peter stops talking.

Ned guffaws. “Dude. Did you forget?”

“I’m screwed.”

“Lil’ bit.”

“I didn’t—you know I didn’t—”

“If you didn’t mean to, why’d you bring ‘em?”

“The Accords are out today!” Peter says, exasperated. “They were congratulations chocolates! Her faves!”

“Duuude. You’re screwed. Like a lotta bit. Looootta bit.”

“Ned, she’s gonna think I like her. MJ’s gonna think I like-like her.”

“Uh,” Ned pauses. “You do, though.”

“...”

“Bro?”

“I don’t—”

“I’ma stop you right there, ‘cause that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay, but we’re just friends—”

Buzz.

“Uh,” Ned blinks, pulling his phone from his ear.

“What is it? ”

“The love of your life is calling me.”

“Ned, she’s not—”

“Sure, yeah, uhhh, I’m gonna hang up? Because MJ’s scarier than you? Aight? Aight. Peace.”

“NED—”

Click.

“Hey, MJ, what’s—”

“Does Peter bring you chocolates on Valentine’s?”

“No.”

She curses.

“Uh? What’s wr—”

“Bye.”

Click.

“She slammed the door in your face?”

“Yes.”

“Kid, are you sure she even likes you?”

“It’s not like that, Mr. Stark.”

“...You’re aware of the date today, right?”

“It’s ‘everyone’s legally free from the Raft’ day.”

“Well—”

“And Valentine’s.”

“...You forgot, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you tried telling her you forgot?”

“No, but—”

“Kid.”

“...”

“C’mon, Spider-Man—you get punched by metahumans in the face every month. You’re really scared of clearing the air with a girl you ‘like-but-don’t-wanna-admit-it-to-your-mentor’?”

“Wow, I’m hanging up.”

“I was kidding!”

“Bye, Mr. Stark, see you next week.”

“Kid! It was a jo—”

Click.

Peter climbs up to her window, chocolates in hand and a newspaper stuffed into his back pocket.

He taps the glass thrice, waiting.

He hears her step over, opting to hold up the paper to the glass instead of using actual words.

Michelle blinks at the headline currently pasted to her window, heartbeat quickly dying down.

Oh.

Just congratulating me.

Okay.

Peter peeks from behind the newspaper, eyes wide and hopeful.

She opens the window.

“I just wanted to...” he says, head bowed and voice fading as he hands her the box.

“Yeah,” she blanks, taking and staring at the box. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“No, it’s—yeah, um. May’s waiting for me. Congrats again.”

“You didn’t swing over?”

“We—we’re going out for a movie, so. Um.”

“Oh. Okay. Have fun. Tell May I said hi.”

“Yeah. I will. You—enjoy—um—the chocolates.”

“...Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight, loser.”

“Goodnight, MJ.”

Michelle tucks the picture of him holding the box out to her at her windowsill at the back of the pile. She snorts as she watches Four-Sev return, apologetically releasing the earlier photograph.

“Good boy,” she says, scratching his sensor.

Flip.

Ned.

Asleep.

She spots a familiar blue paper, lines drawn in a very particular way.

“Okay, this one’s easy.”

march madness

“Place your bets,” Ned says solemnly. Blue paper lined with brackets and Avengers’ names stands before them.

Michelle stares at him critically. “That would be illegal.”

Peter furrows his brows at her. “You bet with Ned all the time.”

“Irrelevant,” she replies, waving a hand lazily. “Those were under or equal to $20. This is a pool.”

Ned stares at her. “You’re...messing with us.”

She cracks a grin, caught. “If this is a world vote, I’m going for Black Panther—if it’s a school vote, Spidey.”

Peter quirks a brow, grinning. “You think I’d win a school vote?”

“I’m biased.”

Peter grins wider, dopey and...something else.

Something she’s been avoiding since New Year’s.

The smell of uncapped markers pulls her back to reality before she can decipher whatever it is Peter’s added to his facial repertoire, but she makes a mental note of how much his eyes shined and how relaxed he’d seemed.

How he wouldn’t look away, like he was unable to.

How he snuck a glance at the lower half of her face.

Her lips.

He was looking at her lips.

Don’t think about it. Do not, under any circumstances, think about it.

She curses at herself, rereading the question for the fourth time.

Hey, Brain? We have a Calc test tomorrow. Stop it. Focus.

...Not on that, smartass.

Dangit. I’m talking to myself. With other people in the room. Unintentionally. This is his fault.

“Anyone get number 17?” she asks coolly, leaning on the couch base.

Peter quirks a brow from the ceiling. “You’re already on 17?”

Ned squints at him from the couch. “You’re not?”

“I’m…” Cough. “A little distracted.”

“Staying upside down can’t be good for studying,” Michelle says.

“Gravity stopped working when I got bit.”

“That’s...that’s not even a little correct.”

“Don’t you mean a ‘little bit’?” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

She flips him off as Ned groans.

Peter jumps down, and has the audacity to sit beside her, the sweater he’d stolen from her riding up as he sits.

“Seat’s taken,” Michelle quips.

“By a ghost?” he asks, scrunching up his face.

“By my dissociated soul,” she blanks.

“Sweet,” he smiles (Stop him, end him, how dare he—), stretching out. “I could use the brains.”

Screeeewwwww yoouuuu, she thinks, puffing up her cheeks.

Peter has no boundaries today, it seems, because he decides poking at her cheek is a cute idea—which is fair and true, but—and wrinkles his nose at her like he’s five. “Moody, MJ?”

“I’m always moody, it’s my personality trait.”

“You’re quiet, not moody. You just don’t want to talk when you don’t have to. Or want to.”

“Accurate,” Ned agrees, lying down on the couch. “You’re a big softie.”

Michelle squints. “Like literally big because I’m taller than you, or?”

“Both, Ms. Giraffe,” Ned says.

“Noted.”

“Oh,” Peter says, leaning over her notebook. “It’s cosX equals zero.”

“Hair, out of face, nerd-lord,” Michelle says, leaning away from him.

“Sorry,” he grins. “But that’s 17.”

“Someone’s focused,” Ned murmurs above them, and Michelle wishes nudging the couch translated into nudging him, because dude, filter.

Ned chuckles quietly, but maniacally, turning to squish himself into the couch-back. “Wake me up when you guys are done, I slept at four last night.”

“This morning,” Michelle and Peter correct in unison.

“Same difference, fam.”

“We should wake him up,” Peter says, after taking a picture.

They should.

They’re done.

It took another hour because close proximity breeds stupidity, but details, right? Who needs ‘em?

Michelle purses her lips, and Peter thinks about literally anything else. “Are we doing this the normal way, or should I get a cup of water?”

“Please don’t drop water on him.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of using your webbing to rig a trap so we can wake him up normally, but he gets dunked on when he leaves your room.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I like pranks, that’s why Ned and I get along so well,” Michelle says, grinning madly.

Peter’s going to regret asking, but: “So why do we get along?”

“Because you’ve got a good soul,” she says nonchalantly.

Like it’s nothing.

Like it’s a fact.

Observation.

A simple sentence.

“Oh,” he replies, breathless. It feels like the best kind of punch in the gut he could ever receive. “Thanks. You—you’re better, though.”

“Obviously.”

“No, you think I’m kidding? MJ, you—”

“—will take the compliment, if and only if we decide on how to wake up Ned,” she cuts in, blank as ever.

(Peter can't tell if her heart's thrumming faster because the sound of his own going at the speed of light is deafening.)

“Your yapping is like an alarm clock,” Ned mutters, slowly opening an eye. “Did I miss anything important? End of the world? Star Wars: The Last Jedi? Love confessions?”

Michelle puffs her cheeks slightly, ignoring him.

Peter’s jaw drops, closes, opens, and stays quiet.

“I will take that as a no,” Ned says, yawning. “Snacks?”

“I’ll get some,” Michelle says, before Peter can excuse himself.

“I’ll—”

“You. Stay,” she squints. “There. Sit.”

Peter frowns. “But M—”

She leaves the room.

“Give her time, dude.”

Peter slumps onto the floor. “Maybe you were just wrong, Ned.”

Flip.

One of hers.

Peter staring at a wall in her room, slumped against the side of her bed.

She thumbs the picture, eyes crinkling slightly.

spring break, planes, and jumping trains

Michelle’s alright with staying at home. She’s okay with keeping to herself when there isn’t school or a protest to go to.

Peter is not.

Ned’s family whisks him away to California for the week, and judging by his Instagram feed, they’re also apparently trying to clear the state of food resources.

“I’m going crazy,” he says into the phone.

“Tough,” Michelle replies apathetically. “I’m reading so I can have the whole day to work at the outreach center tomorrow.”

“You’re actually doing the homework?”

“Duh.”

“Lame, MJ. Lame.”

“Talk to me about being lame when you can walk the hall and be greeted by at least five distinct people.”

“I—”

“Who aren’t on the Decathlon team.”

“...Like you get that.”

“I don’t need anything more than I have, thanks.”

“...Did you just admit to needing me and Ned?”

“Yup.”

“...It’s no fun when you don’t get annoyed by it.”

“I know. But it’s true, so there’s no point. I enjoy your lameness.”

“Aw—”

“It accentuates my coolness.”

“The worst,” Peter frowns. “You are the worst.”

She laughs.

He listens as she keeps going, not cutting off the sound.

Not daring to.

“Um—you still there?” she asks finally.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, taking a deep breath. “If...if you want, you can come over. I’ll be busy, but you can talk my ear off. If you want.”

“That—yeah, I’d—I want to, if that’s cool.”

“You’re over a lot, why wouldn’t it be?”

Man, I don’t know, ‘cause I have a crush on you?

And our buffer is out of town?

Duh, MJ?

“Pete?”

“Um—no, yeah, coolcoolcool, I’ll see ya in a bit, byecoolawesomeseeya.”

Peter doesn’t tell her why he’s so antsy, and he’s learned to hide it well enough that she doesn’t notice.

Until.

“‘Do you know what it is like, to lie in bed awake; with thoughts to haunt you every night, of all your past mistakes,’” Peter recites to her from the floor, staring at the ceiling. “‘Knowing sleep will set it right—if you were not to wake.’”

“Lang Leav?”

He nods.

“You read the book,” Michelle says from above him on her bed, surprised.

“You like love poems,” Peter blanks.

“I—” Tch. “—it’s been a mood.”

Peter raises a brow, turning to face her. “Uh. What?”

“Nothing.”

“A mood? Since when? For who?”

“Whom,” Michelle corrects automatically, covering her face with her textbook. “And just in general. I’m probably just PMSing.”

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Peter mumbles, sighing. “But that one—it didn’t fit.”

Her brows knit together in concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s like, barely a love poem—”

“Peter,” she says, calling his attention, “how bad was it?”

He refuses to look at her.

“Pete, you can talk to me.”

“It was a weird...loop, thing. Just. Just weird. But Liz’s dad was there and…” Sigh. “Sorry, I, uh. I don’t think I want to talk about it, actually.”

Michelle doesn’t know anything past what the news and Ned know, which is surprisingly little.

But she also knows Peter’s been going to his therapist regularly, so she can always wait to hear it—even if he chooses he never wants to share that secret.

He’s seen things.

He’s just protecting them.

“Hey nerd, want a hug?”

Peter nods.

Michelle figures it’s not weird to hug your best friend from the back.

Specifically, behind his neck.

And it’s not weird to end up cheek-to-cheek.

Even if her very much not PMSing brain is making fun of her for trying to think so.

So she lies on her belly and does that, and he holds her arms in place, and she’s just hoping he’s too distracted to notice that—

“Your heartbeat spiked,” Peter breathes.

“I’m bad at comforting people,” Michelle says, ducking her head into his shoulder.

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up, it’s your pity party.”

“Okay.”

And they just.

Stay there.

For a while.

Until Peter has to go, because it’s almost time for dinner, and May’s waiting.

“I’ll—I’ll see you, MJ,” he whispers.

“Okay,” she whispers back, even though his grip on her arm is firmer than when the hug started.

“Thanks,” he whispers even lower, turning his head and—oops.

Michelle Jones is used to friend kisses. She’s got Peter and Ned as her permanent tails, so it’s a given.

But there’s a difference between intentional besos and comforting forehead kisses and...that, which just happened.

Riiiiight at the corner of her lips.

She swallows thickly. “Um.”

“I’m—um,” Peter freezes, turning every shade of red.

OhnoohnoohnOHNO. “I’ll—” Michelle starts, gulping.

RELEASE HIM, IDIOT, her brain screams, and she finally, finally moves her arms away.

Except, remember how Peter’s clamped on?

Yeah.

He moves from her elbow to her hand.

“UM,” he squeaks, and she’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack.

“It’scool,dude,becool,it’snormal,” Michelle says, momentarily forgetting to breathe.

“YUP,nice,peace,bye,loveyou,bye,” Peter says, hastily letting go. He jumps up and heads out the door, remembers he brought a bag, returns, stares at her in shock, and runs back out.

“I’m going to kill Ned,” Michelle says to her empty room, flopping back on her bed with wide eyes and a very, very quick heartbeat.

“Well, Four-Sev, just so you know, your parents can be dumb. Like, supremely dumb,” Michelle says to the AI by her feet.

Flip.

She doesn’t remember this one.

A photo of her at lunch, reading an autobiography of...someone. Her face is covered, and book’s blurry because the focus is on what can be seen of her forehead and hair.

She squints at the photograph, turning it over for a clue.

“‘Note to self: MJ takes dance invites via text,’” she reads, scrunching up her face. “Whe—”

Ohhhhhh.

Right.

stephen king’s the asking

So here’s what happened:

Ned was supposed to show up. He was supposed to walk with Peter to Michelle’s locker and nudge him every time he needed to stay on track with The Question.

But no.

The dude didn’t get his flu shot. Because he forgot. Because robotics club took over his life.

And now he’s stuck at home with a flu not bad enough to make him throw up every two hours, but strong enough to make him snooze and be generally unconscious for most of the day.

So Peter’s here, at lunch, staring like a freaking weirdo at Michelle.

Because he has to ask her, somehow.

His phone keeps buzzing from Ned trying to call him, and he can’t concentrate at the girl in front of him, reading Petals of Blood.

“How’s the book?” he asks, leaning awkwardly on the table.

What are you doing? Why are you posing?! he chastises himself.

“Depressing,” Michelle replies, sneaking a glance at him. “What...the hell are you doing?”

“Idon’tknow,” he says tightly, squirming in his seat.

Note to self: do not attempt a career in modeling.

“Clearly,” she says.

“I was just—um, wondering—”

She quirks a brow, lowering her book.

“Youwannagowithmetoprom?”

Michelle blinks.

Peter sounds like he’s wheezing. “It’scoolifnot?Iguessednot,I’msorry,I’ll—”

“I already asked Ned,” she says softly, as if off-guard or entranced, blinking again.

“You—what?”

She raises her phone. “I asked—I asked Ned?” she repeats, brows furrowed.

Something has shifted and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Oh,” Peter says, dumbfounded.

“I—I’ll see you at history,” Michelle stammers out as she stands abruptly, still confused.

(She doesn’t see him at history.

She sits beside Abe in one of the front seats, where no one has the guts to whisper while class is going on.

Where Peter wouldn’t have the guts to throw or pass a note.

She forgets about 80% of the lesson.)

Oh, no. I know where this is going, Michelle thinks, frowning to suppress a smile.

Flip.

It’s her front door. Blurry, like whoever took it had shaky hands.

carrie, but no blood

May takes pictures like she’s the proudest parent in existence, and, to be honest, that might be true. Michelle’s still thinking about strangling her Best Bud Ned™️, because he’s supposed to be here.

Not Peter.

Certainly not Peter in a suit and tie complimenting her dress.

And holding a corsage.

For her.

(She’s well-versed in the Art of Cursing and many a choice, historical utterance is currently running through her mind. Because, Well, I guess this is my life now.)

“Seriously, where’s Ned?” she whispers, nudging Peter while May messes with the camera.

“He’ll meet us there,” Peter whispers back.

Something’s in his eyes, and Michelle decides she’s screwed.

Because it’s not normal—it’s not jokey-Peter, quipping back at her. Not smart-Peter challenging her in physics.

Not a part of him, not a side.

Just Peter.

Looking at her like she’s got the superpowers.

She can only think of one thing as May steadies the camera.

Uh-oh.

It takes a steady breath every five seconds to keep her sane.

Keep her from doing something stupid, like kiss her best friend, or like, uh.

Like…

Like kiss her best friend.

Whatever.

Ignore that he keeps staring at her lips when he thinks she’s scanning the room.

Ignore that almost everyone’s dressed to the nines—even though Peter is a Solid Ten—yes, she will fight you on that—and packed into a gymful of overly-romantic decor.

Ignore that she’s got regrets a mile high and wanted to apologize for several things in the last few months. Maybe start over.

...Ignore that Ned has no date, so they end up dancing/standing with him for 95% of the evening, because they’re Good Friends, Nothing More™️.

Joke’s on her.

Peter walks her to her door and she’s got zero impulse control, apparently, when post-prom and given a lopsided smile from the One Guy worthy of holding her heart.

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a whisper.

He kicks at the ground playfully, hands in his pockets. “No prob. Thanks, too. For not punching me in the face.”

“That would’ve hurt my hand.”

“I don’t have a steel face.”

“Oh. Good.”

Peter furrows his brows. “Huh?”

“Sorry,” she whispers, kissing him.

She doesn’t let him linger.

Doesn’t let him say anything.

Just walks into her house and pretends he isn’t blasting her phone until 3AM.

She sends Peter three texts in quick succession at 4AM, when the barrage has ended completely:

dont overthink it

I had fun

thanks

Flip.

She goes through the pictures faster now, Four-Sev making a second attempt at climbing walls while she’s distracted.

“Don’t fall again,” she mutters, staring at Ned’s selfie of himself and a very shell-shocked younger version of herself.

peter parkour and the denial squad

“What do you mean you’re not da—MMPH!”

Michelle will later settle on better Shutting Up methods, but for now, shoving the jacket she’s stolen from Peter into Ned’s mouth is the only viable option.

(Friends can borrow each others’ clothes, aight? She takes Ned’s stuff, too. Just. Peter’s got like. Better. Um. Clothes. That smell like him. Which isn’t at all high in her requirements for Excellent Clothing™️, but it has yet to disappoint. So.

Yeah.)

“Shut it, Leeds,” she hisses.

Prom is an afterthought. Prom is a distant, enchanting dream. It is her in a passably-semi-formal dress, and Peter in a suit that fits much better than the one he’d worn to homecoming, and it was last Friday and therefore doesn’t matter today—Monday. She has a project to worry about and he has a paper due tomorrow and nothing is going on between us, Cindy, please. stop. asking .

Ned is smart and uses his hands to remove the clothing from his mouth, instead of trying to spit it out, like Peter would probably have done.

Not that she’s thinking about Peter.

Again.

For the nth time since Friday.

And the summer before junior year, if she’s being truthful.

How long have I liked him?

To your knowledge? Since at least Valentine’s, her brain retorts, and it sounds suspiciously like Karen.

(Michelle may need to take a break from hacking class with Ned if she continues to hear the voice of an AI in her head instead of her own.)

“Please don’t shove it back in my mouth,” Ned says quietly, handing the article of clothing back, “but um—seriously?”

“Seriously, Ned,” she flatlines. “Nothing’s going on with me and Peter.” ...That you know of.

“But you like him.”

“As a friend.”

“And he…uh, likes you.”

“As a friend.”

Ned squints at her, detecting her need to discount everything she’s been noticing the past few months.

She wants to run, but that would be a tell, so she digs her worn-out combat boots into the vinyl and hopes the traction holds.

Ned stares. “See what I’m doing?”

“Being...Ned? But zoned out?”

“I call it staring at my Just A Friend,” he says, before switching to this Look that has her afraid and very close to running.

Because it’s disconcertingly close to Peter’s Unidentified Look #1, and she’s scared of that look.

“And that,” Ned says, dropping the face, “is something I like to refer to as Peter And MJ’s Mutual Pining Stare.”

Michelle scrunches up her face. “I don’t make that face.”

“Yes you do.”

“I’m gonna need a little more proof than tha—”

Ned’s one step ahead, phone out and playing a video.

She thinks up the choicest string of curses she can, artfully arranging them into a poetic burn for one Ned Leeds.

...But she doesn’t say anything.

Because that would also be a tell.

Ned smirks. “This was from before Nationals.”

“That would imply that this has been going on for almost a year.”

He shrugs. “Because it has, duh.”

“Ned, technically, if it goes on for a year, a crush is probably more on the side of lo—”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Ned nods.

“Oh.”

“Congratulations,” he says, “you’re both stupid.”

“...You’re implying it’s mutual.”

“No implying—I’m saying it is.”

“Well. That’s.” Squints. “That’s a big word.”

“It’s four letters.”

“A heavy four.”

“We say ‘I love you’ all the time!” Ned says, arms outstretched.

Michelle quirks a brow.

“...Well, me and Pete. But you say it back!”

She shrugs. Stay casual. “Yeah, well, contrary to popular belief, I’m not devoid of emotion.”

Ned gives her a half-hug. “Yeah! I know that—you’re a big softie.”

“Hey, those are fighting words.”

“They’re true.”

“Still fighting words.”

“You call those fighting words but not the fact that you and The Other Guy are in L-O-V-E? Okay.”

“Release me,” she says, taking out her phone. “I want to go find out how to die from embarrassment in the least painful manner.”

“Hey, MJ,” Peter says from three feet away.

“Nerd,” she nods, praying the bell would ring.

“So…”

She inhales. Here we go.

“Did you do the history homework?” he asks.

She blinks, glancing at him.

He’s got the actual worksheets up to his face, confused.

“I—yeah,” she says, shuffling around her books. “What do you need?”

“You.”

She freezes.

“Your!” Peter yelps. “Your thoughts! On!”

Michelle is gulping and staring and very, very red.

“On, um! The!” Curse! “Nevermind,screwit,I’llfail,bye,don’tfollowme,peace!” Peter squeaks, running backward into a group of students, tripping and falling to the floor, and turning to run away.

Michelle spins on her heels abruptly, speed-walking to her next class.

Which she shares with Ned.

Who is unabashedly trying to figure out why she’s being weird.

And blushing.

A lot.

(She doesn’t budge, and she and Peter both ditch Ned after school to die simultaneously in their respective bedrooms.)

Flip.

The front of MoMA.

summer lovin’ (not a euphemism)

“What do you mean you’re leaving for most of the summer?”

“We’re flying to Cebu for the reunion and going island hopping, then going to Hawaii.”

“Ned, you can’t leave us alone together for most of the summer.”

“I’m? Already going to? You’ll be fine.”

“No? No, we won’t?”

“MJ, c’mon. Look at it this way: no Ned, so no stress, so maybe you’ll actually do something about it.”

“I hate you.”

“Heh.”

“Don’t bother coming back, traitor.”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean that. Not fully. Come back. I don’t like not having you here.”

“Aw, dude.”

“Seriously, it’s gonna get weird. It’s already weird.”

“It’s not like you’ve kisse—”

“Uhhhhhh. Well.”

“...What.”

“Gottago,peace.”

“MJ! MJ, WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“PEACE, NED.”

Click, SLAM.

Michelle keeps looking over to Peter like he’s got a huge bug on his face, and he’s really hoping it’s something like a Hercules beetle because last week he got thrown into a brick building and he would very much enjoy having some sweet, sweet, thick exoskeleton.

And wings would be a bonus, too.

“So,” she says.

“So,” he answers.

“Ned’s gone.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.”

They can do this. This is normal for them. They’ve been without Ned before.

Sure, they weren’t acutely aware of their sort-of-maybe-yeah-okay-you’re-right-Ned crushes on each other during those times, but still.

They were friends.

They could do it.

I mean, they’re also kinda in love.

And some mix of infatuation.

And they kissed that one time.

And sort of that other time, but.

That’s.

Normal.

(Ish.)

(Not really?)

(Welp.)

Like, Michelle’s got a good enough head on her shoulders, right? Right.

She can handle this.

Can steer this to real normalcy.

Sure.

She's got this.

Wrong, false, negative—

Why are they here?

Why did they think strolling a park was an acceptable alternative to staying indoors without Ned?

Stupid, that’s what they were.

Stupid, and in love.

“Hey, look! A cardinal!” Peter says, pointing up.

She follows his outstretched arm silently, finding the red bird resting on the top of a tree.

“They’re my favorite to find,” he continues, walking around the tree. “Their call is super simple, can’t miss it.”

“So like, your voice?” Michelle jokes, watching the bird.

“Ha. Ha.”

The walk around some more, nudging each other to do bad lip readings of strangers on the street every now and then. They end up spending most of the day at the park, Michelle asking to take breaks to draw people and Peter obliging, taking great care to not stare at her drawing too much as she works.

It’s...nice. They survive it.

They repeat the mistake the next day, in fact.

On purpose.

It turns into a habit.

They keep going out—but not going out—together, most days. Sometimes May tags along (if it’s a weekend), and they’re grateful for it.

But there’s still those moments.

When May’s at the counter paying for something, and they share a Look.

When Peter accidentally steps a little too close.

When Michelle shuts off her persona and smiles a little bit.

There’s still moments.

And they add up.

Thursday.

A week until Ned comes back.

Michelle picks Peter up and they walk to the subway.

Normal.

Fine.

Until:

“Oh, hey, MJ,” Peter starts, bobbing his head nervously, “did you—did you wanna go out? Maybe? To um, study?” Pause. “Brain. Smart. I need help.”

“It’s…” she starts, squinting, “...summer.”

“Oh,” Peter says, because he obviously hasn’t thought this through. “Right.”

“...Early start?” Michelle offers, because she obviously has.

He beams.

(She kisses him when they’re chilling outside MoMA, eating falafel and gyro platters from Halal Guys.

Peter’s wrecked and lost and Michelle’s only a little bit behind.)

Ten bucks it’s the sarcophagus, Michelle thinks, eyes closed as she flips to the next photo.

It’s the sarcophagus.

She mentally awards herself $10 to spend on cucumber fries.

the first date

The Met’s pretty—I’m glad you brought me to see the artwork, Peter tries to say, but because he’s a wreck...well.

“Pretty. You. Artwork,” he says, as Michelle explains the details on the sarcophagus in front of them.

She stops midway in the story and blinks.

“I—I mean, you’re—the sarcophagus is pretty—but, uh, but you are too—IN A DIFFERENT WAY—a very alive way! Also pretty, but I was talking about the artwo—UM—not to say you aren’t artwork—but you know, I totally respect you, andalsoyourbrainisscarysmart, and—” Peter stammers, clearing his throat in vain. “—Iwannadienow.”

Michelle stares at him, unmoving.

He’s gone and messed it up before they even hit the second floor.

Well done, Parker.

Michelle opens and closes her mouth, unsure of what to say, and he’s sure he’s messed up now. She’s the Quip Queen, and if he managed to break her system it would be a disservice to the rest of the world.

...Hey, wait a sec.

Is she blushing?

“Um. That’s." Pause. "Thanks, nerd,” she says, coughing. “That’s. That’s sweet.”

I broke MJ, he thinks.

She offers out her hand to his side. “You may be a gross teen with me.”

Peter is surprised, but would like to stay here a while.

“...Peter?”

He takes it. “MJ.”

“Uh-huh, that’s my name,” she says, but there’s no bite.

Just a lot of staring.

At his face.

And handholding.

Lots of handholding.

Peter is very glad the Met doesn’t have many visitors today, because they’re taking a really long time just standing here, in front of a dead guy’s fancy coffin.

“Wanna go check out the derpy angels?” Michelle blanks, hand squeezing his.

He nods, dumbfounded.

Likely permanently.

They find a seat in one of the halls upstairs and Peter watches patiently as Michelle draws the people looking at the art, putting speech bubbles above each and filling them with the pretentious language the museum goers actually utter.

Peter snickers one too many times, and they remove themselves from the hall so Michelle can give him the normal person’s way of explaining the Renaissance—you ready for this?

Midway through the second floor, they call it quits in favor of using up their remaining energy to hit up the nearest Shake Shack.

Peter opts out of getting a shake, but ends up stealing hers just as she swipes the last cheese-covered fry. She chases him across the street and shoves her hand in his face before he can finish her shake, taking it back and chugging down the remainder despite the promise (and realization) of, y’know, brain freezes.

They stroll the edge of Central Park—far enough inside to breathe in fresh air, near enough to the outside to hear cars honking.

She tells him his hair’s a mess and when he fixes it she tugs his hand and whispers, “You’re passable.”

(She winks and his legs are jelly for about fifteen minutes afterward.)

He yells about her being his girlfriend and some stuff about the Sokovia Accords when they’re deep into the park, and she quirks a brow at him.

“‘Girlfriend’?”

“Oh—if you, I mean, if you want to be,” he stammers out.

“Um. Yeah.” Blink. “Sure.” Cough. “Sure, why not.”

Some jerkwad steals a delivery guy’s bike right across Madison Square Park, and Michelle sits by the little dog park area, watching a pit bull become best friends with a beagle. Peter’s backpack serves as a stand for her sketchbook as she waits for him to return.

“Sorry,” he says when he gets back forty minutes later, scrambling to calm down.

“‘s okay,” she says, patting the seat beside her. “You can just owe me a part two.”

He blinks, the edge of his lips turning up slowly to smile at her. “Part two?”

“Part two of our first date,” she nods, fighting back a grin as she draws a greyhound.

Peter kisses her cheek. “Okay, deal.”

“Hey,” Michelle laughs, half-smiling. “That felt nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do it again.”

He does it again.

Michelle snorts, rearranging the pictures and turning to rummage for the next stack.

“Yo, you weren’t answering you pho—ah,” Ned says, entering the room. “I see you’ve found the pictures.”

“Where are these going?” Michelle asks, laughing. “These are gold.”

“We’re gonna play a game at the reception, see how many people can guess the scenarios or get close,” Ned explains, flipping through them. He snickers at the one with him asleep. “My mom’s gonna think I was drinking.”

“Sure, because Pete and I drink, and we’re terrible influences who pressure you to do that kinda stuff.”

He sticks his tongue out at her. “Butthead.”

“Creative,” she nods. “Why are you here again?”

“Shuri wants you to come look at the table stuff,” Ned says, pulling out his car keys. “C’mon, I’m driving.”

Michelle shrugs, grabbing her sketchbook and shoving it in her backpack. She looks up at Four-Sev. “I’ll be back later, buddy. Alarm settings: on.”

Four-Sev’s eyes flash red and blue, then return to green as he slinks down the wall and runs out to the front door of the apartment.

“I’m going to admit that that’s a really cool feature,” Ned says, squinting. “But don’t tell Shuri.”

“Yeah, because that’s something she doesn’t already know,” Michelle snorts, moving past him. “Let’s go, Leeds, I wanna stop by Delmar’s before the lunch rush.”

bonus content: the first date (remix)

“I seriously hope no one’s scheduled for a New York invasion today,” Peter says, taking her hand in full confidence.

Michelle frowns.

“What is it?”

“Your bad luck...” she deadpans, eyes trailing something in the sky, “...is starting to affect more than just the weather.”

Peter pouts. “I’m gonna turn around and I’m gonna regret it, aren’t I?”

“Yup.”

“I gotta turn around anyway, though, right?”

“Yep.”

“Wait for me?” he asks with a lopsided smile, tugging at the mask in his pocket.

“Sure, just don’t die,” she says, kissing his cheek. She takes his backpack, already used to the motions.

“Tell May I—wow, that’s a big spaceship,” Peter says, turning to look at the Donut Monstrosity. “Shoot.”

“Yeah, that can’t be good for the environment,” Michelle squints, a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Okay, sorry, but—” Peter says, twisting back to face her. He kisses her square on the lips, holding her by the waist. “—just in case,” he whispers, eyes still shut.

“Smooth, Pete,” she whispers back, hands on his chest. “You gotta go, though. People. Saving. Stuff like that.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll see you later.”

“You better,” she calls, watching him scamper away to the nearest alley.

(He doesn’t.

Not that day.

Or the next.

But he does, eventually.

Calls even, before he gets home.

He arrives, and Ned’s there, and May’s there, and Michelle’s there, and it’s all immediately relief.)

“Hey, loser.”

“Hey, MJ.”

“You still owe me.”

“You still—you still want? To?”

“You’re bad luck.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“I don’t believe in luck, Peter.”

“...I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Five, we have movie night with Ned.”

“Five.” Pause. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t be late.”

Click.

bonus content: the princess and the peter

Peter’s first meeting with the Princess Shuri is arguably his worst first impression yet.

Right up there with, “Oh, are we using our made up names?”

“Hi,I’mPeterParker—my girlfriend thinks you could kill me,” he says in rising pitch, shaking her hand with way too much energy.

Shuri tilts her head. “She would be correct.”

“Okay, cool,” Peter says, floundering. “Can you say hi to her?”

“Uh?”

“In like, a video call, or something.”

“...Sure?”

“Awesome,” he grins, buzzing with energy as he pulls out his phone and dials cap’n mj.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ri—

“Explain yourself,” Michelle groans, evidently just waking up.

“Oops, forgot the time difference,” Peter winces.

Shuri quirks a brow from behind the phone. “What time is it there?”

Michelle blinks, sitting up. “Who’s that?”

Peter grins, hopping slightly. “Feel free to freak out.”

“I’m sleepy and confused and not sure if I’m going to be mad at you.”

“Oho, I like this coloniz—oh,” Shuri blinks. “Not a colonizer." She waves. "Hello! I’m Shuri.”

“Princess Shuri. Of Wakanda,” Michelle blanks, staring.

“Yes.”

“Um. Is Peter dead? Am I dead?”

“You’re not dead!” Peter says, part of his face taking up the camera. “I’m not dead, see!”

“That’s—” Shuri starts, but Peter moves off camera and glares in a way she didn’t think was possible. “—Yup, not dead. Never dead.”

Michelle squints. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“As a regular monarch, that could very well be true. But I’m Wakandan, so.”

“Your country can’t be perfect.”

“It’s pretty close, though.”

“Wait, actually—pause,” Michelle says, scrunching up her face. “Why’s Peter in Wakanda? We have a meet in two days—”

“Official business,” Peter cuts in. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“You better be, jackass.”

“What is your name, Sassy One?” Shuri says with wide, awe-filled eyes, chuckling at Peter’s frowning face.

“Michelle,” Peter says.

“MJ,” Michelle says.

He raises a brow. “You’re letting her skip to that?”

Michelle shrugs. “She’s the princess of Wakanda. That’s lit. Super cool. Unlike you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’ma go back to sleep, if that’s okay,” Michelle yawns. “I’m not actually asking permission, I don’t care. Bye. Get home safe.”

Click.

“She’s cranky in the mornings,” Peter explains, stowing his phone.

“She’s my new best friend,” Shuri grins, rubbing her hands together. “How does she feel about pranks?”

“Oh, no.”

Shuri grins. "Excellent."