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“Did you know that there’s a species of ant named after Manhattan?”
MJ’s question reaches Peter’s ear through his headset, and he can practically picture her face as she says it. She’s probably leaning back in her worn desk chair, peering at the laptop that rests on top of her crossed legs. That’s the position he most often finds her in, after all, when he returns to her quiet room in Queens after a night of patrolling. It’s peaceful, really, to know what to expect when he comes back, and the reminder is sort of nice.
At least, it would be if he weren’t trying to fight off three different amateur thieves at once.
“Couldn’t have picked a better time, MJ,” Peter responds, his voice slightly flustered as he dodges one poorly-aimed shot, then another.
The man holding the gun appears confused, and his brow furrows beneath the stupid ski-mask he is wearing. “What did you say, asshole?” the man snaps. Though Peter can tell he’s trying to sound gruff, there is an uncertain undertone in his voice.
Peter glances up to focus on him, pausing in his task of selecting a web from Karen. “I wasn’t talking to you. It’s rude to listen in on other peoples’ conversations, man.” With that, Peter sends a taser web his way, and the man’s body spasms before he drops to the ground.
“They found it in Manhattan, and they realized that they hadn’t seen the species before.” MJ’s nonchalant voice enters his ear again, causing a mixed wave of amusement and exasperation to wash over Peter. “Guess what they named it?”
“Um…” Peter’s mind scrambles to try to figure it out as he continues in his task.
One of the other men makes a grab for the fallen gun, which Peter easily webs into his own hand. “Hey, man, really? Taking someone else’s toys isn’t cool.” Peter takes the opportunity to web the man to the ground.
MJ’s voice resumes in Peter’s headset. “Don’t want to alarm you or anything, but there’s a stacked guy like three times your height with a meat cleaver on your left.”
Now, it’s Karen who is speaking in Peter’s ear. “Activate Trochanter Protocol?”
“Go for it. Thanks, Karen,” Peter pants. As he turns, four sets of massive, iron legs erupt from the suit, smacking away the attacker with so much force that the man is flung across the alleyway. “The Big Ant-ple?”
“Come on, Bug Boy, I’m disappointed in you.”
“It’s not exactly the best time,” Peter points out as he turns to face his fallen foe.
“How do you expect to handle decathlon if you can’t perform under pressure?” He can hear a hint of amusement in her voice now, and Peter grins as the guy pulls out a knife and charges him.
“I think I’ll manage,” he responds, raising an eyebrow. Peter raises the legs threateningly, but he makes no move to charge the thug. Instead, he allows his attacker to come to him. When the man is inches away, Peter reacts with lightning-fast reflexes. He grabs the knife between two fingers, using his super-strength to stop the blade in its tracks.
Peter watches as the man, who is still holding the blade, blanches behind the ski mask. “Hey, man, have you ever stuck a fork in an outlet?” Peter questions.
The thug’s eyes widen, but that’s all the warning Karen needs. An electrical charge leaves the fingertips of Peter’s suit, traveling through the blade and then to Peter’s attacker, flowing through his body. Peter allows the charge to flow through his body for a few seconds before letting go. The man falls to the ground, and the blade clatters to the pavement.
“I haven’t, no, but I did make a sculpture involving a fork and a toaster to illustrate the delicate balance between genius and insanity. Does that count?” Peter might be imagining it, but he could swear that MJ’s voice is slightly more relaxed now that he is out of danger.
“I mean, your brain isn’t fried,” Peter reasons, “so I don’t think so. But I appreciate the effort.”
Now that the three are down, there isn’t such a dire need for speed. However, Peter does want to be out of here before the authorities arrive, so he is swift in webbing the cleaver and the gun to the wall.
Once he has finished, Peter leaps into the air, attaching his web to the antenna on top of one of the buildings nearby. Once he has shot up into the air, it is easy swinging, and Peter begins to take the familiar route to MJ’s room.
“ManhattAnt.”
Peter furrows his brow against the cold as he swings into the quiet of MJ’s street. “What did you just say?”
“ManhattAnt. What they named the species of ant.”
A snort escapes Peter as he spots her apartment building. “You’re kidding,” he responds as he lands on the roof of the shorter building next to hers. The gravel shifts slightly beneath his feet, but he stays completely steady as he spots her window, which is eye level with him. Peter shoots a thin stream of web towards her window, nowhere near strong enough to carry him. It is just enough for a little “thunk” to be heard.
There is a rustling of lavender curtains, and a moment later, the window opens. MJ slides the glass pane all the way up, raising an eyebrow. Peter can’t keep his heart from skipping a beat when he sees her. Her messy curls are pulled up into a loose bun, and she’s wearing those glasses with the thick black rims that Peter secretly loves.
“Do you really think I would joke about something this serious, Parker?” MJ prods, raising an eyebrow. “Come on in. I’ve got your glass of bug spray waiting for you.”
MJ moves away from the window, making it easy for Peter to make the quick leap onto her building and to slide in through the window. From there, Peter drops onto her floor and slides the window shut before turning to face her room.
As much as Peter loves coming back to his house, he thinks that MJ’s might be his favorite place to be after patrol. The soft, comforting gray of her walls paired with her gentle salt lamps and the abundance of activist posters, sweet-smelling teas, and comfortable places to sit make her room the perfect contrast to the overstimulating city he spends his nights defending.
It’s not often that he comes here. Normally, she joins Ned in Peter’s room, but Ned had to go on a family trip tonight, so here they are. Peter is perfectly alright with that… In fact, maybe a little bit too alright. He’s been trying to keep the thought out of his mind, but lately, when he’s found out he’s going to be spending time alone with MJ, Peter hasn’t felt the least upset.
In fact, Peter might look forward to spending alone time with his other best friend a little bit too much.
MJ has seated herself in her spinning chair again, though her laptop rests on her bed now as she turns to face him. The chair is still spinning slightly, and one of her legs, clad in Ravenclaw sweatpants, dangles loose. Peter can see a pair of fuzzy socks poking out from under the pants, and for some reason, a twinge of fondness enters him.
“It’s lavender tonight,” she hums, gesturing to a mug perched on the edge of her desk beside a plate of pumpkin bread. She’s holding a mug of what Peter can tell is the same tea.
The warm ceramic feels good in Peter’s hand, even through the suit. Peter lifts up the bottom of his mask in order to sip it, and he lets out a hum as the warm liquid washes down his parched throat. “Is anyone home?” he asks, curious about how soon he has to leave.
“Not tonight,” MJ replies. “Mom took Sonny to see a movie for his birthday, so- did you just drink that whole thing?”
Peter’s mechanical white eyes widen over the now-empty mug, and he offers a sheepish shrug as he sets down the burgundy mug. “It was good,” he defends. “Sweet.”
“That’s because I put a shit-ton of honey in it, loser,” she retorts as he moves on to the pumpkin bread, scarfing it down nearly as fast. “You know, that’s only supposed to work on flies. Not spiders.”
“Sugar is sugar,” Peter replies through the last bit of pumpkin bread, setting down the plate.
“And you take your tea like juice,” MJ responds, settling back in her seat. She takes another sit before adding, “I think you finished that in under a minute.”
“Thanks, MJ,” Peter responds, pulling his mask back down. “Seriously. I know you don’t have to do any of this.”
“Please, Parker. I’d much rather sit on the headset than actually do my homework. We both know that I live to watch Flash’s face when I finish it in ten minutes.”
“You know, one of these days he’s going to figure out that you just memorize the answers that you write out beforehand,” Peter points out, reclining against the wall.
“But it’s so much more fun to let him think I’m a robot,” MJ replies, arching an eyebrow. She sets her half-full mug on her desk, then, peering at him. “So was it a good night, then? All in all? Or did having my genius on the other side of the headset distract you?”
Under her gaze, Peter’s skin seems to crawl beneath the suit. He takes a breath then, glancing towards the window. Suddenly, Peter is in possession of more nervous energy than he knows what to do with, and he needs to move or be consumed on it. Peter turns to her wall, allowing his fingers to stick to it, then unstick.
“Yeah,” he says, trying for nonchalance. “I mean, I got the bad guys, you know? All in a day’s work.” Peter sticks his fingers to the wall again, beginning to climb effortlessly. At least, this way, his back is turned towards her. And besides, he’s done this sort of thing with her and with Ned before while hanging out. It isn’t that weird.
MJ lets out an amused puff of air, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not good at that part, Parker.”
By then, Peter has reached the ceiling of her room, where he is suspended by his fingers and the tips of his toes. Peter peers at her, upside down, and his white eyes on the mask widen conspicuously. “I- What?” Peter stammers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
MJ leans back in the chair, peering at him over the rims of the glasses he likes so much. “That part of superhero-ing,” MJ hums, arching an eyebrow as amusement creeps into her tone. “The part where you have to act all cool and humble and pretend you don’t care.”
“Pfft, I… What?” Peter’s voice rises to the point of almost cracking near the end of the statement, and he allows a thin stream of web to attach him to her ceiling so that he can slowly lower himself, suspended. “I don’t– What are you talking about? I don’t do that-”
“You do, Parker, and you suck at it.” MJ tucks a stray strand of hair away from her face with long, slender fingers, a little motion that succeeds in further erasing every logical thought from Peter’s mind. “It’s alright, though.”
Peter lets out a sharp breath, struggling to control his mess of flustered emotions. Just when he thinks he might have himself at a manageable level of stupidity, though, she says the one thing that could possibly take him right back to square one.
“It’s pretty cute.”
Everything that follows happens so fast. Peter has lost control over everything– including his webbing.
The strands suspending him to the ceiling release, sending him falling sharply. In an effort to keep himself from falling, Peter shoots his web back towards the ceiling, but he is falling at an angle. His efforts at securing himself accomplish two things: one, they actually secure him, and two, Peter succeeds in trapping himself in a tangled cocoon of web.
Maybe this is some sort of twisted karma, Peter reasons as he dangles six feet above MJ’s floor. If this is what every single bad guy he’s webbed feels like, then he understands why they all seem so pissed off. But Peter doesn’t have much time to explore that thought, because at the moment there is only one subject that is pushing itself to the forefront of his mind.
MJ.
MJ thinks he’s cute. Or does she? Wait– did she only mean that his attempt at humility was cute, and not the rest of him? Maybe she had been making fun of him, the way that they always did, as a part of their banter. But then why would she say that, of all things?
And more importantly, why had it had such an effect on him?
As the thoughts about MJ dance around Peter’s mind, he forgets to think about one terribly, crucially important detail: MJ herself. It is not until the webbing turns him towards the desk chair that Peter realizes his mistake. Because MJ is not curled up at her desk with a computer perched in her lap, sipping at tea.
Instead, she is standing from her chair with a slight smirk on her lips, and she is taking a step towards him.
“Um, MJ, I-I…” Peter stammers, sure that his cheeks are the color of his suit beneath the Iron Spider mask. “That was totally intentional. Definitely. And, um, if you could maybe just help me-”
“You want to come down from your cocoon?” MJ prods, her eyes glimmering with a wicked sort of amusement. “Well, it looks like you’ve got yourself in a tangle. I could just leave you here, you know… I mean, I’ve had weirder things hanging in my room before than a Spiderboy. ”
Peter winces. “Right. Bug puns. Um…” Peter is having a hard time focusing, however, because even upside-down, his best friend is the prettiest girl he has ever seen. And right now, dangling at eye-level with her, he has no way of looking away from the deep brown eyes that seem to pore into him from behind her glasses lenses.
She’s his friend, one of his best friends. He can’t be feeling this way about her– what if she doesn’t feel the same?
“Peter, your heartbeat is reaching an alarming rate,” Karen’s voice says loudly in his ear. “Would you like me to call May Parker and inform her that-”
“No, don’t do that!” Peter exclaims. The words are frantic, panicked as they tear themselves from his lips. MJ stops in her tracks, eyes widening slightly. There is confusion in them now, and Peter is even more flustered than he was before.
“Parker, are you okay?” MJ says slowly. “I was kidding, but if you need me to help you down, I can-”
“No,” he interrupts immediately, blinking rapidly. “No, it’s not you, I wasn’t talking to… Um…” Words are flitting through his mind too fast to say, creating a buzz that is only more distracting. MJ is frozen now, and she seems just as unsure about what to do as he is.
“Look, MJ, I…” Peter struggles for words, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. “I wasn’t expecting you to say… That.”
MJ blinks once, then twice. Then, however, a little smile tugs at the corner of her lips. It’s hesitant, and it’s shy, but it’s unmistakable. “You didn’t expect me to tell you that you were cute.”
So she did mean it that way, then. She meant that he was cute, and she’d said it to him. And of course Peter had panicked like a dork, and now there was no hope of recovering his pride from this.
But maybe he can rein it in. Maybe if he says something profound, or smooth, he can get this situation back in his favor…
“Um… Nope.”
Getting those two measly words out takes more energy than fighting off all three of the men had.
MJ’s smirk returns, and she shakes her head slightly. For a moment, there is quiet between them, and then a quiet laugh leaves her. Peter stiffens at the sound, but when it washes over him, his whole body relaxes. One laugh, then another, and then she turns her gaze to the ceiling as if she is searching for words.
“You are,” she informs him with mirth-filled eyes, “such a…”
“Loser.”
Peter doesn’t have to wait to know the proper term. Beneath the mask, a lopsided grin of his own twists his mouth. When he finishes her sentence, those dark, playful eyes come to meet his own, upside down. However, the moment that their eyes meet, something in the mood shifts.
MJ’s grin fades, and so does Peter’s own. For a moment, Peter forgets the stupidity of the situation he is in. He is too busy being wrapped up in the web that is MJ, in her sharp quips and her wicked smirks and her deep, dark eyes.
All amusement drains out of MJ’s face as she straightens herself up, blinking at him from across the space that divides them. For a moment, the air between them feels electric, and Peter is frozen in her current.
Then, MJ takes a step towards him. Another, and another, and Peter is frozen in place, upside down as she increases their proximity. MJ’s feet bring her closer to him, so close that Peter can’t breathe.
And then, MJ’s face is so close that their foreheads are almost touching. Peter is close enough to count her dark lashes, to study every twist of her thick curls, to memorize the rise and fall of her cupid’s bow. His heart pounds out of control, but now Karen has the good sense to stay quiet.
A tangled mess of emotions sweeps over Peter: awe, panic, hope, the works. They simmer together and bubble over, pouring out of his lips as a stammered, “MJ, you-”
“Shh,” MJ hums. Her dark eyes seem to scour the mechanical eyes of the mask, and slowly, her fingers rise to brush against the line of his jaw. Peter doesn’t realize what she is doing until she has lifted the mask, gathering it to just below his nose. Peter draws in a sharp breath as the cool air washes over the lower half of his face.
MJ’s fingers, soft and cool, brush against the corner of his lips, and a shiver goes down Peter’s spine. This close, MJ smells like lemon and lavender tea, and her soft, cooling touch is enough to send his skin tingling. His lips part slightly to speak, though Peter is not sure what he plans to say.
A long, slender finger comes to rest on Peter’s lips. MJ raises an eyebrow at him through the mask, her eyes meeting his own. “Shut up, loser,” she breathes, and then her eyes flutter shut. Before Peter can disobey her, MJ closes the distance, bringing her lips to rest atop his own.
MJ’s hands rise to cradle his face, and she arches her back as their lips move together. Peter is not sure how long they remain their, lips moving, exploring in the quiet of MJ’s room.
All he knows is that MJ tastes like honey, and now Peter understands why a creature would be willing to take its last breath in hope of just one taste.