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“Yo, MJ.”
The recipient of the nickname cocks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know when I gave you the right to call me that, Ned,” she says, eyes trained on her book, feet in Peter’s lap as he scrolls through his socials. The glee he feels at her comfort with physical contact like this is evident on his face in a perpetual grin. Sometimes it’s dampened, but it’s always there.
“I thought we were at that stage,” Ned whines, faking a pout. Peter glances at MJ, who looks back, and they share eye contact for a second, wearing polarizing expressions: his a pleading smile while hers an unamused quirking of her lips to the left side of her face. They have a silent discussion that begins and ends in that second.
Peter seems to have won because she rolls her eyes very overtly and turns back to Ned, sighing, and says, “Fine, but only because I know you won’t stop whining until I say yes.”
Ned fist-pumps. He can hear MJ’s eyes roll again from the other end of the couch. Peter laughs, and MJ’s expression softens because Ned knows she has a soft spot for Peter if he can tell by the way she visibly relaxes when he appears: her shoulders un-tense, dropping at least a few inches, her eyebrows settle from their previous frown, and her lips no longer trap themselves in a tight line, becoming a faint smile when she notices he’s there.
“Great,” Ned says. “Now, I was going to show you this meme. Something I thought you’d appreciate.”
Neither of them makes a move to make it possible for Ned to show MJ the meme, and so they stare each other down for a moment as Peter’s gaze flips between them like he’s watching a tennis match.
“I’m not getting up,” she says as if her previous immobility wasn’t answer enough.
“Neither am I,” Ned challenges, cocking an eyebrow, channeling his inner MJ, and she looks faintly proud.
“If we can’t come to an arrangement, then it seems we are at an impasse,” the girl says, and Ned almost bites a hole in his cheek to restrain the laugh that is beginning to bubble inside his chest.
“I’m afraid so,” he replies, feeling like the stars have aligned and a great moment in history has just occurred. They stare at each other, giant smiles on their faces, and then they burst out laughing, unable to contain it any longer.
Ned slaps his knee a couple of times, and MJ simply clutches her book tightly, shaking silently with laughter. Then, they’re reminded of Peter’s presence when he coughs pointedly, causing the two laughing teenagers to quiet down.
“Did I… miss something?” He asks, looking between them, and Ned can hear something familiar in his tone, sounding suspiciously like jealousy. It’s almost admirable, how protective he feels of his relationship with MJ, but there was a point where it shaded into paranoia.
“You haven’t seen Princess Bride?” Ned and MJ ask him, nearly at the same time, and Peter’s caught off guard by the sudden overload of voices, and he shrinks slightly into the common room couch.
“No,” he says, somewhat meek, his shoulders tucking themselves slightly under the couch cushions like he’s going to hide inside of it. Ned sees MJ ruffle his hair, transforming it from its usual gelled perfection to a mess of curls, and Peter only looks slightly irritated at the change, leaning into her hand. Ned smiles at the sight.
“That’s gonna be the next movie night,” she says, smiling the way Ned knows is only reserved for Peter, and at that moment he feels pretty envious of their relationship, wishing a girl would look at him the way MJ did Peter.
There is Betty in his 18th Century English Lit class, but he isn’t sure if she actually likes him or not.
Ned forgets to show MJ the meme.
~*~
Peter loves his relationship with MJ, and while it’s still fairly new, he feels comfortable with her like he’s never felt before, and he’s been getting some hints that it’s the same for her.
Like the time when they’re up late studying in her dorm on a Saturday night because her roommate is out partying (like a normal college student, but both would rather spend the night in each other’s company than that of the frat dudebros and shallow coeds that frequent the college parties they have been to) and MJ excuses herself to the bathroom.
Peter smiles while he waits, thinking she’s probably changing into pajamas or something because it is getting late and he should probably get going, Ned will be wondering what he’s doing with MJ. Their conversations had drifted down that avenue a few times, and Peter really doesn’t want to relive that experience.
But when he looks up from his Physics textbook after he hears the creak of the dorm door, he notices that along with the pajamas -- a baggy white t-shirt that says “THE FUTURE IS FEMALE” and equally baggy black pajama pants with small red roses printed all over them, which are actually so adorable and Peter is in it, deep -- she’s wearing something new. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but they’re right there on her face.
Glasses.
Golden, circular-frame glasses that glint in the light of the warm lamp that sits on the nightstand next to her bed. Peter falls a little bit in love with the sight of them resting on the bridge of her nose, as casual as everything else about MJ.
“I’m back,” she says, a bit obvious, but Peter is too entranced to call her out. She settles back onto the bed next to him, her bare feet brushing slightly against his jeans as she picks up her highlighter from between the pages of the book she’s reading for her English class. It’s only now that she notices his silence, turning to him and quirking an eyebrow. “What’re you staring at, dork?”
Peter notices her shy away slightly from his intense gaze, her eyes falling to the few inches of bedsheets between their elbows, so he finally remembers himself and snaps out of his daze. “Oh, um, nothing,” he says, smiling all dopey and scratching the back of his neck.
Her hair cascades down around her face in curtains of curls, her glasses an unexpected, but very welcome change to her look -- not that she isn't mind-blowingly stunning without them. Her brown, captivating eyes are squinting at him, and her lips are pulled into a confused smirk, and Peter wants to kiss her.
So he surges forward, not too fast, until his lips meet hers, and she leans into it -- oh yeah, she lets him kiss her now -- gripping his shirt for balance, and his hand rises to her jaw, tucking some hair behind her ear.
She pulls away from him first, but Peter doesn’t care, because that just allows him more time to admire the way her glasses make her even more beautiful. She’s fighting a smile that pulls at the corners of her lips, and Peter smiles himself as if urging her to do the same.
She gives in and mumbles, “What was that for?” Peter’s hand falls from her face and his breath catches when he notices her head slightly follow his hand, like she misses the contact, as he retracts it.
“You’re… beautiful,” he manages, and she giggles, a girly, lovely sound that Peter plays on repeat when he’s panicking in order to pull him back to the land of the sane because it’s so rare that he has every occurrence of it stockpiled in a box front and center in his brain that’s labeled “MJ.”
“And therefore I have value?” Her question cuts through his happy mood like a serrated blade, and all of a sudden he’s spluttering like a dope, because that’s not what he meant at all, she has more value to him as a person, obviously--
“I’m messing with you,” she says, chuckling, and Peter is able to breathe deeply again. She goes back to her book, and he’s left reeling in the wake of his embarrassment and still amazed by her domestic beauty.
When he leaves, he presses a soft kiss to just above her hairline, and she scoffs and says “Loser,” but the blush on her cheeks does not elude him, so he closes her dorm door behind him with a smile that stretches from cheek to cheek on his face.
~*~
MJ might be falling in love with Peter. Slowly. It's probably in the way he brings her coffee in the mornings before her classes, always insisting it’s okay to spend the extra money on her, or how he smiles at her when he thinks she isn’t looking, with poorly-hidden admiration that makes MJ’s stomach flutter, or when she has a rough day and he listens silently to her rant about all of her problems, only waiting until she’s finished to say his piece, which usually includes lovely words of comfort and reassurance, and she melts into his embrace and lets herself be cuddled, be it in his or her bed, the common room couch, or any other comfortable surface.
As much as she pretends to hate all soft, fluffy, emotionally-compromising things, Peter’s beginning to convert her to enjoying them because that seems to be all he’s capable of doing. It’s all in his eyes, she realizes. They can display an entire color wheel of emotions, from happiness to sadness, from confusion to understanding, from pride to humility, and so on, and so on. They make her feel the emotions shown in them, like that episode from The Flash when Barry has to fight that guy who can turn people into rage-monsters with just a look. Peter has powers, just not those of Thor and the Hulk.
One thing she really loves about him is his protectiveness of her. At first, she hadn’t found it the least bit attractive, catching herself grumbling under her breath about how she was able to fend herself more than a few times, and Peter had apologized vehemently every time, but he continues to act possessive of her every time he feels threatened, almost like some sort of animal instinct.
MJ almost wants to laugh every time it happens, but she’s either too incensed with the dude who just came onto her or a bit fascinated by the fire in Peter’s eyes as he approaches her and does something to prove that she’s his (ew, she’s nobody’s, she’s her own woman, she belongs to no one). She consoles herself with the knowledge that he’s hers whenever she doesn’t feel independent enough.
One of the times is when she’s walking out of an English class next to her project partner. Harry is his name, and he’s kinda cute, in a young James Franco-esque sort of way, but she, of course, only has eyes for a certain dork named Peter.
He is funny, though, and he has her chuckling as they push open the double doors. Her eyes scan the hallway for Peter, who now picks her up from classes whenever he has the opportunity. Sure enough, when she looks to her right, she sees him leaning against the wall on his shoulder.
He pops off of it and starts walking towards her with a huge, trademark smile on his face, which, along with his step, falters when he notices the guy standing next to her.
It’s only momentary, though, because Peter’s smile returns, a bit more devious this time, as he closes the last few steps between them and plants his lips chastely on hers. Her grip tightens on the straps of her backpack, but she welcomes him, pushing back a little bit with her own lips. She feels his hand land on her hip, squeezing slightly, at which she almost jumps, and when he pulls away he turns to look at Harry.
“Who’s this?” Peter asks, his sparkling smile still shining on his face. She turns to glance at Harry, whose neck is sporting a flush of red, but his eyes are hard, his expression guarded.
“I'm Harry,” he says, reluctantly taking Peter’s proffered hand and grimacing at the seemingly tight grip he gives.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Peter says. “I’m Peter, MJ’s boyfriend.” MJ almost laughs at his bluntness.
“I gathered that much,” Harry says, trying to smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. “Nice to meet you. I’ll, uh, head out.” And with that, he turns on his heel and speed-walks to the nearest door, pushing it open and rushing out through it.
“You’re so ridiculous,” MJ mumbles to Peter, punching him lightly on the arm. Peter acts as if she’s broken it, gripping it in mock pain. “Oh, shut up, you big baby.” Peter immediately sobers up, a ghost of his smile still playing on his lips.
“Sorry if I wanted to kiss my girlfriend,” he says, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he emphasizes the last word. MJ rolls her eyes, and she knows he loves it, so she’s unable to contain her own smile that’s starting to creep up her face.
“Dork,” she finally says, linking her arm through his and dragging him by the elbow down the hallway.
~*~
Friday night, the three musketeers are sitting shoulder to shoulder on Peter’s bed, MJ in the middle as she queues up The Princess Bride. Ned’s getting impatient and insisting she’s just drawing it out because she likes how Peter kisses her on the cheek when she’s not paying attention, at which she rebuts:
“Shut the fuck up or no Princess Bride for you.”
Airtight logic. He can’t argue with that because he knows how serious she is. So he shuts up and lets Peter kiss her some more until finally, she presses the damn play button and the music sets in. Ned exhales, grateful for the distraction from the small smooching noises he’s hearing to his right. He resists the urge to gag. How is it possible to make that noise when you're just kissing someone’s cheek, anyway?
Minutes go by, and they’re already laughing at the whimsicality of the movie. Peter’s chuckling almost all the way through the fight scene between Westley and Inigo Montoya, especially hard when Westley says from the Pit, “That does put a damper on our relationship.”
Then, when it finally comes to the battle of wits, Ned and MJ share a look, both grinning slightly as she taps him on the arm, turning back to the screen.
“--Seems we are at an impasse,” Westley says. Ned cranes his neck to look for Peter’s reaction, and as he expected, a look of realization dawns on his face and he says, “Ohhhh.”
MJ laughs, and Ned can’t turn away fast enough to avoid watching her kiss him on the cheek and say, “Now you get it, dork.”
This time, Ned actually gags, part real and part theatrical. Their gazes snap to him, Peter flushing a little bit (he has no right to be so nervous around her after this length of time, quite frankly) and MJ glaring at him like he’s stolen her favorite book.
“Just to be clear,” Ned says, clearing his throat, “I love you guys.” Peter smiles, and MJ’s glare softens. “But please keep the PDA to a minimum when I’m present.”
“I pity your future girlfriend if you think kissing on the cheek when there’s only one other person in the room qualifies as PDA,” MJ deadpans, and Peter looks at her with starry eyes, and okay, it’s a nice sight.
“Ouch,” Ned says, clutching his heart as if she’d just pierced it.
She simply “hmph”s and turns her eyes back toward the screen.
~*~
Peter’s had a shitty day. Those have become rarer since he’s started dating MJ, but every now and then, he feels like the universe has something against him because every shitty event will compound upon itself to create the worst day in the existence of ever.
In summary: he came into his 9:00 class thirty minutes late because he slept through his alarm, both of his shoes untied as he ran across campus. He barged into the lecture hall, disrupted the class, and got promptly kicked out. Screamed at himself in the privacy of the bathroom. Got some concerned looks from people who had formed a line outside as he walked out. Returned to his dorm, screaming into his pillow after flopping into bed. Fell asleep.
Woke up starving, ran to Joe’s to get a bagel and coffee. Someone knocked his cup over on his table (completely by accident) and left him to stew in his seat when the person gave him a noncommittal apology with the coffee dripping down his pants. He left promptly, forced to eat his bagel (which was also soaked with coffee) as he walked back to his dorm to change his clothes, muttering angrily to himself with chunks of bagel being chewed in his mouth, probably looking like a madman, but honestly, he'd been too wrapped up in his own personal shitshow to care.
Changed clothes. Went to his 4:00 class (on time, thankfully) and then promptly embarrassed himself when the professor called on him and he’d been too busy moping to know the answer to her question, so he stuttered out a half-guess, half-what-the-fuck-is-he-even-saying, and got looked at like he’s under a wet mount in a microscope by fucking everybody in the room.
Left the class, got a text on his way back to his dorm where he was definitely going to eat the entire pint of ice cream he’d stored in the mini-fridge for a day like this.
MJ:
we still on for the library?
Shiiit. He forgot about that. He fires off a quick reply, feeling like a jerk for not remembering their plans.
Peter:
can you just come to my dorm instead? I’ve had a rough day
MJ:
sure :)
Peter smiles for the first time today, half because it’s MJ and she cares about him, and half because of her use of the smiley face she swore she hated.
He unlocks the door to his dorm after climbing the many stairs up to his floor (some days he really regrets agreeing to the 7th) and flops down on the bed, feeling decently self-piteous.
A few minutes later he hears a knock on the door (wow, that was fast) and he knows it’s MJ. He calls out, “come in,” and she pushes the door open, standing in the doorway and observing him for a moment.
She’s wearing a baggy white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, her signature Chucks on her feet, and her backpack is slung over one shoulder, and she’s wearing a ponytail, and she’s beautiful, and Peter can’t help but breathe deeply at the sight of her. She’s like some weird kind of alternative medicine. Wait. That’s a terrible analogy. Never mind.
“Hey,” she says, waving gently.
He smiles and says, “C’mere.” She smiles, slings her bag off her shoulder onto the floor, and obliges, taking a seat next to his recumbent form and placing a hand on his hip.
“Should I ask?” She asks. Peter shakes his head, and she nods understandingly. She adjusts until she’s laying down next to him, face to face.
“I missed you,” he whispers. She grins and offers a peck on the lips as a response. There are no complaints about that.
“Missed you too, dork,” she says, and he reaches up to brush a stray curl out of her face. She closes her eyes and leans into his hand, and when she opens her eyes he leans in to kiss her a second time. She hums against his lips contentedly, but after a few seconds pushes against his chest. “Turn around, Peter.”
He frowns. “Why?”
She rolls her eyes as if he’s the dumbest person to ever grace the earth. Maybe, after years of general idiocy, he is.
“So that I can spoon you, loser.”
Peter’s eyes widen. They’ve never… spooned before. Sure, she’s laid her head on his chest while they napped together, but they’ve never specifically spooned. He’d heard several arguments about it that “big spoon is better” or “obviously it’s little spoon, dumbass” but he had been forced to stay silent since he’d never had any experience with it.
Suddenly excited, he dutifully flips over and faces the wall, feeling MJ’s arm snake around his waist and shuffling back towards her. She molds her body against his so that they fuse together like pieces of a puzzle, and Peter takes a deep breath. This moment right here, compared to the rest of his day, is heaven. In the arms of his favorite person in the world (sorry, May, sorry, Ned) with no obligations whatsoever. Something overtakes his function, and he twists slightly in MJ’s arms so that he can face her.
She rears her head back to accommodate his, looking at him curiously with heavily lidded eyes, and murmuring sleepily, “What?”
“You just…” he starts, then stops. Will he make her uncomfortable if he says this? It’s too late to turn back now, he figures, literally and figuratively, so he forges ahead. “You make me so happy, MJ,” he finally admits. This seems to fully wake her, as her eyes widen and her mouth falls slightly open along with them. “Every day I just remember that I have you, and it makes me feel so grateful, and… yeah, happy.” He’s smiling bashfully when he finishes, and she’s still wearing that expression of awe.
“That’s…” she falters. Peter waits anxiously for her to finish. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” His heart swells with happiness, pride, and a little bit of sadness for her, but all of that is forgotten when she brings her lips to his, soft in pressure and yet strong in its meaning.
He’s sure he’s got stars in his eyes when she pulls away and looks at him. “You’re such a sap.”
Peter grins. “I know.”
She scoffs, grinning too. “And I love it.”