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It’s not that she and Coach Wilson are friends. She doesn’t wish to be friends with a gym teacher and he’s definitely stated more often than not that teenagers make his skin crawl. But there’s a definite mutual understanding between them - that being Michelle does not do gym. At best she’ll lay on the mats and do a bench press with whichever hardback she’s reading that day.
Today it’s Of Human Bondage that she’s half reading and half straining her hearing to listen to Peter and Ned’s conversation. Sue her, sometimes they say something interesting.
Not today though. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to hear Peter’s voice.
Ned is complaining about not having Betty’s number yet even though he hasn’t even asked for it. Peter seems to think that Ned loudly declaring that he likes to text whenever Betty is around meant she’s a mind reader and will slip her number into Ned’s locker.
“Just ask her, Leeds,” Michelle states without looking away from her book. Being able to read and eavesdrop is one of the better things about being bitten by a radioactive spider. The broken ribs she’s still attempting to heal after stopping a bus with her bare hands - not so much.
MJ watches Ned flop back to the ground slightly too fast and she hears when he coughs to cover a groan as he rubs his head. Peter for his part, has spun around to face her with his legs crossed - it’s adorable and she shoves her face back in her book lest she makes it seem like she’s noticed he’s there.
Coach Wilson never calls him out on only doing a tenth of the work in PE that everyone else does because Peter may be the cutest thing her heart has ever seen but the boy cannot breathe properly to save his life. Sure, he always tries anyway because that’s the kind of person he is - but he only ever gets a few push-ups in before Ned pushes him to his knees and shoves an inhaler in his hand.
“Hey,” he whispers, and she has to school her face into something neutral because his voice at that level does something to her.
Lowering her book, she raises an eyebrow at him which makes him stutter slightly and she wishes she knew if that was at her or because of the aforementioned breathing issue.
“Are you at the Germany part yet?”
The question makes her drop the book to the ground because she knows what they’re reading in her English class and she knows what he’s reading in his English class. And neither of those books is the one she has in her hands.
And, not that she was looking, but she hasn’t seen him reading it at lunch either. She did catch him googling good first date cafes in the city that double as bookshops - and she definitely did not write Mrs Michelle Parker in the back of his notebook. Mind your business!
“How do you know what happens in this?” she asks, curiosity winning over her need to act aloof at all times.
“I read it,” he replies, a small but nervous smile on his face. He’s so fucking cute she almost tears her hardback in half.
“I didn’t know it was your style, Parker.”
“It’s not,” he mumbles, barely audible but she’s trying to figure out what he’s been whispering about long before she got attacked by that ugly spider. She raises her eyebrow at him again, annoyed that she’s moved to lean on her elbow so she’s facing him.
“You mentioned it the other day - so I thought you liked it and erm,” he stutters, barely taking a breath and she wonders where his inhaler is. “Well I was wanting to talk to you about it but obviously I hadn’t read it yet so I borrowed a copy from the library. I still have the book so technically I stole it because my rental ran out four days ago, but the book is long and we had a geometry quiz I needed to study for, so I haven’t actually finished it yet. So if you’re past Germany then I don’t have any thoughts at all, head empty.”
Her brain stopped working after he said he wanted to talk to her about it and she’s pretty sure she’s in love, no big deal.
She goes to tell him he can borrow her version because she bought it from the thrift shop on eighth and he should take his library book back because it’s a crime against the arts to keep them - but then her senses go off and she wonders if she’s about to take a ball to the face because obviously, she can’t show human emotion and or fast movement in gym class because then she’ll be forced to join a sports team. And Michelle will (semi) happily swing around Queens, helping old ladies and sticking Wall Street workers shoes to the ground, but over her dead body will she join a high school organised sports team.
“Jones!” Flash yells like a hooligan making Peter flinch. “You’re on my team stretch, get over here.” She can’t kill him in the middle of gym class and get away with it.
Unless -
I’m just saying -” Flash starts, his voice high in a way MJ knows means he’s nervous which also means he’s about to be a bitch. “I can’t believe I used to think Spider-Man was so cool and it was you this whole time.”
“Sucks to be you, Mr President of the Spidey fan club,” she tries to joke but his hands are shaking a little too much as he holds a needle to her skin and she doesn’t want to swing home with her thigh muscles flapping in the wind.
“Ugh, there was only one meeting, Michelle!” he almost shouts but his colour has turned back from Shrek-esque so she figures this is fine.
“So why are you still planning a meet up for next weekend?” She scoffs as he loops the second stitch and she thinks she should be kinder because he did run to the balcony on the east wing of his house and everyone knows his bedroom is on the west because he tells anyone who will listen. Also, it is 3 am or whatever.
“You know what, your enhanced senses are annoying as fuck, Jones,” he says as he ties the stitch off and it’s a little tighter than she would like but she thinks that’s fair.
It’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations and she knows this - but in her defence, she has fucking good hearing and neither Ned nor Peter are prone to whispering. Besides, she’s the topic of conversation and she wants to know whether or not they’re doing something that will require her to web their backpacks to the floor.
It's not the first time she's heard them talking about her but last time she called them out on it Ned looked like he might vomit, but then turned and ran down the corridor knocking over a freshman in his haste and Peter wheezed so hard she had to fish through his bag for his inhaler lest he croaks on the spot.
And the time before that she wasn't even the person they were talking about and it's on her that she was dropping eaves on the two nerds discussing Liz's new skirt because she had barely started dealing with jealousy, or at least coming to terms with it in her head. But then she had to deal with the worms in her chest and superpowers and she grew like three inches overnight which is frankly unreasonable and funnily enough, they don't write books on it. So, she may or may not have cracked a cafeteria table clean in half. It's whatever, she gave Jerry the janitor five dollars and left an apology written with her left hand so she thinks she got away with it.
Either way, she's trying to stay out of their conversations.
But then Peter started looking at her for a beat too long and she's got a dangerous addiction to him for some annoying reason so here she is, senses strained as she has her ear up against the door of the broom cupboard she threw herself in when they came down the corridor.
"I'm just saying she looked nice today," she hears Peter say. He can't be talking about her because she was up till four tending to a house fire and looks like she was dragged through a hedge backwards.
"Just ask her out, dude," Ned replies. "I've definitely seen her looking at you, so she either likes you back or she's obsessed and weird."
Three out of three for Leeds.
"I've got a plan," she hears Peter mumble. "It's six steps and I think I could do it on the Europe trip. Harrison just accepted my financial aid form."
"Yes! Ah, this will be so good Peter, we can be bachelors in Europe!"
MJ thinks Ned is delusional if he thinks Europeans like American's. But she wouldn't be surprised if people fawned over Peter with his glasses and sweater cuffs pulled over his knuckles. With his high school Spanish skills, Peter makes her knees a little weak like she's in some Edwardian novel and his finger brushed hers without gloves.
"Maybe…" she hears Peter reply. She can't be sure if he's replying to some other question because she was busy daydreaming about holding his hand in Venice and or maybe he'll kiss her cheek on the Ferris Wheel.
Maybe he's agreeing to be bachelors in Europe and well… that thought makes her hands tighten on their own accord and she's crushed the storeroom door handle probably (definitely) locking herself in.
It’s only just after lunch and she has double English next and she’s got one to three changes to the syllabus she’d like to bring up with Miss Walker. So she could call Flash…
She breaks out at 17:04 instead.
They’ve only been in Europe sixteen hours and twelve of those were overnight so she was mean to be sleeping. She may have been awake spending way too much on an international call to her mum freaking out about how to ask a boy out but she figures she’ll forgive herself because she did save that cat the other day.
Venice is annoyingly beautiful and she’s glad to have had space in her luggage for three sketchpads because she’s already drawn four buildings you’d never get to see in NYC and a handful of Peter doodles. It’s not her fault that when she’s nervous she redraws things she knows and she’s spent an embarrassing amount of time cataloguing the way his eyes wrinkle at the sides when he laughs too hard, or the way his brows furrow when he’s cleaning his glasses.
She’s not nervous because she thinks she’s definitely going to be asked out by Peter Parker in T minus three days. She’s nervous because her mum hyped her up to ask him out first. Something about being able to swing around in spandex on nothing but dental floss but not being able to tell someone you like them. As if falling on your face isn’t miles better than expressing your feelings. A nose will heal - telling someone they’re the last thing you think about at night for them to say… thanks champ? Couldn’t be her.
But it’s Peter.
So she doodles his freckles, and she rereads the semi supportive texts from Flash and she downs two to four espressos.
Peter is on a stone bridge overlooking the canal when she leaves the coffee shop and it’s like a fucking renaissance painting and she’s so violently unprepared. But then he turns to face her, eyes widening like he hadn’t expected her to be there - looking right at him like a creeper. And then his smile takes over his entire face and he waves at her and what is she meant to do, not sprint over? Please.
“Hey,” he breathes, as she leans on the bridge next to him and he’s so fucking cute she may leave fingerprints in the stone.
“Hey, dork.”
“Pretty,” he stumbles after staring at her for a second. She barely has time to hide her blush by looking at the ground before he’s tripping over himself to correct his words. Maybe she’s not 67% correct in thinking he likes her. “The view - pretty, the water and erm colours and - you could draw it? Have you drawn anything?” He asks.
“I bet you have,” he says, hiding something behind his back that she didn’t notice before and now desperately wants to see. “Probably random people drinking coffee who look like they’re having a mare,” he laughs. And yeah so she has a couple of people in crisis in her book - and what?
“What’s that?” She asks, pointing to the bag he’s hiding. It might be an attempt to alleviate the worms in her chest at Peter knowing things about her. Things she hasn’t told him - which means he’s paying attention to her for his own gain. It’s a terrifying thought - being known - but she finds it’s a little less scary when the person digging for information is a short stack with kind eyes.
“Nothing!” He wheezes. His eyes flit around like he’s looking for Ned to come to save him but she can hear Ned getting a caricature with his new girlfriend, Betty. She moves closer to him, eyes squinting - she hopes he breaks before she has to move away lest she does something stupid like kissing him.
“Fiore per la Bella ragazza,” a guy asks, shoving a bunch of single-stemmed roses in their faces.
“Boh,” she says, face unimpressed as Peter says, “oh my, sure!”
“Wait,” Peter continues, facing her. “You don’t want a flower?” And he sounds so sad about it that she’s about to buy the entire bunch to give to him - but the man selling has moved on, seemingly over their charade.
“Oh, er -”
“Sorry,” he replies, bright red and looking like he’s seconds away from needing his inhaler. “They’re really difficult to carry around all day I know. And I don’t even know if you like flowers - are you allergic? I have my antihistamines in my bag! If you wanted one, I can run and go get one.”
It’s painfully earnest and she wants to say yes but she also thinks inhaler when.
“How about ice cream?” She asks, fingers digging painfully into the bridge. She’d run away if she could - but when she gets too overwhelmed her hands become sticky because her life is garbage and now she can’t get away without pulling part of the bridge with her. She will if he says no, naturally.
“Yeah! I can’t have peanuts or hazelnuts or really any kind of - you don’t care,” he laughs, running his hand over his hair in a way that makes me feel faint.
“I do,” she replies, her fingers sliding from the bridge just in time to move to the ice cream parlour.
“And you’re allergic to kiwi,” he says proudly, with a small skip to his step that she can’t pay attention to or she’ll die on the spot.
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh. But you told Flash that you were at the beginning of the year when he was eating that yoghurt,” he says, brows furrowed. He’s practically walking sideways and she thinks she should be the one changing their walking patterns because she is literally a superhero and he’s almost tripped over his own feet eight times.
But she can’t, because then she’ll have to attempt to piece together the fact that Peter really knows her. In a way she wasn’t expecting. In a way she’s always dreamed about but never known how to verbalise. That you want someone to want to know you - without you telling them.
“I was just messing with him,” she says with a smile.
“Oh. Okay,” he replies. “Why don’t you sit here and I’ll get the cones? What should I get?”
“Strawberry,” she says because that’s the first ice cream she saw when she glanced around. “Can I get -”
“Oh, I thought I’d pick for you - like a game, only if you like. Ben and May play it together all the time when we go to central park. You can try and guess what I’ll choose,” he asks, and he seems unsure of her answer like that isn’t the cutest thing she’s ever heard. And he wants to share his family traditions with her - a fact she’ll over analyse in bed for the next seventeen working weeks. She nods and watches him skip over to the queue - he lets a gaggle of old ladies in front of him even though he was clearly there first. She doesn’t mind waiting for him though.
She’ll never know what ice cream flavour he would have got for her because obviously, the ground literally erupts into flaming boulders and water tornadoes and she thinks she doesn’t get paid enough for this.
"I'm not taking the glasses," she seethes, barely managing to keep her voice quiet enough to not be caught by the entire class right outside.
"Wha - you have to," he says, thrusting them into her hands. "And you need to stop ghosting Fury - he needs to see you later."
"Why don't you tell Fury calling an underage girl nonstop is harassment and I don't want to see him tonight," she replies, shoving the glasses into her backpack - tucking them under her suit.
"You're unreasonably difficult, Watson. Why not tonight? Got a hot date?" He asks and she's like eighty percent sure he's joking because he's been trying to build a rapport with her but the issue is she doesn't want to be friendly with a bunch of middle-aged men who think they rule the world because they have the money and the guns - but she blushes slightly anyway because she doesn't technically have a date but that's only because she's waiting for Peter to ask. She knows he's planning on it - she overheard his list.
"Ha ha. Do I need to sign for these or is putting them in the hands of a teenager who doesn't like any of you not something that needs to be documented?"
"Aw, and I thought we were getting on," he snarks back at her. Fair.
"Dude," Flash hisses. She can't tell if she should be offended that he only ever talks to her in front of decathlon people or if she's happy she doesn't have to listen to him talk about his photoshoots every thirty seconds. The guy does have good bone structure, she’ll give him that.
"You're royally blowing it with Parker. And even though I have no idea why you're trying to pursue that walking medical bill -"
"Flash," she warns.
"Whatever. I can't listen to you complain about him sitting next to Yasmin on the coach another time, MJ!"
"One time! It was yesterday!" She seethes, knowing he can see the blush forming over her cheeks. And that's the last time she takes a boulder to the arm in case she has to go to Flash's room and wait for her bones to heal again.
"Drama queen. Anyway, dickwad asked me if I fancied you earlier. Ugh, as if!"
"You don't have to be so disgusted Flash, I'm a catch," she drawls.
"You're a monumental pain in my ass, Jones."
"What did you say?" She asks, not caring whether or not Flash thinks she is attractive and more wondering if Peter thinks he has competition. He probably would if she could stand to be around Brad for longer than thirty seconds but alas.
"I said of course not, I've got eyes. And then he puffed his chest up like he was a raging bull or something," Flash remarks, eyes-rolling. Michelle isn't into the notion of needing to be defended but it's nice all the same.
"You're an asshole," she remarks. "Oh also, I need you to get the class out of the festival tonight."
"Fuck off, MJ - I've already told my followers about it! I have a countdown on Insta," he whines, showing her his phone screen.
"Yeah, well I had grand plans to -"
"To what?" He asks, eyebrows wagging. "To ask Parker to go on the Ferris wheel with you? Kissy kissy style?"
"Ughhhh," she groans, throwing her head back. She catches Peter looking over at them, his brows furrowed like he's trying to answer a decathlon question.
"Can you figure something out or not?" She asks all snark gone because looking at Peter makes her feel sappy or some shit.
"Fine! But I want Fury's signature this time," he replies, already updating his Insta profile. "Oh look, the opera is on for four long hours. I want a selfie of you and Hill for this."
"Thought you didn't like my face," she jokes, though she makes a mental note to try and do at least one of those things.
"Get over yourself, I'm photoshopping my face onto you. I'll just have to slim the body down."
She hits him for that.
She can feel Fury pacing. She can see it even though she's squeezed in the corner of the room with her eyes closed in hopes people forget that she's there. It's not like she doesn't want to help defeat the elementals. It's just that she doesn't trust Beck with a ten-foot barge pole - who asks a seventeen-year-old out for drinks? Okay, so be bought her a lemonade, whatever. It's creepy!
And also, last time she had to go and save the world from some random old men fuck up, she had to ditch movie night. And movie night is where she puts her seduction plan in place. Last time she successfully sat forty-two inches away from Peter instead of forty-five and she didn't even sweat through her top. Progress.
So no, she’s not ecstatic at the idea of having to ditch the carnival to help deal with some elementals that look like they’re CGI from the ’90s. Especially because when Harrington talked about the fact they should stay in groups, she looked over at Peter and he was already looking at her. Sure, she panicked and immediately started squinting at him - making him look away like she’d asked for his second kidney. But whatever, that’s practically a date.
“Watson ?” Fury all but barks at her and one, rude. Two, rude. She can't recount how many times he's called for her though, you'd think they'd have done a background check and figured out her fake name but that's none of her business.
“Nick,” she replies, moving from the comfy position on the wall she’d found. She watches his eye twitch in anger and his lips struggling to stay in a tight line lest he shows any human emotions.
“Oh, I’m sorry - am I interrupting your slumber party?” he asks, moving from his desk and over to her. She’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be an intimidation tactic - as if she's not already in some underground chamber that they had to get on an obnoxious boat to get to. As if he doesn’t have military-grade weapons casually on the desks around him - she holds back a snort at the way he thinks he’d be able to keep her there if she truly needed to leave.
“I sure hope you’re not asking a seventeen-year-old for a sleepover with a bunch of people old enough to be her parents?”
“Hey,” Hill exclaims from Fury’s side. MJ shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to convey that she’s not sorry but she does think her outburst is fair - older sister at best.
“My limit for teenage interaction is up to here,” he responds, lifting his hand to be level with his eyepatch. She wants to call him out on the fact that clearly, she has a little more to push - but she can’t get over the fact that Fury uses everyday sayings - so she lets it slide.
Also, she doesn't put it past him to throw her on a space mission and then she’d miss the entire carnival and she’ll turn up to the bus the next morning with bags under her eyes trying extra hard not to kill Brad with a drone.
So yes, with every step she takes she can feel her leg attempting to heal. And yes, she definitely wants and desperately needs to sleep for the rest of her life. But she missed the chance to sit next to Peter even though he asked her to her face! And she said yes without vomiting and she's like 67% sure he called her pretty and she replied but her brain was ceasing to function and Fury wouldn't shut the fuck up in her ear.
So what was she supposed to say when Peter caught her trying to sneak back to her room? No, I won't go on a walk in the dark with you? Please.
She's practised for this. She has a plan formed around his plan. A plan she’s semi sure is for her but also might be for Yasmin and also might just be a ruse for him to tell her he knows she’s Spidey. Whatever.
First, they sit next to each other on the plane. Unsuccessful due to Flash offering to upgrade her to first-class because he can’t hide the fact he likes her when he’s taken his Dramamine.
Second, they watch movies on the flight. See the previous point.
Third, unconfirmed gift. She thinks he wants to buy her a flower, which is adorable and she will dry and press it to keep forever, but carrying flowers around on an unconfirmed date is a pain.
Fourth, something about the Eiffel Tower. She was listening intently but whenever anyone mentions the landmark she thinks about how no one knows it’s a mind-control tower and she has to double-check the Wikipedia page to see if she’s allowed to edit the page again yet. Plus, France was kicked off the itinerary - something she thinks Fury did on purpose because she was semi rude and he's a petty bitch.
The fifth and sixth parts of the plan are unknown to her even with her sleuthing skills. She probably could have worked it out by now because Peter keeps looking at her and whispering to Ned but every time she tries to figure out what’s going on - something just has to go and attack the city. A joke.
So she has a plan. A concrete plan.
So the way she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks because Peter hasn’t said a word is infuriating.
Why isn’t she saying anything? Why isn’t he saying anything? When she ran this situation over in her head while webbing three guys to a wall simultaneously, it wasn’t this hard! Her throat didn’t feel tight every time she imagined his gaze on the side of her face and she definitely wasn’t sweating as much as she is now.
Why would he want to say anything anyway? She ditched him at the opera, and she ran away when he went to get her ice cream. She sat next to Brad on the couch even though Peter asked her first - but she had to read some boring reports for Happy and she knew she’d ditch them if they sat together. Ugh, his plan has probably been discarded because she keeps fucking up in small situations and how is she meant to say she wants to kiss him when eighty percent of the time they’d have a chance, she’ll have to leave.
She could tell him she’s Spider-Woman, or man, as the tabloids refer to her. Casual everyday misogyny working to keep her identity hidden is something she’ll take. But she doesn’t want to drag him into this mess - he’ll get hurt. One way or another everyone always gets hurt.
But she can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about laying in bed with him and telling him all the ways she’s proud of what she does in the suit - something that she never wants to tell anyone. She wants Flash to have someone to moan about her at - because he’s snarky to her when he has to stitch her up, but he’s never let her down. He’s there - loud-mouthed and annoyed but with a first aid kit at four am.
“So -” he starts, knocking her out of her daydream. Meaning she notices his hand too late.
At one point they’re walking in-sync across the bridge and the next she feels his pinky somewhere near the back of her hand - she couldn’t tell you when it got there because she was so freaked out that her senses were being useless - that she snatched her hand away. She had just gotten used to things not being near her without warning and now this?
But now she’s trying to be closer to Peter but she’s gone and fucked it up because now he must think she thinks he’s diseased with the way she snatched her hand back.
Her brain screams at her to fix it, and she does the only thing she can think of - useless murder facts.
“Did you know they used to execute people on this bridge?”
“Really?” He asks and she can hear the way his eyebrows raise. It does nothing to calm her rapidly beating heart.
“Yeah, they’d like, drown in the water or - sorry,” she says, annoyed at herself for making such a monumental mess of this already. How is she supposed to tell him how she feels when she can barely form a cohesive sentence around him?
“It’s okay,” he replies. She thinks he means it but she can’t be sure. His heart is beating a little faster than usual, but they are walking at a very slight incline so maybe he’s just out of breath. It can’t be about her. It’s never her. She’s not the girl next door or the cute smiley one. Not that she cares. She just happens to care about Peter and it’s not her fault her brain immediately goes to what’s wrong with her - what would keep him away.
“MJ -”
“Yeah?” She asks, coming to a stop to face him. He’s red, he’s biting his lip and his glasses are slightly smeared and she thinks she might love him.
“I just - I had something I wanted to talk to you about. Or ask you really,” he replies, reaching behind him. And she’s not ready. She’s not ready to lose this friendship when her heart cracks open because he doesn’t say he likes her. She’s not ready for this crush to be unrequited. She can deal with not telling him how she feels as long as there is an inkling of chance he likes her back. But if he doesn’t - she’s not sure how to cope with that.
Maybe he’s going to ask for advice on the English project due in four months. Or maybe he’s going to ask her to study together as friends.
“MJ, you’re -”
“Spider-Man.” What .
“What?!”
“Spider-Man. I’m Spider-Man. Or woman, I guess,” she says shrugging like her throat isn’t seizing up.
“Wait, really?”
“Yep.”
“Awesome! Do you really have laser fingers? Can you lift a bus? Oh my, God! You stopped a train last week! You still came to decathlon!” He loudly whispers. She can’t tell him she still went because he asked her to be there - she’s had enough confessions for one day.
“Are you hurt?” He asks, brows knitted together as he steps towards her, hands raised but not touching her.
“No, I heal super quick,” she says, hoping the worry leaves his face.
“Oh, okay,” he says letting out a deep breath. “Oh, Flash does know Spidey! Dammit, I owe Ned like fifty dollars.”
“You can’t -”
“I won’t tell him,” he says, eyes pleading. “But you’ll have to listen to my conspiracy theories surrounding Beck. We think he’s from another dimension.”
She laughs because of course he’s thought about it, and maybe because he said it with a wink - who’s to say.
Although…
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, I know it’s obviously not true,” he blushes. “But you love a conspiracy theory so maybe you’ll like it anyway. I’m like 67% sure I saw a drone behind the wall of fire in Venice. I was meant to be running but I couldn’t find my inhaler and you know I can’t run anywhere without it - and it was just a second but… I dunno.”
“Fuck!”
"Fuck sake," she grunts. You'd think for a multi-million pound suit the zip would be easily reachable and not make her dance around almost dislocating her shoulder just to get it up.
"Er, Em, are you okay?"
Em?! Is he trying to kill her because she might combust that cute fucker.
"I just -" she can't tell him she needs help because then he'll help her and she can barely deal with him being in the same room as her right now. But also, possible death threats.
It takes her an embarrassingly long time to pick between the two. But she sighs and asks him to do her up. He wheezes.
She hears his footsteps and she can sense when his hands are mere millimetres from her skin. She's not sure his entire body needs to be this close but now he's here she can anticipate ever telling him to leave. He sucks in a breath as he moves her hair over her shoulder, gathering it in his grip - she catches a glimpse of his hand when he places it over her shoulder. She feels his trembling hand lie gently on her waist and she thinks maybe she needs his inhaler because breathing is suddenly far too hard.
The zipper moves up her back, her skin no longer on show but she's never felt so exposed. It seems like everything has been aligning for this moment and if she can just gather some superhero courage -
"Em," Peter whispers, fingertips tightening on her waist so she follows his lead and spins to face him. He looks about as red as she imagined and far prettier than she remembered.
"Hey."
"Hey," he replies, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. And she thinks his plan was almost definitely about her. So she should tell him how she thinks about him all the time, and how she wants to take him swinging to show him her favourite views.
"Peter, I -"
"The fuck?!" Flash yells, slamming the door shut behind him. "Why are you wearing a wetsuit?" He asks, though his voice sounds shaky.
"He knows, he figured it out," she replies, hoping Peter keeps up with her fib so Flash doesn't hold this above her for months. She moves away from Peter slightly, edging out of the atmosphere they'd built around them.
"What - you told me!" Hell.
"Oh for God sake, Jones, keep it in your pants."
"Okay, gotta go!" She yells, throwing her mask on and jumping onto the window ledge. "Peter update Flash."
And then she jumps. Maybe she won't send a web out and will splat onto the ground dying with shame. Maybe she'll simply never return to Queens again lest she have to look Peter in the eyes. Who's to say.
She swings towards Fury’s obnoxious cave and tries to get into the right mindset but really all she’s thinking about is what Peter was planning on telling her.
So her leg is broken in three places - absolutely fabulous news. Perfect, in fact. She’s only got to get to the other side of London without being seen in a Spidey suit because, despite the fact she handed Beck over, they didn’t offer her a lift in their jet. Rude.
Honestly, the day could not get any better - probably will get worse. It’s like there’s rock bottom, fifty feet of crap and then her.
She could just sink to the ground - maybe have a good cry. Or she could yeet herself over the bridge and into the River Thames - but even that seems like more energy than she has right now. God, she needs an actual miracle to be able to get to the airport or even just away from these burning cars before first responders come in, blue lights blazing.
Her life isn’t a fairytale though so she can’t see anything other than an unreasonably long walk -
“Peter?” She says, barely audible. She’d tried not to think too much about him - what with her last memory of him being him plummeting from the Eiffel Tower. It’s one thing to ask a seventeen-year-old for drinks and it’s another to use the limited information they gave you to manipulate them into giving you some ridiculous glasses.
Lucky for her, she’d already put them in Flash’s bag. He wouldn’t wear them of course, they weren’t branded.
“MJ!” He shouts, running towards her and she thinks he has a mace but she can ask him how on earth he managed to carry it running, later. For right now she lets him encase her in his arms, hugging her tightly - and she can’t help but mimic his actions. It’s all she really wants anyway.
“Are you okay?” She asks, her eyes squeezing shut for just a second - just a minute to check this is real.
“You can’t,” he chokes. “God, Em. You can’t have blood all over your face and then ask me first.”
Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe she’s just been desperate to say it for months at this point. But she pulls back, schools her face to hide the grimace of pain and says, “when we start dating you’re not allowed to boss me around.”
“Is that something - is… like have you thought,” he stutters, shaking his head quickly. “MJ, I really like you.”
“I really like you too,” she replies, ducking her head to prepare herself for the kiss she thinks might happen. It’s a ballache that she’s pretty sure she can taste blood but it’s whatever.
But when she looks back up, lips ready to pucker - Peter has a box in his shaking hands.
“So, I had a plan. It was just a stupid plan and it went wrong on like point one,” he laughs. “But you deserve the best, so I hope it’s not too late and I can still tell you that you’re just my favourite thing. And I saw this and thought of you. Although I'm always thinking about you," he says, looking up from the floor to look at her.
She smiles brightly at him because what else is she supposed to do? He's here. He's rambling on about how he thinks about her. He's got a glass flower in his hand that he wants to give to her. So she couldn't hold her smile back if she wanted to.
"Holy shit, you're pretty," he says, reaching his hand out and seemingly forgetting he had something in it. She watches the necklace fall to the ground in slow motion, wincing as she bends to try and catch it in time.
She doesn't and it hits the ground with a smash and she never wants to hear Peter sound so broken again.
"Oh, MJ. I'm so sorry -" he cracks out as he bends to pick the necklace up. It's beautiful and she loves it and she'll wear it even with no petals on because he picked it for her.
"It's okay," she tries.
"It's broken -"
She leans in to kiss him. Just quickly. Just to get him to chill out, though it seems to have had the opposite effect.
"And you kissed me."
"Yeah."
"You don't mind that it's broken?" He asks with hope in his voice she tries to ignore.
"I actually like it better broken," she replies, barely getting the words out before Peter's lips are on hers again. And she may have been tricked by a middle-aged man in a cape. And she may have to limp for the rest of the day. And she definitely lost her backpack.
But she's kissing Peter Parker - so she doesn't really care about anything else.
Michelle is bone tired and half of those bones are broken and not repairing as fast as she would like. But they’re in the airport waiting to go home and she can see Peter in the gift shop from here and her friends are safe. If Flash would stop winking at her from two metres away she’d be dandy right about now.
“Thanks for the photo, Jones,” Flash remarks. She did climb up the outside of a glass building mid saving London to get a selfie with Hill. She was less than amused but if she knew the trouble Flash went through to make sure MJ’s cover wasn’t blown - she probably would have smiled in the photo. It’s like they forget they all have someone - someone that has their back no matter what. Sometimes that means climbing to the top of a skyscraper with an unreasonable sized gun - and sometimes that means lying to your teachers about the whereabouts of your friend.
They all have their guy in the chair - and Michelle’s is Flash. Deal with it.
Not that she’ll showcase the love to his face.
“Don’t upload it anywhere,” she replies, watching Peter walk out of the shop with his hands behind his back. She can’t help the smile that graces her face - in her defence she’s tired and he’s cute.
“Do you think I’m a thicko, Michelle? Don’t! Answer that.”
“Hey,” she says to Peter, Flash already putting his headphones in.
“Hey. I got you something,” he says, eyebrows wagging and eyes way too bright for how little sleep they’ve had since the battle.
“I see that.”
“Do you want it?” He asks, eyes wide in a way she knows she’s going to fall for, for as long as he’ll let her. But she does have an image to maintain, so she rolls her eyes playfully and pats the ground next to her. She doesn’t mind being close with Peter in front of people, it’s not like everyone hasn’t been aware of how gone she’s been for him.
“It’s to make up for the one I didn’t get you on the bridge,” he whispers, as he pulls out a single carnation. It’s beautiful and unharmed - the petals slightly dewy under her fingertips. She traces the outline with one hand, using her other to play with the necklace she hasn’t taken off since he gave it to her.
“This one isn’t broken.”
“I don’t mind that it’s broken,” she whispers back. “But I love this one too.” She looks over at him and despite her newfound senses, he’s so much closer than she anticipated. They haven’t kissed enough for her to feel overly confident just darting out to peck him on the lips - but being this close and watching his gaze dip to her mouth makes her feel alive anyway. The way he gently takes one of her hands to hold in his chases away the aches in her bones and she thinks if they end up next to each other on the plane she’ll feel right as rain when they land.
He brushes kisses to each of her knuckles and she tries not to snap the flower stem in her fingers. But then he yawns and she thinks she’s going to tell him she loves him much faster than she’d planned but it’s fine if he leans his head on her shoulder whenever he’s feeling sleepy. Like maybe he feels as safe with her as she does with him.
She lets her eyes close, resting her head on top of his.
“You know they won’t let me take this through customs, right?” She asks, a yawn breaking up her question.
“I know,” he replies, thumbs brushing over her hand. “But here -” and then he moves to face her, breaking the stem in half and tucking the flower behind her ear.
“Maybe they won’t notice.”
“Yeah,” she replies, leaning in before she realises what she’s doing. “Maybe not.” The kiss is soft but quick, they are surrounded by their classmates after all and she knows at least Ned and Flash are taking photos. But it feels as good as the first time anyway. So do the ones he presses to her nose, and her cheeks as she fails to push him away.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, forehead resting on her collarbone.
“Is -”
“No, that’s not the reason I like you, Em,” he replies, quickly picking up on her snark though she’s not mad about it. “It’s one of them though,” he whispers, lightly kissing the spot between her shoulder and her neck.
“Peter -” she warns, though her breath sounds choppy even to her.
“Fine,” he playfully grumbles - but then he wiggles his eyebrows. “We can wait until the plane.”
“Loser.”
“That’s why you like me.”
“Yeah,” she replies, squeezing his palm in hers. “It is.”
“I can’t believe I’m dating a superhero.”
“I can’t believe someone with a 4.0 GPA didn’t figure it out. I mean, how did you think I was doing everything?” she asks.
“You’re MJ?” he replies with a shrug like he truly thinks anything she’s done this entire time is down to sheer determination and just being her - and well, she has to kiss him for that.