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Peter clasps the Black Dahlia necklace around MJ’s neck and gives her a beatific smile when she turns around to face him. "I really do love it, Peter.” She says, feeling soft and tired and so ready to go back home that she could cry from all the emotions. She won’t, obviously, but it's a close thing.
Peter’s smile turns bashful as he leads her away from the rubble and, eventually, home.
-
It takes a week of being cooped up in her house before MJ is ready to brave the world and Peter Parker. They've been texting like normal; things seem almost too normal at first. Like they're dancing around the fact that they like each other and have kissed and are probably dating.
She notices the change when they finally hang out. The moment everything shifts from pining friends to new couple. The summer heat is stifling; despite the summer dress she’s wearing, she has a thin layer of sweat covering her body. Peter had shown up at her house promptly at 12:30 for a date--their first real date. They’d gone for ice cream and on the walk back, Peter points out all the high points he frequents as Spider-Man. He nervously takes her hand in between pointing out the alleyway he totally owned a mugger in and the rooftop he sits on for the best view. His hand is a bit clammy either from nerves or the heat, but either way, it's nice. It's awkward, but it's nice and simple. After all the chaos they've been through, she thinks they deserve something simple.
When he kisses her on her front stoop, her stomach erupts in butterflies. She feels the awkwardness slowly begin to dissipate.
-
After those first few summer weeks back, they settle into their old ways. MJ teases him relentlessly and Peter still pines like no other. The difference is MJ’s teasing has an obvious flirtatious edge to it and he can do something about the pining now like kiss MJ where she's sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall.
“I can't believe we're dating,” he says three weeks in, after the awkwardness has been stripped away. He's kissing along her jaw, fingers caught up in her hair. They do so much kissing now. MJ’s lips are red sore or swollen like 72% of the time now, but God she won’t complain about it because it feels good. It feels so good to finally have Peter the way she’s been wanting for months.
“Get used to it, Spider-Boy,” she bites out, teeth against his jaw this time.
He pulls back abruptly. “Spider-Man,” he corrects.
“Mhm, yeah, sure,” MJ concedes, too busy relishing in the feel of him so close to her to argue.
-
The rest of summer is filled with weeks of exploring the borough like she hasn't done before--with someone who genuinely enjoys her company, who points out the same weird shit she does in stores--with her boyfriend.
There are double dates with Ned and Betty, and sharing looks of disgust with Peter when their PDA reaches brand new heights. Betty calling Ned her gooey baby bear? MJ literally wants to shove cotton so far down her ear holes that they encapsulate her brain so she never has to hear that again.
“Let's promise to never call each other weird, cheesy nicknames, okay? That's where I draw the line.”
Peter laughs, “so I can't call you shnookums?”
MJ stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk, accidentally jerking Peter back from where their hands are still attached. “I will clobber you to death, Spider-Boy.” She narrows her eyes dramatically, because she is joking a little. But also not because she will drop Peter like a hot potato if he even dares.
Peter raises both hands up, feigning innocence. “Duly noted,” a pause. “Shnookums.”
MJ shrieks in shock and chases him down the sidewalk and only catches him because he lets her.
-
Once the school year starts up again, MJ finds herself at Peter’s studying nearly every weekend. Sometimes it’s just her and Peter and they do get a lot of studying done. Sometimes Ned is there and she judges every single choice he and Peter make regarding video games, movies, dinner--anything. Sometimes it’s just her and Peter on Saturday nights and instead of doing homework, he’s got her laid out over all of his notes and he kisses her stupid.
When they’re not holed up in his room, she spends time watching trash reality shows with May. May’s really cool--a lot cooler than Peter could ever dream of being--and she cares about MJ. She's not just Peter’s girlfriend when she's there. She won't say she's family because that's a can of worms she is not touching with a fifty foot pole. But she's comfortable and safe when she's at Peter's. So, hanging out at Peter’s becomes a part of her routine.
There's studying and trash TV and take out and sandwiches from the deli around the corner and there's Peter. She's got nothing to complain about.
-
Peter lies on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He keeps throwing a ball up in the air and catching it. Thank God for his spider senses or MJ would worry he might drop it on his face. This is Peter, though, so he might drop it after all. It's a good face, wouldn't want to mess it up.
MJ thrives in the quiet between them. She likes that they can just be. It used to be that the residual awkwardness from finally admitting having feelings for each other rolled over into their daily routine. Peter awkwardly reaching for her hand but pulling away. MJ taking it easy on the teasing to the point that Peter thought she might not like him after all because you're acting weird! You don't even hassle me anymore! Now, though, they don't have to fill the silence if they don't want to.
Peter, though, in Peter Parker fashion turns everything on its head. He’s still staring at the ceiling, and he speaks in starts and stops. Finally, like it takes him a great deal of courage, he spits out, “Not to be dramatic, but I think I'm in love with you.”
The silence becomes stifling; the air so heavy with tension that it could be cut with a knife. MJ’s attention snaps to Peter. She’d been discreetly tying together the laces of the sneakers at the foot of Peter’s bed, but stops to look up at Peter. He's still staring a hole in his ceiling, decidedly not looking her way at all. As if he can just say shit like that and get away with it. MJ feels like she can't really breathe all that well. She stops messing with Peter’s shoe strings, her hands hanging loosely between her legs. Here she was trying to make Peter literally trip up, but he's the one who’s thrown her for a loop. Loves her? What the HELL.
“MJ?” Peter asks cautiously, his voice an even higher octave than usual. He cuts his eyes her way, but she quickly looks down to avoid his gaze. She feels herself shutting down, and she doesn't want that. But, like. Love? They've only been dating three months and twenty-six days. They've spent more time not knowing each other than they have knowing each other. They've spent more time stealing glances at each other from across the room than they have on the same side of the room tangled up in each other. Peter loves her. He loves her. What the hell is she supposed to do with that information. And more importantly, does she love him back? And how is she supposed to know that. Is that something you just know?
It feels like Peter’s messed up a good thing they've had going without meaning to. She can't fault him for expressing his feelings--God knows once he starts he really can't help but finish. But also. What the hell.
Her voice sounds sharp--sharper than she wants or intends--when she speaks. “You ever think before you speak? Or is that--I don't know--a thing you're incapable of?”
Peter gulps and nervously runs his fingers through his hair so it sticks up in front. He looks like a nervous mess, but he perseveres. “I, well. I have thought about it. Extensively. I've run data analysis and it turns out that I love pretty much everything about you, and though, statistically, the odds are not in my favor that you'll return the sentiment, after some self-reflection I’ve concluded that I will feel better having told you than hold it in--”
“God,” MJ swears. She pushes herself up on her knees, towering over Peter just a little where he's leaning up on an elbow. “Do you ever shut up, Peter.” She feels hot all under her skin, like her body is going to explode right here in Peter’s room.
He gives her a small, deprecating smile, one that looks like it hurts him not to hear her say it back. He shrugs once.
“You can't--You don’t,” she starts, confused.
“I do,” Peter cuts her off. He's not arguing with her about it; he's just stating a fact. The sky is blue, he is Spider-Man, and he's in love with MJ. But how does he know? “And it's okay that you don’t say it back right now. I didn't say it so you'd say it back. I said it because I wanted you to know. We're fine, MJ.”
MJ doesn't say anything. The furrow between her brow gets deeper the longer she stares at Peter. His stupid fucking face; all soft with sharp angles and kind eyes. He loves her, hell.
“We're fine, right?” He asks this time, less sure than he was a moment before. His eyes dart from her face down to the necklace she’s always wearing.
The slight tremor in his voice, the way he's looking up at her like the ball’s in her court, like he's just realized she can end this before it's even really begun--that's what pulls her out of her reverie. Even if she doesn't say it back, she doesn't not want Peter. She always wants Peter.
“We're fine.” She says after a moment. She's sure they will be.
Peter exhales minutely, a little uneasy. “You sure?"
MJ musters a smile for him. How do you know when you love someone? “Positive,” she replies kindly, both of them sitting with the knowledge that Peter is in love with her and she didn't say it back.
She goes back to tying his shoe strings together, a lump in her throat. A construction crew doing demolition in her chest.
-
It's a bit awkward after that. It's tender, the space between them. And there's space, for sure. But MJ is trying diligently to minimize that space. Get everything back to normal. A new normal in which Peter Parker loves her and she exists with that knowledge. Just living in a world where Spider-Man loves her. Cool.
It gets easier because it's not like Peter is professing his love to her every minute of the day. Sure, he does it in small ways. Like when he stops by her house with a giant slushy and a bag of Skittles from the corner bodega, an impromptu date on her fire escape. Or how he scratches his fingers on the crown of her head to ease the tension from having her hair pulled back all day. Or how he keeps his hands to himself while he's got her shirtless on his bed because he knows anything but his mouth tickles too much. Or how when she's lying against his chest, he absently plays with the broken pieces of the Black Dahlia necklace she never takes off.
Maybe that's all love is--an accumulation of the small things. It gives her something to think about; every small thing she shares with Peter.
-
Two weeks later, they're in the middle of a very productive study date when Peter’s phone goes off with a blaring alert. He keeps track of crimes in the neighborhood, details and locations of escaped criminals and suspects coming through the police scanner. Peter pulls away from where he's been kissing down MJ’s neck, nipping at the skin where her neck and shoulders meet. He sighs heavily, and drops his forehead to rest against her shoulder. He's still hovering over her, legs tangled together. The AP Calc notes crinkle beneath MJ when she shifts from under him. She's breathing heavily, keyed up from having his soft mouth on her. “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” she says around a smile, patting him on the cheek. He groans dramatically before he pushes himself off her and makes his way to his closet for his suit.
She feels something lodge in her throat watching him mechanically strip down to his boxers and pull on the suit, ready to defend Queens. This isn't the first time he's had to go out--he is the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man after all--but it is the first time she's been with him, wrapped up in him, both of them safe in the confines of his room. The knot in her throat and her stomach, she knows now, stem from worry. Unbridled fear of what could happen.
She worried about him in an academic way before she was more than 67% certain he was Spider-Man. She had some distance from it at that point; she figured the guy she liked and the guy swinging through Queens after criminals was the same guy, and she always wished after his safety. But sitting on her boyfriend’s bed alone after he’s just jumped out his window to chase down suspects that got away from the cops, her worry is an entirely new beast.
MJ knows he's a big boy and he’s faced the end of the world, a finger-snapping sociopath, and a fish-bowl-wearing revenge obsessed psychopath, but if those situations have proven anything, it's that Peter often ends up in the worst situations. So, would it really be surprising if an idiot criminal was his downfall?
JESUS CHRIST, she has to get it together or else she's going to have a panic attack and Peter's going to have to take care of her when he gets back which will be all kinds of embarrassing.
So, she sits on his bed, legs criss-crossed, head in her hands, putting her rudimentary knowledge of breathing exercises to good use for a lot of the time. She switches between that and absently tugging on her necklace, sharp points of the broken dahlia digging into her fingertips, watching the window.
When he falls back through his bedroom window, she's on him in a flash. Her hindbrain takes over and she's immediately checking him over for cuts and bruises. Fingers running along the suit looking for any rips and tears.
He’s breathing heavily and back a whole hour later than a normal dust-up would take, but he doesn't seem to be bleeding or missing a limb. She throws her arms around him anyway, crushing him against her chest. He's still got his mask on, but she doesn't care. She presses her face against his, and just breathes for a minute.
“MJ?” He asks cautiously, like he might spook her. He brings one hand up to cup the back of her head, and it's the comfort and encouragement she needs to pull back just a bit. He’s fine. Just a little out of breath. She reaches for the edge of his mask and gently pulls it off his face. Still no cuts or bruises, just flushed and sweaty skin. His brow is furrowed as his gaze darts all over her face. “Are you okay?”
She just stares at him, a small smile on her face as she regains her bearings. She rubs her thumbs along his jaw bone and just looks at him. “Never better,” she whispers before leaning in for one, two, three kisses.
They don't pick up where they left off, but they do lounge on Peter’s unmade bed. He's changed back into an old too-big t shirt, one MJ can easily bunch up in her fist as she lies against his chest. Just to have something to hold onto. Just to know he's there. Just to know he's safe.
-
They go to a party that Greg from their class is throwing one Friday. It's not really MJ’s scene, but Peter and Ned convince her and Betty to tag along and they seem to have a hard time telling their boyfriends no.
Even though she’d rather be at home reading a book or at Peter’s kicking his ass at Mario Kart, she's not completely opposed to partaking in a staple of high school. Betty immediately takes to the environment because she probably sees it as a rite-of-passage; Ned follows her through the house, looking around in wonder. It makes MJ laugh, but also press closer to Peter as she too takes in their surroundings.
The music is loud, the bass so sickening she feels it in her stomach. People are everywhere: dancing with each other, huddled together around a game of what seems to be beer pong, some standing around the keg, others loitering here and there.
Peter presses his lips to her ear so she can hear him speak. “I'm getting a drink. Do you want one?”
She shakes her head, but holds onto his hand as he leads the way to the keg and table full of Jell-O shots and spiked fruit punch. She absently wonders whose older brothers bought everything.
MJ sticks to water, but snickers when she sees Peter go for the fruit punch. He's a big fan of his juice because he's secretly a child sometimes.
The longer she's there, the more comfortable she gets. She knows a lot of the people who pass through the party, whether she has daily conversations with them or not, it’s familiar and easy to nod when they smile at her.
Halfway through his second cup of punch, Peter’s a bit tipsy, which MJ finds hilarious. Who knew he was such a lightweight. He tries to dance to the beat in that way all drunk white boys with no rhythm think they can. He looks like an enormous dork and MJ has to steal some of his drink for herself if she's going to have to watch him fist bump more than once.
It's nice letting loose with Peter, other kids from school, and Ned and Betty who are getting very comfortable with each other on the dance floor. It feels like high school ought to. After a summer of being chased by drones and really nearly dying, it feels good to just be with her boyfriend. Tipsy dork that he is.
Eventually they find an opening on the couch to sit for a bit. Peter’s all pressed up against her side being lame and endearing, three drinks deep in spiked Haiwaiian Punch. He’s babbling nonsensically at her about stuff she doesn't really care about, absently playing with her fingers the whole while. Fondly she says, “you know, you're cute when you're tipsy.” Then she scratches at the back of his head-- a moment of affection she's finally getting used to.
Peter pulls away from her touch with the widest eyes, mouth open in a little o. “Are you flirting with me?” He asks so seriously that MJ can't help the shock of laughter that comes out of her. Then she just embraces it; she throws her head back against the couch with the force of the hilarity of her stupid drunk boyfriend. All the while Peter looks at her with wide eyes, an innocent and confused look taking over his whole face.
“Peter,” she snorts. Then decides to play along. “Maybe I am.” A smirk takes over her face and it takes a lot for her not to just keep laughing at him.
“Oh my god,” he says in disbelief. Like he can’t believe MJ is still showing him the time of day. She goes soft at that, her smirk shifting into a soft, small smile.
“Yeah,” she breathes, suddenly a bit overwhelmed by the guy sitting beside her. By the amount of feeling in her chest every time she's around him, but especially when he gets doe-eyed and acts like he’s won the lottery every day for the past five months. It’s like her chest is already at capacity, but there's a dump truck of feelings completely adamant about making space, dumping love and shit all over the place. So much so, her heart’s spilling over. She’s gotta lock that shit down. She’s at a high school party, for God’s sake. She’s at a stupid high school party with her lame boyfriend doing high school shit and here she is falling tits over ass because he's looking back at her like a dump truck of emotions just wrecked inside his chest too.
“Let’s get you outta here,” she says suddenly. She’ll find Ned and Betty on the way out, let them know she’s walking Peter back home. Maybe outside in the cool air on the fifteen minute walk to his apartment she'll come to her senses and not do something stupid like tell Peter how much she likes him and enjoys his company and how her life has improved exponentially since sharing it with him. She already did that. In London. After nearly being obliterated by killer drones. She's reached her quota of expressing significant feelings for the next year. That's obviously more up Peter’s alley.
Peter, who is uncharacteristically quiet on the walk back home. MJ can tell he's getting tuckered out by the way he sways into her side every fifth step. Saving the neighborhood by day and trying to experience some semblance of a regular teenager’s life by night takes a toll on him. Or maybe it's the three cups of spiked punch that takes a toll. Either way, she knows very well how this night will probably end.
May will give a slightly disapproving look as they stumble into the apartment, but she won't say anything either because she wants him to do normal teenage things and she knows MJ’s got his back. MJ will deposit him in his bed on his stomach, set out a bottle of water, scoot the trash bin over by the bed, and allow herself a moment to just look at him.
When she does have him settled on the bed, forgoing removing anything but his shoes, she allows herself that moment. Her heart feels too big in her chest looking down at him in the soft yellow light coming in from the street.
He’s not passed out, but he's close to falling asleep. “MJ,” he mumbles, blanket getting stuck between his lips. He raises up enough to turn and look at her. He gives her the biggest, sleepiest smile he can muster. “Thank you. I like you so much.” He says it like it pains him, like he's in turmoil, but has to let her know. So, she guesses, somewhere through the haze of alcohol he must have forgotten he's already got her.
She rolls her eyes, promptly pulled out of her lovesick stupor by the returning hilarity of Peter thinking she doesn't already know he likes her. She's going to dog him relentlessly about this for ages. For, like, the rest of time. “Goodnight, Parker.”
He crashes back against his mattress face-first, and MJ slips out of his bedroom. May’s in the kitchen slicing a beautiful deli sandwich in half--the Parker apartment always has a deli sandwich in the fridge. It’s part of the reason MJ keeps coming around. (Okay. It's just an added bonus.) May puts half the sandwich on a napkin and slides it across the counter to MJ. She digs in, mouth full of oven roasted turkey and fixings, while May starts lamenting the shitty horror movie she's been trying to watch all night.
-
The next morning while lying in bed, MJ grabs her phone out from under her pillow. No new texts from Peter; he must still be asleep. She decides to text him after scrolling through her camera roll.
MJ: [File Attached: 0086359.jpg] Of all the drunk pictures i have of you, this one is by far my favorite
The attached picture is one of maaaaany that she took the night before. She had a lot to choose from. There is a series of pictures of him fist bumping, then the ones of him trying to lick the side of Ned’s face, a selfie of MJ and Peter that she's keeping just for herself because the lighting might be shitty but she can still feel the residual heat from having him pressed to her side. It's a good picture. But it's not the one she sends him. (She'll send it to him eventually.) She sends the one of him looking like he's having an existential crisis, red Solo cup clutched against his chest, eyes glazed over, staring into the distance. He’d just told her he thinks a frog might be living in his mouth and will it die if he keeps his mouth closed?
Twenty-six minutes later, Peter responds.
Peter: why do i look like that
Peter: wait - how many pictures did you take?
Peter: ...
MJ: oh baby. i got a whole album 😜
Peter: NO!! google how do i delete someone else’s pictures
MJ: 😘
Peter: ill give you endless back rubs if u delete the pics
MJ: i love you but not that mu--
She realizes what she's typing and swiftly backspaces. What the HELL.
MJ: no can do sweetheart
She hadn't even thought about it when she started typing that. It'd seemed natural, a known thing. Does she love Peter? Taking ugly pictures of someone then taking care of them--that's love?
-
She ends up sending the selfie of them to Peter later that night. She’s spent the better half of her Saturday wallowing in bed, trying to wrap her head around loving Peter. Love really does just come around and slap you in the face sometimes, doesn't it?
He sends back twenty red and black hearts, three rocket ships, two strong arms, six tigers, and four heart eye emojis. He's fucking ridiculous and cheesy and MJ loves him. Oh, Jesus Christ.
She thinks about telling him. He said it so easily and so quickly. It can't be so hard, right? Hey, Pete. I love you. PETE? She thinks about catapulting herself straight into the fucking sun.
Life seemed a whole lot easier when she was traipsing around Europe, dodging fake elementals, and making eyes at Peter. Telling Peter she loves him? She’ll take What the Fuck? How the Fuck? and Why the Fuck? for 2,000, Alex.
-
MJ battles all week with whether or not and how to tell Peter her feelings. She’s sure he suspects something because she's been even more snarky than before, verging on cruel. She's been trying to rein it in because it's not like it's Peter’s fault. Well, it kind of is his fault that she loves him. But it's not his fault that while she uses brutal honesty at all other times, she hasn't been able to use it when it's most needed. That's her own problem she has to contend with one day.
It's a Sunday and they’re walking back to Peter’s from a frozen yogurt run. Peter ate all of his strawberry-covered-in-gummies and stole bites of MJ’s mint chocolate chip until she just ended up handing it to him to finish. Love has made her selfless, she guesses. She promptly rolls her eyes at herself.
Peter catches her. He pulls her to a stop outside his building. “What's going on?” His brow is pinched in concern. He's giving himself over to the worry he's probably felt all week.
MJ fingers the pointy ends of her Dahlia necklace. She feels a bit insecure. And annoyed that she's feeling insecure and doesn't know how to handle and/or express her feelings. She's unsure how to even explain it to him properly. “I know I can be difficult sometimes, but.” She sighs, then rolls her eyes at how dramatic she's being. “I really do like you, Peter. I might even--”
Peter grabs either of her arms so they're no longer folded across her chest. He holds onto her hands, thumbs softly rubbing along the backs of her fingers. “MJ, no, hey. That's what this is about?” His touch is as gentle as the smile he gives her. He squeezes her fingers and then leans into her space. “I know, okay?” He gives her a light peck on the lips. “I know you--if you didn't, you would've kicked me to the curb a long time ago.”
She appreciates him. She loves him for giving her an easy out, but she's not going to allow herself to take it. Peter is so good; he's so attentive and understanding. And she's been trying--she has. It’s easy, now, to tangle up with him on his bed while he waxes poetic about a new Spider-suit and hold his hand walking down the hall and kiss him stupid against his bedroom door and look back at him while he's looking at her. That's been easy for a long time now. But putting words to how she feels? And saying them to Peter Parker, who so easily professes his feelings and thoughts and emotions to anyone he trusts? The task seems almost insurmountable. And it has been, the last few months.
But looking down at Peter now, the afternoon sun lighting up the side of his face, his entire front warm as can be against hers, his hands folded around hers, strong and reassuring--she wants him to know.
“Peter, I love you.” The world doesn't end; time doesn't stand still. Peter doesn't even bat an eye. He just leans up into her space and kisses her hard, all tongue and teeth, mouth spread into a smile against hers.
It takes her breath away--both the kiss and the confession. It can't be that easy, can it? Surely to God it can't be that easy. But she feels a weight lift off her chest. Like it opened up for her bigger heart, like now there's room for all that she feels. “I love you,” she says again, just to marvel at how it sounds on her lips. Pressed against his mouth, slipped in under his tongue.
“I love you back,” he presses his smile against her cheek when he pulls away. “I love you right back,” he says softly, a little cheesy. That’s Peter Parker for you, though. That's her cheesy boyfriend. Whom she is hopelessly in love with.
She laughs against his mouth, overcome with the revelation, basking in it. “Come on, let's split a sandwich.” She pulls him up the steps and into his building.
She's still going to tease him. She's still going to give him a hard time--she hopes that's part of the reason he fell in love with her to begin with. But she also might not steal the pickles off his sandwich every once in a while and she also might press an I love you into his skin every day until he's sick off her love.
“You're only with me for my deli meats,” he jokes, following her up to his apartment.
“Oh my god,” she laughs shockingly, “never say that again. Jesus Christ!”
“But you still love me,” he teases, pressing up behind her, arm around her waist. She gives in, leans back against him.
“And your deli meats.”