Narrative: Michelle finally gets the task that those associated with the red and blue clad vigilante usually face: bandaging his wounds after a fight. But seeing the hurt boy at her side may just pull the strings of her heart.
Just a short oneshot of MJ helping Peter and these two dorks realizing their feelings for one another. (MJ knows but they're still just friends at this point)
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There were three things Michelle was made aware of when she became friends with Peter Parker: the first being he was Spider-Man; the second on the list was that there was no stopping him from his crime-fighting career so she may as well be at his side supporting him and joining what Ned labeled as the F.O.S (Friends of Spider-Man, despite the fact that that club only held two members with May Parker as an honorary inclusion); and dead last turned out to be that he was undeniably, indisputably, and without a doubt in her mind the most reckless person alive.
Whilst Peter had all the means to be a hero, altruistic and good-natured in every possible way, he still lacked a lot of things. Like training, discipline, and strategy. It was especially evident on days like these where he'd go up against his many foes such as Tombstone, and without any form of a plan. In Peter's reasoning, there was no logical plan or battle strategy when evil was let loose. He just needed to go out and stop it. Yet still, a half-assed idea of a plan would have been more reassuring for those that kept his secret.
Especially Michelle.
It was seeming to be a normal night for her when it all transpired.
She was sat on the chair behind her desk, nose deep into the pages of Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. A literary masterpiece in Michelle's perspective. The quiet of her room and the warm cup of tea beside her setting a peaceful mood in the dead of night. And almost nothing could ruin it... or so she thought.
With her attention invested in the intricate words of the story, she hadn't noticed the figure swinging by from the distance growing closer and closer. Nor had she paid any mind to the yapping of the small black dog that occupied her bed, Oz.
"Ozzy," she called out, eyes still fixated on her book, "Shhh, it's too late for you to be barking like that. Other people are trying to sleep." She reprimanded him in a collected voice, even knowing he wouldn't respond back. Rather, Oz yapped even louder as he spotted the figure landing by the apartment.
"Oz!—"
Before Michelle could snap at her dog, hoping to calm him down, a heavy knock—more so bang—collided with her bedroom window. Michelle's body swiveled to the direction of the commotion, seeing a red and blue clad body falling to the floor of her fire escape.
"What the f—" Michelle yelped, jumping from her seat as Oz scurried to the window.
Michelle hopped up onto her feet, following after her four legged furry friend and pried open the window to reveal Queens' friendly-neighborhood-hero all battered, bruised, and cut up while heaving deeply from his place on the ground. Part of his upper body pinned to the railing of the fire escape whilst his lower half was spread on the floor.
"Peter," Michelle gasped at seeing his injured form, "What happened to you?!?"
"Oh hey, Em," he greeted her by the nickname he'd given, words becoming slurred and indicating a concussion developing. "I was just finishing up with Tombstone when he got the jump on me by bringing in more of his goons. Kinda big and ugly and completely unfair if ya ask me. But hey, I got 'em in the end! Just have some minor injuries, though. Nothing too bad."
And though his words through his enthusiasm hadn't been too disconcerting, the state of his overall figure stated otherwise.
"Do you think you can make it in through the window for me?"
"I might need some help if I'm being honest," he admitted in a murmur, pushing himself up to his feet with a lack of balance. She nodded in understanding, leaning half her body out the window to hold out her arms and keep him steady. He clasped the stretched arms, guiding himself inside. When he was safely inside and situated on Michelle's bed, she sealed her window shut and closed the curtains so no peering eyes would be aware of the vigilante's presence.
"Stay here," she commanded sternly. He nodded slowly in reply, not willing to disobey her. He figured he was in enough trouble if the expression on her face was any indication. He watched as Michelle left her bedroom discreetly as she could with only Peter and Oz remaining on her bed.
Peter looked down at the small schnauzer who's head was lying on his lap. The animal whimpered sadly, sensing Peter's pain.
"I know bud," Peter gently patted Oz's head, "I promise I'm not that hurt, though." His lie would've been convincing had he not winced a second later at the movement of his arm.
When Michelle returned to the room, she carried with her a first aid kit, a wet towel, and an ice pack.
Now, Michelle thought she'd been prepared for this. She did after all take a course for first aid training at her mother's, a nurse, behest and had all the supplies Ned and May listed out for her in case. However, she felt out of sorts when she inspected all his injuries. Beyond the bruises on his now maskless face, there were cuts across his suit displaying the gashes he'd received there. One in particular was etched on his left arm, stretching from the top of his bicep to the space just above his elbow. It was oozing blood quickly, leaving a mess, and Michelle knew she'd have to change the sheets of her bed afterwards.
She hated seeing him in this situation. Hurt and near concussed. She thought she'd been mentally prepared for the sight, but a sadness loomed over her instead. This was after all Peter. Her Pe—loser. And though she teased him relentlessly, and berated him the other half of the time, she still cared about him and his well being. He was her friend.
And maybe something more if Michelle permitted herself to be honest.
Yet, here he was now, still the picture perfect display of defeat and waiting for her medical care.
She pulled the chair she previously sat on to stop right in front of him, setting the items she had on it. But she remained standing on the opposite side of him away from the big laceration on his arm. Grabbing the ice pack from the assortment of things on the chair, she placed it on a purplish bruise that throbbed clearly on his cheek. Telling him to replace her hand with his just seconds later.
"You're gonna need to..." she gestured to his suit, wanting for him to take it off.
"Oh, uh, right." With a press of the spider emblem, the suit was off, leaving him in his boxers. If it had been any other situation, Michelle would've found herself slightly gawking at his toned figure like she's done multiple times before. He became extremely fit after the spider bite and the superhero-ing he'd been doing. And she had eyes. Sue her.
But it wasn't one of those times, and rather than appreciative of his form, Michelle felt a deep sorrow clouding her thoughts.
Besides the current bruises and cuts he'd gained from his most recent scuffle, other marks had littered his body. Cuts that were too deep for his spider-enhanced healing to mend that they remained as faded scars. Each mark carrying a different story and different foe with it. Michelle had seen them barely before, but wasn't aware of the brutality behind it. Now, she hated them for him.
"Em," Peter called out to her, seeing that she was frozen in her place. She shook her head and continued grabbing out the materials from the first aid kit that she may need.
She began with the treatment, focusing on aiding his wounds and not the way her heart skipped a beat at their close proximity. Nor the way Peter's eyes followed her every movement. She started by placing patches with ointment on the bigger bruises that an ice pack would have little effect on and adding disinfectant spray onto the smaller cuts. Once his back had been dealt with, and Michelle was finished with his torso while sat on the chair facing him, she stopped in her tracks when she spotted on old scar on his side.
It was large and the cut had to have been very deep from the pinkish tan coloring that still remained. Her fingers unconsciously trailed the scar from the top to the bottom of it, questions riddling her mind. She only snapped out of them when a hand was placed over hers.
"MJ? Are you okay?" Peter asked, russet eyes peering up at her with worry. Even if it should've been her holding the chalice of concern.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, still jumbled with uncertainty. "I just... does it always get this bad?"
Peter shrugged, hand still unknowingly over hers. "It's not that bad," he dismissed, triggering her reaction.
"Peter, you haven't stopped bleeding since you got here," she stated as if it were an obvious fact. Which it was.
He shook his head at her concern and let out a sigh. "I've dealt with worse. But I'll be okay, I promise."
The look in her eyes revealed her disbelief at his repeated statement. Seeing this, Peter inched closer to her from his spot on the edge of the bed, the gap of space becoming less and less, until he had his forehead pressed onto hers. Her hand instinctively reached up to cup the back of his neck, toying with the curls on the back of his neck in soft touches. They continued that way for a while, a comforting silence blanketing over them.
"You don't have to do this all the time, y'know," she suggested. Her worry for him was overtaking her rationality. She didn't like seeing him hurt, and she didn't want to continue seeing that.
"I know," he acknowledged with a gentle voice, "But if I'm not out there, then who's gonna stop all those bad guys? The police?"
She let out a breathy laugh at his jibe, nodding in agreement. "You're right."
"I always am."
Michelle proceeded to roll her eyes at his smugness, leaning back away from him. He flashed her a smile. One that aired out his gratefulness for her empathy and she returned it with her own. She finished wrapping up his mid section, moving to the other side of him where the large gash remained.
Michelle had never been a squeamish person. At least not when it came to blood and gore. Her mother was a nurse after all. So, Michelle had gotten use to the sight. She also held a fascination for the macabre aspects of life that it never bothered her. But something about the wound had upset every fiber of her being. Had made her perturbed that she shuffled on her feet in contemplation.
Peter could sense her discomfort and hear the irregularity of her heartbeat, asking her, "Do you need to stop here? I can always go and stitch this up myself. Or get May to do it." Just as he readied himself to rise on his feet, Michelle's hand on his forearm halted him.
"You stay your ass on this bed, tiger," she huffed. She may have been distraught in that moment but her headstrong personality never left her. She was determined to help him. He grinned back, following her command.
"This might hurt," she warned as she grabbed the needle and wind the thread carefully around it. Peter nodded, already accepting of the pain to follow.
Soon after cleaning around the wound, she set about sewing into his skin, working through her discomfort. When she noticed his through his quiet series of winces as she made her way down the cut, she lowered her free hand to entwine with his. Allowing him to grip onto it if necessary.
Once she was done, he inspected her work carefully and shifted on the bed until he was up on his feet. He made sure not to make to much movement to let the now sleeping dog on the other side of MJ's bed rest even more.
He was now face to face with her who stood when he had.
"All done," she said, still unwilling to let go of his hand. Neither was he with hers.
"All done," he repeated, smiling proudly at her. The comforting silence that had met them before had returned. Brown eyes meeting matching ones.
And though Michelle still looked concerned, he knew she had calmed a bit more from her previous distress.
"Y'know," he spoke again, teasing tone ensued, "I didn't realize you had cared this much about me." He poked fun at her obvious worry for him, never seeing it before now.
Michelle's roll of her eyes had also made another appearance by his words, her lips quirking up unwillingly. "If you haven't figured that out by now, then you're an idiot," she stated.
"I know," was his only response.
"And you're reckless. Seriously, at least give me a call or a text next time before you decide to bleed out by my window. What if I was asleep, huh?"
His smile turned sheepish in slight embarrassment. "I know," he repeated again, "But you were the one who told me not to text and swing at the same time. And you never sleep around this time, you're practically nocturnal."
"Whatever," she scoffed. Not denying the sentence. "And I hate you. I really, really hate you right now."
"I know."
"Is that all you have to say," Michelle was dumbfounded by his calm demeanor despite her anger she bared to him. "If you know, then you'd stop putting me in these situations where I get scared to death worrying about you. And maybe think of a plan before you galavant off into danger like that—"
Michelle could barely finish her string of sentences that verbally punished him when Peter cut her off. "Have I ever told you how pretty you look when you get mad at me?"
His words shocked her and she found the genuine expression on his face hard to dissect for any lies. Her own response was caught in her mouth, unsure how to proceed. "Loser," she retorted in a scoff. A default reply whenever he'd stump her.
"Your loser," he cheekily answered.
With a sigh, Michelle conceded, "My loser." She knew none of her rebukes would win this conversation.
"Michelle," he whispered her name, grabbing her attention. The hand that wasn't holding hers now slid up to her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "May I kiss you? I really, really want to kiss you."
Still stunned by his replies, Michelle unconsciously nodded. Unable to form words for her permission. At that, the two—who'd already invaded each other's spaces, standing so closely together—simultaneously leaned in.
With theirs lips touching in the middle, a new spark of desire was lit between them. Their hands no longer clasped together. Instead, both her hands held onto the back of his neck, while his had curved around her waist pulling her in even closer. They kissed passionately in the tranquility of her bedroom, going until they needed air to breathe.
When Peter pulled back from her, he gazed at her with a soft look that Michelle knew reflected her own. "I really like you, Em. I have since you basically confronted me about being Spider-Man that day at the park."
Michelle giggled at that, reminiscing back to that moment. "I really like you, too," she confessed, her toothy smile parallel with his, "I have for some time now. I just haven't said anything because I wasn't sure you felt the same way about me."
"Me too..." Their feelings were now revealed to one another, still in each other's hold. "What does this make us?" Peter then questioned like the awkward teens they were.
"I don't know," she voiced truthfully. "But maybe we can figure it out tomorrow. For right now—just please, stay." Her plea rung in his ear like a tune, causing him to nod for the last time that night.
"Always." His answer held a deeper meaning that was left unsaid, but Michelle knew. She always knew.
And so, he stayed by her side, the satisfaction of their confessions and the feeling of her pressed next to him on her bed had sent them both in a peaceful slumber.
Michelle then knew four things about Peter Parker after that night: he was Spider-Man; he would never stop being so; he was incredibly reckless in his pursuit; and he liked her. Maybe even loved her. And Peter learned something, too: that he didn't have to carry the weight of the world on shoulders. At least not alone. With May, Ned, and now Michelle, Peter had someone to lean on.
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A/N: I find it funny that I should be studying for my finals but instead I'm writing stories and reading fanfic to cope with my stress. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. I'll see y'all real soon with another oneshot on the way.