“How do you burn popcorn!”
“I don’t know! The box said four minutes, so I put it in for four minutes. I never cooked it before.”
“When did it start catching fire?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I went to use the bathroom, and then—what? I had to go! And then when I came back…this.”
“I still can’t believe this. …It was in a microwave. What did you do?”
“I just put it in the microwave and did what it said.”
“There was a fire, MJ! All the way up to the cabinets! The microwave is ruined. There’s burned kernels everywhere.”
“This is a dorm microwave—”
“Jesus fucking Christ…” Peter goes to the nearest window to open it, fanning the air around his nose. He then bursts out in giggles. “I have to put this on Snapchat. No, Tiktok. No, both.”
Michelle screeches, “No!”
It didn’t sink in at first. She’d found out hours after the issue, days after a wonderful first date that still made her giddy, vibrating from her fingertips to her toes and curling into herself with her cellphone clutched to her chest, rolling from side to side on her bed because she’s unable to keep still from the intensity of her joy.
It hit her unexpectedly, arguably at the worst possible time in her life, ever.
Michelle hadn’t even found out on time, but over internet and through a post on social media. And yet, it didn’t sink in even as she watches it and hears the recorded words of Quentin Beck and Peter’s voice off camera and the gunshot. It doesn’t sink—it doesn’t process—the panic it doesn’t register even when she closes the internet window and searches for proof, to make sure this isn’t a hoax because it can’t be real. It just can’t.
Michelle’s panic doesn’t register the intensity of the situation even through the next thirty minutes she scores all forms of the internet and television, when she exits her bedroom and meets her mother’s gaze across the living room, she too having just seen it on the local news. Michelle assumes her quickening heartbeat is the fear of having to confront her mother that her daughter has a crush on a boy who is now revealed to be a superhero, who’s also allegedly a masked murderer.
Panic isn’t the nearest thing on her mind to her sudden hyper awareness, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she wastes the next two and a half hours searching through Queens and burning out half of her phone’s battery by calling but receiving Peter’s voicemail over and over and over and over and over and over and over…
The only one she’s able to get a hold to is Ned, him being the only other who previously knew Peter’s secret and Michelle not having his aunt’s phone number.
“Where are you?” Ned squeals, already having seen the news and blowing up her phone with text messages—which Michelle admittedly ignored until now, too caught up.
“I’m on my way to his house. Calm down, Leeds.” She shoves a hand into her sweater’s pocket, feels her ring of keys, a few coins she’d forgotten about.
“I should be telling you that,” Ned breaths over the phone. “You sound like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” she says, really believing so. “Have you heard from him.”
“Nothing.” It sounds like Ned’s traveling from Michelle’s end, so she asks him. “I’m at the doctor’s with my mom. Her appointment,” he explains. “I saw—saw it in the lobby. They have a TV, and—”
Michelle hangs up because she thinks she sees a flash of red somewhere high on the surrounding buildings but it’s gone when she tries to get a better look.
Michelle truly believes she is calm even as she makes it to the Parkers’ residence and is winded; the broken black jeweled necklace she’s never taken off since Europe bounces against her chest. Her vision has begun to blur around the edges, feeling lightheaded and as if she’s about to pass out.
Panic still doesn’t register to be an honest possibility even as she’s knocking on the front apartment door with more force than she intends, as she meets May’s gaze, and Michelle’s voice cracks and breaks as she asks, “Is Peter home? Is he okay?”
Panic doesn’t seep in when May allows her inside, locks the door, and does her own best to stay calm as she answers, “He isn’t. He’s out…out… With Ned—”
“He’s not with Ned.” Again, Michelle’s voice cracks.
She’s standing between the front door and the living room, awkwardly in the doorway but glaring at May, skeptical. She knows May is lying. All of this is too unreal; it reminds her of the fictional novels she’s read during a phase in middle school, it’s like a scary episode of a mystery. Michelle already feels like she can’t trust her parents, anticipating their avalanche of questions and accusations, and now she suddenly doesn’t know if she can trust May.
“I just got off the phone with Ned. Why’re you lying.” Her glare hardens. She thinks the blurring around her vision is from stress, from dizziness and not the brimming tears. “Where’s Peter?”
But May sees it. The woman wrings her hands, trying to control herself. Her mouth opens and closes without speaking. She tries to speak, releases broken words sounding like a croak, and suddenly the tiny apartment feels too large. There is suddenly too much space and the air too thin and the ground suddenly tilted and unbalanced.
“I don’t know,” May whispers.
The world feels to have turned on its side.
Michelle thinks she nods in understanding. She also thinks she’s totally composed and calm as she looks to May, to the muted television still showing the local news, to the family pictures on the wall—memories of May’s marriage, Peter growing up, Peter’s deceased parents, and May’s deceased husband and other family and friends.
Michelle breaths in, thinks she’s calm, and then feels her cheeks becoming wet. She barely has time to raise a hand to her face and understand that she’s crying as May opens her arms and envelops the teenager in a desperately needed hug. The woman rubs Michelle’s hair and mummers reassurances that Michelle is grateful to hear but knows is a lie—things like “It’s going to be okay.” Pressed against May’s chest, Michelle then registers that her breathing is erratic and her heartbeat is much faster than May’s.
The panic sets in then; May helps ease Michelle down from a panic attack.
— — — — — —
In a secret location not even known to him, Peter sits alone on the floor in a room. He’d been whisked off and hidden by orders of Nick Fury, as told by the agents who approached him.
He’s been sitting on the cold, hard floor for hours, ignoring the optional furniture in the room with his knees to his chin, eyes red-rimmed and staring off, slightly rocking back and forth from his own panic attack. He wishes his aunt was here. He wishes he had a time machine to go back and erase all of this from the beginning. He inhales a quiet sob and wishes he had his parents back.
a heart beats and it breaks
Between hungovers, I’ve managed to write something before the decade ends. Here you go! 970 words (romance, dramatic, bittersweet)
In that short period after Christmas but before New Year, Michelle had found time alone, at last. She waited at home, in her living room. Sitting on the couch and tapping her feet against the floor repeatedly, anxious, staring directly at her TV but not quite seeing what was shown on the screen. Her mind was not there.
No one was there, and as Michelle continued on waiting, she felt as if her living room had turned ten times bigger than it actually was, making her feel isolated and alienated in such a big place. She could almost view her anxiety destroying every furniture, every object, every little thing that was real, to make up for an infinite space, to create a room in which she could see the walls, but she could never reach them, not mattering how much she ran towards it.
Michelle heard a noise, kind of like a thump, coming from the direction of her bedroom, and suddenly her living room was back to its normal size. It was small, furnished and real like any other New York apartment. The tapping of the feet resumed, and Michelle got up from her couch, heading towards the noise that had grounded her back to reality.
Peter, she thought. It was him, and despite the current circumstances, he had showed up at her place like he would if it were calmer times, just like a regular teenage boy trying to steal more time with his girlfriend, sneaking in by a window.
Michelle hugged him tight, desperately, because he was no regular teenage boy and it weren’t calmer times at all. She heard a big sigh of relief coming from him as he embraced her back, just as desperate. Michelle imagined it was the kind of relieved sigh only people that had been so hurt and lonely could let out. She hadn’t noticed, but she had sighed just the same.
In a sense, not only her, but Peter and everyone, were all constantly inside an infinite room with unreachable walls. There was so much space, and yet it was still like a cell, they were all stuck. They had no freedom because it was stolen from them.
Then Michelle thought that in retrospect, no one was ever really free, especially Peter, he always had too much responsibility thrown his way for that. He probably never really tasted freedom except for the times that he could freely swing in the heights of New York skyscrapers. Now even that was taken away from him.
Michelle touched the back of his neck, and smiled. “Your hair is longer.” She realized then, you never really know what are going to be your first words to someone. Michelle wondered if last words are also often so spontaneous. She doubted they could be as sweet.
Peter laughed briefly and softly, both still holding onto each other. “Funny. May said the same thing.”
Michelle felt good hearing he had been able to at least see his aunt. She knew they didn’t spend any holidays together, and that broke her heart. Michelle wasn’t big in family reunions and things related, but these two, they just, constantly, break her heart. She thinks about it every time she sees May, and notices she’s been using more make-up to try and hide the horror and worry in and around her eyes.
“Yours is shorter.” Peter said, touching her hair. Her curls only reached her shoulders now.
At first, Michelle had cut her hair without much thought, but since then, she had put a lot of thought in it. Like, how she did it shortly after he left. It fit like a way to track time, she thinks. Month after month, Peter remained a runaway and her hair kept on growing back, because time doesn’t stop, and she had to live her own life. Michelle often wondered how long her hair would be when things get better, when he gets free. She assumed that constant thought was the reason for a recurring nightmare where she was asphyxiated by her own meters-long hair.
“It’s pretty.” He told her.
Michelle curled her finger on the hair covering the nape of his neck. “Yours is pretty too.”
Their kiss wasn’t intense like their hug. It was gentle as they told one another that this wasn’t their last time, so there was no need to be desperate, and like anyone else, they could savor at least this, a delicate kiss.
They laid on her bed, and only then, as Peter touched more of her, Michelle realized how his hands were cold. She had never imagined his touch to feel cold to the skin. Her hands were warm, all of her was, but his ears and the tip of his nose were like ice. Peter was cold because he was outside, and Michelle was warm because she was inside, right? That’s the logical explanation.
Michelle laid her head on his chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
The whole world was against and wanted to ruin this boy, and yet he was right there and she heard his heartbeat. Things felt so much simpler. He was only human, and one she loved.
“What does it say?” Peter asked.
Michelle heard it one more time, then kissed his chest and then his neck. “It says people are so cold.”
He gently grabbed her hair, lovingly laying her on her back this time, kissing her like she had done to him.
“So cruel.” She muttered.
From her neck, Peter’s lips traveled to her mouth, and then Michelle decided she wanted to get rid of the cold, and make him warm just as she is.
The next morning, Michelle would lay alone in the mess they made of her bed sheets, and then think red is a warm color, isn’t it?
Please, leave me your feedback, I’d appreciate it. Happy holidays, have a happy new year!
A Embarrassed Teen on Halloween — fluff w/ peter
The logical thing for Peter to dress up as for Halloween would be, well, Spider-Man. There would be no costs, no time spent waiting as May struggled to understand YouTube sewing videos, among other reasons.
He does wear the spider suit, but it becomes an undersuit for a much bulkier, heavier one.
Peter ends up going as Iron Man. He knew there was no possible way to imitate some of the newer nano-tech models, so he designs a suit after the older, more simple ones.
It’s not just shapes out of cardboard. He finds scraps of metal, and some red and gold paint, and with the help of Ned he’s got a suit that’s not half bad. After some thinking he designs a fake arc reactor to be round, to fit the suit model, although he’s pretty sure Tony’s newest one is a vague diamond shape.
petermj prompt request? send some to my ask please.
Stars Pt. 3
Rated M for language
Wow, this has been crazy guys! I would not have continued this story without your love and support. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who pushed me to continue a story I lost track of. I really can’t express how grateful I am to everyone who has read Hair….So without further ado, I’d like to thank my amazing beta @you-guys–are-losers who has been with me from the start and is always my amazing friend.
Now I want to present, after a long hiatus, the next chapter of Hair!
Michelle flipped over another page of her book. The slight whispering of the page was the only sound in her room besides a small electric fan beside her. She’d managed to get halfway through Things Fall Apart in a few short hours. The intricacies of African culture pulled her into the pages early on. Sitting on crumpled white sheets atop her bed, head resting against the coarse brick exterior wall in her room, Michelle flipped over another page. With eyes flying across the pages, she thought about how much of African culture has been destroyed. The title indeed fit the book; things do fall apart, often, it would seem.
Dog-earing her page, Michelle took a sip of her long-forgotten tea. It was cold and bitter on her lips. Abandoned when she sunk into her book. Michelle made a note to make a new cup. When she picked the book up again, her eyes started tracing back over the pages until her phone vibrated against her leg. Placing her book down again, she used her good hand to pick up her phone. The message was from Peter.
Peter Parker (8:57 pm): can i come over?
Embers ran down her throat, stoking the small fire in her chest. The fire pulsed, each beat larger than the next. It echoed in the battered knuckles of her fist.
Michelle left Peter standing in the abandoned physics classroom this morning. Unable to release any words or explanations, she merely retreated to safety. Safety she found with a book in her hands, tucked away in her bedroom, and wishing she could disguise herself in a flash of sarcastic remarks and cool stares.
Michelle pored over the text a few times, her mind spinning. She didn’t know how to reply. If he just wanted to assault her with more questions, she’d rather sink further into her book.
You (9:01 pm): if you’re looking for your hobbit box set i didn’t take it because the movies sucked and the book was better.
Peter Parker (9:02 pm): what? no…i haven’t even mentioned that to you how the hell do you know about it
You (9:02 pm): I’m omniscient, Parker, I know all.
Peter Parker (9:03 pm): then youd know why i’m coming over. which would suck since it’s a surprise…
She stared down at her phone. Michelle wasn’t sure what Peter’s angle was. After a few minutes without her reply, another message popped up.
Peter Parker (9:06 pm): soooo…can I come over? promise not to annoy you
Grunting, Michelle tucked her legs closer to her body. Her interest had piqued. Besides, she thought, maybe it would be a good opportunity to shrink the gap expanding between them. Glancing out her window at the inky sky, Michelle decided on a reply that was neither an invitation nor denial.
You (9:08 pm): You annoy me regardless.
Peter Parker (9:08 pm): i’ll take that as a yes?
You (9:09 pm): Shut up and just come over, loser.
Peter Parker (9:10 pm): thank you! youre not gonna regret it!
Peter Parker (9:10 pm): be right there :)
peter closing his eyes when mj hugs him… he feels relief, he feels safe, he feels content, he feels at home…
can we not? my poor fragile heart can’t handle this 😭😭😭
we go together like peanut butter and jelly
pairing: peter parker/michelle jones, fandom: spider-man: homecoming, marvel, rating: g, word count: 1,190
Peter loves Michelle, he really does, but she should really stick to her paints and stay away from the peanut butter and jelly. (for @queendanys)
read @ AO3
Shuri & Peter; adventures in vines (1)
Shuri: *rewatching old vines*
Shuri: Peter; did you…
Peter: oh no
Shuri: you based yourself off of
Peter: she knows
Shuri: IT’S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES
Peter: shit! *Into secret coms with Ned and mj*
Peter: we’ve been made, guys. ABORT MISSION! ABORT
Peter: *to Mj* hey, did you fall out the vending machine?
Mj: Pete, babe it doesn’t work like that-
Peter: ‘cause you’re looking like a snack
Bucky: *from the next room* HEY THATS MY LINE!
Peter and Michelle❤️