Can You Even Scar?
"That movie was completely unrealistic!" MJ complained, her arms flailing around. "I mean, seriously? What would you stay somewhere after finding out that the previous owner was a serial killer with a finger fetish?"
"It was definitely creepy," Peter started, throwing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, "but on a horror movie scale, I give it a 4/10."
"Don't talk with food in your mouth," MJ scolded. "But 4/10 is generous. I give it a 2; it was worse than Chainsaw Massacre, and you know how I feel about that movie."
Peter huffed a laugh and finished the last of the popcorn. "All right, my turn. I get to choose dinner."
"How can you still eat?" MJ asked. "After the breakfast tacos, donuts, and the two large popcorn at the movies."
"Enhanced metabolism," Peter answered, dumping the empty bucket of popcorn on the nearest trashcan. "I have to consume about 25,000 calories daily unless you want me passing out on you."
"I'm going to get fat dating you."
Peter beamed, still enamored whenever MJ spoke about them as an item. He grabbed her hand and twirled her around, making her chuckle. Peter rested his arm around her, still holding onto her hand. "Hey, this gives you the excuse to eat as much candy as you want and allows me to consume all the sugar Mr. Stark prohibits me from doing."
"I'm so happy our relationship excuses you to rebel against Mr. Stark."
Peter pressed a quick kiss to MJ's forehead. "I was thinking about Mexican tonight. There's this food truck by-"
Peter's words cut off as someone roughly pushed him, his hold on MJ instinctively tightening. "What the hell?"
There was a man in front of them, aiming a gun at Peter's head. "Wallet. Now, or your girlfriend will have to scoop up your brains from the ground."
Peter pushed MJ behind him and raised his hands in feign surrender, ready to web up the guy, but MJ placed a hand on his shoulder blade.
"You're not in the suit," she whispered.
MJ was right. Peter wasn't in the suit, and if he used his web shooter, he would be giving this mugger his secret identity. Peter doubts anyone would believe the man, but he couldn't risk it.
"Webs aren't my only forte," Peter thought and advanced on the man slowly.
The man's eyes widened, and his gun hand shook. "What, what are you doing? Give me your money!"
Peter kept his hands up and shook his head. "You're not going to shoot me."
"You wanna bet, boy," The man seethed, and when Peter kept approaching the man, he scowled. "Fine, you wanna be tough?" The man moved his hand, the gun looking past Peter, and aimed at MJ.
Peter's resolved crumbled. "Hey, hey, no, no." He moved back into the line of fire, pleading in his voice. "You want my wallet, right? Fine."
Peter made a show of lowering his right hand and moving it to his back pocket. He pulled out the small leather wallet and stepped closer to the man. Peter extended his hand ever so slightly, enough for the man to bring his other hand out and go for the wallet. When the guy was close, Peter pushed the guy's arm so he would smack himself. The man recovered quicker than Peter anticipated, and Peter's spidey sense spiked. He grabbed the man's arm and struggled for the gun.
"Peter!" MJ screamed when the man had managed to pull the trigger.
MJ's scream followed by the gunshot caused Peter to freak, and he kicked the man in the chest, sending him barreling into the side of a garbage container. Peter whirled around and ran to MJ.
"Are you okay? You didn't get hurt did you?" His words slurred by how fast he spoke the questions, but he didn't care. He pressed his hands to MJ's face and looked her over.
MJ covered his hands with hers. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just-I heard the gun go off, and I-are you okay? You didn't get hit?"
Peter shook his head, but he looked down at his body. He didn't feel anything, but adrenaline was still coursing through him.
"You're bleeding!" MJ exclaimed, grabbing his left shoulder, bringing Peter's attention to the arm.
There was a small patch of red forming on the white tee over Peter's left bicep. Oh, there's the pain. Peter hissed and carefully rolled up the sleeve to better assess the wound. "It just graced me," Peter decided, seeing the broken skin but not an entry hole.
"You should call Mr. Stark," MJ said, eyes wide and voice frantic.
Oh. Peter knew that tone. It was the same one Aunt May had whenever he would come back home with bruises.
Peter grabbed MJ's hands and squeezed. "MJ, look at me." She did. "I am fine. The bullet graced me. After I clean the wound, it'll close up, and there won't even be a scar."
MJ sighed and nodded, her shoulders relaxing. "Can you even scar?" A tease to recover from the show of vulnerability.
Peter took the tease in stride and accepted the change of subject. "Yeah, I can. Superficial wounds don't scar, but deep ones do."
MJ nodded, still staring at the wound. "H-how about we go back to your place for tonight? You need to clean that up."
Peter gave her a curt nod and wrapped an arm around her. Even though he was acting tough in front of her, the fight had left him shaken. When the man pointed the gun at MJ, Peter's blood ran cold.
Speaking of the man, Peter turned around at the edge of the alley. "You don't think that hurt him too bad, right?"
Peter thought MJ had gotten hurt and put all of his force into the kick. He usually never used his super strength to the full extent, even against bad guys.
MJ scoffed and shook her head. "You knocked him out, and he'll probably have a concussion and a few broken ribs."
Peter winced. He knew how both of those felt, and they weren't pleasant.
"Don't feel bad about it," MJ said. "The guy had it coming. Anyway, I'm thinking about ordering a pizza and rewatching Grownups."
Peter smiled, knowing that MJ could recite Grownups and its sequel in her sleep, but still watched it whenever MJ wanted. "Make it pizzas, and you got a deal."