So this is my first published fic, so take it easy on me please.

I hope it starts on quite a light note, but it will eventually have more of a meaning towards the end. I also desperately wanted some Peter whump, which will also eventually come - it's my favourite type of Peter!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them for some therapy writing. All rights to Marvel and Disney.

Working late

Dinner in the fridge

May x

When Peter walked into the apartment after school, pulling his earphones out and calling for Aunt May, he couldn't deny that he panicked a little before he found the note explaining her whereabouts. Weird, he thought, Aunt May thinks she's a cool aunt, why didn't she just text? A thousand different scenarios began running through his head, from Aunt May being caught up in some bank robbery somewhere, to her being held ransom by someone who'd found out Spiderman's true identity. He just caught himself before he pulled out his phone to call Mr Stark. He was being ridiculous. He was obviously thinking too much into this, which was an unfortunate result of his activities as Spiderman – he was sure every time May wasn't at home, something could've happened to her. Still…. A text couldn't hurt, right? He pulled out his phone and shot Aunt May a text just to check all was ok.

Brushing his paranoia aside for another time, Peter focused on the problem at hand: May's cooking.

He knew his aunt tried her best and, despite the countless slices of burnt toast and near-misses with regards to almost chargrilled bacon, he didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't exactly a fan of her cooking. When he opened the fridge to find one of Aunt May's infamous meatloaves, he came to the solid conclusion that he would have to make an alternative arrangement for dinner while his aunt was still at work. He'd sent the text already, he could just pretend he hadn't seen the note and was completely ignorant to the existence of one of his aunt's delightful homemade meatloaves.

While completing his homework for the evening, Peter ran through some possible options for his dinner – it wasn't often he had this much freedom when it came to his evening meal. He'd even considered inviting Ned over for dinner, before realising perhaps he was getting a bit carried away with this whole making dinner thing. A teenager making themselves dinner isn't that big of a deal. Other kids do this all the time, this is not a huge event Pete, just relax and throw a frozen pizza in the oven or something. At least this time it won't be burnt around the edges.

Finishing his homework, Peter decided he would eat before going for his evening patrol. At least then he could claim to have already eaten when Aunt May eventually got home.

Now time for the main event, Peter thought excitedly. He realised he was potentially making this into a much bigger event that it was, but he never really got the opportunity to cook, and was curious as to just how good he was.

What Peter didn't take into account was that he had actually cooked a grand total of three things in his life. The first being when he had first come to live with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and he had decided to bake his Aunt May a birthday cake to show his appreciation for everything she had done for him in the short time he had been there. Despite enlisting Uncle Ben as Assistant Baker (Peter was Head Baker in his kitchen, thank you very much), the cake hadn't turned out great. Well, really it was a bit of a disaster, somehow managing to be burnt and undercooked at the same time, which Peter was somewhat proud of. The second and third times had both been on occasions when Aunt May had been working late, similar to tonight, except that, again, he and Uncle Ben had teamed up to try and make a warm and welcoming dinner for Aunt May to come home to. The results of these attempts ended up being pretty similar: they were nice if you added a generous amount of salt and chewed and swallowed without actually tasting.

Peter took after May in the cooking department far more than he would care to admit.

Despite this, Peter strode confidently into the kitchen, bypassing the frozen pizza to go straight to the cupboard housing the pasta and tomato sauce. Pasta's easy right? A safe choice, but if done just right is still pretty impressive. Students in college could successfully make pasta to the stage that they lived on the stuff – Peter could do this. He created his own formula for his web solution, he could boil some water and make some pasta. Piece of cake. Maybe he could even make some for Aunt May some night as a thank you for everything she's done for him and at the same time, a reprieve from her attempts at cooking. He could even invite MJ over for some of his special homemade pasta if he ever got the guts to ask her out. He was looking forward to this. This was the beginning of something special.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

What Peter didn't count on was the splash of boiling water which hit his hand as he was straining the pasta, which led his ultra-quick reflexes to pull his hand away, causing him to lose his grip on the pan and ended with a puddle of water at his feet, along with a rather pathetic looking pile of pasta – that looked quite well cooked in Peter's opinion – by his feet. Admitting defeat, or, rather, accepting that he didn't have time to start the pasta again, Peter cleared up his mess and figured that the frozen pizza didn't sound too bad.

Later, when May came home, she discovered a tired-looking Peter lunging on the couch, watching some documentary about alien invasions, and a surprisingly neat apartment.

"Hey sweetie," she called out tiredly, ruffling Peter's hair as she dumped her coat over the back of the couch on the way to the kitchen for some well-earned meatloaf.

"Hey May. Busy day, huh?" Peter asked while fixing his hair and pretending not to be listening out for his aunt's reaction to the untouched meatloaf in the fridge. Despite enjoying a very nice frozen pizza that was definitely not burnt around the edges, just a bit browned and crunchy, thank you very much, he felt a bit guilty at his deception now his aunt was home. He figured he should probably tell her how he really felt about her cooking instead of continually subjecting himself to it hile having to pretend to enjoy the concoctions that were put in front of him.

"Peter, why didn't you eat any of the meatloaf I left? Didn't you see the note I left in clear view of the front door?" May asked, with a confused and quite suspicious tone.

"Oh yeah, I totally missed that. Don't worry though, I had that pizza from the freezer, it's all good I'll have the meatloaf for tomorrow, yeah?" Peter replied, attempting to sound nonchalant. Breaking the news to May that he actually couldn't stand her cooking could wait for another day.

He thought he'd got away with it too. Until May went to clear her plate into the trash. That's when he was rumbled.

"Peter, why is half of our pasta in the trash?"

I'd love to hear what you think - constructive criticism welcomed ;)

Thanks for reading!