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Chapter Nine, Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater

pairing: peter parker x fem!oc

sunday, october 31st. the city streets are crowded for the holiday. even with the rain. hidden in the chaos is the element, waiting to strike like snakes. and spider-man's there too. watching.

Pattern - The Last Shadow Puppets

And I slip and I slide Like a spider on an icicle Frozen in time It's a trick of the light I got a girl around the corner still Trying to change my mind And never in my wildest dreams Has it occurred to me to try to go to sleep

notes: peter, peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife but couldn't keep her; he put her in a pumpkin shell, and there he kept her very well.

harry's halloween posts | characters' profiles

word count: 4.5k

prev: chapter eight | masterlist | next: chapter ten

Peter didn’t realise how long he’d been scanning the place until his neck started to ache. He told himself it might’ve been nothing—that he’d overanalysed the Joker card—but his gaze kept snagging on flashes of purple and green. Every time he’d spotted it, his pulse jumped, only to sink again when it turned out to be nothing.

The card had been too specific to ignore. The Joker and Harley Quinn. It took a while to piece it together—when he realised the next big event on the calendar was Harry’s Halloween party. The perfect place to hide in plain sight, where costumes blurred identities. If they were going to appear, it would be here. They had always liked spectacle.

Harry, grabbing his shoulder on the terrace, barely registered. Nothing had registered all night. Peter had been distracted since the moment he stepped inside, following Harry blindly until Robyn took over. He was startled until he realised whose hand it was. Spencer was right—after a few rounds of photos from Ned’s phone, all Peter could see were spots from the camera flash.

“You’re needed inside. Right now. There’s a situation.” Harry urged, panic in his eyes.

“A situation?” Peter’s heart lurched. Harry’s expression was grave enough that Peter’s mind immediately leapt to the worst. Had the King and Queen of Spades struck already?

He let himself be pulled away, eyes still flickering over shoulders and costumes as they moved. He craned his neck, trying to catch anything out of place. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax. His spidey-senses would warn him, wouldn’t they? But then he thought about the Heart of Queens, how it hadn’t gone off. It had been late by a fraction during their first attack. How was he supposed to find them when everyone was masked and dressed up? They could be anywhere. Or already—

Harry stopped so abruptly that Peter nearly walked into him.

“Sit,” Harry said.

Before Peter could protest, Harry nudged him down. He blinked, disoriented, and realised he was sitting on the floor in a loose circle of girls, an empty bottle placed in the middle of them. His apprehension curdled into irritation when it dawned on him that this was the situation. Harry hadn’t dragged him into a crisis—he’d dragged him into spin the bottle because he needed backup to avoid looking like a total degenerate. It wasn’t like any of the girls would’ve opposed kissing the Harry Osborn.

He cursed himself for being Spider-Man. He cursed that radioactive spider for biting him. Everyone loved Halloween because it was the one night a year when it was socially acceptable to wear a costume. Peter, however, had to do it every day, and trust him, the novelty wore off fast. He couldn’t even enjoy the biggest party of the year. The last place he wanted to be was in the middle of a stupid game when the only girl he wanted to kiss was still on the terrace.

Peter shifted uncomfortably. He should get up. He should say something. But someone was already spinning the bottle, and Harry’s hand landed firmly on his knee, keeping him in place. Everyone leaned forward, watching the bottle clatter and slow.

Peter didn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on the edges of the room, scanning above heads and over shoulders, tracking movement instead of glass.

He felt a hand grab his collar before he heard her voice.

“Peter!”

Robyn.

Relief hit him so hard it was almost dizzying. He stumbled as she hauled him to his feet, instinctively following her lead. The bottle clinked behind him, but he didn’t look back. He was already being pulled through the crowd.

He didn’t mind being dragged away. Honestly, he was kind of relieved to be moving again. And he was glad it was her.

By the time they reached the drinks, his heart was still racing—not from the game, but from being back on guard. He accepted the cup Robyn handed to him and drank, eyes automatically scanning the party over the rim.

Peter realised he’d been quiet for too long when he caught Robyn watching him attentively, feeling her eyes scanning his face. He lowered his cup as she asked what he was thinking about. He almost laughed at how impossible that was to explain.

How do you explain that you were looking for a couple that may or may not be dressed as comic book villains, who may or may not attack him at this party? You couldn’t, so he just dismissed it and said he was thinking.

It wasn’t a lie—he never had it in him to lie to her. His thoughts were moving too fast to land anywhere. But she pressed on, about the game, about pulling him away. He tried to rewind his brain far enough to the moments she meant. All he remembered was Harry forcing him down and Robyn dragging him away.

She seemed to relax for a second when he admitted he hadn’t known what was going on. Then she kept going, still dissatisfied. When he said he didn’t mind, it was because it was true. It genuinely hadn’t mattered to him. He couldn’t remember the face of the girl across from him, let alone her costume.

Peter didn’t notice the way Robyn’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t hear how carefully she chose her words or see how she gripped her cup so tightly her hand trembled. He was too busy replaying the party in his mind, stuck in a losing game of Where’s Waldo?

When she asked if he was disappointed, he shook his head without thinking. “No. Not really.”

It wasn’t like he could tell her he’d been relieved to be alone with her, or that he’d spent the days leading up to the party thinking about matching costumes, what that meant to her and if it meant the same way it did to him. For goodness sake, they’re wearing wedding rings.

It also wasn’t like he could admit that he was glad to be pulled away because he needed to keep watch, because no teenage boy left a game of spin the bottle unless something was wrong.

And it definitely wasn’t like he could confess that when his mind wasn’t focused on searching for the Joker and Harley, it relived the moment she kissed him (his cheek, actually, but did semantics really matter?) He wasn’t even sure if that had actually happened or if his mind had become delirious after being overworked. If it had happened, he had no doubt she did that all to prove a point to Flash. But he let it mean something. How could he not?

Something flickered across her face and vanished before he could name it. For a split second, he almost told everything. The card, the costumes, the gnawing feeling in his stomach, he almost professed everything like he was in a confessional. But the thought of dragging her into it made him feel stupid, guilty for being selfish enough to involve her in this. So he didn’t.

When she smiled and suggested heading back to the party, Peter nodded, still trying to read her expression. There was disappointment there, but he couldn’t tell if he’d caused it, or if he was just lost in his own head again.

After they merged back into the party, Peter and Robyn separated almost instantly.

Peter turned his body to let a couple squeeze past him, and when he looked back, Robyn was gone. He craned his neck, scanning, but the music surged and so did the crowd. Still, he lingered longer than necessary, eyes flickering over faces, no longer searching for pale white makeup and smeared red lipstick, but for her.

He half expected to spot her leaning against a wall, laughing with MJ and Spencer, or on the dance floor with Betty because her favourite song was playing. And when he didn’t, he told himself it was fine. They were at a party. People get separated all the time. And, in a way, this allowed him to patrol without worrying about her.

His eyes kept snagging on every smear of green and purple. Each time, his pulse jumped, then sank. Nothing. He told himself his spider sense would warn him if it mattered, but reassurance rang hollow. It hadn’t warned him last time.

Then he caught a glimpse of green. Peter pushed through the crowd, ignoring the way people shot him annoyed looks, eyes locked on where he thought he’d seen it. He told himself not to get too eager, that green hair at a Halloween party might mean nothing—he’d spotted Cosmo and Beast Boy, there were plenty of explanations. He slowed near the edge of the room, scanning this time for red and black. He’d spent all night searching for Joker, forgetting that Harley Quinn was there too.

The thought made his chest tighten. Peter rubbed a hand over his face, trying to ground himself. He was getting ahead of himself again. He drifted toward the side of the room, trying to get a different view of the party. But his thoughts kept creeping on him, worrying he was too late again, that he’d misread the clue and it had nothing to do with Harry’s party at all. Should he have patrolled the city instead?

That was when a hand landed on his wrist, and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You are not escaping this time,” Harry said, breathless.

Peter exhaled, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Jesus, Harry. You can’t just do that.”

“Don’t you get Peter tingles?”

“One, don’t call it that, and two, only when there’s a threat.”

Harry rolled his eyes and tugged him closer, steering through the crowd. “Come on, you owe me.”

“I don’t really feel like playing right now. Or ever.” Peter muttered, resisting. But Harry’s grip didn’t loosen.

“It’s my fault for thinking you’d want to kiss anyone other than Robyn, so I got her to join the game. You’re welcome.”

Peter stalled despite himself.

“The best case is the bottle lands on her, and you can finally kiss her. Second best, it lands on someone else, and you get to make her jealous. Worst case is she kisses some guy, and they end up falling in love, but still, the odds are in your favour.”

Peter scoffed, “You do realise, with my luck, there’s a better chance this bottle lands on you than Robyn, right?” With his luck, he’d watch Robyn kiss everyone in the circle except for him.

Harry ignored him, nudging him down into an empty spot on the floor, taking a seat beside him. “Just spin the bottle, Parker.”

And so he did. The bottle clattered against the floor, wobbling and slowing. Peter barely watched it. In fact, he hoped it landed on Harry so he could get it over with.

The bottle finally slowed. But Peter’s spider sense screamed. It hit him all at once. The prickling in the base of his skull flared and pierced his temples. His body reacted before his brain caught up. Peter was on his feet instantly, breath knocked out of him, adrenaline flooding his veins. He bolted without an explanation. He hadn’t even noticed the bottle had landed on Robyn.

She jumped up and followed instinctively. Behind them, there was a beat of silence, then chatter at the sight of Peter and Robyn rushing off urgently after the bottle stopped spinning.

“They do know this isn’t seven minutes in heaven, right?” Someone laughed, “Where are they going?”

“I saw them leave the janitor’s closet together once, so that’s not completely unreasonable.”

“I don’t even want to know what they’re getting up to,” Someone else groaned, “Just spin the bottle.”

Peter ducked into the bathroom, heart pounding so hard it hurt, hands shaking as he took off his costume. The fabric pooled at his feet while he braced himself against the sink, forcing a breath through clenched teeth. It was strange how waiting in anticipation never made it easier when it was time to act.

He didn’t even know where to start. Then, through the glass wall of the terrace, he caught a glint of white on the ground. That was enough for him.

The doors slid open under his hand, and the night air hit him like a slap, cold and bracing. The party noise dulled behind him as he stepped onto the terrace.

A single Joker card lay near the railing. Peter crouched, staring at the card in his hand. It wasn’t a regular card straight from the deck, because it wore a suit that looked just like his.

He flipped it over instinctively. Thick black ink scrawled on the back of the card.

Game over.

“Playing solitaire is a bold choice.”

Peter spun, muscles coiling as two figures emerged from the shadows in unison. The King and Queen of Spades moved with unnerving precision, their synchronisation too clean to be coincidental.

For a split second, Peter realised he’d let Halloween soften his expectations. He’d imagined cheap Joker and Harley Queen costumes from the Spirit Halloween bargain bin—the original versions, not the newer movies, he let them have that much. What stood in front of him was something else entirely.

The Queen’s ruff collar and puffed sleeves caught the moonlight like armour, her dress patterned with red and black Spades. The King’s uniform was dark and ornate, every button a spade. The only resemblance they had to the Joker characters was the stark white makeup, spade symbols marking one eye each.

“They do have a version named after me,” Peter retorted, “What’s your deal?”

The King inclined his head slightly, “You drew the wrong card.”

“And now you must fold.” The Queen finished.

Her voice cut colder than the wind. A card whistled through the air and slammed into the wooden couch beside Peter, biting deep into the frame. Then the storm hit.

Cards tore through the space around him from every direction. His spidey senses screamed as he dove, rolled and dodged, barely staying ahead of the cards. He couldn’t track the source. The cards came from above, behind, and the sides, all while the King and Queen stood still.

When the barrage stopped, the terrace was suddenly empty. Peter straightened slowly, breath ragged. But the hair on the back of his neck stayed raised.

They weren’t gone yet.

The Queen struck from his blind side, her kick slamming into his ribs. Peter stumbled back, barely catching himself before another warning flared in his skull. He fired a web at the King’s hand mid-swing—

A card shot from beside him, slicing through the web.

Pain flared through his arm where the card had nicked him, blood welling instantly. Peter hissed, clamping a hand over the cut as he staggered back.

“Why can’t we just play Uno or Go Fish?” He muttered under his breath.

The railing hit his calves. The drop loomed behind, dark and waiting. He raised his other hand to web away, vision narrowing as he fought to stay upright, to stay focused, to keep the bleeding under control.

The Queen stepped in close, her face inches from his. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Fate has dealt you your hand, but remember, the house always wins.”

Peter flinched when she raised her hand, a single card between her fingers. In a blink, they were gone, and so was any trace of them.

Everything happened so fast that if he didn’t have the gash in his arm, he would’ve thought it was a paranoia-induced hallucination. He turned and sprinted back inside, already pulling his costume back on, eyes scanning desperately for Harry. He found him near the DJ booth, drink in hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“There you are,” Harry said when Peter walked over, lips curling into a smug smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He wiggled his eyebrows and nudged him, “You left with Robyn for a while…”

Peter didn’t hear a bit of what Harry said over the pounding of his heartbeat and the blaring music. He cut straight across Harry’s line of sight, eyes flicking past him, over shoulders.

“Did you see anyone in like harlequin costumes?” Peter sputtered, words tripping over each other

“Harley Quinn? Yeah, like every Halloween since 2016. You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Harlequin,” Peter repeated, more urgently now, eyes still darting around the place. “Like cards. Joker.”

Harry scrunched his face in confusion, “Why are you asking me about Harley Quinn? What happened with Robyn?”

Peter dragged a hand through his hair, breathing uneasily. It didn’t feel like the oxygen was reaching his brain. He didn’t have the time to repeat himself. He needed Harry to tell Clyde to shut the doors and stop anyone from entering or leaving. Hell, what use would that even be? The King and Queen disappeared into thin air like magic. He needed David Copperfield right now, not a doorman.

“Why are you freaking out?” Harry’s expression shifted. Peter was terrified that he’d spotted them. “Peter—why are you bleeding?!”

Peter followed his gaze. The blue button-up was darkening, red blooming through the fabric. He could feel the blood sticking to his sleeve now, the fabric damp and tacky against his skin. Before he could come up with a believable reason—or any reason at all—Ned appeared at Harry’s other side, holding two cups.

“There you are, Peter.” He said sharply, pushing the cup into Harry’s hand and waving his around. “Do you want to explain to me why you ran from Robyn?”

Peter could no longer differentiate his pounding heartbeat from the bass of the music. Nothing Ned said had comprehended, nothing except one word.

Robyn.

“Where is she?! Is she okay?” Peter whipped his head and scanned the place, searching for her. How could he let his guard down? It hadn’t crossed his mind that they might’ve gone after her. It should’ve. How did he let this slip from him?

“She’s fine. The girls went home—dude! What’s wrong with your arm?!” Ned stormed over with the intention of reprimanding Peter for self-sabotaging after finding out from Betty that Peter was not crammed in a closet with Robyn but had run off somewhere. But the moment his eyes trailed to the growing patch of blood on his sleeve, his frustration had slipped out of his body with his soul.

“Did Harley Quinn do this to you?!”

“Harley? Harley who? Peter—why are you bleeding?!”

Harry grabbed Peter’s arm, about to pull up his sleeve to examine his injury, but Peter jerked his arm away before the fabric could shift too much.

“What the hell is going on?” Harry demanded, raising his voice loud enough to garner concerned looks from the people around them. Peter pressed a finger to his lips and shushed the boys, eyes flickering around the place.

The noise of the party pressed in around them, laughter and music and bodies moving too close. Everyone morphed into a blur as the strobe lights flashed green and purple. His chest tightened. There was no way he could hide this from Harry and Ned any longer.

“They’re back.” Peter finally confessed, a weight lifted off his chest.

“The King and Queen of Spades?” Ned asked, “You said they were gone. That it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I lied, okay?” Peter snapped, the words coming out sharper than he meant. He was the last person allowed to be mad at that moment. But with the growing guilt he was feeling, it was hard to contain his frustration towards himself. “I found a card at the Heart of Queens.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” The look of concern on Ned’s face shattered Peter’s heart. It was precisely why he couldn’t tell them about it.

Peter let out a short, frustrated breath. “How could I?! How could I when I didn’t even know what I was looking for until tonight?!”

Silence fell between the three of them, sharp and immediate. Ned was washed with apprehension while Harry gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. Without another word, he stormed over to the DJ desk. The music came to a screeching halt. Everyone looked around in confusion until they spotted Harry with the mic.

“Alright, party’s over! Everyone out—now!”

A chorus of groans and protests erupted immediately. Harry’s last party didn’t even end when the sun came up. Did he have to get everyone out before the clock struck twelve and his costume turned to rags? As the lights came on and the crowd began to shift, confused but compliant, Harry abandoned the booth and turned back to Peter and Ned.

“There’s nothing we can do about what’s happened,” Harry finally said, low and firm, “But we can figure out what to do next.”

His eyes lock onto Peter

“As long as you tell us the truth.”

Peter swallowed and nodded meekly. Without another word, the three of them turned and headed toward Harry’s room, the noise of the party fading behind them.

Harry’s room felt too small the second the door shut behind them. The apartment had gone quiet after the last of the guests filtered out, but it did nothing to quiet the noise in Peter’s head.

While Ned and Harry worked to disinfect and patch up the gash on his arm, Peter said everything. Every thought he’d been bottling up, every clue and hint came out in a rush. The relief hit almost instantly, like finally exhaling after holding his breath for too long. But it didn’t last, because guilt crashed into him like a wave.

Peter sat in Harry’s desk chair, his foot tapping relentlessly against the floor while fingers hovered near his lips. Across from him, Harry paced in tight circles, while Ned sat on the edge of the bed, already trying to organise everything into a timeline.

“So let me get this straight,” Ned started, leaning forward slightly, “The 7-Eleven attack, that was when you got the clue about the Heart of Queens. And that’s where you found the Joker card?”

Peter nodded.

Ned hummed, filing it away.

“But you only got the card when you went as Peter, and not Spider-Man…” Harry said slowly, his pacing coming to an abrupt stop.

Peter looked up.

He knew that look. If you’ve known Harry for as long as Peter has, you’d know this quiet processing silence was worse than anything. Peter would’ve preferred yelling, teasing, anything other than silence, because silence meant Harry understood the gravity of it all, and why he did what he did.

“That’s why I thought the next attack would be here—at your party,” Peter said, the words coming out tighter now. “Because if they knew who I am—”

“Then they’d know who we are.” Ned finished.

Peter watched it happen, the realisation sank in for both of them, and it twisted something sharp in his chest.

“What happened during the fight?” Ned asked after a moment, quieter now.

Peter exhaled. “I couldn’t get a read on anything. My spider-senses weren’t going off when they should’ve—when the cards were coming at me.”

He flexed his injured arm and tightened his jaw unconsciously. “She cornered me at the end. She could’ve killed me. But she didn’t.”

“And then?”

“I blinked, and they were gone. So were the cards”

Ned’s brow furrowed. The timeline wasn’t lining up. “But your Peter tingles—they didn’t go off at the Heart of Queens, and it didn’t work properly during the fight… but it did go off right before at spin the bottle?”

Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah. It has to be on purpose, right? Maybe something to do with their powers. Illusionists?”

Harry stared at him for a second, then doubled over and burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, holding up a hand as he tried to catch his breath, the other clutching his stomach. “I know this is serious, and I tried, but God, you were not kidding about the Parker luck. How is it possible your tingles decide to go off when you finally have a shot at kissing Robyn?”

Peter grabbed the nearest book and launched it at him. Harry ducked and dodged it easily, but a second later, a pillow hit him square in the face, courtesy of Ned, sending him stumbling.

For a moment, the tension cracked. Laughter filled the room, and for once, Peter was glad that his non-existent love life and persistent bad luck were the punchline.

But then—

“Speaking of…” Peter said, his laughter dying as quickly as it came. He sat up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly unsure. “Did Robyn—did she leave because of me?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Harry said, dropping onto the bed.

Ned nodded, “Yeah, because if you ditched me at spin the bottle, I would never speak to you again.”

“That’s not helpful, Ned!”

“I’m kidding! Mostly…” Ned added, then continued, “Spencer’s sister said their parents were going to do a surprise FaceTime, so they had to leave. Leila could only stall them for so long.”

Peter’s shoulder loosened slightly. At least she hadn’t left because of him. Still, that didn’t solve anything.

“Could you—” Peter started awkwardly.

“Betty’s already on it,” Ned cut in. “She said she’d retcon so Robyn doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

“Which,” Harry added with a snort, “you absolutely gave her.”

He continued, turning toward him. “Seriously. Only you would manage to run away from the perfect opportunity to kiss the girl you’ve been pining over for, what, two years now?”

Was it too late to get serious Harry back?

“What else was I supposed to do?” Peter shot back. “Wait for them to attack the party?”

Ned sat up, exasperated. “It’s a kiss, Peter! I’m pretty sure they would’ve waited five seconds.”

“Did you think you two were going to make out or something?” Harry added.

Before Peter could defend himself, both of them leaned in, making exaggerated kissing noises like they’d coordinated it in advance, fully committed to his suffering.

Peter dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my God.” He dragged a hand down his face, already exhausted. Part of him wished they’d go back to being serious, because he knew he’d never hear the end of this.

But at the same time, the fact they were back to laughing meant that—for a moment at least—they’d forgotten the danger he’d dragged them into.

Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about it. His mind kept replaying the fight in fragments, burning each moment into his memory so he could pick it apart later. The wound on his arm throbbed at the memory of the storm of cards. A reminder that the worst part wasn’t what had already happened, it was that he had no idea what was coming next.

the halloween chapters are my favourite chapters right now specifically robyn's chapter. the whole part where she's questioning everything she knows about peter and feeling jealous because of lara croft and wondering why she was so bothered about spin the bottle and we find out in this chapter peter was so out of it that when he wasn't thinking about the king and queen of spades he was thinking about her? UGH!

i've reread these two chapters about a hundred times and i still get excited at the mutual yearning. it took me ages to write i think because i had a really specific vision based on my own halloween experience. i also came up with the idea of this chapter during halloween and it's only published during the summer which i think is really ironic but it is what is.

the cherry on top really is the instagram posts from the characters after the party. i really want to incorporate it more because if you can't tell, i really enjoy the aspect of peter just being a teenager and being in a friend group because he's tortured enough in the multiverse, i'll let him have his happiness here. that's the end of this super long author's note i think i am just so happy we're about 50k words into this fic and robyn is slowly and finally waking up to her feelings for peter.

take me home

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