Gwen's First person view
I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the girl looking back at me. Morning light poured through the window, soft and pale, but it didn't soften the shock tightening my throat. My reflection moved when I did, but it felt like a stranger copying me with a half-second delay. I pressed a hand to the cold glass and whispered,
gwen: What's going on with me...
My palm looked normal. At least at first glance until you see the tiny hairs on them. But everything else? Not even close.
My shirt fit wrong-too tight around the chest, like it was a size too small. I tugged at the fabric, frowning as it strained slightly near the top. I'd been a B-cup yesterday. Now I was definitely a C. Maybe even a full C, and the thought made my stomach twist because nobody just... wakes up like that. Not naturally.

My waist had thinned, my hips looked rounder, and my legs subtly more sculpted. Nothing extreme or unrealistic, just... refined. Symmetrical. Like someone airbrushed me into a version of myself I'd never even imagined trying to be. Even my hair looked shinier, falling neater over my shoulders without me brushing it.
gwen: I even look more attractive
I muttered, brushing my fingers lightly along my jaw. It looked sharper. More defined. Everything did.
I took a step back, raised an eyebrow, and blinked.
gwen: Wait. Am I taller?
I moved to the wall where my dad used to mark my height when I was younger. The pencil marks were faint but still there. I lined my head up and exhaled sharply. Half an inch. Maybe a bit more. Overnight.
My mind raced through everything that happened yesterday class, the lab, Peter bailing last minute on volunteering, me staying behind with the others doing clean-up and then... that moment. That sting on my hand. I hadn't thought anything of it. A random spider in a science lab isn't exactly shocking.
But now, after waking up stuck to my ceiling literally waking up on the ceiling-it was impossible to ignore.
I lifted my hand slowly and stared at the faint mark where the spider had bitten me. It wasn't swollen. It wasn't red. It looked more like a tiny faded dot, like the tail end of a healed scratch.
gwen: Like a spider...
I mumbled then groaned.
gwen: Oh God. So let me guess. That spider, instead of, you know, venom... it turned me into what? A spider human?
I shut my eyes and rubbed my forehead.
gwen: This is ridiculous. What am I even saying?
But the ceiling thing wasn't a dream. I remembered every horrifying detail: waking up groggy, trying to shift positions, and suddenly realizing I wasn't lying on anything. The drop, the yelp, landing on my feet like a gymnast. Then the panic. So much panic.
gwen: What am I going to tell my dad?
I whispered. My breath fogged the mirror for a second, and I wiped it absentmindedly.
gwen: Or... what about Peter? He should know these kinds of things, right?
But as soon as I said it, a cold, sharp fear curled up inside my gut.
gwen: No. No no no
I muttered, pacing back and forth.
gwen: It's too dangerous. Who knows what would happen? What if someone finds out? What if someone reports me? What if I get dragged off to some bunker or facility and experimented on like in those creepy articles Peter used to talk about?
I swallowed hard. Just thinking about it made my skin crawl worse than the bite. I grabbed the sink and leaned forward, trying to calm my breathing. My heartbeat thudded loud and fast, but beneath it there was this strange... second rhythm. A deeper pulse, not like a heartbeat exactly more like a hum under my skin.
My fingers tingled when I gripped the sink. I pulled back. My fingerprints were faintly outlined on the porcelain, tiny dots where my grip had momentarily clung too hard. I shook out my hand quickly, shivering.
gwen: What the hell...
I backed up until my calves hit the edge of my bed. I sat, elbows to knees, hands gripping my hair as I tried to keep the world from spinning.
I needed to think. I needed to be rational. Something bit me. Something in the Oscorp lab. Something that clearly wasn't a normal spider. And now I was... enhanced. Altered. Changed.
But I wasn't sick. I wasn't feverish. I felt energized, actually way more than normal. Like I could run a marathon before breakfast. My muscles didn't ache; they buzzed with this odd sense of readiness. My vision was sharper. My hearing picked up details I had no business noticing-the faint hiss of the downstairs coffee machine turning on, footsteps outside in the hallway, a dog barking several houses away.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
gwen: Focus. Focus, Gwen.
I needed answers. And not the scary ones my imagination was throwing at me.
I stood again, more hesitant this time, and turned back toward the mirror. I lifted my shirt just enough to see the new tone in my stomach. Muscles I'd never worked for, now defined. My arms-slender but stronger-looking. My shoulders subtly sculpted. I wasn't bulky. Just... athletic in a way I'd never been.
The changes weren't monstrous. They weren't grotesque. They were almost too perfect, and that terrified me more.
I tapped my fingers cautiously against the wall. Nothing. I pressed a little harder. My fingertips clung for a second, sticking like there was invisible glue between my skin and the paint. I yanked my hand back with a startled gasp.
gwen: Okay... nope. Nope nope nope. Not doing that again.
I backed away from the wall and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The place where I'd somehow been stuck an hour ago. If I focused hard enough, I could almost feel it again the instinctive tug, the sense of being able to climb without fear of falling. Like there were invisible threads connecting me to whatever surface I wanted.
The idea made my stomach flip.
I buried my face in my hands.
gwen: What am I supposed to do with this?
Telling Dad was out of the question-he'd panic, run tests, call in every officer he trusted, and before I knew it my life would be over as I knew it. And telling Peter? I trusted him, I did, even with all the weird distance between us lately. But something about this... it was too big. Too dangerous. If I told him, it would drag him into it too.
And what if I lost control? What if this did something to my mind, or my body mutated further, or I became some kind of walking warning label like in those urban legends?
Still, part of me wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. Just to hear a reassuring voice telling me I wasn't losing my mind.
I grabbed my phone, stared at Peter's contact for a long second, then put it back down face-first. No. Not yet. Not until I knew more.
I stood again and tested my balance. My movements felt smoother, lighter. Like gravity wasn't quite as strong anymore. I jumped lightly-and almost hit the ceiling again. I gasped and stumbled back, landing on my bed and bouncing a little too high.
gwen: Oh, great I muttered.
gwen: Now I'm a pogo stick.
Everything felt off-kilter, but also... exhilarating. Terrifying, yes, but thrilling in a way I couldn't deny. My senses felt alive in a way I'd never experienced. I could hear the city waking up. Cars moving. Sirens far away. The faint thud of someone jogging on the sidewalk. And beneath all that, my heartbeat-steady, stronger than before, pulsing under my skin with this new, unignorable vitality.
I walked over to my window and pushed it open. A breeze drifted in, cool and crisp. I inhaled deeply. For a moment, I almost felt at peace.
Almost.
A sudden vibration tickled my wrist. I flinched, then stared at my hand. Nothing visible happened, but something deep inside me reacted instantly, sharply as if danger were nearby even though everything seemed normal outside. The sensation faded quickly, leaving me confused.
gwen: Seriously? I whispered.
gwen: I get jump scares now too?
I shut the window and paced again, running through every possibility. Telling no one. Telling Dad. Telling Peter. Pretending nothing happened. That last one was impossible-my body alone was proof I couldn't go back to normal. Even clothes fit differently.
School started in two hours. I looked at my closet and groaned. Nothing was going to fit right, not without drawing attention. Maybe a hoodie would help. Something baggy enough to hide the new shape of my shoulders and chest. Something that wouldn't raise questions I wasn't ready to answer.
I grabbed an oversized one from the hanger and pulled it on. It hung well enough. My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders, glossier than usual. I tied it into a loose ponytail to downplay it.
gwen: Look normal
I whispered to myself.
gwen: Just... act normal.
But I knew I wasn't normal anymore. Not even close.
I paused at the doorway and gripped the frame to steady myself, not because I was weak but because I was too strong. I needed to be careful. Every movement had to be deliberate. I didn't know what would break under my touch or what would stick to my hands if I wasn't paying attention.
As I took a breath, another thought slipped quietly into my mind, one I almost tried to ignore.
If the spider was supposed to bite someone else... who was it meant for?
I shook my head quickly. No use thinking about that. What mattered now was figuring out how to live with whatever this was.
I stepped into the hallway, forcing my breathing steady. Downstairs, I heard Dad setting his keys on the counter and muttering about the morning news. Everything sounded too clear. Too sharp. I adjusted the hoodie collar and kept walking, hoping he wouldn't notice anything.
But as I reached the top of the stairs, my foot hovered above the first step longer than necessary, and I hesitated-not because of fear, but because part of me felt the urge to leap the whole flight in one bound.
I swallowed hard.
gwen: Yeah, that's definitely not normal I
murmured.
Then I forced my foot down and began the careful, steady descent, trying not to grip the railing too tightly or move too fast, pretending I wasn't fighting my own body the entire way.
Peter's first person view
Peter:Uhm... can someone pass me the salt?
I asked, reaching halfway across the table before stopping myself. My hand hovered awkwardly in the air. Everything felt off this morning my reach, my balance, even the way the chair creaked under me. It wasn't uncomfortable, just... different.
Uncle Ben froze mid-chew, slowly lowering his fork as if he were watching a UFO land in the backyard. His eyes squinted behind his glasses, confusion turning into something close to awe.
ben: ...How did... this happen?
Aunt May leaned forward with the kind of sharp, dramatic gasp that could make Broadway jealous. She pointed at me with her spatula like she was accusing me of a federal crime.
may: You went to bed last night as my cute nerdy nephew AND YOU WAKE UP AS-Peter, sweetheart-what in the world-how did you turn into a top-tier model overnight?

(This is Peter's new appearance, please comment if it looks good)
I laughed, but it came out thin, awkward, and barely convincing even to myself.
peter: Puberty?
May set the spatula down, pressed her hands to her hips, and stared at me with an intensity that made me sit up straighter without thinking.
may: Puberty does not turn a person into that in one night. Puberty does not give you shoulders like a swimmer, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, or make your jawline suddenly decide to take architecture classes. Puberty does not magically give you... whatever this is.
Ben nodded slowly, still looking at me like he expected me to peel off a mask and reveal I was actually a celebrity doing an undercover documentary.
ben: Kiddo, you look like someone swapped you with the cover of a magazine.
I poked at my eggs with my fork, trying not to think about how easily the metal bent when I pressed too hard. Everything this morning was wrong-my strength, my reflexes, my energy. I'd almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. I'd brushed my hair and accidentally snapped the comb. And the mirror-God, the mirror. I barely recognized myself. Lean, toned, sharper features, taller, stronger. Not bulky, just... defined.
I swallowed and forced a casual tone.
peter: Must've been a growth spurt.
may: A growth spurt?
May's voice pitched high.
may: Peter, you grew at least two inches. In one night. One! I measured you for a new suit last month, and suddenly you look like you should be posing for runway shots instead of worrying about algebra homework!
I picked up the toast, took a bite to buy myself time, then set it down.
peter: Look, I... I really don't know. I woke up like this. Maybe I'm just catching up? Late bloomer?
Ben rubbed his chin.
ben: A late bloomer who blooms into a Greek statue overnight. That's new.
I groaned quietly.
peter: Can we not compare me to statues, please? That's weird.
ben: It's weird that it's accurate
May muttered under her breath as she refilled her coffee.
I pushed my plate slightly away and cleared my throat.
peter: Anyway... I, uh, wanted to talk to you guys about something else. Something important.
Ben arched a brow.
ben: More important than waking up as a completely different person?
peter: Yes I said
though It was not true. But this had to come out.
peter: I... created a blueprint for a drone. A custom one. Something new. I put it up for sale online last week on a design marketplace. Someone bought it yesterday for twenty-five thousand dollars.
Both of them stopped moving. Completely.
May blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
Ben's fork slid off his plate with a metallic clatter.
I kept talking before either of them could react.
peter: I was thinking of giving the money to you guys. You've been carrying everything on your own-bills, groceries, medical stuff, repairs. I want to help. I can help now. I can make more if I need to.
May leaned against the counter like she suddenly needed structural support.
may: Peter... you made twenty-five thousand dollars from one blueprint?
I nodded.
may: Like... actual, real, not-a-scam money?
peter: Yes. Verified and cleared.
Ben let out a low whistle.
ben: Well I'll be...
May shook her head slowly, then stared at me again with that same bewildered expression she'd had since I walked into the kitchen.
may: You're different this morning, Peter. You look different, you're talking different, you're... acting different. And now you're telling us you just casually invented a drone worth the price of a small car?
I shifted in my seat.
peter: I've always been good with tech.
may: Good with tech is when you fix the microwave May said, pointing at me. may: Good with tech is when you help me reinstall anti-virus software because I clicked something suspicious. Good with tech is not making twenty-five thousand dollars before finishing high school.
Ben cleared his throat.
ben: What kind of drone was it, son?
peter: Just a compact surveillance concept
I replied.
peter: Lightweight, adaptive navigation, low-cost materials. Anyone could've made it if they knew how to optimize the stabilizers.
Ben gave me a long, slow look.
ben: Peter, that's not something 'anyone' could make.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ignore how tense the room felt. Everything was spiraling too fast. I needed to calm them, reassure them, keep them from freaking out more than they already were.
peter: Look
I said gently
peter: I'm still me. I promise. I just... feel like I'm finally catching up to who I'm supposed to be. Physically. Mentally. All of it. And I want to help you both. You've taken care of me my entire life. Let me do something for you.
May shook her head firmly.
may: Absolutely not.
I blinked.
peter: What-why?
may: Because you are still a teenager
she said, stepping closer and resting a hand on my shoulder.
may: And you are not listen carefully, Peter Parker you are not giving us thousands of dollars that you earned. That is your money. You worked for it. You keep it.
peter: But I want to help-
may: No.
Ben reached across the table and tapped his knuckle gently against my hand.
ben: Kid, we appreciate the gesture. Truly. It means more than you know. But it's not your job to shoulder our responsibilities.
I stared at him quietly.
peter: It feels like it is sometimes.
May softened immediately, her expression melting from shock into concern.
may: Peter... no. You're a teenager. You're supposed to worry about school, friends, college applications... and whatever's going on with your face and your jawline today.
Ben chuckled dryly.
ben: She's not wrong.
I tried not to laugh, but a small smile crept onto my face anyway.
peter: Guys, seriously. I want to contribute. If I can make money doing something I'm good at, why shouldn't I help? You've done everything for me. I want to do the same back.
May looked torn, like she was fighting between pride and parental instinct.
may: You are generous. Too generous sometimes. But we're fine. We've been fine. Let us handle the adult stuff, okay?
I opened my mouth to argue, but she raised a hand.
may: However she added, may: if you want to save the money for college, or maybe invest in equipment for school projects, or a laptop, then that's fine. But you're not paying our bills. End of discussion.
Ben nodded.
ben: Listen to your aunt. She's right.
I sighed but nodded.
peter: Alright. I'll keep it. But if you ever need help, you tell me. Promise me that.
May's expression softened fully now. She cupped my cheek gently-then paused, blinking again as if realizing how different my cheekbone felt.
may: When did your face get so... structured?
peter: Aunt May I groaned.
She waved her hands.
may: I'm just saying! You look like you should be starring in commercials for hair gel or something!
Ben leaned back, chuckling.
ben: You sure you're not secretly working out at night?
peter: No! I-
I stopped abruptly, because explaining anything would lead down a path I definitely wasn't prepared for.
peter: I just... woke up like this.
May folded her arms.
may: Well, until we figure out whether you've been swapped with a Hollywood actor in your sleep, you're still eating your breakfast.
peter: I am eating
I said, picking up my toast again.
ben: You're staring at it like you're afraid you'll break the plate in half Ben said with a smirk.
I stiffened.
peter: I'm... being careful.
may: About what?
May asked.
peter: Uh... calories?
They both gave me a look that said they absolutely did not believe me.
The air went quiet for a moment-soft morning sunlight filling the kitchen, the clock ticking steadily, the sound of cars passing distantly outside. The world felt normal. My world didn't.
May sighed eventually and ruffled my hair.
may: Well, sweetheart... no matter what you look like, or how many weird growth spurts you have, or how much money you magically earn in a week, you're still our Peter.
Ben raised his mug.
ben: And we love you, kiddo. Even if you look like you walked out of a teen drama now.
I laughed, finally relaxing enough to pick up my fork again. I reached for the salt-carefully this time-and sprinkled some on my eggs, focusing on not accidentally crushing the shaker.
peter: Thanks I murmured, meaning more than just the salt.
ben: Anytime, son.
May turned back toward the stove.
may: Just don't give me a heart attack next time with sudden glow ups.
peter: I'll... try not to I said under my breath.
She hummed, satisfied for now.
I exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from my shoulders as the three of us settled into the familiar rhythm of breakfast.
Even if nothing about me felt familiar anymore.