I haven't posted on FanFiction in over a year, but I saw Spider-Man: Far From Home and I couldn't stop thinking about how obsessed I am with Tom Holland's hair. Or how obsessed I am with my new OTP Spideychelle. Congrats, Marvel. You've sold me on my first MCU ship since Romanogers.

Something about Peter Parker's hair drove MJ crazy. As a black woman, she would be hypocritical to jump out and run her hands through a person's hair without permission, but boy did Peter's hair tempt her. She felt bad for how hard Peter tried to look presentable for her. At school. On dates. Even the casual hangouts.

Whenever she saw his stylish, socially acceptable James Dean hair, she wanted to shove her fingers right through it and massage all the crunchy stiffness into that soft fluffiness she loved best. She never told him this. For one it sounded too intimate to say out loud, and for another she didn't want to make him self-conscious about a hairstyle he had obviously preferred long before they even started dating.

Still, no matter what form Peter's hair took, it had the power to smite her. The webslinging and the wall climbing were easy to watch with a bored grin, but so help her if his hair came close enough to touch. She loved it every time. In the morning when he pulls up to school, freshly showered, and he leans in to hug her and she smells the citrus and feels water dripping off the soggy tips. At lunchtime when he scratches his head over AP Calc homework he's finishing at the last minute and a tuft of hair sticks out that he forgets to smooth away. At the end of a hot, humid day when his cushy coiffed hair is wilting into loose waves as he pecks her with a kiss and whispers a promise to visit after patrol.

He kept it styled every day at school, with the help of what she knew was a generous helping of hair gel, and she'd have to sit on her hands to stop herself from ruffling his hair. Doing that would only earn her a lecture about how she'd just wasted an hour of his morning routine. But, when he would come back late from a patrol, head emerging from the spandex like a turtle, his hair showed its true nature: a sweaty, curly, tangled hot mess. MJ emphasized hot. What could she say, she was a sucker for messy hair.

Untamed. Undone. Un-perfect. Hair like that made her feel like she was looking at the real Peter. Nights like this were her favorite time to see it. When they were watching an indie movie on the couch and Peter fell asleep in her arms, she loved to comb her fingers through his soft curls and rub the nape of his neck as his warm breath washed over her. His hair was relaxed, parting easily for her as she smoothed away the tangles. She wrapped a coil around her pinky.

"Mm-jay," he muttered.

MJ stilled her hand. "Yeah, Peter?"

His nose scrunched up, and he reached for her hand. "Don't stop, that feels good."

Smothering a snicker, MJ resumed running her fingers through his hair. "What were you gonna say?"

Peter was quiet for a minute, and MJ thought he'd knocked out again until he said, "I really like you."

That stupidly wonderful ache bloomed in her chest, even though she'd heard him say those words to her a hundred times before. She kissed the crest of his head, and even though his hair was a little greasy and knotted and gross, she liked it that way. She liked him even better.

WOW. That was the fluffiest thing I've ever written IN MY LIFE. And I've written some serious fluff - usually couched in some semblance of a plot, but still. What can I say? I'm a romance novelist trapped in a nerd's body, and this is what came out of it.