#Peter Parker x Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skywalkerslvt · 24 hours ago

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WRISTUSSY I NEED MORE WTAF

Webbed-Peter Parker x AFAB Reader

❥Pairing: Peter Parker x AFAB reader

❥CW: smut, p in v, inappropriate use of web shooters (wristussy), sub peter, reader is a desperate whore, strip tease? peter is an oblivious idiot, 4.7k words

❥Summary: after many failed attempts at trying to get peter to realize how bad you wanna fuck him, you resort to using his web shooters (his wristussy).

❥a/n: ty for the request!! so glad people are actually enjoying my slightly unhinged fic lol. hope u like what i wrote!! asks are currently open so feel free to send in more <3 part 1 is linked here but u don't have to read it in order to understand this fic.

The dim glow of the desk lamp illuminated the space between you and Peter, casting a warm, golden hue over his focused expression as he sat hunched over his homework. His brow furrowed, a slight crease between his eyes as he scribbled down equations, his mind completely absorbed in the task. The only sound in the room was the soft scratching of his pencil against the paper and the low hum of the air conditioner. It was almost peaceful—almost too peaceful, and definitely too quiet for you, especially with the way your mind kept wandering.

You sat on the couch beside him, a few feet away, your legs stretched out casually in front of you. But as you watched him, so deep in his work, you couldn’t help but feel a small frustration simmering beneath the surface. You had been trying to get his attention for the last twenty minutes, but Peter was completely oblivious, his focus entirely on his assignment.

You shifted slightly, making sure your movements were subtle, quiet. You weren’t going to outright demand his attention; no, you wanted him to notice you—without realizing he was being distracted. So, you decided to start small, to test the waters.

Your foot slid from the floor, inching closer to his chair. Slowly, as nonchalantly as you could manage, you brushed the inside of your foot against his calf, letting the soft, tender skin of your foot glide up the length of his leg. It was the most delicate of touches, a subtle nudge, but just enough to send a spark through your own body as you felt the contact. You held your breath, hoping that he’d at least look up or acknowledge the movement, but he didn’t.

Peter didn’t even flinch. His pencil kept moving, scribbling across the page in perfect rhythm. You exhaled softly, biting your lip in frustration as your foot lingered there, gently caressing the side of his leg. His leg was warm under your touch, and you couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of his muscles flexing as he shifted in his seat. Still, no reaction. He hadn’t noticed.

You sighed quietly, your foot brushing a little higher, inching upward along his calf, the motion soft but deliberate. It was a teasing touch—nothing obvious, just enough to make him aware of your presence, but it still didn’t seem to reach him. His gaze stayed fixed on his work, brows knitted in concentration. It was like you weren’t even there.

The frustration began to bubble up in you, but you fought to keep it hidden. This was supposed to be playful, lighthearted. Maybe he hadn’t felt it yet, or maybe—just maybe—he was so wrapped up in his homework that he didn’t even realize what was happening. That idea should’ve been enough to deter you, but it only made you more determined to keep trying.

Your foot moved once more, pushing slightly against his calf, a little firmer this time. Still, Peter’s reaction was nonexistent. The pencil continued to move, and his eyes never wavered from the page. You could almost hear the sound of his focused breathing, the soft rustling of the paper as he turned it, marking down his next answer.

For a moment, you paused, trying to decide your next move. This subtle game wasn’t getting you anywhere—Peter was too engrossed in his work to notice you. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, watching as his jaw clenched in concentration, his hand gripping his pencil with an almost too-serious intensity. The way he looked so absorbed in his world made you feel like you were practically invisible, and that realization only deepened your frustration.

Your foot pulled away from him, the touch fading, and you sighed again. Maybe you needed to do something else, something a little more direct. But for now, you waited—watching, wondering if he would even notice that you were still sitting there, so close, but so far from his attention.

Frustration was building in your chest, but you were determined not to let it show. Your foot had barely made an impact, and Peter was still wrapped up in his homework, completely oblivious to the subtle attempts at gaining his attention. You’d given it a fair shot, but clearly, your foot wasn’t going to do the trick. You needed to be more direct—maybe then you’d actually get him to notice you.

Sitting back on the couch, you crossed your legs in a slow, deliberate motion, letting the silk of your shorts slide against your skin. The casual, easy stretch felt good, and you let your gaze wander over to Peter once more. He was still hunched over his desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, completely absorbed. His fingers worked quickly, writing down notes, and his brow furrowed with the intensity that always seemed to consume him when he was in full study mode.

A small smirk tugged at your lips. If anything, you’d gotten used to the way Peter could focus, could shut out everything around him when he had a task in front of him. But tonight, you weren’t going to be content with sitting back and waiting. You wanted him—wanted him to see you.

You shifted in your seat again, this time letting the movement be more noticeable, just enough for him to catch it out of the corner of his eye. “You know,” you started, your voice casual, yet laced with something a little more playful, “it must be tough, working so hard all the time. You don’t really take breaks, do you?”

Peter didn’t look up from his homework, his pencil still moving furiously across the page as he muttered, “Uh-huh, yeah. I know… gotta get this stuff done.”

A small laugh escaped your lips, but it wasn’t a happy one. More like the sound of someone trying to keep their patience in check. You leaned back on the couch, extending your legs out slowly, letting the fabric of your shorts slide up just a little higher as you stretched again, making sure he would catch a glimpse of your smooth skin. “I get it,” you continued, your tone softer now, a little more suggestive. “But, you know, all that hard work… it must make you tense, huh? I mean, with all the stress, your muscles probably get pretty tight. I could help you relax a bit, if you wanted…”

Peter barely glanced over at you, giving you only the briefest acknowledgment. His eyes flickered up for a split second, but not enough to truly register what you were saying. “Uh-huh. Yeah. I’m fine, though. Just gotta finish this up,” he mumbled, his focus immediately back on his notes.

You bit your lip, fighting to suppress the rising wave of frustration. You were right there—so close to making him notice. And yet, the distraction you’d so carefully orchestrated fell completely flat. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead, you tried to keep your composure. It was fine, really. You had more tricks up your sleeve.

Still, you pushed yourself a little further, trying to keep the mood light, but with just the right touch of flirtation. “I don’t know,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, the words more deliberate now. “I heard it’s really good for you to take breaks, you know… Do you ever let someone take care of you? Maybe someone who could help you unwind… Maybe even in a more relaxing way?”

There was no response this time, other than a quick, distracted sound of acknowledgment from Peter. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds nice,” he muttered. “But I’m almost done with this. Just one more page…”

You stared at him for a moment, disbelief washing over you. He was so absorbed, so laser-focused, that he hadn’t even caught the implication in your words. Your patience was wearing thin, and the ache in your body from wanting his attention was beginning to become unbearable. You leaned forward slightly, your voice sweet but with just a hint of something else. “You know, a real break could be something a little more... personal. Don’t you think?” you teased, allowing the words to linger in the air between you.

Peter’s pencil scratched on the paper again, and he gave you another absentminded “uh-huh” in response. His eyes didn’t lift from his work.

You couldn’t help the little frustrated sigh that escaped your lips. Every single attempt you’d made had failed, and here he was, acting like you weren’t even in the room. What would it take to get his attention?

You sat there, a little defeated for a moment, watching him work diligently while your thoughts spiraled, your desire for him only growing stronger. It was starting to feel like you were invisible, as if he didn’t even realize that you were here—right here beside him. That stung more than you expected it would.

But you weren’t going to give up that easily. If words couldn’t do it, maybe a more direct approach would.

Frustration continued to simmer inside you as Peter sat at his desk, completely absorbed in his homework, completely oblivious to everything around him. Your earlier attempts to distract him—subtle hints and flirtations—had been ignored with barely a glance. His focus was razor-sharp, too focused on the assignments in front of him to notice you.

But maybe a more direct approach would work. At this point, you were willing to try anything to snap him out of it.

You stood up from the couch, trying not to let the frustration show on your face. You knew exactly what you were going to do. You had a plan now, a way to grab his attention. You made your way to his room, your mind already running through the steps. Reaching into his dresser, you pulled out one of his oversized shirts—a familiar, soft cotton tee. It wasn’t your usual choice, but you knew it would do the trick.

You glanced back at him, noting how deeply engrossed he was in his homework, not even sparing you a glance. You took a deep breath and stepped back into the living room, standing right next to his desk. You felt a slight nervous thrill as you stood there, his back turned to you.

This was it. You had to be bold.

You stood there for a moment, just for the effect, making sure he could hear the sound of you taking off your shorts. Slowly, you slid them down your legs, letting them drop to the floor with a soft rustle of fabric. Without breaking your stride, you tugged your panties off next, leaving yourself in nothing but his oversized shirt.

You stood still for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air, and gave a slow, deliberate stretch, feeling the fabric of the shirt pull tight over your body, its hem brushing just high enough that he could catch a glimpse of your bare thighs if he looked.

You did everything you could to make sure he noticed, but still, Peter didn’t seem to notice at all. His eyes remained locked on the papers in front of him, oblivious to the subtle show you were putting on. You almost couldn’t believe it. Had he really not seen what you were doing?

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, you cleared your throat and asked, your voice smooth but tinged with impatience, “What are you doing?”

Peter glanced over at you, his eyebrows furrowing in mild confusion as he looked you up and down. His gaze lingered on your body for a beat longer than necessary, but his attention seemed to snap back to his desk almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” he asked again, genuinely puzzled.

You leaned against the desk with a smirk, keeping your tone casual, but there was a trace of challenge in your voice as you answered, “Getting more comfortable.” The words hung in the air between you, but he still didn’t seem to pick up on the intent behind them.

Peter stared at you for a second, a vague look of confusion on his face, before shrugging, almost dismissively. “Oh, okay. Alright.” He glanced at your exposed legs once more, then immediately turned his focus back to his homework, seemingly unfazed by the fact that you were standing there in just his shirt, fully exposed and very much not what he expected.

You felt a frustrated sigh escape your lips. Was he seriously this oblivious?

This wasn’t working. But you weren’t going to give up that easily.

You couldn’t take it anymore. He was completely oblivious, and you were tired of waiting. So tired.

Peter was always so absorbed in his homework, always so focused. But this time, you were done being patient. You were done with his cluelessness.

You took a deep breath and stood up, walking with purpose over to where he was seated at his desk. His back was still turned to you, head bent over his papers. He didn’t hear you approach, and before he could notice, you stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

He flinched slightly at the sudden contact but didn’t pull away. You pressed yourself against him, the warmth of your body seeping into his. You leaned forward, your lips brushing lightly against his ear as you whispered, your voice soft but insistent, “You should take a break.”

He didn’t respond at first, too focused on his homework. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, his concentration far too deep to notice what you were suggesting. You were so fed up.

“Peter,” you said, the words almost dripping with annoyance but tinged with something else—something more dangerous. “Come on, you’ve been at this for hours. Just take a break.”

He gave a soft grunt, shaking his head. “I just have to finish something. Just a few more minutes,” he mumbled, his voice distant and distracted.

That was it. You weren’t going to beg him for his attention anymore. You didn’t have time for his homework and his distractions anymore.

You kissed the side of his neck, pressing your lips gently to the soft skin just beneath his ear. He stiffened at the sudden contact, the unexpected kiss sending a shiver down his spine. But you didn’t stop there. Slowly, you moved your lips down the curve of his neck, your kisses trailing along his skin, teasing him. You could feel his pulse quicken under your touch, the effect you had on him undeniable.

You couldn’t resist anymore. You recalled the last time you two had done it, how sensitive his wrist was around his web shooter. How when you’d touched that spot, that sensitive area just around his web shooter, he’d whimpered.

The memory flashed through your mind, the way he had barely been able to keep it together as his webbing shot out, making everything so much more intense. And now, with him still too focused on his homework, you had the perfect opportunity to make him feel something other than his assignments.

You ran your hand down his arm, brushing past the soft fabric of his shirt until you reached his wrist. He tensed slightly under your touch but didn’t pull away. With a smirk, you lightly ran your fingers in circles over the spot where his web shooter was. You felt him shudder, his body responding instinctively, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“Peter,” you murmured, kissing just beneath his ear, your breath warm against his skin. You kept your fingers moving, teasing him lightly, feeling him lean into your touch despite himself.

For a moment, he stayed still, and you thought maybe you’d pushed him too far. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, he finally got it. His head snapped back, and he let out a soft, desperate whimper as he turned his head toward you.

“I—shit, I—” He gasped as you pressed harder, the sensation overwhelming him in the best way. “W-wait… what are you doing?”

You smirked, your lips grazing the sensitive skin of his neck, barely holding back your amusement. “You think you’re the only one who’s been waiting?”

His breath caught in his throat, his body trembling as the realization hit. His hands clenched on the desk, his gaze finally locking with yours. The hesitation in his eyes was gone now, replaced with something much darker, much needier.

And that was all you needed to see.

You could practically feel the shift in the air as Peter's body tensed under your touch. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in hours, his attention wasn’t on his homework. It was all on you now.

"Please," he murmured, the urgency in his voice impossible to ignore. "Please don't stop." His hands reached for you, but he was still hesitant, unsure whether to pull you closer or give you space. His voice cracked slightly as he added, "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I didn't realize—"

You cut him off, pressing your lips against his neck once more, this time more forcefully. He was a mess—just like you wanted. The sound of his breath, ragged and desperate, drove you wild. You continued rubbing over the sensitive spot on his wrist, feeling his webbing pulse beneath your fingers, his body betraying him, desperate for release.

"Finally figured it out, huh?" you whispered with a smirk, your hand moving lower, trailing down his arm to his chest. You brushed your lips across his, teasing him with the slightest pressure. He tilted his head, desperate to kiss you, but you pulled away just enough to keep him on edge.

"I—I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice low and husky, an almost pleading tone in it. "I should’ve... I should’ve been paying attention to you."

You let out a soft laugh, the sound both playful and sultry. "You think?" You could see how badly he wanted to make it up to you, how desperate he was to finally get things right.

But you weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

You moved again, your lips trailing down to the side of his jaw, kissing along his pulse point. Slowly, you slid your body against his, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

"Don't worry, Peter," you murmured, your voice honeyed with teasing sweetness. "I’ll make sure you’re paying attention to me now. All of me."

Before he could respond, you ran your hand further down his arm, skimming lightly over his chest, feeling his breath hitch at every touch. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the tension between you both building with each passing second.

His eyes opened wide, his lips parting slightly in surprise as you shifted to sit on his lap, your body pressing against his, your hands finding the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss—this one hot, deep, desperate. You could feel him melting into you, his body softening under the pressure of your touch.

And just when he thought he could take it, when his body was almost pleading for more, you stopped.

You pulled back, looking at him with a mischievous smile. His eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath. "I think we’re done with your homework, don’t you?" You slid your fingers over the edge of his web shooter, giving it a gentle but insistent push.

Peter's mouth parted, and a strained whimper fell from his lips. "Please, just... please, I can’t take it anymore."

You grinned, feeling victorious. "Good boy," you whispered, moving against him again, this time with purpose, as you both gave in to the tension that had built between you.

His hands moved faster now, running over your body with urgency, exploring every inch of you. His lips were on yours again, pulling you into a kiss that spoke of every ounce of desire he’d been holding back. Every touch was desperate, every kiss rough and needy. He wasn’t holding back now. And neither were you.

You could feel the shift in the energy, the tension between you both escalating, and a decision clicked in your mind. If Peter was finally paying attention, then it was time to move this to where it needed to be.

You pulled away from his lips, eyes locking with his, the electricity between you undeniable. Without saying a word, you stood from his lap, your fingers trailing across his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You didn’t give him a chance to speak, instead, guiding him gently to his feet.

“Come on,” you said, your voice thick with desire, pulling him toward the bedroom. His gaze flickered between your face and your body, his breath ragged, following you like a man desperate for release.

Once you reached the bedroom, you turned to him and didn’t waste any time. Your fingers slid up the fabric of your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly, deliberately. You could feel his eyes on you, hungry, as he took in the sight of your body exposed to him.

Peter swallowed hard, the tension in his posture telling you everything you needed to know. His hands were trembling slightly, but his need for you far outweighed his uncertainty.

“I—” His voice faltered, but he didn’t finish the sentence.

You moved toward him, pressing your body against his, guiding his hands to your waist, feeling the heat of him against you. His fingers tightened around your hips, pulling you closer as you both stood there, caught in the moment.

“Do you want this?” you asked softly, your breath coming in short gasps as your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. You felt him nod, but his words caught in his throat.

“I do,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper, but the raw need in it was unmistakable.

You smirked, lips brushing over his ear as you whispered, “Then show me.”

Before he could react, you pushed him gently onto the bed. His back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands immediately moved to your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine, pulling you closer as his lips found yours again. The kiss was slower this time, more deliberate, as though neither of you wanted to waste a second.

You felt him harden beneath you, and the realization hit you both at the same time. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was real. And neither of you were holding back.

You could feel the heat building between you, your body moving against his as you guided his hands to where you wanted them. “Touch me,” you breathed, and Peter didn’t need another word of instruction. His hands were everywhere, roaming over your body, learning what you liked, what made you react.

You could feel his desperation, his eagerness to please you, and you let him. Slowly, your lips moved down his neck, tasting his skin as you started to unbutton his pants. His breath was ragged, his hands slipping from your body only to tug at the waistband of his jeans, pulling them off in one swift motion.

You didn’t waste any time. As you moved to straddle his hips again, you let your hands slide lower, your fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down in a single motion. His cock sprang free, hard and ready, and you couldn’t resist a small smile as you looked at him.

Peter’s hands moved to your hips, holding you still, but the hunger in his eyes was obvious. He wanted more, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him once more, the urgency now palpable.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he guided you onto him. Your body moved, grinding against his, feeling the slow burn build up as you rode him gently at first, teasing him just like he had teased you.

But this time, you weren’t stopping.

You moved slowly, feeling the way Peter’s body reacted to each subtle shift of your weight. You could tell he was already close, his breath shallow, his hands gripping the sheets as if he was trying to hold on to his control. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you, but you wanted to make this last—make him feel every second of it.

Your hands moved up his chest, feeling the hard muscles under your fingers, before your gaze dropped down to his wrist. His web-shooters, hidden beneath the skin, were perfectly aligned with his pulse, and you knew exactly how to make him lose himself in the moment. You’d discovered that one night when he’d been particularly sensitive, and now you knew how to tease him, how to stroke his wrists in just the right way that would drive him wild.

Peter’s moans had grown more frantic as your hips rocked slowly against his, and you smirked as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his ear. “You’re so close, Pete,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I know you can’t last much longer. Just a little more.”

His body tensed, his hands clutching at your waist, trying to pull you closer. “Please… I can’t…” he gasped, his voice strained as he fought to hold back.

You could feel the way his body pulsed beneath you, his breath erratic. You brushed your fingers over the web-shooters on his wrist, making sure to apply just the right amount of pressure. You felt the subtle flex of his muscles as it responded to your touch, knowing it would push him further into madness. You kept a steady rhythm, teasing him, making sure he was right on the edge but not giving him what he needed just yet.

His breathing hitched, and you could see him biting down on his lip, fighting the urge to fall apart. “Please… I need—” His words trailed off as his body spasmed beneath you, the tension building with every second.

You didn’t stop, though. You leaned forward, kissing his neck gently as you continued to move against him, slow but steady, feeling the heat building in your body. Your hand moved again, fingers trailing down his arm to where his web-shooters were, knowing the sensitive spot where you could push him over the edge.

You lightly rubbed your thumb over his wrist, just enough to make him whimper, his body bucking beneath you in response. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper as his grip tightened on your hips.

You smirked, feeling a surge of power knowing how much he was enjoying it, how much you had him at your mercy. “You don’t need to worry, Pete,” you murmured, your voice sultry and low. “I’m not stopping until I know you’ve had enough.”

His eyes shut tight, and his body trembled beneath yours as the wave of pleasure started to build again, stronger than before. You could feel the way he was slowly unraveling, his hands now digging into your skin, pulling you closer as his control slipped away entirely. And just as his body started to tense up, you pushed him further, your thumb pressing against the web-shooter again, just as he gasped, his back arching.

The next moment, Peter came—hard. His body jerked beneath you as his wrist tensed, firing off webs instinctively with the same intensity as his orgasm. You could feel the way his muscles clenched, and you held him, moving with him, making sure he felt every inch of it.

He let out a strained, breathless moan, unable to hold back as his body gave in to the overwhelming sensation. The webbing shot out from his wrists, splashing against the sheets beneath you, and you stayed with him, riding out his climax, making sure he felt it all.

When it was over, Peter lay there, gasping for air, his body still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. You pulled him close, your lips finding his in a soft kiss. “You did so good, Pete,” you whispered, feeling him relax beneath you, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

Peter finally opened his eyes, looking up at you with a dazed, satisfied smile. “You always know how to make me lose it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “I know what you like, Pete,” you teased. “Always have.”

#sub peter parker #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman smut

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thollandsgirl2013 · 1 day ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Parings → King!Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Royal AU, streamy, old times, fluff

Summary → Princess Y/n got married with King Peter, they're strangers to eachother, but as the night grows, they grew close too.

The grand castle of the Parker family was alive with celebration, guests mingling in the great halls, music playing from every corner, and the scent of roses and candle wax heavy in the air. Yet, for you, Princess Y/N, it felt as though the world had frozen the moment you stood at the altar.

Your thoughts spun as you locked eyes with your soon-to-be husband for the first time.

King Peter Parker stood there, tall and regal, yet there was a softness in his eyes that instantly put you at ease. He wasn’t the stern, unfeeling king you had feared. No, there was something kind in his gaze, something vulnerable even, as though he was just as uncertain about this union as you were.

He was handsome, just like in the portrait, but somehow more boyish, more human, in person. His golden crown, slightly too large for his head, tilted as he looked down at his feet.

When the priest announced you husband and wife, Peter leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t what you had feared—a possessive, harsh claim. Instead, it was gentle. His lips barely brushed yours, but it sent warmth flooding through your entire body. You blushed fiercely, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, as his lips lingered just a moment longer.

Peter pulled back, his eyes scanning your face as though making sure you were okay. You offered a small smile in return, feeling shy and awkward under his gaze, but also… safe.

_______

The feast that followed was grand, as expected. The court members and nobility gathered, their laughter filling the room, but you barely noticed. Peter remained by your side the entire evening. He didn’t leave you alone even for a moment, which was both a comfort and a source of nervousness. You exchanged polite greetings with the guests, accepting their congratulations, but all the while, your heart was pounding in your chest.

You occasionally sneaked glances at Peter, who always seemed to catch you looking. Each time, he would offer a soft smile, his hand gently resting over yours.

"You look beautiful," he whispered quietly between the courses of the meal, his voice so soft that only you could hear it over the din of the hall.

Your heart fluttered. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Peter," he corrected gently. "We are married now. I’d like for you to call me Peter."

You nodded, feeling a surge of warmth at his kindness. "Peter."

________

The celebration had ended all too soon, and with it, the part you had been dreading most had arrived—the wedding night. The large wooden doors of the royal chambers closed with a soft thud, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the anxious pounding of your heart.

You stood in front of the grand mirror in the royal bedchamber, staring at your reflection as the maids moved around you in a flurry, helping you out of the heavy layers of your wedding dress. The mirror’s polished surface reflected back the image of a girl who hardly recognized herself. A girl barely eighteen, now a queen, married to a man she had never truly known until today. The thin, delicate nightgown the maids had dressed you in felt foreign, too intimate for a moment you weren't ready for. The silk was smooth against your skin, brushing against you like a whisper, yet it did little to ease the knot of nerves in your stomach.

“You’ll be fine, my lady,” one of the maids murmured as she fastened the lace at the back of your gown. “The king is a good man.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though her words did little to comfort you. Now, after a day of rigid formality and pleasantries, you found yourself here, in his chambers, awaiting the consummation of a marriage that had been decided for you.

The bedchamber was vast and imposing, yet intimate in its design. The tall stone walls were softened by the flickering light of the hearth, the flames casting dancing shadows across the room. The large bed dominated the space, covered in sheets of crimson velvet, gold embroidery glistening in the dim light. It was already turned down, as though beckoning you to fulfill the expectation of the night. The sight of it made your cheeks flush, and you quickly averted your gaze, your breath catching in your throat.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind: 'Obey your husband.' That was all the guidance she had offered, a simple instruction that held the weight of so much more. But how? How were you supposed to obey when you barely knew the man? What was expected of you beyond the formality of your vows? What did it mean to be a wife on a night like this? The answers eluded you, leaving you trembling as you tried to prepare yourself for what was to come.

What if this was the start of a life where you were nothing but a vessel for heirs? The thought was terrifying. What if Peter was kind tonight, only to grow distant or cold as time went on? Or worse, what if he was indifferent, treating this night as nothing more than a duty? You couldn’t bear the thought of being nothing more than a name on a royal ledger, a queen in title but not in heart.

The maids finished their work, their hands briefly brushing against your shoulders as they straightened the delicate straps of your gown. “There you are, my lady,” one of them said, stepping back to admire their work.

You offered them a tight smile, unable to find your voice. The tension in your chest had only grown, tightening with every passing second. Then, as if summoned by your anxious thoughts, there came a soft knock at the door. The maids exchanged quick glances before bowing and scurrying away, leaving you alone.

The door creaked open slowly, and in stepped Peter, the king—now your husband.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, his presence filling the room even before he fully entered. He looked different now, far from the regal figure he had presented during the day’s ceremonies. Gone were the heavy robes embroidered with the crest of New York, the polished armor and golden crown. In their place was a simple white shirt, the fabric loose over his broad shoulders, and soft linen trousers. His hair, chestnut brown and slightly wavy, was a bit disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it in nervous habit. He seemed as uneasy as you felt.

The sight of him in such informal attire—vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected—did little to ease the tension within you. In fact, it made everything feel more real. More immediate. He was no longer just a figure on a throne or a portrait hanging in the royal halls. He was here, in this room, about to share this night with you.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping further into the chamber. His eyes flicked toward you, then quickly away, as if unsure where to look. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, the color creeping up his neck, betraying his own nervousness. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, neither knowing what to say or do. The air between you was thick with the unspoken expectations of the night, the weight of tradition pressing down on you both.

“I… I hope you’re comfortable,” Peter finally said, his voice quiet, hesitant. His eyes darted to the bed, then back to the floor, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at you.

You nodded, though the truth was far from it. You felt anything but comfortable, standing there in a nightgown that felt too revealing, in a room that felt too large, with a man you barely knew. Your hands fidgeted with a lace of your gown, twisting the delicate fabric between your fingers as you tried to find the words to respond.

“I am,” you managed to say, though your voice was barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure if he heard you.

Another silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it deafening in your ears. What now? What were you supposed to do? You had no experience, no knowledge of what was expected beyond the vague instruction to "obey." But Peter didn’t seem any more certain than you were.

Peter took a tentative step closer, then stopped, clearly unsure of how to proceed. His fingers twitched at his sides, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he struggled to find the right words.

“I don’t want you to feel… pressured,” he said finally, his voice soft. “We don’t have to—I mean, I understand if you’re not ready.”

His words surprised you. You had expected something different—something more commanding, more certain. But instead, there was hesitation in his voice, a gentleness you hadn’t anticipated. He was giving you a choice, something you hadn’t expected to have on this night.

Your eyes met his for the first time since he entered the room, and in that moment, something shifted. The tension that had gripped you both began to ease, if only slightly. There was uncertainty in his gaze, yes, but also kindness. He wasn’t the imposing king you had imagined, nor the distant figure from the portrait in your father’s palace. He was just Peter, a man as unsure and nervous as you were.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped from your lips. You nodded, offering him the smallest of smiles, a gesture that said more than words could in that moment. This was uncharted territory for both of you, but perhaps, with time, you could navigate it together.

Peter’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your silent reassurance, and though the night was still young, the weight of expectation no longer seemed as overwhelming. He moved closer, until he was standing right in front of you. He raised his hand but stopped, looking at you for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was soft, almost hesitant, as though he were afraid to hurt you.

Peter cleared his throat, stepping back slightly as his hand dropped to his side. “Would you like to sit, perhaps?” He asked, gesturing toward a small chaise near the fireplace. His voice was soft, as though afraid to disturb the heavy silence.

“Yes, I—thank you,” you replied, barely louder than a whisper.

You crossed the room and sank down onto the chaise, smoothing the delicate fabric of your nightgown nervously over your knees. Peter followed, sitting on the opposite end of the chaise, leaving a respectful distance between you. His hands fidgeted in his lap, the candlelight playing over his sharp features and casting soft shadows across his face.

“I—uh—hope everything today wasn’t too overwhelming,” Peter began, his voice tight with uncertainty. “It must have been… a lot.”

You looked up at him, finding comfort in his unease. It made him feel more real, more approachable. “It was. I didn’t expect so many people,” you admitted, finally meeting his gaze. “But I suppose a royal wedding is meant to be grand.”

Peter chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, they certainly made sure of that.” He shifted a little, his eyes flickering between you and the floor. “You looked really beautiful in your wedding gown.”

Your cheeks warmed again at his compliment. “Thank you. You looked very regal in your attire.”

He smiled, a little more at ease now. “I’m not sure I’m used to it yet. This crown feels like it weights more than I do.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, and Peter’s smile widened at the sound. The tension in the room seemed to ease just a fraction. His gaze softened, and for the first time, he seemed to be truly looking at you, not just the princess he was expected to marry.

“You must be tired,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “It’s been a long day.”

“I am, a little,” you admitted. “But… I don’t really know what we’re supposed to do now.” Your voice faltered, the weight of the unspoken expectations between you sinking back in. “No one told me what to expect.”

Peter's face flushed at your confession, his own discomfort evident. “I… I wasn’t really told much either,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just that… well, tonight we’re supposed to…” His voice trailed off, both of you too embarrassed to say the words aloud.

Silence settled between you again, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Your heart raced, not from fear, but from the uncertainty of what came next.

Peter cleared his throat, looking away. "We could just… talk? Get to know each other.” His voice was hesitant, offering you an escape from the weight of tradition.

Relief flooded through you at his suggestion. “I would like that. I mean… talking. I’d like to talk.”

Peter nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he shifted closer, though still maintaining a respectful distance. “Well, um… let’s start with something simple, then,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “What… what’s your favorite flower?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the innocent question. “My favorite flower?”

He nodded again, his expression almost boyish in its eagerness. “Yes. Mine are peonies.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I think I like lavender best. The scent reminds me of home.”

Peter smiled warmly at that. “Lavender is lovely,” he agreed. “I’ll make sure the gardens are filled with it when spring comes.”

You felt your chest tighten at the gesture. It was small, but it was thoughtful, and it made you feel… seen, in a way you hadn’t expected.

“What about you?” You asked, feeling a little braver now. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

Peter’s eyes lit up, clearly grateful for the shift in focus. “Oh, well… I enjoy reading. Especially books about physics and biology. I’m not much of a fighter, but I like to understand how battles are won. I'm still learning.” He paused, then added shyly, “And… sometimes, when no one’s looking, I like to sketch. I’m not very good, but it’s relaxing.”

You tilted your head in surprise. “You draw?”

Peter shrugged, a little embarrassed. “A little. Nothing fancy.”

“I’d like to see them sometime,” you said softly, and Peter’s cheeks flushed again, though he looked pleased by the offer.

“I—well, maybe I’ll show you one day,” he mumbled, smiling at the thought. His fingers brushed yours where they rested on the chaise between you, and both of you froze at the soft contact. His eyes flicked to yours, questioning, but he didn’t pull away.

“Are you… alright?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your heart thudding in your chest. “I’m alright. Are you?”

Peter smiled softly. “I am.”

His fingers intertwine with yours, and in that quiet moment, something changed. You both stood at the same time, an unspoken agreement passing between you. Now standing in front of each other, the flickering light of the fire bathed your faces in a soft glow. His eyes, warm and tender, locked with yours, and for the first time, it felt like the distance between you had completely disappeared.

Peter’s hand reached out, hovering just beside your arm, as if asking for permission without words. You gave him a small nod, allowing him to take the next step. Gently, he placed his hand on your arm, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your shoulder, sending a shiver through you.

His gaze softened, and though you could sense the nervousness still within him, there was also a newfound determination. You could see it in the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty but also with trust. Slowly, his hand moved from your shoulder, trailing down to your waist.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice full of awe, as if he were still in disbelief that you were standing there, with him.

Peter took a step closer, his breath mixing with yours in the small space between you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and yet there was no rush, no urgency. He was taking his time, waiting for you to lead him through this delicate moment.

Your hand found its way to his chest, resting gently against his heart. His heartbeat was steady but quick, mirroring your own. You looked up into his eyes, a question lingering there, and he answered it with the slightest of nods.

Peter raised his hand again, this time cupping your cheek as he had before, his thumb brushing over your skin with the lightest of touches. His eyes, filled with affection and understanding, never left yours.

"I’ve never… done this before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb continuing to caress your cheek.

Your eyes widened slightly. "You haven’t?"

He shook his head, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. "No. I wanted to wait. I never thought it was right… to be vulnerable with someone I didn’t care about."

The honesty in his words made your heart swell. For the first time, you felt truly connected to him. He wasn’t just the king you were supposed to marry—he was Peter, a man who, like you, was stepping into the unknown with nothing but trust and hope.

"You’re kind," you said softly, your fingers tracing the fabric of his tunic, feeling the strength beneath it but also the tenderness in his actions.

Peter’s smile widened, a flicker of relief passing through his eyes. "And you’re enchanting, Y/N."

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt the tension in the room begin to dissolve completely. Peter lowered his hand from your cheek, letting it drift to the thin straps of your gown. His fingers hovered there for a moment, as if asking for permission once more.

"May I?" He whispered, his voice almost trembling with care.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently slid the straps from your shoulders. His movements were slow, deliberate, giving you all the time in the world to pull away if you needed to—but you didn’t. You trusted him entirely.

His touch was soft, almost reverent, as though he were afraid of hurting you, but you could feel the warmth radiating from his body as he stepped even closer. There was no rush, no pressure, just the two of you in this quiet moment, standing before one another, your hearts open and vulnerable.

Peter’s eyes searched yours as if seeking reassurance, and you offered him a small smile, one that said you were ready, that you were in this together.

As the fabric of your gown fell away, leaving you bare before him, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed.

Peter’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands gently resting on your arms. "You don’t need to hide from me," he said gently. "You’re gorgeous. I want you to know that."

Your heart swelled at his words, and slowly, hesitantly, you lowered your arms. Peter’s gaze never strayed from your face. He wasn’t looking at you with hunger or possession—he was looking at you with admiration, with respect.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, then another to your collarbone. His lips were warm, gentle, and you felt yourself relax under his touch.

Peter took a small step back, his eyes still on yours, before his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. You watched as he slowly pulled it over his head, exposing the toned lines of his chest and the subtle definition of his muscles. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if he was just as nervous as you, yet determined to let you in.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander, taking in the sight of him. His skin was smooth, his frame lean but strong, and for a moment, you found yourself staring, completely captivated. His arms, his chest, the way his muscles shifted with each breath—it all felt so new, so intimate.

As Peter’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, he paused for just a second, his eyes meeting yours, silently asking if this was still okay. You gave him a reassuring nod, biting your lip as he pushed the fabric down, leaving him standing in nothing but his boxers.

The sight of him like this—vulnerable, exposed, yet confident—made your cheeks flush with heat. Your eyes briefly flicked down to his body again, admiring the strong lines of his torso, the way his muscles tensed slightly as he stood there, waiting for your reaction.

But then Peter caught you staring, and a soft laugh escaped his lips. "Caught you," he teased, his voice light but gentle, no judgment behind it.

Your face burned, and you quickly looked away, embarrassed by how obvious you’d been. "I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to stare," you stammered, crossing your arms over your chest again, feeling shy all over.

Peter stepped closer, lifting your chin with his finger so your eyes met his again. There was nothing but warmth and affection in his gaze, no teasing or embarrassment—just understanding.

"It’s okay," he said softly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m looking at you, too."

His words sent a shiver through you, and despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach, you felt a sense of comfort. This was Peter—your husband—and in this moment, it was just the two of you, figuring this out together.

Peter took a deep breath, his own nervousness clear as he rested his forehead against yours. "We’re in this together," he murmured. "No rush, no pressure. Just… us."

You nodded, your heart swelling with warmth at his words. Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax again, leaning into the closeness between you, knowing that you were both equally vulnerable, both equally new to this—but equally willing to explore it together.

When he pulled back again, there was a soft smile on his face. "Let’s go slow," he whispered. "We have all the time in the world."

He moves closer to the bed, pulling back the covers before motioning for you to join him. You hesitate for a second but eventually follow, your feet sinking into the plush rug as you walk. The bed is impossibly large, and as you climb in, you feel a rush of anxiety again. This is really happening.

You settle under the covers, feeling the cool fabric against your skin. Peter climbs in beside you. He hovers over you, admiring you in the dim light.

The warmth of the bed felt foreign to you as the night unfolded, your heart racing with each passing second. You had married King Peter, and now, in the quiet stillness of your wedding night, you both lay together, trying to navigate this new reality.

Peter leaned in and kissed you. His lips were soft, gentle, as though he was afraid to push too far. The kiss was tender, innocent, but it sent a warmth spreading through your body. You felt his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall into the moment.

As the initial awkwardness melted away, Peter had been gentle, kind, and patient—his touch tentative, as though he was afraid to move too quickly. Your heart raced not from fear, but from the sheer intimacy of the moment, the connection forming between two strangers.

When your bodies intertwined, it wasn’t rushed or forceful. Peter had taken his time, checking in with you every step of the way, his eyes never leaving yours as he asked, “Are you okay?”

You had nodded, feeling a blend of nervousness and excitement, and as the night deepened, your new bond solidified. There was passion but also care, a tenderness that neither of you had expected. And when it was over, you lay there, your body still trembling in the aftermath, Peter’s arm wrapped protectively around you as you both drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

__________

The first sensation that stirred you from sleep was warmth — Peter’s warmth, to be precise. His body was nestled against yours, your legs tangled together beneath the soft, silk sheets. Your cheeks flushed when you felt his bare skin pressed intimately against your own. As your eyes fluttered open, you saw Peter, still asleep, his arm loosely draped over your waist, his peaceful expression making him look completely at ease.

The events of the night before rushed back into your mind, sending a wave of embarrassment through you. You and Peter had been newlyweds for just a few hours when everything had led to a night full of intimacy. It was beautiful and overwhelming all at once. Now, in the morning light, the reality of it all made your heart race.

You shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him, but the smooth fabric of the sheets slid over your skin, making you more aware of how exposed you were. Naked. Both of you. Your face burned, and you quickly tried to pull away from him, but Peter stirred beside you, his eyes lazily blinking open.

“Mmm, good morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lips curling into a soft, sleepy smile as he pulled you closer. “Why’re you up so early?”

“Peter,” you whispered urgently, biting your lip. “The maids might—”

Before you could finish, there was a soft knock at the door.

"Your Majesties?" Came the polite but firm voice of a maid from the other side of the door. The sound sent a surge of panic through you.

Peter groaned, still half-asleep, his hand tightening around your waist as he murmured, “Too early... Go back to sleep.”

The knock came again, louder this time. "Your Majesty, we've come to help you prepare for breakfast," the maid’s voice called.

You froze, your eyes widening in alarm as you shook Peter more insistently. “Peter! The maids are here!” You hissed, feeling your pulse quicken. The thought of them walking in now, finding the two of you like this, was mortifying.

Peter blinked, clearly still waking up as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Right... Uh..." His face flushed as he became more aware of the situation. “We should—”

But before either of you could do anything, the door creaked open. You barely had time to react before two maids peeked their heads inside. Their eyes widened immediately, taking in the sight of you both tangled in the sheets, your clothes nowhere in sight.

“Oh!” One of the maids gasped, her face turning bright red as she quickly averted her gaze.

“We’re so sorry, Your Majesties!” The other maid exclaimed, trying to hide her shock behind a polite tone, but her voice wavered with amusement.

Peter’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, and you felt your cheeks heat up as well. You quickly pulled the sheets over both of you, hiding your embarrassment. “What are you doing here?” Peter stammered, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“We were sent by the court to check on you,” the first maid explained, barely able to contain her laughter. “There’s a tradition to ensure that the marriage is… successful.” She gestured around the room, her eyes dancing with mischief.

The second maid nodded, “We didn’t mean to barge in, but the court is quite curious about the wedding night!”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Okay, okay, we get it. Can you please… give us a moment?”

“Yes, of course!” Both maids hurried to leave, though not before you caught a glimpse of their stifled giggles. They quickly pulled the door shut behind them, but you could hear their excited whispers and laughter retreating down the hall.

Peter groaned again, burying his face in his hands. "Well... that’s one way to start the day," he muttered, his voice muffled.

You let out a nervous laugh, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief that it hadn’t been worse. “They’re going to tell everyone, aren’t they?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Peter dropped his hands and shot you a sheepish smile. “Oh, definitely. The whole court will know by lunch that the King and Queen consummated their marriage.” His tone was laced with sarcasm, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing! I can’t believe they just walked in!”

He laughed softly, pulling you into his arms. “Hey, relax. It’s fine. Let them talk. We’re married — this was supposed to happen.”

“I know, but…” You peeked up at him through your fingers, feeling shy. “I didn’t expect them to actually come in.”

Peter smirked, his confidence showing more now that he was fully awake. “Well, they’ve got to confirm it, right? It’s their job to report that everything went according to plan.” His eyes softened as he gazed at you, his hand gently stroking your arm. “Besides, last night was… perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the embarrassment melt away. “It was.”

Peter nodded, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad it was you,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I know we didn’t have much choice in the matter, but… I think we can make this work.”

Your breath caught at his words. You looked into his eyes, seeing the warmth and affection there, and suddenly, all your nerves and worries about the marriage seemed to vanish. “I think so too,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Peter smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. His touch was soft but full of emotion, and you melted into him, feeling a sense of closeness that had only begun to form the night before. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, the both of you just soaking in the quiet moment.

Peter pulled back slightly, his gaze wandering over you. “You look beautiful, you know that? I could get lost in your eyes.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again at his compliment. “Thank you.”

“How about we get some breakfast? I could definitely use some food after last night.” Peter said after a few moments.

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, though you didn’t make any immediate move to untangle yourself from him.

Reluctantly, you both started to get up, reaching for the scattered clothing that had been left in a trail from the night before. As you dressed, you couldn’t help but glance over at Peter every now and then, feeling a sense of comfort and warmth in the easy way you both moved around each other. It felt… natural, even though everything was still so new.

Once you were both dressed, Peter wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “You know,” he began, his voice soft, “I never really imagined what this would be like… being married to you.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Oh? And now that you are?”

Peter chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Now that I am… I think I’m really lucky to have you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you turned in his arms to face him, smiling up at him. “I'm lucky to have you too.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the giddiness you felt.

“Okay, we really should get breakfast before the maids come back again,” you joked, trying to regain some composure.

Peter nodded, though his grin didn’t fade. “Agreed. But first…” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes full of affection. “Thank you for last night. It meant more to me than you know.”

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you leaned into his touch, whispering, “It meant a lot to me too.”

With one last kiss, you and Peter finally left the bedroom, hand in hand.

__________

Aunt May was waiting at the breakfast table for the royal couple. You and Peter hurriedly got dressed in appropriate attires, and made your way to the grand dining hall.

When you entered the dining room, you were greeted by Aunt May—Peter’s aunt and one of the most influential women in his life. She was seated at the head of the table, sipping tea with a knowing smile on her face.

“Well, well,” May said with a playful grin, her eyes twinkling as she looked between the two of you. “Look who finally decided to show up. You two must’ve had a long night.”

Peter blushed immediately, his cheeks turning bright red as he stammered, “Aunt May, please—”

“So,” she said, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “I hear the marriage was quite the success.”

Peter nearly choked on his tea, his cheeks flushing red as he shot you a quick, embarrassed glance.

“Aunt May…” he muttered, clearly mortified.

May chuckled, clearly enjoying her nephew’s discomfort. “Oh, don’t be so shy, Peter. It’s a good thing! Everyone’s been waiting to hear about the royal union.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though your cheeks were just as red as Peter’s. The tension from the night before had melted away, replaced with a growing sense of comfort around your new husband.

“So, how was your wedding night, my dear nephew? I need to hear it from you.”

Peter flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement crossing his face.

You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling a sense of comfort in the familial teasing. “I-It was beautiful,” you replied, trying to maintain a straight face.

“Beautiful, huh?” Aunt May raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. “I expected nothing less from my boy. You both look positively glowing.”

“Can we not, please.” Peter groaned.

“Okay okay, let’s eat! I made your favorite, Peter—pancakes and berries.”

The delicious aroma filled the room as Aunt May led you to the table, where a feast awaited you. As you settled into your seats, you felt a sense of warmth enveloping you, the bond between you, Peter, and Aunt May growing stronger.

As you ate, Aunt May continued to tease Peter about his new responsibilities as a husband and king, and you joined in on the fun, feeling more at ease with each passing moment.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

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miraculouslyfine · 23 hours ago

Text

bombed it

(Doesn't follow the events of anything, established relationship)

The one where Peter Parker and Y/n Stark don't see eye to eye for once.

Word Count: 10,8k

"You can't be serious”

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”

Peter and Y/n rarely fought.

They just got each other. They understood each other on a deeper level; their shared traumatic experiences definitely played a part in this mutual understanding. Their love had been tested and tempered, growing stronger with every challenge they faced together. Throw some ever-growing affection and trust into the mix, and there you have it: a happy, healthy relationship.

Sure, they had their fair share of squabbles and petty arguments, just like any couple, really. But they both valued honesty and communication. They were open about their feelings in any and every given situation, always making sure they see eye to eye, always trying to find middle ground. After all, that's what relationships are for, right? Compromise.

Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.

The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.

Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.

She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).

Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing.

So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him?

Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence.

It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless.

He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out).

After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided.

Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend.

He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything.

He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face.

And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset.

"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-"

"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-"

"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm

"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-"

"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?"

She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.

"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!"

"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..."

He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle.

"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."

"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms.

He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from.

The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is?

"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.”

“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly.

“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I”

“I never-”

"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner.

“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”

"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her.

“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.”

Peter was fuming.

"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it.

What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.

You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within.

She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure

“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears.

It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return.

“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you”

But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there.

“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!”

And... silence. Complete and utter silence.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced.

Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that.

Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter.

She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing.

“A liability, huh?”

Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling

He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone.

“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.”

He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense.

“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.”

His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.

“And I won't forgive myself either”

Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet.

Peter cleared his throat.

Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer.

Soon enough the silence became unbearable.

“Maybe it's best if we just-”

“I should-”

As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing.

Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak.

Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone.

“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”

Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well.

He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?).

But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her.

Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?

He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol.

He reluctantly nodded.

“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?”

She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.

Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving.

Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.

(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh)

Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.

Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him.

He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her.

He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him.

He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense.

He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge.

Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.

He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.

“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep.

As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him.

He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.

He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness.

He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions.

Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away.

With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak.

This is bad, she thought.

Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole.

Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion.

After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning.

She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room.

She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him.

She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep.

Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light.

At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little.

He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her.

“Are you mad at me?”

He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part.

But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness.

He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm.

"Yes, I am."

They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone.

“Are you very mad at me?”

Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her.

"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you."

She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more.

"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?"

Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness.

After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile.

"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed."

"I don't like sleeping without you"

Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.

"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?"

That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order.

But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all.

She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process).

“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch.

"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped.

Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked.

While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.

She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter.

She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books.

Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all.

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do.

In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.

As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end?

She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her?

She cried even harder.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern.

Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer.

Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door.

Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking.

Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve.

Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.

“I could hear you from the living room”

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down”

"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.

"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting.

Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape.

"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly.

Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.

"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt.

"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-"

Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love.

"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever."

"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-"

She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again."

She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears.

"Peter..."

She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.

Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.

"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done."

His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said-

"W-what? You can't be serious”

“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”

As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future.

"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me."

"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks.

"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed."

"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"

The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears.

"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely.

“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us."

After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles.

“Would you do it?”

“Would I do what?”

"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper.

"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it.

"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-"

"Okay, then.”

There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era.

The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end?

"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-"

“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?

His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered.

"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-"

"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying.

She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things.

Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong.

His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.

Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.

Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions.

The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti.

The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast.

But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.

Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now.

He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay."

She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.

Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this?

Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay."

He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain.

"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone”

Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.

Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n.

He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.

"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay."

“But it won't be *our* stuff”

Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him.

"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me."

"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face.

Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake.

"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you."

"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face.

"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"

"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side

Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.

"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"

Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well.

Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis.

"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal."

He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her.

“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date”

Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it.

He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.

"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk."

He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.

"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound.

“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away.

Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be.

"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?"

His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action.

"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly.

Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.

He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit.

"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care.

"And you're still talking"

He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination."

He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are."

“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all.

"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked.

"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it."

He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words.

She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it.

Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart.

"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness."

"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head"

Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.

"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?"

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina."

"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry"

"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?"

He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser."

"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together"

"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?"

He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection.

"So what do you say? For old time's sake?"

"Old time being... yesterday?"

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime."

He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice.

"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together."

“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement.

Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake."

He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart."

He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?"

She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself.

"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips.

“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his.

"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime."

With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist.

Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?"

"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again.

Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?"

He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night."

She snorted in amusement “That was so bad”

“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment.

Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build.

After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.

“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully.

He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together”

With that, they fell in silence.

The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew.

“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?”

A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer.

"You always have to ruin the mood”, he said jokingly, “We'll figure it out, baby. Just you and me. And your dad. We should probably call him and beg him to let us crash because we're kind of screwed otherwise”

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