For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Peter woke with a start, his body jerking from a dream he couldn't remember. For a disoriented second, he didn't know where he was. The scent of sandalwood and a faint, clean fragrance that was purely Diana grounded him. He was in her room. In her bed. The events of the previous night came rushing back, a warm, pleasant tide of memory.
And then, the final memory from just before he'd fallen asleep—the thought, the realization—crashed down on him with the full, sober weight of morning.
I love her.
The three words echoed in the quiet space of his mind, loud and terrifying. It wasn't the hazy, post-coital fantasy of the night before. In the cool, grey light of dawn filtering through her window, the feeling was stark, undeniable, and petrifying.
He turned his head slowly on the pillow. Diana was still asleep, facing him, her breathing a soft, even rhythm. Her dark hair was a wild tangle across the white sheets, and her face, free from its usual mask of intense focus, was serene and beautiful. A faint smile graced her lips, as if she were having a pleasant dream.
Love. The word felt foreign on his mental tongue. For Peter Parker, love had always been inextricably linked with fear and loss. It was the warm, unconditional love for his Aunt May, which came with the constant, gnawing fear of her discovering his secret or getting hurt because of it. It was the ghost of a love for Gwen Stacy, a phantom limb that ached with the memory of a promise he couldn't keep and a fall he couldn't stop. Love was a vulnerability. It was a target he painted on the back of anyone he cared for.
And Diana… Diana was different. She was a warrior. She was stronger than him, faster than him. She could lift a bus. The idea of protecting her was almost laughable. Yet, the fear was there, sharper and more potent than ever. It wasn't a fear for her physical safety, but a fear of his world poisoning hers. What if one of his enemies discovered his identity and came after her? What if the chaos that clung to Spider-Man like a second skin were to ensnare this incredible, impossible woman? The thought was a shard of ice in his gut.
He watched her, a storm of joy and terror raging within him. He wanted to wake her up and tell her. He wanted to run out of the room and never come back. He wanted to freeze this moment in time, to live forever in this quiet, perfect bubble before the complexities of the real world—of their real worlds—could rush in and shatter it.
As if sensing his turmoil, her eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with sleep for a moment, then they focused on him, and a slow, warm smile spread across her face. It was a smile of pure, uncomplicated happiness, and it struck him right in the chest, stealing the air from his lungs.
"You are staring," she whispered, her voice a husky, sleep-roughened purr.
"I'm observing," he whispered back, the lie feeling thin and useless. "Analyzing the data."
She chuckled softly, the sound a warm rumble against his chest. She shifted closer, snuggling into his side, her arm draping across his stomach. The casual, trusting intimacy of the gesture was a beautiful torment. "And what has your analysis concluded?"
That I'm in love with you. That it scares the hell out of me. That I don't think I can ever tell you.
"That you're... really beautiful when you first wake up," he said, the words feeling like a pale, inadequate substitute for the truth.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes searching his. She was too perceptive. He knew she could see the storm behind his eyes, could sense the shift in the emotional landscape between them. But she didn't press. She simply leaned up and gave him a slow, tender kiss. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but one of deep, quiet affection. It was an acknowledgment of the new, unnamed thing that was growing between them.
The spell of the morning was eventually broken by the mundane necessity of a shared 9 a.m. lecture. They untangled themselves from the sheets, a new, almost shy awkwardness settling between them. Getting ready for the day together was a new frontier. He took a quick shower while she started a pot of coffee, and the simple, domestic act of sharing her small bathroom, of seeing her toothbrush next to the sink, felt more significant than any of their passionate nights.
He came out, a towel wrapped around his waist, to find her standing by the window, already dressed in a simple sweater and jeans, sipping a mug of black coffee. She turned as he entered, and her eyes raked over him—from his damp hair, down his chest, to the faint, silvery scars left by a long-ago encounter with Doctor Octopus. Her gaze wasn't hungry or lustful; it was reverent, possessive, and full of a profound tenderness that made him feel both completely exposed and utterly safe.
"The coffee is ready," she said, her voice soft.
As he got dressed, he felt her watching him. He was clumsy, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, his mind still reeling.
"Peter," she said, her voice cutting through his inner chaos. He turned to face her. She had come to stand directly in front of him, her expression serious. "Are you well? Your mind is... louder than usual this morning."
He had to tell her something. "I'm fine," he said, which was a lie. "I just... Last night was... a lot." Which was the truth.
She reached out, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, right over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her palm through the thin fabric of his shirt. "For me as well," she said, her gaze intense, unwavering. "It was a significant shift in the data."
He knew then that he didn't have to say the words. Not yet. She could feel it. She might not have the same name for it, the same messy, mortal baggage attached to the word "love," but she felt the change. She understood.
He placed his hand over hers, pressing her palm tighter against his chest. "Yeah," he breathed. "Significant."
He leaned in and kissed her, a short, firm kiss that was a promise. A promise to figure this out. A promise to try. A promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.
They left her room, hand-in-hand, the new, unspoken truth a silent, powerful current flowing between them. He was still terrified. The risks were greater than ever. But as they walked out into the bright, bustling morning, with the solid, reassuring weight of her hand in his, he felt the fear being overshadowed by another, much more powerful feeling: hope. And for the first time in a long time, Peter Parker felt like he was ready for whatever came next.
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