Webslinger Holland

His enhanced senses picked up everything: the distant wail of approaching sirens coming to the scene, the crunch of snow on sidewalks below, and the muffled conversations of people hurrying through the streets to escape the biting wind.

That's when he heard it—the sound of someone stumbling, followed by a soft curse. From his vantage point, he saw a figure emerge from a trendy bar on the street corner. Even from several blocks away, Peter's enhanced senses caught the slur in her words as she fumbled for her phone, nearly tripping over a snow-covered curb.

Something about her seemed familiar. He dropped silently to a lower rooftop, then to the ground behind a dumpster, careful not to make a sound in the freshly fallen snow. As he stepped from the shadows to get a clearer look, his breath caught in his throat.

It was Y/n.

Their shared history went as far back at Midtown High School. She'd been his classmate, his chemistry partner, and a member of the academic decathlon with him. She was there for it all— for Washington DC, the Europe trip, and the Statue of Liberty.

They'd even shared a kiss before the spell. It was a fleeting moment of warmth that now burned like an ember in the cold emptiness of his mind. Something that he remembered every day and something that she has no recollection of.

"Shit," her cursing drew him back to reality. She shivered dramatically, hugging her thin jacket tighter around herself.

Behind her, two men stumbled out of the bar, laughing loudly to themselves and clearly drunk out of their minds. Peter became suddenly alert. She dug through her purse in search for her phone.

"Oh, come on." She fussed again. "Where is it?"

The two men noticed her struggling. "Need some help there, sweetheart?"

She tried to wave them away, but her movements were clumsy. "No... I'm fine."

"Come on, let us help you home," the other man insisted, coming around to her other side. He unexpectedly grabbed her arm.

"Hey, let go of me!" She panicked. "I said I'm fine."

Without hesitation, Peter swung closer to the group and landing silently on the ground not far from them. He stepped into the light beaming down from the street light, making his presence known.

"Hey, fellas," Peter called out, making his voice sound deeper, more confident or more intimidating. "We got a problem here?"

Both men stumbled back, obviously startled to see Spider-Man coming out of the shadows. They quickly let go of her and took a few steps back.

"Whoa, it's Spider-Man!" one exclaimed.

Peter narrowed his eyes at them.

The men exchanged nervous glances. "Hey, man, we were just helping her out."

"I think you should leave the saving to me. It's kind of my job," Peter replied. "Now why don't you run along?"

The men scurried away without another word, leaving the two of them alone in the cold night air. She stared at him, wide-eyed and swaying slightly. He held out a hand in concern.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked gently.

"What... what are you doing here?" She sounded a little scared, maybe a little wary of him.

"Just patrolling," he replied softly. "You seem like you've had better nights."

"I... I think so." She confessed with tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. The wind caused her to shiver. "I...I wanna go home."

"Alright," Peter agreed. He placed his hands on his hips. "Where do you live?"

"Brooklyn Heights," she mumbled. "Third floor walk-up."

"Then let's get you home." There was a hint of a smile in his tone. He offered his hand to her.

Glancing down and contemplating his offer, Y/n hesitated only for a moment before taking his hand. He eased her closer to him, gently wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Hold on tight," Peter encouraged.

The city was a smear of neon and shadow as they web-slung through the canyons of buildings. She kept her face tucked against his shoulder, feeling incredibly nauseous from the combination of swinging and the alcohol mixed in her system.

Despite the cold, her body was a warm, slightly dead weight in his arms. He webbed them through blocks of nighttime city traffic, drawing closer to their final destination.

They landed softly in front of her apartment building. She almost lost her balance initially, but Peter kept her upright with a firm hand on her waist.

"I don't think— " she swallowed the vomit that threatened to come up. "Swinging and alcohol mix very well."

Peter couldn't help but smile behind the mask. "I'll keep a note of that."

They climbed the three flights of narrow, creaking stairs. They could hear what was going on behind closed doors because the walls were so thin— a couple fighting, a television program playing an old rerun episode, and music thumping from a party on the first floor.

Coming to the third floor, Y/n fumbled with her purse again to find her house keys. Peter stood awkwardly by her door, not quite sure what to do with his hands and promptly choosing to just hold them.

"Any roommates home?" Peter wondered, already secretly knowing that she'd been living with Ned and MJ since they got accepted into MIT.

"Ned's with his grandma," she claimed, entirely focused on her purse. "MJ's... doing boyfriend things. They're gone 'til tomorrow."

She dumped the contents of her purse onto the welcome mat—lip balm, a crumpled receipt, three pennies, and a set of keys with a beat-up MIT keychain.

"Ah ha," she exclaimed in success. She grabbed them off the floor. "Here," she said, pressing them into his gloved hand.

With Peter unlocking the door, Y/n quickly gathered her items from the floor. She stood back up straight and swayed slightly, feeling the effects of the alcohol heavily coursing through her system.

"Woah," she recovered.

The apartment was exactly as he'd pictured: small, cluttered, and alive. There were books stacked in precarious towers on the floor, a drooping fern hung in the window, and the fridge was covered in photos of people he didn't recognize. He took it all in.

"Think you can handle it from here?" Peter asked.

In response, Y/n moved deeper into the apartment, misjudged the distance to the side table, and sent a ceramic lamp crashing to the floor. It shattered with a definitive crack.

"Or...not," Peter sighed.

"Oh, man," she winced, staring at the broken pieces. "I really liked that lamp."

"Here, let me just..." Peter eased her over to the couch carefully so she could avoid the broken pieces of the lamp. He helped her down onto the couch, letting her rest for a second. "There, bet that's better."

"These shoes are killing me," she muttered, gesturing to the high heels she'd worn.

Peter knelt, his knee pressing into the worn rug. He worked the tiny buckle on one shoe, then the other, his fingers surprisingly deft in the suit. He slipped them off her feet, revealing the red indentations the straps had left on her skin.

Without thinking, he gently took one of her feet in his gloved hands. His thumbs pressed lightly into her arch, working in slow, deliberate circles.

The sound of a soft contented sigh caused Peter to freeze for a second. The intimacy of the gesture suddenly hitting him. He could feel the delicate bones of her foot, the warmth of her skin even through the reinforced fabric of his gloves. He slowed his movements.

"Oh my god," she breathed, her head lolling back against the couch cushions. "You're a superhero and you give foot rubs? That's just unfair."

He cleared his throat and gently set her foot down. "Just trying to help," he said, his voice a little rough.

"It did," she agreed and wiggled her toes. She stood abruptly. "Now this dress... it's trying to kill me."

Peter stood, fully expecting her to ask for privacy. Instead, Y/n struggled to reach the zipper behind her back. She fumbled around until her fingers eventually found it. "I need to change," she declared, her voice determined.

Peter's eyes widened behind his lenses as she began pulling the dress down over her shoulders. "Whoa, wait—" he said, spinning around to face the wall so fast he almost lost his balance. "Maybe I should step outside."

"No, no, it's fine!" she insisted, her voice muffled by the fabric. "It'll just take a second. Don't be weird."

Peter stood rigidly with his back to her, listening to the sounds of fabric rustling and a series of frustrated grunts. He listened closely, half expecting to hear the fabric hit the floor, but it never did. She let out an annoyed groan.

"Stupid, overpriced dress," she whined. "The zipper must be broken. It's stuck."

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, the words out before he could stop them.

"No," she said, her voice small and defeated. "I can't get it off."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Do you… need help?"

A long pause. "Yes," she whispered.

Peter took a steadying breath and turned around, fixing his gaze on a water stain on the ceiling. He kept his hands up, not wanting to overstep or make her uncomfortable.

"Where is it stuck?" Peter questioned.

"Right here," she said, her fingers brushing against his gloved hand as she guided it to a spot on her lower back. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of the dress.

With the care of a bomb disposal expert, he worked the tiny metal teeth free from where they'd caught on a seam. He helped her pull the dress the rest of the way off, his eyes falling to the beautiful woman who stood in front of him.

"There," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "Done."

"Thanks" she whispered.

Retreating to the bedroom, Y/n put away her dirty clothes and searched for a pair of pajamas to change into. Peter, wanting to respect her privacy, stood in the doorway and kept his back turned to her.

He heard the soft rustle of her bra coming off, then the sound of her underwear hitting the floor. His entire body went rigid. He kept his eyes glued ahead of him, his breathing shallow. He heard the soft sigh of cotton as she pulled on the pajamas, then the heavy thud of her flopping backward onto what he assumed was her bed.

"Okay," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "All decent."

Peter slowly turned around. She was lying in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her eyes already closed. He walked over to the bed, his movements silent. He gently took the edge of the duvet and pulled it up higher, tucking it snugly around her shoulders. His fingers brushed against her collarbone, and she sighed in her sleep, a small, contented sound.

"Stay?" she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Please?"

"Okay," Peter agreed.

He stood there for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The simple act of tucking her in felt more intimate, more dangerous, than any fight he'd ever been in. He wanted to stay.

God, he wanted to stay.

After ten minutes, when her breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, he made his decision. He quietly stood up, walked to the door, and locked it from the outside, slipping the key under the mat.

He swung back into the night, the city lights blurring into a watercolor painting through the tears he refused to let fall. He wasn't just leaving a drunk girl in her bed. He was leaving behind the ghost of a life he could never have, a reminder that Peter Parker was just as much a disguise as Spider-Man ever was.

The morning light filtering through her bedroom window felt like knives stabbing directly into her brain. She groaned, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow. Every throb of her headache was a drumbeat, narrating just how many poor decisions she'd made last night.

"What time is it?" she mumbled into the pillow.

"Time for you to get up and face the consequences," a familiar, dry voice replied.

MJ.

She slowly pushed herself up on her forearms, wincing at the light from the window. "Consequences? The only consequence I'm facing is the fact that my mouth tastes like something died."

Ned appeared in her doorway, holding a mug of coffee. "Here, this might help. Though I'm not sure anything can help with the level of stupidity you achieved last night."

Y/n accepted the mug gratefully, taking a cautious sip. "What are you talking about?"

They exchanged a look. "You don't remember?" MJ asked.

She shook her head, so Ned explained it all. "You went out drinking alone which is breaking rule one. Then you didn't text us. So we come home this morning to find your front door locked from the outside and a shattered lamp on the floor."

She frowned, trying to piece together the previous night. She remembered the events leading up to her going to the bar and her ordering a couple drinks. Everything after her fourth tequila was a hazy, impressionist painting.

"I think... I think Spider-Man brought me home," she said slowly, the memory fragment coming into focus.

Ned was suddenly very alert. MJ's eyebrow shot up. "Spider-Man? As in, our friendly neighborhood webslinger?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile playing on her lips despite her hangover. "He was so... gentle. And strong. He swung me home."

Ned snorted, a puff of air escaping his lips. "Right. And I'm secretly the Hulk."

"I'm serious!" She insisted, her voice gaining conviction. "He saved me from some creeps outside the bar, then escorted me all the way home. He was very helpful."

"Let me guess," MJ said, crossing her arms. "He helped you change, too?"

Glancing down at her pajamas, Y/n felt the blush rising to her cheeks. "The zipper on my dress was stuck. He helped me get out of it," she recalled.

Ned's eyes widened. "Whoa, okay, that's... a detail."

"It wasn't like that!" Y/n protested. "He didn't even look. He faced the wall the whole time."

"Uh-huh," MJ said, her expression a perfect mask of disbelief. "And I suppose he also tucked you in, fluffed your pillows, and read you a bedtime story?"

She fell silent, trying to remember. The memory was fuzzy, but she thought she remembered the feeling of a blanket being pulled snugly around her shoulders.

"It sounds crazy, I know," she finally said. "But it felt so real."

MJ sighed, her skepticism softening into concern as she sat on the edge of her friend's bed. "Look, we're not mad you had a bad day. We're worried. You scared us. If something had actually happened..."

"Nothing did," Y/n insisted. "Because he was there."

"Okay, let's play devil's advocate," Ned said, finally setting the coffee down on her nightstand. "Say we believe you. Why would Spider-Man personally escort you home and help you into pajamas?"

"I don't know," Y/n admitted. "Maybe he patrols near the bar? Maybe he saw I was in trouble?"

"Or maybe," Ned chimed in, "some guy in a really good Halloween costume saw a drunk girl and an opportunity."

She shook her head. "No, it was him. I'd know him anywhere."

"Well, whoever it was, they got you home safe," MJ conceded, though her tone was still doubtful. "That's something, I guess. But the locked door is weird."

Her two roommates stood to their feet and began heading towards the door. She turned her head to stare out her bedroom window, admiring the sight of city buildings and wondering if he was somewhere out there.

All of the invitations had been sent out months in advance, inviting various lords, ladies, dukes, duchess, royals, and even members of parliament. The wedding was set to take place during the second week in May, which was a prime time since it was well into spring. 

The floral decorations had been ordered and were being organized by the hired help. The baker was going to be baking and decorating the grand wedding cake, which was rumored to be five tiers tall. The bridesmaids and groomsmen already had their proper attire pressed and readied for the wedding. The reception would be taking place in the northern palace, which was only a couple miles away from the capital city.

The princess was currently getting her last final fitting for her wedding dress. She stood on a small elevated step while her seamstress worked around her. The little lady placed a few more needles in to secure the dress’s fabric.

In the meantime, the princess’s ladies in waiting (who were also her bridesmaids) were lounging on the couches and drinking tea. 

“You look absolutely beautiful, your highness.” One of the ladies in waiting said with a warm smile on her face.

“Do you really think so? I feel like I am simply drowning,” the princess commented on the heavy dress. She felt lost in the ruffles and lace. While the princess believed it was a beautiful dress, it was almost too much for her.

“I’m sure the prince is going to love it,” another one of the ladies said with a sly smirk on her face. Upon hearing this, the princess immediately perked up. She spun around on the heels of her feet in order to analyze herself in the mirror again. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

“Speaking of the prince...” the princess’s voice seemed to fade. She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with them nervously. “I am afraid I had something rather embarrassing to ask you,” the princess said.

At once, the three ladies lowered their cups of tea onto the saucers in their hands. They turned their attention to the young princess standing in front of them, looking at her with a sense of worry on their faces.

“You see...as I am to be married in no more than a week...I find myself in a dilemma about what to do on the night of,” she confessed quite slowly. She was trying to hint at what she wanted to talk about without being too direct.

The three ladies were quick to straighten their backs in posture as this was quite an awkward subject to discuss. However, they were more than willing to educate the princess on those matters.

“I want nothing more than to...please my husband,” the princess claimed. She went to sit down on one of the couches. “It is my womanly duty. But I have no idea how I would do so or what I should even expect,” the princess sighed in defeat.

The young princess turned her head to look at one of her ladies in waiting, singling her out since she was the only one that was actually married and experienced in that area.

“What was it like on your wedding night?” The princess questioned. She was quick to sit up in her place, leaning forward in anticipation. She hoped she would share some of her personal stories or experiences.

“Well, it was nothing like I ever expected,” Margaret began. She thought about her choice of words very carefully. “It was wonderful and absolutely...magical,” Margaret said with a small smile creeping onto her face.

The princess seemed to shift even more forward in her place. She settled her elbows on the tops of her knees, resting her chin in the palms of her hand. She listened intently.

“He began kissing me and touching me in places I never thought should be touched,” Margaret said. This caused the princess to widen her eyes slightly in surprise. “I felt so wrong and yet so right,” Margaret explained.

“How so?” The princess pressed without realizing how awkward the conversation was heading. 

“I shouldn’t be saying such things,” Margaret scoffed with a nervous smile on her face. “It’s not ladylike,” Margaret scolded herself. 

“No! You’ve been a great help to me,” the princess exclaimed. 

“There is nothing to fear,” Victoria intercepted. “The prince would never do anything to hurt you intentionally. He is too much of a gentlemen,” Victoria predicted.

“I am not worried about that,” the princess claimed with a small shake of her head. She never dreamed that he would harm her in any way. “Just mainly how I can make him feel good,” the princess said so boldly.

“Let’s just say you won’t have to do much,” Margaret giggled which caused the other two girls to copy her. The young princess looked between the three of them with a small look of confusion on her face. She guessed she would just have to find out herself in a week’s time.

Meanwhile, Thomas and Harrison were being fitted themselves in the prince’s quarters. Instead of wearing a wedding suit, the royals traditionally wore a field marshal uniform. The prince even wore his war medals on his left breast, which proudly displayed his royal standing. 

The uniform was a deep shade of black, which kept to the traditional wedding attire. It was adorned with gold buttons and gold ribbon. The white tie was to be secured tightly around the neck. It screamed rich and royalty. 

“Seems rather tight,” Thomas noted. He tugged at the sleeves of his suit jacket, hoping that it would reach a little further down his wrist. He grabbed the flaps of his jacket to straighten it out.

“It’s supposed to be tight,” Harrison explained. He went to stand behind the young prince. He took hold of the jacket’s shoulders, slipping it off the prince’s body. He folded the jacket nicely and handed it to the man who did the sewing.

In that moment, the doors of the prince’s quarters opened to reveal the two twin brothers. They were both wearing the exact same attire as their older brother. However, Prince Sam and Prince Harry showcased different medals on their jacket. They had a different standing in the army.

“Don’t you look dashing,” Prince Harry teased his older brother. He went up to him to slap his hand onto his brother’s backside. He turned his brother to look at himself in the mirror once again.

“I wonder what the princess will be wearing,” Prince Thomas’s voice trailed off. 

“It’s more intriguing to think about what she won’t be wearing the night of your wedding,” Prince Harry changed his way of thinking. 

Upon hearing this, Thomas could feel the heat rising to color his cheeks bright pink. He lowered his gaze to stare down at his feet in hopes of hiding the evident blush on his cheeks. The two brothers chuckled to themselves wickedly. They had no shame. 

“I’d rather you not think about my future wife in such a way,” Thomas said but he still couldn’t hide the smile on his face. He wasn’t necessarily upset, just didn’t want to be teased.

“So then, what have you been thinking about recently?” Prince Harry pressed. He went to sit down on one of the couches, propping his feet up onto the armrest. He placed his hands behind his head.

“Perhaps the wedding night,” Prince Sam interjected. 

“A little,” Prince Thomas confessed in such a low tone of voice as if he was embarrassed or ashamed to admit so. “Though I am mainly worried about my performance,” Prince Thomas stated. 

“What’s the matter, Tommy boy? Can’t get it up?” Prince Harry teased with a smile on his face. This only resulted in him getting a swift smack in the back of the head by his twin. He protested.

“What seems to be the problem, your highness?” Harrison provoked further. He seemed to ignore the twin’s bickering in the background.

“It’s not that,” Thomas commented on his brother’s accusation. “I don’t even know where to begin,” Thomas explained further. 

“There is nothing more bewitching than a woman’s body. Your wedding night is your chance to explore that new territory. See what she likes or what she doesn’t like,” Harry suggested.

“What do you know of such matters?” Thomas wondered.

“I know enough,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Though I am not proud of it,” Harry confessed. 

“Don’t ever tell mother that. You’d give her a heart attack,” Sam mentioned with a small smile on her face.

At this, Harry rose to his feet. He sent his twin brother a snarky smile. He began to walk towards the table with alcoholic bottles, preparing himself a glass of scotch. He poured the copper liquid into a crystal glass. 

“Thomas,” Harrison began.

It was very rare for the prince’s personal assistance to ever use his name. He only meant to use it in the most serious situations. Since the two had been friends for the longest time, the prince was not offended when he heard his name being called by his assistant. 

“Though I am not experienced in this area, I do know some things. There is a very big difference between lust and love,” Harrison said while taking a single step forward.

The room fell into a deep silence. Not only was the eldest prince listening to his personal assistant intently, but the other two princes were quite intrigued with where the conversation was heading. 

“On your wedding night, when you consummate your marriage, you should do so in love. True love is a unity of souls. Do not act on your own selfish desires. You can really get lost in the pleasure,” Harrison suggested. 

The prince found himself sitting down on the couch. He slowly leaned forward in his place as if that would help him hear better. His interest was peeked. 

“Be gentle with her. Be sensual,” Harrison commented. “Be intentional. Go slow,” Harry finished. 

“Thanks mate,” Thomas nodded his head in appreciation. 

After this, Prince Thomas stood to his feet and went to approach the mirror. He looked at himself in his reflection, watching his brothers and personal assistant come to stand behind him. All three of them looked at the young prince in the mirror. 

“Around this time next week, you’ll be a married man,” Prince Harry said. He sent his brother a small smile, almost as if he were proud to say that. 

“I know,” Thomas said with a hint of nervousness laced in his voice. 

On the day of the wedding, the commoners of the northern and eastern kingdom had gathered in the streets of the capital city. The royal carriages were scheduled to travel through the streets around ten o’clock. The people were most elated for the special day. It would be a day to write in the history books. It was going to be the wedding of the century.

The palace was decorated in the most grand decorations. There were thousands of white bouquet displays situated throughout the hallways of the palace. The throne room had been converted into a temporary dinning hall for the reception. Each table had lovely white tablecloths and beautiful centerpieces on display.

At the given moment, Prince Thomas was dressed in his proper attire for the wedding. He climbed into his private carriage outside the palace. He would be arriving before the princess and he would be waiting at the end of the aisle for her.

For a brief second, Thomas lowered his head to stare down at his hands. He wore his finest white gloves for the occasion. He almost couldn’t believe that in less than an hour, he would be wearing a ring that bounds him in matrimony. He felt this fluttery feeling in his chest, which caused him to break out in a smile.

As the carriage pulled away, Thomas glanced out the window to watch the palace disappear into the distance. His family was already waiting for him at the church in the capital city. He sat anxiously in his seat. He just couldn’t wait.

The prince’s carriage began to pass through the crowded streets of the capital city. The people waved at the passing carriage. The loud sound of cheering filled the streets of the city. The prince waved back to the crowds pleasantly.

When the prince’s carriage arrived at the steps of the church, the prince found himself climbing out of the carriage in a slow manner. He could hear the cheering become louder since he made his grand appearance. He sent a smile to the crowds before making his way into the doors of the church.

All the while, the princess’s carriage was making its way through the people-filled streets. It had taken the princess a couple minutes just to get into the carriage since the servants had to lift her large dress into the confines of the small space. Now, the carriage came to a halt in front of the church.

A member of the royal guard came to open the door of the carriage for the princess. He also offered his hand to her so that she could climb out with ease. The princess was careful to climb out the carriage.  

Some of her attendants began to gather the train of her dress and her long veils. Another attendant handed the princess her wedding bouquet of white flowers. The bouquet consisted of some of the princess’s favorite flowers.

Slowly, Princess Y/N lifted her head to look up at the grand church in front of her. She could hear the church bells ringing loudly, which meant the wedding was beginning. As if on cue, the princess began to ascent the stairs of the church.

The grand doors of the church swung open. The wedding guests rose to their feet to watch the bride walk down the aisle. The church organ began to play. At the end of the aisle, Prince Thomas was standing at attention. His gaze landed on his beautiful bride on the other end of the aisle. And he swore that she never looked so beautiful.

The princess began walking down the long aisle of the church. The wedding guests bowed and curtsied in respect for they had done the same when the prince walked down the aisle. The four bridesmaids were situated to walk behind the princess on either side of her wedding train.

Once the princess came to the end of the aisle, she went to stand right beside the prince. The two of them turned their heads to look at each other, sending small smiles to one another. Then they were quick to direct their line of attention to the archbishop standing before them. He began.

“Thomas, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?” The archbishop quoted from the holy word.

“I will,” Thomas confirmed with a gentle smile on his face.

“Y/N, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey and serve him, love, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?” The archbishop addressed.

“I will,” Y/N agreed.

Now Thomas went to step forward in his place. He took hold of the ring placed on top of the archbishop’s book. He then turned to face his bride standing beside him. He gently grasped her hand and began to slide the ring onto her finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow,” Thomas spoke in such a soft voice. “In the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost. Amen,” Thomas concluded.

“I pronounce that they be man and wife together,” the archbishop announced in celebration. The whole church began clapping for the young royal couple. They were finally married.

The prince and the princess went back down the aisle to leave the church. The glorious sound of church bells were ringing through the air. The people were cheering even more loudly now that the couple was married. It was a beautiful day in the capital.

Back at the castle, the beautiful reception was taking place in the throne room. It was dressed with the most extravagant decorations, curtsy of the queen. The wedding cake was just as marvelous as the baker described when he proposed the idea and look of the cake. It was indeed five tiers tall!

As per tradition, the young royals drove the serving knife into the lowest tier of the cake. The guests clapped respectfully. The first slice was served and handed to the young prince. Without hesitation, the prince placed the fork into the soft cake and offered it to his new bride. She gratefully took a bite of cake and was surprisingly impressed with how well it tasted.

Throughout the reception, the lords and ladies would curtsy or bow when the royals approached them. They were offered many forms of congratulations from their guests. As the hours passed, nightfall soon approached the castle. The royals said goodbye to their companions and they would soon depart for their honeymoon. 

The new bride had changed into more fitting traveling attire, sticking to the white theme though. She wore a solid white bonnet and silky white lace gloves. In the carriage, the princess waved to her new brother-in-laws standing at the front entrance of the castle. She reassured them that she would be back in a week’s time. 

For the carriage ride, barely any words were exchanged between the newly married couple. There was a tender silence in the carriage. The two of them could feel this giddy bubbly feeling in the pits of the stomachs as they eagerly awaited to arrive at their destination.

Carefully, the prince shifted his hand off the top of his knee. His hand grazed the top of her hand in the most delicate manner. He took hold of her hand. The two of them turned their heads to gaze at each other, sending one another a small precious smile.

The carriage arrived at the castle where the family took their vacations. It was located on the northern shore of the country, basically in the middle of nowhere. A servant came to open the carriage door for the royals, welcoming them to their destination. The prince climbed out of the carriage, then proceeded to help his wife out.

Once the royals entered the castle, the line of servants bowed and curtsied out of respect. They welcomed the couple to the castle. After a moment’s hesitation, the young prince went to address his new bride. He stood back from her.

“Why don’t you go upstairs? I’m going to check to make sure the trunks and luggage are in order,” Thomas tried coming up with an excuse. He wanted to give her some privacy in case she needed to change. “I’ll be up soon,” Thomas reassured her. 

“Alright,” Y/N nodded.

The head maid went to escort the princess to their temporary quarters during their stay at the castle. As the maid opened the door, the princess walked into the grand room. It was beautiful decorated in many wax candles situated on tall candelabrums to give the whole room this romantic ambiance look. It was illuminated with the warm tint of yellow from the fire’s flame. 

The head maid helped the young princess undress and remove her traveling attire. The maid carefully placed the white dress on the chair sitting in front of the vanity. She also helped the princess remove all the pins in her hair, which allowed her hair to fall gracefully over her shoulders. After this, she went to dismiss herself and closed the door behind her. 

Meanwhile, the princess slipped a white nightgown over her head and let it fall to her feet. She went to the vanity and sat down promptly. She brushed the little flyaway hairs with her hands. She pinched her cheeks in order to get that pink blush look she wanted so badly. She wanted to look perfect for her husband. 

Afterwards, the princess made her way to the large bed on the other side of the room. She stood in front of the bed, facing the door. She honestly didn't know how she should look when her husband walked into the room. She changed her mind and climbed into the bed.

The princess situated herself to lay on her side by propping her head up in the palm of her hand. She thought this made her look more appealing. But she also didn’t want to look like a fool.

Now, the princess shifted to sit on the edge of the bed with her legs hanging over the end. She plopped her hands in her lap, fiddling nervously to herself. 

In that moment, the door of the bedroom quarters had opened and then closed. When the princess lifted her head to look at the door, the prince stood looking over his shoulder at her. He released the door handle. 

For some reason, the princess rose to her feet. Her nightgown was quite loose on her, but it showed off her body in all the right places. In response, he turned slowly to face her. 

He drank in her appearance. He looked her up and down. He breathed steadily to himself, hoping to contain his composure. He took a single step forward in his place. 

Without regard, Thomas went to throw his suit jacket on a nearby chair. He continued walking towards his new bride with a certain look in his eyes. He came to stand right in front of her. 

“Do you want anything?” She wondered. Her voice sounded so soft and innocent. There was a slight quiver in her tone as she was filled with nervousness. “Some water or more blankets?” 

“No,” Thomas said with a shake of the head. 

“No?” She copied him by shaking her head. “I-Is there anything you do want?” 

Ever so gently, Thomas raised one hand to cup her cheek and the other hand found her waist, which drew a small gasp from her. His thumb swiped against her cheek lovingly and he found himself getting lost in her eyes. 

“Just you.”

She leaned into his touch instinctively, surprised by how safe it felt. “I must confess,” she whispered. “I am…nervous.”

“Then we’ll take it slow.” Thomas promised and Y/n nodded in acceptance. 

Leaning forward, he captured her lips in a soft and unhurried kiss. He pulled her closer by the waist, desperate to feel every part of her body against his. With hands sliding up his forearms, they came to rest on his broad chest. She fumbled with his shirt and he pulled away to help her discard it. 

The air was cool on his skin, but her touch was warm as her hands rested on his chest, over his heart. They stood like that for a long moment, simply looking at each other. 

He pulled back slightly. “You okay?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. It just feels…different.”

“It should,” he murmured. He gently pulled her nightgown over her head, leaving no barrier now. “It’s not like the stories. It’s just us.”

The firelight cast a golden glow on her skin, and for a moment, Thomas forgot how to breathe. He saw not a princess, not a political alliance, but a woman. His wife.

He let his fingers trail along her arm, slow and featherlight. He watched her face, not just for permission, but for the small signs like the sharp inhale or the way her eyes fluttered when his touch made her shiver.

He led her to the bed, not in command but in invitation. She sat down on the edge and he began to unfasten his pants, dragging them down slowly. Her breath hitched upon seeing what lay between his legs. 

Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, threatening to break forth any moment. And there was no hiding the blush that dusted her cheeks. He stood again, exposed but not ashamed. The look in his eyes was reverent, like he was seeing the divine.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice hushed like a prayer.

They lay down together, the sheets cool against their skin. He kissed her again, and again, each one a promise. A promise of patience, of partnership, of a future they would build brick by brick, kiss by kiss. The duty of the night was there, a quiet presence in the back of their minds, but it was overshadowed by something far more important: the gentle, terrifying, and wonderful task of learning the person beside them. 

He kissed her collarbone, her sternum, the soft curve of her stomach. When he kissed her inner thigh, her whole body jumped—and he paused.

“Too much?” Thomas asked. 

“No,” she breathed, cheeks flushed. “Just…new.”

He smiled. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right.”

And his head dipped down into the space between her legs. 

The first touch of his tongue was a deliberate stroke that sent a jolt straight through her. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, her hands flying from the sheets to tangle in his hair. It was an entirely new language of sensation, one her body understood instantly even as her mind struggled to process it.

Thomas was patient, but not hesitant. He explored her with a focused intensity, learning the landscape of her with every flick and swirl. He paid attention to the way her breath hitched, the subtle shifts of her hips, the soft, involuntary sounds she made. When he found a spot that made her whole body tense with pleasure, he lingered, repeating the motion until she was writhing beneath him, her head thrown back against the pillows.

He introduced a finger, sliding it slowly inside her while his mouth continued its relentless work. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a fullness that complemented the sharp pleasure he was lavishing upon her. The coil within her snapped. 

A wave of ecstasy, more powerful than anything she had ever imagined, crashed over her. Her body arching off the bed as a cry tore from her throat. He didn't stop immediately, but gentled his touch, guiding her down from the peak with soft, lingering kisses until she was limp and breathless on the bed. Her limbs feeling like warm liquid.

He moved back up her body, settling his weight on top of her by keeping his forearms on either side of her head. In the firelight, his face was shadowed, but she could see the satisfied curve of his lips.

"How was that?" he asked, his voice was a low intimate rumble.

She couldn't form words, so she just nodded, a lazy, blissful smile spreading across her face. She eventually found her voice, feeling a bit shy to confess. “I--I liked it.”

His smile widened. "Good."

Slowly, she leaned in and kissed him again, tasting herself on his lips. It was a bold, possessive kiss, a stark contrast to the tentative ones from earlier.

Her hand began sliding down his stomach to wrap around him. He was hot and heavy in her palm, and he let out a low groan as she began to move her hand, learning his shape and his rhythm. 

Thomas let her explore for a few moments, his breathing growing ragged as her fingers stroked and teased. But then he caught her wrist, stilling her movements. His eyes, dark with a hunger that mirrored her own, locked onto hers.

"My dear," he breathed, his voice thick with need. "I need to be inside you."

The raw honesty in his words sent a fresh thrill through her. She nodded, her consent silent and absolute. He shifted over her, settling his hips between her thighs. He propped himself on his elbows. He reached down, positioning himself at her entrance.

He kissed her then, a deep, slow kiss that was a promise in itself. As their tongues met, he began to press forward into her. There was a moment of resistance, a sharp and fleeting sting that made her catch her breath. He stilled immediately, his body tense, waiting for her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer like a silent invitation to continue. He took it, sinking into her in one slow deliberate movement. The slight pain dissolved into a profound sense of fullness, of completeness.

He began to move, his strokes slow and deep at first. It was a gentle rocking, a rhythm that was both comforting and incredibly arousing. She met his movements, lifting her hips to take him deeper, her hands roaming over the broad expanse of his back, feeling the muscles bunch and release beneath her fingertips.

The pace gradually increased, the gentle rocking becoming a more urgent, powerful rhythm. The room was filled with the sounds of their shared passion: the soft slap of skin, their mingled breaths, the whispered words of encouragement and need. The tension that had been released earlier began to rebuild, coiling in her belly once more, but this time it was different. It was a shared tension, a current flowing between them, growing stronger with every thrust.

She looked up at him, seeing the sweat beading on his brow and the raw pleasure on his face. His eyes were locked on hers, and in that moment, their connection was absolute. They were no longer two separate people but a single entity, moving together toward the same precipice.

"Thomas," she gasped. His name sounded like a plea and a prayer on her lips.

"I know," he groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second. "I'm right there with you."

He shifted his angle slightly, and the new pressure sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through her. That was all it took. The coil inside her snapped with a force that stole her breath. Her inner muscles clenched around him, and the feel of her pulsing around him was his undoing.

With a deep guttural groan, Thomas buried his face in her neck and thrusted deep; his own release flooding her. She felt the powerful shudders of his body as he poured himself into her. His release was a warm intimate tide that mingled with her own.

For a long moment, they lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts hammering against each other's chests. The world slowly came back into focus—the crackle of the fire, the cool air on their skin, the weight of his body on hers.

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, keeping them connected. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, his touch infinitely tender. She snuggled closer, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. There were no words needed. They lay in comfortable silence, the aftermath of their shared climax a warm, blissful haze that enveloped them both. 

The minutes stretched into hours and there was still no word. All the news channels were reporting on it.

"Shock today as Spider-Man arrived at Bellevue Hospital with a bullet wound, seemingly at death's door. The reclusive crime fighter is in critical condition as the city's top medical experts work to save him."

A crowd of people gathered outside the hospital, carrying signs and flowers. They lit candles for him and waited eagerly for any news, hopeful for anything.

Frank sat in the waiting room. He stared at Peter's phone screen; his thumb hovering over the call button hesitantly. He pressed it and then brought the phone to his ear as he waited for her to pick up.

"Tonight, all eyes are on Spider-Man. The hero who saved New York so many times is now in the hands of its best and brightest. And the people of New York hold their breath."

The next morning, Peter was still sleeping in the hospital bed with a breathing mask over his mouth and nose. His eyes began to flutter open and his mind became less foggy. He turned his head slowly to see all the cards, balloons, and flowers at his bedside.

What caught his eye was the drawing of him and Ned building legos together that MJ drew only a couple days earlier. He heard snoring, which caused him to look over and see Frank sleeping in the chair next to him.

"Frank?" He quickly woke up and leaned forward. "Where am I?"

Peter removed his oxygen mask. "No, no, no, hey."

"Where's my mask?" Peter asked.

"Don't worry about that. I got you covered. Hey, you're good." Frank confirmed.

"Where's Jean? Is she okay?" Peter wondered, barely remembering what happened after he was hit.

"Yeah, she's okay. She's okay," Frank almost laughed.

"Where is she?" Peter repeated.

"Kid," Frank began. "I think maybe she just left. She was using her magic voodoo shit to keep you alive. Yeah... she's alright." Frank explained.

Peter slowly looked around the room again, seemingly confused about the whole ordeal. Frank thought for a moment before speaking again.

"I'm sorry," Frank said.

"Frank, it's okay." Peter leaned back against the pillow, but Frank kept going.

"Just... I'm really sorry for what I did. And it's a lot of things but it sure as shit ain't okay, alright? I've seen... I've seen real bravery, kid, in my day. But that... that was something else." Frank confessed.

A smile crept up Peter's face. "You crying, Frank?"

Frank scoffed out a laugh. "No. I ain't..."

But Peter's laughter cut off his words. Frank rolled his eyes playfully, leaning back in his chair.

"You know, you look the exact way I thought you would." Frank added and Peter's smile softened. "You know, a nice kid. Never had a friend like that."

"Are we friends now?" Peter inquired curiously. There was a beat of silence between them before Peter smiled to himself again. "I can't believe I just saw you cry."

"I didn't cry. What are you talking about? Bullshit," Frank waved it off like it was nothing.

Peter looked toward the empty doorway. Frank noticed it and folded his arms. He knew what he was thinking.

"She's come to see you almost every day," Frank informed him. Peter's head snapped to him so fast that it physically hurt him.

"She did?" Peter's eyes lit up.

Frank nodded. "Sat right there."

He pointed toward the chair beside Peter's bed. And Peter's eyes followed to stare at the spot.

"Talked to you." Frank added.

Peter swallowed. "I didn't hear anything."

"Wasn't for you to hear." Frank shrugged. "She stayed by you for hours."

"Was she...sad?" Peter wondered.

"No," Frank confessed truthfully. "Mostly angry."

"At you?" Peter smiled.

Frank gave a dry smile. "Mostly."

Peter laughed quietly. "Can't blame her."

"No. You can't."

A gentle knock came from the door. Both men looked over. The door eased open. And she appeared with another bouquet of flowers.

Seeing Peter awake caused her to halt in her steps, slightly taken back and not entirely sure how to proceed. Peter tried sitting up in bed as best as he could, now suddenly very subconscious of how he looked.

Neither of them said anything initially. Frank kept glancing between them, noticing immediately that they probably wanted to speak in private. So he stood, stretching his stiff back with a wince.

"I suddenly remembered I need coffee," Frank excused himself. Right before he slipped out of the room, he stopped to stand beside her and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "He's excited to see you," Frank confessed.

A faint blush crept up her cheeks upon hearing that, but he left shortly after to give them privacy. She gently placed the flowers on the table beside him with all the other gifts that people brought him.

Peter's throat suddenly felt very dry. "...Hi."

She walked closer until she stood beside the bed. There were faint circles beneath her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"How are you feeling?" She wondered.

"Like I got shot," Peter joked, but she gave him a look that meant she was serious.

"You scared me." She admitted.

"I know." He looked down at the blanket covering his legs. "I'm sorry."

"The doctors said they didn't know if you'd wake up." Her voice cracked, and hearing it broke something inside him.

"I was just—" Peter swallowed. "I was just trying to save her."

She smiled at him. "I know."

"When it happened... it was strange." He searched for the right words. "I'd never felt anything like that before."

She stayed quiet, letting him continue.

"I kept thinking about everyone." His eyes drifted toward the window.

She stayed silent for a moment, still staring down at him.

"May. MJ. Ned." His voice softened along with his eyes. "And you."

Her expression cracked just enough for him to notice. And her breath caught in the back of her throat.

"When everything went black..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You were all I could think about."

He hesitated before giving a nervous laugh.

"I remember wishing I'd told you how I felt. I kept thinking that if I made it through, I'd stop pretending it wasn't—"

"Peter."

He looked up.

"Stop talking."

Before he could ask why, she closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if she needed to prove to herself that he was really awake. Peter smiled against her lips, savoring the moment he'd been afraid he'd never have again.

His hands drifted up to cup the side of her neck, his thumb brushing gently along her cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She smiled into the kiss, careful not to lean against the bandages wrapped around him or disturb the IV lines trailing from his arm. Even in the moment, she was mindful of every bruise, every cut, every reminder of how close she'd come to losing him.

They tilted their heads, the kiss deepening as the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

The hospital room door suddenly flew open. Her eyes snapped open, and she immediately pressed a hand against Peter's chest—gently, mindful of his injuries—and pushed him back onto the pillow. She kept her hand on him. Peter blinked in confusion, still halfway leaning toward her.

"Kid, I raided the vending machine and got a whole bunch of snacks for us—" Frank stopped dead in the doorway with an armful of snacks.

Both of them refused to make eye contact with him, but he could tell by the red of their cheeks what happened when he was outside. Peter swallowed and she cleared her throat awkwardly.

Frank gestured behind him. "I can come back."

"I'd appreciate it." Peter smiled awkwardly. Frank excused himself and closed the door.

Leaning back against the pillow, Peter weaved his fingers through his hair and tugged it in frustration. He groaned to himself.