Are We Allies Or Enemies?

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

The soft glow of streetlights bathed your quiet neighborhood in golden hues, the warmth of the evening air still lingering on your skin from the perfect date you had shared with him just hours ago. Charles had been nothing short of a dream—charming, kind, and effortlessly funny. Every moment spent with him felt like something out of a movie, yet you never expected the night to end like this.

As you stood by your bedroom window, lost in thought, your phone buzzed—a message from Charles.

"Look outside."

Heart racing, you pulled back the curtain, and there he was. Standing under the streetlamp, his signature tousled hair illuminated by the soft glow, Charles held a sign in his hands. Bold letters scrawled across it read:

"WHEN CAN I SEE YOU?"

A breathless laugh escaped your lips as warmth bloomed in your chest. His eyes met yours, hopeful, playful, and a little nervous. You could hardly believe it. He had just dropped you off, yet here he was again, standing outside your house like the hero of a romantic film.

You grabbed a notebook from your desk, scribbled down your response, and held it up against the window:

"RIGHT NOW?"

Charles' grin widened, dimples appearing as he nodded enthusiastically. He motioned for you to come down, and without a second thought, you slipped on your shoes, heart hammering with excitement.

The moment you stepped outside, he was there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. "I know I just saw you," he admitted, voice soft, "but I already missed you."

You laughed, shaking your head at his ridiculous yet undeniably sweet confession. "And now?" you teased.

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, fingers grazing like electricity sparking between you. "Now, I never want to leave."

And just like that, the night that was supposed to end hours ago became a memory you’d cherish forever.

discussions

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You stand in front of Anakin, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your gaze burning through him with the weight of your anger. His reckless behavior—always pushing himself into danger, always taking risks as though his life means nothing—has been wearing on you for far too long. The way he smiled after every close call, as if his return was guaranteed. You can’t understand it, not when you love him so deeply, not when you can’t imagine a life without him.

"Anakin," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend, but it doesn’t matter. He needs to understand. "You think you’re invincible? That you can just waltz into danger every time, and I’ll stand here, waiting for you to come back like nothing happened?"

He looks at you, and you can feel it immediately—the shift in his eyes. There’s something about the way his gaze settles on you, not the anger, not the resistance, but the way he takes in your form as though he’s seeing you for the first time. For a moment, you falter, the words on your tongue hanging there, lost in the intensity of his stare.

You try to remain firm, to keep up your scolding, but his presence is like a force pulling you closer, a magnet that draws you in against your will. His eyes—the same intense blue that always makes your heart skip a beat—trace your every feature, lingering on your face, your lips, your eyes.

"You look… beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low, almost as if he's surprised by it. You feel a blush creep up your neck, though you try to fight it. The weight of his admiration is overwhelming, but it’s not enough to make you forget the anger that still lingers in your chest.

You shake your head, trying to regain control. "This isn’t about how I look, Anakin. This is about you putting yourself in danger, again. Do you not care what it does to me when you do that?"

He takes a step closer, his expression softening despite the intensity still in his eyes. You want to stay angry, to keep holding on to your frustration, but the way he looks at you, the tenderness in his gaze, makes it so much harder.

"I care," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "More than anything." He reaches out to touch your face, and you don’t pull away. His hand is warm against your skin, and you feel the familiar surge of love for him, battling with the fear you’ve held inside.

"But I also know," he continues, his voice becoming more serious, "that I can’t live in fear. I have to do what I must do. And I don’t want you to fear losing me, not when I can feel how much you love me." He steps back slightly, giving you space, but his eyes never leave yours.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to shout, to demand he stop, and wanting to reach out to him and feel his embrace. His smile, soft and understanding, catches you off guard. It’s the look of a man who knows he’s wrong, but who also knows that, for all his faults, you’ll always be there for him.

"Promise me," you whisper, the words almost lost in the air. "Promise me you’ll stop putting yourself at risk like that."

Anakin’s gaze softens even more, the conflict in his eyes giving way to the deep love he carries for you. He leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, and you close your eyes, breathing in the warmth of his presence. "I promise, love" he murmurs, the words sincere, yet you can feel the weight of everything he can’t say, of the duty that still calls to him, even as his heart is tethered to yours.

You let go of the anger, feeling only the peace that comes from being with him.

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

Carlos Sainz x Reader

The soft glow of sunset filters through the tall windows of the exclusive villa in Tuscany. You’re leaning against the balustrade of the terrace, overlooking the endless expanse of vineyards, the golden hour lighting your skin in a way that photographers always chase. Even here, you can’t escape being a model—your elegance radiates effortlessly.

Carlos Sainz appears, as he always does, with a charm that’s almost impossible to resist. You hear his footsteps before he speaks, the crunch of gravel and the faint rustle of his linen shirt in the breeze.

“You know,” he begins, standing just a little too close, his Spanish accent wrapping around the words like silk, “this view is beautiful. But you make it breathtaking.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Do you rehearse these lines, Carlos? Or do they just come naturally?”

He grins, leaning casually against the railing beside you, his dark eyes glittering with playful determination. “Natural talent. Like driving. Or making you smile.”

You suppress a laugh, turning your attention back to the horizon. “I’m not that easy to impress.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you haven’t walked away.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the faintest flicker of vulnerability behind his confident façade. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat, though you would never admit it.

“Carlos,” you sigh, “we’ve been through this. You’re charming, yes. Handsome, undeniably. But I don’t mix work with… whatever this is.”

“This?” He raises an eyebrow, gesturing between the two of you. “This is me trying to show you that I care. That I want to be more than just some guy you see at events or on TV.”

“And yet,” you counter, folding your arms, “you know my answer hasn’t changed.”

Carlos doesn’t falter. Instead, he steps closer, his tone softening. “You keep saying no, but I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I see the way you laugh at my jokes, even when you try to hide it. Tell me, why not give us a chance? Just one date. No cameras, no pressure.”

You hate that his words make your heart flutter. You hate that his persistence feels less like arrogance and more like genuine affection. But you also know how complicated your lives are—his constant travels, your demanding career.

“Carlos…” you start, but he interrupts, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t say no just because you’re scared it won’t work. Say no if you truly don’t feel anything for me. But if there’s even the smallest chance you do, let me prove to you that I’m worth the risk.”

For a moment, the world falls silent, save for the gentle rustle of the vines below and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. His eyes search yours, open and unguarded, waiting.

You exhale slowly, your resolve wavering. “One date,” you say finally, watching as his face lights up with a boyish grin. “Just one.”

“That’s all I need,” he replies, his confidence returning in full force. “I’ll make you fall in love with me, cariño. Just wait.”

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞

James Potter x Reader

The music fills the room, a soft melody swirling through the air, its notes light and playful. You’re lost in the comfort of the quiet evening, the warmth of the fire flickering on the hearth casting a golden glow over the room. James, casually leaning against the armrest of the couch, lifts his head, eyes meeting yours across the room. There's a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, something you know all too well.

Without saying a word, he stands up, his movements graceful as he closes the space between you. His hand reaches out, fingers warm, and your heart skips as he gently takes yours. You can feel his touch—the familiar softness, the strength beneath.

“Dance with me,” he says, his voice a quiet invitation, pulling you from your thoughts. There's no hesitation in his tone, only a quiet certainty, as if he knows you can’t resist.

You glance up at him, eyes softening. The music continues, the beat slow and steady, and you let him lead you into his arms. His hands find their place at your waist, while you place yours against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside the room seems to disappear. It’s just the two of you, moving together, swaying in time with the song.

James pulls you in closer, his touch tender as you rest your head against his shoulder. The air is thick with unspoken words, with all the affection he has for you, and you can feel it in every movement, in every gentle step.

For a moment, the whole world stops spinning. The only thing that matters is the way your bodies fit together perfectly, the way the music seems to slow, allowing you to savor this moment forever.

He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with something deeper. “You’ve always been my favorite dance partner,” he says, his voice full of affection and a hint of playful arrogance.

You smile softly, a feeling of contentment washing over you as you press closer, letting the warmth of his presence fill you. Just the two of you, dancing, lost in each other’s company, under the quiet spell of the music.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You and Leon lie side by side on the bed, the chaos of the world outside feeling a million miles away. His presence is warm, grounding, and undeniably comforting, his familiar scent mingling with the crisp cotton sheets. Married life with him, though filled with moments of danger and unpredictability, has also been punctuated by a quiet intimacy that feels wholly yours.

You shift slightly, turning onto your side to face him. Leon mirrors you, propping his head up with his hand, his ice-blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he gazes at you with a softness that makes your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“What are you looking at?” you tease, though there’s no edge to your voice.

He chuckles lowly, a sound that resonates deep in his chest. “You. Just you.”

His free hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger, trailing lightly down your cheek, the curve of your jaw, before coming to rest at the base of your neck. The touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his for a moment before turning it over to inspect his palm. It’s calloused and strong, a testament to everything he’s been through. You trace the faint scar along the side of his thumb, your fingertips light against his skin.

“Where’d this one come from?” you ask softly.

Leon glances down at the mark, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Raccoon City,” he answers simply, though his tone carries a world of unspoken memories. “It’s nothing compared to some of the others.”

“Let me see,” you say, gently pulling his arm closer. You start inspecting his forearm, finding a small, faint mole near the crook of his elbow. “I didn’t know you had this.”

Leon chuckles again, his eyes following your fingers as they glide over his skin. “I’m full of surprises, huh?”

“Apparently.” You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss just above the spot. “My turn?”

He hums in agreement, rolling onto his back and pulling you closer. “Where should I start?” His hands find their way to your arms, his touch feather-light as he begins his own exploration.

The moment is filled with quiet laughter as he spots a small birthmark on your shoulder. “How long have you been hiding this from me?” he teases, his thumb brushing over it.

“Not hiding,” you reply with a grin. “You just never asked.”

Leon shakes his head, his smile widening. “I’m going to find every single one.”

His fingers move with a sense of wonder, like he’s unraveling a mystery, trailing along your arm, your collarbone, and down to your wrist. You mirror his actions, your fingertips tracing his shoulders, the dip of his clavicle, and the faint lines of old wounds.

It’s not just the physical closeness but the unspoken trust between you. Each scar, each mark, tells a story, and sharing them in this way feels like the most profound form of vulnerability.

The two of you fall into a peaceful silence, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration. Time seems to blur, and the world outside ceases to matter. All that exists is the warmth of his touch, the sound of his steady breathing, and the unshakable bond between you.

sweetheart

Dante Sparda x Reader

You’ve never met someone as insufferable as Dante Sparda. With his smug grin, devil-may-care attitude, and a penchant for turning everything into a joke, he’s the embodiment of everything you hate. A cocky show-off who acts like the world owes him a favor just because he’s good with a sword.

And you? You’re just someone who doesn’t have time for his nonsense.

The mission was simple enough. Something about a demon nest hidden in the abandoned catacombs beneath the city. Dante, for reasons you’d never understand, insisted on tagging along. You told him no. He came anyway.

“Y’know, you really shouldn’t go into places like this alone,” he says as the two of you step into the cold, damp tunnels. He walks beside you, his oversized sword slung casually over his shoulder, a revolver holstered at his side. His red coat sways with every step, and you find yourself gritting your teeth at how effortlessly he makes it all look.

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere preening in front of a mirror?” you snap, your voice echoing in the gloom. “Or maybe finding someone else to bother?”

He chuckles, that infuriating sound that somehow manages to sound both genuine and mocking. “Ouch. Right in the ego. You know, if you keep being this mean to me, I might start thinking you don’t like me.”

“Good,” you reply, not missing a beat. “Maybe you’ll take the hint and leave me alone.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You hate that nickname. You hate how he says it, like it’s some kind of inside joke you’re not in on. You shoot him a glare, and he winks in response.

It doesn’t take long before the first wave of demons descends. You’re faster than him—quicker to draw your weapon and strike. Your blade cuts through the air with precision, dispatching the lesser demons with practiced ease.

Dante, of course, makes a show of it. He leaps into the fray like it’s a performance, spinning his sword in wide, exaggerated arcs. His guns bark loudly as he fires off a few rounds, each shot landing perfectly.

“Having fun yet?” he calls out, grinning at you over his shoulder.

You don’t answer, focusing instead on taking down the last of the creatures. When the fight is over, you stand amidst the carnage, breathing heavily. Dante, of course, looks like he just walked out of a salon. Not a hair out of place.

“You’re welcome,” he says, sheathing his sword with a flourish.

“For what?” you ask, wiping blood from your blade. “Showing off? Or getting in my way?”

“For making this whole thing more entertaining.” He leans casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “Admit it—you’d be bored without me.”

You don’t bother responding.

The deeper you go into the catacombs, the more the tension between you builds. It’s not just the danger of the place or the oppressive atmosphere—it’s him. Always there, always pushing your buttons.

“So,” he says after a while, breaking the silence, “why do you hate me so much?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you really want me to list all the reasons? We’ll be here all night.”

“Try me.”

You sigh, exasperated. “You’re arrogant, annoying, and you never take anything seriously.”

“Anything else?”

“You flirt with everything that moves.”

He smirks. “What can I say? I’ve got good taste.”

You stop walking, turning to face him. “This isn’t a game, Dante. People’s lives are at stake. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then just leave.”

For a moment, something shifts in his expression. The grin falters, and you catch a glimpse of something deeper—a flicker of understanding, maybe even regret.

Then it’s gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got your back.”

“I don’t need you to have my back,” you snap. “I don’t need you, period.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, brushing past you. “But don’t be too surprised when I’m the one saving your ass later.”

You glare at his back as he walks ahead, his red coat disappearing into the shadows. You hate him. You really do.

But somehow, against all logic, you know he’s right.

Boyfriend

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

You’re leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of something far too sweet, trying to blend into the crowd that pulses around you. The bass of the music vibrates through your chest, but it’s not the rhythm making your pulse race. It’s him. Pietro Maximoff.

He’s across the room, laughing, tossing his silver hair back as if the spotlight should follow him. It always does, in a way. There’s something magnetic about him, something that pulls you in even when you tell yourself you’ve had enough of his games.

You’ve told yourself a thousand times that this isn’t anything. Just two people who can’t seem to stay away from each other. He’s not your boyfriend. You’re not his girlfriend. And yet, the way his eyes keep darting to you, sharp and possessive, says otherwise.

You don’t want to admit that it bothers you, but it does. The girl he’s talking to is tall, leaning in too close, her hand brushing his arm. You watch as his grin falters for a fraction of a second, his gaze finding yours.

And just like that, he’s gone. A blur of silver and blue as he darts through the crowd, leaving the girl startled and blinking at the empty space he’s left behind.

“Jealous?” he says, suddenly at your side, the teasing lilt in his voice making your stomach flip.

“Of what?” you ask, turning your head away from him, pretending not to care.

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “You tell me.”

You hate that he’s right. That you do care. That the idea of him with anyone else makes something twist in your chest. But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Maximoff,” you say, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary.

He laughs, low and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Right. Because you were just standing there, staring at me for no reason.”

Your jaw tightens. “Maybe I was staring at her.”

He blinks, caught off guard for a split second, before the smirk returns. “Sure, detka. Keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s too close now, his hand brushing against yours, and suddenly the room feels too small, the music too loud.

“You don’t want me to see anyone else,” he says, softer this time, the teasing gone from his voice. “And I don’t want you to see anyone either. So why are we pretending?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you hate how easily he does this to you—how easily he gets under your skin, how easily he makes you want things you swore you didn’t need.

“Because it’s complicated,” you say, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says, and then his hand is on your cheek, tilting your face toward him.

You could pull away. You should pull away. But instead, you let him close the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s both familiar and electric.

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated at all.

𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓒𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

James Potter x Reader

It was too late. James had been fast asleep, his dreams filled with the usual chaos of Quidditch matches and pranks, when a noise from the kitchen jolted him awake. He sat up, his messy hair even more untamed than usual, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't quite place.

You weren't in bed.

Frowning, he pushed off the covers, feet hitting the cold floor as he grabbed his wand from the nightstand. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his bare feet.

And then—another sound. A soft rustling, followed by the unmistakable scent of something sweet.

James paused in the doorway to the kitchen, taking in the scene before him. There you were, bathed in the moonlight spilling through the window, standing by the counter with a bowl of strawberries in your hands. Your oversized sweater—his sweater—hung loosely over your growing belly.

He leaned against the doorframe, a slow grin forming on his lips. "You know, love, if you were going to sneak out for a midnight feast, the least you could do is invite me."

You turned, eyes wide in the dim light, a strawberry halfway to your mouth. "James!" you gasped, nearly dropping the fruit. "You scared me."

He chuckled, padding over to you. His hands instinctively found your waist, fingers grazing the curve of your belly as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Couldn't help it," he murmured. "Woke up and my wife was missing. Thought I was about to face some kind of home invasion. Turns out, it’s just my girl stealing fruit in the dead of night."

You huffed, popping the strawberry into your mouth. "The baby wanted them," you mumbled around the bite, cheeks warm as his eyes softened at your words.

His grin widened. "Oh, so that’s how it is? Blaming the cravings on the little one, are we?"

You rolled your eyes but didn't protest when he reached into the bowl, plucking a berry and holding it up to your lips. His gaze never left yours as you took a slow bite, his fingers brushing against your chin.

For a moment, everything was still. Just the two of you in the quiet of the night, the taste of strawberries lingering between kisses, and the steady rhythm of a new life growing between you.

James sighed contentedly, pressing his forehead against yours. "You know," he whispered, "I can't wait to meet them. But I think I love them already—because they’re a part of you."

Your heart swelled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into another kiss, slow and sweet.

"Well," you teased, brushing your nose against his, "if they take after you, we might be in trouble."

James laughed, wrapping his arms around you, warm and steady. "Oh, love," he murmured, voice thick with adoration. "We're already in trouble. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Like The Movies

James Potter x Reader

You never thought it would happen to you—that kind of love, the one you read about in old books or saw in movies. It’s a love you dream about, but never expect to find. Your friends have always thought you a bit of a hopeless romantic, someone who believes in fairytales despite how many times you've been let down. You'd been burned once, twice, too many times to count, and now, you just couldn't see how anything could live up to the dreamy ideas in your head.

But then James Potter came into your life.

It started small. A glance, a casual brush of his hand against yours in the crowded corridors of Hogwarts. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest. No one had ever been good enough for you—no one had ever been what you imagined, no one had made your heart race the way you’d always hoped. But there was something about him. He was different.

James Potter had always been the joker, the one who was loud and reckless, always at the center of attention. But behind that mischievous grin and the jokes he cracked with Sirius and Remus, you began to notice another side. A gentler side. It wasn’t immediately obvious—he wasn't one to show vulnerability—but every now and then, you caught glimpses of a quieter James. It was those moments that caught your attention and made you question everything you thought you knew about love.

You had always imagined your romance like a scene straight out of a movie, a perfect fairytale. And yet, here you were, falling for someone who was far from perfect. He didn’t make grand declarations or sweep you off your feet in dramatic gestures. No, he was more subtle than that, more genuine. The first time it truly hit you was one rainy evening, your feet splashing through the puddles on the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

James was walking with you, of course, because that’s just what he did—never let anyone walk alone. The rain fell heavily around you both, soaking through your robes, but neither of you seemed to care. You both laughed at the ridiculousness of it, trying to dodge puddles, failing miserably.

And then, just like that, he took your hand. No words, just a simple act, one that sent a shock of warmth through you even as the rain soaked you both to the bone. The sound of the rain, the laughter you shared—it felt like the start of something real, something more than you had ever dared hope for.

Over the weeks that followed, the two of you shared more moments like that. The two of you would sneak into bars in Hogsmeade, escaping the confines of the castle, your laughter spilling into the air as the two of you hid in the corners. You'd stare up at the stars together, your heart beating wildly, your fingers brushing in a way that made you feel like you were dancing, even without music. He never once told you he loved you, but the way he looked at you, the way he’d quietly hold you when you were sad—those were the things that made you realize what you’d never allowed yourself to believe.

One evening, after a particularly heated game of Quidditch, you found yourself under a stormy sky with him. It was one of those nights where the clouds hung low and dark, threatening to spill over. But neither of you cared. As the rain began to fall, you both stood there, drenched, and, without a word, began to sway, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. It was just the two of you—no audience, no expectations—just a quiet moment beneath the storm, as the world seemed to disappear around you.

Maybe you were just old-fashioned, you thought, believing in love like that. But in that moment, standing under the stormy sky with James, you felt like you were living out the kind of fairytale you'd always dreamed of.

You never thought you’d fall in love again, at least not in the way you had imagined. But here you were, holding James Potter, heart and soul entwined with his. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of love you’d always wanted.

And just when you thought you’d given up on love—just when you believed that no one could ever be good enough—you realized you were wrong. James Potter was exactly what you needed, the one who had always been there, in ways you hadn’t even noticed until now.

And in the end, maybe it was just that simple.

Maybe you'd finally found the love you'd been waiting for, after all.

i'm in love with an idiot

Peter Parker x Reader

You’ve been through a lot as Spider-woman—villains, heartbreak, and the constant balancing act of being a hero. But this? This is a new one. One minute you were swinging through your city, hot on the trail of a rogue scientist tinkering with dimensional technology, and the next, a kaleidoscope of colors swirled around you. When the dizzying vortex spat you out, the New York skyline looked just familiar enough to make you think you were still home—until you saw him.

Peter Parker. Spider-Man.

You’ve heard of him in passing through multiverse murmurs, but standing face-to-face with him? You hadn’t expected that. Not today.

“You’re… me?” he asks, his voice laced with incredulity but carrying a lightness that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this strange twist of fate won’t be so bad.

“No,” you correct him with a wry smile. “I’m better.”

The two of you bond quicker than you expected, drawn together by shared experiences that no one else could fully understand. Swinging side-by-side through the city, you find yourself surprised by how easily he makes you laugh—his dry humor, his dorky jokes, the way he apologizes to pigeons when he narrowly avoids colliding with them mid-swing.

But it’s not just the humor that gets to you. It’s his heart.

One evening, as the sun dips below the skyline, the two of you perch on the edge of a skyscraper, sharing takeout Chinese food straight out of the cartons. Peter listens intently as you talk about your universe—the sacrifices you’ve made, the people you’ve lost.

“You carry so much,” he says softly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. “But you don’t have to carry it alone. Not here, not with me.”

His words linger in the air between you, heavy with something unspoken. You want to say something back, something meaningful, but the way he’s looking at you makes your breath catch in your throat.

Before you can think better of it, you lean closer. So does he.

The kiss is tentative at first, his lips brushing yours as if asking permission. But when you deepen it, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and it feels like the world itself pauses for just a moment. You’re no longer Spider-woman from another universe, no longer a stranger in his world. You’re just… you. And he’s Peter.

When you finally pull back, the city stretches out below you, its lights twinkling like a thousand tiny stars. Peter grins, his usual confidence returning.

“Well,” he says, his tone teasing, “I guess interdimensional travel isn’t all bad.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not bad at all.”

As the night stretches on, you know this can’t last forever. Eventually, you’ll have to find a way back to your universe. But for now, with Peter by your side, the weight of your world feels just a little lighter.