For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
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The morning was a quiet study in contrasts. Peter woke in the chaotic, familiar comfort of his own bed, the scent of Diana a ghostly, pleasant memory on his sheets. The profound peace of the night before had settled deep in his bones, a new, solid foundation beneath the usual swirl of his thoughts. He felt… whole.
He was pulling on a clean t-shirt when a sudden, jarring thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. He glanced at the calendar on his phone. Tuesday. And a small, recurring notification he usually ignored: Peter Parker's Birthday.
Oh. It was his birthday.
The realization landed not with a bang, but with a dull, familiar thud. Birthdays, for Peter, were complicated. They were quiet affairs, marked by a special dinner with May and the bittersweet, phantom presence of all the people who weren't there to celebrate. They were a reminder of time passing, of another year survived, of promises made and kept in the shadows.
But this year was different. This year, there was Diana. And the thought of spending the day in a biophysics lab, separated from her by a few feet of linoleum and a universe of unspoken secrets, felt like a punishment. An unbearable waste.
An idea, reckless and completely out of character for the usually responsible Peter Parker, took root. He didn't text. He didn't call. He pulled on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and left the house, a man on a mission.
Diana had just stepped out of the shower in her own, spartanly neat dorm room when she heard the knock. It was a firm, familiar rhythm. She wrapped a towel around her body, another around her hair, and opened the door, a curious smile on her face.
Peter stood there, looking breathless and determined, a wild, hopeful light in his eyes.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little shaky. "Sorry to just show up. I know we have class."
"It is alright," she said, her smile widening as she took in his earnest, slightly frantic energy. "Is everything well?"
"Everything is perfect," he said, stepping just inside as she closed the door. "But it's my birthday. And the only thing I want to do today is spend it with you. Not in a library, not in a lecture hall. Just… with you. We can run away. Just for a day. We can just… be."
She looked at him, at the raw, hopeful vulnerability on his face, and her heart did a slow, powerful turn in her chest. She saw what this meant to him. This wasn't just about skipping class; it was about choosing joy, a deliberate act of rebellion against the crushing weight of their responsibilities.
"Your birthday is a matter of tactical importance," she said, her expression turning serious, though her eyes danced with a warm, loving light. "It must be observed with the proper protocols." She reached up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips. "The university will survive one day without us."
An hour later, they were in a place that felt like a different world. On a birthday whim, funded by the last of his freelance check from the Daily Bugle, Peter had booked them a room at a sleek, modern hotel in Midtown. It was a space of anonymous luxury, with a huge, plush bed and a floor-to-ceiling window that offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the city. Their city.
"Wow," Peter breathed, looking out at the sprawling urban landscape. "The view is… different from up here."
"It allows one to see the whole board," Diana murmured, coming to stand behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. They stood there for a long time, just watching the silent, ceaseless flow of traffic below, two secret guardians observing their kingdom from a glass tower.
The pretense of just enjoying the view lasted about five minutes. She turned him in her arms, her gaze deep and hungry. The day was theirs. The room was theirs. And the time for holding back was over.
He led her to the bed, a new, confident fire in his touch. The undressing was a game, a playful, sensual battle for dominance. He unbuttoned her shirt, his lips following the path of his fingers, while her own hands were busy unbuckling his belt. They collapsed onto the cool, crisp sheets in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
"Happy birthday, Peter," she whispered, her voice a husky purr against his skin.
He rolled her onto her back, his body hovering over hers. The last chapter had been about healing. This was about celebration. About pure, unadulterated pleasure.
"Show me," he breathed, his voice a raw command.
He moved down her body, his mouth and hands a storm of sensation. He kissed and bit and licked, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. He wasn't just exploring; he was claiming. When he finally parted her thighs, the scent of her arousal was a rich, heady perfume that drove him wild.
He took her into his mouth with a greedy, devouring hunger, and a sharp, shuddering gasp was torn from her lips. He held her hips, anchoring her, as he drove her higher and higher. He loved this, loved the raw, honest sounds she made, the way her body arched and trembled under his touch. She was a goddess, and he was making her unravel.
He felt the change in her, a deep, internal coiling, the tell-tale sign that she was on the very edge of release. He pressed harder, his tongue a relentless, perfect instrument.
And then it happened.
He felt a deep, powerful clench from within her, and then a sudden, hot, gushing release. A warm, salty spray hit his face, the shock of it making him pull back for a split second. The fluid, clear and tasting faintly of the sea, dripped from his chin and eyebrows. Her unmistakable, musky scent was everywhere.
Her eyes flew open, wide with a mixture of shock, profound pleasure, and a sudden, startling wave of embarrassment. "Oh, gods," she breathed, her face flushing a deep, beautiful crimson. "Peter, I am so sorry. I did not… I could not control it."
He looked at her, at her mortified, beautiful face, at the evidence of her complete and total surrender. And he started to laugh. A deep, unrestrained, and utterly joyous laugh. He leaned forward and licked a stray droplet from her cheek.
"Don't you ever," he growled, his voice a low, happy rumble, "be sorry for that."
He kissed her then, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of her, and the last of her embarrassment dissolved into a fresh wave of pure, unadulterated lust. She pulled him up her body, her own need a palpable, demanding force.
"Inside me," she commanded, her voice a ragged whisper. "Now."
He entered her with a single, powerful thrust, and she cried out, a loud, glorious sound of pleasure and homecoming that filled the room. Their rhythm was frantic, a joyous, celebratory dance. They were two parts of a single, perfect whole, moving together, breathing together, their moans a shared, beautiful chorus. This was not a system, not a protocol. This was love, in its wildest, most honest, and most beautifully messy form. And as he lost himself in her, Peter knew, with absolute certainty, that this was the best birthday of his entire life.
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