You were always close with Peter. Protective, loyal, overbearing Peter. He fell for you first—hard. But when Harry came along, things shifted. Peter got jealous, fast.

“You don’t like him more than me, right?” Peter had asked one night, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

You’d laughed, nudging him. “Relax, Pete. You’re still my favorite superhero.”

That didn’t help.

But once the idea of all three of you being together came up, Peter’s jealousy fizzled into something else—possessiveness. Now, you had two men wrapped around your finger, and they wouldn’t let you out of their sight.

⸻

Peter is intense. He means well, but he hovers. He pouts if you don’t text back fast enough, glares at anyone who even thinks about flirting with you, and yes—he throws small tantrums when he’s upset. But he always apologizes with flowers, a long hug, and a soft, “I just… can’t lose you too.”

He’s your bodyguard and comfort blanket in one.

⸻

Harry is softer. Smoother. A little scarier in the long run, honestly.

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t raise his voice. He just smiles and removes whatever threat or risk he sees. That climbing class you signed up for? Canceled. That old friend you reconnected with? Suddenly moved out of town. Your new bracelet? Of course, it has a tracker.

“You’re safest with us,” he told you once, holding your hand. “I don’t want to watch you on a hospital bed like I was.”

⸻

They spoil you, obsess over you, and yes—they monitor you.

Harry keeps tabs. Peter keeps watch. You get a kiss on the cheek when you say you’re going out… then five minutes later, Peter is on the rooftops, following your Uber.

They send each other updates like it’s a full-time job.

⸻

Moving in? Not optional. “You’re not living by yourself anymore,” Harry said, already covering the lease fees. “You really think I’d let my girl sleep alone?” Peter added smugly.

You don’t have your own bedroom. Why would you, when you have two clingy boyfriends to sandwich you in bed every night?

⸻

Dinner events? Peter’s hand is always on your thigh. Harry keeps you close, arm intertwined. You’re never without one of them touching you. Always whispering little things:

“You look so beautiful tonight,” “You’re glowing,” “I swear, I’m gonna marry you one day.”

⸻

And then—you got pregnant.

Not a shock, really. With how much they clung to you and how neither believed in birth control—Harry, especially.

“What if the baby gets whatever I had?” he whispered one night, hand over your stomach. “We’ll protect them. Just like we protect you,” Peter promised, resting his head on your chest.

You told them you were going to the clinic alone. Just a checkup. They reluctantly agreed.

But the second you stepped out?

Peter:

“You sure we should’ve let her go alone?” Harry: “She needed space. I’m tracking her. She’s fine.” (He wasn’t really fine.)

⸻

They love you. They’re obsessed with you. And no matter how sweet they are, there’s always that smidge of madness in their gaze.

You’re their world. And now, you’re giving them a little one.