Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter tried to fade into the background of the Hellfire Gala as celebrities and bigshots mingled with powerful and prominent mutants and heroes. The grand hall of Krakoa glittered with extravagance, mutant-grown chandeliers casting prismatic light across the gathering of Earth's most extraordinary individuals. Peter had worn a simple yet expensive tux rental and his mask to the gala that night, the combination making him feel both overdressed and underdressed simultaneously. The fabric itched at his neck, reminding him with every movement that he didn't belong here.

He did his best to give small greetings here and there to Magneto, Wolverine, and Professor X, each interaction briefer than the last. "Evening, Professor. Nice... uh, flower arrangements," he'd mumbled to Xavier before quickly pivoting away. With the Avengers, it wasn't much better. Captain America's firm handshake, Black Panther's dignified nod, and Black Widow's knowing smirk each received nothing more than a quick "Hey there" before Peter dipped away quickly to some corner with a soda of all things, already confusing the many heroes who liked and wanted to speak to him.

"Parker, no champagne?" Tony Stark had called out, raising his own crystal flute. "They've got the good stuff. Perks of being an economic superpower." Peter had just shrugged, lifting his plastic cup of fizzing cola in a mock toast before retreating further into the shadows cast by Krakoa's living architecture.

He didn't trust himself with the expensive champagne or alcohol with how his life was going. One drink might lead to two, then three, and before he knew it, he'd be spilling his guts about eviction notices and missed job opportunities to anyone near herself. The soda was safer—sweet, familiar, and incapable of loosening his tongue enough to embarrass himself in front of Earth's mightiest heroes and most powerful mutants.

The truth was he hadn't wanted to come to Krakoa, hadn't wanted to attend the Hellfire Gala. When he saw the invite at his door to RSVP by call or email, his actual first question on his mind was how they knew it was him. The mask wasn't just for show—secret identity was kind of his whole thing, having to remember that some mutants actually knew who he was under the mask. The second was to politely refuse, only for another invite to be sent, one he had given to Miles. "You sure about this?" Miles had asked, eyeing the embossed card with its Krakoan symbols. "It's pretty swanky." Peter had insisted, claiming he was too busy, though they both knew better.

Then a third had shown up and this time he replied by email saying Spider-Man was working on an important Green Goblin case, only to have his mail bombarded with messages from the various young X-Men he had once taught at Xavier's. His phone rang every 10 minutes from Cyclops, Wolverine, and others saying that a lot of people really wanted Spider-Man to come. "Look, Pete," Logan had growled during one call, "just show up, have a drink, shake some hands. Even I'm wearing a monkey suit for this thing." He had sighed and finally accepted, if only to stop the barrage of communication.

He didn't have anything against mutants; he had saved, fought alongside, and been friends with many over the years. But right now, Peter was just feeling low despite all the one-liners and jokes he threw at villains and crooks on a daily basis. His bank account was nearly empty, his apartment was falling apart, and the Daily Bugle was cutting freelance budgets. Again. Even his web fluid was running low, and the chemicals weren't cheap. The gleaming opulence of the Gala only highlighted everything he wasn't—wealthy, powerful, part of something bigger than himself.

"Has anyone seen Spider-Man?" he heard Storm ask nearby, her regal voice carrying over the ambient chatter. "I wanted to thank him personally for his help with those students last month." Peter pressed himself further into the shadows, employing every bit of stealth his spider-powers granted him. He'd stick to the ceiling if he thought he could get away with it in formal wear.

He hid from the crowds, even as his name came up in conversation and some heroes and celebrities looked around to see where he was. Using his powers subtly, he stuck to one of Krakoa's large trees, the living bark seeming to welcome him as he perched halfway up its trunk, partially concealed by flowering vines. From this vantage point, he sipped his soda and watched the glittering assembly below, waiting for when attention was fully on the party to slip away to the portals to go home. As Emma Frost took the center stage area, tapping a crystalline glass for attention, Peter calculated his escape route. Three minutes of whatever announcement was coming, then he'd make a break for it. Krakoa was beautiful and all, but tonight, Peter Parker just wanted the comfort of his own shabby apartment ceiling.

Emma Frost stood at the center of the hall, a vision in shimmering white and blue crystalline accents that caught every light in the room. Her icy blue lips curved into a confident smile as she raised her glass, the fabric of her outfit clinging to her curves like it had been painted on. "Welcome, distinguished guests, to another year of celebration and progress for mutantkind," she announced, her voice commanding instant attention. "Tonight, we toast not only to our achievements but to the continued cooperation between humans, mutants, and all who call Earth home." A chorus of crystal glasses clinked throughout the hall, followed by approving murmurs from the crowd.

From his perch in the tree, Peter had an unobstructed view of the gathering below. His gaze drifted across the sea of faces until it locked onto a sight that made his chest tighten—Mary Jane Watson, radiant in an emerald gown that complemented her fiery red hair, her arm linked with Paul's. They stood near the front of the crowd, Paul in a tailored navy suit that fit his frame perfectly, his hand resting comfortably on the small of MJ's back. She laughed at something he whispered in her ear, tilting her head back in that familiar way that Peter once knew so well.

"To new alliances and stronger bonds," Emma continued, but Peter barely registered her words now. His focus remained fixed on MJ and Paul, watching as they raised their glasses in unison. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, but this—seeing her with someone else—was the real reason he'd avoided the gala. The invitation had arrived just days after he'd bumped into them at a coffee shop in Manhattan, MJ trying to get them to get along again, using that awkward politeness reserved for ex-partners.

His mind drifted to Gwen, as it often did in moments of loneliness. She would have understood all of this—the dual identity, the constant sacrifices, the perpetual struggle to balance being Spider-Man with being Peter Parker. She had accepted all of him, mask and all. "At least you would've been on my arm tonight," he whispered to a memory, then immediately felt guilty for the thought. MJ had her reasons for moving on, and he couldn't blame her. Their relationship had been a roller coaster of missed dates, unexplained absences, and constant danger. Still, seeing her smile at someone else cut deeper than any supervillain ever could.

Returning his attention to the party, Peter scanned the room for an escape route. Jean Grey stood near the east entrance in a stunning gold dress that seemed to flow like liquid metal around her statuesque frame. Hope Summers, in a bold red ensemble that marked her as Cyclops' daughter as clearly as her powers did, conversed animatedly with Forge by the refreshment table. Across the room, Psylocke commanded attention in a form-fitting purple gown with strategic cutouts that showcased her athletic physique, her psychic butterfly effect subtly glimmering around her temples as she laughed at something Nightcrawler said.

"Great," Peter sighed, "a telepath at every exit." He hadn't considered that particular complication in his escape plan. The last thing he needed was one of them picking up on the cloud of misery hanging over his thoughts. Jean, especially, had always been perceptive even without actively reading minds. One look from her and she'd know exactly why he was hiding in a tree instead of mingling.

He glanced toward Professor Xavier, who stood in deep conversation with Magneto and Storm. The Cerebro helmet gleamed on Xavier's head, its modified gala design somehow both elegant and intimidating. Peter knew that with that amplification device, Xavier could potentially read every mind on Krakoa without even trying. "Time to go before the world's most powerful mind reader gets a front-row seat to the Peter Parker pity party," he decided, calculating the quickest path to the teleportation gates that would take him back to New York, back to the comforting anonymity of his mask and the city's rooftops where, at least for a few hours, he could outrun these feelings by swinging between skyscrapers under the cover of night.

Just as Peter thought to perhaps try exiting through Psylocke's covered door, hoping she'd be too busy mingling to notice him slipping away, he heard the confident voice of Emma Frost calling from below. "Spider-Man, I believe hiding in trees is considered poor etiquette, even by arachnid standards." Her crisp, aristocratic tone cut through the ambient noise of the gala with laser precision.

Peter looked down to see the White Queen standing at the base of the tree, one hand on her hip, head tilted upward with an expression that managed to be both amused and impatient. She wore what appeared to be living crystal fashioned into the most revealing formal wear he'd ever seen, the blue-white material catching the light with every subtle movement. He sighed, knowing his escape plan had been foiled. With a resigned wave, he called down, "Oh, hey there, Ms. Frost! Just getting a better view of the... uh... botanical wonders of Krakoa."

Tugging his mask down over his mouth and nose in a habitual gesture of security, Peter descended the tree with ease, his rented tuxedo somehow still impeccable despite his arboreal retreat. His feet touched the ground with the silent grace that came naturally to him, standing now before the formidable telepath. "Is there a problem?" he asked, his tone hopeful. "Super villain? Alien invasion? Reality-altering cosmic entity? I'm kind of in the market for a world-saving distraction right about now."

Emma's icy blue lips curved into a knowing smile as she folded her arms across her chest, the movement accentuating her already prominent cleavage. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. I simply noticed that one of our guests of honor has been conspicuously absent from the festivities. The young mutants have been asking about you all evening." Her crystal-blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been avoiding everyone rather skillfully for someone in such a distinctive mask."

Peter shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in an exaggerated motion beneath the rental tuxedo. "Not really one for parties, that's all. Especially ones where I'm underdressed compared to, well, literally everyone." He gestured broadly at the gathering of heroes and mutants in their spectacular attire. "But hey, the food's great. Please pass my compliments to whoever grew those little mushroom canapés. Tell them Spider-Man says they're the real heroes tonight."

"I'm not buying it," Emma replied, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone as she took a step closer to him. The scent of her expensive perfume—something cool and clean with notes of diamond dust and ice—enveloped him. "You've faced down genocidal maniacs with quips and jokes. A formal gathering hardly seems like something that would send you scurrying up foliage."

The White Queen's eyes narrowed as she studied him, a slight smile playing at the corners of her blue lips. "You know, I've spent decades observing men at events like these. Most can barely manage eye contact with me for more than three seconds before their gaze inevitably drops to my chest. It's tediously predictable." She ran a hand along the crystalline edge of her neckline, the movement deliberately drawing attention to her décolletage.

Peter's eyes remained firmly fixed on Emma's face, his spider-sense tingling faintly—not from danger, but from the awareness that a powerful telepath was analyzing his every reaction. He maintained perfect eye contact through the mask, his mind carefully blank of any thoughts about her appearance. Even when she adjusted her outfit, his gaze didn't waver, and his mind didn't conjure the images that would typically flood a man's thoughts when confronted with Emma Frost's legendary beauty up close.

Emma's smile softened into something more genuine as she tilted her head slightly. "And that," she said quietly, "is how I know something is wrong. Not even a flicker of distraction." She reached out and lightly touched his arm, her fingers cool against the fabric of his sleeve. "What's troubling you, Parker? And don't bother denying it—I don't need telepathy to read misery when it's written so clearly on what little I can see of your face."

Peter shifted uncomfortably under Emma's penetrating gaze, clearing his throat. "Actually, I'm in the middle of a pretty complex Green Goblin investigation. Got some leads that need following up tonight, which is why I was planning my exit strategy." He tapped his temple through the mask. "Crime never sleeps, especially the kind with gliders and pumpkin bombs."

"Strange," Emma replied coolly, her crystalline outfit catching the light as she folded her arms. "Last I checked, Norman Osborn was cured of his Goblin persona quite thoroughly. And there haven't been any reports of a new villain taking up the mantle." Her icy blue lips curved into a knowing smile. "So that's a lie. Rather transparent for someone who values opacity so much."

Peter rubbed his head through his mask, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. The White Queen had cornered him more effectively than any supervillain could with just a few well-placed words. He remained silent, weighing his options, knowing that any further attempts at deception would be futile against someone like Emma Frost.

"If you don't want to discuss that particular fabrication," Emma continued, her voice dropping to a more intimate volume, "perhaps you could tell me about the gentleman accompanying Ms. Watson this evening?" She gestured delicately with one crystal-adorned hand, directing Peter's attention across the room. "The one who seems to have captured her attention so completely."

Peter's gaze followed Emma's gesture, landing on Mary Jane and Paul as they conversed animatedly with Reed and Susan Richards. MJ looked radiant in her emerald gown, laughing at something Reed had said while Paul's hand rested comfortably on the small of her back. The Richards couple looked politely curious, clearly trying to place who this man was and why he was with the woman they knew had once been Spider-Man's partner.

A deep pit of sadness welled up inside Peter, the sight of MJ looking so happy with someone else twisting like a knife in his chest. He turned away, preparing some dismissive quip to change the subject, but before he could speak, he felt cool fingers pressing gently against his temple through the mask.

"Let me see," Emma whispered, her eyes glowing faintly with psychic energy. Before Peter could protest or raise his mental defenses, she was inside his mind, rifling through memories with the precision of a master locksmith. In less than a heartbeat, she witnessed it all—Uncle Ben bleeding out on the sidewalk, Gwen Stacy's neck snapping as his web caught her too late, the parade of villains that had haunted his life for years. She saw MJ trapped in another dimension, Peter fighting through Avengers to reach Osborn for the technology to save her, the heartbreak of finding her with Paul and those two children—Owen and Romy—who later proved to be magical constructs. Most painful of all, Emma witnessed MJ's choice to stay with Paul upon their return, the gentle rejection that had shattered Peter more thoroughly than any physical blow ever could.

The psychic intrusion lasted only a second in real time. When Emma withdrew from his mind, her icy composure had cracked slightly, her blue lips parted in surprise. She blinked rapidly, clearly processing the depth of tragedy and heartbreak she'd just experienced through his memories. "Parker, I—" she began, her normally confident voice faltering as she reached for words of apology.

"That wasn't polite," Peter said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual wit and warmth. He stepped back from her touch, mask hiding the pain that would surely be visible on his face. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Emma standing alone, her hand still half-raised where it had touched his temple. As he moved through the crowd toward the nearest exit, he caught a glimpse of Emma's expression hardening as she looked across the room at Paul, her eyes narrowing with the kind of calculating disdain usually reserved for insects she was considering whether to crush beneath her heel.

Peter sat beneath one of the mighty trees of Krakoa as he looked up at the stars. The night sky above the living island was brilliant and untouched by light pollution, revealing constellations in breathtaking clarity. After the overwhelming social whirlwind of the gala and emma searching his mind, the solitude was a welcome respite.

He had tried asking Cypher to open a gate for him to go home early, but the language-gifted mutant had apologetically declined. "Sorry, Spider-Man. The gates are recharging after bringing so many guests to the gala," Cypher had explained, running his hand through his blond hair. "They need all that energy to send everyone home when the gala's done or in the morning. You'll have to wait." Before Peter walked away, Cypher had added something peculiar with a knowing smile: "Besides, Krakoa doesn't want you to leave yet." Peter had dismissed the cryptic comment at the time, chalking it up to typical mutant mysticism.

Now he waited, watching the stars quietly as he hoped the gala would end soon. The distant beats of music and laughter wafted through the tropical air, reminding him of how out of place he felt among the mutant elite. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, allowing the warm night breeze to cool his skin. Peter's enhanced senses detected a subtle shift in the air—a light floral perfume with notes of diamond dust and winter frost.

There was a polite cough, and Peter turned around to see Emma Frost standing there, radiant in her white and ice-blue ensemble. The moonlight caught the crystalline elements of her outfit, making her appear almost ethereal. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice carrying that familiar blend of aristocratic poise and subtle challenge. "You've found quite the scenic spot for stargazing."

Peter immediately stood, his hands brushing down his rented tuxedo reflexively. "You probably shouldn't. I wouldn't want you to mess up your expensive dress sitting on the ground," he said, gesturing to her immaculate outfit. "I'm pretty sure that thing costs more than my apartment."

Emma laughed lightly, the sound like crystal glasses clinking together. "One, you're too kind to someone who has intruded in your mind without permission," she said, stepping closer with confident grace. "And two, Jumbo Carnation could make twenty more dresses better than this if I asked." She ran her hand down the fabric of her outfit with casual indifference. "The benefits of having a mutant fashion designer at your disposal—though I admit, he outdid himself with this particular creation."

She sighed and looked at Peter with an unexpected earnestness. "I should apologize properly for looking through your mind earlier. It was... unprofessional of me." Emma's blue lips curved into a small smile. "Though I must say, your mind is refreshingly honest compared to most of the calculating thoughts in that ballroom."

Peter shrugged it off, leaning against the tree trunk. "Don't worry about it. I figured mind-reading was part of the experience when accepting an invitation to Mutant Island." His lips quirked in a half-smile. "Though a little warning next time might be nice. There are some embarrassing spider-themed jingles in there I've been trying to forget for years."

Emma didn't smile at his joke. Instead, her ice-blue gaze softened as she reached up to touch his masked cheek. "You've suffered a great deal, haven't you?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Paul shouldn't be in your thoughts. And neither should Mary Jane, not after she left you for him." Her fingertips traced the outline of his jaw through the mask, the touch sending an unexpected shiver down his spine.

"I've seen how you blame yourself for her departure," Emma continued, her voice a melodic whisper in the warm night air. "But it wasn't your fault, Peter. It never was." The moonlight caught in her platinum hair, creating a halo effect that seemed at odds with her reputation as the former White Queen of the Hellfire Club. Yet there was something genuinely compassionate in her expression that made Peter want to believe her.

Emma's blue lips curved into a disapproving frown. "I have no idea what Miss Watson was thinking, leaving you for some villain's son and his fake children from another dimension. It's like a pure advertisement for Stockholm syndrome." Her words carried both disdain and a hint of personal offense, as if Mary Jane's choices somehow affronted her own sensibilities. "But that was her loss, not yours."

Her hand moved to rest against his chest, the warmth of her palm seeping through the fabric of his rented tuxedo. "You deserve happiness, Peter Parker. That's not an opinion—it's a fact." The conviction in her voice was jarring, especially coming from someone who had been, at best, an occasional ally over the years.

Peter wanted to turn away, uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy of the conversation. "It's nothing," he said, attempting to dismiss her concern. "Really, I'm—" His words cut off abruptly as he felt a strange sensation—his mask lifting from his face without his hands moving. Emma's telepathy gently peeled the fabric up to his nose, exposing the lower half of his face.

Before he could react, her full blue lips were on his, cool yet somehow burning with intensity. The kiss was deep and confident, leaving no room for hesitation. Peter stood frozen for a moment, caught completely off guard, before instinct took over. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her gently closer, feeling the smooth fabric of her white outfit beneath his fingers. Emma made a small sound of approval against his mouth, her hands sliding to the nape of his neck.

After what felt like both an eternity and not nearly long enough, Peter broke the kiss, his breathing uneven. "I'm sorry," he stammered, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. "I shouldn't have... I mean, I know you're with Cyclops and—"

A gentle finger pressed against his lips, silencing him mid-sentence. "For one," Emma said, her voice husky and amused, "I can kiss or be with whoever I want. I'm Emma Frost, darling." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "And two, Cyclops and I haven't been a thing in years. I'm quite sure he, Logan, and Jean are enjoying themselves in their room right now, so he wouldn't dare complain." Her blue lips curved into a wicked smile that promised far more than just another kiss.

"Come with me, darling," she said, reaching for his arm and wrapping her elegant fingers around his forearm. "The stars are lovely, but I know somewhere more... comfortable we could continue our conversation." The way she emphasized "comfortable" sent a shiver down Peter's spine that had nothing to do with the night breeze.

Peter allowed himself to be guided away from his secluded spot, his mind racing faster than his heartbeat. Emma led him through the lush foliage of Krakoa with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of the living island. The path beneath their feet seemed to illuminate slightly as they walked, as if the island itself was lighting their way. "Does Krakoa always provide mood lighting?" Peter quipped, trying to mask his nervousness with humor.

"The island appreciates beauty, Peter," Emma replied without looking back, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "It's quite sensitive to emotions and intentions. Right now, it seems quite... encouraging of our trajectory." As if to emphasize her point, several luminescent flowers bloomed along their path, releasing a sweet, intoxicating scent that made Peter's head swim pleasantly.

As they emerged from the tree line, the settlement came into view, the elegant architecture of Krakoa's buildings blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. The main pavilion where the gala had been held was still illuminated, but the raucous energy from earlier had dissipated. Only a handful of guests remained, lounging on plush divans or conversing in hushed tones over crystal glasses of exotic drinks. The music had shifted from energetic dance beats to something slower, more sensual, barely audible above the chorus of night insects.

"Where is everyone?" Peter asked, scanning the room and noticing how empty it felt compared to the packed celebration from earlier. He recognized a few faces—Namor speaking intimately with a blue-skinned mutant woman in one corner, Beast and Trish Tilby laughing over some private joke by the bar—but most of the high-profile guests had vanished.

Emma guided him toward a small seating area, her hand never leaving his arm. "The gala proper ended about an hour ago, darling," she explained, gesturing for a floating tray of champagne to hover closer. She plucked two flutes from it with practiced elegance. "Many have returned to their homes or..." Her blue lips quirked upward as she handed him a glass. "Or found accommodations for the night." The implication in her voice was impossible to miss.

Peter took the champagne and swallowed hard, the realization of where this night was headed finally sinking in completely. He glanced around more carefully now, noticing the way the remaining guests were pairing off—Dazzler whispering something in Longshot's ear that made him grin wolfishly; Colossus and Kitty Pryde disappearing through a doorway, her hand phased through his metallic one in familiar intimacy. "So this is... I mean, the after-party is actually..." He struggled to find the right words, feeling simultaneously out of his depth and thrilled.

"A celebration of life in all its forms," Emma finished for him, taking a sip of her champagne. "Mutants understand the fragility of existence, perhaps better than most. When opportunities for pleasure and connection present themselves..." She trailed off, her fingers lightly stroking the inside of his wrist. "Well, let's just say we've learned not to waste them." She set down her glass and began leading him toward a hallway adorned with living vines that seemed to part as they approached.

As they passed an open archway, Peter caught sight of Cypher leaning against a doorframe. The blonde mutant noticed them immediately, his face lighting up with recognition. With an exaggerated wink and enthusiastic thumbs up in Peter's direction, Cypher turned back to his companions—Storm, regal and stunning in her gala attire, and Psylocke, whose telepathic butterfly aura flickered visibly around her face. The trio disappeared into an empty room, the door growing shut behind them from the living material of Krakoa itself.

Peter felt his face flush hot beneath his mask, which Emma had allowed to fall back into place after their kiss. "Is everyone on this island just... pairing off for the night?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as Emma guided him toward a separate hallway where the doors were spaced further apart. She paused before one such door, which opened silently at their approach, revealing a spacious chamber beyond. "Not everyone," she replied, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper as she pulled him gently across the threshold. "Some of us prefer the company of just one exceptional individual." The door sealed behind them with a soft, organic sound, leaving them alone in Emma Frost's private quarters on Krakoa.

Without another word, Emma used her telepathic powers to lift Peter gently from where he stood. His body rose several inches off the floor, suspended by invisible forces that felt like countless gentle hands supporting his weight. With a graceful gesture from her blue-tipped fingers, she guided his floating form toward the massive bed dominating the center of her chambers. The furniture itself seemed almost alive, crafted from Krakoa's living material yet shaped into a luxurious platform covered in silken white sheets. Peter descended slowly onto the mattress, the telepathic grip releasing him as he sank into its surprisingly soft embrace.

Emma approached the bed with measured steps, her ice-blue lips curved in a smile that was both predatory and affectionate. With another subtle telepathic push, she removed his mask completely, sending it fluttering to a nearby chair. Peter's brown hair was slightly mussed from the mask, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and desire as he finally faced her completely exposed. "There you are," Emma whispered, her voice like velvet as she studied his features with open appreciation. "So strong with all that responsibility on your shoulders, yet so young," she said gently, her fingers tracing the contours of his face.

Peter pouted slightly, an unexpectedly cute expression on the face of a superhero. "I'm 29," he protested, sounding momentarily like the awkward Queens kid he'd once been rather than the seasoned hero he'd become. His hands rested uncertainly at his sides, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them in this unexpected situation.

Emma's laugh filled the room as she moved closer, her blue lips parting to reveal perfect white teeth. "Twenty-nine," she repeated, as if testing the number. "Practically an infant in telepath years." Before he could offer another protest, she climbed onto the bed with feline grace, straddling his lap in one fluid motion. The heat of her body against his was immediate and overwhelming, even through the layers of his rented tuxedo.

Emma's hands found their way to his face, cradling his jaw as she leaned down to capture his lips in another kiss. This one was deeper than before, more demanding. Her tongue sought his, no longer tentative or questioning but assertive, exploring his mouth with deliberate strokes that made his heart hammer against his ribs. Peter responded with growing confidence, his hands finally finding purpose as they settled on her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of her outfit and the warm curves beneath. Their tongues danced together, tasting, teasing, as the world beyond this room seemed to fade into insignificance.

When Emma finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. Her blue lipstick had smudged slightly, leaving faint traces on Peter's mouth like marks of possession. She smiled down at him, her pupils dilated with desire as she slowly stood up from his lap. With deliberate showmanship, she stepped back a few paces, making sure his eyes were fixed on her before she reached down to remove her knee-high boots. One by one, they fell to the floor with soft thuds, revealing more of her long, toned legs.

"I want you to see me, Peter," Emma said, her voice deeper now, resonating with intent. Her fingers found the hidden clasp of her white leotard, releasing it with practiced ease. The garment peeled away from her body like a second skin, sliding down to pool at her feet. She stood before him entirely naked, her platinum hair framing a face of classical beauty, her body a testament to both natural genetics and years of rigorous training. Her breasts were large and perfectly shaped, crowned with pale pink nipples that had hardened in the cool air of the room. Her waist curved inward dramatically before flaring out to generous hips and a rounded behind. Between her toned thighs, a small patch of platinum hair matched that on her head, drawing his eye inexorably downward.

Peter's expression was priceless—his eyes wide and almost disbelieving as they traveled over her voluptuous form. His gaze lingered on her perfect breasts, then moved to appreciate her hourglass figure, her fat ass, and those powerful thighs. "God damn," he whispered, the words escaping before he could think better of them. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to reach for her.

With an almost comical gesture of disbelief, Peter pinched his own arm, then did it again, and a third time for good measure. Each pinch was harder than the last, as if he were genuinely convinced he must be dreaming this entire scenario. His expression of wonder mixed with confusion was so genuine that even Emma's usually composed features softened with affection.

Emma smiled at his reaction, a surprisingly warm expression on her normally icy countenance. She stepped forward, once again entering his personal space, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her naked skin. "I assure you, this isn't a dream, Peter," she said, her voice both amused and tender as she took his hand in hers and placed it against her bare waist. "Though I'm flattered you think it might be." The warmth of her skin beneath his palm was undeniable proof of reality—no dream could feel this vivid, this alive.

Emma stepped back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Move to the edge of the bed, darling," she commanded, her voice silken yet firm. "I want you in the perfect position for what comes next." The authority in her tone left no room for negotiation, though her blue lips curved into a smile that was almost affectionate.

Peter complied immediately, sliding to the edge of the mattress with eager awkwardness. His rented tuxedo felt suddenly constricting, the fabric uncomfortably tight against his growing arousal. He watched with rapt attention as Emma gracefully lowered herself to her knees before him, her platinum hair catching the soft ambient light of the room. The sight of the White Queen—arguably one of the most powerful mutants on the planet—kneeling between his legs sent a surge of heat through his entire body.

"Let's see what I'm working with, shall we?" Emma murmured, her blue-tipped fingers working deftly at his belt buckle. There was something hypnotic about watching those elegant hands dismantling the barriers between them with such purpose. She maintained unbroken eye contact as she unzipped his pants, her telepathic abilities allowing her to simultaneously tease at the edges of his consciousness, heightening every sensation.

With practiced efficiency, Emma tugged his pants and underwear down his thighs, her eyes widening dramatically as his erection sprang free. "DEAR HEAVENS!" she exclaimed, genuine shock displacing her usual composure as his massive cock nearly struck her in the face. She recoiled slightly, blinking rapidly as if to confirm what she was seeing was real. "Nine inches if it's a centimeter," she whispered, more to herself than to him, "and thick as my wrist."

Emma recovered her poise quickly, though her eyes remained fixed on his impressive endowment with unconcealed appreciation. "Where on earth were you hiding this magnificent beast?" she asked, wrapping her blue-tipped fingers around his shaft and finding they couldn't completely encircle it. "It's like you've been concealing a third web-shooter all these years."

Her free hand traced patterns along his inner thigh as she leaned closer, her breath warm against his sensitive skin. "That Watson girl must be utterly insane," Emma continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "To leave a hero this spectacularly hung for some alternate-dimension daddy with imaginary children?" She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "The poor girl clearly suffered some form of psychosis."

Peter felt his face burning hot with embarrassment and arousal in equal measure. His mind flashed with gratitude toward an unlikely source: Thanks, Venom, he thought fervently, recalling how the alien symbiote had made certain "adjustments" during their last union. The creature had apparently decided that its host could use some enhancements and had restructured certain aspects of Peter's already above-average anatomy before they separated. It was a parting gift Peter had never expected—and certainly never mentioned to anyone.

Emma's eyebrow arched sharply, and Peter suddenly remembered he was in the presence of a telepath. "Symbiote enhancements?" she said with a delighted laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "How utterly fascinating. I suppose I should send that slimy monster a thank-you note." She leaned forward, her perfect breasts pressing against his knees as she maintained her grip on his throbbing member. "Though I believe you're being overly modest about what you started with, Spider-Man."

Her blue lips hovered just inches from the swollen head of his cock, her breath teasing the sensitive skin. "Now," Emma purred, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in anticipation, "let's see if the White Queen can properly worship her Spider King." With that declaration, she lowered her head, her platinum hair cascading forward as she prepared to demonstrate why she was considered formidable in all her endeavors.

Emma's icy blue lips pressed against the swollen head of his cock in a delicate kiss, the contrast between her cool lipstick and his heated flesh sending electricity down Peter's spine. He groaned deeply, his hands clutching at the silken sheets as her mouth lingered, teasing him with deliberate patience. Her eyes, locked on his, conveyed both mischief and determination as she parted those perfect lips and began to work her way down his impressive length.

"Sweet mother of—" Peter's exclamation cut off into a guttural moan as Emma engulfed him, her mouth stretching noticeably to accommodate his girth. The sight was hypnotic—the sophisticated White Queen struggling yet persisting, her short platinum hair spilling slightly across his thighs as she took him deeper. Each downward motion left rings of blue lipstick along his shaft, marking territory claimed with each ambitious descent.

Emma pulled back, gasping slightly for air, but her expression remained triumphant. "You know," she said, her voice husky as she stroked him with one hand, admiring the blue circles decorating his cock, "I've had the pleasure of sampling quite a few of the worlds finest heroes and mutants." Her blue-tipped fingers traced the prominent veins along his length. "But I must say, Peter, you put both Scott and Logan to shame in the size department." She gave his cock an appreciative squeeze. "And I would know."

The comparison sent an unexpected surge of pride through Peter's chest. He'd never considered himself competitive with the X-Men's most prominent figures, especially not in this particular arena, but hearing Emma's assessment stroked something primal within him. His cock twitched noticeably in her grip, a reaction that drew a knowing smile from her blue lips.

"That excites you, doesn't it?" Emma purred, licking a deliberate path from base to tip. "Knowing you outclass the x-mens most important mutants where it truly matters." She took him into her mouth again, deeper this time, her throat working visibly as she accommodated more of his length. When she pulled back, saliva connected her lips to his cock in glistening strands. "Nine impressive inches that put Summers' optic blast to shame."

Emma's manicured hands caressed his thighs as she continued her enthusiastic ministrations, alternating between deep, ambitious attempts to swallow his considerable length and focused attention on the sensitive head. "I brought you here for your comfort and pleasure, Peter," she said between breathless efforts, her normally composed facade giving way to genuine enthusiasm. "After everything you've endured, you deserve to be properly appreciated."

She looked up, her platinum hair disheveled and her blue lipstick smeared beyond repair, yet somehow appearing more beautiful for it. "Use me," Emma commanded, her voice dropping to an almost vulnerable whisper. "Take what you need. I'm offering myself completely." The words were both invitation and challenge, hanging in the air between them like a gauntlet thrown.

Something shifted in Peter at that moment—a switch flipping from passive enjoyment to active desire. His hands moved with spider-enhanced reflexes, tangling in her platinum locks and gripping firmly. Emma's eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but there was no resistance as he guided her head down onto his cock with newfound authority. Her mouth stretched around him as he established a rhythm, holding her in place as he pushed deeper than she had managed on her own.

Emma spluttered and struggled against the intrusion, her throat constricting around his girth as mascara began to run in thin black rivulets down her cheeks. Yet even as her body fought for air, her mind reached out to his, forming a telepathic connection that flooded Peter's consciousness with her unfiltered thoughts: Yes, like this. Take control. Show me what Spider-Man is truly capable of when he stops holding back.

The dual sensation of physical dominance and telepathic encouragement was intoxicating. Peter continued guiding her movements, finding a balance between asserting control and allowing her to breathe. Emma's hands gripped his thighs, not pushing away but anchoring herself as she surrendered to his pace. The sight of the normally imperious White Queen willingly subjugated to his pleasure, blue lipstick marks creating a record of each advance down his shaft, was almost too much to bear—an image Peter knew would be permanently etched in his memory long after this night on Krakoa came to an end.

The pressure built rapidly within Peter, his enhanced physiology responding to Emma's expert ministrations with mounting intensity. Each bob of her platinum head, each tight squeeze of her throat around his considerable girth pushed him closer to the edge. His breathing grew ragged, fingers tightening in her short hair as the familiar tightening in his lower abdomen signaled his approaching release. The sight of the White Queen on her knees before him, blue lipstick smeared across her face and his cock, was almost too much to bear.

Emma sensed his impending climax through their telepathic connection, her mind reaching into his with crystal clarity. That's it, darling, her thoughts purred directly into his consciousness, I want every drop of that sticky spider cum poured right down my throat. Use me like the mutant cum dump I'm offering to be for you tonight. The unexpectedly filthy encouragement from someone typically so composed and regal only heightened Peter's arousal, his cock throbbing visibly in response to her mental commands.

With renewed determination, Emma took control of her own movements, her hands gripping his thighs as she prepared for his release. Her blue lips sealed tightly around his shaft, creating perfect suction as she drove herself downward with surprising force. Peter watched in awe as she took him to the base, her nose pressing against his lower abdomen as she swallowed his entire length. The telepathic satisfaction radiating from her mind told him she was proud of this accomplishment, despite the obvious physical challenge his size presented.

Peter's hands flew to the sides of her head, not to control her now but to steady himself as pleasure coursed through his system like electricity. His enhanced senses magnified every sensation—the wet heat of her mouth, the constriction of her throat, the gentle scrape of teeth carefully controlled to provide maximum pleasure without pain. His spider-sense, normally attuned to danger, hummed with a different kind of alert, signaling the point of no return.

"Fuck... Miss Fro—Emma!" Peter gritted out, catching himself mid-formality and switching to the intimate use of her first name. His hips bucked involuntarily as the pressure finally reached its breaking point. His balls clenched tight against his body, the muscles of his abdomen contracting visibly as his orgasm crashed through him with superhuman intensity.

Emma's eyes widened momentarily as the first thick pulse of his release hit the back of her throat. Through their mental link, Peter could feel her satisfaction mingled with surprise at the sheer volume. She didn't pull back an inch, her throat working methodically to swallow each heavy spurt of his seed. The contractions of her esophagus around his cockhead created a rippling sensation that only prolonged his pleasure, drawing more from him than he thought possible.

The White Queen maintained perfect eye contact throughout, her ice-blue gaze locked on his with an intensity that communicated more than words ever could. There was pride there, and hunger, and a surprising warmth that belied her 'Frost' moniker. Each thick, virile gush that poured directly into her belly seemed to satisfy something primal within her, a need to consume and possess that Peter hadn't anticipated from the sophisticated telepath.

Peter's vision briefly blurred at the edges, his enhanced stamina tested by the sheer intensity of his release. He could feel Emma's throat clenching rhythmically around his thick shaft, milking him for every drop as if determined to drain him completely. What would have been uncomfortable or even impossible for most women seemed to be a point of pride for her—another demonstration of her exceptional abilities both mutant and otherwise.

As Peter's release continued unabated, Emma's thoughts became a cascade of astonished praise. By the White Hot Room, she projected telepathically, unable to vocalize with her mouth so thoroughly occupied, such thick, virile seed... and so much of it. Her mind catalogued the difference between this overwhelming experience and her previous lovers with clinical appreciation. Where Scott had been quick and efficient, where Logan had been rough but brief, Peter seemed endless—each pulse as powerful as the first, flooding her faster than she could manage.

Most men—even mutants with healing factors,—deliver a few quick spurts and consider their duty done, her thoughts continued, broadcasting her impressed assessment directly into Peter's consciousness. But you... you're truly "Amazing" in every sense of the word, aren't you? The mental emphasis on his superhero moniker sent a wave of pride through their telepathic connection, her admiration genuine and unfiltered.

Emma reached a decision as the seemingly endless torrent continued to fill her mouth beyond capacity. With deliberate slowness, she began to withdraw, her blue-stained lips maintaining perfect suction as she moved up his length. The sensation caused Peter to buck again, another thick pulse hitting the roof of her mouth as she carefully pulled back.

"Sweet Christmas," Peter gasped, borrowing Luke Cage's favorite expression as he watched Emma's methodical retreat. Her eyes remained locked on his, a mixture of triumph and hunger evident in her ice-blue gaze as she cleaned his shaft with each centimeter of withdrawal.

Despite her best efforts at containing his release, thin rivulets of pearly white escaped the corners of her mouth, tracing paths down her chin and onto her bare breasts. The White Queen's legendary composure was thoroughly compromised, yet somehow she appeared even more regal in this state of beautiful dishevelment—platinum hair slightly mussed, mascara smudged, and blue lipstick marking both his skin and hers like evidence of conquest.

When only the swollen head remained between her lips, Emma paused, her cheeks hollowing as she applied intense suction. The sensation ripped another guttural moan from Peter's throat, his hands tightening reflexively in her hair as another unexpected surge of release responded to her determined finale. Her eyes widened momentarily, unprepared for this additional deluge despite her expertise.

"Too much," Emma finally conceded aloud as she allowed his still-pulsing cock to slip from between her blue lips. Rather than retreat, however, she maintained her position between his legs, tilting her face upward with a challenging smile. "Don't waste a drop, Spider," she commanded, her voice husky and raw from her previous exertions.

Peter understood her invitation immediately, his cock jerking forcefully as the final surges of his release painted thick white stripes across her aristocratic features. Emma closed her eyes in blissful surrender as warm, sticky ropes decorated her cheeks, forehead, and parted lips. Her perfect cheekbones glistened with his seed, while thicker strands caught in her platinum hair, transforming the sophisticated short cut into something delightfully debauched.

"Magnificent," Emma whispered, opening her eyes to regard him through a web of his own making. She made no move to wipe away the evidence of their activities, instead reaching up to catch a particularly thick droplet with her finger. With deliberate showmanship, she brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean while maintaining unbroken eye contact. "I do believe you've marked your territory quite thoroughly, Peter."

Peter could only stare in awe at the transformed White Queen kneeling before him—this powerful mutant, former villain, and current X-Men leader now wearing his release like expensive jewelry. The sight of Emma Frost willingly decorated by his seed was an image that seared itself into his mind with permanent clarity—one he knew no amount of time or distance would ever fully erase.

Emma's blue lips curled into a satisfied smile as she gazed up at Peter through cum-coated lashes. With a graceful gesture of her fingers, she activated her telekinesis. The thick white ropes decorating her aristocratic features began to lift away, hovering in the air like pearlescent ribbons. Her powers manipulated each strand with precision, gathering every droplet that had landed on her platinum hair and alabaster skin.

"Waste not, want not," Emma purred, tilting her head back and opening her mouth wide. The floating streams of Peter's release descended slowly, pouring between her parted lips in a controlled waterfall of white. Her throat worked visibly as she swallowed each substantial mouthful, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation. When the last drop disappeared past her lips, she licked them clean of any remaining traces. "Mmm, thick and sweet with just a hint of saltiness. Your symbiote certainly knew what it was doing with the recipe."

Her ice-blue eyes widened noticeably as they returned to Peter's crotch, where his massive member stood proudly erect, showing no signs of subsiding despite the impressive release he'd just experienced. "Nine inches of pure heroism still standing at attention?" Emma remarked, genuine surprise coloring her tone. "Either that's another gift from your alien friend, or you've been severely underutilized in your romantic endeavors." She leaned forward to place a reverent kiss on the tip, her blue lipstick leaving a fresh mark of ownership.

Emma moved up the bed, her movements deliberately sensual as she positioned herself on her hands and knees before him. Her perfect ass, round and firm from years of rigorous training, presented itself invitingly as she arched her back to enhance the display. The position offered Peter an unobstructed view of her glistening sex, pink and swollen with arousal, framed by her platinum curls and the smooth curves of her buttocks.

"Do you like what you see, Spider?" Emma asked, looking back over her shoulder with a challenging smirk. She reached back with one hand, delivering a sharp smack to her own ass cheek that left a pink handprint on the pale flesh. The impact jiggled her substantial curves enticingly, drawing Peter's eyes like a magnet. She repeated the action on the other cheek, clearly enjoying both the sensation and his transfixed expression.

Emma wiggled her hips in a hypnotic rhythm, each movement a deliberate invitation. "I think it's time you put this fat mutant ass in its proper place," she commanded, her voice dropping to a throaty purr. "Show me what those enhanced spider muscles can do when they're not busy saving the world." Her telepathic abilities broadcast additional encouragement directly into his mind: Don't hold back, Peter. I want to feel every inch of that magnificent cock reshaping me from the inside.

Peter didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her with spider-enhanced agility, his large hands reaching out to grasp her hips. Emma's breath caught in anticipation, her body tensing slightly as she prepared for the considerable intrusion of his enhanced manhood. To her complete surprise, however, Peter dropped to his knees behind her instead, his face level with her exposed sex.

"Oh!" Emma gasped, a sound of genuine shock escaping her normally composed lips as Peter's hot mouth pressed against her wet folds. His tongue parted her with confident strokes, exploring her intimate terrain with the same thoroughness he applied to swinging through the Manhattan skyline. Her arms trembled slightly, threatening to give way under the unexpected assault of pleasure. "I didn't expect—oh god, right there—"

Peter's hands gripped her ass firmly, spreading her cheeks to grant him better access as his tongue worked with superhuman dexterity. Years of gymnastic training and enhanced reflexes translated to remarkable oral skills, his movements precise and responsive to her every reaction. Each stroke of his tongue mapped her most sensitive areas, while his lips surrounded her swollen clit with perfect suction. Emma's telepathic abilities heightened the experience further, allowing her to feel his genuine enthusiasm for pleasuring her rather than rushing to his own gratification.

"By the White Hot Room," Emma moaned, her aristocratic accent slipping as pleasure dismantled her carefully maintained composure. She pushed back against his face shamelessly, grinding herself against his skilled mouth. "I see you truly know how to treat a woman, Peter Parker. Not just taking your pleasure like so many others would." Her mind brushed against his telepathically, rewarding him with pulses of her own rising pleasure. "Such a considerate hero—ah!—always putting others first, even in the bedroom." Her voice dissolved into incoherent whimpers as Peter redoubled his efforts, determined to bring the White Queen to her zenith before claiming his own reward.

Emma's back arched sharply as Peter's talented tongue delved deeper, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the silken sheets beneath her. Through the haze of mounting pleasure, her mind wandered to the woman who had let this spectacular specimen slip through her fingers. That Watson girl is a fucking fool, Emma thought viciously, carefully maintaining her mental shields to prevent Peter from catching this unfiltered assessment. After all, she was nothing if not strategic, even in the throes of passion.

As Peter's mouth sealed around her swollen clit and sucked with perfect pressure, Emma's eyes rolled back momentarily. If she doesn't want him, I certainly won't say no to having a young, hung hero in my bed... and perhaps in my life, she considered, a moan escaping her blue lips as his tongue flicked rapidly against her most sensitive spot. The thought of claiming Peter permanently sent an unexpected thrill through her body, one that surprised even her with its intensity.

Weak, civilian women like that red-headed fool shouldn't be sleeping with hero studs like Peter anyway, Emma's thoughts continued as she pushed back against Peter's face, grinding herself shamelessly against his skilled mouth. They can never truly understand what it means to live this life, to face death daily and still find joy. Her inner monologue was interrupted by a particularly expert stroke of his tongue that made her thighs quiver uncontrollably.

Emma's hand reached back to tangle in Peter's hair, guiding him more firmly against her dripping sex. It's a fucking miracle he hadn't broken that stupid girl with pleasure from his cock alone, she thought, imagining Mary Jane struggling to accommodate Peter's impressive endowment. The mental image of the redhead overwhelmed by the same cock that would soon be reshaping Emma's insides sent another pulse of arousal flooding through her system.

"God, Peter, don't stop," Emma commanded aloud, her aristocratic accent slipping as pleasure dismantled her carefully maintained facade. Inwardly, she continued her assessment: I don't care that he's not a mutant. He's close enough with those powers—more worthy than half the preening peacocks on Krakoa. This admission, even to herself, was significant coming from a woman who had once been among mutantkind's most ardent separatists.

Peter hummed against her flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her core as his hands kneaded the firm globes of her ass. Emma felt her climax building rapidly, a testament to his skill and enthusiasm. He doesn't need some unsure redhead when he could have a mature woman to take care of his needs, she thought, imagining herself in that role—powerful, experienced, and unafraid to match his superhuman appetites.

"Right there! Just like that!" Emma gasped as Peter's tongue circled her entrance before plunging inside with superhuman dexterity. Her telepathic abilities heightened the experience, allowing her to feel both her own mounting pleasure and the edges of Peter's enjoyment—his genuine enthusiasm for bringing her to ecstasy before claiming his own. The contrast between his selfless approach and the entitled attitudes of so many powerful men she'd encountered over the decades was not lost on her.

Emma's thoughts became more fragmented as Peter's mouth sealed tightly around her sex, his tongue exploring her folds with increasing intensity. A woman who... appreciates what he is... what he can do... Each flick of his tongue scattered her usually organized mind, replacing calculated thoughts with primal need. Her platinum hair fell across her face as she dropped from her hands to her elbows, changing the angle to grant him even deeper access.

"I'm close," Emma warned, her voice a breathless command as her hips worked in counterpoint to Peter's oral ministrations. Her formidable mental barriers began to slip, broadcasting flashes of her pleasure to Peter's mind—the mental equivalent of surround sound feedback enhancing the physical sensations for both of them. Her thighs trembled violently as she teetered on the edge of release.

With a final, deliberate stroke of his tongue and perfectly timed suction on her swollen clit, Peter pushed Emma over that precipice. Her orgasm crashed through her with telepathic force, her mind momentarily connecting with his as waves of pleasure radiated outward. "PETER!" she cried out, her usual composure utterly shattered as her body convulsed in ecstasy. Through the haze of her climax, one clear thought crystallized in Emma's mind: this spectacular man between her thighs deserved far better than what—and who—he had lost.

Emma mewled, a sound so uncharacteristically vulnerable from the normally composed White Queen that it sent a shiver of pride down Peter's spine. Her powerful thighs clamped around his head like a vice, her back arching impossibly as her climax overtook her. Then, to his astonishment, her pussy gushed—actually gushed—releasing a flood of hot, clear fluid that sprayed across the silken Krakoan sheets. The telepathic feedback of her pleasure crashed through their mental connection like a tidal wave, nearly overwhelming Peter's senses as he witnessed the formidable Emma Frost completely undone by his ministrations.

"Fuck!" Emma cried out, her aristocratic accent slipping entirely as she collapsed forward onto the mattress. Her limbs went slack as aftershocks rippled through her magnificent body, her back a canvas of perfect alabaster exposed to the soft light of the room. Her short platinum hair clung to her face and cheeks, now thoroughly disheveled from its usually immaculate styling for the evening. Her fingers and toes curled reflexively, clutching at nothing as waves of pleasure continued to pulse through her system with diminishing yet still powerful intensity.

Peter rose to his knees behind her, his massive erection standing proudly at attention, glistening with his own arousal as he admired the sight of the thoroughly debauched White Queen. Emma seemed to sense his movement despite her orgasmic haze, her telepathic abilities never fully disconnecting even in her most vulnerable state. With surprising grace for someone who had just experienced such an earth-shattering climax, she rolled onto her back, her ice-blue eyes finding his with newfound warmth.

"Come here," Emma commanded softly, her voice hoarse from her passionate cries. She reached for him with both arms, her perfect breasts heaving with each recovering breath. The blue tips of her fingers beckoned him forward with hypnotic allure, her normally imperious demeanor softened by the afterglow of intense pleasure. "I need to taste myself on your lips, Spider."

Peter moved forward eagerly, positioning himself above her as Emma's arms encircled his neck, drawing him down to her waiting embrace. Her large, firm breasts squished softly against his chest, the sensation of her erect nipples pressing into his skin sending another surge of arousal through his already painfully hard cock. The contrast between her cool skin and his feverish heat created an electric sensation where their bodies met, enhancing every point of contact between them.

"Kiss me," Emma whispered, her blue-stained lips parting invitingly. Peter lowered his mouth to hers, tasting the remnants of his own release mingling with the sweetness of her designer lipstick. Emma moaned into the kiss, her tongue darting out to taste her own arousal on his lips and chin, claiming him with a possessiveness that surprised them both. One hand tangled in his hair while the other traced patterns down his back, her nails leaving light scratches that marked him as thoroughly as he had marked her.

"Thank you," Emma murmured between passionate kisses, her voice carrying a sincerity rarely displayed to anyone, much less someone outside her mutant inner circle. "That was..." she paused, searching for words that seemed to elude even her formidable intellect, "...beyond description." Another kiss, deeper this time, her tongue exploring his mouth with deliberate thoroughness. "I've had countless lovers across multiple continents, Peter, but I've never—" she broke off, kissing him again with increased fervor, "—never experienced anything like that."

Peter pulled back slightly, a smile of genuine pleasure spreading across his features. "Really?" he asked, unable to completely hide the pride in his voice. His hands caressed the sides of her body with gentle appreciation, mapping the curves and contours of her exquisite form. "The White Queen herself, rendered speechless by a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?"

Emma laughed, the sound surprisingly warm and genuine coming from a woman often characterized by her icy demeanor. "Mock me if you must," she replied, tracing a blue-tipped finger along his jaw, "but it's true. Most men—even powerful mutants—are primarily concerned with their own pleasure." Her expression softened as she gazed up at him, a rare moment of unguarded emotion passing across her aristocratic features. "You're a wonderful lover, Peter Parker. So attentive to pleasing your woman first, before attending to your own considerable needs."

"Well," Peter said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he lowered himself to place a trail of kisses along her neck, "when you've got access to a woman as incredible as the White Queen, it would be criminal not to worship her properly." His hand cupped one perfect breast, thumb brushing over the erect nipple as Emma arched into his touch. Against her thigh, his still-rigid cock pressed insistently, a reminder of unfinished business between them. "And I'm a hero, remember? We always put others first."

Emma snorted out a laugh, the sound unexpectedly genuine from a woman of her regal bearing. "You're such a gullible charmer, Parker," she said, her ice-blue eyes glittering with amusement and something warmer. "Is that what you tell all the women you reduce to quivering messes?" She captured his lips again in a hungry kiss, her blue-painted fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer.

"Time for your reward," Emma whispered against his mouth as her hand slid down between their bodies. Her slender fingers spread her soaked pussy lips open in an unmistakable invitation. "You've pleasured me more than adequately. Now it's time to claim your prize." Her eyes locked with his, commanding yet vulnerable. "And do not hold back. I'm not some fragile civilian who needs coddling."

Peter nodded his understanding, but instead of immediately positioning himself, he lowered his head to place achingly tender kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Each press of his lips was reverent, almost worshipful, as though she were something precious rather than merely convenient. Emma felt her heart constrict unexpectedly at the gentleness in his touch, at the way his eyes—those soulful brown eyes—looked at her with genuine affection despite believing this was nothing more than a one-night stand.

Fucking idiot, Emma thought viciously, though the target of her ire wasn't the man above her but the red-headed fool who had let him slip away. What kind of woman would abandon a lover who combined such magnificent physical attributes with this level of genuine tenderness?.

Peter's strong hands spread her thighs wider, positioning himself between them carefully. Emma watched, transfixed, as he guided his considerable length to her entrance, the swollen purple head pressing against her spread lips. Her breath caught as he began to push inside, the stretch immediate and intense despite how thoroughly wet she was from her earlier climax.

"Oh god," Emma gasped, her fingers still holding herself open as she watched inch after thick inch disappear inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—a delicious burn that walked the perfect line between pleasure and pain. She had taken only about five inches of him, and already she felt fuller than she had with any previous lover, her inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. Yet Peter continued his gentle, inexorable advance, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort as he worked more of his enhanced manhood into her welcoming heat.

When he finally bottomed out, Emma's head fell back against the pillows, her mouth open in a silent cry of astonishment. Fuck, he's right at my cervix, she thought, the internal pressure both intimidating and exhilarating. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so utterly filled, so completely claimed by a lover. A moan tore from her throat as Peter shifted slightly, the minor adjustment sending shockwaves of sensation through her oversensitized body.

"Emma," Peter breathed, his voice thick with reverence and restraint. "You feel incredible." His arms trembled slightly with the effort of holding himself still, allowing her body time to adjust to his considerable intrusion. Such consideration only made Emma want him more fiercely.

Her blue-painted lips found his in a desperate kiss as her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind his back to pull him impossibly deeper. Her arms encircled his shoulders, manicured nails digging crescent moons into his skin as she clung to him. "Don't you dare hold back," Emma commanded against his mouth, her voice hoarse with need. "Take your pleasure, Spider. Show me exactly what that body of yours can do."

Peter didn't need to be told twice. With a fluid roll of his hips, he withdrew almost completely before slamming back into her with force that would have injured a normal woman. Emma's eyes widened, a startled cry tearing from her throat as pleasure radiated through her body like lightning. The telepathic backwash of her reaction flooded their mental connection, creating a feedback loop that only heightened both their sensations. Peter established a punishing rhythm, his enhanced strength and agility allowing him to maintain a pace that would have exhausted even the most athletically gifted normal human.

Sweet fucking goddess, Emma swore mentally as another powerful thrust hit spots inside her that had never been properly stimulated before. Her inner walls clenched desperately around his shaft, trying to hold him inside as he withdrew only to be stretched again by his next powerful advance. I don't know what spider deity I need to thank for creating this magnificent specimen, but I swear I'll convert to their worship as soon as I find out. The thought was half-delirious, her usually organized mind fracturing under the onslaught of pure physical pleasure his mutant-adjacent body was delivering.

"Harder!" Emma demanded, her aristocratic accent slipping as raw need overtook her carefully cultivated persona. Her back arched dramatically, pushing her perfect breasts upward as Peter obliged, increasing both the speed and force of his thrusts. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room alongside Emma's increasingly vocal responses, her usual composure completely abandoned. "Yes! Just like that! Don't you dare stop!"

Peter's hands gripped her hips with bruising force, pulling her into each thrust to maximize the impact. Emma's screams reached a new pitch, echoing off the walls of her Krakoan quarters. Her telepathic barriers were faltering, broadcasting fragments of her pleasure throughout the nearby area – a fact she was beyond caring about. Let them hear. Let everyone on this fucking island know what this spectacular non-mutant was doing to their White Queen.

Emma surged upward, wrapping her arms around Peter's neck and covering his face with frantic kisses. Her blue lipstick left marks everywhere – his cheeks, forehead, jawline – each one a brand of ownership. She was claiming him visibly, marking him as thoroughly as he had marked her earlier. All the while, Peter never broke his rhythm, his hips pistoning with superhuman precision as he rearranged her insides to perfectly accommodate his shape.

"Mine," Emma hissed against his skin, the possessive declaration surprising even herself. She captured his mouth in a fierce kiss, her tongue invading with the same authority she wielded in the Quiet Council chambers. The kiss swallowed her next scream as Peter hit a particularly sensitive spot, his cock head pressing firmly against her cervix with each thrust. Her nails raked down his back, leaving angry red welts that would have lasted days on a normal man. On Peter, they'd be gone by morning – a realization that made her dig deeper, wanting to leave some lasting evidence of this coupling.

Through it all, Peter showed no signs of slowing or reaching completion. If anything, his stamina seemed to increase, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate as he learned exactly how to move to extract the most intense reactions from her body. Emma's third climax of the night built rapidly, threatening to overtake her with tsunami-like force. How? she wondered deliriously. How can he just keep going like this? Even Logan needed recovery time.

Thank the stars for stupid redheads who don't know what they have, Emma thought viciously as Peter's mouth descended to capture a nipple, adding another layer of sensation to her already overwhelmed system. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against her breast as his hips continued their relentless assault on her thoroughly conquered pussy. That Watson girl is an absolute imbecile for abandoning this spectacular specimen for some nobody from another dimension.

"Peter!" Emma cried out, her voice cracking as another orgasm crashed through her system. Her inner walls clamped down on his length with seismic force, fluttering and pulsing around him as if trying to milk him of his release. Through their mental connection, she could feel his control slipping, his own pleasure mounting to dangerous levels, yet still he maintained his punishing pace. Yes, she thought triumphantly. Fill me. Mark me inside as thoroughly as I've marked you outside.

Mary Jane Watson had given her the most exquisite gift without even knowing it – this perfect, hung hero who fucked like a god and kissed like he meant it. Emma had no intention of returning this particular present. As her body convulsed beneath Peter's, her mind was already spinning possibilities for future encounters, ways to keep him coming back to her bed rather than pursuing reconciliation with his ex. The White Queen didn't share her treasures once claimed, and Spider-Man had just firmly established himself as her most valuable acquisition yet.

Time stretched like warm mist as they lost themselves in each other. An hour passed, then two, then three. The Krakoan night deepened around them, but inside Emma's quarters, the temperature only rose as Peter took her with tireless enthusiasm, his enhanced stamina proving more impressive than even Emma had anticipated.

"Oh fuck, yes!" Emma cried as Peter positioned himself above her in a modified missionary position, her legs pushed back toward her shoulders as he pinned her wrists above her head. His weight pressed her firmly into the mattress, the mating press position leaving her completely at his mercy as he pounded into her with metronomic precision. "You're so deep—I can feel you in my fucking stomach!"

Peter's response was a low, animal growl as he increased his pace, the bed frame protesting beneath them. Emma's back arched impossibly, her breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. Through their mental connection, she could feel his admiration for how perfectly she took him, how beautifully she surrendered beneath him while still maintaining that essential Frost pride.

"I think," Peter panted, his rhythm never faltering, "we should try something different." Before Emma could respond, he withdrew from her slick heat, eliciting a disappointed whimper. In one fluid motion, he scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing, supporting her weight effortlessly as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"Show-off," Emma murmured against his neck, though her tone betrayed her delight at this display of his superhuman strength. She gasped as he impaled her once more, her slick channel welcoming him back with greedy enthusiasm. Her arms encircled his neck for stability as he began to bounce her on his shaft, her considerable weight seemingly inconsequential to his enhanced muscles. "Oh my stars and garters!" she exclaimed, her usual composure completely abandoned as gravity helped him reach even deeper inside her.

Peter's hands gripped her ass with bruising force, controlling her descent onto his cock with precise timing. Emma's head fell back, her short platinum hair damp with sweat and completely disheveled. "That's it, Spider," she encouraged breathlessly, her blue-painted nails digging into his shoulders. "Use me... use this mutant body however you want..." Her words dissolved into incoherent cries as another orgasm crashed through her, her fourth of the night, leaving her trembling and clinging to him like a lifeline.

Barely allowing her recovery time, Peter carried her to the wall, pressing her back against the cool surface as he continued his relentless assault. Emma's eyes widened as he adjusted his angle, somehow managing to hit even more sensitive spots inside her. He lifted one of her legs higher, opening her more completely to his penetration. "Peter!" she screamed as he pile-drove into her from this new position, her head thumping rhythmically against the wall with each powerful thrust. "Goddess, you're going to split me in half!"

"Do you want me to stop?" Peter asked, his voice strained but sincere, momentarily slowing his movements. Even now, even with her, his heroic nature demanded he check her comfort.

Emma's ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you stop, I swear I'll psychically convince you that you're a teenage girl for the next month," she threatened, tightening her inner muscles around his length for emphasis. "Now fuck me like you mean it, Spider!"

Peter's answering grin was almost feral. In one shocking movement, he broke their connection, spun her around to face the wall, and re-entered her from behind with a single powerful thrust. Emma screamed, her hands splaying against the wall for support as he established a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room. Her fifth orgasm built rapidly, cresting and breaking over her with tsunami force that left her legs trembling and useless.

Rather than allow her to collapse, Peter scooped her limp form into his arms again, this time carrying her toward the ceiling. Emma's dazed mind barely registered what was happening until she felt the strange sensation of gravity shifting. Peter had crawled up the wall with her in his arms, his adhesive abilities allowing him to stick to the ceiling with ease. "Hold onto me," he whispered into her ear as he positioned her above him, her back to the ceiling as he supported her weight.

Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him desperately as he began to thrust upward into her. The novel position, the disorientation of being suspended upside down, the blood rushing to her head—all of it combined to create the most intense sensation she had ever experienced. "PETER!" she wailed, her normally regal voice reduced to a hoarse scream as her sixth orgasm ripped through her, more powerful than all the previous ones combined. Her pussy convulsed violently around his length, a fresh flood of her arousal dripping down (or rather, up) his shaft.

After what felt like an eternity of ceiling-bound pleasure, Peter finally crawled back down to the bed, gently depositing Emma's thoroughly ravished body onto the rumpled sheets. She lay there panting, her limbs splayed and her eyes unfocused, looking more vulnerable than anyone had seen her in decades. Peter positioned himself between her thighs once more, his massive erection still impressively rigid despite hours of exertion.

"Please," Emma whispered, her voice raw from screaming. Her blue-tipped fingers reached for him, drawing him closer. "I need you to fill me up, Peter. I need to feel you cum deep inside me." Her ice-blue eyes locked with his, a rare moment of complete sincerity from the normally guarded telepath. "Mark me from the inside... make me yours..."

Peter needed no further encouragement. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her welcoming heat. His pace was different now—more urgent, less controlled, signaling his approaching climax. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles locking behind his back as she used the last of her strength to meet his thrusts. "Yes," she hissed, watching his face contort with pleasure. "Give it to me... all of it..."

With a final, guttural grunt, Peter drove himself as deep as physically possible, his cock pulsing powerfully as he finally allowed himself release. Emma's eyes widened, a keening wail escaping her lips as she felt the first hot spurts of his seed painting her inner walls. The sensation triggered her seventh orgasm of the night, her inner muscles milking him greedily as he flooded her with thick ropes of cum. The telepathic feedback loop between them intensified their shared climax, stretching it beyond normal human limits as they clung to each other in ecstatic union.

Finally spent, Peter carefully withdrew and rolled onto his back, pulling Emma's trembling form to lie atop him. Their chests heaved with exertion, hearts thundering against each other as they struggled to recapture normal breathing. Emma nestled her face into the crook of his neck, feeling strangely content despite the thoroughly debauched state of her body. Peter's arms encircled her protectively, one hand gently stroking her back while the other played with her disheveled platinum hair.

"You're incredible," Peter murmured softly, pressing tender kisses to her forehead, a startling contrast to the animalistic passion that had consumed them moments before. Emma responded with a soft hum of agreement, too exhausted for her usual witty repartee. Her body occasionally shuddered with aftershocks of pleasure, each one drawing a soft gasp from her blue-stained lips. They exchanged gentle, almost chaste kisses as they basked in the afterglow, neither willing to acknowledge that what had transpired between them felt like far more than the casual encounter they had initially intended.

Emma stirred first, her ice-blue eyes fluttering open with renewed determination despite her thoroughly ravished state. She slowly maneuvered herself onto all fours, her movements betraying a slight unsteadiness that only heightened Peter's satisfaction. Her platinum hair clung to her sweat-dampened face as she looked back at him over her shoulder, blue-stained lips curved into a predatory smile that promised further debauchery. "We're not done yet, Spider," she purred, her aristocratic accent returning as she gathered her composure. "I intend to experience every advantage that spectacular body of yours has to offer."

Peter watched, transfixed, as a nearby ornate cabinet door swung open seemingly of its own accord—Emma's telekinetic abilities at work despite her physical exhaustion. A crystal bottle floated gracefully across the room, its contents shimmering in the soft light of her Krakoan quarters. The cap unscrewed itself with a delicate twist before the bottle tipped, releasing a stream of fragrant oil that cascaded over the perfect globes of her ass. Emma reached back with both hands, spreading herself open as the oil drizzled directly into her tight rosebud, the excess creating glistening rivulets down her thighs. "Your little redhead probably never offered you this particular pleasure," she taunted, wiggling her oil-slickened backside invitingly. "Consider it a White Queen's tribute to your prowess. But make no mistake—we're not finished until you've thoroughly tamed my mutant ass."

Peter glanced skyward, a silent prayer of gratitude escaping his lips as he took in the sight before him—one of the most powerful mutants on the planet presenting herself to him in the most vulnerable position imaginable, literally begging for his possession. His cock, which had begun to soften after their marathon session, sprang back to rigid attention with almost painful swiftness. "You continue to surprise me, Ms. Frost," he said, his voice husky with renewed desire as he positioned himself behind her. His strong hands gripped her hips, thumbs spreading her cheeks wider as he pressed the swollen head of his enhanced manhood against her glistening entrance. "Are you sure about this? I don't want to hurt you."

"Your concern is touching but entirely unnecessary," Emma replied, her mental voice sliding into his mind alongside her spoken words, creating a stereo effect of haughty command. I'm the White Queen, darling. I don't break easily. Aloud, she continued with undisguised impatience, "Now stop hesitating and claim what's being offered before I reconsider my generosity." She pushed back against him, the tight ring of muscle offering initial resistance before gradually yielding to accommodate his impressive girth. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as the head finally breached her, the sensation of being stretched so thoroughly sending shockwaves of mingled pain and pleasure through her system. That ridiculous child never deserved this magnificent cock, she projected involuntarily, her mental barriers slipping as raw sensation overwhelmed her disciplined mind.

Peter needed no further encouragement. With careful but insistent pressure, he eased himself deeper into Emma's tight heat, marveling at how her body gradually accepted him despite the seemingly impossible fit. Emma's reaction was immediate and visceral—a series of increasingly desperate cries that echoed off the walls of her quarters as he established a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her back arched dramatically, pushing her ass higher as she clawed at the sheets beneath them. "Fuck!" she wailed, all pretense of composure abandoned as Peter's enhanced abilities allowed him to find and exploit every sensitive nerve ending. "Peter! Yes! Don't you dare stop!" Her telepathic powers broadcast fragments of her ecstasy throughout the nearby area of Krakoa, a psychic announcement of her conquest that she was beyond caring about. Let the entire island know that the White Queen had claimed Spider-Man for herself—mind, body, and especially his spectacular mutant-taming cock.

The morning dawned on Krakoa, golden light filtering through the tropical canopy and casting dappled shadows across the island paradise. Nobody, mutant or guest, was yet awake in the early hours—save for two figures in the White Queen's chambers. Peter had tried to slip away quietly, gathering his scattered clothes and padding barefoot toward the door, thinking his night with Emma had been just that—a night. A beautiful, mind-blowing experience that would live forever in his memories, but ultimately temporary.

Emma stirred, her telepathic senses alerting her to his departure even before she fully awoke. Without opening her eyes, she reached out with her mind, telekinetically catching him by the waist and drawing him back toward the rumpled sheets. "And where do you think you're going, Mr. Parker?" she murmured, her voice husky with sleep as she finally opened her ice-blue eyes. "I don't recall dismissing you from my presence." She pulled him against her naked body, wrapping her arms and legs around him possessively, nuzzling into his neck. "Good morning, by the way."

"I thought... I didn't know if you'd want me to stay," Peter admitted, relaxing into her embrace despite himself. The feel of her smooth skin against his, the scent of her expensive perfume mingled with sex, was intoxicating. "Last night was incredible, but I figured once was enough for someone like you."

Emma chuckled, trailing her manicured nails down his spine. "Someone like me? And what exactly does that mean?" Before he could answer, she pressed her lips to his, morning breath be damned. "I'm not nearly done with you, darling. Now, shall we make use of my shower? It fits two... very comfortably."

The shower was a marvel of Krakoan and human design, spacious and elegant with multiple shower heads providing steaming hot water from all directions. Emma pressed Peter against the cool tile wall, sinking to her knees as water cascaded over her platinum blonde hair. "Let me show you just how much I want you to stay," she purred, taking his rapidly hardening cock between her plump lips. She worked him expertly, her tongue swirling around his tip before she took him deep into her throat.

Peter groaned, his hands tangling in her wet hair as she bobbed her head, her mouth hot and eager around his length. "Emma, fuck... that feels amazing," he gasped, watching in awe as the White Queen, one of the most powerful mutants on the planet, pleasured him with evident enjoyment. When he finally came with a strangled cry, she swallowed every drop, looking up at him with a satisfied smirk before rising to her feet and claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss.

After they'd washed each other thoroughly—a process that took much longer than necessary due to wandering hands and stolen kisses—Emma arranged for breakfast to be delivered to her quarters. A spread of tropical fruits, honeyed bread, and rich coffee awaited them as they emerged from the bathroom wrapped in plush robes. "I thought we might enjoy breakfast in bed," Emma suggested, trailing a finger down Peter's chest. "You must be famished after such... exertion."

They settled among the rumpled sheets, the breakfast tray between them, but food was the last thing on their minds. Emma lifted a slice of mango to Peter's lips, but before he could bite into it, she leaned forward to share it with him in a sticky, sweet kiss. "Mmm, delicious," she murmured, but her eyes were fixed on him, not the fruit. Peter's robe had fallen open, revealing his toned chest and abdomen, and lower, his cock already hard and leaking against her bare thigh.

"You're insatiable," Peter laughed, dipping a piece of honeyed bread in whipped cream before tracing it along Emma's collarbone, leaning in to lick it off her skin. Her head fell back with a sigh as he moved lower, brushing the bread against her nipple before replacing it with his mouth. "But so am I, apparently."

Between bites of food and deep, possessive kisses, Emma began to speak of the future. "I'm thinking we should see each other on weekends, at minimum," she declared, watching Peter's expression carefully as she traced patterns on his chest. "I'll get you a proper apartment in Manhattan—that shoebox you're living in is unacceptable. And a new wardrobe, of course. Those science pun t-shirts are charming in their way, but you'd look devastating in properly tailored clothes."

"And I believe we need a vacation," she continued, straddling his lap and feeling his hard cock press against her wet pussy. "Somewhere private and luxurious. New York can survive without Spider-Man for a month, and we need time together. Time to really know each other, outside of costumes and responsibilities." Her voice softened slightly as she cupped his face. "What do you say, darling? Does that sound acceptable?"

Peter looked up at her with surprise and quiet hesitation. His hands rested on her hips, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes. "Emma, are you serious? You really want to be with me? Not just as a fling, but... actually be with me? I mean, you're Emma Frost, and I'm just—"

Another kiss silenced his doubts, this one gentle yet firm. Emma pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her gaze uncharacteristically tender. "Perhaps it's time the White Queen found a man worthy of making an honest woman of her," she said, a rare vulnerability in her voice that transformed into a girlish giggle as Peter suddenly flipped her onto her back.

"Is that so?" he growled, positioning himself between her thighs, his cock sliding into her welcoming heat with one smooth thrust. Emma gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist as he began to move inside her. His eyes were bright with happiness, pupils dilated with pleasure and something deeper—hope. "Then maybe I should start treating you like my queen."

As they moved together, Emma caught flashes from Peter's mind—images of the future he was already imagining. The two of them walking hand in hand through Central Park, having dinner at fancy restaurants, fighting villains side by side, even more domestic scenes of shared mornings like this one. The mental pictures were so pure, so hopeful that it made Emma's chest tighten with unfamiliar emotion.

Mentally, she recalled something Cable had shared with the senior X-Men in private during the phoenix crisis. The time-traveler had revealed that far into the future, it wasn't the Avengers, the X-Men, or even Captain America who was remembered as the greatest hero. No, it was Spider-Man—Peter Parker—whose legacy endured through the centuries. And if Mary Jane Watson didn't want to be part of that legacy, that was perfectly fine with Emma. Let the White Queen, Emma Frost, be remembered as the one who stood proudly at his side, supporting him, loving him, being loved by him. As Peter's thrusts became more urgent and Emma felt herself climbing toward climax, she wrapped herself around him physically and mentally, determined to never let go.

OMAKE

Mary Jane Watson paced the living room floor, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders as she checked her phone for the twentieth time that hour. The Hellfire Gala had been magical—all glitz, glamour, and mutant politics—but Paul's abrupt desire for a midnight walk afterward struck her as odd. Now, with morning sun streaming through the windows, his continued absence had transformed her mild concern into full-blown worry.

"Dammit, Peter, pick up your phone," she muttered, ending yet another call that went straight to voicemail. Her finger hovered over the call button again, tempted to make it eleven attempts. Mary Jane sank onto the couch, her emerald eyes fixed on the door as if willing it to open. "Where the hell are you, Paul? And where the hell are YOU, Peter, when I actually need Spider-Man's help?" The irony wasn't lost on her—after years of pushing Peter away for his superhero responsibilities and breaking up with him, she now desperately needed him.

Several blocks away, in a narrow alleyway between two derelict buildings, something dark and sinister moved with predatory grace. Venom's massive form hunched over a city dumpster, muscular arms disposing of evidence with meticulous care. "That's what happens to those who hurt Peter," the symbiote hissed, its voice a grotesque chorus of alien and human tones melded together. White eyes narrowed with satisfaction as Paul's broken body disappeared beneath bags of garbage. "No one takes what belongs to us. No one hurts our friend."

The symbiote straightened to its full, imposing height and, in a bizarre shift of mood, began to gyrate its hips in a victory dance. Venom's massive form twerked against the alley wall, the symbiote rippling obscenely across Eddie Brock's body in what could only be described as the most terrifying display of dominance ever performed in a New York back alley. "We are Venom," it growled triumphantly, "and we are fabulous." With that final proclamation, the creature shot a tendril of black ooze toward a nearby fire escape and pulled itself upward, swinging away on its tentacles into the morning sky, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Chapter Text

Four years had passed since that night in Krakoa after the Hellfire Gala. Emma sat in the large, expensively furnished head office of Parker-Frost Industries, absentmindedly stroking her swollen belly as she reviewed quarterly reports. The "casual" yet equally expensive silk dress she wore clung to her voluptuous form as always, but with a new shape shown as her belly grew to accommodate the babies growing within her. Her breasts, already impressive before, had swelled further with her pregnancy, straining against the fabric in a way that still drew appreciative glances from Peter whenever he entered the room.

She was heavily pregnant with Peter's children, her boyfriend's babies as accommodating as their father as they kicked gently and moved inside her until she cooed lovingly and caressed her womb to calm them down to sleep. "Settle down, little ones," she whispered, a gentleness in her voice that few beyond Peter had ever been privileged to hear. "Your father will be home soon, and I'd like to greet him without you two performing gymnastics inside me."

The twins—they had discovered it was twins at the twelve-week scan—responded to her voice, their movements slowing as if they truly understood her. Emma smiled, leaning back in her customized ergonomic chair that Peter had insisted on purchasing when her pregnancy started showing. The memories of how they'd ended up here still brought a flush to her cheeks. What had begun as a single night of passion and comfort had evolved into something neither of them had expected.

As Emma continued stroking her pregnant belly, her thoughts drifted back to the beginnings of their relationship four years ago. That night at Krakoa after the Hellfire Gala had been meant as comfort for him—a physical release with no strings attached. Yet something had sparked between them, something neither had expected but both had needed desperately.

"The first six months were the hardest," Emma murmured to herself, remembering how she'd arranged her schedule to visit New York every weekend. She would arrive at his modest apartment Friday evening and leave late Sunday, creating a rhythm that sustained them both through the separation. They'd spend those precious hours exploring the city together—Emma dragging Peter to upscale boutiques, Peter introducing Emma to hole-in-the-wall cafés with the best pastries she'd ever tasted despite their unassuming appearances.

Those early weekends revealed to Emma aspects of herself she'd kept locked away—a capacity for simple joy, for contentment without agenda. They would spend lazy Sunday mornings tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest as he read scientific journals aloud, pausing to explain concepts she pretended not to understand just to hear the excitement in his voice. It filled a void in her she hadn't known existed—a yearning for normality, for connection without the constant chess game of mutant politics.

For Peter, their relationship had been healing in ways he couldn't articulate. Mary Jane's choice to stay with Paul had left wounds Emma could see clearly with or without her telepathy. She watched those wounds gradually close as their weekends together accumulated. His smile came more readily, the shadows behind his eyes receding. "You don't look at me like I'm broken," he'd told her one night, voice thick with emotion. "Everyone else treats me like I'm one bad day away from falling apart since MJ left."

"That's because you're not broken, darling," she'd replied, cupping his face. "You're simply human. And remarkably resilient for it."

By their six-month anniversary, the weekend arrangement had become insufficient. Emma secured a penthouse on the Upper East Side with a view of the park, presented Peter with the key, and simply said, "This commute is becoming tedious. I think we should solve that problem, don't you?" The knowing smile on her face had told him everything—this wasn't just convenience; it was commitment.

His mountain of bills had been her next target. Finding the stack of overdue notices tucked shamefully into his desk drawer, Emma had written a check for the full amount—a mere three thousand dollars that had been crushing him on his reporter's salary but was barely a rounding error on her financial statements. "Consider it an investment in our shared peace of mind," she'd told him when he protested. "Your pride is admirable, darling, but utterly unnecessary with me."

The wardrobe came next—a complete overhaul that maintained his essential Peter-ness while ensuring no boyfriend of Emma Frost would attend industry events in off-the-rack suits. She'd worked with a renowned stylist, carefully selecting pieces that Peter would actually wear rather than simply what she wanted to see him in. The day he walked into a board meeting wearing a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, confidence radiating from him as naturally as his boyish charm, Emma had felt a possessive pride that surprised her with its intensity.

"Let's go away together," she'd suggested after their first year, as spring turned to summer in New York. "Somewhere we can just be Emma and Peter, not the White Queen and Spider-Man." Hawaii had been perfect—isolated enough for privacy but with all the luxuries Emma considered necessities. They'd rented a private beachfront villa, spending two months swimming in crystalline waters by day and exploring each other's bodies by night.

Those nights in Hawaii had unleashed something primal between them. Peter's inhibitions had fallen away with each passing day, his natural confidence extending to their bedroom activities in ways that left Emma breathless. "Fuck, Emma," he'd growled one night, pinning her wrists above her head as he thrust into her with almost brutal intensity. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to take you like this." His cock—impressively large and thick in ways that had initially surprised her—stretched her deliciously with each powerful stroke, hitting spots inside her that made her normally composed facade shatter completely.

"Then take me, darling," she'd gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his ass. "I'm yours to claim." And claim her he had, night after night, their bodies slick with sweat in the tropical heat as they fucked with an intensity that left the sheets ruined and both of them delightfully sore. Emma had discovered that Peter's superhuman stamina extended to all physical activities, his recovery time between orgasms measured in minutes rather than hours. He'd filled her so completely, so repeatedly, that by the end of their Hawaiian getaway she'd half-jokingly wondered if she might already be pregnant.

She wasn't pregnant then, of course, though not for lack of trying on Peter's part—or her own enthusiastic participation. Emma smiled at the memory as she shifted in her chair, her body responding even now to thoughts of their passionate encounters. Four years later, she still found herself wet and ready at the mere thought of Peter walking through the door, his tie loosened after a long day in the lab, his eyes darkening when they fell on her.

"Worth every moment of waiting," Emma murmured, recalling how she'd made absolutely certain she was always prepared for Peter to take her whenever the mood struck them both—which was frequently. She'd taken to wearing easily accessible clothing around their penthouse, delighting in how quickly Peter could have her bent over the nearest surface, her pussy stretched around his nine inches of pure, throbbing cock. "God, you're huge," she'd gasped the first time she'd wrapped her hand around him in their apartment, unable to close her fingers completely around his impressive girth. "And it's all mine." The possessiveness in her voice had made him harder still, a fact she exploited mercilessly whenever she wanted him inside her.

Their sexual compatibility had been matched only by their professional synergy. It hadn't taken Emma long to recognize that Peter had been limiting himself financially, his brilliant mind constrained by perpetual poverty and the demands of his heroic activities. "Darling," she'd said one evening as they lay tangled in their sheets, Peter idly tracing patterns on her bare back, "have you ever considered what you could accomplish if you had proper funding for your inventions?" The question had sparked a conversation that lasted until dawn, Peter's eyes bright with excitement as he outlined innovations he'd conceptualized but never had the resources to develop.

"I could change the world, Em," he'd said, his voice vibrating with passion that matched the intensity he brought to their lovemaking. "Not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker too." Emma had simply kissed him, reached for her phone, and called her financial advisor, instructing them to transfer ten million dollars into a new account by morning. When Peter had protested, she'd silenced him with another kiss. "Consider it seed money for our joint venture. I expect a significant return on my investment, Mr. Parker."

Within months, Parker-Frost Industries had gone from blueprint to reality. "It needs both our names," Peter had insisted despite Emma's suggestion that his alone would suffice. "This is our company—our legacy together. Without you, it would still be scribbles in my notebook." The earnestness in his eyes had melted something in Emma that she hadn't realized was still frozen, and she'd agreed with uncharacteristic quickness. The partnership proved more successful than either had anticipated; Peter wasn't Reed Richards, but the young man might have been close—and unlike Richards, Peter had Emma's ruthless business acumen to complement his scientific genius.

"Fuck, Em, we're actually doing this," Peter had marveled six months later, standing in their first corporate laboratory as technicians installed equipment worth more than he'd earned in his entire life. Emma had responded by locking the door, hiking up her skirt, and bending over his desk. "We certainly are, darling," she'd purred, looking over her shoulder to find his gaze locked on the wet, swollen lips of her pussy, clearly visible with her lack of underwear. "Now why don't you do me right here in our lab? Consider it christening the place properly." He'd been inside her in seconds, his thick shaft stretching her deliciously as he groaned against her neck, "You're so fucking perfect for me."

With Peter's revolutionary technology and Emma's contacts, startup capital, and ruthless tactics for dealing with corrupt politicians and businessmen who tried to stand in their way, the company flourished beyond their wildest expectations. Emma deployed her telepathy strategically in board meetings, not to control minds—Peter had made her promise—but to identify deception and disloyalty before it could threaten their growing empire. Meanwhile, Peter's innovations in renewable energy and medical technology earned them patents worth billions, his creative genius flourishing under Emma's protective financial umbrella.

Within two years, Parker-Frost Industries had revolutionized the defensive technology sector, developing non-lethal weapons systems that rendered traditional firearms obsolete. Their proprietary "Web Shield" technology—a derivative of Peter's original web fluid formula—could blanket entire city blocks in protective, bullet-resistant barriers that emergency services could easily dissolve when needed. "The beauty of it," Peter had explained during their initial investor presentation, "is that it protects without harming. No collateral damage, no ethical compromises." Emma had watched from the side of the stage, a rare public smile gracing her lips as shareholders' minds practically screamed dollar signs at her. The military contracts alone had generated billions, with international peacekeeping organizations soon following suit.

"I never thought I'd see the day when the United Nations Security Council would be voting unanimously on anything," Emma remarked one evening, scrolling through news reports on her tablet as Peter massaged her swollen feet. She was seven months pregnant now, her belly gloriously round. "But apparently, darling, your technology transcends even decades-old political animosities." The Council had just approved the deployment of Web Shield systems to conflict zones worldwide, with Parker-Frost Industries handling the implementation. "Though I suspect my rather persuasive conversations with certain ambassadors helped smooth the process," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye that made Peter chuckle.

Their hiring practices had caused almost as much stir as their technology. Emma had insisted from day one that mutant applicants receive equal consideration, a stance that initially raised eyebrows among traditional corporate players. "Darling, you've surrounded yourself with the least qualified, most prejudiced executives in Manhattan," she'd observed after their first executive meeting, her voice dripping with disdain. "I suggest we rectify that immediately." Within months, the company boasted the most diverse workforce in the tech sector, with mutants working alongside humans in every department. The press had dubbed them "The Integration Innovators," a title that made Peter beam and Emma roll her eyes despite her private satisfaction.

Charitable giving became another hallmark of their corporate identity. Peter had established the May Parker Foundation, named after his beloved aunt, dedicating an initial endowment of two billion dollars to housing assistance, education for underprivileged youth, and medical research. "Aunt May always said that with privilege comes responsibility," he'd told Emma as they signed the founding documents. "I think she'd be proud of this." Emma had squeezed his hand, a rare moment of public tenderness that their lawyer had pretended not to notice. "She would be immensely proud of you, Peter," Emma had replied, her usual sharp tone softened. "As am I." The foundation had gone on to fund hospitals in developing nations, disaster relief programs, and scholarship funds that had already helped thousands of students—both human and mutant—pursue higher education.

Their relationship had remained professional in the public eye until Emma's pregnancy became impossible to hide. The announcement came at the annual Parker-Frost Industries gala, with Emma resplendent in a custom-designed white gown that accentuated rather than concealed her pregnant belly. "Yes, Peter and I are expecting twins," she'd confirmed to the shocked reporters, her hand firmly clasping Peter's. "And yes, our relationship extends beyond the boardroom. I suggest you all adjust your narratives accordingly." Peter had stood beside her, his arm protectively around her waist, unable to keep the pride from his face as cameras flashed around them. "We're very happy," he'd added simply, pressing a kiss to Emma's temple that made headline news across the globe by morning.

The reactions from their respective superhero communities had been predictably chaotic. "You and FROST?" Johnny Storm had exclaimed during Peter's next visit to the Baxter Building, his flames flaring with shock. "Dude, when did THIS happen? And how did none of us know?" Peter had shrugged, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Four years ago. And you didn't know because Emma values privacy, and frankly, so do I." Tony Stark had been more calculating, pulling Peter aside at the next Avengers meeting. "Parker, do you realize what this means for your security clearance? She's a telepath with a... complicated history." Peter's response had been uncharacteristically firm. "Tony, I trust Emma with my life—and with the lives of our children. That's not up for debate." Stark had eventually nodded, recognizing the steel beneath Peter's usually easygoing demeanor.

The X-Men's reaction had been equally dramatic, with Emma's former teammates gathering at the new Hellfire Club—now a legitimate business enterprise under her direction—to confront her about the relationship. "Four fucking years, Emma?" Scott Summers had demanded, his voice tight with something between anger and hurt. "And we're just finding out now?" Emma had remained perfectly composed, one hand resting on her pregnant belly as she sipped her sparkling water. "My personal life is precisely that, Scott—personal. Peter makes me happy. He challenges me intellectually, satisfies me physically—" she'd paused, enjoying Scott's obvious discomfort, "—and loves me without conditions or expectations. I wasn't aware I needed the X-Men's approval for my choice of partner." Jean Grey had defused the tension, offering genuine congratulations that Emma had accepted with gracious acknowledgment of their complicated history. "You two balance each other," Jean had observed thoughtfully. "In ways I wouldn't have predicted but now seem obvious."

The age difference between them—Emma at 37 and Peter at 29—had become fodder for tabloid speculation, but neither paid it any mind. "Eight years is hardly scandalous," Emma had remarked dismissively after reading a particularly salacious headline. "Though I do appreciate being called a 'MILF' and 'cougar,' if only for the imagery of hunting you down like prey." She'd straddled him on their sofa as she said it, her pregnant belly pressing against his abdomen as she ground herself against his rapidly hardening cock. "Would you like that, darling? Being hunted by me?" Peter had responded by lifting her easily, carrying her to their bedroom as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I think I've always wanted you to catch me, Em," he'd murmured against her neck before laying her gently on their bed and proceeding to worship every inch of her changing body with his mouth and hands until she'd screamed his name loudly enough that even their soundproofed penthouse couldn't contain it completely.

Their wealth had transformed both their lives, though in different ways. For Peter, who had spent his entire adult life counting pennies, the freedom from financial worry had been initially disorienting but ultimately liberating. "I actually forgot to check my bank account before buying coffee yesterday," he'd admitted to Emma with a sheepish grin several months into their venture. "It felt... weird. Good weird." Emma, accustomed to luxury but new to the particular satisfaction of building something meaningful with a partner, found herself enjoying Peter's wide-eyed appreciation of their success. She'd surprised him on his thirtieth birthday with a private island in the Caribbean, complete with state-of-the-art laboratory facilities built to his exact specifications. "For when you need to think without distraction," she'd explained, presenting him with the deed. "Though I expect you to bring me along regularly—these pregnancy hormones have made me positively insatiable for your cock, and I intend to have you in every room of our new property." Peter had fucked her right there on the helipad after their tour, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her with abandon, both of them oblivious to the tropical storm gathering on the horizon.

Emma's status as the world's first female mutant billionaire had been formally recognized by Forbes, which featured her on its cover with the headline "The White Queen of Wall Street." The article had detailed not only her business acumen but her journey from villain to educator to corporate titan. "Ms. Frost has redefined what's possible for mutant integration into human society's highest echelons," the piece concluded. Emma had read it aloud to Peter one morning as they lay in bed, his hand absently caressing her swollen belly. "And to think," she'd mused, setting aside the magazine, "this is merely the beginning. Once your space mining technology is operational, we'll be looking at numbers that even I find somewhat obscene." Peter had propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes serious despite his smile. "You know what excites me most about that possibility? Not the money—it's what we can do with it. Imagine funding cleanup of every ocean, building sustainable housing for everyone who needs it, revolutionizing education worldwide." Emma had pulled him down for a deep kiss, her heart swelling with an emotion that still sometimes caught her by surprise after four years. "This is why I love you, Peter Parker," she'd whispered against his lips. "Your mind goes immediately to how you can help others, even when presented with the prospect of obscene personal wealth." His response had been to kiss her deeply before sliding down her body, his mouth finding her swollen, sensitive clit as he worshipped her with his tongue until she came with a shuddering gasp, her fingers twisted in his hair while their babies kicked inside her—a perfect moment of connection that reminded her just how dramatically her life had changed since that night at Krakoa four years ago.

Of course, Emma mused, it hadn't all been fun and happiness these past four years. Peter was still a hero, even if the public only knew and saw him as Peter Parker, brilliant scientist and business giant now. Behind closed doors, he still donned the red and blue, still swung between skyscrapers as Spider-Man. The difference, Emma had noticed, was in his efficiency. His battles ended before they could truly begin, villains finding themselves webbed to walls or knocked unconscious within minutes of confronting him. The Rhino had complained to the police during one arrest that "Spidey ain't even bantering anymore—just gets the job done and splits." Even Doctor Octopus had begrudgingly remarked that this was "a new, refreshed Spider-Man," one who seemed to have found his center.

Emma knew exactly why. Peter fought differently now because he had something—someone—to come home to. The knowledge that Emma would be waiting for him, her belly swollen with their children, gave his actions a precision and focus that had been lacking before. "I don't waste time out there anymore," he'd explained one night as he peeled off his mask, dropping onto their balcony after patrol. "Every minute fighting is a minute I'm not with you." He'd pressed his palm against her pregnant belly, smiling as one of the twins kicked against his hand. "And you three are far more important than trading insults with Electro for twenty minutes."

They'd settled into a comfortable routine—Peter handling his CEO responsibilities by day, patrolling for a few hours in the evening, then returning home to Emma and their expanding family. Their nights were filled with passionate lovemaking that had only grown more intense as Emma's pregnancy progressed. "These hormones make me absolutely ravenous for you," she'd confess, guiding his hand between her thighs where he'd find her already slick and ready. "I need your cock inside me right now, darling." Peter never refused her, his own desire for her pregnant body overwhelming his exhaustion as he filled her completely, her moans of pleasure echoing through their penthouse.

But there had been darker moments amidst their happiness—none more terrifying than the A.I.M. incident three months into Emma's pregnancy. She'd been at their downtown lab, reviewing new pharmaceutical prototypes when the attack came. Fifty agents in those ridiculous yellow hazmat suits, led by a mid-level commander who believed capturing Emma Frost would force Peter to surrender his latest invention—a quantum computing system that could revolutionize artificial intelligence. "Miss Frost," the commander had addressed her with smug confidence, "you'll be coming with us. M.O.D.O.K. is most interested in having a conversation with you and your offspring."

Emma had remained perfectly calm, one eyebrow arched in disdain. "I'm afraid I must decline your charming invitation," she'd replied coolly, her hand resting protectively over her barely-showing belly. "And I should warn you—my Peter tends to overreact when his family is threatened." The commander had laughed, ordering his men to secure her. Emma had reached for her telepathy, preparing to shut down their minds, when she'd felt Peter's consciousness approaching—a familiar presence now burning with something she'd never sensed from him before: pure, murderous rage. "On second thought," she'd said with a smile that made several agents step back, "I believe you're about to learn why threatening a pregnant telepath whose boyfriend has a man with superhuman abilities on call was a catastrophic miscalculation."

The glass ceiling had shattered inward as Spider-Man crashed through it, landing in a crouch that seemed more predatory than his usual playful posture. The absence of quips had been the first warning sign. Peter always talked during fights—jokes, taunts, pop culture references—but this Spider-Man was utterly silent. Even through the mask, Emma could feel the cold fury radiating from him, his mind broadcasting a single thought so powerfully that even non-telepaths might have sensed it: Mine. Protect. MINE.

What followed could only be described as a massacre. Not in terms of fatality—Peter still held to his no-killing rule….at least to those who weren't a world ending threat—but in sheer brutality of execution. He moved through the A.I.M. agents like a force of nature, breaking bones with precision strikes that ensured maximum pain without lethality. When reinforcements arrived, bringing the total to nearly two hundred agents, the outcome never changed. Emma watched, both horrified and oddly aroused, as her usually gentle Peter systematically dismantled every threat to her and their unborn children. "This is what happens," she telepathically whispered to the commander who cowered behind her desk, "when you threaten what belongs to him."

The Avengers had arrived twenty minutes into the fight, alerted by the building's security systems. Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow, and Hawkeye burst into the lab expecting to find Emma in danger—instead, they found her calmly sitting in her ergonomic chair, sipping tea as Spider-Man continued his methodical destruction of the remaining A.I.M. forces. "Should we... help him?" Hawkeye had asked uncertainly, watching as Peter webbed three agents together and slammed them into a wall with enough force to crack the concrete. Black Widow had shaken her head, her eyes narrowed in professional assessment. "I've never seen him fight like this," she'd murmured, a note of both respect and fear in her voice. "No wasted movement, no hesitation, no mercy. This isn't Spider-Man—this is a predator."

Emma had finally intervened when M.O.D.O.K. himself appeared, hovering above the battlefield with his too-large head pulsing with mental energy. Peter had gone completely still upon seeing the mastermind behind the attack, his body coiling like a spring. "He's going to kill him," Captain America had realized aloud, moving to intercept, but Emma had raised a hand to stop him. "Allow me," she'd said quietly, rising from her chair with graceful confidence despite her pregnancy. She'd walked directly to Peter, placing herself between him and M.O.D.O.K., her hand gently touching his chest where his heart raced beneath the costume. "Darling," she'd said softly, her mind embracing his, soothing the jagged edges of his rage. "I'm safe. The babies are safe. You've protected us beautifully, my love. But I need you to come back to me now."

The change had been immediate—Peter's body relaxing from its combat stance as his focus shifted entirely to Emma. His gloved hands had moved to her belly, checking her for injuries with desperate concern. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you? The babies—" Emma had silenced him with a gentle kiss to his masked face. "We're perfectly fine, thanks to you," she'd assured him, deliberately pitching her voice to carry to the assembled Avengers and the terrified M.O.D.O.K. "Though I believe our would-be kidnapper was about to surrender and beg for mercy, weren't you?" She'd turned to M.O.D.O.K., her eyes flashing white briefly as she sent him a mental image of what Peter had been planning to do—pull his oversized brain directly through the narrow opening of his skull. The villain had blanched visibly, quickly agreeing to surrender as Iron Man moved to take him into custody.

Later that night, after the Avengers had departed with their prisoners and Peter had carried Emma home, cradling her against his chest as he swung through the city, they'd made love with an intensity that left them both breathless. "I would have killed for you today," Peter had confessed as he moved inside her, his thick cock stretching her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would have torn M.O.D.O.K. apart without hesitation or regret." Emma had pulled him closer, her nails digging into his back as pleasure built within her. "I know, darling," she'd gasped, feeling him throb inside her as her words inflamed him further. "Your darkness is as much a part of you as your light—and I love both equally." She'd climaxed around him then, her pussy clenching rhythmically as she screamed his name, the intensity of her orgasm triggering his own as he flooded her with hot, thick spurts of cum, both of them clinging to each other as if the world might try to tear them apart if they let go for even a moment.

Emma sighed in contentment, returning to the present as she caressed her swollen belly through the expensive white silk. The twins shifted beneath her touch, strong kicks that made her smile with maternal pride. She'd been so lost in memories that she'd almost forgotten the quarterly budget meeting droning through her laptop speaker—utterly unnecessary since she'd memorized every figure weeks ago and had the papers before her, but appearances must be maintained. Her attention snapped back fully when her secretary's voice interrupted the monotonous presentation.

"Ms. Frost, you have visitors from Krakoa," Angela announced through the intercom, her professional tone never wavering despite the frequent appearances of mutant dignitaries in their offices. "Shall I have them wait or send them in?"

"Send them in, Angela," Emma replied, straightening in her chair and smoothing her dress over her prominent baby bump. She wondered if it was the Cuckoos again, mentally preparing herself for their enthusiastic fawning. The girls had been utterly fascinated by her pregnancy, treating it like the most extraordinary scientific marvel rather than the quite ordinary biological process it actually was—though Emma had to admit, there was nothing ordinary about carrying Peter Parker's children.

The Cuckoos had taken to hovering all over her in amazement ever since she'd started showing, five identical blonde telepaths fluttering around her like excited birds, waiting on her every need just for the opportunity to speak telepathically to their "siblings" growing in her womb. They would giggle delightedly every time the babies moved or kicked, treating each tiny movement as if it were a profound cosmic event. "They recognize us already," Celeste had declared with authority during their last visit, while her sisters nodded in unison. "They're going to be exceptionally powerful telepaths, you know," Phoebe had added, her eyes wide with anticipation. Emma found their enthusiasm both touching and slightly exhausting.

That wasn't the only reason for their frequent visits, of course. The young women hadn't stopped pestering her about "sharing" Peter with them ever since they'd accidentally glimpsed his considerable endowment in Emma's mind during an unguarded moment months ago. The mental image of Peter's thick nine-inch cock stretching Emma's pussy had leaked during a particularly heated telepathic exchange, and the five young women had gone absolutely silent for a full thirty seconds—a record in Emma's experience—before erupting into a chorus of demands and pleading.

"Emma, you simply must share," Irma had insisted during their last visit while Peter was away on business. "We're practically family," Esme had added with a pout that might have worked on someone with less backbone. "Think of it as a bonding experience," suggested Phoebe, failing utterly to keep the naked lust from her voice. "Five of us, one of you, and more Peter than even six telepaths could handle," Celeste had continued, her eyes glazed with fantasy. "We promise to let you watch... at first," Sophie had finished with a smirk that reminded Emma uncomfortably of herself at their age.

It always amused Emma immensely when she refused their increasingly creative propositions and they pouted collectively, their eyes inevitably drifting to Peter's crotch whenever he entered the room, five identical pairs of blue eyes widening slightly as they tried and failed to mask their telepathic whispers from Emma's considerably more experienced mental shields. "It looks even bigger in person," she'd caught Phoebe thinking during a dinner party last month. "I bet he could take two of us at once," Celeste had added to their shared mental conversation. Emma had nearly choked on her wine, shooting them a look that promised painful consequences if they didn't immediately redirect their thoughts. She couldn't entirely blame them, of course—Peter was, by any objective measure, exceptionally well-endowed, and Emma herself had been known to mentally broadcast her appreciation of that fact on multiple occasions. Still, some things were not meant to be shared, not even among telepaths who considered themselves sisters of a sort.

The doors to her office swung open, and Emma's expectations of five identical blondes evaporated as Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier strode in instead. Magneto cut an imposing figure in his crimson attire, silver hair gleaming under the office lights, while Xavier walked beside him, the massive Cerebro helmet obscuring the upper half of his face, its metallic surface reflecting Emma's pregnant form as they approached her desk.

"Emma, my dear, you're positively glowing," Xavier said warmly, his hands clasped before him as his eyes remained hidden beneath the helmet's shadow. "Motherhood becomes you." Magneto inclined his head in agreement, a small smile playing across his usually stern features as he regarded her swollen belly with something approaching reverence.

"Cut the crap, Charles," Emma replied coldly, one hand resting protectively over her stomach where the twins kicked vigorously as if sensing the powerful mutants in their mother's presence. "Ever since you regained the ability to walk, you've been everywhere, haven't you? Perhaps you should consider returning to the wheelchair. The humble look suited you." Her sharp words contrasted with the soft circles her thumb traced over her belly, a maternal gesture that didn't escape either man's notice.

Xavier merely chuckled, seemingly unbothered by her barb. "Your tongue remains as cutting as ever. I've missed that particular brand of honesty on the Quiet Council." He stepped closer, the helmet's sensors humming faintly. "We all have, in fact. Krakoa isn't quite the same without your... calming presence."

"Calming? That's certainly a creative interpretation of my contribution," Emma scoffed, shifting in her chair to accommodate her pregnancy. "I seem to recall several meetings ending with threats of psychic evisceration—usually directed at Sebastian." The memory brought a genuine smile to her lips; putting Shaw in his place had always been one of her favorite pastimes.

Magneto moved to the window, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline where Parker-Frost Industries' logo now adorned several buildings. "What Charles is failing to communicate effectively is that we need you, Emma. The nation requires stability now more than ever, especially with the humans growing increasingly... curious about our resurrection protocols." His voice carried the weight of countless diplomatic confrontations, yet there was an unfamiliar note of something like pleading beneath his customary authority.

Emma laughed, the sound like crystal champagne flutes clinking together—beautiful but with a dangerous edge. "If the Hellfire Galas we've hosted these past four years haven't sufficiently thawed relations between mutants and humans, I doubt anything will. Peter and I spent over fifty million on helping setting up last year's gala alone." She stroked her belly absently, remembering how resplendent she'd looked in her custom Frost Couture gown, strategically designed to showcase both her pregnancy and her décolletage to maximum effect. "The humans drank our champagne, ate our caviar, and swooned over our fashion. Presidents and prime ministers posed for photos with mutants they'd once condemned. And they still complain when Krakoa demonstrates the ability to resurrect our own?" She shook her head, platinum blonde hair catching the light. "If that's all you've come to discuss, gentlemen, I suggest you leave. My schedule is rather full these days."

Magneto and Xavier exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that made Emma narrow her eyes suspiciously. After decades as a telepath, she recognized when important information was being withheld. "There is... something else," Magneto said carefully, his posture straightening as if bracing for her reaction. "Something of considerable importance."

"Your babies," Xavier said, his voice gentle but firm. The Cerebro helmet hummed slightly as he spoke, its mysterious technology resonating with some unseen energy. "We've come about your children, Emma."

Emma's hand moved protectively over her swollen belly, her expression hardening into the diamond-cold mask that had intimidated countless adversaries. "What about my children?" she asked, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. The twins kicked vigorously beneath her palm, as if sensing her sudden tension. "Choose your next words very carefully, Charles."

Xavier removed the Cerebro helmet, revealing eyes filled with a mixture of awe and concern. "I detected them during a routine scan last week. It was... unprecedented." He set the helmet on her desk, its metal surface gleaming under the office lights. "Emma, your children register to Cerebro like a million blazing suns. I've never encountered anything like it in all my years of using this technology—not even when Jean housed the Phoenix Force."

"The combination of your telepathic powers and Parker's enhanced genetic structure has created something... extraordinary," Magneto continued, moving closer to her desk. His eyes fixed on her pregnant belly with an intensity that made Emma bristle. "The mutant potential within them exceeds anything we've documented. Beyond Omega level, Emma. Perhaps even surpassing Franklin Richards."

Emma's lips curved into a proud smile despite her wariness. "Of course they're exceptional. They're mine." She ran her hand over the taut skin of her belly, feeling one of the twins press a foot against her palm. "Though I fail to see why this warrants a personal visit from both of you. Surely a congratulatory fruit basket would have sufficed."

Xavier leaned forward, his eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "Emma, children of this potential need proper guidance—proper training from the earliest age. They need to be raised in an environment where their abilities can be nurtured and controlled." He paused, exchanging another look with Magneto before continuing. "They should be on Krakoa, among their kind. The first mutant children born into our new nation—symbols of what's possible for our future."

Emma's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Let me be perfectly clear, Charles. My children will be born right here in Manhattan, in the private medical suite Peter has built for precisely this purpose. They will be raised by their parents, not turned into symbols or weapons or whatever euphemism you're currently using for child soldiers." Her eyes flashed white briefly as her temper spiked. "And if you think for one moment that I would entrust their upbringing to a man who has a history of sending teenagers into combat—or to a nation whose leadership includes Sebastian Shaw and Mystique—then pregnancy has clearly affected my reputation more than I realized."

Magneto stepped forward, his voice grave. "You don't understand the danger, Emma. If humans—particularly those in positions of power—discover the potential your children possess, they will stop at nothing to neutralize that threat. We've seen it before. Project Wideawake, the Sentinel Programs, the Weapon Plus initiatives... your children would become targets before they even take their first breath outside your womb."

"The human governments have tolerated mutants thus far because they believe they can contain us," Xavier added, his fingers steepled. "But children with power beyond the Omega level ones that are already around? They would view that as an existential threat to humanity itself."

Emma's laughter filled the office, cold and crystalline. "Oh Charles, Magnus... you poor, deluded old men." She caressed her belly as she leaned forward. "You think I fear humans coming for my children? Let me educate you about something you've clearly never witnessed—a truly enraged Spider-Man who's removed his kid gloves." Her smile was predatory as she continued. "You saw only a glimpse during that A.I.M. incident. Peter holds back. Always. But for our children?" She shook her head. "If anyone threatened them, there wouldn't be enough left to identify."

"And that's assuming I leave enough of their minds intact for them to even remember how to breathe," Emma added, her eyes flashing white momentarily. "Between my telepathy and Peter's abilities, anyone foolish enough to target our family would face consequences beyond their comprehension." She stood with surprising grace despite her advanced pregnancy, placing both hands on her desk as she fixed them with an icy stare. "Human or mutant, government or individual—the distinction is irrelevant. Touch our children, and extinction becomes a mercy we might not grant."

The room fell silent, both men regarding her with expressions that mingled respect with something like fear. Even Magneto, who had faced down armies and gods alike, seemed to reassess the woman before him—not just as the White Queen or a powerful telepath, but as a mother prepared to unmake reality itself to protect her offspring.

Emma tilted her head slightly, her telepathic senses prickling at the edges of her awareness. "There's something else you're not telling me," she said, her voice soft but unyielding. "What else brings the two most powerful mutants on Earth to my office when a simple video call would have sufficed for this particular guilt trip?"

Xavier and Magneto exchanged another significant glance, the kind that confirmed Emma's suspicions. Xavier finally sighed, removing the Cerebro helmet from her desk and holding it in both hands like a man about to deliver particularly difficult news.

"Emma," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "the truth is that despite our best efforts—despite all the resources of Krakoa, despite the resurrection protocols, despite Moira's genetic research—your children with Peter Parker are the only offspring born to mutants in the last four years."

Emma's perfect composure faltered for the first time since their arrival. "What?" she whispered, one hand instinctively moving to cradle her belly where the twins shifted restlessly. "That's impossible. Jean and Scott were talking about starting a family. Rogue and Remy have been trying since they married. And the younger mutants—"

"All unsuccessful," Magneto confirmed grimly. "We've documented over three hundred attempts by mutant couples to conceive in the past four years. Your pregnancy is the only one that has endured beyond the first trimester." He gestured toward her swollen belly. "And you carry twins, no less. It defies every pattern we've observed."

Emma sank back into her chair, genuine alarm replacing her earlier confidence. The implications crashed through her mind like tidal waves—extinction by attrition, the slow death of an entire species not through violence but simply through the inability to reproduce. "The resurrection protocols," she began, her analytical mind already seeking solutions even as shock rippled through her. "They should—"

"They restore the body to its previous state," Xavier interrupted gently. "They cannot create new life. Only natural conception can do that." He leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. "Emma, your children may not just be exceptionally powerful. They may be the future of mutantkind itself."

Emma stared at Xavier and Magneto, her mind racing through the implications. If mutants couldn't reproduce, it meant eventual extinction despite the resurrection protocols. Her hand moved protectively over her swollen belly as the twins kicked vigorously, as if protesting the very idea. "Are you suggesting," she began slowly, "that there's something special about me? Some unique aspect of my mutation that allows me to bear children while other mutants cannot?"

Xavier shook his head, a strange expression crossing his face. "No, Emma. We've tested that hypothesis extensively with genetic samples from dozens of female mutants, including those with healing factors and adaptable physiologies." He hesitated, his eyes flicking to Magneto before continuing. "Our findings indicate the key factor isn't you, Emma. It's Peter."

"Peter?" Emma repeated, genuinely surprised for perhaps the first time in years. "What do you mean?"

"His genetic structure is... remarkable," Xavier said, sounding like an impressed scientist rather than the world's most powerful telepath. "The radioactive mutation that granted him his abilities has created something we've never encountered before. His DNA bonds seamlessly with mutant genetic structures, bypassing the compatibility issues that plague other human-mutant conceptions." Xavier clasped his hands together. "To put it bluntly, Spider-Man appears to be particularly virile when it comes to producing mutant offspring."

Magneto stepped forward, his usually stern face now deadly serious. "The Quiet Council has identified approximately twelve humans worldwide with similar genetic properties. Captain America is among them, as are a handful of other individuals. Our research suggests these men consistently produce mutant children when they mate with mutant women—sometimes even with non-mutant partners."

"And you can't simply... what? Kidnap these men and set up a breeding program?" Emma asked sarcastically, though she already knew the answer. The thought of anyone attempting to kidnap her man made her telepathic powers flare protectively.

"Such actions would spark international incidents that Krakoa cannot afford," Magneto replied gravely. "Humans already fear us enough without giving them reason to believe we're abducting civilians. And while Captain Rogers might sympathize with our plight, I somehow doubt he would agree to father children with dozens of mutant women simply to preserve our species, no matter how noble the cause."

Xavier shifted uncomfortably. "Which leaves us with a limited set of options, and Peter is—statistically speaking—the most compatible match we've found. His genetic adaptability is unparalleled, and the evidence..." he gestured toward Emma's pregnant belly, "speaks for itself."

Emma's initial worry dissolved into incredulous laughter, the sound filling her office as both men stared at her in confusion. "Let me understand this correctly," she said when her mirth subsided enough to speak. "You've come here today to inform me that my boyfriends cum is apparently the miracle cure for mutant extinction, and you what? Want me to pimp him out to the desperate women of Krakoa?" Her blue eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement. "Shall I set up a schedule? Perhaps Monday through Wednesday he services the telepaths, Thursday through Saturday the physical mutants, and Sundays..." she tapped her chin thoughtfully, "well, Sundays could be for special cases. Mystique might enjoy shapeshifting for him, and I'm sure Storm would create quite the electrifying experience."

Emma expected her scathing humor to land as it always did—with either uncomfortable silence or forced chuckles—but to her genuine surprise, neither Xavier nor Magneto so much as cracked a smile. The room fell into an unsettling quiet as Xavier clasped his hands together, leaning forward with an earnestness that made Emma's eyebrows rise.

"That is precisely what we're proposing, Emma," Xavier said, his tone deadly serious. "Though perhaps with less crude scheduling than you've suggested. Several prominent mutants have already discreetly volunteered should you and Peter be amenable." He paused, clearly choosing his next words carefully. "Ororo was among the first to offer herself, actually. She emphasized that she would consider it not just a duty to mutantkind, but an honor."

Emma's laughter rang through her office again, more incredulous than before. "Storm? Perfect, untouchable Ororo Munroe is volunteering to fuck my boyfriend?" She shook her head, platinum blonde hair swaying with the movement. "The goddess herself, spreading her legs for Spider-Man. How absolutely delicious." Despite her mocking tone, Emma found herself genuinely considering the proposition, her analytical mind already weighing the implications. The continuation of mutantkind against her own possessiveness of Peter. The survival of an entire species versus her admittedly territorial nature when it came to her boyfriends considerable assets.

"We understand this is an extraordinary request," Magneto said, his voice somber as he regarded her. "But these are extraordinary times. The resurrection protocols sustain us for now, but without new births, we face a different kind of extinction. A world where mutants become living fossils, unable to evolve or grow." He gestured toward her swollen belly. "What you carry within you may be the salvation of our entire species."

Emma ran her hand over her belly thoughtfully, feeling the twins shift beneath her touch. "I will discuss this with Peter tonight," she finally said, her voice softer than before. "I make no promises. My man is not a breeding stallion to be paraded before eager mares, no matter how desperate the situation." She fixed both men with an icy stare. "And if—a substantial if—we were to agree to any arrangement, it would be on our terms, with our conditions, under my supervision."

Xavier and Magneto exchanged glances that contained equal parts relief and wariness. "Of course," Xavier nodded. "We would expect nothing less." He hesitated before adding, "There is one more thing you should know, Emma. Our studies suggest it isn't merely Peter's radioactive genetic structure that makes this possible. There's something else—something we don't fully understand."

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, her interest genuinely piqued.

"Spider-Man appears to be connected, perhaps unknowingly, to a greater power in the universe," Xavier explained, his voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper. "The Web of Life and Destiny, some call it. Others reference the Great Weaver or simply the Spider-Totem. Whatever the name, this connection enhances his already remarkable genetic compatibility with mutant DNA." Xavier's eyes moved to her pregnant belly. "Any children he fathers with mutant women won't just be powerful, Emma. They will likely possess abilities that even gods themselves would fear—perfect bridges between humanity and mutantkind, connected to both Peter's cosmic web and the X-gene's limitless potential."

The two men departed shortly after, leaving Emma alone in her office, one hand absently stroking her belly as she processed everything they had told her. The implications were staggering—not just for mutantkind, but for her own children and family. Peter's genetics, combined with the power of the X-gene, creating offspring of unprecedented potential. She couldn't help but smirk as she imagined telling Storm that Peter had agreed to their proposition. Proud, regal Ororo, with her perfect chocolate skin and piercing blue eyes, those long legs wrapped around Peter's waist as he fucked a baby into her. The weather goddess herself, moaning and writhing beneath Spider-Man's considerable talents, that magnificent ass of hers bouncing against him with each thrust as she begged him to fill her with his precious seed. Emma would watch, of course—partly to ensure no emotional attachment formed, but mostly because the thought of watching her mans thick cock stretching another woman while she directed the entire encounter was undeniably arousing.

Emma shifted in her chair, suddenly aware of the growing dampness between her thighs. Pregnancy had made her impossibly horny, and the mere thought of Peter's virility—so potent it could potentially save an entire species—sent a pulse of desire through her core. She reached for her phone, glancing at the clock. Peter would be finishing his meeting with the R&D department soon.

Emma was about to call Peter when her cellphone suddenly lit up with an unknown number. She answered with a cool, "Emma Frost speaking," while her free hand continued to stroke her swollen belly where the twins kicked enthusiastically beneath her palm.

"Emma! We know what Charles and Erik just told you!" five identical voices chorused through the speaker, their excitement practically vibrating through the connection. The Cuckoos, of course—their telepathic abilities making it impossible to keep secrets on Krakoa. "We want to officially request first position in the lineup. It's only fair since we've been asking for months already," Phoebe continued, her sisters giggling in the background.

"We promise to worship Peter's magnificent, mutantkind-saving cock properly," Celeste added, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that made Emma roll her eyes. "We've been practicing techniques specifically calibrated to his size and stamina requirements," Irma chimed in with clinical precision that somehow made the statement even more obscene.

Esme's voice pushed to the forefront, practically purring, "We'll call him Daddy if he punishes us properly for being naughty little telepaths. We've been very, very bad, sneaking into your thoughts about his equipment." The quintuplets dissolved into giggles before Sophie continued, "And we'll take turns sucking those huge balls dry while you watch from the cuck chair, critiquing our technique and—"

"No," Emma said simply, her tone amused but firm as she cut through their breathless fantasies. "Absolutely not. And the fact that you think I would ever sit in a 'cuck chair,' as you so elegantly phrased it, suggests you know far less about me than you believe." She couldn't help the smirk that curved her lips as she heard their collective disappointed sighs. "Your enthusiasm is noted, girls, but if—and I stress if—Peter and I decide to pursue this particular solution to mutantkind's fertility crisis, I assure you that more mature candidates would be considered first."

She ended the call, chuckling softly to herself as she pictured five identical pouting faces on Krakoa. "Angela," she called through the intercom, "please make reservations for two at Lumière for seven o'clock. Peter and I will be dining privately tonight." As her assistant confirmed the reservation, Emma gathered her belongings, her mind already shifting to more important matters than the Cuckoos' adolescent fantasies.

As she strode from her office toward the elevator, her hand cradled her belly protectively while she contemplated the evening ahead. Perhaps it was finally time to formalize their relationship legally as well as emotionally. After four years together and with twins on the way, marriage seemed the logical next step—especially if Peter would potentially be fathering children with other women. The thought of him entering such arrangements without the security of being her husband first seemed unacceptable.

Emma knew Peter would never propose himself, not out of lack of love, but from that persistent insecurity that had survived even his astronomical success. Despite co-founding Parker-Frost Industries and becoming one of the wealthiest men in New York, Peter still occasionally looked at her with wonder, as if expecting to wake from a dream where someone like him could build a life with the White Queen. It was endearing and infuriating in equal measure, but tonight she would put an end to it.

The elevator doors closed on her satisfied smile as she pictured the ring she'd commissioned months ago—a flawless diamond set in vibranium with delicate web-like patterns etched into the band. It sat waiting in her safe at home, alongside the documentation transferring a significant portion of her assets into the twins' trust fund. Tonight, Emma Frost would ask Peter Parker to marry her, and if the resulting enthusiastic lovemaking happened to fulfill certain pregnancy cravings she'd been experiencing all day, all the better.

Emma squirmed against the midnight blue silk sheets, her platinum blonde hair splayed across the pillow like spilled moonlight. Her back arched as Peter's tongue masterfully circled her swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. "Oh god, Peter!" she cried out, her normally composed demeanor completely shattered by his attentions. Her pregnancy had made her even more sensitive than usual, turning each flick of his tongue into an almost overwhelming sensation that bordered on the telepathic.

Peter paused briefly, looking up from between her thighs with a mischievous smile. "You taste even better than before," he murmured, his breath hot against her wet flesh. "Something about you carrying our baby..." He pressed reverent kisses along the curve of her rounded belly, his hands gently caressing the taut skin stretched over their growing child. Emma's breath caught as she watched him worship her changed body with such tenderness, before he returned to feast between her legs with renewed hunger.

"Fuck, don't stop," Emma gasped, her fingers threading through his brown hair to hold him firmly in place. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as he sucked her clit between his lips, applying just the perfect amount of pressure. The White Queen, feared telepath and former villain, reduced to a quivering mess under a young man's tongue. She'd have been embarrassed if it didn't feel so goddamn incredible. Her ice-blue lipstick had smudged from biting her lower lip, her composure completely abandoned.

Perhaps, she mentally thought, proposing marriage tonight wasn't the best idea. Her thoughts fragmented as another pulse of pleasure tore through her.

Who am I kidding? It was my best idea yet. The thought gleefully burst through Emma's mind as another shock of pleasure from Peter's tongue sent her hips bucking against his face. The White Queen had planned everything meticulously, right down to the moment she would propose, and now she was reaping the rewards of her boldness. Her normally disciplined mind fractured into kaleidoscopic bursts of pleasure as Peter's skilled mouth worked miracles between her thighs.

"Fuck, Peter!" she cried out, her legs shaking uncontrollably. "Your mouth... should be... registered as a lethal weapon!" Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as he hummed against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another wave of ecstasy crashing through her swollen body. One hand caressed her pregnant belly while the other clutched desperately at the silk sheets beneath her.

Emma's mind flashed back to just hours earlier at the restaurant, where soft lighting had cast a golden glow across their table. She hadn't gotten down on one knee—the White Queen would never kneel, pregnant or not—but instead had slid the small velvet box across the table with deliberate slowness, her ice-blue eyes never leaving his. The box, designed with her signature telepathic technology, had opened automatically to reveal the gleaming vibranium and diamond ring inside.

"Marry me, Peter," she had commanded, her voice dripping with sultry authority despite the vulnerability of the moment. "Make me your wife. Give me your last name." Her fingers had traced circles on the back of his hand as she added, "Emma Parker has quite the ring to it, don't you think?" The restaurant had seemed to fade away around them, her telepathy creating a bubble of privacy in the crowded space.

His eyes had darkened instantly, pupils dilating with a potent mixture of lust and unbridled happiness. "Yes," he'd breathed, not a moment's hesitation in his voice. "God, yes, Emma." In one fluid motion, he'd slipped the ring onto his finger, thrown several hundred-dollar bills onto the table, and grabbed her arm. "Home. Now," he'd growled with an intensity that made her core clench with anticipation.

The sensation of teleportation had washed over her, that brief disorienting moment as Peter activated his emergency transport tech—something he'd developed after a particularly nasty encounter with Doc Ock had left him stranded. They'd materialized in their bedroom, Peter's hands already activating the molecule-destabilizing device he'd engineered for "costume emergencies." Her ridiculously expensive white dress—a Valentino worth more than most cars—began to disintegrate from her body.

"Peter!" she'd protested, though the hungry smile on her face betrayed her excitement. "That dress cost more than your first apartment!" But her words had lacked any real resistance or heat as the fabric disappeared, leaving her standing in nothing but a white lace thong, her pregnant belly and swollen breasts on full display. The hungry look in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her had made her feel more desirable than when she was in her prime at the Hellfire Club.

"I'll buy you ten more," he'd promised, his voice rough with desire as he'd gently guided her to their bed. "Right now, I need to taste my fiancée." The word had sent a thrill through her as he'd spread her legs with reverent hands, positioning himself between her thighs with single-minded purpose. "I need to worship the mother of my child," he'd murmured against her inner thigh, his breath hot against her skin.

And now here she was, the feared White Queen, former villain and current X-Men member, writhing beneath Peter Parker's talented tongue as he ate her cunt like he owed her money. Her telepathy was flickering out of control, projecting fragments of her pleasure into his mind, creating a feedback loop of sensation between them. "Peter," she gasped, teetering on the edge of another shattering orgasm, "your fiancée is about to cum all over your face—again." Her fingers tightened in his hair as the wave began to crest, her ice-queen composure completely and gloriously shattered by the man who would soon be her husband.

"You're going to be doing this for the rest of your life," Peter growled against her wet flesh, his voice vibrating against her sensitive clit. "My beautiful fiancée is going to be cumming on my face until we're old and gray." His fingers dug possessively into her thighs as he redoubled his efforts, tongue flattening against her swollen bud before plunging deep into her entrance. "Making me the happiest man in the fucking world deserves a lifetime of worship."

Emma's pale cheeks flushed pink with triumph and pleasure, her ice-blue eyes rolling back as another wave of ecstasy crashed through her. The combination of his skillful tongue and his devoted words sent electric pulses of satisfaction through her body that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure alone. She had done it—she had secured him, claimed him, made the amazing Spider-Man hers in every way that mattered.

"Yes," she hissed, one hand moving to cradle her pregnant belly while the other remained tangled in his thick brown hair. "Yours, Peter. All yours." The words were barely coherent as his tongue found that perfect spot again, causing her thighs to tremble uncontrollably. Her normally sharp mind grew hazy with pleasure, but one crystal-clear thought remained: I've won.

Her chest swelled with vicious victory as images of Mary Jane Watson flashed unbidden through her mind—the redhead who'd once had Peter wrapped around her finger. Poor little Mary Jane, Emma thought with cruel satisfaction. I've taken everything from you, darling. Her telepathy flared with her emotions, unconsciously projecting fractured images of her triumph into the ether, though she maintained enough control to keep them from Peter's mind.

Emma's hands tightened in Peter's hair as she ground herself against his face, riding the wave of both physical pleasure and vindictive triumph. She had stolen a hero—not just any hero, but Spider-Man himself, one of the most beloved and pure-hearted champions New York had ever known. She had taken the father of Mary Jane's potential children and made him her own. The former villain, the White Queen, had seduced away the girl-next-door's perfect man, and now he wore her ring on his finger.

And what a man he is, Emma thought as Peter's tongue swirled inside her, his thumb pressing perfectly against her clit. Better than any man the redhead could have imagined—attentive, brilliant, and with a sexual appetite that matched Emma's own considerable demands. "Fuck, Peter!" she cried out as his fingers joined his mouth, two thick digits curling inside her to stroke against her g-spot with unerring precision. "Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop!"

The White Queen had won again, she thought viciously as the pressure built to an unbearable crescendo within her core. Just as she had clawed her way from poverty to become a billionaire, just as she had transformed from villain to hero on her own terms, she had claimed the prize she wanted most. Peter Parker—Spider-Man, genius, and now father to her child—belonged to Emma Frost, and no flame-haired model would ever touch him again.

"Peter!" Emma screamed, her back arching dramatically off the bed as the dam finally broke. Her orgasm crashed through her with such intensity that her telepathy flared wildly, projecting her ecstasy outward in a psychic wave that would likely give their neighbors particularly vivid dreams tonight. Her cunt pulsed and gushed around his tongue and fingers, flooding his eager mouth with her hot juices as her inner walls clenched rhythmically.

Peter groaned appreciatively against her flesh, drinking eagerly from her release as though it were the sweetest nectar. His hands held her thighs firmly as they shook uncontrollably, his tongue never ceasing its worship as he lapped up everything she offered. "That's it, Em," he murmured between eager swallows, his chin and lips glistening with her essence. "Give it all to me. Every drop belongs to your fiancé." The word 'fiancé' on his lips sent another aftershock through her body, making her jerk against his mouth as the White Queen surrendered completely to her pleasure and her triumph.

As the echoes of her climax gradually subsided, Emma collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving with exertion. Tiny aftershocks continued to ripple through her body, making her thighs twitch involuntarily against Peter's shoulders. Her normally sharp mind felt pleasantly foggy, wrapped in the warm cocoon of post-orgasmic bliss. The White Queen rarely allowed herself such complete surrender, such total vulnerability—but with Peter, the rules had always been different.

"Fuck," she breathed, her British accent more pronounced in her state of relaxation. A lazy, satisfied smile spread across her face as she ran her fingers through her disheveled platinum blonde hair. "I believe I've created a monster with that tongue of yours, darling." She propped herself up on her elbows, her ice-blue eyes widening appreciatively as they traveled down his body. There, straining obscenely against the confines of his trousers, was the unmistakable outline of Peter's impressive cock—nine thick inches making a wet tent in the fabric. A dark patch had formed where his pre-cum had soaked through, evidence of just how aroused he'd become while pleasuring her.

"Come here," Emma purred, her voice a sultry command as she beckoned him with one perfectly manicured finger. "Let your fiancée ease that magnificent cock of yours. It looks positively painful, trapped in there." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared hungrily at the prominent bulge. "I want to feel those nine inches stretching me open while you fill me with your hot cum."

To her surprise and mild irritation, Peter didn't move from his position between her thighs. Instead, he lowered his head once more, his tongue resuming its delicious torment of her oversensitive flesh. Emma gasped, her back arching involuntarily as another jolt of pleasure-pain shot through her still-quivering cunt. "Peter!" she protested, though her body betrayed her as her hips automatically tilted up to meet his mouth.

"Not done worshipping you yet," he murmured against her wet flesh, his hot breath sending new shivers cascading through her. His hands caressed the swell of her pregnant belly with reverence before sliding down to hold her thighs apart. "The woman who put a ring on my finger deserves everything I can give her." His tongue delved deeper, exploring her folds with deliberate slowness, as if he intended to memorize every inch of her.

Emma moaned despite herself, her body responding traitorously to his skilled mouth even as her mind fought for control of the situation. "Enough, darling," she managed, her voice caught between command and plea. "Put that magnificent cock inside me and get some comfort." She reached down, attempting to guide him upward. "I want to feel you stretch me open while I squeeze every drop of cum from those heavy balls of yours."

Peter raised his head just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with lust but his expression resolute. "No, Em. Tonight is all about you," he said firmly, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh. "You've made me the happiest man alive. You're carrying our children. You've agreed to be my wife." His hands caressed her swollen belly with reverence. "Tonight, I want to make you cum until you can't remember your own name."

Emma, however, wasn't about to let the man she loved suffer for his chivalry. The White Queen had never been one to relinquish control—not in the boardroom, not in battle, and certainly not in the bedroom. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed with determination as she activated her telekinetic abilities, a faint glow emanating from her temples. With a single thought, she lifted Peter's body from between her thighs, suspending him momentarily in the air above her. "I appreciate the sentiment, darling," she purred, "but I think we've established that I get what I want."

Peter gasped as he felt himself floating, his body weightless under the influence of her powers. Emma's telekinesis made quick work of his remaining clothes, methodically removing them piece by piece until he was completely naked before her. His massive cock finally sprung free from its confinement, bobbing heavily in the air, the thick shaft glistening with a copious amount of precum that had accumulated during his extended worship of her cunt. "Emma," he protested weakly, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed his true desires.

"Hush now," she commanded, gently depositing his naked form beside her on the midnight blue silk sheets. Emma rolled onto her side, pressing her swollen breasts and pregnant belly against his muscular torso as she captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting herself on his lips and moaning appreciatively at the flavor of their combined essence. "Mmm, we taste divine together," she whispered against his lips, one hand reaching up to cup his face tenderly. "My fiancé. The father of my children. My soon-to-be husband."

As they kissed, his cock twitched violently between them, smearing hot, viscous precum across her pale, meaty thighs and the taut skin of her rounded belly. Each pulse released another thick dribble of clear fluid, creating shining trails across her flesh that caught the dim light of their bedroom. Emma reached down, running a perfectly manicured finger through the sticky substance before bringing it to her lips and sucking it clean with a theatrical moan. "Always so responsive," she teased, her eyes never leaving his. "And always so deliciously abundant."

"I was trying to make tonight special for you," Peter breathed, his hands gently caressing the curve of her belly with reverence. "You deserve to be worshipped properly." His cock jerked again involuntarily as her hand brushed against it, releasing another thick glob of precum that landed hot and wet on her thigh. "I'm worried about... the babies," he admitted, his concern genuine despite the desperate need evident in his strained voice.

Emma's expression softened momentarily, touched by his concern even in his state of obvious arousal. She pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back to meet his gaze. "If you're worried about the children," she said, her British accent more pronounced as her voice dropped to a seductive whisper, "there are other ways to cool you off, darling." Her eyes glinted with mischief and hunger. "Ways that I happen to excel at."

Without waiting for a response, Emma's delicate hand wrapped firmly around his thick shaft, her cool fingers a stark contrast to the burning heat of his flesh. She began to stroke him with practiced expertise, twisting slightly on the upstroke and applying just the right amount of pressure to make his hips buck involuntarily against her grip. "Does that feel good, Peter?" she asked, her tone dripping with false innocence as his face contorted with pleasure. "Tell me how much you love your fiancée's hands on your big cock."

"Fuck, Emma," Peter groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as she continued her skilled manipulation of his throbbing member. "Your hands feel amazing, but your mouth—Christ, your mouth—" He couldn't finish the sentence, his words dissolving into a guttural moan as Emma slid down his body with predatory grace, positioning herself between his powerful thighs. She met his desperate gaze with a triumphant smile, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with wicked intent as she lowered her face toward his straining erection.

"As you wish," Emma purred, her ice-blue lipstick smearing slightly as she wrapped her full, painted lips around the swollen head of his cock. She sucked hard immediately, not bothering with teasing licks or gentle kisses—the White Queen took what she wanted, and right now she wanted to feel her fiancé coming apart under her expert ministrations. Her cheeks hollowed as she applied intense suction, her tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his cockhead while her hand worked the thick base in perfect synchronization. Years of practice had taught her exactly how Peter liked to be pleasured, and she employed every trick in her considerable arsenal, determined to reward his earlier devotion with mind-shattering ecstasy of his own.

Emma sank down further, taking another inch of Peter's impressive cock into her hot mouth. As she pulled back, she noticed with satisfaction how her ice-blue lipstick left perfect rings along his shaft, marking him as thoroughly hers. The sight sent a thrill of possessive pleasure through her core. Each stroke of her lips down his length left another blue circle, like ownership bands claiming territory that would never again belong to anyone else—especially not to that redheaded nobody who'd squandered her chance with him.

Poor little Mary Jane, Emma thought viciously as she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed more of his length, feeling him throb against her tongue. Such a pretty face, decent body too, I suppose—if you like that girl-next-door type. She twisted her hand at the base of his cock in time with her mouth's movements, feeling a surge of cruel satisfaction as Peter's hips bucked involuntarily. But what good did it do you in the end, darling? No boyfriend ever since that paul character disappeared and shaking your mediocre ass on runways while I'm swallowing your ex-boyfriend's magnificent cock.

"Fuck, Emma!" Peter groaned, his fingers tangling in her platinum blonde hair as she took him impossibly deep. "Nobody does this like you... nobody..." His words sent another wave of triumph crashing through her as she hummed appreciatively around his girth, the vibrations making him twitch and leak more precum directly onto her tongue.

She pulled off with an obscene pop, her ice-blue eyes locked on his as she deliberately stroked his spit-slicked shaft. "Of course not, darling," she purred, her accent thick with arousal. "Because I wasn't born to be an accessory on your arm. I'm a queen taking what she deserves." She flicked her tongue against his sensitive frenulum, collecting the pearly bead of fluid that formed there. Unlike your precious MJ, running around New York, spreading her legs for sleazy fat movie directors just to get two-bit roles in forgettable films.

Emma's mind continued its cruel trajectory as she resumed her skilled ministrations, taking him so deep that the head of his cock brushed against the back of her throat. Maybe when she hears about our engagement, she'll finally give up the pretense of legitimate acting and go straight into porn. At least then she'd be honest about what she's willing to do for attention. The wicked thought made her moan around Peter's shaft, the vibrations causing him to thrust upward involuntarily.

"God, the way you look with my cock in your mouth," Peter gasped, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he watched her platinum head bob between his thighs. "Those blue lipstick rings marking how deep you've taken me... it's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen." His praise fed her ego, stoked her sense of victory over the woman who'd once had him wrapped around her finger.

Emma pulled back again, deliberately letting saliva connect her lips to his cock in a glistening strand as she smiled up at him. "I do so love marking what's mine," she said, her voice a predatory purr as she stroked him firmly. "And you are mine now, Peter Parker. All mine." She never deserved you, Emma thought venomously. That ordinary little girl playing at being special. I'm the White Queen, darling—I was born extraordinary.

Her telepathy flickered outward momentarily, picking up stray thoughts from her fiancé—flashes of pure devotion, untainted by memories of his past love. It delighted her that in this moment of ecstasy, Mary Jane Watson didn't even register in his consciousness. Emma had won so completely that the competition had been utterly erased. The thought spurred her to renewed enthusiasm, taking him deeper than before, her throat relaxing to accommodate his impressive girth as her nose pressed against the firm muscles of his abdomen.

"Emma, I'm close," Peter warned, his voice strained as his hips began to thrust upward with more urgency. "So fucking close..." His fingers tightened in her hair, not controlling but anchoring himself as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. Emma moaned her approval around his thickness, her ice-blue eyes never leaving his face as she watched him approach the edge. She wanted to witness every microsecond of his surrender to her, wanted to feel him explode down her throat while she thought about how thoroughly she'd claimed what should never have been Mary Jane's in the first place. The poor girl might be beautiful enough for magazine covers, but she would spend the rest of her life knowing she'd lost the greatest man in New York to a woman who knew exactly how to keep him.

With a guttural groan that seemed to rise from the depths of his being, Peter finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. "Emma, fuck—I'm cumming!" His cock pulsed violently between her lips as the first thick rope of semen erupted directly onto her eager tongue. Emma moaned appreciatively around his girth, her ice-blue eyes locked on his as wave after wave of his hot, viscous seed flooded her mouth. Each powerful spurt was as copious as always—the superhuman virility serving as yet another reminder of her perfect choice in mate. She kept her lips sealed tightly around his sensitive head, sucking deliberately to extract every last drop, her throat working rhythmically as she swallowed his abundant release with practiced ease.

"God, Emma," Peter gasped, his hand still tangled in her platinum blonde hair as his hips jerked with each aftershock. The sight of the feared White Queen eagerly drinking his cum sent another pulse of pleasure through his spent body. With trembling hands, he gently pulled back, his still-hard cock slipping from between her swollen lips with an obscene pop that echoed in the quiet bedroom. "Not done yet," he murmured, his voice rough with lingering desire as he rose to his knees, towering over her reclined form. His hand wrapped around his glistening shaft, still rock-hard and dripping with a mixture of her saliva and his own cum.

Emma leaned back against the pillows, her ice-blue eyes half-lidded with satisfaction as she watched him stroke himself above her. She held her head perfectly still and proud, her chin tilted upward in regal expectation, platinum hair framing her aristocratic features like a halo. "Mark your territory, darling," she commanded, her voice thick with arousal. "Show me who I belong to." Peter's hand moved faster along his length, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his second climax approached with startling speed. With a hoarse cry, he erupted again, thick ropes of pearly white cum splattering across her flawless features, clinging to her long eyelashes, streaking her alabaster cheeks, and dripping down to pool in the hollow of her throat before sliding lower to coat her swollen breasts.

"Fuck, look at you," Peter groaned, his cock still twitching in his grip as the last few drops oozed from the tip. "So fucking beautiful covered in my cum." Emma's lips curled into a satisfied smile as she reveled in the warm weight of his seed on her skin, feeling it sliding down her face like the most exclusive of facial treatments. Without prompting, Peter moved forward, pressing the head of his cock against her parted lips. Emma opened obediently, her pink tongue darting out to collect the remaining fluid from his sensitive tip before taking him into her mouth once more, gently sucking and licking him clean with tender, almost reverent care.

This is how you please a true hero, Emma thought triumphantly as she nursed the softening length, her mind unable to resist conjuring Mary Jane's face, twisted with jealousy and regret. This is what you threw away, you abandoning cunt. The venom in her thoughts contrasted sharply with the loving attention she lavished on Peter's cock. She gradually released him from her mouth, making a show of letting her head fall back slightly, opening wide to display the pool of cum still coating her tongue. Peter's eyes darkened with renewed hunger at the sight of his seed glistening on her pink tongue, framed by those ice-blue lips now smeared beyond recognition. Emma maintained eye contact as she theatrically swallowed, her throat working visibly before she opened again to show him the empty cavern of her mouth.

"Good boy," Emma purred, her voice honey-sweet as she leaned forward to press a tender kiss to the tip of his now semi-hard cock. Her cum-streaked hand caressed the still-warm shaft with delicate strokes, her touch feather-light as she coaxed it into relaxation. "Time to rest now, darling," she cooed, speaking directly to his member as if it were a separate entity deserving of its own praise. "You've done magnificently, as always. Such a good, obedient cock." She pressed another kiss to the sensitive head, her tongue darting out to collect a final drop of fluid. "Soon we'll play again, but for now, rest."

With graceful movements that belied her pregnant state, Emma slid from the silk-covered bed, rising to her full height at the edge of their bedroom. She made no move to wipe the cum from her face or breasts, wearing Peter's seed like a badge of honor as she stretched languidly, knowing full well the picture she presented. Her rounded belly protruded proudly, her full breasts hung heavy with their pregnant weight, and her ass—still remarkably firm despite her condition—jiggled enticingly as she began to walk toward their ensuite bathroom. Each deliberate step caused her hips to sway hypnotically, the moonlight streaming through the window catching the pearly trails of semen that decorated her pale skin.

"I believe I need a shower," Emma announced, glancing over her shoulder with a coy smile. The cum on her face caught the light like expensive jewelry, dripping from her chin and eyelashes in glittering strands that enhanced rather than diminished her regal beauty. She paused at the bathroom doorway, one hand resting on the frame as she turned to face him fully. "Though I may require some... company, darling. Pregnancy makes certain positions in the shower rather challenging, and I find myself in need of a strong pair of hands." Her free hand traced a path through the cooling semen on her breasts, collecting it on her fingertip before bringing it to her lips and sucking it clean with theatrical relish. "Coming?"

Peter was on his feet and halfway across the room before she had even finished speaking, his spent cock already showing signs of renewed interest as he hurried after his fiancée.

Emma and Peter lay entwined an hour later, their naked bodies radiating heat beneath the tangled sheets. Peter's muscular arm wrapped protectively around Emma's waist, both their hands resting on the subtle swell of her growing womb. Emma's platinum blonde hair splayed across the pillow as she nestled her back against his chest, her round ass pressing satisfyingly against his semi-hard cock. "I can feel her mind forming already," Emma whispered, a rare tenderness in her voice as her fingers guided Peter's hand in gentle circles over her belly. "She'll have your strength and my telepathy." Peter nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of her expensive perfume and the lingering scent of their sex. The warmth of their embrace and the lingering bliss of their multiple orgasms were lulling him toward sleep, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

"So," Emma's voice suddenly took on that playful tone that always meant trouble, "how would you like to fuck Storm?" Peter's eyes flew open instantly, sleep forgotten as he propped himself up on one elbow to stare down at Emma's smirking face. "Wait, WHAT?!" he exclaimed, wondering if his exhaustion was making him hear things. Emma giggled and told him of Xavier and magnetos request.

OMAKE

Paul's eyes fluttered open to the pungent stench of rot and decay, his body aching as he realized he'd been dumped like yesterday's garbage in what appeared to be an abandoned landfill. "How long have I been out?" he groaned, struggling to sit upright among the heaps of trash bags and discarded furniture. His mind raced with urgency – he needed to find Mary Jane, needed to warn the Avengers about what Venom had done to him. "MJ must be worried sick," he muttered, trying to orient himself. "I have to tell her everything, tell the Avengers about Venom..." He froze mid-thought as the unmistakable shing of a katana being unsheathed cut through the air, followed by a guttural, inhuman growl that sent ice through his veins. Slowly turning his head, Paul's eyes widened in disbelief.

Behind him stood the most absurd scene imaginable – Deadpool, katanas gleaming in the moonlight, and Venom, tongue lolling obscenely, both twerking in perfect synchronized rhythm. "Well, well, well! Look who's trying for a dramatic resurrection arc!" Deadpool sang out, striking a pose. "Sorry, budget Peter Parker knockoff, but trash Marvel characters should stay dead! It's in the contract – page forty-seven, paragraph six!" Venom's massive form lurched forward, drool dripping between fanged teeth. "WE AGREE WITH THE ANNOYING RED ONE... FOR ONCE," the symbiote growled as they descended upon Paul with terrifying speed. Paul barely had time to raise his arms in defense before Deadpool's boot connected with his face. "This is what happens when you try to disturb Peter's life, Paul-who-nobody-asked-for!" Deadpool chided, helping Venom pile additional garbage bags over Paul's battered form. Once satisfied with their disposal job, the unlikely duo broke into enthusiastic griddy dances, high-fived with exaggerated sound effects, and sauntered away into the night, leaving Paul to contemplate his life choices beneath a mountain of refuse.

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their Manhattan apartment, casting a golden glow over the breakfast nook where Peter and Emma sat. Peter absently stirred his cereal, watching Emma across the table as she elegantly sipped her tea, perfectly manicured nails tapping against her iPad screen. Despite the domestic tranquility of the scene, his mind was still reeling from last night's revelation.

"I'm sorry, but can you run through this whole thing one more time?" Peter asked, setting down his spoon with a clink. "Because I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that Professor X and Magneto—two of the most powerful mutants on the planet—came to you with some kind of... breeding program?"

Emma looked up from her device, those icy blue eyes holding a glimmer of amusement. "Darling, we went over this last night. Rather thoroughly, if I recall." Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Though I suppose you were quite... distracted at the time."

"Yeah, well, hearing that the leaders of mutantkind want me to basically stud service their population tends to throw a guy off his game," Peter replied, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair. "Even if you did manage to make the conversation incredibly hot in the moment."

Emma set her iPad down, leaning forward slightly. The movement caused her silk robe to part just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts and the curve of her pregnant belly. "They didn't use those exact words, of course. Charles and Erik are far too proper for that." She caressed her stomach gently, a gesture that had become habitual as her pregnancy progressed. "But the essence is correct. There appears to be a fertility crisis on Krakoa."

"A fertility crisis," Peter repeated flatly, watching her fingers trace circles over her swollen womb. "And they think I'm the solution because...?"

"Because, my love, you've accomplished what apparently no other human has managed in quite some time." Emma's voice dropped lower, more intimate. "You've knocked up a mutant. Quite thoroughly, I might add." She took another sip of tea, her eyes never leaving his. "According to their data, not a single mutant couple has conceived on Krakoa since its founding."

Peter's brow furrowed as he processed this information. "Wait, none? As in zero babies? How is that possible with thousands of mutants living there?"

"That's what has them concerned," Emma replied, setting down her teacup. "They've run extensive tests through their precious Cerebro and Hank's laboratories. There seems to be something about the island itself—or perhaps something else entirely—preventing conception between mutants. The only exceptions they've found are pregnancies involving humans."

"And I'm special because...?" Peter trailed off, though he was beginning to connect the dots.

Emma's smile widened. "Because you, Peter Parker, along with perhaps Captain America and maybe twenty other individuals worldwide, appear capable of impregnating mutant women. The vast majority of human-mutant pairings are just as infertile. Something about your enhanced genetics, they theorize." She reached across the table to take his hand, guiding it to rest on her belly. "And as evidence, I present exhibit A."

Peter felt a kick against his palm and couldn't help smiling despite his confusion. "Okay, I get that part. What I don't understand is how we jumped from 'interesting scientific discovery' to 'let's have Spider-Man fuck Storm.' That seems like quite a leap."

Emma burst into laughter, bright and genuine. "Oh darling, your eloquence never fails to charm. And to think I used to consider you beneath my notice."

"Hey, I'm being serious here," Peter protested, though he couldn't help grinning at her reaction. "Last night you casually mention that not only do the mutant bigwigs come asking you to stud out your future husband, but they're suggesting I should sleep with Storm. Storm! One of the most powerful and respected mutants alive. Former queen of Wakanda. Actual goddess to some people."

"And apparently quite eager to experience your particular... talents," Emma added, her expression turning mischievous. "When the Quiet Council learned of the situation and began discussing potential candidates, Ororo reportedly volunteered herself."

Peter nearly choked on his coffee. "She what?"

"Volunteered," Emma repeated, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Really, Peter, is it so hard to believe that other women might desire you? You're quite the catch, even if you do insist on wearing those ridiculous pajamas while swinging around the city."

"They're not pajamas," Peter muttered reflexively. "But that's not the point. The point is—this is insane! They're basically asking me to..." He struggled to find appropriate words.

"To help ensure the survival of an endangered species through thoroughly enjoyable means?" Emma suggested, arching a perfect eyebrow. "I fail to see the downside, particularly since I've already given my blessing. After all, unlike most men, you actually possess the stamina to satisfy multiple partners." She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. "Something I've come to appreciate firsthand."

Peter's face flushed crimson, the heat rising so quickly to his cheeks that he had to look away from Emma's knowing gaze. He fidgeted with his coffee mug, suddenly finding the ceramic pattern fascinating.

"My, my," Emma purred, leaning back in her chair with a self-satisfied smirk. "And here I thought I'd spent the last few years conditioning you to develop a proper mutant breeding kink. Clearly, I haven't been thorough enough in my... education." She crossed her legs slowly beneath the table, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin.

Peter cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "I wouldn't say that. You've been very... educational."

"Indeed?" Emma's eyes glittered with mischief. "Perhaps you need a reminder of last month, when you had me bent over the balcony railing? As I recall, you were quite enthusiastic when I commanded you to 'breed the White Queen like a conquering king.' I believe the neighbors three buildings over heard your response."

The blush that had begun to fade returned with such intensity that Peter thought his face might permanently change color. "That was... I mean, we were... that's different!"

"Is it?" Emma tilted her head, the morning light catching in her platinum blonde hair. "The way you filled me that night suggested otherwise. I distinctly remember you growling something about making sure your powerful spider genes dominated my mutant ones." She caressed her swollen belly meaningfully. "Evidence suggests you succeeded."

Peter buried his face in his hands. "Why do you remember every embarrassing thing I say during sex with such perfect clarity?"

"Telepath, darling. And besides," Emma reached across to pull his hands away from his face, "I find your uninhibited moments quite... stimulating. But you're deflecting. What I don't understand is your hesitation regarding Ororo. Is there some history between you two I'm unaware of?"

"No, that's not it," Peter sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "I just don't understand why Storm of all people would want this? She's... she's Storm! Goddess of weather, former queen, leader of mutants. And I'm just the guy who makes bad jokes while punching Doc Ock."

Emma's expression grew slightly more serious, her fingers interlacing with his across the table. "Is there some animosity between you two that I should know about? Some past conflict?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing like that. Well, except for that one time I guest-lectured at the school and the students seemed to prefer my teaching style to hers. She was a little frosty—not Emma Frost frosty, just regular frosty—for a few days after that." He shrugged. "And obviously not everyone appreciates how I make jokes about everything, but I wouldn't say we hate each other. Far from it. I respect her enormously."

"Then what's the real issue here?" Emma pressed, her thumb tracing small circles on his palm. "Because I'm sensing there's something more to your reluctance."

Peter exhaled slowly, trying to organize his thoughts. "It's just... this is weird, right? Being approached like some kind of special breeding stud? And with someone like Storm—it feels almost disrespectful, like I'd be diminishing her somehow by turning this into some kind of... I don't know, transaction?"

Emma's expression softened, something rare and genuine flickering in her ice-blue eyes. "Peter, darling, you're overthinking this as usual. Ororo is a grown woman making her own choices. If anything, she sees this as a practical solution to an existential threat facing her people. And," she added with a hint of her usual wickedness returning, "perhaps she's curious about the man who managed to tame the White Queen."

"I wouldn't say 'tamed,'" Peter quipped, a small smile finally breaking through his discomfort. "Maybe 'temporarily persuaded to consider domestic life.'"

"Quite," Emma replied dryly. "The point remains that this isn't merely about biologically viable breeding pairs. The Quiet Council could have approached this clinically, with test tubes and sterile labs. That they've suggested a more... natural approach speaks to the importance of more than genetics. And believe me when I say that Ororo Munroe does nothing she doesn't wish to do."

Peter nodded slowly, considering her words. "So you're really okay with this? With me potentially... you know..."

"Fucking another woman senseless and pumping her full of your superior spider-seed?" Emma finished bluntly, her expression utterly composed despite the vulgarity. "Darling, I've had centuries' worth of sexual experiences in my lifetime. I'm hardly going to begrudge you exploring beyond our bed, especially when it serves a greater purpose."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, anxiety evident in the tightness of his shoulders. "It's not just that, Emma. We're engaged now. After four years together, we've built something real. We have Parker-Frost Industries to run, which is finally turning a profit that doesn't make me panic every quarter. And in case you've forgotten," he gestured toward her swollen belly, "we have babies on the way. Our babies. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," Emma replied, her tone softening slightly as she observed his distress. "But that doesn't explain your visceral reaction. There's something more here, isn't there?" She tilted her head, studying him with the practiced eye of a telepath who preferred to hear truths spoken aloud rather than plucked from minds.

Peter's gaze dropped to the table, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his coffee mug. "I just... I don't want to lose you, okay? Not over some breeding project that Xavier and Magneto cooked up." The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, raw in a way that still surprised Emma after all their time together. "I've lost enough people in my life. And what we have—it's more than I ever thought I'd get."

"Peter," Emma began, but he continued as though a dam had broken.

"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper, "and I'm convinced it's all been a dream. That you're not really there. That none of this—us, the company, the babies—is real." His eyes met hers, filled with an earnestness that still caught her off guard. "I have to reach for your hand just to make sure you're actually beside me. That's how certain I am that something this good can't possibly last."

If Emma's heart could have burst from affection for Peter, it would have in that moment. Despite her typical composure, she felt something warm and dangerous unfurl in her chest—an emotion she'd once considered a weakness but now recognized as her greatest strength. She rose from her seat, setting her iPad down on the table with deliberate care.

Emma walked toward him with the grace that had made men's heads turn for decades, the silk of her robe flowing around her changed body like water. When she reached him, she took his hand and placed it against the swell of her belly where, in just three months, their babies would be born. "Feel that," she murmured. "That's real. More real than any nightmare or doubt."

As if on cue, there was movement beneath his palm—a gentle flutter, then a more pronounced kick. Peter's expression softened in wonder, as it did every time he felt their children stir. Emma watched the transformation, the way anxiety melted into reverence, and she carded her fingers through his hair as he leaned forward to rest his head against her womb.

"They always seem to know when you're near," she said softly, stroking the nape of his neck. "Your children already adore you, as does their mother, though she's significantly less inclined to admit it in polite company."

Peter closed his eyes, feeling another kick against his cheek. "I just want you," he murmured against her silk-covered belly. "All of you. I don't want to share this with anyone else."

Emma's fingers continued their gentle exploration of his hair, her touch uncharacteristically tender. "I'm not going to leave you, Peter," she promised, her voice carrying a rare note of complete sincerity. "Not like Mary Jane did with Paul." The mention of his ex-girlfriend's name still carried a slight edge—Emma Frost wasn't known for her forgiveness of those who hurt people she cared about. "She didn't know what she lost. I, however, know exactly what I have."

Peter looked up at her, gratitude and love evident in his gaze. "You mean that?"

"Have you ever known me to say things I don't mean?" Emma asked, arching an elegant eyebrow. "Besides, I have certain... selfish motivations as well." A mischievous smirk curved her blue-tinted lips as she leaned down, bringing her face closer to his. "I was thinking I might place a camera somewhere discreet when you and Ororo finally get together. I'd quite enjoy watching the famed Storm break on your nine-inch spider cock."

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead against her belly again. "And just like that, you've ruined a perfectly touching moment."

Emma threw back her head and laughed, the sound bright and genuine in a way few people ever got to hear from the White Queen. "Darling, if you wanted sentimentality without impropriety, you should have married a nice, normal girl." She tilted his chin up with one finger. "But you didn't. You chose me. And I chose you—every remarkable, infuriating, heroic, and deliciously filthy inch of you."

Peter shook his head and sat back in his chair, looking up at Emma with a mixture of exasperation and affection. Her ability to pivot from heartfelt sincerity to outrageous lewdness was something he'd never fully get used to. "So you're really okay with this whole... arrangement?" he asked again, still seeking reassurance despite her clear enthusiasm.

"Darling, I'm more than okay with it," Emma replied, running her fingers through his hair once more before returning to her seat with graceful movements that belied her pregnant state. "Besides, it would be entirely too thrilling to bully a pregnant Storm with the fact that the famed goddess was cumming like a desperate whore all over my husband's cock when he put some babies in her." Her blue lips curved into a predatory smile as she picked up her teacup again.

Peter nearly choked on his coffee. "Jesus, Emma! You can't say things like that about Storm. She's one of the most respected mutants on the planet."

Emma's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Which makes it all the more delicious, don't you think? The Weather Goddess, worshipped in parts of Africa, former Queen of Wakanda... reduced to a moaning, wet mess by the same cock that's currently keeping me so thoroughly satisfied." She traced the rim of her teacup with one perfectly manicured finger. "I wonder if she's a screamer. The dignified ones often are, in my experience."

"Can we please stop discussing Storm's potential... reactions?" Peter pleaded, his face flushing despite himself. "This is already awkward enough without imagining the details."

"Oh, but the details are the best part," Emma purred, leaning forward slightly. "And besides, she likely wouldn't be the last mutant lady to get bred by you. If Storm is a success—and I have every confidence she will be—then you would be expected to fuck and breed a whole lot of other mutants." She took a delicate sip of her tea, watching his reaction over the rim of the cup.

Peter's eyes widened. "Wait, what? No one said anything about multiple women. I thought this was just about Storm!"

"Don't be naive, darling," Emma replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If you can solve Krakoa's fertility crisis, do you really think they'll stop at just one? The Quiet Council is nothing if not pragmatic." She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "But don't worry, I'd only choose the most beautiful for you. Ones with the largest tits and fattest asses for you to pound into pregnancy."

"Emma!" Peter exclaimed, equal parts scandalized and aroused by her bluntness. "That's... I mean, you can't just..." He trailed off, struggling to form a coherent objection.

"Can't I?" Emma countered, her smile widening. "Tell me you haven't imagined it. The powerful Ororo Munroe, legs spread wide as you thrust into her. Perhaps Rogue after that? That Southern belle has quite the impressive figure, and those pouty lips would look divine wrapped around your cock." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Or maybe Jean Grey? I'd particularly enjoy watching you breed that sanctimonious redhead."

Peter's face was now bright red. "I haven't—I mean, I don't—" He took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "I'm not going to have a harem, Emma. That's not who I am. And besides, what would we even do with all these... these..."

"Baby mamas?" Emma supplied helpfully, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "We'd accommodate them, of course. I'm already thinking we'll need a bigger property. Something with multiple wings, perhaps overlooking the water. Plenty of room for you and all the swollen bellies you'll be responsible for." She gestured expansively, as though already envisioning this hypothetical estate.

Peter groaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is insane. You realize that, right? We're talking about me potentially fathering dozens of children with multiple women. How would that even work logistically? Child support alone would bankrupt me, even with our company doing well."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Really, Peter, do try to keep up. Money is hardly an issue. Between my fortune, the resources of Krakoa, and the special arrangements the Quiet Council would undoubtedly make, your offspring would want for nothing." She traced a finger down her swollen belly. "Besides, these children would be extraordinary—possibly the first of a new evolutionary branch. Homo superior meets Homo arachnis, if you will."

"That's not even a real taxonomic classification," Peter muttered, but Emma continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"Think of it, darling. Your children could inherit the best of both worlds—your remarkable abilities combined with the genetic gifts of some of the most powerful mutants alive." Her eyes took on a dreamy quality that Peter rarely saw. "They would be glorious. Our twins are already showing signs of exceptional development in utero. Imagine what might happen with Storm's weather manipulation, or Rogue's absorption abilities, or—"

Peter reached out and pulled Emma into his arms, his hands gently cupping her face as he brought his lips to hers in a tender, passionate kiss. He could feel her mind racing, generating plans and scenarios at lightning speed—a quality he both admired and occasionally needed to temper. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against hers as he felt her relax into his embrace, her pregnant belly pressing against him as a tangible reminder of their connection.

"One step at a time," he murmured against her lips when they finally broke apart, his forehead resting against hers. "Let's see how things go with Storm first, and then we can decide together whether to continue with... whatever this breeding program is." His thumbs traced small circles on her cheeks as he looked into her icy blue eyes. "This affects both of us, not just me. We're partners, remember?"

Emma's lips curled into her signature smirk, though her eyes held genuine warmth that few besides Peter ever witnessed. "Fine," she conceded, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I suppose your irritatingly reasonable approach has merit. Though I do so enjoy imagining you spreading your genetic material throughout mutantkind's finest specimens."

"So what's the actual plan here?" Peter asked, his hands sliding down to rest on her hips. "Do I just... show up at Krakoa and ask Storm if she wants to have sex? Because that seems like a good way to get struck by lightning."

"Don't be absurd, darling," Emma replied with an elegant roll of her eyes. "I'll be going to Krakoa first to speak with Ororo directly. I want to ensure this is truly her choice and not some scheme Xavier and Erik have pressured her into." She traced a finger down his chest, her expression turning serious. "I may not share well with others, but I absolutely refuse to participate in any arrangement where consent is even slightly questionable."

Peter nodded, his respect for Emma deepening. For all her provocative behavior and sharp edges, her moral compass on matters of consent had always been unwavering. "That's... really considerate of you," he said softly, tucking a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear.

Emma's eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't sound so surprised. I can be considerate when the situation warrants it." She shifted against him, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she felt his body's immediate response. "My, my... what have we here?"

Peter followed her gaze downward, suddenly aware that his eyes had wandered to her swollen breasts. Her pregnancy had made them fuller, the delicate silk of her robe doing little to conceal how they strained against the fabric, dark circles of her nipples visible beneath the thin material. A damp spot had formed where her milk had begun to leak—a recent development that never failed to arouse him beyond all reason.

"See something you like?" Emma teased, deliberately pressing her chest forward. She guided his hands to her breasts, allowing him to feel their weight and warmth through the silk. "They're quite sensitive today. Practically begging for attention."

Peter groaned, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples, feeling the wetness seeping through. "Emma," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You can't just... I mean, we were having a serious conversation about—"

"About you fucking Storm until she's pregnant with your spider babies?" Emma finished for him, her smile turning wicked as she felt him harden further against her thigh. "Yes, I'm well aware. Which is why you should save this..." she reached down to cup his growing erection through his pajama pants, "for breeding the mutant weather witch. No sense depleting your reserves when you'll need all your considerable stamina."

Peter let out another groan, this one of frustration rather than pleasure, as Emma disentangled herself from his embrace. She stepped back, retying her robe with deliberate slowness. "I believe I'll take a long, hot bath before preparing for my trip to Krakoa," she announced, her voice deliberately casual as though she hadn't just worked him into a state of desperate arousal. "I have a rather important diplomatic mission ahead, after all."

"You're seriously going to leave me like this?" Peter asked incredulously, gesturing toward the very obvious tent in his pants. "That's just... that's cruel, Emma. Even for you."

Emma's laughter echoed through their apartment as she sauntered toward their master bathroom, the silk robe clinging to her curves in a way that only intensified Peter's discomfort. "Cruel? Perhaps. Effective? Absolutely. You'll be practically bursting by the time Ororo arrives." She threw a glance over her shoulder, blue-tinted lips curved in a smile that promised both pleasure and torment. "Consider it preparation for your important mission."

Peter collapsed back into his chair with a frustrated sigh, listening to the sound of water beginning to fill their oversized bathtub. She had left him hard, aching, and utterly consumed with thoughts he was trying desperately to suppress. "Blue balls from the White Queen," he muttered to himself. "There's probably a joke in there somewhere, but I'm too horny to find it."

I suppose I could make an exception just this once, Emma's voice suddenly echoed in his mind, the telepathic communication sending a shiver down his spine. I've been meaning to test my underwater oral skills in that new tub. The jets provide such interesting... sensations.

Peter was out of his chair in an instant, nearly knocking it over in his haste. "Best fiancée ever!" he shouted, already stripping off his shirt as he sprinted toward the bathroom with spider-enhanced speed.

Emma's melodic laughter, both mental and audible, followed him down the hallway. Do hurry, darling. I've already started without you. The mental image she projected—of her naked body submerged in bubbles, one hand lazily circling between her legs—nearly made him trip over his own feet in his eagerness.

"Coming!" Peter called out, practically tearing at his remaining clothes as he reached the bathroom door.

Not yet, Emma's telepathic voice purred in his mind, but you will be.

Emma's arrival through the Gateway portal in Central Park created quite the spectacle. She stepped through the shimmering threshold with her characteristic grace, despite being heavily pregnant with twins. Her outfit was a masterclass in adapting her usual provocative style to her current condition—a flowing white cape draped elegantly over one shoulder, attached to a modified white corset that accommodated her swollen belly while still emphasizing her impressive cleavage. Crystal embellishments caught the light as she moved, her ensemble completed with tailored white maternity pants and low-heeled boots that gave her stability without sacrificing style. Her platinum blonde hair was immaculately styled, her makeup flawless, with her signature diamond earrings and matching necklace completing the look of mutant royalty.

The moment Emma's stiletto-heeled boots touched Krakoan soil, she was immediately surrounded. The Cuckoos materialized first, their synchronized movements creating the impression of a single entity splitting into five as they rushed toward their genetic template. "Emma!" they exclaimed in perfect unison, their faces lit with identical expressions of joy as they circled her like excited birds.

"Girls, please," Emma said with feigned exasperation, though her ice-blue eyes betrayed her affection. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass. Though I appreciate the enthusiasm." She allowed herself a small smile as Celeste and Phoebe each took one of her hands, while Mindee, Esme, and Sophie hovered protectively around her.

"The babies have grown so much since last week," Mindee observed, placing her hand gently on Emma's rounded belly. Without waiting for permission, all five Cuckoos synchronized their thoughts, creating a telepathic connection with the developing minds within Emma's womb. Their eyes glowed faintly as they communicated with their unborn siblings.

"Oh!" gasped Phoebe, her eyes widening. "They're so active today! The boy just sent me the most vivid image of webs and crystals." The other sisters nodded enthusiastically, their telepathic bond with the twins eliciting excited kicks that Emma felt rippling across her abdomen.

Emma stroked Celeste's hair affectionately. "Yes, they've been particularly energetic since we learned we're coming to Krakoa. I think they sense they're among their kind here." She placed a protective hand over her belly, diamond-hard skin momentarily glittering beneath her palm. "Peter thinks they may already be developing powers in utero, though Dr. McCoy insists that's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible with these children," Esme said with conviction, her hand joining her sisters' on Emma's stomach. "They're going to be extraordinary—beyond omega level. We can feel it."

Before Emma could respond, a new wave of mutants approached, led by Jean Grey, whose fiery red hair seemed to glow against the verdant Krakoan landscape. Despite their complicated history, Jean's face was open and warm as she approached. "Emma," she said, embracing her former rival carefully. "You look absolutely radiant."

"Flattery, Jean? How uncharacteristic," Emma replied with a smirk, though she returned the hug. "But I'll accept the compliment, given my current state of perpetual discomfort."

Jean laughed, placing a gentle hand on Emma's stomach. "May I?" When Emma nodded, Jean closed her eyes briefly. "Oh, they're strong. So much like their father... but with your intensity." She opened her eyes, meeting Emma's gaze with understanding. "Being pregnant with a mutant child is challenging enough—I can't imagine carrying twins with Parker DNA thrown into the mix."

Kitty Pryde pushed her way through next, her ability to phase making it easy for her to slip through the gathering crowd. "Emma! God, look at you! Motherhood suits you way better than I ever would have guessed." Her candor made Emma chuckle despite herself.

"Katherine, as tactless as ever," Emma replied, but there was no real bite to her words. "Though I suppose I should appreciate your honesty, even if I'm currently the size of a small Sentinel." She adjusted her cape with a practiced flick of her wrist. "The things we do for family."

Rogue approached next, her Southern accent thick with emotion as she carefully hugged Emma, mindful of her skin making contact only with clothed areas. "Sugar, you're absolutely glowin'! Those babies are gonna be the most stylish little mutants this side of anywhere." She stepped back, her green eyes twinkling. "And the most powerful, I'd wager, with you and Spider-Man as parents."

Even Mystique appeared, her yellow eyes assessing Emma with undisguised curiosity. "Still an Interesting choice, Frost," she commented, gesturing vaguely toward Emma's midsection. "I wouldn't have pegged Parker as your type. Too... wholesome." Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Though I suppose opposites do attract. And the genetic potential is... intriguing. If you have survive four years together, there must be something you are both doing right."

Emma raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Not everyone makes reproductive choices based on genetic optimization, Raven. Sometimes it's as simple as loving someone." She placed a protective hand over her stomach, a hint of diamond hardness shimmering across her skin. "Though I won't deny these children will likely redefine what we consider possible for mutantkind."

As the group moved deeper into Krakoa, more female mutants gathered around, each wanting to offer congratulations, touch her belly, or simply witness this new chapter in Emma Frost's life. The White Queen, once feared and mistrusted, now found herself at the center of a circle of genuine care and excitement. It was a strange feeling—this belonging—but as one of the babies gave a particularly strong kick against her ribs, Emma found herself surprisingly grateful for this community that would help protect and nurture her growing family.

The growing crowd of well-wishers began to move as one, guiding Emma through Krakoa's living pathways. The flowered archways seemed to bend slightly as she passed, as if the sentient island itself was acknowledging her presence and the precious cargo she carried. Her diamond-hard palm occasionally rested on her stomach when one of the twins delivered a particularly enthusiastic kick.

"The Quiet Council has been waiting since we received your message this morning," Kitty said, walking close beside Emma. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I think Magneto's been pacing for the last hour. He tries to hide it, but he's actually excited about these babies." She grinned, phasing her hand through a low-hanging branch without breaking stride. "Apparently, potential beyond-omega mutants are cause for even the Master of Magnetism to get sentimental."

Emma arched an elegant eyebrow. "Erik's always had a soft spot for powerful bloodlines. Though I doubt sentimentality has much to do with it." She adjusted her cape with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Politicians rarely do anything without calculating the advantages first—a trait I can hardly criticize, given my own history."

Rogue chuckled, her gloved hand lightly touching Emma's shoulder. "Sugar, you've changed more than you'd like to admit. Four years with Peter Parker has softened those diamond edges—just enough to make you even more formidable." Her green eyes twinkled knowingly. "Ain't nothing more dangerous than a mama bear protecting her cubs."

"Perhaps," Emma conceded with the ghost of a smile. "Though I'd prefer to think of it as expanding my strategic priorities rather than softening." She placed a protective hand over her stomach as they approached the imposing structure that housed the Quiet Council chambers. "These children will have every advantage I can provide—including alliances with Krakoa, should they prove beneficial."

When they reached the ornate living door of the Council chambers, the Cuckoos formed a perfect half-circle around Emma. "We'll wait here," they said in unison, their blonde heads nodding as one. "The Council prefers privacy for official discussions."

"Though nothing stays private with five telepaths listening in," Kitty added with a wink. "Call if you need anything, Emma. And I mean anything. The rest of us will be in the habitat preparing for tonight's welcome dinner." One by one, the female mutants dispersed, each offering final congratulations and touches to Emma's belly, until only Jean and Mystique remained at her side.

Jean placed a hand gently on Emma's back. "Ready? Charles and Erik can be overeager when it comes to planning for the future of mutantkind." Her emerald eyes met Emma's ice-blue gaze with understanding. "Just remember, you're holding all the cards here—quite literally." She glanced meaningfully at Emma's pregnant form.

The living door parted silently as they approached, unfurling like petals to reveal the circular chamber within. Seated at the grand table carved from Krakoan wood were only two figures: Charles Xavier, his bald head gleaming in the soft bioluminescent light, and Erik Lehnsherr, regal in his customary burgundy armor and cape. Both men rose as Emma entered, their expressions warming despite the formality of the setting.

"Emma," Charles said, stepping forward to greet her with genuine warmth in his voice. "You look radiant, as always. Please, sit." He gestured to a specially prepared chair—wider and more cushioned than the others, clearly designed with her comfort in mind. "We're delighted you and Peter agreed to our proposal so quickly. Two days is quite efficient, even by your impressive standards."

Erik approached more slowly, his piercing eyes taking in her condition with undisguised interest. "Indeed. We expected weeks of negotiation, knowing your protective instincts." His lips curved into a rare smile as he gestured toward the chair. "Your fiancé's sense of responsibility must have aligned well with our arguments for cooperation."

Emma settled into the offered seat with practiced grace despite her unwieldy form. "Peter has always been amenable to doing the right thing—it's his most charming and frustrating quality." A sly smile played across her perfectly painted lips. "Though I'll admit, I have my ways of being... persuasive when necessary." She delicately rested her left hand on the table, allowing the light to catch the remarkable ring adorning her finger—a massive diamond set in vibranium, the metal's distinctive dark luster contrasting beautifully with the brilliance of the stone.

Charles' eyes widened slightly as he noticed the ring. "Ah, congratulations are in order then. The engagement is official?" He took his seat across from Emma, his expression genuinely pleased. "A wedding as well as new additions to the family—this is indeed a season of celebration."

"About time," Mystique commented dryly, taking a seat beside Emma without waiting for an invitation. Her yellow eyes fixed on the impressive ring with calculating appreciation. "I was beginning to think you'd deliver those twins before locking down the father. Four years is practically an eternity in relationship terms—especially with Spider-Man's track record with blondes." Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Though I imagined you dragging him to the altar the moment the pregnancy test showed positive."

Jean shot Mystique a warning glance before taking her own seat. "What Mystique means is that we're all happy for you, Emma. Peter is a good man—one of the best. The engagement is wonderful news."

Emma rested her hand protectively over her swollen belly, watching as Jean took the seat to her right while Mystique settled on her left. The arrangement felt deliberate—flanking her like elegant sentinels. "I'm curious," Emma said, her voice cool and measured despite the warmth of the chamber, "why you two are staying for what I assumed would be a private discussion about the arrangement between Storm and Peter." Her ice-blue eyes flickered between Charles and Erik with practiced nonchalance. "Unless there's something more to this proposal than you initially suggested?"

Erik cleared his throat, exchanging a brief glance with Charles before responding. "Word has spread among certain circles on Krakoa about the... difficulty many mutants are having with conception." His deep voice carried a gravity that filled the chamber. "Despite our resurrections protocols and advancements in medicine, fertility issues persist among our kind. When your pregnancy became known—particularly with twins—it raised significant interest."

"We made a private announcement to a select group of trustworthy mutants," Charles continued, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Those we knew would be discreet and whose judgment we trust implicitly. The response was more enthusiastic than we anticipated." His eyes briefly met Jean's before returning to Emma. "If all goes well with the initial arrangement with Storm, both Jean and Mystique have volunteered to participate as well."

Emma's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched as she turned toward Jean, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Really, Jean? Don't you have enough future children running around the timestream already?" She tilted her head, diamond glinting briefly beneath her skin as one of the twins delivered a particularly energetic kick. "What do Scott and Logan think about this generous offer of yours? I imagine the Summers-Grey-Howlett dynamic is complicated enough without adding Parker DNA to the mix."

Jean's expression remained serene, though a flash of something—perhaps irritation or amusement—passed behind her emerald eyes. "I make my own choices, Emma. Always have." She brushed a strand of fiery hair from her face with practiced elegance. "I'm not married to Logan, whatever rumors you might enjoy spreading. And Scott..." she paused, a small smile playing at her lips, "Scott understands the need. The future of mutantkind has always been his priority, even above personal feelings."

Emma's smirk widened into something almost predatory. "I'm sure he does understand. Scott always was accommodating that way." She tapped her manicured nails lightly against the table's surface. "Must have been quite comfortable in that cuck chair, watching you with Logan all these years." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced toward the Cuckoos' distant mental presence. "Perhaps my girls could fashion a similar one for him while you're being filled with Parker seed. They're quite skilled with Krakoan furnishings these days."

Mystique made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Always the diplomat, Frost." Her yellow eyes gleamed with amusement as she shifted in her seat, her blue skin catching the bioluminescent light. "Though I'm more curious about the practical arrangements. When is this breeding program of yours supposed to begin?" She glanced around the chamber with obvious skepticism. "And where is Storm? Seeing as she's supposedly the number one volunteer for this intimate diplomatic mission."

Charles adjusted his position, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time since the meeting began. "Ororo had a rather urgent engagement in New York that required her immediate attention. A matter she's been monitoring for some time related to changing weather patterns over Manhattan." His voice carried the careful neutrality of someone navigating sensitive terrain. "She'll join us on Krakoa once that situation is resolved."

"An engagement in New York?" Emma repeated, her tone deceptively light. She studied the two men's faces, noting the subtle tension in their expressions. A laugh bubbled up from her throat, genuine amusement replacing her calculated facade. "She's gone to see Peter, hasn't she? While I'm sitting here discussing theoretical arrangements, the Weather Goddess is already positioning herself for a private demonstration of his abilities." She shook her head, platinum blonde hair swaying gently with the movement. "How delightfully presumptuous of her."

Erik shifted in his seat, his usually commanding presence momentarily diminished by what appeared to be discomfort. "We thought it might be... better if the initial contact proceeded without your direct involvement, Emma." He gestured vaguely with one gloved hand. "Given your condition and the emotional complications that might arise, a certain distance seemed prudent. Storm volunteered to approach Peter first, to explain the proposal from a perspective he might find less... personally entangled."

"What Erik means," Charles interjected smoothly, "is that we wanted to respect both your current state and the delicate nature of such an arrangement. Having Storm present the idea independently allows Peter to consider it without feeling pressured by your presence or influence." He offered what was clearly meant to be a reassuring smile. "It's merely a preliminary discussion at this stage—nothing will proceed without full consent and transparency from all parties."

Emma simply shrugged, her diamond-hard palm caressing the swell of her belly in a gesture that somehow managed to appear both protective and triumphant. "By all means, let them have their little tête-à-tête." Her lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure Storm will be very... thorough in explaining the benefits of the arrangement." The babies shifted beneath her touch, as if responding to her amusement. "Peter does have a way of making even the most complicated situations seem straightforward. It's one of his more useful talents."

Mystique's gaze narrowed slightly as she studied Emma's surprisingly relaxed response. "You're taking this remarkably well, Frost. I expected ice sculptures and diamond rage when you realized Storm had essentially jumped the queue to proposition your fiancé." Her tone carried a note of suspicion. "What are you not telling us?"

A look of serene confidence settled over Emma's features as she leaned back in her specially prepared chair, every inch the queen despite her currently ungainly form. "Let's just say I've learned to be prepared for every contingency during my time with Peter. His particular brand of luck tends to create... interesting situations." She allowed herself a small, private smile. "Besides, I've always believed in visual learning. Sometimes seeing is believing—and recording is even better."

Jean's eyes widened fractionally as understanding dawned. "Emma, you didn't..." she began, her telepathic senses picking up on the edges of the other woman's smug satisfaction.

"Cameras, Jean? In our home?" Emma's expression was one of mock innocence, though her eyes glittered with mischief. "What kind of paranoid, controlling person do you take me for?" She adjusted her position to better accommodate her pregnant belly, wincing slightly as one of the twins delivered a particularly enthusiastic kick. "Though I will say, if—hypothetically speaking—such surveillance measures existed, they would provide fascinating documentation for future reference." Her smile turned knife-sharp. "No way I'm missing the opportunity to see that haughty weather goddess break on Peter's cock. Some moments deserve to be preserved for posterity... and personal entertainment."

Peter blinked as he woke up on the expensive, comfortable couch, rubbing away the sleepiness from his eyes. The penthouse was dark, illuminated only by the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He stretched, his muscular frame extending to its full length as he worked out the kinks from his impromptu nap. The patrol earlier had been routine but exhausting—three muggings, one attempted carjacking, and a domestic dispute that thankfully resolved peacefully.

He got up and turned the apartment lights on, bathing the expensive decor and furniture in warm light. The place was a perfect blend of Emma's sophisticated taste and his more practical sensibilities—sleek white furniture accented with blue and red throw pillows, modern art pieces alongside framed scientific journals. The photos of him and Emma on the wall made him smile, reminders of just how happy he was with her.

He had come home after a patrol a bit tired and seeing as Emma wasn't back yet from Krakoa yet or discussing the "Peter breeding program" with Storm. The whole thing still made him blush when he thought about it—Emma and the Quiet Council essentially designating him as genetically optimal for mutant-human hybridization.

The penthouse felt empty without Emma's presence. Peter had decided to have a small nap, collapsing on the couch still in his Spider-Man suit minus the mask. Now, in just his boxers and a tank top, he padded barefoot across the cool marble floor toward the kitchen. The silence of the apartment was calming after the noise of the city.

He grabbed some cold passion juice from the expensive fridge, stocked with food from around the world—perks of being attached to one of the wealthiest mutants on the planet. The fridge itself probably cost more than his old apartment's annual rent. Peter took a long swig directly from the bottle, something Emma would chide him for with an arched eyebrow and barely concealed amusement.

The cold juice refreshed him as he leaned against the counter, wondering if he should stop by the Parker-Frost labs to do some research. He was particularly excited about their current breakthrough in rapid healing technology that could benefit both humans and mutants.

A knock came at the door, three precise taps that echoed through the spacious apartment. Peter looked at the door then at his watch. 7 pm. Was it Emma? Strange that she'd knock rather than use her key or simply telepathically announce her presence. Perhaps her hands were full with shopping bags—going on a shopping trip after krakoa.

Peter quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and moved to the door. His spider-sense wasn't tingling, so there was no danger, but he still approached with the cautiousness ingrained from years as Spider-Man. He opened the door only to be greeted by Storm in an expensive and tasteful coat, crisp white shirt and tight leather jeans, her flowing white hair cascading down one side of her head while the other was elegantly slicked down. Her expensive heeled boots added to her already impressive height, making her nearly eye-level with him.

"Peter," Storm said, her voice rich and melodious, with that hint of an accent that never failed to sound regal. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Her eyes, those striking blue-white orbs, took in his state of undress with an appreciative glance that was not entirely professional.

"Ororo," Peter replied, suddenly very conscious of his bare chest and low-slung sweatpants. "Uh, no, not interrupting. I was just... I mean, I was expecting Emma, actually. Is she with you?" He stepped back, gesturing for her to enter the penthouse, the manners his Aunt May had instilled in him overriding his momentary awkwardness.

Storm glided into the apartment with the grace of a natural goddess, the scent of ozone and exotic perfume following her. "Emma is still on Krakoa, finalizing some details with the Quiet Council. She sent me to... brief you on some developments." The way she emphasized 'brief' made Peter's spider-sense tingle in an entirely different way than usual.

"What developments?" Peter asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Wasn't Emma supposed to be there with you discussing the..." His voice trailed off as understanding dawned across his features. "Ohhhh." A deep blush spread across his cheeks as Storm nodded, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"I see Emma's telepathic abilities are rubbing off on you," Storm said, her accent rolling the words deliciously. "Yes, I decided to get a head start on this whole breeding project while Emma is otherwise entertained at Krakoa." She moved further into the apartment, her hips swaying hypnotically with each step. "As soon as Emma sent word that you had agreed, I simply waited until she reached Krakoa, used the gateway to New York, then waited until you returned home."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his mind racing. "I, uh... thought there would be more discussion about all this. You know, logistics, schedules, that sort of thing." He was rambling now, a habit that emerged whenever he was nervous.

Storm turned to face him, her expression serene yet determined. "I didn't see the need for more discussion, Peter. The Quiet Council has approved, Emma has consented, and you have agreed. The science is sound—your unique genetic structure combined with powerful mutant lineages could create extraordinary offspring." The clinical way she described it somehow made it even more arousing. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No! I mean—" Peter cleared his throat. "Can I offer you something to drink? I have some passion juice in the fridge." He gestured toward the kitchen, desperate for something normal to do in this decidedly abnormal situation.

"That would be lovely," Storm replied, beginning to unbutton her expensive coat. "Though I must admit, the name seems rather fitting for the occasion."

Peter hurried to the kitchen, grateful for the momentary reprieve. He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet—actual glasses this time, not drinking straight from the bottle—and filled them with the sweet, tangy juice. His heart hammered against his ribs as he heard the soft rustle of fabric from the living room.

When he returned with the drinks, Storm had removed her coat and draped it carefully over the arm of the couch. Peter nearly dropped both glasses as he took in the sight of her. The crisp white shirt she wore was tailored impeccably to her form, the buttons straining slightly against the fullness of her breasts. Without the coat, he could see how the fabric clung to every curve, the outline of her bra visible beneath the thin material.

"Here you go," Peter said, his voice sounding strangled even to his own ears as he handed her a glass. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, sending an electric current up his arm that had nothing to do with her weather powers.

Storm took a long, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving his over the rim of the glass. A small drop of juice lingered on her lower lip, and she slowly caught it with her tongue. "Delicious," she murmured, setting the glass down on the coffee table. "Now, shall we discuss how we're going to approach this project, or would you prefer a more... hands-on demonstration?" Peter gulped audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as his eyes fixed on the way her shirt stretched across her chest with each breath she took.

Peter set his glass down with a shaky hand, his mind racing. Despite the obvious attraction he felt for Storm, something didn't feel quite right about the suddenness of it all.

"Wait, Ororo. Aren't we rushing this a bit?" Peter asked, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. "I mean, Emma and I just talked about this yesterday, and now you're here and..." He gestured vaguely between them, struggling to find the right words. "Are you really sure you want to sleep with me? Just like that?"

Storm's eyebrow arched elegantly as she regarded him with those piercing eyes. "You doubt my intentions?"

"No, it's not that," Peter said quickly. "You're beautiful, gorgeous even. Any man would be lucky to have you. But surely just sleeping with me to have babies is... I don't know, beneath you? You're Storm. You command the weather, lead nations. You could have anyone."

A soft smile graced Storm's full lips, her expression warming. "I'm actually heartened by your concern, Peter. It speaks to your character." She moved closer to him, the scent of rain and distant lightning enveloping him. "But you must understand, this is bigger than me. Bigger than both of us."

She placed a hand on his bare chest, her touch cool against his warm skin. "The children you could give me—and other mutants—might share your genetic virility and fertility, bypassing whatever it is that's making mutants struggle to conceive, just as you did with Emma." Her eyes met his, intense and serious. "We've been monitoring the pregnancy rates among mutants. They're declining dramatically. Something is targeting our ability to reproduce."

"If you give me enough children," Storm continued, her voice dropping to a sultry timbre, "our offspring would be powerful, beautiful, the ones to continue mutantkind, passing on my genes and yours to future generations." Her fingers traced the defined muscles of his abdomen. "That is an honor worth warming your bed for, wouldn't you agree?"

Peter's breath caught as Storm moved closer still, her body radiating heat despite her cool exterior. "Besides," she murmured, "despite your annoying banter in battle, Spider-Man is a hero. Who else better to father my children?" She paused, her eyes challenging him as she added, "Or am I not good enough for you, Peter Parker?"

As she asked the question, Storm moved her body forward, deliberately showcasing her chest. The buttons of her shirt strained further, revealing glimpses of dark skin and the lace of her bra beneath. She turned slightly, giving Peter a clear view of how those tight leather jeans hugged the perfect curve of her ass.

Peter's mouth went dry as he took in the sight of her. Storm wasn't just beautiful—she was a force of nature personified, power and grace wrapped in a package so stunning it almost hurt to look at her. The thought of her carrying his child, of creating something together that would be both powerful and beautiful, sent a rush of heat through his body that settled low in his belly.

"Or is it I have annoyed you somehow?" Storm asked, her confident demeanor wavering slightly. Her eyes searched his, seeking understanding. "I recall how sharp I was with you the last time you taught at Xavier's. Perhaps that memory still stings."

Peter shook his head, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on her arm. "No, it's not that, Ororo. Though I'll admit..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Since Krakoa was founded, most of the X-Men have really gone hard with the whole 'mutants only' stance. That stung a bit, you know? After fighting beside you all so many times."

Storm looked away, her magnificent profile outlined against the city lights streaming through the windows. "I apologize for that, Peter. Truly." Her voice carried genuine regret. "It was a wave of patriotism and possessiveness that overtook all mutants when we got Krakoa. After being dogged, killed, and hunted by anti-mutants for so long, we wanted something that was ours alone." She turned back to him, her eyes luminous with emotion. "It wasn't right to push away allies like you."

The tension in the room shifted, becoming something deeper, more primal. Storm stood up, her movements fluid and graceful. Peter's breath caught as she began unbuttoning her crisp white shirt, revealing inch by inch of flawless dark skin beneath. The garment slipped from her shoulders and fell silently to the floor.

"Maybe I need to make amends more... thoroughly," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as her fingers moved to the fastening of her tight leather trousers. She slid them down her long, toned legs with deliberate slowness, revealing silk panties that barely contained the swell of her ass.

Peter sat frozen, unable to look away as Storm reached behind her back to unclasp her lace bra. The delicate fabric joined her other clothes on the floor, freeing her large, perfect breasts, dark nipples hardening in the cool air of the apartment. The silk panties followed, sliding down her thighs as Storm stepped out of her boots, now completely naked before him.

"Do you like what you see, Spider?" Storm asked, turning slowly to give him a full view of her goddess-like body. Her breasts were full and high, defying gravity in a way that had nothing to do with her mutant powers. Her waist tapered to flared hips, and between her powerful thighs, a neatly trimmed patch of white hair matched the cascading locks on her head. She turned again, showcasing her round, firm ass that seemed sculpted from the finest marble.

With feline grace, Storm bent over the couch, arching her back and presenting herself to him. She looked over her shoulder, blue-white eyes challenging him as she wiggled her ass invitingly. "If you want, Peter, you can punish me for how dismissive I've been," she purred, spreading her legs slightly. "Punish this mutant ass for treating you badly as a non-mutant."

Peter gulped as he took in the sight before him—Storm's magnificent body bent over his couch, her perfect ass swaying invitingly. She turned away from him with a knowing smirk, continuing to shake her hips in a hypnotic rhythm. The goddess of weather was offering herself to him, and Peter felt his body responding with primal intensity.

"Well, Spider?" Storm purred, glancing over her shoulder. "Are you going to make me wait all night?" Her blue eyes glittered with mischief as she arched her back further, presenting her glistening sex to him. The white tuft of hair between her legs was already damp with arousal.

Storm felt Peter's strong hands grasp her ass, his fingers kneading the firm flesh with appreciation. It's always the ass that gets them going, she thought smugly. She waited to hear the rustle of his sweatpants hitting the floor, anticipating his hardness pressing against her entrance. Instead, she felt him sink to his knees behind her.

"Oh goddess!" Storm moaned loudly, her body jolting with shock and pleasure as Peter's hot mouth found her center. His tongue delved between her folds with surprising expertise, exploring her depths with deliberate, confident strokes. Her powerful legs began to tremble as he worked his magic, his hands spreading her cheeks to gain better access.

"Fuck, Peter!" she gasped, her accent thickening with arousal. "Your tongue... by the Bright Lady... so deep..." Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as Peter sucked her swollen clit between his lips, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her toes curl against the expensive marble floor.

Peter worked with focused determination, alternating between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and precise, targeted flicks that made Storm's thighs quiver. He devoured her like a man starved, his hands gripping her hips firmly to keep her steady as her body threatened to buckle under the onslaught of pleasure.

"Praise the goddess," Storm breathed, her head thrown back, white hair cascading down her spine. "A man who knows to care for a woman's needs first." Her hand reached back to grasp his hair, pressing him more firmly against her dripping center. "No wonder Emma has locked you down. The White Queen... ah!... has excellent taste."

Peter hummed against her flesh, sending vibrations through her core that made lightning crackle from Storm's fingertips. The temperature in the room fluctuated wildly as her control over her powers wavered under the assault of sensation. Rain began to patter against the penthouse windows, responding to the building tempest within her body.

"Yes, right there!" Storm commanded, her voice carrying the authority of someone used to controlling the elements. Her hips bucked against his face as his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. "Don't stop, Spider... I'm close... so close..." The weather outside intensified, wind howling around the building as Peter redoubled his efforts, his tongue circling and flicking with precision.

The storm inside and out reached its crescendo simultaneously. "PETER!" Ororo screamed, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Thunder boomed outside, rattling the windows as lightning split the New York sky. Her juices flooded his eager mouth as Peter continued to lick and suck, drawing out her orgasm until she finally collapsed forward onto the couch, her legs no longer able to support her weight.

Storm collapsed onto the couch, her magnificent body trembling in the aftermath of her powerful climax. Her chest heaved with each desperate breath, sweat glistening on her dark skin like morning dew. Outside, the storm she had inadvertently summoned was already beginning to dissipate, the rain slowing to a gentle patter against the penthouse windows. "By the goddess," she panted, her accent thicker than usual, "that was... unexpected."

Peter, still on his knees behind her, didn't respond with words. Instead, he gently spread her thighs once more, his tongue returning to her oversensitive flesh with surprising tenderness. Storm gasped, her body jerking at the contact, but he held her steady with firm hands on her thighs. His touch was different now—not the ravenous hunger of before, but something almost reverent as he lapped softly at her dripping entrance.

"Peter," Storm moaned, her voice wavering as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her core. "What are you... oh!" Her words dissolved into a shuddering gasp as his tongue circled inside her, gathering the evidence of her release with deliberate, gentle strokes. The sensation was overwhelming—not building toward another peak, but somehow extending the one she'd just experienced, keeping her suspended in a state of delicious sensitivity.

His hands kneaded the firm muscles of her ass and thighs as he continued his ministrations, his tongue tracing lazy patterns across her swollen labia before dipping back inside. Each slow circle of his tongue sent fresh tremors through her body, making her thighs quake and her toes curl. Storm felt herself melting under his careful attention, her usual regal composure utterly abandoned in the face of such exquisite care.

As Peter continued his gentle aftercare, Storm's mind wandered to four years ago on Krakoa. Emma had moved quickly then, hadn't she? The White Queen had always had an eye for potential, and she'd recognized something in Peter Parker that the rest of them had overlooked. Not his powers—impressive as they were—but something about the man himself. His heart. His mind. His genetic compatibility with their kind. And now, Emma was carrying his child, their DNA intertwined in what promised to be an extraordinary offspring.

"You're thinking too loudly," Peter murmured against her inner thigh, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. "I may not be a telepath like Emma, but I can tell when someone's mind is elsewhere." His tongue flicked teasingly against her still-throbbing clit, making her gasp.

Storm reached back to run her fingers through his tousled hair. "I was thinking about Emma," she admitted, her voice husky. "About how she saw what a treasure you were before the rest of us did." She bit her lip as his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. "If I hadn't been so occupied with Cypher and his work on the Krakoan language at the time, I might have pursued you myself." The thought made her clench around his tongue, drawing a groan from him that vibrated against her core.

"Mmm, is that so?" Peter asked, finally pulling away from her glistening sex. He stood up behind her, and Storm turned to see that his sweatpants did little to hide his impressive arousal. He bent down, sliding his strong arms beneath her still-trembling body. "Well, better late than never, right?"

With effortless strength—a reminder of the power hidden beneath his unassuming demeanor—Peter lifted Storm into his arms. She draped her arms around his neck, still liquid and pliant from her release, as he carried her through the penthouse. "Where are we going, Spider?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Bedroom," Peter replied simply, his voice deeper than usual, roughened by desire. Storm felt a thrill run through her at the single word, at the promise it contained. He pushed open a door with his foot, revealing a spacious master bedroom dominated by an enormous bed with crisp white sheets.

Storm's lips curved into a knowing smirk as Peter gently laid her across the bed. "Is this where you pounded Emma's mutant pussy into submission until you bred her?" she asked provocatively, spreading her legs to reveal her still-wet center. "Where you filled the White Queen with your seed until it took root inside her?" The crudeness of her words was deliberate, designed to provoke him, to strip away the last of his hesitation.

Peter growled, his eyes darkening with primal hunger as he looked down at Storm's magnificent form spread across his bed. "I might just do the same to you," he said, his voice dropping an octave lower. "Fill you up until you're swollen with my child, just like Emma." The words came out rougher than he intended, but the sight of the weather goddess offering herself so brazenly had stripped away his usual restraint.

Storm just smiled, a knowing, confident curve of her full lips. "I would expect nothing less, Spider," she purred, her accent thickening with desire. "That is, after all, why I came here. To be bred by you, to carry your powerful offspring." She extended her arms toward him in invitation, her eyes glowing faintly with power and anticipation.

Their bodies met in a crash of desire, mouths finding each other in a kiss that was far from gentle. Peter's lips claimed hers with unexpected dominance, his tongue invading her mouth as his hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. Storm moaned into the kiss, her body arching up against his, her hardened nipples brushing against his bare chest. The kiss deepened, becoming almost violent in its intensity, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance.

Peter finally broke away, standing at the edge of the bed and looking down at Storm with naked hunger. His hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down over his hips in one fluid motion. The fabric pooled at his feet, and Storm's eyes widened as his manhood sprang free.

"Goddess!" Storm almost screamed, her usual composure completely shattered as she stared at Peter's exposed cock. Nine thick inches jutted proudly from a nest of brown curls, the head swollen and glistening with precum. It was magnificent—thick enough that her fingers wouldn't meet around it, with prominent veins running along its considerable length. Between his legs hung heavy testicles that promised virility beyond what she had anticipated.

Storm felt her mouth water as she mentally praised the heavens. She had been with gods and kings, but the sight before her was truly impressive. "By the Bright Lady," she breathed, her eyes fixed on his member. "I understand now why Emma has been so... possessive."

No wonder Emma had fled Krakoa and kept him to herself for four years, Storm thought as she reached for him, her fingers aching to feel that impressive length. Peter must have been blowing the White Queen's back out daily with that cock until she couldn't take any more. The thought of Emma Frost—the ice-cold, composed telepath—reduced to a screaming, begging mess beneath Peter sent a fresh flood of arousal between Storm's thighs.

"It is actually a miracle you didn't get the White Queen pregnant earlier," Storm said, her eyes flicking up to meet his before returning to his impressive manhood. "Though perhaps she was simply being selfish, wanting to keep this all to herself before allowing others to sample what she had discovered." Her hand finally reached him, fingers wrapping around his shaft, marveling at the heat and hardness beneath velvet-soft skin.

Peter hissed through clenched teeth as Storm's cool fingers explored his length, stroking from base to tip with deliberate slowness. "Emma said the same thing," he admitted, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Said she was surprised it took so long, given how often we—" He broke off with a groan as Storm's thumb circled the sensitive head, spreading the bead of precum that had gathered there.

"By the size of these balls of yours," Storm murmured appreciatively, her free hand cupping the heavy sac, weighing it with gentle pressure, "you must be packing near gallons of cum." She looked up at him through hooded eyes, her expression hungry and reverent. "I look forward to feeling every drop of it flood my womb."

Peter's control snapped at her words. The sight of Storm—goddess of the elements—sprawled across his bed, speaking of being bred by him, shattered the last of his restraint. With spider-enhanced speed that left her gasping, he was suddenly looming over her on the bed, his powerful body caging hers as he spread her muscular thighs with firm hands. Storm's eyes widened at his sudden transformation from careful lover to dominant male, a change that sent fresh arousal flooding through her core.

"Fuck, Ororo," Peter growled, his voice barely recognizable as he positioned himself between her spread legs, the thick head of his cock nudging against her entrance. Despite the animal lust coursing through him, he paused, leaning down to capture her lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. "I'll give you everything you want," he murmured against her mouth, his eyes locking with hers. "I promise I'll make this good for you. I won't disappoint you."

Storm's hands stroked his face, touched by the gentleness still present beneath his obvious hunger. "I know you won't, Spider," she whispered, her accent thick with desire. "Now show me what you've been giving Emma all these years. Show me why the White Queen keeps you so—" Her words transformed into a primal scream as Peter suddenly drove forward, burying his entire nine-inch length inside her in one powerful thrust.

"GODDESS!" Storm cried out, her back arching dramatically off the bed as lightning flashed outside the windows, illuminating their joined bodies in stark relief. The sudden, complete penetration sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain radiating through her entire body. Despite her considerable experience, nothing had prepared her for the sensation of being so utterly filled, stretched to her limits around his impressive girth. "Peter! By the Bright Lady!"

Her strong legs instinctively locked around his waist, her ankles crossing behind his back as her body naturally shifted into the perfect mating press. The movement drove him even deeper, making both of them groan as the head of his cock kissed the entrance to her womb. Outside, thunder boomed in response to Storm's pleasure, the elements themselves resonating with her heightened state of arousal.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Peter hissed through clenched teeth, his arms braced on either side of her head as he began to move within her. Each withdraw revealed inches of his glistening shaft before he drove forward again, bottoming out inside her with wet, obscene sounds that filled the bedroom. "So fucking perfect, Ororo. Your pussy feels like it was made for my cock."

Storm couldn't form coherent responses anymore, reduced to gasping cries and fractured pleas as Peter established a relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against hers with enough force to make the sturdy bed frame creak in protest. Her powerful thighs trembled around him, her ankles digging into his back as if afraid he might try to withdraw. "More!" she managed to gasp between thrusts, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave red welts. "Harder, Spider! Breed this mutant goddess!"

Peter responded by shifting his weight, pressing her legs back toward her chest as he leaned into the mating press fully, using his spider-strength to pin her beneath him. The new angle allowed him to pound even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. Storm's eyes rolled back as she felt him reach places inside her that had never been touched before, his thick cock reshaping her inner walls to accommodate his size.

The minutes blurred into an hour as Peter continued his relentless assault on Storm's willing body. His hips pistoned with spider-enhanced stamina, each powerful thrust driving his thick shaft to her very core. Sweat glistened on their bodies, the sheets beneath them soaked with their combined passion. Storm's white hair splayed across the pillows like lightning frozen in time, her blue eyes clouded with ecstasy as Peter dominated her completely.

"Is this what you wanted, Ororo?" Peter growled into her ear, his voice rough with exertion and arousal. "To have your haughty mutant cunt punished by the non-mutant you all looked down on?" His words were harsh but his eyes betrayed a mixture of passion and lingering hurt from years of feeling like an outsider among the X-Men. "All those times you commanded the elements, ruled over Wakanda, sat on your thrones... and now you're just begging for my seed like any other woman."

Storm's back arched violently at his words, another climax tearing through her powerful body. "Yes!" she screamed, her accent thick and unrestrained. "Punish me, Spider! Show this goddess what true power feels like!" Lightning flashed outside the windows in perfect rhythm with her contractions, illuminating their joined bodies in stark, electric bursts. Her inner walls clamped down on his throbbing length, milking him desperately as if attempting to extract his seed through sheer force of will.

Rather than push him away, Storm's arms wrapped tighter around his shoulders, pulling him closer as her legs locked around his waist with mutant strength. Her lips found his sweat-slicked neck, pressing desperate, reverent kisses along his pulse point before moving to his jaw. "You are magnificent," she gasped between kisses, her words punctuated by the thunder that rolled across New York City. "Better than any king, any mutant, any god I have known."

Her mouth captured his in a kiss that was both savage and tender, her tongue invading his mouth with the same determination he showed in conquering her body. As they broke apart for air, Storm's eyes glowed white with power, small sparks of electricity dancing between them as her control over her abilities wavered under the onslaught of pleasure. "I will give you as many children as you desire, Peter Parker," she vowed, her voice carrying the solemnity of an oath despite the circumstances. "My womb will belong to you alone. I shall be your mutant slut, your weather goddess to command in bed and out."

Her declaration seemed to awaken something primal in Peter. With a feral growl that would have made Wolverine proud, he redoubled his efforts, driving into her with enough force to make the headboard slam rhythmically against the wall. The entire bedroom seemed to shake with each thrust, the windows rattling in their frames as Storm's powers leaked out in response to her overwhelming pleasure. "That's right," Peter hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes dark with dominance. "Your mutant womb belongs to me now. I'm going to fill it up every night until it takes, and then keep filling it anyway."

Storm could only respond with broken cries and fractured pleas in her native tongue, her mind unable to form coherent English as Peter reduced her to pure sensation. Her fifteenth—or was it twentieth?—orgasm rippled through her, leaving her limp and trembling beneath him, yet still he continued, his impressive stamina showing no signs of flagging. The contrast between her temporary weakness and his continued strength only heightened her pleasure, reminding her of the power contained within his deceptively average-looking form.

Suddenly, Peter stilled his movements, withdrawing his throbbing length from her quivering entrance. Before Storm could protest the emptiness, he was moving with that inhuman speed again, flipping her boneless body until her back was pressed against his chest. His strong arms hooked under her knees, pulling her legs upward and apart into a full nelson that left her completely exposed and at his mercy. "Want to see what you look like when I breed you," he murmured, his hot breath tickling her ear as he positioned her directly in front of the floor-length mirror on his closet door.

Storm's eyes widened at the lewd display—her magnificent body suspended and spread open, her sex glistening and swollen from their activities, Peter's powerful frame supporting her entirely as if she weighed nothing. She barely had time to process the erotic image before Peter thrust upward, impaling her once more in one smooth motion that had her screaming his name. The new angle sent him even deeper, the head of his cock pressing directly against spots inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes.

As Peter established a new rhythm, bouncing Storm on his cock with powerful upward thrusts, the weather outside responded dramatically to her pleasure. A torrential downpour lashed against the windows, lightning split the sky in continuous, brilliant forks, and wind howled around the building with hurricane force. Inside the penthouse, small objects began to levitate as Storm's telekinetic abilities manifested involuntarily, her control completely shattered by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body. "Yes, Peter! Fill me!" she cried out, her head thrown back against his shoulder, white hair cascading down his chest as New York City experienced the most intense summer storm in decades—all because Spider-Man was fucking the goddess of weather into absolute oblivion.

Hour after hour melted away as Peter continued his relentless upward thrusts, his superhuman stamina showing no signs of fatigue. Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, slick with sweat that glistened in the flashes of lightning still illuminating the New York skyline. The storm outside had developed into a full-fledged hurricane, winds howling around the penthouse as if the elements themselves were screaming in ecstasy along with their mistress. Peter's powerful arms held Storm firmly in the full nelson position, leaving her completely at his mercy as he bounced her on his thick shaft with relentless energy.

"Peter! By the goddess!" Storm gasped, her once-commanding voice now a hoarse, ragged whisper from hours of screaming. Her powerful body, which had weathered countless battles and commanded the very forces of nature, now trembled uncontrollably in his grasp. Multiple orgasms had left her limbs feeling like jelly, her mind floating in a euphoric haze as Peter continued his methodical invasion of her inner sanctum. "I cannot... I cannot take any more," she pleaded, though her body contradicted her words as another climax ripped through her core, her inner walls clenching desperately around his length.

The weather goddess was utterly transformed—no longer the regal, composed member of the Quiet Council, but a woman consumed by primal need, her usual eloquence reduced to fractured pleas and desperate moans. Her head lolled back against Peter's shoulder, her once pristine white hair now damp with sweat and tangled from their exertions. "Please, Spider," she begged, her accent thick with exhaustion and arousal. "I need your seed. I need you to fill me completely."

Peter growled against her ear, his teeth gently grazing the sensitive lobe. "Is that what you want, 'Ro?" he asked, using the familiar nickname that only her closest friends used, the intimacy of it making her shiver. "You want me to pump you full? Make you swell with my child?" His pace never faltered as he spoke, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her overstimulated body. "Say it again. Tell me what you need."

"I am yours, Peter Parker," Storm gasped, her voice cracking with emotion and exhaustion. "My body, my womb—all yours to claim. Please..." She turned her head, seeking his lips with desperate need. "Fill me with your seed. Breed me as you bred Emma." The confession seemed to liberate something within her, the proud goddess finally surrendering completely to her desires. "I want to carry your child. I want to feel your cum flooding my womb until I cannot hold anymore."

Her words ignited something primal in Peter. With a sudden movement, he shifted his grip, one hand snaking up to tangle in her sweat-dampened white hair. He pulled firmly, angling her face toward his as their eyes locked in a moment of raw connection. "Then take it all, Ororo," he growled, crushing his mouth against hers in a kiss that was both brutal and tender. His tongue invaded her mouth as his cock continued its relentless assault on her inner sanctum, claiming every part of her body simultaneously.

The kiss seemed to break the last of Peter's control. His rhythm faltered for the first time, becoming erratic and desperate as his balls tightened against his body. "Fuck, Ororo, I'm cumming," he groaned against her lips, his arms tightening around her trembling form as he thrust upward one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside her welcoming heat. His cock pulsed violently, the first thick rope of his seed shooting directly against her cervix with enough force to make her gasp.

Storm's body responded instantly to the hot flood of semen bathing her inner walls. "Yes! Peter! YES!" she screamed, her hoarse voice cracking as a final, devastating orgasm crashed through her body. Her pussy contracted rhythmically around his erupting cock, milking every drop of his virile seed as if desperate to ensure conception. Outside, lightning struck the building's lightning rod with perfect timing, the thunder that followed drowning out her screams of completion. Storm's eyes glowed white with power as electricity crackled around the room, the overhead lights flickering and dimming as her control over her abilities shattered completely.

As the initial intensity of their shared climax subsided, they remained joined, Peter's strong arms now cradling Storm tenderly against his chest as they both fought to catch their breath. His softening cock continued to pulse inside her, depositing the last few drops of his seed deep within her womb. Storm's legs, still held in the full nelson position, trembled uncontrollably as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her exhausted body. "I can feel it," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she placed a hand over her flat stomach. "So much of you, so deep within me. I swear by the Bright Lady, I can feel your child taking root already."

Peter lowered her legs gently, repositioning them so that Storm lay comfortably across his lap, her back against his chest as they shared lazy, tender kisses. His hands roamed her sweat-slicked body appreciatively, cupping the weight of her perfect breasts, thumbs brushing over nipples still sensitive from his earlier attention. One hand slid down to caress her stomach with surprising tenderness, as if already protective of the potential life they might have created. Eventually, his softened length slipped free from her well-used entrance, followed immediately by a gush of thick, white fluid that pooled beneath them on the already-soaked sheets. The sight of his abundant seed flowing from her conquered body made Peter groan with primitive satisfaction, while Storm smiled with feminine pride at the sheer volume he had deposited inside her.

As the thunderstorm outside gradually subsided to a gentle rainfall, Storm lay nestled against Peter's chest, their bodies still slick with sweat and the evidence of their passion. Her fingers traced idle patterns across his muscular torso, occasionally brushing against a scar or two—testament to his years protecting New York City. "By the goddess," she murmured, her accent thick with satisfaction, "if I am a storm goddess, then you must truly be a spider demigod. Entrapping beautiful women as mates for your potent seed." Her hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing against his softened manhood with reverent appreciation. "First Emma, now me... how many more mutant wombs will you claim, I wonder?"

Peter chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. "It's not really all that serious," he said, his hand idly stroking her white hair. "I mean, Emma and I... that was complicated but something i needed. And this—" he gestured between them, "—this was unexpected. Amazing, but unexpected."

Storm propped herself up on one elbow, her magnificent breasts pressing against his side as she gazed down at him with knowing eyes. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smirk that would have made Emma Frost proud. "Oh?" she asked, one eyebrow arched imperiously. "Then pounding my pussy until I swore to be your woman was just something you do for everyone? Just another Tuesday night for the Amazing Spider-Man?" Her tone was teasing, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity beneath the playfulness.

"No! That's not what I—" Peter began, his face flushing slightly before he caught the glint in her eyes. He laughed, shaking his head at her teasing. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down into a deep, possessive kiss that made her moan against his lips.

Storm melted into the kiss, her body responding instantly to his touch as if he'd flipped a switch inside her. When they finally broke apart, her eyes were half-lidded with renewed desire. "Perhaps I do," she whispered against his lips before placing a gentle kiss on his chin, then his throat, then the center of his chest. Each kiss moved lower, her white hair cascading across his torso like a waterfall as she worked her way down his body with deliberate slowness. "Perhaps I simply wish to ensure that my god of fertility understands the depth of my devotion."

Her journey downward continued, lips pressing against his taut abdomen, tongue dipping briefly into his navel, before finally reaching her destination. Storm's blue eyes flicked upward, holding Peter's gaze as she found his resting, sated cock. "I vow to worship this magnificent weapon all night," she declared with solemn reverence that somehow didn't sound ridiculous coming from her lips. "To prepare it for the sacred task of filling my womb again and again." Her full lips parted as she took him into her mouth, the warmth and wetness instantly causing him to stir and begin hardening once more.

Despite his recent release and her obvious exhaustion, Storm's technique was flawless. Her lips stretched wide to accommodate his impressive girth, her tongue working skillfully along the underside of his shaft as she took him deeper with each bob of her head. Her hands weren't idle either—one cupped and massaged his heavy balls with expert pressure, while the other stroked what her mouth couldn't yet reach as he returned to his full, intimidating size. Peter groaned, his hand instinctively moving to tangle in her white hair, not forcing her down but simply establishing a connection as she serviced him with surprising submission.

"All night?" Peter questioned breathlessly, his eyes darting to the clock mounted on the wall. "It's only nine o'clock." His voice hitched as Storm took him particularly deep, the head of his cock nudging the back of her throat as she moaned around him, sending vibrations through his entire length.

With obvious reluctance, Storm released him from the warm prison of her mouth, though her hand continued to stroke his now fully erect shaft. Her lips were slick and swollen from her efforts, her eyes hooded with desire as she looked up at him. "The night is young, Spider," she purred, her tongue darting out to collect a bead of precum from his tip, "and I want to make absolutely certain you leave me with plenty of mutant babies in my belly by tomorrow." Her words were crude but spoken with such elegant confidence that they seemed almost regal. "I'm certain Emma would not begrudge me this gift, especially after keeping you selfishly to herself for so long."

Peter nodded in wordless agreement, his head falling back against the pillows with a groan as Storm once again swallowed his cock, taking him even deeper than before. Her throat relaxed around his considerable girth, years of control over her own body allowing her to suppress her gag reflex as she worshipped his manhood with single-minded determination. Outside, the rain continued its gentle patter against the windows, a soothing counterpoint to the wet, obscene sounds filling the bedroom as the weather goddess devoted herself to preparing the Spider for another round of breeding.

Meanwhile, on the island nation of Krakoa, Emma Frost reclined on her plush white couch, one delicate hand resting on her visibly swollen belly while the other held an iPad displaying the explicit scene unfolding in their New York penthouse. The five identical blonde telepaths known as the Stepford Cuckoos clustered around her, their eyes wide and cheeks flushed as they watched Storm—their dignified, regal Storm—taking Peter's massive cock with abandon. The sound of Storm's hoarse screams filled Emma's private chambers, the weather goddess begging to be bred like a common whore. "My, my," Emma purred, her ice-blue lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Our Spider certainly knows how to reduce even the mighty Storm to a quivering mess. I trained him well, didn't I, girls?"

"It's not fair," Phoebe pouted, her blue eyes never leaving the screen as Peter flipped Storm into the full nelson position. "We called dibs on him months ago. We told you we wanted to share him." The other Cuckoos nodded in unison, a synchronized movement that highlighted their hive-mind connection. "But then the Quiet Council discovered the fertility crisis," Celeste added bitterly, "and suddenly every powerful mutant woman will want her womb filled with his superior sperm." Mindee leaned closer to the screen, her lips parting slightly as the camera captured Storm's face contorted in ecstasy. "We would have pleased him better than the weather witch. Five of us, five times the pleasure."

"Sweet Bright Lady," Esme gasped as the camera angle shifted, providing a clear view of Peter's enormous manhood pistoning in and out of Storm's soaking entrance. "Look at the size of him! That's... that's impossible!" Sophie's eyes widened in disbelief. "No wonder you kept him hidden away on Earth all those years," she whispered to Emma. "If the Quiet Council had known what he was packing, they'd have put him in the breeding pits immediately." The Cuckoos watched in fascinated horror and arousal as Storm's stomach bulged slightly with each deep thrust, her usual composure completely shattered as lightning flashed outside Peter's windows. "He's reshaping her," Phoebe observed clinically, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her arousal. "Her mutant pussy will never be the same after tonight."

Emma chuckled, her laughter like the tinkling of crystal as she watched her protégé perform. "Peter has always been exceptional," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "So innocent when I first took him to my bed, yet so eager to learn." Her ice-blue eyes sparkled with mischief and memory. "It took me weeks to train my throat to accommodate his full length, yet look at our Storm—taking him like she was born for it." On the screen, Storm began to scream as Peter pumped his seed deep inside her, the camera capturing the moment of their shared climax with perfect clarity. "Good boy," Emma murmured, as if Peter could hear her encouragement across the distance. "Fill her womb just as you filled mine. Show these mutants what a real man can do."

As Storm's screams of pleasure echoed through the speakers once more, Emma's hand moved in slow circles over her distended belly, feeling the twins shift restlessly within her womb. Her thoughts drifted to the other women on the Quiet Council—particularly Jean. How would the mighty Phoenix look, pinned beneath Peter's powerful body? Would her red hair fan out across the pillows as she begged for his seed? Would her telepathic powers shatter under the onslaught of pleasure, broadcasting her ecstasy to every mind on Krakoa? The World? Emma licked her full blue painted lips at the thought, a delicious anticipation building within her. "Rest well, my darlings," she whispered to her unborn children as she felt them settle. "Soon you'll have many more siblings to play with. Spider-Man's breeding program has only just begun, and I cannot wait to see who falls to his web next."

OMAKE

Paul had been walking for days since Venom and Deadpool had placed him under the trash heap. His designer jeans—once worth three hundred dollars—were now torn beyond recognition, and the stench of sewage clung to him like a second skin. Even the rats scurried away as he trudged through the city outskirts. "Keep it together, Paul," he muttered to himself, trying to ignore the flies that had made a home around him. "Just get back to Mary Jane." His phone was dead, his wallet gone, and his dignity somewhere back under that pile of garbage. "Where the fuck is Spider-Man when you need him? Was all this Peter's doing?" The thought made his blood boil even as his stomach growled with hunger.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a massive black figure landed on the pavement before him with a sickening crack of concrete. Paul froze as Venom straightened up, towering over him like a nightmare given form. "What do you want n—" Paul's question died in his throat as Venom began to... twerk? Oh No! It was twerking again! The alien symbiote's massive form shook and gyrated, its posterior bouncing with disturbing rhythm while its long tongue lolled from its grinning maw. "What the actual f—"

In horror, Paul tried to run back the way he came, only to skid to a halt as another Venom—this one bright orange—landed behind him and immediately launched into the same grotesque dance move. The orange symbiote's twerking was somehow even more aggressive, its hips moving at speeds that defied physics. "This isn't happening," Paul whispered, backing away sideways.

He turned left only to face a pristine white Venom, its pearl-colored form gleaming in the streetlight as it too began twerking with surprising grace for something so monstrous. Desperately, Paul spun right, but there waited a green Venom, moss-colored and hulking, already mid-twerk with what appeared to be a symbiote version of jazz hands. "What is this?" Paul cried out, spinning in a circle of twerking alien monsters. "What do you want from me?"

The first black Venom paused its disturbing dance just long enough to speak, its voice like gravel in a blender. "Peter is not to be disturbed by trash characters and their fetish for man buns and the looks of kid predators," it growled, somehow making the ridiculous statement sound like a death sentence. The symbiote's massive head leaned in close enough that Paul could smell its breath, like roadkill left in the sun. "Get him, boys!"

Paul could only scream in horror as all four Venoms descended upon him, a rainbow of symbiotic fury and inexplicable twerking. The beating was swift and thorough, each Venom taking turns to slap, punch, and occasionally continue dancing while striking him. His last conscious thought was the sensation of flying—literally flying—through the air as the Venoms collectively hurled him kilometers away, his body describing a perfect arc before landing with a squelchy thud right back in the exact same trash heap where his journey had begun. A banana peel landed delicately on his forehead as the world went mercifully black.

Chapter Text

Despite her earlier promises to worship his cock all night, both Peter and Storm eventually succumbed to the simple biological need for rest. Their bodies, slick with sweat and various fluids, had been entangled for hours in a marathon of pleasure that left even Spider-Man's enhanced stamina depleted. Storm's weather manipulation powers had manifested unconsciously throughout their lovemaking—gentle breezes cooling their heated skin, static electricity crackling at the height of her pleasure, and soft rumbles of thunder accompanying her most intense orgasms.

They stopped their active lovemaking around midnight, bodies wonderfully sore and minds hazy with satisfaction. Peter gently pulled Storm against his chest, both of them sticky with dried sweat and cum, neither caring enough to clean up properly. Their kisses transitioned from desperate and hungry to slow and languid, tongues lazily exploring each other's mouths as their heartbeats gradually returned to normal. Storm's fingers traced the defined muscles of Peter's chest, marveling at how his lean frame concealed such tremendous strength.

"You're still hard," Storm murmured against his lips, feeling his nine inches of his cock pressing insistently against her thigh. Her hand drifted downward, fingers briefly grazing his shaft before Peter caught her wrist.

"Let's just enjoy this," he whispered, repositioning so his erection nestled between her soft chocolate thighs. "I like feeling you like this. No pressure to do anything more." Storm smiled and nodded, understanding the intimacy of simply being connected without chasing another climax. She squeezed her thighs slightly, eliciting a groan from Peter as his cock throbbed in response.

The warmth of Storm's thighs created a delicious cocoon around Peter's sensitive member. Each slight movement caused him to leak precum, the clear fluid mingling with the remnants of his earlier releases that still seeped from Storm's well-used pussy. The sight of his cum slowly trickling from between her swollen lips, combined with the soft pressure of her thighs, kept him achingly hard even as they drifted toward sleep.

Around three in the morning, Peter stirred awake. His spider-sense wasn't tingling with danger, but something more subtle—an awareness that Storm was no longer sleeping. His enhanced senses picked up the slight change in her breathing pattern, the minute tension in her muscles despite her cuddling closer to his warmth. Outside the window of his apartment, a gentle rain had begun to fall, droplets pattering rhythmically against the glass.

The rain had a peculiar quality to it—warm and soothing, not the cold downpour typical of a spring night in New York. It created a cocoon of white noise that seemed designed to lull one back to sleep, the kind of rain that made hitting the snooze button feel like the most natural thing in the world. Peter knew instantly that this wasn't a natural weather pattern; it had Storm's signature all over it.

He tightened his arms around her, one hand gently stroking the small of her back while the other cradled her head against his chest. In the dim light filtering through the window, her white hair seemed to glow with an ethereal quality, spread across his skin like strands of moonlight. Her body fit perfectly against his, as though they were two pieces of a puzzle finally united after being separated for too long.

The soft press of her breasts against his chest was intoxicating—large and firm yet yielding, her dark nipples occasionally brushing against him when she shifted. Her skin was impossibly smooth, warm to the touch despite her control over ice and snow. Peter could feel each breath she took, the slight rise and fall of her chest, the way her heart beat strong and steady against his own. Between her thighs, his cock remained half-hard, nestled in her warmth, a physical reminder of their connection.

"What's wrong?" Peter whispered into her hair, his voice raspy from sleep and hours of passionate vocalizations. His fingers continued their gentle exploration of her back, tracing the subtle ridges of her spine, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin in response.

Storm opened her eyes, the electric blue of her irises visible even in the darkness. "I didn't want to disturb you," she replied softly, her accent more pronounced in her drowsy state. "You needed rest after everything we did." Her hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb gently stroking his stubbled jaw. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Peter asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Not regretting this, are you? Because I have to say, goddess or not, that was easily the best sex of my life." He gave her a lopsided smile, his attempt at humor barely masking the vulnerability beneath. Even Spider-Man had his insecurities, especially when lying naked with a woman who was worshipped as a deity on another planet.

Storm laughed, the sound like distant wind chimes in a summer breeze. Her fingers traced the contours of Peter's abs, following the defined ridges down to where his cock still rested between her thighs. "Tell me something, Spider," she purred, her voice husky with lingering arousal. "Am I a better lover than your White Queen? Than Emma?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously in the darkness, electric blue meeting his warm brown gaze.

Peter's cheeks flushed despite himself. Even in the dim light, the redness was visible across his face and neck. "That's not really fair," he stammered, feeling her thighs squeeze his cock teasingly as she awaited his answer. "Emma is my fiancée, Storm. She's carrying my babies." His hand unconsciously moved to stroke Storm's flat stomach, wondering if his seed might have already taken root there too. The thought sent a fresh surge of blood to his groin, making his cock twitch against her slick skin.

"I have to say she's the better lover," Peter finally answered, his voice a mix of embarrassment and diplomatic caution. His fingers continued their gentle exploration of her stomach, tracing circles around her navel, imagining it swollen with his child. "I mean, she's going to be my wife and the mother of my children. I can't exactly rank the women I sleep with, especially not to another woman I'm sleeping with."

Storm laughed again, the sound making her breasts shake temptingly against his chest. "Such a safe answer, Peter Parker," she teased, reaching down to grasp his hand that had been stroking her stomach. She guided it lower, pressing his palm flat against her lower abdomen, just above her mound. "But soon enough, I will also be pregnant with your children—if I am not already." Her eyes locked onto his, serious despite her smile. "So I am sure Emma and I are equal in regards to who is the better lover."

Peter smiled at her words, his cock hardening further at the thought of Storm swollen with his child. The idea of impregnating the weather goddess, of his seed growing within her powerful body, was intoxicating. Yet even as he enjoyed the fantasy, he could sense there was something deeper troubling her. "That's not what's bothering you though, is it?" he asked softly, his hand still resting on her lower belly, thumb gently stroking the smooth skin.

Storm sighed and moved closer to his chest, her head tucking under his chin as her fingertips began drawing lazy circles on his pectoral muscles. The hard points of her nipples pressed against his ribs, her soft breasts pillowing against his side. "Peter," she began, her voice quieter now, less playful and more contemplative. "Do you think Krakoa will succeed as a mutant nation? Will it last... or will it fall?" The vulnerability in her tone was striking, so different from the confident goddess who had ridden him to multiple climaxes just hours before.

Outside the window, the gentle rain that had been falling began to intensify, droplets striking the glass with increasing force. The rhythm shifted from soothing to urgent, reflecting the anxiety in Storm's question. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, ominous sound that seemed to underscore her concerns. Peter could feel her body tense slightly against his, her powerful muscles coiling with unconscious worry.

"Where is this coming from?" Peter asked gently, one hand moving to stroke her white hair while the other remained protectively over her womb. He shifted slightly, allowing his semi-hard cock to press against her thigh, maintaining their intimate connection even as their conversation turned serious. "I thought things were going well for Krakoa. You've established trade, diplomatic relations, even security agreements with multiple nations."

Storm's fingers stilled on his chest, coming to rest over his heart. "Despite the threats and assurances," she began, her accent thickening with emotion, "despite the human drugs we created to leverage against nations to back our sovereignty, despite all mutants coming together to help build Krakoa..." She paused, her breath warm against his skin. "We are still faced with many problems." Her thigh pressed against his cock, seeking comfort in their physical connection even as she voiced her deepest fears.

"The Quiet Council is plagued with infighting," Storm continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Shaw and Sinister constantly scheme. Emma left to be with you. Even Charles and Magneto have their secrets." She traced a finger along Peter's jawline, following the strong contour to his chin. "And many mutants have their own agendas. Some still hold grudges against former enemies now living as neighbors. Others view humans with the same contempt humans have shown us."

Peter listened attentively, one hand sliding down to cup the curve of her ass, squeezing gently in silent support. His cock throbbed between them, hot and heavy against her softness, a physical reminder of their connection that transcended the political concerns she voiced. "That sounds like typical growing pains for any nation," he offered. "Especially one made up of people who've been on different sides of conflicts for decades."

Storm shook her head slightly, her silky hair brushing against his chest. "It goes beyond that. Nations and secret organizations continue fighting against us with increasingly sophisticated anti-mutant operations." Her hand drifted down his body, fingers wrapping around his shaft and stroking slowly, almost absently, as if the physical contact grounded her while discussing such troubling matters. "Orchis grows stronger every day. Even SHIELD watches us with suspicion. And the humans who once supported us grow wary of our powers and isolation."

"We've pushed away longtime allies just because they aren't mutants," she continued, her grip tightening slightly around his cock, making Peter groan softly. "Heroes who fought alongside the X-Men for years are now treated as outsiders, diplomatic visitors rather than friends." Her thumb circled the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the precum that had gathered there. "The bridges we've burned may never be rebuilt."

Peter thrust gently into her hand, his body responding to her touch even as his mind processed her concerns. "And now there's this fertility crisis," he said, connecting the dots. "Which apparently only I can solve." He smiled wryly, though his expression grew serious as he considered the implications. "That's why Emma, you, and who knows how many other mutant women will be carrying my children. Because no other option exists."

Storm nodded, her eyes meeting his as her hand continued its languid strokes. "Your genetic compatibility with mutants is unprecedented. The Cuckoos and Beast and all our other mutant scientists confirmed it after studying Emma's pregnancy." She guided his hand to her breast, encouraging him to caress the full mound as she spoke. "What does it say about our future as a species when our fertility depends on a single human man? When the continuation of mutantkind rests on your... capacity?"

Peter sighed deeply, gently extracting himself from Storm's embrace. "Let me turn on the light. I want to see your face for this conversation." He reached over to the bedside lamp, clicking it on. The soft amber glow spilled across the room, illuminating Storm's striking features—the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips, and the electric blue of her eyes that seemed to glow with their own inner light.

"To be honest, Storm," Peter began, his voice steady but gentle as he settled back against the headboard, the sheet pooling at his waist, "I don't think Krakoa will last." He watched her expression carefully, noting the slight widening of her eyes, the subtle tensing of her jaw. "Don't get me wrong—I think it's been necessary. Mutants needed this breathing room, this sanctuary after everything they've endured."

Storm sat up beside him, the sheet falling to her waist and exposing her magnificent breasts. She made no move to cover herself, comfort in her nudity being second nature to her. "But?" she prompted, her accent thickening with emotion, eyes never leaving his.

"But isolating all mutants on a single island, especially with people who were once bitter enemies? That's not sustainable." Peter ran a hand through his tousled hair, his muscular chest rising and falling with a deep breath. "Think about it—Sebastian Shaw living next door to people he's tried to kill. Apocalypse serving on the same council as Charles Xavier. Former Brotherhood members mixing with X-Men. That's a powder keg waiting to explode."

Storm's fingers twisted the sheet absently, her face contemplative. "We have laws now. The Quiet Council—"

"Is fractured," Peter interjected gently. "By your own admission, there's constant infighting and scheming. And more importantly, you've all pulled away from anyone who isn't a mutant. You've done to others exactly what humans did to mutants—created an us-versus-them mentality." His hand found hers on the bed, squeezing gently. "You've isolated yourselves from those who could be allies just because they don't have the X-gene."

A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, betraying Storm's emotional response despite her composed face. "We were forced to look inward," she defended, though her voice lacked conviction. "After decades of persecution—"

"I know," Peter said softly. "And I'm not saying I don't understand why. But I'm not an expert in nation-building or diplomacy. I'm just saying what I see as an outsider who cares deeply about—" he hesitated, then continued, "about many people on that island." His eyes lingered on her face, tracing the elegant curve of her neck down to her collarbone.

Peter stood up abruptly, his naked form silhouetted against the city lights streaming through the window. Storm's eyes followed him, appreciating the lean muscle of his back, the taut curve of his ass as he walked across the spacious bedroom. "I'll get us something to drink," he offered, padding barefoot across the plush carpet and out of the bedroom.

Storm watched him go, her mind churning with his words. She glanced around the master bedroom of Emma and Peter's penthouse—the tasteful, minimalist luxury that spoke of Emma's refined aesthetic and considerable wealth. The king-size bed she sat in probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The silk sheets against her skin, the subtle scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air—all of it a stark contrast to the natural environment of Krakoa.

Peter returned moments later, carrying two tall glasses filled with a vibrant orange-red liquid. The muscles of his arms and chest flexed as he moved, his still semi-hard cock swaying slightly with each step. "Cold passion fruit, like the night before," he explained, handing her a glass. "Emma keeps the fridge stocked with exotic fruits and fresh-pressed juices. Says it's good for the babies."

Storm accepted the glass gratefully, taking a long sip. The sweet-tart flavor burst on her tongue, refreshing after their hours of lovemaking. "Still delicious," she murmured, watching as Peter drank deeply from his own glass, a droplet escaping to trace a path down his chest. She had the sudden urge to lick it away.

"About Krakoa," Peter continued, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I don't know what the future holds, but realistically? I don't see it lasting forever. Ten years, maybe twenty if you're lucky, but eventually, something will give." He set his empty glass on the nightstand with a soft clink. "Nations built on isolation rarely thrive long-term. And with the kinds of powers concentrated there, when things do fall apart..."

He let the thought hang in the air as he took Storm's now-empty glass from her hands, their fingers brushing in the exchange. The simple contact still sent a current of awareness between them, a reminder of their recent intimacy. Peter placed her glass next to his and slid back under the sheets, his body radiating warmth as he settled beside her.

Storm contemplated Peter's words, her fingers absently tracing patterns on his chest. "Perhaps you're right," she conceded, her voice a soft whisper. "We've created something beautiful, but fragile. Like a garden that requires constant tending." Her body shifted closer to his, seeking warmth and connection as the weight of their conversation settled around them.

"And now you understand why I…..we turned to you," she continued, electric blue eyes searching his in the dim light. "Why mutant women are seeking your genetic gift. We fear extinction, Peter. It's primal, beyond politics or ideology." Her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing against his abs before coming to rest on his thigh. "We need hope for the future, and somehow, you've become that hope."

Peter nodded solemnly, understanding the profound responsibility that had been thrust upon him. He started to pull her closer, intending to return to sleep and process everything in the morning. Just as his arm wrapped around her waist, the alarm on his phone rang, its shrill tone shattering the intimate atmosphere. Four AM. Damn!

He sighed, getting ready to leave the bed. The city never slept, and neither did crime. As Spider-Man, he had responsibilities that couldn't wait, even for a weather goddess in his bed. Storm turned to him curiously, her white hair cascading over the pillow as she propped herself up on one elbow.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her accent thickening with remnants of sleep and desire. The sheet draped loosely over her hips, leaving her torso bare in the dim light, her large breasts rising and falling with each breath.

"I always start my patrols early," Peter explained, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "The criminals think no one's watching at this hour. Perfect time to catch them off guard." He moved to stand, but Storm's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"No," she said softly, her voice a gentle command that carried the authority of someone used to controlling forces of nature. Her free hand reached for the bedside lamp, turning off the light and plunging the room into darkness. A moment later, a soft blue glow illuminated the space as tiny arcs of harmless electric energy danced across her skin, controlled perfectly by her mutant power.

The ethereal light revealed her body as she dropped the blanket entirely—chocolate skin glowing with electric-blue highlights, lush curves casting soft shadows, large breasts full and perfect with dark areolas tightening in the cool air. Her electric blue eyes seemed to pulse with their own inner light as they fixed on him, her long white lustrous locks spread across the pillow like freshly fallen snow.

Storm reached for him, one hand wrapping around his newly throbbing cock, which responded instantly to her touch. A fresh glob of hot, thick precum spewed from the tip, coating her fingers as she stroked his nine inches from base to head. "Come here," she whispered, guiding him atop her with surprising strength. "Comfort me. Make me feel safe and warm."

Peter didn't hesitate. His body moved instinctively, positioning himself above her as his lips found her full, soft ones. The kiss was different from their earlier passionate encounters—slower, deeper, filled with unspoken promises and understanding. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his muscular frame covering her completely as he supported himself on his forearms.

Storm welcomed the warmth and strength of him, her arms wrapping around his back, nails lightly scratching the taut muscles. The solid weight of his body provided a comfort she hadn't realized she needed until this moment. She felt protected, desired, and strangely at peace despite the turmoil in the world outside. Her thighs parted willingly, cradling his hips between them as the blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

She bit her lip as he entered her, slowly now, no rush. This wasn't the frantic coupling of their earlier session—this was something deeper, more meaningful. Her tight walls yielded to him inch by inch, her body welcoming Peter in a way it had never done for her other lovers. Her pussy seemed to pull him in of its own accord, greedily sucking his thickness deeper with each gentle thrust.

"You feel so good," Storm moaned against his lips, her accent thickening with pleasure. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as she peppered his jaw with kisses. "So perfect inside me. Like you were made for this... for me." She shifted her hips, taking him even deeper until he was fully sheathed within her, his large, cum-filled balls resting heavily against her ass.

The gentle blue glow from her powers illuminated their joined bodies, casting everything in an otherworldly light. Peter gazed down at her in wonder, marveling at how this powerful goddess could be so vulnerable and open beneath him.

Peter started thrusting, slow yet deep, making Storm moan in the sweetest of pleasure as his nine inches spread her walls like never before. Each deliberate stroke reached places within her that had never been touched, the thick head of his cock kissing her cervix with every forward motion. The gentle blue glow emanating from her skin cast shadows across his face, highlighting the concentration and desire in his eyes as he watched her reactions to each thrust.

"Goddess... Peter..." Storm gasped, her accent thickening as pleasure built within her core. Even this slow thrusting was helping her build her orgasm as she focused on kissing Peter all over his face, neck and lips. Her mouth traveled hungrily across his skin, tasting the salt of his sweat, breathing in his masculine scent that was now familiar and intoxicating. Tears of joy and fulfillment from being so fucking stuffed with his cock moved down her cheeks, the droplets glowing with the same ethereal blue light that danced across her skin.

Storm bit his neck in need as he ground deep into her, her walls clenching around his thickness in rhythmic pulses. "You fill me so perfectly," she breathed against his ear, her voice trembling with emotion. "Like we were made for each other, Peter. Like the goddess herself crafted you for my pleasure." Her praises were worshipful and filled with lust and something close to love if it wasn't already there. Her hands traced the defined muscles of his back, feeling them flex and contract with each powerful thrust.

"I never knew it could feel like this," Peter groaned, his lips finding hers in a deep, passionate kiss that seemed to connect them as deeply as their joined bodies. His cock throbbed inside her, leaking precum that mixed with her abundant juices, creating a slick, wet heat between them. The sound of their coupling—that delicious, obscene slurping noise—filled the room alongside their mingled breaths and moans.

Once, as Spiderman, she had thought Peter was a jokester hero who couldn't read a room or be serious. She had watched him swing through battles making quips, never fully appreciating the man behind the mask. How wrong she had been. Her thoughts scattered as he shifted his angle slightly, the ridge of his cockhead dragging exquisitely against her g-spot with each withdrawal. "Right there," she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "By the goddess, right there!"

Now, this handsome young man was making her mewl in pleasure and beg him for his kisses and warmth as he slowly brought her to orgasm. His brown eyes, so warm and expressive, held her gaze with an intensity that made her feel both vulnerable and completely safe. One of his hands cupped her breast, thumb teasing the stiff peak of her nipple as his hips maintained their torturous, perfect rhythm. The contrast of his pale skin against her dark chocolate tones was mesmerizing in the soft blue light, a visual reminder of their differences that somehow made their connection feel even more significant.

"Kiss me again," Storm pleaded, her head tilting back as pleasure coursed through her veins like lightning. "Please, Peter, I need your mouth on mine when I cum." He obliged immediately, claiming her lips with a tenderness that belied the power she knew his body contained. His tongue danced with hers as he continued pounding eagerly yet slowly, each thrust deliberate and deep, his heavy balls slapping gently against her ass.

Storm's back arched as she moaned his name, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Her thighs trembled around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she urged him deeper still. Outside the window, lightning flashed across the previously clear sky, thunder rumbling in perfect time with the contractions beginning to pulse through her core. "Peter!" she cried out, her voice breaking as the first waves of her orgasm crashed through her. "I'm cumming! Oh goddess, I'm cumming on your beautiful cock!"

His lips found her nipples, sucking hard then gentle, the dual sensations intensifying her climax. Her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic waves, milking his shaft as if trying to extract his seed through sheer force of will. Peter groaned against her breast, the vibration sending additional shockwaves of pleasure through her already overstimulated body. His mouth was hot and wet against her sensitive skin, teeth grazing the hardened peak before soothing it with his tongue.

As the pleasure consumed her, Storm imagined their powerful mutant children feeding fiercely from her breasts, the same breasts that Peter now worshipped with such devotion. The thought of her belly swollen with his child, of tiny beings created from their joined bodies, sent another wave of pleasure coursing through her. Her pussy contracted even more powerfully around his thick shaft, a fresh gush of her juices coating him from root to tip as her orgasm intensified.

"I want your babies," she whispered against his ear, voice raw with emotion and need. "I want to carry your seed, Peter. To feel it growing inside me. To know that part of you will always be with me, even when we're apart." Her words were punctuated by the continuing aftershocks of her orgasm, her inner walls fluttering around his still-thrusting cock like wings of a captured butterfly.

Clutching him closer, Storm ran her fingers through his hair, pulling his face up to meet her gaze. "Take your pleasure now," she commanded, her voice regaining some of the authority that made her a leader among mutants. "Fill me with your cum, Peter. Mark me from within. Let me feel your release." Her legs locked around his waist, preventing any possibility of withdrawal, though she knew he had no intention of pulling out.

"You're so fucking perfect," Peter groaned, his thrusts becoming more urgent, the careful rhythm faltering as his own climax approached. His muscles tensed beneath her hands, his breathing becoming ragged against her neck. "Storm... Ororo... I'm going to cum inside you. Going to fill you up completely." His words became incoherent as his hips jerked forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt as the first powerful jet of his seed erupted deep within her womb.

He was balls deep when that first jet of seed hit her cervix, hot and powerful. Storm screamed to the heavens as her powers sent lightning flashing violently across the New York skyline, illuminating the bedroom in rapid bursts of electric blue. Her entire body convulsed with pleasure, walls clamping down on his thickness as if determined to milk every drop from his swollen balls. "PETER!" she cried out, her accent thick with passion, body arching beneath him like a drawn bow. "I feel it! I feel your seed flooding me!"

Her long legs tightened around his waist with superhuman strength, ankles locking at the small of his back as she pulled him impossibly deeper. Each pulse of his cock sent another thick rope of cum directly against her cervix, painting her womb white with his potent seed. Storm's eyes rolled back, her full lips parted in a silent scream as the second wave of her orgasm crashed through her, more intense than the first. The windows rattled with thunder as her control over her powers slipped further, the weather outside responding to the storm of pleasure within.

Peter captured her mouth with his, swallowing her cries of worship and pleasure. His tongue claimed hers in a dance of dominance and surrender, even as his cock continued pumping load after load of thick, fertile cum into her willing body. She moaned into his mouth, her fingers digging into his muscular back hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks on his skin. Her pussy contracted rhythmically around his shaft, coaxing more seed from him with each rippling squeeze.

Storm kissed him with reverence, as if he were a king to be worshipped and loved rather than just a lover. Her lips moved against his with desperate need, tongue exploring his mouth as her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones with tender affection. "My spider," she whispered against his lips between kisses, "my beautiful, perfect spider." The praise was sincere, her usually regal demeanor completely undone by the pleasure he'd given her. Outside, the lightning had transformed from violent flashes to a gentle, pulsing glow that bathed the room in ethereal light.

His cock seemed to pulse endlessly inside her, filling her with virile load after virile load as if his enhanced body had been saving this release specifically for her womb. "Fuck, Storm," Peter groaned, his voice rough with pleasure as he continued to empty himself inside her. "There's so much... I can't stop..." His hips jerked involuntarily with each new spurt, driving his thickness against her cervix again and again. The heat of his seed spread through her core, marking her from within in the most primal way possible.

Please, please let it take, Storm found herself begging in the privacy of her mind, a prayer to whatever gods might be listening. Let his seed quicken within me. Give us beautiful babies with his strength and my powers. Perfect little mutants with the best of both parents. The thought alone was enough to trigger another small orgasm, her inner walls fluttering around his still-pulsing cock. She imagined her belly swollen with his child, breasts heavy with milk, a new generation of powerful mutants growing from their union—a testament to hope in these uncertain times.

Peter broke their kiss, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes as she mewled in need beneath him. The electric blue of her irises had an otherworldly glow to them, pupils dilated with pleasure and something deeper—something that looked remarkably like affection. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, sought his again immediately, a soft whimper of protest escaping her at even this brief separation. Her hands moved to tangle in his hair, pulling him back down to her as if she couldn't bear to not be kissing him for even a moment.

Storm's legs continued to shake uncontrollably from the intensity of her multiple orgasms, thighs quivering against his hips as he continued to fill her with his seed. "I can feel you," she gasped against his mouth, her voice trembling with wonder. "So deep inside me, Peter. So much of your cum... it's so warm..." Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as another aftershock rippled through her, her pussy squeezing his length as if trying to draw out every last drop. The sheets beneath them were soaked with their combined fluids, evidence of their passionate coupling.

Even after the last pulse of his climax, Peter's cock remained stubbornly hard inside her, refusing to soften or retreat from the velvet grip of her walls. Storm's pussy seemed equally unwilling to release him, her inner muscles continuing to hold him with gentle, rhythmic contractions. The connection between them felt significant, almost sacred in the aftermath of such intense pleasure. Neither moved to separate, content to remain joined, his weight a comforting presence above her, her warmth a perfect haven for his still-sensitive member.

Storm's arms encircled his broad shoulders, bringing his body fully back to hers. The weight of his muscular chest pressed her large, firm breasts flat, her stiff black nipples poking into him as she sighed with contentment. "Stay," she whispered, pressing soft kisses to his jaw, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth. "Stay inside me, just like this." Her hips shifted slightly, adjusting to accommodate him more comfortably without breaking their intimate connection. The movement sent a shiver of pleasure through both of them, his still-hard cock shifting within her sensitive passage.

Peter reached down and pulled the blankets over them both, cocooning them in warmth as they lay connected in the most intimate way possible. Storm hummed with pleasure, enjoying the solid weight of him on top of her, the comforting pressure of his body covering hers completely. His cock remained buried to the hilt inside her, a constant reminder of their joining and the potential new life they might have created tonight. "This is perfect," she murmured, her hands lazily stroking the strong muscles of his back beneath the blankets. "You are perfect, Peter Parker."

Between languid kisses, Storm's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "That haughty blonde bitch Emma better learn to share," she declared, her fingers tracing patterns on his shoulder blades. "Because after tonight, after you've put your babies in me, I will be very reluctant to let you go." Her tone was playful but with an undercurrent of seriousness that made Peter's cock twitch inside her. "Perhaps we will need to establish a schedule, hmm? Certain days for her, certain days for me..." Her eyes sparkled with amusement and something more possessive as she gazed up at him.

Peter chuckled against her lips, the vibration sending pleasant tingles through both their bodies. "I'm not sure Emma's the sharing type," he replied, brushing a strand of white hair from her face with gentle fingers. "But then again, neither are you, from what I can tell." He kissed her again, soft and sweet, as they relaxed into each other's embrace. His hands wandered lazily over her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts as they simply enjoyed the closeness, the peaceful aftermath of their passionate lovemaking.

When Peter made a small movement as if to shift his weight off her, Storm's legs immediately tightened around him again, holding him firmly in place. "No," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument despite its softness. "You stay right where you are. I want to fall asleep just like this, with you inside me, your seed safe in my womb." Her hands stroked his hair affectionately, blue eyes gazing into his with surprising warmth. "Is that acceptable to you, my Spider?"

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of their gradually slowing breaths and the occasional distant rumble of thunder, now gentle and soothing rather than the violent crashes that had accompanied their mutual climax. Storm's fingers continued their gentle exploration of his body, tracing scars from old battles, marveling at the lean strength contained in his deceptively average-looking frame. After several minutes of this peaceful quiet, she spoke again, her voice hesitant. "Emma told us, about two years back... about Mary Jane leaving you for some man from another dimension? Paul, I believe his name was?"

Peter simply nodded against her shoulder, not trusting himself to speak immediately. The wound was old now, scarred over but still tender when prodded. Storm kissed him gently, her lips soft and comforting against his. "She was a fool," Storm whispered fiercely, protectively. "A fool who didn't know what she was throwing away." Her hands cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze, to see the sincerity in her eyes. "Her loss is our gain, Peter. Emma's and mine. And we are not so foolish as to let you go."

With a loving sigh, Peter buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her white tresses. They smelled of ozone and rain, of power barely contained in human form, yet also of something uniquely feminine and enticing. His body relaxed completely atop hers, his cock still nestled securely within her warmth as exhaustion finally overtook them both. Storm's arms wrapped around him protectively, one hand gently stroking his hair as her eyes grew heavy with approaching sleep.

As consciousness began to slip away, Storm's mind filled with dreams of their future children—beautiful babies with Peter's warm brown eyes and her white hair, little ones with both his spider-like abilities and her command over the elements. She imagined a nursery on Krakoa, Peter by her side as they watched their children grow. A smile curved her lips as sleep claimed her completely, her body still joined with his, still full of his seed. Perhaps by morning, new life would already be taking root within her. The goddess willing, it would be so.

Chapter Text

Emma smirked as she walked into her and Peter's penthouse, casually caressing her swollen belly as she levitated large shopping bags as well as takeout food behind her. The whole place smelt of sex and release, the unmistakable musk of repeated coupling hanging heavy in the air. She casually opened a window with a flick of her wrist as she walked to the bedroom, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.

The sight that greeted her was exactly as she had anticipated—Storm, the weather goddess, was slurping hungrily on Peter's impressive nine-inch cock, her white hair cascading over his thighs as she bobbed her head lovingly. Peter groaned against the pillows, his fingers tangled in Storm's platinum locks, his muscular chest heaving with each shallow breath. Emma had been watching them from the hidden cameras since leaving Krakoa and, at last count, the ebony mutant goddess had drained her fiancé of six loads of cum that morning.

"Are you quite finished acting the whore for my man, Ororo?" Emma asked with perfectly practiced snideness, though a hint of admiration colored her tone. She placed her shopping bags down beside the door, her eyes never leaving the scene before her.

Storm stopped sucking just long enough to look up at Emma, Peter's glistening shaft still in her hand. "You'll have to get used to sharing, Emma," she said sharply, her accent more pronounced in her arousal. "I'm certain Peter's babies grow within me now." Her free hand traced over her flat stomach possessively, a knowing smile playing across her lips.

"That was rather the point, darling," Emma replied coolly, moving over to give Peter a deep, loving kiss on the cheek. His face was flushed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, and Emma felt a surge of pride at his stamina. "But you and I can't keep him all to ourselves," she continued, brushing Peter's damp hair from his forehead tenderly. "You need to shower and get back to Krakoa to confirm you really are pregnant, then make way for another mutant to have her chance. The future of our kind depends on it, after all."

Storm's response was to suck Peter's sensitive tip extra hard, her lips forming a tight seal as her tongue swirled around the head. Peter groaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily off the mattress. "Ororo! God—I can't—" His words dissolved into incoherent moans as his body tensed, shooting thick ropes of cum all over Storm's beautiful face. Some landed in her hair, across her cheek, and on her full lips, but Storm was quick to take his bucking cock back into her mouth, drinking directly from the source until Peter collapsed back against the pillows, utterly spent.

Storm rose to her knees, licking her full lips in satisfaction, the picture of primal female victory. "Who did you say was next?" she asked, making no move to wipe away the evidence of Peter's pleasure from her dark skin. The contrast of his pearly essence against her rich complexion was striking, and even Emma had to admire the erotic tableau they created.

Emma casually swiped a thick glob of Peter's cum from Storm's cheek with her manicured finger, examining it with clinical interest before bringing it to her own lips and tasting it thoughtfully. "Jean," she said matter-of-factly, savoring the familiar taste of her fiancé. "Our dear Marvel Girl is quite eager for her turn. She's been dropping hints for two days now."

Peter, still catching his breath, watched the exchange between the two powerful mutants with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. When he'd agreed to help with Krakoa's fertility crisis, he never imagined he'd be caught between the White Queen and Storm discussing his next breeding partner so casually. Yet here they were, his fiancée pregnant with his twins, Storm potentially carrying his child as well, and Jean Grey apparently waiting in the wings.

Storm's tongue moved languidly across her cheek, collecting another thick glob of Peter's essence. She swallowed it with evident pleasure, her eyes half-lidded before they suddenly widened in disbelief. "Jean? You can't be serious," she said, rising from the bed, her naked ebony body still glistening with sweat. "I assumed it would be Laura or perhaps Polaris next. Jean is... complicated. Have you considered how Cyclops will react? Or Logan, for that matter?" Her voice carried genuine concern as she gathered her scattered white hair into a loose bun.

Emma's crystalline laugh filled the room as she settled on the edge of the bed, her pregnant belly prominently displayed beneath her white silk maternity blouse. "Darling, Jean has already discussed this thoroughly with Charles and Erik. As for Scott..." she paused, stroking Peter's exhausted face with surprising tenderness, "she assures me he understands the necessity. This is about the survival of mutantkind, after all. And Logan?" Emma's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched dramatically. "He has no say whatsoever in Jean's reproductive choices."

Storm snorted in disbelief, shaking her head as she gathered her discarded clothing. "Jean's penchant for making her husband sit in the cuck chair is truly remarkable," she said dryly. "I've known Scott for decades, and I still cannot fathom how she convinces him to accept these arrangements. First Logan, now Peter?" She cast an appreciative glance at Peter's spent form on the bed. "Though I can certainly understand the appeal in this particular case."

Peter, who had been drifting in and out of consciousness, suddenly jerked upright. "Wait, what? Hold on," he protested, his voice hoarse from hours of pleasure. "I'm not fucking someone's wife, especially when that someone is Scott Summers." His face flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and moral indignation. "The guy already has enough reasons to blast me through a wall. I'm not adding 'impregnated your wife' to that list." He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking genuinely troubled despite his physical depletion.

Emma placed a soothing hand on his chest, pushing him gently back against the pillows. "Hush now, my sweet," she cooed, the term of endearment sounding strange yet sincere from the normally icy White Queen. "If Jean Grey has no qualms about saving mutantkind by carrying your babies, who are we to deny her?" Her finger traced lazy circles around his nipple. "Besides, this was all arranged with proper protocols. The Quiet Council has unanimously approved the program." She leaned down, her pregnant belly pressing against his side as she whispered in his ear, "And I've seen inside Jean's mind. Trust me when I say she's thought about this... extensively... long before our arrangement was formalized."

The revelation made Peter's cock twitch despite his exhaustion, a reaction that didn't escape either woman's notice. Storm smiled knowingly as she wrapped a towel around her statuesque frame. "Your fiancé has remarkable recuperative abilities, Emma," she observed, her voice rich with implication. "I'm beginning to understand why you've been so... possessive." She crossed the room and placed a gentle kiss on Peter's brow, her lips lingering just long enough to convey genuine affection. "Rest well, Spider. I'll return for more once I've confirmed our success on Krakoa. Though I suspect..." her hand briefly touched her abdomen, "...I can already feel your strength taking root within me."

As Storm disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting shortly after, Emma began unpacking containers of food from the bags she'd brought. The rich aroma of Thai curry and fresh bread filled the room, momentarily displacing the heavy scent of sex. "You should eat something," she told Peter, her concern genuine. "You've expended quite a lot of energy today, and you'll need your strength. Jean can be... insatiable. And she's only the beginning."

Peter groaned, both from arousal at Emma's implications and frustration at the situation. "How many are we talking about exactly?" he asked, eyeing the food with sudden hunger as his metabolism demanded replenishment. "And where are we going to put everyone? This penthouse is amazing, but it's not designed for a... harem." He winced at his own choice of words.

Storm emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her wet hair slicked back against her scalp. "Perhaps you should consider acquiring a mansion," she suggested casually, as if discussing the weather. "Something with multiple wings, private suites, perhaps grounds extensive enough to accommodate different needs. After all, your children—our children—will require space to grow and develop their abilities safely." She began dressing efficiently, her movements fluid and economical. "The mothers would appreciate communal areas as well as private spaces. A sanctuary for Peter Parker's extended family."

Emma's eyes lit up as she helped Peter sit up against the headboard, placing a container of fragrant curry in his hands. "I was thinking precisely the same thing," she admitted, her business acumen clearly engaged. "There's a lovely estate in Westchester that's recently come on the market. Not Xavier's old place, of course, but something with similar potential. Twenty bedrooms, indoor and outdoor pools, extensive grounds..." She opened her own container, the steam rising as Peter just stared at her, then at Storm, then back at Emma before falling back against the pillows with a groan that was equal parts arousal, exhaustion, and the dawning realization that his life had transformed into something he'd never imagined possible. As his eyes drifted closed, the last thing he heard was Emma's voice, soft and possessive: "Sleep now, my love. You'll need all your strength for what comes next."

Jean brushed her long hair carefully in front of a mirror in her and Scott's room on Krakoa, making sure each strand shined and blazed with vibrant red intensity. As she worked the brush through her locks, she felt a familiar warmth emanating from within—the Phoenix approving of her efforts. Though nobody else could see it, Jean could see her constant companion clearly—appearing like a perfect mirror of Jean's form, with flowing red hair gently pulsing with cosmic fire, golden eyes that burned with ancient knowledge, and a skintight white costume adorned with a golden crest emblazoned across her chest. The entity hovered just behind Jean, their reflections overlapping in the mirror.

"He won't be able to resist you," the Phoenix whispered, her voice like crackling flames in Jean's mind. "The Spider has proven himself worthy. Strong. Virile. A perfect genetic match." The brush seemingly floated on its own through Jean's lustrous locks as the Phoenix's ethereal hands guided it, each stroke making her hair shine like molten copper in the sunlight streaming through their window. Jean watched, mesmerized by their dual reflection—one solid, one spectral—as she carefully applied her makeup, finishing with a glossy coat of red lipstick that matched the intensity of her hair.

"This isn't about seduction," Jean murmured, though a flush crept across her cheeks as she stood to dress. "It's about survival. Our people need this." She pulled on a simple purple t-shirt that hugged her curves perfectly, followed by a pair of tight jeans that showcased her long legs and rounded backside. Even in such casual attire, Jean Grey was a vision—the outfit deliberately chosen to appear effortless while highlighting every aspect of her figure. She slipped on white sneakers, the final touch to an ensemble that struck the perfect balance between approachable and alluring.

The Phoenix circled around her, trailing wisps of fiery energy as she appraised Jean's appearance. "Why pretend this is merely duty?" the cosmic entity purred. "I feel your anticipation. The curiosity. The desire." The Phoenix's hand reached out, ghosting over Jean's shoulder without making physical contact. "Your body knows what it wants. Life seeks to create more life—it's the most natural force in the universe."

Jean closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The Phoenix wasn't wrong—there was a part of her that was curious about Peter. She'd always found him charming, kind, brilliant in his own way. And now, after hearing Emma's and Storm's whispered conversations about his... abilities, there was an undeniable flutter of anticipation in her stomach. The fact that the fate of mutantkind might rest on his genetics only made the prospect more intriguing. "This is bigger than personal desire," she replied firmly, though her voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

Just then, the door slid open, and Scott walked in, his ruby quartz glasses hiding his eyes but not the tense set of his jaw. He paused, taking in Jean's appearance with a long look before clearing his throat. "You look... nice," he said, the word carrying far more weight than its simplicity suggested. He moved further into the room, hands fidgeting at his sides. "I've been thinking about this all morning, and I—I'm having second thoughts about all this, Jean."

The Phoenix entity turned toward Scott with undisguised contempt, looking him up and down as if measuring him and finding him wanting. "You should have chosen a better mate," the Phoenix whispered in Jean's mind, loud enough that Jean winced slightly. "The Spider would have given you strong offspring naturally, without this... arrangement." The cosmic being licked her full lips, golden eyes flashing as she added, "His genes call to ours. Perfect chaos meeting perfect order. Creation and destruction in perfect harmony."

Jean sighed, both at Scott's hesitation and the Phoenix's running commentary. She crossed the room to her husband, placing gentle hands on his tense shoulders. "Scott, we've discussed this repeatedly. The Quiet Council voted. Charles and Erik explained the necessity. Emma organized everything." She searched his face, her green eyes intense. "You've had four separate opportunities to voice your concerns. Four times I specifically asked if you wanted to call this off."

"I know, I know," Scott ran a hand through his brown hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "It made sense in theory, in meetings, when it was just... a concept. But now it's real. Tonight, my wife is going to—" He couldn't finish the sentence, turning away from her. "It's different now that it's happening."

Jean cupped his face, turning him back toward her. "This isn't about us, Scott. The data is clear—mutant fertility is dropping with each passing year. Soon, there won't be any natural mutant births at all. Peter's genetic structure, combined with mutant DNA, produces viable embryos. Emma's pregnancy proves it." She let her hand drop to her side. "If we want Krakoa to have a future—if we want mutants to have a future—this is necessary."

Scott's shoulders slumped in resignation. "I understand the logic. I do. It's just that—" he hesitated, vulnerability showing through his usual stoic demeanor, "I'm afraid of losing you. What if this changes things between us?"

The Phoenix scoffed loudly in Jean's mind, circling the couple like a predatory bird. "As if you haven't shared your body with Emma countless times," the entity hissed, though only Jean could hear. "Such hypocrisy. He fears comparison, not losing you."

Jean pushed the Phoenix's comments aside, focusing on her husband. "Scott Summers," she said firmly, "I have died and been reborn. I've contained cosmic forces and traveled across galaxies. I've been to the end of time and back." She pressed her forehead against his. "Do you really think spending one night with Peter Parker is going to change how I feel about you?"

Scott let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "When you put it that way..."

Jean smiled, kissing him softly. "This is a clinical arrangement with a side of making it pleasant rather than awkward for everyone involved. It doesn't threaten what we have."

The Phoenix snorted at her side, unseen by Scott. "Clinical arrangement, my flaming ass," it said derisively, trailing fiery fingers through Jean's hair in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Soon you'll be experiencing the pleasure of a man connected to the Web of Life and Destiny. His seed carries the spark of creation itself. Why do you think Emma is already swollen with his children? Why do you think Storm's womb accepted him so readily?" The cosmic entity's golden eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge as she leaned closer to Jean's ear. "The Spider is special in ways none of you fully comprehend. His DNA resonates with the fundamental forces of existence."

"When will you be back?" Scott asked, oblivious to the cosmic being circling them both like a predatory bird. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his uniform sleeve, betraying his discomfort despite his earlier acceptance.

"In a couple of days, I think," Jean replied, brushing invisible lint from her jeans. "I don't particularly love New York these days, but staying in Emma and Peter's penthouse makes the most sense for now." She didn't add that Emma had insisted on Jean staying with them—supposedly to monitor her condition afterward, though Jean suspected Emma simply wanted to keep an eye on her interactions with Peter. The White Queen's possessiveness was legendary, even when she was ostensibly "sharing." Jean brushed her lips against Scott's in a gentle kiss, tasting the tension still lingering in his body. "This will be over before you know it," she promised, though the Phoenix snickered in her mind at the lie.

After leaving Scott, Jean made her way across Krakoa's lush landscape toward Beast's laboratory. The structure was a perfect blend of organic growth and technological advancement—living walls housing state-of-the-art equipment, the beating heart of Krakoa's scientific endeavors. She pushed through the membrane-like entrance, immediately greeted by the antiseptic smell that somehow managed to permeate even Krakoa's natural filters.

Inside, Beast was hunched over a holographic display, his massive blue-furred hands gesturing with surprising delicacy as he manipulated the three-dimensional image hovering before him. Across from him, Storm reclined on an examination table, her silver hair spread out like a halo against the dark surface. Even in a medical setting, Ororo Munroe maintained her regal bearing, her hand resting protectively over her still-flat abdomen. The smile on her face radiated a deep satisfaction that made Jean pause at the threshold.

"Congratulations are in order, it seems," Beast announced, his fanged mouth spreading into a wide grin as he adjusted his glasses. "The implantation was completely successful. All three embryos are developing at an accelerated but stable rate." He spun the hologram toward Storm, allowing her to see the tiny clusters of cells already forming into recognizable shapes. "Triplets, Ororo. Each one registering high levels of X-gene activity combined with fascinating strands of modified DNA I can only assume come from Mr. Parker's... unique genetics."

Jean approached the table, genuine happiness blooming in her chest at the news. "Triplets? Ororo, that's incredible!" She reached for her friend's hand, squeezing it tightly. Storm's skin felt warmer than usual, almost crackling with energy. The weather goddess had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to glow from within, her blue eyes electric with vitality.

"Thank you, Jean," Storm replied, her accent slightly more pronounced with emotion. "And soon it will be your turn." Her eyes roamed over Jean's form appraisingly, a knowing smirk playing at her full lips. "The experience was... most satisfying. In ways I had not anticipated." She sat up smoothly, adjusting her top with casual grace. "Emma told me Peter will be waiting for you at the coffee shop on 5th Avenue—the one with the blue awnings. She thought it would be best if you had some time to... discuss matters before proceeding to the physical aspect."

Jean felt heat rush to her cheeks, a blush spreading across her face that had the Phoenix cackling with delight. "Damn straight she's next," the cosmic entity purred, circling around Storm with curious interest. "Look at her—already carrying three lives created by his essence. The Spider's virility is exactly what we need." The Phoenix's fiery form pressed against Jean from behind, whispering directly into her mind. "Imagine how it will feel when he fills you with his seed. When his strange, powerful DNA mingles with ours. The children we could create together would reshape reality itself."

"I should get going then," Jean murmured, trying to ignore both the Phoenix's increasingly explicit commentary and the knowing look Beast was giving her from behind his glasses. She smoothed her hands over her jeans, suddenly second-guessing her casual outfit choice. "Did you... did you do anything special? To prepare, I mean?"

Storm slid gracefully from the examination table, her movements fluid and catlike. She leaned close to Jean, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just be yourself. Peter responds to authenticity." Her lips quirked upward. "And perhaps consider letting him take control. He's... surprisingly dominant when given permission." She straightened, adjusting her flowing white top over her still-flat abdomen. "Now, I must inform Charles and Erik of our success. The first step in ensuring mutantkind's future is complete."

As Storm glided from the laboratory, her presence seemed to command the very air around her. Jean couldn't help but notice how her friend's hips swayed with a new, satisfied confidence. The weather goddess paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. "One last piece of advice, Jean—try not to cry out too loudly when he enters you. The walls of the penthouse are thick, but Emma does so enjoy teasing about such things afterward." With that parting comment, Storm disappeared toward the Quiet Council chambers, already counting the minutes until she could ride Peter's impressive cock again—a thought that leaked clearly into Jean's telepathic awareness despite Storm's usually impeccable mental shields.

Jean stood frozen, the Phoenix's fiery laughter echoing in her mind as Beast tactfully busied himself with his equipment. "Well," she finally managed, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, "I suppose I shouldn't keep him waiting." She moved toward the Krakoan gateways, each step carrying her closer to the man who apparently held the genetic key to mutantkind's survival—and according to both the Phoenix and Storm's unguarded thoughts, an experience that went far beyond clinical necessity.

Peter sat in the upscale coffee shop, feeling slightly out of place despite the four years he'd spent in Emma's world of luxury. The rich mahogany tables, artisan lighting fixtures, and soft jazz playing in the background all screamed "expensive" in a way that still made the Queens boy in him uncomfortable. He adjusted the collar of his tailored Armani shirt—Emma had insisted on completely revamping his wardrobe when they started dating, claiming that "Parker, if you're going to be seen with me, you simply cannot dress like you shop exclusively at clearance racks."

He smiled at the memory while taking a small bite of the artisanal chocolate pie on his plate. The dark chocolate ganache melted perfectly on his tongue, complementing the steaming mug of Mexican cocoa beside it—not the instant powder he used to buy, but some special single-origin blend the barista had explained in excruciating detail. This was his life now: designer clothes, gourmet food, and apparently, fathering children with multiple mutant women as part of some grand plan to save mutantkind. If someone had told him this would be his future four years ago, he'd have assumed they were one of his more creative villains trying to mess with his head.

The bell above the door chimed, and Peter's enhanced senses picked up her scent before he even turned his head—a subtle perfume with notes of jasmine and something distinctly... cosmic. Jean Grey walked in, her emerald eyes scanning the room until they locked with his. Peter felt his breath catch in his throat. The years had been impossibly kind to Jean; her fiery red hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders, framing her perfect face. She wore fitted jeans that hugged every curve of her legendary figure, paired with a simple purple t-shirt that somehow managed to look both casual and sophisticated. As she approached his table, Peter couldn't help but notice the graceful sway of her hips, the confident stride of a woman comfortable in her own power.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Jean said with a warm smile as she slid into the seat across from him. "I wanted to make sure I looked... presentable." There was something in her tone that suggested 'presentable' wasn't exactly what she'd been aiming for. "And I wanted to congratulate you properly. Emma's pregnancy, your engagement—it's wonderful news, Peter."

Peter returned her smile, still a bit star-struck despite their years as occasional teammates. This was Jean Grey—THE Jean Grey—Phoenix, telepath extraordinaire, and one of the original X-Men. "Thanks, Jean. It's been a wild ride, that's for sure."

"Speaking of wild," Jean said, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a more intimate level. "I just came from Hank's lab before coming over through the gateway. He finished examining Ororo." A pause, her lips curving into a wider smile. "Triplets, Peter. She's carrying triplets."

Peter nearly choked on his cocoa. "Triplets?" he repeated, the implications dawning on him. Three more children, in addition to the twins Emma was carrying. Five little ones, all at once. "That's... wow."

"Wow indeed," Jean chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement at his reaction. "You're certainly... potent. Hank is absolutely fascinated by whatever genetic factors make you so compatible with mutant physiology. He's talking about writing a paper, though I told him he'd need your permission first."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, processing the information with a mixture of pride and disbelief. "So Emma and I will have twins, and Storm will have triplets. That's five siblings altogether." He smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through him at the thought. "I never had siblings growing up. Always wanted them."

"Well, at this rate, you'll be building quite the extended family," Jean remarked, flagging down a waitress to order herself a chai latte. After the server left, she studied Peter with open curiosity. "It's strange, isn't it? How much your life has changed since you and Emma got together. Four years ago, you were just Spider-Man, swinging through the city, living in that tiny apartment in—where was it? Queens?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, reminiscing. "And now I'm engaged to the former White Queen, living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, with a company that bears both our names and five children on the way." He gave a short laugh. "If I didn't live it, I wouldn't believe it."

"Life has a way of surprising us," Jean agreed, accepting her chai from the returning waitress with a thank-you. "Even for people like us who routinely deal with aliens, time travel, and alternate dimensions."

Peter nodded, then decided to shift the conversation. "So, how are things on Krakoa? Emma gives me updates sometimes, but she's been focused on our company lately, getting everything in order before the twins arrive."

Jean's expression flickered momentarily, something passing behind her eyes that Peter couldn't quite read. "It's... progressing," she said carefully, wrapping her slender fingers around the warm mug. "We've made strides no one could have imagined possible just a few years ago."

Peter gave her a long look, one that said he wasn't buying the diplomatic answer. Jean had always been forthright with him in the past; it was one of the things he respected most about her. "Jean," he said gently, "it's me. You don't have to sugarcoat it."

Her composure softened as she met his gaze. There was something vulnerable there, something that reminded Peter that beneath the Phoenix force and the legendary X-Man status, Jean was still human—or mutant, rather. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm worried, Peter. We've accomplished so much, but there's this... tension. Being so 'mutant first' with everything we do—it's made us targets in new ways. The hate and envy from humans seems to be growing, not diminishing, despite all our technological and medical contributions."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Storm mentioned similar concerns when we were together," he said, then felt his cheeks warm slightly at the implication. "I mean, when we were... you know."

Jean's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean, Peter," she said, and he could have sworn there was a hint of anticipation in her voice. "Ororo has always been perceptive about these things. She understands balance better than most of us."

"She said the isolation isn't sustainable," Peter continued, pushing past the momentary awkwardness. "That eventually, something has to give."

Jean took a deep breath, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot. "Can I tell you something? Something not many outside the Quiet Council know yet?" When Peter nodded, she leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're planning to terraform Mars. Create a second home for mutantkind. We're going to call it Arakko."

Peter's eyes widened. "Terraform Mars? That's... incredible. But also kind of terrifying from a human perspective. You guys can actually do that?"

"With our combined powers and tech? Absolutely," Jean affirmed, a note of pride in her voice. "It will give us room to grow, to build a civilization truly founded on mutant principles without the baggage of human history."

Peter sipped his cocoa, considering her words. "It's an amazing achievement," he said carefully, "but I'm not sure it solves the core problem. If anything, it might make things worse with the anti-mutant crowd. They already think you're trying to replace them; imagine how they'll react when you start claiming other planets."

Jean's expression turned thoughtful. "What would you do differently, if you were in our position?" she asked, genuinely curious. "You've always had a unique perspective, Peter. Being both hero and civilian, moving between worlds."

Peter hesitated, aware that he was treading on sensitive ground. "I'm not sure it's my place to—"

"Please," Jean interrupted, reaching across the table to take his hands in hers. Her touch was warm, soft, and carried a gentle current of energy that seemed to buzz beneath her skin. "I'd really like to know what you think. No judgment."

The sincerity in her eyes broke down his reluctance. "I think I'd go further than Mars," he said finally. "I'd leave an embassy on Earth for future mutants who want to join you, but I'd look for a planet so far away that humanity would eventually forget about you—or finally realize what they lost when you left." He squeezed her hands gently. "Sometimes the only way people learn to value something is when it's gone."

Jean's eyes held his, searching, evaluating. After a long moment, she smiled, something shifting in her expression. "You know, that's not so different from what Charles originally wanted, before his... more radical approach took hold." She didn't release his hands, instead running her thumbs over his knuckles in a way that sent a subtle shiver up his spine. "You always surprise me, Peter. There's so much more to you than most people ever see."

Peter felt a rush of warmth at her words, acutely aware that one of the most powerful telepaths in existence—and arguably one of the most beautiful women he'd ever met—was still holding his hands and looking at him like she was seeing something valuable, something worth discovering.

Jean squeezed Peter's hands more tightly, her emerald eyes softening with emotion. "You know, that's something I've always admired about you, Peter. Even before we really knew each other well." Her voice dropped to an intimate whisper. "You've never seen mutants as lesser beings—never feared us, never hated us. Not even for a moment." Her thumbs traced small circles on his palms, sending electric tingles up his arms. "You don't know how rare that is... how precious." Before Peter could respond, Jean leaned across the table, closing the distance between them with surprising swiftness. Her lips met his in a deep, passionate kiss that stole his breath away. As their mouths connected, a subtle golden aura began to shimmer around her skin, her red hair lifting slightly as though caught in an invisible breeze.

Peter's spider-sense hummed—not warning of danger, but acknowledging power—as Jean's telepathic energy washed over him like warm waves. He should pull back, he knew that, but her lips were impossibly soft, tasting of chai and something cosmic, ancient, and intoxicating. When she finally broke the kiss, Peter's eyes widened as he saw Jean's emerald irises blazing with golden fire, her expression transformed into something both familiar and alien. "Hello, Peter," she purred, her voice now carrying harmonic undertones that seemed to resonate directly in his mind. "Jean and I are a package deal, you see. I've been waiting far too long for this." Her smile turned predatory as flames that weren't really there danced in her hair. "The Phoenix wants to feel you now."

With a subtle gesture of her fingers, the Phoenix-possessed Jean cast a telepathic field around them. Peter watched in amazement as the other patrons continued their conversations, their gaze sliding past them as though they were invisible. "They won't notice us," Phoenix-Jean explained, rising from her seat with fluid, otherworldly grace. She took his hand, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. "Come with me. Now." It wasn't a request. Peter found himself being led across the coffee shop toward the ladies' restroom, his heart hammering in his chest. The Phoenix pushed open the door, drawing him inside before locking it behind them. "Jean desires you, Spider. I desire you. We will have you." Her voice echoed with cosmic power as she backed against the pristine sink counter.

With movements both elegant and urgent, Phoenix-Jean unfastened her jeans, sliding them down her long, toned legs along with a pair of silk panties in the same rich purple as her shirt. She hoisted herself onto the edge of the sink, spreading her thighs wide to reveal the glistening pink folds of her sex. "Look at how wet she is for you," the Phoenix said, using Jean's delicate fingers to spread her outer lips, exposing the slick, swollen flesh within. "She's been thinking about this since Storm first suggested it." Golden flames of psychic energy began to form a halo around her body, reflecting off the bathroom mirrors to create an otherworldly glow throughout the small space. "We want you to fuck us so hard we see the entire galaxy unfold before our eyes," the cosmic entity commanded, Jean's body arching in anticipation. "Show us why Storm carries your triple blessing. Show us why the White Queen guards you so jealously."

Mary Jane Watson stood with her back arched painfully against the stark white backdrop, her body squeezed into a lacy red ensemble that bit into her flesh. "Great, now turn just a bit more... show us that famous MJ smile," called the photographer, a balding man whose eyes hadn't risen above her chest in the past three hours. She forced her lips to curve upward while shifting her weight to one hip, the stilettos digging into her feet like tiny daggers. This was her fourth lingerie shoot this month—jobs that once supplemented her real acting and modeling career had become her primary source of income. The high-fashion contracts and Broadway callbacks had dried up as quickly as Peter's love had apparently evaporated after she'd chosen Paul. Now at thirty-one, she was posing in increasingly revealing outfits for increasingly less reputable brands, surrounded by men who saw her as nothing more than the curves beneath the satin and lace.

"That's a wrap, ladies!" the director finally called after another excruciating forty minutes. Mary Jane's smile collapsed as she wrapped herself in the offered robe and trudged toward the changing room. The vinyl floor felt sticky beneath her feet as she pushed open the door, finally alone with her thoughts. She collapsed onto the small metal chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror surrounded by harsh fluorescent bulbs. "Where did it all go wrong?" she whispered to herself, tugging at the tight straps digging into her shoulders. Four years ago, Paul had vanished without a trace after the Hellfire Gala. She'd frantically called Peter, begging for his help, and he'd gone through the motions of searching—swinging through the city, checking hospitals, even using his connections with the Avengers. But she'd seen it in his eyes: that detached, dutiful assistance of someone helping an ex, not the desperate determination of someone searching for a rival he truly feared losing to. Within weeks, the search had cooled, and within months, tabloids were splashing photos of Peter alongside Emma Frost, the platinum-blonde telepath with a sardonic smile and a body that made men drool.

With trembling fingers, Mary Jane peeled off the uncomfortable lingerie and reached for her own plain cotton underwear. She couldn't escape the news about Parker-Frost Industries—their revolutionary clean energy solutions, medical breakthroughs, and technological innovations plastered across every newspaper and magazine. Emma's perfectly rounded belly, now heavy with twins—Peter's twins—had been featured on the cover of Vanity Fair just last week, the couple looking radiant and successful while discussing their "unexpected love story." Mary Jane had stared at that magazine in the checkout line until the cashier had cleared her throat awkwardly. There they were: Peter in an immaculate suit, one protective hand on Emma's swollen abdomen, and Emma glowing with that distinctive mixture of pregnancy and triumph. The article detailed their whirlwind romance, their joint business ventures, their plans for the future—all described in elegant prose that made Mary Jane want to vomit. She'd nearly thrown the metal chair into the mirror then, just as she considered doing now. Instead, she slammed her fist against the countertop, sending makeup brushes scattering across the floor.

Her Jackpot costume lay buried in the bottom of her closet, untouched for months. After Paul's disappearance, she'd thrown herself into vigilante work, finding solace in the adrenaline rush of stopping petty crimes and the occasional supervillain. But each time she'd swing across the city, she'd inevitably spot Spider-Man in the distance, rarely but sometimes accompanied by the hovering white-clad figure of Emma Frost. The sight would send such a wave of nausea and regret through her body that she'd nearly fallen off buildings more than once. The Daily Bugle constantly featured photos of Peter and Emma cutting ribbons at charity events, unveiling new technologies, or simply looking perfect together at gala events—a far cry from the struggling photographer and actress who had once shared takeout on a fire escape. Each headline felt like a personal assault: "Parker-Frost Clean Energy Initiative Saves Thousands of Jobs," "Power Couple Donates Millions to Children's Hospital," "Emma Frost Expecting Parker's Twins: The Ultimate Power Family?" Mary Jane had given up crime-fighting when the frustration and sadness of what she'd lost became too overwhelming to bear. The costume now gathered dust while she posed in lingerie for men who would never know she could snap their necks with a well-placed kick.

As she pulled on her worn jeans and faded NYU sweatshirt, Mary Jane finally allowed the tears to fall. She'd made her choice four years ago—tired of waiting for Peter to rescue her from that apocalyptic dimension, she'd found comfort in Paul's arms and bed. The sex had been good, sometimes even great, but it had never made her feel the way Peter had—like she was flying and falling simultaneously, like she was the center of someone's universe. Paul had been solid, present, dependable in that strange world—until they'd returned and he'd mysteriously vanished. Now, watching Peter build an empire with Emma Frost, watching them create a family together, Mary Jane finally admitted the brutal truth to herself: she had given up too soon on the best thing in her life. Peter Parker, with his dorky jokes and his unwavering moral compass, would have waited until the end of eternity to find her again. He would have searched every dimension, fought every monster, moved heaven and earth just to see her smile once more. And she had thrown it all away for a man who had disappeared without a trace, leaving her with nothing but regret and lingerie contracts with photographers who leered at her breasts all day.

Chapter Text

Emma caressed her belly as she sat in Parker-Frost Industries' expensive head office, feeling her twins kicking gently. The late afternoon sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the sleek, minimalist décor in warm light. Her white executive chair—custom-designed to support her changing body—cradled her comfortably as she reviewed quarterly reports. The twins were especially active today, little flutters and kicks that made her pause mid-sentence during her mental dictation. Just two more months before she was a real mother to two beautiful babies she would love with all her heart—a reality that still occasionally struck her as surreal. Emma Frost, the White Queen, soon to be someone's mother. Peter's children. A smile played at her lips as she shifted position, trying to appease the little ones performing somersaults inside her.

The intercom buzzed softly. "Ms. Frost," came Selene's measured voice from the reception area, "there's an agent from SHIELD here requesting a meeting. She says it's urgent." Emma frowned slightly. SHIELD rarely brought good news, and their timing was impeccable as always—Peter was across town with Jean. Perfect timing to catch her alone.

"Name?" Emma asked, her finger hovering over the intercom button, though she already had a strong suspicion.

"Natasha Romanoff," Selene confirmed, adding almost unnecessarily, "the Black Widow."

Emma sighed, smoothing her tailored white maternity blazer. "Send her in." She had options—she could read Natasha's mind, of course, but the spy had mental barriers that would make it obvious, and starting with hostilities seemed counterproductive. Better to hear what SHIELD wanted directly.

The door opened silently on its hinges, and Natasha Romanoff strode in with the casual confidence of someone who could kill most of the people in the building using only office supplies. Despite the professional purpose of her visit, she wore civilian clothing that managed to be both fashionable and strategic—a fitted burgundy blazer over a black silk top, slim-cut trousers, and heels that probably concealed at least three different weapons. Her red hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, framing a face that revealed nothing while drawing attention to her striking features.

"Emma," Natasha said with a cordial nod, her eyes briefly traveling to the prominent baby bump before returning to meet Emma's gaze. "You look well. Pregnancy suits you."

Emma gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Thank you. It's been some time since we last saw each other, hasn't it?"

Natasha settled into the chair, crossing her legs elegantly. "The last time we met was during that unpleasant business with AIM," she said, her expression neutral despite the gravity of the memory.

"Ah yes," Emma nodded, unconsciously placing a protective hand over her belly. "When they were trying to kidnap me..."

"And Spider-Man nearly broke every bone in the AIM enforcers' bodies," Natasha finished, a hint of approval in her otherwise professional tone. "Nearly gave MODOK a hole through his brain, too. I've rarely seen Peter that... unleashed."

Emma couldn't suppress a small smile of pride. "They threatened me. He tends to become somewhat primal when that happens." The memory of Peter's rage, his absolute refusal to let anyone harm her, still warmed her. It had been early in their relationship—the first time she'd truly understood the depths of his protective instincts, the ferocity that lurked beneath his quips and carefree facade.

Natasha's lips curved in what might have been amusement. "Yes, well, MODOK's head casing still has the dent, from what I hear." She leaned forward slightly, the air in the room shifting as her demeanor became all business. "But I'm not here for a reunion, pleasant as it might be to reminisce about watching Spider-Man pulverize scientific terrorists."

"Of course not. SHIELD rarely sends its best spy for social calls," Emma replied coolly, mentally reviewing her psychic defenses. "What brings you to my office, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha's gaze was direct, unflinching. "SHIELD is aware that mutants are experiencing a fertility crisis. We know that Krakoa's population growth has stalled, despite all attempts at intervention through your... advanced biological sciences."

Emma kept her expression carefully neutral, though inside her mind raced. How much did they know? "As you can see," she gestured to her prominent belly, "I'm not experiencing any such difficulties."

"No," Natasha agreed, her voice level. "You're not. Because you're carrying Peter Parker's children." The statement hung in the air between them, neither a question nor an accusation, but a declaration of intelligence already gathered.

Emma raised an eyebrow, maintaining her composure. "My personal life—"

"Is intertwined with matters of global security," Natasha interrupted smoothly. "We know, Emma. We know the mutant race needs Peter to help with everything. We know about Storm's pregnancy. We know about Jean Grey's involvement. We know about the fertility program the Quiet Council authorized."

Emma felt a cold ripple of irritation at the intrusion, even as she acknowledged the inevitability of it. Of course they knew. SHIELD always knew. She considered denial but discarded the notion—it would only waste both their time. "And why does SHIELD care about mutant birth rates?" she asked instead, her tone icy. "Worried we might not go extinct quickly enough for your liking?"

Natasha didn't rise to the bait. "The mutants of Krakoa have done themselves no favors by establishing what is widely perceived as a human-hating nation. Nations are getting nervous, Emma. Governments are watching. And when they see a declining birth rate followed by a sudden program involving one specific human—a human with enhanced genetics and considerable power—fathering children with multiple elite mutant women?" She shook her head slightly. "People in power start developing theories. Uncomfortable ones."

"Such as?" Emma's voice was dangerously soft.

"Such as Krakoa creating a specialized breeding program to produce enhanced hybrid offspring as some kind of super-powered army," Natasha replied bluntly. "Or using Peter's genetics to engineer a targeted bioweapon against humans. Or simply trying to dilute the human genome over generations by introducing specific X-gene markers. Take your pick—the conspiracy theories range from merely paranoid to apocalyptically hostile."

Emma laughed, the sound sharp and genuinely amused. "That's absurd. We're trying to survive, not conquer. If we wanted to eliminate humanity, we have far more efficient methods than a multi-generational breeding program."

"You and I know that," Natasha agreed, seemingly unruffled. "But fear isn't rational, and politicians rarely base policy on facts when fear-mongering wins more votes. Several governments are already drafting legislation that would classify any child born of a human-mutant pairing as a potential security risk, subject to registration and monitoring from birth."

Emma's amusement vanished instantly, her blue eyes turning hard as diamonds. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "They would target children? My children?" The twins chose that moment to kick forcefully, as if responding to their mother's surge of protective fury.

"Not if we handle this correctly," Natasha said, her voice softening fractionally. "SHIELD isn't your enemy here, Emma. Director Fury sent me specifically because he wanted this handled diplomatically. We need to establish a framework, a narrative that addresses these fears before they escalate into actions that none of us can undo."

Emma studied the spy's face, searching for deception. Finding none obvious, she leaned back in her chair, contemplative. "What exactly does SHIELD propose?"

Natasha reached into her blazer and withdrew a slim digital tablet. "A summit. Neutral ground. Representatives from Krakoa, from world governments, and from SHIELD acting as mediators. We establish transparency about the nature of the fertility crisis, create medical protocols that satisfy international concerns while protecting the privacy and rights of all parties involved." She placed the tablet on Emma's desk and slid it forward. "And most importantly, we ensure that these children—all of them—are recognized as citizens with full legal protections, not as weapons or experiments."

Emma's hand moved to the tablet, but she didn't pick it up immediately. "And Peter? What role does SHIELD envision for him in all this? He's not a diplomatic pawn to be maneuvered across the board."

"Peter is key to all of this," Natasha said simply. "His voice, his choices, his rights as a father—these need to be central to any agreement. He's trusted by humans and has earned respect from mutants. He bridges worlds in a way few others can." She paused, then added with a hint of something like concern, "But he's also vulnerable, Emma. If this situation devolves, he'll be caught in the middle, pulled between his human origins and his commitment to you and your people."

Emma bristled at the implication. "Our people. Peter is family to us now, not some breeding stallion we've pressed into service." Her hand moved instinctively to her belly again. "These children will be loved, protected, and given every advantage. They are the future—not weapons, not pawns, not political bargaining chips."

Natasha leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "That may be so, Emma. But isn't it true that Professor Xavier and Magneto believe these children—your children—will be beyond omega level mutants?" She let the question hang in the air before continuing. "By mutant classification standards, the offspring of you and Peter could potentially be reality warpers. For all anyone knows, they might reshape existence on a whim before they're even old enough for kindergarten."

Emma's jaw tightened, her hand protectively covering her belly where the twins stirred restlessly. "You're being dramatic. Mutant powers are impossible to predict with complete accuracy, even with genetic profiling."

"Perhaps," Natasha conceded with a slight nod. "But it's not just about your twins anymore, is it? Peter has now slept with Storm—an omega level mutant herself. She's carrying children who could also be beyond omega level. And SHIELD has footage of Jean Grey meeting Peter at a café in Manhattan." She pulled out her phone, swiped the screen, and turned it to show Emma security camera footage of Peter and Jean at the coffee shop, their heads close together in intimate conversation.

Emma's expression didn't change, but the air around her chilled noticeably. "Surveillance. How predictably invasive."

"Forgetting for a moment that Jean is already a married woman," Natasha continued, ignoring Emma's cold response, "she's an omega level telepath who carries the Phoenix Force—a cosmic entity of unimaginable power. Disregarding the already substantial number of potentially powerful future children Peter has helped conceive, what exactly would children born from Jean and Peter be like? What happens when you combine the Phoenix Force with whatever genetic anomaly makes Parker's DNA so compatible with mutants?"

Emma took a deep breath, her fingers drumming once on the armrest of her chair. The babies shifted again, as if sensing her tension. "Is there a point to this fear-mongering inventory, Agent Romanoff? Or are you simply here to remind me of facts I'm already aware of?"

"The point," Natasha said evenly, "is that this situation has escalated far beyond a private fertility program. It has potentially world-altering implications."

Emma's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Have you bugged us? Our home? Our offices? How does SHIELD know about these private arrangements? About the genetic theory behind Peter's compatibility?" The temperature dropped further as Emma's control slipped fractionally. "These are matters of mutant sovereignty and personal privacy."

Natasha remained composed despite the increasingly frigid air. "I can't reveal our intelligence sources or methods. What matters is that we need this summit—soon. Before more governments start implementing preventative measures against what they perceive as a coordinated genetic program."

"You already said nations were nervous and calling us human-haters," Emma said, her voice dangerously soft. "As if we haven't endured centuries of mutant persecution."

"Aren't some of you human-haters, though?" Natasha countered bluntly. "Magneto recently gave that charming speech about slowly taking over human economies through strategic pressure points. About reducing human autonomy until, in his words, 'the sapiens finally understand their place in the natural order.'" She tilted her head slightly. "How exactly did you think that rhetoric would be received by world leaders?"

Emma remained silent, her blue eyes like chips of ice.

"And now," Natasha continued, "intelligence agencies worldwide are hearing about some plan to terraform Mars into a mutant planet. To establish a second mutant stronghold in our solar system. You can understand why some might view this as expansion with intent to dominate."

Emma slammed her fist onto the desk, the impact sending a spider web of cracks through the expensive marble surface. Her psychic powers fluctuated visibly—a rare loss of control—as a shimmer of diamond began to creep across her skin. "You have no right—" she began, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

Natasha showed no fear, merely watched Emma with the calm assessment of someone who had faced far worse than an angry pregnant telepath. "I understand your position better than you might think, Emma."

Before Emma could respond, she felt a wave of gentle, loving emotions emanating from within her—the twins, responding to her surge of anger with what felt like concern, even reassurance. The diamond receded from her skin as she took several deep breaths, centering herself. These children, not even born yet, somehow already knew how to calm their mother. The realization brought a lump to her throat.

"Krakoa's mutants," Emma said finally, her voice steadier, "are just excited about finally having something of their own for once. About not being hunted down every other day by supervillains, government agencies, or hate groups with torches and pitchforks. Perhaps many are being overzealous with their words and their anti-human sentiments, but we are not a threat. We're parents now, for God's sake. We're building families, not armies."

She gestured to her swollen belly. "Do these feel like weapons to you? They're babies. My babies. Peter's babies. They kick and hiccup and respond to music. They comfort me when I'm upset. They're alive and loved and wanted. They aren't political chess pieces or bombs waiting to go off."

Natasha's expression softened fractionally. "I know that, Emma. And Fury knows that too. But the rest of the world doesn't see pregnant mutant women carrying potentially reality-altering children. They see a secretive nation with a history of extremist leaders creating a new generation of enhanced beings outside of any international framework or oversight." She leaned forward. "This summit isn't just for SHIELD's peace of mind—it's to protect these children from becoming targets before they're even born."

Emma stared out the window for a long moment, watching the sun begin its descent toward the Manhattan skyline. She thought of Peter, of the life they were building together, of the family that was already growing beyond anything she'd ever imagined for herself. She thought of their children, of Storm's unborn triplets, of the future they all deserved—one without fear or prejudice or constant scrutiny.

"I'll need to talk to Peter," she said finally, turning back to Natasha. "And then the Quiet Council. If we're to have this summit, it will be on terms that protect our sovereignty and the rights of our children. All of our children."

Natasha nodded, standing smoothly. "That's all we're asking for—a starting point for dialogue. Director Fury will be pleased." She paused, then added with a hint of genuine sentiment, "For what it's worth, congratulations, Emma. Motherhood is a journey few would have predicted for the White Queen, but it suits you."

Emma didn't respond immediately, her mind already racing with preparations for the storm that lay ahead. Finally, she met Natasha's gaze directly. "Tell Director Fury that if SHIELD continues surveillance on Peter or any of our pregnant women, the next conversation won't be nearly so diplomatic. I'll bring the summit proposal to the Council, but make no mistake—these children will be protected by every power at our disposal."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Natasha replied, a ghost of respect flickering across her features before she turned and walked toward the door. "We'll be in touch for the details."

Meanwhile, back with Jean and Peter…

"Come on, Spider," the Phoenix Force purred through Jean's lips, arching Jean's back and making her round ass jiggle as she slapped it provocatively. "Don't you want to punish us naughty mutants? We've been very, very bad." Her voice was a sultry mixture of Jean's natural tone and something ancient and cosmic, the dual nature of her existence on full display.

Jean's consciousness, still present within her Phoenix-possessed body, felt a rush of anticipation tinged with nervousness. She'd heard Emma's whispered comments about Peter, but nothing had prepared her for what was about to happen.

"Show us what you're working with, Parker," Phoenix commanded, green eyes flashing with golden fire as she looked back over Jean's shoulder. "Let's see what Emma's been keeping all to herself."

Peter hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling his belt. He'd been through enough with Emma and Storm to know the rules of this unusual arrangement, but something about Jean—about the Phoenix—made him both cautious and excited in equal measure. As his pants dropped and his boxers followed, he heard twin gasps of surprise.

"By the White Hot Crown—" Phoenix breathed, while Jean's consciousness simultaneously thought: Holy shit.

Peter's cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and imposing at a full nine inches. The sight alone made Jean's pussy clench with anticipation, a reaction the Phoenix Force immediately broadcast telepathically to both of them.

"Fucking stars and galaxies," Phoenix hissed, temporarily dropping her seductive tone for pure astonishment. "All those years wasted. All those opportunities missed." The cosmic entity turned Jean's head to glare at Peter. "She could have had this the whole time? Instead of Scott's perfectly adequate but utterly mundane offering?"

Jean's consciousness pushed forward momentarily. "Phoenix, that's not fair to Scott—"

"Quiet, little flame," Phoenix retorted internally before addressing Peter again. "Emma Frost thinks she's won the ultimate prize, doesn't she? Carrying your progeny, wearing your ring." Phoenix wiggled Jean's hips, making her ass jiggle enticingly. "But there's no way in hell she gets to keep this masterpiece all to herself. Not when the universe itself demands balance."

Jean regained momentary control, her voice less cosmic and more human as she looked back at Peter. "Emma may have found you first after Mary Jane, but I'm not letting her monopolize you. Not when mutantkind needs you. Not when I need—"

Her words transformed into a surprised shriek as Peter suddenly dropped to his knees behind her. Instead of immediately mounting her as the Phoenix had expected, Peter gripped her thighs and buried his face between her legs from behind.

"FUCK!" Jean cried out, her fingers splaying against the bathroom wall for support as Peter's tongue made first contact with her slick folds. The Phoenix Force, caught entirely off-guard by this move, momentarily relinquished some control as pure sensation overwhelmed them both.

Peter worked with deliberate expertise, his tongue tracing patterns over Jean's swollen clit before dipping inside her entrance, then back again in rhythmic motions that seemed calibrated perfectly to her body's responses. His hands firmly gripped her thighs, then reached around to spread her ass cheeks as he buried his face deeper.

"Holy fuck, Peter," Jean gasped, her red hair falling forward as she hung her head in pleasure. "Where did you—how are you—" She couldn't complete a thought as waves of ecstasy broke her concentration repeatedly.

The Phoenix Force, usually so dominant and in control, found itself surrendering to the physical pleasure coursing through Jean's body. "You're...a celestial being disguised as a human," Phoenix managed between Jean's moans. "No mortal should possess such skill with their mouth. I've witnessed the birth of galaxies less intense than this sensation."

Peter hummed against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through her. Jean's thighs began to tremble uncontrollably, and she reached back with one hand to tangle her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.

"Don't stop," she begged, all pretense of control abandoned. "Please, Peter, don't you dare fucking stop." Her voice broke as he sucked her clit between his lips, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her see stars—real ones, not the cosmic variety the Phoenix usually showed her.

The Phoenix, speaking directly into Peter's mind now, sounded almost reverent: How many women have you pleasured like this, Parker? How many have you reduced to quivering, begging messes? Emma never warned us. Storm never told us. The data was incomplete.

Peter didn't answer verbally, but his actions spoke volumes as he slid two fingers inside Jean while continuing to work her clit with his tongue. The dual stimulation proved too much for Jean and the Phoenix together. Their combined consciousness began to fragment as an orgasm approached with the intensity of a supernova.

"I'm going to—we're going to—" Jean's words dissolved into incoherent cries as her body convulsed. The Phoenix's power flared visibly, a faint outline of cosmic fire illuminating the bathroom stall as Jean came against Peter's mouth, her juices flowing freely onto his tongue and chin.

"Demiurge," Phoenix gasped through Jean's lips as the redhead sagged against the wall, barely remaining upright. "You are not human. You cannot be. No human has ever made a cosmic force scream like that." Her eyes, still glowing with residual power, met Peter's as he rose to his feet, his impressive erection still standing proud and untouched.

Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his cheeks flushing slightly despite what they'd just done. "I'm not really that good," he said with an awkward smile. "Emma's just been... helping me practice."

Jean's eyes widened in disbelief. Not that good? The man had just made a cosmic force and an omega-level telepath scream in unison. She stopped bending over and straightened up, turning to face him fully.

"Not that good my ass," she growled, lunging forward to capture his lips in a fierce kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue as she pressed her body against his, her sensitive nipples hardening against his chest through the thin fabric of her dress. The Phoenix's energy crackled between them, golden sparks dancing along her skin wherever they touched.

Her hands found his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to look into his eyes. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me? To us?" Her voice was breathless, tinged with awe. "The Phoenix has experienced the death of stars and the birth of galaxies, but nothing—nothing—has ever felt like that."

Jean backed up until she reached the bathroom sink, hoisting herself onto its edge in one fluid motion. Her dress rode up her thighs as she spread her legs wide, revealing her glistening sex, still pulsing from her recent orgasm. "Fuck me senseless, Peter," she commanded, her voice a mixture of Jean's natural sweetness and the Phoenix's cosmic authority. "Knock me up like you did Storm. Give us what Emma's already carrying."

Peter stepped between her spread thighs, his massive cock brushing against her entrance. "Are you sure about this, Jean?" he asked, still maintaining some semblance of restraint despite his obvious desire. "The Phoenix—"

"The Phoenix wants this even more than I do," Jean interrupted, reaching down to guide him to her entrance. "Now stop talking and fuck me."

With a groan that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him, Peter gripped Jean's hips and shoved forward, burying himself balls-deep inside her in one powerful thrust. Jean's head fell back, a scream caught in her throat as her inner walls stretched to accommodate his size. She'd nearly released a psychic burst of energy that would have shattered every mind within a mile radius if not for her years of training.

"Holy fucking hell," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. "Emma's been keeping secrets." Her inner walls clenched around him, adjusting to his girth as pleasure radiated through her in waves.

Peter began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. Each thrust hit something deep inside her that made her vision blur with pleasure. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of their coupling—the wet slap of flesh against flesh, Jean's increasingly desperate moans, and Peter's deeper grunts as he found his rhythm.

Inside Jean's mind, the Phoenix snarled with possessive pleasure. Scott will never share our bed again as long as this man draws breath, the cosmic entity declared, its fiery consciousness expanding with each thrust of Peter's hips. No mortal should possess such power over gods.

Jean couldn't disagree. As Peter's pace increased, the coherent part of her mind—the part that remembered she was married, that remembered this was supposed to be a clinical arrangement for the survival of mutantkind—began to dissolve. All that mattered was the exquisite sensation of Peter filling her completely, his cock hitting places inside her that she hadn't known existed.

"Harder," she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Fuck me harder, Peter. Make me forget everything but this." Her request came out more desperate than intended, but she was beyond caring. The Phoenix's energy surged through her, heightening every sensation until she felt like she might combust.

Peter complied, gripping her ass and lifting her slightly off the sink to change the angle. The new position allowed him to hit her G-spot with each powerful thrust, and Jean felt another orgasm building rapidly. "That's it," she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Right there. Don't stop. Don't ever fucking stop."

"Jean," Peter groaned, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "You feel amazing. So hot, so tight." His words, though simple, sent a fresh wave of arousal through her. Emma had been right—there was something about Peter that transcended the physical. Something that made you want to give yourself completely to him.

Another searing orgasm hit her hard, this one even more intense than the last. Jean's back arched off the sink as her pussy clenched rhythmically around Peter's cock, milking him as waves of pleasure crashed through her. She kissed him desperately, swallowing his groans with her mouth as her body convulsed around him.

The Phoenix Force flared visibly now, a corona of golden flame surrounding Jean's body as she came. The cosmic entity's pleasure merged with Jean's, creating a feedback loop of sensation that threatened to overwhelm them both. Yes, Phoenix hissed in their shared consciousness. This is what we were made for. This is what we deserve.

"I can feel you both," Peter gasped against her lips, somehow aware of the dual consciousness he was pleasuring. "The Phoenix... it's like touching a star." His hips maintained their relentless pace even as his words became more fragmented. "So beautiful... both of you..."

Jean couldn't form coherent responses anymore. Each thrust sent her spiraling into another miniature orgasm, her body so sensitive that the slightest movement from Peter set off cascades of pleasure. The bathroom mirror behind them had begun to crack from the psychic energy emanating from their joined bodies, and the metal fixtures of the sink were bending under Jean's white-knuckled grip.

"I'm close," Peter warned, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own orgasm approached. "Jean... Phoenix... where do you want—"

"Not here," the Phoenix declared through Jean's lips, her eyes blazing with golden fire. "Not in this mundane realm."

Before Peter could respond, a blinding flash of cosmic energy enveloped them both. The bathroom walls dissolved around them, reality itself seeming to tear open as the Phoenix Force exerted its immense power. Peter felt weightless for a split second, his body suspended between dimensions, before they rematerialized in a space unlike anything he had ever seen.

The White Hot Room. The nexus of all reality, where the Phoenix Force truly dwelled. An endless expanse of shimmering white stretched in all directions, yet somehow felt intimate and enclosed. Beneath them was an enormous bed with sheets of what appeared to be liquid starlight, shifting and flowing with cosmic currents. Their clothes had vanished during the transition, leaving them both gloriously naked, their bodies gleaming with an otherworldly luminescence.

"Our children deserve to be conceived here," Phoenix purred, her voice echoing with ancient power as Jean's body reclined on the cosmic bed. "They will be psychic titans, nexus points of power throughout the multiverse." Her legs spread wider, her glistening sex practically pulsing with need. "Now come, Spider. Plant your seed where gods and galaxies are born."

Peter, momentarily stunned by the sudden transition, quickly recovered as primal desire overwhelmed his awe. He climbed atop Jean's body, his massive cock harder than it had ever been, throbbing with each beat of his heart. The cosmic energy of this place seemed to enhance every sensation, every touch electrified with potential.

"Fuck me like you own me," Jean gasped, the Phoenix's golden glow flickering in her eyes as Peter positioned himself at her entrance again. "Make us yours completely."

With a powerful thrust, Peter buried himself to the hilt inside her. Jean's back arched dramatically off the bed, her cry of pleasure echoing through the infinite whiteness around them. Peter established a brutal rhythm, fucking her with an intensity that would have broken a normal woman. But Jean Grey was far from normal, and with the Phoenix Force coursing through her, she met each savage thrust with equal fervor.

"Yes! Harder! Oh god, Peter, HARDER!" The dual voices of Jean and Phoenix melded into one desperate plea as Peter pounded into her. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh reverberated through the White Hot Room, a primal counterpoint to Jean's wanton cries. His balls slapped heavily against her ass with each thrust, the impact sending ripples of pleasure through both of them.

Peter shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot deep inside her that made Jean's eyes roll back. "RIGHT THERE!" she screamed, her entire body tensing as another powerful orgasm built within her. When it crashed through her, it was unlike anything either of them had experienced before. Jean's pussy contracted violently around Peter's shaft as a gush of clear fluid erupted from her, squirting powerfully between their joined bodies.

"Fuck, Jean," Peter groaned, momentarily slowing his thrusts as her inner walls clamped down on him with incredible force. "That was so hot."

The Phoenix's laughter bubbled up through Jean's throat, rich and sensual. "We've never done that before," she admitted, her chest heaving with exertion. "Not even with Scott. Only you, Peter. Only you could make us lose control like this."

Peter lowered his head to her chest, taking one of her perfect breasts into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the hardened nipple before sucking it deeply, drawing another moan from Jean. Her hands came up to cradle his head against her chest, fingers threading through his hair as he moved to lavish attention on her other breast.

"They'll be fuller soon," Phoenix whispered, arching her back to press more of Jean's flesh into Peter's hungry mouth. "Heavy with milk for our children. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To see Jean's body changed by your seed?"

The mental image sent a fresh surge of arousal through Peter, and he resumed his powerful thrusts, still suckling at her breasts as his hips pistoned forward. Jean's legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locking at the small of his back to pull him deeper with each thrust. Her nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails that healed almost instantly in this place of cosmic power.

"I can feel how close you are," Jean moaned, her inner walls fluttering around his length. "Your cock is getting even bigger. You're about to explode inside us, aren't you?" She clenched deliberately around him, milking his shaft with expert control of her internal muscles. "Don't hold back. Fill us up. Flood our womb with your cum."

Peter's rhythm grew erratic as his orgasm approached. He released her breast from his mouth, raising himself up on his arms to look down at where their bodies joined. The sight of his thick shaft disappearing into Jean's perfect pussy, slick with her abundant juices, nearly pushed him over the edge.

"Please," Phoenix begged, her voice taking on an almost desperate quality that seemed at odds with her cosmic nature. "Give us your children, Peter. Empty those heavy balls inside us. We need it. We need YOU."

As Peter teetered on the brink of release, Jean's green eyes suddenly blazed with telepathic power. Without warning, she and the Phoenix entered his mind, creating a psychic bond that transcended physical pleasure. In that instant, Jean saw everything—Peter's entire life flashing through their joined consciousness.

She witnessed the bullying he endured in high school, the soul-crushing loss of Uncle Ben, the guilt that had driven him ever since. She felt the agony of Gwen Stacy's death in his arms, the deal with Mephisto that had altered reality itself, and the recent heartbreak of Mary Jane leaving him for Paul. Every triumph, every failure, every moment of pain and joy that had shaped Peter Parker into the man now joined with her in the most intimate way possible.

The raw vulnerability of his open mind should have given her pause, should have made her pull back in the face of such deep pain. Instead, Jean did the opposite. She tightened her arms and legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper into their connection. Her lips found his in a kiss of such profound tenderness that tears sprang to Peter's eyes.

"I see you," she whispered against his mouth as they continued to move together. "All of you. Every beautiful, broken piece. And I want all of it."

The Phoenix Force surged around them, its cosmic flames creating a cocoon of golden fire that sealed them away from the rest of existence. In this moment, they were the only two beings in all of creation, joined in both body and mind. The psychic connection amplified their physical pleasure exponentially, creating a feedback loop of sensation that pushed them both toward an explosive climax.

"Jean—Phoenix—I can't hold back anymore," Peter groaned, his hips jerking frantically against hers. "I'm going to—"

"Yes!" Jean cried out, her back arching like a bow. "Fill us! Make us the vessel for your legacy!"

With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the White Hot Room, Peter finally surrendered to his release. His cock pulsed powerfully inside her as the first jet of thick, virile seed erupted from him, painting Jean's fertile womb with liquid heat. The sensation of his cum flooding her triggered Jean's own climax, her pussy clamping down around him in rhythmic contractions that milked every drop from his balls.

The Phoenix screamed in triumphant ecstasy, her cosmic voice reverberating through multiple dimensions as Jean's body accepted Peter's seed. Golden flames burst from Jean's eyes and mouth, yet somehow didn't harm Peter as they enveloped both lovers. The wings of the Phoenix Force unfurled behind Jean, massive and majestic, spreading out to encircle Peter in a protective, possessive embrace.

"Yes, yes, YES!" Phoenix exulted as Peter continued to pump what seemed like an endless supply of cum into Jean's receptive body. "So much... so thick... so PERFECT."

Through their psychic connection, Peter could feel the Phoenix's attention shift inward, focusing on Jean's womb where his seed was already taking root. The cosmic entity's voice softened to an almost maternal coo as it sensed the first stirrings of new life.

"Three," Phoenix whispered in awe, the golden flame in Jean's eyes dimming to a warm glow. "Three powerful sparks, already forming. Two daughters and a son." Her hands moved to caress Jean's still-flat stomach with reverent wonder. "They will reshape the cosmos one day."

Jean's consciousness reasserted itself more fully, though the Phoenix remained present. She gazed up at Peter with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling him down for another kiss, this one slow and deep and full of promise. "For everything."

Exhausted by the intensity of their joining, Peter rolled to Jean's side, keeping one arm draped protectively over her midsection. The Phoenix's flames receded to a gentle aura surrounding them both, bathing them in comforting warmth. Jean snuggled against Peter's chest, her eyelids growing heavy as post-coital bliss overwhelmed her.

"Stay with us a while," she murmured sleepily. "Time moves differently here. We can rest before returning."

Peter nodded, his own eyes drifting shut as the cosmic bed seemed to cradle them both in perfect comfort. As they drifted into sleep, still joined in body and mind, the Phoenix Force kept silent vigil, its awareness focused protectively on the three new lives beginning to form within Jean's womb—new children for a species on the brink of extinction, conceived in cosmic fire and born of both human and mutant legacy.

In her last moments before sleep claimed her, Jean smiled at the irony. She had come to Peter out of duty to her species, yet found something she hadn't known she was seeking. As the Phoenix hummed a cosmic lullaby around them, Jean wondered what Emma would say when she returned not just pregnant, but carrying triplets.

Somehow, she suspected the White Queen would simply smile that knowing smile of hers, already ten steps ahead in whatever game she was playing. But for now, nestled in Peter's arms while new life grew within her, Jean couldn't bring herself to care about Emma's schemes. This moment, in this place beyond time and space, was perfect.

Chapter Text

Peter hunched over his desk in the dimly lit corner of their Manhattan penthouse, his eyes scanning meticulously through column after column of financial data. The holographic displays from Parker-Frost Industries cast a blue glow across his features as he swiped through quarterly reports. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city shimmered with midnight lights, but Peter barely noticed the spectacular view anymore. Three red-flagged transactions had caught his attention, and he was determined to trace them before calling it a night.

"Peter," Emma's voice drifted from their bedroom, sultry even when heavy with sleep. "It's past midnight. The bed is getting cold without you."

"Just a few more minutes," he called back, enlarging a suspicious transaction from their biotech division. "These quarterly numbers don't add up. Our R&D department is showing a seven percent variance from projected expenditures."

A soft shuffling sound made him look up. Emma stood in the doorway, her pregnant belly gloriously round beneath a white silk nightgown that did little to conceal her curves. Despite being eight months pregnant with twins, she carried herself with the same regal posture she always had. Her platinum blonde hair was tousled from sleep, and her blue eyes narrowed with mild annoyance.

"The mighty Parker-Frost Industries will survive until morning without your scrutiny," she said, one hand supporting her lower back. "We made three trillion dollars last quarter alone. I think we can afford a few accounting discrepancies."

Peter smiled wearily. "That's exactly why I need to stay vigilant. Nobody expected us to grow this fast." He ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know we're now providing comprehensive health insurance to over seventy thousand employees worldwide? Including coverage for mutant-specific medical needs that no other company will touch."

Emma crossed the room with deliberate steps, placing her hands on his shoulders. "And that's precisely why you need rest. Being a revolutionary industry titan, superhero, and father-to-be requires adequate sleep." She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "Besides, your children are particularly active tonight. They're kicking up a storm, and they want their daddy."

As if on cue, Peter saw a visible ripple across the taut surface of Emma's belly. His fatigue instantly melted away. "Well, when you put it that way..." He closed the holographic displays with a gesture and stood, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist.

In their bedroom, the silken sheets were still warm from Emma's body heat. Peter slipped in beside her, his hand immediately finding her belly, spreading his fingers wide to feel the movements beneath. Two distinct sets of kicks answered his touch, bringing a grin to his face that Emma couldn't help but mirror.

"Just one more month," Peter whispered, awe evident in his voice as he caressed the stretched skin of Emma's abdomen. "One month and we'll be holding them in our arms instead of feeling them through your skin. Have you settled on names yet?"

Emma placed her hand over his, guiding it to where the kicks were strongest. "I've been considering 'Sophie' for our daughter. And for our son, perhaps 'Nathan'?" She watched his expression carefully. "Though I remain open to suggestions."

Peter leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her belly, then moved up to capture her lips with his. The tenderness between them had deepened over their time together, evolving into something neither had expected when they first fell into bed at the Hellfire Gala.

"By the way," Emma said as they broke apart, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest, "Jean called this afternoon. It's official—Hank confirmed it this morning. You're going to be a father again. Triplets once more, apparently."

Peter groaned, flopping back against the pillows. "Christ. Eight babies in less than a year, with more potentially on the way. You win, Emma. We absolutely need a bigger place—a mansion, at the very least. Somewhere with grounds for them to play, rooms for everyone, and enough space that we're not all on top of each other."

Emma's laugh was rich with satisfaction. "I've already asked my real estate agent to compile a list of suitable properties. We can review them tomorrow." She traced a finger down his jawline. "You know, I've never seen a man look so utterly terrified at the prospect of beautiful, powerful women having his babies and wanting to sleep with him. Most men would consider it the ultimate fantasy."

Peter caught her hand and kissed her palm. "Storm is... complicated but understandable given the circumstances. But Jean is married, Emma. To Cyclops, who already has plenty of reasons to blast me through a wall."

Emma snorted, a decidedly unladylike sound that she only allowed herself in private. "If the fucking Jean described you giving her was anything to go by, the Phoenix will have her drafting divorce papers by the weekend. That bird has never been particularly fond of Scott anyway."

Peter's eyes widened with alarm. "What? I didn't—I mean, the Phoenix was there, but I didn't intend to cause any—"

"Relax, darling," Emma cut him off, stroking his cheek. "This isn't new, nor is it your fault. Scott and Jean have been hitting relationship snags since before either of us was born, it seems. Their great cosmic love story has more chapters of separation than togetherness." She shifted to find a more comfortable position. "Despite their many 'destined children' from various timelines, their actual marriage has always been far from perfect."

"That doesn't make me feel better about potentially breaking them up," Peter said, his brow furrowed with genuine concern.

Emma's expression softened. "That's precisely why you're the perfect father for these children, Peter. Your moral compass remains exasperatingly intact, even when presented with cosmic entities practically begging to bear your offspring." She guided his hand back to her belly where one of the twins was performing what felt like somersaults. "Our children—all of them—will be better for having you as their father."

Peter wasn't entirely convinced, but the warmth spreading through his chest at Emma's words was undeniable. "I just hope I'm up to the task. My track record with responsibility hasn't always been stellar."

"Perhaps," Emma replied, her voice taking on the sleepy quality that had become more common in the later stages of her pregnancy. "But you've always tried. That's more than most can say." She nestled against him, her head finding the perfect spot on his shoulder. "Now, stop overthinking and hold me properly. Your son is pressing against my bladder, and I need the distraction."

Peter pulled Emma closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly as they both reached for the hems of their nightwear. The silk whispered against their skin as they discarded the garments, preferring the intimate skin-to-skin contact they'd grown accustomed to sharing each night. Emma's pregnant belly pressed warmly against him, a physical reminder of the life they'd created together.

"Much better," Emma sighed contentedly, settling into his arms.

Peter's hands roamed appreciatively over her body, marveling once more at how pregnancy had transformed her already stunning figure. Her breasts had swelled considerably, heavy with milk in preparation for their soon-to-arrive twins. As Emma pressed against him, he felt his cock stir and thicken against the curve of her belly, responding instinctively to her proximity and the heat radiating from her body.

"Someone's excited," Emma purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as her hand slipped between them, fingers wrapping around his impressive nine inch length. She stroked him with practiced and gentle movements, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply to drive him wild.

Peter groaned, the sensation sending electric pulses of pleasure through his body. "Emma, we can't—" he protested weakly, his hips betraying him by rocking gently into her touch. "The doctor specifically said no intercourse until after the babies arrive."

Emma's smirk was visible even in the dim light as her thumb circled the sensitive head of his cock. "The doctor isn't the one suffering from insatiable cravings for her fiancé's magnificent cock," she retorted, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, there are plenty of ways to satisfy each other without breaking the rules."

Their lips met in a heated kiss, tongues tangling as Peter's hand cupped her breast carefully, mindful of their newfound sensitivity. Emma moaned into his mouth when his thumb grazed her nipple, her pregnancy having amplified every sensation tenfold. The slight movements of their children within her womb added an unexpected layer of intimacy to their embrace—their family, already formed, already together.

Between kisses, Emma spoke against his lips. "I've been meaning to tell you about Natasha's visit two weeks ago," she murmured, gasping softly as Peter nipped at her lower lip. "She proposed a summit between Krakoa's leadership, us, and SHIELD. They're concerned about the growing concentration of power on the island." Her hand continued its ministrations, keeping him hard and attentive despite the serious subject. "And, more specifically, about the children you're fathering with multiple powerful mutants."

Peter broke their kiss abruptly, a darkness flashing in his eyes that Emma had rarely witnessed. His jaw tightened, voice dropping to a dangerous growl that sent an unexpected thrill through her body. "If any government agency even thinks about hurting our children or their mothers, I will personally ensure they regret it." The intensity in his voice carried a promise of violence that would have terrified most people. "No one touches our family."

Emma cradled his face between her palms, surprised by this protective ferocity yet deeply moved by it. "Shhh," she soothed, pressing gentle kisses to his clenched jaw. "No one is taking our children away from you—from us." Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones as she held his gaze. "But Natasha and Fury aren't entirely wrong, Peter. Krakoa's continued isolation and Xavier's 'mutants only' doctrine aren't helping public perception. The fact that several high-profile mutant women are suddenly pregnant with potentially omega-level children has set off alarm bells."

"You're not like that," Peter insisted, his hands possessively spanning her belly where their children kicked and rolled. "You never treated humans as inferior."

Emma's laugh was soft and self-deprecating. "Oh, darling, don't canonize me just yet. I was absolutely part of that mutant superiority bullshit before I slept with you and chose to leave Krakoa." Her fingers traced the strong line of his jaw. "I'm not innocent in this ideological divide. Far from it."

Peter nuzzled against her face, his stubble creating a delicious friction against her sensitive skin. "That's the past," he whispered. "What matters is now. Parker-Frost Industries is changing things—providing jobs, healthcare, and opportunities for mutants and humans alike. We're building bridges instead of walls." His hands caressed her belly reverently. "Our children will grow up in a world where those distinctions matter less."

"You're too innocent and loving for this cynical world," Emma whispered, emotion thickening her voice as she kissed him deeply, pouring her soul into the connection. She'd never expected to find someone who could make her feel this way—protected yet empowered, desired yet respected.

Peter broke their kiss, his eyes darkening with desire. "Let me take care of you," he whispered, his voice husky with need. Without waiting for a response, he disappeared beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets, trailing kisses down the slope of Emma's pregnant belly before settling between her thighs.

"Peter, you don't have to—" Emma's protest dissolved into a sharp gasp as his tongue made first contact with her sensitive folds. Her pregnancy had heightened every sensation, making her body respond with an intensity that surprised even her telepathic senses. "Oh, fuck," she breathed, one hand instinctively gripping his hair while the other cradled her swollen belly.

Peter worked with deliberate skill, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns against her pussy. He'd learned exactly how Emma liked to be touched over their years together—firm pressure against her outer lips before delving deeper, circling her entrance teasingly before withdrawing to flutter against her increasingly sensitive clit. The taste of her arousal flooded his senses, sweeter and more abundant than usual due to her pregnancy hormones.

"Your mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon," Emma moaned, her thighs trembling on either side of his head. Her usual composure crumbled as Peter's hands reached up to cup her milk-heavy breasts, his thumbs grazing her sensitive nipples with just enough pressure to send electric pulses of pleasure straight to her core. "I swear, Peter, when these babies are born, I'll give you a hundred more if you keep using that tongue like that."

Peter smiled against her pussy, the vibration of his low chuckle making Emma's hips buck involuntarily. He doubled his efforts, his tongue flattening against her clit before his lips surrounded the swollen nub completely. The gentle suction he applied while his tongue continued its ministrations caused Emma's telepathic control to slip, projecting her pleasure outward in waves that Peter could feel at the edges of his consciousness.

"Peter," Emma gasped, her accent becoming more pronounced as her composure fractured. "Right there, don't you dare stop—" Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as his tongue slipped inside her, tasting her deepest essence while his thumb took over stimulating her clit. The dual sensation pushed her rapidly toward the edge. Her back arched as much as her pregnant form would allow, thighs squeezing around his head as she rode the building wave of pleasure.

When Peter returned his attention to her clit, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips while his fingers curved inside her to stroke that magic spot on her front wall, Emma shattered completely. "Fuck, Peter!" she screamed, her climax crashing through her with tsunami force. Her pussy clenched and released rhythmically, coating Peter's face with her sweet juices as her entire body trembled with the force of her orgasm. The intensity triggered small movements from the twins inside her, adding an otherworldly dimension to her pleasure.

Peter didn't pull away, continuing to lap at her gently as she rode out the aftershocks, drinking deeply of her essence until Emma weakly tugged at his hair, oversensitive and spent. He pressed a reverent kiss to her inner thigh before moving to return to her side, his face glistening with the evidence of her pleasure.

"No," Emma murmured, catching his arm before he could settle beside her. Her blue eyes, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss, flicked down to where his cock stood proudly at attention, the thick nine-inch shaft visibly throbbing even in the dim light. The head was swollen and purple, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. "I'm not letting you sleep with that beautiful cock in pain. It's cruel and unusual punishment."

"Emma, the doctor said—" Peter began, his responsible nature warring with his desperate need for release.

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips, then replaced it with a deep, passionate kiss, tasting herself on his tongue and moaning softly at the erotic flavor. "The doctor said no traditional intercourse," she clarified with a wicked smile. "But I'm feeling creative tonight. Lie on your back, darling. Let the White Queen take care of her king."

Peter obeyed, settling onto his back as Emma positioned herself above him, her back to his chest. The position allowed her pregnant belly to hang freely, putting no pressure on their unborn children as she carefully lined up his cock with her entrance. She twisted to look over her shoulder, capturing his lips in a kiss as she slowly lowered herself, taking his impressive girth inch by tantalizing inch.

"Sweet fucking Christ," Emma hissed as she felt her pussy stretching to accommodate him. Despite her recent orgasm, Peter's size still presented a delicious challenge. "This magnificent cock should come with a warning label. 'Caution: Bitch Breaker. Will Ruin You For All Other Men.'" She trembled as the broad head pushed past her entrance, followed by the thick shaft that stretched her walls to their limits.

Peter groaned, fighting the urge to thrust upward as Emma's tight, wet heat enveloped him. "God, Emma, you feel incredible," he managed, his hands finding her hips to help support her weight. The position allowed him to see everything—her elegant back arched in pleasure, the curve of her pregnant belly, and his cock disappearing into her pussy, glistening with her abundant arousal. When she finally took him to the hilt, his heavy balls pressed against her sensitive clit, making Emma gasp and shudder.

"Move with me," Emma instructed breathlessly, setting a gentle, rolling rhythm. "Slow and deep, darling. Let my pussy ease your pain." She began to rock against him, maintaining control of the depth and angle to ensure the safety of their unborn children while still providing them both with exquisite pleasure.

Peter followed her lead, matching her movements with shallow, controlled thrusts. The head of his cock nudged against her cervix with each gentle stroke, causing Emma to release a series of increasingly desperate moans. Her inner walls fluttered around his length, squeezing him in a pulsating grip that threatened to unravel his control. "Emma," he groaned, his fingers tightening on her hips. "I can't—I'm not going to last long like this."

"Then don't," Emma purred, reaching between her legs to rub quick circles around her clit as Peter's cock continued its gentle assault on her deepest parts. "Fill me up, Peter. Let me feel you cum inside me." She twisted to kiss him again, her tongue dueling with his as their bodies moved in perfect synchronization.

With a guttural groan, Peter buried himself as deeply as he safely could and surrendered to his release. His cock pulsed powerfully, unleashing thick jets of hot cum deep inside Emma's welcoming channel. The sensation of his warm seed flooding her core triggered Emma's second climax of the night, and she screamed his name as her pussy clamped down on his erupting shaft, milking every drop from his twitching cock.

"I'm never letting you go, Peter," Emma gasped as they both trembled through their orgasms, her body going limp against his chest. "Your skills are far too dangerous to unleash on the general population." She felt his cock give a few more weak pulses inside her, depositing the last of his considerable load before beginning to soften. "Besides," she added with a satisfied smirk, turning slightly to meet his eyes, "you've ruined me for anyone else."

"Help! Somebody help!" A woman's voice pierced through the ambient noise of traffic below. Peter altered his trajectory mid-swing, diving toward an alley where a young woman clutched her purse while two men advanced on her.

"You know, mugging is so last season," Peter quipped as he landed between them with practiced grace. "I hear legitimate employment is all the rage these days."

The would-be muggers exchanged panicked glances before one lunged forward with a knife. Peter sidestepped effortlessly, webbing the man's hand to the brick wall in one fluid motion. The second attacker turned to run, making it three steps before a web caught his ankle, sending him face-first onto the pavement.

"Parker-Frost Industries has a job fair next Tuesday," Peter called out as he secured both men for the police. "Just saying."

After ensuring the woman was safely in a cab, Peter continued his patrol. It struck him how much quieter the streets had become over the past year. Parker-Frost Industries had funneled millions into community programs, affordable housing initiatives, and rehabilitation services. Crime hadn't disappeared—it never would—but the desperate edge that once defined certain neighborhoods had softened considerably.

Of course, Emma's rather dramatic exposure of nearly five thousand corrupt officials throughout New York's various systems hadn't hurt either. Peter smiled beneath his mask, remembering how she'd casually mentioned over breakfast one morning that she'd "taken care of a small corruption problem." By lunch, the news was exploding with revelations that took down judges, police captains, politicians, and business leaders with connections to organized crime. "They were thinking so loudly about their bribes," she'd explained with a delicate shrug. "It was giving me a headache."

After stopping two more minor incidents—a shoplifting teenager whom Peter redirected to a youth center rather than webbing for the police, and helping an elderly man with a walker cross a particularly busy intersection—his stomach growled insistently. He swung by Enzo's, a small pizza joint that had survived three alien invasions, a demon infestation, and New York's ever-rising rent prices.

"Spider-Man!" Enzo called warmly when Peter landed outside the open window. The older Italian man's face creased with genuine delight. "The usual?"

"You know it," Peter confirmed. Five minutes later, he was swinging away with a large pepperoni and mushroom special cradled carefully against his chest.

He settled on the edge of the Chrysler Building, one of his favorite perches. The Art Deco eagle gargoyles made good company, and the view was spectacular. Peter pulled his mask up to his nose and took a bite of pizza, savoring the perfect ratio of cheese to sauce. Life was good—actually, genuinely good. Not a dream, not an illusion, not a temporary reprieve before the universe remembered it was supposed to be punishing Peter Parker.

He had Emma—brilliant, fierce, occasionally terrifying Emma—who loved him with a possessiveness that should have been alarming but instead felt like being wrapped in the warmest blanket. In less than a month, they'd be parents to twins. Then there was Storm, carrying triplets, and Jean with triplets of her own. It was overwhelming in the best possible way. The once-lonely Peter Parker was suddenly at the center of a growing family web more intricate and beautiful than anything he could shoot from his wrists.

"Peter?"

A familiar voice called his name, cutting through the city ambiance. Peter turned, momentarily confused why his spider-sense hadn't alerted him to someone's approach. His heart stuttered when he saw Mary Jane Watson standing on the maintenance platform just a few yards away.

She looked polished in designer jeans that hugged her curves perfectly, paired with a forest green blouse that complemented her flowing red hair, which fell straight to her shoulders. Her makeup was subtle but precise—the work of a professional artist, likely for whatever modeling gig she'd just finished. Despite everything, she was still breathtakingly beautiful.

"MJ," Peter said quietly, pizza momentarily forgotten. "How did you... I mean, not many people can access this part of the building."

Mary Jane gave a small smile. "I told security I needed fresh air for a photo shoot. They're setting up on the observation deck, but I saw you from the window." She hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—a nervous habit she'd never outgrown. "Can we talk? Just for a minute?"

Peter sighed, setting his pizza box aside. "If it's about Paul, I've been looking into his disappearance from time to time. Even asked Tony and Strange to help. We've used Parker-Frost resources too, but..." he shook his head, "there's been nothing. Not a trace. I'm sorry, MJ."

"It's not about that," Mary Jane said quickly, though a shadow crossed her face. "I mean, thank you for looking, but..." She took a steadying breath. "I just wanted to see how you are. Catch up. That's all."

Peter's demeanor softened visibly. He pulled his mask off completely, revealing a face more relaxed and content than Mary Jane had seen in years. Wind ruffled his hair as he smiled—a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"I'm happy, MJ. Actually, genuinely happy." He extended his hand, revealing a platinum band on his ring finger. "Getting married in six weeks. Emma's due a week after that—twins. A boy and a girl." His voice grew both excited and terrified at once. "I'm going to be a father. Me. Can you believe it? Spider-Man, changing diapers."

Mary Jane's smile remained fixed, even as something crumbled behind her eyes. A flash of despair, jealousy, and crushing guilt washed over her face—emotions Peter was too caught up in his own joy to notice.

"That's... wonderful, Peter. You deserve this," she managed, her acting skills barely keeping her voice steady. "Emma must be thrilled."

"She's pretending to be annoyed that she can't wear her usual outfits," Peter laughed, "but she's already decorated the nursery twice because the first design wasn't 'intellectually stimulating enough.'" His smile faltered slightly. "What about you? How's... everything?"

The silence stretched between them, pregnant with unspoken regrets. Mary Jane moved closer to the edge, looking out over the city they'd both swung through countless times, in their own ways.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she finally said, her voice barely audible above the wind. "For leaving you for Paul. For the fake kids." She swallowed hard. "For making you think that wasn't enough—that you weren't enough. Because you were. You always were."

Peter sighed, sliding the mask back over his face. "I should get back on patrol. The city never sleeps and all that."

"Wait!" Mary Jane lunged forward, catching his hand with surprising strength. "Peter, please—just listen to me for a minute." Her voice cracked, green eyes swimming with tears. "I know I don't deserve it, but please."

Peter stilled, the familiar weight of her touch sending unwanted memories cascading through his mind. Rooftop picnics, whispered promises, stolen kisses between patrols. A life that seemed like someone else's now.

"We were together for years, Peter," Mary Jane continued, words tumbling out as if a dam had broken. "Years where you were always away, always fighting, always getting hurt. I patched you up more times than I can count. I waited by the phone, checked hospitals when you didn't come home. I had to watch the news to see if my boyfriend was dead." Her free hand trembled as she pushed hair from her face. "I bottled it all up because I loved you, but when that dimension door closed and it took five years—five years, Peter—before you came for me..."

"It was a week for me," Peter said quietly, his voice hollow beneath the mask. "One week. I had to fight through the Avengers who thought I'd gone rogue. I nearly died twice trying to reach you."

Mary Jane nodded frantically. "I know that now, I do. But then... I broke, Peter. I snapped. Paul was there, and those children—they weren't real, but they gave me something I'd always wanted with you but never seemed possible." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "A family that wouldn't disappear every time a siren wailed."

Peter gently extracted his hand from hers. "I understand, MJ. Really, I do." His tone was measured, calm—too calm. There was no anger, no passion, just the flat acceptance of someone discussing ancient history.

Mary Jane's face crumpled. "Don't do that. Don't be cold. Yell at me, Peter. Tell me I'm terrible. Tell me you hate me—anything but this... this indifference."

"That's not who I am, MJ. It never was." Peter shrugged, the motion barely visible beneath his suit. "What would you have me say? That I'm heartbroken? I was. That I was angry? I was that too, for a long time." He turned toward the skyline, the setting sun casting long shadows across his red and blue form. "You couldn't wait five years, but I would have waited five lifetimes. I would have died before choosing someone else while I knew you were out there."

The words hung between them, not an accusation but a simple statement of fact that cut deeper than any recrimination could have.

"I understand why you left," Peter continued, his voice gentler now. "Maybe it was my fault for ever thinking we could work when I knew what being Spider-Man meant. You probably would've been better off with Harry after high school, but you chose me, and I..." He paused, searching for words. "I had to watch you pay for that mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake," Mary Jane whispered fiercely.

Peter just looked at her, the white lenses of his mask reflecting her tear-streaked face. "Being with someone like me isn't for everyone, MJ. You deserved the life Paul could give you—stability, normalcy, someone who could put you first every time."

"I didn't want 'normal'!" Mary Jane's voice rose, echoing across the rooftop. "I wanted you! Even with Paul, I found myself missing all of it—the danger, the uncertainty. Why do you think I became Jackpot? But even that fizzled out because it wasn't the same without you." She reached for him again, fingers brushing his arm. "I miss us, Peter. I miss what we had."

Peter stepped back, the distance between them growing literal as well as figurative. "If I could give you back all those years you wasted on me, I would." His voice was soft but firm. "But we both know the truth, MJ. If Paul hadn't disappeared, you wouldn't be standing here talking to me now."

The statement landed like a physical blow. Mary Jane flinched, unable to deny it.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Peter said, adjusting his web-shooters. "I'll add you to the guest list for the wedding if you want to come." He paused, adding with gentle honesty, "But I won't mind if you don't."

"Peter—" her voice broke.

"Thank you, MJ," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his tone now. "For being there before Emma found me. For helping me become who I needed to be." He backed toward the edge of the building. "Emma picked me up from the disaster that was my life and made it worth living again. She saw value in me when I couldn't see it myself."

Mary Jane's composure shattered completely. "Peter, please don't go! You weren't a mistake! I love you!"

But Peter had already leapt, shooting a web to a nearby building. As he swung away, the wind carried her cries, each one growing fainter with distance. He felt a pang of sadness—not for what he'd lost, but for her pain. There had been a time when her tears would have destroyed him, when he would have done anything to make her smile again.

Now, though, his thoughts turned to Emma—brilliant, fierce Emma who carried his children and never apologized for loving him exactly as he was. Emma, who understood that Spider-Man wasn't a costume he put on but an essential part of who Peter Parker had always been.

As the city blurred around him, Peter found himself speeding up, suddenly desperate to get home. To see Emma's smirk when he told her about stopping those muggers. To feel her cool fingers massaging his shoulders while she telepathically soothed the day's stresses away. To place his hand on her rounded belly and feel his children kick.

Behind him, Mary Jane Watson became smaller and smaller, a diminishing figure on a distant rooftop crying for someone she had given up on.

Chapter Text

Emma knew when there was something wrong with her husband.

She reclined against the plush pillows of their custom California king bed, watching Peter as he methodically kneaded her swollen ankles. His large hands moved with gentleness born from months of practice, finding every ache with uncanny accuracy. The late afternoon sun filtered through the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows, showing golden light across the polished marble floors and their expansive bedroom.

"A little higher," Emma murmured, and Peter immediately adjusted, his fingers working magic on her calves.

It wasn't just the massage, though that alone would have been suspicious enough. The entire day had been a parade of attentiveness. First, he'd surprised her with her favorite Italian dinner—a perfect frutti di mare that rivaled the best restaurants in New York. Emma honestly hadn't known he could cook like that, and watching him move confidently around their kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he prepared fresh pasta by hand, had been both surprising and oddly arousing.

After dinner, he'd spent two solid hours giving her a back and belly massage that had been so divine she'd fallen into a deep sleep, only to wake to find him presenting a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a meticulously arranged fruit salad, each piece cut into perfect, bite-sized portions.

It wasn't that Peter wasn't loving and attentive regularly—he was, without question, the most thoughtful man she'd ever known. But there was a particular quality to his excessive caregiving today. A nervousness behind his eyes. A tension in his shoulders. And most tellingly, he had dodged her kisses and rebuffed her attempts to lure him to bed. Peter Parker turning down intimacy with her was like the sun refusing to rise.

Something was very wrong.

And it was making her irritated. Not at Peter—never at Peter. But at whatever, or whoever, had put that shadow behind his eyes. If someone had dared to harm him in any way, Emma would flay their mind to the last nerve without a second thought. Her protective instincts had always been fierce, but pregnancy had turned them positively primal.

"Peter," she said finally, her voice gentle but firm. She reached down and caught his hands, stilling them against her legs. "What's wrong?"

Peter's eyes flickered up to meet hers before darting away again. He didn't answer immediately, his thumbs absently stroking her skin.

Emma could have easily slipped into his mind to find the answer. Four years ago, she wouldn't have hesitated. But since that night at the Hellfire Gala when she'd first violated his privacy, she had promised both him and herself that she would never enter his thoughts without permission again. It was a promise she had kept faithfully, even when curiosity gnawed at her.

So she waited, one hand resting on her enormous belly where their twins occasionally kicked and tumbled, the other still holding Peter's hand.

"Emma," he finally said, his voice unusually hesitant. "I should have told you yesterday, but I didn't want to upset you when you're so close to your due date."

Her eyebrow arched elegantly, but she remained silent, giving him space to continue.

"Mary Jane found me on the roof of the Chrysler Building when I was having a quick bite of pizza during patrol."

Emma froze. The temperature in the room plummeted several degrees. Around them, small objects began to levitate—a hairbrush, a few books, Peter's watch from the nightstand. A crystal vase on the dresser developed a hairline crack with a soft, ominous sound.

Emma wasn't jealous. She knew Peter. He would snap his own neck before he would ever think of being unfaithful to her. His moral compass was as much a part of him as his spider-powers. But knowing that Mary Jane Watson—the woman who had carelessly shattered his heart and abandoned him for that pathetic substitute of a man Paul—had been anywhere near him was enough to make Emma want to squeeze the redhead's mind until it leaked out her ears.

"Emma," Peter said softly, alarmed by the psychic display of power. "The babies."

As if hearing their father's concern, Emma felt a sudden wave of warmth and calm emanating from her womb. It was still startling when it happened—these nascent telepathic connections with their unborn children. Dr. McCoy had theorized that Emma's psychic nature combined with Peter's mutated genetics had created a unique neural development in the twins. They couldn't communicate with words or images yet, but they could project simple emotions. And right now, they were sending waves of serene reassurance to their mother.

The floating objects settled back into place. The temperature normalized. Emma took a deep breath and squeezed Peter's hand.

"I'm fine," she assured him, though the slight tremor in her voice suggested otherwise. "What did that insufferable woman want?"

Peter sighed, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "She wanted to reconcile. She said she'd made a mistake choosing Paul over me and that she regretted it every day."

"How convenient," Emma said, ice dripping from every syllable. "Now that you're happily married, obscenely wealthy, and expecting children. Now she realizes her mistake."

Peter smiled slightly at Emma's protectiveness. "I told her exactly that. Well, not in those exact words, but the message was the same."

"And?" Emma prompted, her eyes narrowing. "What did she say to that?"

"She cried. Said she'd always loved me. That she'd never stopped. That she'd made the biggest mistake of her life." Peter rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I felt bad for her, Emma. She looked... lost."

Emma scoffed, though something in her chest tightened uncomfortably. Even now, after everything, Peter still had sympathy for the woman who had broken him. It was so perfectly Peter that Emma couldn't even be properly angry about it.

"You shouldn't have kept this from me," she said instead, stroking a hand through his hair.

"I know. I'm sorry." He leaned into her touch. "I just... I knew how upset it would make you, and Dr. Strange was very clear about you avoiding stress in these final weeks."

Emma laughed—a short, surprised sound. "Peter, darling, I run a multi-trillion dollar corporation while nine months pregnant with twins who occasionally broadcast their emotions telepathically. My baseline is stress."

"I still should have told you right away." He pressed a kiss to her palm. "I handled it, though. I was clear that I'm happy with you—happier than I've ever been. That I'm excited about our family and our future. And that whatever she and I had is firmly in the past."

Emma nodded, satisfied with his answer but still feeling a residual anger toward Mary Jane. "And how did she take that?"

"Not well," Peter admitted with a sigh, his eyes downcast. "She was crying when I left, calling after me as I swung away. I could hear her voice echoing between the buildings for blocks."

Emma watched the play of emotions across his face—guilt, regret, and something deeper that she couldn't quite place. "And how do you feel about that?" she asked softly, carefully keeping her tone neutral despite the spike of possessiveness that surged through her.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar to Emma that she could predict exactly how his fingers would tangle in that one stubborn cowlick near the crown. "Guilty," he admitted. "I know that's probably not what you want to hear, but I can't help it."

"I appreciate your honesty," Emma said, and she meant it. She'd spent too many years with men who lied beautifully to her face. Peter's painful honesty was one of the things she treasured most about him. "Tell me why you feel guilty."

He looked up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. "I've only given my heart to a few women in my life, Emma. And each time, it's been broken in one way or another." His voice grew softer. "Gwen Stacy's death destroyed a part of me I never got back. Felicia Hardy wanted Spider-Man, but could never accept Peter Parker. And then Mary Jane..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Despite everything, MJ held on the longest through it all. Even when she chose Paul over me, even when she left... there was history there."

Emma felt a flicker of jealousy at the tenderness in his voice when he spoke of Mary Jane, but she pushed it aside. This wasn't about her insecurities. This was about understanding her husband.

Peter continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "The look on her face when I told her it was too late... I've caused a lot of pain in my life, Emma. Most of it unintentional. But this time, I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew I was hurting her. And part of me thought—what if I'm wrong? What if someday you—"

With a sudden flash of clarity, Emma finally understood what this was truly about. The excessive nurturing, the nervousness, the guilt that ran deeper than mere sympathy for an ex-girlfriend. This wasn't about Mary Jane at all.

"You're afraid," she said softly, the realization washing over her. "You're afraid of being left alone again."

Peter's eyes met hers, wide with surprise at her perception, then softened with the relief of being truly seen. He nodded once, the movement almost imperceptible.

Emma reached for him, her diamond-hard exterior melting completely away as she pulled him to her. "Peter Parker," she said, her voice fierce with conviction, "I am not going anywhere. Ever. I will always be with you, no matter what. When I found you that night under the tree at the Hellfire Gala, I wasn't looking for a diversion or a temporary plaything. I found the other half of myself that I never knew was missing."

His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he held her gaze. "Emma, I—"

"I have lived centuries in my diamond form," she continued, placing his hand over her heart. "I could potentially outlive every human on this planet. And I promise you this—I will spend every one of those years by your side. Death itself would have to rip me away from you and our children, and even then, I would fight it with everything I am."

The intensity of her declaration hung in the air between them for a moment before Peter leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was gentle yet profound. Emma melted into him, her hands cradling his face as they expressed with touch what words couldn't fully convey. Their lips moved together in perfect synchronicity, years of intimacy having taught them the language of each other's bodies.

As their kiss deepened, Peter gently nuzzled against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Emma sighed, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him close. They moved together with the practiced ease of longtime lovers, helping each other shed their clothing piece by piece, their kisses never breaking for long.

When they were both naked, Peter positioned himself behind Emma on their bed, his chest pressed against her back as they lay on their sides. His hands moved reverently over her swollen belly, cradling it with awe and tenderness.

"I still can't believe we made these little miracles," he whispered against her ear, his voice thick with emotion. "You've given me everything, Emma. A family. A future. A reason to believe again."

Emma turned her head to capture his lips once more, a soft moan escaping her as his hands moved up to gently cup her sensitive breasts. Her pregnancy had enhanced her already impressive bust, making them heavy and full. As his fingers brushed over her nipples, a few drops of pearly liquid beaded at the tips.

"Peter," she gasped, her blue-lipsticked mouth leaving marks against his skin with each passionate kiss. She guided his hand to her inner thigh, wordlessly communicating her need.

Understanding her desire, Peter carefully lifted her uppermost leg, opening her to him as he positioned himself at her entrance. With exquisite care, he eased into her welcoming heat, both of them sighing in unison as he filled her completely.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, concerned about her comfort so late in her pregnancy.

"More than okay," Emma breathed, reaching back to grasp his hip, encouraging him to move. "I need you, Peter. All of you."

He began to thrust with gentle, measured strokes, each movement deep but controlled. Emma gasped as the angle allowed his cock to nudge against her cervix with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. The position was perfect—intimate, deep, yet safe for her condition.

"You feel incredible," Peter murmured, his lips trailing kisses down her neck and shoulder. One hand continued to support her raised leg while the other moved to massage her breasts, his touch simultaneously reverent and sensual.

"Drink your fill," Emma encouraged, her voice breathy with desire as she felt his mouth move to her breast. "They're yours, darling. All of me is yours."

Peter's lips closed around her nipple, suckling gently. The sensation of him drawing her milk into his mouth while he continued to move inside her sent Emma spiraling toward climax. Her head fell back against his shoulder, blue lipstick marks dotting his face, neck, and chest like exotic tattoos.

"That's it," she moaned, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure built within her. "Don't stop, Peter. Please don't stop."

His rhythm remained steady and deep, his body curled protectively around hers even as he brought her closer to the edge. There was something profoundly intimate about this position—her belly cradled in the curve of his arm, her back pressed against his chest, their children nestled between them as they made love.

"I love you, Emma," Peter whispered against her skin, his voice raw with emotion. "I will always love you. Always."

Those words, combined with the exquisite sensation of him inside her and his mouth at her breast, sent Emma over the edge. Her orgasm washed over her in gentle, rippling waves, her body trembling in his embrace as she cried out his name.

As her climax rippled through her body, Emma's release soaked the sheets beneath them, her juices flowing freely over Peter's still-moving length. She cried out, her voice hoarse with passion as the waves of pleasure seemed endless. Behind her, Peter continued his gentle, rhythmic thrusts, savoring the way her inner walls clenched around him in spasming pulses.

"Don't stop," she gasped, reaching back to grasp his hip, her diamond-hard nails digging slightly into his skin. "Peter, please... more..."

His mouth returned to her breast, lips closing around her sensitive nipple as he began to drink deeply. The sensation of him drawing milk from her body while simultaneously filling her with his cock was overwhelming—primal and intimate in a way Emma had never experienced before him. She felt herself beginning to build toward another peak almost immediately.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice breathy and demanding. "Drink, darling. Take everything I have to give you."

Peter made a sound of approval against her skin, his tongue circling her areola before suckling more firmly. His hips maintained their steady rhythm, each thrust hitting perfectly against that spot deep inside that made her vision blur with pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—the wet slide of flesh against flesh, their mingled breathing, and Emma's soft cries of pleasure.

Deep in her mind, behind shields that even her telepathic children couldn't penetrate, Emma once more thanked Mary Jane Watson for being the stupid, short-sighted fool that she was. What kind of imbecile would willingly give up a man like Peter Parker? A man who loved so deeply, who remained loyal despite being betrayed, who could make her body sing with pleasure while simultaneously making her feel utterly safe and cherished?

Let her shake her ass for strangers, Emma thought viciously. Let her showcase her body for magazines and advertisements. Let her whore herself for a stardom that will inevitably fade, leaving her hollow and alone. Mary Jane deserved the emptiness awaiting her—the hollow fame, the transient attention, the gnawing realization that she had traded the most precious thing in the world for a pale imitation that couldn't even manage to stick around.

Emma's vindictive thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp bite to her nipple as Peter's teeth gently clamped down while he continued to suckle. The unexpected sensation sent a shockwave of pleasure-pain through her entire body, making her arch against him with a strangled cry.

"Peter!" she screamed as a second, more intense orgasm crashed over her without warning. Her body convulsed in his arms, inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his length as her release flooded between them. "Oh god, don't stop—fill me, please. I need you to fill me."

Peter groaned against her breast, the vibration sending another aftershock through her sensitive body. He abandoned her nipple to press his face against her neck, his breathing ragged as his thrusting became more urgent.

"Emma," he gasped, his voice tight with restraint. "I'm close. So close."

"Inside me," she demanded, reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair, holding him against her. "I want to feel you cum inside me, Peter. Please."

With a final, powerful thrust, Peter buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he began to spill deep within her. Emma felt each large, hot, thick jet of his cum painting her inner walls, triggering another miniature climax that had her gasping and trembling in his arms. He turned her head with gentle fingers, capturing her mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss that she returned with equal fervor.

Their lips moved together hungrily, blue lipstick long since smeared across both their mouths, neither caring about the mess they'd made of each other. Emma's tongue danced with his, her hand cupping his cheek as they breathed each other's air, refusing to separate even for a moment.

"SYSTEM," Peter murmured against her lips between kisses, "lights off, activate night cooling."

The DUMMY Home AI system responded by gradually dimming the room's lighting to darkness, the only illumination now coming from the city lights filtering through the windows. The gentle hum of the environmental system activated, and soon cool air was circulating through the bedroom, caressing their sweat-slicked bodies.

Emma shivered slightly at the sudden temperature change, pressing herself more firmly against Peter's warmth. He responded immediately, pulling the lightweight duvet over them and wrapping his arms more securely around her. His hand splayed protectively over her swollen belly, where their twins had become suspiciously quiet—likely lulled to sleep by the hormones of pleasure flooding their mother's system.

"Cold?" he whispered against her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"Not anymore," she replied, nestling back against him. His softening cock remained inside her, neither of them willing to separate just yet. "You're like my personal furnace. Another benefit of your spider metabolism."

Peter chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest against her back. "I aim to please, future Mrs. Parker."

Emma couldn't help but feel triumph, knowing she would have his name soon.

"I love you," Peter whispered into the darkness, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I ever thought possible."

Emma placed her hand over his where it rested on her belly. "And I love you more," she responded, allowing a rare vulnerability to color her tone. "More than I believed myself capable of loving anyone."

They lay together in comfortable silence for several minutes, their breathing synchronizing naturally. Emma felt herself beginning to drift toward sleep, the events of the day and the intensity of their lovemaking leaving her pleasantly exhausted. Just before she surrendered to slumber, she felt a gentle kick beneath their joined hands—one of the twins making its presence known.

"Did you feel that?" Peter murmured sleepily against her hair.

"Mmm," Emma confirmed, too tired for a more eloquent response. "They're saying goodnight."

As she slipped into dreams, Emma's last coherent thought was that she had never known such perfect contentment—her husband's arms around her, their children safe within her, and the absolute certainty that this happiness was hers to keep. No Mary Jane Watson or anyone else would ever take this from her. She had fought too hard and come too far to let anyone threaten what was hers.

And Peter Parker was most definitely hers. Forever.

Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill sat in uncomfortable silence within Nick Fury's office aboard the SHIELD Helicarrier. The room, buried deep within the mobile fortress's command section, was encased in electromagnetic shielding, quantum scramblers, and at least six different types of magical wards that shimmered faintly when the light hit them just right. A gentle hum permeated the space—the sound of active anti-surveillance equipment that made the room one of the most secure locations on the planet.

"I'm still not understanding the urgency," Natasha said, breaking the silence. "We've already secured Parker and Frost's agreement to the summit. Unless the Quiet Council decides to be particularly difficult, diplomatic channels are progressing as expected."

Fury, standing with his back to them, stared out the reinforced viewport at clouds drifting by. He turned slowly, his single eye narrowing as he assessed both women.

"Doctor Strange paid me a visit last night," Fury said, his voice deliberately measured. "Appeared right in this office, bypassing every security measure we have. Wanted to share some... cosmically significant information."

Maria Hill straightened in her chair. "Sir, if this concerns extradimensional security, shouldn't we bring in—"

"I'm bringing in exactly who needs to be brought in," Fury cut her off, taking a seat behind his desk. "Parker's situation is more complicated than we thought. And by complicated, I mean potentially reality-altering."

Natasha tilted her head slightly. "How? Beyond Peter being an overprotective husband and future father? He's fathering more children with Storm and Jean Grey, yes, but we've dealt with powerful mutant children before."

"Not like this," Fury replied, activating a holographic display that filled the center of the room. A complex web-like structure appeared, pulsing with energy. "Strange told me about something called the Web of Life and Destiny. It's a multiversal construct that connects all Spider-people across infinite realities. And Peter Parker—our Peter Parker—is currently at its center."

Maria leaned forward, studying the projection. "I've read theoretical papers about multiversal anchors, but I've never seen confirmation of anything this structured."

"It's real," Fury confirmed. "And according to Strange, any children Parker fathers are being infused with this energy. These won't just be powerful mutants—they'll be connected to a fundamental force of the multiverse."

Natasha's eyes widened slightly. "That's why you were so concerned when I reported Emma's pregnancy. You already suspected something like this."

"I had my suspicions," Fury admitted. "Parker's blood work has always been... unusual. Beyond the spider mutation."

Maria began typing rapidly on her tablet. "This changes the strategic assessment completely. If these children inherit both omega-level mutant abilities and connection to this Web, they could potentially—"

"Rewrite reality itself," Fury finished for her. "At minimum we were already prepared for them to be reality warpers or such. At worst, they could become nexus points for interdimensional invasion or collapse."

"Does Peter know?" Natasha asked quietly.

Fury shook his head. "Strange doesn't think so. Parker's connection to the Web is instinctual, not conscious. But others know—or will soon." He gestured, and the hologram shifted to show various supernatural entities watching the web from different angles. "Strange himself is already considering how any of Parker's future children would be perfect candidates for becoming what he calls an 'ultimate' Sorcerer Supreme—a magical protector beyond anything Earth has seen before."

"It's not just terrestrial interest we need to worry about," Maria added. "If this information spreads, cosmic entities would take notice. Galactus. The Celestials. The Brood. Any number of forces that monitor dimensional anomalies."

"I've spent the last three nights personally upgrading SHIELD's information security protocols," Fury said, rubbing his temple. "Making absolutely certain that the likes of Doctor Doom or Hydra don't catch wind of this. Not just for our sake, but for theirs."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Their sake?"

A rare, cold smile crossed Fury's face. "I've known Parker for a long time. He pulls his punches. Alot Always has. But if someone were to target Emma Frost or his children? I doubt there'd be enough left of them to identify."

"You're afraid of Spider-Man?" Maria asked, sounding skeptical.

"No," Fury replied. "I'm afraid of what Peter Parker would become if someone hurt his family. The Web doesn't just give power—it amplifies what's already there. And beneath all that responsibility and quips is someone who's lost almost everyone he's ever loved. You push him too far..." Fury let the sentence hang.

"I spoke with Emma," Natasha said. "She's not exactly defenseless herself. Nine months pregnant and near her due date, and she nearly considered turning my brain inside out just to make a point."

"And now there's Storm carrying triplets, and Jean Grey with three more on the way," Maria added. "That's eight children with potentially reality-warping abilities. The Quiet Council must understand the gravity of this."

"Which brings us back to the summit," Fury said. "It's no longer just about diplomacy or preventing paranoia about mutant hybrids. We need containment and protection protocols. These children will be targets before they're even born."

Natasha leaned back in her chair, processing. "Emma already knows something's up. She's too smart not to have sensed it. The way she was talking about security for their new home... she's preparing for war."

"Smart woman," Fury nodded. "Between her telepathy, Parker's spider-sense, and now this information from Strange, they might be more prepared than we thought. But they still need allies."

"We should bring Xavier into this directly," Maria suggested. "With his telepathic abilities—"

"Already working on it," Fury interrupted. "But Xavier has his own agenda. Always has. The Quiet Council isn't a unified front, and some members might see these children as tools rather than people."

"Emma wouldn't stand for that," Natasha said with certainty. "Neither would Peter."

"Which is why we need this summit to work," Fury stood, pacing the length of his office. "We need a unified approach—mutants, Avengers, mystical practitioners, and SHIELD all on the same page."

"And if the Council refuses to cooperate?" Maria asked.

Fury's expression darkened. "Then we prepare for the worst. Because others will be coming for those children, whether we're ready or not."

Natasha watched as Fury manipulated the hologram, zooming out to show the Web of Life extending beyond their universe, pulsing with energy. "There's something else you're not telling us."

Fury paused, then lowered his voice. "Strange mentioned something about the children potentially being able to access and manipulate the Web directly. They wouldn't just be connected to it—they could rewrite it. Restructure the multiverse itself."

"God," Maria whispered.

Fury nodded grimly. "It's a headache beyond headaches. We won't be able to keep this information secret forever." He moved back to his desk, pressing his palms flat against its surface. "According to Strange, there are others already moving in the shadows. A cabal of sorts that actually wants Parker to continue exactly as he is."

"A cabal?" Maria's brow furrowed. "What kind of organization would want potentially reality-warping children scattered throughout the power structures?"

"The kind that's seen the future," Fury replied, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "They tried to recruit Strange. Showed him visions of what's to come. In their version of events, Parker himself brings about a golden age—for humanity, mutants, and Inhumans alike. By the time of his death, his children will have established an empire spanning thousands of galaxies, bringing peace and prosperity wherever they go before branching out to other universes entirely."

Natasha leaned forward. "And Strange believed this vision?"

Fury's eye narrowed. "Strange refused to join them. But I saw his face when he told me about it." He sighed deeply. "Whatever future they showed him... he was tempted. Badly."

"That's impossible," Maria scoffed. "No offense to Parker, but men like Reed Richards and Victor von Doom have acquired godlike powers before and failed to create lasting peace. What makes Spider-Man so special?"

"If you need proof," Fury said, activating another holographic display showing the global operations of Parker-Frost Industries, "look at what he's already done. Five years ago, Peter Parker was a struggling photographer and part-time science teacher. Now he's co-running a trillion-dollar enterprise that's providing millions of jobs with compulsory healthcare, generous benefits, and fundamentally changing lives across the globe." The display showed sprawling campuses, research facilities, and humanitarian projects spanning six continents.

Maria studied the data scrolling beside the images. "And not one hint of corruption or corporate malfeasance," she admitted reluctantly.

"Parker doesn't just have power—he has a fundamental decency that's never wavered," Fury said. "Add Emma Frost's ruthless pragmatism, and you've got something neither Richards nor Doom could offer: heart and steel working in perfect harmony."

Natasha traced her finger through the hologram. "So you believe this prophecy?"

"I don't know what I believe," Fury admitted. "But I've already spoken with the President and select members of the World Security Council." He turned his gaze directly to Natasha. "They've decided we need our own spider-baby in the mix. To keep things... fair, as it were."

Natasha didn't even blink. "You want me to seduce Peter Parker." It wasn't a question.

Fury nodded once.

A bitter smile crossed Natasha's lips. "You forgot one crucial detail, Nick. I'm sterile. The Red Room saw to that." There was a hint of long-buried pain in her voice. "Or did you plan to harvest my eggs and create some lab experiment?"

"Parker makes that irrelevant," Fury said quietly.

For the first time since entering the office, Natasha's practiced composure faltered. "What are you saying?"

Fury tapped the hologram, bringing the Web of Life back into focus. "If Parker truly is the conduit for this multiversal construct, then there's very little he can't affect—including reproductive impossibilities. His connection to the Web doesn't just bypass normal genetics; it rewrites reality on a fundamental level."

"Are you suggesting..." Natasha's voice trailed off, a sliver of hope slipping through her professional facade.

"Strange believes that a night with Parker would not only result in conception but potentially reverse the damage done to you entirely," Fury confirmed. "The Web seeks to perpetuate itself, to create new connections. It wants him to have children—lots of them, apparently—with partners who complement his abilities."

Maria looked between them. "This is crossing a line, sir. We're talking about manipulating a man into fathering children for strategic purposes."

"I don't like it either," Fury growled. "But the alternative is letting Parker's lineage become concentrated solely among the mutant leadership. At least this way, humanity maintains some stake in whatever comes next."

Natasha had gone very still, her eyes distant. "All these years," she whispered, almost to herself. "The one thing the Red Room made certain I could never have."

"You don't have to do this," Maria said softly. "We can find another approach."

"Can you?" Natasha asked, refocusing on Fury. "Or am I uniquely qualified because of my existing relationship with Peter? Because he trusts me?"

Fury didn't flinch from her gaze. "Yes to both. But there's more. The cabal Strange mentioned? They specifically named you as one of the ideal mothers for Parker's children. Something about your particular genetic adaptations complementing the spider powers."

"This is insane," Maria muttered. "We're discussing breeding programs like we're talking about livestock."

"Welcome to the new world order," Fury replied dryly. "Where the children of Spider-Man might reshape reality itself."

Natasha stood suddenly, pacing to the window. "Peter is loyal to Emma. Deeply committed. Even if I were... interested... he wouldn't betray her."

"That's why we need Emma's cooperation," Fury said. "She's already approved Storm and Jean Grey. Strange believes she'll understand the strategic value of having you in the mix as well."

"As what? Part of his collection?" Natasha asked sharply.

"As a mother to children who might save the universe," Fury countered. "Think about it, Romanoff. Not just the chance to have children of your own, but children who could help build a better future than all your years of espionage and assassination ever could."

Natasha turned back, her expression unreadable. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we find someone else," Fury shrugged. "But they won't have your skills, your training, or your history with Parker. They won't be able to protect those children the way you could."

The silence in the room stretched as Natasha stared out the viewport, watching clouds drift past the Helicarrier. She sighed softly, mentally agreeing with Fury's assessment. If Peter gave her children and loved her, she would probably be his until death even if he never forced it upon her. That was the kind of man Peter was—someone who would see getting her pregnant as his responsibility, insist she had no obligation to him, then ensure she and their children wanted for nothing.

"Peter would probably blame himself," Natasha said, turning back to face Fury and Maria. "Even if I were the one to initiate. He'd declare I had no reason to stay attached to him, then set up trust funds worth billions just to make sure our theoretical children lived in luxury." She shook her head with a faint smile. "That's who he is."

"It's partly why he was chosen," Fury replied simply. "Power without corruption is rare."

Natasha crossed her arms, her decision forming. "So what's the plan? I assume you have one beyond 'go seduce Spider-Man'?"

Fury clicked a button on his desk, and the Web of Life hologram dissolved, replaced by the image of a massive white cruise ship cutting through azure waters. The vessel was unlike anything Natasha had ever seen—sleek yet imposing, with elegant lines that somehow conveyed both luxury and power.

"Parker-Frost Industries hasn't just branched into science like Peter initially wanted," Fury explained. "Thanks to Emma's business acumen, they've expanded into luxury goods, video games, biotech, and even security and weapons—though they've remained mostly a highly-trained and well-equipped peacekeeping force rather than arms dealers."

Maria whistled low as the hologram rotated to show the full scale of the ship. "That's not just a cruise liner. That's a floating city."

"Two years ago, they branched into entertainment," Fury continued. "Emma commissioned the Aurora Invicta—the largest cruise ship in the world. It's filled with so much entertainment and security technology it makes SHIELD look like we're operating on a government budget. Which, technically, we are."

The hologram expanded to show schematics of the vessel's interior—lavish suites, multiple swimming pools, theaters, casinos, and what appeared to be a full-sized botanical garden under a glass dome.

"According to our intelligence, Emma's commissioned six more similar vessels," Fury added, his expression grim. "And there are rumors—unconfirmed but from reliable sources—that she's also ordered six even larger ships that could potentially be retrofitted for military purposes."

Maria and Natasha's eyes widened at that.

"That would give them the sixth largest naval force in the world," Maria said quietly. "Are we looking at a potential Krakoan navy?"

"Or something else entirely," Fury mused. "Future mission, perhaps. We're still gathering intel."

Natasha studied the hologram, noting the security measures visible in the schematic. "How does this relate to me potentially seducing Peter?"

"Emma and Peter's wedding date is approaching—set for just a few weeks before her due date," Fury explained. "Emma is planning a three-day celebration slash bachelor party for Peter aboard the Aurora Invicta."

Natasha's eyebrows shot up. "Peter must have refused. He's too loyal, too... traditional for that sort of thing."

Fury nodded, a rare hint of amusement crossing his features. "According to our sources, he refused hundreds of times until Emma apparently played the 'your pregnant wife must be listened to' card." He manipulated the hologram to show a guest list scrolling by—a who's who of celebrities, heroes, and luminaries from around the world. "Thousands of attendees from around the world, Krakoa, and beyond. The kind of party most men would kill to attend."

"And Peter had to be dragged into it," Natasha said with a small smile. "That tracks."

"Currently," Fury continued, bringing up another screen, "Emma is reviewing candidates for some... female entertainment for both guests and Peter to enjoy." The screen showed profiles of various women—actresses, models, and social media stars. "Top-shelf adult film stars and MarvelGram influencers, mostly. Your CV will be among them."

"My CV?" Natasha asked, blinking in surprise. "I don't have a—" She paused, understanding dawning. "You've created one for me."

Fury shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Not really. Just sent the one you usually use when undercover, along with those photos Stark took of you in that red bikini in Hawaii. The ones he thought were a secret."

"Chto za khuynya?" Natasha cursed in Russian, her composure momentarily fracturing. "I'm going to kill Tony. Slowly. With something rusty." Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening. "Those were supposed to be deleted after the mission."

Maria Hill looked away, her lips twitching upward in a rare genuine smile at Natasha's uncharacteristic embarrassment. "If it helps, they're very flattering photos. The kind that make lesser women consider surgical enhancements."

"Not helpful, Hill," Natasha hissed, though some of the tension left her shoulders. She turned back to Fury. "Those photos better not end up anywhere public, or I'm holding you personally responsible."

Fury nodded, his expression returning to its typical stoic mask. "Your 'resume' has already been placed at the top of Emma Frost's list. The woman's no fool—she'll recognize you immediately and call to find out what game SHIELD is playing." He steepled his fingers. "That's when you'll need to make your case directly to her. She might be willing to share Parker for political purposes with other mutants, but a human spy? That'll require finesse."

"And what exactly am I supposed to tell her?" Natasha asked, folding her arms. "'Hello, Emma, I'd like to borrow your fiancé to father my miracle babies?' I'm sure that'll go over well with one of the world's most powerful and notoriously possessive telepaths."

"Tell her the truth," Fury said simply. "That humanity needs a stake in whatever future these children are building. Strange thinks she'll understand the strategic value—she's ruthlessly pragmatic when it comes to power dynamics. If anything, she might see you as less threatening than Jean Grey or Storm. You're not a mutant queen capable of challenging her position."

Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair. She could already imagine what Emma would demand in return—probably parading Natasha around in whatever revealing outfit the White Queen deemed appropriate, taking pictures as incentive for Peter... and no doubt for Emma's own personal collection. The woman was nothing if not thorough in her possessions.

"Fine," she conceded. "But I want it on record that I'm doing this for potential children and galactic security, not because I'm interested in being part of Peter Parker's growing harem."

Maria snorted softly. "Says the woman who once told me Parker was the only truly good man she'd ever met. After that mission in Budapest."

Natasha shot her a betrayed look. "That was said in confidence. And I was bleeding out at the time."

"Regardless," Fury interrupted, standing to indicate the meeting was concluding, "you're relieved of active duty effective immediately. Go prepare however you need to. Get your head straight. The future of SHIELD—hell, the future of reality itself—might depend on this mission's success."

"No pressure," Natasha muttered, rising from her chair.

"We're counting on you, Romanoff," Fury added, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "This isn't just about politics or power. Strange seemed... genuinely afraid of what happens if these children end up exclusively under Krakoan influence."

Natasha nodded once, sharply, and left the office. She maintained her professional stride through the bustling command center, past junior agents who instinctively stepped out of her path, and into the elevator. Only when she reached a quiet, empty corridor did she allow herself to pause, leaning against the cold metal wall.

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her belly as her mind filled with impossible visions—a child with Peter's gentle eyes and her red hair, perhaps with his quick mind and her tactical prowess. A child who would never know the horrors of the Red Room. A child she had long ago accepted she would never have.

The whisper of possibility awakened something primal within her, something she'd buried beneath years of training and pragmatism. Her jaw tightened with sudden, fierce determination. If this mission succeeded—if she could actually conceive—then heaven help anyone who would dare threaten her child. If any organization, government, or cosmic entity tried to use her offspring as weapons or pawns, the Black Widow would ensure they experienced suffering beyond imagination. They would beg for death a thousand times over before she granted such mercy.

The elevator chimed, breaking her reverie. Natasha straightened, composing herself back into the perfect spy. She had preparations to make, contingencies to plan. And perhaps a certain mission file containing bikini photos to mysteriously disappear from SHIELD's servers.

Behind her professional mask, a dangerous smile formed. For the first time in decades, Natasha Romanoff allowed herself to hope.

Chapter Text

In one of Parker-Frost Industries' many large and expensively furnished conference buildings, Emma sat at the head of a sprawling glass table, dressed in an elegantly expensive white and blue casual dress that perfectly accentuated her growing baby bump. The material was soft against her skin, custom-tailored to accommodate her pregnancy while maintaining her signature impeccable style. Her platinum blonde hair fell in perfect waves around her shoulders as she meticulously examined the holographic displays floating above the table's surface, each showing the profile of a potential candidate.

Sitting beside her were the Stepford Cuckoos, five identical blonde telepaths dressed in matching white ensembles that mimicked Emma's style in a more youthful fashion. Their fingers danced across digital interfaces as they sorted through files and pictures showcasing males with sculpted physiques and females with bodies designed to make anyone drool. The conference room's floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Manhattan, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the luxurious space.

"Phoebe, be a dear and eliminate anyone with suspicious gaps in their employment history," Emma instructed, swiping away a profile with a flick of her manicured finger. "Celeste, flag the ones with genuine modeling experience. Mindee, focus on those with diplomatic training or languages. We need beauty and brains for this event." The Cuckoos nodded in unison, their telepathic hive mind allowing them to process information at an extraordinary rate.

The task before them was monumental—selecting entertainment staff for the three-day celebration aboard the Aurora Invicta, Parker-Frost Industries' crown jewel of luxury cruise liners. Both male and female interviewees were expected to be the pinnacle of sensuality and handsomeness, contracted to provide companionship and potentially more intimate services to the important guests attending Peter's bachelor celebration. Emma knew her future husband would require significant convincing to partake in such indulgences, though she smirked knowingly—Peter would certainly cave if she joined him in the activities.

"We've processed approximately two thousand applications so far," Celeste reported, her voice perfectly modulated. "Based on our preliminary screening, only thirty-eight percent meet all the qualification thresholds." The holographic displays refreshed, showing a curated selection of faces and bodies that represented the cream of the global beauty crop—from former runway models to adult film stars, high-end escorts to fitness influencers with bodies that defied human limitations.

Emma nodded appreciatively at a particularly stunning male specimen on the screen. "And what of our agreement, girls? I trust you're finding my... payment satisfactory?" She raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a mischievous smile. The Cuckoos had agreed to help with the massive undertaking of sorting through eight thousand applications, but their price had been specific and non-negotiable: intimate naked photographs of Peter Parker, which Emma had amusedly provided.

"Oh, quite satisfactory," Phoebe responded with a smile that wasn't entirely innocent. The five identical blondes shared a look that made even Emma—no stranger to sexual thoughts—shudder slightly.

"We particularly appreciated the shower sequence," Mindee added, her eyes gleaming. "The way the water cascaded down his—"

"That's quite enough," Emma interrupted, feeling a rare moment of protectiveness over Peter's privacy, despite having been the one to share the images. "I genuinely don't want to know what five telepathic young women do with those pictures in your collective consciousness." She mentally noted to warn Peter about potentially receiving strange looks from the Cuckoos at their next encounter.

Celeste's eyes widened with mock innocence. "But Mother Emma, surely you understand. It's purely scientific curiosity about the man capable of impregnating multiple omega-level mutants when others cannot." Her sisters nodded in perfect synchronicity, their expressions a study in feigned professionalism.

"Scientific curiosity that requires images of him bending over to pick up a soap bar? I think not," Emma replied dryly. "Now, back to the task at hand. How many have we eliminated based on age verification issues?" She tapped on another profile, examining the detailed background check results that appeared.

The Cuckoos had already efficiently sorted through over two thousand applications of male and female candidates from around the world, though there were still six thousand to process. They systematically removed all who looked suspicious or who had misrepresented their age on their resumes. Emma had been adamant about the age requirement—twenty-five and above for all entertainment staff—old enough to fully understand the implications of the role yet still in their physical prime.

"Approximately three hundred and seventy-two applicants have been disqualified for age misrepresentation," Esme reported clinically. "Several attempted to use falsified identification or digitally altered photographs. Quite amateur attempts, really." She dismissed several profiles with a casual gesture, sending them to the rejection pile.

"Excellent. I want no young souls looking for a quick buck and shattered dreams aboard the Aurora Invicta," Emma stated firmly. "This is to be a celebration of Peter's accomplishments and our future together, not an exploitation festival." Despite her reputation for moral flexibility, Emma had drawn a clear line in this matter. The role these entertainment staff would play came with clear expectations and extraordinary compensation, but she wanted mature professionals who knew exactly what they were signing up for.

The age restriction had caused considerable backlash among younger entertainers. Marvelgram models, OnlyFans creators, and aspiring escorts in their early twenties and teens had taken to social media in outrage upon learning they were instantly locked out from the massive payday. No less than ten million dollars per day, plus extravagant gifts Emma had personally selected—jewelry from Cartier, watches from Patek Philippe, and custom clothing from the world's most exclusive designers. Those chosen would receive their full compensation regardless of whether they provided intimate services to any guests, and when the payment details leaked, the internet exploded with commentary.

"Social media eruption in progress," Phoebe noted with amusement, projecting a holographic display of various platform feeds. "The hashtag #TooYoungForInvicta is trending worldwide. There are approximately twelve thousand posts in the last hour alone." The screen filled with complaints from beautiful young people bemoaning their date of birth, many offering to provide falsified documentation if it meant a chance at the position.

Emma laughed softly. "Let them rage. When they reach twenty-five, they'll understand the wisdom in my decision." She swiped through more profiles, pausing occasionally to examine particularly impressive candidates. "The suite accommodations alone would be worth the age requirement. I've arranged for each selected entertainer to enjoy an Executive Stellar Suite when not... otherwise occupied." These were accommodations that typically cost upwards of fifty thousand dollars per night, featuring private infinity pools, AI-controlled environments, and panoramic ocean views.

"Speaking of preferences," Celeste interjected, "we've been analyzing Peter's potential... tastes." All five Cuckoos leaned forward slightly, their interest clearly piqued. "Based on his past relationships and physiological responses, we believe he has a particular appreciation for redheads and women with strong personalities." Their collective gaze fixed on Emma knowingly.

Emma's lips curved into a smirk. "A fact I'm well aware of, thank you. Though I've certainly broken his pattern, haven't I?" She ran a hand lovingly over her pregnant belly. "Still, perhaps we should include a higher percentage of redheads in the final selection. For... scientific comparison." The teasing lilt in her voice made it clear she was quite confident in her position in Peter's heart.

"What about his preferences regarding male companions?" Mindee asked, pulling up several profiles of extraordinarily handsome men. "Our analysis suggests he has a preference for authority figures and intellectuals when it comes to male friendships, though we have insufficient data to determine if that extends to potential intimate partners."

Emma considered this, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. "Peter is more flexible than most realize, in many aspects of life. However, I doubt he'll partake. He isn't gay, i should know." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Though I do enjoy encouraging him to expand his horizons i doubt he will be interested. Keep the males for the female guests."

As Emma and the Cuckoos continued their meticulous screening process, time slipped away unnoticed. The conference room had transformed into a war room of beauty assessment, with holographic profiles floating in three-dimensional space around them. They had begun their task at eight in the morning, and now the digital clock on the wall silently flipped to twelve-thirty. For four and a half hours, they had been immersed in an endless parade of physical perfection.

"I must say," Emma commented, flicking through a particularly impressive portfolio, "the human form truly is a magnificent thing when properly maintained." She rotated a 3D model of a Japanese woman with flawless porcelain skin and curves that defied gravity. "This one has quite the impressive resume. Former Miss Universe Japan finalist, speaks five languages, and has a master's degree in international relations."

Phoebe nodded appreciatively. "She certainly knows how to work a camera. The video demonstration of her... flexibility... is particularly noteworthy." With a gesture, she expanded a clip showing the woman performing a perfect split while maintaining unwavering eye contact with the camera, her expression promising far more than mere acrobatics.

The displays around them showcased an international catalog of beauty: Asian bombshells with delicate features and surprising strength, blonde Nordic goddesses with ice-blue eyes and statuesque proportions, redheads with curves that seemed to extend for days, brunettes who looked as if they were created specifically for sin, and Black women with bodies so perfect they bordered on architectural marvels – impressively fat, curvaceous asses and breasts that somehow defied both gravity and proportion while remaining elegantly balanced.

"I believe Peter would appreciate this candidate," Mindee observed, highlighting a stunning redhead whose profile bore a subtle resemblance to Mary Jane Watson—though Emma noticed and deliberately ignored this detail. "Her background in biochemistry might give them something to discuss between... other activities."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "I doubt Peter will be engaging in scientific discourse during his bachelor celebration, dear. But flag her nonetheless." She couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Peter's likely embarrassment when presented with such an array of beauty explicitly selected for his pleasure. His adorable discomfort would only make his eventual surrender more satisfying—especially with her participation to ease his conscience.

"Esme, pull up candidate thirty-four's demonstration video," Emma directed. "We need to ensure our finalists aren't merely photogenic but actually skilled in the arts we're hiring them for." The screen filled with expertly shot footage of a former Olympic gymnast demonstrating precisely why flexibility was indeed a marketable post-athletic career skill. Emma watched with clinical detachment, occasionally nodding in approval at particularly impressive techniques.

"Mother Emma, is it truly necessary to review all of these explicit materials?" Celeste asked with a hint of amusement. "Or are you perhaps enjoying this aspect of your duties more than you're letting on?"

Emma's lips quirked upward. "Due diligence, darling. Peter deserves only the best, and I refuse to hire someone who merely photographs well but lacks... technical proficiency." Her eyes never left the screen as she spoke. "Besides, one must maintain certain standards. The Aurora Invicta represents the pinnacle of Parker-Frost luxury. Everything aboard must be exceptional—including the entertainment."

By one o'clock, they had worked their way through all but the final hundred applications. Emma's desk was now scattered with expensive takeout containers from Nobu—sushi, Wagyu beef, and other delicacies delivered directly from the five-star restaurant that now counted Parker-Frost Industries among its major investors.

"I must say," Emma remarked, delicately picking up a piece of otoro with her chopsticks, "this process has been far more entertaining than I anticipated. Though I'm beginning to wonder if we're being too selective. We've only approved sixty-three candidates thus far."

"Quality over quantity, Mother Emma," the Cuckoos replied in perfect unison, their hive mind momentarily in complete synchronicity. The effect was still unsettling, even to Emma who had grown accustomed to their peculiarities.

Esme suddenly straightened in her chair, her eyes widening as she opened a particularly large file. The data stream was enormous compared to the other applications—background information, skill sets, languages, and a staggering array of high-resolution photographs and videos.

"Wait," she said, her voice rising with genuine surprise—an emotion rarely displayed by any of the Cuckoos. "Isn't this Natasha Romanoff?"

Emma nearly choked on her sashimi, setting down her chopsticks and wiping her mouth with deliberate slowness as she processed this information. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice perfectly controlled despite her shock.

"Black Widow," Esme clarified unnecessarily, projecting the application onto the main display for all to see. "Unless I'm mistaken, which I'm not, this is definitely SHIELD's premier assassin and Avenger."

Emma leaned forward, taking control of the holographic display with a gesture and expanding the file. There, unmistakably, was Natasha Romanoff—her iconic features impossible to misidentify despite the variety of looks she presented across dozens of photographs. The images started professionally enough: Natasha in evening wear, in business attire, in casual clothing—all expertly shot to highlight her considerable beauty.

But as Emma swiped through, the photographs became progressively more revealing. Natasha in a barely-there bikini on what appeared to be a private beach, her athletic body glistening with oil. Natasha in lingerie that cost more than most people's monthly rent. Natasha in a modified, highly sexualized version of her SHIELD tactical suit, unzipped to reveal expanses of creamy skin.

And then there were the fully nude shots—artistic at first, then increasingly explicit. Natasha in various poses that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, showcasing a body honed to perfection through decades of training and enhanced by whatever serum the Red Room had used to preserve her youth.

"My, my," Emma murmured, unable to hide her appreciation for both Natasha's physical form and her audacity. "The Black Widow certainly knows how to make an impression."

The Cuckoos had abandoned all pretense of disinterest, gathering behind Emma to view the display. "For a woman in her mid-thirties, she's kept herself in remarkable condition," Phoebe observed with clinical detachment belied by her widened eyes.

Emma's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Mid-thirties on paper only, darling. Our Ms. Romanoff is significantly older than she appears, courtesy of her time in the Red Room. Their enhancement program grants impressive longevity and vitality." She zoomed in on a particularly provocative image of Natasha in a pose that would have made a contortionist envious. "Though I must admit, even knowing that, her... flexibility... is impressive."

"There's video content as well," Mindee noted, highlighting a folder containing multiple files. "Shall we review it?"

Emma hesitated, her mind working rapidly. Natasha Romanoff wouldn't submit an application like this without an agenda—especially after their recent meeting regarding SHIELD's concerns about Peter's children. This was a calculated move, which meant Nick Fury was likely involved.

"Not yet," Emma decided. "First, let's see if our ambitious applicant is actually here in person." With practiced ease, she accessed the security feeds from the waiting rooms where candidates were gathered for potential interviews. There were three large reception areas, each holding hundreds of hopefuls who had made it past the initial screening process.

Emma cycled through the cameras methodically until she found what she was looking for in the third waiting area. There, sitting calmly in a corner with perfect posture, was Natasha Romanoff. She wore a simple but elegant black dress that managed to be simultaneously modest and captivating. Her hair, currently dyed a dark honey blonde, was styled in sophisticated waves. To anyone else, she might have appeared to be just another beautiful Russian model-turned-escort. But Emma knew better.

"There she is," Emma pointed to the screen. "Candidate number 6969. Really, Natasha? Even your code number is lacking in subtlety."

The Cuckoos exchanged glances before Celeste spoke. "Shall we alert security to remove her? This is clearly some sort of infiltration attempt."

Emma considered this for a moment, absently stroking her pregnant belly as she thought. "No," she finally decided. "If we reject her, she'll simply find another way onto the Aurora Invicta. Natasha Romanoff isn't known for accepting 'no' as an answer, and I'd rather keep my enemies where I can see them." Her lips curved into a predatory smile. "Besides, I'm genuinely curious to discover why SHIELD's premier assassin is suddenly so eager for a chance to sleep with my fiancé."

"You think that's what she wants?" Esme asked, sounding skeptical. "To seduce Peter?"

"Of course that's what she wants," Emma replied, her tone suggesting the question was absurd. "The question is why. SHIELD is already aware of everything regarding the mutant fertility crisis. They know about Storm and Jean. There must be something more." She tapped her fingernails against the glass table thoughtfully. "Something Fury didn't mention during our last conversation."

"Perhaps she simply finds Peter attractive," Phoebe suggested with a hint of mischief. "We certainly do, based on those shower photographs."

Emma shot her a withering look. "Let's not be naive, girls. In our world, nothing is ever that simple, especially when it involves Nick Fury and his favorite spider." She closed Natasha's application file with a gesture and turned back to the Cuckoos. "Mark her application for approval. Schedule her interview for the final slot today. I want to speak with her personally."

"As you wish," the Cuckoos responded, efficiently updating the system.

Emma returned her attention to Natasha's image on the security feed. The super-spy appeared perfectly at ease, chatting amiably with a male model beside her while maintaining complete awareness of her surroundings. Emma had to admire her professionalism, if nothing else.

"You know," Emma mused, almost to herself, "part of me is tempted to simply approve her application without question. Can you imagine Peter's face when he discovers the Black Widow is among his bachelor party entertainment options?" She laughed softly. "The poor dear would probably short-circuit entirely."

"Would you actually allow her to be with Peter?" Mindee asked, genuinely curious. "Given your... territorial nature regarding him?"

Emma's expression hardened momentarily before melting into something more calculated. "I've already agreed to share him with Storm and Jean for the greater good of mutantkind. What's one more powerful woman in the mix?" She absently traced the diamond engagement ring on her finger. "Besides, Peter remains mine regardless of who else may temporarily enjoy his company. The question is whether Natasha's motives align with our interests."

Emma pushed aside her half-eaten sushi roll and closed the holographic display with a decisive gesture. "I believe we've seen enough applications to begin the interview process," she declared, standing with the elegant grace that belied her advanced pregnancy. "No sense in prolonging the suspense for our eager candidates."

The Cuckoos exchanged glances, their telepathic communication invisible to all but Emma, who ignored the flurry of thoughts passing between them.

"But we've only processed seventy percent of the applications," Celeste pointed out, her tone carefully neutral. "There might be other candidates of... special interest... in the remaining files."

Emma's smile was razor-sharp. "I'm quite certain we've found the most interesting candidate already. The rest can wait." She smoothed her white dress over her prominent baby bump and walked to the intercom system on the wall. With perfectly manicured nails, she pressed the button that would broadcast her voice to all three waiting areas simultaneously.

"Good afternoon, prospective entertainers," Emma's voice purred through the speakers, carrying with it the subtle influence of her natural charisma enhanced by a touch of telepathic suggestion. "This is Emma Frost, CEO of Parker-Frost Industries. I'm pleased to inform you that if you're currently in one of our waiting areas, you've successfully passed our initial screening process."

A chorus of excited cheers erupted across all three waiting rooms, the sound filtering back through the intercom system. Emma waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

"The personal interview phase will begin immediately. Candidates will be selected at random, so please remain alert. Those who impress during their interviews will receive formal offers before leaving today." She paused for effect. "I expect nothing less than excellence from each of you. Parker-Frost Industries represents the pinnacle of luxury and sophistication. Remember that when you step into this room."

Emma released the intercom button and turned to the Cuckoos with a sly smile. "Let's start with candidate 6969, shall we? I find myself suddenly impatient to hear what the Black Widow has to say for herself."

Mindee tapped on her tablet, sending the instruction to the security team. On the security feed, they watched as two imposing guards in sleek black suits approached Natasha's corner. The redhead rose gracefully, accepting congratulations and whistles from nearby candidates. A particularly muscular male model gave her a high-five while a statuesque blonde blew her a kiss. Natasha played the part of excited applicant perfectly, her genuine smile revealing nothing of her true purpose.

"She's quite good at this," Phoebe observed, watching Natasha's performance. "If we didn't know better, I'd swear she was genuinely here for the job."

"That's precisely what makes her dangerous," Emma replied, settling back into her chair at the head of the table. "The best lies contain elements of truth. I suspect Ms. Romanoff wouldn't mind the opportunity to seduce Peter, regardless of her mission objectives."

The Cuckoos arranged themselves in a perfect formation behind Emma's chair, five identical blonde guardians presenting a united front. The conference room door slid open silently, revealing Natasha Romanoff flanked by two security guards whose bulging muscles suggested enhancement beyond normal human capabilities.

"Candidate 6969," one of them announced formally before stepping back.

Natasha entered with measured confidence, her honey-blonde waves bouncing gently against her shoulders. The simple black dress she wore was a masterpiece of understated elegance—modest in cut yet clinging to her athletic curves in a way that drew the eye precisely where she intended. Her makeup was subtle but flawless, highlighting her striking features without appearing overdone.

"Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Frost," Natasha said, her voice carrying just the right note of deference mixed with self-assurance. Her eyes flicked briefly to Emma's pregnant belly before returning to meet Emma's gaze directly.

Once the door closed behind her, Emma let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, let's dispense with the charade, shall we? What exactly does Nick Fury want me to do with you, Natasha? Have you perform a striptease right here while my girls throw dollar bills at you? Perhaps a little twerking demonstration to prove your... qualifications?" Emma's tone was acidic, her blue eyes cold despite her smirk.

To Emma's mild surprise, the Cuckoos perked up at the suggestion, exchanging glances that suggested they wouldn't mind such a display. Esme even went so far as to open her purse, fingers brushing against her wallet with genuine interest.

Natasha's expression never faltered. Instead, a small, amused smile played across her lips. "If that's what it takes to secure the position, I'm happy to oblige." She reached for the thin strap of her dress, fingers poised to slide it down her shoulder. "I've been told my dancing skills are quite... memorable."

For a fraction of a second, Emma was tempted to call the spy's bluff, but she waved her hand dismissively instead. "As entertaining as that might be, I'd rather not waste time on performances when we both know you have no intention of actually serving as entertainment on the Aurora Invicta." She rubbed her temples, feigning annoyance. "Let's cut to the chase. Why are you really here? What possible reason could SHIELD have for wanting their premier assassin to sleep with my fiancé?"

Natasha dropped the seductive act instantly, her posture shifting subtly into something more businesslike, though no less graceful. "Has Peter ever mentioned the Web of Life and Destiny to you?"

The question was clearly not what Emma had expected. She blinked once, then shrugged. "In passing. Something about fighting alongside other Spider-people to protect it from beings called the Inheritors." She waved her hand dismissively. "Inter-dimensional nonsense that fortunately hasn't required my attention. for some time since krakoa was founded."

"It's far more than 'inter-dimensional nonsense,'" Natasha replied, her expression serious. "May I?" She gestured toward the holographic display controls.

Emma nodded, curious despite herself. The Cuckoos tensed slightly, ready to intervene if Natasha attempted anything beyond accessing the display.

Natasha's fingers moved expertly across the interface. Instantly, the room darkened as a complex, three-dimensional web of light appeared in the center of the conference table. It pulsed with energy, countless threads stretching in all directions, each connecting to glowing nodes that represented different realities.

"This is the Web of Life and Destiny or at least what we think it looks like," Natasha explained, her voice taking on a lecturer's cadence. "It's a multiversal construct that connects all realities where Spider-Totems exist. Think of it as the nervous system of the multiverse, with each strand connecting to a different reality."

Emma leaned forward, her interest genuinely piqued. "And what does this have to do with Peter?"

"Everything," Natasha replied simply. "Peter Parker of Earth-616-S, our earth designation—our Peter—is the primary conduit of the Web. The central node through which all its energies flow." She manipulated the display, zooming in on a particularly bright intersection of threads. "He doesn't actively use it or even fully comprehend his connection to it, but Dr. Strange has confirmed what Fury suspected—Peter is essentially the living heart of the Web."

"Fascinating," Emma murmured, studying the display with newfound interest. "But that still doesn't explain why SHIELD thinks you need to sleep with him."

Natasha met Emma's gaze steadily. "Because of what your children will be capable of." She adjusted the display again, highlighting several smaller threads branching from Peter's node, threads that pulsed with unusual intensity. "The children Peter fathers with omega-level mutants won't just be beyond omega-level themselves. According to Dr. Strange's analysis, they will be able to actively tap into the Web of Life and Destiny at will."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Emma asked, though her expression suggested she was beginning to understand.

"Meaning they'll be able to make changes to reality—not just in our universe, but potentially across the entire multiverse." Natasha's voice remained calm, but the gravity of her words hung in the air. "They will have the ability to reshape existence itself, to rewrite the fundamental laws that govern all realities."

The Cuckoos gasped in unison, their telepathic link flaring with shared shock and excitement. Emma, however, showed no surprise at all. Instead, a slow, proud smile spread across her face, her hand moving to caress her pregnant belly where her twins—Peter's children—grew stronger each day.

"I suspected they would be special," Emma said softly, "but this exceeds even my expectations." Her eyes gleamed with something that might have been maternal pride, ambition, or perhaps a combination of both. "My children will be gods."

"Which is precisely why SHIELD is concerned," Natasha countered. "The concentration of this much power in one genetic line poses unprecedented risks and opportunities. Cosmic entities are already taking notice. The Watchers, Galactus, even the Living Tribunal—all have begun observing Earth more closely since these pregnancies began."

Emma's smile never faltered. "And so Fury decided humanity needed its own stake in this new power dynamic. Hence your application." She laughed softly, the sound tinged with genuine amusement. "He wants you to bear Peter's children too, providing SHIELD with its own reality-warping assets."

"It's a matter of balance," Natasha replied, not denying Emma's assessment. "Currently, all of Peter's children are being born to mutants. If Earth is to have any hope of maintaining equilibrium in the coming decades, humanity needs representation in this new paradigm."

"And you volunteered for this mission?" Emma asked skeptically. "I was under the impression you couldn't have children. Something about the Red Room's enhancement program."

"That was true," Natasha acknowledged. "Until Strange discovered that Peter's connection to the Web might override those limitations. There's a significant chance that his... unique abilities... could heal what the Red Room took from me."

Before Emma could respond, Phoebe stepped forward, her lips pursed in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. "This isn't fair," she declared, her sisters nodding in agreement behind her. "You've been keeping such a man all to yourself, Mother Emma."

"Excuse me?" Emma turned to face her pseudo-daughters, one eyebrow arched dangerously high.

"If Peter's children will be capable of manipulating the multiverse," Celeste continued, "then you have no right to monopolize him. Think of what our offspring could accomplish!" She gestured to herself and her identical sisters. "Five perfect telepaths, each bearing children with the Spider-Totem? The possibilities are infinite."

"The combined telepathic and reality-warping abilities alone would be unprecedented," Mindee added, her eyes gleaming with ambition barely distinguishable from Emma's own. "They would be beautiful, intelligent, and essentially omnipotent."

Emma's expression turned amused as she regarded the Cuckoos. "I sincerely doubt Peter would do anything with you girls, even if all five of you threw yourselves at him completely naked. He thinks of you as siblings or his own children, no doubt." She ran a hand over her pregnant belly possessively. "Besides, he has more than enough female attention as it is."

Her confidence wavered slightly as the five identical blondes exchanged a collective smirk, their blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Then, in perfect synchronicity, they shifted their postures to something decidedly more provocative.

"Oh, Spider-Daddy," Phoebe purred in a voice dripping with sensuality, her hands trailing down her body suggestively. "We've been such naughty mutants. Why don't you punish us with your big, hard cock?"

Before Emma could respond, Celeste joined in, her innocent face transforming into something far more carnal. "We promise to take every inch like good girls," she breathed, biting her lower lip.

"Oh, stepbro Peter," Mindee moaned, bending slightly at the waist and pushing her ass out. "We're all collectively stuck in this washing machine. I hope you don't think dirty thoughts and fuck us until we beg for more."

Esme and Sophie giggled, adding their own sultry suggestions. "We could all take turns, or you could have us all at once—"

"That's quite enough!" Emma snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. She grabbed the nearest object—a half-empty container of spaghetti from their lunch—and hurled it at the Cuckoos with surprising force for a heavily pregnant woman.

The pasta sailed through the air in a graceful arc, marinara sauce trailing behind it like bloody raindrops. The Cuckoos expertly dodged the impromptu projectile, moving with the synchronized grace of dancers who shared a single mind. The container crashed against the wall, leaving a wide splatter of red sauce and noodles.

"You missed, Mother Emma," Phoebe taunted, her voice lilting with amusement. "Your aim is getting rusty. Perhaps pregnancy has affected your coordination?"

"It's only a matter of time," Celeste added with a confident smirk. "Peter will eventually have all of us carrying his babies. Five perfect telepathic wombs, ready to bear the next generation of reality-warpers."

"After all," Mindee purred, "variety is the spice of life. And we could offer him quite the... variety pack."

The five identical blondes dissolved into a fit of giggles that somehow managed to be both innocent and deeply unsettling at the same time. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, looking as though she was contemplating throwing something considerably more dangerous than pasta.

Instead, she turned back to Natasha, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement. The spy's lips were curved in a subtle smile, one eyebrow raised as she observed the domestic drama unfolding before her.

"Children," Emma sighed dramatically. "They grow up so quickly, don't they? One day they're looking up to you for guidance, the next they're plotting to seduce your fiancé." She waved a dismissive hand toward the Cuckoos, who were still giggling amongst themselves. "Ignore them. Back to business. Is the summit still being planned? And would allowing you to carry Peter's children help calm things down with SHIELD and other agencies?"

Natasha's expression shifted back to professional composure, though her eyes still twinkled with humor. "It wouldn't hurt to have SHIELD firmly on your side during the talks. There are numerous nations and private interests that view the combination of Parker genetics and Krakoan mutant abilities as a potential threat." She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "Fury believes having a stake in this new paradigm would align SHIELD's interests with yours, creating a natural alliance against external pressures."

Emma tapped her manicured nails against the glass table thoughtfully, her blue eyes calculating. "And what guarantee do I have that SHIELD or the American government won't simply take any children you might have with Peter and raise them as weapons against Krakoa? Or turn them into attack dogs against other nations?" Her voice had lost all traces of playfulness. "I won't trade one threat for another."

The temperature in the conference room seemed to drop several degrees at Emma's words. The Cuckoos ceased their giggling immediately, their collective attention focused intently on Natasha's response.

Emma had assumed Natasha possessed no powers beyond her extraordinary skills as an assassin and spy. But as the question hung in the air, something shifted in the redhead's demeanor that sent an unexpected chill down Emma's spine—and through the telepathic link she shared with the Cuckoos.

Natasha's eyes darkened, not with mutant power but with something more primal and terrifying. Her expression remained calm, yet somehow communicated a promise of violence so absolute that even Emma—the White Queen, a woman who had faced down world-destroying threats—felt a momentary flicker of unease.

"Anyone who tried," Natasha said, her voice soft yet carrying perfectly in the silent room, "would beg for death long before I was done with them." Each word was precisely measured, delivered with the absolute certainty of someone stating a fundamental law of physics. "And those who merely heard whispers of what happened to the first who attempted it would never even dream of coming near me or my babies."

The statement wasn't a threat—it was a simple declaration of fact, delivered with such conviction that questioning it seemed as foolish as questioning gravity. For a brief moment, Emma glimpsed the true Black Widow behind the carefully constructed façades—the living weapon forged in the Red Room, whose capacity for calculated violence exceeded even Emma's darkest imaginings.

The silence stretched for several seconds, broken only by the subtle sound of five telepathic young women collectively holding their breath.

Then Emma shrugged, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had formed. She reached for a digital stamp and pressed it firmly against Natasha's application file, marking it with a glowing "APPROVED" watermark.

"Well, that's settled then," she said briskly, as if they'd been discussing nothing more consequential than lunch options.

Natasha blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt shift. "That's it? That easily?"

Emma's lips curved into a wicked smile as she leaned back in her chair, one hand resting protectively over her pregnant belly. "I really just want to see you get your brains fucked out by Peter, darling. The political advantages are merely a bonus." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Besides, Peter needs to properly enjoy his bachelor party. What better way than with a legendary super-spy whose flexibility is quite literally the stuff of SHIELD legend?"

Natasha's lips curled into a knowing smile as she leaned forward slightly, slipping effortlessly into flawless Russian. "Ya vysoshu yego chlen tak sil'no, chto kogda on vernyotsya k tebe, u nego ne ostanetsya ni kapli spermy," she purred, her voice a sensual promise. "I'm going to drain his cock so thoroughly that when he returns to you, there won't be a drop of cum left."

Emma's eyebrow arched, both impressed and amused by the spy's audacity. "Bold words from someone who hasn't experienced him yet," she replied in equally perfect Russian, stroking her pregnant belly pointedly. "I've claimed his best already. These twins are just the beginning of my dynasty." She switched back to English, her tone businesslike once more. "Your uniform and contract details will be sent to you. Report to Dock 94 on Thursday at 0800 hours. Don't be late—the Aurora Invicta waits for no one, not even SHIELD's favorite spider."

Natasha nodded respectfully before turning toward the door, her walk transforming into a deliberate, hypnotic sway that drew every eye in the room. The gentle pendulum motion of her hips was a masterclass in subtle seduction—not overtly sexual yet impossible to ignore. Even Emma found herself momentarily entranced before shaking her head with grudging respect. The woman knew exactly what she was doing, wielding her body like the precision weapon it was.

"Next candidate," Celeste called through the intercom system, her voice betraying a hint of eagerness as she consulted her tablet. "Number 765, Kasumi Hatano." The door slid open moments later to reveal an absolutely stunning Japanese-American woman in her mid-twenties. She entered with perfect posture, her curves threatening the structural integrity of her simple yet elegant black dress. Her waist was impossibly small in contrast to her generous hips and truly remarkable breasts that seemed to defy both gravity and proportion.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Frost, honored Cuckoos," Kasumi greeted them with a slight bow, her voice melodic and cultured with just a hint of a West Coast accent beneath the precisely enunciated syllables. She straightened, subtly adjusting her stance to showcase her figure to its best advantage—a movement so practiced it appeared entirely natural while being deliberately calculated.

"Ms. Hatano," Phoebe began, leaning forward with undisguised interest, "your application mentions expertise in traditional Japanese tea ceremony as well as... other cultural arts. Could you elaborate on your specific skill set?" The question was innocent enough, but the gleam in the Cuckoo's eyes suggested she was already well aware of the answer.

"Of course," Kasumi replied with a serene smile. "Beyond tea ceremony, I am extensively trained in the traditional arts of shibari, nuru massage, and several disciplines that don't translate well to English but involve pressure points most Westerners don't even know exist in the human body." As she spoke, she produced a length of red silk rope from her small clutch purse and, with a flick of her wrist, demonstrated a complex knotting pattern between her fingers that somehow managed to be both artistic and suggestive. "Perhaps a brief demonstration would be more informative than mere words?"

The Cuckoos exchanged excited glances before Mindee nodded enthusiastically. "We believe a practical assessment would be most appropriate, yes." She gestured to a clear space beside the conference table. "Please proceed."

Emma rolled her eyes at the Cuckoos' transparent eagerness but made no move to interrupt as Kasumi began a mesmerizing demonstration. The woman moved with liquid grace, her body bending in ways that should have been anatomically impossible while she narrated in a soft, professional tone. "This position allows for maximum pleasure with minimal strain," she explained, arching backwards until her hands touched the floor behind her feet, her impressive breasts straining against the fabric of her dress. "And this technique," she continued, flowing seamlessly into another pose that showcased both flexibility and strength, "guarantees multiple orgasms within minutes."

While the Cuckoos were thoroughly distracted by Kasumi's increasingly explicit demonstration—which now involved the strategic removal of just enough clothing to remain technically decent while leaving very little to the imagination—Emma took the opportunity to review the remaining applications. She swiped through them rapidly, barely glancing at the parade of perfect bodies until she reached the final two files. Her finger froze mid-swipe, her eyes narrowing as she instantly recognized two very familiar faces.

The first showed Mary Jane Watson posed on a pristine beach, wearing what could only technically be called a bikini—the sheer material left absolutely nothing to the imagination, clinging to her curves like a second skin while the Caribbean sun highlighted her fiery red hair. The photographer had captured her signature thousand-watt smile, the one that had graced countless magazine covers and, Emma knew with absolute certainty, had once made Peter Parker's heart skip several beats. The second application featured Felicia Hardy in skintight jeans that showcased her perfect ass as if it had been painted on, paired with a crop top that struggled valiantly but ultimately failed to contain breasts that rivaled Kasumi's impressive endowment. Her platinum blonde hair, so light it appeared almost silver, cascaded around her shoulders in a deliberate tousle that screamed both "I just rolled out of bed" and "I could destroy your life with a smile."

Emma's first instinct was to delete both applications instantly—to erase any chance of these women coming anywhere near Peter during his bachelor celebrations. Her finger hovered over the rejection button as a symphony of jealousy, possessiveness, and outright territorial rage blossomed in her chest. Then, slowly, her full blue-painted lips curved into a smile so beautiful and so vicious it might have made Magneto himself take a step back. With deliberate movements, she pressed "APPROVE" on both applications, adding a special note to have them scheduled for private interviews—with her personally.

"Girls," Emma called, interrupting Kasumi's demonstration just as the woman had somehow managed to bend herself into what appeared to be a human pretzel while explaining the advantages of this position for "deeper penetration and G-spot stimulation." The Cuckoos turned toward Emma reluctantly, their expressions suggesting they'd been thoroughly enjoying the educational display. "Ms. Hatano is obviously hired. Send her contract details immediately and schedule her for the Imperial Star Suite orientation."

As Kasumi straightened herself with impossible grace and began readjusting her clothing, Emma's attention returned to the two applications she'd just approved. She stroked her fingers over the images, her smile growing ever more predatory. "And could you be dears and arrange for candidates 8889 and 8890 to be scheduled for private interviews in my office at Parker Tower? Tomorrow evening, one after the other. I'd like to... personally assess their suitability."

The Cuckoos peered at the applications Emma had highlighted, their eyes widening in perfect synchronicity. "Mother Emma," Celeste whispered, genuine surprise in her voice, "those are—"

"I'm well aware of who they are," Emma cut her off smoothly, her tone dripping with honey-coated malice. "And I intend to make absolutely certain they understand exactly what role they'll be permitted to play in my fiancé's bachelor party." She caressed her pregnant belly possessively, the enormous diamond on her engagement ring catching the light. "It's time these two learned that the game has changed, and I'm the one who makes the rules now."

Chapter Text

As she stood among the many beautiful and sexy ladies and gentlemen in the waiting area with her number 495 on her chest card, Felicia didn't know why she had signed up with all these former models and escorts for Parker-Frost Industries Aurora Invicta party entertainment trials. Scratch that. She knew exactly why. Peter.

The luxury waiting lounge of Parker-Frost Tower buzzed with nervous energy as gorgeous people chatted, practiced poses, or scrolled through their phones. Felicia leaned against a marble pillar, her platinum blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, drawing more than a few appreciative glances from other applicants. She ignored them all, lost in memories of what had been.

Last she had left their relationship once mary jane had found some outer dimensional guy named paul, they had broken up, going through the paces of a relationship without a spark. Most likely because of her obsession with Spider-Man rather than looking at the man beyond the mask. She'd been an idiot, infatuated with the thrill of rooftop chases and midnight encounters. The mundane reality of dating Peter Parker—sweet, responsible Peter with his photography and science talk—had seemed so... ordinary. When Peter hadn't even bothered to chastise her for stealing, she had felt her interest flicker and die for them to be together, as shallow as that sounded.

So she had broken up with Peter, dated around, found a girlfriend in her fellow thief Tamara, broken up with her when they clashed over their scores, and came back to New York to find Peter hitched to Emma Frost of all people, with two children on the way, back to his normal self as Spider-Man and with a trillion-dollar company. And just like that, the flame was back, and she wanted him again, which again was very shallow of her. But she couldn't help it—seeing him flourish, watching him become the man she'd always sensed he could be, powerful and confident... it awakened something primal in her.

"Number 493!" called an attendant from a doorway, and Felicia shifted her weight impatiently. Two more before her turn.

Peter had avoided her during his patrols, letting other heroes respond to her burglaries and deal with her. The one time Peter had responded to Felicia stealing some diamonds, all he had done was greet her, web them to him, and left her on the roof. And that had hurt. No playful banter, no flirting. Nothing. The dismissal stung worse than any punch from a super-villain. She wanted him... he didn't want her... hell, Peter seemed to pretend they had no history. And Felicia couldn't let it end like that.

So when she heard Emma Frost was auditioning men and women as entertainment for the Aurora Invicta party, she had thrown her most seductive pics in an email and hoped Emma had no problem with Felicia fucking her old flame. The White Queen didn't strike her as the jealous type—more like the type who enjoyed asserting dominance. Felicia was willing to play that game if it meant getting close to Peter again.

"You think she knows?" whispered a statuesque redhead to her friend nearby. "I heard the White Queen is interviewing everyone personally."

"Of course she knows," her friend replied. "She's a telepath. Probably reading all our dirty thoughts right now."

Felicia smirked. Let Emma read her thoughts. She had nothing to hide. Her intentions were as transparent as they were selfish. She wanted Peter back—or at least wanted to remind him of what they'd had. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones making Emma charitable, but Felicia was shocked her application hadn't been immediately trashed.

She looked up and down the waiting area, taking in the hundreds of handsome men and sexy women waiting for their chance. The competition was fierce—former Victoria's Secret models, dancers from Vegas shows, Instagram and marvelgram influencers with millions of followers. But Felicia had something they didn't: history. A shared past with the man of honor. She also had years of experience slipping past security systems and evading detection—skills that might come in handy depending on how this interview went.

"Number 494!"

One more to go. Felicia straightened her posture, subtly adjusting her tight black dress that hugged every curve of her athletic body. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and the hemline rode high on her thighs—professional enough for an interview but provocative enough to make a statement. She'd left her costume at home, but she was still Black Cat in all the ways that mattered.

Suddenly, the crowds parted as if by magic—or telepathy—and blue eyes met with green. Felicia was looking at Mary Jane Watson, carrying number 496 on her chest card.

Mary Jane stood there, beautiful as ever, though Felicia noticed immediately that the fire in those emerald eyes had dimmed somewhat. She wore tight designer jeans that hugged her curves perfectly, paired with a forest green silk shirt that complemented her red hair. Gold bracelets adorned her wrists, and a cream designer coat hung casually over her arm. Despite the obvious expense of her outfit, there was something subdued about her presence—the confident swagger that had once made her the envy of New York's modeling scene seemed muted.

They walked toward each other like two cats circling in an alley, sizing each other up as they always had. Felicia was acutely aware of how she looked in her black micro-shorts and fishnet stockings, her crop top straining against her ample breasts. She'd dressed to kill, and from the flicker in Mary Jane's eyes, the effect wasn't lost on her former rival.

"Felicia," Mary Jane greeted her, not coldly but with the tone of someone with complicated history. "I should have known you'd be here."

"And I should've known you wouldn't miss this opportunity," Felicia replied, flashing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Though I'm surprised you're not with Paul. Last I heard, you two were inseparable—the dimensional travelers reunited."

Mary Jane's expression faltered. "Paul disappeared after the last Hellfire Gala. I haven't seen him in five years."

"Five years?" Felicia's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched in genuine surprise. "What happened? I thought he was your soulmate or whatever."

"We don't know," Mary Jane said, her voice tight. "He vanished that night. I asked Peter for help searching, but..." She trailed off, her eyes dropping to the floor momentarily.

Felicia twirled a platinum lock around her finger. "Well, you're not one to give up on people you love..." She paused deliberately, her voice taking on an edge. "Well, until that person was Peter."

Mary Jane stepped back as if physically struck, her hand tightening around the strap of her designer purse. For a moment, it looked like she might argue, her lips parting in defense. Then her shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

"You're right," she admitted, the words clearly painful. "Despite all the times Peter was away doing his... other work, he always did his best to come back to me. Bruised and broken sometimes, but still, he would return. And yet..." Her voice cracked slightly. "When it came time for me to do the same, I couldn't wait. Peter would have faced gods and demons before leaving me stranded in another dimension, but I gave in to doubt and fear."

"You slept with Paul," Felicia stated bluntly.

"I did," Mary Jane nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. "I embraced loneliness. I embraced two kids that weren't even real. And when Peter finally came for me—because of course he did—I doubled down on Paul and broke up with Peter." Her green eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I left him more broken than ever before... and it took Emma Frost of all people to put him back together again."

Felicia was silent for a long moment, studying the woman before her. There was a time when she would have reveled in Mary Jane's misery, would have thrown it back in her face with gleeful spite. But something in the redhead's defeated posture stirred an unexpected sympathy.

"Why are you here then?" Felicia finally asked, her voice softer than she'd intended. "If you know it's over, why put yourself through this?"

Mary Jane looked up, meeting Felicia's gaze directly. "I saw him a few nights ago, on the roof of the Chrysler Building. I tried to tell him what a fool I'd been, how much I regretted everything... but Peter wanted nothing to do with me. He's happy with Emma, excited about the twins." She swallowed hard. "I guess I just want to give myself to Peter any way I can now. Even if it's just as... entertainment."

"I'm not one to judge, Red," Felicia said, leaning against the wall. "God knows I've made my share of mistakes with him. But I doubt this will work the way you hope. Emma's not exactly known for sharing what she considers hers."

"I know," Mary Jane nodded, resignation in her voice. "But I have to try. It's not like I'm doing anything else with my life."

"Your career—" Felicia began.

"Modeling is getting stale," Mary Jane cut her off. "The jobs are becoming more risqué by the day, and after I broke some minor movie director's son's nose because he tried to cop a feel of my ass, I know I'm blacklisted from the bigger productions." She gave a hollow laugh. "So now I get to pick between smaller roles or sleeping my way to the top. The second option sickens me, despite how many of my fellow stars enjoy the glamor and roles they get from being mistresses."

Felicia was about to reply when an attendant called out both their numbers simultaneously—a deviation from the pattern they'd observed all morning. Unlike the other applicants, they weren't directed toward the main interview hall but instead met by two stone-faced security guards who gestured for them to follow.

"Well, this is interesting," Felicia murmured, exchanging a glance with Mary Jane as they were escorted down a private corridor.

The guards led them to an expensively furnished lounge far removed from the hustle of the waiting area. Soft lighting illuminated custom artwork and rare artifacts displayed in glass cases. A bar stocked with top-shelf liquor occupied one wall, and plush furniture was arranged around a central coffee table crafted from what appeared to be a single slab of blue-veined marble.

And there, lounging on a white leather sofa with the casual elegance of a lioness surveying her territory, sat Emma Frost. Her eight-month pregnant belly was draped in flowing white silk, her platinum blonde hair immaculately styled, and her ice-blue eyes followed their entrance with predatory intensity.

"Ladies," Emma greeted them, her British-accented voice carrying through the room like a velvet-wrapped blade. "How delightful that you both applied for positions on my husband's celebration cruise." She gestured to the seats across from her. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have so much to discuss about your... qualifications."

As Felicia and Mary Jane settled into the plush chairs across from Emma, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. The White Queen's piercing blue eyes studied them like specimens under glass, her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. Her expression remained neutral, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"I must say," Emma finally began, her crisp British accent cutting through the silence, "I find your applications quite... audacious." She shifted slightly, adjusting her posture to better accommodate her pregnancy. "Two of Peter's ex-lovers applying to serve as 'entertainment' at his bachelor celebration. How very convenient."

Mary Jane opened her mouth to speak, but Emma raised a manicured hand.

"No, darling. I'll be doing the talking for now." Emma's smile was razor-sharp. "Let's start with you, Mary Jane. The woman who abandoned Peter after he literally crossed dimensions to rescue you. The woman who chose a pale imitation—a man who ultimately vanished without a trace—over the most loyal, devoted partner anyone could ask for." Her voice remained conversational, almost pleasant, making the venom in her words all the more potent. "And now, five years later, after your career has stalled and your life lacks direction, you suddenly remember Peter exists?"

"That's not fair," Mary Jane protested, color rising in her cheeks. "I made a terrible mistake. I've regretted it every day since—"

"Regret," Emma cut her off, "is such a useless emotion. Particularly when it only manifests after you've exhausted all other options." She tapped her temple. "I can read minds, dear. I know exactly when you started regretting your choice—right around the time you realized Parker-Frost Industries was becoming a global powerhouse and Peter was no longer available."

Mary Jane's eyes flashed with indignation. "That's not true! I never cared about his money—"

"No?" Emma arched a perfect eyebrow. "Your modeling career has been reduced to lingerie shoots with photographers who leer at you. Your acting prospects dried up after that unfortunate incident with the director's son—which, I'll grant you, was justified—but now you're applying to be, essentially, eye candy on my husband's cruise. Tell me, what exactly did you imagine your role would entail?"

"I just wanted to see him again," Mary Jane said quietly, looking down at her hands. "To apologize properly. I know I hurt him—"

"Hurt him?" Emma's laugh was brittle. "You shattered him. When I found him, he was hiding in a tree at the Hellfire Gala, watching you parade around with Paul, unable to even approach you." Her eyes narrowed. "I picked up the pieces, Mary Jane. I rebuilt what you destroyed."

Emma then turned her attention to Felicia, who had been watching the exchange with wary eyes.

"And you, Ms. Hardy. The infamous Black Cat. You never wanted Peter Parker, did you? You wanted the thrill of Spider-Man—the mask, the danger, the rooftop chases." Emma's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "The moment Peter showed you his true self—his gentle, intellectual nature, his moral code—you became bored. Until, of course, he acquired power and wealth."

Felicia leaned forward, her green eyes flashing. "That's not entirely fair. Peter and I had a complicated relationship—"

"Complicated?" Emma laughed. "You rejected him when he was just Peter Parker. You couldn't handle his conscience, his refusal to embrace your criminal lifestyle. When he stopped chastising you for stealing, you lost interest. How incredibly shallow." She examined her nails casually. "And now that he's successful, powerful, and unavailable, suddenly he's irresistible again."

"I've changed," Felicia insisted. "I understand now what I walked away from—"

"What you both fail to understand," Emma interrupted, her voice hardening, "is that Peter is not a consolation prize. He's not someone you settle for when your other options have expired. He's not a safety net for failed careers or a trophy to be claimed now that he's wealthy." Her blue eyes glittered dangerously. "He is extraordinary—brilliant, compassionate, and stronger than either of you ever gave him credit for. And now he's mine."

Mary Jane straightened her spine, gathering her courage. "Emma, please. I know I have no right to ask for another chance, but I truly did love him. I just... I got confused, and scared, and—"

"Confused?" Emma's voice was ice. "Let me tell you about confusion, Mary Jane. Confusion is when Peter cried in my arms after seeing you with that dimensional interloper Paul. Confusion is when he questioned his worth as a man because the woman he would have moved heaven and earth for couldn't wait for him." She leaned forward, her pregnant belly prominent between them like a physical manifestation of her claim on Peter. "If you had seen him that night—broken, doubting himself—you wouldn't dare sit here now asking for anything."

Felicia, never one to back down, crossed her legs and met Emma's gaze directly. "Look, Frost, I understand your position. But Peter and I have history. There was always something between us, even when we were at odds. That kind of connection doesn't just disappear."

"Connection?" Emma's laugh was genuine this time. "Oh, Felicia. You connected with the mask, with the thrill. You wanted Spider-Man, not the man behind the mask." She tapped her finger against her temple again. "I don't need to read your mind to know that when Peter talked about his scientific research or his moral dilemmas, your eyes glazed over. You wanted the chase, the danger—not the beautiful, complex mind that makes him who he is."

"That's not—" Felicia began, but Emma continued relentlessly.

"Do you know what Peter does now, Felicia? Besides running a trillion-dollar company? He's developing technologies that will revolutionize healthcare. He's created shields that can protect entire neighborhoods from attacks. He's designing sustainable energy solutions that could end global warming." Emma's voice softened with genuine pride. "And when he talks about these things, his eyes light up with the same passion you only ever saw when he was swinging between buildings. But you never cared about that side of him, did you?"

The room fell silent. Mary Jane looked down at her hands, while Felicia's jaw tightened in defiance.

"I didn't bring you here to humiliate you," Emma finally said, her tone softening slightly. "I brought you here because i know Peter still cares about both of you, despite everything. He would never admit it, but a part of him still wonders why he wasn't enough." She placed both hands on her belly as the twins shifted inside her. "I want that part of him healed before our children are born. I want him whole—not because I'm jealous, but because he deserves peace."

Emma stared at both women, her blue eyes cold as Arctic ice. "I've given this considerable thought," she continued, crossing her legs elegantly despite her advanced pregnancy. "And I've decided to approve both your applications."

Felicia and Mary Jane exchanged surprised glances.

"However," Emma held up one perfectly manicured finger, "there are conditions. Ms. Hardy, given your... unique skill set and your history with Peter, I'm willing to include you among the women he might choose to entertain himself with during the celebration." She smiled thinly. "After all, closure can take many forms."

Felicia's eyebrows shot up. "You'd allow Peter to sleep with me?"

"Allow?" Emma laughed, the sound like crystal breaking. "My dear, I've arranged it. Peter and I have a very... modern arrangement. One built on absolute honesty and trust—something neither of you managed to achieve with him." She leaned forward, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Besides, I confess I'm rather curious to see what happens when he finally gets you out of his system. When he hate-fucks you into oblivion and realizes you were never worth his pain."

Felicia gulped, feeling a sudden heat rush through her body. Despite the crudeness of Emma's words—or perhaps because of them—she felt herself clench with need, imagining Peter unleashing years of pent-up frustration on her willing body. Emma's eyes narrowed knowingly, and Felicia realized with embarrassment that the telepath had likely sensed her reaction.

"As for you, Mary Jane," Emma continued, her tone noticeably colder, "you'll be welcome aboard as entertainment—just not for Peter."

Mary Jane's face flushed. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means, darling, that you can shake your fat ass serving drinks, or accompany some elderly billionaire who enjoys having a pretty redhead on his arm." Emma's smile was vicious. "Perhaps one of our Japanese investors—Tanaka-san is quite fond of American models."

"You can't be serious," Mary Jane protested, her voice rising. "I'm not going to be some... some fucktoy for your guests and business associates! I came here to make things right with Peter, not to be pimped out!"

Emma's eyes flashed dangerously. "Lower your voice, Ms. Watson. No one is forcing you to sleep with anyone. But I'm certainly not going to encourage my husband to bed the woman who broke his heart into pieces simply because she's sorry now." She shrugged elegantly. "Actions have consequences. You showed Peter exactly how much you valued him when you chose that dimensional interloper over the man who crossed realities to save you. Now you can earn your passage on my ship."

"Earn?" Mary Jane stood up, trembling with indignation. "I'm not some desperate case looking for a handout, Emma. I was one of the highest-paid models in New York—"

"Was," Emma interrupted sharply. "Past tense. And do sit down; the dramatics are entirely unnecessary." She reached for a tablet on the side table and quickly navigated through several screens. "Your recent work tells quite a different story. Three lingerie catalogs for increasingly obscure brands, a handful of local commercial spots, and—oh my—an audition for an adult film that you walked out of. How the mighty have fallen."

Mary Jane sank back into her seat, her face pale. "How did you—"

"Information is power, dear. I make it my business to know everything about anyone who might impact Peter's life." Emma's tone softened fractionally. "Look, I understand you believe your regret is genuine. Perhaps it is. But from where I sit, it looks remarkably like you only started missing Peter when your career faltered, Paul disappeared and his fortunes rose."

"That's not fair!" Mary Jane's eyes glistened with tears. "I've made mistakes—terrible ones—but I did love Peter. I still care about him. You can't just... just reduce five years of my life to opportunism!"

Emma reached for two folders on the side table, opening them to reveal paperwork with their applications. With deliberate slowness, she produced a custom stamp and pressed it firmly on each document, leaving behind the word "APPROVED" in bold red letters.

"You're both welcome aboard the Aurora Invicta," she announced, closing the folders with finality. "Ms. Hardy, you'll be assigned to entertainment duties that may include private time with my husband, should he choose it." She turned to Mary Jane, her expression hardening. "Ms. Watson, you'll serve as general entertainment. Whether that means arm candy for a visiting dignitary or serving cocktails to the elite is entirely up to how you wish to apply your talents."

Mary Jane's hands clenched into fists. "And what if I refuse these... degrading terms?"

"Then don't come," Emma replied simply. "The choice is yours. But these are my conditions for having you aboard a celebration that is, need I remind you, for the man you rejected and the family he's building with me." She patted her pregnant belly meaningfully.

"Will I be allowed to speak with Peter?" Mary Jane asked, her voice smaller now. "After the cruise, I mean. To properly apologize."

Emma considered this for a moment, tilting her head slightly. "You may speak with Peter during the cruise whenever you like... if he bothers to speak to you." Her smile was almost pitying. "But I won't arrange any private meetings or force him to listen to your apologies. He's moved on, Mary Jane. Perhaps it's time you did too."

Felicia, who had been watching this exchange with calculating eyes, finally spoke up. "And if Peter does choose to... spend time with me, what exactly are your expectations?"

Emma turned to her, expression softening slightly. "My only expectation is honesty. No games, no manipulation, no attempts to rekindle something permanent. If Peter desires physical closure with you, that's his prerogative. But understand this—" her eyes flashed with warning, "—he comes home to me. Always. This isn't the beginning of anything; it's the end of unfinished business."

"And if I wanted more?" Felicia challenged, unable to help herself.

Emma's icy blue eyes studied Felicia with a calculating gaze, surprisingly more receptive than she'd been with Mary Jane. "If you wanted more?" she repeated, her lips curving into an amused smile. "Well, that would be entirely up to my husband, wouldn't it?" She shifted position slightly, her hand protectively caressing her pregnant belly.

"Wait," Felicia leaned forward, her green eyes wide with disbelief. "You'd actually consider letting me be more than just a one-night stand for Peter?"

"Despite your shallow ways of wanting the hero instead of the man behind the mask," Emma replied coolly, "I'm not blind to the connection you shared. Peter makes his own choices. I respect him too much to dictate who he can and cannot find comfort with." Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Mary Jane before returning to Felicia. "The boundaries of our marriage are... flexible, when it comes to certain individuals."

Mary Jane's face contorted with shock. "You can't be serious. You'd let other women sleep with your husband? The father of your children?"

Emma laughed, the sound like tinkling crystal. "My dear, other women already have." She smiled at their stunned expressions. "Jean and Storm have both had a taste of Peter, and I have no doubt they'll want more. They've already carried his children inside them—at least, Storm is confirmed to be carrying his triplets, while Jean is... well, the Phoenix complicates matters."

"What?" Mary Jane gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Peter slept with Jean Grey? And Storm? But they're—"

"Mutants? X-Men? Married, in Jean's case?" Emma waved dismissively. "That was for... other reasons. Krakoa has its needs." Her smile turned predatory as she fixed her gaze on Mary Jane. "But when it comes to human women, I'm considerably more selective. Friends may join our bed, but only those I trust implicitly. Only those who respect what Peter and I have built together."

Felicia's eyes lit up with calculation and desire. "And you'd trust me?"

"Trust is earned," Emma replied enigmatically. "But Peter cared for you once. That earns you consideration, if nothing else." She reached for the files on the table and tossed them across to both women. "Consider yourselves approved. These contain your card keys, identification badges, and photos of the designer clothing and lingerie you'll be expected to wear during your duties."

Felicia eagerly flipped through her file, her fingers tracing over images of exquisite designer outfits and priceless jewelry. "This is... incredible," she breathed, examining a photo of a diamond choker that must have cost more than most of her heists combined. "Are these Bulgari diamonds?"

"Parker-Frost Industries spares no expense," Emma said simply. "The Aurora Invicta represents the pinnacle of luxury. Its staff must reflect that standard." She gestured toward the door. "You're both free to go. The cruise departs in a week. Accommodations have been arranged for you at the Four Seasons until then, where you'll also receive your fittings and briefings."

Felicia rose smoothly from her seat, still absorbed in the catalogue of luxury items she would soon be wearing. With a satisfied smile and a provocative sway of her hips, she strutted toward the door, pausing only to throw a triumphant glance at Mary Jane before disappearing into the hallway.

Mary Jane stood more slowly, clutching her file like a lifeline as she prepared to follow. Just as she reached the door, Emma's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Ms. Watson." The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "A woman—especially a wife—is a jealous creature. Doubly so when she carries children."

Mary Jane turned back, finding Emma's glacial stare fixed on her with frightening intensity.

"I have awakened many nights to Peter's nightmares," Emma continued, her voice unnervingly soft. "Nightmares where you abandon him again and again. Where he is left alone to die with nobody to love him." Her hand tightened on her swollen belly. "I lie to him, you know. I tell him he's dreaming of enemies, of battles lost. I never tell him the truth—that five years later, he still dreams of you walking away."

Mary Jane felt the color drain from her face. "Emma, I never wanted to hurt him like that—"

"My hatred for you runs deep," Emma interrupted, her voice perfectly controlled despite the venom in her words. "So deep that even now, I could leave you a brain-dead vegetable with a mere thought." Her eyes flashed with dangerous power. "I've considered it. Many times."

Mary Jane took an involuntary step back, genuine fear flickering across her features.

"But I don't," Emma continued, "because that would hurt Peter. And that's what fascinates and terrifies me most about my husband—his unfathomable capacity for forgiveness." Her expression softened with genuine love. "As Spider-Man and as Peter Parker, he believes in second chances, even for those who've wounded him most deeply."

She rose from her seat with surprising grace despite her pregnancy, moving to stand before Mary Jane with regal bearing. "So what I truly hate—what keeps me awake at night beside him—is knowing that somewhere in his heart, he will always love you. And despite his avoidance now... one day, he will forgive you."

Emma's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her vulnerability showing through her armor for just a moment. "And I don't know what that means for us when it happens."

Mary Jane stood frozen, her eyes filling with a complex mixture of hope and shame. For several heartbeats, neither woman spoke.

"Thank you," Mary Jane finally whispered, clutching the file to her chest. "For the job. For your honesty. For..." she swallowed hard, "for being what he needed when I couldn't be."

Emma's expression hardened once more, the moment of vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Don't mistake pragmatism for kindness, Ms. Watson. Now get out of my office. I have a company to run and children to nurture."

Mary Jane nodded once, then turned and walked out, her shoulders straightening with each step as if gathering her resolve for whatever lay ahead on the Aurora Invicta.

Emma watched Mary Jane leave with a hateful sigh, her hand instinctively moving to her swollen belly as the twins shifted inside her. The meeting had drained her more than she'd anticipated. She glanced at her tablet, noting dozens more applicants waiting for their interviews. With a mental summons, she called for the Cuckoos to join her. Perhaps they could handle the remaining interviews while she took a much-needed break.

"Celeste, I need you and your sisters to take over the remaining applicants," she communicated telepathically. "I'm afraid pregnancy has left me with less stamina than I'd like to admit."

"Of course, Mother Emma," came the synchronized reply. "We've already scanned most of their thoughts anyway. Many are exactly what you'd expect—ambitious, desperate, or infatuated with the idea of proximity to Peter."

Emma smiled tiredly, hoping Peter was taking advantage of her absence to relax at the penthouse. The poor man had been working himself to exhaustion between company duties and his Spider-Man responsibilities. He deserved some rest before the chaos of their coming children arrived.

Meanwhile, back in Emma and Peter's penthouse, Peter found himself in a situation that would have been unthinkable to him just a year ago. Completely naked, his muscular body glistening with sweat, he stood with his legs spread apart, gripping the edge of the marble countertop in their spacious bathroom as he cursed and gritted his teeth—not from pain, but from the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break his control.

Behind him knelt Storm, her platinum white hair falling over her dark shoulders as she spread his ass cheeks with her elegant fingers. Her royal blue lipstick had smeared slightly from her enthusiastic ministrations, leaving faint marks across his toned backside. In front of him, Jean Grey was on her knees, her fiery red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail as she worked his considerable length down her throat with practiced ease.

"Fuck," Peter hissed, his knuckles turning white against the marble. "I really need to start patrol soon."

Storm laughed, the sound vibrating against his sensitive skin. "The city can wait, Spider," she purred, her accent thickening with desire. "Your queens require attention first." With that declaration, she returned to her task, her tongue circling his tight entrance before pressing insistently inward, breaching the ring of muscle with deliberate pressure.

Peter's head fell back, a groan tearing from his throat as Storm's skilled tongue worked magic. She alternated between deep, probing thrusts and broad, flat licks that sent electricity up his spine. Every few moments, she would pull back slightly to place wet, open-mouthed kisses against his entrance, leaving perfect royal blue lipstick marks across his ass like territorial markings.

"Goddess," Storm murmured against his skin, "I can feel you trembling. So powerful, yet so responsive to my touch." She moved lower then, her mouth finding his heavy testicles, taking first one, then both into her warm mouth, sucking with gentle pressure that gradually increased until Peter was cursing in earnest.

Jean, meanwhile, had established a rhythm that was driving Peter to the edge of sanity. Her throat opened impossibly wide around his girth, her nose pressing against his abdomen with each downward motion. When she pulled back, her emerald eyes would lock with his, tears of effort glistening at the corners but a smile playing at her stretched lips.

"We're not letting you leave until you've properly attended to us," Jean spoke directly into his mind, her telepathic voice carrying an echo of the Phoenix's cosmic power. "The mothers of your children deserve your cum, Peter. All of it."

As if to emphasize her point, her eyes flashed with golden fire, the Phoenix force stirring within her. The cosmic entity had developed a peculiar fascination with Peter's connection to the Web of Life and Destiny—a connection that somehow intensified the potency of his genetic material and made the Phoenix crave it like an addiction.

Storm released his testicles with an audible pop, looking up at him with glittering eyes. "Your patrols can wait, Peter," she said, her voice regal even on her knees. "New York has survived without you before. But we—" she punctuated her words by driving her tongue deeply into him again, causing his hips to buck forward into Jean's waiting mouth, "—need you now."

The dual assault was too much for even Peter's enhanced stamina. The wet heat of Jean's throat combined with Storm's relentless tongue breaching his most intimate place pushed him over the edge. His spider-sense tingled strangely, not as a warning but as an amplification of every sensation, and he felt his release building from the base of his spine.

"Fuck, I'm going to—" Peter's warning was cut short as the first powerful spurt erupted from him, filling Jean's throat. She moaned around him, the vibrations only intensifying his pleasure as pulse after pulse of thick semen flooded her mouth and slid directly down her throat.

The Phoenix force within Jean flared visibly, a faint outline of fiery wings momentarily appearing behind her as she greedily swallowed his essence. Something about Peter's seed—perhaps his connection to the cosmic web—seemed to nourish the cosmic entity housed within Jean, causing it to stir and pulse with renewed energy.

Storm continued her relentless attention to his rear, feeling each contraction through his body as he emptied himself into Jean's waiting mouth. Her hands kneaded his muscular ass, encouraging every drop to be released. After what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, Peter's conscious mind reasserted itself, and with a growl that surprised even him, he pulled free from Jean's mouth.

"Kneel beside her," he ordered Storm, his voice deeper and more commanding than usual. Something primal had awakened in him—perhaps the influence of the women who worshipped his body, perhaps his own growing comfort with his sexuality and power.

Storm immediately complied, moving to kneel shoulder-to-shoulder with Jean, both women looking up at him with expectant eyes. Peter took his still-throbbing cock in hand, aiming the pulsing head at their upturned faces. Despite having already released so much into Jean's throat, he found himself still hard, still producing copious amounts of thick, pearly fluid.

The first rope landed across Storm's cheekbone and nose, immediately followed by another that splashed across Jean's forehead and into her red hair. Peter groaned, his hand moving in practiced strokes as he decorated their beautiful faces with his essence—across Storm's full lips, diagonally across Jean's closed eyes, into the white hair of the weather goddess and the fiery locks of the Phoenix host.

"Yes," Jean moaned, her tongue darting out to taste what had landed near her mouth. "Mark us, Peter. Show us who we belong to."

He continued his release, amazed at his own stamina and production as he directed the next several spurts lower, painting their breasts with glistening strands that clung to their nipples and ran in rivulets between their cleavage. Storm's dark skin provided a stark, beautiful contrast to the white fluid adorning her, while Jean's pale complexion seemed to glow beneath the pearly decoration.

Finally, as his orgasm began to subside, Peter aimed the last substantial pulses directly at their open, waiting mouths. Both women extended their tongues, catching what they could as the final offering splashed across their lips and tongues.

Without prompting, Storm turned to Jean, and the two women began to kiss deeply, sharing Peter's thick jizz between them. Their tongues visibly transferred the thick fluid back and forth, their hands rising to smear what had landed on their breasts into each other's skin like an erotic lotion.

Peter watched, transfixed, as these two powerful, beautiful women—one a weather goddess, the other the host of a cosmic force—debased themselves for his pleasure, wearing his cum like a badge of honor, consuming it like a sacrament.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his cock still semi-hard despite the intense orgasm. "You're both so fucking beautiful."

Storm broke the kiss with Jean, a strand of saliva and semen connecting their lips momentarily before breaking. "And we're both carrying your children, Spider," she reminded him, her hand caressing her still-flat stomach where his triplets were growing. "Which means you belong to us as much as we belong to you."

Jean's eyes flashed gold again as she added, "The Phoenix hungers for more of you. For your essence, your power." She licked her lips clean, savoring the taste. "And so do I."

Peter glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall and sighed, a rueful smile crossing his handsome features. "I think patrol is officially canceled tonight," he admitted, reaching down to help both women to their feet. "But if you think I'm done with either of you, you're sorely mistaken."

Storm laughed, a rich sound that seemed to make the air around them charge with electricity. "We were counting on that, Peter. Your stamina is... legendary among us now."

Jean nodded in agreement, her hand reaching to stroke him back to full hardness. "Emma told us to keep you occupied until she returns from her interviews. And we intend to follow her instructions to the letter."

As Peter allowed himself to be led toward the bedroom by these two magnificent mutants, he couldn't help but marvel at how drastically his life had changed. From lonely vigilante to the center of a complex web of relationships with some of the most powerful women on the planet. Whatever was happening to his life, he was certainly not going to complain about this particular aspect of it.

Behind them, forgotten on the bathroom counter, Peter's Spider-Man mask stared sightlessly at the ceiling, patrol postponed for more pressing matters of mutant diplomacy.

Chapter Text

The day of the Aurora Invicta's departure rose bright and early. Even at 5 AM, the world's largest cruise ship was surrounded by journalists, news reporters, and TV crews. Heavily armored and armed security personnel from Parker-Frost Industries' Security and Intelligence Division maintained a vigilant presence, their sleek black uniforms and advanced weaponry ensuring the ship remained safe.

"This is truly unprecedented in maritime history," Sally Floyd, a dark-haired reporter from the Daily Bugle, held her microphone toward a striking woman in a crisp white uniform adorned with gold epaulets. "Deputy Captain Ramirez, can you tell our viewers just how massive the Aurora Invicta actually is?"

Deputy Captain Elena Ramirez smiled, her posture military-straight as cameras flashed around them. "The Aurora Invicta stretches 1,350 feet long with 22 guest decks. At 270,000 gross tonnage, she's nearly 30% larger than the previous record holder. But what makes her truly special isn't just her size—it's her revolutionary Quantum Core Fusion Hybrid Drive that makes her the first zero-emission vessel of this scale."

"And the rumors about additional sister ships in production?" Floyd pressed, her eyebrows raising suggestively.

Ramirez's smile remained perfectly poised. "Parker-Frost Industries doesn't comment on future projects, Ms. Floyd. Today is about celebrating this magnificent vessel and Mr. Parker's upcoming nuptials."

By 6 AM, the crew began arriving in waves—nearly two thousand men and women in crisp uniforms, ready to relieve the skeleton crew that had maintained the vessel overnight. They moved with practiced efficiency, disappearing into service entrances as they prepared for the three-day celebration.

Not to be outdone, hundreds of "entertainers" began arriving shortly after—men and women of extraordinary beauty and talent. Former models with runway-perfect posture stepped from black SUVs. Influencers with millions of followers live-streamed their arrivals. High-end escorts with practiced smiles and perfect bodies moved with confident grace. Musical entertainment ranged from One Republic to Linkin Park, with solo artists like Celine Dion and Nelly Furtado checking in alongside comedians and magicians.

By 7 AM, high-ranking guests and VIPs started their grand entrances. Some arrived in exotic supercars that cost more than most homes. Others emerged from stretched limousines with tinted windows. The steady thrum of helicopter blades announced those utilizing the Aurora Invicta's landing pad, descending from the sky in private choppers.

A noticeable stir rippled through the crowd as dignitaries from Krakoa began teleporting onto a designated arrival platform. The mutant representatives—including several members of the Quiet Council—were met with a mixture of awe, curiosity, and thinly veiled hostility from some onlookers. Parker-Frost security personnel maintained professionalism, escorting the mutant guests with the same deference afforded to human dignitaries.

"This is disgusting," muttered one bystander, filming with his phone. "Freaks don't belong with normal people."

A security officer in black tactical gear materialized beside him almost instantly. "Sir, this is a private event. All guests have been personally approved by Ms. Frost. I'll need to see your credentials or escort you beyond the perimeter."

Social media platforms exploded with activity. #AuroraInvicta and #ParkerFrostBash trended globally, with millions of posts from both those attending and those watching enviously from home. The previous week's gaming tournament—offering 500 tickets to winners of TEKKEN and STREET FIGHTER (Choices rumored to be by Peter Parker himself) competitions—had generated unprecedented online engagement. YouTube videos of the finals had garnered tens of millions of views as professional gamers and amateurs alike competed fiercely for a chance to attend or send a loved one in their place.

Marvelgram and Instagram overflowed with influencers touring the ship's amenities. Even the "basic" accommodations allocated to tournament winners featured amenities that would shame five-star hotels—smart walls that changed appearance based on mood, private balconies with unobstructed ocean views, and personal AI assistants programmed to anticipate every need.

"This is the Ethereal Suite," explained one popular lifestyle vlogger, spinning her camera around a massive room with living walls of exotic plants and a waterfall shower. "There are only twelve of these on the entire ship, and rumor has it Jean Grey and Storm are sharing one of them."

Comments ranged from breathless admiration to burning jealousy:

@MarvelFan2099: OMG I would DIE to be there right now!

@NYCLuxuryLife: That bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment

@MutieWatcher: Why are those genetic abominations allowed to mix with normal humans?

The last comment quickly accumulated hundreds of angry responses before Parker-Frost's AI moderation system removed it from the platform.

By midday, nearly all guests and crew were accounted for, with only a few fashionably late arrivals still expected. The Aurora Invicta gleamed in the sunlight, her white hull pristine against the blue harbor waters. The air buzzed with anticipation as everyone awaited the arrival of the power couple themselves—Peter Parker and Emma Frost—to officially commence the three-day celebration that promised to be the social event of the decade.

While crowds gathered at the docks to witness the spectacle of the Aurora Invicta, miles away in their Manhattan penthouse, Peter Parker and Emma Frost were completely oblivious to the outside world. Their spacious bedroom echoed with the sound of skin against skin, punctuated by Emma's unrestrained moans of pleasure. Her heavily pregnant body moved with surprising grace as she straddled Peter, her swollen pussy gripping his thick cock with each deliberate bounce.

"Mmm, harder, darling," Emma purred, her blue-tinted lips curving into a satisfied smile as she rode him. "You owe me for fucking Jean and Storm while I was conducting those tedious interviews." Her large, milk-laden tits swayed hypnotically with each movement, the darkened nipples standing proudly erect. "Ahh... fuck... yes, just like that!"

Peter's hands caressed her expanded belly reverently before sliding up to cup her breasts, which had grown magnificently fuller with pregnancy. "God, Emma, you're so fucking beautiful," he groaned, thrusting upward to meet her movements. Her inner walls clenched around him possessively, drawing a deep groan from his throat. The blue lipstick marks covering his face, neck, and chest marked him as thoroughly hers—exactly as she preferred.

Emma leaned down awkwardly around her belly to kiss him deeply, her tongue sliding against his as she moaned into his mouth. "Mmmph... I want you to fill me up completely," she whispered against his lips. "Then cover these tits with your cum... mark me as thoroughly as I've marked you." Just as the words left her mouth, Peter unexpectedly stilled beneath her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place despite her whimpered protests.

"Emma," he said firmly, brushing a strand of her damp platinum blonde hair from her flushed face. "Tell me what's wrong first. And don't pretend there's nothing—I may not be telepathic, but I know you." His thumb traced her lower lip tenderly. "Five years together has taught me when something's bothering you. Please, love."

Emma's confident facade cracked slightly as she averted her eyes. "I... may have approved some special entertainment for your bachelor celebration," she admitted, her walls unconsciously tightening around his still-hard length. "Specifically... Mary Jane Watson and Felicia Hardy will be aboard the Aurora Invicta." She pressed her forehead against his, her voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I told Felicia she could potentially share your bed if you wished it. Mary Jane... I relegated to general entertainment only."

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would you do that? Why would you think I'd want either of them?"

Emma buried her face against his neck, inhaling his scent and hiding from his gaze—a gesture so unlike the normally imperious White Queen that Peter's heart clenched painfully. "Because I thought... I feared you might forgive Mary Jane. That seeing her might reawaken what you once shared. That you might prefer a life with her over one with me and our—"

Her words were silenced by Peter's fierce kiss as he suddenly thrust upward, burying himself completely inside her. "Mmmmph!" Emma's surprised moan vibrated against his lips as he broke the kiss.

"Listen to me, Emma Frost," Peter growled, his eyes intense with emotion. "I would rather die right now than leave you or our children. Do you understand me? I've suffered through losing everyone I've ever loved—my parents, Uncle Ben, Gwen, even May. I held it all in until I broke completely, and you were the one who put me back together." His hands cradled her face with heartbreaking tenderness. "If I lost you, especially through my own mistake, I would rather end it all than live without you."

The absolute certainty in his voice made Emma's arms tighten around him, her telepathy confirming the truth of his words more effectively than any lie detector. Her blue-stained lips trembled slightly before she captured his mouth in a tender kiss that quickly blazed into something far more primal. "Mmm... slurp... prove it then," she whispered against his mouth, her voice regaining its customary confidence. "Show me I'm the only one. Fuck me like you mean it—hard and deep."

With surprising gentleness despite the urgency of their passion, Peter repositioned Emma onto her hands and knees, mindful of her pregnant belly. Once she was settled, he gripped her rounded ass cheeks in both hands, spreading them slightly as he lined himself up with her dripping entrance.

"Is this what you need?" he asked, his voice husky with desire as he slid just the tip of his cock between her folds. "You want me to fuck this perfect cunt until you're screaming my name?"

"Yes," Emma hissed, pushing back against him impatiently. "Stop teasing and—OH FUCK!" Her words dissolved into a sharp cry as Peter drove into her with a single powerful thrust. "Yes, darling! Unh! Just like that!"

Peter established a merciless rhythm, his hips slapping against her ass with each deep stroke. Emma's fingers clutched desperately at the silk sheets, her face pressed against the mattress as pleasure overwhelmed her. Even with her telepathic abilities, she couldn't shield herself from the intensity of Peter's emotions—his devotion, his desire, his absolute certainty that she was his future.

"Nobody else," Peter grunted with each thrust, one hand moving around to caress her swollen belly. "Only you, Emma. Only ever you."

Peter set a punishing pace, his cock delving deep into Emma's willing pussy with each powerful thrust. The wet, squelching sounds of their coupling filled the room as his hips slapped against her perfect ass. Emma's moans escalated with each stroke, her telepathy amplifying their connection so that every sensation rebounded between them in a feedback loop of pleasure.

"Oh god, Peter! Fuck! Yesss!" Emma cried out, her voice breaking as waves of pleasure crashed through her. The raw emotion flooding from Peter's mind into hers—his unwavering love, his fierce devotion—combined with the physical sensations to push her over the edge. "I'm—I'm cumming! Peter!" Her pussy clenched violently around his thick shaft as her orgasm tore through her, flooding his crotch with her hot release of pussy juice. Her arms gave out, leaving her face pressed against the mattress as she screamed his name, her ass still raised high for him.

Peter gritted his teeth as Emma's cunt gripped him like a vice, her inner walls pulsating around his length. His heavy balls tightened, loaded with cum and demanding release, but he held back through sheer willpower. "Not yet," he growled, grabbing a handful of her platinum blonde hair and tugging just hard enough to arch her back. His other hand came down on her ass with a resounding SMACK, leaving a pink handprint on her pale flesh. "Tell me who you belong to, Emma. Tell me who I belong to."

"You're mine, Peter! Mmph... only mine!" Emma gasped between moans, her mind clouded with pleasure. Another sharp slap landed on her other cheek, making her yelp. "And I'm yours! Unnh... I'm the only woman for you!" Her words dissolved into incoherent cries as Peter increased his pace, driving into her with superhuman strength that would have injured anyone without her diamond-form capabilities. "Yes! Harder! Fuck my cunt harder!"

"That's right," Peter snarled, leaning over her back to whisper in her ear while continuing to pound into her. "I share this cock with others only when you want me to. Only. Because. You. Allow it." Each word was punctuated with a deep thrust that had Emma seeing stars. With a final, primal growl, Peter hilted himself completely inside her. "I'm cumming, Emma. Take it all." His cock pulsed powerfully as thick ropes of cum erupted deep within her, painting her inner walls with his essence.

The sensation of Peter's hot seed flooding her triggered another explosive orgasm that ripped through Emma's body like lightning. "PETER! OH FUCK! YES!" she wailed, her telepathy momentarily slipping control and projecting her ecstasy outward. Her pussy milked his cock greedily, squeezing every drop from him as if desperate to ensure his genetic material mingled with hers. When the initial wave subsided, Peter gently withdrew his still-hard member and guided Emma to turn over. She complied with shaky limbs, lying on her back and gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes of adoration.

"I'm not finished with you yet," Peter murmured, stroking his slick cock just inches from her face. "Open your mouth." Emma obeyed instantly, her blue-tinted lips parting in anticipation as her tongue extended slightly. Peter groaned at the sight and began to stroke faster. "Fuck, Emma... so beautiful..." With a strangled moan, he erupted again, the first thick jet landing across her parted lips and tongue. He aimed the next spurts to paint her flushed cheeks and forehead before moving down to cover her swollen breasts and finally her rounded belly, marking every inch of her with his scent and seed.

Emma swallowed the salty gift in her mouth with visible pleasure, making an exaggerated "Mmmmm" sound as she did. Without prompting, she leaned forward to take his still-twitching cock between her lips, sucking and licking him clean with reverent attention. "Slurp... was that convincing enough, darling?" she asked between laps of her tongue, looking up with mischief dancing in her eyes. "Or do you need more reassurance of your importance in my life?" She took him deeper into her mouth for emphasis, humming contentedly around his length.

Peter threaded his fingers through her cum-streaked hair, his expression softening as he looked down at the powerful woman who had chosen him. "Promise me something, Emma," he said earnestly. "Promise you'll never doubt that you're the most important person in my world. Not Mary Jane, not Felicia, not anyone."

Emma released his cock with a wet pop, her expression suddenly serious despite the obscene picture she made—naked, heavily pregnant, and covered in his release. "I promise, darling," she replied, her usual imperious tone returning. "Though I may occasionally require physical demonstrations like this to reinforce the point." A smirk curled her lips as she rubbed some of his seed into her skin like expensive lotion. "Now, I believe we have a bachelor party to attend. Your adoring public awaits, and I intend to show off my gloriously pregnant body alongside my devastatingly handsome fiancé."

Emma tugged Peter toward their expansive master bathroom, her plump ass swaying enticingly with each step. "We can't arrive covered in cum, darling, no matter how much I enjoy wearing your scent," she purred, guiding him into the glass-enclosed shower stall. Warm water cascaded over them as Emma pressed her naked body against his, her swollen tits squishing against his chest. "Mmm, I can't get enough of you," she whispered before capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. "Mmmmph... even after all this time." Her tongue slipped into his mouth, dancing erotically against his as her hands wandered down to stroke his already hardening cock.

"Fuck, Emma," Peter groaned as she sank to her knees before him, the water streaming down her platinum blonde hair and perfect face. Her pregnant belly protruded gloriously between them, but didn't hinder her movements as she wrapped her blue-painted lips around his thick shaft. "Unngh... that mouth should be illegal..." He braced himself against the marble wall, watching in awe as Emma took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with each powerful suction. The wet, slurping sounds of her eager mouth echoed throughout the luxurious bathroom as she worshipped his cock, her ice-blue eyes locked on his with possessive intensity.

"Slurp... mmm... gulp..." Emma moaned around his length, one hand cradling his heavy balls while the other stroked what wouldn't fit in her mouth. Her telepathy amplified everything—his pleasure becoming hers, her mouth feeling every twitch and pulse of his shaft with supernatural sensitivity. "I want your cum," she demanded, briefly releasing him with a wet pop before diving back down, taking him so deep her nose pressed against his pubic bone. "Mmmphh..." The vibration of her moans sent electric pulses up his spine as her throat contracted around his sensitive tip.

Peter's hands tangled in her wet hair, guiding her movements as his hips began to thrust gently. "Fuck, Emma, I'm close," he warned, his cock swelling impossibly thicker as his release approached. "Take it all. Swallow every drop." Emma's eyes glazed with lust as she doubled her efforts, her lips stretching obscenely around his girth while her tongue worked the sensitive underside. With a guttural groan, Peter erupted, flooding her eager mouth with thick, hot spurts. "Unngh... FUCK!" Emma's throat worked frantically, gulping down his load like a woman starved, not letting a single drop escape. When he finally finished, she gave his softening cock one final, reverent lick before standing with remarkable grace despite her advanced pregnancy.

After their shower, they moved to their expansive closet where Peter donned a custom Tom Ford tuxedo while Emma slipped into a breathtaking white and blue silk gown. The dress was a masterpiece of tailoring—strategically cut to showcase her pregnant glory while maintaining an air of sophisticated elegance. Diamond accents caught the light with every movement, drawing attention to her full, milk-heavy tits that threatened to spill from the low neckline. The fabric hugged her expanded waistline lovingly before draping over her rounded ass in a way that made Peter's mouth water all over again.

"You're staring, darling," Emma observed with a satisfied smirk as she applied the final touches to her makeup, painting her full lips that icy blue shade that had become her signature. Her short platinum blonde hair was perfectly styled once more, framing her face with elegant sophistication. "Jean and Storm will be absolutely green with envy when they see how magnificently I carry your children," she added, running her hands possessively over her swollen belly. "They're not even showing yet, while I look like I might deliver any day. Nothing makes a man more attentive than seeing physical proof of his virility." She reached for a small device on her vanity—their teleportation trigger. "Are you certain this is safe for the babies?" Peter asked, placing his hands protectively over hers on her rounded womb.

"Perfectly safe," Emma assured him, leaning in for one last kiss before they departed. "Our technology is integrated with Krakoan biotech—the babies won't feel a thing." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Now, shall we make our grand entrance? I do so love being the center of attention, especially with you by my side." With a press of the button, their penthouse dissolved around them in a flash of light, replaced instantly by the magnificent main hall of the Aurora Invicta. Hundreds of guests erupted in applause as they materialized on the central stage, the ship's orchestra smoothly transitioning to a triumphant fanfare. A waiter appeared as if by magic, offering Peter a flute of champagne and Emma a sparkling red grape juice that perfectly mimicked wine in appearance. With a regal lift of her glass, Emma's voice carried throughout the hall: "Let the celebration begin!" The crowd roared in approval, glasses raised high as the ship's massive horn sounded their departure from the dock, signaling the start of three days of unprecedented luxury and pleasure.

The Aurora Invicta's grand ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and the sparkle of diamonds adorning the necks and wrists of the world's elite. Emma and Peter moved through the crowd like royalty, her arm linked with his while his free hand rested protectively—possessively—over her swollen belly. The gesture wasn't lost on Emma, who relished the primitive display of ownership. Her fiancé was unconsciously broadcasting to every person they passed: this prime woman carries my seed. I have claimed her, bred her, and marked her as mine.

"Senator Rosenberg was just telling me about the expansion plans for the Resilient Cities Initiative," Emma said smoothly to a cluster of political figures, her ice-blue lips curving into a practiced smile. "Parker-Frost Industries would be delighted to contribute our advanced weather modification systems to the coastal developments." All the while, Peter's thumb traced small circles against the silk fabric covering her womb, sending delicious shivers up her spine. The senator's wife couldn't keep her eyes off Emma's pregnant form, her gaze a mixture of envy and fascination at how the White Queen maintained such commanding elegance while heavily pregnant.

"We should discuss the details next week," Peter added, his voice carrying the easy confidence that had developed during their years building their empire together. "After the wedding." The words carried a finality that made Emma's heart flutter despite herself. She leaned into him slightly, allowing a flicker of their morning's activities to slip telepathically into his mind—her lips wrapped around his cock, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue. Peter's hand tightened briefly on her belly, letting her know the message was received.

After extricating themselves from the human dignitaries with promises of future meetings, they made their way toward a small group of mutants gathered near one of the ship's panoramic windows. Magneto stood resplendent in a white suit that complemented his silver hair, while Xavier opted for a more traditional black tuxedo. Logan looked uncomfortable in formal wear but had made an effort, and Kurt's natural elegance made him look perfectly at home in his stylish attire.

"Emma, Peter," Xavier greeted them warmly, though Emma didn't miss how his eyes lingered on her pregnant form. "The ship is magnificent."

Logan sniffed the air subtly, then grinned. "The kids are gonna be strong," he commented, nodding toward Emma's belly. "I can smell it. Good combination."

Emma's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "Of course they will be. They're our children, after all." She emphasized the possessive pronoun while sending a telepathic message to Logan: Careful, Wolverine. I know exactly what else you're smelling, and if you value your mental faculties, you'll pretend you don't.

Logan's eyebrows shot up, but he wisely took a step back, raising his champagne in silent acknowledgment of her warning.

"We wanted to express our gratitude," Magneto said, his regal bearing undiminished by the slight bow of his head. "What you're doing for mutantkind is... extraordinary."

Xavier nodded in agreement. "We apologize for placing such a burden on your shoulders, especially at such a pivotal time in your lives. But your contribution to solving our fertility crisis cannot be overstated." He gestured toward Emma's pregnant form. "The children you're having with Emma, and now with Storm and Jean as well—they represent hope for our entire species."

Peter shrugged with characteristic humility. "If I can help, I want to. It's the right thing to do."

The response seemed to electrify both older men. Xavier's eyes lit up with barely contained excitement as he produced a tablet from behind his back. "That's wonderful to hear, Peter. Truly wonderful. In fact, we've compiled a list of other mutants who have expressed willingness to participate in the program." He handed the tablet to Peter, whose eyes widened as he scrolled through the names.

"Mystique? Rogue? Kitty Pryde? Sage?" Peter's voice grew increasingly incredulous. "Jubilee? Polaris? There must be twenty names here!"

"Twenty-seven, to be precise," Xavier said with scholarly precision. "All omega or alpha-level mutants with exceptional genetic—"

"Ahem," Emma interrupted, her tone dropping several degrees below freezing. Her icy glare fixed on Xavier with such intensity that both men took an involuntary step backward. "Perhaps we should discuss this after the wedding? My fiancé has already been quite... generous... with his contributions thus far." The blue of her lips seemed to darken as they pressed into a thin line.

Xavier and Magneto exchanged nervous glances. "Of course, Emma," Xavier quickly agreed. "We'll send you the relevant information for your consideration. The two of you can decide together which candidates, if any, would be suitable."

"Yes, absolutely," Magneto added hastily. "This is merely a preliminary suggestion. No decisions need to be made immediately."

As the two powerful mutants retreated, Emma caught sight of Logan nearly choking on his drink, his shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter at the sight of the mighty Xavier and Magneto cowed by a pregnant woman's displeasure.

"I can't believe they already have a list," Peter murmured, still looking slightly shell-shocked. "I was expecting maybe one or two more women, not a small army." He glanced around the ballroom. "Speaking of which, I'm surprised Jean and Storm haven't come to say hello yet."

Emma's lips curved back into their customary smirk as she pointed toward a far corner of the room. "Jean appears to be otherwise occupied."

Peter followed her gesture to where Jean Grey stood in conversation with a young man who practically radiated old money and entitlement. Her emerald green dress clung to her slender form like a second skin, the material shimmering with subtle golden undertones whenever she moved. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in an elegant ponytail that emphasized her delicate features and exposed the graceful line of her neck.

The young billionaire leaned closer, clearly entranced, but Jean's attention suddenly shifted across the room. Her eyes locked with Peter's, and for a brief moment, they flashed molten gold—the unmistakable sign of the Phoenix stirring within her. She ran her tongue across her full lips in a gesture that couldn't be misconstrued, the movement slow and deliberate.

"And our weather goddess," Emma continued, directing Peter's attention to the opposite side of the ballroom, "has been fending off unwanted advances all evening."

Storm stood alone now, a glass of champagne in her hand, having apparently just dismissed a portly, red-faced senator who was retreating with a sour expression. Her black and gold gown emphasized her regal bearing, the fabric strategically cut to showcase her perfect round ass and ample breasts. The dress's golden accents seemed to enhance the stark white of her hair, making her look like a goddess descended among mortals. As if sensing their attention, Ororo turned, her eyes finding Peter immediately. She raised her glass in acknowledgment, offering a deliberately suggestive wink that made Peter's breath catch audibly.

"How deliciously whorish of them," Emma laughed, her hand sliding over her pregnant belly in a possessive caress that drew both women's attention. She deliberately pushed her chest forward, emphasizing her milk-heavy breasts threatening to spill from her neckline. The jealousy that flashed across both Jean and Storm's faces was exactly the reaction she'd hoped for.

"Emma," Peter admonished gently, though she could feel his amusement through their telepathic connection. "They're the mothers of my children too, remember?"

"Of course, darling," Emma purred, pressing herself against his side. "But only I get to be Mrs. Parker." She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair, deliberately flashing her enormous engagement ring for all to see. "Now, shall we mingle with the rest of our guests? I believe Tony Stark has been trying to catch your attention for the past twenty minutes, and the poor man looks ready to explode from impatience."

Peter chuckled, placing a kiss on her temple. "Lead the way, my love."

As they moved toward the next cluster of VIPs, Emma couldn't resist sending a telepathic message to both Jean and Storm simultaneously: Ladies, do try to look a little less desperate. The night is young and you have three days and nights, if you behave yourselves, I might consider sharing my fiancé with you later. After all, he does have such impressive stamina.

The startled looks on both women's faces made Emma's smirk widen as she leaned into Peter's embrace, feeling utterly victorious and completely adored.

"What did you just do?" Peter whispered in her ear, clearly noticing the reaction from across the room.

"Nothing they didn't deserve, darling," Emma replied innocently, guiding him toward Tony Stark's animated waving.

The evening wore on as the party reached its crescendo, champagne flowing freely while laughter and music filled the grand ballroom of the Aurora Invicta. Guests moved from one entertainment venue to another, marveling at the ship's countless diversions—from holographic art installations to zero-gravity chambers where dancers performed impossible feats. Through it all, Peter and Emma remained the center of attention, graciously acknowledging well-wishes from celebrities, politicians, and fellow heroes alike.

"May I have this dance, Mrs. Almost-Parker?" Peter asked, extending his hand toward Emma with a warm smile. Her ice-blue lips curved upward as she placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor where a slow, sensual melody had begun to play.

"Mmm, I love how that sounds coming from your lips," Emma purred as Peter pulled her pregnant form against him, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back. Despite her swollen belly, they moved together with perfect synchronicity, her curves pressing against him in a way that made his body respond immediately. Noticing his reaction, Emma leaned close, her lips brushing against his ear. "I can feel your thick cock hardening against me, darling. Later tonight, I want you to bend me over our suite's balcony and fuck my tight cunt until I scream your name loud enough for everyone in the ocean to hear. Then I want you to fill my ass with that massive shaft while I squeeze my tits and milk them all over our sheets."

"Jesus, Emma," Peter groaned, his face flushing crimson as his erection strained against his tuxedo pants. "It's not fair that you can still get me this hard with just words. Five years together and you still turn me into a teenager with a single whisper."

"That's because I know exactly what this perfect cock needs," Emma smirked, her hand sliding between them to give his hardening length a firm squeeze through his pants. Several nearby couples pretended not to notice as Peter's breath hitched audibly. "I'm parched, darling. Let me fetch us some drinks before your bachelor party activities begin in earnest." With a final possessive stroke, Emma sauntered away, her pregnant form commanding attention as she moved through the crowd toward the bar.

Emma was gone barely five minutes—delayed by Storm's ex-husband T'Challa asking polite but probing questions about Peter's genetic compatibility with mutants that he REALLY shouldn't know—when she returned to find Peter conspicuously absent from where she'd left him. A gentle telepathic sweep revealed his location almost immediately, and a knowing smile spread across her face. In a dimly lit alcove behind one of the massive decorative columns, partially concealed by an arrangement of exotic plants, Peter stood with his back against the wall, his expression a mixture of surprise and unbridled lust as Storm and Jean pressed against him from either side.

"Mmmmph... we're tired of waiting, Peter," Storm murmured against his mouth, her black-painted lips crushing against his in a hungry kiss. "Slurp... Emma needs to learn to share more with her mutant sisters." The white-haired weather goddess broke the kiss only to allow Jean to claim Peter's mouth next, the redhead's ruby lips leaving crimson stains as she moaned wantonly into the kiss.

"Mmm... fuck, I need you inside me again," Jean growled between kisses, the Phoenix force making her eyes glow golden with primal desire. "These babies you put in me want more of their daddy." Her hand boldly cupped the prominent bulge in Peter's pants, squeezing rhythmically as Storm attacked his neck with open-mouthed kisses, leaving black lipstick marks across his skin.

Storm's nimble fingers had already undone Peter's belt buckle and lowered his zipper, freeing his impressive cock from its confines. "Jean, you take his ass this time," she ordered with the natural authority of a queen. "I'll handle this magnificent cock." Without waiting for a response, Storm dropped to her knees, her elegant gown pooling around her as she wrapped her lips around Peter's thick shaft, taking him deep into her throat in one fluid motion.

Jean obeyed immediately, positioning herself behind Peter and helping him turn slightly to brace against the wall. Her hands kneaded his muscular ass cheeks through his pants before tugging them down further. "I've been dreaming about tasting every inch of you," she whispered heatedly, dropping to her knees and spreading his cheeks. With a moan of anticipation, Jean pressed her face between his firm buttocks, her tongue circling his puckered entrance before pushing inside. "Mmmmph... slurp..." The wet sounds of her eager mouth mingled with Peter's choked gasps as she rimmed him thoroughly, her ruby lips leaving crimson marks across his ass.

Emma observed the scene with detached amusement, using her telepathy to create a subtle distortion field that prevented any passersby from noticing the explicit tableau. She enjoyed the dazed expression of lust and surprise on Peter's face as he was serviced from both ends, his hands tangled in Storm's white hair while his hips involuntarily pushed back against Jean's probing tongue. After allowing herself a moment to appreciate the view—and mentally recording every detail for later private enjoyment—Emma stepped into their secluded space, making her presence known with a soft clearing of her throat.

"Really, ladies? You're giving mutant women a rather desperate reputation," Emma remarked coolly, one hand resting on her swollen belly. "At least have the decency to wait until after the first dance."

Neither woman seemed remotely concerned by Emma's appearance. Storm released Peter's cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her black lips to his glistening tip. "You're just a sore loser, Emma," she replied haughtily, her hand continuing to stroke his length while Jean's mouth never left its position between his ass cheeks. "Perhaps you should create a proper timetable for us to follow. These babies he's put in our wombs are barely formed, and yet we both feel an overwhelming biological imperative to drag him away and fuck him senseless at every opportunity." Without waiting for Emma's response, Storm returned her attention to Peter's cock, this time moving to suck his heavy balls into her mouth one at a time.

Jean finally emerged from behind Peter, her face flushed and her lipstick smeared across her cheeks. "She's right, you know," she added, licking her lips suggestively before replacing Storm at Peter's balls, engulfing them completely while Storm returned to bobbing up and down his shaft. Golden flecks danced in Jean's eyes as she stared up at Peter through her lashes, her telepathy amplifying his pleasure to nearly unbearable levels.

"Oh fuck... I can't... I'm gonna..." Peter's warning came too late as his control shattered completely. His cock erupted like a pressure hose, flooding Storm's mouth with his thick seed. She pulled back after the first massive spurt, allowing his subsequent release to paint both women's faces with heavy ropes of cum. Thick, pearly strands landed in their hair, across their cheeks, and down their chins, some even reaching their exposed cleavage where it glistened against their skin.

Jean and Storm turned to each other with predatory smiles, their cum-covered faces approaching slowly until their lips met in a sloppy, passionate kiss. "Mmmmph..." They moaned in unison as they shared Peter's release between them, tongues visibly passing the thick load back and forth before they swallowed audibly, putting on a show that had Peter groaning and Emma raising an appreciative eyebrow.

"That's quite enough for now," Emma declared, tucking Peter's still-twitching cock back into his pants with practiced efficiency. "The main entertainment begins in twenty minutes, and the groom-to-be needs to be presentable." She produced a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and delicately wiped a spot of cum from Peter's chin. "Ladies, do clean yourselves up before rejoining the party. Those cum-stained gowns would cause quite the stir, even among this crowd."

As Emma led Peter away, his legs still slightly unsteady, Jean's telepathic voice slipped into his mind: We're far from finished with you, Peter. After the main show, I want your massive cock stretching both our asses until we scream your name. The mental message was accompanied by vivid images of Peter taking both women from behind simultaneously, their faces contorted in ecstasy as he filled them completely.

Emma led Peter away from the alcove, her ice-blue lips curved into a satisfied smirk as she guided him through the crowded ballroom. Despite her heavily pregnant state, she moved with graceful purpose, one hand possessively resting on Peter's lower back.

"The things I put up with," she sighed dramatically, though Peter could detect the amusement in her voice. "My future husband being molested at his own bachelor party by a weather goddess and the avatar of a cosmic force. One might think they were raised in a barn." She leaned closer, her swollen tits pressing against his arm. "Though I must admit, watching Jean's tongue disappear between your ass cheeks was quite the spectacle."

Peter's face flushed crimson. "Emma, I swear I didn't—"

"Hush, darling," Emma interrupted, pressing a blue-painted fingernail against his lips. "I know perfectly well you were ambushed. Those two have been practically salivating over you all evening." She guided him into the private elevator that would take them to the Imperial Star Suite—their accommodations for the cruise. "Besides, I find their desperation rather amusing. They may carry your children, but I'm the one who gets to wear your ring."

Once inside their suite—a palatial two-level marvel of luxury that would put most mansions to shame—Emma immediately directed Peter toward the enormous marble shower. "Clean yourself thoroughly, darling," she instructed, already slipping out of her gown with practiced ease. "Remove every trace of those women. You'll need to be pristine for what comes next."

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed in an immaculately tailored black suit without a tie, Peter watched as Emma finished reapplying her signature blue lipstick. Her pregnancy seemed to have enhanced her natural beauty, giving her skin an ethereal glow as she brushed her platinum blonde hair to silky perfection.

"Where exactly are we going?" Peter asked, adjusting his cufflinks—platinum spiders with diamond eyes, a gift from Emma on their first anniversary.

"To your real bachelor party entertainment," Emma replied enigmatically, rising from her vanity with queenly grace. Her new outfit—a white leather dress that somehow managed to look both elegant and obscenely tight across her pregnant belly and enormous tits—left little to the imagination. "I've arranged something special on the Nexus Deck."

Peter's brow furrowed as Emma led him through the ship's exclusive corridors, accessible only to them and a handful of VIP guests. "Emma, you know I don't need anything special. Just being here with you is more than enough."

Emma paused before an ornate door marked with a stylized "69" in gold leaf. "Oh, don't be tedious, darling. This isn't about need—it's about want." She traced a finger along his jawline. "And what I want is to watch you enjoy yourself with some exceptionally talented women who have been thoroughly vetted, tested, and compensated quite handsomely for their discretion."

Peter's eyes widened. "Wait, are you saying—"

"That I've arranged for you to fuck some of the most beautiful women in the world while I watch? Yes, precisely that." Emma's smile turned predatory as she leaned in to kiss him deeply, her tongue sliding against his in a possessive claim. "Mmmmph... and before you protest like the adorably loyal man you are, let me add that I've installed 8K resolution cameras throughout the suite. I intend to enjoy the recordings for years to come."

"Emma, I don't need some fake women who just want to fuck me for fame or money," Peter protested, though Emma could feel his cock already hardening against her thigh at the mere suggestion. "I have you. That's all I want."

"Sweet boy," Emma purred, pressing her blue lips against his ear. "Mmm... You promised to have fun for me, didn't you? Well, this is my idea of fun." She licked the shell of his ear before whispering, "I want to watch you dominate other women, knowing you're only doing it because I allow it—because I command it." Her hand slipped between them to cup his now-straining erection through his pants. "Every thrust of this magnificent cock into their needy cunts will be for my pleasure, not theirs."

Peter swallowed hard, his resistance crumbling as Emma manipulated him both physically and psychologically. "Only for you," he finally agreed, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss that left her blue lipstick smeared across both their lips. "mmmmm... but afterward, I want to fuck your tight fat ass until you call me daddy."

A visible shiver of delight ran through Emma's body, her ice-blue eyes darkening with lust. "Deal," she whispered against his lips before straightening up and smoothing her dress. With a composed smile that betrayed none of her inner arousal, she tapped a code into the door panel.

The suite that revealed itself was a marvel of luxury and sensual design. Plush crimson sofas and chaises were arranged around a central circular bed large enough for at least ten people. Champagne fountains bubbled in the corners, and soft lighting cast everything in a warm, golden glow. But what immediately commanded attention were the women—at least fifty of them, each more stunning than the last.

"Welcome to paradise, Mr. Parker," called out a statuesque black woman with curves that defied physics, her full lips painted a vibrant purple that matched her barely-there lingerie. "We've been waiting for you."

The assembled women represented every fantasy imaginable: Japanese women in modified kimonos that revealed more than they concealed, their porcelain skin contrasting with dark nipples peeking through strategic openings; Latinas with impossibly round asses that jiggled enticingly as they sauntered forward, purring Spanish endearments in sultry accents; Nordic blondes with legs that seemed to reach the ceiling; redheads with creamy skin and mischievous smiles; Black women with skin like polished ebony and bodies sculpted by gods.

"Oh my fucking god," Peter whispered involuntarily as the women began approaching, some licking their lips hungrily, others running their hands over their own bodies in invitation.

"These fifty were specially selected," Emma explained with professional detachment that belied the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Former supermodels, adult film stars, high-end escorts—all at the absolute pinnacle of their professions. You may have any or all of them during the next three days." She paused, her smile turning wicked. "But your first encounter has already been arranged."

The women surrounded them now, hands reaching out to caress Peter's chest and arms, some boldly groping his ass while others worked at unbuttoning his shirt. "Bring that fine ass over here, sugar," cooed a curvy Latina, her fingers dancing down his stomach toward his belt. Another woman, a redhead with freckles across her nose, pressed her massive tits against his back, making sure he felt her hard nipples through the thin material of his shirt.

"Jesus, look at the bulge in his pants," gasped an Asian woman, dropping to her knees before him. "Let me see it, please!"

Emma watched the spectacle with regal amusement as the women practically tore Peter's clothes from his body. When his cock finally sprang free—thick, long, and already rigid with arousal—a chorus of appreciative gasps and explicit curses filled the room.

"Holy shit!"

"Fuck me sideways, that's huge!"

"Girl, my pussy is literally dripping right now."

"I don't think that monster will fit in my ass, but I'm damn sure gonna try!"

With imperious authority, Emma clapped her hands once, causing the women to reluctantly step back. "Ladies, you'll all get your turn. But first..." She took Peter's hand and led him toward a door at the far end of the suite. "Your special guest awaits."

Peter shot Emma a questioning look as she opened the door to a smaller, intimate bedroom lit only by candlelight. "Have fun, darling," she whispered, giving him a gentle push inside before closing the door behind him with a definitive click of the lock.

"Hello, fellow spider," purred a husky, accented voice from the king-sized bed across the room.

Peter froze, his eyes widening as they adjusted to the dimmer light. There, stretched out like a deadly predator at rest, was Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow wore nothing but a thin black bikini that emphasized rather than concealed her perfect body. Her fiery red hair spilled across the pillows, and her blue eyes gleamed with predatory interest as they traveled down his naked form, lingering appreciatively on his still-hard cock.

"Natasha?" Peter stammered, suddenly acutely aware of his nudity. "What are you—I mean—why are you—"

"Here to fuck you senseless?" Natasha finished for him, rising to her knees on the bed. The movement caused her full tits to bounce enticingly within the confines of her minimal top. "That's a long story involving SHIELD, multiversal stability, and your apparent ability to impregnate women who thought they were sterile." She smiled, hooking a finger into the side of her bikini bottom and slowly pulling it down to reveal a perfectly waxed pussy, glistening with evidence of her arousal. "But I think we can save the mission briefing for after I've had this magnificent cock stretching my tight cunt, don't you agree?"

Peter could only gulp.

Chapter Text

Peter's mouth went dry as Natasha Romanoff stood before him, her fingers casually working at the knot of her bikini top. The small private cabin aboard the Aurora Invicta suddenly felt incredibly warm.

"This... this has to be some kind of practical joke, right?" Peter's eyes darted around the luxurious room. "Where's the hidden camera? Is Tony behind this? It has to be Tony."

Natasha's lips curled into that dangerous half-smile he'd seen countless times before missions, but never directed at him quite like this. "No cameras, Peter. Just us."

"But—but we're friends! Avengers colleagues! There's never been... I mean, you never seemed..." Peter stammered, backing up until his calves hit the edge of the massive bed.

The black bikini top fell away completely, revealing her full, perfectly shaped breasts. They were larger than he'd imagined—not that he'd imagined them, he quickly told himself—with pale pink nipples that hardened in the cool air of the cabin.

"Fuck," Peter whispered involuntarily.

Natasha took a step closer. "I'm flattered you think I wouldn't be attracted to you, Peter. It speaks to how little you've always understood your own appeal." She reached out, trailing one finger down his chest. "But this isn't just about attraction. It's about something bigger."

Peter gulped audibly. "The whole multiversal stability thing? That sounds like something Doctor Strange would make up after too many mystical mushrooms."

"The Web of Life and Destiny is real, Peter, you know this," Natasha said, all business despite her half-naked state. "Fury has been monitoring interdimensional energy signatures since Emma became pregnant. The readings spiked again when Storm conceived, and went off the charts with Jean."

"And what—SHIELD is worried?" Peter tried desperately to keep his eyes on her face.

"Not worried. Planning." Natasha moved closer still. "Your children with these omega-level mutants will be extraordinary. Reality-shapers. But they'll all be aligned with mutant interests."

Peter frowned. "They'll be our children. Emma and I will raise them to—"

"To respect all life, I know." Natasha nodded. "But power concentrations make governments nervous. A human mother changes the equation."

"But you can't..." Peter hesitated, not wanting to be insensitive.

"Have children?" Natasha's expression softened slightly. "The Red Room made sure of that. But Fury believes your connection to the Web might override even that. Something about your... essence... being able to rewrite biological reality."

Peter's brain was struggling to keep up, distracted as it was by Natasha's proximity and nakedness. "This is insane. I'm getting married. To Emma. I'm faithful to Emma."

Natasha laughed, a genuine sound that made her breasts bounce slightly. "Peter, who exactly pushed you into this room?"

"Emma, but—"

"And who approved my application to be here tonight?"

"Emma, I guess, but—"

"And who told me exactly what you like in bed?" Natasha moved into his personal space entirely, her bare chest pressing against him.

Peter's eyes widened. "She what?"

"Your fiancée is playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers," Natasha murmured, her hand sliding down to cup him through his pants. "She wants this to happen."

"But why would she—"

"Because Emma Frost is many things, but stupid isn't one of them." Natasha's fingers worked at his belt. "She knows that if I bear your child, SHIELD becomes invested in protecting all your offspring. Instant political leverage."

Peter's head was spinning. "So this is... what? A diplomatic mission?"

Natasha pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, a rare vulnerability crossing her face. "Not entirely. I've respected you for years, Peter. Watched you grow from a quipping boy into one of the most reliable men I know. And yes, I've wondered what it would be like."

Her hand slipped inside his pants, wrapping around him with practiced skill. Peter hissed through his teeth.

"Besides," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "it's your bachelor party. Isn't this what's supposed to happen?"

Peter's resistance was crumbling fast. "I still feel like I'm cheating."

"Call her," Natasha suggested, continuing her ministrations. "Right now. Ask her yourself."

With trembling fingers, Peter pulled out his phone and dialed Emma. She answered on the first ring.

"Having fun, darling?" Emma's voice was amused.

"Emma, Natasha is—she's—we're—"

"I know exactly what she's doing, Peter. I can see it in your mind." Emma's tone was surprisingly warm. "Consider it my bachelor gift to you. And a strategic alliance for our family's future."

"You're... okay with this?"

"More than okay. I approved it. Just remember who you're marrying in three days, darling."

"Always," Peter promised.

"Good. Now put the phone down and enjoy yourself. And Natasha? He likes it when you pull his hair. Not too hard, just enough to let him know who's in control."

Natasha's smile widened as she heard Emma's voice. "Noted."

The call disconnected, and Peter stared at Natasha in disbelief.

"Still feeling guilty?" she asked, pushing him back onto the bed.

"Not... exactly," Peter admitted, his hands finally reaching for her waist.

Natasha straddled him, her athletic body moving with practiced grace. "Good. Because we have a lot to accomplish tonight." She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "And I never fail a mission."

Natasha's lips crashed against Peter's with fierce intensity, her tongue delving deep into his mouth as she pressed her body firmly against his. Her leg slid sensually up and down his thigh, creating delicious friction between them. The kiss was hungry, demanding—nothing like the hesitant exchanges they'd shared during Avengers missions.

When she finally broke away, her breath hot against his ear, Peter felt dizzy with desire.

"Mmm, I should have made you a man years ago," she whispered, her voice husky with want. "When you first joined the Avengers... I should have pulled you into my quarters after that first mission while everyone was celebrating."

"Natasha..." Peter gasped as her teeth grazed his earlobe.

"I could have had you screaming my name," she continued, her hands roaming possessively over his chest. "Sluch... Would you have liked that, Peter? Having the Black Widow teach you everything about a woman's body?"

Her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his muscled torso. She traced the defined lines of his abs, a look of appreciation crossing her face.

"I bet you would have called me 'mommy' back then," she teased, her eyes darkening with desire. "Such a young spider, so eager to please."

Peter gulped audibly as Natasha broke their embrace and slowly, deliberately sank to her knees before him. Her hands caressed his thighs, moving upward to his crotch, feeling the impressive bulge straining against his pants.

"Emma told me you were... gifted," Natasha murmured, working his zipper down with practiced ease. "But surely she was exaggerating..."

As Peter's cock sprang free, flopping heavily onto her exposed breasts, Natasha's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Bozhe moi!" she cursed loudly in Russian, staring at his nine-inch length throbbing against her skin.

"Fuck, Parker," she breathed, licking her full red lips as she wrapped a hand around his girth, barely able to close her fingers around him. "Emma is a goddamn cheater for hiding you away from the rest of us."

She stroked him slowly, her thumb gathering the bead of pre-cum from his tip. "Jessica Drew would have locked you down as a husband ages ago if she knew you were packing all this cock. Kate Bishop would have never let you leave her bedroom."

"Ungh... Natasha..." Peter groaned, his hips involuntarily bucking forward.

"Shhh," she soothed, placing a delicate kiss on his tip. "Let me take care of you."

Her tongue swirled around his crown, leaving wet trails as she worked her way down his shaft. The sight of the legendary Black Widow worshipping his cock made Peter's knees weak. He threaded his fingers through her fiery red hair, marveling at how soft it felt.

"Mmm... slurp... so fucking thick," Natasha moaned, her lips stretching around him as she took him deeper. To Peter's astonishment, she engulfed his length with surprising ease, taking him into her throat with practiced skill.

"Holy... fuck," Peter hissed through gritted teeth as Natasha's throat muscles contracted around him. She looked up at him with those piercing green eyes, maintaining eye contact as she swallowed his entire length until her lips pressed against his base.

One of her hands massaged his heavy balls, feeling their fullness as she bobbed her head up and down his shaft. The wet sounds of her mouth—slurp, gulp, mmm—filled the cabin, punctuated by Peter's increasingly desperate moans.

"Natasha, I'm going to—I can't hold—" Peter warned, his fingers tightening in her hair.

Rather than pulling away, Natasha doubled her efforts, taking him deeper into her throat. The tight, wet heat was too much for Peter to resist. His body tensed as pleasure exploded through him.

"Ahhh... FUCK!" he cried out as his release hit with stunning force.

Natasha's eyes widened at the thick, copious spurts filling her mouth. She moaned around his cock as she swallowed, the vibrations sending additional waves of pleasure through him. Peter shuddered, his legs trembling as she continued to milk him dry.

To his amazement, the stimulation was so intense that Natasha herself shuddered in pleasure. Her thighs quivered as she squirted onto the cabin floor, her climax triggered by the taste and sensation of Peter's release. Her eyes rolled back as she moaned in Russian, "Bozhe, eto tak khorosho," her body convulsing with unexpected pleasure.

Even as the last pulses of his orgasm subsided, Peter remained rock hard in her mouth. Natasha pulled back slightly, licking her lips as she cleaned his shaft with gentle swipes of her tongue, her expression a mixture of satisfaction and disbelief.

"Still hard?" she questioned, stroking him with renewed interest. "Emma wasn't exaggerating about your stamina either."

She rose to her feet, her legs still slightly unsteady from her own climax. "I came just from sucking your cock," she admitted, a rare flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "That's never happened before."

Peter reached for her, pulling her close. "Beginners luck…."

"Or maybe you're just that good," Natasha countered, pressing her large breasts against his chest.

She was genuinely surprised when Peter effortlessly lifted her into his arms. His superhuman strength made her feel weightless as he carried her to the massive bed, her naked breasts pressed against his chest.

"You first," Peter said firmly, laying her down on the silk sheets. "I want to taste you."

"Mmm, such a gentleman," Natasha purred as he positioned himself between her thighs. "Most men would just—ohhh fuck!"

Her sentence dissolved into a sharp cry as Peter's mouth claimed her pussy with unexpected hunger. His tongue parted her slick folds with deliberate precision, exploring every sensitive inch of her cunt like he was mapping territory. Natasha's back arched involuntarily, her hands flying to his hair.

"Slurp... mmm... you taste amazing," Peter murmured against her sensitive flesh, his hot breath making her shiver. His tongue circled her clit before sucking it gently between his lips, causing Natasha's thighs to tremble uncontrollably.

"Blyat! How are you so—ungh—so good at this?" she gasped, grinding her hips against his face. Her legendary control was slipping away with each expert flick of his tongue. "Emma's been... ahh... keeping secrets from all of us."

Peter hummed against her pussy, the vibrations sending electric jolts through her core. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them upward to stroke her g-spot while his tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. The combination was devastating.

"Oh god, Peter... fuck... don't stop," Natasha begged, her voice uncharacteristically desperate. "Right there, yes, just like that... please..."

The Black Widow—trained to withstand torture, to never break—was falling apart beneath Peter Parker's mouth. Her tits heaved with each ragged breath, nipples painfully hard as waves of pleasure crashed through her body. Peter's free hand reached up to squeeze one breast, pinching the nipple just hard enough to send her teetering on the edge.

"I'm going to—ohhhh—I'm coming!" Natasha cried out, her body convulsing as her orgasm hit with brutal intensity. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers as a gush of her juices flooded his mouth. Peter didn't relent, drinking her essence eagerly as she rode out her climax.

"Fuuuck," Natasha panted, her body still twitching with aftershocks. "I'll never forgive Emma for hoarding you all to herself. That mouth should be shated with all women."

Peter grinned up at her, his face glistening with her arousal. "I'm just getting started," he promised, crawling up her body. His massive cock dragged against her stomach, leaving a trail of pre-cum on her toned abs.

Instead of waiting for him to take control, Natasha summoned her remaining strength and flipped them over in one fluid motion, pinning Peter beneath her. His look of surprise quickly morphed into one of appreciation as she straddled his hips.

"My turn," she announced, positioning herself above his thick shaft. "I need this cock inside me now."

She sank down slowly, her eyes widening as his girth stretched her impossibly. "Fuck... you're so big," she gasped, her pussy struggling to accommodate him. "It's like being split in half."

Peter's hands gripped her ass cheeks, helping guide her down his length. "Take your time," he whispered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his own desperate need.

"Mmm... such a sweet boy," Natasha moaned, finally taking him to the hilt. She leaned forward, her tits dangling temptingly above his face. "But I don't want gentle. I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

Peter moved to suck on one of her rosy nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his hands found her waist. Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as he suddenly gripped her hips firmly and shoved her down onto the rest of his massive cock, making her scream out in a mixture of shock and pleasure.

"Ohhhh FUCK!" she cried, her voice breaking as he began thrusting in and out of her mercilessly. Her fat, shapely ass jiggled with each powerful impact, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the cabin. "Blyat! So... mmm... so fucking deep!"

Peter's hand came down sharply on her ass cheek, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. The unexpected spanking sent jolts of pleasure-pain through her body. "Slap! You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice barely recognizable with lust. "Slap! Tell me how much you love this cock stretching your tight little pussy."

"I love it! Ungh! Your cock is so fucking big... ahh... destroying my cunt!" Natasha babbled, her usual composure completely shattered. Her tits bounced wildly with each thrust, nipples hard as diamonds. "Mmm... slurp... kiss... never been fucked this good before!"

Within six minutes of his relentless pounding, Natasha's body betrayed her completely. Her pussy clenched around him in violent spasms as an overwhelming orgasm crashed through her. "PETER!" she screamed, squirting hard around his shaft, her juices soaking the bed beneath them. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

"That's it, cum all over my cock," Peter encouraged, maintaining his brutal pace even as her pussy convulsed around him. "Your tight little cunt feels so good squeezing me like that."

Natasha had confidently told Emma she would drain Peter's balls of cum, asserting her legendary sexual prowess. Now, as her body shook with yet another climax, she realized the tables had turned completely. It seemed instead that Peter would leave her a tired, sated mess on the bed. Her eyes rolled back as her third orgasm hit, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Peter suddenly stopped pounding and flipped them over with effortless strength, positioning himself atop her. He captured her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, swallowing her moans as he arranged her legs, pushing her knees back toward her shoulders in a perfect mating press position.

"Mmm... slurp... oh god, Peter..." Natasha whimpered against his lips, feeling completely at his mercy in this new position. Her pussy was completely exposed, utterly vulnerable to his assault.

"Now I'm going to really fuck you," Peter promised darkly, his eyes gleaming with primal hunger. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, hitting depths that made Natasha see stars.

The new angle allowed him to pound into her with even greater force, each thrust hitting her cervix directly. Natasha screamed uncontrollably, alternating between English and Russian as the pleasure became almost unbearable.

"DA! DA! FUCK ME! Your cock is so deep... UNGH... fucking my womb! BOZHE MOI!" she cried, her nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood. "Please, Peter... AHH... fill me up! I need your cum... FUCK... breed me like you did those mutant bitches!"

Her dirty talk spurred Peter on, his hips moving at superhuman speed as he pounded her cunt into complete submission. The bed frame creaked dangerously beneath them, threatening to collapse under the force of their coupling.

"You want my cum, Natasha?" Peter growled into her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "You want me to knock you up like I did Emma and Storm and Jean?"

"YES!" Natasha begged shamelessly, beyond caring about her reputation or pride. "Please fill my womb with your thick seed! Make me pregnant with your powerful children! FUCK... I need it so bad!"

With a final eager thrust, Peter buried himself as deep as physically possible within her and came with a primal roar. Natasha's eyes flew open wide as she felt it—an absolute flood of hot, thick seed erupting inside her like a garden hose. The sheer volume and force of his release triggered something profound within her body.

A strange tingling sensation spread through her lower abdomen as Peter's cum continued to pump into her in endless spurts. Natasha gasped as she felt something impossible—her womb, scarred and barren from the Red Room's procedures, suddenly healing and restoring itself under the influence of Peter's connection to the Web of Life and Destiny.

"Oh my god," she whispered in awe as she felt the change happening inside her. The realization that her body was being restored, that she could finally bear children after decades of believing it impossible, made her explode in the most powerful orgasm of her life.

"PETER!" Natasha screamed in absolute ecstasy, tears of joy streaming down her face as she flooded his crotch with her squirted juices. Her entire body convulsed in waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. She grabbed his face and kissed him with absolute devotion, pouring all her gratitude and newfound adoration into the kiss.

"Mmm... slurp... thank you," she whispered against his lips, her voice thick with emotion. "You've given me back something I thought was lost forever."

Peter finally pulled out of her with a wet sound, an ocean of his thick jizz immediately spurting out of her defeated pussy and pooling beneath her on the bed. Natasha lay there panting, her body covered in a sheen of sweat, her limbs feeling like jelly. Despite her enhanced stamina and years of intensive training, Peter had fucked her to her absolute limit.

She looked down in shock to see his cock barely affected by their intense session—still hard and ready, bobbing between his legs as if they hadn't just spent the last hour in the most intense sexual encounter of her life.

"How are you still hard?" she asked incredulously, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Peter smiled wickedly and pulled her to him, effortlessly flipping her over and positioning her on her hands and knees. His hand caressed her ass appreciatively before delivering another sharp slap that made her yelp.

"Dawn is still ten hours away," he whispered in her ear, positioning his massive cock at her entrance again. "And I'm just getting started."

"But I can't—AHHH!" Natasha's protest transformed into a scream of pleasure as Peter thrust into her from behind, his cock reaching even deeper in this position. Her back arched involuntarily as he established a punishing rhythm, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.

"Your pussy says otherwise," Peter chuckled darkly, grabbing a fistful of her red hair and pulling just hard enough to arch her back further. "Look at how wet you still are for me. Your cunt is practically begging for more of my cock."

"Ungh... fuck... you're right," Natasha admitted, pushing her ass back to meet his thrusts. "Use me... mmm... use my pussy however you want. I'm yours tonight."

As Natasha's pleasured screams filled the cabin once more, she had one last coherent thought before surrendering completely to the ecstasy: Emma Frost might be the smartest woman alive for securing this man as her husband.

Outside the private cabin, a luxurious viewing lounge had been discreetly arranged where the fifty selected ladies Emma had chosen for Peter's entertainment gathered around large, high-definition screens. The monitors displayed every angle of Natasha's thorough conquest, though Emma had carefully used her telepathic abilities to filter out any mentions of SHIELD, the Web of Life, or Peter's secret identity. To these women, they were simply watching an anonymous buxom, fat assed Russian redhead being utterly dominated by their host's fiancé.

"Bozhe moi!" Natasha's scream echoed through the speakers as Peter pounded her in the mating press position, her legs pushed back toward her shoulders.

"Holy shit," whispered a tall blonde from Sweden, her hand unconsciously moving to her throat. "Look at how deep he's going. I don't think I could take all of that."

A curvaceous Brazilian dancer leaned forward, her eyes wide. "The way she's squirting... I've never seen a woman cum like that from penetration alone."

The women watched, transfixed, as Peter flipped Natasha onto her hands and knees, his still-hard cock glistening with their combined fluids before he thrust back into her from behind.

"Mmmmfff... FUCK!" Natasha's voice broke as Peter pulled her hair, forcing her back to arch at an impossible angle.

"Look at how much he came inside her," gasped one of the Japanese hostesses, pointing to the thick white fluid leaking down Natasha's thighs. "So much seed... sugoi... he would make beautiful babies with just one try."

"That man could repopulate an entire country," agreed her friend, fanning herself. "No wonder Miss Frostgot pregnant so quickly!"

A statuesque Black woman with intricate braids shook her head in disbelief as Peter continued thrusting, showing no signs of fatigue. "I've been with professional athletes who couldn't last five minutes, and he's been going for how long now?"

"Almost two hours," another woman confirmed, checking her watch. "And he's still hard as steel."

"He would destroy my ass if he pounded me like that," a blonde Southern belle drawled, her accent thickening with arousal. "I wouldn't be able to walk for a week."

"Worth it," someone else chimed in, triggering a wave of laughter and murmurs of agreement.

Emma Frost stood at the back of the room, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she caressed her pregnant belly. The twins inside her seemed to respond to her touch, a gentle telepathic hum of contentment flowing between them. She reveled in the lustful comments flying around the room—each one a tribute to her soon-to-be husband's prowess, each one confirming she had claimed the most desirable man on the ship.

The door to the lounge opened, and Emma's smile tightened imperceptibly as Mary Jane Watson and Felicia Hardy entered. Both women wore stunning outfits that left little to the imagination—Mary Jane in an emerald silk dress with a plunging neckline that matched her eyes, Felicia in a backless silver number that clung to her curves like liquid metal. Expensive jewelry adorned their necks and wrists, clearly chosen to impress.

Emma moved toward them with grace, one hand still resting protectively on her swollen belly. The gesture wasn't lost on either woman—a silent reminder of who had claimed Peter Parker in the most primal way possible.

Felicia had already borrowed one of the tablets displaying the live feed from the cabin. Her eyes were wide with shock and unmistakable desire as she watched Peter manhandle Natasha Romanoff—the legendary Black Widow—as if she were a ragdoll, reducing the super-spy to a quivering, begging mess.

"Slap! Take it all, Natasha," Peter growled on screen, his hand coming down on her ass. "Slap! You wanted this cock, now you're getting every inch."

"Unnngh... yes... please... more!" Natasha babbled, her usual composure completely shattered.

"Jesus Christ," Felicia whispered, her breathing shallow. "That's... that's not the Peter I knew."

Emma's lips curved into a knowing smile. "The Peter you knew was a boy. The man I'm marrying has... evolved." She leaned closer to Felicia, her voice dropping to a confidential tone. "Be ready after lunch tomorrow. I expect you'll be his entertainment for the afternoon."

Felicia's eyes widened, a complex mixture of anxiety and raw lust crossing her beautiful features. "I... we would need to talk first. Before anything happened."

"Of course," Emma agreed smoothly. "Peter is nothing if not a gentleman. Despite appearances." She gestured toward the screen where Peter was now holding Natasha up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded her relentlessly.

"Mmm... slurp... kiss... fuck me harder!" Natasha moaned as Peter's mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss.

Mary Jane couldn't tear her eyes away from the display. Her cheeks were flushed, and Emma didn't need telepathy to know the redhead was imagining herself in Natasha's place.

"What about me?" Mary Jane asked, finally dragging her gaze from the screen to meet Emma's icy blue eyes.

Emma shrugged elegantly, her diamond earrings catching the light. "As I told you during your interview, it's Peter's choice whether he talks to you or fucks you." Her tone hardened slightly. "And if he chooses neither, you'll serve as arm candy for our wealthy guests. Whether you choose to fuck them is entirely your decision."

Mary Jane flinched slightly at Emma's bluntness, but nodded her understanding.

"Ohhhh FUCK!" Natasha screamed on screen as another powerful orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing against Peter's.

Emma turned to address the entire room, her voice carrying with natural authority. "Ladies, while I appreciate your... enthusiasm... for my future husband's talents, I suggest you don't stay up all night watching. Get some rest." Her smile turned predatory. "You'll need your energy if he chooses you tomorrow."

With that, Emma glided from the room, leaving a chorus of whispers in her wake. As the door closed behind her, she allowed herself a moment of pure satisfaction. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Peter was proving himself worthy of the dynasty they would build together, and soon, with Natasha carrying his child as well, they would have SHIELD's protection added to their growing power base.

Emma placed both hands on her belly, feeling the twins respond to her touch with gentle telepathic pulses. "Your father is quite something, isn't he?" she whispered to them. "And soon, you'll have even more siblings to help us reshape this world."

Inside the cabin, completely unaware of his audience, Peter continued claiming Natasha with relentless passion, both of them lost in the pleasure of their union and the miracle taking place within her healing womb.

Chapter Text

The camera flashes blindingly as Mary Jane shifts her pose on the silk-draped chaise lounge. Her body is barely covered by the sheer, red lingerie that leaves little to the imagination. The studio lights are hot against her skin, making beads of sweat form along her spine despite the air conditioning.

"More arch in your back, MJ! Give me that classic Watson sizzle!" shouts the photographer, a man half her age who treats her like a piece of meat. His name is Derek—or maybe Daniel—she can't remember anymore. They all blend together after a while.

Mary Jane complies, feeling hollow inside despite the practiced smile on her face. At 36, this wasn't where she'd imagined her career would be. After Paul disappeared, after peter wanted nothing to do with her and her legitimate acting roles dried up, she'd been forced to take increasingly explicit photoshoots just to pay the bills.

"That's it! Now lose the top. The subscribers are paying premium for the full package."

She hesitates only briefly before unhooking the flimsy bra. The studio feels cold against her exposed skin, but she's become numb to the shame. This is what her once-promising career has devolved into—selling her body piece by piece to stay relevant.

"Perfect! Now give me that look... you know the one. Like you're thinking about someone special." Derek circles her, camera clicking rapidly.

Mary Jane lets her mind drift to Peter. She wonders what he's doing right now—probably on that ridiculous luxury cruise with Emma Frost, surrounded by beautiful women who would do anything for him. The thought makes her stomach twist with regret.

"Jesus, MJ, not like you're at a funeral. We're selling fantasy here!"

She forces her lips into a seductive pout and thinks about how different things could have been. Four years ago, she'd walked away from the most loyal man she'd ever known. Now Peter was engaged to a billionaire telepath who was carrying his children, while Mary Jane was posing nearly naked for strangers on the internet.

"Let's wrap this up. The lighting's perfect for the shower sequence."

Mary Jane's heart sinks. "I thought we weren't doing that until next week."

"Schedule change. The subscribers want it now, and frankly, we need the boost in numbers." Derek doesn't even look at her as he adjusts his equipment. "There's a robe behind the screen. Five-minute break, then we need you wet and ready."

She nods mechanically, wrapping herself in the thin robe as she checks her phone. No messages except a reminder about tonight's dinner with Gerald Hoffman. At least that gave her something to hope for—a potential way back to legitimate work.

Later that evening, she sits across from Gerald Hoffman in a hotel suite, the powerful director who's promised to resurrect her mainstream career. The restaurant portion of their meeting had gone well enough—expensive food she barely tasted, wine that didn't quite dull the ache in her chest.

"You understand what I need from you, Mary Jane," Gerald says, his hand sliding up her thigh in the private booth of the exclusive restaurant. His wedding ring catches the dim light. "My new film needs a mature beauty with... flexibility. Both on and off screen."

She feels the weight of his gaze on her body, assessing her like merchandise. At fifty-eight, Gerald Hoffman still has the power to make or break careers in Hollywood. His last three films won major awards, and landing a role in his next project could pull her out of the spiral she's been in.

"I've done all the auditions, Gerald," she replies, trying to maintain her dignity. "My performance speaks for itself."

Gerald laughs, his breath reeking of expensive scotch. "In this business, talent is common. Loyalty is rare. I need to know you're... committed."

The implication hangs heavy between them. Mary Jane takes a long sip of her wine, thinking about the lingerie shoot earlier today. About the shower sequence where she'd posed with water cascading down her naked body while Derek shouted directions. About how each compromise led to another, until she could barely recognize herself anymore.

"Let's go upstairs," Gerald suggests, though it isn't really a suggestion. "I have the Presidential Suite. We can discuss your... character development in private."

Mary Jane follows him to the elevator, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. She watches their reflection in the mirrored walls—Gerald's confident stance, her own uncertain posture. When had she become this person?

In the suite, Gerald pours more drinks while Mary Jane stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city lights. Somewhere out there, Peter is happy with his new life. She wonders if he ever thinks about her anymore.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" Gerald approaches from behind, his hands finding her waist. "Not as beautiful as you, of course."

She feels nothing as his lips press against her neck. No excitement, no desire—just empty calculation. This is a transaction, she tells herself. A necessary step to reclaim what she's lost.

"I've wanted you since I first saw you on Broadway," he murmurs. "Such a waste of talent, what you've been doing lately. I can fix that, Mary Jane. Make you a star again."

Mary Jane hesitates for a moment before leading him to the bedroom. As she reaches for the light switch, Gerald stops her.

"No, leave them on. I want to see you."

She swallows hard, nodding as she begins to unzip her dress. This is what her life has become—trading pieces of herself for promises that grow increasingly hollow.

As Gerald's hands reach for her, Mary Jane closes her eyes and thinks of Peter. Of what he would think if he could see her now. Of how far she's fallen since she walked away from him.

And for the first time in years, she allows herself to cry.

Six months later, Mary Jane Watson-Hoffman walks carefully down the red carpet, her elegant maternity gown flowing around her heavily pregnant belly. The twins she carries have become Hollywood's most anticipated arrivals, almost as celebrated as her triumphant return to the spotlight. Her left hand rests protectively over her stomach, the enormous diamond on her ring finger catching the camera flashes.

"Mary Jane! How does it feel to be back on top?" a reporter shouts.

She smiles that famous Mary Jane smile—the one that once graced Broadway marquees and magazine covers. "It feels like coming home," she says, the practiced line rolling off her tongue with perfect sincerity.

Gerald appears at her side, his arm possessively around her waist. At fifty-nine, he looks distinguished in his tuxedo, playing the devoted husband for the cameras. His thumb strokes small circles against her hip—a reminder of their arrangement rather than a gesture of affection.

"My wife is extraordinary," he tells the press. "Her performance in Broken Reflections is already generating Oscar buzz, and rightfully so."

The film—Gerald's most ambitious project to date—has Mary Jane playing a former addict rebuilding her life, a role critics are calling "hauntingly authentic" and "career-defining." What they don't know is how she prepared for the scenes of degradation and despair.

Later that night, after the premiere's standing ovation, Mary Jane sits in a hotel suite surrounded by studio executives. Gerald's hand rests on her shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"Gentlemen, my wife needs to rest in her condition," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "But she wanted to personally thank you for your continued support of our projects."

The men exchange knowing looks as Mary Jane rises from the sofa with practiced grace. One of them, balding with a paunch stretching his expensive suit, approaches her.

"That scene where your character breaks down—absolutely riveting," he says, his hand already sliding to the small of her back. "I'd love to discuss your technique... privately."

Mary Jane feels Gerald's eyes on her. "Just one more time," he whispers in her ear as he guides her toward the bedroom. "The financing for your next film depends on it."

She nods, her face a perfect mask of compliance as the door closes behind them.

"Push, Mrs. Hoffman! One more big push!" the doctor urges.

Mary Jane grips the sides of the hospital bed, her body drenched in sweat as she brings her daughters into the world. Gerald stands nearby, phone in hand, occasionally glancing up when the medical staff addresses him directly.

"They're beautiful," the nurse says, placing the first newborn in Mary Jane's arms. "Perfect little girls."

Mary Jane looks down at her daughter's face, so tiny and pure. Tears stream down her cheeks—not entirely from joy. The second baby joins her sister, and for a moment, holding these innocent lives against her chest, Mary Jane feels a flicker of hope.

"Sophia and April," she whispers, names she'd chosen herself. Names Gerald had actually allowed her to choose.

Gerald finally puts his phone away, approaching to inspect his daughters with clinical detachment. "They'll photograph well," he says, as if appraising props for his next film. "Good for the family image."

That night, alone in her private hospital room while Gerald attends a "business dinner," Mary Jane cradles her sleeping daughters and makes them a silent promise: I'll protect you from this world. From your father. From becoming what I've become.

It's a promise she knows, even then, she might not be able to keep.

"Smile for Vanity Fair, Mary Jane! Over here!"

The flashbulbs are blinding as she poses on another red carpet, her post-pregnancy body back to its camera-ready perfection through brutal workouts and restrictive diets. Her Oscar nomination for Broken Reflections has catapulted her back to A-list status. Magazine covers, talk show appearances, and lucrative contracts flow in faster than she can track them.

At home, nine-month-old Sophia and April gurgle in the care of round-the-clock nannies while Mary Jane fulfills her obligations—both public and private.

"You're a miracle worker," a studio head tells her in the back of his limousine, zipping up his pants as she discreetly wipes her mouth. "That franchise we discussed? It's yours."

The pattern becomes routine. For every film offer, every magazine spread, every step up the ladder of her resurrected career, there's a price paid in hotel rooms and private parties. Gerald orchestrates it all with the precision of a master director.

"Just smile and make them happy," he instructs before leading her into a producer's beach house where three men wait, drinks in hand and hunger in their eyes. "Remember what we talked about—the international distribution rights."

She performs as directed—on her knees servicing multiple men simultaneously, bent over furniture while they take turns with her body, using her mouth in ways that leave her voice hoarse for days.

"Such a good girl," one executive groans as he finishes on her face, others waiting their turn. "So much more accommodating than those young starlets."

Mary Jane has learned to detach, to float somewhere above her body while it's being used. She thinks about her daughters, about the trust fund she's secretly building for them, about the day she might finally break free.

"Mommy, look what I drew!" Three-year-old April holds up a crayon drawing of their family—stick figures with red and blonde hair.

Mary Jane kneels down, genuinely smiling for the first time in days. "It's beautiful, sweetheart. Is that all of us?"

April nods enthusiastically while Sophia adds more color to her own drawing. These moments—stolen between film shoots, press junkets, and Gerald's "special arrangements"—are what keep Mary Jane going.

"When are you leaving again?" Sophia asks without looking up from her artwork.

The question stings. "Tomorrow morning, baby. But I'll be back in a week."

"Daddy says you're very busy because everyone loves you," Sophia says with the innocent cruelty of a child. "He says that's why you can't read us bedtime stories."

Mary Jane swallows hard. "I'll read you two stories tonight, okay? Any ones you want."

Later, after tucking the girls in, she finds Gerald in his study reviewing contracts.

"I want to cut back on appearances," she says, standing in the doorway. "The girls need me here more."

Gerald doesn't look up. "We've discussed this. Your momentum is everything in this business. Besides, we have commitments."

"They're growing up without me."

Now he meets her eyes, his expression cold. "Need I remind you of our arrangement? Of where you were when I found you? Selling nude photos online to pay rent?"

Mary Jane feels the familiar shame wash over her. "No."

"Good." He returns to his papers. "The Westfield party is tomorrow night. Wear the blue dress—the one that shows off your ass. And don't bother with underwear. Makes things more... efficient."

She turns to leave, defeat settling over her like a shroud.

"Oh, and Mary Jane?" Gerald calls after her. "Remember to smile. You're living the dream, after all."

Five years into her marriage, at the height of her renewed fame, it all comes crashing down.

"HOLLYWOOD'S DIRTIEST SECRET: THE TRUTH ABOUT MARY JANE WATSON-HOFFMAN"

The headline screams from every gossip site, every entertainment program. A former assistant of Gerald's—a young woman he'd impregnated and then paid to disappear—has published a tell-all exposé, complete with high-resolution photos and videos that leave nothing to the imagination.

Mary Jane stares at her laptop in horror as images of her most private humiliations play out on screen. There she is on her knees before studio executives, there performing degrading acts at private parties, there being passed between men like a party favor—all while Gerald watches from the sidelines, sometimes directing like it's just another film.

Within hours, the videos are uploaded to every major adult site. By nightfall, "Mary Jane Watson Sex Tape" is trending worldwide.

The phone rings incessantly—her agent, her publicist, journalists seeking comment. She ignores them all, sitting motionless as her carefully reconstructed life disintegrates around her.

Gerald storms into their Bel Air mansion, face contorted with rage. "Do you have any idea what this has done to my reputation?" he shouts, as if he's the victim. "My investors are pulling out of the new project!"

Mary Jane looks at him, really looks at him, perhaps for the first time in years. "Get out," she says quietly.

"What did you say to me?"

"GET OUT!" she screams, hurling a crystal vase at his head. It misses, shattering against the wall in a shower of glass and water. "Get out before I call the police and tell them everything—including what you've been slipping into my drinks before your special parties."

His face pales. They both know there are lines even Hollywood power players can't cross.

"This isn't over," he threatens, but he leaves nonetheless.

Mary Jane sinks to the floor, surrounded by shattered glass that mirrors her shattered life, when she hears a small voice from the doorway.

"Mommy?"

She looks up to see eight-year-old Sophia standing there, clutching a tablet. Behind her, April peers around the doorframe, tears streaming down her face.

"How could you?" Sophia spits, holding up the tablet with a tabloid headline blazing across the screen. "Everyone at school is talking about it! They showed us pictures!"

Mary Jane reaches for her daughters, but they back away. "Girls, please, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" Sophia demands with a child's terrible directness. "That you let those men do those things to you? For movies?"

"It wasn't like that," Mary Jane says desperately, though she knows it was exactly like that.

April, always quieter than her sister, doesn't speak. She simply turns her tablet around, showing a news segment: "Parker-Frost Industries revolutionizes medicine again! Peter Parker and wife Emma celebrate the birth of their seventh child while distributing their cancer cure worldwide."

"At least someone from your past did something meaningful with their life," April mutters, her young face twisted with a disappointment no child should have to feel for their parent.

The words cut deeper than any headline, any exposed secret. In that moment, Mary Jane Watson—once America's sweetheart, now America's cautionary tale—truly breaks.

The divorce is ugly, public, and expensive. Gerald employs every dirty trick to paint Mary Jane as unstable, unfit, morally corrupt. But the evidence against him is too damning, the public sympathy unexpectedly tilting in Mary Jane's favor as the full extent of his manipulation emerges.

She walks away with joint custody of the girls, the Malibu house, and enough money to never work again. But the damage to her career is irreparable. Studio doors that once opened eagerly now remain firmly shut. Former friends cross the street to avoid her. The industry that built her up tears her down with savage glee.

For a while, she tries to rebuild. She hires crisis management teams, gives tearful interviews about being coerced and manipulated. Some believe her; many don't. The offers that do come her way are exploitative at best—reality shows promising to document her "redemption journey," low-budget films hoping to capitalize on her notoriety.

The girls spend weekends with their father, returning increasingly distant and judgmental. Despite the court-ordered therapy, despite Mary Jane's desperate attempts to explain in age-appropriate ways what happened, the wedge between them grows.

By the time Sophia and April are teenagers, their visits become perfunctory, their conversations stilted. Gerald has remarried a twenty-six-year-old actress, and the girls prefer the uncomplicated normality of his new family to the weight of their mother's infamy.

"We're going to spend Christmas with Dad and Melanie," fifteen-year-old Sophia announces during a November visit. "They're taking us to Switzerland."

Mary Jane nods, swallowing her disappointment. "That sounds wonderful. I'll miss you, but—"

"It's just easier there," April interrupts, not unkindly but with finality. "People don't stare at us or ask questions."

After they leave, Mary Jane opens a bottle of wine and studies her reflection in the window overlooking the Pacific. At forty-five, she's still beautiful—perhaps more so than in her youth, with a depth and character to her features that transcends conventional prettiness. But the industry has no use for beautiful women with scandalous pasts, not unless they're willing to lean into the scandal.

Which, eventually, she does.

The offer comes through a former makeup artist—a high-end adult film studio looking for a mature, experienced actress for a series of "sophisticated erotic features." The pay is extraordinary: six figures per film, creative input, top-tier production values.

"It's not pornography," the director assures her over lunch at a discreet restaurant. "It's adult cinema. Artistic, sensual, aimed at discerning audiences."

Mary Jane almost laughs at the euphemisms. "Let's be honest—you want me because of the scandal. Because people have already seen me doing these things for free."

The director, a woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and intelligent eyes, doesn't deny it. "I want you because you're beautiful, compelling on screen, and yes—because your name carries a certain... anticipation. But I also think you deserve to take control of your narrative. To be paid fairly for your work, to have agency in how your sexuality is portrayed."

Mary Jane considers the offer for weeks. She consults therapists, lawyers, even calls a women's advocacy group for perspective. In the end, what decides her is a conversation with her daughters during one of their increasingly rare visits.

"We're changing our last name," Sophia announces over dinner. "To Wilson—Mom's maiden name. Dad thinks it's a good idea, to distance us from... everything."

Mary Jane sets down her fork. "I see."

"It's not personal," April adds quickly, though of course it is. "It's just for college applications and stuff."

That night, after they've gone to sleep in rooms that increasingly resemble guest quarters rather than their own spaces, Mary Jane signs the contract with the adult film studio.

If she's going to be defined by scandal anyway, she might as well profit from it. Might as well have control over it. Might as well embrace the scarlet letter rather than futilely trying to scrub it away.

At fifty-five, Mary Jane Watson looks thirty thanks to the Parker-Frost youth serum available to all. She lives alone in her sprawling Malibu mansion, financially secure despite being blacklisted from mainstream entertainment. Her daughters, now successful young women in their twenties, rarely call.

Her adult film career has made her infamous—"The most beautiful woman in the genre," according to industry awards she keeps in a closet rather than displaying them. She works selectively now, commanding extraordinary fees for performances that blur the line between pornography and art.

Between films, she travels—Paris, Tokyo, Buenos Aires—places where she can be anonymous or, at least, where her notoriety carries less weight. She dates occasionally, mostly younger men who are intrigued by her experience and reputation, but the relationships never last.

On a rain-soaked Tuesday evening, alone in her house with only the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below, Mary Jane opens a drawer she hasn't touched in years. Inside is an old photo album, its corners worn, its pages yellowed with age.

Pictures of her and Peter from college. From their apartment in Queens. From happier times when she was just a struggling actress and he was just a struggling photographer—before Spider-Man complicated everything, before she walked away from the most loyal man she'd ever known. Before Paul.

There's Peter with his arm around her waist, both of them laughing at something now forgotten. There they are at Coney Island, sticky with cotton candy and sunburned. There's Peter asleep on their secondhand couch, a textbook open on his chest.

Mary Jane traces his face with her fingertip, then reaches for the small wooden box beside her. Inside are designer pills—the latest synthetic experience, promising euphoria without the crash. She swallows two with expensive scotch.

As the drugs take effect, softening the edges of her loneliness, she makes a decision.

"Computer, load Stark Memories program," she commands.

The room transforms around her, high-tech holographic projectors creating a perfect recreation of Peter's old apartment—their old apartment—down to the water stain on the ceiling and the perpetually broken radiator.

A holographic Peter materializes by the kitchenette, smiling that slightly crooked smile she once knew better than her own. The AI construct, built from photos, videos, and her own memories, is remarkably lifelike—a technological ghost of what might have been.

"Hey MJ," it says with his voice, his mannerisms. "Red looks good on you today."

She watches as the hologram moves around the apartment, going through the motions of Peter's old routine—checking his camera equipment, thumbing through a textbook, complaining good-naturedly about his job at the Bugle. The programming is sophisticated enough to carry on basic conversations, to respond to her questions with phrases culled from her memories.

The holographic Peter finishes his tasks and comes to sit beside her on the recreated sofa, just as he used to do after a long day. He lays his head in her lap, looking up at her with those eyes that always saw the best in her.

Mary Jane reaches out, her hand passing through his face like smoke. A tear slides down her cheek, falling through the projection to land on her own leg.

"I should have never left you," she whispers.

The hologram smiles, programmed to respond to emotional cues. "It's okay, MJ. We've got time."

But they don't. They never did. And as the drugs heighten the simulation's realism while simultaneously reminding her of its artificiality, Mary Jane Watson—once an aspiring actress, once a star, once a wife and mother, now a cautionary tale—allows herself to mourn the life she might have had with the man who loved her unconditionally, the man she left behind for a dream that became a nightmare.

Outside her window, a Parker-Frost Industries billboard illuminates the rainy night, showing Peter and Emma surrounded by their children, their faces radiant with genuine happiness as they promote their latest miracle cure. A family united not just by biology but by purpose, by genuine love, by the shared mission of making the world better.

Everything Mary Jane once could have had, if she'd only made a different choice.

Five days later, Mary Jane sits alone on the patio of a small café in Santa Monica, nursing a cup of coffee gone cold. The ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and possibilities, but she barely notices. Her mind is trapped in the cycle of what-ifs and might-have-beens that has consumed her since seeing Peter again.

She stares at the script on her tablet—another "sophisticated adult feature" with a six-figure paycheck attached. The role requires her to play a mature woman initiating a college student into sex. Her agent had called it "empowering." Mary Jane calls it what it is: exploitation of her notoriety.

Her finger hovers over the "Accept" button when a familiar voice freezes her in place.

"Mary Jane? I thought that was you."

The voice is cultured, crisp, with just a hint of British boarding school refinement. Mary Jane doesn't need to look up to know who it belongs to, but she does anyway.

Emma Frost-Parker stands before her, radiant in a white and ice-blue designer dress that probably costs more than most people's monthly rent. Diamond droplets cascade from her ears, matching the enormous stone on her ring finger. An expensive nursing blanket is draped elegantly over her shoulder, beneath which she's clearly feeding her newest baby.

Her blue lips curve into a gentle smile that reaches her eyes. "Please, don't run off," Emma says, sliding into the seat across from Mary Jane with the practiced grace of someone accustomed to commanding attention. "It's been so long, darling."

Mary Jane's throat tightens. Up close, Emma is even more intimidating—flawless skin, platinum blonde hair styled in an elegant bob, and those piercing eyes that seem to see straight through any pretense. Despite clearly having given birth multiple times, her figure remains enviably perfect.

"What do you want, Emma?" Mary Jane asks bitterly, closing her tablet. "Come to gloat? Twelve children now, I hear. Ambassador to the stars now that Parker-frost is colonizing planets. The perfect life."

Emma adjusts the nursing infant beneath the blanket with practiced ease. "Thirteen, actually. This little one is Alexander. He's just six weeks old." Her expression softens as she gazes down at the hidden bundle. "But no, I'm not here to gloat."

"Then why track me down?"

"I didn't track you down," Emma replies. "I have a home nearby. This café makes excellent croissants." She pauses, studying Mary Jane's face. "Actually, I wanted to tell you something. My daughter Aurora is dating Orion—Peter and Ororo's son. They're talking about marriage."

Mary Jane feels a strange hollowness spread through her chest. Peter's children with other women are getting old enough to marry. Time has truly moved on without her.

"I thought you should know," Emma continues, her voice surprisingly gentle, "since you were once so important to Peter."

"And why would that matter to me now?"

Emma shifts the baby to her other breast beneath the blanket with smooth efficiency. "There's more. Your daughter April has been seeing Erik—Peter and Wanda's son—for several months now. There's talk of engagement there too."

Mary Jane's coffee cup clatters against its saucer. "What? How would you know about my daughter?"

"I know many things, darling. It's what I do." Emma's expression remains compassionate, without a hint of the smug superiority Mary Jane expected. "Our families are becoming intertwined whether we planned it or not. I thought you should hear it from me rather than through gossip."

Mary Jane laughs bitterly, the sound harsh even to her own ears. "Why would I care about your perfect extended family? Peter's moved on. With you, with Storm, with Wanda, with who knows how many others."

"Seven," Emma says matter-of-factly. "Peter has children with seven women, including me…..well seven and counting. All consensual, all with my blessing, all part of saving mutantkind from extinction." She sighs, a flicker of something—perhaps regret?—crossing her features. "He was broken when you left, you know. It took years to put him back together."

She meets Mary Jane's eyes directly. "And if I'm being completely honest, I didn't want you near him after you chose Paul. I was... protective. Perhaps overly so."

"Jealous, you mean," Mary Jane corrects her.

"Yes," Emma admits without hesitation. "Fiercely so. But that was years ago, and we've all grown since then. I just thought—"

"Save it." Mary Jane stands abruptly, gathering her things. "Your concern is wasted on me. My daughters barely speak to me, my career is a joke, and the last thing I need is your pity."

Emma's eyes widen slightly. "That's not what this is—"

"Isn't it?" Mary Jane snaps. "The perfect Emma Frost-Parker, slumming with the fallen star? Taking time from your important ambassadorial duties to check on poor, pathetic MJ?"

"Mary Jane, wait—"

But she's already moving, pushing past other patrons, ignoring Emma's calls to wait. Outside, she breaks into a run, tears blurring her vision as she flees down the boardwalk.

In her mind, she's screaming for Peter to save her, just like he used to do—swinging in at the last moment to catch her when she was falling. But Peter isn't coming. Not anymore. Not ever again.

Back at her Malibu mansion, Mary Jane paces the empty rooms like a caged animal. The walls seem to close in despite the soaring ceilings and ocean views. Her phone rings—her agent, probably with news about the film offer.

She lets it go to voicemail, then listens as the message confirms her suspicions.

"Mary Jane, darling, they've upped the offer to seven figures. It's the most explicit project yet—they're calling it 'The Education of Young Men.' Five scenes, full creative control, and they've agreed to your rider about lighting and camera angles. Call me back ASAP—they need an answer by morning."

She deletes the message and pours herself a double scotch, neat. The amber liquid burns her throat, a welcome distraction from the pain in her chest. Seven figures to perform sex acts on camera with actors young enough to be her sons. Creative control over which positions will best flatter her aging body under the unforgiving lights.

This is what her life has become.

She wanders through the house, past the awards she keeps hidden in closets, past the fan mail she never answers, past the photos of her daughters that become more outdated with each passing year. They're both in their twenties now—Sophia pursuing a law degree at Columbia, April studying fashion design in Paris. They call on holidays, sometimes. Send generic gifts on her birthday.

Mary Jane finds herself in her bedroom, staring at the drawer she rarely opens. Inside is the old photo album—Peter and her in happier times. She pulls it out, fingers trembling as she flips through the pages.

There they are at Coney Island, cotton candy stuck to Peter's nose while she laughs beside him. There's Peter asleep on their old couch, textbooks scattered around him. There they are dancing at Harry Osborn's birthday party, looking at each other like they were the only two people in the world.

Something inside Mary Jane finally breaks—a dam holding back years of regret and self-loathing. She clutches the album to her chest and stumbles to her rooftop terrace, the expansive deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The night is clear, stars twinkling above like distant, uncaring witnesses to her pain.

She sets the photo album down on the glass table and walks to the edge of the terrace. The railing is low—a design choice she'd insisted on when purchasing the property, wanting unobstructed views. Now it seems like fate.

Forty feet below, waves crash against the cliffs, the sound hypnotic in its rhythm.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she whispers to the night sky. "I chose wrong. I always chose wrong."

Mary Jane takes a deep breath and steps onto the lower rung of the railing. One more step and it would be over—the humiliation, the loneliness, the endless parade of meaningless encounters with men who want her body but not her heart.

She closes her eyes, feeling the ocean breeze against her face. It would be so easy...

"MJ, DON'T!"

The voice is so clear, so distinctly Peter's, that for a moment she thinks she's hallucinating. But when she turns, there's no one there—just the empty terrace and the photo album lying open to a picture of them from college, young and full of hope.

Her foot slips, and for one terrifying moment, she teeters on the edge. Her arms windmill frantically as gravity pulls her forward—

Mary Jane bolts upright in bed, screaming, her body drenched in sweat. Her heart hammers wildly against her ribs as she gasps for air, clutching the sheets around her.

The luxurious suite aboard the Aurora Invicta comes into focus around her—plush carpets, ornate furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the moonlit ocean beyond. It was just a nightmare—a terrible vision of what her life could become.

She presses a trembling hand to her mouth, the dream still vivid in her mind. The loneliness, the degradation, the despair—it had felt so real, so possible.

"I won't let that happen," she whispers fiercely to the empty room. "I'll make it right with Peter. Whatever it takes."

Sunlight filtered through the panoramic windows of the master suite aboard the Aurora Invicta, casting golden rays across the rumpled silk sheets. Emma straddled Peter, her heavily pregnant belly a perfect globe between them as her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm. Her platinum blonde hair caught the morning light like spun silver, and her ice-blue painted lips had left a constellation of marks across his face, neck, and chest—a possessive map of her territory.

"You were magnificent with Natasha," Emma purred, her inner muscles clenching around him with expert control. She leaned back slightly, hands resting on his thighs for balance, putting her swollen breasts and rounded belly on full display. "The way you filled her with your cum... she couldn't stop praising your stamina. Even the Black Widow was nothing but a trembling and bred mess by the end."

Peter gripped Emma's perfect ass, giving it a firm smack that echoed through the cabin and made her moan—a sound that still drove him wild after all these years together. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as their bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

"Only for you, Em," Peter groaned, thrusting upward to meet her movements. His hands caressed the curve of her belly, feeling their twins shift beneath his touch. "Everything I do is for you—for us."

Emma leaned down, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest as she captured his mouth in a deep kiss that tasted of love and desire. Her tongue explored his mouth possessively, and when she pulled back, her eyes gleamed with mischievous delight.

"Felicia's next on our list, daddy," she whispered, grinding herself against him in slow, deliberate circles. The wet heat of her cunt gripped him like a vise as she rocked. "I've already arranged everything. Tonight, after the dinner party."

Peter's rhythm faltered slightly. His hands stilled on her hips. "Felicia? I still don't know, Em. There's a lot of history there."

Emma cupped his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones as she left another blue lipstick mark on his cheek. "Exactly," she said, her voice dripping with honey-coated venom. "Remember how she left you hanging when Mary Jane was with Paul? How she played with your heart and then disappeared? All for some thieving 'girlfriend' in Europe?"

She rolled her hips in a particularly delicious way that made Peter groan, his cock throbbing inside her. "Wouldn't it feel good to work out all that frustration? To make her beg for forgiveness while you pound that tight pussy of hers?"

Peter's hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave marks. The memory of Felicia's betrayal still stung, even after all these years. The way she'd vanished without a proper goodbye, only to return months later with stories of a girlfriend in Paris who'd never materialized.

"I want to watch you hate-fuck her, daddy," Emma continued, her voice husky with desire as she ground against him. "I want to see you make her scream until she's hoarse. Until she knows exactly what she gave up when she chose to play with your heart."

The telepathic images Emma sent into his mind were explicit and filthy—Felicia on her hands and knees, mascara running down her face as Peter took her from behind while Emma watched, directing his movements.

"You're terrible," Peter said with a roguish grin, smacking her perfect ass once more before flipping them over in one smooth motion so Emma was beneath him, her pregnant belly cradled safely between them. He drove into her with renewed vigor, careful of her condition but giving her exactly what she needed. "And I love it. I'll do it for you, Em. Only for you."

Emma wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "That's it, daddy. Give me every fucking drop." Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails that would heal within hours thanks to his enhanced metabolism. "Show me how you'll fuck that little kitten tonight."

Their movements became frantic, desperate. Peter's hand moved to Emma's belly, both their hands caressing the large swell of their soon-to-be-born twins. Through their bond, he could feel their children's minds—already forming, already powerful.

"I love you, Emma," he groaned as his release approached, his hips pistoning into her with precision that made her gasp with each thrust. "More than anything in this world."

"I love you too," she gasped, her body arching as pleasure overtook her. Her telepathy slipped, broadcasting her climax throughout the entire ship, causing several crew members to suddenly find themselves inexplicably aroused. "Always and forever, my love."

As they climaxed together, Peter buried himself to the hilt, flooding Emma's already pregnant womb with his seed. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, nuzzling each other's faces affectionately, their bodies still joined as they basked in the afterglow of their passion.

"Do you really think Natasha could be pregnant?" Peter asked after several minutes of contented silence, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Emma's back.

Emma smiled against his chest. "I felt something shift in her mind when you came inside her. The Web of Life responded to you, darling. I believe you've overcome the Red Room's sterilization."

Peter shook his head in amazement. "That's five women carrying my children. Six if Felicia... Jesus, Em, how did this happen? Five years ago I was barely making rent in that shitty apartment."

"Because you deserve this," Emma said fiercely, pushing herself up to look him in the eyes. "You've sacrificed everything for others for years. Now it's time for the universe to give back." She kissed him deeply, then pulled back with a wicked smile. "Besides, I've always wanted a large family. And what i want i always get."

Chapter Text

The Aurora Invicta's private dining room gleamed with luxury, crystal chandeliers casting rainbow prisms across the mahogany table. Peter and Emma finished their lunch, feeding each other bites of chocolate soufflé between loving kisses. Emma's blue-painted fingertips traced intricate patterns on Peter's arm while he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh softly, the sound like wind chimes in the opulent space.

"You know," Emma said, taking a sip of her sparkling water, her diamond engagement ring catching the light, "I do believe your afternoon entertainment should be arriving any moment now." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, one hand resting protectively over her swollen belly where their twins occasionally kicked against her palm.

Peter's expression clouded slightly, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. "Em, I know we talked about this but... I'm still not sure about Felicia. Our history is... complicated." He set the fork down, memories of rooftop chases, passionate encounters, and bitter betrayals flashing through his mind. "She only ever wanted Spider-Man, not Peter Parker."

"The most delicious things often are, darling," Emma purred, her hand sliding up his thigh under the table, fingertips dancing dangerously close to his growing arousal. "Besides, I think you'll find the conversation enlightening, at the very least." Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "And remember, I'll be watching everything. If she tries anything underhanded, I'll freeze her mind faster than she can say 'bad luck.'"

As if orchestrated by fate itself, the door swung open with a whisper of well-oiled hinges, and Felicia Hardy sauntered in with that unmistakable predatory grace that had always set Peter's pulse racing. Her platinum blonde hair—so fine it appeared almost white under the chandelier's glow—tumbled over her shoulders in luxurious waves that seemed to catch and release light with each subtle movement of her head. Those piercing green eyes, rimmed with smoky shadow, glittered with a dangerous playfulness that transported him instantly back to midnight chases across Manhattan's skyline.

The dress she'd chosen was nothing short of weaponized seduction—a liquid silver second skin that hugged every hard-earned curve of her lithe, athletic frame with shameless precision. The neckline plummeted in a deep V nearly to her navel, framing the generous, firm swells of her large breasts which rose and fell with each measured breath. With each deliberate step toward their table, a thigh-high slit parted to reveal a hypnotic glimpse of one powerfully toned leg, muscle definition shifting subtly beneath flawless skin that practically begged to be touched.

Around her throat, a simple black velvet choker provided the only contrast to all that silver, the small cat-shaped charm nestled in the hollow of her collarbone catching the light when she tilted her head to study him. The understated accessory somehow managed to draw his eye more effectively than all her exposed skin—a reminder of nights spent pursuing the Black Cat across rooftops, her laughter carried away on the wind as she stayed just beyond his grasp.

"Well, well," Felicia drawled, her black painted lips curving into a smile as she took in the scene. "Isn't this domestic? The billionaire power couple enjoying a romantic lunch." Her gaze lingered on Peter, sweeping over him appreciatively before shifting to Emma's pregnant form. Something unreadable flickered in her eyes—perhaps envy, perhaps regret.

Emma rose gracefully, smoothing her white dress over her large baby bump. "Ms. Hardy, right on time." She leaned down to kiss Peter deeply, making sure Felicia saw the possessive way her tongue slipped into his mouth, her hand cupping his face. When she pulled away, a faint blue lipstick mark remained on his lips like a brand. "I'll leave you two to... catch up." She winked at Peter before turning to Felicia, her smile suddenly sharp as ice. "Do try not to break anything valuable, dear. Some of these antiques are irreplaceable." The warning in her voice made it clear she wasn't talking about the furniture.

With that, Emma glided from the room, the door clicking shut behind her with a note of finality. The tension in the air thickened as Felicia's gaze followed Emma's departure before returning to Peter, her smile turning from practiced to something more genuine, if tinged with nervousness.

"She's certainly... territorial," Felicia remarked, stepping further into the room, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. "Though I suppose I can't blame her." She gestured to the chair Emma had vacated. "Mind if I join you, Spider?"

Peter nodded silently, watching as she slid into the seat with feline grace. Her confident facade flickered briefly as she reached for Emma's untouched glass of wine, taking a slow, deliberate sip before speaking.

"You look good, Spider. Success suits you." Her eyes traveled over his tailored suit, lingering on how the fabric stretched across his broader shoulders. "The billionaire life agrees with you more than I would have guessed."

Peter remained seated, his expression unreadable. "What are you doing here, Felicia?"

She laughed, a sound that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I was invited, remember? Your fiancée arranged this little reunion." She twirled the wine glass between her fingers, the liquid catching the light. "Quite the power move on her part."

"You know what I mean." Peter's voice hardened slightly. "Why did you apply for this position? Why now, after all these years?"

Felicia moved closer, leaning forward so that her cleavage was prominently displayed. The scent of her expensive perfume—something wild and musky with hints of jasmine—filled the space between them. "Maybe I missed you. Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true about how much you've... grown." Her eyes flicked downward suggestively. "In every possible way."

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor. His jaw clenched visibly as a muscle twitched along his temple. The patience that had defined their earlier conversation evaporated like morning dew under a scorching sun. His eyes—once warm brown pools that used to look at her with adoration—had hardened into something resolute and unflinching.

"Cut the bullshit, Felicia," he said, voice dropping an octave. "You only ever wanted Spider-Man, never Peter Parker. The moment I stopped chasing you, the second I let you be yourself without judgment—let you steal, let you play your games without consequences—you lost interest. I became boring to you the moment I stopped being your challenge."

Felicia's practiced smile faltered, her glossy lips parting slightly in surprise. The confidence that had carried her into the room seemed to drain away under his unflinching gaze. "That's not fair—" she began, her voice lacking its usual sultry assurance.

"Isn't it?" Peter advanced on her, each deliberate step punctuated by the soft creak of Italian leather shoes against the floor. His voice had become low and dangerous, carrying a weight she'd never heard before. His eyes had darkened to almost black, and something about his posture—shoulders squared, back straight, hands slightly curled at his sides—made Felicia instinctively back up a step. This wasn't the movement of the awkward scientist she once knew; this was the predatory grace of someone who had learned to command respect. "You dated and kissed Daredevil when you knew I was watching just to make me jealous. You flaunted it, reveled in my pain. And that time I came back to my body after Otto finally let me back in, you had become the 'Queenpin' of crime just because you thought I had punched you—and you still continued your criminal empire even when I explained it was Doc Ock controlling my body, not me."

He took another step forward, the space between them charged with tension. Felicia found herself retreating, her heels clicking softly as she backed away. The tables had turned completely—she was now the prey to his hunter.

"And don't get me started on lying about having my child." His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper, yet it filled the room like thunder. Each word was precise, cutting. "Then you disappeared without a trace, claiming you found some girlfriend in Europe. And now you're back because what? She dumped you? You saw me on TV with Emma at some gala, noticed the Fortune 500 company I run, and suddenly remembered I exist?"

Felicia backed up until she hit the edge of the dining table, her hands instinctively gripping the polished mahogany behind her. The cool, smooth surface contrasted with the heat rising to her cheeks. "Peter, I—" she attempted, her voice uncharacteristically small.

"No," he cut her off sharply, now standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the expensive cologne that complemented rather than masked his natural scent. His presence overwhelmed her senses, making it difficult to maintain her usual composure. "I want the truth for once, Felicia. No games, no manipulation, no half-truths wrapped in seduction. Why are you really here?"

Something in his tone—the raw authority that was never there in their previous relationship—made Felicia's knees weaken slightly. This wasn't the same Peter who used to stammer and blush around her. This man commanded the room with his presence alone, and she found herself responding to it on a primal level.

"Fine," she whispered, her usual bravado cracking beneath the weight of his intensity. She set the wine glass down with a shaky hand, the crystal making a soft clink against the marble countertop. "I fucked up, okay? I always wanted the chase, the thrill of it all. I wanted Spider-Man swinging across rooftops with me, stealing kisses between freefall and adrenaline rushes, not Peter Parker worrying about rent and responsibilities and normal life." She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, the confession tasting bitter on her tongue. "And yes, Tamara left me. After two years of what I thought was love." A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Turns out thieves make terrible partners—we're too selfish, too used to taking what we want without considering the consequences, too accustomed to disappearing when things get complicated."

Peter's expression remained impassive, carved from stone, his jaw tight with tension. His eyes, once so open and vulnerable around her, now scrutinized her with cold calculation. "So I'm your backup plan? Your safety net? The comfortable option now that your exciting life fell apart?"

"No!" Felicia's eyes flashed with genuine emotion, the first real, unguarded feeling she'd allowed herself to show since entering his apartment. The carefully constructed facade of the Black Cat crumbled for a moment, revealing the woman beneath. "I saw you with Emma at the Stark Foundation Gala last year. I wasn't invited, of course—reformed or not, I'm still persona non grata in certain circles. But I watched from across the street." Her voice softened with the memory. "You looked... different. Confident. Powerful. Not just physically, but the way you carried yourself, the way people responded to you. The respect in their eyes."

She reached out hesitantly, her manicured fingertips hovering just shy of touching his chest, afraid he might recoil from her touch. "The way you commanded the room, the way even Tony Stark deferred to you when you spoke about the neural interface project... it was like seeing you for the first time, Peter." Her breath caught in her throat, vulnerability naked in her eyes. "And then I heard about the babies, about what happened with Emma, about everything you've built from nothing. The company, the foundation, all of it."

"It'll take more than sex to fix what's broken between us, Felicia," Peter said, his tone softening slightly. "If that's even possible."

Felicia stepped forward, eliminating the final breath of space between them, her emerald eyes locking with his in unflinching challenge. "Who said anything about fixing us? I don't want the friend zone or some nostalgic rooftop rendezvous, Peter." Her fingers finally made contact, tracing his jawline with a touch so delicate it felt like worship. "I want to be your personal whore. I want you to claim me like property—use this body however you see fit."

Something ancient and feral ignited behind Peter's eyes—a predatory darkness Felicia had never witnessed in all their complicated history. Without preamble, his hand shot out, capturing her wrist in a grip that balanced perfectly between pleasure and pain, drawing a startled gasp from her painted lips. The sudden display of dominance sent visible tremors cascading through her curvaceous frame.

"Is that what you want? To be used? To be fucked like you're nothing but a warm hole to fill?" His voice had transformed into something barely human—a dangerous, guttural rumble that vibrated through her core.

"Yes," Felicia breathed, her pupils expanding with naked hunger until only thin rings of green remained, her magnificent chest heaving with each shallow breath. "Christ, yes. I've wasted years lying to myself—pretending I didn't crave this—didn't desperately need you—but I fucking do." Her free hand pressed against his chest, fingertips mapping the contoured muscle beneath fine fabric. "I need you to show me exactly what I missed, what I stupidly threw away when I had the chance."

With a growl that sent another wave of shivers down her spine, Peter pulled her toward the door. "Then let's not waste any more time."

Emma strolled through the Aurora Invicta's corridor, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Peter's confrontation with Felicia had gone exactly as she'd planned—his newfound confidence and dominance sending waves of psychic pleasure that Emma could taste like fine wine even from a distance. She'd carefully orchestrated this reunion, knowing precisely how Felicia's appearance would trigger Peter's transformation from the shy, hesitant man he once was into the commanding presence he'd become.

As she turned a corner, Emma spotted Natasha Romanoff leaning against the wall, dressed in a form-fitting black dress that accentuated every lethal curve of her athletic body. The fabric clung to her breasts like a second skin, the neckline dipping just low enough to be tantalizing without revealing too much. The SHIELD agent's crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the warm ambient lighting of the luxury cruise ship. Despite her seemingly relaxed posture, Emma could sense the coiled readiness in her stance—a predator at rest, but never truly off guard. Emma had to admit that ever since Peter had worked his miracle on her damaged womb and impregnated her, Natasha exuded a newfound contentment and self-assurance that was undeniably attractive.

"I was hoping for a threesome," Natasha declared without a hint of hesitation, pushing off from the wall to fall into step beside Emma. Her voice was husky and direct, carrying no trace of embarrassment—just raw, unfiltered desire wrapped in clinical assessment. "You, me, and that magnificent husband of yours going at it until dawn." She let her gaze drift deliberately to Emma's swollen belly. "Though I see you've already enjoyed his services quite thoroughly."

Emma laughed, the sound reminiscent of fine crystal glasses clinking together. "Patience, darling Natasha. Peter has some rather pressing unfinished business with our little feline friend first." She tapped her temple with one immaculately manicured finger, the icy blue nail polish catching the light like a shard of frozen sky. "But I've arranged for us to have front-row seats to the entire performance, if you're interested in watching a master at work."

Natasha's eyes lit up with interest, a slow smile spreading across her face. "How thoughtful of you." She studied Emma's pregnant form with appreciation. "You're handling this remarkably well for someone watching her fiancé fuck his ex."

"Former lovers don't concern me," Emma replied with a dismissive wave. "They're merely chapters in a book where I'm the conclusion." She rested a protective hand on her swollen belly. "Besides, what better way to assert my dominance than to allow him these... indulgences while carrying his children? I know exactly where his heart lies."

"And his cock?" Natasha asked bluntly.

"Wherever I permit it to be," Emma responded with a wicked smile. "And currently, I'm permitting it to teach Ms. Hardy a much-needed lesson in respect."

As they rounded another corner, Emma's steps faltered slightly. Mary Jane Watson stood before them, her face flushed and her eyes wild with emotion. Her fiery red hair seemed almost alive with static electricity, framing her face like flames. She wore a simple white sundress that contrasted sharply with her obvious distress.

"You," Mary Jane said, pointing an accusing finger at Emma. "That nightmare. It was you, wasn't it? You put those images in my head."

Emma's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What nightmare?"

"Don't play innocent," Mary Jane hissed, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening with tension. "The future you showed me—the porn career, the drugs, the loneliness. My daughters hating me." Her voice cracked slightly, the facade of anger briefly giving way to raw pain. "Jumping off a fucking roof. It was too real. Too detailed. Like I was actually there, feeling the wind rushing past me before I hit the ground."

Emma's expression shifted from confusion to concern, the icy blue of her eyes softening almost imperceptibly. "Mary Jane, I assure you, I had nothing to do with whatever dream you experienced." She stepped closer, her movements careful and measured, as though approaching a wounded animal. Her voice softened unexpectedly, losing its usual sardonic edge. "But I can see it's disturbed you deeply. The psychic residue is practically radiating from you. Would you like me to look? Perhaps I can help understand what happened, trace the source of this intrusion."

Mary Jane hesitated, conflict evident in her emerald green eyes. She ran a trembling hand through her flame-red hair, swallowing hard. The corridor seemed to close in around them as she weighed her options. Finally, she nodded reluctantly, dropping her defensive posture slightly. "Fine. Look. But don't you dare mess with anything else in there."

Emma raised her hand, her perfectly manicured fingertips barely brushing Mary Jane's temple. A faint shimmer of psychic energy pulsed between them as her eyes unfocused slightly, pupils dilating. She gently probed the redhead's mind, witnessing the vivid nightmare in all its horrifying detail—the degradation, the exploitation, the slow descent into despair, the crumbling relationships, the children turning away in disgust, and finally, the desperate leap into oblivion from a Manhattan rooftop. When she withdrew, her face was troubled, genuine concern replacing her usual icy demeanor, her brow furrowed with professional intrigue.

"That wasn't my doing," Emma said quietly, dropping her hand to her side. "I don't manipulate people's minds that way anymore—not since Peter and I got together." She paused, studying Mary Jane with new interest, as though seeing her for the first time. "It seems your subconscious has some rather specific fears. But there's something else there—a signature that doesn't belong."

Mary Jane wrapped her arms around herself protectively, suddenly looking vulnerable beneath the harsh corridor lighting. Her white sundress seemed to hang more loosely on her frame, as though the weight of the vision had physically diminished her. "It felt so real. So... possible. Like I was watching my own future unfold, powerless to change it."

"The future is never fixed," Emma said with unexpected kindness, her pregnant silhouette casting a protective shadow between Mary Jane and the world. "We make choices every day that reshape our destinies." She tilted her head, a calculating look entering her eyes, the compassion not entirely displacing her strategic mind. "Though I must admit, your fear is... illuminating. Someone has gone to great lengths to plant this particular nightmare in your mind."

"I'll do anything," Mary Jane said suddenly, her voice raw with emotion. "Anything to be part of Peter's life again. I can't end up like... that."

Emma regarded her thoughtfully, then simply nodded once—neither mocking nor rejecting the statement. "Come, Natasha," she said, turning away. "We have a show to watch."

As they walked away, Natasha whispered, "You're just going to leave her like that?"

"Sometimes," Emma replied softly, "the most powerful lesson is one we teach ourselves." She glanced sideways at the spy. "Besides, that nightmare wasn't entirely natural. Someone or something planted it there—and I intend to find out who."

"You think someone else is manipulating her?" Natasha asked, her professional interest piqued.

"I know it," Emma confirmed. "That dream had psychic fingerprints all over it—not mine, but someone's. And they were sloppy enough to leave traces." Her eyes hardened. "No one plays mind games with people in my orbit without my permission."

"Territorial much?" Natasha smirked.

"You have no idea," Emma replied, her tone suddenly glacial. "When it comes to protecting what's mine, I make the Winter Soldier look like a playground monitor."

In Emma and Peter's luxurious suite, Storm and Jean were already waiting, lounging on the plush sofa with glasses of champagne in hand. Storm's white hair cascaded over her shoulders in stark contrast to her chocolate skin, while Jean's fiery red locks were pulled into a loose bun, tendrils framing her face. Both women had the healthy glow of early pregnancy, their hands occasionally drifting to their still-flat stomachs in unconscious gestures of protection and connection to the new lives growing within them. The afternoon sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow across the imported marble floors and custom furniture that defined Emma's impeccable taste.

"Ladies," Emma greeted them with a smile, her diamond form momentarily catching the light before she shifted back to flesh. "I've arranged something special for our entertainment today." Her Louboutins clicked precisely against the floor as she moved toward the bar cart, perfectly manicured fingers selecting a crystal decanter.

She gestured toward the massive wall screen, which flickered to life showing multiple camera angles of an elegantly appointed cabin. The wooden interior gleamed with polish, a roaring fireplace casting dancing shadows across luxurious fur rugs and bespoke furniture. The Cuckoos appeared from an adjoining room, moving with synchronized grace, carrying silver trays of delicate appetizers and ruby-red cherry juice for the pregnant women, along with sparkling water for Emma. Their identical blonde heads nodded in unison as they arranged everything just so.

"Is this what I think it is?" Jean asked, her emerald eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned forward, selecting a caviar-topped canapé from the tray.

"Peter's about to give our dear Felicia a proper reunion," Emma confirmed, settling onto the sofa and smoothing her immaculate white skirt. "I thought we might enjoy watching. The feed is in 8K, of course—I spare no expense for quality entertainment." She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she adjusted one of her diamond earrings.

Storm took a sip of her cherry juice, her expression unreadable, though the slight tensing of her shoulders betrayed her mixed feelings. Her eyes, mist-white and ethereal, briefly met Emma's icy blue ones across the pristine coffee table. "How thoughtful of you to share, Emma."

"I'm nothing if not generous," Emma purred, her eyes fixed on the screen as the cabin door burst open with enough force to rattle the antique door hinges. She leaned back against the plush cushions, crossing her legs at the ankle, the very picture of satisfied anticipation.

Peter practically dragged Felicia into the private cabin, slamming the door behind them with enough force to rattle the hinges. The sound echoed through the space like a thunderclap, announcing the storm that was about to break between them. Before she could speak, he pushed her against the wall, his mouth capturing hers in a bruising kiss that was more punishment than passion.

"Mmmph!" Felicia moaned against his lips, her hands immediately moving to unbutton his shirt, fingers trembling with eagerness. The expensive fabric parted beneath her touch, revealing the chiseled perfection of his chest—so different from the lean build she remembered, now sculpted with dense, powerful muscle.

Peter pulled back, his eyes dark with desire and lingering anger. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared down at her, something primal and dangerous lurking behind his gaze.

"You want to be my slut?" he growled, his voice deeper than she'd ever heard it, resonating through her body like a physical touch. "Then you'll take what I give you, how I give it to you."

With a swift motion, he grabbed the front of her expensive silver dress and tore it down the middle, the sound of ripping fabric filling the room like the opening of a forbidden gift. The metallic material gave way with surprising ease, as though even the finest silk couldn't withstand the force of his desire. Felicia gasped, both shocked and aroused by his aggression, her magnificent breasts still contained in a delicate black lace bra that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin.

"Peter!" she exclaimed, but the protest died in her throat as he roughly palmed her breasts through the lacy fabric, his thumbs circling her hardening nipples with deliberate, almost punishing pressure. The sensation sent electric currents straight to her core, making her pussy clench with anticipation.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Peter said, his voice a dangerous rumble as his fingers found the clasp of her bra and snapped it open with practiced ease. The delicate hooks gave way like they were nothing. "The powerful man taking what he wants? No more sweet, understanding Peter Parker? No more doormat for you to walk all over?"

Her breasts spilled free, full and perky with dusky pink nipples that pebbled instantly under his hungry gaze. They were even more magnificent than he remembered—high and firm despite their generous size, the pale flesh unmarked and perfect, a testament to her athletic lifestyle and superhuman agility. Peter stepped back, stripping off his own clothes with efficient, almost angry movements until he stood gloriously naked before her, his body a masterpiece of superhuman perfection—every muscle defined, scars telling stories of battles won, power evident in every inch of him.

"Holy fucking shit," Felicia whispered reverently, her blue eyes wide and her glossy lips parted as her gaze locked on his cock, nine thick, vein-ridged inches of rigid masculinity jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. Pre-cum beaded at the flared purple head like a promise of the flood to come. "You weren't that big before. You were big but not... Jesus Christ, Parker. Not even close to this. What happened to you?"

Peter smirked, an expression so unlike his former self that Felicia felt a delicious shiver run down her spine, her nipples tightening further. There was something darkly satisfying about seeing the transformation in him—the boy she'd once manipulated and abandoned now replaced by a man who clearly intended to take control and make her pay for every teasing moment.

"You'll get used to it," he promised darkly, his hand wrapping around the impressive girth of his shaft, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke, "every... single... inch," before kissing her again and pushing her toward the bed. His tongue invaded her mouth, claiming territory as his hands roughly tore away the remains of her dress, the expensive fabric falling in tatters around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a tiny black thong that barely covered her glistening sex and her silver stiletto heels.

They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, Peter's weight pinning her down as his mouth claimed hers. His kisses were demanding, his tongue exploring her mouth with possessive strokes while his hands roamed her body with confident familiarity. One hand slid between her thighs, pushing aside the thin material of her thong to find her already wet and ready.

"Schlick, schlick," came the lewd, wet sounds as his fingers explored her folds.

"Eager little kitty," he murmured against her lips, the heat of his breath mingling with hers. "Let's see how many times I can make you cum before you start begging me to stop."

His fingers traced her slick folds with deliberate slowness before two thick digits plunged inside her without warning. Felicia arched violently off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips at the sudden intrusion, her inner walls clenching around him hungrily.

"Fuck! Peter, that feels so fucking good," she moaned, her hips bucking wildly to meet his hand, desperate for more of that exquisite pressure. "Oh god, your fingers are so much bigger too... everything about you is just... massive now."

"Everything about me is bigger now," he whispered hotly against her ear, his voice dripping with dark promise. "And you're going to take every last inch before the night is through. Every. Single. Inch."

Peter worked his fingers in and out of her tight, sopping channel, his calloused thumb finding her swollen clit and circling it with devastating precision. His mouth descended to her neck, biting and sucking with savage intensity—leaving territorial brands that made Felicia whimper and writhe beneath him.

"Slurp, suck," he worked at her neck, marking a constellation of purple bruises that would be impossible to conceal.

"You're so fucking wet," Peter growled against her flushed skin, the vibration of his voice sending electric currents racing down her spine. "Your pussy is practically flooding for me." He curled his fingers inside her with expert knowledge, finding that secret spot that made her vision blur at the edges. "Is this what you fantasized about all those years ago? For me to stop being your good little Spider and just ravage you like the thief you are?"

"Yes!" Felicia gasped, her inner walls fluttering frantically around his invading fingers as her orgasm built with frightening speed. "I wanted you to stop holding back—oh fuck, Peter, I'm gonna cum so hard!"

"Then cum for me," he commanded, increasing both the pressure and tempo of his skilled fingers. "Show me exactly how much that tight little pussy has missed this cock."

"Ah! AH! AHHHH!" Felicia's body went rigid as steel, her back arching like a bowstring pulled to its breaking point, her platinum hair cascading across the dark sheets in a silvery waterfall. A powerful gush of warm fluid soaked Peter's hand and wrist as she screamed his name into the night, her pussy contracting violently around his fingers. Her sculpted thighs quivered uncontrollably, her toes curling painfully in her silver stilettos as pleasure crashed through her system like a tidal wave, drowning her in sensations so intense they bordered on painful ecstasy.

Before she could recover, he adjusted his position and drove his fingers deeper, his thumb never ceasing its relentless assault on her sensitive clit. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the cabin like a lewd symphony, each thrust of his fingers producing obscenely wet noises that seemed to echo off the walls.

"Squelch, squelch, squelch," his fingers moved faster inside her, the pitch rising with his increasing tempo.

"Again," he demanded, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that brooked no argument. "I want to see you squirt for me again, Felicia. Show me what a dirty fucking girl you really are."

"I can't—it's too much—oh god—" she protested weakly, her chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, her creamy skin flushed crimson with exertion and pleasure. But even as she begged for mercy, her body betrayed her—her hips bucking frantically against his hand as a second, more powerful orgasm built with shocking speed in her core.

"You can, cat," Peter insisted, adding a third finger to stretch her further, the additional girth making her eyes roll back. "Show me what a good little slut you can be for me. Show me how much that greedy pussy has missed being fucked properly by a real man."

The combination of his commanding tone and the merciless curl of his fingers against that perfect spot inside her pushed Felicia over the edge again. This time, her orgasm was explosive—a violent torrent of her juices soaking the sheets beneath them as she wailed in uninhibited ecstasy.

"PETER! FUCK! OH MY GOD! I'M CUMMING AGAIN!" she screamed, her body convulsing wildly as pleasure overwhelmed every nerve ending. Her inner walls clamped down on his fingers with almost painful intensity, her release gushing around them in a spectacular display of feminine surrender.

"That's it," Peter praised, slowly withdrawing his drenched fingers from her quivering sex. He brought them to her lips, the digits glistening with her essence in the dim light. "Clean them. Taste how wet you get for me."

Felicia obediently opened her mouth without hesitation, sucking her own essence from his fingers with hungry, wanton enthusiasm. Her emerald eyes locked with his, silently communicating her complete submission as her tongue swirled expertly around each digit, making sure not to miss a single drop of her tangy sweetness.

"Slurp, mmm," she moaned around his fingers, savoring her own taste on his skin. "So fucking good."

When his fingers were clean, Peter shifted on the bed, his monstrous erection throbbing violently against his abdomen. The veins bulged along its impressive length like rivers on a map of masculine desire. "Now it's your turn to please me. Show me how much you've missed this cock, kitten."

Felicia crawled down his body with predatory grace, her emerald eyes widening with a mixture of awe and hunger at the sight before her. His massive shaft stood proudly against his toned stomach, veins pulsating with each powerful heartbeat, the swollen purple head glistening with anticipation.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Peter," she whispered with reverent devotion, her delicate fingers wrapping around his shaft only to discover they couldn't meet. "You're even bigger than I remembered. So thick... so fucking massive." Another flood of arousal dampened her thighs as she gazed at his imposing manhood. "I don't know if I can take all of this anymore. It's been so long..."

"You will," Peter commanded, his voice dark with dominance as he caressed her cheek. "Every. Single. Inch. But first, I want that filthy mouth of yours wrapped around me."

Felicia's pink tongue darted out, collecting the pearly bead of pre-cum that had gathered at his slit. "Mmm," she moaned shamelessly at his salty-sweet flavor. She wrapped her black-painted lips around his bulbous crown, sucking with deliberate pressure while her tongue danced expertly around the sensitive ridge.

"Slurp, pop, mmm," the obscene symphony of her mouth worshipping his cock echoed through the bedroom.

"That's it," Peter groaned, his powerful hand tangling in her platinum tresses. "Deeper. Take more for me."

Felicia descended his shaft with determined hunger, each bob of her head taking him deeper into her warm, wet mouth. Her dark lipstick left a trail of inky rings along his length—a lewd measurement of her progress that made his cock twitch with approval. One manicured hand massaged his heavy, cum-filled balls while the other pumped what her mouth couldn't yet accommodate.

"Fuck, your slutty mouth feels incredible," Peter hissed through clenched teeth, his hips instinctively thrusting upward to feed her more of his girth. "But we both know you can swallow more than that, can't you, kitten?"

He tightened his grip in her hair, controlling her movements as she struggled to accommodate his impressive size. Mascara-tinged tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she fought to relax her throat, the challenge visibly intensifying her arousal. Her muffled moans vibrated through his shaft, drawing a primal growl from deep within his chest.

"Gluk, gluk, glurk," she choked slightly as his massive head pushed against her throat's entrance, but instead of retreating, she pushed forward with renewed determination.

"That's my good little cocksucker," Peter praised as she finally managed to swallow him to the base, her nose pressing against his pubic bone. "Your perfect fucking throat was made for my cock, wasn't it?"

"Mmmm-hmmm," Felicia hummed enthusiastically, the vibrations sending electric currents of pleasure shooting through his groin. She held herself there, throat convulsing around him, before pulling back with a desperate gasp. A thick rope of saliva connected her swollen lips to his glistening shaft. Her mascara had smeared into black rivulets down her flushed cheeks—a debauched portrait of submission that only enhanced her raw beauty.

"Your balls," she panted, her voice husky with lust as she moved lower. "I need to taste every inch of you, Peter."

She drew one heavy testicle into her hot mouth, sucking with gentle pressure while her hand continued stroking his spit-slickened shaft. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive skin with practiced expertise, drawing a sharp hiss of pleasure from between Peter's teeth.

"Suck, slurp, mmm," she worshipped his sack with unrestrained enthusiasm, leaving black lipstick marks across his balls—marking her territory in the most primal way.

"Such a perfect cocksucker," he praised, watching her debase herself with hooded, hungry eyes. "I'm going to cum soon. You're going to swallow every fucking drop, understand? I want to see that gorgeous throat working as you drink down every last drop of my load."

Felicia nodded eagerly, returning to his throbbing shaft with renewed vigor. She took him impossibly deep again, her throat muscles rippling around his sensitive head as she swallowed repeatedly, milking him with expert precision. The exquisite sensation pushed Peter beyond his limits.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," he growled, his powerful hands locking her head in place as his release built to its inevitable crescendo. "Take it all, Felicia. Drink my cum like the perfect little cum-hungry cat slut you are."

His cock erupted with violent force, each pulse sending thick, creamy ropes of seed flooding into her eager mouth. Felicia's emerald eyes bulged in shock at the overwhelming volume—his cum had the consistency of heavy cream, practically chunky in its thickness as it gushed forth like a broken dam. She struggled valiantly against the onslaught, her throat working overtime as she gulped desperately to keep pace with his seemingly endless production.

"Gulp, gulp, mmm, gulp," she swallowed frantically, her delicate throat visibly bulging with each massive swallow as Peter's balls emptied their heavy load directly into her stomach.

When his grip finally loosened on her platinum locks, she pulled back with a gasping, wet pop, fighting for breath as pearly rivulets escaped the corners of her swollen lips, trailing down her flushed chin and dripping onto her heaving breasts. Her chest rose and fell dramatically, those magnificent tits bouncing hypnotically with each desperate intake of air.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered reverently, her pink tongue darting out to collect the escaped essence. "You taste incredible, Peter. So rich and hot... goddamn, there's at least twice as much as before. What the hell have you been eating?"

Peter didn't grant her the luxury of recovery. With spider-enhanced strength that still managed to surprise her, he flipped her onto her belly in one fluid motion, roughly yanking her hips upward until she assumed the position—hands and knees, that magnificent heart-shaped ass thrust high in supplication. He seized her flimsy black thong and ripped it away with savage impatience, the delicate designer fabric surrendering instantly to his superhuman power.

"We're just getting started," he snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave as he positioned his still-rigid member against her glistening entrance. "I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

Peter slapped Felicia's ass hard, leaving a bright red handprint on her pale skin that made her yelp in surprise and arousal. The sharp sound echoed through the cabin like a thunderclap, followed immediately by her breathless moan.

"This isn't going to be gentle, Felicia," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous timbre that sent shivers racing down her spine. "This isn't going to be loving. Not until I've fucked all that betrayal out of my system."

"Yes," she moaned, arching her back and pushing her ass back toward him like a cat in heat. "Use me, Peter. Punish me. I deserve it." Her platinum hair cascaded down her back in a silver waterfall, swaying with each desperate movement of her body. "I've thought about this for years... dreamed about it... please..."

Peter ran his still-hard cock through her soaked folds, coating himself in her abundant juices. The lewd schlick, schlick sounds filled the room as he slid his massive length between her labia, teasing her entrance without penetrating. Her pussy lips parted eagerly, glistening with need in the dim light.

"Remember who owns this pussy," he said, his voice dark with possession as he lined himself up with her entrance. "Remember who you threw away."

"I remember," she whimpered, her entire body trembling with anticipation. "God, I was such a fool. I've never stopped thinking about—AHHHHH!"

With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her. Felicia screamed, her inner walls stretching painfully to accommodate his enormous size. Her fingers clawed desperately at the sheets, knuckles turning white as her body struggled to adjust to his invasion.

"FUCK! Oh my GOD, Peter!" she cried out, her voice breaking with the intensity of the sensation. "So big! You're splitting me in half!"

Peter didn't wait for her to adjust, immediately setting a brutal pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. Thud, thud, thud – the rhythm of their coupling punctuated by Felicia's increasingly desperate cries.

"Take it," he commanded, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, pulling her back to meet each punishing thrust. "This what you wanted, isn't it?" he grunted, his cock reaching depths inside her that had never been touched before. "To be fucked like a whore? To be reminded of what you gave up?"

"Yes! Yes!" Felicia sobbed, her pleasure mingling with the exquisite pain of his size as tears streamed down her face. "I'm your slut, Peter! I've always been yours! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuck!"

The wet sounds of their coupling grew louder as her arousal increased, her pussy making obscene squelch, squelch, squelch noises with each powerful thrust. Her magnificent breasts swung beneath her like ripe fruit, nipples hard as diamonds, brushing against the silken sheets with each impact.

He reached forward, grabbing a handful of her platinum hair and pulling back sharply, forcing her to arch her spine into an almost impossible curve. Her scalp tingled with delicious pain as he used her hair like reins, controlling her movements completely.

"You left me," he reminded her, punctuating each word with a deep, punishing thrust. "You. Left. Me. You chose someone else. Now I'm supposed to believe you're mine?"

"I was stupid!" she cried, mascara-tinted tears of pleasure streaming down her flushed face, leaving black trails across her cheeks. "I'll never leave again! I swear! Oh fuck, I'm going to cum!"

Peter released her hair to deliver another stinging slap to her ass, the sound like a gunshot in the cabin. Her pale flesh immediately bloomed with another crimson handprint, the sight of his mark on her driving him to thrust even harder.

"Not yet," he commanded, voice dripping with dominance. "You don't cum until I say you can."

Felicia whimpered, her entire body shaking as she desperately tried to hold back her orgasm. Her inner walls fluttered around his invading shaft, her thighs trembling with the effort of restraint. Peter continued his relentless assault on her pussy, the brutal pace never faltering as sweat glistened on his muscled torso.

His hand moved around to grope her swinging breasts, capturing one magnificent globe in his palm. He squeezed roughly, feeling its perfect weight before pinching and twisting her nipple with just the right amount of pain to heighten her pleasure.

"Mmmmm... oh god... nnnngh," she moaned, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Peter," she begged, her voice breaking with need. "Please let me cum. I need it so bad. I can't hold it anymore!"

"Tell me who owns this pussy," Peter demanded, suddenly slowing his thrusts to a torturous pace that had her sobbing with frustration. He barely moved inside her, just grinding against that perfect spot deep inside that made her see stars. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You do!" Felicia sobbed, pushing back against him frantically, trying to force him deeper. Her desperation was palpable, her entire body shaking with need. "My pussy belongs to you, Peter! I belong to you! Please, I'm begging you! I'll do anything... be anything you want... just please let me cum!"

His hand snaked around to find her clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He circled it with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to drive her wild without tipping her over the edge.

"Cum for me," he finally allowed, speeding up his thrusts again to a punishing rhythm while his fingers worked her sensitive bundle of nerves. "Show me how much you love this cock."

"Oh god, PETER! I'M CUMMING!" Felicia's orgasm hit her like a freight train, her inner walls clamping down on Peter's shaft with vice-like pressure as waves of pleasure crashed through her body. Her back arched impossibly, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she screamed his name. Her arms gave out and she collapsed face-first into the mattress, her ass still raised for him to use as her body convulsed with aftershocks.

"Fuck fuck fuck," she chanted into the pillow, her voice muffled and broken as her body quivered with the intensity of her release. "So good... so fucking good... oh my god, I can't... I can't even... your cock is destroying me..."

"That's one," Peter said with dark satisfaction, never stopping his relentless pounding as she trembled beneath him. His cock glistened with her abundant juices, each withdrawal revealing how completely drenched they both were—her cream coating him from base to tip, dripping down his balls and onto the sheets below. "Let's see how many more you can take before you're completely broken."

He continued fucking her through the aftershocks, his pace never faltering as he gripped her hips with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room like thunderclaps, accompanied by the increasingly obscene squelching noises of her arousal. Her pussy made wet, sucking sounds each time he withdrew, as if desperately trying to keep him inside. Within minutes, Felicia was building toward another climax, her oversensitive body responding to his skilled manipulation despite her exhaustion, her inner walls fluttering around his shaft in warning.

"Wait... I can't—it's too much—oh fuck—" she gasped, her voice cracking as sweat dripped down her spine, even as her hips continued to meet his thrusts with desperate need, her body betraying her words with its eager, hungry response. Her thighs trembled violently, threatening to give out entirely.

"You can and you will," Peter insisted, his voice dropping to a commanding growl that sent shivers down her spine. His hand came down on her ass again with another resounding SMACK that echoed through the bedroom. The impact sent shockwaves through her flesh, leaving another perfect red handprint on her pale skin and making her pussy clench around him involuntarily with a flood of fresh wetness. "This is what you wanted, remember? To be my slut? My fucktoy? My personal cum dump? Then take what I give you and thank me for it and be thankful cat slut."

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you for fucking me!" Felicia cried out, her words slurring together as pleasure overwhelmed her senses. Her knees slid further apart on the silk sheets, opening herself completely to his assault. "Use me... oh god... nnnngh... harder!"

Peter's pace became punishing, each thrust driving her further up the bed until she had to brace her palms against the headboard to keep from smashing into it. The wooden frame creaked dangerously under the force of their coupling, threatening to splinter. His hands gripped her hips with bruising force, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her back to meet each devastating thrust.

"Schlap! Schlap! Schlap!" The wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding filled the cabin, punctuated by Felicia's increasingly desperate moans and Peter's controlled grunts.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good squeezing my cock," Peter growled, one hand sliding up her sweat-slicked back to tangle in her platinum hair again. He yanked her head back sharply, forcing her to arch her spine into that impossible curve that displayed her submission so perfectly. "Is this how you imagined it? Getting fucked like a bitch in heat by the man you threw away?"

"Better!" Felicia gasped, mascara-stained tears streaming freely down her flushed face. "So much better than I ever—OH FUCK!"

Her words dissolved into incoherent screams as Peter's free hand reached beneath her to find her swollen clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves with devastating precision. The dual assault—his massive cock stretching her inner walls while his skilled fingers worked her clit—pushed her rapidly toward another explosive climax.

"I'm cumming again!" she wailed, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his invading shaft. "Peter! PETER! FUUUUCK!"

Her second orgasm crashed through her almost immediately, her body convulsing violently as she screamed into the pillow, biting down on the expensive silk to muffle the sounds of her absolute surrender. This time, her pussy squirted powerfully around his still-thrusting cock, drenching both of them with her release. The warm fluid gushed between them in pulsing waves, soaking the sheets beneath them and splashing audibly with each continued thrust.

"Splash! Squish! Splash!" The sounds of her ejaculation mingled with her muffled screams, creating a symphony of feminine surrender that echoed throughout the cabin.

Peter finally slowed his relentless pace, allowing her a moment to catch her breath as the aftershocks of her powerful climax rippled through her trembling form. His cock remained buried deep inside her, throbbing with each beat of his heart, a constant reminder of his dominance and her willing submission.

"Turn over," he commanded, his voice rough with desire as he withdrew from her drenched channel with a wet pop. "I want to see your face when I fill you with my cum."

Felicia rolled onto her back, her body trembling with exertion, platinum hair splayed across the pillows like a silver halo. Her makeup was thoroughly ruined—black mascara tracks running down her flushed cheeks from her tears of pleasure, black lipstick smeared across her face from their brutal kisses. Her lips were swollen and red, and her neck and magnificent breasts were marked with a constellation of possessive bites and dark purple bruises—evidence of Peter's claim on her body.

She looked utterly debauched—used and marked in the most primal way possible—yet there was something transcendent in her expression, a mixture of satisfaction and yearning that made her more beautiful than ever. Her emerald eyes, though glazed with pleasure, held a vulnerability Peter had never seen before, a raw honesty that struck him somewhere deep in his chest.

"God, you're beautiful like this," Peter murmured, his tone softening slightly as he positioned himself between her splayed legs. He lifted them effortlessly, pressing her knees back toward her shoulders in a perfect mating press, opening her completely to his gaze and his cock. Her pussy glistened in the dim light, swollen and pink from his attention, her abundant juices coating her inner thighs and the sheets beneath her.

He entered her again in one smooth thrust, making her gasp loudly as he reached even deeper in this position. The head of his cock pressed against her cervix, the slight pain mingling with pleasure to create an exquisite cocktail of sensation that had her eyes rolling back.

"Mmmmmph... oh god... so deep," she whimpered, looking up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, her hands clutching weakly at his forearms. "I can feel you in my fucking womb, Peter."

"Please," she continued, her voice breaking with raw need. "Fill me up. I need your cum inside me. I've dreamed about it for years—woken up soaking wet, fingers buried in my pussy, pretending it was you pumping me full."

Peter leaned down, capturing her mouth in a surprisingly tender kiss as he began to move again. This time his pace was measured, deliberate, each thrust calculated to hit her most sensitive spots. His tongue mirrored the movements of his cock, slipping between her lips to claim her mouth as thoroughly as he claimed her body.

"Mmm... slurp... mmm," the wet sounds of their kisses mingled with the slick noises of their joining below.

"Is this what you imagined all these years?" he asked when they finally broke apart, his voice husky with exertion, his breath hot against her lips. "Being underneath me, taking my cock, begging for my cum?"

"Yes," Felicia admitted, her hands clutching at his back, nails digging into the corded muscle there. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels locking at the small of his back to pull him deeper. "Every man and woman I've been with since you, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you. None of them compared. Not even close."

She cupped his face in her trembling hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. "They couldn't make me feel the way you do. Couldn't make me cum like this. Couldn't make me beg the way I'm begging you now." A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, tracking through the already smeared mascara. "I was such a fucking idiot, Peter. I threw away the best thing I ever had because I was too stupid to see what was right in front of me."

Something in her honesty touched him, breaking through the anger that had fueled their encounter thus far. His thrusts became more passionate, less punishing—still powerful and deep, but with a tenderness that hadn't been there before. He kissed away the tear on her cheek, his lips gentle against her salt-stained skin.

"I'm close, Felicia," he warned, his rhythm faltering slightly as his release built at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight against his body. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," she begged without hesitation, tightening her legs around his waist to prevent him from pulling out. Her inner walls rippled around his shaft, trying to milk the seed from him with greedy pulses. "Please, Peter, I need to feel you cum inside me. Make me yours completely. Mark me from the inside out."

With a final, powerful thrust, Peter hilted himself completely inside her and released with a guttural groan that seemed torn from the very depths of his soul. Thick spurts of hot seed flooded her womb in powerful jets, so much that it immediately began to leak out around his shaft despite how deeply he was embedded within her. The pressure of his cum filling her was visible—her lower abdomen actually bulging slightly with the sheer volume of his release.

"Nnngh... fuck... taking it all," Peter groaned, his hips jerking with each massive pulse of his orgasm, pumping rope after rope of thick cream into her eager body. "Taking all my fucking cum, Felicia."

The sensation of being filled so completely—the heat and pressure of his seed flooding her deepest parts—triggered Felicia's third orgasm. Her pussy clamped down on his cock with almost painful intensity, milking every last drop as she screamed his name one final time. Her entire body convulsed beneath him, back arching off the bed as her legs locked him in place, her nails leaving bloody tracks down his back as she held onto him for dear life.

"PETER! OH GOD, PETER! I CAN FEEL IT! SO MUCH CUM!" she wailed, her voice breaking with the intensity of her pleasure. "You're filling me up... oh fuck... breeding me like a fucking animal!"

The waves of pleasure seemed endless, aftershocks rippling through both their bodies as they clung to each other, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. Peter's hips continued to make small, involuntary thrusts, working his seed deeper into her as her inner walls fluttered and pulsed around him, drawing out every last drop.

When the last pulses of their shared pleasure finally subsided, Peter collapsed beside her, both of them breathing heavily. Felicia curled against him immediately, her body still trembling with aftershocks, her hand resting possessively on his chest as though afraid he might disappear if she let go.

"Fuck, Peter," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming, her breath hot against his skin. "You fucked me like a ten-dollar whore you owned." She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes, something like awe shining through the exhaustion. "You made my pussy yours."

Peter kissed her deeply, his hand caressing her face with unexpected tenderness. His thumb traced the high curve of her cheekbone, wiping away the remnants of mascara and tears. "We're not done yet," he murmured against her lips, his voice a dark promise that sent fresh shivers racing down her spine. His fingers trailed down her back, following the elegant curve of her spine until they reached the cleft of her ass, circling her tight rear entrance with deliberate intent. "Your punishment isn't over."

Felicia moaned, her eyes widening as she felt his cock hardening against her thigh again. "God, you're still hard? What did Emma do to you?" She reached down between them, her delicate fingers wrapping around his shaft with reverent appreciation, feeling it pulse back to full rigidity with astonishing speed. "Christ, Parker. You're fucking insatiable now."

Instead of answering, Peter rolled her onto her hands and knees again. His hand delivered another stinging slap to her already reddened ass, the sound sharp in the quiet aftermath of their previous coupling. Felicia gasped, then moaned as the pain bloomed into pleasure, her pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the feeling of being filled.

Understanding what was coming next, she arched her back in a perfect curve, reaching behind to spread her ass cheeks invitingly. Her fingers dimpled the firm flesh as she exposed her most intimate entrance to his hungry gaze. The sight of Felicia offering herself so completely made Peter's cock throb with renewed need. She made her cheeks clap together obscenely, looking over her shoulder with a seductive smile that couldn't quite mask the vulnerability flickering in her ice-blue eyes.

"Take it, Spider," she purred, her earlier submission transformed into wanton eagerness. "Take my ass like you own it too." She wiggled her hips in a hypnotic rhythm that made the globes of her perfect ass jiggle enticingly, her platinum hair spilling down her back like liquid silver catching moonlight. "Make me your three-hole slut."

Peter positioned his still-slick cock against her tight pucker, feeling the resistant ring of muscle quiver against his sensitive head. One hand reached around to glide through her soaked folds, gathering the intoxicating mixture of her abundant juices and his own thick cum to serve as natural lubrication. He methodically smeared the slippery cocktail around her puckered entrance, his middle finger pressing inside to the first knuckle, then deeper, feeling her inner walls grip him hungrily.

"This is going to hurt," he warned, his voice husky with desire yet tinged with genuine concern as he pressed forward with deliberate patience. The massive head of his enhanced cock began stretching her forbidden entrance, the tight ring gradually yielding to his persistent pressure like a flower slowly blooming.

"I'm counting on it," Felicia replied, her voice strained with a delicious cocktail of pain and desperate arousal. She pushed back against him with surprising force, her entire body quivering with effort as the bulbous head of his cock finally breached her tight sphincter with an obscene pop that tore guttural groans from both their throats. "Oh fuck... oh god... so big... so fucking huge..."

Her manicured nails clawed frantically at the sweat-dampened sheets, knuckles blanching white with tension as she fought to accommodate his invasive girth. Fresh tears glistened in her eyes, catching the dim light as they threatened to spill, but instead of begging him to stop, she impaled herself further, taking another thick inch of his massive cock with a broken, shuddering sob that resonated with the exquisite agony of forbidden pleasure.

In Emma's luxurious suite, the four women observed the carnal spectacle with intense fascination. The wall-sized screen displayed Peter claiming Felicia's final virgin territory from multiple angles, the crystal-clear definition capturing every quiver, every bead of sweat, every inch of his massive invasion. Storm shifted restlessly in her seat, her thighs pressing together then parting as Peter's enormous shaft disappeared deeper into Felicia's stretched entrance. The weather goddess's eyes had darkened to the color of thunderheads, and beyond the porthole windows, raindrops began striking the glass in perfect synchronization with her racing heartbeat.

"Goddess above," Storm breathed, her voice thick with barely restrained lust, her gaze locked on the display. "I never imagined Peter could possess such... raw dominance." Her elegant fingers traced unconscious patterns along her thigh, creeping dangerously higher with each circular motion as Felicia's symphony of pleasure-pain filled the cabin through Emma's premium audio system.

Jean nodded, her alabaster cheeks now burning as crimson as her flowing hair. Tiny flickers of cosmic flame danced in her irises, the Phoenix responding instinctively to her mounting arousal. "Perhaps we should deny him more frequently if this is the result." She caught her plump lower lip between her teeth as Peter delivered another resounding slap to Felicia's already crimson ass, the sharp crack echoing through the speakers. "Mmm... I wonder if he'd unleash that savagery on me if I begged for it."

"SLAP!" The sound of Peter's palm connecting with Felicia's tender flesh again reverberated through the cabin, followed by her desperate, broken moan.

"I'd volunteer as his next target without hesitation," Natasha purred, the sound dripping with sensual promise. She uncrossed her legs deliberately, allowing them to part invitingly, her black dress riding up to expose a mouthwatering expanse of toned, deadly thigh. "The spider has certainly mastered his equipment. And what equipment it is..." she gestured appreciatively toward the screen where Peter was now buried completely in Felicia's quivering body, "...truly a marvel of mutation, wouldn't you agree?"

Emma merely smiled, her manicured fingers caressing the gentle swell of her abdomen where Peter's children grew within her. Through her telepathic awareness, she detected the Cuckoos watching from their private quarters, their collective consciousness radiating waves of indignation and jealousy that washed over her psyche.

It's completely unfair, Celeste protested mentally, her frustration pulsing through their psychic connection. We're legally adults now. Why are we excluded from the rotation?

We've been perfectly obedient, Phoebe added, her thoughts tinged with something hungrier, more demanding. We've earned our opportunity.

Biologically speaking, he possesses more than enough virility for all of us, Mindee reasoned clinically, prompting Emma to stifle an amused laugh.

Emma's smile widened as she stroked her growing belly. Patience, my dears. Everything in its proper time. Peter currently has his hands—and other appendages—quite thoroughly occupied, as you can plainly see.

On screen, Felicia's primal screams intensified as Peter stretched her beyond what she'd believed possible. Her spine arched in an almost impossible curve as he buried himself completely inside her, her platinum tresses cascading across the rumpled sheets like liquid moonlight.

"FUCK! So fucking HUGE! So goddamn BIG!" Felicia wailed, her voice fracturing with overwhelming sensation. "It hurts so fucking good, Peter! Christ, you're tearing me in two!"

"Take every inch," Peter commanded, his voice dropping to a register none of them had heard before, vibrating with primal authority. "Every. Single. Fucking. Inch."

The obscene soundtrack of their rutting blasted through the speakers—squelch, slap, squelch—punctuated by Felicia's increasingly desperate, animal moans and Peter's controlled, dominant grunts.

"I've never witnessed this side of him," Jean whispered, perching on the edge of her seat, emerald eyes wide with undisguised fascination. "So utterly commanding, so... magnificently powerful."

"It is glorious to behold," Storm agreed, her Kenyan accent thickening noticeably as her arousal mounted. A distant, ominous rumble of thunder punctuated her words, the elements outside responding instinctively to her heightened emotional state. "He is unleashing his true nature upon her without restraint."

Emma observed with profound satisfaction, understanding that what they witnessed transcended mere physical coupling. Peter's seed, enhanced through his connection to the Web of Life and Destiny, carried transformation beyond genetic material. It initiated change—a fundamental reshaping of the recipient at a cellular level. She'd experienced it herself, though she hadn't recognized it until discussing it with Natasha, when his essence had flooded her womb that fateful night on Krakoa. A complete rewiring of her being, a biological imperative that transcended conscious thought.

She'd observed identical changes in Jean, Storm, and Natasha—a profound deepening of connection, an irresistible need to remain in his orbit, to return to him repeatedly, to circle him like celestial bodies around their life-giving star. His genetic material didn't merely create offspring; it forged unbreakable, eternal bonds. Not for domination or control—Peter would sooner end his own life than become a tyrant. No, these bonds formed purely from love.

"Oh FUCK! I'm cumming again!" Felicia screamed from the screen, her entire body convulsing violently as Peter maintained his merciless rhythm. "Peter! PETER! FUUUUUCK!"

"That's her fourth climax in twenty minutes," Natasha observed with clinical precision, though her dilated pupils and rapid breathing betrayed her professional facade. "Most women would have lost consciousness by now."

"He's scarcely begun," Emma replied with smug, knowing satisfaction. "When he claimed me that first night on Krakoa, we coupled for nearly six consecutive hours. I couldn't properly walk for two days afterward." She ran her pink tongue slowly across her lower lip, savoring the delicious memory. "Worth every exquisite, delightful ache."

Soon, Felicia Hardy would feel it too—the inexorable pull toward Peter, the gravitational tug that would draw her into his orbit like a comet captured by a star's overwhelming presence. The Black Cat would be bred, just as they all had been, her womb filled with his essence, her biology fundamentally altered to crave his touch, his presence, his very existence. She would become another devoted member of their growing family, another vessel for his genetic legacy. The thought sent a pulse of satisfaction through Emma that was almost sexual in its intensity, a warm ripple that spread from her core outward, causing her diamond-hard nipples to push against the silk of her blouse.

She raised her crystal flute of sparkling water in a silent, elegant toast, the bubbles catching the light like tiny diamonds. This would teach the arrogant cat burglar her proper place in their carefully curated collection of extraordinary women—not as competition to be eliminated, but as another satellite revolving around the brilliant sun that was Peter Parker. Another mother to his children, another fierce protector of his genetic legacy, another sister in their exclusive sorority of the claimed.

None of them noticed the slender figure standing in the shadows of the dimly lit corridor outside, watching them through the partially open door with an intensity that could have burned through steel. Mary Jane Watson observed the scene with her emerald eyes filled with a complex mixture of raw longing, jealousy, and steely determination, her fingers unconsciously twisting the promise ring she still wore after all these years.

Mary Jane turns away silently, her auburn hair swinging across her shoulders as she retreats into the darkness, her mind absolutely made up, her course irrevocably set. Whatever it takes, she thinks, her painted nails digging crescents into her palms. Whatever it takes to reclaim her place in his life, to feel his touch again, to be part of the family she should have never abandoned. Whatever it takes to be Peter's again.

Chapter Text

The massive wall-mounted screen in the Baxter Building's living room displayed crisp footage of the Aurora Invicta's final day at sea. Johnny Storm lounged on the sofa, feet propped on an expensive coffee table, while Ben Grimm occupied a reinforced armchair specifically designed to support his rocky bulk. Susan Storm-Richards stood behind them, arms crossed, watching the broadcast with undivided attention.

On screen, the camera panned across the luxury cruise ship's grand ballroom where hundreds of elite guests danced beneath crystal chandeliers. The shot zoomed in on Peter Parker and Emma Frost swaying together on the dance floor, their bodies pressed close, moving as one. Emma's platinum blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light like spun silver. Her white gown hugged her pregnant curves perfectly, the fabric shimmering with subtle diamond accents. Peter whispered something in her ear that made her laugh, her blue-painted lips curving into a smile meant only for him.

"Parker's come a long way from that scrawny photographer who used to bug us for exclusive shots," Ben remarked, his gravelly voice filling the room. "Now look at him—CEO of a trillion-dollar company, marrying the Ice Queen herself."

Johnny snorted, reaching for his beer. "Tell me about it. Remember when he used to wear those awful sweater vests to formal events? Now he's in custom Armani and dancing like he owns the place."

"He practically does own the place," Susan pointed out, her eyes never leaving the screen. "Parker-Frost Industries built the Aurora Invicta."

The reporter's voice-over cut through their conversation: "...and in just two weeks, the wedding that everyone's talking about will take place at the newly constructed Parker-Frost Plaza. Sources say the guest list includes heads of state, Avengers, X-Men, and even representatives from Krakoa. Security will be unprecedented, with—"

"Mom? Dad? We're home!"

Susan turned to see her children entering the living room. Fifteen-year-old Franklin, tall and lanky with his father's features and her blonde hair, dropped his backpack on the floor. Beside him stood seventeen-year-old Valeria, her genius intellect evident in her sharp blue eyes that missed nothing as they scanned the room.

"Hey, kids," Johnny called out, raising his beer in greeting. "Come watch Uncle Peter living his best life."

Valeria glanced at the screen, a small smile playing at her lips. "They look happy together."

"They do," Franklin agreed, moving closer to watch. "Uncle Peter deserves it after everything he's been through."

"Kid's right," Ben rumbled, his rocky features softening slightly. "After losin' his aunt, gettin' dumped by that redhead, and all the other crap he's dealt with... good to see him happy for once."

The camera panned to show Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe in elegant evening wear, both visibly pregnant, watching Peter and Emma from a nearby table. Their gazes lingered on Peter with unmistakable warmth and something more intimate than mere friendship.

"Whoa," Johnny whispered, sitting up straighter. "Is it just me, or are Storm and Jean giving Parker some serious bedroom eyes?"

"Johnny!" Susan admonished, though her own gaze narrowed slightly at the screen.

"What? I'm just saying... looks like Emma might have some competition," Johnny smirked, gesturing at the screen where both women's expressions were decidedly lustful. "Though I guess technically, they're already... you know."

"Already what?" Franklin asked, looking between his uncle and mother with curiosity.

Susan shot Johnny a warning glare. "Nothing important."

Ben cleared his throat awkwardly. "Eh, just grown-up stuff, kiddo."

Susan watched her children's expressions with interest as they continued observing the broadcast. "You two seem pleased about this match."

Valeria shrugged, her eyes still on the screen where Peter now dipped Emma dramatically, both of them laughing. "Emma's good for him. She doesn't let him wallow in guilt or self-pity. And their company's revolutionizing clean energy and medical technology."

"Plus, she's smokin' hot," Johnny added, earning an eye roll from Susan. "What? I'm just stating facts. Though I still can't believe she's letting him sleep with—"

"Johnny!" Susan cut him off sharply, glancing meaningfully at her children.

"Sleep with who?" Franklin asked, suddenly more interested.

"Nobody," Susan said firmly. "Your uncle needs to learn when to keep certain thoughts to himself."

The broadcast shifted to show Natasha Romanoff in a form-fitting black gown, speaking with a group of dignitaries while occasionally glancing toward Peter and Emma. The camera caught a moment when Peter's eyes met Natasha's across the room, a subtle look of recognition passing between them.

"Where's your father?" Susan asked, glancing around as if Reed might materialize from thin air, clearly trying to change the subject.

Franklin and Valeria exchanged a brief look before Valeria answered. "Where else? In the lab. He said something about quantum entanglement and multiversal constants before I stopped listening. He's been obsessed with those energy readings from Parker-Frost's new prototype."

"Of course he is," Susan sighed, checking her watch. "It's almost 8 PM. Has he eaten today?"

Both children shrugged simultaneously.

"Well, I've got homework to finish," Franklin announced, retrieving his backpack. "AP Physics isn't going to study itself."

"And I need to work on my thesis," Valeria added, already heading toward her room. "MIT's review committee meets next week."

As they left, Susan called after them, "Don't stay up too late!"

Johnny drained his beer, standing with a stretch. "I've got a date with a Victoria's Secret model. Don't wait up, sis."

"Just try not to set anything on fire this time," Susan warned, only half-joking.

"No promises," Johnny grinned, flaming on. Before flying out the open window, he paused, looking back at Susan with uncharacteristic seriousness. "You know, Reed's been spending a lot of time in that lab lately. Even for him."

Susan's smile faltered slightly. "He's just fascinated by Peter's success. You know how he gets when there's a new scientific breakthrough."

"Yeah, but..." Johnny hesitated. "Have you noticed how he's been watching footage of Parker-Frost Industries' demonstrations? Almost like he's... I don't know, jealous or something?"

"Reed doesn't get jealous," Susan said automatically, though a flicker of doubt crossed her face.

"If you say so," Johnny shrugged, then flamed on fully and soared out the window, leaving a brief trail of fire in his wake.

Ben heaved himself to his feet, the floor creaking beneath his weight. "Alicia's waitin' for me. You gonna be okay here by yourself, Suzie?"

Susan smiled, patting his rocky arm. "I'll be fine, Ben. Go enjoy your evening."

"You sure? Reed's been workin' late a lot these days. Maybe I should stick around, keep ya company."

"I appreciate it, but I'm fine," Susan insisted. "Besides, I have a plan to drag my husband out of that lab tonight."

Ben's craggy mouth formed what might have been a knowing smile. "Well, in that case, I'll get outta your hair. Good luck, Suzie."

After Ben lumbered out, Susan stood alone in the suddenly quiet living room. On screen, Peter and Emma continued their dance, lost in each other's eyes as if no one else existed. The camera caught Emma whispering something in Peter's ear that made him blush visibly, her hand sliding possessively down his back. Susan watched them for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

The broadcast cut to a close-up of Emma's pregnant belly as the reporter commented on the upcoming birth of the Parker-Frost twins. Susan's hand unconsciously drifted to her own flat stomach, lingering there before she shook her head slightly and switched off the television.

A sudden, wicked impulse seized her. Susan strode purposefully to her bedroom and slid open the drawer that housed her collection of high-end lingerie—most pieces still pristine with tags attached, barely touched since purchase. Her fingers trailed over lace and silk until she selected a pale blue silk teddy with delicate lace trim that matched her eyes perfectly. The ensemble came complete with sheer garters and silk stockings that felt like liquid against her skin as she rolled them up her thighs.

After stripping naked, Susan carefully stepped into the teddy, adjusting it over her curves before securing the garters with practiced fingers. She covered herself with a matching silk robe, tying it loosely at her waist.

Standing before her full-length mirror, Susan examined her reflection with a critical eye. At thirty-eight, her body remained enviably toned and supple—the same figure that had once graced dozens of magazine covers, though these days it remained hidden beneath practical clothing and protective force fields. Her breasts still sat high and full against the silk, her waist narrow above gently flaring hips. She let the robe fall open deliberately, revealing the plunging neckline of the teddy that showcased the deep valley between her breasts and the creamy swells of flesh that threatened to spill from the delicate fabric with each breath.

"Time to remind my husband I exist," she murmured, applying a fresh coat of lipstick. As she did, her thoughts drifted unexpectedly to the broadcast—to Peter and Emma's obvious happiness, to the way Jean and Storm had looked at Peter, to Natasha's subtle glances.

Susan shook her head, pushing those thoughts away. "Focus, Sue," she told herself firmly. "Tonight is about you and Reed."

The laboratory occupied an entire floor of the Baxter Building, filled with equipment so advanced most of it didn't even have names yet. Holographic displays floated in mid-air, quantum containment fields hummed with barely restrained energy, and machines that could peer into alternate realities blinked with multicolored lights. The air smelled of ozone and possibility.

At the center of this technological wonderland stood Reed Richards, his elastic body stretched in impossible ways—right arm extended twenty feet to adjust a particle accelerator, neck elongated to peer through a microscope, left hand typing equations on three different keyboards simultaneously. His lab coat remained perfectly pressed despite his contortions, a testament to the specialized fabric he'd designed for his unique physiology.

Susan entered silently on bare feet, the cool floor sending a slight shiver up her legs. She paused in the doorway, watching her husband work for a moment. There was something beautiful about Reed when he was fully immersed in his science—a boyish enthusiasm that had first attracted her to him all those years ago. But lately, that same quality had become a wall between them.

She cleared her throat softly. "Reed?"

"Hmm?" He didn't look up, his attention fixed on the holographic display showing complex mathematical formulas that seemed to twist in on themselves like living things. His stretched fingers manipulated the equations, rearranging them with practiced precision.

"Reed, it's after eight. You've been in here all day." Susan took a step forward, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin.

"Just a minute, Sue," he mumbled, his stretched fingers now manipulating quantum particles in a containment field. The particles danced like fireflies in the blue glow of the field. "I'm at a critical juncture in understanding how the multiverse's membrane structures interact during incursion events."

Susan approached him, deliberately letting her robe fall open slightly to reveal the expensive lingerie beneath. The pale blue silk caught the light from Reed's equipment, making it shimmer against her skin. "I thought maybe we could have dinner together. Just the two of us."

"Sounds great," Reed replied automatically, clearly not processing her words as he stretched his neck another three feet to examine a readout on a ceiling-mounted display. "There's leftover pizza in the refrigerator."

Susan moved closer, deliberately placing herself between Reed and his workstation. Her heart beat a little faster—partly from nervousness, partly from the thrill of being so exposed. "I wasn't thinking about pizza, Reed."

For the first time, Reed actually looked at her, his eyes briefly registering the silk and lace before quickly drifting back to the equations floating above his workstation. "Hmm? Oh, yes, whatever you'd like to order is fine."

Frustration bubbled up inside her like water reaching its boiling point. With a decisive motion, Susan dropped her robe entirely, letting it pool around her feet on the laboratory floor. She stood before her husband in nothing but the revealing lingerie, the cool air of the lab hardening her nipples against the delicate fabric.

"Reed," she said firmly, her voice low and commanding—the same tone she used when directing the team in battle. "Look at me."

He glanced up again, this time registering her state of undress. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment—just a moment—Susan saw desire flicker across his features. "Oh! That's... that's very nice, Sue." But almost immediately, his eyes returned to his work, the moment lost. "Maybe later? I'm just about to prove that the quantum foam at the edges of our universe has a predictable pattern that could allow for controlled travel between dimensions."

Susan stared at him in disbelief, a cold feeling settling in her stomach. The silk against her skin suddenly felt ridiculous rather than sensual. In a last, desperate attempt, she reached behind her back and unclasped the teddy, letting it fall forward to expose her breasts completely. The cool air of the lab kissed her bare skin, making her shiver slightly.

"Reed. Richards." Each word was sharp, deliberate, cutting through the ambient hum of the laboratory equipment. "Your wife is standing in front of you half-naked, and you're more interested in quantum foam?"

Reed finally gave her his full attention, his neck retracting to normal length as he turned to face her. His eyes traveled over her exposed body, and he had the decency to look slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry, Sue. You look beautiful, really. It's just that this research could revolutionize our understanding of the multiverse. Think of the implications!"

As he spoke, his gaze drifted back to the holographic display where a simulation was running, showing what appeared to be two universes colliding. Susan followed his gaze and noticed something familiar on another screen—footage of Peter Parker presenting Parker-Frost Industries' latest breakthrough in quantum technology. The timestamp showed Reed had been watching it on repeat.

Susan closed her eyes briefly, counting to ten in her head, trying to push down the hurt and rejection threatening to overwhelm her. When she opened them again, Reed had already turned back to his work, stretching his arm to reach a device on a distant shelf.

"Is this what this is about?" she asked quietly, nodding toward the footage of Peter. "You're obsessing over Parker-Frost's research?"

"Obsessing? No, no," Reed responded without looking at her. "Just... analyzing their approach. It's quite fascinating, actually. Parker's made some intuitive leaps that are... unexpected from someone without formal training in quantum mechanics."

Susan pulled the teddy back up to cover herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with her state of undress. "When was the last time you called me fascinating, Reed?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Reed's fingers continued to dance across keyboards and through holographic interfaces, his body stretching in multiple directions at once—everywhere except toward his wife.

Without another word, she retrieved her robe from the floor, wraps it tightly around herself, and left the laboratory. The door whispered shut behind her, sealing Reed in with his equations and machines.

He didn't notice her departure.

In the hallway, Susan leaned against the wall, clutching the silk robe tightly around her body. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she stared at the ceiling, trying to compose herself.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Susan turned to see Valeria standing a few feet away, concern etched on her young face. Susan forced a smile. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just... tired."

Valeria's eyes, too intelligent by far, flicked to the laboratory door and back to her mother. "He's been watching Uncle Peter's presentations for days now. I think he's jealous."

Susan sighed. "Your father doesn't get jealous, Val."

"Everyone gets jealous," Valeria replied with the simple wisdom of youth. "Even geniuses."

As Susan walked back to her bedroom, she couldn't help but think of the broadcast she'd watched earlier—of Peter and Emma dancing, lost in each other's eyes. Of Storm and Jean watching Peter with undisguised desire. Of a man who had once been awkward and insecure, now standing confidently at the center of a new empire, surrounded by powerful women who clearly adored him.

And for the first time in years, Susan Storm-Richards wondered if she had made the right choice all those years ago.

She sat on the edge of their king-sized bed, the discarded blue lingerie now a crumpled puddle of silk on the floor. She'd changed into comfortable cotton pajamas, her knees drawn up to her chest as she stared at the framed wedding photo on the nightstand. The glass reflected the soft glow of the bedside lamp, illuminating younger versions of herself and Reed—both beaming, both hopeful, both in love. Or so she'd thought.

"Why do I even bother?" she whispered to the empty room, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, annoyed at her own vulnerability.

The image of Peter and Emma dancing together on the Aurora Invicta flashed unbidden in her mind—the way he looked at Emma, like she was the center of his universe. The intensity in his eyes, the protective way his hand rested on her pregnant belly, the complete absorption in each other that made the rest of the world fade away. When was the last time Reed had looked at her that way? Had he ever? Even on their wedding day, she'd caught him glancing at his watch during the vows, his mind already drifting to some experiment waiting in the lab.

Susan's fingers traced the edge of the photo frame, lingering over Reed's face. "You're right here," she murmured, "but you've never been more absent."

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Mom? Can we come in?" Valeria's voice called from the hallway.

Susan quickly wiped away the lingering moisture from her eyes and straightened her posture. "Of course, sweetie."

The door opened, and Valeria entered with Franklin close behind. They took one look at their mother's face and exchanged a knowing glance that made Susan's heart ache. Children shouldn't know that look—the silent communication of shared concern.

"Dad?" Franklin asked simply, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Susan attempted a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just busy with his work. You know how he gets."

Valeria sat beside her mother on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath her weight. Franklin remained standing, leaning against the dresser with forced casualness. There was something in their expressions—a seriousness, a weight—that made Susan straighten up, maternal instinct overriding personal distress.

"What is it?" she asked, looking from one to the other. "Did something happen at school?"

Valeria took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt—a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. "Mom, we need to tell you something. Something important about the future."

Franklin nodded solemnly. "By next year, Dad will be gone from our lives."

Susan's breath caught in her throat, her mind immediately conjuring worst-case scenarios. Her hand flew to her chest as if to physically contain her suddenly racing heart. "What? Is he—does he get hurt? Is there an accident in the lab? Does Doom—"

"No, no," Valeria quickly interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on her mother's arm. "Nothing like that. He just... leaves."

"Leaves?" Susan repeated, confusion evident in her voice. The word seemed to hang in the air between them, impossible and yet somehow inevitable. "What do you mean, leaves?"

Franklin stepped forward, his young face bearing a gravity that no teenager should possess. "In a few months, Dad will be contacted by a group called the Council of Reeds."

"The Council of what?" Susan asked, the unfamiliar term momentarily distracting her from the implication of her son's words.

"The Council of Reeds," Valeria explained, her voice taking on a clinical tone reminiscent of her father. "It's an organization of Reed Richards from across the multiverse. They believe they're the only ones smart enough to 'fix' reality."

"And they'll invite Dad to join them," Franklin continued, his eyes never leaving his mother's face. "He'll accept. He won't even say goodbye. He'll just... go."

Susan shook her head in disbelief, her blonde hair swaying with the vehemence of her denial. "No. Reed wouldn't do that. He wouldn't abandon his family. Not after everything we've been through together."

Valeria's expression softened with sympathy, making her look older than her years. "Mom, he already has. Not physically, but mentally? Emotionally? When was the last time he was really present with any of us?"

The question struck Susan like a physical blow. When was the last time? She searched her memory, rifling through recent family dinners where Reed had been physically present but mentally elsewhere, birthdays where he'd shown up late with hastily wrapped gifts, conversations cut short by "eureka" moments that sent him rushing back to the lab.

"That's just how your father is," Susan defended weakly, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. "He gets caught up in his work, but he loves us."

"I know he does, in his way," Franklin agreed, his tone gentler now. "But let me show you something."

He extended his hand, palm up. Above it, a small glowing orb of energy appeared, pulsing with an ethereal blue light. It expanded until it filled the space between them, casting strange shadows on their faces. Inside the orb, images began to form—countless versions of Reed Richards, all engaged in similar scenes of departure.

In one, Reed kissed a sleeping Susan goodbye before stepping through a portal. In another, he left a note on a kitchen counter, his wedding ring placed neatly beside it. In most, he simply vanished without explanation, leaving behind laboratories filled with half-finished experiments and families filled with unanswered questions.

"My powers let me see across the multiverse," Franklin explained, his young face solemn beyond his years. "In approximately ninety percent of all realities, Reed Richards chooses science over family and love."

Susan stared at the kaleidoscope of abandonment, each version of herself left behind, each version of her children growing up with a father-shaped void in their lives. The images blurred together, a mosaic of loss and disappointment that transcended universes.

"To him, we're just items on a checklist," Valeria added, her voice tinged with resignation rather than bitterness. "Things a man of his intellect and status should have—a beautiful wife, gifted children, a legacy. But when something he considers more important comes along..."

"He leaves," Susan finished, her voice barely above a whisper. The truth of it settled over her like a shroud.

Franklin closed his hand, and the glowing orb collapsed in on itself, winking out of existence. The sudden absence of its light made the bedroom seem darker, colder.

"How long have you two known this?" Susan asked after a moment, looking between her children.

"I've been seeing glimpses for months," Franklin admitted. "But it became clear last week when I had that fever. My powers sometimes spike when I'm sick."

"And I've been running probability calculations," Valeria added. "The statistical likelihood of Dad staying is... low."

His fingers danced through the air as the orb appeared and expanded again, this time dividing into three distinct spheres. Each contained what looked like identical versions of the Richards family, though Susan noticed subtle differences—in one, her hair was slightly longer; in another, Reed wore glasses he didn't need in their world.

"These are the closest parallel Earths to ours," Franklin explained, pointing to each glowing sphere in turn. "Earth-616, the prime universe; Earth-818403, where the Fantastic Four formed differently; and this one—" he indicated the center sphere, "—is our world, Earth-616-S69."

Susan studied the images with growing unease. In every other sphere, the same scene had played out with eerie similarity: Reed Richards standing before a massive portal, a bag packed at his feet, looking back one last time at a family photo before stepping through into a swirling cosmic void. But not these three. At least not theirs. Not yet.

"In all these other worlds, Dad leaves when the Council calls," Valeria said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not a question of if, only when. Only on Earth-616 and Earth-818403 does he stay." She paused, glancing at her brother. "There may be others where he also stays, but they're too few to count statistically significant."

Susan stared at the images, a strange numbness spreading through her chest. The scene repeated across the orbs like a movie stuck on loop—Reed leaving, Reed leaving, Reed leaving. Each version slightly different, yet the outcome always the same.

"If you know all this..." Susan began, her voice catching. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What happens after he leaves? To us? To me?" A sudden, absurd thought crossed her mind, making her eyes narrow. "Because if your future selves say I marry Victor von Doom, I swear..."

The siblings exchanged another look, something unspoken passing between them. Franklin actually snorted, while Valeria's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement.

"God, no," Franklin said, shaking his head emphatically. "Even the multiverse has standards, Mom."

"We find happiness," Valeria added more seriously. "All of us. Real, genuine happiness—not the half-life we're living now where we orbit around Dad's work like moons around a planet that barely notices us."

Susan's fingers twisted in the fabric of her pajamas. "But who..." she began, then stopped, almost afraid to ask. "Who helps you two? Who's there for you when you graduate, when you need guidance with your powers, when you—" Her voice broke slightly. "When you need a father figure?"

"Uncle Peter," they said in unison, without hesitation.

Susan blinked in surprise, the answer so unexpected she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "Peter? As in Peter Parker? But he's marrying Emma in two weeks. He'll have his own family to worry about—twins on the way, and..."

Valeria smiled softly, sitting back down beside her mother. "Future me told me everything. Peter was there for us when we needed to rebuild our family. He attended every graduation, every science fair. He helped me get into MIT three years early and coached Franklin through his first heartbreak."

"He found a cure for Uncle Ben's condition," Franklin added, excitement creeping into his voice. "Letting him transform back to human at will. He was there when we both got married, stood with you and Uncle Johnny and Ben when future Val had her first baby."

"And..." Valeria added with a mischievous grin, "he gives us seven more siblings."

"Seven?" Susan exclaimed, her eyes widening to the point of discomfort. "I have seven more children? With Peter?" Her hand instinctively went to her flat stomach, her mind struggling to process the information. "There is no way I am giving birth to seven more children!"

Valeria laughed, a genuine sound that brightened the room. "That's exactly what Uncle Peter said too! But according to future me, you were the one who insisted each time." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Last time I spoke with my future self, you were pregnant with baby number eight."

Susan felt her cheeks flush hot, the heat spreading down her neck and across her chest. "That's... that's impossible. Peter and Emma will be married. They'll have their own children. "It doesn't make sense."

"The future is complicated," Franklin said cryptically, waving his hand through the orbs, which shifted to show new images—a massive, gleaming city that seemed to float among the stars, populated by people with both mutant abilities and spider-like powers moving in harmony. "But what I've seen is clear. Uncle Peter brings peace to the galaxy, and his children—including those he has with you—extend that peace throughout the universe and beyond, into the multiverse itself."

The images shifted again, showing an older Susan standing beside Peter on what appeared to be a massive starship bridge. Her future self looked radiant, dressed in an elegant white and blue uniform with a spider emblem tastefully incorporated into the design. Her hair was longer, with subtle silver streaks that somehow enhanced rather than diminished her beauty. One hand rested on Peter's shoulder, the other cradled a visible pregnancy.

"You go down in history as one of the founders of the greatest peaceful empire the multiverse has ever known," Valeria added, a hint of pride in her voice. "The Eternal Spider Empire."

Susan watched, transfixed, as the images showed her future children—some with blonde hair like hers, others with Peter's brown—using combinations of cosmic powers and spider abilities to heal broken worlds, close dimensional rifts, and bring warring species together.

"Our half-siblings become cosmic diplomats," Franklin explained. "Guardians of reality itself. They inherit the best of both of you—your cosmic awareness and his connection to the Web of Life and Destiny."

"And Emma?" Susan asked, surprised to find herself genuinely concerned. "What happens to her?"

Valeria's eyes softened with understanding. "Emma remains by Peter's side, Mom. She becomes the foundation of everything they build together." She gestured to Franklin, who expanded the orb to show new images.

"Uncle Peter doesn't just have one wife in the future," Franklin explained, his voice matter-of-fact. "He has many."

Susan's eyes widened, her mouth falling open. "Many? As in...?"

Franklin laughed, the sound surprisingly carefree given the serious conversation. "You saw how Jean and Storm were looking at Uncle Peter on TV earlier. That wasn't just hormones. They become two of his empresses."

"Empresses?" Susan repeated, the word feeling foreign on her tongue.

Valeria nodded enthusiastically. "The Spider Empire doesn't follow traditional Earth marriage customs. It evolves into something more... cosmic."

Franklin waved his hand, and the orb shifted to show a breathtaking scene: a massive crystalline palace suspended among the stars. On a circular balcony stood Peter Parker—older, distinguished with silver at his temples, but still recognizably Peter. Around him stood a group of women, each radiating power and beauty.

Emma Frost, her platinum hair now styled in an elegant updo, wore a white and diamond crown. Jean Grey stood beside her in emerald and gold, the Phoenix aura subtly flickering around her. Storm's white hair cascaded down her back as she commanded small lightning displays for the amusement of children gathered at her feet. Susan recognized Natasha Romanoff, Felicia Hardy, and—most shockingly—herself, all standing as equals, all wearing variations of royal attire that incorporated both spider motifs and their individual powers.

"They call it the Spider Council," Valeria explained, her voice filled with reverence. "Each of you governs a different aspect of the empire. Emma Parker handles diplomacy and intelligence. Jean oversees education and psionic development. Storm manages environmental harmony across thousands of worlds."

"And... me?" Susan asked, her voice barely audible.

Franklin smiled. "You become the Guardian of Realities—using your powers to maintain the borders between universes, preventing incursions and collapse."

The images shifted again, showing each woman surrounded by children of varying ages—some clearly adults themselves with children of their own. All bore some resemblance to Peter, combined with traits from their mothers.

"Emma remains his first and most important wife," Valeria continued. "The Ice Queen becomes the High Empress, but Peter's heart expands to love you all equally. Some of you even rule over entire universes in his name until your children come of age to take over."

Susan stared at the images, watching as her future self cradled a newborn while simultaneously using her invisible force fields to repair what appeared to be a tear in reality itself. The Susan in the vision looked content, powerful, and completely at peace—a stark contrast to the woman currently sitting on the edge of her bed in cotton pajamas, eyes red from crying over a husband who barely noticed her existence.

"The children you have with Peter become cosmic architects," Franklin added. "They inherit your power over fundamental forces and his connection to the Web of Life and Destiny. Together, they rebuild broken realities."

"This is..." Susan struggled to find the right word. "Overwhelming."

The images continued to shift, showing moments from this possible future—celebrations, coronations, battles against cosmic threats, quiet family moments. In each scene, Peter was surrounded by his wives and children, a family that spanned galaxies yet remained intimately connected.

"How do you know all this is real?" Susan asked, her scientific mind still searching for logical explanations. "Franklin, your powers are incredible, but seeing the future is notoriously unreliable. And Val, even your calculations have margins of error. Even if your future selves…."

Valeria reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a small crystal. It pulsed with an inner light that seemed to shift between all the colors of the spectrum.

"This was given to me by my future self," she explained, placing it in Susan's palm. "It's a temporal anchor—a physical object from that timeline, designed to help solidify the probability of that future occurring."

The crystal felt warm in Susan's hand, almost alive. As she held it, brief flashes of sensation washed over her—the feeling of Peter's lips against hers, the weight of a newborn in her arms, the rush of power as she manipulated the fabric of reality itself, the sound of children's laughter echoing through crystal halls.

"Oh," she breathed, the single syllable containing multitudes of emotion.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Franklin said gently, sitting beside her on the bed. "But we wanted you to know that Dad leaving... it's not the end. It's actually the beginning of something greater."

Susan placed the crystal carefully on her nightstand, watching as it continued to pulse gently, like a heartbeat. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because we love you," Franklin said simply. "And we hate seeing you hurt."

"And because some futures need a little nudge to happen the way they should," Valeria added with a knowing smile that made her look far older than her seventeen years. "The timeline is at a critical junction point. Certain decisions made in the next few months will determine which path reality takes."

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I should... what? Seduce Peter before his wedding? Break up his relationship with Emma?" She shook her head firmly. "I would never do that."

"No, no," Valeria quickly corrected. "Nothing like that. The future we showed you happens regardless of what you do now. Peter and Emma marry. They have their twins. The other children are born. But how smoothly the transition occurs, how much pain everyone experiences along the way—that can be influenced."

"Think of it as preparing the ground," Franklin suggested. "Making sure the seeds of that future can grow without unnecessary trauma."

The siblings stood in unison, each giving their mother a tight hug before heading to the door.

"Just something to think about," Valeria said over her shoulder as they left. "Oh, and Mom? That lingerie you were wearing earlier? Blue is definitely your color, but red might be worth considering too." She winked before closing the door behind her, susan blushing.

She remained on the bed, staring at the wall long after her children had gone. Her mind raced with possibilities, with futures that seemed both impossible and inevitable. The image of herself standing beside Peter, pregnant and powerful, ruling over a peaceful cosmic empire, kept returning to her thoughts.

Slowly, a determination formed within her. Not to interfere with Peter's happiness—she would never do that—but to prepare herself for whatever came next. To open herself to possibilities beyond the limitations of her current life.

She reached for her phone, opening a browser window. After a moment's hesitation, she typed: "luxury lingerie NYC red and blue."

As search results populated her screen, a small smile played at her lips. If what her children said was true—if her future lay not with Reed but with Peter—perhaps it was time to prepare. Not to interfere with his upcoming marriage, but to be ready when destiny came calling.

"Red and blue," she murmured, scrolling through options. Her fingers traced the outline of the screen as she examined each piece with growing excitement. "Something a spider would appreciate seeing on me…and something he'd enjoy slowly tearing off me, inch by delicious inch."

Her fingers hovered over a particularly daring set in crimson silk with cobalt blue lace accents. The bodice was cut in a way that would accentuate her curves while leaving little to the imagination, pushing her breasts up and together in a way that made her pulse quicken just imagining it. The matching garter belt and thigh-high stockings completed the ensemble, designed to draw the eye up her long legs to the treasure between them.

"Too obvious?" she wondered aloud, before decisively adding it to her cart with a throaty laugh. "No. If I'm going to be an empress someday, I should start thinking like one. Queens don't hide their intentions."

As she continued browsing, Susan felt a delicious heat building between her thighs, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her shirt as she found herself drawn to another set—this one in midnight blue with silver web-like patterns that would shimmer against her naked skin. It was elegant yet undeniably seductive, the crotchless panties leaving her most intimate parts accessible while still framed beautifully. She added that to her cart as well, imagining Peter's eyes darkening with lust at the sight of her wearing it, his cock hardening instantly.

"Why stop there?" she whispered, a newfound confidence flowing through her as she selected several more pieces. This wasn't just about lingerie; it was about reclaiming her sense of self, her sexuality, her power. For too long, she'd been the invisible woman in more ways than one.

As she completed her purchase, Susan glanced at her wedding photo one last time. The glass reflected her image back at her—not just the woman she was now, but overlaid with glimpses of who she might become. For the first time in years, she felt something she'd almost forgotten—anticipation for what tomorrow might bring.

Chapter Text

The Aurora Invicta celebration cruise had concluded a week ago, but the media frenzy showed no signs of abating. Entertainment networks ran hourly highlights of the star-studded event, while social media platforms remained ablaze with videos and photographs. #ParkerFrostGala and #AuroraInvicta continued to trend globally, with clips of various celebrities' appearances being dissected by fashion critics and gossip columnists alike.

Emma Frost, however, had little time to concern herself with such trivial matters. The wedding—her wedding—was now the sole focus of her attention. The penthouse had transformed into a veritable command center, with the Cuckoos, Storm, and Jean Grey all enlisted to assist with the preparations.

"I still think the ice sculpture should be larger," Emma remarked, studying the holographic display of the reception layout. She stood in the center of the living room, her pregnant belly prominently displayed in a form-fitting white dress that somehow managed to look both elegant and comfortable. "It should be the centerpiece that draws the eye immediately upon entering."

"Any larger and it would block the view of the head table," Jean pointed out, her fiery red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her own pregnancy was just beginning to show, a subtle curve beneath her emerald green blouse. "Besides, the fountain will already be drawing plenty of attention."

"The fountain that dispenses actual champagne," Storm added with a smile, her white hair cascading over her shoulders in stark contrast to her deep blue dress. Her pregnancy was similarly visible, perhaps slightly more pronounced than Jean's. "A touch excessive, don't you think?"

Emma arched a perfect eyebrow. "My dear Ororo, when one marries the love of one's life while carrying his children, 'excessive' is merely a starting point."

The Cuckoos moved through the room with synchronized grace, their identical blonde heads bent together as they reviewed fabric swatches and floral arrangements. Occasionally, one would break away to present Emma with options, only to be sent back with precise instructions for alterations.

"Mother Emma," Celeste called out, holding up a tablet displaying bridesmaid dresses. "We've narrowed down the options for our attire."

Emma glanced over, immediately frowning at the selections. The dresses were barely there—wisps of fabric strategically placed to cover only what would get them banned from Instagram. "Absolutely not. Those necklines are practically pornographic."

"That's rather the point," Phoebe replied with a mischievous smile that made Emma's maternal warning system flare. "We thought it might be... stimulating for Daddy Peter." The emphasis on 'daddy' was bad enough, but the graphic mental image Phoebe projected—of Peter's massive cock pounding into each Cuckoo in succession—made Emma nearly choke on her tea.

"The reception could transition seamlessly into a more intimate celebration," Mindee added, her expression angelically innocent despite the filth streaming from her mind. "Just imagine his face when he sees all five of us in these dresses, knowing exactly what's beneath them... and what awaits him afterward. His cock would be straining against his tuxedo pants all night."

Jean snorted, not bothering to hide her amusement. "An orgy at your wedding reception? That would certainly make the society pages. 'Frost-Parker Wedding Devolves Into Five-Bride Fuckfest.' I can see the headlines now."

"I'm not entirely opposed to the concept," Storm mused, a playful glint in her eyes as she caressed her swollen belly. "Though perhaps as a private after-party rather than the main event. I wouldn't mind watching Peter's legendary stamina put to the test against all of us at once."

Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The pregnancy hormones were making it difficult to dismiss the mental images flooding her mind—Peter's magnificent cock, slick with the combined wetness of multiple women, moving from one eager pussy to the next. "You're all incorrigible. Peter and I will be departing for our honeymoon immediately following the reception. Whatever debauchery you plan afterward will have to proceed without the groom."

"Spoilsport," Phoebe muttered, though her smile remained. Behind it lurked the unmistakable image of her on her knees, Peter's enormous shaft disappearing down her throat.

"I heard that," Emma replied, tapping her temple. "And I see those alternate designs you're hiding. The ones with the crotchless panties and built-in nipple clamps. Choose something elegant and tasteful, or I'll select the dresses myself. Think less 'high-end escort servicing a bachelor party' and more 'sophisticated goddess who might fuck you if you're worthy.'"

The Cuckoos pouted in unison but dutifully returned to their task, telepathically sharing less scandalous options among themselves, though their minds still buzzed with explicit scenarios involving the groom.

Emma felt a gentle mental nudge from Celeste. But Mother, wouldn't you like to see Peter's face when he sees us all in these? The telepathic message came with an image that made Emma's eyebrows rise and her pussy dampen embarrassingly.

The dress Celeste envisioned was a masterpiece of strategic fabric placement—a shimmering ice-blue creation with panels of translucent material that revealed tantalizing glimpses of skin. The plunging neckline would frame their perfect breasts, the fabric so thin their nipples would be clearly visible when aroused. The high slit would showcase the Cuckoos' identical perfect legs all the way to the hip, making it obvious they wore nothing underneath. The back was essentially nonexistent, held together by delicate crystal strands that would catch the light with every movement, drawing attention to their firm, round asses.

"Absolutely not," Emma said aloud, though a part of her had to admire the audacity while another part imagined Peter's thick cock twitching at the sight. "I will not have my wedding remembered as 'the one where the bridesmaids' nipples were visible from space' or 'where Peter fucked his five stepdaughters in the coat check room between dinner and dancing.'"

But we'd wear pasties, Mindee projected, showing Emma the tiny crystal-encrusted accessories that would technically preserve modesty while enhancing the overall effect. The mental image shifted to show Peter peeling them off with his teeth, his tongue flicking against each hardened nipple in turn.

"The answer is still no," Emma replied firmly, though her mental tone was tinged with amusement and unmistakable arousal. Save those designs for the honeymoon. I might need them to keep Peter... entertained. His appetites are insatiable, and even I occasionally need recovery time.

The quintuplets brightened at this concession, immediately beginning to plan modifications for a post-wedding surprise. Their collective mind filled with images of themselves arranged on the honeymoon suite bed, wearing nothing but those crystal pasties and heels, legs spread invitingly as they waited for the newlyweds to arrive. Emma didn't have the heart to tell them she intended to keep Peter all to herself for at least the first week—his cock buried so deep inside her that he'd forget any other woman existed.

A knock at the door interrupted their planning. Jean's eyes flashed briefly with the Phoenix's golden light as she reached out telepathically.

"It's Natasha," she announced.

"Let her in," Emma instructed, straightening her already perfect posture.

Natasha Romanoff entered the penthouse with her characteristic grace, dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that managed to look both professional and deadly. Her red hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and there was an unmistakable glow to her skin that hadn't been there before the cruise.

"Ladies," she greeted them with a nod. Her eyes lingered briefly on the wedding preparations before settling on Emma. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Emma replied, gesturing for Natasha to join them. "We're simply ensuring that the most important day of Peter's life—after meeting me, of course—is executed to perfection."

Natasha's lips quirked upward. "Of course." She moved further into the room, her trained eyes taking in every detail. "SHIELD sent me to confirm the arrangements for the summit. Director Fury proposes scheduling it four months after your wedding. That should give adequate time for... all relevant parties to prepare."

Her hand drifted momentarily to her still-flat stomach, a gesture that didn't escape Emma's notice.

"Four months is acceptable," Emma agreed, her ice-blue eyes calculating. "The mutant fertility crisis is a delicate matter that requires proper diplomatic handling. I assume SHIELD will be providing security?"

"The highest level," Natasha confirmed. "Though I expect Parker-Frost Industries will want their own people present as well."

"Naturally." Emma's smile was sharp as a blade. "We protect what's ours."

Storm moved closer, her regal presence commanding attention even in this room full of powerful women. "And how are you feeling, Natasha?" she asked, her tone gentle but knowing. "Any... changes since the cruise?"

A faint blush colored Natasha's cheeks. "I'm... adjusting. The medical team at SHIELD is monitoring me closely. They're still in disbelief, to be honest."

"The Web of Life and Destiny works in mysterious ways," Jean said, her hand resting protectively over her own growing belly. "Peter's connection to it is more profound than any of us initially understood."

"Speaking of Peter," Natasha said, trying to sound casual despite the way her eyes brightened at the mention of his name. "Is he around? I had some... additional details to discuss with him."

Emma's smile transformed into a knowing smirk. "I'm afraid not. I've banished him from the apartment for the week. Wedding preparations, you understand. A groom shouldn't see the chaos before the magic."

"Where is he staying?" Natasha asked, failing to sound disinterested.

"He's either out on patrol, handling business at Parker-Frost Industries," Emma paused deliberately, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "or perhaps enjoying some quality time with a certain cat burglar who's been desperate for his attention."

Natasha's eyebrows shot up. "Felicia Hardy? You approved that? I thought the cruise was a one-time thing."

"I approve of anything that makes Peter happy," Emma replied smoothly. "Besides, Ms. Hardy needed to be properly... educated on her place in our expanding family dynamic."

The Cuckoos giggled in unison, drawing a sharp look from Emma that silenced them immediately.

"Well," Natasha said, straightening her jacket, "I should be going. Please extend my regards to Peter when you see him."

"Of course," Emma replied. "Though if you're truly eager to speak with him, I believe he's at the Peninsula Hotel. Presidential Suite." Her smile turned wicked. "I'd call ahead first, though. Ms. Hardy can be quite... vocal during their discussions."

After Natasha departed, Jean turned to Emma with a questioning look. "You're surprisingly calm about Peter spending time with Felicia. I would have thought you'd be more... territorial."

Emma waved a dismissive hand. "Peter is mine. The ring on his finger, the children in our wombs—these are the bonds that matter." She stroked her swollen belly affectionately. "Felicia Hardy is merely a diversion, one that I control. Besides," she added with a wicked smile, "I've placed certain... parameters on their interactions."

"Parameters?" Storm echoed, raising an elegant white eyebrow.

"Let's just say that Ms. Hardy knows exactly who Peter belongs to," Emma replied. "And speaking of belonging, we need to finalize these bridesmaid dresses. The Cuckoos' suggestions were inappropriate, but I do want something that highlights their assets while maintaining a modicum of decency."

She gestured to the holographic display, which shifted to show new designs—elegant gowns in varying shades of blue and silver, with plunging backs and tasteful side slits. The necklines were daring without being vulgar, and the fabric seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly quality.

"These are more suitable," Emma declared. "They complement my gown without competing with it."

In the luxurious Presidential Suite of the Peninsula Hotel, Felicia Hardy arched her back, her platinum blonde hair spilling across the silk sheets like liquid moonlight. Her naked body gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat, her large, full breasts heaving with each ragged breath. Peter Parker knelt between her spread thighs, his muscular form towering over her as he claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep inside her warm, willing mouth as she moaned against his lips.

"Fuck, Peter," Felicia gasped when they finally broke apart, her green eyes dark with desire, pupils blown wide with lust. "I've missed this. Missed you. Missed your hands on my body, your cock inside me, the way you make me scream." Her voice was breathy, desperate, filled with a yearning that made his own desire spike.

Peter's hands roamed her body possessively, cupping her breasts and rolling her hardened nipples between his fingers. The action drew a sharp moan from Felicia, her back arching to press more firmly into his touch, her nipples stiffening to diamond-hard points beneath his skilled manipulation.

"Have you?" Peter asked, his voice deeper than she remembered, carrying an authority that sent shivers down her spine and made her pussy clench with need. "You seemed to forget about me easily enough when it suited you. Left me behind without a second thought, didn't you, Felicia?" His fingers pinched her nipples harder, sending a delicious pain-pleasure that had her gasping.

Felicia's hands slid up his chest, tracing the defined muscles that hadn't been there years ago when they'd first met, marveling at the transformation from the lean boy she'd known to this powerful man. "I was stupid," she admitted, her usual bravado momentarily set aside, vulnerability showing through her carefully constructed facade. "So fucking stupid. The biggest mistake of my life, walking away from you. God, look at you now—you're magnificent." Her fingers traced his abs, feeling each ridge of muscle.

Peter bent down to capture one pink nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make Felicia cry out, her voice echoing off the walls of the luxurious suite. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as she writhed beneath him. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper. When he released her nipple with a wet pop, she whimpered at the loss, her body trembling with need.

"Show me how sorry you are," Peter commanded, moving up the bed to sit with his back against the headboard. His cock stood proudly at attention, thick and veined, far larger than Felicia remembered. The massive shaft jutted upward, the swollen purple head glistening with pre-cum. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do. Let me see if you still remember how to worship cock properly."

Felicia didn't need to be told twice. She crawled between his legs, her movements deliberately feline, predatory despite her submission. Her platinum hair fell forward, tickling his thighs as she lowered her face to his groin. Her pink tongue darted out to lick a wet stripe from the base of his shaft to the swollen head, gathering the bead of pre-cum that had formed there. She moaned at the taste, savoring the salty-sweet flavor on her tongue.

"Mmm," she hummed appreciatively, savoring his taste like it was the finest delicacy. "You've changed in more ways than one, Spider. So much... bigger than before. Thicker. Longer. God, I don't know if I can fit all this monster in my mouth." She ran her tongue around the flared ridge of his cockhead, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath.

Peter's hand tangled in her hair, not quite pulling but establishing control, making it clear who was in charge. "Less talking, more sucking. Put that mouth to better use than making excuses."

Felicia's eyes flashed with defiance and arousal at his commanding tone, a mixture of the old Black Cat pride and new submissive desire. She wrapped her black-painted lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently at first, then with increasing pressure as she took him deeper into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she created suction, her tongue working the underside of his shaft.

"Slurp... mmm... so fucking thick," she moaned around his shaft, her hand pumping what wouldn't fit in her mouth, fingers unable to fully encircle his girth. "Your cock is so much bigger now... stretching my lips so wide... mmm... tastes so good." She worked him skillfully, alternating between deep, throat-stretching plunges and teasing, shallow sucks that focused on his sensitive crown, her tongue swirling around the head before plunging back down.

"That's it," Peter groaned, his grip on her hair tightening, guiding her movements. "Take more. I know you can. I've seen what that throat can do. Take it all the way down." His hips thrust upward slightly, forcing another inch into her willing mouth.

Felicia relaxed her throat, forcing herself to take him deeper. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as his cock pushed past her gag reflex, but she didn't stop. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth working his shaft filled the luxurious suite—slurping, gagging, moaning—a symphony of oral worship.

"Gluk... gluk... mmm," she choked slightly as his massive head hit the back of her throat, but she pushed through the discomfort, determined to please him, to prove her devotion. Saliva dripped from her chin, coating his shaft and balls with her spit. The feeling of being used, of being at his mercy while she worshipped his cock, sent waves of arousal through her body. Her pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, juices running down her inner thighs.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing," Peter praised, his hips thrusting upward slightly, forcing his cock deeper into her throat. "Your hot little throat squeezing around me... so fucking good. But don't forget these." He guided her attention lower, to his heavy balls, swollen with seed. "They need attention too. Worship them properly."

Felicia released his cock with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening shaft. Her lipstick was smeared, her eyes watery, but the look of desire on her face was unmistakable. She moved lower, cradling his testicles in her palm before drawing one into her hot mouth. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive skin, sucking gently as her hand continued stroking his length, keeping him rock hard.

"Mmm... so full," she murmured, switching to the other testicle, giving it the same devoted attention. "So much cum stored up in these big balls. They're so heavy, Spider... so much bigger than I remember. Are you saving it all for me, or are you going to share with your other women?" She looked up at him through her lashes, a hint of jealousy in her voice. "Are you saving it all for me, Spider?"

Peter's cock twitched at her words, another drop of pre-cum beading at the tip, sliding down his shaft to meet her lips. "You'll get every drop you earn. If you're good enough, I'll flood that pretty mouth with more cum than you can swallow."

She nuzzled against his sack, inhaling his masculine scent before lapping at the seam between his testicles. Her tongue traced delicate patterns, teasing and worshipping simultaneously. "I want it all," she whispered, her hot breath washing over his sensitive skin. "Every last drop. I want to taste you, to feel you pumping down my throat." Felicia took her time with each heavy orb, treating them with reverence, knowing they contained the seed that had already impregnated three powerful women.

"I think about you all the time," she confessed between licks, her voice husky with desire, raw with emotion. "About what we had... what I threw away. The nights we spent together, how you'd make me come until I couldn't walk." She kissed his balls tenderly, then dragged her tongue up the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein that pulsed beneath her ministrations. "I masturbate thinking about you, imagining it's your cock inside me instead of my fingers."

Peter watched her with hooded eyes, enjoying the sight of the proud Black Cat reduced to worshipping his cock and balls, confessing her darkest desires. "You're not the only one with regrets," he said, his voice softer for a moment, a glimpse of the old Peter showing through before hardening again. "But that's the past. Show me how much you want this now. Show me how badly you need my cock, my cum."

Felicia continued her worship, alternating between his balls and shaft, occasionally taking him deep into her throat before returning to the gentle suction on his testicles. Her green eyes remained locked on his, gauging his reactions, adjusting her technique to maximize his pleasure. She wanted—needed—to prove herself the best he'd ever had.

"Your balls taste so good," she moaned, licking up the underside of his sack. "So musky and male. I could worship them all day." She cupped his balls with one hand while using the other to guide his cock back into her hungry mouth. This time, she took him even deeper, her nose pressing against his pubic bone as she swallowed around his length. Her throat constricted rhythmically, massaging his sensitive head while her tongue worked the underside of his shaft.

"Jesus, Felicia," Peter groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, muscles in his neck straining. "You've gotten better at this. Fuck, your throat is squeezing me so tight."

She hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through his cock. When she needed air, she pulled back, gasping, her lips swollen and glistening with saliva, mascara running down her cheeks from the exertion. "I've had practice," she admitted, still stroking his spit-slicked shaft, "but none of them were as big as you are now. Not even close. Fuck, Peter, what happened? You're massive. It's like you've been enhanced or something."

Peter smirked, his hand stroking her cheek almost tenderly, thumb wiping away a tear track. "Let's just say I've come into my own….."

Felicia's eyebrows rose at the mention of Emma, jealousy flashing across her features, but she didn't comment. Instead, she returned to her task with renewed enthusiasm, determined to prove she could please him better than his fiancée or any of his other lovers. She took him deep again, her throat bulging visibly with the intrusion, working him with even more fervor.

"That's it," Peter encouraged, his hand returning to her hair, guiding her movements. "Take it all. Show me how much you want my cum. Show me you deserve it." His hips began thrusting more insistently, fucking her face as she moaned and gagged around his length. "I'm getting close," Peter warned, his voice strained, muscles tensing. "You're going to swallow it all, understand? Every. Last. Drop. Don't waste a single drop of my seed."

"Yes," Felicia purred when he allowed her a moment to breathe, saliva dripping from her chin. "I want it all. Fill my mouth, my throat. Let me taste you, Spider. I need it." She returned her attention to his cock with desperate hunger, taking him as deep as possible, her throat constricting around his sensitive head as she swallowed repeatedly. Her hand massaged his balls, feeling them tighten as his orgasm approached, drawing up closer to his body.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," Peter growled, his hand holding her head in place as his release hit, preventing her from pulling back. His cock pulsed powerfully, the first thick jet hitting the back of Felicia's throat.

The first thick jet hit the back of Felicia's throat with such force that she nearly choked, forcing her to swallow quickly or suffocate. Her eyes widened at the volume as spurt after spurt filled her mouth, far more than she remembered him producing before. It kept coming, rope after rope of thick, creamy cum flooding her mouth faster than she could swallow. She gulped frantically, throat working overtime to keep up with his seemingly endless release, but some escaped the corners of her mouth, running down her chin.

"Gulp... gulp... mmm," she moaned around him, the vibrations only intensifying his pleasure as she drank down his seed. It was thick and creamy, with a slightly sweet taste she didn't remember from their past encounters. His cum seemed richer, more potent, coating her tongue and filling her stomach with warmth. Still it came, his balls emptying what seemed like an impossible amount of semen into her willing mouth.

When Peter finally released her hair, Felicia pulled back gasping for air, white cum dripping from her swollen lips, trails of his seed running down her chin and neck, even a few drops landing on her heaving breasts. She wiped some up with her finger and sucked it clean, making a show of savoring his taste, moaning as if it were the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

"Jesus Christ, Peter," she panted, her voice hoarse from the throat-fucking she'd just received, barely above a raspy whisper. "There's so much more than before. So thick too, like fucking pudding. That's enough to knock up half the women in New York. No wonder you've got a harem of pregnant superheroes."

Peter chuckled, reaching out to wipe away a stray drop she'd missed at the corner of her mouth, feeding it back to her on his finger which she eagerly sucked clean. "That's the idea, apparently. Emma says my fertility is off the charts now. Something about my spider DNA evolving to ensure the continuation of my genetic line. The more powerful I become, the more potent my seed gets."

Felicia crawled up his body, pressing her full breasts against his chest as she straddled his thighs. His cock, still impressively hard despite his recent release, pressed against her soaked pussy lips. She was dripping wet, her arousal evident in the slick that coated her inner thighs. "And what does Emma think about you being here with me?" she asked, grinding against him teasingly, her wet slit sliding along his shaft but not taking him inside. "Does the White Queen approve of you fucking the Black Cat?"

"It was her idea," Peter replied, his hands gripping her hips to still her movements, preventing her from taking him inside without his permission. "She's keeping track of all my... activities. She likes to know who I'm with, what we do together. She finds it... stimulating."

Felicia's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and arousal crossing her features. "She's watching us? Right now? While I suck your cock and beg for your cum?" The thought sent a thrill through her body, her pussy clenching with renewed desire.

Peter nodded toward a discreet camera in the corner of the room, its small red light blinking. "Probably. She monitors most of my encounters. Does that bother you? Knowing that the White Queen is watching you worship my cock?"

Instead of answering, Felicia turned toward the camera and licked her lips provocatively, tasting the remnants of his cum. "I hope you enjoyed the show, Emma," she called out, voice raspy but defiant. "Did you like watching me suck your fiancé's massive cock? Did it make your perfect pussy wet, seeing him flood my mouth with cum?" She cupped her breasts, offering them to the camera. "But I'm not done with him yet. I'm going to fuck him better than you ever could."

She turned back to Peter, her expression suddenly serious, vulnerability showing through her confident facade. "I want you to know something. I'm not just here for the sex, amazing as it is. I want to be part of your life again, whatever that looks like now." Her hand drifted down to her flat stomach, caressing the toned flesh. "Even if it means carrying your child like the others. I want to feel your baby growing inside me, Peter. I want to give you what they're giving you."

Peter's expression softened slightly, a glimpse of tenderness breaking through his dominant demeanor. "Felicia..."

"I know, I know," she cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. "You're marrying Emma. You've got Storm and Jean and now apparently the Black Widow all carrying your babies. Your powerful, mutant babies." Her voice grew more desperate, pleading. "But there's room for one more, isn't there? One more woman to love you, one more womb to carry your seed?" Her voice took on a pleading quality that was entirely unlike the confident Black Cat he knew. "I could give you a strong, beautiful baby. Half-spider, half-cat. Think of how amazing our child would be."

Before Peter could respond, Felicia captured his mouth in a desperate kiss, pouring years of regret and longing into it. Her tongue tangled with his, letting him taste his own essence still lingering in her mouth. When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead against his, her green eyes staring into his with raw emotion.

"Just think about it," she whispered, her hand moving between them to grasp his still-hard cock. "That's all I'm asking. Let me show you how good we can be together. Let me remind you of what we had... and what we could have again."

Peter's eyes widened as Felicia circled him with predatory grace, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders. The hunger in her eyes hadn't diminished despite having just thoroughly worshipped his cock. If anything, she looked even more ravenous now, like a cat who'd gotten a taste of cream but craved the entire bowl.

"Turn over," she commanded, her voice dropping to a sultry purr that sent shivers down his spine. "On your hands and knees, Spider."

Peter cocked an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by her assertiveness after his earlier dominance. Something about the way she looked at him—like he was prey she intended to devour whole—made his pulse quicken. A slow smile spread across his face as he complied, rolling onto his stomach before pushing himself up on all fours. His powerful back muscles flexed involuntarily, a response to both anticipation and the cool air hitting his skin.

"What are you planning, kitten?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see her eyes fixed on him with naked desire.

Felicia ran her blood-red manicured nails down his spine, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, enjoying the visible shiver that rippled through his powerful body. "Something I've been fantasizing about for years," she purred, positioning herself behind him. "Something to show you just how thoroughly I want to please you. How completely I want to worship every inch of you."

Her hands caressed the firm globes of his ass, kneading the muscle appreciatively. She dug her fingers into the taut flesh, spreading him slightly as she did. Peter was all lean power, his body honed to perfection through years of crime-fighting. The definition in his muscles, the perfect symmetry of his form—it was enough to make her mouth water.

"God, I've missed this ass," she whispered, bending forward to place a gentle kiss at the base of his spine. She let her tongue trail along his skin, tasting the salt of his sweat as she worked her way lower, her teeth occasionally grazing sensitive spots that made him twitch.

"Felicia?" Peter questioned, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice as he realized her intention. His spider-sense wasn't tingling with danger, but something else entirely—anticipation, perhaps.

"Relax," she whispered against his skin, her hot breath teasing his sensitive flesh. "Trust me. You made me feel incredible earlier—let me return the favor. I want to show you pleasures you've never experienced before."

Her thumbs gently spread his cheeks wider, exposing his tight pucker to her hungry gaze. She took a moment to simply admire the view, enjoying the slight tremble that passed through Peter's powerful thighs as cool air hit his most intimate place.

"You're so perfect," Felicia murmured, leaning closer until he could feel her warm breath against his exposed entrance. "Every fucking inch of you deserves to be worshipped."

The first touch of her tongue was feather-light—a tentative lap against his sensitive ring that made Peter gasp and jerk forward in surprise. The sensation was so foreign, so unexpected, that his mind momentarily went blank.

"Jesus Christ!" he hissed, fingers clutching the sheets beneath him.

Felicia watched his reaction carefully, gauging his comfort level before proceeding further. "Too much?" she asked, her voice husky with desire.

"N-no," Peter admitted, his face flushing with heat. "Just... unexpected."

When his initial tension melted into a soft groan, she grew bolder. "Good. Because I've been dreaming about tasting you like this for years."

"Mmm," she hummed appreciatively, her tongue making slow, deliberate circles around his entrance. The vibration of her moan sent pleasant tingles through Peter's body, drawing another groan from deep in his chest.

"Fuck, that feels good," he admitted, his head dropping between his shoulders as he surrendered to the unfamiliar pleasure. His cock, which had been softening after his earlier release, began to harden again, hanging heavy between his thighs.

Encouraged by his response, Felicia increased the pressure, her tongue flattening against his entrance before pointing to probe more insistently. Her hands maintained their grip on his ass cheeks, spreading him wider to grant her better access. The wet sounds of her eager mouth filled the room as she worked, occasionally pulling back to place sucking kisses against his sensitive flesh.

"Slurp... kiss... you taste so fucking good, Spider," she purred between licks, her voice thick with arousal. "I could do this for hours. I want to make you come just from my tongue in your ass."

Peter's cock hung heavy and hard between his legs, drops of pre-cum falling to the sheets below as Felicia's skilled tongue worked its magic. She reached around with one hand to grasp his shaft, finding it slick with his arousal already.

"Look how hard you are for me," she whispered, stroking him in time with the movements of her tongue. "Your body knows what it wants even if you didn't."

"Oh god," Peter groaned, his arms trembling slightly as pleasure coursed through his body. "That's... fuck, that's incredible. Where did you learn—ah!"

Felicia increased her efforts, cutting off his question as her tongue now pushed more insistently against the tight ring of muscle. The first breach sent a jolt of intense pleasure through Peter's body, his back arching involuntarily as her pointed tongue slipped past his resistant entrance.

"Mmm... slurp... mmm," Felicia moaned against him, the vibrations adding another dimension to the pleasure as her tongue wiggled deeper inside him. Her free hand cupped his heavy balls, massaging them gently as she continued her oral worship.

"Your balls are so fucking full," she murmured, rolling them in her palm. "So heavy with cum. I can feel how much you've still got saved up in here, even after that first massive load you fed me."

Peter's breathing grew ragged, his cock throbbing in her grip as she stroked him with increasing speed. Her tongue continued its relentless invasion, pushing deeper, wiggling inside him to stimulate nerve endings he hadn't known could feel such pleasure. Each thrust of her tongue sent sparks up his spine, making his toes curl and his breath catch.

"Fuck, Felicia," Peter gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. "Where did you learn to do this? You're—Christ!—you're incredible."

She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against his sensitive flesh. "I've had years to perfect my skills, Spider. Years to imagine all the ways I'd please you if I ever got another chance." Her tongue resumed its work, more insistent now, probing deeper as her hand continued to stroke his shaft. "I've practiced on others, but I've only ever wanted to do this to you."

Peter's cock seemed to grow even harder in her grip, a fresh bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. Felicia released him briefly, moving beneath him to lap at the clear fluid before it could fall to the sheets.

"Mmm, so sweet," she purred, licking her lips before returning to her position behind him. "I want more. I want everything you can give me. Every last fucking drop."

She then moved away from his ass, her full lips engulfing each of his heavy balls and sucking hard on them individually, pulling back before releasing them covered in spit as Peter cursed in pleasure. Her red-painted lips left crimson marks across his sensitive skin, a visual claiming that sent a thrill through her. She admired her handiwork for a moment—his cock, balls, and ass now decorated with the imprint of her lips—before diving back in.

"Look at that," she whispered, running a finger over a lipstick mark on his inner thigh. "I've marked you as mine. Every part of you."

"Your balls are so fucking heavy," she continued, nuzzling against the swollen orbs. "So full of cum even after that first load. I bet Emma doesn't drain them properly. I bet none of your women do." She gave them another gentle squeeze before returning her attention to his ass. "But I will. I'll empty them completely."

By now, Peter was practically trembling with need, his body responding to her skilled ministrations in ways he hadn't experienced before. The dual sensation of her tongue in his ass and her hand on his cock was overwhelming, pleasure building at the base of his spine with shocking intensity.

"Felicia," he gasped, his voice strained and desperate. "I'm getting close again. How are you doing this to me?"

She redoubled her efforts, her tongue fucking him with firm, deliberate thrusts while her hand worked his shaft with practiced skill. Her thumb circled the sensitive head of his cock on each upstroke, spreading the abundant pre-cum to create a slick glide.

"Slurp... mmm... kiss," the wet sounds of her enthusiasm filled the room as she devoured him, her own arousal evident in the flush spreading across her pale skin. Her free hand moved between her own legs, fingers dipping into her soaked pussy as she pleasured herself while worshipping him.

"You're making me so fucking wet," she moaned, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she briefly showed him. "Just from eating your ass. Just from making you feel good."

"That's it," she encouraged between licks, "let go for me, Spider. I want to taste you again. Want to feel you cum while my tongue is inside you. Want to feel these big balls empty themselves down my throat."

Peter's orgasm built with surprising speed, the dual stimulation proving too intense to resist. His balls tightened against his body, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself up as pleasure coiled tighter in his core.

"I'm going to cum again," he warned, his voice breaking. "Fuck, Felicia, I'm going to—Oh fuck!"

His words dissolved into a guttural groan as his release hit with staggering force. Felicia quickly moved to position herself beneath him, taking his erupting cock into her mouth just in time to catch the first powerful jet. Her tongue remained buried in his ass as he came, the muscle contracting rhythmically around the intrusion as spurt after thick spurt filled her eager mouth.

"Mmmmph... gulp... gulp," Felicia moaned around his shaft, swallowing frantically to keep pace with his abundant release. The taste of him, combined with the knowledge that she had brought him to such intense pleasure, had her own body trembling on the edge of orgasm. Her fingers worked frantically between her legs as she drank down his seed.

Peter's release seemed even more copious than before, thick ropes of cum filling her mouth faster than she could swallow. Some escaped the corners of her lips, running down her chin as she struggled to contain the flood. The taste was intoxicating—rich and slightly sweet, with a potency that seemed to radiate through her entire body.

"So much," she gasped when she finally had to pull away to breathe, the final spurts landing on her flushed face and heaving breasts. "Fuck, Peter, there's so much. How can you produce this much? It's like you haven't cum in weeks."

His cum decorated her face in thick streaks, some dripping from her chin onto her breasts. She looked utterly debauched, her makeup smeared, hair disheveled, and face painted with his seed. The sight was so erotic that Peter felt his cock twitch again despite having just emptied himself.

Peter's arms finally gave out, his upper body collapsing onto the mattress while his ass remained elevated, still impaled on Felicia's relentless tongue. She continued her ministrations throughout his climax, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until he was shaking with oversensitivity.

"No more," he gasped, reaching back to gently push her away. "Too sensitive."

Only then did she withdraw, placing a final, gentle kiss against his now-relaxed entrance before moving to lie beside him. Her lips were swollen and glistening with a mixture of saliva and the remnants of his release, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Holy shit," Peter breathed, his body boneless with satisfaction as he rolled onto his side to face her. "That was... unexpected. And fucking incredible."

Felicia grinned, licking her lips with deliberate slowness to collect the last drops of his cum. "Good unexpected, I hope. I've been wanting to do that to you for years."

"Definitely good," he confirmed, reaching out to brush a strand of platinum hair from her flushed face. His thumb wiped away a streak of cum from her cheek. "Where did you learn to do that? You've never done that before... with me, at least."

"I've picked up a few tricks over the years," she replied with a seductive wink. "Though I've never enjoyed performing quite that much before." Her hand drifted down to her own sex, fingers dipping between her folds to gather evidence of her arousal. She brought the glistening digits up between them, showing him how wet she was. "See what you do to me, Spider? Just pleasuring you gets me soaking wet. I nearly came just from eating your ass and feeling you shoot down my throat."

Peter's eyes darkened as he watched her touch herself, his spent cock already beginning to stir again despite the two powerful orgasms she'd already drawn from him.

"Then I guess it's my turn to return the favor," he growled, pushing himself up. His strength returned rapidly as he moved over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.

Felicia's smile turned predatory as she arched beneath him, spreading her legs in blatant invitation. Her pussy glistened with arousal, pink lips swollen and ready for his attention.

"I'm all yours, Spider," she purred, lifting her hips to brush against his rapidly hardening cock. "Show me what else you've learned since we were last together."

Felicia's back arched off the bed as he entered her, her inner walls stretching to accommodate his size. "Fuck! So big... you're splitting me in half!" She clawed at his shoulders, her green eyes wide with a mixture of pain and pleasure as her body struggled to adjust to his enhanced girth. "God, Peter, you're so much bigger than I remember," she gasped, her thighs trembling as they spread wider to take him fully.

Peter set a punishing pace immediately, driving into her with powerful thrusts that had the headboard slamming against the wall. His hands found her breasts, squeezing roughly as he pounded into her willing body. "Is this what you wanted, Felicia?" he growled, pinching her nipples between his fingers. "Is this why you came back?" The once-proud Black Cat was reduced to a mewling mess beneath him, her platinum hair splayed across the pillows like spilled moonlight as she writhed in ecstasy.

"Slap! Slap! Slap!" The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by Felicia's increasingly desperate cries. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!" Each thrust drove her further up the bed until she had to brace her hands against the headboard to prevent herself from hitting it. Her breasts bounced wildly with each impact, hypnotizing Peter as he drove deeper into her soaked pussy.

"Yes! Harder! Fuck me harder!" she begged, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks that would have lingered on a normal man. "Make me your slut! I need it rough, Spider. Show me how much you've missed this tight pussy!" Her inner muscles clenched around him, trying to milk his cock with each thrust.

Peter bent down to capture one bouncing breast in his mouth, sucking hard on her nipple while his hand delivered a sharp slap to the side of her other breast. "You like it when I mark you, don't you?" he murmured against her skin, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The combination of pleasure and pain had Felicia screaming, her inner walls clenching around him like a vise. The pale flesh reddened under his palm, the slight sting only enhancing her pleasure as he alternated between gentle caresses and stinging slaps.

"You like that?" Peter growled, releasing her nipple with a wet pop to look into her eyes. His thumb traced the wet, swollen bud, rolling it roughly. "You like being treated like the dirty cat slut you are?" His hand delivered another stinging slap to her breast, making it jiggle enticingly. "Answer me, Felicia. Tell me how much you love being fucked like this."

"Yes!" Felicia sobbed, her body shaking with each powerful thrust. Sweat glistened on her skin, making her pale body gleam in the dim light of the hotel room. "I'm your slut! I've always been your slut! Nobody fucks me like you do, Spider. Nobody fills me like this!" Her voice rose to a near-scream, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "Oh fuck, I'm going to cum! You're going to make me cum so hard!"

Peter increased his pace, driving into her with superhuman speed that had Felicia's eyes rolling back in her head. The wet sounds of their coupling grew louder, more obscene, as her arousal coated his shaft and balls. "That's it, take it all," he commanded, watching her face contort with pleasure. Her orgasm hit with devastating force, her back arching off the bed as she screamed his name. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him, but Peter wasn't ready to finish yet. He could feel her inner walls spasming around him, her juices flowing freely to coat his shaft and balls.

"Did I say you could cum?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm as he continued thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it until she was sobbing with overstimulation. His hand came down on her thigh with a sharp slap that made her jolt. "Who said you could cum without permission?"

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her body twitching uncontrollably, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her nipples stood out like hard pebbles, begging for more attention. "I couldn't help it. Your cock feels so good inside me. It's been so long, Peter. I've dreamed about this... about you... filling me up like this."

He flipped her over roughly, positioning her on her hands and knees. His hand came down hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her pale skin. "Arch your back more," he commanded, pushing her shoulders down so her ass raised higher. "Show me that perfect pussy I've been fucking."

"SMACK!" The sharp sound of the spank echoed through the room, followed by Felicia's surprised yelp that quickly transformed into a moan. "Yes! Spank me, Spider!" The perfect globe of her ass jiggled from the impact, the red outline of his hand blooming on her fair skin like a badge of ownership.

"Such a perfect ass," Peter commented, delivering another stinging slap to her other cheek. "SMACK! You've been a bad kitty, Felicia. Running away when things got too real between us." His hand came down again, harder this time. "SMACK! Leaving me behind when I needed you." Another spank, another cry of pleasured pain. "SMACK! Coming back only when I've found happiness with someone else." He spread her cheeks apart, admiring how her pussy glistened with arousal, her entrance clenching hungrily around nothing.

"I'm sorry," Felicia gasped, pushing her ass back toward him shamelessly, seeking both punishment and pleasure. Her voice cracked with emotion, a side of her he rarely saw. "I was stupid. So fucking stupid. I was scared of what I felt for you. Please, punish me. Make me pay for it." Her voice broke on a sob, genuine remorse mingling with desperate arousal. "I need you inside me again. Please, Peter, fill me up."

Peter lined himself up with her entrance again, teasing her by rubbing the head of his cock along her slick folds. "Is this what you want?" he asked, pressing just the tip inside before withdrawing. "This cock that you walked away from?" He repeated the motion, entering her just enough to make her whimper before pulling back.

"Yes! Please, don't tease me," Felicia begged, trying to push back against him. "I need you so badly. I need your thick cock stretching me open. Please, Spider, fuck me hard!"

Peter pushed inside with one powerful thrust that buried him to the hilt. Felicia screamed, her face pressed into the mattress as Peter established a brutal rhythm, his hips slapping against her reddened ass with each thrust. Her inner walls clung to his shaft, still sensitive from her previous orgasm. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. "This deep enough for you, kitten?"

"Slap! Slap! Slap!" The wet sound of their coupling mingled with the impact of skin on skin, creating an obscene symphony that filled the luxurious suite. "Yes! Oh god, yes! So deep!" Felicia cried, her words punctuated by each powerful thrust. The bed frame creaked ominously beneath them, struggling to withstand the force of their passion. "Fuck me like you hate me, Spider! Like you want to break me!"

"Your pussy feels so fucking good," Peter growled, one hand reaching around to find her clit while the other maintained a firm grip on her hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. He circled the swollen bud with precise, firm strokes, feeling how it hardened further under his touch. "So tight around my cock. Is this what you've been missing, kitten? Is this what you came back for? To get fucked senseless by the man you walked away from?"

"Yes! Yes!" Felicia sobbed, her body jolting with each powerful thrust. Her hands clutched desperately at the sheets, trying to anchor herself against the overwhelming pleasure. "I've missed you so much. Missed your cock. Missed the way you make me feel. Ungh! Nobody else has ever fucked me this good! Nobody else has ever filled me so completely!" Her words dissolved into incoherent moans as Peter's fingers worked her clit with expert precision, circling the swollen bud in time with his thrusts.

Peter continued his relentless assault on her senses, his fingers working her clit with the same precision he used in his laboratory work. He could feel her body responding, her inner walls gripping him tighter with each stroke. "I can feel how much you want it," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Your pussy is practically begging for my cum, isn't it?"

Felicia's second orgasm approached rapidly, her inner walls fluttering around his invading shaft. Her thighs trembled, her arms giving out so that her upper body collapsed onto the mattress, ass still raised high to receive him. "I'm going to cum again," she warned, her voice breaking. "Please, Peter, cum with me. Fill me up! I want to feel you explode inside me! I need your hot cum flooding my pussy!"

Peter flipped her once more, laying her flat on her stomach on the bed. He covered her body with his own, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he continued thrusting from above. This position allowed him to go even deeper, his cock reaching places inside her that had never been touched before. The new angle had the head of his cock dragging against her g-spot with each thrust, sending jolts of intense pleasure through her body.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Felicia chanted, her face turned to the side, expression contorted with pleasure bordering on pain. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed with ecstasy as Peter dominated her completely. "So deep! You're so fucking deep! I can feel you in my womb!" Her hands clutched desperately at the sheets, knuckles white with tension as she fought to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensations.

Peter's pace became erratic as his own release approached. His breath came in harsh pants against her ear, his powerful body tensing above her. "You want my cum, kitten? You want me to fill that greedy pussy?" His teeth found the sensitive junction between Felicia's neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me this pussy belongs to me."

"I'm yours! Always yours!" Felicia cried out, her body writhing beneath him. "My pussy is yours! My body is yours! Everything I am belongs to you, Peter!" The slight pain pushed Felicia over the edge, her third orgasm crashing through her with such force that tears streamed down her face. "PETER! FUCK! I'M CUMMING!" she screamed, her entire body convulsing beneath him. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his shaft, trying to milk his seed from him.

The rhythmic clenching of her inner walls triggered Peter's release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible inside her and came, flooding her womb with pulse after pulse of hot seed. "Fuck! Take it, Felicia! Take it all!" he groaned, his cock throbbing powerfully within her, each spurt seeming more voluminous than the last, filling her to overflowing.

"Take it all," he growled against her ear, his hips making small, grinding movements to work his release deeper. "Every. Last. Drop." He reached beneath her to press his palm against her lower abdomen, as if trying to feel his cock and cum inside her from the outside. "Can you feel that? Can you feel how full you are with my cum?"

"Yes," Felicia sobbed, her body still shaking with aftershocks. Her inner muscles continued to contract around his length, milking him for every drop. "I can feel it. So much cum... so deep inside me. Fill me up. Give me your baby, Peter. Breed me like you did the others." Her voice was barely a whisper, raw from screaming. "Mark me from the inside. Make me yours forever."

Peter's cock twitched at her words, another spurt of cum erupting inside her. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he murmured, kissing along her shoulder. "To carry my child. To be swollen with my seed." They remained locked together for several minutes, both breathing heavily as they came down from their shared high. When Peter finally pulled out, a flood of his thick seed followed, spilling onto the sheets beneath them in an obscene display of his virility.

Felicia rolled over, her body completely limp with satisfaction. Her makeup was smeared, mascara tracks running down her cheeks from her tears of pleasure. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, her neck and breasts marked with love bites and the imprints of his fingers. Bruises were already forming on her hips and thighs, testament to the power of their coupling. She looked thoroughly debauched and utterly satisfied.

"That was... incredible," she breathed, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I think you've ruined me for anyone else, Spider." She reached down between her legs, gathering some of his escaping seed on her fingers before bringing them to her mouth and sucking them clean with a moan. "So thick. So much of it."

Peter lay beside her, and she immediately curled against him, wrapping her limbs around his body like a cat seeking warmth. For a long moment, they simply breathed together, content in the afterglow of their passion.

"I really am sorry, Peter," Felicia said quietly, her usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine remorse. "For how I treated you. For leaving. For everything." Her fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, following the contours of his muscles. "I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared of needing someone that much."

Peter started to brush it off, but Felicia placed a finger against his lips, silencing him.

"Don't do that," she insisted, her green eyes serious as they met his. "Not with me. I know I've been a shitty girlfriend in the past. I know I hurt you. I can't just fuck my way back into your good graces, as much as I'd like to try." Her voice held a vulnerability he rarely heard from her, the Black Cat's usual bravado stripped away to reveal the woman beneath. "I want another chance, Peter. A real chance."

Peter studied her face for a moment, seeing the sincerity there. He reached up to brush a strand of platinum hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear in a gesture that was surprisingly tender after the roughness of their lovemaking. Then, without warning, his hand came down hard on her ass, the sharp slap making her yelp in surprise.

"SMACK!" The sound was followed by Felicia's startled moan as Peter's hand remained on her ass, kneading the flesh he'd just punished. "You like that, don't you?" he asked, feeling her shiver against him. "You like being put in your place."

"Then earn my forgiveness," he said, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers dipped between her legs, finding her still-sensitive pussy. "Show me you mean it." He slid two fingers into her soaked entrance, feeling the mixture of her arousal and his cum coating his digits. "Show me you're willing to work for it."

Felicia's eyes darkened with renewed desire, a purr rumbling in her throat as Peter's fingers explored her soaked folds. "Yes, Spider. I'll earn every inch of your forgiveness." She pushed back against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure only he could give her. "I'll be such a good kitty for you. I'll show you how sorry I am with every part of my body. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to."

She was just lowering her head, ready to begin another round of pleasure, when a soft knock sounded at the suite door. They both froze, exchanging a look of surprise.

"Expecting someone?" Felicia asked, arching an eyebrow, her body still wrapped around his. A flicker of jealousy crossed her features as she tightened her hold possessively.

Peter shook his head, reaching for a towel to wrap around his waist. "Stay here," he instructed, moving toward the door. "And maybe... cover up." He tossed her the sheet, which she pulled over her naked body with a pout.

"Hurry back," she called after him, stretching languorously on the bed. "I'm not nearly finished with you yet, Spider." She let the sheet fall just low enough to reveal the tops of her breasts, an enticing preview of what awaited his return.

He peered through the peephole, then stepped back in surprise, his body tensing visibly. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he opened the door just enough to block the view into the room.

Mary Jane Watson stood in the hallway, looking as beautiful as ever. Her fiery auburn hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, framing her perfect face with its high cheekbones and delicate nose. She wore designer jeans that hugged every curve of her long legs and rounded hips, paired with a simple yet elegant emerald blouse that clung to her breasts and accentuated her tiny waist—the kind of quiet wealth that didn't need to announce itself. Her full, pouty lips were painted a deep crimson that matched her vibrant hair, drawing his eyes to her mouth where they lingered longer than he intended. Her emerald eyes widened slightly at the sight of Peter's state of undress, slowly taking in his bare, muscular chest with its light dusting of hair, following the trail down his abs to where the towel precariously wrapped around his waist, sitting dangerously low on his hips and threatening to reveal what Felicia had been thoroughly enjoying just minutes before.

"Peter," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "I... I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now." Her eyes flickered to a faint scratch mark on his shoulder—evidence of Felicia's passion—before returning to his face.

Peter said nothing, his expression carefully neutral as he blocked the doorway with his body. The air between them seemed charged with unspoken words, years of history hanging in the balance.

"Please," Mary Jane continued, her eyes pleading. "I just want to talk. Five minutes of your time. That's all I'm asking." She clutched her purse tightly, knuckles white with tension.

A moment of tense silence stretched between them, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air like an invisible barrier. Peter's mind raced, torn between the anger he still felt at her abandonment and the lingering affection that never truly died.

"Can I come in?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miles away, in the heart of Latveria, Dr. Victor von Doom sat alone in his private chambers within Castle Doom. The room was austere compared to the gothic grandeur of the rest of the castle—a space where the ruler of Latveria could, for brief moments, set aside the trappings of power and focus on matters of true importance. The cold stone walls seemed to absorb the ambient sounds, creating a pocket of perfect silence that matched Doom's need for absolute concentration. The scent of ancient tomes and polished metal hung in the air, a familiar comfort to the dictator who found solace in his solitude.

Before him, five holographic figures shimmered in the dim light, their features deliberately obscured. These were the members of the Cabal—individuals whose combined influence would shape the course of human and mutant history for centuries to come. Their identities remained a closely guarded secret, known only to Doom himself. The blue glow from their projections cast eerie shadows across Doom's mask, highlighting the eternal scowl etched into the metal.

"The Parker-Frost union proceeds as scheduled," the first figure stated, their voice digitally altered to prevent identification. The crackling distortion echoed slightly in the chamber. "Our agents report that preparations for the wedding are well underway."

Perfect, Doom thought, feeling a flutter of satisfaction in his chest. The cornerstone of our future.

"What of the summit?" asked another, their silhouette suggesting a feminine form. The voice carried a hint of impatience beneath its electronic disguise. "The mutant fertility crisis provides the perfect opportunity to implement the next phase."

Doom's fingers tapped silently against the armrest of his chair, the metal of his gauntlet cool against his skin beneath. The mutant crisis was unfolding exactly as the timeline required.

"SHIELD has confirmed the date," a third figure responded, their outline shifting slightly as they leaned forward. "Four months after the wedding. All major powers will be in attendance, including representatives from Krakoa, Wakanda, and Atlantis."

The tension in the air thickened as Doom considered the implications. He could almost taste the metallic tang of anticipation on his tongue.

"And the Parker-Frost children?" questioned the fourth, their tone sharp with interest. The hologram flickered momentarily with the intensity of their query. "The projections?"

Doom felt his heartbeat quicken beneath his armor. The children. The future gods.

"Developing precisely as predicted," the fifth and final figure answered, their voice carrying a note of reverence that even the voice modulation couldn't disguise. "Genetic analysis suggests they will manifest powers beyond omega level. The foundation stones of the empire."

Beyond omega, Doom mused, his mind racing with possibilities. The universe has never seen their like.

Doom leaned forward, the light from the holograms reflecting off his metal mask. The chair creaked beneath the weight of his armor, breaking the perfect silence. "The summit must proceed without incident," he declared, his voice resonating with authority, bouncing off the stone walls with a power that seemed almost supernatural. "Any disruption could alter the timeline we have so carefully cultivated."

His stomach knotted with the weight of this responsibility—centuries of careful manipulation condensed into these crucial moments.

"There are concerns about potential interference," the second figure cautioned, their hologram wavering slightly. "The Inheritors have been increasingly active in this sector of the multiverse."

A flash of anger surged through Doom's veins. Those parasites would dare?

"Let them come," Doom replied dismissively, though his fist clenched beneath the table. "They will find Latveria well-prepared for their arrival. I have studied their weaknesses extensively." The confidence in his voice masked the contingency plans already spinning through his mind.

"And what of the Watson woman?" asked the first figure. "Her presence was not accounted for in our initial calculations."

Doom felt a momentary flicker of concern, quickly suppressed. The smell of ozone from the holograms intensified as he considered this variable.

"A minor variable," Doom assured them, forcing certainty into his tone. "Her role, should she play one at all, will not significantly impact the primary timeline." At least, that is what we must believe.

The holographic figures seemed satisfied with his assessment, nodding in silent agreement. Their projections cast dancing shadows across the ancient stones.

"Then we are in accord," the third figure concluded. "The future proceeds as foreseen."

"As it must," Doom affirmed, a strange mixture of determination and longing swelling in his chest. "The Eternal Spider Empire will rise, with Parker-Frost at its center and Latveria as its first and most crucial ally."

One by one, the holograms flickered and disappeared, the blue light fading until only the dim glow of wall sconces remained. The sudden absence of their presence left the room feeling emptier, the silence more profound. Doom's breath echoed in his mask, the warm air condensing against the cool metal.

He rose from his seat, the joints of his armor whispering softly as he moved to a hidden alcove concealed behind a bookshelf. The leather-bound tomes shifted silently on well-oiled hinges. A series of precise gestures deactivated the security measures, his fingertips tingling with the faint electrical response of the system recognizing his unique signature. The hidden compartment revealed a small, lead-lined box.

From within, Doom withdrew a photograph he had be given by the cabal members—not a digital image, but an actual physical photograph printed on paper, a rarity in the age it came from. The edges were worn from frequent handling, though the image itself remained clear. The paper felt fragile between his armored fingers, a tangible connection to a future not yet born.

My future, he thought, a rare tenderness washing over him.

It showed a wedding ceremony unlike any in the current era. The setting appeared to be a crystalline cathedral floating among the stars, with Earth visible through transparent walls. And there, at the center, stood Victor von Doom himself—his face uncovered, his scars healed, his expression one of genuine joy as he gazed at his bride.

Doom's heart raced as he studied his own future face, feeling the phantom sensation of air against skin that had been hidden behind metal for decades.

She was breathtakingly beautiful—tall and aristocratic, with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that mirrored those of her ancestor, Emma Frost. Her white gown seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, and the love in her eyes as she gazed back at Doom was unmistakable. Doom's thumb caressed the image of her face, the metal of his gauntlet preventing him from truly feeling the texture, yet his mind filled in what his nerves could not.

How many generations removed from Parker and Frost will you be? he wondered, a strange ache blooming in his chest. How many centuries must I wait to meet you?

The photograph had come from centuries in the future—a future where the godlike descendants of Peter Parker and Emma Frost and all his other wives had spread throughout the galaxy, creating a peaceful empire built on cooperation rather than conquest. A future where Victor von Doom had finally found redemption, acceptance, and love in the arms of one of their great-granddaughters and become grand regent of the milky way galaxy under the empire. It should have irked him completely, knowing he may be under Peter Parker's empire but just looking at his beautiful future wife and the love and acceptance in her eyes made his heart eager, his pulse quickening with a hope he'd never dared admit to anyone.

In her eyes, I am not a monster, he thought, his throat tightening. In her world, I am worthy of love.

"It will come to pass," Doom whispered to the photograph, his voice softer than anyone in the current timeline would believe possible, the words fogging the inside of his mask momentarily. "I will ensure it. The Spider-Empire will rise, and you, my love, will one day be born into it."

His fingers trembled slightly—an imperfection he would allow no one else to witness—as he carefully returned the photograph to its protective case, securing it once more behind layers of the most advanced security systems on Earth. The mechanisms hummed and clicked as they reengaged, sealing away his most precious secret.

"So swears Doom," he declared to the empty room, his resolve hardening once more as he replaced his mask of indifference. The words echoed against the stone walls, a solemn vow that would span centuries. "So swears Doom."

Chapter Text

Peter stared at Mary Jane for a long moment, his mind racing through a complicated tangle of emotions. The woman he'd once planned to spend his life with stood before him, looking both hopeful and uncertain. Despite everything—despite Emma, their twins on the way, his upcoming wedding, and the extraordinary complexity his life had become—he couldn't simply shut the door in her face.

"Felicia, we have a visitor," Peter called out, finally stepping aside to allow Mary Jane entry.

Felicia emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in nothing but a plush hotel robe, her platinum blonde hair still damp from the shower. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Mary Jane, but her catlike grace never faltered as she maintained perfect composure.

"Well, well," Felicia drawled, a predatory smile playing across her full lips. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Mary Jane stiffened visibly but remained silent, her emerald gaze fixed firmly on Peter, refusing to engage with Felicia's bait.

Felicia glanced between them, reading the tension with the practiced eye of someone who specialized in detecting vulnerabilities. "I'll give you two some space to catch up. I was planning to grab dinner anyway." She disappeared back into the bedroom and emerged moments later dressed in a form-fitting black dress that hugged every curve of her athletic figure. As she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, she paused beside Mary Jane, leaning in close enough that only the redhead could hear her whispered words. "Don't waste his time, Red. Some of us actually appreciate what we have when it's right in front of us."

After Felicia's departure, an uncomfortable silence settled over the hotel suite. Peter gestured toward the sitting area, his movements stiff with tension. "Five minutes, MJ. That's all I can give you right now."

Mary Jane perched on the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles whitened. "Thank you for seeing me, Peter. I wasn't sure you would."

Peter remained standing, arms crossed defensively across his chest. "What exactly do you want, Mary Jane?"

"I wanted—needed—to apologize," she began, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of emotion. "For everything. For Paul, for leaving you, for... not being the person you deserved when you needed me most."

Peter's jaw tightened visibly, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. "It's been five years, MJ. Why show up now, of all times? Why any of these times? Why not just move on?"

"Because I've never stopped thinking about you," she admitted, her eyes meeting his with painful honesty. "About us. About what I threw away when I chose him." Tears glistened in her emerald eyes, threatening to spill over. "I made the biggest mistake of my life when I chose Paul over you."

"The man who ultimately abandoned you," Peter stated flatly, his voice devoid of sympathy. The words hung in the air like ice crystals, sharp and cold. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, each beat a painful reminder of what he'd lost.

Mary Jane flinched as though physically struck, the color draining from her face. The scent of her perfume—still the same after all these years—drifted between them, a ghost of intimacy that made everything worse. "Yes," she whispered, the single syllable carrying the weight of a thousand regrets.

"And you didn't think to come to me then?" Peter asked, finally sitting down across from her, his posture rigid. Every muscle in his body felt wound tight, ready to snap. The leather of the chair creaked beneath him, the sound unnaturally loud in the tension-filled room. "You couldn't wait for me while trapped in that dimension, but you searched for Paul for three years before accepting he wasn't coming back." The bitter taste of irony coated his tongue, making him want to spit.

"I was ashamed," she whispered, her gaze dropping to her clasped hands. The light caught the moisture gathering in her eyes, making them shimmer like emeralds underwater. "After everything I'd said to you, after choosing him... how could I face you after that?" Her voice trembled, fragile as spun glass.

Peter leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into hers. The proximity allowed him to see every freckle, every fine line that hadn't been there five years ago. God, I still know every inch of her face. "You know what hurts the most, MJ?" he asked, his throat tight with emotions he'd tried to bury. "Not that you chose him—people fall in and out of love all the time." But not me. Never me. "It's that you didn't wait. I crossed dimensions to find you. I fought through the avengers, my own friends who thought i was crazy, and literal hell to bring you home." His voice cracked, raw with the memory of that desperate search. "And the moment I was gone too long, you gave up on me."

Mary Jane's voice quavered as she spoke, each word carrying the weight of years of regret. "I was scared, Peter. Terrified and completely alone in a strange world." The scent of her fear seemed to linger in the air between them, a memory made tangible. "Paul was... he was there. His warmth, his understanding—he knew exactly what I was going through. The isolation, the desperation... the cold nights when I thought I'd never see home again."

Peter's voice rose slightly, the careful control he'd maintained beginning to crack like ice under pressure. His fingers curled involuntarily, the muscles in his forearms tensing beneath his skin. "And I wouldn't have?" The bitterness in his tone was sharp enough to cut. "Me, who's had to bury everyone I've ever loved? Who's been trapped in other dimensions, other timelines, fighting my way back alone?" His breath caught, the sound ragged in the quiet room. "I would have moved heaven and earth to get back to you, MJ. I would have crawled through hell on broken bones. I would have never, ever abandoned you."

"I know that now," she whispered, her voice barely audible as a single tear escaped, carving a glistening path down her cheek. The salty drop hung at her jawline for a moment before falling. In his heightened state, Peter could almost hear it land on her blouse. "God, I know that better than anyone. These five years have been nothing but regret, watching every decision I made play out in slow motion. Seeing you build this incredible life without me, becoming everything you were always meant to be."

Peter stood abruptly, the sudden movement sending a rush of air across the room. He stalked to the window, his reflection fractured across the glass panes as city lights sparkled beyond like fallen stars. The man staring back at him was not the same one who had loved Mary Jane years ago—his eyes were harder, his shoulders broader, his stance that of someone who had finally found his place in the world.

I've changed. We both have. There's no going back.

"I wasn't perfect, MJ. Far from it," he admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion. The confession tasted both bitter and sweet on his tongue. "The late nights when you waited up wondering if I was dead, the broken promises, the constant danger following me home—I understand why being with Spider-Man was hard. Why being with Peter Parker was hard." His fingers pressed against the cool glass, leaving temporary impressions. "But I would never have abandoned you. No matter what happened, no matter how long it took, I would have found my way back."

He felt rather than heard Mary Jane rise and approach him. The soft padding of her feet against the carpet, the subtle shift in the air currents, the faint, achingly familiar scent of her perfume—jasmine and vanilla with undertones of something uniquely her—reached him before she did. She stopped just short of touching his arm, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body.

"Peter, I still love you," she confessed, her voice thick with unshed tears. Her heart pounded so loudly he could almost track its erratic rhythm. "I never stopped. Not for a single day. Even now, seeing you with Emma, knowing she's carrying your children... the life you've built together..." Her breath hitched. "I can't help how I feel. My heart won't listen to reason."

God, why now? Why when I've finally moved on?

Peter turned to face her, his expression a complex tapestry of pain, resolve, and something else—a shadow of the love that had once consumed him. "What exactly are you asking for here, MJ?" The question hung between them, heavy with implication.

"A second chance," she said simply, her voice finding strength in vulnerability. Her emerald eyes shone with determination, reflecting the city lights behind him. "In whatever form that takes. I know you're getting married. I know about Emma, about the babies you're having together." She swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. "But I've seen how things work with Jean and Storm. With Felicia. The arrangement you all have."

Peter felt his expression harden, muscles tightening along his jaw as his posture became rigid. A surge of indignation rushed through him, hot and sharp. "You think I'd cheat on Emma? That I'd do to her what you did to me?" The words came out harsher than he intended, slicing through the air between them.

"But Jean and Storm—" Mary Jane began, her fingers twisting nervously against each other.

"Emma knows about them," Peter interrupted sharply, the words clipped and definitive. "She approves. Hell, she arranges most of it." He tapped his temple, a gesture referencing Emma's telepathic abilities. "What we have is built on absolute honesty and trust. No secrets, no lies, no betrayals."

Not like what we had at the end.

"And Felicia?" Mary Jane pressed, gesturing toward the bedroom where the platinum blonde had emerged from earlier. Her voice held a note of challenge, as though catching him in a contradiction.

"Also Emma's idea," Peter replied without hesitation, refusing to be baited. "Part of my bachelor celebration before the wedding." His voice softened slightly, thinking of Emma's wicked smile when she'd suggested it. "Everything happens with Emma's knowledge and blessing. Everything."

Mary Jane stepped closer, eliminating the careful distance between them. Her perfume—the same one she'd worn when they were together—enveloped him in a cloud of memories so vivid they were almost tangible. Nights on rooftops, mornings tangled in sheets, whispered promises in the dark.

Don't. Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to her.

"Then ask her about me," Mary Jane whispered, her eyes pleading. "Please, Peter. I'm not asking to be your wife or even your girlfriend. I just..." Her voice cracked with raw emotion. "I need you in my life again. In whatever capacity you can offer. Even if it's just friendship, even if it's just occasional coffee. Anything."

Peter sighed deeply, the sound seeming to come from somewhere deep within his soul. He ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair, feeling the weight of their shared history pressing down on him. "MJ, I can't make any promises." The words felt inadequate, but they were honest. "Emma and I will talk about this, probably after the wedding. If you want to come to the ceremony, you're welcome to. But right now, I can't give you what you're asking for."

I don't even know what I feel anymore. Anger? Pity? Something else entirely?

Before Mary Jane could respond, Peter's phone buzzed urgently against his thigh with a distinctive pattern he'd programmed for emergencies. The vibration cut through the emotional tension like a knife. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen, his expression immediately shifting from personal conflict to professional concern, the transition as natural as breathing after so many years.

"What is it?" Mary Jane asked, recognizing the change in his demeanor with a familiarity that spoke of their years together.

"Trouble at one of my research facilities," Peter explained, already moving toward his suitcase with purpose, his body language transforming into something more fluid, more dangerous. "Bruce Banner is there, and apparently Ross and his goons are trying to take him in again." The muscles in his back rippled as he moved, a predator preparing for action.

Mary Jane watched as Peter efficiently stripped down and donned his Spider-Man costume with quick movements that spoke of years of experience. There was something different about him now—a confidence, a certainty of purpose that hadn't been there before. Success had changed him, but so had Emma Frost. The suit clung to him like a second skin, highlighting the differences in his physique—broader shoulders, more defined muscles, the body of a man rather than the boy she had first fallen in love with.

"Be careful," she said softly as he headed for the window, her words carrying an echo of countless similar exchanges from their shared past.

Peter paused, looking back at her with an unreadable expression, his mask held loosely in one hand. The night air rushed in through the open window, cool against his skin, calling him to action. "We'll talk more about this. But probably after the wedding..." His eyes met hers directly, unflinching. "...with Emma present."

As he pulled on his mask and swung away into the night, Mary Jane's expression hardened with determination, her jaw set in a line that would have been familiar to anyone who truly knew her. The cool night air carried the lingering scent of him—a mixture of his cologne and something uniquely Peter. Seeing him again, being so close—it only strengthened her resolve, setting fire to embers she'd thought long extinguished.

Somehow, someway, I will find my place in Peter Parker's life again.

The Parker-Frost Industries research facility was a nightmare landscape when Spider-Man arrived. Glass shards glittered like deadly diamonds across the ground, crunching beneath the feet of tactical soldiers as they moved in formation. The acrid stench of burning electronics and pulverized concrete assaulted Peter's enhanced senses, making his nostrils flare beneath his mask. Debris formed a chaotic mosaic around the main building, walls torn open like paper, exposing the facility's innards to the night air. Emergency lights pulsed in hypnotic crimson waves, casting everything in a hellish glow that reflected off the jagged teeth of shattered windows and the twisted skeletons of what had once been cutting-edge infrastructure.

In what remained of the central courtyard, the Hulk and Red Hulk collided like primal forces of nature. The impact of their massive bodies sent vibrations through the ground that Peter could feel even from his perch on a nearby rooftop. His spider-sense hummed at the base of his skull, a persistent warning of the danger below. The air carried a strange chemical tang beneath the destruction—something that made Peter's enhanced senses recoil instinctively. That's not just any chemical compound. That's something designed to hurt Banner specifically.

Peter's muscles tensed beneath his suit as he observed the battle with growing concern. The Hulk's movements were off—sluggish and uncoordinated, lacking the devastating power that had leveled entire city blocks in past rampages. Each punch seemed to cost Banner more effort, his breathing labored, chest heaving with exertion. Something's draining him, weakening him with every passing second.

General Ross, by contrast, moved with terrifying efficiency, his crimson form augmented by a gleaming metal exoskeleton that caught the emergency lights in wicked flashes. The armor hugged his massive joints, reinforced his striking points, and protected vulnerable areas with an engineering precision that Peter recognized immediately. That's military-grade tech, but with enhancements I've never seen before. Who's backing Ross now?

The soldiers surrounding the battle moved with practiced coordination, firing projectiles that hissed through the air before embedding in the Hulk's thick green skin. Each impact released a sickly green serum that spread through his veins like liquid lightning, leaving luminous trails beneath his skin that Peter could track with his enhanced vision. The Hulk's roars took on a more desperate quality with each new injection.

"That's not good," Spider-Man muttered, his fingers flexing as he calculated trajectory, wind resistance, and the optimal entry point into the fray below. His heart hammered against his ribs, adrenaline flooding his system. I need to disrupt those soldiers first, then deal with Ross.

The sound of impact drew his attention back to the battle as Red Hulk's metal-encased fist connected with Banner's jaw with a sickening crack that echoed across the demolished courtyard. The green giant staggered backward, his eyes unfocused, a trickle of dark blood running from the corner of his mouth.

"You're finished, Banner!" Ross's triumphant bellow carried a vicious satisfaction that sent chills down Peter's spine. The general's voice reverberated through the ruins, amplified by rage and victory. "This time, I've come prepared. That serum neutralizes your ability to get stronger with anger. The more enraged you become, the less effect it has!"

The Hulk's answering roar vibrated in Peter's chest, a primal sound of frustration and defiance. Banner smashed his massive fists into Red Hulk's reinforced torso, the impact generating a shockwave that disturbed the debris around them—but Ross barely moved. Instead, he grabbed Hulk's arms and threw him with terrifying force. Banner's massive body carved a crater into the ground, concrete pulverizing beneath him, dust billowing upward in a choking cloud that tickled Peter's nose even from his distant position.

The soldiers were mobilizing something new now—a massive cannon whose barrel glowed with an ominous blue-white energy that made Peter's spider-sense scream in warning. The air around the weapon shimmered with heat distortion as it powered up, targeting systems locking onto the struggling Hulk with mechanical precision.

Move, Peter! NOW! His muscles coiled to launch him into action when a green blur intercepted the blast. Jennifer Walters, the She-Hulk, had hurled a sedan into the path of the laser. The vehicle absorbed the brunt of the impact before exploding in a spectacular shower of molten metal and glass, the concussive force washing over Peter in a hot wave that carried the scent of scorched paint and melting rubber.

Jennifer landed beside her cousin with athletic grace that belied her massive size, her emerald skin glistening with sweat under the emergency lights, highlighting the defined muscles of her arms and shoulders. Her eyes blazed with protective fury, jaw set in determination. Peter could see her chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths—the lawyer maintaining her composure even in battle.

"Back off, Ross!" Jennifer's voice cut through the chaos like a blade, commanding and authoritative—the courtroom lawyer evident in her tone despite her transformed state. "You want Bruce, you go through me first!"

Peter watched Ross's face contort with hatred, the red features twisting into a grotesque mask of contempt. His voice dripped with venom as he sneered, "Perfect. Two monsters for the price of one. Take her down!"

The soldiers pivoted with military efficiency, redirecting their fire toward Jennifer. The serum-filled projectiles found their mark with devastating accuracy, embedding in her green skin. Peter watched in horror as the same sickly glow spread through her veins, visibly weakening her. Her knees buckled slightly, her confident posture faltering as the chemical worked through her system.

She doesn't have Bruce's raw power, Peter realized with growing dread. The serum's hitting her even harder than him.

Before Jennifer could recover her balance, a high-tech tank positioned on what remained of the facility's perimeter fired a concentrated energy beam. The blast caught her square in the chest, lifting her massive form off the ground and sending her flying backward with terrible force. Her body crashed through the façade of a nearby building, the impact triggering a partial collapse that buried her in a mountain of concrete, steel, and glass.

"JENNIFER!" The Hulk's bellow contained something Peter had rarely heard from him—raw fear. The green giant's face contorted with anguish and rage, muscles straining as he tried to reach his cousin.

The tank swiveled, targeting Hulk with the same devastating beam. The impact drove him into the ground with such force that Peter felt the vibration through the building beneath him. Before Banner could recover, soldiers moved in with practiced efficiency, attaching massive high-tech clamps to his limbs. The restraints hissed and locked with pneumatic finality, pinning the Hulk despite his desperate struggles.

Ross approached the building where Jennifer lay, a sadistic smile spreading across his crimson face. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her from the rubble, her body limp but still conscious. The rough concrete scraped against her green skin as he pulled, particles of dust and debris clinging to the sweat on her face. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and each movement sent waves of pain through her battered body.

"I want you to watch this, Banner," Ross said, voice dripping with venom as he held Jennifer's head up, forcing Hulk to see her battered form. The strain on her scalp made her wince, tears forming at the corners of her eyes despite her determination not to show weakness. "Watch as I end your cousin's miserable existence. Then you're next."

This can't be happening, Jennifer thought weakly, her mind racing through escape options even as her gamma-weakened muscles refused to respond. I can't die like this, not in front of Bruce...

He picked up a large steel pipe from the wreckage, methodically sharpening one end against the concrete until it formed a makeshift spear. The grating sound of metal against stone sent shivers down Jennifer's spine. Each scrape echoed in her ears like a death knell, the acrid smell of heated metal filling her nostrils. With brutal efficiency, he positioned Jennifer's head and raised the improvised weapon, preparing to drive it through her skull.

The cool metal pressed against her temple, and Jennifer could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she prepared for the end.

Hulk strained against his restraints, the metal groaning under the pressure. His veins bulged across his forehead and neck as he roared in helpless rage. "NO!" The sound reverberated through the destroyed facility, raw emotion making his voice crack with desperation. Not Jennifer. Not family. Not again.

Suddenly, ten massive steel construction slabs hurtled through the air, cutting through the tension with a whistling sound before striking Ross face and chest with devastating force. The impact sent him flying backward, his body carving a path of destruction as he crashed through several vehicles before coming to a stop nearly fifty yards away. The crunch of metal and shattering glass created a cacophony that momentarily drowned out even the Hulk's roars.

Who...? Jennifer's foggy mind struggled to process what had just happened, relief washing over her as she gulped in precious air.

Ross staggered to his feet, blood trickling from his mouth and down his crimson chin. His breathing was labored, the exoskeleton on his chest now dented inward. "WHO DARES?" he bellowed, his voice carrying the metallic undertone of internal bleeding.

His eyes searched the darkness until they found a pair of reflective white lenses staring back at him. Spider-Man perched on a nearby lamppost, completely silent, his costume's eyes the only visible part of him in the shadows. The hero's usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a predatory crouch that radiated controlled fury.

Ross's face contorted with rage, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted. "SPIDER! I should have known you'd show up to defend these monsters. You're just as bad as they are!" His fists clenched, causing the damaged knuckle plates of his exoskeleton to grind together with an unpleasant metallic whine.

He turned to his soldiers, gesturing wildly. "Kill him! Kill Spider-Man!"

But no response came. Ross looked around, confusion replacing anger as he found his men unconscious, webbed to various surfaces in painful-looking positions, their faces beaten near bloody. Spider-Man had taken them all out silently while Ross was focused on Jennifer. The only sounds now were the soft moans of pain from the incapacitated soldiers and the distant crackle of flames.

And the Hulk was free, the restraints shattered at his feet. He stood beside Spider-Man now, both heroes staring at Ross with cold fury. The green giant's chest heaved with each breath, his massive hands opening and closing as he prepared to exact vengeance.

Spider-Man said nothing—no quips, no witty banter. Just silence. It was a side of him few had ever seen, and it sent a chill down Ross's spine. The web-slinger's body language spoke of a calculated rage, something far more terrifying than the Hulk's explosive anger.

Hulk cracked his knuckles, the sound like boulders colliding as a grim smile spread across his face. "Spider quiet. Bad sign for you." Peter handed Hulk what looked like anti-serum to what he had been injected with, Ross gulping audibly as Hulk's muscles visibly expanded, veins pulsing with renewed power as his fury-enhanced strength returned. "And Hulk is back. Even worse sign for you."

What followed was a beating of legendary proportions. Spider-Man moved with brutality, his enhanced strength and speed allowing him to dodge Ross's increasingly desperate attacks while landing devastating blows of his own using everything the environment provided. The sound of impact after impact echoed through the night, each blow carrying the weight of Peter's unspoken rage.

He webbed a piece of rebar from the debris, the sticky substance making a wet thwip sound as it connected. Swinging it like a baseball bat into Ross's knee, he shattered part of the exoskeleton. The crack of metal and bone mingled together as Ross howled in pain, the sound gurgling in his throat. Before Ross could recover, Spider-Man was on his shoulder, ripping away armor plating with his bare hands, the screech of tearing metal revealing vulnerable red flesh beneath.

The Hulk, no longer weakened by the serum, fought with heated rage, working in perfect tandem with Peter. His massive fists created shock waves with each impact, dust and debris rising from the ground around them. When Spider-Man webbed Ross's eyes, blinding him momentarily, the sticky substance clinging to his face like a second skin, Hulk delivered a thunderous uppercut that sent the Red Hulk airborne. The impact made a sound like thunder, Ross's body momentarily silhouetted against the night sky.

Before he could land, Spider-Man swung in, both feet connecting with Ross's chest in a devastating kick that drove him into the ground. The concrete cratered beneath them, spider-web cracks extending outward from the point of impact as dust billowed upward.

"You tried to murder her," Spider-Man finally spoke, his voice eerily calm as he landed beside the struggling Red Hulk. No trace of his usual lighthearted tone remained; instead, each word carried the weight of cold, calculated fury. "In cold blood. In front of her family."

Ross spat blood, a crimson spray staining the broken concrete as he tried to rise. His breathing was labored, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. "They're monsters. Abominations. They need to be put down—"

Spider-Man's fist connected with Ross's jaw with enough force to crack the concrete beneath them. The impact resonated through the air, Ross's head snapping back as more blood and several teeth flew from his mouth.

"The only monster here is you," Peter hissed, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow more terrifying than if he had shouted.

The Hulk grabbed Ross by his throat, massive green fingers digging into red flesh as he lifted him off the ground. Ross's feet dangled helplessly, his good arm clawing at Hulk's wrist as he struggled for air. "Hulk smash red man. Smash for hurting Jennifer."

For the first time, fear flickered in Ross's eyes as he realized the position he was in. The two heroes he'd dismissed were now working together with frightening efficiency, and without his soldiers or the serum's effects, he was outmatched. His pupils dilated with primal terror as he stared into the Hulk's rage-filled eyes.

"Wait—" Ross choked out, the word barely audible through his crushed windpipe, but it was too late.

By the time SHIELD and the Avengers arrived to secure the scene, Ross was barely recognizable—a broken, bloodied mess being loaded onto a stretcher. The medical team whispered that he would be in the ICU for years, if he survived at all. The metallic smell of blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of burnt metal and concrete dust.

Captain America approached Spider-Man, who was tending to Jennifer. His shield reflected the emergency lights as he surveyed the devastation around them. "We got your distress call. Looks like you handled things."

Spider-Man glanced up from where he was checking Jennifer's vitals, his mask hiding the cold fury still burning in his eyes. His hands were gentle as they examined her injuries, a stark contrast to the violence they had inflicted moments before. "He tried to murder Jennifer in cold blood. Right in front of Hulk." His voice was uncharacteristically hard, each word clipped and precise. "Make sure he never sees the light of day again."

Jennifer opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights of a pristine medical facility. The antiseptic smell hit her nostrils first—that unmistakable clinical scent that always made her stomach turn slightly. As her vision cleared through several heavy blinks, she recognized the sleek Parker-Frost Industries logo emblazoned on the wall across from her bed, its metallic finish catching the light.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," came Peter's voice from beside her, warm and relieved.

Jennifer turned her head, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her neck, to see him sitting in a chair next to her bed. His lab coat hung open over a casual t-shirt and jeans, rumpled as though he'd been there for hours. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his smile was genuine. His fingers were tapping nervously against his knee—a habit she'd noticed years ago whenever he was worried but trying not to show it.

"How long was I out?" Jennifer asked, her voice scratchy and dry, like sandpaper against her throat. God, I sound terrible, she thought, suddenly self-conscious.

"About twelve hours," Peter replied, reaching for a cup of water and helping her take a sip. The cool liquid was heaven against her parched throat. "That serum Ross used was nasty stuff—designed specifically to target gamma-mutated physiology and it was meant for someone Hulk's size. We've managed to flush most of it from your system, but you'll need observation for a few days." His voice tightened slightly when mentioning Ross, a flash of something dark crossing his features.

Jennifer groaned, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her muscles protested, sending dull throbs of pain through her limbs. Just what I need, more downtime. "I hate hospitals," she complained. "The food is terrible, the TV selection is worse, and don't get me started on the gowns." She plucked at the thin fabric covering her body, feeling exposed and vulnerable—sensations she despised.

Peter laughed, the sound lightening the atmosphere. "Well, technically this isn't a hospital. It's the medical floor of Parker-Frost Tower."

"Same difference," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "I'll be bored out of my mind." Trapped in a bed when I should be out there, doing something, anything. She paused, her expression growing serious as memories of the attack flooded back. "What happened to Ross?" The question came out sharper than she intended.

Peter's smile faded, his jaw tightening visibly. "He's in custody. SHIELD has him in a secure medical facility. He'll live, but he won't be causing trouble for a long time."

"You and Bruce really did a number on him, huh?" She couldn't help the satisfaction that crept into her voice.

"He was going to kill you, Jen. Right in front of Bruce." Peter's voice hardened, his eyes darkening with remembered rage. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he spoke. "I've never seen Hulk so... focused in his rage. And I—" He stopped, looking away, his hands clenching into fists on his thighs.

Jennifer reached out, placing her hand over his. His skin felt warm, the tendons tight beneath her touch. "Thank you. For showing up when you did." The words seemed inadequate for the emotion behind them.

Peter squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gesture that felt oddly intimate. "Always."

"So, how long am I stuck here?" she asked, changing the subject, trying to ignore the lingering warmth from his touch.

"The doctors recommend at least a week of observation."

Jennifer groaned dramatically, throwing her head back against the pillow. "A week? I'll die of boredom before the serum has a chance to do any damage." A week of staring at these walls? I'd rather face Thanos again.

Peter seemed to consider something, his eyes searching her face before a slow smile spread across his lips. "You know, if you're that opposed to staying here, you could always come stay with Emma and me. We have plenty of room in the penthouse, and you'd be close enough for regular check-ups."

Jennifer's eyebrows shot up, her heart skipping a beat unexpectedly. "Really? You'd let me crash at your place?" Why am I suddenly nervous about this? It's just Peter... and Emma... and their whole situation.

"Of course. Emma would love the company, actually. She's been going a bit stir-crazy with the pregnancy, and the wedding planning is keeping her busy, but having more company around might be good for her. Jean, Storm and the Cuckoos are already crashing anyway."

Jennifer's mind raced with the implications, a warm flush creeping up her neck. So the rumors are true. She'd heard whispers about Peter's unusual arrangement with several mutant women, but she hadn't realized how open they all were about it. The thought stirred something inside her—curiosity, certainly, but also a hint of... envy?

"Wedding planning, huh?" she said, trying to sound casual despite the sudden dryness in her mouth. "I could help with that. Before I became a mean, green fighting machine, I was pretty good at organizing events." What am I doing? Inviting myself deeper into this situation?

"That would be amazing," Peter replied, his face lighting up. "Emma's handling most of it herself, but I know she'd appreciate another perspective."

Jennifer grinned, a surge of impulsiveness overtaking her as she leaned forward to kiss Peter's cheek. His skin was warm against her lips, and she caught the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive and subtle that she'd never noticed before. "Then it's settled. Get me out of this place, Parker. I've got a wedding to help plan and a pregnancy to keep company."

Peter laughed, a slight blush coloring his cheek. He didn't seem to notice the way Jennifer's eyes followed him as he stood to make arrangements for her discharge. There was something in her gaze—appreciation, certainly, but also something deeper, more contemplative, as she watched him move around the room. When did Peter get so... attractive? she wondered, her eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders under his lab coat. A heat pooled low in her belly, surprising her with its intensity.

"This is going to be interesting," she murmured to herself, a small smile playing at her lips as she considered the weeks ahead in the Parker-Frost household. What am I getting myself into?

As Peter chatted with the medical staff outside her room, Jennifer allowed herself a moment to really look at him. The glass partition gave her a perfect view as he gestured animatedly, his profile strong against the hallway lights. He'd changed so much from the awkward, quipping hero she'd known years ago. Success had given him confidence, and Emma Frost had given him something else—an edge, a power that went beyond physical strength. And now, he was offering her a place in that life, however temporarily.

She couldn't help but wonder, heart beating a little faster, what other opportunities might arise from this unexpected turn of events. Maybe this recovery won't be so boring after all.

Chapter Text

The expansive penthouse had been transformed into wedding planning central command, with fabric swatches in various shades of white, silver, and ice blue draped across every surface. Holographic displays showed three-dimensional models of floral arrangements, seating charts, and architectural plans for the ceremony venue. The afternoon sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that made the space feel both intimate and grand.

Jennifer stood near the windows in her She-Hulk form, her seven-foot frame commanding attention even when she was trying to blend into the background. Her emerald skin had a healthy, lustrous quality that seemed to glow from within, and her long, dark green hair cascaded down her back in waves that caught the light like liquid jade. She was dressed in a form-fitting black dress that Emma had specially tailored—the fabric stretched perfectly across her impressive curves, emphasizing her large, firm breasts and the powerful lines of her amazonian physique. Her movements were fluid and graceful despite her size, each gesture carrying an unconscious sensuality that spoke to her enhanced confidence.

Emma sat at the center of the organized chaos, her platinum blonde hair swept up in an elegant chignon that showcased her swan-like neck. Her ice-blue maternity dress hugged her pregnant curves perfectly, the silk fabric shimmering with each movement. Diamond earrings caught the light as she turned her head, and her blue-painted lips curved in satisfaction as she reviewed vendor proposals on a holographic tablet. Her telepathic awareness extended throughout the room like invisible tendrils, monitoring the emotional undercurrents of everyone present.

Storm floated several inches off the ground, her white hair moving in a breeze that existed only around her as she arranged floating flower samples in mid-air. Her pregnancy was more pronounced now, the gentle swell of her belly visible beneath her flowing white and silver robes. Small sparks of electricity danced between her fingers as she worked, and the air around her smelled of ozone and approaching rain.

Jean sat cross-legged on a plush Persian rug, surrounded by color swatches that seemed to organize themselves around her through unconscious telekinetic manipulation. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and her emerald eyes held flecks of golden flame—the Phoenix Force responding to her contentment. She wore comfortable yoga pants and an oversized sweater that couldn't quite hide her own growing belly.

The Cuckoos moved through the space with synchronized precision, their identical blonde heads bent together in constant telepathic communication. Each wore a different shade of blue—from powder to navy—creating a visual harmony as they coordinated with vendors, reviewed contracts, and managed the thousand details that went into planning a wedding of this magnitude.

Peter entered from his home office, his brown hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it—a habit that emerged when he was dealing with particularly complex Parker-Frost Industries business. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that showcased his lean but powerfully muscled physique. There was an easy confidence to his movements now, the awkward uncertainty of his youth replaced by the assured bearing of a man who had found his place in the world.

"Okay, the Wakandan delegation has confirmed their attendance, and T'Challa wants to personally oversee the security arrangements," Peter said, stretching and rolling his shoulders. "Apparently, he's concerned about..." He paused, noticing Jennifer's intense gaze. "...potential threats."

Jennifer had been watching Peter move around the room, her green eyes tracking the play of muscles beneath his shirt, the confident way he carried himself, the gentle manner in which he interacted with each of the women. There was something hungry in her gaze—not just physical attraction, but a deeper longing for the kind of connection and belonging she saw between him and his growing family.

"How thoughtful of him," Emma said without looking up from her tablet, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Though I suspect our security concerns extend beyond traditional threats."

Peter moved to Emma's side, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, thumb tracing small circles against her collarbone in an unconscious gesture of affection.

"The dimensional readings are still fluctuating. SHIELD thinks we have maybe a week before whatever's building reaches critical mass."

Storm lowered herself to the ground, her expression growing serious. "Then we must be prepared for anything. The elements themselves feel... restless."

As Peter discussed the security arrangements, Jennifer found herself studying the easy intimacy between him and the other women. The way Emma leaned into his touch, how Storm's eyes softened when he looked at her, the subtle smile that crossed Jean's face when he spoke. There was no jealousy between them—only a shared affection and mutual respect that Jennifer found both fascinating and deeply appealing.

She'd seen plenty of relationships in her time as a lawyer and Avenger, witnessed power couples rise and fall, observed the toxic dynamics that often plagued superhero romances. But this? This was something entirely different. The way these powerful women orbited around Peter wasn't about submission or dependency—it was about choice, about finding strength in unity rather than competition.

"Jennifer, what do you think about the burgundy for the bridesmaids' dresses?" Jean asked, looking up from her color swatches. "It would complement your skin tone beautifully."

Jennifer started slightly, realizing she'd been caught staring. A faint blush darkened her green cheeks as she moved closer to examine the fabric samples Jean was holding. The rich burgundy silk caught the light, and she could already imagine how it would look against her jade skin.

"It's lovely," Jennifer said, clearing her throat. "Though I'm still not sure about being in the wedding party. I mean, I've only been here a few days..."

The words came out more uncertain than she intended. Jennifer Walters, who'd faced down cosmic threats and argued cases before the Supreme Court, felt suddenly vulnerable in the face of this offered belonging.

"Nonsense," Celeste said, speaking for all the Cuckoos with that eerie synchronicity they sometimes displayed. "You're family now. Family participates in important celebrations."

"Besides, you'll look absolutely stunning in the dress we've designed," Phoebe added with a mischievous grin that made her seem younger than her sisters despite their identical appearance. "The neckline will showcase your assets perfectly."

Emma shot Phoebe a warning look, though there was fondness beneath the reproach. "What Phoebe means is that we'd be honored to have you stand with us. Your presence would mean a great deal—to all of us."

Peter approached Jennifer then, moving with that easy grace that somehow made his impressive physique seem approachable rather than intimidating. His expression was warm and genuine, those hazel eyes holding nothing but sincerity. When he looked at her, there was no judgment or calculation—just the same open kindness he showed everyone he cared about.

"Only if you want to, Jen. No pressure." He paused, running a hand through his hair in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as one of his tells when he was being particularly earnest. "But for what it's worth, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching my back during the ceremony. You've already proven you're willing to stand with us when it matters."

The simple sincerity of his words hit Jennifer harder than any grand gesture could have. She felt something shift inside her chest—a loosening of defenses she'd carried for years, walls built from disappointment and betrayal and the loneliness that came from being too strong, too independent, too much for most people to handle. Here was recognition that she'd found something she didn't even know she was looking for.

"I'd like that," she said softly, her voice carrying more emotion than she'd intended. "Very much."

The smile that spread across Peter's face was like sunrise—warm and welcoming and impossibly bright. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a hug, and Jennifer found herself melting into the embrace, feeling the solid strength of him, breathing in his scent of clean soap and something uniquely him.

"Welcome to the family, Jen," he murmured against her ear, the warmth of his breath sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. She had to blink back the sudden moisture that threatened to spill from her eyes, overwhelmed by the simple acceptance in those words.

When they finally separated, she became acutely aware of the other women watching with expressions that ranged from approval to something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction. Emma's gaze was particularly knowing, those ice-blue eyes glinting with the satisfaction of a chess master whose pieces had just moved exactly where she wanted them.

Emma observed this tender exchange with deep satisfaction, her telepathic senses picking up the complex emotional resonance vibrating between Peter and Jennifer. There was undeniable attraction there—the kind that made the air practically crackle with unspoken tension—but also something far deeper. A compatibility that transcended mere physical desire to touch on shared values, mutual respect, and the kind of understanding that came from recognizing a kindred spirit.

"Wonderful," Emma purred, her voice carrying that particular note of satisfaction that meant plans were falling perfectly into place. "Now, let's discuss the reception arrangements. The Aurora Invicta will be docked at our private marina, and we'll have the entire ship exclusively for the evening. I'm thinking we'll use the main ballroom for dinner, then open up the sky deck for dancing under the stars."

As the conversation shifted to logistics and details, Jennifer found herself unable to stop watching Peter. The way he moved through the space with such easy confidence, how his presence seemed to fill the room without overwhelming it. This time, she wasn't the only one observing. Storm and Jean exchanged a meaningful look that spoke volumes, while the Cuckoos' telepathic chatter took on an undercurrent of speculation mixed with approval.

She's definitely interested. Her pheromone levels spike dramatically every time he comes within three feet of her, Mindee communicated telepathically to her sisters, her mental voice tinged with amusement.

And did you see the micro-expressions on her face when he called her family? Pure emotional resonance. Her pupils dilated and her heart rate increased by approximately fifteen percent, Esme added with the clinical precision of someone who'd been studying human behavior patterns.

Mother Emma is definitely planning something. I can feel the satisfaction radiating from her like heat from a forge, Celeste observed, casting a knowing glance at their mentor.

Emma caught the edge of their telepathic conversation and sent them a gentle but firm mental nudge to focus on their assigned tasks. But there was definite amusement dancing in her ice-blue eyes as she continued reviewing vendor contracts, her lips curved in a smile that would have made the Mona Lisa envious.

The afternoon passed in a blur of decisions, preparations, and barely controlled chaos. Peter moved between his office and the living area with ease, handling conference calls with world leaders and security briefings from Fury while the women transformed their home into wedding planning headquarters. Each time he reappeared, Jennifer's attention was drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet—the confident, commanding way he spoke to presidents and prime ministers, the gentle patience he demonstrated when the Cuckoos peppered him with endless questions about flower arrangements, the unconsciously protective way his hand automatically moved to rest on Emma's belly whenever he passed near her.

During a quiet moment while the others were deep in discussion about table settings, Storm approached Jennifer with the fluid grace that came from perfect control over one's environment. "You know," the weather goddess said softly, her voice carrying the rumble of distant thunder, "when I first joined this family, I wasn't entirely sure I belonged either."

Jennifer looked at Storm with genuine surprise, searching the other woman's face for any sign of judgment or suspicion. Instead, she found only understanding and a warmth that seemed to radiate from within.

"The connection between Peter and those he loves..." Storm paused, seeming to search for the right words. "It's unlike anything I've experienced before in all my years. It's not possessive or demanding in the way you might expect. Instead, it's... encompassing. Like being wrapped in sunlight, like being part of something infinitely larger and more meaningful than yourself."

"Doesn't it get complicated though?" Jennifer asked hesitantly, her lawyer's mind struggling to reconcile the logistics. "Sharing him with so many others? The scheduling alone must be..."

Storm's laugh rippled through the room like distant thunder rolling across a summer sky, warm and rich with genuine affection. "Love isn't something that diminishes when shared, Jennifer. It's not a finite resource that gets depleted with each new connection." She moved closer, her white hair catching the afternoon light like spun silk. "If anything, watching Peter love Emma, seeing the tenderness between them, only makes my own feelings stronger. He doesn't love Emma any less because he also loves Jean and me. His heart simply... expands to accommodate all of us."

Jean glided over to join their conversation, her movements carrying that otherworldly grace that came from being touched by cosmic forces. Her eyes held flickers of Phoenix fire, dancing in their emerald depths like captured stars. "And we all benefit from this arrangement in ways you might not expect. The children we're carrying won't just be half-siblings connected by their father—they'll be raised as true brothers and sisters, surrounded by multiple mothers who genuinely care for each other, who've chosen to be family."

Jennifer absorbed this information slowly, her analytical lawyer's mind trying to process and categorize a relationship dynamic that defied every conventional model she'd studied in family law. The practical part of her brain kept throwing up objections—property rights, custody arrangements, inheritance issues—while another part, a deeper part she rarely acknowledged, whispered about possibilities she'd never dared consider.

"And Emma..." Jennifer's voice dropped lower, almost hesitant. "She's really okay with all of this? I mean, she doesn't strike me as the type to share easily."

From across the expansive room, without even glancing up from the vendor contracts she was reviewing with laser-like focus, Emma's voice carried with crystalline clarity. "I'm the one who orchestrated this entire arrangement, darling. Every carefully planned detail, every strategic alliance." She finally looked up, her blue eyes sharp as diamonds. "Peter's enhanced genetics aren't just beneficial for our children—they're absolutely essential for the future of mutantkind. We're talking about potential omega-level offspring, children who could reshape reality itself." A smile played at the corners of her perfectly painted lips. "And frankly, the man's stamina is nothing short of legendary. Better to have willing, enthusiastic partners than leave him... frustrated and seeking relief elsewhere."

The casual, almost clinical way Emma discussed Peter's sexual appetite sent an unexpected jolt of heat straight through Jennifer's core. She'd heard rumors, of course—whispered conversations in the women's locker room at Avengers headquarters, half-joking comments from other enhanced individuals about Peter's transformation from awkward, nerdy scientist to confident alpha male who could satisfy multiple partners and still have energy to spare. But hearing it confirmed so matter-of-factly, so openly, made her pulse quicken and her enhanced metabolism kick into overdrive. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, spreading outward like liquid fire.

Peter chose that moment to return from yet another phone call, his face showing the slight tension that came from dealing with interdimensional physics while planning a wedding. He remained completely oblivious to the charged nature of the conversation he'd just missed. "Okay, that was Reed Richards. He's confirmed that the dimensional fluctuations we've been monitoring are definitely accelerating, but he thinks he might have developed a way to stabilize them during the ceremony. Something about quantum anchoring and temporal phase locks."

"How remarkably thoughtful of him to take precious time away from his all-important laboratory to help with our mere wedding," Emma said, her tone dripping with a sweetness that could have crystallized sugar. There was a definite edge beneath the honeyed words that suggested her feelings about Reed Richards were complicated at best, possibly stemming from old business rivalries or academic competitions. Peter caught the subtle barb in her tone and shot her a questioning look, his brow furrowing with concern, but she dismissed his worry with an elegantly graceful gesture of her manicured hand.

"Nothing important, darling. Just reflecting on how incredibly... dedicated Dr. Richards is to his work. One might even say obsessively so."

As evening began its slow approach, painting the Manhattan skyline in shades of amber and rose, the wedding planning session gradually wound down. Vendors had been contacted and contracts negotiated, preliminary decisions had been debated and finalized, and the framework for what promised to be the social event of the decade was solidly in place.

Peter stretched again, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks from hours of hunching over planning documents. His shirt rode up with the movement, revealing a tantalizing strip of perfectly toned abdomen that made Jennifer's mouth go dry. "I think that's enough wedding planning for today. My brain is officially fried from trying to simultaneously keep track of flower arrangements, catering menus, and interdimensional security protocols."

Jennifer's eyes were drawn to that exposed skin, her enhanced senses picking up his scent—clean and masculine with undertones of something that made her mouth water. She forced herself to look away, but not before Emma caught her reaction with a knowing smile.

"An excellent idea," Emma said, standing gracefully. "I believe we've accomplished quite a lot today. Jennifer, would you mind helping me with something in the kitchen?"

It wasn't really a request, and Jennifer found herself following Emma toward the gourmet kitchen area while the others began cleaning up the wedding planning materials.

The kitchen was a masterpiece of modern design and functionality, with gleaming stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and a center island large enough to serve as both workspace and casual dining area. Soft under-cabinet lighting created an intimate atmosphere as the sun began to set outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

Emma moved to the wine refrigerator, extracting a bottle of sparkling grape juice—her concession to pregnancy—while gesturing for Jennifer to take a seat at the island. Her movements were fluid and purposeful, each gesture carrying the unconscious authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

"I thought it was time we had a proper conversation, just the two of us," Emma said, pouring two glasses of the sparkling juice.

Jennifer settled onto one of the high-backed stools, her impressive height meaning she didn't need to adjust the seat. Her green skin seemed to glow in the soft lighting, and her dark hair fell around her shoulders like a curtain of emeralds.

"About?" Jennifer asked, accepting the glass.

"About the way you've been looking at my fiancé," Emma replied, taking a sip before responding.

The directness of the statement caught Jennifer off guard. She nearly choked on her juice, her green cheeks darkening with embarrassment.

"Emma, I—I wasn't—"

"Please, darling," Emma said, holding up a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm a telepath. I can practically taste your attraction to him. The question is what we're going to do about it."

Jennifer set down her glass with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

"Look, I know this is your territory, and I respect that. I would never—"

"Never what?" Emma interrupted with a laugh. "Act on your feelings? Pursue the man you're obviously attracted to? Jennifer, you're misunderstanding the situation entirely."

Emma moved around the island to stand closer to Jennifer, her ice-blue eyes intense but not hostile.

"I'm not warning you off, darling. I'm considering inviting you in."

The words hung in the air between them like a charged particle, crackling with possibility. Jennifer's enhanced metabolism kicked into overdrive, her heart thundering against her ribcage with enough force to crack normal bone.

"What?" The word escaped her lips in a breathless whisper, her mind struggling to process what she'd just heard.

Emma's perfectly glossed lips curved into a knowing smile as she gracefully settled onto the adjacent stool, her movements fluid as liquid mercury. "Tell me something, Jennifer. What do you know about the mutant fertility crisis?"

The sudden change of subject sent Jennifer's thoughts spinning like a centrifuge, but she forced herself to follow the blonde telepath's seemingly random train of thought. Her legal mind kicked in automatically, sorting through the scientific papers she'd reviewed for various cases.

"I know birth rates among mutants have been declining for decades," she managed, trying to keep her voice steady despite the way her body was still reacting to Emma's initial bombshell. "Most experts think it's related to environmental factors or possibly genetic drift. Some theorize it's an evolutionary bottleneck."

"Most experts," Emma said with a dismissive wave of her manicured hand, "are catastrophically wrong. The decline isn't just continuing—it's accelerating exponentially. If current trends persist, mutants will be functionally extinct within three generations. Perhaps less."

The gravity in Emma's voice sent a chill down Jennifer's spine. The telepath's expression had shifted from playful to deadly serious, and Jennifer could feel the subtle psychic pressure as Emma's abilities unconsciously reached out, emphasizing the weight of her words like a mental highlighter.

"The Quiet Council has been desperately searching for solutions. We've tried everything—genetic therapy, fertility treatments, even mystical interventions. Nothing worked. Until Peter."

"Peter?" Jennifer echoed, her brilliant mind already beginning to connect the dots.

"His enhanced genetics—specifically his connection to the Web of Life and Destiny—seem to counteract whatever's causing the fertility decline. His children with mutant women are not only viable but extraordinarily gifted. Each pregnancy has resulted in offspring with power levels that shouldn't be possible."

The pieces clicked into place with an almost audible snap in Jennifer's mind, like tumblers falling into perfect alignment. "That's why you're all pregnant. Every single woman in this penthouse is carrying his child." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, the magnitude of the revelation stealing her breath. "Well, except the Cuckoos. This isn't just about love or some polyamorous arrangement—it's about the survival of your entire race."

"It's about both," Emma corrected, her voice carrying a gentleness that Jennifer had rarely heard from the notoriously sharp-tongued telepath. Those ice-blue eyes, usually as cold and cutting as winter frost, softened with an emotion that looked suspiciously like vulnerability. "I won't insult your considerable intelligence by claiming the arrangement is purely clinical or calculated. We all genuinely care for Peter—love him, in our own ways—and he adores each of us in return with an intensity that still takes my breath away."

She paused, her fingers still resting against Jennifer's hand, the cool touch grounding them both in the moment. "But yes, there's a larger purpose at work here. A beautiful, almost poetic synchronicity between personal desire and species preservation. What started as attraction became love, and what began as love has become hope for our people's future."

Emma reached across the marble expanse between them, her cool fingers brushing against Jennifer's verdant hand with deliberate intimacy. The touch sent electricity racing up Jennifer's arm, her enhanced nervous system amplifying every sensation.

"The question, my dear, is whether you'd like to be part of that purpose. Whether you'd like to be part of our family in the fullest, most complete sense."

Jennifer stared at the other woman for what felt like an eternity, her razor-sharp legal mind trying to process the staggering implications of what was being offered. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, charged with an energy that made her skin tingle.

"You're asking if I want to sleep with your fiancé and have his children." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, as if she were summarizing a legal brief rather than discussing the most intimate act possible.

Emma's laugh was like champagne bubbles bursting—light, effervescent, and slightly intoxicating. "I'm asking if you want to join a family that's trying to save our species while building something beautiful, lasting, and profoundly meaningful. The physical intimacy is just one aspect of that—albeit an exceptionally pleasurable one."

"And you're... okay with this? Really?" Jennifer's voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying her emotional turmoil. "This isn't some elaborate test or mind game?"

Emma's smile transformed into something almost predatory, her ice-blue eyes glittering with dark amusement that sent another wave of heat pooling low in Jennifer's belly.

"Oh darling, I'm more than okay with it. I orchestrated this entire conversation from the moment you walked through that door. Did you really think your presence here tonight was mere coincidence? That your medical treatment just happened to include comprehensive fertility enhancements that specifically optimize your reproductive system?"

Jennifer's emerald eyes widened to almost comical proportions as the full scope of Emma's machinations crashed over her like a tidal wave. "You planned this. From the moment Ross attacked me. Maybe even before."

"I saw an opportunity to help someone I deeply respect while simultaneously advancing our family's goals. Two birds, one perfectly aimed stone." Emma's voice dropped to a husky purr that made Jennifer's toes curl in her designer heels. "Peter's enhanced stamina and... appetite... are truly considerable. Having additional partners who can match his extraordinary needs benefits everyone involved. Trust me on this."

The casual, almost clinical way Emma discussed Peter's sexual capabilities sent another molten wave of arousal through Jennifer's body. Her enhanced senses could detect the subtle changes in her own pheromone production, the way her body was unconsciously preparing itself for mating. She knew Emma's telepathy was picking up every nuance of her arousal, reading her desire like an open book written in neon letters.

"I can see you're interested," Emma purred, leaning closer until Jennifer could smell her expensive perfume mingling with something more primal, more honest. "Your body language is screaming it. Your pheromone levels are off the charts. The way your pupils dilate to almost complete blackness when I talk about Peter's... remarkable attributes. The question is whether you're brave enough to act on that interest. Whether you're willing to take what you so clearly want."

"What exactly are you proposing?" Jennifer asked, her voice gone husky with barely restrained desire. Her hands gripped the marble countertop hard enough to leave slight indentations.

Emma's smile was pure sin wrapped in silk. "Tonight, Storm, Jean, the Cuckoos, and I will find somewhere else to be. Perhaps a late dinner at La Bernardin. Maybe a Broadway show. The details are irrelevant. What matters is that you'll have the penthouse entirely to yourself with Peter. What happens after that..." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a gesture that was calculated to drive Jennifer to distraction. "Well, that's entirely up to you and your considerably impressive courage."

Jennifer's heart pounded so hard she was sure Emma could hear it. The offer was everything she'd been fantasizing about since arriving here, but the reality of it was almost overwhelming.

"And if I... if we... what happens afterward?"

"Then you become part of our family in every sense," Emma said with satisfaction. "You help plan our wedding, you help raise our children, and you help Peter save the world one crisis at a time."

"He doesn't know about this conversation, does he?" Jennifer asked after a long pause.

"Peter believes in informed consent and free choice. He would never pressure you or manipulate you into anything. But he also wouldn't make the first move, given our relationship and his naturally protective instincts."

Emma stood and moved to the window, gazing out at the city lights beginning to twinkle in the growing darkness.

"If you want him, Jennifer, you'll have to be the one to initiate. And I suggest you be... direct. Peter responds well to confidence and clear intentions."

"You're really okay with this?" Jennifer asked, standing as well. "With me potentially becoming pregnant with his child?"

"I'm hoping for it," Emma said, turning back with a genuine smile. "Our children will need strong, intelligent aunts and potential siblings. And frankly, you're exactly the kind of woman I want helping to shape the next generation of mutants."

Jennifer absorbed this, feeling a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and something that might be gratitude.

"When would this... opportunity... present itself?"

"In about an hour," Emma said, checking her designer watch. "I'll make sure the others have plans for the evening. The penthouse will be yours until morning."

"And if I decide to go through with this?"

"Then I suggest you prepare for the most thoroughly satisfying night of your life," Emma said with a wicked smile. "Peter's reputation for stamina isn't exaggerated—if anything, it's understated."

The promise in Emma's voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Jennifer's enhanced nervous system. She could feel her body responding to the mere suggestion of what the evening might hold.

"One word of advice, darling. Don't hold back. Peter appreciates partners who can match his intensity and endurance. Your enhanced physiology means you can give him exactly what he needs."

As if summoned by their conversation, Peter appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair damp from a shower and his casual clothes replaced by dark jeans and a fitted white t-shirt that showcased his lean but powerful build.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked, looking between them. "You both look... intense."

Emma moved to his side, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she rose up on her toes. Her hands found his shoulders for balance as she pressed a lingering, deliberately sensual kiss to his lips. The contact lasted several seconds longer than casual affection would warrant, her body molding against his in a way that made Jennifer's breath catch. When Emma finally pulled back, there was a satisfied gleam in her eyes and a distinct smear of her signature blue lipstick marking Peter's mouth like a claim of ownership.

"Just having a lovely chat about family dynamics," Emma purred, her fingers trailing down Peter's chest before stepping back. "Jennifer was asking about our... arrangements."

Peter's expression showed a flicker of understanding, something knowing passing between the couple that spoke of years of intimate communication. His eyes darkened slightly, but he didn't press for details, trusting Emma's judgment implicitly.

"I hope Emma wasn't overwhelming you with too much information at once," he said to Jennifer, his voice taking on a deeper timbre that sent unexpected heat pooling in her stomach. "She can be a bit... direct when discussing certain topics."

"Direct can be good," Jennifer replied, finding her voice despite the way her pulse had quickened. "I appreciate honesty, especially about important matters."

"Speaking of which," Emma said with apparent casualness that didn't fool anyone, her fingers playing with her diamond necklace, "Storm, Jean, the Cuckoos, and I are going out this evening. A little pre-wedding celebration at that new spa in SoHo. We'll probably stay overnight—you know how these things go. Champagne, massages, girl talk until dawn..."

Peter raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing the orchestrated nature of this sudden plan but choosing not to question it. The trust between them was absolute.

"Sounds like fun. You deserve a night to relax before the chaos begins," he said, then turned to Jennifer with genuine warmth. "Jen, you're welcome to join them if you want, or you can stay here and raid our movie collection. The home theater system is pretty impressive—full surround sound, seats that recline..."

"I think I'll stay here," Jennifer said, her enhanced senses picking up the subtle acceleration of Peter's heartbeat at her words. "I'm not really the spa type. All that... pampering makes me restless."

"Perfect," Emma said with a knowing smile that promised wicked things. "Peter can keep you company. Maybe show you some of his photography work—he's quite talented with his hands. Very skilled at capturing the perfect... angle."

The suggestion hung in the air between them like a charged particle, loaded with implication and possibility. Jennifer felt her mouth go dry as she imagined being alone with Peter in the intimate setting of the penthouse, those talented hands perhaps finding other subjects to explore.

"Sure, I'd be happy to," Peter said, and Jennifer caught the slight roughness in his voice that suggested he wasn't entirely oblivious to the undercurrents flowing between them. "I've got some shots from our recent travels that turned out pretty well. Private collection stuff that I don't usually share with just anyone."

The way he said "private collection" made Jennifer's skin flush with heat, her imagination already running wild with possibilities.

Emma gathered her purse and moved toward the elevator, pausing to give Peter another lingering kiss.

"Have a wonderful evening, my love," she said against his lips. "Don't wait up for us."

As Emma disappeared to collect the others, Peter turned to Jennifer with his characteristic warm smile.

"So, just us then. Any preferences for dinner? I make a mean pasta carbonara, or we could order from that Italian place you liked yesterday."

Jennifer looked at this man—kind, powerful, completely unaware of what Emma had set in motion—and felt her resolve crystallize.

"Surprise me," she said with growing confidence. "I'm sure whatever you choose will be perfect."

The penthouse had been transformed by the departure of its other occupants. With Emma, Storm, Jean, and the Cuckoos gone, the space felt more intimate, more charged with possibility. The lighting had been dimmed to create a warm, inviting atmosphere, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Manhattan's glittering skyline.

Peter moved around the kitchen with easy confidence, preparing dinner while Jennifer watched from the living area. He'd changed into dark jeans that hugged his lean hips and a black henley that showcased his broad shoulders and defined chest. His movements were fluid and economical, each gesture speaking to the enhanced coordination that came with his spider abilities.

"I hope you don't mind garlic," Peter called over his shoulder as he worked. "I tend to go a bit overboard with it in the carbonara."

"I don't mind at all," Jennifer replied, settling onto the plush sofa with her long legs folded beneath her. "Enhanced metabolism means I can handle pretty much anything."

She'd changed into something more comfortable—a deep green dress that Emma had insisted on buying for her. The fabric clung to her amazonian curves without being overtly sexual, but the way it draped across her impressive breasts and emphasized her narrow waist was undeniably flattering. Her long, dark green hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and her emerald skin seemed to glow in the soft lighting.

The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air as Peter worked, along with something else—his natural scent, which Jennifer's enhanced senses picked up with startling clarity. It was clean and masculine with undertones that made her pulse quicken and her mouth water.

"You know, I never properly thanked you for agreeing to be in the wedding," Peter said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "It means a lot to have you there."

"Thank you for asking," Jennifer replied, her voice softer than usual. "I haven't been part of a real family in... well, a long time."

Peter paused in his cooking, turning to face her fully. There was something in his expression—a recognition of shared loneliness, of understanding what it meant to find belonging after years of isolation.

"I know the feeling. For the longest time, it was just me against the world. Even when I was with the Avengers or the Fantastic Four, I always felt like an outsider looking in."

He returned to his cooking, but the conversation had shifted into more intimate territory.

"Emma changed that. She showed me that I didn't have to carry everything alone. That family isn't just about blood—it's about choosing to care for each other."

Jennifer stood and moved closer to the kitchen. "She's remarkable. I've never met anyone quite like her."

"She's definitely one of a kind," Peter said with a fond smile. "Brilliant, beautiful, terrifying when she wants to be, but underneath all that ice queen exterior, she has the biggest heart of anyone I know."

Jennifer leaned against the kitchen island, close enough now that she could feel the heat radiating from Peter's body. Her enhanced senses were overwhelmed by his proximity—the sound of his heartbeat, the rhythm of his breathing, the subtle changes in his scent that spoke to his own unconscious awareness of her presence.

"And she's okay with... sharing you? Really?" Jennifer asked, her voice taking on a huskier quality.

Peter's hands stilled for a moment as he processed the question and its implications. When he looked at Jennifer, there was a new awareness in his eyes—a recognition that this conversation was heading somewhere significant.

"Emma believes that love isn't diminished by being shared," he said carefully. "That the heart has infinite capacity for caring about people."

"And what do you believe?" Jennifer asked, stepping closer.

Peter set down his cooking utensils and turned to face her fully. The space between them seemed to crackle with tension, with possibility, with the weight of unspoken desires.

"I believe that Emma is usually right about these things," he said, his voice lower now. "And I believe that some connections are too strong to ignore."

Jennifer's breath caught at the admission. She could see the desire in his eyes now, carefully controlled but unmistakably present. Her own body responded with a flood of heat and need that made her feel dizzy.

"Peter..." she said, moving even closer.

Peter's hands trembled slightly as he reached out, cradling Jennifer's face with a tenderness that made her heart skip. His thumb traced the elegant curve of her cheekbone, the contrast between his pale skin and her emerald complexion making the moment feel even more intimate.

"Are you absolutely certain about this, Jen?" His voice was rough with barely restrained desire, yet still carrying that essential Peter Parker concern for others. "Because once we cross this threshold... once I have you... there's no pretending it didn't happen. No going back to just being friends."

Jennifer's response bypassed words entirely. Rising up on her toes—even in her She-Hulk form, he was still slightly taller—she claimed his mouth with a hunger that had been building for weeks. The kiss exploded between them like a chemical reaction, all heat and need and finally, finally giving in to what they both craved.

Peter groaned into her mouth, his arms banding around her powerful frame and pulling her flush against him. Their tongues met and danced, exploring and tasting, each stroke sending jolts of electricity through their bodies. Jennifer could taste the wine on his breath, could feel the way his heartbeat thundered against her chest, could sense the exact moment his control began to fracture.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting like they'd run a marathon. Jennifer's jade skin had darkened to a deeper emerald with her arousal, a flush spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath her dress. Peter's pupils were blown wide, the warm brown of his eyes nearly consumed by black desire.

"I've wanted this—wanted you—since that first moment," Jennifer confessed, her voice dropping to a husky purr that made Peter's cock twitch visibly in his jeans. "When I opened my eyes in that hospital bed and saw you there, looking at me like I was something precious... God, Peter, I've been wet for you ever since."

"Fuck," Peter breathed, his usual restraint crumbling at her bold admission. "Emma knew, didn't she? She orchestrated this whole thing."

His hands had found their way to Jennifer's waist, fingers spreading wide to span as much of her as possible, like he couldn't get enough of touching her.

Jennifer nodded, pressing her hips forward until she could feel the impressive bulge in his jeans. "She told me everything. About your arrangement. About how you share each other." She rolled her hips deliberately, drawing a sharp hiss from Peter. "I want in. I want to be part of your family, part of your bed... part of this incredible thing you've built together."

Peter's response was to crash his mouth back onto hers, this kiss fiercer, more demanding. His hands roamed her curves with purpose now, mapping the geography of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. One hand tangled in her long dark hair while the other gripped her ass, pulling her impossibly closer.

Jennifer moaned wantonly into his mouth when she felt his erection pressing insistently against her hip. Even through his jeans, she could tell he was impressively endowed—thick and long and perfect for her enhanced body. Her pussy clenched with anticipation, already soaking through her panties.

"Dinner can wait," Peter growled against her lips, nipping at the lower one with his teeth.

"Fuck dinner," Jennifer gasped. "I'm absolutely starving for your cock."

Something primal flashed in Peter's eyes at her crude words. In one smooth motion that showcased his superhuman strength, he swept her up into his arms. Jennifer squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her toward the master bedroom with long, purposeful strides.

The master bedroom was pure decadence—a king-sized bed with silk sheets in deep jewel tones, lighting that seemed designed to make skin glow, and those incredible floor-to-ceiling windows that made you feel like you were floating above the city. The air was thick with pheromones and the lingering traces of Emma's signature perfume mixed with something uniquely Peter—a scent that made Jennifer's mouth water.

Peter set her down beside the bed with surprising gentleness, but his hands immediately went to her zipper with intent. His movements were deliberate, controlled—this was clearly a man who understood the art of anticipation, who knew how to stretch out the moment until every nerve was singing.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Jen," he said, his voice gravelly with need as he slowly pulled the zipper down. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been? Trying to be the good guy, trying not to stare at your perfect tits or that incredible ass..."

"But what?" Jennifer prompted breathlessly, helping him ease the zipper past her lower back, feeling the dress begin to loosen.

"But you make it impossible to think about anything except bending you over and fucking you until you scream," he confessed, his words sending a fresh flood of arousal through her as the dress began its descent down her body.

Jennifer's dress pooled around her feet, revealing her amazonian form clad only in black lace lingerie that Emma had insisted she needed. Her green skin seemed to glow in the soft lighting, and her impressive curves were displayed to perfection. Her breasts strained against the delicate fabric of her bra, and the matching panties did little to conceal the evidence of her arousal.

"Then stop thinking and start feeling," Jennifer purred, her fingers already seeking the hem of his henley with predatory intent.

She peeled the shirt over his head with agonizing slowness, revealing inch by glorious inch of lean, sculpted muscle beneath. The moment the fabric cleared his arms, her hands were on him—palms flat against his chest, fingertips exploring every ridge and valley of definition like she was memorizing a work of art. His skin burned hot beneath her touch, decorated with a constellation of faint scars that made her pussy clench with want. Each mark was a testament to his heroism, and fuck if that didn't make her even wetter.

"God, your touch..." Peter groaned, his head falling back as her nails scraped lightly down his abs.

"What about it?" Jennifer asked, her lips finding the column of his throat, tongue darting out to taste the salt on his skin.

"It's like fucking electricity," he gasped, his hands tangling desperately in her long, dark hair, pulling just hard enough to make her moan against his neck. "Like you're setting me on fire from the inside out. Every nerve ending is screaming for more."

Jennifer's enhanced senses went into overdrive, cataloging every delicious reaction—his heartbeat hammering like a hummingbird's wings, the intoxicating shift in his scent from aroused to absolutely fucking feral, the way his breathing became deeper, more controlled, like he was fighting not to just throw her down and ravage her right there. She could feel the rumble of his voice vibrating through his chest as she trailed open-mouthed kisses along his throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks that would heal within hours but marking him nonetheless.

"I want to taste more than just your neck," she growled, pulling back to lock eyes with him, her green gaze molten with lust.

Her hands moved to his belt with deliberate, torturous slowness, working the leather through the buckle while maintaining eye contact. She could see his pupils blown wide with desire, could smell the precum already leaking from his cock. Peter's breath caught in his throat as she unbuttoned his jeans, taking her sweet time lowering the zipper, her knuckles pressing firmly against the massive bulge straining against his boxer briefs.

"Jen..." Peter's voice cracked like a teenager's, his hips involuntarily bucking forward.

"Shh, let me take care of you," Jennifer breathed, gracefully sinking to her knees before him, her massive tits bouncing slightly with the movement. "Let me worship this beautiful cock properly."

She hooked her fingers in his waistband and tugged both jeans and underwear down in one smooth, practiced motion. His cock sprang free, and Jennifer's eyes went wide, her mouth actually watering at the sight. He was fucking magnificent—easily nine inches of thick, throbbing meat, perfectly proportioned with a fat mushroom head already glistening with precum. Thick veins pulsed along the shaft with each heartbeat, and his balls hung heavy and full beneath, practically begging to be drained.

"Holy fuck, Emma wasn't exaggerating about your... attributes," Jennifer said, her voice thick with awe and hunger. "You're fucking huge, Peter. This gorgeous cock is going to destroy me."

"Just wait until you experience it properly," Peter replied, his voice strained as his hands found her hair again, fingers threading through the dark strands. "Wait until I'm buried balls-deep in that tight green pussy."

Jennifer's tongue darted out to collect the pearly drop of precum beading at his slit, moaning at the salty-sweet taste that exploded across her taste buds. Peter's entire body shuddered at the contact, a broken curse falling from his lips. She took her time exploring him like he was a delicacy to be savored—running her tongue along each prominent vein, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just beneath his crown, learning what made him gasp and what made him curse like a sailor. When she finally wrapped her lips around his cockhead and began sliding down his impressive length, Peter's knees nearly gave out.

"Fuck, Jen. Your mouth is fucking incredible," he groaned, his voice cracking with desperation. "So hot and wet and perfect. Fuck!"

Jennifer hummed her appreciation around his shaft, the vibration sending lightning bolts of pleasure straight to his balls. She worked him with lustful skill and genuine enthusiasm, her enhanced strength and lack of gag reflex allowing her to take him deeper than any normal woman could manage. She swallowed around him when he hit the back of her throat, her hands coming up to cup and massage his heavy balls, rolling them gently as she established a rhythm that had Peter's entire body trembling with the effort to maintain control.

"I want you to lose control," Jennifer said, pulling back with an obscene pop, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his cock. Her voice was wrecked, husky with arousal. "I want to see what happens when Spider-Man stops holding back. Show me how you really fuck, Peter."

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, looking down at her with eyes gone black with lust, his cock twitching visibly at her words. "Because once I let go... once I stop being gentle..."

"Mmmhmm," Jennifer replied, maintaining eye contact as she took him back into her mouth, this time sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks, her tongue working overtime on his sensitive underside.

Peter's legendary control shattered like glass. His hands tightened in her hair—not painful, but firm, dominant—as he began to move his hips, fucking her willing mouth with careful but increasingly insistent thrusts. Jennifer took everything he gave her and begged for more with her eyes, her green gaze watering slightly from the brutal pace but never losing that look of hungry, cock-drunk satisfaction. Drool leaked from the corners of her stretched lips, making filthy wet sounds that echoed through the room.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum if you keep that up," Peter warned, his voice rough and broken with need, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Gonna fucking flood that pretty mouth with cum."

"Good. I want to taste you," Jennifer replied, pulling back just enough to speak, her hand immediately replacing her mouth, stroking his spit-slicked length with firm, twisting motions. "I want you to fill my mouth with your hot cum. Want to swallow every fucking drop like a good girl."

She redoubled her efforts, taking him deeper with each bob of her head, her throat opening to accommodate his impressive length. Her tongue swirled around his shaft while her lips created a perfect seal, the wet sounds of her enthusiastic sucking filling the room. One hand cupped and massaged his heavy balls while the other gripped the base of his cock, stroking what she couldn't fit in her mouth.

"Fuck, Jen, your mouth feels so fucking good," Peter groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Gonna cum so hard for you, baby."

Jennifer moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shockwaves through his body. She could feel him swelling even larger in her mouth, his cock pulsing with impending release. She pulled back until just the head remained between her lips, her tongue dancing over his sensitive crown while her hand pumped his shaft with increasing speed.

Peter's entire body went rigid, every muscle tensing as his orgasm slammed into him like a freight train. His release erupted with explosive force, flooding Jennifer's eager mouth with thick, hot ropes of cum. The first blast hit the back of her throat, followed by another and another, each one seemingly larger than the last. Jennifer swallowed greedily, her throat working overtime to take everything he gave her, but there was so much that some escaped from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin in obscene white trails.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jen," Peter breathed heavily, his chest heaving as she continued to gently suck him through the aftershocks, coaxing out every last drop. "That was incredible."

"Mmm, delicious," Jennifer purred, finally releasing him with an audible pop. She made a show of licking her lips, catching the escaped cum with her fingers and sucking them clean. "But we're just getting started, tiger. I hope you've got more where that came from."

To her amazement and delight, Peter's cock was already beginning to stir again, his enhanced metabolism and supernatural stamina allowing for almost instant recovery. Within moments, he was half-hard and growing, his shaft glistening with her saliva.

"Oh, I've got plenty more for you," Peter growled, his eyes dark with renewed hunger.

Jennifer stood slowly, putting on a show as she reached behind her back to unhook her bra. She let the straps slide down her shoulders teasingly before letting it fall away completely, revealing her magnificent breasts in all their glory. They were impossibly large and perfectly shaped, defying gravity with their firm fullness. Her dusky green nipples were already hard, standing out proudly from her darker areolas.

"Like what you see?" she asked, cupping her breasts and lifting them slightly, her thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples.

"Fuck yes," Peter said, approaching her with predatory grace. "You're absolutely perfect."

He pushed her gently but firmly back onto the bed, immediately covering her body with his own. His mouth found her throat, kissing and sucking at her pulse point while his hands explored her curves with possessive hunger. Jennifer arched beneath him, her enhanced sensitivity making every touch feel like electricity dancing across her skin.

"Oh God, Peter," she gasped when his lips found her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard enough to make her see stars. "Yes, just like that. Suck my tits, baby."

He lavished attention on her breasts like a man starved, alternating between gentle kisses and firm suction that had Jennifer writhing beneath him. His teeth grazed her sensitive flesh, not quite painful but enough to send jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His hands kneaded and massaged her other breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers until she was crying out with need.

"Your tits are fucking incredible," Peter murmured against her skin, switching to her neglected breast. "So big and soft and perfect. I could spend hours just worshipping them."

"Later," Jennifer panted, her hands fisting in the silk sheets as he bit down gently on her nipple. "Right now I need your mouth somewhere else."

"Where's that?" Peter asked teasingly, though his hands were already sliding down her body, tracing every curve and hollow as if memorizing her by touch.

"You know where," she replied, spreading her legs wider in invitation. "I want to feel that talented tongue on my pussy."

"As you wish," Peter said, beginning a slow, torturous journey down her body.

He paused to worship every inch of her—her ribs, the gentle swell of her belly, the curve of her hips. By the time he reached the edge of her panties, Jennifer was trembling with anticipation, her breath coming in short gasps.

"These definitely need to go," he said, hooking his fingers in the delicate fabric. The scent of her arousal was already filling his enhanced senses, making his mouth water.

"Then take them off," Jennifer commanded, lifting her hips to help. "Take everything off and eat my pussy like you're starving for it."

Peter slid her panties down her long, muscular legs with reverent care, revealing her completely to his hungry gaze. Jennifer was perfectly groomed, a neat triangle of dark green curls pointing the way to paradise. Her pussy lips were already swollen with arousal, glistening with her juices in the soft light.

"You're absolutely dripping for me," Peter said, settling between her thighs and breathing in her intoxicating scent. "So fucking wet and ready."

"I've been soaking wet since you carried me in here," Jennifer replied, her voice thick with need. "Now stop teasing and put that mouth to work."

Peter's first taste of her drew a strangled cry from Jennifer's throat. His tongue explored her folds with deliberate precision, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it mercilessly. Jennifer's hands found his hair, holding him against her as pleasure built in her core.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop," Jennifer said, her voice breaking.

Peter had no intention of stopping. He worked her with lips and tongue, occasionally adding gentle suction that had Jennifer's back arching off the bed. When he slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that perfect spot, Jennifer's control shattered.

"PETER!" she screamed his name.

Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her enhanced physiology making the sensations almost overwhelming in their intensity. Peter continued his ministrations throughout her climax, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until Jennifer was gasping and shaking beneath him.

"That was beautiful. You're beautiful," Peter said, kissing his way back up her body.

"I need you inside me. Now," Jennifer said, pulling him up for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips.

Peter positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his re-hardened cock pressing against her slick folds. Even after her orgasm, she was incredibly tight, her enhanced muscle control creating a sensation that made Peter groan with pleasure.

"God, you feel amazing," he said, pushing slowly inside.

"Bigger. You're so much bigger than I expected," Jennifer replied, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Peter sank into her inch by inch, giving her time to adjust to his size. Jennifer's enhanced physiology allowed her to take him completely, but the sensation of being so thoroughly filled was still overwhelming. When he was finally seated fully inside her, they both paused to savor the moment.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, his voice strained with control.

"I'm perfect. Now move. I want to feel all of you," Jennifer said, rolling her hips experimentally.

Peter began to move with slow, deep strokes that had Jennifer moaning with each thrust. Her enhanced strength allowed her to meet him movement for movement, their bodies finding a rhythm that spoke to deeper compatibility. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans of pleasure.

"Harder. I can take it," Jennifer said, her nails raking down his back.

Peter increased his pace, his enhanced strength and stamina allowing him to maintain a rhythm that would exhaust a normal man. Jennifer met him thrust for thrust, her amazonian physique perfectly suited to match his intensity. The bed creaked beneath them as their passion built to a crescendo.

"You feel so good. So perfect," Peter said, his voice rough.

"I'm going to cum again," Jennifer said, her voice breaking as another orgasm approached.

"Cum for me, Jen. I want to feel you cum around me," Peter said, reaching between them to find her clit.

The combination of his thrusts and the pressure of his fingers on her most sensitive spot sent Jennifer over the edge again. Her orgasm ripped through her with even more intensity than the first, her inner muscles clamping down on Peter's cock as she cried out his name.

"PETER! OH GOD!" Jennifer's body convulsed with pleasure.

The sensation of her climax triggered Peter's own release. He buried himself deep inside her, flooding her with his seed as his own orgasm crashed over him. They collapsed together, breathing heavily as aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through their joined bodies.

"That was incredible," Peter said, kissing her softly.

"That was just the beginning. Emma warned me about your stamina," Jennifer replied, stroking his hair.

As if to prove her point, Peter was already beginning to harden inside her again. Jennifer's eyes widened with renewed desire as she felt him growing thick and ready once more.

"My turn to be on top," Jennifer said with a wicked smile.

The silk sheets were already rumpled and damp with sweat as Jennifer straddled Peter's hips, her green skin glistening in the soft lighting. Her magnificent breasts swayed with each movement as she rode him with increasing intensity, her enhanced stamina allowing her to match his legendary endurance. Peter's hands gripped her hips, helping to guide her movements as she took him deep inside her over and over again.

"God, you feel so good inside me. I could do this all night," Jennifer said, her voice husky with exertion and pleasure.

"That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say," Peter replied, his eyes dark with desire as he watched her move above him.

Jennifer leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest as she changed the angle of her movements. The new position allowed him to hit that perfect spot inside her with each thrust, sending waves of pleasure radiating through her enhanced nervous system.

"I want to try something else. Something I've never done before," Jennifer said, her breath coming in short gasps.

"What did you have in mind?" Peter asked, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts.

Jennifer's cheeks darkened with a blush that was visible even through her green skin. She slowed her movements, looking down at him with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

"I want you to take me... everywhere. All of me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peter's breath caught as he understood her meaning. His hands stilled on her hips as he searched her face for any sign of uncertainty.

"Are you sure? We don't have to—" he said, his voice gentle but strained.

"I'm sure. I trust you. And I want to experience everything with you," Jennifer said, cutting him off with a kiss.

Peter's response was to roll them over in one smooth motion, positioning Jennifer on her hands and knees as he knelt behind her. His hands roamed over the perfect globes of her ass, appreciating the way her green skin seemed to glow in the dim lighting.

"You're so beautiful, Jen. Every inch of you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

He leaned down to press kisses along her spine, working his way down to the cleft of her ass. Jennifer shivered at the intimate contact, her body responding with a fresh flood of arousal that made her moan softly.

"Please, Peter. I need you," Jennifer said, her voice muffled by the pillows.

Peter reached for the bedside drawer, retrieving a bottle of high-quality lubricant that Emma kept stocked for exactly these occasions. He warmed the liquid between his hands before beginning to prepare Jennifer with careful, patient fingers.

"Relax, beautiful. Let me take care of you," he said, working one finger inside her tight opening.

Jennifer forced herself to breathe deeply, allowing her enhanced muscle control to help her relax as Peter added a second finger, then a third. His movements were gentle but thorough, ensuring she was completely ready for what was to come.

"I'm ready. Please," Jennifer said, pushing back against his hand.

Peter positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her tight ring of muscle. He went slowly, letting her body adjust to his size as he sank into her inch by inch.

"You're so tight. So perfect," Peter said, his voice strained with the effort of control.

"Oh God. You're so big. I feel so full," Jennifer said, her voice breaking as he filled her completely.

When he was finally seated completely inside her, they both paused to savor the intense sensation. Jennifer's enhanced physiology allowed her to take him without pain, but the feeling of being so thoroughly claimed was still overwhelming.

"How does it feel?" Peter asked, beginning to move with slow, careful strokes.

"Amazing. Different. More intense than anything I've ever felt," Jennifer replied, her voice thick with pleasure.

Peter established a rhythm that was both gentle and thorough, his enhanced stamina allowing him to maintain perfect control even as Jennifer's responses threatened to drive him wild. The sound of their bodies joining filled the room, punctuated by Jennifer's increasingly desperate moans.

"Harder. I can take it," Jennifer said, pushing back to meet his thrusts.

Peter increased his pace gradually, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her with more force. Jennifer's response was immediate and intense—her back arched as waves of pleasure unlike anything she'd ever experienced washed over her.

"YES! OH GOD, YES!" Jennifer's voice rose to a scream.

The intensity of her reaction spurred Peter on, and he began to move with the full force of his enhanced strength. Jennifer took everything he gave her, her amazonian physiology perfectly suited to handle his power and stamina.

"You're incredible, Jen. So strong, so perfect," Peter said, his voice rough with effort.

"Don't stop. Never stop. I want all of you," Jennifer said, her words broken by gasps of pleasure.

Their coupling became more intense, more primal, as inhibitions fell away and pure desire took over. Peter's hands roamed over Jennifer's body possessively, claiming every inch of her as his own while she surrendered completely to the sensations he was creating.

"I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum so hard," Jennifer said, her voice breaking as another orgasm approached.

"Cum for me, beautiful. Let me feel you fall apart," Peter said, reaching around to stroke her clit.

The combination of his thrusts and the pressure on her most sensitive spot sent Jennifer over the edge with explosive force. Her orgasm ripped through her with an intensity that made her vision blur, her enhanced nervous system amplifying every sensation until she was screaming his name.

"PETER! OH FUCK, PETER!" Jennifer's body convulsed with pleasure.

The sensation of her climax triggered Peter's own release. He buried himself deep inside her, flooding her with his seed as his own orgasm crashed over him with devastating force. They collapsed together onto the bed, both breathing heavily as aftershocks continued to ripple through their joined bodies.

"That was..." Peter said, pulling her close as they caught their breath.

"That was perfect. But we're not done yet, are we?" Jennifer said, turning in his arms to face him.

Peter's response was evident in the way his body was already beginning to respond to her proximity, his enhanced recovery time allowing for rapid regeneration of his stamina and desire.

"Not even close. The night is young, and I plan to worship every inch of you before dawn," Peter said with a wicked smile.

The bedroom had become proof of their passion—silk sheets twisted and damp with sweat, pillows scattered across the floor, and the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Jennifer lay sprawled across the bed, her green skin flushed and glistening, her magnificent breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. Her long, dark hair was spread across the pillows like a curtain of emeralds, and there was a look of stunned satisfaction on her face.

Peter moved above her, his enhanced physique still displaying that supernatural stamina that had made him legendary among the superhuman community. Every muscle in his body flexed and rippled with each powerful thrust, his abs contracting as he drove his massive cock into her stretched pussy with steady, relentless precision. Despite hours of fucking, his movements remained controlled and purposeful.

"How the fuck are you still going? It's been... God, how long has it been?" Jennifer gasped, her voice completely hoarse from hours of screaming his name, moaning, and begging for more.

"About five and a half hours. Are you getting tired?" Peter replied casually, glancing at the clock on the nightstand without missing a single stroke, his hips maintaining their devastating rhythm.

"Tired? I'm fucking exhausted. And exhilarated. And completely addicted to this incredible cock," Jennifer laughed breathlessly, her pussy clenching around him involuntarily as she spoke.

They'd fucked in every position imaginable throughout the night—with Jennifer bouncing on top, her massive tits swaying hypnotically; Peter pounding her from behind, his hands gripping her wide hips; face to face with her legs wrapped around his waist; standing against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city while he held her up effortlessly. Each new position had brought different sensations, new angles that hit spots inside her she didn't even know existed, peaks of pleasure that had left Jennifer's legs shaking and her pussy dripping.

"Emma warned you about my stamina," Peter said, his voice still strong and steady despite the marathon session, not even breathing heavily.

"She did. But experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. I didn't think it was physically possible to cum this many times," Jennifer replied, her hands roaming desperately over his sweat-slicked chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath her palms.

Peter shifted his angle slightly, adjusting his hips until he found that perfect spot deep inside her that made Jennifer's entire body seize up. Her enhanced nervous system lit up like fireworks as his cock pressed against her g-spot with each thrust. Her response was immediate and overwhelming—a keening cry that echoed through the penthouse as another massive orgasm began building in her core, her pussy already beginning to flutter around his shaft.

"There! Right fucking there! Don't you dare stop!" Jennifer screamed, her nails digging deep into his shoulders, leaving marks that healed almost instantly thanks to his spider-enhanced healing.

"I've got you, beautiful. Let go for me. Cum on my cock again," Peter commanded, maintaining the exact same angle and rhythm, his control absolute even as her pussy tried to milk him.

Jennifer's climax hit with the force of a tidal wave, her enhanced physiology making the sensations almost overwhelming in their intensity. Her inner muscles clamped down on Peter's cock as waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her shaking and gasping beneath him.

"How many times have I cum tonight?" Jennifer asked, her voice breaking.

"I've lost count after twelve," Peter replied with a satisfied smile.

"Twelve? Jesus, Peter. What are you doing to me?" Jennifer said, staring at him in amazement.

"Showing you what it means to be part of this family. Showing you what you've been missing," Peter said, leaning down to capture her lips in a gentle kiss.

Jennifer's response was to pull him down for a deeper kiss, her tongue dancing with his as their bodies continued to move together in perfect synchronization. Even after hours of lovemaking, the connection between them showed no signs of diminishing.

"I understand now why Emma and the others look at you the way they do. Why they're so devoted," Jennifer said, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes.

"And how do they look at me?" Peter asked, his movements becoming more urgent.

"Like you're the center of their universe. Like you're worth any sacrifice, any compromise," Jennifer replied, her voice thick with emotion and desire.

Peter's response was to increase his pace, driving into her with renewed intensity that had Jennifer crying out with pleasure. The sound of their bodies joining filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans of satisfaction.

"And how do you look at me now?" Peter asked, his voice strained with approaching climax.

"The same way. Exactly the same way," Jennifer said, her eyes locked on his as another orgasm approached.

The admission seemed to trigger something primal in Peter. His movements became more possessive, more claiming, as if he was marking her as his own through the sheer force of his passion. Jennifer met him thrust for thrust, her amazonian strength allowing her to match his intensity even after hours of lovemaking.

"I'm close, Jen. Where do you want me?" Peter asked, his voice rough with need.

"Inside me. Always inside me. I want to feel you fill me up," Jennifer said, wrapping her legs around his waist to hold him deep inside.

Peter's control shattered at her words. He buried himself deep inside her, flooding her with his seed as his own orgasm crashed over him with devastating force. Jennifer felt the heat of his release triggering her own climax, and they collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and satisfied sighs.

"That was incredible. All of it. Every moment," Jennifer said, stroking his hair as they caught their breath.

"You were incredible. So responsive, so passionate. I've never experienced anything like this," Peter replied, nuzzling against her neck.

"Even with Emma and the others?" Jennifer asked with a tired but satisfied smile.

"Each of you is different. Special in your own way. What we just shared... that was uniquely ours," Peter said, lifting his head to look at her seriously.

Jennifer felt her heart swell at his words, understanding finally why Emma had been so confident in orchestrating this encounter. Peter's capacity for love and connection seemed genuinely limitless, allowing him to form deep bonds with multiple partners without diminishing any of them.

"I think I'm finally ready to sleep. You've thoroughly exhausted me," Jennifer said, yawning despite her enhanced stamina.

"Good. That was the plan," Peter replied, pulling the silk sheets over both of them.

They settled into a comfortable embrace, Jennifer's head resting on Peter's chest as his arms encircled her protectively. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body against hers created a sense of security and belonging that Jennifer had never experienced before.

"Peter?" Jennifer said, her voice drowsy.

"Mmm?" Peter replied, his own voice heavy with approaching sleep.

"Thank you. For tonight, for accepting me, for making me feel like I belong somewhere," Jennifer said, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

"You do belong, Jen. You're family now. Forever," Peter said, tightening his arms around her.

As they drifted off to sleep, the first hints of dawn began to appear on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The long night of passion had forged a bond between them that went beyond physical attraction to touch on something deeper and more lasting.

Peter slept deeply, his enhanced metabolism finally allowing him to rest after the marathon night of passion. His arm was wrapped protectively around Jennifer, who lay curled against his side with her green skin glowing softly in the morning light.

The soft sound of the elevator arriving didn't wake them, nor did the whisper of footsteps across the marble floor. It was only when the bedroom door opened with the faintest creak that Jennifer's enhanced senses began to stir her from sleep, though Peter remained deeply unconscious.

Emma stood in the doorway, still dressed in the elegant white outfit she'd worn to the spa the night before. Her platinum blonde hair was perfectly styled despite the early hour, and her ice-blue eyes took in the scene before her with obvious satisfaction. There was no jealousy in her expression, no anger or possessiveness—only the pleased look of someone whose carefully laid plans had come to fruition exactly as intended.

She moved into the room with the silent grace of a predator, her high heels making no sound against the plush carpet. The scent of her perfume—expensive and subtle—began to fill the air, mixing with the lingering musk of the night's activities.

Jennifer stirred slightly but remained mostly asleep, exhausted from the hours of passion. Emma's telepathic touch gently encouraged her to stay in her peaceful slumber as she approached the bed. Her ice-blue eyes focused on Peter's sleeping form, taking in his relaxed features and the satisfied smile that played at the corners of his mouth even in sleep.

Emma carefully pulled back the silk sheet, revealing Peter's naked form in the golden morning light. Even in sleep, his body was magnificent—lean muscle and perfect proportions that spoke to his enhanced physiology. She could see the evidence of the night's activities on his skin, the faint marks where Jennifer's nails had raked across his back, the satisfied exhaustion in his posture.

Moving with silence, Emma slipped out of her white dress, letting it pool silently on the floor. Her pregnant curves were even more pronounced in the morning light, her full breasts and rounded belly testament to the life growing within her. She approached the bed wearing only her diamond jewelry, the stones catching the sunlight and casting tiny rainbows across her pale skin.

Emma settled herself carefully on the bed beside Peter, her movements so gentle they didn't disturb either sleeping figure. Her cool fingers traced delicate patterns across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. This was her man, her love, her partner in building something extraordinary—and she wanted to welcome him to the new day in the most intimate way possible.

Her perfectly manicured hand trailed lower, those cool fingers wrapping around his morning arousal with the familiarity of a woman who had memorized every ridge, every vein, every sensitive spot of her lover's magnificent cock. Peter stirred slightly at her touch but didn't wake, his enhanced recovery having left him impressively hard even in sleep—that massive shaft already throbbing with need. Emma smiled with deep satisfaction as she felt him respond to her ministrations, growing even harder beneath her skilled touch, his cock swelling to its full, intimidating size.

Positioning herself carefully to avoid disturbing Jennifer's peaceful slumber, Emma lowered her head with deliberate slowness and took Peter's thick cockhead between her blue-painted lips. Those perfect lips stretched obscenely around his girth as she began to worship him with the expertise of countless intimate encounters. She knew exactly how he liked his cock sucked, exactly what would make him lose control, exactly how to use her mouth and throat until he was gasping her name like a prayer.

Her talented tongue swirled around his sensitive crown, tasting the salt of his skin mixed with the lingering essence of his passionate night with Jennifer—that musky combination of his cum and Jennifer's juices still coating his shaft. There was no jealousy in the action—only love and acceptance of what they had all shared together. Emma's throat relaxed as she took him deeper, her enhanced flexibility allowing her to swallow his impressive length easily, her nose pressing into his pelvis as she deep-throated him completely.

Peter began to stir as waves of pleasure invaded his dreams, soft moans and gasps escaping his lips as Emma's skilled mouth worked him toward consciousness. His hips moved slightly, unconsciously fucking up into the wet heat surrounding his cock. His hands moved restlessly across the silk sheets, seeking something to anchor himself to as sensation built in his sleeping mind, his fingers eventually tangling in the fabric.

Emma increased her pace dramatically, her platinum blonde head bobbing in a rhythm that had Peter's breathing becoming more labored even in sleep. Her free hand cupped his heavy balls, massaging and rolling them gently as she felt them tighten with approaching release—so full of cum after a night of passion. She could taste his arousal intensifying on her tongue, could feel the subtle changes in his body that spoke of mounting pleasure—the way his cock throbbed harder, the way his balls drew up tight.

"Em... fuck..." Peter murmured, still caught between sleep and waking, his voice thick with confused pleasure and need.

Emma hummed around his cock, the vibration sending shockwaves through his entire nervous system. She could feel him getting dangerously close, could sense the exact moment when sleep would give way to full consciousness and overwhelming sensation. Her movements became more urgent, more demanding, as she worked to bring him to the edge—her head bobbing faster, her throat constricting around him, her tongue working overtime.

Peter's eyes fluttered open just as his climax hit like a freight train, his consciousness flooding back in time to see Emma's platinum blonde head moving frantically over him, her ice-blue eyes meeting his with pure love and lust as his release filled her eager mouth. The sight of his pregnant fiancée welcoming him to the morning with such devoted cock worship sent additional waves of pleasure through his already overwhelmed system—his cock pulsing violently as he pumped thick ropes of cum down her willing throat.

"Oh God, Emma," he gasped, his voice breaking with raw pleasure as his hands tangled desperately in her platinum hair. She continued to swallow everything he gave her, her throat working rhythmically to milk every last drop of his thick seed. He could feel her moaning around him, the vibrations sending aftershocks through his oversensitive cock as she greedily consumed his massive load.

When she finally released him with an obscene pop, Emma's blue lips were beautifully swollen and glistening with a mixture of his cum and her saliva. A thin strand of the combination still connected her mouth to his softening cock, and she made a show of catching it with her tongue before licking her lips clean with deliberate, whorish sensuality. Her ice-blue eyes never left his as she savored the taste of him.

"Mmm, such a thick morning load," she purred, crawling up his body with feline grace. "I could feel how full your balls were, darling. You needed that release, didn't you?"

She paused to kiss his chest, his neck, before finally reaching his cheek. "Good morning, my love," she whispered. "I trust you slept well? Though I imagine your dreams couldn't compare to waking up with my throat wrapped around your beautiful cock."

Peter pulled her closer, his hands reverently caressing her pregnant belly as he held her against him. "That was incredible," he breathed, still catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. "Fuck, Emma... what a way to wake up. You're insatiable."

"Last night was perfect, wasn't it? Jennifer fits so beautifully into what we're building."

Peter glanced over at Jennifer, who was still sleeping peacefully, a satisfied smile on her green features. "She does. It felt... right. Natural."

"Because it was," Emma said with satisfaction. "Everything is proceeding exactly as it should."

Jennifer began to stir at the sound of their quiet conversation, her enhanced senses picking up the familiar presence of both Peter and Emma. Her eyes fluttered open, and she froze as she saw Emma nestled against Peter's side, both of them looking thoroughly satisfied.

"Emma. I... we..." Jennifer said, her voice hoarse from the night's activities.

"Good morning, darling. I trust you had a pleasant evening?" Emma said with a gentle smile.

The casual tone and lack of accusation in Emma's voice helped Jennifer relax slightly, though she was still acutely aware of her naked state and the obvious evidence of what had transpired during the night.

"It was... educational," Jennifer said carefully.

"I'm sure it was. Peter is an excellent teacher when properly motivated," Emma replied, her fingers still tracing patterns on Peter's chest.

"How are you feeling, darling? Any regrets about last night's activities?" Emma asked Jennifer.

"None at all. It was exactly what I needed," Jennifer replied, meeting Emma's gaze directly.

"Excellent. And Peter, I trust you were appropriately... thorough in welcoming Jennifer to the family?" Emma said with satisfaction.

Peter's response was to reach out and include Jennifer in their embrace, his other arm pulling her close against his side.

"I did my best to make her feel welcome," Peter said with a slight smile.

"I'm sure you did. Jennifer, you might be interested to know that your pheromone levels have shifted significantly overnight. The biological markers are quite promising," Emma said, her telepathic senses reading the subtle changes in Jennifer's biology.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she understood the implication of Emma's words.

"Already? It's only been one night," Jennifer said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Peter's enhanced genetics work quickly when they find compatible partners. The probability of conception is quite high, especially given the... thoroughness of your evening together," Emma said with clinical satisfaction.

The weight of that revelation settled over the room like a warm blanket. Jennifer found herself torn between excitement and nervousness at the possibility of carrying Peter's child.

"Whatever happens, we'll face it together. All of us," Peter said, stroking Jennifer's arm reassuringly while his other hand caressed Emma's pregnant belly.

"Indeed we will. But for now, I suggest you both shower and prepare for the day. The others will be returning soon, and I'm sure they'll be eager to hear how the evening progressed," Emma said, beginning to disentangle herself from their embrace.

She moved toward where her dress lay pooled on the floor, slipping back into it with fluid grace. As she prepared to leave, she paused to look back at them with genuine warmth in her expression.

"Welcome to the family, darling. Truly and completely welcome," Emma said to Jennifer.

As Emma left them alone, Jennifer turned to face Peter fully, her green eyes searching his face for any sign of regret or uncertainty.

"Do you think she's right? About the pregnancy?" Jennifer asked, her voice soft.

"Would it bother you if she is?" Peter replied, cupping her face gently.

"No. Surprisingly, no. The idea of carrying your child, of being part of this family in that way... it feels right," Jennifer said, considering the question seriously.

"Then we'll hope for the best and see what the future brings," Peter said, leaning down to kiss her softly.

Chapter Text

The morning sun shone through the crystalline decorations adorning the penthouse atop Parker-Frost Plaza, Manhattan's newest architectural marvel. Emma Frost stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand resting on her heavily pregnant belly, the other directing invisible threads of telepathic commands to the dozen assistants scurrying about the space.

"No, darling, the Krakoan orchids go on the left," she murmured without turning, her thoughts reaching directly into the mind of a flustered florist. "They need to complement the ice sculptures, not compete with them."

Her custom wedding dress hung nearby on a mannequin that seemed carved from living diamond. Jumbo Carnation's masterpiece. The gown itself defied physics, its crystalline fabric shifting between translucent and opaque in waves that would accentuate every curve of her body, including her pregnant belly. Diamond accents traced patterns reminiscent of her White Queen armor, a reminder that even in matrimony, Emma Frost remained formidable.

"You're micromanaging again," Jean Grey observed, floating gracefully across the room with Emma's veil trailing behind her in a telekinetic grip. Her golden gown caught the light beautifully, though Emma noted with satisfaction that it didn't outshine the bride's attire.

"It's not micromanaging when you're ensuring perfection," Emma replied, finally turning from the window. "This isn't just a wedding, darlings. It's a statement. Mutantkind's future begins here, with us."

Storm glided over in her white and silver ensemble, summoning a gentle breeze that cooled the warming room. "The future seems quite assured, given how... productive Peter has been." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the various pregnant women in the room.

"Productive is one word for it," Jennifer Walters laughed, adjusting her emerald dress that complemented her jade skin perfectly. She caught Emma's eye and they shared a knowing smile. Just yesterday, Emma had confirmed what Jennifer already suspected. Peter's enhanced genetics had worked their magic once again.

The Stepford Cuckoos, resplendent in matching blue gowns that shimmered with psychic energy, spoke in perfect unison: "We've arranged the post-wedding surprise, Mother."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Surprise?"

"The honeymoon suite has been... modified," Celeste began.

"To accommodate all of us," Phoebe continued.

"Peter won't know what hit him," Mindee added with a wicked grin.

"Though given his stamina lately..." Esme trailed off.

"He'll probably outlast us all," Sophie finished, and all five giggled in harmony.

"My dear daughters," Emma said with mock severity, though her ice-blue eyes danced with amusement, "whatever would people think if they knew the White Queen's wedding night would be so... collaborative?"

"They'd think Peter Parker is the luckiest man in the multiverse," Jean said dryly, though her cheeks flushed slightly. Through their psychic connection, Emma caught a flash of Jean's memories from their recent encounters. Peter's hands, his surprising dominance, the way he'd made her and the Phoenix sing in unison.

Focus, Grey, Emma projected privately. Save those thoughts for tonight.

Storm cleared her throat. "Speaking of tonight, should we discuss the logistics? With this many of us..."

"Already handled," Emma waved dismissively. "The bed is reinforced with vibranium supports. A wedding gift from T'Challa, actually. He seemed amused when I explained why we needed them."

Jennifer burst out laughing. "Only you would plan an orgy with the same energy as a corporate merger, Emma."

"It's not an orgy," Emma corrected primly. "It's a polyamorous celebration of our unconventional family structure. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Storm teased.

"Yes. One requires name tags."

The room erupted in laughter, and Emma felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with her pregnancy hormones. These women; her rivals, her allies, her sister-wives in all but law; had become something she'd never expected: family.

Her mind drifted to Peter, probably being dressed by his groomsmen right now. Sweet, brilliant, impossibly good Peter who had somehow healed the frozen parts of her heart. She thought of how broken he'd been when she'd found him at that Hellfire Gala, hiding behind a tree with his cheap soda and rented tux, devastated by Mary Jane's betrayal.

That woman, Emma thought viciously, threw away a diamond for a trash. Paul, wherever his corpse was rotting (when she actually bothered to to look into the bastard, she'd heard rumors involving Deadpool, Venom, and interpretive dance), had been nothing compared to Peter. And now Mary Jane would watch from the crowd as Emma claimed what she'd so foolishly discarded. While her anger had largely cooled when it came to her, these few flashes of memory always stirred Emma up.

"Emma?" Jean's voice pulled her from her reverie. "You're projecting. Rather loudly."

"Apologies," Emma said, not sorry at all. "I was just thinking about how far we've all come. Peter especially. When I first touched his mind..." She trailed off, remembering that first glimpse into his psyche. The pain, the self-doubt, the crushing weight of responsibility he carried.

"He's different now," Jennifer observed. "More confident. More... commanding."

"You should see him in meetings," Emma smirked. "Three board members tried to lowball us on the Tokyo expansion. Peter didn't just counter. He bought their companies. With his lunch money."

"Our husband, the corporate shark," Storm mused. "Who would have thought?"

"He's not our husband yet," Emma reminded them, though the possessive pronoun sent a thrill through her. "Speaking of which, we should head to the venue. The guests will be arriving soon."

As the women gathered their things, the Cuckoos suddenly stiffened in unison. "Danger?" Emma asked sharply.

"No," Celeste said slowly. "But we're detecting unusual energy signatures converging on the venue."

"Supervillains?" Jean asked, already reaching for the Phoenix.

"Unclear," the Cuckoos replied together.

Emma sighed dramatically, one hand resting protectively on her rounded belly where Peter's children grew. "If Doctor Doom crashes my wedding, I'm billing him for the catering." She paused, her blue lips curving into a predatory smile. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. Girls, make a note. Prepare invoices for any and all supervillain interruptions, itemized down to the individual canapé."

The Cuckoos exchanged glances, their blonde hair catching the light as they tilted their heads in perfect synchronization. "Already drafting the documents, Mother Emma," they replied in unison, their voices carrying that eerie harmony that never failed to unnerve even seasoned telepaths. "Should we include emotional distress damages? Property destruction? Interruption of matrimonial proceedings?"

"Oh, absolutely," Emma purred, her diamond form flickering briefly as her powers fluctuated with her pregnancy hormones. "And add a surcharge for the audacity of interrupting a pregnant woman's special day. These children are going to be beyond Omega-level mutants; the least we can do is ensure their trust funds are properly funded by whatever megalomaniac decides to test us."

Jennifer chuckled, her green skin shimmering with amusement. "I love how you've turned potential disaster into a business opportunity."

"Darling," Emma said, her voice dripping with satisfaction, "when you're carrying the future of mutantkind and married to a man who could buy small countries with his pocket change, everything becomes a business opportunity."

As they made their way to the private elevator, Storm asked, "Do you think there will actually be an attack?"

Emma's smile was sharp as diamond. "Oh, I'm counting on it. What's a superhero wedding without at least one attempted world domination? Besides," her hand glowed with telepathic energy, "I've been dying to show off my new trick. Did you know pregnancy actually enhances mutant abilities in some cases?"

"You're terrifying," Jennifer said admiringly.

"Thank you, darling. Now come along. We have a statement to make."

The elevator doors closed on the group of extraordinary women, each carrying or connected to Peter Parker's children, each ready to face whatever challenges awaited them. Because this wasn't just a wedding. It was the beginning of a dynasty that would reshape the world.

And Emma Frost wouldn't have it any other way.

The suite below the penthouse was deliberately understated. Sleek modern lines, minimal decoration, a space that whispered rather than shouted wealth. Peter Parker appreciated that Emma had understood; he needed somewhere that felt more like him, less like the glittering empire they'd built together.

His spider-sense lay dormant, a peaceful hum at the base of his skull as he paced before the floor-to-ceiling windows. The simple black tux hung beside his Spider-Man mask, both equally part of who he was now. The rental tag had been Emma's idea. "For symmetry, darling," she'd said with that knowing smile that still made his heart skip.

Four years, Peter thought, catching his reflection in the window. Four years since he'd hidden behind that tree at the Hellfire Gala, nursing a warm soda and a broken heart. He could still taste the flat cola, still feel the rough bark against his back as he'd watched Mary Jane laugh at something Paul had whispered.

Paul. Peter's lips quirked involuntarily. Dead or alive, the man never seemed to come up in his mind anymore and when he did it amused him for some reason….

"You're gonna wear a hole in that floor, bub."

Logan's gravelly voice cut through his reverie. Wolverine stood in the doorway, looking profoundly uncomfortable in his tuxedo but wearing it with the same grim determination he brought to battle.

"Just thinking," Peter said, turning from the window.

"Don't hurt yourself," Logan grunted, crossing to the bar and pouring himself a whiskey. He paused, then poured a second glass of ginger ale for Peter. "Still avoiding the hard stuff?"

"Some habits are worth keeping," Peter replied, accepting the glass gratefully. The cool condensation against his palm grounded him.

Logan clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a normal man. "You've earned this, bub. Frost's a handful, but she's good for ya. Makes you stronger."

"She saved me," Peter admitted quietly. "When she found me at that gala, I was..."

"Pathetic?" Logan suggested with characteristic bluntness.

"I was going to say 'lost,' but yeah, that too."

The door opened again, admitting Scott Summers, his ruby quartz visor catching the afternoon light as he meticulously adjusted his bow tie. The gesture was so characteristically Scott: controlled, measured, even in something as simple as fixing formal wear.

"The ceremony space is ready," he announced in his typical mission-briefing tone, though Peter caught the slight softening at the edges. "Security's tight. We've got triple coverage. SHIELD forces on the perimeter, Krakoan peacekeepers integrated throughout, and Wakandan Dora Milaje stationed at all critical points." He paused, allowing himself a small smile. "Even caught Fury trying to plant three more undercover agents among the catering staff. Maria Hill's already relocated them to actual security positions."

That Scott had volunteered, no, insisted on being one of his groomsmen still struck Peter as surreal. The complexity of their current arrangement would have been unthinkable years ago. Here was Scott Summers, the straight-laced boy scout of mutantkind, standing as witness while Peter married Emma and carried children with his wife. But Krakoa had changed everything, hadn't it? The island's revolutionary approach to relationships had dissolved traditional boundaries.

Peter suspected Scott found his own outlets within Krakoa's more fluid culture. The island practically hummed with such arrangements, consensual and celebrated. The Quiet Council itself was rumored to be a web of interconnected intimacies that would make even Peter's situation seem quaint by comparison.

"Expecting trouble?" Peter asked, though his tone was light.

"It's a superhero wedding," Scott said dryly. "We'd be disappointed if someone didn't try to conquer the world." He paused, his expression growing serious behind the visor. "Peter, what you're doing here, this wedding, these children; it's more than personal. You're building a bridge between humans and mutants that politics never could. Your hybrids will change everything."

Peter felt the weight of those words, the responsibility settling on his shoulders like his web-shooters. But unlike before, it didn't crush him. Emma's love, Storm's passion, Jean's fire, Jennifer's strength; they all held him up now.

A sulfurous bamf announced Nightcrawler's arrival, the blue mutant materializing with a velvet box in his three-fingered hand. "The rings from the jeweler," he said, his accent thick with emotion. "Mein Freund, may I offer a blessing?"

Peter nodded, and Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder. "In all my years of faith, I have learned that God's love comes in many forms. What you have built here, this family of choice, this love that transcends convention; it is holy in its own way."

"Thanks, Kurt. That... that means a lot."

The door opened once more, and T'Challa entered, his bearing regal even in Western formal wear. "The vibranium enhancement for your wedding ring," he said, presenting a small device. "It will resonate with Miss Frost's telepathy, allowing a constant, subtle connection."

"You mean she'll always know what I'm thinking?" Peter asked with mock horror.

T'Challa's smile was knowing. "As if she doesn't already. But this will also protect your mind from other telepaths. Consider it... insurance for your growing family's privacy."

Peter slipped the enhancement onto his ring finger, feeling it bond with his skin at a molecular level. Through it, he could already sense Emma: her excitement, her love, and underneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that took his breath away.

A flash of memory struck him. Jennifer's jade skin against his, her strength matching his own, the way she'd gasped when he'd finally let himself be commanding instead of apologetic. The wedding night would be... interesting, with all of them together. His face flushed at the thought.

"Nervous?" Scott asked, misreading his expression.

"Honestly? Terrified," Peter admitted. "Uncle Ben used to say that with great power comes great responsibility. I never thought that would apply to... this."

"To love?" Logan suggested, his gruff voice surprisingly gentle.

"To being loved," Peter corrected. "By extraordinary women who could have anyone. Sometimes I still wonder what they see in—"

"Stop." Logan's tone brooked no argument. "That Parker luck of yours? It swung the other way for once. Deal with it."

Peter laughed, feeling something ease in his chest. These men; heroes, legends, sometimes enemies; had become his brothers in this strange new life.

He thought of Gwen, falling despite his desperate reach. Of Ben, bleeding out in his arms. Of all the people he'd failed to save. But Emma had shown him a truth he'd never been able to see alone: he couldn't save everyone, but he could choose to save himself. To let himself be happy.

Today, I give you everything, he projected through the vibranium enhancement, knowing Emma would hear him. Mask, heart, and all.

Her response was immediate, warm as sunlight in his mind: You already have, my love. Now come. Our future is waiting.

"Alright," Peter said aloud, setting down his glass. "Let's do this. But first..." He grabbed his mask from its place beside the tux. "I need to clear my head."

Before anyone could protest, he'd opened the window and dove out, the mask settling over his features with familiar comfort. The wedding guests gasped as Spider-Man swung across Parker-Frost Plaza, his formal wear somehow making the acrobatics even more dramatic.

For a moment, he was just Peter Parker, the kid from Queens who'd been bitten by a radioactive spider. But as he landed on the ceremony hall's entrance, removing his mask with a flourish that would have made Emma proud, he was also more: a CEO, a father-to-be, a man who'd learned that being precious to others wasn't weakness but strength.

Logan, Scott, Kurt, and T'Challa emerged from the building's entrance, forming an honor guard around him.

"Ready?" Scott asked.

Peter tucked his mask into his jacket pocket, feeling its weight like a talisman. "Yeah. I really am."

They walked toward the ceremony hall together, toward a future that Uncle Ben never could have imagined but would have been proud of nonetheless. Because Peter Parker had learned the ultimate responsibility: choosing to be happy, and letting himself be loved.

The music swelled as they approached, and Peter's spider-sense sang not with danger but with pure, perfect joy.

The grand hall of Parker-Frost Plaza defied architectural convention, a crystalline cathedral born from the marriage of mutant biotechnology and Stark Industries engineering. Krakoan vines, their leaves shimmering with bioluminescence, wove through support beams of living diamond that Emma had personally cultivated. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, refracting afternoon sunlight into cascading rainbows that danced across the assembled guests.

"Show-off," Tony Stark muttered into his champagne flute, though his eyes betrayed genuine admiration as he studied the structural impossibilities. "Parker finally snagged the ice queen? Must be that spider charm. Or the fact he's apparently breeding an army."

"Tony," Steve Rogers warned from beside him, adjusting his dress uniform. "Be respectful."

"I am being respectful! I didn't mention the part where he's apparently servicing half the X-Men roster. That would be disrespectful." Tony's grin widened as Natasha Romanoff approached in a stunning black gown that seemed to absorb light. "Nat! Looking radiant. Pregnancy agrees with you."

Natasha's hand drifted to her still-flat stomach, a gesture so subtle only trained observers would notice. "Fury's intel was correct. The Web of Life responded to our... interaction. SHIELD will have its stake in the future after all."

Across the hall, a Krakoan Gateway bloomed like an organic iris, admitting Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr. The two patriarchs of mutantkind moved through the crowd with ease, though Erik's eyes constantly scanned for threats.

"Remarkable," Xavier murmured, his telepathic voice reaching only his companion. The psychic resonance in this room. Peter's children will reshape reality itself.

"If we survive long enough to see it," Erik replied, his hand subtly adjusting the metal spheres hidden in his cufflinks.

Near the bar, Namor stood with regal bearing, his Atlantean formal wear drawing appreciative glances. "The surface world creates such spectacle," he observed to T'Challa. "Though I admit, Parker's transformation from photographer to titan of industry is... unexpected."

"Peter Parker has always been more than he appeared," T'Challa replied diplomatically. "Emma Frost simply helped him realize it."

The crowd parted as another portal opened, this one crackling with eldritch energy. Doctor Strange emerged, his Cloak of Levitation somehow managing to look formal despite being, well, a cloak. Behind him, surprisingly, came Victor Von Doom in full regalia.

"Doom was invited?" Tony sputtered, nearly dropping his champagne.

"Doom goes where Doom pleases," the Latverian monarch intoned. "But yes, Richards, Doom received an invitation."

Before Tony could process that ominous statement, a collective gasp drew attention to the main entrance.

Mary Jane Watson had arrived.

She moved through the doorway like liquid emerald, her gown hugging curves that Hollywood had paid millions to showcase. Her red hair caught the refracted light, creating a halo effect that made several guests stop mid-conversation. But those who looked closer saw the melancholy in her green eyes, the way her smile didn't quite reach them.

God, she's beautiful, Peter thought involuntarily from his position near the altar, immediately feeling guilty. Through the vibranium enhancement, he felt Emma's mental touch, amused rather than angry.

She is, darling. Beautiful and foolish. Let her see what she abandoned. Let her watch as I claim what she threw away.

Mary Jane's eyes found Peter across the vast space, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. She saw him as he was now: confident, powerful, surrounded by heroes who respected him, about to marry a woman who'd helped him become extraordinary. Her lips parted as if to speak, but then she turned away, accepting a glass of champagne from a server with trembling fingers.

"Awkward," Jennifer Walters murmured to Storm as they watched from the bridesmaids' preparation area. "Though I almost feel sorry for her. Almost."

"She made her choice," Storm replied, adjusting her silver gown. "We all did."

The orchestra's first notes rippled through the crystalline hall like water over glass. Every head turned toward the grand entrance where the bridesmaids had assembled in perfect formation.

Storm led the procession, her white and silver gown flowing around her as if caught in an eternal breeze. Lightning flickered faintly in her eyes as she moved with the grace of a goddess, her hand resting protectively over the swell where Peter's children grew. Behind her, Jean Grey seemed to glow from within, the Phoenix Force lending an otherworldly radiance to her golden dress. The cosmic entity's presence was subtle but unmistakable; reality itself seemed to bend slightly around her as she walked.

Jennifer Walters followed, her jade skin striking against the emerald silk of her gown. She moved with newfound confidence, her Amazonian height and strength making her look like a warrior princess rather than a bridesmaid. The Stepford Cuckoos came last, moving in perfect synchronization, their blue gowns shimmering with psychic energy that made nearby telepaths' minds tingle.

But then the music swelled, and Emma Frost appeared.

The crowd's collective intake of breath was audible. Emma didn't just walk; she commanded the space, each step deliberate and powerful despite her heavily pregnant state. Her dress was a masterpiece of impossible engineering: crystalline fabric that shifted between translucent and opaque in waves, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her pale skin beneath while maintaining perfect elegance. The diamond accents caught every photon of light, creating a corona around her that made her appear divine.

Her platinum blonde hair was swept up in an elaborate style held by diamond pins that were actually fragments of her own body, a display of power and control that made several guests shift nervously. Her ice-blue lips curved in a smile that was equal parts triumph and genuine joy.

"Jesus Christ," Tony Stark whispered, loud enough for half the room to hear. "That dress is either worth more than my tower or it's actually part of her. Both options are terrifying."

"Tony," Steve Rogers hissed.

"What? I'm being complimentary! Look at Parker up there. Kid looks like he just won the lottery, got superpowers, and discovered the meaning of life all at once."

At the altar, Peter stood transfixed. His spider-sense hummed with something that wasn't danger but pure recognition: mine, ours, family, home. Through their vibranium connection, he felt Emma's emotions washing over him: love, possession, pride, and underneath it all, a fierce protectiveness for their unborn children.

You're staring, darling, Emma's mental voice teased as she approached.

Can you blame me? Peter responded, his mental voice thick with emotion. You're perfect.

I know, she replied, but he felt the genuine warmth beneath her trademark arrogance.

As Emma reached the altar, whispers rippled through the assembled guests like waves across still water. The murmurs carried a mixture of awe, envy, and speculation that would have made tabloid editors weep with joy.

"Lucky bastard," someone muttered from the Avengers section. "How does a science teacher from Queens end up with the White Queen herself?"

"Did you see the way she moves?" another voice added, barely concealed admiration threading through the words. "That's not just confidence. That's a woman who knows exactly what she's worth."

From the diplomatic section, more pointed observations emerged: "The rumors about Grey and Monroe... think there's truth to them?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"Storm's been awfully close to Parker-Frost Industries lately," came the response. "And Jean Grey's been spotted at their Manhattan penthouse more than once."

A Wakandan delegate leaned toward his companion, voice carefully neutral: "Does the King know about the widow situation? Romanoff and the former Queen been seen entering their building at very... interesting hours."

"Parker's building quite the collection," someone from the back rows observed with dark humor. "First the White Queen, now half the most powerful women in the world seem drawn to him like moths to flame."

The whispers painted a picture of scandal and intrigue that made Emma's smile sharpen with predatory satisfaction. Let them speculate. Let them wonder. The truth was far more complex, and far more delicious, than their small minds could comprehend.

The officiant, surprisingly, was Kurt Wagner. The blue mutant stood with his vestments modified to accommodate his unique physiology, his yellow eyes warm with genuine affection for the couple.

"Dearly beloved," Kurt began, his accent lending gravity to the words, "we gather here today to witness something extraordinary. Not just the union of two souls, but the joining of worlds, the bridging of species, the hope of tomorrow made manifest in love."

Peter took Emma's hands, marveling at how someone so powerful could feel so delicate in his grasp. Her fingers were cool, smooth as the diamonds she could become, but he felt the pulse of life beneath; their children responding to his touch through their mother.

"Four years ago," Kurt continued, "these two found each other in a moment of mutual vulnerability. What began as comfort became partnership. What began as partnership became empire. And what began as empire became family. A family that defies convention, that challenges our preconceptions, that proves love cannot be contained by tradition or expectation."

From her seat, Mary Jane Watson blinked back tears she refused to let fall. She could see it now: how Peter looked at Emma like she hung the stars, how Emma's usually cold expression melted when she gazed at him. This wasn't the awkward boy she'd left behind. This was a man who'd found his equal, his match, his partner in every sense.

"The vows," Kurt prompted gently.

Peter cleared his throat, his voice carrying clearly through the hall. "Emma, when you found me at that gala, I was broken. I thought I knew what love was, what I deserved, what my limits were. You shattered every one of those assumptions. You didn't just make me rich or powerful. You made me whole. You showed me that my greatest responsibility wasn't to save everyone else, but to let myself be saved. To let myself be loved."

He paused, his thumb stroking over her engagement ring. "You're brilliant, terrifying, magnificent, and absolutely out of my league. But somehow, you chose me. You're carrying our children, building our empire, and every day you make me want to be the man you already see when you look at me. I promise to love you with everything I have, to stand beside you against any threat, and to never, ever take for granted the gift of being yours."

Emma's eyes glistened. Actually glistened. Several guests gasped at the sight of the White Queen showing such open emotion.

"Peter," she began, her voice carrying its usual confidence but layered with something deeper, "I have been many things in my life. Teacher, villain, hero, queen. But you made me something I never thought I'd be: vulnerable. And instead of that terrifying me, it freed me."

She squeezed his hands, her telepathy brushing against his mind like silk. "You're not just my husband or my business partner or the father of my children. You're my redemption. You're proof that Emma Frost can love and be loved without conditions, without manipulation, without fear. You've given me a future I never dared imagine, and I promise to protect it, protect us, with every ounce of power I possess."

Her voice dropped to something more intimate, though it still carried through the hall. "I promise to stand with you against any enemy, to build monuments to our love that will last millennia, and to remind you every single day that you are precious, you are powerful, and you are mine."

"The rings," Kurt said, his voice thick with emotion.

As they exchanged bands, his enhanced with vibranium and spider-silk, hers forged from a diamond she'd created from her own body, a pulse of energy rippled through the hall. Every telepath present felt it: the psychic bond between them solidifying, becoming something tangible and permanent.

"By the power vested in me by God, by Krakoa, and by the state of New York," Kurt declared, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Peter, you may kiss your bride."

Peter cupped Emma's face gently, mindful of her elaborate hair and makeup, but Emma had other plans. She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him into a kiss that was possessive, passionate, and completely inappropriate for a church wedding. Which was exactly the point.

The crowd erupted in applause.

For a man.....a hero who had finally found True Love.

Chapter Text

The crystalline ballroom of Parker-Frost Plaza transformed light itself into art. Rainbow spectrums danced across walls of engineered diamond, while Krakoan chandeliers, living organisms that pulsed with bioluminescent rhythm, cast ethereal shadows that moved like breathing. Ice-blue and silver flowers cascaded from vines that Emma had coaxed to grow in impossible spirals, their petals releasing a subtle pheromone that enhanced joy without clouding judgment. Holographic projections floated between the architectural marvels, displaying the intertwined DNA helixes of human and mutant genomes, symbols of the unity this wedding represented.

Peter stood at the entrance, Emma's arm linked through his, and for a moment he couldn't quite believe this was his life. The man who'd hidden in a tree with warm soda at the Hellfire Gala four years ago now wore a bespoke tuxedo with a tie bearing an almost invisible web pattern; a detail only those with enhanced vision would notice. Beside him, Emma practically glowed in her Jumbo Carnation masterpiece, the crystalline dress shifting between translucent and opaque in waves that followed her breathing. Her pregnant belly, prominent beneath the ethereal fabric, drew every eye. It was physical proof of what their union had already created.

"Ready to face our adoring public, Mr. Parker?" Emma's mental voice caressed his mind with warmth that would have shocked anyone who knew her only as the Ice Queen.

"With you? Always, Mrs. Parker," Peter replied, both aloud and through their new telepathic bond, courtesy of T'Challa's vibranium enhancement.

The moment they stepped forward, the room erupted. Hundreds of voices rose in celebration: X-Men and Avengers, world leaders and celebrities, humans and mutants united in acknowledgment of what this couple represented. Professor Xavier's wheelchair hummed as he approached, Magneto beside him in a display of unity that would have been unthinkable years ago.

"To see this day," Xavier said, his voice thick with emotion, "to witness the bridge you've both built..."

"The future," Magneto added, his gaze falling to Emma's belly, "is more magnificent than even I dared imagine."

Logan pushed through the crowd, a beer in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. "Alright, enough of the sappy stuff!" He raised his beer high. "To the web-head who finally found his queen; may your nights be as wild as your fights!"

The crowd laughed, and Tony Stark seized the moment, his arc reactor glowing beneath his designer suit. "Parker snagged himself the ice queen! Here's to melting that frost." He winked dramatically. "With twins on the way, I'd say mission accomplished!"

"Tony," Steve Rogers warned, but he was smiling.

"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. Our boy Pete went from zero to hero to baby-making machine in record time!"

Emma's telepathic laughter rang through Peter's mind. He has no idea about the others.

Let's keep it that way for now, Peter replied, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently.

The orchestra, a blend of New York Philharmonic musicians and Krakoan sound-shapers, began playing, their music weaving classical arrangements with the natural harmonies of the living island. Servers circulated with trays of delicacies, including mushroom canapés that made Peter grin.

"The mushroom ones!" he said to Emma, snagging two from a passing tray. "Just like at the gala."

"When you were hiding from me," Emma teased, taking a bite. "My scared little spider, so certain he didn't belong."

"I didn't," Peter said softly. "Not then. You changed everything, Emma. You healed me."

Before Emma could respond, a familiar voice cut through their moment. "Peter. Emma. Congratulations."

Mary Jane Watson stood before them, resplendent in an emerald dress that complemented her red hair perfectly. She was beautiful, poised, and utterly alone. The smile on her face didn't quite reach her eyes.

"MJ," Peter said, his voice carefully neutral. "Thank you for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," she replied, her gaze lingering on Emma's belly. "You both look... perfect together."

Emma's hand tightened on Peter's arm, but her smile remained flawless. "We are. Peter deserves someone who sees his true worth. Someone who would never abandon him for a lesser man."

The words hung in the air like ice crystals. Mary Jane's composure cracked for just a moment; a flash of regret, of recognition of what she'd thrown away. Then she nodded, raised her champagne glass in a small salute, and melted back into the crowd.

That was harsh, Peter thought to Emma.

That was necessary, Emma replied. She needs to understand what she lost. And that she must work to get it back. Guilt or not my love, i am not about to be her friend out of the blue.

Across the room, a small commotion drew their attention. The bridesmaids had converged: Jean in flowing gold that matched her Phoenix-fire hair, Storm in regal white that made her look like the goddess she was, Jennifer in emerald that emphasized her sensual strength, and the Stepford Cuckoos in synchronized blue dresses with daring slits that Emma had reluctantly approved after extensive negotiation.

"This is ridiculous," Jean was saying, her arms crossed. "We were promised equal time."

"The honeymoon suite has a reinforced vibranium bed for a reason," Jennifer added with a smirk. "Seemed like we'd all be breaking it in together."

Storm's eyes flickered with electricity. "The forecast for tonight was... extensive precipitation."

Emma glided over, Peter in tow, her presence immediately commanding attention. "Darlings," she purred, her diamond-bright smile both affectionate and firm, "tonight he's mine exclusively. Save your appetites for the honeymoon surprises I have planned."

"But Emma," Celeste began.

"No buts," Emma cut her off. "You've all had your turns. Tonight, I remind my husband why I'm the one wearing the ring."

Peter felt his face heat as several nearby guests pretended not to have heard. Logan definitely heard; his snort of laughter carried across the room.

"Ladies, please," Peter said, trying to defuse the situation. "We have a whole reception to get through first."

"Fine," Jean sighed dramatically. "But tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow, we discuss the schedule," Emma said smoothly. "Tonight, we dance."

As if on cue, the orchestra shifted into the opening notes of their first dance, a piece Emma had commissioned that wove together themes from both their lives. Peter led Emma onto the floor, the crowd parting to create a perfect circle around them.

"You know," Peter whispered as they began to move, his hand gentle on her pregnant belly, "you've healed me more than any web ever could. Before you, I was just... existing. Going through the motions. You brought me back to life."

Emma's eyes shimmered, not with her diamond form, but with genuine tears. "And you gave me something I never thought I'd have. A real family. A future worth fighting for."

They moved together, perfectly synchronized despite Emma's changed center of gravity. Around them, the lights dimmed, leaving them in a spotlight that seemed to come from within. The crowd watched in silent reverence as the Spider and the Queen created their own universe in that moment, separate from everything else.

"I love you, Peter Parker," Emma whispered.

"And I love you, Emma Frost-Parker," he replied. "Forever."

The music swelled, and suddenly the floor filled with other couples. Scott led Jean out despite the complexity of their situation. T'Challa danced with Storm, their past adding layers to their graceful movements. Even Logan had found a partner, though he led with characteristic gruffness.

But in the center of it all, Peter and Emma remained in their own world, their bodies moving as one, their minds intertwined, their future growing between them with each heartbeat.

The reception was just beginning, but already it was clear: this wasn't just a celebration of a wedding. It was the inauguration of a dynasty, the birth of a new age, and the healing of wounds that had seemed unhealable.

And somewhere in the shadows of the plaza, a figure in black watched, tendrils of darkness writhing. Venom had come to ensure no one, not Paul, not Mary Jane, not anyone, would disturb his other's happiness tonight.

The party of the century continued, but for Peter and Emma, the rest of the world had already faded away. There was only them, their love, and the empire they would build together.

The crystalline web cake towered five tiers high, each layer suspended by threads of spun sugar that caught the light like morning dew. As servers carved into it, Professor Xavier's wheelchair hummed forward to the microphone stand that had materialized from the floor.

"When I first met Peter Parker," Xavier began, his voice carrying through the ballroom, "I saw a young man whose greatest power wasn't his strength or agility, but his capacity to connect disparate worlds. Tonight, we celebrate not just a marriage, but a bridge. One that will carry mutantkind into a future we once only dreamed of."

His gaze fell meaningfully on Emma's pregnant belly. "The children you create together will be living proof that our species need not be divided, but can instead evolve together into something magnificent."

Jean rose next, her golden gown shimmering as she lifted her champagne. "Emma Frost," she said, a wry smile playing at her lips, "the woman I once considered my greatest rival, has become someone I deeply respect. Love hasn't softened you, Emma; it's revealed the strength that was always there, hidden beneath the ice. To growth through love."

The crowd toasted, and Storm took the stage. With a gesture, she summoned a gentle mist that sparkled in the air, droplets catching the light like diamonds. "In nature," she said, her voice melodious, "the fiercest storms give way to the most beautiful frost. Peter, Emma, may your union be the calm after every tempest."

The rain intensified slightly, creating a romantic veil around the newlyweds before dissipating into rainbow mist.

The Cuckoos moved as one unit to the microphone, their voices harmonizing in eerie perfection. "To our beloved mentor," they began, their psychic butterfly effects shimmering around the room, "and to Peter, who has given us such... hope for the future." Their synchronized smiles held promise. "We look forward to much deeper family bonds."

Several guests shifted uncomfortably at the implication, while Emma's mental voice rang in Peter's head: They're getting bolder.

Your fault for approving those dresses, Peter replied, trying not to stare at the dramatic slits.

Natasha sauntered up next, her movements deliberately provocative. "As a spy, I'm trained to infiltrate the most secure locations," she said, raising her glass. "But Peter Parker's heart? That required special tactics." She winked. "Mission accomplished."

Jennifer was last, her emerald dress clinging to curves that had become slightly fuller in recent weeks. A blush colored her cheeks as she spoke. "Sometimes life surprises you. Sometimes a gesture of kindness becomes something more. To new beginnings," she said, her hand unconsciously moving to her stomach, "and to the unexpected gifts they bring."

Emma caught the gesture, her telepathy confirming what she'd suspected. Seven children now, my love.

Jen too? Peter's mental voice carried shock.

Our family grows ever larger.

The orchestra began the dance music, and Peter led Emma onto the floor first. Her belly pressed against him as they swayed, the twins moving between them.

"They're active tonight," Peter whispered, feeling the kicks against his abdomen.

"They know it's special," Emma replied, her lips brushing his ear. "Sophie and Ben are celebrating too."

"Those names are perfect," Peter said, spinning her gently. "Just like their mother."

"Flatterer," Emma accused, but her smile was radiant. "Save some charm for your other partners."

As their dance ended, Storm approached, the air around her crackling with controlled electricity. She pressed against Peter closer than necessary, wind currents keeping them locked together.

"The goddess demands her tribute," she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

"Ororo," Peter warned softly, aware of the watching crowd.

"Tomorrow then," she promised, static making his hair stand on end as she pulled away.

Jean was next, and the moment their hands touched, psychic flashes bloomed between them. Their encounter in the cosmic void, the conception of their triplets, shared moments of passion that made them both gasp.

"Jean," Peter said aloud, steadying her.

"Sorry," she said, though her grin suggested otherwise. "The Phoenix is... eager."

The Cuckoos didn't wait for individual turns. All five surrounded him, moving in perfect synchronization, their circle tightening until he was trapped between them.

Daddy Peter, their unified mental voice purred. We've been such good girls.

Waiting so patiently, Celeste added.

Watching you with the others, Esme continued.

Learning what you like, Phoebe whispered mentally.

Preparing ourselves, Mindee finished.

"Ladies," Peter said aloud, his voice strained. "People are watching."

"Let them," Sophie said, but they released him, filing away with matching smirks.

Natasha's dance was pure seduction, her body grinding subtly against his in ways that would seem accidental to observers but were definitely deliberate.

"SHIELD's fertility tests came back," she murmured. "You did it, Spider. You overrode the Red Room."

Peter's eyes widened. "You're—?"

"Three weeks along," she confirmed. "Fury's already drafting protection protocols."

Finally, Jennifer claimed her dance, her strength evident in how she pulled him close.

"I can feel it," she whispered. "The change inside me. It's only been a week, but I know. Hulk DNA and spider DNA..." She shivered. "Our child will be incredible."

As the dances ended, the bridesmaids converged on Emma near the cake table, their expressions determined.

"This is ridiculous," Jean said firmly. "We were promised equal access."

"The wedding night is traditionally for everyone involved," Storm added, electricity flickering in her eyes.

"The bed can hold all of us," Jennifer pointed out. "We tested it, remember?"

The Cuckoos spoke in unison: "We demand satisfaction."

Emma's laugh was crystalline. "My darlings, you're all carrying his children. Well, except the cuckoos. Haven't you had enough satisfaction?"

"It's been weeks for some of us," Natasha said, joining the group. "And tonight, he looks particularly... appetizing."

"The tux really does it," Jennifer agreed, fanning herself.

Emma stood, her presence immediately commanding despite her pregnant state. "Tonight, he's mine alone. My pregnancy demands gentleness, a slow reconnection after all this chaos. You'll have your turns tomorrow."

"But mother Emma….." Celeste began.

"No." Emma's tone brooked no argument. "I'm pulling rank as the wife. Tomorrow, we'll discuss schedules, positions, and sharing protocols. Tonight, I remind my husband why I'm the one wearing the ring."

The women grumbled but acquiesced, each shooting Peter looks that promised tomorrow would be very interesting indeed.

You're enjoying this way too much, Peter accused mentally.

Darling, Emma replied, her mental voice dripping honey, I'm about to enjoy it so much more. Wait until you see what I have planned for our honeymoon.

The reception continued around them. Toasts and laughter, dancing and celebration. But Peter found his attention constantly drawn to Emma. The way she commanded the room, managed the complex dynamics of their unusual family, and still looked at him like he was her whole world.

He'd come so far from that broken man at the Hellfire Gala. And it was all because of her.

The woman who'd healed him with her love, who'd built an empire with him, who carried his children and orchestrated a future beyond his wildest dreams.

His Emma. His queen. His everything.

The Manhattan skyline erupted in celebration as Peter and Emma slipped through the plaza's private exit. Above them, mutant-powered fireworks painted the night. Bobby Drake's ice crystals refracted light into rainbow webs while Storm's controlled lightning spelled out "PARKER-FROST" in electric blue. The display was visible for miles, a declaration to the world that this union had changed everything.

"Subtle," Peter murmured, helping Emma into the waiting limousine, her crystalline dress catching the firework light.

"We're beyond subtle now, darling," Emma replied, settling against the leather seats with a satisfied sigh. "We're an empire."

Through the tinted windows, they watched lingering guests on the plaza steps. The Cuckoos stood in perfect formation, their synchronized waves slightly unsettling. Jean and Storm flanked them, both women's eyes tracking the limo with unmistakable hunger. Jennifer leaned against a pillar, her hand resting on her stomach, a knowing smile on her lips.

Tomorrow, Emma projected to them all. Tonight, he's mine.

The mental protests came immediately; a chorus of frustration, desire, and attempted negotiation. Emma simply raised her mental shields, cutting them off mid-complaint.

"That was cruel," Peter said, though his grin suggested he didn't really mind.

"That was necessary. They've had you for weeks. Tonight, I reclaim my husband."

The private airstrip materialized from the darkness, Parker-Frost Industries' Gulfstream G650 gleaming under the runway lights. The pilot, a trusted employee who'd signed extensive NDAs, had the engines already warming.

"Mrs. Parker," he greeted with a nod. "Mr. Parker. Flight time to Maui is approximately eleven hours. We'll have you there by sunrise, local time."

Inside, the jet had been transformed into an aerial honeymoon suite. Rose petals traced paths across cream leather. Champagne chilled in crystal buckets. The bedroom section featured a king-sized bed with silk sheets, the PFI logo embroidered subtly in the corners.

Emma kicked off her heels the moment they were airborne, sighing in relief. "These children of yours are already demanding. My feet haven't been the same for months."

"Our children," Peter corrected, pulling her into his lap. "And your feet are perfect."

"Flatterer." But she melted against him, her head finding that spot on his shoulder that fit perfectly. "Help me out of this dress? Beautiful as it is, I need to breathe."

Peter's fingers found the hidden clasps, the crystalline creation falling away to reveal white silk lingerie that had been specially tailored for her pregnant form. The fabric draped over her swollen belly, somehow making her look even more radiant.

"You're staring," Emma noted, though her smile suggested she didn't mind.

"You're gorgeous," Peter replied simply. "Pregnancy suits you."

"Mmm, careful, Mr. Parker. Keep talking like that and we'll have a dozen children."

"Would that be so bad?"

Emma's laugh was warm honey. "Ask me again after I deliver these twins."

Peter stripped to his boxers, and they settled onto the bed, bodies finding their familiar rhythm. His hands cradled her belly as they kissed, feeling the twins respond to their parents' closeness. Emma's telepathy opened between them, sharing not just sensation but emotion. The depth of their connection, the healing they'd brought each other, the future they were building.

Jean's trying to break through my shields, Emma noted with amusement. She's arguing about fairness.

Storm's probably creating a typhoon somewhere, Peter added.

The Cuckoos are attempting a coordinated psychic assault. Adorable, really.

And Natasha?

Radio silence. She's a professional. She'll wait for the right moment to strike.

They made love slowly, carefully, Peter mindful of Emma's changed body. It was different from their usual passionate encounters. Gentler, deeper, a reconnection after weeks of sharing him with others. Emma's hands traced the scars on his chest, remnants of countless battles, while his lips found that spot on her neck that always made her gasp.

"I love you," Peter whispered against her skin. "My brilliant, terrifying, perfect wife."

"Terrifying?" Emma arched an eyebrow.

"You organized a breeding program for me. With multiple women. While pregnant with twins."

"And you're complaining?"

"Never." He kissed her deeply. "Just observing that I married a force of nature."

"You needed healing," Emma said softly, her fingers threading through his hair. "They needed children. The world needed bridge-builders. Everyone wins."

"And you needed?"

"You," she said simply. "Just you. The rest is just... logistics."

They climaxed together, a gentle wave rather than their usual explosive passion, and lay intertwined as the jet hummed through the night sky. Emma's telepathy brushed against the twins, soothing them back to sleep.

"They're strong," she murmured. "Sophie's already showing psychic potential. Ben's mind is... different. Structured like yours but with my pathways."

"They'll be extraordinary."

"All our children will be." Emma's hand found his. "The ones growing in Jean, Storm, Jennifer, Natasha... and whoever else you'll father children with."

"Emma…."

"Shh. I'm not upset. This is bigger than jealousy or conventional marriage. We're literally saving the mutant race while building bridges to humanity. Our children will inherit a world with no hate."

"Our Family," Peter said, understanding dawning.

"Exactly."

The jet began its descent as the Hawaiian sunrise painted the sky gold and pink. Below, the Pacific sparkled like scattered diamonds. Their villa, a sprawling complex of glass and wood that seemed to grow from the cliff itself, awaited them.

"I had it rebuilt," Emma explained as they circled for landing. "After our last visit. Same location, but upgraded. Vibranium reinforcement, holographic privacy screens, and..." she smiled wickedly, "a few additions I think you'll enjoy."

The property was even more magnificent than Peter remembered. Private beach access, infinity pools that seemed to pour into the ocean, and architecture that was both modern and organic. Crystalline sculptures dotted the gardens. Emma's touch evident everywhere.

Staff had prepared everything perfectly: champagne on ice, fresh flowers in every room, and a feast laid out on the terrace. But it was the master suite that truly took Peter's breath away. The entire ocean-facing wall was glass, the bed positioned to catch both sunrise and sunset, and hidden panels suggested more tech than was immediately visible.

"Emma," Peter said slowly, noticing the tiny red lights in the corners, "are those cameras?"

"8K resolution, night vision capable, with full audio," Emma confirmed without shame. "I told you I like to watch. And rewatch. Our wedding night should be preserved, don't you think?"

"You're going to show the others, aren't you?"

"Perhaps. If they behave." She moved to the terrace, her silk robe billowing in the tropical breeze. "But that's tomorrow's concern. Tonight, we have dinner, dancing, and a gentle reconnection to enjoy."

Peter joined her, pulling her back against his chest, hands resting on her belly. "No interruptions?"

"I've blocked all psychic channels. The Cuckoos could attempt a full merge and they wouldn't break through. Tonight, Mr. Parker, you're entirely mine."

The sun set in spectacular fashion, painting the sky in shades of fire that reminded Peter of Phoenix flames. But here, now, there was only Emma. His wife, the mother of his children, the woman who'd saved him from himself.

Peter awakened to golden Hawaiian sunlight painting patterns across silk sheets, his body deliciously sore in ways that reminded him of last night's gentle reconnection with Emma. The massive four-poster bed seemed to stretch forever, its carved posts reaching toward a ceiling decorated with subtle web patterns. Emma's touch, making him part of the architecture itself.

The clock's digital display read 2:47 PM. He'd slept through the entire morning, jet lag and wedding exhaustion finally claiming their due. His hand reached across the California king expanse, finding only cool silk where Emma should be. Her scent lingered, that intoxicating blend of expensive perfume and something uniquely her, but the woman herself had vanished.

"Emma?" His voice came out rough with sleep.

No response. The villa hummed with subtle life: air conditioning, the distant crash of waves, tropical birds calling to each other, but no sound of his pregnant wife. Peter's spider-sense remained quiet. No danger, just absence.

He stretched, joints popping, muscles protesting then singing as blood flow returned. The room came into sharper focus: their discarded clothes from last night creating an intimate trail from door to bed, champagne flutes still half-full on the nightstand, and those tiny red lights in the corners Emma had mentioned. The cameras. Recording everything in 8K glory for his voyeuristic wife's later enjoyment.

"Good morning to you too," he muttered at the nearest camera, earning himself no response but imagining Emma's amused smile wherever she was.

Peter rolled out of bed, his enhanced physiology already demanding calories after yesterday's exertions. He pulled on casual shorts and a Parker-Frost Industries t-shirt (Emma had packed his entire wardrobe, apparently), and padded barefoot through the villa.

The architecture was even more impressive in daylight. Glass walls dissolved the boundary between inside and out, infinity pools created the illusion of swimming into the ocean itself, and everywhere those crystalline sculptures caught and refracted light into rainbow webs. It was excessive, gorgeous, and perfectly Emma.

The kitchen made him whistle appreciatively. Professional-grade everything, stocked with fresh Hawaiian produce that must have been delivered this morning. His stomach growled audibly, spider-metabolism making its demands known.

Twenty minutes later, Peter had assembled a feast: fresh poke bowls with ahi tuna, grilled mahi-mahi, scrambled eggs with local vegetables, tropical fruit salad featuring things he couldn't even name, and strong Kona coffee that tasted like liquid heaven. He carried it all out to the terrace, settling at the table overlooking the private beach below.

The food disappeared at superhuman speed, his body gratefully processing the calories. Between bites, Peter found himself reflecting on the journey that had brought him here. Four years ago, he'd been broke, heartbroken, hiding in a tree with warm soda. Now? Married to Emma Frost, father to seven children on the way (and counting), co-CEO of a trillion-dollar company, and somehow at the center of a complex polyamorous family that should be impossible but felt increasingly right.

His phone buzzed. Emma's contact photo, her in that crystalline wedding dress, filled the screen for a video call.

"There's my sleeping beauty," Emma's voice purred through the speaker as her image resolved. She was clearly in some high-end boutique, racks of designer clothing visible behind her. "Did I wear you out last night, my spider?"

"All we did was sleep and you disappeared," Peter accused, though his smile took any sting from the words. "I woke up alone in paradise."

"Poor baby." Emma's grin was entirely unsympathetic. "I had shopping to do. These twins won't stay inside much longer, and we need supplies."

"We have supplies. We have an entire nursery. Two nurseries, actually."

"Darling, one can never have too many options." She adjusted the phone, giving him a better view of her surroundings. Shopping bags clustered at her feet: Victoria's Secret, Agent Provocateur, some boutique called "Mama's Secret Garden" that was definitely not about regular gardening.

"Is that lingerie?" Peter asked, zooming in with his enhanced vision.

"Among other things. I may be restricted from vigorous activities, but that doesn't mean I can't look devastating while watching."

Before Peter could process that statement, other voices erupted from Emma's phone.

"Aloha, husband of our queen." Storm's regal tone carried amusement.

"Missed you already, Peter!" Jean's warmth made him smile.

"Ready for round two?" Natasha's sultry voice promised trouble. "Or should I say round three? Four?"

"Wait," Peter straightened in his chair, nearly knocking over his coffee. "They're all there? In Hawaii?"

The phone shifted, and suddenly Peter could see them all: Storm in a flowing white sundress that made her look like a goddess of the islands, Jean in a gold bikini top and sarong that played beautifully against her red hair, Natasha in a black one-piece that was somehow more provocative than full nudity would be, Jennifer in an emerald wrap that emphasized her curves, and the Cuckoos in matching white bikinis that left very little to imagination.

"Surprise," they chorused, the Cuckoos in perfect synchronization.

"Emma..." Peter's voice carried warning.

"What? Did you think I'd leave our family behind? They're staying at the resort next door. Close enough for visits, far enough for privacy."

"You planned this."

"I plan everything, darling. You should know that by now." Emma's smile turned wicked. "Besides, with the babies due in about a week, I'm medically restricted from our more athletic activities."

"Emma, you don't have to…."

"Oh, but I want to." She leaned closer to the camera, her voice dropping to that tone that always made his blood heat. "You see, pregnancy may limit my direct participation, but it's done wonderful things to my voyeuristic tendencies."

The other women laughed, clearly already aware of this development.

"She's been terrible," Jean confirmed. "Kept trying to watch through our minds during the reception."

"The cameras were her idea," Storm added. "Every room, Peter. Every angle."

Peter's eyes found those red lights again, suddenly understanding their true purpose. "The security system."

"Security, yes. Among other things." Emma's grin was pure sin. "8K resolution, night vision, full audio, and connected directly to my telepathic implants. I can watch from anywhere, experience everything through the feed."

"You're serious."

"Deadly serious. You didn't think I'd let them have you without supervision, did you? I may be sharing you, darling, but I'm still the queen of this empire. And queens enjoy their entertainment."

"This is insane," Peter muttered, though his body was already responding to the implications.

"This is perfect," Emma corrected. "I get to rest and prepare for delivery while still enjoying every moment of your activities. The others get their time with you. You get variety and enthusiasm. Everyone wins."

"When you put it like that..."

Emme smirked. "Good now listen so you can receive your first present."

Peter's bare feet padded across cool marble as he navigated the villa's sprawling layout, phone pressed to his ear. Emma's voice guided him like a siren's call through halls lined with abstract art and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the Pacific's endless blue.

"Turn left at the Buddha statue," Emma purred through the speaker. "Past the infinity pool. Yes, the second one."

"How many pools does one villa need?" Peter muttered, though his complaint lacked heat. His spider-sense tingled, not with danger but with electric anticipation that made his skin hypersensitive.

"As many as it takes to properly entertain, darling. Now, through the archway with the orchids."

The east wing opened before him like a revelation. Larger than his old apartment, it featured its own gym (vibranium-reinforced equipment, naturally), a meditation room with views that seemed to stretch to Japan, and a lounge that could host thirty comfortably. But it was the double doors at the end, carved with intricate web patterns, that drew his attention.

Muffled giggles leaked through the wood. Five distinct voices trying and failing to synchronize their amusement. Peter's heart hammered against his ribs, memories of the Cuckoos' increasingly bold flirtations flooding back. The way they'd surrounded him at the reception, their coordinated assault on his senses, those matching dresses with slits that had made concentration impossible.

"Emma," he said slowly, hand hovering over the door handle, "what exactly is waiting for me?"

"Your first honeymoon gift." Her voice dripped satisfaction. "They've been planning this since the gala, you know. Five brilliant minds working in perfect harmony toward a single goal: you."

"That's not ominous at all."

"Oh, my precious spider." The endearment made him flush. "You trust me to heal you, don't you? To give you what you need?"

"Always," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice making Emma hum appreciatively.

"Then open the door."

The handle turned silently, expensive engineering ensuring no warning preceded his entrance. The scene that greeted him stopped Peter mid-step, his enhanced vision taking in every detail with crystal clarity.

The guest bedroom had been transformed into something from a fever dream. Silk drapes in pearl and cream created a tent-like atmosphere, filtering afternoon sunlight into something ethereal. Rose petals, white and pink, created paths across plush carpeting toward a bed that seemed to stretch forever. The California king had been upgraded, reinforced based on the subtle vibranium threading visible in the frame. Ambient music, something classical with an undercurrent of bass that seemed designed to accelerate heartbeats, filled the space.

And there, arranged like a living artwork across silk sheets, were the Stepford Cuckoos.

They'd chosen lingerie that was somehow more revealing than nudity would have been. Sheer white fabric that played with transparency, showing everything while technically covering the essentials. The sets featured high slits like their bridesmaid dresses, ribbons that begged to be pulled, and strategic cutouts that made Peter's mouth go dry. Their identical blonde hair had been styled in soft waves, lips painted the same shade of pink, bodies positioned in a perfect star pattern with space at the center clearly meant for him.

"Hello, Daddy Peter," they said in perfect unison, five voices creating a harmony that bypassed his ears and spoke directly to his hindbrain. "We've been waiting so long for this."

Peter's back hit the door, his eyes widening as their gazes locked onto him. Lustful, synchronized, predatory. "I... you... Emma didn't mention..."

"Didn't I?" Emma's laugh through the phone was pure wickedness. "Must have slipped my mind. How forgetful of me."

Celeste rose first, her movement liquid grace. "We've been patient."

"So patient," Esme agreed, sliding off the bed with deliberate slowness.

"Watching you with the others," Phoebe added, her approach flanking his left.

"Learning what you like," Mindee continued from his right.

"Preparing ourselves," Sophie finished, somehow already behind him despite his spider-sense.

They moved like hunters, coordinated through their psychic link, creating a closing circle that made Peter's enhanced reflexes irrelevant. His spider-sense wasn't warning him because there was no danger; just inevitability.

"Emma," Peter's voice cracked slightly, making all five Cuckoos smile identically. "This is..."

"Overdue," Emma supplied. "They've dreamed of you since that night at the gala, my love. Five brilliant telepathic minds all focused on one desire. Can you imagine the feedback loop they create? The shared sensation?"

The Cuckoos' minds brushed against his, not invasive but inviting, showing him flashes of what they'd imagined. Five perspectives of the same fantasy, each angle adding depth, creating a three-dimensional experience that made his knees weak. He saw himself through their eyes: powerful yet gentle, the perfect blend of strength and care they craved.

"Don't worry," Emma continued, her voice dropping to that possessive purr that always undid him. "They won't drain you... too much."

"Too much?" Peter squeaked, actually squeaked, earning delighted giggles from all five sisters.

"We've been practicing," Celeste said, her hand finding his chest, fingers tracing the definition through his t-shirt.

"Yoga," Esme added, her touch joining her sister's. "For flexibility."

"Stamina training," Phoebe's hand found his arm. "To keep up with your enhancement."

"Studied anatomy," Mindee pressed against his other side. "Yours specifically."

"Emma provided videos," Sophie whispered in his ear, making him jump. "You're quite photogenic."

"Videos?" Peter's voice had climbed an octave. "What videos?"

"From the cameras, silly," they chorused. "We've watched everything."

The implications crashed over him. Every encounter with Emma, with Storm, with Jean; all of it recorded, all of it studied by five brilliant minds working in perfect coordination to plan this moment.

"Mercy?" Peter tried, the word coming out more plea than protest.

The door clicked behind him. Not mechanical but telepathic, the lock engaging through pure psychic force. The Cuckoos' smiles turned predatory.

"No mercy, Daddy Peter," they said in that devastating harmony. "We're just getting started."

They moved as one, a coordinated assault that his spider-sense couldn't counter because every touch was desired, every contact consensual despite his token protests. Celeste's lips found his neck while Esme pulled his shirt up, their sisters' hands mapping territories they'd only imagined. The bed rushed up to meet him. When had they moved him? Silk sheets cool against heated skin.

"Wait," Peter gasped, though his body betrayed his eagerness. "All five of you?"

"Did you think we'd take turns?" Sophie asked, her laugh tinkling like crystal.

"We share everything," Mindee added, her fingers working at his shorts.

"Thoughts," Phoebe continued.

"Sensations," Esme elaborated.

"Pleasure," Celeste finished.

Their mouths descended in choreographed chaos, five sets of lips finding different territories to claim. Peter's enhanced nervous system, usually an advantage, became overwhelming as their psychic link shared every sensation between them. When he gasped at Celeste's touch, all five felt his pleasure. When Esme found a sensitive spot, her sisters knew instantly, coordinating their assault on his defenses.

"Emma," Peter managed between desperate breaths, "you're watching this?"

"Every second," his wife's voice confirmed through the phone he'd somehow kept hold of. "The angles are perfect from here. You look delicious, darling."

Sophie took the phone from his nerveless fingers, positioning it on the nightstand where Emma could maintain her voyeuristic view. "Thank you for sharing him, Queen Emma."

"Thank you for the show," Emma replied, her breathing notably heavier. "Now stop talking and demonstrate what all that practice was for."

The Cuckoos needed no further encouragement. They moved with purpose now, sheer fabric disappearing, their identical bodies creating a kaleidoscope of pale skin and golden hair. Peter tried to track their movements, to maintain some control, but they worked with hive-mind efficiency, each knowing exactly where their sisters were, what they were doing, how to complement rather than interfere.

"This is….."Peter gasped as multiple mouths found sensitive areas simultaneously, "completely unfair."

"Five against one?" Celeste asked with mock innocence.

"Seems perfectly fair to us," her sisters chorused.

Emma's laughter echoed through the room, rich with satisfaction. "Enjoy your honeymoon gift, my spider. I'll be enjoying the view."

The call ended with a soft click, leaving Peter alone with five telepathic sisters who'd been planning this moment for four years. As they closed in with synchronized intent, their shared consciousness creating feedback loops of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm even his enhanced stamina, Peter had one last coherent thought:

Emma is going to watch this on repeat for weeks.

Then the Cuckoos demonstrated exactly what five brilliant minds working in perfect harmony could accomplish, and coherent thought became impossible.

Omake

Paul's spectral form drifted through the Manhattan streets, his ethereal essence drawn like a moth to flame toward the Parker-Frost Plaza. Death, it seemed, hadn't improved his personality or decision-making skills.

"Mary Jane," he whispered to the night air, his ghostly voice carrying all the conviction of wet tissue paper. "She's there. I can feel her. And him. That wall-crawling menace who ruined everything."

His transparent feet made no sound as he floated toward the glowing reception, the celebration's joy acting like acid on his bitter spirit. Through the crystalline walls, he could see them all: the happy couple, the laughing guests, and there, in that emerald dress, Mary Jane. His Mary Jane, or so his delusional ghost brain insisted.

"No one will keep me from my vengeance," Paul declared to absolutely no one, puffing out his translucent chest. "I'll haunt Parker until he—"

THWACK!

Flaming chains wrapped around his spectral neck with the force of divine judgment, yanking him backward into a conveniently dark alley. Paul's ghost form slammed into a dumpster; the same dumpster, ironically, where his body had once been deposited.

"Well, well, well," a gravelly voice drawled. "Look what the hellfire dragged in."

Johnny Blaze stood at the alley's entrance, his skull beginning to ignite with hellfire. Beside him, Venom's massive form writhed with anticipation, while Deadpool bounced on his heels like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Ghost Paul!" Deadpool squealed with delight. "Oh, this is perfect! We get to kill you again! It's like a video game respawn, but more fun!"

"We told you," Venom growled, his tongue lashing the air, "Peter is not to be disturbed by trash characters."

Paul tried to float away, but the hellfire chains held him fast. "You can't do this! I'm already dead! I have rights! Ghost rights! I demand—"

"You demand?" Johnny Blaze's transformation completed, the Ghost Rider's flaming skull turning toward Paul with terrible purpose. "The only thing you deserve is punishment, you bargain-bin, self-insert, writer's-pet excuse for a character."

"I'm not a self-insert!" Paul protested weakly. "I have depth! I have a backstory with Wayep and—"

"Nobody cares about your Wikipedia backstory," Deadpool interrupted, reaching into a Hello Kitty duffel bag he'd produced from somewhere. "We've got something special for ghostly party crashers."

With theatrical flair, Deadpool pulled out two massive spectral dildos, each one glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed specifically attuned to ghost matter. Along their considerable length, glowing text read: "FOR GHOSTS AND SHITTY WRITER OCs."

"Twenty inches of pure spiritual correction," Deadpool announced proudly. "Blessed by Doctor Strange, cursed by Mephisto, and rated five stars on Yelp by other vengeful spirits we've dealt with."

Venom took the second one, his grin spreading impossibly wide. "We've been saving these for a special occasion."

"No, no, no!" Paul's ghost went even paler, which shouldn't have been possible. "You can't! I'll have my revenge on Parker! Mary Jane will be mine again! I'll—"

His protests died as Johnny Blaze casually picked up a thick, rusty rebar from the ground, the metal immediately igniting with hellfire in his skeletal grip.

"You know what your problem is, Paul?" Ghost Rider's voice echoed with the weight of a thousand condemned souls. "You're not just a bad character. You're a boring bad character. At least make your villainy interesting."

"The writer literally created you just to make Peter suffer," Deadpool added, twirling his glowing implement like a baton. "That's not character development, that's just lazy!"

"Even we have standards," Venom agreed, which was saying something.

Paul tried one last desperate plea. "If you do this, I'll just come back again! You can't kill a ghost!"

"Oh, we're not going to kill you," Ghost Rider assured him, the rebar glowing white-hot. "We're going to make you wish we would."

"It's called 'educational correction,'" Deadpool explained cheerfully. "Very therapeutic. Well, for us anyway."

"Time for your lesson," Venom purred.

What followed was a symphony of spectral suffering that would have made the demons of hell take notes. Paul's ghostly screams echoed through dimensions, reaching frequencies only dogs and other spirits could hear. The "educational tools" proved remarkably effective against ectoplasmic entities, each impact sending ripples through Paul's form that made him question his life choices, death choices, and everything in between.

"Say you're a poorly written plot device!" Deadpool demanded between swings.

"I'M A POORLY WRITTEN PLOT DEVICE!" Paul sobbed.

"Say you have less character development than a background extra!" Venom added.

"I HAVE LESS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT THAN A BACKGROUND EXTRA!"

"Say Mary Jane deserves better than your generic ass!" Ghost Rider commanded.

"SHE DESERVES BETTER! EVERYONE DESERVES BETTER!"

Two hours later, Paul's ghost looked like it had been through a spiritual blender. He lay in a translucent heap, occasionally twitching and whimpering about "the glowing... so much glowing..."

"Same time next week?" Deadpool asked his companions cheerfully, tucking the special implements back into his bag.

"If he shows up again," Ghost Rider confirmed, the hellfire dimming as he reverted to Johnny Blaze.

"We'll be watching," Venom promised, melting into the shadows.

As they departed, leaving Paul's thoroughly educated spirit to contemplate his existence, Deadpool turned to the readers.

"Remember kids, nobody likes a Mary Sue. Or a Gary Stu in this case. Write better villains! Ones with actual motivation beyond 'I want the hero's girlfriend!' Now if you'll excuse me, I need to return these to the shop. You would not believe the late fees on spectral punishment devices."

Paul's ghost eventually reformed enough to float away, one thought crystal clear in his ectoplasmic brain: Maybe haunting Spider-Man wasn't worth it after all.

Chapter Text

The Cuckoos moved toward Peter with eerie synchronization, their identical blue eyes gleaming with shared purpose. Each step matched perfectly, five bodies moving as one consciousness.

"We've been preparing for this," Celeste began, her voice carrying an edge of anticipation.

"For months," Phoebe continued seamlessly.

"Mother provided us with extensive... educational materials," Irma added, a slight blush coloring her pale cheeks.

"Videos of your encounters with the others," Esme's lips curved into a knowing smile.

"We studied every technique, every response," Sophie finished.

Peter's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "Emma gave you…….."

"Everything." The word came from all five mouths simultaneously, their voices creating an unsettling harmony. "We know exactly what you like, Peter Parker."

They began circling him, a perfectly choreographed dance. Celeste moved behind him, her fingers trailing along his shoulders. Phoebe and Esme flanked his sides, while Irma and Sophie positioned themselves in front, just out of reach.

"We practiced," Phoebe whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

"On each other," Esme added from his other side, her hand sliding down his arm.

"Learning to synchronize our bodies," Sophie explained, her fingers working at his shirt buttons eagerly.

"Through our hive mind," Irma continued, helping her sister with the lower buttons.

"When one of us touches you..." Celeste demonstrated, her hands sliding under his loosened shirt.

Peter gasped as all five Cuckoos shuddered in unison, their eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"We all feel it," they said together, their voices breathless. "Your pleasure, our sister's satisfaction, multiplied five times over."

His shirt fell away, followed swiftly by his belt. Each sister had clearly been assigned a specific task, their movements too coordinated to be spontaneous. Celeste worked at his shoulders and back, her touches firm and knowing. Phoebe and Esme focused on his arms and sides, their fingers tracing patterns that made him shiver. Sophie and Irma handled his pants with clinical efficiency, though their shared psychic link betrayed their growing arousal.

"Mother was very thorough in her instructions," Celeste murmured against his neck.

"She wanted us properly educated," Phoebe agreed, nipping at his earlobe.

"Said we deserved to experience what she has," Esme's hand slipped lower, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Peter.

"All of us, together," Sophie emphasized, her eyes dark with desire.

"Creating a feedback loop of sensation," Irma finished, her scientific mind appreciating the unique dynamics even as her body responded to her sisters' shared experiences.

Peter found himself overwhelmed by the coordinated assault on his senses. Every touch was magnified, reflected through five minds and back again. When he reached for Sophie, all five girls moaned softly. When Esme pressed against him, he felt the phantom sensation of four other bodies responding in kind.

"This is..." he started, but words failed him.

"Exactly what Mother intended," the Cuckoos spoke in perfect unison, their individual personalities momentarily subsumed by their collective desire.

The door to the suite suddenly swung shut, the lock clicking into place without anyone touching it. Five identical smiles curved in perfect synchronization as they pressed closer, their bodies forming an inescapable circle around him.

"No escape now, Daddy Peter," they said as one, their voices carrying a mixture of innocence and promise that sent shivers down his spine.

The Cuckoos moved eagerly, their bodies flowing into position like water finding its level. Sophie and Irma dropped to their knees in perfect unison, their hands already reaching for Peter's hardening length.

"Position Alpha," Celeste announced, though the words were unnecessary. Their hive mind had already communicated the formation.

Sophie's lips wrapped around Peter's cock while Irma's tongue found his balls, their movements complementing each other with impossible coordination. Above them, Phoebe claimed Peter's left nipple while Esme mirrored her actions on the right. Celeste captured his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, swallowing his groan of pleasure.

Through their psychic link, the sensation multiplied exponentially. Sophie felt not just Peter's length in her throat, but the phantom sensation of her sisters' mouths on him, the way his nipples hardened under their tongues, the taste of his kiss through Celeste's perception. All five girls moaned in unison, the vibrations sending shockwaves through Peter's system.

"Fuck," Peter gasped when Celeste broke the kiss for air. His enhanced senses were overwhelmed: five heartbeats pounding in perfect rhythm, five sets of lungs drawing breath in sync, the scent of their identical yet subtly different arousal filling the air.

"Rotation," Esme commanded after precisely three minutes.

They moved like a well-oiled machine. Sophie pulled off his cock with a wet pop as Phoebe took her place, while Sophie claimed Esme's former position at his nipple. Irma shifted from his balls to his shaft. Celeste moved to his other nipple, and Esme straddled his face, her already-wet pussy hovering just above his lips.

"Taste me," Esme demanded, lowering herself onto his eager mouth.

The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. All five Cuckoos cried out as they experienced Esme's pleasure through their shared consciousness. Phoebe nearly choked on Peter's cock as she felt the phantom sensation of his tongue through her sister's perception. Irma's rhythm on his balls faltered as waves of shared pleasure crashed through their link.

Peter's tongue worked expertly, finding the spots that made Esme, and by extension, all her sisters, writhe with pleasure. His hands found Sophie and Celeste's breasts, kneading them as they lavished attention on his nipples. The feedback loop intensified with each passing second.

"Oh god, we can all…" Irma started.

"Feel it," Sophie finished.

"Every lick," Phoebe moaned around his cock.

"Every touch," Celeste gasped.

"Multiplied," Esme ground out, riding his face harder.

Three minutes. Another rotation. Irma deep-throated him while Celeste worked his balls. Sophie and Phoebe claimed his nipples while Esme kissed him deeply, her sisters' taste still on his lips. The synchronized assault continued, each position change executed eagerly.

Peter's enhanced metabolism was the only thing keeping him from losing control. Every time he neared the edge, their collective consciousness sensed it, pulling back just enough to keep him suspended in exquisite torture. His muscles tensed and relaxed in waves, his breathing ragged between kisses.

"Position Gamma," Celeste called out during the next rotation.

This time, Celeste took him deep while Esme worked his balls with her tongue. Irma and Sophie attended to his nipples while Phoebe straddled his face, her thighs trembling as she lowered herself onto his mouth.

The room filled with their synchronized moans, five voices creating a symphony of pleasure. Peter could feel their shared arousal building, each sister's pleasure amplifying the others in an endless feedback loop. When he sucked on Phoebe's clit, all five girls bucked their hips. When Celeste took him to the base, all five throats constricted with the phantom sensation.

"He's close again," Irma observed, her scientific mind still functioning despite the overwhelming sensations.

"Pull back," Sophie commanded.

They eased off just enough, keeping him on the knife's edge of release. Peter's hands clenched and unclenched, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. The Cuckoos were faring no better, their pale skin flushed pink, their breathing synchronized in desperate pants.

Another rotation. Sophie's turn to deep-throat while Phoebe worked his balls. Celeste and Esme on his nipples, Irma grinding against his face. The feedback loop had reached critical mass. Every sensation magnified five-fold, every pleasure shared and reflected back.

"Please," Peter groaned when Irma lifted herself slightly. "I can't..."

Sophie pulled off his cock and moved with inhuman speed, positioning herself over his face before he could finish his plea. "You can," she said firmly, lowering her dripping pussy onto his mouth. "We're just getting started, Daddy Peter."

The Cuckoos arranged themselves around the bed, their movements flowing. Celeste positioned herself above Peter's straining cock while Sophie settled over his face, her thighs trembling with anticipation.

"Position Delta," Celeste announced, though her sisters already knew through their shared consciousness. "Full contact maintained at all times."

She sank down onto Peter's length in one smooth motion, drawing a collective gasp from all five sisters. The sensation rippled through their hive mind: the stretch, the fullness, the way Peter's cock hit that perfect spot deep inside. Sophie ground against his mouth, his tongue finding her clit with unerring accuracy.

Phoebe and Esme positioned themselves on either side, their hands roaming over Celeste's body, pinching her nipples, tracing patterns on her skin. Irma knelt behind Celeste, her fingers working between her own legs while her other hand gripped Celeste's hip, helping guide her movements.

"Fuck," Celeste hissed, setting a brutal pace. Her dominance showed in every movement, taking what she wanted without hesitation. She rode him hard, her hips slamming down with enough force to make the reinforced bed creak. "Mother wasn't exaggerating about your... capabilities."

Through their link, all five sisters felt Peter's cock stretching Celeste, the way her inner walls clenched around him, the building pressure of her approaching orgasm. Sophie nearly came just from the phantom sensations combined with Peter's talented tongue.

"Three minutes," Irma announced breathlessly, her scientific mind still tracking despite the overwhelming pleasure.

They rotated seamlessly. Sophie took Celeste's place, sliding onto Peter's cock with a softer moan. Where Celeste had been demanding, Sophie was gentle, rolling her hips in slow circles that had Peter groaning against Esme's pussy, now positioned over his mouth.

"Let me show you something special," Sophie whispered, her eyes glowing faintly white.

She projected pure, concentrated pleasure directly into Peter's mind—not just physical sensation but emotional ecstasy, the feeling of being completely desired, completely accepted. Peter's back arched off the bed, his hands gripping Sophie's thighs hard enough to leave marks.

"Oh god, we can all feel that," Phoebe gasped, her fingers working frantically between her legs.

"The psychic feedback," Celeste panted, "it's incredible."

Sophie rode him slowly, savoring every inch, every twitch of his cock inside her. Her sisters' hands were everywhere: Celeste playing with her breasts, Phoebe kissing her neck, Irma's fingers circling her clit. The combined physical and psychic stimulation had all five sisters trembling on the edge.

"Rotation," Esme commanded, her voice thick with need.

She spun around, taking Peter reverse cowgirl style, giving her sisters perfect access to her body. Celeste and Sophie immediately latched onto her breasts, sucking and biting her nipples while Phoebe's fingers found her clit. Irma straddled Peter's face, grinding against his eager mouth.

"Look at me," Esme demanded, glancing back at Peter. "Watch me take your cock."

She bounced on him with abandon, her perfect ass rippling with each impact. Through their link, her sisters felt every sensation: the different angle hitting new spots inside her, the way Peter's hands gripped her hips, the building tension in her core.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Esme chanted, her rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm going to..."

"Not yet," Phoebe said firmly, pulling her sister off Peter's cock just before she peaked. "My turn."

Phoebe positioned herself on all fours, looking back at Peter with dark eyes. "I want you in my ass," she said bluntly. "While I finger myself."

Peter groaned, his cock twitching at her words. Celeste produced lube from somewhere—they'd clearly come prepared—and helped prepare Phoebe while Sophie continued riding Peter's face, her thighs shaking with her approaching orgasm.

Phoebe sank back onto him slowly, inch by inch, broadcasting every sensation through their link. The tight heat, the stretch, the fullness—all five sisters experienced it simultaneously. When she started fingering her pussy, the dual penetration sensation nearly overwhelmed their collective consciousness.

"Holy shit," Irma gasped, her scientific vocabulary failing her.

"We can feel both," Celeste moaned, her hands between her legs.

"Every finger, every thrust," Sophie whimpered against Peter's mouth, having switched positions with Esme.

Phoebe set a steady rhythm, fucking herself on Peter's cock while three fingers worked her pussy. Her sisters touched her everywhere they could reach, their hands and mouths worshipping her body. The feedback loop intensified with each passing second, pleasure building exponentially through their shared mind.

"Mindee," Phoebe gasped after her allotted time, using Irma's nickname. "Finish us."

Irma—Mindee—approached with a predatory grace that seemed at odds with her usually analytical demeanor. She'd been watching, learning, cataloging every response, every technique that worked best. Now she put that knowledge to use.

She mounted Peter slowly, maintaining eye contact as she sank onto his cock. Her sisters arranged themselves around her: Celeste and Sophie on her breasts, Esme's fingers on her clit, Phoebe's mouth on her neck. But Mindee had one more surprise.

"Diamond form," she whispered, and her skin shifted, becoming crystalline.

The sensation was indescribable. Her diamond form was impossibly tight, impossibly smooth, creating friction unlike anything Peter had experienced. She couldn't access their psychic link in this form, but her sisters could still feel everything through their connection to each other.

"Oh fuck," Peter groaned against Celeste's pussy, now riding his face. "Mindee, that's..."

She shifted back to flesh, then diamond, then flesh again, alternating forms with each thrust. The contrast drove Peter wild, his hips bucking up to meet her. Her sisters' hands never stopped moving, their collective arousal spiraling higher with each form shift.

"I'm going to cum," Mindee announced, her scientific detachment finally cracking. "First one... now!"

Her first orgasm hit like a lightning strike, coursing through all five sisters simultaneously. They cried out in unison, their bodies convulsing with shared pleasure. But Mindee didn't stop, riding through the oversensitivity, chasing her second peak.

"Again," she gasped, her form flickering between diamond and flesh. "Stronger..."

The second orgasm built on the first, amplified through their link. Sophie came against Peter's mouth, her thighs clamping around his head. Celeste and Phoebe clung to each other, riding out the waves of shared ecstasy. Esme's fingers never stopped working Mindee's clit, prolonging the pleasure.

"Third," Mindee panted, her movements becoming frantic. "Almost... almost..."

Peter could feel his own control slipping. The combination of Mindee's alternating forms, Celeste riding his face, and the collective pleasure of five women experiencing multiple simultaneous orgasms was too much. His hands gripped Mindee's diamond hips hard enough to crack normal stone.

"Together," Mindee commanded, feeling his approaching release. "All of us... now!"

Her fourth orgasm triggered a chain reaction. Through their psychic link, the pleasure multiplied exponentially, each sister's climax feeding into the others in an endless loop. They screamed in perfect unison, five voices becoming one as their individual consciousnesses merged completely in that moment of absolute ecstasy.

Peter came harder than he ever had in his life, his enhanced physiology producing enough to trigger another wave of orgasms through the sisters as Mindee's womb flooded with his seed. The feedback loop continued for what felt like eternity, each pulse triggering another, another, another...

When it finally ended, all six of them collapsed in a tangle of limbs, gasping for breath. The Cuckoos' hive mind gradually separated back into five distinct personalities, though the phantom sensations lingered.

"Holy fuck," Phoebe said eloquently.

"That was..." Sophie started.

"Incredible," Celeste finished.

"Scientifically fascinating," Mindee added, earning weak laughter from her sisters.

"World-ending," Esme concluded.

"But we aren't done." They all say.

The Cuckoos rose as one. Five pairs of identical blue eyes gleamed with shared intent as they arranged themselves into what they'd clearly rehearsed in their collective consciousness.

"Ultimate formation," they announced in perfect unison, their voices creating an otherworldly harmony.

Celeste positioned herself above Peter's still-hard cock, her thighs trembling with anticipation. Sophie and Esme flanked him, each taking a nipple between their lips while positioning their dripping pussies against his muscular thighs. Phoebe swung her leg over his head, settling her pussy just above his mouth. Behind Celeste, Mindee pressed close, her breasts against her sister's back, one hand reaching around to find Celeste's clit while grinding her own pussy against Celeste's ass.

"Begin," they commanded themselves.

They moved as one organism, bodies undulating in perfect waves. When Celeste rose up, Sophie and Esme ground down against Peter's thighs. When she sank down, they lifted slightly, creating a constant rhythm of pressure and release. Phoebe rolled her hips in time with her sisters, and Mindee's fingers on Celeste's clit matched the tempo exactly.

The physical coordination was impressive, but the psychic assault was devastating. All five minds focused their combined arousal directly into Peter's consciousness. He didn't just feel Celeste's pussy clenching around his cock; he felt it from her perspective too, the fullness, the stretch, the way each ridge and vein dragged against her walls. He experienced Sophie and Esme's nipple play from both sides, feeling his own nipples being sucked while simultaneously experiencing the sensation of sucking them. Phoebe's pussy on his tongue came with the phantom taste in four other mouths. Mindee's grinding against Celeste created a cascade of sensation that multiplied through their link.

"Feel us," they chanted, their voices weaving together hypnotically. "All of us."

"Every nerve."

"Every pleasure."

"Multiplied."

"Reflected."

"Endless."

Their bodies moved in perfect synchronization, rising and falling like a single wave. Celeste's pace increased gradually, her sisters matching her rhythm without conscious thought. The wet sounds of their movements created an obscene symphony: slick flesh against flesh, desperate moans harmonizing, the creak of the reinforced bed beneath them.

"Cum inside us," they began to chant, the words overlapping and interweaving.

"Fill us," Celeste moaned, slamming down harder.

"Breed us," Sophie and Esme whispered against his nipples, their tongues never stopping.

"Make us yours," Phoebe gasped, grinding against his mouth.

"Claim us all," Mindee added, her fingers working Celeste's clit faster.

The chant continued, building in volume and intensity. Their individual voices blended into something hypnotic, almost otherworldly. The psychic pressure in Peter's mind increased with each repetition, their combined will focused on a single purpose.

"Cum inside us, fill us, breed us, make us yours."

"Cum inside us, fill us, breed us, make us yours."

"CUM INSIDE US, FILL US, BREED US, MAKE US YOURS."

Peter's enhanced physiology, which had helped him last this long, finally reached its limit. The combination of physical stimulation and psychic assault shattered his control completely. His back arched off the bed, every muscle tensing as his orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave.

"YES!" all five Cuckoos screamed in unison as Celeste's womb flooded with his seed.

Through their psychic link, each sister experienced the sensation of being filled. They felt the hot spurts painting Celeste's insides, the way her cervix dipped to drink him in, the primal satisfaction of being claimed. Their synchronized orgasm lasted longer than should have been possible, fed by the psychic feedback loop of five minds experiencing the same earth-shattering climax.

But they weren't done.

The moment Peter's orgasm ended, they moved with inhuman coordination. Sophie and Esme's mouths left his nipples, descending to his cock as Celeste lifted off. They cleaned him with their tongues, sharing his taste between them, the mixture of his cum and Celeste's arousal driving them wild. Their technique was perfect: just enough stimulation to resurrect his erection without overwhelming his sensitive flesh.

"My turn," Sophie announced, taking Celeste's former position.

They resumed the formation with subtle variations. This time, Celeste and Phoebe attended to his nipples while Esme sat on his face. Mindee stayed behind Sophie, her fingers working her sister's clit while grinding against her.

The chant resumed, more intense than before:

"We need your cum."

"Need to be filled."

"Need to be bred."

"Need to be yours."

"Forever and always."

Sophie rode him with desperate passion, her usual gentle nature overwhelmed by the collective need coursing through their link. She projected pure love into Peter's mind: not romantic love, but something deeper, more primal. The love of belonging, of being chosen, of finding their purpose.

Peter came again, his enhanced recovery time pushed to its limits. Sophie's pussy milked him greedily, her sisters experiencing every pulse through their connection. They held the sensation between them, amplifying it, savoring it, before moving to the next rotation.

Esme took her turn, riding him reverse cowgirl while her sisters maintained the formation. Her competitive nature showed as she worked to draw out his biggest orgasm yet, using every technique she'd observed, every trick she'd learned. When Peter filled her, she threw her head back in triumph, her sisters sharing her victorious pleasure.

They cleaned him again, four tongues working in perfect coordination while the fifth sister recovered. The sight alone was enough to resurrect his flagging erection: four identical beauties worshipping his cock with single-minded devotion.

Phoebe's turn. She took him in her ass again, the tightness almost painful after so many orgasms. Her sisters' fingers worked her pussy, their mouths on her breasts, their minds feeding her pleasure back to Peter in an endless loop. When he came, she shifted to her pussy at the last second, ensuring she too was properly filled.

Finally, Mindee. She alternated between diamond and flesh form with each thrust, the contrast driving them all to new heights. Her scientific mind catalogued every response, every twitch, filing away data even as her body surrendered to pleasure. She made him cum twice: once in her pussy, once in her ass. Her sisters helped to milk every drop from his exhausted body.

When it was over, when each sister had been thoroughly filled at least once, they arranged themselves in a perfect circle on the bed. Their heads pointed inward, creating a five-pointed star with Peter at the center. Each placed a hand on her stomach, the other reaching out to touch their sisters, maintaining their connection.

"We can feel it," they whispered in unison, their voices soft with wonder.

"The spark of life."

"Taking root."

"Growing within us."

"Your children."

"Our children."

"The future."

Their eyes glowed faintly white as they extended their consciousness inward, touching the potential they'd just created. Five minds reached out to the possibilities growing within five wombs, welcoming them, protecting them, loving them already.

Peter lay in their center, completely drained, his enhanced metabolism working overtime to recover from the most intense sexual experience of his life. He could feel them through the psychic residue they'd left in his mind: five points of light surrounding him, pulsing with life and possibility.

"Thank you," the Cuckoos said as one, their hands still resting on their stomachs. "For giving us what we needed."

"What we craved."

"What completes us."

"What makes us whole."

"What makes us... mothers."

The last word was whispered with such reverence, such joy, that Peter felt tears prick his eyes. He reached out, his hands finding theirs, creating a six-pointed connection. In that moment, in the aftermath of their shared ecstasy, they were truly one: six minds, six bodies, but a single purpose.

The future they'd just created together.

Emma reclined against the villa's master bedroom headboard, her tablet casting a soft glow across her pregnant belly. The crystalline display showed multiple angles of the afternoon's encounter, each feed capturing different aspects of the Cuckoos' synchronized performance with Peter. Her ice-blue eyes tracked data streams alongside the video: biometric readings, pheromone levels, and most intriguingly, psychic energy signatures.

"Fascinating," she murmured, pinching to zoom on a particular timestamp. The moment when all five Cuckoos had climaxed in perfect unison, their psychic output had created something unprecedented. The energy signature didn't show five separate spikes but rather a single, massive surge that seemed to exist in five places simultaneously.

Peter entered from the ensuite bathroom, towel around his waist, his hair still damp. Even his enhanced metabolism hadn't fully recovered from the afternoon's intensity. He collapsed beside Emma on the bed, his hand automatically finding her belly where their twins rested.

"Still reviewing your choreography?" he asked, glancing at the tablet. "You know, most wives don't direct their husband's extramarital encounters like Broadway productions."

"Most wives don't have our arrangement," Emma replied absently, her attention fixed on the data. "And most husbands can't impregnate an entire species. Besides, this isn't about the sex anymore. Look at this."

She turned the tablet toward him, showing a complex wavelength pattern. "This is a normal psychic signature during orgasm. Mine, from our wedding night." A single spike appeared, intense but contained. "And this is Jean's, when the Phoenix was involved." A larger, more chaotic pattern. "Now watch the Cuckoos."

The display changed, showing five synchronized wavelengths that suddenly merged into something else entirely. The pattern didn't just combine; it transformed into something that seemed to exist outside normal dimensional space.

"What am I looking at?" Peter asked, sitting up straighter.

"I'm not entirely certain," Emma admitted, a rarity for her. "But those final words they spoke, about feeling the spark of life, they weren't being poetic. Peter, I think we've created something unprecedented."

She pulled up additional data, her fingers flying across the screen. "The Cuckoos aren't just five telepaths sharing a connection. They're five bodies hosting a single distributed consciousness. When you impregnated them simultaneously while they were in that state of perfect unity..."

"Emma," Peter's voice carried genuine concern. "What did we do?"

"We may have created the first truly collective pregnancy. Not five separate children, but one consciousness growing across five bodies simultaneously."

Peter stared at her, his mind struggling to process the implications. "That's... is that even possible?"

"With normal humans? No. With mutants? Unlikely. With five identical clones sharing a psychic hive mind?" Emma set the tablet aside, meeting his eyes. "We're in uncharted territory."

A soft knock interrupted them. Without waiting for permission, the door opened, and the Cuckoos entered. They moved with an eerie fluidity that went beyond their usual synchronization. Each step was perfectly matched, each breath drawn in unison. Their eyes glowed with a faint white light that hadn't been there before.

"Mother," they said as one, their voices creating that unsettling harmony. "Father."

Emma noticed immediately how they'd shifted to calling Peter 'Father' rather than 'Daddy Peter.' Something fundamental had changed.

"We heard your discussion," the Cuckoos continued, approaching the bed. "Your analysis is correct."

They arranged themselves at the foot of the bed: Celeste in the center, Sophie and Phoebe flanking her, Esme and Irma at the edges. Their hands found each other, creating an unbroken chain.

"We can feel it already," Celeste's mouth moved, but the voice came from all five throats. "Not them. It."

"A single consciousness," Sophie's lips formed the words.

"Distributed across five wombs," Phoebe added.

"Growing in perfect synchronization," Esme continued.

"One mind," Irma concluded. "Five bodies."

Emma leaned forward, her scientific curiosity overriding maternal concern. "Can you sense its thoughts?"

The Cuckoos' eyes glowed brighter. "Not thoughts. Not yet. But... presence. Like an echo of ourselves, but also something entirely new."

They moved closer, their free hands reaching out to touch Emma's belly where the twins rested. The moment contact was made, Emma gasped. Through the connection, she could feel it: a presence that existed in five places at once, neither here nor there but somehow everywhere within the Cuckoos' collective.

"It's learning," the Cuckoos whispered. "From us. From our connection. It will be born knowing how to exist as we do, but more. Where we are five minds that can join, it will be one mind that can divide."

Peter reached out tentatively, his hand joining theirs on Emma's stomach. The psychic feedback hit him immediately, not overwhelming like during sex, but profound in a different way. He could sense the potential growing within them, something that defied conventional understanding.

"The first true collective mutant," Emma breathed, her analytical mind racing. "It could revolutionize our understanding of consciousness itself."

The Cuckoos' expressions shifted subtly, each face showing a slightly different emotion while maintaining their unified presence. Pride from Celeste, curiosity from Irma, protectiveness from Sophie, excitement from Phoebe, and from Esme, something like hunger for the power this represented.

"We are no longer five," they said in unison, their voices carrying an otherworldly resonance. "We are six."

Their hands moved to their own stomachs, each touching the space where their shared child grew.

"And soon," they continued, their eyes blazing with white light, "we will be eleven."

The number hung in the air like a prophecy. Five Cuckoos, one distributed consciousness growing within them, and Emma's twins. But the way they said it suggested something more. Not just eleven individuals, but perhaps an entirely new form of collective existence.

"Eleven what?" Peter asked, though he suspected he didn't want to know the answer.

The Cuckoos smiled: five identical expressions that somehow conveyed vastly different meanings.

"Eleven points of a single star," Celeste said alone, her individuality asserting itself for just a moment.

"A constellation of consciousness," Sophie added.

"Your twins will be drawn to us," Phoebe explained, her hand still on Emma's belly.

"To our collective," Esme clarified.

"To their sibling," Irma finished. "The one who is five."

Emma's eyes narrowed, her protective instincts flaring. "My children will maintain their individual identities."

"Of course," the Cuckoos said soothingly. "But they will also have the option to join something greater. A family not just of blood, but of mind."

They began to withdraw, moving backward toward the door without breaking their hand-holding chain or eye contact.

"Rest now," they said. "More days of pleasure and love await."

Peter watched the door close behind the Cuckoos, their synchronized footsteps fading down the villa's hallway. He turned to Emma, concern etched across his features. "Should we be worried about this? A collective consciousness growing across five bodies, talking about our twins joining them..."

Emma set her tablet on the nightstand, a bemused smile playing at her ice-blue lips. "Worried? Darling, have you ever seen new mothers?" She shifted to face him fully, her hand caressing his cheek. "In three months, they'll be fussing over dirty diapers, arguing about feeding schedules, and dealing with five bodies worth of pregnancy hormones. Trust me, the mystical collective consciousness talk will take a backseat to sore nipples and sleepless nights."

"Emma..." Peter started, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

"And within six months, they'll be begging you to give them another. Each of them will want their own individual child alongside their shared one. Mark my words, Peter Parker, those five will be competing to see who can seduce you first for round two."

Despite his concerns, Peter couldn't help but laugh. "You sound very confident about that."

"I know women, Peter. I especially know myself, and they're my clones." She pulled him down beside her, guiding his arms around her expanded waist. "The collective consciousness is fascinating, even revolutionary, but it won't override their individual desires. If anything, feeling their shared child will make each of them crave their own even more."

Peter nestled against her, his chest pressed to her back, both their hands coming to rest on her belly. The twins were active tonight, rolling and kicking in response to their parents' touch.

"Besides," Emma continued, her voice softening, "we have more immediate concerns. These two are ready to make their entrance any day now. I can feel it."

"The nursery at the Manhattan penthouse is ready," Peter murmured against her neck. "And the medical team is on standby."

"Mmm, good. Though I was thinking..." Emma traced lazy circles on the back of his hand. "We should extend the honeymoon after I give birth. A few months. Take the twins to that private island near Krakoa. Let them meet their siblings when Storm's and Jean's children are born."

"A month-long family gathering with multiple women I've impregnated and our various offspring?" Peter chuckled. "That's either the best or worst idea you've ever had."

"Best," Emma said decisively. "The children should know each other from the start. And despite the unconventional nature of our arrangement, we are a family. All of us."

Peter pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "What about the Cuckoos? They'll need support during their... unique pregnancy."

"They'll have the best care Krakoa can provide. Hank is already fascinated by the biological implications. Though I suspect they'll be quite self-sufficient. A hive mind means they can support each other through morning sickness simultaneously." She paused, amusement coloring her tone. "Actually, I'm curious if they'll all experience symptoms at once or if it will rotate through them."

"That's a terrifying thought. Five women with synchronized mood swings."

Emma laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Oh, my dear husband, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Seven pregnant women in your life, soon to be mothers to your children. The Parker genes are going to reshape the future."

She felt Peter's hand tighten protectively on her belly. "Our children will be extraordinary."

"Beyond extraordinary," Emma agreed. "Sophie and Nathan will have your strength and my telepathy. Storm's triplets will command weather and web. Jean's three will have cosmic potential. Jennifer's child will be the strongest there is. And whatever the Cuckoos birth... well, that will redefine what we understand about mutant evolution."

"No pressure on them or anything," Peter said dryly.

Emma turned in his arms, facing him despite the awkwardness of her pregnant belly between them. "They'll have something more important than power, Peter. They'll have you as their father. Your sense of responsibility, your moral compass, your determination to always do the right thing even when it costs you everything."

Peter's eyes softened, his hand coming up to cup her face. "And they'll have you. Your brilliance, your fierce protection of those you love, your ability to see twelve steps ahead of everyone else."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Parker."

"I thought I already got everywhere, Mrs. Frost-Parker."

"Cheeky." Emma pulled him down for a kiss, slow and deep. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. "Three more weeks of honeymoon bliss. Then we return to New York for the birth. After that..."

"After that, we navigate the chaos of our beautiful, complicated, extraordinary family," Peter finished.

Emma smiled, settling back against him. "I do love how you've embraced this. Four years ago, you could barely look me in the eye at that gala."

"Four years ago, I was broken," Peter admitted quietly. "You put me back together. Gave me purpose beyond the mask."

"We put each other back together," Emma corrected. "Now stop being maudlin. I need my sleep. These twins have been practicing their acrobatics all day."

Peter pulled the silk sheets over them, his hand never leaving her belly. He could feel the babies settling, responding to their parents' calm. "Emma?"

"Mm?"

"I love you. All of this, everything we've built, everyone we've brought into our lives... I wouldn't change a thing."

Emma's hand covered his, their wedding rings clicking softly together. "I love you too, Peter. Now sleep. Tomorrow, the Cuckoos want to discuss nursery arrangements for their collective child. I have a feeling it will involve some sort of psychically connected cribs."

Peter groaned. "Of course it will."

Emma's laughter was the last thing he heard before sleep claimed them both, wrapped in each other's arms, their hands protective over the lives they'd created together. Outside, the moon cast silver light through the villa windows, and somewhere down the hall, five minds dreamed a single dream of the future they were building, one extraordinary child at a time.

The Parker-Frost dynasty was just beginning, and the world would never be the same.