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 sweatdampened 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 singleorigin 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.