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 everrising 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.