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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.