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Chapter Text

Intro Music: X-Men TAS 1992 Theme Song

The X-Mansion

BGM: X-Men TAS Theme - Chill Remix

The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the X-Mansion, casting elongated shadows across the polished floor of the East Wing. Within the quietude of her office, Emma Frost sat with perfect poise behind a mahogany desk, her white suit pristine as ever, as her blue eyes scanned over a stack of essays with the precision of a laser. Red ink flowed freely, striking through grammatical mishaps and passive voice like it was her personal vendetta.

She had never imagined herself here—teaching—of all things. There was a time when she would've scoffed at the idea. But here she was, years into her tenure as the Institute's English teacher, both revered and feared by her students in equal measure. In her own way, she'd found a place among the X-Men. It had taken time, trust, and no small amount of biting sarcasm, but somehow... they'd become her family. A dysfunctional, maddening, wonderful family.

Still, she liked her quiet moments. Order. Control. Grading papers gave her that.

A soft knock echoed on the doorframe. Emma didn't look up immediately—she never rewarded hesitation—but eventually lifted her eyes. Standing there, casual as always, was Jean Grey, her red hair pulled into a loose braid, her green eyes dancing with amusement.

"Don't you ever get tired of being predictable?" Jean asked with a smile.

Emma arched a brow. "Do you come here just to loiter in doorways or is there a point?"

Jean chuckled and stepped inside, arms crossed. "Some of us are heading out for a little while. A few drinks, maybe some bad karaoke. You should come."

Emma returned her attention to a particularly disastrous paragraph. "I'm busy."

Jean didn't budge. "That's what you always say."

"Because it's always true." Emma retorted. 

Jean tilted her head, her tone softening. "It's okay to take a break once in a while. You know that, right?"

"I don't need a break," Emma said, still not looking up.

There was a pause. Jean sighed, but it wasn't one of defeat—more like the gentle exhale of someone trying to coax a stubborn cat off a high shelf. "Suit yourself."

She turned to leave, her footsteps light. But halfway out, something occurred to her. She pivoted, leaning back against the doorframe.

"Ya know, I wonder," Jean mused, tapping her chin, "if you'd be any different if you had a boyfriend."

Emma didn't miss a beat. "Please. I don't need a boyfriend."

Jean smirked. "No? Retired from relationship drama, have we?"

Emma finally looked up, eyes sharp and amused. "Yes. The day I stopped caring about Scott's indecisiveness was the day I found true inner peace."

Jean chuckled at that, a rare moment of mutual understanding between them. "Fair. But just… don't let the past keep writing your future. I think if you ever did open yourself up again, you'd have a line of men out the door."

That made Emma pause. Her pen hovered mid-air before she set it down and met Jean's gaze with a smirk. "Oh, please. Of course there'd be a line. I'd just rather not waste time sorting through them."

Jean gave a playful shrug. "All it takes is the right one. Someone who can keep you grounded."

Emma rolled her eyes with such elegant flair it could've been choreographed. "Well, when you stumble across the man capable of accomplishing that miracle, do let me know. I'll alert the Vatican."

Jean's grin widened just a touch. "Oh, I will."

She turned and left with a lightness in her step, already scheming. Names and faces flickered through her mind as she walked down the hallway. Most she dismissed instantly—too immature, too vain, too... fragile. But then, like a whispered telepathic epiphany, a name came to her.

And she smiled.

Back in the office, Emma leaned back in her chair and muttered to herself, "God, I hope she doesn't get any ideas."

But knowing Jean?

She definitely would.

New York City

BGM: Warbly Jets - Alive

Across the skyline of New York City, Spider-Man zipped through the golden haze of sunset, the wind whipping around him as he deftly navigated between buildings. In one hand, he held tight to a web-line, and in the other—a few paper bags filled with groceries, all of which were threatening to tip over with each swing.

"Okay," Peter muttered to himself, "milk, eggs, bread, frozen peas… did she say peanut butter or almond butter?"

His brow furrowed behind the mask. "Please let it be peanut. I am not going back to Trader Joe's on a Saturday."

Just then, the familiar buzz of his phone sounded in his suit. He swung to a nearby rooftop and landed with a soft thud, setting the groceries down carefully. He dug into one of the compartments in his suit and pulled out his phone, already expecting Aunt May's contact photo to pop up.

But it wasn't her.

"Huh?" Peter tilted his head. "Jean?"

Now that was unexpected.

He tapped to answer the call. "Hey Jean, uh… everything okay?"

"Hi, Peter," Jean's warm voice came through the line. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

Peter chuckled lightly. "Well, I'm in the middle of trying to get groceries back to Aunt May before the ice cream melts, but for you? I've got time."

Jean let out a quiet laugh. "Good to know."

There was a pause on her end. Then she asked, "Peter, are you… single?"

Peter blinked behind the mask. "Whoa. Uh. That's a twist."

He paused, processing the question. "Yes… I'm single, but… wait. Is everything okay with you and Scott?"

Jean laughed, soft and sincere. "Everything's fine with me and Scott. This isn't about me."

Peter narrowed his eyes, suddenly even more curious. "Then… what's going on?"

"Well," Jean said, stretching the word, "I'm sort of playing matchmaker at the moment. And I wanted to know if you'd be willing to go on a date."

Peter raised an eyebrow and laughed nervously. "A date? Like, an actual one? With a real person? Not one of your Danger Room projections or anything?"

"An actual date, Peter." assured Jean.

He scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight. "Okay… um, who's the lucky girl?"

Jean went quiet for a moment before saying, "Emma."

The rooftop suddenly felt ten degrees warmer.

"Emma?" Peter repeated, voice climbing in pitch. "Emma Frost?"

"That's the one." Jean confirmed.

Peter gave a small laugh, stunned. "Jean… I don't think I'm really her type. I mean, I'm more of the awkward, science-geek, cereal-for-dinner type, and Emma's… you know… intimidatingly gorgeous, terrifyingly smart, walks-into-a-room-and-silences-it type."

"That's nonsense," Jean said firmly. "You're a good guy, Peter. And don't let her exterior fool you. There's more to Emma than she lets people see. I think you two might surprise each other."

Peter paused, taking in Jean's words. "Okay, but… does she even know about this?"

Jean's smile was audible through the phone. "Not yet."

Peter blinked, and proceeded to exclaim, "Not yet?!"

"She will," Jean said sweetly. "Right now, I just need to know if you're in."

Peter hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck again. His mind was a swirl of questions, doubts, and the ghost of a grin. But… he would eventually give his answer.

"I mean… yeah. If she wants to go on a date with me, then… yeah, I'd go." Peter stated.

"Perfect," Jean replied, clearly satisfied. "Don't worry about a thing. I've got it all under control."

Peter, however, still had more questions. "Jean, wait, how exactly are you-"

"You'll show up at the X-Mansion tomorrow at seven. See you then!"

Before Peter could even respond to Jean's comment, the line went dead.

Peter stood there for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear as he processed everything in silence.

"…Well," he muttered, staring into the skyline, "that was a thing."

He looked down at the bags at his feet. "Better not forget the peanut butter now."

With a resigned sigh, he picked up the groceries again and shot a web into the air.

As he soared back into the city's rhythm, he couldn't help but wonder: What would a date with Emma Frost even look like? And what the heck do you wear for something like that?

From the looks of it, he'll get his answers tomorrow.

The X-Mansion

BGM: Kingdom Hearts II - Lazy Afternoons

Morning sunlight poured into the X-Mansion's spacious kitchen, casting soft golden rays across the white marble countertops. Emma stood alone, coffee cup in hand, dressed in a silk robe that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. She leaned against the counter, savoring the silence, the warmth of the mug, and the brief illusion that she might be left alone to enjoy both.

"Emma!"

The voice came from the hallway.

Emma sighed dramatically into her coffee before the cup even left her lips. "Of course," she muttered.

Jean stepped into the kitchen, barefoot and far too chipper for this hour. Emma didn't look up immediately. She didn't have to. She already knew exactly who it was. Instead, she took another sip of her drink with the air of someone preparing for psychological warfare.

"Tell me," Emma said dryly, still staring into her coffee, "are you determined to interrupt every one of my rare moments of peace, or is this a special occasion?"

Jean waved off the comment like she was swatting at a fly. "Oh, this interruption is for a very good reason."

Emma raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. The silence between them stretched just long enough for Jean to pick up on the unspoken cue: Get to the point.

With a sly smile forming, Jean leaned against the opposite counter. "I got you a date tonight."

The reaction was instant. Emma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering her previous conversation with Jean. "You do realize that I wasn't serious about you finding me a man, correct?"

Jean placed a hand over her chest, feigning shock. "You weren't serious? I had no idea."

Emma exhaled slowly, deliberately. She reopened her eyes and finally looked at Jean. There was irritation there, sure, but just beneath it, buried under layers of ice and sass, was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

"Fine," Emma said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Let's get this over with. Who, exactly, have you thrown me to?"

Jean grinned, clearly enjoying the buildup far too much. She paused, dramatic as ever, before finally saying, "Peter Parker."

Emma blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

"Peter Parker?" she repeated, like the words physically did not compute.

"Yep," Jean said cheerfully, grabbing a banana off the counter like this was the most casual matchmaking ever.

Of all the names Jean could've thrown at Emma, that one hadn't even made the list.

"Spider-Man?" Emma asked, like she needed even more clarification.

Jean chuckled, looking far too pleased with herself as she enjoyed The White Queen's reaction. "Yes, Emma."

Emma didn't respond immediately. She stared down into her coffee, now being deep in thought. On the surface, she and Peter couldn't have been more different.

And yet…

She remembered the one time she'd peeked into his mind sometime ago. What she saw there stayed with her. Pain wrapped in layers of humor. Loss masked behind responsibility. But most of all, a soul so painfully pure that it made her feel something she wasn't used to feeling.

Hope.

But, ya know, nobody will ever catch her actually admitting that.

Her silence stretched a beat too long, and Jean tilted her head. "Emma?"

Coming back to reality, Emma finally looked up. "What time is he supposed to be here?"

Jean smiled. "Seven. But don't be surprised if he's late. Peter has a… reputation."

Emma smirked at that. "If he is, I'll be sure to make it very clear that such behavior is unacceptable."

Jean laughed, clearly delighted. "So that means you're actually going?"

Emma gave a slow shrug, her expression deceptively casual. "Why not? I've gone on dates with worse men."

That was putting it very mildly.

Jean clapped her hands together in triumph. "Look at me—matchmaker extraordinaire."

Emma rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips curled just slightly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Cupid. This isn't a fairy tale."

"No," Jean said, her voice playful but warm. "But it could be the beginning of something… interesting."

Emma didn't respond to that. She simply took another sip of her coffee and allowed herself to wonder, just for a moment, what kind of night Peter Parker might bring.

Hours Later…

The antique grandfather clock in the X-Mansion's hallway let out a low tick as the minute hand clicked past 7:20. Emma stood near the grand foyer with her arms crossed and her heels tapping against the polished hardwood floor like a slow metronome of disapproval. Her expression, poised and sharp, was enough to make even the bravest of X-Men think twice before approaching her.

Jean, leaning casually against the wall nearby, broke the tension with a slight smirk. "I did warn you. Peter's made 'fashionably late' into a lifestyle."

Emma cut her eyes over to her redheaded friend, her tone dry as ever. "He'd better have a good reason. Because right now, he's wasting my time."

Jean raised both brows and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the doorbell rang with a chime that echoed through the halls.

Emma didn't say anything. She simply turned on her heel and walked to the front door, her stride smooth and deliberate. She pulled it open…

And froze.

BGM: Spider-Man 2002 OST - Backyard Connection

There stood Peter in his full Spider-Man gear. Only this time, the suit wasn't in its usual form-fitting, crime-fighting perfection. It was singed at the edges, torn across one shoulder, and blackened around the torso. He smelled unmistakably of smoke. Embers and ash clung to him like reluctant passengers.

Emma blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight. She had opened the door ready to scold him into the ground for his tardiness, but now?

She tilted her head ever so slightly and asked in a calm, measured tone, "What happened?"

Peter scratched the back of his head, clearly sheepish. "So… there was this fire. Apartment complex in Hell's Kitchen. A bunch of people were still inside. I couldn't just, ya know, not help. And then there were these arsonist guys with flamethrowers, which felt a bit on the nose. Anyway, long story short: burning building, bad guys, and… I'm here now."

His voice trailed off into a quiet, sincere breath. "I'm really sorry I'm late, Emma. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Emma stared at him, lips parted as if ready to say something harsh, but she didn't. Not this time.

Instead, her shoulders relaxed, and her tone softened. "It's fine."

Peter blinked, clearly surprised. "It is?"

Emma gave a slow nod, eyeing his burnt suit again. "Yes. Because even I'm not cold enough to scold a man for saving lives." Her voice was smooth as silk, but there was the faintest glimmer of warmth behind her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Peter, still stunned by the lack of verbal lashing, gave a small smile. "Yeah. A little crispy, but nothing serious."

Emma nodded once. Then a beat passed—just long enough for it to feel like the calm after a storm.

Trying to break the silence, Peter cleared his throat. "So… uh, is there anywhere you want to go for this date?"

Emma arched a brow and gave him a once-over. "Going out in public isn't exactly an option. You'd look ridiculous walking around in a half-burned costume."

Peter opened his mouth to counter, but paused as he caught a whiff of himself. "Okay, fair. I do look and smell like a fire pit."

Emma smirked. "Which is also unacceptable. I refuse to spend the evening with someone who smells like smoke."

Peter chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Right. Got it. Smell nice, wear clothes. Easy checklist."

Emma turned on her heel and gestured behind her. "Come in. We'll see if Logan has something you can wear once you're out of the shower."

"Logan?" Peter asked with a grimace, stepping inside. "Is… is that safe?"

Emma didn't look back, but the smirk on her face widened. "Not particularly. But I'm sure you can handle it. Just don't touch anything labeled 'private.' He's very territorial."

Peter nodded like a soldier accepting a dangerous mission. "Duly noted. I'll be quick."

He started jogging down the hall, but took a wrong turn at the first intersection.

Emma raised her voice slightly, not bothering to chase him. "Wrong way, Peter."

Peter skidded to a stop, laughed nervously, and spun on his heel. "I knew that. Just… testing your spatial awareness."

Emma crossed her arms, still watching him with a faint look of amusement. "You're off to a terrible start."

Peter grinned as he dashed in the correct direction. "Good thing I'm good at recoveries."

She shook her head slightly but made no effort to hide the small, entertained smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

This date was already a mess.

But maybe, just maybe, it would be a fun mess.

Moments Later…

After what felt like an eternity under the spray of hot water, Peter finally stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist, taking in a deep breath and letting the clean scent of soap fill his lungs. It was a relief. He'd successfully scrubbed away the smell of smoke from his impromptu rescue operation, which was definitely an improvement.

He looked himself over in the bathroom mirror and sniffed his towel-clad body. "Ah, much better. No more smoke. Just… me."

He let out a satisfied sigh, turning his attention to the next task at hand: clothes. He glanced over at the clock. Seven-thirty. Emma would be expecting him soon, and while he felt much better, he still had a major wardrobe problem. He remembered Emma mentioning Logan's clothes. His mind flickered uneasily at the idea—Logan's clothes?

He paused for a moment, thinking about the Wolverine himself: the gruff, intimidating man with a temper as volatile as his claws. But then Peter shrugged, dismissing his nerves. What was the worst that could happen? Logan might yell at him. He could handle that, right?

Peter nodded to himself, firming his resolve. "Right. Let's do this."

He padded down the hallway, still wrapped in his towel, and knocked on Logan's door. "Uh, hey, Logan? You in there, buddy? I… need to borrow some clothes. I'll bring them back, promise."

No answer.

Peter stood there for a moment, pondering the situation. Logan's absence meant he could sneak in, grab something quickly, and get out before Wolverine came back. He felt a small sense of victory, as if the universe had given him a gift of timing.

Slowly, he turned the doorknob and eased the door open. To his relief, the room was empty. Logan's scent lingered in the air—smoky, like leather and old wood—but no Logan in sight. Peter stepped inside, silently congratulating himself on his boldness, and began to rummage through Logan's drawers.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. He found a flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, and even some boots that he figured would fit him. He was just about to grab a jacket when-

SNIKT!

BGM: John Travolta & Olivia Newton John - You're The One That I Want

The unmistakable sound of claws being unsheathed hit the air, and Peter's Spider-Sense went haywire. His entire body froze, and his eyes widened. He spun around just in time to see Logan standing in the doorway, his claws fully extended, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

"Uh…" Peter raised a hand in an awkward wave, the other quickly clutching his towel. "Heyyy, Logan. Looking sharp. Real sharp."

Logan's expression twisted into something feral. He bared his teeth, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"YOU'RE DEAD, BUB!"

And then came the yell. A full, feral ROAR, as Logan lunged.

Peter's heart skipped a beat, and his instincts kicked in. He dove to the side, rolling across the floor to avoid Logan's claws by a hair's breadth. The whole scene was like a slow-motion action movie, only with the ridiculousness of Peter trying to keep his towel wrapped around him.

"Wait, wait, Logan! I can explain!" Peter yelped, his voice a mixture of confusion and desperation as he scrambled to his feet. He bolted out the door, his towel flying behind him like a battle-worn cape as he sprinted for dear life.

"YOU TOUCHED MY DRAWERS!" Logan exclaimed, his heavy footsteps right behind Peter as he slashed at him.

"IT WAS FOR LOVE!" Peter shouted back, barely avoiding a claw swipe aimed at the towel's knot.

Down the halls of the X-Mansion they went—one very shirtless Spider-Man fleeing a very enraged Canadian berserker.

By the time they burst into the lounge area, it had become a full-blown spectacle.

Storm looked up from her tea. "Is that…?"

"Yep," Cyclops said through a laugh, watching Peter skitter across the floor like a cartoon character. "He must've tried to borrow some of Logan's clothes."

Gambit leaned back in his chair, tossing popcorn into his mouth as if he were watching a movie. "Ten bucks says Logan doesn't catch him before he makes it to the Danger Room."

Rogue smirked, turning to Gambit while saying, "Raise it to twenty bucks, sugah."

Jean leaned forward on the couch with an amused smirk. "Peter's faster than he looks when he's in panic mode."

And Emma, seated elegantly on her chair, had an expression that was as cool as ever, but the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement as she watched the chaos unfold before her.

Sometime Later…

Peter, now dressed in Logan's clothes, stood next to Emma, both of them now being outside the X-Mansion. He'd managed to escape Logan's wrath (for now), and he was grateful for that, but there was something about the situation that made him feel a little... out of his element. Maybe it was the way the clothes felt on him. Too big, a little rugged, or maybe it was the fact that his date was with Emma Frost.

"You know," Emma smirked, breaking him from his thoughts. "Watching you run from Logan like that was quite amusing."

Peter shot her a playful look, his voice half-serious and half-teasing. "It was terrifying. I don't know if you saw the claws, but yeah, I was definitely scared for my life."

Emma tilted her head slightly, her smirk never faltering. "You don't have to be terrified of Logan for the time being. But you'll have to be terrified of me tonight."

Peter let out a nervous laugh, but managed to recover quickly. "Oh, I'll manage. I've faced worse—usually in the form of giant robots or aliens. You, on the other hand... well, we'll see." His tone was light, but his eyes held a hint of curiosity.

Emma's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, amusement still dancing in them. "I hope you can keep up, Parker." she told him, pausing for a moment. "So," she asked, breaking their playful banter, "have you figured out where we're going?"

Peter nodded, watching Emma carefully. "I was hoping you'd have a plan, because if I'm being honest, I'm just along for the ride."

A small but genuine smile appeared on Emma's lips as she gave a short nod. "There's an exquisite restaurant in the city. They serve the best pasta you'll ever taste."

Peter nodded enthusiastically, but his mind was already racing with potential costs. He'd heard of places like that. The kind of restaurant that made your wallet feel like it was dying slowly. He tried not to let the thought show on his face, but he couldn't help the slight nervous flutter in his stomach. From what he knew about Emma, she had... expensive taste. He could practically hear the ka-ching of his bank account draining.

But he didn't want to look like a downer. Instead, he gave her a warm smile. "Sounds amazing. I'm looking forward to it."

Emma's smile widened just a fraction, and she nodded toward the garage. "Then follow me."

BGM: Sol Seppy - Nice Car

Peter nodded and walked with her to the garage, where she tapped her key fob. The garage door began to slowly rise, revealing a car that made Peter's jaw drop.

He blinked rapidly, momentarily losing his composure. "Wait, wait, wait. You have a Countach?"

The pristine white Lamborghini Countach LPI 800-4 gleamed under the garage lights, its sleek, aerodynamic body an absolute work of art. Peter had seen his fair share of fancy cars, but this? This was something else entirely. The car, or rather supercar, practically screamed luxury.

Emma's grin widened as she approached the car. "That's right. I'm a woman with impeccable style."

Peter stood rooted to the spot for a moment, eyes glued to the car as if it were some kind of exotic creature. Emma, unfazed, walked up to the driver's side and smoothly opened one of the scissor doors. She slid into the driver's seat, the door closing behind her with a soft, metallic thunk.

Peter took a second to collect himself before cautiously approaching the other side. He opened the door and climbed in, trying not to act too impressed, though it was hard not to be. He gazed around the immaculate interior, the leather seats, the dashboard, the gleaming console. It was like sitting in a luxury spaceship.

Once inside, he closed the door and looked over at Emma, shaking his head. "I've never felt more broke in my life."

Emma smirked as she started up the engine. It roared to life, the low rumble vibrating through the seat beneath them. "That's how people usually feel when they're around me."

Peter let out a small laugh, but then raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I think I've figured that out." He then fastened his seatbelt and, as he did, muttered under his breath, "Don't crash, don't crash, don't crash…"

Emma caught his muttering and almost let out a chuckle, but she quickly regained her composure. "Buckle up, darling," she said, her voice taking on a slightly more serious tone as she shifted the car into gear. "It's going to be a wild ride."

Peter playfully saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."

With a slight smirk, Emma backed out of the garage, her driving skills as smooth and precise as one would expect from someone who owned a Lamborghini. The mansion slowly shrank in the rearview mirror as they pulled out onto the road, heading toward the city, where an evening of pasta and potential disaster awaited.

The Restaurant

BGM: Ratatouille - Main Theme

The restaurant glowed with a warm, golden ambiance—polished floors, chandeliers like crystal galaxies hanging overhead, and waiters that looked like they could've moonlighted as fashion models. Peter and Emma had just arrived, stepping out of the Countach like some glam couple from a James Bond movie. But while Emma carried herself with the elegance and confidence of royalty, Peter felt like the scrappy underdog who snuck into the royal ball.

He tried to brush off the thought. This was about spending time with Emma, not counting how many zeroes were on the menu.

The host guided them to a private table near the tall glass windows overlooking the city skyline. As they arrived, Peter quickly stepped around Emma and pulled out her chair for her, flashing a soft smile. Emma paused for a moment, genuinely surprised, and returned the smile with a small but appreciative nod. "Why thank you, Mr. Parker."

"No problem," Peter said smoothly, taking his own seat. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added, "Chivalry isn't dead, ya know."

Emma rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked upward. "How lucky I am that you're out here single-handedly keeping it alive."

Peter chuckled at that, flipping open the menu… and instantly regretted it.

His pupils practically dilated as he scanned the prices. He blinked. Blinked again. Blinked some more. Thirty-four dollars for breadsticks? He was pretty sure he felt his soul briefly leave his body. This was highway robbery, except it was actually legal.

Good ol' inflation.

Emma, on the other hand, glanced casually at her menu with the ease of someone browsing a catalog of familiar options. "Hmm... I'm thinking of the Champagne Shrimp and Pasta," she said aloud, more to herself than to Peter.

Peter's eyes flicked to the item. One hundred dollars. One hundred dollars.

He knew he was cooked.

Peter tried to keep his face from twitching. "Sounds... fancy," he said, swallowing the rising dread as he felt like he was going through an existential crisis.

Emma glanced at him. "What about you? Know what you're getting?"

Peter cleared his throat, buying time. "Still deciding... I mean, it all looks good, right? You can't go wrong."

She didn't seem to notice his inner panic. Thank God.

They hadn't even discussed who was paying. And Peter didn't want to bring it up now—it would kill the mood. Besides, he'd made up his mind: if someone's eating tonight, it's Emma. Pride might be a stubborn thing, but he wasn't about to let her foot the bill. Even if it meant a date with a tall glass of water and empty calories.

Just as he began calculating whether he had enough change in his pocket for an emergency granola bar, the waiter appeared.

"Are we ready to order?" he asked with a professional smile.

Emma, ever confident, nodded. "Yes. I'll have the Champagne Shrimp and Pasta. And a glass of white wine."

The waiter jotted it down, then looked at Peter.

Peter tried to smile like someone who wasn't currently facing the financial equivalent of a boss fight. "Uh, I'll just have some water for now. Still narrowing down my options."

The waiter nodded politely and stepped away.

Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He would clear his throat, not wanting to think about his meal problems for tonight, and instead, shifted his attention to Emma. "Ahem. So, uh… how are things going at the X-Mansion?" he asked.

Emma turned back to him. "Surprisingly well," she replied. "I never imagined I'd end up there, especially as a teacher. But… I enjoy it. Teaching the younger mutants, guiding them. It feels... impactful. Like I'm finally doing something that matters."

Peter nodded slowly. "That's good to hear. It's not always easy, but it sounds like it suits you."

Emma nodded in return. "And you?" she asked, her tone softer now. "How's Peter Parker these days?"

He gave a small shrug. "Good, mostly. You know, the usual—balancing life, work, the occasional rooftop chase or interdimensional threat. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Just doing my best to take care of people."

Emma's gaze stayed on him for a moment longer than expected. "I hope you remember to take care of yourself, too."

Peter smiled, trying to brush it off. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm good. Really."

Emma raised a perfectly shaped brow. "Peter, I've read your mind before. I know what you carry. If anyone should be making more of an effort to care for themselves, it's you."

That caught him off guard. His expression softened, and for a moment, the lightness between them turned into something real. Something tangible. "Didn't know you cared that much," he said quietly.

Emma leaned back slightly, her voice gentler than usual. "Anyone in their right mind would care if they saw what I saw."

Peter blinked, his throat suddenly dry. Her words weren't just sympathy—they were understanding. He wasn't sure what to say, but he smiled. A small, grateful smile that came from somewhere deep.

Emma saw it and smiled in return—something genuine, without its usual layer of frost.

Just then, their waiter returned, placing the plate of Champagne Shrimp and Pasta in front of Emma, along with her white wine. He handed Peter his water.

Then he turned to Peter. "Have you decided, sir?"

Peter hesitated. He tried to remain composed on the outside, but he was dying in the inside. "Not yet, but I'll let you know when I choose something." Peter replied, and the waiter would give a curt nod before leaving.

However, Emma's eyes now locked onto Peter like a hawk, sensing something was wrong.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice low but direct.

Peter sighed. The jig was up. There was no way out now.

"Alright," he muttered, "I wasn't going to say it, but... I can't afford to order anything. I only have enough to cover your food. And if anyone's gonna eat tonight, it should be you."

Emma stared at him, her expression being surprised, touched… and genuinely annoyed. "That," she said, voice sharp but not unkind, "is one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard."

Before Peter could protest, she leaned in, eyes locked on his. "You're not starving yourself on a date with me. I'm paying. And don't argue, Parker. I'm not in the mood."

Peter opened his mouth, trying to protest, but she cut him off again. "Besides, you didn't ask me out. Jean is the one who wanted to play matchmaker. Technically, this is all her doing."

Peter paused, sighed in defeat, and held his hands up. "Okay, okay. You win." he told her, soon forming a smile. "Thanks, Emma. I mean that."

She waved it off like it was no big deal. "Don't mention it."

However, Peter wasn't done. "I'll make it up to you in the future, I promise." he told her sincerely.

Emma, who stared at Peter for a moment, shook her head. "Don't worry about that." she responded. Though, a part of her knew that Peter would try his hardest to repay her in some way, despite her words.

Then, in true Emma Frost fashion, she raised her hand, whistled softly, and snapped her fingers. The waiter turned at the sound, approaching promptly.

"Yes, miss?"

Emma pointed at Peter with a perfectly manicured nail. "He's ready to order."

Peter blinked as he was put right on the spot, but he would eventually get himself together. "I… uh, right. I'll take the Chicken Alfredo, please."

The waiter nodded and disappeared once more.

Peter turned back to Emma, grinning. "You really do have a way of controlling things."

Emma smirked. "It's one of my signature qualities."

Their conversation drifted into easier topics. Bad villains, weirder days, mutual friends, and the laughter between them came easier now. When Peter's Chicken Alfredo finally arrived, he dove in with more gratitude than he could express. Emma raised her wine glass slightly in his direction.

"To surviving Logan, awkward dates, and Jean's meddling," she said.

Peter raised his water in return, smiling. "And to not smelling like smoke anymore."

They clinked glasses—well, glass and water cup—and began eating, the tension between them gone, replaced by something warmer, something honest.

For the first time in the night, Peter didn't feel out of place. And neither did Emma.

END OF CHAPTER 1: MATCHMAKER

BGM: Spider-Man TAS 1994 - Ending Theme

Jean: I'm the greatest matchmaker of all time!

Emma: I want to disagree with you, but…

Jean: Is this your way of saying that you enjoyed your date with Peter?

Logan: That bub still hasn't given me back my clothes!

Peter: Well, time to run for my life again!

Chapter Text

Intro Music: Spider-Man TAS 1994 Theme Song

The X-Mansion

BGM: Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse - Calling Instrumental

The low purr of the Countach quieted as Emma carefully pulled into the garage, the headlights cutting across the walls before flicking off. The engine gave one last sigh before silence blanketed the space. Both she and Peter stepped out, the echo of their shoes the only sound as they began walking toward the X-Mansion's main entrance.

They didn't talk at first. They didn't need to. The night air was cool, calm. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... comfortable. Peaceful, even.

Eventually, though, Peter broke the quiet with a glance toward her.

"I haven't forgotten about dinner, ya know," he said, his tone light but determined. "I still owe you. I'm gonna repay you somehow."

Emma exhaled softly through her nose, her arms loosely crossed as they walked. "Peter, you really don't have to make a thing out of it."

"I insist," Peter replied, shaking his head. "It's a matter of pride now."

Emma let out a sigh, more amused than frustrated. "You're incredibly stubborn, you know that?"

Peter grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

There was a faint smile playing on Emma's lips now. She didn't push the matter further. She knew better. Once Peter Parker made up his mind about something, it was nearly impossible to steer him off course. Stubborn, as she said.

They continued toward the front door, the gravel crunching softly under their feet. Another moment of quiet passed, and Peter knew that once they reached the threshold, their time together tonight would officially come to an end.

He glanced over at her again. "Hey... I had fun tonight," he said, voice sincere. "I hope you did too."

Emma stopped in front of the door and turned to him, her expression softening. "I did," she replied. "Even if it started off a little rocky." Her lips quirked into a teasing smile. "But I'll give you credit, you did manage to pull yourself together."

Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Told you earlier that I'm good at recoveries."

Emma rolled her eyes, but it was accompanied by a quiet laugh. "If you say so."

They looked at each other again, not speaking this time. Just... observing. There was a subtle shift in the air—something gentle, intimate. Like both were silently acknowledging the connection that had quietly grown over the course of the evening.

Not quite ready to let go of it just yet, Peter's brows raised slightly, and he asked, "So... do you maybe want to give me your number? Ya know, in case we want to talk again. Or maybe not be strangers the next time Jean ropes us into a plan."

Emma gave him a smirk, but it lacked her usual edge. "I suppose I can allow that."

They pulled out their phones and quickly exchanged numbers. It was simple. Casual. But it felt meaningful.

With that done, they lingered for another breath.

Emma's expression shifted again, her voice and eyes softening as she took a step closer. And without saying a word, she leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Peter's cheek. It wasn't a flirty move. It wasn't calculated. It was just... soft. Kind. Real.

It caught Peter off guard, though he masked his surprise well. Internally, though? Absolute system error. But his smile didn't waver.

Emma pulled back just slightly, looking at him one last time for the night. "Take care of yourself, darling."

Peter's smile grew, and his eyes became a little brighter than they were moments ago. "You too, Emma."

She gave a small nod, turned around, and opened the front door of the X-Mansion. Without another word, she stepped inside, and the door shut quietly behind her.

Peter exhaled, the moment sinking in.

Then he turned, ready to head home... but stopped short as reality came crashing back down.

"…I'm still wearing Logan's clothes."

He looked down at himself—the flannel, the worn jeans, the boots that definitely weren't his style.

"And my suit's still in the mansion," he muttered. "Burnt... torn... probably still smells like a fireplace and regret."

He sighed, long and loud, rubbing his temples. "I really hope Logan doesn't come hunting me down for this. But let's be honest… he totally will."

With a shake of his head and a defeated kind of smile, Peter shrugged it off.

"Guess I'm walking home like a regular civilian."

And so, with his hands stuffed in Logan's oversized jacket pockets and his head tilted to the stars above, Peter Parker walked off into the night. No web-slinging, no supervillains, no explosions. Just a guy making his way home after a surprisingly good date.

Meanwhile, with Emma…

BGM: Spider-Man Across the Spider-Verse - Self Love Instrumental

Emma walked through the grand, quiet halls of the X-Mansion, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The night had gone better than she expected. Far better, if she were being honest with herself. A glass of wine, meaningful conversation, and Peter Parker's awkward-yet-charming insistence on paying for dinner still lingered warmly in her mind.

All she wanted now was to get to her room, slip into something more comfortable, and maybe—just maybe—spend the rest of the night thinking about someone she once never imagined thinking about this way.

But fate, as it often did in this place, had other plans.

As Emma walked past the lounge, she didn't even glance inside. But someone did notice her.

"Emma~!"

Emma paused, sighing inwardly before she turned around. She already knew who it was.

Jean was making her way toward her, barefoot and wrapped in a blanket like a sash-wearing queen of late-night gossip. Scott was passed out cold on the couch behind her, arms crossed and mouth slightly open mid-snore while a low-volume rom-com flickered on the TV.

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Jean, it's almost midnight."

Jean grinned, clearly unfazed. "You can sleep after I ask you a couple questions."

Emma stared blankly for a beat, silently wishing that she had Nightcrawler's powers so she could teleport straight to bed. But with a small sigh and a defeated breath, she raised her hand. "Fine. Get on with it."

Jean clapped her hands together, her eyes gleaming. "Okay, okay. So… how'd the date go?"

Emma took her time, lips pressing together as she mulled over her response. She wasn't one to just throw words around for the sake of it. Especially not about something that… might actually matter.

"It went well," she said simply, with a nod.

Jean narrowed her eyes like a cat studying a particularly interesting mouse. "Just well?"

Emma looked away, eyes flicking to a distant wall like it might offer her an escape hatch. "Yes. Well."

Jean hummed, clearly unsatisfied. Then came the real question—the one that actually mattered.

"Would you go on a second date with him?"

Emma didn't answer immediately.

Her mind circled the question, playing back pieces of the evening. Peter's awkward charm. His absolute terror at the menu prices. The sincerity in his eyes when he smiled. And that warm, unspoken honesty he wore like a second skin, which was so different from the facades she was used to.

Perceivably, Peter Parker wasn't her type.

And yet... that might be exactly why she found him so interesting.

Eventually, Emma nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "I would."

Jean's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she clapped with triumphant delight. She now considered her matchmaking mission to be an absolute win. "I knew it!"

Emma groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, but it was half-hearted at best. A small smirk tugged at her lips. "Don't let this get to your head."

"Oh, it's already there," Jean replied, standing tall with a dramatic flourish. "I'm basically the love doctor now!"

That made Emma stop in her tracks. She slowly turned on her heel, arching an eyebrow with pure Frost-level disbelief. "Nope. I'm done with this conversation."

She spun around and began walking away, leaving Jean grinning behind her.

"Goodnight, Emma~!" Jean called out, stifling a laugh.

Emma didn't respond. Well, at least not with words. Instead, she rubbed her temples with exaggerated flair as she walked away, as if warding off a very specific kind of headache named Jean Grey.

And with that, the mansion fell back into its gentle nighttime quiet.

The Daily Bugle

BGM: Spider-Man 3 Game Soundtrack - Daily Bugle #1

The next day had rolled in with the usual chaos of New York City—and, naturally, The Daily Bugle was a full-blown hurricane of noise and activity. Phones rang like alarm bells, printers spat out half-crumpled sheets, and reporters zigzagged around the floor like caffeinated ants. The cherry on top, of course, was the unmistakable booming voice of J. Jonah Jameson barking from his office about missed deadlines and the ever-elusive truth about Spider-Man.

In other words: just another Tuesday.

Peter weaved through the bustling bullpen like he belonged in the eye of the storm, coffee in one hand, camera bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Betty Brant, who was typing away at her computer, her focus entirely absorbed by whatever spreadsheet or article was in front of her.

"Morning, Betty," Peter greeted, a tired-but-genuine smile on his face.

Betty looked up, immediately perking up. "Hey, Peter! You've got that look. Spider-Man photos?"

Peter chuckled and nodded. "Hot off the memory card."

Betty pointed toward Jameson's office. "Go on in. He's already in full roar mode."

Peter offered a mock salute. "Wish me luck."

With a quick breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

Inside, Jameson was mid-rant at Robbie Robertson, flailing his hands in the air like he was trying to swat flies. "I want photos that prove Spider-Man's a menace, Robbie! Not pictures of him playing hero like some caped crusader knockoff!"

Robbie, ever the cool-headed one, looked over his glasses and deadpanned, "Maybe he is a hero, Jonah."

"HA!" Jameson barked, just in time to catch Peter walking in.

"Parker!" he growled. "You better not be here to tell me your camera broke again!"

Peter raised both hands. "Relax, JJ. I got what you asked for."

He handed the photos over, and Jameson immediately began flipping through them with a furrowed brow. Robbie and Peter shared a brief nod, the kind of quiet greeting reserved for two people who'd seen enough weirdness in their lifetimes.

But as Jameson examined the photos, Peter's mind drifted. He thought back to the night before—Emma's smile under the dim lights of the restaurant, the kiss on the cheek, the way she brushed off his offer to repay her. But Peter Parker didn't do unpaid debts. Especially not with someone like Emma Frost.

So, as Jameson flipped another photo, Peter awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Ahem. Uh… Mr. Jameson?"

"What?" Jameson grunted, not even looking up.

Peter hesitated for a second, then blurted, "Can I get a raise?"

The flipping stopped. Slowly, Jameson lowered the photos, and his expression turned utterly blank.

Silence.

Then…

WHEEZE!

"HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!"

Jameson exploded into laughter. Full belly, slap-your-knee laughter. He leaned back in his chair, tears forming in his eyes as he howled like someone had just pitched him the greatest stand-up bit of the decade.

Robbie rubbed his temples.

Peter stood his ground, expression completely unamused.

Jameson wiped a tear from his eye. "Parker, you should've been a comedian! I mean, a raise? You? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Peter's eyes didn't budge. "It's not for me."

That, finally, cut through the noise.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, immediately stopping his laughter. "Come again?"

"It's not for me," Peter repeated, softer this time. "It's for a girl."

Now that caught both Jameson and Robbie's attention. Even Betty, just outside the door and very much eavesdropping, slowly leaned closer.

Peter scratched the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed now. "I went on a date last night. She covered dinner when I really should've. I want to do something for her… and I can't unless I have a little more to work with."

Jameson stared at him for a long moment, the usual snark fading from his face. It was quiet in the room—eerily so.

Then, without a word, Jameson reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled something down.

He tore the check from the pad and handed it to Peter.

Peter blinked. Then he looked at the check… and his jaw nearly dropped.

The number written on it was well above his usual rate. Like, comically above.

"J-JJ, are you… are you sure?" Peter asked, his voice cracking just slightly from surprise.

Jameson leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Don't make me regret this, Parker."

A smile formed on Peter's face—wide, genuine, and filled with more gratitude than words could manage. "Thank you. Seriously. I'll make it count."

"You better," Jameson said, his tone gruff, but a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This is a one-time deal. Don't go getting soft on me."

Peter nodded, holding the check close like it was a trophy. "One time is all I need."

He gave Robbie a parting smile, nodded once more at Jameson, and stepped out of the office.

After Peter left, Robbie looked over at his longtime friend, smirking. "Would you look at that? You've actually got a heart."

Jameson grunted. "Don't spread it around."

Betty, from her desk, chimed in, clearly having heard everything. "Congrats on acting like a decent human being for once, JJ!"

Jameson rolled his eyes dramatically. "Back to work, both of you! This ain't a therapy session!"

But the smirk stayed on his face long after he said it.

The X-Mansion

BGM: Spider-Man 2002 OST - Backyard Connection

Back at the X-Mansion, tucked away behind sleek white walls and polished floors, Emma Frost sat in her private office, surrounded by neatly stacked files and the low hum of ambient quiet. Her pen glided over a document with practiced ease, the soft scratching sound filling the room as she worked through a series of paperwork tied to her ever-growing list of administrative responsibilities.

The room, much like its occupant, was pristine and tastefully elegant. A subtle lavender scent lingered in the air, and a cup of untouched tea sat beside her, long gone cold.

Though her hands remained focused, her mind occasionally drifted—more often than she'd like to admit—to the night before. Flashes of Peter's awkward yet charming smile, his dorky humor, his sincerity... they kept bubbling up in her head, uninvited and yet not entirely unwelcome.

A small smile ghosted across her lips.

She didn't notice it at first.

Not until her phone buzzed gently on the desk.

BUZZ!

Emma paused, her fingers lifting from the paper. She glanced over and raised a curious brow, her telepathy turned off out of courtesy for the mansion's other occupants. So whatever this was, it had caught her genuinely off guard.

It was a message from Peter.

Peter: Hey, Emma. Hope I'm not bothering you or anything.

Emma's brow lifted a bit higher, a little amused by how polite he was being. She picked up the phone, tapped the message open, and began typing back with a faint smirk.

Emma: You're not bothering me. I actually need a distraction from all this paperwork.

A few seconds passed, and then another buzz.

Peter: Glad I can help out. And if you're willing to go on another date today... I promise, you won't regret it.

Emma's eyes lingered on the message longer than necessary. Her smirk widened, her fingers poised above the screen as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

Emma: My, my... I must've made quite the impression if you're already asking for a second date.

There was no denying the playful tone. Even through text, it was pure Emma.

Peter replied almost instantly.

Peter: That's definitely part of it. But mostly, I still want to pay you back for covering dinner. I meant it when I said I'd find a way.

Emma rolled her eyes softly, already knowing where this was going. She started to type a response—another attempt to tell him not to worry about it, that it wasn't a big deal, but another message popped up before she could hit send.

Peter: Please let me do this. It's the least I can do.

Her fingers stilled. The smirk faded just slightly. Not because she was annoyed, but Peter's sincerity managed to hit her yet again. Harder than it should've.

Peter Parker was a man who followed through. He was stubborn in the way good people tend to be. Those who don't just say thank you, but show it. And despite every part of her refined, self-assured exterior, Emma respected that more than she could put into words.

She exhaled quietly, her thumb hovering over the screen for another moment before she finally typed back.

Emma: Fine. I'll go on another date with you. But don't make a habit out of this, Parker.

A beat passed before Peter responded.

Peter: You won't regret it :)

Emma set the phone down, the smirk returning to her lips. Though this time, it was softer. More genuine.

She returned to her paperwork, but her mind was no longer wrapped around numbers and logistics. Instead, she found herself wondering what kind of date Peter had in mind, and how, somehow, the idea of seeing him again... didn't seem like an inconvenience at all.

It was an opportunity, and to put it simply, she was interested.

END OF CHAPTER 2: SINCERITY

BGM: Spider-Man TAS 1994 - Ending Theme

Jean: They're already going on a second date? I'm truly the love doctor!

Emma: Ugh…

Jameson: Just remember that their second date is possible because of me! ME! I TAKE ALL THE CREDIT!

Peter: He's never going to let me forget about this, is he?

Chapter Text

Intro Music: Spider-Man TAS 1994 Theme Song

New York City

Peter Parker was in a daze.

Still clutching the check Jameson had given him like it was the final piece to a treasure map, he stumbled out of The Daily Bugle's spinning glass doors and onto the streets of New York. For a moment, he just stood there, squinting into the sunlight as the busy city bustled around him. Cars honking, people shouting, and pigeons plotting their inevitable coup.

But Peter? Peter was somewhere else entirely.

His shock melted into an overwhelming, giddy euphoria.

He looked down at the check again. Then back up. Then back down. Then, with an audible whoop, he punched the air.

For the first time in what felt like ever, Peter Parker had more than $19.62 in his bank account, and it showed.

For a few blissful moments, the worries of rent, groceries, and daily existential crises were replaced with a single, thunderous thought:

"I'M RICH!"

BGM: James Brown - People Get Up and Drive Your Funky Soul (A/N: You guys are required to play this, lol. Click on this now.)

He wasn't actually rich, but the number on the check was so stupidly, beautifully, outrageously higher than anything Jameson had ever given him that Peter figured technicalities could go take a hike.

With an exaggerated swagger that could only be described as "discount Tony Stark," Peter began strutting down the street. Every person he passed, he hit them with a finger-gun combo, punctuated with a bob of his head like he was listening to the funkiest beat no one else could hear.

"Pow! Pew! Blam!" Peter's finger guns weren't stopping, and they weren't stopping for anybody. Businessmen, tourists, pretzel vendors—nobody was safe. He nodded at a grumpy-looking hot dog vendor like he was the King of New York, pointing at him and winking.

"Stay spicy, brother!" Peter shouted.

The vendor, utterly baffled, gave Peter a slow thumbs-up, glancing down at his hot dogs in case they'd somehow been weaponized.

But Peter's words didn't stop there. Once again, no New Yorker was safe now.

"Hey, nice hat, buddy!" Pew pew!

"Looking good, ma'am! Love the shoes!" Finger spin, pew!

"Sir, your dog is a king among canines!" Double pew pew!

"You get that sandwich, queen!" Spin, jazz hands!

New Yorkers, being New Yorkers, mostly ignored him. Though, a few paused to gawk at the inexplicable energy radiating off this clearly sleep-deprived young man in Logan's oversized clothes.

Nonetheless, Peter was thriving.

As he approached Times Square, the soundtrack of his own personal triumph began to manifest in the form of a local band performing on the street. There was a groovy, energetic tune blasting from their instruments.

And once Peter saw this, an idea quickly came to his head.

Before anyone could stop him, he SPRINTED onto the tiny stage, grabbed the microphone from its stand, and declared with the enthusiasm of a game show host on ten cups of coffee:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF NEW YORK CITYYYYY! YOUR BOY JUST GOT PAAAAAAAIIIIIID!"

BGM Suddenly Ends

Silence.

The crowd froze, mid-cheer, caught between confusion and secondhand embarrassment. One of the guitarists blinked slowly, wondering if he'd fallen into a fever dream.

Peter thrust the check into the air like it was the Holy Grail itself. "LOOK AT THIS!" he shouted, even though no one could actually see the numbers. "LOOK! AT! THIS!"

Complete, painful silence.

Several pigeons flew away.

A taxi cab backfired.

A woman holding a pretzel shielded her child behind her leg.

An old lady clutched her pearls.

A tourist couple from Minnesota started clapping, assuming this was some weird New York ritual.

Another tourist that was wearing an "I love New York" shirt snapped a confused picture.

For a long, awkward beat, it looked like Peter was about to be tackled off the stage.

Then, slowly, one of the guitarists, clearly deciding to just roll with it, patted Peter on the back and started a victory riff on his guitar, yelling out, "Give it up for this guy, everybody!"

The crowd hesitated... then laughed and actually started cheering.

Even the saxophone player shrugged and joined in on the madness, continuing to play his instrument like nothing ever happened.

BGM SUDDENLY CONTINUES AGAIN

A teenager started recording the whole thing, seeing Peter's nonsensical dance moves and exclaiming, "GET IT, KING!"

Peter, feeding off the energy like a starved raccoon finding a garbage buffet, raised his arms high and did an exaggerated bow before hopping off the stage and moonwalking back into the crowd, nearly colliding with a mime.

Still on a high, Peter strutted right into the nearest clothing store like he owned it. Employees barely had time to say "Welcome to-" before Peter had already thrown a handful of cash at the register and disappeared into the aisles like a discount-shopping tornado.

And exactly 15 seconds later…

BAM!

He BURST out of the front doors wearing a bright yellow turtleneck, and over it, he wore a denim jacket—sleeves cuffed up to the elbows, collar popped, chest puffed out like a proud peacock on a caffeine bender. The clothes were honestly stylish, but Peter was on such a high that he still looked utterly ridiculous.

He clapped his hands together once—BAM!—like he had just made the biggest power move of the century.

"THIS," he announced to no one in particular, "IS WHAT SUCCESS LOOKS LIKE."

A woman pushing a stroller side-eyed him and muttered, "You okay, buddy?"

Peter finger-gunned her too. "NEVER BETTER."

New Yorkers continued passing by—some amused, some pointedly pretending he didn't exist, others pulling out their phones to film what was undoubtedly going to end up on someone's TikTok with a caption like: "When rent's paid and the vibes are immaculate."

One guy literally walked into a lamppost because he was gawking so hard. A dog barked at him like he was some kind of insane walking banana.

But Peter didn't care.

He had cash in his pocket, ridiculous clothes on his back, and a second date to plan for the one and only Emma Frost.

And in Peter Parker's chaotic, absurd life?

That was as good as it got.

"Let's make some magic happen, Parker," Peter told himself, his words carrying pure determination.

With a final spin on his heel that nearly took out a hot dog cart, Peter pulled out his phone, already thinking about where to take Emma next, and what ridiculousness he could pull off next to keep up with whatever cosmic luck had just blessed him.

The X-Mansion

BGM: X-Men TAS Theme - Chill Remix

Back at the X-Mansion, Emma stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, putting the final touches on her look for her second date with Peter. In true Emma fashion, she was absolutely stunning—draped in a flawlessly tailored, sleek white ensemble that was somehow both elegant and casually powerful, like she was ready to conquer the world and then sip champagne without missing a beat.

She brushed a stray platinum strand of hair back into place, adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, and inspected herself one last time. For a moment, she stood still, the silent queen in her own private kingdom.

Then… a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

She was genuinely looking forward to tonight.

With a satisfied nod and the click of her signature heels, Emma swept out of her room, the halls of the X-Mansion practically rolling out an invisible red carpet before her. She passed a few students on the way, who wisely made way, some even whispering in awe after she passed.

Eventually, Emma arrived at the lounge.

Inside, the usual suspects were gathered: Logan lounging in a recliner like it owed him money, Ororo elegantly sipping tea, Gambit and Rogue cozied up on the couch, Beast and Nightcrawler engaged in a surprisingly intense chess match, while Kitty, Psylocke, and Jubilee engaged in nice conversation.

The atmosphere was casual, peaceful.

That is, until Scott rushed into the room, looking slightly frazzled, his ruby-quartz glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"Has anyone seen Jean?" he asked, glancing around.

Emma, tilting her head like a curious cat, answered coolly, "Haven't seen her." She gave Scott a polite shrug, though her eyebrow arched slightly.

Scott sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. His frustration was so palpable it momentarily disrupted the chill vibe in the lounge.

Logan, ever the instigator, snorted from his chair. "How the heck did you lose sight of Jean, bub? Don't ya sleep in the same room?"

Scott shot Logan a look. "Drop it, Logan."

Rogue, wanting to play peacekeeper, piped up. "No need to start a spat. Jean can take care of herself."

Still, the group exchanged puzzled glances. Jean wasn't exactly the type to just disappear without telling anyone.

BGM: Family Feud Theme Song

That's when the TV suddenly changed channels, and the dramatic opening theme of a daytime talk show blared from the speakers, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.

A booming voice announced:

"It's time for the greatest daytime TV show in the business! Welcome to... EXCELSIOR! And give it up for your host, STAN THE MAAAAAAAN!"

The lounge collectively froze.

The camera panned to none other than Stan Lee himself, walking onstage with all the charisma of a legend. Stan smiled brightly at the crowd, tossing finger guns with grandfatherly charm.

"Thanks for being here, true believers! And might I say… you all look MARVELous today!"

The crowd cheered in response, clearly excited for today's show.

The X-Men blinked.

Before they could fully process the situation, Stan continued, "Today we've got a real special treat! A very special guest who's calling herself The Love Doctor! But you may know her by another name!"

Stan grinned mischievously, waiting for the tension to build.

"Let's give a big Excelsior welcome to... the one and only... JEAN GREY!"

The crowd exploded into applause and whooping cheers, even for Jean who's obviously a mutant. Stan has a 'no racism' policy on his show, which prevents any mutant haters from showing up.

On the TV, Jean herself strolled out onto the stage, smiling and waving like she was accepting an Oscar.

The entire lounge gawked at the screen.

Emma closed her eyes, exhaled deeply through her nose, and pinched the bridge of her nose like she was fighting off a migraine.

"Oh no..." she muttered grimly.

Meanwhile, on the show, Stan and Jean sat down together. Stan, always the smooth interviewer, leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin.

"So tell us, how did this Love Doctor thing come about?" he asked, chuckling warmly.

Jean laughed along with him. "Well, I have a best friend who's been out of the dating scene for a while. By choice, mind you. She could have any man she wanted."

Stan and the audience leaned in, visibly intrigued. Knowing this could be a way to boost the ratings to even greater heights, Stan asked, "Could you tell us the name of this mysterious best friend?"

Jean gave a coy smile. "Out of respect, no. But I can tell you that I recently set her up with someone... and she told me the date went great. In fact, she said she would go on a second date with him!"

The audience burst into cheers and claps, clearly eating it up.

Stan beamed. "Well, no wonder you're The Love Doctor! Got any advice for the love-seeking true believers out there?"

Jean nodded sagely, turning to face the audience with the serious, heartfelt expression of someone about to drop the most profound truth of the century.

"If you want to find love," she said dramatically, "you have to be friends first!"

The crowd erupted like she had just solved world peace.

Jean noticed this, and grinned widely. Then, she looked directly at one of the cameras, adding more dramatic flair to her words while repeating the same message once more. "I said you have to be friends first!"

People stood, applauding wildly. Someone threw a bouquet of flowers onto the stage. An old man in the front row wiped a tear from his eye. Even Stan clapped, his face lit up in admiration.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the X-Men just continued to stare, utterly dumbfounded.

Logan pulled out a cigar, muttering, "This… is the dumbest thing I've ever seen..."

Beast adjusted his glasses. "Fascinating anthropological phenomenon... the worship of mediocrity."

Gambit snickered and whispered something to Rogue, causing her to cover her mouth to hide a laugh.

And Emma, with the grace of a queen under siege, let out the longest, most exhausted sigh of her entire existence.

"I'm going to kill her," Emma announced flatly, turning on her heel and marching away from the lounge.

The rest of the X-Men watched her leave in silence, none daring to stop her.

"Should... should we do somethin'?" Jubilee asked, twirling a lock of her hair nervously.

Ororo sipped her tea, serene as ever. "Let her handle it. We are but spectators now."

And with that, the screen continued to blare Jean's enthusiastic declarations of friendship and love as Emma plotted Jean's imminent demise.

Sometime Later…

BGM: Christopher Cross - Sailing

The night had arrived, and Emma stood in the foyer of the X-Mansion, quietly waiting for Peter to arrive. As she waited, her thoughts drifted back to Jean and the ridiculous TV appearance that had taken the entire mansion by storm. She couldn't believe Jean had the impudence, the audacity, and the unmitigated gall to call herself The Love Doctor on an actual show.

Her fingers twitched, tempted to do something... violent. She imagined tackling Jean through the front doors as soon as she saw her, but quickly shook the thought away. No need to lose her composure.

With a deep breath, she let her annoyance simmer down, replacing it with a confident calmness. "Tonight's supposed to be about Peter," she reminded herself. "Not Jean."

Just as she exhaled, the doorbell rang, pulling her from her thoughts. Emma quickly smoothed her clothes and walked to the door, ready to face whatever ridiculousness Peter had in store for their second date.

When she opened the door, she was caught off guard.

There stood Peter, wearing an outfit that was somehow simultaneously ridiculous and... stylish? A yellow turtleneck paired with a blue jean jacket—certainly not what she expected. It was bold, vibrant, almost cartoonish, but to her surprise, Peter pulled it off with a casual confidence. He looked like he had stepped out of a fashion magazine, with a slightly goofy grin to match. And, bizarrely enough, there was something about his entire appearance that made him look... well, rich?

Emma blinked. How is that possible?

Peter grinned widely as their eyes met, and with a hint of swagger, he said, "You look amazing tonight, Emma."

Even though Peter's words were dripping with confidence, there was that unmistakable sincerity that Emma had already come to recognize in him. That, she appreciated.

Emma couldn't suppress the slight smile that tugged at her lips. "Thank you, Peter. You look... handsome, too." She cast another glance at his outfit, a smirk creeping onto her face. "But, I have to ask… how'd you afford this?"

Peter's grin widened, as if he'd been waiting for that question. "I can tell you," he said, lowering his voice, "but you have to promise to keep it a secret."

Curiosity piqued, Emma nodded, leaning in slightly. "I can keep a secret," she assured him, playing along with his tone.

Peter glanced around theatrically, as if checking for spies. He leaned in closer to her ear and, in an overly dramatic whisper, said, "I'm a drug dealer."

Emma's eyes widened in genuine surprise, her mouth parting in disbelief. She didn't expect that. Not from Peter. Then, seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, she burst into laughter, the sound rich and carefree.

"Oh, you are not the drug-dealing type," she said, swatting him lightly on the chest.

Peter chuckled, his laugh joining hers. "You're right, I'm not." He paused, then added with a smirk, "But it'd be a pretty cool way to afford this outfit, right?"

Emma shook her head in amusement, brushing off the joke. "I'm not sure whether I should be impressed or worried, darling."

"Neither. Just be prepared," he said, suddenly becoming all business again. "Tonight's gonna be amazing."

Emma raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? I expect nothing less." She gave him a pointed look. "So, do we ride in the Countach again?"

Peter shook his head, his smile now a little more playful. "As tempting as that sounds... I've got a better idea."

Before Emma could process that, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a brand-new Spider-Man mask, the fabric pristine and free of the soot and damage it had acquired before their first date. With a dramatic flourish, he slid it over his head, instantly becoming her friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Emma blinked in surprise. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, though a grin tugged at her lips.

Peter winked at her and extended his arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Come on. Let's swing through the city."

Emma's eyebrow arched. "Swing through the city?"

Peter nodded, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yup. Get ready. It's gonna be one heck of a ride."

Despite her reservations, a spark of intrigue bubbled up within her. She stepped closer to him, her heels clicking against the floor. Peter's arm went around her waist as he pulled her into position.

"Hold on tight," he said, his voice more serious now.

Emma did, instinctively wrapping her arms around him. She could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his suit, and it made her pulse race with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. She had no idea what to expect, but there was no backing out now.

Peter double-checked the web-shooter on his wrist, then shot a web to the nearest building. He kicked off the ground, and before Emma could fully process it, they were swinging through the night.

The wind rushed around them, and Emma's breath caught in her throat as the ground dropped away. Her stomach did a flip, but then the thrill of it hit her. They soared higher and higher, the lights of New York flickering below them like stars scattered across the earth.

She tightened her grip on Peter, her eyes widening as the city unfolded beneath her. The streets, the buildings, the parks—it was all so different from this vantage point. The sense of freedom was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but laugh aloud, a sound that echoed in the night.

At first, the rush of adrenaline made her a bit jittery. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she found herself clinging to Peter a little too tightly. But as the city whizzed past, and as Peter deftly swung them from building to building, the nerves started to wear off. Slowly, she relaxed, letting the experience take over. The cool air brushed against her skin, the rhythm of their swings lulled her into a strange sense of calm, and for once, Emma Frost let herself enjoy something completely out of her control.

"This is... fun," she thought, her smile widening.

And as they swung through the city, Emma couldn't help but feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Moments Later…

BGM: Bill Withers & George Washington Jr. - Just the Two of Us Instrumental

Peter and Emma stood atop a tall building in the heart of New York City, the night air cool against their skin as the lights of the city twinkled beneath them like a sea of stars. The swing ride had been exhilarating—adrenaline and laughter flowing freely—but now that they had arrived at their destination, the night took on a quieter, more intimate feel.

As they landed softly on the rooftop, Peter grinned at Emma. "Thanks for flying Air Spidey."

Emma, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same, crossed her arms and gave him a playful look. "Air Spidey, huh? You sure know how to market yourself."

Peter chuckled, unmasking himself and letting his signature grin return. "You liked it, though. Admit it."

Emma paused for a moment, letting the wind swirl around them. Despite herself, she couldn't deny it. Swinging through the city had been an absolute blast. She glanced up at Peter, who was watching her expectantly.

"It was... an enjoyable experience," she said, her voice warm, though her lips tugged at the edges, teasing him.

Peter's smile widened. "That's good to know." He gave a nod as if her approval had been his greatest victory. Then, extending his hand toward her, he seemed to expect something more. Emma raised an eyebrow, but without hesitation, she took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

"Come on," Peter said, his grin never fading. "Let's go take a look at something."

He gently tugged her forward, guiding her along the rooftop as they made their way toward a stunning setup. Emma's eyes widened as she took in the sight.

A lavish spread of food lay before them, ranging from casual snacks to extravagant platters of gourmet delights. There was champagne waiting to be popped, and right in the center of it all—nestled amongst the food—was a vase filled with fresh white roses. It was an intimate, almost romantic rooftop picnic, the soft glow of the city surrounding them like a blanket.

Peter had thought of everything. The white roses, a clear nod to her favorite color, were such a thoughtful touch. She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a flutter of something unexpected in her chest. Still, she couldn't shake one question—one that had been lingering in the back of her mind since she first saw him in that ridiculously stylish outfit.

Her gaze shifted from the roses to Peter. "How much did you spend on all this?" she asked, her voice light but still laced with curiosity.

Peter's face broke into a smile. "Don't worry about it," he said, his tone warm but evasive.

Emma didn't push him further, though a small, gnawing thought lingered in her mind. Peter had been broke only the night before, so how was he suddenly able to afford all this? The clothes, the food, the champagne, the roses... it was more than just a spontaneous date. It felt deliberate.

But before she could linger on the thought, Peter gently sat down on the rooftop blanket, pulling her down beside him. They both let go of each other's hands, and Emma's eyes returned to the sight before her: the stunning food, the gentle breeze, the moonlight casting everything in a soft glow. Her attention was drawn to the white roses again.

Peter noticed her looking at them. "Do you like the roses?" he asked, his voice warm, a hint of pride in it.

Emma nodded, her gaze softening. "They're beautiful." She was genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness.

"I thought you'd like them," Peter said, his voice quiet as if taking her in, gauging her reaction. "Is white your favorite color?"

She smiled at him, the corners of her lips turning upward in genuine affection. "It is," she replied. "Although... blue's a close second."

Peter's face lit up with a boyish grin. "Got it. I'll make sure to keep that in mind."

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile that followed. "You better."

Her gaze turned back to the spread of food, and her earlier thoughts of Peter's finances were temporarily forgotten. There was a wide variety to choose from, but she was still struck by just how much effort Peter had put into this night. A part of her wanted to ask more questions, but she could see the way Peter was looking at her—the sincerity in his eyes—and for now, she decided to let it go.

Her attention returned to him, her expression shifting to something more genuine than the usual cool façade. "Thank you, Peter," she said quietly. "This is... a really nice surprise."

Peter smiled back, his eyes warm and genuine. "I'm just repaying you for dinner last night." He glanced over at her playfully. "Besides, I figured we should start the second date on a good note."

Emma smirked at his words, though it was softer than her usual playful teasing. She didn't reply right away, content for a moment to let the peaceful silence between them stretch. There was a quiet understanding building, something unspoken hanging between them.

But as if on cue, Peter's stomach growled.

Loudly.

Emma raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a smirk. "You must be hungry."

Peter flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. "I, uh... might've been so focused on the swinging that I didn't realize how hungry I was."

Emma's smirk grew wider, clearly amused. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

She surveyed the food and picked out a white chocolate-covered strawberry, holding it up toward Peter. "Open up."

Peter laughed at the gesture, amused by her playfulness. "You're the boss, I guess."

Emma's smile turned sly. "I am the boss," she confirmed, looking at him with a glint of amusement.

Peter, still chuckling, opened his mouth, allowing her to bring the white chocolate strawberry to his lips with an exaggerated, playful motion. Peter took a gentle bite, savoring the sweetness. As he did, he couldn't help but grin, noticing the way Emma was looking at him.

Not wanting her to feel left out, Peter grabbed a white chocolate-covered strawberry for himself, holding it up to her mouth. Emma rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

"You're insufferable," she muttered, but it was endearing. She opened her mouth and took a bite, and for a moment, the world felt like it had stopped turning. They shared the sweetness of the moment, their quiet connection deepening.

The city stretched out before them, a vast and chaotic world far below. But up here, on this rooftop, it was just the two of them.

And for once, Peter and Emma felt... at peace.

END OF CHAPTER 3: SECOND DATE

BGM: X-Men TAS - End Credits Theme

Jean: I wanna say it again…

Emma: Don't you dare.

Jean: But I want to.

Emma: If you do, I will kill you.

Gambit: You talkin' about being The Love Doctor, Jeannie?

Jean: Yup!

Emma: And now both of you are going to die.

Charles: Please, my X-Men. Let's not engage in violence.

Kitty: I'll get the popcorn ready.

Betsy: Extra butter, please.

Kurt: Must things always end in violence?

Chapter Text

Intro Music: X-Men TAS 1992 Theme Song

Peter's Apartment

BGM: Eels - I Need Some Sleep

The soft click of the door shutting behind him echoed faintly through the modest one-bedroom apartment as Peter stepped inside. The night air from outside still clung to him, his body lightly buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening's events. He let out a content sigh as he leaned against the door for a second, a rare and genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Okay," he said aloud to no one but himself. "That... went way better than expected."

He gave himself a small pat on the back, a gesture that might've looked ridiculous if anyone else had seen it, but it made him chuckle. "Redemption achieved," he added, nodding once like he was giving himself a mental gold star.

Tossing his keys onto the nearby counter, Peter padded across the room, shedding his denim jacket and placing it over the back of a chair. He opened his dresser drawer and pulled out a plain T-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants—his typical post-hero, post-date attire. As he changed into them, his mind remained stuck on one thing.

Or rather, one person.

Emma.

He tried to focus on simple things—folding his clothes, brushing his teeth, the creaky sound his floor made every time he stepped too hard near the corner of the room. But the feeling wouldn't go away. That gnawing little itch in the back of his mind, like something unresolved, was trying to surface.

When he pulled back the sheets of his bed, he sat down slowly, his body relaxed but his thoughts anything but. The date had been good. More than good. Sweet. The kind of memory he could already tell would linger for a while. Emma had smiled more tonight than he'd ever seen her smile, and he'd meant every single word of every compliment he gave her. There was no performance, no obligation—it had all just flowed. Naturally.

That part was what messed with him the most. How natural it all felt.

He fell back into the bed, lying flat on his back, arms spread beside him as he stared at the slightly cracked ceiling. The city hummed outside, and even though it was late, Peter knew he wasn't falling asleep anytime soon.

"Okay," he mumbled to the ceiling. "Let's just… think this through."

Two dates.

That's all it had been.

Two very good dates.

But still… two.

And yet, here he was—thinking about her smile, the way she fed him that strawberry, how her fingers felt when they were interlaced with his. There was that one look she gave him tonight too. Not cold, not calculating. Warm.

He could still see it.

Still feel it.

He sighed again, frustrated this time. Not because he didn't like the feeling. But because the implications of that feeling were what made him restless.

Did he like Emma?

Not the surface-level stuff. Not "she's hot" or "we had fun." That was easy. Too easy.

But this—what he was feeling now—was different. More complicated. Deeper.

Was she his type? What was his type?

Was he her type?

He blinked slowly, his head rolling to the side as if the answer might be lying somewhere in the shadows of his room. But nothing came to him. Not answers, just more questions. More thoughts spiraling around.

Emma Frost wasn't just anyone. She was… guarded. Sophisticated. Sharp enough to cut steel with a look. But beneath all that, Peter had seen glimpses—tiny, almost unnoticeable glimpses—of someone who wanted to let her guard down. Who could be warm. Who chose to show it to him.

Why?

Why him?

Why now?

Peter ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. His heart didn't usually do this. Not this fast, not this soon. But there was no denying it anymore. Even if it caught him off guard, even if he wasn't sure what came next—he did like her.

Like, like her.

And now, with that truth finally acknowledged, the question that lingered above it all loomed louder:

What does this mean?

Would she want to see where this went? Could she?

Could he?

And, perhaps most importantly…

What happens next?

Peter didn't have the answers—not tonight. But as he lay there in the dim light of his apartment, staring at the ceiling like it might respond, he knew one thing for sure:

His feelings weren't going anywhere.

The X-Mansion

BGM Continues: Eels - I Need Some Sleep

The soft padding of Emma's footsteps echoed faintly through the quiet halls of the X-Mansion. Night had settled over the estate, its comforting silence wrapping the building in a stillness that only a handful of insomniacs and late-night wanderers disturbed. But Emma wasn't wandering.

She was thinking.

Her long, steady strides didn't falter, but her thoughts drifted, slowly circling back to the rooftop, the view, the white roses, the strawberries, and him.

Peter.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Not the polished, elegant smirk she so often wore like armor. No, this smile was soft. Genuine. The kind that crept in when she thought no one was looking. The kind that betrayed her carefully curated frost.

It didn't last long.

Her expression neutralized as she reached her door. With a flick of her wrist, the door opened, and she stepped into the sanctuary of her bedroom. The lights adjusted automatically to a dim, calming glow as she moved toward her closet. When she opened it, it was a small museum of luxury: designer labels, handcrafted fabrics, and curated seasonal pieces from across the world. It was a visual reminder of the life she had cultivated—flawless, expensive, and meticulously controlled.

She chose a silky white pajama set. Even her sleepwear radiated sophistication—tailored, comfortable, and undoubtedly costly. Once changed, she approached her bed and peeled back the silk sheets with the same smooth, measured grace she applied to every action. The fabric was cool to the touch, and as she slipped beneath the covers, she let out a small sigh, expecting sleep to take her quickly.

But it didn't.

Emma Frost lay in her bed, eyes open, mind racing.

It wasn't unusual for her to lose sleep—her thoughts were rarely quiet. But this time was different. This time, she wasn't dissecting a mission or debating her next chess move in some political power play.

This time, she was thinking about Peter.

The date had been... sweet. Thoughtful, even. She hadn't expected that from him, not at this level. The rooftop, the flowers, the way he made her laugh with his awful jokes and then somehow, a moment later, said something that made her heart beat a little faster. He'd caught her off guard more than once.

And she hated being caught off guard.

But… she didn't hate him for it.

Not at all.

She rolled onto her side, her hand resting gently against her pillow as her mind replayed the night. The way he'd looked at her, with such sincerity. The way he listened. The way he made her feel... like she wasn't performing, like she didn't have to calculate every word or expression. That kind of comfort was rare.

Dangerously rare.

It had started long before the first date. She remembered when she first peeked into his mind—not in a cruel way, not with an agenda. Just curiosity. And what she found… pain, yes. So much of it. But also resilience. Humor. Hope. A heart so stubbornly kind it was maddening.

She'd never forgotten that glimpse.

And now, she had felt that heart in person. Up close. On a rooftop under the stars with champagne and roses.

She bit her lip, closing her eyes for a moment.

Yes, she had a soft spot for Peter Parker.

But now, it was evolving into something else—something warmer. She wasn't just interested anymore. She wasn't just intrigued by how these dates would play out. She wanted to know what came after.

What came next.

The thought should've unsettled her. She'd spent years fortifying her independence. She didn't need anyone. That was the whole point.

So why did she want to see where this could go?

Did she actually like Peter?

...Yes.

The answer echoed quietly in the chambers of her mind.

Yes, she did.

But now what?

She turned her gaze up to the ceiling, mirroring Peter unknowingly in posture and uncertainty.

Could they really pursue something more? Did he even want to? Was this just a passing spark or the start of something real?

And did she even want to find out?

Her fingers clenched softly at the edge of her sheet.

She didn't know.

Emma Frost—woman of answers, precision, and control—didn't know what to do about the one thing she hadn't accounted for.

Feelings.

Genuine. Raw. Complicated.

And she hated complications.

But as her eyes finally fluttered closed, that warm thought lingered, floating just beneath her consciousness like a secret she wasn't ready to say aloud yet.

She liked Peter Parker.

And that changed everything.

One Week Later…

BGM: X-Men TAS Theme - Chill Remix

A week had slipped by since Emma Frost and Peter Parker shared their second date.

The X-Mansion carried on as it always did—an organized chaos of brilliance and adolescence. Mutant students, free from the shackles of schoolwork for the day, now took to the courtyard with carefree energy. Powers were lightly flexed in playful ways, laughter echoed through the grounds, and the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the sprawling estate.

Emma sat alone on a stone bench near the garden's edge. A picturesque sight by all accounts: designer sunglasses perched atop her head, a white linen book in hand, and her signature elegance radiating from her posture alone. She looked as immovable and refined as ever.

But her mind wasn't entirely in the pages.

Every now and then, her eyes would pause over a sentence without processing it, her thoughts drifting once more to Peter. Despite the silence between them since their last date, he'd found a way to remain stubbornly present in her thoughts. She hadn't heard from him. And, to be fair, she hadn't reached out either. Not because she didn't want to.

But because she did.

And that was the problem.

Her feelings had morphed into something weightier. Something real. And real things were complicated. Messy. Vulnerable. She wasn't sure she was ready to give someone the kind of power Peter had unknowingly begun to hold over her.

A familiar voice pulled her back to reality.

"Mind if I sit?" Jean's voice was gentle, teasing even.

Emma looked up from her book with a blank expression. Not irritated—at least not obviously. Just... guarded.

She exhaled slowly. "Go ahead."

Jean sat beside her without hesitation, a small smile tugging at her lips, but no words escaping just yet. She was being careful, and Emma picked up on that immediately.

"Consider yourself lucky I'm allowing this," Emma said dryly, turning a page without actually reading it. "Especially after your little daytime talk show stunt. Self-declared 'Love Doctor,' really?"

Jean snorted. "I did apologize, you know. Besides, I never mentioned your name."

Emma gave her a look. One that said: You didn't need to.

Still, she let it go with an eye roll, the smallest of smirks playing on her lips before fading. "So, what's the occasion? Felt like disturbing my perfectly peaceful reading time?"

Jean leaned back on the bench, eyes on the courtyard. "Just curious. Wanted to see if the White Queen's kept in touch with our favorite web-slinger. Or if he's kept in touch with her."

Emma didn't answer right away.

Eventually, she said, "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"We're telepaths, Emma," Jean replied casually, still looking ahead. "Keeping up with people's business is practically our civic duty."

That earned a reluctant chuckle from Emma, a flicker of amusement behind her eyes. But it faded again as Jean's question resurfaced in her mind. After a pause, she replied, "No. We haven't spoken."

Jean tilted her head. "Why not?"

Emma's lips pressed together.

"I don't know."

But that wasn't true. Not even close.

She did know. She knew it too well. Her feelings had tangled into something deeper than she anticipated, and instead of charging forward, she'd pulled away. Just like he had. The silence between them wasn't indifference—it was fear. Fear of what this could become.

Before she could stew in that too long, another voice cut in.

"Sounds to me like someone's got a case of the what-if's."

Emma turned, eyebrow arched, to see Rogue standing behind her with a smug grin. The southern belle gave Emma's shoulder a friendly pat, gloved fingers tapping lightly.

"Does anyone around here believe in privacy?" Emma asked flatly.

"That's rich coming from you," Rogue shot back with a laugh, causing Gambit—who now strolled up beside her—to smirk.

"Rogue's right," he chimed in. "Sounds like y'all are stuck in the will-they-won't-they phase. Been there. It's tricky."

"Very," Rogue added, her tone softening. "Took me forever to figure out how I felt about this charmer over here." She nudged Gambit playfully.

"Hey, I knew how I felt," Gambit countered. "I was just waiting for you to stop pretending you didn't."

Rogue nodded. "Sure. But... when you're scared of what it means—what it might turn into—it's easier to back off than to risk anything."

Emma listened. Not interrupting. Not rolling her eyes. Just... taking it in.

"It's scary," Rogue said, her voice more serious now. "Letting someone in. Letting yourself feel it. But if it's real? If it's genuine? Then it's worth it."

A silence fell over the group. A thoughtful one.

Jean glanced at the two with a smile. "Look at that. I guess I'm not the only love doctor around here."

Rogue laughed. "Don't get too comfy in that chair, sugah. We're comin' for your gig."

Gambit winked. "Love Doctor: Gulf Coast Edition."

Emma shook her head at the absurdity of it all, but she wasn't annoyed. Not really.

Rogue turned to her again, eyes sincere. "So... how do you feel about Peter?"

Emma paused.

She hated being cornered emotionally. Hated being asked to speak when silence was safer. But this wasn't a courtroom. It wasn't a chessboard. It was just... people. People who cared.

So, with reluctant honesty, she replied, "I think... I have feelings for him."

Rogue nodded with a small, approving smile. "Then you should tell him."

Emma exhaled slowly.

"I know," she said. "But... that's easier said than done."

Before anyone could reply, yet another voice chimed in.

"Well, I guess I'm just in time."

Emma's jaw clenched at the sound of Scott. "And privacy is officially dead."

Scott gave her a good-natured smile. "Just wanted to say... even if things don't go anywhere with you and Peter, you'd still have him as a friend. That guy's loyal. Sometimes painfully so."

Emma didn't reply, but the quiet acknowledgment in her eyes said enough. She knew Scott was right.

After a beat, she took a breath. Composed. Cool.

"I'll call him," she said, "but I'm not doing it with all of you watching me like I'm about to walk the plank."

That made them all laugh. Jean especially.

Rogue and Gambit took the hint and made their exit, arms loosely wrapped around each other. Scott helped Jean to her feet, and the two walked off hand-in-hand, casting one last glance at Emma with an encouraging smile.

Finally alone again, Emma let out a slow breath.

Then she reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and dialed.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then voicemail.

"Hey, it's Peter! Can't answer the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll try to get back with you soon!"

BEEP!

Emma hesitated for half a second.

Then: "Hi, Peter. It's Emma. I hope you're doing well. Call me back when you can."

Click.

She slipped her phone back into her bag, her expression unreadable as she turned back to her book.

But she wasn't reading anymore.

She was waiting.

Parker Residence

BGM: Post Malone & Swae Lee - Sunflower (Instrumental)

Within the cozy confines of a quaint home in Queens, Peter Parker sat at the old wooden dinner table that had seen everything from birthday cakes to science fair disasters. Across from him sat Aunt May, her warm, ever-patient eyes glancing over the rim of her teacup as she took a delicate sip. The gentle clinking of porcelain filled the comfortable silence between them. It was the kind of silence that only family could share without feeling the need to fill it with idle chatter.

May set her teacup down and looked at Peter with a light twinkle in her eye. "So," she began, casually, but with unmistakable interest, "tell me more about this Emma girl."

Peter, mid-sip, paused for a moment before placing his own cup down. A grin tugged at his lips. "She's… great," he replied, his tone soft and sincere. "She might come off a little cold at first, but she's not like that at all once you get to know her. She's smart, powerful, and has this way of carrying herself like she's untouchable. But when it's just the two of us, she's real. I don't know how to explain it better than that."

May nodded, clearly listening with care, a faint smile growing on her face. There was a short pause before she asked, "And have you two been in touch since your last date?"

Peter's expression shifted into something sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck in that all-too-familiar awkward way. "Not really," he admitted. "We haven't talked since then."

May's smile changed subtly—warmer, but with a knowing glint. She leaned forward just a bit. "You really like her, don't you?"

Peter blushed faintly, but he didn't deny it. "Yeah. I do. It's… weird, Aunt May. It feels natural with her. Like I don't have to pretend or filter myself."

"Then why are you two sitting around pretending not to care?" she asked, raising a brow. "If you feel something real, Peter, you need to say something. It's not good to keep that sort of thing bottled up."

Before Peter could respond, a buzz echoed from his phone, pulling his attention downward. He pulled it from his pocket and blinked at the screen. His eyes widened slightly.

"Emma?" May asked, easily picking up on the shift in her nephew's expression.

Peter gave a guilty smile and a half-chuckle. "Yeah. She's calling me."

May's grin broadened. "Then what are you waiting for? Answer it!"

"I'm going, I'm going," Peter said with a quiet laugh, rising to his feet. He made his way up the stairs to his old bedroom, wanting a bit of privacy. But just as he closed the door behind him and went to answer, the call ended, and went straight to voicemail.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Of course…"

Still, he listened to the voicemail. Emma's voice came through, calm, poised, but with an edge of vulnerability.

"Hi, Peter. It's Emma. I hope you're doing well. Call me back when you can."

Simple. Direct. But it was enough to send Peter into motion. He immediately dialed her back, pacing slightly as the phone rang once… twice… three times…

And then, mercifully, she answered.

"Hello?" came Emma's voice on the other end.

Peter exhaled in quiet relief. "Hey, Emma! Sorry I missed your call. I was just… tied up for a second."

"It's fine," she replied smoothly. But then her tone shifted slightly—playful, but unmistakably assertive. "Just make sure next time, you pick up."

Peter chuckled. "You got it. No more missed calls."

A short silence followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Then, Peter asked, "So… everything okay? You sounded kinda… I don't know, mysterious in that voicemail."

Emma paused. "Everything's fine," she replied. Then, after a moment longer, she added, "I was just wondering… are you free today? For another date?"

Peter blinked, caught off-guard by the directness, but pleasantly so. A smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I'm free. Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"Not really," Emma admitted. "I'll let you pick."

Peter thought for a moment. Then a familiar place sprang to mind. "Okay. Have you ever tried Delmar's Deli-Grocery?"

There was a beat of silence before Emma replied, "Can't say I've even heard of it."

Peter grinned. "Then you're in for a treat. They've got the best sandwiches in Queens. You have to try them."

Emma's voice took on a teasing edge. "If they're as good as you say, then I suppose I don't have a choice."

"You'll fall in love after one bite," Peter said confidently. "I'll swing by the mansion and pick you up soon."

"I'll be waiting," Emma replied, her tone as composed as ever, though there was a slight softness to it—an eagerness that Peter could just barely detect.

They exchanged their goodbyes, and the call ended.

Peter immediately pumped his fist in triumph, grinning ear to ear. He practically bounded down the stairs, where Aunt May was still sipping her tea with the same calm, knowing expression.

She didn't say anything at first. She didn't have to.

Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Okay, okay… you were right. I have a date."

May smiled warmly, tilting her head. "Then don't keep her waiting."

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks, Aunt May."

"Good luck, sweetie." she said fondly.

And with that, Peter headed out the door with a spring in his step and the door clicking shut behind him—off to see Emma, the woman who, despite his fears, had found a way into his heart.

Delmar's Deli-Grocery

BGM: EI8HT, Offset - Silk and Cologne

The sun hung gently over Queens as Peter and Emma strolled side by side down the block, their pace relaxed, their conversation casual. There was a comfortable rhythm to the way they moved together—close, but not too close—matching strides like they'd done this a dozen times before. It wouldn't be long before they arrived at their destination: Delmar's Deli-Grocery, a neighborhood staple tucked into the corner of a bustling street.

From the outside, Delmar's looked modest. A weathered awning stretched across the storefront, flapping slightly in the breeze. A hand-painted sign still bore the faded logo, and a chalkboard on the sidewalk advertised today's specials in slightly smudged writing. There was no flash, no grandeur. It was, in every way, a deli of the people.

Emma raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow as she took in the establishment, clearly out of her element. Her designer boots clicked softly on the pavement, and her platinum-blonde hair caught the light like silver thread. Her expression was unreadable, but Peter caught the subtle scanning motion of her eyes.

He chuckled. "I know this probably isn't your usual spot," he said, nudging her lightly with his elbow. "But I promise, it's worth it."

Emma looked like she was about to offer a polite reply, but then the scent hit her. Her eyes widened slightly as the rich aroma of toasted bread, seasoned meats, and savory oils reached her. She inhaled, caught off guard by how good it smelled.

"The sandwiches do have a pleasant scent," she admitted, not looking at Peter.

Peter grinned. "Just wait until you actually taste them."

With that, the two stepped inside, a bell above the door jingling to announce their arrival. The inside of Delmar's was warm, cluttered, and undeniably homey. Behind the register stood Mr. Delmar, a stout man with a salt-and-pepper mustache and an apron dusted in flour. He looked up and his face lit up at the sight of Peter.

"Peter! It's been too long, mijo!" he exclaimed, coming around the counter with arms half-raised in welcome.

Peter laughed. "Hey, Mr. Delmar! How's everything?"

"Same old, same old. Still keeping the deli alive one sandwich at a time," Mr. Delmar said proudly. But then, his gaze shifted to Emma, and his eyebrows shot up. "And who's this?"

Peter turned toward Emma with a smile. "This is Emma. She's my… uh… my date."

Emma, cool as ever, gave a small nod. "Pleasure to meet you."

Mr. Delmar let out a low whistle. "Pedro, you've definitely outdone yourself. She's gorgeous!"

Emma smirked, clearly unfazed. Peter, on the other hand, gave a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Anyway," Peter said, redirecting quickly, "I'll take my usual. The number 5."

"The Super Sub, got it." Mr. Delmar scribbled the order down. "And for you, Miss Emma?"

Emma glanced up at the handwritten menu above the counter. It took her a moment, but then she pointed. "I'll try the number 13. The Italian sub."

Mr. Delmar nodded. "Excellent choice. That'll be twenty bucks."

Emma reached for her purse, but before she could pull anything out, Peter gently touched her arm. "I've got this."

She blinked once, twice, but then simply lowered her hand. "All right," she said quietly.

Peter handed over a twenty with a grin. "Back in my day, these used to cost five bucks."

Mr. Delmar laughed, ringing them up. "Blame inflation, not me!"

Peter chuckled, then turned his head toward the counter where a cat was sprawled out like royalty. "Hey, Murph," he said fondly, walking over and scratching the cat behind the ears.

Emma watched, amused, as Peter gave the cat attention. "You've always had a way with animals?"

Peter shrugged. "Sort of. Speaking of which…" He looked over his shoulder at her. "You ever think about having a pet?"

Emma tilted her head, considering. "Not really. No particular reason. I just haven't."

"I think a pet would bring out your soft side," Peter said, grinning.

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. I am soft."

Peter laughed. "Sure. Like concrete."

Before Emma could come up with a witty comeback, Mr. Delmar called from the counter. "Peter, Emma! Your orders are ready!"

They both stepped forward to receive their white paper bags, and Mr. Delmar handed them over with a smile. "Enjoy, you two. And don't be strangers!"

"Thanks, Mr. Delmar. We'll be back," Peter said earnestly.

Back outside, the pair made their way to a nearby bench under the shade of a tree. They sat, side by side, unwrapping their sandwiches carefully.

Peter set his sub down beside him and turned to Emma. "Okay, I need complete honesty. No holding back when you take that first bite."

Emma smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Honesty is my specialty."

She took a breath, then took a bite of her Italian sub. Peter watched her closely as she chewed. At first, her expression stayed neutral. But then her eyes widened. She took another chew—slower this time, savoring. Finally, she swallowed.

"This… is delicious," she admitted, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Peter fist-pumped. "Ha! Told you."

Excited to finally dig into his own sub, Peter reached down to grab it. "Anyway, Emma. I actually wanted to tell you something impor-" But before he could finish, he stopped himself, because he soon realized that his sub was gone.

"What the-?" He looked around in confusion, then turned to Emma. "Hey, have you seen my sub?"

She glanced at the empty space beside him. "It was right there a second ago."

"I know!" Peter exclaimed. "It's just-"

BURRRP!

BGM: Harry Nilsson - Best Friend

The unmistakable sound of a tiny, satisfied belch caught their attention. Both Peter and Emma looked down—and there, sitting innocently between their feet, was a small, smiling shark. Not just any shark. A land shark.

It stared up at them with impossibly cute eyes, licking its chops contentedly.

Peter blinked. "Well… at least I know how my sub disappeared now."

Emma leaned forward slightly. She didn't say anything right away. But then, in a completely serious tone, she stated, "That is the most adorable thing I have ever seen in my life. I must have him."

Peter turned to her sharply. "What?! I was not expecting you to say that."

"I'm serious," Emma said without a hint of irony.

Peter took a closer look and noticed a small collar around the shark's neck. Hanging from it was a tiny tag. He leaned in.

"Jeff," Peter read aloud. "His name is Jeff."

Then, he looked back at the shark. "Hey, Jeff… do you have an owner?"

Jeff looked up at Peter, and shook his head.

That was all Emma needed. "Perfect. He's mine now."

Jeff squeaked happily and, with a little hop, jumped right up onto the bench between the two of them, wiggling his little tail as if he already belonged.

Emma, gently setting her sub down, began petting him. Peter sighed, giving in, and joined in too.

But then he paused, glanced at the empty spot where his sandwich used to be, and said with mock sadness, "I still don't have a sub."

Emma smirked, still petting Jeff. "I'll get you another one."

Peter smiled. "Deal."

And with Jeff happily settled between them, Peter and Emma enjoyed the rest of their afternoon. Not just with good food, but with an unexpected new companion who had already stolen a sandwich… and their hearts.

END OF CHAPTER 4: FEELINGS

BGM: Spectacular Spider-Man - End Credits

Kitty: Well, I think Peter and Emma just unofficially became parents.

Jeff: MRRRRR!

Jubilee: Aw, he's so cute!

Wolverine: He ate all of my clothes! HE'S EVIL!

Emma: My baby is not evil!

Chapter Text

Intro Music: Spider-Man Unlimited Theme Song

The X-Mansion

BGM: Sonic Unleashed - Apotos (Day)

A few days had passed since Peter and Emma's last date. As the morning arrived, the halls of the X-Mansion were quiet, save for the confident, heavy steps of Logan as he made his way toward the kitchen. A self-satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he muttered to himself, "Been thinkin' about that steak all night... finally get to eat it."

He pushed open the kitchen door with a grunt, stepping into the cozy space. Without hesitation, he walked over to the fridge, already imagining the perfectly marbled cut he'd been saving for days. He opened the door with purpose, expecting to be greeted by the glorious sight of red meat wrapped neatly in foil.

Instead… nothing.

Logan blinked. Looked again.

Empty.

"What the-" he growled under his breath. "Where's my steak?"

As if on cue, a tiny burp sounded off to his right.

Logan's head whipped in the direction of the sound.

And there he was. Sitting smugly near the pantry door was Jeff, licking his lips in satisfaction and wagging his tail. His belly was just slightly rounder than usual. His innocent eyes locked with Logan's as he gave a delighted squeak. "Mrrrr!"

Logan's face twitched. A vein throbbed near his temple. He held his breath... tried to hold it in... but it exploded out of him in one loud, gravel-thick shout:

"EMMAAAAAAA!"

The shout echoed like a thunderclap through the halls of the X-Mansion. Moments later, Emma arrived, arms folded and eyebrows raised in irritation.

"Honestly, Logan. Could you be any louder?" she said sarcastically, strutting into the kitchen with heels clicking against tile.

Logan turned, jabbing a finger at Jeff—who now sat with his stubby legs folded adorably over his belly.

"That little monster just ate my steak," he growled.

Emma looked deeply offended. She marched straight to Jeff, who waddled to her side happily, and kneeled down to pet him.

"First of all, my baby is not a monster," she said in a protective tone. "And second of all, he's just got a healthy appetite."

Then she gestured toward Jeff's face. "Now look at that. Is that the kind of face you can be mad at?"

Logan turned to Jeff. Jeff blinked up at him with cartoonishly wide eyes, tail still wagging.

Logan's nostrils flared... and then... he exhaled. Some of the fury drained out of him, but he kept his glare intact. Barely.

"Just... keep him outta the fridge," he muttered, storming off.

Emma exhaled in relief, petting Jeff again. "That went better than expected."

DING-DONG!

Just then, the doorbell rang, echoing through the mansion. Emma arched a brow, standing upright again. "Now who could that be?"

She walked toward the front entrance, Jeff padding after her like a loyal pup, or a loyal shark in this case. When she opened the door, she was met with a grinning Peter, arms wide.

"Daddy's home!" he announced.

Jeff let out a happy squeak and launched himself into Peter's arms, licking his face with affection. Peter laughed, giving the little shark a warm squeeze. "Whoa, Jeff! Slow down, bud!"

Emma watched the scene with amusement, a small smile tugging at her lips. But then, her smile twisted into a sly smirk.

"I've got a question for you, Peter," she said, arms crossed.

Peter glanced up from Jeff. "What's up?"

Emma tilted her head. "If you're the daddy... then who's the mommy?"

Peter blinked. "Oh no…"

Emma wouldn't let up, her expression showing that she was clearly enjoying this. "Well?"

Peter's eyes widened slightly.

Then he sighed, ultimately accepting his defeat. "...You're the mommy."

Emma's smirk widened triumphantly. "Indeed I am. The mommy. And don't you forget it."

She leaned in slightly. "Though 'Mother' works, too."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "I walked right into that one, huh?"

"Yes, you did," she teased.

"Can I come in, or are you going to keep roasting me on the doorstep?" he dryly replied.

Emma stepped aside gracefully. "Come in, daddy."

Peter groaned, still laughing as he walked inside, setting Jeff gently down. Emma closed the door behind them.

"I'm glad you stopped by," she said, her tone shifting to something a little more serious.

Peter looked curious. "Yeah? What's up?"

Emma walked into the sitting room, beckoning Peter to follow. "The Hellfire Gala is happening next week," she began. "It'll be held at Avengers Tower this year."

Peter nodded. "Sounds cool."

Then, by extending her arm and using her telekinetic abilities, she summoned something through the air. A pristine envelope, sealed with gold embossing and trimmed in white and crimson, floated gracefully into her hand. She held it out to him.

"You're officially invited," she said.

Peter blinked in surprise as he took it. He looked down, reading the elegant cursive. His brow rose. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Very," Emma replied, her smile relaxed but sincere. "Is that hard to believe?"

"No, no, it's not that," Peter said quickly, then added with a chuckle, "Well, okay, maybe a little. I just didn't think this was… y'know, my kind of scene."

"You'll be fine," Emma said confidently. But then she noticed the shift in his demeanor—the slight hesitation, the thoughtful silence that lingered.

She resisted the urge to read his mind, even though it would've been easy. Instead, she gave him the space.

"I could read your mind right now," she said lightly. "But I'm feeling considerate. So I'll just ask: What's on your mind?"

Peter smiled softly. "Appreciate the privacy."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. Then he took a breath.

"Do you have a date to the Gala?"

Emma looked at him, surprised, but pleasantly so. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she slowly shook her head. "No," she said. "I don't."

Peter nodded, trying to stay casual, but his heart was already thumping louder. "Would you… want a date?"

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, then warmth. "I'd only want one man as my date."

Peter grinned. "Let me guess… swings around New York? Wears red and blue? Really bad at keeping things simple?"

Emma laughed softly. "The very same."

"Then," Peter said, stepping a little closer, "Emma Frost, would you like to be my date to the Hellfire Gala?"

Emma smiled—genuine, unguarded, the kind she only wore with him.

"I'd love to."

Jeff squeaked happily, as if he understood the moment, and both Peter and Emma looked down at him before bursting into quiet laughter.

Afterward, Peter glanced back down at the invitation in his hand, still taking in the significance of it. Then he looked up at Emma again, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"So… there's just one thing," he began. "I don't really have a suit that's, y'know… Hellfire Gala worthy."

Emma turned to him slowly, one brow arching with elegant precision. A smirk played across her lips like she had been waiting for that exact comment.

"That," she said, voice velvety, "won't be a problem."

Peter blinked. "It won't?"

"No," she confirmed, stepping closer. "Because we'll make one. Together."

He blinked again. "Wait, what? We're making one?"

Emma gave a graceful nod, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You heard me correctly. You're my date now, Peter, which means you're not just representing yourself—" she gently reached up, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle on his collar "—but you're also representing me."

Peter chuckled at that, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. No pressure."

Emma smiled, eyes glinting with confidence. "You'll be fine. With my natural eye for fashion and your charming awkwardness, we're going to make sure you have the best suit at the entire Gala."

Peter gave her a half-laugh, half-sigh. "Well, if we're going all-in, I guess I better start stretching."

But then, his expression shifted slightly, playfully wary. "Just… do me one favor?"

Emma tilted her head. "Mm?"

"Let me throw in a few ideas of my own here and there. You know, something that says me along with all that glitz."

Emma looked at him for a moment, then offered a gracious nod. "Of course. I'll allow you to give creative input… within reason. You'll be heard and considered."

Peter grinned. "As in 'heard and considered,' do you mean 'heard and immediately vetoed'?"

She smirked. "A little from column A, a little from column B."

Peter chuckled. "Wow. So generous of you."

"Always," she replied smoothly, her eyes locking with his. "But don't get used to it."

Peter lifted his hands in surrender. "Noted."

Jeff squeaked from the side, as if urging them to get started already.

Peter looked down at him. "You think Jeff needs a tux too?"

Emma didn't miss a beat. "Already in the works."

Peter stared at her, stunned. "You're not joking."

Emma smirked. "Would I joke about fashion, darling?"

With a soft laugh, Peter shook his head. "This is going to be something else."

Emma gave a nod of confirmation to Peter's statement, her smirk never wavering. "You're correct. But now, Mr. Parker, it's time to get to work."

Peter nodded with a smirk of his own, his tone light but committed. "Lead the way, Miss Frost."

And with that, the pair began to make their way deeper into the mansion. One spider, one telepath, one mischievous land shark, and the first steps of their Gala-ready transformation had begun.

Moments Later…

BGM: Loverboy - Working for the Weekend (A/N: You guys HAVE to play this song for the scene, lol.)

In the most unintentionally over-the-top, cinematic way imaginable, Peter, Emma, and their newly adopted sub-devouring, chaos-making shark son, Jeff, walked in slow motion down the hallway of the X-Mansion.

Peter's jacket flared dramatically behind him.

Emma's heels clicked in perfect rhythm to music that didn't exist.

Jeff waddled in slow-mo like a four-legged action star, eyes locked forward, tail swaying with purpose.

Together, they were on a mission.

A mission... for fashion.

As they entered Beast's lab, the lights above flickered briefly, as though sensing the storm of creativity about to unfold. Inside, Hank McCoy stood over a console, analyzing some unknown data with scholarly precision. But as the trio entered, he turned to them with a welcoming, if slightly puzzled, expression.

"Ah, Peter. Emma. And... young Jeff. What can I do for you?" he asked, folding his arms.

Peter paused like a man in a trailer about to deliver the tagline. Then a grin stretched across his face.

"We need your help, Hank," Peter said dramatically. "It's time."

Emma stepped forward, striking a pose as if she were presenting an Oscar. "We're crafting the greatest suit ever worn at the Hellfire Gala. And you, Beast, are going to help us build it."

Hank blinked. Once. Twice.

Then slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. "A challenge in the name of fashion, function, and fanfare? Count me in."

Jeff squeaked in delight. "Mrrrr!"

Cue the montage!

Peter is seen vigorously shaking spray paint cans, red and black, before absolutely blasting them across a sheet of cloth. He's wearing goggles. Why? Because it looks cool.

Emma, clipboard in hand, struts between workstations like a fabulous general at war. She points with exact precision. "Jeff, wrench! Hank, activate the micro-fabricator! Peter, less Jackson Pollock, more polished rebellion!"

Beast, under a metal table for reasons unclear, shouts, "Screwdriver!"

Jeff waddles up, proudly carrying a tiny screwdriver in his mouth like a dog bringing a newspaper.

"Thank you, my aquatic assistant," Hank says gratefully, taking the screwdriver before rolling back under.

As time passed, Peter could now be seen wearing half a prototype suit while being mildly electrocuted. Sparks shoot from the web-shooter cuff. He yelps. Jeff screams. Emma just sips a glass of chardonnay and says, "Don't be dramatic."

Beast is conducting "vibrational resistance tests," which looks suspiciously like him just jumping on a table and screaming, "SCIENCE!"

Emma calmly glues individual diamonds to the raised webbing of the suit with the elegance of someone born with a Tiffany's platinum spoon in her mouth. "Each diamond is sourced from a conflict-free, responsibly mined mutant vendor," she notes.

That's when Peter realized something. "Wait, this suit costs more than my apartment."

"I've never been to your apartment, but I'd say that's not surprising." Emma retorted.

More time passes, and Peter tries to teach Jeff how to high-five. They miss six times before Jeff finally gets it.

Emma starts humming a little tune while working. Beast and Peter both notice, and Peter quietly smiles.

Beast creates a glowing web-emblem that pulses with kinetic energy, whispering to himself, "A high probability that Reed and Tony collectively lose their minds over this one…"

Montage Ends

At long last, the chaotic, brilliant, diamond-encrusted process comes to a close.

The suit was no ordinary tuxedo.

It wasn't just a gala costume.

It was a new Spider-Man suit.

The black and crimson fabric shimmered with depth and tech, the spider emblem on the chest glowing softly. Diamond webbing stretched across the arms and legs, elegant but fierce. It had power, glamor, and Peter Parker all over it.

The lab fell into reverent silence.

Even Jeff stood still.

Peter stared at the finished suit for a few long seconds. Then, slowly, he began to clap.

"One word," he said softly. "Masterpiece."

Emma placed a hand on her hip and gave him a warm, knowing smile.

"I told you we'd make them look," she said.

Peter turned to her, his grin wide. "Yeah, well… if I'm showing up with you, we were already winning."

Emma rolled her eyes, but there was the unmistakable flush of a genuine smile playing at her lips.

Beast adjusted his glasses. "You realize we've just set the bar for all future Gala attire."

Jeff squeaked in agreement. "Mrrrr!"

And as the four of them—an unlikely fashion team of spider, telepath, genius mutant, and adorable shark—stood admiring their work, they knew one thing for sure.

They were ready to turn heads.

One Week Later…

BGM: Sonic Unleashed - Apotos (Night)

The sun had only just begun to dip below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the lawn of the X-Mansion as the day of the Hellfire Gala finally arrived.

Inside, the mansion buzzed with excitement and anticipation. Every hallway echoed with the soft rustle of fine fabrics, the tapping of polished shoes and heels, and the occasional hum of nervous energy. Each X-Man attending was dressed to impress.

In the main hall, Professor Charles Xavier, dressed in an immaculate emerald suit tailored with Krakoan embroidery, floated along in his hoverchair, eyes surveying his students and colleagues with a warm, proud smile.

"You all look phenomenal," he said, nodding to each mutant in turn. "Truly, the finest representation of our kind."

He wasn't wrong. Logan had foregone flannel for once, rocking a sharp white suit and a single red rose on his chest, with the finishing touch being an eyepatch over his left eye. Jean radiated regality in a flowing crimson dress adorned with telekinetic patterns that shimmered like flame. Scott was cool and classic in a sleek navy tux, his visor polished to gleaming perfection.

Storm, as always, was a vision of grace and power—her silver and white ensemble practically summoning thunder just by existing. Rogue and Gambit, matching in deep green and gold, looked like they'd just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. The others—Kurt, Jubilee, Betsy, Kitty, Colossus, Magik, Morph, and Beast—were all draped in some combination of haute couture, mutant pride, and creative flair.

Yet despite the dazzling display, two figures had yet to appear.

"Where is Emma?" Magik called out toward the hallway with an impatient smirk. "We're gonna be late!"

From down the corridor, Emma's voice floated back with theatrical calm, "You can't rush art, darling!"

That made Rogue laugh, nudging Gambit. "Well, she's not wrong."

But before anyone could respond, the doorbell rang.

DING-DONG!

Beast's eyes lit up with a sparkle of anticipation. Adjusting the cuffs of his silver-threaded blazer, he stepped toward the front door, turning back dramatically to face the room. "Ladies and gentlemen… allow me to introduce… your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

With that, Beast flung the door open.

And there he was.

Peter stood confidently in the doorway, masked at first—head tilted slightly, body language relaxed but proud. His new suit gleamed under the lights of the mansion foyer—deep black and ruby red, the diamond-studded raised webbing catching every ray of light. The glowing spider-emblem pulsed softly with subtle tech enhancements. It wasn't just a suit—it was a statement.

Peter reached up and pulled off his mask with a smile, holding his arms out as if to say, "Well?"

The room was stunned for a moment.

Then…

Rogue and Gambit whistled in unison.

Jubilee would say, "Okay, Spider-Man just became Spider-Model."

Kurt would add, "Mein Gott, that's spectacular."

Logan, in grunting approval, would say, "Hmph. Not bad, Web-Head."

Jean, in a kind tone, stated, "Peter, you look amazing."

Scott, a bit playfully, would add, "Well, now I feel underdressed."

Peter laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks, guys. Couldn't have done it without Beast. Or…"

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of high heels echoed through the room. All eyes turned toward the stairs.

And then Emma appeared.

She descended like royalty—no, like a goddess. Her gown was white with golden accents, a snowflake-like cascade of shimmering blue diamonds adorned the front in intricate patterns. A flowing white fur cape swirled behind her with every step, and at her side, waddling proudly in an Emma Frost-inspired tuxedo, was none other than Jeff.

Peter was speechless.

He stared, captivated, unable to find the right words.

Emma descended the last step and stopped before him. Her eyes met his. His awe was evident.

"You… You look absolutely incredible," Peter finally said, his voice soft and sincere.

Emma's poised expression softened into a genuine smile. Compliments were nothing new to her, but Peter's always seemed to hit a little different.

"You fill out your new suit quite nicely yourself," she replied with a teasing raise of her brow. Then, without missing a beat, she added, "But don't forget about Jeff. He's the real star."

Peter crouched in front of the shark, petting him and laughing. "How could I forget my favorite tux-wearing troublemaker?"

Jeff squeaked and wagged his tail, soaking in the affection. "Mrrrr!"

As the rest of the X-Men took their turns complimenting Emma and cooing over Jeff's formalwear, Jean grinned mischievously.

"You know," Jean said, leaning slightly toward Emma, "I've noticed how easy it is for you to smile when your boyfriend's around."

Emma's smile dropped instantly, replaced with a glare. "Peter isn't my boyfriend. He's my date."

Jean raised her hands. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Emma rolled her eyes, but when she glanced at Peter, she noticed something… subtle. A shift in his eyes. A quiet flicker of sadness. No one else noticed it, but she did.

Something about Emma's words and Jean's "boyfriend" joke had hit him.

Before Emma could address it, Charles clapped his hands. "Everyone, it's time to head to the hangar. We don't want to be late for our entrance."

The group murmured in agreement, and one by one, they began to head out—Colossus and Kitty leading the way, with Logan grumbling something about flying coach.

Peter, silent again, placed his mask back over his head.

Emma lingered a moment before walking beside him. She didn't say anything right away. But her presence was close, warm, understanding.

They both looked down as Jeff bounced between them, tuxedo fluttering.

A moment passed.

Then, Emma's hand lightly brushed Peter's as they walked. Just a graze, but it was enough.

They made their way to the Blackbird, side by side, and once everyone was seated and buckled in, the jet lifted off from the mansion and soared into the sky.

Avengers Tower/The Hellfire Gala

BGM: Avatar The Last Airbender - Cave Jivin (A/N: Please play this!)

Avengers Tower was glowing.

Literally. Between the high-tech lighting system, the golden shimmer of the evening sky, and the sheer number of sequins, glitter, and cosmic energy signatures in the room, it looked less like a gala and more like a celebration at the edge of the galaxy.

The Hellfire Gala was in full effect.

Mutants, Avengers, cosmic entities, sorcerers, tech geniuses, and even a few friendly Skrulls mingled throughout the grand ballroom. It was a strange, colorful tapestry of the Marvel universe—elegant, weird, and completely electric.

From the main stage, music pulsed through the room, upbeat and rich.

"ALRIGHT, PARTY PEOPLE!"

The voice came from none other than Deadpool, dressed in a neon tuxedo-jumpsuit hybrid and wearing a tiara for absolutely no reason.

"Let it be known that I was born for this DJ gig! And guess who my assistant is?" He turned his shoulder slightly.

Jeff, perched on top of his shoulder in his custom tux, gave a happy squeak and waved a little glow stick in his mouth.

The crowd erupted in laughs and applause.

From the side of the room, Emma stepped onto a crystalline platform in her gleaming gown, holding a diamond-studded microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, heroes and mutants, friends and frenemies…" Her voice carried elegantly across the hall. "Welcome to the Hellfire Gala. Thank you for gracing us with your presence tonight. May your evening be memorable, your conversations scandalous, and your photos flawless."

The crowd responded with raised glasses, nods, and claps.

Meanwhile, Peter walked among them, his diamond-webbed Gala suit catching more compliments than he knew how to respond to.

"Whoa! Spidey in drip mode!"

"Love the suit, man!"

"Did Reed or Tony make that?"

Peter grinned, firing finger guns. "Appreciate it! Nah, all custom-made. Shoutout to the creative team."

He was clearly enjoying himself. But then…

"Hey, Web-Head!"

Peter turned, and broke into a wide smile.

Johnny Storm approached with his usual swagger, flanked by Reed Richards, Sue Storm, and Ben Grimm.

"What's up guys?" Peter said warmly. "Now this officially feels like a real party."

Johnny threw an arm around Peter. "Dude. That suit? Might be the coolest thing I've ever seen. And I've been on fire in outer space."

Ben nodded, taking a look at Peter's suit. "It's fantastic."

Reed was analyzing the tech on Peter's suit, but then he blinked, slowly but surely turning to Ben, as if he had the greatest light bulb moment of all time. "...Say that again."

Ben looked confused for a moment… then smirked. "It's fantastic."

Reed's eyes lit up. "That's it! That should be our tagline."

Sue shook her head. "Just because we're the Fantastic Four doesn't mean we need to shoehorn in puns at every opportunity."

Peter chuckled, the warmth of their banter making him feel at home. But then, as he casually glanced around the room… he saw them.

Emma and Tony Stark, standing together near the champagne table.

They looked like they belonged in a different class entirely. Tony in his signature red and gold-accented suit, sharp and gleaming. Emma was poised, graceful, sipping her drink like the queen she was. They weren't doing anything suspicious, but… Tony was everything Peter wasn't.

Wealth. Charm. Ease. Confidence. Legacy.

And maybe it was the growing feelings inside him, or maybe it was just the insecurity creeping up, but Peter's chest tightened.

Johnny noticed the shift first. "Hey… what's wrong, Pete?"

Peter tried to wave it off. "It's nothing."

Reed looked at him. "Peter, you've never been a good liar."

Sue and Ben nodded in agreement.

Peter sighed. "Okay. So… I'm Emma's date tonight."

Four pairs of eyes widened instantly.

"Wait," Johnny said. "Like… actual date-date?"

Peter nodded. "We've gone out a few times. It's been… really good, actually. She's smart, sharp, funny in her own intense way. And I like her. Like… a lot."

He looked down, fingers fidgeting. "But I don't know. We're so different. I'm just… Peter. The guy who stresses about rent. And she's… Emma Frost."

Ben crossed his arms. "Kid, lemme tell you something. I'm a giant rock monster, and I still found someone."

Sue smiled warmly. "If you haven't told her how you feel, now's the time. Trust your instincts."

Peter nodded slowly. But that moment in the mansion—when Jean made the boyfriend joke and Emma immediately corrected her—was still fresh in his mind. She didn't say anything wrong, but… yeah. It stung.

Across the room, we now go to the conversation between Emma and Tony.

"Frost," Tony said with a teasing grin, "I saw you walk in with the Web-Head. You two actually a thing, or is this just one of those charity outreach initiatives?"

Emma sipped her champagne with a smirk. "He's my date."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Just a date, huh? Not a boyfriend? Not a project?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Are you interrogating me or gossiping?"

"A little of both." He took a sip of his drink. "You like him."

Emma's lips parted to protest, but she paused. Her silence was an answer.

"I gotta say, I didn't see that coming," Tony continued. "Not because of Peter. He's great. One of the best of us. But… you and him? Not exactly two puzzle pieces that snap together."

Emma glanced across the room—right at Peter, who was still talking to the Fantastic Four.

"Peter's a good man," Emma said quietly.

Tony smiled knowingly. "And you think maybe you're not his type."

Emma didn't respond, but her eyes said everything.

Tony clinked his glass against hers. "Here's a free nugget: opposites attract. Sometimes, the right person isn't the one who matches your world. It's the one who makes it better."

Emma's eyes flicked toward Peter again.

Tony gave her a wink. "Do with that what you will, Frosty."

And with that, he walked away, vanishing into the crowd, leaving Emma standing there—still, silent, and… thinking.

Thinking about Peter. About herself.

Speaking of Peter, he was caught in the storm of his own thoughts.

"Dude," Johnny said with a light pat on Peter's back, "you need a push. And lucky for you…"

Johnny took a step back with a confident smirk. "You've got me."

Peter's brows rose with immediate suspicion. "Wait, Johnny. What are you doing?"

"Being the greatest wingman ever," Johnny declared with a salute before striding off like a man on a mission.

Peter turned to the others.

Reed blinked. "I'm curious."

Sue pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm worried."

Ben shrugged. "With Torch, it's a 50/50 shot between romantic gesture or public embarrassment."

Peter sighed. "Fantastic."

As for Johnny, he confidently marched over to Deadpool, who was still tearing it up as the Gala's chaotic-but-weirdly-skilled DJ. "Yo, Pool! I need a favor."

Deadpool tilted his tiara and lifted Jeff from his shoulder to the DJ booth like a royal assistant. "Hit me."

Johnny leaned in, whispering a song request with the intensity of a man revealing top-secret intel.

Deadpool blinked. "That's either incredibly romantic or the plot to Step Up 5: Multiverse Meltdown. I'm in."

Moments later, the music shifted.

The mood changed.

BGM: Big Time Rush ft. Snoop Dogg - Boyfriend (If you guys don't play this song for the scene, I will find you!)

A catchy, energetic rhythm filled the Gala, and suddenly, heads started turning. A few guests near the floor began to dance.

Then more.

It was infectious.

Peter looked across the room and locked eyes on Emma, who was now standing alone near the edge of the dance floor, setting her champagne flute down. Her expression was unreadable, but graceful, as always.

Then, Peter turned to Reed, Sue, and Ben. "Wish me luck, guys."

"You got this, kid," Ben said.

"We're rooting for you," Sue added sincerely.

"Just stay focused," Reed told him with a smile.

Peter nodded. With his heart pounding and his new suit gleaming like it was made of starlight, he walked across the room, weaving through the crowd.

He stopped in front of Emma.

And extended his hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

Emma looked at his hand… then up at him.

Her expression softened. And then, she smiled.

"I'd like that."

Their fingers intertwined—elegance meeting energy—and Peter led Emma to the center of the dance floor.

It started simple.

Emma's moves were sleek and refined, effortlessly precise—each step like a graceful snowflake landing on marble.

Peter, being Peter, had a bit more bounce. His rhythm was playful, instinctive, almost chaotic, but charming.

But then…

They began to sync.

Step by step.

Spin by spin.

The music built, and the crowd started to notice.

Peter and Emma spun in a circle together, their movements becoming a perfect blend of finesse and flow—grace meeting momentum. It was like a visual metaphor for their entire dynamic.

Eyes across the Gala slowly turned.

Avengers paused.

X-Men whispered.

Even the sorcerers and others stopped to watch.

Emma leaned in slightly, her lips near Peter's ear as she smirked. "It appears everyone is watching us."

Peter smiled without missing a beat. "Don't worry about them. It's just you and me right now."

Emma blinked at the response. Her smirk shifted into something softer. Sincere.

Then the music hit a crescendo.

And suddenly…

Flip.

Both Peter and Emma leapt into the air at the same time, twisting in perfect synchronization, landing like it had been choreographed all along.

Cheers erupted.

"Whoo!"

"That was insane!"

"Are y'all seeing this?!"

Each step they made after that was poetry in motion. And as the music surged toward its final notes, Peter dipped Emma backward, one arm strong around her waist, her hand against his chest, both of them breathing heavily, but smiling at each other.

The entire ballroom erupted in applause.

Whistles. Claps. Stomps. A few cheers from Wakandan royalty.

Tony, watching from the side, sipped his drink and nodded in approval. "Well, well, well. Parker's got moves."

Johnny beamed with pride as he rejoined Reed, Sue, and Ben. "I told you. Greatest. Wingman. Ever."

Jean, standing near the other X-Men, nudged Emma telepathically with a cheeky, "Not your boyfriend, huh?"

Emma resisted the urge to smirk. Barely.

Reed and Sue clapped politely.

Ben gave Peter a big thumbs-up.

And Jeff, from the DJ booth beside Deadpool, bounced happily and squeaked in joy—clearly proud of his two favorite people.

Peter helped Emma stand straight again, but their hands didn't let go.

Still panting slightly, Peter grinned. "Okay, so… that was kind of amazing."

Emma laughed softly. "You're not so bad on the dance floor, Mr. Parker."

Peter looked at her, expression soft. "You're incredible."

And for just a moment, the Gala, the crowd, the noise… it all faded into a distant hum.

It was just the two of them.

Finally… in step.

END OF CHAPTER 5: THE HELLFIRE GALA

BGM: Spider-Man TAS - End Credits Theme

Gambit: Peter and Emma are doin' all this, yet they still haven't revealed their feelings for each other.

Kitty: Can they just kiss already?

Morph: I share the same thoughts, Kitty.

Betsy: Well… Emma did say that you can't rush art.

Colossus: Was that a reference to a movie?

Storm: Indeed it was.