Web&Claws (Peter Parker/Laura Kinney)

Notes:

Chapter 1: Domestic Disturbance (and a Sleeper Hold) Rewrite/Polished version

Summary:

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Title: Domestic Disturbance (and a Sleeper Hold)

Laura had been through a lot for a twenty-four-year-old—more than most people, superpowered or not, could ever imagine. She could honestly say she'd been through hell and come out the other side. And she was grateful for it.

Because making it through made her who she was today: older, wiser, more mature, with better control over her emotions—especially her rage, which had been a tough one. Most importantly, though?

She was happy.

Not just content. Happy. She had people who cared about her. People she called family. People she loved.

Not that she’d go around saying that out loud. She was still Laura, after all—glares, growls, and all.

They just happened less frequently now.

That said, just because she’d grown and evolved didn’t mean she wouldn’t turn right back into the weapon they once made her if anyone dared threaten the people she loved. Sure, her family had a habit of putting their lives on the line on a regular basis, but still—she was ready if need be.

Because if life had taught her anything, it was this:

It held joy and sorrow.

Thrills and monotony.

Peace and violence.

Love and loss.

She had learned to accept all of it.

What she still hadn’t learned—what she probably never would understand—was how one man could make her feel so beyond happy… and still give her the worst headaches of her life.

Healing factor be damned.

“Hey, Wolverette! Do you know where my uniform’s at?!”

Yes. Being married to Peter Parker was... interesting.

Uniform? she snorted inwardly. More like a clown costume.

“Wolverette?”

“No, I don’t know where your ‘costume’ is!” she snapped, emphasizing the word with disdain. “And I told you to stop calling me that!”

She loved Peter—she really did—but if he called her Wolverette one more time, she was going to shove a claw somewhere he wouldn’t forget.

Peter appeared in the kitchen with his hands raised in surrender. “Uniform. It’s a uniform. Get it right.”

Laura crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Keep telling yourself that. I still maintain it’s nothing more than a glorified onesie.”

Peter sighed and chuckled. “Can’t even get respect from my own wife.”

Growing up, he never imagined he’d get married—he was as nerdy as they came. Even after the spider powers, relationships were always a struggle. He’d figured he’d be alone forever.

But not only was he married—he was married to Laura Kinney. A literal badass with claws and a figure that made him question whether the healing factor also came with supermodel genetics.

Guess all that bad luck had to equal out somehow.'

Long black hair, smooth olive skin, and those emerald eyes that saw through everything. And the body?

Let’s just say Peter considered it a win for nerds everywhere.

Sure, he didn’t love her for her looks (though they didn’t hurt). He loved her for everything—her strength, her vulnerability, her fire, her loyalty. The rest?

Bonus.

Currently, that “bonus” was wearing a black tank top and gray shorts, showing off midriff and thighs that could kill a man (literally and figuratively).

Them thighs!

“Peter. My eyes are up here.”

“That’s nice.”

He didn’t even try to look away. He was a nerd, after all—and nerds married to gorgeous women had an obligation to stare.

For the nerds. Not for him. For them.

Laura rolled her eyes. She never saw herself as beautiful—she still saw the monster they made her, because of the blood she spilt. But Peter always reminded her otherwise, and she was learning, slowly, to believe him.

“Weren’t you looking for your costume?” she asked.

“Oh, right!” Peter spun around, immediately resuming his chaotic search. “And it’s a uniform!”

“You’re the only one who calls it that,” Laura mumbled as she returned to the pot of pasta on the stove.

She wasn’t a chef, but she could handle pasta. The key was not burning it. She glared at the pot with murderous focus.

Actually that reminded her.

"You better clean whatever mess you make!" truthfully she was just as messy as he was, the Facility didn't teach housekeeping, so she didn't want to clean someone else's mess when she barely cleaned her own.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Her eye twitched.

She didn't like it when he called her that either.

She would have to figure why exactly she didn't like being called that one day.

But at the moment, pasta was her mission.

“Don’t burn it, Laura. Don’t burn it.”she didn't like failure, it was drilled into that failure was never an option, so she had every intention of making a perfectly good pot of pasta.

The glare she was giving the pot proved that point.

She turned off the stove a few minutes later and went looking for Peter.

Their apartment was modest but comfortable. A definite upgrade from the last one—no more being jolted awake by subway trains.

Yes, their new apartment was by far the better choice. When walking into the apartment one would find the living room to the left after stepping in a few steps. The living room was decent in size and had a sliding glass door that led to a balcony to the far left. The kitchen was located on the opposite side of the apartment while their bedroom was a straight walk from the front door.

She found Peter in the bathroom, rummaging through a cabinet.

“I can’t find it!” he cried.

Laura leaned on the doorframe. “I assume you’re trying to go on patrol?”

“Yup.”

“Even though you’re exhausted.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“These old things?” he grinned, pointing at them. “Pure strategy. Makes the bad guys underestimate me.”

“Even though you wear a mask?”

“I’m not tired.”

Laura stepped closer and, without a word, lifted his shirt to reveal—

His suit. Already on.

“Oh... Right. Well. See ya!” he turned to leave.

Laura sighed.

Then she wrapped an arm around his neck.

The next thing Peter knew was the feeling of Laura's arm wrapping around his neck.

In a sleeper hold.

“W-What... are... y-you doing?” Peter wheezed.

“You’re too exhausted to patrol,” she said calmly. Too calmly. “I’m not letting you get killed because you’re too tired to dodge a bullet. So, as your loving wife, I’m stopping that from happening.”

“...By killing me?”

“No. By putting you to sleep.”

“...Permanently?”

“Of course not. And I find it disturbing that you’d think I would.”

That’s what she finds disturbing?!

“I’ll stop when you’re unconscious.”

“B-But—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take your place tonight.”

Peter groaned but stopped resisting. “...Fine.”

“Good.” Laura smiled.

And didn’t let go.

“Before you black out,” she added sweetly, “there’s pasta on the stove. Make sure to warm it up when you wake up. Goodnight, Peter.”

And with that, he was out.

Laura tucked him into bed with surprising tenderness.

“Well,” she said to herself, brushing hair from his forehead, “I can’t say I didn’t know what I was getting into when I married him.

If Peter had been awake, he would’ve had a few things to say about that.

A/N: So it wasn't too long but it was just a start. Laura might seem OOC but as it said in the beginning Laura had been through a lot and became more mature and open with the people she loves, specifically Peter. This fic will actually jump around from points in their relationship. So one chapter could be about them and their kids while another could be about how they met. Laura will be more in character in those chapters before Peter starts influencing her. There will also be action chapters too and even though this is a series of one shots there'll probably be actual arcs in her too.

Oh yeah, don't be afraid to give ideas for chapters or little moments and even conversation topics, I might use them.

Peace.

Notes:

Chapter 2: TV Shows, Ear Tugs, and Domestic Superpowers (Polished version)

Summary:

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I disagree."

"...You what?"

"I said I disagree."

"...You wha—"

"Peter, stop being an idiot."

"How could you not think The Simpsons is the greatest show ever?!"

Laura couldn’t help the small snort that escaped.

"Because I’m not an idiot?"

"You do know I’m actually more intelligent than you, right?"

"You’re still an idiot."

"Oh, you know you love me." Peter flopped his head onto her lap, eyes wide and glistening with a fake innocence perfected over years of dramatic overacting.

Only he could get her to act this... normal.

"Unfortunately." Laura sighed and flicked his forehead. "I wonder what’s wrong with me."

"Awesome just recognizes awesome."

"I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented so childishly before."

"Sure you have."

"Besides you, that is."

"…So how can you not think The Simpsons is the greatest show ever?"

"I’m surprised you do," Laura replied, returning her gaze to the TV. "They have a father strangling his son as a running joke. I figured you’d be against something like that."

"Well, you guessed wrong! The Simpsons is great! Great!"

"If you say so." She shrugged just as the Knicks point guard threw a pass wildly out of bounds. “The Knicks suck.”

"Not as much as Jersey."

"You and Jersey are almost as bad as me and…" she trailed off.

"Shopping?"

"Shopping," Laura confirmed, visibly shuddering at the word.

"You’re such a guy," Peter teased.

"You’re such a girl."

He had cried during Old Yeller.

"Touche. You’re pretty good at comebacks now. I’m so proud of you." He draped an arm over his eyes in mock tears.

Laura just stared down at him with a deadpan look before a smile broke across her face.

"I can’t believe I’m in love with such an idiot."

A few years ago, the thought of even feeling love had seemed ridiculous—impossible. But Peter changed that. Little by little, until she not only felt it... but could say it out loud.

"I can’t believe I’m in love with a girl version of Logan."

"You had to go there, didn’t you?"

"Yup." Peter grinned. "Now, how can you not—"

"You’re really not letting this go, are you?"

"It’s a matter of cultural importance," he said, entirely too serious. "Now come on—what’s your favorite show, then?"

"Hmm." Laura crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling. "My favorite show?"

She’d only started watching TV regularly after dating Peter. Before that, the only thing she ever paid attention to were sports games—mostly because Logan was watching.

Peter smiled up at her. The fact that she was genuinely pondering such a question instead of scoffing or walking away spoke volumes about how far she’d come.

Still… how could she not like The Simpsons?

Not liking The Simpsons was like saying he wasn’t amazing.

His brain couldn’t compute it.

"Supernatural," Laura said at last, nodding thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Supernatural is my favorite show."

Peter blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Is it because of the ‘hunting’? I mean, yeah, there’s blood and action... I could totally see you as a hunter."

Laura tilted her head slightly. "That would be fun."

"..."

"...Oh my God. You’re actually imagining it right now, aren’t you?"

"No, I’m not." She turned away, but her faint blush betrayed her. Her body language made it impossible to hide.

Only Peter, Gabby—and maybe Logan—could ever get her to blush.

"You totally were!" Peter sat up in mock triumph. "Laura’s just a fan girl deep inside, isn’t she?! Hahahaha—OW! My ear! Let go!"

"Are you going to stop laughing at me?" she asked calmly, still tugging on his ear.

"Y-Yes! I surrender! Mercy!"

"Good." She let go with a final flick. "For you, of course."

"You’re telling me," Peter muttered, rubbing his ear. "That move’s dangerous. Why don’t you ever use that against supervillains?"

"That move’s reserved for unruly children." Her tone was perfectly deadpan.

"Says the girl who was just fantasizing about being in a TV show."

He regretted that immediately.

"Owwww! I was just joking! You’re going to pull it off!"

"You have two of them."

"And they don’t grow back like yours do, missy!"

"Then stop acting like an unruly child."

"What are you, my mo—"

(Snikt)

"I’m sorry, what were you about to say?" she asked sweetly, claws extended.

"N-Nothing, dear."

"That’s what I thought."

"You’ve been really mean these last few minutes," Peter pouted. "I think I get more love from J.J."

Laura growled at the name.

She hated that ridiculously mustached man.

"You have no idea how insulted I feel right now."

Only Aunt May got a pass when it came to loving Peter. Even Laura had to admit—she’d never top that woman.

Possibly a saint.

"Why’s that?" Peter asked, smirking.

Laura didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed him by the shirt, swung him onto the couch, and straddled his waist, pinning him with surprising grace.

"Because," she said, voice low and dangerous, "there’s no one I love more than you, idiot. And besides Aunt May, there’s no one that loves you more than me."

"Is that right?"

She leaned in until their faces were inches apart.

"Yes. I believe it is."

They both knew exactly where this was going.

"Prove it."

"If you think you can handle it."

"I am the Amazing Spider-Man."

"Mmm. Let’s see how amazing you are then."

It went exactly where they thought it would.

A/N: This came out sooner than expected, I'm not really sure how quickly I'll be updating since I've got other fics to focus on.

I was tempted to write a lemon scene at the end but decided against it. I plan to write one in the future though.

A few ideas I have for future chapters here they are.

Aunt May dies and Laura comforts Peter.

Peter and Laura accide ntally have their bodies switched.

They meet for the first time.

Peter forgets his lunch (he'll be a high school teacher at his old school) and Laura brings it to him. The point of that chapter will be more about the students reaction to how his wife looks. You know like "damn that's your wife Mr. Parker?"

Of course some banter there as well.

That's about it for now.

Hopefully you all like this chapter as well.

Notes:

Chapter 3: The Juggernaut Incident (And Why Peter’s Sleeping on the Couch) Rewrite/ Polished

Summary:

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“PETER BENJAMIN PARKER!”

The very essence of fear itself ran through Peter’s soul in that moment.

“Dude,” Johnny said, half-laughing, “she just full-named you. That’s never good. What’d you do to piss her off?”

“I don’t freaking know!” Peter shouted, already frantically scanning the room for an exit. “We were having a good day! This is not a good day anymore!”

They were just hanging out at the Baxter Building. No villains. No life-or-death missions. Just downtime—until the shrieking voice of one very pissed-off Laura Kinney shattered that peace.

“SHOW YOURSELF RIGHT NOW!”

‘Should I run?’ Peter thought. ‘No—she’ll just track me down. With her nose. And that’ll make it worse!’

“Seriously, bro,” Johnny said, now backing away—very obviously—to the far side of the living room. “She’s scary right now. Like, next-level scary.”

Johnny wasn't sure if he should laughing at his friend or mourning for him because, damn was Laura pissed. She was already a scary ass woman (hot ass hell too, how Peter picked her up Johnny would never know) but this was on a whole other level.

Hopefully he would be safe there. There was no way in hell he was going to miss the defeat of the Amazing Spider-man.

Damn, he needed some popcorn.

"Hahahahahaha! You think that'll stop her? You're so screwed! Hahahaha!"

“I KNOW THAT!”

Peter’s spider-sense was screaming.

“It’s worse than when I fought Carnage, man.”

They both winced at that.

Bad memories.

Peter webs the hallway.

“There you are!”

Laura rounded the corner, stalking into view with murder in her eyes. Peter flinched.

“Really? You think a web wall is going to stop me?”

Snikt.

The claws came out.

The web didn’t last two seconds.“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“Uhhh... Happy bir... Anniver... Valenti...—”

Nope. Wrong guesses. None of those were it.

Judging how the look on Laura's face hadn't changed, he didn't make the classic mistakes most men made in their relationships by forgetting a special day.

Not like Laura would get that mad over such a thing anyway.

So that left the question: What the hell did he do?

“REALLY?” she snapped."Nothing? You don't realize why I'm here? Why your spider sense is buzzing right now?" and it was buzzing, like fucking crazy.

“...No?” he offered, his spider-sense shrieking in betrayal.

“Let me enlighten you.”

As she walked past him and towards the remote on the couch, Laura did a fake lunge at Peter causing him to flinch away from her. "That's right." Laura glared as she continued passed him.

He should be scared of her.

"Hahahahah! She's made you her bitch!"

"Shut up, Johnny!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ha!"

"You too, Peter!"

"Yes, dear."

Silence fell upon them as Laura glared at the silent men.

More like scolded boys really.

Laura snatched the remote and clicked the TV on. The screen displayed news footage—grainy and chaotic—of Spider-Man in a brutal fight with none other than the Juggernaut.

Peter visibly cringed.

Flashback Begins...

Whoa! Flying cars! It's the future!" said car was only flying because the mutant known as the Juggernaut chucked it at Spider-man.

Luckily for himself, he was able to flip over it and shoot two web lines at the top of the car as he was halfway through his flip. With all the strength he could muster, Spider-man continued the rest of the flip, slamming the car on top of the Juggernaut's head, causing it to explode on impact.

'Did that work?'

"You think that could stop me?! I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

Nope, didn't work.

"Well, good thing I had another reason for throwing that car at him." with the smoke and flames from the explosion still alive, it made a perfect cover for Spider-man to get close enough to unlatch the last buckle on the Juggernaut's helmet.

Which he immediately went for.

Shooting two webs on two buildings on the opposite sides of the street, Spider-man launched himself in the air before falling on the rampaging mutant's shoulders. He quickly undid the latch, ripped off the helmet, and threw it as far away as he could.

His spider sense tingled.

Spider-man just barely had enough time to back flip off his shoulders before a massive hand could grab him and more than likely squish him.

With the helmet off, the Juggernaut was now vulnerable to mental attacks.

'Which works out great for me since I totally have psychic powers.'

Spider-man was really wishing Jean or Professor Xavier popped up around now.

The Juggernaut was their villain after all.

But he doubted they were coming, seeing as Laura herself was called off for a mission with the X-Men.

Or was it the X-Force?

It was definitely x-something.

'So in short, I'm screwed.' Spider-man thought as ran then slid between the giant's legs before punching the back of one of his knees with all his strength, actually bringing the mutant down to a knee. 'But, maybe if I'm lucky some other heroes will stop by and give me a hand.' New York was basically the super hero capital of the world.

What were the odds of all the heroes being busy?

Flashback Ends.

“What are the ODDS all the heroes were busy?” Peter groaned.

“You’re the dork, you tell us,” Johnny muttered, then spotted Laura glaring and added, “I mean—uh—Ms. Parker has something to say.”

She did.

Oh, she really did.

Johnny was one of a few people who knew that they were married.

The others were all people, mostly close hero friends, who knew Spider-man was Peter Parker.

The rest of the world didn't even know Laura, or better known as Talon, was married.

It wouldn't do for someone to know Laura was married and see her with Peter and then put two and two together.

"Sooooo," Peter started, not really wanting to see what Laura had to say, "what does my fight with the Juggernaut have to do with anything?"

"What it has to do with," Laura started as she stalked up to Peter, causing him to step back nervously, to the couch behind him.

“I explicitly told you not to fight Omega-level threats alone.”

“I didn’t want to!” Peter defended. “No one was around! You were off with the X-something and the Avengers were MIA. I had to do something.”

“And I told you,” Laura stepped forward, making him fall back onto the couch, “if you ever did, you wouldn’t do it alone.”

Well, that was true.

"It's not like I wanted to fight the guy by myself, I would've loved for the Avengers to have tagged along if they were available. Anyone really would've been good." Peter ended his last sentence with a glare at Johnny.

"Sorry, webs, was in another dimension, you know, the same Ole' Fantastic Four deal."

"Yeah yeah." Peter rolled his eyes before setting them back on his wife. He could see the underlined emotion hiding under her anger.

His eyes softened at that.

"Listen, Laura, I know you don't want me going against powerhouses like the Juggernaut but, with great power comes great responsibility." Laura opened her mouth to respond but found herself unable.

What could she say to that?

She knew where that saying came from, the guilt that was the driving force behind Spider-man.

She also knew that it was a damn good saying for a hero, or anyone really, to live by.

She herself lived by that saying thanks to Peter.

He was her mentor in being a better person and a true hero, and despite how many times she may have called him an idiot she always took what he said to heart.

Laura knew it would be impossible for Peter to sit back while someone was in danger, but nonetheless...

"Peter," Laura started, her voice far softer then it was since she arrived, "I know you won't- Johnny get the hell out of here."

"Getting the hell out of here." Laura may have calmed down but he knew she could easily flare back up and he didn't want her anger directed at him.

Johnny ghosted out of the room without a word.

Laura’s anger, though still burning, dimmed slightly. Peter could see it—behind the fury was fear.

“Peter... I just don’t want to lose you.”

That hit harder than a punch.

That was her greatest fear, losing the people who somehow managed to work their way into her heart. Sure, she didn't need to worry about Logan as much as he was nearly indestructible, but Peter was a different story.

Peter could die.

He could go out on patrol one day and never come back to her.

That was always on her mind when he was Spider-man. In fact, that was the reason she was so adamant about going with him on his patrols so much when they were younger. She wanted to be out there watching his back, but over the years she had learned to curb that fear. That being said that fear was still there, enough so that she still had nightmares to the present day.

He reached for her arm and pulled her down into his lap. She didn’t resist. She curled into him, resting her head against his chest where his heartbeat was steady and real.

“You won’t,” Peter whispered, brushing her hair back. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Peter's outstretched pinky slowly caught her attention.

Tentatively, Laura looked from the pinky and into Peter's eyes.

“. . . You can be such an idiot,” Laura muttered, but her pinky looped around his.

“But you’re my idiot.”

Silence. Warmth. And peace.

For a minute.

Yes, Peter was right.

She should enjoy her time with him.

Just being with him was more than she could ask for.

But even if that was so...

“You’re still in trouble, you know that, right?”

“Damn.”

A/N: Honestly, I could've done better with that flashback. I'll probably go into more detail of the fight in a chapter in the future. That also includes Laura's reaction when she first hears that Peter had fought the Juggernaut by himself.

Also about the Juggernaut I got the whole vulnerable from psychic attacks from X-men evolution, so I have no idea if that's canon.

Thanks for all the ideas for future chapters, they really help.

Peace.

Notes:

Chapter 4: "Love, Chains, and Bedpans"

Summary:

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Love, Chains, and Bedpans"

---

“W–Wha? What happened?”

Waking up with no idea where you were? Definitely uncomfortable. But that kind of thing tended to happen when you fought super-baddies on the daily—like Peter did.

“You had the Rhino dancing on your back like he was playing that… what was that game called again?”

“Dance Dance Revolution?”

“Yes, that idiotic game. Don’t get up.”

Laura’s tone started calm, but the last part hit with unmistakable authority.

“You call it idiotic, but you’re actually pretty good at it.”

Peter’s smirk was met with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“The only reason I played that game was because I was drunk. And you know it.”

Damn that Deadpool.

Only he could concoct a drink strong enough to get someone like her—healing factor and all—actually drunk.

“They do say people are more truthful when they’re drunk,” Peter teased, the memory making him smile. “So maybe deep down, you wanted to play i—”

“I did not.” Laura's tone was flat. Unshaken.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Peter’s smirk shifted to a curious frown. “Wait… if the Rhino was stepping on me, how come I don’t feel like a pancake?”

“Because you’re doped up on more drugs than a heroin addict.”

“Oh.”

It was true.

Peter’s powers made normal doses of painkillers nearly useless. So his current cocktail? Enough to knock out a small elephant.

His healing didn’t filter out drugs the way Laura’s—or Logan’s—did.

“Who gave you the painkillers?”

Couldn’t exactly grab this stuff off a Walgreens shelf.

“Reed.”

“Ah, good ol’ Reed.” Peter exhaled and closed his eyes. “Guy always knows how to bring the party.”

Some might wonder why Laura didn’t leave Peter in the Fantastic Four’s care. They did have state-of-the-art medical tech.

But those people didn’t know Peter like she did.

No one did.

Beneath the quips and jokes and amazing bravado, he nursed a quiet, persistent inferiority complex. Being bedridden under the care of other heroes? That would only make it worse.

As Peter relaxed, Laura leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her husband. Her body finally let go of the tension that had clung to her like a second skin. She could still feel that icy dread from when she’d arrived on the scene—the sight of Rhino literally stomping on Peter…

That fear had quickly transformed into rage.

She’d torn into the animal-based villain like—well—an animal.

She hadn’t killed him only because she knew Peter would blame himself if she had.

Sure, people were probably horrified watching her tear through the battlefield like a wild storm, but that was nothing compared to that time.

That time when she found Peter, bloodied, barely breathing, and felt an eerie calm sweep over her.

For one fleeting moment.

Then came rage.

Pure, blinding, unstoppable rage.

Even Captain America hadn’t escaped unscathed.

He should’ve listened to Logan and stayed far, far away.

“Well, I think that’s enough rest.”

Peter’s voice cut through her memory like a blade.

Laura’s eyes snapped open, her mental spiral shoved aside.

If Peter thought he was getting out of bed, he was sorely mistaken.

As he sat up, she moved behind him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Before you get up, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“You might not feel much pain right now, but… you have a bruised spinal cord.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s pretty bad. Guess I’ll have to take it easy.”

Despite his words, he still moved to stand.

Laura’s grip tightened.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“R–Right.” He swallowed hard.

He really didn’t like where this was going.

“As I was saying… since I know how reckless you are, I’m giving you two options.”

‘Not the direction I thought this was going… but okay.’

“Option one is simple. You stay in bed until you’re fully healed. And I mean stay in bed. Not until you’re bored. The only exception will be the bathroom.”

“Sheesh. Way to sugarcoat it. What's option two?”

He hoped—prayed—it was better.

He was wrong.

“…”

“…Laura?”

She was quiet. Too quiet.

“You know I love you, right, Peter?”

Random.

“Back at ya, champ.”

He felt the bed shift. Braced for a slap.

It didn’t come.

“Good.”

Then he saw something move over his shoulder.

His heart nearly stopped.

Laura leaned into view, her head tilted slightly, eyes wide and gleaming like emerald glass. Her black hair spilled over one shoulder, framing her pale face in a way that made her look…

Unhinged.

There was only one word for it—a word Peter learned from watching anime:

Yandere.

‘Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap…’

“The second option,” she said, her arm draping over his shoulder like a lock clicking into place, “is slightly different.”

He did not like how that sounded.

“H-How slightly?”

“Well, let’s see…” She actually looked thoughtful, which somehow made it worse. “To make sure you don’t move… I’ll have to strap you to the bed.”

“But I’m super strong. Strapping me—”

“Did I say strap?” Her voice shifted with mock surprise. “I meant chain. With adamantium chains.”

“…Oh.”

“That should hold you.”

“But how—”

“I already asked Reed to start making them. Just in case.”

‘Of course she did.’

“But what about eating? Showering? The bathroom?” Desperation crept into his voice.

Laura smirked.

“I’m your wife, Peter. I vowed to love you and take care of you—even when your job tries to kill you.”

“O-Okay—”

“That means I will feed you. Sponge bathe you. And—”

She bent down beside the bed, picked something up.

Peter's blood ran cold.

It was a bedpan.

“I’ll even change your bedpan.”

She leaned in.

Closer.

Too close.

“That’s how much I love you, Peter. I’m willing to do the most demeaning acts—just for you.”

His soul curled inward.

“So. What will it be? Option one or option two?”

There was no contest.

“I think I’ll stick with the first. The…less ‘Fatal Attraction’ one.”

Slowly, he eased himself back onto the bed, hoping she’d take a step back.

Nope.

A second later, she was straddling him—hands and knees on either side, lips hovering inches above his.

They were not kissing.

‘Too close! To talk to me, do you have to be this close!?’

Her eyes locked onto his.

It was like looking into twin emerald black holes.

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “You won’t reconsider?”

Was it him, or did she sound… disappointed?

‘No. Crazy. That’s crazy talk. Then again…’

“No,” he squeaked. “I’m good.”

“Hm.”

Laura slowly sat back on her knees, her expression unreadable. “What a shame.”

As she stood and walked toward the door, Peter exhaled in relief.

Then she stopped.

Whipped her head around.

“If you change your mind…” she said sweetly, “…don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“R-Right.”

Suffice to say, Peter didn’t get out of bed.

Unless it was to use the bathroom

---

It had been a full week since the Rhino turned Peter into a one-man dance mat, and, surprisingly, he hadn't tried to sneak out even once.

Not even to patrol.

He blamed the bedpan.

Well, that and the look Laura gave him anytime he so much as glanced at the window.

So, yeah. He stayed in bed.

Reed had checked in via hologram to monitor Peter’s healing, Laura had kept a tight schedule of pain meds, meals, and sponge baths (much to Peter’s embarrassment), and—somehow—they hadn’t driven each other completely insane.

And now?

Now Peter was actually feeling better.

Strong enough to swing. Heal fast. Think straight.

But when the alert came in about a minor villain robbing an armored truck, and his phone started buzzing with messages from Johnny and Kamala, Peter just… stared at it.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for his suit.

Didn’t twitch.

Laura, sitting nearby with her legs folded under her and a book in her lap, noticed immediately.

“You’re not going?” she asked, arching a brow.

Peter shook his head. “They’ve got it.”

Laura studied him for a moment longer, then nodded and returned to her book. Silence settled in the room.

Then—

“You know,” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck, “this might be the first time I didn’t jump out of bed the moment I could stand. It’s weird.”

Laura glanced up. “You’re healing. But you’re also learning.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I learning, Professor Kinney?”

“That you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

He smiled, warm and just a little sheepish. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

A pause.

Then Laura stood, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. For a moment, she just looked at him—quietly, calmly. Not yandere-intense. Just… Laura.

“I’m proud of you,” she said softly.

Before Peter could crack a joke or downplay it, she leaned in and gave him a kiss.

Not a rushed peck, not a dramatic swoop—just a simple, slow kiss that said thank you, I love you, and you’re safe all at once.

When she pulled back, Peter blinked. His heart was doing little acrobatics.

“…Wow,” he whispered. “You should kiss me more often. I might actually behave myself.”

Laura smirked. “Don’t push it, Parker.”

He laughed, then winced slightly at the motion.

She gently pushed him back against the pillows.

“You’re not fully healed yet. Keep resting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but his grin didn’t fade.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the itch to swing out and save the day.

Because in this quiet moment, being here—with her—was enough.

---

A/N: Well there goes another chapter.

This chapter was inspired by the anime Attack on Titan. The whole tying Peter down was from a fic Behind the Honor and the crazy look is from the second to last episode I think. The one where Eren hesitates to fight Annie when he learns she's the Female Titan. Look up yandere Mikasa if you want a visual of what look I was going for with Laura.

Please review and tell me what you think. I'm trying to see how far I can make it in the spiderman crossover department. So far I'm on page 8 out of 41 so working my way up the list.

JasonVUK I'm glad I was able to convert you. That's one of my goals as a writer since I ship all my favorite pairings pretty hard. I also like the idea of having them meet in high school. Although the chapters so far are on the same timeline and they don't meet in highschool I was actually thinking of making some chapters AU so I could really explore my imagination. I'm not sure when I'll do that but I will eventually.

Also in this chapter I hinted at some past events that already took place. And if anyone is wondering, yes I'll make those chapters in the future as well. Just to clarify I mean Laura flipping out and going on a rampage when Peter almost dies and them getting drunk and playing dance dance revolution. Also one will have Laura confronting him on his inferiority complex and telling him how she believes he's the best hero out there. And that doesn't mean strength but more about inspiring people and her.

Those will happen before they're married and will probably come after the next chapter which will be about Laura bringing Peter his lunch and meeting his students.

Peace.

Notes:

Chapter 5: Title: "Mr. Parker’s Wife"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Title: "Mr. Parker’s Wife"

Peter Parker loved teaching — he really did. He loved sharing science with bright young minds, loved the feeling of helping students figure things out for themselves.

But he did not love forgetting his lunch on a Tuesday, when he only had a 20-minute break sandwiched between lab periods and a room full of hormonal teenagers waiting to test his patience and sanity.

He groaned, leaning against his desk. His stomach growled in protest.

"Guess it’s vending machine mystery snacks today," Peter muttered.

That’s when his classroom door swung open.

And in walked Laura.

Wearing black jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket over a tank top — because of course she did — she looked more like someone who was here to punch a student than deliver lunch. A brown paper bag dangled from one hand, and she scanned the room like she was evaluating which kid to take out first.

The room went silent.

Silent in a way that only a classroom full of teenagers who just realized their awkward science teacher had a smoking hot, terrifying wife could.

Peter blinked. "Laura?"

"You forgot this, dumbass." Laura strolled over and plopped the bag on his desk. "You left it on the counter. Again."

The room was still deathly quiet. A few kids exchanged looks, eyes wide.

"Uh… thanks?" Peter glanced at the class, then back to his wife. "Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but how did you get past security?"

Laura smirked. "You think a security guard’s going to stop me?"

A snort escaped Peter before he could stop it. "Right. Stupid question."

It was at this moment that one of his braver students — Danny, a sophomore who thought he was way smoother than he actually was — slowly raised his hand.

"Mr. Parker… is that your wife?"

Peter sighed. "Yes, Danny. This is my wife, Laura."

Danny blinked. "For real?"

Peter blinked back. "No, I’m making it up for attention."

Laura snorted at that one.

Another student chimed in, whisper-shouting to his friend. "Dude, his wife’s a total badass. She looks like she could beat up Wolverine."

Peter bit back a laugh. If only they knew.

Laura tilted her head toward him. "I like that one. He’s smart."

Danny, still looking like his brain was short-circuiting, leaned forward. "No offense, Mr. Parker, but how… I mean, how did you…"

He gestured vaguely at Laura, as if trying to figure out how a dorky science teacher landed someone who looked like they walked out of an action movie.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Charm. Wit. Boyish good looks. What can I say? I’m a catch."

Laura huffed out a laugh. "You’re an idiot."

"I’m your idiot."

"Unfortunately."

The students looked between them, watching the banter like it was a tennis match. One girl in the back stage-whispered to her friend, "They’re kinda cute, actually."

Peter, ever the teacher, clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone, back to work! We’ve got a lab to finish, and I’m pretty sure Laura didn’t come all the way down here to listen to you guys gossip about our marriage."

Laura raised a brow. "I dunno. It’s entertaining."

The students laughed.

"Out." Peter pointed toward the door, grinning despite himself.

Laura leaned over his desk, close enough that only he could hear her. "I’ll be home late tonight. Got patrol. Try not to get yourself killed."

Peter smiled softly. "You too."

Laura gave him a quick kiss on the cheek — which earned an exaggerated, horrified "Ew, Mr. Parker!" from Danny — and sauntered out, leaving a room full of stunned teenagers in her wake.

For a moment, there was dead silence again.

Then Danny leaned over his desk. "Mr. Parker, sir?"

Peter sighed. "Yes, Danny?"

"Your wife’s cooler than you."

Peter stared at him for a beat. "Yeah. I know."

The class erupted into laughter, and Peter couldn’t even pretend to be mad about it.

---

A/N

Possible Follow-Up Ideas:

Parents’ Night: Laura reluctantly comes along to a parent-teacher meeting, only to terrify half the PTA — and accidentally become the cool mom for Peter’s struggling students.

Career Day: Peter convinces Laura to come in and talk about “private security work.” She ends up giving an incredibly vague but badass speech, and the students are convinced she’s either a spy or an assassin.

Supervillain Interruptions: A low-tier villain crashes the school while Peter’s teaching. Laura, conveniently nearby, steps in — and now Peter’s students think his wife is an undercover superhero.

Notes:

Chapter 6: Title: "Career Day (or How Mr. Parker’s Wife Became a Legend)"

Notes:

Chapter Text

Alright — let’s dive into Career Day chaos!

---

Chapter 6: Title: "Career Day (or How Mr. Parker’s Wife Became a Legend)

Career Day at Midtown High was usually a boring affair. Parents came in, talked about their jobs, and tried to sound interesting while a classroom full of teenagers quietly tuned them out.

Peter wasn’t expecting this year to be any different.

He was wrong.

---

Peter stood at the front of his classroom, trying to ignore the way Danny — his most enthusiastic student — was bouncing in his seat.

"Alright, guys," Peter sighed, "next up for Career Day is… my wife, Laura."

The room perked up immediately.

Laura stepped in, wearing her usual "I-don't-care" outfit: plain jacket, blue jeans, and combat boots. Her expression was neutral — somewhere between mildly bored and ready to fight God.

A few students whispered to each other as she walked in. One kid actually dropped his pencil.

Danny was already whispering to his friend. "Dude, it’s her again. Mr. Parker’s scary-hot wife. She’s back."

Peter rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long period.

Laura gave Peter a look that screamed you owe me for this. He responded with an innocent, puppy-eyed grin. She rolled her eyes and turned to the class.

"Hi," Laura said flatly. "I’m Laura Parker. I work in private security."

"That means she beats people up for a living," Peter added helpfully.

Laura shot him a sideways glare. "That’s not entirely inaccurate."

The class leaned in, way more interested than they’d been during the accountant’s presentation earlier.

"So," Laura continued, crossing her arms, "private security’s pretty straightforward. I protect people, secure locations, and handle… problems."

Danny’s hand shot into the air. "Like bodyguard stuff?"

"Sometimes." Laura nodded.

"Have you ever killed someone?"

Peter choked on his coffee. "Danny, what the — you can’t just ask people that!"

Laura didn’t even blink. "Next question."

A girl near the back raised her hand. "What’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?"

Laura tilted her head, thinking.

"I once jumped out of a helicopter to stop a guy from detonating a bomb in Times Square," she said like it was no big deal.

The room went silent.

Danny’s jaw dropped. "Dude."

"Yeah," Laura added dryly, "he hit me with a crowbar on the way down. Didn’t really work out for him."

Peter groaned, running a hand down his face. "Laura."

"What? You asked."

The students were now fully invested. One of the quieter kids in the corner raised her hand shyly. "Did you win the fight?"

Laura shrugged. "Obviously. I’m still here. He’s in prison."

The class erupted into whispers and murmurs.

---

Danny leaned over to Peter, voice low but loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Mr. Parker, how did you marry her?"

Peter stared at him. "Magic."

Laura smirked at him.

---

After a few more questions (and Laura dodging any that came too close to her X-23/Wolverine history), the bell finally rang.

Students filed out — but not before a few came up to Laura, asking if she could come back next year. Danny, naturally, stayed behind.

"Mrs. Parker?"

Laura raised an eyebrow.

"Can I be you when I grow up?"

Peter laughed, but Laura actually seemed to consider it.

"Work hard," she said seriously. "Lift weights. Don’t take crap from anyone. And if someone’s messing with you… hit them where it hurts."

Peter shot her a look. "Laura."

She smirked. "Metaphorically."

Danny grinned like he’d just been knighted and ran off.

As the door shut behind him, Peter leaned against his desk with a sigh.

"Well, congrats. You’re officially a high school legend now."

Laura grinned. "Yeah? You jealous?"

"Only a little."

She leaned in, smirking. "You’ll get over it, Mr. Parker."

And with that, she sauntered out, leaving Peter to wonder how long it would take before his students stopped worshipping his wife.

(Answer: Never.)

---

A/N

Wanted to continue the school/kids learn more about peter arc.

Chapter 7: Title: "Mr. Parker’s Plus One (Parents' Night Edition)"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Let’s roll right into the Parents' Meeting chaos!

Chapter 7 Title: "Mr. Parker’s Plus One (Parents' Night Edition)

Parents' Night at Midtown High was, by Peter’s standards, one of the worst nights of the year.

It wasn’t the awkward small talk or even the over-enthusiastic PTA parents that made it painful — it was the inevitable moment when someone asked, "So, Mr. Parker, are you married?" with that sympathetic "We know you’re probably lonely" tone.

This year, though, things were going to be different.

Because this year, Laura was coming.

Peter stood in the hallway by his classroom, adjusting his tie for the third time. He wasn’t nervous — no, definitely not nervous — but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about to go sideways.

"You look like you’re about to throw up," came Laura’s voice from behind him.

Peter turned to see her leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a leather jacket — because of course she was. She looked more like she was here to interrogate a suspect than meet parents.

"Is that what you’re wearing to Parents' Night?" Peter asked, trying not to laugh.

"Why? You want me to wear a dress?" Laura smirked. "Because that’s not happening."

Peter sighed. "No, it’s fine. Just… maybe don’t threaten anyone tonight?"

Laura tilted her head. "Can’t promise that."

The first half of the night went surprisingly smooth. Peter introduced himself, made his usual corny science jokes, and managed to avoid mentioning the time a student accidentally set his eyebrows on fire during a chemistry demo.

Laura sat at the back of the classroom, arms still crossed, watching everything with that unreadable expression that made most people very uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until the PTA parents cornered Peter that things got interesting.

"Mr. Parker!"

Peter barely had time to turn before Mrs. Hollis, the self-proclaimed PTA queen, swooped in with her usual too-big smile.

"So nice to see you again! The kids just adore you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hollis," Peter said with his most polite teacher voice. "Glad to hear it."

"And who’s this?" she asked, eyeing Laura like she was an unsolved mystery.

Peter opened his mouth, but Laura beat him to it.

"I’m his wife."

Mrs. Hollis blinked. "Oh. I… didn’t realize you were married."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "Why’s that?"

Peter coughed into his fist to hide his laugh.

"Well, I just mean…" Mrs. Hollis stumbled over her words, clearly trying to figure out how to say "You’re way too attractive for him" without sounding rude.

"You figured he was single?" Laura guessed flatly.

Mrs. Hollis’s smile faltered. "No, no, of course not! I just… you’re not quite what I expected."

Laura tilted her head, voice calm and just threatening enough to make Mrs. Hollis uneasy. "What did you expect?"

Mrs. Hollis laughed nervously. "Well, someone a little more… traditional, I suppose."

Peter winced. Oh no.

Laura smirked, leaning in just a little. "Trust me, lady. There’s nothing traditional about us."

Mrs. Hollis blinked rapidly, stammered something that sounded like "Oh, wonderful" and made a very quick exit.

Peter looked at Laura, fighting a grin. "You’re terrible."

Laura shrugged. "She asked for it."

The real highlight came during the principal’s closing remarks.

Peter had managed to convince Laura to sit with him near the back of the auditorium. He was proud of himself — everything was wrapping up, and no one had been threatened (too much).

That’s when Principal Morales cleared his throat.

"And a special thanks to all the wonderful parents who came out tonight! We value your support and commitment to our students. Midtown High wouldn’t be what it is without you — and, of course, without our fantastic faculty. Like Mr. Parker here!"

Peter smiled awkwardly and gave a little wave.

"And I understand Mr. Parker’s wife is here tonight as well," Morales added cheerfully.

Every head in the room turned toward Laura.

She stared back.

The room went eerily quiet.

Peter swore he heard someone whisper "Holy crap, she’s real."

Laura leaned toward Peter, voice low. "Do I wave or growl?"

Peter groaned. "Please wave."

Laura raised her hand in the slowest, least enthusiastic wave Midtown High had ever seen.

One dad near the front actually flinched.

By the time the night ended, Peter was exhausted, but not entirely unhappy. No explosions. No villains crashing through the walls. Just… awkward social interactions.

They were halfway to the car when Danny’s mom — a short, sweet woman who looked nothing like her chaos goblin of a son — stopped them.

"Mr. Parker!"

Peter turned with a polite smile. "Hi, Mrs. Lewis. Everything alright?"

She glanced at Laura nervously. "I, um, just wanted to say… my Danny talks about you both all the time. He says you’re his favorite teacher. And that your wife’s a badass."

Laura blinked. "…Huh."

Peter smiled warmly. "Thanks, Mrs. Lewis. That means a lot."

As she walked away, Peter glanced at Laura. "See? You’re a role model."

Laura shook her head, smirking. "Yeah, well… someone’s gotta make sure these kids grow a backbone."

Peter laughed. "Pretty sure you scared them into it."

Laura leaned against him, her voice softer now. "Hey. They’ve got a good teacher."

Peter felt his heart do that stupid, mushy flip thing it always did when Laura let her walls drop.

"Yeah, well…" He grinned. "I’ve got a badass wife."

Laura smirked. "Damn right you do."

A/N:

Possible Follow-Up:

Laura gets invited to Career Day again — but this time the PTA requests her specifically because their kids won’t stop talking about her.
Peter gets called to the principal’s office to discuss "the rumors" about his wife’s mysterious, possibly spy-like career.
Laura goes full Mama Bear when she hears a student’s getting bullied — and Peter has to convince her that threatening a 15-year-old isn’t "the right approach."

Notes:

Chapter 8: Title: "Mr. Parker, We Need to Talk About Your Wife"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Let’s dive into this one — Peter vs. the Principal over the chaos his wife unknowingly caused.

Chapter 8 Title: "Mr. Parker, We Need to Talk About Your Wife"

Peter Parker wasn’t a stranger to getting called to the principal’s office.

It had happened plenty when he was a student. Back then, it was usually for being late, talking back to Flash, or that one time he may or may not have webbed the bathroom ceiling for “scientific reasons.”

But he didn’t expect it to happen now — as a teacher.

The call came over the intercom during his lunch break.

"Mr. Parker, please report to the principal’s office. Immediately."

His first thought was: What did Danny do now?

His second thought was: …Oh God, what did Laura do now?

He made his way down the hall, nodding to a few students, and tried not to imagine worst-case scenarios. When he walked into Principal Morales’s office, he was greeted with the sight of Morales sitting at his desk, hands folded, looking… concerned.

"Ah, Peter. Sit down."

Peter did. He tried to look relaxed and responsible — which wasn’t easy when his brain was running through the mental Rolodex of Possible Laura-Related Disasters.

"Is everything okay, sir?"

Morales leaned forward. "Well, Peter… that depends."

Peter blinked. "Depends on what?"

The principal sighed. "On whether or not your wife is a government assassin."

Peter froze. His brain short-circuited for a second.

"…I’m sorry, what?"

Morales rubbed his temples. "We’ve had some… interesting feedback from the students after Parents' Night. Apparently, your wife mentioned ‘private security’ work and, well, some of the kids have gotten a little… creative with the details."

Peter slouched back in his chair with a groan. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Morales said, voice completely deadpan. He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. "Let me walk you through some of the rumors currently circulating."

Peter buried his face in his hands. "Please don’t."

Morales ignored him.

"Number one: Mrs. Parker is a retired government black-ops agent who now works in private security after ‘taking out too many people.’"

Peter peeked through his fingers. "That one’s… technically not that far off."

"Number two," Morales continued, ignoring him, "she’s a spy. Possibly Russian. Potentially Canadian."

"Canadian?" Peter repeated, blinking. "Why Canadian?"

"Apparently, she said ‘sorry’ when she bumped into a student in the hall. And that’s all the proof they needed."

Peter sighed. "Fantastic."

Morales smirked despite himself. "Number three: Mrs. Parker is Wolverine’s long-lost daughter who escaped a top-secret government lab and now fights crime."

Peter stared at him. "…Okay, that one’s really specific."

Morales nodded. "Yes. Disturbingly so."

Peter cleared his throat. "Hypothetically, sir… if that were true, would that be… bad?"

Morales gave him a look. "Mr. Parker."

"Right. Hypothetically bad. Got it."

The principal set the paper down with a sigh. "Look, Peter, I don’t really care if your wife was a secret agent, an assassin, or the Queen of Canada. But the parents are starting to ask questions. One mom wanted to know if she could hire Mrs. Parker to ‘take care of’ her ex-husband."

Peter stared. "…Did she specify what she meant by ‘take care of’?"

"She didn’t have to."

Peter groaned again. "Sir, I swear Laura’s not an assassin, a spy, or Canadian." He paused. "Okay, technically, she’s half Canadian, but that’s not the point."

Morales sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Look, Peter, you’re a great teacher. The kids love you. I just need to make sure this doesn’t spiral any further. The last thing I need is the superintendent hearing that one of my teachers is married to a trained killer."

Peter tried to laugh. "I mean… what are the odds of that happening?"

The principal gave him a deadpan look. "Peter, a freshman asked me this morning if she could write a report on Mrs. Parker’s ‘confirmed body count.’"

Peter blinked. "Body count?"

Morales nodded. "Body count."

Peter let out a long sigh. "I’ll talk to her."

"Good," Morales said, smirking a little. "And Peter?"

"Yeah?"

The principal chuckled. "Between you and me, I think half the dads at Parents' Night are scared of her."

Peter grinned. "They should be."

Later that Night

Peter walked into their apartment to find Laura cleaning her claws — literally.

"Hey," she greeted casually. "How was work?"

Peter dropped his bag with a groan. "I got called to the principal’s office."

Laura raised a brow. "What did you do?"

Peter gave her a flat look. "It wasn’t me. It was you."

Her brows rose higher. "Me? What did I do?"

Peter collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with a pillow. "Apparently, the students — and the parents — now think you’re an assassin, a spy, Wolverine’s daughter, and Canadian."

Laura blinked. "…Canadian?"

"Yeah. Because you said ‘sorry’ to someone."

She snorted. "Okay, that one’s funny."

Peter peeked out from under the pillow. "A mom asked Morales if she could hire you to kill her ex-husband."

Laura blinked. "Did she offer a price?"

"LAURA."

"Kidding," she said with a smirk. "Mostly."

Peter groaned again. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

Laura shrugged. "Can you blame me? I like watching you squirm."

Peter couldn’t help but laugh, even though he tried to fight it. "You’re terrible."

Laura leaned over the couch, smirking. "Yeah. But you love me anyway."

"Unfortunately."

She chuckled, brushing a kiss against his forehead. "If it helps, I think the Canadian thing will die down in a week or two."

Peter stared at her, deadpan. "It doesn’t."

Laura laughed, flopping onto the couch beside him. "Well, at least they didn’t find out about the claws. Yet."

Peter groaned into the pillow again. "They’re going to figure it out, aren’t they?"

"Probably."

"…You’re not going to stop them, are you?"

"Not a chance."

A/N: Okay, this one was too much fun. Want me to take this even further — maybe the kids start thinking Laura’s a superhero, and now the school thinks Mr. Parker is a superhero’s husband?

Notes:

Chapter 9: Title: "Wait… You’re Fast?"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Title: "Wait… You’re Fast?

---

Peter Parker didn’t think much about his speed.

Sure, he knew he was quick — quick enough to dodge bullets, quick enough to web-swing through traffic without splattering against a bus — but he never really compared himself to anyone else.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

---

It started with a sparring match.

Laura had been restless all morning, pacing their apartment like a caged animal. Peter had barely gotten out of bed when she tossed his Spider-Man suit at him and said, "Suit up. We’re training."

Peter groaned into his pillow. "Can’t we train at, like… not-ungodly-o’clock?"

Laura stared at him, deadpan. "It’s 11 a.m."

"Exactly," Peter muttered.

The next thing he knew, Laura had grabbed his ankle and yanked him off the bed.

---

They ended up on a rooftop, Laura stretching her arms while Peter tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Alright," Laura said, cracking her neck. "First one to the end of the block wins."

Peter blinked. "Wait, what? We’re racing?"

Laura smirked. "What’s wrong, Parker? Afraid to lose?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "To you? Never."

"Loser does dishes," Laura added.

Peter grinned. "Oh, now it’s personal."

---

The Race:

"Three… two… one—"

Laura didn’t even finish counting. She took off like a bullet, her enhanced muscles propelling her forward in a blur of black hair and leather.

She didn’t bother looking back.

She didn’t need to. She knew she was faster.

Until Peter passed her.

---

It wasn’t a slow, gradual overtake.

It was like he hit turbo mode.

One second, he was behind her. The next, he wasn’t.

Laura barely registered the red-and-blue blur before Peter skidded to a stop on the opposite rooftop, turning to face her with his usual stupid grin.

"That’s one point for Parker!" he called, voice obnoxiously chipper.

Laura blinked, utterly baffled.

"…What the hell?"

---

Aftermath:

"You’re fast?" Laura asked, still staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

Peter tilted his head. "Well… yeah? I mean, I swing through the city at like, 60 miles an hour on a good day. You think I’m just good at timing?"

Laura crossed her arms. "You never told me you could move like that on foot."

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "I dunno. It never really came up."

Laura stared at him for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing. "So you’re faster than me?"

Peter smirked. "Looks like it."

Laura’s eyes glinted dangerously.

"…Race back?"

Peter’s grin widened.

"You love me."

Laura sighed, already crouching into a runner’s stance.

"Unfortunately."

Notes:

Chapter 10: Birthday Surprise

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 Title: "Birthday Surprise(Featuring a Very Confused Peter)"

Peter Parker wasn’t a big birthday guy.

It wasn’t that he hated them — he just didn’t really expect much anymore. Aunt May always made a cake, MJ would send a funny text, and if he was lucky, the Avengers wouldn’t drag him into some world-ending nonsense for a day.

So when he woke up on his birthday this year and Laura wasn’t in bed, he didn’t think too hard about it.

He stretched, yawned, and blinked blearily at the clock.

11:42 a.m.

Peter blinked again. "Wait, what?"

He never slept this late. Ever.

He sat up, groaning when his muscles protested. His body wasn’t wrecked from patrol last night, though, which was a miracle in itself.

"Laura?" he called, voice rough with sleep.

Silence.

That was… weird.

Peter scratched his head, his brain slowly catching up. Normally, Laura woke him up — usually by tossing something at him or threatening to let him starve if he didn’t make breakfast fast enough. But the apartment was eerily quiet.

He glanced around. There was no note, no text, nothing.

Uh-oh.

Did he screw something up? Forget an anniversary? Say something dumb? Was this one of those "you should know what you did wrong" situations?

Peter groaned, running a hand down his face. "Great. Happy birthday to me."

12:07 p.m. — The Search Begins

Peter swung through the city, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut.

He checked everywhere.

Laura wasn’t at their usual diner. Not on the rooftops they liked to patrol. Not at the Xavier School or Krakoa.

He even swung by Logan’s cabin upstate — though that mostly ended with Logan growling at him and slamming the door in his face.

"Cool. Thanks, Dad," Peter muttered under his breath, webbing away.

2:45 p.m. — Mild Panic Sets In

By mid-afternoon, Peter was pacing on a rooftop, his brain racing.

Okay. Laura was tough — stupidly tough — but what if something happened? What if someone grabbed her?

What if she was hurt somewhere, waiting for him to find her?

Peter was just about to call Matt, ready to start a full-on superhero manhunt, when his phone buzzed.

It was a text from Laura.

Laura: "Come to the warehouse on 47th and Hudson. Now."

Peter stared at the screen.

A warehouse?

His heart dropped. Was she kidnapped? Was this a trap?

He didn’t even think — he just jumped off the roof and webbed toward Hudson at full speed.

3:12 p.m. — Surprise(?)

Peter landed silently outside the old warehouse. It looked abandoned — the windows were boarded up, the metal siding rusted and worn.

His Spidey-sense wasn’t tingling, but that didn’t ease the knot in his stomach.

He crept to the side door, pressed his ear against it, and listened.

Nothing.

Peter’s heart pounded. He took a breath, then shoved the door open.

It was pitch black inside.

Peter stepped forward, muscles tense, ready for a fight —

— and the lights exploded on all at once.

"SURPRISE!"

Peter yelped, half-flipping into a defensive crouch before his brain caught up with his eyes.

The warehouse was decorated with streamers, balloons, and a ridiculous "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIGER!" banner hanging from the ceiling.

Laura stood front and center, smirking. "Took you long enough."

Behind her was a crowd — MJ, May, Miles, Gwen, Ned, even half the Avengers. Logan was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else (but he was here, which counted for something).

Peter stared, his brain short-circuiting.

"You — what — how —"

Laura shrugged. "It’s your birthday. Figured you deserved a surprise."

"You… threw me a party?" Peter blinked at her, still processing. "You hate parties."

"Yeah." Laura smirked. "But I don’t hate you."

Peter blinked again, his throat tightening.

"You love me," he said softly, half-teasing, half-stunned.

Laura rolled her eyes, but her smirk softened.

"Yeah," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "I do."

Peter’s heart flipped over in his chest.

3:30 p.m. — Cake and Chaos

The party was perfect.

May brought her homemade wheatcake, and Peter nearly cried on the spot. MJ and Ned roasted him with embarrassing stories. Miles got him a new web shooter holster (“Because your old one looks like it lost a fight with a blender”).

The Avengers even pitched in — Tony sent a bottle of champagne labeled "Don’t Die Before You Drink This," and Sam gave him a shirt that said "World’s Okayest Avenger."

Peter loved it. Every second of it.

Laura, of course, hung back by the snack table — watching more than socializing. She was never really a "crowd person," but every time Peter caught her eye, she smiled.

His chest felt warm and stupidly, ridiculously full.

6:12 p.m. — The Rooftop Ending

The sun was setting by the time the party died down. People trickled out, leaving Peter and Laura on the rooftop of the warehouse, watching the sky turn orange and gold.

Peter leaned on the railing, sighing contentedly. "Best birthday ever."

Laura leaned next to him, arms crossed. "You’re easy to impress."

Peter glanced sideways at her. "Yeah, well… you’re not."

She smirked. "Guess you’re doing something right, then."

Peter tilted his head, studying her for a moment. "You really hate parties that much?"

Laura shrugged. "They’re loud. Crowded. Pointless."

Peter smiled softly. "Then why do this?"

Laura stared at him for a second. Her expression didn’t change, but her voice was quieter than before.

"Because you’re worth it."

Peter’s throat tightened again.

He reached out, slipping his hand into hers. She didn’t pull away.

"You know I love you too, right?" he asked softly.

Laura squeezed his hand — just a little.

"I know."

They watched the sunset in comfortable silence, hand in hand.

Peter couldn’t stop smiling.

Yeah.

Best birthday ever.

Notes:

Chapter 11: The PTA Problem (and Peter’s Pleading)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 11Title: "The PTA Problem (and Peter’s Pleading)"

---

Peter Parker was many things — superhero, husband, occasional scientist — but above all, he was a man who knew fear.

And right now, fear looked an awful lot like his wife rummaging through her closet, pulling out her usual "I’m going to stab someone if they look at me wrong" outfit: jeans, combat boots, and a tank top that fit her way too well.

"Uh… hey, Laura?" Peter started, voice edging into nervous territory.

Laura didn’t look up. "What?"

Peter shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, about the PTA meeting tonight…"

She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. "What about it?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Could you maybe, y'know… wear something else?"

Laura’s eyes narrowed. "What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?"

Peter hesitated. He wasn’t suicidal enough to say the actual problem out loud, which was:

1. Laura was hot.

2. High school boys are hormonal disasters.

3. The last PTA meeting ended with several freshmen awkwardly avoiding eye contact with their classmates — and Peter overheard one whisper, "I think I had an awakening."

He was never recovering from that.

Laura stared him down, waiting.

Peter cleared his throat. "It’s just, uh… y’know, last time some of the kids looked a little, um… distracted."

Laura tilted her head. "Distracted."

"Yeah." Peter winced. "Like… awkwardly distracted. Possibly lifelong-core-memory-level distracted."

Laura blinked. Then realization slowly dawned on her face.

She smirked. "You’re saying a bunch of high school boys were checking me out."

Peter groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "Please don’t phrase it like that."

Laura leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking way too amused. "What’s the matter, Parker? Jealous?"

Peter blinked. "What? No! I mean—yes? But that’s not the point! The point is I’m their teacher, and you’re my wife, and I’m pretty sure half of them went home needing cold showers last time."

Laura laughed — an actual, genuine laugh — and Peter’s heart did a stupid little flip, even though he was dying inside.

"So," she said, still smirking, "you want me to dress, what… less hot?"

Peter groaned again. "That’s not what I’m saying."

Laura leaned in close, her voice low and teasing. "Sounds like what you’re saying."

Peter dropped his head onto her shoulder with a dramatic whimper. "Laura, please. I’m begging you. For the sake of my job and whatever’s left of my sanity… just wear something else."

Laura snorted. "Fine. But you owe me."

Peter lifted his head. "Owe you what?"

Laura’s smirk widened. "I’ll think of something."

Peter stared at her, trying very hard not to panic.

"...Unfortunately."

---

The PTA Meeting:

Peter wasn’t sure what he expected, but he definitely wasn’t ready for this.

Laura walked in wearing a knee-length black dress — simple, elegant, and somehow even more distracting than her usual tank-top-and-boots look. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, and Peter couldn’t stop staring.

The room went quiet.

One dad dropped his coffee.

Mrs. Hollis — the PTA Queen — raised an eyebrow but said nothing, though Peter swore he saw her twitch.

Miles, who had apparently been dragged along by his mom, leaned over to Peter and whispered, "Dude, your wife looks like she’s about to assassinate a CEO."

Peter groaned softly. "Yeah. I know."

---

After the meeting, Laura leaned toward him as they walked out.

"So," she murmured, voice low and smug, "did I behave?"

Peter sighed. "Yeah. You behaved."

Laura smirked. "Did the kids behave?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder, where one unfortunate sophomore had walked directly into a vending machine while staring at her.

"...No."

Laura snorted.

Peter groaned. "You love me."

Laura’s smirk widened.

"Unfortunately."

Notes:

Chapter 12: Title: "The Dress Debacle"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 12 Title: "The Dress Debacle"

Peter Parker had faced a lot of things in his life — supervillains, alien invasions, clones, and even the multiverse itself.

But nothing… nothing prepared him for the sheer battle of wills that was taking Laura Kinney shopping.

---

“Come on, Laura, it’ll be fun!” Peter insisted, walking backward through the mall as she followed him at a very reluctant pace.

“No,” Laura deadpanned, her leather jacket slung over one shoulder. “It won’t.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “You don’t even know what I’m dragging you into yet!”

“I don’t need to.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being logical,” she corrected. “I hate shopping. I hate crowds. And if one more teenager stares at me like that—”

She glanced pointedly at a group of slack-jawed boys who immediately looked away — mostly because of the glare that could melt steel.

“—I’m going to put them through a window.”

Peter laughed nervously, putting a hand on her back to guide her further into the mall. “Let’s not traumatize the local youth today, honey. Besides, you need clothes.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “I have clothes.”

“Yeah, like… three outfits. And they’re all some variation of jeans, tank tops, and ‘I’m going to kick your ass’ energy.”

She smirked. “That’s my aesthetic.”

Peter groaned. “Okay, sure — but you’re not getting out of this. You agreed to a date night, and I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

Laura gave him a skeptical look. “What’s wrong with the pizza place down the block?”

“Nothing! But this time, I want to take you somewhere fancy. You deserve it.”

Her expression softened, just a little. “Peter…”

He grinned. “So, you need a dress.”

Her face immediately fell again. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yesssss.”

Laura growled softly.

Peter leaned in close, voice dropping to a playful whisper. “If you get a dress, I’ll wear whatever stupid outfit you pick for me after.”

Laura tilted her head, considering him. “…Including the Hello Kitty sweater MJ sent you for Christmas?”

Peter froze. “I — okay, let’s not get crazy here—”

“Too late. Deal’s made.” She smirked, and Peter realized too late that he’d fallen into her trap.

---

Twenty Minutes Later:

Peter practically shoved Laura into the nearest boutique.

Laura looked like she wanted to stab someone. Possibly him.

“Okay, let’s find you something jaw-dropping,” Peter said cheerfully, ignoring the murderous glare she shot his way.

“I’m going to kill you,” Laura muttered.

Peter grinned. “You say that all the time. You never do.”

“I’m debating it more seriously than usual.”

He laughed, scanning the racks. “Come on, you’ll look amazing. Just try one.”

Laura crossed her arms. “I’m not wearing anything pink. Or sparkly.”

“Noted.”

Peter sifted through dresses while Laura stared at the wall like a prisoner. Eventually, he held up a sleek, dark green dress — simple but stunning, with a slit on the side and a low back.

“What about this one?” he asked, holding it up to her. “It matches your eyes.”

Laura stared at it. For a second, Peter saw her expression falter — like she almost liked it — but then her face hardened again.

“I’m not a dress person.”

Peter sighed. He wasn’t giving up that easily.

“Okay, okay. How about this?” He stepped closer, voice softer. “One dress. One night. No fights, no claws, just you and me. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Laura stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “…You’re annoying.”

He grinned. “Yeah. But you love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

---

Laura disappeared into the dressing room with the green dress, grumbling under her breath the whole way.

Peter waited outside, rocking on his heels.

“You good in there?” he called after a minute.

“Shut up.”

“Need help?”

“I will end you, Parker.”

Peter laughed, leaning against the wall. He was about to crack another joke when the door clicked open.

Laura stepped out.

And Peter’s brain short-circuited.

The dress hugged her figure perfectly — the slit showed just enough of her leg to make him forget how words worked, and the green made her emerald eyes practically glow. Her long black hair fell over one shoulder, and for a moment, Peter forgot how to breathe.

Laura shifted uncomfortably under his stare. “…Stop looking at me like that.”

Peter blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m… I don’t know. Pretty or something.”

He stepped closer, voice soft. “Laura… you’re beautiful. And you look amazing.”

Laura’s cheeks turned pink — a rare sight — and she looked away. “…You’re such a dork.”

Peter smirked. “Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

She tried to glare at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“…It’s not terrible,” she admitted begrudgingly.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’m getting, huh?”

“Yup.”

Peter chuckled and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Thank you.”

Laura sighed. “For what?”

“For humoring me.”

She smirked. “Don’t thank me yet. You still owe me a sweater, Kitty Parker.”

Peter groaned.

He was never living that one down.

---

A/N:
Want a follow-up of their fancy date night, complete with Peter being forced to wear the Hello Kitty sweater after?

Notes:

Chapter 13: Date Night: Take Two

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Title: "Date Night: Take Two"

---

Peter Parker was trying really, really hard not to stare.

It wasn’t going well.

Laura was wearing a dress.

Not her usual jeans, boots, and leather jacket combo. Not a tank top with “I’m With Stupid” printed on it (which she only wore ironically, but still). Not the X-Men suit, or even the black tactical gear she usually stomped around in.

An actual, honest-to-God, dress.

It was sleek and dark red, stopping mid-thigh, with a low back and thin straps that left her shoulders bare. Her long black hair — which Peter was more accustomed to seeing tied back messily — fell loose over one shoulder, and she had on just enough makeup to make her green eyes pop.

She looked… incredible.

And deeply uncomfortable.

"You’re staring," Laura muttered, tugging at the hem of her dress like it might magically grow longer.

Peter blinked, snapping himself out of it. "Sorry! Sorry, I just — wow. You look amazing. Like, insanely amazing."

Laura gave him a flat look. "I feel like I’m cosplaying as a normal person."

Peter grinned. "Well, you look like the hottest normal person I’ve ever seen."

"Flatter me again, Parker, and I might kill you."

Peter smirked, leaning in. "You love me."

Laura sighed, rolling her eyes. "...Unfortunately."

---

The restaurant wasn’t anything too fancy — Peter learned a long time ago that "fancy" wasn’t Laura’s vibe — but it wasn’t a hole-in-the-wall either. It was nice, quiet, and romantic in that dim-lighting, candle-on-the-table kind of way.

Peter felt weirdly proud of himself for picking a place she didn’t immediately want to burn down.

They were halfway through their drinks, Laura awkwardly poking at her salad (she’d reluctantly agreed not to order a steak "still bleeding" for once), when Peter’s night took a nosedive.

"Mr. Parker?"

Peter froze mid-sip. Oh no.

He recognized that voice.

Laura’s eyes flicked up from her fork. "...Who’s that?"

Peter groaned internally before slowly turning around.

It was Mrs. Hollis — the PTA Queen from Midtown High. The same woman who had ambushed him during Parents' Night and made awkward comments about Laura the last time they met.

She was wearing a pastel cardigan, pearls, and the same too-big, too-fake smile Peter remembered.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Mrs. Hollis chirped. Then her eyes landed on Laura. "...Oh, my."

Laura blinked slowly. "What?"

Mrs. Hollis leaned in, lowering her voice like she was telling a scandalous secret. "Is this the same… companion from Parents' Night?"

Peter fought the overwhelming urge to sink under the table. "Yes, Mrs. Hollis, this is Laura. My girlfriend. We’ve been over this."

Mrs. Hollis blinked, clearly struggling to reconcile "leather-jacket murder Laura" with "holy-crap-she’s-hot Laura."

"You clean up so nicely, dear!" she said in a way that Peter was pretty sure wasn’t entirely a compliment. "It’s a shame you don’t dress like this more often."

Laura’s eyes narrowed. Peter immediately recognized The Look — the one that usually came right before she stabbed someone.

He panicked. "Haha, well, y'know, we’re trying something new tonight! Just a fun, fancy date night! Right, Laura?"

Laura didn’t break eye contact with Mrs. Hollis. "Yeah. Fun."

Peter reached under the table and gently pressed his hand over Laura’s, giving it a light squeeze. She glanced at him, exhaled through her nose, and reluctantly let the moment pass.

Mrs. Hollis, oblivious to her near-death experience, smiled. "Well! Good for you, Peter. It’s nice to see you branching out from your usual… type."

Peter stared. "What does that even mean?"

Mrs. Hollis tilted her head. "Well, she just seems so… rough around the edges, don’t you think? But I suppose even tough girls can clean up when they try."

Peter’s jaw clenched. He was about to say something very un-teacher-like when Laura spoke first.

"Yeah," Laura said flatly. "It’s amazing what a killer personality can do."

Mrs. Hollis blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

Peter bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

Mrs. Hollis gave a polite nod and backed away. "Well, enjoy your evening, Mr. Parker. Nice seeing you again… Laura."

Laura watched her leave, eyes cold.

Peter leaned over the table, whispering, "I can’t decide if I’m turned on or scared."

Laura smirked. "You should be both."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You didn’t have to go easy on her, y’know."

Laura stared at him, dead serious. "Peter. If I wasn’t wearing this stupid dress, I’d have thrown her through the window."

Peter grinned. "And this is why I love you."

Laura sighed again, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward.

"...Unfortunately."

---

Peter Parker wasn’t sure how the night went from "romantic dinner" to "potential homicide" so fast.

They were having a nice time — which, for him and Laura, was a rare and beautiful thing. He wasn’t bleeding, she wasn’t growling at anyone (yet), and the restaurant hadn’t exploded. Progress.

Then Mrs. Hollis showed up.

---

The PTA queen’s smile was still plastered on her face as she walked off, and Peter let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Well… that could’ve gone worse," he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Laura stared at him, unblinking.

Peter noticed the look too late.

WHAM.

Her foot shot out under the table, nailing him square in the shin.

Peter yelped, nearly knocking over his drink.

"Ow! What the hell, Laura?!"

Laura didn’t even blink. "Girlfriend?" she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Peter blinked in confusion, still clutching his leg. "What—"

Her eyes narrowed.

"You introduced me as your girlfriend, Peter."

Peter froze, brain catching up with his mouth.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

He swallowed hard. "I… I panicked?"

Laura tilted her head — that slow, predatory tilt that usually preceded someone getting stabbed.

"You. Panicked," she repeated, her voice dangerously calm.

"Yeah?" Peter tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "I mean, technically you’re still my girlfriend! You’re my wife, too, but you’re also my girlfriend—"

Another kick.

Peter barely bit back a second yelp. He shot her a look, half laughing, half in pain. "Are you seriously kicking me under the table right now?"

Laura leaned forward, her voice low. "You introduce me as your wife, Parker. Or the next thing I kick won’t be your shin."

Peter stared at her for a second, cheeks red, lips twitching.

He leaned in, voice a little quieter — a little playful. "You love me."

Laura stared him down.

"...Unfortunately."

They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then Peter cracked up, laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

Laura rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched into a smirk.

Peter grinned at her, still chuckling. "I’ll make it up to you."

"You better."

"How about dessert?" Peter offered, wiggling his eyebrows. "Something chocolate-y? With extra ‘I’m sorry’ on top?"

Laura leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "...It’s a start."

---

The next time Mrs. Hollis spotted them — on their way out of the restaurant — Peter made sure to pull Laura close, kiss her on the temple, and loudly, loudly say:

"Let’s go home, honey."

Laura smirked.

Mrs. Hollis looked like she swallowed a lemon.

It was a perfect night after all.

---

They ended the night with takeout in their pajamas, curled up on the couch watching bad action movies — because Laura declared that "real food" didn’t come with tiny candles and lettuce.

Peter decided she could wear whatever she wanted.

She was perfect, anyway.

Notes:

Chapter 14: Them thighs (ft. Down bad Peter)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 14 title : Them thighs

Peter knew he was staring.

He knew he should stop.

But, in his defense, Laura was making it really difficult.

She was sitting on their couch, one leg tucked under the other, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. The shorts she was wearing—black, snug, unfairly short—did nothing to hide how toned her thighs were.

And Peter? Well, Peter was trying to read. He really was. But the book in his hands had long since blurred into an unintelligible mess of words because his brain had decided to hyperfocus on something far more interesting.

'Them thighs.'

It wasn't like this was new. He had always known Laura had amazing legs. Super-soldier-level strength packed into that much muscle? It was unfair. But something about the way she was sitting, the way the dim light of their apartment cast the softest glow on her skin, had him completely distracted.

Maybe it was the casualness of it all. She wasn’t in her usual tactical gear, no Wolverine suit, no boots—just Laura, relaxed, unaware of how much of a problem she was creating for him.

He should say something.

"Peter, my eyes are up here."

Oh.

Busted.

"That’s nice," he muttered, still looking.

Laura raised an eyebrow, setting her phone aside. "Really?"

"What? I was—uh—thinking."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah. Deep thoughts. About… quantum mechanics."

"Quantum mechanics?"

"Yeah."

Laura stared at him for a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, she shifted—stretching her legs out, flexing them just slightly before crossing them at the knee. Peter nearly choked.

She smirked. "You were saying?"

Peter sighed, dropping his book onto the coffee table in defeat. "Okay, you got me. I was staring."

"Obviously."

"Can you blame me?" He gestured vaguely. "You have great thighs."

Laura rolled her eyes, but he caught the faintest trace of a smirk. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love me for it."

"Unfortunately."

Peter grinned. "No take-backs."

She kicked him—gently, but still enough to make him yelp. "Next time, try being subtle about it."

"Not possible."

Laura shook her head, going back to her phone. Peter, now officially banned from staring (for the next five minutes at least), picked up his book again.

…And still stole a glance when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She was.

And she smirked.

Game, set, match: Laura.

A/N

-Okay this was a joke chapter. Thank god i only make one shots with little continuity. I got like crapton of chapter ideas.

Suggest ideas if you want in the comments.

Notes:

Chapter 15: Title: "Wait… You Married WHO?!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 15 Title: "Wait… You Married WHO?!

---

Peter Parker wasn’t sure how he got here — but, to be fair, that wasn’t exactly new for him.

One second, he was web-swinging over Queens, chasing a particularly annoying Shocker copycat. The next, there was a blinding flash of light, a weird buzzing sensation, and now he was standing on a rooftop… staring at himself.

Well, not exactly himself.

The other Peter looked older. Not by much, but enough. His suit looked a little more high-tech, a little more battle-worn. And his face — the mask was off — looked tired.

"Great," the older Peter muttered, running a hand down his face. "Another multiverse thing. Fantastic. Just what I needed this week."

"Trust me, buddy," Peter sighed, pulling off his own mask, "I’m not thrilled about it either."

The older Peter tilted his head. "You sound weirdly calm about this."

"Yeah, well…" Peter shrugged. "Not my first universe hop."

The other Peter stared for a second, then sighed. "Yeah. Same. God, I’m so tired of these." He sat down on the edge of the roof with a groan, rubbing his temples.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Rough week?"

"Rough life," older Peter muttered. "Lost my job — again. Got evicted — again. Jonah’s running another smear campaign — again. And my girlfriend… well, that went to hell too."

Peter winced. "Yikes."

Older Peter huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, 'yikes' sums it up. Let me guess — your life’s all sunshine and rainbows, huh? Tell me, younger, alternate-me… you still single, or did you actually manage to hold onto someone this time?"

Peter blinked. "Uh… actually, I’m married."

The other Peter froze. His head snapped toward Peter so fast it looked like it might give him whiplash.

"Married?!"

Peter scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Yeah. For a while now."

Older Peter blinked. "No kidding. Who’d you end up with? Let me guess — MJ?"

Peter shook his head.

Older Peter raised an eyebrow. "Felicia?"

"Nope."

Older Peter leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "…Gwen?"

At that, both Peters went quiet.

For a second, the only sound was the wind.

Older Peter looked away, his voice quieter. "...Right. Of course not."

Peter swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant to hit that nerve.

After a moment, older Peter’s voice came back, softer this time. "So… who is she?"

Peter hesitated.

Then he smiled, despite himself.

"Laura."

Older Peter blinked. "Laura…?"

"Kinney."

Silence.

Dead silence.

Older Peter stared at him like he just grew a second head. "…You’re telling me… you married Wolverine’s clone?"

Peter nodded. "Yup."

"The Laura Kinney?"

"Yeah."

"The one with claws? And anger issues? And a kill count?"

"Still yes."

Older Peter stared for another second, then slowly leaned forward, resting his face in his hands.

"You married X-23."

Peter snorted. "Technically, I married Laura, but yeah. Same person."

Older Peter groaned into his palms. "I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified."

Peter grinned. "Welcome to my life."

There was a long pause.

Then older Peter peeked up from his hands, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

"…Is it weird that I’m kinda proud of us?"

Peter laughed. "Yeah. A little."

Older Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. "God, Wolverine must hate you."

"Yeah," Peter smirked, "but he hasn’t killed me yet, so I think we’re making progress."

Older Peter laughed harder at that, and for the first time since they met, he didn’t look so tired.

"You’re insane," he said, still grinning.

Peter leaned back on his hands, looking up at the skyline.

"Unfortunately."

A/N: And then he got home like an hour later. And yes it was Earth 616 peter.

Chapter 16: Title: Spider-Reunion

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 Title: "Spider-Reunion (ft. Miles, Anya, and Kaine)"

---

Peter wasn’t sure how he got talked into this.

It started with Miles texting him — something about the other Spider-People dropping in for a visit, and how they “totally won’t break anything this time, promise.”

Peter wasn’t convinced.

But Laura, surprisingly, said, “Let’s go.”

That should’ve been his first clue that things were about to get weird.

---

When they arrived at Miles’s place, it was already chaos.

“PETER!” Miles practically tackled him the second he stepped through the door. “You made it!”

Peter laughed, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Try not to break me, huh?”

Laura followed behind, hands in her jacket pockets, watching the reunion with her usual unimpressed expression.

The living room was filled with familiar (and some less familiar) faces:

Anya corazon was lounging on the couch, flipping through her phone.

Pavitr Prabhakar waved cheerfully from the kitchen.

Hobie Brown gave a lazy two-finger salute from where he sat, half-sprawled across an armchair.

And, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and radiating pure brooding energy…

Kaine.

Laura’s head tilted slightly. She stared at him. He stared back.

Peter squinted between them. “…Oh no.”

Laura glanced at Peter. “Who’s that?”

Peter blinked. “You don’t know Kaine? He’s — well, he’s kinda me. But angry. And murder-y. And he broods a lot.”

Kaine scowled. “I’m standing right here, Parker.”

“Yeah, I know.” Peter grinned. “I just figured if I’m gonna trash-talk you, I might as well do it to your face.”

Laura, still watching Kaine, muttered, “I like him.”

Peter blinked. Twice.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He turned to her, aghast. “Laura, he’s literally me. If I hated everything and growled more.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Peter stared. “Do you… do you realize what this means?”

Laura tilted her head. “What?”

“You like me,” Peter said slowly, dragging the words out, “because I’m basically a more annoying, less stabby version of you. And now you like Kaine… who is also me, but you-ified.”

Laura blinked at him, deadpan. “What’s your point?”

Peter threw his hands in the air. “You’re into yourself!”

Miles, overhearing from the kitchen, burst out laughing so hard he nearly dropped his soda. Anya snorted into her phone.

Laura stared at Peter for a long moment, then smirked.

“…Unfortunately.”

Peter groaned. “I walked into that one.”

---

Kaine, who had been silent the whole time, looked between them and muttered, “I have no idea what’s happening, but I feel vaguely insulted.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “Yeah, well, welcome to the Parker family, buddy. It’s confusing, mildly disturbing, and you never win an argument.”

Kaine stared at him. “…I’m not in your family.”

Laura shrugged. “You kinda are now.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what?”

Kaine stared at her, then at Peter, then back at Laura. He sighed heavily, running a hand down his face.

“Great. Now I’ve got two of you.”

Laura smirked again. “Could be worse.”

Peter blinked. “How?”

She tilted her head. “Could be three of you.”

Miles, still laughing from the kitchen, shouted, “Don’t summon Ben Reilly!”

Everyone (minus Laura) shuddered.

---

They ended the night on the roof, eating pizza and watching the city lights.

Laura sat beside Peter, leaning against his shoulder. Kaine was a few feet away, brooding into his slice of pepperoni.

Peter glanced at his wife. “So. Seriously. Kaine?”

Laura shrugged. “He’s alright.”

“He’s me, but moodier.”

“Yeah.”

“…You’re into that?”

Laura smirked without looking at him. “What can I say? I have a type.”

Peter groaned. “I’m never letting you live this down.”

Laura leaned in close, voice low. “You love me.”

Peter sighed. “…Unfortunately.”

Miles laughed so hard he almost fell off the roof.

Kaine, still brooding, muttered, “I’m never hanging out with you people again.”

They all knew he didn’t mean it.

A/n : I mostly wanted to introduce Kaine and a few of the spider-people, won't go too far into the multiverse stuff, maybe hobbie and pavtir will make cameos later in line.

Chapter 17: Title: Peter and Laura Go to Sleep

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 17 Title: Peter and Laura Go to Sleep

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the city outside their window. Peter was already in bed, sprawled on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His body ached from the day's patrol—his ribs still sore from an earlier scuffle with some second-rate goons who thought robbing a bank on his watch was a good idea.

Laura, on the other hand, was still moving around the room, taking her time. It wasn’t unusual. She had a habit of checking the locks and windows one last time, even though she knew Peter had already done it. Maybe it was just instinct—something she picked up from years of living on edge.

Peter turned his head to watch her. “You know, for someone with unbreakable bones, you sure are paranoid about home security.”

Laura shot him a look but said nothing.

He smirked. “I’m just saying, I worry about break-ins because I’m a very soft, very squishable human being. You, on the other hand, can walk through gunfire like it’s light rain.”

“Old habits,” she muttered, finally climbing into bed.

Peter rolled onto his side as she settled in next to him. He could feel her warmth even through the covers. She always ran a little hotter than he did—not that he was complaining. In the winter, she was practically a personal space heater.

Laura let out a quiet sigh, her body relaxing against the mattress. “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, draping an arm over her waist. “You okay?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Fine.”

Peter didn’t believe her, not entirely. But he knew better than to push.

Instead, he just pulled her a little closer, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She didn’t resist.

After a few minutes, she spoke again, voice softer. “You’re thinking too much.”

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah? What gave it away?”

Laura didn’t answer. Instead, she reached back and ran her fingers through his hair, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t much—just a simple, absentminded motion. But it was enough to make his eyes droop, the tension in his muscles finally starting to fade.

He sighed. “You’re good at that.”

“I know.”

Another moment of silence passed before Laura spoke again. “Go to sleep, Peter.”

“Yes, dear,” he murmured, already half gone.

And with that, they drifted off—tangled together, warm and safe, as the city carried on outside.

Chapter 18: Title: "Freaky (Superhero) Friday"

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 18 Title: "Freaky (Superhero) Friday"

Peter woke up feeling… off.

His head felt weirdly heavy. His senses, usually sharp and buzzing with Spidey-awareness, were dialed up to an overwhelming eleven. He could hear the neighbor’s dog snoring through the wall. He could smell the leftover Chinese food in the fridge from two rooms away.

And his voice — scratchy, low, and definitely not his — groaned:

"...What the hell?"

Peter’s eyes shot open.

Except they weren’t his eyes.

He stared at the ceiling, blinking, feeling wrong. His body felt heavier, stronger — and his hands weren’t his hands.

They were smaller.

Slimmer.

And when he sat up, long strands of black hair fell into his face.

Peter blinked. Slowly.

Then, with dawning horror, he looked down.

Tank top.

Shorts.

Boobs.

"OH MY GOD."

---

Across the apartment, Laura woke up feeling… weird.

Her first clue? The fact that she wasn’t tangled in her usual blanket cocoon. The second? The sound of her own voice — too high, too dorky, too Peter — groaning:

"Ugh… why does everything hurt?"

Her eyes snapped open.

She stared at the ceiling. Then her limbs — which felt longer, lankier, wrong.

And the cherry on top:

When she sat up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a Star Wars t-shirt she didn’t own and a chest that was definitely not hers.

She froze.

Slowly, Laura lifted her hands — bigger, broader, Peter’s hands.

Her eye twitched.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

---

They met in the hallway.

Peter (in Laura’s body) stared at Laura (in Peter’s body).

Laura stared back.

Neither spoke.

For a full ten seconds, they just stared at each other like two deer caught in very confused headlights.

Finally, Peter broke the silence.

"...So. This is happening."

Laura tilted her head — Peter’s head — and crossed her arms. "Seems like it."

Peter blinked. "...Okay, cool. Just checking."

Another beat of silence.

Then:

"WHAT THE HELL?!" they both shouted in unison.

---

The Adjustment Phase (aka, Peter Is Not Built for This)

"Okay," Peter said, pacing the living room — or at least trying to. Laura’s body moved differently. Everything was stronger, faster, and way more coordinated than he was used to. "We’ve fought Skrulls, symbiotes, and whatever the hell Mysterio’s fishbowl thing was, but this? This is new."

Laura, sitting cross-legged on the couch in Peter’s body, watched him with an infuriatingly calm expression.

"Freaky Friday scenario," she said dryly. "It happens."

Peter threw his — her — hands in the air. "This doesn’t just ‘happen,’ Laura! We’re superheroes, not a Disney movie!"

Laura shrugged. "Magic’s weird. Get over it."

Peter groaned. "Okay, okay — let’s stay calm. We’ll figure this out. First, we need to call Dr. Strange."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "You wanna explain this to Strange?"

"...Good point."

---

Superpowers — Now Featuring Peter in a Murder Machine Body.

Peter groaned. His head was pounding. "Okay, let’s try the powers thing. Maybe this is manageable."

Laura tilted her head. "You sure that’s a good idea?"

"I’m Spider-Man! I think I can handle superpowers."

Five minutes later:

Peter, still in Laura’s body, stood in the middle of their destroyed living room.

The coffee table was shattered in half. The couch was upside down. The TV… well, they probably weren’t getting that deposit back.

His hands shook slightly, claws still half-unsheathed.

Laura, still sitting on the couch in Peter’s body, blinked at the carnage.

"Huh. Turns out you can’t handle superpowers."

"Why is your body a death machine?!" Peter squeaked, voice way too high for Laura’s usual growl.

Laura smirked. "I trained for this. You flail."

Peter pointed an accusatory claw — accidentally gouging a hole in the wall behind her. "I do not flail!"

"You flail."

---

Meanwhile, Laura Has Spider-Powers

While Peter tried to figure out how not to kill everything he touched, Laura stood on their balcony, casually sticking to the wall.

"This is actually kinda cool," she admitted.

Peter gawked from the window. "Get down from there! What if someone sees you?!"

Laura gave him a flat look. "Peter. I’m literally Spider-Man right now. This is your thing."

She flexed her hand, web-shooters activating. A string of webbing shot out, and she tilted her head.

"Neat."

Peter’s eyes widened. "Don’t you dare—"

Laura fired the web.

She swung.

…Right into the neighboring building.

With his face.

Peter groaned as she peeled herself off the brick wall.

"Okay," Laura muttered, "I get why you complain about the landings now."

---

By the end of the day — after a run-in with a confused Daredevil, an unfortunate grocery store incident, and Peter accidentally breaking his own web-shooters (Laura hadn’t let him live that down) — they finally managed to track down Doctor Strange.

He took one look at them, sighed heavily, and muttered, "You two again?"

A sparkly hand wave and a sarcastic incantation later, they were back in their own bodies.

Peter immediately collapsed onto the couch. "Never again."

Laura sat beside him, inspecting her hands like she wasn’t totally sure she was back to normal.

"...Kinda miss the webs."

Peter groaned. "Please don’t start."

Laura smirked. "Wanna know the worst part?"

Peter sighed. "What?"

She leaned in, voice low and teasing.

"Your body’s weaker than mine."

Peter threw a couch pillow at her.

She caught it — one-handed, without looking.

"Yeah," Peter muttered, burying his face in his hands, "that tracks."

---

A/N: Okay, this was fun. Want a follow-up?

Chapter 19: Title: "Mr. Parker, Husband of the Year (Apparently)"

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 Title: "Mr. Parker, Husband of the Year (Apparently)

---

Peter Parker loved teaching. He really did.

He loved helping kids find their potential, making science fun, and giving them someone to talk to when life got hard.

But today? Today sucked.

And it wasn’t even the kids’ fault.

Well… not entirely.

---

It started the moment he walked into Midtown High.

Normally, Peter slipped in with little fanfare — just another underpaid, over-caffeinated teacher. But today, heads turned. Whispers spread.

Peter blinked. Why is everyone staring at me?

“Hey, Mr. Parker!”

He turned, spotting one of his students, Kyle, grinning way too wide.

“So… heard you got a smoking hot wife.”

Peter froze. His brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

Kyle smirked. “Yeah, word got around after the PTA meeting. Total babe, apparently.”

Peter blinked rapidly, his voice barely keeping up. “What — I — no, that’s — she’s not —”

Kyle leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude. Respect.”

Peter groaned and walked faster.

---

It didn’t stop there.

Everywhere he went, kids gave him nods and thumbs-ups like he was suddenly their personal hero.

In his first-period class, a sophomore named Dylan asked, “Mr. Parker, is it true your wife looks like she could be in a magazine?”

Peter sighed. “No. She looks like she could throw a magazine through a wall."

Dylan grinned like that was somehow cooler.

Second period wasn’t better.

“Mr. Parker, how’d you land someone like that?” one kid asked.

“Is she single?” another joked.

Peter nearly snapped his dry-erase marker in half.

“She’s not single,” Peter deadpanned, for the third time that hour.

“Damn,” someone muttered. “Respect.”

---

By lunch, Peter was twitching.

He sat in the teacher’s lounge, stabbing his fork into a sad cafeteria salad.

“Rough day, Parker?”

Peter didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. That voice belonged to Coach Thompson.

“Not now, Flash,” Peter muttered.

Flash chuckled, dropping into the chair across from him. “Heard you made out like a bandit at Parents' Night. Didn’t think nerds could pull girls like that.”

Peter groaned into his hands. “She’s my wife. Not ‘a girl.’"

Flash raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re, like, a legend now. The kids think you’re some kind of romance god.”

Peter blinked, horrified. “Please tell me they’re not calling me that.”

Flash smirked. “They’re calling you ‘Mr. Riz.’”

Peter stared at him, dead inside. “I hate this school.”

---

The worst part?

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about Laura, either.

Between the nonstop comments, his brain kept wandering back to her — her half-smirk when she was amused but wouldn’t admit it, the way she leaned into him after patrol when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t human.

He thought about the rare, quiet moments — when she’d steal his shirt to sleep in, or the way she let her guard down just for him.

She wasn’t “hot.”

Well — she was, but she was more than that.

She was his. His stubborn, fierce, absolutely terrifying wife who also made the world feel less heavy.

He rested his head on the table.

“God, I miss her.”

---

Final Period: Crash and Burn

By the time Peter made it to his last class, he was done.

He was tired. He was annoyed. And he was about three seconds from webbing someone to their chair if he heard the word "respect" one more time.

He started class like normal — explaining Newton’s Laws — but his brain was still on Laura.

Did she ever figure out what codename she wanted? She kept bouncing between Wolverine and Talon.

Peter didn’t care what she picked — she’d always be Laura to him — but man, the indecision was driving him nuts.

At least Gabby stuck with Honey Badger.

Peter smiled at that. Gabby was hilarious. She once stole his web-shooters and stuck Laura to the ceiling.

Good times.

He realized he was rambling to himself halfway through explaining gravity. His students were staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“…And that’s why Logan really needs to tell Laura to pick a name and stick with it, because honestly, it’s getting confusing, and I’m pretty sure ‘Talon’ sounds like a Batman villain."

The room went silent.

Peter blinked.

The entire class stared at him.

“Uh… what?” one kid finally asked.

Peter froze. His brain crashed like an old Windows computer.

“Did you just say Wolverine’s daughter needs to pick a name?”

Peter blinked again. Oh, crap.

“I, uh — no? Definitely not what I said,” Peter backtracked, voice climbing an octave. “I was talking about, uh, birds. Talons. Science stuff. Very important.”

The class did not look convinced.

Peter cleared his throat. “Anyway, back to gravity!”

---

After School:

Peter practically fled the building when the bell rang.

He swung home as fast as he could, landing on their apartment balcony and yanking his mask off.

Laura was sitting on the couch, her boots kicked up on the coffee table, scrolling on her phone. She glanced up when Peter stumbled through the window.

“Rough day, Parker?” she asked, smirking.

Peter groaned, collapsing onto the couch next to her. “You have no idea.”

Laura leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice amused. “Kids giving you a hard time?”

Peter sighed. “Apparently, I’m ‘Mr. Riz’ now.”

Laura laughed — an actual laugh — and Peter couldn’t help but smile despite himself.

“You know,” he muttered, “they don’t even know you’re Wolverine.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “And that bothers you?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” Peter threw his hands up. “I mean, they already think I ‘married a hottie.’ Imagine what they’d say if they knew you had claws."

Laura snorted. “They’d probably think you’re cooler.”

Peter groaned again. “I don’t want to be ‘cool,’ I just want them to stop giving me thumbs-ups.”

Laura leaned up, kissing his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Peter huffed. “…You love me.”

Laura smirked, snuggling into his side.

“Unfortunately.”

---

Peter Parker wasn’t a religious man, but today?

Today, he was praying to every deity that would listen — because he was about five minutes away from getting murdered by his wife.

---

Step 1: Crash Into the Sanctum Sanctorum

Peter didn’t bother with the door.

He swung right through the Sanctum’s window — which, to be fair, he didn’t mean to break — and tumbled onto the floor in a heap of broken glass and regret.

“STRANGE!” Peter wheezed, barely managing to sit up.

Across the room, Doctor Stephen Strange blinked at him over a cup of tea, completely unfazed.

“I’m not helping you clean that up,” Strange said flatly.

Peter staggered to his feet, still panting. “No time. Emergency. Life-or-death. I screwed up so bad.”

Strange raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, panic radiating off him. “I… I kinda maybe accidentally revealed that Laura is Wolverine to my entire high school class.”

Strange blinked.

Then smirked. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Peter groaned. “I don’t have time for sass, Magic Man! I need you to make them forget!”

Strange sipped his tea, visibly enjoying Peter’s suffering. “Why don’t you just tell Laura what happened and ask her what to do?”

Peter froze. His voice came out a little too high. “Ha! Nope. Can’t do that. She’s gonna kill me.”

Strange tilted his head, amused. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Peter coughed, eyes darting everywhere but Strange’s face. “Something like that.”

Strange stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed heavily. “You are the most exhausting Avenger. Fine. I’m not wiping their memories — that sort of magic is a nightmare — but I can give you this.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small pouch filled with sparkling blue powder.

Peter blinked. “Magic dust?”

“Throw a pinch at someone, and they’ll forget the last 24 hours.” Strange paused. “…Unless you screw it up. Which, knowing you, seems likely.”

Peter grabbed the pouch and bolted for the window.

“Thanks, Doc! I owe you one!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Strange called after him. “You’re still getting yelled at when this backfires!”

---

Step 2: Breaking and Entering (For a Good Cause)

Peter’s first stop was Kyle’s house — the kid who started the whole "Mr. Riz" nonsense.

He perched on the windowsill and peered inside. Kyle was playing video games, oblivious to the webbed-up superhero dangling outside his room.

Peter sighed. “This is so dumb.”

He popped open the pouch, took a pinch of the powder, and tossed it at the kid.

POOF.

Kyle blinked, his game controller drooping in his hands. “…What was I doing again?”

Peter grinned. “Perfect. One down.”

---

The next two hours were a blur of sneaking, dusting, and running from angry dogs.

He hit Dylan’s house (the "is she single?" kid), Emma’s house (the girl who started the fan edits), and even smart-kid Brian, who probably remembered too much anyway.

By the time he got to the last student, he was covered in dirt, smelled like a wet sock, and was 90% sure he’d been filmed by at least three security cameras.

Worth it.

---

Step 3: The Test (aka Make Sure No One Remembers)

The next morning, Peter strolled into Midtown High with a spring in his step and only mild sleep deprivation.

Time for the test.

“Morning, class!” Peter greeted cheerfully.

Kyle blinked at him, confused. “Morning, Mr. Parker. Uh… are we doing more Newton’s laws today?”

Peter grinned. So far, so good.

Dylan leaned over to his friend and whispered (loudly), “Hey, what happened yesterday? I can’t remember anything after lunch.”

Peter’s grin widened.

It worked.

Even Brian, who usually remembered everything, squinted at his notebook. “We did… physics, I think? It was boring.”

Peter never thought he'd be happy to hear his class described that way.

---

Step 4: Home Sweet Deathtrap

Peter made it home that night feeling like a champion.

No one remembered. The internet wasn’t blowing up with "Wolverine’s Secret Husband" headlines. He was free.

He crept through the window, careful not to make a sound. He could already picture himself face-planting into bed, maybe even getting in some cuddles if Laura wasn’t busy stabbing something.

“Hey, Parker.”

Peter froze mid-step.

Laura was sitting on the couch in the dark, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach.

"Hi, honey," he squeaked.

Her voice was dangerously calm. “Care to explain why you ignored my calls all day?”

Peter swallowed hard. "Oh. That. Uh… funny story —"

Laura stood up slowly, and Peter swore he heard the sound of claws snikt-ing somewhere in the shadows.

"Let me guess," she said, voice shaking. "You screwed something up, tried to fix it without telling me, and now you’re home pretending nothing happened?"

Peter laughed nervously. "Haha! What? No! I mean… yes. But I fixed it!"

Laura stared at him, her expression wavering for the first time. Her voice dropped, quieter now.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" she said, voice tight. "You disappeared. You didn’t answer. I thought you were hurt — or worse."

Peter blinked. His chest tightened.

"...Laura, I—"

"You idiot," she whispered, and to Peter’s utter shock, her eyes glistened — just for a second — before she blinked it away.

Peter’s heart broke.

He crossed the room in two steps, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured against her hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Laura buried her face in his shoulder, her voice muffled. “…You’re sleeping on the couch.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. I figured.”

She sniffed once, her voice half-wobbly, half-teasing. “…No fun time for a month.”

Peter groaned. “Aw, come on!”

Laura pulled back, smirking — though her eyes were still red.

“You love me.”

Peter gave her a crooked, exhausted smile.

“Unfortunately.”

Step 5: The Consequences of His Actions

Peter was still holding Laura, breathing her in, when she shoved him away.

Not hard — not angry — but firm.

"You’re still sleeping on the couch," she muttered, crossing her arms.

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I figured.”

Laura stared at him for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with the finality of a judge delivering a life sentence, she added:

"And you’re not getting laid for a month."

Peter’s soul left his body.

"…What?"

"You heard me," Laura said.

Peter blinked rapidly. "Wait, hold on—"

"You disappeared for an entire day, ignored all my calls, and instead of telling me you screwed up, you went to Strange to fix it behind my back."

Peter winced. "Okay, yeah, that sounds bad when you say it out loud—"

"It was bad, Parker," Laura cut in, eyes flashing. "Do you know how many ways that could’ve gone wrong? What if the magic backfired? What if you screwed up their memories worse? What if it hurt you?"

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it.

Because… yeah. That was fair.

"You always do this," Laura muttered, running a hand through her hair. "You mess up, and instead of asking for help, you throw yourself into fixing it alone."

Peter sighed. "I just— I didn’t want you to be mad."

Laura stared at him. Deadpan.

Peter swallowed. "Okay, you’re still mad."

Laura huffed, rubbing her eyes. "I’m mad because I was worried, dumbass."

Peter’s chest ached. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He really, really hadn’t.

"Laura, I—"

"One month," Laura said, cutting him off.

Peter froze.

"No ‘fun time.’ No sex. No sneaky hands, no pulling me into your lap when you think I’m in a good mood, no giving me those stupid puppy-dog eyes when you want me to change my mind."

Peter made a sound like a dying whale.

Laura smirked. "Sucks, doesn’t it?"

"PLEASE, I’M SORRY."

"Should’ve thought of that before."

Peter dropped to his knees.

"HAVE MERCY."

Laura walked to the bedroom, shut the door in his face, and locked it.

Peter slumped against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

This was worse than death.

---

Step 6: The Suffering of Peter Parker

Peter lasted three days.

Three. Days.

By the fourth morning, he was practically feral.

Laura walked into the kitchen in his T-shirt (which was unfair) and stretched.

Peter physically whimpered.

Laura raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"No."

She smirked. "Good."

Peter groaned, slumping onto the counter. "I’m dying."

Laura leaned close, lips brushing against his ear.

"Unfortunately."

Peter screamed into his hands.

It was going to be a long month.

A/N: well this is the end of the PTA saga (finally), honestly it was the most annoying shit to do, whole it was my first planned multi part story.

Sorry if the characterization it weird it was one of my earliest works. But do not worry we will still see more of teacher parker.

Chapter 20: "Unfortunate Tension (and the Month That Broke Peter Parker, by a scorned wife)"

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 Title: "Unfortunate Tension (and the Month That Broke Peter Parker, by a scorned wife)"

---

Peter Parker was not okay.

A month. A whole month.

No kisses that lasted more than five seconds. No sneaky hands on his waist. No pulling Laura into his lap.

And, most importantly… no sex.

He had survived alien invasions, multiversal collapses, and getting buried alive, but this?

This was hell.

---

Week 1: The Realization

The first few days were bad, but Peter thought he could handle it.

Laura wasn’t a tease by nature—she was usually more direct. But once she figured out exactly how much Peter was suffering, she started getting cruel.

She would stretch just a little too much in his old T-shirts. Sit just a little too close on the couch. Brush her fingers along his shoulders when she absolutely did not need to.

Peter woke up twice that week with very, very frustrating dreams.

---

Week 2: The Bargaining Stage

"Two weeks is basically a month," Peter said. "Let’s round down."

Laura snorted. "Not happening, Parker."

"I’ll do all the dishes for a year."

"Nope."

"Hand-wash the dishes. Even the gross ones."

"Still no."

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead against her shoulder. "Laura, please, I’m dying."

Laura smirked. "Good."

---

Week 3: The Breaking Point

Peter was not proud of the noises he made when Laura walked into their apartment in tight workout gear, sweaty from a fight.

She wiped a bit of blood from her lip and stretched, her abs flexing—

Peter immediately left the room.

Laura blinked. "...Did he just run away?"

Gabby, sitting on the couch, nodded. "Yeah. He’s been doing that."

Laura smirked. "Interesting."

---

Week 4: The Explosion

Peter was hanging on by a thread.

And Laura knew it.

She had to.

Because tonight, she wasn’t just wearing his T-shirt.

She was wearing his favorite one. The one that was too big on her, slipping off one shoulder. The one that she knew made him weak.

Peter sat on the couch, gripping his thighs like he was physically restraining himself.

Laura leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her drink way too slowly.

Peter inhaled sharply.

"Laura."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "Yeah?"

Peter swallowed hard. His voice was low—dangerously low.

"Come here."

Laura’s lips curled slightly, but she obeyed, striding over—deliberately slow.

Peter exhaled, staring up at her. His eyes were dark, hungry, burning.

"You think you’re funny," he muttered.

Laura smirked. "I know I am."

Peter surged up, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into his lap.

Laura barely had time to react before his mouth was on her neck, her jaw, her lips.

She gasped softly—a rare sound—and Peter groaned, months of frustration pouring into the way he kissed her.

His grip was possessive, desperate.

"Bedroom," he growled against her skin. "Now."

Laura let out a soft chuckle—breathless this time. "Impatient?"

Peter stood up, carrying her effortlessly, and she barely had time to yelp before he was already kicking their bedroom door open.

The door slammed shut behind them.

That night, Peter Parker made damn sure Laura understood exactly how much she had tortured him for a month.

And judging by the very satisfied, very sore Wolverine sprawled across their bed the next morning…

She didn’t regret a thing.

---

THE END.

Chapter 21: Title: "Red and Claws"

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 Title: "Red and Claws"

---

Ben Reilly wasn’t sure how the hell his day got this weird.

One minute, he was chasing down some low-level arms dealers smuggling stolen Oscorp tech through the back alleys of New York. The next, he was pinned to a brick wall by a short, growling, feral-looking girl with claws.

And, frankly, he was getting pretty tired of meeting people with claws.

---

“Who the hell are you?” Ben grunted, struggling against her arm pressing into his chest.

The girl narrowed her eyes. She looked young — maybe sixteen, seventeen tops — with messy black hair and sharp green eyes that practically glowed. Her voice was low, steady, and entirely unimpressed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said flatly.

Ben blinked behind his mask. “I’m Spider-Man.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”

Ben sighed. “I’m a Spider-Man.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then let him go. He stumbled forward, brushing dust off his red and blue suit.

“Whatever,” she muttered, turning toward the alleyway exit. “Just stay out of my way.”

Ben stared after her. “Wow. Rude.”

---

30 Minutes Earlier:

Gaby Kinney — clone, Wolverine-lite, teenage troublemaker — wasn’t having a good time.

She wasn’t sure how she ended up in the middle of an Oscorp tech deal, but here she was, knee-deep in thugs. She’d been tailing some lowlife trafficking mutant kids upstate, but somehow that trail had led her to New York City, a warehouse full of illegal tech, and a guy in a red Spider-Man suit crashing in through the skylight like a complete amateur.

She didn’t know who this guy was, but he wasn’t Peter. And she didn’t like him already.

---

Present Time:

They didn’t mean to end up working together.

It just… happened.

One minute, they were both staking out the same alleyway — Ben hanging upside down from a streetlight, Gaby crouched on a fire escape — trading glares.

The next, about twenty goons showed up. And, well…

Fighting side by side was easier than getting in each other’s way.

Ben swung down, webbing a guy’s weapon to the wall. “You’re welcome!” he called to Gaby as she ducked under a punch and swept a thug’s legs out from under him.

“Didn’t ask for help,” Gaby shot back, popping her claws and slashing through a guy’s taser before it could hit her.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to get stabbed when we met, so I guess we’re even!”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “Whiner.”

---

Five Minutes Later:

The alley was filled with groaning, webbed-up bad guys.

Ben leaned on a dumpster, catching his breath. “So… you got a name, or do I just call you ‘Angry Murder Gremlin’?”

Gaby smirked. “Honey badger.”

Ben blinked. “…Seriously?”

“What?”

“It’s just… kinda dramatic for someone your height.”

Gaby snorted. “Says the dude in the dollar-store Spider-Man costume.”

Ben put a hand to his chest, gasping in mock horror. “Hey! This is vintage.”

“Yeah, vintage ugly.”

Ben blinked at her again, then chuckled. “Okay. You’re alright, Gremlin.”

Gaby rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

---

After the Fight:

They ended up on a rooftop, watching the city.

“Why were you after these guys anyway?” Ben asked, sitting cross-legged on the edge.

“Tracking someone,” Gaby said, leaning against a vent. “Some mutant traffickers. This trail was a dead end.”

Ben tilted his head. “That sucks.”

She shrugged. “I’ll find them.”

Ben watched her for a second. “…You’re really stubborn, huh?”

Gaby shot him a sideways look. “Takes one to know one.”

Ben laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the city buzzing below.

“You’re not bad,” Gaby admitted finally.

Ben grinned. “You’re not bad either. For a murder gremlin.”

Gaby smirked. “Whatever, Scarlet Spider.”

Ben blinked. “…How did you know my name?”

“I didn’t.” Gaby snickered. “But thanks for confirming it.”

Ben groaned. “Oh, you’re the worst.”

Gaby shrugged, amused. “Unfortunately.”

Ben paused, squinting at her. “Weird. That sounded like something my brother would say.”

Gaby frowned. “…Huh. Felt like something my sister would say.”

They stared at each other for a second.

“…Nah,” they both said at the same time, shaking their heads.

---

They parted ways before sunrise — no names, no backstory, just two clones with attitude problems and a weirdly good team dynamic.

Neither of them realized they were practically family.

Peter and Laura were going to lose their minds when they found out.

Chapter 22: "Wait… You’re Related?!"

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 Title: "Wait… You’re Related?!"

---

Peter wasn’t sure how this day went so wrong.

One second, he was swinging over to meet Ben for lunch. The next second, he saw Ben and Gaby standing on a rooftop, mid-argument, looking one wrong word away from trying to stab each other.

Well, Gaby looked like she wanted to stab him. Ben just looked exhausted.

Peter groaned. “What the hell is happening?”

He landed between them, throwing his arms up like an exasperated referee.

“Okay, timeout! What are you two doing?”

They both spoke at the same time.

“He’s annoying.”
“She’s trying to kill me.”

Peter blinked. “…Yeah, that tracks.”

---

Earlier That Day:

It started simple enough.

Gaby was tracking another lead on her mutant traffickers — this time, some weapons dealers in Hell’s Kitchen. And, somehow, Ben was following the exact same trail, looking into the stolen Oscorp tech.

They ran into each other again.

“You again?!” Gaby groaned, claws halfway out.

Ben sighed. “Oh great. Murder Gremlin’s back.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m calling you that.”

They ended up fighting side by side again — mostly because the bad guys didn’t care if they were bickering. It worked, somehow. They took down the thugs, webbed them to a lamppost, and then immediately resumed arguing.

Cue Peter dropping in.

---

Present Time:

“Alright, someone start explaining,” Peter said, rubbing his temples. “Why are you two like this?”

Ben pointed at Gaby. “She’s a tiny ball of rage.”

Gaby gestured at Ben. “He’s an idiot.”

Peter stared between them, deadpan. “Wow. It’s like looking at a mirror universe of me and Laura.”

He paused. His brain caught up with him.

“…Wait a second.” He looked at Gaby. “How do you even know Ben?”

“We teamed up,” Gaby said with a shrug.

Peter blinked. “Wait… you teamed up with Ben? When?”

Gaby tilted her head. “Few days ago.”

Ben crossed his arms. “Yeah. We stopped an arms deal. She stabbed, I webbed, we argued — y’know, classic team bonding.”

Peter groaned. “Oh God. Did either of you think to maybe… mention this to me or Laura?”

Gaby blinked. “…Why would I do that?”

Ben squinted at Peter. “Yeah, why would I— wait. Why would she tell Laura?”

Peter froze.

Gaby stared at him. “Wait. Why would he tell you?”

They both narrowed their eyes.

Peter panicked. “Uh—”

“…Parker,” Gaby said slowly, “why do you sound like you’re hiding something?”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Peter said, immediately sounding like he was hiding everything.

Ben leaned forward. “Pete. What did you do?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sooooo… funny story…”

---

Five Minutes Later:

“You’re telling me,” Ben started slowly, voice rising, “that Laura Kinney — Wolverine’s murder clone — is your wife?”

“Yes?” Peter winced.

Ben blinked. “And this clawed gremlin is her sister?”

“Yes?”

Ben stared at Gaby. Then back at Peter. Then back at Gaby.

“…Did you seriously marry into the Wolverine family?” Ben asked, stunned.

Peter groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “I didn’t think about it like that, okay?”

Ben wheezed. “Oh my God. That explains so much.”

Peter pointed at him. “Shut up.”

Gaby crossed her arms. “Wait. So that means you’re Peter’s clone?”

Ben blinked. “Yeah.”

She stared at him, squinting. “…Huh. Thought you’d be taller.”

Ben scowled. “Well, I thought you’d be less stabby.”

“I’m exactly the right amount of stabby.”

“Wow,” Peter muttered, watching them. “It’s like watching an angry funhouse mirror.”

---

Later, Back at the Apartment:

Laura walked in, tossing her jacket onto the couch. She blinked at the sight of Ben and Gaby sitting on opposite sides of the room, both glaring at each other like cats that didn’t want to share the same couch.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why does it feel like someone’s about to get stabbed?”

Peter sighed. “Long story.”

Ben pointed at Gaby. “She’s worse than you.”

Laura snorted. “Impossible.”

“Not even a little.”

Gaby smirked. “You love me anyway.”

Laura’s lips twitched. “…Unfortunately.”

Peter groaned. “Oh God, it runs in the family.”

Laura leaned against him, smirking. “You love me.”

Peter sighed, head falling onto her shoulder. “…Unfortunately.”

Ben stared between them, bewildered. “…Seriously. How did this happen?”

Peter sighed. “I ask myself that every day.”

Gaby leaned toward Ben, grinning. “Wanna team up again sometime, Red?”

Ben stared at her for a moment, then groaned.

“…Unfortunately.”

---
Nicely Summarized by YourFriendlyNeighborhood

"So.. you guys didn't even.. consider it?"(Them being practically family)

"Uh.. no?"

"Jesus Christ, you both are stupid."

Notes:

Chapter 23: "You Owe Anya Money?"

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: "You Owe Anya Money?"

Laura wasn’t sure what she was looking for.

Peter had asked her to grab something from his desk—a specific set of papers he needed for grading. Simple enough. But while digging through the usual mess of lesson plans, half-finished crossword puzzles, and a crumpled-up takeout menu (from a place they stopped ordering from because Peter got food poisoning twice), something else caught her eye.

Old newspapers.

Not Daily Bugle—at least, not the usual “Menace of Manhattan” headlines she’d come to expect. No, these were different.

THE HUMAN-SPIDER TAKES ON BONESAW!

WRESTLING PRODIGY OR URBAN LEGEND?

MASKED MYSTERY CONTINUES TO DOMINATE THE RING!

Laura’s brow furrowed as she flipped through them. Some had pictures. The masked figure was unmistakably Peter—his build, his movement, even the way he seemed to hold back, as if he could end the match in seconds but chose not to.

Then she found a more recent clipping.

RETURN OF THE HUMAN-SPIDER?

The date was only a few years old.

Her fingers tightened around the paper as she remembered all the times she tried to push Peter to train with her. He could fight. She knew that. He just didn't like fighting the way she did.

But if that was the case… why had he kept wrestling?

---

Peter was on the couch when Laura walked in, her steps deliberate. She tossed the newspapers onto the coffee table in front of him.

“What’s this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Peter blinked at the clippings, then at her. “…This is where I say ‘old newspapers’ and hope you let it go, right?”

Laura gave him a flat look.

Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You found my wrestling stuff, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Sigh.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just said ‘sigh’ out loud.”

“Yeah, I’m under stress. It happens.” He exhaled and leaned back. “Alright, fine. I did wrestling for a while.”

She sat on the armrest of the couch, watching him closely. “Why?”

Peter hesitated. “Short version? Fighting crime doesn’t pay. At all.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “It costs you.”

“Bingo.” Peter pointed at her. “Web fluid isn’t free. The Bugle barely paid enough for me to get by. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking—why not get a real job? Well, I did. A bunch, actually. They just never stuck.”

“…So you went back to wrestling?”

Peter shrugged. “Not back back. Just… occasionally. The wrestling circuit was shady, yeah, but it paid in actual money instead of free hot dogs.”

Laura blinked. “You get free hot dogs?”

Peter grinned. “I did. There’s this one stand near Midtown—whenever the guy saw me swinging by, he’d leave one on the cart for me. Said I saved his life once. I don’t remember it, well i do, but hey, free hot dog.”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And charming.”

“…Debatable.”

Peter chuckled but sobered quickly. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the papers. “For a while, I blamed them. The wrestling guys. The bookers. The ones who scammed people out of money. The ones who let that one guy walk past me that night.” His jaw tightened. “Blamed them, blamed the law, blamed myself. But I still went back.”

Laura stayed silent, letting him talk.

“Some of them weren’t bad people, y’know? One of the guys that tried to scam me? He actually got fired. Turned his life around. Some of the wrestlers? They were good guys. Bonesaw—turns out he’s a big softie with his wife and kids. Joseph ‘Crusher’ Hogan—he’s actually a great mentor for new wrestlers. Then there’s Small Bob.”

“…Small Bob?”

Peter nodded solemnly. “Ironically huge dude. Sweetheart. Bakes cookies.”

Laura stared at him, unsure whether to be confused or impressed.

“There were a few female wrestlers too, Anya wouldn't stop pestering me about them” Peter continued. “Maggie ‘The Mauler’ Calloway, Tanya ‘Steel Fist’ Gonzalez, and Lita ‘The Lynx’ Moreno. All of them could kick my ass in a fair fight without superpowers. ”

Laura smirked. “Wouldn’t be hard.”

“Wow, okay, rude.”

“So why stop?” she asked, getting back on track.

Peter sighed. “They closed it down. New management, new rules, everything changed. It wasn’t worth it anymore.”

Laura hummed. That made sense.

“…Wait a second.” Her eyes narrowed. “If this is all in the past, why does Anya know about it?”

Peter immediately tensed.

Laura smirked.

“…Peter.”

Peter shifted. “Uh. Well. Y’see…”

“Peter.”

“I may have taught her a few wrestling moves,” he admitted. “And she may have gotten curious.”

Laura leaned in. “And?”

“…And we may have made a bet about whether you’d ever find out.”

“…And?”

Peter coughed. “And I… owe her money now.”

Laura threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh my God, you lost a bet to Anya?!”

Peter groaned, covering his face. “I knew I should’ve seen this coming.”

Laura shook her head, still grinning. “Serves you right, idiot.”

Peter huffed, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, yeah.”

Laura tilted her head. “…How much do you owe her?”

Peter groaned again.

“How much?”

“Enough for her to send me a ‘Pay Up, Parker’ text every week.”

Laura burst out laughing again, leaning against the couch. “Wow. You must feel so proud.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter grumbled. “My legacy.”

Laura smirked, nudging him with her foot. “So. When are you gonna pay up?”

Peter crossed his arms. “Eventually.”

Laura’s smirk widened. “Uh-huh.”

Peter threw his head back with a groan. “I hate everything.”

And Laura just kept laughing.

Chapter 24: April Fools’ Day: The One Where Peter Regrets Everything

Summary:

Chapter Text

April Fools’ Day: The One Where Peter Regrets Everything

Peter should have seen it coming.

The moment he woke up on April 1st, he felt it in his bones. The universe was out to get him.

And by “the universe,” he meant Laura, Gabby, and Wade.

It started small. Laura being unusually affectionate first thing in the morning. Too affectionate.

"Good morning, my dear husband," she said sweetly, way too sweetly. She even cupped his face.

Peter squinted. "...Who are you, and what have you done with Laura?"

"No snark today, love."

"Okay, now I'm scared."

Then, Gabby did his laundry.

Which, in theory, should’ve been a good thing. But she kept giggling every time she passed him, and Peter started getting nervous.

By the time he got dressed and put on his suit, he realized his mask smelled like lavender.

"Why does my mask smell like a fancy candle?"

"Oh, no reason," Gabby said, failing to hide her smirk.

Peter sighed. He didn’t have time for this. He had places to be.

Then he walked outside—

And his web-shooters didn’t work.

Instead of firing his webs, the cartridges sprayed glitter.

Multicolored, unholy amounts of glitter.

From the rooftop, Wade cheered. "IT'S BEAUTIFUL!"

Peter turned slowly. "Wade. What. Did. You. Do?"

"Enhanced your aesthetic!" Deadpool said proudly, pointing at him. "Behold! The Amazing Bedazzled Spider-Man!"

Peter looked down. His entire suit had a faint, sparkly sheen.

He turned to Laura, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"You knew about this," Peter accused.

She smirked. "I may have helped."

"Et tu, Wolverine?"

"Talon. And yes."

Gabby waved from behind her. "We also replaced your web fluid with confetti shooters!"

Peter inhaled deeply. He counted to ten.

Then he shot out a rainbow of confetti.

"...I hate everything."

From above, Wade cackled. "APRIL FOOLS, SPIDEY!"

Laura smirked. "Love you, husband."

Gabby grinned. "Love you, unofficial big bro!"

Peter sighed, dead inside.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too. But you’re all paying for this."

Wade blew him a kiss. "Worth it."

Chapter 25: Ben Reilly Finds Out Gabby Kinney is Funnier Than Expected

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Ben Reilly Finds Out Gabby Kinney is Funnier Than Expected

For one, she was way shorter than he imagined. Given how serious and deadly her older sister could be.

And after meeting her( and the way she acted),he half-expected Gabby to be the same—stoic, brooding, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders like a proper Wolverine.

What he didn’t expect was an actual gremlin.

“You’re way funnier than I thought you’d be,” Ben admitted after spending an afternoon with her.

Gabby, lounging on the couch and casually flipping a knife between her fingers, grinned. “Yeah? What’d you think I was gonna be like?”

He smirked. “Like Laura, when we first met.”

Gabby immediately groaned, facepalming. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I was trying to be all serious and scary back then.”

Ben chuckled. “Yeah, that was definitely an act.”

Gabby waved her knife in the air dramatically. “I am Gabby Kinney. I feel nothing. I have no emotions.”

Ben snorted. “And now?”

She tossed the knife into a wall absentmindedly. “Now, I’m awesome.”

—

Ben Learns About Laura Through Gabby

As they got to know each other, Ben ended up learning a lot about his brother’s wife.

“So, Laura actually punched a bear?” Ben asked one day, halfway through eating a burger.

Gabby nodded. “Punched? No. She suplexed it.”

Ben blinked. “Suplexed. A bear.”

“Mid-air.” Gabby grinned. “Logan was so proud.”

Ben had to sit with that information for a minute.

—

The Clone Talk

One night, after a few drinks (for Ben) and too much candy (for Gabby), the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Gabby said, popping another piece of chocolate in her mouth, “how’d Peter take it? You being a clone and all?”

Ben sighed, leaning back. “Oh boy.”

“That bad?”

Ben gave her a dry look. “Let’s just say there’s a reason we call it the Clone Saga.”

Gabby raised an eyebrow. “Saga?”

Ben nodded. “It was long, it was complicated, and we beat each other up for absolutely no reason.”

Gabby whistled. “Damn. So, what, you two just threw hands the moment you met?”

Ben groaned. “Basically.”

Gabby smirked. “You do realize Peter’s dumb, right?”

Ben laughed. “Oh, believe me, I know.”

Gabby nudged him. “At least now you’re the cool clone.”

Ben grinned. “Damn right.”

Just as Ben was about to bask in the glory of being the cool clone, his phone buzzed on the table.

Kaine (Worst Clone)

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Speak of the devil.”

Gabby, already interested, leaned in. “Put him on speaker.”

Ben sighed, accepting the call. “What do you want, Kaine?”

Kaine’s voice came through, deadpan as ever. “Just heard you talking shit.”

Gabby covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. What, do you have a clone-sense now? You just knew I was talking about you?”

“I always know when I’m being slandered.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “Alright, fine. Since you’re here, let’s settle this. Gabby just said I’m the cool clone.”

There was silence on the other end. Then—

“That’s a lie.”

Gabby snorted.

Ben smirked. “Oh yeah? And what makes you cooler?”

Kaine didn’t even hesitate. “I have a cape.”

Ben groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake—”

Gabby burst out laughing. “Okay, he’s got a point.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Ben protested. “A cape doesn’t automatically make you cool!”

Kaine, smug, continued. “I’m taller.”

“That doesn’t—”

“I have organic webbing.”

“That’s gross, not cool!”

Gabby was in tears now.

Kaine kept going. “I don’t wear bright colors like an idiot.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I’ve killed people.”

Gabby paused mid-laugh. “Same.”

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, okay, that one’s debatable.”

Kaine was quiet for a second. Then, “Still cooler than you.”

And then he hung up.

Ben stared at his phone, jaw clenched.

Gabby, still dying, patted his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Cape beats hoodie.”

Chapter 26: "Knights and Queens"

Chapter Text

Chapter 26 Title: "Knights and Queens"

---

The roof of Hell’s Kitchen felt quieter than usual. The distant hum of traffic below filled the air, blending with the occasional siren wailing far off in the city.

Peter Parker sat cross-legged on the edge of a rooftop, a small, battered chessboard between him and Matt Murdock.

It wasn’t their first chess night. It probably wouldn’t be the last.

Matt’s suit jacket was draped over a nearby pipe, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked relaxed — or, at least, as relaxed as Matt ever got. Peter, meanwhile, was still in his Spider-Man suit, though he’d pulled the mask off and pushed it to the side. His hair was sticking up from the wind.

Matt moved a piece, his fingers tracing the shape of his knight before setting it down.

“Check.”

Peter blinked down at the board. “Seriously? How do you keep doing that? You’re blind.”

Matt smirked faintly. “I’m not blind to how bad you are at chess.”

Peter groaned. “Yeah, yeah, mock the science nerd. Real original.”

Matt then gave a full grin. "Mock the blind Parker? Real original".

Peter stared at the board for a second, then moved his bishop, blocking the check.

“So,” Matt said, tilting his head in Peter’s direction, “how’s the new thing with Laura going?”

Peter blinked. “What, uh—how do you know about that?”

Matt smiled knowingly. “You think Daredevil doesn’t pick up on the fact you’ve got her scent all over you these days? You’re not exactly subtle, Parker.”

Peter flushed. “Oh. Right. Super senses. Forgot about that.”

Matt’s smile widened slightly. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure the rest of the team hasn’t noticed.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Eighty percent sure.”

Peter groaned. “Fantastic.”

''Wrong Team.''

He groaned once more ''Shut up''

Matt leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “So? How’s it going?”

Peter hesitated, fiddling with a rook. “It’s… good. Weird. But good. Laura’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Peter huffed a laugh. “Yeah. She’s… well, she’s not exactly the romantic type. I think the closest thing to a compliment she’s given me so far is ‘you’re less annoying than most people.’ ”

Matt chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just — I dunno. I like her. Like, really like her. But it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking half the time. And the other half she’s either threatening to kill me or actually saving my life.”

Matt tilted his head. “Sounds familiar.”

Peter blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Matt gave a small, amused shrug. “Let’s just say I have a bit of experience with complicated women.”

Peter smirked. “Oh yeah? How’s Elektra doing these days?”

Matt’s smile faltered for half a second. “Don’t push your luck, Parker.”

Peter chuckled.

The chessboard sat between them, half-forgotten for a moment. The wind picked up, rustling Matt’s hair and tugging at Peter’s suit.

“You’re good for her, you know,” Matt said after a moment, voice quieter.

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Laura?”

Matt nodded slowly. “She’s been through hell. More than anyone deserves. But… when she’s around you, she’s different.”

Peter frowned. “Different how?”

Matt thought for a second, then said, “Quieter. Calmer. Like she doesn’t feel like she has to be a weapon all the time.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that.

“…I don’t think she realizes it yet,” Matt added, “but I think you make her feel safe.”

Peter swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He stared down at the chessboard, fiddling with his rook again.

“I dunno if I’m good enough for her,” he admitted, voice low.

Matt smiled faintly. “I think you’re exactly what she needs.”

Peter looked up, surprised. “Did you just give me a compliment? What is this, Opposite Day?”

Matt chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “Don’t get used to it.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head.

He stared at the board for a moment longer, then moved his rook again.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning.

Matt tilted his head, frowning. “Wait, what?” He reached out, running his fingers over the board. His frown deepened.

Peter leaned forward, grinning wider. “You didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

Matt sighed. “…You’re insufferable.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Peter laughed so hard he nearly fell off the roof.

A/N: Sorry i forgot to add that this in their early relationship era, most of my one shots will always be post-marriage.

Chapter 27: "Cooking Lessons with Peter Parker"

Chapter Text

Chapter 27 Title: "Cooking Lessons with Peter Parker"

---

Laura had fought assassins, mutant-hunting robots, and interdimensional threats.

And yet, somehow, this was defeating her.

She glared down at the frying pan as if she could intimidate it into behaving.

It didn’t work.

Behind her, Peter tried very hard not to laugh.

“Okay, let’s go over this again,” he said, stepping closer. “Medium heat, not high. You’re trying to cook the food, not wage war on it.”

Laura’s jaw clenched. “It looked at me funny.”

Peter snorted. “Babe, it’s an omelet.”

“A rebellious one.”

“Right. And you, the mighty Wolverine—sorry, Talon—are losing to an egg.”

Laura slowly turned to glare at him.

Peter held up his hands in surrender, grinning.

---

It wasn’t like she couldn’t cook at all.

She could handle meat just fine—searing a steak, grilling chicken, anything that involved fire and stabbing things.

But anything else?

Peter had gently pointed out that her food was either burnt to a crisp or had the texture of something that shouldn’t be eaten by humans.

Which was why she had reluctantly agreed to this lesson.

---

Peter slid in beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Okay, my feral little chef, let’s try again.”

Laura huffed but didn’t argue.

Peter guided her hands, adjusting her grip on the spatula.

“Gentle. Just fold it over, don’t attack it like it owes you money.”

She sighed but did as he said, carefully flipping the omelet.

It landed perfectly.

Laura blinked. “Huh.”

Peter grinned. “See? Progress.”

---

A few minutes later, the omelet was done.

Laura eyed it suspiciously. “It looks… edible.”

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed a fork. He cut a piece, blew on it dramatically, and took a bite.

Then he moaned.

“Laura. Oh my God. This is—this is incredible.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re faking.”

Peter swallowed, smirking. “Yeah, but I didn’t choke, so that’s already a win.”

Laura kicked him.

Peter laughed through the pain.

---

Later, as they sat together eating, Laura stole a bite of his food.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yours is literally the same thing.”

She shrugged. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”

Peter smiled and kissed her cheek.

For someone who had never wanted a normal life, this felt pretty damn good.

Even if she had to suffer through cooking lessons.

The things she did for love.

A/N: Laura’s improving in cooking. And yes Peter’s the one who does most of the cooking, if they eat together.

Chapter 28: "Beach Day (ft. Laura in a One-Piece and Peter Being... Peter)"

Chapter Text

Chapter 28 Title: "Beach Day (ft. Laura in a One-Piece and Peter Being... Peter)"

---

Peter Parker didn’t get a lot of days off.

Between being Spider-Man, teaching, and making sure no one in the Avengers accidentally blew up a city block (again), he was usually running on fumes.

So when Laura suggested — well, grunted — that they take a day off and hit the beach, Peter was more than happy to agree.

It wasn’t until they actually got there that he realized two things:

1. Laura in a swimsuit was unfairly distracting.

2. He was, in fact, a complete idiot.

---

The beach was crowded, but the ocean breeze felt amazing. Peter stood on the sand, adjusting his sunglasses as he watched Laura walk ahead of him toward the water.

She was wearing a black one-piece swimsuit — simple, no frills, but somehow she made it look like she was ready to walk down a runway. The suit hugged her figure just right, showing off toned legs and arms, her scar trailing faintly along her thigh catching the sunlight. Her long black hair was tied up in a messy bun, and Peter couldn’t help but stare.

She looked… incredible.

“Wow,” Peter muttered under his breath. “I married a superhero and a supermodel. Jackpot.”

Laura glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there, or are you coming in the water?”

Peter shook himself out of his daze. “Yeah, I, uh—yeah. Water. Good idea. Water.”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “…Did you just forget how to form a sentence?”

Peter coughed. “No. Shut up.”

Laura smirked. “You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.”

“You’re drooling.”

“…It’s admiration drool.”

Laura chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You’re a disaster.”

“And yet, you still love me.”

Laura shrugged, smirking. “Unfortunately.”

Peter grinned. He was about to fire back with another quip when he felt something cold and wet smack him in the face.

He sputtered, wiping seawater out of his eyes.

“Did you just splash me?!”

Laura tilted her head innocently. “What? I was testing the water.”

“Oh, you’re so dead, Kinney.”

---

The Splash War of the Century

What started as a little splash turned into an all-out war.

Peter darted into the waves, water sloshing around his knees as he chased after Laura. She laughed — an honest, carefree laugh — dodging his attempts to grab her.

“C’mon, Parker! You’re supposed to be fast!”

“I am fast!” Peter lunged, but Laura sidestepped him easily.

“You’re fast in the city. Ocean’s different, Webhead.”

Peter growled playfully. “Okay, that’s it. No more nice Spidey.”

He took a running start and tackled her into the water — gently, of course. Laura yelped as they went under, resurfacing a second later with her hair completely soaked and plastered to her face.

Peter grinned. “Gotcha.”

Laura blinked at him, water dripping from her lashes. Then she lunged, dunking him under.

When Peter came back up, sputtering, Laura smirked. “Gotcha back.”

Peter groaned. “Why did I marry you again?”

Laura leaned in close, her voice low and playful. “Because you’re an idiot. And I’m hot.”

Peter blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

---

Sunbathing (and Peter Being a Menace)

After their impromptu ocean battle (which ended with Peter dramatically pretending to drown after Laura tackled him for the third time), they stretched out on their beach towels under a big umbrella.

Laura lay on her stomach, head resting on her arms, enjoying the sun. Peter — still damp, covered in sand, and fidgety — couldn’t stay still.

He tapped his fingers on the towel. Then his leg bounced. Then he started humming.

Laura cracked an eye open. “Parker.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Whatever you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re vibrating.”

Peter huffed. “I’m bored.”

Laura sighed into her arms. “We’re at the beach. Relax.”

“I can’t! I’m not built for relaxing!”

Laura groaned, not lifting her head. “You literally swing around the city and do backflips for fun.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I dunno. It just is.”

Laura lifted her head slightly, looking at him with a mix of amusement and exhaustion. “Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“If I let you bury me in the sand, will you shut up for five minutes?”

Peter blinked. “…Deal.”

---

The Aftermath: Sand Laura

Fifteen minutes later, Laura was buried up to her neck in sand.

Peter sat beside her, humming contently.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Laura grumbled.

Peter grinned, brushing some sand off her shoulder. “It’s peaceful.”

“For you.”

“You agreed to this.”

“I regret it.”

Peter leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You love me.”

Laura sighed dramatically. “…Unfortunately.”

Peter laughed, leaning back on his hands as the sun set over the water.

For once, the world wasn’t ending. No villains, no emergencies, no running off to save the day. Just him, Laura, and the sound of the ocean.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.

A/N; I wanted a beach episode.

Chapter 29: Thai Green Curry and Tired Assassins

Chapter Text

Chapter 29 Title: Thai Green Curry and Tired Assassins

Laura was exhausted.

Not physically—she never really got physically tired—but mentally? That was a different story. Her mission had taken longer than expected, and she had to deal with a bunch of idiots who had just enough training to be annoying.

All she wanted now was to eat, shower, and sleep.

So when she climbed through the window, shaking off rain, blood, and whatever else, she was not expecting to smell food.

Her head snapped up. The apartment was warm. Cozy. And the scent of something rich, spicy, and familiar filled the air.

Her eyes landed on Peter.

He was in the kitchen, wearing an apron that said "World’s Best Cook (Probably)" while stirring a pot. His mask was off, sleeves rolled up, hair messy in that way that meant he had tried to fix it but failed.

Peter turned, grinning. "Oh, hey! You’re back."

Laura blinked. "...What are you doing?"

Peter gestured dramatically at the stove. "Making Thai green curry."

Laura stared.

Peter kept grinning. "You like curry."

She did.

She liked it a lot.

But the fact that Peter had taken the time to make it from scratch—while she was out working—made something warm settle in her chest.

"...Why?" she asked, stepping closer.

Peter shrugged. "Had a rare day off. Thought I'd cook for you."

Laura squinted at him. "...Did you make it spicy?"

Peter scoffed, dramatically offended. "Who do you take me for? Of course I made it spicy. You think I’d disrespect your taste buds like that?"

Laura snorted.

Peter grinned. "Go shower, and by the time you’re out, we’ll have food."

She hesitated for half a second—long enough for Peter to notice.

His expression softened. "Laura."

She looked up.

"You’re home," he said simply. "Relax."

Laura exhaled.

Right.

She was home.

She had Peter.

And there was good food.

The mission didn’t matter anymore.

She gave him a slow nod before heading toward the bathroom.

The last thing she heard before the door closed was Peter humming as he stirred the curry.

Yeah.

She could get used to this.

A/N: Requested by xerx99.

Chapter 30: "Held Together"

Chapter Text

Chapter 30 Title: "Held Together"

---

Peter Parker had never been great with silence.

He was a talker—a compulsive filler of awkward gaps, a master of bad jokes and nervous rambling. He had learned, over the years, that silence could be suffocating. It could mean someone was hurt, or angry, or gone.

But Laura?

Laura lived in silence.

And Peter was learning to meet her there.

---

Tonight, the silence felt heavier.

Laura sat on the edge of their bed, her back to him, shoulders tense.

Peter didn’t know exactly what was wrong—she hadn’t told him yet. But he knew the look in her eyes when she came home.

The distant, haunted one.

She was carrying something tonight. A memory, a feeling—something heavy enough that she wasn’t letting herself reach for him.

So Peter did what he always did.

He waited.

---

A few minutes passed.

Laura didn’t move.

Peter sat behind her, giving her space, warmth—a presence that didn’t demand anything.

Eventually, slowly, she let out a shaky breath.

Peter’s heart ached.

Carefully, gently, he reached forward—moving slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to.

He pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, feeling the tension there.

Laura didn’t flinch.

That was a good sign.

Peter exhaled softly. “I’m here.”

Laura was quiet for a long moment.

Then, finally, she turned.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

She just moved toward him, hesitating only once before tucking herself against his chest.

Peter held completely still, letting her decide how close was okay.

After a moment, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Peter breathed in—slow, steady. His arms came up carefully, wrapping around her without pressing, without caging.

Just holding.

Laura’s breath hitched—so quiet that anyone else would’ve missed it.

But Peter didn’t.

His grip tightened just enough.

Laura didn’t talk. Didn’t explain.

She just stayed there, letting herself be held.

Peter closed his eyes, resting his chin against her hair.

He didn’t fill the silence.

He just stayed.

And that was enough.

For both of them.

---

THE END.

Chapter 31: "Hold On Tight"

Chapter Text

Chapter 31 Title: "Hold On Tight"

---

Peter Parker wasn’t having the best night.

It wasn’t the worst night, either — no alien invasions, no multiversal chaos, no buildings collapsing with him under them — but it was bad enough.

The rain didn’t help.

It came down in cold sheets, soaking through his torn suit as he swung over the city. His ribs ached from where Tombstone had thrown him through a car (twice), and his head was still ringing from the concussion he was pretty sure he had. He didn’t stop to think about it. He couldn’t afford to stop.

He’d stopped once before — back when he was younger, when he thought he could take a break. That was the night Uncle Ben died.

So now, he didn’t stop.

His webline snapped onto another building, and he swung around the corner, landing on a rooftop with a heavy thud. His muscles screamed at him to take a break, to breathe, but he ignored them.

He always ignored them.

“Parker.”

The voice cut through the rain like a knife — low, steady, familiar.

Peter didn’t have to look to know who it was. He turned anyway, his soaked mask clinging to his face as he stared at the figure emerging from the shadows.

Laura.

She was dressed in her usual leather jacket and combat boots, though her hair was plastered to her face from the rain. Her green eyes practically glowed against the darkness. She wasn’t smiling — she never smiled when he looked like this.

“Hey,” Peter managed, his voice hoarse. “What brings you to this fine rooftop?”

Laura stepped closer, her gaze flicking over him, scanning for injuries. She didn’t answer his question.

“You look like crap.”

Peter huffed a laugh. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did. He’s unconscious. You still look worse.”

Peter sighed, wincing as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well. Comes with the job.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. She took another step toward him. “Take off the mask.”

Peter hesitated. He didn’t want her to see. Not tonight. He knew what she’d do — how she’d look at him. He didn’t want that look.

“Pete,” Laura’s voice softened, just a fraction. “Take it off.”

Peter sighed, defeated. He peeled the mask off slowly, wincing as the cool air hit his bruised face.

Laura stared at him, her expression unreadable.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Then, without warning, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.

Peter froze.

Laura wasn’t a hugger. Not really. She was more of a "punch-you-on-the-shoulder-and-call-you-an-idiot" kind of person. Physical affection wasn’t her thing most of the time.

But now — now she was holding him like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.

Peter’s body sagged into her without meaning to. His head fell against her shoulder, his arms moving up to hold her back. He didn’t even realize he was shaking until she held him tighter.

“You’re an idiot,” Laura murmured, her voice muffled against his soaked suit.

Peter let out a wet, broken laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, the rain falling around them, neither of them moving.

“I’m fine, you know,” Peter mumbled eventually, though his voice wasn’t convincing anyone — least of all himself.

Laura didn’t pull away. “No, you’re not.”

Peter swallowed hard, his throat tight. “…Yeah. I’m not.”

Her arms tightened around him, and Peter felt something inside him crack — not physically, but deeper than that. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the stinging behind them to go away.

“It’s okay,” Laura said quietly, like she could tell. “You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

Peter’s chest hitched. He hated this — hated feeling like this, like he wasn’t strong enough, like he wasn’t Spider-Man enough.

But Laura wasn’t letting go.

So he didn’t, either.

---

The rain slowed after a while, fading into a light drizzle.

Peter’s legs felt like jelly, but Laura didn’t let him fall. She helped him sit down by the edge of the rooftop, sliding down next to him.

They didn’t say anything for a long time.

Finally, Peter spoke, his voice quiet. “…I don’t know how did you do this. The whole ‘being a weapon’ thing.”

Laura didn’t answer right away. She stared at the skyline, her expression unreadable.

“I’m not a weapon,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”

Peter blinked.

“I used to be,” she continued, her voice low. “But you… you remind me that I’m more than that. Even when I don’t believe it myself.”

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. “Laura…”

She turned to look at him then, her green eyes soft in a way that they never were for anyone else.

“You’re not just Spider-Man,” she said quietly. “You’re Peter. You’re the guy who makes stupid jokes and cares too much and always puts everyone else first. And you’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”

Peter stared at her, his throat tightening again. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Laura leaned in, pressing her forehead lightly against his. Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

“I’ve got you.”

Peter closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

“…I know.”

---

They didn’t leave the rooftop for a long time after that.

The city buzzed below them, oblivious to the two broken people holding each other together above it all.

For the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t feel like he had to carry the weight alone.

And maybe — just maybe — that was enough.

For now.

A/N: This is them still in an early relationship, so forgive Peter for being a little tactless.

Chapter 32: I let myself go

Chapter Text

Chapter 32 Title: I let myself go

She’d never admit it—ever—but sometimes, just sometimes, Laura likes when Peter babies her.

Not in a condescending way. Not in a way that makes her feel weak. But in that quiet, gentle way Peter does things, where he just takes care of her without making a big deal out of it.

Like when she comes back from a mission, exhausted, covered in grime, and he just wordlessly hands her a towel before pulling her into a hug. When he cooks her food before she even asks, like he somehow knows she hasn’t eaten in hours. When he absentmindedly runs his fingers through her hair while they’re watching a movie, or when he adjusts her blanket in the middle of the night because she kicked it off in her sleep.

Laura acts like she doesn’t notice. But she does. And she likes it.

And, sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly bold, she’ll lean into it just a little.

Like resting her head on his shoulder and letting him hold her longer than necessary. Or letting him carry her to bed after a long night, instead of insisting she can walk herself. Or—on rare, rare occasions—grumbling just enough that he’ll kiss her forehead, which she secretly loves but will absolutely stab him for pointing it out.

She’s a warrior, a fighter, Wolverine. She doesn’t need to be taken care of.
But with Peter?

…Maybe she doesn’t mind it so much.

Chapter 33: The PTA Strikes Again

Chapter Text

The PTA Strikes Again

Peter really should have seen this coming.

Between the last PTA meeting debacle and the fact that Ms. Hollis seemed determined to be the biggest thorn in his side, he really should have known that dragging Laura to a school fundraiser was asking for trouble.

"Are you sure we have to go?" Laura asked, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe of their apartment as Peter fixed his tie.

"Technically, no," Peter admitted. "But if we don't, Ms. Hollis is just going to keep assuming you're some, I don't know, gun-for-hire or whatever she thinks you are."

Laura scoffed. "As if I'd need a gun."

"Exactly my point," Peter muttered.

Truthfully, he was more concerned about what Laura would do if she had to endure another night of judgmental PTA members whispering about her.

Especially when Laura actually listened to him this time and wore something different.

A simple black dress, knee-length, nothing particularly flashy, but it was Laura. That meant somehow, despite her usual disinterest in fashion, she looked devastating—lean muscle, confident posture, that effortless, predatory grace.

Peter had already noticed a couple of his students looking at her a little too long the last time she visited.

And considering what happened at the last PTA meeting?

Yeah. This was going to be a long night.

---

The Fundraiser

The event was held in the school gym, which had been transformed into something almost elegant for the evening. Round tables, dim lighting, and a silent auction for very overpriced school merch.

Peter had barely stepped inside when he heard someone clear their throat.

And there she was.

Ms. Hollis.

"Mr. Parker," she greeted, her smile way too fake. "And… Laura. How nice of you to join us."

Peter immediately went into crisis mode.

"Ms. Hollis! Wow, look at you, looking—uh, present!" Peter said, voice a little higher than usual.

Laura, completely ignoring the obvious tension, just stared at Ms. Hollis and said, "Hello."

Nothing else.

Just that.

Ms. Hollis hesitated for half a second before her judgmental mom senses kicked in.

"You know, I was just speaking to a few of the other parents, and we were talking about role models for young minds," she said, giving Laura a once-over that made it very clear she still thought she was a bad influence. "It’s so important to set the right example, wouldn’t you agree?"

Peter felt Laura stiffen beside him.

Oh, crap.

"Uh-huh," Laura said flatly, looking incredibly uninterested but also one second away from making a very bad decision.

"Right! Role models, so important!" Peter jumped in before she could respond with something that might make Ms. Hollis cry. "Like, uh, Spider-Man! What a great role model, huh? Always doing the right thing, always looking out for the little guy—"

"Oh yes," Ms. Hollis interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "Though I must say, it’s a little concerning how many young women in our community seem to have taken an interest in him."

Peter froze.

Oh no.

Laura very slowly turned her head toward him, eyebrows raised.

"Huh," she muttered. "That so?"

Peter wanted to die.

Ms. Hollis, completely oblivious to the fact that she was throwing Peter under a moving train, continued, "I heard some of the senior girls even started a little fan club. It’s a bit inappropriate, don’t you think?"

Laura blinked.

Then, she looked Peter dead in the eye and asked, "You didn’t mention that."

Peter swallowed. "Uh. Would you believe I forgot?"

Laura’s expression didn’t change.

Ms. Hollis, sensing blood in the water, decided to go in for the kill. "And then, of course, there’s you."

Laura glanced back at her. "...What about me?"

Ms. Hollis sighed dramatically. "Laura, you must have noticed by now. The way some of the students—especially the boys—look at you? Honestly, I was just saying the other day, it’s a bit inappropriate for someone of your… stature to be around impressionable young men—"

Peter physically stepped between them. "Wow, you know what, Ms. Hollis? That’s a super interesting thought! You know what else is interesting? The hors d'oeuvres table! Let’s go check it out!"

He grabbed Laura’s arm and dragged her away.

---

Crisis Averted… For Now

"Let go," Laura muttered once they were a safe distance away.

Peter did—reluctantly.

"You were going to scare her," he pointed out.

Laura shrugged. "She deserved it."

"Maybe, but I really don’t want to explain to the principal why one of the PTA moms left in tears."

Laura exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the crowd. "You know… for all the crap she gives me about being a bad influence, she sure talks about me a lot."

Peter smirked. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

Laura nodded.

"Jealous." they both said at the same time.

Peter grinned. Laura’s lips almost twitched.

And for now, that was enough.

A/N: I may have exaggerated my hatred for the PTA saga. I like it, but it was a pain to write.

Chapter 34: The Great Costume Debate (Or: How Peter Parker Learned Never to Bet Against His Wife—Again.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 34 Title: The Great Costume Debate

(Or: How Peter Parker Learned Never to Bet Against His Wife—Again.)

---

Peter flopped onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “I’m just saying, branding is important, Laura.”

Laura, stretched out lazily across the armchair, barely spared him a glance. “And I’m just saying, I don’t care.”

Peter groaned, gesturing wildly. “You can’t just keep flip-flopping between ‘Talon’ and ‘Wolverine’ whenever you feel like it! Do you know how confusing that is for people? I mean, poor J. Jonah Jameson can barely tell the difference between me and other Spider-People, and now he has to deal with you pulling a name-change every other week?”

Laura, unimpressed, twirled a knife between her fingers. “Sounds like a him problem.”

Peter sighed dramatically, pacing in front of her. “Okay, picture this: You’re in the middle of a fight. Bad guy’s like, ‘Oh no, it’s Wolverine!’ But next week, he’s like, ‘Oh no, it’s Talon!’ He’s confused. He hesitates. We lose the element of intimidation!”

Laura blinked. “Pretty sure I’m always intimidating.”

“…Alright, fair point,” Peter admitted. “But still! You need consistency.”

Laura’s smirk widened. “Why? Because you don’t like surprises?”

“Because I—” Peter paused, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. Is that why you keep switching? Just to mess with people?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

Laura tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what—let’s settle this with a bet.”

Peter crossed his arms. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“If you beat me in a sparring match,” Laura said, standing up and stretching, “I’ll pick a name and stick with it.”

Peter arched a brow. “And if you win?”

Laura’s smirk turned absolutely feral. “You wear my Wolverine suit for a night patrol.”

Peter stared at her.

Then he burst out laughing. “Ha! Oh, please. That’s the easiest bet I’ve ever made.”

Laura tilted her head, amused. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Peter clapped his hands together. “I mean, c’mon, babe. I’ve fought you a bunch of times. We’re evenly matched. You can’t seriously expect me to lose.”

---

Thirty Minutes Later

Peter groaned, sprawled out on the floor, limbs tangled in webbing, bruises forming in places he didn’t even know could bruise.

Laura, standing over him, arms crossed, smirked down at him. “So, what have we learned?”

Peter groaned again.

“Come on, say it,” she teased.

Peter grumbled something unintelligible.

Laura crouched down, cupping her ear. “What was that?”

Peter sighed heavily. “I may have underestimated you.”

Laura patted his cheek. “Damn right you did.”

Peter let his head drop back against the floor. “I really thought I had a shot.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You do realize I’ve literally been trained to kill since childhood, right?”

Peter threw an arm over his face. “Yeah, yeah, hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

Laura stood up, dusting herself off. “Well, you lost. And a bet’s a bet.”

Peter groaned again.

---

The Next Night: Patrol

Peter swung through the city, feeling the absolute worst kind of exposed in Laura’s very snug Wolverine suit.

It wasn’t even the main one with armor plating. No.

Laura had specifically made him wear the classic yellow and blue version.

The one with the pointy mask and everything.

He’d barely stepped outside before Miles had laughed so hard he almost fell off a building.

Anya had taken pictures.

Jessica Drew had walked away without a word, which somehow made it worse.

And to top it all off—J. Jonah Jameson had spotted him and immediately had a meltdown on his podcast.

“LISTEN TO ME, LISTEN TO ME—THE MENACE IS MULTIPLYING! WHAT IS THIS? A SPIDER-MAN WOLVERINE HYBRID? A NEW MUTANT SPIDER-CLONE?! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!”

Peter gritted his teeth as he swung to another rooftop, muttering under his breath.

Behind him, Laura followed, smirking.

“Enjoying yourself?” she called out.

Peter landed, turned to her, and dramatically spread his arms. “Oh, yes, Laura. I’m thrilled. So glad I lost that bet. Just love having my dignity shredded in front of half of New York.”

Laura snickered. “At least the suit looks good on you.”

Peter pointed a gloved finger at her. “I swear if you ever bring this up again—”

“I’m bringing it up forever.”

Peter let out a long, suffering sigh. “I hate you.”

Laura smirked and kissed his masked cheek. “Unfortunately.”

Peter groaned.

He really needed to stop making bets with her.

Chapter 35: "Wolverine Goes to Work" (Origins of her bodyguard work)

Chapter Text

Chapter 35 Title: "Wolverine Goes to Work" (Origins of her bodyguard work).

---

Peter Parker never thought he’d see the day.

Laura Kinney—his Laura—was going to work.

A real job. With a schedule, coworkers, and paperwork.

And Peter? He was trying really hard not to laugh.

---

The Conversation That Led to This Madness

Peter had been making breakfast when Laura casually dropped the bombshell.

“I got a job,” she said, pouring herself coffee.

Peter, mid-bite of his toast, choked.

"—You what?"

Laura took a sip, unbothered. "A job. You know, employment. Earning money."

Peter stared.

"But— you— what— you’re Wolverine!"

Laura raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"You stab people for a living!"

She shrugged. "Not this week."

Peter set his toast down, carefully. "Okay. Okay. What kind of job?"

Laura sipped her coffee again. Too slowly.

“…Security.”

Peter blinked. "Wait, like, a bouncer?"

Laura smirked. "Something like that."

Peter dragged a hand down his face. Oh, this was going to be a disaster.

---

Day One of “Normal” Employment

Peter swung by Laura’s new workplace on patrol.

Not because he didn’t trust her to behave.

…Okay, maybe a little.

The place? A high-end nightclub. Fancy, sleek, full of rich people who probably thought they were untouchable.

Peter perched on a rooftop and watched.

Laura stood by the entrance, arms crossed, dressed in all black, looking like she was one bad decision away from breaking someone’s arm.

Peter grinned. She looked hot.

Then, some drunk idiot wobbled up to the entrance.

Peter leaned forward. Here we go.

---

Dumb Drunk Guy: "Lemme in, sweetheart."

Laura: "No."

Dumb Drunk Guy: "C’mon, baby, I’m a VIP."

Laura: (Dead stare.) "Try again."

Peter covered his mouth, barely holding in laughter.

Dumb Drunk Guy: "You’re kinda hot, y’know. What time you off?"

Peter’s smile vanished.

Laura exhaled slowly. "Walk away."

Dumb Drunk Guy didn’t walk away.

Instead, he reached for her arm.

Peter flinched.

Oh, buddy. You done messed up.

SNIKT.

A single claw popped from Laura’s knuckle—just one, just a warning.

Dumb Drunk Guy immediately sobered up.

"—OH, HOLY—"

He bolted.

Peter lost it.

He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the roof.

---

After Work: The Verdict

Later that night, Peter was waiting on the couch when Laura walked in.

She tossed her jacket onto the chair, looking completely unbothered.

"So," Peter said, smirking. "How was work?"

Laura shrugged. "Easy."

Peter grinned. "I saw you scare off that drunk guy."

Laura smirked. "He deserved it."

Peter grabbed her waist, pulling her into his lap.

"You," he murmured, "are the hottest bouncer alive."

Laura rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Peter kissed her jaw, smirking. "Think they’ll let me in for free?"

Laura exhaled, amused.

"Pretty sure."

Chapter 36: "Mission: Unfortunately"

Chapter Text

Chapter 36 Title: "Mission: Unfortunately"

---

Peter wasn’t sure how the hell he ended up on a mission with both Laura and Matt.

It was supposed to be a simple recon job — sneak into a Roxxon warehouse, grab the data drive, sneak back out. No explosions, no chaos, no stabbing.

Which meant, of course, everything immediately went to hell.

---

"Okay, so this went sideways fast," Peter muttered as he clung to the ceiling, narrowly dodging a security drone that whirred past.

Laura was crouched behind a crate, claws out, glaring at him. "You think?"

Matt, perched on a steel beam above them, sighed. "I told you this was a bad plan."

Peter groaned. "Yeah, well, if I wanted a lecture, I’d call Steve."

Laura smirked. "You’d deserve it."

"Unfortunate," Matt added dryly.

Peter squinted up at him. "Did you just beat me to the joke?"

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe."

Peter huffed. "I’m a bad influence on you."

Matt smirked. "Unfortunately."

Laura actually snorted — which Peter considered a small miracle.

"Okay, can we focus, please?" Peter whispered. "We need to get to the main server room without setting off another—"

The alarm blared, red lights flashing.

"—alarm," Peter finished, sighing. "Cool. Awesome. That’s on me."

Laura stared at him, deadpan. "You think?"

"Let’s not point fingers," Peter said, waving his hands. "We’re a team. Let’s stay positive."

Matt tilted his head. "Positive we’re screwed?"

Laura smirked again. "Unfortunately."

Peter groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Oh no. Not you too."

---

Phase 2: The Escape (ft. Poor Life Choices)

By the time they made it to the server room, things had escalated.

Guards were everywhere, and Laura was taking them down like a whirlwind of claws and fury. Matt was his usual acrobatic ninja self, and Peter… well, Peter mostly tried not to get shot.

"Got the drive!" Peter shouted, pulling the USB from the terminal.

"Good," Laura grunted, punching a guard so hard he flipped over a desk.

Matt landed beside them, breathing hard. "We need an exit."

Peter glanced at the window. "We can web-swing out. Easy escape."

Laura gave him a flat look. "I can’t swing."

Peter blinked. "Oh. Right. Claws, not webs. Okay, Plan B — we fight through."

Laura cracked her neck. "Sounds good to me."

"Of course it does," Peter muttered.

Matt smirked. "Unfortunately."

Peter pointed at him. "Stop that."

---

Phase 3: The Rooftop Finale

The three of them stumbled onto the rooftop, guards still yelling below.

Peter webbed the door shut behind them. "Okay. Not the smoothest mission, but we made it. No casualties, no explosions, and—"

The building behind him exploded.

Peter slowly turned to Laura. "...Did you blow something up?"

Laura blinked. "No. That wasn’t me."

Matt tilted his head. "Tank. Roof next building over."

Peter groaned. "Oh, come on! Who brings a tank to a recon op?!"

Laura shrugged. "Roxxon."

Peter sighed. "Okay, new plan: we leave very fast."

Laura stared at him. "That’s your plan?"

"Yes, because I’m a genius."

Matt smirked. "Unfortunately."

Peter threw his hands in the air. "Are you both teaming up against me now?!"

Laura smirked. "You love us."

Peter groaned. "Unfortunately."

---

A/N:
Want me to keep the "unfortunately" joke alive in another scene — maybe a dinner with MJ and Foggy, where everyone joins in on the joke and Peter slowly loses his mind?

Chapter 37: Peter Gets Sick — And Laura Panics (Or: How Wolverine vs. The Common Cold Was a Losing Battle.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 37: Peter Gets Sick — And Laura Panics

(Or: How Wolverine vs. The Common Cold Was a Losing Battle.)

Peter Parker was rarely ever down for the count.

Sure, he got injured—a lot—but that was different. Broken ribs, concussions, stab wounds? Those, he could bounce back from. But a flu?

A flu had him lying in bed, groaning dramatically, bundled up like a pathetic, sniffling cocoon.

And Laura had no idea what to do about it.

She wasn’t used to seeing him like this—pale, weak, shivering under layers of blankets. It made something unfamiliar twist in her gut. Unease? Concern?

She hated it.

“Peter,” she said, standing over him with crossed arms. “You need to eat.”

Peter blinked blearily at her, his fever-bright eyes slightly unfocused. “Laura,” he mumbled, voice rough from congestion, “if this is how I die… tell May I love her.”

Laura scowled. “You’re not dying.”

Peter let out a pitiful whimper and buried his face deeper into the pillows.

She exhaled sharply. Patience, Laura. He’s sick, not an idiot. Well. Not more than usual.

“Sit up,” she ordered, reaching to help him. “You need fluids.”

Peter made an unintelligible noise but let her prop him up. She grabbed the bowl of soup she definitely didn’t spend an hour trying to make (and definitely didn’t almost burn the kitchen down doing so).

Peter blinked at it. “Did you… make that?”

Laura tensed. “…Yes.”

A slow, feverish smile spread across his face. “Aw. You care.”

Laura shoved the spoon into his mouth.

Peter made a choked noise but swallowed, blinking at her again.

“…This isn’t bad,” he admitted.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Eat.”

He obeyed, too weak to do anything else. She stayed beside him, arms crossed, watching carefully as he sipped the soup.

She hated this. Hated how frail he looked. How quiet he was. Peter Parker was never quiet. He was always moving, talking, joking—annoying.

But now? Now, he was just… still.

She didn’t like it.

At some point, he finished the soup and slumped back against the pillows, half-conscious.

Laura frowned. His fever was still high.

She grabbed the damp cloth from the nightstand and pressed it to his forehead. Peter sighed, his entire body melting into the touch.

Then, to her horror, he suddenly reached up and grabbed her hand.

“Laura,” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. “You’re so nice.”

Laura froze.

Peter cracked one eye open, a lazy grin on his lips. “So… sweet.”

Laura, killer, trained assassin, Wolverine, did the only thing she could think of.

She panicked.

“I’m leaving,” she blurted, yanking her hand away.

Peter whined—whined—and grabbed at her again. “Nooo, stay,” he slurred, his fever making him alarmingly affectionate. “You’re warm.”

Laura clenched her jaw. This is fine. This is normal. This is just the fever talking.

“Go to sleep, Parker,” she muttered, carefully prying his fingers off her wrist.

“Mmm. You’re so good to me,” Peter hummed, barely conscious now. “Love you.”

Laura stiffened.

Peter was asleep before he even registered what he’d said.

Laura stared at him, her heartbeat too loud in her ears.

“…Dumbass,” she muttered, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

Then, after a long pause, she sat back down beside him.

Just in case.

---

The Next Morning

Peter woke up feeling significantly better.

He stretched, yawned, and turned to see Laura sitting in the chair next to his bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Peter blinked.

Then, slowly, the vague memories of last night started trickling in.

“Oh,” he said.

Laura stared at him.

“…Oh no,” he added.

Laura’s lips almost twitched. “So,” she said, voice far too casual, “I’m nice?”

Peter groaned and flopped back onto the pillow. “Just kill me.”

Laura smirked. “Unfortunately, I think you’re going to live.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “That’s so unfortunate.”

Laura just shook her head. “You’re still sleeping on the couch when you’re better.”

Peter groaned again.

But she didn’t leave.

And Peter figured… maybe getting sick wasn’t so bad after all.

---

The End.

Chapter 38: "Not That I'm Jealous"

Chapter Text

Chapter 38 Title: "Not That I'm Jealous"

Hilary Hollis prided herself on being reasonable. A realist. A woman of practical expectations. She certainly didn’t have time for silly things like envy.

Which was why she absolutely, definitely, totally was not jealous as she watched Peter Parker, the lovable disaster of Midtown High, sitting across from his stunning wife—who today, miraculously, wasn’t dressed like she was about to dropkick someone in an alley.

No, today Laura Parker (ugh, the name still threw her off) was in a form-fitting, yet elegant deep green sweater dress. Her dark hair was loose, waves cascading over her shoulders, and her ever-present glare had softened just enough that—ugh—she actually looked gorgeous.

Which was fine. Totally fine.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you in something that wasn't tactical gear," Ms. Hollis commented, sipping her coffee. "You clean up... surprisingly well."

Laura blinked slowly, unimpressed. "Thanks."

Peter, blissfully unaware of the vibes in the air, beamed at his wife. "I told you the dress was a good choice!"

Laura gave him a flat look but didn’t argue. Instead, she simply took a sip of her own drink while Peter practically radiated warmth beside her.

It was sickening.

Not the love. Of course not the love. Ms. Hollis had no problem with happy marriages. But Peter Parker? The man who used to trip over his own feet in the teacher’s lounge? The man who had once, once, accidentally CC’d the entire faculty on a personal email about forgetting his lunch? Him?

Married to that?

It was like seeing a golden retriever walk proudly beside a jungle cat—one who could, at any moment, decide to eat him. And yet, instead of terror, Peter just looked... happy.

And worse—so did she.

"So," Ms. Hollis said, eyes flicking between them. "Marriage is treating you two well?"

Peter wrapped an arm around Laura’s shoulders without hesitation, and—ugh—she let him.

"Like a dream," he said.

Laura didn't say anything. But her body language? The slight lean into his touch? The way her glare softened just that much?

Yeah. Gross.

Ms. Hollis sipped her coffee again, forcing herself to look unimpressed. "Huh. Not what I expected."

Peter tilted his head. "What did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know." Ms. Hollis shrugged. "Maybe for you to be terrified for your life every day?"

"Oh, he is," Laura deadpanned. "Just not in the way you think."

Peter chuckled, but there was a slight nervous edge to it. "... She's not wrong."

Ms. Hollis smirked. Finally, a crack. "Ah-ha! See? You do fear her!"

Laura rolled her eyes. "Of course he does. That's what keeps him alive."

Peter sighed dramatically, squeezing her shoulder. "And yet, I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Laura turned to him, something unreadable flickering across her expression—before she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Right there. In front of everyone.

Ms. Hollis nearly choked on her drink.

Unbelievable.

She wasn't jealous.

... But she did take a very large sip of her coffee to keep herself from commenting further.

Not jealous at all.

Chapter 39: Times Peter Acted Like a Dad Towards Anya

Chapter Text

Chapter 39 Title: Times Peter Acted Like a Dad Towards Anya

Peter Parker wasn’t Anya Corazon’s dad. Technically. But if you asked anyone—especially the other Spider-People—he might as well have been.

From giving unsolicited advice to scolding her for reckless moves (which, yes, was hypocritical), Peter had, over time, taken up an unofficial mentor role in her life. Not that he wanted to be a father figure. It just… kinda happened.

Here are a few moments where Peter Parker, despite all protests, acted like a full-on dad toward Anya Corazon.

---

1. The Infamous Kravinoff Lecture

Peter had warned Anya about the Kravinoffs. Multiple times.

“Seriously, Anya, never trust them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—”

“No, I mean it. If a Kravinoff ever tries to talk to you, punch first, ask questions never.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’m not that reckless—”

“Anya.” Peter gave her a serious look. “I mean it. They are bad news.”

At the time, she had thought he was just being overprotective. Then, a few months later, she did run into a Kravinoff and immediately regretted not listening.

When she told Peter about it later, he gave her the most disappointed dad look she had ever seen.

“What did I say?!”

“…Punch first, ask questions never.”

“And did you?”

“…No.”

“And what happened?”

“I got poisoned.”

Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I swear, you’re worse than Miles.”

“Hey!”

---

2. The ‘Homework First, Crime Fighting Second’ Rule

One time, Peter caught Anya swinging through the city late at night.

“Spider-Girl! What are you doing out here?”

“Uh… patrolling?”

Peter crossed his arms. “Did you finish your homework?”

Anya blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Homework. Did you finish it?”

“…I mean, define finish.”

Peter gave her a look.

“Okay, okay! No, I didn’t! But—”

“Go home.”

“Peter—”

“Now.”

“But—”

“I will web you to a lamp post, don’t test me.”

Anya groaned but ultimately turned around and went home.

---

3. Teaching Her How to Fix Her Web-Shooters

Anya’s web-shooters were different from Peter’s. But that didn’t mean they were perfect.

When she had trouble with them one night, Peter sat her down, pulled out his old notebooks, and walked her through troubleshooting.

“See? Here’s where you’re losing pressure. You need to recalibrate the valve—”

“Okay, but how do I—”

“Like this.” He adjusted the mechanism carefully before handing it back. “Try now.”

Anya tested it—perfect shot.

“…Okay, that’s actually kinda cool,” she admitted.

Peter smirked. “Stick with me, kid, and I might just make a genius out of you yet.”

“…You sound so old when you say stuff like that.”

Peter groaned. “Oh my God, I regret everything.”

---

4. That One Time He Met Her Dad

Anya’s father, Gilberto Corazon, was a good man. A bit strict, but a good man.

The first time Peter met him, it was purely by accident. Anya had swung by his place in civvies, asking for advice on something, and her dad had called her, demanding to know where she was.

“Uh, I should go—”

Peter, without thinking, took the phone.

“Hi, Mr. Corazon!”

There was a pause. “…Who is this?”

“I’m Peter Parker! Your daughter’s definitely not doing anything dangerous, and she’s totally being responsible right now.”

Anya groaned. “Oh my God, give me the phone—”

“Wait,” Gilberto said. “Peter Parker? As in, the reporter?”

“…Yup, that’s me!”

Another pause. Then—

“I respect your work. Don’t let my daughter get into trouble.”

“No promises,” Peter said instantly.

“Fair enough.”

After that, Peter somehow ended up on decent terms with Anya’s dad. And honestly?

It felt weirdly nice.

---

5. Betting Against Her (And Losing Miserably)

Anya had always been too curious for her own good. So, naturally, when she learned Peter knew how to wrestle, she had to know more.

Peter, trying to brush it off, made a bet.

“If Laura ever finds out about my wrestling days, I’ll owe you fifty bucks.”

Anya grinned. “Deal.”

Years later, Laura did find out.

And Anya never let him forget it.

“Pay up, Parker.”

Peter groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

---

6. Helping Her with a Villain She Couldn’t Handle Alone

Anya was stubborn. Even more than Miles. But one night, she bit off more than she could chew—facing off against someone way out of her league.

Peter arrived just in time to pull her out of the fight.

“Are you insane?!”

“I had it!”

“No, you didn’t!” Peter’s voice was sharp—genuine fear in his tone. “Anya, you can’t just throw yourself into fights you can’t win!”

She looked away, frustrated. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Peter said, softer now. “Next time? Call me.”

“…Yeah. Okay.”

---

7. Giving Her the ‘With Great Power’ Speech (Because, Of Course, He Did)

At some point, it was inevitable.

Peter never meant to say it. But Anya, in one of her rare serious moments, asked him why he kept fighting, why he still did what he did after everything.

And Peter just… said it.

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

Anya stared at him.

“…Did you just Uncle Ben me?”

Peter winced. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“…God, you are a dad.”

Peter groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

---

8. Dropping Everything When She Got Hurt

It wasn’t often that Anya got seriously injured. But the one time she did, Peter practically teleported to her side.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“No, you’re not!”

“It’s just a—”

“You are literally bleeding!”

“…Okay, but—”

“Shut up and let me help you.”

She shut up.

And, okay, maybe it was kinda nice to be looked after.

(Not that she’d ever admit it.)

---

9. Calling Her His ‘Spider-Kid’ Without Thinking About It

It slipped out once.

They were mid-battle, dealing with some random D-list villain, when Peter shouted, “Nice work, Spider-Kid!”

Anya froze.

“…Spider-Kid?”

Peter blinked. “Uh.”

Anya’s grin turned feral.

“Oh my God, you just Dad-Parkered me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Oh, this is never going away.”

Peter groaned.

---

10. The Time He Actually Said He Was Proud of Her

It was a simple moment. No life-or-death stakes. No villain to fight.

Just Peter watching Anya successfully stop a robbery, handle the situation like a pro, and swing back to meet him.

She landed next to him, grinning. “Not bad, huh?”

Peter smiled. “Not bad at all.”

And then, without thinking, he ruffled her hair.

“…I’m proud of you, kid.”

Anya blinked.

And then, with no warning—

She shoved him off the rooftop.

(He landed fine, but the point was made.)

A/N: i think i'll take break from posting chapters for a few days, if you have any recommendations for future chapters, i'd be glad to do it.

Chapter 40: Peter Parker’s Cooking Lessons: Part 2

Chapter Text

Peter Parker’s Cooking Lessons: Part 2

---

Peter stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching Laura as she brutally chopped an onion like it owed her money.

“You do know we’re cooking, not hunting, right?” he teased, dodging a stray piece of onion that had been sent flying.

Laura scowled at him. “You said to chop it.”

“Yeah, but I meant normally, not like you’re auditioning for a horror movie.”

Laura rolled her eyes and went back to her task. Peter sighed dramatically.

“Alright, I think we need to make this interesting if I’m going to get you to actually try,” Peter said, stepping away from the counter. “So how about this? Cooking competition. You and me. Best dish wins.”

Laura glanced at him. “You really want to do this?”

“Oh, I really want to do this.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Fine.”

“Great! Rules are simple: we both have one hour to make a dish. Aunt May will judge—”

“No, she won’t.”

Peter blinked. “What? Why not?”

Laura leaned in slightly, smirk growing wider. “Because she’s biased.”

“That’s not true.”

Laura raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe it’s a little true,” Peter admitted. “Fine, we’ll judge it ourselves. But you have to make something other than steak.”

Laura narrowed her eyes at him. “And you have to stop trying to make me eat tofu.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, and just like that, the battle was on.

---

Round 1: The Planning Phase

Peter immediately went into Serious Cooking Mode, grabbing ingredients with the confidence of a man who had made this kitchen his second home.

Laura, meanwhile, opened the fridge, frowned, and then just grabbed whatever looked vaguely edible.

“You do have a plan, right?” Peter asked, watching in mild horror as Laura set a very random assortment of items on the counter—eggs, a block of cheese, some leftover chicken, and… was that hot sauce?

“I’m improvising,” Laura said.

“That’s not—You know what? Fine. You do you.”

---

Round 2: The Cooking Begins

Peter worked methodically, stirring a sauce while perfectly searing his chicken. His movements were fluid, almost like a dance. A Spider-Dance, if you will.

Laura, on the other hand?

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

She cracked eggs with unnecessary force. She sliced ingredients like she was preparing for battle. The stove may or may not have been on fire for a second.

“You good over there?” Peter called out.

Laura turned, holding a pan that was definitely smoking.

“Fine.”

Peter decided to pretend he didn’t see that.

---

Round 3: The Final Stretch

Both plates were set. Peter had crafted a beautifully plated dish—seared chicken with a creamy garlic sauce, accompanied by perfectly roasted vegetables.

Laura?

Laura had made… something.

It vaguely resembled an omelet, except it had chicken, way too much cheese, and a concerning amount of hot sauce.

Peter stared at her plate. “…What did you make?”

“Food.”

“…Right.”

---

The Taste Test

Peter took a bite of his own dish and hummed in satisfaction. “Perfect, as always.”

Laura took a bite of hers, chewed, and nodded approvingly.

Peter hesitated. “…Is it edible?”

Laura shrugged. “Try it.”

Peter poked the omelet-thing with his fork, eyeing it suspiciously. Then, with great hesitation, he took a bite.

…

…

Oh, god.

It was good.

Like, really good.

Spicy, cheesy, a little messy—but somehow, it worked.

Peter put his fork down, scowling.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled. “You win.”

Laura smirked. “Told you.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.”

Peter groaned. “This is why I should’ve just stuck with teaching you how to bake.”

Laura smirked. “That’s next week’s lesson, isn’t it?”

Peter paled.

The kitchen wasn’t going to survive.

A/N: Sorry but the comments rejuvenated my passion had to post this.

Chapter 41: Times Laura Acted Like a Mom (And Peter Wouldn’t Let Her Live It Down)

Chapter Text

Chapter 41 Title: Times Laura Acted Like a Mom (And Peter Wouldn’t Let Her Live It Down)

Laura Kinney was not a mom. She was not a maternal person. She was a former assassin turned superhero, not someone who dealt with scraped knees, bedtime stories, or any of that nonsense.

And yet.

Somehow.

Peter had ample evidence to the contrary.

---

1. The Time She Scolded Anya for Not Eating Properly

It started with something small. They were at Peter and Laura’s place, and Anya had been acting sluggish.

Laura squinted at her. “When was the last time you ate?”

Anya hesitated. “Uh…”

Laura’s stare sharpened.

Peter, sensing danger, covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“…I had coffee?”

Laura physically grabbed Anya’s wrist, checking her pulse like some kind of combat medic. “Your blood sugar is low.”

Anya blinked. “Wait, you can tell that?”

Peter leaned over. “Mom senses.”

Laura kicked him under the table.

---

2. The Time She Made Miles Wear a Jacket

It was winter. It was cold. And Miles Morales, despite having functional survival instincts, had shown up to a patrol in just his costume.

Laura was not having it.

“Where’s your jacket?” she demanded.

Miles blinked. “Uh. I don’t need one?”

Laura stared at him like he just confessed to licking subway poles for fun. “It’s below freezing.”

“I mean, I’ll be moving around a lot, so—”

“Put. On. A. Jacket.”

Peter, watching from the sidelines, leaned in.

“Laura, sweetheart, darling, love of my life—”

She turned her glare on him.

“Are you aware that you’re mom-ing right now?”

Laura didn’t even blink. “Shut up.”

Miles, meanwhile, sighed and put on a hoodie. “God, you sound like my mom.”

Peter lost it.

---

3. The Time She Threatened Someone for Picking on Aña

They were all hanging out when Anya mentioned, offhandedly, that some guy in one of her classes had been making really uncomfortable comments.

Laura’s expression went flat.

“What’s his name?”

Anya blinked. “Uh—”

“Where does he live?”

Peter, already seeing where this was going, quickly stepped in. “Honey, no.”

Laura turned her sharp gaze to him. “Honey, yes.”

“We do not solve problems with violence.”

“…I do.”

“Yeah, but we shouldn’t.”

Laura looked very unconvinced.

Anya just shook her head. “You’re worse than my dad.”

Peter snorted. “Oh now, I have to tell Logan.”

Laura narrowed her eyes.

“…You wouldn’t.”

Peter grinned.

Laura popped her claws.

Peter stopped grinning.

(Thank God Logan wasn’t there.)

---

4. The Time She Actually Tucked Gabby In

Gabby stayed over sometimes. She was, of course, totally independent and didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

But one night, Peter walked in on Laura tucking Gabby in.

Blanket adjusted, pillow fluffed, a little forehead flick to annoy her.

Peter stared.

Laura froze.

Peter opened his mouth.

“Say one word,” Laura warned, “and I will gut you.”

Peter grinned.

“Mom.”

Laura threw a knife at him.

He dodged.

(Barely.)

---

5. The Time She Actually Cooked for the Kids

Laura hated cooking. Peter had been trying to teach her, but mostly, she saw it as a frustrating waste of time.

And yet, one day, Peter came home to find Laura in the kitchen—making food for Anya and Miles.

Peter blinked. “Uh… Laura?”

She didn’t look at him. “What.”

“…Are you cooking?”

“They were hungry.”

Peter turned to the others. “And none of you thought this was weird?”

Miles shrugged. “I mean, I’m not gonna complain.”

Anya grinned. “She’s kinda good at it.”

Peter smirked. “Wow, babe. You’re really committing to the mom role, huh?”

Laura calmly threw a hot frying pan at his head.

---

6. The Time She Actually Gave the ‘Be Safe’ Talk

One night, as the younger Spider-People were about to head out, Laura crossed her arms.

“No reckless fights.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Miles said automatically.

“Stay together.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If anything goes wrong, call us.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Peter, standing next to her, turned to look at his wife.

“…Laura.”

“What.”

“You just gave them the parental safety talk.”

Laura blinked.

Then, slowly, realization dawned on her face.

“…I need to go punch something,” she muttered.

Anya patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Acceptance is the first step.”

Laura growled.

Peter just beamed.

---

7. The Time She Got Caught Watching Over Them

Laura insisted that she didn’t hover. That she wasn’t overprotective.

And yet.

One night, Peter caught her watching the younger Spider-People patrol from a rooftop, arms crossed, silently analyzing their every move.

Peter grinned. “Mom mode activated.”

Laura sighed. “I will stab you.”

“You care about them.”

“I care about their survival.”

“Because you love them.”

“Because they’re idiots.”

Peter shook his head. “You know, Logan is gonna lose his mind when he finds out you went full mom.”

Laura twitched.

“…You can’t tell him.”

“Oh, I have to tell him.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Laura glared.

Peter grinned.

And then—

She kicked him off the roof.

(Worth it.)

8. The Time She Helped Anya with Her Hair

Anya never really needed help with her hair. But one night, after a rough patrol, she was too exhausted to properly detangle it, and Laura—who was sitting nearby sharpening her claws—just wordlessly took the brush from her hands and started working through the knots.

Anya blinked. “Uh—”

“Sit still,” Laura muttered.

Peter, witnessing the moment from across the room, was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

“Oh my God.”

Laura didn’t look up. “Shut up.”

“You’re brushing her hair.”

“And?”

Peter grinned. “Do you want me to get a bedtime story too?”

Laura threw the brush at his head.

---

9. The Time She Made Sure Anya Got Sleep

Anya was a workaholic. She would train, patrol, study, train some more—until, inevitably, she started burning out.

One night, Peter found Laura standing over a passed-out Anya, arms crossed, with an unimpressed look on her face.

“She didn’t even make it to the bed,” Laura muttered, watching Anya sleep on the couch.

Peter raised a brow. “You worried about her?”

Laura scowled. “She’s overworking herself.”

Peter smirked. “Mom.”

Laura growled.

And then—

She carefully picked Anya up, carried her to the guest room, and tucked her in.

Peter barely contained his laughter.

He was definitely telling Logan.

---

10. The Time She Gave the ‘Dating Rules’ Talk

It started as a joke.

They were hanging out when Miles casually mentioned having a crush on someone.

Laura immediately looked up.

“What’s their name?”

Miles blinked. “Uh—”

“How old are they?”

Miles blinked again. “I—”

“What are their intentions?”

Peter grinned. “Laura, babe. You do realize you sound like an actual dad right now?”

Laura slowly turned her head toward Peter.

“…I will kill you.”

Peter’s grin widened. “A dad with claws.”

Laura lunged.

(Totally worth it.)

Chapter 42: Family Dinner from Hell

Chapter Text

Chapter 42 Title: Family Dinner from Hell

Peter Parker had been through a lot.

He had fought supervillains, saved New York more times than he could count, and had even survived an argument with Tony Stark about who was the better scientist.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for dinner with the Howlett-Kinney family.

---

Location: Some Cabin in Canada.

Peter sat stiffly at the wooden dining table, eyeing the collection of murderous lunatics around him.

To his left, Logan was silently cutting into his steak, chewing like this was just another Tuesday.

To his right, Laura sat with her usual deadpan expression, calmly eating her food as if she hadn’t just kicked Daken into a tree ten minutes ago.

Across from Peter, Gabby was glaring daggers at Daken, who was smirking like he wanted to get punched.

And, of course, because the universe hated Peter, Wade Wilson—Deadpool himself—had somehow found his way to the table, uninvited, stuffing his mask through his mouth hole so he could eat.

Peter’s eyes darted between them all. This is fine. This is normal. No one has tried to kill me yet.

“So, Pete,” Logan grunted suddenly, barely looking up. “How’s married life treatin’ ya?”

Peter, mid-bite of mashed potatoes, nearly choked.

Daken barked a laugh. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

Gabby, who had been glaring at Daken a second ago, suddenly perked up. “Ooooh, yeah! Tell us, brother-in-law.”

Peter, still coughing, turned to Laura for backup.

Laura, without even looking up from her food, muttered, “You wanted to come.”

Peter groaned.

Wade leaned in, elbows on the table, looking far too interested. “Okay, Petey-Pie, real talk—how did you even bag Laura?” He gestured wildly at her. “Like, c’mon, she’s Wolverine. You’re, like… a nerd.”

Peter scowled. “Excuse me, I—”

“She could break you in half,” Wade continued. “And not even in a fun way.”

Gabby nodded in agreement. “I do wonder how she hasn’t accidentally crushed your spine.”

Peter put his face in his hands.

Logan grunted again, swallowing his steak like it was whiskey-infused justice. “Long as she’s happy,” he muttered, throwing Peter a look that very clearly said, You hurt her, I’ll gut ya.

Peter nodded very quickly.

Daken, meanwhile, rolled his eyes. “Ugh, this is boring. I was hoping she’d end up with someone dangerous.”

Gabby, still glaring at him, suddenly stood up, fists clenched.

“You wanna see dangerous?” she growled.

Daken smirked. “Oh, you wanna go, little sister?”

Laura sighed heavily. “Not at the table.”

Gabby lunged.

Daken dodged with a laugh, only for Gabby to tackle him through the window.

Peter gawked. “WHY IS THIS NORMAL FOR YOU PEOPLE?!”

Logan didn’t even blink. “Meh. Window needed replacin’ anyway.”

Deadpool casually sipped his beer. “I’m so proud of her.”

Peter buried his face in his hands again. This was his life now.

---

Thirty Minutes Later…

After a very violent sibling brawl (which Logan and Laura completely ignored), dinner finally ended.

Gabby had a black eye.

Daken had a bloody nose.

Peter had stress wrinkles.

And Wade? Wade was still eating.

As Peter and Laura got ready to leave, Logan clapped a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Ya survived,” he grunted. “Not bad.”

Peter sighed. “Barely.”

Laura finally smirked. “Told you.”

Peter shot her a glare. “We are never doing this again.”

Gabby, despite her black eye, grinned. “See you at Thanksgiving, brother-in-law!”

Peter groaned.

Logan chuckled.

Daken cracked his knuckles.

Deadpool threw a spoon at Peter’s head.

And Peter, poor Peter, could only accept his fate.

---

The End.

(Until Thanksgiving, apparently.)

A/N: Daken and logan first introduction weird how it took over 40 chapters.

Chapter 43: "Training Days (and Bruises)"

Chapter Text

Chapter 43 Title: "Training Days (and Bruises)"

---

Peter Parker didn’t mind training.

He liked pushing himself, staying sharp, and keeping his reflexes fast enough to avoid getting squashed by the villain-of-the-week.

What he did mind was training with his wife — because training with Laura Kinney wasn’t "practice." It was survival.

---

"You’re holding back."

Peter barely dodged the kick aimed at his head, flipping backward and landing in a crouch. His heart was pounding, his muscles already burning.

"I’m not holding back!" he protested, breathless.

Laura stood across from him, hands on her hips, completely unimpressed. She wasn’t even sweating.

"You are," she said flatly. "You always do."

Peter groaned, straightening up. "That’s because the last time I didn’t hold back, you stabbed me in the leg."

"You healed," Laura deadpanned.

"Slowly."

Laura smirked. "So don’t get stabbed this time."

Peter stared at her. "You love me."

Laura shrugged, stepping into a fighting stance.

"Unfortunately."

---

The next ten minutes were a blur of claws, webs, and Peter narrowly avoiding getting disemboweled by his very affectionate, very lethal wife.

"Stop bouncing around!" Laura growled, swiping at him.

Peter backflipped over her, landing on the wall. "Bouncing is literally my thing!"

"Yeah? Well, so is getting your ass kicked."

Peter fired a web, yanking her arm to the side to dodge her claws. "Talk trash all you want, honey, but I’m still standing!"

Laura didn’t reply — she just lunged.

Peter dodged, twisted, and immediately realized he dodged the wrong way.

She caught him mid-air, twisting, and slammed him onto the training mat hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

Peter groaned, his head spinning.

"Still standing?" Laura smirked, straddling his waist and pinning his arms down.

Peter wheezed. "Technically, this is lying down."

Laura leaned in close, voice low. "So I win."

Peter grinned weakly. "Yeah… but you look really hot from this angle, so who’s the real winner here?"

Laura stared at him for a second.

Then she rolled her eyes and smirked.

"Idiot."

"You love me."

Laura sighed.

"Unfortunately."

Chapter 44: Gabby’s Prank War

Chapter Text

Chapter 44 Title: Gabby’s Prank War

Peter had been through a lot in his life. He had faced off against the likes of Doctor Octopus, the Green Goblin, Venom, and even the IRS. But nothing—nothing— could have prepared him for Gabby Kinney’s declaration of war.

It started with a webbed-up chair.

Peter had been about to sit down for breakfast when, instead of a normal seat, he plummeted straight to the floor, landing in a mess of webbing that was definitely not his.

Gabby, sitting across from him, smirked, arms crossed. “I win.”

Laura, sipping her coffee at the counter, didn’t even look up. “You deserved that.”

Peter groaned, flailing as he tried to detach himself from the webbing. “I didn't even do anything!”

“You called me ‘kiddo’ like three times yesterday.”

“…That’s not a crime.”

Gabby grinned. “It is now.”

—

Day 2: The Spidey-Sense Betrayal

Peter prided himself on his reflexes. He had to—his Spider-Sense had kept him alive for years. But apparently, Gabby Kinney operated outside of the laws of reality.

Because he never saw the pie coming.

One second, he was opening the fridge. The next? WHAM. Blueberry pie, straight to the face.

Gabby fist-pumped. “Let’s go!”

Laura, watching from the couch, actually smirked. “Nice shot.”

Peter wiped pie filling from his face. “Oh, so now you’re encouraging this?”

Laura shrugged. “She’s got skills.”

Gabby beamed. “Talon’s on my side, Spidey.”

Peter muttered something about betrayals worse than Civil War and swore vengeance.

—

Day 4: The Webbed Ceiling Incident

Peter, in his infinite wisdom, decided to retaliate.

Big mistake.

He strung up Gabby’s bed with webs, leaving it stuck to the ceiling. A classic Parker prank. Simple. Effective. Foolproof.

Until he woke up duct-taped to the wall.

Gabby stood in front of him, arms crossed, looking smug as hell. “You thought you were dealing with an amateur.”

Laura, sitting in the corner with her coffee, again, did nothing.

Peter struggled against the tape. “Laura. Help me.”

Laura took a slow sip. “I dunno.”

“…Laura.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started a war with a literal assassin.”

Peter scowled. “She started it!”

Gabby grinned. “And I’m winning.”

—

Day 7: The Temporary Truce

The prank war spiraled out of control.

Peter webbed Gabby to a chair? Gabby locked Peter out of his own apartment.
Gabby filled Peter’s suit with glitter? Peter switched the sugar with salt for her coffee.
Peter tried to scare Gabby? Gabby somehow convinced Deadpool to show up at his work dressed as Spider-Man.

It. Was. CHAOS.

Finally, Laura had enough.

“You two are children.” She stomped into the living room, claws snikt-ing out. “If this doesn’t stop right now, I’m stabbing both of you.”

Peter and Gabby shared a look.

“…Truce?” Peter asked.

Gabby sighed. “Yeah, truce.”

Laura folded her arms. “Good.”

Peter relaxed.

Then Gabby smirked.

“By the way, I replaced your shampoo with hair dye.”

“…You what?”

Gabby cackled.

Laura just sighed and took another sip of coffee.

A/N: Gabby is really a gremlin.

Chapter 45: “Tea with Aunt May”

Chapter Text

Chapter 45 Title: “Tea with Aunt May”
Starring: Peter, Laura, and the indomitable May Parker

---

Peter had fought gods, aliens, and New York traffic.
None of it made him more nervous than the words:
“Aunt May’s coming over for tea.”

“She’s your aunt,” Laura said, watching him pace in front of the couch.

“She’s May,” Peter hissed, fluffing the same pillow for the third time. “She’s a kind, generous, brilliant woman who still somehow manages to guilt me with just one look. You don’t understand, Laura—she invented the mom stare.”

Laura tilted her head. “So she’s like Logan.”

Peter paused. “Terrifying… but with a better casserole.”

Laura nodded, impressed.

---

Later That Afternoon

The doorbell rang.

Peter opened it with a wide, practiced smile.

And there she was—May Parker in all her glory. Floral-patterned scarf, gift bag in one hand, and a tin of cookies that Peter knew she made from scratch in the other.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, are you trying to give yourself a stroke?” she asked, eyeing his overly polished floors.

He kissed her cheek. “Hi Aunt May.”

Then May turned to Laura.

“And you must be the mysterious Laura. Or should I say…” she gave Peter a look “…his wife that he forgot to mention for nearly a year.”

Laura blinked. “He… didn’t tell you?”

Peter coughed. “I was going to! But then there was the clone thing, and a symbiote outbreak, and an earthquake in Jersey—”

“You faced the Green Goblin on a rocket glider and this is what scares you?” May muttered as she stepped inside.

Laura stepped forward and—awkwardly—offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

May took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet the one who keeps my idiot nephew alive.”

Laura glanced at Peter. “It’s a full-time job.”

May smiled knowingly. “Believe me, I know.”

---

Tea Time

The three of them sat at the small kitchen table, drinking chamomile tea from mismatched mugs.

Peter tried not to hover, while Laura sat with her usual calm exterior… hiding the fact that this woman unsettled her more than Sabretooth ever had.

May sipped her tea. “So, Laura—what do you do?”

Laura blinked. “You mean… professionally?”

“Yes, dear.”

There was a beat. Then Peter jumped in: “She’s… sort of freelance. Crisis response. Community defense. Urban-level survivalist consultant.”

May stared.

Laura added helpfully, “Also assassinations. In the past. Not now.”

May blinked. “...Well. That’s more honest than Felicia ever was.”

Peter choked on his tea.

---

Later, as May was getting ready to leave…

She pulled Laura aside. “You care about him.”

“I do.”

“Then do me a favor.” Her voice softened. “Keep reminding him that he’s not alone. He forgets sometimes. Tries to carry the world by himself.”

Laura nodded slowly. “He’s… stubborn like that.”

“So are you.” May smiled. “You’ll do fine.”

Laura watched her leave, cookies in hand and humming to herself like she hadn’t just walked into the apartment and rearranged both their lives.

Peter stepped beside her. “She likes you.”

“She terrifies me.”

Peter grinned. “Join the club.”

A/N: This felt a little bit like a sitcom? Also Aunt May’s First proper appearance in this fic. I really should have had them introduced way earlier.

With Logan too. People were always going where's logan, but no one asked where's Aunt May’s 😤. Give this woman her respect and flowers.

Chapter 46: The Potential of Peter Parker

Chapter Text

The Potential of Peter Parker

Laura had never been scared of much.

Not of the dark, not of death, not of pain.

She had been born into violence, raised to survive, and had fought monsters in both form and spirit. Fear had never been an obstacle—it was just a thing she either ignored or crushed beneath her heel.

But Peter?

Peter terrified her.

Not in a bad way. Not in a he’s dangerous to me way.

But in a what if? way. The life of an assassin leaves very little possibility for danger and error.

Laura lay on the couch, head resting against Peter’s chest as he lazily scrolled through channels on the TV. His other arm was draped over her stomach, casual, unthinking—an instinctive kind of affection that made her chest tighten in ways she still wasn’t used to.

It was… comforting. It always was with him.

And yet, she could never quite let go of the awareness.

Peter was strong.

No—he was monstrously strong.

People underestimated him all the time. They saw the quips, the mask, the jokes, and dismissed him as just some guy.

Laura had been one of those people once.

Now?

Now she knew better.

She had felt the earth-shaking force behind his punches.

She had watched him dodge every single one of her attacks like it was nothing, his reflexes so ingrained that he barely even thought about it.

He could move through a battlefield like a ghost, never where you expected him to be.

His Spider-Sense wasn’t just an early warning system—it was prediction, it was foresight. She had fought people with heightened senses before, but none of them had what Peter had.

None of them could see a fight before it happened.

And when he did get serious—when he dropped the jokes, when he let instinct take over—he was something else entirely.

Laura had trained in combat since birth. She had fought some of the greatest warriors the world had to offer. She was a weapon.

And yet, Shang-Chi—a man whose respect was damn near impossible to earn—had once told her, “Your husband could be one of the deadliest men alive if he truly wanted to be.”

And Laura… agreed.

She didn’t like it, but she agreed.

If things had been different—if Peter had been raised in the Facility, or by the Hand, or had been trained by people who truly knew what he was capable of—she would not want to fight him.

She had no doubt she would lose.

The idea of Peter Parker—her Peter Parker—as a trained assassin made her stomach twist.

And that was what scared her.

Because Peter would never be that. Could never be that.

But if he had been?

The world would never have been able to stop him.

She exhaled slowly, pressing closer to his warmth, trying to shake the thoughts away.

Peter, half-asleep, murmured, “Y’okay?”

Laura hesitated.

Then, quietly, “Yeah.”

She would never tell him.

Peter was an idiot.

A good, kind, stupidly self-sacrificing idiot.

And no matter how terrifying his potential was—he was still hers.

She just… really hoped no one ever pushed him far enough to prove it.

A/N: First of all ominous foreshadowing~ Second this chapter is a reference towards assassin spider man.

Chapter 47: Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Dad (Again)

Chapter Text

Chapter 47 Title: Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Dad (Again)

Peter Parker never meant to be a dad. Not yet, anyway. It just kind of… happened.

Not literally, of course. No little web-slingers running around—thank god, because the world wasn’t ready for that. But over the years, Peter had somehow accumulated an army of younger heroes who looked up to him. It wasn’t official, and he’d never call it mentorship, but it was there.

And Anya Corazon?

She was definitely his problem.

"Are you seriously trying to lecture me about responsibility?" Anya scoffed, arms crossed as she sat on Peter and Laura’s couch. “You, the guy who keeps accidentally taking the subway in full costume?”

Peter, who had definitely done that more than once, chose to ignore that particular comment.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, pacing, “you could be a little more careful. Swinging into a Kravinoff hideout alone? Not your best idea.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Anya, I literally had to web you to the ceiling to keep you from getting stabbed,” Peter shot back. “And then you still managed to fall and knock yourself out.”

“…That was one time.”

“Last week.”

Anya groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. “You sound like my dad.”

Peter smirked. “Good. That means I’m getting through to you.”

Anya scowled. “You do not get to ‘dad voice’ me. You don’t even have kids.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Laura muttered from across the room, flipping through a magazine.

Peter choked on air.

Anya turned bright red. “I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT.”

Laura smirked but didn’t look up. “Then don’t listen.”

Peter shot his wife a betrayed look. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s fun watching you flail.”

Peter turned back to Anya, ignoring the smug look on Laura’s face. “Anyway, my point is, you need to—”

“Oh my god, you really are acting like a dad,” Anya groaned.

Peter scoffed. “What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” She started ticking points off on her fingers. “Nagging me about responsibility, lecturing me about my choices, making that stupid disappointed face—”

“I do not have a disappointed face.”

“You so do,” Laura chimed in.

Peter turned to her, scandalized. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Laura finally put the magazine down, smirking. “I am. It’s just funnier this way.”

Peter rubbed his temples, feeling about ten years older than he actually was. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I just don’t want you getting hurt, alright?”

Anya rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

There was a moment of silence before she smirked. “So, does that make Laura my mom now?”

Laura raised a single brow. “You really wanna push your luck?”

Anya immediately held her hands up in surrender. “Nope. We’re good. No need for claws.”

Peter snickered. “Smart choice.”

Anya grumbled under her breath but didn’t push it. She got up and stretched, shaking out her arms. “Alright, lecture’s over, right? I’m gonna head out.”

Peter sighed. “Just… be careful, alright?”

Anya waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, Spider-Dad. I got it.”

Peter groaned as she swung out the window. “I hate that nickname.”

Laura walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “You love it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Laura chuckled, resting her head against his back. “You realize you just adopted another one, right?”

Peter sighed dramatically. “I swear, one day, I’m gonna start charging you all rent.”

Laura smirked. “Good luck with that.”

A/N: Peter truly is a good dad. Laura is an okay parent. I didn't realize that i teased them being parent this much?

Chapter 48: "Big Brother is Watching"

Chapter Text

Chapter 48 Title: "Big Brother is Watching"

Peter Parker had been through a lot in his life. But few things sent an instinctual shiver down his spine quite like an unannounced visit from Kaine.

Laura, naturally, was unfazed.

"He's outside," she said casually from the couch, flipping through the channels.

Peter, halfway through his sandwich, froze mid-bite. "What?"

"Kaine," she clarified, as if that was normal. "He's outside."

Peter shot up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. "And you didn’t say anything sooner?!"

Laura shrugged. "Figured you'd sense him eventually."

"Eventually? Laura, it's Kaine. That’s like saying, 'Oh, there’s a rabid wolverine in the backyard, but I figured you'd notice once it chewed through the fence.'”

Laura smirked. "You comparing me to a wolverine, Parker?"

Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Not the point!"

Before he could properly panic, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Too late," Laura said.

Peter shot her a glare before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

And there he was.

Kaine stood on the doorstep, arms crossed, his usual scowl firmly in place. His regular clothes were only partially unzipped, showing that he was, in fact, wearing his red-and-black suit underneath—though the effort did nothing to make him look less like a looming threat.

"Hey," Kaine said gruffly.

"Hey," Peter echoed, trying not to let his nervous energy show. "Uh. This is a surprise."

Kaine snorted. "Yeah. That's kinda the point."

Laura, still on the couch, glanced over. "You here to kill him or just intimidate him?"

"Neither," Kaine grumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Peter stepped aside quickly. "Right, yeah, come on in. Mi casa es su casa and all that."

Kaine gave him a flat look. "I don’t speak nerd, Parker."

Laura smirked. "You are a nerd."

Peter looked between them and sighed. "Why are all the murder-prone people in my life like this?"

Kaine ignored the comment, scanning the apartment with a critical eye before finally settling on Peter.

"You look... different," he muttered.

"Uh... thanks?"

Kaine narrowed his eyes. "You’re not as twitchy. Usually, when I show up, you're already five steps into a bad decision."

Peter blinked. "... Are you complimenting me?"

"No."

Laura chuckled from the couch.

Kaine turned to her next. "You—I hear you’ve been keeping him in line."

Laura stretched, unfazed. "Somebody has to."

Kaine gave a short nod. "Good."

Peter threw his hands up. "Okay, am I missing something? Since when do you care about my well-being?"

Kaine crossed his arms. "Since you married her."

Laura raised a brow. "And?"

Kaine met her gaze. "And if he screws this up, I'm legally obligated to kill him."

Peter made a strangled noise. "I'm sorry, legally?! What twisted jurisdiction do you think you're under?"

Kaine just shrugged. "Big brother laws."

''You’re younger than me Kaine!"

Laura smirked. "Sounds fair to me."

Peter pointed between them. "No. No, it doesn't! I refuse to be caught in some weird murder-pact marriage clause you two cooked up!"

Kaine ignored him and walked further inside. "Got any beer?"

Peter sighed. This was his life now.

Laura, meanwhile, was already heading to the fridge. "Yep. You want one?"

Kaine gave a single approving nod.

Peter just sat down, head in hands.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

A/N: And the prodigal clone (Kaine!) makes his return. You can see who is my favorite clone-brother.

Chapter 49: “Couch Wars" & “Gabby the Mediator (Totally Not Instigating)”

Chapter Text

Chapter 49 Title “Couch Wars: The Time Peter Sent Laura to the Couch”

It had to be something big. Something monumental. Something so ridiculous that even the endlessly patient, puppy-dog-eyed Peter Parker—the guy who could forgive villains with tragic backstories and give Jonah Jameson the benefit of the doubt—finally hit his limit.

It started with Peter’s lab.

More specifically, the very delicate, very time-sensitive vial of experimental StarkTech nanite samples he had been working on for three weeks straight.

Laura... accidentally knocked it over.

With a throwing knife.

Because she thought she heard a spider.

And Peter?

Peter just stood there.

Frozen.

Eyes wide.

Face pale.

One hand still holding a mug of lukewarm coffee as he stared at the now-unrecognizable pile of shattered glass and sparking wires.

Laura, to her credit, realized the gravity of the situation immediately.

“Okay,” she said slowly, eyeing the wreckage. “I can explain.”

Peter, very softly, almost too calmly, said:

“That sample was the last one. I have to give a presentation on that tomorrow. To Tony.”

Laura nodded. “Okay, but I killed the spider.”

Peter blinked.

“That wasn’t even a spider. That was a screw. It was chrome.”

She blinked back. “It looked shiny and fast. Could’ve been a bug.”

“It was a screw, Laura.”

Peter didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t stomp around. He just stared at the disaster with the quiet aura of a man whose soul had momentarily left his body.

And then:

“…You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Laura tilted her head. “Really?”

Peter finally turned to her. “You destroyed StarkTech, Laura. Do you know how expensive that was? I’m going to have to ask Tony for a new vial. Tony. He’s going to give me that face. And then the lecture.”

Laura crossed her arms. “I’ve faced death dozens of times. You think I’m scared of Tony Stark?”

Peter rubbed his temples. “No, but I am of having to deal with another long winded lecture.”

Silence.

Then:

“Fine,” Laura muttered. “One night.”

Peter nodded.

“Also you better not touch the bed, even to steal a pillow.”

Peter added, “Also no snacks on the couch.”

“And no stabbing the couch,” he quickly followed up.

Laura narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re just being petty.”

“Am I?” he gestured wildly at the sparking ruin of the nanite project. “Am I really?”

---

That Night

Laura grumbled on the couch, curled up with a blanket Gabby had crocheted for her as a joke (it had little cartoon Wolverines on it), arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I said I was sorry.”

From the bedroom, Peter shouted back, “You threw a knife at a screw.”

Laura: “…Could’ve been a spider.”

Peter: “It was chrome, Laura!”

---

Gabby would never let either of them live it down.

Couch Wars: Day Two (Sort Of)

Laura didn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t because the couch was uncomfortable. It was fine. Firm. Decent lumbar support. But something about being banished from her own bed was… irritating.

It wasn’t guilt—okay, it was a little guilt—but it was mostly that she missed the way Peter curled around her in his sleep like some clingy human octopus.

She stared at the ceiling at 2:43 AM.

Then at the wall.

Then at Peter’s fuzzy slippers peeking out from the bedroom door.

Then at the shadows.

She thought about going back in.

But she was committed.

Still.

She muttered, “This is stupid,” and kicked the blanket off.

---

Meanwhile, in the bedroom...

Peter hadn’t slept either.

He laid flat on his back, arms over his face, eyes wide open.

He missed the weight of her next to him. Missed the faint scent of whatever weird shampoo Laura used that always reminded him of pine and something vaguely threatening. Missed the little sleepy grunts she made when she rolled over and kicked him in her sleep like she was trying to win a fight with her dreams.

But he was still annoyed.

“You threw a knife,” he muttered into the dark.

And then he immediately felt like an idiot.

---

Morning.

Peter shuffled into the kitchen wearing mismatched socks, hair looking like it lost a fight with static electricity.

Laura was already there.

Holding coffee.

Wearing one of his shirts.

And avoiding eye contact.

“I made you a peace offering,” she said, sliding a mug toward him.

Peter blinked. “...Is this poison?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not Logan. It’s just coffee. I even used the good beans. The ones you hide behind the cereal box.”

Peter took a cautious sip.

He hated that it was perfect.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “you’re not completely forgiven.”

Laura raised an eyebrow.

“But…” he continued, “I might allow partial bed rights tonight. Might.”

Laura smirked. “You’re soft.”

Peter sipped his coffee again. “I’m surviving on caffeine and pettiness. Don’t push me.”

She stepped closer. Leaned in. Whispered in his ear.

“I threw the knife left-handed.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what—?”

Laura grinned.

Then walked away.

Peter groaned into his mug. “I married a gremlin.”

From the living room, Laura called back, “And don’t you forget it.”

---

Gabby, walking in an hour later, looked at them both suspiciously.

“You two get in another fight?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“…You made Laura sleep on the couch, didn’t you?”

Peter raised his mug.

Laura sipped her coffee and didn’t answer.

Gabby blinked. “Did she throw a knife again?”

Peter and Laura exchanged a glance.

“...No,” Peter said.

“Maybe,” Laura added.

Gabby just sighed. “I’m gonna need popcorn.”

---

A/N:

End Scene.
Want a sequel where Gabby tries to “help” mediate their future fights with sibling-style chaos?

Title: “Gabby the Mediator (Totally Not Instigating)”

It started with a door slam.

Peter was on the couch, a bowl of popcorn untouched in his lap, staring at the TV like it had personally insulted him. Laura had stormed into the bedroom twenty minutes ago and hadn’t come out since.

Enter Gabby Kinney, the self-appointed chaos engine, little sister extraordinaire… and now, apparently, relationship therapist.

She walked in with a clipboard, a smug smile, and a very suspicious duffel bag.

Peter blinked at her. “Uh. Gabby? Why do you look like you're about to give a TED Talk?”

“Because you two are disasters at communicating,” Gabby announced proudly. “So! Welcome to Kinney Conflict Resolution Services — patent pending. Today’s session: Why Are You Two Like This?”

Peter let out a long, weary sigh. “Gabby…”

“Nope.” She raised a hand. “You lost the right to say anything normal when Laura threw your suit out the window and you shouted ‘EXACTLY’ in response.”

“That was taken out of context.”

“Was it?” Gabby tapped her clipboard. “Because I wrote that down verbatim.”

Peter sank into the couch, defeated. “Do you even know what the argument was about?”

Gabby smiled. “Not a clue. I just know this is the third time this month one of you ended up on the couch, and the last time I visited, Laura was muttering something about ‘webbing your face shut.’ So. We're doing this.”

She pulled out two headbands with foam antennae. “Therapy hats,” she said solemnly. “You can only talk if you're wearing one.”

Peter stared. “I'm not wearing that.”

From the hallway, Laura’s voice called: “He is wearing that.”

Gabby grinned. “Oh, now she’s ready to talk.”

Laura stepped into the living room, arms crossed, face unreadable. But Peter could see the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes.

She was humoring Gabby.

This was going to be a disaster.

---

Ten minutes later, Peter sat on the couch wearing foam antennae, Laura across from him wearing a gold paper crown (Gabby had upgraded her for “emotional honesty”), and Gabby sat between them with a clipboard and a mock serious expression.

“All right,” Gabby said, “Peter. You pressed the communication buzzer —”

“It’s literally a desk bell,” Laura deadpanned.

“— which means you can now calmly state your feelings.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Okay. I just feel like, when I said we were going to ‘clean out the garage,’ I didn’t mean ‘destroy the garage and repurpose it into an underground training facility for mutant-killing robots.’”

Laura tilted her head. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I? You welded claws into the walls.”

“For practice.”

Gabby held up a flashcard: Use “I” statements.

Peter squinted. “I... feel… slightly alarmed when my garage becomes a Danger Room without warning?”

Laura blinked. “That’s fair.”

Gabby gave herself a gold star sticker. “Progress!”

Peter gave her a long look. “Do you actually think this is helping?”

Gabby beamed. “No. But watching you two try to work through your issues with kids’ party supplies is hilarious.”

Just then, Ben Reilly opened the front door, took one look at Peter’s antennae, Laura’s crown, and Gabby’s smug grin — and backed out without a word.

Peter called after him. “You could’ve helped!”

“Absolutely not!” Ben’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I want no part in whatever this is!”

Laura, to Peter’s shock, snorted.

Gabby pointed at her. “That counts as a laugh. Therapy success.”

Laura rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

---

Later that night, the three of them sat together, sharing leftover pizza and watching trash TV. Laura’s head rested against Peter’s shoulder, and Gabby was halfway asleep, curled up in a blanket fort she built herself on the floor.

Peter glanced down at Laura.

“We good?”

Laura nodded. “We’re good.”

Peter smiled. “Even after the garage thing?”

“I’ll leave the walls alone.” She paused. “Mostly.”

He laughed softly. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She smirked. “You’re lucky I love you.”

From the floor, Gabby muttered, “Gross,” and tossed a pillow at them.

Peter caught it.

And decided he’d rather be on the couch with Laura than anywhere else.

Even if it meant putting up with Kinney-approved therapy hats.

Important Author Note.

---

A/N: It was originally supposed to be a 2 parter. But i decided to not to separate it, since chapter 50, Is going to be a special chapter. Cause 50 chapters. Plus i realized that i made Gabby the most recurring side-character, i probably should add her to the tags.

Allright then.

Here goes nothing. If could trumpet sounds i would.

I Neith121 here by declerale adding Gabrielle ''Gabby'' Kinney to the tags by April 11 2025. And shall not change it, even in sickness or my untimely demise.

PS: Go read chapter 47, i know it kinda souns desperate but i need to know your opinion on it and read my author's note in that chapter.

I'll be taking a break so no new chapters t'ill the weekends. I need a serious break.

I have to give special thanks for a few of my commenter's/viewers

-xerx99: Thank you For having giving Constructive criticism 😌 and commenting on most chapters. And technically being my first request.

-TheFan01: Thank you for commenting on every chapter, i enjoyed seeing your comments.

-YourFriendlyNeighborhood: Thank you for being my first long commenter and giving me ideas/talking to you.

-Gontheone: And yes, i am taking a break, i posted for over 5 days non-stop, i seriously needed a break. Thank you for reminding it to me

- And lasty Karmaspidr: I am a huge fan of you. Your mha x spider man fic was fun to read back in the day. You were one of my inspiration to start this next to ForgetTheHyphen.

And they're fic called: The astonishing Spider-Man & Talon.

The name of this fic was inspired by it.

Well that's about it. See you this weekend. If you want to see some of my other works you can go see my account.

Peace.

Chapter 50: "The Best Gift" (50th chapter celebration)

Chapter Text

Chapter 50 Title: "The Best Gift"

Peter Parker prided himself on being prepared. He had contingency plans for contingency plans, could juggle superhero responsibilities with lesson plans, and could handle pretty much any curveball life threw at him.

But planning a birthday surprise for Laura Kinney-Parker?

Yeah. That was a whole different battlefield.

For starters, Laura wasn't big on birthdays. She didn't hate them, but she didn't see much of a point in celebrating. Her past didn't leave a lot of room for happy childhood memories, so she never got attached to the idea. The first time Peter asked what she wanted for her birthday, she had shrugged and said, "I dunno. A steak?"

And yeah, that was on the agenda. But this year, Peter wanted to do more. Because even if Laura didn't think birthdays were a big deal, she was. And she deserved to be celebrated.

Which was why he was currently standing in their apartment, hands on his hips, looking at the absolute mess that was his failed attempts at decorating.

Balloons? Half-inflated, one already popped.

Streamers? One got tangled in the ceiling fan.

Cake? Well… Peter was trying. There was flour everywhere, and he may or may not have underestimated the whole ‘baking is a science’ thing.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. How does MJ make this look so easy?

Gabby was supposed to be here by now to help, but she was running late. Which left Peter, alone, trying to put together a surprise for the most perceptive woman on the planet.

Speaking of—

"You know I can hear you cursing, right?"

Peter jumped and turned to see Laura standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"Damn it!" He groaned. "You weren’t supposed to be home yet!"

Laura smirked. "Why are you surprised? You really thought I wouldn't notice you acting weird?"

Peter sighed, slumping against the counter. "Technically it was a surprise. Just… a very short-lived one."

Laura walked in, glancing around at the disastrous attempt at decorations. Then to the half-iced cake. Then back to Peter.

"You did all this… for me?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Well… yeah. I know you don’t really do birthdays, but… I wanted to make today special. Because you're special. And I know it’s kind of a disaster, but—"

He didn't get to finish.

Because Laura crossed the space between them in two steps and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

Peter, startled, took a second before hugging her back just as tight.

"You’re an idiot," Laura muttered against his shoulder.

Peter chuckled. "I love you too."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes softer than usual. "This is stupidly sweet, you know that?"

Peter grinned. "I do try."

Laura exhaled through her nose, shaking her head with a small smile. "Okay, webhead. You win. Let’s do this birthday thing."

Peter's grin widened. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said, nudging him playfully. "But if that cake is as bad as it looks, we're ordering pizza."

Peter laughed. "Deal."

And with that, Laura took his hand, and for the first time in a long time, she actually let herself enjoy her birthday.

---

Despite the rocky start, Peter’s surprise birthday plan for Laura was turning out better than expected. Sure, he had utterly failed at decorating, and the cake was probably a war crime, but Laura was actually enjoying herself—which was the real victory here.

Of course, when Gabby finally arrived, she took one look at the half-hearted decorations and the questionable cake and immediately started roasting him.

"This is so sad," Gabby declared dramatically, flopping onto the couch. "I mean, come on, Pete. You have super strength, super reflexes, spider-sense—and you still couldn’t hang up streamers properly?"

Peter scowled. "I’d like to see you try."

"Nah, I’ll just stand here and judge you," Gabby said with a grin.

Laura snorted as she cracked open a beer. "She’s not wrong, Peter."

"Wow, my own wife betrays me. On her birthday."

"Yeah, yeah," Laura said, rolling her eyes. "Now where’s my steak?"

Peter sighed, heading for the kitchen. "Patience, Wolverine."

Gabby snickered. "Which one?"

Before Laura could respond, another voice cut in.

"Oh, definitely not you, kid."

The three turned to see Anya Corazon standing in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing her usual jacket-and-hoodie combo. She smirked at Gabby. "You’re too small to be the Wolverine. More like… Mini-Rine."

Gabby gasped. "Oh my god, betrayal!"

Anya just shrugged. "I speak only facts." Then she turned to Laura. "Happy birthday, señora Parker."

Laura raised a brow. "Señora Parker?"

Anya smirked. "You married Spider-Man. You’re Spider-Señora now."

Peter cackled. "Oh my god, that’s so much better than Mrs. Webhead."

Laura just sighed, shaking her head. "You’re all idiots.

Before Peter could respond, there was a knock at the door.

Peter went to open it and found Matt Murdock, looking as put together as ever in his red-tinted glasses and casual suit.

"Hey, Pete," Matt greeted with a smirk. "Hope I’m not late."

"Not at all! Come on in, man."

As Matt stepped inside, his head tilted slightly. "I can smell… burnt sugar?"

Peter groaned. "Long story. Just… don’t eat the cake."

"Noted."

Not long after, another knock came, and this time it was Miles Morales, holding a neatly wrapped present.

"Sup, Mr. Parker?" Miles grinned.

Peter huffed. "Dude, I told you, you don’t have to call me that outside of school."

Miles shrugged. "Nah, it’s funny."

"Whatever," Peter grumbled. "Get in here."

Finally, Ben Reilly arrived, fashionably late (as usual), wearing his usual red hoodie over his costume.

"Am I the last one here?" Ben asked as he walked in.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Logan couldn’t make it, but—"

"But he sent Deadpool’s special alcohol," Laura cut in, holding up a heavy glass bottle filled with something definitely illegal in several countries.

Ben blinked. "Oh… oh no."

Gabby grinned. "Oh yes."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is going to end badly."
---

The Aftermath

A few hours later, everyone was feeling it.

Deadpool’s mystery alcohol worked fast. Even Matt—who had a ridiculously high tolerance—looked slightly buzzed.

Miles was sitting on the couch, trying way too hard to act like he wasn’t drunk. Gabby was laughing at literally nothing, and Ben was sprawled across the floor, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.

Anya was the only one who hadn’t touched a single drink—not out of virtue, but due to an entirely reasonable (if slightly dramatic) fear of being poisoned.
Psh. As if!

Still, better paranoid than drunk.

She hung upside down from the wall, clinging effortlessly, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with the calm detachment of someone who knew better than to get involved.

Peter? He was slightly better off than the others. But that didn't stop him from giving Laura a very lopsided grin.

"You good, birthday girl?"

Laura, sitting cross-legged on the couch, rolled her shoulders. "Mm. I don’t hate this."

Peter smirked. "That’s the highest praise I’m getting, huh?"

She gave him a lazy smirk in return. "Yup."

Peter chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. Laura didn’t stop him—in fact, she leaned into him a little more. Which, considering she wasn’t the most physically affectionate person in public, was basically the equivalent of a grand romantic gesture from her.

Across the room, Matt was sipping his drink, a small smirk forming. "You two are disgustingly cute."

Ben, still on the floor, groaned. "Ugh. They are."

Gabby, who had somehow ended up lying upside down on the couch, snorted. "Peter and Laura? Cute? Nah. Terrifying, maybe."

Laura raised a brow. "You want to be terrifying, don’t you?"

Gabby beamed. "Obviously!"

Miles groaned, rubbing his temples. "Man, I swear, I’m never drinking that again."

"You say that now," Peter teased.

Miles gave him a very unimpressed look. "No, I mean it."

Still clinging to the ceiling, Anya chimed in, “I told you not to drink it, Miles—but nooo, you just had to get drunk.”

She let out a mock snort. “I’m sending the video of you getting plastered to Hobie and Pavitr.”

Miles continued groaning but this time harder.

Ben suddenly sat up, blinking rapidly. "Wait… where’s the cake?"

The room went silent.

Then, all eyes turned to Peter.

Peter sighed. "Do not—"

But before he could finish, Laura pounced, shoving a handful of the cursed cake into his mouth.

Peter gagged. "LAURA!"

Laura smirked, leaning in. "Happy birthday to me, webhead."

And Peter, despite the betrayal, couldn’t help but laugh.

Yeah. This was a mess.

But it was their mess.

And honestly? It was kind of perfect.

---

The doorbell rang again.

Peter groaned. “Please not Wade.”

Laura glanced up, mildly curious. “You didn’t invite Wade, did you?”

“No… but he finds things.”

Gabby, from under a pile of blankets on the couch, mumbled, “If it’s Deadpool, I’m locking myself in the bathroom. Again.”

Ben, barely awake, added, “He tried to crash my birthday once. Gave me a balloon animal shaped like trauma.”

Anya, still clinging upside down on the ceiling, muttered, “If it’s Wade, I’m leaving through the window.”

Peter cautiously cracked open the door.

“Oh thank God,” he muttered.

Because standing in the hallway was MJ—yes, that MJ—with a familiar redhead smirk, a box of baked goods, and Felicia Hardy in tow, in a white leather jacket and sunglasses, holding a bottle of expensive-looking wine like she was here to judge everyone and maybe steal the furniture.

“Happy birthday, claw girl,” Felicia said, slipping past him.

MJ winked. “Heard the party was losing steam. Thought we’d come fix that.”

Peter stared. “How… why… when did you two start showing up together like a team-up issue?”

MJ: “Girl chat.”

Felicia: “Mostly complaining about you.”

Peter looked skyward. “Why is this my life?”

Laura, still sitting on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Felicia.”

Felicia grinned. “Laura.”

A slow nod. A mutual moment of respect and tension. Gabby whispered dramatically from the couch, “It’s like two lionesses meeting in the wild.”

Felicia: “Relax, Gabby. I’m not here to steal your sister’s husband. Today.”

Peter: “Please stop saying stuff like that when my heart’s already fragile.”

Fifteen Minutes Later

The living room was full again.

MJ handed out brownies. Felicia poured wine and judged Peter’s decorations with a raised brow. Gabby, back to full chaos mode, had climbed onto Ben’s back like a monkey and was demanding “piggyback jousting.” Miles, who’d returned after sobering up, brought back chips. Anya was still on the ceiling.

Then—

BANG.

The door slammed open.

And Johnny Storm walked in, sunglasses on, arms spread like he was arriving on a red carpet.

“Did someone say birthday bash?”

Peter put his head in his hands. “Oh no.”

Behind Johnny a green portal opened there came Hobie Brown, guitar case slung over his back, and Pavitr Prabhakar, carrying a bag of samosas and looking like he just stumbled into a frat party.

“Did… did we miss the cake?” Pavitr asked hopefully.

Laura tossed Peter a look. “You fed me most of it.”

Peter: “You threw most of it at me!”

Hobie dropped his guitar. “We doin’ music now?”

Gabby: “Yes. You’re playing while I do interpretive flips.”

Anya, dropping from the ceiling: “Okay, this I have to see.”

Anya strolled up to Hobie, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Ooh, Hobie~ Guess what Morales did? No? Perfect! Let me enlighten you.”

There was music. Hobie shredded a killer riff. MJ and Pavitr did an impromptu dance routine. Johnny tried to set off fireworks indoors. Ben screamed. Felicia laughed. Kaine sent a second text message that just read: “I was right not to show up.”

Laura? She watched it all, nestled against Peter, her fingers idly tracing the locket May had given her. It was all so loud, chaotic, messy—

And yet… for once, she didn’t feel like she was outside of it.

This was her family.

Mutants, clones, spider-people, friends, family and chaos incarnate.

Peter, with his arm around her, looked down at her and whispered, “Worth it?”

Laura smirked. “Wade hasn’t shown up yet.”

Peter blinked.

Then there was a knock at the window.

Everyone turned.

There, outside the glass, in full red-and-black suit, was Deadpool holding up a sign:

“Am I late to stab something or emotionally bond?”

Gabby leapt up. “YES.”

Peter facepalmed. “I hate you all.”

Laura chuckled.

“Happy birthday to me.”

Wade tumbled inside with jazz hands. “Happy birthday, murder princess!”

Laura blinked. “You actually remembered?”

Wade gasped. “How dare you. I brought a gift and everything!”

He pulled out a neatly wrapped box… duct-taped and covered in glitter stickers.

Laura opened it cautiously.

Inside: a framed photo of the two of them mid-mission—Laura mid-air, claws out, Wade doing finger guns behind her, with “BEST TEAM-UP EVER” in bold comic sans.

“…You made this?”

“I edited it myself. Took me three hours. I even color-corrected the blood.”

Laura stared at him.

Then nodded once. “Thanks, Wade.”

He saluted. “Now let’s ruin your living room with karaoke!”

Peter: “No.”

Wade: “TOO LATE!”

Chaos resumed.

Laura?

Still smiling.
---

The night had finally settled into a quiet hum. Most of the guests had either gone home or passed out in the living room (Gabby and Ben were currently drooling on opposite ends of the couch, Matt had disappeared—probably deciding he was too classy to sleep in Peter’s disaster of an apartment—Miles had left, swearing never to drink Deadpool’s mystery liquor again in drunk stupor) and Anya (who had to carry him home).

Peter and Laura were in their bedroom, half-dressed for sleep but too lazy to actually crawl into bed yet. Laura was scrolling through her phone, still slightly buzzed, while Peter sat beside her, rubbing his temples.

"I swear," Peter muttered, "next time, I’m banning any alcohol with Wade Wilson’s name attached to it."

Laura smirked but didn’t look up from her phone. "You can try."

"What No- Laura!"

"Yes, dear."

"Why do you sound like an alcoholic!?"

"Blame Logan.''

“You’re… not that far off, actually—but hey! Don’t change the subject!”

Laura flicked her eyes up, amused. ''How's May trip to Paris going?"

Peter blinked at the abrupt shift. "Actually going well why do you ask?"

“She sent me a few gardening tools,” Laura said casually, thumb brushing over the small locket around her neck. “And this.”

Peter leaned in, noticing the tiny photo inside—one of the two of them, clearly candid, smiling.

“She remembers the little things,” Laura murmured. “I hate how much I like that.”

''...Okay?''

Laura glanced at him sideways, tone deceptively sweet. “It’d be a real shame if your poor aunt—who went to all that trouble to send me such a thoughtful gift—were to find out that her beloved nephew got his wife very drunk on her birthday.”

Peter froze.

“…You wouldn’t.”

She raised an eyebrow.

...

...

...

"Fine you win..."

Laura smirked. “Damn right, I do.”

Before Peter could reply, his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand.

He glanced at the screen.

Incoming Call: Kaine

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Huh. That’s weird. He never calls unless something’s on fire."

Laura finally looked up from her phone, mildly interested. "Well, pick up before he does something stupid."

Peter sighed and answered. "Yeah, Kaine?"

"Happy birthday to your bloodthirsty wife," Kaine’s dry voice greeted.

Peter snorted. "That’s Mrs. Bloodthirsty Wife to you."

Laura, still scrolling through her phone, smirked. "Damn right."

Kaine sighed. "Look, I couldn’t make it, but I sent something over. Should be outside your door now."

Peter frowned, already standing up. "You… sent something? Dude, you didn’t have to—"

"It’s not a big deal," Kaine cut in. "Just open it and shut up."

Peter rolled his eyes but headed for the door. Sure enough, when he opened it, there was a plain brown package sitting on the doormat. No label. No return address. Just ominous mystery package vibes.

"...This isn’t a bomb, is it?"

"Do I sound like the kind of guy who’d waste a bomb on you?" Kaine deadpanned.

"... Fair point."

Peter grabbed the package and took it back to the bedroom. Laura had already sat up, eyes narrowed with interest.

Peter plopped it onto the bed. "Alright, let’s see what the edgiest clone in the family got you."

He tore the package open—and immediately froze.

Laura blinked. "...Is that a katana?"

It was. A sleek, black-bladed katana with a crimson-wrapped hilt, resting neatly inside a fitted sheath.

There was a note inside.

> Figured this was more your style than whatever dumb sentimental crap Parker got you. Try not to stab him with it. No promises if he’s being annoying. –Kaine

PS: I asked Jubilee for help for the gift, she sends her regards and asked me to apologize for her not being there. Gotta thank you Laura a beach vacation is a good idea.

Peter groaned. "Oh, great. They got you a murder weapon."

Laura, meanwhile, had already unsheathed the blade, eyes gleaming slightly. "Huh. It’s well-balanced."

"Of course that’s your first thought," Peter muttered.

She smirked. "You married me, Parker. Although it looks like the Muramasa Blade."

Peter exhaled, rubbing his face. "Unfortunately—"

He didn’t get to finish before Laura lightly whacked him with the sheath.

He groaned. "Yup. I so should’ve seen that coming."

From the phone, Kaine snorted. "Enjoy your gift. Try not to let Parker cry too much."

Laura smirked. "No promises."

And despite himself, Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

Yeah. This had been a weird, chaotic birthday.

But honestly?

Laura's worth celebrating. And this? This was worth every bit of glitter, fire hazard, and emotional trauma.

It was perfect.

A/N: Happy Birthday Laura she enjoys her 25th anniversary.

Best break(really needed it), i really can't believe it, 50 chapters. I made it, like it's half a 100 chapters.

I want to thank everyone for commenting and liking this fic. And for helping me reach 50 chapters your comments and criticism helped me much more.

Johny makes his return too.(Hobie and Pavitir too).

And now i introduced MJ and Felicia, weird. I actually didn't plan on it.

I didn't want to have too many characters be there so sorry that i didn't include (logan, aunt may, kaine, and Jubilee.) Oh yeah first time i mentioned her too.

Fun fact: I actually had a chapter where MJ appeared earlier. I still have the chapter but i forgot to use it, with other ideas and some plans changing. Eh, i'll post it sometime. Won't be a problem.

And this chapter was a reference to chapter 10. Which is kinda now redundant to say.

Peace.

Chapter 51: “Miles Morales and the Hangover of Shame”

Chapter Text

Chapter 51 Title: “Miles Morales and the Hangover of Shame”

Here's a bonus scene following the birthday chaos, starring Hobie, Pavitr, Anya, Uncle Peter Parker and a very hungover Miles.
---

The Next Day — Spider-Verse Base, Earth-1610.99
Mid-morning, somewhere between regret and denial.

Miles Morales sat at the edge of a cot in the medical bay, wearing dark sunglasses indoors and sipping water like it was the elixir of life.

Enter: Hobie Brown — walking like a rockstar who never stopped being one — and Pavitr Prabhakar, holding two samosas and an expression that said, I’m here for a good time, not a supportive one.

Hobie leaned against the doorway. “Oi. You alive, lightweight?”

Pavitr raised a samosa. “Want some fried carbs to absorb the regret?”

Miles groaned. “Go away.”

“Not until you tell us how you ended up lying face-down in a laundry basket,” Pavitr said, absolutely delighted.

Hobie crossed his arms, smirking. “Man drank half a shot of Wade Juice and turned into a Looney Tune. I saw you try to web swing sideways.”

Miles buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t know it was Deadpool’s liquor!”

“Mate, anything Wade brings to a party is either toxic, sentient, or explosive,” Hobie said. “You always assume danger.”

Pavitr nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen him marinate churros in that stuff. Churros.”

Miles groaned louder. “I think I threw up… in four different dimensions.”

Suddenly, Anya stepped in, arms crossed, expression pure judgment.

“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” she said. “So I can yell at you.”

Miles winced. “Please don’t.”

Anya ignored him completely. “You know who didn’t get drunk and act like a moron in front of literally everyone we know? Me.”

Pavitr stage-whispered, “She’s been like this all morning.”

Hobie grinned. “She’s got ceiling video footage.”

Miles lowered his sunglasses just enough to glare. “You recorded me?”

Anya: “I was the only one sober enough to document the madness for future blackmail. You tried to fist-bump a ficus, Miles.”

Hobie laughed so hard he nearly slid down the wall. “And he apologized to it when it didn’t respond!”

Miles slumped back. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Pavitr patted his shoulder. “Of course not. That’s what family’s for.”

Anya held up her phone. “Now smile for the thumbnail on ‘Spider-Man Gets Smashed: A Documentary.’”

Miles threw a pillow at her.

---

Spider-Verse Base, Earth-1610.99 – Medical Bay

Miles was still nursing his hangover like it was a mortal wound. Hobie and Pavitr were halfway through their second samosa roast session. Anya had already renamed the group chat to “Spider-Mess: Miles Edition” and added a gif of Miles trying to hug a potted plant mid-drunken spiral.

And then the portal opened.

A familiar whoosh of dimensional light, followed by the unmistakable thud of boots on metal flooring.

Peter Parker stepped through—mask off, sleeves rolled up, face set in a way that immediately changed the room’s energy.

The laughter died instantly.

Peter looked directly at Miles.

And not with the usual exasperated “what did you do now, kid?” expression.

No—this was different.

It was quiet. It was serious. And that? That made it worse.

“Miles,” Peter said, voice low but not angry. “We need to talk.”

---

Five Minutes Later – The Medical Bay Lounge Area

The others had backed off, awkwardly watching from the corner like siblings hiding behind the couch during a parental lecture. Miles sat on a bench, looking very, very small.

Peter sat across from him, arms folded, not harsh—but deeply disappointed.

“I should’ve kept a better eye on you,” Peter said after a long pause. “You’re not old enough to drink, Miles. And even if you were… that stuff Wade brought? It’s not normal alcohol. That was mutant-grade, genetically enhanced—”

“I didn’t know,” Miles mumbled.

“I know,” Peter said gently. “But that’s my point. I should’ve warned you. I should’ve checked. You’re still a teenager, and I forgot that.”

Miles looked up, surprised.

Peter shook his head. “I got caught up in the party, in everyone being safe and happy for once. I got careless. And that’s on me.”

There was a long pause.

Then—

“Damn,” Hobie muttered. “Did he just give a real talk?”

Pavitr, munching popcorn now, whispered, “Actual grown-up mode. Didn’t see that coming.”

Anya raised a brow. “Wait for it. He’s gonna guilt-trip himself harder.”

Peter sighed, rubbing his temple. “I mean—who lets Wade Wilson bring the alcohol to a birthday party? Me. I did. A man who once poured moonshine into his jetpack and called it a ‘science experiment.’”

There it was.

The patented Parker Self-Blame Spiral.

Miles tried to interrupt. “Peter, come on—”

“I’m not mad,” Peter said, cutting him off. “I just need you to know this isn’t a joke. You’re strong, yeah. But you’re still young. And I’m supposed to make sure you make it through all this spider madness in one piece. Not just physically. Mentally. Responsibly. Got it?”

Miles nodded, eyes down. “Yeah. Got it.”

Peter nodded too.

Then, from the background—

Anya: “Also, you told a chair it was your soulmate.”

Peter’s serious expression cracked. “What?”

Hobie: “He caressed the armrest.”

Pavitr: “He whispered, ‘Don’t leave me, Cheryl.’”

Miles groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Peter sighed again, but this time… smiled a little. “Alright. I deserve that. Roast me later. Just—learn from this, okay?”

“I will,” Miles said, genuinely.

Peter ruffled his hair. “Good. Also… you’re grounded from interdimensional travel for a week.”

“What?!”

Pavitr immediately added, “Group vote: Miles has to wear a ‘I survived Wade’s liquor and all I got was this hangover’ shirt.”

Anya grinned. “I’m designing it.”

Hobie: “I’m printing it.”

Peter stood. “I’m confiscating it.”

Miles flopped backward dramatically. “Spider-family is the worst.”

Peter just smiled faintly and opened the return portal.

“Love you too, kid.”

And with that, he was gone—back through the light, leaving behind a room full of laughter, mild trauma, and a very grumpy, very loved Spider-Man.

---

Spider-Verse Lounge, Earth-1610.99 – Two Days Later

Miles was almost recovered.

The headache was gone. The stomach had stopped threatening revolution. His pride? Still in pieces.

Unfortunately, his friends weren’t ready to let him move on.

“Ta-da!”
Anya held up the most cursed piece of clothing Miles had ever seen.

A black T-shirt.
White bold font.
A cartoon drawing of Miles hugging a chair.
And the words:
“I Survived Wade’s Liquor and All I Got Was This Hangover (and Cheryl the Chair)”

Miles stared at it in horror. “You didn’t.”

Anya beamed. “We did.”

Hobie threw an arm around his shoulder. “Mate, we put it on a shirt. That’s immortal now.”

Pavitr held up a second one. “We made hoodies too!”

Miles slowly backed away. “Absolutely not. Burn it. Burn them all.”

Anya snapped a pic with her phone. “Too late. Already uploaded.”

Miles’s soul visibly left his body. “You people are menaces.”

Hobie leaned against the wall, smug. “Consider it justice for trying to moonwalk with Pavitr while hanging from the ceiling. Upside down.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Alright. You wanna play that game?”

Anya froze. “…What are you doing?”

“Revenge,” Miles muttered, pulling out his phone.

Pavitr looked alarmed. “Wait, wait—what are you—?”

“I still have video of Hobie singing A Whole New World in the wrong key while clinging to the side of the portal room wall.”

Hobie: “That was art, bruv.”

“It was tone-deaf, bruv.”

Anya raised a brow. “That all you’ve got?”

Miles smirked. “I’ve also got footage of you, Anya. Trying to flirt with Miguel during training and calling him ‘Spider-Zaddy.’”

Anya went pale. “Delete. It. Now.”

Miles crossed his arms. “Trade you for the shirt.”

Anya clenched her jaw. “…Deal.”

Pavitr groaned. “Now you’ve just encouraged him!”

Hobie snorted. “Nah, he’s one of us now. It’s called petty bonding.”

---

Later That Evening – Group Chat: Spider-Hive Brain

Miles: new group name: “The Hangover Avengers”
Anya: changed it back to “Spider-Mess: Miles Edition”
Miles: you’re evil
Pavitr: just wait til we make merch
Hobie: I already did
[image attachment: mug with “Team Cheryl” on it]

Miles:
I hate you all.
...But I also kinda love you.

Anya:

Unfortunately.

A/N: And birthday saga done! What do you think.

Peter too with self guilt my boy gotta relax. Peter probably doesn't get himself usually drunk too so... maybe he acts that way?

Chapter 52: "Fancy Date Night (ft. Hello Kitty Parker)"

Chapter Text

Chapter 52 Title: "Fancy Date Night (ft. Hello Kitty Parker)" follow up from chapter 12'' the dress debacle''.(not obligatory to re-read)

Peter Parker wasn’t a stranger to humiliation.

He’d been dunked headfirst into a trash can by Flash Thompson. He’d been photographed webbed upside down in his boxers by J. Jonah Jameson. He’d even been mistaken for Deadpool once — that was particularly scarring.

But this…

This was a new level of shame.

---

“Stop fidgeting,” Laura said, adjusting her earrings in the mirror by the door.

Peter groaned from the couch. “I can’t! It’s itchy!”

Laura turned, barely holding back a smirk. “It’s not itchy. You’re just embarrassed.”

Peter looked down at himself.

He was wearing the Hello Kitty sweater MJ had sent him as a joke last Christmas — the one Laura had specifically remembered during their little “shopping deal.” It was obnoxiously pink, with Hello Kitty winking on the front, surrounded by sparkly hearts. It wasn’t even a good fit — the sleeves were just slightly too short, and it rode up if he raised his arms too much.

It was the ugliest, most humiliating thing he had ever worn.

“I look like I lost a bet,” Peter grumbled.

“You kinda did.” Laura grinned.

“You promised you wouldn’t make me wear this in public.”

“No.” Laura grabbed her leather jacket. “I promised I wouldn’t make you wear it to a funeral. This is a date. Totally different.”

Peter groaned louder, flopping backward on the couch dramatically.

“I saved the world. Multiple times. I don’t deserve this.”

Laura leaned over him, smirking. “You made me go dress shopping. You deserve worse.”

Peter peeked up at her, and despite his sweater-based suffering, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Laura was wearing the green dress.

She looked… incredible. Her hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, and she’d even put on a little makeup — subtle, but just enough to make her eyes seem even greener.

“You’re staring,” Laura said flatly, though her voice softened.

Peter smiled, his sweater-related misery briefly forgotten. “Can you blame me?”

Laura rolled her eyes — but her cheeks turned just a little pink.

“Let’s go, Parker,” she muttered.

---

The Restaurant: Hello Kitty vs. Fine Dining.

Peter should’ve known things wouldn’t go smoothly.

The restaurant was fancy. Too fancy. The kind of place where the waiters had accents you couldn’t quite place, the menus didn’t have prices, and the lighting was just dim enough to make you feel poor.

And, of course, everyone was in suits and cocktail dresses.

Except Peter.

In his Hello Kitty sweater.

Heads turned when they walked in.

Peter swore he heard a muffled laugh from one of the waiters, but he couldn’t be sure.

Laura, to her credit, looked completely unbothered — probably because she looked like she belonged there. Meanwhile, Peter looked like he’d wandered in from a middle school slumber party.

The maître d’ barely held back his confusion. “Uh… table for two?”

“Yeah,” Laura said casually. “Reservation under Parker.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Peter, lingering on the sweater. His lip twitched. “Right this way.”

Peter leaned toward Laura as they walked. “They’re judging me.”

Laura smirked. “They are.”

Peter groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Dinner and Disaster

They actually made it through appetizers without incident — a miracle, considering Peter had caught two different waiters trying (and failing) not to stare.

But, of course, the universe hated him.

While they waited for the main course, Peter felt a familiar buzz from his pocket.

His Spider-Sense.

He barely had time to register it before the window near their table exploded in a shower of glass.

A hulking figure stomped through the shattered frame, snarling.

Rhino.

Because of course it was Rhino.

The restaurant erupted into chaos, people screaming and diving for cover. Plates shattered. Tables flipped.

“Where’s Spider-Man?!” Rhino bellowed.

Peter groaned, slumping forward and banging his head on the table. “Of course. Of course this happens now.”

Laura leaned over the table, deadpan. “You gonna fight him in the sweater, Kitty Parker?”

Peter gave her a flat look. “I hate you.”

“You still love me.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, “I still love you.”

He stood up, already pulling off his sweater.

“You better not lose that,” Laura called after him as he disappeared into the back. “I’m framing it.”

---

Aftermath:

Peter, covered in dust and sporting a new tear in his Spidey suit, stumbled back into the restaurant after the cops took Rhino away.

The restaurant was a mess. Broken glass everywhere. Half the tables overturned. Everyone in the diners had fled.

Laura was still at their table, sipping her wine like nothing happened.

She glanced up at him, completely unbothered. “Took you long enough.”

Peter groaned and collapsed into his chair. “He threw a bus at me.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Did you deserve it?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Debatable.”

Peter sighed, tugging his mask off and running a hand through his hair. “Dinner’s ruined.”

Laura looked around the wreckage. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

She set her glass down and stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

“Come on.”

Peter blinked, confused. “Where are we going?”

Laura smirked. “Pizza place down the block. You owe me a date, Parker.”

Peter smiled despite himself, letting her drag him out of the ruined restaurant.

“You know you’re overdressed for pizza, right?”

Laura glanced at him sideways. “You’re underdressed for everything, Hello Kitty.”

Peter groaned.

He really wasn’t living that one down.

---

A/N: Want me to write a follow-up where MJ finds out about the sweater situation and absolutely never lets Peter forget it?

Title: ''MJ Sees the Hello Kitty Shirt''

Peter was going to kill Laura.

Not literally, obviously. He liked being married and not having adamantium claws shoved through his ribs. But figuratively? Oh yeah, she was done for.

Because there, clear as day on his phone, was a message from Mary Jane Watson.

MJ: Hey Tiger, nice shirt. [Attached Image]

With the sinking feeling of a man who just realized he’d lost all leverage in every argument for the foreseeable future, Peter tapped the image.

It was him.

In that shirt.

The pink, overly adorable, ridiculously tight Hello Kitty T-shirt Laura had forced him to wear after he lost a bet. And she—his dear, beloved wife—had apparently thought it would be hilarious to send proof to MJ.

Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Peter: Laura.

No response.

Peter: Please tell me you didn’t.

Laura: Didn’t what?

He knew that tone. Even in text, he could hear the smirk in her voice.

Peter: You sent MJ the picture.

Laura: Oh. That.

Peter sighed.

Peter: YES, that.

Laura: Well, technically, I posted it first. Then I sent it to her.

Peter nearly choked on air.

Peter: YOU WHAT?

Laura: Relax. I blurred your face. It just looks like a random guy in a Hello Kitty shirt.

Peter: That does NOT make it better!

Laura: You lost the bet. Consequences, Parker.

Oh, he was so sleeping on the couch tonight.

But before he could send a very strongly worded text, his phone buzzed again.

MJ: Also, I showed Felicia.

Peter froze.

Oh no.

MJ: She says, and I quote, "Well, well, well. Looks like Spider got a little purr-sonal with his fashion choices."

Oh.

Oh, he was never going to live this down.

Laura owed him big time.

A/N: This was actually meant to be MJ, first introduction to the series, but i actually forgot to include it since, it was so short and i focused on other chapters.

Would have separated it into 2 chapter but decided against it. Kept the old author notes tho. Sorry not sorry.

Chapter 53: "Welcome to Krakoa (Please Don’t Break Anything)"

Chapter Text

Chapter 53 Title: "Welcome to Krakoa (Please Don’t Break Anything)"

---

Peter Parker wasn’t sure how he got talked into this.

Scratch that — he definitely knew how.

It started with Laura tossing a Krakoan access pass onto his chest while he was half-asleep on the couch.

“We’re going,” she said, voice flat and non-negotiable.

Peter blinked blearily at the little flower-shaped token, then up at his wife. “Going where?”

“Krakoa.”

Peter squinted. “Isn’t that, like, mutant paradise island? With portals and tiki bars and people who could snap me in half with a thought?”

“Yes.”

Peter stared at her for a second longer. “…Cool. What time are we leaving?”

---

Arrival:

Krakoa was… beautiful.

Peter expected something closer to Genosha — all futuristic cities and mutant pride banners — but this? It was alive. The island practically breathed under his feet, vibrant with life. Flowers grew along twisting vine bridges, waterfalls tumbled from cliffs, and the air smelled cleaner than anything Peter had ever breathed in New York.

It was, in a word, awesome.

“Wow,” Peter said, grinning as they walked along the sandy shore. “So this is where you sneak off to when you ‘need space.’”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Parker. I spend my free time lounging on a mutant utopia instead of saving your ass.”

Peter smirked. “You love me.”

Laura sighed. “…Unfortunately.”

---

The Locals:

They didn’t make it five minutes into the village before someone recognized Laura.

“Laura!”

Peter barely had time to react before a massive figure barreled toward them — Warpath, shirtless, built like a linebacker, and moving fast.

Laura didn’t flinch as he picked her up in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground.

“Good to see you too, Jimmy,” she grunted, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Warpath chuckled, setting her down. “It’s been too long. Who’s the spider?”

Peter blinked. “Hi. Spider-Man. Friendly neighborhood, etcetera, etcetera.” He stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Warpath stared at the hand, then took it, shaking it hard enough to rattle Peter’s spine.

“Damn. Thought you were a mutant,” Warpath said, eyebrow raised.

Peter tilted his head. “Uh… no? Just a guy who got bit by a radioactive spider when I was fourteen. Standard superhero origin stuff.”

A new voice cut in, dry and amused. “You’re not a mutant?”

Peter turned to see Emma Frost standing a few feet away, looking entirely too glamorous for someone on a tropical island.

“Nope,” Peter said, forcing himself not to stare. “Just a regular ol’ genetically-altered ‘mutate,’ as they like to call it.”

Emma’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “A mutate who got powers at fourteen.”

Peter blinked. “…Yeah?”

Emma exchanged a glance with Warpath, who smirked.

“You realize that’s when most mutants activate their X-Genes, right?” she said, tilting her head.

Peter paused. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, I guess?”

Warpath laughed. “Hell, Spider-Man, you’re basically one of us.”

Peter blinked again. “Wait, really? That’s all it takes? Do I get a membership card or something?”

Laura snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

Emma smirked. “If nothing else, you’ve got the angst and trauma. That’s half the job description.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue — then realized she wasn’t wrong. “…Okay, fair point.”

---

The Quiet Council (aka Peter’s Worst Nightmare):

At some point, Laura dragged Peter to meet the Quiet Council — the ruling body of Krakoa. Peter wasn’t exactly thrilled about meeting a table full of political mutants, but he figured “don’t offend the people who can control reality” was a solid policy.

It went downhill immediately.

They stepped into the council chamber — a gorgeous, open-air room with living vines wrapping around the columns — and Peter immediately locked eyes with Logan.

Logan scowled.

Peter grinned nervously and waved.

Logan groaned, muttering, “Aw, hell.”

Magneto glanced between them, his helmet tilting curiously. “You know this one, Wolverine?”

“He’s my kid’s damn husband,” Logan growled. “Unfortunately.”

Peter snorted. “Hey, that’s our thing!”

Laura stared at them both. “…This is getting out of hand.”

---

Later:

By the end of the day, Peter had:

Been mistaken for a mutant six times.

Accidentally insulted Sebastian Shaw (he recovered by pretending it was intentional).

Gotten into a weirdly in-depth conversation with Nightcrawler about faith and power.

And eaten a tropical fruit that may or may not have been alive.

They sat on the beach at sunset, the waves crashing gently against the shore.

Laura leaned against his shoulder, her hair damp from a swim.

“Y’know,” Peter murmured, watching the horizon, “this place is kinda nice.”

Laura hummed softly. “Yeah. It is.”

Peter smirked. “Think they’d let me stay if I ask nicely?”

Laura huffed a laugh. “Maybe. But if you start wearing a Krakoan uniform, I’m filing for divorce.”

Peter grinned. “You love me.”

Laura sighed.

“…Unfortunately.”

A/N: Emma's definitely playing peter. And hey Krakoa's introduce.

Chapter 54: "Where Are All the Grandpas?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 54 Title: "Where Are All the Grandpas?"

---

Peter Parker wasn’t one to question paradise — especially not when said paradise was full of people who could kill him with a thought — but something had been bugging him ever since he and Laura visited Krakoa.

The island was beautiful, vibrant, and alive. Mutants of every shape and power roamed freely, happy and healthy. It was everything Xavier dreamed of — a sanctuary for all mutants.

But there was one thing missing.

Old people.

And Peter couldn’t stop thinking about it.

---

They were sprawled out on the couch in their apartment, Peter half-draped over Laura’s legs while she scrolled through her phone.

“Hey,” Peter said, voice muffled against her thigh, “where are all the old people on Krakoa?”

Laura blinked, glancing down at him. “…What?”

“You know, old people,” Peter said, sitting up a little. “Grandmas, grandpas, retirees who yell at kids to stay off the lawn — where are they? I didn’t see a single one on Krakoa.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Did you seriously spend our entire trip to a mutant paradise wondering where the elderly are?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s a fair question! If Krakoa accepts every mutant, shouldn’t there be a bingo night or something?”

Laura stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed, setting her phone down.

“They’re not there because they’re not old anymore.”

Peter blinked. “...What?”

Laura tilted her head. “Krakoa has resurrection protocols. When a mutant dies, they bring them back in a fresh, healthy body. They don’t stay old.”

Peter stared. "Wait. Are you telling me Krakoa is basically mutant Fountain of Youth Island?"

Laura shrugged. "Pretty much."

Peter blinked again. "So you’re saying if Logan dies — again — he comes back new? Like, shiny, non-grumpy Logan?"

Laura snorted. "Still grumpy. Just less… gray."

Peter flopped back onto her lap with a groan. "Okay, that’s insane. Do they realize they basically solved aging? Like, every skincare company on the planet would go bankrupt if they found out about this."

Laura smirked. "You thinking of moving there, Parker?"

Peter laughed. "Nah. If I stop aging, Jonah’s just gonna yell at me for 'looking suspiciously youthful.' Besides…" He looked up at her, his grin softening. "I’m kinda okay getting old with you."

Laura stared at him for a second, her expression unreadable.

“…You’re such a dork,” she muttered, though her voice was quieter than before.

“You love me.”

Laura sighed, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward.

"Unfortunately."

A/N: Laura will outlive peter. That's all.

Chapter 55: "Little Sister, Big Smiles" (Early Relationship)

Chapter Text

Chapter 55 Title: "Little Sister, Big Smiles" (Early Relationship)

---

Peter Parker was used to Laura’s usual expressions. He had been dating her for 6 months.

The signature glare. The unimpressed eyebrow raise. The subtle smirk when she knew she was winning an argument.

But an actual, genuine, full smile?

Those were rare.

And Peter was seeing a lot of them today.

All because Gabby was visiting.

---

Gabby Kinney was a menace.

A tiny, hyperactive, chaos gremlin of a little sister, and she had every ounce of Laura’s attitude without the brooding.

She had burst through their apartment door like a human missile, grinning ear to ear.

“BIG SISTER!” she yelled, launching herself at Laura.

Laura barely had time to react before Gabby latched onto her in a death hug.

Laura huffed, but she smiled.

Peter blinked.

It wasn’t just a small smile.

It was wide, real, full of warmth.

Holy crap.

Gabby pulled back, beaming. “Did you miss me?”

Laura ruffled her hair. “No.”

Gabby snorted. “Liar.”

Laura smirked. “Obviously.”

Peter stared. What was happening?

---

One Hour Later: Gabby, Agent of Chaos

Gabby made herself at home immediately.

She had stolen Peter’s seat, eaten half his snacks, and somehow convinced Laura to paint her nails.

Laura was painting her nails.

Peter did not know Laura could paint nails.

He watched in utter fascination as Laura patiently let Gabby ramble about some fight she had with Deadpool, only cutting in to correct her form on a punch.

And the whole time?

She was smiling.

Not just little smirks—actual, real smiles.

Peter leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, completely smitten.

"You're staring," Gabby pointed out, not even looking up.

Peter blinked. "What? No, I’m—"

"You totally are," she said, smirking. "It’s cute."

Laura raised an eyebrow at Peter, clearly amused.

Peter felt himself blush.

Damn it.

---

Two Hours Later: Peter Gets Bullied

Gabby, unfortunately, inherited Laura’s sharp senses and quick wit.

Which meant she immediately started making fun of Peter.

“So, Peter,” Gabby said, grinning. “How does it feel being the least dangerous person in your relationship?”

Peter groaned. "Not you too."

Laura smirked. "She has a point."

Gabby gasped. "Oh my God, does she carry you when you're hurt?"

Peter crossed his arms. "No! I mean… sometimes."

Gabby cackled.

Peter slumped against the couch. "You’re both mean."

Laura smiled wider.

Peter huffed, but… he didn’t mind.

Because honestly?

He could watch Laura smile like that forever.

---

Later That Night: Peter’s Favorite Sight

By the time Gabby finally left, the apartment was too quiet.

Laura sat on the couch, still smirking faintly.

Peter sat next to her, nudging her knee. "You really do love her, huh?"

Laura didn’t even pretend to deny it.

"Yeah," she murmured. "I do."

Peter smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"You should smile more," he said softly.

Laura gave him a look. "You gonna make me?"

Peter grinned. "Challenge accepted."

Laura rolled her eyes, but there was still a small smile on her lips.

And Peter swore he’d do anything to keep it there.

Chapter 56: The Bells of Notre Bros

Chapter Text

Chapter 56 Title: The Bells of Notre Bros

Peter had a habit of dragging his clones into ridiculous things.
That included movie nights.
That also included Disney karaoke.

Tonight’s pick: The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Ben sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, already a few beers in and slightly too emotionally invested. Peter was sprawled across the floor on a beanbag, grinning like a kid.

Kaine stood near the window with his arms crossed, a half-eaten slice of pizza in one hand and a scowl on his face.

“You seriously making us watch this?” Kaine asked, unimpressed.

Peter grinned. “Not just watch.” He pulled out his phone. “We’re singing.”

Ben laughed. “Oh no. No no no—”

“Yes.” Peter hit play on the instrumental track.

The dramatic opening of The Bells of Notre Dame began to swell through the speakers.

Kaine groaned. “This is so stupid.”

Ben half-shrugged. “It’s catchy though.”

Peter was already fully committed, dramatically throwing out his arms as the bells tolled. “Morning in Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Daaaaaame—”

Ben snorted popcorn and quickly joined in, voice surprisingly decent. “The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes to the bells of Notre Daaaaame—”

Kaine stood silently.

Peter shot him a look. “You’re up soon. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Kaine scowled deeper.

Ben elbowed him. “C’mon. You get the cool part.”

As the song built toward the story of Quasimodo’s mother running through the streets, the three of them actually started syncing up. Peter sang Clopin’s part with all the theatrical energy of a Broadway actor. Ben jumped in on harmonies:

"See there the innocent blood you have spilt
On the steps of Notre Damee!"

Peter sung:
"I am guiltless. She ran, I pursued"

Ben, countered:
"Now you would add this child's blood to your guilt
On the steps of Notre Dame"

Peter, protested:
"My conscience is clear!"

Ben, affirmed:
"You can lie to yourself and your minions"
"You can claim that you haven't a qualm"
"But you never can run from
Nor hide what you've done from the eyes
The very eyes of Notre Dame!"

Kaine… started tapping his foot.

“Don’t fight it,” Peter said between lines. “Give in to the music, Kaine.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Kaine muttered.

But by the time the music swelled to its final, dramatic crescendo, Kaine stepped forward.

Peter pointed to him like a conductor.

Kaine stared them both down, then growled the final line with all the gravelly menace of a man who had truly seen things:

"Now, that is a riddle to guess, if you can"

"Sing the bells of Notre Dame."

“Who is the monster… and who is the maaaaan?” (what makes the man?)

"Sing the bells

Bells!

Bells!

Bells!

Bells!

Bells!

Bells!

Bells!"

"Bells of Notre Dameee!"

Silence.

...

...

...

...

Then Peter and Ben burst into wild applause.

Ben pointed at Kaine. “You killed that.”

Peter mock-wiped a tear. “I’m so proud.”

Kaine rolled his eyes, turning away to grab another beer. “That was stupid.”

But there was the faintest twitch of a smile on his face as he said it.

Peter’s apartment, post-disney-musical-moment.

Kaine popped open a beer, trying to pretend like he hadn’t just delivered the most dramatic Disney villain line since Scar sang about murder in the savannah. Peter and Ben were still laughing and congratulating him, and Ben was cueing up “Hellfire” next, much to Kaine’s growing alarm.

“Guys,” Peter said, half-serious, “I think this is the best night of our lives.”

And then—

The front door slammed open.

“Peter?” came Laura’s voice, low and suspicious.

Behind her, Jubilee followed, chewing bubblegum and wearing sunglasses inside, because she was committed to the bit.

The guys froze. Kaine’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth. Ben dropped the remote.

Laura crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

Jubilee peeked around her and blinked. “Is that—” she pointed to the TV— “are you guys doing musical theater?”

“...No?” Peter tried, voice cracking a little.

“Dude, is that Hellfire on queue?” Jubilee asked, fully stepping into the room and looking between them.

Laura slowly turned to Peter. “Why is Kaine holding a beer and looking like he just confessed to a murder in song?”

Ben coughed. “Technically, he was playing Frollo. So, kinda?”

Kaine just muttered, “She’s gonna kill us.”

Peter stood up quickly, hands raised like he was surrendering to the most dangerous woman in the room (which he was).

“Listen, babe, it was for fun. Brother bonding time. No crime-fighting. No existential dread. Just… songs. With soul.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sang about burning desire and damnation.”

“Disney damnation,” Peter emphasized.

Jubilee elbowed Laura. “Honestly? Kinda hot.”

Laura gave her a sharp look, but Jubilee just grinned and popped her gum again. “What? I mean, Kaine’s voice? Surprisingly decent.”

Kaine turned slowly to glare at her.

Peter quickly stepped between them all. “Okay, maybe we should… do something less dramatic now.”

Ben held up the remote. “Too late, I already hit play.”

Hellfire began. The dark, haunting notes filled the apartment.

Peter turned pale. “Abort! ABORT!”

Laura just sat down on the couch with a thump, crossed her legs, and looked at him like he owed her a long explanation.

“I am definitely not letting you sing this,” she said.

“I wasn’t gonna!” Peter squeaked. “I was gonna let Ben take it!”

Ben: “What? Why me?!”

Jubilee started filming.

Kaine went back to his beer.

It was going to be a long, ridiculous night.

---

Later That Night – Peter’s Apartment

Hellfire was long over (thankfully), and the impromptu Spider-Clone Karaoke Night had spiraled into a bizarre mix of Disney, 80s power ballads, and Jubilee’s playlist that was half K-pop and half chaotic girl-power anthems.

At this point, the room was full of empty snack bowls, opened drinks, a half-eaten pizza on the table, and a suspicious number of glitter stickers stuck to the wall. (Peter would ask questions later.)

Kaine had gone from sulking on the side to reluctantly joining in after Ben baited him into singing a soft acoustic number.

And to Laura and Jubilee surprise—

He was actually good. Like, soulful and slightly brooding but weirdly emotional good.

The apartment went quiet for a moment after he finished.

Then Jubilee broke it with a slow clap.

“Holy hell. Okay, okay. You’ve got pipes, Kaine.”

Kaine tried to play it off, looking away. “Shut up.”

Laura raised an eyebrow, amused. “That wasn’t bad.”

Peter grinned. “See? What did I tell you? You’ve got that tortured poetic monster thing going. Very Phantom of the Opera.”

Ben leaned in. “Next time we go to karaoke night, you're opening.”

Kaine glared at everyone. “I will burn this apartment down.”

And that’s when Jubilee smirked and turned her phone toward him.

“Oh don’t worry, I definitely didn’t record that,” she said innocently, pressing play.

Kaine’s voice filled the room. A haunting, genuine, painfully earnest verse.

Kaine froze. “You didn’t—”

Jubilee winked. “Too late, baby. Already sent it to Gabby. She said, and I quote: ‘Why is he lowkey emotional and hot now? I hate it.’”

Laura choked on her drink.

Ben was wheezing from laughter.

Peter was already hiding in the kitchen pretending to get more water so Kaine wouldn’t kill him too.

Kaine stood there, expression unreadable.

“…I’m going to bury your phone in molten asphalt.”

Jubilee just blew a bubble and smiled sweetly. “You’ll have to catch me first, big guy.”

He lunged. She shrieked and bolted across the room, knocking over a chair in the process as the others cheered them on.

Peter sighed, arms crossed. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Laura leaned beside him, sipping from a glass and watching with a hint of a smirk.

“You’re right,” she said. “But it’s fun, isn’t it?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. It really is.”

A Few Days Later – Laura & Peter’s Apartment

Peter opened the fridge, casually humming a tune as he reached for the milk. “Hey, Laura, did you eat the last slice of that chocolate cake, or did—”

He froze.

Sitting on the top shelf of the fridge… was Jubilee’s phone.

Encased entirely in Jello.

Bright neon green, sparkly Jello. With glitter.

Peter slowly turned. “Laura…”

She glanced up from the couch. “Yes?”

“Why is Jubilee’s phone in our fridge?”

Laura didn’t even blink. “Kaine.”

“…He came into our apartment just to do this?”

“No, he said, and I quote, ‘This is a lesson in humiliation, and art.’”

Peter stared at the phone as it buzzed pathetically inside the gelatinous prison. “Okay, that’s fair.”

---

Elsewhere – The X-Mansion

Jubilee walked into the rec room, flopped on the couch, and reached for her phone… only to realize it wasn’t in her pocket.

“Did I… leave it somewhere?”

Then Gabby walked in.

“Oh hey,” she said casually. “You might wanna check Peter and Laura’s place.”

Jubilee narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Gabby just held up a small notecard. It read:

“This is retribution for recording ‘The Bells of Notre Dame.’ Never again. – K”

Underneath it was a picture of her phone… in Jello.

Jubilee sputtered. “Oh it’s on.”

---

That Night – Peter’s Apartment Again

Peter came home to find Kaine sitting on his couch like he owned the place, flipping through TV channels.

“You gave her the phone back?” Peter asked.

Kaine didn’t even look away from the screen. “Eventually. I swapped her background to that embarrassing selfie she took with Deadpool.”

Peter raised a brow. “…The one with the sparkly unicorn filter?”

Kaine smirked. “The very one.”

Just then, Laura walked by, tossing a bag of popcorn on Kaine’s lap.

“She’s already plotting revenge,” she said, deadpan. “You know that, right?”

Kaine shrugged, opening the popcorn. “Good. I’ll be waiting.”

A/N: Finally introduced Jubilee. Kaine is a good singer? Wait since kaine is a good singer doesn't that make peter default a good singer. Ben was just happy to be there. Jubilee and kaine have tension.

Chapter 57: Peter and Anya Talk Tech (Post-Grim Hunt)

Chapter Text

Chaptet 57 Title: Peter and Anya Talk Tech (Post-Grim Hunt)

Anya Corazon had seen Peter Parker in a lot of different moods. Annoyed. Stressed. Tired. Slightly less tired. But right now? Right now, he was sitting in his workshop, staring at a piece of tech like it had personally offended him.

"You okay, Pete?" she asked, leaning against the table.

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, just... thinking.” He tapped a small, broken device—one of his old trackers. “This thing failed me hard during their Hunt. Kravinoffs knew how to jam it. If I’d noticed sooner...”

He trailed off. Anya didn’t push. She knew what had happened. The Kravinoffs had gone after all of them. And they’d killed Mattie Franklin, one of the other Spider-Women.

Peter shook his head and forced a grin. “Anyway! I need to make these better. Which means—” he gestured at her, “—I need your brilliant young mind.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “You just want me to do all the boring coding.”

Peter grinned. “Is it working?”

She huffed but pulled up a chair. “Fine. What are we dealing with?”

He spun a monitor toward her, showing a breakdown of the tracker’s code. “It’s good, but not good enough. I need it to bypass signal jamming and switch frequencies on the fly. That way, if someone—like, I dunno, crazy Russian hunters—tries to block it, it adapts.”

Anya hummed. “Sounds doable. How’s your encryption?”

Peter gave her a look.

“Right. So we’re fixing that too,” she muttered, already typing.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only with the sounds of clicking keys and Peter occasionally muttering about Kraven’s “stupid, smug, punchable face.”

Eventually, Anya glanced at him. “You know... you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Peter paused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she gestured vaguely, “you still act like it’s all on you. The Kravinoffs went after all of us, Pete. But you’re the only one tearing himself apart over it.”

Peter exhaled, rubbing his face. “I know. I know. It’s just... hard not to think about what I could have done.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, if I let myself spiral over every bad thing that happened, I’d never get anything done.”

Peter smirked. “So what you’re saying is, I should be more like you?”

“Obviously.”

He snorted. “You are getting good at this.”

“Good at tech?”

“No. Good at lecturing me. You and Laura should start a club.”

Anya snickered. “We already did. Miles is our first recruit.”

Peter groaned. “I’m doomed.”

Anya just smirked and went back to coding.

A/N: I wish marvel would have made these two an actual duo instead of getting miles outside of his own universe. Oh yeah Kaine is dead too at that time. At least he got better. He has like died only 2 times in recent memory so that's good.

Chapter 58: Title: “May and Laura: Garden Gloves and Mutant Patience” Follow-up to “Tea with Aunt May”

Chapter Text

Chapter 58 Title: “May and Laura: Garden Gloves and Mutant Patience”
Follow-up to “Tea with Aunt May” chapter45
Featuring: Laura, May Parker, and surprise Gabby (because of course)

---

Peter hadn’t even finished his second cup of coffee when Laura told him, plainly,
“I’m going to spend the day with your aunt.”

Peter blinked. “Voluntarily?”

“She asked if I wanted to help her in her garden,” Laura said, tying her hair back in a loose ponytail. “She said, and I quote, ‘It’ll be good for your soul.’”

Peter looked horrified. “Oh no. She hit you with the quote. There’s no coming back now.”

---

Queens, May’s Backyard

It was peaceful. Too peaceful, in Laura’s opinion.

She stood there in a pair of borrowed gardening gloves and combat boots, watching May hum to herself as she knelt beside a flower bed, carefully pruning rose bushes.

“You don’t have to hum,” Laura said. “I’m not going to break the roses.”

May smiled without looking up. “Old habit. Keeps me from talking to myself. Though Peter says that’s normal now.”

Laura knelt beside her, gently digging through the soil as instructed. “I’m not used to doing things like this.”

“Me neither,” May said. “Once, I nearly planted a whole bed of tulips upside-down. Ben—Peter’s uncle—told me I had the murderous touch.”

Laura raised a brow. “Did he survive saying that?”

“Barely. But he brought me coffee afterward, so I forgave him.”

Laura smirked, just slightly. “Peter does the same thing. Messes up. Brings coffee.”

May glanced over with a sly smile. “So he is learning.”

They worked in silence for a while. The sun was warm, the breeze light, and the birds chirped just a bit too cheerfully.

Then—

“LAURA! YOU'RE PLAYING IN DIRT?!?”

Gabby.

Of course.

She jumped over the fence like a cat burglar on sugar, skidding to a stop beside them. “Are we planting knives? Is this training? Please say this is training.”

May, completely unfazed, handed Gabby a pair of gloves. “We’re planting basil and tomatoes.”

Gabby blinked. “That’s the lamest mission I’ve ever heard.”

“Yet here you are,” Laura muttered.

May handed Gabby a trowel. “There’s lemonade on the table if you behave.”

Gabby took the trowel with the seriousness of someone being knighted. “I will be the greatest basil digger this garden has ever known.”

---

Later That Afternoon

Laura and May sat on the porch while Gabby ran around the backyard pretending to be a tomato-themed superhero.

“Peter told me you didn’t think you were the type to settle down,” May said quietly.

Laura nodded. “Still not sure I am.”

May watched Gabby for a long moment. “Funny thing is… none of us ever think we are. Until one day, we look up, and we have people we’d fight for. People we’d build flower beds with.”

Laura glanced down at the tiny seedlings she’d helped plant. “He’s different from anyone I’ve ever known.”

“He’s a Parker,” May said. “We love hard. Even when we shouldn’t. But I’m glad he has you.”

Laura pauses and thinks truly thinks, about it, she hopes Peter never has to face more loss than she has.

Peter was an idiot.

A good, kind, stupidly self-sacrificing idiot.

And no matter how terrifying his potential was—he was still hers.

She just… really hoped no one ever pushed him far enough to prove it.

She doesn’t know what to do if she truly lost him.

Laura’s voice was soft. “I’m glad I have him too.”

Gabby skidded up to the porch. “Can I name the tomatoes?”

May laughed. “Only if you don’t eat the basil raw this time.”

Gabby looked wounded. “It smelled spicy!”

Laura rolled her eyes. “She’s your problem now.”

“Family is about shared burdens,” May said with a wink.

Laura smiled.

And it felt… peaceful.

---

A/N: Yes still foreshadowing something else.

Chapter 59: "Superhero Power Couple Goes Viral"

Chapter Text

Chapter 59 Title: "Superhero Power Couple Goes Viral"

---

Peter Parker wasn’t sure how it happened.

One minute, he and Laura were mid-patrol, taking down some low-level tech thieves — nothing special, just another Tuesday in New York. The next thing he knew, the internet had crowned them the "Ultimate Superhero Power Couple."

And no one even knew they were married.

This was going to be a disaster.

---

It Started with a Livestream.

Apparently, some guy on TikTok caught their takedown on camera.

The clip started with Spider-Man webbing up three thugs in one swoop, landing in his usual dramatic pose.

“Stay webbed, kids!” he said cheerfully.

Then, from off-camera, one last thug ran at him with a crowbar.

The guy didn’t make it far.

Laura dropped from a rooftop like a clawed missile, tackled him hard enough to crack the pavement, and stood up without missing a beat.

“Really?” she muttered, staring down at the unconscious thug. “A crowbar?”

The crowd — because of course there was a crowd — cheered.

The camera swung back to Peter, who groaned dramatically.

“Babe, you’re making me look bad.”

Without thinking, Laura smirked and shot back, “You do that just fine on your own.”

The clip ended with the crowd laughing, and Peter stammering, “Wha—hey! Rude!”

It was funny. It was too funny.

It went viral in under an hour.

---

The Next Morning:

Peter woke up to 37 missed texts.

His phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, vibrating across the surface like it was trying to escape.

Laura groaned next to him, half-buried in the blankets. "Turn it off or I’m breaking it."

Peter groaned, grabbing his phone. He blinked at the first notification:

“SPIDER-MAN AND TALON/Wolverine: POWER COUPLE OF THE YEAR??”

He sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. "Oh no."

Laura peeked out from the covers, squinting. "What now?"

Peter stared at the screen, horrified. "We’re trending."

Laura blinked slowly, processing this. "...What?"

Peter scrolled. #SpiderClaws and #Spidey/Talon were all over Twitter, alongside fan edits, memes, and very questionable fanart.

“‘Spider-Man and WolverineThe Couple We Didn’t Know We Needed.’” Peter read aloud, his voice full of despair.

Laura stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Could be worse."

"How?" Peter asked, voice rising.

"Could be Deadpool starting it."

Peter groaned, flopping back on the bed. "This is a nightmare."

Laura smirked. "No, this is hilarious."

---

The Internet Was Unstoppable.

It wasn’t just TikTok. It was everywhere.

Buzzfeed posted "5 Reasons Spider-Man and Talon are Relationship Goals" (complete with GIFs).

A fashion blog ranked their costumes as "Top Coordinated Couple Outfits."

Some random YouTuber made a "Spider-Man & Wolverine: The Love Story" video that was 12 minutes long and 80% incorrect.

And the memes. Oh God, the memes.

There was one of Peter swinging through the city with Laura casually riding on his back like a backpack.

“Get you a man who carries you places.”

Another had Laura punching a guy through a wall with Peter in the background giving her a thumbs-up.

“Find someone who hypes you up like Spider-Man hypes his stabby girlfriend.”

Peter groaned every time he saw a new one. Laura, meanwhile, saved the best ones to her phone.

---

The Avengers Found Out.

"Nice going, Parker," Tony drawled, leaning against the wall of the Avengers Tower common room. "You and Wolverine’s murder clone are the internet’s new OTP."

Peter groaned. "Can you not call her that?"

"Sorry," Tony smirked. "Your girlfriend."

"She’s not—" Peter started, then realized halfway through that explaining would make things worse.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "She’s not what? Your girlfriend? Because the fan edits beg to differ."

Peter slumped over the table. "Please stop talking."

Across the room, Natasha smirked. "Honestly, I’m impressed. The internet usually ships me with you or Jessica."

Peter made a sound that might have been a whimper.

---

The X-Men Found Out.

Logan showed up at their apartment the next day.

Peter opened the door to find Wolverine standing there, arms crossed, looking like he was debating whether to stab him.

Peter paled. "It’s not what it looks like!"

Logan stared at him. Then he sighed.

"It could be worse," he muttered, before turning and walking off.

Peter stood in the doorway, speechless.

Laura leaned against the wall behind him, smirking. "Aw. He’s accepting you."

Peter groaned. "This is my life now, isn’t it?"

Laura shrugged. "Yup."

---

The Big Reveal (Almost)

Peter and Laura swung through the city a few days later, still dealing with the aftermath.

“Y’know,” Peter said mid-swing, “we could just tell them we’re married. Might calm things down.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Or it might make it worse.”

Peter thought about that. “…Yeah. Fair point.”

They landed on a rooftop, watching the city below.

Laura smirked. "Admit it. You kinda like the attention."

Peter groaned, but a smile tugged at his lips. "I like you more."

Laura blinked, surprised for half a second — then her smirk softened.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment.

Peter sighed. “You think the internet will ever stop shipping us?”

Laura snorted. “Not a chance.”

Peter laughed despite himself, tugging his mask back on.

“Guess we’d better give them a show, then.”

Laura smirked, pulling her mask down. "Try to keep up, Parker."

Peter grinned. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

They dove off the roof together — the internet’s favorite "couple" disappearing into the skyline.

Neither of them corrected it.

Not yet.
---

A/N: Laura never being clear about her Superhero name came to bite her. Peter mostly chilling. The Avengers make their second appearance.

Should i have more Spider-Man and Wolverine/Talon Superhero scenes?

Crap i forgot about Matt. Haven't used him over 20 chapters.

Could you give me ideas?

Chapter 60: Poker Night at Peter’s Apartment

Chapter Text

Chapter 60 Title: Poker Night at Peter’s Apartment

Peter didn’t know how it happened.

One second, he was cooking snacks in the kitchen, and the next, he turned around to find Kaine, Ben, Laura, and Jubilee sitting around the dining table with a deck of cards and a mountain of assorted snacks in the middle.

“Poker night?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Spite night,” Jubilee corrected without missing a beat, throwing a handful of M&Ms into her mouth. “Someone still thinks they can prank me and not face the consequences.”

Kaine just stared at her, completely unreadable. “You’re still sore about the Jello?”

Laura, seated next to him with arms crossed and a blank expression, chimed in without looking up. “I thought it was artistic.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “I’m just here for free chips and chaos.”

Peter blinked. “Right. Cool. Have fun, I guess?”

---

Half an Hour Later

The game was in full swing.

Jubilee was sweating bullets. She squinted at her cards, then at Kaine. He hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes. His face was stone. Zero tells.

Laura? Even worse. Her eyes scanned the cards like a cold-blooded assassin. Peter suspected she could count cards just by glancing once.

Ben was grinning. “Okay, I’m pretty sure I’ve got this in the bag.”

“You said that last round,” Jubilee muttered.

“And I did have it. Laura just… apparently had more of it.”

Laura didn’t say a word. She slid two chips forward. The stare she gave Jubilee could curdle milk.

“I fold,” Jubilee said immediately. “I don’t trust that face.”

Kaine’s lip twitched, the tiniest trace of a smirk.

Peter leaned on the counter with a cup of coffee. “You guys are terrifying.”

“Be glad we’re not betting for blood,” Kaine said casually.

Ben shot Peter a look. “Seriously, who raised these two?”

“Technically, Logan,” Peter said.

“Ah. That makes sense.”

---

Final Round

The pot was ridiculous. Ben was out. Jubilee was all in. Laura and Kaine stared at each other across the table like it was a battlefield.

Kaine raised.

Laura matched.

Jubilee sat back, whispering, “I feel like I’m watching two apex predators silently negotiate territory.”

They laid down their cards.

Full house. Both of them.

“Split pot,” Laura said.

Kaine blinked once. “Agreed.”

Jubilee threw her hands in the air. “HOW?!”

Peter walked by with a refill of coffee. “Honestly, I don’t know why you thought you’d win. I’ve been married to her for a while now. She still scares me when we play Uno.”

Ben nodded sagely. “She once called my bluff before I even picked up my cards.”

Jubilee glared. “You’re all insane.”

Laura cracked the tiniest, smug smirk.

---

Poker Night: Chaos Edition (a.k.a. Gabby Arrives)

Just as the tension from the last round began to settle, the front door flew open with the force of a tiny hurricane.

“YO! Poker Night? Why wasn’t I invited?!”

Gabby Kinney stormed into Peter and Laura’s apartment like she owned the place, dragging a foldable chair under one arm and a bag of sour candy under the other. She wore a determined grin that usually meant nothing good.

Peter looked up from the couch. “Gabby, hi. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, already setting up her seat between Kaine and Ben, “but then Jubilee posted on her story, and I sensed mischief. And snacks.”

Ben blinked. “Wait, you follow Jubilee’s—?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Kaine scowled. “This table’s full.”

Gabby grinned at him. “So is your ego, but I’m here anyway.”

Laura leaned into Peter. “She’s about to ruin everything, isn’t she?”

Peter whispered back, “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

---

Two Rounds Later

Total chaos.

Gabby was playing like a complete wild card. She made the dumbest bets, bluffed with the worst hands, and somehow kept winning.

“I call,” she said confidently, slamming her hand down with a goofy smile. “A pair of threes!”

Ben groaned. “I had four queens. FOUR!”

“You blinked weird,” Gabby replied. “Classic tell.”

“That's not a real thing!”

“I mean, clearly it is. I’m winning.”

Jubilee was loving this. “I’ve never seen Ben get demolished this hard without being cloned first.”

Laura rubbed her temples. “She’s not even playing properly.”

“I am playing properly,” Gabby said, popping candy into her mouth. “I’m just better at chaos than all of you.”

Peter leaned in from the side, sipping coffee again. “It’s like watching Deadpool cheat at Scrabble.”

---

Later That Night

The final hand was between Gabby and Kaine. Everyone else had folded just to watch the madness unfold.

“You’re bluffing,” Kaine said coolly.

Gabby smirked. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t respond—just laid her cards down dramatically.

Kaine flipped his.

They both had a straight.

Peter whistled. “Draw?”

Gabby shook her head. “He had the lower straight.”

Kaine’s eye twitched. Just a little. “I... don’t know how you did that.”

Gabby beamed. “I was taught by the best.”

“Laura?” Ben asked.

“Nope,” she said, pointing to Peter. “Uncle Pete’s the king of weird luck.”

Peter choked on his coffee.

Laura narrowed her eyes at her husband. “You’ve been teaching Gabby your nonsense?”

Peter smiled innocently. “Team bonding?”

"Actually, it was Ben!"

"Peter, you BASTARD!"

Laura shook her head and smirked. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

Ben: “Again?!”

Peter: “WORTH IT.”

---

Next time: Gabby brings Deadpool to poker night. Peter considers moving.

---

A/N: Peter really screwing over his brother. And now we close chapter 60 with a poker night. Jubilee will be now a more regular character and yes she is still sore about the jello.

Chapter 61: “Father Figures”

Chapter Text

Chapter 61 Title: “Father Figures”

Scene: A Quiet Rooftop, A Serious Conversation, and One Shared Thread: Anya

---

It was a crisp late afternoon in Queens. The city below carried on as always—cars honking, people shouting, birds making a mess of freshly washed windows—but up on the rooftop, things were quieter.

Peter had been asked to meet here.

By Gilberto Corazon—Anya’s father.

It was rare to be summoned by a protective dad these days, especially when he was so often the one wearing that hat for other people. But Gilberto had been clear:

“Not urgent. But I think we should talk. Just us.”

Peter arrived in his usual clothes—hoodie, jeans, a bit of city dust still on him. Gilberto stood waiting in a navy windbreaker, holding two coffee cups.

“Black,” he said, offering one over. “Figured that’s still how you take it.”

Peter blinked, surprised. “You remembered?”

Gilberto smirked. “It’s the same way I take mine.”

They sat on a ledge, side by side. For a few minutes, they just drank in silence.

Finally, Gilberto broke it.

“She talks about you a lot, y’know. Anya.”

Peter looked down into his coffee. “She’s... one of the best.”

“She is.” A pause. “And you’ve been there for her in ways I couldn’t. Especially after—”

His voice caught for half a second.

“After everything changed.”

Peter nodded. “You did more than most parents ever could. She’s got your strength. Your stubbornness.”

Gilberto chuckled. “God help you if she gets my temper too.”

“She already has. I’ve been on the receiving end.”

More silence. Comfortable now.

Then Gilberto asked, more carefully, “You ever think about having kids?”

Peter blinked. “Whoa. Straight to the deep end, huh?”

“I ask because… I think you’d be good at it,” Gilberto said, then quickly added, “And not because I want you to rush. But because you already are something like a father to her. Even if she doesn’t say it out loud.”

Peter went quiet. Let that settle.

Then he said softly, “I think about it a lot lately. Scares the hell out of me, if I’m honest.”

Gilberto nodded. “It should. It means you care.”

Peter looked out at the skyline. “I don’t want to mess anyone up. I’ve lost too much. And I’ve done stupid things thinking it would protect people.”

“Sure,” Gilberto said. “But you also showed up. Every time. That matters more than perfection.”

Peter smiled a little, tired but real. “Thanks.”

“And Peter?” Gilberto looked over, steady and kind. “Whatever happens, you’ve got family here. Whether it’s Anya or me, or the chaos crew you’ve collected. You’re not doing this alone.”

Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“...I needed to hear that.”

“I figured you did.”

They sat in silence a while longer, watching the sun slip behind the buildings.

Before Peter left, Gilberto clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’ve been good for her. She’s good for you, too. Don’t let her pretend she’s not.”

Peter grinned. “I’d never win that argument anyway.”

---

A/N: I never precised the character ages? Have i?

It will do a chapter on that.

I mostly made it ambiguous. Outside of peter and laura who are 25(Peter’s older). With ben and Kaine being clones their ages are obviously but not their birthday. So both are technically 24.

Chapter 62: Characters ages by chapter 61

Chapter Text

Here's a formatted version of the character ages by Chapter 61, complete with context notes:

---

Web & Claw

Character Ages (as of Chapter 61)

---

Core Couple

Peter Parker – 25 years old

Birthday in Chapter 10

Cloned at age 18 (see Ben & Kaine for reference)

Laura Kinney (aka Wolverine/Talon) – 25 years old

Birthday in Chapter 50

---

Close Friends & Extended Cast

Matt Murdock (Daredevil) – 31 years old

Stoic lawyer. Rooftop chess champ. Peter’s serious talk friend.

Mary Jane Watson – 25 years old

OG redhead. The emotional compass when Peter forgets his own.

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat) – 26.6 years old

Chaos incarnate. Fashionable menace. Too smooth for her own good.

Jubilee – 26 years old

Mutant sparkplug. Weird situationship with Kaine ~~(yes, that Kaine).~~ Brings energy and snacks.

---

Young Heroes & Protégés

Anya Corazon (Araña / Spider-Girl) – 18 years old

Peter’s unofficial daughter protégé. Denies it. No one believes her.

Miles Morales (Spider-Man) – 15 years old

Young, earnest, a little too trusting of Anya’s plans.

Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) – 16.5 years old

Anarchy with a guitar. Technically grounded in three universes.

Pavitr Prabhakar (Spider-Man India) – 15.7 years old

Polite chaos. Can dodge questions and interdimensional rifts.

---

Clones, Complications & Codenames

Kaine Parker (Scarlet Spider) – 24 years old

Technically 25, but it’s not his birthday yet

Chronologically 7 years old (cloned from Peter at 18)

Grumpy uncle energy. ~~Married to Jubilee.~~ Secret softie (don’t tell him).

Ben Reilly (Scarlet Spider II) – 24 years old

Also technically 25, but same birthday clause

Chronologically 7 years old

Tired. Just wants to sleep. Somehow still emotionally available.

---

The Mentors & Elders

Logan (Wolverine Sr.) – ???

Unknown exact age

Old. Violent. Somehow both scary and deeply sentimental. Possibly fought in every war.

Aunt May – Over 50

The moral anchor of the multiverse. Quietly terrifying when disappointed.

---

The Other Kinney

Daken (Akihiro) – 28 years old

Laura’s half-brother. Bi disaster. Probably makes every room 10% more complicated.

Gabby/Gabrielle (Honey badger)- 14 years old

Chaos gem. Need i say more?

Chapter 63: Title: “Board Games and Broken Rules”

Chapter Text

Chaprer 63 Title: “Board Games and Broken Rules”
Featuring: Peter Parker, Ben Reilly, Kaine, and Gabby Kinney

Location: Peter and Laura’s Living Room

---

Peter slapped the top of the cardboard box with a grin.
“Alright, game night! Classic bonding time.”

Kaine looked at the pile of boxes like they were alien tech. “This is stupid.”

Ben, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulled out Catan and Uno. “You say that now, but by the end of the night, you’ll either be a changed man… or we’ll all be in danger.”

“I vote for danger,” Gabby said, already rifling through the Uno deck with devilish glee.

Peter sat across from her. “Kaine, come on. You’re already here. This is what people do to unwind. You don’t even need to stab anyone.”

“That’s what makes it weird,” Kaine muttered, sitting down anyway like a disgruntled lion being forced to attend a tea party.

Ben held up the instructions. “Okay, Uno first. Easy rules. Match the color or the number—”

“Or lie,” Gabby said immediately.

Peter blinked. “No, no lying! That’s not part of the—”

Gabby shrugged. “House rules.”

Kaine smirked. “I like her.”

Ben sighed. “Okay, just don’t let her cheat too much—hey! You already drew six cards!”

“I’m planning ahead,” Gabby said.

Peter leaned over to Kaine. “This is part of the experience. The chaos. The betrayal. The fact that you’ll question your friendships by the third round.”

“I already do that daily.”

Peter grinned. “You’re gonna love Monopoly.”

---

Round 1: Uno

Kaine: “Red.”

Gabby: “Draw four.”

Peter: “I just had a turn!”

Ben: “Why do I have 16 cards!?”

Gabby: “Because life is pain, Benjamin.”

Kaine: “She’s growing on me.”

---

Round 2: Monopoly

Ben: “Okay, everyone starts with $1500—Kaine, you don’t just take the whole bank.”

Gabby: “You’re playing as the dog, right?”

Peter: “Yeah, like I always do.”

Gabby: “Cool. I’m buying the dog’s house. You live on the street now.”

Peter: “Why are you like this?”

Kaine: “Can I buy jail and just live there?”

Ben: “Technically no, but emotionally? Yes.”

---

Post-Game, 11:47 PM

Peter, exhausted and clinging to his half-mortgaged properties, leaned back on the couch. “Okay. That was brutal.”

Ben was counting fake money like it mattered. “I won. Technically. Emotionally, I lost everything.”

Gabby was building card towers with the Uno deck. “That was fun. We should do this again.”

Kaine, surprisingly still at the table, grunted. “...Wasn’t the worst thing I’ve done.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Is that... approval?”

Kaine smirked, just barely. “Don’t make it weird.”

Gabby grinned. “Next time, we teach you Dungeons & Dragons.”

Peter froze. “Okay, let’s not kill Kaine.”

Ben: “No promises.”

---

Title: “Kaine the Chaotic Paladin”
Part 2 of Game Night Gone Wrong
Featuring: Peter Parker, Ben Reilly, Kaine, and Gabby Kinney (a very enthusiastic DM)

---

Scene: Peter’s apartment, living room now converted into a chaotic D&D war zone.

Gabby had already built a tiny cardboard dungeon. She wore a mismatched cloak and held a plastic staff like a true Dungeon Master.

Peter whispered to Ben, “Why does she have fog effects?”

Ben pointed at the dry ice bubbling in a cooler next to her. “Don’t ask.”

Gabby banged her staff against the floor. “Welcome, brave adventurers. Tonight, you enter the lair of the Necro-Badger. Choose your classes wisely… for you may not return.”

Peter: “Okay, so I’m playing a bard. Naturally. Charisma and awkwardness, all in one.”

Ben: “Rogue. I steal things and emotionally distance myself.”

Gabby: “Accurate.”

Peter: “Kaine, you good?”

Kaine had been silently reading the Player’s Handbook for twenty minutes. Finally, he looked up.

“…I’ll be a paladin.”

Gabby blinked. “Really?”

Kaine: “Yes. I want vengeance.”

Peter: “That… actually checks out.”

Ben: “What’s your character name?”

Kaine (without hesitation): “Judgment.”

Gabby nodded slowly. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

---

Two Hours Later

Gabby: “You enter the crypt. Skeletons rise from the floor—”

Kaine: “I smite them.”

Peter: “You haven’t rolled initiative yet!”

Kaine: “Smite.”

Gabby: “Okay, okay—roll for attack.”

Kaine rolls a natural 20.

Peter: “That’s the third one in a row! Are you cheating?”

Kaine: “Justice doesn’t cheat.”

Ben: “That’s something a cheater says.”

Gabby: “The skeletons are vaporized. You hear the weeping of their undead king.”

Kaine: “I challenge him to honorable combat. And if he refuses…”

Peter: “...You smite?”

Kaine: “No. I judge.”

---

An Hour After That

Ben’s rogue had accidentally stolen a cursed crown and summoned a death god. Peter’s bard was trying to seduce a giant rat for diplomacy. Kaine was standing on top of a fake mountain monologuing.

Gabby: “Kaine, your turn.”

Kaine (serious): “I call upon the divine light of vengeance. This realm shall no longer suffer corruption.”

Ben: “Bro, it’s just a sewer.”

Peter: “Let him have his moment.”

Gabby: “Okay… roll for divine judgment.”

Kaine rolls ANOTHER natural 20.

Gabby, in awe: “…You incinerate the death god. His ashes whisper your name.”

Kaine leaned back, arms crossed. “This game is acceptable.”

---

Later

Gabby: “You were incredible.”

Kaine: “I know.”

Ben: “I feel like I need therapy.”

Peter: “I need a nap.”

Gabby: “Same time next week?”

Kaine: “Next time… I’m going sorcerer.”

Peter: “Oh no.”

Kaine: "Oh yes''

---

A/N: Kaine to me feels like that one dad that says he won't like the cat but will end up loving the little goober. Anyways talking about clones, the jackal (aka Miles Waren, poor good Spider-Man miles sharing a name with that weirdo) always to me felt like a freaking groomer who puts his feelings on a person who had less experience with the world.

Anyways rant over i just disliked the guy.

Chapter 64: “When Aunt May Met the Wolverine” (Early Relationship)

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 64 Title: “When Aunt May Met the Wolverine” (Early Relationship)

Starring: May Parker, Logan (aka Wolverine), Peter, Laura(also Wolverine?), (and Gabby watching from the sidelines with popcorn).

---

Peter had begged Logan to be nice.
Laura had warned Peter not to over-explain.
Gabby had bet five bucks Logan would grunt more than speak.
And May?

May had brought cookies.

Which made Logan immediately suspicious.

---

Peter’s Apartment – Midafternoon

Peter opened the door nervously. “Aunt May, Logan. Logan, Aunt May.”

Logan gave a respectful nod. “Ma’am.”

May looked up at the gruff, scowling Canadian in flannel and boots. She smiled kindly.

“My, you’re shorter than I expected.”

Laura and Gabby both choked on their drinks from the kitchen.

Logan blinked once. “That’s a new one.”

May handed him a tin of oatmeal raisin cookies. “I figured a man with that much hair and growling must burn a lot of calories. You need fuel.”

Logan stared at the tin like it was a grenade.

Peter tried to ease the tension. “He’s, uh… more of a meat and whiskey guy, Aunt May.”

May patted Peter’s arm. “So is half of Queens. Doesn’t mean they don’t need fiber.”

Logan’s nose twitched. “These have cinnamon?”

“Yes. Not too much. And I used brown sugar.”

“…Huh.”

He took one. Ate it. Slowly.

And said nothing.

May sat down in Peter’s armchair like she owned the apartment. “So. You’re Laura’s…?”

Logan scratched the back of his neck. “Mentor. Sort of. Technically... her father. Genetically.”

Gabby popped into the room. “Emotionally unavailable dad-slash-fuzzy attack dog.”

“Not helping,” Logan muttered.

May nodded. “Ah. So you’re the reason she stabs first and talks later.”

Laura leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “He also taught me how to gut someone in the dark.”

May raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. Peter still can’t cook pasta without burning it.”

Peter: “Hey! I can still cook better that Laura!”

---

Twenty Minutes Later

May and Logan were—talking.

Like, talking talking.

About war stories.

May: “During the blackout of ’77, I had to keep four kids calm with just a flashlight and a half-burnt grilled cheese.”

Logan: “I once tracked a Wendigo through five miles of Canadian tundra with a shattered femur.”

May: “I still think I had the worse night.”

Logan nodded. “You probably did.”

Peter watched them with wide eyes. “They’re getting along?”

Gabby elbowed him. “Of course. They’re both unstoppable old-school forces of nature. You brought together a warm baked good and a living chainsaw. Perfect chemistry.”

Laura sipped her tea. “If she knits him a sweater, I’m leaving.”

---

Before Logan Left

May packed a small box of cookies for him “in case you run into anything that needs a reminder that kindness still exists.”

Logan looked genuinely confused.

And weirdly… touched.

“Thanks,” he muttered, pocketing them like ammo.

“You’re welcome,” May said. “Take care of my girl.”

“I always do.”

And then he was gone, as silently as he’d arrived.

May turned to Laura.

“You keep good company.”

Laura paused.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

---

A/N: Well after multiple demands Logan met Aunt May. So that’s it. No overtly drama just 2 old heads getting along.

Would you people like a follow up with Gabby dragging Logan to one of her school “career days”? (Yes Gabby goes to school)

Im taking a 2 day break once more i don't want to face burn out

I'll just post one more chapter.

Name: Spider-Man vs Kimura.

Peace.

Chapter 65: Peter Parker vs. Kimura

Chapter Text

Chapter 65 Title: Peter Parker vs. Kimura

Kimura was a nightmare.

Laura had warned him. She told him stories of the woman who haunted her childhood—the one she could never hurt, no matter how hard she fought.

Peter had dealt with his fair share of unstoppable enemies before, but Kimura was different. She wasn’t just tough—she was cruel, sadistic, and had an unbreakable skin that made even Wolverine’s claws useless against her.

But Peter? Peter wasn’t Wolverine.

And that was Kimura’s first mistake.

---

The fight started fast. It always did with people like her—cocky, sure of their superiority. Kimura came at him like a tank, swinging a punch that could have caved in concrete.

Peter dodged. Barely. The shockwave from her missed punch sent cracks through the ground.

"I was hoping to run into you, Spider-Man," she sneered, smirking. "You and your little wife have been real thorns in my side."

Peter didn’t respond. He was already moving, flipping over her, webbing her feet to the ground.

Kimura ripped through it instantly.

"Seriously?" he muttered. "One roll of web fluid wasted. Great."

She lunged again. This time, Peter didn’t dodge.

He redirected.

Using her momentum, he grabbed her arm mid-swing and flipped her over his shoulder, sending her crashing into the pavement. Kimura snarled but was back on her feet in seconds.

"Cute trick."

"Thanks," Peter shot back. "I got more."

---

Kimura was strong. Tougher than Rhino, meaner than Kraven. But she had weaknesses.

For one, she wasn’t used to people who could predict her.

Peter’s Spider-Sense was going haywire, warning him of every movement she made before she made it. And that was the thing—she was predictable. She fought like a brute, relying on her invulnerability to tank hits.

Laura fought to survive. Kimura fought because she liked hurting people.

So Peter used that against her.

---

She swung. Peter ducked.

She kicked. Peter leaped.

Kimura couldn’t land a single hit.

"What’s the matter, Kimmy?" he taunted, dodging another punch. "Not used to fighting someone who can see your attacks coming?"

Kimura growled. She tried grabbing him, but Peter shot a web—not at her.

At a lamppost behind her.

Yanking himself forward, he used her own momentum against her, driving both feet into her back and sending her crashing through a car windshield.

She got up, pissed.

Peter sighed. "Man, that would have put Rhino down for at least a minute. You are annoying."

---

Kimura wasn’t slowing down.

Peter needed an opening.

Then, he remembered something Laura told him once:

"She can’t be hurt. But she still needs to breathe."

Peter grinned.

"Oh, Kimuraaaaa," he sang, webbing onto a nearby wall. "Come get me."

She charged—exactly what he wanted.

At the last second, he webbed her face.

Not a normal webbing—a reinforced, airtight cocoon.

Kimura ripped at it, but Peter kept layering it on, wrapping her up tighter and tighter. She clawed at her face, trying to tear it off—

But she needed to breathe.

She started slowing down.

Peter perched on the wall, watching her struggles weaken.

"Yeah, see, invulnerability’s great and all, but lungs? Kinda important," he mused. "Maybe next time, don’t rely on brute force against someone with a brain."

Kimura collapsed.

Peter shot another web, securing her to the pavement. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Then, he pulled out his phone and called Laura.

"Hey, honey, guess who just took down your childhood trauma?"

Laura was silent for a beat.

Then, "…I’m coming over."

Peter grinned. Kimura was out.

And Spider-Man won.

Peter waited on the rooftop across the street from where Kimura lay webbed to the asphalt like some oversized horror-movie caterpillar, unconscious but still twitching faintly from lack of oxygen. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, not anymore, but from the adrenaline spike that was just beginning to fade.

He wasn’t used to this kind of fight.

He’d faced monsters, geniuses, aliens, gods. But Kimura wasn’t any of those things.

She was worse.

And somehow… he’d still won.

A gust of wind made his tattered costume flap against his body. He’d taken some hard hits—his ribs ached, and he was definitely going to have bruises for days—but nothing broken. Somehow. Thanks, Shang-Chi.

A familiar scent hit him before the sound of soft boots on the rooftop did.

Peter didn’t look up right away. He didn’t have to.

Laura.

She stood beside him silently, arms crossed, eyes locked on Kimura’s unmoving body. For a long time, she didn’t say anything.

Then:
"Is she dead?"

Peter glanced sideways at her. “Nah. She’s just taking a forced nap. I figured you might want to decide what happens to her.”

Laura didn’t respond at first. Her shoulders were tense, and Peter could feel her rage simmering beneath the surface like coiled wires ready to snap.

He didn’t say anything. He just… waited.

Eventually, she asked:
"How?"

He chuckled softly. “She’s strong. Stronger than me, probably. But she still needs to breathe.” He looked back toward the unconscious woman. “I just used what I had. And maybe a little bit of borrowed patience from your old trainer.”

Laura finally looked at him.

Really looked.

Peter’s mask was half torn, and his face was scratched and bruised, but he was smiling. His brown eyes were tired but bright, like he was proud—but not in the way that made him gloat.

More like… relieved.

She stepped forward, rested her hand gently on his arm.

"You beat her."

Peter raised a brow. “Technically, we beat her. I wouldn’t have known how to if you hadn’t told me all those stories.”

She leaned into him slightly. Her voice dropped, just above a whisper.

"I tried to kill her for years."

Peter’s voice softened. “I know.”

"And you just… wrapped her up in a blanket and put her down for a nap."

That got a snort out of him. “I guess that’s what happens when your power is ‘sticky science nerd.’”

Laura’s lips twitched. She didn’t quite smile. But the tension in her shoulders started to ease.

Peter turned to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered at her jaw. “I didn’t want to tell you until it was over. In case I lost. In case I…” he trailed off.(1)

Laura shook her head. “You didn’t. And you never will.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t trip over my own feet next week.”

“You might.” She leaned in closer. “But not today.”

---

An hour later.

Damage Control showed up, called in by Peter under an anonymous tip. S.H.I.E.L.D. had Kimura on their radar anyway, and with Laura’s quiet push behind the scenes (and one quiet but firm warning from Logan), they’d make sure she disappeared for a very long time.

Laura sat beside Peter on the fire escape, both of them watching the agents work.

“You know,” he said, glancing sideways, “I’m glad you weren’t here during the fight.”

“Why?”

“Because she would’ve gone after you. And that would’ve made me stupid.”(2)

Laura blinked. “You would’ve protected me?”

Peter gave her a look. “I’m not saying you need protection. I’m saying I don’t like seeing people hurt you. And I know you don’t like seeing people hurt me either.”

She paused. “You’re right.”

“…Whoa.”

“What?”

“I just got you to admit I was right without an argument.”

She smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

They sat together in silence again.

Then Laura muttered, just barely loud enough for him to hear:

"I never thought I’d see her beaten. I didn’t think it was possible."

Peter nudged her gently. “That’s the thing about people like us, Laura. We spend so long thinking we’re alone with our pain, that no one else can fight those monsters. But sometimes… all we need is someone who fights a little differently.”(3)

Laura leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I hate how smart you are sometimes.”

He grinned. “You say that, but you married me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed.

And for that moment—for just that moment—Kimura wasn’t looming in her memories anymore.

Because Peter had beaten her.

And Laura knew, without a doubt, that no matter what monsters came next—they’d face them together.

---

A/N: Ominous foreshadowing...

Peter helping his wife with trauma and being reckless in way that will never bite him in the butt. (Ominous foreshadowing)

Anyways

Trivia:

(1): Both parties will always care about each other. And peter self loading again, the guy really need a break like i do, it's healthy and lead to less burn outs.

(2): (Ominous foreshadowing), ive really been foreshadowing since the chapter about Peter’s potential.

(3): And that will help peter in the future

---

Do you like the concept of the trivias? If so i will continue it.

See ya after the break!

Peace ✌️.

Chapter 66: “May Parker Meets Chaos (a.k.a. Gabby)” (Early Relationship)

Chapter Text

Chapter 66 Title: “May Parker Meets Chaos (a.k.a. Gabby)” (Early Relationship)
Prequel to “May and Laura: Garden Gloves and Mutant Patience” Chapter 58.

Featuring: May Parker, Gabby Kinney, Peter Parker — and a whole lot of awkward charm

---

Peter had exactly three goals for the afternoon:

1. Make sure Aunt May and Gabby didn’t traumatize each other.

2. Keep the apartment intact.

3. Pray neither Laura nor Logan showed up midway through.

Gabby, naturally, was completely unbothered.

“I’ve met assassins, warlords, aliens, and a guy who called himself Dr. Octopus and had actual metal arms,” she said, chewing a granola bar with her feet on the coffee table. “I can handle one grandma.”

Peter winced. “She’s not just a grandma. She’s Aunt May. She’s like... the final boss of maternal energy. Sweet as sugar cookies, sharp as vibranium.”

Gabby shrugged. “Cool. I’ll be myself.”

Peter panicked.

---

Knock Knock.

Peter opened the door with the smile of a man begging the universe to let him survive this.

“May! Hi!” he said.

May smiled sweetly. “Peter.” Then her eyes fell on Gabby, lounging upside down on the couch like a bat.

“You must be Gabby.”

Gabby flipped over, landing on her feet without missing a beat. “You must be the one who made Peter feel guilty about forgetting birthdays.”

May’s smile didn’t falter. “Guilty and polite.”

Gabby grinned. “I respect that.”

Peter was sweating.

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

To his absolute horror, they were getting along.

May had her tea. Gabby had juice in a mug that said #1 Chaos Gremlin (a gift from Laura), and the two were deep in conversation.

“So Laura told me you’re the one who introduced her to sci-fi novels,” May said.

Gabby nodded. “Yep. She liked them way more than I expected. I think Peter’s been sneaking in Animorphs though.”(1)

Peter sipped his tea way too fast. “No comment.”

“Laura also said you once tricked Kaine into playing dress-up for a school project.”

Gabby grinned. “He was the villain. I told him it was typecasting.”

May chuckled. “You’d have gotten along great with Peter when he was little. He once dressed up as a spider and got stuck in a laundry basket for three hours.”

Peter sputtered. “Aunt May!”

Gabby immediately turned to him, eyes glowing with evil delight. “You never told me that.”

“Because I was six!”

Gabby reached for her phone. “Group chat is gonna love this.”

May smiled, completely calm. “You’ve got good instincts, Gabby. And a strong sense of self. Just… make sure you balance the chaos with kindness.”

Gabby paused.

“…Was that a threat wrapped in a compliment?”

“Of course not, dear,” May said, sipping her tea.

Peter leaned toward Gabby and whispered, “It was definitely a threat wrapped in a compliment.”(2)

---

Later That Night

Laura walked in and found Gabby on the couch, smiling way too innocently.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Gabby said. “Just spent the afternoon with your future great-aunt-in-law.”

Laura raised a brow. “Did she like you?”

Gabby grinned. “She said I was ‘a well-balanced agent of mischief and promise.’”

“…That’s terrifyingly high praise.”

“Also,” Gabby added, “she said I remind her of you.”(3)

Laura blinked.

Then sighed.

Then mumbled, “Great. She’s going to start grooming you for cookies and domination.”

Gabby beamed. “Already has.”

---
A/N: Im back~

Trivia

(1) Peter been a fan of the Animorphs since he was young. He read every 54 book and the chronicles. He hated the tv show adaptation. His favorite character was marco and cassie, because he related to both of them.

(2) Based her character in this chapter off my own aunt.

(3) Do i need to explain this?

Chapter 67: "The Great Costume Swap Disaster"

Chapter Text

Chapter 67 Title: "The Great Costume Swap Disaster"

Follow up to "Fancy Date Night (ft. Hello Kitty Parker)" chapter 52

---

Peter Parker wasn’t sure how he got here.

Scratch that — he knew exactly how he got here.

It started with a stupid bet.

“Bet you can’t dodge me for five minutes without using webs,” Laura had said during sparring.

Peter, being Peter, grinned and said, “You’re on.”

Five minutes, two bruised ribs, and one very smug wife later, Peter lost.

And Laura, being Laura, picked the worst punishment possible.

---

“You’re joking,” Peter said, staring at her in horror.

Laura held up his spare Spider-Man suit in one hand and her old black-and-yellow X-23 suit in the other.

“Nope,” she said flatly. “We’re swapping.”

Peter blinked. “You want me to wear your suit?”

Laura shrugged. “Loser wears the winner’s costume for the day. That was the deal.”

Peter stared at the skin-tight, tactical bodysuit — complete with claw slits and leather accents. “It doesn’t even have sleeves!”

Laura smirked. “Guess you’ll have to show off those noodle arms.”

Peter sputtered. “They’re not noodle arms!”

Laura tossed him the suit. “Get dressed, Parker.”

---

The Suit-Up (ft. Regret)

Peter stared at himself in the mirror.

It was… bad.

Laura’s suit wasn’t made for someone his size — or gender. The leather felt way too tight around his chest and way too loose in the hips. He couldn’t zip it all the way up, and his arms were awkwardly sticking out of the sleeveless top.

“Why does this feel like it’s personally attacking me?” Peter muttered.

“Because it is,” Laura said, walking in.

Peter turned — and immediately forgot how words worked.

Laura was wearing his Spider-Man suit.

And she looked good.

The suit hugged her figure perfectly, the red and blue somehow making her emerald eyes pop even more. The mask dangled from her hand as she gave him an amused once-over.

“Wow,” she deadpanned, “you look terrible.”

Peter groaned, tugging at the suit. “It’s eating me alive.”

Laura smirked. “Good.”

Peter sighed. “You love me, right?”

Laura tilted her head, pretending to think about it.

“…Unfortunately.”

---

Patrolling in Hell (aka the City is Laughing at Him)

“You couldn’t have picked something else?” Peter whined as they swung through the city.

Laura, upside down mid-swing, grinned. “Nope.”

Peter sighed dramatically, adjusting the leather wedgie the suit was definitely giving him.

“Hey, Spider-Man!” someone yelled from a rooftop below.

Peter turned, hopeful. Maybe a citizen would offer encouragement? Support?

“Nice outfit!”

Peter groaned. “I hate this city.”

Laura laughed. Actually laughed.

“Worth it,” she muttered.

---

The Avengers Don’t Let This Go

Peter’s luck got worse.

They landed on an Avengers rooftop — right as Tony, Steve, and Clint were coming out.

Tony stared.

Steve blinked.

Clint took one look at Peter and wheezed, doubling over.

“Kid… what the hell are you wearing?” Tony asked, voice dripping with amusement.

Peter sighed. “I lost a bet.”

Laura landed beside him, flipping his mask in her hand. “He looks great, doesn’t he?”

Clint couldn’t breathe. “You look like a rejected X-Men sidekick!”

Peter groaned. “Can I fall off this roof now?”

Tony smirked. “Not yet. I need pictures.”

---

The Final Straw

The last straw came when Deadpool showed up.

“Spidey!” Wade yelled, landing on the rooftop with a roll. “Hey, man — oh my God, what are you wearing?!”

Peter hung his head. “I lost a bet.”

Deadpool stared at him, then at Laura in Peter’s suit. His mask tilted in thought.

“…You two into cosplay now? Should I come back with my Sailor Moon outfit?”

Peter made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob.

Laura smirked. “Only if you bring the wig.”

Wade gasped dramatically. “Laura, you’re my new favorite person.”

---

The Aftermath (and Revenge)

By the time they got home, Peter was done.

He peeled the suit off like it was trying to kill him and collapsed onto the couch, groaning.

“Never again,” he muttered into the cushions.

Laura leaned over him, smirking. “You made it the whole day. I’m impressed.”

Peter grumbled something unintelligible.

“…You want revenge, don’t you?” Laura asked, amused.

Peter lifted his head slowly, his face breaking into a mischievous grin.

“Oh, absolutely.”

---

Two Days Later:

Laura walked into their bedroom — and stopped dead.

Laid out neatly on the bed was a bright pink Hello Kitty onesie, complete with hood and ears.

A note was pinned to it, scrawled in Peter’s handwriting:

“Loser wears the winner’s costume for the day. That was the deal. - Love, Peter”

Laura stared at the onesie for a long moment.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you’re dead, Parker.”

From the living room, Peter cackled.

Yeah.

Totally worth it.

---

Peter won.

Laura did not take it well.

---

The door to the Parker-Kinney apartment creaked open around 8:00 a.m., and Leah—fresh out of bed, hair sticking up in all directions—blinked sleepily into the hallway.

And stopped.

Dead.

Because standing there, arms crossed, utterly motionless, was Laura Kinney.

Wolverine.

The most dangerous person Leah had ever met.

Wearing a bright pink Hello Kitty onesie with fuzzy ears on the hood and slippers shaped like paws.

Leah’s mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Laura said nothing.

Peter leaned casually in the doorway of the kitchen, sipping coffee like this was just another Tuesday. He grinned wide.

“Morning, sweetheart. Slept well?”

Leah blinked once. Twice. Then pointed, eyes wide.

“You made her wear that?!”

Peter nodded solemnly. “Rules are rules.”

Laura, deadpan: “I regret everything.”

Gabby entered the room just in time to see it—and immediately screamed in laughter.

“I AM NEVER GOING TO LET THIS GO—”

Laura extended a single claw with a snikt.

Gabby ducked behind Leah. “SHE’S INNOCENT, YOU CAN’T SLASH THROUGH A CHILD.”

Laura’s eye twitched.

---

Later that day, while Peter patrolled in Laura’s Wolverine suit (claws included, courtesy of detachable props Gabby made), he made sure to wave at everyone they passed.

“Lookin’ sharp, Webberine!” Daredevil called from a rooftop.

Anya stared for a full thirty seconds before turning around and texting every spider-person in the group chat.

Laura? Laura didn’t leave the house.

But she did allow Leah to take one (1) photo.

Which Leah then printed and kept in her backpack.

Forever.

---

A/N: Yes Leah existance will be explained. No it's not the future. I'll have a few flashback explaining.

Same Leah from: Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man Annual #1 (Story 2)

A.k.a the Little Match Girl but with Spider-Man?

She lived because i wanted her to live.

I'll differentiate the chapters where she isn't by saying (Pre-Leah)

Chapter 68: “You Talked to My Dad?!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 68 Title: “You Talked to My Dad?!”
Scene: One Unbothered Mentor, One Embarrassed Spider-Girl, and Too Many Emotions for One Rooftop

---

Scene: Same Rooftop – The Next Day

Anya swung up over the ledge with the kind of practiced grace that came from years of web-slinging and sneak-attacks on pizza deliveries. Her hood was down, hair windblown, cheeks red—not from the cold, but from something else.

Peter was already sitting there, sipping coffee again. He didn’t even flinch when she landed.

“You talked to my dad?” she blurted, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips like a furious ferret in sneakers.

Peter raised a brow. “You knew?”

“He told me. With that tone. The ‘I had a meaningful talk with someone who might as well be your weird older brother’ tone.”

Peter bit back a laugh. “You forgot ‘handsome mentor with a charming smile.’”

Anya glared. “Don’t.”

Peter grinned, utterly calm. “Relax. He didn’t interrogate me or anything.”

“You’re Spider-Man. He respects you. That makes it worse!” she said, spinning in place. “Now he’s gonna expect me to talk to you about feelings.”

Peter sipped his coffee. “He said you got your stubbornness from him.”

“Rude,” she muttered.

“Accurate,” Peter added.

Anya crossed her arms. “He told me you talked about... kids.”

Peter blinked. “He told you that?”

“Yeah. In that cryptic dad way where he says ‘you’re growing up so fast’ and then tries to hug you without actually hugging you.”

Peter snorted. “So, uh... how do you feel about all this?”

Anya looked at him. Then away. Then back again.

“I feel like... I’m not ready for any of that. But I’m also glad you’re the kind of person who is thinking about it.”
She kicked at the gravel. “You’ll be a good dad, y’know. If you go through with it. You already kinda are.”

Peter blinked. “Did you just call me dad?”

Anya’s eyes widened. “NO! I mean—god. No. No-no-no.”

Peter, very calm: “You did.”

Anya: “I’m leaving. This conversation is over.”

Peter: “You said it. It’s canon now.”

Anya vanished over the side of the building mid-flail. “GOODBYE, DAD-HEAD.”

Peter smiled softly to himself, watching her swing off into the city.

She didn’t say it directly. She never would.

But he felt it.

---

A/N; Want a follow-up where Anya vents to Gabby about how annoyingly emotional Peter makes her feel, and Gabby just sips her soda and goes, “Yeah, welcome to the family”?

Chapter 69: Ben Reilly Does Not Want to Be Involved (But Totally Gets Involved Anyway)”

Chapter Text

Chapter 69 Title: “Ben Reilly Does Not Want to Be Involved (But Totally Gets Involved Anyway)”

Follow-up to ''couch wars' chapter 49.

Ben Reilly had a rule.
No. Domestic. Drama.
Not his, not Kaine’s, and especially not Peter’s.

Unfortunately, Peter never got the memo.

---

He was halfway through a decent night — Chinese takeout, bad sci-fi reruns, and no clone existential dread in sight — when his phone buzzed.

Peter: “Hey. Just a heads-up: If you hear a crash from our side of the building, it’s fine. Probably. Maybe.”
Peter: “Also if Gabby shows up with a clipboard, run.”

Ben blinked. Then another message popped up:

Gabby: “BEN. THERAPY. NOW.”
Attached: A selfie of Peter in antennae, Laura in a crown, and Gabby grinning like the chaos gremlin she was.
Ben stared.
Ben considered moving.
Ben sighed.

---

Five minutes later, he was at Peter and Laura’s door.

He peeked inside.

Peter was mid-sentence: “—so technically, she’s not wrong about the welding, but—”

Laura cut in, arms crossed. “You agreed to the storage unit plan.”

“I thought that meant we’d rent one, not build one into the foundation!”

Gabby turned and spotted Ben frozen in the doorway. Her face lit up. “BEN! You’re just in time for the Trust Exercise!”

Ben stepped back. “Nope.”

“Come on!” Gabby grabbed his sleeve before he could flee. “Peter’s about to carry Laura across the room with his eyes closed!”

“I— what?”

“I’m not doing that,” Laura said flatly.

“You promised to try!”

Ben sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I regret walking in.”

“Too late,” Gabby said, shoving a foam crown into his hands. “You’re part of the healing now.”

Peter looked relieved. “Finally. Someone sane.”

Ben gave him a look. “You were wearing bug antennae fifteen minutes ago.”

“And I looked dignified, thank you very much.”

Laura smirked. “You looked like a sad butterfly.”

“Thank you,” Ben muttered.

Gabby handed him a “Conflict Resolution Bingo” sheet. Half the squares were ridiculous. One said "Someone threatens to web the couch." Another: "Gabby wins."

Ben pointed. “This one just says ‘Clone-related trauma.’”

Gabby grinned. “Free space.”

---

Eventually, things calmed. Peter and Laura had drifted to quiet conversation. Gabby had gone to raid the fridge. Ben sat awkwardly on the arm of the couch, flipping through the bingo card.

Peter nudged him. “You ever get the feeling we’re just… a weird little sitcom?”

Ben raised a brow. “I’m the clone brother. You’re the neurotic dad-hero. Laura’s the terrifying wife with knives. Gabby’s the gremlin child.”

“So yes?”

Ben snorted. “Big yes.”

Peter leaned back with a tired smile. “Thanks for being here.”

Ben nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

“Seriously.”

“No, really. Don’t. I want plausible deniability.”

From the kitchen: “BEN, WANT TO DO A TRUST FALL WITH LAURA?”

Ben stood. “I’m leaving.”

Peter grinned. “You’ll be back.”

Ben paused at the door. “...yeah. Probably. Time will tell.”

Because when your clone-brother and his assassin-wife were a mess — well. Someone had to keep score on the therapy bingo.

And it might as well be him.

---

Jubilee was still laughing when Kaine hung up.

He’d just gotten off a call with Ben, who gave him a rapid-fire update on Peter and Laura’s latest drama, the bug antennae, the “trust exercises” (whatever the hell that meant), and the part where Ben may or may not have been roped into a Bingo-based therapy session.

Kaine, to his credit, took it all in grim silence… until Jubilee leaned over, sipping her bubble tea and grinning way too wide.

“So. Peter and Laura are couple-therapy-ing, Ben’s been emotionally hijacked, and you didn’t invite me?”

Kaine stared. “I don’t do domestic.”

“You’re literally sitting on my couch eating popcorn with extra hot sauce while watching anime dubbed in Italian.”

“That’s different.”

Jubilee raised a brow. “Is it?”

Before Kaine could answer, there was a knock.

It was Laura.

She stepped inside like a whirlwind — half predator, half older sister on high alert. “Where is she?”

Kaine blinked. “...Where’s who?”

Jubilee waved from the couch. “Hey, Wolverine.”

Laura gave her a look. “You okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You sure?”

Jubilee tilted her head. “Are you… being protective of me?”

Laura’s arms crossed. “Peter told me you were with Kaine. I had to make sure he didn’t say something stupid. Or growl. Or— you know. Be Kaine.”

“I’m right here,” Kaine muttered.

Jubilee grinned. “That’s kinda sweet.”

Kaine groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

Jubilee leaned into Laura’s space. “So… protective big sister mode? Or more like ‘that’s my Peter’s idiot clone, don’t mess with him’ energy?”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to find out?”

“Oh, 100%.”

Ben, on the other end of a group text, sent a GIF of someone slowly eating popcorn.

Peter followed with: “Remember when we were worried about Kaine being too stabby?”

Gabby sent: “Now Laura is the stabby one and Kaine is all ‘please don’t make it weird.’ Character development, baby.”

Kaine tossed his phone onto the coffee table. “You people are chaos.”

Jubilee smiled sweetly. “You love it.”

Laura rolled her eyes and turned to go. “Just don’t hurt her. Or flirt in public.”

Jubilee gasped. “Rude! He only flirts in private, apparently.”

“I will disappear,” Kaine growled, already reaching for his coat.

Laura smirked. “Don’t forget, Peter still has the video of you singing Bells of Notre Dame. I can always leak it.”

Kaine’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“That’s a declaration of war.”

Gabby’s text came through a beat later:
“Pls record Kaine and Jubilee’s wedding. I’ll be flower girl. With knives.”

Peter: “...Do we have to get matching suits for the clones again?”

Ben: “I refuse to wear crimson. Again.”

Kaine: "We aren't married."

Jubilee turned to Kaine, smug. “So… next family dinner, we bringing cupcakes or bloodshed?”

Kaine sighed.

“…Both.”

Kaine had agreed. That was his first mistake.

He could’ve said no. Could’ve grunted and vanished in a puff of angst and rooftop smoke like he usually did. But no—he let Jubilee talk him into attending “a chill dinner” at Peter and Laura’s place.

And now here he was.

Standing in Peter Parker’s apartment, surrounded by the most chaotic collection of people this side of Krakoa.

Gabby had answered the door wearing a chef’s apron that read “#1 Problem” and a tiara. “I made dessert!” she announced, holding up something vaguely cake-shaped and disturbingly green.

“I’m not eating that,” Kaine said flatly.

“You will if you love me.”

Kaine stared. “I don’t.”

“You will.”

Jubilee squeezed his hand and whispered, “Just smile. Or do your whole ‘silent intimidating monster’ thing. That’s hot too.”

Kaine made a sound like static and internal screaming.

Peter walked in from the kitchen wearing oven mitts shaped like Spider-Ham. “Kaine! You came! I’m shocked. And slightly worried. But mostly shocked.”

Laura followed behind, wiping her hands on a dish towel and giving Kaine a once-over. “You’re not armed, right?”

“…Define ‘armed.’”

Gabby leaned into Laura. “If he gets weird, I’ll bite him.”

“You always say that,” Peter said. “It’s disturbing how often you follow through.”

The dinner itself was… fine.

There were actual courses. Real, edible food (Peter made the main dish; Laura supervised). Conversation was surprisingly civil. Even Ben called in on a holoscreen halfway through to yell, “Don’t let Gabby trick you into playing Uno!”

Then it all unraveled.

Because Jubilee thought it’d be funny to bring out karaoke.

Gabby backed her up instantly. Laura, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t object. Peter seemed a little too eager.

“You have a mic?” Kaine asked with quiet horror.

“We have two,” Jubilee said proudly.

Peter threw an arm over Kaine’s shoulders. “You remember the lyrics to Total Eclipse of the Heart?”

“No.”

“We’re gonna fix that.”

Karaoke led to dancing. Dancing led to Gabby and Laura doing an impromptu duet of “Bad Reputation.” Which led to Peter pulling Kaine into a very short, very awkward attempt at a group number.

Through it all, Jubilee was laughing.

And Kaine—

Kaine was not smiling.

At least, not until Gabby shouted, “Alright, everyone give it up for Kaine and his girlfriend!”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not his girlfriend.”

Jubilee shrugged. “Not yet. But I’m wearing him down.”

Kaine looked like he wished the floor would swallow him.

Peter, grinning like a devil, raised a toast. “To awkward clone feelings, terrifying little sisters, and Laura not murdering anyone tonight!”

Everyone cheered.

Except Kaine. Who took a sip of his drink and muttered, “I’m never coming back.”

Jubilee slid an arm around his waist.

“You always say that.”

'Unfortunately''

---
A/N
Want to do a follow-up of Jubilee dragging Kaine to a mutant spa day? (That is not yet completed).

Or Peter and Ben trying to teach Kaine how to play board games with Gabby? (That chapter was already made but not posted, im seriously thankful that most of these were planned and aren't long and made in advence, or else the burn out would have been real tiring and worse).

Present A/N: I really went on a full rant there on my old author note, yup definitely thankful for the break.

Mental health in important kids.(I say that at 18, and posting multiple chapters daily, and after a break posted 4 chapters right after...).

Im a bad role model don't count me in... heh.

Chapter 70: "The Journal"(Prelude to the Trigger saga)

Summary:

Chapter Text

Chapter 70 Title: "The Journal" (Prelude to the Trigger saga)

Scene: A Quiet Room, a Heavy Pen, and a Spider-Man Still Trying to Be Brave

---

The apartment was still, the kind of stillness that only came in the late hours when the world slowed down and the weight of thoughts became too loud to ignore.

Peter sat at the desk in their bedroom, lit only by the small lamp tucked in the corner. His handwriting was messier than usual—his fingers trembled, just a little, and every word felt heavier than the last.

The journal in front of him was one of many.

One for May. One for Miles. One for Anya. Maybe even one for Gabby, though she’d probably set it on fire as a coping mechanism.
And this one?

This one was hers.

For Laura.

He hesitated more with this one than any of the others. He picked up the pen. Set it down. Picked it up again.

What the hell do you say to the person you never want to say goodbye to?

But he knew why he had to write it.

He knew, in that part of him that was always too aware of the odds, that the day might come when he wouldn’t be here, and she would be. Still standing. Still breathing. Still carrying.

And he couldn’t leave without saying something. Even if he never wanted her to have to read it.

So he wrote:

---

“Hey.
If you’re reading this, then… well, you know. I’m gone.”

“I didn’t want to write this. Not because I didn’t want to say these things—I do. God, I do. But because writing it made it feel real. Final. Like I’d be leaving you alone.”

“And the truth is? I hated the idea of leaving you. You were never something I thought I deserved, not after everything, but somehow… you let me love you. You let me in. You made space for me in your life. Even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.”

“You were the stillness in my chaos, Laura. The quiet I never knew I needed. The one who never asked me to be more than I was.”

“I know this hurts. I know it’s quiet now in a way that’s wrong. But you don’t have to carry that silence alone.”

“Let Gabby in. Let Miles and Anya tease you. Let Leah open your heart once more. Let Logan piss you off from whatever weird afterlife bar he’s in. Let yourself feel it, even when it’s ugly. Because the fact that you feel this much? That’s proof you lived. That you loved. That we were real.”

“And we were, Laura. We were so real.”

“I hope you still sleep in my hoodie sometimes. I hope the coffee’s still too bitter and the light in the bedroom still flickers when it rains. I hope you’re still terrible at cooking and that you still threaten people with claws when they flirt with Gabby.”

“I hope—more than anything—that you remember I loved you. Every day. Every version of you. The one who glared. The one who laughed once in a blue moon. The one who celebrated my birthday. The one who loves Anya as a daughter. The one who is a good sister. The one who let me hold her hand at 2 a.m. when she didn’t know what to say.”

“And if it ever gets too hard, look in the mirror and remind yourself: you are still here. You are still you. That’s enough.”

> “Keep going, my Wolverine.”

> “—Your idiot. Always.
Peter.”

---

Peter stared at the page when he finished. His eyes burned, his breath caught, and for a second, he thought maybe he shouldn’t have written it. Maybe it was too soon. Too heavy.

But then he saw her jacket hanging over the chair.

He saw her boots by the door. The claw marks in the doorframe they’d never fixed. The post-it note she’d left him that morning:
“Don’t burn the coffee. Again.”

And he smiled.

Soft. Sad. But real.

He wiped his eyes.

Closed the journal gently.

Slid it into the drawer beside his bed—beneath the photo of the two of them at the beach, her in sunglasses, him grinning like a fool, salt in his hair.

Then he stood.

He pulled on the suit. Fastened the mask. Rolled his shoulders and forced the heaviness back into a place he could carry.

Because that’s what he did.

Because someone had to.

Because Spider-Man still had a job to do.

And even if the world didn’t know what it cost him to keep showing up—

Laura would.

She always did.

---

A/N: I cried writing this...(The actual reason why i took a break... I was too emotionally attached, i went nearly too far).

Wanted also to celebrate my 70 chapter.

Oh yeah, and the trigger saga will happen.(I've been teasing the crap out of that since chapter 46, and by it's name, it should give you all the idea).

Nothing bad will happen (｡•̀ᴗ-). (Ominous foreshadowing).

Peace. Cause i sure as heck didn't feel it.

Chapter 71: “Hangovers, Lectures, and Dance Dance Regret-olution”(Pre-Leah))

Chapter Text

Chapter 71 Title: “Hangovers, Lectures, and Dance Dance Regret-olution”(Pre-Leah)
Starring: Aunt May, Logan, Peter, Laura, Kaine, Ben, Gabby, and the consequences of poor life choices

---

The Next Morning – Peter and Laura’s Apartment

Peter groaned as he rolled off the couch and nearly fell face-first into a discarded neon dance pad. One sock was on the ceiling fan. A soda can was somehow embedded in the TV remote. A faint glowstick was still flickering beneath the coffee table like a cursed artifact.

Laura, curled up on the rug, let out a gravelly, unladylike groan.

“My bones feel betrayed.”

“That’s called a hangover,” Peter mumbled, flopping down beside her.

Laura squinted. “Did we…?”

“Dance Dance Revolution. For two hours. You kicked my ass. Literally. I think you roundhouse’d me during the Macarena.”

Laura blinked. “That… sounds like me.”

They both looked up as the front door creaked open.

And in walked Aunt May.

Holding a tray of herbal tea.

Followed closely by Logan, who was carrying a full garbage bag of glowsticks and looking incredibly disappointed.

Behind them was Kaine, arms folded, face neutral, clearly judging everyone.

May set the tray down with the patience of a woman who had seen too much.

“Well,” she said sweetly. “Looks like the two of you had fun.”

Peter groaned. “Aunt May, I can explain—”

“No. No, you cannot.”

Logan crossed his arms. “You get dropped off by Jubilee drunk, with neon leg warmers, and smelling like someone fell into a vodka barrel after fighting a rave. You can’t explain that.”

Laura buried her face in her hands.

Kaine smirked. “I told Jubilee not to let them drink.”

May turned to him, voice like a proud schoolteacher. “Thank you, Kaine. At least one of my nephews has self-control.”

Peter: “Okay, that hurts.”

May: “Not as much as your liver’s going to.”

---

Elsewhere – Ben Reilly’s Apartment

Ben stood in front of the mirror, holding a tissue to his very bloody nose and muttering, “This is not how I thought tonight would go.”

Behind him, Gabby sat on the kitchen counter with an ice pack to her eye and the most offended pout in the world.

“You tricked me,” she grumbled.

“You punched me,” Ben snapped. “Because I stopped you from drinking an entire bottle of mutant vodka.”

“You said it was ‘juice.’”

“I said it was ‘just not for you.’ You twisted it!”

Gabby huffed. “I’m a grown-up!”

“You’re literally twelve.”

Gabby kicked her feet. “I’ve seen war, and im fourteen not twelve.”

Ben groaned. “This is worse than the Clone Saga.”

Then his phone buzzed.

Peter: “Do not let Laura find out. Repeat: DO NOT LET LAURA FIND OUT.”

Ben’s soul left his body.

---

Back at Peter and Laura’s Apartment

Logan took one look at Peter slouched in guilt and muttered, “How’d you even survive this long?”

“I married well,” Peter said weakly.

Laura, still curled up on the rug, groaned. “I need coffee. Or death.”

May raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting tea.”

Peter whispered, “I think we deserve a second chance…”

Kaine leaned against the wall. “You had your second chance. And your third. And the one after that.”

May handed each of them a cup. “Next time, you call when you’re going to act like idiots. Not get dropped off like you’re fugitives from the X-Men's frat house.”

Logan: “I’ve never been more disappointed.”

Laura: “You once said that to a flaming Brood queen.”

Logan grunted. “Still applies.”

Kaine, smug: “I was the designated adult. I’m putting that on my resume.”

---

Later That Night

Peter sat beside Laura on the couch, sipping tea and still flinching when May passed by behind him.

Laura muttered, “How much damage control do we need to do?”

“Ben is handling Gabby.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Peter slowly sank into the couch cushions like a guilty turtle. “We should probably buy flowers.”

Laura: “We don’t do flowers.”

Peter: “Gabby does. And forgiveness.”

Laura groaned. “I’m going to kill him.”

Peter took her hand.

“…After we sleep for fifteen hours.”

Laura grunted. “Fair.”

---

A/N: Once more our brooding clone is the responsable one. Must suck being the middle child. Wanted also to lower the tension of last chapter.

Chapter 72: “The Scariest Tag Team: Logan & May Parker”(Pre-Leah))

Chapter Text

Chapter 72 Title: “The Scariest Tag Team: Logan & May Parker”(Pre-Leah)
Featuring: Peter, Laura, Gabby, Ben, and two unstoppable forces of nature

---

It started with a knock.

Not a polite knock.

The kind of knock that said “open this door or I’ll come through it.”

Peter peeked through the peephole and immediately backed away.

“Oh no.”

Laura, half-dressed in training gear, tilted her head. “What?”

“Logan. And Aunt May. Together.”

Laura froze. “...Why are they together?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to find out.”

Too late. The door opened anyway.

May stood on the threshold with her signature calm-but-scary smile. Logan was behind her, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick and radiating quiet disapproval like it was his mutant power.

“Family check-in,” May said sweetly.

Peter turned pale.

---

Five Minutes Later

Everyone had been summoned to the living room.

Laura sat straight-backed, mildly wary.
Peter looked like a kid caught cheating on a test.
Gabby slouched on the couch with crossed arms and a fading black eye.
Ben tried to hide behind a decorative plant. It didn’t work.

May sat in the center, sipping tea. Logan paced behind her like a flannel-wrapped panther.

“Alright,” Logan growled. “Let’s talk about your decision-making skills.”

Gabby rolled her eyes. “You’re not my dad.”

May, still sipping, added, “And I’m not your parole officer, but I am disappointed.”

Gabby immediately stiffened. “That’s worse.”

Peter opened his mouth to defend her.

Logan raised a hand. “Don’t. You’re grounded.”

Peter blinked. “You can’t ground me.”

May: “He absolutely can.”

Ben, from the corner: “Can I leave?”

Logan turned to him. “Can you heal a black eye?”

Ben sighed. “That’s a no.”

Laura finally spoke up. “Okay. Everyone calm down.”

May turned to her. “Laura. I love you. You’re family now. But you let Peter and Gabby drink mutant vodka, dance for hours, and get dropped off like they were tossed from the back of a party bus.”

Laura frowned. “They didn’t tell me there was vodka.”

Peter tried to shrink into his shirt.

Gabby muttered, “I told her it was juice.”

May’s eyes narrowed.

Gabby immediately looked away. “Sorry.”

Logan finally stopped pacing. “You know what I see? A whole lotta potential being wasted on dumb decisions.”

Gabby pouted. “You sound like Beast.”

Logan growled.

May set her tea down. “Which is why we’ve decided…”

Peter: “Oh no.”

Laura: “Nope.”

Ben: “Do not say what I think you're gonna say.”

May finished, “...to institute monthly family meetings.”

The room exploded with overlapping groans and protests.

Gabby: “What?!”

Peter: “We don’t need a system!”

Ben: “This is Logan’s fault!”

Logan just smirked. “Better make some space in your calendars.”

Laura leaned toward Peter and whispered, “You’re sleeping on the couch until you stop sweating.”

Peter nodded. “Understood.”

---

Later That Night

Peter collapsed next to Laura on the bed.

“I think we were just grounded by two people who don’t live with us.”

Laura nodded. “And I didn’t hate it.”

“…Are we the irresponsible ones?”

Laura blinked at the ceiling. “Gabby punched Ben in the face.”

“Good point.”

In the next room, Gabby shouted, “I heard that!”

Ben, from the bathroom, added, “I’m still bleeding!”

Peter groaned. “Logan and Aunt May are never allowed to team up again.”

Laura smirked.

“I’m already scheduling the next meeting.”

---

A/N: Kaine is hitting the air. Got to deal with these idiots.

Chapter 73: “Oops! All Canon” (Actors au)

Chapter Text

Title: “Oops! All Canon” (Actors au)
Scene: Comic-Con Chaos, Cast Panel Goes Off the Rails

---

The stage was packed—long table, cast nameplates, a giant poster of Wolverine & Spider-Man: Web & Claws behind them, and a buzzing crowd of fans, phones out, ready for drama.

At center stage sat the show’s core:

Peter Parker, in a hoodie and his usual flustered charm.

Laura Kinney, looking flawless in black, sipping a matcha and ignoring everyone.

Anya Corazon, in sneakers and a Spider-Girl windbreaker, already regretting saying yes to this.

Gabby, who stole Peter’s sunglasses and refused to give them back.

Kaine, silent, brooding, arms crossed like this was war.

And the ever-smirking host, clearly hunting for juicy fan-service moments.

---

Moderator (grinning):
“So, question we’ve all been dying to ask…”
(the audience leans in)
“Are Peter and Laura dating… in real life?”

Peter (choking on water):
“I—I mean—that’s—uh—”

Laura (without blinking):
“Yes.”

Peter:
“Laura!”

Laura (shrugging):
“They were gonna figure it out eventually.”

Audience:
screaming intensifies

Gabby (deadpan):
“Took them long enough.”

Moderator (gleefully):
“Wait, so that’s real? The chemistry, the tension, the... kitchen slap scene???”

Peter (facepalming):
“I cannot believe the kitchen slap scene is canon now.”

Laura:
“It always was. You just refused to admit it.”

---

Moderator (turning):
“And what about you, Anya? You and Peter bicker like siblings on set—”

Anya (cutting in fast):
“We are siblings. Well, cousins. On Peter’s dad’s side. Do your research.”

Moderator (blinking):
“Wait. What? That’s real?”

Peter:
“She’s my cousin. She’s been my cousin this whole time. Why does nobody ever know this?!”

Audience:
confused screaming

Gabby (smirking):
“Tell them how she found out.”

Anya (groaning):
“Long story short? I roasted him during a Spider-Verse press thing, and May pulled me aside after like, ‘Honey… you know he’s your cousin, right?’”

Peter:
“And I cried. A little.”

Laura:
“He did.”

---

Moderator (gleaming with gossip energy):
“So… we’ve got real-life dating, secret cousin lore, and a fanbase that now thinks Peter is everyone’s emotional support husband.”

Kaine (muttering):
“Unbelievable.”

Gabby (to Kaine):
“You’re just mad no one ships you with anyone.”

Kaine (grumbling):
“Because I don’t want them to, im already married miss secret relationship.”

Laura (to Gabby):
“Don’t challenge the fan artists. They’re already feral.”

---

Audience Member (from the crowd):
“Does this mean Peter is technically part of the mutant family now?”

Peter (weakly):
“I mean… emotionally?”

Laura (shrugging):
“I married him. He counts.”

Moderator:
“And there you have it, folks! Canon chaos confirmed!”

---

Backstage – After Panel

Peter, holding a muffin like it’s a security blanket:
“I was not emotionally prepared for that panel.”

Laura, completely unbothered:
“You’re cute when you panic.”

Gabby:
“Is it weird I think this only makes people like you more?”

Anya:
“You’d better hope so. The internet is about to explode.”

Peter:
“…I miss when people just thought I was a nerd.”

Kaine (grumbling as he walks away):
“You still are.”

---

A/N: Wanted to make an actors au for a while now.

Chapter 74: “The First (and Probably Last) Official Parker-Kinney-Logan Family Meeting”(Pre-Leah)

Chapter Text

Title: “The First (and Probably Last) Official Parker-Kinney-Logan Family Meeting”(Pre-Leah)
Featuring: Peter, Laura, Gabby, Logan, May, Daken, Kaine, Ben, and Jubilee

---

Peter tried to organize it.

He made charts.
He printed out color-coded agendas.
He even brought snacks.

Big mistake.

---

Scene: Peter and Laura’s Living Room, Saturday Afternoon
A whiteboard leaned against the wall with “PARKER-KINNEY-LOGAN FAMILY MEETING” written in bold, hopeful marker. Beneath it: “Be Respectful” and “No Stabbing.”

No one took that seriously.

Logan sat in the armchair, gruff and unimpressed.

May stood beside him, tea in hand, smiling like she was barely holding the room together with sheer willpower.

Laura stood near the window, arms crossed.
Gabby sprawled across the couch like a cat with grudges.

Peter stood in front of the whiteboard, trying to smile.

Kaine leaned in the corner, glaring.
Ben was fully horizontal on a beanbag, blanket over his face.

Jubilee sat cross-legged near Gabby with popcorn and emotional support goggles.

And then—Daken walked in.

Sunglasses. Leather. Aura of menace and sarcasm.

“Family meeting,” he said, smirking. “Cute.”

Kaine immediately stood straighter. “No.”

Peter froze. “Wait—who invited him?”

“I did,” Logan growled. “He’s family.”

Laura: “Technically.”

Gabby: “Vaguely.”

Kaine: “Toxically.”

Daken smiled, strolling over and plopping beside Gabby. “I’m here for accountability and to piss Kaine off.”

“Already working,” Kaine muttered.

May clapped her hands once. “Alright. Let’s begin. Peter, darling, the floor is yours.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Thank you, Aunt May. Okay. So. Purpose of this meeting: to establish better communication, work through recent incidents, and possibly avoid another glowstick-fueled hangover.”

Ben, from the beanbag: “Can we add ‘nap time’ to the agenda?”

Gabby crossed her arms. “Can we add ‘Ben gets punched back’ to the agenda?”

Ben peeked out. “I didn’t punch you. You walked into my hand while charging like a bull.”

Gabby hissed. “You blocked me from drinking!”

“You’re fourteen!”

“Fourteen and powerful!”

Laura raised a hand. “Ben, stop bleeding. Gabby, stop dramatizing. Daken, stop smirking.”

Daken: “You’re not the boss of me.”

Ben: “She kinda is.”

Peter, trying to push forward: “Moving on! Item one: emotional growth and respect for boundaries.”

Kaine: “I abstain.”

Gabby: “What are boundaries?”

Daken: “Sounds fake.”

Jubilee threw popcorn into her mouth and muttered, “This is better than Netflix.”

Ben slowly raised a hand. “Can we just acknowledge that Logan and May teaming up is the scariest thing since Carnage learned to read?”

May sipped her tea. “Thank you, Benjamin.”

Logan growled. “You get used to it.”

---

Later in the Meeting

The whiteboard now had several additions:

“NO STABBING BEN”

“Kaine and Daken sit apart”

“Gabby cannot legally duel anyone over juice”

“Laura is not allowed to smuggle swords into family meetings (again)”

Peter rubbed his face. “I’m going to start a support group for superhero in-laws.”

Kaine muttered, “I’d join.”

Daken leaned toward Gabby. “Wanna bet who snaps first next meeting?”

“Already did,” Gabby said. “Winner gets Peter’s snacks.”

Peter: “Wait—HEY!”

---

End of Meeting

May stood. “Thank you all for attending. There will be another meeting next month. Same time. Same mess.”

Peter: “...Can I be excused from my own family?”

Jubilee: “Nope. You married in. You’re doomed.”

Ben: “I’m not even really family. Let me go.”

Laura: “You’re a clone. You don’t get out that easy.”

Kaine: “I vote we cancel these forever.”

Gabby: “I vote we livestream the next one.”

Daken: “I’ll bring wine.”

May smiled serenely. “Wonderful. See you all next month.”

Logan grunted in approval.

Peter died a little inside.

---

A/N : Kaine and Daken meet for the first time (well officially not Chronologically).

Chapter 75: "Unwinding" (Laura’s POV)

Chapter Text

Title: "Unwinding" (Laura’s POV)

---

Laura wasn’t used to this.

The quiet.

The stillness.

The way Peter’s hands moved across her back—slow, careful, patient.

It should’ve made her restless. A lifetime of training had drilled into her that being still meant being vulnerable.

But Peter?

He was different.

He made her feel safe.

---

It had been a long week.

Too many fights. Too many injuries. Too much thinking.

Laura wasn’t sure when she had started carrying tension in her shoulders, but Peter had noticed.

And, of course, because he was Peter, he had dragged her to the couch, made her sit between his legs, and started rubbing her back without asking.

Laura had tried to argue.

"I don’t need a massage, Parker."

"Too bad, you’re getting one."

And she could’ve pushed him away.

She should have.

But the moment his hands found the knots in her muscles?

She had melted.

---

Peter’s hands were warm, firm, and absurdly good at this.

His thumbs pressed into her lower back, easing out aches she didn’t even know she had.

Laura exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

"That good, huh?" Peter teased.

Laura grunted. "Shut up and keep going."

He laughed—soft and fond—and did as she asked.

---

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence.

Peter’s hands trailed up, working at the tension in her shoulders.

Laura sighed.

She had never let anyone touch her like this before.

She had never wanted to.

But Peter?

He was patient.

Gentle when she needed it. Firm when she could handle it.

And right now, as his fingers traced slow, steady circles along the back of her neck, Laura let herself relax completely.

---

Peter leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

"You okay?" he murmured.

Laura didn’t open her eyes.

She just reached back, threading her fingers through his, and squeezed.

Peter squeezed back.

They didn’t need words.

Not right now.

Just this.

Just each other.

And for once, that was enough.

---

A/N: I don't often write Laura pov. Any Ideas?

Chapter 76: “Kaine’s Unexpected Spa Day (and the Michael Jackson Cloneverse Story)”

Chapter Text

Title: “Kaine’s Unexpected Spa Day (and the Michael Jackson Cloneverse Story)”

Jubilee had a very specific look on her face.

It was the look that usually meant Kaine was about to be dragged into something deeply uncomfortable, deeply social, and deeply mutant.

“It’s a spa day, Kaine,” she said, arms crossed, Shogo perched happily on her hip in dragon pajamas. “You’ve been grimacing at walls all week. You need a detox.”

“I don’t detox,” Kaine grunted, slouched in the doorway of her apartment like a gargoyle with commitment issues.

Jubilee raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got tension in your eyelashes. C’mon. I booked the whole Krakoan retreat section. Shogo gets to splash in the thermal springs and throw mud at Logan’s grumpy friends.”

Kaine was about to say absolutely not when Shogo piped up: “Kaine come. Shogo throw mud at your face.”

“…Great.”

---

The spa was… too peaceful.

The air smelled like eucalyptus and mutant pheromones. Everything was warm. Kaine sat on a lounge chair awkwardly in swim trunks that Jubilee had definitely picked out, sunglasses on, arms crossed over his chest like he was expecting a sniper.

Shogo was having the time of his life in the mineral pools.

Jubilee stretched out beside Kaine, wearing pink-tinted goggles and sipping on cucumber water. “You know you can relax, right?”

“I am relaxing,” he growled, as two gentle Krakoan vines tried to massage his shoulders and he flinched like they were knives.

“You’ve had actual hit squads give you softer looks.”

Kaine grunted.

Then, because the silence was too comfortable, he said, “I once got dragged to a Michael Jackson concert. In another universe.”

Jubilee blinked. “What.”

“There was a clone of Peter. Female. Called herself Jessica Drew in that world. We ended up working a case, something something multiversal mess, Skrulls, you know how it goes. But this version of MJ wasn’t just a pop star—he was the sorcerer supreme.”

“…You’re lying.”

“I’m not. There were doves made of pure rhythm. He moonwalked on air. Jessica cried. I got teleported to the dance dimension by a sequined glove and had to punch my way back.”

Jubilee leaned forward, eyes wide. “Please, please tell me you had to dance to escape.”

“...I might have had to bodyroll to sync with the frequency of the music realm. Might.”

She burst into laughter, almost dropping her water.

Shogo, from across the pool, shouted, “DANCE DADDY KAINE!”

Kaine just buried his face in his towel.

“Never should’ve told you,” he muttered.

Jubilee grinned and bumped his shoulder. “You definitely should’ve. This is the best spa day ever.”

---

A/N: Rip Michael Jackson.

That Jessica drew is from an alternate version of the old ultimate universe.

Chapter 77: The Animorphs Conversation

Chapter Text

Chapter 77 Title: The Animorphs Conversation

Peter was lounging on the couch, feet up, book in hand, completely absorbed.

Laura, meanwhile, had just finished cleaning her claws—because some things never changed—and was about to drop onto the couch when she noticed what he was reading.

A small, battered paperback.

It had a holographic cover that shimmered in the light. The image? A kid morphing into some kind of animal.

She squinted. Animorphs.

She had seen the books in passing, but she had never actually read them. She knew they were for kids, which made it a little strange that Peter was reading it now, years past its target audience.

Laura tilted her head. "...You're reading Animorphs?"

Peter didn’t even look up. "Re-reading."

Laura blinked. "...Why?"

Peter sighed dramatically and finally set the book down, marking his page with his thumb. "Because they’re amazing. They’re dark, emotional, existential—way heavier than you’d think for a ‘kid’s’ series. Also, you would love Ax."

"Ax?"

"Alien kid. Really smart. Lethal in a fight. Has no idea how human social norms work." Peter gave her a look. "Sound familiar?"

Laura frowned. "...You saying I’m an alien?"

"I’m saying you’re Ax-coded."

She had no idea what that meant.

Still. Peter had good taste in books. If he was rereading something from when he was a kid, it was probably worth checking out.

She glanced at the cover again.

"Give me one," she said.

Peter grinned and immediately grabbed another book from his stack. "Oh, you’re in for a ride."

Laura took it, flipping through the pages.

She had no idea what she was getting into.

Laura barely skimmed a few pages before Peter reached over and snatched the book out of her hands.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, holding it just out of her reach. "You can’t start with that one. You gotta read the first book first."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because context matters. You don’t just jump into the middle of Animorphs." Peter gave her a mock-scandalized look. "That’d be like starting a Tarantino movie in the last twenty minutes and being confused when someone randomly gets shot."

"...That happened to me once."

Peter stared. "...Of course it did."

Laura sighed, crossing her arms. "Fine. Give me the first one, then."

Peter grinned like she had just agreed to name their firstborn after Uncle Ben. He practically lunged for the shelf, digging through a small, well-worn collection before finally pulling out The Invasion. He handed it to her with far too much enthusiasm.

"Start with this," he said. "And I swear, if you don’t at least get a little emotionally invested in Tobias, I’m gonna be disappointed."

Laura flipped it over, scanning the back. "...Tobias?"

Peter’s grin faltered slightly. "...You’ll see."

That… wasn’t ominous at all.

Still, she settled into the couch, opened to the first page, and started reading. Peter watched her for a moment before picking up his own book again, the two of them now quietly absorbed in their respective stories.

It wasn’t long before Laura muttered, "What the hell is a Yeerk?"

Peter just smirked. "Oh, you’ll find out."

Laura kept reading, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbed the first few pages. "So, this Andalite guy just dumps his powers on a bunch of kids and then dies? Seriously?"

Peter, still reading his own book, nodded without looking up. "Yup."

Laura flipped another page. "And now they have to fight some kind of… slug aliens that crawl into people’s brains?"

Peter grinned. "Yup."

She paused. "And you read this as a kid?"

"Yup."

Laura stared at him. "This explains so much about you."

Peter finally looked up, feigning offense. "Excuse me, but Animorphs is a deeply compelling series full of complex moral dilemmas, strategic warfare, and—"

"It's about traumatized kids committing war crimes."

"...Yes. And it’s great."

Laura went back to reading. The silence between them lasted maybe a minute and a half before she suddenly blurted out: "Wait, wait, wait—so Tobias is stuck as a hawk?"

Peter, grinning like a madman, just pointed at the book. "Keep reading."

Laura shot him a glare, but she did.

Another few minutes passed. Then:

"Okay, Marco’s the only smart one here."

"That is absolutely correct," Peter agreed.

More pages turned.

"Rachel is crazy."

"Also correct."

More reading.

Then, suddenly, Laura froze, eyes narrowing as she re-read a paragraph.

Peter noticed. "What?"

Laura slowly turned to him. "Did you say... there are fifty-four of these?"

Peter leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. "Welcome to the hell that is Animorphs."

Peter stretched his arms behind his head, watching as Laura hunched over the book, flipping pages at an alarming rate.

She was hooked. Mission accomplished.

But Peter? Peter was an agent of chaos.

So, naturally, he decided it was time to make her suffer in a different way.

Leaning forward, he rested his chin in his hand and casually said, “You know, it’s kind of adorable seeing you get so into this.”

Laura froze mid-page-turn.

Her eyes darted to him. Suspicious. Wary. Like a wild animal sensing a trap.

“…What?”

Peter shrugged, entirely too casual. “I just mean, you’re kind of cute when you’re focused like that.”

Laura’s grip on the book tightened. “Shut up.”

Peter, ignoring his survival instincts, grinned. “No, really. It’s like watching a really intense, really pretty little murder machine get invested in 90s sci-fi.”

Laura slowly lowered the book and gave him a look. A look that promised violence.

Peter, undeterred, rested his cheek on his palm. “I mean, it makes sense. You’re always so serious, so when you get lost in something, it’s… kinda nice. Makes you seem more human.”

“I am human.”

“Yeah, yeah. Claws, healing factor, assassin training—totally normal human stuff.”

She kicked him.

He yelped, laughing as he dodged a second attempted kick.

Laura glared. “I will stab you.”

Peter, still grinning like an idiot, placed a hand over his heart. “And I’d still say you’re beautiful while you did it.”

Laura turned bright red.

Victory.

A smirk played on Peter’s lips as he watched Laura huff and bury her face back in the book, pretending—poorly—that she wasn’t affected.

He stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head. “Y’know, if you ever need more recommendations, I’m here to help.”

Laura, still red, muttered, “You won’t survive another one.”

Peter chuckled, completely unconcerned. “Worth it.”

And just like that, the room fell into an easy silence—Laura reading, Peter basking in the small, rare victory of successfully embarrassing her for once.

Peter had that look on his face again. The one that meant he was about to say something unbearably sincere, something that would make her want to either kiss him or kick him.

And sure enough— “You know, you’re kind of incredible, right?”

Laura stiffened, her fingers twitching on the pages of her book. “…Shut up.”

Peter grinned. “No, really. You’re strong, smart, and, honestly, kind of terrifying—but in a really attractive way. And—”

“Peter.” Her voice had an edge now. A warning.

But he was relentless. “And you care more than you let on. I think that’s what I love most.”

Laura slammed the book shut and threw it at him. He dodged effortlessly—of course he did—but his laughter filled the room.

“God, I hate you.”

Peter, still laughing, shot back— “Nah, you love me. Unfortunately.”

She kicked him off the couch.

---

A/N: I am an Animorphs fan and it's a selfish marketing for my other Animorphs in my account. Go watch them.

Chapter 78: "Webs and Claws (and Flying Objects)" [Early Relationship]

Chapter Text

Title: "Webs and Claws (and Flying Objects)" [Early Relationship]

---

The apartment was a war zone.

A pillow soared across the living room. Peter dodged.

A webbed-up TV remote launched back. Laura ducked.

A chair almost went through the window.

Peter barely caught it. “Okay, okay—time out! That’s Aunt May’s chair!”

Laura huffed, crossing her arms. “Then stop being an idiot.”

Peter ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m not being an idiot! You’re being ridiculous!”

Laura’s glare could have melted steel. “Oh, really?”

Peter realized too late he had stepped onto a battlefield without backup.

---

It had started as a small argument.

Something about Peter overextending himself. Laura being too reckless. Neither backing down.

Then Peter made the mistake of rolling his eyes.

Then Laura threw a cushion at his face.

Then Peter webbed her foot to the floor.

And now?

Now they were hurling objects at each other like a very aggressive game of dodgeball.

---

Peter dodged a thrown book and shot webbing at Laura’s arm. She sliced through it instantly.

“Not fair,” Peter grumbled.

Laura smirked. “Cry about it.”

Peter grabbed the nearest object—a stuffed bear Gabby had gifted them—and chucked it at her.

It bounced harmlessly off her head.

She blinked.

“…Did you just throw a teddy bear at me?”

Peter pointed dramatically. “He’s an innocent civilian in this conflict, but he fights for justice.”

Laura stared. Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed the bear and chucked it back.

Peter yelped as it hit him square in the face.

Peter caught the bear as it was falling.

And threw it at Laura's face.

---

A/N: One of my earliest chapters

Chapter 79: “Kaine Goes to Krakoan Group Therapy”

Chapter Text

Title: “Kaine Goes to Krakoan Group Therapy”

Kaine had fought psychic vampires, alternate-reality symbiotes, a sentient version of J. Jonah Jameson’s hairpiece, and—most terrifying of all—a karaoke duel with Deadpool.

None of it prepared him for this.

He sat slouched in a half-circle of other mutants, arms crossed, jaw clenched, doing his best to radiate “do not talk to me” energy. It wasn’t working. Someone had given him tea. It smelled like lavender and shame.

Jubilee sat beside him, far too perky.

Shogo had been handed off to Gabby, who was trying to convince the kid that her plushie had diplomatic immunity. Across from Kaine sat Laura, arms folded, eyes sharp. She hadn’t said a word, but her gaze kept darting toward the Krakoan staff like she was waiting for an ambush.

"So," said the group leader, a soft-spoken telepath named Quartz, "we’re here to talk about boundaries, healing, and emotional honesty."

Kaine’s eye twitched.

The other attendees included:

Daken, who had clearly been forced here by Logan.

Honey Badger (Gabby), who was way too excited to be here.

Blob, who was genuinely trying to better himself.

And Eye-Boy, who kept making direct eye contact with everyone, all at once.

"So," Quartz continued gently, "who wants to start? Maybe something you're proud of this week?"

Gabby’s hand shot up. “I didn’t stab anyone who didn’t totally deserve it!”

Everyone applauded politely.

Kaine was starting to sweat.

Laura didn’t raise her hand. She didn’t need to. Quartz looked at her anyway. “Laura, you’ve been quiet.”

Laura glanced at Kaine, then said, “I’m not used to being asked about feelings. Usually, when I have them, I punch Peter.”

Kaine made a noise that was almost a laugh.

“Speaking of,” Quartz said, turning to Kaine, “how are you feeling about today’s session?”

Kaine scowled. “Trapped.”

“Do you feel safe expressing your emotions here?”

“No.”

Gabby leaned forward, whispering (loudly), “He’s just cranky because Jubilee made him do a seaweed wrap and he kinda liked it.”

Jubilee grinned. “He purred.”

“I did not—”

“You made a sound, Kaine.”

Everyone was looking at him.

Even Eye-Boy. With all his eyes.

“…I will set this room on fire,” Kaine muttered.

Laura sighed. “You won’t.”

Kaine slouched deeper into his chair.

Quartz smiled kindly. “That’s okay. Sometimes, just showing up is a victory.”

“Then can I leave?”

“No.”

---

Later, in the common lounge:

Jubilee handed Kaine a cup of post-therapy cocoa. “Proud of you.”

“I said two words.”

“You didn’t growl anyone. That’s growth.”

Gabby popped up beside them. “Also, I signed us up for communication improv next week.”

Kaine stood up. “I’m leaving this island.”

Laura smirked. “Peter signed you up already. Said it’d be good for your socialization.”

Kaine stared into the distance like it had personally wronged him.

---

“The Parker Guilt Trip: Group Therapy Edition”

Peter had faced a lot of terrifying things in his time.

Alien invasions? Check.
Psychic clones? Oh yeah.
Telling Aunt May he forgot her birthday? Once. Never again.

But nothing quite compared to the moment Kaine showed up at his apartment, arms crossed, hoodie half-zipped, with the emotional range of a toaster oven and the attitude of a half-feral raccoon.

“Therapy,” Kaine said simply.

Peter blinked. “What about it?”

“You’re going.”

“No, I’m—wait, what?”

Kaine stepped inside without being invited. “Group therapy. Krakoa. You’re going.”

“I’m not a mutant!”

“They let me in.”

“You're technically on the list—"

“They let Deadpool in.”

Peter held up his hands. “Okay, that’s not a fair bar. That man would walk into hell and come out with a souvenir T-shirt.”

Kaine loomed. “Look. They’re making me do this communication improv next week. Communication improv, Peter.”

Peter started to snicker.

“You think it’s funny?” Kaine growled. “I told Laura. She said it builds character. Then Jubilee made me journal.”

Peter tried to stop smiling. Failed. “You journal?”

“Do you want to know what happens to spiders who laugh at scorpions, Parker?”

Peter still had that annoying grin. “They get bit?”

“They get dragged to group therapy.”

Peter blinked.

Kaine leaned in. “I signed you up. You’re going. Don’t make me get Gabby.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“I would. She made Blob cry last week. Blob, Peter.”

Peter groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. One session. One.”

---

At Krakoa, Group Therapy, 1:15 PM

Peter sat in the same awkward circle Kaine had been trapped in a week ago. Quartz the therapist offered him herbal tea. Laura looked smug. Gabby beamed.

“Welcome, Peter,” Quartz said with a warm smile. “We’re so happy you could join us.”

Peter glanced sideways at Kaine. “Someone guilt-tripped me.”

Quartz nodded knowingly. “Healthy peer pressure can be a sign of trust.”

Kaine muttered, “More like spite.”

“So, Peter, would you like to share anything with the group?” Quartz asked gently.

Peter cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m Peter. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Husband to one scary lady. I once destroyed all my own clones. And now I’m sitting next to one of them in therapy.”

Daken raised his hand. “I feel like you have type.”

Gabby cackled.

Peter blinked. “Excuse me?”

Laura shrugged. “You married me.”

Kaine rolled his eyes. “And they think I’m emotionally stunted.”

Gabby whispered, “Just wait until improv.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “What improv?”

---

A/N: Would you like to continue into the chaos that is mutant communication improv night with Peter, Kaine, Laura, and Gabby?

Chapter 80: “Parker-Kinney-Logan Family Meeting: Now with Explosions” [Pre-Leah]

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “Parker-Kinney-Logan Family Meeting: Now with Explosions”[Pre-Leah]

Subtitle: Because Emotional Growth Waits for No Supervillain
Starring: Peter, Laura, Logan, Gabby, Ben, Kaine, Daken, and chaos in public

---

Scene: Krakoa, Month Two of the Family Meeting Initiative
Peter had started the day with optimism.
That was his first mistake.

The whiteboard was back. The snacks were triple-checked and hidden from Gabby. Kaine and Daken were already sitting on opposite ends of the table, silently judging each other. May was running late (blessedly). Jubilee was playing soft jazz to calm the room.

Peter clicked his marker. “Okay, so before we begin—”

BOOM.

The ground shook. Alarms blared.

Everyone turned slowly toward the window. Outside: explosions, mutant evac protocols, and something that definitely had too many tentacles.

Gabby stood. “Can we take that as a sign the meeting is cursed?”

Ben, grabbing his hoodie: “I’m not arguing.”

Peter sighed. “Let’s go.”

Laura: “Family therapy and monster wrangling. We’re really efficient.”

---

Outside – Mission Time

The threat? A mutated Krakoan experiment gone rogue — a plant-animal hybrid that had somehow fused with old sentinel tech.

Kaine sliced through tendrils. “Why do these things always look like someone microwaved broccoli with rage?”

Daken dodged a laser vine. “You sound like a sitcom dad.”

Kaine growled. “Say it again.”

Peter flipped overhead. “Focus!”

Gabby, surfing a chunk of rubble: “This is awesome! Family therapy with combat dynamics!”

Logan impaled the central root node. “Focus, yes. Talking? Later.”

Laura landed beside Peter, claws out, catching her breath. “Next meeting should include threat-level ratings.”

Peter, panting: “I gave this morning a threat-level latte. I didn’t expect a Kaiju Fern.”

Ben arrived late, wheezing, holding a coffee. “Did I miss the team warm-up or—OH, GOD, WHY IS IT MOVING?”

Gabby: “Sick jump, Ben!”

Ben: “I didn’t jump! It launched me!!”

---

Twenty Minutes of Mayhem Later

The beast was down. The rubble was... mostly settled. Everyone had their limbs. Peter’s shirt was half-burned. Daken was somehow more attractive after battle. Kaine had leaves in his hair. Gabby looked ready for round two.

May arrived with her tray of cookies, looked at the disaster, and sighed.

“I was gone fifteen minutes.”

Peter groaned. “Can we call this our bonding exercise?”

Logan grunted. “Felt therapeutic.”

Gabby grinned. “We worked through our issues with violence. Like a real family.”

May pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was going to bring a whiteboard for communication exercises.”

Peter, flat on the ground: “Please don’t.”

---

Later, after cleanup…

Laura leaned against Peter. “Next meeting, we skip the therapy and just fight something.”

Peter nodded. “Weirdly less stressful.”

Ben, limping by: “Until Gabby tries to steal a laser cannon and nearly fries my clone-ass.”

Gabby from behind a tree: “You promised to never bring that up again!”

Daken raised his juice box. “To family dysfunction and monster therapy.”

Kaine: “This doesn’t count as a real meeting.”

May walked by, calm as ever. “Next month, we’ll be doing team-building obstacle courses.”

Peter whimpered.

Gabby fist-pumped.

Kaine and Daken groaned in sync.

Laura just smirked. “At least no one got stabbed this time.”

Ben held up his arm. “That’s not true!”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “We need a new whiteboard.”

---

A/N:

Want the next installment to be that obstacle course therapy day, run by May and Logan like it’s the most terrifying summer camp ever?

Chapter 81: Part1: “Down Below, Old Ghosts” (Tracking Trouble and Talking)

Chapter Text

Title: “Down Below, Old Ghosts” (Tracking Trouble and Talking) [Prelude to the Trigger Saga]

---

New York City – The Sewers

The smell hit like a punch to the face.

Laura barely flinched.

Kaine gagged audibly behind her.

“I hate this already,” he muttered, boots squelching in the ankle-deep muck.

Laura didn’t bother looking back. “You volunteered.”

“You bribed me.”

“You lost a bet.”

“Technicality.” He grumbled.

Laura swept her flashlight in a slow arc across the tunnel. Dripping pipes. Cracked concrete. Scrapes in the grime that could’ve been claw marks.

Or rats.

Big ones.

They kept walking.

The squelching was the only sound for a while.

Finally, Kaine broke the silence.

“So. How’s the kid?”

Laura didn’t need clarification.

“She’s stronger than she looks.”

Kaine grunted. “Like her... mom.”

Laura raised an eyebrow, but let it slide.

In the distance, something splashed.

They both tensed instinctively, muscles coiling.

Nothing yet.

They moved on.

---

Kaine adjusted the straps on his gauntlet absently.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I don’t think Pete deserved you in the beginning.”

Laura blinked.

Turned slightly to glance at him over her shoulder.

“You picking a fight?”

Kaine shrugged, casual. “Nah. Just thinking. You’re... not like him.”

“That’s why it works.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Guess so.”

They continue walking

'Kaine mutters ''I hated Warren...''

Laura hummed

More silence.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was just... them.

Two Clones trying not to be weapons anymore.

---

They found a trail — ragged gouges in the wall, something big dragging itself along.

Laura crouched down, examining the claw marks with clinical focus.

Kaine stood a few feet back, arms crossed, watching her work.

After a while, he said, voice low:

“You’re good at this. Y'know that, right?”

Laura didn’t look up.

“I was made to be good at this.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

She hesitated.

Then stood.

Met his eyes.

For once, Kaine wasn’t smirking. Or picking a fight. He just... looked at her like he got it.

“You choose to be good at it,” he said. “That’s the difference.”

Laura exhaled slowly through her nose.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

They kept moving.

---

Up ahead, something growled.

A deep, low rumble of warning.

Laura rolled her shoulders.

Kaine cracked his knuckles.

“Round two,” he muttered.

“Try not to lose this time,” Laura said dryly.

“Try not to stab me in the leg again.”

“No promises.”

They grinned — sharp and wolfish — and broke into a run, ready for whatever the darkness threw at them.

Together.
---

Sewers – Somewhere Below Midtown

The Lizard snarled, tail lashing with enough force to crack concrete pillars.

Laura dodged left, Kaine rolled right — both perfectly in sync, claws flashing.

And then—

From a nearby maintenance shaft:

“Hey, big guy! Mind if I cut in?”

Peter Parker, Spider-Man, tumbled out of a hole in the ceiling like he'd planned to enter dramatically. (He had not.) He landed on his feet, flipped once unnecessarily, and fired a quick web straight at the Lizard’s jaws to muzzle him temporarily.

Kaine groaned out loud. “Of course it’s you.”

Laura didn’t even blink. “Try to stay out of the way.”

“Rude,” Peter said cheerfully, cartwheeling past a swinging tail swipe. “I’m here to help.”

The Lizard roared and lunged—jaw snapping.

Peter sidestepped with almost lazy precision, tapped the Lizard on the snout with two fingers like scolding a bad puppy, and webbed its feet to the floor.

“See? Helping!”

Laura ducked under a tail sweep, slashing at the tendons in the Lizard’s ankle without hesitation.

Kaine body-checked the creature into a wall.

Peter swung in low, sticking a tiny tracker to the Lizard’s back between attacks.

The Lizard thrashed, trying to break free—but Peter took his sweet time dodging every strike, cracking jokes the entire time.

“Y'know, Doc Connors, this would be a lot easier if you just took up knitting. Very therapeutic. Less tail whippage.”

Another lunge.

Another dodge.

Casual. Effortless.

Laura side-eyed him mid-fight.

“You're enjoying this.”

Peter shrugged mid-air. “Well, it’s either this or more parent-teacher conferences.”

“Focus,” Laura deadpanned, slashing another webline taut to trip the Lizard’s legs.

Peter winked at her upside down. “Focused.”

Kaine tackled the Lizard from the side. “Just web him up, moron!”

“I'm working on it, I'm working on it—!” Peter shot a thick net of reinforced webbing, finally pinning the Lizard fully against a sewer wall.

Laura and Kaine pounced at once, claws anchoring the web cocoon tighter.

The Lizard struggled weakly, snarling, then stilled.

Panting slightly, Peter dropped to the ground, flexing his hands.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” he said, beaming like a proud idiot.

Laura wiped sewer grime off her pants with a grimace. “You’re insufferable.”

“Love you too, Wolverine.”

Kaine grumbled, “I hate you.”

Peter patted his shoulder. “Aw, Kaine. You say that, but I know you’re smiling under there.”

Kaine stared at him flatly. “I’m not.”

Laura shook her head and turned to start dragging the still-muzzled Lizard toward the surface. “Come on, before he wakes up.”

Peter followed, bouncing lightly on his toes, webbing securing their scaly prisoner.

Kaine muttered under his breath, still trudging through the sewer water, “This is why I don’t do team-ups.”

Peter grinned.

"That's okay. I do enough for all three of us."

Laura didn’t say anything.

But if Peter heard a tiny, tiny huff of amusement from her direction?

He kept it to himself.

---

A/N: The trigger saga is approaching.

Chapter 82: “Legal Claws” (Laura Gets Sued, and Peter Brings the Super-Lawyers)

Chapter Text

Title: “Legal Claws” (Laura Gets Sued, and Peter Brings the Super-Lawyers)

---

Setting: Peter and Laura’s Apartment — Late Afternoon

Laura stood perfectly still.

Not the stillness of a predator. No flex of muscle. No danger in her eyes.

Just confusion.

Pure, unfiltered confusion.

Peter, meanwhile, held the legal notice with both hands like it was a live grenade. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"You’re being sued," he said finally, very slowly.

Laura crossed her arms. “I was defending someone.”

Peter nodded. “You were. Absolutely. You just… maybe defended a little too hard.”

"She grabbed him by the crotch and called it a 'staff evaluation,'" Laura deadpanned. "I broke her wrist. Gently."

Peter held up the papers. “Apparently, ‘gently’ involves fracturing three fingers and dislocating an elbow.”

“She’s alive, Peter. That was restraint.”

Peter gave her a long-suffering look and muttered, “God help me, I know it was.”

---

A Pause.

Laura stared out the window.

“Why am I being punished for not letting someone get assaulted?”

“You’re not,” Peter replied, rubbing his temple. “But the legal system doesn’t work on morality. It works on paperwork, bias, and people who really want money and drama.”

“Then I’ll counter-sue.”

Peter blinked. “Okay. That’s terrifying. And not how this works.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So what do I do?”

Peter put the folder down.

“Well, you have a few options. The legal route—which I recommend. And lucky for us, I know people.”

Laura tilted her head. “...Like?”

Peter ticked them off on his fingers.

“Matt Murdock. Daredevil. Good at punching and courtrooms.”

“Alright.”

“Jennifer Walters. She-Hulk. Slightly more smashing, but absolutely terrifying in a deposition.”

Laura looked mildly intrigued.

“And if we really want to make someone regret filing this lawsuit,” Peter said with a dangerous grin, “we call Janice.”

Laura blinked. “The Beetle?”

Peter nodded. “Reformed. Technically. She once made J. Jonah Jameson cry in arbitration.”

“…I like her already.”

---

A Beat.

Peter handed her a cup of tea. “You okay?”

Laura stared at the legal notice, then at Peter.

“I was trained to kill by the age of seven,” she said. “But somehow this—paperwork—is what’s breaking me.”

Peter sat beside her, gently taking the folder back.

“That’s because this stuff is designed to break people who can’t punch it. But hey—”

He grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

---

Elsewhere, at a certain law office...

Matt Murdock (on the phone): “She did what?”

Peter: “She disarmed a woman with a God Complex and a $300 manicure. She may have bent her arm backwards.”

Matt: “…Yeah okay, we’ve got precedent.”

---

A/N:

Would you like a courtroom follow-up, where Laura shows up in a blazer she clearly hates, Janice is her lawyer, and the plaintiff starts sobbing halfway through because Gabby’s in the back row slowly eating licorice menacingly?

Requested by JalalaXLamb

Chapter 83: Part 2: ''Beneath the Surface, Old Ghost''

Chapter Text

Title: ''Beneath the Surface, Old Ghost''

Sewers – Lower Laboratory Level

Laura knelt beside the unconscious Lizard, claws ready, breathing steady.

She glanced over her shoulder at Peter, who was busy re-webbing Connors tighter and double-checking the tranquilizer dose.

“Get him up,” Laura ordered curtly. “He’s useless now, but he might know something we need.”

Peter gave a mock salute. “On it, boss.”

Without another word, Laura turned and continued deeper into the tunnels, Kaine falling into step beside her.

The air grew colder.

The ground sloped downward, slick and worn.

Ahead, a set of massive reinforced doors loomed out of the darkness, steel bolts thick as a man’s arm securing them in place.

Kaine approached first, knuckles cracking.

He rapped his fist against the door once.

CLANG.

The sound echoed deep and metallic through the tunnels.

They both stood still, waiting—listening.

Nothing moved behind it.

No alarms.

No shouts.

Kaine smirked under his mask. “Cute.”

And then—without warning—he punched straight through the metal like it was cheap tin, grabbing the internal locking mechanism and ripping the door open with a screech of tearing steel.

Laura just stepped over the wreckage without blinking.

---

Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, revealing rows and rows of scientific equipment.

Tanks.

Vials.

Cooled storage filled with labeled samples:
SERUM 24-A
SERUM 25-C
SERUM X-1.2

All of it greenish.

All of it Lizard Serum.

Laura’s claws slid out automatically.

Beside her, Kaine crossed to the nearest terminal.

He booted up the system with little subtlety, fingers moving faster than someone like him had any right to manage. (Peter always said Kaine learned computer hacking the same way he learned how to fight: angrily.)

Laura moved between the tanks, sharp eyes scanning everything.

And then she noticed them.

Cameras.

Tucked into the corners.

Facing the tanks.

Facing the corridors.

Facing them.

Her lip curled back slightly.

“This wasn’t just a lab,” she said quietly. “It’s surveillance.”

Kaine grunted as he pulled up files.

“Tracking logs,” he muttered.

Laura stepped closer to him.

On screen, scrolling data blinked.

Subjects Tracked:

Earth-3325-001: P. Parker

Earth-3325-002: L. Kinney

Laura’s stomach tightened.

“They were watching us.”

Kaine kept scrolling, jaw tight.

“They’ve been watching you for months,” he said. “Movement patterns. Fight footage. Medical profiles.”

Laura’s hands clenched at her sides.

“This wasn’t Connors.”

“No,” Kaine agreed. “Someone used him.”

They stared at the screen in heavy silence.

Somewhere back toward the surface, Peter’s voice echoed faintly.

“Uh, guys? I think Connors is waking up—and he's babbling something about 'orders' and 'they're coming'?”

Laura’s claws extended fully with a snikt.

She and Kaine exchanged a look.

No words needed.

Something bigger was coming.

And this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

---

Lower Lab – Earth-3325 Sewers

The overhead lights flickered.

The faint hum of old tech buzzed in Laura’s ears.

And then—

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Slow. Mocking. Familiar.

Laura spun, claws already halfway unsheathed.

From the far doorway, stepping out of the shadows, came a woman she hadn’t seen in years—but knew instantly.

The smirk.

The leather jacket.

The cold, dead eyes.

Kimura.

Laura’s breath caught for just half a second.

Beside her, Kaine tensed like a wire ready to snap.

“Well, well, well,” Kimura drawled, arms spread wide. “The little weapon that grew herself a heart. And friends. Adorable.”

Laura shifted into a defensive stance automatically.

“Kimura.”

“Miss me?” Kimura grinned, all teeth. “No? Can’t imagine why.”

Kaine growled low under his breath. “I’ll kill her.”

“You’ll try,” Kimura said sweetly, cocking her head. “But first—story time.”

Neither Laura nor Kaine moved.

Neither needed to.

They were waiting. Watching.

Listening.

“I didn’t do all this alone,” Kimura said, pacing lazily across the room. “No, no. Science like this? Tech like this? It needs funding. And lucky for me, there’s always someone willing to bankroll a little... project.”

She tapped the side of one of the Lizard serum tanks.

The glass cracked slightly under her nail.

“Alchemax. Ever heard of them? They’re branching out. And they love their ‘asset retrieval’ programs.”

Laura’s claws twitched.

Kimura smirked wider.

“And a little multiversal birdie pointed them right to you.”

She winked. “No hard feelings, sweetheart. Just business.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed.

Behind her, Kaine flexed his claws.

“That’s enough talking,” he said, voice sharp.

But Kimura just laughed.

A small, silver canister rolled from her hand—landing with a hiss at Laura’s feet.

Too late.

Laura smelled it before she saw it.

Trigger scent.

Her muscles locked.

Her heart rate spiked.

The world tilted.

---

Inside Laura’s Mind

It was like drowning.

Like suffocating inside her own skin.

Memories she didn’t want flooded her vision. Pain. Chains. Screams. Kimura’s smirking face above her.

No.

She heard Peter’s voice.

Gabby’s laughter.

Leah’s tiny hand grabbing hers.

You’re not there anymore.

Laura clenched her fists hard enough that her claws sliced her own palms.

The blood barely registered.

Focus.

Focus.

FIGHT IT.

---

Reality

Laura staggered once.

Kaine reached out instinctively.

Bad move.

With a savage growl ripped from her throat, Laura lunged.

Kaine barely got his arms up before she tackled him—claws slashing, movements wild and brutal.

“Damn it—!” Kaine grunted, blocking a swipe aimed straight for his throat.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

But she was faster. Stronger. Programmed.

Kimura leaned against a tank, arms crossed, watching with smug satisfaction.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she called cheerfully. “Just enjoying the show.”

Laura slashed again—this time grazing Kaine’s shoulder deep enough to draw blood.

She was snarling now.

Mind half-gone.

Kaine gritted his teeth.

“Come on, Laura,” he muttered, ducking another blow. “You’re tougher than this.”

Another swipe.

Another dodge.

“Wake up.”

Laura roared, feral.

Kimura laughed, the sound echoing through the lab like a crack of a whip.

Chapter 84: “One Man, Two Clones, No Chill” (Photo Shoot Chaos & Clones Doing Too Much) [Actors Au]

Chapter Text

Title: “One Man, Two Clones, No Chill”
(Photo Shoot Chaos & Clones Doing Too Much) [Actors Au]

Follow-up to: “Oops! All Canon” chapter 73

---

Scene: Midtown Studio – Day of the “Couple Reveal” Photoshoot

Peter was spiraling.

There was no other word for it.

He stood in the dressing room, holding three different shirts—one a plain navy, one a horrifically patterned spider-themed button-up, and the third a white tee that just said “Property of the Wolverine” in aggressive red font.

“Why do I own this?” he whispered to himself.

From the doorway, Laura crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Because I bought it. You wore it. And you never gave it back.”

Peter blinked. “That... that makes sense.”

Laura walked in, plucked the white tee out of his hands, and tossed it over the back of the chair. “We’re going with the navy one.”

“But—”

She held up a finger. “No discussion.”

Peter pouted. “Can’t I at least pick the jacket?”

“No. You picked your wedding tux.”

Peter opened his mouth, paused, then nodded. “Fair.”

---

Meanwhile — On Set

The crew was prepping lights, camera angles, and attempting to wrangle two identical actors for the “alternate universe double Spider-Men” shots.

Because yes—Kaine had been double-cast as both himself and Ben Reilly. (1)

And somehow, he nailed it.

He stood in full Scarlet Spider gear for the first setup, speaking into the mic in a slightly brighter, more confident tone as Ben:

“Peter’s a dork. But he’s our dork. It’s part of his charm.”

Then he yanked off the mask, tossed it to a PA, and slid on a jacket and sunglasses to become Kaine, instantly switching tone to deep and brooding:

“If Peter dies again I’m burning the multiverse down.”

Peter peeked out from the dressing room. “I’m sorry how is he better at playing me than me?!”

Gabby (on set for behind-the-scenes content): “He plays two of you. Simultaneously. It’s both impressive and terrifying.”

Anya: “That’s a clone thing. They’re just… extra.”

Kaine (walking past, as Ben): “Don’t be jealous, cousin.”

Peter: “You’re not my cousin—wait, yes you are. Damn it!”

---

Photoshoot: The Couple Reveal

Peter stood awkwardly in his (Laura-approved) shirt, arms around Laura’s waist as the photographer gave instructions.

“Look at each other like you’re in love!”

Laura: looks completely normal

Peter: looks like he might pass out

“Okay, now Laura—grab him like you’re about to fight someone for flirting with him!”

Laura immediately pulled him flush against her, hand resting just a little too close to his hip, claws almost out.

Peter yelped. “That’s illegal!”

Photographer: “Perfect! That’s the money shot.”

Gabby, filming from the side, whispered: “He’s so dramatic.”

Anya, sipping a smoothie: “He’s literally vibrating.”

---

Aftermath – Green Room

Peter slumped into the couch post-shoot. “I feel like I aged ten years.”

Laura plopped down next to him. “You looked cute.”

“Cute? I looked like I was being held hostage by my hot assassin wife.”

“Exactly.”

He groaned. “And Kaine stole the show. Again. He had props, Laura.”

“He is his own scene partner. That’s commitment.”

From across the room, Kaine (now out of costume, lounging in one of Peter’s hoodies) muttered, “I expect an Emmy.”

Gabby high-fived him. “You’re my favorite clone.”

Jessica drew (off-camera): “Hey!”(1)

---

Scene: Press Interview – “Web & Claws” Cast Special

The cast of the hit series Web & Claws sat on the stylish, over-decorated couch of a late-night streaming show with way too much mood lighting.

Peter was wearing The Shirt.

The now-infamous “Property of the Wolverine” tee, tucked under a blazer like that would somehow make it less chaotic.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Laura sat next to him, perfectly composed. Kaine sat beside his wife—Jubilee, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh at Peter’s choice of wardrobe.

Anya and Gabby were seated on the opposite end, already waiting for the chaos.

The interviewer—a bright-eyed, overly enthusiastic host named Bree—smiled into the camera. “So Web & Claws has taken the fandom by storm—especially with Season 3’s emotional plot twists and, uh... new canon romances.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Yes, well, you know, it’s important for shows like this to grow and evolve with the—”

Bree interrupted. “—Like when you showed up in that shirt during the final scene and Twitter melted down.”

Peter shrank. Laura looked smug. Gabby snorted.

“I thought the dialogue would matter more than the wardrobe,” Peter muttered.

“Sweetie,” Jubilee said gently, “you wore a shirt that screamed possessive wilderness wife energy.”

“Which was the goal,” Laura added, sipping her drink.

---

Bree (turning to Kaine):
“And speaking of chaotic family dynamics—Kaine, you and Jubilee had your actual toddler son appear as Young Kaine in the flashback scene this season.”

Kaine blinked. “Yeah.”

“Was that... weird?”

The room went quiet.

Kaine looked directly into the camera. “It was deeply weird.”

Jubilee nodded seriously. “We had to film him biting a fake villain’s leg. He wouldn’t stop until craft services bribed him with animal crackers.”

Peter added, “He kept calling me ‘Uncle Bug’ between takes.”

Gabby, wheezing: “Because you are Uncle Bug.”

Kaine looked almost proud. “He didn’t cry once. Professional. Better actor than me.”

Anya added, “He’s got Jubilee’s dazzling personality and your deadpan. Terrifying combo. He’s going to run this industry in ten years.”

Jubilee smirked. “That’s the dream.”

---

Bree (glancing at cards):
“And Peter, now that your actual relationship with Laura is public—how does it feel having your real-life romance parallel your characters so closely?”

Peter paused.

Laura answered for him. “He panics a lot.”

Peter nodded. “Correct.”

“He kept asking if he should ‘make their relationship believable’ while we were already dating.”

“I was trying to stay professional!”

“You wore the shirt, Peter.”

Gabby held up her phone. “It’s on merch now. I already ordered six.”

Anya looked off-camera. “Hey, do we get royalties for memes?”

---

Scene: SuperHeroCon – “Parenting in the Superverse” Panel

Day 3 – Panel Room C, Sponsored by Juice Boxes and Questionable Decisions

Kaine and Jubilee sat center stage, looking like they’d barely survived the last hour of toddler-wrangling and overexcited fans. Shogo was somewhere backstage with a handler…

The stage backdrop proudly read: “Web & Claws: Raising the Next Generation of Chaos” and the panel was packed with con-goers, cosplayers, and a few brave parents.

Kaine wore his usual “I Regret Agreeing to This” face. Jubilee had her signature sparkly sunglasses perched on her head and a smile that said, I will blast you if this goes sideways.

The moderator—young, eager, and clearly underpaid—was already in over their head.

---

Moderator:
“So first off, congrats on your son’s fan-favorite cameo as ‘Mini-Kaine and Shogo’ in Season 3! Seriously, his bite acting was incredible.”

Jubilee (proud):
“Kid’s got fangs.”

Kaine:
“He gets that from my side.”

---

Moderator:
“Now… this might be a little spicy, but fans have been begging for more ‘Kaine & Jubilee moments’ on screen. Any chance we could get—like—a little teaser?”

Jubilee:
“A teaser?”

Moderator:
“A kiss? Maybe a little make-out moment? For the fans?”

The crowd ooooh’d. Phones went up. Kaine looked like someone just asked him to tap dance through lava.

Kaine (flat):
“I kill people for less than that.”

Jubilee (grinning):
“He means that lovingly.”

Kaine:
“No, I don’t.”

---

Suddenly—A Toddler Cometh.

Before anyone could recover from the awkward request, Shogo came barreling onto stage from behind the curtain wearing his tiny “#BabyClaw” hoodie, holding a juice box in one hand and dragging a con security lanyard like it was a trophy.

Jubilee:
“Oh god.”

Moderator:
“Oh wow! And here’s the little star himself—!”

Before they could finish, Shogo ran up to the moderator and bit their leg.

Gently. But with purpose.

Moderator:
“—OW?!?”

Kaine (calmly):
“That’s a soft warning.”

Jubilee (grabbing Shogo):
“Shogo! We talked about this. We don’t bite the hosts—unless they touch the mic without asking.”

Shogo blinked, innocent.

Jubilee (aside):
“He learned that from Peter.”

Kaine:
“Peter doesn’t bite people.”

Jubilee:
“No, but he would.”

---

The Crowd:

Dead silent. Then—

Wild applause.

Phones. Everywhere. Someone shouted “ICONIC!” as Kaine calmly picked up his son like a feral cat and Jubilee offered the bitten moderator a napkin and a juice box peace offering.

Moderator (recovering):
“So uh… final question: Would you two ever do a spinoff focused on parenting?”

Kaine:
“No.”

Jubilee:
“Depends. Can we curse and fight people?” (2)

Moderator:
“It’s cable.”

Jubilee (grinning):
“Then sure.”

Kaine:
“I was not consulted.”

---

Post-Panel – Backstage

Jubilee was holding Shogo, who was happily drinking juice like he hadn’t just assaulted a member of the press.

Peter popped into the green room with his press badge lopsided and shirt untucked. “Did he bite someone again?”

Jubilee:
“Soft warning bite.”

Peter (beaming):
“That’s my nephew!”

Kaine:
“Your nephew bit a journalist.”

Peter (clapping Shogo’s back):
“Journalists are resilient.”

---

A/N:

Would you like a follow-up where the “Property of the Wolverine” shirt goes viral and Peter has to do a full interview wearing it while pretending it wasn’t Laura’s idea?

Also to YourFriendlyNeighborhood.

Eat it you won't know if Kaine is alive or dead.

Ha ha ha ha!

Trivia:

(1) : Didn’t want to write more characters and yes it's The clone Jessica drew.

(2) : Thought about it.

Chapter 85: Part 3: The Broken Pieces (Aka Kaine is not having a good time)

Chapter Text

Title: The Broken Pieces (Aka Kaine is not having a good time)

---

Lower Lab – Sewers

Kaine knew Laura was faster than him.

That wasn’t up for debate.

He had fought gods, monsters, and worse—but nothing moved quite like her.
No wasted movement. No hesitation. No fear.

And now, feral and poisoned by trigger scent, she was tearing him apart.

He ducked another swipe—barely. Felt the rush of air where her claws missed his throat by inches.

"Damn it—" he snarled.

He raised his hand to call for Peter on the comm—

SLASH.

Laura's claws ripped across his wrist, shattering the communicator embedded in his suit. Sparks burst from the torn tech.

Kaine cursed and instinctively backed off—but Laura was already moving again.

She feinted low, claws flashing, and kneed him squarely in the faceplate, shattering the backup comm embedded in his mask. The HUD flickered and died.

Static buzzed in his ears.

Blind.

Alone.

Facing an unstoppable weapon.

---

Across the room, Kimura laughed.

A slow, delighted sound.

She clapped mockingly, completely unbothered by the violence unfolding.

“Well, Scarlet Spider," she drawled, voice dripping venom, "you’re better than I expected. Thought Jackal’s broken little clone would crumple faster.”

Kaine’s teeth bared behind the mask.

He knew she didn’t know who he was under the mask. Didn’t matter.

She didn’t need a name to cut deep.

"If you’d been sent to my Facility," Kimura said, sighing as if lamenting a lost pet, "I would’ve had such fun with you. Shame."

She shook her head, casual, cruel.

Laura snarled wordlessly, claws flashing as she tried to tackle Kaine again.

He sidestepped, but slower now. Tired.

Cut.

Bleeding.

And still trying to not hurt her.

---

Kimura smiled wider, savoring it.

"And you know," she continued airily, ignoring them both, "I didn't pull all this off alone. I had help. My multiversal birdie—"

Laura slashed again—Kaine ducked, but felt the sting of her claws rip along the edge of his suit.

"—X-23." Kimura finished, eyes gleaming.

Kaine's growl rumbled low in his throat.

Laura whipped around, snarling at Kimura, the name a spark even through the trigger haze.

Kimura just grinned.

"If she kills you," she told Kaine, laughing lightly, "it won't be a waste. It'll be beautiful."

Another slash.

Kaine blocked with one of his wrist stingers—but Laura’s adamantium stinger sliced clean through it, sending sparks flying.

He grunted and twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding losing an eye.

He rolled across the floor, righted himself, and ran.

Laura was hot on his heels, claws flashing murder.

Kimura stepped forward—smirking—and swung a reinforced baton toward Kaine's head.

Kaine ducked under it, slammed his foot into the floor for leverage—

And punched Kimura up under the chin.

CRACK.

The force launched her straight up into the ceiling, her body punching a hole through the reinforced concrete.

Kimura disappeared through the upper wall in a shower of broken cement and dust, leaving behind a perfect, Kimura-shaped dent.

Laura skidded to a stop, blinking against the dust, mind struggling to refocus.

Kaine didn’t hesitate.

He jumped after her, leaping up through the wreckage, following Kimura’s ragdolling body toward the next level.

---

Surface Level – Just Outside the Sewer Access

Peter stood next to two mildly terrified NYPD officers, arms crossed and cracking a joke.

“Yeah, no, you’re not imagining it. That is a giant mutant lizard. Yes, he was wearing pants. No, I don’t know why. It’s like a Hulk situation—just roll with it.”

The Lizard was slumped against a support beam, cocooned in several layers of webbing—head to toe. A little Spider-logo sticker was slapped comically on his forehead for effect.

Peter was about to make another quip when—
his spider-sense twitched.

Not loud.

Just a ripple.

Faint.

Wrong.

He straightened slightly, eyes narrowing, smile fading.

Somewhere beneath them... something was off.

---

Upstairs – Ruins of the Old Alchemax Sub-lab

Kaine exhaled steam through clenched teeth.

He had Kimura cornered against a support wall, concrete spider-webbed with cracks around her.

Her grin hadn’t faltered once.

“Aw, Scarlet, you’re putting up a better fight than I expected. I almost—almost—want to take you home and patch you up.”

Kaine snarled and slammed his fist into her stomach. The wall cracked again.

Kimura barely flinched.

“Cute,” she said, and kicked him in the ribs, sending him sliding backwards.

He spat saliva.

“Your skin’s tough,” he growled, staggering to his feet. “But don’t flatter yourself.”

He wiped his mouth.

“Luke Cage you are not.”

Another punch.

“Underneath that fake indestructibility—?”

CRACK.
She went through another wall, collapsing part of the floor.

“—you’re crab in a leather jacket and a bad haircut.”

Kimura wheezed, scowling.

''I'm a pistol shrimp in a Spider-Man suit'' Kaine cracked his knuckles. “I’ve fought worse in alleyways. You’re nothing more than a slimy little worm in combat boots.”

Kimura growled—and laughed.

---

Below – Laura’s Mind

Laura ran.

The scent clung to her like fire in her lungs. Rage boiled in her blood. Her body chased the heat, the target, the enemy.

But her mind—

It splintered.

Flickered.

Images—memories—flashed like lightning behind her eyes.

Peter’s voice:

“You don’t have to be what they made you.”

Peter’s face, hurt but patient, whispering as she shook:

“You get to choose. Even when it’s hard.”

Gabby’s laugh.
Leah’s tiny hand.

Her claws trembled.

And still—she ran.

Kaine ahead. The target. Enemy.

She couldn’t stop.

She needed to.

---

Cut to: Kaine

Kaine ducked under a beam Kimura hurled, cursed under his breath.

“She’s right behind me,” he hissed.

A flicker of movement.

A whistle of claws.

He barely twisted in time—Laura’s stinger grazed the edge of his shoulder armor.

Deep. Hot. Bleeding.

“Shit—!”

---

Back to Peter – Surface

Peter was turning away from the cops when the ground shook.

CRASH.

Concrete exploded as a body was launched out of a broken floor above, slamming into a nearby van.

Dust rained down.

Peter’s eyes snapped up.

“Was that—?”

From the new crater, Kimura emerged, scuffed but upright.

Peter didn’t recognize her at first —but what made him pause was what followed:

Laura.

Charging after her, feral speed, claws extended.

“Whoa,” Peter muttered. “Guess she’s backin’ Kaine up—”

His spider-sense shrieked.

Before he could move—

Behind him, the sound of webbing tearing.

One cop yelled: “The Lizard’s free!”

Peter whipped around.

Connors was no longer cocooned.

He roared—taller now, more mutated. Wild-eyed.

The officers drew their guns.

“Wait—WAIT!” Peter shouted, throwing himself between them. “Don’t shoot! He’s sick, not evil—!”

But inside, his mind raced.

Laura.

Something’s wrong.

She wouldn’t leave Kaine’s side mid-fight—unless…

Peter’s stomach twisted.

---

A/N: And now Peter has to deal with the lizard so he will out of the picture now. Kaine is not doing well.

...

...

Aw shit im going to have to time crunch another chapter for tomorrow shi-

Yup definitely taking a break after this...

Peace ✌️

Chapter 86: “Bowling for Bragging Rights”

Chapter Text

Title: “Bowling for Bragging Rights”
Starring: Peter, Laura, Logan, May… and Anya, who did not sign up for this

---

Saturday – Midtown Lanes, 3:42 PM

“You sure this is a good idea?” Peter asked for the third time as he laced up his obnoxiously neon bowling shoes.

Laura didn’t look up from tying her laces. “Why? Scared you’ll lose to a hundred-year-old Canadian?”

Peter turned to glare at the man in question—Logan, already drinking a root beer like it owed him money, wearing his usual flannel and absolutely not bowling-appropriate boots.

“Those aren’t regulation shoes,” Peter said, pointing.

Logan grunted. “Neither are your bones, bub. You don’t hear me complainin’.”

Across the lane, Aunt May was sipping lemonade, chatting with a clearly already-over-it Anya Corazon, who was leaning against the snack bar with her arms crossed and a headband pulling her hair back.

“I could be on patrol,” Anya muttered.

“You’re here for moral support,” May said sweetly. “And scorekeeping.”

“And emotional damage.”

---

Teams:

Team One: Peter “I Took a Physics Class Once And Excelled At It” Parker and Laura “Silent But Deadly” Kinney.

Team Two: Logan “My Bones Weigh More Than the Ball” Howlett and May “Yes, I Still Got It” Parker. And Anya ''Why am i here?'' Corazon.

---

Frame One

Peter stepped up first, holding the ball like it was fragile tech instead of a sporting object.

“You got this,” Laura said flatly, arms crossed.

Peter smiled. “Thanks, babe. You always know how to inspire me.”

She blinked. “If you gutter, I’m walking home.”

Peter rolled. It wasn’t bad—but the last pin mocked him as it stood there, wobbling, untouched.

He turned around and held up his hands. “Nine! That’s good!”

Laura stared. “You’re supposed to hit all of them.”

Logan cracked his knuckles. “Step aside, junior.”

He rolled his first ball with a grunt and pure aggression.

Strike.

Peter stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

May clapped politely. “He’s a lot more coordinated than he looks.”

Logan shrugged. “Bar fights teach you a lot.”

Peter shudder thinking back of last time "Never go to a bar with you.''

---

Frame Three – Laura’s Turn

She stood, expression unreadable, eyed the pins like she was lining up a headshot.

“Please don’t break the floor,” Peter muttered.

She rolled.

Strike.

Anya whistled. “Jeez. Remind me never to bet against her in anything.”

Peter blinked. “Okay, wow. I’m impressed. That was… beautiful.”

Laura smirked faintly. “Like you’re not already used to me being better than you.”

May, meanwhile, was lining up her shot.

And somehow—also got a strike.

Peter looked skyward. “Why is everyone I love better at this than me?”

---

Mid-Game Trash Talk

Peter: “Hey Logan, how’s it feel to be losing to a couple of genetically enhanced weirdos?”

Logan: “Kid, I’ve had beers older than your career. Watch your mouth.”

Laura: “He’s sensitive when he’s losing.”

Logan: “I’m sensitive to nonsense.”

May: “Children, please.”

Anya: “I’m the real loser here. I have to watch this.”

---

Final Frame

It was down to the last shot. Peter had made a valiant comeback (mostly due to Laura carrying their team), and the scores were tied.

Peter looked at Laura. “Wanna finish it?”

Laura shrugged. “Only if you admit I’m the better bowler.”

“Not in front of Logan.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then I’m rolling with my eyes closed.”

Peter caved instantly. “You’re the better bowler.”

“Obviously.”

She rolled. Strike.

The screen lit up. Game over. Team Peter & Laura: Wins.

Peter did a ridiculous little victory dance, hugged Laura lifted her off, her feet and spun her.

Logan immediately groaned and walked off to grab another drink.

Anya marked the score sheet with a dramatic flourish. “Congrats, you beat two elders and a girl who doesn’t care. Want a trophy?”

Laura looked at her. “Yes.”

May smiled and patted Logan’s shoulder. “We’ll get ‘em next time.”

Logan grunted. “Next time I’m bringin’ Wade.”

Peter: “Please don’t.”

Laura: “Let him. I want to bowl against Deadpool.”

Peter, quietly: “Why do I feel like that ends with someone losing a finger?”

Anya, already packing her bag: “Because it will.”

---

Midtown Lanes – Diner Counter, 20 Minutes Later

Peter stood in front of the milkshake machine like a man defeated.

“That’s five shakes, right?” he asked the poor teenager behind the counter.

“Six,” Logan corrected, leaning casually on the booth wall behind him. “One for each pin you missed.”

Peter squinted. “You’re really leaning into this grumpy old man thing today, huh?”

“I’m not leaning. I am.”

Behind them, Anya and May were already seated at a table. Anya was halfway through her cookies-and-cream shake and deep in conversation with May about “how these people function daily without supervision.”

Laura, meanwhile, was sitting silently at the table next to them—polishing the world’s cheapest plastic trophy, which had clearly been fished out of a discount shelf and said “#1 Bowler” in glitter that was already peeling.

“Where did you get that?” Peter asked, sliding her shake across the table.

“I won it,” she replied simply.

Peter stared. “That’s not how it works.”

Laura sipped her shake. “Says who?”

Logan raised his root beer. “I respect it.”

May smiled warmly. “Well, she did win.”

Peter slumped into the booth. “I helped.”

“You cheered her on,” Anya added with a smirk. “That counts for emotional support.”

Laura reached across the table and ruffled Peter’s hair.

He squawked. “Not the curls!”

“Participation MVP,” she said, deadpan.

Peter groaned but didn’t move away.

---

Five Minutes Later

Logan had stolen someone’s fries. Anya was filming Laura making the plastic trophy pose dramatically next to a bowling ball. Peter was trying (and failing) to sneak extra whipped cream off May’s shake, and May just kept moving the straw like she didn’t notice.

The chaos was soft. Familiar. Warm.

Peter looked around the table and realized something—no one was in a rush to leave.

No battles waiting. No villains chasing them out. No alarms. Just… them. Laughing. Sitting. Enjoying a tiny, normal, strange day.

He reached across and nudged Laura’s knee.

She looked over, eyebrow raised.

He gave a quiet smile. “Thanks for not ditching me when I missed six spares in a row.”

“You were trying,” she replied simply.

“Wow. That’s the nicest backhanded compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

She tilted her head. “You get a lot of those?”

Peter grinned. “I’m married to you.”

Logan groaned. “Get a room.”

May patted his shoulder. “Let them have this. They’re disgustingly cute.”

Anya, recording again, whispered, “I’m posting this under #MurderCoupleMoments.”

Peter looked up in mock panic. “Do NOT hashtag us!”

Laura just smirked.

---

A/N:

Quote

Laura and Peter go bowling against Logan and May?

Requested by TheFan01

Chapter 87: Part 4: “Break the Chain” (Kaine Bleeds, Laura Breaks Free At Cost.)

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “Break the Chain” (Kaine Bleeds, Laura Breaks Free At Cost.)

---

Rooftops – New York City

Kaine was not having a jolly good time.

Dodging Laura was like sparring with a missile that hated you personally. She was faster than him. More dangerous in a fight. And right now? Fully feral.

He’d stopped aiming to subdue her.

Now it was just don’t die.

“Laura,” he growled as they clashed again. “You know me. I’m not your damn target—snap out of it!”

A blur from the side—Kimura, launching from the truck wreckage she'd crawled out of like a cockroach.

Kaine didn’t hesitate—kicked her mid-air like she was a soccer ball. The impact shattered glass in the nearby window. Her body pinwheeled into a brick wall.

“Stay out of this!” Kaine barked.

He reached for his web-shooter, firing to seal Kimura’s mouth and nose—only to get tackled sideways by Laura, claws just missing his side.

"Shit!" he spat, flinging both of them forward into a roll.

He pushed off hard, launched himself into the air.

Both Kimura and Laura followed.

Fast.

---

Rooftop Parkour Chase

Kaine swung hard, leading them across rooftops and ledges, trying to think through the blood loss and panic. Kimura attacked mid-leap—he ducked her easily.

She wasn’t the threat.

Laura was.

He turned mid-air, dodging one of Laura’s fists and punched Kimura full-force, shattering the window behind her with the shockwave. Her nose bent again, this time to her own horror.

Fear flickered across her face.

Kaine hit the ground with a grunt—rolling—staggering.

They’d landed near the river.

He was bleeding from both shoulders now. Cuts and gashes from adamantium claws. His breath came ragged.

Kimura lunged again, movements sharper, angrier.

She was furious now.

Good. Anger made her sloppy.

But Laura—

Laura tackled him again.

No claws this time.

Just fists.

They tumbled, tangled, blood and water and breathless exhaustion.

Kaine noticed—her claws weren’t out.

His blood ran cold. “You’re fighting it,” he whispered mid-grapple. “You’re fighting it.”

Laura didn’t respond.

She gritted her teeth, slammed her shoulder into his chest—not his throat.

They rolled.

Again.

Again.

She was holding back.

And so was he.

She was winning.

They landed with a thud.

---

Inside Laura’s Mind

“You don’t have to be what they made you.”

Peter’s voice.

“You choose.”

Gabby’s laugh.

Leah’s smile.

Her own breathing.

Her own voice.

Stop.

---

Reality

Kimura loomed above them now—blood down her chin, smile sharp, watching like a ringmaster.

“You always were a freak show,” she called down. “And you, Scarlet? You’re just Jackal’s broken doll.”

Laura’s body shook with rage.

She forgot for just a moment to hold her body back.

Just a second.

Her claws snikted.

She slashed—

Kaine dodged.

But not fast enough.

Her claws grazed his throat.

And she heard the sound.

The wet, wrong one.

---

Kaine hit the ground.

Hard.

Water lapping at the edge of the riverbank.

He touched his throat.

Blood leaked through his fingers. Not a lot but plenty enough.

The red of his suit grew darker.

Laura froze.

She couldn’t breathe.

“No,” she whispered.

Kaine looked up at her—mask torn, face bloody—and laughed.

Not mocking. Not bitter.

Soft. Broken.

“It’s not your fault,” he rasped. “Never was.”

Blood in his teeth.

He sank back against the stone.

“I always knew,” he said, voice wet, “this was how I’d go.”

"Don’t worry..."

Laura dropped to her knees beside him.

Kaine looked at her one last time.

“…Kick her ass for me.”

And he went still.

---

~~Laura’s Mind Snaps~~

A scream tore from her.

The trigger scent—

Gone.

Burned out.

Her body obeyed her again.

She stood up.

Turned to Kimura.

Her voice was death itself:

“I’m going to kill you.”

Kimura smirked, stepping down from the ledge.

“Oh? Finally decided to stop playing house?”

Laura’s eyes were glowing with fury.

“I buried you once,” she said.

“And this time? No one’s digging you out.”

They charged.

---

Meanwhile

Peter stood in front of the downed Lizard.

The Lizard was still.

Barely.

His massive body was shrinking—muscle and scales retracting. The serum burning off. Slowly, painfully, Connors returned to himself, curled against the cold concrete as his breathing evened out.

Connors was slowly regaining control—scales shrinking, eyes blinking with human focus.

Peter crouched.

Panting lightly, suit scuffed and torn, face tight with concern and suspicion.

He placed a firm hand on Connors’ shoulder.

“Doc,” he said, voice low. “You need to tell me everything. Right now.”

“What orders, Doc? Who gave them to you?”

Connors blinked up, pained.The residual serum effects had him dazed.

“I didn’t... didn’t want to help them,” he murmured. “I never wanted this.”

Peter’s jaw tightened.

“Help who?”

“I... I didn’t want to... They said they’d kill her if I didn’t comply…”

Peter’s heart dropped.

“Kill who?”

A pause.

“My wife and Son,” Connors whispered.

Then Connors said, hoarse and shaking:

“They’ve been monitoring you.”

Peter froze.

Connors kept speaking, almost like a confession.

“All of you. Not just me. Not just her.”
His eyes met Peter’s. “They’re watching everyone. You. The girl. The clones. The mutants. The spider-people.”

Peter’s heart dropped.

“How long?”

Connors exhaled shakily.

“Months. Maybe longer. It’s... multiversal... I think? They aren’t from here. Not all of them.”

Peter’s blood ran cold.

Peter’s spider-sense spiked.

Then, distantly—

A sound.

Impact. Metal ripping.

Far away, but familiar.

Peter stood slowly, eyes locked toward the direction the fight had gone.

And the world snapped into focus.
---

A/N: Noo my favorite clone! Ben wouldn’t have lost fr fr.

Well get ready for Laura vs Kimura.

Kimura probably for the first time got physical damage after getting her tough skin.

And Peter is coming to help Laura.

If anyone knows anything about Kimura they know her and water don't mix.

Chapter 88: Spider-Base: Loomworld.

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: Spider-Base: Loomworld.

The portal shimmered closed behind them with a low fwoosh as Peter and Laura stepped into the towering, web-strung spire of Earth-001’s Spider-Verse base—Loomworld. Threads of fate and dimensional warp-energy danced in the air, and the structure shimmered with both mysticism and science in perfect, surreal harmony.

Laura stood still, arms crossed, gaze sweeping across the expansive chamber. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of Spider-People were scattered across platforms and walkways, talking, training, sparring, or working on interdimensional tech. All variations of the same idea: a person who chose to stand between danger and the innocent.

Peter grinned wide and threw his arms up. “Hey! It’s your favorite Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!”

A few glanced over.

An alternative Jessica Drew gave a half-hearted wave from where she was chatting with Pavitr.

Spider-Punk didn’t even look up from tuning his guitar.

An alternative Miles gave a distracted “Yo!” while Julia tossed him a soda.

A Japanese Spider-Man muttered something in his native language before returning to typing on a holo-keyboard.

Peter looked around, hand on his hip, exaggeratedly offended. “Rude.”

Laura arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So this is the multiversal base where you guys protect the fabric of reality?”

Peter turned, smile sharp. “Oh, just wait.”

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye and loud enough for the whole chamber to hear, he called out:

“I BROUGHT MY WIFE WITH ME THIS TIME.”

Everything stopped.

Like a record scratch across the multiverse.

Several Spider-People froze mid-swing. Miguel O’Hara looked up from the central tower, eyes narrowing. Julia blinked. Pavitr nearly dropped his soda.

The alternate Jessica Drew slowly turned around. “Your what now?”

Peter, obliviously proud, threw a casual arm around Laura’s shoulder. “My wife. As in, legally, emotionally, and very mutually married.”

Laura gave him a side-glare that promised violence if he kept milking it—but also didn't move away.

“Wait, you’re married?!” A blonde girl called, half-laughing, walking closer with Miles in tow. “To her?!”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“No no, not in a bad way,” Julia held her hands up, “just—wow. Didn’t think Spidey-3325 had it in him.”

“He absolutely does not,” Miguel muttered from above, dropping down with his arms crossed. “Who let this man marry someone competent?”

“Who let him?!” Peter sputtered, offended.

Spider-Ham popped out from behind a webbed console, looking between them. “Wait—are you sure she’s your actual wife? This isn’t like the time we fought that shapeshifter disguised as Felicia, right?”

Laura flexed a claw just slightly. “You want to check?”

“…Nope. I’m good,” Spider-Ham replied, ducking back down.

An alternate Pavitr leaned over to whisper to Miles. “He married someone who looks like she could break every bone in his body, does this Spider-Man have kink?”

Hobie dropped from a webline above, sunglasses flashing. “We know who she is, mate. Ain’t exactly subtle, claws and all.”

Pavitr nodded. “We’ve met. She threatened a guy who asked if she was single. It was... majestic.”

Laura didn’t even try to deny it. “He touched Peter’s shoulder.”

Spider-Ham popped out from behind a console. “Wait—is this official now? Like, documented in the multiverse registry?”

Miguel dropped down with a tired sigh, datapad in hand. “Designate: Earth-3325. Married to Wolverine-slash-Talon, former X-Men, currently functioning as a loose agent. Why am I only now getting this?”

Peter raised a hand. “Surprise?”

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you’re from a universe where you marry a murder machine.”

“Do you flip a coin for when you decide to be Wolverine or Talon?” Jessica asked dryly.

“Sometimes.”

Peter looked supremely proud of the chaos unfolding.

“Anyway,” he said cheerfully, “I figured it was time the Spider-Verse knew we were multiverse goals.”

Miles blinked. “Please never say that again.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You brought me here just to show off?”

“Nah,” Peter said, turning to her with that soft look he rarely shared in public. “I wanted them to meet the person who keeps me standing.”

For once, Laura looked just a little flustered. She coughed and looked away.

Laura blinked as a tall blonde girl walked up beside Julia.

“Wait... Gwen?” she said, eyeing the stranger.

Julia Carpenter grinned. “Oh! Laura, this is Gwen Stacy of Earth-1610-V. One of the multiverse's best drummers.”

Laura tilted her head. “You’re... not dead?”

This Gwen blinked. “...Not yet?”

Peter winced. “Context, honey.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Gwen-1610-V smirked. “She calls you honey.”

From a nearby platform, a man in an open British trench coat and with an UK Spider-Man suit waved. “Cheers, mate. Bloody impressive. Didn’t think any of us had spouses.”

The other Spider-People prostested.

“Oh, shut up, Braddock.”

“I married MJ.”

“I married an alternate version of your sister, so...”

“My Gwen didn’t die. I married her.”

“Sounds like a skill issue!”

“I’m currently dating Felicia.”

“Wait, MJ—you’re gay?”

“No, bisexual.”

“That explains so much. Sorry for flirting with you while you were clearly in a relationship.”

“No problem, you didn’t know and i never specified.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a workaholic, we wouldn’t be here—”

At that point, Laura calmly tuned them all out.

She’d been in the X-Men.

This? This was tame.

Laura narrowed her eyes. “Is that an Spider-United Kingdom?”

“Technically ‘Captain Britain/Spider’ Billy Braddock but who’s counting?”

Peter turned to Laura. “Told you the multiverse had variety.”

Jessica hands on her hips. “So, how long have you two been married, and why did it take you this long to say anything?”

Gwen smirked. “Okay, Spider-Man’s off the market. Universe is officially broken.”

“Hey, I’ve always been off the market,” Peter protested.

Jessica stepped closer. “I thought the reason we never saw you with anyone was because you were chronically overworked or just really unlucky in love.”

Peter shrugged. “I dunno. Privacy? Sanity? Plus, I didn’t want anyone like Morlun showing up with a wedding gift of death.”

“Hey!” Pavitr raised his hands. “That was one time we accidentally destroyed a wedding cake!”

Hobie pointed at Peter. “Yo, we doing the bachelor party retroactively or what?”

“You’re not touching my non existing liquor cabinet,” Peter said quickly.

“You could’ve at least told us about your wife.”

“You literally asked if my wife was a shapeshifter.”

“You say that like we’re a bunch of judgmental weirdos.”

Laura muttered, “You guys aren’t exactly subtle.”

Then, a long pause as the crowd collectively realized something.

“Wait,” said Miles slowly. “Did you just say wife?”

Peter nodded.

“So... this whole time...?”

“Yup.”

“Even during that mission in 1313-B with the slime symbiote bombs?”

“Married.”

“Dang.”

Spider-Gwen chuckled. “She’s gonna beat you for making it public, isn’t she?”

Peter grinned. “Maybe. But worth it.”

From above, Miguel sighed. “We are never going to hear the end of this.”

Peter just stood there with his arm around Laura, basking in the chaos. “Let it be known across the Web of Life and Destiny—Earth-3325 Spider-Man wins at life.”

And finally, even Laura cracked a small, amused smile.

Though she still whispered under her breath, “You’re sleeping on the couch if you ever parade me again today.”

Peter smirked. “Worth it.”

Peter was still grinning like an idiot when Miguel landed beside them with a heavy thud, arms crossed.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” Miguel said dryly, “but why now?”

Peter gestured vaguely around the hall. “I figured… you know, might as well show off that I landed someone way out of my league.”

Laura muttered, “You’re not wrong.”

Pavitr leaned in, nudging Gwen. “You think they’re one of those couples that secretly cuddle-wrestle until someone taps out?”

Gwen took a sip of her soda. “No, they openly cuddle-wrestle. Laura pins him. He likes it.”

“Gross,” Miles groaned nearby—but he was smiling too.

Jessica Drew walked over and squinted at Laura. “Okay, so you’re really her? Wolverine-Talon? That’s not a code name people just steal.”

“I don’t steal names,” Laura said, a bit more serious. “I earn them.”

Jessica raised both eyebrows, hands going up. “Fair. That sounded like a threat and I respect it.”

Peter leaned in to whisper, “She actually threatened to tear open a guy’s spine once because he called her ‘Spider-Man’s girlfriend.’”

Gwen perked up. “Wait, really?”

“I was being polite,” Laura said. “He kept touching your chest when he talked.”

Peter paused. “…Okay, yeah. Carry on.”

Nearby, Hobie slung his guitar across his back. “Y’know, if this turns into a full-on multiversal wedding party, I call dibs on music.”

“We’re already married,” Laura said.

“Yeah, but now we know about it. Multiversal celebration, baby!” Hobie threw a few devil horns up.

Miles walked over with a smirk. “So, wait, Peter... this is why you kept dodging every question we had about your love life?”

Peter raised a brow. “You thought I was dodging?”

“You told me you were dating a ‘civilian botanist named Laura Greene who was allergic to cameras.’”

Laura actually laughed under her breath at that.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was… not my best cover story.”

Suddenly, a voice called out: “Wait… she’s the one who took out Morlun’s daughter during the Axis Rift mission?!”

A younger Spider from Earth-TRN902 ran up, wide-eyed. “You suplexed her through a collapsing reality gate!”

Laura simply shrugged. “She threatened Peter. And she wouldn’t shut up.”

Peter gave an exaggerated sigh. “Romantic.”

Miguel finally cut in, clearly already tired of the social chaos. “You’ve made your dramatic reveal. Now go home before you break the web with your married energy.”

“Jealous?” Peter asked with a grin.

“Deeply,” Miguel said with zero hesitation.

They turned to leave, a few goodbyes thrown from the crew—including Pavitr insisting they should double date sometime, which Peter was already trying to veto.

Laura paused.

Just ahead, weaving through the crowd of Spider-People, was a figure clad in red and black. The suit was darker than Peter’s, the lines sharper, movements tighter. There was something familiar about the way he moved—not identical, but close enough to make her instincts bristle.

Without a word, she stepped away from Peter’s side.

He turned to say something, but she was already following the red-and-black Spider-Man, eyes narrowed, steps quiet and deliberate.

Peter watched her go, then sighed.
“…That’s not gonna end in a friendly handshake.”

---

The Loomworld base was quieter at night cycle—only a few glowing web strands shimmered across the high observation deck where space met strands of time. Laura stood near the edge, arms crossed, staring out at the swirling cosmos.
She turned before she even heard him—more instinct than sound.

A darker figure leaned against the far wall. Spider suit black and red, matte and scarred, armor layered under the fabric, eyes narrowed, movements coiled like a spring.

“You smell familiar,” Laura said simply. “Not the same as my Peter. But not different enough.”

Assassin Spider-Man tilted his head. “We’re all Peter Parker. More or less.”

“You’re... not like him.”

“No. And I hope yours never becomes like me.”

Laura’s brow lifted slightly. “Why?”

He walked over, not slowly, not threateningly. Just deliberately.

“I was pushed too far,” he said. “Too many losses. Too many people I couldn’t save. I made a choice to stop letting people live who endangered others.”

“You kill.”

“I don’t enjoy it. But I stopped pretending I could fix everything with quips and hope.” He looked at her with something like respect. “You understand that. You were forged, like me.”

She nodded slowly. “I was made to kill. I chose not to. It doesn’t erase the past. But it draws a line.”

Assassin Peter looked out into the void. “I’ve walked over too many lines to count. And some versions of me? They never come back.”

Laura said nothing for a moment.

Then: “You think my Peter could become like you.”

“I think your Peter could, if you ever died.”

Laura’s jaw tightened.

“I think,” Assassin Peter said, “he’d tear the multiverse apart to bring you back. Or die trying. And if he lived through it, he’d look a lot like me.”

She stared at him, eyes narrowing. “So what? You want me to keep him soft?”

“No,” he said. “I want you to keep him Peter.”

That made her pause.

“…He’s stronger than you think,” she said.

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

They stood in silence for a long time.

Then, before he turned to leave, Assassin Peter said one more thing:

“He looks at you like you’re the one thing that kept the world from swallowing him whole.”

Laura didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

The quiet grip on the railing was answer enough.

---

Peter sat on the couch, a cup of coffee growing cold in his hands.

Laura stood by the window, arms crossed, watching him through the reflection in the glass.

“You met him,” Peter finally said.

Laura turned. “You knew?”

“I saw the logs. Assassin Spider-Man’s of Earth-8351-F vitals synced to the observation deck just before you disappeared for an hour.” He sipped his coffee, then set it aside. “What did he say?”

Laura hesitated.

“He said... he hopes you never become him.”

Peter didn’t respond immediately.

“He thinks if I ever lost you,” Peter said, “I’d turn into him.”

Laura walked over and sat beside him. Her claws were retracted. Her expression wasn’t guarded—but it wasn’t soft, either.

“You wouldn’t,” she said. “Right?”

Peter looked down at his hands.

“…I don’t know.”

That was honest.

And it made Laura still.

“I’ve thought about it,” Peter said, voice quieter now. “What it would mean to stop pulling punches. What it would feel like to just… let go. To stop believing that mercy is always the right answer.”

She studied him. He didn’t look ashamed. Just tired.

“There was a time,” he continued, “right after Uncle Ben died, where I dreamed of breaking the guy’s legs. Just enough to keep him from hurting anyone again.”

“And now?”

“I didn’t do it. I still wouldn’t. But some nights I wonder… how close I came.”

Laura was quiet.

Peter looked at her. Really looked.

“I’ve seen what crossing the line does. It eats you from the inside. And I’ve seen what you did—fighting to stay on this side of the line. That’s... part of why I love you.”

“You’re scared,” she said.

“I’m terrified.” He gave a broken little laugh. “Because I know how much I need you. And if something ever happened to you… I don’t know if I’d be Spider-Man anymore. I don’t know if I’d be me.”

Laura reached out. Took his hand.

Her grip was solid. Warm.

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“I hope so.”

They sat in silence again.

Then Laura whispered: “If you ever lost me... I’d want you to keep being you.”

Peter looked at her.

“Even if it hurt?”

“Especially if it hurt.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.

“Deal.”

---
They decided to go home.

As the portal shimmered open for them, Laura leaned toward Peter. “That British one—Spider-UK. He smelled like earl grey and self-doubt.”

Peter chuckled. “That’s just how they’re made.”

They stepped through together.

But just before it closed, Gwen called after them: “Hey Laura—he never shut up about you. Like, ever.”

Laura blinked. Peter turned pink.

And then the portal sealed behind them.

Back in their apartment, Laura finally spoke.

“I like your weird spider-friends.”

Peter smiled, stretching. “I like you more.”

“…You’re still on the couch tonight.”

He threw his head back with a groan.

''Unfortunately for me, it's still worth it.''

---
A/N: I nearly forgot to introduce the spider base.

The spider-verse is based on the comics.

And yes, it's an alternate version of morlun who had a kid. The main one is doing something idk.

Had to rewrite a few scenes so sorry, if a few of them feel bad.

Chapter 89: Part 5 “What Remains”

Chapter Text

Title: “What Remains”
Scene: Riverbank Reckoning

---

Peter – Rooftop Above Midtown

Peter gripped the edge of the building, looking down over the river.

Kaine’s communicator had been offline for too long.

Laura’s was still active, but just barely—like it had been damaged. A weak signal. Faint blips.

He cursed under his breath.

“Idiot,” he muttered. “Why didn’t I notice his comm cut out…?”

The signal led him to the riverbank.

His heart dropped.

He swung.

---

Laura – Riverbank, Ground Level

The wind was cold.

Her nose was broken. Her lip split. Blood matted her hair to her face.

But none of it mattered.

Kimura grinned through her own broken teeth.

“You never change, do you, X-23?” she spat. “Still the scared little animal. Still the weapon.”

Laura didn’t blink.

Didn’t back down.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

Kimura punched her—hard. Another crunch in Laura’s face.

She didn’t fall.

Didn’t stagger.

Instead, Laura smiled.

“You're nothing but a bully,” she said calmly. “An insecure coward who got off on torturing children. Because mommy and daddy failed you so badly, you thought hurting us would make it fair.”

Kimura’s smile faltered, just for a second.

“And I get it,” Laura continued, ducking a wild swing and landing a brutal uppercut. “You hated the only person who ever loved you. You resented the only decent family you had—”

She slammed another punch into Kimura’s side.
Crunch.

“Emma Frost. The teacher who tried.”

Kimura roared and lunged—Laura ducked and drove her elbow into her gut, twisting them both down into the mud.

“I bet when she saw your mind and she pitied you,” Laura hissed, clawless hands curled into fists. “The little angry girl who needed control so badly—she tried to save you.”

Kimura lashed out again. Laura weaved through it.

“And now?”

Laura dropped her voice to a whisper.

“You can’t even take a punch without your nose breaking.”

She cracked another one across Kimura’s face.

“Scarlet Spider proved that.”

Kimura growled, backing away slightly.

“You can’t hurt me,” she sneered.

Laura’s eyes gleamed, steady, lethal.

“You still have to breathe.”

---

A Minute Later

The river surged, black and cold.

Laura straddled Kimura’s body, forcing her down into the water, hands wrapped around her face.

Kimura thrashed.

Laura didn’t let go.

Not yet.

Not even when the struggling slowed.

Not when it stopped.

Not when bubbles ceased rising.

Peter’s voice echoed in her head.

Kaine didn’t die for this.

She let go.

Kimura floated, unconscious but alive.

Laura climbed out, shaking.

She stood over the water, covered in blood, bruises, and rage.

And then—

Thwip.

Peter landed.

She turned slowly.

His mask hid his face, but not his shock.

“…Laura?”

She didn’t answer.

Not yet.

She dropped to her knees.

Turned her head.

Saw Kaine—still there.

Still unmoving.

She walked up to him tired.

Put her fingers on his wrist.

Faint pulse.

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Peter—!” she choked. “He’s—he’s not dead! We need to get him help!”

Peter was already moving.

Then—

A flash of dimensional light.

PHWOOOM.

A circular portal opened in the air above the water.

Two figures in Spider suits dropped through it.

One wore a blue mask with white lenses, EMT gear strapped to his arms.

The other, taller, had a green mask and yellow lenses, his suit bearing a faint spider-cross emblem.

The blue one waved. “Sorry we’re late—his comm kept beeping like crazy, but we figured it was another prank—like that Mayday incident on the symbiote planet—”

The green one muttered, “Never again,” before locking eyes on Kaine’s body.

“…Oh god.”

The blue one dropped the humor immediately, kneeling beside Kaine.

The green one turned to Laura.

“What happened?” he asked.

Laura swallowed.

“I—I was under a trigger scent. It was Kimura. She planned it. Funded by Alchemax. She—”

The green one raised a hand, calm and cold.

“You don’t need to explain more.”

His voice softened just slightly.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Laura’s hands trembled.

Peter put an arm around her as they watched the two Spider-Medics lift Kaine onto a floating gurney and secure his throat.

The green one spoke into a comm. “Medical bay, Earth-001. Emergency patch for subject Kane-3325. Massive blood loss and slashed throat.”

They vanished back through the portal in seconds.

Laura didn’t move.

Peter didn’t speak.

Finally—she broke.

She turned and wrapped her arms around Peter, burying her face in his chest.

“I thought I killed him,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” Peter murmured. “You fought it.”

They stood like that, holding each other under the pale light of dawn, blood drying on their suits, the river behind them still.

---
A/N: Well i guess kaine lives.

Wohoo! What an emotional ending, i do find it tragic on how quickly Laura accepted that kaine was dead.

I do not blame Laura in her shoes depression would've been worse.

Poor Peter didn’t get to process Kaine’s loss, gee im a tragic writer.

The arc is yet to be over, we still have to deal with kaine recovering.

Chapter 90: “Operation: Clawback”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “Operation: Clawback”
Scene: The Prank of the Year (And Immediate Regret)

---

Parker-Kinney Apartment – Saturday Afternoon

It began with a simple observation:

Laura had never been pranked.

Gabby brought it up first, legs hanging off the kitchen counter as she munched popcorn straight from the bowl.

“We prank each other all the time. But Laura? Nothing. That’s suspicious.”

“She sees everything coming,” Peter said from the floor, webbing together the pieces of a broken mug like it was some weird puzzle therapy. “She’s got claws, super-hearing, and that death stare. I value my life.”

Leah, sitting beside him with a juice box, looked thoughtful.

“But wouldn’t that make it more fun?”

Gabby sat up.

“…She’s right.”

Peter blinked. “Oh no. She’s right.”

Thus, Operation: Clawback was born.

---

Phase One: Planning

Leah drew up blueprints. Mostly stick figures and arrows. Gabby declared herself “Commander Chaos.” Peter insisted on being “the inside man.”

They settled on a fake emergency: a “broken” web-shooter sound in the hallway, followed by suspicious silence, then a pile of laundry artfully exploded in the living room—topped with ketchup.

“We’ll pretend Peter exploded,” Gabby explained.

“Again,” Leah added.

Gabby nodded. “Exactly. And then Laura walks in, freaks out, and boom—April Fool’s in October.”

Peter looked up from making fake scorch marks with a hairdryer. “I’m not entirely comfortable being the dead guy in this plan.”

Gabby: “You’re not dead. Just extra crispy.”

Peter: “...Thanks.”

---

Phase Two: Execution

Laura walked in the door 4:37 p.m. sharp, holding a grocery bag in one hand and a suspicious squint already forming in her eyes.

Immediately: the silence.

The way too quiet kind of silence.

She dropped the bag on the counter.

“Gabby?”

Nothing.

“Leah?”

Still nothing.

Then—

“Peter?” she called, voice edged with concern.

A sizzling sound came from the hallway—Peter's cue. Gabby hit the remote for the sound effect. Leah dropped the laundry pile. Peter flopped onto the floor with ketchup streaked across his shirt and one shoe off.

Laura stormed into the room, eyes flashing—

“What the hell—?!”

Gabby leapt out from behind the couch.

“GOT YOU!”

Leah threw glitter in the air.

Peter groaned dramatically. “Laura... the spaghetti... it turned on me...”

Laura blinked once.

Twice.

And then just...

Stared.

Hard.

Long.

Peter gulped.

Gabby started to backpedal.

Leah slowly slid behind the couch.

And Laura—very calmly—reached into her jacket, pulled out a small water balloon, and nailed Peter in the face.

Splat.

“Rule one,” she said, stepping over his ketchup-drenched self. “Don’t prank a former assassin.”

Gabby howled. “SHE HAD A COUNTERPRANK—”

Laura dropped the second balloon into Gabby’s hoodie hood.

Splat.

Leah peeked over the couch, wide-eyed.

Laura knelt beside her and handed her... a tiny, perfect, revenge cookie.

Leah took it. Slowly. Like receiving a gift from a god.

“You almost got me,” Laura said, ruffling her hair.

Peter lay on the floor, dripping in ketchup.

“Can I get a towel? Or dignity? I’ll take either.”

Laura just smirked.

“Maybe next time.”

Chapter 91: Part 6 “The Recovery Room”& “Night Watch”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “The Recovery Room”
Scene: Aftermath, Medbay, Loomworld

---

Earth-001 | Loomworld – Spider-Medical Bay, Sector Red

Peter paced.

One hand clenched. The other balled and twitching.

He kept glancing at the observation window where Kaine lay sedated, his body stabilized, a thin medical mesh across his throat and shoulders.

Inside, the blue-masked Spider-Medic adjusted a web-tube IV.

Outside, beside Peter and Laura, the green-masked one stood still. Observing. Almost eerily calm.

Peter finally turned, voice sharp.

“Why aren't we on Earth-1610.99? That’s where Kaine's fail-safe was supposed to reroute if his comm died.”

The green-masked medic didn’t even blink.

“That unit’s been reassigned,” he said flatly. “It’s handling priority-level issues. Things like cross-dimensional poison containment, normal poisoning (aka alcohol), wild symbiote tracking, superhuman mutation regulation, and, most importantly—”

A pause.

“—any signs of the Inheritors returning.”

Peter’s fists clenched tighter.

“And this wasn’t priority?”

The blue medic looked up from inside the room but didn’t intervene.

Peter’s voice rose. “If you’d gotten here sooner, none of this might’ve happened. You could’ve pulled Kaine out before—” he gestured roughly at the glass, at the still, silent figure inside. “My brother wouldn’t be—”

He turned and punched the wall.

Hard.

The reinforced structure didn’t budge. Not even a scratch.

Peter breathed hard.

Behind him, Laura said nothing.

The green medic spoke, still even.

“You’re angry.”

“No kidding.”

“You’re scared.”

Peter turned sharply. “What, is that supposed to be profound?”

“No,” the medic replied. “Just true.”

Peter stared, chest heaving.

Laura finally stepped forward, voice low.

“How bad was it?”

The green Spider-Medic tapped his wrist.

A holographic chart flickered into the air—vitals, suit diagnostics, proximity logs.

He pointed.

“You’re lucky,” he said without inflection. “The adamantium slash was shallow and clean. Had it gone even half a centimeter deeper—”

He looked at Peter.

“—he would have bled out in under a minute.”

Peter went quiet.

Laura stared at the graph.

The green medic sighed. Not out of exhaustion—but memory.

“I lost my father,” he said. “To the Inheritors. Long time ago.”

He paused.

“Four of us. Siblings. None of us handled it well.”

Peter looked up slowly.

“But... we’re Spider-People. We don’t get peace, always. We get each other. And sometimes—”

His fingers curled.

“—tragedy’s the price of legacy.”

Laura nodded once.

There was silence for a moment.

Then—

Hiss.

The blue-masked medic stepped out of the medbay.

He pulled his mask halfway down—just past the nose. His hair was black and his skin was dark, sweat-soaked. Eyes tired but kind.

“Kaine’s stable,” he said.

They both looked at him sharply.

“He won’t be able to talk for a bit—not with how deep the wound was. But he’ll heal. Give him a few weeks.”

Peter let out a breath that sounded like it’d been trapped in his lungs since the river.

The blue medic gave a small, tired smile.

“Name’s Nicholas, by the way.”

He pointed lazily over his shoulder with a thumb.

“And that guy? That’s Mathe—”

Elbow.

A sharp jab from the green Spider-Medic.

Nicholas winced.

“James. Right. James.”

Peter arched a brow behind his mask.

Laura didn’t comment.

But Peter filed it away.

The two medics stood for a moment longer, watching Kaine through the glass.

Then Nicholas spoke again.

“He’s lucky to have you both.”

And without another word, the two Spider-Medics turned and left the observation chamber, their silhouettes fading into the sterile glow of Loomworld’s halls.

---

Title: “Night Watch”
Scene: Medbay, Loomworld – Laura’s Vigil

---

Earth-001 | Loomworld – Spider-Medical Bay, 03:12 A.M.

The medical monitors blinked soft green and amber.

Kaine lay motionless, the soft hum of nanoweave bandages pulsing around his throat. His face was pale, jaw slack, and he hadn’t moved once in hours.

Laura sat at his side.

Still.

Silent.

Watching.

She hadn’t slept. Barely blinked.

The sterile lights buzzed overhead like an insect’s drone, and every so often, the machinery beeped to remind her that Kaine was—technically—alive.

But the stillness?

The stillness was what tore at her.

Her hands were folded in her lap, claws retracted, fingers twitching every now and then like they needed to do something. Anything.

Finally, she leaned forward, arms resting on her knees.

“…You’re stubborn,” she whispered.

Kaine didn’t respond.

Laura glanced down.

“I tried to kill you.”

Still nothing.

She swallowed hard.

“I almost killed you.”

She wiped at her cheek. Didn’t know when the tears had started.

“I can still see it. You trusted me to stop.”

Another long pause.

The machines kept beeping.

“I fought it,” she murmured. “Fought the scent. But not fast enough.”

She reached forward and adjusted the blanket over Kaine’s arm.

She stared at her hands.

“You’re quiet. And reckless. And half the time you act like you don’t care about anything.” She looked up again. “But you tried. And I know that matters.”

A breath. Ragged.

“I’m sorry.”

She sat back in her chair, exhaling slow.

And behind her—

“…That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever heard you give him.”

Laura didn’t flinch.

Peter’s voice was soft—careful.

She turned her head slightly.

He stood by the doorway, arms crossed, mask off, face tired and open.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. “Just… didn’t want to interrupt.”

Laura nodded once.

Peter stepped forward and sat beside her.

They both looked through the glass.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then, quietly—

“I was scared,” Laura said.

Peter didn’t speak.

“I didn’t lose control like that. Not in years.”

Still silence.

“I thought I was past it. I thought—” She cut herself off.

Peter waited.

She shook her head. “If you hadn’t trained me the way you did—if you hadn’t been in my head… I don’t know who I would’ve become. Maybe someone worse than what I used to be.”

Peter’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s not true.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

She looked at him.

His gaze was steady. Soft. Honest.

“I know the person who tucks in a five-year-old with a dinosaur bandage on her elbow,” he said. “Who panics when Gabby steals all the kitchen knives. Who shoves me away from danger even when I’m the one with the bulletproof suit.”

He turned toward her.

“You’re not a weapon, Laura never. You’re not even what they tried to make you.”

He hesitated.

“You’re what you chose to be. Always remember that.”

She looked down.

After a long moment, she spoke.

“I just want to make sure I never go back.”

“You won’t,” Peter said. “Not while I’m around.”

She snorted softly. “So it’s your job to keep me grounded?”

Peter smiled faintly. “Call it a shared project.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more.

Kaine’s vitals stayed steady.

And the weight?

The weight started to lift.

---

A/N: Well do not worry Kaine is well.

Next chapter is gonna be the kids coming to see kaine.

I wanted to give the medic personality, and i genuinely hate the Inheritors.

Chapter 92: Part 7 “Silence and Smirks” & “Grumpy Uncle Kaine”

Chapter Text

Title: “Silence and Smirks”
Scene: Medbay, Loomworld – Waking Up Isn’t Easy

---

Earth-001 | Loomworld – Spider-Medical Bay, 13:47 P.M.

The soft beeping of Kaine’s vitals had become background noise.

Laura had drifted into a light, half-alert sleep in the chair, arms folded across her chest, chin tucked down. Peter sat beside her, one hand resting on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t moved much either—just watched.

The moment came quietly.

A twitch.

Barely noticeable at first.

Then—

Kaine’s fingers curled.

Peter’s eyes snapped open.

“Kaine?”

Laura stirred instantly.

Kaine’s eyelids fluttered, then opened fully. His pupils adjusted slowly to the sterile light.

He blinked once.

Then again.

And groaned.

“Whoa, easy—don’t try to speak,” Peter said, hand reaching gently to steady him.

Kaine grimaced, reaching up instinctively—but winced as the pain in his throat reminded him why that was a terrible idea.

He slowly lowered his hand.

Instead, he shifted his eyes between them. Groggy. Sharp. Slightly annoyed.

Laura leaned closer, watching him carefully.

Kaine stared for a long second—then gave a deliberately slow, sarcastic thumbs-up.

Peter burst into laughter, rubbing his forehead.

“Oh my god, he’s alive and already an asshole again.”

Laura exhaled softly—maybe a laugh, maybe relief. Probably both.

Kaine raised an eyebrow at her.

She leaned in a bit more.

“I almost killed you,” she whispered.

Kaine stared at her.

Then pointed at his throat with exaggerated flair, raising both brows like, “Yeah, I noticed.”

Laura rolled her eyes.

Peter smirked. “Come on, man. Can’t you pretend to be gracious for five minutes?”

Kaine raised a shaky hand, pointed at his throat again, then at Peter, then made a rough slicing motion with two fingers.

Peter blinked. “…Did you just mime telling me to shut up?”

Kaine gave another very slow thumbs-up.

Laura finally let out an actual laugh—short, dry, but genuine.

Peter leaned back. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Kaine nodded slowly, winced, then motioned toward a nearby notepad.

Peter grabbed it, handed it to him.

Kaine scrawled in messy block letters:

> “WHERE’S KIMURA?”

Laura’s jaw clenched.

“I drowned her,” she said evenly. “Not dead. Just... broken. SHIELD got her...”

Kaine blinked slowly, and then wrote:

> “GOOD.”

He scratched something else underneath:

> “NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.”

Laura stared at the words for a long moment.

Then nodded.

“Deal.”

Kaine dropped the pen, visibly exhausted.

Peter stood and adjusted the medical webbing slightly.

“Get some sleep. You earned it.”

Kaine didn’t protest.

As he drifted back to unconsciousness, Laura stood beside Peter again.

She watched Kaine’s chest rise and fall, slow and steady.

And this time?

The silence didn’t feel heavy.

Title: “Grumpy Uncle Kaine”
Scene: Visitors, Vitals & Very Long Hugs

---

Earth-001 | Loomworld – Spider-Medical Bay, Recovery Sector, A Few Days Later.

Kaine had grown used to the hum of medical equipment and the faint antiseptic sting in the air.

What he wasn’t used to?

People.

Specifically these people.

He blinked awake to the sight of James—the green-masked, perpetually calm Spider-Medic—running a casual scan along his vitals.

“Heart rate’s steady,” James murmured. “Throat tissue regenerating as expected. You’ll probably get your voice back in a few days.”

Kaine gave a slow thumbs-up.

James nodded in return. “Try not to get stabbed next week.”

Before Kaine could muster a suitably rude hand gesture, James turned and exited with all the urgency of someone on his fifth shift and tenth existential crisis.

And that’s when they entered.

“KAINE!” came Jubilee’s voice—rushing through the door.

Before Kaine could so much as sit up straighter, she flung herself into a hug around him.

He grunted—hard—but didn’t pull away.

Didn’t move at all.

He just let her hold him.

She didn’t let go for a while.

Neither did he.

Eventually, she eased back, eyes glistening. “Don’t scare me like that again, you stubborn jackass.”

Kaine nodded slowly, squeezing her hand.

Then came the rest.

Anya. Gabby. Leah. Miles. And eventually… Ben.

Nicholas—half-masked—poked his head in from another room, already grinning.

“Aw, we’re doing group hugs? Nice. Did we bring alcohol? Oh wait—Miles drank it all last time.”

Miles groaned. “I said I was sorry!”

Anya crossed her arms. “I was the one who had to carry your drunk, underaged ass home. And explain it to your mom.”

Peter’s voice echoed from the hallway: “Two weeks. Two weeks, Miles. Anya couldn’t patrol because of your tequila-flavored mistake!”

Kaine silently snorted.

Anya turned to him and smirked.

Then punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Welcome back, grump.”

And then—hugged him.

He stiffened, as always.

But patted her back with one hand.

Then came Gabby—a blur of energy.

She launched herself onto the bed beside him and poked his chest.

“You’re not allowed to almost die. You owe me twenty bucks from three years ago. I’m collecting.”

He rolled his eyes.

She hugged him anyway.

“Don’t make me cry again, old man,” she whispered into his shoulder.

Then came Leah.

Five years old. Small, serious. Eyes wide as she crept to his side and tugged at the sheet.

“Uncle Kaine?”

He blinked.

She hugged him. As best as her little arms could.

He froze completely.

She looked up.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t get hurt again. Or I’ll be mad.”

Nicholas laughed softly from the corner. “She’s scarier than half the Spider-Force.”

He knelt beside her, smiling.

“Hey, don’t forget your medicine after this, okay?”

Leah gave a dramatic sigh. “Yes, Mr. Web Doctor.”

Kaine gave him a grateful nod.

Then Ben entered.

Late, of course.

“Hey—what’s up, buddy?” Ben said, walking straight up and throwing his arms out wide. “You miss me?”

Kaine didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Ben stood awkwardly. “Come on. Gimme a hug. I almost died from stress.”

Kaine looked away.

“Dude. Seriously?”

Still nothing.

Ben groaned.

“Okay, I am hugging you. Whether you like it or—”

Kaine gave him a light kick.

Ben raised a brow.

“…Fine. Not a hug. Gentle contact.”

Eventually, after a full minute of passive-aggressive standoff—

Kaine sighed, raised an arm half an inch.

Ben took that as victory and hugged him with obnoxious enthusiasm.

“See? You do love me.”

Kaine gave him a very slow middle finger behind his back.

Everyone laughed.

And in that moment, surrounded by his chaos-riddled, ridiculous family—

Kaine didn’t feel broken.

Just bruised.

And alive.

---

A/N: Decided once again not to split up these chapters but decided to keep the titles.

And yes Peter did decide to punish Anya for a miles mistake. He is not letting last time be his mistake.

He's gonna need work on that parenting

Chapter 93: Part 8“Under the Loomlight”

Chapter Text

Title: “Under the Loomlight”
Scene: The Balcony – A Night to Breathe

---

Earth-001 | Loomworld – Medical Tower Balcony, 11:23 PM

The city-sky of Loomworld wasn’t like Earth’s.

It shimmered with webs.

Literal, glowing strands of dimensional silk stretched across the stars — like constellations that were woven rather than born. Some strands moved. Some glowed. All of it pulsed with a kind of steady, quiet life.

Peter leaned against the railing, mask off, watching the stars.

Laura stood beside him, arms crossed, silent. Her hoodie had a coffee stain on the sleeve. Her hair was still damp from the medic’s decontamination field.

Behind them, Kaine sat in a low chair, wrapped in a blanket that Gabby had insisted he keep. His throat still hurt too much to speak. He had a notepad resting on his knee. The pages were mostly blank.

For now.

The silence stretched long.

Peter finally broke it.

“…I thought I lost both of you.”

Laura didn’t look at him.

“I almost lost myself.”

Kaine scratched something on his notepad.

> You didn’t.

Peter glanced back and smiled. “That’s the most reassuring grunt in written form I’ve seen all day.”

Laura gave a short breath of amusement.

They watched the webs stretch across the stars a little longer.

Then Peter said quietly, “When Kaine went down, and I couldn’t find either of you… I started thinking of things I hadn’t said. Stuff I didn’t write in the journal.”

Laura didn’t speak. Just waited.

Kaine raised an eyebrow, interested.

Peter hesitated.

“I wanted to say... I’m proud of you,” he said finally. “Of both of you.”

Kaine blinked.

Laura turned toward him.

“You held it back, Laura. You beat it. You came back from something that once defined you. You chose who you were. That’s not small.”

Laura stared at him, unreadable.

Then:

“You still talk too much.”

Peter grinned. “Yeah, but now it’s poetic.”

Kaine scribbled:

> Still annoying.

Laura nodded. “Consistent.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

Then grew quiet again.

“…But really. Thank you. For coming back.”

Laura looked at the stars again.

“Thanks for being the reason I could.”

She reached over and laced her fingers through his.

Kaine watched them.

Then slowly turned his head upward — to the sky.

And for the first time in a while?

He didn’t feel like the monster in the story.

Just one of the people who survived it.

---

A/N: And the end of this arc. Im taking a break. For 3 days, i'll answer comments if you had any, outside of that im off.

The next arc will be showing Leah backstories.

With one shots in between.

Peace ✌️

Chapter 94: “The Spider-Totem Talk”

Chapter Text

Title: “The Spider-Totem Talk”
(Peter, Laura, Ezekiel, and one extremely reluctant Anya Corazon)

---

Peter was making waffles.

That’s it. That’s all he wanted from the day. Waffles, maybe coffee, maybe get a head start on fixing his busted web-shooters. A day without multiversal headaches or ancient mystic prophecies. That was the dream.

Then the living room window opened on its own.

Peter didn’t even flinch.

Laura did.

She was halfway through a mug of coffee—black, still too hot, just how she liked it—and turned toward the tall, silver-haired man standing barefoot on their windowsill like some kind of metaphysical cat.

“Ezekiel,” Peter greeted, flipping a waffle.

Laura slowly set her mug down. “This one of your weird exes?”

Ezekiel stepped down onto the floor like he belonged there. “No. I’m here to talk.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Talk about what.”

Ezekiel’s voice was low, dramatic, unnecessarily intense. “The Web of Life and Destiny trembles. The strands are fraying. The Totems are unbalanced. There is a storm on the edge of reality and the fangs of the Great Spider—”

Laura popped a claw.

Ezekiel blinked. “That seems unnecessary.”

“That was me being polite,” she deadpanned.

Peter calmly poured syrup onto his waffle. “You really picked the wrong week to show up. She’s already stabbed one coffee machine this morning.”

Ezekiel frowned, completely unfazed. “There are larger concerns than domestic appliances, Peter. You are the center of the web. You must—”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said, biting into his waffle. “Hey babe, can you pass my phone?”

Laura passed it wordlessly.

He dialed.

A groan echoed through the speaker before the call even connected.

“Nooooo,” Anya moaned. “Tell me that’s not him again.”

Peter took another bite. “Yup.”

“I just dealt with him three weeks ago!”

Peter looked at Ezekiel. “Three?”

Ezekiel: “That was not an official visitation.”

Laura: “I swear to God, if he says ‘totem’ one more time, I’m going to treat him like a training dummy.”

Anya (through speaker): “Tell her she’s valid.”

Peter: “She says you’re valid.”

Ezekiel’s brow furrowed. “This is a matter of ancient power—”

Anya: “And I’m the totem translator, apparently. Put him on.”

Peter handed the phone to Ezekiel, who looked genuinely thrown off for the first time in a century.

He took the phone. “...Hello?”

There was a long pause.

Then:

“Okay, no. You already said that line. You said that to me, to Miles, to Pavitr, and I think even to Hobie while he was playing guitar over it. Do not recite the Web prophecy again—just tell me which version of Peter this is and if it’s one that needs saving or sedating.”

Peter sipped his coffee. “Still not sure, honestly.”

Laura leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, looking bored. “If he brings up animal spirits, I’m stabbing.”

Ezekiel, holding the phone away from his ear slightly, said, “She’s… very direct.”

Anya (loudly): “Yes! Because you keep talking in riddles like you’re cosplaying Gandalf! Just email us next time!”

Peter smiled, leaning toward Laura. “I love when she yells at other people for once.”

Laura’s expression didn’t change. “It’s relaxing.”

Ezekiel sighed deeply and returned the phone to Peter. “She said she’ll ‘handle it.’”

“Good,” Peter said, hanging up. “Now please leave.”

“I don’t think you grasp the significance of—”

Laura popped all six claws.

Peter gestured toward the window. “Before she stops being polite.”

Ezekiel stared at them for a long moment—then stepped out the way he came, muttering something about "the younger generation being hopeless."

Laura waited until he was out of sight before muttering, “What’s the point of being the ‘chosen one’ if you get visits from cryptic barefoot prophets?”

Peter shrugged. “Honestly? I kind of miss when the biggest problem was just bank robbers.”

She stared.

“…Okay, fine, I miss the simplicity. Not the bank robbers.”

Peter sat beside her, pulling his plate of waffles onto his lap.

Laura leaned her head on his shoulder, coffee in hand.

“Next time he shows up,” she murmured, “we’re letting Gabby answer the door.”

Peter grinned. “Now that’s a prophecy I’d believe in.”

---

Later That Day

Ezekiel sat awkwardly at Peter and Laura’s kitchen table, hands folded neatly in front of him like he wasn’t usually delivering cryptic world-ending monologues from rooftops.

Across from him, Anya sipped her tea with a look that screamed “I do not get paid enough in karma to deal with this.”

“So let me get this straight,” she said, for the fifth time. “You showed up again, spouted half a prophecy, dodged three direct questions, and triggered Laura before breakfast?”

Ezekiel gave her a calm, vaguely haunted look. “The threads of fate do not obey your mortal timeline.”

Laura popped a biscuit in her mouth and deadpanned, “Neither do I.”

He turned to her. “I can see now why you’re important to him. You have… weight.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I’m trying this whole ‘respectful host’ thing.”

He nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Anya snorted into her tea. “You know, for an ancient mystic guardian of the Spider-Totem lineage, you’re real bad at reading a room.”

Ezekiel, for once, looked a little unsure of himself. “I thought I was… guiding.”

Laura stared. “You tried to ‘guide’ Peter into a mystical spider destiny that nearly got him killed.”

“I meant well.”

“Everyone always does.”

They stared at each other a little longer—Laura cold, Ezekiel inscrutable. Then, slowly, something shifted in her tone.

“But… I get it,” she added. “You’ve seen a lot. Lost a lot. You think it gives you the right to steer people.”

Ezekiel looked genuinely surprised. “Yes. I suppose… that’s accurate.”

Laura set her tea down. “Here’s the thing—Peter’s not a weapon. He’s not a pawn. And he’s not your ‘chosen.’ He’s mine. Got it?”

Ezekiel blinked.

Then nodded, slower this time. “I… do.”

Anya, finishing her cup, muttered, “Well, that only took like three prophecies and a threat of stabbing.”

Laura cracked the faintest smirk. “I call that progress.”

---

Elsewhere in the Apartment

Peter, meanwhile, had slipped away during the tea chat. Which is always a bad sign.

So when Laura stood to rinse her mug and turned toward the hallway—she barely flinched as a red-and-blue blur darted past, slapped her on the thighs, and immediately bolted back down the hall.

SMACK.

“BOOP!” Peter cackled, already halfway through a web-zip.

Laura turned slowly. “Peter.”

He stuck to the ceiling like a smug little gremlin in full costume, eyes wide with innocent panic. “It was a playful gesture of affection!”

Anya, still seated, just sipped the last of her tea. “You’re gonna die.”

Laura calmly cracked her knuckles and walked after him.

Ezekiel looked mildly horrified. “Is this… normal?”

Anya gave him a long look. “Buddy, you are not ready for married spider-people.”

---
Midtown Apartment — Afternoon

“Okay,” Anya said, pinching the bridge of her nose, “we need to fix the hallway light, the bathroom fixture, and whatever Peter broke when he was ‘testing his web fluid indoors.’”

Laura cracked open a toolbox and muttered, “This is why I told him not to swing inside.”

From across the room, Peter shouted, “OW SHI- !”

A crash followed.

Anya didn’t even flinch. “That sounded expensive.”

Ezekiel, who had stayed long after his mystical lecture ended (and tea was served), stood beside Laura holding a small ladder like it was an ancient relic. “Where should I begin?”

Laura handed him a replacement lightbulb. “Bathroom.”

Without another word, Ezekiel nodded like he had been preparing for this his whole life.

---

Ten Minutes Later — Bathroom

Ezekiel stood on the ladder, sleeves rolled up, carefully rewiring a fixture while Laura and Anya watched with suspicious respect.

Anya tilted her head. “Okay… how do you know how to do this?”

Ezekiel calmly said, “I once lived off-grid for thirteen years while hiding from spider demons. There was no plumber.”

Laura passed him the screwdriver. “Huh. You’re… not completely useless.”

Ezekiel allowed a faint smile. “High praise.”

Anya whispered to Laura, “You think if we keep him busy fixing stuff, he’ll forget to drop more cosmic totem prophecies?”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Laura replied.

---

Meanwhile — Living Room Chaos

Peter zipped overhead, sticking to the ceiling and narrating his own life like a five-year-old on a sugar rush(Drank too much of Laura’s coffee).

“And the heroic Spider-Man, having narrowly escaped his wife’s fury, swings gracefully through the jungle of houseplants, unaware that the legendary warrior Ezekiel has allied with the fierce warriors of Apartment 7A—”

"OH SHI-"

CRASH.

He fell directly into a laundry basket.

Laura called out: “That better not be my combat gear.”

Peter’s voice replied, muffled: “Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

Anya: “He’s gonna dislocate a shoulder one of these days.”

Laura: “He already has. Twice.”

---

Back in the Hallway

Ezekiel stepped down from the ladder, dusting off his hands. “All done. Light should hold now.”

He turned to Laura. “You know… for all your skepticism, the two of you are stronger for not listening to me.”

Laura crossed her arms. “You’re not wrong.”

“I don’t say that often.”

“I noticed.”

They shared a brief, mutual nod—the kind shared between people who wouldn’t ever be friends, but maybe finally understood each other.

Anya snapped a photo of the fixed fixture and muttered, “Gonna send that to Miles. He never believed the prophecy guy could change a lightbulb.”

From the living room, Peter popped his head in upside down from the doorway. “Did we just… have a wholesome bonding moment without me?”

Laura threw a wrench at him.

Peter yelped and backflipped out of sight.

But it still hit him.

''OW!"

A/N: I genuinely hate the way, i wrote peter in this.

Was one of my earliest.

Chapter 95: Title: “The Tapestry of Percolation” (Epilogue to the Spider-Totem Chaos Saga)

Chapter Text

Title: “The Tapestry of Percolation”
(Epilogue to the Spider-Totem Chaos Saga)

---

Later that evening, after the lights were fixed, the apartment cleaned (mostly), and Peter had stopped acting like a caffeine-powered toddler, Ezekiel approached the door to leave.

He held a folded cloth under one arm—pale ivory, threaded with faint silver and red stitching in delicate, web-like patterns.

Peter blinked as he noticed it. “Is that… a fancy napkin?”

Ezekiel gave him a look that almost passed for amused. “It’s a tapestry.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t say it’s woven from spider prophecy silk or something.”

“It is,” he replied calmly.

Anya groaned from the couch.

Ezekiel stepped forward and gently handed it to Laura.

“It’s attuned,” he said. “To subtle fluctuations in the Web of Life… and caffeine karma.”

Peter blinked. “I’m sorry. What.”

Ezekiel, entirely serious: “It predicts how successful your coffee will be.”

Laura tilted her head. “You gave us a magical coffee luck spider map.”

“Yes.”

“...I love it.”

Peter gasped. “Wait—how does it work?”

Ezekiel unfolded the tapestry, now visible as a long, narrow runner cloth. Along the center were dozens of intricate symbols—small spider runes, woven arrows, web-shaped spirals.

“When you wake up,” he explained, “check the rune closest to the top edge. If it glows faintly red, the coffee will be strong. If it’s silver, you’ll burn it. If it turns black… drink tea.”

Peter held it up reverently. “This… might be the most important thing anyone’s ever given us.”

Anya muttered from the couch, “You two really are married.”

Ezekiel gave a small bow. “May your mornings be well-brewed.”

Laura gave him a nod. “Next time, knock.”

Ezekiel stepped out the door and vanished like the dramatic cryptid he was born to be.

---

The Next Morning

Laura woke to find Peter crouched over the tapestry like a diviner reading ancient signs.

He looked up at her, eyes wide. “It’s red.”

She blinked. “So?”

“So today… the coffee’s gonna slap.”

He disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later came the sound of jazz music and the coffee grinder.

Laura stared at the tapestry, then at the ceiling.

She sighed.

And smiled.

“…Stupid magic spider rug.”

---

Peter was balancing on the back of the couch. Literally balancing. In costume from the waist up, pajama pants from the waist down, goggles flipped up, doing nothing productive.

“Peter,” Laura said without looking up from the laptop, “you’re supposed to be answering the email from the Spider Society. You know, the one about the dimensional breach protocols?”

Peter grinned, wobbling like a toddler on sugar. “Or… I could do this!”

He executed a backflip.

And immediately landed in the laundry basket for the third time this week.

Laura didn’t flinch. Just stood up, walked over, and smacked him on the back of the head.

SMACK.

Peter yelped. “Ow?!”

“That’s for acting like a five-year-old and dodging your responsibilities by giving the task to our daugh—I mean, Anya.”

Peter sat up sheepishly in the basket. “She’s good at spider-multiversal-political-stuff!”

“She’s not your intern.”

“She kind of is.”

“She’s not.”

Peter raised a hand in surrender. “Okay, okay! You’re right. No more pawn-offs. Full adulting. Swear.”

Laura folded her arms. “That better not be a ‘Spider-Swear.’”

“…Okay, half adulting.”

Glare.

Peter got up, brushing lint off his pants. “Fine. Full adulting. Real talk, though? I like Ezekiel.”

Laura blinked. “You like the barefoot cryptic spider prophet.”

“He’s weird in a comforting way,” Peter muttered. “Like a spiderverse therapist who forgot how to be emotionally available in 1983.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “And yet you trust him?”

Peter sighed. “No. Not really. But he tries. And honestly? He’s been more helpful than Miguel lately. At least he talks."

He paused.

“And for the record?” His tone changed—lower, quieter. “I still hate the Inheritors. Every version of them. Every one of those spider-eating freaks.”

Laura nodded once. “Good. I’d worry if you didn’t.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… when they show up, we lose people. That’s the part that sticks.”

Laura walked over and bumped her shoulder into him. “Then don’t let them come back.”

Peter looked at her.

And smiled, soft and tired. “You’re terrifyingly motivational.”

“I know.”

A ping came from the laptop.

Peter sighed. “Okay. Guess it’s time to pretend I’m qualified to speak on interdimensional security again.”

Laura smirked. “You’re very qualified. You’re just also a dumbass.”

Peter saluted. “Your dumbass.”

Behind them, Anya walked through the front door carrying coffee, stared at the laundry basket still tipped over, and muttered:

“I leave for fifteen minutes.”
---

Midday – The Parker-Kinney Apartment

Peter sat at the dining table, surrounded by half-finished Spider Society paperwork, a stack of coffee-stained dimensional incident reports, and a glowing tablet labeled “Multiversal Breach Protocol Update – READ NOW OR ELSE.”

He looked up like a child caught halfway through drawing on the walls.

“Okay, listen,” he said quickly, “I was going to do the paperwork. I was! But then the tapestry said the coffee would suck, and that threw off my whole—”

Anya slammed a folder on the table.

“No.”

Peter flinched.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she continued, hair tied back, glasses on, dressed like she was ready to take over the entire Spider-Verse bureaucracy. “You’ve dodged this three times. You gave me the last breach file and told me to ‘put my youth to work.’ I’m seventeen and I started this at twelve, Peter. I am not your unpaid spider intern.”

Peter raised a hand. “I pay you in life experience.”

“You pay me in migraines,” she snapped.

Laura walked into the room, sipping her tea. “She’s not wrong.”

Peter turned to her, betrayed. “I thought you were on my side!”

Laura walked over, patted his head like he was a dog, and sat on the couch. “I am. That’s why I’m letting Anya ground you.”

Anya grinned. “Oh, it’s not just grounding. It’s a full Spider-Dad timeout.”

Peter blinked. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.” She grabbed a marker from the drawer and scribbled on a sticky note.

She slapped it to his chest:

TIMEOUT: UNTIL FORMS ARE DONE. NO WEBS. NO JOKES. NO RUNNING.
SIGNED, ARAÑA

Peter looked down at the note like it was a death sentence. “That’s cruel.”

“Also,” Anya added, turning toward the door, “Laura and I are going to get lunch. You’re staying here. Alone. With forms.”

Laura smirked, grabbing her jacket. “We’re getting dumplings.”

Peter gasped. “But I love dumplings.”

Anya winked. “You should’ve thought of that before punting all your paperwork on me and ziplining off the bookshelf.”

“I was testing my spatial awareness!”

Laura kissed his cheek. “Bye, love. Don’t burn the place down.”

“I swear I’m an Avenger,” Peter muttered as they left.

---

Twenty Minutes Later

Peter sat at the table, half-pouting, writing on a form titled “Dimensional Breach Witness Statement (Form 7-C: Spandex Friendly).”

He stared into the distance and muttered:
“I fought Thanos once.”

The spider tapestry on the wall flashed silver.

The coffee was going to suck.

Peter sighed.

"Unfortunately...''

---
A/N: Peter got his comeuppance.
Laura puts on her parents hat and is serious.

Chapter 96: Leah (Backstory)

Chapter Text

Title: Leah

Leah's POV

The snow fell heavy in the alley—quiet, soft, uncaring.

She huddled against the wall, the chill gnawing through the sleeves of her too-small coat. A crumpled copy of the Daily Bugle clung to her like a second skin, wrapped tight around her like a blanket. The front page was faded, but the headline still read:

“SPIDER-MAN STOPS ELECTRO IN MIDTOWN MAYHEM”

She smiled.

High above her, against the distant glow of New York’s skyline, the real thing danced in battle with the Vulture—red and blue streaking through the sky, silhouetted against the falling snow like a living myth.

Her box—her home—was filled with old clippings, torn-out covers, fading photographs of Spider-Man.

He was her story.

She kissed a weathered snapshot goodnight.

“Goodnight, Spidey,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

Then she curled up, under ink and newsprint, and fell asleep.

In her dream, he came for her. Just like she always imagined. He scooped her up in his arms, laughing, web-swinging through the skyways of New York. Iron Man flew beside them. Thor waved from above. J. Jonah Jameson shouted something ridiculous and angry.

Leah laughed. She belonged.

And for a moment—just a moment—everything felt warm.

But it wasn’t just a dream.

---

Peter's POV

Spider-Man stopped mid-swing.

He looked down.

And his heart broke.

She was so still.

Too still.

Peter didn’t think—he just moved.

He couldn't take her to a regular hospital—it would take too long. Too much red tape. Not enough time.

He opened a portal to Loomworld.

Swung straight into the Spider-Hospital Sector, screaming for help.

"MEDIC! NOW!"

The girl—Leah, the necklace said—barely breathed.

She was all bone and chill and frostbite.

Webs hung from the ceiling like threads of life. Spider-Medics rushed in.

Peter just stood there.

Frozen.

“She could’ve died,” the medic added, quieter. “If you hadn’t found her tonight—”

“I should’ve found her sooner,” Peter snapped, voice raw. “I’ve swung over that alley a hundred times. She was right there. And I didn’t see her.”

He pictured the clippings. The shrine. The photos. The way she kissed his picture goodnight like he was some kind of guardian angel.

She believed in him.

And he hadn’t even known she existed.

---

Hours Later

“She’s stable,” the medic said. “But she’ll need to stay here for a while.”

''Her Kidneys and Livers were falling her...''

Peter—not Spider-Man now—nodded silently.

The hospital was quiet. Loomworld always had an odd calm.

He walked back to her room.

She was asleep.

Wires ran into her arm. She was so small in that oversized bed.

Peter pulled back his mask and kissed her on the cheek.

“Rest now, kid,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

He stayed for an hour.

Just watching her breathe.

---
Peter hadn’t moved.

Not since the medics gave the update.

Leah was stable.

She was safe—hooked to fluids, tucked into an insulated bed, vitals climbing slowly. The worst had passed.

But Peter still stood outside her recovery room like a statue. Shoulders hunched. Mask half-off. Eyes red.

A Spider-Medic stepped beside him—blue scrubs, calming voice, firm hands.

“You did the right thing,” she said.

Peter didn’t answer.

“If you’d found her even thirty minutes later, we’d be talking about different outcomes. But you did find her. She’s alive because of you.”

Still nothing.

Another medic stepped in. A younger one, maybe a trainee. Tried to help.

“You can't be everywhere, Spider-Man. That's not your fault. No one expects that of you.”

Peter’s voice cracked, low and bitter.

“She did.”

They both paused.

He shook his head.

“She thought I would save her. That I was saving her, all this time. She kept newspaper clippings. She kissed my picture like I was family. And I was out there—swinging over her again and again—too busy chasing Electro to notice a freezing kid with frostbite two stories down.”

The silence was heavy.

The lead medic tried again. Gentler. “You’re not God, Peter.”

Peter turned to her.

“No. I’m Spider-Man,” he said, voice fraying at the edges. “And that’s supposed to mean something.”

He turned away. Stared at the glass window again.

Watched the slow, shallow rise and fall of Leah’s chest.

And said nothing else.

---

Home

The next day, Peter taught a class about cell division.

He stopped a mugging on the way home.

Swung past Matt’s office. Shared a short conversation on rooftops, shadows, and loss.

Then he called Aña. Asked her to let Laura know—quietly, gently—what had happened.

He didn’t go home right away.

He sat on the edge of a roof, cold wind cutting through the seams of his suit, and cried.

He didn’t sob. He didn’t scream.

He just broke a little.

Because a girl had loved Spider-Man enough to survive. And he almost never knew.

---

He felt a warm presence behind him.

Laura didn’t speak.

She just sat beside him. And pulled him close.

He leaned against her shoulder, silent tears falling.

She held him tighter.

Snow began to fall again.

This time, it didn’t feel quite as

---

A/N: If Peter hadn’t gotten her to Loomworld she would've been dead like her 616 counterpart...

Chapter 97: “Waking” (Leah Backstory)

Chapter Text

Title: “Waking”
Scene: The First Real Conversation

---

Loomworld – Spider-Hospital Sector
Three Days Later

The light was too soft to be real.

Leah blinked, slow and heavy, eyes squinting against the filtered glow of overhead webs. She didn’t recognize the room. Or the hum of the machines. The beeping was strange, but not scary. Her body felt heavy, but for the first time in a long time—it wasn’t from hunger.

She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.

A hand gently pressed her shoulder back.

“Hey,” a voice said. Warm. Familiar. “Take it easy, okay?”

Leah looked over.

And there he was.

Not in full costume. Just the red suit pulled down to the waist, the mask resting in one gloved hand, his face tired but gentle. His brown eyes were soft, and his hair was messy in a way that made him look younger.

Spider-Man.

But not the Spider-Man of the clippings or the fights on the news.

This one looked… human.

“…You’re real,” she whispered, throat scratchy.

He smiled. “I’ve been told that. But I’m open to counterarguments.”

She blinked again, disoriented. “This isn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” He pulled the chair closer. “And trust me—you’ve earned better dreams than mine. Especially after what you’ve been through.”

She stared at him. Silent. Then down at her blanket.

“I didn’t think anyone would come,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

The words came quickly. Like he’d rehearsed them. Meant every syllable.

She looked back up.

“You saved me.”

He looked down.

“You saved yourself for a long time before I ever got there,” he said softly. “All I did was pick you up.”

They sat in silence.

She studied him. The little lines under his eyes. The guilt he wore like second skin. But also the way his hands stayed near hers, just close enough to be offered, not forced.

“You’re different than I thought,” she said.

Peter tilted his head. “How so?”

“You’re… tired.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah. That checks out.”

“But you’re kind,” she added. “Even when you're tired.”

Peter’s throat tightened.

“Thanks,” he managed. “That means more than you probably know.”

Leah looked down at her hands. They were pale. She curled them slowly.

“My name’s Leah,” she said after a moment. “It was on my necklace.”

“I know,” he replied. “It’s beautiful.”

“…I named myself,” she added, almost like a secret. “I didn’t have one before.”

Peter blinked.

Then—softly, reverently:

“Then that name must be yours, all the way through.”

She smiled a little. Not big. But real.

Then looked at him.

“Are you gonna leave?”

Peter looked surprised. “No. Not if you want me here.”

She hesitated.

“…You can stay. For a little while.”

Peter settled into the chair and leaned his arms on the bedframe.

“I’ve got time.”

---

Later

She drifted back to sleep with her hand near his.

Peter stayed.

Even when his comm buzzed.

Even when the shift change rolled in.

Because this girl—this Leah—believed in Spider-Man long before he ever saw her.

And now?

Now he’d make sure she never had to be alone again.

---

A/N: Peter being peter and feeling guilt.

Chapter 98: “The Ones Who Came After” (Leah)

Chapter Text

Title: “The Ones Who Came After”
Scene: Leah Meets the Spider-Family

---

Loomworld – Spider-Hospital Sector
Five Days After Rescue

Leah had never seen so many spider-people in one place before.

They came in waves—never all at once, but always present. Some just peeked in and waved from the doorway. Others stayed for a few minutes to talk or bring her little trinkets.

A bead bracelet from Peni. A doodle from Pavitr. A fabric web-flower from Mayday.

Leah kept them all close.

She didn’t speak much yet—her throat still sore, and her energy low—but her eyes were bright. And wide. Always wide.

And today?

Today the room was full again.

---

Gabby burst through the door like a tornado in boots, hoodie zipped to her chin and a bag of contraband snacks under her arm.

"Okay, I know you can’t eat half of this yet," she whispered conspiratorially, "but the point is moral support."

She dropped a handful of snack bags on the table beside the bed and winked.

Leah blinked at her. “...Are you Spider-Girl?”

Gabby grinned. “Nah. Just the cool one.”

From the other side of the room, Anya, suited up in her sleek Araña costume, leaned against the wall.

“She means chaotic,” Anya said, crossing her arms.

Leah turned and gasped.

“You’re real too?!”

Anya chuckled. “Yup. Name’s Araña now, not Spider-Girl. Gotta grow up sometime, right?”

Leah stared, jaw slightly dropped.

“I saw you in the paper once. You kicked a guy through a window.”

“I mean, he did throw a desk at me first.”

Leah just grinned.

“I like you.”

Anya gave a mock bow. “High praise from the future generation.”

---

Then the door opened again.

And Laura walked in.

Black jeans, heavy boots, no smile—but eyes sharp, scanning the room first, then softening when they landed on the tiny girl in the hospital bed surrounded by snack wrappers, trinkets, and spider people.

Leah stared.

She knew this one too.

“...Wolverine?”

Laura blinked. Then nodded.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

She stepped closer, quiet.

Gabby straightened up immediately, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hey, so, technically the snacks are all sugar-free—”

“I don’t care,” Laura said, eyes never leaving Leah.

There was a moment.

Then the smallest voice:

“...Are you Spider-Man’s mom?”

Anya snorted.

Gabby choked.

Laura blinked. “...No.”

Leah looked confused.

“Then what are you?”

Laura hesitated.

Then, quietly: “I’m his wife.”

Leah processed that slowly.

Then said, with all the solemnity a five-year-old could muster:

“Cool.”

Laura smiled.

---

In the corner, Hobie sat down with a beat-up travel guitar, legs crossed on the chair.

He didn’t say much. Just started playing.

Soft chords. Easy, gentle rhythm. Something warm and lazy and perfect for a room filled with misfits and found family.

Leah lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes, fingers curled around one of Peter’s old gloves that someone left for her to hold onto.

“Is he coming back soon?” she asked, voice tiny.

Laura sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a loose curl from Leah’s forehead.

“He’s trying,” she said softly. “He always does.”

---

Across the room, Gabby passed out water bottles.

Anya leaned over to whisper something that made Leah giggle.

Hobie played.

And Laura just watched the girl in the bed—

—this quiet, fierce little human who had every reason to give up and didn’t.

“Strong,” Laura murmured.

Gabby looked over. “Huh?”

Laura smiled slightly.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

---
A/N: Leah meets the other Spider-People. At least she's in better health.

Chapter 99: “The Hard Part” (Leah arc end)

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “The Hard Part”
Scene: The Choice Made in Quiet Moments

---

Loomworld – Spider-Hospital, Observation Room
Day Six

Leah was sleeping.

Peter had checked three times.

Laura, only twice—but she’d stood in the doorway for five full minutes longer than he had.

Now they sat in the observation room, a thin wall of reinforced webbing and silence between them and the sleeping girl. She was curled on her side, clutching a soft blanket with Spider-Man’s emblem embroidered in the corner.

She looked so small in the bed.

So still.

So young.

---

A spider-medic tapped her digital pad and cleared her throat. She was the same one who’d treated Peter after the Kimura fight, and she wasn’t a fan of sugarcoating.

“Her kidneys are damaged,” the medic said. “We’ve stabilized them, but the damage is permanent. She’ll need ongoing care. Possibly dialysis, at least short term. It depends on how her body responds over the next few weeks.”

Peter rubbed his face. “And the liver?”

“Responding to treatment. Slower. But better than expected. Honestly, it’s a miracle she lasted as long as she did.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It wasn’t a miracle. She held on.”

The medic nodded. “She did.”

A beat of silence.

Peter crossed his arms. “What else?”

“She’s malnourished. Anemic. Some nerve sensitivity from cold exposure—might never like cold climates again. She’ll need a specialized diet. Scheduled checkups. Therapy. Gentle rehabilitation.”

Peter closed his eyes.

“She’ll never be a normal kid.”

“No,” the medic said gently. “But she’ll be okay. With the right people.”

---

The medic left them with the file.

Peter didn’t move for a full minute.

Then, softly:

“She kissed a photo of me goodnight every night.”

Laura nodded, arms still crossed. “I saw the box.”

“She trusted someone she’d never met.”

“She saw who you were.”

Peter didn’t answer.

Then he looked through the glass again.

At Leah.

Sleeping with Spider-Man’s emblem under her hand.

“She was like me,” he said. “Alone. Watching the world from the outside. Thinking no one saw her.”

Laura’s voice was quiet. Controlled. “She was like me too.”

Peter turned to her.

Laura was still watching the little girl through the glass.

Her voice didn’t waver. Not once.

“She’s like I was,” she said. “Before Logan. Before the X-Men. Before you. Cold. Trained to survive. Not live. Just endure.”

Peter’s breath caught.

Laura looked at him.

Eyes sharp. Steady.

“I’m not putting her back out there.”

Peter blinked.

“What—?”

“I mean it.” Laura stepped forward, voice firmer now. “We left her out there once. She believed in us before we even knew her name.”

Peter swallowed hard.

Laura looked down, then back at him. There was something behind her eyes. Vulnerability. Anger. Love.

“Maybe we’re not ready. Maybe it’ll be hard. But if she wakes up and asks for us… I want her to stay.”

A beat.

“I want her to have us.”

Peter said nothing.

Just stared through the glass.

Leah shifted slightly in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible.

His heart clenched.

She looked like Laura had, the first time he saw her up close—feral and scared, but trying not to show it. Brave in a world that hadn’t been kind.

And she believed in Spider-Man.

Peter exhaled. A slow breath.

And nodded.

“…Okay,” he whispered.

Laura didn’t smile.

She didn’t need to.

She just stood beside him.

And they watched Leah sleep.

Together.

---

Title: “Can I Stay?”
Scene: A Question That Matters Most

---

Loomworld – Spider-Hospital Sector
Day Ten

Leah had been awake for two days.

Not strong enough to get out of bed. Not quite ready to ask the questions pressing behind her ribs. But awake. Alive.

Laura had barely left her side.

Gabby came and went in bursts of snack-smuggling and whispered commentary. Anya visited between patrols. Hobie brought music. Miles brought calm.

But it was Peter who sat closest now.

Quiet. Present. Mask off.

He was in the visitor chair beside her bed, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hands folded in his lap.

Leah turned her head slowly. Watched him for a moment.

“You look less tired now,” she said softly.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I looked tired?”

She gave the ghost of a shrug. “You had sad eyes.”

Peter smiled, small. “Still do sometimes.”

Silence settled between them, warm and still.

Then—after a long moment—Leah’s voice, barely more than a breath:

“Do I have to leave?”

Peter looked at her.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the far wall. But her fingers had curled into the blanket.

She didn’t mean the hospital. Not really.

She meant them.

She meant this.

Peter leaned forward slightly, voice careful. “No, kiddo. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

Leah’s brows pulled together.

She twisted the edge of her blanket.

Then said it—fast, like it would disappear if she didn’t speak it all at once:

“Can I stay? With you? With… her too?”

Peter blinked.

She didn’t say Laura’s name. But he felt it in the way she said her—the quiet awe, the hope behind the caution.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard.

“You really want that?”

Leah hesitated.

Then nodded.

“I feel safe here.”

Something in Peter’s chest gave.

Laura entered the room then—silent, but her presence always felt. She moved toward the bed, stood behind Peter’s chair, and placed a hand gently on Leah’s blanket-covered foot.

She didn’t need to say anything.

They both understood.

Peter reached out.

Took Leah’s small hand.

Warm. Fragile. Real.

“Yeah, Leah,” he said. His voice shook, but didn’t falter. “You can stay.”

And Leah?

She didn’t cry.

She just leaned ever so slightly toward him.

Eyes fluttering shut.

Safe.

For the first time in a long, long while.

Title: “Going Home”
Scene: The First Step Into Something New

---

Earth-3325 — Parker-Kinney Apartment
Two weeks later

Leah stood in the doorway.

Not just of a new room—but of a new life.

Her small hands clutched the sleeves of the oversized hoodie Gabby had given her, thumb poking through a frayed hole in the cuff. Her backpack—light, but no longer empty—hung on her shoulders, and her eyes were wide, scanning every detail like she was committing it to memory in case it disappeared.

“This is… it?” she whispered.

Peter nodded, kneeling beside her.

“Home, sweet home,” he said, voice soft. “We try to keep it disaster-free. That usually lasts about ten minutes.”

From inside, a loud crash.

“Oops!” Gabby called out. “We’re good!”

Peter sighed.

“Make that five.”

Leah giggled.

Peter smiled.

Laura brushed past them quietly, setting her keys on the hook, already scanning the apartment like she expected something to jump out and need stabbing. Just in case.

Leah followed her in, hesitating in the doorway before stepping into the living room.

It wasn’t big.

The furniture was mismatched. The rug had a stain Peter swore was “artistic.” The light in the kitchen flickered if the toaster and the microwave ran at the same time.

But it felt lived in.

And it smelled like cinnamon and coffee and old books.

And laughter.

Gabby popped out of the kitchen, arms wide.

“Alright, kiddo. Time for the official tour!”

Leah blinked. “There’s a tour?”

Gabby nodded solemnly. “Yes. Come on.”

She dragged Leah by the hand—gently—and started pointing out rooms.

“This is the couch. You can sit on it, jump on it, but if you spill anything sticky, Peter cries a little.”

Peter: “I do not— okay, one time.”

“Bathroom’s there. My room’s the messy one. Anya sometimes crashes here, so she gets dibs on the spare blanket with the spiders on it.”

Leah peered into Gabby’s room and immediately stepped back.

Gabby grinned. “It’s organized chaos.”

They returned to the hallway where Laura had quietly disappeared into the bathroom.

Leah peeked in.

And froze.

There, next to two well-worn toothbrushes in a shared cup—one red, one black—was a new one. Purple. Still in its wrapper. Perched in a new cup with a little sticker on it: a ladybug.

Leah didn’t say anything.

But she reached out.

Touched the cup gently.

And smiled.

---

That night, Laura tucked an extra blanket over the foot of Leah’s bed without saying a word.

Peter made pancakes for dinner because Leah had once said she liked “circle foods.”

Gabby spent twenty minutes showing Leah how to cheat at Go Fish.

And when it was time to sleep, Leah hesitated just a little.

But Laura sat on the edge of her bed, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, and said:

“You’re home.”

And Leah finally believed it.

---

A/N: After reflection with one of my friends i decided that i shouldn't separate these chapters, but like always, i decided to keep the titles.

Now the Leah Arc came to an end.

Chapter 100: “The Long Quiet”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “The Long Quiet”
Laura, after Peter

This one’s heavy—and deeply human. Let’s explore that future gently, with love and respect for what Laura and Peter shared, and how grief touches someone who rarely lets herself feel it.

---

Time was cruel to everyone.

But it left her behind.

---

Laura had always known. She didn’t say it aloud, not even to him—but it had always been there, tucked in the corners of her mind.

She would outlive him.

Of course she would.

Peter Parker aged like anyone else. Wrinkles around his smile. Gray at his temples. A limp that started after his 40s and never really left.
And she… didn’t. Not much.

Her body was a gift and a curse, something made to last. Something engineered. Something that refused to stop.

Peter used to joke about it—used to call her his “timeless murder queen,” the one who’d still be punching out bad guys while he was yelling at pigeons from a balcony.

And she’d smirk. Roll her eyes. Ruffle his hair.
But never argue.

Because she knew.

---

He went quietly.
Of course he did. That was his way. Not in battle, not in flame, not in a last desperate stand.
He just… faded. A little each year. Until one morning, she turned and he didn’t open his eyes.

---

The funeral was too quiet.

Everyone had spoken. May was gone. Logan, too. Gabby tried—her voice broke halfway through, and she handed the eulogy off to Miles whose eyes were glistening. Anya sat stone-faced the entire time, jaw clenched, sunglasses hiding her eyes.

Ben for once hadn’t arrived late. His eulogy was brief. He talked about the time he, Kaine, and Peter went to skiing. And when the time they did the karaoke and she and Jubilee scolded them.(It was fun...)

Kaine played the first part of the eulogy on the piano, before leaving the rest to shogo.

Hugging his son and then Jubilee.

Leah had puffy eyes.

Matheo and Sarah hadn’t come.

They didn't want to see their father buried.

Benjamin finished the eulogy.

Laura didn’t cry.

She didn’t speak.

She couldn’t.

---

Weeks passed. Then months.

People reached out. Old friends. Former teammates. Clones and spider-kids and mutants and heroes.

Sarah came for tea.

Benjamin came to visit.

Matheo-no, James came to get his father belongings.

Leah came for hugs.

Her beautiful children...

She answered when she could. Mostly with silence. Sometimes a few words.
But the apartment stayed quiet.

His sweater still hung on the back of the chair.
The mug with the little chip he never got around to throwing away.

The books he left open halfway through.
The notes in the margins.

And every day, she sat in his spot on the couch. Never quite fitting into it the way he did.

---

Grief didn’t hit her like a truck.

It moved like fog. It was always there.

---

She didn’t go back to hero work immediately. She tried, once, a street-level gig with Miles. Someone made a joke about “taking up the old man’s mantle,” and she snapped. Not physically. Not out loud.

But she left mid-mission and didn’t answer her comms for three days.

---

What haunted her most wasn’t the silence.
It was the way he had made the silence bearable.

The little hums he made when cooking. The way he muttered to himself while working on tech sometimes alone and other times with Anya or Sarah. The soft clicks of his typing at 2 a.m. The quiet way he said her name when he thought she wasn’t listening.

Now the silence was hollow.

She could hear her own breath. Every footstep. Every tick of the clock.

---

Still, she stayed.

Not because she was stuck—but because leaving would mean letting go.

And she wasn’t ready.

---

One night, she sat on their old balcony, knees pulled up, wearing his old hoodie, and whispered something to the stars.

It wasn’t poetic. Or profound. Or anything that would’ve made sense to anyone else.

Just:

“I really miss you, webhead.”

And for the first time in years—

She cried.

---

Title: “For When It Hurts”
A letter from Peter. For Laura.

---

It was tucked between the pages of one of his journals.
Not hidden. Not marked.
Just… waiting.

Laura found it without meaning to. Her hands had been moving without thought, cleaning the apartment in that restless way she sometimes did when the grief crept in too heavy.

She hadn’t expected it.

A folded envelope, yellowed just slightly at the edges, her name written across it in his careful, slightly messy scrawl.

Laura
(for when it hurts too much)

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

And then…
his voice, in ink.

---

“Hey.
If you’re reading this, then… well, you know. I’m gone.”

“I didn’t want to write this. Not because I didn’t want to say these things—I do. God, I do. But because writing it made it feel real. Final. Like I’d be leaving you alone.”

“And the truth is? I hated the idea of leaving you. You were never something I thought I deserved, not after everything, but somehow… you let me love you. You let me in. You made space for me in your life. Even when it was messy. Especially when it was messy.”

“You were the stillness in my chaos, Laura. The quiet I never knew I needed. The one who never asked me to be more than I was.”

“I know this hurts. I know it’s quiet now in a way that’s wrong. But you don’t have to carry that silence alone.”

“Let Gabby in. Let Miles and Anya tease you. Let Logan piss you off from whatever weird afterlife bar he’s in. Let yourself feel it, even when it’s ugly. Because the fact that you feel this much? That’s proof you lived. That you loved. That we were real.”

“And we were, Laura. We were so real.”

“I hope you still sleep in my hoodie sometimes. I hope the coffee’s still too bitter and the light in the bedroom still flickers when it rains. I hope you’re still terrible at cooking and that you still threaten people with claws when they flirt with Gabby.”

“I hope—more than anything—that you remember I loved you. Every day. Every version of you. The one who glared. The one who laughed once in a blue moon. The one who celebrated my birthday. The one who loves Anya as a daughter. The one who is a good sister.The one who let me hold her hand at 2 a.m. when she didn’t know what to say.”

“And if it ever gets too hard, look in the mirror and remind yourself: you are still here. You are still you. That’s enough.”

“Keep going, my Wolverine.”

“—Your idiot. Always.”
Peter.
.

---

Laura didn’t move.

She sat on the floor, letter in hand, and let the silence surround her.

Only this time… it wasn’t hollow.

His words filled it. His voice. His love.

She pulled the hoodie tighter around herself.
Held the letter close.
And, just for a moment—closed her eyes.

Stillness didn’t feel so unbearable.

Not tonight.

“The Last Step Home”
Epilogue

---

Time stretched. And then it didn’t.

Laura Kinney lived a long life.

She outlasted generations, fought wars no one remembered, watched the world change and rebuild and collapse and rise again. She carried Peter’s memory with her through every version of it.

Not as a weight.

But as a compass.

She taught. She protected. She loved, in her own way, again and again—but never quite like him. Never as fiercely. Never as deeply. Because some people only come once in a lifetime.

She was a warrior, a mentor, a reluctant legend.

But even legends sleep.

---

The end came quietly. No battle. No blood. Just… breath. One, then none. A stillness she no longer feared. A darkness that wasn’t cruel.

There was no pain.

Only a flicker of something warm.

---

Then—light.

And footsteps.

Not hers.

Soft ones. Familiar ones.

She opened her eyes to a street she remembered—a crooked lamppost, flickering neon, the scent of coffee and rain in the air. Somewhere between memory and dream.

She looked down.

Boots. Old ones. Worn and scuffed. Her favorites.

She was young again.

A breath behind her.
Then—

“Hey.”

She turned.

And there he was.

Peter.
No gray. No limp. No weariness. Just him. Young, smiling that lopsided, soft smile like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Laura didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

He opened his arms.

And for the first time in decades—centuries, maybe—she let herself fall forward. No hesitation. No walls.

He caught her.

Of course he did.

“You took your time,” he murmured into her hair.

“I had things to do,” she replied softly.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Was it worth it?”

Laura nodded. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“I am now.”

Peter smiled. Not bright. Not dazzling. Just real.

“Then c’mon,” he said, taking her hand. “You’re home.”

---
A/N: Rest in peace Laura And Peter.

Also the name Matheo sounds familiar? I did use it in one of the recent chapters.

Peter and Laura had 4 kids. As you can see.

Leah Mary Parker-Kinney (Adopted, oldest)

Matheo James Kinney-Parker (Goes by his mother family name often, 2nd oldest)

Sarah Megan Parker-Kinney (2nd youngest was the middle child)

Benjamin Peter (Ben for short, though no one call him that, because of clone ben) Parker-Kinney (Peter found it hilarious to name his youngest the reverse of his name, Laura allowed it.)

And the journal came back beautifully haunting Laura.

I can't help but to think of the irony of this chapter compared to the previous one and that they both ended with ''you’re home'' comment Leah believed as a child and Laura found peace from it in her final moments.

Also happy 100th chapter it was nice to share this moment with you guys!

Chapter 101: “Meet the Family (Apparently)”

Chapter Text

Title: “Meet the Family (Apparently)”
Featuring: Mrs. Hollis, Peter, Laura, Anya, Gabby, and so much secondhand embarrassment

---

PTA Fundraiser – Midtown High Gymnasium

Peter just wanted to pick up his stack of leftover fliers and go home. That’s it. Simple. No drama. No awkwardness. Just in, out, done.

But the universe was cruel.

Because as soon as he stepped into the gym, there she was: Mrs. Hollis, guardian of passive-aggressive judgment and champion of overly long school board emails.

She saw him.

He panicked.

Too late.

“Mr. Parker!” she called, waving like a well-dressed hawk spotting prey.

Peter froze mid-step. “Oh no.”

Behind him, Laura, Gabby, and Anya had just caught up, all casually dressed and looking vaguely annoyed at having been dragged to a school event with no explosions.

Mrs. Hollis’s eyes lit up when she saw them.

“Oh! Oh, these must be your daughters!”

Peter blinked. “I’m sorry—what now?”

Mrs. Hollis gestured elegantly. “Your girls! I heard you had children. You’ve been very private about it—which is totally understandable! But oh, look at them!”

Gabby’s face split into a devilish grin.

Anya visibly recoiled. “Excuse me?!”

Laura blinked. “I’m going to let this play out.”

Gabby, whispering to Anya: “Can I call you sis?”

Anya: “Don’t you dare.”

Peter, now sweating: “Okay, there’s been a misunderstanding—”

Mrs. Hollis pressed on. “The resemblance is uncanny! This one—” (she pointed to Anya) “—has your eyes. And the other one has… your energy.”

Gabby beamed. “That’s code for unhinged.”

Mrs. Hollis gave her a thin smile. “And what lovely names do you go by?”

Gabby put on her best innocent voice. “I’m Gabriella. The chaotic one.”

Anya muttered under her breath, “I’m changing schools.”

Laura, entirely unbothered, sipped her iced coffee. “They take after me.”

Mrs. Hollis blinked. “Oh. So they’re her daughters?”

Laura tilted her head. “Sure.”

Peter looked like he was buffering. “Okay wow, so—just to clarify—these two are not our kids. This is Anya, my student and—friend. And Gabby is Laura’s sister.”

Mrs. Hollis stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

Don't ask about Leah

Don't ask about Leah

DON'T ASK ABOUT LEAH

“...Younger sister,” Peter added quickly. “We didn’t—uh—have them when we were—nope, just friends of the family.”

Gabby: “Still gonna call you ‘Dad’ in public.”

Peter: “Please don’t.”

Anya: “I already have trauma. I don’t need more.”

Mrs. Hollis, clearly still skeptical, nodded slowly. “Well, regardless, it’s wonderful that you’ve built a modern, unconventional family structure.”

Peter opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

Laura just smirked. “We get that a lot.”

Mrs. Hollis frowned. "Indeed. You are. Indeed...''

---

Later That Night – On the Walk Home

Gabby skipped ahead on the sidewalk. “I want a ‘#TeamParkerKinneyFamily’ shirt.”

Peter groaned. “This is worse than the time Flash thought me and Logan were cousins.”

Anya glared at Laura. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

Laura sipped her coffee. “I didn’t hate it.”

Peter: “You liked her thinking we had kids?”

Laura shrugged. “You parent them anyway.”

Anya: “Hey!”

Gabby: “She’s not wrong.”

Peter stared up at the sky. “I used to fight Doctor Doom. Now my life is a sitcom.”

Laura wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

“Relax. You’re the fun dad.”

“...That actually helps.”

A Few Days Later – Outside Midtown High

Peter and Laura walked side by side, both a little worn out from the PTA meeting, though Peter’s exhaustion seemed to be stemming more from personal embarrassment than anything else.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laura asked, half-amused, half-concerned.

“I swear I haven’t wanted to crawl into a hole like that since middle school,” Peter groaned, his head falling back dramatically.

Laura smirked, clearly not feeling the same level of secondhand embarrassment. “Yeah, well, you did a great job playing the ‘cool dad’ for Mrs. Hollis.”

Peter gave her a look. “The cool dad? I spent half the time trying to convince a PTA president I don’t have children. How is that ‘cool’? I don’t even know how to be a parent, Laura.”

Laura shrugged casually. “Eh. You’re kind of a ‘dad’ to them already. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Peter groaned even louder. “Ugh, I hate that phrase.”

Suddenly, as if summoned by his discomfort, Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at it, his face falling.

Laura raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“It’s Mrs. Hollis. She’s inviting us to the ‘Parents of Gifted Students’ brunch.” Peter’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Laura chuckled. “You’re the one who made it awkward with the whole ‘I don’t have kids’ thing.”

“I was just trying to keep a low profile!” Peter huffed, holding up the phone. “Why does she think I’m ‘Parent of the Year’ material?”

Laura shot him a glance. “You’re, like, semi-responsible.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “I’m not responsible! I mean, have you seen me? I spider-maned my way through half my twenties and now I’m expected to act like I know what a PTA meeting even is!”

“You’re like a grown-up daddy’s girl though,” Laura teased, nudging him playfully. “You act like you need a parent.”

Peter blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just call me a daddy’s girl?”

“Well, yeah,” she grinned. “You still go to May when you need a snack or a hug. You’d be lost without her.”

Peter looked completely offended by the suggestion. “I do not. And I’m not a daddy’s girl!” he protested, but his voice cracked slightly on the last word, giving him away.

Laura smirked and pulled her phone out. “Sure, Peter. It’s fine to need a hug from Aunt May. She’s, like, your second mom. That’s cute.”

Peter sighed and scrolled through the message from Mrs. Hollis. She was asking them to RSVP. He rubbed his temples. “I guess I’ll just say yes. I mean, maybe it’ll be… fine?”

Laura smirked knowingly. “Mm-hmm. Totally fine. I’ll bring a notebook to take notes on how to survive being awkward.”

“Are you always this smug?” Peter grumbled.

Laura laughed and leaned into him, grinning. “Only when you’re in full panic mode, which—by the way—you’re totally in right now.”

Peter shot her a look that could only be described as pure defeat. “I’m just trying to make it through my day without someone thinking I’m raising teenagers I don’t even have.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You really need to stop being a dramatic mess.”
She began to count.

''You take Gaby to school without complaining, when i can't.''

''You agreed to adopt Leah in all but name''

''You mentored Aña since she was twelve.''

''What more do you want daddy's girl?"

Before Peter could respond, his phone buzzed again.

“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, reading Mrs. Hollis’ new message. “She’s going to ‘feature us as examples of a ‘modern, responsible family.’” She used the words ‘modern’ and ‘responsible’ in the same sentence. She’s totally trying to make us the poster couple for PTA dreams.”

“Good luck,” Laura smirked, pulling Peter along. “You better show up, Mr. ‘Cool Dad.’”

Peter squinted at her, then back at the phone. “I can’t believe she thinks I’m good at this.”

Laura turned to him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “She’s probably just excited because you looked responsible for five minutes.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t know the real me.” Peter snorted. “I’m a superhero. Laura you can’t even cook dinner without almost blowing up the microwave.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Tell that to your ‘dad energy,’ Pete. You’re already way too good at this parenting thing.”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter groaned. “It’s weird.”

---

The Next Morning – At the Brunch

It was a small, yet overwhelming gathering, filled with concerned parents and hyper-energetic children (who had clearly been bribed with cake).

Peter found himself standing next to Laura, staring awkwardly at a table full of snacks, trying to avoid looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“So, is this where we act like parents?” Peter whispered.

Laura looked around. “Not sure. Is there a class on ‘How to Not Look Like You’re About to Have a Panic Attack’?”

Peter swallowed hard. “I’ll just pretend to be a regular person.”

Before Laura could respond, Mrs. Hollis walked up to them, flashing a smile. “Ah! Mr. and Mrs. Parker! So glad you could make it.”

Peter froze. “I’m… not married?” he muttered under his breath, but Laura nudged him, giving him the look.

Mrs. Hollis glanced down at her clipboard. “We’re so excited to have such modern and responsible parents join us. I heard you were quite the example at the meeting the other day!”

Peter nodded slowly. “I—uh—try my best?”

Laura didn’t hold back. “You’ve been asking him to be a parent for years. He’s getting there.”

Mrs. Hollis clapped her hands, clearly pleased with the conversation. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy the event. Do let me know if you need anything!” She walked off, leaving the two of them to sit in awkward silence.

“Okay, definitely not doing that again,” Peter muttered.

Laura smiled at him. “Relax, you’re doing great.”

Peter shot her a look. “You’re just as bad. You’re the one that started all the ‘dad energy’ talk!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Guess we both just have to fake it until we make it.”

---

The chatter was polite, at first.

Polite in the way only school parents could manage—smiling too wide, speaking too soft, pretending not to eavesdrop while aggressively doing just that.

Peter and Laura stood near the refreshment table, awkwardly sharing a muffin and a plate of fruit neither of them really wanted, mostly trying not to draw attention.

But they’d already failed at that.

Across the room, at Table 3 by the juice dispenser, a small coven of PTA regulars had already begun the autopsy.

---

Mom #1 (glancing at Peter):
“Isn’t he the one who teaches science here?”

Mom #2 (grabbing a mini-quiche):
“Uh-huh. Parker. Teaches my Gavin. The kids say he’s fun. Kinda weird. But fun.”

Dad #1 (with practiced dad-bro tone):
“That’s his wife, right? Or girlfriend? Or whatever she is. The one in the boots and the scowl.”

Mom #3 (adjusting her glasses):
“She’s… intense. Very tall. Very serious. Is she ex-military?”

Mom #2:
“She brought her sister last time, remember? The little one with the attitude?”

Mom #1:
“I heard that wasn’t her sister. Someone said that was her daughter.”

Dad #2 (deadpan):
“Wait. How old are they?”

Mom #3 (whispering):
“You know what I heard? I heard they adopted.”

Mom #1 (lowering her voice):
“I heard they’re not even married.”

Dad #1 (chewing slowly):
“I heard he’s the one who stays home while she works. Or maybe he’s one of those guys who lives off her.”

Mom #2 (almost choking on her mimosa):
“He’s a teacher!”

Dad #1:
“Still, she looks like she could bench press him.”

Mom #3:
“She could bench press me.”

Mom #1 (murmuring):
“I heard they met in jail.”

Mom #2:
“No, she was in jail. He probably tutored her.”

Dad #2:
“Or they met through one of those… dangerous rehab programs.”

Mom #3 (serious):
“My money’s on a secret government agency.”

---

Meanwhile, back at the refreshment table…

Peter blinked slowly. “They’re talking about us.”

Laura didn’t look up from her coffee. “I can hear everything they’re saying.”

“Which one is it this time?”

“Right now? They’re debating whether we met in prison or if I’m a government asset.”

Peter sipped his juice. “Well, technically—”

Laura’s hand slowly tightened around the paper cup.

Peter immediately raised his hands. “Not saying you were in prison. Just… government-adjacent.”

“Better.”

He leaned in. “Should we clear it up?”

Laura gave him a flat look. “No.”

“You sure?”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to make direct eye contact with every parent at the table across the room. Her expression remained unreadable. Cold. Wolfish.

They all turned away at once.

Peter blinked. “Okay. That was kind of hot.”

She smirked faintly. “They’ll be too scared to ask questions now.”

One of the braver PTA moms attempted a little wave. Laura raised an eyebrow. The mom immediately pretended to scratch her head.

Peter bit back a grin. “Y’know, we could make this fun.”

Laura turned to him. “How?”

“We start rumors on purpose.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You already do that by existing.”

Peter pretended to be wounded. “Hey! That’s fair.”

---

Later, in the school parking lot...

Gabby was waiting by the car, eating a granola bar she definitely stole from the school’s snack table.

“Did they think you were parents again?” she asked.

Peter sighed. “Yup.”

Laura: “Worse this time. We were also ex-convicts.”

Gabby nodded seriously. “I’d believe it.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Don’t encourage them.”

Gabby shrugged. “I dunno. You give off, like… ‘exhausted suburban dad who used to be a vigilante’ energy.”

Laura smirked. “He does.”

“I am twenty-five,” Peter whined.

“So am i, and yet,” Laura said, unlocking the car, “you keep getting mistaken for someone’s dad.”

Gabby climbed into the backseat. “Don’t worry, Pops. I’ll still visit you in the nursing home.”

Peter groaned. “I fought aliens for this.”

---

A/N: Mrs. Hollis still being a hater.

Chapter 102: “Priorities”

Chapter Text

Title: “Priorities”

The city was in chaos.

Literal fire in three boroughs. Some kind of sky-tearing rift crackling open over Midtown. At least two giant mutant lizards brawling over the Hudson like it was WrestleMania. And of course, a helicopter was on fire—because it was Tuesday, and this was New York.

Laura crouched on a rooftop, nostrils flaring against the smoke and ozone. The world was ending for the fifteenth time this year.

But Peter’s scent…

She narrowed her eyes.

It wasn’t heading toward the dimensional tear. It wasn’t racing toward the lizard-throwdown.

It was veering off. East. Familiar. Calm.

Too calm.

With a low growl, Laura sprinted across the roofline and launched herself into the air.

---

Two minutes later.

She landed in a narrow alley behind a pawn shop, talons clicking lightly on concrete.

There, swinging gently in the breeze like a weird, underwhelming fruit, was Frankie Falma.

Suspended in a web cocoon, upside-down. Again.

Frankie, groaning: “Y’know, I thought about turning over a new leaf. Then I remembered, I hate gardening.”

Laura folded her arms, one brow raised. “You tried to rob a pawn shop during an apocalypse.”

Frankie scowled. “It’s my system! Everyone’s distracted, chaos in the streets, nobody’s gonna notice a guy pocketing some dusty jewelry. But nooo, he’s got freaking spider radar. I so much as jaywalk, and BAM—cocooned again.”

Laura glanced at the scorched skyline in the distance.

“Sky’s falling. Multiverse tearing. And he stops to web you.”

Frankie, sighing with equal parts indignation and awe: “It’s like… I’m his side quest.”

Laura tilted her head. “Ever thought of not committing crimes?”

Frankie blinked. “What, never? How would I pass the time?”

Frankie: “I swear, it’s like the guy’s got a sixth sense for my schedule.”

She gave him a deadpan look.

Frankie shrugged as best as a man bound in webbing could. “Besides, I think it’s karmic at this point. He’s probably got me on some weird Bingo card. ‘Stop mugger during alien invasion.’ Boom. Spider-Man wins a prize.”

It’s always during a crisis! He’s like a guilt-powered bloodhound. Alien invasion? Webbed. Earthquake? Webbed. Giants? Webbed. Last week I sneezed too close to an ATM and he webbed me.”

Laura’s mouth twitched. She hated how much sense that made.

Laura tilted her head, a small smirk forming. “You ever think about, I don’t know, not committing crimes?”

Frankie sniffed. “My therapist says it’s compulsive. I say I’m unlucky. But I gotta respect it. Guy swings off during the end of the world just to stop me.”

Frankie glanced down—then up at her again. “You’re his… what, girlfriend? Tag-team partner? Wolvie sidekick?”

Laura cut the air with two quick SNIKTs. “Wife.”

Frankie froze. “Oh.”

Laura crouched beside him, unsheathing a single claw.

SNIP.

She sliced a support web.

Frankie yelped as he plummeted into a nearby dumpster with a resounding clatter, a banana peel landing on his head for dramatic effect.

Laura stood, flicked the webbing off her claw, and muttered, “I’ll let the cops know you’re here. They can fish you out.”

Frankie groaned, dazed. “I miss when he used to drop me on rooftops.”

As she turned to leap back into the chaos, Laura muttered just loud enough:

“I married a dork.”

---

Later that Night – Rooftop Overlooking Midtown

The sky had calmed. The rift sealed. The lizards tranquilized and helicoptered out. Everything was finally, barely under control.

Laura landed next to Peter, who was wiping alien goo off his mask.

“Handled the rift?” she asked.

Peter nodded. “Gwen and Hobie got the last of the tear sealed. Pavitr lost a shoe in another dimension, but otherwise we’re good.”

Laura crossed her arms. “Why did you detour?”

Peter paused. “Frankie Falma.”

She stared at him.

Peter held up his hands. “He was halfway through prying open a pawn shop safe with a fork! A fork, Laura!”

“And you thought this was more urgent than the sky bleeding over Queens?”

He shrugged. “The big stuff… we always handle. But Frankie? That guy’s one unlucky Tuesday from getting run over by an armored truck. I just wanted to slow him down.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

Peter looped an arm around her waist, mask lifting slightly as he grinned.

“Yeah. But I’m your dork.”

She sighed. Then leaned in and whispered, “Next time you prioritize saving a wannabe burglar during an apocalypse... I’m webbing you to a dumpster.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, you can’t web—”

THWIP.

She stole one of his cartridges mid-hug and grinned.

Peter groaned. “Oh no.”

Laura smirked. “Don’t test me, webhead.”

---

A/N: Frankie Falma is now canonically the multiverse’s most persistent low-tier criminal.

Let me know if you want a sequel where Frankie sends them a wedding gift out of guilt.(Anonymously of course)

Requested by PopeFrancisIsekai

Chapter 103: “Graveside Silence”

Chapter Text

Title: “Graveside Silence”

The cemetery was quiet.

Peter stood before Captain George Stacy’s grave, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. The wind cut cold through Queens, rustling dead leaves against marble headstones. He hadn’t visited in a while—not out of disrespect, but because guilt and grief didn’t always give you the strength to look the past in the eye.

He’d come alone, no mask, no spider suit. Just Peter Parker.

The headstone was simple.

George Stacy
Beloved Father. Brave Officer.
He Died Doing What Was Right.

Peter’s fingers curled into fists. He didn’t speak. There were too many words and none of them right.

Then—

clink. whirr. clink.

The soft, unmistakable sound of wheels over stone.

Peter’s heart sank.

He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

The quiet drag of the chair, the hollow rattle of its right wheel.

Gwen.

He turned slowly.

She was thinner than he remembered. Paler. The chair hugged her tightly, blanket tucked around her legs. Her blonde hair was shorter now, wind-tossed and blunt. She looked older, tired in the eyes in a way no young woman should.

They locked eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

The air between them tightened like webbing stretched to its limit.

Peter gave a stiff nod. “Gwen.”

Her lips pressed into a thin, flat line. “Peter.”

It was not warm. Not angry either.

Just cold.

Not the cold of hatred, but of a wound scarred over badly—raw beneath the surface.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said quietly.

She maneuvered closer to the headstone. “I come every month.”

Peter stepped back to give her space. “I should’ve guessed.”

A long pause. The breeze tugged at her jacket.

He watched her rest a gloved hand on the gravestone. The silence stretched.

“I hated you,” she said suddenly. No hesitation.

Peter swallowed hard. “I know.”

“I blamed you. For everything.”

“I know,” he repeated. “And I… I blamed myself too.”

She didn’t deny it. Didn’t soften.

“You always had excuses,” Gwen said flatly. “Always trying to save everyone. Even when it cost people everything.”

Peter closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

“Meaning doesn’t matter,” Gwen said. “Consequences do.”

Another beat.

Then softer, almost reluctantly: “But you were trying. I see that now. Doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Peter nodded once. “I don’t ask for that.”

The wind blew again.

Gwen stared at the name etched in stone. “He believed in you.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” Peter said.

“No,” she agreed. “But he did.”

Peter blinked, looked at her. There was something fragile in her voice—not forgiveness, but fatigue. The kind that comes from carrying pain too long.

She didn’t look at him again. “This city never stops. And it doesn’t care how much we hurt.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Still gotta try to do right by it.”

Gwen’s hands clenched on the armrests.

After a long moment, she muttered, “Take care of yourself, Parker. Joyce is waiting for me”

She turned her chair.

Peter watched her go. Didn’t try to stop her.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Some things were too far gone.

But as she wheeled away, he looked back to the gravestone and whispered:

“I’ll keep trying. For him.”

And that had to be enough.

For now.

---

The subway hummed beneath Peter’s feet as he sat still in the corner of the car, head bowed, hood drawn over his hair, the city’s lights flickering by through scratched windows.

He hadn’t told Laura.

Not about today.
Not about Gwen.

He hadn’t even told her the full truth of what happened that night on the bridge. She knew something happened—something that left its mark in the way he sometimes twitched awake from nightmares or stared too long at the East River. But Laura was never the type to pry. She believed in privacy—too much, sometimes. And Peter, for all his openness, clung to this particular pain like a secret scar.

He was jealous of her for that clarity. That confidence. She carried her trauma like armor. Peter wore his like a shadow.

Gwen.

The name alone hit like a cold wind down his spine.

He still remembered the fall. The snap.

Not the impact.

The sound.

The sudden jerk of her body as his webline caught her. The whiplash of motion. He remembered thinking he’d saved her—until the silence settled, and she didn’t move.

He remembered Norman’s laughter echoing across the bridge. The madness in his eyes.

Peter’s rage.

He didn’t remember much of the fight, just that it was savage. Ugly. Almost fatal—for both of them.

And then… Gwen didn’t die.

Not right away.

A coma. A different kind of prison. A waiting room with no clock, no end.

For months he visited, hoping. For months, he told her stories. Confessions. Apologies. Begged for forgiveness she couldn’t give, not because she wouldn’t—because she couldn’t speak.

When she finally woke up... things were never the same.

Today confirmed it.

She hated him.

He couldn’t even blame her.

Now the question clawed at the back of his mind:

Should I tell Laura?

The train jolted. Lights flickered.

She’d want to know. Not because she needed to. Because she cared. Because he mattered to her, and everything that came with him. Even the parts still bleeding.

He pressed his palm to the glass, watching his reflection blur.

If I tell her, I have to say everything.

About the guilt. The fear. The unbearable knowledge that even when he tried to save someone… it didn’t always work.

He exhaled.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe when they were curled up on the couch and Leah was asleep and Gabby wasn’t flinging popcorn at the TV.

He didn’t know if he had the words.

But he knew one thing.

Laura would listen.

And somehow, that made the bridge feel just a little further behind him.

---

The bed was warm.

That was the first thing Laura noticed—warm, and empty on one side. The impression of Peter's body still pressed into the mattress beside her, cooling by the minute.

She blinked against the faint light coming through the half-closed blinds, nose twitching slightly. Coffee. Not burning. Just made. She could smell the cinnamon he sometimes added when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

He was awake.

And already thinking.

She sat up slowly, dragging the blanket around her shoulders. She wasn’t a morning person, not really. She was alert the second her eyes opened, but alert didn’t mean ready. Her body wanted motion. Her mind? Not yet.

Her fingers brushed the still-warm space beside her. He hadn't been gone long.

Laura slid her legs off the bed, bare feet touching the cool floor. The soft scrape of her claws retracted and reset. Everything felt... muted.

Peter hadn't said much last night.

He came home quieter than usual. Not broken. Not withdrawn. Just distant. As if some piece of him had stayed behind somewhere he didn’t want her to follow.

She gave him space.

She hated giving people space.

But he’d asked—without asking. And she wasn’t Logan. She didn’t claw into someone’s pain just to prove she could take it.

Still…

The apartment was quiet as she padded out into the living room. Leah’s bedroom door was still shut. Gabby’s sneakers were by the door, so she was either asleep on the couch or out already. The usual chaos was missing.

Her eyes fell on Peter.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, back to her, in his ratty Midtown High T-shirt. Shoulders hunched. Journal open.

Writing.

That journal.

Her stomach clenched—not in suspicion, but in knowing.

She didn’t move. Just leaned against the wall and watched.

His hand trembled slightly. His writing was careful. Too careful.

Her voice, when it came, was soft. “You always write when it hurts.”

Peter stiffened.

Then turned, slowly.

His eyes were tired. Red, but not puffy. He’d cried. Maybe not long. Maybe not loud. But enough.

“…Didn’t want to wake you,” he murmured.

Laura stepped forward, arms still wrapped in the blanket.

“You didn’t,” she said. Then, after a pause: “Want to talk?”

Peter hesitated.

Then, finally: “Gwen.”

Laura nodded, once. She knew the name. She knew enough.

“I went to George Stacy’s grave,” he continued. “And she showed up. In a wheelchair.”

That gave her pause.

“She hates me,” he added.

“Do you hate yourself?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Sometimes.”

Laura walked forward and slid into the chair across from him.

“I’ve done worse than you,” she said simply. “Much worse.”

He didn’t argue.

“She survived,” Laura added. “But something in both of you didn’t.”

Peter swallowed.

Laura leaned forward, rested her hands on the table.

“I’m not jealous,” she said, voice low. “I’m not angry. You loved her. That’s real. That matters.”

Peter’s eyes stung.

“But I’m here now. And I’ll be here tomorrow. And if that ever gets too heavy…” Her voice faltered slightly. Then steadied. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Peter didn’t respond. Just stood up, moved around the table—and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She let him. Leaned back into the warmth.

For a long time, neither of them said anything.

Then Peter whispered, “I’ll tell you the rest. When I can.”

Laura nodded against his chest.

“You don’t owe me your pain,” she murmured. “But I’ll hold it if you give it.”

The sun broke slightly through the blinds.

Another day.

Together.

---
A/N: Requested by YourFriendlyNeighborhood

Joyce Delaney another gwen stacy clone.

Gwen lived far enough to deal with the clone saga bs. Poor her.

Chapter 104: “Apartment 3B”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “Apartment 3B”

POV: Mrs. Carmen Diaz, age 72, retired nurse, extremely nosy.

Look, Carmen Diaz didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

She really didn’t.

But it’s hard not to when you live next door to the noisiest, weirdest couple in Queens.

Apartment 3B. Mr. and Mrs. Parker.

Nice people. Very polite. Always paid rent on time. They helped her carry groceries more than once. He fixed her radiator that one winter when the super was being slow, and she swore Mrs. Parker scared the building inspector into showing up on time for once.

But something was off.

Like how they kept getting mail addressed to “Webb, P.” and “Talynne, L.” from places like “Horizon Labs” and something called “S.W.O.R.D.” Which definitely wasn’t a dentist.

Or the weird hours they kept. One time, at 2:43 AM, she saw Mr. Parker sprint out the front door in a hoodie and no shoes, muttering something about “Clone #9 again?!”

And then there was the laundry.

Once a week, Mrs. Parker came into the shared laundry room with clothes covered in what Carmen could only describe as… scorch marks, some kind of green goo, and occasionally feathers.

Feathers.

Once, there was a SHIELD duffel bag with a sticker that said: "This Bag Explodes If Opened Without Clearance."

Another time, Carmen had caught a glimpse of their living room through the open door.

Three people were playing poker. One of them had claws. Another one was glowing red. She swore she saw a woman breathe fire.

But the weirdest part wasn’t that they had superhero friends. Or that Mrs. Parker had a scar down her neck that looked suspiciously like she'd survived a sword fight.

No, the weirdest part was… how normal they tried to be.

She’d hear them argue over groceries. What show to binge. Who forgot to take out the trash. One time she heard Mr. Parker say, “Sweetheart, I love you, but you can’t threaten Mrs. Hollis, even if she is smug.”

And Carmen could swear she heard the woman—Laura?—growl in response.

Actually growl.

Still, they made a cute couple. Mr. Parker had the patience of a saint, and Mrs. Parker looked like she could kill God and feel mildly inconvenienced about it.

And then there was the kid.

Leah. Sweet, soft-spoken little thing. Showed up one day with a duffel bag and sad eyes, and suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Parker were parents. Carmen had brought them cookies the next day, just to be neighborly.

Peter—Mr. Parker—looked like he hadn’t slept in three days but was glowing. Laura tried to hide her panic with a blank face, but her hands kept twitching toward the child like she didn’t quite believe she was real.

They were scared, Carmen realized. Not of the child. Of failing her.

And that’s when Carmen decided she’d be nosy on purpose.

Not to pry.

But to keep an eye out.

Because the world might not know what that family had been through, or what they were capable of, but she did.

And she’d be damned if anything got past her hallway.

---

Later that night

Carmen was watering her spider plant when she saw Mr. Parker sneaking back up to their apartment, limping slightly and covered in soot.

He gave her a sheepish wave.

She raised an eyebrow. “Apocalypse again?”

He sighed. “Third time this month.”

“Laundry’s free after 9.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Diaz.”

From inside, Laura’s voice floated through the cracked door:

“Peter! You smell like smoke and poor choices.”

Carmen chuckled.

God help her, she really liked those weird kids in 3B.

---

Title: “Apartment 3B – Addendum: Clones, Chaos, and Cafecito”

Mrs. Diaz wasn’t unfamiliar with chaos.

She’d worked ER night shifts in the '80s. She'd once helped deliver a baby during a blackout. But nothing prepared her for the day she met Peter Parker’s identical twin cousins.

At least, that’s what Peter said when he first introduced them.

Identical. Twins. Cousins.

It was already suspicious.

The first one, Ben, looked exactly like Peter—if Peter had spent the last three nights sleeping in a hoodie and stress-eating Twinkies.

Friendly, charming, apologetic for existing.

Ben held the door open for her once and called her ma’am with a little bow. She immediately gave him an empanada.

But then there was the other one.

Kaine.

That man had murder in his posture.

He glared at the hallway like it owed him money. He wore the color red like it was warning paint, and he walked with the distinct vibe of someone who once lost a fight to a garbage truck and won out of spite.

The first time she saw him, he was shirtless, bleeding, and muttering in Spanish about symbiotes.

He nodded politely to her. She nodded back.

And then locked three deadbolts that night.

Still, he never disrespected her. Always stepped aside in the hallway. Quiet, efficient, occasionally terrifying.

One time, she passed him sitting outside their apartment with a slice of pizza on one knee, covered in claw marks, staring into space like he was contemplating every life decision that led to that moment.

He didn’t flinch when Leah ran out and hugged him.

That’s when she knew he was okay.

Weird. But okay.

---

Later That Week

Carmen saw Peter and Ben arguing about laundry, while Kaine and Laura sat on the stairs in silence—both drinking coffee like caffeine was their only god.

She passed by with her groceries.

Ben: “We talked about fabric softener—”

Peter: “You can’t put Logan’s flannel in the wash with glitter!”

Kaine sipped his coffee.

Laura sipped hers.

Carmen gave a little wave.

All three Parker clones greeted her in chorus:

“Good evening, Mrs. Diaz.”

She blinked.

Then muttered to herself: “Madre de Dios, there’s three of them now.”

---

Her Journal That Night

> Peter’s weird brothers are still around. One has the emotional intelligence of a sad raccoon (Ben). The other one (Kaine) scares the pigeons off the fire escape just by existing. I respect that.

They’re good to that little girl though. Even the scary one smiled when she handed him a drawing. It looked like a monster truck covered in glitter. I think it was meant to be him.

…I should make more cookies.

---

Conclusion:

Carmen Diaz had lived a full life. But living next to one Spider-Man, married to a Wolverine, with two clones, one small chaos goblin (Gabby), and a sweet sickly child with big eyes and bigger dreams?

Yeah. She was buying earplugs and more cafecito.

Because the circus wasn’t leaving any time soon.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter 105: "Don’t Leave Me"

Chapter Text

Title: "Don’t Leave Me"
POV: Laura Kinney-Parker

The warmth beneath her shifted.

Not much—just enough to jolt her instincts awake.

Peter stirred under her, breath sharp, hands twitching, a soft, muffled sound rising in his throat.

Laura blinked into the darkness, the only light in the room the faint glow from the streetlamp outside. Her head rested on his chest, one arm across his ribs. His heartbeat—it was fast. Uneven. Strained.

She lifted her head just in time to catch the panicked twitch of his body.

Then—crack.

His forehead slammed into hers in a clumsy, sleep-blind jerk.

She hissed under her breath, rolling off him with the instinctive grace of a former assassin. Her hand moved automatically to the bridge of her nose, already healing—but the warm, sticky feeling of blood briefly coated her fingers before the wound sealed with a pulse.

Peter sat up, gasping, wide-eyed. Sweaty. Lost.

"Peter," she said softly, still kneeling beside him on the mattress.

He turned, eyes still clouded, breathing hard. Like he hadn’t caught up to the present yet.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “It was just a dream.”

His lips parted. A whisper, broken in half: “You weren’t breathing.”

Her chest went still.

He scrubbed at his face with both hands, voice shaking. “You were gone. I—I woke up in bed alone and the apartment was quiet. Like, really quiet. I kept looking for you, but everything was cold. Your jacket. Your boots. The locket.”

She said nothing. Just listened.

“It was like you were never here. And I just…” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t find you.”

She moved without speaking, crawling back into the bed beside him. Her hands curled gently around his wrists, grounding him.

“I thought I was used to nightmares,” Peter whispered.

Laura finally spoke. “You’re not supposed to get used to that. I would know.”

Silence.

She didn’t tell him that she’d had the same dream before, more times than she’d ever admit aloud.

She didn’t say that the idea of waking up alone again—truly alone—was the only thing that could still send her into a spiral.

She didn’t say that he was the first person to make her afraid of the future.

Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his—gently this time.

“I’m here.”

“I know,” Peter whispered. “I just… I needed to hear it.”

“I know.”

They sat like that for a long time, until his breathing slowed, until her claws retracted without her noticing, until the storm passed.

And in the silence, as he drifted back into sleep, Laura stayed awake—watching, listening, guarding.

She wasn’t afraid of the dark.

---

But she was afraid of losing the one light that ever made her want to stay.

She felt him shift again—smaller this time. Not the frantic thrashing of moments ago, just a quiet, heavy stillness. One that carried guilt in every breath.

When Peter spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Laura… I—”
He trailed off, catching sight of the faint streak of blood near her temple.

His hand trembled as he reached for it, his fingers brushing the now-healed skin. “God. I… I headbutted you.”

She blinked slowly. “Yes.”

His face twisted. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was barely a scratch.”

“But it’s still blood,” he whispered. “Your blood.”

She tilted her head, voice calm but firm. “Peter, I heal. You know that.”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, and then—just slightly—his shoulders shook.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t messy. But tears traced silently down his cheeks. Like he was holding back everything because he didn’t want to make it worse.

She reached for him before he could turn away, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him against her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said again, voice cracking.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I know you didn’t.”

He pressed his forehead against her collarbone, trembling now. His breath was warm against her skin, shaky with every exhale.

“I just… I hate that I keep dreaming about losing you.”

Laura swallowed hard.

She could say the same. But she didn’t. Not now.

“I’m still here,” she whispered.

His hands gripped the back of her shirt like a lifeline.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

Not if she could help it. Not while she still had claws to fight with. Not while she still had reasons to stay.

Eventually, Peter’s breathing evened out. The tears stopped. But he didn’t pull away.

And she didn’t let go.

Because sometimes, surviving wasn’t about healing.

It was about holding someone until they remembered they weren’t alone.

They sat like that for a while—Peter still tucked close to her, his fingers curling and uncurling at the hem of her shirt like he couldn’t quite convince himself she was real.

Eventually, he pulled back, just a little, eyes red-rimmed but clearer.

“I’m still really sorry,” he murmured.

She gave him a look.

“I know you heal and all,” he added quickly, “but I still feel like the world’s biggest jerk for—”

She leaned in and kissed him.

Not soft. Not rough. Just decisive.

A clean, final punctuation mark.

Peter blinked when she pulled back. “I—uh—what was that for?”

“To shut you up,” she said simply.

He blinked again.

“You’re sorry. I get it. You’re still going to beat yourself up for it for at least three more days. But unless you plan on apologizing to my skeleton directly, stop.”

Peter’s mouth opened. Then shut.

Then opened again.

Laura raised a hand. “Don’t.”

A beat.

Then: “Okay, fine,” Peter muttered, trying not to smile. “But you do have a little blood in your hair.”

Laura rolled her eyes and pushed herself up off the bed.

“Then hand me a towel if it bothers you so much,” she said, already heading for the bathroom.

Peter sighed, grabbing the closest towel off the dresser and tossing it after her. “I love you.”

“I know,” came her voice from around the corner, dry but not unkind.

“And I’m still sorry.”

“Towel’s going in your mouth next time.”

That shut him up.

But he was still smiling as he flopped back onto the bed, eyes on the door she’d walked through, heart still catching up to the fact that she was here. Whole. Breathing.

And as much as he hated what led to that moment… a part of him was grateful to be reminded of it:

She wasn’t just his reason to stay grounded.

She was the one who reminded him he wasn’t broken.

Even when he bled.

Even when he cried.

Even when he headbutted his wife in the middle of the night.

---

She wiped the last trace of blood from her hair, rinsing the towel and watching the faint red swirl down the drain.

It didn’t sting. It hadn’t hurt.

But Peter’s face had.

That ache in his expression—not the pain of guilt alone, but the fear behind it. That look only someone who’d lost too much knew.

Laura wrung the towel out, folded it cleanly, and stepped back into the bedroom just as the bathroom door clicked shut behind Peter.

She waited a moment. Breathing. Listening.

When he came out, shirtless, eyes downcast, she crossed the room before he could say anything else.

No words. Not yet.

She reached for him—slowly, gently—and touched her forehead to his.

They stood there in the soft dark, close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Peter closed his eyes. His hand rose to her waist.

Neither of them spoke.

Because this was the apology, the reassurance, the answer.

Not perfect words or dramatic promises.

Just presence.

Just touch.

Just them.

Laura pulled back an inch. “Come back to bed.”

Peter nodded, and together, they climbed beneath the covers.

She settled on top of him again—same as before. Her head tucked beneath his chin. Her weight grounding him. Her breathing even.

His arms came around her, this time without fear.

And this time, when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t afraid either.

Because they were both still here.

Still together.

---

Chapter 106: “Web Patrol”

Chapter Text

Title: “Web Patrol”

Setting: Late Night, Downtown Manhattan

The city was quiet in that deceptive way only New York could manage—sirens in the distance, neon signs buzzing, and the ever-present hum of too many people trying to sleep, party, or commit petty crimes.

Peter, crouched on the edge of a rooftop, scanned the alley below. “Alright, team,” he whispered into the comms, “standard patrol pattern. Anya, you’re uptown. Miles, you’re with me in Midtown. Keep the chatter light and the web fluid flowing.”

“Copy that, Dad,” Anya teased through the comms.

Peter sighed. “I’m not your dad.”

“You give off serious dad energy,” Miles chimed in, swinging up beside him.

Peter gave him a look. “What does that even mean?”

“You said ‘keep the chatter light,’” Anya added. “And here we are, chatting. You see the pattern?”

“I’m surrounded by gremlins,” Peter muttered. “Stylish, acrobatic gremlins.”

Anya laughed. “Better than emotional damage dealers like Kaine and Laura.”

“You leave my emotionally complex wife out of this.”

“Peter,” Miles said seriously, “you literally brought her to the multiverse base and yelled, ‘I brought my wife!’ like you won a raffle.”

“She is a prize,” Peter defended.

“Cute,” Anya said. “We’re gonna start calling you the Simpder-Man.”

Peter groaned.

A Scream Nearby

Instant silence. All three tensed.

“Warehouse district,” Anya said. “Third and Varick.”

“Got it,” Peter replied. “Miles—go high. I’ll take low. Anya, you swing-point support.”

Ten Seconds Later

They converged on the scene: three guys in ski masks trying to break into a tech van. Peter landed with a web-zip and a “Hey fellas! You’ve picked the wrong van and the wrong night.”

One of the thugs turned and immediately got a face full of web.

Miles swung in next, kicked another into a dumpster. “This always feels so satisfying.”

Anya casually walked down the side of the building, flipping into the fray and webbing up the last guy with flair. “Clean-up on aisle ‘you tried.’”

Peter gave them a thumbs-up. “Good work, team. See? I am a good influence.”

“You’re like 85% quip, 15% midlife crisis,” Anya muttered, dusting her gloves.

They high-fived.

Then the police sirens began in the distance.

“We should go,” Miles said, already climbing the wall.

“Agreed,” Peter said. “But seriously—next time we patrol, we get pizza after.”

“Only if you’re buying,” Anya quipped.

Peter groaned. “This is why I should’ve just patrolled alone.”

But they were already swinging away, laughter echoing through the night.

And Peter? He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Later That Night – Rooftop Overlooking the East River

They regrouped on a familiar rooftop spot Peter sometimes used as a thinking perch. The city sprawled around them, soft orange and white lights blinking against the river’s dark surface.

Miles plopped down near the ledge, mask up, chewing gum. “Okay. I’m officially starving.”

Anya was already flipping through her phone. “I know a good late-night spot. They deliver till 3 a.m. And yes, Peter, they have gluten-free crust.”

Peter rubbed his forehead. “I had one bad slice and suddenly I’m ‘the gluten guy.’”

“You’re our gluten guy,” Miles teased.

Anya smirked. “Sensitive stomachs and dad jokes. You really are becoming Uncle Ben.”

Peter froze for a half-second. His smile dimmed just slightly—then returned, a little softer.

“Uncle Ben would’ve charged you both rent,” he said. “I just demand respect and occasional silence.”

“Never gonna happen,” Miles muttered, stretching out on the rooftop.

Anya ordered the pizza and sent a group text to the unofficial spider-family chat. (“Pizza. Rooftop. Midtown. Bring your own webbing.”)

As she did, Peter leaned back against the ledge, glancing up at the cloudy sky.

“Y’know,” he said, “when I started this whole thing, I didn’t think I’d end up with a weird little spider-clique.”

“We’re not a clique,” Anya said, still tapping on her phone. “We’re a squad.”

“Big difference,” Miles added with mock seriousness.

Peter chuckled. “Right. Squad. Got it. Guess I’m the squad dad.”

“You’re everyone’s squad dad,” Miles replied. “Leah literally calls you dad.”

Peter’s smile shifted again—this time, warmer. “She does.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Anya, peeking up from her phone, asked softly, “You ever think about… slowing down?”

Peter blinked. “What, like retiring?”

“No,” she said. “Just… resting. Letting us take over more.”

Miles sat up, curious.

Peter didn’t answer right away.

He looked down at his gloved hands. “Sometimes I do. But every time I think about stopping… something else happens. Someone needs help. And I remember what it felt like to not help once. I can’t go back to that.”

They all nodded quietly.

The silence stretched, until—

Thwip!

A webline hit the rooftop edge. Gabby climbed up with her hoodie half-zipped and a soda in hand. “Heard there was pizza?”

Peter blinked. “How did you get here before the delivery guy?”

''Also where did you get the web shooter?"

“Secret,” Gabby said, plopping down beside Miles and immediately stealing a piece of licorice from his pocket. “Also, I was bored. Laura’s watching her nerd show again.”

Peter groaned. “I swear, if I come home and she’s quoting episode seventeen again—”

Anya snorted. “Better than when she was rewatching Supernatural.”

“She growled at the toaster,” Gabby added. “Because it was possessed in an episode.”

Miles laughed. “Okay, that’s kind of amazing.”

Peter smiled, sinking into the chaos. His chaos.

Their chaos.

The pizza arrived a few minutes later, delivered by a guy who clearly had seen too much in one shift. (He didn’t even flinch at three spider-costumed weirdos and one chaos gremlin on a rooftop.)

They ate, they teased each other, and Peter just… breathed.

Just for a while.

The city still pulsed below.

Chapter 107: “Fight Me With Flowers”

Chapter Text

Title: “Fight Me With Flowers”
Laura POV – The Day Peter Sent Flowers Like a Moron (A Lovable One)

---

It started with a smell.

A sweet smell.

Which, in Laura Kinney’s experience, was rarely a good thing. Sweet things usually meant spilled soda, injured civilians, or pheromone-laced assassination attempts.

She turned her head sharply toward the reception desk of the security firm where she worked. Everyone was gathered around something.

No—cooing around something.

Red flags.

Laura narrowed her eyes and started walking.

---

She regretted walking almost immediately.

Not because of the crowd. Not because of the attention.

Because of the vase sitting front and center. Overflowing with deep red roses, orange lilies, and absurdly delicate white blossoms she couldn’t identify but instinctively distrusted.

A card was sticking out of it.

Her name.

Her name.

In Peter’s handwriting.

She could feel the heat crawling up the back of her neck before she even reached the desk.

“Oh my god, these are for you?” asked Derrick, a tech guy who once screamed at a squirrel. “What’d you do? Save a puppy? Rescue a baby? Commit a war crime in the name of love?”

Laura snatched the card before anyone could grab it. “They’re just flowers.”

“‘Just flowers,’ she says,” muttered Anika, another guard, dramatically fanning herself. “Your husband sent a literal poem in that card. Rhymed and everything.”

Laura blinked.

That idiot wrote her a poem.

She opened the card.

> "To the most dangerous person I’ve ever loved—
Who once told me flowers are impractical and sentimental.
So here are a dozen, to prove you wrong.
Love, Your Problematic Spider."

Her jaw twitched.

She turned slowly toward the break room. Took out her phone.

Texted one word:

Laura:
Why.

Peter responded immediately:

Peter:
Because I love you. And because I enjoy knowing your coworkers are probably questioning their life choices.

Laura:
They are. I am. You’re lucky I’m not legally allowed to stab you.

Peter:
That’s a loose interpretation of legality.

Laura:
I’m going to stab you. Gently.

Peter:
I’ll be waiting. With more flowers.

She stared at the phone.

And then, despite herself, Laura felt her lips twitch.

---

Later, when the others had gone, she picked up the vase and carried it to her locker. She placed it gently on top, away from anyone’s reach. Out of view.

Safe.

She closed the door.

Then sat down.

And smiled.

A small one. The kind no one saw.

But it was real.

Because Peter Parker was the dumbest romantic in existence.

And she was keeping the flowers anyway.

By the end of her shift, Laura had endured:

Four coworkers asking if Peter had ever sent flowers dipped in poison (he had not).

One truly misguided attempt by Anika to smell the poem card.

A surprisingly detailed argument between Derrick and their supervisor over whether Peter “qualified as a golden retriever or a raccoon in a hoodie.”

A very awkward fifteen minutes where someone asked if she had ever written him a poem.

(She had. It was six lines. All about the anatomy of the human spine. Peter framed it.)

So, obviously, she needed backup.

---

She walked into MJ’s apartment just as the redhead was finishing an online yoga class, sipping something green and suspicious from a blender bottle.

MJ looked up, saw Laura’s expression, and immediately smirked.

“Oh no. What did Peter do now? Is it another rooftop dinner or did he ‘accidentally’ web a heart shape into traffic again?”

Laura dropped into a chair and crossed her arms. “He sent flowers to my workplace.”

MJ’s eyes lit up with the kind of dangerous joy only someone who had once dated Peter Parker could summon. “No.”

Laura pulled out the now slightly-crumpled card and tossed it onto the table.

MJ picked it up, read it once, and then had the audacity to giggle.

“Oh my god, he rhymed. You know he practiced that in the mirror for, like, thirty minutes, right?”

“I know,” Laura muttered darkly. “I heard him rehearsing and thought he was having a breakdown. I didn’t realize he was writing romantic ammunition.”

MJ cackled.

“You laugh. But now I have coworkers who call me ‘Mrs. Roses.’”

“I mean… you kinda brought this on yourself. You married the human equivalent of a Valentine’s Day card.”

Laura groaned. “He’s destroying my reputation.”

MJ gave her a faux-sympathetic look. “Oh no. How will you survive? You’ll have to go back to only being terrifying on Wednesdays.”

Laura glared.

MJ patted her hand. “Look, he does this because it works. You scowl and grumble and then put the flowers somewhere only you can see, and you keep the notes. Admit it.”

Laura didn’t say anything.

MJ grinned.

“You like being adored.”

“…It’s not hate.”

“That’s practically love in Wolverine-speak.”

---

An hour later, Laura left MJ’s place, mood slightly improved.

She took the long way home.

She thought about Peter.

About how easily he disarmed her with sincerity. How often he made her feel seen, even when she wanted to disappear.

And when she opened the apartment door—

There was a cupcake on the kitchen counter.

One. Red velvet. With a little note.

> “For your post-murder snack. I love you. —Your Problem”

Laura rolled her eyes.

But ate the cupcake.

Quietly.

Smiling.

She was still going to stab him.

Gently.

Later that night, Peter walked through the front door, whistling a tune only people who had successfully annoyed their spouse would recognize.

"Hey, honey, I'm—" he stopped mid-sentence as Laura appeared in front of him, calm as still water.

"Hi," she said sweetly.

Peter blinked. "Oh no."

She reached behind her back, and snikt — the flat sides of her claws extended.

Peter backpedaled immediately, hands up. "Wait, wait! That was a friendly bouquet!"

Laura advanced, the picture of serenity. “You sent roses to my place of work.”

“It was romantic!”

“You included a poem.”

Peter opened his mouth.

She stabbed him. Gently. In the thigh. With the flat of her claw.

He yelped more out of drama than pain and flopped onto the couch. “Assault! I’m calling She-Hulk!”

“She’ll thank me.”

Laura sat beside him, reached into her jacket, and pulled out the poem card.

She didn’t say anything.

She just tucked it into the corner of their bookshelf.

Peter watched her with a quiet little smile. “You kept it.”

She glared at him.

“Shut up.”

And then leaned on his shoulder. Claws retracted. Heart beating a little too fast.

Peter grinned into her hair.

Worth it.

---

Peter stood at the front of his classroom mid-lecture, gesturing animatedly at a diagram of molecular bonds when there was a soft knock at the door.

He paused. “Uh—come in?”

The door opened and a student aide awkwardly stepped in, holding an absurdly large bouquet of white lilies and red tulips, tied together with a black ribbon and a small card stuck in the center.

“Delivery for… Mr. Parker?”

The entire class went silent.

Peter stared at the bouquet like it was a live grenade.

“…Seriously?”

The aide nodded, barely holding back a grin. “Dropped off at the office. They made me promise to say it’s from a Ms. Kinney.”

Someone in the back gasped dramatically. “Isn’t that your wife, Mr. Parker?”

Peter snatched the bouquet, face already turning a deep shade of red. “Yes. Yes, she is. Now please focus on your carbon chains.”

Another student whispered to their neighbor, “How did that even get through security?”

Peter muttered, “Great question,” while trying to discreetly stuff the bouquet behind his desk. It did not fit.

He opened the card.

In Laura’s unmistakably sharp handwriting:

> This is revenge. – L
P.S. You’re cute when you blush in front of your students.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to smile.

He would absolutely be sending her passive-aggressive chocolates for this.

And she knew it.
---

Peter stepped into the apartment, still slightly red from the chaos of the day. His messenger bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thump.

Laura was on the couch, dressed down in a tank top and shorts, scrolling through something on her phone.

She glanced up. “You’re late.”

Peter didn’t respond. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, dropped his bag, and cupped her face with both hands.

Then he kissed her. Firm, warm, a little dramatic.

Laura blinked against it, surprised—but didn’t pull away. Her fingers gripped his shirt.

When they finally broke apart, she raised an eyebrow. “That was dramatic. You get mugged by your students?”

Peter leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “You sent flowers to my classroom.”

Laura smirked. “Revenge.”

Peter kissed her again.

“Still worth it?” she murmured.

He smiled against her lips. “Completely.”

Laura tugged him down onto the couch beside her, letting him rest with his head against her shoulder. One hand tangled lazily in his hair; the other held her phone, still playing some muted nature documentary neither of them were really watching.

Peter sighed, the kind of long, content exhale he only gave when he was home.

She glanced down at him, murmuring, “You know I’m going to get you back again.”

He smirked, eyes closed. “Looking forward to it.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in the kind of quiet that didn’t need fixing.

Outside, the city pulsed and roared, as it always did.

Inside, they were still.

Together.

And that was enough.

Chapter 108: “What If I Break It?” (Laura’s Quiet Fear)

Chapter Text

Title: “What If I Break It?” (Laura’s Quiet Fear)

---

Night – Parker-Kinney Apartment

The apartment was dark.

Quiet, except for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling. The kind of quiet that made most people uneasy.

Laura used to prefer it.

But tonight, it didn’t feel peaceful.

It felt too quiet.

Leah was asleep. Finally. After the wheezing stopped. After the medicine. After her small body had stopped trembling from exhaustion. Her breathing had evened out sometime after midnight.

Gabby had passed out beside her, still in mismatched pajamas, protective even in dreams.

Peter had offered to stay up, but Laura said no.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

She always did.

---

Now she stood alone in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, eyes unfocused.

She could still hear Leah’s cough. Even though it had stopped.

She could still feel the way the little girl had reached for her—silent, trusting, scared. Always scared, but never saying it out loud.

Laura understood that kind of fear.

What she didn’t understand was this.

This... heaviness in her chest.

This fear that settled under her ribs like a blade she couldn’t pull out.

---

“What if I break it?” she whispered.

The words surprised her.

Not because she didn’t mean them. But because she said them at all.

“What if I’m too much? Too angry? Too... broken?”

The kitchen didn’t answer.

Of course it didn’t.

She exhaled sharply, fingers curling slightly against the counter.

“I can fight anyone. I can kill anyone. But I can’t—” She stopped herself. Bit down on the panic.

She didn’t cry.

Laura didn’t cry.

But her eyes burned anyway.

Soft footsteps approached.

She didn’t turn.

Peter said nothing as he came up behind her.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t joke.

He just stood close enough that she could feel his warmth.

And then he gently reached for her hand.

Laura didn’t flinch.

She let him take it.

Held it tight.

Grounding.

Real.

---

“I’m not good at this,” she said after a long moment. Her voice was low. Flat. The kind of tone she used when admitting something hard.

Peter squeezed her hand. Just once.

“You don’t have to be good,” he said. “You just have to stay.”

Laura blinked.

“Leah doesn’t need perfect,” Peter continued, voice calm. “She needs you.”

A beat.

“She needs someone who sees her. Who won’t leave. Who stays when it’s hard.”

Laura turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

“And if I screw it up?”

“Then we screw it up together.”

Another pause.

Then: “But we won’t.”

She looked down at their hands.

Her calloused fingers curled around his.

And she finally exhaled.

Not a sob. Not a breakdown.

Just a breath.

A letting go.

And for tonight, that was enough.

---

Late Night – Parker-Kinney Apartment

Laura moved quietly through the darkened hallway.

Peter had finally fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted but peaceful. Gabby had kicked off her blanket sometime in the night, half sprawled out in the armchair.

Leah’s door was slightly ajar.

Laura pushed it open soundlessly.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight in the shape of a ladybug.

Leah was curled up under her blanket, clutching Peter’s old Spider-Man T-shirt like a security blanket. Her breathing was steady now—deep, even, safe.

Laura stood there for a long moment.

Just... watching.

Making sure.

---

Her gaze drifted to the small desk tucked against the wall.

A few crayon drawings were scattered across its surface.

Curious, Laura padded over, careful not to wake her.

She picked up the first page.

And froze.

It was a simple drawing. Wobbly lines. Smudged colors. The kind only a five-year-old could make.

Four stick figures.

One had wild yellow hair—Gabby, unmistakable, with exaggerated fangs drawn for comedic effect.

Another was Anya, labeled neatly with a little spider next to her head.

And then—

Two figures in the center.

A woman with black hair and tiny claws drawn at her sides.

And a man with a red and blue spider mask half pulled up, a big smile scribbled on.

Underneath, in Leah’s careful block letters, it said:

MY FAMILY.

Laura stared at it.

Something in her chest cracked open, soft and aching.

She sat down on the edge of Leah’s bed without thinking, still holding the drawing like it was something fragile.

Leah stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Laura tucked the blanket a little higher around her.

Brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead.

And stayed there.

Long after she should have gone back to bed.

Just... stayed.

Because for the first time in her life, she realized:

This wasn't something she had to fight for.

This wasn't something she had to earn.

It just was.

And she was part of it.

Family.

Home.

Loved.

---

A/N: Laura is becoming a better parent.

Chapter 109: “No Good Deed (or Job)…” [Early Relationship]

Chapter Text

Title: “No Good Deed (or Job)…” [Early Relationship]
Setting: Police Precinct, Midtown NYPD

Matt Murdock: [calmly pointing] “Officer, it’s the stupid-looking one.”

[Peter Parker steps out of a holding cell looking offended, while the officer scratches his head.]

Officer: “How the hell did the blind guy know that?”

Matt: [without missing a beat] “He radiates bad decisions.”

Peter: [rolling his eyes] “Okay, rude.”

Matt: [folds arms] “Care to explain why you were found mixing cocktails at the Bar With No Name?”

Peter: [sheepishly] “I was trying to get Laura some anniversary throwing knives, so I took a part-time bartending gig.”

Matt: “Throwing knives?”

---

Flashback – One Month Earlier
Peter’s Apartment

Peter: [looking over bills] “Okay… finances are a little tight. I might need a side job…”

A steak knife suddenly embeds itself in the wall right next to his head. Written in permanent marker along the blade:

> NO.

Peter: “Laura, what—?”

A cleaver slams into the wall directly above it. On the blade, in bold sharpie:

> HELL.

Peter: [deadpan] “…So I take it that’s a no on the ‘part-time’ thing?”

---

Present

Peter: [shrugging] “She didn’t have anything proper to throw at me.”

[They exit the precinct. Outside, Laura Kinney is waiting by her motorcycle, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.]

Laura: “I figured you learned your lesson after that Janice Lincoln fiasco.”

Peter: “Hey, I only helped her install non-lethal upgrades into her Beetle suit. It was either that or help forge documents or—”

[He hesitates.]

Peter: “—Or ‘make her moan my name while we disappoint her father.’ Her words. Not mine.”

Laura: [growling lowly] “…”

Peter: [nervous chuckle] “Okay, fair point.”

Matt: “And last night?”

Peter: “Totally legit. I was just bartending. And then Frank Castle showed up and wrecked the place.”

Matt: “Frank is now hospitalized with thirty-five broken bones.”

Laura: [grunting] “Even I’m not dumb enough to attack a bartender for villains.”

Peter: “Which really says something, right? Honestly, it's kinda depressing that supervillains are the only ones hiring these days.”

Matt: [sighing deeply] “Okay. You’re off the hook. But Peter—for the love of God—no more part-time jobs. No housesitting for the Mandarin. No guiding historical tours for Loki. And if I find out you chauffeured for Dracula again, I swear I’m leaking your identity to Fox News.”

Laura: [to Peter] “Get on. I want to test my new throwing knives.”

Peter: [hopping on the back of the motorcycle] “Why do you say that like it’s not going to end with me getting stabbed?”

Laura: “Because if I said it honestly, you wouldn’t come.”

Peter: “Fair enough.”

[They speed off into traffic.]

Matt: [to no one] “He’s going to end up dead in a vampire cult, and I’m going to have to do the eulogy.”

Requested by JalalaXLamb

Chapter 110: “Inheritance” (Epilogue to the Leah arc)

Chapter Text

Title: “Inheritance”

Earth-3325 | New York City – Nelson & Murdock, Afternoon

The office smelled like coffee and paper.

Sunlight filtered through slatted blinds, casting striped shadows across the oak desk. The shelves behind Matt Murdock were lined with casebooks and a few subtle trophies—a golden Braille plaque, a framed newspaper clipping about the firm’s first victory, and a photo of Foggy laughing with Matt.

Peter sat across from him.

Laura stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the city.

“I know this is weird,” Peter said.

Matt tilted his head slightly. “Peter, you once called me at 3 A.M. to ask if punching Sandman counted as littering.”

“That was one time.”

“And the time you brought Gabby to a parole hearing?”

“She said she wanted to see justice work!”

Matt smiled. “So no, this isn’t weird. Just new.”

Laura turned to face them.

“We want to start the paperwork,” she said, voice calm but firmer than usual. “For Leah.”

Matt’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Peter gave a small nod. “We’ve… been thinking about it since Loomworld. Since before, honestly.”

Laura walked over, standing beside Peter now.

“She deserves more than just sleeping on the couch. Or being in the hospital. Or being passed around between well-meaning friends.”

“She deserves home,” Peter finished quietly.

Matt leaned back in his chair, hands folded.

“And you’re sure?”

Laura met his gaze without blinking.

“I’ve been a weapon. A soldier. A daughter. A wife. But this? Being her mother? I want to try.”

Matt nodded once. No smile. Just honest, respectful silence.

“I’ll get started,” he said.

Peter relaxed slightly in his chair.

Laura added, “We don’t want to rush it.”

“But,” Peter said, “we do want to be ready. Legally. Emotionally. Financially.”

Laura side-eyed him. “You don’t need to list everything.”

“I’m nervous. Let me lawyer-panic.”

Matt chuckled and pulled a form from his drawer.

He slid it across the table.

“I’ll need Leah’s full name. And yours as legal guardians. We can get the ball rolling this week.”

Laura took the pen.

Paused.

Then wrote: Leah Kinney-Parker?

Peter exhaled through his nose, his chest warm and tight all at once.

Matt looked at the paper.

Then at them.

And smiled.

“She’s lucky.”

Laura shook her head, quiet.

“No,” she said. “We are.”

---

Setting: Loomworld Medical Wing – Earth-001

The sterile scent of advanced medical polymer filled the brightly lit medbay as Peter sat beside Laura, who perched stiffly on the exam table while Leah clung to her hand. They were waiting for the results of Leah’s routine post-treatment check. A few Spider-People passed through the far hallway, talking softly. James, the ever-monotone green-masked medic, was in the adjacent room running the diagnostics.

Peter kept bouncing one leg. Laura didn't move at all.

Across from them, Nicholas—half-masked as usual, sleeves rolled up, tablet in hand—leaned on the counter with the slouch of a man who’d seen too much and didn’t want to die explaining it.

“I’m just saying,” Nicholas muttered, “I used to be on multiverse breach patrol. Then someone tossed me the Leah case because ‘you’re the nice one.’ And I said, ‘Sure, I’ll help the adorable feral five-year-old who listens to exactly no one.’” He side-eyed Laura. “And then you threatened to break my spine for calling her that.”

Laura didn’t blink. “Still might.”

Nicholas sighed dramatically. “I don’t get paid enough to be the buffer between Spider-Dad and Wolver-Mom.”

Peter gave a weak grin. “You know we appreciate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You bake cookies, I forgive you. But...” He tapped the pad. “This checkup raised something Leah asked us.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Nicholas hesitated, actually looking uncomfortable. “She asked… who her biological parents are...”

Peter instantly straightened. “She asked you?”

“She asked James. Which, let me tell you, was a trip. She asked while coloring during dialysis. You know how hard it is to give non-scarring answers with James watching?”

As if on cue, James’s flat voice echoed from the back room. “I said, and I quote, ‘The people who raise you are your parents, not the ones who left you in the cold.’ ”

Laura blinked. “…That’s surprisingly heartfelt.”

James (still unseen): “I’ve dealt with clones, aliens, and demons. Family isn’t always blood. It’s proximity, commitment, and the ability to feed someone soup.”

Nicholas added, “He then made her soup.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Do we… know who her biological parents are?”

Laura crossed her arms tightly, tension in her jaw. “We didn’t want to ask.”

“I did,” James said as he walked in with Leah’s chart. “There’s no clear record. There was genetic tampering, deliberate code-wiping, and traces of biotech signatures from at least two Earths. Whoever made her wanted her untraceable.”

Laura’s claws flexed briefly.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “So… she’s like me. A mutate, maybe partially synthetic.”

“She’s a miracle someone threw away,” James said simply. “You didn’t.”

That silenced the room.

Leah padded in quietly behind James, bandage around her arm, hugging a stuffed spider.

Laura immediately reached for her, holding her close.

Peter smiled gently. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?”

Leah looked up at him. “Tired. And hungry.”

“We’ll fix both.” He ruffled her hair.

She leaned into Laura. “Am I… really yours?”

Laura didn’t hesitate.

“You’re ours,” she said, voice firm but warm. “No matter who made you. We chose you.”

Peter crouched to her level. “Yeah, kiddo. You’re stuck with us.”

Leah blinked slowly… then grinned and hugged them both.

Nicholas made a fake gagging noise. “Disgusting levels of wholesome. I’m going on break.”

James sighed. “Take five. I’ll finish the paperwork.”

As Nicholas walked out, muttering something about retirement plans, Laura pressed her forehead to Leah’s.

“You don’t need anyone else. Just us.”

Peter nodded, hugging them both.

For Leah, that was enough.

And maybe, for them, it was too.

Nicholas came back holding two cups of something that smelled like overcaffeinated sludge and looked like it had given up on being coffee halfway through the brewing process.

“Alright,” he said with a dramatic exhale, handing one to Peter and flopping down into a chair beside a console. “Bad news: that mystery you were hoping would stay mysterious? Might not be as wrapped up as we thought.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t moved from her seat, Leah curled up beside her, dozing lightly against her side. Peter accepted the mug with a tired smile, though his nerves were still visibly on edge.

Nicholas handed James a file—an actual, physical folder, which was suspicious enough—and nodded toward the screen.

James, as ever, was direct. “The machine analyzing Leah’s genome crashed mid-decryption. Logs suggest someone tampered with the parental DNA sequence input. Could’ve been overwritten. Or wiped. Or faked.”

Peter looked up. “So… we still don’t know who her parents are.”

“Well,” Nicholas hedged, scratching the back of his neck. “James cross-referenced backup DNA threads—some old Earth registry dumps. And there was… something.”

He pulled up a screen. Names.

Just two.

Foreign. Faded.

James said quietly, “Two first-generation immigrants from Spain. Paperwork indicated the child was born in a shelter during a major blackout. Parents died two days later. No extended family on file.”

Peter leaned forward, reading the names again. “...That’s it?”

Nicholas sighed. “If it’s accurate? Yeah. They never even named her.”

Laura’s fists tightened in her lap.

“So someone took an orphaned newborn,” Peter murmured, “and erased every trace of where she came from.”

Nicholas looked at them both. “But you’re her parents now. That part’s not theoretical.”

James stood and handed Laura a sealed folder. “These are the adoption files. The legal process on Earth-001 is fast-tracked for Spider-Family protective custody cases.”

Laura took it without a word.

James added, “You’re already listed as primary guardians. This just makes it formal.”

Peter looked at Leah, still asleep against Laura. “When do we tell her?”

Laura’s voice was soft but resolute. “When she asks again.”

Nicholas offered a tired smile. “And when she does? You’ve got the best answer possible.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“That she was chosen. Twice.”

Laura blinked.

Peter smiled faintly.

James added, “And next time, tell her after food. Kids absorb existential truths better with mac and cheese.”

Laura nodded. “...That tracks.”

Peter looked at the adoption file in Laura’s hands.

“Guess we’re officially parents.”

Laura looked down at Leah, and then up at him. “We already were.”

And somehow, that made the moment feel… real.

Peter closed the door behind them with a quiet click, the soft sound lost in the hum of Loomworld’s distant activity. Inside the room, the lights were dimmed, a soft glow casting warm shadows on the white-gold web-laced walls.

Laura stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed—not defensive, just thoughtful. Peter paced a few steps, then finally sat on the edge of a low couch. He was quiet.

Not like him.

Not when he wasn’t bleeding, anyway.

She didn’t push—yet.

Instead, Laura finally said, “You hesitated back there.”

Peter blinked. “What? No, I just... needed a minute.”

“You didn’t sign the paperwork immediately.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. But I—” he trailed off, then exhaled. “I’m scared, Laura.”

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Of?”

He looked at her, and the quiet in his voice almost cracked. “Of messing it up. Of screwing her up. Of not being enough.”

Laura walked over, kneeled in front of him, and took his hands gently—fingers calloused from web-shooting and lesson-planning.

“You already love her,” she said. “She knows it. I know it. So do the people around us. That’s enough.”

Peter gave a weak smile. “It didn’t feel like enough when she was in that hospital bed.”

Laura leaned up and kissed him—brief, grounding, warm.

“You’re not Uncle Ben,” she said softly, “but he would’ve been proud of you.”

Peter blinked quickly.

Then nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

Nicholas leaned against the edge of the counter, flipping through the final set of digital forms on his datapad with a stylus in one hand and a mildly exasperated look on his face.

“I swear,” he muttered, “between extradimensional logistics, half-broken adoption protocols, and a medical profile flagged for ‘exceptionally bitey,’ I deserve a bonus.”

Peter sat beside Laura, holding Leah gently in his lap. She was doodling in the margins of a coloring book with half a crayon. Laura stood, arms loosely crossed but at ease for once, watching the last steps fall into place.

Nicholas looked up. “Alright, last box to tick.” He swiveled the pad and held it out. “Her legal name. What’s it going to be?”

Laura raised an eyebrow.

Peter blinked.

Nicholas added dryly, “You two have different last names—sort of. You’re married, yeah, but official documents still carry both Parker and Kinney depending on the form.”

Laura exchanged a glance with Peter.

“Kinney?” Peter offered cautiously. “Strong. Clear.”

“Parker,” Laura countered. “Easier to hide in plain sight. Plus, her friends will call her Leah either way.”

Nicholas raised a brow. “You want me to flip a coin?”

Peter rubbed his face. “No... maybe a hyphen?”

“Kinney-Parker?” Laura said, testing it aloud.

“Or Parker-Kinney,” Peter added. “Flows better.”

Laura shrugged. “Kinney-Parker sounds like a politician. Parker-Kinney is... less presumptuous.”

Leah, without looking up from her coloring book, mumbled, “I want all the names.”

Peter blinked. “All of them?”

Leah nodded. “All of the mom and dad ones.”

Laura gave a quiet smile.

Peter leaned toward Nicholas. “Put it down as Leah Parker-Kinney, if there’s space.”

Nicholas sighed, typed it in, and then muttered, “Try not to add any more last names. These forms hate hyphens.”

He pressed confirm.

The digital signature blinked green.

Leah looked up. “So now I’m stuck with you forever?”

Peter laughed. “Yup.”

Laura smirked. “Welcome to the mess.”

Nicholas handed them a copy of the certificate. “Congrats. You’re officially Parker-Kinney’d.”

Leah squinted. “That sounds like a spider move.”

Peter grinned. “It kind of is.”

And as they walked out, hand-in-hand—Laura on one side, Peter on the other—Leah Parker-Kinney smiled and held the certificate to her chest like it was made of gold.

---

James stood at the edge of the glass-paneled hallway just beyond the med-office. His coat shifted gently in the recycled airflow, the screen of his tablet dimming in his hand as he stared through the wide observation window. Below, Peter, Laura, and Leah walked across the hex-tiled causeway with a small, bright orange packet in Peter’s hand—the official adoption certificate.

Leah skipped a little, her hand swinging from Peter’s. Laura said something—gentle but amused, likely a warning not to trip—and Peter ruffled the girl’s hair before catching her mid-stumble.

The scene was quiet. Familiar.

James exhaled slowly, like someone pushing down a memory before it could climb back up.

From behind, Nicholas stepped into the corridor, munching on a protein bar. “You good?” he asked between chews.

James didn’t look away. “Yeah. Just... checking the horizon.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow but followed his gaze.

Down below, Peter leaned down and whispered something to Leah. She giggled, loud enough to echo faintly up the corridor.

“You ever think about that?” James asked quietly. “The way moments like these... echo?”

Nicholas wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You mean how we never get paid enough for emotional breakthroughs?”

James huffed a soft laugh but shook his head. “No. I mean... when you’ve seen enough versions of the same people—how sometimes, it doesn’t matter how different the world is. The shape of love is the same.”

Nicholas leaned against the frame beside him, brow furrowed but not pushing. “You get poetic when you’re sleep-deprived.”

James didn’t respond for a long moment.

Then: “She looked at him the same way in every version I’ve seen.”

Nicholas tilted his head.

James turned, finally stepping away from the glass. “Anyway. Her bloodwork’s stable. We’ll finish the next analysis by tomorrow.”

Nicholas let him go without pressing. But after a moment, he looked down at the family again.

He didn’t know what exactly James had seen in that reflection.

But whatever it was...

It mattered.

Earth-3325 | Parker-Kinney Apartment – Early Evening

It was quiet.

Leah was coloring at the coffee table — her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in deep five-year-old concentration. Spider-Man stickers lined the page. One was upside down. She hadn’t noticed.

Laura sat on the couch.

Peter paced in front of the kitchen island, holding a mug he hadn’t taken a sip from in ten minutes.

“Do you want to start?” he whispered.

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who writes the speeches.”

“She’s five, Laura. I don’t need a monologue.”

“Then sit down and talk to her.”

Peter hesitated. Then nodded.

He walked over and crouched beside the table.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Leah looked up, smiling with some of her front teeth missing. “Hello, Spider-Man.”

Peter blinked. Still not used to that. Still not over how easy she said it.

He glanced back at Laura — who sat straighter but nodded once.

“Can we talk to you for a second?” Peter asked gently.

Leah’s eyes went big. “Am I in trouble?”

“Nope. Promise.”

Laura got off the couch and knelt beside Peter.

Leah looked between them. Still unsure.

Peter took a breath.

“You remember when you told me you didn’t like your last name? The one from before?”

Leah nodded, fingers tightening around her crayon.

“Well…” Peter smiled. “We were thinking maybe it’s time for a new one.”

Leah tilted her head.

Laura leaned forward slightly. “We talked to a friend. A lawyer. His name’s Matt. He’s very serious and blind and also a ninja.”

Leah blinked. “Like Daredevil?”

Laura didn’t flinch. “Exactly like that.”

Peter let out a breath of amusement.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a silver locket— nothing official yet, but still. Something.

He opened it and placed it in front of her.

Her name.

Leah Kinney-Parker.

She stared.

Then looked up.

Her voice was small.

“That’s… me?”

Laura added. “But if you like it… we want you to know this is your home. Really.”

Silence.

Then Leah pushed the paper closer to her and placed a sticker on the corner.

Peter blinked. “Is that… the final approval?”

Leah nodded hard.

Peter leaned his head on Laura’s shoulder.

She allowed it.

And from the hallway, the sound of someone sniffing obnoxiously was heard.

They turned.

Gabby stood there, pretending to drink from an empty soda can. “I’m not crying. You’re crying. Shut up.”

Laura smirked.

“Come say hi to your legal niece.”

Gabby practically sprinted in and tackled Leah in a hug that knocked over half the crayons.

Peter laughed.

Laura smiled.

And Leah beamed — holding that locket like it was gold.

A/N: Leah is now officially adopted, congrats kid.

Chapter 111: “Zoorific Mistakes and Silent Snark”

Chapter Text

Title: “Zoorific Mistakes and Silent Snark”
Setting: The Central Park Zoo, Midday

---

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Peter muttered as he adjusted the strap of his backpack, filled with snacks, a camera, and emergency web cartridges. “We fight crime. We save worlds. And now, we’re... on a guys’ day at the zoo.”

Ben, walking beside him with an ice cream cone in each hand, grinned. “Yeah, but we also owe Kaine. Kinda. You know—for the throat thing.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Being accidentally stabbed by your clone-wife while mind-controlled is... complicated.”

Behind them, Kaine slowly lifted his notepad, flipping to a new page. In his messy but all-caps scrawl, he’d written:

> “STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT IN PUBLIC.”

Peter squinted over his shoulder. “Right. Sorry. Forgot.”

Kaine pointed to his own throat, still bandaged, and underlined the words twice.

Ben licked his cone. “Man, I missed this energy. You threatening us with your handwriting. Brings back memories.”

Kaine raised a new sign:

> “KEEP TALKING AND I’LL SHOVE YOU IN THE FLAMINGO EXHIBIT.”

“Yikes,” Peter muttered. “Still got it.”

---

30 Minutes Later — At the Otter Exhibit

Peter was absolutely enchanted by the otters. “Did you know they hold hands so they don’t drift apart while sleeping?!”

Ben leaned in. “You and Laura do that too.”

Peter turned red.

Kaine flipped his notebook open again:

> “STOP ENCOURAGING HIM.”

Ben grinned like a gremlin. “What? It’s cute.”

Peter pointed toward the sea lions. “Let’s move along before I start crying.”

---

Later — At the Big Cats Exhibit

Ben was reading the signs with faux interest. “Mountain lions. Strong. Solitary. Territorial. Sounds like someone we know.”

Kaine lifted his notebook lazily:

> “DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE TIME FOR YOUR PROJECTED INSECURITIES, BENJAMIN.”

Ben blinked. “Whoa. Full name. I felt that.”

Peter leaned over. “Did you bring an extra notebook just for insults?”

Kaine flipped the page:

> “YES.”

---

Lunch Break — Sitting at a Picnic Bench

Peter passed out sandwiches. “So. This is nice. No dimension-hopping. No lizard-people. Just... normal.”

Ben unwrapped his turkey sandwich. “Do you think animals ever get jealous of us?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“Yeah, I mean—we swing through buildings. They sleep in cages.”

Kaine scribbled:

> “THEY DON’T GET SUED BY NIGHTCLUB PATRONS.”

Peter grumbled, “That was one time.”

---

Final Stop — Gorilla Enclosure

They stood in silence, watching a silverback sitting with arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

Peter whispered, “Kinda looks like Kaine.”

Kaine turned slowly and wrote:

> “SILVERBACKS MATE FOR LIFE.”

Peter blinked. “...Was that a romantic statement or a threat?”

Ben held up his hands. “Nope. Nooooope. I’m not interpreting Kaine anymore.”

---

As They Left the Zoo

Kaine scribbled one final message:

> “THIS WAS ACTUALLY OKAY.”

Peter smiled. “Aw. You do like us.”

Kaine flipped the page:

> “SHUT UP.”

---

Laura stood in the living room, arms folded, one eyebrow raised as she stared at Peter.

Peter, holding the zoo souvenir bag in one hand and an otter plushie in the other, looked like a guilty man.

"You took Kaine and Ben to the zoo," Laura said slowly.

Peter nodded.

"You didn’t take your wife. Or your kid."

Peter coughed. "It wasn’t really... planned. Kaine just texted me ‘Lunch or Lions’ and then showed up."

Gabby popped her head out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Wait, Kaine went to the zoo?! Voluntarily?!"

Peter sighed, dropping the plushie on the couch. “Not only did he go—he made jokes. With a notebook.”

Gabby blinked. “You mean like, actual humor? Not death threats in Helvetica?”

“He roasted me and Ben. Consistently.”

Gabby grinned wide. “I’m so proud of him.”

Laura, arms still folded, nodded once. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Right on cue, Leah peeked around the corner, her eyes lighting up at the word zoo. “You went to the zoo?!”

Peter knelt beside her. “Yeah, I did. With your uncles. Next time we’ll take you, okay?”

Leah’s face scrunched with suspicion. “Promise?”

Peter held up his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

She grabbed his finger with her tiny one, solemnly locking it in. “I want to see the lions.”

Gabby muttered, “You are the lion, kid.”

---

Ten Minutes Later — Kaine’s Text Arrives

Peter’s phone buzzed. He looked down at the message:

📩 Kaine: If Peter and Laura agree, I’ll take the kid next time.
📩 Kaine: …She’ll probably like the flamingos.
📩 Kaine: [picture attached of a grumpy gorilla captioned: “mood”]

Peter snorted and showed the message to Laura.

Kaine’s final text came moments later:

📩 Kaine: If you say no, I’ll take her anyway. Don’t test me.
📩 Kaine: That’s legally a joke. Maybe.

Laura stared at the screen. Then slowly looked over at Peter.

“I blame you,” she said flatly.

Peter raised both hands. “Hey, you’re the one who once said he needed to ‘learn how to human properly.’ This is progress.”

Leah looked between them, curious. “Can Uncle Kaine take me next time?”

Laura paused.

Kaine’s pointed tone—if you both agree—lingered in her thoughts. As did the image of him, scribbling sarcastic insults while surrounded by otters.

She gave a long, deadpan sigh. Then nodded once.

“Yes. But you’re wearing a tracker.”

Peter coughed. “...Him or Leah?”

“Yes.”

Gabby laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch.

---

The zoo hadn’t opened yet, but Kaine was standing at the front gate in a black hoodie, arms crossed, notebook at the ready, looking exactly like a man forced to do community service for threatening a congressman.

Next to him, Leah bounced on her toes, already holding a laminated zoo map upside down and pointing excitedly at the reptile house.

Gabby was sipping a slushie she smuggled in from across the street. “You know, you don’t have to look like you're about to assassinate the zookeeper.”

Kaine held up his notepad.

> “I’m still deciding.”

Gabby snorted. “You’re the one who volunteered for this.”

He flipped the page.

> “I was emotionally compromised.”

> “She said ‘please.’”

> “With the eyes.”

Gabby nodded solemnly. “Yeah, she gets you with the eyes. That’s how she got Peter to let her keep a cockroach in a shoebox for three days.”

Kaine paused.

> “That explains the smell.”

They entered just as the zoo opened.

Leah bolted to the first exhibit—penguins. She ran up to the glass, practically vibrating. “They waddle!”

Kaine stared at her.

Then looked at Gabby.

Gabby nodded. “Yeah. They do that.”

Kaine scribbled:

> “This is gonna be a long day.”

---

An Hour Later

Leah was now clinging to Kaine’s arm as they visited the lion enclosure. Gabby was filming this entire thing with the smugness of a little sister with blackmail material.

Kaine didn’t shake Leah off.

In fact, when the lion roared, Leah flinched—Kaine instinctively moved in front of her. No hesitation.

Gabby blinked.

“…Aww.”

Kaine shot her a death glare.

Gabby grinned wider. “Too late, it’s on camera. I’m sending this to Laura.”

He scribbled furiously.

> “Delete it and I’ll buy you a funnel cake.”

Gabby: “...Make it two.”

Kaine: [deadpan sigh]

---

Mid-Afternoon – Flamingo Time

Leah was now riding on Kaine’s shoulders, holding a tiny zoo plush and telling him facts she made up.

“Flamingos turn pink because they eat pink cereal,” she said confidently.

Kaine: [blank stare]

Gabby whispered, “It’s shrimp. But don’t correct her or she’ll bite.”

Kaine’s notepad:

> “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

Gabby just pointed toward Leah, who was laughing uncontrollably at two flamingos squawking at each other.

Kaine watched her.

Paused.

Then wrote:

> “...Right.”

---

Evening – Drop Off

Peter opened the door to see Kaine covered in zoo stickers, Leah half-asleep in his arms, and Gabby eating her third funnel cake.

Peter blinked. “You okay?”

Kaine handed Leah over carefully, then shoved a crumpled note into Peter’s chest.

> “She’s a gremlin. A weaponized marshmallow. I’m never doing this again.”

A pause.

> “...Unless she asks nicely.”

Peter chuckled. “You’re a softie.”

Kaine gave him a slow middle finger and turned to leave.

Gabby held up her phone. “Say ‘bye,’ Uncle Kaine!”

Kaine flipped her off too—but a little more gently.

Laura watched from the window, arms crossed, smiling faintly.

“Still think he needs a tracker?” Peter asked.

Laura considered it.

Then: “He’s earned temporary parole.”

Chapter 112: “Legal Claws: Deposition Day”

Chapter Text

Title: “Legal Claws: Deposition Day”
Scene: Midtown Civil Court, Courtroom 4B

Laura Kinney sat stiffly in the defendant’s chair.

She wore a blazer. A blazer.

Her expression said she’d rather be in a fistfight with Sabretooth than inside a building that had a vending machine labeled “Government Snacks.”

Janice Lincoln—The Beetle, now “Legal Consultant”—sat beside her in a hot pink suit and four-inch heels, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on a legal pad.

“Remember what we practiced,” Janice whispered. “Say as little as possible. No threats. No claws. No violence unless I wink twice.”

Laura blinked. “You’re serious about the winking?”

Janice grinned. “I don’t believe in losing.”

Across the courtroom, the plaintiff sat beside a nervous, perspiring attorney, her arm in a brace more for theatrics than healing. She sniffled dramatically every time the judge glanced over.

Gabby sat in the back row, legs dangling, chewing a long red licorice rope and staring directly at the plaintiff with the patience of a stalking lion cub. Every bite was a snap.

Peter was beside her, trying desperately not to be seen mouthing “Please don’t eat anyone” at his sister-in-law.

---

Judge: “Ms. Lincoln, opening remarks?”

Janice: “Absolutely, Your Honor. My client, Ms. Kinney, acted with decisive restraint during an incident where the plaintiff was actively assaulting a junior coworker under the guise of a workplace ‘evaluation.’”

Plaintiff's Lawyer: “Objection, Your Honor, inflammatory language—”

Janice (smiling like a shark): “We have footage.”

Judge (sighing): “Admitted. Proceed.”

They played the video. Laura winced slightly at the part where the plaintiff went airborne before landing in a trash bin. The court collectively gasped. Gabby leaned forward and mouthed, Ten points.

---

As the cross-examination started, the plaintiff tried to embellish.

Plaintiff: “She... she growled at me. Like an animal!”

Janice: “Objection—client was born with genetic enhancements. Growling is not grounds for litigation.”

Plaintiff: “She said, and I quote, ‘Touch him again and I’ll make sure you never touch anything again.’”

Janice: “And yet you are still touching the inside of your handbag, aren’t you?”

Gabby (cheerfully, mouth full): “Snap.”

The plaintiff paled.

---

Recess.

In the hallway, Laura leaned on the vending machine.

“I hate this suit.”

Peter straightened her collar. “You look terrifying. In a good way.”

Janice appeared beside them, fixing her lip gloss. “We’re gonna win. She cracked when I mentioned Gabby’s full witness testimony.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder. “You did tell her Gabby once stabbed Deadpool through the heart with a spork, right?”

Janice winked. “Twice.”

Laura sighed, almost fondly. “I’m starting to like you.”

Janice smirked. “Please. Everyone does, eventually.”

---

Final Scene:

As the gavel banged and the plaintiff’s case was dismissed, the courtroom murmured.

Peter gently squeezed Laura’s hand.

Laura stood, blazer open now, claws retracted, but a slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

As they exited, Gabby offered her another licorice rope.

“Good job not maiming anyone,” she said proudly.

“I’m evolving,” Laura replied sarcastically.

Janice strode ahead in her heels like a victorious supervillain (which she was, but that's not here nor there).

Peter muttered, “Okay but next time we just let Jen handle it, right?”

Laura leaned into him. “Only if I get to wear something without shoulder pads.”

Chapter 113: "Bikes and Bruises"

Chapter Text

Title: "Bikes and Bruises"
Setting: Early Saturday Morning, Park near Peter & Laura’s apartment
Characters: Peter Parker, Gabby Kinney, Laura (briefly)

---

“You don’t know how to ride a bike?”

Gabby Kinney—feral child, chaos gremlin, occasional punching machine—stood in the middle of the park, arms crossed, lips pursed like Peter had just committed a war crime.

Peter blinked. “I just thought you did. You know—super healing, claws, an actual sense of balance—”

“I do have balance,” Gabby snapped. “On rooftops. Not... whatever this is.”

Peter looked down at the bike.

It was a perfectly normal bike.

Gabby looked at it like it might bite her.

“I wasn’t allowed to ride stuff when I was at Alchemax,” she added quietly. “We weren’t exactly in the ‘go outside and be normal’ program.”

Peter’s expression softened.

“Okay,” he said, crouching beside the bike. “Then it’s never too late.”

She side-eyed him. “You’re going to teach me?”

“I am your unofficial spider-uncle-slash-accidental-dad-figure. This comes with the territory.”

“God, you’re old.”

Peter gave her a flat look. “Wow. Okay. Let’s see if you can survive without training wheels, Ms. Gen Z.”

“I don’t even know what training wheels are.”

Peter dramatically clutched his chest.

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

Gabby crashed into a tree.

Then a bench.

Then the tree again. Somehow.

Peter kept catching her before she hit the ground hard—but after the third “I meant to do that” he just sighed.

“You are trying, right?”

“Define trying.”

Peter groaned. “Okay. New tactic. I’m gonna run alongside and hold the seat. You just steer.”

Gabby nodded. “Got it.”

They made it ten feet.

Gabby screamed. “I HATE GRAVITY!”

Peter panted. “You’re doing great! Just—pedal harder! Look straight ahead!”

Gabby crashed into a trash can.

Peter sighed and pulled her out.

“You have claws, a healing factor, and have stabbed people in the face. What is so terrifying about a bike?”

Gabby groaned, pulling her helmet off. “Bikes have math, Peter. There’s physics! Momentum! Ratios or whatever!”

Peter blinked. “Are you trying to say riding a bike is harder than being a genetically engineered weapon?”

Gabby pouted. “Yes.”

Peter laughed.

He couldn’t help it.

Gabby narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Unfortunately,” Peter said with a grin.

---

One Hour Later

Gabby wobbled.

She screamed.

She didn’t crash.

She was riding. Crooked. Wild. Slightly dangerous. But riding.

Peter jogged behind her, out of breath. “Yes! That’s it!”

Gabby whooped. “I’M DOING IT!”

She hit a bush.

Peter gave a thumbs-up from behind. “Still counts.”

---

Later That Night

Laura walked in to see Peter icing his ankle and Gabby passed out on the couch, bike helmet still on.

Laura raised a brow. “...What happened?”

“She doesn’t know how to ride a bike,” Peter explained.

Laura blinked. “She can gut a grown man in two seconds.”

“She fears only the wheel.”

Laura smirked and handed him another ice pack. “You tried.”

“Unfortunately,” Peter mumbled again.

Gabby muttered from the couch, “I heard that.”

“Alright, try leaning with the turn, not against it,” Peter coached, jogging slowly behind Gabby as she wobbled across the park path on the same stubborn bike from yesterday.

Gabby didn’t respond. She was too busy shouting at gravity again.

Peter sighed, one hand extended behind her in case she tipped. "You can't fight physics by yelling at it, Gabby!"

“Then tell physics to stop trying to kill me!”

A few parents nearby chuckled, watching the spectacle unfold. Some sat on benches, sipping coffee, kids in strollers or at the playground. A couple of them had clearly been watching for a while now.

One of the moms leaned toward another and whispered loudly enough to be heard: “He’s such a patient dad.”

“Seriously,” the other nodded. “Teaching her like that? You can tell he really cares.”

Peter heard.

Peter definitely heard.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept jogging, kept his focus on Gabby, even as a flush threatened to creep up his neck.

He knew what they were seeing. An exhausted man in sweats running after a loud 12-year-old on a bike while carrying a first aid kit and a thermos labeled “Web Fuel.”

The image was there.

But he wasn’t her dad.

He was just…

God, how did you even define it? Gabby was Laura’s clone. Which made her... What? A kid Laura raised and loved like a little sister. Who’d wormed her way into their apartment, their routines, their lives.

And now?

She was family. No matter what.

Peter hadn’t even known Gabby didn’t know how to ride a bike. But when he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. She had survived a childhood of cages and blood, not playgrounds and training wheels.

Of course she didn’t know.

And neither did Laura.

Which meant… someone had to be the person who did teach her.

Peter was still spiraling into quiet, reflective thoughts about morality, failure, found family, and the deeply unfair distribution of trauma in the universe when—

CRASH.

Gabby hit a trash can again.

Peter flinched and jogged over as fast as he could. “Gabriella Kinney!”

From inside the trash can: “I’m fine!”

Peter groaned, pulling her upright and checking her elbows. “That’s the third time this week. You okay?”

Gabby dusted herself off. “I only used one claws to stop myself this time. That’s improvement.”

Peter sighed, crouched, and started checking the chain on the bike. “Alright. That’s it. I’m buying you training wheels.”

Gabby recoiled like he’d insulted her lineage. “What?!”

“You’re gonna thank me when we get to day four and you haven’t turned into a permanent part of the landscaping.”

Gabby muttered something about betrayal and physics again.

Peter just smiled to himself and kept adjusting the handlebars.

Maybe those parents weren’t completely wrong.

---

Cue montage music (in Peter’s head, at least).

Day Two:
Gabby tries again. She turns left, yells “I got it!”, and immediately turns into a tree.
Peter jogs over and gently pries her from the shrubbery.
“You know,” he says breathlessly, “trees usually win these fights.”
“Not if I bring a chainsaw next time,” she mutters.

Day Three:
She gets five feet. Falls. Five more feet. Falls again.
Peter puts on kneepads and elbow pads.
Gabby protests: “I have a healing factor!”
Peter replies: “My nerves don’t!”

Day Four:
She rides for a solid thirty seconds. A victory!
Then hits a curb and does a somersault over a pigeon.
Peter claps. “That pigeon never saw it coming.”

Day Five:
No crashes. But she forgets to brake.
Peter ends up sprinting after her yelling, “Feet! Use your feet!”
Gabby: “THE BIKE IS DECIDING FOR ME!”

Day Six:
She almost collides with an old man walking a dog.
They both yell “Sorry!” at the same time.
Peter starts to wonder if the dog has a better sense of balance than her.

Day Seven:
It happens.

Wobbly at first. But something clicks.
Gabby pushes off. Steadies. And goes.

Feet on the pedals, wind in her hair, grinning like a maniac.

Peter doesn’t jog. He just stands and watches her go.

She makes a big loop around the park, eyes wide with excitement, and doesn’t crash once.

When she skids to a shaky but safe stop beside him, she’s breathless. And radiant.

Peter grins. “You did it.”

Gabby throws her hands up. “I’M A BIKE GOD.”

“Okay,” Peter deadpans. “Let’s dial it back, Zeus.”

---

Later That Evening – Their Apartment

Laura was drying her hair when Peter brought it up.

“She did it,” he said simply, flopping onto the couch with a satisfied huff.

Laura glanced at him. “She managed to ride the bike?”

“Yup.”

“…Huh.”

Peter blinked at her. “You sound surprised.”

Laura shrugged. “I didn’t know she couldn’t ride a bike. I figured someone at the school or Logan had taught her.”

Peter gave her a long, deadpan stare. “Logan. Taught her to ride a bike.”

Laura considered that. “…Point.”

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still can’t believe you didn’t know. I figured you two had that whole silent sibling telepathy thing.”

“We do. For stabbing people,” Laura said flatly. “Not bicycles.”

Peter leaned back with a groan. “I am the only person in this household with any suburban parenting energy, and I’m not even thirty yet.”

Laura kissed his cheek as she passed. “You’re doing fine, Dad.”

He groaned again. “Don’t you start.”

From her room, Gabby yelled, “CAN I GET A BIKE WITH FLAMES ON IT NOW?!”

Peter facepalmed. “What have I created?”

Laura smirked. “A monster. But your monster.”

Peter grinned.

“Unfortunately,” Laura added.

He sighed. “I walked right into that.”

Saturday Afternoon – Local Bike Store

Peter Parker had faced down Doctor Octopus in a collapsing warehouse.
He’d fought Venom while sick with the flu.
He had taught high schoolers how to balance chemical equations.

And yet, nothing—not even cosmic-level threats—prepared him for this:
Gabby Kinney in a bike shop with a debit card and a dream.

"Flames," Gabby declared, pointing to a neon-orange two-wheeler that looked like it had been designed by a sugar-fueled twelve-year-old with a ‘90s NASCAR obsession.

"That's... certainly a statement," Peter managed.

"It’s perfect." She ran her hands reverently over the seat. "It looks like it goes fast even when it’s standing still."

"Which is the opposite of what we want it to do near intersections," Peter muttered.

Laura stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the whole thing like an anthropologist observing a bizarre mating ritual.

“She’s happy,” Laura noted simply.

“She’s gonna be too happy,” Peter said under his breath. “She’s gonna ask for flame decals on her helmet. She’s going to name this thing. I can feel it.”

“I’m thinking... Burninator,” Gabby said from across the aisle.

Peter groaned into his hands. “Of course she already has a name.”

---

Twenty Minutes Later: Checkout

Gabby was practically vibrating as the cashier rang up her fire-emblazoned bike, matching red-and-black helmet, and a small flame-shaped bell.

The cashier, a pierced and disinterested teenager, raised an eyebrow. “Is this for your kid?”

Peter opened his mouth. Laura cut in smoothly.

“We share custody of the chaos.”

Peter blinked. “That’s... not wrong.”

Gabby rolled the bike to the exit like she was leading a parade.

Peter turned to Laura. “You’re going to let me crash and burn every time I do something parental, aren’t you?”

Laura smirked, reaching over to gently fix his collar. “Of course.”

“Unfortunately?”

Her smile widened. “You’re learning.”

---

Back Home – Later That Evening

Peter watched from the window as Gabby tore laps around the parking lot, yelling “BURNINATOR AWAY!” every time she accelerated.

Laura leaned beside him, sipping tea.

“She’s going to try and jump the curb soon.”

“She’s definitely going to crash into that dumpster again.”

“She’ll walk it off.”

They were quiet for a beat.

Peter smiled. “You think Leah will want one too?”

Laura gave him a slow look. “Let’s not speak that into existence.”

Outside, Gabby let out a triumphant howl.

Peter winced. “...Too late.”

Chapter 114: “Dust and Memory” (Kaine pov)

Chapter Text

Title: “Dust and Memory”
Setting: A Quiet Cemetery on the Outskirts of Queens

The graves were modest.

Not flashy. Not cleaned regularly. Just weathered headstones tucked under a maple tree. The kind of place you’d only find if you were looking. Really looking.

Kaine Parker stood in front of them, silent for a long time.

No red suit. No mask. Just a hoodie, jeans, and a battered throat that hadn’t spoken aloud in weeks.

He held a thermos in one hand — lukewarm tea, laced with whatever scratchy-throat concoction Nicholas had mixed for him back in Loomworld. Tasted like burnt rubber and mint.

He hated it. But he kept drinking.

He stared at the names.

> Richard and Mary Parker.

The wind rustled through the trees like it was trying not to intrude.

Kaine shifted. Cleared his throat. Pain flared like broken glass scraping his vocal cords.

Still, he tried.

"...Hi."

It came out more croak than voice. A smoker's whisper. But it was his.

Kaine squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Bet you’d have a hard time figuring out who I am."

He coughed — once, hard. His throat protested the movement, but he pushed through.

"I’m not your son. Not really. Not the one you raised. That’s Peter. He’s... better. The best of all of us."

He glanced off to the side, jaw clenching.

"But I got his face. His memories. The bad ones, mostly. The ones where he was a scared kid trying to be something he wasn’t ready for."

He went quiet again.

Somewhere in the distance, a car honked.

"Sometimes I wonder what you’d think. Of me. Of Ben. Of the other ones who didn’t make it."

He winced as the memories tried to surface — the vats, the failed clones dissolving into screams and bubbling meat.

He forced himself to breathe.

"Warren said Ben was the perfect copy. Said I was a mistake. A misfire."

Kaine looked at the grave now, really looked.

"But Peter? He still calls me his brother. Still looks me in the eye like I’m his brother, not Warren’s 'failure'."

The wind picked up again.

Kaine pulled his hoodie tighter.

"I’m trying to be more than what I was made to be. That’s... hard. I mess it up. A lot."

He sipped the thermos, grimaced at the taste, then set it down beside the grave.

"I don’t know what you’d say if you saw me. If you’d be afraid. Or just sad."

He stood, knees popping slightly.

"But... I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gone. And Peter — Peter still believes I can be better. Laura punches me when I act like I don’t. Ben won’t shut up until I eat. And Jubilee..." He smiled faintly. "She sees through all my crap."

A pause.

His hand drifted to his throat, fingers brushing the still-healing scar.

"...Maybe I am your son. In some weird, twisted, clone kind of way."

Another long silence.

"I’ll keep trying. For them. For me. Maybe even for you."

He turned, then hesitated.

"...Sorry I didn’t come sooner."

He left the tea.

Didn’t know if ghosts drank. But it felt like the right thing.

----

Jubilee was curled up on the couch, Shogo asleep in a makeshift blanket nest beside her. The TV was on low — some nature documentary playing with the volume barely audible. The kind of background noise that filled the quiet without interrupting it.

The door creaked open.

Kaine stepped in, hoodie drawn up, shoulders hunched like the weight of something invisible had followed him home. He didn’t say anything — not that he could — but Jubilee noticed the subtle way his eyes found hers, then dropped.

"Hey," she said softly.

He lifted a hand. A lazy wave.

She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Come sit.”

He hesitated. Then did.

There was a notepad already on the coffee table. Just in case. Because she always left it out for him.

Kaine picked up the pen, scribbled slowly.

> Visited the graves.

Jubilee glanced over. Didn’t react with surprise. Just let her eyes linger on the words for a moment.

He wrote another line.

> Richard and Mary.

She reached over and placed a hand on his knee.

"You okay?"

Kaine tapped the pad with the pen a few times.

Then added:

> Didn’t know what to say.

> Talked anyway.

Jubilee didn’t press. Just let the moment be.

"That’s more than most people do," she said gently. "They’d want you to come. Even if it’s hard."

Kaine didn’t write anything for a while.

Eventually, he scribbled:

> Still don’t know if I count.

> Not really their kid.

Jubilee leaned in and bumped her shoulder against his. “You don’t have to be ‘real’ to be loved, Kaine.”

His head dropped slightly.

She added, quieter: “Peter loves you. Laura does. Ben won’t shut up about you. Shogo made you that clay spider yesterday and cried when you didn’t come home for dinner.”

He raised a brow.

Jubilee smiled. “It looked more like a mutated pancake, but hey—he tried.”

A quiet huff of air left Kaine’s nose. Almost a laugh.

He scribbled:

> Left tea.

Jubilee blinked. “Like… for them?”

Kaine nodded once.

She looked touched. “That’s kinda sweet. You’re sweet.”

He rolled his eyes and scratched another line.

> Tell anyone and I’ll throw you out the window.

She grinned. “Threat noted.”

They sat in silence again. The documentary droned on. Kaine didn’t move, but he shifted just slightly — enough for his shoulder to rest against hers, not quite intentional.

She didn’t point it out. Just accepted it.

“You did good,” she said softly.

And he didn’t write it, but the look he gave her said it all.

Thank you.

A/N: Well from now on i'll try to add other characters pov and have more action dedicated chapters.

Chapter 115: “Delayed, but Not Forgotten”

Chapter Text

Title: “Delayed, but Not Forgotten”
Setting: Pride Month, Evening | Parker-Kinney Apartment
Characters: Peter, Laura, a phone, and way too many pins

---

Laura sat on the couch, one leg pulled under her, the other draped lazily over the side. Animorphs: The Warning was open in her lap, and she was halfway through a page when she spoke—without looking up.

“You’re late.”

Peter poked his head out from the hallway, arms full of something. “I know! I know, but—look!”

Laura finally looked.

She blinked. “Why are you covered in flags?”

Peter, standing awkwardly in the living room now, wore a hoodie covered in pride pins, a rainbow-themed Spider-Man baseball cap, and a T-shirt that proudly displayed the words “Support All Spectrums.” Several small flags stuck out of his backpack like a confused bouquet.

Laura stared.

Peter shifted. “I may have overcompensated.”

“You don’t say.”

He gestured at his chest, slightly breathless. “I panicked! I realized it was already a week into June and we hadn’t said or done anything and I—I know you don’t care about performative gestures, but I do care about you.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “So you bought half of Etsy?”

“I—okay yes,” Peter admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Laura closed her book and stared at him. “Are you bi now?”

Peter made a choked noise. “No! I mean—not that there’s anything wrong with that! I support—!”

She smirked. “I’m teasing.”

Peter exhaled dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside her. “God, you cannot do that to me in a month when corporate logos are already terrifying me.”

Laura leaned over, flipping through one of the pins attached to his hoodie—this one was the ace flag with a tiny spider logo on it. “This is actually cute.”

“I thought so,” Peter said. “It’s for you.”

“I don’t wear pins.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I do.”

A beat.

Laura looked away and muttered, “You’re still a dork.”

Peter reached for her hand, resting it on her knee. “But I’m your dork.”

Another beat.

“I hate how effective you are at being sentimental.”

“I try my best.”

---

Laura was quiet for a while after that. Her gaze went back to the Animorphs book, but she didn’t resume reading. Not really.

Then, softly: “You know Pride Month is mostly just used to sell stuff, right?”

Peter blinked. “Yeah. I mean... yeah. I know. Most of the corporations don’t actually care.”

“I don’t want a parade,” Laura said. “I don’t want rainbow marketing or ‘inclusion merch’ or visibility campaigns designed to drive traffic.”

Peter didn’t interrupt.

“I just want to exist. Without explanation. Without having to define my lack of... things... over and over.”

She glanced down at their interlaced fingers.

“And I want people like me to know that not wanting doesn’t make them broken.”

Peter gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” he said.

“I know.”

“But I’m gonna keep saying it until you believe it.”

Laura was quiet.

Then: “Call Kaine.”

Peter blinked. “Why?”

“He’s asexual too. You need a second opinion to stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“I’m not—!”

Laura turned to glare.

Peter raised both hands. “Okay, okay, dialing.”

He reached for his phone, started typing.

Laura turned the page in her book.

Then turned back around.

Peter had taken off the cap but was now balancing a very loud aroace-themed mug on top of it.

She stared.

He grinned, shamelessly.

“Spider Pride,” he said.

Laura stared a beat longer.

“I’m going to throw that mug.”

“Deserved.”

“But I’ll keep the hoodie.”

Peter blinked. “Wait really?”

Laura went back to reading.

“No promises I won’t stab someone while wearing it, though.”

Peter leaned back with a grin.

“Honestly, that’d just raise brand awareness.”

Scene: Later That Night | Still in the Apartment
Peter has Kaine on speakerphone while Laura lounges nearby, hoodie now claimed, and very much ignoring both of them with practiced apathy.

---

[PHONE – SPEAKER ON]

Kaine (gruff): "...Why are you calling me about this? It's midnight. I was watching documentaries about venomous frogs."

Peter: "Because Laura told me to."

Laura: (without looking up) "He was panicking again."

Kaine: "...About what? Did you do something weird with the toaster again?"

Peter: "No! It’s Pride Month."

Kaine: "...And you called me."

Peter: "She wanted me to confirm with another asexual person that I wasn’t treating her weird."

Kaine: (dry as sandpaper) "You are always weird, Peter."

Peter: "You’re not helping."

Laura: (idly flipping a page) "He bought Etsy out."

Kaine: "...Did you at least get the mug?"

Peter: "Yes. She threatened to throw it at me."

Kaine: "Then you did good."

Peter: (smugly) "Ha! Validation."

Kaine: "Also, tell her if she needs a support group for 'dating Peter Parker and being ace,' I can start one. We’ll get jackets."

Laura: "You’ll be the only one wearing it."

Kaine: "I’d wear it proudly."

Peter: "Great, can we get back to the part where I was being a supportive husband?"

Kaine: "You’re like a golden retriever in a spider costume. You mean well. It’s disturbing."

Peter: "Again, not helping."

Kaine: "...And yet, here we are."

(A brief pause)

Kaine: (sighs) "...Unfortunately."

[CLICK – CALL ENDED]

---

Peter turned to Laura, grinning. “See? Supportive. Ace solidarity. Frogs.”

Laura closed her book, got up, and walked over slowly.

She kissed him—soft, brief, and enough to make him shut up.

Then pulled the hoodie’s hood over her head like she was retreating into her own pocket universe.

“Next time,” she muttered, “don’t call Kaine at midnight.”

Peter blinked. “But he was so helpful!”

Laura glanced back with the most Wolverine expression imaginable. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Peter grinned. “Unfortunately.”

Laura threw the mug.

A/N: Happy pride month! 💖

I actually forgot that it was June... so i felt a lot like peter in this scene.

Chapter 116: “Sinister Expenses Terms & Conditions”

Chapter Text

Title: “Sinister Expenses Terms & Conditions ”
Setting: Rooftops of Manhattan – Mid-Battle
Cast: Peter (Spider-Man), Laura (Talon/Wolverine), Gabby and the Sinister Six

---

Electro blasted a bolt of lightning across the rooftop, narrowly missing Peter by inches. The blast shattered a billboard behind him, sending sparks and flaming debris onto the alley below.

Peter flipped over it with a casual ease, webbing the debris before it hit a dumpster. “Laura, remind me—did we pay the ConEd bill this month?”

Laura, mid-leap as she tackled Kraven across a skylight, growled, “No. You said we should wait until after the paycheck cleared.”

Peter swung between Sandman’s massive fists, avoiding a wave of debris. “Right. Okay. So that’s still pending.”

“No,” Laura grunted, dodging Vulture’s talons. “It cleared. Yesterday.”

Peter, twisting midair, shot a web that yanked Vulture’s wing into Doc Ock’s tentacle path. Both crashed into each other with a satisfying clang.

“Oh good! So we won’t be in the dark—figuratively and literally—after all this!”

Rhino charged from the far end of the rooftop.

Laura didn’t blink. She pivoted, claws gleaming, and sidestepped him with surgical grace. “What about the rent?”

Peter, now webbing Shocker’s gauntlets together while perched on a lamp post, winced. “Yeah… that’s a conversation for Future Us.”

Laura kicked Shocker in the chest mid-sentence. He went flying into a rooftop water tank with a tremendous splash.

“Future Us is going to kill you,” she said, brushing a scorch mark off her shoulder.

“I know,” Peter replied, swinging into Sandman with both feet. “I just think Past Us did a great job not opening that email from the landlord.”

Laura ducked under Ock’s tentacles and slashed two in half with a grunt. “So you did see it.”

“Nope! I deleted it. Preemptively.”

“Spider-Man.”

“Love you!”

“You’re sleeping on the couch!”

Rhino charged again—this time toward Peter.

Laura tackled him in mid-sprint. They both crashed through a rooftop air conditioner and went skidding into the stairwell access structure.

Peter peeked over the ledge, webbed up Vulture again, and muttered, “Worth it.”

Doc Ock’s remaining tentacles came flailing up at him. Peter twisted around, grabbed two with his bare hands, and used their momentum to sling himself through a shattered billboard, crashing through the glass and landing beside Laura in a crouch.

She glanced at him, half-covered in Rhino dust and ceiling tiles. “If you say something about the thermostat bill, I swear—”

“I was just gonna ask if we remembered to renew the parking permit.”

Laura sliced through a swinging tentacle and groaned.

“You’re the worst.”

“Technically, the Sinister Six are. I’m just forgetful!”

Laura cracked her knuckles. “Let’s finish this. Then we’re sitting down with the budget spreadsheet.”

Peter winced. “Okay, but can we do it after you’re done being mad?”

She side-eyed him.

He grinned.

And then they both leapt back into battle—together, like always.

Rooftop – Just after the Sinister Six Fight

The city hummed quietly below as Laura sat cross-legged, wiping off blood—some hers, most not—from her arms. Moonlight shimmered against the glint of her claws as she calmly ran a whetstone along the edge of one, the metallic shrrk a steady rhythm beside Peter’s erratic typing on his phone.

Peter lay on his back beside her, mask pushed up to his forehead, scrolling through the finance app with a groan. “You know adamantium never dulls, right?”

Laura didn’t pause.

She just turned her head slightly and gave him a deadpan look.

Then continued sharpening.

Shrrk.

Peter sighed, eyes still on the screen. “Fine. Emotionally sharpening. I get it.”

Shrrk.

“I’m just saying, if we’re cutting costs, maybe you should be sharpening me.”

Laura blinked slowly. “I’ve considered it.”

Peter grinned, flipping onto his side. “Okay, how about this: we sell the bed to pay the ConEd bill and sleep on the couch instead?”

Laura paused.

“Wouldn’t mind,” she said with a straight face.

Peter blinked. “Wait—you wouldn’t?”

Laura shrugged. “I like the couch. And you hog the bed.”

He held a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “How dare—”

“And,” Laura added, eyes still on her claws, “we could always sell Gabby’s bed.”

Peter gasped dramatically. “Laura Kinney!”

That earned a rare little smirk from her.

He laughed, wheezing between chuckles. “Gabby would start a revolution.”

Laura finally sheathed her claws with a soft snikt, then looked at him with amusement softening her expression. “She’d get over it.”

Peter nudged her foot with his. “I’m putting that in the group chat.”

Laura raised a brow. “And I’m sending the screenshot of your savings account in response.”

Peter paled. “...Truce?”

Laura leaned back on her hands and gave a subtle nod.

And above them, the city kept glowing, unaware of the two tired warriors trying to balance battle wounds and budgeting beneath its stars.

Peter & Laura’s Apartment — The Morning After

The moment Peter opened his phone and saw the notification—

Gabby: [Screenshot attached] Care to explain why you’re joking about SELLING MY BED?!?

—he knew he was doomed.

"Laura?" he called from the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Hm?" came the reply from the living room, where she was calmly sipping coffee and watching the morning news with Leah curled beside her.

"Did we seriously sign a legally binding contract with Gabby about her bed?"

Laura didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Three months ago. After the ‘Bunk Bed Incident.’”

Peter groaned. “That wasn’t even my fault. She tried to weld shelves onto it.”

"You helped."

"...Okay, fair."

Before Peter could finish his coffee, the front door burst open like a SWAT team raid—minus the discipline.

Gabby stood in the doorway in pajama pants and a tank top with WORLD’S FINEST LITTLE SISTER printed across it. She held a thick folder with a plastic cover labeled:

"THE BED ACCORD: CONTRACT OF FURNITURE STABILITY, VERSION 2.0"

She marched over to Peter, slammed the folder on the counter, and opened it to the first tabbed section—highlighted in glittery pink.

"Page one, clause five,” she declared, “states: ‘Under no circumstances shall the bed in question be sold, moved, scrapped, repurposed, or turned into a makeshift weapons rack without the express written consent of Gabrielle Kinney, unless and until the above party reaches legal adulthood.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “You both signed it.”

Peter squinted at the bottom of the page and, yep—his signature, complete with a tiny doodle of a spider, and Laura’s name in bold, efficient print.

"Wait, I thought this was a joke—"

"It was notarized by Matt," Laura added casually.

Gabby jabbed a finger into Peter’s chest. “It’s a new bed. Do you know how long it took to pick one I didn’t hate?”

Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Okay! Fine! I admit it. We were joking.”

Laura finally turned toward Gabby. “Technically, I joked. Peter laughed.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes at both of them. “You know this is emotional damage, right?”

Leah, still curled on the couch, raised her hand. “I like your bed. It’s bouncy.”

Gabby deflated slightly. “…Okay, fine. But only you can bounce on it.”

Peter rubbed his face. “Why is this my life?”

Gabby leaned over the counter and grinned. “Because you married into chaos, old man.”

Laura sipped her coffee without remorse. “He did sign the papers.”

Peter groaned. “So did you!”

Laura shrugged. “I don’t regret it.”

Gabby tucked the contract back into its plastic cover. “Good. Because I made three copies.”

Peter’s face hit the table.

---

Later That Day — Group Chat:

Peter: For the record, Gabby’s bed is legally protected.
Anya: WHAT
Miles: Wait what
Ben: Honestly? Respect.
Kaine: [writes: i still sleep on a futon]
Gabby: Don’t get jealous now.
Leah: i like gabby bed
Gabby: aww <3
Laura: He tried to sell your bed.
Peter: I did not!
Gabby: That’s what the court will decide

Nelson & Murdock Law Offices — Late Afternoon

Peter stared across the desk with the face of a man who had lost an argument three days ago but was being forced to relive the entire thing in high definition.

Matt Murdock, ever the professional, leaned back in his chair, wearing that faintly amused expression that only blind lawyers who moonlight as vigilantes can pull off. He held up the familiar pink-and-glitter folder with gloved hands and tapped it twice.

“I can confirm,” Matt said, voice as smooth as an accusation in court, “that this document was officially witnessed, notarized, and filed under New York civil agreements—albeit creatively.”

Gabby, sitting next to Peter and looking like a smug gremlin in a hoodie two sizes too large, beamed. “Told you.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “I still can’t believe I signed something with glitter on it.”

“You used a spider-shaped pen,” Matt added helpfully.

“I thought it was a joke,” Peter mumbled.

“It was legally binding,” Matt said, tapping the document again. “Because someone wanted her furniture protected like it was a national landmark.”

Gabby leaned toward Laura and stage-whispered, “Next time I’m adding a clause about kitchen snacks.”

Laura, arms folded and comfortably leaned against the window, smirked. “Make sure it includes the penalty clause for anyone who eats your pudding.”

“I was hungry!” Peter snapped.

“And now you’re sued,” Gabby shot back, cheek resting on her hand.

Laura chuckled.

Peter turned toward her, exhausted. “Really? You’re not going to help me here?”

Before Laura could answer, Matt raised a hand.

“I should remind both of you,” he said dryly, “that Laura currently owes me four favors. Three for the Krakoa diplomatic mess and one for the incident involving the rooftop sword fight during a school fundraiser.”

Laura went very still.

Gabby leaned back and stage-whispered again, “That’s why we don’t talk about PTA meetings.”

Peter blinked. “Wait. You owe him more favors than I do?”

Matt nodded. “Combined.”

Laura made a low noise in her throat and glanced at Peter with narrowed eyes. “You say one word—”

Peter grinned, instantly recovering from his loss. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Gabby was already texting the group chat.

---

Group Chat: “Team Chaos (No Adults Allowed, Except Peter)”

Gabby: Just found out Mom/Laura owes Daredevil more favors than Dad. She is FURIOUS.
Miles: LMAO
Anya: What was the fundraiser incident
Laura: NO
Ben: Was that the rooftop with swords?
Peter: ABSOLUTELY NOT
Kaine: [writes: i still have video]
Laura: I will break all of your fingers.
Kaine: [writes: ♥]
Leah: what is a fundraiser
Gabby: something boring with cake

---

Back in the Office

As they stood to leave, Matt held up the folder again.

“Any revisions to the contract before it’s archived?”

Gabby tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yeah. Add a rider. If they sell my bed, they owe me unlimited dessert for a month.”

Laura looked at Peter.

Peter sighed. “Fine. But no pudding in the bed.”

Gabby stuck her tongue out. “Rude, but fair.”

Laura smirked as they walked out. “You know, technically this whole thing started because you joked about selling it.”

Peter groaned. “Yeah, yeah…”

Matt called after them with a smirk. “See you next week. Try not to get sued by your own child again.”

Gabby threw up two peace signs without turning around.

Peter muttered, “I’m never living this down.”

Laura grinned. “Unfortunately…”

Peter groaned. “I swear that word is cursed.”

Chapter 117: ''Unfinished Business” (Juggernaut vs Spider-Man)

Chapter Text

Title: “Unfinished Business”

Setting: Finland 🇫🇮 – Aftermath of a joint Avengers/X-Men mission involving dimension-displaced mutant direwolves.

The field smelled like ozone, frost, and wet fur. Several of the direwolves had been tranquilized and safely contained, the rest scattered back into the portal with the help of the local Finnish hero team.

Peter was already starting on a quip about importing snow-proof web fluid when—

He froze.

Across the field, a very large man was lumbering over in red armor.

Cain Marko. The Juggernaut.

Peter’s posture shifted instantly, relaxed banter falling into quiet tension.

Laura noticed. “Problem?”

Peter squinted. “Let’s just say the last time we were in the same time zone, a hospital lost power and someone got a mailbox lodged in their thigh.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “You never said you had personal beef with the Juggernaut.”

Peter shrugged, still watching Cain like a hawk. “Didn’t think it would come up during an Arctic werewolf hunt.”

Matt Murdock, who was standing nearby with a scratch over one brow, chimed in. “It’s a whole thing. Started when Peter was fourteen. First time they met, Juggernaut beat him into a parking lot.”

Laura blinked. “Fourteen?”

Peter muttered, “Puberty was rough.”

Matt continued, “Rematch at fifteen. Technically a tie. That time was in Hawaii.”

“Why were you in Hawaii—”

“It was a very educational spring break.”

By now, the Juggernaut had closed the distance. He looked Peter up and down with a faint smirk. “Look who’s still trying to dress like an action figure.”

Peter gave him a polite smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Look who still thinks ‘unstoppable’ means unwashed.”

Cain snorted. “You always had a mouth on you, bug-boy.”

“And you always had a helmet like a salad bowl. I figured we both had our coping mechanisms.”

Laura stepped forward, claws twitching subtly. “You stomped him once?”

“More than once,” Juggernaut said proudly. “Kid used to bounce like a racquetball.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “He’s underselling how hard it is to fight a human freight train. To be fair, my voice hadn’t even dropped yet.”

Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Still didn’t stop me.”

Something in his tone shifted. Personal. Not quite a threat, but something close.

Peter, despite himself, stepped closer. “We done with the chest-thumping, or are you here to compare helmet sizes again?”

Juggernaut gave a low chuckle. “Still the same punk.”

Peter looked at Laura and muttered, “He’s still mad I broke his stride during that whole Madame Web incident. He tripped over a mailbox. It was a very elegant trip.”

Juggernaut snorted. “You think one lucky move makes you my equal?”

“Nope,” Peter said cheerfully. “I think saving lives and making it out with all my limbs counts as a win.”

The tension between them buzzed like an unspoken force field. Even Logan, watching from a few meters away, just folded his arms and didn’t interfere.

Laura, finally tired of the posturing, stepped between them. “You wanna finish this rivalry? Go spar in a containment field. Or play chess.”

Juggernaut looked like he was considering it.

Peter tilted his head. “Chess might be more your speed. You can only move forward.”

Cain smirked again. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Webs.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Aw, that’s sweet. Want a snow cone before you trudge off dramatically?”

Cain rolled his eyes, turned, and walked away—every footfall leaving deep dents in the icy ground.

Laura turned to Peter. “Do all your enemies come with this much unresolved trauma?”

Peter sighed. “Pretty much.”

Matt muttered, “You attract the dramatic ones.”

“He tried to punch a multiversal god once!” Peter pointed.

Matt: “At least I wore a tie.”

Laura just shook her head. “You’re sleeping on the non-metaphorical couch if this keeps happening.”

Peter muttered, “Worth it.”

Juggernaut had almost walked off—almost.

Then, without turning, he tossed one more jab over his shoulder:

“Still think Madame Web would be alive if you hadn’t tripped over your own guilt.”

Peter froze.

Even Laura stiffened beside him.

Matt, a few feet away, winced. “Oh, no.”

Peter didn’t speak. His fists clenched. He flash-stepped across the snow-slick field in the blink of an eye—then punched Cain Marko square in the jaw.

The sound echoed like a car crash muffled by snow.

Cain flew—a genuine, involuntary airborne moment for the Juggernaut—before crashing through a pile of reinforced equipment crates. Dust and frost flew up like a small explosion.

“Peter!” Laura snapped, rushing after him.

Cain groaned, stood up, and turned.

No more grinning.

“Alright, bug-boy,” he rumbled, brushing off debris, “you want round five—fine.”

They charged.

Peter met him head-on, webs launching to twist Cain’s momentum. Cain ripped through them, driving a fist the size of a trashcan into a near-miss. Peter ducked, swept his leg, kicked him into a snowbank.

Cain grabbed the snowbank and threw it.

Laura blinked. “He just weaponized weather.”

Peter flipped mid-air, landed behind Cain, and uppercut him with both fists.

Cain staggered.

Peter: “Let’s talk about that, Marko!”

Cain: “Let’s not.”

They traded blows. Peter’s enhanced speed versus Cain’s unstoppable momentum. They didn’t level the landscape—but they threatened to.

Until—

SNIKT.

Adamantium claws scraped across Cain’s shoulder—lightly.

Not a wound. A warning.

Laura stepped between them, claws half-extended, eyes flat and calm. Her voice was low.

“Enough.”

Cain growled. “He started it.”

Peter huffed. “He insinuated it.”

Laura’s gaze turned murderous. “You’re fighting in a foreign country, after an interdimensional incident, in front of civilians. Either of you swing again, I break both your arms and say it was a reflex.”

Silence.

Even Matt had stopped walking forward. He muttered under his breath, “That’s my cue to not be the lawyer for this.”

Cain slowly took a breath and backed off.

Peter looked away, ashamed. “...Sorry.”

Cain cracked his neck. “Guess we’re even. For now.”

Laura didn’t even flinch. “Go home, Cain.”

He did.

Peter stayed quiet as the others scattered.

Later, Laura sat beside him on a snowy ledge overlooking the still-frozen Finnish lake.

She didn’t speak for a moment. Then:

“You didn’t hit him because of what he said about Madame Web.”

Peter didn’t deny it.

“You hit him because you still think it’s true.”

He looked down at his gloves. At his still-throbbing fists.

“…She died on my watch.”

Laura leaned over, gently bumped her shoulder into his. “You’ve saved more people than anyone ever should’ve had to.”

Peter smiled faintly. “Including you.”

Laura smirked. “That’s my line.”

The Finnish air was cold but quiet now, heavy with snow-dampened silence and the occasional crackle of distant communications over the X-Men and Avengers' comms.

Peter didn’t speak. He just stood there, arms limp at his sides, as the adrenaline ebbed from his bloodstream.

Laura turned toward him. Before she could speak, he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug—not desperate, not wild, but tight. Fiercely so. Like he needed to feel the warmth of her existence to drown out what Cain’s words had stirred up.

She blinked, surprised for half a second.

Then she slowly hugged him back, slipping her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his shoulder.

He said, muffled into her hair, “...I really hate how much power he still has over me.”

Laura just held on tighter. “He doesn’t. Not where it counts.”

Peter didn’t reply. But his grip stayed firm.

They stood like that in the snow for a long beat.

Then—

Crunch.

Boots on snow.

Peter reluctantly pulled back just as Logan came strolling up from behind a scorched, toppled pine tree, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand.

He took in the scene: Laura looking unbothered but still adjusting her gloves, Peter with a bruised jaw and snow in his hair, the faint trail of impact craters still steaming behind them.

Logan paused, gave the nearby crater where Juggernaut had landed a once-over, then said flatly:

“You punched Cain again?”

Peter exhaled.

“Yeah.”

Logan grinned faintly and took another bite of his bar. “Damn. Missed it.”

Laura arched a brow. “Why are you even here?”

“Finland’s got great smoked reindeer,” Logan said. “Also, I was supposed to babysit Juggernaut.”

Peter deadpanned. “You what?”

“I got bored.” He squinted at Peter. “He get a good hit in?”

Laura: “They were mostly equal.”

Peter, still rubbing his shoulder: “I might be a little bit concussed.”

Logan gave him a thumbs up. “Proud of you, kid.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “We’re married.”

“Still a kid,” Logan muttered.

Peter coughed, turning pink.

Laura sighed. “Let’s go home before someone decides to file another international incident.”

As the four of them started walking back toward the X-jet, Logan added casually:

“Next time, give me a heads-up. I’ll bring popcorn.”

A/N: The event of Spider-Man: Grim hunt did happen here.

Chapter 118: “The Choice”

Chapter Text

Title: “The Choice”
Setting: Parker–Kinney | Apartment
Cast: Laura, Peter, Leah, and Leah
---

The apartment was quiet. Not the strained silence of unease, but the comfortable lull of a Sunday morning. Outside, birds chirped. Inside, cartoons hummed on low volume in the background. A mug of coffee sat beside Laura’s half-read book, and Peter was absently folding a blanket on the couch.

Leah sat cross-legged on the carpet, coloring. The red crayon in her tiny hand had been worn to a nub, but she didn’t mind.

Peter exchanged a glance with Laura.

They had talked about it—late at night, in hushed tones, after Leah had gone to sleep. After everything the girl had been through—being alone, her health struggles, adapting to their home—they didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for.

Especially not this.

Peter moved to the couch and sat down. Laura joined him, sitting close, knees brushing. Laura didn’t usually soften her posture much—but today, she did. Just a little.

“Leah?” Peter called gently.

The little girl looked up, big eyes blinking. “Yeah?”

“Can you come here for a sec? We wanted to talk to you about something.”

Leah got up, pad of paper still clutched in her hand, and climbed up between them on the couch. Peter smiled and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“We were talking to someone really special today,” he said carefully. “Someone who’s important to us. Someone who—if you wanted—could be important to you, too.”

Leah tilted her head. “Who?”

Peter took a breath. “Her name is May. She’s my aunt. But she’s more than that. She raised me when my parents… weren’t around. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

Laura picked up gently. “She’s kind. And patient. She makes good cookies.”

“She also tells embarrassing stories,” Peter added with a small smile. “But she really, really cares.”

Leah looked at them both. Her eyes flicked to Peter’s hand, resting near hers. Then to Laura’s steady expression.

“She... knows about me?” she asked softly.

“She does,” Laura said. “We’ve told her a little. Just enough.”

“But only what you were okay with us telling,” Peter added quickly.

Leah nodded, gripping her drawing pad a little tighter. “And she... wants to meet me?”

Peter’s voice was quiet. “Only if you want to meet her.”

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Laura said. “Not with us. Not with her.”

Leah was quiet for a long moment.

Then she looked at Peter.

“Does she make cinnamon cookies?”

Peter blinked. “Uh… yes, actually.”

“…Okay,” Leah said quietly, scooting in closer. “I think I wanna meet her.”

Peter smiled so wide his face might’ve cracked. Laura reached out and gently brushed a hand down Leah’s back, her expression unreadable but fond.

“Then we’ll set it up soon,” Peter said. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

Leah shrugged, a little smile forming. “I just wanna know what your stories smell like.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—what?”

Laura smirked. “She means the cookies.”

Peter laughed, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Got it. One cinnamon cookie adventure coming up.”

Leah leaned into them both.

For the first time, the couch felt just a little fuller.

Just the way it was meant to.

---

Later that day, after a quiet lunch and one of Peter’s too-sweet smoothies, Leah padded into the living room in her socks and held up one of her drawings to Laura.

It was a simple sketch—crayon lines and crooked shapes—but even with the five-year-old scrawl, it was clear: three people, holding hands. One with glasses and messy brown hair. One with dark hair and sharp eyes. And one small one in the middle, with a big smile and red shoes.

“That’s us,” Leah said softly. “Me, and you, and Peter.”

Laura’s mouth curved, just a little. “I can tell.”

Leah shuffled her feet. “I... had a question.”

Laura blinked and crouched down slightly, resting her forearms on her knees. “Okay.”

Leah hesitated, clutching the drawing a little tighter. “Um... Are you adopted? And where’s your mommy? Is she like, here?” Her voice had a childlike innocence, but the question hit Laura like a freight train.

Laura froze. Just for a fraction of a second, her shoulders stiffened, and her expression shifted—a flicker of something deep and tender crossed her face. But she quickly masked it, not wanting Leah to see the sadness that she tried so hard to hide.

Not visibly. Not for long.

But it was enough.

A single beat of stillness. Her shoulders tensed just slightly. Her mouth didn’t move.

Peter, sitting nearby, noticed instantly.

He reached over and gently took Laura’s hand.

Squeezed.

Laura’s fingers flexed. Then returned the squeeze, anchoring.

Leah noticed too.

Her little hands fidgeted with the edges of her drawing pad as her voice became frantic.

And her eyes widened in horror.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I didn’t mean—did I say something bad?! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to make you sad!”

Laura’s eyes widened as the little girl started to tremble, panic blooming in her small voice like a wildfire.

“I was just—I was just wondering! I won’t ask again, I promise, I didn’t wanna hurt you—”

“Hey,” Laura said, voice lower than usual but not cold. She dropped to one knee, level with her.

Peter stayed close, still holding her hand.

Laura reached out and gently brushed Leah’s hair back.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I was just... surprised.”

Leah sniffled, blinking up at her. “Really?”

Laura nodded slowly. “Really.”

Peter added, “We all have questions, kiddo. And it’s okay to ask them.”

Leah looked down. “You looked sad.”

Laura was quiet for a moment.

Then: “I was. A little.”

Peter gave her hand another light squeeze. This time, it was her choice to speak.

“I didn’t know my mom very well,” Laura said quietly. “She… she tried to protect me. But she’s gone now.”

Laura’s heart twisted, and the urge to comfort Leah quickly overcame her own unease. She didn’t want the little girl to feel responsible for her pain.

“Leah,” Laura said quickly, leaning forward so she was at eye level with the girl. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s just… a little complicated. You’re fine.”

Leah’s wide eyes looked so full of guilt, her tiny lips trembling as she tried to absorb Laura’s words.

Leah’s lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Laura reached out gently and pulled her into a hug, careful and calm.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “And I have Peter. And you. And Gabby. That’s a lot more family than I ever thought I’d have.”

Leah hugged her back tightly.

“I don’t really know my mom either,” she mumbled into Laura’s shoulder. “But I still hope she was nice.”

Laura’s eyes softened—just for a flicker.

“I hope so too.”

They stayed there for a while, quiet and breathing in the warmth of shared pain and something new. Something stronger than fear.

Peter watched them, hand still half-raised, heart full.

“Y’know,” he said lightly, voice just above a whisper, “you two are kind of scary good at making me cry.”

Laura glanced back at him with a faint smirk. “You’re just soft.”

“I like to call it emotionally resilient, thank you very much.”

Leah giggled softly.

Laura kissed the top of her head.

“You’re not adopted, Leah,” she said, her voice a little hoarse but steady. “You’re chosen.”

Leah blinked up at her. “...What does that mean?”

“It means we wanted you,” Peter said, walking over to kneel beside them both. “Not because we had to. Because we love you.”

Leah looked between them, her small hands clutching her drawing.

And then, with the faintest of shy smiles, she whispered:

“Okay.”

Laura looked at Peter, silently grateful for his presence, for his understanding. But still, the question lingered in her chest like an unanswered prayer. How could she explain to a five-year-old that her own mother was gone, that there were things she couldn’t change or fix?

Her voice softened as she looked back to Leah, trying to find the right words. “I… I do have a mommy. But she’s not here anymore. She… passed away a long time ago.”

Leah’s face scrunched up, not quite understanding the full weight of the statement but still sensing that it was important. “Passed away?”

Laura nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, not knowing how to navigate this with a little one who had only just started to learn about loss.

“It means she’s not here with us anymore. She’s gone, but she’ll always be in my heart.”

Leah’s eyes were wide, her little brows knitted together in confusion. “But you still love her?”

“I still love her,” Laura said, her voice quiet, but full of certainty. “Even though she’s not here. I carry her with me.”

Leah’s head tilted, processing what Laura had said. Then, very carefully, her small hand reached out and rested on Laura’s arm, as if offering comfort in the only way she knew how.

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered the apology again, her voice barely audible.

Laura smiled softly, her heart aching in a way she didn’t know how to explain. “Thank you, Leah. I know you didn’t mean to make me sad. But talking about it… it’s okay. It’s just something I have to think about sometimes.”

Peter gave Leah a small nod, his smile gentle. “You’re a really good kid, Leah. Don’t worry about Laura, she’s tougher than she looks.”

Leah seemed to take that in, offering a quiet, hesitant smile in return. Peter turned back to Laura and gave her a comforting nod, silently acknowledging the weight of what she was holding in. He could see that this moment was hard for her—not just because of Leah’s question, but because it reminded Laura of something she would always carry.

Laura squeezed Leah’s hand, her voice calm again, the heaviness in her heart softened by the girl’s gentle presence.

“It’s okay, Leah. I’ll always love my mommy. And I’ll always be here for you too.”

Leah seemed to accept that, her shoulders relaxing as she snuggled into Laura’s side.

Peter watched them, a soft smile on his face, as Laura, in her own quiet way, helped Leah navigate the question—helped her understand that love isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it.

And for now—that was more than enough.

Chapter 119: (Important) Author’s Note – For Chapter 120

Chapter Text

Author’s Note – Chapter 120

Before we begin, I want to give a fair warning: this chapter contains commentary on a subject that has sparked some controversy. If that’s something you’d prefer to avoid, I completely understand — feel free to skip ahead to another chapter.

I wasn’t originally planning to address this, but a particular comment brought something to light that I feel warrants a response. I’m not here to start drama or point fingers, but I believe in transparency and in not shying away from difficult discussions when they’re relevant.

That said, if you’re still with me, thank you for reading — and for allowing space for honest reflection.

Chapter 120: (Serious chapter) Adressing Controversy

Chapter Text

Title: “Adressing Controversy, Respect, Responsibility, and Real Talk”

Comment by Phillipe363

Hang on a second just don't read the thing, cause it's smut? You know I was willing to drop this story quietly based on another chapter for what you do crossing a line for me in Chapter 115 as I loathe doing this but honestly after this telling me not read something. First telling me what I can and can't read? Yeah no, that's my choice, you don't get to tell me what to do.

Second smut is where you draw the line. Oh my goodness maybe I could respect that, maybe if you didn't write the Chapter 115: “Delayed, but Not Forgotten” where Peter goes full on LGBTQ pride month garbage. Goodness freaking grief, I thought it was bad enough at times how you have Peter kind of be milk toast in this personality wise and ironically not why Laura would fall for him, but no you have Peter like covered in flag pins and crap. What's worse is you have him in the teacher role for pride month, right like Peter would be fine with freaking young kids and teenagers for what they do with pride months on the drag shows be at school, and everything else for the grooming.

Let me make this clear if your bisexual, gay or lesbian I do not care with I have a dislike for the actual bigots who still exist that are upset it's not like the 1950's anymore, constantly complaining about gays/lesbians and bi sexual people even existing. It as bad as enough the clowns who keep saying "Treat us with equal respect cause we like the same sex or want to become a different gender" yet they also demand stupid shit like their own month. Um no, here's a radical thought we get rid of black history month, LGBTQ Pride month, women's history month and all these special months for clowns who need their weak feather filled rears propped up on rain blow covered pillows.

Never mind Peter would probably not take kindly to all the LGBTQ stuff being pushed at kids/teenagers or the ones of the LGBTQ people trying to well drag shows? Need I say more? Like Peter as Spider-Man has seen and taken down all manner of human extermination on kids, heck he's friends with various X-Men and in this story married to Laura so no the LGBTQ pride stuff by these people who go into schools pushing this on kids he would not stand for. Espically all the trans stuff on kids/teenagers or even adults who have their bodies sliced up, hormone treatments and such then end up killing themselves would be his bigger concern.

Plus Peter's a man of science so good luck trying to sell there's more then one gender or trans is a natural thing when animals like well dogs, cats, squirrels, raccoons etc. are not going for trans operations either. I mean would Peter be there if some kid was having true abusive issues from bigot parents, or if a teenager was nervous about liking the same sex and willing to listen? Of course Peter does have a bit of this Clark Kent, Steve Rogers or Charlies Xavier element in that regard for listening, but be all like apologizing on not realizing it was pride month for like overcompensating or some such garbage? Yeah... nope. Laura would even give less of twos bits for caring about whatever pride month in her eyes.

Like you want to be an adult for doing this stuff, fine go ahead. But keep this crap away from kids alongside getting rid of all these special months like pride and stuff. You want to be treated like any other normal person? Well true acceptance comes from not thinking your a special snowflake.

Call me a whatever, don't care, I'm done. You had to go tell me what to do with having a problem on smut yet your fine with the pride month garbage. Also I'm blocking so I don't have to deal with the BS your no doubt going to respond back with. Like congratulations first time I've ever left an angry ranting post for why I'm leaving a story instead of hitting the back button, something I hate doing cause after all I swore I would never do this crap for something that is a hobby even if I disagreed with the person so hope your happy. Also here's your answer to the comment you made asking me if I've read the full story following you ignoring my posts about why I could see Peter/Laura as a possibility after already ignoring an even earlier comment explaining that to.

Setting: Rooftop, Late Evening, New York City

Someone decided to say the quiet part out loud—and the Spider-Family has thoughts.

Featuring: Peter Parker, Laura Kinney, Ben Reilly, Kaine, Gabby, and Anya Corazon

---

Peter (arms folded, calmly):
"You know, it's funny. I’ve fought space gods, lizard people, and interdimensional chaos beings—but the scariest thing is still watching people twist the idea of 'responsibility' into a weapon.

You said I wouldn’t stand with kids being told it’s okay to be who they are. That I wouldn’t support listening to them, or respecting them. You really don’t know me.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

I teach science, yes. But I also teach compassion. I talk to kids about facts—biological, emotional, social. That includes the reality that LGBTQ+ kids exist. Not because I want to push something—but because ignoring them erases their safety. And if you think being seen equals being groomed, then you're not talking about education anymore. You're talking about fear."

I’ve stood on roofs talking teens out of jumping. I've sat in hospital rooms with kids who were bullied just for existing. And yes—some of those kids were LGBTQ. You think I’m going to turn my back on them? What part of 'great power, great responsibility' sounds like silence to you?"

---

Laura (arms crossed, eyes narrowed):
"You know what I care about? Survival. Identity. Fighting every damn day to own your body and your story.

I was made in a lab. I was told what I was allowed to be. And I clawed my way out of that. So when a kid tells me they’re not what the world says they are?

I believe them. And I defend them.

You can try and shame people for needing visibility, but all you’re doing is telling the rest of us who you think deserves to exist. And that? That’s the kind of mindset I’ve cut down before."

I don’t ‘care less’ about Pride. I understand it, just because im not interested or it's used as a way to sell merchandise doesn't erase the fact that, it validates other people. I know what it means to be othered, to be told you’re wrong just for existing.

Peter taught me that being kind isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It takes more strength to accept people than to cut them down.

You want to tell queer kids they shouldn’t have a flag or a month or a safe place to breathe? Try saying that in front of someone who’s held a dying friend that took their own life after being kicked out for who they loved. Trust me, in this line of work i've seen it all.

So say it.

Go on. I’ll wait.”

---

Ben Reilly (quiet but firm):
"I spent years trying to figure out if I was a copy, a mistake, or something real. I don’t need a flag to tell me I matter. But you know what helped?

Knowing I wasn’t alone.

That’s what Pride is. A reminder for people who’ve been told, in a hundred little ways, they don’t belong. A reminder that they do."

---

Kaine (leans against a wall, unimpressed):
"Let me get this straight—no pun intended—you're mad that people who’ve been hunted, bullied, and rejected want a month to feel seen?

I’ve killed monsters for less than what you just said.

And by the way? Nature’s got plenty of gender diversity. Ever heard of clownfish? Seahorses? You wanna bring science into it, learn some actual biology first."

“I didn’t ask to be made. I didn’t ask to be different. But I still deserve to live like I matter.

You said people shouldn’t act like ‘special snowflakes.’ But Pride isn’t about being special. It’s about being treated equally. You don’t cancel cancer awareness month because not everyone has cancer. You raise awareness for the ones who need it. That’s what Pride is. That’s what Black History Month is. That’s what every visibility month is.”

---

Gabby (deadpan):
"Dude. I'm a clone. Literally made from someone else’s DNA. You don’t think I’ve wrestled with what makes a person real?

Being different doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you you.

And if some kid wants to wear a flag pin or go to a parade to feel like they’re not alone? Cool. I’ll hand them the glitter myself."

“You brought up biology? Great. Let’s talk real science. Gender isn’t binary. Read any up-to-date medical journal. There are intersex people, hormone variations, even species that switch genders naturally. But even if that wasn’t true—so what?

People aren’t ‘unnatural’ just because a raccoon doesn’t transition.

And let’s be real—if Peter found a trans kid being bullied, you think he’d look the other way? Nah. He’d web up the bully and walk the kid home.”

“You act like accepting someone means erasing someone else.

It doesn’t.

Queer kids existing doesn’t erase straight ones. Pride flags don’t erase American ones. Giving one group safety and joy doesn’t take anything from you. That’s not how kindness works.

And by the way, if you’re so mad about people asking for equality, maybe you should ask yourself why it bothers you so much."

---

Anya (crosses her arms):
"You think Pride Month’s the problem? Try growing up Latina in a city that shouts over your voice every time you speak.

Try being a woman in STEM. Try being a superhero and getting told you’re too much just by existing.

“You think being inclusive is ‘pushing an agenda’? Fine. You know what my agenda is?

Not letting another kid grow up thinking they have to hide who they are or hate themselves just to survive high school. I’ve been the only girl in a room. The only brown kid in a room. The only voice willing to speak up.

I’m tired of hearing that respecting others is ‘too political.’ You don’t get to call it political when people are just asking to live without fear.”

Pride’s not about being better than anyone else. It’s about saying, 'I survived being told I shouldn’t exist.'

And if that makes you uncomfortable? Then you need to think harder—not us."

---

Peter (softly):
"Don’t like smut in fanfic? Fine. That’s a boundary. Totally valid. (A/N: I actually don't hate it, but using my versions of the characters to write smut without consulting me is disrespectful)

But telling people they shouldn’t be seen? Telling kids they don’t deserve representation? That’s not setting boundaries—that’s erasing people.

And I won’t be part of that."

---

Laura (steps forward, claws retracted, but close):
"You want to leave? Leave. You want to be angry? Fine. But don’t stand there and pretend you're the one being silenced while you try to silence everyone else.

That’s not how this family works.

And if you don’t get that—then you were never reading us to begin with."

Peter (quiet now, but unshaken):
“I get it. I do. This world’s loud. It's confusing. And a lot of folks are scared. But if your first reaction to seeing people exist is to shout about 'agendas' or 'months being unfair'—then maybe what you're scared of... isn’t them.

It’s change.

And change doesn’t care if you’re comfortable. It’s coming anyway.”

He looked at the others. Then down at the street below, where kids walked with phones in hand and flags tied around their backpacks. Some of them might be afraid to go home. Some of them might already know they’re different. All of them deserved to feel safe.

Peter:
“I didn’t survive all this—death, pain, loss, guilt—just to raise my voice against people trying to live honestly. I’m not gonna be the guy that makes someone feel smaller because they don’t fit into a box someone else invented.”

---

Laura (leaning against him now, eyes still sharp):
“They call it Pride for a reason. Because the world’s been telling them to feel ashamed for decades.
You think you’re standing up for what’s right when you go after people who are already on the floor?

Try standing with someone who has nothing left. Try protecting someone who can’t fight for themselves. That’s what Peter taught me. What being a hero actually means.”

---

Kaine (stepping forward, tone level):
“You’re angry. Cool. Anger’s easy. Trust me—I’ve lived with it. But weaponizing it against people who just want to breathe? That’s cowardice dressed as righteousness.

You know who’s strong? The kid who walks into school wearing a flag pin and keeps their head up anyway.”

---

Ben (grim, arms crossed):
"You think the real danger is kids hearing someone say, ‘You're okay the way you are’?

No. The danger is kids who hear nothing. No support. No hope. No future. That’s what puts them in the ground.

And you want to take away the few voices saying, ‘You’re not alone’? Nah. Not happening.”

---

Gabby (now sitting on the ledge, swinging her legs):
“You called Pride stuff ‘clown behavior.’ Okay, let’s talk clowns.

You ever seen a guy wear bright red and blue spandex and yell one-liners while flipping off a building?

Because that’s Peter.

That’s my brother-in-law.

You think ‘being normal’ is some prize? No thanks. I’ll stick with weird, with proud, with people who choose kindness over cruelty. That’s my circus. Those are my clowns.”

---

Anya (steady, holding her ground):
“You can hate the idea of ‘months’ or ‘labels,’ but guess what? They exist because someone had to fight to be seen in the first place.

Don’t want Pride Month? Cool. Fight for a world where queer kids aren’t homeless, murdered, or erased.

Don’t want Women’s History Month? Great. Make sure we’re written into the history books without needing our own chapter.

But until then—until everyone gets a seat at the table—we’re gonna keep pulling up chairs.”

---

Peter (one last word, soft but unwavering):
“You said I wouldn’t stand for Pride being ‘pushed on kids.’ You’re right.
I won’t stand for it being pushed on them.

I’ll kneel beside them, eye-level, and say, ‘You’re not broken. You’re brave. And you’re not alone.’
Because the world already tries to crush them.

It doesn’t need my help.”

---

They stood together now—claws, webs, scars, and all.

Not just as heroes.

As people.

And if being kind, inclusive, and human made them 'weak' in someone’s eyes?

Then maybe the real strength was being willing to stand anyway.

---

Peter (sitting on the ledge, knees up):
“You know, people still ask me... ‘Why Laura?’”
He smiled softly, not looking at anyone in particular.
“Usually followed by, ‘Isn’t she kind of terrifying?’”

Laura snorted from where she sat beside him, arms resting on her thighs, legs swinging over the edge.

Laura:
“They’re not wrong.”

Peter:
“No. But they’re also missing the point.”

He glanced over at her, and for a second, he wasn’t the wisecracking hero or the responsible teacher or the guy carrying the world. He was just Peter.

Peter:
“She’s not terrifying to me. Not really. Not anymore. I’ve seen what she hides behind all that armor. And it’s not rage or violence—it’s control. Discipline. A need to protect people so strong, it burns her up from the inside.

And yeah, she’s intense. But so is grief. So is survival. So is love when you’ve had to fight for every bit of it.”

He reached out, took her hand.

“Laura never wanted to be saved. She wanted to be seen. And I saw her.”

---

Laura (quiet for a beat):
“People ask me the same thing. ‘Why Peter?’”
She shrugged. “Usually followed by, ‘Isn’t he too soft for you?’”

Peter (grinning):
“Now that’s just rude.”

Laura (not smiling, but warmer):
“They don’t get it. They see you smiling all the time, cracking jokes. They think that’s all you are. But I know what’s underneath that.

Resilience. Guilt. Heart.

You lost your uncle, your parents, your childhood, your innocence. And you still wake up every day and try to do better—for strangers.

You carry pain like a second skin. But instead of letting it make you bitter, you turned it into purpose.

That... That’s strength. That’s what I respect. That’s what I fell in love with.”

---

Peter (voice lower now):
“I didn’t fall for Laura because she’s a badass. Or because she’s gorgeous.
Though—”
He winked.
“Let’s be honest. That helped.”

Laura:
“Idiot.”

Peter:
“I fell for her because she doesn’t flinch from the truth. She tells me when I’m wrong. She keeps me honest. And she protects the people she loves like her life depends on it.

She saw the worst parts of me and didn’t run.”

---

Laura:
“And he saw me when I didn’t even know who I was yet.
He didn’t try to fix me.
He just... stayed.”

---

They sat in silence for a moment, hand in hand.

Then Peter chuckled.

Peter:
“Still think we’re an odd ship?”

Laura:
“No.

---

A/N: So in short Fuck you philip363. Get bent ya bich!

Also it's hilarious how you pointed that i didn't read your comments, but you blocked me the moment, i would've answered 🤣. And didn’t read the context of my comments before going on a rant.

Chapter 121: The Great Cooking Disaster: Part 3

Chapter Text

The Great Cooking Disaster: Part 3

Peter landed on the balcony with the grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. He slipped through the sliding door, expecting to be greeted by the scent of whatever Laura had been working on today.

Instead, his nose was met with—

“Is something on fire?”

He sprinted into the kitchen.

Smoke hung in the air like a guilty secret. A pan was overturned on the stovetop, something unidentifiable was dripping from the ceiling, and there was a very real, very visible scorch mark on the counter. Laura stood in the middle of it all, completely calm, spatula in hand, like this was just another Tuesday.

Peter stared.

Laura raised an eyebrow.

“It was a small explosion,” she said flatly.

Peter blinked. “Small?”

“The wall is still intact.”

“That’s not your baseline for success!”

From the corner of the kitchen, Gabby popped into view, looking a little too excited.

“You missed it. The egg literally jumped out of the pan. Like, I think it was sentient.”

Leah peeked out from behind her, wide-eyed but otherwise unharmed. “It made a really loud ‘pop’ sound. Like popcorn, but scarier.”

Peter rubbed his temples. “Okay. Someone start from the beginning.”

---

Earlier That Day…

Laura had woken up feeling confident. She’d been slowly improving her cooking skills with Peter’s reluctant guidance (and a lot of fire extinguishers). Today, she decided, she would cook solo. No help. No instruction. Just instinct, pride, and a stubborn refusal to lose to an omelet again.

Unfortunately, Gabby walked in mid-chop.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked, plopping onto the kitchen counter and eyeing the raw chicken with suspicion.

“I’ve got it handled.”

“You said that last time. The blender didn’t survive.”

“This time’s different.”

“Riiight.”

Leah, trailing behind Gabby with her ever-present sketchpad, brightened. “Are we cooking again?! Can I be a judge?”

Gabby’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Great idea. Cooking challenge, round three. This time, you go solo.”

Laura shrugged. “Fine.”

Anya strolled in just as Gabby was setting up the “judging panel” with juice boxes and a notepad.

“Wait, wait, wait. There’s another competition? No one told me.” Anya crossed her arms. “I call first judge.”

“You got it,” Gabby said, handing her a plastic spoon.

Laura looked at her ingredients. Chicken, cheese, eggs, hot sauce, onions.

“How bad could it be?”

---

Mid-Disaster

Anya stared at the stovetop.

“Is it supposed to bubble like that?”

Gabby grinned. “Cool! Science!”

Leah looked concerned. “I think it’s kinda cute how it wiggles…”

Laura flipped the pan. It sizzled—and then, without warning, POPPED, sending a glob of egg across the counter. Anya immediately stood up.

“Yeah. I’m out. I don’t want to die in a cooking accident. Not like this.” She walked toward the front door. “I’m bringing in a sub.”

She returned five minutes later with Miles Morales in tow, who looked extremely confused.

“Why do I smell fire? Is something—OH MY GOD.”

Laura, unbothered, stirred something that was either a sauce or a warning sign.

“She’s cooking,” Gabby said cheerfully. “You’re a judge now.”

Miles looked at the blackened pan, the smoke, the chaos. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Too late,” Gabby said, shoving a spoon in his hand.

---

Present – Peter’s Return

Peter stood frozen, taking in the aftermath.

“You set the stove on fire?”

“Technically,” Laura said, flipping a piece of scorched egg off the counter, “it set itself on fire. I was just here.”

Gabby handed him a plate. “You gotta try it though. It’s, like, dangerous and delicious.”

“I’m not eating anything that tried to fight its way out of the pan.”

Laura crossed her arms. “It’s edible.”

Miles held up a glass of water. “Barely. My tongue still hurts.”

Leah nodded solemnly. “It made my throat tingly. But I kinda liked it.”

Peter took a deep breath and picked up a fork.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He took a small bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

His eyes widened.

“…Oh no. No. It’s good. Why is it good?!”

Laura smirked. “Because I’m better than you.”

Peter groaned, tossing the fork down. “Unacceptable. I leave for two hours and you somehow create a dish that tastes good and destroys a kitchen.”

“It’s a gift.”

“This is why I should’ve stuck with baking lessons.”

Laura leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “That’s next week’s lesson, isn’t it?”

Peter turned pale.

Miles backed toward the door.

Gabby looked delighted.

Leah giggled.

And somewhere in the smoky mess of a half-destroyed kitchen, Laura stood victorious.

---

A/N:
Laura insists the explosion was part of the process. Peter is rethinking the entire lesson plan. Gabby wants another round. Miles is considering witness protection. Baking is next.

Let chaos reign.

Chapter 122: “Steam and Soap Suds”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “Steam and Soap Suds”
Setting: Late evening | Peter and Laura’s apartment

The tub was filled, the water comfortably hot, with a generous helping of bubbles thanks to Peter's inexplicable obsession with lavender-scented bath products.

Laura raised an eyebrow as she stepped in behind him. “You bought the fancy stuff again.”

Peter grinned over his shoulder. “Only the best for Mrs. Parker-Kinney.”

She settled in with a contented sigh, letting the warmth sink into her skin and soothe sore muscles. She didn’t say it aloud, but this was one of her favorite kinds of quiet. Not total silence—but his quiet. The kind that didn’t demand anything from her. Just presence.

Peter tilted his head back against her shoulder, grinning. “You know, I had to fight a sewer goblin today. This is the least I deserve.”

“You stepped on your own web-shooter and nearly fell into the river,” Laura reminded flatly.

“That was tactical misjudgment, thank you very much.”

She smirked and dipped her fingers into the bubbles.

“You like the lavender,” Peter said knowingly.

“No, I tolerate it,” Laura muttered, eyes closing as she leaned back against the tub’s edge. “It’s aggressively... soothing.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, faux-solemn. “One day I’ll win you over to Team Bubble Bath.”

Laura cracked an eye open. “You’re awfully confident for someone who just poured half the soap bottle in here.”

“I call it ambiance.” He splashed some bubbles toward her leg. “Besides, you like it when I smell like lavender.”

“Bold of you to assume I like how you smell at all.”

Peter placed a hand over his heart, gasping. “Betrayed. In my own tub.”

Laura smirked. “You’re impossible.”

“You married me anyway.”

“Temporary lapse in judgment.”

“Hey!” He shifted around until he was facing her, foam clinging to his hair. “I’ll have you know I’m an absolute catch. Smart, charming, criminally underrated in People magazine's ‘Sexiest Spider-Men of the Multiverse’ list…”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Did you write that list?”

“I had help.”

She leaned forward, brushing a hand through his sudsy hair, then flicked a bit of foam onto his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

Peter looked at her, eyes softening. “You love it.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

“Even now?”

A pause.

She leaned in, nose brushing his, whisper-soft. “Especially now.”

Peter, as usual, ruined the moment by slipping and nearly dunking them both underwater.

Laura caught him by the arm, deadpan as ever. “Graceful.”

He coughed, sputtering. “Did it on purpose. Dramatic effect.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled him back toward her, letting his head rest against her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while—quiet, comfortable, wrapped in warmth and foam and the gentle hum of being close. For all the chaos of their lives, for all the bruises and patrols and interdimensional emergencies—this was theirs.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Laura murmured.

Peter smiled against her skin. “Yeah. I really am.”

Peter shifted slightly in the bathwater, glancing at Laura over his shoulder. “Hey... you want a back scrub?”

Laura raised an eyebrow, still leaning back against the rim of the tub, her arms resting on either side. “Is this another one of your sneaky romance tactics?”

Peter gave her his best innocent face. “Absolutely not. This is purely a professional, therapeutic, husband-initiated service.”

Laura gave a slow blink, then a small smirk. “...Fine. But try anything stupid and you’re getting soap in your mouth.”

Peter held a hand to his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

She turned, her back to him now, muscles taut under the water.

Peter lathered the sponge with more lavender soap, then paused with it hovering just above her skin. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

He started slow. Between her shoulder blades, along the curve of her spine—careful, thoughtful strokes. The tension she always carried there, from years of violence, of training, of survival... it was never fully gone. But she exhaled now, slowly, and let herself melt into his touch.

“This is nice,” she murmured.

Peter smiled, continuing. “I was gonna say we shouldn’t have important conversations in the tub... but this is working surprisingly well.”

Laura hummed. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he said, voice low and warm.

“Mm.”

There was quiet for a moment—steam rising around them, a soft intimacy that didn’t need words.

Then—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

“Yo!” Gabby’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Did you two die in there or are you just being gross?”

Laura sighed. “We’re bathing, Gabby.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabby said flatly. “You’ve been in there for over an hour. Leah wanted ice cream. I want ice cream. We’re about to commit crimes.”

Peter snorted. “We’ll be out in a few minutes!”

“You said that twenty minutes ago!”

Laura leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. “We need a second bathroom.”

“Preferably one with a kid-proof door,” Peter added.

“Better yet—soundproof walls.”

“I CAN HEAR YOU,” Gabby called, clearly still standing just outside the door. “Also, when you get out, can you not use up all the lavender soap, Webhead?”

Laura looked over her shoulder at Peter. “You used half the bottle.”

Peter blinked. “In my defense, it smells really good.”

Laura rolled her eyes and flicked water at him.

He flicked some back.

“Okay,” she said, slowly getting up. “Before Gabby breaks the door down and swipes our towels.”

Peter followed, grabbing one and handing it to her. “Truce?”

“For now,” she said, smirking again. “But you’re doing this again next week.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

Cut to ten minutes later:

Peter and Laura, fresh out of the bath, dressed in lazy sleepwear, walk into the living room.

Gabby and Leah are already on the couch. Leah’s got a bowl of ice cream. Gabby is smirking.

“Took you long enough,” Gabby said.

Peter ruffled her hair. “Patience, gremlin.”

Laura handed Leah a spoon. “You didn’t commit any crimes, did you?”

Leah blinked up at her, sweet and innocent. “Not that you can prove.”

Peter groaned. “We’re raising a tiny clone of you.”

Laura looked suspiciously proud. “Obviously.”

Chapter 123: “Poker Faces and Healing Scars”

Chapter Text

Title: “Poker Faces and Healing Scars”

Setting: Laura and Peter’s Living Room, Late Evening

Three clones, one silent,(and Peter) all with enough baggage to fill a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier—sitting down to play poker like they're not collectively one bad hand away from a flashback.

Featuring: Laura, Ben Reilly, Kaine (with his trusty notebook), a deck of cards, one snarky dry-erase board, and the most awkward snack tray in history

---

Laura didn’t know how this happened.

One minute, she was cleaning the kitchen and threatening Peter with bodily harm if he touched the last energy bar. The next, Ben Reilly was at the door with chips and beer, Kaine following behind with his usual grimace and a whiteboard slung over one shoulder like a sword.

Now, all three of them were sitting around her coffee table, a battered deck of cards between them, and a half-empty bag of salt and vinegar chips perched on Kaine’s knee.

Ben was shuffling the cards like he was auditioning for a casino heist movie.

“Alright, degenerates,” he grinned. “Texas Hold ’Em. No powers, no peeking, no stabbing.”

He looked pointedly at Laura.

“I make no promises,” she replied, arms crossed, legs sprawled comfortably across the couch.

Kaine scribbled something on his board and flipped it around:
“If I win, you owe me your fridge.”

Ben blinked. “Why do you want a fridge?”

Kaine calmly erased the board and wrote:
“I like snacks.”

“Get your own damn fridge,” Laura muttered, but dealt him in anyway.

---

First Hand:
Ben won with a smug three-of-a-kind. Kaine flipped him off. Laura muttered something about cheating with clone luck.

Kaine wrote:
“We all have Peter’s luck. It’s just bad.”

Ben: “I was dead for like six months. That has to balance the karma scales somehow.”

Laura: “Not if you came back dumber.”

Kaine quietly handed her a chip.
It was unclear if it was a peace offering or an insult. Possibly both.

---

Second Hand:
Laura won. Naturally. She didn’t bluff—she dared people to call her, and no one was brave enough.

Kaine silently pushed his chips forward. Ben dramatically clutched his chest.

“This is rigged. She’s terrifying and beautiful and it’s deeply unfair.”

Laura: “Flattery won’t get you your chips back.”

Kaine: “I’d stab you but it’d ruin the carpet.”

Ben: “She already did that last month. Don’t ask.”

---

Halfway Through the Game…

They weren’t laughing, not really. But the tension was less sharp.

Ben shared a dumb story about trying to cook lasagna and setting off six smoke alarms in the Beyond tower.

Laura admitted she once took Gabby to a D-list villain hideout for “career day.”

Kaine wrote:
“I webbed myself to a bus once. Was trying to swing. Bad angle.”

Ben nearly cried laughing.

Laura actually smirked.

---

Last Hand:
Everyone was out except Kaine and Laura.

Kaine stared her down, completely unreadable. Laura leaned back, expression unreadable in a much more murdery way.

Then Kaine calmly put down a full house.

Laura laid down a straight flush.

Kaine stared.

Erased his board.

Then wrote:
“This is why no one fights her in the X-Mansion poker games.”

Ben leaned over, arms behind his head.

“Alright, well. That was a disaster. You win, Laura. Kaine, you owe her… what, a fridge?”

Kaine:
“No. Just respect. Maybe.”

Laura leaned back, sipping her drink.

“I’ll take it.”

They didn’t say anything for a while after that. The chips sat forgotten. The cards lay scattered.

Just three broken people with matching faces, sitting in silence.

And somehow, it was exactly what they all needed.

---

A/N: They may not talk much (especially Kaine), but when they do hang out? Chaos, dry sarcasm, and one very intense poker game.

Chapter 124: “The Weight We Carry”

Summary:

Chapter Text

Title: “The Weight We Carry”

Setting: Rooftop, Just After Sunset, Brooklyn

A happy Spider-Man is always a welcome sight—because it means, at least for that moment, he’s winning the fight against what drags him down.

Featuring: Laura, Miles, and the quiet kind of comfort that doesn’t need a lecture

---

Miles sat on the edge of the rooftop, mask off, shoulders hunched, hoodie up despite the heat. His hands fidgeted with the edge of a web cartridge like it might distract him from the nausea still clinging to his ribs.

Laura didn’t say anything when she landed behind him. She just sat. Quiet. Solid. Present.

A few seconds passed.

Then:

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

Miles’ voice was hoarse. Small.

Laura didn’t respond right away. She let him talk.

“I was tailing him for weeks. Just watching. Making sure. I thought maybe he was just trying to scare his ex. That if I waited long enough, I’d have enough to get him arrested.”

He looked down.

“Then last night, I followed him again. He had a gun. He tried to rob her apartment. She fought back.”

Miles swallowed.

“He shot her. I webbed him up after, but…”

Laura’s voice was soft. Almost neutral.

“You didn’t make him pull the trigger.”

“I didn’t stop him either.”

“You didn’t kill her. He did.”

Miles’s jaw clenched. He nodded, but it didn’t ease the coil in his gut.

“I see Peter smile sometimes like it’s easy. Like he doesn’t carry stuff like this.”

Laura finally looked at him. Her green eyes were steady.

“You don’t see him when he’s cleaning blood off his suit.”

Miles blinked.

“You don’t see the nights he doesn’t sleep. Or the mornings when he takes an hour just to put the mask back on.”

“I do.”

She leaned back on her hands.

“He smiles anyway. Not because it’s easy. But because someone has to. Because if we don’t remind people there’s still hope... who will?”

Miles was quiet again.

“I just keep thinking… what if I’d stopped him sooner?”

Laura shook her head.

“Then you'd still be asking what if. That's part of this gig. There’s always a 'what if.' But we don’t get to fix the past.”

“We just do better the next time.”

Miles exhaled. Not quite relief, but less like he was drowning.

Laura stood, stretched, then looked back at him.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“To find someone who can be saved tonight. Someone who still has a chance.”

“And if there’s no one?”

Laura shrugged.

“Then we keep looking. That’s the job.”

Miles pulled his mask back on.

Still heavy.
Still hurting.
But not alone.

And when they swung off into the night, it wasn’t about forgetting.

It was about remembering why they kept going.

---

Joe’s Pizza smelled like melted cheese, disappointment, and the faint regret of broken New Year’s resolutions.

Miles sat in the booth, slouched like he wanted to disappear into the red vinyl. His mask was stuffed into his hoodie pocket, and his eyes were unfocused—still replaying the moment from hours earlier when everything had gone wrong.

Laura sat across from him, arms folded, watching the pie bake behind the glass like it had personally offended her.

“You want anything else on it?” she asked without looking.

Miles shook his head.

“Pepperoni’s fine.”

Laura stared at him for a beat. Then added mushrooms and olives when the guy behind the counter asked. Miles didn’t protest. He didn’t really care.

Rudy, the cashier with the tired eyes and a Spider-Man pin on his apron, slid the pie onto their table twenty minutes later.

“Rough night?” he asked.

Laura deadpanned. “Body count was higher than expected.”

Rudy blinked, slowly backed away, and made a mental note to never ask questions again.

Miles picked at a slice.

“I should’ve been faster.”

Laura took a bite of hers—folded slice, proper technique. She didn’t respond right away.

“You were there.”

“I was too late.”

She swallowed, then tilted her head.

“So what? You want to be perfect?”

Miles didn’t answer.

Laura leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

“We’re not gods, Miles. We don’t get to rewrite time. You think I haven’t stood over a body wondering what I could’ve done differently?”

“Yeah, but you’re—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

He stopped.

“I’ve killed. You’ve saved. Don’t you dare compare our scars like you’re the only one who bleeds.”

Miles looked down at his slice. The cheese was stringy. His stomach twisted too hard to eat.
“She was just trying to move on. Start over.”

“And he took that from her,” Laura said quietly. “Not you.”

She leaned back again, arms crossed.

“You carry the guilt. That’s fine. That’s human. But you don’t get to wear it like it's your identity.”

“It’s just…” he paused. “It feels heavy.”

Laura finally softened.

“Then share the weight. Because it always will.”

She slid her half of the pizza closer to him.

“Eat. Then go home. Shower. Breathe. You’re still here. That matters.”

Miles stared at her.

“...You always this good at pep talks?”

“No,” she said. “Usually I just hit things. Or let Peter do the emotional talk.”

He snorted—barely. But it was the first hint of a smile she’d seen all night.

Laura took another bite, then pointed at his untouched slice.

“And for the record? That mushroom-olive combo? That’s emotional support pizza. You’re legally obligated to eat at least two.”

Miles finally reached for it.

The first bite tasted like grease, salt, and exhaustion.

But it stayed down.

So did the second.

And when they sat there—two heroes, two slices, no masks—Miles still felt the weight.

But he also felt seen.

And for now, that was enough.

---

They finished the last slice sitting on the edge of the rooftop, the empty pizza box beside them rustling in the breeze.

Miles stared out over the streetlights below—soft yellow orbs swimming in puddles from a recent rain. His legs dangled off the ledge. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he wasn’t steady either.

Laura sat next to him, knees up, arms resting on them. Quiet. Present. Solid.

She didn’t ask how he was feeling.

She knew.

After a while, Miles stood up and pulled his mask from his pocket. He turned it over in his hands, running a thumb across the eye lenses like he was still unsure if he wanted to put it on.

“Thanks,” he said finally. “For... all of it.”

Laura stood too. She didn’t smile.

“You don’t have to thank me for caring.”
He blinked at that.

Then—awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed—Miles stepped forward and hugged her.

Laura froze for a split second.

Then she wrapped her arms around him, grounding, real, and completely wordless.

She didn’t say it’s okay—because it wasn’t.

She didn’t say you’re strong—because he already was.

She just held on.

A long beat passed.

When they finally pulled apart, Miles looked steadier.

Still tired. Still hurting.

But standing tall again.

“You gonna be alright?” she asked.

“I will be,” he said. Then smirked faintly. “Gonna go swing a few laps around the city. Clear my head.”

Laura nodded.

“If you get shot, I’m not bailing you out again.”

“Deal.”

He pulled his mask on, gave her a two-finger salute, and leapt from the rooftop.

Laura watched him disappear into the skyline—one more spider-shaped hope zipping through the dark.

Then she sat back down, alone now, and let the quiet settle.

Sometimes, being a hero wasn’t about the fights you picked.

It was about the people you helped stand back up.

And tonight, Laura had done exactly that.

A/N: Not every loss is something you can fix—but sometimes, what you do after is what counts most.

Chapter 125: “Sparring and Sarcasm”

Chapter Text

Title: “Sparring and Sarcasm”

Setting: Training Hall, Loomworld

The only thing more dangerous than claws and webs? Parental judgment from the peanut gallery.

Featuring: Peter, Laura, Leah, Gabby, Anya, Nicholas the Spider-Medic in Blue, and at least three near-death experiences that were technically “controlled”

---

“You ready?” Peter asked, already bouncing on the balls of his feet, mask halfway up and the world's most annoying grin stretching across his face.

Laura popped her neck and flexed her hands—Snikt.

“Always.”

From the raised observation deck above the polished metal floor, Gabby leaned over the railing, eyes shining with chaotic excitement.

“Five bucks on Laura knocking him out in under five minutes.”

“You're betting against your own brother-in-law?” Anya asked, mildly impressed.

Gabby shrugged. “I’m not stupid.”

Leah, clutching her sketchpad to her chest, looked between the two adults about to throw down.

“Is Laura going to stab Peter?”

“Only a little,” Anya reassured. “They call it ‘sparring.’ It’s basically marriage counseling with bruises.”

Down below, Peter shot a webline to the ceiling and yanked himself upward, flipping to the far side of the room.

Laura rolled her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m strategizing!” he called back.

“You’re stalling.”

“Strategic stalling!”

He fired two web shots, bouncing between wall and ceiling, moving in erratic, unpredictable patterns—until Laura simply lunged forward and tackled him mid-swing.

They crashed to the mat, claws clashing with webbing, limbs tangling. Peter grunted as her knee found his ribs, and Laura winced when one of his webs yanked her sideways into a rolling pinwheel of limbs.

From above, Leah let out a gasp.

“Are they okay?!”

“They’re fine,” Anya said casually, sipping a soda she definitely wasn't supposed to have in the observation room. “That’s the sound of mutual respect and marital aggression.”

Gabby cupped her hands around her mouth.

“USE THE SUIT’S SHOCKER, PETER! BE UNPREDICTABLE!”

Peter’s voice echoed back.

“I don’t need shockers—I’ve got love and agility!”

“You’re going to need a medic,” Laura muttered, grabbing his leg and flipping him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Right on cue, the side door hissed open, and in walked Nicholas—the resident Spider-Medic in Blue, looking exhausted, slightly bored, and as sarcastic as ever.

“Let me guess,” he said without looking up from his datapad. “You two lovebirds are working through your differences by trying to maim each other. Again.”

“Accurate!” Peter wheezed from the floor.

Nicholas didn’t slow his stride as he walked straight past the battle and up the platform where the girls were watching.

“Gabby, Aña,” he nodded. “Leah—time for your weekly checkup.”

“But—but they're still fighting—” Leah hesitated, looking between her mother choking out her father and the medic patiently holding out a hand.

“They’ll still be fighting when we get back,” Nicholas said dryly. “Probably in slightly different outfits.”

Anya choked on her soda.

Leah, giggling, finally handed over her sketchpad and let Nicholas scoop her up.

He gave one last look at the battlefield below.

“Try not to lose a limb, either of you. I’m booked through the weekend.”

Peter gave a thumbs-up from where his face was smashed against the mat.

Laura didn’t bother responding.

She was already going for round two.

---

Training Hall, Loomworld – 10 Minutes Later

Peter crouched low, chest heaving, his left shoulder bleeding slightly from a claw swipe that came way too close to something important.

“You’re... faster than usual,” Laura said, eyeing him from across the training floor. She wasn’t even winded, but she was no longer charging in.

She was calculating.

Peter wiped his brow and grinned. “Well, y’know. You’re scary. I adapt.”

Gabby leaned over the railing again. “Okay, this is getting good. Round one was a love tap. This is full-on pre-divorce custody fight vibes.”

“I’m not saying I’m rooting for Peter,” Anya muttered, “but I am impressed he’s still standing.”

The moment Laura stepped forward, Peter moved. No banter, no distractions. He closed the gap with a sliding tackle that knocked her legs out, spun her sideways, and before she could react, he webbed one wrist and yanked her forward into a hard, controlled takedown.

The mat thudded.

Gabby’s mouth dropped. “Holy—”

Laura blinked, still pinned.

Peter leaned in, breathless. “Round two. My win.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “You’re actually trying now.”

“I always try,” Peter replied. “I’m just not always this... motivated.”

He flipped away before her claws could come out, landing with a superhero pose that screamed ‘yes I practiced this in a mirror.’

Laura stood slowly, brushing dust from her tank top. “That’s new.”

Peter rotated his shoulder. “Thought I’d remind you why you married me.”

“You said it was because of my thighs.”

“Well, yeah (that was a joke Laura). That and your terrifying precision in combat. Both can be true.”

From above:

Anya: “Are we sure they’re not flirting again?”

Gabby: “At this point I don’t know if I should cheer or get a hose.”

The doors hissed open again. Nicholas returned, holding a clipboard and a small fire extinguisher.

“I left for ten minutes and he’s winning? Who boosted his stats?”

“He went feral,” Anya answered.

Nicholas squinted down at the floor. “He’s... panting.”

“Yeah,” Gabby nodded. “But, like, empowered panting.”

Laura took her stance again. “Let’s go. One more.”

Peter wiped the sweat from his jaw, spit a little blood onto the floor, and grinned like the idiot she married.

“You sure? I might surprise you again.”

Laura cracked her neck.

“Good. I like surprises.”

A/N: Who do you think won the sparing match.

Chapter 126: “Casting Lines”

Chapter Text

Title: “Casting Lines”
Setting: A Quiet Lake Just Outside the City – Midmorning

Peter adjusted his cap, tugging it lower against the sun. “Okay, so you bait the hook like this,” he said, demonstrating with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Then cast, nice and easy—don’t throw it like you’re trying to web a helicopter.”

Gabby, sitting cross-legged on the dock beside him, narrowed her eyes at the squirming worm. “This is barbaric.”

“You’re literally Wolverine’s little sister,” Peter deadpanned.

“Exactly. I stab people, not innocent earthworms.”

Peter tried not to laugh as she grumbled but eventually baited her hook with as much grace as a mutant teenager could muster. With a determined breath, she cast her line.

The bobber flew.

Straight into a tree branch.

“…Wow,” Peter said. “That’s a new record.”

Gabby growled. “You said not like a helicopter! I panicked!”

Peter snorted, reeling his own line back in. “Okay, okay, let's try again. Gently. Pretend the worm is precious cargo.”

Gabby nodded solemnly. “Like Laura’s coffee order.”

“Exactly.”

A few attempts later, both lines were in the water. The lake was still, the early sounds of city life long behind them. They sat in rare silence.

Peter exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “Y’know, I don’t get to do this much.”

Gabby glanced sideways at him. “You mean... relax?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to fish when you're worried about giant lizards, street crime, and whether or not Miles remembered to do his chemistry homework.”

Gabby snorted. “He didn’t.”

They lapsed back into silence, the gentle sound of water lapping against the dock.

Peter glanced over. “You’re really growing up, y’know.”

Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Don’t say things like that.”

He smiled. “Just... thanks for coming out here with me.”

Gabby tilted her head, her voice quieter. “Thanks for asking.”

For a moment, Peter thought he saw a fish tug at her line. He pointed. “You’ve got a bite!”

Gabby yanked too hard, sending the rod up and nearly whacking Peter in the face.

Peter caught it mid-air. “Okay! That’s enough murder strength for now.”

She grinned. “Sorry. Reflex.”

Peter laughed, handing the rod back. “Let’s try again. Patiently.”

Gabby cast again. This time, the bobber landed right where it needed to.

“…Hey, Pete?” she asked after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“This is kinda nice.”

He smiled.

“Yeah. It really is.”

The lake was still. A breeze danced across the surface, cool and fleeting. Birds chirped in the distance, oblivious to the weight on the dock.

Gabby sat with her legs dangling over the edge, rod balanced lazily in her hands. Her usual confidence was tempered by a kind of quiet she rarely wore. She didn’t look at Peter when she spoke.

“…We don’t usually do stuff like this.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. He just reeled in his line, checked the bait, and cast again.

“I know,” he said finally. “That’s on me.”

Gabby gave a soft huff of breath—maybe agreement, maybe not. The silence stretched again.

And yet, something hung between them. Heavy, but unspoken.

Silence crept back in, but now it wasn’t peaceful.

It was waiting.

And Peter felt what she didn’t say as clearly as the breeze brushing past them.

Leah.

Peter didn’t say her name. Gabby didn’t need to. It lingered between the pauses, in the edges of her voice, in the way she kept glancing sideways only to look away again.

She didn’t hate Leah.

Gabby had never been cruel. Never even distant, not truly. But he’d caught the edge in her voice some days. The stiffness when Leah took up all the oxygen in the room with her needs and fears and excitement.

Peter knew Gabby wasn’t jealous in the typical way. She was older. Sharper. She understood the stakes.

But he also knew what it meant to grow up without knowing if you were wanted.

She had a family now. A weird one. A stitched-together mess of spider-people and clones and Wolverines. But sometimes Peter worried she still felt like the extra thread.

He watched her quietly for a long moment. The way her jaw tensed. How she kept her hands still. How she didn’t fidget, didn’t joke.

She didn’t resent her.

But she wasn’t sure where she fit anymore.

Peter understood that more than he wanted to admit.

He watched her for a moment—the furrow of her brow, the tension in her shoulders. He could see Laura in her, sure. But mostly, he saw Gabby. The way she protected people without thinking. The fierce joy she chased when no one was watching. The way she laughed like she meant it.

Gabby was all sharp edges and scraped knees and wide, open heart.

A mess. A miracle.

Peter Parker life was hard.

But Both Gabby and Laura’s lives were harder.

Peter misses his parents sometimes. (The way they hugged him, the laughter, the smiles...)

If Uncle Ben and Aunt May hadn’t been in his life...

Peter shook his head.

Well, he turned into a mostly well adjusted individual.

Mostly...

Peter exhaled through his nose and set down the rod.

“You know,” he said setting down his fishing rod gently, “we could make this our thing.”

Gabby blinked. “Huh?”

He smiled gently. “Fishing. Once a month. Just you and me. No web-slinging, no surprise multiverse attacks. No homework. Just... us.”

Gabby looked at him. Not with her usual smirk, not with sarcasm poised on her tongue.

Just wide-eyed surprise.

“…Really?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if you want. I can even let you stab the worms.”

That earned him a laugh. A real one. Bright and too big for her body.

And so completely Gabby that Peter felt something ease in his chest.

She stood, walked over, and without saying anything, wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him hard—too hard for someone her size, but Peter didn’t mind. He hugged her back without hesitation. One hand cradling the back of her head, the other resting against her back.

“Thanks, Pete,” she mumbled into his shirt. “That’d be cool.”

Peter ruffled her hair gently. “You deserve cool.”

She pulled back, wiped at her eyes like it was nothing, and flopped down beside him again.

“So… do we fish in the same spot every month, or do we go on some kind of lake-hopping adventure?”

Peter grinned. “We’ll make a map.”

Gabby smirked. “You’re such a nerd.”

Peter cast his line again, still smiling. “Takes one to know one.”

The sun rose a little higher.

And the day, despite everything, felt lighter.

The day moved on, and with it, the first chapter of a new tradition.

One day a month. Just them.

And for the first time in a while, it felt like something in their family had shifted—subtly, but meaningfully.

---

The door creaked open.

Laura looked up from where she was folding laundry on the living room floor. It was the quiet hour—the space between afternoon and night when the sun dipped lazily behind the skyline and shadows stretched long across the floorboards.

She heard voices. Familiar ones.

“…Then he slipped and nearly fell in.”

“That was on purpose. I was testing the depth!”

Gabby’s laughter spilled through the hallway, light and unguarded. Peter’s dry rebuttal followed, mock wounded. Laura allowed herself a small smile, tucking another folded shirt into the basket.

Peter stepped into the room first, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, hair wind-tossed, cheeks pink from sunlight. He looked... at ease. Not in the way he sometimes pretended to be, with a grin and a bad joke—but genuinely relaxed.

Gabby followed a second later, holding a small cooler and a bundle of snacks she definitely didn’t take with her originally. Her steps were lighter. Her usual guarded energy seemed... softened.

“Hey,” Laura said simply.

Gabby waved with a lazy smirk. “Sup.”

Peter walked over and pressed a kiss to Laura’s temple as he passed, murmuring, “We didn’t catch anything. But she taught me how to steal bait from other fishermen, so... win?”

Gabby shot him a glare. “Snitch.”

Laura watched them with narrowed eyes, not in suspicion—just studying. Measuring the shift.

Gabby wasn’t tense. Her shoulders weren’t squared in that way that meant she was waiting to be told to move, to stay out of the way. She was settled. Present. Whole.

Laura folded another towel, slowly. “You two good?”

Gabby flopped onto the couch dramatically. “We’re fishing buddies now. He says I’m not allowed to use knives, but we’ll negotiate.”

Laura raised a brow. “You’re not using knives.”

Gabby huffed. “Dictatorship.”

Peter shrugged. “That’s parenting.”

Laura stood and crossed the room. She crouched beside Gabby, studying her face. Gabby blinked, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“…What?” she asked.

Laura didn’t answer right away. She just reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Gabby’s forehead. It was gentle. A Parents gesture.

“You’re calmer,” Laura said, matter-of-factly.

Gabby blinked. Her mouth opened. Closed.

“…I guess,” she muttered, sinking lower into the couch.

Peter leaned against the wall, watching quietly.

Laura gave Gabby’s shoulder a small squeeze. “Good.”

And that was it.

No deep speeches. No forced confessions. Just acknowledgment.

Gabby grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “Cool. Now I’m picking the movie. If either of you groan, I’m stealing dessert.”

Laura didn’t groan.

Peter, however, made the mistake of sighing.

Gabby grinned like a shark. “Say goodbye to your pie, old man.”

Laura stood up and glanced at Peter. “You did good.”

Peter nodded, quietly pleased. “She hugged me.”

Laura blinked, surprised.

“Voluntarily,” Peter added.

Laura smirked faintly. “Miracles do exist.”

She sat beside him as Gabby flipped through movie options.

And in the soft buzz of the television and the warmth of home, they let themselves just exist.

Together.

The movie flickered softly on the screen, casting warm light across the living room. Peter sat on the couch with a half-eaten slice of pie in hand, Laura nestled into his side with her feet tucked under her. Gabby sprawled across the armrest, one leg dangling and the other draped across a pile of pillows like she owned the furniture—which, to be fair, she kind of did.

Then came the soft sound of little feet.

Leah shuffled in from the hallway, still in her oversized Hello-Kitty pajamas, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand.

Peter sat up slightly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head, silent.

“C’mere.”

Leah crossed the room and climbed into his lap like she’d done it a hundred times before. Peter shifted to make space, one arm wrapping around her automatically as she settled against him.

Laura watched with a soft expression, the rare one she usually kept guarded—until now.

Gabby, however, stiffened slightly. It wasn’t obvious. Just a shift in the shoulders, a flick of her gaze. She didn’t speak.

Leah peeked up at her. “Hi, Gabby.”

“…Hey, squirt,” Gabby said, voice casual.

There was a beat of silence.

Gabby sat up straighter. Her hands fidgeted in her hoodie pocket before she pulled something out—a tiny wrapped box. Bright red wrapping paper, poorly folded, with a tiny blue ribbon clearly yanked from a leftover Christmas roll.

“I got you something,” she said, holding it out with one hand and very deliberately not making eye contact.

Leah blinked. “Why?”

Gabby shrugged. “I dunno. Truce gift.”

Leah tilted her head. “Were we fighting?”

Peter snorted.

Gabby scratched the back of her neck. “Not really. I just… y’know. Thought you were gonna steal my whole ‘youngest chaos goblin’ title. But you’re not that bad.”

Leah slowly took the box and opened it.

Inside: a tiny, homemade beaded bracelet. Red, yellow, and black. The pattern was uneven, but clearly made with care.

Leah stared at it like it was treasure.

“…Thanks,” she said, quiet and sincere.

Gabby waved it off. “Whatever. You better wear it. Took me twenty minutes to thread that stupid string.”

Peter whispered from behind them, “She poked herself like six times. Don’t let her lie.”

Gabby threw a pillow at him. Peter caught it mid-air, grinning.

Leah slipped the bracelet on and leaned back against Peter again, her fingers toying with the beads.

Gabby watched her for a long moment.

And then, finally, her posture relaxed.

Not completely. But it was something.

Laura saw it all. Filed it away. Said nothing.

But later that night, when Leah was asleep and Gabby had retreated to her room, Laura whispered to Peter as he carried the little girl to bed:

“She’s trying.”

Peter looked at her. “They both are.”

Laura nodded.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to hope that maybe—just maybe—this patchwork family of theirs really could keep stitching itself together.

---

The stars were mostly hidden by the city lights, but a few stubborn ones flickered in the sky above the apartment. It was quiet—late enough that even the sirens were tired. The kind of hour when the world felt softer, stretched thin between yesterday and tomorrow.

Gabby sat on the balcony rail, hoodie zipped to her chin, legs swinging. She was holding a half-finished can of root beer, now lukewarm, forgotten in her hand.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t turn. “If you’re here to tell me I did good, save it.”

Laura stepped out anyway. Barefoot, silent, leaning her shoulder against the wall instead of joining her sister on the railing.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said quietly.

Gabby huffed. “Good.”

They stood in silence for a while. Not uncomfortable—just familiar. They’d always shared silences better than words.

Finally, Gabby spoke.

“I didn’t hate her,” she said. “I just… didn’t know where I fit anymore.”

Laura didn’t answer.

Gabby glanced at her. “You get it, right? I mean—me and you, we’re not the warm-and-fuzzy type. You’re basically made of steel wool. And suddenly there’s this five-year-old with sad eyes and a tragic backstory, and I’m not the youngest anymore, and you’re playing mom like it’s natural.”

Her voice cracked slightly, just at the end.

Laura’s gaze softened.

“It wasn’t natural,” she said.

Gabby blinked.

Laura looked down at her hands. “I didn’t think I could do it. I still don’t. Every day I expect to mess her up somehow.”

Gabby stared. “You’re scared?”

“I was trained to kill, Gabby. Not to comfort. Not to… tuck in a child.” She exhaled, slow. “But she looks at me like I’m not broken.”

“…Welcome to the club,” Gabby muttered.

Laura finally moved. Sat beside her on the balcony rail, their shoulders brushing. Neither flinched.

“I didn’t forget you,” Laura said. “I never will. You’re not replaceable.”

Gabby stared at the sky. “Sometimes it feels like I’m a backup.”

Laura tilted her head. “You were never backup. You’re family. Even when we’re bad at showing it.”

Gabby looked down at her bracelet, now mirrored by the one she’d made for Leah.

“…You think this is gonna work? All of it?”

Laura followed her gaze. “It already is.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly, Gabby said, “Thanks for not making me say all this first.”

Laura smiled faintly. “You’re still not getting out of chores.”

Gabby groaned. “You ruin everything.”

But she leaned into her sister’s side anyway.

And Laura let her.

A/N: All ends well.

Chapter 127: Argument part 1: “Different Roads, Same Destination”

Chapter Text

Title: “Different Roads, Same Destination”

Setting: Parker Apartment, 9:22 PM — Rain Against the Windows, Tension in the Air

Sometimes love sounds like laughter.
Sometimes it sounds like silence.
Tonight, it sounds like two people who care too much trying not to get hurt by it.

Featuring: Peter, Laura, and Gabby.

---

“You could’ve waited for backup.”

Peter’s voice was low—not yelling, not cold. But not his usual joking tone either.

Laura didn’t flinch. She stood by the doorway, arms crossed, jacket still damp from the rain, her posture carved from tension.

“I handled it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Peter?” she asked, sharper than she meant. “I stopped him. Nobody got hurt. What more do you want?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep the heat out of his tone. “I want you to stop throwing yourself at every high-risk situation like you don’t have anything to lose.”

That landed.

Laura’s jaw clenched.

“You think I don’t know what’s at stake out there?”

“I think you forget you’re not alone anymore,” he shot back. “You have me. Leah. Gabby. You go down, we all go down with you.”

Laura turned away from him, pacing a tight line near the window.

“So what—I'm just supposed to sit back? Let people get hurt because you’re scared I might not come back?”

“No, I’m asking you to trust me enough to wait. To plan. You don’t have to be a one-woman army every time something goes sideways!”

“I don’t need your permission to do what I was trained to do,” she said, voice like a blade.

“And I don’t need to lose my wife because she forgot she’s not a weapon anymore.”

Silence.

The kind that made the rain outside sound like thunder.

Laura looked down, hands tight at her sides. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

“I’m not trying to get myself killed, Peter.”

Peter’s tone softened, barely above a whisper.

“I know. But I see the way you move out there. The way you take hits like you don’t care. Like it doesn’t matter if you walk away or not.”

She blinked hard. Once.

He took a step closer.

“It matters. You matter.”

Laura let out a breath. Frustrated. Unsteady.

"I don’t know how to hold back when someone’s in danger.”

“I’m not asking you to hold back,” he said, reaching out. “I’m asking you to come back.”

She looked at him—really looked. And finally stepped forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

---

Peter held her, forehead resting against her temple, his arms warm but trembling with restraint. For a moment, the storm outside matched the one in the room—heavy, waiting.

Then Laura pulled back.

Not far. Just enough to look him in the eye.

“You don’t get to talk like I’m reckless just because I didn’t wait for you.”

Peter blinked. “That’s not what I—”

“You’re Spider-Man, Peter. You’ve thrown yourself into a hundred fights alone, with no plan, no backup, and no one yelling at you for it after.”

He pulled away slightly, frustration resurfacing.

“That’s different.”

“How?!”

“Because you’ve got people now, Laura! You have a daughter. A family. You’re not the same as you were years ago—”

“Neither are you, but you still disappear for patrols without a word.”

Her voice cracked—not from anger. From something raw underneath it.

Peter hesitated. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” she snapped. “Because I don’t want to be angry. But when I go out there and see people getting hurt and no one else is fast enough to stop it, what do you want me to do? Sit on my hands and wait for someone else to die?”

Peter’s hands curled into fists, then relaxed.

“I want you to live long enough to stop the next one.”

That stopped her.

But only for a moment.

“I know how to survive,” Laura said through gritted teeth. “What I don’t know is how to convince the man I married to stop treating me like I’m still a ticking time bomb.”

Peter exhaled like he’d been punched.

“I’m not treating you like a bomb.”

“Yes, you are. And maybe it’s because part of you still thinks one day I’ll snap. That the claws’ll come out too far, that I won’t know when to stop. But I do, Peter. I do.”

She stepped back fully now, jaw set.

“The only one who doesn’t seem believe that is you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t have anything to say.

The silence wasn’t warm this time.

It was heavy.

Unspoken.

Peter grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, movements jerky, the air between them still crackling with tension.

“Where are you going?” Laura asked, voice low, brittle.

“Out,” Peter said, not looking at her. “Before I say something I’ll regret.”

Laura crossed her arms, nails digging into her sides. “Too late.”

He paused, hand on the doorknob, jaw tight. “I just need air. I’m not bailing.”

“That’s what you do, though, isn’t it?” she said, suddenly sharp. “You leave. When it gets hard, when it gets messy, when someone doesn’t act the way you expect—you leave.”

Peter turned, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Laura’s voice rose with each word. “You walked away from MJ, from Gwen, from every damn thing that hurt too much. You run. You swing away and call it responsibility.”

Peter stared at her like she’d slapped him.

“You want to talk about running? You nearly killed yourself every time someone got too close. You buried yourself in blood and called it survival.”

Laura didn’t flinch. “At least I never pretended being broken made me better.”

That landed.

Peter’s expression darkened.

“You know, for someone who swore she couldn’t love, you’re damn good at knowing where to stab.”

Laura took a shaky breath, but her voice didn’t waver.

“At least when I stab, I don’t smile after.”

Peter stepped forward, hurt flashing through his eyes. “Do you really think that little of me?”

“I think I’ve spent years trying to be enough for someone who still wishes he could fix the past.”

That was it.

Peter’s jaw clenched, and when he spoke next, it was quiet—too quiet.

“You’re right.”

Laura blinked.

“I do wish I could fix the past. But not for me. For the people I lost.
For the people I failed.
For the people who never got a second chance.”

He opened the door.

“But maybe I was wrong thinking we could build a future when we’re both still living in the wreckage.”

Laura didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just watched as the door closed behind him.

And for the first time in a long time, the apartment was silent.

But not peaceful.

It was the kind of silence that made the walls feel too close.

Like maybe, this time, they’d actually gone too far.

---

Gabby knew it was going to go bad the second Peter reached for the door.

Not because she was eavesdropping—okay, maybe a little—but because she could feel it.

The quiet beforehand had been tight. Thin. Like a rope pulled taut between two cliffs, one misstep away from snapping.

So when the first sharp words cut through the air from the living room, Gabby had acted on instinct.

She scooped Leah up mid-doodle and took her to their shared room.

“Hey, let’s do some drawing in here, okay? I wanna try sketching a new suit design.”

Leah blinked, wide-eyed. “Is Laura mad?”

Gabby didn’t answer. Just closed the door gently and turned on some music—low and soft—to muffle the voices rising down the hall.

---

Now, two days later…

The apartment felt like it was holding its breath.

Laura didn’t talk much. She trained. Cooked. Patrolled.

Peter hadn’t come home.

Leah knew something was off, but no one was explaining it to her. Gabby tried. Kind of. But she didn’t know what to say that didn’t sound like:

“Laura and Peter exploded and now we’re all in the emotional fallout zone.”

So she distracted her.

Crafts. Movies. Half a box of Pop-Tarts.

Still, the silence wasn’t leaving.

---

Gabby lay on her bed now, staring at the ceiling, Leah asleep beside her. Jonathan sleeping down the floor.The nightlight glowed faintly in the corner.

She thought about everything they’d said.

Peter wasn’t wrong.

Laura did go too hard sometimes. Too far. Too fast.

Gabby had seen her throw herself into danger like it was the only place she felt real.

But Laura wasn’t wrong either.

Peter could be distant. Emotionally evasive when the guilt got too loud. He’d ghosted before(but not for days only a few hours), even if he meant well. And when he was scared? He clung to control like a webline—tight, until it snapped.

They loved each other. That wasn’t in question.

But love didn’t make you right. It just made the mistakes hurt more.

Gabby sat up, pulled her phone off the charger, and stared at it.

There was one person who might be able to say the right thing to both of them.

Someone who got the Parker trauma and the clone identity crisis in one emotionally unstable, snarky package.

She scrolled until she found the name.

Ben Reilly.

She hit call.

He picked up on the second ring.

> “Yo, Gabs. What’s up?”

“They blew up. Bad. Like, nuclear. Peter’s gone. Laura’s on auto-pilot. The kid’s confused. And I’m trying to hold everything together with caffeine and sarcasm.”

There was a pause. Then:

> “...Want me to come over?”

Gabby let out a breath.

Gabby: “Yeah. Please.”

Ben: “I’ll be there in twenty. And I’m bringing coffee. And probably Kaine, because he refuses to let me emotionally support people alone.”

Gabby: “Cool. Bring snacks too. I’m running on stress and Pop-Tarts.”

Ben: “That’s the Parker way.”

She smiled faintly.

Ben: “Guess we better fix what they can’t say out loud.”

Gabby: “Or at least keep the kid from figuring out how to hotwire a grappling hook out of boredom.”

Gabby looked at Leah, peacefully sleeping.

“Yeah… that too.”

A/N: Well this went well...

Who do you think was less in the wrong.

Chapter 128: Argument part 2: “Unspoken”

Chapter Text

Title: “Unspoken”

Setting: Parker–Kinney Apartment, Front Door — 8:17 PM, Light Rain on the Windowpanes

Sometimes the people who help clean up the mess aren’t the ones who caused it—but the ones who lived through something just like it.

Featuring: Gabby, Ben, Laura, Matt (cameo) and the absence that speaks louder than words

---

The knock was soft, but Gabby heard it before it even finished.

She slipped off the couch, stepping over the blanket Leah had tangled herself in during yet another animated distraction session. She reached the door, cracked it open, and blinked.

Ben Reilly stood there, hoodie up, hair damp from the light rain, holding two coffee cups and wearing an expression that didn’t match the usual cocky grin.

“Where’s Kaine?” Gabby asked, stepping back to let him in.

Ben shrugged, brushing a hand through his damp blonde hair.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes, reading him, but she had bigger things to handle right now. She nodded, just once.

“Alright. Come in.”

Ben stepped inside, quiet for once, setting the coffee on the counter like he’d been here a thousand times. The place looked the same—but felt completely different.

Gabby didn’t say anything else as she watched him scan the room and then move with quiet certainty down the hall toward Laura’s side of the apartment.

---

Laura was sitting on the edge of her bed, towel around her neck, hair still damp from patrol. Her knuckles were raw from training, and her eyes were fixed on the floor like it had all the answers she’d refused to ask for.

She heard the footsteps before the knock at the doorframe.

Her head snapped up.

And for just a second—barely a blink—Gabby, watching from the hallway, saw it:

Hope.

A flicker in Laura’s eyes like something uncoiled. Like she thought—

Peter.

But it wasn’t.

And just as fast, the hope was buried.

Laura’s face reset to neutral. Her tone was even.

“Hey, Ben.”

Ben stood there, silent.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t crack a joke.

He just leaned on the doorframe for a second, watching her.

Then he sighed.

“We need to talk.”

Laura nodded once.

Not surprised.

Not ready.

But willing.

And Gabby, retreating back to the living room, tightened her grip on her coffee.

Because someone had to break through.

And if it couldn’t be Peter…

It might just have to be the man who wore his face.

---

Meanwhile | Matt Murdock’s Apartment — Hell’s Kitchen, Late Evening

Kaine never had patience. And tonight? He had even less for Peter Parker’s martyr complex.

---

The knock was hard.

Three sharp raps, no hesitation.

Matt Murdock, already halfway to the door, paused only briefly before unlocking it and opening it wide. He didn’t need enhanced senses to know who was standing there. He could feel the heat of Kaine’s frustration through the wood.

“Kaine,” Matt greeted calmly. “You’re a little outside your usual stalking grounds.”

Kaine nodded once in acknowledgment, then scribbled quickly on his small whiteboard and flipped it around:

“Looking for Peter.”

Matt didn’t ask questions.

Just stepped aside and gestured him in.

“He’s in the kitchen. Third beer. Fourth hour of being avoidant.”

Kaine gave him a curt thumbs up and made his way in without another word.

---

Peter was sitting at the kitchen counter, unshaven, hoodie wrinkled, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate and a beer slowly warming in his hand. His spider-sense twitched the moment Kaine entered.

He looked up, eyes tired but alert.

“Kaine—”

Kaine raised a hand.

Stop.

Peter blinked.

Kaine grabbed the marker dangling from the lanyard around his neck, wrote fast, and slammed the whiteboard on the table in front of Peter.

“Shut up. We need to have a serious talk.”

Peter looked up at him, lips pressed together.

Kaine grabbed a second beer from the fridge—didn’t ask, didn’t wait for permission—and cracked it open with a twist of his fingers before taking a long sip.

Then he started writing again.

When he flipped the board, Peter’s chest actually tightened.

“Stop acting like a deadbeat parent.”

Peter sat back like he’d been slapped.

“That’s not what this is—”

Kaine erased the board.

“You left. No goodbye. No call. No plan. Laura’s breaking. Leah’s asking questions. Gabby’s holding the line like she’s not fourteen.”

Peter opened his mouth again.

Kaine didn’t let him.

“You think you’re doing them a favor? Walking away because it ‘hurts less’? That’s not noble. That’s cowardly.”

Peter stood now, voice low and edged.

“She told me I never stopped wanting to fix the past. That I couldn’t let go.”

Kaine stared at him. Then wrote:

“She’s not wrong. But she never said you should leave.”

Peter exhaled hard, running both hands through his hair.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Kaine looked at him a long moment. Then slowly wrote:

“Try not being a deadbeat and stay.”

Peter didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t move.

Because deep down, he knew Kaine was right.

---

From the hallway, Matt leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening with an unreadable expression.

“That’s the funny thing about family,” he muttered to himself. “They don’t let you self-destruct alone.”

---

Matt Murdock’s Apartment, Kitchen — 8:47 PM

Peter was still standing there, one hand clenched around his beer, the other limp at his side.

Kaine finished the last of his own bottle, set it down with a dull thud, then scribbled his final message with sharp, fast strokes.

“We’re leaving. Now. Get your suit.”

Peter hesitated.

Kaine’s stare hardened.

“Don’t make me web you. I will.”

Peter sighed, almost smiled despite himself.

“You and Laura really are the same species.”

Kaine raised an eyebrow.

“And you’re the endangered kind: Idiot in Flight.”

Peter exhaled through his nose and pushed off the counter, disappearing down the hall to grab his suit. Kaine watched him go, then turned toward the living room.

Matt was still there, leaning against the wall in the shadows like a man who knew how to be in a room without ever really being seen.

Kaine walked over and paused in front of him.

He raised the whiteboard.

“Thanks.”

Matt nodded, his face unreadable but his voice sincere.

“Anytime. Just make sure he doesn’t sulk in my spare room again. The brooding was starting to interfere with the acoustics.”

Kaine smirked—just a little—and gave a short wave.

Peter returned a moment later in full gear, mask tucked under his arm, expression a little more focused, a little more him again.

“You sure about this?”

Kaine wrote as they walked toward the door.

“No. But we’re going anyway.”

Peter gave a soft, tired laugh.

“Yeah. Sounds like a Parker plan.”

---

And with that, the two of them disappeared into the night.

One dragging the other home.

And the first step back, finally made.

---

Ben didn’t sit right away.

He hovered in the doorway like crossing the threshold would make everything more real. Laura didn’t tell him to come in. Didn’t ask him to leave.

Eventually, he just walked in and sat on the edge of the chair across from her.

The quiet stretched. Not hostile. Not comfortable.

Just… tight.
Laura broke it first.

“Let me guess. You’re here to give me the talk.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “What talk is that?”

“The one where you tell me I went too far. Said things I shouldn’t. Need to go make it right.”

Ben shook his head, slowly.

“No. I’m here because Peter isn’t.”

That landed harder than she thought it would.

Laura looked away, jaw tightening.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Ben leaned forward, arms on his knees.

“You think you lost him.”
“Didn’t I?”

She finally looked at him. Not angry. Just… raw.

“He looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I’d become the thing he always feared I’d be.”

Ben didn’t flinch.

“You said some things. So did he. But don’t pretend this all exploded because of one fight.”

Laura didn’t argue.

Because he was right.

Ben continued, quieter now.

“You love each other. But you’re both scared all the time. Scared of failing, scared of losing, scared of what happens when your past catches up to your future.”

He looked up at her.

“The difference is—he hides it. Pretty well even. Sometimes better.You don’t.”

Laura folded her arms, voice cool but shaking at the edges.

“I don’t know how to be soft about things that scare me.”

“Then don’t be soft. Just be honest.”

She stood suddenly, pacing the room with restless energy.

“He wanted me to wait. To ask for help. But I don’t ask, Ben. I don’t know how to ask sometimes. I handle things. I survive them.”

“And what happens when surviving means tearing someone else down in the process?”

She stopped pacing.

That question landed.

Ben leaned back.

“You know what it’s like to be misunderstood. To be weaponized. So does Peter. You were supposed to find peace in each other—not keep dragging the war home.”

“That’s not fair,” Laura muttered.

“No. It’s not. None of this is.”

Silence again.

Then, softer:

“You miss him?”

Laura didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Ben nodded.

“Then tell him. But not like a soldier. Not like a weapon. Tell him like a wife. The way you would’ve wanted someone to speak to you when you thought you didn’t deserve it.”

Laura sat back down.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t break.

But for the first time in two days, she breathed.

“You think he’ll come back?''

Ben offered a small, tired smile.

“I think he wants to. He just doesn’t know if it’s safe to.”

Laura stared at the wall a while longer.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

---

A/N: Kaine may not speak with his voice, but tonight he said everything Peter needed to hear. And this time, there’s nowhere left to run.

Oh yeah and Ben too.

Chapter 129: Argument part 3: “The Long Way Home”

Chapter Text

Title: “The Long Way Home”

Setting: Night Sky Over Manhattan – En Route to Queens

The wind in your face can’t clear the fog in your head—but sometimes a silent slap from your clone brother does the trick.

Featuring: Peter (POV), Kaine, the weight of memory, and the ache that comes after pride

---

Peter soared through the air, the wind whipping past his face, moonlight catching the edge of his lenses. Swinging usually helped clear his head.

Not tonight.

Not after that argument.

Not after Laura looked at him like she didn’t recognize him—and worse, like she did.

Kaine was just behind him, his own movement a little more brute-force than grace, but keeping pace. Every few swings, he’d do that weird claw-assisted wall-launch he preferred over traditional web-slinging.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

And then—

SMACK.

A sharp, solid thwack to the back of Peter’s head.

“OW—what the hell?!” he yelped mid-swing, flailing for a second as he rebalanced on his webline.

He twisted around in the air just long enough to catch the glare Kaine shot him.

It was the kind of glare that said, “You know why.”

Peter groaned and turned back toward the direction of the apartment.

“You can’t talk and swing at the same time, so you assault me instead. Very emotionally healthy.”

Kaine’s silence was deafening.

And effective.

Peter’s thoughts drifted again—back to the apartment. Back to that moment.

To Laura’s voice—cold, sharp.
To his own words—sharper, crueler.
To that flicker in her eyes when he said it.

“We’re both still living in the wreckage.”

He’d replayed it thirty times now. Maybe more. The phrasing. The tone. The silence after.

He wasn’t even sure what hurt more: that she said he was always chasing ghosts… or that he’d started to believe she was right.

“She doesn’t get it,” he muttered under his breath as they swung. “She sees me leaving as abandonment. But she doesn’t know what it’s like to carry this weight every second and still be expected to be fine.”

He flung another webline.

“I wasn’t trying to punish her. I just… needed space to think. To not say something worse. But apparently even that’s too much.”

Kaine didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

But Peter could feel him listening.

The city passed below them—quiet rooftops, glowing windows, the hum of distant traffic.

Peter sighed.

“Maybe I messed up. Maybe she did too. But we were both trying to protect something. She just does it with claws. I do it with walls.”

He glanced back.

Peter had just started to zone out again—lost in his thirty-first replay of the argument—when Kaine shot a webline across his path and veered sharply left.

Peter blinked.

“Wait—what are you—?”

Then he heard it.

A woman yelling. Tires screeching. The telltale chorus of New York Crime In Progress.

“Of course,” Peter muttered. “Wouldn’t be a night without one.”

---

Below, two guys were sprinting down the sidewalk with a bag and zero cardio. Behind them, a woman pointed and screamed, clutching her ripped purse strap.

“They took my bag!”

A getaway car screeched into view.

Kaine dropped first—no finesse, just brute speed. He slammed onto the hood of the car before the driver even had a chance to panic properly.

CRUNCH.

The front bumper bent like a soda can.

Peter landed more gently, webbing the two runners’ ankles mid-stride. They faceplanted in unison.

“Heads up,” Peter said as he walked over, webbing their hands behind their backs. “City ordinance says we’re only allowed to deal with one emotionally frustrating situation per night, and you guys are pushing it.”

The driver tried to back away from Kaine.

Kaine didn’t move.

He crouched, leaned in, and tapped the windshield once with his claw.

The guy fainted.

Peter winced. “Okay, yeah, that tracks.”

---

Ten minutes later, the cops had picked up the would-be robbers (and one very unconscious getaway driver). The victim had her bag returned, and Peter signed an autograph for her kid—who had no idea Kaine was even part of the rescue until he waved from the shadows.

Peter and Kaine zipped back up to the rooftops, wind at their backs.

Peter grinned a little despite himself.

“Still got it.”

Kaine rolled his eyes and scribbled on his whiteboard, holding it up mid-swing.

“You tripped over a fire hydrant.”

Peter groaned.

“You pushed me toward the fire hydrant!''

Kaine’s response was fast:

“It built character.”

Peter chuckled, then quieted.

The adrenaline faded. The weight returned.

But it sat differently now.

Slightly lighter with each swing home.

Kaine nodded.

Then pointed forward, toward the apartment building.

Toward home.

Peter exhaled and nodded too.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to face Laura yet.

But he had to try.

Because love wasn’t just about being understood.

---

They touched down quietly on the rooftop of the apartment building. No flair, no quips. Just tired limbs and heavier thoughts.

Peter tugged his mask off and shook his hair out, Kaine following suit, his throat already braced for the transition.

“We good?” Peter asked quietly.

Kaine gave a small nod as he reached into his backpack, pulling out a plain hoodie and black jeans. Peter did the same, swapping his suit for a Mets t-shirt and a hoodie that had seen better days.

No one said a word about the bruises. They both had them.

They took the stairs instead of the elevator. Not to avoid neighbors—just because walking slowed the moment down.

When they reached the floor landing, the door creaked open into the hallway of peeling paint and aging carpet.

And there she was.

Mrs. Diaz.

Retired nurse. Resident floor mom. Sharpest gossip radar this side of Queens.

Their neighbor too.

She was pushing her little cart of groceries toward her apartment when she spotted them. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in Peter—then softened with warmth when she turned to Kaine.

“Buenas noches, Kaine,” she greeted warmly.

Kaine gave a raspy chuckle and rubbed his throat before forcing the words out in thick, raspy Spanish.

“Tuvimos… un pequeño problema. Ayudamos. Está… bien ahora.”

Mrs. Diaz nodded, instantly understanding.

“Ay, mijo. Always helping. Always bleeding.”

Then her eyes flicked over to Peter.

Just for a moment.

And that one glance said everything.

Not angry.

Not cruel.

Just… disappointed.

Peter opened his mouth. Closed it.

He didn’t have a good excuse—and Mrs. Diaz didn’t ask for one.

She just patted Kaine gently on the arm and said, “Dile a Laura que me llame. La extraño.”

Tell Laura to call me. I miss her.

Kaine nodded.

Peter swallowed hard and gave her a soft, “Buenas noches, señora.”

Mrs. Diaz didn’t respond right away.

Then finally:

“She deserves peace, Peter.”

That was all she said before she turned her cart and headed down the hallway.

Peter stood there a second longer.

Then Kaine nudged him—lightly, for him.

To Get moving.

Peter exhaled and turned toward the apartment door.

Home was only steps away.

But it still felt like the longest walk of the night.

A/N: Did i do the Spanish section well? Mrs.Diaz makes her return too.

Chapter 130: Argument 4: Unspoken Part–2

Chapter Text

Title: Unspoken Part–2

Setting: Parker–Kinney Apartment, Living Room — 10:21 PM
The cards are out. The tension’s dulled. But under it all, the ache remains.

Featuring: Laura (POV), Ben, Gabby, a slowly healing silence, and a knock that might just change everything

---

The air had shifted. Not better, but... less sharp.

Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the couch, a few empty mugs scattered on the table, half a deck of cards between her and Ben. The last hand had ended with Ben winning by two cards—barely—and Laura muttering under her breath that he was definitely cheating, even if she couldn’t prove it.

Across the room, Gabby had curled up in Peter’s old armchair, arms crossed, legs draped lazily over the side, wearing an expression that said she was so done with this whole “emotional adults” nonsense.

“So,” Ben said, shuffling again, “Are we still pretending this is just a casual sibling bonding night, or...?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “You’re really bad at subtle.”

“That’s not news.”

The tension between them had melted into something more familiar. Not quite comfort, but... something close to it. Ben had a way of being present without pushing. It helped.

They’d talked—more than Laura expected to. About the argument. About the silence. About the moment she told Peter she thought he still wished for the past more than the future.

And how much it hurt that maybe she was right.

But also how much it hurt that he walked out without trying to prove her wrong.

Across the room, Gabby suddenly sighed—long, loud, and full of purpose.

Laura and Ben both looked at her.

Gabby sat up, sharp now. Eyes serious.

“I’m just gonna say it,” she said flatly. “I get it. You’re both stubborn, you’re both traumatized, and neither of you likes being vulnerable. Cool. Whatever.”

She stood and crossed her arms.

“But while you two were working out your pain with claws and guilt, I was the one making sure Leah didn’t notice the hallway tension or the way Peter’s side of the bed hasn’t been touched in days.”

Laura looked down.

Ben quietly stopped shuffling.

Gabby’s tone didn’t change, but the edge sharpened.

“That’s your kid. Not mine. I’ll always be there, but I shouldn’t have to be there because you both keep breaking in half and expecting the rest of us to patch you back together.”

Laura looked at her, guilt blooming behind her chest like a bruise.

Gabby took a breath—deep, steady—and then:

“I don’t care who started it. But don’t ever let something like this happen again.”

Silence.

Laura swallowed.

She didn’t say anything—not because she didn’t want to—but because Gabby wasn’t wrong. And the worst part?

Laura knew it.

Then—just as fast as the storm rolled in—Gabby beamed, her smile switching on like a light.

“Anyway, love you both. G’night!” She gave Laura a kiss on the head, ruffled Ben’s hair despite his yelp of protest, and vanished down the hall with a bounce.

The moment lingered.

Ben leaned back, sighing.

“She’s scary when she gets serious.”

Laura nodded. “I raised her right.”

Ben grinned.

Just as Laura was reaching to gather the cards again, a knock echoed from the front door.

She froze.

Ben didn’t.

He looked up. And grinned—like he’d been expecting it.

“Told you.”

Laura’s breath caught—just for a second.

She didn’t move.

Not yet.

But she stared at the door.

And in that moment, everything—every sharp word, every aching silence, every step taken away from each other—hung in the air.

Waiting to see what came next.

---

Peter was pacing outside the apartment door.

Mask stuffed in his hoodie pocket. Heart somewhere in his throat.

“Okay, okay. Deep breath. It’s fine. She’s probably asleep. Or training. Or sharpening a knife and imagining it’s my face, but—positive thoughts.”

Kaine leaned against the wall like a statue with very little sympathy and a tired soul. His arms were crossed, and his patience had run out three blocks ago.

Peter pointed a finger at him.

“You could at least pretend to be supportive.”

Kaine’s throat clicked. Speaking still hurt—he hadn’t properly talked in weeks—but he rasped it out anyway, voice like gravel:

“You were gone for almost three days. Without a call.”

Peter flinched. “…I was processing.”

Kaine just stared.

Peter whisper-shouted, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Kaine raised a brow and calmly reached for his notepad.

“You’re lucky I haven’t webbed your mouth shut.”

Peter groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Right. Right. Shut up now. Good plan.”

Kaine stepped forward and knocked.

Three times. Heavy. Final.

Peter immediately took a step back.

“Wait—nope, I’m not ready—”

Too late.

The door creaked open.

And Gabby stood there.

Hair a mess. Hoodie too big. Eyes like knives.

She stared at Peter.

Peter smiled weakly.

“Hey, Gabbs—”

“You look alive,” she said flatly. “Disappointing.”

Peter's mouth opened.

Gabby’s eyes shifted to Kaine.

“Ah. That’s what Ben meant.”

Kaine gave a small wave.

Gabby turned back to Peter with a fresh glare and stepped aside just enough for them to enter.

“Get in.”

Peter hesitated.

“Gabby, listen, I—”

“You can apologize later. If I let you.”

She spun on her heel and stalked back into the apartment without another word.

Peter turned to Kaine.

“This was a mistake.”

Kaine scribbled a quick note and held it up without emotion:

“You haven’t even seen Laura yet.”

Peter paled.

And stepped inside.

---

The sound of their footsteps echoed heavier than they should’ve. The floor creaked, the hallway felt too narrow, and Peter felt like he was walking into a courtroom more than his own home.

He tried—because he always tried—to lighten the mood.

“Hey, so, anyone miss my charming presence, or—”

Gabby, walking just ahead of him, didn’t even glance over.

“Deadbeat.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, what—”

She turned her head slightly, expression unreadable but voice sharp.

“Leah asked if she did something wrong because you left.”

That hit harder than anything Kaine or a supervillain ever had.

Peter’s mouth opened—then shut.

No joke could fix that.

Gabby turned back and kept walking.

Peter followed. Quiet now.

---

They stepped into the living room.

The space was dimly lit by a single lamp. The table in the center still held a scattered deck of cards—evidence of a fragile kind of normalcy. Two mugs, one empty, the other barely touched.

Laura sat on the couch, arms resting loosely on her knees. Shoulders tense. Eyes forward.

Ben was slouched at the far end, legs sprawled, flipping a card between his fingers with deliberate boredom.

Gabby didn’t even pause.

“I’m going to bed. If I hear yelling, I swear to god I will web whoever starts it to the ceiling.”

Then she vanished down the hall with a casual, “’Night.”

Peter’s eyes darted from Ben to Laura.

Ben didn’t miss a beat.

“Ah. The Prodigal Clone returns.”

Kaine, just behind Peter, didn’t bother writing this time. He walked up behind Ben—

And flipped him over the couch.

Ben grunted as he hit the floor.

“Rude,” came his muffled voice.

“Deserved,” Kaine rasped, crossing his arms.

Peter didn’t laugh.

Because his eyes were locked on her.

Laura.

She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t blinked. Her gaze was heavy—exhausted, guarded, but open just enough to say this isn't finished, but it isn’t over, either.

Peter took a slow step forward.

Their eyes didn’t break.

There was regret.

There was frustration.

But beneath it—buried under the wreckage—was the want.

The need to fix it. Even if neither of them knew how yet.

Ben stood up with a dramatic huff, dusting off his shirt. He looked at Kaine.

“Welp. Guess this is the part where we awkwardly remove ourselves from the emotional minefield.”

Kaine nodded.

Ben glanced at Peter and Laura. The air between them was thick with everything that hadn’t been said yet.

“We’re staying the night. Couch is ours. You two—” he motioned vaguely between them, “—do your thing. Just don’t break anything.”

Kaine pulled out his whiteboard and added:

“Or anyone.”

They exited toward the hallway, leaving Peter standing a few feet from Laura. Still silent. Still staring.

The distance had never felt further.

But maybe, just maybe...

They were ready to start walking toward each other again.

A/N: So what did you think?

Chapter 131: Argument part 5: The Long Walk Back

Chapter Text

Title: The Long Walk Back
Setting: Parker-Kinney Apartment, Living Room

No raised voices. No grand speeches. Just two people sitting in the ruins of a fight, trying to remember how to build again.

Featuring: Peter, Laura, Gabby, Leah, Kaine, Ben, and Jonathan the wolverine (the actual animal)

---

The living room was quiet now.

The kind of quiet that sat heavy on your shoulders. Not peaceful. Not tense. Just... real.

Peter hadn’t moved.

Neither had Laura.

They stood a few feet apart—no more than the width of the coffee table—but it felt like a gulf, wide and uncertain.

The cards on the table were still scattered. A hand half-played. The end left unresolved.

Laura’s eyes searched his face.

Peter’s searched hers.

They spoke without speaking.

She looked tired—not physically. Tired in her bones. In the set of her mouth. In the walls around her eyes that hadn’t been there a few days ago.

Peter looked guilty. Not in the dramatic, performative way he sometimes wore after a loss—but smaller. Raw. His usual shield of humor nowhere to be found.

Neither one knew who would speak first.

And then, they both did.

At the exact same time.

“I’m sorry.”

A pause.

And then they both blinked, almost surprised by the timing.

Peter exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Laura looked down for a split second before back up, the smallest twitch of something—guilt? Relief?—pulling at the edge of her mouth.

Peter took a step forward.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

Laura nodded once, quietly.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

The space between them felt smaller now.

Not gone.

But not impossible.

Peter looked at her—really looked. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither did you,” Laura said, voice quiet. “But I was angry. Scared. And that’s not an excuse.”

Peter nodded. “But it is an explanation.”

Another breath.

They weren’t okay.

Not yet.

But this? This was trying.

This was starting.

Laura sat down slowly on the edge of the couch.

Peter followed, sitting across from her—close, but not crowding.

The silence returned.

But this time, it didn’t weigh the same.

---

The silence after “I’m sorry” was gentler now.

Like they were both afraid to breathe wrong and scare it away.

Laura stared at her hands for a moment, fingers knotted together, claws retracted—nervous.

Then she looked up, voice softer than it had been in days.

“What I said… about Gwen.”

Peter’s chest rose slowly, but he didn’t speak.

Laura swallowed.

“I didn’t bring her up to make a point. I said it to hurt you. And I knew it would.”
“That makes it worse.”

She didn’t look away.

“I don’t hate her. I don’t resent her. I understand why you loved her. I understand why it still lives in you.”

Peter's throat worked, a flicker of something painful crossing his face. But Laura kept going.

“You trusted me with that part of your past, and I threw it at you like a weapon.”

A pause.

Then she reached out.

Peter didn’t hesitate—he met her hand halfway, fingers lacing with hers.

“You’re not the only one who said things just to cause pain,” he said quietly.
“I kept jabbing at your control. Your instincts. Like I hadn’t spent years watching you do the best to stay in control.”

He gave her hand a light squeeze.

“I made it sound like I was afraid of you. I’m not. I never have been. I was afraid for you. That’s not the same.”

Laura nodded once. Slowly.

Peter looked down, breath shaky.

“But I should’ve stayed. Should’ve trusted we’d figure it out together. Instead I took the exit hatch like I always do and pretended it was noble. That’s my thing, right? Swing away, wallow in guilt, spiral, rinse, repeat.”

He huffed a bitter laugh.

“And I keep wondering how long until you realize it’s not worth loving a guy whose superpower is self-sabotage.”

He kept going, voice rising slightly—not angry, just frustrated with himself.

“I mean, seriously—who hurts the people they love like that? Who keeps thinking he can fix the world while his own house falls apart? Who leaves a woman like you and thinks that’s somehow the right call? I’m an idiot. I’m the—”

And that’s when Laura kissed him.

No warning.

No hesitation.

Just a fierce, grounding kiss.

His words dissolved into it.

Into her.

Into the only thing in the room that felt clear and solid and right.

When she finally pulled back, she stared into his wide eyes and whispered, deadpan:

“You talk too much.”

Peter blinked.

Then—slowly—smiled.

Not the quippy kind.

The real kind.

They were still holding hands.

There was a warmth in it now. Not like earlier—tense and apologetic. Now it was steady. Familiar. Them.

Laura tilted her head, eyes scanning Peter’s face, then leaned forward just slightly—arms opening, slow and deliberate.

She paused.

Waited.

Peter blinked.

Laura smirked, her voice low and teasing.

“What? Gonna make a big deal about a hug now? You afraid you’ll melt or something?”

Peter chuckled under his breath, eyes soft.

“No,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her, pulling her in close. “Just… surprised. You’re not usually the hug-starter.”

“Guess I’m evolving.”

“Scary.”

She gave him a small, affectionate whap on the arm.

“Idiot.”

He laughed again—really laughed this time. A little rough from the emotional hangover, but real. And when she buried her face into his shoulder, he didn’t let go.

Laura let herself breathe there, in his arms, in the middle of a messy living room filled with half-played cards and half-said truths.

It shouldn’t be this easy, she thought.

But it was.

Not easy like simple.
Easy like right.
Like they still fit, even after all the jagged words and days apart.

She didn’t say it out loud. But he must’ve felt it anyway, the way she relaxed against him.

Peter’s voice came quietly, muffled into her hair.

“We’re gonna have to talk to the kids.”

That got her to groan—just a little.

“Yup,” she sighed. “Can’t pretend this didn’t rattle them.”

Peter pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I’ll take the lead with Leah.”
Laura gave him a look.

“She’s five. You both abandoned her emotional support plushie duties.”

Peter winced.

“Fair.”

Laura squeezed his side gently.

“I’ll talk to Gabby,” she added, voice quieter now. “She deserves it.”

They were still close, still holding onto one another—tired, emotionally wrung out, but together.

“Tomorrow,” Peter said.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed.

And for tonight, they just stayed like that.

No masks.

No walls.

Just… them.

---

Gabby’s room was chaos dressed in stuffed animals, mismatched socks, and crayon-streaked walls.

Kaine sat in the corner on a bean bag chair that creaked under his size, arms resting on his knees, notebook balanced loosely in one hand. His shoulders were hunched—not in exhaustion, but because he wasn’t sure how to sit.

He didn’t come in here often.

Didn’t speak to them often—alone, at least.

~~He wasn’t good at kids.~~

And he wasn’t good at people.

Across the room, Leah sat on the bed, knees up to her chest, hugging a purple stuffed spider that had clearly lost a few battles. Her brown curls were messy, falling into her eyes.

“Is it my fault?” she asked softly.

The words hit harder than Kaine expected.

Gabby, lying belly-down on the rug, didn’t even hesitate.

“Nope.”

She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows.

“It’s never the kid’s fault. Adults are just—” she waved a hand around, “—dumb. Especially when they’re in love and dramatic and broody like Peter and Laura.”

Ben, who had been flipping through a comic on the floor near Jonathan’s peacefully snoring form, nodded solemnly.

“Hard disagree.”

Kaine wrote something down slowly, flipped the notebook, and held it out toward Leah:

“It’s not your fault. Not even a little.”

Leah looked up at him, eyes wide and watery. She sniffled.

Gabby ruffled her hair gently, then muttered, “Besides, you’re the most innocent one in this whole apartment.”

Leah smiled at that, just a little.

Ben glanced over at Kaine.

“You okay?”

Kaine didn’t respond immediately.

The room dimmed, even though the lights hadn’t changed.

He could hear it again.

The hiss of needles.

The wet snap of bones breaking under strain.

The sterile light above the metal table.
The Jackal’s voice: clinical. Dismissive. Cruel.

“Unstable. Bone degradation increasing. Accelerated cell death. Toss it.”

He remembered the smell of blood—his own, and others.

The screams of other clones as they deteriorated.

The way his joints ached with every movement that shouldn't have been possible for a body grown in a vat.

The feeling of being not quite alive, but not allowed to die.

“Another failed Clone.”

Kaine stared forward, unblinking.

He remembered the cold metal clamps.

How it felt to be discarded.

How the Jackal didn’t look at them like people—only tools.

Replacements.

Failures.

He heard the voice again.

“Not viable. Too aggressive. Put it down.”

His throat burned, and not from the silence. Not from the injury.

From remembering.

He didn’t even realize his knuckles were white around his pen.

No one noticed.

Ben turned back to him, voice softer now.

“Hey. Sorry I dragged you out here so suddenly. You and Jubilee doing okay?”

Kaine blinked.

The memory fog started to lift.

He looked at Ben, then slowly wrote:

“We’re fine.”

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna mention the fact Shogo nearly body-slammed me last week when I dropped in on you guys?”

Kaine stared flatly. Then scribbled again.

“Shogo’s fine too. He misses you, somehow.”

Ben laughed. “Kid’s got bad taste.”

Kaine’s mouth twitched—maybe not a smile, but something close.

Gabby yawned loudly and flopped onto her back.

“Ugh. I’m so tired.”

Leah, who was sitting cross-legged next to Jonathan in the bed now, crossed her arms.

“I’m not.”

“You’re always ‘not tired’ and then you steal all the blanket. You have your own bed!”

“But your bed is next to the wolverine.”

Jonathan, as if on cue, let out a soft snort and rolled over, stealing another pillow in the process.

Gabby groaned. “See?! He’s the size of a log and he drools!”

“He’s warm.”

Kaine let out a raspy exhale—part laugh, part groan—as he rubbed the side of his throat.

''Nicholas is going to kill me for talking that much...'' Kaine thought, still rubbing his throat.

Ben waved a hand lazily from the rug.

“Alright, you two—blankets, beds, no fighting. We’re all emotionally wrecked and over the age limit for bedtime drama.”

Gabby grumbled but got up and dragged herself to the other bed, flopping down with dramatic flair.

“We’ll fight about it in the morning.”

Leah nodded with grave seriousness.

Kaine wrote slowly, throat hurting again.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Ben smirked.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

As the lights dimmed, and Gabby kicked at the blanket until it was in some configuration resembling sleep, Kaine leaned back in the beanbag again, eyes half-closed.

The room was safe.

Warm.

Quiet.

And this time…

The screams stayed gone.

A/N: They’re still healing. Still bruised. But tonight, they remembered why they fight so hard to stay. Because love isn’t the absence of pain.
It’s who’s still holding your hand when the pain passes.

Chapter 132: Argument 6 : Night Watch & Monday Webs

Chapter Text

Title: Night Watch & Monday Webs
Setting: Parker-Kinney Apartment,

---

Kaine and Ben stepped quietly out of the room, door closing behind them with a soft click. Gabby’s voice followed just as it latched shut.

“You good?” she said low, like it was an afterthought.

Kaine gave a brief nod without turning. She didn’t press.

“You just looked… not here, for a sec,” she added. “If you wanna talk, or not talk, whatever. I get it.”

Ben glanced at Kaine, but Kaine didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t have to. That was Gabby’s thing—knowing when to say something and when to leave it alone.

They made their way down the hall toward the living room.

And stopped short.

Laura and Peter were on the couch, hugging. Holding each other quietly. It wasn’t tense—not anymore. But it was close, intimate in a way that made both Ben and Kaine immediately second-guess every life choice that led to this moment.

Ben blinked. “Oh. Great. Emotional intimacy.”

Kaine just stood there, stiff.

They looked at each other, silently debating whether to double back and fake a plumbing emergency.

Instead, Ben cleared his throat.

Loudly.

Peter and Laura both turned their heads, mid-hug. Neither moved at first. Peter blinked like they’d been yanked out of a trance.

Ben threw on a casual, innocent tone that didn’t fool anyone.

“Right, well. We’re sleeping on the couch tonight. You two lovebirds, uh... carry on.”

Laura arched a brow.

Peter gave a long sigh.

“You sure you don’t want the bed?” he offered, not even half-serious.

Ben raised both hands. “Nope. Don’t wanna know what trauma-scented memories are baked into those pillows.”

Kaine wrote a single word on his pad:

“Agreed.”

Laura let out a tired breath and waved toward the couch.

“Fine. Don’t whine if your backs give out.”

“We’re genetically enhanced,” Ben shot back. “We’ll survive.”

He paused, then looked at both of them a little more seriously.

“Glad you two talked,” he added, voice lower.

Peter nodded. “We’re... working on it.”

“Good,” Ben said. “About time.”

Kaine nudged him toward the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going, I’m going.”

They moved to settle in.

---

Ben tossed a blanket over the couch, dramatically fluffing a pillow like it had personally wronged him. Kaine stood beside him, arms crossed, giving the couch a look that said he’d rather be sleeping on a rooftop with rain in his boots.

Peter and Laura were still hovering near the doorway, sharing one of those subtle, silent looks again—tired but calm, closer now.

Ben glanced over at them.

“Alright,” he said, plopping down. “Show’s over. Go to bed, before Kaine gives himself a hernia trying not to look at you two being emotionally competent.”

Kaine nodded once, scribbling quickly on his notepad.

“Please leave. This is worse than bloodshed.”

Laura smirked, shaking her head. “You two have fun sharing the couch.”

“We’re not sharing,” Ben muttered, already lying down. “I’m claiming it. Kaine can hang from the ceiling like the sleep-deprived bat he is.”

Kaine sighed through his nose. Loudly.

Peter yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Laura nudged him gently. “Let’s go. Before they start fighting over blanket territory.”

Peter waved half-heartedly at the clones. “Thanks… for the cleanup crew work.”

Ben saluted from under the blanket. “Anytime. But seriously—bed.”

Kaine pointed at the hallway, then at them both.

“Now.”

Laura rolled her eyes but smiled faintly.

“Goodnight, weirdos.”

Ben grinned. “Love you too.”

Peter reached for the light switch, turning off the lamp in the corner as he followed Laura down the hallway.

Their bedroom door closed softly behind them.

Finally, quiet.

Ben sighed, shifting to get comfortable.

“You think they’ll be okay?”

Kaine didn’t write anything.

---

Brooklyn, 7:39 AM

Anya swung over the rooftops of her usual Brooklyn route, yawning into her mask.

She’d already stopped a pair of teens trying to hotwire an e-bike (“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, and that your sneakers are that ugly”) and helped some old guy whose dog got tangled in its own leash and dragged half a sandwich cart with it.

You know. Classic Araña morning.

Her patrols had a rhythm.

Thirty minutes.

Low-grade crimes.

Minimal property damage.

Try not to throw anyone through a storefront window before 8 AM.

She landed lightly near a park bike rack, where a punk in an oversized hoodie was trying—poorly—to saw through a lock with a dull hacksaw.

“Really?” she said, unimpressed. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

The thief spun, only to immediately eat pavement as Anya webbed his ankles and yanked.

Face-first fall. Textbook.

As he groaned, Anya crouched next to the abandoned bike and pulled a pen from her belt pouch.

She scrawled a note quickly on a napkin she found in her pocket (thanks, breakfast taco wrapper) and stuck it to the seat with webbing:

"Stolen bike. Now recovered.
By your amazing neighbor —
Araña 🕷️"

She gave it a little flourish. Gotta keep the brand alive.

Then her phone buzzed.

And buzzed again.

And then her ringtone—that god-awful, too-annoying remix of “Livin’ La Vida Loca” she’d meant to change three weeks ago—started blaring from her hip.

“Seriously?” she groaned, slapping the side of her utility strap.

The guy on the ground groaned louder.

She glanced at the caller ID.

Gabby.

Anya frowned. Gabby didn’t usually call this early unless someone was bleeding or someone else was about to.

With a sigh, Anya yanked her mask up just enough to speak and hit Accept.

“Alright, Wolverine Jr., what happened now?”

“Just meet me. Rooftop. You’ll see me.”

Gabby’s voice had no bite in it.

Which was the first red flag.

Anya had blinked, still crouched by the unconscious bike thief, her phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

“Is this serious?”

Silence.

Then:

“Just come.”

She didn’t sound urgent.
But she didn’t sound like Gabby either.

Anya sighed.

“On my way.”

---

Two minutes later, Anya landed in a light roll on a quiet Brooklyn rooftop—flat, open, with good morning light and just enough breeze to feel like fall was almost thinking about existing.

“Alright, squirt,” she called, standing and brushing dust from her knees. “What’s the deal? Please tell me it’s not another ‘Jonathan ran away with someone’s sandwich’ situation.”

Then she spotted her.

Gabby.

Sitting right on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side like she was waiting to fall or just forgot how gravity worked. Pajama bottoms, slippers, a hoodie too big for her frame.

And too close.

Anya didn’t think—she reacted.

Thwip.

A web shot straight to Gabby’s shoulder and yanked her backward, off the ledge and straight into Anya’s arms with a surprised oof.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Anya barked, half-panicked. “You’re barefoot, in pajamas, sitting over a four-story drop! Are you serious right now?!”

Gabby blinked, still tangled slightly in the web.

“I wasn’t gonna fall.”

“You could’ve. That’s not the point.”

Gabby didn’t respond.

Which was red flag number two.

Anya frowned, watching her closely now. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Gabby looked down at the roof gravel, voice quiet.

“Peter and Laura had a fight. A bad one. He left for two days. Just… left.”

Anya’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“I had to call Ben. Kaine showed up too. We’ve been holding things down, but—” Gabby rubbed her arm. “Leah thought it was her fault. I didn’t sleep much. I had to handle it.”

She finally looked at Anya.

“They’re okay now. I think. But… it was a lot.”

Anya’s jaw tightened. She could hear the exhaustion behind Gabby’s words—the weariness that didn’t match her age.

Too much responsibility for someone still young and she would know.

She stepped forward, lowering her voice.

“Do you want a hug?”

Gabby didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

Anya opened her arms and pulled her in, holding tight as Gabby buried her face into her shoulder.

No snark.
No jokes.

Just two girls on a rooftop, holding the weight of a world that shouldn't be on their backs alone.

---

After the hug, Anya gave Gabby a gentle pat on the back, keeping it steady, grounding. They sat side by side near the non-lethal part of the roof this time, legs crossed, the wind soft between them.

They didn’t speak for a while.

The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was necessary.

Then Gabby glanced over, voice lighter but unsure.

“Can you come with me?”

Anya blinked. “Come with you… where?”

“Back to the apartment.”

That hesitation returned in Anya’s gut.

“Why?”

Gabby shrugged, but it was forced.

“You’ve known Peter the longest. I think he’d actually listen to you.”

Anya was already shaking her head. “Gabs, I don’t think that’s—”

Then she paused.

Because yeah… she had known Peter the longest out of their group. Since high school. Since the days when webbing clogged his belt and he didn’t know how to land without rolling into trash cans.

He would listen.

That didn’t mean she wanted to be the one to make him listen.

Anya sighed, rubbing her temple.

“Okay, correction,” she muttered. “Laura’s known Peter the longest, out of everyone here. So—”

Gabby turned her head slowly. That Look™ was sharp and cutting.

Anya winced.

“Right. Cool. Yeah. Definitely the second longest. Totally meant that.”

Gabby exhaled, tired. “He’ll listen to you.”

Anya grumbled under her breath. “He better. I was not scheduled for emotional intervention duty today…”

She stood, brushing the gravel from her knees. Then frowned.

“Wait. How the hell did you get up here alone anyway?”

Gabby didn’t answer right away.

Anya’s eyes narrowed.

“Gabby.”

Gabby pulled her hoodie sleeve up.

And revealed… a small, custom-fit web shooter strapped to her wrist.

Anya’s jaw dropped.

“Did—did Peter give that to you?!”

Gabby hesitated.

Then looked away.

Anya’s hands went to her hips, full big-sister mode activated.

“GABBY. Did you steal that?!”

“Borrowed!” Gabby snapped. “He wasn’t using it. And he left, remember?!”

“Borrowing means asking first!”

“I didn’t think he’d mind! It’s not like I web-slung into traffic!”

Anya threw her hands up. “You’re five-foot-nothing and illegally enhanced. You shouldn’t be swinging anywhere unsupervised!”

“I was fine! Jonathan was with me!”

“Jonathan is a wolverine, not a parachute!”

Gabby stood and crossed her arms. “You sound like Peter.”

Anya gasped. “Take that back.”

Gabby grinned.

Anya groaned.

“Why do I even try?”

Still grumbling, she gestured toward the edge of the roof—the safe side this time.

“Let’s go before I change my mind and web you to this building permanently.”

Gabby smirked and raised her wrist, already aiming the stolen shooter.

“Race you.”

Anya sighed. “I’m gonna have a stroke.”

And they swung into the morning sky.

---

Parker-Kinney Apartment Building Rooftop — 8:22 AM

They landed smoothly on the rooftop of Peter and Laura’s apartment building, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the concrete.

Gabby touched down with a grin, flipping onto the ledge before casually hopping off it like she hadn’t just done something wildly illegal.

Anya, less thrilled, landed with a small grunt—still carrying a mildly squirming Jonathan under one arm like a very large, mildly offended meatloaf.

“You owe me,” Anya muttered as she set the wolverine down.

Jonathan huffed and immediately wandered toward the nearest air vent to nap.

Gabby pulled her hoodie tighter around her and stretched.

“See? Easy. No damage, no drama—”

“Look away.”

Gabby turned, confused. “What?”

Anya was already unzipping her suit and fishing out the clothes she had stashed in her compact side pouch. “I’m changing out of this before I go inside. I’m not walking into Peter and Laura’s apartment in full spandex. I don’t care how many awkward vibes are floating around in there right now.”

Gabby raised an eyebrow. “I’ve literally seen you get stabbed.”

Anya pointed firmly. “And now you’re seeing the other way. Turn around.”

Gabby groaned theatrically but spun around with a sigh.

“Fine. But I am telling Leah you change on rooftops like a weirdo.”

“I am a weirdo,” Anya muttered. “I just have boundaries.”

Behind her, the telltale sound of a suit unzipping and the rustle of clothes swapped in a hurry echoed against the rooftop wall. Jonathan sneezed.

Gabby stared off toward the horizon.

“You think they’ll be okay?” she asked quietly.

Anya paused for just a second before answering.

“Yeah,” she said. “But not without some nudging.''

''Good thing you’re pushy.”

“And you’re grounded when Peter finds out about that web shooter.”

“We’ll see.”

Anya rolled her eyes, tugged on her jacket, and zipped it up.

“Alright. Let’s go see how emotionally awkward our morning’s gonna be.”

Gabby sarcastically said.

“Yay, family time.”

A/N: And Anya joins the drama

Chapter 133: The Great Baking Battle: Part 4

Chapter Text

The Great Baking Battle: Part 4

(A.K.A. The Flour War)

---

Peter tightened the apron strings behind his back with smug confidence.

Across the kitchen, Laura glared at him like he’d just challenged her to a duel—which, in a way, he had.

“I’m winning this time,” she said, cracking her knuckles.

“You said that during the omelet incident.”

“That omelet was revolutionary.”

“It nearly qualified as a WMD.”

Miles, seated at the “judging table” with a juice box and a notebook, raised a hand. “Can we not have the kitchen explode again?”

“No promises,” Laura and Peter said in unison.

---

The Setup

Anya had bailed earlier with a wave and a “I’ve got a mugger to web up,” leaving her judge spot open.

Miles, out of curiosity (and poor decision-making), had stayed behind.

Leah, the ever-hungry optimist, was already sitting with her elbows on the table, eyes gleaming with expectation. “Can we have cookies this time?”

Gabby had sprinted off ten minutes ago yelling, “I’m bringing in a professional!”
Translation: she went to get Jonathan the Wolverine clone.

Which meant the judging panel now consisted of:

Miles Morales, designated “Voice of Reason.”

Leah, resident sweet-tooth.

Jonathan the Wolverine, literal animal with a better palate than most food critics.

Let chaos commence.

---

Round 1: The Baking Begins

Peter rolled up his sleeves with the flair of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

He did.

Laura, meanwhile, stared down at the bag of flour like it had personally offended her.

“You don’t stab baked goods,” she muttered. “How is this supposed to be fun?”

Peter chuckled. “Just imagine you’re building a landmine made of sugar.”

She stared at him.

“…What?”

“I’m trying to help you connect with the concept.”

---

Peter’s Project:

Soft-baked double chocolate chip cookies.

Precision mixing. Sifted flour. Exact oven timing.

Laura’s Strategy:

Took “sugar bomb” literally.

Grabbed brown sugar, chocolate chunks, peanut butter, and what Miles was pretty sure was cayenne pepper.

Miles: “Uh… Laura?”

Laura: “It’s for depth.”

Miles: “...Cool. Yeah. Sure. Depth.”

---

Round 2: Chaos Rises

Peter’s side of the kitchen looked like a commercial for baking gear.

Laura’s looked like a low-level battlefield. There was flour on the counter, flour in her hair, flour in Jonathan’s fur—he had arrived midway through and immediately tried to climb the counter.

Leah was already drooling just from the smell.

Leah: “I love both of you, so I will eat both batches. No matter what.”

---

Round 3: The Bake Off

Ding.

Both ovens chimed in perfect sync.

Peter pulled out a tray of perfectly golden, soft, gooey cookies. They even smelled smug.

Laura pulled out a tray of jagged, darker cookies that looked… unstable.

Gabby reappeared and pointed at them.

Gabby: “Did you put spice in the cookies again?”

Laura: “For heat.”

Peter: “You made combat cookies.”

Laura: “They bite back.”

---

The Taste Test

First up: Peter’s Cookies

Miles: “This is actually amazing. Crunchy edges, soft center. Classic.”

Leah: “Can I have eight?”

Jonathan: Aggressively devours two in one bite.

Peter bowed slightly. “Years of practice.”

Then: Laura’s Cookies

Leah took a cautious bite. Paused. Blinked.

Leah: “It’s… good. But also spicy. My tongue is confused.”

Miles bit into one. His eyes widened.

Miles: “I don’t know if I’m sweating or crying, but it’s definitely a cookie.”

Jonathan sniffed one, took a nibble—and backed away, shaking his head.

Peter: “Oh my god. You got rejected by a wolverine.”

Laura just shrugged. “He has no taste.”

Miles: (mutters) I hope so...

---

And the Winner Is...

Gabby: “Alright. Official vote time.”

Leah: “I vote both!”

Miles: “I vote Peter. Sorry, Laura. Yours tasted like revenge.”

Jonathan: Snorts and sits on Peter’s foot.

Gabby: “I respect the heat, but Peter wins this one.”

Laura stared at the ceiling. “Unbelievable.”

Peter grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Peter: “I finally win a round.”

Laura: “Only because I didn’t set anything on fire this time.”

Peter: “Hey. Improvement and defeat. That’s growth.”

---

Ending Note

Later that night, while the others were asleep (or passed out from sugar crashes), Laura and Peter stood in the kitchen, the only light coming from the fridge.

Peter handed her one of her cookies.

She took a bite. Still spicy. Still chaotic.

Still… not bad.

Laura: “I let you win.”

Peter: “Of course you did.”

She elbowed him, but it was softer this time.

Laura: “Next round. Pancakes.”

Peter: “Oh no.”

---

A/N:
Peter finally wins. Laura might have created a weaponized cookie. Miles regrets staying. Jonathan wants to be a permanent judge. Pancakes are coming. Pray for the kitchen.

Plus wanted a break chapter between the whole argument arc.

So here.

Any thoughts?

Chapter 134: Author's Note: Delay

Chapter Text

Author's Note:

Hey everyone,

I’ve been struggling with a bit of writer’s block these past few days—just couldn’t find the right way to bring closure to this stretch of the argument saga. It’s been frustrating not being able to move things forward the way I wanted to.

On top of that, I was physically assaulted yesterday. I’m okay—just a little bruised and shaken. Definitely not the kind of day you want to be creatively stuck, though.

That said, I don’t expect to post the full chapter anytime soon while I take time to rest and recalibrate. So instead, I’m leaving you all with this early snippet of the next chapter—Part 7 of the argument saga.

Thanks for your patience, and as always, thank you for reading 💛

Here's the snippet:

Setting: Parker-Kinney Apartment — 8:36 AM

---

Anya adjusted Jonathan under one arm as they crept down the rooftop access stairs. The wolverine was heavy, warm, and deeply uninterested in being carried, but he didn't argue—just gave the occasional grumble that Anya swore sounded like judgment.

Gabby pulled out the spare key and slid it into the lock quietly, motioning for Anya to hush.

“You realize no one’s gonna scream just because we walk in—”

Gabby glared.

“Okay, okay. Ninja mode.”

They stepped inside.

The apartment was still.

Quiet.

Lived-in.

No shouting. No tension. Just the muted light of early morning slipping through the curtains.

Anya glanced at the couch—and sure enough, there were Kaine and Ben, both passed out in a way that screamed emotional exhaustion and poor sleeping positions. Kaine was crammed into the far arm of the couch like he’d refused to lie down completely. Ben, of course, had claimed most of the couch and looked mildly smug even in sleep.

“Look at that,” Anya whispered. “Clones can cuddle. Gross.”

Gabby gave a tiny snort and tiptoed across the living room with practiced stealth, motioning for Anya to follow.

They slipped into the kitchen and quietly pulled out two chairs at the breakfast counter.

Jonathan plopped down by Gabby’s feet with a soft thump, immediately curling up and tucking his head under his paw like he hadn’t been dragged through illegal web-swinging just ten minutes ago.

Anya sat back in the chair, stretched her arms, and gave Gabby a pointed look.

“You’re lucky your classes don’t start until later.”

Gabby smirked. “Perks of a weird homeschool-hybrid schedule. And bribing Laura to approve my ‘independent study’ hours.”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “You bribed Laura? With what? Blood?”

Gabby grinned. “Jerky. From that corner place she likes.”

Anya sighed and set her bag on the counter.

“Alright then. We’re here. You got me up before nine. What now?”

Gabby shrugged, resting her chin on her hand.

“Now we wait.”

Jonathan snored.

Anya let her head fall forward with a thunk onto the counter.

“I hate waiting.”

Gabby didn’t answer.

Chapter 135: “Coffee, Claws, and Carpool”

Chapter Text

Title: “Coffee, Claws, and Carpool”
Scene: Peter Parker vs. The Morning (and a Wolverine)

---

6:37 AM — Somewhere in Midtown

Peter Parker had fought Doc Ock, survived Kraven, punched a dinosaur in the face once, and still—still—this was his greatest challenge.

“Gabby,” he groaned, gripping the steering wheel of his very battered and definitely-too-small car, “why am I the one driving you to school today and taking the carnivorous footstool to the vet?”

From the backseat, Gabby popped a piece of gum and shrugged.

“Laura had an early mission.”

“Right. So why couldn’t you take him to the vet?”

“Because I’m twelve.”

“You stab people.”

“Yeah, but I don’t schedule appointments. That’s trauma-inducing.”

Peter sighed. Loudly.

Next to Gabby in the back seat sat Jonathan the Actual Wolverine, currently nestled in a crate with holes Peter was pretty sure weren’t big enough for escape. His beady eyes stared at Peter through the rearview mirror like a furry little judgment god.

Jonathan sneezed.

Peter winced.

“He’s judging me.”

Gabby patted the crate. “He judges all men. He’s a feminist icon.”

Jonathan hissed. Or coughed. Peter couldn’t tell.

---

7:01 AM — Outside Xavier’s Mutant Academy (Now with Better Windows)

Peter pulled up to the curb.

Gabby opened the door with the energy of someone who didn’t just spend 20 minutes roasting him in traffic.

“Alright. I’ll be back at 3—unless you blow up a locker or fight a sentient textbook again.”

“No promises!”

Peter facepalmed.

As she jumped out, she leaned back in the open window.

“Oh, and Jonathan’s vet is on the east side. Don’t forget the weird form. Laura said you’ll know what that means.”

“What weird form—Gabby?!”

Too late. She was already skipping toward the gates.

Peter looked at the crate in the passenger seat.

Jonathan sneezed again.

“I hate Thursdays.”

---

7:45 AM — Vets 4 Mutants & Misfits, East Side

“Name?”

“Jonathan.”

“Species?”

“…Wolverine.”

“Temperament?”

Peter looked at the crate, where Jonathan had just shredded a complimentary vet brochure through the bars.

“Spite incarnate.”

The receptionist nodded like she got that a lot.

“And you’re…?”

“Peter. Parker. I’m—” He rubbed his temples. “I’m the in-law.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“...That explains everything.”

---

8:30 AM — Post-Vet

Jonathan had survived.

Peter barely had.

There was a small scratch on his cheek, two on his jacket, and he was 83% sure the vet staff were betting on whether he’d make it out unscathed.

He buckled Jonathan’s crate back into the passenger seat.

“You’re lucky I love your family.”

Jonathan sneezed again, this time on Peter’s coffee.

Peter stared.

“…I will never forgive you.”

---

3:07 PM — Xavier’s Front Gates

Gabby hopped into the front seat, eyes shining.

“How’d it go?”

“He’s fine,” Peter muttered. “Also, he owes me a latte.”

Jonathan growled lightly.

Gabby smiled.

“I knew you could do it, Old Man Spider.”

Peter groaned.

But smiled anyway.

Because Thursdays sucked—but his weird little family made them survivable.

A/N: Suprise after 2 weeks of not updating, i got better.

I got physically better.

Chapter 136: “I Knew You Could Handle It”

Chapter Text

Title: “I Knew You Could Handle It”

---

That Night – Parker|Kinney Apartment

Peter slumped onto the couch, still wearing his spider hoodie—now slightly furrier thanks to one Jonathan the Wolverine, who had claimed it as his nesting ground the moment they walked in.

“I wrestled a wolverine today,” Peter mumbled into a lukewarm plate of reheated pasta. “And not the tall Canadian one. The small, angry, unvaccinated one.”

Laura walked in from the bedroom, towel around her neck, hair damp from a post-mission shower. She eyed the chaos of their apartment: shoes everywhere, Gabby asleep with one sock half-on, and Jonathan drooling softly on Peter’s hoodie.

“You survived,” she said, tone dry.

Peter pointed his fork like a weapon. “Barely. That vet liked him. Called him ‘a spicy boy.’ I got hissed at four times. I had to pay for a destroyed clipboard.”

“You didn’t lose a finger. I call that a win.”

He gave her a look. “You knew. You knew he’d be a nightmare.”

Laura shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “I knew you could handle it.”

“Oh, don’t. Don’t do the calm ‘Wolverine wisdom’ voice. You set me up.”

Laura walked behind the couch and leaned over him, arms snaking around his shoulders. “Did I?”

“Yes!”

She kissed his cheek, unbothered. “Then consider it character development.”

Peter grumbled. “I’m developing a complex.”

Jonathan snorted in his sleep and rolled over, dragging Peter’s hoodie halfway off his body.

“I liked that hoodie,” he muttered.

Laura stood up, smirking. “He likes you. That’s rare.”

“Is that why he spit in my coffee?”

“He only does that to people he respects.”

Peter blinked. “That is messed up logic.”

Laura kissed him again, then padded off to the kitchen.

Behind her, Peter sighed and leaned back.

Jonathan made a sleepy chuff.

“I do not respect you back,” Peter muttered.

Jonathan drooled harder.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the conclusion

Chapter 137: “Supervillain Interruptions”

Chapter Text

Title: “Supervillain Interruptions”

Setting: Midtown High, 3rd Period Science — Just Before a Pop Quiz

If Peter had a nickel for every time a D-list villain interrupted class… he’d still be underpaid, but at least slightly more caffeinated.

Featuring: Peter, Laura, an underwhelming villain named Shocker, a bunch of very confused students, and one suspiciously well-trained “substitute” wife

---

Peter was mid-sentence on a lecture about kinetic energy when the wall exploded.

It wasn’t a metaphor. The actual east wall of his classroom caved in with a thunderous boom, sending chunks of drywall and dust flying across the desks.

Papers scattered. Students screamed. Someone yelled, “Not again!”

Peter rubbed his temples.

“...Third time this semester. I really should start teaching remotely.”

Through the smoke walked Shocker—yes, that Shocker. Low-tier. Loud. Always weirdly confident for someone who’d never successfully finished a crime.

“Alright, people! Nobody move! I need a place to lay low for a few min—OH, C’MON, PARKER?! AGAIN?!”

Peter stared at him, exasperated. “Seriously? It’s a school, dude.”

“I thought it was a community center! Why are there teenagers?!”

“Because it’s a school!”

Shocker looked genuinely thrown.

“...Well, I’ve made a mistake.”

Before Peter could make up an excuse to evacuate the kids—or more accurately, to stop Shocker without revealing he was Spider-Man—Laura casually walked into the classroom through the still-smoking hole in the wall.

Wearing jeans, a tank top, and her "don't even try me today" face.

“Hey, Peter. You forgot your lunch.”

She held up a paper bag labeled in sharpie: “Peter. Not for science experiments.”

Everyone blinked.

Shocker squinted at her. “Who the hell are—”

Laura didn’t answer.

She just moved.

In a flash, she was across the room, fist planted square in Shocker’s gut before he could raise his gauntlets. The villain let out a strangled “urghhh?” as he crumpled to the floor.

Still standing over him, Laura turned to Peter, completely calm.

“You okay?”

Peter, stunned, nodded slowly. “Yeah. Uh. Thanks, honey.”

Behind him, one student slowly raised a hand.

“Mr. Parker... is that your wife?”

Peter gave tired and deadpan stare.

“...Yes?”

Another student spoke up. “Is she, like, an undercover Avenger or something?”

“No! She's security!”

“Then why did she just Falcon-punch a villain through the tile floor?!”

“I—I don’t know! She’s very athletic!”

Laura, still standing calmly over the unconscious Shocker, gave Peter a slow blink.

He sighed.

“Class, this is my wife, Laura. She... takes CrossFit very seriously.”

A beat of silence.

“...Can she teach gym?”

''No, Eugene would kill me.''

---

Later that day, Laura sat on Peter’s desk while he cleaned up post-chaos.

“You’re a menace,” Peter muttered, stuffing papers back into folders.

“He interrupted your lesson.”

“You hit him so hard, his gloves quit working.”

“Problem solved.”

Peter looked at her, lips twitching into a grin.

“You know the kids now think you’re like... an off-duty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, right?”

“Better that than a bored housewife.”

He shook his head, chuckling.

“One of them asked if I was secretly married to Black Widow.”

Laura shrugged. “She’s hot.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—are you saying—?”

“No, nerd. You’re mine. But you married up. Remember that.”

“Yes, dear.”

---

A/N: Midtown High will never be the same. Neither will Peter’s cover story. Laura’s now got twelve conspiracy threads on the student subreddit—and one very devoted fan club.

Chapter 138: “The Night Talks”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Title: “The Night Talks”
Dual POV — but mostly theirs together

---

The clock blinked 2:16 AM in soft red light.

The apartment was dark. Still. The kind of stillness that should’ve meant sleep. But it hadn’t come.

Not for Peter.

Not tonight.

He lay on his back, one arm draped across his forehead, eyes open, thoughts racing.

Too many patrols. Too many responsibilities. That old, familiar gnawing in his chest telling him he hadn’t done enough. Couldn’t ever do enough.

And beside him—quiet, steady breathing. Laura.

She always slept so still, like she didn’t need to waste energy pretending to rest. Like she could turn off the world at will.

Peter envied that sometimes.

But tonight—

“I can hear you thinking,” she murmured, voice rough from sleep but not annoyed. Just… there.

Peter flinched a little. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

A pause.

He felt her shift—turning toward him under the blanket, her knee brushing his leg.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked.

He hesitated.

Then sighed. “It’s nothing.”

She didn’t respond.

Not immediately. Just waited.

He hated that she knew when he was lying. Loved it, too.

Peter finally exhaled. “I just… I hate nights like this.”

“Crowded brain?”

“Yeah. Every mistake’s louder at night.”

She was quiet again for a long moment.

Then, gently, she reached over and took his hand beneath the blanket. Fingers laced together. Firm. Grounding.

“Name one mistake you made today.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Today. One mistake. Not the past. Not ancient trauma. Today.”

He blinked at the ceiling. “I burned breakfast?”

Laura gave a soft hum of acknowledgment.

“I forgot to call May back…”

She squeezed his hand once.

“And… I yelled at a mug.”

That earned a short breath of laughter from her. “What did the mug do?”

“It didn’t fit in the cabinet,” he said defensively. “It knows what it did.”

Laura’s smile was small. Soft. “Then those are your failures today. And you survived them.”

He turned to look at her now, surprised at how close she’d moved. Her eyes, half-shadowed in the dark, were watching him in that quiet, clear way of hers. No judgment. Just truth.

“Some nights will be crowded,” she said. “But not every night has to be haunted.”

Peter swallowed, throat tight.

She moved closer—one hand resting lightly on his chest now, above his heart.

“And if it gets loud again,” she whispered, “you wake me. Understand?”

Peter nodded. Quiet. Honest. “Yeah.”

He pulled her hand up, kissed her knuckles. Not for show. Not for drama. Just… because.

They didn’t say anything after that.

She tucked herself into his side.

And for the first time that night—his breathing matched hers.

---

Morning came quietly.

Soft rays of light slipped through the blinds, tracing gold across the sheets. The apartment was still, warm, and peaceful in that fleeting way only early mornings could be. No alarms. No shouting. No city noise.

Just breathing.

Peter lay on his side, propped up slightly on one elbow, watching her.

Laura.

Her hair was a mess—somewhere between bedhead and “recently fought ninjas.” Her face was buried half into the pillow, one arm draped over the blanket, the other tucked under her head. She was so still. Calm.

She looked peaceful when she slept. Younger. Like the weight she carried every day—the training, the instincts, the trauma—had taken a break for once and let her be.

Peter smiled to himself, heart aching in that weird, full way.
Because this—this quiet, rare version of her—wasn’t something he took for granted.

She trusted him enough to be vulnerable. To sleep next to him without flinching. To be soft in a world that taught her to be hard and sharp and constantly on guard.

And God, he loved her.

So much it almost made him nervous sometimes.

Almost.

But that wouldn’t stop him from having a little fun.

---

He leaned in close—just enough to whisper by her ear.

“Hey… murder princess. You’re drooling on my pillow.”

She stirred slightly, brow twitching.

Peter grinned wider. “Should I start calling you Droolerine?”

Laura groaned actually groaned— and shoved her face deeper into the pillow. “I’m going to stab you.”

Peter beamed. “There she is. Good morning to you too.”

Laura’s hand blindly reached out and thumped his chest with the force of a sleepy toddler. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m lucky you haven’t killed me in my sleep. This is true.”

She cracked one eye open, glaring with the force of someone who wasn’t ready for consciousness.

“You’re too chipper. Did you sleep?”

Peter shrugged. “Better than I have in weeks.”

Laura blinked slowly, the sarcasm in her melting a little. “…Yeah. Me too.”

They stayed like that for a while—no rush to move, no mission waiting, no one demanding their time. Just Peter, warm and smiling like an idiot, and Laura, half-awake but letting him stay close.

Finally, she grumbled, “You call me Droolerine again, I’m telling May.”

Peter gasped, mock-offended. “You wouldn’t. Leah wouldn’t like that”

She smirked against the pillow. “Watch me.”

He kissed her temple. “Worth it.”

A/N: Healthy Relationship and Communication go brrrrr.

Notes:

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SleepyDynast on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Mar 2025 08:49PM UTC

Oh my god this is so cute! I love this ship, and to find one where they're essentially just being domestic and in love together is so..uggh! I adore this chapter! Can't wait to read the rest of the fic

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Sun 23 Mar 2025 10:10PM UTC
  
  These are one shots you know?
  
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2. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Mon 31 Mar 2025 11:07PM UTC
  
  Hope you enjoyed
  
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KaidoFett on Chapter 1 Fri 04 Apr 2025 02:14PM UTC

The sleeper hold was great what a first chapter lol hope we get something showing how they met

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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:36AM UTC

This first chapter is gold.

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Cruden on Chapter 1 Sun 13 Apr 2025 04:16AM UTC

♥️♥️♥️♥️

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(Previous comment deleted.)
1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Apr 2025 07:55PM UTC
  
  I prefer talking in the comments. Also im no artist.
  
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2. 1. (Previous comment deleted.)
  2. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Fri 18 Apr 2025 05:30PM UTC
      
      So if yiu have something to say just say it.
      
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(Previous comment deleted.)
1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Wed 30 Apr 2025 07:24PM UTC
  
  Other sites?
  
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(Previous comment deleted.)
1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Thu 01 May 2025 07:53PM UTC
  
  ...
  
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2. 1. (Previous comment deleted.)
  2. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Fri 02 May 2025 03:36PM UTC
      
      Sure do it for free if you want.
      
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Stella (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 04 Aug 2025 07:07PM UTC

it was an interesting story

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Mon 04 Aug 2025 07:17PM UTC
  
  Thanks, hope you continue reading the story
  
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2. 1. Stella (Guest) on Chapter 1 Mon 04 Aug 2025 07:38PM UTC
    
    welcome, Umm look, I had an idea to draw the main characters from your story in my art style, this is the great opportunity for you to see your story characters in real life through my art skills so let me know if your interested then we will discuss rest of the conversation over discord or any other platform!
    
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  2. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Tue 05 Aug 2025 10:24PM UTC
      
      No
      
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    2. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Tue 05 Aug 2025 10:25PM UTC
      
      But you can read the story
      
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    3. 1. Stella (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 06 Aug 2025 05:56PM UTC
        
        I have read the whole story that's why illustrations, ideas came over my mind
        
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      2. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Wed 06 Aug 2025 06:16PM UTC
        
        Yeah sure...
        
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Staylorbird on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 06:07PM UTC

In case you aren't aware, Ao3 has rules against linking to or mentioning patreon or any other sort of monetization. Here's an admin post if you want to check the rules and put your notes in line with what's allowed: https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/31876

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 06:16PM UTC
  
  Well shoot...
  
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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 2 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:40AM UTC

I'm loving their relationship so far.

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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 3 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:47AM UTC

Love the Peter Johnny friendship and the dynamic with Laura.
(P.S: Juggernaut is weak to psychic attacks; his helmet protects him from them.)

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 3 Mon 07 Apr 2025 02:12AM UTC
  
  I know that
  
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2. Neith121 on Chapter 3 Tue 05 Aug 2025 10:28PM UTC
  
  But thanks
  
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KarmaSpidr on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Mar 2025 02:22PM UTC

That's what you get for marrying a former assassin, Peter.

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Mar 2025 02:34PM UTC
  
  True, nice to see you.
  
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2. Neith121 on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Mar 2025 02:35PM UTC
  
  So what do you think?
  
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3. 1. KarmaSpidr on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Mar 2025 02:41PM UTC
    
    Simple and entertaining.
    However I recommend you add a few more tags so more people can find this.
    
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  2. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 4 Sun 23 Mar 2025 10:12PM UTC
      
      Like what?
      
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    2. Neith121 on Chapter 4 Mon 31 Mar 2025 11:07PM UTC
      
      No seriously 😑😑😑
      
      Last Edited Mon 31 Mar 2025 11:08PM UTC
      
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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 4 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:52AM UTC

This was funny. The fact that Laura was disappointed she couldn't go with option 2 put a smile on my face.

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 4 Mon 07 Apr 2025 02:13AM UTC
  
  Oh definitely she's weird like that.
  
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KarmaSpidr on Chapter 5 Sun 23 Mar 2025 02:39PM UTC

Wouldn't be surprised if some of the students awakened something thatbday.

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Sun 23 Mar 2025 10:53PM UTC
  
  We'll see...
  
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2. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Thu 27 Mar 2025 09:39PM UTC
  
  Heh got you.
  
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3. YourFriendlyNeighborhood (Guest) on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 09:41PM UTC
  
  The president of Spidey X Laura??
  
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4. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 10:08PM UTC
    
    No?
    
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  2. KarmaSpidr on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 10:12PM UTC
    
    First the Godfather of CocoaPowder, and now I'm the president of Parkinney.
    I just can't stop collecting these titles.
    
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  3. 1. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 10:14PM UTC
      
      Can i be the vice président
      
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    2. 1. KarmaSpidr on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 10:15PM UTC
        
        Only if you are elected.
        
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      2. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Sat 29 Mar 2025 10:16PM UTC
        
        Aw dang it.
        
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        YourFriendlyNeighborhood (Guest) on Chapter 5 Sun 30 Mar 2025 12:30PM UTC
        
        Neith's def got my vote
        
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        Neith121 on Chapter 5 Fri 20 Jun 2025 11:10PM UTC
        
        Yay
        
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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 5 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:56AM UTC

Those students were floored and that just made the interactions even better.

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 5 Fri 20 Jun 2025 11:10PM UTC
  
  True especially dennis.
  
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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 6 Mon 07 Apr 2025 01:59AM UTC

I'm pretty sure Laura just inspired a couple of future ''private security'' guards with her story.

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TheFan01 (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 07 Apr 2025 02:05AM UTC

Whenever Laura comes to Peter's school, only good things can happen. Also, the reactions to her are just fantastic.

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1. Neith121 on Chapter 7 Mon 07 Apr 2025 02:14AM UTC
  
  I know, put it was a pain to write.
  
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(Previous comment deleted.)
1. Neith121 on Chapter 7 Tue 15 Jul 2025 11:20PM UTC
  
  Thanks?
  
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