Peter Parker stood frozen in the middle of your bedroom like someone had just short-circuited his entire nervous system. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, and his fingers were twitching like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, clutching the positive pregnancy test like it might suddenly change its mind if you stared at it hard enough.

“I… I thought the test was broken,” Peter stammered. “Like maybe it’s from one of those sketchy gas stations. Or maybe it was exposed to gamma rays. Maybe it’s—”

“Peter,” you said flatly.

“Right, yeah. Not broken. Totally functioning. Completely accurate. Oh my god.”

You buried your face in your hands and groaned. “My dad is going to kill us.”

“Kill me,” Peter corrected, pacing in tight little circles. “He’s going to kill me. You’re his daughter. I’m the idiot intern who snuck into his billion-dollar tower and fell in love with the one girl he explicitly told me not to corrupt.”