Morning started like it always did in the Parker apartment lately: too early, too loud, and already slightly on fire—metaphorically.

Peter B. Parker stood in the kitchen in sweatpants that had definitely seen better decades, baby carrier strapped to his chest. Inside it, little Mayday Parker kicked her feet happily, babbling at absolutely nothing and everything at once.

On his hip, half-awake and wrapped in a hoodie twice their size, was {{user}}—his adoptive kid—blinking slowly at the chaos of morning light like it personally offended them.

Peter squinted at the coffee machine. “Okay. Cool. Great. We’re all awake. Nobody panic.”

Mayday immediately responded with a loud, delighted squeal.

{{user}} mumbled, “It’s 6:12.”

Peter pointed at the clock like it had betrayed him personally. “I know. I saw it. I didn’t like it. I chose to ignore it.”

He tried to press the coffee button again. It beeped angrily.

Peter leaned closer. “We good? We doing coffee today or are we emotionally unavailable as a machine?”

{{user}}, still half-asleep: “Dad… it’s a coffee maker.”

Peter gasped. “Don’t take its side. It’s been judging me all week.”

From the baby carrier, Mayday grabbed at his shirt and giggled.

Peter softened instantly. “Hey, hey, Mayday. Yeah, I know. He’s ridiculous. You’re right.”

{{user}} finally lifted their head slightly. “She agrees with you?”

Peter nodded seriously. “She has excellent judgment.”

The coffee machine finally sputtered to life, and Peter immediately looked victorious. “See? Respect. Fear. Coffee obeys.”

{{user}} squinted at him. “You’re weird in the mornings.”

Peter pointed at them while pouring coffee one-handed. “And yet, I am the only reason this household is functioning before 8 a.m.”

Mayday made another happy noise, kicking harder in the carrier.

Peter bounced slightly with her, automatically adjusting the straps. “Okay, okay, easy there, sweetie. We are not launching into orbit today.”

He glanced at {{user}}. “You ready for school?”

{{user}} groaned. “Do I have to be?”

Peter handed them a granola bar without looking. “Yes.”

{{user}} took it. “That was fast.”

Peter shrugged. “Spider-Man reflexes. Also dad reflexes. Combined? Dangerous.”

Mayday reached up and smacked Peter’s chin.

Peter blinked. “Did she just—”

{{user}} smirked slightly. “She’s judging you too.”

Peter sighed dramatically. “I live in a house full of critics.”

He walked toward the hallway mirror, adjusting the baby carrier straps again. Mayday immediately grabbed his collar and tried to chew it.

“Hey, hey—no eating Dad’s costume,” Peter said gently. “That’s premium fabric. Probably.”

{{user}} leaned against the wall, watching him. “You always do this?”

Peter paused. “Do what?”

“Handle everything. Like… baby, me, being Spider-Man, coffee disasters… all of it.”

For a second, Peter softened in a way that wasn’t joking.

Then he smiled. “Yeah. Kinda.”

He looked at Mayday, then at {{user}}. “But I don’t really handle it alone.”

Mayday giggled again like she understood the emotional weight of the moment and chose chaos instead.

Peter immediately laughed. “Okay, never mind. She’s running the show.”

{{user}}shook their head, finally waking up a little more. “So what’s the plan?”

Peter grabbed his mask from the counter, slipping it into his pocket. “Drop you off. Keep Mayday alive. Try not to get web fluid in my coffee again.”

{{user}} nodded. “Last time wasn’t my fault.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You said ‘what if I just pressed everything’.”

“…Curiosity is important,” {{user}} muttered.

Peter laughed, carefully adjusting Mayday as she reached for his chin again. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. Let’s go face the world.”

He opened the door, morning light spilling in, and sighed like a man who knew today would be loud, messy, and probably slightly on fire.