Guuuuurrrrgle, grooooan.
Huff, puff, BBFhhUUOooAArp...
Mary Jane let out a strained belch, feeling her maternity sweatpants -- the only type of pants that fit her anymore -- slip lower on her belly as it rippled and wobbled. Her head was foggy, a heaviness over her mind that made sleep oh so tempting to fall into without a second thought.
Peter Parker, or more accurately Spider-Man, had many foes, many nemeses. The Green Goblin, Otto Octavious, Venom, Kingpin, the list could go on for hours without ever even touching the B-listers. So many enemies, so many chances that one of them could figure out his secret identity (while some already have long ago), and use that against him. Use that to hurt her to get to Peter.
Yet, somehow, Mary Jane found herself utterly helpless and immobilized without a single one of them acting. Found herself huffing and puffing, chest heaving with laborious breath after laborious breath in an exhausting effort to supply her lethargic brain with oxygen.
It wasn't a single one of Spider-Man's foes that put her in this position, though. As she palmed her stomach, feeling the pounds upon pounds of chewed-up food churning within, her assailant was all too clear to her...
Aunt May, and her damned Wheatcakes.
Br3ndan5
2025-04-30 16:36:23 +0000 UTCDiego Dunn-Humphrey
2025-04-30 16:23:26 +0000 UTC