Peter Parker

The microwave clock blinked 8:52 p.m.

Felicia had agreed to meet him at nine sharp for the stakeout, and while Peter could usually make up time by web-slinging, showing up late to anything involving Black Cat was rarely a good idea. Who knew what kind of trouble she’d get herself into solo?

He grabbed the second shooter from the counter and turned toward the door.

And stopped.

MJ was standing in the entryway.

She leaned against the wall beside the coat rack, one bare foot crossed over the other. Warm evening light slipped through the small window above the door, glinting off the copper strands of her hair.

She was wearing his Spider-Man hoodie. Johnny had given it to him once as a joke gift.

Peter had to admit, it looked a lot better on MJ than it ever had on him.

The red and blue Spider-Man hoodie clung to her frame, the loose collar sliding just low enough to hint at skin beneath. The sleeves were a touch too long, the web-patterned cuffs bunching around her hands. Her hair spilled freely over her shoulders, the hood hanging down her back like she’d forgotten it was there.

Peter blinked.

“You’re going to be late,” MJ said, her voice low and sleepy.

Peter slowly lowered the web-shooter he’d been about to holster.

“I know.”

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“Stakeout?”

“Yeah.”

“With Felicia?”

Peter hesitated half a beat. “…Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

She pushed off the wall and stepped closer. The oversized hoodie stretched slightly as she moved, the fabric shifting in a way that made Peter suddenly forget several very important things, like the time.

MJ reached out and adjusted the front of his jacket, unbuttoning it to reveal the Spider-Man costume underneath.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he said.

“Well… I do. Maybe just a little.” She gave him a smirk, her eyes briefly dropping to his groin.

Peter shot one last look at the clock.

“You make me crazy.”

She leaned closer, her voice brushing his ear.

“I need to make sure my husband is satisfied when visiting his ex-girlfriend.”

The protest forming in Peter’s brain never quite made it to his mouth.

Instead, MJ turned and placed her hands against the wall beside the door, glancing back over her shoulder with a mischievous look Peter knew far too well.

“Please,” she whispered, and the word was a crack in the dam of his resolve. It wasn’t a gentle plea. It was raw, hungry. “I need it. Now. I need you to fuck me. Hard. Before you go. Please.”

That was it. All the persuasion that he needed. A guttural sound ripped from his throat. His hands were on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her in place. He fumbled with his belt, in the end he just tore it apart with his enhanced strength. He didn’t bother with finesse, didn’t tease. He was already painfully hard, the tip of his cock slick with pre-cum. He guided himself to her entrance, finding her already wet, already open and eager for him.

He drove into her in one deep, claiming stroke.

A sharp, choked cry tore from her lips, her back arching, her head falling forward against the wall. “Yes!” It was a hiss of pure relief. He didn’t pause, didn’t give her a moment to adjust. He set a brutal, punishing pace from the first thrust, each powerful surge burying him to the hilt inside her welcoming heat. The sound was obscene, the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of the wall under her palms, their ragged, mingled breaths.

This. This was what she’d wanted. What she’d begged for. Not love-making. Not even fucking, really. It was a taking. A claiming. A primal reset before NYC demanded him back. He gripped her hips harder, using them as leverage to piston into her, each impact driving a gasp from her lungs. He watched himself disappear into her, watched her body jolt with every invasion, the sight fueling his frenzy.

“Is this… is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his voice ragged.

Her answer was broken, pushed out between thrusts. “Yesss… god, yes… harder… don’t you stop… don’t you dare stop…”

He obliged. He fucked her like he was trying to brand himself inside her. The pleasure was a white-hot coil tightening in his gut, but it was secondary to the act, the dominance of it, the sheer visceral rightness of her bent over and begging for him as the clock ticked past nine.

Her cries climbed in pitch, becoming breathless little screams. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, milking him with tight, rhythmic clenches. He felt her inner muscles begin to flutter wildly around him, the telltale sign of her release. It tipped him over the edge.

With a final, deep roar, he slammed into her and held, his body locking as his orgasm erupted. Hot pulses of cum filled her, and he felt her shatter around him, her own climax triggering a series of violent convulsions that squeezed every last drop from him. She cried out, a long, shuddering wail that echoed in the entryway, her body trembling violently against his.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their harsh breathing. He was still buried inside her, softening, their bodies slick with sweat.

-

So yeah, that was the reason he was late.

As he swung through the night sky toward the docks, Peter figured that if nothing else, it was a reason Felicia would probably understand.

But when his spider-sense suddenly pinged, those thoughts vanished instantly.

Something was wrong.

Not just wrong, urgent. The sharp buzz at the base of his skull told him something had happened, something bad enough that Felicia must have triggered the tracer he’d given her.

Peter leaned forward in mid-swing, pushing himself harder as he cut through the night air toward the docks.

If Felicia was in trouble, stealth was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He spotted the warehouse and adjusted his trajectory.

Instead of slipping in quietly, Spider-Man came crashing through the roof window in a spray of shattered glass.

He landed in the center of the warehouse in a low crouch, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

Silence.

Peter blinked behind the mask.

Nobody moved.

As his eyes adjusted, he quickly took in the scene around him. Several goons were sprawled across the floor, all ****. Crates sat open nearby, revealing rows of expensive items that looked like they’d just been unloaded.

But there was no sign of a struggle.

No overturned equipment. No gunfire marks. No chaos.

Just bodies on the floor.

“Okay,” Peter muttered quietly. “That’s… weird.”

He focused on the faint signal still pinging from the tracer.

After a moment he pinpointed the direction.

Second level.

No signs of life up here either.

Just his tracer… and a set of claw marks carved into the floor.

That usually wasn’t a good sign.

Peter crouched down beside them, running his fingers lightly along the grooves. They were deep and deliberate.

He followed the marks across the floor, trying to figure out where Felicia might have been dragged.

Then they just… stopped.

No scuff marks. No broken boards. No trail leading anywhere.

Just empty space.

Peter slowly straightened, scanning the second level again. More open crates were stacked around the room, their contents already gone.

“Felicia?” he called out, raising his voice slightly. “If this is a prank, I’m already late enough that I’m legally allowed to be annoyed.”

No answer.

His gaze drifted across the floor again.

That’s when he noticed the lamp.

It sat by itself between two crates, old brass catching the dim warehouse light.

Peter approached cautiously. His spider-sense stayed quiet.

Still, he crouched beside it, turning it slightly in his hands as he examined it.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s probably not cursed at all.”

-

“Spider, what took you so long?”

Felicia’s voice came from behind him.

Peter froze.

His spider-sense hadn’t gone off, but he was certain she hadn’t been there a moment ago.

He turned quickly, ready for anything.

But there she was.

Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat, standing there like she owned the place, perfectly unharmed. White hair, black suit, smug expression. Party Hardy herself, looking completely fine.

The tension drained from Peter’s shoulders. Relief hit first, followed closely by confusion.

“What happened? Why…”

Felicia’s eyes slowly traveled up and down his body.

She cut him off.

“You had sex.”

Peter blinked.

She tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Really good sex,” she added. “Red seems to be treating you right.”

Peter opened his mouth.

“Yeah, but…” he stuttered slightly. “How did you know? Better yet, why is that important? What happened here, Felicia?”

Felicia smirked.

“Well, I’m glad it’s you who found me,” she said, folding her arms casually. “Because do I have a story for you.”

She tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“And as far as reasons for being late go…” she added with a playful shrug, “I’m more than happy to accept your current one.”