The match

You climb into the ring ready for your match.

Rene bounces lightly on her feet, her sticky fingers flexing as she sizes you up with a playful grin.

"You sure you're ready for this, old-timer?" she teases, rolling her shoulders.

You smirk, cracking your knuckles. "Kid, I was wrestling before you could climb a jungle gym."

Without warning, she lunges—a blur of black and red—her palm striking toward your ribs. You pivot just in time, feeling the rush of air as her hand whiffs past.

Your forearm blocks her next strike with a sharp smack, the impact vibrating up to your elbow. Rene twists mid-air, using her sticky grip to pull herself along the mat’s edge before springing back toward you like a coiled spring. The rubber soles of her boots squeak as she feints left—then dives right, her leg sweeping low in a scissor kick.

You barely leap clear, landing in a crouch as she recovers faster than expected, already crouched like a predator. A bead of sweat rolls down your temple. Her grin widens. "C'mon, Peggy—thought you said you wouldn't hold back?"

Your muscles tense as you lunge forward, feinting a right hook before snapping a sharp left jab toward Rene’s ribs. She twists like liquid, your fist grazing her suit as she flips backward, sticking to the gym’s padded wall with a soft thud.

"Nice try," she taunts, crouched like a spider waiting to strike.

Before you can react, she pushes off the wall, launching herself feet-first toward your chest. You barely raise your arms in time—the impact knocks you back a step, your boots skidding against the mat. The **** sends a jolt through your shoulders, but you grin, gripping her ankle before she can rebound.

With a grunt, you pivot and yank Rene off the wall, swinging her in a tight arc before locking your arms around her torso in a crushing bearhug. The breath rushes from her lungs as your muscles tighten like steel cables, her ribs creaking under the pressure.

Her sticky fingers scramble against your back, finding no purchase as you lift her clear off the mat. "Ghk—Peggy—!" she wheezes, legs kicking uselessly.

You chuckle, squeezing just a fraction tighter. "What was that about holding back, spider-girl?"

"What's wrong, Spider-Girl? You used to love it when I bear-hugged you," you giggle, feeling her squirm in your arms like a caught fly. Her face flushes red—part embarrassment, part lack of oxygen—as her fingers weakly tap your bicep in surrender.

You loosen your grip just enough for her to gasp a breath, her chest heaving as she glares up at you through her mask’s wide lenses. "T-That was before you started squeezing me too hard," she wheezes, but there’s laughter in her voice.

Rene’s breath is still ragged from your crushing hold when suddenly—her masked face tilts up. Before you can react, warm lips press against yours, soft and insistent. The kiss catches you off guard, your grip faltering just long enough for her to twist free.

She springs back, landing in a crouch a few feet away, her gloved fingers splayed against the mat. A smug smirk plays at the corner of her mouth as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand. "Told you I wouldn’t hold back," she teases, her voice breathless but triumphant.

You blink, still tasting the faint sweetness of her lip balm. "Cheeky little spider,"