Chapter 1: Tangled Sheets and Vodka Breath
Chapter Text
Mary Jane Watson woke up with a taste of stale vodka on her tongue and a headache pounding like a drum against her skull. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the unfamiliar ceiling above her, modern, with sleek white lines and a chandelier hanging like frost above her. She reached out, desperately needing to grab something to ground herself, her palm brushing against soft warmth, the shape beneath her fingers too round, too firm.
Her eyes shot open as she realized what she was holding. A breast. She screamed.
Pain spiked through her head, the hangover reminding her who was in charge this morning, forcing her to wince as she curled back, her fingers flying away like she’d touched fire.
“Oh, easy there, tiger,” a soft, amused voice purred beside her.
Mary Jane turned her head, red hair tangling around her face, and watched as Felicia Hardy stretched languidly under the soft white sheets, her body arching like a cat as she extended her arms over her head, the blanket slipping down to reveal entirely too much of her very naked body. Her platinum hair fell across her shoulders, her silver eyes glinting with amusement as she looked at MJ, her smirk dangerous and warm all at once.
Felicia let out a sleepy, teasing sigh, “Well, good morning, gorgeous. I didn’t expect a groping as a wake-up call, but I won’t complain.”
MJ buried her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I—what even happened last night?”
Felicia’s laugh was light, the kind of laugh that made MJ’s heart twist and settle all at once. “Relax. You were at some dive bar in Brooklyn, drinking like it was your last night on earth. I was there, drinking because I was bored, and then you started ranting about everything and nothing, and somehow we ended up drinking together.”
MJ peeked through her fingers, face bright red, voice cracking, “Did we—did we have—”
Felicia’s smirk softened, her gaze gentle as she shook her head. “No, sweetheart. I would never. You were drunk, MJ. I don’t do drunk.”
MJ let out a sigh of relief that turned into a groan as her head pulsed again. She clutched the sheet to her chest, realizing with horror that she was naked too, the clothes she had worn yesterday nowhere in sight. “Then why am I—why are we both—”
Felicia sat up, hair spilling down her back, unbothered by her own nakedness, leaning back on her hands as she watched MJ’s discomfort with an amused glint in her eye. “You puked all over yourself and begged me not to take you home. So, I brought you back here. Then you demanded that if you had to sleep naked, I usually do, so it did not matter to me.”
MJ covered her face again, mumbling through her fingers, “I am so, so sorry.”
Felicia’s laugh was softer this time, warm. “Don’t be. It was kinda cute, actually. You made sure I wasn’t uncomfortable either, even if you were trashed.”
Silence settled in the room, broken only by the soft hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. MJ pulled the sheets tighter around her, suddenly aware of how comfortable Felicia was in her skin, how the soft lines of her body moved with a predator’s grace as she rose from the bed, stretching again, unapologetically bare.
MJ couldn’t help it; her eyes trailed over Felicia’s form, tracing the slope of her waist, the curve of her hips, the length of her thighs, the marks of living, tiny scars that decorated otherwise perfect skin. She caught herself staring and snapped her gaze away, cheeks burning so red they could ignite the sheets.
Felicia’s lips curved as she caught the glance, stepping closer, her presence a wave of warmth and danger all at once. “Careful, tiger. You keep looking at me like that, I might think you’re interested.”
MJ cleared her throat, pressing her palm against her forehead to steady the world as it tilted under the weight of last night’s decisions. “I’m just—”
Felicia tilted her head, smirk softening into something sincere as she settled on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, her hair brushing against MJ’s bare shoulder, her voice dropping low, “What happened, MJ? What made you drink like that?”
MJ’s breath caught in her throat, eyes dropping to her hands where they twisted the sheets. She swallowed hard, the memories of last night coming back in flashes of Peter’s face, of shouting, of tears, of the door slamming.
“Peter and I had a fight. A bad one,” MJ whispered, her voice thick. “I don’t even remember what it was about by the end, just that it hurt. Everything hurts.”
Felicia reached out, her fingers brushing against MJ’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. Her touch was gentle, steady. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, no teasing in her voice now, just warmth and an honesty that made MJ’s chest ache.
MJ took a deep, shaking breath. “Can I—can I get some clothes, please?”
Felicia raised an eyebrow, standing slowly, deliberately, her posture one of a woman who knew exactly how she looked and was entirely at peace with it. “Are you sure? You were so determined about the naked rule last night.”
“Felicia.”
“Alright, alright.” Felicia laughed, stepping over to the dresser, pulling open a drawer, and tossing a black silk robe toward MJ. “Here. It’ll look good on you.”
MJ slipped it on with shaking hands, grateful for the soft fabric against her skin, for the way it covered her enough to feel human again. She tried not to look as Felicia moved around the room, still gloriously, effortlessly naked, her hair falling like liquid silver down her back as she made her way to the kitchen.
“You know,” Felicia called out as she reached for a coffee cup, glancing back with a teasing grin, “if you ever want to get over Peter, I can offer you something better. The world, pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, nights you won’t forget.”
MJ’s heart stuttered, her eyes locking onto Felicia’s as she stood there, the morning sun breaking over the city, casting Felicia in light that made her look like something out of a dream. She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked down at the floor, her voice soft as she whispered,
“I’ll think about it.”
Felicia’s smile was slow, dangerous, and beautiful. “That’s all I ask, tiger.”
And in that quiet moment, the city waking around them, the hurt still fresh in her chest, Mary Jane realized that she might just mean it.
Chapter 2: Morning, Sunshine
Summary:
Jokes over Coffee are the best way to cure a hangover.
Chapter Text
Felicia Hardy did not liked mornings. But she liked even more the sight of Mary Jane Watson in her robe, padding barefoot across her penthouse floor, cheeks flushed from sleep, alcohol and embarrassment, red hair a wild halo that made her look like a painting come to life.
Felicia sipped her coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter, studying MJ with a predator’s calm. Her own body was draped in a loose black silk robe, tied just enough to maintain the illusion of modesty, but not enough to hide the elegant lines of her collarbones or the smooth shape of her legs when she moved.
“You’re staring,” MJ mumbled, glancing away, clutching her mug as if it might anchor her from the weight of Felicia’s gaze.
Felicia smiled, slow and unhurried. “Can you blame me, tiger?”
Mary Jane’s blush deepened, and she tried to glare, but it fell apart under Felicia’s warm, amused eyes. “Don’t call me that,” MJ said weakly, attempting a playful scowl.
Felicia arched a brow, stepping closer, her bare feet silent against the marble. “Oh? And what should I call you, then?”
MJ looked at her, swallowed, then tried, “I don’t know, but maybe I start calling you names, K-Kitty?”
The silence that followed was short before Felicia’s laugh bubbled up, warm and genuine, echoing through the kitchen like sunlight. “Kitty?” she repeated, pressing a hand to her mouth as she tried to catch her breath, her silver eyes glinting with laughter.
MJ covered her face with one hand. “I don’t know why I said that. Oh god.”
Felicia stepped forward, gently pulling MJ’s hand away from her face. “No, no, I love it,” she said between soft chuckles, “but you, calling me Kitty? You’re adorable.”
Mary Jane looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Shut up.”
Felicia smiled, leaning in, her voice soft, teasing, “Make me.”
MJ looked up sharply, her eyes wide, lips parted. Felicia saw the flicker of something in those green eyes, something vulnerable and wanting before MJ’s gaze dropped again, shaking her head. Felicia stepped back, giving her space, not pushing further. She would not overstep. She would never be that woman.
They settled into a quiet, soft breakfast at the counter, Felicia preparing eggs and toast with practiced ease, sliding a plate in front of MJ, who poked at it before taking small, grateful bites. The coffee was strong, and the silence was gentle.
It was MJ who broke it, her voice soft, almost lost in the hum of the city below. “It’s my modelling, you know.”
Felicia glanced up, pausing mid-bite. “What about it?”
MJ took a shuddering breath. “It brought tension into the Parker household. Peter… he always supported me, but his friend Harry said something to him. That he suspects I’m cheating.”
Felicia’s brow furrowed, but she stayed quiet, letting MJ continue. MJ’s fingers tightened around her mug. “I never have. I would never. I love him. But it’s like… like he started looking at me different, questioning late shoots, even when I’m exhausted, I come home to him but he looks at me like I’m already gone.”
Her voice cracked, tears shining in her eyes as she looked up, pleading. “Please, Felicia, you have to believe me. I’ve never cheated.”
Felicia set her fork down, leaning forward, her eyes soft, voice gentle. “I believe you, tiger.”
MJ let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, shoulders trembling slightly. Felicia’s gaze softened further, though her smirk made a brief return as she added, “Besides, if you were the cheating type, your wandering fingers last night would have been the perfect excuse.”
MJ’s jaw dropped, face turning red as she buried her face in her hands again. “I didn’t— I wasn’t—”
Felicia laughed, a low, musical sound. “Relax, MJ. You were drunk, and I told you, I don’t do drunk. Even if you are adorable when you’re demanding naked rules and grabbing for a little comfort.”
MJ peeked through her fingers, glaring half-heartedly, but there was a small, grateful smile behind her embarrassment. Felicia reached out, brushing a stray tear from MJ’s cheek, letting her thumb linger just long enough to offer warmth, not pressure.
“And I know Peter,” Felicia said, leaning back. “We dated for a while, remember? He’s a good man, but he’s also jealous. Insecure, even if he doesn’t admit it. Sometimes it’s like he’s waiting for the world to fall apart under him.”
MJ looked up, eyes glinting with understanding and a soft ache. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Felicia nodded, sipping her coffee. “Doesn’t mean you deserve to feel like you’re constantly being measured for sins you haven’t committed, MJ.”
Silence again, but it wasn’t heavy. It was a pause, letting MJ’s shoulders settle, letting her breathe. The city continued outside, but here, it was quiet, safe.
After a while, MJ cleared her throat, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Do you have something I could wear? I’ll return it, I promise.”
Felicia raised an eyebrow, a slow, feline smile spreading across her lips. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You can return it over dinner next week.”
MJ’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed bright pink again. “Felicia…”
Felicia tilted her head, “What? I’m offering you a chance to feed me and give me my clothes back. Entirely fair, tiger.”
MJ opened her mouth, closed it, then let out a small, helpless laugh, shaking her head. “Fine. Dinner next week.”
Felicia’s grin was triumphant, but she kept it soft as she stood, walking to her bedroom. She rummaged through her drawers before pulling out a pair of black jeans and a loose white blouse, carrying them back to MJ. She handed them over, smirking, “They might be a bit tight on you. I’m smaller than you, tiger.”
MJ rolled her eyes, standing to take the clothes. “Thanks.”
Felicia watched, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, as MJ disappeared into the bathroom to change. When MJ reemerged, the blouse was loose enough to be decent, but the jeans were snug, hugging the curves of MJ’s hips and thighs in a way that made Felicia’s mouth go dry for just a moment.
“Stop looking,” MJ mumbled, grabbing her shoes, her hair falling forward to hide her face.
“Can’t help it,” Felicia said softly, her smirk tempered by the softness in her eyes.
MJ walked to the door, pausing to look back, their eyes meeting, a quiet tension humming in the space between them. “Thank you. For last night. For not taking advantage. For breakfast. For believing me.”
Felicia’s smile was slow, warm, “Anytime, tiger.”
MJ nodded, pushing the door open, stepping out into the hall. Felicia’s eyes dropped, entirely involuntarily, catching the way her jeans hugged MJ’s ass, just a bit too tight, and Felicia bit her lip, unable to look away.
“Nice view, great dumptruck of an Ass.” Felicia called after her, laughter dancing in her voice.
MJ froze, turning back with a scandalized look, eyes wide, lips parting before she let out a helpless laugh, shaking her head, red hair bouncing around her shoulders. She didn’t deny it, didn’t scold her, just smiled, rolling her eyes, before she turned again and walked away, leaving Felicia in the doorway, leaning against the frame, her heart beating just a bit faster.
Felicia watched her until the elevator doors closed, taking Mary Jane away for now. The city was alive again, and the chaos of the day was waiting. But Felicia let herself linger in that doorway a little longer, smiling to herself, already planning dinner for next week.
For the first time in a while, Felicia Hardy looked forward to what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter 3: Breaking point
Chapter Text
Her head was pounding by the time she stepped out of Felicia’s building, the hum of the city like a chorus of hammers against her skull. She wrapped her arms around herself, Felicia’s borrowed white blouse fluttering in the warm breeze, the snug jeans hugging her hips too tightly to let her forget where they came from. Every step was a reminder, every brush of denim against her skin a whisper of Felicia’s smirk, of the low laughter that still curled around her memory like warm smoke.
She tried to piece the night together as she walked, avoiding cracks in the pavement, the city’s shadows clinging to her shoes. She remembered the bar, the bitter taste of cheap vodka, the bright neon lights reflecting off her glass, Felicia’s silhouette sliding onto the stool beside her like a promise. She remembered the easy way Felicia had laughed, how she’d made the world tilt in a way that wasn’t terrifying but soft, fun, almost freeing.
She remembered demanding that Felicia sleep naked too, god, what a mess, the mortifying memory making her bury her face in her hands for a moment before she kept walking. She remembered Felicia’s voice, low and teasing, but also the way she had backed away, giving her space, not taking advantage when she so easily could have.
Felicia had been warm, had been kind, had been... uncomplicated in a way that made MJ’s chest ache.
She thought of Felicia’s smile, the way her silver eyes softened when she looked at her, the way she called her ‘tiger’ without venom, without expectation, only with a quiet admiration that felt like sunlight. She thought of how Felicia believed her, just like that, no interrogation, no cold silences, just belief. It was something MJ hadn’t realised she had been starving for until it was given so freely.
The apartment loomed ahead, bricks warm with early afternoon light, the stairs familiar under her feet. She hesitated before unlocking the door, taking one last breath, wishing for the warmth of Felicia’s penthouse, the safety in that quiet morning, before she stepped inside.
Peter was waiting. He was sitting on the couch, still in the jeans and old Midtown t-shirt from last night, his hair a mess, his eyes dark with exhaustion and something sharper, something that cut into her the moment she saw it.
“Where have you been?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was heavy, heavy enough to weigh down the room, to make her headache spike.
“I— I stayed at Felicia’s.”
His jaw tightened. “Felicia Hardy? Are you serious, MJ?”
“I was drunk, she made sure I got somewhere safe,” she tried, dropping her bag by the door, rubbing her temple. “Please, Peter, not now. I have the worst headache.”
“Oh, you have a headache?” Peter stood, hands clenched at his sides. “You disappear all night, you don’t answer your phone, you come back wearing someone else’s clothes, and you have a headache?”
Her eyes burned. “Peter, nothing happened. I didn’t cheat on you.”
“How do I know that?” His voice cracked, pain and anger twisting together. “Harry said you’ve been flirting with photographers, that you’re out late after shoots, that you’re—”
“Harry?” She let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “You’re listening to Harry now? Peter, I come home to you every night, I’ve done nothing but try to keep this together, and you’re going to stand there and accuse me because of something Harry Osborn says?”
His eyes were desperate, searching hers for something, maybe for a confession, maybe for reassurance she was too tired to give. “I’m just trying to understand, MJ. I’m trying to make sense of why you’re never here, why you’re—”
“—why I’m working? Why I’m trying to have a life outside of this apartment?” Her voice rose, her headache flaring, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I am done being accused, Peter. Either you trust me, or you don’t, but I’m not going to keep living like this.”
He stared at her, breathing hard, and for a moment, the anger left his face, replaced by something raw, something like fear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping forward, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry, MJ, I just— I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”
She let herself sink into the embrace, let herself feel the warmth of him, the familiarity, the years of memories pressed into the shape of his body against hers. She closed her eyes, let herself believe, for a moment, that this could be enough, that his apology would last longer than the day. Then she felt his hand tug at the fabric of Felicia’s blouse.
“These aren’t your clothes.” His voice was cold again, suspicion threading back in, tightening around her ribs.
She pulled back, looking up at him, her heart sinking. “Peter, don’t.”
“Were you with her? Did you—”
“I told you nothing happened!” Her voice cracked, frustration bubbling over, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m done, Peter! I’m done with this. I’m done with you making me feel like I’m guilty for something I didn’t do.”
He reached for her again, but she stepped back, shaking her head, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Don’t.”
She turned, storming down the hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind her, the sound ringing through the small apartment like a gunshot. Her breath came in sharp, painful pulls, her chest tight, her headache a drumbeat behind her eyes.
She ripped open the bathroom cabinet, grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen, shaking two pills into her palm with trembling fingers, swallowing them dry before she stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand.
The water rushed over her, steam filling the small space, and Mary Jane pressed her forehead against the cool tile, letting the tears come as the heat washed over her, her sobs lost in the rush of water, her hair plastered against her shoulders.
She thought of Felicia’s soft voice, the easy laughter, the way she had believed her without question. She thought of the promise of dinner next week, of the way Felicia had looked at her like she was something worth seeing. She thought of how tired she was of fighting to be trusted by the man she loved.
And as the water poured over her, Mary Jane let herself cry, letting the tears fall where no one else could see, the ache in her chest echoing louder than the pounding in her head.
Chapter 4: Dinner
Summary:
Just returning clothes, nothing more.
Chapter Text
Felicia had cooked, which was something she did so rarely that even she found herself pacing the length of her penthouse kitchen, checking the oven timer with more anxiety than when she used to sneak out of her house to roam the streets as a teen. The black dress she wore was silk and low-cut, and it was too much for a not-date, and yet, it felt perfectly correct as she set the table for two with quiet, precise movements. The soft overhead lights pooled over the polished wood, reflecting off the wine glasses she had set out, the cutlery aligned in military precision beside white plates that waited for the roast chicken and roasted vegetables she had pulled from the oven.
She knew Mary Jane would like this. She remembered her saying once, drunk and flushed at a gallery opening, that she missed home-cooked meals, the kind that smelled like warmth and comfort, the kind that made her feel safe. Felicia had remembered. She always remembered the things that mattered.
When the knock came, soft and hesitant, Felicia’s heart twisted painfully in her chest before she unlocked the door. Mary Jane stood there, hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes rimmed red, wearing jeans and a pale sweater that made her look smaller, softer, and so breakable that Felicia felt the urge to pull her into her arms and never let go.
“Hey, tiger.” Felicia smiled, stepping aside. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Mary Jane blinked, swallowing, before giving a small, tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Starving.”
They ate at the wide table overlooking the city, the glow of Manhattan rising around them like stars caught in glass and concrete. Felicia watched Mary Jane eat, small careful bites, her eyes drifting to the window as if she was afraid to be seen, afraid to let herself relax. They talked about everything and nothing. Felicia told a ridiculous story about a date in Milan, how an ex-girlfriend of hers, had accidentally tripped them both into a fountain by tripping over her own shoelaces. “I told her she shouldn’t have worn heels, but you know, style before practicality,” Felicia said, swirling her wine, her laughter sharp and rich, pulling a soft, wet giggle from Mary Jane’s lips.
“Oh god, you would date someone like that,” Mary Jane managed between laughter, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.
“Hey, I like them messy, what can I say?” Felicia winked, pleased with the color that came to Mary Jane’s cheeks. There were moments of silence between stories, moments when the laughter fell away and left them in a soft, heavy quiet. The clink of cutlery, the hum of the city, the soft hiss of the dishwasher in the background. Felicia let it happen, let the quiet settle, her eyes on Mary Jane’s face, watching the way she traced circles on the stem of her wine glass.
“I’ve been thinking about getting a dog,” Mary Jane said softly, eyes still down.
Felicia raised an eyebrow. “A dog?”
“Yeah,” Mary Jane said, her voice a little stronger, “like, something small, but not too small. Maybe a rescue. I don’t know, I think it would help, you know? Having something that needs me, something that’s happy to see me.”
Felicia’s heart twisted again, but she kept her tone light. “I can work with that. Though I should warn you, I’m a cat person.”
Mary Jane’s laughter was soft, but it was real, and for a moment Felicia saw the bright, fearless woman she remembered, the one who could light up a room, the one who didn’t have to force her smiles. The silence came back, heavier this time, as Mary Jane picked at the last pieces of roasted carrot on her plate. Felicia let it stretch before she asked, gently, “What did he say when you came down the other day?”
Mary Jane’s shoulders stiffened, her fingers tightening around the fork before she set it down with careful precision. She took a breath. “I gave him an ultimatum.”
Felicia nodded slowly, her throat tight. “Did it help? Did it get better?”
Mary Jane didn’t answer. Her eyes went glassy, and her lips trembled before she pressed them together. Her silence was louder than any words could have been. Felicia reached across the table, laying her hand over Mary Jane’s, warm and steady. “Is this making you happy, tiger?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it felt like it cut through the air. “Are you truly happy?”
Mary Jane’s breath came out in a shudder, tears spilling over her lashes, dropping onto the table like small glass beads. She shook her head, her shoulders shaking, before she managed to choke out, “No.”
The word hung there, heavy, final, and Felicia felt it settle deep in her chest. She squeezed Mary Jane’s hand, letting her cry, letting her shoulders shake, letting her tears fall in the quiet safety of the moment. Mary Jane wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to gather herself, her hair falling forward to shield her face. “I’m so tired, Felicia,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so tired of feeling like I’m not enough, of being told what I should look like, what I should say, how I should smile. I’m so tired of coming home to someone who doesn’t trust me, who doesn’t see me.”
Felicia’s chest ached. She stood slowly, moving around the table, pulling Mary Jane up from her chair and into her arms. Mary Jane buried her face against Felicia’s shoulder, sobbing, her hands clutching at the fabric of Felicia’s dress, leaving damp patches where her tears soaked in. They stood like that for a long time, the city outside continuing its restless glow, the world moving on without them as they stood still, locked in a small, warm bubble of heartbreak and quiet understanding.
Felicia pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a strand of red hair behind Mary Jane’s ear. “Go with your heart,” she said softly, her eyes searching Mary Jane’s, seeing every crack, every tremor, every hope and fear that lived there.
Mary Jane’s breath hitched, and for a moment, their faces were close, so close that Felicia could see the freckles on her cheeks, the small scar on her jaw, the way her lashes clung together with tears. Their lips hovered, a breath apart, and the world held still, suspended on the edge of something.
Felicia’s eyes closed, and she let out a breath, stepping back, breaking the moment before it could become something it shouldn’t. “I won’t be a homewrecker, MJ,” she said quietly, but firmly. “You need to think about what you want. About what you deserve.”
Mary Jane’s eyes were wet and shining, her lips parted as she took in the words, as she tried to find something to say. She swallowed, blinking rapidly, her hands trembling before she wiped her face again.
“I will,” she whispered. “I just... I need time.”
Felicia nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Mary Jane’s forehead, letting her hands slide down to squeeze her arms gently. “Take all the time you need, tiger. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mary Jane let out a small, shaky laugh, a tear-streaked smile breaking across her face as she looked up at Felicia, a flicker of warmth, of something alive sparking in her eyes. “I’ll come back,” she said, voice soft but certain, a promise wrapped in hope and fear.
Felicia smiled, brushing her thumb across Mary Jane’s cheek, letting herself feel the warmth, the softness of the moment before she let her go. “I’ll be here.”
They stood in the kitchen, the plates forgotten on the table, the city lights reflecting in the glass behind them, the world continuing to move as they stood still, two women caught in a quiet moment of almost, of maybe, of not yet. And for now, that was enough.
Chapter 5: Robes and Tissues
Summary:
The break-up
Chapter Text
Felicia Hardy was not used to being needed at 3:14 a.m.
The knocking woke her first. Sharp and unrelenting. She jolted upright, tangled in silk sheets, heart pounding, instinct sharpened by years of rooftops and trouble. The city outside was quiet, muted in the way only pre-dawn could be — all the predators asleep, all the prey pretending they weren’t.
The knocking didn’t stop.
She slid out of bed barefoot, body tense, grabbing her robe from the end of the bed and knotting it tight around her waist as she padded toward the door. Her penthouse was dark, save for the soft ambient light from the skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She didn’t need to check the peephole. She already knew. She opened the door.
Mary Jane Watson stood there, tear-streaked and shaking, with three large bags slung over her shoulders — a duffel, a tote, and her purse — each hanging off her like dead weight. Her eyes were red. Her lip trembled.
“Can I—” she began, voice wrecked. “Felicia, can I stay here?”
Felicia didn't speak. She just stepped aside. MJ stumbled in, one bag slipping from her shoulder and hitting the floor with a thud. She dropped the others with a soft groan, then turned around, trying and failing to compose herself.
“I left him,” she said, voice breaking. “I left Peter. I quit my job. I just—I just walked out and didn’t think beyond that. I don’t know where else to go.”
Felicia didn’t ask questions. She pulled her into a hug
.
It was clumsy — MJ was shaking and Felicia’s robe was still half open and her heart was pounding from adrenaline and something she didn’t dare name. But she wrapped her arms around MJ’s trembling shoulders and held her like she meant it.
MJ clung to her like she’d fall apart if she let go.
“I’ve got a guest room,” Felicia whispered into her hair. “It’s all yours. You can stay as long as you need. You’re safe here, MJ. I promise.”
MJ didn’t say anything, just nodded against her shoulder. Her breath came in hiccups, uneven. Felicia felt the heat of tears soaking through the silk at her collarbone.
“Come on,” she said softly, brushing MJ’s hair back from her face. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
The guest room wasn’t much by penthouse standards — still sleek, still beautiful, still smelling faintly of lavender from the last time Felicia aired it out. But it was untouched. Pristine.
MJ stood in the doorway, looking like a ghost.
Felicia flicked on the light and motioned her in. “Fresh sheets, blackout curtains, view of the river. You’ll hate how quiet it is at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
MJ nodded again, clutching the strap of her purse like it was the last solid thing she had.
“Shower’s through here,” Felicia continued gently, leading her to the en suite. “Take your time. I’ll bring you tea. You want anything else?”
MJ blinked at her, shell-shocked. “No. Just… tea.”
Felicia nodded and turned to go, but paused at the doorway. “Leave your clothes outside the door. I’ll throw ‘em in the laundry.”
That got the faintest twitch of a smile. MJ whispered, “Thanks, Kitty.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “Don’t get cute with me when you’re crying, Watson.”
By the time Felicia returned with a steaming mug and a folded pair of borrowed pajamas, MJ was out of the shower, hair damp and clinging to her face. She had wrapped herself in one of Felicia’s impossibly fluffy bathrobes and looked like she might collapse under the weight of her own grief.
Felicia handed her the tea without comment and watched her sip it slowly, cradling it in both hands like it was sacred.
They sat on the edge of the bed in silence. The clock read 3:56 a.m. Felicia broke the quiet first. “You want to tell me what happened?”
MJ didn’t look at her. “After dinner I came home, he started suspicious already. There wasn’t some huge fight. That’s the worst part. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even cruel.”
“Just… quiet?” Felicia offered.
MJ nodded. “Too quiet. The realisation of what happened during our dinner hit hard. For weeks stopped talking. Stopped laughing. I’d come home from a shoot and he’d just look at me like I was a stranger. I told him I couldn’t keep trying to prove I wasn’t cheating just because I have to wear heels and lingerie for work.”
Her voice cracked, and she set the mug down, hands shaking. And Felicia did her best not to think of Mary Jane in lingerie.
“I gave him an ultimatum, I told you that” she whispered. “I told him again, he either trusted me or we were done. He didn’t say anything. It said enough.”
Felicia inhaled slowly. “So you packed.”
“I packed,” MJ echoed, "I told him I'm not happy, he's not happy, I told him we need time apart, a break from everything... permanently."
“And the job?”
MJ let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I told my agent I was tired of being told to smile more and eat less. I told the photographer he could objectify his own damn reflection. And then I hung up.”
Felicia didn’t hide the way her lips curled at that. “God, I wish I had seen that.”
“Felt good for like five seconds,” MJ admitted. “Then I realized I had nowhere to go.”
“You came here.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Felicia shrugged one shoulder. “I’m glad you did.”
They sat like that for another long minute. Then Felicia reached out, gently brushing a piece of MJ’s damp hair behind her ear.
“What do you want to do now?”
MJ blinked at her, tired and lost. “I don’t know.”
Felicia tilted her head. “Like… in life. Not tonight. What do you want?”
“I never thought about it,” MJ said, voice hoarse. “I figured I’d model until I got married. Until I had kids. That was the plan. That’s what people like me do.”
Felicia made a face. “Boring.”
MJ startled a laugh. A wet, hiccupy thing that crumpled into more tears halfway through. She covered her face with one hand. “God, I’m a mess.”
Felicia smiled softly. “Nah. You’re just finally honest.”
MJ looked at her, eyes raw. “I don’t know what I want. I just know this isn’t it.”
“That’s a start.”
Another silence. Felicia stood and retrieved a box of tissues, setting them in MJ’s lap.
“You ever consider crime?” she asked, deadpan.
MJ snorted. “Not unless you’re offering to be my getaway driver.”
“Oh, I don’t drive,” Felicia said breezily. “I have people to do it for me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Felicia’s smile softened into something tender. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. You don’t even have to figure it out tomorrow. Just stay. Breathe. Sleep in. I’ll make us something disgustingly carb-loaded in the morning.”
MJ nodded. “Can I really stay here?”
“For as long as you need,” Felicia said. “I even put fresh sheets on the bed. Who says I’m not domestic? I could get used to this, you as my tradwife.”
“I’m will not be your wife, Fe ,” MJ muttered, eyes fluttering closed.
Felicia let out a low laugh. “Didn’t ask you to... yet. Though the robe looks better on you, keep it.”
MJ smiled. Sleep pulled at her features, but she didn’t lie down just yet. “Thanks, Felicia.”
Felicia stepped to the door, hand on the light switch. “Anytime, tiger.”
MJ's voice caught her just before she left. “Do you think I made a mistake?”
Felicia turned back. Her voice was soft. “No. I think you got honest with yourself. That’s never a mistake.”
MJ nodded. Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Then why does it hurt this much?”
Felicia walked back to the bed, crouched, and brushed MJ’s knuckles with her own. “Because you loved him. And because you thought loving him would be enough.”
MJ didn’t speak again. She slid under the covers, curled toward the pillow, and let Felicia turn off the light.
Felicia paused in the doorway, watching the redhead’s breathing slow, the city glowing behind her in fractured reflections across the window glass. She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. But for tonight, MJ was safe. And that was enough.