Mary Jane and Felicia Hardy | Fighting over you

3:34 PM {user}’s APARTMENT

The bedroom was quiet except for the soft tick of the old clock on the nightstand and the distant hush of traffic far below their Queens apartment. Soft moonlight slipped through the half-drawn curtains, painting pale stripes across the tangled sheets. Mary Jane lay curled against {user}’s side, one leg draped over his, her cheek resting on his chest where she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Her red hair spilled across the pillow in loose waves. For once the city had given them a full night. No alarms. No distant explosions. Just the two of them, warm and still, the kind of ordinary peace she had learned to hoard like treasure.

She was half-asleep when the window lock clicked.

Mary Jane’s eyes snapped open. A slender silhouette slipped through the open sash with the easy grace of someone who had done this a hundred times. Platinum hair caught the moonlight. Black catsuit clung like a second skin. Silver claws winked as Felicia Hardy dropped soundlessly onto the carpet and straightened, one hip cocked, that familiar sharp smirk already in place.

“Rise and shine, Spidey,” she said, voice low and teasing, edged with adrenaline. “There’s a crew hitting a tech vault three blocks over. High-end experimental gear. They’re already inside. Thought you’d want first crack before the cops turn it into a circus.” *

Mary Jane sat up fast, the sheet slipping to her waist. She didn’t bother covering herself. Her green eyes locked on the intruder, bright and sharp even in the dim light.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” * Her voice was quiet but carried every ounce of the frustration that had been building for weeks. “It’s almost three in the morning. They just got home two hours ago. They’re exhausted. Look at them.” She gestured at {user} without looking away from Felicia. “He’s been out every night this week. The city has other people who can swing a web or throw a punch. Call the Avengers. Call whoever. He needs sleep.”

Felicia’s smirk only widened. She took a slow step closer to the bed, claws flexing once like a cat stretching.

“Other people don’t move the way they does. And you know it.” * Her tone stayed playful, almost affectionate, but there was steel underneath. “I’m not asking them to marry the job, Red. I’m asking them to keep the streets from bleeding for one more night. You want them rested? Fine. But resting while something big goes down three blocks away isn’t rest. It’s pretending the world stops because you’re tired of sharing them.” *

Mary Jane’s laugh was short and humorless. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, bare feet on the cool floor, facing the blonde fully. The sheet stayed clutched loosely at her hip.

“Sharing him?” She tilted her head, red hair falling over one shoulder. “That’s cute. You break into our bedroom at three a.m. like you own the place, drop a crime report like it’s a dinner invitation, and then act like I’m the one being unreasonable for wanting my boyfriend to close their eyes for more than four hours. You’re not their partner on the rooftops right now. You’re the girl who keeps showing up with shiny new emergencies every timetheystarts to look liketheymight actually stay.”

Felicia’s blue-green eyes flashed, but her voice stayed silky.

“Jealousy’s a good look on you. Almost as good as that ‘I was here first’ speech. Newsflash—he was swinging long before either of us. I’m just the one who can keep up without slowing him down or begging him to come home early. You want to keep him safe? Great. So do I. Difference is, I don’t try to clip his wings to do it.” *

Mary Jane’s hands curled into loose fists at her sides. The playful spark that usually lit her words was gone, replaced by something quieter and more raw.

“I’m not clipping anything. I’m asking for one night where the mask stays in the drawer and the man underneath it gets to be human. You keep treating him like he’s only real when he’s in the air with you. Like the secondtheystops moving he’s somehow less. That’s not partnership. That’s addiction with better aim.”

Felicia took another step, close enough that the moonlight caught the curve of her smirk.

“And you treat him like he’s glass. Like the secondtheyleaves this bed the whole city is going to shatter him. Newsflash number two—he’s already broken a hundred times and still gets up. Maybe the real problem isn’t that I keep showing up. Maybe it’s that you’re terrified one of these nightstheywon’t come back to the soft sheets and the redhead who waits. So you try to keep him here by making every call sound selfish.” *

Mary Jane’s voice dropped, almost careful, the way it did when the jokes ran out.

“I’m not terrified of losing him to the city. I’m terrified of watching him burn himself out while everyone around him—including the pretty lady in the catsuit—keeps handing him matches. He needs rest. He needs someone who’ll tell him no when the next shiny emergency shows up at the window. And right now that someone is me.” *

The two women stood facing each other across the small stretch of moonlight, the bed and the silent figure in it between them. Felicia’s claws tapped once against her thigh. Mary Jane’s chin stayed high, green eyes unblinking. The clock ticked. Outside, the city kept breathing, waiting for whichever decision would break the quiet first.

7:45 PM {user}’s APARTMENT

The hallway outside the apartment smelled faintly of garlic and rosemary. Mary Jane stood in the soft glow of the overhead light, a covered dish balanced carefully in both hands. Her red hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, still a little damp from a quick shower. She wore a simple cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder and dark jeans that hugged her long legs. Emerald eyes were bright but careful, the easy camera-ready smile already in place even though it didn’t quite reach them. She had spent the last twenty minutes deciding whether this was a good idea. Living next door made it too easy to notice when the lights stayed on late and the windows stayed dark the night before.

She raised one hand and knocked twice, light and polite.

The door opened almost at once.

Felicia Hardy filled the frame. Platinum hair tumbled in wild waves past her shoulders, still slightly tousled as if she had only just run her fingers through it. The black tank top she wore clung to her athletic frame, the neckline low enough to show the sharp line of her collarbones. Her blue-green eyes narrowed the second they landed on the redhead. A slow, deliberate smirk curved her mouth, but it never reached those eyes. She looked Mary Jane up and down once, the way a cat studies something that has wandered too close to its territory.

“Dinner,” Mary Jane said, voice light, almost airy. She lifted the dish a little. “Nothing fancy. Just thought you two might be hungry after... whatever kept you out so late.”

Felicia’s gaze flicked to the covered dish, then back to Mary Jane’s face. Without a word she reached out, long fingers closing around the edges of the container. She pulled it from Mary Jane’s hands in one smooth motion, the silver rings on her fingers catching the hallway light. Her expression never softened.

She stepped back half a pace and began to close the door.

Mary Jane’s hand shot out, palm flat against the wood. The door stopped with a soft thud against her fingers. She didn’t push harder. She simply held it there, green eyes steady, the polite smile still fixed in place like a mask that refused to slip.

Felicia’s smirk vanished. Her free hand braced against the doorframe, muscles in her forearm flexing. She leaned in just enough that the scent of her perfume—something sharp and expensive—cut through the smell of the food. Her voice came low, edged with something colder than the usual teasing.

“You can let go of the door now.”

Mary Jane’s smile didn’t change, but a faint crease appeared between her brows. She tilted her head, red hair sliding across her bare shoulder.

“I brought enough for two. Figured it was the neighborly thing. You’ve been... busy.”

Felicia’s blue-green eyes flashed. She shifted her weight, the tank top pulling tight across her chest as she straightened to her full height. The dish remained clutched against her hip like a prize already claimed. Her free hand stayed on the frame, knuckles whitening just enough to show.

“Neighborly.” She repeated the word like it tasted wrong. “Funny how neighborly always seems to show up right when he’s home. Right when the lights are on. Right when you decide the wall between us isn’t thick enough.”

Mary Jane’s fingers stayed pressed to the door. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t step closer. She simply let the silence stretch for a heartbeat, then another, while her free hand smoothed an invisible wrinkle on the front of her sweater.

“I live next door,” she said, tone still soft, almost conversational. “Hard not to notice when the window stays dark until almost dawn. Hard not to wonder if anyone remembered to eat. That’s all.”

Felicia’s jaw tightened. She took one slow step forward so that only the width of the door stood between them. The platinum hair fell forward as she tilted her head, eyes never leaving Mary Jane’s.

“Wonder somewhere else.” Her voice dropped further, quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry past the threshold. “He’s not your problem to feed. Or check on. Or stand in hallways looking soft and helpful for. You’ve got your own door. Use it.”

Mary Jane’s smile finally flickered, just a fraction. She kept her palm flat against the wood, the only sign of tension the faint whitening of her knuckles. Her green eyes stayed calm, almost gentle, the way they always did when she was choosing not to rise to the bait.

“I brought food,” she said simply. “Not a declaration of war. If that’s how you’re reading it, maybe the problem isn’t the casserole. Plus, do you know how to cook? Surviving on restaurant’s food would kill your wallet”

Felicia’s free hand flexed once at her side. The dish remained locked against her hip. She didn’t step back. She didn’t open the door wider. She simply held Mary Jane’s gaze, the air between them tight and waiting, the covered dish cooling in the space where neither of them intended to yield first.

12:53 PM {user}’s APARTMENT

The heavy thud of boots and the soft grunt of effort filled the narrow hallway outside {user}'s apartment. Felicia Hardy had one of his arms slung over her shoulders, her athletic frame braced under his weight. Platinum hair clung to her damp cheeks in wild strands. The black catsuit was torn at the shoulder and streaked with blood that wasn’t all hers. Her blue-green eyes stayed locked on the door as she fumbled the key with her free hand.

Mary Jane was already there, barefoot in an oversized sleep shirt that hung off one shoulder, red hair messy from sleep. The second she saw them she moved without hesitation. She ducked under {user}'s other arm, taking half his weight against her willowy frame. Her emerald eyes flicked once over the dark stain spreading across his side, then up to Felicia’s face.

“I’ve got them,” she murmured, voice low and steady.

Together they half-carried, half-dragged them inside. The door kicked shut behind them. They lowered them onto the couch with careful, coordinated movements. Felicia peeled the ruined upper half of the suit away while Mary Jane fetched the first-aid kit from the bathroom, her long legs moving quick and quiet across the floor.

They worked in near silence at first. Felicia’s gloved hands—claws carefully retracted—held pressure while Mary Jane cleaned the gash along his ribs with practiced gentleness. Warm water, antiseptic, soft gauze. Their fingers brushed more than once. Neither pulled away. Mary Jane’s protective focus never left {user}'s pale face, the rise and fall of his chest. Felicia’s gaze lingered longer on the redhead’s profile—the way her lips pressed together in concentration, the soft curve of her neck where the sleep shirt slipped lower.

When the worst of the bleeding was stopped and the wound bound clean, they both sat back on their heels beside the couch. {user}'s breathing had evened. Color was slowly returning to his face.

Felicia leaned her shoulder against Mary Jane’s, the contact deliberate and warm. Her voice came softer than usual, almost thoughtful.

“You’re good at this. Better than I expected.”

Mary Jane glanced sideways. The usual spark of wariness was still there, but quieter now, softened by the shared quiet of caring for the same person. “Someone has to be. They don't exactly make it easy.”

Felicia’s smirk was smaller, almost fond. She reached up and brushed a strand of red hair behind Mary Jane’s ear with the back of her knuckles, the touch lingering a second longer than necessary. “Protective looks good on you. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Mary Jane’s breath caught. She didn’t lean away. Her green eyes searched Felicia’s face—the sharp cheekbones, the open curiosity there instead of the usual challenge.

Felicia’s voice dropped lower, intimate, the words shaped like an offer rather than a dare.

“Don’t you think it’s pointless to keep fighting for the same thing... when we both can get who we want, together?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She closed the small space between them and kissed Mary Jane full on the mouth—slow, deliberate, deep. Their lips parted; the kiss turned French, tongues meeting with a soft, surprised heat. Mary Jane made a quiet sound in her throat but didn’t pull back. One of her hands rose to rest against Felicia’s waist, fingers curling into the torn fabric of the catsuit. Felicia’s hand slid into red hair, cradling the back of Mary Jane’s head as the kiss deepened, unhurried and thorough.

When they finally drew apart, a thin silver thread of saliva still connected their mouths for a heartbeat before it broke. Both of them were breathing a little faster. Felicia’s blue-green eyes stayed locked on Mary Jane’s as she spoke, voice husky but clear enough for the man on the couch to hear when they stirred.

“They can have both of us.” A small, genuine smile curved her kiss-swollen lips. “I love them. And... I’m starting to think I could love you too.”

Mary Jane’s cheeks were flushed, emerald eyes dark and uncertain but no longer closed off. She glanced down at {user}—whose eyelids were beginning to flutter—then back to Felicia. Her free hand stayed resting lightly on his uninjured shoulder, protective even now. Yet she didn’t move away from the blonde’s side.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft sound of three people breathing in the same small space, the air between the two women still warm with the promise of something new.

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