Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gwen hated late nights in the lab.

Well—scratch that. She hated late nights in the lab alone.

The silence used to be soothing—just her, the soft whirr of hard drives, and whatever half-busted Oscorp leftovers she was Frankensteining back to life. But lately?

Lately, the silence felt like an omen.

She glanced at the clock. 1:14 AM.

Too late for her brain to still be this wired. Too early for this level of paranoia.

The blueprints hovered on the holographic display before her, half-finished code flickering beside them. She ran a hand through her hair, exhaled, and tried to focus—

Click.

She froze.

Not the air vent.

Not the window.

Boots. On tile.

Again.

She didn’t turn right away. Just leaned forward, calmly tapped a button on her console. Behind her, the silent alarm tripped with a satisfying ping.

And if her favorite local cat burglar was feeling especially smug tonight?

She was about to get caught. Finally.

“Y’know,” Gwen said, keeping her voice casual as she straightened up and reached for her stun baton, “for a master thief, you’re surprisingly predictable.”

A soft laugh came from the shadows.

Low. Amused. Dangerous.

“I prefer ‘charming,’” the voice purred.

Gwen turned.

There she was—Felicia Hardy, in all her leather-clad, silver-haired, smug-as-hell glory. One hip cocked, one hand twirling a USB drive on her finger like a prize.

“Oh come on,” Gwen groaned. “You haven’t even looked at the new security system yet.”

Felicia smirked, stepping forward. “Didn’t have to. I knew you’d be here. Figured I’d get to flirt and steal something.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “And if I decide to tase you this time?”

Felicia’s smile widened. “Then I’ll moan loud enough to make the janitor blush.”

Gwen’s jaw tightened. “You are exhausting.”

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not—!” Gwen started, then stopped.

Felicia didn’t run. She never ran.

She strolled inside the lab like she owned the place—boots clicking against the tile, the sharp sound slicing through Gwen’s tension like a scalpel.

“What exactly is your endgame here?” Gwen asked, arms crossed tight over her chest. “You want to flirt your way out of grand larceny?”

Felicia tilted her head. “Only if it’s working.”

“It’s not.”

“Really?” Felicia’s eyes dragged over her with maddening slowness. “Because your heart’s beating faster. I can hear it.”

Gwen clenched her jaw. “That’s adrenaline. I’m about to tase you.”

“Do it,” Felicia purred. “Might make me fall for you faster.”

Gwen blinked. Once.

And that was enough for Felicia to close the distance between them with feline grace, her presence all perfume and heat and ridiculous confidence.

She leaned in, not touching—yet—but close enough that Gwen could smell the hint of peppermint lip balm and danger.

“You’ve been working late a lot,” Felicia murmured. “No one else in the lab. No one to impress. Just you and your prototypes.”

“Some of us have jobs.”

“And some of us prefer a more… fluid definition of employment.” She smiled, teeth white and wicked. “Besides. I thought you liked seeing me.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “What gave you that idea?”

Felicia shrugged, utterly unbothered. “You’ve never turned me in. Never even tried.”

“I’ve hit the alarm every single time.”

“And somehow,” Felicia stepped even closer, her hand brushing the table beside Gwen’s hip, “I keep getting away.”

"I've been lulling you into a false sense of security," Gwen muttered. But it didn't quite have the bite she intended.

Gwen could feel the heat radiating off Felicia. Her every nerve was on fire, her grip still tight on the baton at her side—though, honestly, she wasn’t sure what for anymore.

Felicia was toying with her. She knew it. Felicia knew she knew it.

And still, Gwen couldn’t look away.

“You don’t want to catch me,” Felicia said softly, lashes fluttering.

Gwen swallowed hard. “You sure about that?”

Felicia blinked—slow. “No.”

And that was her mistake.

That half-second of uncertainty.

That flicker of vulnerability beneath the seduction.

Gwen pounced.

She didn’t think. Didn’t plan. She just moved—twisting Felicia’s wrist, slamming her back against the worktable in one smooth, fluid motion. The USB clattered to the ground.

Felicia let out a surprised laugh that morphed into a low, breathless sound. “Well, well.”

Gwen pressed her arm across Felicia’s chest, pinning her there. “You're under arrest. Or at least—very inconveniently detained.”

Felicia’s lips curled. “So this is how it feels when you stop playing hard to get.”

“I’m not—” Gwen’s voice broke. “This isn’t a game.”

Felicia’s gaze softened, just slightly. “It never was. But it’s been fun pretending.”

They stood there for a long, suspended second.

Gwen’s breath ragged. Felicia’s pupils blown wide. Both of them barely breathing.

Then, voice low and smug, Felicia murmured: “So what happens now, Officer?”

Gwen’s chest heaved.

Felicia lay pinned against the lab table, wrists caught now—one still lightly restrained, the other hanging loose, her mouth curved in a smile that should have pissed Gwen off. Instead, it sent a lightning bolt straight between her legs.

“This where you book me?” Felicia asked, her voice low, sultry, way too calm for someone pinned against industrial-grade steel. “Or maybe you frisk me first?”

Gwen swallowed. Hard.

“I should call this in.”

Felicia tilted her head. “But you won’t.”

A beat.

“No,” Gwen whispered. “I won’t.”

Her grip loosened. Felicia stood up and turned, into Gwen's space. Stared at her as she licked her lips—slow and deliberate.

“I always wondered,” she murmured, “how long it’d take before you snapped and did something about it.”

“About what?” Gwen snapped, more breath than bite.

Felicia leaned forward, their lips almost touching now. “About the fact that you think about me. At night. When you’re alone. Probably in this very lab.”

Gwen felt heat flare across her face. Neck. Core.

Felicia grinned wider. “You gonna keep pretending you’re in charge, sweetheart? Or are you gonna let me show you how good I can—”

Gwen kissed her.

Hard.

Felicia’s smirk shattered into a moan. Gwen’s hands tangled in her hair, dragging her closer, pressing their bodies together. Felicia responded like she’d been waiting for it for months—wrapping one leg around Gwen’s waist, grinding into her with maddening, sinful precision.

Then Gwen pushed her back. “You think this is a game,” Gwen growled, fists clenched at her sides.

Felicia stood inches away now, all dangerous curves and shameless smirks. “Everything’s a game, sweetheart. You’re just mad you’re losing.”

“I cannot stand you.”

“You kissed me first.”

“I should arrest you.”

Felicia leaned in, breath hot against Gwen’s cheek. “And yet, here you are. Still not calling for backup.”

Gwen’s last bit of resolve fractured.

In one swift, desperate motion, she yanked Felicia closer by the front of her suit and crashed their mouths together again—all teeth and heat and months of buried tension.

Felicia moaned into it, pressed her full body flush against Gwen’s.

“You really are adorable when you’re angry,” she purred, sliding her hands under Gwen’s shirt.

“Shut up,” Gwen snapped.

Felicia didn’t.

Instead, she reached down and pushed a hand into Gwen’s pants.

Gwen gasped, bracing herself against the desk behind her.

“Oh, fuck—”

“That’s more like it,” Felicia murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

One finger, then two—sliding deep, curling just right. Gwen’s hips stuttered, knees buckling slightly. Felicia caught her with one arm, her other hand sliding under Gwen’s shirt to cup her breast.

“You’re soaked,” she whispered smugly.

“I hate you.”

Felicia grinned. “Your body says otherwise.”

She pressed in deeper. Gwen moaned—loudly.

And then—

A sound.

Outside the lab. Distant, but real. Footsteps? A voice? Security?

Felicia froze.

Then, just as quickly, she withdrew.

“What the hell—” Gwen gasped, clenching around nothing.

Felicia kissed her quickly—soft, but possessive. “I told you. You never catch me.”

She stepped back, smoothing her suit like nothing happened.

Gwen was still braced against the desk, panting, furious, aching.

Felicia reached the window, glanced over her shoulder, and smirked.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Same time. No alarm. If you want the real finish.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

Gwen slammed her apartment door shut like it owed her money.

“I hate her,” she growled to no one.

She tossed her bag onto the couch, kicked off her shoes with more force than necessary, and stomped to her bedroom like she was trying to intimidate the hardwood floors.

Because ugh, Felicia Hardy.

With her smug little smirk, her criminal hands, her breathy little “you’re soaked”—

“Fuck,” Gwen muttered, dragging her shirt over her head. Her jeans followed, until she stood in nothing but a thin cotton t-shirt and underwear.

She didn’t look in the mirror.

She didn’t want to know how wrecked she looked after… whatever that was.

Not that she cared.

She hated Felicia. Every minute of that whole—event—was awful. Just terrible. No good.

Then why was her core still throbbing?

Gwen threw herself onto the bed with a groan.

Tried to sleep.

Failed.

Her legs shifted. Pressed together. Rubbed. She huffed. Squirmed. Tried to ignore the pulsing, aching pressure that hadn't left her since that damn table.

Nope.

Nope nope nope—

She shoved her hand down the front of her underwear with a frustrated growl.

“Ughhh—fuck—”

Her fingers slid through slick heat and she whimpered, hating how wet she still was. How needy. How goddamn desperate.

She pictured Felicia’s smirk.

Her eyes.

The feel of her breath on Gwen’s cheek. That damn purr in her voice.

“You’re soaked…”

Gwen moaned and bit her lip, two fingers circling her clit just the way Felicia hadn’t, just the way she wanted.

She slipped one finger in—tight, wanting, not enough. She imagined Felicia’s tongue. Her hands pinning Gwen down. Leather gloves being peeled off one finger at a time.

Another finger.

Faster.

Her hips jerked. She gasped.

“Fucking—damn it—Felicia—” she groaned, her voice cracking as her orgasm slammed into her like a freight train.

She trembled, thighs clenching around her hand, back arching as she came harder than she had in weeks.

She lay there, panting, wrecked, glaring at the ceiling.

“I still hate her,” she whispered.

She fell asleep still wet, still flushed, and absolutely convinced she was calling in sick tomorrow.

* * *

Gwen did not call in sick.

She told herself it was because of professional integrity.

Not because she wanted to see if Felicia would really show up.

Totally unrelated.

She was working on fake paperwork when the door opened.

Felicia walked in—not in her catsuit. No.

In tight black leather pants, a slouchy white t-shirt that hugged all the wrong places, and a leather jacket slung over one shoulder.

Her hair was down. Her lips already glossed.

Gwen’s brain short-circuited.

"Oh, fuck me."

Felicia raised an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if I do.”

And then she kissed her.

No preamble. No hesitation. Just hands in Gwen’s hair and lips on hers and Gwen backing up until she hit the nearest table again.

Felicia grinned into the kiss. “You picked a terrible hiding spot.”

“I wasn’t—this isn’t—” Gwen stammered, trying to breathe.

Felicia kissed her again. “Private. Now. Unless you want to do this in front of the Newtonian optics display.”

Gwen’s brain: error 404: dignity not found.

Chapter Text

Gwen grabbed Felicia’s hand and yanked her down the hallway like a woman on a mission.

Felicia followed without resistance, grinning like the cat who not only got the cream but was about to gleefully drown in it.

Gwen shoved open the break room door, tugged Felicia inside, and slammed it shut behind them. She flicked the lock with one hand—automatic, efficient, urgent.

Felicia barely had time to glance around the room before Gwen pinned her with a look.

“I like this side of you,” Felicia purred, already leaning in, hands finding Gwen’s hips, lips brushing her throat. “Bossy. Tense. Desperate.”

Her mouth latched onto Gwen’s neck, sucking a mark into the skin just beneath her jaw.

Gwen groaned—and then shoved her back. Not far. Not hard. Just enough to make a point.

Still holding her by the shirt, she marched them across the room to the battered old couch that had never looked less innocent.

Felicia raised an eyebrow, watching as Gwen pulled her shirt over her head, tossed it aside, and unbuttoned her jeans.

The zipper slid down with a slow zzzzppp, and Gwen pushed them down her legs, stepping out of them in nothing but a crimson lace thong.

Felicia leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I do love a passive-aggressive strip show.”

Gwen met her gaze, deadpan.

Then she hooked her thumbs into her thong and dragged it down too, letting it fall around her ankles.

Felicia actually sighed.

And when Gwen reached behind to unclasp her bra, letting it slip down her arms and to the floor, Felicia murmured, “I hope you know you’re setting insanely unrealistic expectations for break rooms everywhere.”

Gwen didn’t answer.

She grabbed Felicia by the front of her shirt, pulled her in close, and kissed her—hard.

Then, without a word, she stepped back and sank down onto the couch.

Her legs parted.

Her voice dropped: "You owe me.”

Felicia stared.

Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

And then she dropped to her knees.

She reached up, brushed Gwen’s hair behind her ear like she was something precious. Looked up at her like she was already ruined and worth it.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” she whispered.

Gwen flushed, biting her lip—trying so hard to stay composed.

Felicia smirked. “I always pay my debts.”

She kissed Gwen again—softer this time—then trailed downward.

Down her neck.

Across her collarbones.

Over each breast, tongue circling each nipple with maddening patience.

Gwen gasped, fingers already curling against the back of the couch.

Felicia kept going.

Down her stomach.

Across her hips.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses over sensitive skin—trailing, teasing, never quite reaching where Gwen needed her most.

And then finally—finally—Felicia placed her hands on Gwen’s knees. Pressed them wider apart.

And devoured.

Gwen’s head dropped back against the couch with a groan.

Her hand flew to her mouth, biting down on her fist to keep from crying out.

Felicia moaned low against her, the vibration intense, tongue stroking deep and slow and thorough.

She pulled back for a second, lips slick, eyes wicked. “No.”

She reached up, grabbed Gwen’s wrist, and pulled her hand away. “I wanna hear you.”

Gwen’s mouth opened—about to argue, maybe.

But Felicia was already back on her.

And this time?

She didn’t hold back.

Her tongue moved faster, deeper, more purposeful. She sucked Gwen’s clit between her lips like it was candy and she was starving.

Gwen cried out, hips jerking, thighs trembling.

Her hands flew to Felicia’s hair, yanking, grinding her down even harder. Felicia moaned like she loved it, loved being used, loved being drowned in it.

And Gwen—composed, brilliant, painfully controlled Gwen—broke.

She sobbed out Felicia’s name as her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, soaking Felicia’s mouth, her thighs, the couch beneath them.

Felicia didn’t stop.

She licked her clean. Every drop. Slow and reverent.

When she finally pulled back, Gwen was trembling, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon and had no regrets.

Felicia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Grinned.

“Better?”

* * *

Felicia was still kneeling between Gwen’s legs, smug and proud and just the slightest bit dazed.

Her chin was slick. Her hair was a mess. Her ego was radiant.

She pushed up onto her feet and adjusted her jacket like she hadn’t just made Gwen scream on state-funded furniture.

“Well,” she said, already heading for the door, “I’d say my work here is—”

“Wait.”

Felicia paused.

Gwen was watching her, flushed and soft, eyes still heavy-lidded with afterglow.

Felicia tilted her head. “Hmm?”

Gwen reached out and grabbed her hand—gentle but firm.

And in a much quieter voice now, she said: “It’d be terribly rude if I didn’t return the favor.”

Felicia blinked.

Then blinked again.

“I mean—no need,” she said quickly, waving a hand. “Seriously. I’m fine.”

But Gwen saw it.

The flicker of surprise. The way her body tensed. The automatic brush-off.

Like she always gave but never got.

Gwen stood. Stepped close.

Whispered: “Let me take care of you.”

Felicia opened her mouth to deflect again—maybe even joke. But Gwen leaned in and kissed her softly. A different kind of kiss. Not hungry. Not commanding. Inviting.

Felicia melted.

Gwen’s hands slid under her shirt, lifting it slowly.

No bra.

Of course.

Convenient.

Gwen pulled the shirt up, up, off—and tossed it aside.

Felicia stood there, suddenly uncharacteristically still.

Gwen leaned down, lips finding one peaked nipple, sucking it into her mouth with slow, firm pressure.

Felicia’s knees buckled.

“Shit—”

Gwen caught her.

Steady.

Confident.

“Take off your pants,” Gwen murmured.

Felicia obeyed, leather pants peeled down with trembling hands.

No underwear.

Also convenient.

Gwen stepped back, guiding her gently down onto the couch—the same one Gwen had just come apart on.

Then Gwen climbed on top of her.

Straddling her thighs.

Kissing her neck.

Her chest.

Sliding down just enough to tease her nipples again, tongue circling, sucking, kissing every inch like she meant it.

Felicia moaned—sharp and choked.

Her back arched.

Her hand flew to Gwen’s thigh, clinging.

Gwen kissed her deeply, hungrily.

And while her mouth claimed Felicia’s lips, her finger slid between her legs.

Felicia gasped against her mouth—soaked, already so close it was ridiculous.

“Shit, Gwen—”

Gwen kissed her harder.

Then pushed two fingers inside.

Felicia shattered.

Her whole body bucked off the couch. Gwen held her down, murmuring soft nonsense against her skin as her fingers thrust deep, curling just right.

She pressed her mouth to Felicia’s breasts again, sucking hard, flicking her tongue, and Felicia screamed her name.

Her hips stuttered.

Her thighs trembled.

And when Gwen leaned up, kissed her full on the mouth, and whispered “Let go for me,” Felicia did.

With a loud, breathless cry, she came hard—clenching around Gwen’s fingers, falling apart in a way that was messy and real and completely unguarded.

Gwen held her through it, kissing her cheeks, her collarbone, her forehead.

And when Felicia finally opened her eyes, still gasping, Gwen just smiled. "Told you it was rude not to return the favor.”

* * *

The break room was quiet now, except for the hum of the fridge and the lingering sound of heavy breathing.

Felicia lay back on the couch, Gwen draped half-over her, both of them still flushed and sticky and smelling like sex.

Felicia blinked at the ceiling like she’d just been hit by a truck.

Gwen was tracing lazy patterns on her stomach with one finger.

“I’m dead,” Felicia finally muttered.

Gwen snorted softly, bit back a smile. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Felicia stretched a little, winced, then melted back into the couch. “I’m not used to… that.”

“What, orgasms?” Gwen teased.

Felicia huffed. “No. Being taken care of.”

That shut Gwen up for half a beat.

Then she propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at her.

“Well,” she said. “Get used to it.”

Felicia blinked up at her.

Then she smiled.

And it was real.

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” she murmured.

Gwen leaned down and kissed her—softer now. Sweet. Like a question with an obvious answer.

Then she pulled back, looked around the room, and wrinkled her nose.

“Okay. We need to leave before the room has to be condemned.”

Felicia sniffed and laughed. “You’re not wrong. This place smells like… high school locker room and lesbian porn.”

“Accurate,” Gwen said, standing and starting to redress. “Wanna get dinner?”

Felicia paused halfway into her pants. “Like—actual dinner?”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “You just had a five-star appetizer. Seems fair I offer a main course.”

Felicia blinked.

Then grinned slowly. “Okay. But only if I get dessert too.”

Gwen zipped her jeans and tossed her shirt over her shoulder. “I thought I was dessert.”

Felicia stood, wrapped her arms around Gwen’s waist from behind, and purred in her ear: “Then I’m definitely saving room.”

Gwen blushed. Again. Damn her.

“Shower first,” she muttered, already pulling her hair up.

Felicia was already heading for the door. “Yours or mine?”

“Whichever has soap that isn’t black-market Lush knockoffs.”

Felicia gasped. “You did not just insult my body wash.”

“I absolutely did.”

Felicia grabbed her hand and yanked her into a run.

“Then prepare to be punished.”

Chapter Text

The restaurant was too expensive.

Too quiet.

Too filled with the kind of people Gwen swore had never even heard the word “felony,” let alone committed one.

Felicia looked radiant in her little black dress, legs crossed, wine glass twirling lazily between her fingers. Gwen, in a tucked-in blouse and her only pair of non-lab jeans, felt like she’d been invited to prom with a Bond girl.

“You didn’t have to go this fancy,” Gwen muttered, scanning the menu like it was written in Latin.

“I didn’t,” Felicia said smoothly, “but I enjoy watching you squirm in social settings.”

It went downhill from there.

Every line of banter came out just a little too forced.

Gwen kept glancing at the waiter like she wanted to apologize for her life choices.

Felicia rolled her eyes more than once and might have tried to flirt with the busboy, if only for sport.

By the time the entrées arrived, Gwen set down her fork, sighed, and said, “Okay. What about this.”

Felicia perked up. “Go on.”

“You stop being such a criminal—because I’m feeling morally ambiguous every time I think about how you intend to pay for this meal—”

“Technically, I don't.”

“—and we just agree to occasional hookups.”

Felicia blinked.

Gwen cleared her throat. “To, uh. Take the edge off.”

Felicia, far too loud: “You just wanna get in my pants. Again.”

Several nearby tables turned. One man coughed into his linen napkin. Gwen went rigid.

“Shut. Up,” Gwen hissed.

Felicia leaned forward, slow smile curling. “Oh, you want me quiet?”

Gwen’s eyes flashed.

Felicia purred: “Make me.”

Gwen stood. “Let’s go.”

Felicia followed without hesitation.

* * *

The second the car doors shut, the tension detonated.

Felicia barely had time to settle into the buttery-soft leather of her backseat before Gwen was crawling into her lap—straddling her thighs, hands gripping her wrists and pinning them against the seat back.

“You’re such a fucking menace,” Gwen breathed, eyes burning.

Felicia smirked, breath hitching. “Takes one to—”

Gwen kissed her.

Hard.

Felicia moaned into it, legs spreading instinctively. Gwen pressed their bodies close, grinding down just enough to make her squirm.

“I said,” Gwen whispered, breaking the kiss, “no talking.”

Felicia grinned. “Mmm. Is that a rule or a challenge—”

Gwen reached down, slipped a hand under Felicia’s dress, and dragged her fingers along bare, already-soaked skin.

“No panties?” Gwen asked.

Felicia bit her lip, cheeks flushed. “Laundry day.”

Gwen laughed once—dark and low—and slid off her lap, down to her knees between Felicia’s legs. The car was too small for this. Too cramped. Gwen made it work.

She hooked Felicia’s knees over her shoulders.

“You don’t get to say anything,” she said, voice like steel wrapped in silk. “Unless it’s to beg.”

Felicia nodded quickly, suddenly very compliant.

Gwen leaned in.

Licked a long, slow stripe up her center.

Felicia shuddered.

One hand shot down to the car door handle—gripping it like an anchor.

Gwen flicked her tongue again—faster, firmer. Then sucked. Felicia let out a strangled noise.

“Shhh,” Gwen warned, without looking up.

Felicia whined. Nodded. Her head hit the window.

Gwen went harder. Tongue working in tight, practiced circles, alternating pressure until Felicia’s thighs trembled.

Then—two fingers. Deep.

Felicia choked on a moan, slapped a hand over her own mouth. Her back arched. Gwen thrust deeper, curling just right, tongue relentless.

Her free hand came up, resting lightly on Felicia’s stomach—keeping her grounded. Contained.

“Fuck—” Felicia gasped.

Gwen pulled back just enough to growl, “Quiet.”

Felicia bit her fist.

But then Gwen twisted her wrist, hitting that spot just right—and Felicia broke.

Loud, messy, full-body orgasm—hips jerking, thighs clenching, head thrown back as her mouth opened in a wordless cry.

Gwen didn’t stop.

She licked her through it, fingers slowing only when Felicia sagged like a ragdoll against the seat.

Only then did Gwen sit back, wiping her mouth, looking entirely too satisfied.

Felicia lay there panting, hair a wreck, dress up around her waist, and zero dignity left in the car.

“I—I tried to be quiet,” she murmured, voice rough.

Gwen reached up, stroked a hand over her knee.

“You did,” she said softly. “But I liked hearing how good I make you feel.”

Felicia blinked at her.

Gwen smiled. “I just don’t want you being a brat all the time.”

Felicia groaned, covered her face with both hands. “This was supposed to be a normal dinner.”

“We're not normal people.”

A beat.

Then Felicia peeked out from behind her fingers.

“So… occasional hookups?”

Gwen nodded, lips twitching. “No feelings.”

Felicia smirked. “Of course not.”

Gwen leaned in. “Good.”

And kissed her again—slow and deep.

Just in case her point hadn’t been made.

* * *

Gwen landed lightly on the rooftop next to Miles, mask already rolled up halfway so she could sip from the boba he’d bribed her with.

“Okay,” Miles said, pointing his straw at her. “You’re weird tonight.”

Gwen arched a brow. “Thanks?”

“No, I mean—you’re like, relaxed. You’ve been joking. You haven’t cursed at a single mugger.”

She shrugged. “Guess I’m just evolving.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Or someone else is devolving you. Are you—dating?”

Gwen nearly choked. “What?! No. I’m just... trying a new stress management technique.”

Miles stared at her.

She stared back.

He raised an eyebrow. “So, like yoga?" He paused a beat before adding, "Or orgasms?”

“I’m leaving.”

* * *

On her swing home, Gwen caught sight of white hair and leather down below.

Of course.

She landed next to Felicia, who looked entirely too casual walking through the city in heels that cost more than Gwen’s rent.

“What are you doing?” Gwen asked.

Felicia smirked. “Not being a menace.”

Gwen folded her arms. “Okay. Let’s say I believe that.”

“I mean it. Just enjoying the night.” Felicia tilted her head. “Unless you’re looking for a good time?”

Gwen hesitated.

She was tired. Sore. Still humming from patrol. Her suit itched in a few places and her hair was stuck to her forehead under the mask.

“I’ve been swinging around all night. I don’t really have the energy to be in charge of… anything.”

Felicia’s eyes gleamed. “Who said you had to be?”

Gwen blinked.

Felicia stepped closer, voice low and velvet. “What if you just laid back… and let me take care of you?”

Gwen’s mouth went dry. “Um. Where?”

Felicia looked up at the high-rise behind them. “I have a penthouse here.”

Gwen blinked. “Of course you do.”

Felicia took her hand.

“Come on, control freak. You don’t have to do anything. Just… let go.”