[Third Person POV]
"I like to think of myself as a very tolerable person, Felicia," Lydia began, her voice sharp and brimming with exasperation. She raked her fingers through her already-mussed hair. "But there comes a point where it's just too much. You're sixteen, for Christ's sake!"
Her voice echoed off the apartment walls, sharp enough to make Felicia flinch even as she remained crouched on the hardwood floor. Lydia's wine glass clinked faintly against the counter as she set it down with more force than necessary. "I understand that at some point you start getting curious about the opposite sex, but still—there are limits, and you need to take things slow!"
Felicia finally pushed herself upright, meeting Lydia's fiery glare with a disgruntled and annoyed look. "I really don't want to have the sex talk with you…" she muttered, crossing her arms as.
"Well it certainly looks like you need it," Lydia snapped, pacing a short, sharp line across the kitchen tiles. "If you're having sex loud enough to wake up the entire freaking neighborhood—God, just how loud were you moaning last night?" Her voice cracked into a helpless whimper as she slapped a hand over her own face, unable to believe the words leaving her mouth.
Felicia tilted her head and then gave a slow, unapologetic nod. "…Pretty loud." Her lips curved into a faint, almost dreamy smile, her gaze staring out reminiscent.
Lydia lowered her hand just enough to fix Felicia with a look of pure disbelief—her eyes wide, her jaw slack. The expression screamed, 'Are you serious right now?'
"Sorry," Felicia mumbled with mock meekness, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and rocking slightly on her heels. She stared at the floor for a beat, but the small smirk tugging at her mouth betrayed her.
She withdrew her hands just long enough to make a rough measurement in the air. "But in my defense, it's kind of hard to keep my voice down when he's, uh… about this big." She squinted, gauging the size with her fingers before casually tucking her hands back into her pockets.
"That's not the point—wait… seriously?" Lydia's voice cracked halfway through her scolding as her eyes flicked to Felicia's estimate. Her face went pale. "You're joking, right?"
"I mean…" Felicia lifted one hand again and pressed it against her own midsection, her tone turning matter-of-fact. "That's about right. Maybe longer, since it doesn't go all the way inside." Her earlier embarrassment faded as she spoke, replaced by an almost clinical frankness that made Lydia's stomach flip.
"Jesus Christ…" Lydia whispered, covering her mouth as if that could block the mental images now assaulting her.
Felicia, noticing the way her mother's eyes narrowed, raised a warning finger. "Don't get any funny ideas."
Veins popped faintly at Lydia's temple as she grabbed the neck of her wine bottle with a white-knuckled grip. "I will throw this at your freaking head. What do you take me for? Some kind of predator?"
"Hey, I'm just saying," Felicia replied with a disarming shrug, palms raised in mock surrender.
Lydia exhaled a long, weary sigh, the kind that carried both exhaustion and reluctant amusement. Without another word, she uncorked the bottle and poured herself another glass, the glug of wine punctuating the tense air. "Girl," she muttered, shaking her head, "you make me drink."
"I'm not making you do anything, you alcoholic," Felicia shot back, a teasing edge in her voice. "Don't use me as an excuse because you can't control yourself."
Lydia took a long swallow before setting her glass down with a sharp click. "Alright then," she said, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. "Explain it to me. Your relationship with Peter—how it started, how it even works. Give me a chance to understand whatever this is before I completely lose my mind."
Felicia sighed dramatically and rubbed at her temple, finally dragging herself toward one of the counter stools. She perched on it, legs swinging idly as if to buy herself time. "God, this is so complicated…" She waited until Lydia took another drink before blurting out, "I'm part of Peter's harem."
Lydia choked mid-sip, wine spraying from her mouth and splattering across the countertop. She doubled over coughing.
Felicia burst into giggles as Lydia shoved the glass aside and grabbed for a paper towel, still hacking. "For—cough—fucks sake, Felicia! Cough cough—are you insane?"
"Although you think I'm joking, I'm being completely serious." Felicia's tone softened. "Peter first started dating Gwen. They've known each other since childhood, basically best friends. Then there's MJ—who they invited into the relationship. And then… there's me." Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her gaze. "The three of us came to an agreement to share him."
Lydia paused mid-wipe, paper towels soaked in red wine, and let out a hoarse, incredulous sigh. "I honestly don't know whether to be impressed or disgusted with him." She tossed the damp towels into the trash and leaned on the counter, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me this—did you feel indebted to him after he rescued you? Is that why you're… lowering yourself to be part of whatever this is?"
Felicia's expression hardened instantly, her playful smirk vanishing. "No. And I'm not lowering myself to anything." Her voice carried a quiet steel that made Lydia's chest tighten. "I'm not with him out of gratitude. Sure, I'll always be thankful for what he did for me that day, but that's not why I fell in love with him."
Lydia froze for a moment, wine bottle in hand, the word love hanging heavy between them. Then she scoffed, shaking her head as if trying to dispel the thought. "You're sixteen, Felicia. Sixteen. What you feel isn't love—it's gratitude and lust, and you think that that is love."
"You don't get to tell me how I feel!" Felicia snapped, her voice rising like a sudden crack of thunder. Her chair scraped loudly against the tile as she leaned forward, eyes flashing. "It's not up to you to decide whether what I feel for Pete is love or isn't! Peter is different from anyone I've ever met. I didn't fall in love with his good looks, or his money. And it's not about his unbelievable genius, either."
Her breath quickened, chest rising and falling with the force of her words. "What I fell in love with was his sense of responsibility. He's a lovable, arrogant dumbass who honestly believes it's his duty to help people just because he powers to. He's reckless, stubborn, and infuriating—and he puts everyone else before himself without even thinking about it. That's what I love about him!"
Felicia slapped her palms against the countertop, the sharp smack ringing through the kitchen. "I knew I loved him the moment I was able to shove aside all the greed and selfishness inside me and want to be better—for him. He makes me want to do better, to be better. And That's why I love him!"
Her shoulders trembled as the words left her. Slowly, she leaned back against her chair, crossing her arms, her voice dropping to a whisper. "So no, Mom. What I feel for him isn't lust. It isn't gratitude. And yes, I do know what love is… because I feel it every single day… For him." Her gaze fell to the countertop, eyes unfocused, as though the confession had emptied her completely.
Lydia stood frozen, wine glass dangling forgotten in her hand. For a long, silent heartbeat, she simply stared at her daughter—this fiery, passionate girl who suddenly seemed so much older. Slowly, a small smile broke across her face, softening her features. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.
"I see," Lydia said quietly. "I'm grown enough to admit when I'm wrong. I didn't understand the depth of your feelings and jumped to the wrong conclusions and for that… I'm sorry"
"Whatever," Felicia muttered, but the faint pink creeping into her cheeks betrayed the impact of the apology.
Lydia chuckled, shaking her head. "Seriously, I don't know whether to curse that boy or praise him." A laugh bubbled up, warm and incredulous. "Hah! I think I'm starting to understand why you go out and 'help people' every night instead of following in your father's footsteps. That kid did what I couldn't—he actually rehabilitated you by making you fall in love with him."
Felicia froze mid-breath. The color drained from her face as a creeping sense of dread seized her chest. "W-What? What do you mean?" Her voice cracked, barely more than a squeak. Her stomach twisted painfully, every muscle tightening as her mind scrambled for an escape.
"Hm?" Lydia turned back toward her, eyebrows raised. Seeing Felicia's stricken expression, she let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, come on, Felicia. Really?"
Felicia stared, wide-eyed and motionless, like a deer caught in headlights.
"Spider-Kat?" Lydia teased, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "You could at least pick a more original alias."
"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Felicia stammered, too shocked to even blink, her voice barely coherent.
"Seriously?" Lydia set her wine down and folded her arms, tilting her head in mock disbelief. "You're really going to make me spell it out?"
Felicia stayed silent, eyes darting anywhere but her mother's.
"Fine," Lydia sighed dramatically. "Let's start with the basics. You grew three—maybe four—inches practically overnight. You've got muscles now. You're barely home, always sneaking out at odd hours. And let's not forget the biggest clue of all: you dress in black, your hair is white, and you run around rooftops with a certain cat motif." Lydia arched an eyebrow and scoffed. "Hmm… where have I seen that before? Oh right—hint hint, I was married to him."
The words hit Felicia like a punch. She dropped her elbows to the counter and buried her face in her hands, dragging her fingers up through her hair in a long, slow motion. A deep, soul-weary sigh escaped her, heavy enough to carry every ounce of defeat.
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