Peter and Michelle, Harry and Liz, lastly stood Ned and Betty, all the three couples stood waiting for Gwen and Nova, MJ and Felicia to return.
Liz folded her arms, tilting her head with an amused smirk. "That boy took three girls with him and disappeared… like a magician with a very specific talent."
Harry chuckled, slipping a hand into his pocket, his gaze sharp with amusement. "I think the word you're looking for is player."
Betty giggled, leaning into Ned with a playful glint in her eyes. "Or menace."
Ned, still looking slightly baffled, shook his head. "Maybe they just needed some air?"
Michelle scoffed, crossing her arms. "Three girls, one guy, and they all needed air? Sure, Ned. And I'm the Queen of England."
Peter exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. "Can we please not jump to conclusions? There's probably a perfectly normal explanation."
Harry raised a brow, his smirk widening. "Peter. Look me in the eyes and tell me—honestly—do you believe that?"
Peter opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then sighed in defeat. "…No."
Liz smirked, her eyes flicking toward the dimly lit hallway where the missing group had disappeared minutes ago. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "You just know they're gonna come back looking like they did something illegal—makeup smudged like they ran through a rainstorm, hair sticking out in every direction, and clothes wrinkled like they've been wrestling in a broom closet. And you know what? They're gonna try to act normal, like we won't notice." She chuckled, shaking her head. "It's gonna be painfully obvious."
Michelle snorted, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. "Please, they could at least try to be subtle. But no, they're gonna stroll in like nothing happened, avoiding eye contact, and acting way too casual." She rolled her eyes, smirking. "Like, come on, at least fix your hair before rejoining civilization. The second they walk in, I'm calling them out."
Just then, something seemed to click in Liz's mind, and her smirk faltered slightly. A frown tugged at her lips as she tilted her head in thought. "Wait… Aren't MJ and Felicia together?"
Michelle blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yeah… they are."
Harry, catching on, let out a low chuckle. "Which makes it even more interesting, doesn't it?"
Before anyone could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the air, and the group turned their heads.
There they were.
Nova, Gwen, Felicia, and MJ.
And they didn't just walk back.
They strutted.
Like they owned the damn place.
Like they knew exactly what everyone was thinking.
But something was off.
The way they carried themselves, the way their eyes gleamed with something unspoken—it all screamed trouble.
And yet… their appearances?
Flawless.
Their hair was perfect, not a single strand out of place. Their clothes were smooth, pristine, not a wrinkle or sign of disarray in sight. Not a single smudge of makeup had shifted.
It was almost too perfect.
And yet, despite the undeniable perfection of their outward appearances, their smirks told a completely different story.
Oh, those smirks.
There was a weight behind them, something darkly amused, something that knew.
It was impossible for them to have disappeared together and done nothing.
That much was clear.
But the lack of evidence? The sheer absence of anything that would hint at what they had been up to?
That was suspicious.
Very suspicious.
Liz's eyes dragged over them, her lips curling. "That smug look… that glow…" She leaned into Harry, fingers toying with his belt. "That's the look of people who've been absolutely wrecked."
Harry smirked, his grip on her waist tightening. "Oh, sweetheart…" His voice dipped lower, teasing. "That's not just a glow… that's the 'stretched open, filled to the brim, left trembling and dripping' glow."
Liz hummed, pressing against him. "Mmm… lucky them. I love that feeling."
Michelle stood with her arms crossed, leaning against Peter, her eyes narrowing. "Alright, what the actual fuck did I miss?"
Peter adjusted his glasses, looking them up and down. "Unless you found a private suite, a reinforced headboard, and a clean-up and a stylist crew… I'm calling bullshit on 'freshening up.'"
Nova swirled his drink, his smirk pure filth. "Oh, you know… just a little hands-on exploration with old flames."
Michelle snorted, crossing her arms. "Right. And you found the meaning of life in there."
MJ's smirk was pure sin as she trailed a finger down Michelle's arm. "Mmm… Michelle, honey…" Her gaze flicked between her and Peter before returning to her, voice dripping with a husky purr. "Be honest… are you mad at them… or just mad that Peter hasn't bent you over and ruined you till you are a screaming mess, yet?"
Peter choked. "MJ, WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Michelle's eyes widened. "Excuse me?!"
MJ smirked harder, circling Michelle like a predator. "Oh, come on. You glare at him like you either wanna slap him or ride him 'til he forgets his own name. Maybe both." She leaned in, lips inches from Michelle's ear. "Maybe what he really needs is for you to pin him down, sink onto his rod, and make him beg for mercy."
Peter, now a shade of red not found in nature, was speechless. "MJ—STOP TALKING!"
Felicia, thoroughly entertained, turned her gaze on Betty, lips curling in amusement. "What do you think, sweetheart? Maybe Ned needs the same treatment…"
Betty giggled, stepping closer to Ned, fingers lightly dragging over his belt before trailing down. Her voice was pure, sultry mischief. "Oh, Felicia, trust me…" Her lips curled into a wicked smirk, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Ned doesn't need the treatment… but I already made sure his knees were shaking before we got here."
Felicia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh?"
Betty leaned in, voice dropping to a shameless, husky whisper. "Let's just say… my throat's a little sore, and he still tastes like me."
Ned made a strangled sound, his entire existence imploding in real-time. "I—WHAT—BETTY—"
Felicia let out a delighted, throaty laugh. "Oh, honey… that is what I call a glowing review."
Betty winked. "Oh, it's not a review. It's a warning."
Meanwhile, Gwen draped herself over Nova, her gaze locking onto Liz and Harry, pure wicked delight in her eyes. "You know, Harry… Liz looks like she needs something." She twirled her glass between her fingers. "Maybe she just needs someone to… spread her out a little more."
Liz gasped, then smirked, eyes darkening. "Oh, trust me…" She dragged her nails down Harry's chest. "Harry knows exactly how to wreck me… but I wouldn't mind a second opinion."
Harry exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "Oh, sweetheart…" His voice was low, promising, dangerous. "You say that now… but once you're a trembling, fucked-out mess, we'll see if you can handle it."
Nova chuckled, fingers grazing Gwen's lower back. "Maybe we should test that theory."
Michelle groaned, rubbing her temples. "I hate all of you."
Peter, still recovering from MJ's verbal assault, muttered, "This whole night is a fucking fever dream."
Nova, supremely amused, raised his glass. "To long, filthy nights… and even longer, dirtier mornings."
The girls clinked their glasses, their smirks perfectly synchronized.
Harry, whispering something dark and delicious against Liz's skin, made her shudder before giggling. His hand slid just a bit lower and cupped her ass. Liz blushed slightly but didn't react.
"Something tells me…" he murmured, "we're not done yet."
It as if the universe was waiting for Harry to say this.
It started with Gwen and MJ.
Both girls snapped their heads to the side, their bodies stiffening as if they had sensed something before it even happened.
Nova immediately caught their reactions. Something was off.
But before he could even ask—
BOOM!
The ballroom wall exploded inward, bricks and debris flying across the floor as a deafening crash filled the venue. A collective scream echoed through the crowd as people stumbled backward, shielding themselves from the dust and rubble.
And then—through the swirling dust and destruction—
A figure was hurled inside, smashing into the dance floor with brutal force.
He rolled violently across the ground before crashing into a table, which shattered beneath his weight. A painful groan escaped him as he struggled to move.
As the dust cleared, Nova's eyes locked onto the figure lying in the wreckage.
The suit—it was familiar.
A deep red and blue, textured like a second skin, the red portions sporting a subtle hexagonal web pattern that reflected the dim light of the venue. His mask, pulled tightly over his face, had large white eyes with a black outline, giving him an almost expressive look even though he remained silent.
The blue fabric running down his sides and legs was darker, blending into the shadows, while the spider emblem on his chest stood out—a sleek black design, thin-legged and spread across his torso.
The suit was simple yet refined, streamlined without excessive armor or plating, yet clearly durable.
Nova's gaze snapped toward Peter Parker—still standing next to Michelle, his expression frozen in shock.
Then Nova turned back to the masked figure groaning in pain on the floor.
His mind raced.
If Peter was here… then who the hell was that?
XxxxX
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