"Hey, Kevin," May said, smiling warmly as she opened the door.
"Hi, May." I stepped inside and pulled her into a gentle hug. It lingered a few moments longer than necessary, her familiar scent of lavender and home-cooked food wrapping around me.
"I made spaghetti," she said, pulling back with a light blush coloring her cheeks.
"Awesome." I held up the takeout bag, grinning. "And I brought your favorite pastries."
"Oh, Kevin," she murmured, her eyes softening. "You didn't need to."
"Maybe not," I replied, "but I wanted to."
I helped her set the table, and soon we were finishing the spaghetti. We lingered over the pastries, chatting about light, random things as the evening light softened around us.
"By the way, May," I said casually, "I noticed Peter wasn't at the university today. Everything alright?"
May sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "He went to Florida. He'll be back tomorrow."
"Why does that sigh tell me it's not a simple vacation?" I asked, offering a gentle smile.
"No, it's not a vacation," she said, resignation thick in her voice. "He went to take pictures of someone called the Lizard." She set her fork down harder than necessary, her fingers tracing the rim of the plate. "When will that boy stop his reckless behavior?" Anger flickered across her face, quickly giving way to something deeper. "Ever since Ben… I just keep thinking, what if one day he doesn't come back? I've already lost so much. I can't lose him too."
I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine, my thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. I held the touch just long enough for the warmth to register, then eased back slightly while staying close. "That sounds exhausting, May. Carrying all that worry by yourself… You're allowed to be angry. Peter's incredibly lucky to have someone who cares this much."
She smiled slightly, hearing that, but it was gone soon. She continued, her voice growing quieter but more intense. "The world is becoming more and more dangerous. Every day, a new freak appears in the news. Just two days ago, someone calling himself Plantman took over Central Park. Yes, the Human Torch stopped him, but what if he hadn't been there? What if innocent people had been hurt—or worse? What if Peter got injured?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at me.
I nodded, holding her gaze to show I was truly listening.
May shook her head, staring down at her half-eaten pastry. "And now there's this… this Namor person. He's declared himself the sovereign of the seven seas and the skies above them. Can you believe that? He basically told the whole world that the oceans belong to him and Atlantis and that human ships aren't welcome anymore. It was all over the news. What happens when he decides to act on it? What if Peter gets caught in the middle of something like that?" Her fingers tightened around her fork, knuckles whitening. "It never ends, Kevin. One threat after another."
I placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it gently, then eased it away slowly.
She let out a shaky breath, some of the tension melting from her shoulders. "I just wish he'd be more careful. Or that I could do something instead of sitting here waiting."
"You do more than you realize," I said softly, my voice warm. "He has you waiting for him—that has to count for something. You give him a reason to come home." I offered a small, understanding smile, letting a hint of affection show in my eyes.
She looked up at me, her eyes still shiny with worry. I held her gaze and let a small, warm smile touch my lips. "And on nights when he's off chasing stories, and you're here alone with all these thoughts… I'm really glad I get to be the one sitting across from you."
May's breath hitched slightly. The anger and fear in her expression softened into something more vulnerable. A faint blush returned to her cheeks as she looked down at our hands, which had somehow found each other again on the table. "You're too good to me, Kevin. I don't know what I'd do without these dinners lately. They're… they're becoming the best part of my week."
We finished the rest of our desserts in comfortable silence. When the plates were empty, I helped clear the table, and we moved to the living room couch.
We settled onto the couch, the soft cushions sinking beneath us. The living room lamp cast a warm, golden glow over everything, making the quiet house feel smaller and more intimate. May sat close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke. I could still see the remnants of worry in the way she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.
I turned slightly toward her, resting my arm along the back of the couch. "You know," I said gently, "it's okay if some of that worry is still sitting on your chest. You don't have to push it away just because I'm here."
May leaned back, her head tilting toward my arm. "I just feel so helpless sometimes. Ben used to… he used to handle the big worries with me. Now it's just me and the news and Peter running off to who-knows-where with his camera." She let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "Listen to me. I sound like I'm falling apart."
"You're not falling apart," I murmured. "You're holding everything together for both of you. That takes real strength."
I let my hand rest lightly on her shoulder again, my thumb making slow, soothing circles. This time I didn't pull away. She didn't move away either. Instead, she shifted closer, her side pressing gently against mine. The faint scent of her shampoo—something soft and floral—was in the air.
"You make it easier, Kevin," she whispered after a long pause. "Having someone to talk to like this… it helps more than you know."
I turned my head to look at her. Our faces were closer now, barely half a foot apart. "Good," I said, my voice low. "Because I like being here for you, May. More than just on dinner nights."
We lingered in that charged silence for a few heartbeats. Then I pulled back with a teasing smile. "Let me help lighten some of those worries."
I stood and moved behind the couch, positioning myself directly behind her. My hands settled on her shoulders, starting with light, careful pressure. I had been using the Touch of Warmth spell on every earlier touch to ease her tension. Now, as I began massaging her shoulders and the back of her neck, I quietly cast something new.
Touch of Desire
Type: Spell
School: Eromancy
Rank: Novice
Description: Upon touch, it ignites a brief, unnatural spark of warmth and light tingling that spreads from the point of contact into the target's lower body or erogenous zones. This creates a mild to moderate distracting arousal and a faint, fleeting sense of need. The target's body becomes slightly more sensitive to the caster's proximity or further touch. Still, the effect is noticeably weaker than a natural surge of desire and easier to push through with willpower.
A subtle wave of magic flowed through my fingertips. The spell kindled a faint warmth that spread through her shoulders and lower, like silk trailing over skin. May's body responded almost immediately—she let out a soft, involuntary sigh, her muscles melting under my hands. Her breathing deepened, growing just a fraction heavier.
I kept the pressure gentle and respectful, focusing on her shoulders and neck. Still, I noticed the spell's subtle work: the way her head tilted to the side, offering more of her throat, and how her fingers loosened their grip on the cushion. A delicate flush rose along the side of her neck.
"That feels… really nice," she murmured, her voice breathier than before. She closed her eyes and leaned into my touch.
I continued for several long minutes, my thumbs working slow circles. Soft, involuntary moans escaped her now and then as the tingling warmth deepened. When she finally loosened completely, she tilted her head back, eyes still closed. Then she opened them and met my gaze directly, something vulnerable and hungry flickering there.
I bent forward and captured her lips softly. She didn't pull away. Instead, one hand rose to cradle the back of my head, pulling me closer as she returned the kiss. Her mouth was warm and tentative at first, then opened with a quiet hunger that surprised us both. I deepened it, tasting the faint sweetness of pastries and something uniquely her.
[R-18 Start]
May's fingers tightened in my hair, then loosened as if second-guessing. Still leaning over the back of the couch, I slid one hand down her front, cupping the soft weight of her breast through her sweater. She arched into the touch with a shaky exhale, but her shoulders tensed briefly under my other hand before she pressed back against me.
With a low murmur, she twisted on the couch, turning her upper body toward me. I quickly moved around the side of the sofa, never fully breaking contact. She reached for me as I joined her on the cushions, pulling me down so I settled half over her. Clothes came off in a slow, fumbling haze—my shirt, then hers—revealing the soft, pale skin of her breasts, nipples already peaked in the warm lamplight. She arched when I cupped one, thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, her hips rolling up against my thigh in unconscious invitation.
I kissed down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered rapidly. May's hands explored my back, nails grazing lightly, then gripping harder as I moved lower, sucking one nipple into my mouth while my fingers traced the waistband of her pants.
She lifted her hips to help me slide them off, along with her panties, exposing the neat trim of dark curls and the glistening wetness already there. Her thighs parted for me, but not immediately—her knees pressed together briefly first, a fleeting resistance, before she opened them wider, one leg hooking over my hip. I settled between her thighs, my cock hard and aching as it brushed against her slick folds. May gasped sharply when I rubbed the head along her slit, coating myself in her arousal, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
"Kevin…" It came out half-whisper, half-moan. I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tight heat clench around me. She was incredibly wet but still drew in a sharp breath at the stretch, her back bowing off the couch. Her walls fluttered and squeezed as I bottomed out, our bodies flush together. I held still for a moment, letting her adjust, kissing her deeply while her hands roamed my back—sometimes pulling me closer, sometimes pressing as if to create space, her nails leaving faint trails.
I began to move, slow deep thrusts that built a steady rhythm. May met every single one of them, her hips rising to take me deeper, soft moans spilling from her lips each time I ground against her clit. Sweat slicked our skin as the pace quickened. I hooked one of her legs higher, changing the angle so I could hit that sensitive spot inside her. Her eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, mouth open in silent cries. One hand clutched the couch cushion while the other gripped my arm, her body trembling as pleasure built. She came first—suddenly, intensely—her inner walls pulsing and rippling around my cock, a broken cry escaping as her thighs quivered and locked around me. The sight and feel of her unraveling pushed me over the edge moments later. I buried myself deep and spilled inside her with a low groan, pulsing hotly as her body milked every drop.
We stayed joined for long minutes afterward, breathing ragged, bodies slick and spent. I kissed her shoulder, her neck, murmuring soft praises against her skin. May's fingers traced lazy patterns on my back at first, then stilled.
[R-18 End]
Gradually, her breathing changed. The dreamy haze in her eyes sharpened. She blinked several times, as if waking from a fog. Her hand, still on my shoulder, lifted away. She shifted beneath me, turning her face to the side, gaze fixed on the far wall instead of me. Her body, which had been pliant and warm, tensed in a different way now—shoulders drawing up, thighs pressing together as I carefully withdrew from her. A small wince crossed her features, not from pain exactly, but from something deeper. She reached for her discarded sweater and pulled it over her head quickly, covering herself, then tugged a throw blanket from the arm of the couch across her lap.
May sat up slowly, knees drawn toward her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her cheeks were still flushed, hair tousled, but her expression had shifted entirely—eyes wide with dawning realization, lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at me once, then away again, fingers twisting in the blanket's edge. The comfortable silence from earlier turned heavy and uncomfortable. She swallowed hard, staring down at her hands.
"Kevin… oh God," she whispered, her voice shaky and small. "What did we just do?" She rubbed her temples, looking suddenly clear-headed and overwhelmed, like someone sobering up after one drink too many. Her eyes flicked toward the family photos on the mantel—Ben's smiling face prominent among them—before darting away as if burned. She hugged her knees tighter, guilt etching into the way her shoulders curled inward, the way she avoided meeting my gaze for more than a second.
"I… I'm Peter's aunt. You're his friend. This was impulsive. A mistake." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. She finally looked at me, eyes shiny but determined, cheeks burning with shame. "We should forget this ever happened. Go back to how things were before tonight. Just… dinners. Nothing more. Please, Kevin. This can't happen again."
I stayed silent for a few moments, then with a solemn voice, I said, "You're right, May." I nodded slowly. "We shouldn't have done this."
Relief flashed across her features. But beneath it, in the brief moment our eyes met, I caught a flicker of disappointment—a small, unspoken part of her that had wanted me to argue, to pull her back in. But I didn't do that. I could do it, and May might even accept unwillingly, but it would distance her from me in the long term.
"Starting tomorrow," I continued, "we'll go back to what we were before and forget tonight."
May offered a small, fragile smile. "Thank you, Kevin… for understanding. I'm sorry for stopping you like this."
"No problem, May," I said gently, returning the smile. "I understand."
We sat in silence for a few moments, giving her space to collect herself. Then I spoke again, voice casual. "By the way, May…"
She looked at me curiously.
"If we go back to normal starting tomorrow," I said, pausing deliberately, "then… does that mean we can still have tonight?"
May's eyes widened. For several long heartbeats, she sat frozen, an intense internal debate playing out in the way her fingers clenched the blanket, her breath catching, and her gaze darting between me and the photos on the mantel. She bit her lower lip, a soft, conflicted sound escaping her. Then her expression cleared, as if she'd reached a decision.
She leaned in and kissed me.
I smirked inwardly.
Time for round two.
—
No Stain Laundromat:
Frances was reviewing documents when she heard a sharp knock at the door.
"Boss," Lucia called. Her voice carried an edge that made Frances raise an eyebrow.
"Come in."
Lucia entered, her face twisted with frustration and fury. "Boss, those Neon Kings bastards rolled up on our turf. They hit Neil, Mike, and Emily in a drive-by. Before anyone could react, they were gone."
She continued, jaw tight. "Our people are pissed. They're waiting for direction from us. This is their retaliation for telling those bastards there'd be no tribute. I'm not backing down—and neither is anyone else."
Frances's jaw clenched. Neil, Mike, and Emily were brand-new recruits, barely half a month in the gang. A cold rage ignited in her eyes.
The Neon Kings had become their neighbors after seizing control of their fifth street two weeks earlier. They ran six streets and had demanded weekly tribute. Frances had refused them to their faces. Clearly, they hadn't taken the rejection well.
Before she could respond, the door burst open. A flustered gang member rushed in without knocking.
"Marcus, how dare you barge into the boss's office?" Lucia snapped.
But the recruit ignored her. He stammered, eyes wide with panic. "Boss… D-Daniel."
Lucia turned pale at the name. "What happened to my brother?" she demanded. Her voice was meant to sound strong, but it cracked.
Marcus swallowed hard, glancing between the two women. "He was shot in a drive-by by the Neon Kings. There were two others with him. Miguel died on the spot. Daniel and Nina barely made it—they're with Dr. Carter now."
Frances clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white.
"Let's go," she said, rising abruptly. Lucia nodded desperately, clearly aching to see her brother.
Frances strode out of the office with Lucia and Marcus close behind. They hurried to the building where Dr. Linda Carter ran her makeshift clinic. The smell of antiseptic hit them as soon as they entered. A gang member was already waiting just inside.
"Dr. Carter's in the operating theatre with them," he reported.
Lucia tried to hold it together, but tears slipped down her cheeks anyway. Frances placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
Soon after, Mike arrived with two subordinates, followed by Mary. Mike's face was thunderous. "Boss, we can't let this slide."
Frances sat down in silence, her expression unreadable.
"Boss, why aren't you saying anything?" Paul burst out angrily. "If you don't speak up, who's going to get justice for our brothers and sisters?"
"Shut up, Paul," Mike growled.
Frances stood. "Mary, stay here with Lucia. Let me know the moment Linda comes out."
"Yes, boss."
Frances turned to Mike, her voice low and commanding. "Call everyone to my office." With that, she left the clinic, the others falling in behind her.
A few minutes later, fifteen to twenty gang members had gathered in the laundromat. The newer recruits waited outside while the veterans filed into the office.
Before the meeting could begin, an urgent knock cut through the room.
"Boss."
"Come in," Frances said, her voice flat and emotionless.
Kyle entered — one of Mike's subordinates. His face was pale and slick with panic. "Boss, the Neon Kings raided our liquor warehouse. Jake is dead."
"What?" Mike exploded. Jake wasn't just one of his men; he was a close friend, stationed at the warehouse. "How the hell did they even know the location? Only a few of us knew about it."
The words hung in the air. Everyone in the room realized the same thing at once: there was a traitor among them.
"Tell me who it was," Frances said quietly, her voice low and dangerous. "Everyone who knew about the warehouse is in this room — except Lucia. Confess now, and I'll give you a quick death. Otherwise…"
She let the threat trail off. A visible shudder ran through the group.
"Boss, how can you doubt us?" Paul protested, his face twisted in righteous indignation. "We've been nothing but loyal—we've followed you through life-and-death battles!"
A few members nodded subconsciously, but most looked even more terrified. Several of them shot Paul glances that clearly wished they could sew his mouth shut.
"Moreover," Paul pressed on, voice rising, "if you're doubting us, why aren't you doubting that bitch Lucia? She never fought with us. Yet you trust her more than the people who've bled for this gang? Just because her useless brother got shot, you think she's innocent? What if she orchestrated the whole thing?"
Mike's fist crashed into Paul's face. The punch split his lip, sending blood trickling down his chin. "Shut the fuck up, Paul. Know your limits."
"What limits?" Paul sneered, wiping blood from his mouth. "I'm only speaking the truth. Everyone here knows it. All of this is happening because she overestimated herself and arrogantly refused to pay tribute. Someone who thinks with her emotions isn't fit to lead us."
He turned to Frances, searching for any crack in her armor—anger, doubt, anything. Instead, she watched him with complete indifference, as if observing a clown stumbling across a stage.
A hot, nameless fury ignited in Paul's chest at the utter dismissal in her eyes.
Before he could speak again, Frances's phone rang. She pulled it out and answered with a few quiet hums. "Get some rest," she said, and hung up.
Her gaze returned to Paul. He shuddered. It felt like being stared down by a predator.
"How much did the Neon Kings pay you to sell us out?"