aFireFist
A Life in Marvel
Chapter 12 - Part 3
MJ closed her book slowly and looked at him for a long second, her expression softer than usual. "Good. Secrets like that eat people alive. You're already carrying enough on your plate without adding the constant fear of your aunt figuring it out at the worst possible moment. At least now one less person is in the dark. And honestly? Aunt May's tough. She raised you after everything with your uncle. She can handle knowing you're out there trying to do the right thing."
She paused, then added in her dry, matter-of-fact tone, "Just don't be stupid about it. You've got people who care. Use that. Tell her when you're going out. Let her know you're coming back. It's not weakness—it's smart. And you're allowed to be smart about this, Parker. You don't have to be the lone hero all the time. We're here too. Even if it's just for normal stuff like covering for you in class or making sure you eat something that isn't vending machine garbage after a rough night."
Peter managed a real smile, looking between them. "Thanks. Both of you. I mean it. I've been so focused on keeping everything separate that I forgot how much easier it is when I don't have to."
Ned punched his good arm lightly. "That's what friends are for. Now eat your lunch before it gets cold. And tell us more about how May reacted. Did she try on the mask? Because I would have."
The three of them spent the rest of lunch talking about normal things—homework, the upcoming weekend, whether Flash was still sulking about the decathlon results. For the first time in a long while Peter felt like he was actually present instead of half-living in the mask.
After school the decathlon team gathered near the main entrance of Midtown High. Bags were slung over shoulders, jackets half-zipped against the late afternoon breeze. Liz stood in the middle of the small group, smiling more easily than she had in weeks. Her hair was down, and she looked lighter somehow, like a weight had finally been lifted even if the future still felt uncertain.
"Okay, so the place is only a few blocks," Ned said, consulting his phone. "Small café called the Corner Cup. They have sandwiches, fries, and those giant cookies. Perfect for a send-off."
"Lead the way," MJ said, already walking. "Before Flash shows up and ruins the mood."
They moved as a loose group down the sidewalk—Ned talking animatedly about the season's best moments, Gwen walking beside Morgan with their hands brushing occasionally, Peter a step behind Liz, and the rest of the team filling in the gaps with laughter and overlapping chatter. The city felt almost normal for once. No sirens in the immediate distance. No tension hanging over every conversation.
The café was a small corner place with big windows and warm lighting. Wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods hit them the moment they walked in. They pushed two tables together near the back. Orders went in quickly—sodas and iced teas for most of them, a couple of coffees, plates of fries to share, sandwiches, and a few of those giant cookies Ned had promised.
Liz sat between Gwen and MJ, smiling as she unwrapped her sandwich. "I'm going to miss this," she said, looking around the table. "Even the all-nighters before the meets. The way Ned would panic about the last practice questions and MJ would just sit there reading like none of it mattered."
Ned raised his hands. "It did matter! We won nationals. That's not nothing."
"It was mostly Liz," MJ said dryly, but there was warmth in her voice. "She carried the science and the calm under pressure. The rest of us just tried not to embarrass her."
Peter lifted his glass of soda. "You carried half the team. We're going to fall apart without you."
Liz laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in a long time. "You'll be fine. Just don't let Flash take over the strategy talks. He'll turn every practice into a debate about who's the smartest person in the room."
"Too late," Ned said around a mouthful of fries. "He's already texting the group chat about 'rebuilding stronger.' I muted it."
The table filled with overlapping conversations. Someone brought up the time the power went out during a late practice and they finished the session by phone light. Gwen talked about the molecular biology questions that always made everyone groan. Morgan stayed mostly quiet but smiled when Gwen nudged him under the table, her fingers brushing his knee. Liz shared a story about the first time she realized the team actually felt like a real group instead of just people who studied together. The fries disappeared. The cookies were broken into pieces and passed around. Soft drinks were refilled. For almost a full hour the outside world—Oregon, the Vulture, the weight of everything that had happened—stayed at the door.
When the plates were mostly empty and the conversation started to slow, Liz checked her phone and sighed. "I should get going soon. Early flight."
The energy around the table shifted. Chairs scraped back. Hugs started. Ned went first, wrapping Liz in an enthusiastic, slightly awkward hug. "Text us when you land. And send pictures of Oregon. I need to know if it's as green as the movies."
MJ hugged her next, brief but genuine. "Don't let the new school turn you soft. Stay sharp."
Gwen hugged her tightly, whispering something only Liz could hear that made her smile. The rest of the team followed—quick hugs, promises to keep the group chat alive, a couple of jokes about how the next nationals would be harder without her. The group spilled out onto the sidewalk in a loose cluster, the late afternoon light turning everything gold.
Peter hung back until most of the others had started walking away in different directions. Then he stepped up to Liz, hands in his pockets, expression serious but open.
"Hey," he said. "I just… I wanted to say thank you. For everything. And I'm sorry about how things ended with your dad. If I'd been faster, or smarter—"
Liz cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. "You kept him alive. That's more than most people would have done. I'm not angry at you, Peter. I'm just… glad it's over." She reached out and squeezed his arm. "Take care of yourself, okay? And don't disappear on your friends so much. They notice. We all do."
"I won't," he said, voice quieter. "I'm trying to be better about that. Safe trip to Oregon. Really. I hope it's good for you."
Liz hugged him quick and tight, then stepped back with a small smile. "You too, Peter. Keep being the good guy. The city needs it."
She turned and joined the last of the group as they began to scatter. Morgan and Gwen waited near the curb, watching the others leave. As the final members of the team walked off, Liz slipped a folded piece of paper into Gwen's hand with a small, private smile that only the two of them shared.
Gwen waited until they were alone before opening it. An address. A short note in Liz's handwriting: Tonight. Room 412. One last time before I leave.
Morgan read it over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Love hotel?"
Gwen's cheeks flushed, but her eyes were already bright. "Looks like it. You free?"
"For that?" Morgan smirked. "Always."
They flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address. As the city lights slid past the windows Gwen leaned against Morgan's side, her hand resting high on his thigh.
"She's leaving tomorrow," Gwen said quietly. "I want her to remember tonight."
Morgan's fingers traced slow circles on her knee. "She will."
The taxi pulled up in front of a discreet mid-rise building with tinted windows and a small lobby. They paid the driver, walked inside, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Room 412 was at the end of the hall. Gwen knocked once.
Liz opened the door wearing a short black robe, hair down, makeup softer than usual. She stepped aside to let them in. The room was simple but clean—king bed, low lighting, a small sitting area, the faint scent of clean sheets and something warmer underneath.
Liz closed the door and leaned back against it, looking at both of them. "I didn't want to leave without this. Without both of you."
Gwen crossed the room first and kissed her, slow and deep. Morgan watched for a second before stepping in behind Gwen, hands settling on her hips as he kissed the side of her neck. Liz's robe slipped open at the front. Underneath she was already bare.
Morgan's hands moved from Gwen's hips to Liz's waist, then higher, cupping the heavy weight of her tits through the open robe. He squeezed them firmly, thumbs brushing over the stiff nipples. Liz moaned into Gwen's mouth.
"God, I've been thinking about this all day," Liz breathed when they finally broke the kiss. "About both of you. About how full I still felt after the last time."
Gwen smiled against her lips. "Then let's make sure you feel it tomorrow on the plane."
{R-18 Scene Morgan x Gwen x Liz 2230 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n.}
Liz let out a soft laugh. "I lost count of how many times I came. Every position felt better than the last. The way you two shared me… the way you both made sure I was taken care of. I'm going to miss waking up sore from you two."
Gwen kissed her again, slower this time. "We'll make sure there are more nights like this when you visit. Until then, you have the memories. And the ache."
Morgan's energy continued to flow, a gentle warmth that eased the tiredness in their bodies while leaving the pleasant soreness intact. They stayed tangled together, hands roaming lazily over soft skin and curves, talking quietly about Oregon, about school, about the city they were all leaving pieces of behind. The conversation drifted from filthy recollections to softer things — promises to text, hopes for the future, quiet affirmations that tonight had been exactly what they all needed.
Eventually the energy in the room settled. The need that had lingered faded into comfortable exhaustion. Liz's breathing grew deeper and slower, her body relaxing fully between them. Gwen and Morgan stayed awake a little longer, exchanging soft kisses over Liz's shoulder, the warm energy still connecting the three of them in a gentle loop.
The room stayed thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the sheets a complete mess beneath them, but the night had come to its natural end.
***
Captain George Stacy sat at his desk in the precinct, the late shift quiet around him. Reports from the past few nights were stacked in front of him — small-time crews taken down with almost surgical precision. Webbed up, dazed, weapons left in plain view. No civilian injuries. No big fights. Just clean, efficient incapacitations.
He rubbed his eyes and picked up the latest file. Another group near the river warehouses. Four men. One with a Chitauri pistol. All secured before any real damage was done. The pattern was the same as the others: quick, coordinated, almost… professional in its restraint.
George leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He had a pretty good idea who was behind some of these. The timing, the style, the way certain powered signatures seemed to match what he knew about Gwen's "training" sessions with Morgan. He wasn't blind. He'd seen the way they looked at each other during dinner.
He picked up his coffee and took a slow sip. Part of him wanted to call them right now, to warn them again. But another part — the part that had watched the city get worse after the Accords and the Vulture mess — was quietly relieved. The streets were a little safer tonight because of whatever they were doing. Small crews were being taken off the board before they could escalate.
George set the file down and stared at the stack. "Just stay smart," he muttered to the empty office. "Stay smart and come home safe."
He knew he couldn't stop them. All he could do was trust them — and keep an eye on the reports.
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