Black Cat: Future Prowl

Webs, Whiskers, and Goldfish Cracker Chaos

"You know, people always think Peter's the level-headed one. Like, I'm the chaotic whirlwind and he's the steady, responsible anchor. And, okay, I'll admit, sometimes that's true. But let me tell you what really happens when I'm upset.

First, I'll slam the door. Not too hard—don't want to scare Lydia, right? But just hard enough to let him know I'm done. And Peter? Oh, he'll poke his head out of whatever gadget or photo or existential Spider-problem he's working on, and he'll do that stupidly adorable thing where his eyebrows scrunch together, like, 'What did I do?'

And honestly? Half the time, it's not even his fault. It's the world. Or some idiot who cut me off on the road. Or, you know, the fact that Lydia decided peanut butter belongs in her hair instead of her sandwich. But Peter's the one who catches the fallout. Poor guy. He just stands there, looking increasingly worried, because he's Peter, and he has to fix everything.

And then he'll try. Oh, God, does he try. He'll do this awkward little shuffle, edging closer, hands half-raised like I'm a cornered cat—which, to be fair, isn't far off. And then he'll say something completely ridiculous. Like, 'Do you want me to web the guy who cut you off?' or 'Should I talk to Lydia about respecting the sandwich?' And it's so stupidly sweet I can't even stay mad.

But the best part? The real magic? It's when he turns those ridiculously big, brown puppy-dog eyes on me. I don't care how mad I am, I melt every time. It's like he's still that dorky guy I fell for, but also... not. Because somewhere along the way, he went from 'cute nerd with glasses' to this absolute dreamboat. And I don't even know when it happened! Was it the way he holds Lydia when she's crying, like the whole world could burn as long as she's okay? Or the way he looks at me, like I hung the moon, even when I'm wearing sweatpants and ranting about grocery store prices?

It's probably both. Stupid, perfect Peter Parker.

And I know I drive him nuts, too. Like, when I storm off and he's left holding Lydia mid-chaos. Or when I mutter things under my breath that he's definitely not supposed to hear. But he never loses it. Not with me. Not with Lydia. He's so... him. Patient, calm, endlessly good. And yeah, sometimes that makes me want to shake him, but mostly it makes me want to throw my arms around him and never let go.

We have this thing now, this routine when I get like that. I'll be pacing, muttering, waving my hands around like a lunatic, and Peter will just sit there on the couch, waiting. Eventually, I'll run out of steam and flop down next to him, grumbling about how 'everything sucks.' And that's when he'll do it. The Spider move. He'll web me. Just my wrist or my shoulder, like a little tether, and he'll grin. That stupid grin. And he'll say, 'I caught you.' Like he's some suave action hero and not the lovable dork he's always been. And it works. Every time.

Then Lydia will toddle over, probably holding something sticky, and climb into my lap. And Peter will lean in, kiss my temple, and whisper something like, 'You know I'd fight the universe for you, right?'

And that's it. That's how we make it work. I get mad, he gets adorable, Lydia inevitably distracts us, and we all end up in a pile on the couch. It's messy and chaotic and imperfect. But it's us. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Because, honestly? Peter Parker gets more attractive every day. And yeah, maybe I'm biased. But when he's sitting there, trying his best to cheer me up with bad jokes, covered in peanut butter thanks to Lydia, and still managing to make me feel like the luckiest woman alive... how could I not be?"

"And the thing is, Peter doesn't even realize he's doing it. That's the kicker. He's not sitting there thinking, 'Oh, let me be this perfect husband-slash-dad-slash-superhero for Felicia.' No, he's just... Peter. He's fumbling through it like the rest of us. But somehow, he makes it look effortless—well, minus the occasional coffee mug he webs to the ceiling by mistake. But hey, nobody's perfect.

What really gets me, though, is how he sees me. Not just the me that everyone else sees—the thief, the sharp-tongued, sometimes-too-much-for-her-own-good Black Cat. He sees me. Felicia. The woman who sometimes cries when Lydia hugs her too tight. The woman who'll put on a brave face for the world, but secretly second-guesses every decision she's ever made. The woman who still doesn't know what the hell she's doing half the time but loves her family so fiercely it hurts.

And Peter? He never makes me feel less than. Not once. Even when I'm a mess, when I'm short with him, when I snap over something dumb like forgetting to pick up milk—he just rolls with it. He doesn't try to fix me or lecture me or make me feel bad for having a bad day. He just... shows up. Every time. For me. For Lydia. For us.

And don't even get me started on how he is with Lydia. That little girl has him wrapped around her tiny, sticky fingers, and he doesn't even mind. She'll babble something incomprehensible, and Peter will nod like she just gave him the secret to the universe. Then he'll say, 'You're absolutely right, Lyds. We should have more pancakes for dinner.' And she'll giggle like he's the funniest man alive. Which, in her world, he probably is.

He's got this thing he does when she's upset, too—he'll scoop her up and start swinging around the living room, making her squeal with laughter. I swear, I could be furious, ready to burn the house down over something stupid, and then I see them together, and... poof. Anger gone. Just like that.

And okay, yeah, sometimes it drives me crazy how he's just so good. Like, how am I supposed to stay mad at a guy who tucks Lydia in every night with a story he made up on the spot? Or who always kisses me like it's the first time, even when we're covered in toddler chaos and exhaustion?

He's the best thing that ever happened to me, and I hate how much I need him sometimes. Because, let's be real, I'm not the 'needy' type. I'm Felicia Hardy. I'm supposed to be the one calling the shots, staying two steps ahead, playing it cool. But with Peter, it's different. He's different. He makes me want to let my guard down, to trust that even when I'm not perfect—even when life isn't perfect—we'll figure it out together.

And we do. We always do. We laugh. We fight. We clean up Lydia's messes. And somehow, at the end of the day, we're stronger than ever. I mean, if we can survive Kingpin, Tombstone, and a three-year-old who refuses to eat anything but goldfish crackers, I think we've got this.

So yeah, I'll say it: Peter Parker is the love of my life. And even when he's driving me insane—or when I'm driving him insane—we make it work. Because that's what we do. That's what we'll always do. For Lydia. For each other. For this messy, beautiful, ridiculous life we've built together.

And if he keeps getting more attractive every day? Well, that's just the cherry on top."