Okay, the last two were easy, but let's see you get this one. (Patreon)

“Still no place to call your own?” May asked, heating up dinner just for him.

“Nothing. No prospects whatsoever,” Peter sighed.

“You can always stay here,” May suggested. “Think of it like having, oh, a roommate.”

“Sorry, May, I just can’t sleep with all your wild parties, you know that,” Peter teased. “Besides, the commute’s killing me.”

“Well, if you don’t want to stay here, you can always be a boarder,” May told him. “Closer to the city, though. I’ve taken one and I don’t charge her much at all.”

“Her?”

“What’s with all the excitement?” Felicia Hardy asked, coming down the stairs in a haze of drowsy, girlish energy. “I thought Queens rolled up the sidewalks at eleven.”

Peter stared at her. She was dressed almost modestly: her white hair tied back into a messy French twist, her mask and collar replaced by a black lace choker, and her… inspiring catsuit replaced by a kitten-themed long-sleeve, her skirt black with white trim. Its asymmetrical contrast gave her a casual elegance that, while being street clothes, maintained the decadent easiness she showed as the Black Cat. Her boots had a white fur trim as well. The woman knew her look.

Her clothing was all perfectly innocent; it was her expression and the look in her eyes that told you she’d been around and would let you know it. Her eyes raked over Peter’s muscular body, lingering on his crotch as if calling some bluff, before flickering back to his eyes.

“And who’s this?” she asked, deeply ironic.

“My nephew,” May answered. “Oh, I’ve told you about him plenty. Peter Benjamin Parker, meet Felicia Hardy, my new tenant. She’s an artist!”

An artist at what, I bet she hasn’t mentioned, Peter thought viciously. He extended his hand to shake. Felicia took it in both of hers, her hands even softer and warmer than her supple gloves had been.

“Sorry to just occupy your turf like this,” Felicia said. “But this place is so charming! I think I can do some really nice spreads here.”

“I guess that would make you the girl next door.”

“Every girl’s next door to something,” Felicia replied.