Then

"I would do anything," Peter said, "to have you become my woman."

The shapely Blake Belladonna, in a black sports bra, tights and sneakers, raised a beautiful brow. Amber eyes regarded him. Her feline ears twitched atop her hair.

"I was told no creepers," she said accusingly at Gar. He had invited her to their gym, which until now only had Felicia as its sole female occupant. The scorpion faunus shrugged, turning away from Peter's disastrous attempt at flirting. He didn't tell her he supplied Peter her name, picture, and favorite food.

"I've only told two other women this," Peter said. Blake stared at him. "I'll grant you one wish then you become part of my harem."

Weiss and Yang, the first time he met them, instantly stole his heart. He had to have them. He wouldn't accept anyone else. Unfortunately he was busy at the time so he only texted their scrolls about his offer.

"I wish you'd fuck off," Blake said.

Yang had texted something more hilarious. Weiss probably just ignored him, assuming he was one of her many crazy stalkers.

"Gar!" Blake sidestepped him. "I thought the only human here was a woman?"

"She is," Gar said, jerking a thumb up at Felicia behind him running on a treadmill. The irony wasn't lost on him. Peter shared with Felicia a wry grin. She was in a tank top and shorts, listening to music as she exercised. Mustn't be that loud if she heard Blake's shouts.

Blake almost pirouetted with the speed of her turn, observing him. "What are your features?"

Peter's wrist opened slightly, flesh sinking, shooting web on the ceiling.

Blake tilted her head. Her adorable cat ears tilted too.

"I'm not a faunus," Peter said. "For all you know, this is a semblance."

"His semblance is to walk on walls," Gar said.

Blake scowled. "You shouldn't be ashamed of your faunusity."

"I have nothing but respect for faunus," Peter said. "But I am not one of them."

"He's in the closet," Gar added gleefully. The fucker.

Blake poked his chest with a smile verging on coquettish possessing her lips. "Why would I waste my time with a man who couldn't even own up to what he is?"

"I'll protect you," Peter promised. The urge within him and the symbiote compelled him to have her. It was a need. To hold, embrace, and forever shelter Blake and Weiss and Yang from the outside world.

Blake nodded. "No wonder you're so successful in your jobs."

Peter narrowed his eyes. He had assumed she was only a newcomer friend of Gar whom he invited to their gym. Faunus solidarity compelling her to try the place was what Blake impressed upon him when she strolled inside. No way a one billion over ten would waste her time here otherwise.

"You're the client for the Chalkwhite and Pinkman job," he said, going out on a limb.

Blake nodded slowly.

"I'm very strong," Peter said. It was a fact. At this point, he was sure there didn't exist a single person greater than him in direct combat. "And I meant it. One wish, then you're mine."

Blake scoffed. "Big talk there, Johnny Dickless."

"Actually, my name's Peter Parker. Nice to meet you."

Blake held her chin in mock contemplation. "If I have the ears of a cat, does that mean you have the ass of a spider? When someone calls you an asshole, do you correct them with its plurality?"

Peter, Gar and even Felicia broke into laughter. Blake stilled, glancing at Felicia. This was a level of trash talk she must find acceptable only among her own kind. She mistook Felicia for a human and suspected her, while at the same time ignored Peter's own claims and insisted he was a boomerang faunus.

Peter inhaled, and with it caught the mesmerizing fragrance of her red grape shampoo.

She saw his earnest look and she smirked. "You're that desperate, huh? Keep looking." She turned around, the sway of her hips and the snug fabric on her ass drawing his attention until she made small talk with Felicia.

What he felt for Blake, as he did for Yang and Weiss, was a need. He didn't know any of them personally. He only saw Yang when she strode out of Signal Academy, Weiss only through proxy with her cousin. But he needed them. He needed them so much. He was fire, and they were his air, without which he would wane and smother and evanesce.

"Bro," Gar said. "What the hell was that? Blake's upper management in the White Fang."

They're a terrorist organization, Peter almost said. But if Blake was their face, then they mustn't be all bad.

"Did she tell you?" Peter asked.

"No. But I was from Menagerie, remember? Her parents used to lead it before Sienna took over, and Blake was Adam Taurus' number two."

Adam Taurus, the blade of righteousness, some of the more extremist faunus have said.

He was a violent killer painted as a monster.

Then again, so was the tarnished image of Spider-Man.

Don't throw stones in glass houses.

Or something like that.

"I live in a glass house, so I shouldn't throw stones," Uncle Ben had once said when Peter was a boy. He was crying, sitting on Uncle Ben's lap, a black eye marring Peter's face. He had gotten into a fight with someone richer than himself deriding him for his penurious clothing.

"Right," Peter said, clapping Gar's shoulder. "I recommend you keep that to yourself, all right?"

Now

Peter grunted, pressing Blake against the wall. Her breasts squeezed against his chest, her nipples rubbing his skin. Her legs were on either side of his shoulders as he fucked her. Weiss and Yang were nearly catatonic. Blake panted, the sweat only enhancing her sublime body. Gods, she was beautiful. He didn't know if he loved her, but she was his. All his. His to protect and love and sow and hold as she swells with his children. Gods, he was smitten with her.

Then

"My brother's over here," Blake said, pointing at the bathroom. They were in her motel. "Adam? Adam!" She marched inside and returned holding the wrist of Adam Taurus. He wore a white mask over his eyes reminiscent of Grimm, horns protruding from his forehead, scarlet hair the color of blood windswept on his head. "He was dad's son with another woman. The woman died. Dad refused to acknowledge him, afraid of mom. So now here we are."

"Blake," Adam said chastisingly, "don't just tell strangers our lives, for Gods' sake."

The Gods of Light and Darkness, if they were listening, didn't care to reprimand the sinners of this world.

Adam was in a towel, skin (and mask) glistening, having recently showered, and managed a stoic expression despite the sheer embarrassment he must be feeling within.

Peter wisely stepped out of the motel room.

Blake didn't know Peter knew she was the White Fang founders' daughter. That was why she had been so open about her secret brother Adam, whom until now Peter had assumed was her boss.

If they had a sibling relationship, which given what he saw all but affirmed it, then perhaps it was merely nepotism that maintained control over the White Fang. Was Sienna Khan another relative, perhaps?

One thing was for sure. Peter had to get on the good side of Blake's brother. Adam stepped out into the corridor with a jet black jacket and pants. Peter looked at his fuzzy black cat slipper shoes.

"They're Blake's," Adam said calmly.

So you shower with your mask on. How does that make you feel?

Peter had gone on weeks wearing his Spider-Man costume, but even he drew the line at bathing with it.

Peter resisted asking the question, cursing himself for lacking the courage to do so. He didn't want to anger the brother of the woman he needed so he kept that little detail to himself.

"You know who I am," Adam said.

Peter nodded.

"What Blake Taurus told you does not leave us, understand?" Adam asked.

That confirmed one theory. Blake hadn't ever told him her last name, and she wasn't stupid enough to use that of her parents'.

Gar really needed to shut his mouth. If he told anyone else on Blake 'Taurus' then he'd sour relations with the White Fang's nepotistic management.

Speaking of relatives, if Felicia learned Peter was messaging her cousin she was going to flip.

"I understand you're in the possession of Mr. Chalkwhite and Mr. Pinkman," Adam began.

"You're well informed," Peter said, hiding his shock with a cool, calm exterior. How did Adam know Maximoff snatched the dirty cops, blindfolded them, and set them inside the open hatch of the sports utility vehicle Ale and Gar were in?

Peter doubted any of them were stupid enough to tell anyone what happened. If anyone compromised the job, Peter would walk, Maximoff following him out. That would gut the remainders, having their two heavy hitters leaving. The only things Peter hated more than traitors are surprises.

"I'd like to purchase them," Adam said. "How does ten grand each sound? Not bad, right? Especially for some racist human cops."

"I'm human," Peter said.

Adam nodded. "I see. Well, unfortunately for you, Peter the Human, the rest of us aren't as fortunate," and there he sneered, "to have our faunus features hideable from line of sight."

"Why does no one believe me?" Peter groaned, wiping his face.

"So do we have a deal?" Adam asked. "Discreetly, of course. I wouldn't want Blake knowing this kind of transaction. If you tell her I'll kill you." He said it so casually others would've dismissed it on the spot.

Not Peter, though. He peered between his fingers, his spider sense tingling. He'd rip Adam's throat out and beat his skull with it before Adam could use whatever semblance or skill he thought gave him an edge in combat.

Something in Peter must have given him away, because the ember that the spider sense detected from Adam flared into a wildfire. Peter would jump out of the window, web Adam with it, and throw him into the ground. Even if Peter failed, he could run across the wallspan and enter from another window or door. Or he could stalk Adam from a distance, attack him when he tries to sleep, and analyze his semblance. Peter had done worse, Atlasian mercenaries in a winter environment without tall buildings to web-sling from. He could keep fighting so long as water and electrolytes and glucose exist. He could acquire the former from moisture on the air and the latter two from other animals and even sapient beings if needed.

He didn't require sleep.

The symbiote was really useful in that regard.

If it came to a battle of attrition, only the Grimm could outlast him due to their sheer number. And he had survived the wild during his covert campaign against Atlas battling both its enforcers and the Grimm that sought to destroy him.

Adam was nothing compared to a nation.

The staring contest continued, but not for much longer. If Adam somehow sent a message covertly to his allies who were now sneaking up to assassinate Peter, he would kill Adam here and now then deal with them.

"Now kiss," Blake said, strolling out the room. She wore a snug black crop top flattering her belly, white shorts, black stockings and white shoes. Ribbons tied her hair. Contacts colored her eyes blue. A cap hid her faunus cat ears. Adam stared at it. She put a hand on her hip. "It's a hat, Adam."

"Mhm."

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes, fetching from her pocket cat shaped sunglasses she laid over her gaze. "What were you two testosterone-ing about?"

"That isn't a word," Adam said.

"Yeah, it is. Right, Peter?"

"Yes, ma'am," Peter said. Blake graced him a radiant smile.

"See? He gets it."

Peter wanted, needed to kiss those lips, and her breasts, and abdomen, and fuck her lights out.

Something was wrong with him.

Heirs, encouraged the symbiote.

Peter needed heirs. It was a biological imperative. Only Blake (and Weiss and Yang) could help him sate it.

"I let them go," Peter said, realizing how Adam knew. There were no traitors.

He had been bluffing.

Peter fell for it hook, line and sinker.

"Let what go?" Blake asked.

Adam, despite the horror he must be feeling, actually smothered the dangerous flames from the spider sense. Not in front of Blake.

"Stray cats that some ruffians painted pink and white," Peter said. "So why did you bring me here?"

"We want you on retainer," Blake said, "as we've done to other reliable, sympathetic gangs."

And slowly absorb his crew into the White Fang.

"Is that your wish?" Peter asked, not hiding the smoldering desire in his eyes. Blake blushed, but valiantly fought it into a scowl.

"It is what I hope," she said, "would be the start of new beginnings."

"I'm on your side, Blake," he said. "But the only way you'll get me to do something else is with a wish."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Adam asked. "I know a hidden conversation when I see one."

"Nothing," Blake said, showing the disappointment in her voice. The friendliness was gone, her attempt at false camaraderie evaporating.

Radar mode startled him. In slow motion, it drew with flames in his mind's eye Blake stepping around him. His physical eyes told him she hasn't moved a spot. Thinking fast, while Adam looked at the Blake clone, Peter webbed a card with his number to the real Blake's back.

Then the clone waned like lighted shadows and she was gone.

Peter pretended to be surprised. Adam smirked. "She's a little impatient, but my sister knows when to back off."

Then

Someone called his scroll. He parked his car in the sidewalk, the storefronts closed around him, and checked the number. Unknown. His thumb rose over the decline button. His spider sense enveloped him in a solar flare.

He answered the phone.

There was breathing. Running. Footfalls. Grunts. Falling.

"Hello?" Peter asked. "Who is this?"

He touched the steering wheel, thinking about getting some pizza.

Again, the solar flare.

What the hell was going on?

He stayed put for a minute, then two, thenn three. He counted the passing cars until he was over a hundred. Smoke plumed from a distance, firelight coloring the air orange. Fire trucks rushed past him. A hobo knocked against his window, asking for spare lien. He didn't open it, the spider sense showing an ember from the man. Peter watched him walk away with a knife on his waistband.

The caller hung up.

Peter alighted the vehicle.

"Peter?" Blake asked, stumbling, holding a wet black sword with her left hand, gripping her left shoulder where it bled with her right. Her clothes were torn, her face bruised, her cat ears twitching erratically. She dropped a scroll some feet back. Peter webbed it to his palm where the surveillance cameras won't see him.

He was by her side. Her body, perhaps subconsciously aware of his strength and desire to protect her, finally shut down. Peter had the number of a retired doctor willing to do off the book jobs for a hefty fee.

He carried her back into the car, taking her where he felt safest: the gym. Felicia swore when she saw Blake, a glyph underfoot increasing her speed as she dashed beside him. Felicia scooped Blake in her arms. Ale, Gar and Maximoff were on high alert, forming a ring around her.

"Were you attacked?" Maximoff asked, vibrating, silver lighting his aura.

"Found her like this." Peter checked her scroll. Blake had called his number. She used a scroll tracking app to guide her to his location.

"Get the doctor," he said.

Then

"S-something was wrong with him." Blake shivered, bandaged, an IV drip tethered to her wrist supplying saline to her body. She lay in Peter's second floor gym room, in his insistence in spite of Felicia suggesting Blake go inside hers instead.

Blake squinted her eyes at posters of Spider-Man. Ah. Glory days. There was one picture of him clashing with James Ironwood, emerging the victor. He had fought the leader of Atlasian Military.

Now he hustled for money.

How times change.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"H-his eyes were black. H-h," she stammered, "he was going crazy. Planning a train assault and killing everyone on board. S-someone was controlling him. He isn't like that!"

"Okay," Peter said, soothing her. Blake was lashing out. It was fine. He'll take care of her. "Adam did this?"

"No! Weren't you listening? I confronted him i-in the motel room. In front of the others." White Fang grunts, she meant. "H-he was snarling and growling and c-calling me a race traitor!"

She wept openly.

"We fought. The others sided with him."

Peter turned on the news where Lisa Lavender ran a coverage on a burning building. The motel. The camera glimpsed figures in one of the rooms. Dead faunus cooked within.

Blake was outnumbered thirty to one, and fought like a woman possessed, it seemed.

"A mind control semblance," Peter said, "isn't unheard of. Were you trying to kill everyone to set Adam free?"

Blake refused to look at him, ashamed at the violent deed.

"I cleaned your sword." It had been soaked with blood. He picked it up off the floor and handed it to her. Blake embraced it like a lifeline.

Then

Outside his room, his crew gathered. Felicia, Maximoff, Gar and Ale listened to Peter's plan. Maximoff smirked.

"We're going to war with the White Fang?"

"War implies risks," Peter said. "We won't get a scratch."