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indouloureux · 2 years

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debauched angels (and brazen escapades) - Ⅲ

gif not mine!

summary: your betrayal breaks peter's heart, and so does yours. with your bloody vendetta boiling for revenge, you reveal the truth to him, and you finally succeed at your plan.

word count: 12, 830

warnings: character death, violence, mentions of blood, angst, slight fluff at the end.

a/n: i'm sorry if this sucks. i got stuck in this for almost a month and the ending seems rushed. but thank you all for the love and support you gave me in this series! mwah mwah love you all endlessly

MASTERLIST ; SERIES MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

evil, i’ve come to tell you that she’s evil

most definitely

Peter can clearly remember the first time he saw you.

It’d been months ago, too long to remember how many weeks had passed. He was hell-bent; beyond exhausted after busting an underground mob from attacking another underground mob. And all he wanted was to go home to May for the weekend, maybe watch a movie with her, then go to bed.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

The night was chilly and dismal, with an almost grey sky due to pollution. It didn't, however, stop the balmy scent of crisp winter from slipping beyond the murky fog that shrouded New York. It was snowing, snowflakes covering Peter’s suit. His heater was broken and all he had for warmth was his breath that blew on his hands.

He’d sent a laconic text to May, explaining how he’d be there the next day rather than tonight. But really he could have been there immediately – but there was something wrong.

His senses had been warning him to stay after he busted the mob, as if it had been telling him there was something more upcoming. But that had been hours ago.

Peter’s still waiting.

He’d entertained himself by making a small web hammock supported by two poles on top of a building, swaying cautiously with a game on his phone for leisure. And he waited there for what seemed like hours until he realized –

That it was already 3 in the morning.

Sighing impatiently, he hopped off the hammock. But his foot got stuck between and he tripped, falling on his face with a loud grunt as his cheek made contact with the pavement.

He then heard a giggle.

Peter pushed himself up, craning his neck upward to get a glance of the person who giggled.

Then he saw her.

Her legs were slender and long, shadow towering over his body that was still on the ground. And with the darkness, the only telltale sign that she’s wearing something was the moon that reflects on her leather bodysuit. Her weight was shifted on her right leg, hand placed on the curvature of her waist; evoking the elegance of the ocean's waves.

After a fair amount of time observing her suit, his eyes finally shifted to her face.

God, did it make him speechless.

His eyes first landed on her lips, engraved to a smirk from the aftermath of her giggle. Its color was vibrant, perfect against her skin. The front of her teeth were barely visible between her lips, bright and aligned. Peter’s eyes trace the impeccable shape of her cheekbones until they reach her eyes.

There’s this thing about paintings, where all that imagination and dedication always led to one thing: its core appeal, the subject. It’s the thing that captures people’s attention – to enthrall them, maybe even hypnotize them. And the aspect’s always unique enough to be so incrementally beauteous to its ambiance.

And if she's the masterpiece that leaves him bewildered after a diligent appraisal of her sui generis splendor, her eyes would have been the artwork's cynosure.

With trauma and innocence sequestered beneath, all Peter perceives is the ferocity to which defiles amiability; pupils wide with curiosity and wonders she’s yet to see. Being the punctilious person he was, he senses that she might have slightly let her guard down when she saw him.

But that doesn’t make feel inferior. Doesn’t make him not at least revocable to his determination of doing his job.

“Hey,”

(A voice so arousing to the ears, Peter thinks it might have been doused in hemlock – beautiful but so full of venom)

“Hey,” Spider-Man repeated, standing up from the ground. “You’re new.”

“Am I, now?” she cocked her head to the side. “’d the bad guys you fight not wear skintight suits?”

He shook his head. “Nah. More like they’re all guys.”

“So you’ve never fought a girl?”

“No.”

Her nose crinkled, the mask covering the bridge of her nose wrinkling with. “Do you like a challenge? A change of things? Fighting someone other than greedy men?”

He bit his lip. “Yeah. Maybe. What are you supposed to be?”

She examined her attire before spinning about, her silver hair practically wrapping around her torso. “I’m a cat. Isn’t it that obvious?”

“Don’t cats usually have ears and a tail?”

“Don’t spiders usually have eight legs?” she teased, dropping down the ledge she’s standing on. But she’s shorter than him – maybe an inch or two – so she had to look up. “You have two legs and you don’t see me complaining.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright, smartass.” His eyes shifted to the hands behind her. “What’d you got behind you?”

“Oh this?” Her hand emerged from behind, a captivating ring dangling on her protruding nail. Perhaps to compensate for the lack of a tail and ears, her hands approximate a cat's paw with the tiny retraction of her nails. “Just something I got along the way. Ah, correction, stole.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why didn’t my senses alert me from her talented thievery? Oh, am I failing my duties as the city’s favorite crime-fighting spider? Oh the misery! I’m such a shame!’”

“Oh wow,” his eyebrows raised, his mask copying his expression as he reacted from her dramatic mocking. “Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly what I feel. But really, I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that you stole that.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

He chuckled, even almost snorting. “I’m not telling you how to do your job. I’m just telling you that you shouldn’t have told me because now I’m going to have to take it away from you.”

“Moi! Take this from me?” She played with the ring on her finger. “I think you’re underestimating me, Spider. Because I’m not gonna let you take this from me quite easily.”

(To be fair, she was right.)

Peter couldn’t remember what happened next aside from the fact that he chased her from building to building, like he always did, following her like an obedient tail. And as most nights with her ended, he’d been hoping to catch her before she fell off the ledge.

And catch her he did.

It's the first time Peter has seen the phantom wings behind her swell, engulfing both of them as his arms wrap around her waist; an amoral of a sinful cherub. The web clasped tightly in his palm, noses almost touching, and breaths swallowed.

He thought maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the devil she claimed to be. That maybe she was just an angel beneath those vindictive eyes.

But Peter was proven wrong. Because months later, she’d become the notorious dulcet renegade everyone knew her to be. And she was nothing but hellacious.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, both dipped dramatically off the ledge as their feet balance on the side of the building.

Her nail traced his cheekbone, so sharp that it almost cut off the fabric. And she leaned in to whisper in his ear, lips teasing.

“Black Cat.”

And as she fell with the snowflakes that shattered on the pavement, Black Cat disappeared on him for the first time.

“(y/n)’s black cat”.

Peter’s fingers dance on the keyboard of his cracked phone. How are you so certain?

He looks behind her after he hits ‘send’, your presence still nowhere to be seen. And he patiently waits for MJ’s response. When his phone vibrates, he picks it up immediately.

MJ: (Sent a video.)

With trembling fingers, he presses the triangle in the middle of the screen, watching as the video starts to play.

It’s a blurry capture of Black Cat from afar inside the gallery. Albeit she lacks the signature silver hair she adorns proudly on the crest of her head. Lexi, who Peter assumes was the one who took the video, zooms closer.

The figure is unclear, but he could very clearly see the silver hair on you shoulder that contrasts to everything.

And then, you look directly at the camera. Peter pauses.

It’s…you.

MJ: believe me now?

He leaves her on read.

Peter feels…perplexed.

The scenario as a whole is erroneous. Why are you helping him in finding Black Cat - why are you helping him in finding yourself? Have you done this to perfect yourself in his eyes? Make it appear as though you were a good person notwithstanding your crimes? Or was this a game you meant to play with him in the first place?

His mind becomes muddled with unanswered queries, but that isn't what he is bothered about right now;

It’s the betrayal that fills his heart which weighs heavily on his chest. Peter feels as if he’s in the midst of the ocean – the waters of adage pervades his body that flails helplessly for air, but his blind oblivion pulls down on his feet, plunging him down to the deep depths of the ocean until he can no longer see the light.

He pathetically tries to salvage the flawed revelation. Peter recalls the night before and the moments that occurred between the two of you. How you got to know each other, the maybe commonalities between the two of you, and when you were fucking him deeply as he whispered submissive words into your moaning mouth.

Earlier this morning, the thought made his cock twitch. But now it only put a pang in his heart.

“No man should own me. But I’m yours.”

The words reverberate in his brain like a litany, taunting him for his gullibility. Mocking him because, while you spoke those things, he half-heartedly wished someone else had said them as well.

He hadn’t known that that person was also you.

Peter suddenly feels light-headed, abruptly standing on his feet that he stumbles sideways on his footing, accidentally knocking over something beneath the bed.

It fell softly but with his senses heightened and his eyesight bearing itself like a flipped magnifying glass, it stings his ears and leaves a painful ringing tone.

He looks down on the mess he made.

Peeking beneath was a half a silver band, shiny and dainty. He frowns whilst he bends down to pull it away.

It's little, yet it feels heavy on his hand, despite the fact that the emerald weights just a sliver amount of the guilt he hopes you'll possibly feel. It’s also enough of a confirmation that you are Black Cat.

Could your name be an anagram, too?

(He also spots a very tiny dent on the edge of the gem – he thinks it’s where you left the small piece of gem that he thought was glass back at the first time you met him as yourself)

“Peter?” you call out. “Pete, you alright?”

He lies. Maybe you’re used to that too. “I’m alright. I’m-I’m coming.”

As he gruffly steps out the bedroom, he feels the emerald dig into his palm, almost cutting the epidermis. He’s clutching the ring tightly, knuckles white with frustration.

It’s unfair how beautiful you get every time he sees you, naked or not. Unfair how you always had that angelic glow that pushes your accost brutish deviancy beneath.

Now that he’s aware of the truth, the hints of your alter ego is presumptuously ubiquitous to a very observant person – maybe even to a normal person.

“Peter?” your voice is merely a distant echo. “Are you okay?”

He sees you furrow your eyebrows in concern, and he’s left to wonder if it was genuine or not. And as his eyes stop itself from burning your body alive, he blinks rapidly.

“I think,” Peter replies. His hand grasps the ring so tightly that it’s trembling. “I just feel a bit dizzy, ‘s all.”

“You should rest then,” you softly smile at him, refocusing your attention back at the painting. “Can’t have you dizzy when you’re solving. I kinda need your brain intact.”

Your words make him livid – because (a.) you're being brutally pompous, and (b.) the falsehoods glide from your tongue with no mistakes, as if your words – your lies – had been rehearsed too many times before you began to toy with him.

In another world, you might have been an actor (and maybe he would have been, too.)

“Yeah,” he forces out a smile.

“What did Ned say?”

Peter stays silent.

Your smile fades as you set the brush on the table beside you, wiping your palms on your pants. Peter catches the tense bounce on your knee as your tongue flies out to lick your dry lips.

“You didn’t text Ned, didn’t you?”

He lifts his head, jutting out his chin. Peter rolls his shoulders and tries an attempt to tower over you as you walk towards him, looking unbothered yet accusatory.

After what you did, you had the audacity to look at me as if I had done something wrong?

“What did you find, Peter?” the tone is soft, albeit flat. Unreadable.

Peter takes a long breath, preventing himself from doing anything to you: like wrapping his hand around your neck; slamming your body to the ground; beating all the bullshit out of you until all that's left is the truth.

Furrowed eyebrows, eyes deemed afraid but amalgamated with relief, lips twitching.

All the lies and you’re beautiful still.

“Did I find this by accident?” he shows you the ring, a scoff leaving his lips. “Or did you leave this out in the open for me to find just like you planned?”

Your breath hitches and your eyes look away from his to the ring that sits trembling between his fingers. Your jaw clenches, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” he scoffs again. “You’re telling me that if I look beneath your bed or destroy your room to look for all your bullshit I wouldn’t find anything?”

Sans the lies he clearly sees rushing to your head that easily slips past your abetted lips, you lean closer instead to ‘observe’ the ring. “I don’t have anything to hide,” you say. “That’s not mine-”

When you reach out to retrieve the ring from him, Peter's hand promptly clutches around your wrist, tugging it closer to him. And his touch is anything but delicate, holding it with such fierce that he hopes it fractures.

You’re cruel to me, I’ll be cruel to you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, (y/n),” he snarls, eyes wide and lividly feral. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me.”

Angels are supposed to be candor; ethical, attentive, apparition to vast ingenuity that adorns you sophisticatedly. You were supposed to make his life better like he pitifully expected when he met you.

But now your voice is a cacophony of duplicity and unnerving assertions that almost makes his ears bleed.

He changes his question at your silence. “Why did you help me?” his tone softens, but his grip remains venomously tight.

“My father wanted me to watch over you,” you answer him. “He thinks that if I gave you a clue it would take you a while to solve it. That maybe you’d stop being Spider-Man for a while because all your attention would be in here.” You let out a disbelieving scoff with a smirk that follows. “And, fuck, I can’t believe he was right-”

“Why did you do it?” his voice drips with pain from the betrayal, eyes searching any remorse from the stoic he sees. But he struggles reading you, anyway, worried the sadness you show him was another play. “Well?”

You don't respond again, which enrages him. Helpless, his mind replays the events as if they were projections, fast enough that all he sees is a flash of white and he slams you against the wall, your wrists now immobilized on the side of your head.

Wincing, you speak. “Just give me the ring, Peter, please-”

“I’m not giving you shit,” he spits, leaning closer to you. “I don’t owe you shit. You’re not getting this.”

With all the nerve, you begin to menacingly glare at him, jerking forward with all your might to see if he might budge off. He doesn’t. “Give me the fucking ring, Parker.”

“No.”

“Fine,” you laugh harshly. “I’ll just take it from you.”

You knee him on his crotch. Peter lets go of your wrists, hunching over with a loud groan. He meets the heel of your socked foot next the force searing the bridge of his nose as he falls to his back, his hold on the ring diminishing.

Nails scratching his scalp, you pull on his hair and force him to look at you. “Give me the ring and I’ll tell you everything. Just give me the fucking ring.”

God, does he wish he had both his web shooters with him to make this easier.

Instead, he pulls on your hair, toppling you to the ground beside him so he can straddle your waist, tapping his wrists together so that his right web shooter appears to coat the muscly limb, aiming to web your hands to the ground.

“How ‘bout you tell me right now?” he seethes. “Or I can always just strip this place to pieces and look for your father so I can lock the both of you up.”

“Full of surprises, huh?” you chuckle, unbothered. The webs on your hands untangle, ripped where your fingers are placed and your sharp nails emerge from the sticky substance. “You’re not the only one.”

A loud slap rings around when his hand catches your wrist as you tried to claw at him. But he doesn’t expect for your other hand shove his face away with the heel of your palm.

As he stumbles back, you dig a nail on the back of his hand. Peter yells in pain and on instinct, his hand opens. You snatch the ring from him and run to your bedroom.

There’s a small crack that Peter hears when he pulls you back to him with his web, your bodies colliding abruptly that he’s had to almost dig his feet on the floor to stop you both from falling once more as he wraps his arms around your whinging body.

He takes the ring from you as quickly as you took it from him. “See, I would have liked to hold up your end of the bargain,” he whispers in your ear. “But you didn’t ask nicely. And I like to do things my way.”

You scream and stomp on his foot. You jerk your head back, causing your skull to strike a hard impact with his forehead, knocking him away from you.

Peter hears a deafening ringing in his ears, nose throbbing from your hard skull. Though he doesn’t let go of the ring, he clutches his pulsing nose and stumbles backward.

When he sees you reach forward through watery eyes, he tosses the ring in the air, followed by the soft, sticky thwip of his wrist aiming for the accessory. The ring sticks to the ceiling, where, to his knowledge, seems impossible for you to reach without a ladder.

But you, ever the fighter, vies stubbornly to claim the precious ring. “You cunt,” you seethe, gyrating your neck until he faintly hears a gentle crack. You leap at him, propelling yourself aloft by kicking his chest and jumping until your claws can sink into the ceiling.

With your right hand proposing as a handle to help you remain hanging on the ceiling, your other cuts the web off the ring. But Peter recovers and pulls you by your legs, slamming you to the ground.

It’s clear in Peter’s eyes he’s had enough. He grew irritated – so easily in fact that he feels like he’d been irritated since this morning from how intense it felt.

When he clamps your wrists to the ground with his bare hands and uses all of his vigor, you groan tiredly because he wouldn't budge from all your squirming, your yells turning into choked sobs.

“Let go of me!” you yell, kicking your feet. “Fuck – let me go, Peter.”

“Not so tough now, huh, cat?” he chuckles.

“Well, it’s easy to hide your fear behind the mask. You should know that. Shouldn’t you, Spider-man?”

“Why did you do it?” he asks you, and he's so close to your face that he swears he can see everything behind your eyes; thoughts and feelings — rage, frustration, pain, fear. Peter slams your hands to the floor. “Fucking answer me!”

“My father wanted to distract you!” you shout at him, sobbing. “He wanted you gone for a while. He knew it’d take you a while to solve the clue and he sent me to make sure it did while he was doing his job. He didn’t want you to give them a hiccup so he distracted you!”

“All that so I can’t stop him?” he scoffs disbelievingly. “And after I solve it what happens?”

“You figure out the location,” you whimper, whinging in his grasp as you try to stretch your body away from him. “And-and after you figure it out, he’ll kill you.”

“Why?”

“Greed,” you cry silently. “You’ve been stopping his meetings and my father’s losing clients and he’s still striving for more wealth. He wants you dead so he can have it all: the money, the fame, the title of being the person who gets to kill Spider-Man. Everything.”

His grasp on you loosens yet persists when his chest doesn't heave hard as if he's drowned. And when he thinks you’re done speaking, his parted mouth snaps shut.

“It wasn’t supposed to go on this long,” you whimper. “It was only supposed to be at least a week or two. Maybe three. Says once he’s done with business I can bring you there. But I wanted to stall. I needed to plan on my own so you could help me.”

“Help you on what?”

“Remember when I told you I had a gun to the back of my head?” Peter doesn’t say anything, let alone nod. But you take his silence as a confirmation to continue. “My father told me if I didn’t send you there, if he ever finds you out in the streets, he’s gonna kill me.”

He leans back, his hands now hovering above your wrists, taking pity because he certainly doesn’t want his hands on your wrists to add weight to your possibly heavy heart. “He said that?”

“Not to me, anyway. I overheard,” you sniffle. “Shocking, right? Said that about his own daughter. You know what else he said?”

Peter breathes out. “What?”

“That Peter Parker’s too sympathetic and gullible,”

You pick the nearest thing to you – a vase – and slam it on the side of his head. The loud glass shattering pervades his painful yelp, sending him to the ground which allows you to have the upper hand once more.

With your knees on either side of his thighs, your hand places itself firmly on his torso before you let your nails sprout and dig into his skin, all five pins stabbing his reddening skin.

“Fuck!” Sobs racket Peter, tears brimming in his eyes from the pain. “You fucking – fucking bitch.”

“Stay still.”

“I thought you said no one should own you,” Peter echoes your sentiments from last night, harshly chuckling as he lets his rage consume him. “Guess that must’ve been another fucking lie. You’re letting your father control you. Own you like some kind of fucking property. ‘s that why you’re doing all of this? So you can still have daddy’s money?”

It's what causes you to come to a halt in your movements. When Peter peers into your eyes, he sees nothing except indignation, humiliation, and, to his bewilderment, betrayal.

He groans when you wrap your hand around his neck; not out of pleasure, because now your skin against his is almost painful – unbearable. He can’t even stand breathing the same air as you at the moment.

You hold his cheeks between your forefinger and thumb. “You don’t know what it feels like to be underestimated, Parker,” you spit. “You don’t know what it feels like when you’re being judged by incompetent men all because you’re a woman – a little girl,” you say the word venomously, as if taboo. “He doesn’t have a gun to the back of my head. But my father does. And I’m behind that trigger.

“I’ve been doing their jobs for years, uncredited. And my capabilities have been reduced to nothing but a distraction because I'm a woman that's being objectified by complacent men. And trust me, if I didn’t have a plan to bring my father down, I would have left the minute I was born,” you huff out of your nose. “I’d love to tell you my plan and let you help me. I really do. But now that I think about it, you’ll just be as useless as they are. So I’m doing this alone.”

Peter feels a stinging prick on his neck, similar to an ant's bite. And then, in a split second, his visions whirl like mixed paint, his hearing is clogged as if underwater, and his vivid, lucid state dissipates into an unending pit of black as he sinks into darkness.

evil, ornery, scandalous and evil,

most definitely

Everything you told him was a half-lie.

Your past was true – dead mother, patriarchal father, and an ignored daughter.

It shouldn’t have gotten this long; shouldn’t have gotten your feelings involved. In fact, Spider-Man – Peter – shouldn’t have been involved at all.

You could have gone a different way, like taking things into litigation. Telling the cops the truth. But they’d been so irresponsibly unreliable these days that you figured you’d rather take matters into your own hands.

You loved your father (key word: loved. –Ed. Past tense). You did. And your mother told you to do so. But with years of blistering insults and merciless glares had eroded the love to nothing more than vengeance and loathing for your own flesh and blood.

When your mother died, he turned to you. Taught you things a child shouldn’t be taught – shown you things that will forever bruise your innocent eyes. You figured it was because you were all he had left. The only woman in his life that he’s left to hurt cherish.

But in reality, it was just to use you.

You think you had gotten used to it. Seeing blood everywhere – in your arms, the back of your eyelids, your hands. Watching your father beat people to a pulp, hear him say such despicable words to other people that it almost feels like he’s also saying it to you. It feels funny how strong he looks doing all those things when he won’t even cross the line of watching the life leave their eyes.

Your mother's death heralded the beginning of the life you never wanted but were tragically predestined to have. She'd warned you - while promising she'd never leave your side, she'd also told you about the life your father had planned for you when he discovered he had a girl rather than a boy.

“He’d be harsher. He’s always harsh when…when he gets things he never-…never wanted in the first place. But he loves you dearly. I promise you that.”

She promised you two things – one had been broken, one had been a lie.

Since then, you’d been doing his dirty work – the blackmailing, the threatening, the killing. You’d be chopping off the heads of the innocent and put them in a spear, expecting credit but only for it to be placed in front of his lair and mark it as his own.

Father says it’s for your own good. But you can’t stand it when he boasts your works as if he’d been the one who shed blood, sweat and tears and watched the light leave their eyes like a lightbulb losing its power.

Perhaps he did it to keep you safe. To make it appear as if his darling daughter was still an ingénue despite the absence of a "female parental figure." That he’d done a perfect job raising you and making himself appear as a good man. Make it appear as though you are a damsel in distress that’s to be wed when he desires.

But in the back of those lies you tell yourself to delude the reality, your rage smacks you like a pistolwhip on a regular basis. You know that anger isn't the greatest way to solve problems, much alone take let it take control of you, but it appears to be the only thing that bounds you to face the truth and tells you to stop being an understanding idiot.

Besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting credit, right? Let people know it was your soul alone drained?

Your father told you, several months ago, that you’d both be moving to New York indefinitely for some business – said something about living under the premises of Wilson Fisk as the business ensued. You had no choice but to come (“It’s not like I have any control with my choices when it came to his business, right?”).

The minute you both set foot in Manhattan and saw Spider-Man’s blurry red and blue figure, whereupon you’ve learned that he’s the city’s favored vigilante, you knew he’d be an important asset to your plan on bringing your father down.

So you started planning.

Beneath you, Peter is becoming gradually unconscious, breathing heavily, and the needle is stuck to the side of his neck. He casts you one more look as his eyes become heavy.

Repudiation. Hinder. Love.

“Those words you told me last night…” he slurs, a disbelieving scoff leaving his lips that murmur out words. “‘I’m yours…’ What a fucking joke…”

“I think you’re forgetting a thing or two about me,” you lean down, a gentle hand on his chest. “Gods love to manipulate,” you whisper in his ear. “And I was never yours to begin with,”

Peter’s head thuds loudly to the floor, culminating your speech. You push yourself up, standing over his body.

You own me.

The first time a man has ever spoken to you without being so brazenly possessive; the first time a man has ever uttered you things that they (unfortunately) meant. The way he said it wasn't supposed to fill your heart with warmth, but it did; it wasn't supposed to piece your heart back together.

But when you realized what you were supposed to do to him, it was as if he'd never fixed it in the first place, and your heart broke all over again.

You reach up to take the dangling ring from the ceiling and gingerly place it on your palm's silky skin. The dented gem reflects the dying sun as it passes through your blinds, clinically eroding the obscured crystals from the dark. It now evokes the rhapsodic emerald, leaving you breathless, as it has for years.

“I got you, mom,” you whisper, closing your fingers around the jewelry. “Never letting any bastard take you away from me again.”

Your claws retract itself, leaving your normal, squoval nails resting on your fingers. You carefully place the ring on the table, shooting one last glance to an unconscious Peter Parker sleeping wistfully on the ground before you emerge into your bedroom and pull out the ropes you kept on top of your cabinet.

You realize Peter isn’t wearing his suit. You grab the ropes hard, moaning loudly in desperation. As you approach his body, you rapidly put the ropes over his wrists and connect them to bind his ankles together.

Then you swiftly return to your bedroom to pick up his phone, unplug it from the cord, and come back to where Peter’s asleep.

(And you’re secretly thankful his phone needed his thumb for the password)

Searching for Ned’s name in Peter’s contacts, you don’t realize that as you text his best friend as Peter, you feel a sense of incessant remorse that’s been bubbling in your lower stomach since you’d met Peter. Though there’s a copious ardor of pride and gall that keeps your adrenaline pumping, what stops you is the guilt and sympathy.

It feels weakening to feel such dismal pity for a man. Then again, Peter Parker is not like any other man; though his valorous bravery and chivalrous respect along with his undulating selflessness apropos to his want to be a hero, he still is a boy.

Hitherto, with five years cruelly ebbed away from his life to which he’d indignantly acquiesced when he thought he’d lost all hope, his conscience remains older than his appearance. The trauma he’d been put into made him want to abandon the journey of youth – feeling he has something more important to do rather than sit and enjoy life.

(In addition to everything else he's made you feel - as if you were significant, as if all your hard work was worthwhile, as if he was the one guy who could ever make you feel unstoppable.)

But is that really what makes you feel sorry for what you're about to do to him?

(Maybe you were just too recalcitrant to admit that you’re in love with him)

You try to laugh at your situation, but not even false frivolity will make you crack a grin.

No origin story, no hamartia, will ever make you feel pity.

You conceal Peter's body in your bedroom just as Ned arrives almost an hour later, astonished to see you open the door. You notice him clutching the bag tightly in his palm and glancing up at you with a nervous grin and a dry, maybe artificial chuckle.

“(y/n)!” he all but yells. “Hey. Is-is Peter here?”

“He’s asleep,” you answer him with a bright smile. It’s not a lie, though – Peter is asleep. Just not by will, however. “He said you’d come over.”

“Oh. Well, um, yeah I just came to tell him that,” Ned peers over your shoulder, “That aunt May misses him. That he should come over.”

“And the bag?” you nod your head. “He said you’d bring a bag.”

“Did he?” he makes a face, tone pinched. “I don’t think he did.”

“No I’m pretty sure he did.”

“This is just food,” he raises the bag. “Just came to say that Peter should come over.”

“I highly doubt that that’s food,” you chuckle, and you can feel yourself grow irritated. Because Ned doesn’t know that you know. “Seriously what’s in the bag?”

Ned's words stutter, and he holds it closer to his chest. His hands are trembling, and a droplet of perspiration is running down his brow. He finally sputters out a fib. “Porn,” he whispers, embarrassed. “I have porn. He wanted porn. Like, DVD.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but you let your snort go out because it was a very convincing lie. “What is this? The 90’s?”

“Exactly,”

“Whatever,” you crunch your nose, smiling slightly. “Just give me the bag. I won’t open it, I promise. I might regret it when I do, anyway.”

You regret everything.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly hands you the bag. “Don’t open it or Peter will kill you. And then maybe kill himself. But just, don’t open it.”

“Cross my heart,” you smile at him, taking the bag. “See you ‘round,”

When you close the door, you fish your phone out of your pocket and dial your father’s name, letting the rings consume your time until you hear his obnoxious voice.

“(y/n)!” he booms. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, dad.” You mumble. “I’ve just put him to sleep.”

“Good,” he chuckles, and you can imagine him leaning back on his chair, holding his arms behind his head with that smug he wears so proudly, because he’s not the one who sees blood in his own hands. “Plan’s going well. I’m proud of you.”

You swallow, holding the phone tightly in your hand. You can’t bring yourself to thank him because you hear the falsity in his words.

“Have him by the museum by three am, hear me?” he demands. “I want Spider-Man’s head. And I thank you for bringing him to me.”

It’s dark.

While you open your eyes as you lie awake, the room is dimly lit, even by moonlight. The obscurity makes you feel as though your eyes are closed. You reach for the phone on your night table aimlessly, but you can't seem to feel the rectangular bit of technology to supply yourself with some light.

The bed you’re sitting on feels wrong – the duvet isn’t soft, like it’s made out of sandpaper. And your mattress seemed…hard. Like concrete.

You groan and push yourself out of sleep. Your nails feel like they've been yanked and are about to fall off the bed. And you're disoriented as you stagger out of your bedroom.

The sole light in your living room is the one above your easel, showcasing your incomplete work. You yawn and scratch your hair before noticing someone standing behind the couch.

“Hey,” you say out loud.

The person turns around. And for a brief moment, you think it's your father, plaguing you with his impetuous comments, like he usually does.

But it's not, and it’s Peter staring at you with sunken eyes as the room brightens. His lips are trembling, his eyes are caustic and red – so red that it looks like a blood vessel has been ruptured.

A loud clang reverberates around the room. You jump from the deafening clatter, looking down to see he’s dropped a bloody knife to the ground.

The silver is covered by scarlet ichor, the liquid thick and slick with the smell of death. You gasp quietly, feeling bile carefully rise to your throat as you meet Peter’s eyes.

“Peter,” you whisper. “What’d you do?”

He shakes his head. And like a waterfall, like the showers dropping down to your drain, you watch as all the colors on him disappear and instead becomes replaced with a dull, pearlescent glow.

The boy sinks to his knees in front of you limply, looking up at you with defeated eyes. You stand there, terrified, watching him be desecrated by agony and terror, frightened by the sudden apparition of bloodshed.

Behind him is your father, his shirt drenched with what you assume is Peter's blood. The crimson pouring through the shirt juxtaposes with the white he's donning. It's all too much, to the point that it's leaking down the floorboards.

What frightens you the most is that you recognize yourself in your father. Notwithstanding the exterior, you see the parallels in personas - your need to declare yourself correct, your lust for power (albeit yours is reasonable, his is only from his fear of vacuity), and your willingness, despite fear, to take someone's life.

No matter how much you love them.

“We won, darling,” your father’s thick, complacent accent stings your ears. “He’s getting in the way. Now we can have everything we want.”

“(y/n).”

You jolt awake as your skull collides with the moving vehicle. Your lips are parched, yet the region below your eyes are damp with nightmare tears. You hastily brush them away before he sees you.

Jacob, your father’s dearest security, looks at you from the rearview mirror. You uncross your arms. “What?” you snap, voice scratchy from sleep.

“We’re here,” he speaks softly. “Are you okay?”

The leather alienates your skin and scavenges the organ. But you're castigated to don the suit eternally as it's the only thing that defines who you are. It enshrines you, abdicating your body into doing unfathomable atrocities; bound to you forever.

The armor empowers as your wings – your cardinal horns.

“I don’t know,” you finally say. “I don’t think I will be.”

Jacob taps his fingers on the steering wheel, never tearing his gaze away from you in the rearview mirror until he closes it tightly. Then his torso rotates to face you, his hand on the back of the passenger seat.

“I can get you out here, (y/n).”

You look at him as if he’s said the most absurd thing ever. “You can’t.”

“Yes I can—”

“You’ve been with my father since before I was born, Jacob. Since he first started this,” you hiss. “He practically owns you. Your betrayal will anger my father more than you could ever imagine than his own daughter running off. You’re practically making a death wish.”

He sighs. “Your father was my best friend. And he may have given me a life I couldn’t give myself, that doesn’t mean I should let him do what he wants to you,” Jacob swallows. “He brought me into a world of drugs and violence. And your mother wanted to give you a life without all of this. I’ve watched you grow, (y/n). You don’t deserve this. I can get you out of here.”

You feel tears prick your eyes, jaw clenching. “He’ll find me, either way. And then he’ll kill you,” you say. “And if I get that life I supposedly deserve? I wouldn’t enjoy it when Peter won’t forgive me. I don’t deserve his forgiveness, nor do I deserve him. So getting me a better life would be useless.”

He’s about to say something when the back of the car jolts, shuffling muffled from the trunk. Jacob gives you one final look before you both descent from the car and onto the trunk.

When he harshly opens the trunk, you’re met with Peter’s wild and confused eyes. As expected, they go mad when they see you.

He speaks with the tape still over his mouth, and you roll your eyes as you take it off his mouth with one pull.

“What were you saying?”

“My back hurts and I can’t believe you fucking stuffed me inside a trunk.” He snaps. “Let me go.”

“I would, but it’s three in the morning and if I go home I would receive another lecture from my father as soon as I wake up and I swear to god I will combust if he does so.” You explain nonchalantly, scratching your brow with your nail. “Like, let’s just get this shit over with. I brought your suit.”

Jacob pulls Peter out of the trunk, and you almost laugh when you could practically hear the cracking of his bones. “My suit?”

“I had Ned give it to me and he told me it was porn,” you chuckle. “And I need you to wear the suit. Because if I show you to my father with you looking like that, he’s going to think I picked up some rando off the street.”

“You’re acting too chill for someone who’s going to kill me and had my dick shoved up inside her yesterday.”

When Jacob snorts, you glare at him, taking the suit from the backseat. You push Peter on the hood of the car, cutting the rope around his wrists with your nail.

“If you ever think about running away, Jacob will shoot you,” you whisper in his ear. “Just wear the suit, please? You have to trust me on this one.”

“How will I trust you when all you’ve ever said are lies?” he looks at you, and you swear it looks like he’s grieving all over again.

“I won’t get you killed.” You shove the suit into his chest. “I will try not to get you killed. I just need your trust, and your mouth shut.”

“Where are we?”

“The back of the museum,” you tell Peter it’s the museum where you first met. Peter’s thumbs dance around his suit, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because my father’s here.”

“I’m not changing here outside.” He says. “And how do you know I won’t be running off as soon as I wear my suit?”

“Because I hacked into your webshooters,” you roll your eyes. “I have this button here, so I’m in control. So you can’t swing away, or stick us against walls. And Jacob has a gun pointed at you that he will not hesitate to shoot.”

And because I trust you. Even if you don’t trust me; even if I broke your heart.

He’s hesitant in his next words. “I’m still not changing out here. People might see me.”

“Fine,” you huff. “Take him inside the storage room to change. And I swear to God, Peter, if you ever even think of running away, I won’t hesitate to kill you myself.”

Better that than my father, right?

Dwelling in forbearance, you sit well as you wait for your father to arrive. Your skin burns from the leather that covers your well-being, and you wonder if it's made of hemlock; perhaps from all your animosity, runes burn themselves on your flesh, scorching with the residue of the curses muttered by the man in front of you.

Pertho for pawn; uruz for strength, hagalaz for destruction.

Peter’s eyes themselves paint the burning runes on your skin in hopes of pain. He’s ridiculously strong to be looking at you like that, or to look at you at all. Because you, the person who’s betrayal stung his heart, can’t even look at him.

Raido, thurisaz.

You pick on your nails, refusing to look at him. Everything feels uncomfortable and you want nothing than to rip this stupid fucking suit off you. But you don’t – you don’t think you ever will.

It melts into your skin, making you and her whole. She’s taking over, draining you for all the soul you have left for her to reign over. Because she possessed it first – died in it first. And she’s not done yet. She wants revenge and you’re giving it to her.

The ring in your palm calls for you. Wear me. Consume me. Let me take control.

Not yet.

You almost see your mother inside the ring/

“That ring,” Peter’s voice startles you. He can hear your heart beat rise when you hear him, can discern the single bead of sweat dripping down to your leather. “Why are you so eager to get it?”

“None of your business.”

“It is.” He rolls his eyes, and your jaw clenches at his action. Peter’s missing the top part of his suit, so now the brashness of his glares aren’t decreased by the fabric that usually separates his eyesight. “It’s not even yours.”

You suck in your tongue, biting on it after to stop yourself from saying mean things to him. Because he doesn’t deserve this. You’re the one who brought him here in the first place. “You don’t know anything, Peter.”

“Oh, I think I do,” there’s a sarcastic smile that he gives you. “I know for a fact that you’re a fucking liar.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“- That you’re fucking cruel. Manipulative. I know for a fact that you’re just a scared, little girl, (y/n).”

The scrape of the chair against the marble floors almost deafen your ears, marching towards him with heavy footsteps, and oh do you wish your eyes could burn him alive right now.

Holding his face between your fingers, you seethe at him with all the hatred you could muster. “I am not a little girl. I am not scared,” the waver in your voice might have said otherwise, but you don’t care. “I may be fucking cruel, or a liar, or manipulative, but I’m anything but a scared little girl and I won’t let you belittle me like that.”

Peter’s throat bobs, but his scathing eyes never ebb away. “This ring?” you bring it closer to his face. “This ring is my mother’s. My father gave it away when she died. And I kept it with me ever since I found it again.”

He knows it’s the same ring from the beginning – hell, he even remembers it. But Peter’s never fathomed why you took it in the first place up until last night when you fought him for the accessory.

You realize his face is close to yours, nose brushing against each other. If it weren’t for the situation you’re both in – drowning in a sea of betrayal, unable to recover from the water pulling you both down – you would have kissed his twitching lips right there.

“The things you said last night,” he murmurs. “About your father wanting to kill me. Wanting to kill you. You needing my help—”

You recklessly let go of his face, leaning back. “They’re all true. He wants you dead. He wants me dead. I just don’t know why.”

Your father’s born in preeminence. A tyrant to which arousal is derived from a tableu of suffering and opulence. He has a pathetic attempt to usurp the Devil’s throne, but he’s weak – he can’t push the Fiend off. And so for years he’s been sending you to claim it himself, treating the blood you’d shed as his own.

So it’s a shock to overhear the pretentious King plotting the death of his pawn that has been bringing him to success for years.

The pity that emanates from the predicament compels Peter to look at you as a mistreated angel despite all the pain you’ve caused him. Even with all the blood spilt, doused head-to-toe with the thick vermillion ichor, the beauty you possess is breathtaking.

“You could have just told me.” Peter whispers.

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“What my father could do,” you say. “He’s never laid a hand on me. Maybe because he’s afraid.”

“And he should be.” Peter leans forward, his hands restricting him from coming any closer given that they’re tied behind his back. “It’s hard to forgive you for what you did to me. But if you tell me everything, I’ll help you.”

“I already told you everything,” a frown rests upon your eyebrows.

“I know there’s more. I won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me.”

Ever the stubborn, you look back at him. “I don’t need your help.”

He scoffs, as if it’s the most unbelievable thing he’s heard. “Yeah right.”

“I can—”

“You can’t.”

You stay silent. Peter looks at you with begging eyes, like he’s begging for you to let him go. And he himself doesn’t know what else he’s begging for aside from freedom and your love.

“Let me help, (y/n),” he pleads. “I can help you. Just let me help you.”

You close your eyes. “I can’t.”

“Was it worth it, though?” he whispers. “Breaking my heart? Betraying me?”

“No,” you say. “None of what I did was worth it. And I wish I could have gone a different way.”

“(y/n),” Jacob’s voice interrupts you. His hand lingers on the doorknob, and he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t discern. “He’s here.”

You bite your lip, followed by a sigh as you turn to look back at Peter. “You stay quiet when I’m talking to my father, you hear me?”

Putting Peter’s mask on for him, you wrap his eyes with a blindfold as Jacob struggles to carry Peter while he’s on his chair.

Peter wishes everything would have stayed the same – there isn’t a part of him that wishes he never would have met you, rather he only wishes you were different. Because he didn’t know he fell for you, the same woman who annoyed him, who entices him, who made him feel good.

(And you, just like hot embers, they exude the dancing flames of daredevil credence; too dangerous to mess with, too beautiful to just admire)

Surrounded by Gods stood your father in the middle of the studio wearing the purest suit, tapping his caduceus on the marble floor. Though no amount of purity in fashion could ever cleanse his soul. You put your glass mask on, twirling your silver hair around your finger nervously as you approach the man.

“Ah, finally!” When you step out, you realize he’s not alone. Aside from his guards, there are other bosses that watch impatiently behind him, their eyes feasting on your appearance. “Gentlemen, my daughter, (y/—”

“Black Cat,” you cut him off. “What did we say about names, daddy?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, his eyes glaring at you for speaking over him. “As I was saying, you’re all probably wondering why I invited you here in this museum.”

The man beside him – wrinkled dress shirt, a clean goatee, and eyes so dark they almost look like a black hole – snorts. “You’ve come to gloat, of course?”

“What will he gloat about? These statues?” The other, to your father’s right, looks at Goatee with the snarkiest smile ever, and his teeth look rotten. Maybe if you leaned closer, they’d smell, too.

Your father’s not pleased with Goatee and Rotten Teeth. Despite his small height, he towers over them with his menacing glare that works on everyone but you. The two idiots quiet down, stopping their laughter.

“I’ve come to gloat about my victory,” your father sneers. “So pay up, fools. A deal is a deal.”

“We’ve yet to see him,” Goatee says, scratching his chin. “No proof, no deal.”

Impatient, your father snaps for Jacob, who’s been waiting outside the pillars for his queue. You look behind to watch Jacob struggle with Peter’s weight, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh when he almost drops him.

“Why is he on the chair?” your father whispers to you, and you can tell he’s embarrassed by the situation.

“Jacob thinks it’ll slow Pe - Spider-Man down if he ever tries to escape.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t think he’ll try to escape.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Have you forgotten what I did, daddy?” you narrow your eyes at him. “Or you’re just too excited to claim my hard work as your own? Fully discredit me?”

“Stop it with this nonsense.”

You don’t say anything back, fearing you might tell him something you’ll regret, or could possibly ruin your plan. So you clasp your hands together on your back instead as Jacob drops Peter in front of you, almost breaking the chair.

“May I introduce,” your father gesticulates to Peter, using his caduceus to point at the vigilante, the other removing the blindfold. “Spider-Man.”

Rotten Teeth is unimpressed. “How do you know that’s him? For all we know you picked up a freak off the streets and gave him this- this costume.”

“Well,” he declares, and only you had noticed the posthaste nervousness in his voice as he looks at you pleadingly. “Black Cat?”

You almost not do it.

But you pick up the remote from your pocket, the one that connects to Peter’s webshooters, and press on the red button with a scribbled spiderweb drawn with a black marker.

Gossamer explodes on his left wrist. With his hands tied down on the armrests, it sticks on his hands and the wood. Peter looks up at you, the small movement on his mask indicates his eyes had widened. You give him an apologetic smile.

But Goatee here decides it’s not enough, decides to slip past you and observe Peter like an object in a museum. Which, in this case, he is in a museum. Tied up, unmoving, only to be observed.

Rotten Teeth follows, and they both poke and prod at him like meat. Their tainted nails gently scrape on Peter’s spandex, and he stays unmoving, breathing heavily.

Once they decide they’d had enough, they both lean back to look at your father with a half-amused face, one where you’re sure was also laced with envy.

Your father pushes them aside with his cane, leaning forward so his face is eye-leveled with Spider-Man. You swallow thickly.

“Spider-Man?” his voice is menacing, but not enough to scare Peter. Hopefully. ��Do you know where you are?”

You're not sure whether Peter's wide eyes are looking at you, but it's as if he's been waiting for your permission because when you nod, he answers. “I don’t know. One minute I was eating a churro from an old lady. The next, I’m being shoved inside a van with a blindfold around my eyes, and now I’m staring up at you with some cane that probably came from Percy Jackson, or something.”

Peter’s cockiness makes you nervous, because you don’t know how your father would react at his asinine petulance. As expected, your father’s not pleased with his gratuitous comedy.

“This is called a caduceus, boy,” he raises the cane dangerously close to Peter’s face. “The caduceus is Hermes' staff, which was also carried by heralds in general. My grandfather bequeathed this to me when my father's ineptitude took over and I was left to run his business; it is a legacy to us. An heirloom,” he hisses. “Not some ‘cane from Percy Jackson,’”

“Sorry for offending your legacy, Herpes.”

You snort. Your father shoots you a quick glare before he slams his caduceus on the ground and seethe at Peter. “What did you say?”

“Herpes,” he so nonchalantly repeats. “You said this was Herpes’ staff.”

“It’s Hermes!”

“Tomato, toh-mato.”

“Are you sure this is Spider-Man?” your father turns to you in a panic. “I thought he was serious?”

“Oh, he is.” You gesture to Peter, who nods at Goatee and Rotten Teeth in a form of verbal introduction. “He’s just very…childish. It’s how he acts. It’s supposed to be very distracting.”

”Well, it’s not distracting. It is irritating.” He goes back to Peter. “Recall the clue I’ve written, Spider-Man. They see animosity; punish the morality, endure the evil.”

I wrote the clue. The words claw at your tongue.

“Gods see animosity, Spider-Man. They love to punish mortals, and they let evil live through,” he whispers to him. “I had eyes and ears everywhere before I caught you. Thank God, you solved the clue. Had to make sure you did which is why I sent my daughter. I was getting impatient.”

He turns to his partners. “Care to know how I got him?” his offer makes you speechless, albeit you should have expected your father taking all the credit once more.

But he wasn’t the one who opened their heart, right? He wasn’t the one who fucked the living daylights out of Peter? Wasn’t the one who told the story of their dead mother, right?

You see the same shock from Goatee’s face, but for the fact that he thinks your father caught Spider-Man through his hard work. You see Peter lean forward, but you kick his foot slightly to stop him.

“I dated his aunt,” It's compelling how effortlessly the lie slips past his mouth and the grin unnerves you. Fugue overwhelms you for a brief window. Your fury allows her in incrementally, and your psyche is clinging to you for dear life.

(Even Peter seems unpleased by your father.)

“That’s why I was unable to attend meetings,” he chuckles, fiddling with the snake coiled around his archaic cane – it’s his bluff, and only you knew his telltale of deception. “Was too busy with his harlot of an aunt.”

Lie. You almost say. You were in Barbados struggling to keep your dick inside your pants because you can’t do your job.

“This man here is easy to open,” your father points to Peter. “Too fucking sympathetic. Always has to play hero. Can’t handle the real world. Look where it’s gotten you – your responsibility causes you to lose everything, Spider-Man.”

He spins around, a flawed attempt as he almost trips on his polished shoes. The black brogues are raw, lacking the stain of dried blood and instead bearing the tears of his victims. One of his guards offer him an opened bottle of champagne, pouring him a flute. Goatee and Rotten Teeth receive the same, and your father bravely raises his glass. And you gladly take the flute into your trembling hands.

“A toast,” wickedly, his voice ricochets around the museum, rippling across every corner of the room until the eventually dig itself in your ears. “To Spider-Man, for bringing me my success, and for bolstering my hedonism.” He looks at you with his de rigueur feigned pride for you. “To my daughter. For never leaving my side,” a dramatic pause, followed by a sinister smile. “And to me. For being the man.”

The champagne is nightshade masquerading as Blanc de blancs that drunkenly revels your mouth. You let it swim down your throat and into your body, miffing off your organs. With a wanton mind eroded by the liquor, she tries to push you away and take your position.

Your father approaches you, the back of his index finger caressing the skin beneath your mask. “You never fail to make me proud, (y/n),” he murmurs. “Just like your mother.”

And it’s like taboo that calls out to her, because the next second, the flute in your hand falls to the floor, shattering against the pearlescent marble pavement. Your hand squeezes the glass into your skin, but you don’t feel the pain.

“Have you ever heard of the goddess, Atë, daddy?” you shake off the remnants of the glass off your hands. When he doesn’t answer, instead giving you a gaze so murderously tempting, you snap, “Have you?”

“I don’t think I have.”

“She was the goddess of mischief who led men on a path to destruction. She also led both gods and men to take reckless and negligent actions, resulting in suffering.” You smear your blood to your leather, the pain stinging but enough to endure nonetheless. “Do you know why?”

Peter watches at a safe distance as you pick the glass off your palm. “Atë emerges in a peculiar light among the tragic authors. Her character is akin to that of Nemesis and Erinyes. She avenges vile acts and incurs fair retribution on the perpetrators and their descendants.”

Your father scoffs. “Where are you going on with this?”

“I’m saying,” you shrug, observing the blood on the tips of your nails. “That she and I have something in common.”

“How is this relevant?” he’s annoyed. “We’re here to kill Spider-Man, (y/n),” the way he says your name is hushed. “Not for some irrelevant history lesson. Get on with it.”

When he reaches for the holster behind him, you stop him by grasping at his wrist, pulling him closer to you. “I’m saying, I won’t have any problem when it comes to murder, dad. She and I have a lot in common when it comes to punishments,” You hiss. “I’ve killed people for you. Punished all those men who disobeyed you. I think it’s time that I take credit for it, hm? After all, I was the one who brought him to you.”

He guffaws, like hearing false gossip. “You think if I tell these people you did all the hard work, they’d believe you?” he pulls his hand away. “I’m taking the credit so you won’t taint your image, (y/n)—”

“Bullshit.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” your father spits. “They fear me, (y/n). Telling them I killed Spider-Man won’t be any problem. I have the power to protect you from them. But you? They’d belittle you.”

“How would you know? I don’t think these buffoons had ever seen a woman do their jobs,” you scoff. “At least they do their work. What about you? You sit on thrones and shower in gold; you lock me in a dungeon drowning in blood. We’re not the same. They will never belittle me because they’ll fear me.”

“It’s best if you work in the shadows.”

“In the shadows, or under your shadow?” you challenge. “I think it’s fair that I ask for my share, isn’t it?”

“Come on, (y/n). You think these people would believe a woman killed Spider-Man? Their ignorance will anger you more. I’m just trying to keep you sane.”

His reasoning is egregiously comical. “I have no problem leading men down to their downfall. And that includes you,”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh?” you chuckle wryly. “And if I tell them I did all your work since I was fifteen, would you kill me like you told Goatee here?”

“Don’t tempt me, (y/n),” he growls. “I never hesitated when it came to your mother. What makes you think I’d stop myself for you?”

It’s the knife that cuts the string. You push yourself away from him and call for the two idiots, who seemed to be childishly bickering in front of Peter, who’s bored out of his mind.

“Hey idiots,” you say out loud. “My father’s not the man he shows you all to be.”

“(y/n),” he warns.

“I did all his dirty work,” you laugh humorlessly, sauntering to them as they watch you with a perplexed frown on their eyebrows. “He’s never had blood in his hands. Hell, I don’t even think he knows how to shoot a fucking gun—”

The agony at the back of your skull spreads to your neck, unsettling your mind. You fall to the ground, falling on your knees and yelping in pain.

But it's not finished: your father yanks on your hair, wringing you till your head drops on his leg. He leans down, his grasp on your hair tightening.

Peter shouts, shaking in his chair. But you question his lack of vigor when his strength is astronomical. “Let her go,” he yells. But your father ignores him.

“I won’t let you ruin my image,” he taunts you. “I can easily replace you. And if they do the same thing, I’ll kill them. And I’ll replace them. No one will ever find out—”

His words abruptly cut off when you scratch on his leg, practically pulling the flesh off as you curl your fist around. His men point their guns at you. Even Goatee, with Rotten Teeth standing behind him with wide eyes.

The chunk of flesh you tore from his leg is hurled aside, the blood smearing on the porcelain floor. It's a heinous vision that’s impossible to leave your mind, but it’s the type that brings a smile to your face because it shows you the first time you ever hurt the man that killed you on the inside.

(Peter gasps at your cruelty, his fingers twitching. Though your alter ego he finds gregarious, this he finds satiate with power, of fame and wealth possess'd, vanity amplified by your arbitrary despotism against men who'd underestimated you. The woman he sees upon him is not you, rather a woman who's posthaste with revenge; eclectic for false tyrants and misandry for incompetent men.)

Your father dramatically falls sideways, clutching his leg. You laugh at his weakness. “Let’s see if you can replace me now,” you taunt. “I bet you weren’t the one who killed mom. Who’d you sent, huh? Did you kill them, too?”

One of his guards strikes you, but you yank his pistol away from him, jamming the barrel. You're perplexed by how quickly they fall to the ground, but you utilize the gun in your hand to your advantage.

You pull on the slide, aiming it at your feeble father who weeps on the ground.

Peter slams the wooden chair to the ground, destroying it with his hand caught between the armrests. He throws the first blow to the side, shaking the piece of wood off his forearms.

“I won’t hesitate,” you murmur. You pull out the remote from behind you, the same one that controls Peter’s webshooters. “You see the button beneath this one? One press and the cops come. I won’t kill you if you admit to everyone how much of a fraud you are.”

He spits blood to the ground, pushing himself up. Your father limply raises his fists at you. “Like hell I will.”

With a sigh, you throw the gun aside. “Suit yourself.”

He’s the first to throw the punch. It’s easy to dodge because it’s obvious he doesn’t know how to hit someone whose aim keeps on moving. You take his fist into yours, pulling him behind you as you kick on his chest.

Peter takes Rotten Teeth down to the ground in one punch, and Goatee in three. The others, while he struggles without his webshooters, he takes advantage of the sharp armrests webbed on his forearms.

You claw at your father’s face, scarring his skin. He clutches the spot with a helpless cry, glaring at you through wet eyelashes. “You think killing me will give you peace? They’ll hunt you, (y/n). Without me, you’re dead.”

Ignoring his futile threat, you pull on his hair, dragging him away from where Peter fought the other guards. But you catch a glimpse of Jacob helping him too, and you wonder what your father would feel at his betrayal.

You toss him in front of the sculpture of Atë, his blood making a pathway to the goddess in the dark. Towering over him, you pull him to his knees, like a sinner begging for forgiveness.

“Wanna know how I did it, dad?” you murmur. “I changed your plans. You were supposed to fly to London, from what I saw. But I needed to put my plan into action, and when I found out about Spider-Man, I made sure to let your assistant schedule meetings from mobs here in New York,”

He refuses to look at you, but you can make out tears falling to the pool of blood he’s kneeling on. “I would schedule meetings in places Spider-Man would bust immediately and god, the pride I held when you got so annoyed of him interrupting your jobs.

“I used him. I used all of you, dad. And it brought me here,” you gloat your success like a trophy, shoving it in his face. “I was never proud of using him but – to watch you cry and become helpless made all the pain worth it.”

“You let that boy into your heart,” he wheezes. “You and your mother have a lot in common. You’re both whores. Both too sentimental.”

You withdraw the ring from behind you and slip it between your fingers. You don't care whether the blood ruins the delicate band or the emerald; you use it to strike your father in the face before squeezing his cheeks between your fingers.

Blood runs from his temple to his jawline; his nose is distorted and ghastly; and the impact of your hand has split his lips. He's weak, which rouses you to torment him even more.

But it’s not you that’s hurting him.

For a brief moment, you get lost in the ocean of hiraeth. Roaring waves of requiem pull you down on your feet, letting the darkness of grief surround you until your feet land on the wet sand that barricades life and death.

(Your mother had a heart of gold, always shining with smiles and sweetness. It’s what keeps your black heart alive. So to witness her act to ruthless in your body does not envelope you in fear, rather a strong surge of empowerment.)

“You can’t kill me,” he laughs sinisterly, the blood stains his teeth, and his tongue is a deep shade of red – like he drank his own blood to replace the lack of souls he took. “You’re just a little girl. A helpless, stupid, little girl.”

The silence is broken by a squelching sound. You can feel his skin on your fingernails and hear blood splattering over the floor. His cries are choked, and his own blood can be seen flowing through his fingers as he clasps his neck.

The stars in his eyes fade, leaving behind a desolated galaxy. A macabre masterpiece that you revise in your head over and again — unbridled with trauma. Your father's blood now blemishes your hands, and you elegantly adorn it.

It takes a whole while to realize what you’ve done. And it takes Peter’s hands around your wrists to pull your soul back down to your body. You look down at the blood in your hands, and at Peter’s unmasked, horrified eyes.

You cry.

Peter wraps his arms around your body, not caring if your hands soil his latex. He pushes your head closer to his neck, letting your tears wet his salty skin.

Hands of divine sacrilege, nails tainted with antediluvian sanguine ichor, Peter holds them as if they're the most delicate, exquisite thing in heaven and hell. His fingers dance across the blood on your knuckles, kissing them softly. An angel who's come to sage a fallen one. And though your love is wayward, crossing the border of baneful, he offers himself still.

“Let’s get you back, okay?” his lips are covered in blood; your cheeks are wet and sticky, but he mixes them together with a soft peck to your cheekbone. “I’ll get you out of here.”

With the cops arriving from the contact of Jacob, Peter wraps his arm around your waist and swings you away.

the tension, its getting hotter,

i’d like to hold her head underwater

The white fabric turns scarlet, its remnants staining the water pink. Peter holds the cloth beneath the sink until its wet enough before he returns to you sitting on top of the toilet cover; dull, mute, traumatized.

His heart still aches at what you did, whether it be the murder or your betrayal. But it’s the last thing he wants to deal with at the moment.

For now, he drags the wet cloth down your hands, revealing your skin once more as he wipes the ichor away. Like an artist erasing the repulsive image of his sketch, he cleans your hands with a sad expression he can’t fathom the reason behind.

A goddess who mourns for the death of people that they brought upon themselves. A sacred pastiche, although a flawed homily. But Peter still worships you - like an angel whose wings have been clipped and he is holding the successor.

You refuse to meet his eyes. Peter caresses the damp hair away from your forehead, his thumb grazing your bloody cheekbone.

“(y/n),” he whispers. “Look at me please?”

When you don’t, he sighs and places the rag aside. Then he holds your fragile hands in his, mending your broken bones.

That’s when you finally look at him and god, did you look so broken. He tries to gather the pieces together, patching you up with his love. “How are you holding up?”

You shrug, wiping the snot away from your nose. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Like…I can’t believe I killed my dad…”

The sound of the television outside your bathroom is faint, but you can both hear Jameson announce your father’s name and his death. He declares the murderer is unknown, but brings up Spider-Man like it’s his fault.

It’s not – it’s all yours.

“I’m sorry they’re blaming you,”

“It’s okay,” he wipes a strand tear away. “They’ll forget about it eventually.”

“I’m sorry you had to be dragged into my mess,” you whisper in a wave of shame. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry you saw what I did.”

“I don’t care,” he holds your black heart in his hands, and miraculously, his tears add color to your heart. “(y/n), I’m sorry for hurting you, too. I didn’t mean those words. I was mad.”

“It’s okay,”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. What you’re going through is…not okay. And I don’t know how to help you, if I’m being honest.”

You sniffle. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I…I love you,” he whispers. In the crevice of the unholy moment, Peter utters those three words like a promise. It demolishes the vendetta you resonate, instead remedies the scratches in your skin. “I’m here to help you, whether you like it or not. We’ll help each other, I promise.”

He continues wiping off the blood on your body. And in the end, you look unsoiled by death, and the crimson in his suit that isn’t latex remains. So now it looks like the roles are reversed.

“Peter,” you whisper for him. He stops what he’s doing and goes back to kneel in front of you.

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” you whisper.

Peter smiles triumphantly. “Really.”

‘Yeah,” you laugh, wiping the tears away. “I love you.”

“That’s amazing, darling,”

When he’s about to lean in and kiss you, you push his lips away. “You can’t kiss me.”

He frowns like a little boy. “Why not?”

“Because-…” you sigh. “I just killed someone.”

“Okay then,” he shifts in his feet. “How ‘bout I take you out on a date first, yeah? Then can I kiss you?”

You chuckle wetly, nodding. “Yeah.”

And when he kisses you like the world was burning, you gladly accept the love he gives.

And when he wipes your blood off the concrete, the blood off your tears, the blood off your hands, he paints you with his love instead.

And when you stubbornly fight for your worth, when you fight for who gets to stay in which apartment, when you fight for the paintbrush in your hands, it leaves him asking one question:

“Are angels always this hellacious?”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

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#peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland imagine #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #indouloureux's writing #blackcat!reader #black cat

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xmalereader · 10 months

Text

Miguel O’Hara X Black Cat! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors Note: Took some inspiration from Felicia Hardy and Selene Kyle, let’s be honest Selene is my mother and will let her whip me whenever she wants 😌, so why not make this shot full of sass and perhaps some slight sexual tension? Also all Spanish words are correct, I am fluent in Spanish and Latino myself!

Summary: Every universe had a black cat, weather it ends in a good or bad outcome every Spider-Man had at least experienced being around a black cat. Miguel had his own variant back at his universe, but his story with black cat is interesting.

Warnings: ATSV Slight Spoilers! Some angst, mentions of time travel, breaking and entering, kissing, language, Miguel is tired, mentions of past divorce, mentions of Gabrielle, timeline, loop holes, miles wants to be adopted, reader is trying to bring hell, reader is protective of Miles, breaking the rules, toxic Miguel, Toxic reader, a negative plus a negative is a positive.

Word count: 4.1K

— || Part Two || Part Three ||

—

Noir didn’t know why he enjoyed watching the kid mess up, but it brought some joy into his daily task. Here he is standing on the edge of a roof top, staring down at the city’s number one hero trying to get himself untangled from his own webs. Both he and the little spider in red and black were chasing each other throughout the entire city, nearing midnight he was caught by the cities hero stealing a very valuable gem that was worth thousands, good enough for Noir to steal. How could he not? Now, after hours of chasing here he stands, head tilted in disappointment as he watches the little spider trying to escape his own webs after a malfunction in his own creation.

“Now this goes—wait, no…”

Noir tilts his head back, signing deeply to himself as he tucks the gems into his pocket before jumping down from the building and landing in front of the kid. He was a thief, not some cruel person who’s going to leave this poor kid stuck. “Kid—“

“I got it! I got it! Just have to—AH!”

The kid only get himself tangled into the web even more, causing the thief to roll his eyes, using his own claws to cut thought the webbing like it was nothing. The little spider looks around in surprise and smiles under his mask. “Hey, that worked!”

“Indeed it did.” Noir mocks him back, rolling his eyes from underneath his goggles.

“Now, I’m turning you in—!”

Noir holds his hand up to cut the kid off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. “Kid, we’ve done this too many times. We all know that you’ll never be able to get me so just let it go and go after someone who is actually causing harm.” He give the kid a pointed look before using his grappling hook to get back to the roof top and continue his way back home. Only for the kid to follow after him, he expects himself to get into a fight with the kid again, knowing that he would win the fight and end things quickly.

“Wait! Look, I get that what you’re doing isn’t entirely dangerous nor are you harming anyone but, why do it? Why steal when you can just get a job?”

Noir’s eyes widen and bursts out laughing, shaking his head as the kid stares back confused. “Get a job? Kid, I did have a job but, no matter where I worked it was never enough to survive. Not everyone has an easy life and if you have to take some risks then take it. You can try and stop me all you want, kid. But, it won’t make things better.”

The kid stays silent, taking in his words as Noir brushed past him and makes his way towards the other side of the roof.

“Wait!”

Noir sighs, hand on his hip and looks over his shoulder to see the kid standing his distance. “I’ll stop coming after you.”

That causes him to raise a brow, confused and surprised by the kids sudden words, before he could ask why the kid speaks up. “If you teach me how to fight.”

Of course.

That’s how the two have been getting along after a year of teaching the kid how to defend himself, he was new to the whole hero thing and Noir was the only one who was able to teach him a thing or two. It was rare for him to connect with people who weren’t trying to kill him or let alone take him to prison for stealing something valuable of theirs.

Currently both of the two are sitting on top of a clock tower, the kid eating some pizza while Noir sips his morning coffee, watching the sunrise after spending all night training the kid on how to land his punches. “Isn’t it too early for you to be eating that stuff?” He mumbled out, getting the kids attention who turns to him with a stuffed mouth full of pizza.

“…no?”

Noir chuckles at the kid. “Don’t come to me if you start getting heartburn.” He mumbled around his coffee cup before taking another sip, focusing on the view ahead. The two spend most mornings like this, eating ‘breakfast’ together and enjoying each others company. The kid had stopped trying to get him arrested and each time Noir was caught stealing he always made it out without an issue.

He’s known the kid for a year now and he’s grown onto him. The last time he was around someone he cared about he ended up losing everything and always pushed people away from getting too close, but the kid always found his way back into his life. Noir breaths softly, glancing at the kid who had just finished his box of pizza and closed the lid while whipping the grease from his fingers onto his suit, causing the older man to grimace at his manners.

“All done, so what’s the training today?” The kids voice is full of enthusiasm which causes Noir to chuckle. “No more training.” He sets his coffee cup to the side and stands from sitting on the edge of the clock tower, towering over the kid who tilts his head back, staring at his second mentor. “You’re ready to do things on your own and I am done here.”

“Wait what?” The kid tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean your done here? Are you leaving?”

Noir placed a gentle hand on the kids shoulder. “You’ll do fine on your own, I taught you nearly everything I know. I’m clearly not needed anymore and I have business to attend somewhere else.” Noir was reaching a deadline with his stay here with the kid and had to move onto his next task, wanting to avoid bringing the kid anymore trouble that he’s already dealing with alone in this city.

The little spider before him doesn’t know how to react to this situation, clearly not happy with the outcome but knowing that he can’t do anything about it. “Will you be back?” He asks.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Noir shrugs his shoulders, sighing deeply to himself. “I don’t know…” He really didn’t, one moment he’s here and the next he’s gone. That was his plan and always has been.

Noir can see how bummed out the kid is and can’t help but, pull the kid into a gentle hug. “I’m ever around I’ll make sure to meet you. Perhaps during one of our usual chases.” He gets the kid to chuckle at his humor before the two pull apart. He’s staring at the kid with a sad smile, with a clawed index finger he bops the kid on the nose or where he thinks his nose is at due to him wearing the mask.

“Take care of yourself kid.”

“I’m not a kid…”

Noir chuckled. “You’ll always be a kid.” He picks up his empty coffee cup, making his way over to the ledge of the clock tower, facing his back towards the kid before looking over his shoulder to give the kid one last advice. “Don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do, remember that.”

With that he jumps off the tower, leaving the kid on his own to continue on his own path.

Noir already planned to leave this place and couldn’t delay it any longer before he finds him. Upon arriving to his apartment, he slips through the window undetected from the neighbors and slips off his tinted goggles along with his gloves, letting out a deep exhale as he looks around the semi empty apartment that he was only planning to use for a short period of time.

He toss the gloves to the side and keeps the rest of his uniform on as he works around the apartment, collecting certain things to take with him while the other stuff he stuffed inside a trash bag, clearly not needing that stuff any longer and tossing it out the window, where it landed down below and into the dumpster.

Once the apartment is fully empty he reaches inside the bag he was planning on taking with him, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out a silver bracelet. He stares at the blank screen, knowing that once he turns it on he will be traced, only giving him a few minutes to plan his escape. He zips up his bag and slips on his goggles again along with his gloves, slipping the bracelet over his wrist and with his index finger he taps on the blank screen, watching it turn on, activating.

“Five minutes.” He whispers to himself as he quickly types in Earth-42502, watching as a portal opens before him.

Adjusting his goggles, he takes a step forward only to freeze in place when another portal opens behind him. “The hell?” He looks over his shoulder, eyes widening under the goggles as a flash of red and blue zips towards him. He doesn’t have time to think as a hand wraps around his throat, knocking him back into the other earth.

The two are free falling through the air, grunting as his hand finds the others wrist and glares. He’s quick to use his strength, kicking him off as they continue to fall. “That was faster than usual.” He calls out, getting the other spiders attention who glared under his mask.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive to Earth-42502, portal opening onto the roof top of Oscorp Tower. Noir lands gracefully, but is quick to jump out of the way when the other spider lands where he once stood.

“Here I thought I’d never find you.”

Noir remembers that voice too well, remembering the days that the two would wake up next to each other.

“Seems like your desperate to find me.” Noir speaks up, taking cautious steps back as his eyes follow Miguels large figure. The man showed off his talons, taking dangerous steps forward as if stalking his prey.

“Let me guess, you were waiting until I activated this little guy, huh?” He raised his left arm to show off the bracelet he wore. The same bracelet that once belonged to Miguel and that he was able to snatch from during the time he was running away from Miguel. “Lyla’s not good at tracking.” He adds with a grin on his face.

“At least she found you before you can even open a portal to this earth. An earth that you don’t belong too.” Miguels voice is full of irritation, tired of having to chance Noir from different universes each time he disappeared off the radar.

“I know where I belong.”

Noirs voice drops down to a serious one, glaring under his own goggles as he takes steps back, slowly stepping on top of the ledge. “I’m not going back to that place, not after what you did.” He spits out.

“I was only trying to fix things.” Miguel sneers.

“By destroying a universe for our daughter? A daughter that wasn’t ours.”

“She was!”

“She belonged to another version of us and not us.” He points between himself and Miguel. The two have been chasing each other since day one, Miguels cannon affected him badly, causing him to lose his own child. Miguel had tried to find ways to fix it by going to other universe in hopes of getting their lives back together again only to mess things up badly and to cause a whole universe to be destroy. Their constant arguing grew worse as the days went on the two couldn’t be in a room together without trying to tear each other apart, leading to a divorce between the two. Well, a divorce wasn't really an option due to their universe being gone and instead was considered a break up between the two without having to sign he paper work.

In the public’s eye they were seen as married still. For them, they were separated.

Noir didn’t start stealing until after he stole Miguel’s bracelet, finding a way to stop Lyla from tracking him down and using it to escape from the man he loved. Giving himself a new life, stealing from every universe and only causing trouble for Miguel due to the constant anamolies being placed in the wrong universe, only giving the man extra work on getting it fixed.

You could say that it was Noirs way of showing revenge for all of the times Miguel blamed him for trying. Earning himself a reputation and treating it like a game.

“Y/n—“

“I don’t have time for you, right now.” Y/n hissed out, turning around and jumping off the building, getting Miguel to panic all of sudden and run after him, jumping off and diving down to wrap his arm around Y/n’s waist and using his talons to grip onto the side of the building also using his webs to hold on.

“What—?”

“I’m not letting you go that easy.” Said Miguel, grinning under his mask as Y/n’s eyes widen at the realization.”Don’t you dare!” Y/n uses his own claws in a threatening way only for Miguel to ignore his threatens, getting Lyla to open a portal back to their earth and quickly dropping his (ex) husband down the portal. Only for Y/n to land inside Miguels little anomaly prison as one of his traps is set around him, caging him inside a tight space as he tried to use his claws to claws his way through.

It wasn’t until Miguel drops down in front of him. The two could easily be face to face if it wasn’t for the barrier stopping them. “You’ll stay here until everything is fixed and then you can scream and yell all you want.” Said Miguel a hand on his own hip as his mask dissolves away, showing his real face to Y/n who frowned. “You can keep me here all you want, but I will always find a way out.” He was testing him.

This wouldn’t be the first time that he was trapped under Miguels watch, he’s escaped plenty of times before and he will do it again.

Miguel chuckled deeply. “Oh, mi amor. This time it’s different, because I’m going to make sure that I have a close eye on you twenty-four seven.” He looks over his shoulder to nod at one of the spiders from his society who turns around to type away on their computer. All of sudden Y/n is transformed to Miguels lab, appearing in the room in a flash as he yelps in surprise.

“Jesus…” He breaths out in surprise a hand over his beating heart as he falls back onto his bottom. “A heads up would have been nice.”

“Stop being annoying and be quiet.” Said Miguel, circling him like prey and focusing back on his work. Y/n grins, reaching up to push his goggles up and over his head. “Listen, cabeza de mierda. You brought me here in order to keep an eye on me, but never did you say that I couldn’t annoy you.”

“I—“

“So, I won’t stop talking your ass off until you let me go.”

Miguel stares down at his husband, knowing the man well enough to know that he was keeping that promise. The taller spider sighs in annoyance, already regretting his choice as Y/n grins at him and leans back against his elbows and crossing his leg over the other, lying down as he groans out loudly.

“Who would have thought, the two of us together again. After a year? Damn, it’s already been a year, I remember you slamming into a wall when chasing me through Earth-6574. God, the anger in your eyes was so satisfying!”

Miguel tried to focus on his work, ignoring the mans words as he continues on, rambling on about anything that will annoy Miguel until the man gives in.

The conversation went for hours, with Y/n changing positions every few minutes, one minute he’s lying down and the next he’s sitting. Another time he’s doing a handstand in the small space he’s trapped in or using his claws to try and penetrate the force field around him only to fail. He didn’t stop until he suddenly grew bored, lips sealed as Miguel finally takes in the peaceful silence, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“There it is.”

Miguel snaps his head towards Y/n, already knowing his plan.

“Enjoyed your five seconds of peace and quiet? Because, I was just getting started.”

Miguel wants to shout, opening his mouth to throw back an insult only for him to be disturbed by the sound of people entering his lab, getting his attention. Y/n also looks over to the group of teens approaching them, one specific teen getting the thief’s attention as he narrows his eyes, focusing on the curly hair and dark skin until his eyes widen in realization.

“Miles?”

Even though he’s only known the kid for a year and had trained him on the side, he knew who the kid was under the mask, but never said anything. Not wanting to freak the kid out. Whenever the kid wasn’t hiding behind the mask, Y/n would keep a close eye on the kid, making sure that he was focusing on school and attending his family diners and parties, somehow feeling responsible for the kids disappearance each time he skipped classes or lunch only to meet up with enthusiasm, excited to learn something new from the thief that the teen befriend somehow.

It didn’t take long for the platform to lower, reaching the ground and getting the teens attention. Before Miles could introduce himself or hand Miguel the empanada that he had in hand. The kids eyes fall onto Y/n, narrowing his eyes a bit. “Noir?”

This gets everyone’s attention, including Miguel who snaps his head in Y/n’s direction with a knowing glare that he knew too well.

“Hey kiddo!” Noir waves at Miles with a wide grin on his face, side eyeing Miguel as he feels his burning glare. Miles doesn’t think twice to quickly rush over and jump onto the platform, worry in his eyes as he ignores Miguel’s surprised look along with Gwen’s panicked looked and Hobie’s grin. The teenager was too focused on Noir to care about what the others were thinking about his actions, his palms against the force field that separated the two as he tries to find a way to get him out. “Why are you here? How are you here?” Miles began to ask as Y/n looked at Miles with a fond look and faint smile.

“Easy kid, I’m alright.” He tries to reassure the kid.

“Get him out.” Miles blurts out, turning to Miguel with a frown on his face. The sudden demand shocks the others, but not Y/n who can only smirk over Miles shoulder and towards Miguel who frowned deeply. “I’d listen to the kid.” He whispers, loud enough for his ex to hear.

Miguel grunts in disapproval and had no choice but to do as told as gets red of the red field around him, finally setting him free as Y/n stands from his spot, stretching his arms in the air like a cat and getting caught by surprise when Miles hugs the other man. “Whoa! Easy kid, I’m alright.” He reassured him, giving his back a soft pat.

His actions don’t go unnoticed as Miguel watched the two interact with each other, clearly reading the signs that Y/n had claimed this kid as his own, treating him with care and respect, knowing that if he comes between the two, Y/n wouldn’t hesitate to fight back like a feral cat. It’s happened before and it won’t stop him from doing it again.

“You said you had to leave.” Miles speaks up, getting Y/n attention who sighs deeply. “About that…” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and giving Miles an awkward smile.

“Noir isn’t from your universe, he belongs in mine. He was caught breaking the rules and had no choice but to bring him here. He’s a slippery one and likes to get away, so letting him out of his cage wasn’t a good idea.” Said Miguel, getting an eye roll from Y/n and placing his hand on his hip. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’ve gotten away from it many times and you didn’t seem to mind.” Y/n said back, making his way around the platform and taking in Miguels work.

He takes notice of the videos and pictures of them both together along with this their daughter, causing a small sad sigh to escape his lips knowing that Miguel hasn’t gotten over the death of their daughter. Y/n was the only one who was able to move on from everything but Miguel, he couldn’t blame him. Everyone coped different with death and took their own pace in recovery. With a clawed finger he turns the pictures off, glancing over to Miguel who was watching him this whole time with a sorrowful look on his face.

Y/n quickly turns away, refusing to look at the man he once loved.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Gwen points between Y/n and Miguel, approaching the duo that stood before her, getting Y/n to smirk widely. “Actually were married.” He quotes out, getting a surprise look from both Gwen and Miles. “Divorced.” Miguel added, hands on his hips as Y/n pouts at his words.

“Divorced? Really, you two would look cool together.” Said Miles. “Adopt me?”

Y/n breaks out in laughter, throwing his head back as he laughs at Miles words. He jumps offer the platform and takes miles into his arms, pulling the kid close to him and squeezing him tight. “How did my ward become so adorable? If I could adopt you then I would!”

“Wait, your ward?” Miguel asks, clearly not likening this.

“Yep!”

“He’s taught me a thing or two.” Said Miles and with a proud smile on this face he extends his hand, opening his palm to show Noir the hard-drive that he stole from Miguel, getting a very proud Y/n to hug him again. “My child is learning!” He cheers in excitement while Miguel growls. “No, no, I refuse to let you take in a spider. You are enough trouble, let alone having a kid do it too?”

“If it wasn’t for me the kid wouldn’t have gotten better on his skills. I taught him how to defend himself and perhaps get away with a thing or two…” Even though Miles was suppose to be his universe hero and protector, he couldn’t help but, teach the kid a thing or two when it comes towards breaking and entering. Teaching Miles how to sneak back inside his room or dorm without being noticed and to pick on locks in case of emergencies.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling to himself in disappointment. “No puedo mas, no puedo mas.”

Y/n rolled his eyes. “So dramatic.” He mumbled as he listens to Miguel ramble on while Miles is being saluted by Hobie, admiring the kids new skills form a very well known thief in many universes.

“Did you know that he stole this guitar for me?” Said Hobie, pointing over his shoulder where his guitar was strapped over his shoulder. “Mad genius.”

Miles laughs. “I don’t like stealing, but Noir once helped me with getting my mom a present for Mother’s Day. He stole a necklace for me, nothing too expensive but also nice.” Said the teen. Clearly he was nervous and ashamed for it when he first got handed the jewel from the known thief only for the anxiety and worry to fade away when he say how happy his mother was about the gift.

His father questioned him and all Miles told his dad was that he worked hard for it.

Noir smiles at the two before looking over to Miguel who stared with disappointment, but Y/n didn’t seem to care one bit wanting the teen to enjoy his life and he wouldn't mind breaking a few rules in order to give the kid what he wanted. Even if it meant bumping into his husband ever once an awhile.

#male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel O’Hara x male reader #reader #Spider-Man #AU #black cat reader #marvel shot #marvel x male reader #ATMV spoilers #spider man across the spiderverse spoilers #black cat series #BlackCat tag

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eyesxxyou · 6 months

Text

My Hero

☆🕷️。・hobie brown x blackcat!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.3k

synopsis. you and Hobie have long been playing the game of cat and spider. you chase, you fight, you fuck, you fight again, and you two love your games. until you find your life in danger because you stole something you shouldn't have

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🐾warning: p in v sex, unprotected sex don't do that children, a bit of sub!hobie, riding, reverse cowgirl, oral (m receiving) a bit of anal play not much though, hobie being kinda whiny and needy.

You always had a way of coming back into Hobie’s life when he needed you to the very least. Just when he was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t head over heels obsessed with the Black Cat as he thought he was, that he’d be able to look at you one day and not have the irresistible urge to kiss you and take you wherever the two of you might be, whether you be allies or enemies that day. He’d think that smile of yours, filled with chaos and mischief, framed in the silver fangs of your piercings, was just like any other, and that he didn’t have every inch of your body committed to memory.

Then you’d pop back up from wherever you spent your down time and bring back with you all the emotions he thought he had discarded in the rubbish bin down the street as well as your usual additional bullshit that he always played his own part in. That’s how you ended up in his very own bed, his real bed, the one he sleeps in every night, in just a thong and a baby tee that says 'I love (the love is a heart) to make men cry' as your hair now black as the night sky.

He never told you where he lived. No one would have assumed that the vigilante Spider-Man would live on a canal boat. But you were smart, crafty. If anyone were to figure it out, it would have been you.

Hobie was just swinging back on to his docked boat when he felt the familiar tingle of his spidey-senses going off. The prickling of his hair standing as his body moved by its own fruition. He leapt out of the way just before one of your knives could catch him. It came from overhead, the top of his boat where you perched yourself. The knife lodged itself in the wooden deck between his booted feet and he looked up at you.

There it was. All those feelings. They disgusted him but he loved you. He loved your slightly violent ways of showing love that never leave him wounded for long. Your usually pure white hair now raven black in wild curls, bad luck and even worse intentions radiating off of you. The smallest twinkle of fondness in your eyes as you look at him with that grin of yours.

“You always gotta try ‘n kill me every time we meet?” Hobie asks you at you drop down from your perch in front of him with the agility of a cat and snatch up your knife from his deck. You’re in regular clothes with a duffle bag tossed over your shoulder and cat-ish makeup on your pretty face. “I never try to kill you, hon. Just testing your reflexes.” You tucked your knife away, Your hand coming to rest on his chest affectionately. “Miss me, Bee?”

Always. “‘Aven’ crossed ma min’, luv.” He spoke gruffly. You looked up at him with knowing eyes. “I missed you too.” You got up on your toes, your hand coming to the nape of his neck to pull him close and kiss him, a friendly hello to make up from your aggressive one. Hobie kissed you back immediately, didn’t even have to think about it, how body did all the work for him. He knew he should be asking questions. How the fuck did you figure out where he lived for one. But oh— it’s like you knew that kissing him would make him nice, malleable, agreeable, and dumb. Hobie’s not dumb. He’d wise up quick so you had to beat him to the punch.

“I need your help, Hobes.” You murmured against his lips before he kissed you once again in sloppy play fighting with your tongues. “I’m in trouble.”

“When are you no’?” He left out in a slight breathless chuckle, finally pulling away. Wised up. “Wha’cha do?”

You nipped softly at your bottom lip, containing a slight smile. But if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a bit of fear behind those eyes. “I stole something I shouldn’t have.”

“Those are the only thin’ worth stealin’.”

“Bad people are after me, Hobie, and I need a place to lay low for a little bit.” Your lips twitched a little. Yes, definitely fear. “I need help and I heard Spider-Man is in the business of helping people.” It was definitely a shot at your pride. You hated admitting you needed help, spent years drowning because you denied everyone's attempts to throw you a life raft. Hobie knew you’d rather stab yourself in the foot. And that meant this was serious.

"Come on, le's ge' inside."

And that's why you're here in his bed, because the fear of being suffocated in your sleep in your own home left you paranoid. Hobie settled down beside you in his narrow bed with his arm tossed behind his head, the action pulling his shirt up just enough to reveal his naval and that beautiful happy trail leading down his low-hanging sweatpants. "Wha'cha take?"

"Nosey much?" Yet, you cozied up right beside him in his rather cushy bed. You liked the way he smelled, like musk and sweat and the faint hint of faded body wash. Some days, depending on the activities, he smelt metallic, like blood, and you loved that even more. You love his sharp, stoic beauty. Loved his hair and the unmarked flesh of his neck that was usually either bruised or cut in some way. Sometimes done by your own hand.

Hobie's hand was on your thigh, the pads of his fingers messaging your flesh as he looked at your face, dimly lit by the waning moonlight reflecting off the broad ocean and glittering into your face. Your lips were wet, full, pouty. Your eyes sharp and piercing. He could see the pretty peaks of your nipples beneath your shirt. He wanted to run his thumb across them, call you his pretty girl. Mumble into your mouth incoherent words of ignorant admiration. "You came t'me, lovie. I feel I gotta righ' to know wha' kinda trouble you're in."

You two couldn't keep your grubby paws off of each other, always stealing touches, slight caresses like you two were fooling anyone. Every fluid movement between you two, always playing off each other's last, was done like something of a ritualistic dance. You take something from him, he takes it back, whether by hand or by web, you get up close and with both of your quick instincts you're fighting over the objects of your desire, seeing who's wit will prevail in the end. Your banter often followed the same routine.

"Well, I feel I have the right to reserve that info. Jus' do your job, pretty boy. Keep me safe so people don't come and ruin this pretty face you like so much." You pull him close and place a soft kiss on his slender cheek before dropping the matter all together. "But— I am very grateful for your kindness. My hero." You press your lips against the shell of his ear, peppering kisses against his skin.

You shuffled about in his bed, maneuvering between his legs with your hands against his sweatpants to pull them down. "I want to thank you."

Hobie let out a breathy chuckle as you worked to pull his cock out from his pants. "I don't need thanks, par' of ma job, but I won' refuse one." Not with lips like yours and a sharp tongue that could turn so, so soft when put to good use.

Your hands held his half-hard cock, twitching with the pumping blood that made him grow harder by the second, and you stroked him softly, gathering saliva to spit on his tip and spread down his length. Hobie shuttered under your touch, looking down at you through hooded lids as his tongue poked out to wet his lip then nip at it. "Go easy." He murmured, knowing he mercilessly beat his cock earlier to the thought of you, not knowing when he might see that pretty body of yours again.

You always start so slow, feigning a sort of innocence about the way you kiss his leaking tip and suckle on it as you look up at him through your long lashes. You'd keep going on like this forever if you had the choice but Hobie was impatient and restless. Grunting with pleasure and disapproval, he'd tuck his fingers in the curls of your hair and get a nice, firm grasp before pushing your head down further.

You'd relent, let your jaw slack so he could sink his cock further into your mouth, the sensitive tip of his dick dragging across the plain of your tongue. He'd let out something of a strangled, choking whimper before biting his lip. "Fuckin'-" He'd let out in a breathy moan as his head would fall back and he'd guide you head up and down the length of his cock.

It happened every time and this was no different other than the slight way from the waves rocking the boat. His fingers were in your hair, guiding your movements as his dick slid along your tongue against your throat. "Goo', kitty." He stroked your head and pulled your head away to stroke the tip of his cock against your saliva-coated lips.

You took him all the way to the hilt, let him settle down your throat before swallowing. It drove him crazy, made him shiver as he pressed your face to his pelvis and coaxed you to do it again. You swallowed and swallowed before pulling your head back and swirling your tongue against the head of his cock. You bobbed your head at a nice, steady pace, reveling in every hiss that escaped his dark, pretty lips.

He was losing himself to you, to that mouth, to that dark gaze of yours. Head like this made him fall in love. Made him completely mad for you. And oh, you were bad, so bad and he needed you. He needed to be inside you, needed you in top of him.

Hobie moaned softly. "Come'ere." He pulled you off his cock and pulled you up the length of his body.

You kissed him, hand stroking his length in gentle strokes while you sat on his thighs. His tongue found yours, your teeth nipped at his full lip. "You like to pretend you don't miss me but you gotta miss head like that."

"You have no idea, luv."

You climbed further on top of him, kneeling above him with your hands caressing the sides of his pretty face. "Just lay back and let me thank you, hmm? I'm not always so grateful." You pushed him back against his few pillows. Hobie lied with a hand behind his head, watching as you got up and turned around to give him a nice view of your ass from behind.

You pulled your thong to the side, that pretty pussy of yours on display for him, nice and wet. You reached back and took him into you hand to drag the thick of his cock between your pussy lips, stroking your aching clit with his tip. You got him nice and wet with the creamy juices of your cunt before lining him up against your wanting entrance.

He slid in so nicely, the tip stretched your nether lips apart. Your back arched subtly as you pushed your ass back more and let him sink deeper within you. Hobie pulled a single hand from behind his head and grabbed a handful of your ass to get a better view,

That pussy of yours could make a grown man weep. So wet, so tight, so mind-numbingly soft. You knew how to move your hips in just the right fashion to make him want to cum inside every single time. Just the sight of your lips hugging his cock was enough to make him crumble in ways no other could make him. He’s whimpered for you for fucks sake and one rested in his throat right at this very moment.

You sat in his lap with his member sitting snugly in you. You rocked your hips nice and slow, circling in a way that left you shuddering. Hobie squeezed your ass then smacked it with a sharp swing of his palm. “Don’ start teasin’ now, kitty. Show me.” He pressed his hand against your lower back just enough to get a nice view of his cock inside of you. His thumb rubbed circles against your asshole and earned him something of a whimper.

You placed your hands on his thighs as leverage and raised your hips, moaning at the feeling of his thick cock dragging against your sensitive walls. You went until only the tip remained before sitting back down and taking him in once more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!" The last one was long and drawn out as you felt him nuzzle against your cervix and press against that soft place in your walls that made you grip his thighs tight and need him a little more.

Hobie cupped your ass with his hand, this thumb still tentatively rubbing circles against your tight rim of muscles as you took him over against and again. That pretty pussy of yours so idyllic it looked more like a fleshlight than anything. It gripped him like a vice, like a sin, oh you were such a sin and you felt so good.

"Shit, luv– fuck. Treatin' me good f'once aren'cha?"

You rose until your pussy let him go with a nice, wet pop and swiftly turned around to straddle him as you were before. "I can treat you so much better, Hobes." You reached back, let him take your cunt again and watched his face as his brows furrowed and his mouth fell open with the beginnings of a moan.

Your eyes rolled back as he entered you fully, lids fluttering. You stroked his head and rutted your hips against his own, your clit stroking against his pelvis. You moaned softly, looking down at his pretty face looking equally as fucked out.

Hobie's hands grappled at your hips, thighs, and ass, unsure of where he wanted his hands the most. "Keep fuckin' me like tha'." His hands finally settled on your waist, forced you up and down on his cock like his personal sextoy. His hands were under that little baby tee you were wearing, squeezing handfuls and fondling your breasts.

Hobie's head rolled back, his eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure of it all. With a pussy like this, if you asked him to give up being Spider-Man, he would. With a pussy like this, you could ask him anything and he'd agree with you. So nice and tight and wet. He could feel that slick of yours dribbling down his length, rolling in clear pearls over his balls.

You grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at you. "Keep those eyes on me, Bee. Pretty eyes like those, I wanna see'em." Those eyes that look at you in a hooded daze, not a thought in that brain of his just you, you, you. His hands stroked the sides of your body, cupped your tits, grappled at your hips, forced you to fuck him harder.

He reached between your legs and stroked your swollen clit with his digits. He needed you to cum for him, before him, you had conditioned him like Pavlov. He can't cum unless he knows you've cum first. He needs to see that expression of absolute euphoria across your face to finally know relief himself.

"Please cum f'me, luv. Please, please, I need i'. Y'know I do. Please." Hobie panted and begged. And oh the way your pussy squeezed him in segments, pulsing and quivering with the beginnings of an orgasm.

You squeezed his jaw harder, looked him in the eyes with your forehead pressed against his. The tips of your noses touches, the heat of your breath met the others and you felt the desperation in his breath.

He pinched and rolled your clit between his fingers, watched you lose your breath and ride a little harder. "Come on, luv. 'm good fo' i'. Jus' cum f'me." He kept murmuring, watching your expression, playing with the clit he knew from top to bottom. Your pussy was beginning to make a nice, creamy squelch around his cock, your cunt quivering with your climax.

Your hips bucked as you sat in his lap and pulsed around his cock. "Fuck, Hobes. Shit, oh my- fuckin' God." He stroked your clit through your orgasm, your rocking hips milking his dick, a womb begging for his load. You were left shuddering uncontrollably with eyes barely able to stay open. Oh you were high on it, dick like this doesn't come by often and you were intent on enjoying it as you always do.

You fucked him hard, left a creamy ring around the base of his cock, fucked him because you needed him to cum because that was the whole point of this. You liked the face he made when he came. The slight smile, a daze in his gaze, the complete loss of control of every extremity.

He submitted himself entirely to you, let you spit in his mouth, slap his cheek, do whatever you wanted to him because he can feel nothing but the way your pussy milks him for all he's worth.

"My hero," you cooed. Stroking his cock as he came in nice, thick ropes inside you. His large hands squeezed your ass, your thighs, your waist, grappled at you as the very breath got knocked out of him. His lips sought out yours as they always eventually do with a wanton moan. He kissed you like he was in love, all tongue and teeth, all consuming. A kiss that says 'don't leave just yet, let's just sit here'.

You know for certain that he's in love with you and you find it adorable. You could say you reciprocated it, could say you wanted a nice, quiet life with him. But you both knew you weren't built for that, not when your allyship was so unstable and one moment you could be working together for a greater cause and the next you have a knife to his throat and intend on taking a little more than just a little blood. It's never hard feelings, a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to get ahead under the oppressive eye of fascist government.

Hobie half wondered if you were just here to get the drop on him, make him let his guard down to attack him. There could never be trust between the two of you, not complete trust anyway.

"You know we can't, Bee." You pulled away from him, pulled off of his softening cock and laid down beside him with your thong settling back into place. "As much as I'd love to, you know we're not compatible."

Hobie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I beg to diffa. We're compatible, we're fuckin' soulmates. I jus' can' figure out if we're sworn to be lovers or enemies." You look up at him, at his distant eyes that don't look back at you but instead out of a narrow window at the silver sea.

"What do you think's gonna happen while I'm here?"

Hobie finally looked down at you, his lips slowly pulling into something of a lopsided smile. "We're gonna fuck a lo', eventually hate each otha a lil' more, still fuck while we hate each otha. You'll probably try t'kill me at some poin' 'n 'm okay wit' i'. But at the end o' the day, I ain' gotta Scooby Doo, mate."

You sit up, lean in, and kiss him. In another universe, you could love him without hindrance. You've tried to love different versions of him but none compare to your Hobie, not even the Prowler Hobie you stumbled upon and made yours for a little while.

No one could compare to your hero.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x blackcat!reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie x reader #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse

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l0starl · 4 months

Text

Hobie brown x black cat reader

W/c : 477

Warnings : Mentions of blood and injuries, badly written not in his accent

Synopsis : Your injured! So you asked hobie to patch you up, but only this once

Somewhat related to this

Author’s note: Probably not gonna finish that fic 😋 + I should write for hobie more wtf (✏️) — TAGLIST ; fill it out to be apart of it! Taglist : @hobiebrownismygod @daydreaming-en-pointe @kxllanxtdoor @adorefavv @adorinjae

Imagine this, Getting the police off your trail, you find yourself sitting on the rooftop, your hand badly injured, you examine the wound on your palm, you winced at the sight of it, the breeze kissed your skin as you noticed it was awfully quiet…..too quiet.

You knew you couldn’t patch this wound up yourself (Because you didn’t have the money to do so) But you at least knew someone you can…

Hobie

You walked to the dock, the wooden boards creaked with every step you took, making an unpleasant sound, possibly alerting him

You spotted a familiar houseboat, as you knocked on the door three times, the sound of movement inside coming closer as you heard a lock make a series of clicking sounds as the door finally opened.

“Well well well, looks who’s here!” Hobie said in a mocking tone, he knew how easily he can get under your skin

“Cut it out hobie!” You huffed in annoyance “I need your help, “you think you can patch this wound up for me?” As you lifted up your injured palm

“That’s a pretty bad wound ya got there, come inside!” He gestured for you to enter, as he close the door behind him

Inside of the boat was pretty neat, though you weren’t really focus on the appearance, you were mostly trying to convince yourself to not puke while the boat was rocking back and forth

“C’mere” He gestured for you to sit on the couch

You complied as you sat down, he brought out a med kit, gloves, and some rubbing alcohol as he sat beside you

“Give me your hand” You extended your hand towards him, the blood was still dripping out, but at least it wasn’t gushing out

“Oh Bloody hell! It’s worse than I thought”

“WHAT?! How bad?”

“relax I’m just messing with ya” he teased, amused at your frustration

“Not funny hobie! Could you hurry up?” You scoffed but you couldn’t hide a smile

“Alright dove, hold still” he smiled back, putting on the gloves, after that he opened the rubbing alcohol and dipped the cotton ball inside

He rubbed the cotton the wound as you winced a bit at the pain, after cleaning the wound he wrapped it up tightly, though the stinging remained

“There, ya all better now! Or do I have to kiss ya boo boo” He mocked, you rolled your eyes but you chuckled under your breath “Is that so? You want a reward?” You retorted with a smirk

“Maybe I do, what about it?” He smirked mischievously, almost suggesting something

“Alright hobie cut it out!” Your cheeks heat up a bit

“Oh your no fun, maybe a kiss will do?” He suggested once again, as he lifted up your chin, giving you a soft kiss, not too long though but just enough to satisfy you both.

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 7 months

Text

cat and mouse

pairing: ps4!spider-man x blackcat!reader

wc: 744

warnings: only slight sexual tension. no y/n use ‘cat’ as a nickname.

A/N: not really spooky or fall but i just used this as an excuse to do another blackcat reader since the first one was when my writing was….horrible. also I just want the both of them so badly!!!!!

masterlist / peter parker

the chase was always the best part of the hunt. the thrill of the game knowing you’ll always out run his reach, another night of getting away with your earnings. but you did like when he caught you every now and again, hands pining you hard to the ground, chest panting with adrenaline.

you always had the urge to reach up and tug his mask free, probably why there was always a tight grip on your wrist. probably able to read your mind, hear your thoughts and desires.

or because you’ve verbally said one night, “would love a peek under the mask, spidey. bet your real handsome.”

you enjoy the position the chase forces the two of you into. him on top, gloved hands having firm but non-bruise touches, his thighs straddling you on the side of your hips. you pretending to be defenseless on the bottom, lightly shuffling your body around. you always get away though, just a little bad luck on your side to slip free for the night.

tonight was another night of this cat and mouse game. you running and leaping over rooftops with a bag of high tech strapped to your back with spider-man swinging and shooting webs to slow you down in anyway, you just cut yourself free with your claws though.

“thought you could do better, spidey!” yelling over the wind, voice airy and teasing. a sneaky glance over your shoulder you saw as his red and blue suit glided in the air before shooting another web for momentum.

“and i thought we’ve done this dance before, cat!” he managed to land just in front of you on the rooftop, blocking your straightforward run. you skidded to a stop, fixing your posture to straight and narrow.

“we’re so good at this song and dance, why stop? best part of my nights.” slow seductive steps closer, but keeping a safe distance for now.

spider-man sat his hands to his hips, his own feet moving him closer, “well if you didn’t work on the bad side of the law this could all be different.”

a low purr at that, “oh really?” two steps closer, “how so? saying you want to work together? be partners in crime fighting?” the gap was closing.

his shrugged and swept a hand through the air, “wouldn’t that be better than running around for crime bosses? underestimating you? treating you like eye candy?”

just a foot left between the both of you, “they know not to underestimate me. and if it was the two of us, you’d be the eye candy. haven’t you seen the gossip blogs?”

now you couldn’t see the body or face under the suit and mask, but you noticed the way he stuttered in his steps and how his head snapped over quickly.

adding the stutter in his words, “wh- what do they…. what do they say?” left hand rubbing at the back of his head.

a simply shrug with your shoulders, kicking the tips of your boots into air while walking into spider-man’s orbit. “you know… good body build and height. love hearing you talk in any form,” sharp index finger claw skated across his chest, “love the air of mystery behind the superhero.”

and before a nail could slip under the seam of the webbed mask, spider-man held your wrist. his narrowed bug eyes staring you down, “bad idea, cat.”

“aww, but i’m all for bad ideas.” and with a little bad luck on your side you were able to adjust your stance and managed to twisting spider-man’s air and throw him to the ground while rolling atop him. knees sitting on the sides of his hips with palms holding his chest down. his gloves hands grasped at your hips tight.

“i certainly love this position. too bad it can’t be a different situation.” leaning in close with hooded eyes and lonely lips.

spider-man tilted his chin up and you could hear the smirk in his words, “well, never say never.” and it genuinely caused a stir in your belly, him never one to shamelessly flirt back with you. you liked it.

“maybe another night, spidey.” moving your head to the side of his face and planting a lingering kiss to his masked cheek. then whispering low, “can’t wait for next time.” and you ran like a shadow into the dark night, stolen goods still in your possession. along with spider-man’s heart, something you plan to steal every time.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x blackcat!reader #spider-man #spider man fic #spider man imagine #spider-man x reader #spiderman ps4 #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #spiderman marvel #marvel imagine

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the-kr8tor · 10 months

Text

(Un)Lucky

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Blackcat! GN Reader / Spider-Punk x Blackcat! GN Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: FBW, smut Implied, TW blood, TW violence, TW death, cursing, hurt/comfort. No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader. Idiots in love.

Synopsis: Unlucky in life, unlucky in love. You question your situationship with Spider-Punk.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Black silhouetted shadows dance around the moon lit mansion, your feet expertly landing on the marbled floors without a sound. Slinking around the fancy beige colored furniture, your focus is on one thing – The safe hidden behind a large modern painting, how very cliché you thought. Swiftly dodging security cameras by climbing up the ceiling using your manicured claws, you finally drop down next to a large pair of concrete doors. You raise your brow at how atrocious it looks compared to the colorful modern paintings you've seen around the mansion.

"God, I hate brutalist architecture" you whispered to no one.

Bringing out your index finger, you admire your sharp claws for a second before bending down to pick the door's lock. You feel the soft leather of your suit expand at your movement. But before you could pick the lock, you felt a presence behind you. Stopping for a brief moment to slowly grab one of your throwing knives, unclipping it from its holster - you fling it at the presence behind you.

The figure hanging upside down from the ceiling catches the knife's handle gracefully before it could stab him in the face. He lets it fall to the ground, impaling the oak table below.

"Woah, Don't mind me just enjoying the view" the spikes on top of his mask shine in the moonlight, bathing his suit in a soft blue light.

"Of course it's you, hello to you too, beanpole" You scoff at his appearance, Pretending to be annoyed.

Spider-punk drops from his web, softly landing on his feet. "I'm offended, after our last encounter I thought we're past the mean nicknames" He detaches the knife embedded into the table and plays with it.

"Oh so that's why you're here, you missed me, web-slinger" your voice saccharin smooth as you confidently stride towards him, your hand reaching out to him, non-verbally asking for your knife back.

"In your dreams, love. The owner hired me to watch over his place, you've been hitting a lot of his friends' places, he figured he's next" he says with a scoff.

Instead of the knife, Hobie puts his hand on your waiting one, You stare at your joined hands, and raise your eyebrows questioningly. Your eyes soften as the whites of his mask widen at his realization.

"I beg to differ, you dork" you smirk at him.

He lets go of your hand, and puts the knife on your palm. Hobie's thankful you can't see his face, albeit he still stares at you directly, challenging you to have a go at him like you usually do, you can definitely do better than call him a dork. But you don't for some odd reason.

Putting the knife back in its place you turn your back at him, you continue working at the lock. You bend down again.

"Fuck'n hell, love" he unashamedly groans at the sight of you.

Fully aware of his eyes on your ass. It doesn't bother you, quite the opposite actually, you liked the attention he's giving you, and dare you even say you like the guy. But the words 'I don't like labels' echoes in your mind. You don't like it either, you liked just having fun with him, but the memories of your last encounter with the man behind you keeps playing in your mind.

The way he kissed and touched you that night, it felt different, a good difference, you think. The entire time It felt like there was an underlying emotion other than lust prevailing that fateful night. You have no idea how to make sense of your situation, or how to feel about him. So you do what you always do, shelf it in the back of your mind, keep piling similar memories on top of it, until one day it bursts out of you like Vesuvius. Hopefully no one's there with you to witness it when it finally happens.

"Oi, cat got your tongue?" His voice snaps you back to reality. You can't see his face with your back turned but you imagined him with a smirk under his mask, the same way you imagined what he would look like. You've only seen the bottom half of his face, the same way he's only seen your face clad in your domino mask.

"I'm busy" you bite back as you feel for the mechanism to finally unlock with a click.

"Right, no cat puns when working" he says.

You push the heavy doors, satisfaction on your face. You look over your shoulder to look at him.

"If you're gonna web me and sell me out to your boss just do it already" you pointedly tell him.

"As much as I'm into the first part, it's a no to the last bit" His comment gets ignored.

You head inside the office, with Hobie not far behind. You glare at the expansive yet unnecessary room.

The room's marble flooring is covered in various animal furs, the walls lined with tacky paintings of the owner. A few of the paintings show the greedy man hunting wild animals, you glare at the painting as if your eyes would suddenly cause it to combust into flames.

"With all the money in the world, he couldn't hire an interior designer?" Hobie grimaces at the various décor around the room. "No cameras" he pointed out.

"Probably to cover his shady dealings with Roxxon" you tell him.

"Tsk, nasty, nasty old man." Hobie finally looks at you taking down the huge painting to reveal the large metal safe.

He sighs annoyed at your attitude. "Y'know me, cat, I would never actually help people this rich, hell I'd even help you if you asked"

"Why'd you take the job then?" You ask as you try to crack the safe's code.

Hobie leans against the doorway watching you. "Unfortunately we live in a capitalist society, and I need money to eat. He didn't ask me to catch you anyway, just watch the place. No matter how much I want to burn down this bloody eyesore" And I was hoping to see you again. He also wanted to add.

You didn't bother to reply, you hum at his explanation. You hear the satisfying click of the safe's lock finally unlocking. Why was it so easy?

"What's up with the stick up y –" He cuts himself off.

His spidey-sense kicks in. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion for Hobie, a wave of red hot fear floods his entire body as he sees you slowly open the safe. His mind seems to be stuck in the moment, thankfully his body moves with muscle memory, he swiftly moves away from the doorway, one hand reaches out to web you towards him, his other hand reaches behind him, he webs the wall to pull you both out the room.

The subsequent explosion can be heard, smoke and ashes fill his vision. The once heavily decorated room now looks like ground zero.

Hobie's ears are ringing, but he doesn't care, he needs to find you. His eyes pull towards the room where they were both in. The large concrete doors closed, their edges burned from the explosion. The force from the explosion must've closed it.

The heavy doors accidentally saved them, he didn't have time to think how it happened, he just needed to find you, he needed to know that you were okay.

He screams your alias with a gutteral screech. Hobie stands up, his stance wavers but he continues on. He winces when some of his blood gets into his eye, realizing his mask now torned up from the side, only hiding half of his face. His eyes roam around the damaged mansion looking for your figure, his eyes stop once again to the concrete doors.

His heart sinks at his realization.

"No, no, no!" He limps towards the large doors.

He didn't notice if his web actually reached you in time to pull you both out.

He pulled and pushed at the comically large doors. It doesn't move.

Hobie's mind plays tricks on him, he keeps seeing in his mind's eye - your charred body, skin turned to ash, eyes burned into your sockets, your jaws permanently set in a scream. His own mind mocks him. Hobie ignores the vision. He kicks and screams for the doors to magically open.

He has no idea how long it has been since the explosion, with his ears still ringing, smoke and dust clinging around the room. His hope dwindles.

Hobie falls to his knees, eyes unblinking and wide, crimson seeps from the cut on his head. He ignores it and just stares blankly at the gray doors.

It was his fault.

He can't believe he left you, he was too slow. Of all the people in the world why you. Memories of you keep playing in his mind, trying to push away the image of your death.

In his stupor he doesn't notice a shadow enveloping him, arms finding its way to his shoulder hugging his twitching form. For a second he thought you were haunting him.

He finally gets a grip on reality and looks behind his shoulder.

Your domino mask now clinging to one side, mirroring his own damaged mask. Blood seeps from the side of your cheek. Your eyes are dull but open.

Your eyes are open.

He turns around lightning fast, Hobie clings to you like velcro. His shoulders sag from the relief, as if he can finally breathe again. You sigh at the contact, and let out a small laugh.

"Oi, what's so funny" he pulls away from you slightly, he looks at your head to assess the damage.

"I'm not brain damaged," you smile at his concern, you grab his face, cradling it. "I'm fine, we're both fine, you saved me" you look at each other, affection prominent in every crevice of your bodies.

You both now have a clear view of each other's faces.

"You look better than I imagined," he softly says.

You giggle at his comment "And you look so much cooler than I thought, it's unfair, I thought I was the cool one"

"I was this cool the whole time" he teases.

You grab his neck to carefully put your foreheads together. To calm the lingering tension from it, you rub circles on his skin, In turn Hobie cranes his neck to look at your lips asking for permission. You nod and let him ground you both back to reality with his kiss.

Hobie reluctantly pulls away "Let's go before they find us, yeah?" He helps you stand up. "You up for a swing 'round the city?"

You give him your signature smirks "your place or mine?"

"Yours" he grabs your waist. "There's a first time for everything right?"

"Oh you're gonna love my cats" You smile wildly, you don't know if your face hurts from the cut on your cheek or from smiling too much.

He memorizes the look on your face as if, all of this was just a dream, and he'll forget what you looked like once he wakes up. He grabs you by the waist, and swings out of the wreckage. Just in time before sirens could get closer to the mansion.

As you swing away towards your home, you think about where your relationship currently lies. There might not be a label for your relationship yet, or what this all means in the future. But at least now you know how he truly feels, how you feel.

As for the bastard who tried to blow you both up, revenge can wait, for she is patient.

You'll think about everything later, but right now you enjoy the moment as you cling to him.

A/n: Hope you enjoyed reading it! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♥️

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider punk x reader #atsv fanfiction #hobie brown #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #x reader #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #tw blood #tw violence #Hobie brown x blackcat!reader #Spider-punk x blackcat!reader #fanfic #the kr8tor's creations #tw death

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liyawritesss · 5 months

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ɪɴꜱᴏᴍɴɪᴀᴄ! ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ + ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴄᴀᴛ

Characters: Insomniac!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would Miles’ life be like if he had his own Black Cat? With Felicia Hardy gone, someones gotta be the elusive, sweet-worded kitty cat to the all too pent up Spider-hero.

Warnings: A little bit of flirting mentions, but that’s about it!

A/N: Wow, I had this idea for the longest time, and somebody actually read my mind! I def wanna make this into a bigger thing, but for right now I’m just easing myself back into writing since I had a real bad writer’s block. Maybe with some time, I’ll be able to develop this into something more!

Edit: for some reason I had trouble posting this with the ask attached that requested this originally. And it was anonymous so I can't at the requester, but if you're still around, I hope this satisfies you!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoir @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @movie-enhusiast22 @l0stari @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream @bayb @ykimobessed @soilmayo

Tag Notes: If your name is not greyed, I couldn't tag you for some reason! Sorry about that. Also, I will now be including Insomniac!Miles in these Spiderverse! tags I have!

First and foremost I think that Miles would want to think you’re cool as hell, but given what he knows about Felicia Hardy and subsequently Peter and her’s relationship, homeboy is trying NOT to have history repeat itself with you. Because no matter how cool your outfit is or the fact that you pack a mean punch, you’re bad news and he needs to keep you at arms length. But when he gets to know you, that obviously becomes harder and harder the more the two of you cross paths.

I like to think that you guys meet in school first. You’re a new student this semester, placed right in Miles’ homeroom. You weren’t hard to notice with your striking white hair, always had earbuds in your ears, and could be caught humming tunes throughout the day. You become friends due to your shared love for music and art, and when you start using the same excuses he’d use for his friends and family about why you couldn’t hang out as often anymore, he’s too blindsided by your friendship (and the teeny tiny crush he’s developed) to question it

Though when the two of you meet mask to mask, however, it’s a different story. You play this elusive and secretive role so good as much as he considers you a rival, Miles also finds himself admiring the way that you’re so graceful with your getaways, and the fact that you are always teasing him doesn’t help either.

You laid it on thick, but after a while of swinging around the city trying to catch you, he’d gotten used to your flirting and the jabs you’d take at him, even throwing back a few of his own. He’s a smooth kid, learned the game from his uncle of course, and just as hot as you’d get him under the mask, you found yourself trying to keep down the heat rising to your ears whenever he came back with something clever and sweet. It was a sweet cat and mouse game the two of you played - even though technically one of you wasn’t a mouse.

The jig is up, however, when a bigger threat the city is posed and you’re caught in the middle of it and are badly injured when trying to fight it off. Miles is quick to rescue you, but the pride he feels from saving the elusive Black Cat is short-lived when he realizes that the face of the vigilante behind the half torn mask is none other than someone he considers one of his best friends.

It gets awkward after that, and you’re quick to catch on as to why, because you, having deduced who the black and red-clad secondary Spiderman of New York truly was, knew how this would go if a conversation wasn’t had. And you tell him straight up that this life isn’t a game to you; you’ve been brought up in it and know the dangers and the risks, so he can’t talk you out of it. And if it was a deal breaker to your friendship, then, even though it would hurt like hell, you would have no problem in cutting Miles off.

And just like that, what Miles feared had come true - it was the same story with Peter and Felicia all over again - and yet, he still made an effort to try and see things from your perspective, to make it to where history didn’t HAVE to repeat itself, knowing that any feelings he’d have for you were no good in his line of work.

You know it too, though. Whatever budding feelings that were happening between the two of you couldn’t come to fruition, because Miles was a superhero for the people, and you were just a street cat looking out for yourself. There was a stark difference in the way each of you looked over your shoulders for constant threats to your existences, yours debatably being worse than Miles’ and you couldn’t drag him down with you.

But there still was this string that kept the two of you together. Perhaps it was the fact that you still had classes together in school. Perhaps it was the fact that you lived right next to each other and it was impossible to avoid one another throughout the day. Or perhaps it was the fact that, despite being two completely different people in two completely different lives, with and without the mask, you both still wanted to make it work; whatever would be between the two of you.

Even though you butt heads like water to a flame, Miles protected you with all his might, and you helped him in the hardest of cases with any intel you could gather. No, you couldn’t be together, but you’d still look out for each other; there was no avoiding that. You were his Black Cat, after all. And he was your Little Spider

#black reader #black tumblr #black marvel #black spiderman #spiderman #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spider man #insomniac miles morales #insomniac spider man #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x blackcat!reader

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reysdriver · 3 months

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Peter x BlackCat!Reader Masterlist

✩ - Fluff ☾ - Angst 𖦹 - Smut

♡ - Xena's Favourites

(Main Peter Masterlist)

Oneshots

Rubbermaid & Web-Boy - ✩♡ - You discover that the face behind another masked vigilante just like you is more familiar than you ever expected

Masks - ✩♡ - You try to take Spider-Man's mask off

#peter parker #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter #tasm #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker x blackcat!reader #black cat #marvel #spiderman #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #spiderman smut

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godlessandwrecked · 2 years

Text

good bad luck | p. parker

the black cat — a master burglar who has come swinging into peter’s life like a fist, to snap him out of it with witty comments and breath-taking punches. even when he thinks he hates her, he absolutely adores her, and unfortunately for him, he’s failed to realize he’s falling until he’s inches off the ground…

PAIRING: peter parker (mcu) x blackcat! fem reader

WORD COUNT: 6k

CONTENTS: post nwh, peter’s pov, pining and blushy messy peter, some suggestive stuff but mostly sfw, a lot of cute banter and a heist? also, i mention the cat has white hair like once, but she’s completely self-insertable, just like the rest of my fics!

A/N: tried to be as loyal to the black cat as I could because I adore her in the comics, but I totally made her my own here for the sake of having a version that would make sense with a younger Peter :) first time writing for Tom’s Peter and I’m: scared. ok enjoy <3

Peter’s number one, most hated, vilest enemy he’s fighting nowadays is… biochemistry. And he’s losing, by a lot. Not because he doesn't possess the capabilities to defeat said enemy, but because New York City doesn’t give him a damn rest, and he’s exhausted.

In the few months he’s been in college, to no one’s surprise, he’s already managed to be late on a pile of assignments. He doesn’t have the time to work on them, and even when he does and sits down to get on with it, it’s like his brain won’t stop running.

It should be easy for him—he’s good at it and he’s passionate about it, after all—but he can’t focus on the task at hand. His brain keeps shifting back to the city, to the rooftops, to the people who need his help, to her, and suddenly his cheeks start heating up and he’s back to thinking of how good it would feel to swing around the city, with the sun behind him and the wind whizzing by, clearing his mind of everything.

Peter huffs, clicking the delete key on his run-down laptop until the two lines he’s managed to write in the last half an hour disappear from the document, leaving it blank once more. His suit stares back at him from the other side of the room, laying on a chair, the goggles on his mask ogling at him, as if begging him to please put it on and take it out for a stroll.

For a few seconds he thinks he’s actually going to give in, but then he shakes his head, reprimanding himself and murmuring a No. No, Peter. No. He can’t keep avoiding his responsibilities, he needs to get the assignment done. College is far too expensive for him to throw it all away just to swing around like a monkey. He’ll have plenty of time to do that later.

He accommodates back on his chair, cracks his knuckles, and is about to begin typing away when–

Tap tap tap.

His head shoots to his right, facing the window where the sound has come from, to be met with nothing but that—the window. Chastising himself for getting distracted once more, he returns to his work, thinking it must have been the wind, or a knocking next-door.

But as soon as he looks away, there it is again, tap tap tap on the glass.

He turns on his chair once more, expecting nothing again, but gives a little jump at what he sees, surprisingly startled.

A head hangs upside down from the top of his window, wide eyes staring at him through even bigger spectacles, hair the color of snow flowing in the breeze.

He furrows, “Again?”

She waves happily, still upside down, and points at the lock on the window, asking him to let her in. She could bust it open easily—she is the best cat burglar ever, after all—but she doesn’t want to get him in trouble with his landlord. Not again.

“What are you doing?” he asks, slightly annoyed as she jumps over the windowsill and into his one-room apartment.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” she asks with that playfulness that comes naturally to her, even in the worst of situations.

“I told you not to come around here, Cat. Someone could see you.”

“So what? No one’s gonna think you,” a sharp fingernail pokes at his chest, “Of all people, are Spider-Man.”

“Wow, thank you. A lot. That’s really kind.”

“I’m joking, Spider. Who’s gonna see me hanging out of your window on a 4th story, anyway?”

“My neighbors? I don’t know. Don’t do it again.”

“Relax, Spider-Boy. I won’t,” she rolls her eyes, and he knows reprimanding her is of no use. She’ll do it again whenever she pleases.

Peter’s eyes follow her as she moves around his apartment comfortably, opening up cabinets in search of food, running her fingers over the notes on biophysical chemistry on his kitchen counter, straightening up items here and there. He watches with narrow eyes as she finds a pack of cookies and pops one into her mouth, sitting down on his bed.

How has this become his life? Two months ago they were kicking each other’s asses out in the cold, and now she’s laying on his pillow. He’s not sure if he likes it or it unnerves him, how naturally it comes to her to invade his personal space.

“What are you up to? Wanna go out for a stroll?” she asks, still chewing.

“No. I’m doing school work.”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence while he waits for her to get the hint and leave, but she doesn’t, just stares at him. So he stares back, blinking awkwardly, arms crossed, and then cocks his head toward the window.

“Oh, you want me to leave?” she realizes.

“Well, yeah, I have things to do.”

“I’ll be really quiet,” she shakes her head, a grin on her face. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

Sure.

He’s probably going to regret this, but how can he tell her no? She’s not going to leave either way, and the more he presses, the more she’ll do the exact opposite. He knows her well by now.

For a few minutes, as he stares at the blinking cursor on his screen, he actually believes he’s going to get some work done, but he can hear the tapping of her fingers on the leather of her suit, the steady up and down of her breathing, and if he concentrates hard enough, even the fluttering of her lashes. It’s driving him nuts.

His brain is foggy, and he’s itching for that freedom only the free-falling can provide him with. And he’s thinking of last week, when they played tag over Queens, swinging and chasing each other around narrow alleys and crowded streets. It’s just what he needs, exactly what the doctor ordered.

Peter gets up from his chair abruptly, closing his laptop and already reaching for his suit, “Okay, let’s go.”

And they’re stumbling back onto a rooftop, giggling and out of breath. This in particular is the one they favor, one that overlooks Central Park, and a little further away, the Empire State, peeking its pointy head over the less impressive skyscrapers.

They sit at the edge, legs dangling off the ledge, watching as the sun sets and hides behind the buildings in the distance, recalling the amazing stunt she’d pulled by swinging off his web and landing flawlessly on her feet.

It’s funny how things work. She found out about his identity completely by accident two months ago, catching him half naked in an alley, all bloody, with his suit torn and no mask on. “I knew you were cute, Spider,” was all she said as she offered him a hand to help him back home, and ever since then, they’d grown closer.

Now that she’s on his side–at least, most of the time–he finds himself enjoying his patrolling nights. Their nights together. Sometimes he even catches himself looking forward to the sun setting, running back home from class, dying to get into his suit just to do this. And he likes doing it with her. He’d spent so much time alone, he’d forgotten how good it felt to just be around somebody, no matter how bothersome they are.

It really does mess with his head, because technically, he’s not supposed to like her. She’s been trouble from the start, and she’s made things more complicated for him countless times, but he has so much fun with her. And sure, if he doesn’t think about the morality of her profession, she’s the best partner he could ask for.

“These are really good,” he points out, scrolling through the pictures she’d taken of him mid-air on his second-hand camera.

He’s been selling pictures of Spider-Man to The Bugle for a couple months now. It’s a job he’d rather not do—after all, they do literally hate his guts over there—but it’s one he has to do if he wants to keep a roof over his head. At least, now he doesn’t have to tape his camera to a wall to take his pictures. She does the job for him.

“I have many talents.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he says absentmindedly.

Her brow shoots up, “Can you, now?”

His slow brain doesn’t realize she’s messing with him until a few seconds later, when he sees through the teasing smirk on her face and her comment downs on him. “I mean, thank you.”

“You’re so easy,” she laughs in a bright smile that reminds Peter a little too much of pure sunshine, pointing out his reddening cheeks. “Anyway, wanna make out?”

“Wh- what?” he chokes out. Did he hear correctly?

“I said: do you wanna get takeout?”

“I don’t think that’s what you said.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

He’s sure his face is bright red at this point. Now he’s really wishing he hadn’t taken his mask off. She’s messing with him again, and he’s fallen for it, again. How embarrassing. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Do you have a thing for me blushing or…?”

“You are just so damn cute, Spider,” she bumps his shoulder, leaning into him slightly.

She blinks slowly, her lashes fluttering softly, and Peter starts shaking.

Maybe not literally, but on the inside, it feels like every cell on his body is vibrating, shaking away, like turbulence on an airplane, and he feels like he’s about to crash. It’s too late to worry about a bad landing, because he’s already trying to shove his wildly beating heart back into his ribcage before it spills out through his mouth.

Fortunately for him, just as he feels himself shifting forward the slightest bit, before he dares do something stupid, she stands up in a gush of energy and leaps onto the ledge of the roof.

She walks along the dangerously narrow path, putting one foot in front of the other with cat-like grace, her arms spread out. He knows her balance is quite literally perfect, knows she would never fall, and if she did, she would land on her feet, and yet, he can’t help it, it comes out of his mouth, easy as breathing, “Be careful.”

She turns around to face him, a smile on her face that is as sweet as is dangerous; a double edged sword. “Would you catch me? If I fell?”

“Always.”

And he means it, of course he does. She’s the closest thing he’s had to a friend the past few months, the only person who has been around, getting to know Spider-Man, and now Peter Parker alike.

After losing everything he’d ever had, he felt lost, angry and lonely. And that’s when she came around, swinging into his life like a fist, to slap him back into the world of the living and fill him with something other than grief.

Those first few months, when he chased her around the city, hoping to catch her with her hands on the smoking gun, he felt alive again. And then everything changed between them, and she went from foe to friend.

Now he can’t think about patrolling without thinking of her. He can’t picture the night without an image of her popping into his head, with her bratty attitude and wolfish grin, about to make a comment that will turn his ears pink. But he enjoys it, how she fills up the silence, how warm he feels next to her. Sometimes that warmth is anger and annoyance, sometimes it’s other things. Things he doesn’t dare admit, at least not yet.

She doesn’t say anything at his answer, even though he’s well aware that it sounds more like a confession than an offhand comment. If it has affected her in any way that isn’t prideful, she doesn’t let it show, just smiles triumphantly.

She’s got him wrapped around her finger, and she knows it. And maybe he’s in deeper than he thought he was. Maybe.

•••

A week of absolutely no distractions and assignment after assignment has given Peter a lot of time to think about various things. He’s come to a few realizations:

He should probably not take off his mask when he’s around the Cat, just so he won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him blush anymore.

College really is just not worth it.

He can’t live off of cheese strings and coffee.

College is not worth it again.

There’s a criminal organization in New York he needs to take down sooner than later.

Maybe he should’ve gone grocery shopping first, but he’s already barging into their shared rooftop, letting go of the web that swung him there to walk up to the Cat, already waiting for him and picking at her long nails.

“We’re gonna steal something!”

“Hello to you, too. Did you say “We”?” she grins, instantly intrigued. “That’s very immoral of you, Spidey.”

Normally, yes, he would find it immoral, but this is an exception. He’s been thinking about it for over a month now, and every time he runs it over in his head, it becomes more and more clear that he needs her expert hand if he wants it to be successful.

“It’s for the greater good.”

“Okay. What are we stealing?

“Just some records. Numbers. Proof.”

“Records,” her brow shoots up. “From whom?”

Peter kisses his cheek, dreading this moment, and whispers the answer through his teeth, almost inaudibly as he scratches at the nape of his neck. She gets a little closer to him, her inquisitive look piercing right through him, “Huh? You’re gonna have to speak a little louder. I don’t have your abilities, Spidey.”

“The Maggia.”

Her eyes widen. “The Maggia? Yeah, no, thank you,” she turns away from him and starts to walk in the opposite direction. “Already did that once and it was…not good.”

Maybe he doesn’t need need her help, but she is really good at what she does, and besides, he wants her by his side. Of course, he’s not about to tell her that, no need to feed her ego.

“Please,” he pouts under the mask, holding her back by her wrist so she doesn’t walk away from him. Begging doesn’t work with her, not at all, but he can try. “I can’t do it without you.”

Her stance softens at that, so she sighs, annoyed, “You know I’m all about being reckless, but not without a good reason. So what’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you’re going to help a lot of people by overthrowing organized crime?”

“Ugh,” her nose scrunches up in disgust.

“Why do you always need to get something out of it? We have a deal, don’t we? You help me sometimes, and I overlook your ‘visits’ to the Guggenheim,” he says, making air-quotes.

“Why do you care about that, anyway? I’m like Robin Hood.”

“You’re the British Museum at best.” She gasps, looking extremely offended for a few seconds, her hand over her heart, so he clarifies, “You don’t take from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Yes, I do. The rich being,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand, as if batting away some fly. “And the poor being me, of course.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Whatever you say.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head, catching her before she tries to divert the conversation. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Her eyes roll, “Well, if I must…”

Barely a few hours later, once the sun has set, the crescent moon providing them with enough coverage in the shadows, they’re already on the go, towards the outskirts of the city.

It only takes them a few minutes to get to their destination, and once they do, they wait, watching the entrance of the property from their hiding place in the heights, observing in silence and coming up with their plan of action.

“Rooftop, you think? The skylight?” asks Peter.

“Yeah, that’ll be the quickest and safest way. You web me down, I’ll get whatever I can find. Nobody will even notice we were here. Easy as that.”

“Are you sure? I should go in with you.”

“No. They probably have security systems you won’t be able to recognize or avoid. I’ll go in. You keep watch.”

“I really think I should go in with you. What if–”

“Spider,” she interrupts him, getting closer to him until they’re face to face, inches away. “Let me do my thing. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Peter is not particularly fond of this plan, but she’s the expert at this sort of thing, so he follows after her, silently swinging past the guards patrolling the perimeter and landing on the rooftop unnoticed. Once they reach the skylight at the center of it, she pulls a pin out of her suit and starts fumbling with the lock with expert hands.

Nearly two seconds later, it pops open, “Ta-da!”

“Wow. You are really good at that.”

“The best,” she announces happily. “Alright, pull me down.”

They manage to create some sort of make-shift harness out of his webs, wrapping them around her waist tightly so he’ll be able to hold her easily and bring her in and out of the facility with no problem. Once they’re done, she jumps down into the building with no hesitation, and he steadies himself, bending his knees and planting his feet firmly on the floor to hold her up.

And damn her, because even now, as he slowly lowers her down the skylight, she looks beautiful, with the moon shining down on her, her body contorting on the web to keep herself steady, her doe eyes looking up at him, instructing him to go a little slower now, more to the right then.

The Cat has many good qualities and abilities, but Peter found out very quickly that the weapon she wields the best is her beauty—a perfectly angled knife that slashes through him, punctures his lungs and leaves him gasping for air. It’s the one thing he hasn’t learnt how to dodge yet.

“Spider?” she asks suddenly. “Why’d you stop?”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and resumes his job in aiding her to rappel down. “Got distracted.”

“Why? Do you like what you see? Is that what it is?” she purrs, obviously trying to make him tick. He’s not falling for it this time.

“Sure. Indiana Jones could never,” he jokes, and unfortunately it’s true. He might have the style, but he doesn’t have the elegance nor the effortlessness of the Black Cat. “What do you see?”

“Give me a second. It’s too dark.”

“You can’t be too far off the ground, can you?” It’s just a warehouse. “Can you?” he asks again, but there’s no answer, so he tries once more, “Cat?”

No answer still. Was this part of the plan? Wasn’t he supposed to get confirmation that she’d made it in? Sure, they didn’t talk about that, but isn’t it a normal thing to check on? Now he can’t recall what they’d discussed and his palms are starting to get sweatier and sweatier by the minute.

She told him to wait and keep watch, but he can’t just sit back. He has no business getting so worried, so quickly, but he’s not the most patient person, and he doesn’t like a single one of the hundred different scenarios that are rushing through his mind right now.

So he jumps into the building, with no thought in him but his partner getting hurt or taken or worse. And two seconds later as he lands on a dark hallway, just like she said he would, he triggers some sort of alarm, and the whole building goes on full blast, blaring a high pitched noise, bright red flashing lights and all.

“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath.

Peter doesn’t know what to do except run, instead of back through the skylight, right down the hallway, in search of The Cat. Just when he rounds out the corner, running frantically like a maniac, he slams hard against something, sending him almost straight to the floor.

“Peter?”

“Oh, thank God, you’re okay,” he places his arms on her shoulders to ground himself, relieved once he sees her, safe and sound.

“What did you do?” she asks, annoyed, over the deafening sound of the alarm.

“You weren’t answering! So I came in.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Red light illuminates her face, matching her annoyance. “I was doing my job. You clearly didn’t do yours very well.”

“Uh, excuse me, lady, for worrying about you.”

“Get us out of here, Spider. Out, out,” she taps his shoulders.

They run back down the hallway, to make their way out of the skylight once more, and he’s wrapping his arm around her waist to swing them both out and away when-

A bullet whizzes past them, making them jump.

“Holy fu-”

“You!” Two burly men in suits are sprinting down the corridor towards them, guns pointed, fingers on the trigger and ready to shoot again.

Peter tugs at her hand to get her out of there, but she steps in front of him instead, on the line of fire.

“Watch out! Faulty construction!” she yells out in a mocking tone, and somehow, the whole ceiling panel ahead of them breaks away and tumbles down onto the men, knocking them down and burying them under plaster. “Oops!”

Peter’s eyes widen, weirdly impressed. Those bad luck powers truly are something.

And as soon as he’s about to praise her and her little stunt, a whole group of mobsters round the corner, marching at them with all kinds of weapons ready to fire. They’re way too many to fight on their own, so like real heros do in times of trouble, they make a run for it.

“Hold on tight!” His arm wraps around her waist as her legs wrap around his, and Peter leaps out of the skylight, carrying them both out into the night.

A bullet whizzes by way too close to them, cutting through the air and making his hair stand on end as he shoots out a web to propel them towards the edge of the building. He jumps off the railing, the arm around her tightening its grip, and for a couple of seconds where time stands completely still, they’re free falling, and falling, and falling, until Peter shoots out another web, preventing them from slamming onto the pavement.

He swings them back to his apartment, his mood souring further the closer they get, guilt starting to creep in as the adrenaline washes away. Perching her gently on the window ledge, he allows her to crack it open and let them in easily, too defeated to even try to argue about it.

He rips his mask off as soon as he steps in, throwing it across the room carelessly. “Damn it,” he barks frustratedly, kicking the floor. “I messed it up, didn’t I? I almost got us killed.”

“You did,” she nods her head, adjusting the fur on her collar. “But it was fun. A little run in with the mob is always good. Could’ve gone worse.”

“Fun? They were firing multiple guns at us. That wasn’t fun, that was insane!”

“Spider-”

“That was all my fault! I almost- How could I be so stupid?”

“I can assure you, you can get stupider. it wasn’t that big of a deal,” she tries to cut in again, but Peter keeps on frantically pacing, his breathing getting agitated, his face blotchy.

“I didn’t listen. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Oh my god! I put you in danger! I fucked up and I put you in danger and it was all for nothing-”

“Peter!”

Now, that shuts him right up.

“I swear to God, you better shut up right now.”

But he’s so caught off guard that he wouldn’t be able to speak even if he tried.

Peter.

She has never called him that. Never by his name. Always Spider, sometimes Spidey, other times any weird name that crosses her mind. Never Peter. And he doesn’t understand why he’s so shocked by it, but he guesses it’s because it’s been a while since he’s heard his name coming out of the mouth of a friend.

And the realization is soul-crushing.

He’s too preoccupied with that to process anything else she’s saying or to notice how she’s ruffling through her pockets in search of something.

“Hey!” she snaps her fingers to get his attention. “Who said it was for nothing, huh?” she purrs, a smirk on her face, and in her hand, between her index and thumb, a shiny, silver pendrive, glinting in the dim light, like the final quest reward in some videogame.

He takes it from her and studies it in his hand, fascinated with the little token and even more fascinated by her and her abilities and how she somehow keeps surprising him again and again. “Cat, I could kiss you right now.”

“All in its right time,” she laughs, sitting beside him on the end of his bed, her hand on his shoulder. “I told you I had your back if you had mine, didn’t I? When I found out,” she points at his face. “I meant it. Don’t beat yourself up. We did this together. I know you don’t like me most of the time, but-”

“Don’t say that. I do. Like you. All of the time.”

How could he not? Even back when he thought he hated her, he adored her. Cherished every second they spent together, throwing punches and kicking each other in the shins, throwing witty and snarky comments back and forth like daggers.

Bold and brass, she’d shaken him awake from a deep slumber. Not gently like the warmth of the early morning sun on your closed eyelids would, heating up your chilling bones; but more like the punching shock and the grimace that follows after sucking on a lemon. Or getting kicked in the mouth, those terrible seconds when you notice that rusty taste on your tongue and you check in fear if you’ve still got all of your teeth.

That's how she makes him feel, which is not a pretty picture, but somehow explains it perfectly.

“That’s very sweet of you, lover,” she says with a fond smile. “I like you too, even when you’re scolding me for being a master at my craft and looking good while doing it.”

“Ha-ha,” he fake-laughs despondently. His hand finds hers on her knee, and he interlocks their fingers, squeezing reassuringly. “Is that really what you think? That I don’t like you?”

“Not really. I’ve seen your cheeks turn bright red enough times to know it’s not exactly anger. But…”

“What is it?”

“I dunno. I feel like there is a side of me you can’t get behind, and that really bothers me,” she says honestly, in a tone he’s not used to hearing from her. “This is not a game to me. You know that, right? I know I say I’m having fun all the time, but really, I do have my reasons for doing this. I’d much rather be in college, like you are.”

The breaking and entering, the robberies, the fights, the getting acquainted with the wrong people. Of course he knows there’s a reason behind all of it. She’s young and on her own. He doesn’t know what brought her to this point, but he understood from the beginning that she’s just looking out for herself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “If I ever made you feel bad about that. I know you’re just doing what you need to do. We all are.” They just have different ways to it. But he can’t judge her for that.

“It’s okay,” and her smile is back. Sunny and undefeated. “You couldn’t bring me down if you tried. I’ll beat your ass.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he laughs with her, and it flows easy and free, his chest feeling lighter, his hand still on hers.

But then the laughter dies down, and the silence settles in, and they stare at each other with nothing to say for once. They’re sitting way too close together. The faint fragrance of her perfume–something sweet and floral he hasn't had the chance to indulge in until now–fills up his nostrils, making his head spin.

Tentatively, he reaches up, his gloved hand meeting the side of her face, and he expects her to pull away, make some comment about him keeping his hands to himself. But surprisingly, she gets even closer, nuzzles into his touch, and he’s suddenly wishing he wasn’t wearing his suit, just to feel her warm cheek under his fingers.

“Can I?” he simply whispers.

Their eyes meet, and she nods coyly, giving him the green light to move forward. His fingers clasp around her goggles, perfectly fitted to her face, and he pulls them off, slowly.

She once said she wore them only for theatrics, not to actually hide who she was, because she was too pretty for that, and besides, no one would ever catch her. Peter wasn't too sure about that, but he agreed on the former.

He’s never seen her without them, and even if they don’t do much in covering her face, it feels weirdly intimate. Like some sort of metaphorical mask; a veil that’s being lifted to reveal truths, ones that he suspects have been ready to be uttered for a while now.

And it’s like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again.

He remembers the shock, the awe, the intrigue. It still feels fresh in his mind, imprinted there, the way it does when someone makes one hell of a first impression. He recalls every single move she’d made during that first fight, every punch she’d thrown, every kick he’d received.

And yet, all of it dissolves into nothing but feelings and sensations, faint memories, because the girl in front of him–the girl he’s seeing–is not The Black Cat, infamous master burglar. He’s seeing her, just the girl, more akin to him than he’ll ever know.

The girl, who fills his nights with giggles and joy, amidst the blood and the bruises and the darkness.

Sure, she enjoys teasing him, toying with him, pressing all the wrong and right buttons. Her presence is intoxicating in all senses of the word. Most of the time, he finds her extremely annoying, especially when she goes a little rogue, but he wouldn’t trade her company for anything. She fills up all the empty spaces in his life left by the people who are gone, and the ones that no longer know him. But she does–know him. He’s gotten the chance to start over, with her, a blank slate.

He’s afraid he’s given her too much of an in into his life, and having someone know about his identity again is terrifying, it strangely feels like he’s doing it all over again. He just hopes history doesn’t repeat itself, and although he’s learned to not take anything for certain, the one thing he knows is that he wants her here, by his side. He wants her.

He can pinpoint that feeling now, clear as day. It’s that very last second playing roulette, when you see it’s about to land on red after you’ve bet all of your money on it.

He might have just gotten lucky.

Before he knows it, he’s leaning in, and after a beat of a heart, his lips are on hers.

She doesn’t pull away, just leans into it, letting him take the reins of the kiss, his hand cupping her cheek, her hand wrapping around his wrist. She presses on a little closer, her other hand falling onto his thigh that’s brushing against hers on the bed, tainting the kiss with a fervor unfamiliar to him. He welcomes it gladly, allowing her to climb onto his lap, his hands coming to rest on her waist, pressing her body against his as she lays him on his bed.

Her kiss is tender, and strangely sweet considering she’s sitting on top of him, but not gentle–more so, demanding. He’s tempted to move his hands on her waist a little lower, explore every inch of that damned leather suit, but he doesn’t dare move them, just keeps kissing her. It’s only when her hands start snaking down his body and her lips move down his jaw and neck to plant open-mouthed kisses there that he snaps out of it

“Wait, wait,” he pulls away, holding her face in his hands. He can’t believe he’s saying no to a girl already in his bed–even if it’s the stuff of his wildest fantasies and a younger version of him would smack him on the back of his neck–but he wants to do this the right way. He owes her that. “I really like you.”

“I can tell,” she assures him with half a smirk, her eyes drifting down between their bodies.

But he doesn’t blush this time, not even under her scorching gaze. “And I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

“Okay,”

“But I really, really care about you, so let’s not jinx it?”

“You really just don’t like fun, huh?” she sighs.

He laughs, sitting up to rest his forehead against hers, his nose gently grazing hers, his hands flat on her back. “I wanna be with you, Cat,” he whispers.

She just studies him silently, pondering his words, her mind surely working through a hundred different scenarios and outcomes. “You’re too good for me, Peter.”

By the way she’s looking at him, he can almost hear her next words in the silence. I’m not a hero. I’m not some broken toy you can fix. I’m a thief, proudly so. And I’ll always be one. You can’t change that.

And that’s the thing: he doesn't want her to change. He’ll take the good with the bad, the shiny and the rusted. He likes her as she is. Even if she does not understand boundaries, even if she’ll go to the ends of the world just to see him blush at one of her dirty comments.

Most of the time, she represents everything he’s trying to fight, but it’s like every single time he thinks he can’t see past it, she surprises him with some small, little confession in the midst of some casual conversation that hits too close to home. He can’t help but feel like there is more to her. There is something hidden under the leather and the pout and the pretty face and the witty, flirty comebacks, and he’s more than willing to uncover it all, if she’ll let him.

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asks, their bodies still tangled together on his bed. “What if it ends up horribly and I’m just someone else you have to lose?”

Peter places the softest of kisses on her forehead.

She looks so sad, and he gets it; he really does after losing everybody. This lifestyle is not easy, and it’s hard to let people in. Fear eats away at you slowly, until you’re left with nothing, all jagged and sharp edges, with a “Danger. Do not touch.” sign printed on your chest.

But it’s been a year already, a very long year, and he’s already gotten a taste of what a second chance might look like. If he thinks back on everyone who has ever loved him, he knows he can’t let her go. He wants to try his luck.

After all, she came in right when he needed her the most, and if that’s not good luck, he doesn't know what is. It’s a lonely life, the one they’ve chosen, but it’s theirs, and they have each other now. She’s got his back, and he’s got hers.

“I’ll always be there to catch you, remember?”

Both her hands come up to his face, and a second later, she’s kissing him again, with the same passion from that first kiss, but still gently, confirming everything Peter needed to know. That she might be the one–the one who sticks around, who understands him.

She pulls away, with a smile threatening to break free on her face, and whispers against his lips, “You’ll have to let me go about my business, though. You know that.”

His whole face lights up wtih a silly, shit-eating grin. “Don’t I already do that?”

“Alright,” she hums in agreement, tilting her head like a kitten with glossy eyes. “Can we keep kissing now, or…?”

“Yes.”

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sukioyakio · 7 months

Text

PART 2 OF CLUELESS!READER X BLACKCAT!MIGUEL

(how their dynamic is,but with an little bit of coldness and miguel being harsh on reader,but none the less their dynamic,not my art artist: @twinscomic2016)

Part one.

Words count :1.2k ish

FLUFFF mix with an bit of angst

warning: CRINGE nuh I'm kidding just bad writing and probably curse words,

Credits:TO ALL OF Y'ALL 👊👊❤❤ for being such support,and forcing my sibling to read-ahem I mean kindly asking my sibling read it 😇🙂

An:Well good morning,afternoon,night, whenever you are,was this hard to think of and write it YESS but it was worth 😗🙂😊JEZZ I was struggling with words,I suck at spelling never would be in an spelling b contest,cuz the only thing im winning there is being the first one out,but I was an bit busy so yeaaa,but I wanted to ask you guys should I put some of the across the spider verse character to make it spice up in the other part... ANYWAY HAVE AN GREAT DAY and hope you guys enjoyed this

They were the both at Miguel favorite lunch spot, it was in the back of school/college,but they were in an section that she never saw and there was an empty table there but it looks very much peaceful there with the trees surrounding it and bushes making it very unseeable but miguel and reader are sitting there,as both of them are just staring at each-other in silence,as reader was waiting for him to break the silence,

but knowing that he could go on,and could continue to give his glare toward her for the entire lunchtime,but she really didn’t want that so she just decided to be the one to break it “Soooo..aren’t you going to try the food I made you..hehe”she says in the loud silence hoping to lighten the mood,as she looked at him with an nervous smile,as she take out her bento box/lunchbox,and she tried to not make herself look awkward, “will that make you leave me alone?”he said looking at her with an stern expression,as he mumbles some things under his breath",as reader huffed at him and his seriousness,”pleaseeeee…I won’t bother you anymore for a whole class period tomorrow”she says with an desperate whining voice as she held her hand at showing her pinky finger,”I pinky promise”she said to him with nervous laughter,

she held it there for an while as Miguel look at her with an unreadable expression,which it made reader sweat as she thinks that Miguel would’ve break her finger already,and closed her eyes,but to feel something else,as she open her eyes to see Miguel pinky holding her pinky finger,as her lips started to form an wide smile as the sun shine on them,”fine,but if you don’t keep your promise im going to break your exact finger of your’s”he words were cold,and harsh but there was something else in them,it was his voice being calm,well sort of calm,"how long has he hadn't had an friend? She says in her thought in her head

as he quickly let go of her finger as reader kinda liked the warmth of his finger that engulfed her with,without even thinking about what she said “your hands are like an warm blanket,and there quite huge like how?”,as she tilted her head slightly,as Miguel eyes widened at her words as he looked at her like what the hell did you just said,”...What..”his voice snapped her off her daydream,and she quickly began apologizing and waving her hand in front of her face "omg I'm sorry,im sorry about that im such an mess,what wrong with me,omg I'm sorry,jezz that embarrassing,im sorry..hehne",as her face had an bit of redness due to the embarrassment, as she made an nervous laughter and scratched the back of her neck,in which miguel just grunted at her stupidness,as Miguel cover his mouth with his hand as he was just looking at his other hand,as it got quiet again and reader worry that he would just leave and never want to see him after offending him,well she thought she offended him by saying that his hand are huge,but she was once again she in her mind saying that,and that she would never be able to make him smile,as Miguel just pulled out the stuipd bento box at was small compared to his hand,and place it on top of the table as he opened and saw sushi’s and an failed attempt of making an triangle onigiri’s (basically if you don’t know what onigiri is this 🍙 🍙) she made three onigiri with three different flavors,as he looked at the same section that had some sort of fruit art of an face,that one had an face design of him,

"its definitely an sunny afternoon today,almost as if she bought the light with her",miguel rumbled in his head,"he is as dark as the shadow's in the night,as if he was the darkness it self "reader thought in her head,while reader opens her bento box and started to eat her food without her reacting that she was throwing food in her mouth

Miguel looked the little tiny starwberry's one of them had an face design of him,and instantly made him scuffed by that,as he grab a chopsticks,as he started to eat the sushi,as reader finally got back to the earth,and looked at Miguel eating the food at she spended so much time on ( that she had to clean up after finishing making his food it was an disaster 😭💀,like she constantly drop the ingredients on the floor, rice grains and flour all over the floor😔. but reader kept saying in her mind that the thought of trying is what counts) she had an warm smile and couldn’t handle herself being happy that Miguel is eating her food,what made the smile look so warm was the sun shine on her face,”there’s she goes smiling to ear to ear . . ..what an idiot” Miguel says in his mind as he continues to eat the food,his favorite had to be the spicy flavored ones,something in his heart forgot how how long had it be since he had socialize,it had been an while since he ever socialize with people without being flirted or with people wanting to fight him,as reader spoke ”soo how far do you like it" she says happily with an sense of excitement,as her eyes look at him with an tickling in her eyes

“It. . . .alright” he said in an cold voice as he put another sushi in his mouth,as he looked at her face expression,”alrighttt,jezz that hurts,maybe I’ll just have to try an lot harder then before” she said in her mind,“i thought she was going to put poison in this but this is really delicious, i guees..” as he thought about it as she went to talking about whatever nonsense she would have in that brain of hers,which miguel completely ignoring what she said or just put some sort of attention to her words but then she asked him something,”can I ask you something? Only IF you want to answer”she says with an nervous voice and her lips form an awkward smile,her eyes look at his face for any discomfort of sort but didn’t notice any discomfort,as he just grumbled and lean on his hand,the palm of his hand,as he looked with an amused look “what is the dawn question?”

he said in an annoyed tone,but really in the inside he was curious of what that girls thinks.

“why are you. . .so. . cold,you don't have to answer if you don't want to!..."as she tilt her head,but as she says with patience yet and calm voice,her eyes looking at his glaze

"None of Your business" it was an quick response,that he said coldly to her as his eyebrows narrow down that made him look pissed off, and right now he didn't want to be near her at moment ,and he still doesn't know why he cares for that little dork in the first place maybe cause she reminds of himself or well more like his brother. but he just wanted to be alone,just that one question made him realize and remember why he stop socializing with people,especially what had happened in the past when he let people come to his heart without any care of the world.he got his things and pass the empty bento box to her,as he got up and looked down at her sitting position,"I think It Time for me to go,and dont think of following me,en serio" he said with an harsh tone as his eyes are once more the usual cold,as he started to walk off, as the sun was now covered by the clouds, reader who was worried about him but didn't want to scare him off as she loud sigh,and slam herself against the bento box,"jezz there you go again me,ughhhhhh Im so stuipd!!,there was my chance to be his friend and to make him smile,god I'm soo stupid"she says frustrated with herself and starts to pull some of her hair,but soon got up and took her things and walk off to her next classes. before the day ends,she started to over think about miguel hating her for asking that question,meanwhile miguel was in one of his classes, he just didn't want to remember what had happened in the past,That made him more grumpy,and more moody.

Meanwhile (time skip 😅)

It was the last school bell(idk💀) signaling people to leave which many people did leave not wanting stay any longer in the college campus but instead hang out with their friends,as reader was hoping to see miguel so she could say sorry,or a apology, or something,she is clueless of what she did that made him angry,as people walk around her and gave her looks of wondering that she most of got in trouble, or one that she got into an fight with miguel, or some were jealous of her being close to miguel,or people making fun of her. but she just ignored them,walking back and forth with her biting her nail,thinking of an apology from the top of her head,as she spot miguel and quickly walked towards him,and tap on his shoulder,it was an quick way to get have his attention,as miguel rolled his eyes and continued to walk not wanting to deal with her. And reader trying to be an detective and ask him more questions.as reader who was walking next to him,"wait! I-im sorry miguel if I hurt your feelings..I--i didn't mean to hurt your feelings,or anything,I shouldn't have ask you that question,I most have sound like I wanted to go through your private life,p-please forgive me!,i-i--ill get you anything you want for an week straight "she says with an worrying,concern voice as she closed her eyes shut as she was over thinking about the situation ,as miguel looked at her with an amused face and scuffed at her as miguel stop and turn away.and it become more quiet but soon enough he lean down towards her height,and flick her forehead,making her eyes open wide as she see miguel dead paned,stern expression "you seriously are an clueless dork" he said with an low cold voice with his brown eyes staring into *your eyes color* reader as he scuff and turn his head and continued to walk off leaving an little confused reader there

after an little while she started to walks but then trip on her clumsy foot,falling flat on her face,as she quickly got up and brushing the dust off her body,as she walks to her apartment,as started to say to herself "im not an clueless dork...or maybe I am dork but not clueless,hmph watch me I'm going to prove him wrong" she says with an playful smile,she wasn't sure what he meant by that but as long he wasn't mad at her,she was fine,still she made an loud sigh as she realized that the whole day she wasn't able to even make him smile or laugh or anything,"this is really going to be an challenge " she said in her mind as she reach her apartment and soon walked towards her room number,soon closing the door and heading straight in an shower,And doing whatever homework she had to do and get her something to eat as she remember what someone said that miguel likes empanadas and making them until she was satisfied with the results and cleaning the mess before going to bed.

TBC

THE QUOTE OF THE DAY:by my one of friend's

"Steal for the better" 😌😔😏

✌

TAG LIST: @cherryberry-sugarandspice @yawnderu @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @cherryredstars @everlastlady @tarjapearce @miguelsslvt @miguel-ohara-lover @vintagexherry @beautysamour @kairiscorner @oharasluverboy @lynxslokley @spiderlyla

If y'all want to be tag just it in the comments,anyway HAVE AN GREAT DAY sorry if it short

#miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #pls send feedback #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 99 #across the spiderverse #artists on tumblr #art #clueless!reader x blackcat!miguel #random thoughts #first time writing #first time #nothing new #i bet you think about me

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spider-man-199999 · 10 months

Note

Hey, how are you? could you write something with blackcat!reader? maybe they are in college and after a patrol peter manages to follow her and discovers that she lives in a frat next to his. Peter discovers her identity and is surprised that she went to school with him in midtown but doesn't remember him, just spiderman and the relationship they had before the spell.

(does that make sense? I don't know if it does, but whatever you want to do with it is completely fine✨️)

Oh boy, oh boy I love Blackcat x Spider-man as a couple. Me and Felicia are equally obsessed with Spider-man.

Thank you for the request! I really appreciate it and I hope I do well! University is kicking my ass right now.

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Fem!blackcatReader; Post nwh

word count: 3 k

warnings: It's cringe on purpose; drinking

Peter hated the state his life was in. He knew things were better the way they are now, for his safety, for everyone's. But it didn't mean he hated it any less. All his closest friends were at MIT and didn't even remember him. Not as Peter Parker at least. So, he decided it would be best not to go there after all. The idea of trying to get close to them again was giving him a headache. He desperately wanted to do it but he had to stop himself because it was better off this way. That was what he believed, at least.

If people could remember who he was, they would have been very surprised that he ended up being a frat guy in college. He didn't expect to become one either. After all, he thought these things were lame, propaganda from dumb movies or dream-sellings from romance novels. But Peter Parker was a frat guy. There was something about brotherhood that gave him some sense of security and comfort now that a new leaf was turned. It reminded him of the time he spent with the Avengers, in a way. He liked not feeling alone. The months he spent at college made him feel normal to some extent. He actually enjoyed this period of confusion, he could finally relax for a bit and feel normal. Go to a few parties, do his homework. It was nice, but so goddamn boring.

His life seemed so fucked-up, so different. He hadn't been on patrol for months, the thought of Spider-man was just too overwhelming. Plus, he needed to recover from everything he went through both emotionally and physically. He wanted to put the mask on again but whenever he did, he got vivid flashbacks - almost losing MJ, May dying. It would all come back to him, cold sweat running down his back, tears in his eyes. He just couldn't handle being Spider-man. But when he saw Black Cat running around in the streets close to his campus one night, everything changed.

All of the memories from patrols with the girl in a black suit hit him like a train. She never knew who was behind the mask. And somehow Peter felt like she saw who he really was anyway. The urge to put the costume on was strong now, plus he had added some new upgrades he needed to try out anyway. So, on the most ordinary wednesday night, Peter put on the spider suit again, and jumped out of the window of his bedroom to go on patrol.

He was swinging around the city and it felt like a walk in the park. It seemed like he had forgotten how freeing it could be. Despite all of the negative feelings linked to the red and black suit, he found comfort in it now. The memories were still there, in his mind, and the people he loved were there too. He owed that much to them, to keep their legacy alive, even if they're gone now. With time, he was sure he could heal. Time was all he needed.

Suddenly, his spider-sense tingled, making his head shoot to his left. He was swinging by some old brick buildings around his campus when Black Cat practically tackled him into a wall, wrapping both her arms and legs around his torso. He turned his back to take the hit for both of them, wrapping one arm around her waist for support. Sidey used the other hand to continue swinging both of them around the city.

"SPIDER!" she said, hugging him tightly. "Mi amor, I hate you, where have you been?"

"Looking for trouble, as usual." he said with a laugh. Peter actually enjoyed her warm embrace for once.

He never had anything against the girl, her excessive flirting and implications that she was in love with him could get a bit out of hand sometimes, but he found it charming. Plus, before he was dating someone else and he couldn't really pay her the attention she craved from him. He actually missed that more than he had previously realised.

"You still have a girlfriend?" She asked, her head rested on his collarbone for a while.

Peter landed both of them on a rooftop, letting her step on her own as her limbs untangled from his torso. She placed her hands on her hips, foot tapping on the ground while she waited for his answer.

"Actually, no. I don't."

Her eyes sparkled with his words, throwing herself at him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Oh, Spider! I'm so happy! And sorry, obviously, why did you two end it?"

Peter usually would reject the affection she offered, but now he needed it more than anything. She was the closest thing to a friend he had left. They finally let go and he still wasn't talking. She tought the break-up was probably still fresh.

"Okay, Spider. Patrols haven't been the same without you, I missed you." she told him, her hand resting against his cheek.

Oh how she wanted to kiss him, like usual. He used to jump and run whenever she touched him, in fear that it would somehow affect his relationship with MJ. But now he didn't. He let her touch his face, smiling softly behind the mask. Even if everything was fucked up, even if everything was different for him now, she just wasn't. She was the only thing that remained like a token from his past life. The Black Cat was the only thing he had left.

---

By the end of their patrol both of them felt really beat up. Fighting crime was not an easy job, especially when your opponents were skilled. No major super-villains were threatening New York right now, but there still were bad guys to fight.

Spider-man and Black Cat were sitting on the edge of a rooftop, swinging their legs as they took a moment to breathe. Cat had a few scratches here and there and Spider-man was probably bruised under the mask as well.

"Spider, this was so much better with you here!" She exclaimed.

The wind blew her hair gently to the side while she looked down on New York. Peter turned his head to look at her, her face showered in the sparkling city lights. He thought about how pretty she actually was, but he never had the chance to notice that before. Maybe it really was the comfort that she gave him that was making his heart beat faster while he stared at the scene. She looked like a Van Gogh painting - vibrant, breathtaking, gently touched by the warm light.

"Yeah." He replied, making her look at him in return.

"You were totally falling in love with me right now, weren't you?" she said with a giggle.

"What? No, no, no, no." he shook his hands in defence, denying her accusation.

She stood up, looking somewhere ahead of her.

"I would love to stay and let you fall deeper in love with me, but I have to run, early morning tomorrow." And with that she left.

Peter lay down on the rooftop for a little while, overthinking her words. Was he actually falling in love with her? Maybe... He didn't want to jump to conclusions, he didn't want to make her a rebound after MJ either. It was starting to mess with him, just as he found some serenity. It was like he couldn't have a single moment of peace in this costume. After a good 15 minutes, Peter decided it was time to swing back to the house, just like Black Cat, he had classes early in the morning.

He had almost reached his place when a familiar figure caught his attention. He stopped, sticking to a wall just to make sure. It was Black Cat, and she was on campus. His campus. Well this was getting a bit too interesting to pass up. He crawled and jumped around the buildings to follow her, stopping when she did. He climbed up a wall to a house next to where the cat stopped, peeking just enough to see clearly what was going on. The Black Cat took her mask off, placing it in a gym bag that was hidden next to the back door. His mouth flew open when he realized he finally knew who she was. Not only was she someone on campus, living a sorority right next to his frat house, but he also knew her personally. Peter hid behind the wall completely, trying to process the information. It was you, the girl that he went to high school with, the girl that took AP history with him. It took him a few seconds, but when he looked again, you were already gone. A room in the house light up soon after, and he started feeling guilty for what he did. He would have hated it if someone did this to him.

"Good going, Spyder-man!" he cussed at himself, finally going home for the night.

He tried not to make things awkward with you for the next few weeks, but oh gosh was he terrible at that. The two of you were never close, the fact that you came from the same school never really meant anything to the either of you. But now that Peter knew your secret identity, it meant everything to him. It felt like he had found a long lost friend in you. He tried to get closer, talk to you more whenever he saw you, even invite you to the latest frat party. If he knew one thing about Black Cat, she loved having fun. And what better occasion to have fun than an actual frat party, at a frat house.

Of course, you agreed. What was one night away from the crime scenes? You deserved that, plus, Spider-man got you covered, right? Nothing could really go wrong, you literally needed seconds to get into the suit and go if you had to. You did find Peter Parker's new attitude towards you a bit peculiar, but it was cute nonetheless. You were only really interested in Spider-man, but you loved attention no matter who was giving it. Outside of the costume, you still had this care-free, very self-assured personality but a little toned down. It wasn't always easy to be the one to fight the battles for yourself all of the time. And you had to do it, every single day. Maybe there was a reason why you liked Spider-man so much, you two felt like a team, like it wasn't just you alone against the world for a change.

----

The time of the party came quicker than you thought. Your "sisters" were already pulling you by the hand out of your room. In true Black Cat spirit, you just had to wear a tight black dress with a slit on the side. And a choker around your neck. It was only normal to make heads turn when you walked in the frat house. Your sorority wasn't one that liked partying all of the time, but when you did party, things just got crazy.

"Y/N!" you heard, turning your head to see an unfamiliar boy.

He shoved a cup in your hand.

"Peter is in the backyard, wanted me to take you to him when you got here."

"Yeah, cute, but that's not gonna happen." You winked at the boy and walked off to mingle somewhere else.

You actually really wanted to dance with your girls tonight. And you did just that, a full cup in your hand the whole time. At some point you couldn't really remember how much you drank, there were some shots involved. You were having so much fun, even dancing on top of a table. A hand grabbed your arm suddenly making you look, it was the guy from earlier tonight, you got off the table with a jump so you could talk. You were obviously annoyed by his interruption, crossing your arms in front of your chest. He scratched the back of his head nervously.

"Look, I'm so sorry to bother you, but it's been 2 hours and Peter was asking me about you-"

"I don't care." you interrupted him, turning around with the intention of leaving him there. He placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"Please, I've been lying to him for two hours, I'll be in so much trouble."

You looked at him over your shoulder, gently removing it with your hand.

"If Parker wants to see me so bad, he should come get me." You winked at him and left.

Dancing on top of tables didn't seem so fun now, and your head was feeling pretty light from all of the alcohol. You overheard some girls from your house mention a pool and you immediately walked over to them, placing your arms on the shoulders of each one of them, standing between them.

"Did I hear pool?" the three of you giggled after the question.

----

Your dress was wet, along with your hair and pretty much everything else on your body. Yes, the three of you really did jump in the pool, which caused a chain reaction of other people jumping in as well. Soon the party had drunk, wet people, running around everywhere. Cats rarely liked water and you were no exception. You didn't mind it as much as long as you weren't in the costume. So, after swimming for a little bit you got out, squeezing out some water from the hem of your dress when you felt something cover your shoulders. You turned around, your eyes meeting Peter's, who had placed a towel on you and smiled. You squinted your eyes at him, letting go of the dress and standing up straight to look at him.

"It's cold." he said

"Yeah, thanks?"

It was so sweet of him to be so considerate, it made you feel very weird things, but maybe it was the alcohol. Peter put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously.

"So..." he started "How's it going?"

"Are you usually this awkward or...?"

''Yeah, kinda"

"So it's not my stunning beauty, just you?"

"No, well I mean, your beauty does make it a lot worse for me, but no."

You laughed, drying your hair off with the towel.

"If I didn't know any better, I would assume you were crushing on me." you said, giving him back his towel.

"No, what? What gave you that impression?"

"Doesn't matter, I'm in love with someone else."

"Wait, who?" he asked, trying to act confused.

You turned your back to him, trying to hide the blush you had on.

"Well, I don't really... know yet." you said, already taking off so you could hide from him.

-----

It was kind of embarrassing to admit that you were in love with someone you didn't really know. It's not like you didn't know Spider-man, you just didn't know who the person behind the mask was. But truthfully, you never felt a need to do that. You were content with the teammate you had, the person who was there to watch your back. You were in love with the person who would put himself in harm's way to save others, the person who always seemed to know what to say. He was so brave and dedicated to his mission, his heart was pure. Sure, you used to be curious about his identity in the beginning but with time it just stopped mattering. There was something bigger, something greater about your love for him because of this.

And you couldn't help but feel conflicted when you started feeling the same things towards Peter Parker. He definitely wasn't the first guy to express an interest in you, or be consistent with said interest but there was something about him that just made you feel warm inside. Maybe it was his nerdiness and how smart he was, or it was the way he would smile whenever he saw you. How he would try so hard to find something to talk about with you and how he would research any topic you would mention. He was so overly-sweet and protective that it brought out a soft side of you, one you didn't really know you had before that.

So, meeting Spider-man and Peter was becoming increasingly difficult for you. It got to the point where you would avoid Spider-man on patrol so you could spare yourself some emotional damage. It didn't take him long to figure you out though.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on finally?" Spider-man asked you one night after probably the worst patrol the two of you ever had. You were so distracted the whole time that the two of you took quite the beating. His costume was torn and so was yours, wounds and bruises everywhere.

"I really don't know." you said, pressing your back against a brick wall in the alleyway the two of you hid. You slid down the wall, sitting on the ground and hugging your knees.

Spider-man sat down next to you, pressing his head to the wall and looking up at the metal fire-escape that the two of you were sitting under.

"Something from your personal life?"

"Well, I'm not so sure."

"How can you not be sure?"

"You know I have this undying love for you, right."

He laughed, turning his head to look at you.

"I know."

"Well, I might have it for someone else too."

"Someone else?"

"Yeah, he's... well he's not as great as you are, not even close, but he has this nerdy charm about him."

You turned to him, cupping his cheek with your hands while you looked at the mask. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss where his lips were supposed to be.

"You're still my greatest, biggest love, Spider."

He looked at you for a while, his hand hesitantly pulling his mask up enough to uncover his lips before he pulled you in for a real kiss. It was a sweet, warm kiss, your lips moving together while your hands were holding onto each other. It was a kiss that the two of you had anticipated to share for so long, dreaming and imagining how it would go. And it went even better.

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