#peter parker x blackcat!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

godlessandwrecked · 2 years

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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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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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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

debauched angels (and brazen escapades) - SERIES MASTERLIST

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

summary: spider-man and black cat have been playing cat and mouse for sixteen weeks; beneath his scathing annoyance and desire to end her vengeful exploits, he feels a reluctant fascination for her.

until you came around with your enigmatic dulcet masquerade, leaving him piqued in his curiosity for you all while he struggles with ambivalence.

word count: 32k+

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of death, SMUT, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, college!peter, maybe dark!peter, somewhat of a mob!au if you look closely, patriarchal men, trauma

a/n: hello! i've worked on the two chapters for a month and a half so i hope you guys enjoy! this is the first mini-series i've written (and i'm certain it won't be the last), and it took me a lot of thinking to make sure you'll all be able to enjoy this story. this includes some dark themes so please proceed with caution. there are also warnings written before the chapter begins.

smut indicated by **

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒

PART Ⅰ -

"The Devil disappears once more, a moratorium on her nightly ruses. Thereafter, a stringent dichotomy between her scent and essence lingers for him to find, and though he’s reluctant for the atrocious adventure, he craves to seek the angel inside the wicked cat, invigorating his long-awaited peace.

He feels defeated, letting her slip from his grasp once more. But he doesn’t give up – not ever – and he’ll keep hunting her down, taming her like the wildcat she is.

And though it’s hellacious, he’s willing to do it."

PART Ⅱ** -

"Finally, Peter fucks over his conscience, calling him a coward, before reaching wantonly for the hand that's holding the paintbrush, heedless about the black paint infusing his bruised-tainted hand.

Your skin is frigid and almost unwelcoming to him, almost as if it had been Lilliputian to physical affection for such a long time. But when his hand envelopes yours, it’s almost as if it’s intrinsic to his saccharinely palpable hand; adding succor to your neglected heart."

PART Ⅲ -

"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."

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

banner by @lauras-collection <3

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hellsburners · 11 months

Text

burning red

summary: you swear you wouldn't fuck on a window. pairing: tasm!peter parker x male!reader word count: 1.1k warnings: 18+ warning, roomate!peter, violence mentioned (a movie they watch), alcohol, blowjobs, gay sex, top!peter, rimming, anal sex, slight angst?, fuck buddies, window sex, semi-public sex a/n: omg mike finally writes a fic above 1k words act shocked!

masterlist | more peter parker

Two broke New Yorkers, that’s what you two were. Your roommate Peter worked selling pictures to an online news outlet called The Daily Bugle, while you wait tables at an Asian restaurant. It was late at night and you two just got home from work, Peter brought home cold beer while you got free leftovers from the restaurant.

He was sitting on your small worn-out couch watching a shitty slasher movie on your laptop. You were in the kitchen waiting for the noodles to finish heating in the microwave. At this point, it was a ritual for you two, watching movies while eating amazing cheap food. The food finished heating and you put them in two bowls, aromatic steam filled the room.

“What happened?” you asked while bringing the food down on the coffee table. Peter was sipping on the amber-colored bottle.

“These two dudes were fucking in their apartment window until the killer found them, and now it’s the dad giving a speech at the high school,” he said taking the bowl of noodles.

“If I ever had the chance to get laid I wouldn’t do where other people could see,” you muttered. You take the bowl of food and slurp on the savory dish. Peter side-eyed you in confusion. You look at him and laugh. “Why? You’d get laid in public?”

“I mean, if I had to,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Plus, you’re here all the time. How am I supposed to get some privacy.”

“Oh, I bet you do, Mr. I-fucked-blackcat-at-a-rooftop,” you were fully immersed in the banter, you could see someone getting brutally stabbed in the movie through your peripheral. He laughs at your comment. You knew Peter’s side job, he would talk to you about his experiences all the time.

“And you would do it too!”

“Yeah, Black Cat is so hot I’d fuck them too.” he laughs at your retort.

“I mean I wouldn’t mind doing you in that window either,” Peter muttered, eyeing the small window in your living room. Your brows furrowed while you side-eyed him. He took another sip of his beer, he gave you a flirtatious wink. Your cheeks warmed, from the alcohol, from Peter, you couldn’t pinpoint.

“You’re fucking drunk, Pete,” you said bringing your finished bowl to the table.

“I had one bottle, I’m not,” he rests his head on your shoulder. “You wouldn’t do me?”

Little did this little shit know that you’ve had the biggest crush on this man ever since he tutored you on biochemistry in college. You could feel his soft brown hair on your cheek, the way he smells like the ocean in the morning, or waking up to a drizzling rain. Your heart races.

“You shouldn’t be joking around like that you asshole,” you took a big gulp of the beer, trying to hide your shaking voice. “I’m not looking for anything serious anyway.”

“I’m not,” he whispered, there was a seriousness in his tone. “Who says it should be serious? We’re just two guys getting it on.”

There was a sting in your chest. Nothing serious. You moved your shoulder signaling for Peter to get off. You catch him staring at you, his face growing stubble from being overworked. A few seconds pass of you two just staring at each other. He takes his hand to your warm cheeks.

“You’re so red right now, it’s adorable,” you close your eyes and suck all the air around you. “Can I kiss you? As friends of course.”

You nod, slowly coming closer to his face. Your lips touch, his were soft and warm, the stubble pricking your skin. You run your hands through his hair as the kiss deepens. Your tongue meets his, making you feverish. You gently pull him with you as you lay down on the couch. Peter takes his cardigan off while you loosen your drawstring shorts. You pull his shirt off, tracing your hands on his chest down to his abs.

“Just two guys getting on,” you whisper. He starts to go down on you, swallowing your head. Your head extends from the pleasure, eyes closed, teeth biting your lip trying to stifle a moan. You tug on his hair, he moans with your sex muffling his sounds.

He releases your cock with a pop. He stands up from the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come with me, let me show you something.”

While holding your waist, he guides you to your apartment window. He puts both of your arms on the windowsill, arching your back. He kneels and eats you out, his tongue licking your hole, you went in to cover your mouth to hide your noises. Peter asks you to take them off and how it made him so hard to hear you moan. He fingers you with such preciseness he finds your sensitive areas with ease.

Peter unbuckles his jeans and pulls them down with his underwear. You turn around to look at him under the moonlight. A tall man, with lean muscle all over, a faint trail of brown hair leading to his crotch. There you saw his erect cock, it was long and a perfect girth. He strokes it, pre-cum coming off the tip.

A few moments later, you feel him insert his cock lubed and the condom placed. He takes you from the back, leaving messy kisses on your nape. You both moan from fucking each other, Peter knew how to sync your rhythms producing the filthiest whimpers from you. He takes your cock, pumping it as he fucks you.

“Peter,” your words slurred at this point. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course, fuck, you’re so tight,” he wraps his long arms around your whole body, hugging you while he ruts into you. “Shit, we should've done this years ago.”

“I’m so close,” you moaned, your cock dripping so much pre.

“Me too,” Peter curses. He pulls out, you almost curse at him for fucking with you like this when you’re close. He takes you and lifts you to sit on the windowsill. He takes your kegs at his sides to finish you off. He takes you in his arms, fucking you feverishly. You swore people could’ve heard you but you didn’t care, you were fucking the prettiest boy in your life.

His thrusts become erratic. You sloppily make out as he fucks you. You both moan in each other's mouths as you cum. He takes you down the windowsill to kiss you more.

“I could’ve fallen from the window,” you said, catching your breath. He laughs, carrying you to the couch.

You sat on the couch wearing his shirt, he placed his cardigan on his lap while your legs rested in them. You both were gulping some cold water.

“So, tomorrow?” he said. You nod, bringing your cups to a toast.

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x male reader smut #the amazing spiderman #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x male reader #tasm!peter parker x male reader smut

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forever-rogue · 6 months

Note

i’m in real missing peter hours 😔 could we maybe get a tasm!peter/blackcat!reader in the future where he’s starting to get over gwen? hints of angst but he’s mainly just avoiding his real feelings and reader is the distraction. probably smut but you’re the author so you can do whatever your heart desires. hugs and kisses hope you’re well!!

AN | Blind fools in lust and love! Enjoy ❤��

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language, Smut [piv] - 18+ only

Word Count | 4.7k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Nope,” you grabbed his arm and pulled him along as best as you could. You managed to at least get him out of harm’s way, “not today. The Spider’s mine!”

The big white eyes of the mask blinked at you a few times and you knew, despite not even seeing his face, that he might have a concussion or at least took a good hit to the head. With a groan, you crouched next to him and put your hand on his cheek, “wha-whas goin’ on?”

“Stay here,” you kept your voice soft but firm, “please listen to me for once in your life, Spidey.”

You left him before he even realized what had happened, hoping that he’d actually wait for you under the little bit of cover you managed to get for him.

The last thing he remembered was watching you walk away.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he rolled onto his side, hissing at the sharp, shooting pain. He took a moment to study his surroundings and realized he wasn’t in his bedroom. Not unless he’d decided to change it up into pinks and pastels and to be very aesthetic as MJ would say. He sat up and rubbed at his tired eyes, trying to remember what happened.

“Hey,” at the sound of your voice he stiffened, looking up to find sitting at your desk across the room, “take it easy, Parker. You took quite a beating yesterday.”

“You…saved me,” he whispered incredulously as you waved your hand to dismiss his surprise, “why?”

“Because Peter Parker,” you walked over to the bed and sat at the edge of it, keeping a small distance between your bodies, “if anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me. And, well, I guess you could say I’d grown fond of you over the years.”

He leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest, “the Black Cat has a heart after all. Funny, especially for a criminal.”

“I’ve always had a heart,” you put your hand on his calf and gave it a gentle squeeze, “and I’m hardly a criminal - I…confiscate things from rich individuals that don't deserve them and redistribute the wealth.”

“According to the law, that's still criminal.”

“We both know you’re never going to do anything about it,” you leaned in closer, keeping your face a few inches from his. He was somehow even prettier up close; golden flecks in his eyes and the faintest of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and very kissable lips, “are you, Spidey?”

He reached for you, hands settling on your waist as he easily maneuvered you into his lap. You made a small sound of surprise but put your hands on his shoulders, eyes locked on his, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind.

“What do you think?” he brought his hand to your face and brushed his knuckles over your cheek. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch. You’d been playing your little cat and mouse (or rather cat and spider) game for so long now that somewhere along you had developed genuine feelings for him. If something were to happen to him, you weren’t sure what you’d do, “hmm?”

You took his face in your hands and kissed him without hesitation. If you had thought about it too much you’d never get the nerve to actually kiss him. And you’d been wanting to do that for a long time now, you’d thought about it a million times probably.

When he didn’t kiss you back for a moment you worried you’d overstepped, but then he pulled you closer to his body, kissing you back just as eagerly. His hands wandered under your shirt, splaying over your ribs, causing you to make a pretty sound into his mouth. You refused to pull away until you were desperate for air, the two of you exchanging almost shy smiles. You pressed your forehead to his as you tried to catch your breath, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” he promised, tugging on the hem of your shirt in a silent question of whether or not he could remove it. You nodded and held up your arms to make it easier for him to take off, “I heal fast.”

“Promise?” you asked as he marveled at the sight of you in your bra.

“Promise,” he went back to kissing you, hands roaming all over your bare skin as if he was trying to commit everything to memory, “you’re beautiful.”

The words, whispered soft but loud and clear, made a shiver run up and down your spine. You leaned into his touch as he unclasped the back of your bra, eagerly pulling it down your arms and tossing it to the side. You swore there was a hint of a bubblegum blush spreading across his cheeks as he looked you over with eager eyes.

“Your turn,” you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and he practically ripped it off in one fluid motion. You studied the golden skin that was revealed, admiring how broad and strong he looked. There were freckles scattered across his skin…along with a lot of bruising and some lacerations. A frown tugged down the corners of your mouth as you ghosted your fingers along his side, “Pete…”

“It’s okay,” he kissed along your jaw, working his way down your neck, nipping and biting at the skin just enough to some pretty lavender bruises, “they’ll be gone by the morning. You won’t hurt me.”

You took his pretty face in your eyes, looking into his eyes to make sure he was being completely honest with you. When you were satisfied that he was telling the truth, you kissed him slowly and deeply, trying to get as much from him as possible. You could feel that he was already hard as you slowly ground your hips into him, pulling some moans from his lips.

He quickly flipped you so you were under him, caged in by strong arms and overwhelmed with all of him. You practically melted into the bed as he kissed his way down your body, worshiping the soft and hard lines of your frame, even the areas you were insecure about. He stopped at the waistband of your shorts, catching your eye to make sure it was okay to take them off. At your enthusiastic nod, his lithe fingers easily whipped off your shorts and tossed them into the pile with the rest of your clothes.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” his gentle praise was enough to make you even more wet, “can I taste you?”

“As much as I want that Parker,” you slowly sat up, leaving him with a disappointed look on his face, “I need to feel you. Want you inside of me.”

You took advantage of his momentary surprise and flipped the script, pinning him under you as you straddled his hips. Those pretty brown eyes were almost black with lust as he looked up at you in wonder.

“Is this okay?” you tugged on the hem of his pants and he started to push them down his strong legs without any ado, “oh. I see it’s very okay.”

“Thought about this a lot, you know?” you most definitely knew. You’ve pictured this very moment more than you’d cared to admit. You watched as he stroked his hard cock, amazed - and mildly worried - about his size. A smirk grew on his face as he reached between your legs and scooped some of your slick onto his fingers before wrapping his hand around himself again, laying back and stroking his hard cock, “you’re going to feel so good, I just know it.”

“For the sake of science, why don’t we find out?” you shoved his hands out of the way, and took his cock in your hand, stroking him a few times before lining him up at our entrance and slowly sinking down on him. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips at the stretch as he filled you up. Peter’s hands were on your hips, fingers digging in tightly, sure to leave bruises, but you didn’t care, “well, Spidey? Everything you dreamed of and more?”

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly under his breath, closing his eyes and biting his lip almost hard enough to break the skin, “you feel so perfect.”

“You feel pretty good too,” you leaned down to kiss him, moving slightly and pulling an almost pathetic whimper from his lips.

“You keep moving like that and I’m not going to last long,” his hands went to your ass, greedily squeezing your soft, plump flesh, “this is ever better anything I ever imagined.”

“Lucky for you, I’m up for multiple rounds,” you started to move up and down his cock, kissing whatever parts of him that you could reach, his skin was soft and delicious. You knew that you weren’t going to last much longer either, but you’d take him however he wanted, “if you are.”

“Yes,” he started to slam up into you, causing you to gasp at the feeling and display of strength, “you’re mine.”

Yeah…he was definitely making you feel some kind of way with his possessiveness. You knew it partly just from the moment, but you didn’t mind. He took back a little bit of the power he’d let you have, thrusting into you over and over, “you can cum in me, you know. I’m on the pill.”

“You’re just a fucking tease,” and he wasn’t having it any longer, flipping you back under him and pounding you in mercilessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him take what he needed, “for years now.”

“Didn’t know you wanted me for that long,” your heart started to race, not just from the pounding he was giving you, but his surprisingly sweet sentiment. You’d thought about him too, but had never thought he’d actually reciprocate those feelings, “you’re such a softy, Peter Parker.”

He laughed at that, a sweet sound that you wanted to bottle up and keep forever, “we’ve all got some soft spots.”

“I’m honored,” your words were swallowed up by a moan as he reached down where your bodies connected and played with your clit. You closed your eyes as you felt the heat bloom in your core, “fuck, yes Peter. Just like that.”

“Good girl,” alrighty, apparently you’d had some sort of praise kink that he’d managed to tap into. He kept one hand on your hip and the other was massaging your breasts, “look at you, so pretty.”

“S’are you,” you managed to choke out as his thrusts started to grow more erratic and sloppy, “gonna fill me up?”

“Shit,” he groaned as he felt your velvety walls start to hug him even more tightly. It was like the sweetest vice grip. Your release came on faster than you’d expected and you felt that rush buzzing through your entire body as you became jelly under him. He managed to thrust into you a few more times before he came, spilling deep within you and almost collapsing on top of you, “holy fuck. Fuck.”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of you, using his warm body as a blanket. You both tried to catch your breath, his head on your chest as he pressed kisses to your shoulder. You ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to process what had just happened, “I’m not going to lie, Pete, having sex with you wasn’t on my bingo card for today…or ever.”

“Oh it was definitely on mine,” he lifted his face and grinned at you, the true dork he was underneath it all was showing through, “you’re beautiful, you know?”

“You might have mentioned that a few times,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Hmm,” he reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, “whatever you say, honey. Give me another few minutes and we can go again.”

“Okay,” you agreed through a small yawn, “can we just lay here for a little bit first?”

“Yeah,” he rolled off you and onto his side, pulling you into his body and wrapping an arm around you, “that sounds perfect.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d been seeing Peter - more or less - for almost six months at this point. Usually it involved a late night text from him asking if you were free, the guise of attempting to watch a movie or eat dinner, and then ended in sex. Not that the sex was bad or anything, it was mind-blowing, but that was the problem in and of itself.

You really liked Peter, and your feelings only seemed to blossom with the more time you spent together. You didn’t just want him for the sex, you wanted to experience everything with him. It was almost scary how easy it was to fall for him, but it happened and now you were left with more emotions and feelings than you’d ever intended on having. The worst part was that you were almost positive that Peter didn’t feel the same way. You’d tried to convince yourself that nights spent together were enough; some nights it worked and other nights it hurt even more to watch him go.

This was bad; you hadn’t meant to fall for your former arch-nemesis. In an effort to preserve your sanity, you made the decision that it was time to start distancing yourself from Peter. You’d stopped responding to his texts, slowly at first and then pretty much entirely and if you knew that he was going to be in a particular place, you avoided that place as well.

You had no clue what his current feelings were or if he’d even noticed your lack of communication. Your hope was that maybe he wouldn’t even realize anything was different and things would go back to how they used to be.

But - and you were well aware of this little fact - Peter Parker was a genius and things rarely went unnoticed.

It shouldn’t have surprised you at all to find him tapping on your bedroom window. You hadn’t heard him and startled jumped slightly at the rhythmic taps. You looked over and found him waving meekly. Despite your best judgment, you closed your laptop and walked over to the window, unlocking it so he could come in.

He hopped in, landing on his lithe feet and pulling off his mask. Peter turned to you and leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his chest and gently pushing him back. His brows furrowed as he looked at you with a pouty expression.

“The window was locked,” he mused as you took a step back from him and crossed your arms over your chest, “you’ve been ignoring me. And now you don’t want me to touch you. Oh honey, what’s going on, huh?”

“Pete,” you sighed heavily, “I can’t…I, fuck. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” he huffed, almost in amusement as his hands settled on his hips, “what are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to keep hooking up with you,” you groaned as you pushed past him and headed towards the kitchen. This definitely called for a glass of wine, if not something stronger. Peter trailed after you, a string of incomprehensible murmurs escaping his lips. You grabbed the wine and a glass and dumped out a hearty pour before turning to Peter, “do you want some wine?”

“How can you-” he sighed before coming into your space, caging you in between his arms against the counter, “I don’t want wine.”

“Oh,” you brought the glass to your lips and took a dainty sip before he took the glass out of your hand and set it onto the counter, “shame, it’s really good. Nicked it from some millionaire’s stash.”

“What’s going on, huh?” he took your jaw in his hand and turned your face up to his. If you weren’t experiencing a million other emotions, you definitely would have been turned on, “tell me.”

“Peter,” your voice softened as you allowed yourself to meet his soft, dark doe eyes, “I think we should stop whatever you want to call what we’ve been doing.”’

“Why?” his eyes were inquisitive but the harsh edge had started to disappear, “I thought we were having fun.”

“We were,” you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and gently pulled his hand away, “but it’s not enough for me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I realized that I want…more. I don’t just want to hook up and then have you leave in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, Pete, but that’s the truth.”

“What happened?”

“I think that I realized I have feelings for you,” you looked away, closing your eyes to stop the tears from spilling over, “I didn’t think this would happen but there it is. I really care about you and I want more but I know you don’t want more. And maybe it’s selfish but I’d rather just stop now before I get even more feelings.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shaking his head, “I thought you said you were okay with this, with how we had things.”

“It was fine at first,” you shrugged lightly, “and then it slowly changed. And now I’m telling you. So…yeah.”

“You know I don’t do relationships,” he took a step back and you felt like you could breathe again. But you could tell that things had definitely and inexplicably shifted between the two of you, “I can’t do relationships.”

“It’s not my place to tell you what you do or don’t want,” you swallowed thickly, “I’m just telling you how I feel and what I want. Nothing is going to change the fact that I care about you, Parker. I hope you know that it's okay to care for people and let them care about you. You’re allowed to be happy. Gwen-”

“Don’t,” he took a big step and held up his hand. You’d touched on a nerve - and you knew you would - but it was the truth. It had been almost ten years since he’d lost her and you knew that he wasn’t over what happened. Not that you expected him to just be over it; he never would be entirely and he’d always love her. You respected the hell out of that, but at the same time you wished he would understand that it was okay to love again, “don’t you dare talk about her.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, “I would never disrespect her and I’d hope you know that by now. And you should know that I respect you and your feelings. And I think I deserve the same from you. And right now I think it’s best if you leave. I don’t know if we’re ever going to see eye to eye on this so we should just stop.”

He closed his eyes before running a hand through his messy hair, “you want me to just leave?”

“Of course I don’t,” you insisted, “but we don’t want the same things. So, let’s just cut our losses and move on.”

“Fine,” he pulled the mask back over his face, wanting anything but to look you directly in the face. You chewed on your lip, something that drove Peter crazy. Today you were driving him crazy in an entirely different way, “fine. I’ll go.”

“I am sorry,” he hated how upset you sounded. He hated that he was the cause of your heart even more, “for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, already sliding your window open again, “me too.”

Without any further preamble, he jumped back out in the dark night, leaving before you even got the chance to close the window. He didn’t think he could bear looking at you again - not if he wanted to stick with his plan of detachment. He thought he was stronger than he apparently was.

He was weak-willed and pathetic in his mind, especially because he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t fall in love again.

You watched his figure swing away until the red and blue of his suit was out of sight before closing the windows with a heavy sigh. You missed him already.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been four weeks - four whole weeks - since Peter had last seen you. 30-days to be exact - not that he was counting or anything. But, to put it lightly, it fucking sucked. He missed you terribly.

He wasn’t exactly sure where along the line he’d fallen in love with you, but he had been so sure that just ignoring his feelings would work. But he should have known better…after all, when did ignoring a problem ever actually solve it? Never. And this case was no exception.

“Are you…ever planning on not moping around all the time?” Peter’s eyes snapped to Miles so fast that the younger boy laughed nervously. Here he was, thinking the whole time that he was acting normal. But apparently he had been anything but.

“I’m not - I am not moping,” Peter hissed, trying to convince himself as much as Miles. When he realized that he definitely wasn’t going to be able to, his shoulders sagged and he let out a slow exhale, “fine. I guess I am. Sorry, I just…it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“That’s exactly what someone very not fine would say,” Miles walked around the table, studying some of the blueprints that Peter had drawn for some new gadgets. He felt his mentor’s eyes glued to him, “‘m just saying.”

“Miles…”

“Is it a girl? Are you in love? Is Petey experiencing lots of big feelings?”

“I swear I will take away all of your Spider privileges,” Miles snorted in amusement knowing fulwell that there wasn’t a damn thing that Peter could do, “fine, I’ll do something!”

“You could try to talk about it?” he suggested lightly, toeing the line and leaving just enough room for Peter to make whatever decisions he wanted to, “if you want to. No pressure, but I’m here if you need someone to word vomit to. Spider-Man to Spider-Man.”

“It’s a long story,” but maybe it would feel good to let it all out. Maybe he really just needed to talk it out with someone. It could feel great…it could also feel terrible.

“I’ve got time,” Miles hopped up and sat on the table, swinging his long legs back and forth, “if you’ve got the time.”

“Yeah,” Peter mirrored his actions and sat down next to the boy, “I do.”

Peter wasn’t sure where he should have started at first, so he started at the beginning, with Gwen. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone about everything that had happened. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the people to come into his life and make him feel safe again; Miles did that, you did that.

And while it was incredibly scary, he knew that it was just a small leap of faith.

But this time around, he wasn’t afraid to jump.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite not having heard those familiar taps for weeks, as soon as you heard them, your heart skipped a few beats. With slight trepidation you padded your slippered feet over to your bedroom window.

Just as expected, there was Spider-Man sitting on your fire escape. He perked up when he realized you were coming over, waiting with bated breath to see if you'd even open the window.

"Spidey," you leaned on the window, resting your chin in your hand as you looked him over, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," if you didn't know any better, you'd have thought he sounded nervous, "can we talk?"

"Peter," you let out a long sigh before shaking your head and moving to close the window again. Peter was quicker and managed to web your hand before you could literally and metaphorically shut him out, "why?"

"Please?" The desperation in his voice was clear now and it made your iced over heart thaw just a little bit. You managed to unstick your hand before stepping back and waiting for him to come in. Peter’s nerves seemed to get the better of him as he almost tripped and stumbled over his own feet. You couldn’t help the small smile that managed to cross your features at the sight of the clumsy boy. He stood back up and ripped his mask off before looking at you nervously, “h-hi.”

“Hello Peter,” despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but touch his face, lightly tracing your fingers over the bruising along his jaw with a deep frown. He stiffened under your touch before wrapping his fingers gently around your wrist, “what’s going on, bub?”

“I’m an idiot,” his admission sounded almost pathetic as you cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow, “and a moron.”

“I’m well aware,” you pulled your hand out of his touch, causing a wicked blush to color his cheeks, “but that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

“I’m been thinking-”

“Oh dear…”

“And I realized you were right. Well, I talked to Miles, did a lot of thinking and self-reflection or whatever it’s called. And yeah…you were right,” that caused you to stop with your mouth open before blinking at him several times, “about what you’d said.”

“I’m usually right,” why were you suddenly nervous? You waved your hand around dismissively before crossing your arms over your chest, “what - what was I right about?”

“I was - am - scared about being in a relationship again,” the boy swallowed the lump in his throat, finding it hard to put exactly what he was feeling into words, “I’m scared what it could mean if I loved someone again.”

“It’s always going to be a little scary, Pete,” you whispered softly, “loving someone and letting them love you is the most vulnerable thing anyone can do. But that doesn’t mean we should completely stop ourselves from experiencing it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes still intently trained on your carpet, “I realize that now. I, ummm, I-”

You couldn’t stand it any longer, and grabbed his face, pressing your lips to his. It took Peter a moment to catch onto what was happening, but as soon as clarity hit him, he kissed you right back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his body. Neither of you wanted to pull apart until you were desperate for a breath of air.

He pressed his forehead against yours before closing his eyes and sighing softly, “I, ugh, I have feelings for you too.”

“Yeah?” your simple question was so sweet and innocent that he couldn’t help but kiss you again, “but do you…want more?”

“I do,” he confessed, finding the simple revelation both freeing and nerve wracking, “I’m not sure I’ll make the best boyfriend but I’m willing to try. I-if you still want that anyway.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’d be the most conventional girlfriend,” this wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured this scenario in your mind - any of the many times you’d imagined. But it was still perfect in its own way because it was you and Peter, “but I’m willing to try.”

“Me too,” he promised; you knew he meant it this time, “sorry for being an idiot and taking so long to realize the obvious.”

“You got there in the end,” you couldn’t help but pull him back to your lips, breaking into laughter as he effortlessly picked you up and started walking over to your bed, “wait - you’re really sure about this, Parker?”

“Yes,” he promised, peppering your face in kisses, “I’m all in. Are you?”

“I am,” you whispered, “all in.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter park x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew!peter #andrew garfield #spider-man

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 10 months

Text

When the cat's away...

Peter B. Parker x Blackcat!reader

description - Peter B. Parker didn't end up at MJ's house that night. Instead he found his way into the arms of the woman he never thought he could have until the multiverse showed him differently.

Miles shows up to the spider society and finds Peter in the arms of someone who is definitely not MJ

warnings - babies, sexual innuendo, brief angst, SPOILERS for across the spiderverse, Miguel being Miguel.

word count - 1.7k

authors note - I have found a new character to write about! I mean I loved Peter B in Into the Spiderverse but then I recently watched Across the Spiderverse and something about seeing him with Mayday just ignited that love again. Also hears to me finding another cartoon baby to obsess over!

Masterlist

Requests open - here

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I watched from the rafters. Perched so precise. Peter had promised he wouldn’t take Mayday to work anymore, it wasn’t a safe environment for a child. And since he hadn’t caught me with her at the spider society yet, I still had the moral high ground.

“Don’t be too hard on the kid, Miguel. He had a terrible teacher.” Peter swung in and was wearing…oh god. He’d stolen my robe, again. But I couldn’t be too hard on him, he did look so sexy in it. Just something about seeing him so domestic that really got me going.

Peter and Miles hugged each other, having not seen one another in months. They continually talked over the other, having so much to say, before Miles took note of the baby carrier Peter wore so stylishly. His suspicions were confirmed when Mayday swung into the scene, giggling so beautifully.

“You have a baby?”

“I have a baby!”

“Don’t forget to keep your little day pass on honey.” He then spotted the one Miles sported. “You have one too? I didn’t know they made them for adults?”

I watched her in awe until she latched onto the wall and began to crawl up to where she saw me, babbling ‘mama, mama’. Peter swung after her, moaning about how he shouldn’t have made her that web shooter. We thought it was a good idea at the time!

He put her back in the carrier. “I shouldn’t have made her that, that was an actual parenting mistake.” But because he forgot he was upside down; our little angel fell right out. I giggled to myself just watching the goofball, I got to call my husband.

I squirmed up further into the dark, not wanting Peter to see me just yet. What? I’m a sucker for a dramatic entrance.

“You guys want to see pictures!” That was when I zoned out. I mean I loved Mayday so much and I took a lot of pictures, but my definition of a lot cowered in the face of Peter’s amount of photos. “Oh my god, Miguel’s gonna die!” He swung back over to the stoic fang man, as I liked to call him.

“Miguel, look at this one.”

“I’m trying to hold a serious, adult conversation.” Yet the sight of Mayday crawling all over him whilst babbling nonsense, was a nice juxtaposition to his stern demeanour.

“You’re the only spiderman who isn’t funny, we’re supposed to be funny.” He’s not wrong there, well, at least my spiderman is funny!

“The fate of the multiverse—”

“You always lose me with that. You say the fate of the multiverse and my brain dies.” Miguel handed Mayday back to Peter after she had unceremoniously fallen into his arms whilst Peter was talking.

“You smell that? Mayday took a crap.” Peter swung back to Miles, Gwen and Hobie and made a makeshift changing table out of web.

“So did MJ take you back or?” Miles questioned.

“Well-not exac—” He then smelt Mayday’s diaper. “Yep, she’s a Parker. That’s what happens when a Parker eats an avocado.”

“And yet I still married one.” I attached one of my hooks and allowed myself to be lowered down in front of Miguel’s pretentious staircase.

“Wow.” All 3 teens exclaimed at the same time. I strutted forward clad in my costume. God, it had been a long time since I’d had it on, but it felt so good. It made me feel strong and powerful. Even the ice blonde wig of curls, (that always appeared every time I put on the black cat suit for some reason), fell down my back and flicked with each step. My heeled boots clicked as I walked. Some people *cough Miguel cough* may think they’re impractical for fighting but I guess you just have to be an amazing fighter to pull them off.

“Miles meet my wife, y/n Parker. Or. The Black Cat.”

“Hobie, Gwen, good to see you again. Miles, it’s so great to meet you! Peter talks about you constantly.” I embraced him tightly.

I jumped over to Hobie and spider punk lifted me up into his arms.

“How’s my favourite vigilante!”

“I’m doing good how are you.”

“Still taking a crap on the establishment.”

“I’d like to help you.”

“I will take you up on that.” And he slipped a bunch on junk into my pocket. I didn’t understand but when it came to Hobie, I knew I eventually would.

“I don’t think ‘constantly’ is the most accurate word –“ Peter interrupted. He never liked seeing me with Hobie. He made him insecure, but I would assure him he was cool in his own way.

“Did you or did you not say to me last night ‘I miss Miles so much more with each passing day.’”

“I wouldn’t say in those words—”

“No. those were you’re exact words.” I had walked over to him when I began speaking.

“Hi.”

He brought me into him in a bruising kiss.

“I thought you weren’t working today?” As he spoke, Mayday recognised my presence and began to whine loudly for me to pick her up. Which I did happily.

“Well, I woke up and my baby wasn’t in her crib? How weird?” I bounced Mayday up and down in my arms and she shrieked excitedly with each new movement.

“Wait, you’re not a spider-person?” Miles suddenly questioned.

“God no! I couldn’t think of anything wo—” I trailed off when I looked around at the disapproving faces.

“I mean no, I’m a black cat. We’re in every spider’s universe in some respect. In everyone we’re in love with Peter Parker. He only loves us back in a few.” I looked back to find my husband already gazing back at me. Both of us might as well have had little hearts in our eyes.

I unleashed the claws from my gloves. “See, no web. Just claws.” Mayday clapped when I did that. “You like that baby? You like mummy’s powers!” I threw a hook with a line attached to it onto Miguel’s consoles. “But I did have to get these to keep up with you people and your webs.” I swung on the line and dropped gracefully, close to Miguel, just to annoy him.

“Yeah, but those claws are no joke one time we were in the middle of—” “Peter!” I scolded him. Peter then whispered to Miles “I ended up having to get stitches down my back.” Miles grimaced when he realised the context. Miles then continued his previous thought.

“I meant if you’re not a spider-person how did you get a pass? You’re not even a spider and you got a pass before me!”

“I felt with her skills and expertise she would be—”

“Don’t lie Miguel. I stole the bracelet off of you and you can’t get it back from me.”

“It was my choice to let you keep it.” I waited a beat before gesturing to Miles that it really wasn’t.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Miguel was explaining canon events to Miles and was showing all the spider-people the most horrific moments from their lives. When the Uncle Ben scene was shown I cradled my husband’s head in my neck to shield him from the other’s eyes. Mayday didn’t understand what was going on but had fallen silent when she had felt the sadness in her father’s body.

I zoned out of Miguel and Miles’ argument. I knew their plan and I knew about Miles. He didn’t deserve this, any of this. He was a good kid; I knew this because Peter told me he was good and I believe him. I focused only on my husband and my daughter. My daughter more so, so she didn’t have to be exposed to the fight that I felt was about to break out.

I bounced Mayday up and down and cooed to her as Peter explained to Miles that if Uncle Ben hadn’t died, many of them would’ve never become who they were meant to be and the lives they had saved would be gone.

Miles began to get more agitated when he realised, they were all asking him to let his father die. I scoffed to myself. They really expected this to work. It was hardly a sound argument.

“You can’t ask me not to save my father.”

“I’m not asking.” Suddenly, Miguel had trapped Miles. Woah. This was too far.

“Miguel that’s not funny! Let him go right now.” I held Mayday into my chest to shield her from her mummy’s harsh words.

“You don’t scare me.”

“I think we both know I do.” He turned away from me. I knew it.

Miles was panicking in the box as the audience around him screamed and argued. I was still holding Mayday as Peter had stern words with Miguel. Hobie winked at me and gestured me to come over. I saw what he was looking at, which were the little sparks coming from Miles’ fingertips. I showed Miles what he was doing wrong and laid my palm flat in front of me, as the other held Mayday’s bum up. Miles righted his hands and the electricity bubbled up. I smirked.

The cage erupted around him. The spider-people began to organise under Miguel’s command to seize Miles. A portal opened up behind Hobie.

“For the record. I quit.” He sauntered in backwards. That was my queue.

“Well, I gotta head.”

“You’re going?” Peter questioned.

“Yeah.”

“So, you just came to annoy Miguel and show Miles how to escape?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God. I love you so much!” He kissed me hard. I handed Mayday back to her Daddy and she happily complied.

“Get a picture of her first chase?”

“You got it.” He pulled down her knitted spiderman beanie and took off. I opened up another portal.

“DO YOU WANT CHICKEN OR FISH TONIGHT?”

“CHICKEN PLEASE, HONEY!” My husband shouted back as he swung off with my baby in his baby carrier ready to save a 15-year-old spider-kid from a million other spider-people. Because that’s a totally normal sentence to say.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bit different from my usual stuff but this just randomly popped into my head!

#peter b x reader #peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker headcanons #peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #peter b parker x y/n #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x gwen #miguel x peter #spiderman #miguel spiderverse

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thealtoduck · 2 years

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A little party never killed nobody

Peter Parker x BlackCat!Male!Reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, reader is a little gay fuckboy, drinking, Peter loses his virginity to reader, bottom reader…

Summary: Spider-Man and the Black Cat unknowingly crosses paths at a house party…

(A/n: This fic dosen’t really mention that Y/n is Black Cat but i see it as the same canon as my other Black Cat fics)

——

Y/n and his friends walked around the school handing out invitations for the house party they were holding to celebrate… well Y/n didn’t know what they were celebrating… he only knew that it would include alchohol and the possibilty of sex, which was enough for him to be in on it.

He walked into the lunch hall and started handing out invites to some people he knew. He then spotted a mostly empty table where only three people sat. There was Michelle Jones aka Mj, Y/n’s lab partner and kind off friend, she constantly told him she didn’t like him but the two still occaisionally hung out.

Then there was Ned Leeds, the excitable ray of sunshine. And last but not least the king of nerds himself Peter Parker, despite the introduction Y/n was actually quite fond of Peter as the two had been forced to work together on several assigntments. So Y/n with the little moral compass he had told his friends to leave Peter, Ned and Mj alone while being douchebags.

”Yo Mj, me and my friends are having a party at Cory’s place, you and your friends are invited to come if you want” you said cooly. ”They aren’t my friends” Mj said in her regular non-caring voice. ”Whatever they’re still invited” you told her and walked off to hand out more ivitations.

”The most popular guy in school just invited us to a party” Ned whispered excitedly to Peter. ”Do i have to go? It’s not my thing” Peter told Ned. ”Come on Peter, it’s only one night and we can leave if you find it boring” Ned tried to convince him.

*Time Skip*

The smell of alcohol was strong in the air as Y/n made his way through the crowd of drunk teenagers, someone definetely put to much vodka in the punch (which you didn’t mind). He walked around looking for something to do (or someone).

He then saw Peter Parker sitting alone on the couch looking bored checking his phone quite often and occaisionally taking a sip from his cup. He was obviously not having a great time, which stirred up some odd feeling in you, was this what people called pity? you thought to yourself and walked over to Peter.

”Hey, you liking the party?” you asked the brown eyed boy. ”Oh… Yeah, i-it’s great” Peter said unconvincingly. ”You’re a terrible liar” you deadpanned and took a sip from your cup shuddering a bit from the alcohol. ”Come on, we’ll go somewhere more quiet” you said and led Peter away from the crowded room.

He was led through a less crowded hallway in to an empty bedroom, Peter stood still in the doorframe. ”Relax i’m not gonna try to seduce you” Y/n told him. Peter entered and sat down on the beds left corner. Y/n then locked the door and turned to Peter and asked ”You don’t mind if i lock the door, do you? Don’t want any people coming in here trying to make babies if you catch my drift”.

”Yeah, it’s cool” Peter answered and you walked over and sat down on the bed by the headboard bringing your feet up to the bed (shoes still on). ”So honestly, what do you think about the party?” you asked. ”It’s not really my thing, i only came because Ned wanted to” Peter said simply.

”Well now you’re hanging with me so move up here we’re watching something on Neflix” you said Peter sat down beside you at the headboard as you turned on the tv in the room and started scrolling through the movies and shows. You put on Brooklyn 99 and the two of you started watching.

The two of you started talking during the show and you had a lot of fun, you told him about some crazy things you’d done while drunk and he talked about some of his favorite movies and shows, which you found adorable since he seemed really passionate about them.

And soon enough after a bit more drinking the two of you were making out. Peter’s hand slipped down to your crotch and he felt the bulge in your pants. He quickly pulled it away and whispered ”Sorry, i should have asked first”. ”Don’t worry it’s okay you can touch more than that if you want” you told the nervous boy.

You then unbuckled your pants and pulled them down your legs revealing your boxers. Peter started doing the same and was left in his boxers as well. ”So, how do you wanna do this?” you asked. ”Uhh, i’ve never done this before so i’ll let you lead” Peter answered a bit shyly.

”You sure you wanna go through with this” you asked him to make sure he was fully in it. Peter nodded. You climbed in between Peter’s legs and pulled down his underwear slightly revealing his hardend dick. You wrapped your mouth around his cock and started moving up and around it.

Peter let out a moan as you worked your magic around his dick. You ran your tounge around his big pole. ”Uh yeah, that feels good”. His dick was so deep in your mouth you almost gagged.

You then brought your mouth off his cock and asked ”Wanna go even further than this?”. Peter nodded eagerly and watched as you started taking your shirt off as well as your boxers leaving you fully naked in front of Peter. Peter gazed slightly at your cock.

Peter followed your lead and took off his shirt showing you his hot abs. ”Wanna top or bottom?” you asked patiently. ”I’ll top if your okay with it?” he suggested and you nodded. You laid down on your back and lifted your legs and revealed your previously used hole for the virgin boy.

Peter trailed his finger over it slightly and then slowly started pushing in a finger to stretch you out. ”Yeah, fuck” you swore as you felt the familiar sensation of someone entering you with their finger.

Peter then added another finger and started working it in and out of you faster. You moaned as Peter then added one last finger into you. ”Does that feel good?” he asked.

”Yeah” you moaned pleasurbly. Then the time had come. You were ready for the real thing. Peter pulled down his boxers fully and placed his dick by your enterance and started pushing in. You moaned as Peter’s huge member filled you up.

Peter moaned as well from the new sensation around his cock. He let you get used to his size before he started moving in and out of you with a slow pace. He flooded you in a pleasure you had rarely felt before. Was this what it was like being fucked by someone you actually liked.

You had never moaned like this before it felt loud and uncontrolled, like the person going down the hallway to the bathroom would defintely hear you getting pleasured by the king of nerds.

Peter was also feeling the pleasure of the situation he felt so in control and almost powerful as he saw your face twist in ecstacy with your hole wrapped around his cock. The thought that he the schools nerd could make Y/n, the hottest guy and biggest fuckboy in school moan uncontrollably as he plowed into him made him feel good.

Peter started pushing into Y/n faster and more roughly, which made Y/n think ”damn, he’s pretty fucking good for a virgin”. Though he could have never said that cause the boy who was laying on his back taking dick was in too much bliss to form a full sentence.

Peter’s thrust started growing more sloppy and you knew it was time so you managed to get out the words ”Cum inside me” and with less then a second to spare your hole was flooded with cum.

”Suck me off” you said while running your hand up and down your length. Peter listend and dove on to your cock with his mouth and moved up and down it. You then felt your toes curl as you released your seed into his mouth. Peter then climbed further up the bed and started making out with you again and you could taste your cum in his mouth.

After the best fuck in your life you then moved away from Peter’s lips. ”Can we rest now? I’m a bit tired” you yawned. ”Of course, Y/n” Peter said and wrapped his arms around you. ”Y/n, i’m glad you were my first” he whispered. ”It was a nice cherry to pop” you replied tiredly and it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep on Peter’s sweaty bare chest.

#peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #x male reader #male reader #spider man x male reader #spiderman x male reader #x male!reader #x male reader smut #male reader smut #avengers x male reader #avengers x male!reader #mcu x male reader #marvel x male reader #marvel x male!reader #peter parker x male reader smut

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shayyprasad · 2 months

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SHAY'S 100 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION!

you're invited! to celebrate 100 followers (small milestone, but it's still something), i'll write fics and blurbs that have hot men in them for you! scroll down to find this party's agenda...

this will take place from febuary 21st, 2024 to march 31, 2024!

THESE ARE ALL X READERS!

the guestlist! pick a character down below!

-tom holland + co (nathan drake, peter parker, arvin russel)

-zendaya + co (michelle jones)

-miscellaneous characters: bucky barnes, loki, steve rogers, stucky, tony stark, miles morales, doctor strange, peter quill, eddie brock

the menu! pick a something to go along with your character! make sure to pick a genre when you send in an ask (fluff, angst, flangst, could be a lil spicy but no nsfw!)

-character from a guestlist and a dialougue prompt from this list or this list... make sure to specify who's doing it!

-character from guestlist and an action prompt from this list or this list... make sure to specify who's doing it!

-character from the guestlist paired with an au... action/dialougue prompt is optional (venom!reader, blackcat!reader, cop!peter, actress/singer!reader, etc).

rules and regulations! just a few things to mention...

-no nsfw/smut!

-specify a genre (fluff, angst, flangst) please!

-when you send in a request, even more so for the au, please give a little summary!

-i mostly write for marvel characters, (aside from arvin russell and nathan drake) so if you send in one of those, you'll be more likely to get a better, longer fic. this includes michelle jones, peter parker, zendaya, tom holland, arvin russell, and bucky barnes, but you don't have to.

note from the author!

little late on the 100 follower... we're closer to 150 now! thank you to all the people that have liked, followed, and reblogged! also, i only write for fem!reader and gn!reader. when requesting, please pick one. keep in mind, my default is fem!reader. i try to stay inclusive for everyone, but if you want short!reader, tall!reader, or anything of the sort, please tell me!

ask to be added to the taglist, and check out my full masterlist here...

works from this event!

taglist @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee

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ptergwen · 2 years

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when you least expect it

peter parker x black cat!reader

w/c: 3.0k

warnings: swearing, hints of angst, mentions of death

summary: peter can’t stand you. you’re constantly interfering with spider-man’s work, and tonight is no different… until it is.

a/n: i could not be more excited to share this with y’all omfg i’ve wanted to write black cat!reader for so long :D i tried to be as comic accurate as i could so i hope i got it right eep but anyways that’s all from me! please enjoy!!

★・・・・・・★

peter crawls up the side of the building, each of his movements controlled and calculated. he’s been planning his attack for a while now, and he’s already come this far. he has to be careful not to screw it up. he stops for a moment to briefly check his surroundings from his peripherals, making sure he isn’t being followed.

by you, of course. you’re always getting in his way. wherever you go, chaos seems to follow.

much to peter’s satisfaction, there’s only the dark night sky and whistle of the wind. he continues to his destination; wilson fisk’s penthouse suite. he soon reaches fisk’s main balcony that overlooks the city, scoffing at its grandeur. it sticks out like a sore thumb.

fisk, more formally known as kingpin, is new york’s most infamous crime boss. peter has a hunch the business is how he brings his money in. ever since peter slipped into the spider suit, fisk’s mobs have been causing him trouble. he’s finally fed up. by taking down their leader, he takes down all of them.

“privileged piece of shit,” peter mutters to himself, leaping onto the balcony.

he lands softly and crouches down behind the sliding glass doors so as not to be seen. curtains shield his view of the inside of the suite, but he catches a glimpse of fisk’s silhouette. it’s not only fisk that he makes out, though. there’s someone else with him.

someone who triggers his spider senses.

peter uses his advanced hearing to listen in on the conversation between wilson fisk and the mysterious figure, slowly lifting to his feet in anticipation.

“where is it, fisk?” the figure demands, their high-heeled boot kicking fisk into his desk chair. “i won’t ask you again,” they threaten. their heel digs into fisk’s chest to keep him in place. “i dunno what you’re talkin’ about, sweetheart. you’re gonna have to be more specific,” fisk plays coy.

the figure chuckles lowly. they trail a gloved finger up to fisk’s neck, their claws for nails scratching at his throat. their hand wraps around his throat, fisk gulping.

“i’m feeling generous tonight,” they hum. “one last chance. where’s the goddamn necklace?”

fisk lets out a strained laugh, refusing to answer. color rushes to his pale face as the figure’s grip around his throat tightens. although he’s far larger than them, they have him beat. he’s in a chokehold.

“what’s the matter, big boy?” the figure coos. “cat got your tongue?”

great, it’s you. black cat, another one of spider-man’s adversaries.

from what peter knows, you’re a burglar who by some miracle hasn’t been caught yet. believe him, he’s tried to catch you. the only difference between you and your average criminal is that you have combat skills and a gimmick. well, in his opinion.

peter caught fisk at just the right moment, and you’re about to step on it. it’s not often there’s a time or place where fisk isn’t accompanied by his mobsters. but, tonight happens to be one of those rare occasions. without his henchmen there to protect him, peter can sneak up on fisk and handle him once and for all. fisk might be strong, but he’s no match for spider-man.

peter has to do something before you ruin his whole operation.

“c’mon, use your words,” you mewl, dragging fisk closer by his throat. your face is inches from his. “tell me where the necklace is. that’s all you gotta do, hm, willy?”

spider-man suddenly breaks through the sliding doors. shattered glass crunches under his feet as he takes his stance, chest pumped and head held high. you gaze up at him nonchalantly through the cutout eyes of your mask.

“we’ve got company,” you announce. fisk struggles to look over his shoulder and see. “whatcha doin’ here, kitten?” peter questions, arms crossed over his chest. you smirk at his signature nickname for you. “nice to see you too, spidey,” you greet. “we’re kind of in the middle of something, though. right, willy?” you sink your claws farther into fisk’s throat.

fisk clutches at your hand in an attempt to pry it off of him. you pout condescendingly.

“can it wait? i’ve got some dirty laundry of my own to air out,” peter informs you. “come give me a hand, then. the more the merrier,” you run your thumb along fisk’s cheek, his face redder than a tomato. “no thanks,” peter rejects. he cocks his head to the side. “i know better than to take in a stray,” he patronizes you.

“ooh, good one,” you deadpan, fisk gasping for air in your grasp. “never heard that before,” you laugh lowly. peter breathes hot air through his nose, losing his patience with you. “alright, kitten. fun’s over. we can play later, but right now i’m here for fisk,” he says sternly.

you eye spider-man over your lashes, a grin pulling at the corners of your lips. fisk thrashes around in his chair, trying to free himself from your hold.

“unfortunately for you, i’m here for fisk, too,” you say to spider-man while staring down fisk. “he has something of mine, and i’d really like it back,” you explain. “ironic, isn’t it?” fisk chokes out, you easing your grip so he can speak properly. “stealing from a thief?” he finishes.

“keep going down this road, you’re gonna end up just like your daddy,” fisk says, a wicked smile creeping onto his features.

you slam him against the back of the chair, your boot now pressing into his thigh.

“don’t talk about my father,” you warn fisk through gritted teeth. fisk snickers. “or what? what’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?” he prompts you.

he winces as you wrap your fingers around his throat once again. your claws pierce his skin, eyes darkening and locking with his. you’re not holding back this time.

peter can tell where this is headed, and he has to intervene. he can’t just stand by and watch you strangle someone.

“hey, hey, hey. let me handle this,” peter says calmly. he makes his way over to fisk’s desk, coming up behind you. “let me handle it,” he repeats, your hand still around fisk’s neck. “i’m not leaving until i get my necklace,” you stand your ground.

your hand is starting to shake, uneven breaths escaping your lips. in all the years peter has known you, he’s never seen you like this.

“look at me,” peter wills you. you glance back at him, grip on fisk loosening. “you’ll get your necklace, okay? but first, i have to-“

spider-man is interrupted when fisk escapes from your hold completely and shoves you off of him, knocking you onto the floor with a victorious cheer. you pull yourself onto your knees and blow a piece of hair out of your face, glaring up at him.

“watch it, willy,” you warn, fisk chuckling. “stay down, kitten. it’s my turn,” peter takes over.

he webs both of fisk’s wrists before you can argue, you only watching.

“it’s about time we finally met, don’t you think? spider-man. it’s a pleasure” peter introduces himself.

spider-man yanks fisk forward by his webs and then lets go. fisk falls back in his desk chair, spider-man jumping into his lap.

“i know who you are,” fisk breathes out. “the pleasure’s all mine.”

he makes a fist and moves to punch spider-man, who dodges him easily. that doesn’t stop fisk from going in to punch him again. spider-man scoffs, catching fisk’s hand and pushing it back until you hear a pop.

“nice try, buddy. that the best you got?” spider-man taunts him. “eh, i could do better,” fisk shrugs.

he grabs both of spider-man’s arms in his other hand, effectively holding him back. spider-man grunts and wiggles around, but to no avail. he’s trapped. he twists fisk’s fingers on the hand he still has a hold of, which elicits a yelp from him. fisk is distracted enough by the pain for spider-man to hop out of his hand and off of his lap.

you stand up beside spider-man and place a claw on his shoulder. you bat your lashes at him, nails scratching lightly.

“need some backup, spidey?“ you purr, peter feeling the skin-tight leather of your suit brush up against him. “yup, and the authorities are on their way. called them a long time ago,” he replies. “i meant me,” you huff. “but i guess your boys in blue will suffice,” you sarcastically respond.

your fingers slide down spider-man’s arm, touch tingling. he attributes it to you setting off his spider senses again.

he doesn’t trust you.

“forget about me?” fisk’s voice booms. he rises from his chair, towering over both you and spider-man. “i could never, willy,” you assure him.

you hoist yourself up onto fisk’s desk so you can reach him and launch yourself at him. your legs loop around his throat, hands pushing down his shoulders. you spin your body around so you’re in a position that allows your thighs to squeeze his neck tighter. hands steadied on his shoulders, you lean over to be in fisk’s face.

“where’s my fucking necklace, huh? where is it?” you shout at him.

peter has to admit it, you’ve got moves. he’d be impressed if he didn’t absolutely loathe you.

fisk stumbles over to his desk, your legs still hooked around his throat. you won’t budge. you’re restricting his airways so much so that his face has gone from red to blue. he opens up a drawer and frantically tears through it, retrieving what you’ve been asking for all along.

your necklace.

it catches your eye when fisk dangles it above your head. you relax your legs around his neck, focus now on getting your necklace. you attempt to seize it from him, so he holds it up higher and higher.

“please, fisk. let’s end this,” you beg. fisk chuckles maniacally, swinging the necklace between his large fingers. “you want it?” he asks, you nodding in response. “here, kitty kitty. go and get it,” he concedes.

fisk tosses your necklace off the balcony. you gasp and instantly hop off of him, diving down off the balcony to catch it.

at last.

peter is glad to see you go. dealing with you is one thing he can cross off his to-do list.

now he can give fisk his full, undivided attention.

“and then there were two,” fisk mutters. peter turns his head to crack his neck, the eyes of his mask narrowing. “not for long,” he quips.

peter lunges forward and webs fisk’s feet, then kicks him hard in the stomach so he loses his balance. fisk goes tumbling back into his desk chair again. he lets out a noise of anguish, pounding a fist in peter’s face.

“uh oh, too slow!” peter ducks, tiptoeing behind fisk.

he gathers both of fisk’s arms and webs them together, then webs fisk to the chair for good measure. fisk growls and tugs at his restraints. grinning to himself, peter comes back around to stand before fisk and admires his work.

“he’s in here, boys!” peter yells out.

on cue, the authorities bust down fisk’s door and aim their guns at him.

“freeze! hands in the air!” the chief commands. peter moves aside to reveal fisk tied up. “already taken care of, chief,” peter laughs.

a couple of officers run over and surround fisk while the rest begin to collect evidence. peter steps away to speak with the chief, leaving a red-faced and whiny wilson fisk behind.

“you may have won this round… but this isn’t over, spider-man!” fisk calls after him. “tell it to the judge, fisk,” peter shoots back.

he raises his hand as if he’s saluting him, but flips him off instead.

after saying his goodbyes, peter fills the authorities in on all the information he has. fisk is officially in their custody. peter deems the officers fit to handle fisk themselves from here, so his job is done. he shows himself out the way he came, on the balcony.

peter is proud of what he accomplished here tonight. he successfully put a stop to the man who’s been tormenting him since he was a teenager, and put him behind bars where he belongs.

his stomach gurgles as he begins to climb the building. he’s starved. he’d kill for some tacos right about now, honestly. so, he decides to treat himself to dinner to celebrate his win.

peter climbs all the way to the roof and hauls himself up onto it, letting out a content sigh. he often resides on rooftops after a fight to cool down and reflect. they’re the perfect place to be alone, feel the refreshing breeze on his skin. plus, the view isn’t half bad.

“karen?” peter awakes his artificial intelligence. “open uber eats.”

“spider-man uses uber eats?” you speak up, peter whipping his head around in the direction of your voice.

he didn’t notice you up here in the darkness. he’s surprised his spider senses hadn’t alerted him.

“well, well, well. look what the cat dragged in,” peter remarks. “how original. you’re on a roll tonight, spidey,” you retort, sauntering over to him. your heels click loudly against the pavement. “what happened with fisk?” you wonder.

“what do you think? i kicked his ass, obviously,” peter gloats, a hand on his hip. you stop in front of him. “they’re taking him down to the station once my webs dissolve. his hands are tied right now… literally,” peter jokes. you let out a humorless laugh. “prison, yeah? i hope he rots there,” you say. “for once, we’re on the same page,” he agrees.

you give spider-man a once over and a small smile. peter’s lips twitch into a smile of his own, but he bites down on his bottom lip before it grows.

you’re you.

“what happened with your necklace?” peter changes the subject.

he doesn’t care all that much, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit curious about it. you were hellbent on getting it.

your smile fades, whole demeanor shifting at the mention of the necklace.

“right,” you murmur. you hold out the necklace in the palm of your hand, showing it to spider-man. “broken.”

peter squints at the piece of jewelry.

it’s a gold chain with a heart locket attached to it. the locket is cracked, and the chain is split into a couple of pieces.

you close your hand after spider-man has gotten a good look at it.

“the ground caught it before i did,” you elaborate, rather solemnly. “that’s too bad,” peter clicks his tongue. “can’t you just, i dunno, steal another one, though?” he chuckles. you shake your head. “no,” you answer. “why not? that’s your thing, isn’t it?” he mocks you.

the flashing lights from the police cars illuminate your face. there’s smudged mascara that’s dripped down your cheeks, which peter assumes are the remnants of tears. you meet his gaze, your own intense as your claws fiddle around with your necklace.

“have you been crying, kitten?” peter asks, sounding almost concerned. “the necklace was from my father,” you dodge his question. “he gave it to me when i was a little girl. he… passed away not too long ago,” you speak quietly, opening up the locket.

inside is a picture of you and your father. he’s carrying you up on his shoulders, wide smiles on both your faces. it’s the only part of your necklace that stayed intact.

“he taught me everything i know. trained me,” you reminisce. “this is the last i have of him. or… had, i guess,” you correct yourself. peter peers down at the photo, frowning behind his mask. “i’m so sorry,” he genuinely apologizes, both for your loss and for poking fun at how torn up you are over the necklace.

he had no idea of its sentimental value to you.

“i, um, lost my dad, too. when i was a kid,” peter empathizes with you. “both my parents, actually. fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” he tries to lighten the mood. a fresh tear trickles down your face, although it’s accompanied by another smile. “does it ever get any easier?” you whisper.

maybe, peter misjudged you all these years. you’re hurting. he’s been through his share of heartbreak, and he knows what it can do to a person. he has to cut you some slack. he behaved similarly to you when he first got his powers and before he learned to use them for good. he’d channeled his rage into fighting, and it seems like you’re doing the same.

he understands why you do it now.

he understands you.

“you want me to be honest?” peter quirks an eyebrow. “please,” you mumble. he puffs air out of his cheeks. “not one bit,” he confesses.

the two of you burst into a fit of laughter, you wiping your tears with a clawed finger. it feels good to not be hating your guts for a change.

“thanks for keeping it real, spidey. i can always count on you for that,” you giggle. “your friendly, neighborhood spider-man is at your service,” peter responds.

you tackle spider-man into a hug with no warning, catching him off guard. he exhales an oof as your arms wind tightly around his waist.

“seriously, thank you,” you repeat, your cheek rubbing against his chest much like a cat would do. “easy there, kitten,” peter chuckles out. he hugs you back nevertheless, his fingers lightly stroking your locks. “you’re welcome,” he speaks quietly.

you two pull apart after a moment, spider-man clasping his hands behind his back awkwardly. he takes a step back to leave. you don’t want him to go just yet, though. peter doesn’t want to go either. he’s finding your presence oddly comforting, and you’ve never minded his.

spider-man gets out his phone and unlocks it, pointing at his screen. you look at it curiously.

“i was just about to order some food,” he reminds you with a grin. “you like tacos?”

ps: let me know if y’all are interested in more because i’m thinking of making this a series!

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x black cat!reader #peter parker x blackcat!reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction

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reysdriver · 11 months

Note

WE NEED MORE BLACK CAT READER AND TASM PETER THE TENSIONNNNN

you try to take off Spider-Man's mask on a rooftop at night — tasm!peter parker x blackcat!reader

warnings: none :)

words: 0.4k

a/n: okok im finally writing from my requests and I love that I'm getting back into writing Peter Parker oneshots again! Thanks so much to the anon who sent this in and gave me the idea!

“Oh, come on, Bug Boy.” You whined teasingly. “I just want to try it on. And I’ll give you mine in exchange.”

“Can’t do that, Kitty Cat.” He used the nickname he knows you hate. It’s fine when you do it and call him Bug Boy or Web-Head, but Kitty Cat is just stupid.

Teasing Spider-Man is probably your favourite thing to do on a boring night, and tonight was no exception. You’ve been trying to get him to take off his mask all night, with no luck yet.

“I also wanna see you. Come on, why not at least part of your face? It’s not fair that you basically get to see my whole face and you’re just a spandex silhouette to me.”

He let out a small laugh. “Well, maybe that just means you should get a new mask.”

“Maybe you should get a new mask.” Yikes. That wasn’t your best, and he knew it too.

“Oh, you’re losing it now, aren’t you?”

You huffed and turned around so he couldn’t see your pout. One foot straight in front of the other, you walked carefully on top of the roof’s bannister while you thought of more ways to tease him.

“How about you close your eyes and I try to sneak up and take it off of you?” You proposed, your arm mimicking a predator snatching its prey.

Spider-Man shook his head at your idea. “Even with my eyes closed, you couldn’t do it. Spidey senses have me one step ahead of you at all times.”

You scoffed. For him to think he was so much better than you? Rude. He was probably right, but you were still going to dramatise your offence. With a hand on your heart, you gasped exaggeratedly. “Excuse you, Web-Head, I’ve been practising. Just let me try. I bet I could get your mask off on the first try.”

He shot one of his webs against the wall, making a stringy blob against the brick. “You’re persistent, you know?”

“I’m curious, and you love it.”

“And what makes you so sure about that?”

“Because you’re still here.” You stated confidently. “Out of all the rooftops in the city, you’re choosing to stay here with me.”

There was a pause, and you wondered if maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had been cocky and totally out of left field. Your worry was only relieved when he looked back at you and spoke up.

“Seems like you’re onto me, Kitty Cat.”

#peter parker #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter one shot #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter fluff #tasm #marvel #marvel oneshot

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godlessandwrecked · 1 year

Text

a bit of a shameless self-plug,,, this is still one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, every time I think about how little interaction it got I literally want to scream 😄 but anyway if you want to read it 👉👈 here

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tomhollandfics · 2 years

Note

any peter x blackcat!reader? xx

Delmar's Daughter (Series) - @gracefulspidey

Maybe It Could Be For Us - @xfeliciahardyx

Mr & Mrs Swift - @waitimcomingtoo

Hallow-Accidents - @arvinrussellsgirlfriend

She Can Help - @starshipsofstarlord

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x blackcat!reader #peter parker x black cat #peter parker fanfiction #anon #fic lists #fic search

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gracefulspidey · 3 years

Text

Delmars Daughter {two} ~ p.p.

*warnings: angst, talk of character death, (also like zero peter in this chapter...sorry)

*pairing: peter parker x black cat!reader

*authors note: holy shit i’m kinda nervous to be posting this....i don’t even really know why maybe it’s just me being excited to get back into writing (or probz bec im running on 3 hours sleep...im gonna take a nap)

*word count: 1.8k

♡add yourself to this series’ tag list if you wanna♡

♡masterlist♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad…what did he mean by trip?” Your voice was quiet and wavering and if it weren’t for your father standing so close to you, he probably wouldn’t have even heard you. He took a deep breath and cast his eyes down to the floor.

“He needs you to do a job...and it’s in Europe.” The silence that followed his words was deafening. Your ears began to burn, and you started to piece together what Finn meant by ‘making adjustments to your mothers’ suit’.

“What kind of job?” You asked worriedly. You had no clue what kind of work your mother actually did for him. For all you know he could have wanted you to kill someone.

“A heist, nothing too big, he knows you’ve never done this before, so I doubt he’d make you do anything that’d put his ass on the line.” You knew he said that to try and ease your nerves but, the idea of doing this job was enough to make you feel queasy.

“Why…why now after all these years does he decide to-“ you halted, you couldn’t think of how to even finish your sentence. Your father could tell you were beginning to feel overwhelmed and pulled you in for a hug. Your mind was racing with thoughts of your mother, the last time you seen her, and how foolish you were to think Finn would be done with your family after your mothers’ death. But the warmth of your father’s arms was enough to help settle your wild thoughts even if it was for just a moment.

“It’s just this one job baby, after that we’ll have enough money to leave to a place where he won’t find us again.” He pulled away with his hands still on your shoulders.

“I won’t let him have a hold on us any longer, I can’t bear to live with the thought of you getting hurt from this life.” His eyes were soft but serious as they looked directly into yours. You took a deep breath and wiped away the remaining tears that had fallen on your cheeks.

“What do I have to do?”

~♡~

Your father placed a cup of warm tea in front of you and sat down in the chair across the table. Seeing the steam coming from the cup urges you to reach for it, feeling the warmth on your hands helps ease the way they shook. You didn’t know if it was fear that you felt or the dread of knowing a job like this is what took your mother from you. Either way you had to put them aside, just this one job and then you and your dad won’t have to hear from Axel ever again.

You really wanted to believe that but…deep down inside you know that no matter how far you run, he’ll always find a way to get to you. But you’ll do whatever it takes to keep your father safe, even if it means putting yourself in danger…as long as he’s safe.

“Y/n, are you listening?” Your fathers voice rings out and you bring your eyes up from the cup of tea you dazed off looking at.

“Sorry…I got distracted.” Your father’s eyes softened, and he reached for one of the hands that you used to hold your cup of tea, they were so cold in comparison to yours.

“I know all of this happening out of nowhere is daunting but, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way my love.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you gently nod giving him your full attention. If you had any chance of keeping him safe you had to do this right.

“You said it was a heist right, what is he even gonna have me stealing?” You asked letting go of your fathers’ hand to pet the sleeping cat on your lap her long fur soft against your hands.

“A gemstone, he didn’t tell me how much it was worth but from the amount of money we’ll be getting from our cut, I can only imagine it’s worth a good amount of money.” He said, you could see his face drop a little. You could only imagine how scared he is as well. He did his best to hide it from you, but you knew from the moment you seen him in that room with Axel. He’s scared he’s going to lose you too, and you can’t blame him. You’re all he has left.

“How the hell am I supposed to be getting to Europe exactly?” You say raising your brows at your father.

“He says he’s got it covered…how I have no clue.” He says shaking his head and putting his cup down to dip his tea bag in and out of the cup.

“Why is he even doing this- why now?” You know you sound like a broken record but it’s the loudest thought in your mind. Your father just stares at you for a bit before finally speaking.

“He only tells me things on a need to know basis and I guess that wasn’t something I needed to know.” He immediately notices you tense up after he says this.

“Don’t worry my love like I told you I’m gonna be there to guide you through this every step of the way. Even when you’re in Europe I’ll be with you.” He says a little too calmly for your liking.

“In my heart?” You say with heavy sarcasm.

“No, in your ear.” You scrunch your brows in confusion at this.

‘The hell does he mean, in my ear?’ And as if he could read your mind he speaks up.

“When your mother used to do these jobs, I used to be her man on the inside I guess you could say. Axel didn’t know about this and he never will, but I refused to let your mother do this alone and I won’t let you do it alone either. It’s not like I didn’t trust your mother to be able to do these jobs by herself it’s just- it put my mind at ease to know I could be of some help even if I was still in New York when she was in another state or country.” His eyes never left the table, it was obvious he was avoiding your gaze. It was understandable seeing as he was revealing something to you that was kept secret for so long.

‘My dad- a man on the inside?’ You could hardly believe it.

“Were you with her for…her last job?” His whole-body tenses at your own words and you mentally prepare for whatever saddening words he was going to tell you next.

“I kept the details of her last job from you all this time because…I thought it would save you some heartache but, I don’t think I have much of a choice now.” He let out a breathy and sad sounding laugh.

“You were so little you probably don’t even remember-“

“Just tell me!” You practically yelled. He looked up at you in shock with eyes that told you to watch your tone.

“Please…” You quickly added your body sinking into your seat with a bit of shame. After a couple of seconds of silence passes, he began speaking again.

“You followed her that night…neither of us realized until it was too late. How you even got that far without anyone noticing I’ll never know- maybe that’s why Axel wants you to do this job, he’s seen your mother in you since that day. But once your mother did notice all I heard was the sound of your voice calling out to her and the confusion in her voice when she called back to you. Then…she went radio silent on me. I couldn’t get the signal back as hard as I tried. I didn’t try for very long though since the job was sort of close, I just drove to the site as fast as I could but…well do I really have to finish.” His eyes were brimming with tears.

It was odd to see him like this, so…vulnerable. You can count the amount of times you’ve actually seen your father cry on one hand. Most of them he didn’t even intend for you to see. It made you want to cry just knowing how long he’s kept this in, how hard it must have been knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop it. You can hardly even remember that day, only having bits and pieces of the memory left. Probably your brains way of trying to trauma block and save you even more pain.

“I don’t want you to think any of what happened was any fault of your own! You were only a toddler trying to see why mommy left all those nights. I should have kept a better eye on you anyways-“ He cut himself off with another small sad laugh.

“It’s funny, your mother told me we should keep the baby monitor in your room for a bit longer. You were so sneaky and squirmy from the day you were born. Did you know you found a way to get out of your crib when you were only six months old?” He laughs.

He’s trying to change the subject like he always does when he starts talking about things like this. You let him have this one though, you could only imagine how hard it must be to relive that mentally let alone have to tell it to your daughter who’s about to do the same job that the women he loved most died doing. You smile, even if it’s just for his sake, even if you’re fighting off tears, you smile. It’s all for him. That’s the part of your mind you got from him anyways. Always wanting to take care of the people you love, to see him happy, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to keep that smile on his face.

“You know I almost lost you too that day…I don’t know what I would have done if I lost the both of you.” He finally makes eye contact with you again.

“I believe in you y/n. I know there’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it, and it’s just this one job…” He reaches for both of your hands this time, they’re much warmer than they were before.

“After this you won’t have to worry about taking care of your old man anymore.” You really do think he can read your mind sometimes. But even when he says that you know in your heart of hearts, you’ll always be there to take care of him no matter how many times he says he doesn’t need you to, because you need to. He’s all you have left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*taglist: @cookie614 @shaykeijser @prettylittlealiengirl @nerdypartytrashpsychic

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x blackcat!reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfic

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

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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