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blooming-violets · 2 years

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Mirror, Mirror || TASM

[tasm!peter x black cat/felicia hardy]

Summary: Felicia lures her favorite Spider back to her hideout in the hopes of receiving his attention. (a mirror smut fic)

TWs: 18+ smut, rough oral sex, not the healthiest of relationships

A/N: I’m doing an experiment by reposting this without certain labels.

Felicia silently dropped in through her bedroom window and closed it behind her. The bag of stolen jewels was tossed carelessly onto the bed, the pieces rolling out over the blanket. Yellow street lights poured in through the window to illuminate the diamonds and create a soft, pleasing sparkle across the mattress. A bed full of diamonds used to sound appealing to her. Now, it didn’t hold much value. The jewels weren’t something she cared about. It was the act of stealing them that drew her in. Once they were in her possession, she couldn’t care less what happened to them.

Her leather stiletto boots made a satisfying sound to her ears as she crossed over the hardwood floor towards her full length mirror. She had challenged herself to complete the mission in heels tonight. It gave her an added boost of confidence knowing she was just as agile in them as her combat boots. They made her leather clad ass look extra impressive and she was aiming to impress tonight. Her end goal was never the jewels. Felicia was specifically looking to catch the watchful eye of her favorite little Spider. She knew he had followed her back home. She could sense him in the shadows and felt him following her every move. He had stayed quiet tonight, lacking his usual fast witted quips. That meant he had alternative motives. He didn’t want to catch her in the act. He wanted to surprise her when he thought her guard would be down. He wanted more from her than a sarcastic exchange of words.

She knew what he wanted, she craved it too, and she led him straight to her hideout to get it.

Felicia tossed her mask off and pretended to fix her hair, running her fingers through the dyed, snow white locks. Her eyes stayed trained on the window, waiting for him to arrive. She hid her smile when she saw the familiar red gloved hand silently lift the pane up. She’d play dumb for him this once. She’d let him think he was sneaky as long as she got what she wanted from him in the end. Peter crawled through the opening and up her wall onto the ceiling. She hummed softly to herself, fanning through her hair, and patiently waiting for him to make his presence known.

Finally, he unstuck from the ceiling to land with a nearly silent thud directly behind her. She feigned a gasp of surprise for his sake. He straightened up to make himself seem taller and squared his shoulders. She couldn’t see his expression behind the mask but she assumed he’d be smug, thinking he surprised her with an ambush. She liked him best when he was cocky. His brash confidence amused her.

“Someone’s been a bad kitty. I thought you were over petty thieving?” He growled in her ear. He always deepened his voice when he wanted to be more menacing than he really was. She knew his every tick. He didn’t scare her. She’d seen him at his most vulnerable. She’d seen him whimpering and begging her to let him cum, completely undone, and drooling over her. It was impossible to be intimidating with that image stuck in mind.

Felicia replied with a curt laugh, “I wouldn’t call robbing a highly secured bank and emptying out a vault petty thieving. You’re undermining my skills. Are you trying to neg me, Spidey? Do you think it’ll make me want you more if you undervalue me?”

She refused to turn around to give him the attention he was craving. Instead, she gazed at her own reflection in the mirror. His masked face bore into her but she ignored it. He liked it when she didn’t give him the time of day. It gave him something to chase. And if there was anything she learned about Spider-Man, it was that he loved a good chase.

“What would I need to neg you for? I already have you.” The presumptuous tone of his voice shone through with every word.

She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, “You’re an idiot. You wish you could have me. I’m out of your league, web slinger.”

They often wrestled for who would claim dominance. There was no natural pecking order between them. They seized whatever the moment allowed them, desperate and needy for whatever they could get. Tonight, she was hoping he would take charge. She wanted to give up control. She wanted him to do the heavy lifting but she’d never outright admit it.

“Someone needs to be punished for robbing banks. I caught you red handed. I’ve been following you all night.” He made it sound like that information should be a shock to her.

Felicia chuckled, sarcasm dripping from her lips, “I would have never guessed. You’re not as sneaky as you think. The red and blue don’t make for good camouflage. Next time, if you want to blend into the shadows, try taking a page out of my book, and go for the black. I think skin tight leather would look nice on you. It’d highlight your ass.”

Peter turned sideways, admiring himself in the mirror, and sticking out his behind, “You think so? The spandex already doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“Leather gives a nice shine. Draws the eye in.” She subtly arched her back, puffing out her chest to draw his eyes to her partially exposed cleavage, clad in black leather.

She watched his body language change, his breath catching in his throat, and his shoulders subtly tensing. He turned to push himself closer behind her. She smiled as she felt his hips press into her backside.

“You need to stop the thieving, Cat. I thought we had a deal?” His voice was gruff. She knew that meant he was turned on and was trying to fight his feelings. “The Black Cat was going to side with me from now on. You were on my side, remember? Good guys don’t rob banks.”

“My morals have always been shady, Spidey. You know this,” Felicia pouted out her bottom lip at his reflection. “Maybe I need some more convincing? How was it you persuaded me last time to join you? If I recall correctly, it involved a pair of handcuffs and a hitachi wand. Human beings are very susceptible when they’re on the brink of an orgasm. You might want to try that tatic again.”

The exhale he replied with was his sign that he was fully on board where she was taking this meeting. He wanted her as much as she needed him. Peter reached his hand up to pull off his mask.

“Wait!” Felicia caught his hand before he could expose anything more than his lips. “Leave the mask on. I like you better that way.”

She couldn’t see his eyes but she knew him well enough to know he was rolling them. His hand fell from the mask and back to his side as his shoulders deflated. The corners of his mouth turned to a frown.

“Hurts my ego every time you say that,” he huffed. “I have a perfectly decent face. You know you’re really mean, right?”

She laughed, “Good. You need to be knocked down a few pegs.” Her voice lowered into a purr to draw him back in. “And if I remember correctly, you like it when I’m mean.” She backed her ass up against his hips and wiggled over his crotch, feeling him twitch to life. “See? Someone enjoys my torment.”

Peter smirked. She liked watching the way his lips moved when he smiled. It was the only part of his face she allowed him to show. She didn’t want to know who was under the mask. She wanted Spider-Man, not the man behind him. It was easier to distance herself that way.

Felicia lifted her hand to grip onto the silver zipper dangling between her breasts. She slowly rolled it down her top, letting her bra push through, and expose her tight stomach. She watched Peter carefully through the mirror, tempting him with her seductive gaze.

It didn’t take long for him to cave. It never did.

His gloved hands raised to her shoulders to peel the leather top from her body. He discarded the garment to the floor with little care. He trailed his fingers over her black bra, tracing along the straps, until he reached the back. The bra popped off her chest and was tossed aside after her top. Peter gave an approving hum at the sight of her heavy breasts. His face nuzzled into the top of her hair as his arms ensnared around her waist.

“You’re a very bad kitty,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulder.

The low grumble of his words mixed with the warmth of his body rubbing behind her caused a flame to ignite in her stomach. Felicia closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest against her Spider and gave a lazy smile, “Are you going to do something about that then?”

She could see herself on full display in the mirror. Her bare breasts with hard capped nipples hanging heavy against her chest. The indented curve of her sides, muscles rippling under her tight skin, to give way to her full hips. The way the leather pants hugged her legs, highlighting their long length, and the toned muscles of her calves. Her heeled boots blended in perfectly with the pant leg to make it seem like one piece. She liked the way he took the time to admire her body as he slowly uncovered new skin. She looked good and she knew it. If she was Spider-Man, she wouldn’t be able to resist herself either.

He urged her closer to the mirror to get a good look at her and started rubbing his hands over her sides. She always loved the way the ribbed material of his suit felt against her skin. She was almost certain he designed it that way so he could finger people without having to take off his gloves and make it feel extra nice for his partners. He seemed like the kind of sick bastard who would think about that. She wasn’t complaining. She loved cumming over his thick, gloved fingers and knowing he’d keep the lingering smell of her on them for as long as he could. She’d caught him sniffing his glove a few times in the past after one their rendezvous.

“I’ve been waiting all night for you to finish your heist. It took you twenty minutes longer than usual to rob that bank. I think you’re losing your touch,” he murmured.

Felicia smirked back at him, “It’s because of the heels. Brand new. I was breaking them in. What do you think of them? You like?”

“I’ve been watching your ass saunter around in them all night. Looked great but you lacked your usual swiftness. Can’t complain though. It gave me enough time to rub one out while you fumbled around with the stupid safe.” He cupped the weight of her breasts in each hand while he spoke.

“You were looking at my ass and jerking off? What would the public think about that, Spider-Man? The Bugle would have a field day when they found out. I am very disappointed in you. Good guys don’t creep on women without their knowledge.” This was another reason why she loved when he kept the mask on. It unleashed a darker side of him that he’d never reveal with it off. The mask gave him safety. A physical barrier between Peter Parker and Spider-Man. “Are you sure I’m the one who needs punishment? It sounds like you’ve been a very bad Spider.”

Peter growled in response, his lips curling into a smile. They were already fighting for dominance and he wasn’t going to let her win this time. He spun her around and tossed her over his shoulder. Felicia gasped, the breath being knocked from her lungs, as she felt him rip her boots from her feet. He quickly followed by peeling her skin tight pants off her legs, leaving her completely naked, and stranded over his shoulder. Any other person would have struggled to get those pants off that quickly but, with his enhanced strength, they were no match for him. Peter could throw her around with ease like she weighed nothing. He loved being able to show off his strength as if it was supposed to impress her.

A gloved hand caressed her bare ass cheek before giving it a hard smack, “No panties tonight? Naughty girl.” He dropped her back to her feet and spun her around be face to face with her reflection. She let out a quiet whine of pleasure at being forcibly man handled. Without her heels, he seemed much taller, looming behind her, than before. She wanted to feel small tonight and he was giving her exactly what she needed.

Peter dropped his hand to slide between her thighs. The movements were slow and meticulous, urging his way higher up to find his prize. Felicia gave a squeak of approval when she felt him part her lips and trace along her slit.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and grinned at her in the mirror, “You’re already soaking through my glove and I haven’t even stuck a finger in yet. Someone’s desperate.”

It was true. Right now, Peter was the only person she was currently having sex with. He was the only one she felt safe enough with to let her guard down. He might be a masked vigilante but he had a reputation of being the good guy. A hero. He’d proven himself to be a good sexual partner over the last few months. He was exciting. He could read her better than most people and knew when to pull back from going too far. As long as he kept his mask on, she was happy to let him play with her. It had been over two weeks since she last saw him. That’s why the jewel heist was necessary. The Black Cat was in desperate need of attention that only he could provide.

Light whimpers tumbled from her lips as her slick folds were expertly stroked. Every time he reached her clit, he’d twirl the tip of a finger around it, teasing her without giving her the satisfaction she was craving. Her breath was already coming in heavy pants. Her hips would roll with his fingers, trying to keep him closer to her swollen clit, but constantly being purposefully evaded to keep her begging for more. She knew she was leaking all over his palm. She could feel the wetness of his glove against her sensitive skin. There was something about being toyed with by Spider-Man, New York’s goody two shoes, that made her drip with excitement.

Finally, Peter eased in his thick, middle finger. The ribbed material of his glove gave her that added bit of pleasure. Before she even had time to open her mouth to let out a moan or adjust to the invasion, he was adding in a second.

“Yes,” she gasped.

This was exactly what she needed, her body was screaming out for a release. The tips of his fingers grazed perfectly over that delicious spot inside of her which made her knees tremble. Peter created a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of her, putting a portion of his strength into each thrust of his arm. The noises her pussy was making were positively filthy. He hooked and twisted his fingers to delve in deeper and reach every angle he could manage while her ears were filled with her own moans and the squelching, wetness of her cunt.

“Look at you,” he whispered in her ear. His free hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her face towards the mirror. “So needy for my touch. Soaking wet. Zero resistance. All it takes is two fingers for you to lose yourself. A proper whore.” He gave her a dark laugh. “Are you like that with everyone you fuck or just me?”

Felicia shook her head, gasping for air as he assaulted her throbbing pussy, “Just you, Spidey. Only you. Only you can make me feel like this.” He had no idea he was the only one she allowed to touch her these days. The less he knew, the better.

He smirked, pleased with her answer, “Are you going to be a good kitty for me from now on? Are you going to behave yourself?”

She whined, “Yes. Yes. I’ll be so good. Please.” She’d say anything if it meant he kept touching her. She grabbed for his other hand and held it between her thighs. “Please. Rub me too. I need more.”

Peter tisked his tongue at her and pulled the hand out of her grasp, “I don’t think you deserve it. If you want someone to rub your clit, you better do it yourself. Go on. Do it. Touch yourself. That’s an order.”

Her heart was racing as she slipped her own hand between her legs. She spread her thighs a little further apart and leaned her back against Peter’s chest. Everything was hot and sopping wet down there. She could feel the slickness coating her thighs and dribbling onto his hand, never ceasing from thrusting into her. The tips of her fingers found her throbbing clit and she locked eyes with the masked one as she began pleasuring herself along with him. His mouth parted while he watched intently and he quickly licked his drying lips. He was enjoying his view in the mirror.

Felicia’s breasts heaved with each heavy, panting breath. She could feel the slight creeping embarrassment heat up her face as she saw how aroused she looked in her reflection. Her face was ignited with a drooling pleasure. He had that effect on her. Whether she was taking control of him or he was of her, she was always left dissolved into a puddle of shaking orgasms by the end. She really was a proper whore when it came to Spider-Man.

Peter made a low noise of approval, “Fuck, Cat. Your walls clamp down so tight whenever your clit gets played with. I love the way you squeeze onto my fingers. So tight.”

She closed her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip to stop the obscene moans rumbling out of her. “Shut up,” she managed to spit out. “You’re no better. I’ve seen you turn into a whining, begging mess in my hands.”

He chuckled, “It was a compliment, dumbass.” His voice lowered into a satisfied purr. “I think it’s hot. Do I make you feel good?”

She grumbled in response, not wanting to give in to him too easily.

He brushed aside her snow white locks and licked up the ridge of her ear, “Come on, Cat. You know you want to answer. Tell me. Do I make you feel good?”

Felicia couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips as he slowly eased in a third finger. She watched his lips tug into an arrogant smile.

“There we go,” he whispered. “See? It’s not that hard. Look at how well your body reacts to me. It’s like a drug every time I see it. I can’t stay away. Tell me how it good it feels to be finger fucked by Spider-Man. Tell me how much you love it and I’ll give you what you really want.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t have to look at herself while she answered, “It feels so good. I love the feeling of your fingers stretching me. I want you inside me all the time. I dream about it every night. Why do you think I robbed a bank tonight? I wanted you to catch me. You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks. I took matters into my own hands.”

Peter slowed, pulled his soaked digits from her clenching channel, and ran them over her breasts, tweaking her nipples. She felt empty without him filling her.

“You could have just called,” he chastised her. “I have a phone, ya know.”

Felicia flashed him a smile, “But this is more fun.”

“Maybe I wanted to see how long it’d take for you to miss me?”

He gripped her hips and turned her around to face him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him in for a kiss. She adored the feeling of his warm tongue fighting its way past her lips. He grinded his stiff bulge against her pelvis, attempting to get any kind of friction on it that he could. She humored him by palming him through his suit while he heated up the passionate kiss, moaning into her mouth and giving her a quiet whimper. Eventually he pulled himself out of her intoxicating grasp to spin her back around. She heard him fumbling with the pants of his suit and knew he was unleashing his beautiful cock.

Peter pushed himself up behind her and clasped onto her chin, guiding her attention back up to the mirror, “I want you to look at yourself while I fuck you. I want you to see what I see every time I plunge my cock into you.”

Felicia gasped when she felt the warmth of his thick head press against her folds. She did what he asked and kept her eyes focused on her own reflection. Tantalizingly slow, Peter carefully breached past her puffy lips. He pushed deeper and deeper until she was forced to bite her own finger to suppress a moan. Her eyes had widened with a desperate need and she watched the heated pleasure spread across her expression. For only a brief moment, she wished she could see the look on his face too.

She didn’t have much time to contemplate it before he was pulling back and thrusting into her. His thick appendage stretched her wide and hit deep into her with each thrust. Peter bent her over, holding her up by a fistful of hair, so she was face to face with herself in the mirror. Like he asked, she stared straight into her own dark eyes. She looked completely debauched. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her eyeliner was slightly smudged from its usually crisp cat eye, wispy strands of her straightened hair stuck to cheek and were starting to frizz up from the sweat. Her eyes were dazed and stared back at her with a lewd, helpless expression. Her open, drooling mouth gave out a constant stream of loud, shameless moans and her hot breath fogged up the glass.

“Like what you see?” He growled behind her, smirking at her reflection. “Because I know I do.”

Felicia glanced up at his lopsided mask. His tongue was hanging out from between his lips in concentration as he focused on pumping into her with a steady rhythm. His grip on her hair was the only thing keeping her from falling face first into the mirror. She couldn’t answer him if she wanted to. Her body was too preoccupied on the endless waves of pleasure coursing through her. His cock always felt so nice. She had missed it. She had missed him.

Peter yanked her back up against his chest, her back forced to arch so he could keep up his thrusts, and he steadied her by encompassing her breasts with his hands instead. One of his gloves was still soaked with her juices. It felt cold against her skin as he toyed with her nipple.

“Best set of tits I’ve ever met,” he sighed happily.

Felicia purred with enjoyment as he gripped at her soft flesh, pinching and teasing her taut nipples between his fingers. She could feel his heart pounding against her back. He was loving this as much as she was. He kept a hand massaging her beautiful breasts while the other slayed out over her stomach. He felt the hardness of her muscles and circled down the heat radiating from between her thighs. They both knew the second he found her clit, she’d be pushed over the edge.

She stared into the large whites of his exaggerated eyes and silently urged him onward. Peter’s fingers found her swollen bud and he proceeded to tenderly stoke it.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Squeeze me tighter. So fucking tight. Good kitty. Feel that orgasm start to rise in your stomach. Look at how your nipples are getting harder. Watch the muscles tighten in your stomach. I want you to cum for me, Cat. Be a good girl and cum for your Spider. Let yourself go. Give in.”

With a high pitched whine followed by a guttural moan, Felicia’s entire body shook with rapid, jerking movements. Peter pumped into her with faster and shorter thrusts, quickly rolling his hand in tight circles over her clit, letting her get every ounce of pleasure that she could. Her soaking channel tightened around him, squeezing onto his cock, riding him like her life depended on it.

He gripped onto her chin to force her eyes back to the mirror, “Watch yourself. Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are as you cum.”

Her eyes met with her own, her vision blurring slightly from the happy tears that always welled up whenever she came. The tight coil building inside of her snapped. It radiated warmth through her entire body. A low, lewd moan fell from her parted lips. She watched the euphoric expression overtake her face, her eyes rolling back into her skull, unable to keep them focused on herself any longer. The tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her heated cheeks.

When her clenched walls finally released Peter, he slid out from inside of her. She could hear him panting behind her. He had one arm slung around her waist to keep her upright. He had yet to find his own release, not wanting to empty inside of her. As much as she wanted to collapse onto the ground and curl up, she steadied her trembling legs. She forced herself out of his tight grasp and to her knees, turning around and silently taking him into her mouth. He didn’t have to ask. He never needed to. He had been so good to her. She’d take care of her Spider in return.

Felicia wrapped her hand around his rock hard cock and placed the tip into her mouth. The moment she started to apply the slightest of suction with her lips, he went weak at the knees. She slowly lowered her head while she sucked, impaling her mouth on his shaft, and relaxing her throat so he could slide down easier. With the tight seal of her lips, she used her tongue to its full effect, teasing his head, tasting herself drenched over him, and moaning in delight as he rolled over her tongue. She relished in the pathetic whimpers falling from his lips. Spider-Man was a sucker for a good blow job. If any villain ever wanted to get the upper hand, all they’d need to do was wrap their lips around his cock and he’d be putty in their hands. He could pretend to be the dominant one all he wanted. Black Cat knew the truth. His needy sounds filled her with a certain pride knowing that she was the one to force them out of him. His cock felt nice in her mouth like it was always destined to be thrusting down her throat.

She looked up at him through her lashes. The mask had slipped up his nose and she could see his eyes peering down at her from under it. They were cast in shadow but, for a moment, they locked their gaze. He stared down at her, watching her expressions carefully, while she sucked him off. Her heart lurched at the sight. It was very rare she ever caught a real glimpse of his eyes. Felicia tore away her gaze. It was too much to handle. She wasn’t used to the man behind the mask staring back at her. Her grip around his cock loosened as her mouth went slack.

He responded to their shared, intimate moment, knowing how much she claimed to hate seeing him without his mask, by grabbing the back of her head and thrusting himself down her throat. She gagged at the sudden invasion but quickly recovered. It was his indirect way of forcing her to focus back at the task she had given herself. She straightened herself up and gripped onto his hips, working her lips to reach the base of his dick. Tears welled in her eyes. There was gurgled moaning and choking gags but she managed to take him entirely into her. She held him there for a second before pulling back with a gasp of sputtering air. A thick line of drool connected her bottom lip to the head of his cock. She gazed back up at him, a single tear streaming down her face, seeking his approval.

Peter gripped onto the back of her hair and pushed her face back towards him, “I didn’t say stop.”

She allowed him to face fuck her, his cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a furious pace. He was pissed off that she never wanted to see him without the mask. It made him feel small and unworthy. Spider-Man had a desperate need to feel wanted and loved. Felicia was great at giving him the opposite of that. It only made him chase her even more. He poured his frustration for her into the blow job, practically growling as he used her throat like a pussy. His aggression delighted her. It made her feel alive. It proved that he cared about her and what she thought of him. He wanted her to love him back. She loved knowing that she still had power over him. The cards were in her hand. She didn’t want to be the weak one. He was wrapped around her finger. No matter how dominant he tried to be, she would always hold the power. Peter gave a final grunt, lodging his cock into her mouth, and unleashing his seed down her throat.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “That’s good.”

His shoulders sagged and he stumbled backwards away from her, tugging the mask back over his face to hide any shame he may have.

Felicia swallowed every drop he gave her and wiped the thick strands of drool from her chin. She watched him carefully while he tucked his softening member back into his tight pants. She didn’t need to see his face to know he felt guilty for fucking her like that. He always felt guilty whenever he lost himself in the moment and let his emotions take control. He didn’t want to be seen as the aggressor but that was why she wanted him. Her throat would be sore tomorrow morning. She refused to tell him that she allowed him to do it. If she didn’t want him to face fuck her, she would have never gotten on her knees in the first place. She knew what she was doing.

She wasn’t usually the kind of person to offer comfort to ease anyone’s tortured conscience.

Instead, she cut his growing tension by gracefully getting back onto her feet and handing him an olive branch in the form of a sly smile, “I suppose your deal still stands, web-head. Black Cat will be back on your side and refraining from any petty thievery for the near future. For now. As long as you promise to come visit me from time to time. A girl has needs, ya know. Don’t leave me wanting you for too long. Otherwise I might get feisty.”

She watched the relief wash over him as his posture loosened. He overthought everything he did when he had no need to.

Spider-Man held up two fingers, shooting her a peace sign, and hopped up onto her window sill, “Maybe I like it when you get feisty? See ya later, Cat. Try not to dream of me! I know it’s hard. I’m irresistible.”

With those final, snarky words, he jumped out the window, leaving her standing naked and alone, like always.

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punkeropercyjackson · 4 months

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Peter B is a transmasc slut in an open marriage(that MJ consented to and she's also fucking Felicia and Liz so it's equal),Miguel is aroace bipan,Gwen is too young to have interest in sleeping with someone but thinks nsfw humor is the funniest shit ever and Hobie thinks sex should be abolished

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the-starry-skye · 2 years

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black cat x spiderman requested by anon

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friendlyneighborhoodhottie · 5 months

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─🕷────────────── Don't Lie To Me (Peter Parker x Reader -Angst-) ─🕷──────────────

You know Peter is cheating on you, and you want the truth.

I had no specific Peter Parker in mind when I wrote this, but enjoy. Language, cheating, angst, implied sex ahead.

770 Words

Peter had been increasingly coming home later than usual. You were sick of him hiding his phone all the time whenever it rang. You hated to be suspicious of him like this but you had a gut feeling something was wrong.

That gut feeling was confirmed when you saw the text light up his phone when you both were in bed one night. He was asleep and went to bed clutching his phone in his hand. It slipped out to lay flat on the mattress beside him. You didn't want to accidentally wake him, so you got out the bed and tiptoed around to his side. Hesitantly picking up the glowing device, you read the message:

New Message From Felicia

Hey Spider...When can I see you again? Last night was too fun ;)

You felt your heart sink.

You started to breathe rapidly, trying to focus on something else before you had a panic attack.

You brushed yourself off for a couple of days thinking maybe it was a coworker. Maybe it was taken out of context. Your Peter could never betray you like that.

But when his phone rang with her name once again, he tried to hide it, and you had enough.

"I got promoted today" He said glancing at you and then digging into his pasta.

You stayed silent as you shook your head and raised your eyebrows. You held the metal fork, gripping it hard, wanting nothing more than to stab him with it.

He continued cautiously, it didn't take his spidey sense to notice your grip on the fork: "I think it'll be good for the both of us, and in a couple months I can probably become assistant manager of the company. What do you think?"

He waited for your answer, and when he received none he frowned.

"Baby, you're being so quiet, what's-"

"Yeah, Peter, I'm sorry for being quiet, and all, while you want to celebrate, but you know what I think? I think fucking other people while you know how much I love you is fucking cruel. Who the fuck is Felicia?" You exhaled through your nostrils, eyebrows furrowed as you let your hidden rage out.

You could see his face go pale, confirming you discovered something he always meant to keep a secret.

"She's...she's just...she's just a-" he stuttered not helping his case whatsoever.

"Peter. Don't you lie to me." your voice stern.

"She an old friend, we've been catching up and there's nothing going on between us." You could tell he was lying.

"Then let me see your phone, Peter."

"What? No, (y/-)"

"Let me see your Goddamn phone!" you yelled. You hated to yell but you were at a breaking point. You tried to stay strong, tears attempting to form in your eyes.

He reluctantly put in his password, and handed it to you while sighing deeply. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.

"Wow."

That was really all you could say. Because the second you clicked on her contact the evidence spoke for itself. Dates they had planned, nudes sent, sexts exchanged. It was worse than you ever envisioned it would be.

You nodded your head accepting that this was reality as you prodded your tongue in your mouth before asking:

"What, so you were going to..just keep me around in case that didn't work out?" You folded your arms.

"It's not...it just kind of happened." he answered struggling to explain himself. What can he say? He was caught.

"But you still kept it going?" you threw your hand up and then back into your arm fold.

"I'm sorry." he says his voice starting to croak.

Your face was full of sadness, but you knew what you had to do. That trust was something that could never be replaced. And it's gone now.

"Sorry won't bring me back" you stated sadly.

You called a friend and asked if you could stay the night, telling them about the situation. You pulled your suitcase from the closet and stuffed as many of your clothes and items in there as possible.

You'd have to collect the rest of your stuff eventually. But tonight you just wanted to be away from Peter.

"Have fun with that" you said pointing to his phone as you left the house, pulling your suitcase behind you.

You got in your car and turned the key to the ignition to drive. Your tears finally flowed as you let yourself cry. You blinked rapidly and hot tears came rolling down, its warmth feeling oddly comforting in this cold time.

#dark peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker angst #marvel angst #dark peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman angst #gender neutral reader

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 6 months

Text

Can we take a moment and talk about

Miguel, Hobie, and the Black!Reader

a.k.a Black Men aren't the only one who date black women so why are there only Black!Readers for black characters????

Don't think anyone has said it but I would like to see Miguel with some Black readers/Black OCs.

Like, I wanna see Miguel with a Boujee black woman, a loud one, a meek one, a stallion, a petite one-

I just wanna see Miguel x Black!Readers and Miguel x Black!OCs.

Black people are everywhere, in every fandom.

So black readers should be giving rep everywhere - not just with radical black characters like Hobie

Black women and black people in general IRL have our features demonized or looked down upon. In media, in the beauty industry, the fashion industry, hair industry, you name it. Our skin tones are 'too dark' to match well with makeup, our bodies too curvy or different, or hair too thick and hard to manage.

I think having characters openly express interest in them is radical - whether the character themselves are black or not.

The reason the Black Representation within Hobie romance fics stands out so much because every other character LACKS that.

In almost every other x reader fandom, black people and our features are ignored and erased for 'sweeter' things like blushing or 'running their fingers through your hair'

Like... Why can't there be a fic where Miguel compliments his Black partners hair. Or tries soul food?

You don't have to be a radical leftist like Hobie to find black people attractive.

So there's no reason for black!Reader to be confined to Hobie - or black characters at all.

You can write Dean Winchester with a Black!Reader. Or Sherlock Holmes, or Hobie Brown, or Miguel O'Hara.

Attraction to black people is so often seen as a fetish - that most white people and white characters never openly exhibit admiration or love towards black features and culture. They'd rather push us and our differences aside because acknowledging them and their beauty makes people uncomfortable. But those same characters will always 100% be implied to find white women attractive.

And in the Superhero Movie Sphere it's even worse.

ie. It's VERY VERY rare you will find Tony Stark with a Black woman.

The large majority of the women you see with Tony Stark early in the movies are WHITE. The ones he's taking to at galas and playing roulette in front of and kicking out after one night stands - White and blonde. If he sleeps with them - white and blonde.

And that's fine in the general population - a nonblack man who 'loves women' and loves sex just... not being seen with black women at all.

But if Tony Stark went two movies sleeping with only women that aren't white - uh-oh!! That draws attention!!

It's completely okay and not a fetish to be super attracted to white features in isolation, but if you take interest in non-white features without validating white women in the same breath then you're nasty and a fetishist and a racist.

Another example - Batman.

Zoe Kravitz was the first time we've seen Batman openly go after a black woman since maybe Eartha Kitt in 1967 - OVER 50 years apart

In the Christian Bale movies - he never flirts with black women. This classy, smooth Bruce Wayne isn't seen interacting with them. I mean... Why? Does he not like them? Or are the all the black people in Gotham just too poor to be around him to begin with?

????????? That don't add up. But that's how most characters are.

If a nonblack male character is shown in a relationship with a woman - the chances of that woman being cast as a black woman hits the FLOOR.

Their first choice is almost always white.

And the saddest thing is

Spider-Man is the biggest example of black erasure in romance and the effects it causes.

That's why when Zendaya got cast as MJ - it was a problem.

Because before then, during the 70 semi years of Peter Parker's existence - he was never shown on screen being attracted to black women in any capacity.

Betty, Gwen, Felicia, MJ - all white. In the cartoons, white. In the remake, white. Silk is probably one of - if not the - first POC we see Peter with. And they don't date, they've never been shown on screen, and over the past years Cindy has had a better written relationship with Felicia than she ever had with Peter.

For half a century we were conditioned to believe that Peter Parker dated white women with no representation or deviation.

Back in 2016 when TASM series was coming out, if you were a black reader who wanted to see yourself represented in any way or capacity on screen or in Fandom - good luck.

We're use to seeing these very romantically forward guys never flirting or fucking or dating black women. We're conditioned to accept this as normal.

It takes a genuine toll.

That's why when I was younger, I use to feel so insecure. Wondering if my favorite characters or celebrities would even find me slightly attractive. The idea that my favorite character wouldn't find me attractive because they've never been seen with a Black partner or interest ever not even once in passing hurts.

As a teen I just accepted that these characters 'Don't like black people' and can't find them attractive in that capacity. Because I mean, I have no reason to think they do - when most nonblack characters won't even look at a black female character for longer than 5 seconds.

Growing up I just accepted that these characters and the fandom as a whole did not see anything beautiful about me because of my race.

That's why Black readers should be more widespread.

We should be telling people that non-black men finding black women attractive is NORMAL.

I read SO many fics of black characters and go 'okay but they wrote reader as white.'

I have NEVER read a fic of a non-black character and gone 'okay they wrote the reader as Black'

Y'all.... You can write interracial relationships with characters that aren't black.

Interracial Relationships are not a special magic tool you can use to pair black characters up with non-black readers. Interracial Relationships go both ways.

If you're down for writing Hobie x NonBlack!Reader and writing an interracial relationship there - why are y'all not down for Miguel x Black!Reader?

Why are interracial relationships good when the black man experiences attraction outside his race towards nonblack people - but bad/unlikely when the nonblack man experiences attraction outside his race towards black people?

'Hobie loves everyone' Okay, Miguel would too. But I don't see the 'Hobie Loves' people rushing and pushing for inclusion in the Miguel tag. They don't care if fanwriters show Miguel 'loving everyone'.

They don't go -

'Miguel loves latinas, Miguel loves black women' in Miguel's tag.

Even though nonblack men experience attraction towards black people and black women everyday across the world.

Some are even married to us - can you believe it??

In conclusion - More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel x Black!OC.

Give Miguel AfroLatino Babies!!!!

Give Miguel O'Hara a Nigerian Wife so help me God

Anyway - Big up @hrhmimieucliffe and their AMAZING Black OC Giselle, who has a ~thing~ ;) with Miguel (they are v cute!!)

More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel with Black! OCs. I want a Miguel that likes his women like he likes his milkshakes - tall, sweet, thicc as fuck, and FULL OF CHOCOLATE

And once again, that's on WHAT!!!!

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liz-allyn · 3 months

Text

love on the brain: sugar & vice, vol 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!OC]

summary: You didn’t think it was going to be easy, did you? AKA The night Peter and Honey reunited—Four. Months. Later. [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ]

words: 11.8k (omfg)

NSFW/MINORS DNI - ABANDON ALL CHASTITY, YE WHO ENTER HERE (detailed warnings below)

extended warnings (spoilers): p^rn with plot, detailed smut, really just... filthy and deranged. slightly dubcon parts (although consent is clearly confirmed), no Y/N...ever, arguing, anger, jealousy, physical violence (slapping, scratching, throwing objects), almost hate sex, fem!reader with a vagina and breasts and wears a dress, oral (f! receiving), P in V, rough!dom Peter, sub!reader, possessive!peter, mirrors, titty!worship, shame and slight degradation, use of emojis, f! being restrained, discussion of masturbation, slight breeding kink, non-consensual voyeurism, moderate BDSM kink, “punishment” play (spanking, edging) bratty reader, peter parker being a dunce around women, mob!au, furniture harmed in the making of this

names used: daddy, princess, baby, babygirl

A/N: This is a one-shot standalone story that takes place immediately after the Epilogue of Vol 1. And serves as the official beginning of Vol. 2. If you haven’t read Vol.1, you really should. The main OC is AFAB and goes by the name “Honey.” You’ll need to read Vol. 1 to know why. I try to be loose with my descriptions for people who prefer a Reader-Insert. But I’m not perfect. In this canon, Honey has a Latina heritage (as do I). Take that as you will. Thanks to @moonyslove78 and @blooming-violets for cheering me on through this very long hiatus.

This is 18+ AF. And if you think the term ‘AF’ shows how old and out of touch you are, then you’re probably not old enough to read this.

This version of TASM Peter Parker is not canon. The relationships here are not healthy and the characters need therapy. Don’t date a mob boss IRL.

#1 - Love on the Brain

>>> heya boss. how’s your trip? 😜

Peter arched a brow as he peeked down at the text message.

>>> ⋯ >>> your trip to pound town? 🍆🍑

He rolled his eyes, swallowing back an irritated snort.

Real mature, Felicia.

He almost tapped out a haughty reply but stopped. Corners of his mouth turned down, he found himself unable to respond.

“So many choices. I just don’t know what I want.”

An understatement.

The girl of his dreams sat across from him in the quaint East Harlem Cuban restaurant. They were crammed together at a bistro table near the kitchen. The enormous menu took up the entire surface, and she had spent the last 25 minutes reading the items aloud.

It was nearly 11 p.m., and they had yet to pick an appetizer.

The woman he’d called ‘his Honey’ sweetly sighed with a shrug. “Now that we’re here, I just can’t make up my mind.”

Her voice had a singsong tune to it, purposefully careless. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that Peter was starving.

“Maybe I’m just not feeling Cuban food tonight,” she shrugged, nonchalant.

Peter swallowed hard. Tried to rid his expression of any hint of impatience or irritation.

“Oh,” he remarked delicately, thinking of all the different dinner reservations he’d made for tonight. It didn’t matter what magazine talked it up, didn’t matter how many “tire awards” it had won.

Honey was unimpressed.

“M’surprised,” he said, as emotionlessly as possible. “Thought you had your heart set on this place.”

The place was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints that had less than 10 tables, which made takeout the most popular choice.

On this night however—a Tuesday— the restaurant was nearly empty, except for the overdressed couple and the loathsome kitchen staff, who didn’t expect to be subject to “este cabrón” and his picky girlfriend strolling in 30 minutes before closing.

While Peter could feel the heat of their ire over the oven, Honey avoided it. She explained to the manager that Peter was “un ricacho que tiene demasiado dinero.” And with that, they were seated.

When Peter approached her earlier that afternoon in the park, he’d expected a much worse welcome. He nearly died of a panic attack when he spotted her on the park bench. It had been four long months since he’d attempted to communicate with her, and he half-expected her to throw her iced coffee in his face.

Actually, he had no idea what to expect from her. Terrifyingly.

Peter had lamented to Felicia— “There’s no card that says, ‘Sorry, I ghosted you for a few months while attempting to shake the heat off my back.’ Which flowers say, ‘I apologize that the last conversation we had, I called you a whore in front of a room full of cops’?”

The true challenge came when Peter actually looked into her eyes. He didn’t expect that one look would render him useless.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Ethereal. Glowing. The human equivalent of a bouquet of sunflowers, with happy round cheeks and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the color of rainbows, and summer, and sunshine. She was the cherries of her red lip stain and the golden rays of her yellow linen sundress.

God, that dress.

Peter planned for everything—but not that dress.

His carefully rehearsed speech went out the window when he saw her in that dress: a cotton ruched-waist, tea-length gown in a yellow gingham pattern. It featured a sweetheart neckline that cradled her breasts perfectly between the halter tie-back straps.

He had no idea where that dress came from, but it was the most perfect piece of fabric ever to grace a woman’s body. He would buy her twelve more of them, no matter the cost. He’d buy every last one.

He’d give her the sun, the ocean, Hawai’i, and all the stars in the sky— if only she’d forgive him. He was ready to throw himself on a bed of hot coals as long as it meant that she would take him back. If she would come back home.

Truthfully, he needed her to come home.

Not to get ahead of himself, he started by taking her to dinner.

That was Felicia’s advice—women love dinner. solves everything. the fancier, the better, with lots of red meat—u know how they say food is the way to a man’s heart? dinner is the way to the ovaries. works every time.

Actually, Felicia gave Peter lots of advice. For once, he was more than grateful to accept it.

>>> make her feel like you can’t take your eyes off her. but don’t stare. like a creeper >>> be a gentleman, but not a pushover. you wanna be the good guy. soft YA novel boyfriend type

Followed quickly by—

>>> but not too soft! don’t be a little bitch. if she plays hard to get, you play offense. >>> and defense.

Peter had no idea what she was talking about. But he knew when it was wise to trust the advice of more intelligent creatures than men.

Five restaurants later...

“I thought going to dinner was your idea?” Honey asked with pursed lips.

“It was; it was my idea,” he nervously replied. “Six hours ago—it was my idea.”

She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Hmm. Six hours. Long time to wait.” Her eyes fell down to the menu again. Her lack-of-sympathy said everything.

Peter’s pocket buzzed again, and he glanced down at the incoming text message from Felicia.

>>> ...????

He rolled his eyes. Tapped out a response.

<<< Not great.

“Am I interrupting something?” Honey asked with a clipped tone.

Peter jumped, pocketing his phone immediately. “No, just... just something... silly,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we get a few plates in, yeah? I’m gonna just order some stuff—”

“Like what?” she questioned skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, his stomach twisting. “One of everything.”

“That’s wasteful,” Honey said, judgment sharpening her gaze. “Food waste is bad enough as it is in this city.”

“Well, at this point,” he snapped with an exasperated sigh, “I might be able to eat two of everything.” The words floated away from him, and he bit the inside of his cheek, wishing they would come back. Hesitantly, he made eye contact with Honey.

She peered at him disgustedly from over the top of her menu. She scoffed, crossing one leg over the other, and dropped the leather-bound book closed.

“Don’t let me slow you down,” Honey said icily. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. His pocket buzzed again.

>>> the fuck? what do you mean? >>> she was in love with you b4... how hard can it be to take her on a date? >>> christ. did you fuck this up, parker?

He shoved the phone back in his jacket, nearly punching through the silk fabric.

“If I’m wasting your time, tell me,” Honey sharply retorted. She crossed her arms even tighter across her chest. He had to force himself to look away from the way it plumped her breasts together. “I’d hate to keep you from something important.”

Felicia was right. He was fucking this up. Before he could open his mouth—

“Excuse me, señorita,” a masculine, smoky voice crooned at them.

Peter and Honey glanced up to see a chiseled man in his 30s approach the table with a hurricane glass of ice. He was a specimen of Latin American art—a bronzed statue, with carved muscles that bulged out of his floral shirt. Deep brown eyes—no, hazel eyes— fixed on Honey as he reached across the table with rolled-back sleeves. The corded muscles in his arm, toned by long hours of hard labor, flexed gracefully as he gently set a cocktail in front of her.

A frosted, colorless liquid speckled with crushed mint leaves filled the glass. Honey blinked with delighted surprise.

“Our compliments,” the young, disgustingly attractive waiter explained with a sultry smile and a thick accent. “In case you found yourself thirsty while browsing the menu.”

A blush colored her skin as she glanced up at their handsome waiter. The sparkle in her smile was as blinding as ever, and she graciously looked back between the glass and the server. The waiter— no way in hell this fuckin’ guy is a waiter— beamed back at her, enamored.

“Oh, wow!” she gasped, reaching for the glass with dainty fingers. “Is this a mojito? That’s my favorite! How did you know?”

The waiter graciously chuckled. “Lucky guess. You look like a woman of refined taste.”

Peter felt his blood pressure rising.

Honey didn’t even look at her date, as if he was suddenly invisible. “Thank you,” she grinned, self-satisfied. “I mean, I do know my way around a Bacardi bottle.” The waiter chuckled, maybe too hard, at her silly joke.

“We want you to enjoy your evening with us,” the waiter added politely, sparing Peter a glance but keeping all his attention on Honey. “We are honored to have you as our guest.”

The waiter spoke gentlemanly as he splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Please, take as much time as you need. No need to feel rushed. It is my pleasure to serve you.”

Peter could feel a twitch behind his eye. Could have been the fire shooting out of his eyes. Fuck this prick, probably another Broadway reject or somethin’, couldn’t buy himself a decent shirt—His mind churned along with his anger.

Oblivious, Honey beamed up at him with a golden smile. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she replied, endearingly sweet. “You are too kind, um... I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Pedro.”

Honey’s brows shot to her hairline. “Pedro?” she repeated, absolutely delighted. She glanced over at Peter. “Isn’t that something?”

The mob boss’ lip curled mirthlessly. “Oh, it’s somethin,’ alright.”

Peter continued to burn his stare—fuck his stupid accent— into the side of the aloof waiter’s head. He wondered if Pedro’s handsome, chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut through a noose.

Buzz..

>>> you’re keepin’ your cool, right? >>> remember what i said. >>> anything she wants. no questions asked! >>> don’t get all crazy possessive either

The joyful sound of her laughter ripped his attention away from his phone and back towards his charmed date.

“Pedro,” she sweetly preened. “Can you give us a recommendation?” She briefly flashed her eyes at Peter before looking back at her new friend. “My date’s clearly distracted. He has no idea what I like.”

Oh? Peter raised a brow at that. And lost his appetite.

Peter followed Honey down the hallway to his hotel suite while storm clouds swirled in his gut. Lighting crackled with each footfall. Tension clogged the atmosphere, and they shuffled in a silent fog to the door.

Despite Felicia’s advice about controlling his inner beasts, Peter’s hackles were raised, and his stomach growled. Now, he was hungry for more than just food. And simultaneously, he’d never felt so powerless.

Peter noted how tightly she wrapped her arms around herself. Her face suggested she was deep in thought. He wondered if she was just as tightly wound as he was. Wondered if she could break his heart with just a look.

He was flailing. Pathetic.

Peter’s fist clenched his keycard tight. He had to be careful not to snap the card in half between his fingers. Was it from excitement or terror? Desire or rage?

He had to focus, to make this work. He had nothing if he didn’t have her.

Rigidly, Peter pushed the door open and stood to the side of the frame to let her enter.

She paused briefly, lips tight, as she gazed into the rotunda entryway of the lavish suite. They hadn’t spoken in the car, and he hadn’t had the chance to explain the location.

Letting out a steady breath, she strode through the threshold and stopped. Her body blocked the doorway. She turned to look up at Peter, defiant eyes flashing.

“This is as far as you go.”

Peter blinked, looking at her in confusion.

Her tone was curt. Icy. He recognized that sound. It was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to draw blood, and it never failed to inflict pain. Her voice. Her eyes. Even her tongue was razor-sharp.

Peter curled a brow upwards. “Sorry?”

Honey narrowed her eyes. “Not yet, you’re not.”

He took a step back, blinking owlishly.

“What did you think was going to happen tonight, Peter?” The ire of Honey’s question sliced through him. “Did you think you were gonna shave your face, take me to a fancy dinner, and then I’d just... open my legs for you?”

A literal ellipsis formed in his mind.

Peter swallowed hard. “Uhhh—?”

“‘I’ll wait for forever, Honey,’ she parroted his earlier admission mockingly. “Is that all you have to say to me? You left me! For four months!”

Peter nodded his head, not sure exactly why or when he began. “I know, I know...”

“You know!?”

The walls of etiquette and politeness between them began to crack.

“How many times I gotta tell ya? I was tryin’ to protect ya, Honey—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It stung like a snake bite. Rage filled her eyes, disdain bubbling out of her mouth. She had only just begun.

“You buy me all this expensive bullshit!” she scolded. “And you dress up in your ridiculous designer suits and parade me to all these fucking pretentious places! Like I’m some kind of accessory! Like you own the whole fucking city and everyone in it!”

He replied with a string of noises. Or, at least, he thought so.

“Big bad mob boss—all that power—and yet, you couldn’t just talk to me? You had me wait around for you like a stray dog! You can just come and go as you please, but you—you expect me to follow you around on a leash?”

“Honey, please. Let me explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Peter!” her voice echoed through the rotunda and down the hall of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear a single one of your lame excuses! I don’t want a fancy dinner, or a new Porsche, or a mansion, or whatever else makes your dick hard!”

Peter blinked rapidly, stunned. His body responded as if she had just kicked him in the place she referenced, “Jus’lemme—”

“And I sure as hell don’t want another apology!” she asserted definitively. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

Peter’s jaw hung open, tongue dead in his mouth. The woman who barely stood at his collarbone stared down at him, making him feel inches tall.

“Now, I’m going to bed. Exactly as I have been for the last four months.” Her voice thundered, “Alone!”

With that, the door slammed in his face, rattling inches from his nose. The echo reverberated through the empty hallway and inside his chest, emphasizing the deep crack that formed.

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The shock subsided slowly, and his heart sank. The ache soon sizzled into a burn, boiling his blood. At the same time, the sting of her rejection was raw. Unbearable.

Unbelievable.

Absolutely unacceptable.

He should break down the fucking door. Throw her over his shoulder and tie her up. Gag her—Anything to get her to listen.

Haplessly, Peter’s eyes fell on his expensive shoes—his Valentinos. Or maybe these were the Tom Ford’s? He had no clue. Just more bullshit.

Fuck—He was going to cry. Maybe he should let himself just do it. Lean into it. Drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Shoulders slumped, he squeezed his eyes closed.

He was a little bitch.

Peter pictured a door closing on a rocket or an airplane. Whatever it was, it was leaving him behind. He was falling back to Earth, having placed too much faith in miracles. This was his punishment for flying that close to the sun—

The door swung open.

Two hands grabbed Peter’s jacket, pulling him forward off his heels. It was a surprisingly fluid motion; his heartbreak had reduced the mass of his bones to nothing.

Honey’s nails practically pierced his lapels. She yanked him through the doorway into the suite, slamming the door behind him, and slamming him into the door right after.

Before Peter could open his mouth to speak, she was on him like a viper.

A sharp, biting kiss swallowed him whole, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. The heat was as intense as he had remembered. This time, they didn’t melt into one another. Honey was like a wildfire, her touch scalding him.

His skin flushed from the sudden unbearable heat. Before he could react, her lithe fingers started tugging the edges of his jacket. Clumsily, she tried pushing it back over his broad shoulders. As soon as he knew of her intent, he eagerly obliged, shrugging the garment off and to the floor.

Her hands went to his throat, ebony-painted nails leaving trails on his skin. Buttons popped as she yanked on his clothes. Her goal could have been to draw blood with her kiss.

Every time her teeth tore at his lips, he responded with a groan into her mouth.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his fingers—reaching up to grip her by the hair. Finally, he wrenched her head back, detaching her bite from his face.

Immediately, he was met with an open-palmed slap on the cheek.

Sharp gasps cut through them, and they jumped backward a few feet. Tension and shock reverberated in the chasm they created. Like the barometric pressure plunging before a storm, an eerie calm settled over them.

Honey blinked at him, jaw agape and her palm throbbing.

Peter glared at her in silence. He looked a mess—hair unkempt, the top buttons of his shirt torn open to reveal jagged crimson scratch marks across his milky skin.

His heartbeat steadily increased as he gently dabbed his fingertips at the ache in his jaw. The exquisite lines of his face were stained pastel pink, flushed by arousal or anger. His eyes were black as night, so it could have been either one.

She looked just as wrecked. Dress askew, her hairstyle half-unraveled. Goosebumps dotted her skin. She looked shocked at the violence she was capable of, surprised and possibly guilty at her own strength. As the seconds passed, the feelings faded.

Peter watched her, pupils dilating, blood pressure rising. The shadow of a smile curved his mouth. His features darkened into something primal. Something familiar.

There’s my girl.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, studying her threatening look until his own expression began to match.

Physically, his senses were haywire. Danger, excitement, and a sick sort of pleasure rattled his bones and labored his breathing. The hairs on his skin stood on end. Alarms blared in his head. The sound of his own blood was almost deafening to him, thumping like a kick drum.

Peter could hear her heart, too. Fast. Like a rabbit. He was a wolf in pursuit.

Maybe the pain of her slap triggered him, a preemptive action against further attack.

She got one in, Peter mused mockingly. He knew she was no match. Not as Peter’s night vision sharpened. Not while he could taste the salt from her perspiration on his tongue. Most intoxicating of all, Peter could smell her desire. Like a rose bursting open.

In another blink, they switched positions. Peter snatched her by her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall, pinning her there. She went feral—hissing and raging at her entrapment.

Not a rabbit. A honey badger, then.

“Get off of me!” Honey spat.

“Shut up,” he ordered. Quiet and fierce.

Fingers gripping her forearms tight, he attacked her lips, teeth colliding. The ferocity stunned her. For a moment, it seemed like she finally submitted to him before she wriggled her mouth free.

“Mmffucker—Let me go!”

His body might as well have been a brick wall. His face was stonelike, eyes just as cold.

“No.”

Honey’s brow scrunched up like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “I’ll scream!” she countered.

Peter smirked, the hickory in his eyes igniting. “Baby. You have no idea.”

Peter’s guarantee sent a shiver down Honey’s spine. He saw the gears turning in her mind as she carefully considered pushing him further.

He hoped she would.

His fingers tightened around her forearms. He crucified her under his gaze. And yet, despite the danger anyone else would have felt... A glimmer of curiosity flickered in her eyes.

It set his mind reeling. A tiny sign of weakness to temptation made Peter’s stomach trapeze. He zeroed in on it, licking his chops.

Not to make it easy, Honey brought her knee up, attempting to make contact with his groin. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, and she paid it no mind.

Brave girl.

Peter admired her tenacity. She had balls. Smart, too, he pleasantly recognized. Honey went for the weak spot first. Good call.

Pointless, though.

Nothing below Peter’s belt was weak when she was around.

Unfairly, Peter picked up on her attack before her leg was even bent. He snatched her above the knee, lifting her toes off the ground and prying her thighs open.

He pictured the bruises on her skin that his fingertips would leave behind. Just the thought made him rock hard.

A year ago, Peter would have been ashamed. He would have shied away from her, for fear of repulsing her, and took out his frustration by himself in the shower.

Grinding his teeth at those memories, he pressed Honey’s hips into his waist, forcing her legs around him, and—Fuck—her heat.

Peter’s brain nearly short-circuited. She was like a bonfire against his belly. His cock pushed against his trousers, straining for her warmth. He secured her hips to his with a tight grip, which only pissed her off more. She thrashed, enraged.

She really needed to stop doing that. It only made the burn worse.

A few months ago, Peter would have been ashamed of the rush he felt from manhandling her. Ashamed of how his cock ached and twitched at her fruitless tantrums.

“Fucking asshole!” Honey sneered.

“Yeah?” he said with a bitter laugh. “You're a spoiled little brat!”

“Fuck you!”

“See what I mean?” Peter scoffed, holding her tighter. He breathed hotly into the shell of her ear. “Not even a ‘please.’”

His pride was short-lived. Inexplicably, Honey arched her neck and buried her teeth into his shoulder. He roared—“Fuck! What the fuck!!??” —surprised she didn’t bite through the silk of his collared shirt.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only beast in the room.

They tumbled down ungracefully. Peter landed hard on his back, with Honey crashing on top of him. She collapsed on his lungs, knocking the wind from his chest. Sputtering, he reached out to grab her, his fingertips barely missing the hem of her dress. The small woman scrambled to her hands and knees, then to her feet.

Honey dashed into the suite while Peter’s voice echoed—“Goddamnitareyacrazy!?”—after her.

Padding on her toes, she ran into a darkened living room with vaulted ceilings that might have been large enough to fit her entire apartment. Outside glass walls, the Midtown skyline surrounded her. The Metlife and Empire State Buildings glittered proudly in a breathtaking view.

The room was situated in the corner of the building. Velvet curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing an unobstructed view of the city. The Dark Academia-Meets-Glam aesthetic seating area featured a sleek, modern leather sectional and mod velvet chaise lounge chat set.

Without time to admire any of it, she scrambled to the first piece of furniture she could reach. She grabbed the first thing her fingers could find—a designer fruit bowl centerpiece made of polished stainless steel and brass pomegranates.

It was exquisite and expensive.

Honey spun on her heel and flung the heavy metal at Peter.

He dipped deftly, his spine bowing back, narrowly missing the bowl as it whipped past him. The object barreled through a crystal chandelier, glass shattering like raindrops as they came down.

“Hey—!” he scowled, facing her with an indignant glare.

A moment later, he quickly shielded his face from another flying object: an asymmetrical crystal-and-Riverstone candelabra that crumbled against his forearm. It might as well have been a brick, with ceramic shards tumbling off of his shoulder.

Peter bristled in aggravation, brushing the pieces off. Now, she was really pissing him off.

He glanced up just in time to see a glass vase containing two dozen roses—meant to be her gift—hurtling towards his head. Reflexively, he snatched it from the air with one hand, water and all. He palmed the crystal vase like catching a baseball. Didn’t spill a drop.

His quick reflexes stunned the both of them. Peter’s jaw went slack—partially at his ability to save the flowers, but mostly with indignation that Honey had somehow destroyed $1,000 worth of the hotel’s tchotchkes in a few seconds.

“Enough!” Peter barked, carefully setting the vase down. Ignoring him, the woman darted toward another side table, already reaching for another expensive object to throw at him.

Suddenly, Honey’s ankle was caught in a sticky grip. Both legs pulled out from beneath her. She flattened immediately with an ooof—her belly dropping to the wool carpet.

Dazed, she glanced back at her legs with a crease in her brow. With a jolt, she was pulled along by a stringy, spongy substance on her ankle. It felt the way canned compressed air feels when shooting skin at close range.

Her nails dug into the carpet fibers as she was dragged back. “Agghhh! What the—Getitoff!”

As soon as the pulling stopped, Honey was on her back again, gazing up at the sharp lines of Peter’s cold gaze. He towered over her, even on his knees, as he mounted her hips. Protesting, she pelted him tirelessly with her fists.

The smell of sweat loomed in the air as he finally restrained her. He caged her in, pinning her wrists to the floor. Nerves buzzing and tempers flaring, she continued to writhe and wrestle with him to no avail. Peter quickly overpowered the more petite woman, fomenting her anger.

“You’re hurting me!” she sneered breathlessly, teeth gritted.

Peter was unimpressed. “Liar.”

“M’not lying—!”

He glared back, barely breaking a sweat. “You’re so full of shit—!”

“Fuck you! What do you know—?”

“I know you, Honey!” he charged, silencing her.

She went still, subdued beneath his dark gaze. Peter loomed over her like a stormcloud. “I know the games you like to play,” he said—both teasing and sinister, toying with his prey. He lowered his lips until they breathed the same air.

Honey’s focus was split between Peter’s intense stare and glistening, kiss-ravaged mouth. She tried not to notice the sensation of her nipples brushing against the fabric with each labored breath. He could easily reach down and touch her. Tried not to focus on how solid his chest felt against hers, like carved marble. Tried not to focus on the dark chocolate of his eyes melting in the heat of their gaze.

Just as intensely, Peter watched her watch him—zeroing in on the idle way her tongue darted to wet her lips. The tiny action shot electricity down his spine, straight to his groin.

Honey felt that, too. A tiny gasp escaped her, her lashes fluttering. The fight suddenly left her arms as she noticed the heavy bulge against her hip.

He was hot. Not just figuratively. Feverishly hot. He was so hard, too—and just for her. The lewd image of him splitting her open on his cock made her insides clench.

Peter eyed her dangerously, his voice a dark abyss. “Think you can hide it from me, eh?” The teasing smile on his lips bordered on a snarl. “Gonna sit here an’tell me... that if I were to reach down between your legs right now...” Her heart hammered in her chest, hanging on every word. In her mind, she was begging him to follow through with the threat. “...Those panties won’t be soaked?”

Honey failed to swallow back a little mewl as he leaned down closer.

“Ya think I can’t feel ya, huh?” he mumbled, lips ghosting the curve of her throat. “Think I can’t smell how wet you are right now?” Another wanton exhale left her belly as she leaned into the heat of his breath on her skin. “Y’know I can already taste you on my tongue, babygirl.”

Honey’s mouth and legs seemed to part further at his vulgar words. She shivered at the sensation of his slick tongue traversing her pulse point.

“You’re... an asshole...” she murmured breathlessly. She sounded half-asleep.

Peter hissed, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren't’cha?”

The sudden ferocity made her eyes unintentionally roll back. A second later, Peter’s fingers collared her, choking off the small mewl in her throat. He turned her by the chin, wrenching her attention to him.

“Hey—Eyes on me,” he commanded.

Mesmerized, Honey blinked up at him like a fawn.

“How ‘bout that little stunt you pulled with the waiter?” he prodded. There was an icy edge on the last word. Her throat bobbed while she kept her face neutral. The bright amber of his glare penetrated her. Peter continued accusatorily, “Those flirty little giggles while he gave ya fuck-me eyes? Y’think I didn’t see that?”

Honey sniffed, stiffening her upper lip. This was a power move; she knew better than to back down. “Look who's jealous,” she scoffed.

With a jolt, she again attempted to wrench her wrists free. He simply held on tighter, closing his talons as she twisted like a snake.

“Jealous?” Peter repeated calmly, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Me? Nah.” His hands suddenly seized her hips as he forcibly jerked her up off the floor. A slew of profanities spilled from her mouth, bucking against him as he carried her.

In a few strides, he was at the edge of a dining table. With little regard for his barbarity, he plopped Honey on the surface, shoving her flat on her back. Peter arched over her as if to dominate her, spine bowing until he filled her periphery with his fierce gaze.

Honey’s eyes sparkled, cheeks colored from the rush. “Threatened, then!”

Peter’s face softened inexplicably. Blinked at her for a moment, head tilting. Then, he landed an open-palmed smack against her ass.

It was a surprisingly heavy blow, as close as he’d ever come to intentionally inflicting pain on her. Honey yelped, hissing from the sting on her upper thigh. Right after the strike, Peter’s fingers began kneading her flesh, soothing the welt that was bound to form.

“See, if I were a jealous man,” he noted with an evil sneer, “I woulda gouged his eyes out with a salad fork.”

Peter swallowed up her gasp with a forceful kiss. A few moments later, he broke away.

“If I felt threatened?” he added breathlessly, “I woulda bent you over the table and fucked you dumb. Let everyone in the Five Boroughs hear you beg for my cock.”

Once the filth rolled off his tongue, Peter went back to using it to lash against hers. Honey was overwhelmed by the soft, wet muscle invading her mouth. Not only that, the violent edge to his words felt like standing in a river and grabbing a livewire. A shiver racked through her body, a current of pent-up anger and desire sending blood rushing to her core.

As if on cue, Peter’s fingertips made contact with the lace fabric between her thighs. She tremored at his touch, heart skipping. He toyed with the soft, stretchy material. Snapped it lazily against her flesh.

His voice was hypnotizing. “I woulda shoved these dirty panties down his throat just to never hear his stupid fuckin’ accent again.”

Honey felt drunk off of the vitriol he poured into her ear. It was violent and possessive... and it shouldn’t have made her so horny, and yet—

Honey trembled with anticipation, panting like a bitch in heat. “I-I... can’t... ugh, fu—”

The pads of his fingers ran firmly along her seam. She let out an embarrassing whine. Peter's prediction was spot-on. A shameful amount of wetness coated the inside of her thighs. He played with the soaked fabric and smeared her mess across her skin with a smug smirk.

“Think I don’t know what you like?” he muttered darkly, echoing her earlier jab.

RIP!

The lace bunched at her waist. Honey’s wet skin felt particularly chilled being exposed to the air. She quivered with anticipation. Her head was spinning, pussy throbbing. She felt worshiped and simultaneously defiled.

Peter pressed his forehead into hers, skin-to-skin. She stared into the black of his eyes in suspended silence, like the pornographic thoughts in his head were being projected into her mind.

Her own pupils were blown black. “Fuckin’ hate you so much—”

“I don’t care.”

“—re’such an asshole—”

“I don’t care,” he repeated more firmly. Then, “You belong with me.”

“You left me!” she fired back.

The sharpness of her tone sobered him a little. He blinked and sighed. “I couldn’t leave you. I didn’t leave you.”

She attempted to sit up, trying to lift her shoulders unsuccessfully. She writhed with spite, “Fuckin’ selfish prick, I outta cut off—”

“What was my drink order?”

He blurted the last sentence out with a mind-blowing level of calm. At once, their bodies went still. Still pinned to the table with a hummingbird beneath her breast, Honey stared up at him in confusion.

Her brows pinched together. “Huh—?”

“My drink order,” Peter repeated, his expression void of the aggression he had the previous moment.

It was like a mask had fallen away, and the man on top of her transformed into a different person. Maliciousness evaporated, replaced by eagerness. Desperation.

Peter stared at her, intently searching her gaze. “At the shop,” he whispered, eyes soft. “What you used to make for me every time I came t’see you..?” The words fell away as he stared at her expectantly.

She arched a brow.

It had been black coffee, bitter and dark. Just like Peter’s entire world. How it had always been. Until—

“You said I should try something new,” he added, with urgency like reminding her of a forgotten dream. “So you made something for me—something... special.”

Peter’s heart swelled through his eyes at the last word. Honey stared up at him, perplexed. He was looking for the answer on the tip of her tongue:

Honey and Lavender.

Confusion ceded to aggravation. A line formed between Honey’s brows.

“You remember, right?” he asked, hopeful.

She did. He knew she did. He could see it at the corners of her eyes, pooling behind her eyelids. Sobering memories flooded her, cooling the heat between them. A different sort of ache settled in.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He took a breath, relieved but still anxious. “Say those words,” he said, “if you really want me to stop.”

Her damp lashes fluttered as Honey blinked up at him in surprise. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he swallowed dryly. His stomach lurched at the thought of being sent away like this.

Still, it was a risk he had to take.

“I can let go, walk away,” he offered tenderly. “Right now. No questions asked.” Each word felt like sticking needles through his tongue. He gave her an out, needing confirmation that her reciprocated lust wasn’t imagined.

“Say the words,” Peter whispered in lament, “and I’ll leave you alone.”

That word settled like a boulder crushing his chest.

Despite Peter’s heart telling him her rejection would be unbearable, the thought of truly harming her was more so.

Honey studied him with thoughtful eyes, contemplative and curious. He had won. He subdued her. Restrained her. She remembered when he threw a piano like a toddler throwing a toy truck.

She could do little to stop him if he wanted to force her. And yet—

There he is.

This was the man she remembered. The one that was ready to die for her. To die by her hand, if that’s what she wanted.

“Two words,” Peter sighed, his nose brushing against hers. It was a sweetly affectionate gesture. “Say the words, and this can end right n—”

Honey captured his lips, stealing his breath like it was her only source of oxygen. Static filled Peter’s ears, his body tensing and relaxing simultaneously. He was soaring and plummeting. Rising and falling.

Her tongue slipped past his lips, dragging along the pad of his mouth. Soon enough, the sweetness melted off in their flames.

Honey pulled her mouth away, barely able to get out her plea. “Touch me, Peter. Make me feel it.”

And she dove right back in. This time, Peter plunged with her, deep beneath the waves of lust. He sank into her current, dragging her with the tide of desire.

Peter’s hands were frantic travelers. Flitting from her wrists to her shoulders. To gently cup her face. To smooth over the mounds of her breasts. To dig his fingers into the linen fabric of the sweetheart neckline.

“Love this dress,” he idly mumbled between kisses, abusing the neckline. “Mmm—where’d ya say ya got it?”

“Oh…uhm—?”

The question caught her off guard. She blushed, brain foggy with lust. Her instinct was to say something like ‘thank you,’ but her tongue fumbled the words. “Uh... it was, I think, Old Navy—?”

A ripping sound shocked her. She squeaked as a flurry of cotton fibers burst from the top of the dress.

Peter yanked the linen bodice apart like tissue paper, his tongue chasing away any protest from her lips. Gooseflesh broke out as her skin was exposed to the air. Driven by lust, he shoved the ruined material down to her waist.

“Fuck, Peter...” she gasped, scandalized.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not sorry.

It was his turn to be greedy. Peter dug his hands beneath the cups of her bra, toying with the peaks of her breasts.

With a snap, the bra was torn in half. The strength in Peter’s long fingers stunned her. Puzzling her as much as it turned her on.

He laved at her left breast with his tongue, drawing an obscene moan from her. His hand pinched sadistically at her right nipple. The delectable sting traveled from her chest to her cunt. She arched—”ughhh, god”—her spine bowing beautifully.

He held the cleft of her left breast delicately in his hand while lapping at the ridges of her peaked flesh. Warm tongue caressed the tip, drawing shapes and discovering pathways to her pleasure. Every little flick inspired something new. She cooed and twitched beneath him. He was desperate to memorize her taste.

Languidly, he massaged each of her tits inside his mouth, his cock aching as he imagined licking her pussy with the same fervor. It was almost unbearable. A strangled moan vibrated through his chest at the picture in his mind.

Her reaction to the sound came out as an agonized mewl.

Oh.

He needed more of that sound.

Peter felt her push on his shoulders. Trying to wriggle away from his mouth.

This time, he had no tolerance for misbehavior. He grabbed both wrists and forced them above her head. Honey yanked back, stunned at being glued down to the table surface by his palms.

The peach of his pouty lips curved upward as his eyes took a turn ravishing her. She was a sight of wicked debauchery. Her hair was a mess, and her nearly-naked body lay across the table like a feast. Her thighs locked around his hips.

He used one hand to rub circles into the delicate skin of her restrained forearms. The other hand mischievously dipped lower and lower, sliding through her wet heat. Calloused, dexterous fingers spread her lips open, playing in her slick and prodding her tight hole.

Honey was finished. Ruined. Past the point of no return. Unconditionally surrendered. Helpless and eager to subjugate herself to her conqueror. Filthy sounds filled the room, punctuated by weak cries from his new loyal subject.

“So pretty,” he sighed breathlessly as he coated his fingers in her cream. “All this for me, princess?” He cooed at her, edging on cruel.

A broken gasp fell from her lips, her chest pulsing involuntarily.

“Aww, what’s the matter? Does this little pretty pussy ache, baby?”

A vortex formed deep in her belly, dragging her in. He licked his dry lips, salivating at the image.

“I know it hurts, baby, I know. I know,” he teased. “It’s been hard playin’ all by yourself, huh?” The sunniness of his voice was eclipsed. “All alone. Screamin’ out my name into your pillow. Fingers buried deep in your wet cunt.”

Honey’s eyes snapped open. Before she could respond, the breadth of his middle fingertip penetrated her. She gasped as his finger speared her open. All the while, he wore a devil’s smile.

“Ain’t that right? Only for me.” Entranced, he watched her every twitch and shudder. “This pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

It was a question feigning the need for her confirmation. She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe.

No, that can’t be right—had he been watching her masturbate in her apartment? Was he watching her the entire time he was gone?

The possibility enraged her. Ten orgasms from the King of New York’s Underworld couldn’t even quell that fire.

Peter smiled wickedly, playing with her pussy. Taking his time toying with her flesh. He was a tyrant-king, dominating her pleasure. With a calloused hand, he held onto her cunt like it belonged there.

But she was his wild colt. Difficult to break.

“Oh-n—ohh god,” she gasped. Unbeknownst to him, an evil plot bloomed in her brain. Her lips curled into a smile.

“Fuck—gah—ohhhhh…”

He licked up each broken syllable.

“Yes! Oh, god, yes! Oh—”

Sweat beaded on her chest, sin oozing through her pores.

“...Pedro.”

Halt.

Brakes squealing. Full stop. Not only in the physical world between them but also in Peter’s living fantasy.

Mischievously, Honey’s grin widened.

She got him, alright.

Flawless victory.

Dark eyes flashing, Peter withdrew his fingers from her. “Fuckin’ brat…”

In one fluid motion, Peter flipped her over to her belly, stunning her. He followed with another forceful slap to her ass cheek. This one was more punishing than the last, drawing a puppy-like yelp. His voice was ice. Eyes black.

Now, she was in trouble.

“Think that’s funny?” he said through gritted teeth.

Peter manipulated her limbs like a rag doll. He maneuvered her forward until her cheekbone pressed against the table. She panicked for a moment at being in such a compromising position.

The chill of the air across her wet pussy made her shiver. At the same time, she clenched at his roughness.

Peter kneaded her sides, pressing fingerprint bruises on her waist. He yanked her hips towards him until her knees were on the table’s edge. Honey’s face burned, stricken with modesty and flustered by how he hoisted her ass in the air.

Her hips were propped up like a rack of lamb, and he licked his lips at the sight. It was too vulnerable, being bared to him like this. Obscene, on display, inches from his face.

For a half second, she considered using the safe words.

She squirmed uncomfortably while her mess dripped down the inside of her thighs. Peter denied any attempt to escape, eventually gathering her limbs and pulling her hands behind her back.

Short puffs of breath fogged the glass surface of the table. Her heart pounded beneath her. Honey had only witnessed this side of him a few times—and never directed toward her.

She was in trouble. But was she in danger?

The buckle of his belt clinked as it came free. Honey quivered at the sound, pussy aching in anticipation.

And if she was in danger, why did that make her wet?

“Pete—” Honey muttered, a scream bubbling at the back of her throat. Leather nipped at her forearms as he used his belt to tie her hands behind her back.

“Ple-please—“

He fisted her hair, rearing her head back. Her neck arched beautifully, her chin dangling above the table surface.

“Listen to me, princess,” Peter snarled, hot in her ear. Spite peppered his tone. “If you ever call out another man’s name when I’m inside ya again— I’ll make ya wear nothin’ but my cum for the next week.”

The savage tone contrasted with the glow of his eyes.

It was always opposites with him.

This was the same man who coddled and worshiped her. The same one who kidnapped her, drugged her, blindfolded her, and gagged her.

He forced her, a willing participant, into his bed—by asking her permission.

Peter was more than capable of keeping her chained to his bedpost if he wanted it.

Or… if she wanted it.

Peter snickered at her expression. “Ooh, yeah… Betchu’d like that, huh?” He taunted her like she was broadcasting her dirty thoughts. “Such a needy little slut for me, ain't that right?”

Honey felt his warmth leave her back, like being plunged into the Hudson in winter. His hands reappeared at the back of her thighs, and her first instinct was to try to close her legs.

That was a mistake and an impossible endeavor.

He split her thighs like opening a book. Grinned at the sight as if he stumbled across gold.

“Fuck, babygirl, you’re soaked. Just talkin’ about it and look at the mess you made…”

Embarrassment and want ravaged her. The conflicting experiences had her ovaries twisted into knots. Honey bit her tongue, unsure if she was going to scream or moan.

Instead, it came out like a pathetic mewl. “Pe-Peter, please—”

Then he open-palm-smacked her cunt, fingers landing directly on her labia.

The wet sound it made was humiliating, and the sensation triggered all of the reactions above. She squealed at the sting on her folds. This was a delectable torture. For Peter, it was an appetizing sight.

“Ya like that?” he grinned over the sound of her whimpers. He already knew the answer.

Another slap to her cunt made her whole body shake.

“Like bein’ my kept girl? Tryin’ so hard to get my attention. Drivin’ me nuts. Well, you got it now, Honey.”

Slap.

A third strike had her pussy clenching. Honey had never experienced such an erotic rush before. She shuddered with embarrassment, afraid she’d cum from this—

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Honey gasped for air, a scream breaking through her voice. She was drowning in sick pleasure, tears in her eyes.

The mob boss gripped her thighs again, pulling her knees off the table and lifting up the weight of her lower half. The action was as easy as lifting a sheet of paper.

God, his strength was impossible. She struggled to comprehend it while picturing herself being broken apart by it. A slew of tiny pleas fell from her lips. She didn’t even know what she was begging for—his mercy or punishment.

“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he purred with a candy voice. Brought his lips to where she was split, equal parts seductive and sinister. “Be still for me. I gotcha.” He wore a Cheshire grin. “Lemme kiss it better.”

Slowly, he licked a line from her clit to the entrance of her cunt. She shuddered, followed by a lewd wail. She bucked her hips as he let the tip of his tongue toy with her.

“Mmmf—so fuckin’ sweet,” Peter mumbled between languid strokes around her vaginal gate. His grip was inescapable. “Can’t help myself, s-sooo hungry…”

Honey felt an evil smile against her skin before his mouth went back to work on her. Tiny, stinging nips and kitten licks tormented her flesh. With her hips locked in place, he lashed her clit with his tongue.

Honey squirmed against the leather belt, her nails digging into the grain. She wanted to be bound like this forever.

Peter had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

With her thighs spread open, he dragged her toward the edge of her ecstasy. As soon as he felt her body begin to shake, he pulled away. The punishment ended with another smack to her swollen clit.

Honey cried out in frustration at having her release snatched away.

Oh, yes—He was weak for that sound.

“What’s’a matter, baby?” he smirked with a dark chuckle. This was becoming his favorite pastime. “You mad now that you’re not the only one who can play games?”

“Gahh—Peter… fuck, plea—don’t tease—!”

Peter’s fingers slipped inside with a squelch, shutting her up. Simultaneously, he lapped at her juices while massaging her walls. Soon, he settled into an unbreakable focus.

Each kiss to her nether lips sizzled with passion. Fueled by devotion usually only reserved for a wedding day.

“—mmmm, tastes so pretty,” he murmured into her flesh, “my pretty girls...”

In her dazed state, Honey wondered with a pang of jealousy who the ‘she’ he was referring to was.

“—sooo sensitive; she likes it when I kiss her like that, yeah?—” He said, in between languid, open-mouth kisses to her slit.

Jesus Fucking Christ, he’s talking about my pussy? In the third person?

Honey gasped, scandalized at the preposterous thought. It was the most deliciously erotic moment of her life. Enraptured tears budded her eyes, the coil in her belly nearly suffocating her.

“—Fuck, oh god, Peter, don’t stop, don’stop, donstop, donstah—”

Preoccupied with his own intoxicating thoughts, Peter was eager with his tongue and steady with his hands. The room filled with the filthy, wet sounds of his carressing and French kissing of her cunt. He pleasured her with his fingers and mouth, passionately— reverently— as if making love to two different brides.

Soon, Honey’s pleas were barely more than breathless whining. He smiled like the devil, lips coated with her slick.

“Patience, Honey,” he admonished, sing-song and patronizing. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I might let you get to taste Her, too.”

Fuck—she was going to come from this.

The more perverse his words were, the closer she was. So, so close—

Then, another sharp slap.

Honey wailed, fingers digging into the leather of her restraints. Her whole body protested. The cycle repeated so many times she lost count—until her flesh was puffy from his torture.

“Please, don’t—please, Peter, don’t tease,” she frantically begged, tears streaming. “No more— Please, I wanna come so bad—”

He sucked on her clit. “Yeah?”

“God, yes, please—Nyahhh-need you—Need you... inside—“

Peter hissed behind his teeth, struggling to keep his pace even as his cock jerked at her pleas. He flashed an evil smile. “S’at right?”

“Pl-please, f-feels so good, ple—gah-I need it—!”

He was in no hurry. It was almost greedy, the way he ravaged her. His fingers pressed Merlot bruises into her hips and waist while his mouth left raspberry welts on her thighs.

Honey cried out around a moan as she felt his fingers deepen. His loving touches to her sensitive spots turned wicked, reminding her this was also a penalty for her bratty transgressions. She wept and squirmed, practically drooling on the table.

He simply grinned.

“—Mmmhm, that’s it—scream for me, princess—”

Honey’s tiny little hip thrusts fit easily in his palm as he groped her. He found it adorable, really.

“Mmm...m’sorr—ow—agh!”

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it,” he panted, eyes blown black. Shadow returned to his voice. “You’re mine now, ya hear?” His eyes traveled to where his fingers were buried to the knuckles. “Gonna fuck you every way I want—”

“Pleasepleasepleaseyes—it’syoursit’syoursallyours—”

His eyes swam over her body, drunk with lust.

All mine.

The sinfulness of his thoughts tugged his insides into a vortex. This was wrong, he reasoned. Not how he wanted this to go. Poor girl sounded brainless, begging to be fucked. He wasn’t much better off. This wasn’t how he planned this to go.

But he was willing to pivot.

Hands shaking, he fumbled with his fly. It wasn’t until his cock bobbed free, glistening with precum, that he felt any sort of relief. Peter grabbed her hips and lifted them off of the table, repositioning her so he was lined up with her slit.

“Fuckin’ need you so much, Honey—” he muttered mindlessly, focused on pushing the swollen, leaking crown of his cock against the silk of her pussy.

Her hips’ weight rested easily in his hands, and she keened at the sensation of his head pressing against her entrance.

And god, she'd forgotten he was thick.

Honey tensed up, even as her pussy throbbed with want. It was as if all her muscles were reaching for him, heart included.

It was too much. Mascara trailed faintly down her cheeks. Her heart soared. And ached. She felt spoiled with pleasure, delighting in this penance.

More. She wanted more.

“Fuck—wanted ya so bad,” Peter mumbled, watching his cock slip through her lips. He sounded airy, hypnotized by the view. “Wanted t’crawl through your window like the goddamn—ahh— boogeyman... fuck ya in your own bed. Wanted t’take’ya home with me and keep ya there— Never let you leave.”

Honey swallowed back a sob. Then why did you send me away?

He paused.

Uh-oh. Did she say that out lo—?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Peter huffed, his voice fragile.

He leaned forward and lovingly kissed up her spine, each tender press of his lips an apology.

“I’m a stupid fuckin’ fool.” The heat of his breath ghosted across her back. “So stupid—Thought I could protect ya if I kept you away. Thought I could somehow live like that—without you.” He shook his head. “Goddamn fool.”

Peter felt the sting of tears flooding his vision. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them out. “I can’t live without ya,” he nearly whimpered. “There is no life for me if you’re not in it.”

“Peter,” she said, feeling her heart lurch. Her spirit was a ship being tossed in a hurricane. One more wave, and she would break. Honey’s voice trembled, “St-stop t-talking—”

“Not until I’ve said what I shoulda said—!”

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next five seconds—”

Peter cut her off by pulling her up by the shoulders and standing her upright. Honey fought it—because, of course, she did—desperately clutching the steel armor around her heart.

Overpowering her again, he tugged the naked woman closer until her back lined up to his chest. It was an awkward position with her bound arms crushed behind her against his abs. He towered over her, eyeing her face from the side, seeking her gaze. Hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

Always the fighter, Honey tried to wrench herself from his hold. Peter’s body was like a Greek god’s, with pillar-like arms and marble fingers keeping her from wriggling away. But his soft, soulful eyes are what pinned her in place.

As soon as she peered into their oaken color, she was trapped again.

“No,” she sneered, shaking her head. The tears weren’t from pleasure anymore. “Don’t—”

“‘Honey and Lavender,’” he whispered, featherlike. “Those are the words. All you gotta do is say ‘em, and I’ll stop.”

She gritted her teeth, bucking against his sweetness. His arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her in.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me!” she revolted, voice getting weaker by the second. “What the hell do you want from me, Peter?!”

His features softened. Serenity pressed between his lips. “I want all of you, Honey,” he answered with resolve. “Body and soul. Wanna spend the rest of my life with ya. If you don’t kill me first.”

He said the ‘if’ part with a teasing lilt in his tone and a half-smile. The same smirk that she loathed—and fell in love with.

Honey squeezed her eyes shut. Peter’s thumb came up gently, wiping a messy tear from her cheek. That loving and pure act was worse than any torture he could inflict.

Walls tumbling down, her body loosened. She went slack against his arms, instead fighting to keep more tears from flowing.

“I love you,” he whispered, pouring his soul into each word. “Forever. Remember? No matter what.”

Peter waited for her eyelids to peel back, revealing glossy eyes and a weary expression. They stayed still for eons. Nothing but their breaths and heartbeats between them, eyes locked on each other.

“Even if you’re mad as hell at me,” he added. “Even if you hate me—I want it all.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “And what then, Peter? What now?”

A moment passed. He leaned around her shoulder, bringing her chin close, and answered her with a kiss. Gentle at first, his tongue explored hers as she relaxed against him. She felt her toes leave the ground before she realized what was happening.

Peter broke the kiss. “Now?” he breathed into her hairline. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be mine.”

One of his hands left her torso—borrowed to push the head of his cock into her gate. An overwhelming burn erupted between her legs. She arched her back away from his abs as best she could while being split open.

Honey wailed brokenly, voice shattered, as he bottomed out. Peter’s hand instinctively came up to cover her mouth. She let the scream out into his palm, just as he’d promised.

Peter hissed, letting his head fall back in agonized ecstasy. His eyes drifted shut, feeling both relief and torment buried to the hilt in her warmth.

He barely ground out, “Shh-shhh, s’alright... that’s it, s-so good, so good for me...”

His Honey was already writhing on his cock, and he hadn’t even begun to move. She was so goddamn tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to move at all.

Still, he couldn’t help indulging himself. Never could, around her.

The arm bracing Honey’s torso snaked back across her body. His hand, burning hotter than a branding iron, stretched out and smoothed over the curvature of her belly. Her pussy clenched tighter as his palm found the trophy he was looking for—an obscene bulge in her lower stomach.

A slow, sinful curve played upon his lips. “Fuck, babygirl. Look at you.” When he uncovered her mouth, her roars had quieted down to a wanton purr. He gently tilted her head downwards so she could witness the depravity herself. “Just look at how you take my dick, Honey.”

She shuddered at the sight, nodding rapidly, unable to speak. She wondered if this was just more teasing, but she couldn’t think beyond the penetration.

“God, you look so beautiful like that,” he muttered breathlessly. His amber eyes were fixated on the sinful spectacle beneath her waist, unable to avert his gaze. “So pretty with my cock stuffed up inside your tummy...”

Peter sounded unhinged, even to himself. His abs twisted into knots. Vile, perverse images eclipsed his sense of decency—her body naked and wrecked, with his seed spilling from her holes. Then, her belly round with his children. Just the thought devolved him like his civilized nature was sucked back into a black hole.

Wordless whimpers poured from her lips as her taut muscles succumbed to his girth. Calloused fingertips reached further down, brushing against the hood of her clit. She jolted in his arms with the slightest touch.

At that moment, Honey’s world disappeared. Nothing existed but the exquisite ache between her legs.

The conquerer inside him preened. “Is that the spot? Is that where it hurts, baby?” he purred into her ear with a filthy, predatory voice. Her body answered him, rewarding him with a delicious squeeze around his shaft. “That’s it,” Peter groaned, insatiable. “Good girl. So good for me.”

His praise, even if it was teasing, was too much. Peter’s affirmations, paired with his ministrations, tightened the coil in her stomach. Exhaustion crept up on her body even as the bubble of desire swelled.

Ever so slowly, his hips pitched back and then forward. He bottomed out again at the end of the languid stroke. A shattered mewl burst from her lips, pussy pulsating around his dick.

She was magnificent.

”Fuck, baby. Feels s-so fuckin’ good—ahh, I missed this tight pussy so much. Wanted to play with her so bad…”

Peter’s hips moved of their own accord. They were a pornographic masterpiece in the decorative mirrors situated around the room. He stole a greedy glance at the couple’s reflection. Smiling wickedly, he turned her head, making her see what he was seeing.

Honey’s stomach fluttered at the sight of her body—glistening and restrained—slotted against him. Her head bobbed as Peter gripped her hips and fucked into her like a sex doll.

Perverse. Debauched. Divine. It made her lightheaded.

Slowly, he increased the pace of his thrusts, panting into her ear. At some point, she started muttering. Broken and embarrassingly desperate pleas and pet names tumbled unwittingly out of her mouth.

One of them must have caught his attention. But she honestly couldn’t remember what she had said.

“Ugh—I lose my fuckin’ mind when you call me that name,” he growled, throwing his head back. “Ya know that, precious? Such a good girl for me. Good girls get spoiled.”

Honey’s body thrummed at his baby talk. In all its depravity, she started to suspect what she must have said in all its depravity. Slowly, she was losing the ability to be ashamed.

The slick-coated pad of Peter’s thumb circled her clit, before traveling down further. He curiously prodded where they were joined—“Fuck, look at how good ya open up for me.” — His fingers trailed the outline of her stretched hymen wrapped around his cock.

Honey closed her eyes and turned away, blushing from his praise. Timid about how she relished in the filth. Peter brought his lips to her ear as if there was a secret the two of them shared.

“Don’t worry, baby. I gotcha—Daddy’s gonna make the ache go away.”

The spring snapped. She was nearly knocked over by the wave of pleasure that followed. Her pussy fluttered around his cock with no warning, body trembling and toes curling. Her cream gushed down his shaft.

He snickered as if he’d won a prize.

Honey could vaguely recognize her pathetic voice through the bells in her ears. She squealed and cried out over his repetitive, patronizing chants — “Awwgoodgirl, fuckin’ so-so perfect— squeezin’ me so tight” — while he fucked her through her orgasm.

It felt like several moments of pure pink haze, herself a willing victim to his delicious, relentless pull.

“Shit, sweetie, did you just come all over my cock?” he asked, exasperated.

Embarrassment flooded her despite her persistent mewling.

“Don’t cry, baby. Don’chu worry,” he murmured affectionately, himself obsessed with the cavern of her divine flesh. “When I said I was gonna make you my toy, I meant it.” She whimpered, nodding her head as it rested back against his shoulder. “M’not finished with you,” he said, dropping an octave. “Not by a long shot.”

Time ceased to have true meaning. Peter rammed into her steadily.

“Please don’stop, please use me, please, wan’more—” She yelped like a puppy.

He smiled against her sweaty skin. “Yeah? Ya like bein’ a good girl? My good girl?”

“I’llbegoodI’llbegoodm’yours—fuck—yoursyoursyours—”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned, with another curse beneath his breath. Eyes drifted shut. “Good, good girl.”

All he could think of was more.

More of that sound. More of her juices. More of her staccato breaths as he fucked her tits into a steady bounce on her chest. More of her whining, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“All mine, all mine…”

Peter needed more of her. He needed to watch her fall apart on his cock again. Honey was so close already; he could feel it. He’d give her another orgasm, one that leaves her in tears. Then another. He was going to fuck her into submission atop the throne he built for her. She was already his queen.

Then—He’d make her his whore.

Flip her on her back against the table—or couch— countertop—fuck, maybe the bed if he could remember where it was. Whatever he could reach first.

Then he’d split her open again on his cock. That way, he could see the enraptured awe on her face. The neediness. Big, round, wet eyes pleading for his touch, calling him filthy names, as his cock bulges below her pubic bone. Begging him to rearrange her guts.

It was heavenly to witness. Peter loved watching her come. And he would, over and over. Once he relocated her to his bed—as soon as he remembered where it was— he could tie her to it.

Not that Honey was fighting at the present. There was no fight in her body, except maybe the will to keep conscious. With every strike against her cervix, she spread herself wider for him.

But Peter knew she would like it. Honey wanted his unforgiving ecstasy. To take out the mounting frustration of the last few months on her wet pussy.

“M’gonna fuck you so good, babygirl, m’gonna use your body like my fucktoy—make me feel s-sogood, don’worry—“

Honey full-body shuddered with a sob, her head thrown back against his shoulder.

“S’okay, baby, you can scream if y’want, makes it feel better, doesn’t it, huh—”

Cock-drunk, she nodded, her words coming out as puffs of air.

“Don’stop—don’stop—please, fuck— fuckmehardDaddyIneedit—“

Oh.

More. Of. That.

“M’not lettin’ you get away again…” he muttered, voice emerging from beneath his twitching abdominal muscles. With possessed eyes, he was glued to where they joined. “Never—never gonna let you go again… All mine now, Honey—you’re all mine…”

Her arms came up to circle the back of his neck as she panted into his throat. “My-my pussy is yours…”

“Everything,” he corrected.

“Everythi—god—I’m yours, Pete—ahh!”

Peter was getting close. No matter. He’d let himself come inside her soon. There was plenty more to follow.

He barely recognized his own wrecked voice. “’m not leavin,’ baby. I’m not leavin’ ever.”

A gust of wind followed him as the front door to the suite slammed shut. Peter stood alone in the hotel hallway wearing a sheen of sweat... and nothing else.

He flushed pink, fumbling to cover himself behind his hands. The cool air made the task easier.

Peter sighed. He’d need to talk to maintenance about better insulation up here.

But not right now. Not while Peter Parker stood ass-naked outside of his door, having been kicked out like a cheap fuck.

Which might have been Honey’s point, he recognized.

The evidence of their past hour together made his skin sticky. She’d tousled his hair and etched into his back with her nails. He felt sore in places he hadn’t felt in years.

Peter also looked thoroughly fucked. A mixture of pain and relief surged through his muscles. His brain was branded with erotic images of her. He wanted them there.

The door opened again, lifting his hopes. He only caught a fleeting glimpse of Honey, wrapped sloppily in a bathrobe. The rest of her didn’t look much better than Peter. She wore a sour yet adorable scowl on her face.

With a huff, Honey hurled a tight wad of fabric at his nuts, unintentionally intentional in her aim.

Peter oofed, doubling over to catch the ball of his clothes. At the same time, an Italian leather shoe smacked him in the head. Probably his Tom Ford’s. He heard the door slam closed again, rattling against the frame.

Perplexed, Peter gazed at the molding of the door and the gleaming golden script marking the room number.

He wondered.

Would she open the door again to throw him the other shoe?

Or perhaps the slacks that went along with the dress shirt covering his balls?

Unlikely.

He marveled.

The nerve of this woman. This goddess-barista who served him his soul in a paper cup. Who held the keys to his heart, his home, and presently, his hotel room. Who somehow managed to kick him out of the penthouse suite of his own hotel.

Within the confines of his ruined dress shirt, Peter felt another buzz. He fumbled with the shirt, reaching the smartphone concealed inside.

>>> have you moved onto the main course? >>> or are you still tossing the salad? >>> pouring ranch on her hidden valley

Felicia. Peter’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. With a sigh, he tapped out a reply.

<<< Kitchen’s closed. <<< Need clothes. And a new room.

He saw the ellipsis bubbling up on his screen.

<<< Not another word.

As soon as the message was sent, Peter took another glance at his empty surroundings. Haplessly, he looked toward the closed door. A river of memories flooded him. It surged, swelled, and finally, came to a low simmer.

This was never going to be easy. Nothing ever was with her.

Nothing worth waiting for ever is.

“See you at breakfast,” he whispered aloud lips curled into a smile. “Sleep tight.”

Holding her breath and her ear to the door, Honey waited until Peter’s footsteps faded. When she could no longer hear them, she sighed with exasperation, overcome with exhaustion. Eyes falling closed, Honey leaned back against the door, body aching in places she would feel for days.

After taking a moment, she heard a buzzing sound further in the suite. Honey jumped with alarm, then stumbled on Fawn’s feet to reach the source.

Quickly, Honey waddled to the remains of her yellow dress, fishing out the buzzing object: a 10-year-old smartphone with a black glittery hard case. A holographic cat sticker was fixed to the back, shimmering in the dim light.

Not just any cat.

She unlocked the phone to see the latest message.

>>> how’d it go? u give him hell?

The heaviest exhale left Honey’s chest, shame creeping up her chest. With her thumb, she scrolled up to review the text messages sent to her. The oldest of which dated back almost four months.

Weeks of correspondence and reassurance from Felicia, not to mention very clear instructions about Peter Parker and how to play his game.

There was the one from last month:

>>> don’t let him think for one second that you’re gonna let him get off easy!

Then one from last week:

>>> make him suffer. make him grovel. make him lay down in a puddle so you can cross

And these:

>>> go to dinner, but don’t eat anything. order wine, the most expensive one, take one sip and refuse the rest. you pick the restaurant. if he picks the restaurant, hate everything about it >>> play hard to get— but don’t be too cold >>> be flirty. but not slutty. >>> give him bedroom eyes, but don’t let him stare at you too long.

Finally, there was a clear instruction sent earlier today.

>>> under no circumstances >>> no matter what >>> you need to remember this >>> DO NOT FUCK HIM!!1

Honey frowned as she gazed at Felicia’s text message bubble, sent with so much hope and good intention. A notion soundly defeated. A truly hopeless endeavor, if there ever was one.

Biting her lip, Honey tapped out a reply to her confidant:

<<< Sure did.

Thank you for everything you do. Please keep fanfic healthy and support my writing with a reblog.

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jedijesi · 7 months

Text

Caught in the Cat's Web

Chapter 1

Felicia Hardy! Reader x Miguel O’Hara

Series Masterlist 🕸 Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, Sexual Tension, she/her pronouns

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Felicia Hardy, Black Cat, endures a nasty breakup with Peter Parker, and now with her new Spider-Powers, she must navigate the Spider society and meet their esteemed leader.

Co-writer: @stclairesplace

A/N: This a Felecia Hardy Self Insert, beyond her classic platinum hair color, no descriptive terms are used! Insert yourselves, loves! This is my first Miguel fic, enjoy!

New York, Earth-194

“No, Peter! I- I can’t keep fighting for us if you’re just gonna run back to MJ every time!” Felicia sobbed.

“We were just talking about our relationship!” Peter yells in defense.

Felicia's hands come up to her forehead, smoothing out her platinum hair back in frustration. “You said it was over, Peter! You don’t need to continue to talk to her, especially not at 8:30 on a Friday in a restaurant! The same restaurant you took me to last week, by the way, for our 6 month anniversary!”

“It doesn’t matter, Felicia! Nothing happened!” Peter runs his fingers through his hair pacing back and forth in frustration.

“No! You- you lied to me, you told me you didn’t have feelings for her anymore.” Felicia breaks out into more tears, blinding her. “I don’t want to be ‘the other woman’ anymore, Peter. I won’t be. I can’t keep waiting for you, hoping you’ll finally look at me the way you look at MJ. I’m done.”

Before Peter could say another word, the sound of Felicia’s grappling hook cut him off. In an instant, Felicia goes back into her Black Cat persona, swinging through the New York Skyline.

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

It had been 3 weeks since the breakup. 3 weeks of crying, ice cream, and pajamas. Felicia had never taken a breakup hard, she’d always known her worth, but something about Peter Parker was different. It made no sense as to why it hurt so much. She’s been cheated on before, she’s watched partners come and go, but she was able to brush it off like it was nothing. Then stupid Peter Parker had to come and along, turn her into a hero, and break her heart.

By habit, the sound of sirens outside her apartment causes her to pause her show, and look at the Black Cat suit hidden behind the painting next to the window.

Felicia sighs, unable to decide if she should cry or scream. Ultimately, she decided to continue eating her ice cream, pushing the images of Spider-Man somewhere out there fighting crime.

Despite pushing her feelings away, a tear escapes her, sliding down her cheek. Suddenly, chills go down Felicia’s spine. She looks around the quiet apartment trying to figure out what was happening when her tear begins to slide back up her cheek and into the air. The empty pint and spoon along with various items follow suit, prompting Felicia to grab the gun and knife hidden under the couch.

A bright light emits in the middle of the living room, transforming into a colorful circular object. Felicia’s guard falls, recognizing the multi-dimensional portal.

“Woah! What’s with the guns?” Jessica Drew, questions as she emerges.

“You could have given me a heads up instead of scaring the shit out of me.” Felicia rolls her eyes before putting her weapons away.

“I told you, I’d come pick you up in a month.”

Felicia’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s been a month since I’ve last seen you?!”

“Ahuh,” Jessica responds as she inspects the apartment. “Has it been a month since you’ve cleaned too?”

“Uh- 3 weeks, actually.”

Jessica whips her head around. “3 weeks?! What the fuck happened, girl!”

Felicia rolls her eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Honestly, she didn’t have to. Jessica could see right through the broken-hearted girl. “You ready to go then?”

“I don’t think I can meet the boss man like this.” Felicia frowns, looking down at her oversized tee shirt stained with ice cream and various mysterious stains from her wallowing sessions.

Jessica nods, “Shower and change. I’ll help you clean up this shit.”

It took about an hour for Felicia to clean up and feel like herself again. After putting on her Black Catsuit, she looks into the mirror, smiling for the first time in 3 weeks, feeling like herself again.

Felicia emerges from her bedroom, finding Jessica standing in the middle of her cleaned-up apartment. “Holy shit, Jess!” She feels like she could cry.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, hon, let’s go or I'll get a lecture.” Jessica hastily as she creates the portal.

Felicia’s been through multi-dimensional portals a few times before, but it’s still something she can barely get used to.

~~~~~~

Nueva York, Earth 838

Nueva York was bustling with life as heroes of the spider society swung and walked around. Felicia felt both excited and overwhelmed. It was hard walking into a world full of people who dressed, talked, and looked like her ex.

“Cat!” Jessica shouted across the hall to the distracted woman, pulling her out of her trance. “Move!”

Felicia scurried across the main hall, doing her best to weave between spider people. Once she caught up to Jessica, they made their way to the ‘big man’s office’ as Jessica puts it.

The two women entered the dark, grand office. Felicia spots a platform about 20 feet in the air with dozens of holographic screens filled with information and statistics. In the center stood the back of a blue and red man.

“Ahem!” LYLA appeared next to the tall man. “Your newest recruit is here.”

The platform slowly lowers but the man doesn't move. Instead, he touches the holographic screens, causing Felicia’s profile to appear.

“Felicia Hardy?”

Felicia was taken aback by his voice. She didn’t know what she was expecting but it wasn’t that. It’s a low, resonant tone that fills the air and commands respect and attention. It has a subtle vibration that conveys confidence and strength, and it's a sound that Felicia finds attractive and comforting. His voice has the power to evoke emotion and stir feelings of comfort and security.

Jessica nudges the woman beside her, yanking Felicia from her thoughts. “Yes, Sir.” She purrs, easing back into the Felicia Hardy she knows and loves.

“According to my data, you’re the first spider woman.” The platform touches the ground prompting the man to turn to look at Felicia.

She couldn’t help but admire the man’s build and height, thinking that the elevated perspective had made him appear bigger. “The one and only.” She smirks.

“Hmm…” The man thinks for a moment, admiring the beautiful woman in front of him. He’s seen and read about plenty of Felicia’s as they have been a big part in some Spider-Man’s lives. Yet, this Felicia seemed different. Her eyes sparkled and the way she carried herself radiated confidence. “I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Spider-man 2099, my name is Miguel O’Hara.” Miguel closes some distance, letting his mask retract to reveal his messy wavy head and stunning brown eyes.

“Felica.” She replies, making intense eye contact with the man.

Miguel slowly walks closer and begins to circle her like a vulture, studying his prey. “ According to your file, you only got your powers several months ago. Explain.”

“Long story short, my… Spider-Man and I infiltrated Oscorp. They were trying to replicate the serum and I ended up getting accidentally bit by one of their patients during the fight, but they’re all dead now, don’t worry.”

“Hmmm..” Miguel hummed as he inspected her suit. “Is this your spider suit?”

“I don’t need one.” Felicia crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at the Spider-Man.

“If you want to join the spider society you do. What’s your call sign?”

“Black Cat.” Felicia side-eyes Miguel, predicting his thoughts.

“Jess,” Miguel looks over to the woman, now sitting in the corner. “Why waste my time?”

“Waste your time?!” Felicia snaps, turning to look at Miguel. “You need me!”

“Ahuh.” He rolls his eyes as his mask covers his face, unleashing Felicia's three weeks of pent-up rage.

“Listen here Spider-Man! I spent 4 months training my ass off, learning my powers, and proving to your little spider society that I’m worthy. I am not going to let you circle me and make assumptions about me based on my outfit and variants! I’ll fight you right now, and I’ll kick your ass!”

Miguel can’t help but make a small smirk at Felicia’s personality. Miguel steps closer tilting his head down so that his chin practically grazes his collarbone and lets his mask fade. Felica stands her ground looking directly up into his chocolate eyes with fiery determination. She wasn’t going to let some self-appointed leader tell her she wasn’t good enough.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the office, Jessica and LYLA watch the interaction with confusion. “What the fuck is happening?”

“I- I really can’t tell you.” LYLA replies. “There’s something there though.” LYLA pulls out her phone taking a picture of the two for future evidence or blackmail before glitching away.

Still withholding their gazes on each other Miguel eventually snaps out of it only to grumble. “LYLA, take Felicia to the tailor to make a suit.”. A short smirk makes it’s way on Felicia’s face, silently congratulating herself that she got her way. “We’ll start your training with the other spiders tomorrow morning. Bright and early. As for you ‘Black Cat’ let’s get one thing straight here…” Felicia raises her eyebrow in anticipation, her arms crossed over her chest, her cleavage poking through just enough in the black skin-tight suit adorning her body. “You may be used to playing by your own rules and whatnot but here, this is my playground. And what I say, goes.” He leans back against the small table behind him, his arms now also crossed over his chest, making it hard for Felicia not to notice the way his biceps and arms moved with each breath he took. “Do I make myself clear, gata?”

Felicia unfolds her arms and takes a step closer to Miguel, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for a fight. “Yes, Araña.”

“And start thinking of new names,” Miguel said before walking back to his desk with a smirk.

Chapter 2

A/N: Its good to be back! Please let me know what you think💕

#miguel ohara x felicia hardy reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #felicia hardy #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #Miguel Ohara x female reader #jedi jesi #miguel ohara

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railingsofsorrow · 12 days

Text

Epilogue

[peter parker x reader]

summary: harry finds your behaviour slightly suspicious & there's an evening spent between friends.

pairing: p.parker x f!reader; slightly harry osborn x f!reader; mj x felicia hardy.

w.c: 3.3K

warnings/content: jealousy; injuries (mentioned); protective harry osborn; language; migraines (mentioned); clumsy but committed peter parker (yes, he learnt from his mistakes. finally); discussion about the multiverse theory; angst but there's more fluff this time sadly; minor character's death (mentioned).

A/N: this fic has come to an end :( it was fun writing this. my first experience in writing a short spiderman fic, it was so hard to come up with a good ending and it probably still not perfect but I feel like it's a good enough one. I hope you like it too and that you'll come back to read more of my spiderman stuff, cause there will definitely be more! good reading, people <3

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“So they're just gone?”

You turn your neck to glare at your friend. Ever since you mentioned your migraines to him one day and he saw one of your episodes once or twice — a little bit more than that — he hasn't stopped bugging you about it. He wanted you to go to the doctors to get checked out. Until, well. Until the migraines miraculously vanished. Your head never bothered you anymore and you're even sleeping better, given the lack of dark circles around your eyes.

Harry wasn’t having it.

First and foremost, he did not believe continuous migraines were cured just like that. Overnight. Because how come he saw you incapable of watching a lecture one day and you're perfectly fine on the other?

Either you are popping some pills or someone magically healed you.

He didn't like any of the options.

He was still worried, okay? Harry cares. He may not be loud with it, but it's you, so he cares. And he cares a lot. You should know better than to just outright lie to him.

“Yes. Why does it matter? I'm fine, shouldn't you be happy I'm no longer whining on your shoulder?”

“You're not taking drugs, are you?”

A surprised laugh echoed around the room and he almost felt his body melt at the sight of your curled up frame from how much you were laughing.

“It amazes me,” you said between chuckles. “that you'd think I'd pull that off.” Not without him knowing, at least. You and Harry are side by side for almost the entire day.

“I don't doubt you.”

“You're losing faith in me.”

“I never had it.” He huffs out a laugh when you throw a pillow at his face, hitting him right on his nose. He fell on his bed with a groan, you moved his homework out of the way before he could mess it up by laying on top of it.

“Just... tell me if it gets to that point again, okay?

You look at him, contemplating something that he can't figure out. With the way you avoid his eyes as you answer, he knows you decided to say something else instead of that first thought. “I will. But it won't.” He found the conviction in your voice strange. You can't know if it will ever get that bad again. Just as the migraines miraculously left, they might come back.

He didn’t question it further.

You went back to your homework, sharing some insights on his as he does with yours. It didn’t last long until your phone started blaring beneath the pillow you're perched on, the sound being slightly muffled by the fabric.

You feel Harry's teasing before he can sputter out a sentence.

“Shut up.” You hissed, picking up the call without looking at the caller ID.

“One Direction. Really?”

“Hello.” You pointedly turn away from his smirky face. You have to take the phone away from your ear due to some loud police sirens that come from the line.

“Hi, hello!” The distinctive voice of Peter Parker replies. Yelling. That was the only way you would be able to hear him anyway. “There's been a thing and I— Shit!”

You concluded the phone is thrown away because his voice suddenly sounds very far.

You offered Harry a lousy excuse to step out into the hallway, frowning at the other voices and the police sirens you could hear.

“Peter, you—”

“I'm back!” Again, you take the phone away from your ear with a sigh. “Sorry, I was— I was busy.” You gathered that fact by the way he sounded breathless.

“Are you running?”

“No!” The noise proceeded to quieten down and you raise an eyebrow at his blatant lie. “Sorry, was I loud? Feels like I was being loud. Sorry.” A door is closing and he's groaning at the end of the line. Instead of finding it funny, you start to get worried, picturing a dislocated shoulder or maybe a deep gash on his arm like last time.

You and Peter made an agreement. When you agreed to be friends again — part of that starting over bullshit that was your idea — you and him worked on filling each other out on both of your lives. Just catching up as good friends do. Less than a month later you were patching up his wounds as if you never had stopped doing that in the first place. Sometimes, you'd even think you were back where you started as if it was all back to the start of your story in Queens. Midtown. Making plans with Ned and Peter for the weekends. Sitting with MJ at lunch as much as she claimed she hated company. . .

There was a pull at your chest every time you remembered it wasn't like this. You weren't back at that time. You couldn't go back. You only had the now and it had to be enough. It was enough.

“Peter, are you hurt?” But you still felt the same agony whenever the idea of Peter being hurt came across your mind. An unsettling fear settling up in your core.

“No.” he shuffled around, clearing his throat. His voice was back for you to hear it clearly. “I'm fine. Just a bank robbery downtown and I—” he paused to let out a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry I'm late, I'll be there in a second, okay?”

You blink, confused. “What? Late for what, Peter?”

“Hanging out?” He said followed by a tinge of uncertainty. “Uh, you said that after class—”

Your brows shot up in recognition. “Oh! Yeah, that's—” Then you checked the time on your phone. You were supposed to meet after class to hang out around 5 p.m. It was still 3 in the afternoon. “Peter,” you held in a chuckle. “That's like, two hours away. You're not late.”

There's silence on his end and you start laughing.

“Oh,” he mumbled, letting out a breath of relief. “That's— That's good. I was thinking that I was like really really late and—”

“You're good, webs.” You softly reassured him. Peter has been working really hard to make sure he doesn't mess up with you again. That included arriving early at places. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah, I just got here.”

“Mhm. And you're not hurt at all?”

“Just a few scratches,” Peter answered with hesitancy. You smiled triumphantly. Not because you're happy he's hurt but because you knew you were right. “I'm fine, alright? You don't have to come.”

“Okay.” You said, stepping back into your dorm room, catching Harry eying your frame from your bed curiously. “No broken limbs though, right?”

Peter's scoff put a smile on your lips. “Have some faith in me. I can handle a robbery.”

The joke Spiderman can handle a robbery but Peter Parker is still clumsy almost slips out but, thankfully, you remember you're not alone.

“Sure. I'll see you later.”

“Hey,” he called your name before you could hang up so you waited for him to speak. “Do you— are you going— how are you— I mean...”

“Peter, breathe.”

You didn’t notice Harry's eye-roll, too busy cracking up at Peter's stuttering mess.

“Okay. Alright. Are you going by yourself? Cause I can pick you up and we can go, you know, so you don't have to go alone?” He clarified, a strain in his voice as if he's been choking up to say that.

“Oh. Harry and I are going to head out together, actually. He's here.”

You patiently waited for his response. “Of course. Yeah. Okay. I'll see you later then. You and— and Harry. And everyone else.”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the bed, biting the inside of your cheek. A weird feeling of guilt in in your chest. “See you later, then. Bye.”

You don't know why you feel guilty about turning him down. All of you would meet in the same place anyway so it's not like you weren't gonna see him, right? It's just a matter of logistics.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

You gave Harry a blank stare as you threw your phone to the side to go back to your assignment. One of his eyebrows arched up in defiance, he played your game of not looking away for a few minutes before you got sick of it.

“I wonder if the reason you're bothered by Peter is because you secretly have a crush on him.”

He looks away first and your lips spread into a satisfied smirk.

“Parker's not my type.” Harry uttered, leaning over your lap to mark a question that you had gotten wrong. His curls tickling your chin. “And this is wrong. It's not fifteen, it's fifty.” He decided to add for good measure, stepping out of your personal space. “I'm not bothered by him.”

You hummed quietly, erasing the previous calculation to redo the math.

“Who is your type anyway?” You asked, trying to cut through the tension. Every time you mention Peter, Harry's mood shifted. He got too quiet. He just didn’t like him for some reason you couldn't yet figure out. Peter and he haven't met before, that much you know. You claim you'll be out of this, because it's none of your business, some people just don't like each other, it happens. But you're curious and if the opportunity to find out the X of the equation comes, you won't run from it.

“You'll never know.” His mumble is so low that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't sitting so close to each other. He steals the pen you were using, earning a frown from you. “I like this one better.”

“Buy one for you then,” you complained, not moving to get the pen back from him. You take the one he was using instead, eager to finish the assignment so you can have the rest of the afternoon free with your friends.

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[Pete]: (Picture attached)

[Pete]: Do you want this back?

When you opened the text message, your breath hitched. The image Peter had sent you showed the red scarf, the one you never let go of. You hadn't seen it in a while, ever since... Ever since you paid him a visit that night. The night you were set on burning the scarf along with that collection of pictures you found in your room.

You've been to Peter's place countless times after that, though. You wondered why he never mentioned anything.

[You]: Keep it.

You sighed, conflicted with that short answer. You weren't being rude, you didn't meant to be. But you didn't need the scarf anymore. Not when you have him back in your life. You realized the scarf represented everything the two of you lived and everything you didn't.

You didn't want it back. You weren't ready.

Not now, at least. You hoped he wouldn't be hurt by it.

[You]: Maybe one day you can give it back to me.

Satisfied with your reply, you slipped your phone into your pocket, standing up to help Harry carry five smoothies toward your table. Ned and MJ were on their way, as for Peter, you figured it was the same. His apartment wasn't that far from where you were.

“I know a loser when I see one.”

“Hello, MJ.” You greeted after taking the first sip of your smoothie. You offer her hers and she bumps your hip, sitting beside you in the booth as a greeting. “Where's Ned?” You asked, frowning now that you didn't see the boy arriving along with her. They were always together.

She shrugged, leaning back. “He said he would be ten minutes late. He was gonna get Peter so they could go to this store nearby his place before coming here.”

You didn't take long to acknowledge which store she was talking about. An eye roll later, you crack out a smile in amusement.

“The Star Wars one?”

She nodded and the three of you quickly entered a conversation about a movie that was airing on the local theatre. Ned and Peter arrived in the middle of your discussion, a few bags in their hands that earned your curiosity.

“Did you buy the whole store?” You joked, the edge of your lips curling up as Peter sat down in front of you, placing two little bags on the corner of his seat.

Peter raised an eyebrow at you, amusement all over his features. “Did I?”

“Looks like it.”

“Oh, this is—!” Ned exclaimed, taking a sip of his smoothie. Harry held back a laugh at the boy's blissed-out state. “You got it right.” He then pointed at Harry accusingly. “I love you.”

Harry shrugged, “I know.”

“The one time I got your order wrong—” MJ begins.

“You never get the right one.” Ned deadpanned, interrupting MJ's speech. The girl kicked his chin under the table and Ned proceeded to kick hers back. Just before the childish fight could escalate, you pull both of their ears and hear whining asking you to stop.

Peter and Harry were chucking and you have to backtrack because Harry wasn't glaring at Peter for the first time. Is this progress?

After a mindless walk to the nearest park, all of you silently decided to stick around for a while longer, basking in what was left of the sunset and the hues of orange, pink and blue that mixed together to form the purple sky of the evening.

You teased MJ at her inability to stop texting her girlfriend while in an evening among friends and she flipped you off immediately, blushing. She's been seeing Felicia Hardy for two months and from what you could see, it was becoming rather serious, even though MJ still cannot admit it. You know your best friend and her hidden smiles and secret joy because of a new person she's interested in.

“No, no, no. You don't get it. It's like different universes in one— Actually, no. Multiple universes that are currently happening right now. You could be you, but you're, I don't know, a villain in this other universe, while here, you're just Harry.”

Both of your and Peter's neck snapped as you turned towards the conversation between Harry and Ned.

Harry carried a crease between his brows, confusion twisting the corner of his lips.

“So I'm me... but different?”

Ned nodded vehemently. He'd always get excited whenever the topic of multiverse was brought up.

You, on the other hand, were tense and you did not have to look at Peter to know his reaction as well.

“I'm sure in every reality you're an entitled filthy rich bastard the same way. Don't worry.” MJ’s comment was enough you breathe again. Peter’s awkward laugh at your side.

Harry rolls his eyes, “and I'm sure you're sarcastic and bitchy about anything and anyone, Jones.”

You throw your head back to stare up at the sky.

“Children.” You mocked. Peter attempted to hide his laugh but he was not successful. You found it endearing how his cheeks slowly turned pink. It reminded you of when you were kids, he'd turn into a tomato every time he tried to hold in his laugh. “Behave.”

They initiated a bickering about she started it and he started it and Ned made a comment to side with Harry to add fire to the flames.

Sometimes you thought they could remember and then reality crashed down the moment for what it truly was. It could be good and bad at the same time. Bittersweet might be the right term to name the feeling. Of course you miss everything that was, but what currently is is also good, in a way. You have your people, despite the losses, you have him back and it's all that you could ask for.

“Peter.”

He gives you a sheepish smile, looking down at his shoes as he buried his hand in his jacket.

“Did you like it?”

You close the small box carefully. “How could I not? It's beautiful. I loved it.” You said, then punched his shoulder playfully. He pretends it hurts, but you know it doesn't. “Don't spend that much money on me, Parker.”

Peter shrugged, playing the nonchalant part. “I'll do what I want, actually.”

“You're such an annoying little shit, aren't you?”

He shrugged again, this time he's got a cocky grin and a little smug attitude you recognized from when he got an answer right and you got one wrong in an assignment. It's a glimpse of the carefree nature of Peter Parker. He's a little bit proud at times, but still clumsy around people, shy between strangers, and wears his heart on his sleeve for the people he truly cares about.

“You love it.”

“Help me,” you asked him when everyone stopped by the fountain on your way back to university. You had your back to him and he finally understood what he was supposed to do when he saw your fingers holding the two parts of the necklace behind your neck. He stepped forward, taking both parts from your hands and freezing once your fingers met. Your skin was cold. You shivered as he clasped the necklace, adjusting with a shaky sigh. His throat moved under his hard gulp. “Thank you.” You turned around with the little rose gold maple leaf pendant around your neck.

Peter blinked at you in a daze. The streetlight illuminated your figure as you moved your hair away from your shoulders so it wasn't curling around the necklace anymore.

You're beautiful. So beautiful.

As soon as he saw the maple leaf pendant, you came into his mind. It reminded him of the Fall, your favorite season, which, of course, led him to you. Funny that everything, somehow, lead him to you. He doesn't know what his life would be if it didn't. Nothing would make much sense, honestly. Peter didn't know how the other Peter Parkers handled losing you in their universe. It was such a difficult thought for him to even consider. His initial goal was to protect you and if that meant he had to let you go, then so be it. He would do it. Because you deserved a life without the mess that was his life. You deserved peace and happiness. But that plan backfired when he saw you crossing the street to reach a coffee shop. It was 8pm in the evening and he was on patrol. He had stopped two robberies an hour before so he was getting ready to go home and throw himself into bed, give a rest to his alter ego for the night. Until you showed up, crossing the street so distracted that a car almost hit you. Peter pulled you back in time, a hand on your shoulder to steady you from the scare of the car horn. You had been crying and at the moment Peter's only thought was to comfort you and figure out who had made you feel that way.

“Myself.” You laughed, tearfully. “Sorry. I wasn't paying attention.”

He convinced himself that from that point on he had to watch over you, to simply make sure you wouldn't cross the street without looking both ways again, or trip mad and get a severe head injury. He'd watch you from afar, it couldn't do any harm.

In reality, that was Peter's way of not letting you go and it had not been fair to either one of you. Especially you, who earned headaches and migraines and insomnia because of memories begging to come back, memories that shouldn't have been removed at all.

Peter disappointed you. He disappointed himself too — and probably Aunt May, who must be shaking her head in disapproval wherever she was watching over him from. He's slowly making peace with himself after everything. He's finally seen that having you close by was better than the heartache of letting you go and trying foolishly to move on. He didn't want to move on from you and if that was selfish. . . that was fine. Peter was never anything besides selfless his entire life. And if you wanted to be in his life, why couldn't he want to be in yours?

He would acknowledge the past and make the best out of the present. As for the future, well, he wasn't concerned, it would probably lead him to you. As always.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #reader insert

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