MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
WORD COUNT. about 2k or so.
INSPO. fic meets spider-man video game of him mentoring black cat and entering a romantic relationship + brand new day spider-man personality. no spoilers. nsfw link position inspo + nsfw link peter sound inspo.
✉️ | marvel comics.
WARNINGS. fem black!cat!reader, established relationship, explicit smut, p in v, dash of angst, intro contains allusions to sex, lowkey exhibitionist behavior but nothing too explicit, not proofread, mentor/mentee dynamics mentioned, peter grabbing your hair mentioned, choking (m receiving), light roleplay, web on pussy mentioned, squirt mention.
“oh. must be the doordash.” you note with a content lilt to your tone, swinging your leg from a straddling position off of PETER PARKER. he lifts his hips to pull the sheet out from under them, n you drink in the way the muscle of his abdomen ripples under his skin. “we worked up an appetite, didn’t we?” you taunt knowingly, flashing him that look between a flutter of your lashes n bending over to pluck a piece of clothing off the floor.
“we still could’ve gone somewhere.” peter begs to differ - the same guy who protested the total when you two had ordered together.
you shrug minutely, “s’my treat.” you flick on his black hoodie, shimmying it down your naked body, the hem brushing just above your mid-thigh. an expression passes over his face, the one he always gets when he’s reminded how you won’t be seen with him in public. it’s quickly replaced, gaze softening at the sight of you so casually striding around his place in his clothes. he picks himself up into a sit, the cords in his arms flexing as he props up on them. if you didn’t want to snack before the food gets cold, you’d take another ride right now.
“if we don’t get it, are they gonna leave with it?” he jokes, a classic deflection. you raise the end of the sleeve of the jacket to your lips to veil your smile.
“they should’ve left it at the—“ you swing the entrance open, your eyes glancing from the ground to the person standing in front of you. “—door.” a woman you don’t recognize who isn’t carrying any food. “hello.” you say politely, but you’re not sure what to say after. out of the two of you, however, she’s the only one at unease.
“oh, i’m sorry.” she seemingly dissolves, hunching her shoulders, mouth stretching into an embarrassed grimace with a dash of a strained smile. “i was looking for someone else, i didn’t mean to—“
just then, peter turns the corner to come to a stop at your side. “do you need help carry—oh.” he shifts to show less of his naked chest, the last thing he was expecting was company from a neighbor. “ohhh, hi.” he acts like he’s caught in the act, and you look to him coolly for an explanation. once again, out of the trio, you’re the only one that’s comfortable, regardless if you can feel a breeze from the fact you’re not wearing any bottoms. there was absolutely no question about what the two of you had just done. “um, this is…” a tense hand gestures to the blonde in the doorway. “this is - sabrina.” he glances at you. “she lives in my building.” a significant heat rises to his cheeks, humiliation written all over him. a grin creeps onto your lips, the kind that stems from the humor of the situation. the hem of the hoodie sleeve finds a way in between your teeth, toying with it as you exchange a silent conversation with him. after a silence, sabrina subtly inching away, you turn to her.
“we were too loud—“
you’re interrupted by a firm hand on your upper arm, hooking you and leading away from the entrance. “okay-thank you for stopping by-i’ll see you at the mailboxes-okay, goodbye.” smoothly, he pulls you in as he pushes the door shut, hanging his head as his splayed hand remains against the metal. you can’t help but scoff, slithering up from behind him to drape yourself on his back. a single nail digs into the plump skin of his rotator cuff, dragging down in a line through the flesh.
“you were a little nervous back there, tiger. is she one of your girls?”
he flashes you a resentful eye from over his shoulder. he turns, luring you further into the apartment when he walks back towards the bed. “no.” he responds promptly, and with an air of pretentious self-righteousness. it’d be insulting if you didn’t know him. “that’s not - no.” he shakes his head, coming to sit at the edge of his bed with a bounce to a stop. the heel of his hand digs into his eye to fidget. “she’s just… a girl in my building.” the hand comes down, and he picks at a callus on his palm.
“oh, c’mon.” you roll your eyes, lulling your body over to stand between his legs so he has to look up at you. habitually, your grip gravitates towards his curly flop of hair, grabbing hold of it. he blinks in an innocent peer up at you. “you don’t have to say anything to me, we’re adults.”
his shoulders tense, voice defensively heightening, “i’m not seeing anyone else.” somehow, he knows that’s a scarier confession to make, but he took the risk anyway. your smile falters.
“oh.” you release him. when you drop your arms, the sleeves fall past the tips of your fingers. suddenly, you feel like getting some air, but you conceal that vulnerability when you show him your back, walking towards the pile of your clothes. “at least her crush on you makes sense.” you pick out your pants, stepping into them n sliding them on, “it’s too bad though.”
he replies, a little too hopefully. “what is?”
you smirk at him from over your shoulder. “that you’re a nutcase.” he can’t help but wryly smile, dropping his head to shake it. folding your arms in front of you to pinch the hem, you lift to peel the hoodie up and off of you. he sneaks a glance at your naked back.
“you’re leaving now, aren’t you?”
you sigh. “now that i’ve marked my territory.” you find yourself talking to make him feel more comfortable - you don’t like it.
“what about the food?”
you pull on your top. “i’ll be back for it later.” he doesn’t believe you. for a final good-bye, you elegantly slide into a sit next to him, your body lounging n taking up the space. “you’ll be alright without me, spider.” a hand cups his cheek, guiding him into you to kiss his other one.
“are you?”
you sit back. you search his features. “am i what?”
your gazes meet. “seeing anyone else?” the idea of the question puts a twist in your stomach, and an instinct to hightail it out of here. if you are or aren’t, you don’t want to be asked about it.
“i’ll call you.” you promise - an empty sound to the both of you, and with it you depart. . . .
you don’t see him for a couple days, and you know for all of his virtues, he still can’t trust you. it’s why when you’re out as black cat without your hall monitor he shows up to make sure you haven’t relapsed.
“nice night, huh?” he comments, restrained. meeting you on a rooftop is nothing new, swaggering towards you like he’s about to catch you red-handed. he stops before his chest meets yours, but you side-step him like a dance.
“upset because i haven’t called?” you taunt, circling him like prey. “or am i not cleared for field work?”
“i’m not your keeper.” he says resentfully but without conviction.
“you’re out here because of me. afraid i’ll forget all your lessons? i heard there’s a new museum, why don’t i head there before opening and see if it gives me an itch?” through careful strain, your annoyance still seeps through, stepping up to him when he turns just to challenge him. he visibly deflates, letting go of whatever anger he thought he had.
maturely, he explains as he gestures, the visors glued to the ground, “i know that trying the whole good-guy act has been an… adjustment.”
“don’t act like you’re here because of that, spider. you’re too smart to play that card.”
“what do you want me to say?” another layer of his incredulousness wafts over you, you barrel on, talking over him.
“quit the mentor charade, it’s a bad look for you.” you say it to hurt him, to strike at what you dislike the most: being his pity case goodwill project. you might as call yourself a stray cat that’s been caged. if he didn’t know you, he’d think you’re being remarkably calm about all this - so he plays a different card.
“seemed to work on you before.” at the sudden and suggestive mention, you’re taken aback. indignant at first, you scramble for a comeback, but your rare surprise has left your mouth more agape than you’d like to admit. he challenges you this time, the corner of that visor tilting up to make sure you know he’s got his eye on your reaction.
like old times, the kind where you’d run and he’d chase you, and you’d let him get close as a trophy… you take just one more step, inches away from him. your gaze searches his emblem, the one you used to pour over before you knew what he looked like underneath. it’s a quiet moment shared under the moonlight, tempers cooling, and his head lulls in a mirror to yours, like he’s waiting to slot into a kiss that hasn’t been taken yet. your eyes meet the white tear-shapes of his visor. it’s your turn to speak without conviction, “you don’t wanna play that game with me, spider - not tonight.” the empty threat hangs in the air.
he’s too quick to snuff it out anyway. “it’s the only thing we can agree on.”
you shake your head with a sigh through your nose and a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i always end up back in your bed.”
“well, let’s go to your place this time.” . . .
somehow, you’re back in his atmosphere, intoxicated until you’re lulled into a domestic complacency you’ll feel nauseous about later. for now, you’ll enjoy pretending to be a trophy after playing hard-to-get. head falling back, your jaw slackens, seeping out moan after moan when spider-man’s got his hand in your hair, pulling you back like it’s a leash. neither of you undressed what you couldn’t afford to, staying in uniform is less complicated than fucking as people - as normal adults. straddling his lap, he’s sat up, an arm around your waist while the other reaches up from behind to wind in your hair. desperate to grasp something, your claws dig into the windpipe at his neck, but pain simply can’t be induced.
you move together as one, his arms flex n swell around you when they guide you down, and there’s a burn in your thighs when you fight against his strength and his weight to lift yourself up in a hover. “should i… should i call you something? other than your name?”
scoffing, you peel your heavy eyes open one by one. sometimes he has a way of endearing you. “what’re you talking about, spider-man? you don’t wanna play pretend with me?” you muse condescendingly, adjusting your grip against his throat so you can lure him closer to you. less than an inch away, you recycle hot breath with each other and his grasp on your hair softens.
“‘pretend?’” he questions naively.
“yeah, not to know each other.” times like this, you remember his intimidating, boyish inexperience. it’s not so bad now, even rewarding him with a peck against the felt of his mask. “asking me questions like that—about what to call me—ruins it. i just wanna have fun.”
“o- okay.” hastily he tacks on, “cat.”
again, it’s too sweet not to taunt, chuckling through your nose until you feel his pace shift. picking up speed, and adjusting the angle of your hips for you with the arm around your waist… it very quickly reminds you he’s not some kid anymore. his hand splays against your back, supporting you when you arch it, talking to the ceiling, “oh, that’s right, spider… that’s it - right there, oh, fuck. right there…” you exhale. the exposed cleavage in your suit swells, the dull moonlight casting through the window catches on your sheen of sweat, glistening your skin like jewelry. your colleague drinks it all in, holding you up by your waist like you’re nothing, spider-strength making a limp doll out of you when he bounces you on him. his tip hits that perfect spot inside of you, the one that makes you all hazy n hot.
he was afraid to say anything else, but when you keep talking him through it, encouraging him with all your pretty noises, it’s like he steps into his persona. “that’s it, right?” he regurgitates one of your phrases to dip his toe in the water. “right there? you sure it’s right there?” his tone’s shifted, evolving from tentative experimentation to blatant cockiness. you bite hard into your grinning lower lip, lulling forward to splay your hands on his cheeks, long nails casting shadows over his visor like you’re locking up some prey. “don’t tell me you’re about to cum already.”
“no.” you challenge. “been waiting for you to fuck me like a man, spider.”
“cat.” he growls. that super strength is so effortless, you squeal in thrill girlishly when he lifts you up off his lap—letting you clutch his face to your chest—only to land you on your back. “you know, this suit must be filthy.” it rakes a genuine open-mouthed laugh out of you, playfully hitting his emblem.
“are you stalling? afraid you can’t handle me?” you taunt, suspending your legs on either side of them, heavy heels weighing them down as they bob from the ebb n flow.
“well, in other circumstances i’d say i’ve handled you before just fine.” he rises to the opportunity, and uses the reminder of your legs to wedge his hands under your knees n hook your ankles over his shoulders one by one.
“we’ll see about that.” just as you finish the sentence, you trail off at the sight of him sitting on his haunches, the full suit on him with the waistband tucked under and out of the way. seated fully inside of you, he palms your hips firmly, jerking you n taking you with him when he leans back. it shoves a choked sound out of you, but nothing compared to the symphony that plays from the orchestra of your open mouth, his grunts, and the marriage of your sexes. his fingers dig into you, yanking you up n letting you drop down in a way that strokes your guts so good you don’t even possess the brain power to warn him you might squirt. “talk back one more time and i’ll stick a vibrator to your clit.” somehow, the idea of that webby mess around your sex wasn’t so revolting, but you know it was just another one of those empty promises.
@HANASNX 2026 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal. do not take my formats without receiving explicit permission and writing @ credit where it is visible. do not use my writing to train ai models of any kind.
I really wish people would care about aro/ace trans girls. being subjected to transmisogyny is already isolating enough but as soon as the few people who might have been interested in getting closer with you realize that doing so means they have to make active attempts to recontextualize how they think of closeness and intimacy—that they can't rely on their preconceived notions of "platonic friend" or "romantic/sexual partner"—they pretty much always give up and try to sort you into one of those categories. almost every aro/ace trans girl I've ever met has suffered from extreme loneliness. it doesn't have to be this way. we deserve better
