Genuinely surprised by the lack of Unique(ish)! Readers in SuperHero Setting fics.
(Keep in mind that just because Y/N / [Reader] is a variant of the heroes that doesn't mean they act/behave or even look like their counterpart.)
Like most spiderverse fics have a Spidersona! Reader / Spider! Reader, but what if reader were a variant of a Spiderman Villain and/or Ally? Maybe a: Doc Ock! Reader, Prowler! Reader, Symbiote Host! Reader, Black Cat! Reader.Or Maybe a: Silk! Reader, Iron Suit! Reader (Maybe in a way that relates to Riri Williams more than Tony Stark)
Try copying a DC Hero/Villain-esque! Reader into that and vice versa, as in a Marvel Hero/Villain-esque! Reader in a DC fic. Like a (Black) Bumblebee! Reader or Blue Beetle! Reader, they could be related to Antman in a way, but possibly in a different team(Perfect opportunity to pair with Joaquin since Sam seems to have a mini-beef with bug heroes).
A Tamaranean! Reader in the Invincible universe(that's not Starfire coded) A (Green) Lantern! Reader teaching Captain America/Steve Rogers. A Doctor Strange! Reader(or other magic user) arguing with Doctor Fate(idk...) A Deadpool! Reader, Wolverine! Reader, Black Widow! Reader
Unique powers? What about a Reader that can manipulate gravity, shapeshifting, convert energy? ... Instead of Wanda's Powers but in a different color... Unique archetypes? A impulsive speedster faster than light? A sensitive empath that can control and sense emotions? A (mute) mime that can use imaginary/invisible powers and constructs?
Chapter Eight: Don't Save Her (she don't wanna be saved)
<<<<previous chapter ||
this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name ! <33
˚₊𓆩༺🕷🐈⬛༻𓆪₊˚
“Every confirmed spider. All of our lives, woven together, in a beautiful web of life and destiny.”
Glowing before the group was a radiant, colourful web, each convergence of lines projecting a different moving image. Different might’ve been the wrong word to describe it, though, as the displays conveyed the same thing. Different colours, yes. Languages? Genders? Backgrounds? All dissimilar. But upon closer inspection, you noticed that every action, emotion, and word uttered remained the same.
“And these nodes,” Miles spoke up. “–where the lines converge?”
Making a sweeping gesture with his arms, Miguel highlighted the ‘nodes’ that appeared before you. “They… are the Canon.”
Luminous threads burst from the web, each string remaining linked to another. The projections surrounded all sides of you, enveloping the group in the array of scenarios that flashed within the map. Before you, a thin-legged blue spider sank its fangs into a pale female hand.
The spider-heroes circling you seemed to flinch in unison as the web flashed scenes of vibrant venom pumping through skin. First Gwen, then Peter, a flash of Hobie, Miles, and tens of wincing, bitten faces from heroes you failed to recognize.
“Chapters that are a part of every Spider's story,” Miguel continued. “Every time.”
“Some good,”
To your left, a glimmering node reveals a young redheaded girl kissing an upside-down Spider-Man, webbed hands tethered to a nonexistent ceiling. In the corner of your eye, Peter hugs Mayday closer.
“Some bad…some very bad.”
Another glimmer. Appearing above you is a sobbing Gwen, encased in rubble and embracing a heavily wounded boy. Pulling your gaze away from the web, your eyes catch Gwen’s for half a second. Misty, but expression solemnly neutral. You felt your brows knit inwards, yet before any words of consolation could be uttered, numerous painful scenes flashed around you.
A fuller-figured spider-woman wept into the neck of an elderly man, he too, unmoving. A Spider-Man sporting a yellow suit shed tears above the body of an older woman. A Peter Parker, your Peter Parker, flashed in a node right before you. Your stomach dropping to your feet, you froze as you watched him repeatedly shake the shoulders of a still ‘Uncle Ben’, a name you gathered from the sobs wracking his holographic chest. Your eyes, however, remained trained on the face of the late Peter Parker.
Something began to stir in your gut watching his face twisted in agony, similar to how you found yourself that fateful day only a few months ago. Those budding feelings, however, quickly became swallowed by rage. The wound is still fresh. Never forget what he did.
Apparently, your reactions to the node weren’t completely internal, as you felt the gloved hand of Miles envelop one of your trembling own. He squeezed, eyes trained on a different scene playing before him, of a poorly costumed, younger version of Miles holding a pained man in a metallic, purple suit. Besides you, Miles mumbled under his breath.
“Uncle Aaron…”
Miguel spoke, the gruesome scenes dissipating as he continued his lecture.
“That’s how the story is supposed to go. Canon events are the connections that bind our lives together.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” You piped up. Miguel’s eyes narrowed as you spoke. “I mean, all these events have to do with the lives of ‘each and every spider’, like you said.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand the big deal you made about me being involved–”
“Event ASM-195,” Miguel interrupted, the glowing web reappearing before you. To your left, a node began to form– the bloodied face of your father materializing within. Your eyes widened, and your mind immediately blanked.
Miguel continued. “A Black Cat burglar is killed during combat with Spider-Man…”
The node, now fully formed, projected a holographic version of the scene plaguing your dreams since the night it happened. You stepped back suddenly, as if the image itself had knocked you off balance. Your hands flew to cover your mouth, a short and muffled scream escaping between the gaps of your fingers. Your father, bloodied and mangled, lay dead on the cold, tiled floor of a museum’s art exhibit. His face, unmasked and beaten into semi-recognizability, was partly shadowed by a huffing figure standing above him.
Suited hands stained red and dripping digital blood was the Spider-Man you first knew. The man who taught you how to hate. He, too, looked to be significantly injured during the squabble, his red-and blue getup ripped, exposing bruised skin of his own. You opened your mouth to speak, but immediately closed it, the burning sensation of rising bile ceasing any words you wished to spit at Miguel. You shook in silence, suppressing a gag.
The node shifted as Miguel spoke once again. “His death inevitably inspiring his child to take on the Black Cat name for themselves.”
Now projected before you was your own holographic form, posed swinging in midair, satchel filled to the brim and spilling with bills, pearled strings, and gemstones.
What you hadn’t yet noticed, was that it wasn’t just a node of you projected before the group, but an ever-expanding line of Black Cat holograms. You tore your eyes away from your own and swept them across the room, taking in each face. All posed the same, satchel stuffed and grappling hook in hand, stilled, forming the most existential statue exhibit you’ve ever seen. One face in particular you recognized as Felicia from earlier, your mind now flickering to the warning she shared with you.
“…I do know that you need to be careful, please. Knowing you, er- us, getting tangled in situations as big as this never ends well…”
The line of digital Black Cats began to shift, now dramatically posed in a defensive position, their respective holographic Spider-people forming alongside them. All of them held stances filled with animosity, as if frozen in time in the middle of a heated battle. All, except for yours.
“The new Black Cat is destined to become Spider's enemy–” Miguel continued lowly as the webs nodes dissipated once again, shrouding you all in darkness.
“Eventually joining the Sinister Six… and during one heist you’ll–”
Peter loudly cleared his throat, sending a quick, sharp glance in Miguel's direction. This wasn’t lost on you before it was averted, neither was the tick in his jaw, nor the way his eyes flitted in your direction guiltily.
During one heist, I’ll… what? Your eyes met Miles’, your shared gaze immediately solidifying that he was thinking the same thing at Miguel’s words. The thought of ever meeting the same fate as your father nearly made you hurl.
But that can’t be what he’s implying–right?
Miguel, mirroring Peter, sent you a look after returning his, opting to finish up his thoughts.
“All that being said, The Society has been keeping an eye on the both of you. The relationship between you two is imperative to the canon, and the fact that you two are standing here, of all places, will cause an enormous impact on your reality.”
His narrowed eyes zoned in on your now watery own. At his next words, you felt a chill run its way down your spine.
“The Cat and The Spider. The thief and the hero. That must not change. No matter how much you want it to.”
“How do you know?” Miles' voice sliced through the air, voice rasped and wavering, he too, greatly taken aback by Miguel’s words.
“Because I broke it once myself.” Miguel’s shadowed eyes now shifted to Miles. “I thought it was harmless…But I was wrong. Connections can be broken– which makes anomalies so so dangerous.”
The web illuminated once more, webs now flashing images of the harrowing scene you recently survived in Mumbattan. The screaming civilians, the nearly-toppled citybus, but most importantly highlighted, was Miles saving what looked to be a police officer from falling rubble.
“Inspector Singh’s death was a canon event. You weren’t supposed to be there, and you weren’t supposed to save him. Since you decided to change the story, Pavitr’s dimension is falling apart.”
“You break enough canon, save enough captains, we would lose everything.”
The web disappeared for a final time, and you soon found yourself grateful for the darkness, the tears welling in your eyes finally rolling their way down your cheeks. Beside you, Miles’ breath began to quicken, his gaze sharpened but not directed to anyone in particular, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“My dad is about to be captain…Spot does it. He kills him.”
Miles' gaze now darted between yours and Miguel’s, confusion, anger, and fear swimming within, barely bubbling under the surface. “When does it happen.”
Peter, once again, turned to Miguel before averting his gaze to the ground. Jessica, Gwen, and Miguel all kept their gazes solemn, yet avoidant of Miles’.
“When does it happen?!” Miles repeated, louder this time. “In two days”, Miguel finally spoke, “When he’s sworn in–”
“Send us home.” Miles interrupted, fists balling as he stepped closer to you. You could almost feel the rage emanating from him, an intense heat building at your side where he stood.
It was now Miguel’s turn to step forward, his eyebrows knitting inwards. “I can’t do that. Not now.”
“What is he supposed to do then?” You spoke up, “Just let him die?” You turned to Gwen, whose lips were pursed into a tight, thin line. “What about your dad, Gwen, he’s a captain, right?”
“...Yeah.” Gwen squeaked, voice weak, unwavering, and eyes riddled with guilt.
“So we’re just supposed to let people die because some algorithm says that that’s supposed to happen? You realize how messed up that sounds, right?” Miles spat, a scowl plastered to his face. Miguel took yet another step towards the two of you, encouraging Miles to compromise.
“You have a choice between saving one person and saving an entire world. Every world.”
“I can do both. Spider-Man always–”
“Miles, we all want to live the life we wish we had. Believe me, I have tried. And the harder I tried, the more damage I did. You can’t have it all, kid.”
All of a sudden, the room felt full. Spider-heroes you didn’t recognize began to surround you.
“What is this?” Miles quickly took a defensive stance. “Is this an intervention or something?”
“Looks that way.” You replied, hand itching to reach for your whip.
“You were right, Gwen. You should have never come to see me.” Miles growled lowly. Gwen failed to meet his eyes this time.
“You can’t ask me not to save my father!” Miles’ hands began to grow warm, a barely-there light starting to emanate from his palms.
“I’m not asking.” Miguel replies, his inward-knit brows now drawing downwards, a distant yet disapproving look flashing towards the two of you.
“I mean, you basically implied that Cat dies during a heist, and you expect us to just take that?”
So that’s what Miguel was trying to say. That’s what Felicia was warning you about. That’s why Hobie told you that you weren’t ready.
And they were all right.
You sure as hell weren’t ready. You should’ve never uttered those words, speaking your reality into existence, sealing your fate as a thief, and only a thief, who will die with that title. You were destined, according to this stupid society, and this stupid canon, to meet the same end as your father. A bad apple finally plucked from the bunch, an annoying, buzzing fly finally squashed, another viral headline flashed across the nation's television screens. You shuddered at the thought of your apartment being confiscated, just as they did your dads. Everyone you helped, who depended on you, left with nothing.
Would they feel betrayed? Would they hate me, too? Spit on my grave when it's revealed who was behind the mask the whole time?
Your plight was quickly cut short by a familiar-looking cage materializing, trapping both you and Miles in a small, holographic prison. You wailed, the powerful energy of the containment cage clearly designed to weaken a super-powered villain. The little fighting urge left within you had been lost. Emotionally, and now physically, you were drained. Miles slumped alongside you, hissing against the cell's energy field.
In your weakened state, you could hear Gwen’s strained voice, calling out to Miguel. “Miguel, stop it–” “If we let them leave, only more damage will be done. We both know that.”
Within the cage, you felt the temperature begin to rise. Miles began to breathe harder, eyes focused on Hobie’s lanky figure across the room. With all the arguing Spiders’ voices closing in on you both, you found yourself focusing in on Miles amidst all the chaos.
Warmer…
Miguel pushed through the sea of Spider-heroes, coldly dismissing the objections from Peter and Gwen. He spoke down, chin jutted, glaring down his nose between you and Miles. “Just need to hold you a few days.”
Getting warmer…
“Sorry it had to end like this, kid.”
Sweat pooled between the inside of your suit and your skin as the temperature inside your digital dungeon has now risen exponentially. Its source, now extremely apparent. Miles pressed his glowing palms against the energy field, forehead scrunched in a focused state. His frustration has now peaked, his anger finally boiling over.
“I told you not tO CALL ME THAT!”
The heat peaked. The forcefield suddenly blasted open, pushing back the surrounding Spider-heroes, Miguel included, by a few meters. You and Miles, however, still remain in the center. Hobie's eyes catch yours now, a low chuckle exiting his lips. A stark contrast to the pissed-off-yed-dazed expressions everyone else in the room sported. Luminous energy visibly crackles in the air, the bulk of it gathered near or on Miles’ hands, which he now stares at. A beat passes, and your eyes glance towards the now-cleared exit of Miguel's office. Your body moved before your mind did, hand darting out to pull at Miles’ wrist. The draining energy of the cage now gone, you mustered the strength to begin your dart out of this hellhole. Miles followed suit, his wrist still trapped within your gloved fingers.
Dunno if anyone is asking for my man, so imma do it😤 May I pretty please have a usual suspects + crazy stupid love with Prowler! Aaron and Black Cat! R with 📽?
You two have been dancing around each other for months, with Aaron ending up flustered more times than he'd like to admit since he has his "image" to hold up. He works up the nerve to actually ask you out on a proper date after a heist you both pulled off together and you're all too eager before leaving right as Spider-Man shows up.
A little something like that🙂↕️ Love you lots, Katy❤️ Stay hydrated and healthy😘
You know i love me some black cat! R 🤭
Pairing: Aaron Davis x fem! Reader/ The Prowler x black cat! Reader
Word count: 1.9k
Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, 1610 prowler, CW suggestive, Fluff!
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Katy's Summer Flick Screening
“Don’t be shy.”
Your sultry voice echoes around the dark tunnel. Aaron barely made a sound when he entered despite his heavy boots, and yet you sniffed him out the moment he stepped inside.
“Is this your office now? I thought you had more class than this.”
“Considering what we did the last time we were at my office, this place doesn’t seem so sanitary for it.”
His mind brings up the memory before he could shake it away. Fists curling, he swallows thickly, wiping the image out of his head. He steps closer, mask adjusting to the darkness, activating the night vision as you suddenly appear right in front of him in all your glory.
“Cat.”
“Prowler.” Tilting your head, leg thrown over the other casually, you sit in the middle of the abandoned tunnel. “Let me take a good look at you, handsome.” With a snap of your clawed fingers, the lights suddenly turn on, almost blinding him if he didn’t see it coming. “There you go, out into the light.”
Groaning, eyes squinting from the brief blindness, with his quick thinking he thankfully turned off the night vision before showing his claws. “Not even five minutes in and you already tried to blind me.”
“Aww,” you coo, chin casually placed on your palm. “That was just my way of saying ‘I missed you.’”
“You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”
“Would you rather that I pounce at you like last time?”
“You broke my rib last time.”
“And yet you loved it.” Your giggles bounce around the empty concrete walls.
Groaning, Aaron places a hand on his hip, exasperated and yet the thought of ‘last time’ sends his stomach alight. “Where’s the pink diamond located?”
“Straight into business as always.” Rolling your eyes, you stand up, heels clicking against the pavement as you step closer to him.
“I answered your call for a reason, Cat.”
“Yes, and that reason is standing right in front of you.” Twirling slowly in front of him, you irk him even more, and yet the eyes of his mask seem to flicker down briefly when you fully turn around.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he avoids your eyes, jaw clenched as he scrubs his mind that’s related to you except for the job at hand. “Where’s the diamond?”
You point at your temple with your sharp nail. “Right here, handsome.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“I’m not, not this time anyway.” Closing the distance, you circle around him like you're preying on the prowler whilst your hand brushes along the muscles of his back. “Take me with you. We’ll share the money equally. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend anyway.”
“No.” Scoffing, Aaron flinches away. He swears he saw disappointment flicker briefly in your eyes. “The last time we teamed up, you took all the loot.”
You giggle, smiling sweetly. “I took something else that night too, y’know, something… that satisfied my cravings.”
He sighs, jaw clenching at the memory you induced simply with your words. “Can you be normal for a second? I need that diamond.”
“What’s with the stick up your ass?” Groaning, head lolling back for a moment, you look back at him with slumped shoulders. “I’m trying to fucking flirt and you’re no fun at all.”
“You can try to get into my pants later.” Aaron doesn’t back down, walking closer to you until his chest meets with yours. His lips a hair’s width away from your own. “For now, I need the location of the diamond.”
“I told you,” you don’t surrender either. Palms atop his chest, you feel his searing warmth from under his suit as the purple light illuminates your features. “You want it? Take me with you.”
Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. It takes iron will from taking your hands in his, pulling you against him and kissing you senseless like last time.
“Why? I heard about your heist downtown, you must’ve gotten away with millions. And that was just last week, did you use it all up already buying cat food, hm?”
“Pre-school is expensive, y’know. There are so many hidden fees—”
“Excuse me!” Aaron steps back abruptly, almost tumbling down on the dirty ground as panic sets in his stomach. “You what?”
“Long story short, kids are expensive. Especially when it’s twins.” You simply shrug, as if you said the most normal thing in the world.
“T–Twins?!” He completely loses it, hands on the side of his head, knees buckling from under him. “Wha–how long? I mean, how old are they?!” Now he knows why you've been on hiatus for more than a year.
Even with his mask, you can see that he’s doing math in his head. “They’re four months old. But they say that it’s never too early to save for their college fund.”
“Four?! Shit!” The one time he doesn’t want his math to be correct.
“I know, I look good for someone who just had twins.” You chuckle innocently as he hyperventilates. “What has gotten into you? Did you accidentally pull the stick out of your ass too hard?”
His long strides give him a quick advantage, within a half second, he’s already in front of you, hands grasping onto your shoulders. “No games, Cat, tell me, are they mine?”
“What’s yours?”
“The—the twins! Are they mine?” He gently shakes you.
“That depends, do you want the diamond or not?”
“Cat—”
You flip away from his grasp, balancing on your heels as you taunt him with a come hither gesture. “Come prowl the night with me like the good old days, handsome.”
“You didn’t answer my question!” Even with his panic and the million questions in his mind, he chases you down the tunnel, following close right behind you as your giggles echo through the night towards the target.
—
Aaron runs after you like a man starved. Police choppers fly above the rooftops where the two of you sprint and hop over expertly. But with you being much faster and more flexible, he’s breaking a sweat.
“Don’t you dare run off with the diamond!”
“Who, me?” Your cackling echoes through the night and above the sirens.
“Cat!”
“Try and catch me!” You giggle, and it only drives him to run after you as mechanical hisses sound off from right behind you. He’s either pissed or riled up, and yet you don’t mind either.
“Come on, I’m not playing!” Through the New York streets, bodegas and apartments, he runs after you with thundering footsteps.
You lead him all the way to another borough, making sure that he’s keeping up with your speed, and at the same time, losing the cops.
After what seemed to be forever for Aaron, you finally skid to a stop inside an abandoned factory. Glass shards are littered everywhere, there’s graffiti sprayed all over the walls, and the brick walls look like they’re ready to collapse.
“H–hold on.” He heaves, hands on his knees, as you stand in front of him. You’re faring better than him, hands casually on your hips, panting with a smile on your painted lips. “Don’t fucking go…anywhere.” Pointing accusingly, he drops the mechanical voice as he addresses you. “Give me the diamond.”
“You still don’t trust me? How do we remedy that, prowler?” Stepping forward, heels clicking against glass shards, you gaze at him through half lidded eyes. “I wasn’t going anywhere without you.”
Straightening up, Aaron opens his mask, revealing a domino mask similar to yours. Which wipes the flirty smile off your face, that’s quickly replaced with a bright grin that has him feeling some type of way. “The diamond.”
“Say please?” Cooing, your sharp nail trace along the prowler emblem on his suit.
“Tell me about the twins.” Jaws set, his heart pounding in his chest once again, more than when he was cracking the safe, or being chased by the cops ever made him feel. You’ve got that effect on him.
You roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll give you the diamond.” His hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, before loosening into a softer touch. “I thought you wanted it?”
“Are they mine, the twins?” He whispers, eyes looking right at your swirling eyes.
A beat passes, then two, then three before you cup his face gently. No claws, no flirty quips, just you.
“Twins? What twins?” Then you return to your old black cat ways, smirking as your lips grazes his own.
“You—” He blinks hard, scoffing and flinching away. “You’re fucking with me again!”
“Made you think, hm? It’s not too late to make it real though.” Shrugging, you watch his expression morph into a hundred emotions. “Fine, I’m sorry, I guess I went too far with that one.”
“You guess?” He spits out, shaking his head. “It’s been years, and I’ve never really known the real you. You already know who I am, shit, you probably already know everything. But I don’t know you, never did.” Frustration rolls off his tongue easily. “And yet I’m the sucker that fell for you, huh?”
Your face falls, blinking rapidly at his words. “Do you really want to know me, Aaron? After all this time— after all that, you still want to see what’s under my mask?”
“I guess I’m an idiot, but yeah, the real you. Why do you do this, cat?”
“The same as you,” you watch as he gets closer to you with steady steps, eyes trailing all over you as if you’re about to run away from him again. “we’ve all got issues. And we have reasons as to why we decide to dress like this and become some animal themed vigilante.”
Aaron chuckles, pinky slowly reaching for yours until you meet him halfway, weaving it around his finger. A small yet meaningful step forward. “You’re right, we’ve got issues.” He lifts his gaze from the interlocked pinkies to look at you. “Do you want to talk about those issues over dinner?”
“A real dinner? Not on a rooftop with a picnic blanket on?”
He nods, “yeah, a fancy place where you can tell me all about your fantasy where we have twins.”
You laugh, a big genuine one, a glimpse of the real you. “Sure, do we split the bill?” Leaning closer, hands on his chest, you smile above his lips whilst he holds you in place by your hips.
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Aaron—”
“Hate to interrupt but, have you guys seen a very big pink diamond by any chance?” A new voice pipes up from above, and the two of you immediately separate, backing away from each other.
“Shit—! Mil— Spider-Man!” Aaron nurses his raising heart.
“Don’t you know how to knock, kid?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.
Spider-Man shrugs, as he perches on the scaffolding, knocking rhythmically against the rusted metal. “There, can I have the diamond now?”
With a sigh, you toss the diamond to Aaron, and he catches it effortlessly. “Give it back to me during dinner if you still have it after this!” Dropping a smoke bomb at your feet, you make your quick escape.
The smoke has the two men coughing from it, and you disappear behind it without a trace, except for your perfume still lingering in the air.
“Man, you sure know how to pick them.” Miles says, spider senses tingling before he notices that the prowler is nowhere to be found. “C’mon, uncle Aaron!”
Y/N Hardy has enough on her plate. Her Fisk scholarship is funding her through Visions Academy and her best friend Harry might be the only constant in her life. But things are starting to catch up with her, and the line between Y/N's life, and her life as Black Cat is beginning to blur, and she might not be able to hold it together.
"Yeah, yeah, okay, sorry."
Dr Connors opened his mouth.
You interrupted before he could say whatever inevitably disappointing thing he was going to say. Probably another speech about 'applying yourself'. There was always a speech about applying yourself.
"I promise, sir, I'll get it in!"
And you were gone, rushing out the lab before he could give you detention, or a motivational speech. You're not sure which would be worse.
Luckily, the corridor was pretty empty, apart from... a boy stood outside, tie looser than was technically allowed and blazer hung open with all the swagger someone wearing a school uniform incorrectly can have. Despite having worn the same science goggles as you last lesson his hair was - Harry Osborn, your best friend, was annoyingly good at looking good.
You hated him a tiny bit for it.
Or for the fact he knew it.
He was far too pleased with himself, leaning by the door and smirking at you.
You pointed a finger at him. "I swear to god if you say - "
"I told you so."
You bit your cheek to not swear at him. You'd known him long enough to recognise that smug little look.
To be fair, this was the sixth time that you'd forgotten to do Dr. Connors bio assignment, but Harry kept refusing to give you the answers, insisting that you needed to 'actually learn it'.
"Most people would have worked it out by now, you know? The whole managing the workload?"
You stuck your middle finger up at him, frowning. "Most people don't have my workload."
"Of course." He grinned, falling into step with you. "Cause you're on your fancy scholarship with your fancy internship."
"Oh, shut up."
The halls of Visions Academy stretched in front of you as you made your way to your locker, waxy floors and enormous windows with crisp views of New York. A couple of framed photographs of former students who had gone on to become successful. People like Fisk. Or Connors. Anyone who worked at Oscorp, really.
People that always knew they were destined for great things. People like Harry.
They probably didn't forget their bio assignments.
There's a ton of plaques too. Donors and stuff. Including Harry's dad. And Fisk.
Everything sort of gave the impression that you were always being watched by someone much more successful than yourself. It was motivation, sure. But also just a ton of pressure.
The workload at Visions Academy was always going to be crazy; you knew that when you entered the Fisk scholarship, but you couldn't have anticipated quite how hectic life was going to become. Maybe you had bit off more than you could chew.
There was school. And the part-time job. Fisk internship. Homework. A vague attempt to keep a social life. And the other -
"The things you get away with..." Harry muttered.
His voice whips you out your thoughts accompanied by an elbow to your side.
"Shut up, Osborn, you're just jealous that the teachers actually like me."
"Hey, they like me! Professor Warren loves me."
You snorted, fiddling with your locker door. "You mean he loves your dad and his money."
Harry placed a hand over his chest. You knew that expression. "I'm wounded."
"Good."
"You think the cash is all they care about?"
"It's the only reason I'm friends with you."
Harry frowned, placing a hand on his chest and jerking backwards in mock hysteria. He bats his eyelashes at you.
"Oh, Y/N, you wound me so. Not even Spider-Man could mend this broken heart of mine."
A beat. He blinks his eyes again.
"Are you finished?"
He laughs. "Not remotely."
Idiot. You shoved him lightly, dumping your books in your locker. The clang echoes down the corridor. You fished Connor's undone homework from the back of it, half tucked behind the homecoming flyers from last year. Whoever had the locker before you hadn't bothered to clean it out. Neither had you.
"Oh, Spidey, come and cure this ailing heart!"
Harry's obsession with Spider-Man had become a bit of a running gag between you two. The hero had 'saved' him from getting hit by some debris at Oscorp a couple of months ago, and Harry had developed a fixation on the web-shooter ever since. Apparently Harry had been very cool and composed.
You'd seen the footage. He was screaming like a child.
He'd been recounting the story to anyone in earshot, adding in increasingly unecessary detail each time. Last you heard, he'd told Miles that Spider-Man had personally thanked him for his bravery, and that he'd promised to wingman him on his next date.
As if Harry gets dates.
Bzzz. Your phone lights up with a text.
You groan. "Are you kidding?"
Peter Parker: Sorrh. Cant come tonight. Resxhedule????
Harry leaned over your shoulder, frowning at the message. "I mean, I like the guy," he said, "but he's not exactly consistent."
Peter Parker had been tutoring you and Harry, along with a couple other students since September.
He was clever. Like crazily, annoyingly clever. And he has this knack for explaining ridiculously difficult things in a way that makes them seem easy. Organic chem became incredibly manageable whenever he was around.
The problem was getting him to actually be around. Parker cancelled more often than not, and when he did show he was late. And for someone who lives in Queens and works as a researcher he always seemed weirdly tired.
Or bruised. Or both.
Your friend Ganke had developed a theory a few months back that he was in some sort of illegal fight club, and that's why he was always a state. It had spread round the school to the extent someone has photoshopped his face into Tyler Durden.
Someone being Harry.
The stupid thing about it was that Harry thought Peter was the shit. Osborn practically worshiped him. Peter was rapidly approaching Spider-Man levels of admiration.
It was weird. The whole thing was weird. Something was definitely up with Parker, but you weren't sure what. At the end of the day, you didn't really care as long as he got you through organic chem.
"I was gonna ask him for help with Dr Connor's thing as well!"
Harry turned to you, arms crossed, shit-eating grin.
"I can help."
You roll your eyes. "Nope. Not happening."
"Please."
"No."
"I can help!"
You'd let Harry help you with homework once before, when you'd known him for a few weeks. It had ended with him getting red in the face and you almost crying over calculus. He wasn't exactly a natural teacher.
"You made me cry last time!"
"Okay, that's not true. You nearly cried."
You raised your eyebrows at him.
"It was one time! And -"
"You told me to 'just understand it'!"
"I was young and niave."
"It was like 3 months ago!"
"I'm a reformed man." He held his hands up in mock surrender.
You scoffed. "You told me I wasn't trying hard enough!"
"You weren't!"
You rolled your eyes. Unbelievable.
"I hate you."
He grins at me, ridiculously straight teeth beaming in the shitty fluorescent lights of the hallway.
"Are we bonding?"
"No."
"I think we are."
You glance back down at the work. Then at Harry. He already looked unbearably pleased with himself. Pursing your lips, you sighed.
"Fine."
Harry grinned. "Cool, I - I'll meet you in the library after dinner?"
You nodded. Harry threw both hands into the air and let out a whoop. Three students down the corridor turned to look. You grimaced and he pulled you into a half-hug before you could process what was happening. You froze, dropping your phone.
C'mon Y/N, you've hugged Harry before. It's not a big deal.
"Oh!"
He immediately let go, flustered.
"It's a date."
You stared at him blankly. Harry looked remarkably, un-Harry-like, that being uncertain. Unsure.
"I mean, not like that - you - like a study da- unless - no - I -" He paused, mouth open. Then he closed it.
Then opened it again. "You know what I mean."
Harry broke off into incoherent mumbles.
"Yeah."
He nodded far too quickly, then turned heel and walked away. You grinned as you watched hjm go, biting your cheek. Idiot.
"Miss Hardy?"
You spun around to see a woman from the administration office. You weren't sure of her name, Maggie, maybe. Or Marge. Or Marie?
Something with an 'M'.
"Uh, yeah?"
She squinted through her glasses at you.
Your stomach dropped. You'd been sneaking out the window every night for the last four months. Four months without a single suspicion, not even a close call. It was pretty impressive, you thought. But would probably be considered grounds for exclusion by the school board. Not even Fisk could save you from that.
You straightened to look at her, opening your mouth and praying some half decent excuse dropped out of it.
"You've got a visitor waiting for you in your dorm."
"I can - what?"
A visitor.
You didn't get visitors. Your father was in prison, your friends were all at school, and you can't imagine anyone else that would want to actively see you.
"I'm sorry, who?"
The woman smiled. "It's to do with your extra-curriculars."
She was interrupted by a loud yelp from the end of the corridor. The woman turned heel and started storming towards whatever fight was happening. You watched her walk away, jaw gaping.
🕸️ You are Y/N Hardy, also known as the Black Cat... But noone knew that. Unsolved, undetected, unstoppable. Notorious for stealing multitudes of notable, expensive works, all without leaving a hint pointing to who's behind the mask.
Being the Black Cat was an easy side-gig...until Spider-man showed up.
I have read so many fics about hobie suprising reader for their bday but none of reader suprising hobie! Could I request a fic where they suprise him? Maybe they make him a handmade gift or something? I don’t really have a specific plot in mind so feel free to to write whatever u would like for the plot!
Also I think he’s definitely a January baby like the 13th of jan or something like that idk he just gives me born at the start of the year vibes.
Have a wonderful day/night ❤️❤️
🕊️anon
Omg it's his turn to be surprised!!! I love this prompt that i have to let it simmer in my thoughts to think of a bday surprise for him!! I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! reader
Word count: 1.7k
Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), reader is mentioned wearing makeup, CW drinking mention, established relationship, Black cat! Reader, flirty! Reader, a bit of loser! Hobie if you squint, situationship, fluff!
Navigation
The cool air whistles a tune while Hobie is perched on top of a skyscraper, overlooking the city like a guardian angel. He snickers at the thought, the nickname you've bestowed upon him sounds ridiculous, and yet, it has him smiling through and through.
It shouldn't have him all bashful and giggly like a schoolboy having a crush, especially the fact that you're supposed to be an enemy to him. But do enemies have their personal telephone numbers memorized? You know, just in case the other gets too beat up to take care of themselves. And do sworn enemies have the other's lips memorized? He shakes the thought of your kiss ping ponging around his head, grip almost loosening and making him dangerously slip off the building. If only he didn't catch himself, that would be an embarrassing ending for Spider-Man. Maybe he should call you, just quickly head on to the nearest telephone booth and ring you up like enemies surely do sometimes, right?
Hobie hugs his leather vest tighter around himself, walking around the building like it's his personal treadmill. His boots squeak against the windows, the top floor is an office of some ceo he doesn't care about. Now their pristine windows are covered in his boot marks and mud.
He continues to ponder as the chill in the air permeates through his suit. It wouldn't hurt to call when he technically has an excuse since he hasn't seen you in a couple of weeks. The city's jewelry stores are starting to get comfortable.
You could be on vacation, or using the money from the blood diamonds you stole for a charity that you once talked about with him. What was the name again? Hobie tries to wrack his brain for it, it was a quiet patrol that day and you suddenly decided to join his side on a rooftop. Calling him an emo as you jab a fork to his side while you share a slice of cake with him. Fuck, the name starts with a ‘D,’ or was it a ‘B?’ He was too laser focused on your lips and how your palm grazed his bicep. Man, he needs to get a bloody grip.
As your masked face flickers in his smitten addled brain, the pink fog inside his mind dissipates as he hears a fire alarm from the distance. White smoke billows out from the windows, glass shattering from inside the warehouse.
Hobie immediately jumps off the building, catching himself before he hits the ground and swinging off towards the fire.
He doesn't miss a beat as he dodges cars on the streets, boots hitting roofs and windows whizzing past him.
“I think someone's still inside!” A bystander yells from the ground, pointing at the top floor, where the smoke is coming from. While the fire department is still en route, he immediately flings himself inside, smashing a window and landing on a rickety floor.
“Oi! Where are you?! ‘m ‘ere to help!” Hobie yells amidst the smoke. Weirdly enough, he doesn't feel heat on his suit, nor the acrid smell of burning against his nose.
His senses go off just as when a dagger flies towards him. With a quick nudge of his head, he dodges it, the weapon embedded into the deep crevice of the brick wall.
“That wasn't very nice, love.” Instead of getting mad, Hobie smiles underneath his mask, soft eyes gazing at the familiar silhouette hiding amongst the fog.
Heels click against the rotten floorboards, shiny leather revealed as the smoke parts for you.
“That was me saying I missed you, angel.” You say with a lilt, voice velvet soft and eyes glimmering in your domino mask. Your claws are just as sharp as he remembered it as you bite the tip of your nail, smiling at him like you're about to eat him whole.
He guesses there's no fire to put out but only a very powerful fog machine needing to be unplugged somewhere.
Hobie, in a heartbeat, flicks his wrist at you, web thrown at you as you dodge it last minute. “I missed you too.”
You chuckle, biting your painted lip. “Aw, you did?” Stepping closer, Hobie anticipates your next move with bated breath. “I bet you were waiting around your telephone like a lovesick puppy.”
He rolls his eyes, of course you don't see it on account of the mask hiding his face. “Nah, figured I'd play hard to get.”
“Really?” You say with amusement, you're clearly having your fun with him. “So you didn't call me last night? Then who did I say yes to a date to?”
The eyes of his mask widen, hands unfurling in shock. “W–What? I didn't—” did he call you while he was out drinking with the mandem?
Your laughter echoes out around the abandoned building, eyes crinkling around the corners as you beam at him genuinely. “I was fucking with you, angel. I tend to tease when it's someone's birthday.”
Hobie blinks, confusion evident on his posture. “Happy birthday? I should've gotten you a gift, love.”
You tilt your head, hands placed on your lips. “Fucking hell, don't tell me you forgot your own birthday, webslinger.”
Realization hits him right on his face as he hears sirens outside get nearer. “Shit, now I remember why I got shit faced last night.”
“Happy birthday, my beloved idiot.” Giggling, you saunter over to him, heels clacking against the wood as you stand toe to toe with him. “Oh, I envy you for not getting hangovers.”
Hobie eyes you, from your bloody red lips up to your eyes that are surrounded by dark eyeshadow that accentuates your pretty eyes. “It has its downside too. Can't get fuckin' drunk without drinking the entire pub.”
Your index trails his leather vest from the hem up to the lapels. Nails dragging across his front as he gulps down when your finger hooks around his choker, pulling him close, and lips teasing above his own. “I need to see that, you know what they say, seeing is believing.”
Hobie smirks, hands hovering above your hips. “You askin' me out?”
“Depends if you like your present.” You raise a brow, eyes flicking down to his hovering hands. He doesn't get the memo, and you have to grasp at the back of his hands to bring it down to your hips.
“You tellin' me this ain't the present?” His voice is low, tone flirty while his palm rests comfortably on your skin tight suit.
“Could be if you play your cards right tonight, birthday boy.” You gesture towards the dagger still sticking from the wall, while your fingers play with the lapels of his vest. “Open it.”
Hobie follows your gaze, finding a small wrapped present dangling from the silver dagger with a cat's tail engraved on it.
“I gotta hand it to you, love.” He yanks it out of the dagger, the red ribbon floating down as it gets cut from the blade. “You have a taste for theatrics.”
“Guilty.” You put both hands up in a mock surrender while Hobie gently opens the neatly wrapped box. The anticipation eats at you, wishing that you could see his reaction through his mask. You'll get there eventually.
Hobie chuckles, akin to a giggle. “Damn, you gonna wine and dine me later too?” In his fingers is a pearl bracelet with colourful gemstones embedded on each pearl.
“Do you want to be?” You ask breathily as your hand cups the side of his neck carefully. “I made it don't worry. I gathered all the pearls from responsible and respectable sources, and the gemstones too.”
He could only stare at you, mask hiding his expression.
“Come on, say something, angel.” You whine, heel stomping on the floor. “I had to painstakingly put every—!”
In a blink, his mask is lifted halfway up and his lips upon yours. He smells of leather and burgundy, lips still tasting of hot chocolate he might've had to thaw his cold fingers. You feel him smile, lips curling and kissing you like he has never done before.
Grinning from ear to ear, he takes it as an invitation to kiss you deeper, breath taken from your lungs as his hand presses down on the small of your back to push you impossibly closer to him. He's warm against you while your hands wander all over his chest, feeling his quick heartbeat underneath all the layers of his suit. You cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his jaw to feel the skin you so dearly crave.
You pull away first, sirens loud in your ears as he tries to chase your lips. With your index on top of his puckered lips, he takes your wrist and kisses the back of your hand instead.
“I take it that you liked my little present?”
He hums against your heated flesh, your red lipstick left a mark on his lips. You don't make a move to wipe it off.
“Come on, angel, let's continue this somewhere else—” you tug at his hand, but he wretches you back to his side, front hitting his own as he embraces you. “We can't put on a show for the brave people of the fire department, that's called public indecency. I did leave them a very shiny gift for their troubles so maybe they can turn a blind eye.”
“Not until you tell me the secret message in your bracelet.” Hobie shows you the pearls, the differently coloured gemstones not having a pattern as it shines in the moonlight.
“You figured that out quick.” You take the pearls and clasp it safely around his wrist.
He shrugs with a smug smile on his face, watching as your hands carefully put his present on. “I know my shit, love.”
Twisting around, you free yourself from his grasp, (as if you even wanted to in the first place.) “If you can catch me.” You walk backwards towards the window, heel perched on the windowsill, leather suit shimmering as he ogles you unabashedly. “Oh, and be an angel and grab my knife for me.”
With a roll of his eyes and a chuckle, he briefly turns around to grab the knife, only to look back to you being gone.
The thrill of the chase gets him, immediately jumping off and following your cackling throughout the city.
spider-man universe, visions academy, black cat! reader, friends to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, occasional angst, horribly written action sequences, etc.
masterlist (WIP)
part 1 - the things you get away with
part 2 - i've got homework!
part 3 - for you
part 4 - drop it
part 5 - i've been trying to make it obvious
summary -
You had enough problems.
Between keeping your scholarship at Visions Academy, managing the crazy workload, your part-time job, and trying not to disappoint your best friend, Harry Osborn, you barely have enough time to breathe.
And your secret life isn't exactly helping.
Working for Wilson Fisk means breaking into warehouses and galleries, stealing priceless art, and occasionally running into New York's favourite neighbourhood vigilante. Spider-Man had become a real pain in your ass.
Until he shows up in your dorm room.
Spider-Man needs you help tracking a mysterious art thief known as Black Cat. There's one problem: all the evidence he's given you points straight back to Fisk.
And to every crime you've commited for him.
Now you're caught between the man who promised he could get your father out of prison, the web-slinger who's getting dangerously close to the truth, and Harry, your brilliant, infuriating best friend who might be becoming something more.
this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name <33
˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
A/N: Hey to whoever reading this! Thanks for taking the time to do so !! This is the first fic i’ve wrote ever so please excuse any hiccups. This concept of a Black Cat variant has been bouncing around in my head since the first movie, so I decided to write it down. I’m not really sure if I’ll continue this to be a full story, (if I see that people are reading it, then of course I will), but this is kinda like a prologue/test chapter so my ideas don’t die without ever seeing the light of day. I’ll also be posting this on ao3 under the same title!! Feel free to comment, criticize, and give any ideas into how I can further incorporate the reader into the plot. Thanks again & enjoy!
P.S. I’m not sure if I want this to be romantic or just a reader-insert just yet. So don’t expect romance anytime too soon.
The drop of your stomach when you lowered into the building,
The sound of your heart pumping in your head as you weaved your way past security,
The adrenaline rush while you whip around the city, knowing that the job was done, all with your face remaining unknown.
… Who are you kidding? You loved to admit it.
Well, you never would actually admit it, that would ruin the whole ‘secret identity’ thing you’ve got going on, but you get the idea.
It was exhilarating. And almost comical. Quite comical, actually. How you would swipe these valued works from right under the noses of whatever snob owned the museum. You’d think if they were so valued, they’d invest in better security measures, but here we are.
For around five months now, you’ve been Brooklyn's one and only* Black Cat. At least that’s what they liked to call you. Your actual name was Y/N Hardy, and you weren’t all that special. Born here, lived here, parents died here, and after months of wallowing over that, you ended up picking up this gig. Something in you wanted to make a name for yourself. You craved some sort of recognition, plus rent had to be paid somehow.
Your kleptomaniac tendencies turned out quite useful in the end, a few months ago you managed to turn in enough goods to afford you a spot at Brooklyn Visions. Before they passed, your parents hated that school, but it had always been your dream to go.
Being The Cat was terribly easy. Go in, take shit, go out, sell shit. With the money you’d obviously take care of your needs first, it only being you and your cats in your apartment - food, student fees, cute clothes on the side, you know the works. But the leftovers, you always gave back. One thing you kept from your father was to always remember to give back. “If not, you’re just as bad as those sons of bitches you’re taking from”, he’d always say.
From the older lady down in room 213, who isn’t able to afford medical now that her kids moved out.
To the young queen who makes her pay from gigs at clubs after being kicked out by her parents.
The single dad with three girls, the kid who caught onto drugs way too early, the janitor, all the way down to that dog with one leg missing(as much as you strongly prefer felines), they all needed your help. They all needed Black Cat. They never questioned where the money came from, it’s always been this way. You didn’t live on the pretty side of town, cash is cash and as long as it ends up in their hands, it never mattered the methods taken to get there.
You had no complaints, it made your job easier. You’d show up to them as Y/N, money in hand, they’d call you generous, and that was it. No suspicion towards The Cat whatsoever. Smooth interactions every time, it was terribly easy.
Except for right now.
Right now, standing right inbetween you and your next paycheque( a diamond necklace ), is a boy.
A boy when you’d sworn the gallery would’ve been long closed and empty by the time you started your heist.
A boy sporting a spider-suit.
You’d heard of the city’s new hero for a while now, although you paid no mind to it, as he’s been dealing with more relevant criminals, and you’ve been stealing for this long without any hint of his interest towards your activities. You suppose the rise of news reports on your…endeavors are what may have drawn him here, but why now?
Why him ?
It’s now been a good thirty seconds of silent staring between you and the spider-boy, you were suddenly grateful for your mask, while sweaty, concealed the ever-growing grimace on your face as this awkward silence lengthened.
The boy breathed in.
“So…”
You took the noise as your ‘go’ signal, and ran. Pushing past him in the process, you aimed your whip towards the necklaces’ glass case, and flexed your arm. A sickening crack of glass followed shortly. Good.
“Wh- Hey!”
The Spider called after you, seemingly taken aback by your sudden dash.
“Where,” He leaped off the walls, and into the air, in a matter of seconds.
“do you think,” He released his webbing in your direction(shit, you forgot about that), it wrapping around your form, tripping you up in the process.
“you’re going!” Spider pulled(shit), before you could whip your way towards your exit, you found yourself tied up, feeling almost cocoon-esque, hanging right above the glass case, feet-first from the ceiling, face-to-face with Spider-man. How humiliating.
“Just…admiring the art, is all.” You finally spoke, shakiness in your voice prevalent. You’ve never been caught before.
“Right,” Spider quipped back, stretching the R. “and your version of admiring includes theft?”
“Woah! Okay, well ‘theft’ is a bit intense,” You snickered under the mask. Spiders’ masked eyes narrowed.
“how do you know I’m not planning on returning it? I’d much rather call it ‘borrowing.’”
“Yeah? Well, seems your ‘borrowing’ hobby will have to end, Cat.” Spider let out a small grunt, before flipping over and landing right on top of the glass case below the two of you. Another crack. Perfect.
“Looks like the Cat’s in the bag, huh?” He laughed to himself.
A silent beat passed.
The Spider, now focused on writing some sort of sticker label for when the cops show, had not noticed your insistent wriggling back up on the ceiling. You had hoped that maybe with enough squirming-
The webbing loosened.
With enough squirming maybe you could-
You reached for your whip.
Maybe you could-
You flicked your wrist, aiming to latch onto something, anything. And pulled.
CRASH
Finally.
You dropped down onto your toes, right beside the thing that started it all. That damn diamond necklace.
Glass littered the gallery floors, reflecting light and creating all kinds of shapes you would’ve loved to admire had Spider not been racing after you, eyes trained on the necklace now in your hands.
From an outside perspective, it appeared as if you two were dancing. Punches were tossed, webs slung, sarcastic quips made, whips thrown, all dodged masterfully by the two of you. Neither of you two were letting up. This buzz of adrenaline, the energy pricking at your skin, gave you that feeling you always loved when you left the house as The Black Cat- you felt utterly and wholeheartedly alive.
As you managed to land one kick to Spiders stomach, you felt alive. As you used your grappling hook to fling yourself through your exit, you felt alive-
“What’s wrong Webby? Cat’s got your tongue?” You shouted, from atop your exit window, looking down at the spider-boy, the widest grin you’ve ever sported concealed under your mask.
Miles took note of how your masked eyes squinted, the clear smile in your voice. You were enjoying this.
And you were enjoying this - necklace now hastily stuffed into your satchel, you flipped backwards off the building, removed your mask and screamed.
It was different this time, being caught, the chase, the fight, it gave you this high. A high you’ve never felt before. As you grappled your way through the night, your smile persisted.
By the time you made it back to your apartment, you were winded. You had come down from whatever buzz you were feeling earlier, now ridden with aches and exhaustion.
Suit off, cats fed, hair washed, necklace stored(you debated keeping it for yourself for memories sake or cashing it in as originally planned), you made it to your bed. Adrenaline at a low, you still felt giddy.
You hated to admit it, but that was actually… fun.
Smiling one last time, you decided to roll over and force yourself to sleep, thoughts of the night’s activities bouncing softly in your mind.
