𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Say It Again, I Dare You

Parings → Peter Parker x Blackcat! Reader

Warnings → Flirty banter, sexual innuendo, comedic tension, spicy teasing

Summary →Spider-Man finally catches you, but your teasing whisper breaks him.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

You were always two steps ahead.

Spider-Man hated that.

Not in the "You're a supervillain and I must bring you to justice" kind of way, no. He knew you weren’t bad—just slippery, shameless, and really good at pressing his buttons until he was ready to short-circuit.

And tonight? He was done.

You’d just stolen—no, borrowed, as you’d call it—a priceless drive full of experimental StarkTech files, and instead of disappearing like most decent criminals, you were taunting him from the edge of a rooftop.

“Aw, c’mon Spidey,” you called down, voice playful. “You really should’ve caught me by now. I’m starting to think you like the chase.”

His blood boiled—mostly from adrenaline. Definitely not from the tight black suit you wore, or the way the wind caught your hair just so. Nope. Strictly justice-based rage.

“You’re making this really difficult, Cat,” he muttered as he landed in front of you.

“I could make it easier,” you said with a wink, tossing the drive in the air and catching it again. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”

Oh, hell no.

With a lunge and a web, he caught your wrist and twisted you down onto the rooftop gravel. You went with it far too willingly, ending up flat on your back with him straddling your thighs.

For once, you were actually caught.

His hand came up—fingers wrapping lightly around your throat, more symbolic than forceful. “Game’s over,” he said, voice low and serious. “No more running.”

You looked up at him, completely unbothered, eyes wide and gleaming. “Oh no…” you whispered, lips curling upward.

“Harder, Daddy.” You moaned out.

And boom. Chaos.

You swore you felt his whole body seize up.

And then he squeaked.

Like a tiny scared mouse. Like someone popped a balloon behind him. Like a cartoon character watching a piano fall.

“W-What the hell is WRONG with you?!” He sputtered, practically tripping off you as he stumbled back, face probably redder than his suit.

You were howling. Full-on cackling, body shaking as you rolled onto your side, wiping a tear from your eye. “I didn’t think you'd squeak!”

“That wasn’t a squeak!” He snapped, hands flailing in dramatic offense. “It was—it was a tactical retreat!”

You snorted. “What, like your brain retreating from all the blood rushing to your—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!”

You held up your hands, smirking. “Okay, okay. Geez. You’re so uptight.”

He glared at you, but it was half-hearted at best. “You know I could web you to a lamppost and leave you for the cops, right?”

“And miss out on more fun little moments like this?” You said, sitting up. “Not a chance, Spidey.”

He looked skyward like he was praying for strength. Or maybe backup. “You need therapy.”

You stood, brushing off your suit. “You offering to pay for it, Daddy?”

He made a noise. A pained, flustered noise.

Then he swung off without another word, flinging himself into the skyline as fast as his web could carry him.

You watched him disappear, then looked down at the drive still clutched in your hand. “Guess I’m keeping this, then.”

---

Later that night...

Peter Parker sat on a water tower like a defeated anime protagonist.

“Harder, Daddy,” he muttered under his breath, then groaned and covered his face with both hands. “Why did she say that? Why did I squeak? Why… why did I kinda like it?!”

He could still feel the heat rushing to his ears every time he replayed it. And oh, he replayed it. About fifty times in the last two hours. Against his will.

“God,” he mumbled, flopping back dramatically. “I need therapy.”

And maybe a cold shower.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗