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love-note-musings · 6 months ago

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˙✧˖°📷 ⋆｡˚꩜ toby x reader // creepypasta oneshot

request: HelloI May i request a oneshot where toby pins the reader against a wall and maybe threatens her but she lowkey can't focus BC she's thinking how pretty he is? The reader has a love hate relationship with him. Sorry if it's confusing.

word count: 3.6k

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

As the last costumer of the day left, your shoulders dropped as the tension ebbed out of your body, dropping the “customer service smile” you had plastered on for the last couple of hours. A lengthy sigh left your mouth and you shook out the tired feeling from your muscles and with a swift lock of the doors, you began your nightly routine of cleaning for close.

Working the night shift wasn’t so bad, you had thought, it was generally pretty uninteresting, living in a small town and all, the clientele were the same, jobs were casual, it wasn’t that horrible. Having worked at this quaint restaurant for a couple of years, you knew the ins-and-outs pretty well and you operated most of the tasks you needed to on autopilot. However, the job was one thing, and daily living was another. Of course the pay was less than what you needed to live on realistically, what with housing, insurance, and feeding yourself. You still didn’t mind the nightshift, you found it rather relaxing.

Wiping down tables, sweeping floors and mopping, cleaning out cappuccino machines, all of it went by as fewer cars passed on the road. You could hear the breeze start of as a small gust here and there until it picked up into a violent wind that rattled the building. Soon, you figured it would begin storming, with big raindrops pelting down and you surely wanted to be in your own home underneath thick blankets before then.

Unlocking the back entrance, you began dragging the heavy trash-bags out in the back of the parking lot, the last thing you’d need to complete before heading home for the day. You could feel how the cold nipped at your skin and willed your legs to go faster.

The city was always quiet, it was still except for the symphonies trees played nearby in the forest, clanging against each other from the wind. There were stories of course, about people going in and never coming back, but there were lots of people who did come back, more so than the latter, so the locals knew it as folktales. In reality, it was just another ordinary small town, with small-towned people, small-towned restaurants, and small-towned ideas. Forest or not, it was also another small-town ideal.

Swinging the bag into the bin, you closed it with a sharp bang just as the back door to the restaurant flew with a clang. The weather was worsening overhead with dark clouds hiding the moon and the wind was threatening to take you away with it. Your feet carried you back inside as fast as they could, one pounding after another. //

// He crashed into the back door with a thud as his legs gave out, one arm trying to hoist himself up and another trying to stop his wound from exuding any more blood. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, but the exhaustion was creeping up his body, the lights had looked like crystallized diamonds hanging off of his eyelids, and he stumbled into them with reckless abandon before collapsing on tiled floor… somewhere. Vision swimming, legs crumpled underneath him, he sat there, body trembling and nauseated, trying to grasp onto his abdomen in an attempt to convince his body to let him back up, to keep moving. It wasn’t even that bad of a wound despite its length, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with, but there he was, slipping on himself in the back of some beat-up building. The lights slightly flickered every few seconds, the buzzing of electrical appliances seemingly rang through his ears in tenfold, there was nothing in his stomach but his body forced him to empty it anyway, spilling out nothing onto the black and white tiles besides the gagging noises coming from him. He couldn’t stop the movement from racking his body once again as he dragged himself forward.

There was a scream, a crash maybe, all he saw was a figure with their arms raised high, ready to pounce on him, everything else was foggy besides the lights. Big, bright lights. Groggily, he looked up with lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, nostrils flaring, trying to allow more oxygen into his lungs. He yelled at his brain to move faster and to process the situation, finding nothing once again but some static sound that filled it. Their mouth moved, and the sound flowed back into his ears, slowly, and then all at once.

“I said—“ they cleared their throat “do you need me to call the authorities?” There was an umbrella raised threateningly in their hands, knuckles already turned white. It looked like their breath was caught in their throat and their body shaked. He slowly registered the information piece-by-piece, stringing together some semblance of thought.

Slowly, he forced his head to move side to side, shaking ‘no’.

“Are you hurt?” They asked authoritatively, despite the tremble in their knees.

Again, another rather slow nod, another no. Hurt was subjective, after all.

Sighing, they lowered the umbrella just a little more to their side. “What do you need? Are you in trouble?”

He ended up coughing violently, his head was spinning and he was mentally whacked. “b.. bath- can I use your b..athroom.”

They stood off to the side and pointed towards it, watching his movements as he tried to force himself to stand upright. He managed to get up to his knees before crashing over again.

“I’m going to help move you there, okay?” they said as they set the umbrella down against the wall and moved closer towards him. He nodded once and they hooked an arm underneath his and guided him to the bathroom.

They turned on the light inside, indicated him to ‘be careful’ and that ‘there was a first aid kit under the sink’, before leaving him alone with a soft close of the door.

Toby gazed at himself in the mirror, bracing his weight against the sink before shakily turning the knob and splashing himself with cool water. How many days had it been since he had first left? He couldn’t even recall how long he’d been out, but it was long enough for his body to put the brake lights on his activities and start naming demands. And one of the demands was water. He earnestly started to drink the water from the faucet, cupping his hand and bringing it up to his lips over and over again.//

// Meanwhile, an exasperated worker decided to flick back on the lights to the dining room and begin preparing a small meal to share with the guy who just stumbled into their restaurant. They didn’t really know what his deal was, nor did they care to know, they just wanted to give him something to eat before sending him back out into the storm. If he wouldn’t talk then maybe he’d eat and be able to go back home or something like that. Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your responsibility to know, but you’d also be damned for not trying to help him out just a little bit.

It took awhile, but the bathroom door finally clicked open and close again. Toby stumbled along the hallway and followed the light into the dining room. There were bandages wrapped around his abdomen and minor scratches on his legs and arms. His body was exhausted and his mind was more or less alert.

“Hey,” when you saw him feebly inch his way, you quickly went over and offered a hand, to which he shaked it off. Regardless, you told him where he could sit in the dining room, a little booth by the kitchen door, and watched to make sure he settled himself well. You made a note of how determined he was despite his body practically shutting down, and he hadn’t tried to stop himself yet. Even as he fell into the booth, you watched as his body relaxed and his eyes stayed vigilant, always looking this way and that, carefully observing. It was fascinating. But again, it wasn’t your business.

You placed a plate in front of him with leftover food from the fridge and a pastry you had been saving to take home. “You have a drink preference? I can get you water.” He shook his head and you got him a glass of water anyway, of which he eyed a bit oddly, sipping little by little. When he saw the food, however, you noticed that he immediately went for the pastry.

He was…strange, at the very least, that’s what you gathered as you watched him from the kitchen picking at his food and glancing around every couple minutes to double and triple check his surroundings. If you had to admit to yourself, you just wanted to go home, and by now it was raining, evident by the sound of raindrops pattering onto the rooftop. You were tired too, having worked all day, cleaning up and waiting on people, and now doing it all over again for a second time. Thankfully tomorrow you’d have a day off.

When he drank all of the water in the glass, you went over to refill it. “My name’s Y/n, what’s yours?” You asked with as much normalcy as possible, hand settling on your waist as you stepped back to watch his expression.

“Toby.” He muttered, before eating more and ignoring you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Toby.”

Sometime while you were re-cleaning the kitchen, you heard the bells on the door open with a clamor and close. Shrugging, you supposed he would have left, and you didn’t expect anything more from him. But now that you were thinking about it, it was kind of weird for someone to stumble in from the back of the building, but lots of things happened out in the forest. People go out with their friends, some people like hunting deer, who knows? Some kid could have just gotten mixed up with the wrong people and left out there. You don’t consider it much, but you sealed it away in the back of your mind as a little note for later as you left the restaurant and headed home. Personally, you had never experienced anything bad out there. //

// It became more common for ‘Toby’ to show up after closing hours. Every few days or so, he’d show up looking tired and miserable, he’d ask to use your bathroom and then lug himself out to the dining room while you gave him the leftovers. You didn’t push him to talk about himself and settled for short conversations about the weather, or asking if he needed you to call anyone this week. Whenever you asked if he needed anything, he’d say no and continue eating solemnly, playing with his food and acting almost disinterested with it.

“What’s your favorite food?” You asked while chewing a piece of bread from the pantry.

Toby shrugged, “I don’t really have one.”

“There has to be something that you like at least? Can’t you think of something? I can try to make sure we keep some of it here.”

He pondered for a moment, putting his fork down. You never questioned his sudden movements or verbal outbursts at all, figuring it’d be best not to pester him with questions since he obviously couldn’t control it, other people probably bothered him enough. Toby answered you quietly, “I liked that pastry you first gave me, I..I don’t remember when that was.”

“Hmm.. okay. I can get it for you next time.”

And the next time you did, and the time after that, until you were sure that he was sick of it every time you served it to him. But he never said anything and accepted it without a word.

Perhaps you could say that the two of you had come to a mutual understanding, maybe a friendship, and you wouldn’t admit it to yourself that you looked forward to your short and awkward meetings. You didn’t know much about each other, but you felt comfortable despite his out-of-the-normal appearance and habits. It was non-judge mental, as far as anyone else was concerned, nothing happened here after-hours anyway.

You found yourself tracing his facial features in your mind, promising them to memory and making mock-paintings in your mind. He had pretty eyelashes, his skin was pale and light, he had deep scarring on the side of his mouth, that’s why you assumed he wore the mask in public, you couldn’t be sure though, and you could be less sure about the googles attached to his jeans. The only thing is that you’d wish he’d eat more since it was obvious his health wasn’t the greatest. Whenever you saw him, he was almost always exhausted and almost ready to pass out. Although, besides the first time you met, you didn’t see him with any more wounds, so you supposed it was just some off-handed accident and nothing intentional.

Yeah, you politely admitted to yourself that you were quite fond of your new and odd friend. Perhaps attracted, whatever attraction meant. You found him nice to be around. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to feel the same. It had been a long time since you’ve had a proper friend. . .

Rock songs played from the radio atop the refrigerator, melodies soft and sweet, they played from collections of the classics and you loved it. During your shifts you’d lose yourself in the tune, pretending that you existed inside music videos and getting lost in a world where the waiters and waitresses were the main characters. You had asked Toby a while ago if he liked the station you left the radio on, hoping it was to his tastes. He had replied affirmatively, and you had kept the radio on that station every time he visited.

“Come on, get up.” you instructed, coming around the bar and onto the dining room floor.

“What?” He asked, nonetheless getting up from the barstool and following you along.

“You like this song, I like this song, let’s dance.”

“But I don’t know how—“ Toby insisted as you took his hands anyway.

You scoffed with a fool’s smile, “Neither do I.”

At first you dragged him along around the dining room floor, navigating between the tables and chairs, tapping to the beat. He was awkward and didn’t know how to move his legs, flinging this way and that, but eventually he fell into your pattern and moved along. You both laughed, rocking your bodies to the beat hand in hand. Swaying left and right and once or twice trying spin each other. At one point, Toby almost toppled over into a couple of chairs, but you grabbed on tight to his hands and didn’t let go. A silly little smile spread across your faces and the two of you turned giggly as a new song started playing and the dance continued.

It was true—the two of you really didn’t know how to dance, and if anyone were to look into the windows they’d see two people who were wildly uncoordinated. You felt like you owned the world and that your body was perfectly aligned to the songs, you saw Toby and how he finally looked relaxed, mouthing along to the lyrics and shaking his arms around freely with his eyes closed. When you started screaming out the lyrics yourself, belting out notes pitches too high or low, he didn’t hesitate in joining you, resulting in one grand cacophonous harmony.

When Toby left later that night, it hit him in the face. Realization, fear, all of those types of things that crept up his back and settled into the crock of his neck before lodging itself into thought. That feeling, it settled inside of him and wouldn’t leave, it overwhelmed him and gnawed away at his stomach lining. Toby was never still, and it was more apparent now as the anxiety rose up his cheeks. He gulped, drank from the water bottle you had given him, slipped his hatchets into his belt loops and disappeared back into the forest. He always left his hatchets hidden behind your restaurant whenever he visited you. Just so you’d never see them with all the dents and stains that’d scare you away and leave him alone again. Toby really hated being alone sometimes.

And Toby also knew who he was. It was evident by those same stains. It haunted him. He would never be able to sleep without seeing all of the things he’s witnessed, that he’s done. While knowing who you also were, he knew that you wouldn’t need him, that you’d need to help other people that got lost at night, who just need a helping hand. He’d hope you’d be able to help a lot more people than just him. You’d need to forget him, or at least you would, eventually. //

// The night was quieter than normal. There was no radio playing, there were no cars passing by on the road, and there was no rain or wind, clear skies all day and all night. In short, it was boring. You were propped up by your elbow as you leaned over the bar countertop, idly skimming through the contents in some magazine left here by another customer. Only one customer remained, a pleasant old man who stopped by during the weekdays to watch the news on the television here. With a yawn and a tip, he left too, and you weren’t bothered to immediately lock the door after his departure. It had been a slow day.

He was behind the restaurant, hunched behind some garbage cans and waiting to hear the last car pull out from the parking lot. Everything was still and he was seeing the place for the first time with orange-tinted lenses. He shook and shivered, bones rattling, and he couldn’t stop his arms from jerking even as he held himself together tighter. The last customer was gone. Now he just had to wait for you to come outside. Rocking back and forth to calm himself, he toyed with the fraying strings on the edge of his sleeves, occupying his mind and trying to distract himself from the bloodstains forming on his shirt and pants, not to mention the uncleaned hatchets that hung by his side. It wasn’t until a rather loud clang that he was snapped out of his trance.

Shooting up from his hiding spot, he made his way over to you without even a trickle of a sound.

All of a sudden you were shoved back towards the building, the air was knocked out of your chest from the force and you stumbled back. Toby had one hand blocking your exit, and another raised high above your head with a hatchet threatening to crack your skull open.

He stared at you, questioning himself, looking at you and then the hatchet and then you - you were terrified, and trembling, and god he wanted to disappear right at that moment, to drop everything and cling onto you. And he knew it wasn’t going to happen, but still his arms wobbled and there was a hitch in his throat. One hand slowly went to his mouth to stop the whimperings from escaping and the other slowly lowered his weapon until it fell onto the pavement.

How could he be so stupid? He caved for the niceties, any inking of kindness and he instantly folded his hand. It wasn’t the terror in your eyes that had stopped him, it was just you. The way it felt to be so close again, how his body responded by going weak, he wanted to stay like that for a long time, he wanted to stay by you for as long as you’d let him. But he couldn’t do that, could he? Trust is a delicate thing. He knew that lesson well.

You stood there with your back pressed painfully against the wall, your heart was beating frantically against your chest, your muscles were tense, your eyes were glued on Toby as he lost his resolve and crumbled down onto the ground in a heap with his head in his hands. Sobs wracked his body up and down and he heaved. Kneeling down next to him, you grabbed the hatchet and threw it as far as you could, considering for a moment if you should comfort him or not before placing a hand tentatively on his back, rubbing circles once he responded to your touch. The goggles on his face were fogging up, and you carefully found the clasp underneath a topple of tangled brown hair, letting it fall onto the ground as you wiped the tears falling down his cheeks with your hand and slipped off his facial mask.

His eyes did not meet yours, leaning over and making himself seem small. He sobbed until there were no more tears left, and even then his chest just heaved wildly as he struggled to find an even breathing pace. Kneeling closer, you wrapped your arms tighter around him, embracing, whispering in a soothing voice.

Toby wrapped his arms around your waist, slowly at first before completely enveloping you, resting his head into your lap. You felt nice, and comfortable, safe. He hung onto you for dear life.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

originally posted on quotev/citrusyfruits, reposted with permission

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erinwantstowrite · 5 months ago

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Would you ever... create like... LOF au oneshots....? Like, one chapter lengths stuff for things that you were thinking of putting in but didn't, or doing like a "Peter if he was younger, meeting the bats" or "what if Bruce was his dad, not Dink?"

i have been collecting scenes that ended up not being in LoF... Like, some scenes that were in a different POV before they got changed (there's a Tim POV that got scrapped and ended up as Peter's instead, this is the hardware store scene), scenes that ended up not being in it at all (Peter and Dick were going to have dinner with Donna, but it wasn't coming out right when I tried writing it) etc.

I do like the idea of doing drabbles for LoF like I do for Home too, or maybe even writing someone else's POV of a scene that I did put in LoF, or writing things that the others were doing on certain days, etc.

though there are some things that i might end up putting in a different au instead of scrapping it all together. like this scene:

[ Peter is holding a fridge. Somehow, this is both a cause for alarm and also not at all what the problem really is.

See, Peter woke up this morning with the goal of going around and logging Gotham’s map so he could input it into the Jumping Radar. Peter really wants to avoid going back to the library, and doesn’t feel like testing his chances at a new library just yet. However, that plan ended up on the back burner sooner rather than later.

There’s this little old lady on Bourbank Avenue, a little close to Benny’s, that Peter says hello to when he sees. Her name is Margerie, and usually outside tending to her rickety garden. “Poison Ivy is more gentle with people who care about the plants.” She had told him, and taught Peter her ways of tending to beans, beets, carrots, and spinach.

Well, Peter said hello to her today. Stopped by to chat while she taught him about how to tell when a tomato is at its best. And that’s when he heard about her fridge.

“I’ve had it so long, it’s no wonder it gave out on me,” She had said.

“How long has it been?”

“Well, Benji was still alive…”

“Who?”

“My son.” Margerie had smiled. “He was the one who’d remember that kind of thing.”

And, well, jeez. Peter’s not a monster. He went looking for a damn fridge.

However, he didn’t have the money for a fridge. So what he could do was find where Margerie’s hired worker dumped the fridge, fix it, and find some way to bring it back without anyone noticing he’s a skinny 14 year old who shouldn’t be able to do that. This endeavour led him all the way to a dumpster, where it turns out he can’t save the fridge after all.

But there was an appliance store in the Diamond District that Peter had passed by. And wouldn’t you know it, he found a fridge outside in their dumpster that was able to be salvaged. It’s perfectly clean, too, just sitting there brand new and with a faulty ice box that no one wanted to work around.

So.

Peter is holding a fridge.

That’s somehow both a cause for alarm, and not the problem.

Cause of alarm- he dropped it on his foot when a group of people ran behind the appliance store, and he almost shrieked in pain and alerted them that he was behind the now dropped fridge. He heard the crack in his foot and felt it and prayed, but no- broken.

Peter pushes the fridge off of his foot, yanks the broken thing back, and gently drops the fridge back into place. He’s far enough against a chain link fence to be hidden very well, thankfully, and none of the people who ran back here had seen him. (Yet?) He presses his back against the chain link, biting his lip and pressing his thumb on the injury. It’s not that bad, he can already feel the healing itch. But it’s enough that with only a couple meals in him, that it’ll take longer than Peter would like for it to get back to normal.

“Fuck! Scatter! Why’re y’followin’ me, y’idiots!?”

The real problem: not the broken foot.

“This was tha only place ta run!” Another shouts back. “Fuck! This is bad!”

“No shit! Y’fuckin’ moron- y’led a Bat right to us!” A third hisses.

Peter peeks around the fridge in time to see the third guy grabbing the second by the collar, slamming him up against a wall with a thud.

hello! hey, watch? look it look it look it

Whatever scuffle was about to happen is quieted. Peter glances upwards, but he doesn’t see what he knows is there, in plain daylight. There’s a presence on the roof of the appliance store, but where? Peter should be able to see them, but…

there there there!

He doesn’t get to focus on the presence that’s there. Instead, his eyes are starting to adjust to the fact that- hold on-

Peter glances up. Gotham is usually cloudy and grey, but… there’s nothing blocking that light of a stormy early morning. And yet, everything in the area is growing darker and darker. Peter’s skin crawls, a tingle that settles down his spine and tries to make up for the increasing lack of light. The group of teens start to panic, looking for a way out that isn’t possible in this dead end.

Darkness encompasses the area. Peter takes short, silent breaths. His ears twitch with every movement from the teens, every whisper of panic. Their heartbeats are erratic, and it’s like they already know which Bat this is. There’s seven heartbeats, panicked, trying to escape…

And one that is calm. There’s a breath and the scuffle of a foot from the rooftop.

Peter closes his eyes even though it’s already dark. His spider-sense is making up for what he can’t see, a mental map of the area created in his head. He feels the air move around him, and listens as the Bat takes each of them out one by one.

The thuds of one companion freak out another. “Scotty?”

But then he’s out too. Peter hears two more meet the same fate, knocked out cold on the concrete. He opens his eyes as the Bat approaches the last of them, just in time for the shadows to recede back to where they should be.

Signal stands over the last, now unconscious guy.

The Bat hasn’t broken a sweat. He almost looks bored when he starts ziptieing the gang, complaining aloud, “Y’all couldn’t have waited until tomorrow to cause trouble?”

Whoa.

Peter had seen Signal doing his thing a couple times when he was out and about, but never this up close. That…

That was fucking awesome.

He heard the guy was a meta, and he didn’t know what to believe about that, but seriously? That was like some Shadow-jutsu shit- wait, could he do that? No, wait, because now Peter can see Signal again. He was fucking invisible! And he’s acting like it was nothing! ]

I really really really really really wanted this scene, but it never made it past the rough draft :( that's because it didn't make sense with the rest of the chapter (i can not remember which chapter it was for, but it was definitely before Two Face). I've been thinking about putting it in a deleted scenes for LoF fic, but I think I might take it and put it in a different au.

(The only consolation I have for this scene not making it in is that Signal gets to have a cool scene later)

#erinwantstowrite #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #leap of faith ao3 #leap of faith catch me if you can #leap of faith #peter parker #duke thomas #writing #drabbles #deleted scenes #thank you for the ask!

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baka-bakeneko · 1 year ago

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Bad Things - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x gn! Reader (afab biology)

tags: Black Cat (sorta) reader, canon-Miguel aggression, choking, fighting/canon-typical violence, hint to cnc, predator/prey, teasing, cute aggression, establishing dominance, dry-humping, brat behavior, oral (reader/miguel), doggy-style, animal-like aggression, creampie

part two here

word count: 4.68k

synopsis: You find yourself on Miguel O'Hara's canon divergence radar.

a/n: honestly, someone buy me a drink rn. someone sedate me, pls

Fuck a canon event.

Seriously.

You couldn't care anymore about a canon event than you did your next steal. So there was no way you were ever on any Spidey's good side.

Every Spider you encountered were none too pleased with your wry wit and quick-footing, making their job a little more difficult than usual. Unlike the many unhinged villains they encountered, you were both sane and a downright asshole.

Who cared about the balance of good and evil when there was so much fun in watching chaos? Everyday being the same was boring, sometimes the drama made it worth while.

After a successful heist stealing a jeweler parlor, you made your way back to your apartment to inspect your earnings.

Diamonds, while a girl's best friend, were nothing compared to sapphires and rubies. Gold was nothing compared to the most polished of silvers.

Slipping into your apartment window, you were greeted by one of your strays. A white kitten darted across your bare hardwood floor to the kitchen, stopping in front of the fridge and rubbing against the appliance.

"Aww, pretty kitty," you swooned, scooping up the frail feline and throwing open the fridge door. "Milk is bad for us. But a little won't hurt, right?"

You scanned your barren fridge for the nighttime snack of choice; when you found it, you grabbed the glass bottle then shut the door with your hip.

You weren't expecting the imposing Spider hidden behind the door. His presence didn't even peak your senses, his scent almost undetectable.

Tilting your head at him, you furrowed your brows. Definitely not like the other Spideys you've interacted with before. His mask was laced in bright rubinous inlay, his suit emitting a dull glow like a screen.

Your stray reared in your hold at the stranger, hissing even as you turned them away from the person's stance. Ignoring them, you climbed onto the counter with your kitten and grabbed a bowl from the sink.

Eyes still on the person in the dark corner of your apartment, you poured a bowl of milk for your stray then pet down its back.

You hummed softly at it, scritching behind its ears while you worked up a purr. When you were satisfied with petting, you returned the bottle to the fridge and came face-to-face with the Spider again.

"You know, you Spideys usually start with a--" you were cut off by the Spider's large hand gripping your throat and slamming you into the fridge door.

You blinked pointedly, your eyesight going dizzy in the moment before narrowing your gaze at them. Your stray hissed again, hopping from the counter and scrambling under the bed.

"Straight to the point then," you said, tilting your chin up to lengthen your throat. "No spiel? No Spidey-backstory?"

"Do they do that often?" the Spider spoke, he spoke, monotonous and strong. "Give you a story?"

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking the gentle ease of his hand to breathe. "Most of them do. Gives me enough time to get away."

The Spider tsked, his fingers flexing at your throat. "Weak."

You smiled deviantly. "My thoughts exactly."

You brought your knee up swiftly, attempting to bludgeon the Spider's crotch; he stepped back and avoided your blow, then pressed his body to yours as his hold on your neck tightened.

"Gatito malo," the Spider chastised against your nose. "Should've been caught a long time ago."

You melted an inch, your purr returning by the utterance. Your brow quirked, leaning in to try and examine the Spider's face from under his mask.

"If only they were efficient like you," you offered, gasping in a breath from his palm flattening your windpipe.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Spider-Man noted with a scoff.

Your hands now went for his at your throat, attempting to pry him off with your claw-adorned gloves.

"I thought Spiders had a code," you squeaked out with a wiggle, trying to gain leverage from this man.

Your knees suddenly braced his waist, feeling the heat rush over your body.

"I'm not like the others..." he began, before you felt a sharp pinch on the side of your throat.

A puncture through your skin made you wince, baring your kitten fangs in pain.

"I do whatever it takes," Spider-Man grit out, tightening his hold on your neck further.

You hardened under his hold, your knees now squeezing at his waist to gain more leverage from him.

"You're telling me," you feigned a swoon, shutting your eyes to meter your breathing through pursed lips.

"You don't mess with canon events, gatito." He flexed his hold. His other hand was gripped onto your fridge, his claws sinking into the sturdy appliance like an opening a can.

Surprising yourself, you reached out for the Spider's face, clawing at his mask and taking the moment to wriggle from his hold. You sank down to the floor, ducked between the hero's sturdy legs to crawl away.

The hero recovered from your fake-out and turned to reach after your ankle. He grabbed you, pulling you across the linoleum as your claws scratched the floor.

You turned onto your back and kicked in the direction of his face once, twice before the Spider grabbed at your extended thigh.

You straightened up, using your core to pull yourself up. Your knees rested at his shoulders, his claws tearing into your dark jeans attempting to pry you off of him.

You squeezed your thighs at the man's throat, making him tilt his chin up as the moonlight pooled through your kitchen window.

His hair caught onto the night light, his eyes dark and beaming in the shadows of your apartment. You reached your hands out to grab at his hair, but the Spider grabbed onto your hips and threw you off of him.

Catching yourself on your feet, you skidded over the kitchen island and knocked over your stray's milk bowl. Ducking behind the island, you scrambled to search your pockets for a gadget to use in the moment.

"Nice try, gatito," the Spider called out, cracking his neck as he walked over to the island. "But there's no weaseling out of this one."

You waited a moment, thought of moving away from him but couldn't find a reasonable option. Instead, you flinched when he slammed his hands down on the countertop.

Glancing up, you met his eyes glinting a blood crimson. He lurched at you, making you scurry away and kick your shoes off. You rushed back to your window, ready to jump out and make your escape.

The Spider caught your ankle again and dragged you across the floor, earning a few more kicks at his chest and stomach. You flinched when he closed his legs over yours, took your hands in his.

He stretched you out under him, listening to your heart threshing wildly in your chest. The Spider leaned in and sniffed tentatively at the back of your ear when you turned your head in disgust.

The fear that rushed through you in that instant made his cock swell. He grit his teeth at the feeling, pulling back in an instant. You waited for your punishment in the form of striking, batting away your face in hopes he wouldn't break your nose.

Instead, you felt the sudden levity of the Spider gone. You flashed your eyes open, realizing he'd disappeared. But not without the jewels.

"Motherfucker," you pursed out, folding yourself upright then over your knees.

You tried to catch your breath in the short moment, attempting to map everything that just happened in the span of seconds. The Spider was in, then out, of your life in the blink of an eye and all you had to show for it was the now bleeding puncture on your throat.

You sat your head up over your forearms, steadying your breaths from the fight. But even when you did, you couldn't deny the warmth that pooled to your stomach.

You'd felt him against you twice, a stiff upper body and sturdy frame. He could've killed you easily. But he played with you. Much like you did to his Spidey counterparts.

Stupid canon events.

They were nothing. And how the hell were you supposed to know which decision of yours would bring that mean, old Spider back to you?

The thought alone was daunting, staring over New York with a new task at hand: bring more chaos to bring your Spider back.

"Don't do whatever you're thinking," his voice cut in through your thoughts.

You turned around on the rooftop to see the Spider, without a mask on, leaning against the door to the complex stairway.

"I'm already exhausted," he huffed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

You narrowed your eyes at him, leaning against the ledge of the rooftop. "You've just given me a reason to do it. Not like you'll stop me."

The Spider growled out in frustration, his chest flattening with the exhale. He flashed out his wrist twice, distracting you with his speed to web you to the brick ledge.

"Gatito," he stressed, pulling his hand from his face and stepping up to you. The man leaned down to meet your gaze, allowed you to stare deep into his dim eyes and the dark circles that accessorized them. "Don't."

You openly pouted at his warning; your eyes cut to the sky as you cocked a hip in defiance. "But..."

"Ah, ah, ah," The Spider began, clamping his large hand over your mouth. At the same time, he held his index finger up to chastise you. "No excuses."

You screwed your jaw sideways, allowing your defiance to bleed through your stare at this man.

"What?" he asked flatly, pulling his hands back.

You took in his entire stature, much taller than you remembered and more built than you gathered in the dark.

"Why didn't you deal with me last time?" you queried genuinely.

This man could've easily flattened you, you realized over and over again. He'd made a note of letting you know too. He'd been the object of your dreams that night, the reason you cuddled extra tight at your pillow.

Spider furrowed his brows in slight confusion at you, his thick brows pinching the skin between them with a wrinkle. He gave you a once-over, met your eyes instantly.

"I thought the warning sufficed."

You exhaled, offering a long blink to dot the silence. "Guess not."

The Spider leveled his brow, casting a shadow over his gaze. "We're not going at this again."

You reached out to brace his calf with your sneaker. "Come on. Admit it, it was fun."

"Never," he spat, adjusting his stance away from your reach.

You prodded your tongue between your lips as you tilted your head at him. "Do you get hard when you fight all your villains?"

His face flashed with quick embarrassment before he reeled himself back to frustration. "You are not a villain."

It felt like he'd baited you with something good. "So I'm special?" You asked with a grin.

The Spider scoffed at you, cutting his eyes away as his hands braced his waist. Now you were paying attention to how he was truly built. Your knees had braced that waist, your chest had pressed against his.

"I feel honored, seeing how intimate we got," you pushed.

"Shut," The Spider bit out, his teeth gritted as he leaned towards you. "Up. That's not what happened."

You raised a brow at his demeanor, hiding the devilish grin that tempted your lips.

"Are you sure? I feel like you're overreacting at a little criminal."

The Spider peeled his top lip back with a snarl, revealing a much longer fang than your own. His nose scrunched, almost disgusted.

"Your..." his hand reached out to grab you, his claws already extended. He acknowledged your slight flinch at him and drew back with a fist. "I can read your thoughts. They're...a lot."

An ice spilled through your system then, every thought you'd had about this Spider flooding to the forefront again. Every thought made you physically shake it away, wading through your fantastical imagination.

When you'd worked through yourself, you met the Spider's avoiding gaze wanting to see if you could make his thoughts.

"Anything...you like?" you teased.

The Spider scoffed, the noise sounding much like a furball ready to be hacked. He turned away from you, shaking his head at you.

"That's not what I'm here for." he offered.

It felt almost too easy. With a gentle tug, you felt the web at your wrists give way and you sat up on the ledge. "Are you sure? What was it you were saying about canon events?"

The Spider glanced over his large shoulder back at you. "What're you getting at, gatito?"

You shrugged, feigning dumb, bringing your claw-adorned glove up to examine them. They were sharp, much like the Spider's, but made from reformed silver. Purely for the show of it.

"Why is it that I trigger a canon event with everything I do? Your other Spideys can't seem to fix the situation, but you can."

Spider's brows were now melded together. "I'm still not following."

"I just might be your match, Spidey. I might be important to you."

The stranger grit, his jaw tightening as his hands gripped harder at his hips. "You speak nonsense."

"Maybe," you offered with another shrug, glancing in the Spider's direction. "But that made you hard, didn't it?"

He growled, snapping in your direction. "Stop that!"

"I haven't done anything," you said. "But you can't deny the attraction, Spidey."

"Miguel," he barked lowly at you. "My name is Miguel."

You nodded slowly, dropping your hand to hold the ledge you were balanced on. "Nice to put a name to a handsome face."

Miguel raised a finger to you, ready to scold you, but forfeited and returned his hand to waist. You lounged on the ledge, resting your chin in your hand.

Drumming your fingers to your cheek, you ogled the Spider, Miguel, as he paced the rooftop.

"So," you drew out, finally letting your smile curl on your lips. "You ready to confess, Miguel?"

He scoffed outwardly at you, turning his back to you until he turned his head up at the sky with a groan.

Sitting upright, you kicked off of the ledge and stood close behind him. You ran a finger down his back, tracing over the dip between his shoulders while admiring the husk of his build.

"I'll say it first since you're scared," you taunted, skirting a hand over his waist before stepping away from him.

You slipped under his arm as he turned, now facing him and leaning in to veer up at him. "I'd very much like to pick up where we left off."

Miguel glanced down at you then smacked his teeth in disbelief. "Ay, gatito, give it a rest."

You purred, reaching up to rest your hand on his shoulder. You ran your claws down the length of his arm before running your fingers between his and intertwining them.

"You felt it there, Miguel," you smiled, leaning in to whisper. "If you weren't on a mission, you wanted to fuck."

Miguel's hand clasped tightly over yours, holding back enough strength to not crush it. His claws caged over your small knuckles as he leaned into your face.

"You're no good, kitty cat," he seethed lowly, his eyes flicking over your body and back to you. "I have no reason to waste time on you."

You leaned in, skirting your nose against Miguel's to breathe against his lips. "You trying to convince me? Or yourself?"

Miguel's eyes flashed with anger, his brows furrowing as his nostrils flared. His mind was plagued with the images littering your thoughts in the exact moment, his throat dry as he attempted to tame his cock from reacting.

"Puta," he spat against your mouth, his hot breath punctuating against your lips.

You cocked your jaw slightly. "I like a challenge, don't you? Let's see who bites first."

Miguel smushed his lips to yours, just to get you to stop speaking. You were effectively working his last nerve, and the thought of having you writhing on his cock was beginning to suffice the stress.

His hand clenching yours relaxed, sliding up to your wrist and bringing your hand to his crotch so you could feel the absolute need of relief.

You hummed excitedly against his lips, feeling the heat from Miguel's cock cradled in your hand. Slowly, you traced your fingers up his sheathed length; the more you trekked, the more daunting the task of fitting him inside you was.

Still, you were unnerved. The lilac feeling trickling down your back as you tilted your head back and opened your mouth to receive Miguel's tongue.

He followed your lead at that point, edging his tongue into your mouth before delving and scouring like finding new flesh to rapture.

His other hand grabbed at your bicep, pulled you into his chest and tenderly squeezed at your muscle; his handling bordered on aggressive, withheld just enough under the surface to feel the tension.

Miguel gulped when he parted from you, not without a tender nip to your top lip. He bowed his forehead to yours, catching his breath while his mind now shared the same depth as yours.

"Take me to your apartment," he ordered, his hold squeezing on you to get his point across.

You nodded, eyelids fluttering as your chest rose with his.

Down the stairs from the rooftop, Miguel kept close behind you. His steps held the same cadence, not picking up speed or trudging; he kept a respectful distance behind you while you followed your hummingbird-racing heart.

At the front door of your apartment, you fumbled with finding your keys. Patting your pockets, you attempted to find them as Miguel sidled up behind you.

He pressed into you, his hands finding your hips, rutting his sheathed cock against the backside of your suit. You fumbled a moment, each rock of his hips stalling your efforts to think. Miguel let loose an errant groan, his fingers pressing tighter into you and backing you up on him.

You reached a hand out to the door for stability, folding your lips together to fight back the noises earned from his bulge tempting against your heat.

"I-I gotta," you stammered, wiggling out of his hold to bend down and look under your floor mat.

Retrieving the key, you studied putting it in the lock as Miguel grabbed the top of the doorframe and leaned into your back.

"Don't make me wait now, gatito. Apurarse." His mouth pressed up to the shell of your ear, his breath trickled down your neck.

You hid a shiver, pushing the door open fervently and letting the stranger inside. Miguel grabbed the key from your door and tossed it to the floor, then slammed the door behind him.

He kept up with your heels, his shoulders rolled forward while he studied you like prey. You felt his eyes bore into you as you crossed the studio apartment, walking by the kitchen until Miguel shoved you against the kitchen island.

Miguel grabbed your shoulder to spin you around, eyed you over before landing at the buckle of your pants. He rested his hands on the counter, his fingers curling over the lip to hold back his eagerness to undress you.

"Get naked," he smattered against your ear, a trickle of his spit dotting his syllables. Miguel bared his teeth for effect, inhaling your scent from the close proximity. "Now."

You wiggled in place, feeling the nervous tickle across your back as the heat rose between your thighs. Miguel was pressed between them, no longer evading his deep interest in you.

Your breath caught as his swollen cock rubbed over your clothed sex, making your eyes cross at the thought of relief. Miguel huffed against your ear, taking in your shaken demeanor and pulled back.

"Did you not hear me?" He bit, taking dominant grip of your jaw and giving you a light jerk. "Strip."

Your hands went for your zipper in obedience, suddenly tame as could be; Miguel's eyes dragged down the length of your body with your zipper, holding back the driven hunger in his eyes when you shrugged a shoulder of your bodysuit and revealed your bare chest.

A mirthless scoff escaped his lips, his free hand grabbing at piece of the fabric and aiding it off of you.

"Straight to the point, huh?" he taunted, his voice toneless of joviality.

You sighed, smiled, and continued to undress for Miguel's approval. He tilted his chin up, looked down his nose at you revealing your body to him.

"Mira," he breathed as you pushed your bodysuit down from your waist and shimmied it to your ankles. Miguel dipped his fingers between your hips, feeling at the immediate wet along your folds. "Mierda..."

You fumbled out of your shoes and free from your suit as Miguel touched you. Your hand reached for his bicep, unconsciously spreading your legs to allow him further.

"You are a brat, wet like a bitch in heat," Miguel snarled in your face, drawing two fingers back and forth between your lips. He teased around your entrance, making you acknowledge the thickness of his fingers.

You squirmed, your knees almost magnetic to one another but Miguel stood closer between them. He chastised you with a click of his tongue, edging the tips of his fingers into you then back out.

Miguel's cock twitched at the feeling of you around him, velvet wet at the tips of his fingers. He put his hand on your hip, edging you onto the counter.

He followed you, pressing his cock to the side of the counter as he shifted your hips to the edge. You reached to run your fingers through his hair, give him a lick of attention, but he shied away from your touch and knelt before you.

"Spread it for me," he ordered, licking at his teeth.

Another chill shocked through you, following his order and using your fingers to hold yourself open. He swallowed thickly, drawing his hand over his mouth before swiping it down his chest to disperse his suit.

You stared down at Miguel as his suit glitched away, his shoulders revealed to be larger and rounded than imagined. His hands gripped at your knees, draped them over his shoulders as he sank his mouth to your sex.

His tongue lashed out hungrily, not wasting a second to savor you. You fidgeted in his hold, felt his teeth edge in and out of control. His lips kissed, mawed while his tongue lapped, dragged between your folds.

"M-Miguel," you tried, feeling him acknowledge you with a squeeze at your knees.

He drew back a hand, fumbled from behind his closed eyes to take hold of his throbbing cock. He stroked feverishly, his eyes rolling at the slick taste of you melting on his tongue.

Miguel broke away from you to bite at your inside thigh, not holding back as his incisors pinched your skin. You yelped, edging your thigh open further to evade him.

Miguel snarled after you, raising to his feet again with his cock in hand. The thought of engulfing you made the untamed heat in Miguel grow. He wanted to tower over you, make you cower from him just to feed off of your fear.

You stared unwaveringly in his eyes, acknowledging the deep red laced through them. You were tempted to blink, balk at his aggression, but you tightened your jaw and tilted your chin up.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Suck my cock, gatito."

His order shot through your body, making you edge your hips on the counter. You moved carefully off of the counter, down to your knees before Miguel.

Your eyes gazed up the stranger's body, taking in every muscular divot and curve of him. His stature was domineering, the way he held his shoulders nothing short of menacing.

Miguel's hand reached for your cheek, caressed it softly before gripping your chin between his thumb and index finger. "Suck."

He pried your mouth open, guided your lips to the tip of his hard cock. Staring down the length of him, your hands went to his thighs to keep yourself steady.

Slowly, you pushed your lips down Miguel's cock; his tip pressurized your uvula, bringing tears to your eyes and spittle to pull in your mouth. You hallowed your cheeks, using your hands to slather his length with your saliva.

Miguel bowed his head back, holding in his groan as his hand rested at your nape. He seethed between his teeth, eyes rolling at the warmth you gave to his cock. His web pore under his free hand flexed in excitement, reminding him of the imminence.

He smacked his teeth, pulling his cock from your hold then tapping it at the front of your lips, over your cheeks before reaching to drag you up.

The look of your bed was calling your name, wanting nothing more than to share your intimate space with this man. Miguel thought nothing further than you, his gaze forced on you as he turned you around in his hold.

His hands gripped your biceps, weighed the thought of bruising you before folding you to the floor. Miguel followed you down, edging up on his knees to spread your legs.

He ran his hands down your sides, gripped your hips and ruthlessly tilted them in his favor. Without warning, Miguel guided his tip between your folds then in.

Your eyes fluttered hard, blinking and bracing your shoulder to the linoleum. Your arms bowed under your body, your stomach folded to your thighs tight.

Miguel was felt through every inch of your core, pushing more of himself inside until you were overstuffed with him. He stared down in disappoint, you speared on his cock but not taking him all the way in.

He growled, rocking your hips to meet his unmatchable thrusts. You yowled softly against the linoleum, your body burned with the ravishing heat.

Miguel's claws bit into your skin, holding you in place while he thrusted out of sync, no longer pacing himself.

A purr tore through your chest, rumbling the part of the floor and rattling back against your nipples. Miguel growled in response, his finger pads squeezing hungrily at your flesh.

He paused, allowing your throbbing sex to hug his cock. Miguel returned his thrusts, then paused in spurts to savor the bits of you.

You writhed under him, no longer feeling human but a vessel of pleasure. Your walls begged for release, your body shuddering with every edge.

"Please," you pleaded minutely.

Miguel inhaled deeply, then out as he thrusted his cock as far into you as he could; the jolting feeling brought you to your climax, eyes rolling as you released Miguel's name from your lips.

He clawed over your skin, bringing deep red welps and punctures to your skin. His web pores twitched to life, spurting short lengths of web at the same time he emptied his balls into you.

Miguel folded a hand at the small of your back, bowing you further onto his cock to keep his cum inside of you. Your body reacted with small twinges at the flex of his cock within you.

You woke up at sunset, in your bed. Looking around your apartment, you searched for your Spider. Miguel. But he was nowhere to be found.

Dropping your head back in defeat, you scoffed at the ceiling. The one time with him now felt like it wouldn't be enough. He was now itching under your skin, you felt his claws had left marks all over you.

Rolling over, you went to grab your pillow and hold it close only to see a note made from spider web. You quirked a brow, leaning towards the silveresque threads twinkling on the edge of the sunset.

'Get in trouble again, gatito. Don't make me wait.'

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