#spidroins

wilson fisk's guards had nearly spotted them moments ago, and diving into the nearest maintenance closet had left them in very close quarters. black cat was backed up against cold metal shelving, practically chest-to-chest with the webslinger. around them, shelves lined the walls with spare wiring, dusty binders, and electrical panels humming softly in the dark. only the sounds of them trying to catch their breath filled the silence as the pounding of footsteps and flashlight beams cut beneath the door. the thief held perfectly still, a smile threatening to pull her lips w i d e. this. this was why she did it. not the jewels, not the money. . . well okay, maybe the money, but it was also the impossible razor-thin edge between success and disaster, life and death. where every moment in the whole world is narrowed to movement, timing, and nerve. . .

another flashlight beam, and the cat watches as the wallcrawler instinctively moves closer, his hand bracing against the wall beside her head to shield her from sight. even when he's annoyed with her, he's protecting her, and she can't help the small smile that creeps onto her face. she was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his suit, could almost feel the disapproving look behind those narrowed white lenses. ❝ ─think they'll let us walk through the front door ? ❞ a half-joke whispered dryly, an attempt to downplay how complicated this mission just became now that the guards were searching for them, but the spider doesn't bite.

❝ what are you really doing here ? ❞

she had been waiting for that question since they made it through fisk's r&d department, but truthfully, she wasn't expecting him to send his personal army after them for glancing at some files. just wait til fisk finds out how much they're worth, but by the time he does, she'll be on a boat off the coast of italy. cat takes a moment to build the lie on her tongue, but when nothing comes, she decides to pivot her approach to something she knows works. the feline angles her head, nose bumping against his own ever so, voice low and hushed, ❝ so maybe. . . ❞ she admits as her hands begin to wander, slowly ghosting claws up the contours of his torso and chest to hook around his neck, ❝ ─maybe. . . i exaggerated a tiny detail. . . ❞ almost naturally, her body presses softly against his, ❝ ...in my defense. . . i didn't know any better. ❞ she's being cheeky and she knows it, and all but hoping its enough to dodge the question. ❝ who knew wilson fisk was this possessive ? ❞

blink and you may miss the satisfied curve of matte black lips, almost delighted, as the museum fell into misfortune around them. sure, she was expecting an easy job, but nothing in this town ever was with the spider involved. the cat would have to leave this escape up to luck. as if on cue, red emergency lights flood the main museum exhibit hall as overhead sirens scream awake. something heavy shifts in the rafters above the exhibits, and then suddenly, an oscorp security drone drops from the ceiling with a mechanical stutter. the drone attempts a routine security sweep before sputtering with malfunction, immediately veering off course and slamming into a sprinkler main, busting a pipe. water begins to spew across the ceiling in a sheet, raining down over the museum exhibits, electrical systems, and marbled floor. the cat burglar doesn't move from her dry perch, doesn't smooth the arrogance from her features, and even allows a low hum of appreciation to settle behind her devilish grin, savoring the unruly mess she's made. that pesky bad luck, afterall.

❝ you really know how to bring out the best in me, spider~ ❞ the thief muses to herself dryly, her steel-tipped claws tucking the artifact she came here for away nice and safe in her bag. ❝ this was fun-- we'll have to do it again sometime. ❞ for only a moment, black cat lingers, watching her favorite spider thwip away to correct the chaos without a second thought, always the hero. with the prize stowed away and every eye focused elsewhere, the thief slips into the shadows, leaving the webslinger alone to clean up her mess. and like that, she was gone.

[ sent : DO NOT ANSWER ] or what?

[ sent : DO NOT ANSWER ] gonna give me a little speech?

he  had  no  heart  to  say  stop.  in  many  other  cases,  matt  was  a  blunt  weapon.  always  talking  what  he  thinks,  even  if  people  wouldn't  really  be  happy  with  it  and  it  was  a  part  of  some  of  them  leaving  and  never  really  knocking  back  to  the  same  door  this  time  though,  no  matter  how  long  it  took  for  matt  to  gather  the  thoughts  and  what  he  wanted  to  say  to  peter,  all  died  somewhere  inside  his  sore  throat,  leaving  a  taste  far  more  awful  than  the  medicine  he's  been  given. 

peter  spent  a  few  days  at  the  devil's  den,  cleaning  dust  so  matt  wouldn't  inhale  it,  taking  care  of  the  dishes  and  laundry  so  he  could  eat  and  wear  clothes  that  weren't  soaked  up  in  cold  sweat  from  his  fever.  the  spider-man  did  so  much,  even  outside  of  a  daily  routine  that  matt  couldn't  just  tell  him  to  go  home,  despite  how  useless  he's  felt  the  entire  time,  being  stuck  on  his  couch  and  listening  to  the  faint  sound  of  a  radio  playing  in  the  background. 

❝  peter  …  ❞  he  speaks  up,  voice  hoarse  and  rough  like  sandpaper,  trying  to  catch  the  spiderlink's  attention  from  preparing  lunch  for  both  of  them.  should  he  just  say  it  ?  should  he  tell  peter  to  just  go  home  and  leave  him  in  his  own  misery  ?  he  wanted  to,  but  instead,  matt  cracks  a  weak  smile.  unfocused  blues  guided  into  the  direction  of  noise  coming  from  behind  his  back.  ❝  thanks  …  for  everything.  you  don't  have  to  do  that  …  you  know  ?  ❞ @spidroins

@spidroins SENT : neck kisses that turn into love bites.

" wow, you are really good at all this! do you, maybe, have any tips? " he's somewhat sheepish, shyly rubbing the nape of his neck. there's been a simmering desire to save those less fortunate than him, a golden crown illuminating his fair blonde locks, eyes beaming with aspiration.