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diejager · 1 year ago

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Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago

Note

Hi can you write like a small one-shot where thor sneaks the reader into Asgard to surprise loki for Christmas and because she needs to tell him that shes pregnant

.⋆｡The Things He Left Behind｡⋆.

Loki x plus size reader

Pregnancy announcements can be terrifying even for regular people but with your baby daddy being a Frost Giant, god, a criminal and someone who has pretty much implied he doesn’t want kids, you have a long uphill battle. Oh, and it’s Christmas

Warnings: pregnancy, fear of rejection, fluff, brief mentions of morning sickness and nausea, implied smut, tiny bit of angst

WC: 2.7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Being pregnant was an interesting phenomenon; a person was growing inside of you, someone who would grow up to be their own adult. You knew logically that at only a couple months along, the baby was simply a clump of cells that would eventually mature into something new. But already, you were so attached to the life that could be.

Normally, something so monumental as being pregnant with a child born from love between life partners would be celebrated, but your heart was filled with dread and fear. The relationship you had was rocky at best, not in terms of love, there was plenty of that, but because he was a criminal and a dangerous one at that.

It was a punishment for his crimes. He was to be kept on Earth, stuck with the men and women he had attempted to rule. You met him by chance, accidentally bumping into the striking god as you were rushing to attend a meeting on behalf of your boss. As you fell to the floor, you caught his eyes and something shifted within you as it did within him.

Your love had been secret, growing in the darkness of the dead of night, in shadowy corridors and empty rooms. Your soul ached for him as if he held a piece of you in his cold hands, never to be returned. You were his just as much as he was yours and for a time, that was enough.

But as the months carried on, the looming threat of his inevitable departure became monstrous. There was no changing his fate, he would have to leave and you both knew that your pleas and your begging for him to stay would fall on deaf ears. So on his last night with you, he slipped from the not-so-watchful eyes of Earth’s greatest heroes and stole you away.

He took you to Paris, lavishing you with gifts that you still held sacred to this day. He worshipped you with everything he had, taking you apart over and over again until the cold light of day washed over your naked bodies and he was forced to leave your bed in handcuffs.

But jewels and books were not the only things he left you.

The exhaustion came first, then the extreme tenderness of your breasts, and lastly, the dreaded morning sickness. Your boss, Maria Hill, was the first to broach the issue with you after you had fallen asleep at your desk one too many times. She shoved the box of tests into your hand, telling you it was ok and that she knew but didn’t judge.

Now, as the first snow of the year began to fall and your stomach was beginning to round out, you approached the one man who could help you. “Thor?” His eyes met yours from over the back of the huge leather sofa. A pop-tart crumb hung on the corner of his lips which fell off as soon as he smiled when he saw you.

“Ah! My brother’s love! How are you on this fine day?” You chuckled humorlessly and decided to indulge the god for a bit before asking him a favour which might get him into some serious trouble.

“I’m doing ok, looking forward to Christmas.” You nervously shuffled on your feet, the modest kitten heels you had been forced to wear because of your aching feet, clicking against the dark hardwood flooring. Even with his deep confusion regarding human behaviour, Thor could see how anxious you were.

He shifted forward and rose from the couch then turned to you. “There is something amiss, what is it?”

“You need to get me to Asgard. I have to see Loki.” He froze as a bewildered look came over his face.

“I cannot do that my lady. Even I am not allowed to visit my brother and he is, well he is my little brother. Odin has ordered him to be isolated from everyone as his-“

“I’m pregnant!” You blurted out, interrupting the god. “I’m pregnant with Loki’s baby.” Thor’s body physically seized as the weight of your words hit him. His blue eyes went wide with shock, and if you weren’t mistaken, maybe a little bit of excitement.

Tentatively, he inched closer to you. Like a puppy, he was vibrating with nerves. “Really!” Unable to help yourself, you smiled at your friend.

“Really really.” Your hand came to rest on the soft fat above your womb. “But Thor, Loki needs to know. And I need help, I don’t know how a human body will handle growing a half-Frost Giant demigod.”

“Yes.” He agreed. “Yes! We must bring you back home and then we can fix all of this.” Thor looked frazzled as he righted himself in front of you. “Mother will have some idea of what to do and I’m sure she will be able to sneak you into the prison.” Before you could realise what was happening, Thor had swept you into his muscular arms and was running through the compound.

“Thor! We can’t go now! I need to get my things!” You bounced with every step he took and you clung to his shirt.

Thor shook his head. “I can bring you new things, we must get you home.” The winter air hit you like a slap in the face as the god bounded outside, not even flinching at the drastic change in temperature. “Just hold tight my friend, you will be with your beloved soon enough!”

——————

Asgard was completely overwhelming and as you walked through the golden streets, arm linked with Thor’s, you finally understood why Loki spoke so ill of the place. Each and every person you passed carried an air of smug superiority about them, even as they bent in a shallow bow or curtsy to their prince. They were gods, perfect beings who had conquered worlds and existed for thousands of years in peace.

The huge palace drew closer and your hold tightened around Thor. You had the distinct urge to hold your belly for comfort, to know that part of Loki was still with you, but you were scared of the judgemental gazes of the beautiful people around you. “We are almost there my friend. I will take you straight to the Allmother.”

He patted your hand kindly. “Everyone here is scarily beautiful.” You mutter under your breath but evidently he heard you.

“Then you will fit right in.” He murmured back as you stepped over the threshold to his childhood home. The ornate walls towered over you both, sealing you into a place you should have never been. The gold is almost blinding, coating pretty much every surface as far as the eye could see.

You cringed at the loudness of your small heels against the floor, the sound echoing through the great halls like a drum. Your fingers curled into Thor’s warm skin. He glanced down at you but your eyes were fixed straight ahead, oblivious to his gaze. He just started walking faster, unable to find the words to comfort you.

The smell of lilies invaded your senses, turning your stomach. Your nausea had settled after your first trimester ended but apparently the baby just didn’t like flowers. The smell steadily became stronger, as did the urge to throw up but by the time you reached a set of dark oak doors, your nerves were far more overpowering.

Before Thor could even raise his fist to knock, the doors swung inwards, revealing a bright but homey room absolutely bursting with colour. An older woman stood in the entryway, dressed simply in a flowing green dress, her dark blonde hair braided back simply. Her eyes lit up with a knowing light. “My Thor.” She cooed, easily accepting a crushing hug from the god before she turned to you.

“I have been waiting to meet you for a very long time my dear.” She said plainly and suddenly all your nerves were gone. Your grimace floated into a smile as her arms wrapped around you in a hug so loving it made your chest burn with affection.

Unable to stop yourself, you nuzzle into her safe embrace, your whole body relaxing. She laid a kiss to your temple before pulling away but her hands remained firmly on your shoulders. “Loki has told me all about you, he will be happy to see you.”

Anxiety returned like a tidal wave, washing away the warm feeling your almost mother-in-law gave you. Your smile dimmed while your hands came to rest on your lower stomach. “He might not be as excited when he learns why I’m here.”

Frigg’s hands move to cup your rounded cheeks, forcing you to meet her eyes. “He loves you and he will love the child. Even if it doesn’t seem that way at first. Now let us make sure you and the little one are fed and healthy and then you can see him.” She took you by your left hand and guided you further into the room as Thor, with a huge smile on his face, left the two of you alone to talk.

——————

Christmas was vastly different on Asgard, you learned quickly. There was no snow, no cold, no carols or quiet nights. It mainly consisted of feasts and celebrations that lasted for days. But what was the same were the gifts. Thousands were exchanged through the festivities and Thor had somehow gotten into his head that you were the gift he was going to give to his estranged brother.

Much to his own and his mother’s amusement, he ripped up a piece of fabric and tied it in a bow around your midsection. “Come now! He will love it!” You just huffed and rolled your eyes but allowed him to continue making small adjustments to the bow.

Frigg sat on one of the many couches in her chambers, sipping on a now mostly cold cup of tea as she laughed at the pair of you. A large weight had been lifted from the room now that the healer had confirmed the baby was healthy and growing as they should.

And now, a warmth grew within you. This was what you wanted, a loving family with the man who had so easily snatched up your heart. All of the material things he had left behind were nothing compared to this moment.

As the sun began to set over the great city, you were bundled up in a thick cloak that disguised you well and led you down to the prison. The guards turned their heads as who they assumed was the queen passed by on her nightly visit to her younger son. They knew it was technically not allowed by the king but it stopped the dark prince from destroying his cell every chance he got, so they just let it happen.

His cage was kept far away from the others, isolated for his crimes, even from those who faced the same harsh punishments. Yet he was given luxuries that none of the others were afforded, Loki assumed it was pity from his adoptive family that drove them to decorate the small room with lavish goods.

From the angle at which you entered his part of the prison, you could clearly see your love without him seeing you. You felt like crying. He was so close, you swore if you reached out just a few inches, you could touch him.

Loki was sitting on the ground, his back to you, as he stared off into space. His hair, normally clean and beautifully styled, fell in front of his face in unruly raven waves, partially hiding his paler than normal skin. He was barefoot and wearing clothes that should have been changed days ago.

Your heart lurched at the sight of him. In the months you had known him, you had never seen the god so… broken. And you supposed that’s what he was. He had been tortured and betrayed, cast aside by the only people he had known as his family before being labelled a criminal and thrown away to rot. Tears blurred your vision before you quickly wiped them away with a sniffle.

“I have told you that I do not want to see anyone mother.” He hissed, letting his head fall back against the enchanted glass as he did so.

“I had hoped that you would make an exception for me.” Your voice was weak but just the sound alone caused his whole body to freeze.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he rose to his feet, turning on his heel to face you. As soon as his eyes met yours, his body visibly fell and his face disappeared behind his hands. “Loki?” A heartbreaking sob ripped from his lungs as he collapsed to his knees.

Panic set your veins alight and with a trembling hand, you used the small magic key Frigg had bestowed upon you to enter the cell. You wasted no time, immediately taking him into your arms for the first time in months.

His face burrowed into the crook of your neck as he wound around you. He shook in your embrace, his tears soaking through your clothes as he cried, holding onto you as tight as you could. You placed kiss after kiss to his head in a vain attempt to sooth him as you succumbed to your own emotions.

“Are you really here?” You tried to answer him through the tears but all you could get out was more of a grunt than a word but you nodded against his hair and squeezed him even tighter. “H-how?”

Loki pulled away from you just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, making the blue of his irises even more striking. “Thor and your mother.” You managed to stammer out.

There was a brief moment of silence as his dark brow furrowed in what you assumed to be confusion. His gaze dropped down to your body, still hidden by the thick cloak, then looked around the cell as if searching for someone. “Who else is here? I sense another presence.”

“That's why I came here.” You gently guided his left hand down to your bump that seemed to grow each day, laying his palm flat against your stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

Loki’s breath caught, his eyes going wide. And he flinched.

Immediately, you were consumed by the fear you had tried so hard to tamp down since the first moment you saw that little plus sign on the test. He didn’t want the baby, he didn’t want you. This whole thing was a mistake, your mind screamed at you. But as your muscles tensed like you were preparing to run, Loki snapped out of it.

The world blurred around you and suddenly you were laying on a small bed in the corner, Loki hovering over you. His lean body slid easily between your soft thighs, pinning you to the surprisingly comfortable mattress with his weight. “My love. You’re truly with child?” His voice shook, his hand returning to your stomach.

“26 weeks as of yesterday and perfectly healthy.” He nodded and met your gaze once more, a small smile growing on his pallid lips.

“I had a feeling. I thought- I thought something happened to you but it was just a new life being formed.” You breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the bed.

“And how would you know that?” You cooed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Darling just because I have been locked away doesn’t mean that I can’t still use my magic.” His hand slipped up your front, obviously intending to go for your swollen breast but he paused at the extra piece of fabric that was now laying around your waist. “What is this?”

You responded with a giggle. “A bow. Thor wanted to give me to you for Christmas.” A fond look came over his face then, a realisation that you were not yet privy to.

“Indeed this is the best gift he could have ever given me.” Then for the first time in six months, he kissed you.

And as he stripped away your clothes and made love to you more tenderly than ever before, you couldn’t help but agree- this was the best gift to ever have been given

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Loki

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#loki laufeyson x plus size reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x plus size reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x pregnant reader #loki x female reader #female reader #plus size reader #fluff #request #anon #tw pregnancy #pregnant reader

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ikol-cosplay · 11 months ago

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☆ Loki ☆

#Loki cosplay #agent of asgard #marvel #loki #loki laufeyson #comic loki #the magpie who whispers #Loki 616 #The god who fell to earth #God of outcasts

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onlymyqueen · 7 months ago

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#loki #marvel #marvel comics #loki god of stories #The God Who Fell to Earth

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 2 years ago

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Hello author its me the on who requested the Love after death in both part and the others... I finally have courage to reveal muself and no longer anonymous.

First of all before i request another one (sorry for being greedy) i wanted to thank you for responding to my requests especially the angsty ones, you never failed me to give a comfort and motivation, i cannot thank you enough for that.

And now for my request if you remember my other request about ei reader x ror characters that you can't write due to being unfamiliar to the character?

I will ask you instead to write a ror x demi godess freader. She commonly use a weapon like lu bu when fighting but once her weapon breaks or she found a very strong opponent she use her katana. She summon it like in the gif in below.

Now the fun part is how would the ror charcters react? Would they ended up having a nosebleeds, ended up shy or tease them?

Gods

Thor

Poseidon

Shiva

Rudra

Budhha

Zero

Beelzebub

Loki

Ares

Hermes

Aphrodite

Humans

Kojiro

Adam (platonic)

Hercules

Jack

Lu bu and chen gong

Raiden

Qin shu huang

You can choose who to write because i know there is a lot of them😅😅😅😅

Ahh~ my sweet love, your angsty requests have been so much fun to write! I don’t mind you asking for another, you’re not being greedy, I’m just happy that you are patient while I write all these requests plus my own original works.

I do have one question however….

Why in the world does she have a sword between her titties?! I actually looked this up and watched the scene where she does this, and I’m just flabbergasted that she had it there!

-As a demi-goddess, you had the choice of fighting for either side, as both Zeus and Brunnhilde had approached you to fight, both knowing your skills as a fighter.

-You were initially going to refuse both of them, but after Zeus tried to command you, while Brunnhilde asked you, you chose to fight for humanity, not liking being commanded to do anything, something Zeus regrets as he lost a good fighter because he was so pushy with you!!

-Your opponent was strong, which excited you, as that meant you didn’t have to hold back!

-You swung your halberd with ease, and your opponent, Kand, a minor earth god, managed to snap the blade clean off, breaking your halberd.

-The other fighters and the audience in attendance called out in worry for you, as they didn’t want to lose someone like you, beautiful, powerful, and smart, you really were the whole package.

-Kand laughed at you, pointing a finger at you while he held his belly, “Can you still fight me Y/N?! Now that I’ve broken your only weapon!!”

-You glared and brought your hands up to your chest, “Who said that was my only weapon?”

-What could only be described as a black hole, opened at the top of your chest, on your cleavage, as you tilted your head back.

-A sword began to emerge from the black hole, glowing brightly as your hand lifted to the handle.

-Your eyes snapped open, glowing with power as you pulled out a beautiful katana from the magic black hole between your breasts, clutching it as the light faded.

-Kand was gawking, pointing rudely as his eyes were wide, “Where the heck did that come from?!”

-You charged at him, fast enough that it looked like you disappeared, before reappearing behind him as he fell, his head rolling off his shoulders.

-You pouted lightly, “It’s rude to ask a lady questions like that.”

-The crowds went wild, roaring loudly.

-Thor- Was stunned on how quickly the match ended, able to see that your katana was your true weapon, you were good with the halberd, but there was something natural about you holding a sword. He blinked once or twice, confused on how you were hiding that sword.

-Poseidon- Eyes widened only just slightly before relaxing as he watched you pull your sword out, before his amusement grew with how easily you took care of that weaker, cocky god. It made him curious about how strong you actually were.

-Shiva- Immediately turned to his wives, who were cheering for you, “Can you really hide stuff in your chest like that?” they just giggled, like they had a secret as Parvati spoke, “That’s a woman only secret~” but all three were impressed with your skills.

-Rudra- Eyes went wide when your halberd broke, but when the sword started to emerge from your chest, his jaw dropped, mouth hanging open before you pulled that out, completely stunned on where you got that sword!

-Buddha- Smirked, moving his lollipop to the other side of his mouth, finding it alluring and could instantly tell that your sword was your true weapon as you ended the fight so quickly after pulling it out. Then had to ruffle Zerofuku’s hair after the boy asked him if he had anything like that between his chest.

-Zerofuku- Was confused as to why you had a sword between your chest. He looked up at Buddha who had a big chest, wondering if he had anything between his own which got his hair ruffled by the taller god.

-Beelzebub- Was more intrigued with the magic that appeared there first, curious as to what it was. Froze, eyes wide when he saw you pulling the sword from your body, unable to look away.

-Loki- Looking disrespectfully, gawking with his tongue lolled out, full blush on his face as he could only gawk in awe. He wanted to get a closer look~

-Zeus- Cheering loudly, leading the charge of the cheers of the arena. He had never seen anything like it and he was so excited!!

-Ares- His whole head was bright red, staring shamelessly, blood dripping from his nose as he couldn’t believe what he just watched, gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

-Hermes- Amused by Ares’ reaction just a bit more, but was stunned with the magic that you used and even more so when he saw how big the actual sword was.

-Aphrodite- Giggled softly, hiding her mouth behind her hand, amused to see the reactions of others, but as a large chested woman herself, she knew well that any woman could hide things between or under her boobs, like knives~

-Hercules- Lifted a hand to his face to hide his blush, embarrassed to stare at you in such a way, but couldn’t take his eyes off of you, especially when you handled your opponent so easily.

-Kojiro- His face was bright red, watching you pull that from your chest, but he immediately focused on your form, his eyes widening as he saw you move, being one of a handful that was able to keep up with your moves.

-Jack- Was staring before he started, his cheeks warming as he turned, being a gentleman, not wanting to gawk at a young lady such as yourself in such a way. Was impressed with your skills with the sword however.

-Lu Bu- Could sense the power radiating from you, a feral grin appearing on his lips, wanting to fight you himself. However, he was one of the few that wasn’t bothered where you had your sword stashed.

-Chen Gong- Unlike his lord, as soon as you pulled that sword out he flew back, blood spurting from his nose, twitching on the ground. He didn’t even see the end of the fight.

-Raiden- A bright grin on his face as he watched you pull your weapon out, delight on his face as he found it attractive, “What a woman!” cheered loudly with the rest of the crowd.

-Qin Shi Huang- A bright smile on his face as he watched the scene, amazed by the magic that had appeared, wanting to know more about it, but very pleased watching the show.

-Adam- The time from when you pulled your sword out to being announced the winner was only about five seconds, but he was instantly glaring, exerting his pressure to those around him as he glared at them, ready to throw hands and lay waste to those who would say anything impure about his precious daughter!!

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loki-hargreeves · 1 month ago

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In Another Life

Pairing: TVA!Loki x Reader (I tried to write it as a gn!reader) Warnings/Tags: angst, mentions of death (nothing graphic), Loki is a bit emo, romantic relationship Word Count: 1.8k Summary: PROMPT: wrong timing // When working with the TVA, Loki certainly doesn't expect to run into you. Especially after what he thought was a final goodbye. A/N: Using this prompt list by @ivystoryweaver . It's been too long since I last wrote for Loki so I'm going back to my roots with this one 🎃

Earth...2011....Timeline???

Loki steps out of the bright orange portal, straightening his suit jacket as he takes in his surroundings. It's definitely Midgard, or Earth as Mobius would call it. By the looks of it, they're in an alleyway somewhere and it's supposed to be 2011. If this timeline is anything like Loki's original timeline, he should be safe to roam these streets without people freaking out.

"So... we're looking for a needle in a haystack," Mobius sighs and rests his hand on his hip. The man glances at the device in his hand, one that's supposed to lead them to the temporal anomaly.

"I doubt it'll be more challenging than when we were looking for Sylvie," Loki smiles tightly. He is confident in his skills to track down the anomaly and figure out what's really going on in this timeline.

Mobius simply shrugs and looks at the end of the alleyway, into the town that is basking in sunlight, "maybe you're right."

"You know I'm right," Loki corrects him and takes the lead, walking out of the shady alleyway. They have a job to do.

It doesn't take very long for Loki to realize that this place is familiar, too familiar. After walking around town for a few moments, he knows it's not just his imagination. This is where he met you, in another timeline of course. All those years ago.

When Loki was younger, before Thor's attempted coronation and all that, he used to sneak through these portals that even Heimdall couldn't see. One of them would lead to Midgard, to this very town. At first, it had been fun, mostly something he did out of curiosity. Exploring the realm without being watched. Loki had been intrigued by people and their customs.

Then he had met you.

To this day, the Trickster's heart swells at the shared memories. To think the god of mischief had fallen for a mortal. If Thor or his friends had found out, Loki would've never heard the end of it. Looking back now, something like that would've been the least of his worries.

The few years you had spent together were brief yet some of the best years of his existence. You had fallen for him, not knowing he was a god, a prince or any of that. No, you fell for Loki for who he was. Saw the sides of him he kept hidden from everyone. And in return, Loki had seen just how wonderful humanity could be. How you, as an individual, made him believe in love. Selfless, real, passionate love.

Then Loki had trusted you with the truth. For a while, everything had been beautiful. No one on Asgard knew the prince was sneaking off to Midgard to see this mortal, and no one on Earth knew or tried to come between you. It had been just the two of you and nothing else mattered.

It's why Loki feels a mixture of overwhelming emotions swirling within him as he walks the familiar streets. It may be in another timeline and things could very well be different here, but many things look exactly the same. Everywhere he looks is a memory that unveils from the depths of his mind. He swears he tried ice cream from that shop once after you insisted he'd like it. You had been right of course.

"Weird…" Mobius mutters, his eyes glued to the device. "We're getting closer to it. It ain't moving at all," He explains and points at the red dot on the screen.

"Perhaps the anomaly is asleep?" Loki suggests, trying to figure out why it isn't moving. Something doesn't feel quite right though.

"Well they won't see us coming, that's for sure."

Loki just nods, too occupied with other things to even respond properly. Is it a coincidence that the anomaly has led them here? To a place so important to Loki?

Soon enough, Loki and Mobius are looking out to a field behind some houses. The sun is beginning to set, painting everything it touches with a golden hue. It's beautiful, just as Loki remembers it. That field out there is perhaps too familiar. By now, he's concerned about the coincidences. If the anomaly has anything to do with you, Loki isn't sure how he'd handle himself.

Do you even exist in this timeline?

A lump forms in his throat as Loki thinks about it. He had to say goodbye to you once already, over a decade ago. It might not be a long time for a being such as him, but a decade without you has already felt like a lifetime. Time is cruel, especially to mortals. What is even crueler is fate who had decided that the brief time you were promised in the first place would be cut so much shorter.

Loki had come to see you one last time without knowing it was the last. You hadn't been well. It was both a blessing and a curse that there had been enough time to say goodbye yet it had been the hardest thing Loki had done. Holding you, telling you how much you meant to him and promising you that he would find a way to cure you. That he would bring you to Asgard and make everything better, knowing damn well there was nothing that could be done. Now all these years later he can only hope that he had told you what you wanted and needed to hear before your time was up. Was it the right or wrong thing to do to create false hope? Did you know?

"What's going on?" Mobius asks with worry, noticing that Loki froze up. He knows Loki well enough by now to know when something's not quite right.

"This place," Loki shakes his head and decides to slip out a hint of truth without revealing too much, "I've been here before."

The wind plays with the flowers growing out on the fields, carrying the sweet late summer scent with it. There's a few people out there, some on a picnic as others read in the shade that the trees offer nearby. Everything about the scene seems serene. Once upon a time, Loki had been out there with you watching the stars. You loved his stories about all the places he had been. Loki recalls how deeply curious you were about the universe and all the beings living here.

"Do you think that's a coincidence?" Mobius asks with growing concern. Sure, Loki has been to a lot of places, he's a century old being but this still seems fishy. For all the places an anomaly could be hiding in.

Before Loki can answer, he sees someone.

There you are.

Healthy, living and breathing. You're in that shirt he remembers you loving so much because it had been a gift from a friend. You're walking down a path, on your way home presumably. That smile, so sweet and happy, is powerful enough to hit Loki's soul like a punch to the gut.

According to the TVA device, it's 2011. In Loki's timeline, you never saw 2011 yet in this timeline you're smiling and safe. Walking home as if nothing bad has ever happened at all.

Loki holds his breath, unable to peel his eyes off of you. There's only a few dozen feet between you and him but it feels like an ocean. After a decade of mourning you, to see your face like this is surreal. Even for him. Only now does the multiverse and multiple timelines feel like a reality. He's being hit in the face with the cold, hard truth that in other timelines everything can be so familiar yet so different all at once.

Mobius follows Loki's gaze, quickly noticing what has taken his friend's breath away. He has read Loki's file a million times so of course he recognizes you. Or rather this version of you. You're the one that got away, the last piece of happiness in Loki's life before the 'downfall' as some call it.

"Um... if you're wondering, they're not the anomaly," Mobius is the first one to speak, just trying to be reassuring. The device shows that the anomaly isn't moving so it can't possibly be you as you stroll down a path.

Loki nods, unsure if he should be relieved or disappointed.

"Of course," he clears his throat and takes a deep breath. It's surprisingly difficult to find his words in this moment. Then Loki looks back at you as the path brings you closer. With each step, his heart begins to race like crazy. What is he supposed to do? Should he say something? Would you recognize him?

You notice the two men just standing there, in strange brown suits. One of them in particular seems struck by the sight of you. Strangely, he doesn't scare you. He's cute.

"Hi," You smile at him as you walk past the man. Perhaps you look like someone he knows? That is the only sensible explanation that comes to mind. Not that you think of it too much, as they are just strangers.

Loki is frozen. You walk right past him. For better of for worse, you have no idea who he is. That kills that tiny piece of hope Loki felt in that moment, that hope that he can't deny no matter how hard he tries. After all this time, he still misses you. He's still trying to fix everything.

"Hey," he manages after a while, unsure if you even hear it as you don't stop to talk. Of course, you don't have any reason to. It's not really you. In this timeline, this universe, this other you has places to be and see. As bittersweet as it is, Loki tries to find comfort in the fact that in another life, you get to live even if it's without him.

Mobius looks at the screen again. Suddenly the red dot vanishes. The temporal anomaly just jumped timelines.

"Darn it," He curses and puts the device down.

Loki doesn't question it. He wants to see you make your way home safely. A part of him wants to run after you, talk to you, get to know you all over again. But he can't. Loki is stuck to the ground like a statue and he knows deep down that another you can't replace what he knew existed in the past. Nor would it be right.

As you vanish into a building, Loki finally tears his eyes away. His eyes sting with the threat of tears. Somehow, in this moment, it feels like he's gone back to his own time when he had just said his final goodbye. Loki can't forget, no matter how much he wants to, when he came to visit you but you had already passed. He could bury you but not these emotions.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Mobius puts his hand on Loki's shoulder, trying to offer him support.

Loki just nods and tries so hard to toughen up. As if seeing another you didn't just shake him up from the core.

"It's alright," Loki insists, "where were we?"

Mobius doesn't buy it but he won't pry either. Loki will talk if he wants to talk.

"The anomaly jumped," Mobius reveals while tapping the device, "kinda weird timing if you ask me. Didn't move the entire time and-" Mobius hesitates, unsure how Loki would react if he spoke your name. He decides not to.

"It's like we were led here on purpose. For you to see..."

"I know," Loki quickly spits out, sensing that Mobius is being wary. He isn't stupid. He can't help but suspect something strange is going on as well. It can't be a coincidence that they were led to this timeline, chasing some anomaly who vanishes as soon as Loki saw you. Loki is the god of mischief after all and he can tell when he's being set up for something.

Then the question is, who is the anomaly and why would they bring them here?

A/N: Writing this made me feel like it was 2017 again when all I could do was write weird angsty Loki fics with no real plot, just yapping.

Also, I've been busy so for writober I'm using a bunch of prompt lists (some were for september) and I'm picking and choosing prompts instead of going day by day. It's helping me get out of my writer's block without too much pressure ❤

#Loki x Reader #Loki fanfiction #Loki angst #angst #Loki x you #Loki x gn!reader #Loki x y/n #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #TVA!Loki x Reader #Tva!Loki #tva!loki fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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