#oscar isaac imagine

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 “Webs of Fate”

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

[fiendishfables]

Imagine...

Being Miguel O'Hara's go-to for stress relief...

[Gn! Reader]

Everyday was a stressful day for Miguel O'Hara. Each and every spider person was aware of this. You were aware of this. More so than most, you found it fair to say.

Between balancing the responsibilities that came with being leader of the Spider Society, hunting down pesky anomalies, and tolerating the insufferable humor of over a thousand various spider people, it was easy for Miguel to experience drastic burn-out over just short spans of time.

But that's why he came to you.

And who would complain? You sure as hell weren't.

His breaths were heavy on your neck, fangs just barely grazing your delicate, breakable skin. Your chest pressed against his own, your heartbeats seemingly synchronized with each upward thrust of his hips. The feeling of him moving so smoothly within you, so foreign yet so familiar every time.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and in turn, his sharp talons were fighting to keep a tight grip on your sensitive hips as you rode him, just as he'd requested for tonight. Brows furrowed, eyes closed, and face buried in the crook of your neck, Miguel tried to focus on the control he held over your pace in his lap. He liked to be in control, you knew, which is why you allowed him to manhandle you in such ways whenever he deemed; you wanted to bring him the comfort he so desperately needed after the hectic day he'd endured.

You were always good for him. Good to him.

"Mierda, cariño." He breathed, voice a low growl. "So good for me, aren't you? Fuck, so good...and all mine."

A soft whimper was all you could find within yourself to answer with, feeling him guide you through the motions, hands still keeping their tight vice on your hips, bound to leave marks in the morning just as they did time and time again. Marks you wore with honor until they vanished, and only then did Miguel make sure to leave you with fresh ones.

Ones that proved you were his; his to use, his to wreck, his to satisfy.

So, when he needed a balm to soothe his restless mind, which was more often than not, he came to you.

You were always ready and eager to return the favor.

[tokkiwrites]

✿ Write your name all over my lips. ⬞ ׄ

marc spector x f!reader

summary: you can't fall asleep, so as dawn cracks, Marc decides that sleep is overrated anyway.

tags: fluff!!, fingering f receiving, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, creampie, afab reader, lmk if i missed anything!

↪ㅤtokki's ۫ 𐑺 𝚜𝚞ׂ𝚐𝚊𝚛 ࣭ note ˑ ⌕ ࣭ ּ ➭ i am back!!! this is pretty short at around 1.43k words. its fluff followed by a bit of smut, just two idiots in love. not proofread!!! enjoy muah

Marc isn't one to indulge in many comforts, but being with you is one of the few luxuries he allows himself. Typically a restless sleeper, his nights transform when you're beside him. He slumbers deeply, his weight comforting as his arm naturally finds its place around your waist. Marc becomes an immovable force until the subtlest of movements from you prompts his eyes to flutter open, still heavy with sleep.

"Go to sleep, baby.." he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep, urging you to return to the warmth of the covers.

You pause for a moment, feeling the warmth of his breath against your neck. drunk on the comfort of his presenceㅡ its something he cherishes deeply, a rare solace in his otherwise chaotic life. You can't help but smile softly at his concern."I was just trying to get comfortable," you whisper back, voice barely audible in the quiet room. You shift slightly, finding a better position, and his grip on your waist tightens instinctively, pulling her closer. The corners of Marc's lips quirk up faintly at this, his eyes half closed again as his face presses against your shoulder. His facial stubble slightly scratches against your skin, planting little kisses that lay onto you like flowers. "It's five a.m, angel," he mumbles, his voice filled with sleep. "...you should be sleeping."

You sigh softly, fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm that's wrapped around you. "I know," you reply. "I just can't help it sometimes." Marc shifts slightly, his grip on your body shifting a bit lower, arm now settled around your hips. "Just relax," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble, as he caresses your skin. "I'm right here."

You feel a wave of calm envelop you, his presence a soothing balm against your restless mind. With a soft sigh, you relax into his embrace, your body molding perfectly against his. The rhythm of his breathing, steady and reassuring, lulls you further into a state of peace. Marc's hand continues its gentle caress along your hip, his touch light yet grounding. He nuzzles closer, the scent of your hair filling his senses.

Marc takes a moment to fully wake, his lips planting soft kisses along the side of your neck before he lets out a low, sleepy hum. "I love you," he mumbles, a phrase rarely spoken but deeply felt.

His whispered confession reaches your ears, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in your heart. Even in the haze of drowsiness, his words carry weight, sinking deep into your consciousness. You draw closer to him, your fingers caressing his arm in a silent acknowledgment. Marc's kisses, like delicate rays of light, dance along your neck, each one a testament. As his lips graze your skin, a sense of tranquility washes over you, dissolving any lingering tension. "I love you," you whisper softly, the words an echo.

You can practically feel the low hum of resonating from Marc, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your hip as he presses another tender kiss to your shoulder. He draws you closer, his body still weighted with sleep but his mind gradually awakening, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. Another kiss graces your shoulder, then your ear, his lips writing a song beyond words. "I love you so much, baby" he whispers once more, his warm breath caressing your skin as his hand slips past the hem of your shorts. "Marc..." you giggle, his groggy hum sending soft vibrations down your whole body.

"What are you doing?" you ask softly as you feel his hand snake its way under your shirt, his palm slowly massaging your breasts, fingers flicking lightly at the already pebbled nipples. You squirm slightly, half-heartedly trying to push his hand away, but his persistence only makes you laugh. "It's too early for this," you protest, though your tone lacks any real conviction."Too early to show my love?" he teases, his fingers dancing over your skin. "I don't think so." He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours, so now you can better feel his hard-on resting onto your lower back.

The world outside might be waking up, but in this moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, lost in a bubble.

You can feel a familiar heat spread through your whole body as Marc finally pushes his hands past the hem of your pants and squeezes at your hip lightly, "No panties, baby?" he teases, aware of how wet you were right now, as his hot whispers drag along your neck and plummeting that feeling into your cunt. " 's hot-" you manage to stutter put, one low hum as his response. "hm." Marc traps your ear between his teeth before his other arm snakes from under you and over your chest, his rough palm now wrapped around your neck. you gasp and swallow back a moan. "need you so bad, baby..." he admits, the hand in your pants traveling lower to your belly then finally between your legs. When his fingers make contact with your folds, Marc lets out a soft laugh, " 's that why you couldn't sleep, angel?" he inquired " because i didn’t dick you down last night?" you whine, "Marc.." you softly call out as his grip on your throat tightness. "what? i don't fuck you one night and you become an insomniac?" his voice is now lower, rougher and his strokes between your legs quickened. "You're so wet 'n I barely touched you.. " he tuts. "Marc, please.."

"What's that?" Marc decides to play a little more, the fingers from your neck trailing up and between your parted lips, catching you off guard. "Didn't you learn not to talk with your mouth full, baby?" you whine yet again, shaking against his unwavering grasp, two of his fingers finally slipping inside of your velvety walls. "Fuck.." Marc mutters. "You sound so pretty when you get desperate for my cock.." he moves his fingers at a reasonable pace, the ones inside your mouth entangled with your tongue. "You're so pretty, angel.." all you can do is moan around his digits and shut your eyes as he whispers his sweet venom. he always knows what to do. "Can I fuck you, baby..?" he moans against your hair. "Please..." you moan back.

with that, he starts removing his briefs, as one hand pushes you on your back. "Like thisㅡ" he says, as he positions himself between your legs, "So I can see your beautiful face while I fuck you."

Marc leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you, and you hiss softly through the kiss. Marc starts to move slowly, moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Marc, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Marc's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against the matter, Marc's hand slipping under you as his lips write kisses from your chest to your bellybutton. "I'm so close, Marc -" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, angel, shitㅡ" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains you as his hips buckle and he starts releasing ropes of hot liquid inside of you, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating for you. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. "Let's get cleaned up, ok?" You ask softly, and he chuckles. "I'm not done with you, baby. I need to have my breakfast."

[jake-g-lockley]

Can I have prompt 23 and 27 with Poe Dameron, with a side of enemies to lovers please?

Feels Right (Poe Dameron x reader)

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Prompts: "you are, without a doubt, the most annoying person i've ever crossed paths with. and don't even get me started on the sound of your voice." and "please shut up. i can't stand how appealing your voice is."'

A/N: HALLU! Firstly, thank you for this request nonnie! Sorry it took me so freaking long to complete, had a busy few months :”) 

Warnings: MDNI, smut, a little bit of dub-con, dry humping, dom!Poe, sub!reader, bondage, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, a bit of angst, lots of fluff, swearing, jealousy, possessive Poe. 

Word count: 5.3k

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stand his voice. You wanted him to shut up, your only thought in your head was "Please shut up. I can't stand how appealing your voice is.”  You couldn’t stand the way he looked at everyone, so full of hope. You couldn’t stand the way his curls bounced when he turned his head or the way his eyes sparkled when they came in contact with yours.

It was all too much.

You raised your hand the second he asked whether there were other questions. He narrowed his eyes but like the good receptive leader he was, he nodded at you.

“This is less of a question and more of a request. I’d just like to say that I need people to start keeping the hangar clean and stop parking x-wings wherever you please, only for me to wake up in the morning and dock the ships for you. What are y’all? A bunch of five year olds?” you huffed, your hands on your hips.

You were addressing everyone in the room, but your eyes were steadily trained on the Black Leader, who had a small smirk on his face. He walked around the table and your eyes followed him while you spoke, holding your head high as he approached you. 

“You heard your commander, folks!” he addressed the room with one of his charming smiles.

Leaning in, he whispers. “Although, I can’t say I’ll be the one keeping the promise, darling.”

You stiffened at the sound of his voice. He was too close and you wanted to body slam him onto the floor so that you would not have to hear him for a while.You flinched slightly as he brought his hands together for a clap.

“All right, everyones dismissed.” 

You stood rooted to your spot, glaring at the General as he went to pick up his data pad. 

“Oh fuck you, Dameron.” you mumbled to his back.

“Say it with a little more chest and I’ll be down, Commander.”  he turned his head to you and smirked. 

Those lips.

Those fucking lips. 

The one time you caved into them made you regret every possible living day you’ve had since. The way those lips had carved out the secret between you two made it seem unbreakable. You craved the taste, but you were too stubborn to satisfy the craving and you had a feeling he knew you were holding back, the passing glances and glares holding something a little more than just resentment.

“You, Dameron, are, without a doubt, the most annoying person I've ever crossed paths with. and don't even get me started on the sound of your voice." you snap.

“Hmm, would you like my voice to say something only for your ears, sweet angel?” He replied so smoothly that you almost let yourself smile, but you resisted, clenching your jaw hard. 

You scowled through your heating cheeks and you let out a sharp breath as the door closed behind him. Over the past few years, that voice has been the bane of your existence. Always saying something cocky, vain or insulting. That didn’t help to cure your insatiable need for him though. 

You’d spend your nights dreaming away about the way he would sound, if you ever got the chance to get under him. How would his lips feel against the shell of your ear if he were to keep his promise and whisper all the beautiful things you'd want him to do to you? Would he whimper if you tug those curls just right or would he grunt and growl if you scratched that glorious back of his? These questions kept you awake and ebbed away at your sanity for years. You glanced at the clock and rubbed your cheek, groaning slightly at the way you had let this ordinary man completely ruin your relatively stable mind. 

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You stared with sleep laden eyes at the x-wing that was parked smack in the middle of the hangar. You scowled again at Poe’s mischief and mumbled curses under your breath as you climbed the ladder up into the cockpit. You slid into his seat and took a deep breath as Poe’s scent filled your nostrils. You smile to yourself, tracing the joystick before you with your fingers. 

You don't actually hate him, every single good memory you’ve had has him in it. You do however, enjoy the back and forth the both of you had going on for the past few months due to your sudden promotions. Secretly, you were in love with Poe, his stupid boyish swagger made your heart ache, especially when he used that god awful smile on you.

Slowly, everything was becoming more and more overwhelming, lulling you into sleep. You turned and pressed your nose into the seat, breathing in the soothing scent as your eyes fluttered close.

“Just for a few minutes…” you mumbled, and soon the cockpit of the x-wing was filled with the sounds of your snores.

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Poe was waiting for you at the hanger, watching for any movement from his x-wing. He loved teasing you like this, smiling to himself when he sees you unhappily wadling in your sleep shirt towards his ship. He waited for you to come down, so that he could scare you. He frowned when you took too long, silences ringing in his ear when his ship didn’t start moving. Alarm bells started going off in his head and he rushed to the x-wing and quickly climbed up, only to see you sleeping there.

He stared at you for a while, leaning against his x-wing as you snored softly in his seat, nuzzing your nose into his chair. He didn’t make a mistake, kissing you that one fateful day, pretending to be drunk to maybe earn your favour for the night. He knew he couldn’t have you the second your lips pressed harder against his, igniting something that he could not explain, alongside with the urge to keep you safe. He pushed you away that night, vowing to never turn back to you until he could keep you and his people safe. 

The general sighed and flipped open a dummy switch by the control, a switch that you had never touched before, to reveal your face. He pressed his two fingers to his lips and to the picture of your smiling face, just like he always did before he took flight, followed by the softest kiss on your forehead, something totally unorthodox to him, something that he would talk himself out of if he ever gave his heart a chance to listen to his brain. Poe waited for a while for you to stir but breathed out a sigh of relief when you didn’t. 

He wanted to keep his distance, he really did. But you kept him up all night, the way you gasped into his mouth when the kiss got a little more hungry never really left his mind, rolling over and over like a broken tape recorder. He wanted to hold you in his arms and keep his promise, to keep you alive and beautiful as always. To never see you cower away in pain or suffering ever again. How could he do that when everything went radioactive around him? 

He wanted you so bad, and he was running out of ideas and ways to stay out of your lane. Poe sighed again, reaching out to move away a strand of hair that fell out of place.He leaned back and watched you a little longer until his eyes grew heavy with sleep too. 

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up in your bed, completely confused with your bearings. You had a weird dream, being in Poe’s x-wing, being carried out by him. You tried to go through the dream in order, piecing together whether it was real or not. You finally shook your head, figuring that you probably dreamt it up in your sleep-addled brain.

You sigh and decide to get up and start your day, pulling your datapad to check your schedule. There were going to be new recruits today and you had to greet them and assign them to their positions. It was the easiest of your jobs, your smile genuine as your heart gets lighter now that the galaxy was healing. You quickly got up and got ready, to show your best to the new recruits. 

You stood poised in your uniform waiting for the transport to touch down at the hangar when suddenly you felt a strong presence behind you. You didn’t need to be a master of the force to know that Poe Dameron was standing behind you, his gaze piercing the back of your head making your smile slightly. You raise your chin slightly as the door to the transport drops and a few individuals walk out. One of them leads the bunch, walking slightly faster and taller towards you. A beautiful woman, her hair cropped short and her sleeves torn up, revealing intricate tattoos. You shoot the woman with your best smile and she grins back.

“Ah, you must be the General, people talk about your greatness but never your beauty. I am Keana and this is my team.” the woman kneels in front of you and takes your hand, planting a soft kiss onto the back of it, making your face heat up at the gesture. 

You were quite literally lost for words until you felt someone’s body press against your shoulder. 

“That’s because I am the general.” Poe’s voice rang clear and authoritative, and the woman before you quickly stands up and throws Poe a sheepish smile. 

“Terribly sorry for the mistake, I assumed that this fine lady here is the general due to her uniform.” Her words made you spin around to see Poe in his flight suit, helmet tucked under his arm and you try hard not to laugh.

While Keana rounded her group, you tip your head towards Poe with a small smile on your face. 

“I think she called you ugly, baby.” you whisper and his head turns almost too sharply at your utterance of the nickname. 

Poe Dameron was far from ugly. He was indeed one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. His scruffy stubble and flawless boyish curls made him look like an effortless prince. His character and charisma only heightened his attractiveness and he had a smile and glint in his eyes that made him irresistible. Poe rolled his eyes at your statement, a smirk evidently trying not to show on his lips as he tried to hold back his next statement. 

“Come on, no snarky remark?” you say, utterly impressed by his control. 

Poe gave you a pointed look and sauntered off to his x-wing, which was suspiciously parked in the right spot. You stared a little longer at the pilot, your eyes trailing a little lower than your liking and you pout and turn on your heel to join Keana and her little group for their tour. 

You knew the man was up to something but you just could not prove what he was doing, or not doing. 

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

By the time the sun had begun to set, you were completely bugged out. Poe teasing you at any point of day had been a daily occurrence since the both of you touched down onto the base. But today he hadn’t said a word directly to you and you were lying if you weren’t slightly worried about it. He also had been tactfully avoiding you all day and you were positive he was when you swear you saw a rush of orange in your peripheral when you finished your tour. 

Fortunately for you, you ran into the best two people that would know where Poe was.

“Finn! Rey! Where’s Dameron?” you panted, running to catch up with them.

“His room, I think. He was weirdly quiet and working on something the last time I saw him.” Finn said and Rey nodded along. 

“Room. Got it. Thanks.” you punctuated before running off to Poe’s room. 

You gathered yourself when you found Poe’s door, combing your fingers through your hair and then straightening out your blouse before keying in the passcode. You walked through the doorway as soon as the door whoshed open, only to find Poe staring blankly at his datapad on his bed. He didn’t even turn to look at you, his eyes carefully trained onto what he was reading. 

“Dameron! Everything okay?” You chirpily asked as you invited yourself to sit at his desk, turning the chair to face him. 

The silence that rang after your question was deafening. You narrowed your eyes at the man before you, trying to figure out why he was giving you the silent treatment. You pursed your lips and clicked your tongue as Poe subtly shifted, still paying you no attention at all. 

Poe hated the way you called him by his last name. He sure as hell didn’t care if he was addressed with it by any other person, but by you? A fiery rage burned in him, fuelled by the way the new recruit flirted with you and the way you had blushed and flushed even with him standing right behind you. He shouldn’t be this angry, not with you, never with you. 

“So the tour went great as usual, Keana is really nice and her team is great, I think that they would do just fine with our people.” You went on, breaking through the silence again as Poe types something into the data pad. 

Poe’s anger was slowly growing and he focused all his might into not losing his temper and doing something that he might regret. He continued to ignore you as if you weren’t sitting there with a beautiful smile on your face that was slowly melting into a frown that he equally enjoyed. He saw your hand move and realised that you were waving at him, trying to force his attention to you. 

You sighed, still not willing to admit defeat. Your brain races through the scenarios in which you could get the General’s attention when suddenly, all the lights go off, making you gasp. You scrambled off the chair and ran to the door, trying to open it but it wouldn’t budge.

“What, never had a power cut in your life, darling?” Poe’s voice dripped like venom over you from the bed, making you slowly turn around to face him.

He was finally looking at you, a glare of pure disdain etched upon his handsome face that was illuminated by the screen of his data pad, flipped your stomach at its intensity. 

Why was he so angry?

His face turns back to the data pad, resuming its previous deadpan expression. You walk over to his bed and sit at the edge, watching quietly as he works, the anger seemingly radiating out of his body and making you feel small. 

You blinked after a while, realising that this man actually had no right to be mad at you. All this time, it had been him annoying the hell out of you. Why should you feel small? You straighten your back and scooched closer, your hand near his. 

You poked him, digging your finger into his side, only for no response. Whatever he was mad about must be making him really angry, because on a normal day, Poe Dameron would be the most sensitive person on base. 

“Daaameron. Dameron, Dameron, Dameron, Dameron.” You jabbed away, but to no avail. 

Inside, Poe was enjoying this. He wanted to see how far you would go to gain his attention. Somehow he knew that you were aware of what he was doing because you suddenly stopped your jabbing, your hand dropping back to your side once again. 

You took a good look at him, wondering if he was worth the risk of losing everything. Your mind was probably leaning towards your riskier side as you eyed the way he sat, his legs and torso forming a seat that you couldn’t resist wanting to sit on. Your intrusive thoughts got the best of you as you quickly climbed into the bed and slid onto his lap. Poe’s eyes widen for a split second and his free hand grasps at your hips as he makes eye contact as he huffs out a breath. Then suddenly, his face goes stoic again. 

He turns to his data pad that was still clutched in his other hand and continues to read, as if unbothered by your presence. Your hands bunch up his shirt and you hold onto him as you grimace. You shifted a little in his lap and felt his grip on your hip tighten slightly, making you smirk. A part of you was nervous, being in such a compromising position with your general, but Poe could have thrown you off his body eons ago if he wanted to. 

Instead he sat as still as possible, only his eyes and chest slightly moving. If Poe was the one who was nervous, he clearly wasn’t showing it. You blatantly checked him out, his pretty boy curls flopping here and there, the curve of his necklace as it rested against his glorious neck, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the slight part of his plump lips that you oh so craved for, all zeroing you to the point of why you were there in the first place. 

You steadied yourself, sliding your hands to either side of his shoulder, feeling the muscles underneath his jacket. Even with you feeling him up, Poe didn’t budge a single inch, his hand now gently resting on the curve of your hip. You eyed Poe’s stubble longingly, your heart thudding inside your chest as you gazed at how perfect the curve of his jaw was. A few of Poe’s fingers lightly squeezed at your hip as if he were daring you to make your next move too. 

You figured “Why not.”

What could you possibly lose now, you were already straddling him.

You grabbed at his jacket and leaned in, pressing a feathery kiss to a spot between his neck and where his jaw started, and to your absolute joy, another soft gasp emitting from his lips. You let go of his jacket and let your chest lay flat against his, sliding your hands around his neck and smiling against his neck before pressing another kiss and feeling a light shudder.

“Give up Dameron.” you murmured. 

Poe’s eyes remained glued to the datapad but you knew he wasn't concentrating anymore with the way he started to breathe, slow and shallow, as if he were focusing on composing himself. You slowly run your fingers through his locks, your nails grazing the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to relax when suddenly you feel his breath jump.

“Where’s that aggravating voice of yours now, General?” You purred into his ear and felt a growing hardness beneath you, along with your own swirling heat at the pit of your abdomen.

One of your hands make their way back to his face, gently grabbing at his jaw as you push yourself off him again, effectively grinding your hot core into his just to rile the pilot up. Poe’s eyes were half lidded now and his data pad hung loosely in his grip as his hand had drifted down onto his bed, laying limp. You pushed his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact with you.

When those swirling dark brown eyes snapped to yours, you realised how much trouble you were in, just from a single glance. 

“Poe…” you whispered, so softly that you doubted he heard you despite the lack of space between the two of you.

Poe’s free hand snaked up your back and held onto the back of your neck in an instant, pulling you towards him as your lips finally crashed together. The kiss was urgent and Poe wasted no time snaking the hand at your waist around your body to keep you pinned against him, making your mouth drop open, welcoming Poe’s tongue as he pushed himself up to kiss you harder. 

You’ve been wanting this for months and the satisfaction that rushed over you was like no other. You didn’t care about the fact that you couldn’t breathe, you just needed to feel him against you. Poe pulls away with a sharp intake of breath as you grind down hard on his growing erection. His eyes were still on yours, piercing right through your soul.

“You’re starting something that you’re gonna regret, sweetheart.” He whispered as he readjusted the way you were straddling him.

“What are you gonna do? Throw me out of the resistance?” You laughed but it died down instantly when a smirk curled itself onto his kiss-addled lips. 

Poe had kept everything he felt about you pented up for months and now he was fuelled with a passion like no other. He flipped you over and towered over you, watching as your face went flush and your eyes grew wide. 

“Oh you’ll see.” He simply said before leaning down to kiss you again, pressing his entire body against your frame as your hands flew to his hair. 

He knew you having your hands in his hair turns you on as much as it does him, but he tutted against your lips and pulled your hands down from his head anyway. 

“You're really a brat.” he says lowly.

“Poe please…” you begged him with your eyes, not wanting him to stop.

“Brats don't get to touch me.” He gets on his knees and towered over you, unbuckling his belt as you watched on, completely aroused by the way he tugs it. 

He twisted his belt and looped it around the buckle a few times before you knew what he was doing. He slipped the makeshift cuff onto your wrists and secured you to the bed, making you giggle nervously, tugging your wrists and showing you that you were going nowhere. 

“There you go, pretty girl.” he smiled cruelly, tapping your cheek with his fingers and you gasped slightly at his demeanour. 

“What should I do with you?” he asked mockingly as his hands trailed to your shirt, undoing the first few buttons. 

“I’d save the best for last,” he smiled to himself before raising his eyebrows at you and ripping the rest of your shirt. “and I’ll start with my appetiser.” 

Your breathing had quickened and you were following Poe’s every move. His fingers had moved to the waistband of your pants and he watched your eyes widen as he hooked his fingers. 

“Want me to stop?” Poe questioned, slightly amused by your silence.

“No, no, please don’t!” You whine, your hands tugging uselessly at their bonds. 

“As you wish, baby.” he gives you another cheeky smirk before pulling your pants down, along with your underwear, exposing you to the cold air of his room. He was a little further away now and you tried to make your eyes adjust to the dark so that you could see him.

That's when you felt a warm breath against your cunt. You wanted to snap your legs close but strong hands clamped you down and a casual chuckle emitted from your core. A soft kiss in your inner thigh rubbed all the feelings of anxiety away and Poe’s hand began to rub soft circles in the plush of your thigh that made you sink further into his bed. 

“Oh, Poe…” was all you could say as his breath fanned your exposed core again. 

“That’s right, angel, love hearing you beg for me.” Poe said sultry, almost to your cunt rather than to you. 

He pressed a feather light kiss onto your clit and you keened, a soft airy moan filling the room. 

“These moans are mine.” Poe said softly from between your legs.

His hands travelled slightly higher, his big palms and fingers feeling the planes of your skin. 

“This body is mine.” He said again, almost to himself. 

Something clicked inside you and you finally figured out what got you here in the first place. 

“You’re mine.” This time, the words were uttered so softly that you were pretty sure you had lost Poe to his own thoughts. 

Suddenly with your last act of defiance, you found yourself saying: 

“You jealous, pretty boy?”

That's when all hell broke loose and you knew your next few thoughts were going to be incoherent. 

Poe’s tongue lapped up your arousal that had been pooling from grinding on him and his words, making you arch your back and push your pussy into his face. His hands travelled back to your core and held you open, as he started to devour you like a man starved. 

Nothing in the galaxy could have prepared you for the way your general started eating you out. He ate your spend like he earned it, licking and slurping and moaning into your pussy as if it gave him life to so what he was doing. His beautiful nose rubbed into your clit just right and your whimpering only fuelled his fire because he latched his mouth onto your clit and pushed two fingers into you without a question.

You sweared, through your haze ridden mind, that he smirked against you as you started to writhe and gasp for air as his fingers reached the delicious spot that you yearned for. You were shaking for him within a few minutes, hands desperately trying to grab onto something but failing as your orgasm ripped through you like a hailstorm. 

Poe knew you were being too loud but didn’t have the heart or the coherent thought to stop you from screaming his name at the top of your lungs as your clit throbbed between his lips and your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers that were still trying their best to piston in and out of you. 

Poe brought you down with several gentle kitten licks and soft kisses onto your skin as his hand began to knead gently at your flesh. He heard his belt rattling again, followed by a soft whimper that tore at his heart strings, causing him to crawl up your body with soft words leaving his lips. 

“Okay, baby, you’re okay. You did so well.” he said through your gasps and gently untied you from his bed frame.

He brought your wrist to his lips and kissed them gently before rubbing them comfortingly. Your whimpers quietened down and your soft breathes made Poe smile as he brought his face close to yours. 

“Hello.” He says as you pry your eyes open. 

“Hey.” You breathe, taking in his pretty face before leaning up for a kiss. 

Poe caught your lips gracefully, his kisses softer and more calculated. You tasted yourself on him and you realised what you had just done with your general. Poe could probably sense your hesitation when your side of the kiss had a sense of unsurity. 

“Baby?” he asked as he pulled away. 

“Is this right?” You asked, searching his eyes.

“Yes, baby, yes. I want this and it feels right to me. Does it feel right to you?” He says, reassuringly rubbing at your cheek with his thumb. 

You smiled. This was your Poe. 

“Yes, Poe. It feels right.” you giggled slightly as Poe sighed in relief. 

“So you gonna fuck me now?” you raised your eyebrow and let your eyes droop, causing the now accustomed smirk to form on Poe’s face with your words. 

“Didn’t think you’d ask.” Poe answered in his usual confident tone. 

Poe got rid of his pants faster than you could ever imagine. To say that you were slightly intimidated by his size was definitely an understatement. He reached over you to his bedside drawer and pulled out a condom, slipping it on and letting his length drop between the both of you. 

You stared incredulously at his cock that was laid out on your stomach. You’d definitely feel him in your guts for days after this. You found yourself trailing a hand down to his cock, wrapping your fingers around him to test his weight. 

Poe moaned dangerously low as you started to stroke his cock, his head thrown back almost immediately. You stroked him a few more times before lining up his tip at your entrance, taking your time as you slowly let him push himself in. 

“Maker, Poe.” You cried as he slowly bottomed out, never feeling this full in your entire life.

“It's okay, baby, I’m here.” Poe’s voice was strained from the way your pussy gripped around him and the both of you knew it was only a matter of a few minutes before you both were pushed past breaking point. 

You nodded and Poe started to move slowly, your synchronised moans and groans echoing around the dark room once again. Poe leaned down and began to slowly suck at your exposed breast that had popped out of their bra in your previous tousle. You arched your back and threaded a hand up his locks, pulling him tightly against you as your other hand generously scratched up his back, making him moan hungrily against your tit. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good.” he groaned. 

His movements increased with sudden vigour, picking up the pace to match your beautiful moans. The amazing drag of his cock in your wet channel made you want to float and you feel yourself losing yourself to him. Poe’s hand ended up between the two of you and you knew he was close as his fingers started to rub gently at your already abused clit. 

“Come with me Poe, please.” You whispered and he nodded immediately.

“Now.” he breathed and you came with a choked groan as you milked him, pushing him and prolonging his release with each clench of your cunt. 

He pumped himself inside you a few more times before letting his legs give way, collapsing ungracefully on top of you. The both of you spent the next few minutes catching your breath, completely spent from your irresponsible activities.

Poe gets up first, pressing a gentle kiss onto your shoulder before pulling himself out of you with a groan. He pulls off the condom and you hear him tossing it aside and gently lowering himself next to you as you admire the mess you made of him. 

You gently run your knuckle against his cheekbone and watch his eyes flutter close. You shuffle closer and turn around, tucking yourself into his chest and pulling his arms around you, feeling incredibly clingy after that vigorous session. 

“Who knew you had an off button inside you.” Poe spoke up after a while and you swatted at his bicep, causing him to chuckle and cuddle you closer. 

You suddenly felt vulnerable in his arms, turning to face him once more. 

“Poe?” you whisper.

“Hmm?” 

“D-do you like me?” you ask, hugging your arms around your own naked body. 

Silence filled the room and you thought you were done for, that this was all for nothing when suddenly, a loud laugh emitted from Poe, causing you to jump slightly.

“You’re telling me, you slid into my lap and let me fuck you how I wanted to fuck you and you’re now asking if I like you?! Are you dumb?” he cackled through his words and you pouted. 

“I don’t like you, stupid. I love you.” Poe said in one final sentence that made you almost stop functioning. 

“You- I…” you tried to say but Poe cut you off with a kiss, a kiss so gentle almost like he was afraid to break you. 

“I love you too Poe.” You breathed the second his lips gave you the tiniest bit of space. 

“I know.” He smiled at you before giving you one last peck. “Can we go back to cuddling now and talk about everything when the power comes back?” 

“By talk you mean-”

“Do I need to spell it out, commander? Now hush.” he slyly cuts you off and you smile as his arms wrap around you once again, your heart and mind finally settling in the same place. 

Reblogs are appreciated~~~

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[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning

STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!

main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.

CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.

CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.

CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

CHAPTER EIGHT - Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest. Why does Dove look so guilty?

CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

CHAPTER ELEVEN -

CHAPTER TWELVE -

CHAPTER THIRTEEN -

CHAPTER FOURTEEN -

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -

Comment or send an ask to be tagged in new chapters!

[blue-sadie]

Two Besties

Imagine:

Filming with the two most iconic besties like oscar isaac pedro pascal and the three of you just clicked and cause a lot of chaos together so much so some of the other crew members hide away from you three, but this lazy afternoon you fell asleep with your head on Oscar's lap and your legs draped over Pedro's.

"I think I love her oscar I don't think I know I love her and I know you'll probably think I'm crazy but she gets me she gets us fuck she maybe even more demented then us but that's what I love about her she gets me oscar and I think you feel the same way too"

[hiatuswhore]

Something For Your Mind II — p.a

♕ A/N: Sorry for taking so long to make this, it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while I just wasn’t satisfied with it. I’m still kinda not but I hope y’all like it. Please give me feedback, thanksss.

♕ SUMMARY: Your parents offered a simple explanation- Fremen with the gift of prescience. A secret amongst the sand.

♕ WORD COUNT: 2.5K

♕ WARNING: None

previous — Masterlist — next

♕ TAG LIST: @junglxqueen @reallysparklychaos @soliphilia @dontjudgeabookbythecover @melisa-reader @travelingmypassion @julietsecretdiary @hopeful-rhea @jax-the-oregonian @applepie1000 @baconkath @1950schick @coolninjavoid @kittyrob0t @nj452896 @tantan-san @james-bucky-barnackle @theday-dreamer17 @iamaslytherin0 @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @queenofarrakis @infiniteillusion @constipatedmuse

STILGAR MADE NO ATTEMPT TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION OR WAIT FOR YOU. The journey back home was one of silence and brief exchanges. You would occasionally leave your thoughts to look up at your sharp-minded leader. Fools, all of us. You thought to yourself, all of the bickerings with your mother and uncomfortable dinners, for what? Stilgar knew, and you could only wonder who else smiled at you daily, feigning obliviousness.

"(Y/n)," Your mother greets you with a tight hug, her sigh in relief tickling your neck. You say nothing as she pulls away, and your father mimics her actions. Stilgar eyes you carefully, his blank expression masking whatever brews and boils beneath his surface.

"I'm going to lie down," You speak so low that you are confident your parents do not hear you. However, this fact does not stop you from walking away from the watchful eyes. You catch the tail end of your mother asking Stilgar what occurred on your travels. Will he tell them he knows?

He will not, and you know this, but still, the idea plagues your mind with an ever-present curiosity. By nightfall, you lay in the same position, painfully awake in the dead of night. Not a lick of sleep finding you. Stilgar still in your mind. If he knows of your abilities, what more does he know. How far does his knowledge really go, and what does that mean for our people, for my family?

You move from your bed, walking on the tips of your toes, the silence almost sickening. With one misstep, it seems as though your entire community will hear you. When you reach out to the sand, the night sky greets you with a cool breeze. You sit on the ground, the spice of the desert wafting up, tickling your skin. Out in the distance stretches what appears to be an endless desert, but you know out there are all your answers. The pull you feel makes your vision blur before the earth crashes, and the last tangible thing being the itch of the sand on the back of your neck.

When your eyes open again, you frown. Inside an aircraft, Paul sits with his head hanging. His hands bound behind him, cloth gagging him. Behind you, his mother holds her composure as she watches the Harkonnen men. One pilots the aircraft while the other stands idling behind him.

"Paul," You call out, glancing up. His eyes widen at the sight of you. Your eyebrows furrow at the lack of control. You did not intentionally enter this astral plane, yet all of Paul's mind now sits accessible to you. In this haze, only one thing sticks out to you, clear as day—they will die here.

The feeling of your heart in your throat makes your eyes water. Uncertain of what you can do, Paul's mother signs to him—her eyebrows pinched. After a few minutes, the aircraft comes to an idle, one Harkonnen moving to open the back while the other removes the cloth from Paul's mouth.

"You have to do something," Paul says, earning a look from the Harkonnen. He ignores it, looking directly at you. His mother follows his gaze where you stand to find an open space. You look at the Harkonnen, taking a deep breath, a sudden dizziness overtaking you. A cold feeling greets your skin before you move forward, thumb to his forehead and pointer finger to his temple.

"Sleep," You say, watching his eyes shoot open before all his mind contains floods you. A shudder shoots through your body as his crimes rip through you sharper than the edge of a sword. The sticky feeling of blood on your palms burns into your skin as if his memories are your own. A cry leaves your lips as the astral plane crumbles. Your eyes open, a loud scream leaving from the base of your chest and scratching up your windpipe. Thrashing around, you miss how your father holds you and your mother fails to ease your violent cries.

"You're okay! You're home, baby. You're home," Your mother holds a controlled tone as your father keeps your shaking to a minimum. A sob leaves you as your father plays with your hair rocking you back and forth. Grimacing, your eyes burning with a deep ferocity. You catch the slightest glimpse of Stilgar. He watches you wearing the same blank expression as before. The look you share feels like a secret, a joke of sorts that only the two of you understand.

Your mother brings you to bed, and no one dares to ask what happened. The icy moment of clarity sends a shudder rushing down your spine, so intense you flinch. Mother has been right all along. The confines of your room bring little solace, and the hours mesh together into a tireless loop.

When your mother returns in her hands, she carries hot tea and a slice of bread. You do not acknowledge her presence, so she settles on the edge of your bed instead. Her eyebrows pull as she contemplates her following words, a frown on her lips that does nothing to curb the terse silence.

"What happened?" She asks. The question's fair, but the line has blurred an unclear distinction between the Harkonnens psyche and your own. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing leaves you. How can one explain the Duke's son, his mother, or the aircraft?

It melts into nothing as the Harkonnen's memories sit in your brain, carrying them as your own. Your mother hovers her hand over your shin, and you stare at it with a downcast gaze. Looking up reveals the full scope of your tears, your head throbbing. Your mothers' eyes close for half a second as your arms wrap around her shoulders. She flinches first, her hands later snaking around you. The light squeeze she offers soothes your trembles.

"I—I have never seen such—malice, such disregard for life. Such brutality outside of self-defense," You sob into her shoulder as her hand moves up the base of your neck, supporting your head as if you were still a babe. Shifting down, you rest your head on her lap, and she rubs her hand across the top of your hair.

"I am so sorry you had to experience that, my love," She says. You do not see the confusion on her face as she tries to soothe you. Resembling the moments you would both share long before puberty arrived at your door.

"I'm sorry I did not listen to you, Mom. I just—" You pause at the crack of your voice, the burning sensation creeping up your throat with the watering of your eyes. Shaking your head, a dry chuckle leaves you in a poor attempt to mask your shakiness, "I really wanted my gift to mean something, but what I saw—Mom, I can't help anyone. Not when people like that are out there."

"Nonsense. You are special, my girl. You are destined for something amazing. No man nor Harkonnen is going to take that. Do you hear me?" She leans down by your ear with a warm tone. The small part of you nagging at your core, even in one of your most profound moments, still hiding a piece of yourself away from your mother. Closing your eyes, the room falls into a dark abyss, and your mind draws blanks for the first time in a long time.

When you wake from your dreamless slumber, silence becomes your companion. You make no attempt to move, the calm bringing a sense of solitude. Training with Chani, you silently thank her for not asking questions. The intense girl focuses solely on not allowing you to beat her. Neither of you yields, furthering the sparring match. Both your muscles ache, and you huff. You catch the faint sight of Stilgars suit. He moves so fast you barely see him. The lack of attention on Chani lands you on your back. She sweeps her leg at the floor before immediately aiming at you on the ground. You sigh before yielding. She has you.

Neither of you says a word as she offers her hand to help you from the ground. Jamis rushes by in the same direction as Stilgar, his stillsuit on—sword ready. Chani glances at you before you both rush to put on your stillsuits. You both move covertly as you find many of your people surrounding the Duke's son and his mother.

"—was there when you came to my father's council," Paul explains. Dirt marks his skin, and his mother wears deep bags beneath her eyes. Stilgar mocks Paul as though he did not immediately recognize him as Jamis grows bored of the conversation.

"Why are we waiting. Let's take their water," Jamis says, but Stilgar announces that no one can touch him. You frown at his words as whatever he refers to, you are not privy to the conversation.

"How can he be the Lisan's al-Gaib?"

"He hasn't proven himself."

"They are weaklings," Jamis unsheathes his sword disregarding the others as his eyes focus on Paul and his mother. You frown as your mother voices how she agrees with Jamis, "We cannot trust them, Stilgar."

"Enough!" Stilgar roars silencing your people before his eyes rest back on the remainder of the Atreides family. "That was a brave crossing they made in the path of Shai-Hulud. He does not speak or act like a weakling. Nor did his father."

"My thumper saved his life," Jamis points out, but Paul frowns before speaking. He keeps his tone level as his eyes scan your people, "My friend saved our lives. She is amongst your people."

"Go back to reason, Stilgar. He speaks of an impossible journey undetected by our people. He's not the one," Jamis says. Unaware of your abilities as your people doubt Paul, it eases everything that has worried your mind. Who is aware, and who is pretending? Paul's mother steps forward, voicing their alliance, if your people help them, they will help your people. A relatively simple transaction, in theory.

"What wealth can you offer beyond the water in your flesh?" Stilgar challenges, but you watch how Paul cannot remove his gaze from your father. You resemble him most while taking your mother's personality. "The boy is young. He may learn our ways. He may have sanctuary, but the woman is untrained and too old to learn."

Stilgar's words are clear, and your chest aches at the reality before you. Paul will not allow your people to kill his mother without a fight, and your people will give him that fight. Jamis goes for Lady Jessica; first, she maneuvers his arm away from her as she turns and reaches Stilgar, kicking out his back leg and bringing your leader to his knees. A knife at Stilgars throat, watching as Paul runs to the top of the split rock and aims down at your people. Closing your eyes, you focus on Paul before they open once more.

In the astral plane, you stand behind him as he aims down. Placing your hands on his shoulder, he flinches as you whisper, freeze.

Paul's eyes bounce frantically as he tries to catch sight of what constricts every muscle in his body at once. When you finally move into his view, he can only see your eyes as cloth hides most of your face.

"I am sorry, but my people come first," You whisper, looking down at Lady Jessica, who still holds your leader. Stilgar appears unfazed. He looks up at you without care. He eyes the blank space where no one but Paul can see. Yet Stilgar still finds a way to assert his awareness of your presence. You cannot hear what's said, but you release your hold as Stilgar cuts the top of his wrist, granting them countenance.

"(Y/n)," Paul whispers. Sheathing your knife, you stand, offering him a hand, which he takes. On his feet, Paul's hand lingers in your a second too long. You both freeze before swiftly pulling away.

"Only Stilgar and my parents know of my abilities. If you are to join my people, do know the secret of my capabilities keeps us all alive," You say, walking down the split rock without waiting for a response. Stilgar greets you both at the bottom of the rock. He commends your fast action before he turns to Paul.

"A gift. Give it to me. You will have your own maula pistol when you've earned it. Give it to me," Stilgar says as he places Chani in charge of Paul and Lady Jessica's entry of journeying with your people. You frown but say nothing as your mother joins your side. Jamis grimaces, his gaze unchanging. You take a cautious step toward him.

"Don't." You speak barely above a whisper. Your pointed stare only garners a chillingly calm glare.

Jamis speaks only for your ears. He stands rigid, "The boy clouds your judgment."

"Your anger clouds yours," You stand your ground, the air dry and thin as the attention shifts to the two of you.

"I will not have them," Jamis looks past you with a cold glare. One could mistake his stare for stoicism if not for the disdain that outlines his tone. He wants blood.

"Jamis, I have spoken. Be still," Stilgar's slow and gruff tone carries an authority you never dare to question. You look from Stilgar to Paul, uncertainty binding you both—bound by a nature beyond you.

"You talk like a leader. But the strongest leads, she bested you," Jamis speaks with a confidence you have only known Stilgar carry. You take a cautious step away from your mentor, your eyes locked on Stilgar. Stilgar does not move, his calm demeanor blanketing him, his ease clashing against the tension of Jamis's defiance. You can never grasp it, the pull that lingers around Stilgar, compelling all around him to listen. It's far more than his strength. You all know it, "I invoke the amtal."

Your eyes grow wide. Looking at Jamis, you open your mouth, but nothing leaves you. Stilgar's words do not reach you, the thumping in your chest ringing in your ears. Shifting your weight between your feet, you frown, the light trembling in your hand drawing your attention. None of it makes sense. Someone dies here today. You look down at your hand to find it still, yet a tremble still plagues you. Crossing your arms, you stand straight, wincing at the radiating pinch up your side as your body tenses.

You maintain a neutral stare, a glaze covering your eyes. A wall between your emotions and the others around you. The next few seconds blend in a disorienting haze. Paul shall be his mother's champion. You step back as he stares down at your mentor. The tremble of your hand still prevalent though your hand remains stagnant, heart beating in your ears at the speed of a sandworm though your chest reveals a steady rhythm.

"Poor thing, he looks terrified," Your father mutters, placing a hand on your shoulder. Your mother speaks with Jamis, insisting he revoke his challenge. A useless act, the challenge has been set—someone must die.

"Why do you say that?" You ask, looking at Paul, and your father speaks casually, "His eyes are glassy and cold while he keeps bouncing on the balls of his feet, heart probably racing. Then look at his hand. It's trembling."

[leoluved]

indulge me (n.b)

summary: nathan eats you out, then cums in his pants :-) (lovingly) warnings: smut 18+, fem reader, pussy eating, soft nathan bc i cant get enough, not beta read (still a lazy bastard), slight overstim only if u squint word count: 1.0k

It isn’t often Nathan opens up to you. You’re okay with it; with his love being more of a comfort in action than words. You know he needs you even if he wouldn’t dare say it. 

You’ve known him long enough to know his emotions run so clearly through his eyes. 

As you lay on the couch, with a magazine in your hand, you see him come into the living room through the corner of your peripheral. 

You raise your head from the pages, watching as he strides over and takes a seat. Grabbing your legs to settle himself underneath them. You try and focus your attention back to the little quiz you were taking before, but the way Nathan’s fingers graze over your skin has you melting under his touch. 

He moves closer, his hands lingering over the surface of your thighs, and you drop the magazine as he hovers over you. Passionately slotting his lips against yours. 

Your hands find purchase wrapped around his neck, and you pull him closer to you. Earning yourself a low chuckle from him. You bare your throat to him, allowing him to leave wet, open mouth kisses onto your collarbone. 

As you move your hands down to unlace the string of his sweatpants, he stops you. Shaking his head and gently guiding your hand back to yourself by your wrist. He lowers himself, kissing down your midriff as the tank top you were wearing started to ride up. 

As if you weighed nothing, Nathan is raising your hips off of the cushion, bringing down your shorts and panties till they’re sliding off your legs. He tosses them off the couch, bringing his hands to the fold of your knees.

You let out a saccharine sigh as you watch him practically fold you in half. He groans at the sight of your slicked folds, removing his glasses and setting them down on the side table before licking a stripe up your wet cunt. 

Gasping softly, you try to close your thighs. However Nathan’s strong hands react first, and it only makes him push you further open for him. 

His eyes gaze at you lovingly from his position, with the way his hands are gripping your skin you can tell he needs this. The pleasant sting of his fingernails digging into your thighs. Knowing you’ll have crescent shaped marks in the morning. 

Nathan brings himself back to your pussy. Starting off with small kitten licks to your clit. 

Nathan loves the way you react, how easy it is to have you buckling and begging under his touch. He knows it won’t be long before you’re riding his face. Being greedy to take what you want. Nathan loves that. Loves how his actions can show him just how much you need him. 

He grabs one of your hands, replacing yours where his rested in the crook of your leg. One of his thick fingers coming up to tease your slit. The tip prods at your entrance, and Nathan practically drools at the way you clench at the intrusion. Sucking softly on your puffy nub, he enters. Indulging in the way you whimper when he finally plunges his middle finger all the way in.  

You buck your hips, and it encourages him to move faster. The sounds of slurping fills the room. You throw your head back and whine out shamelessly into the air. While you’re distracted, Nathan takes the opportunity to insert another finger. Curling them up your spongy walls until he’s hitting your favorite spot. 

He knows he found it when you’re finally starting to move your hips on your own. 

Suddenly, he stops. Watching cruelly as you try to fuck yourself on his unmoving face. He laughs when you send him a glare and starts his movements up again. 

He finally decides his teasing is over, bringing himself back down to eat you like a starving man. Your orgasm quickly approaches, and you don’t even get the chance to let out a word before Nathan is talking you through your peak. 

“C’mon baby.. Give it to me. You can do it, princess.” 

The pet name comes out in a purr, and with a final curl of his fingers, you’re gasping and bucking up onto his tongue with a cry. You bask in the feeling of your orgasm. Enjoying the way Nathan strokes the skin of your inner thigh. He presses soft kisses to your fluttering pussy. Smiling at the way you twitch. He wipes his face before bringing himself back down. 

You almost think he’s joking. 

Nathan doesn’t stop, continuing his assault on your pulsing heat. You mewl out, trying to push his head away. Instead, his fingers curl upward again, causing you to jerk away. 

“Baby. Just one more, one more ‘n I’ll stop.” His voice is gravely, and it sounds wrecked.  

His voice is distant, and with the way he desperately laps at you, it doesn’t take long for you to build up the familiar feeling in your stomach again. Your hands come up to cup his head, trying to bring him as close as you can. 

“Nath—an.. Nathan..please..” 

Hearing your begging makes him feel like he died and went to the pearly gates of Heaven. Almost as if hearing the choir sing for him. He hasn’t even noticed himself mindlessly rutting against the cushions. 

He knows he’s finished when your thighs are uncontrollably shaking. Struggling to take in breaths. When you cum again, so does he. Groaning into you, he finally pulls away. Looking down at the wet spot forming in his light grey sweats. He sighs, and grabs his glasses. Fixing them over his deep umber eyes. 

His gaze focuses on you when you finally start to compose yourself. You fix yourself up on your knees and stare at him. He smiles, and brings a hand to your head to guide your body into his chest. 

“Don’t you want m—“

“Already did.” He mutters, trying to ignore the way you're holding back a laugh.

[storiesforallfandoms]

how things are now ~ marc spector & steven grant;moon knight

word count: 2436

request?: yes!

“Hi hi hi sweetness!! I am here to humbly request a Marc Spector and Steven Grant x reader. The basis of it is kinda just what life is like after the finale. We saw how Marc was towards Stevens feelings for Layla and I kinda wanted that. The reader (Marc’s wife) starting a conversation with Marc about how things are now then going into how it works with Steven and all three of them talking about it. Fluffy asf please with maybe a steamy ending. Thank you so so very much🤍”

description: now that they’ve learned how to share the body, they must come to terms with the fact that they also have to share their wife

pairing: marc spector x female!reader x steven grant

warnings: swearing, a small sad moment but only small, the boys are fighting again

masterlist (one, two, three)

Meeting Steven Grant, the second personality that lived in your husband’s head, was one of the many surprises you learned about Marc after his time working for the God Khonshu. It was probably the better of all the other surprises, but still a surprise nonetheless. It was also a surprise that came with some complications in the marriage that you knew needed to be addressed.

See, Marc and Steven had figured out a way to evenly share “the body” and to get along with one another, until it came to wanting to spend time with you. Marc loved you to the moon and back and was relieved that everything with Khonshu had ended so that he could finally be with you without the fear of putting you in danger. However, Steven had also grown very fond of you. He was over the moon to find out that “both he and Marc had such a lovely wife” (his words). You’d be lying if you said you didn’t also love Steven as much as you loved Marc.

With that being said, this was where the complications lie: Steven kept trying to take hold of the body over Marc whenever you were with him. Despite having figured out a way to peacefully co-inhabit the body, Marc felt like he was back to struggling for control of himself because of how often Steven tried to take over so he could be with you.

You couldn’t fully blame Steven, though, as Marc had openly voiced his jealousy towards you and Steven, to a point where he wanted to deny Steven any time with you and wanted you all to himself.

You let this go on for a few weeks before you decided it was time to put an end to it. You were going to lay down the ground rules of this new way your marriage was going to work, and if the men didn’t like that, then that was too bad.

You arrived home from work to find Marc hunched over his laptop. You had come to learn which one of them had control of the body due to their body language: standing wise, Marc had the better posture and held himself with more confidence than Steven, but when they were sitting Marc tended to hunch or basically lay across wherever he was sitting.

He looked up at you and smiled.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old,” you responded. “Dealt with shitty people who don’t know what manners are, restrained myself from slapping said stupid people because an assault charge really isn’t worth it.”

Marc chuckled and pulled you into his arms as you sat down next to him. He leaned down to kiss you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth running through your body that Marc’s presence usually brought.

You pulled away from the kiss to look up into his eyes. You could see that it was still Marc in control, so you decided to just get to the point.

“I want to talk to you about something,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Depends on how you take what I’m gonna say.” You pulled away from his embrace and took his hands in yours. You smoothed down his calloused knuckles with your thumbs as your gaze stayed on your joined hands. “I want to talk about Steven.”

You could feel him tense up beside you. “Why?”

“Marc, we can’t just keep acting like everything is the same now,” you said. “Besides the obvious that my husband was the hitman for an Egyptian God and apparently is a superhero now, there’s also a new person that’s been introduced in our marriage.”

“He’s not involved in our marriage.”

You finally looked up at him so that you could give him a stern look. His face was twisted in annoyance.

“You can say that all you want, but the truth is, Steven is just as involved as you and me,” you said. “You love me, I love you. But we both know that Steven also loves me, and I love him, too. I love you both equally.”

“He’s a fucking parasite,” Marc growled, tugging his hands free from you so he could stand.

“Marc!” you scolded. “Don’t you dare say that. We both know that’s not how you feel.”

“It’s how I feel when that fucker is getting between me and my wife. You’ve been my wife for longer, (Y/N). It’s not fair for him to come along and think he can just wedge his way into something he was never involved in before just because he and I have finally figured out how to share the body.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. You were starting to realize this was probably a bad idea. There was obviously no getting through to Marc about the issue, and you were certain now that he wasn’t about to happily follow along with the ground rules you were trying to set. The last thing you wanted was to continue on like this in your marriage, but you really weren’t sure what else to do anymore.

“Is he upsetting you, love?”

You looked up to see Marc’s entire demeanor had changed. Anyone who didn’t know Marc well enough probably wouldn’t pick up on it, but you had come to learn the tells between Marc and Steven so well that even the slightest of change tipped you off as to who was in control. You knew your angry husband had been forced back into the body, replaced with the kindhearted Brit who also resided in Marc’s head.

“Steven, now really is not a good time for you to take over,” you said. “We’re kind of...discussing you.”

“Oh, I heard,” Steve said. “I also heard that he wasn’t listening and was just making you upset.”

“Steven, give me back the body right now. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I believe this has everything to do with me, since it’s literally about me.”

“This is between me and my wife, Steven. Regardless of who we’re talking about, you’re not part of the conversation.”

“We share a body, Marc, she’s not just your wife anymore.”

“Will both of you shut the fuck up!”

He looked at you so startled that you weren’t sure which of them currently had control of the body. Not that you even really cared at that moment. You were tired of the fighting. You were finally taking this moment to say what was on your mind, which was what you had been trying to do since you had gotten home. They were going to listen, whether they liked it or not, and they were going to accept your terms.

You stood from the couch and approached whichever one of them had control. You took his hand and looked up into his eyes, searching to figure out which of the two personalities was there. He squeezed your hand a little as you recognized that Steven was the one still in control.

“Steven,” you started. He nodded, confirming what you already knew. “I need you to listen to me, okay? And once I’m done talking, I need you to give me Marc back for a little while?”

He nodded again. You brought him back to the couch and sat him down. Steven looked at you with wide, attentive eyes; the brown eyes that you had fallen in love with all those years ago when you first met Marc. That was one thing that you wished Marc could understand about the new dynamic of your marriage including Steven - the fact that you were basically getting to fall in love with your husband for the first time all over again.

“Marc, I know you’re listening,” you started. “But I need you to also control yourself so I can talk to Steven, okay?” You didn’t wait for a response you knew you weren’t going to get. “Steven, I love you.”

He couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips. “I love you, too, (Y/N).”

“But you understand that I love Marc, too, right? He was my husband first, before I met you. He was my first real love. He’s special to me in a different way.”

Steven nodded. “I know. I understand that. I could never dream of you feeling any other way for him.”

“You say you understand, but you do tend to block Marc and I from spending time together. Case in point, you taking over just then in the middle of our conversation.”

“You were fighting - ”

“We weren’t fighting, we were talking. Even if we were fighting, though, that happens sometimes. Couples argue. It’s normal. You don’t always have to come to my rescue if Marc and I are fighting. And it’s not just when we’re fighting. You take control a lot when we’re trying to spend time together, on date nights especially. I understand that you love me, and that you want to get to spend time with me, too, but Marc did come first. You have to let him have his time with me, too. Okay?”

Steven nodded, looking down at his lap. You reached out to put a finger under his chin, lifting his head to look at you. You gave him a soft smile. “Don’t be upset. I do love the time we spend together.”

Steven smiled, shyly. You leaned forward to kiss him. He seemed shocked at first, which was when you realized it was the first time you had really kissed Steven. All the time you had spent together, all the date nights and lazy Sundays he had hijacked, and you had never truly kissed him before. It almost didn’t seem right for this to be the first time.

You could feel his hand twitch as you kissed. You kept a firm hold of it, knowing it was likely Marc trying to intervene, or trying to hit Steven for kissing you. When you pulled away, Steven pouted, which caused you to giggle.

“We had a deal,” you reminded him. “Can I speak to my husband please?”

Steven sighed, but didn’t put up a fight. You watched his demeanor change as Marc took control again. His pouty face turned to a scowl and he quickly pulled his hands away from you as he fully regained control. You rolled your eyes. Yep, there was your husband alright.

“That was kind of you,” his said. “To give him that speech and to kiss him like that. Wasn’t shitty at all to have to witness another man kissing my wife.”

“Marc,” you said in a warning voice. “We’re talking about this, too.”

“What else is there to talk about? You love Steven. I already knew that. Big fucking deal.”

“But I love you, too. Did you miss that part? The whole giant chunk of conversation where I told Steven that he has to understand that our relationship comes first to me?”

“I heard you tell him you love spending time with him, and that he has to share you. I’m not sharing you, (Y/N), so don’t even think about asking.”

“We don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, Marc. Whether you like it or not, you’re not the only one who has control of your body. You can’t just shove Steven down inside of you and never let him out again.”

“Worked for me once, didn’t it?”

You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. You could see he was trying to seem angry, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away; sadness.

“Baby, you know heard what I said to Steven,” you said. “I love you. You. I love Steven, too, but you were in my heart first. You’re the man I married, not Steven. Why are you so worried about my feelings for him so much? I can love you both equally, and I do.”

Being forced to look at you and finally being asked the question he dreaded the most caused tears to start to form in Marc’s eyes. You don’t think you had ever seen him cry in years. The last time was probably when you both got married. You could remember his misty eyes as you walked down the aisle that day, but that was the only time you could remember seeing him cry. It took you by surprise to see him getting so emotional over this.

“What if you start to love him more than you love me?” he asked, his voice soft. “What if you realize he’s better than I am?”

“I won’t, because that’s not true.”

Marc laughed, humorlessly. “Isn’t it? I mean, he’s nicer for sure. A little annoying, but people like him. He’s not abrasive or aggressive like I am. He’s the type of guy a woman like you was supposed to end up with, not an asshole like me.”

You took his hand in yours and gave it a slight squeeze. “And yet you’re the one I fell in love with. You’re the one I married. And you’re the one I intend to spend the rest of my life with, whether Steven is in the picture or not. You can be a bit of an asshole, I’m not going to deny that - ” His chuckle had some humor behind it this time. “ - but I love that about you. I love that you are you. I’m not going to end our marriage because of a nice guy with a cute accent. I mean, I’m here trying to negotiate that the three of us have equal standing in this marriage, for God’s sake. Would I be doing that if I loved Steven more than I loved you?”

Marc shook his head. “I guess not.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, too. Just as much love and passion exploded from your kiss with Marc as it did with Steven. If you needed any further evidence that you loved them both equally, that was it.

You rested your forehead against his and looked into his eyes. Those eyes, you loved them more than you could’ve ever loved anything else.

“He doesn’t get to have the best part with you, though,” Marc said.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “The best part?”

You screamed in surprise as Marc suddenly lifted you off your feet and carried you off to the bedroom. “The part where we both get naked and I get to feel you all over. That’s not his, that part is mine.”

[parvulous-writings]

Miguel O’Hara SFW Alphabet

 ​

Warnings: Mild ATSV spoilers, mild angst (due  to past things)

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!   If you’d like to support me more, consider donating to my kofi! I’d appreciate it loads!!  

not my  gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Miguel doesn’t typically show his affection outwardly - I.e, through hugs and such. His affection comes more through letting you spend more time with him, and at times when he is stressed, he tries to avoid you so that  you don’t take the brunt of it. This doesn’t always work that well, because he does actually seek to be near someone he feels he can trust at times, which leads to some conflict in his mind. He likes eating with you, allowing himself to be somewhat vulnerable around you for a time. Though he doesn’t actually  say that he trusts you, this is how he shows it.  As your relationship develops, he likes to be affectionate in private; keeping you close at night, cradling  you close to  his chest to make sure that you both  sleep reasonably. 

B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

Miguel is... The quietly protective friend. He shows his care in other ways than words. Such as quality time, or checking up on you (”... You alright?” or “... Have you eaten today?”). If you’re being intimidated or harassed by someone, Miguel will subtly use his scary dog privelige to keep you safe, and out of trouble - though sometimes this can go a little too far, and he’ll scare off someone who you were actually enjoying talking to. 

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

It would take a LONG time for any PDA to be shared by Miguel. He’ll be almost... unresponsive, to most things, such as side hugs or torso hugs, but he’ll still allow them and suchlike. Even when he does start doing things such as cuddling, it’ll be late at night, when you and him are both half asleep, and he’ll likely deny that he does so for an equally long time.  Miguel likes all sorts of cuddles, but a few of his favourites are:  - The spoon (a classic, he likes being big spoon most of the time), the shingles position (he likes being able to hold you, and also likes laying on his back), and Sweetheart’s cradle. Being able to physically support you gives him the fuzzies, and makes him feel somewhat safe himself.  It isn’t until quite a bit into your relationship that he’ll move cuddles to elsewhere; hugging you from behind if you’re doing something, inviting you to lay/cuddle with him on the sofa during a movie, things like that. Turns out Miguel is quite a softie at heart. 

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?)

Due to having a previous family that is no longer with him, Miguel is rather,,, sceptical, of settling down again. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s more that he’s still hurting from his past, and couldn’t bear to see it repeated. It will take time - and a lot of work - to heal this, but eventually, he may do. 

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d be blunter than blunt. He wouldn’t even vaguely try to dress up the situation to let you down easily. If something wasn’t working out for him, he’d bring that up to you and address it head on. He’s slightly more likely to shy away from praising you, or commending you on something, and this is where that idea is most prominent.   This will, however, stick with him for a long time, and he will most likely feel very guilty  about it. 

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?)  

Similar to the domestic section, there’s still this open wound around letting people in. He can do it to an extent without thinking about  it, but after a while he starts to consider two things: 1. how his life used to be, before it all faded away in his arms,  2. How his job could potentially put you in harms way, physically and emotionally. He wouldn’t want any harm to come to you because of his life, so this weighs particularly heavy on him. 

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

When Miguel eventually does start to reciprocate anything, he’s very nervous about it. It starts with little things - just a token of gratitude or affection here and there, a snack or something that made him think of you. Slowly, he tries to learn your love map; what do you like? What makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside? That’s what he wants to know, and what he takes his time in finding out. In that case, I suppose he’s quite gentle! 

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

Hugs are few and far between - fewer than even cuddles at the start. The only times he gives hugs are after finding you safe and sound, but is in front of others so has to reign in his affection for fear of embarrassing himself in front of his co-workers. He’s not particularly fond of how brief hugs are either - if he really had to choose he’d have cuddles instead. Hugs don’t overly change into the relationship, though - purely because of how short they are, Miguel doesn’t like that. 

I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?)

It takes what feels like forever for him to say it. It isn't until he feels safe/healed enough from his past, and confident as he can that you won't be directly in harms way or that you can take care of yourself that he'll basically allow himself to admit it to you and himself. After the first time he tells you, some days it feels like he never stops saying it to you, constantly reminding you of the fact. 

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Miguel tries not to get outwardly jealous all that much- but in truth? Things like that do kind of eat at him. This can make him snappy, or more closed off than usual in an effort to try and save his own feelings.  This doesn’t work all that well, and eventually he may end up lashing out and angrily  trying to come to a solution with you. This may take a while, as of course he’s still grieving over the loss of those he held so dear.  In terms of dealing with the other person? He dials it up to 100 right away, he will do practically anything to get them away from you; and if that person is making you uncomfortable? Well, it’s certainly going to be a bad day for that person, I can tell you that much. 

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

When you’re outside of your home, his kisses are no more than quick pecks - he doesn’t want to be caught by any of the other spider-people, and these are usually on the cheek, too, so nothing lewd could be taken from the interaction if you were discovered. When you’re in private, though it’s a different story. He’s passionate, and kisses for a loooong time. He loves kissing pretty much anywhere he can get to, anywhere that’s exposed to him.  He, on the other hand, is incredibly sensitive - your kisses never fail to make him weak at the knees. A kiss on the side of his lips? A kiss on the back of his shoulder? His chest? LITERALLY ANYWHERE? He loses all concentration. 

L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

Miguel used to be pretty  good around kids - practically perfect, even. But since that event, he’s been very reluctant to be around kids, besides when he’s forced to. He still takes care of them, and looks out for them when he’s around them, but he tries to draw no attention to it, and brushes people off when they point it out  to him (similar to him catching Mayday when she fell). 

M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?)

Miguel is always, without fail, up at 6:00 am, on the dot. He has a very light breakfast, then goes to work. So, mornings with him are virtually non-existent, unless you spontaneously get up at - quite literally - the crack of dawn. 

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Miguel ALWAYS comes home late - if at all. Early hours of the morning are not an uncommon occurrence, and unfortunately he does not always try to be quiet to allow you to sleep.  So what little time you may actually get together, he will be apologising for waking you (again) whilst he clambers into bed, nestling himself up to you, so that you can take comfort in the fact that your partner is finally home, safe and sound. 

O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?)

Very, very rarely. You have to ask the right kind of questions, in the right kind of way. Everything in his past still hurts him, a lot, so he tries to avoid it if he can; if he catches on that you’re trying to get information about what’s happened to him in the past, he will shut it down. Part of him thinks that you’ll think of him differently, or treat him differently if you know what he’s been through, ergo he tries his best not to open up too often. You’ll get a bit of information every now and then; he used to have a family, he has an incredibly rocky relationship with his father - if you could even call it a relationship. It’ll take him a lot of time to learn to open on his own; it’s not that he doesn’t trust you - of course he does - it’s more that he doesn’t cope with the painful sting of the past all that well. 

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It honestly depends on the day - though his patience is usually fairly short anyway when your relationship is in it’s early stages, there are days when it’s even shorter, due to various stressors, or interactions with certain people (namely like... 90% of the spider people). He tries to keep himself vaguely calm by self-soothing affirmations and saying some positive phrases quietly to himself, but rarely do these tactics have any lasting effect.  Later on in the relationship, though, he seems to calm down around you a lot more, and doesn’t really use his self soothing techniques anymore - clearly you have a positive effect on him. 

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)

He remembers quite a bit - your habits and routine in particular. Does he understand them all the time? No, not really, but he remembers, and sometimes leaves things out or in easy places for you to retrieve to try and help you out a little bit. 

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

The time you found out about his secret identity - he hadn’t  planned on telling you at any point, he’d hardly even though about it as he though he could somehow balance both sides of his life.  One day, however, he came home so injured, that he had to ask you for help. Though he was wearing the clothes he had left in that morning, he wasn’t able to change out of his spider-suit underneath. When you saw it, you paused only for a second, before focusing your attention on helping Miguel. Neither of you really brought it up again, until a few days later, when Miguel started to try and speak about it. You hugged him tightly, and that kind of acceptance, despite your voiced worry, has always stuck with Miguel. 

S - Security (How protective are they?)

Very. He has to know your schedule for the day, and if you deviate from that he panics. If someone starts to flirt with you, or make you uncomfortable in any sort of way, he’s there immediately, looming over the aggressor, saying very little, but the look on his face would say it all.  If he has to go out for any extended period of time (I.e more than one day at a time), he’ll tell you - as much as he dares to - where he’s going, and how often he’ll update you. He’s also devised a whole plan for you to protect yourself, in case people somehow find out that he is spider-man, to keep you safe. He just hopes it never comes to that. 

T - Try (How much effort do they put in?)

Miguel tries to match the effort you put in as much as he can. You planned something special for him? He will definitely be returning the favour. If it’s a special occasion, he’ll be making sure he looks his best, or at least looks the way he knows you like. There have also been times where he’s denied calls from other spider people, just to gain some more precious time with you. 

U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?)

A couple of things - the fact  that he doesn’t sleep much, or particularly well and STILL is determined to push himself to his limits, which then makes him crabby and very sleepy; but he refuses to acknowledge this, unless you talk to him veerrrryyy gently, and help him to slowly calm down.  He’s also increeeedibly stubborn. If he gets something into his head, it’s very hard to shift it, and he tends to get agitated if you repeatedly try to do so. 

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

When he was on his own, he’d only do enough to look presentable or professional, but when you start taking an interest in him, he puts more effort in. He learns the way you like him to dress, the way to style his hair where you love to run your hands through it, the whole deal. He doesn’t consider it vanity - because it’s not for him, it’s for you. 

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, without a doubt. He wouldn’t voice it - he’s unsure if he can find the right words himself, so whether you or others would know depends on how much they pay attention to his behaviour; staring at photos too much, too often, and being extra snappy with anyone who dares bring up you or your past relations with Miguel. 

X - Xtra (Random HC)

Miguel likes his hair being played with. Feeling your fingers run through the strands, massaging his scalp, he loves it. It’s one of the few things that actually gets him to relax; but he attributes part of that  to just you being you. You calm him, keep him grounded in a way no one has for a long, long time - and though he may not say it to you, he does appreciate it. 

Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?)

Someone who isn’t willing to listen; he doesn’t think you have to agree on absolutely everything, but if you’re not even willing to listen to his side or his opinion, and consider it, he doesn’t really want to know. 

Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)  

Miguel doesn’t get much sleep - but when he does, he sleeps like a baby, unbothered by the rest of the world. The only time this changes is if there is a massive, stressful change, in which case he tosses and turns all through the night, getting sleep, but not feeling rested. 

[xxfromthestartxx]

New Recruit? (Miguel O'Hara)

pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Filipino F!reader

summary: You're the Spider-woman in your universe and you recall the day when you met Miguel.

edit: I've added an accurate translation so you guys wouldn't google it anymore!!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (COMING SOON)

————————————————————————————————————————————

You could remember how you met him, how you met Miguel O'Hara. It was the usual day for you except it wasn't because it was your little cousin's birthday.

.

.

.

You were helping your tita's with cooking because they were throwing a big party that could pass into a charity program. The house is full of people who was switching between cooking and setting up the house for the party.

With a sigh, you chopped your 10th carrot of the day, shouting at your male older cousin to tone down the karaoke. It's nothing new to you, except last night you were fighting a villain who drained all your energy for today's celebration.

"Hoy! Ang aga aga pa ah! Marami pang tulog!!" You exclaimed, glaring at the young man before continuing your chopping. (Hey! It's early in the morning! There are a lot of people who are still sleeping!)

"Ay nako, ineng. Ang aga aga high blood ka." One of your tita's chirped, the one who was peeling the carrots beside you. (Oh my, child. It's early in the morning and your blood pressure is high already.)

"Ay nako, tita. Tottoo naman kasi. Ba't nga pala ang gara ng handaan netong pinsan ko eh 2 years old pa lang naman yan." You scoffed, chopping the carrots faster. (Oh my, Auntie. It's true, no lies. Anyways, why is my little cousin's birthday party so much when they're literally 2 years old.)

One of your older Tita's looked at your state, you look like you haven't had any sleep yet, dark circles around your eyes. "Ineng, halika ka nga dito." She ushered you, making a come here motion with her arms. (Child, come here.)

"Bili ka nga muna ng juice dun sa baba, kay na aling Bebang." She ordered, getting her coin purse in her pocket and giving you 50 pesos. (Buy some juice down the street, in the store of Bebang.)

"Tita naman, ako pa talaga uutusan, bakit ako?" You scratched your head before heading out, making sure you have your necklace with you. (Auntie, why am I always the one running errands?)

You passed by the karaoke and glared at your cousin before warning him. "Pag-alis ko dapat hindi ko maririnig yang boses mo na nakakabwiset ha." (When I leave I shouldn't hear that annoying voice of yours.)

You put on your slippers and exited the gate, walking towards where the sari-sari store is. You were halfway there when a string of loud shouting filled your ears. Your spider senses went crazy and you searched for a place to settle.

You went to the alleyway filled with garbage and tons of cartons before checking if there were any CCTV cameras. You smiled when you saw nothing and pressed your necklace, creating a holographic suit over you.

It was the one you used when an emergency happens like this. You shot a web from your wrist and swung away, finding the source of the screams. Your spider sense tingled when you saw a weird-colored guy who seemed to be glitching, he resembles one of your enemies but you can't get your mind to remember.

You swung your way there and began examining the area. You squinted your eyes at the sight and began evacuating people. "Hoy!" You shouted, shooting a web at the guy, your eyes widened when he turned around.

He looks like your tito, and it looks like he was the one causing the commotion. You gulped before you fixed your stance, readying yourself for a fight.

Your mind raced with questions, your tito was dead- why is there a carbon copy of him in front of you? You watched him die in front of you- you watched him get shot.

You pushed away your thoughts and remembered your job, swinging by the buildings and shooting webs at him. The man looked at you before he aimed at you with his fingers, lightning coming out of it.

You easily dodged it at first, swinging by trying to get him stuck. He continued shooting lightning toward you, dodging your webs.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance before you noticed that the electric post was hit by the lightning he shot. You quickly shot webs at the post and steadied it, saving the people near the post.

"Ano bayan?! Alam mo ba kung gaano katagal ayusin ni Meralco 'tong mga to?!" You huffed, looking at the damaged wirings. (What is that?! Don't you know how long it takes for Meralco to fix these things?!)

"Ilang araw na naman kami walang kuryente neto." You shook your head, shooting at the near building and lifting yourself up. (We won't have electricity for the incoming days.)

You thought twice about the situation, he seems to have the same ability as your enemy Electra but for some reason, has the same face as your uncle.

You watched as he started flying, you knew what to do when it comes to flying enemies. You smirked before swinging towards him, pouncing at him mid-air as he lost his balance.

"Hey! Get off me!" Your eyes widened when you heard him speak English. He shot lightning bolts everywhere, wrecking most of the building insight. You huffed and webbed his hands, only for him to zap you with the other.

You flinched at the lightning, making your whole body fall to the ground from the damage. Your fingertips were quite burned and most of the part holographic suit where he shot you was missing.

You grit your teeth together and tried to stand up, "Tangina naman." You swore, getting up from the ground, the missing suit was now materializing once again. (You son of a bitch.)

Just as you were about to stand up, a weird portal opened up, you furrowed your brows together as a person came out of it, he rushed towards your enemy and began fighting him.

The portal closed leaving you stunned, you watched as they wreck more of the buildings. Sighing you started evacuating the people whose houses were getting disintegrated. "Tangina! Ayusin n'yo naman!!" You shouted, swinging and dodging the falling cement. You saved all the people and decided to help the masked man. (Son of a bitch! At least be careful!!)

"Hell-O!!" Your voice screeched when a bolt of lightning was almost shot at your head, luckily you ducked just in time. "Focus on the fight." He groaned, hitting his back at the building.

Your ears perked up at his voice, "What?" You asked, your voice full of Tagalog accent. "What do you mean what? Don't you speak English?" He retorted, getting up and dusting his back.

'Aba, tangina neto ah.' you thought, "I can speakining in dollars just fine." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. "Doesn't look like it." (Tsk, this son of a bitch.)

You shot him an irritated glare but decided to play along. "You are right. No habla engles." You said with a broken English and Spanish accent. (I don't speak English.)

"Tu hable español?" He asked, sounding amused at your broken Spanish accent. "Ah, eh, ih, oh, uh... Sí?" You replied, understanding his words. (You speak Spanish?) (Yes?)

"Maiintindihan mo talaga syempre, ikaw ba naman, sakupin yung bansa mo ng espania ng 333 na taon." You scoffed, joking to yourself. "What was that?" (Of course you will, imagine getting your country colonized by Spain for 333 years.)

"Mga Español nga naman. Nothing, I said nothing." You replied, shooting a web at your uncle look-alike's face. (Spanish people, am I right?)

Now that he was distracted by your web, you used the opportunity to start webbing him up, putting him in a cocoon-like web. You shot webs from the buildings and stuck him in the air.

Now that the both of you are side by side, you noticed how much taller he is than you, given that most Filipino has short genetics. "Tangkad mo naman..." You whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes. (You're so tall...)

"Okay, now that the fight is finished. Care to tell me who are you?" You asked, knowing that he isn't from here. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked back.

"Luh." You replied to his sassiness. "You're not from here, are you? I mean come on..." You squinted your eyes as he threw something at the enemy.

"Miguel, Miguel O'Hara." His voice scratched that part of your brain, making your guts flip. "Uhh- I'm Y/n, Y/n L/n." You introduced yourself with a smile.

"Hey! I was talking to you!" You glared at him, "I'm from another universe." He replied as a red screen like started forming around the enemy. "No shit." You scoffed, crossing your arms at him.

"You know, I was planning on recruiting you," He started "Recruit me?" You asked. "It's better if I just show you." He then clicked on his watch and a portal appeared.

You stayed silent, "I got trust issues." You simply stated, looking at the portal in front of you. "But... I don't want to prepare for my little cousin's birthday so I'm gonna go."

He hummed at your words, "Let's go then." He walked towards the portal, you following him behind. As soon as you entered the portal, it felt like you were sliding, your heart almost fell.

"PUTANGINA!" You shouted, traveling between the multiverse, shutting your eyes close as you tried to calm yourself. Repeating cursing and praying. "Lord, alam ko na masama akong tao pero wag n'yo pa po ako patayin." (SON OF A BITCH!) (Lord, I know that I'm a bad person but please don't kill me yet.)

"Lord, magsisimba na po ako araw-araw hindi na po ako mangbabackstab ng mga kapitbahay, hindi na ren po ako makikipag chismisan sa mga tita ko, Lord wag muna." You repeatedly prayed, doing the sign of the cross a lot. (Lord, I will attend mass everyday, I won't talk shit behind people's backs anymore, I won't gossip with my aunties anymore, Lord please just don't kill me yet.)

You fell with a thud, breaking you from the trance you are in. You slowly opened your eyes and immediately clasped your hand together. "Lord, salamat po Lord, kahit ilang beses na kita sinabihan na patayin n'yo nalang ako dati." (Lord, thank you so much Lord, even after many times of asking you to just kill me in the past.)

You nodded your head and raised your clasped hands. "Are you done now?" Miguel asked, amused by your antics. Your eyes trailed up at his, his mask long gone.

"Gago, gwapo ka pala." You covered your mouth instantly, getting up and patting your backside. "Did you just call me handsome?" (Oh, you're handsome, asshole.)

"Whaat??" You turned to him, "I didn't, you wish." You replied, making your mask disappear too. "So, where are-"

You stopped mid-sentence and were surprised at the number of spider people hanging around everywhere. "Wow." You muttered.

Miguel started at you, he knew how you looked way before he met you but this time you looked different, you looked way more tired than originally and your hair looks like you haven't taken a bath for weeks. He cleared his throat as spoke.

"I know you know about the multiverse, given that you have an experience with it, I decided to recruit you." He explained, his accent giving you chills. "How'd you know?" You raised an eyebrow at him. "I just do." He shrugged, "Oh, and welcome to Spider Society."

He started walking and you immediately followed, catching up to him. "I was creating a portal to the multiverse by the way, if I didn't meet you I'm sure I'll be finishing it in 4 months or more." You stated.

"Your suit. What is it made of?" He asked, seeing how you just made your mask disappear. "It's holographic, I use it for emergencies." You answered with a beam.

"I see." He kept his answers short, "What about yours?" You asked before you glitched, falling into the ground with a thud. "Aray ko." You muttered, putting a hand on your head. (Ouch, that hurt.)

Miguel looked back and realized he hadn't given you a day pass yet. He threw one at you before saying something. "That would keep you from glitching." You picked it up and wore it. "Thanks." You thanked him, standing up.

"My suit is also holographic." He answered your question before you glitched.

"There's a lot of spider people in here, huh?" You asked, in awe at the view. "Sure is. I'm sure you know a lot when it comes to the multiverse, I'm looking forward to working with you."

The way his voice sounds makes you feel weird, "Oh, uh- I don't know what you're talking about?" You felt unsure, "You graduated with flying colors, someone who has experience on and off the field, you'll be a perfect recruit for this." He said, walking towards the elevator.

"Thank you, really. I'll think about it." You said, walking upside down now because of the elevator. "So uhm... " You tried to talk but nothing came into your mind. "Who was he? You know, the man who came to my universe? He looks just like my uncle."

He looked at you, pressing the top floor. "As I said earlier, you have a fair share of knowledge about the multiverse. I know you know the answer." He answered, looking at your eyes that seemed to be darting everywhere.

"What universe is he from?" You asked, fiddling your fingers. "Earth - 36910," he answered as the elevator stopped. The both of you walked away from the elevator, a ton of spider people greeting Miguel and he just grunts or nods in reply.

As Miguel toured you in his universe, he explained and educated you more about what's happening in the multiverse, hours passed and you remembered the celebration.

"Shit, it's been 4 hours already?" You clicked your tongue as you made a part of your wrist into a holographic watch. Miguel looked at you before you spoke once again.

"It's been great and all, Miguel, and I really do appreciate the offer, but right now, I need to go back to my universe before my tita unleashes hell on everyone." Miguel nodded, getting something from his table and giving it to you.

"Come back to us when you're ready, we'll be waiting for you." He simply said, the warm tone of his voice makes your heart speed up.

"I will," you smiled, putting on the watch and typing your universe, opening up a portal. Walking towards the portal, you turned back at him last time. A smirk spreads on your face.

"Don't miss me too much, Gwapo!" You laughed, winking at him before the hologram covered your face. Running into the portal with a wide smile. (Handsome.)

Miguel was left in his office, a small smile forming on his lips as he recalled everything that happened. "Lyla." He called his AI.

"What now?" Lyla materialized in front of him, crossed arms and a small teasing smile on her face.

"When will her canon event happen?"

.

.

.

a/n: I'm accepting requests and so far I got one request and it's ongoing!!

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

 Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B.  with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head. 

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are  paying our old friend Lyla a little  surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly. 

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

 He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder. 

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.” 

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt,  flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-" 

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms. 

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"  

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..." 

 "Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a  low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight. 

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat.  Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next. 

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms. 

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day." 

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible." 

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence. 

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?" 

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.” 

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light. 

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

 It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know.  Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?" 

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last. 

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit. 

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption"

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

[fadedmunson]

all apologies | o. isaac

pairings ; oscar isaac x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

summary ; you do something that you know you shouldn't have done, now you're facing the consequences

genre ; reader doing something kinda dumb, slightest bit of angst, and then all comfort ^^ kinda established relationship already

notes ; 1 curse word !! im not very good at writing and english is not my first language, thank you for understanding

wc ; 🤷‍♀️, not proofread !!

the hot, blistering sun was making your skin all sticky but thank god for this pool

"c'mon dude, just do it!" your friends egged you on

"i mean whats the worst that could happen?" one of them asked

"well, im sooo glad you asked! because i could hurt myself and ruin oscars mural, he just painted it i would never forgive myself." just thinking about it made you shiver

the pool party was a pretty cute and small gathering. only your friends and oscars were at this party and since you shared most of the same friends, it blended together really well

the only problem was how intimate and cozy your shared place could be with more than 10 people in it

"you only live once and it would be really cool! we'll get it on video and everything. the murals kinda far from the pool. I also thought oscar didn't really like the mural all that much. some water wont hurt it." one of your friends comments analytically.

that stupid reasoning is why you were now at the top of this diving board counting down to three

THREE ! god, WHAT am i doing with my life

TWO ! this won't make so much of a mess? right? i thi-

ONE ! SWEET BABY JESUS I CANT BREATHE

you take a leap of faith and jump right into this pool

SPLASH !

you don't know the water goes everywhere but you're pretty content with how steady your position and posture was while diving

you don't see the look on your friends faces that say 'fml' and 'oh... no..'

the mural was still wet and with the amount of water that splashed on it, the whole thing was ruined

and of course, right on time, oscar walks into the backyard

"thought i heard someo- " the smile on his face is immediately fading and being replaced with a blank stare

"oh my god," you don't know what to do in your frantic state "babe im so sorry i had no idea-" you try to talk to him but he pushes away almost too quickly and goes back inside

you just stand there, a cold and anxious feeling waving over you

you breathe in and then out, calm down and give him space, everything will be ok

you grab a towel, dry of a little, and take your sandals to go inside

the party is semi quiet, only being filled with small conversations and music through the speakers

before entering through the door entirely, you move your head to peak outside

"delete that video!" you shout to one of your friends who you know pressed rec.

as you're fluffing and drying off your hair, you try looking for oscar, not knowing he's fully slumped on the couch, just staring into nothingness

you're just worried for what you've done to this poor guy :,(

"oscar, honey, you gotta look at me please." you find and sit next to his motionless state and comb your hand through his hair while the other hand is caressing his face features

he doesn't say anything and doesn't even acknowledge your presence, ouch

"oh baby, im so sorry i did that. i knew it was a bad idea and im not sure why i still did it." you're quick to apologizing and you're now overthinking everything you did tonight

you're severely overwhelmed and have no idea what to say in this situation

all you can do is rest your face into his neck and press the smallest kisses there, making your way up to his jawline, then his cheek, his nose, and his head

you won't stop peppering these tiny kisses and you can see a little smile ghosting his features

you love the way he smells, the strongest smell of his cologne is all you can smell right now.

it's strong, a sandal wood and clean scent, it's so comforting to you right now

"stop you're tickling me now" he begins to lightly giggle and softly push you back a bit

you're both just laughing at each other until the laughter dies down and you fully apologize to him

"if i knew what would've happened, i would have never even step foot on that diving board" you look into his eyes with all the seriousness you could muster up

he just looks at you with softened and sad eyes "y'know, i was starting to like the mural a bit actually."

you're heart shatters into a million pieces (for the second time today) great, you feel like utter shit now

you feel like curling into a ball and crying as of right now, and he can tell, but you're here to console him

you see tears swell up in his eyes and you're quick to kiss his eyes and move onto his lap, your lips just inches away from his

"i don't deserve you, at all. there aren't enough apologies in the world to make up for hurting the most attractive person on earth" you poke at him a bit and just rest your forehead on his

he immediately moves your forehead off and wraps his hands on your waist as he leans in for a sweet, looooong kiss.

its warm, you taste the lukewarm beer he had around an hour ago, but it makes you smile into him

you end the kiss with a little peck on his lips and tilt your head to the side

"forgive me?" you pout a little

"i guess so," he sarcastically says but flips you on your back to trap you in his arms for another kiss

"hey!" you yelp while giggling

"i love you so much." you mumble into the kiss

"mmmmhm," he breathes into you "i love you so much more, mi querida."

[tokkiwrites]

summary: Santiago works most days, so that doesn't leave a lot of room for the two of you. but he always finds time to teach you a lesson when you're bad. tags: masturbaton, retraints, orgasm denial, voyeurism( in a way), cum eating, dry humping, spit, slapping, degradation, relationship problems (??) but they work it out in the end. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ happy spookytokki kinktober!! here's the second story for you freaky bunnies, shorter with only 2.03k words, but i hope you enjoy it!

You sit by the window, the soft hum of the fan, the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. Outside, the sun is hanging low in the sky, casting long, lazy shadows across the street. You sigh, leaning back against the worn-out cushions, eyes tracing the same lines of the ceiling that you've stared at countless times before.

Santi’s at work again. He’s always at work. It feels like you’ve been living in two different worlds for a while now—his, filled with busy days and deadlines, and yours, here, waiting, day after day.

You glance at your phone, half-hoping to see a message, maybe something spontaneous. But the screen stays blank. Another hour passes, and you can’t help but feel the weight of the day pressing in on you. Time moves differently when you're alone—slower, heavier. You’ve already cycled through all the usual distractions: TV, scrolling mindlessly, flipping through an old book you barely care about.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When you first moved in together, everything seemed full of possibility. Nights spent talking until you fell asleep, lazy mornings together. But now, it's as if Santi is slipping into the cracks between the hours, a ghost in the space you share. It's been about three weeks since you last had sex. It wasn't so important, nor such a long time, but you kind of missed feeling wanted. You give into your sad state, memories of nights where he showed you how much he wants you, the way he indulged into youㅡ how you always stuck to his every command, wanting nothing other than to please him.

and you are needy.

Slowly, your hand creeps into your lazily tied sweatpants and under your panties; just those few thoughts of Santiago on top of you have got you dripping with arousal. You mutter a soft curse under your breath as you start drawing slow circles onto your bud. Quiet moans slip your parted lips, back arching against the couchㅡ time stops for a bit; you feel as you did the time you first met him. fantasizing about what he'd do to you.

The sound of the front door opening snaps you from your thoughts and actions, but you don’t move right away. Instead, you stay like that, splayed out on the couch, waiting. anticipating.

"Hey," he says softly, finally stepping into the living room. His voice is calm and familiar, but there's a hint of exhaustion behind it. You don’t immediately respond, waiting for his reaction, and, oh, do you get one. "What are you doing?" he finally asks, taking in your state. "Dunno..." You play clueless, dragging the word out as if it’s too much hand still in that same place. "What's it look like?"

He narrows his eyes slightly, caught between amusement and bewilderment. "You waitin' for me, baby?" You just shrug, not really giving him much, enjoying the way he’s trying to figure you out. “Maybe I am.” His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can see that familiar spark in his eyes—the one that used to light up when the two of you would banter like this, teasing, pushing each other. he's hungry for you.

"You know you just gotta ask. I always give you what you want." you sigh. "Yeah...but not anymore." he chuckles, throwing off his jacket onto the nearby ottoman. "I think you're just being a brat. Maybe I've spoiled you too much." you try to sit up from the couch, but he's quick to push you back down, eyes roaming over your body. "I don't fuck you for two weeks, and this is what i get, baby? when all i do is work forㅡ god." he smiles, "you know you got me wrapped around your little finger."

"It's been three weeks." You say the words before you can stop them. "Oh?" he coos. "Is that what this is about?" Santiago lowers his head, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath. you want to kiss him so bad it actually hurts, but before you can do or say anything, he breaks the silence with a stern tone. "Take of my belt."

"sorry?" your eyes widen a bit, but he cuts you off quickly. "Excused. Take it off, now." You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat, but his presence, so close, so commanding, makes it impossible to resist. With trembling hands, you reach for his belt buckle, the weight of the moment making every second feel like an eternity.

The belt finally comes undone with a quiet click, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Santiago’s expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and intense stare that pricks at your skin. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your hand as he takes the belt from you. The ache of wanting him so badly nearly overwhelms you, but he holds you there, suspended in the moment.

"Good," he says quietly, "On your knees." The need to obey him surges within you, stronger than anything you've felt before. It's an overwhelming pull, not just because of his commanding presence, but because something about the way he speaks, the fire in his eyes, makes it impossible to resist. Every word he utters demands your attention, your submission, as if disobedience isn’t even an option.

"gimme your hands, pretty girl."

It's not just about what he's asking—it's about the control he holds over you in that moment, the power he has. And the truth is, you don't just feel compelled to follow his commands. You want to. So you kneel in front of him. Without a word, he folds the leather in half, and before you can fully process what's happening, he grabs your wrists gently, pulling them together. The cool leather slides against your skin as he wraps the belt around your wrists, tightening it just enough to make your pulse quicken.

His movements are slow, deliberate, as though savoring the control he's taking. Your breath hitches, and all you can focus on is the feeling of restraint, the belt holding you in place. The heat between you rises, and your heart races. Santiago pulls the belt tighter with a firm tug as he speaks up again. "Now you sit and watch." and your eyes widen as he plops down on the couch in front of you, all whilst undoing his pants.

His large hand slides into his trousers, finally setting free his aching shaft. He stares you dead in the eyes as he wraps a tight grip around it, and with slow motions, he starts touching himself. Santiago’s low moans fill the room. you can feel yourself dripping more and more as the moments settle. You wanted to move closer to help him, but his gaze was keeping you in place. "And here I was thinking you were being a good girl while I'm gone, turns outㅡ" he moans "turns out you're a needy whore. is cock all you think about, hm?"

"santi, please.." You whine, bringing your tied wrists up, as if praying. "I'm sorry, please... untie me so I can help.." he can only laugh through strained moans as he pumps himself faster. "Doesn't work like that, baby." it was excruciating, watching him do it all whilst you were on your knees, trying to get off just by rubbing your thighs together. you bit down your moans; he'd never done something like this. yes, he did punish you, but not to this extent. he usually gave into your pleads in two seconds topsㅡ maybe this was his way of showing you that he's still full of surprises even after all this time.

You can feel yourself practically drooling as Santiago put on a show. You see him throw his head back, hips bucking in the air. he was close to finishing and no matter how shameful it felt, your mouth was watering.

"C'mere." Santiago’s voice makes you jump. You nod, trying your best to crawl towards him with your wrists retrained, knees weak. He'd never seen you so desperate. "Openㅡ Wider!" You obey every word, waiting. With a few more moves from his wrist, he lays white ropes all over your blushed face and onto your tongue, the sudden feeling making you scrunch up your face. with his index finger, he closes your jaw for you. "swallow." and you do. with that same finger, he gathers the rest of his seed from your face, urging it into your mouth. "Come on, openㅡ there you go." he praises as he smears the substance on your tongue. The man makes you stay like that, mouth agape, catching you off guard when you feel him spit inside of it. Santiagos rough palm makes contact with your cheek in a harsh slap before he grabs you by the face. "Close it." You do as you're told, tears rolling down your stinging skin. when he's satisfied, he leans back on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Clean it up." he points to his shaft with little effort. you've never been so content and grateful in your whole life. With the urgency, you wrapped your lips around him, earning a soft laugh from the man. as you settle between his things, you manage to sneak your tied hands between your legs for better access to your aching cunt. you were almost there, so close, but it all fades away when Santiago kicks your hands away withhis foot, and tugs at your hair. "Don't get fucking greedy now. You don't get to come now. You do when I let you." you whine some incoherent pleads, protesting, before he sinks your head down again.

"Maybe this is what you need. I need to keep you tied and on your knees, make you suck this cock every time i come from work. you'd like that?" you moan around his length, all messy and teary-eyed. "Yeah, baby, i know- look at you." he slaps your cheek again. "You're all happy when you have my dick in your mouth." you can feel his foot creep up between your thighs, and you gasp for air as you feel it rub against your clothed folds. you try to move your hips for more contact, all whilst your tongue lulled out and around Santiago’s shaft. "There she is.." he tuts, tangling his fingers into your hair, parting your mouth away from him, a long string of saliva latching on. you gasp and rub against him, vision hazy and brain too fuzzy to say anything more. warmth pools at your stomach, the pulsing need making you tightly close your eyes but another slap to the face makes you look up. "You look at me. Like that-" you frantically rub against his foot, nails digging into your own palms. "Dirty fucking girl."

" ㅡ'm gonna come" You manage to choke out. "Go ahead. make me proud, baby" it's all you needed; you let go, millions of fireworks going off in your stomach as you writhe at his feetㅡ a soft string of 'thank yous' as you cry, forehead pressed against his thigh. you sit for a moment, the only sound ringing faintly in your ear as you come down from your high.

He leans in, placing a hand on the crown of your head, his voice softening. "You know I’m still here, right?" The tension that had been building up inside you eases in an instant, the warmth of him beside you, reminding you of all the reasons why you’ve waited. You tilt your head, resting it lightly on his palm, your fingers brushing against his leg.

"I know," you murmur. "It just gets hard when you’re not around so much."

Santi’s arm slips around your waist, pulling you up in his arms. "I’ll try to do better," he whispers, lips brushing your temple. "Promise." You don’t need a big conversation, not right now. Just this—the quiet, the closeness, and the feeling that, for a moment, things are the way they used to be.

"santi, 'm still tied." you finally speak up, head on his chest. "I know, baby. I'm not done with you." he'll make up for those three weeks.

[alisonwritesimagines]

One of the Best Dads ~Marc Spector and Steven Grant Imagine~

Requested by anonymous:

Hi! I saw you were taking requests for Marc Spector/Steven Grant. And I was wondering if you could write a oneshot with them and a F!Reader, where they’re married and just had a newborn baby. Just a simple slice of life type ordeal (with a sprinkle of angst, where Marc worries he’ll be a bad father, and Steven and the reader reassure him that he won’t be).

Summary: Now that your son is here, Steven is thrilled but Marc has an insecurity that can be reassured.

Author’s Note: Kinda still on baby fever because of my boyfriend who helped me take care of my niece and nephew during a family outing. I'm pretty sure many people thought they were ours because we were having a "race" to the restaurant my family was at.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: just insecurities from Marc, there's a baby in this fic in case people who don't like kid fics, mentions of childbirth, Layla doesn't exist in this fic sadly

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

The moment you gave birth to your son, there was one thing on your mind. Sleep. You had endured about thirty hours of labor before finally popping out your little one. So when you finally got home, you slept like you were dead.

"He's so tiny," Steven said as he held onto his son. He smiled down at his son as he slept soundly in his arms. "Marc, you wanna hold him?"

"I'm good buddy," Marc told him through the mirror. "You enjoy this."

Though it took a while to understand Marc and Steven. But once you understood how it worked and how you are able to love them both equally, you were glad to be with the two. After you had gotten married to them, you had brought up the idea of having a child. While Steven was thrilled to have one, Marc had his doubts.

It wasn't the fact of having a child that scared Marc. It was the fact of him being a father and whether or not he would be a good dad was what scared him.

It didn't take a lot for you to notice that Marc hadn't held your son since you had given birth. When your son was sleeping, you decided to corner Marc.

You spotted your husband sitting on the couch, sitting as he watched something on the television.

"Marc?" You asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you?" You asked.

"Of course. Is there anything wrong?" Marc asked you.

"Kinda. Why haven't you held our son?" You asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why haven't you held our son? You always have Steven hold him but never you. What's wrong?" You asked.

"It's nothing," Marc tells you.

"It's not nothing. You should be able to hold our son. What's wrong?" You asked again.

"I said it's nothing, Y/n. Please, just drop it," Marc said before getting up and walking out.

Marc headed into the bathroom before locking the door behind him.

"Why won't you hold him?" Steven asked Marc through the mirror. Marc stared at his reflection with an upset look.

"It's not what you both think," Marc said.

"Y/n loves us all. She just wants to see us happy but she wants to see you holding our son for once. Why can't you hold him?" Steven asked.

"Because I'm scared. After what I've been through, I'm afraid of hurting him," Marc said.

"You don't think I was scared at first either? I was worried I was going to drop him but I didn't. It's scary at first but once you hold him, you realize that you'll do anything for him," Steven assures Marc.

"I can't. Not right now at least," Marc said before leaving the bathroom.

Your body was still tired which didn't surprise Marc when he saw you knocked out in bed. Steven felt tired too so he couldn't switch with him even if he wanted to.

He heard your son start to cry out, making Marc look over. He knew that you shouldn't get up, knowing that your body was still tired. Marc got up quickly to calm the baby down.

"Hey, buddy. Please don't cry. You're going to wake your mom up," Marc tells him.

He watched as his son continued to cry a little more. Marc let out a sigh before picking him up. Marc had watched you and Steven many times hold and calm you son down.

"Hey. It's okay. You're okay," Marc tells you.

Your son eventually calmed down when he felt Marc holding him. Marc stared down at his son before breaking into tears. He sat on the bed as he held onto him.

"I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to refuse to hold you. I just... I was afraid of hurting you," Marc said. "I love you so much and I promise I'll always keep you safe."

"Marc?"

Marc turned around to look at you. You sat up from bed, looking over at him and your son. Your eyes were droopy from your tired state.

"Go back to sleep. I got this," Marc assures you. You smiled tiredly before lying back down.

"Told you, you got nothing to worry about," you tell him.

"I know you did. Both of you," Marc smiled at you.

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [2]

description: She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 9.6k

trigger warnings: GORE, blood, very briefly Reader/Dove has worries of SA but absolutely none happens nor was there the intention of it happening and it is only implied, swearing, talks of infidelity (we love Layla el Faouly in this house so she will stay in the story but not as a romantic partner for Marc/Steven)

main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: so as promised this is now an avatar!reader series. all the Ancient Egyptian facts mentioned are simply researched off google and some books I have on Egyptian mythology so someone please correct me! Also to avoid confusion Seth goes by many names eg Set/Seth/Setekh and is only really known as God of Death in the marvel comics, not in real mythology! Again, my knowledge of DID is purely researched so if anyone is upset with my phrasing or what I have written please tell me!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

Marc cradled her wounds harshly, guilty chipping at him when he heard her whimper at the sheer force he was putting on the lacerations. 

“Konshu!” Marc hissed over his shoulder where he felt the bird poking at the Jackal’s dead body. He had arrived five minutes too late, barely just pulling the monster off her before it could set its teeth into her leg and start feasting. The dark haired man had been quick to snap its neck, throwing the carcass behind him and tend to where she twitched and writhed on the floor. 

It was bad. Her thick blood smeared all over the ceremonial armour that would somehow clean itself of the stains like it did with the blood of the others he’d killed. 

He’d had blood on his hands before, but not like this. Not an innocent woman that slipped away under his touch, the eyes he’d seen from inside the body batting up at Steven with golden innocence. 

He knew how Steven felt about her, the way his heart, well their heart, would pick up when the two of them got even the slightest bit closer. The way doubt ate away at his quiet counterpart, doubt that someone her age would find a man ten years older than her even the slightest bit attractive. She had dozens of men after her, he saw how their eyes trailed up and down her figure when she would be so much as stood minding her business and stacking shelves. 

Marc knew despite Steven never admitting to his feelings, despite the fact he’d tried helping him get over his crush by asking his other gorgeous co-worker on a date for him, he knew Steven would be devastated if anything happened to her. 

The two of them shared a friendship first and foremost. She was possibly the only person Steven had to rely on that he found comfort in, the only real friend he’d got. And she was good, Gods above Marc could see even when he was on the inside that she was good to him. When she would leave him notes to remind him to wake up on time, bring Steven little trinkets she’d found that reminded her of him. She hadn’t batted a single eyelid of judgement when she’d seen the sand around his bed, or the foot cuff. In fact she’d made a joke about his unique tastes in the bedroom and then asked if he would like to buy mugs together. 

She was pure, and kind, and good. It was Marc’s job to deliver vengeance to those worthy of it, and she was the furthest thing from it. And it was his conflict with Harrow that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. 

He couldn’t let her be taken from Steven, not like this. 

“KONSHU?” Marc called, louder this time to get the God’s attention, “Will you quit poking that thing and get over here?”

The skeletal figure paused, his staff still half way through prodding the corpse out of intrigue as he took note of the pitiful little human dying on the floor. 

“She’s a lost cause, Marc. The worm can make more friends. We have work to do,” Came Konshu’s booming voice, the figure walking towards where the blood pooled on the floor messily. 

“That is not an option, what happened to protecting ‘the travellers of the night’?” Marc seethed back, compressing the wound harder. But it was no use. He felt the liquid seeping through his clothed fingers, how it pumped out of her rapidly. His heart dropped sadly when he saw she was looking right at him, her eyes wide and wet with fear. 

“Steve-” She started. Even so close to death she was worried about him. 

Marc’s chest constricted with sadness. Steven would never get over this if she were to die like this, calling for him, clinging to his alter for dear life. It was his job to protect Steven at all costs from the tough realities of life, and watching her die would torment his alter in a way he just couldn’t allow. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Marc shushed her, eyes narrowing on the way blood dribbled out her mouth and he heard her chest rattle with a clogged airway. 

She didn’t have long left. 

“Konshu, do something!” Marc yelled, his hand cradling her neck gently, trying to tip her head up far enough that she could breathe still. “We need to do something now!” 

“There is nothing to do, Marc Spector.” Konshu said simply, yet his boned beak snapped to the plinth the two humans rested on, his concave eyes trailing up to the monument that watched over them, “Unless…”

“Unless what? Just do something, she’s going to bleed out any minute now,” Marc rushed, a hand coming to hold her head up more as she started choking on herself. 

He had seen gruesome things before, done gruesome things. But this was heart wrenching, watching the one person his alter cared for die so horrifically. Slow. Messy. Painfully.

“I cannot do anything to help the little runt,” Konshu snapped, raising his staff to the behemoth, looming figure behind the two humans clinging on to one another, “But he can,”

Marc’s head whipped to where the bird-faced demon was gesturing, the man’s near black eyes trailing up to the statue of the god watching over the three of them. “Who is that? Anubis? Ra?”

“Seth. God of Chaos, Storms and Foreign lands.” Konshu spoke of his old friend fondly. Marc’s eyes squinted in suspicion at the admiration in his voice. “Sometimes seen as the God of Death.” 

If there was anyone who loved vengeance and all things violent as much as the moon deity, it was the one who created it all. 

Spector’s heart squoze in fear at the idea of throwing her to a life of servitude like the one he had been forced into. But there was no way of healing her deep wounds in any other way than giving her up to a god that would find use in her survival. 

“God of Death?” Marc asked, “Is there no one else who would take her?” Nothing about Seth screamed out that he would be gentle to her. Konshu was bad enough, and he was merely the God of the Moon, let alone the embodiment of violence. 

“None that would accept a vessel so weak.” Konshu said darkly, kneeling down behind Marc and calling upon his dear friend in arms, “She is bleeding onto his monolith as if she’s given herself up to him as a sacrifice, he’ll like that,”

“No, wait-” Marc wasn’t sure he liked the sound of a deity so dark taking control of her, but he hadn’t the time to protest any further before his own God’s voice rattled the shards of glass laying on the floor with its volume. 

“Seth! Old friend, we have a gift for you,” Konshu bellowed, his head lowering as a sign of respect to his superior. The god killer. The brother slayer. The evil serpent of the Ennead. Konshu could only revere in the footsteps of such a god equally, perhaps moreso, hated by the higher council.

Konshu’s avatar opened his mouth to protest when a snake-like hiss rolled over his back and every hair on his body stood on end. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before, everything warm inside of Marc’s body being robbed at the very sound of it, his breath included. 

It was neither man, nor animal, nor monster. A mix between a snarl and a spit of anger from being woken from a deep slumber. 

Death overcame the room.

“Konshu,” An ancient voice came from above. For the first time in Marc’s servitude to Konshu, he was afraid to see where the sound came from. What had made such a noise. 

What Death looked like when you stared him in the face.

“It is good to see your face, shadow dweller,” The voice of Death spoke, every scratching syllable running through Spector’s body like a fear he’d never known. 

He couldn’t face the thing that caused such a feeling, and kept his head down as a result. Down to where she was. Still looking at him with such desperation, oblivious to the unholy conversation happening around her. 

The light in her eyes was dimming, the tears slithering into her hairline pitifully. She hadn’t got long left. He’d failed her. He’d fail her if Seth couldn’t get to her in time. Yet the selfish part of him didn’t want him to, wanted to keep her pure and untainted by such a cruel being. 

But this was for Steven, he thought. Keep her alive for Steven’s sake. 

“We have a body for you, dark one,” Konshu said, gesturing to the girl’s weak body that his pathetic avatar clung to fiercely.

“To see through the afterlife?” Seth questioned, the lights in the museum hall flickering as if indicating he was in every atom of the room with them. 

“To have as a vessel, Seth,” The Moon god prompted, his staff gesturing to the pool of blood the two humans sat in, Marc’s arms by now drenched in it. “See how she bleeds for you. I know you feel it as I do, the darkness in her heart, the chaos-”

“Oh,” Seth’s aged voice hummed in delight, “Oh, how her corrupted heart sings to me. You have done well, Konshu,” 

That had Marc gripping her body just that bit tighter. What had he done? The god seemed so thirsty for her blood, for her body. 

But it was too late now. Death had taken a fascination to her. Two long tendrils of pure, cold darkness emerged from the shadows and wrapped around where her weak state was slipping away from Marc’s arms. Hands that had trusted him to keep her safe fell from his bicep, falling slowly into her lap as the blackness took her. 

“Be gentle,” Came from Marc’s mouth before he could help it, not wanting to make himself known to the old god. Her body was raised into the air before the statue, her head limp as it sagged over her shoulders, heavy and lifeless. Shadows wrapped around her limbs, crawling up her nose and under her closed lids like an infection, spreading, consuming, digesting. 

“Gentle?” The hoarse voice rumbled with laughter, “She is going to be my most prized possession,” 

There was something so peaceful about the way she slept despite the trauma of the last couple days. Marc had flown the two of them back to her apartment, figuring it was a much easier way than getting on public transport with a sleeping woman in his arms. He knew it would garner too much attention, even with the way he’d wrapped her in Steven’s jacket to cover the sight of the blood from the security cameras. 

He’d laid her in her soft bed, slipping her shoes off and draping the soft duvet over her body, the whole time she’d not murmured one bit. He would have almost been concerned that Seth hadn’t healed her in time had he not seen the two gods emerging from the dark corners of her bedroom like the boogeymen they were. 

If Konshu was nerving to look at, then Seth was something straight out of a child’s nightmare. 

Unlike Konshu, he was not bones. He had the body of a goliath man, arms taught with dark muscles, and a small piece of cloth to cover his dignity. Gold chest armour rested over his shoulders and wound around his thick arms. Hair lined his arms and chest in thick mounds, and he held a staff similar enough to Marc’s own god that he could see Seth’s was much more intricate than his counterpart. It had dark hieroglyphs running down the sides, a pointed skull of a jackal atop the weapon with a gold headpiece weaving its way over the animal's forehead neatly.

But that wasn’t what scared Marc. It was the beast’s head that sent chills down his spine. His head was that of a lithe dog, like a Doberman on steroids, ears and snout thin and long as it stared down at him. A predator if ever he saw one. Seth’s eyes were black, brimming with menace and plague, his jaws lined with what seemed like hundreds of teeth sharper than any blade Marc had ever seen. 

The insidious smile plastered on the demonic jaws was what got him. As if Seth knew the fear he instilled in him. As if he saw how much he regretted listening to Konshu already. 

Seth was every awful feeling you had in your gut before something terrible happened. He was the last breath a person takes as their soul leaves their body, a cold hand of a corpse. A dark shadow in the corner of your eye. A premonition of death. He was every ounce of pain, burden and agony any being had ever felt in the thousands of years they had existed in this small corner of the universe. He was torture and misery hailing down upon the world straight from purgatory. 

And she was his now. His to ruin and vanquish as he pleased.

The two gods stood on either side of her bed, staring down at her in fascination as Marc sat on the chair at her desk, his dark eyes flicking between the monstrous creatures. 

“Do you need to watch her like that? I thought we had work to do,” He prompted, hoping to take their attention off her vulnerable body. 

“Harrow was onto something with this one, Marc Spector,” Konshu chuckled, taking a seat on the window sill to watch Seth caress her head, his hands gentle yet Marc sensed there was nothing kind about the gesture. As if on cue, her face scrunched up, still riddled with sleep, and she twisted in mental torment. His touch alone had given her a night terror, he was the king of chaos after all, “If you saw the yearning for vengeance in that girl’s heart, you’d find her fascinating too,” 

“She’s not evil, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marc’s jaw clenched harshly as she whimpered and tried to roll away from the hand that poisoned her dreams. His eyes darkened at the sound of Seth laughing to himself at his cruel trick. 

“She’s not what you think, runt. She will do well as my avatar,” 

Marc finally set his gaze on the unholy deity, the slim, mutt like face staring down at him with inky black slits. He couldn’t hold the stare for long, the creeping feeling of unease that washed over him the moment he met Seth’s eyes was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Tugging on his collar to free some space for breath, he turned away.

“What will you make her do?” He asked quietly, sparing a quick, pitiful glance to her face that had now smoothed out in peace once more. 

“Nothing she doesn’t already want to,”

She felt the uncomfortable scratch of jeans against bed sheets before anything else. The detergent, that was almost unscented from the countless years she’d used it, was homely against her nose and she stretched out under the covers to pop the joints that had been curled into the foetal position for however many hours she’d been asleep. 

There were about ten seconds between waking up and remembering whatever the fuck happened last night where she remained in a beautiful state of blissful peace. There is a virtue in remaining ignorant, she realised. Remaining unaware. In fact, she would go on to cherish those ten seconds when her eyes took in the same plain wall that had always been next to her bed, when her head was not loud and the air was not tight in her chest. 

Ten revered seconds when things didn’t hurt. 

Yet by the eleventh second, the whole evening came flooding back to her, ripping through her synapses with the feeling of dread. 

The man in the museum that had grabbed her and Steven. The dogs, the running. The creature tackling her, its teeth, oh god, its teeth and claws, the way she’d been thrown through the glass like it was child’s play. 

Sitting bolt upright in bed, the early morning sun illuminated the room enough that she barely took note of the figure sat opposite her. Throwing the duvet off herself frantically, she scanned every inch of her body for anything that hurt, that was bleeding and needed immediate attention. 

But, as was a recurring theme in her life these days, there was nothing there. 

Not a single scratch, or scab, or scar in sight. Her shirt was ripped to shreds, dark red and spattered with something lumpy that she didn’t want to even consider what it was. That would need to be thrown away. But lifting up the torn fabric to reveal her bare stomach, there truly was nothing there that indicated what had happened was real. Were it not for the evidence on her shirt she wouldn’t even believe it had happened.

What the fuck was going on?

As if on cue, she raised her fuzzy head the slightest bit and caught the man sitting at her desk, looking straight at her with cold, brown hues. The short, dry yelp she let out had her lungs wincing, her hands raising in front of her to protect herself from any oncoming attack, before it clicked in her head that it was Steven. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse, Steven had gotten her home safely last night. 

“Oh my god, Steven!” She rushed out of bed as he stood, though the dead expression hadn’t yet left his face as he stood to meet her.

Marc had barely opened his mouth to explain when he was tackled around his waist by her open arms. She was strong now, strong enough to hug him tightly and have his ribs jitter painfully, no doubt a side effect from becoming an avatar. 

The older man had just about talked Konshu and Seth into leaving him to explain to her what was happening, knowing how terrified he was when he first started hearing the God of the Moon addressing him. He knew for anyone so soft to the world, hearing voices and seeing giant creatures ordering you to do their bidding would mean a one way ticket to a hospital ward.

“Steven, I’ve been so worried about you! What on earth happened, what were those things- wait!” She pulled away quickly and checked him over for wounds himself, searching him up and down until she was satisfied he was okay. 

Marc would have laughed snidely at her concern, knowing he was more than capable of taking care of himself, had she been anyone else. But it was endearing how her first thought was for his alter’s safety. 

Now came the hard part. 

“I’m fine, everyone’s fine. How are you feeling?” He saw her gaze snap to his, brows drawing down into a frown at his accent. 

“I’m-” She paused for a moment, and he watched as her eyes took in his whole demeanour. He knew he behaved differently to Steven, even by voice alone it was clear, but she seemed to be catching every small manner that he differed from him within seconds. “I’m fine, I could have sworn-” Eyes trailed over his face again as if to confirm her suspicions. She stepped back, shaking her head and bringing her hand to her temple, walking over to her mirror to check for any bruising. “Did I hit my head?”

He could have lied then and there. Marc could have washed his hands of her and convinced her she’d just had an awful fall, that nothing that happened last night was real. But Seth was coming to collect his dues, there was no stopping that now. Marc knew it was already his fault that she was in shit’s creek waist deep, it wasn’t fair of him to just up and run like he did with everything else in his life. 

She deserved the truth. As so many people in his life deserved the truth; Layla, Steven. He had brought trouble to their doors and buried his head in the sand the moment he saw consequences. He’d ran away, denied, denied, denied until he started believing it himself in the hopes the guilt so familiar to him would let go of his chest. 

But this was different. Dove was the only thing Steven had in his odd little life, the only person who cared for him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he wasn’t only fucking up his own life but now Steven’s too, Steven who he had always tried to protect. Nurture. Perhaps he would have left her to the wolves were she his friend. But she wasn’t. She was Steven’s girl. His dove.

“Listen, you-” Her ears pricked at the sound of his new voice again. Marc saw how her posture straightened alertly, and her eyes snapped to look at him in her peripheral vision. Not necessarily panicked, but wary. As if trying to not give away her awareness of his change. A reflex, as if she’d done this before; hidden her fight, flight or freeze response. But Marc being the skilled mercenary he was, was one step behind her, clocking her reaction immediately. “You did hit your head pretty hard last night so I think you should sit down for this, princess.” 

She turned slowly to look at him with wide eyes and he almost winced. She knew something was off, wrong. Princess? That was certainly new. Practically a million miles away from the nicknames he’d already established for her. She carefully sized him up with her cautious eyes, looking him head to toe as if to find the flaw that gave him away, the exact thing that made her feel the uncanny effect. 

Truthfully, she had been able to tell just from the way he had hugged her. The barely there hand on her sides, the way his body went ironing board stiff in her arms, the way his head was held far away from her as if she were a bad smell instead of falling into the open space her shoulder provided like Steven normally would. 

He was looking at her as if she were a wild animal on the side of the road, lame and ready to succumb to a terrible fate any second now. As if he was sorry, as if he’d been the driver knocking her down and had to be the one to see her shrivel pathetically on the pavement.  

His voice was colder than Steven’s had ever been, formal. Everything about him screamed unfamiliar in the worst way despite being the double of him. But the way his face seemed tired, not in the way Steven was always tired but like he was tired of everything around him, tense, forlorn. Sorrowful. The way he stood straighter than Steven’s usually slumped over figure, he seemed immediately bigger and broader than her friend ever had because of it. 

Whoever was looking at her was not her friend. Foe? She didn’t know, but she knew this man was not Steven Grant. 

The next thought struck her harder than the glass wall had. What if it was? What if this was Steven, and their whole friendship over the past year had been an act to get her weak and vulnerable, cowering in her bedroom like a deer at the end of a rifle barrel.

“Who are you?” She murmured quietly, as if she were afraid to approach the clear fact he was not the man she’d known for the past few months.

The stranger took a sigh, raising his hands up to calm her as if to approach a spooked animal. “Look, I can explain everything, but would you please just sit-”

“Are you twins?” She asked, taking a step away from him. Please be twins. Please let me keep Steven, the only one who was ever good to me. Marc stopped in his place, realising his presence was scaring her. She looked pitiful, the warm eyes that had seemed so relieved to see Steven were now on high alert, nothing about her shrunken body seemed relaxed. Her eyes drifted past him to the door, and Marc was quick to realise she was gauging if they were in her apartment alone. “Is Steven here?”

One single beat. 

“Yes.” She’d already caught him in his lie. He was hoping to get by on the technicality of his words, but his hesitancy to answer had her eyes snapping back to him in fear, “It’s difficult to explain. He’s here, he can’t talk right now,” 

That did nothing to reassure her. In fact, it made it sound like Marc had hurt the one person she’d hoped to get her out of this situation. The man chided himself for his cold demeanour, but he couldn’t help but wince at the onslaught of information that was to come. 

For this to make sense, he would need to tell her alot.

He saw it in her eyes. The way her body gave away her next moves, her slight, gentle step towards the door. Her chest puffed out as if she was building false confidence in herself for her next move. To run. 

It didn’t matter that he looked like Steven, that he was wearing his clothes. That was not him. Had something happened to him with the invisible dogs? Or the white figure that had haunted her dreams that had held her as she had fallen into that cold darkness? Or was she truly going so far down the rabbit hole she was losing all sense of reality?

Either way, this man was a stranger. And he was in her room. Alone. Unbothered by the blood and gore on her shirt. And he wouldn’t let her see Steven, wherever he was. 

A walking red flag.

Another single beat of silence passed between the two of them, before she bolted for the exit. 

Maybe it was his military experience, or the fact her innocent face had made it so easy for her to read. But Marc was quick to catch her by the waist, tackling her to the floor and pinning her easily. 

The scream she let out was awful. Her newfound strength and sheer terror made it a little more difficult to reach a hand over her mouth but the way she thrashed as if fighting for life clutched at Marc’s chest heavily. A free swipe of her arms, the blood and dirt still buried deep under her fingernails, came up to push his cheek, scratching deep into his skin enough to cause three red marks on his olive complexion and have him hiss in pain. 

“Please, STEVEN- Please just let me go- Don’t- STEVEN” She yelled, her legs kicking up to try fight him off. Her eyes welled up as she screamed more, her throat audibly going raw from the sheer effort. 

“Shhh. I’m not gonna hurt you, just please calm down,” Marc begged as he put his hand over her mouth. He saw the fear in her eyes that told him all he needed to know. He was a stranger to her, a stranger in her room that had pinned her to the floor. 

Of fucking course she was terrified. 

Her cries for help were only muffled by his large fingers as his eyes peered down at her in sorrow, “He’s here, I promise. Steven’s here, just please let me explain.”

Her eyes stared up at him through glassy, fat tears. The voice, that voice. The way he held her so gently despite having the strength to hold her in place. The stranger, the same stranger that held her last night was - what? Steven’s twin brother?

Marc watched the moment she recognised him, somewhat. Alteast recognising him out of the suit. It felt too reminiscent of the moment he’d watched her die. Call him selfish but he preferred when she’d held on to him in a fleeting moment of trust than the fear that she gazed at him with now. 

“I saved you and Steven last night, from those things, remember me?” Marc asked sternly. Her eyes remained wide and frightened, but she seemed to give up struggling. Her face was the picture of confusion, conflicted whether to trust a familiar stranger or keep throwing her entire weight into fighting him off. “Yeah, see? Now I’m gonna let go of you but you’re gonna need to trust me for all of five minutes. Your life is in a lot more danger than those things that attacked you, and I’m not gonna be able to help you if you don’t listen to me. You got it?”

He felt her body relax the slightest amount, before she nodded helplessly. Marc checked over her face one last time for any immediate signs of fleeing. When he found none he let go, leaning back to stand, rubbing a hand over his stinging cheek. Not bleeding, but raised and hot with impact. 

“Who are you?” She whispered, still laying on the floor in shock, her chest heaving with a nausea that had washed over her the moment he had gotten on top of her. Call it a reflex, but the idea of a man who wore her best friend’s face invoking such a power over her curdled her stomach to its very core. 

Marc looked down at her, her eyes neither trusting nor looking for a reason to run. She needed to know, he repeated to himself, were it not so important he would have left with no query. No traumatic incidents needed. 

But Death was around the corner. Sooner or later he’d appear to her, ask her for things Marc could only dread. 

He owed her an explanation at the least.

Sticking out a hand, the same hand that had stopped her squeals for help, he offered her help up off the floor. Her eyes flicked from the tawny digits to his stiff expression in caution. “I’m Marc Spector. Nice to meet you,” 

She sipped her tea silently. She liked it strong, unbearably sweet and piping hot. Sometimes she joked with Steven it was how she liked her men too. But she was in no joking manner now, and Steven wasn’t here anymore.

Well he was, and wasn’t at the same time. 

They shared a body, that’s what Marc had said. She’d read about stuff like that, seen it in movies, but funnily enough the phenomenon of two people in one body wasn’t even what had her jaw clenched in disbelief. 

Egyptian gods walked among them. Lived with them, had their own societies and laws, puppeteering random strangers to do their bidding. 

And one, perhaps the worst one she could think of, had her in his clutches. 

Of course she’d heard of Seth. She stacked around fifty of his statues a day in the back of the gift shop, his wolf-like face not nearly as friendly looking as one would hope if they’d learnt he was now their master. 

If Marc was telling the truth, then that’s essentially what Seth was to her now. A puppet master, a dictator, a tyrant pulling the strings on her every move for the inevitable future.

He was the body of everything chaotic. Nefarious. Evil. Violent. And yet she couldn’t help but sigh at the dramatic irony that she expected nothing less from an ancient god that had taken an interest in her soul. It saw in her what she knew had always grown. What that Harrow guy knew immediately, supposedly the gift of his own god, to see the disruption inside people's hearts. What Steven and now Marc were so blind to. 

Seth had seen the pollution that cursed her down to her marrow and licked his lips in glee.

“Are you okay?” Marc’s American accent met her ears. They sat in her kitchen, the small breakfast counter being the only thing holding her up as she rested her elbows on it, barely feeling the way the scalding hot tea slid past her silent lips. 

“Mhm,” She murmured, hands wrapping delicately around her clean mug. She’d given Marc Steven’s mug, mindlessly making him a tea the way Steven loved his cuppas, only to have the new man wince and spit the liquid back out. 

More of a black coffee guy, he’d said apologetically as she visually sank in realisation they were truly completely different people. 

“I know it’s a lot to process, I know I freaked out the first time I spoke to Konshu.” Marc explained, his tea going cold with his lack of interest in the drink. He watched her expression meticulously, as if trying to pick over every tiny change in her face as to any hint how she was feeling. 

She stared at the white table deep in thought. Blank and empty as the surface itself. 

“What will he want from me?” She asked quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he confessed he was the other half of her best friend that happened to share a headspace with him. 

Marc looked at her blankly. “I don’t know,” He answered honestly. He would love to tell her Seth would be kind and graceful, gentle as he’d put it. He’d love to take it back, dig her out of this mess in any other way than offering her as a sacrifice, a mess he’d made by listening to his own God’s orders.

Marc would love to leave her and Steven in peace to pining and mixed feelings and words unsaid, but he couldn’t. She was in the gates of Hell now, deep in the Underworld. And there was no point of return. No do over, or waking up and pretending the whole thing was a silly dream like he’d been pulling over Steven. 

This was out of his hands now. 

“He wouldn’t make me-” She paused, taking a deep breath and putting her mug onto the counter to stabilise her shaking hands, “He won’t get me to-” Kill was the word she kept silent, but Marc understood nonetheless. Seth was the god of death and violence and all things lawless. There wasn’t anything Marc could promise wouldn’t be coming her way. His expression must have been grave enough to warrant her to let out a rattled sigh, tucking her hands into her lap to pick at her dirty fingertips. “Oh,” She said simply. 

“Look, once I’ve stopped Harrow from raising Ammit, then I can worry about how to get him to release you, okay?” Marc said shortly, running a weathered hand over his tired face. 

It was odd, seeing a man look so much like the sweetest guy she’d ever met brush her off as if she were a minor inconvenience. Which she was. She knew he felt guilty for letting his god give her up to the higher being, but he seemed tired of this whole situation by now, reaching his limit on being tender with her. 

Marc didn’t have time for this. He was trying to help the poor girl, but the best way he could think to fix their problem was to clear his plate of his own agenda first. Which meant leaving as soon as he could to get the scarab somewhere hidden and Harrow off his back. 

Her eyes steeled over at his words, furrowing her brows. “Once we’ve stopped Harrow, you mean?”

“What?” Marc said with a huff, looking at his tea as if it poisoned him, wishing it were a black drip coffee she hadn’t got the money for. 

“We can stop him, right?” She asked, an edge to her tone that she’d never used on Steven. Everything reserved for him was purely saccharine sweet and gentle, loving beyond what friends should be. 

“We?” Marc bit with a scoff.

“Yes-”

“We?”

“Yes we, what, do you have a French man living in there too?” She barked, slamming the mug down with a blaze in her eye at the disdain he looked at her with, “Now look, I know it’s a little unavoidable for you and Steven, but I’m not one to have people fix my problems for me,”

“Yeah, you seemed to have it completely under control last night when you were bleeding out,” The man snapped, watching her jaw tense with an anger he’d never seen from his time watching her through Steven’s eyes. 

They glared at each other for a moment, the red welts on his cheek staring back at her as if to remind her of her new strength. She needed him. Her body felt cold, as if she were carrying a corpse around not her own limbs, her every breath tasted of smoke and rot. She felt like she had bugs crawling over her spine, the hair on her arms never laying still with the goosebumps that dotted her skin. She felt dead. Casket, buried and six feet under. Then again, she sort of was. 

“I’d like to speak to Steven, please,” She said quietly, polite despite the fact she was angry. 

“I told you, you can’t talk to him right now,” Marc replied, stepping away from the kitchen and heading towards the front door to her apartment, “Look it was nice to meet you but I have work to do. You just stay here-”

She stood up, nearly knocking the mug over as she pursued him, grabbing his arm with a jolt. 

Marc could have sworn she nearly ripped his arm out his socket with the unknown vigour she had. He made a small yelp that he choked down as she yanked him back to face her.

“You are not leaving me to deal with a God of Death alone, are you kidding me?” She seethed, unaware of how tight she was grabbing him. She was gonna leave one hell of a bruise, Marc thought, but the desperation in her voice was clear as a bell. “I don’t care if I have to stalk you myself, we both know you can stop this Harrow guy a lot faster if there’s two of us,”

“I won’t be stopping anyone if I only have one arm so would you please let go and stop mauling me, I’m trying to help you here, princess,” Marc retorted, as if to snap her out of her rage. Her eyes fell to where she was gripping him harshly, her hand alone turning the bottom half of his arm red with lack of circulation. 

Her face visibly drew back in shock, letting go of him quickly. “Sorry,” She muttered, sheepishly. 

Well, that was new. 

Marc sighed, looking down at her crestfallen expression. She was scared, he knew she was, but putting her into the line of fire was exactly the last thing he wanted to do after already watching her suffer enough for his mistakes. 

But she was persistent. And smart too, he knew she was right in saying they could figure out how to push back against Harrow a lot faster with two brains. At least if she was with him, he could keep an eye on how Seth was treating her. 

If he was being much too greedy and insidious, which is what Marc expected from him, then maybe he could ask more of the Gods to step in. Or even the God of the Dead could help them find a way to stop Ammit from being resurrected. What was the point in conjuring chaos if another god was going to end everyone who had it in them?

“Alright,” She perked up instantly, those wide eyes looking at him with elation that he was going to stop being difficult and pushing her away, “You can help, only if you promise to do exactly what I ask of you. We can’t have you going rogue, that will make my whole plan just messy, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” She said smoothly, flashing him a toothy smile, “Thankyou, Marc. Really.” 

“Alright,” He nodded, reaching for the door, “Get some more sleep, I’ll call you when I need you,” 

The smile dropped from her face as fast as it had come. That phrase was not comforting in the slightest. How would she know he was honest, that he meant his word? Steven always meant his word. Steven she could trust with her life.

This man was not Steven. 

She knew it was childish, but she was quick to grab his hand again, gentle this time, not nearly as forceful as before. His empty brown eyes snapped to meet her gaze, the hair on his arms standing to attention as if he'd been electrocuted by her touch alone. 

“Promise me?” She asked, eyes wide and imploring him to understand how desperate she was, “Promise me you won’t leave me alone?” 

He took a moment to look her in the eyes, her lashes framing the pure anguish held in her sweet face, batting up at him with woeful hope. 

He could see why Steven liked her. She was the embodiment of everything good, everything that needed protecting in the world, that needed cherishing and kept safe. He felt her small hand squeeze him in need. Having someone so kind and so blatantly enchanting to look at essentially begging for his refuge awoke something primal in him, something caveman that said I would never let a hair on her head be harmed. Something not even sexual, just purely carnal that overcame his senses as he imagined it did Steven’s, that had him nodding on instinct. 

“I promise,” Marc said calmly, squeezing her hand back, before he shut the door coldly and left her flat. 

She did not in fact wait for Marc to call her. In fact, by the time she’d woken up she had two missed calls from Steven and a flurry of messages had filled her screen all from one of her four contacts in her phone. 

Steven 

Are you okay, Dove?          

Please respond A S A P

I don’t know what’s happening, they’ve said I’ve destroyed the loos 

They said I carried you out of the building but I don’t remember seeing you after we got split up

Oh god don’t be dead

That would make me a proper maniac who killed the only bloody friend I’ve ever had

Please don’t be dead

Dove please message as soon as you can I need to know you’re okay

She huffed a breath of relief. Steven was back. Anxious and worried for her life, but he was back. She had barely a few hours of sleep since she’d seen Marc leave her apartment around 5 am that morning, but by now it was well into the afternoon.

Talk about being dead asleep. No, that’s not funny, she chided her brain.

Rubbing aching hands over her eyes to remove the last remnants of exhaustion from her face, her hands floated over the keys to reply to him.

Yet she could think of no way to tell him just how she felt; as though she were both relieved and dreading the idea that she could now talk to him about everything that happened, that she wouldn’t be alone with his stern counterpart in fixing the situation she had found herself in. 

Yet the thought settled deep in her stomach. What if he ran from the very sight of her? It was obvious Seth wanted her out of interest, not just convenience. How he lusted for the cruelty and anguish in her bones. The venom that bubbled under her skin, infecting her brain and thoughts, the part of her that made her a disease, contagious to everyone around her.

Steven could take one look at the woman she truly was and wish for nothing more to do with her. Then what? The loneliness she had always known awaited her? The feeling of being left to the darkest corners of herself she knew waited for a moment of weakness to strike. Is that what she was to be subdued to? 

She couldn’t say she was surprised. But she had to see him. Even if to beg for forgiveness of the bitterness that lay inside her, get on her knees and ask him to stay for her. 

Words on a screen simply wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t redeem her enough to keep him like she wanted, if she could ever repent at all, that is. She needed to see Steven. 

“Let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” Layla sighed as she yanked the thick wad of documents out her bag. She had no idea what Marc was playing at, perhaps creating a new identity was his way of running from responsibility again. He was always good at that. 

“Did I? Uh-” Steven fumbled for his reading glasses as the vibrant woman shoved the files under his nose. 

“This is what you wanted,” The woman, Layla, the only person who could help him understand what it was this Marc guy had plunged him into, said to him with an unmistakable bite to her words. 

“Let’s have a look here,” His coffee ground eyes scrunched in confusion as he read over the papers. He brought them closer to his face as if in disbelief as to what he was reading.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla seemed to have calmed slightly, bitter still but more heavy than anything as she watched him look at her in astonishment. 

‘Divorce/dissolution/judicial separation petition’ stared back at Steven, an offer to end a relationship he knew nothing about with a woman who frankly scared him. Yet he could see the pain in her dark eyes as she avoided his glance. The way she’d swallowed her pride to come after this Marc guy to get the papers signed once and for all, though by the sounds of it it was his idea completely. 

This little American man seemed to like starting fires and not waiting to find out if they burnt. If people got hurt. Which they did. 

Steven was still waiting for Dove to message him back. If Marc had hurt her in any way he swore he would hand himself over then and there, particularly after finding a bloody handgun in his storage locker listed under his name. A gun? A wife? His best friend’s body? Who knows what else this Marc was hiding?

“Divorce?” Steven asked, looking at Layla in confusion, “You- We? I don’t know- You two were married?”

“Yeah, we doing this or not?” Layla snapped, though the gloomy look on her face told Steven all he needed to know. She was hurting. She hated every second of this as much as he did. 

He flicked through the pages a few times, clearing his mind on the matter. He felt he had no right to meddle or sign away anyone else's relationship yet this woman looked at him expectantly in a way that had him curling over in near fear. He opened his mouth to ask her more about this Marc guy she was so angry with when a pounding on his door met his ears. 

“Steven,” It was her, “Steven, are you home?”

Oh, thank the heavens and every cloud in them. The tension that had grabbed him by the throat and laced it with emotion all morning melted away at the melody of her words. So eager to hear her voice, to convince himself she really was safe, he dropped the papers onto the nearest table and rushed to the sound of her knocking frantically once more. 

“Who is that?” Layla asked, annoyed that the papers she’d dragged across the globe had been discarded without a second thought. But her question fell on deaf ears as Steven swung the heavy door open. 

The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment, both of them looking equally as shocked, confused and exhausted by the events, yet still not quite believing that they were seeing each other alive again.

“Oh my god- Love-” Steven heaved as she bolted into his arms for the second time that day. Though this time he hugged her back just as strongly as she’d expected. His body soft, gentle, warm with the way he encompassed her figure with his entire being. Not like how Marc held her in the slightest. He squeezed her tight, as if letting go of her again was the last thing on his mind, his hands flat on her spine and his head burrowing into her sweet smelling collar.

God he was so relieved to feel her again. Her face was smashed into his chest, her new found strength bringing him as close to her as physically possible, hoping to everything he wasn’t going to leave her the second he knew about her new, um, condition. 

“Steven, oh my god, I thought it was you, the guy in my room- and last night! I was so worried about you- how do you feel, are you okay?” She rushed, unaware of the way she was being watched by two enraged brown eyes. 

She had been so enamoured with Steven holding her so close, she hadn’t even seen the stunning woman stood a metre away with an aghast expression.

“Dove, I was so worried, Marc said I had to give the body to him so he could help you, I-” Steven’s voice was clogged with guilty and sorrow as he drew back from her, watching her expression scrunch into concern, entirely focused on his every word, “I couldn’t help you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, love-”

“Hey, look. I’m okay, see?” She reassured, squeezing his waist lightly, wishing to soothe away the tears building in his waterline, “Marc got to me in time. I’m okay-”

“You met him?” Steven said the same time a new voice met her ears. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

Her head snapped to her left to where a woman stood, her fists clenched and full lips pursed into a sneer of disgust at her presence. She was gorgeous. Perhaps the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. The type of face you’d see on a billboard, effortless and striking, the kind that had even her fawning over her rare beauty. 

The woman looked all the more annoyed at her gawking expression.

Layla’s head cut to Steven’s flustered face, looking between the two women in surprise. 

“This is-”

“Is this why you wanted a divorce, Marc?” Layla barked, the two embracing each other immediately pulling apart at the accusation that came crashing down on the two of them. “Is this your girlfriend?” 

Divorce. The word echoed in her head like a stab to the chest. He was married. Steven, well Marc technically but Steven’s body was married. To the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. It only made sense. No matter which way he was packaged, whether he was Steven or Marc, he was a god among men even without Konshu. 

And she currently looked like a mistress.

“No!” They chorused, Steven turning away from her and leaving her standing in the doorway confused. 

“No, she’s my-” Steven paused as the younger woman spoke over him in just as much panic this woman would get the wrong idea.

“We work together,” She rushed, walking towards the woman with her arms up in surrender. Of course this looked bad. Awful. The guilt of falling head over heels for someone else's husband churned in her stomach. 

“Me and her work at the museum, well worked I suppose,” Steven said, shutting the door behind her, hoping Layla didn’t start shouting like she had done a few times already. He was as tired of taking Marc’s shit as she seemed, but he supposed it was just as confusing for her to be married to someone who claimed he was someone else. 

He just hoped the woman he was enamoured with entirely didn’t get the wrong idea also. 

“I’m so sorry, I suppose I should introduce myself,” The younger woman attempted a friendly smile, which was entirely shut down by Layla glaring at her and snarling at her pleasant tone.

“You’re supposed to introduce yourself to a woman before you fuck her husband,” The woman said, leaning over the woman intimidatingly before turning to Steven’s scared mouse expression with a growl. 

“I’m not sleeping with Marc,” Dove piped up, though her chest was rattling with the furious nut-brown gaze that met her the second she opened her mouth. If looks could kill, she’d be clinging to the shreds of life that she had left all over again. She saw Steven look at her with reddening cheeks at the inference of her words, “Or Steven! I’m not sleeping with either of them,” 

Layla scoffed, looking her up and down, “What? So you’re just his young, pretty co-worker who just so happens to give them fat fucking heart eyes the minute she sees him?”

It was her turn to become flustered now. She felt the embarrassment hail down on her in waves, heat crawling over her cheeks as she stared at the woman who had managed to see her feelings for her husband within seconds. Women had sixth senses for things like that. Which wouldn’t be a bother, except Layla was married to him. Not Steven himself, but his body yes. 

This was all so complicated for the half-dead girl’s already mithered head. 

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, hoping to god that Steven had somehow miraculously become deaf for five seconds and he truly hadn’t heard what his alter’s wife had just said. 

“Exactly,” Layla huffed, reaching to grab her backpack and leave her husband and his mistress to their little roleplay where he was an English, ex-gift shoppist and she was his young co-worker too innocent to so much as tell him how she felt. What a joke.

“Wait, please,” The girl tried to slow her down, as she headed for the door, “Please, I can explain.”

A new knock on the door stopped Layla in her tracks. 

“Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” 

A female voice. Unfamiliar to either of them. 

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy. We’re here about the disappearance of your co-worker,” The young woman’s face scrunched up in confusion as they said her name. Her full, legal name.

Steven and Layla simultaneously turned to look at her. 

“You’re missing now?” Steven whispered, to which she shook her head. 

“I spoke to the police on the way over here. Donna gave them my number when they saw you carrying me out of the museum,” She said back in a hushed tone, “I told them I was safe, that I fainted and you took me home.” 

Layla’s eyes flicked between the two of them, her mind clicking as the voice on the other side of the door continued more forcefully, “They’re not real police officers,” She hummed quietly.

Steven and Dove looked at eachother. A look of panic passed between them as they shared the same thought; Shit. 

“Marc said Harrow had connections all over,” She whispered back, watching as Steven reached for the multitude of locks slowly, if not to stop the fake officer from battering his door then to seem as though he were co operating. 

“What are they looking for?” Layla asked, a moment of clarity snapping in Steven’s eyes as he reached into the gym bag he’d dragged from Marc’s storage locker. His hand emerged with the scarab, the same jewel he could have sworn had been plucked from his dream. Layla’s eyes widened, then narrowed at the man in question. “The scarab? What we fought side by side for? So this whole act was so you could run away with your mistress and keep it for yourself?”

“I am not-” The younger of the two started in a tone loud enough to have the officers stop their barrage on the door. Fearing they’d heard her, she huffed and started again, snatching the scarab out of Steven’s hands and turning to Layla, “I am not sleeping with your husband,” She breathed, “But the three of us are in serious trouble if they catch us with this, that’s what Marc said-”

“Yeah, I know,” Layla snapped, glaring at the woman who stared back with a now annoyed expression, “You might be new around here, but I know all about my own husband and his messes, thankyou,” 

With the final growl, Layla wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around the girl’s forearm, dragging her to the open window. 

“Woah! Woah- I know some things were said but throwing me out a window is a bit heavy, don’t you think?” She exclaimed, her feet sluggishly tripping over themselves as she followed the woman obediently. 

Layla sucked her teeth, flashing her a death stare, “I’m not going to kill you, though I’ll wring your neck if you keep talking,” She snipped, pointing onto the ledge the roof offered as a place for them to hide, “Get out, they suspect something already, we’ll see where they take him and go from there,”

Flicking Steven, one last glance, he nodded for her to listen as he called to the ‘Detectives’ that he was complying with their orders. 

Be careful, she wanted to say, please just be careful. Please don’t leave me alone.

I love you.

I spent all night worrying about you. Dreaming about you. I want you more than I wanted life again. I want you to know Seth can never have my soul no matter if I am his avatar because it’s not mine anymore, it's entirely yours. My heart that rots and withers beats for you. Not even to sustain this carcass I’m in, just for you. 

Please don’t leave me.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say a word less she’d risk their safety. Risk the scarab. 

So she simply nodded back, and climbed out onto the slanted tiles. 

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