That’s what Miguel tried to tell you. That if you tried to interfere, then your dimension would unravel just as his did. He didn’t want that for you. Couldn’t want that for you. There were worse fates and that was one of them.

But of course, you were determined.

“Don’t tell me to stand by and let it happen, Miguel, all because of some stupid canon shit. Don’t tell me that.” You gritted out as you stalked down the hall, him right behind you.

“I am, Domino.” Miguel argued desperately. “I am telling you not to endanger your dimension over something that is supposed to happen. I am doing this to protect you—“

You whirled around on him, causing Miguel to stop short in front of you, “This is your way of protecting me? By telling me to stand by and let my sister die all because of some computer program?! Be fucking for real, Miguel!”

“Yes, because I know the dangers of what’s going to happen if you—”

“No, Miguel, no you don’t.” It hurt, your words. You knew what he had gone through, what he had lost. But you were too stubborn. He knew this. “I’m gonna try. Because that’s what we do. We try even if the odds are against us. That’s what all this shit that happened to me has led up to, right? Why stop now?”

It wasn’t like Miles Morales. No, this was before he learned that there were more forceful ways to stop something like this from happening.

He should’ve stopped you.

But things just fell apart too fast for him to keep up in the end.

Miguel practically dove through the portal to your dimension with Jessica and a few other Spider-men at his side. The crisis was a disaster. The Brooklyn Bridge was halfway in the water, cars either destroyed or hanging by black webs made by you. Immediately, Miguel and the others played damage control. There was yet another villain that had escaped their world and fell into another. This time it was a Green Goblin. One large enough to do this much damage.

It didn’t take long for Miguel to spot your white suit swinging about frantically, your head turning quickly every second. Which meant he had arrived just in time to stop you from making the biggest mistake you could’ve ever made for yourself and your universe. Miguel kept his eyes glued to you while leading people to safety. Until he spotted your sister’s car being thrown up in the air, quickly being caught by your black webs.

You were at the top of the bridge, trying to convince your sister to calm down, revealing your identity to her. Miguel landed on top of the bridge, you sent him a scowl and raised your hand, “Don’t!”

“You know what will happen, Domino.” He tried warning you. “One life or an entire universe? Over other families? Other brothers and sisters? What then?!”

You ignored him and shot a web down to your sister to grab onto. “If I don’t do this, then I will never forgive myself. I’m not like you, Miguel.” You looked at him pleadingly, desperately. “I can’t—”

The green hulking figure hurtled right into you, taking both you and Miguel off guard.

Your grip on your sister slipped but she was able to grab onto another web and hold on while you were preoccupied with the Green Goblin. A wave of rage—fear?—hit Miguel as he dashed toward the ugly beast, using his whole weight to throw it off of you and tackled it down to the ground.

“You don’t get to touch her!” He growled, pounding the goblin’s face until it was finally unconscious.

The bridge began to fall. Jessica began ordering every spider person around to quickly gather all the civilians left on the bridge. The top of the bridge where your sister was hanging began to crumble and Miguel watched as you swung back toward her.

He should’ve stopped this long before. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

You were already dashing across the top of the bridge, Miguel had ended up behind you in seconds. You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Miguel, don’t!”

But he ignored you and shot his scarlet webs toward your figure. But of course, you were quicker than him, You always were.

His webs had missed. The web holding your sister up snapped. She was falling.

And you had dived after her.

Miguel leaped off the bridge, shot a thick web toward you and above him. In seconds the fall had stopped. You were now hanging and attached to Miguel’s web while the other half of his web kept him attached to what was left of part of the bridge.

But your webs had already been released.

You had already caught her.

No. No. No. No. No.

You had been too fast for him.

When the adrenalin cooled down a bit, you shot your head up at him, the angered glare evident on your face, “Were you really about to fucking stop me?!”

Instead of acknowledging your anger, Miguel shot back, “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“I saved my sister!”

“You’ve given your universe a death sentence!” Miguel shouted. “Why do you have to be so fucking selfish?!”

“Selfish?!” You snapped. Now you were quite pissed. Truly, he had never seen you this angry before now. He supposed that it made sense that it would be him to cause this. There had been many close calls. Now, it was different. You couldn’t keep your resolve. “I didn’t invade another universe and replace a girl’s father! Did you ever think that your situation was different?! Did you ever think that what you did was a lot worse than me saving my sister?! You can’t project your problems onto me, Miguel. It’s not the same and you know it—”

“Did it ever occur to you that I did this because I love you?” Miguel hissed. “Did it ever occur to you that I couldn’t bear to watch you lose everything over the same mistake I made?! Did it, Domino? Did you ever stop and think—”

“Wait.” He realized then that you weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead you were looking down. At the end of your web. “If I screwed everything up, then how come my dimension isn’t unraveling?”

The way you asked this, the way you posed the question made him go silent for a moment. Because he just then realized things weren’t changing. Other than the chaos that was happening around them already, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. No holes in the dimension. Nothing disappearing.

“I….” Miguel looked back to you, “I….M-Miguel I saved her, didn’t I?”

He still couldn’t respond.

You reached your web up and tied it to Miguel’s wrist before snapping his web attached to you apart.

“Domino—”

But he watched you fall toward the bottom.

It didn’t take him long to get there too. It didn’t take him long to see the limp body attached to the end of your web. It didn’t take him long to realize that your universe wouldn’t unravel any time soon.

Your sister was dead. Just like it was supposed to….

This was supposed to be better. This was supposed to be what kept you and your universe safe.

Miguel O’Hara always made the tough calls. The decisions that no one else could.

So why did it feel like the dimension was tearing itself apart in front of his eyes? Why did it feel like you were going to disappear at any second? Why did it feel like he had already lost you even though you were right there.

He did. He lost you.

You slipped from his fingers so fast…

“Is this what you wanted?” A weak whisper left your lips, your back still turned to him.

There were no words he could say that could fix any of it.

Miguel removed his mask, so that you could see his face. So that you could see how sincere he was. Only for you to see. Only you mattered in that moment.

“Sometimes you can’t stop what’s meant to happen.” When you glanced over your shoulder at him, when you looked at him through glassy eyes—your mask now gone—it made the words a lot harder to force out, “I never wanted any of this. Not like this…”

Jessica and the others arrived but didn’t say anything. Jessica had been one of the people on Miguel’s side about the whole ordeal, but even she was smart enough not to say anything. You were already hurting too much.

You glared at him through the water falling from your eyes, you glared at Jessica, you glared at all of them.

“Well, congratulations.”

“Y/N…” Jessica tried, only she went silent when she noticed your sister’s body limp behind you. There was nothing to be said.

You tore off your bracelet and threw it at Miguel’s feet. “You saved the canon, O’Hara. You should be proud.”

After that, you stopped coming to HQ. Except for that one time when you announced you were quitting the society for good. After that he stopped seeing the White Spider swinging around your dimension and stopping bad guys. The only time he saw you don your suit was to fight a new villain called the Electro. After that, he hadn’t seen you in the newspapers nor social media ever again.

This wasn’t something he really didn’t see coming. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if the canon knew this was what exactly would happen after your sister’s death. That you would just stop being the White Spider. That you would give it all up.

Fuck. Of course this would be the last straw. He knew you. He met your sister multiple times.

You weren’t like Miguel. You would not bounce back easily. That was never you.

He should’ve stopped it. He shouldn’t have let it get that far…

The fight on the train didn’t last for long. Like you had said beforehand, you hadn’t planned on fighting him. Only keeping him at bay so that Miles was given time to go back to his dimension. So you had gotten your licks in, getting to kick your man’s ass was something so refreshing and should’ve happened sooner if you were being honest.

You landed a few kicks at Miguel—his waist, face, and legs—before he grabbed you and threw you off the train. But you fell gracefully, knowing that you had done your part. So you entered your data into your bracelet, a portal appearing behind you.

“He’s just a kid, Miguel.” You called.

The last thing you saw was Miguel, an unreadable expression on his face as you disappeared through the portal.

Gwen had recruited you to help Miles a couple hours after you had gotten back to your dimension. Apparently, he had been sent to the wrong Earth so now it was your job to track him down and help him complete his goal. Helping him succeed at something that you couldn’t.

So before you started this long fight, the long journey ahead, you went to your sister’s grave. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were here. After the funeral, you weren’t sure you even came here alone yourself. Just to see her.

It hurt too much before. It only just kept reminding you how much you failed. Why you stopped being the White Spider. Why your relationship with Miguel could never quite be the same.

Your spine shuddered and you turned your head slightly away from your sister’s grave. “It’s kind of insensitive to do a sneak attack when I’m visiting my sister, O’Hara.”

Behind you, Miguel stood a little further away. His mask was off. You didn’t move from your sister’s grave and he didn’t move from where he stood. The two of you took to staring at each other for a long moment.

Since it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything first, you sighed, “Don’t act so surprised. I thought you knew me better than that—”

“I thought I did too.” Miguel scowled, though the harshness was mixed with something looser. Something that would’ve made you crumble on the spot.

You cleared away some of the dead rose petals from the last bouquet of flowers that were left here, “Is that what you came here for? To berate me  into changing my mind? I’m convinced already—”

“I’m not here to convince you. How can I do that when you won’t listen to reason?” Miguel hissed. “If you are willing to die over this, destroy another universe, then…” You looked at him fully then. Perhaps you were too far away to see, perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were red. Not from his unique abilities.

The emotion in his eyes, god you wanted to look away. You didn’t want your resolve to fail again. Not this time.

This time was too important.

“Then what?” You asked him quietly.

Miguel never responded to your question. He ducked his head down for a moment. The words that left his mouth almost barely audible. “How many times will I have to lose you, Domino? How many times will you leave me?”

You stood and slowly inched toward the man. Cautiously, you gently grabbed his face once you were close enough and leaned your forehead against his. Your thumb caressed his cheek. His larger hands wrapped around you until his face is buried into your neck, practically inhaling your scent.

God, it was always like this. One moment you were in each other’s arms and in the next throwing each other off of trains or running until neither of you could run anymore. Moments like this, the gentle, the quiet. It never lasted.

In the next moment Miguel wasn’t in your arms anymore. You weren’t on your Earth anymore. Now you were flying about in search for Miles, hoping to find him before Miguel and his gang did. You were never sure when the two of you would ever find that semblance of peace again. Those moments were gone in seconds and you were back to the real world. That’s how your cycle went.

That was your canon.

Firefighter!Miguel who listens with a skeptical face as the trio of teenagers in front of him explain how their car ended up upside down in a lake.

“We saw a squirrel and we couldn’t just hit it, that’s inhumane!”

“So, you roll your car down a ramp instead?”

The trio stare at him with building panic.

“There’s not a single scratch or bruise on any of you.”

It takes about ten seconds of empty space before one of them crumbles to the ground in faux pain.

“I-I can still feel the sunroof on my head!”

“And you’re grabbing your stomach to show that."

The three of them stared at each other for a second, then one of them starts to cry, "We didn't mean it!"

"We're sorry!"

"I told them to just drive over a bump, they didn't listen!"

They started to crowd Miguel, each telling a different story. Miguel didn't believe a single one of them but their dedication to this bit was admirable.

"Ok. Let's get your parents on the phone," Miguel's voice demanded attention. "The totaled car is enough of a lesson, but I'm sure none of your names are on this vehicle."

The boy in the middle curses and runs his hand through his hair, "My dad's going to kill me."

"I would hope they'd be more happy that you're alive," Jess came up next to Miguel with a helmet under her arm. Her slicked-back hair has started to frizz up from the sheer amount of work it took to get a car full of water back on the ground. "If you all didn't think fast enough, there's no guarantee that we would have made it here in time to rescue you."

Firefighter!Miguel who tried his best to calm down the worried parents.

Yes, their children were ok. No, no one was hurt. Yes, with the right insurance totaled cars can be covered. No, he's not sure how the car ended up upside down. Yes, firefighters do these rescues regularly.

No, he was not giving out his number.

"What did I say about that face?" Jess sang as she sat in the passenger seat of the truck.

"Just because you say it, doesn't mean I want it to happen."

"Maybe you should get a ring. That poor mother looked so hurt when you rejected her."

"A ring doesn't stop wandering eyes or hands," Miguel gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Jess sighs, "True. That's not stopping you from staring at your phone like a sad seal while we're waiting on calls."

Miguel tried his best not to let his shoulders slump. He was a captain, not one of those reckless teenagers, "You think I did something wrong? It's been a few days."

"Maybe they think you're busy? Maybe they're nervous. Maybe they're busy. I'm sure you'll get a text soon."

Firefighter!Miguel who jolts from his sleepy daze at every notification from his phone. The 24-hour shifts can be grueling.

One glance at his phone showed some magazine emails and the reminder of a show he was excited to see.

Firefighter!Miguel who finally gets your text message on the way to his car.

You wanted to take him up on the offer of stopping by your house to check out the gas line.

His sleepy state gained a new jolt of energy and he was able to utilize it to tap along to the radio all the way home.

"When you add this, he'll never even think about finding someone else."

"Is that so?" You laughed as you listened to your grandma explain her secrets of keeping a man. Even if you found it a little funny, borderline ridiculous, and extremely outdated, you knew she was dead serious. "And how do you get the man?"

Your grandma paused and smiled, "Are you sure you're ready to hear that?"

"If you're laying out all of your secrets, I might as well!"

Your conversation was interrupted by a knock and the ring of a doorbell.

"Well, looka here!"

You can hear the glee in your grandmother's voice as she opens the door.

"Look what the Lord brought me," she comes back to the kitchen with her arm wrapped around Miguel's arm. She's smiling brighter than ever. "And he had enough sense to bring back my good dish. Won't He do it?"

"Of course, I had to bring it back. How else could I thank you both and ask for some more at the same time?"

Miguel looked funny in your childhood home. A little out of place. Though when he opened his mouth it was like everything seemed right. He looked even funnier out of uniform. The joggers were doing something for you.

"You ready?"

You blinked a couple of times, coming back to Earth and steadying your wandering mind.

"Ready for...?"

"My poor child," your grandma grumbled to herself. "He came to go check on the house. Remember?"

"Oh! Yes, yes. Of course! Let's go."

As you made your way to the door, your grandma made sure to pull you back.

"And remember what I told you, ok? You just need a dash of it."

"Grandma there won't be any cooking until I get my gas line fixed."

"I don't mean the cooking, child, I mean the-"

You coughed loudly to cover her growing voice. The older she got the more her brain-to-mouth filter faded away.

"I got it, grandma."

You were sure she was going to say something about a bedroom technique, but Miguel was probably standing closer to you both than your grandma thought.

He didn't need to know whatever your grandma was trying to say.

Firefighter!Miguel who was happy to have someone that truly piqued his interest after so long.

Some of his hookups were either growing too attached or getting too ballsy, stepping over several boundaries. The last girl he dated was in it for all of the wrong reasons, and the woman before that sunk him so low he never knew he could bounce back.

He told himself he wouldn't try to date any of the people he saved, but life was growing longer and he wasn't getting any younger. Plus, you did look really lovely in your patterned pajama pants and flour in places they shouldn't be.

Something about your struck a match against him.

Firefighter!Miguel who walked into your house with a calmer state than the last.

There was a blue tarp plastered over the hole in your home and some debris left over from the accident.

"Sorry for the mess," your voice was quiet enough that he had to hone in on it.

"I've seen worse."

You look back at him with shock then laugh when you see the silly grin on his face.

He walked deeper into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, "It's not too terrible. I actually went ahead and called the gas company because something like this needs to be solved immediately."

Your eyebrows raise, "So is it already fixed then?"

"Took them about a day, but yeah. Now we just need to focus on getting the rest of this worked out."

"Thank you, truly," you smile up at him as you shift your weight. "Well, I guess I should do something else then, huh? I don't want to waste too much more of your time.

He was off work. "I don't mind. Glad to help in any way I can."

"Do you know how long the repairs might take?"

Miguel clicks his teeth repeatedly, "From about a week to a couple of months. From what I see, you should probably grab a few weeks of clothes."

"Roger that, Captain," you salute him as you turn to go to your room.

Miguel quelled the tiny spark that those words brought to him.

Firefighter!Miguel who watches you kick something out of the way when you enter your room.

He caught a flash of purple as you turned the lights on, but whatever it was under your bed in one swift motion.

Firefighter!Miguel who leans against the doorway as you bend deep to pull out more clothes.

Why you didn't grab things that were already on hangers, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't upset at the view at all.

Firefighter!Miguel who wanted to see you again, so he invited you to the annual charity car wash that his unit gave.

"We wash cars for a decent price, sell some goodies, and we take some pictures for the firefighter calendar."

He saw your eyes light up at those words, "I think I would love to see that."

"And I would love to have you there."

"Would you, now? Should I invite more people?"

"Yeah, for charity. I think I'm mostly going to be happy to see you."

Miguel picked a bin full of your clothes up and walked them through the door to his car, not really ready to process whatever look you might have on your face.

He may have nearly slammed his hand into the door with how fast he was moving, but he hopes that he can see you again soon.

divider by: @gigittamic + @/benkeibear (Idk if you'll see this, but I hope you're doing alright!!!) ❤️‍🔥

a/n: It's so late and I definitely have work tomorrow but here I am because I have no self control.

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“Yes, a liability. I can’t get comfortable when the responsibility of the multiverse is on my shoulders, I can’t let my guard down…and our relationship is only getting in the way,”

“We’re supposed to make each other be the best version of ourselves, with or without the multiverse. Not be cooped up in one room all day,”

“Right, I keep forgetting that you’re incapable of understanding the magnitude of the situation. This requires undivided attention and I need to keep my head in the game. Not…this. Us,” He snapped back. The last word came out as a snarl, like it was venomous.

Us.

At one point in your relationship, hearing that word made you feel like you had a special connection you both shared.

Us.

Now the word lost its meaning and it felt heavy, like being with you felt like a chore.

“Why did you agree to this relationship if this is all you’re gonna do,”

“That was a mistake, a lapse of judgment in my part for believing this would be a good idea,”

It was hard to believe that this was the same man that opened up to you about his insecurities and leaned on you for emotional support.

He always made you feel reliable, but now given the situation you were in, it was all fickle. All those special moments were thrown back in your face.

Was it all just a rose-tinted illusion just to make you believe that he did value you and your relationship?

“You can’t just leave HQ just for one night?” You left the question hanging even if you already knew the answer. His lack of response was enough to speak volume anyways.

Your line of sight landed on one of the footage of him and Gabriella after her soccer practice. You watched as it displayed Miguel picking up Gabriella, a huge grin flashed on his face, before giving her a hug.

It was hard to believe Miguel even harbored that paternal instinct in him when all you’ve witnessed was his stoic attitude. Even if he did display his vulnerability, it was rare and those moments felt like catching smoke with your bare hands.

After a long moment of silence, you finally remarked, “I don’t think watching Gabriella’s file is healthy,”

There was a micro shift in his demeanor that was so subtle, but you still managed to pick it up. His muscles tenses like he had just been pricked by a thorn.

“Don’t even think about bringing her up,” his voice came out cold and sinister, a warning to prevent you from going deeper. “You don’t know the whole story”

“I know enough,” That was enough for him to finally turn around to look at you, unleashing his inferno of fury in full glory.

“No, you don’t! You don’t know anything about her. You’ve read her reports. You’ve seen the surveillance videos. But that isn’t the whole story,”

“Maybe not but I know it’s the main reason why you’re so driven by guilt, you can barely see what’s in front of you,”

“Oh I see everything that’s in front of me. Everything that matters," he scoffed before continuing on,"I’m doing what I have to do, and here you have the gall to get upset over me not paying attention to you?”

At that moment, your mind reeled back to the night you were experiencing a panic attack because you had a pregnancy scare. You still vividly remembered the taste of bile climbing into your throat from the fear.

It didn’t help that you were alone in that situation. You were in the HQ bathroom because you thought it would be easier for Miguel to be there for you if you were in his dimension, but you were only met with disappointment when he was on another mission.

You remembered gripping onto the pregnancy test tightly, you felt the sweat from your palms while struggling to breathe. For a long while, you were reluctant to take the test, too anxious to see the results.

Thankfully, the test came out negative. The relief that followed was like cool water over your heated body. You didn’t want to imagine how things would’ve unfolded if it was positive— more importantly, you didn’t want to see Miguel’s reaction if you were pregnant with his child.

“I’m not talking about me anymore, I’m talking about a bigger picture,”

By bigger picture, you were talking about the far future and what potential it could hold. Despite being aware of the importance of keeping the Multiverse in balance, you still wanted Miguel to have a fulfilling life— one that wasn’t so heavily influenced by the Spider Society.

But that was practically impossible if he kept himself in his office. It was counterproductive when it came to healing from his grief and guilt by replaying Gabriella’s footage over and over again.

Surely this was going to take a toll soon and you didn’t want to witness him tearing himself apart and let his guilt dictate his life.

“There is no bigger picture than this. This is the picture,” He gestured at the monitors behind him. “This is where my attention should be, everything else is secondary.”

“I’m starting to feel like you’re having tunnel vision,”

“Tunnel vision?!” His voice escalated in pitch and came out harsh, like blade cutting through the mounted tension in the room. “I’m the one who sees more than you ever will!”

His words, even if they were hurtful to hear, were starting to have some weight on them and it made your arguments pale in comparison.

Everything you said seemed to be thrown right back at you in the most ruthless way and you were starting to feel like this was getting pointless.

There’s nothing you could say that could change his mind and you were beginning to accept that.

“You know what, you’re right. It’s not like you’ll ever share with me what you see,” It was time to throw in the towel, this was not going anywhere now.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not important. But like you said, I’m a liability and in your way so I’ll see myself out,” Your turned your heels and hopped off the platform before you made your way to the exit. “This relationship was a waste of time and effort,”

It was past noon when you heard a soft knock on your door. With a frown, you swung open your door to see that it was Albie in his usual work attire.

“Hey…uhm shouldn’t you be at work?” You asked, surprise evident in your tone.

“I’m on my lunch break,” he replied, holding up a plastic bag and mirroring your smile.

“But you always have lunch in your office,” Even if you were happy to see him during work hours, this change in his routine wasn’t like him. But what added to your confusion was the newfound sparkle in his eyes as he spoke.

“I know but I wanted to see you. Plus, I went to the bodega and picked up your favourites,” It was an odd change seeing him come over to your place to eat. You knew he preferred having his lunch at work so he could maintain the professional atmosphere without any distractions.

Nevertheless, you stepped aside to let him in. You both padded to the living room and he placed the bag on the coffee table. Albie always took pride in his looks, keeping his hair well-groomed that went hand in hand with his sharp attire. The early afternoon sunlight casted over the room through the balcony doors, giving a warm glow.

You couldn’t help but pick up the slight energy in his step as he walked and the grin that was plastered on his face, despite the long hours he spent at work. You watched him take out your sandwich and handed it to you.

The familiar aroma of fresh bread and deli meat immediately overwhelmed you and reminded you how hungry you were. You took the first bite and was immediately filled with the cocktail of flavours and spices from the meat.

“You seem excited,” you pointed out before you took another bite from the sandwich. You haven’t seen him look this ecstatic since the night you confessed that you loved him back.

He rubbed his neck, trying to conceal his enthusiasm. “Heh, am I that obvious?”

You nodded. “Like reading a book. Is there something you want to share?”

He put his hands up in mocking surrender before he said “Okay, okay you got me. Yes, I do have some pretty exciting news. That’s why I came to see you,”

You arched your brow mid-chewing and listening attentively to what he had to say. His lips twitched up, enjoying the suspense of the moment.

“Do you remember how I’ve been working on that project with the major corporation for the past few months?” He asked.

You nodded, still remembering the long hours and the late night calls he got. Albie worked as a cyber security consultant for a reputable firm. He specialised in helping organisations protect their systems and data from cyber threats.

Albie was good at what he did and you can tell he took pride in his work. He would always share news about his career and keep you in the loop as much as possible.

His wide grin from earlier returned as he continued. “Well it’s still in the working progress and so far things are looking pretty promising. But once this project is completed, there’s been talk about a potential promotion. A senior consultant role,”

Your brows raise in pleasant surprise as you were taking in everything he was saying.

“That’s amazing!” You exclaimed, you found yourself leaning forward, eager to hear more.

“Thank you, babe. I’m not there yet but I’m hopeful. There are a lot of perks to this promotion like the salary increase which will give us a stability for a better future, but there’s something else too,”

“What’s that?”

“Well one of the benefit packages comes with a Health and Wellness program which include gym memberships. If I get this promotion, I thought we could maybe start hitting the gyms together after work and make it our thing,”

The moisture in your mouth instantly dried as you tried to swallow another mouthful of your sandwich. Ever since you’ve joined the Spider Society, you’ve only been using the gym back in HQ rather than in your dimension.

You still remember the day Miguel gave you a tour of the gym and how he managed to convince you to use it regularly instead of the gyms back at home because they were not catered for spider people like you.

You knew he just said that just so you would work out with him. But now, you would go there alone and you would much prefer it that way. It felt more comfortable being surrounded by people like you.

But you couldn’t tell Albie that. He wasn’t aware about your secret identity as Spidera-Woman and it should be kept that way. You managed to mask your internal conflict with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah definitely, I just need to check my schedule to see if I can make time fit.” You said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you could and match his high spirit. You didn’t want to ruin his happiness by being doubtful, this was a huge opportunity for him.

“Great. We can even try out some of the gym fitness classes they offer too. At least then we can spend more time together.” He went on, rambling. It made your stomach flutter knowing that he really wanted to share the benefits with you. “This will be amazing,”

“Yeah…let’s not get too ahead of ourselves though. You still haven’t got the promotion yet,” you tried to reason with him before he made any unattainable plans.

Albie had the tendency to be overly hopeful about things and as much as you appreciated his enthusiasm and his support, he can go overboard without realising it.

“You’re right, speaking of which I’m gonna have to leave for 1. How’s the sandwich?”

You swallowed the mouthful before you answered, “Perfect,”

Later in the evening, you were alone again in your living room. The only source of light came from the screen in front of you, casting a soft glow that illuminated the room.

The only noise that could be heard was the TV in the background. Otherwise, the apartment was quiet enough to hear the low bliss of the traffic outside. Even if you didn’t have company for the night, it was still peaceful.

Amidst the serenity, you couldn’t help but subconsciously reminisce about the stark difference between your evenings with Albie compared to those spent with Miguel.

When he was not working a late shift, nights with Albie would be filled with tranquility and quality moments together. You would often find yourself curled up on the couch while nestled onto his chest.

A stark contrast to the time spent with Miguel, where moments together were rare occurrences. His duties as Spider-man and leader of the Spider Society left little room for personal connections. The fact that he was not from your home dimension added another layer of complexity to your relationship. You’d be lucky if he even left his own dimension just to be with you.

But, you didn’t want to mull over it and open the door to any unnecessary longing of ‘what could’ve been’ and ‘what if’s’ tonight. You had Albie now and every moment left like a treasure trove of warmth and comfort.

Your dinner that you made fresh was sitting on the coffee table in front of you, waiting to be eaten. Just as you were about to pick up your plate to start on your food, you heard a sharp whisper in your ear that sent a chill down your spine.

“Hey,”

You flinched.

That was not something you wanted to hear when you were home alone. You quickly cupped your ear instinctively before you saw a marigold hologram glitch in front of you that was followed by Lyla’s figure.

“Hey girl,” she greeted, fluttering her fingers in a wave.

“Lyla—! Jeez don’t scare me like that,” You exclaimed before signing in both relief and annoyance.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt your night with a grand entrance,” You didn’t want to admit that she already did just that. She glitched around you, disappearing and reappearing in different directions around you as she spoke. “By the way, Miguel needs you back in HQ,”

“Right now? Can’t he get someone else? I’m supposed to be on my day off,” you protested.

“Actually your days off are on Mondays and Thursdays,” she reminded you. You quickly glanced at your calendar and saw that she was right. You sighed again. So much for enjoying the evening to yourself.

“Alright…tell him I’ll be there in 10,”

“Copy that,” she saluted before she glitched away, leaving alone with the food in front of you.

You watch the steam waltz into the air from your hot meal, almost teasing you. It wouldn’t taste the same when you reheat it in the microwave. Yet, a part of you was glad that you didn’t start eating yet. Dimension traveling on a full stomach always ended in motion sickness.

You took the plate and made your way to the kitchen and covered it with a foil sheet. You then headed to your room to change into your suit and tapped on your watch, activating a colourful whirlwind portal for you to step into.

Hold onto Albie for me 🥹🤞🏼 he’s a stable man (for now)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @femaholicc @keepitreal001 @risararelywrites @jadeloverxd @cl3stevu

@scaleniusrm @smartyren @homewreckingwreck @indecisive-capricorn @toyfortoji

Lmk if you wanna be tagged for this series (i didn’t know who to tag here so I tagged whoever commented on part 1)

It was so natural for him that the first thing he called for and remembered was *you* rather than his alters or the weight of his doomed life. He looked for you instead of pieces of himself. Instead of the comfort of Steven and Jake.

He squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the faint light coming from the living area, his hand swiped over the mattress, searching for your warm body, and instead finding only cool sheets beneath him. Lifting his head, curls sprawled all across his forehead, curtaining over his eyes, he tried to blink himself back to the awake world.

It was dark outside. Probably late evening.

And yep. You weren’t there in bed with him.

And of course he couldn’t stop himself from pouting and grumpily groaning as his face fell on the blankets, inhaling your scent and letting himself smirk to the faint smell of your mixed essences.

Marc tried to remember how he reached home, nose bent over the crinkles of the blanket. He remembered how tired he was. How much he missed you. How much his bones ached from fighting injustice. And how much he ached from being away from you for a few days.

He sighed to the familiar sound of clicking as he turned his head, inhaling sharply from freeing his nose.

You were sitting there on the couch, furiously tapping on the controller with your thumbs. He fought against the loud groan that came with moving his stiff limbs.

How long had he been sleeping?

He remembered it was around afternoon that he got home while you were struggling with the key to get inside the flat.

Did he give you the chance to say you missed him, or was it only him breathing out the words onto your lips and just picking you up in his arms to crush his mouth on you?

He didn't dwell on it much but simply shrugged his bare shoulders, hands pushing back his curls as his feet carried him to the couch. To you.

A scoff left his lips, his irritation only heightening when you didn't look up at him. He walked towards you with slow sleepy steps, his bare feet padding against the cool floor. When he reached you, he loomed over you, his arms crossed as his eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the screen. "Baby?"

"Good morning." Your sweet voice was quiet and soft like it was actually early in the morning instead of the Khonshu-ing hours of the night.

He fell on the couch with a huff, lifting up your arm to place his head on his favorite pillow, your thighs. You giggled down at his little growl before your face hardened, your attention snapping back to the tv.

"You came to play instead of waking me up." He wasn't scolding or chiding. And of course, you didn't hear the disappointment in his tone, his lips pressed tightly together.

Now that you didn’t have to be careful of not waking him up, completely drowned in your game, you made a disapproving sound between a hard gasp and a huff to the *Defeated* glaring at you in an angry red on the screen.

Despite his weariness of sleeping for so long and waking up late and groggy, Marc chuckled as his head bounced on your thigh while you tapped your foot in agitation.

"How many times?" Marc's voice was husky and deep, nuzzling his cheek to your thigh. The scratch of his stubble rough on your bare thigh that got a giggle and soft wiggle to get away from him. But his strong hand was quick to grip your thigh, stopping you from moving it away from under his head. His fingers digging to the supple flesh of your inner thigh.

"I don't know. It's one of those hard boss fights." You explained, your shoulders slumping, leaning back on the couch as your grip on the controller tightened. You pressed the button to start at the last checkpoint once again.

The warmth and softness of your thigh were lulling him back to sleep as he fought to keep his eyes open as your character got into the fight again. "Who's that?" He mumbled against your skin, the hand draped down the couch rising, pointing at the enemy and landing back on his stomach with a soft smack.

"Your mom!" You said through clenched teeth, trying hard to parry the attacks and dodge in time, oblivious to the way you winced away from his head like the boss attacked you instead of the character.

"Ha, Ha. Very funny." Marc sat up, his eyes sharpening as he held his hand out for the controller.

Your eyes flicked between his open palm and the tv before yielding and giving up the controller, the *Defeated* casting its red glow over both of you.

"Now, watch and learn, sweetheart." He mumbled under his breath, his fingers skillfully maneuvering the controller as he rewound the battle. "Should be easy enough."

As the battle began, Marc's fingers moved with precision and of course, experience, since he was the one introducing you to this game. He quickly dodged the enemy's attacks, countering with quick slashes of his weapon.

He could feel how you observed the way he combined the clicks on the controller, the character moving easier than it did while you were playing, your gaze traveling between his hands and the screen.

His brows furrowed, his lips pursed into a thin line. Marc moved the character with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, taking down the boss with calculated moves. He obviously had memorized this boss fight since it was one of the hardest, and his chest swelled with pride when he took the bastard down.

"MARC! YOU DID IT!" You cheered in a screeching squeal, hopping on the couch and throwing your arms around his neck as he gave a smug smirk to the tv, his arm coming to wrap around your waist. If this was how happy you got upon defeating a fictional bad guy, he couldn't imagine the way you would cheer for him when he sent the real world's bad guys to jail.

"Of course I did it. Don't ever doubt my gaming skills. It’s Steven who can't hold the controller." Marc looked down at you with a teasing gleam in his eyes when you pouted, ready to defend his alter.

"Hey! He is learning well! And he will be better than either of us soon." You removed your arms from his body and crossed them over your chest. The tantalizing sight of your cleavage didn't go unnoticed by him.

He hummed in his throat when your gaze went to the controller in his hand. He was quick to pull it away the moment you lunged at it.

"Nuh-huh." Was the sound coming from deep in his chest when his free hand hooked around your waist again, the controller placed on the coffee table to grip your hand with his.

His gaze darkened as slowly as he leaned in pleadingly for a kiss. As slow as the guide of his hand to place yours over the hot semi-hardness between his thighs.

The needy low moan Marc let out was tempting you to just push him against the couch and climb on him.

"Someone's trying to get a reward or something?" You murmured when you cupped his chin to push his head up, his eyes hungry and hooded, wet lips parted in longing of having yours against his again.

"No. I just missed you." His hands rubbed up and down on your thighs, the soft flesh warming under his palms.

"And where were you?" Your brow went up when he tried to lean in to kiss you, lips turning down grumpily with a huff.

"I had to go check on my uncle's, uh, farm, whatever! Let me–" He grumbled in annoyance when your hand pressed his head back against the couch, an impatient moan heavy in his chest from how deliciously your core was radiating its warmth to his clothed cock, the weight not enough. He needed more. More of your body, more of your kisses and touches. He needed you, he needed to stop thinking.

It wasn't a good time to *think*. To start confessing about the nature of his job. That, he wasn't attending some farm of some uncle that he never had. That actually he was some sort of vigilante hero, saving people. Being an ancient Egyptian god's Avatar. The guilt of not being able to be honest with you settled in his chest in contrast to the fire growing in his groin.

They will come clean. They had decided long before. Steven and Jake were on board with telling you everything on this year's anniversary. Which was so close now. They had everything planned out.

The date night. The exact time and place he will come clean.

Soon you would know everything about them and everything would be better.

Or worse...

What if you decided that you were done?! That you were putting up with them enough, tending to three different men living in one body was insane. And now that you would know they were some kind of vigilante...

Maybe you would leave them...

Maybe that would be the last straw...

"Hey," your soft voice and soft lips on his with a sweet peck brought him back from his thoughts, his hazy gaze clearing when you had picked up on his overthinking. "Jake sent me a text and explained that there were some issues and you would be late. I didn't mind." The drag of your thumbs over his cheek soothed the turmoil in his head. "I missed you too, Marc." His eyes closed to the gentle way your lips smacked over his one, two, three times.

"So you agree I deserve a reward?" His playful words made you giggle, the twinkle in your eyes making the weight lift slowly from his heart.

"Reward for what? I was going to google how to defeat that thing eventually. You just saved me time." You shrugged, lashes prettily fluttering and getting his heart to flutter the same.

"Hm." He hummed, hands starting to glide over your thighs and pulling you snuggly over his lap, fingertips grazing the skin beneath your t-shirt. Not yours. His. "Wasn’t that the same boss you reached when I left home?" He didn't let you protest, the grip of his hands slightly increasing. He knew how stubborn you were to figure out any obstacles in your games because you hated spoilers. "How long have you been trying to get past this level?"

You sighed, pouting at him and leaning your forehead against his. "Okay, fine. Thank you for helping me." You murmured, his brain nearly stopped working from how he was sharing your hot breath. He wanted to kiss you. Devour you. Tear the clothes off your body and have his mouth on every inch of you.

"No. First tell me how long you've tried to defeat him." His voice was a deep husky rumble in his chest.

"Marc!" You giggled at how his breathing had picked up and his heart beat under your hand when you pulled away. "Stop being a brat. You want your reward," Sliding down his body to sit between his legs on the floor, you gazed up at his blown out dark eyes. "Let me reward you then." You cooed up at him, hand brushing against his bulge and massaging his thighs over his sweatpants. Soft fabric and his hotness under your palm had your attention, watching him hardening further into your touch.

Marc's strained groan brought you out of your haze before you could drool just from the gentle twitches of his cock. His shaky hands had cupped your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to the crown of your head as he pushed a cushion under your knees.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his thoughtfulness of your comfort while he barely could remember how to breathe from need.

And it was so sweet how he tried to compose himself, a whiny breath leaving his half open mouth when you nuzzled into his erection, his hips bucking up needily when you pressed his body back to the couch.

"I missed you." You mumbled into the hardness in his sweatpants. Feeling his cock twitch against your nose and cheek, your hands caressed the skin above his hips, that slutty waist of his, where the elastic of the sweatpants felt itchy now that he wanted to get rid of them.

"Please..." Marc bit on his lip, your teasing touches making his head spin and fog with desperation as you mouthed at the dampened fabric where the tip of his cock was smearing precum, the friction maddening and not enough.

You really wanted to giggle at the giddy eagerness of his movements when he lifted his hips. When you finally hooked your fingers under the waistband and pulled down the offending garment. Or when his sigh of relief turned into a strangled moan once you eagerly licked up his length.

"Oh, god..." The noises Marc made when you traced the veiny underside of his cock with your tongue made your thighs squeeze on the sweet ache that was steadily increasing, making you need the girth in your mouth inside of you instead.

The thought of that delicious stretch made you moan around him, his hips thrusting up into your mouth with a desperate sob of your name when you sucked on the tip of his cock.

"Stop..." He breathed out, his thighs trembling under your splayed fingers. "Plea–please..." Marc sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling when you showed mercy.

"What happened?" You cooed up at him, tracing a pattern over his thighs. "Out of practice?" Your hand inched closer to his painfully hard cock again, giggling at how it jumped. "Gonna come this easily?"

He frowned down at your teasing, a cute grumpy pout on his panting lips. "No."

"Hm, you sure?"

Marc's brows furrowed up, his breath hitching and the muscles of his abdomen straining under your wandering fingertips. "Don't." The whimper in his chest died in his throat when his hips bucked up on their own accord when your fingers ran down his happy trail, so close to where your saliva was cooling on his twitching cock.

He was trying his damn best not to just let go of the cushions in his tight grips and fist your hair and pull your mouth back on himself till he came. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to even out his breathing.

Later. Coming in your mouth.

Now, he needed to be inside you. Too feel you flutter and squeeze his cock deeper.

You smiled up at his desperate state, "What do you want?" You purred, moving your hand to his clenched fists over the cushion beside him. His fingers immediately wrapped around yours, his eyes opening with a soft pleading gaze.

You would give everything to him when he was looking at you like that, his brown eyes dark and hooded, cheeks tinted with the heat under his skin.

"Marc," You squeezed his hand gently, your free hand coming to trace his cheekbone, his head immediately tilting into your soft caress. "If you don't want my mouth, tell me what you want."

You knew what he wanted exactly. You wanted it too. Craved and needed it too. You were burning from inside out to have him in any way he'd ask of you.

You watched him gulp, his throat working against his stubbornness. "Ride me." He mumbled into your palm, lips grazing your wrist and around your fingers in a set of soft kisses.

You had half a mind to tease him and ask him to repeat himself louder. But you knew those two words came from a place of desperation.

That was the deal with Marc. He wouldn't ask for anything and everything you gave him made him feel undeserving of it. Which made you usually work on him and edge him till he cried for more and felt better at receiving pleasure.

Now though, it was a different story as you both had missed each other so much to care about playing around. He was at the verge of crying anyway as you stood up from the ground, kicking the cushion under you away after your soaked panties fell on it.

Marc let out a sob, his hands quick to grip your hips to guide you as you straddled his hips. The further you sank on his length, the further his hands grazed up under your shirt, greedily touching, groping and squeezing your breasts.

By the time you bottomed out, you both were a moaning mess, impatient for more.

His lips were on you the instant he yanked his shirt off of your body, crying into your mouth as he lifted your hips and let you sink down. His chest hurt from the heady sparks of pleasure in his body, at the way your hips rose and met his rapidly in a wet slap of skin on skin while he desperately tried to thrust up into you and match your rhythm.

"Yes...just like that..." He let your head tilt back, his arms around your body as he pushed his face between your breasts in a trail of hot kisses down your neck when pleasure was making you arch your back. "Oh god..." He groaned your name into your chest, the vibration going right to your core and making your walls tighten around him, making him sob.

"Shit!" Marc moaned breathily when your fingers gripped his unruly curls and exposed his neck to your mouth and teeth, paralyzing him with how you were grinding and bouncing on him for your own pleasure. By the time your lips found his again, he had forgotten how to kiss you back or how to battle your tongue in his mouth.

He was nearing the edge faster than he had thought and the thought of coming before you was the only thing that held his consciousness together and not letting him slip into the bliss he was so close to tasting.

"Please, baby..." He whimpered hotly into your mouth, one hand leaving your hips to rub at your stiffened clit and making you cry. "Come with me... I– I can't hold on much longer..."

The pressure of his thumb and the motion of it, the stretch of his cock and the deep thrusts of his hips coupled with the desperation in him was enough to topple you over the edge, your screams of pleasure helping him follow after you, coming inside of you.

"Damn." Marc panted into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin with kisses lovingly, his vision clearing slowly and recovering from the blissful black out.

"Damn indeed." You whispered, rubbing his back as you both shivered in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

And after some moments, you felt his lips stop, pouting into your skin.

"Wait," He started, his gaze going around the living room and how the early morning sunlight was seeping into the flat and how your hair and skin shined beautifully above him. "It's morning?!"

"I said good morning to you." You leaned back slightly, watching him with a smile.

"It’s morning? And you woke up early to play?" Your smile faded at his statement, lips agape in shock of what to say. Your brain was too slow to lie just like the slow way of his cock going soft inside of you.

"YOU PLAYED ALL NIGHT?" Marc asked despite knowing the answer from the sheepish smile on your lips, his frown deepening when he held your chin while you giggled.

"Sorry." You murmured with your lips puckered out. It shouldn't have made his heart thud softer, but it does and it makes him sigh in frustration.

"Baby, we talked about this." He cupped your cheeks in his hands. "That you will sleep at night–"

"I know. But today is Saturday." Your hands mirrored his, fingertips caressing his cheekbones.

He raised a dark brow. "Is it?"

"Yep." You smooched the tip of his nose with a giggle.

"Alright then." Marc's arms wrapped around you securely holding you against him and he got up from the couch. "Up we go to bed."

"I don't feel sleepy!" You protested with a playful pout. "Besides, you slept the whole afternoon and night. How can you sleep again!?"

"Who said anything about sleeping?" His smirk said it all. Either you were going to sleep or he would fuck and exhaust you into sleeping.

And neither option sounded bad.

─┉┈˚*･༓ ☾ ༓･*˚┈┉─

TagList: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missdictatorme @pygmi-cygni @lounilu

@reallyrallyauthor @faretheeoscar

All that being said, you decided to go to the London museum, thinking it would be quiet and relaxing. A nice little escape. You didn’t think how overwhelming it would be to be surrounded by history, invading your senses with centuries of stories. Mostly fucked up stories because colonialism. After years of studying magic your mind is like a fortress, but that didn’t stop the artifacts from banging on your mental door. You’re incredibly grateful that you’re able to control your visions now. You do not want to see all this shit first hand.

You manage to stumble into the gift shop, one hand rubbing your temple in an attempt to ward off the coming headache. You sense some kind of power, something looming and ancient. You wonder if it’s from the Egyptian wing you just walked through but this feels more… recent. It’s an odd sensation that isn’t helping your overwhelmed mind at all.

“Are you alright?” A gentle voice acts. Apparently you aren’t doing great at hiding your discomfort. You look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen, framed with dark eye bags. He's absolutely beautiful. Like a sleep deprived male model. Before you can answer you find yourself stumbling, dots swimming in your vision. He quickly leaves the counter to grasp your arm with large, gentle hands.

His touch burns through your designer coat (a parting gift from Tony Stark) but not in a bad way. His energy is unique. Divided but whole. Chaotic but reassuring. “I’m fine, just a dizzy spell.” You mumble, trying not to lean into his body. Would it be manipulative if you pretended to faint so he would catch you? No, you’re better than that. Barely.

“You sure? Maybe you should sit down. I could get you a drink, or a snack.”

You should tell him that you’re fine but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He’s just so genuine. And look at that hair... would it be weird to touch it? You suppress the urge, managing a polite response, “that sounds nice, but I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. I think I just need some fresh air.”

“Don’t worry, my boss is always telling me to be more helpful with customers. Lets get you outside, yeah?”

You grin, lidded eyes flicking to his name tag, “thank you, Steven. That’s very kind of you.”

He flashes the sweetest smile you’ve ever witnessed, making you even more light headed. He keeps his grasp on your arm as he leads you to the exit. You can already feel your mind clearing thanks to the distance between you and the artifacts. Once you’re safely leaning against the wall Steven speaks up, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere."

You can't help but dopily grin as he speed walks away. Within a minute he’s back by your side. He presents you a bag of scarab gummies, “here you are.” He pauses for a moment before adding, "I don’t know why we sell these, they weren’t eating stuff like that in Ancient Egypt, were they?

“Thank you.” You smile, finding his rambling adorable. You try not to react when you take the candy from him and his calloused fingers brush your own. “I’m also realizing I never introduced myself, I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. That’s a pretty name.”

Before you can stop yourself you mutter under your breath, “you’re prettier.” You watch in horror as he tenses up, ears burning red. “I-I think you’re pretty too. Beautiful, more like it,” he fumbles. Suddenly the gummies are out of your hand. You look down to see them floating above your palms, surrounded by a F/C glow. You quickly snatch them from mid air. Luckily Steven is too busy staring at his shoes in embarrassment to notice.

You clear your throat nervously, catching his attention. “So, do you like working here?” Really? That’s the best you could come up with. You mentally facepalm as he nods like a rather adorable bobblehead. “Oh yeah, I love history. It would be nice to be a tour guide though. Maybe one day, right?”

You hum in response, shoving some sweets in your mouth before you can ask any other dumb questions. “Do you, um, like your job?” He asks politely.

You pause. So he really doesn’t recgonize you. Not that you consider yourself famous but ever since you joined the Avengers on a few missions you found yourself thrust in the public eye. You meet a lot of fans but people also tend to be… wary of you. Apparently being one of the most powerful magic users on Earth makes them uneasy.

“I work… in security.” That’s technically not a lie. “It can be stressful but I get to travel a lot so that’s fun.”

“Have you ever been to Egypt?”

The childlike excitement in his voice is absolutely adorable. “A few times, yeah. What about you?”

“No, I wish. I’d love to go someday.” He sighs wistfully. “Enough about me though, are you feeling any better.”

His concern makes your heart flutter. “Much.” You grin, shuffling your bag on your shoulder to look for your wallet. “How much were the gummies?”

“They were only a few pounds, don’t worry about it.”

Thoughtful, gorgeous, and polite? You’re convinced Steven was written by a woman. You bite your lip in a way you hope looks flirty. “Well I need to pay you back somehow. What about lunch?”

He freezes, looking at you incredulously. “Are you… asking me out?” Any confidence you had starts to shatter. “I’m trying,” you mumble embarrassed. He shakes his head vehmently, “no, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just surprised! I mean, you’re so beautiful!”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt. “I think you’re beautiful too, Steven.”

His tan cheeks flame. “Thank you.”

“Can I have your number?”

He nods enthusiastically. You pull out your phone and type in his digits as he tells them to you. “I left my phone in the gift shop but I’ll text you as soon I get inside,” he promises, rocking on the balls of his feet. You grin as you send him a message.

“Stevie!”

A loud, feminine voice makes you both flinch. An aggravated woman pokes her head out the door, popping her chewing gum far too loudly for your liking. “What are you doing out- wait. Are you Y/N L/N?”

Steven looks at you in confusion as you nod with a charming smile. You can tell that she’s Steven’s superior and decide to help him out. “I am. What’s your name, hon?”

“Donna! I’m a big fan. It was so mental when you closed that portal to hell in New Jersey!”

Steven’s eyes become impossibly wider. “Yeah, that was a difficult one.” You reminisce fondly. “Would you like a picture?”

She nods excitedly, pulling out her phone. You take a selfie, trying not to chuckle at her excited gasp when you sling an arm around here. You try to ignore Steven’s bewildered gaze. Hopefully what you’re about to do will make up for your little fib.

“You know Steven here has been very helpful,” you muse after she clicks the photo. She looks at you surprised. You can already tell she doesn’t particularly like the man (which is quite bewildering to you, how is it possible to dislike Steven?)

"Really?”

You nod with an affirmative hum. “I bet he’s your best tour guide, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he actually works in the giftshop.”

You feign shock. “Really? I was hoping he could give me a private tour sometime,” you pout sadly. Donna hurries to comfort you, “oh, he can do that! I’ve been meaning to promote him anways!”

“That’s great!” You grin, turning your attention back to a very confused brunet. “I’ve gotta go but I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, Steven,” you purr, lightly squeezing his (suprisingly muscular) bicep. He nods dumbly watching you walk down the steps.

“Oi, what were you doing with a bloody superhero?” Donna asks him incredulously, the jealousy clear in her voice.

“Planning a date.” He breathes out softly, still wondering if the interaction was just a dream.

____

It’s the day of your date and Steven is ecsatic. Marc and Jake are not. They agree you’re beautiful but are very against the idea of going out with an Avenger, saying it will get in the way of their ‘business’ with Khonshu. But Steven is tired of letting that bloody pigeon influence his life so he ignores all of them, puts on his favorite jumper, and goes to the closest florist shop.

And that’s how he finds himself standing infront of you with a boquet of sunflowers.“These are just beautiful!” You gush, pressing a kiss againt his cheek as you take them. He flushes adorably. You do a quick scan around the park to make sure no one is looking before conjuring a vase with water. Did you do it just to show off? Yes. Yes you did.

You place the flowers in the middle of the picnic blanket. “Now we have a centerpiece,” you hum happily, grabbing the wicker basket you brought. He sits across from you, watching in awe as you pull a variety of noodles, dumplings, rice, and tofu dishes out. Like clowns coming out of a little car.

“Try this,” you offer, handing him one of the containers. “And don’t worry, it’s all vegan.”

He opens it to reveal ball shaped food he recognizes as dim sum. He uses the provided chopsticks to pop one into his mouth, moaning at the combination of steamed vegetables and rich seasoning.

“This is amazing!” You grin in response, working on your own fruit and tofu skewer. “That’s because it’s the real deal. I went on a little trip to Hong Kong this morning.”

He pauses mid bite, resembling a confused chipmunk. You snicker. “I can teleport, remember?” You point at his empty cup, feeling it with juice. “Maybe on our next date I can take you to Egypt?”

He inhales the dimsum in shock, choking loudly. You use your powers to pull the food out of Steven’s throat, looking at him in concern. He quickly swallows the drink you made him.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, aces. Just got a bit too excited.”

“You’re adorable, Steven.”

As the date goes on you open up to each other. He tells you about his DID, which you could somewhat sense already. His mind felt different but you couldn’t put a finger on it. You tell him about how you struggled to control your powers and accept yourself. You used to feel like a weapon but you learnt that weapons aren’t always a bad thing, they can be used to protect others. Instead of a nuclear bomb you started seeing yourself as a shield.

For once Steven doesn’t feel like an outsider. He wants to tell you about Moon Knight. He knows you won’t judge him. Just as he begans to build up the courage a booming, gravelly voice rattles in his head.

“Don’t tell them anything, worm!”

You both flinch. A shiver runs through you as your hair stands on end. All your instincts are telling you to get ready for a fight. That sense of ancient power you felt in the museum is back tenfold. “Did you hear that?” You ask Steven.

He looks at you in complete shock. “What?”

“Can the witch hear me?”

“Okay, where is that Darth Vader voice coming from?” You groan, eyes glowing F/C. Your powers mean you’re always aware of your surroundings, you don’t like this sudden uncertainty. Especially not when Steven is at risk.

Suddenly a large mummified being with a bird skull appears behind your date. Because this is what your life has come to apparently. “Can you see me, witch?” Without saying anything you use your abilities to send a roll flying, hitting him square in the beak. He flinches back in surprise. Steven watches on, not knowing if he should laugh or shake in fear. Maybe both.

“Does that answer your question?” You ask sassily. “You’re some kind of deity right? I’m getting Egyptian vibes,” you muse outloud. Despite having no real facial features he manages to look unimpressed. “I thought you had magic, yet you can’t figure out who I am, little one?"

You squint at him for a moment, reaching out your consciousness. “Khonshu? I think I’ll call you cashew.”

“You will not!” He bellows. Poor Steven flinches at the volume but you just purse your lips. “It’s not fun being called stupid nicknames, is it?”

He pauses, tilting his skeletal head at you. “Excuse me?”

“You called Steven a worm. That was very rude,” you huff protectively. “You should really treat your avatar better.”

“You know about avatars?”

“Magic, babe,” you remind, wiggling your fingers as sparks dance between them. “I want to be in Steven's life, and his alter’s if they’ll have me. We’ll be spending time together so we might as well get along, don’t you agree?”

The god nods reluctantly. “I suppose.”

“Good,” you beam up at him. “But if you ever disrespect Steven again we will have words,” you promise in a sickly sweet voice.

Steven looks at you in absolute awe. ‘I changed my mind. I like them,’ Marc speaks in his head. ‘That was fucking hot,’ Jake adds on helpfully. For once the system agrees on something.

____

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if ur name is highlighted i couldn't tag u :(

You had cursed yourself Sunday night on the bus ride home, going over countless possibilities of how you could have done things differently. On Monday morning all you could think of was Steven’s kind smile and why you didn’t ask for his number. Even if he had said no, at least that would be something. A full stop to the whole thing, you could draw a line under it. Get on with your life. 

You hadn’t even spoken to your flatmates or your friends about it. Flitting between embarrassment of how you had just rushed off onto the bus and the mortification of your crush. You were an adult for god’s sake, it was completely fine to fancy someone – but you had still blushed and hidden the flowers Steven had given you in your room, away from your flatmate’s prying eyes. (After putting them in the nicest vase you had.)

By Tuesday you had a plan, a very poor plan. 

Steven had told you he worked in the gift shop at the museum. Just go, just say hi. Be casual. Normal. (Things you were unfortunately incapable of doing it seemed.)

On Wednesday, one of your days off, you had woken earlier than you normally got up for work. Showered and spent a little longer than you would want to admit choosing an outfit that was nice but casual. Flattering, but didn’t look like you were trying too hard. Oh god. You held your head in your hands. 

As you shuffled out of your room, finally happy (ish) with how you looked, Michael, one of your flatmates, was sitting eating cereal at the kitchen table. He was, without a doubt, one of your closest friends. 

“You look nice.”

You gave him a weak smile back. 

He frowned. “Thought you didn’t have work today?” 

“I don’t, just, just heading out.” 

His eyes narrowed even more. “We-”

“No Jason today?” You quickly changed the subject looking around for Michael’s boyfriend. 

“Late shift, he’s still asleep.” 

“Oh, okay, well,” you pulled on your shoes as quickly as you physically could. “That’s nice. See you later!” And practically threw yourself out of the door before he could get another word in edgeways. 

As you travelled into central, all you could think of was how stupid this was. 

You stopped and bought a couple of vegan crosstown doughnuts on your way. You would just see if he was there, say hi. Give him the doughnuts, say it was a little thank you for him paying. Ask him out again. Easy. Simple. Just casual. You could do that. Definitely. One hundred percent. 

You walked further into the museum, trying to keep an eye out for the gift shop. What if he wasn’t working today? This was so stupid. If-

You spotted the gift shop and your heart sank into the ground and crushed under the weight of your feet. There was a blonde woman behind the till. No sign of Steven anywhere. Your shoulders slumped. 

Fate had decided. You let out a deep breath and turned to walk back out the way you had come and smashed right into someone. 

“Oh fuck! I’m sorry!” You grabbed hold of their forearms to steady them.

Luckily they didn’t drop the pile of boxes they were holding. 

“Woops, no, my fault.”

That voice. 

Your heart sprang up from the floor and slammed back into your chest. 

“Steven?” 

He lowered the boxes, poking his head around the side. His whole face lit up when he saw you. 

“Hello, hi, what are you, what are you doing here?”

“Obviously trying to make you drop things.”

He laughed, his smile blinding.

“I, erm, here,” you thrust the doughnuts at him, completely forgetting every suave line you had rehearsed in your head. He stared at your hands for a second before you realised he obviously couldn’t take them with his hands full. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “No, fuck. I-” 

“It’s so good to see you!” He took a small step closer.

“It is?” Relief flooded your veins, the sudden rebound from absolute mortification to a slight ease made you lightheaded.

“Of course.” 

You stared for a second too long at his large brown eyes, your chest warm. 

“I, I got you some doughnuts, vegan,” you quickly added and raised the bag. “Just as, erm, like a small thank you.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” His voice was so soft as he readjusted his hold on the boxes so that he could see you better. He lent his head to the side, a small hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

It was your turn to talk, “I…” The realisation that you had got lost just looking at him, again, smacked you hard in the face. “No, I just, I didn’t say thank you really, and I just rushed off and…” You shrugged. 

Steven opened his mouth to speak.

“Stevie! Those boxes!” Blonde woman behind the gift shop counter motioned exaggeratedly with her hands, though she did not move to help. 

Realisation clicked into your mind as you turned back to Steven and whispered. “Oh no, is this the famous Donna.” 

“The very same.” He said, completely deadpan.

You pull a face and Steven laughs before giving Donna a thumbs up and a fakest nod and smile you had ever seen. 

“I don’t know how busy you are, obviously I don’t want to get in the way of any plans, but, I have a break at one.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I know that’s a bit of a way away-”

“I can meet you here?” You said a little too quickly. 

Steven grinned. “Yeah.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you here,” you said again and pointed to the ground as you both move around and walk backwards. “One.”

“One.” Steven nearly trips over someone behind him but sidesteps quickly. He mutters a polite sorry before you both look back at each other and share a little laugh.

“See you later!” 

Steven gave you the best wave he could, a wiggle of his fingers, without letting go of the boxes.  

“Stevie!”

Steven rolled his eyes and you grinned back at him. 

“Coming!” He turns and looks back at you over his shoulder.

You can feel the most ridiculous, dopy lovesick smile that you’ve ever had plastered over your face. And you can do absolutely nothing about it.  

.

You realised pretty quickly that you could just walk around the museum while you were waiting for the time to tick slowly onwards, but it just seemed impolite somehow to hover around Steven’s place of work, despite the fact that the museum was massive.

It wasn’t like you standing a few metres away from him and just staring.

Nevertheless, you found yourself walking out and wandering around some shops until around 12, looking at the time on your phone every thirty seconds. You had to stop when your battery got to fifty percent, worried you would run it down to nothing. 

At just after 12 you sat on the museum steps and read, pulling out your slightly battered paperback from your bag. 

Not that you took anything in. You had to keep restarting the page. The words started to get lost in your head about two paragraphs in. You bit at your thumbnail as you read the same words for the umpteenth time and bounced your leg up and down. 

Nerves twisted in your stomach, a giddy thrill. The only comparable sensation was to performing on stage in a long ago school play, the fear you would make an absolute fool of yourself combined with a rush of excitement. 

You checked your phone again, 12:34. Okay, that was definitely too early to go in. Far too early. Quarter to, you could go in at quarter to. 

Your bouncing leg was making it even more impossible to keep your place in your book, the words jumped in time with your leg. You could easily fix this by not resting your forearm on your leg. 

But moving your arm would mean moving your hand, and moving your hand would mean that you could move your hand, and knowing you could move your hand meant you could move your hand to check your phone for the time again, and doing that-

“Hello!”

You turned around so quickly it was a miracle that you didn’t give yourself whiplash. 

Steven gave you a nervous smile, holding onto his bag strap with both hands. “Got out a bit early, hope that’s alright, I thought, I mean, I saw you headed out earlier... So I just, well, you know, thought I would check and see if you were out here. Sorry, I’m speaking too much, aren’t I? Yes.” 

He ran a hand through his hair as you quickly climbed to your feet, shoving your book in your bag.

“No, no,” you grin at him. 

There was a moment where both of you just stared at each other, forgetting how to speak. 

“Are you hungry?” Steven asks.

You nod.

.

Steven leads you to a little vegan burrito restaurant near the museum. 

“It’s really nice there.” He seemed excited to show it to you, his enthusiasm infectious. 

The shop was small, with just two tables outside and one inside. The queue wasn’t too long, but because of the size of the place it’s trailing outside. However it’s moving quickly.

You both chat easily as you wait. The built up nerves in your chest morphing into just the giddy thrill of being around him. 

You scan the menu board as you enter.

“I’ll get you one.” Steven said off handily. 

“Steven, I should be getting you one, I owe you from Sunday.”

“Nah,” he smiles and shakes his head.

“Listen,” you laugh and can’t help the rush of fondness for him that briefly clouds your mind, “I don’t mean to get all in your face, but I will physically fight you on this.” You nudge him with your shoulder as you speak.

Steven chuckles. “Okay.” 

He recommends ‘The Ultimate Burrito’. You let Steven go first in the line.

The people there recognise him, calling him by name and asking after Gus, and if ‘Donna has got that stick out of her arse yet’. 

When the cashier hands over his food and asks for payment, Steven quickly adds, “hers as well.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Steven taps his card and gives you a beaming smile before you can say anything.

He hands you your brown paper bag. 

“Steven,” you begin. 

“You can get the next one.”

You tut, but there’s no malice in it. “You said that last time.”

“And now there’s a this time, yeah? See, it worked.” 

You nudge him in the arm again as you both walk out. “You know you don’t have to pay for my food for there to be a next time, right?”

He nods, he’s smiling, but there’s something about his expression, something in his eyes that don’t leave you convinced.

“Well, that’s two times I owe you. So I guess you’re going to have to put up with me at least twice after today.”

His shoulders seem to relax a little.

You walk to Russell Square to sit and eat. The burrito is excellent. You give Steven the doughnuts, he promptly offers one to you and refuses to accept no for an answer. 

“And that’s where I hid the override key.” Steven ends his story with a grin.

You laugh loudly, “Donna still hasn’t found it?” 

“Nope.”

“Oh my god!”

“Yep, every time she needs to do a till check or cash up she has to ask me for my key. I make a big deal out of it, you know.”

You continue to laugh, imagining the gentle disruption Steven has caused his manager. 

He leans a little closer to you, all conspiratorial. “I tell her I keep it in my locker, for ‘safety’, it’s in my pocket the whole time.”

“Does she get annoyed?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins, “‘Stevie, you need to keep it on you!’”

You lose it at his impression. 

“‘Stevie, I need the key!’” He switches his tone when relaying his side of the conversation, putting on an extra layer of sincerity and bewilderment. “‘But, Donna, I’m just a shop assistant, only the managers have to keep their override key on them? That’s what it says in the guidelines isn’t it? Where’s your key?’ Then,” he motions animatedly with his hands. “She’ll huff and mutter and wander off and then ask for it again after five minutes. Usually slightly more politely, which, let me tell you, is a big deal for Donna.”

“Has she said anything about her key?”

“Nope.”

You leant forward, shifting closer to him without realising it. “So she hasn’t even admitted she can’t find it?” 

“Not at all.”

You laugh again.

“I mean, I thought she’d ask. Actually no, telling tales, I thought she would actually look in the back office for it. It’s literally on her desk, right under her nose! But, no. So then, I thought she’s gonna say, ‘Stevie, have you seen my key?’ in which case I could go, ‘oh yeah Donna, it’s right here.’” He shrugged, grinning. “Can’t ask for help apparently.” 

You threw your head back as you giggled, your knee brushed against his thigh, and for a moment the brief touch sent an electric shock up your spine. 

“I know it’s mean.” He said, chuckling a little. 

“She deserves it.”

“I’m sort of Matilda-ing my way around.”

Your eyes lit up, “you are! Does she wear a hat?”

He shook his head, confused for a second. 

“Shame, you could glue it to her head.”

Steven broke out laughing, remembering the scene from the book where Matilda does exactly that to her father.

He pauses before speaking again, his voice a little quieter this time, a little less sure of himself. “I’m really glad you came by, like really, really glad.”

You bite your lips together, trying to control the rapid and sudden increase in your heartbeat. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I was feeling like a right numpty, I practically threw you on the bus.” 

You shake your head at him, but don’t interrupt. 

He looked down at his hands, worrying the skin around his fingernails. “Didn’t even say goodnight properly.”

Your brain short circuits at his words. Blanking out to nothingness for a moment, error screen – restart. What did he mean? What did saying goodnight properly mean? 

You stare at his lips, taking in the chance to truly look at him now that he wasn’t looking at you. Thoughts of how soft they would be, how sweet, filling your mind. What sounds would he make? Would he sigh or moan? Would there be a little hitch of his breath just before you-

“I was worrying, you know, is this boarding on stalker behaviour?” He smiled to cover his nerves and glanced back to you. 

“Steven,” you shook your head and lightly placed your hand on his forearm. “I was literally thinking the same thing. With me being the stalker, I mean.”

“What?” There is a small laugh that accompanies the word.

“Literally, I was thinking, is it crazy just to turn up at your place of work, and be like ‘hi’.”  You waved your hand with the motion, pulling a face and missing the small look of lament that flashed across his face when your hand left his arm. 

“Well, I’m so glad you did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You both stare at each other again, there’s a build of pressure in your chest. Maybe you could-

“How was your burrito?” Steven asks, speaking a little too quickly. 

You smile. “Very good.”

You both continue to talk and finish off the doughnuts. It only seems like you have been there for a few minutes when Steven’s phone buzzes, the faint sound of his alarm going off. 

You don’t miss the way his face drops when he sees the time. 

“How long’s your break?”

He quickly looks up, shaking his head slightly. “No, I’m- don’t worry!”

“Steven?” You give him a kind smile, even though you would quite happily let him stay here with you for the rest of the day.

He pulls a face. “I’m a bit late actually.”

“I should let you go…” Even to your own ears you don’t sound convincing. 

“Nah,” he shrugs, “I’m always late, it’d be a bit out of the old character if I went back now. Donna would die of shock I’m sure.”

You chuckle. “Is that a bad thing?”

Steven laughs. “Well, knowing my luck her replacement would be even worse.”

Another pause falls between the two of you.

“It was really nice to see you again.” You blurt out.

He sits up a little straighter, turning his body even more towards you. “You too.”

“I’d like to, I mean,” your tongue is too big in your mouth, too slow for the words that want to pour out of it, “if you want, to see you again-again?”

“Again-again?” He raises his eyebrows playfully.

“Again-again.” You grin.

“Yeah, no, I’d really like that too.”

You nod, quickly becoming a little lost in his eyes before you remember to get his number this time.

“Erm, here,” you unlock and pass him your phone. 

Steven takes your phone while still holding his own. His warm fingers brush against yours and you lean into the touch for a second longer than completely necessary.

He quickly puts his name and number in, and to your absolute endearment he also adds his last name. 

You send him a quick message: ‘hi’.

There is a buzz of vibration as his goes off. He sends one back ‘hi!’ 

You both grin at each other. 

Slowly, you walk back to the museum entrance, both of you dragging your feet a little. 

Naturally you come to a stop just outside and out of the way of the people coming and going. 

Steven shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Maybe next time we can go somewhere that serves something other than steak?” 

“Sure,” you nod, “sounds good.”

There’s another pause. But this one is painful. Even in this short time it’s like you both had become attached to each other, that pulling apart now would only cause wounds in the places you had touched.

“I should,” Steven motions with his hand behind him to the museum, he doesn’t move to go, his eyes fully fixed on you.

Your heart is racing, burning up and exploding like a comet too close to the sun.

The adrenaline makes nausea burn in your throat. Oh fuck it. 

“Can I kiss you?” You blurt it out, so rushed it’s a miracle that the words are coherent. 

Steven’s mouth opens slightly, a blank look of confusion on his face.

You were wrong, you were wrong, oh god, you were so wrong, this was absolutely the worst thing you could have done, the most terrible-

He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement. His voice is barely a whisper. “Yes please.”

You don’t remember moving closer to him, don’t remember your hand gliding around the nape of his neck to guide his lips to yours. Your body moving on autopilot. 

You don’t care that you’re in public. For once you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought of you, your mind so caught up with just him. 

His lips are softer than you imagined, warm and lush. His nose bumps against your cheeks before you tilt your head more to the side and then it’s perfect. 

You kiss him once, twice, innocent and chaste. You feel his throat bob again under your hand, your nails just scraping over his skin as you sink your fingers into his hair. 

He whimpers, a small, delicious sound that buzzes along your lips. You never want it to stop.

Instinctively you step even closer, gripping at his shoulder with your other hand as his press against your lower back, guiding you towards him until your chests are flush against each other. 

The tiny moan that escapes him at the contact makes your head spin. Giddy with how responsive he is, you can’t help yourself as his lips part. You slide your tongue into his mouth and Steven groans. 

His grip tightens as he sucks on your tongue, strokes it with his own. 

There’s a quickly growing fire in your belly as Steven’s shy kisses quickly become bolder, demanding. 

Your head feel light, intoxicated almost, part of you would happily push him down and fuck him against the museum steps.

He kisses you back with a fevered vigour that-

Steven’s phone buzzes. You pause, but he doesn’t, using the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan and he growls, low and vibrating in his chest. You can’t help the way your breath catches at the sound, heat pooling in your lower stomach. 

You wrap your arm more fully around his neck and-

Steven’s phone buzzes again, this time a sharp ringing accompanies it. He continues to kiss you for a moment before groaning.

You pull away slightly and press your forehead against his. His eyes are closed, a small look of annoyance pinching at his features as the phone rings. 

You kiss him again, quickly, once, twice. He smiles.

Still keeping you close he looks at his phone, even though he knows whose ringtone it is. 

You see Donna’s name flash along the screen. 

“Oh fuck, I actually am really late now.” Steven says, but he’s smiling. “Worth it though.” 

You chuckle, and push him playfully in the arm. 

He lets the phone ring, putting it back in his pocket, and kisses you again. Once, twice. His tongue traces your bottom lip but he manages to pull himself away before he gets too caught up again.

Reluctantly, you both untangle yourselves from each other. 

The bottom of Steven’s hair is a mess from where you had pulled it. His lips are red, eyes dark and he is smiling so widely. 

You say your goodbyes and Steven walks up two steps before turning back and kissing you again, ‘for the road.’

You manage to keep it together, until he is out of sight. And then you can’t help the small squeal of excitement that escapes you before heading back home. 

Maybe it wasn’t that Marc didn’t welcome comfort. 

He craved it, wanted it, longed for it. 

And he should not long for it, want it, crave it. 

He’d told you as much, over and over, the weight of your gentle hands against his skin like burning embers. 

He wanted it. He so badly wanted to sink into that flame, but he was worried it would burn him alive, melt him down into something unrecognizable. 

It was only when something went particularly badly that he allowed some comfort. 

He loves you, this you know. 

You see it in the heaviness of his stare, in the intensity of his worry, in the way he hugged you, held your hand, worried after you like you had not survived for years on your own. 

But if you ever dared to hold his hand, hug him, drag your fingers down the length of his spine, it was too much for him. These were things he could offer you, but that you should not give him in return. These were not things he deserved, these were things better reserved to his alter, who was deserving of everything he was not. 

Marc is intense.

He’s hard and wild and something close to broken some days, when reality drifts in and out of focus, when the world is best left in the hands of Steven.

There’s always a beating heart of anxiety behind everything he does, that this time he will not be enough, that this time he will not be fast enough, that this time the universe would get the last laugh again.

So when Marc fucks you, he is intense, he is like the weight of the all consuming world poured out. Salt water in wounds. 

You don’t mind. 

The times he’s gentle with you, you get the sense that he’s mourning, like the act is grief, something lost that he’s stealing back from the gods. Something that is temporary and definitely not for him. 

This night, he had come to you like the storm he bred inside him, the hatred of self and fear of a future he could not control, of a tentative reality of things only he could see. 

Marc was rough with you.

His fingers in your mouth, his hand hard against your cunt, against your ass. He had buried himself inside you, set a punishing pace. When his mouth was on yours, his kiss had been more like an effort to consume you. When his hand wrapped around your throat, his eyes had snapped to the mirror, and you had known Steven had been cautioning him, that you were in fact breakable, no matter what you said, that he should be careful of you. 

But you’d covered his hand with your own and tightened his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in whatever bit of himself he would give you. 

~

A last stuttering breath passes your lips, eyes screwed closed, pleasure lighting up the insides of your veins, molten, like a river of fire that never ends. 

You clutch the sheets beneath your fingers and turn your face into a pillow as the last waves of your orgasam shutter through you. You bite off the moan that bubbles to the back of your throat when you feel Marc shift inside you, so full it's almost painful. 

Your thighs tremble, the insistent pressure of Marc’s hand against the back of your neck keeping you in place. His other hand kneads the flesh of your hip, and you know a bruise has already formed there. 

Marc pulls back, and thrusts into you one last time, a pleasant satisfied ache beginning between your legs. 

The firm fingers at your waist finally let you drop your hips to the mattress. 

You feel weightless and warm, content, like you’re floating through a cloud. Marc presses a kiss to the space between your shoulder blades, before the heavy bulk of his body surrounds yours. 

Disappointment darts through you in a brief little flash, because this is Marc’s parting gift to you always. 

The kiss between your shoulders, the all consuming fire of the warmth of him against you, before he hands the reigns to Steven. 

Marc never stays with you, after. The kiss against your spine is all you get from him. Whether because he can’t be bothered with taking care of you or because he feels he doesn’t deserve to, you aren’t sure. 

Steven is always there though, to kiss you back to life, to smile at you, make love to you so slowly and sweetly it was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.  

His fingers slide up your arms, massaging as he goes, until he reaches your clenched hands, gently uncurling them from the fabric of the sheets until he can twist his fingers with yours. 

You feel him squeeze carefully, his nose dipping to the crook of your neck. 

A stillness falls over you both, silence, peace, creating a warm little bubble. 

You don’t mind his weight against you, it settles the frantic beating of your heart, drenches you in warmth. 

Normally, Steven would say something to you when he fronted, a kiss against your cheek and a softly spoken hello, love. 

Today, he’s silent, arms tight and grounding around you. 

But it's Steven, you know it must be. 

Because Marc never stays. 

You turn your head, nuzzling your nose against his arm, feeling his damp skin against your cheek. You want to open your eyes, reach up and touch the little black curl of hair you know must be stuck to his forehead at that moment. 

You’re content to stay like that with him, content to feel the gentle drift of his nose along the curve of your jaw. So you keep your eyes closed and let your mushy, sex-addled brain drift, as lips press along your jaw, behind the curve of your ear. 

And you’re happy to stay in the gentle warmth being offered to you, the glow of being loved so well.

But then, he does something inexplicable. 

Steven pulls away from you. 

He gets up. 

And he leaves. 

An empty feeling that you don’t like crawls up from the pit of your belly. A feeling that’s suspiciously like abandonment, that you know is not grounded in reality. 

Steven never left the bed, not without saying something to you first, not before checking in with you to ask what you needed or wanted. Especially not when Marc had been so rough with you. 

It was a routine that was being broken, a sacred step you didn’t know needed spoken out loud. 

You swallow thickly, peeling your eyes open. 

You don’t like the dirty, used feeling that’s overwhelming you, like you did not matter. 

Pushing yourself up is a monumental task, the ache of your bones like the grinding of cinder blocks against your flesh. You glance over your shoulder at the door. 

Then there’s a clatter from the bathroom and the door swings open, Steven emerging in only a pair of briefs. He still doesn’t say anything as he approaches and encourages you with gentle hands to roll over, the brief warmth of a washcloth between your legs. 

Which is odd. 

Because Steven would normally lie with you and talk with you, until you were coherent again, until you were secure enough for him to move away without feeling the sting of abandonment. 

Steven also talked almost non-stop to you, never without something to say. 

Normally,  you would throw on a shirt and play cards in bed, watch something on your laptop. Sometimes, Steven would just hold you and talk. Sometimes, he would make love to you again. 

But none of that happened until you were ready. 

Steven still doesn’t speak to you as he climbs back into bed, handing you Marc’s discarded shirt, which he gingerly helps you sit up and slip on.  

Steven’s head twitches toward the mirror, and you watch him watch his reflection for a moment. You frown, wondering what Marc could be saying to him. Marc, who always and without fail disappeared and walled himself off from both of you. 

And then it dawns on you. 

In your post-orgasm haze, and without the sound of his voice, you hadn’t noticed the signs that this was very clearly Marc still fronting, not Steven. 

Marc never stayed with you, never. 

Your throat is tight when he doesn’t say anything, his head is still swiveled toward the mirror, brows drawing tighter together with each passing minute. 

“Hey,” you clear your throat, “c’mere.” 

You snuggle down and hold out your arms. 

You half expect him to huff out an exasperated breath and lay back but avoid your touch. 

But he doesn’t. 

He curls into your arms, nudging his nose into the hollow at the base of your throat. He cradles you close, inhaling gently. 

But to your utter surprise, he lets you smooth your hands over his shoulders, through his unruly curls. The motion of it soothes you, comforts you. 

You glance toward the mirror and wish that you could see Steven there too, so you could ask what was going on in Marc’s head, why he was pretending to be Steven. 

“You okay?” You say as he lets you run a hand down his face, over the ridge of scar above his brow. 

It takes Marc a long time to respond, buried in your skin as he is, breathing you in, tracing rough hands along your hips and over your thighs, massaging where he knows you must be sore. 

You kiss the top of his head, blearily giving him all the love he was usually too prickly to receive.

He nods against you, so you slip hands down his back, over his hair. You aren’t sure why he’s pretending, but you find you don’t mind. It’s the kind of love you always want to shower Marc with but that he rarely allows. 

You want to ask him why, why he didn’t let Steven front. But you worry he might think you’re asking to see Steven, that you don’t want him there with you. 

Emotionally, Marc was a fortress, impenetrable and soldily quiet. Things simmered down in his gut, pushed away and down down down, until they overwhelmed him, until they burst to the surface in a violent torrent. 

Most often, it was when someone he loved was in danger, when the past became something he could no longer stare down, when the things he avoided were impossible to ignore.

And you’re terribly afraid that if you say anything now, he’ll clam up, shut down, pull away from you, leave the flat and take your heart with him. 

Gently, you slide down, until you’re eyelevel with him, one hand against his neck, thumb tracing the line of his jaw carefully. 

You feel Marc’s hands go to the small of your back, big hands gingerly tugging you closer, until your nose is touching his, until you share the same air. 

And you can hardly believe that the man who had smacked your pussy, held you down and fucked you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, whispered filthy things in your ear that you can hardly remember, that your brain fuzzes out when you think about too much - is now holding you so gently you may as well be made of delicate glass, is now allowing you to stroke your hands through his hair, pet his broad shoulders. His eyes are closed, trust you didn’t think Marc possessed pouring over you in waves. 

You know why. 

You know why he’s doing this. 

Marc would rather accept love in the guise of his alter than ever believe he was worthy of it himself. 

You think about the hatred that lives inside Marc, about the self-hatred that loomed always at the back of his mind. The hatred that ran so deep, that he felt so potently, that even his alter had thought the worst of him at first. 

Killer, mercenary, cold-blooded. 

Things that Marc accepted into the folds of who he was without question. 

Marc never let you hold him like this, and so you do so for as long as you can bear, tilting your chin into his so you can kiss him softly, feeling the slow drift of his hands down your sides to the curve of your ass, over the bruised skin of your hips and thighs. He hooks his fingers behind your knee and tugs your leg over his hip. 

You finger a curl at the back of his neck, the glow of brown skin molten in the low light of the flat. 

You swallow and hope that you don’t drive him away, but you can’t stand it any longer - his thinking that this is softness you would only grace Steven with. 

“Marc,” you whisper. “I know it's you.” 

Even the way they hold you is different. Of course, you can always tell. You did not need their voices to tell you who was fronting. 

Marc’s eyes flash open and you’re surprised to see fear there. 

You hold fast to him, though he doesn’t try to pull away. You raise a questioning brow and resume your gentle ministrations, trying to show him without words that you did not treat him carefully because you thought he was Steven. 

“How’d you know?”

You shake your head and press your thumb against the center of his chin, “I can always tell. It’s not something you can really hide.”

He tries to tug his face away from your hand but you don’t let him, stubbornly making him look into your eyes. 

“Baby,” you say, “You know that you are just as deserving-,”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t do that.”

“But you are, Marc. I always want to do this but you always leave me,” you stoke a hand through his hair. “I know Steven has talked to you about it, too. Told you that you don’t have to go.”

Marc is stiff against you and you consider for a moment letting him go. 

But you don’t. 

You hold on, and murmur, “It’s okay to want this. It’s okay.” You keep feathering your hand through his hair, your touch as gentle as you can make it. “I love you, you know.” You touch the gold chain around his neck and finally glance away from his eyes, staring at the hollow of his throat instead as you say, “You don’t always have to have your walls up. I’m not - I won’t -,” you stop and consider your next words. “I love you exactly as you are.” 

There’s a long moment of silence after that, one in which your heart beats painfully fast and you wait for Marc to push you away. 

But it doesn’t come, his body slowly relaxes against yours again, your fingers continuing their careful press against his skin. 

His head tips toward the mirror on the wall, and he nods after a few long minutes, carefully plucking up one of your hands, to kiss each of your fingers, the flat of your palm, and then to curl them closed again, hold your hand against his chest. 

You can feel the steady thrum of his heart, and Marc doesn’t look at you when he says. “I want it too.” 

You wait a moment but he doesn’t say more. 

“I’m happy to give it to you, Marc.” 

“You - you give too much as it is.” He pauses for a long moment, before pushing you onto your back, hovering over you, his eyes darting over your face. 

And you’re amazed, wondering, at the love struck expression he wears, like you were the pinnacle of a universe that barely made sense, that was barely held together. 

“Steven deserves this,” he nods down at you. “He’s never-,” 

You hear the unspoken words - that is why Steven was born after all, to be all the things Marc thought he wasn’t, to shield himself. 

“Stop it. Marc, you are not your past. You are not bad. You carry around the weight of the world and these sins you think are yours alone. They aren’t.” You tip your head up to nudge your nose against his, Marc’s hands pinning both of yours to the space beside your shoulders. 

Marc is looking at you in that intense way of his, brows furrowed, mouth tilted in that overly-serious line. 

“And what if I don’t think I deserve it, huh? To get you like this?” 

“Don’t listen to you, then. Listen to me.” You hitch your knees up to frame his hips, holding him against you, levering pressure into the backs of his thighs until he drops down fully against you. “You deserve it. More than most.”

You know everything he’s ever done is flashing through his mind. His brother’s death and his mother’s wrath. His time as a mercenary, his time in the military. The way he thinks he breaks and folds and isn’t strong enough, never strong enough, not enough. The mistake of Khonshu. The way he thinks he failed Layla and Steven, and that he will do it all over again. 

“Hey,” you nudge his jaw again. “Quit that.” 

Marc nods slowly, intense stare pinning you down. “I deserve it.” He says it like he expects you to disagree with him, to laugh. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’ll remind you of that.” He releases your wrists, burying his nose in your neck, the breath he sucks in is shaky and wild, the drum beat of a storm he stored inside the stoic stone that surrounded his heart. 

You cup a hand against the back of his neck, your other hand sliding down his side, tracing the violent scars that dot his ribs. Carefully, you slide his boxers down his thighs. Your touch is soft against him, your body already welcoming to him, and he slides into you with a quiet groan. 

It’s not like making love with Steven, who was sillier and goofier than Marc would ever be. 

It’s different to how Marc normally fucks you, when the mood strikes him to give it to you slow. 

This time, it's sweet, it's like the smoky burn of incense, like the homecoming he’d been waiting for for years. Marc kisses you softly, groans into your mouth when he was normally quiet aside to talk to you, demand things from you. 

You tighten your legs around him, encourage him to move slower, push deeper. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against the delicate skin of your neck. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, the glow of him against you like the sun. When you push the curls back from his forehead to look into his eyes, you catch something vulnerable in your heart, like the knife of everything Marc was storming into you. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs again. 

He ducks his head to kiss a path along your throat, where earlier his palm had circled the flesh. 

You drag your nails along his back, rub a hand through his hair, rock the cradle of your hips along with his. 

Marc reaches for one of your hands, kisses your fingers before guiding your hand to your cunt, “Sorry baby, I’m not gonna last. Need you to touch yourself for me.” 

You’re only a little bit shocked, but you tip his chin up to kiss him. Marc normally had a stamina that could win awards. 

Not now, it seemed. Not when you had given him permission to be slow and gentle and soft. 

Your breath is squeezed from your lungs, the heavy drag of him inside you almost enough to make you come. 

Marc doesn’t let you breathe, his mouth an insistent press against yours until you pull away with a gasp and you hear the sound of a quiet laugh against your throat, teeth digging into your jaw. 

You come unexpectedly, hips jerking up to meet him as Marc gives a harder thrust, looping an arm beneath one of your knees to open you up more, to slide that much deeper. 

The spot he hits within you makes your toes curl, makes it hard to catch a breath. 

“I can destroy you like this too, huh?” Marc asks, grinding against you, hips swirling as you groan from the breathless pleasure darting up your spine. 

“Don’t ruin this, Spector,” you huff, nipping at his jaw, only laughing a little. 

“Keep touching yourself. I didn’t say to stop,” he answers. 

Your eyes roll back when his tongue curls against the hollow of your throat. “I want you to come again,” his voice is a husky rasp in your ear.  

You’re still wearing Marc’s shirt, but when he releases your leg to palm your breasts through the fabric, you regret ever letting him partially dress you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, “You’re so tense. Come for me again, hm? Come for me.” When he pinches your nipple and rolls it between his fingers, you do. White hot pleasure courses up your spine, makes your mind go blank. “Fuck, are you coming?”

“Yes,” you moan, “I’m coming for you.” 

“For me,” he repeats. “For me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, pleasure making your vision go fuzzy, your exhausted body trembling. “Marc, I love you.” 

His hand goes to your ass, angles your hips, before he thrusts so deep you see stars and he spills inside you.

You make sure to wrap your arms around his head, tightening your grip until he wiggles. “Can’t breathe, baby.” But you don’t want him to go anywhere, you don’t want the idea to even occur to him. 

You loosen your grip but say, “Don’t leave.” 

Marc’s jaw tightens, “Sorry about that.” 

“S’ok. Just don’t go.” 

“Not going anywhere tonight, honey.” 

You nod, nuzzling your nose against his cheek when Marc takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your fingers and wrist, your forearm, the crease of your elbow. 

“Stop that,” you grouse, a giggle at the tip of your tongue.

“I’m obsessed with you. I can’t.” 

You do laugh then, and he rolls you onto your side. He slips free from you and you feel the emptiness immediately, but then Marc is kissing you again, insistent and demanding, and it's forgotten. His fingers dance up the column of your spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae of bone with soft fingers. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispers. It's so rare to see him without that stoic facade, the burned in self-hatred, that your heart gives a painful thump. 

You kiss his sweaty brow and think to remind him of something. “You’re so good, Marc. You deserve good things. You deserve kindness.” 

He doesn’t answer and you know he’s fighting down that automatic response, so ingrained into him it was almost a part of his DNA. 

“I deserve it,” he murmurs eventually and you figure it's as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

another night, another mission accomplished.

holed up in your hotel room somewhere in switzerland, you and marc finally rest. at least try to. you've known marc for some time now, you've been friends since you joined the military the same year. he was quite the man to befriend that time but you wouldn't give up on him... you figured that's why he gave in and just let you in his life, because you wouldn't give up on him even if he pushed you away or ignored you. you would just keep coming back.

marc once called you 'an extremely stupid idiot', stressing the word extremely, when you wordlessly joined him on becoming a mercenary. in the beginning, he often asked you why you'd give up your perfectly fine position in the army for a job that took care of people regardless of whether or not they were good or bad. your answer? 'i don't want you to have to do things alone anymore.' because that's the kind of man marc spector looked like to you: a man used to the life of solidarity and isolation.

you had no desire to change who he was, it was the reason you were so drawn to him back when you two were soldiers, so withdrawn from social gatherings whenever your barracks would hang out for some well deserved tgif, marc always stayed behind. or when he does join in every once in a while, he'd always drink by himself on the farthest end of the table. but you were fine with him like that. your comrades would often call you foolish for even trying but you don't care. you still don't.

you'd take a seat next to him silently, enjoying your own drink and occasionally making or attempting to make small talk with him. it took him a while to warm up to you, nearly a year in service when one friday night as your group once more were enjoying their beers, marc had answered one of your silly questions you tended to ask whenever you would sit next to him.

"which animal do you think would suit you? personally i think you'd get along well with a dog. you're an active guy so you'd probably like doing walks or jogs at the park with one. hm, you'd probably pick a labrador or k9. dobermans would suit you too y'know? you'd both have that dark and intimidating look. or would you rather a cat? since you're like... a social recluse you'd like an introverted animal as well? i mean, it's plausible. i heard a cat's purr helps heal like aches in the body and they generally improve one's mood. yeah, a cat works too. might make you less grumpy—"

"a goldfish." you finally turned around to face him, your eyes wide and disbelieving because did the marc spector finally speak to you? yes, yes he did. and his answer wasn't even included in your previous rambling. "a goldfish..?" you had asked, like you weren't quite sure you heard him right. he nods at you after glancing in your way for a brief moment. "yeah." you grinned widely at that even if it was only a one word response. "really? how come?" he sighed, putting his drink down, watching the condensation drip down the side of his glass. "my little brother used to draw this one-finned goldfish when we were kids." this was the first time marc shared personal information with you, well, to be honest this was the first time he actually spoke to you.

"you have a younger brother?" you asked. he stayed silent this time, reverting back to his usual stoic facade. but you can see the way his jaw clenched and his eyebrows knitting, creasing the skin in between. by then you had figured out that the topic of his younger brother was a sore spot, like a fresh wound, open and profusely bleeding.

normal people would stop talking after seeing the person they're talking to becomes unresponsive to anything you say but not you. not you. you just kept talking as always, listing off the pros and cons of owning a goldfish.

"what are you thinking about?"

marc moves behind you from where you stood by the large mirrors that showcased the nightlife of the small village. where it was, you don't really remember.

you only hum as response, not taking your eyes off the view below. it's not until he rests his hand on your hip, the small touch setting sparks on your skin as it fills you with warmth do you finally turn your head to face him. "it's nothing," you reassure him but you're still somewhat distracted, still reminiscing. "just... thinking."

he raises a curious brow at that, standing next to you as he takes in the city lights as well, much like you did before except now your eyes are on him. you watch his side profile, brows set in its usual straight line, eyes still dark yet it shines with the reflection of the bright lights and his lips pursed. he's relaxed though, you can tell from the way his shoulders lose its usual tenseness and his breathing is even, steady. he's not posed to fight, still alert but at ease nonetheless.

"you sure?" he asks, a small smirk on his face when he notices you staring. you avert your gaze this time, a faint cherry shade on your cheeks. "i'm sure."

on this job you two took, you were only meant to intimidate the archeologists on the dig site in egypt when your partner for the job had shot one of the hostages. that was the first strike.

marc and you had secretly plotted to help them escape. you set a getaway car from what was already on the site, ready to get you all to safety and away but when you had thought you were at a safe distance, bullets ricochet off the car's body until one manages to hit one of its tires and sending you all toppling out of the vehicle in various directions.

unfortunately, you had remained trapped inside it, the seatbelt you had strapped keeping you locked in place in the turned car, hanging you upsidedown. sticky liquid oozed from an open wound on your head, vision swimming and muddled as you attempted to look around and assess the damage. well, tried to. you're pretty sure you have a concussion and you probably broke some of your ribs making it hard for you to breathe through the smoke and sand.

you can't find marc, can't hear him either as gunshots after gunshots echo in the desert, the screams and pleas of the archeologists you were helping escape ring in your ears. he caught up with you and was killing off every single soul you tried to save. only now do you pray he doesn't find you trapped in the car.

your consciousness begins to fade in and out as the desert becomes quiet once again, like the sand has swallowed all that made noise. oil leaks from somewhere in the car, and you can barely see the flames licking the side of the vehicle. you hear your door being ripped from its hinges, tossed aside somewhere but you're so exhausted, adrenaline wearing off as fatigue settles in your bones. you barely catch a glimpse of a white figure carrying you to safety, all your weary self saw was a pair of glowing eyes, like the moon hanging high in the sky above you before you finally lose consciousness.

marc saved you that night in the desert, told you about the deal he made with the egyptian god khonshu and how he accepted becoming his avatar and be his fist of vengeance, protecting the travelers of the night. but of course he couldn't say all that without revealing to you his past, his brokenness. he told you about the death of his younger sibling roro, the abuse he faced from his mother after that and steven. his alter, his dissociative identity disorder. you knew it all. the only person marc had spilled everything to. you. and much like your time together in the military, you continued top accept him as he is, embraced all the parts of him, good and bad because you can never stand the thought of marc going through everything alone anymore.

you stayed much to his surprise. he'd expected you to up and leave him after you've recovered but you stayed even after that. that's when marc had finally realized you'd be by his side no matter what. even if you can't see the 7 foot tall skeleton bird that loomed over marc constantly, he always snitches to you what khonshu says just to piss him off and make you laugh. you still helped marc with his vigilantism, though no longer fighting next to him as much as you used to much to your dismay. instead, you were the one who formed networks, did all the social and background work. you'd be the one to book flights and hotels for you two, under the pretense of a married couple like your fake passport says to avoid suspicion.

you weren't his wife. that much was true. after that night in the desert, he told you that he was seeing a woman, layla el-fouly. you recognized the last name from one of the men that died in tha hands of your supposed partner. you chalk it up to guilt, keeping quiet about it and only congratulating him for that. you even teased him about cheating on you since you're no longer the only woman he was spending time with. he laughed and told you that you were irreplaceable. but not in the sense your heart wanted.

you loved marc a long time ago. maybe it started when you had finally managed to crack him open a little bit that one friday night, maybe it was when he saved you in the desert. all you knew was that you loved him. you loved him and you'll never be with him. not when layla was now in the picture. he became happier, though obviously never told her what he told you back then, marc kept her in the dark about his past.

you've only met her once in person. that was during their wedding. to say that a part of you died the moment you saw them kiss was an understatement. it left a part of your soul empty, consumed by a void of jealousy and yearning. you desperately wished that was you in a pretty dress standing next to him as you both said your vows, kissing him until he was left breathlesss.

after their first dance as a married couple, marc made a beeline for you, taking your hand in his larger ones as he led you to the dance floor. you danced together as you rest your head on his shoulder, one hand sprawled on your lower back as you gently swayed to the music, your other hands intertwined as he leads you both.

"so..." you started, "marriage. wow. that's like super next level huh?" you can feel his chest rumble with quiet laughter, his hold on your hand tightening. "yeah. super next level indeed. i never— i didn't think i'd ever get married but i guess life still manages to surprise me." it makes you snort out a chuckle, to which you hastily cover with a cough, not that either of you minded. "you and me both marc. didn't peg you as husband material." another lie. you had definetley imagined a life together, much like the one he'll be sharing with layla.

you two continued to dance in silence after that, enjoying the music as you swayed together. only you wished you weren't just his guest, rather the woman he married. layla will never know how much you envy her.

"how's layla?" your question breaks the silence between you as you continue to look down at the city lights below. "she's... fine. we're fine." now that makes you look back at him, an inquisistive look in your eyes. the last sentence was... unnecesary. you had simply wondered about layla's well-being, not the state of their marriage but now you're beginning to doubt his statenment about their relationship being fine. "fess up marc, what's wrong?"

hands on your hips, an eyebrow raised, like a mother waiting for her child to confess. he releases a sigh, head hanging low as he crosses his arms over his chests, like he's protecting himself. something marc does when he's uncomfortable. "she still doesn't know?" his jaw clenches, like that time you asked about his brother, and that's when you knew you hit jackpot. "layla needs to know marc. it's better she hears from you rather than finding out about it in a way that's out of your control." he grunts, he knows you're right, knows he should let his wife know about his condition, him being moon knight and everything he's kept a secret so far. but he can't, he wanted something normal and away from everythinbg he knows. layla was his tiny bubble of obliviousness and to tell her about himself was to burst that bubble and he wasn't ready. he thinks he'll never be prepared to.

instead, he leans his head on your shoulder as your hands naturally find their way to his hair like second nature, raking your fingers through the slicked back curls, letting a few of them come undone and fall over his forehead. "don't wanna." was his only answer and that was the end of it. you don't push it much further, instead choosing to relish his closeness, his breathing brushing against the skin of your exposed shoulder. you two should be strategizing about your plan for tomorrow, to steal the scarab that leads to ammit's tomb from arthur harrow in the tiny villlage here in switzerland before he ends up releasing her in the world and cause the deaths of millions, not doing wahtever it is that you were doing. cuddling? that's not something you two had done since his wedding, respecting the new boundary that was drawn between you. another barrier you'll never be able to cross.

unexpectedly, marc takes hold of one of your hands, the other finding its way around your back until it rests there. there was no music to guide you two, only your heartbeats as he sways you, the same way he did on his wedding night. "does layla ever hate me sometimes?" you questioned not too long after but you don't give him enough time to reply when you continue. "she knows i work with you, go to places with you and everything... makes me wonder if there was a part of her that curses me out for spending more time with you than you do with her."

you feel the faint brush of his lips on the exposed skin of your shoulder as he speaks in a hushed whisper, eliciting a hum from you, 'let's not talk about her right now.' he begs, so you remain quiet, simply dancing with him under the dim lights of your hotel room. your heart speaks and you shush it, not wanting to ruin this tiny moment you have with marc. who knows when you'll get him this close again?

your mouth parts and your voice echoes in your ears before you can stop youself, the words already hanging over the palpable tension between you two.

"i love you."

he freezes in his steps and about to raise his head from its spot on your shoulder until your grip on his hand tightens, his movements halting. "since when?" he asked, his tongue heavy in his mouth. "since way back then." came your vague response, never specifying because even you don't know when it was exactly that you had fallen in love with him, before you knew it, you were already in too deep with your feelings for you to be able to swim back out. "i'm sorry for confessing so suddenly. i just— i needed to tell you before it consumes me whole."

you lead this time, continuing your paused dance. he follows soon enough, recovering from the shock on the knowledge that his best friend had just confessed her love to him. "you don't have to say anything marc. i know my place in your life and i would never want to jeopardize that. i guess i've held on it for so long it only felt right that you knew."

silence hangs over you like a tumultuous storm, the thunder being the rapid pounding of your heart against its confines in your ribs. "why didn't you say something before..." he trails off, unable to finish his question. before i married layla. "i didn't know you'd look for her either marc. i planned to but i couldn't. not when it meant hurting an innocent woman too." a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you finish, tears stinging the back of your eyes as you try to keep your composure, not wanting marc to see how hurt you are after all these years. how much it hurt that he didn't choose you.

"i love you." you repeat, this time as a finality. finally choosing to let go of the feelings you've held on to for years, unable to be anything more than a friend. "i love you marc spector."

you mean it this time as you sway gently to nothing, in your tiny hotel room somewhere in switzerland. your confession looms over you the same way khonshu does over marc, a daunting shadow you'll never be able to ignore. it hurts, saying those three words out loud but at the same time, freeing. like a heavy burden off your chest only to leave with a part of your heart with it, an empty chasm where his name should rest replaces it. you promised, you told yourself not to but marc spector completed you. he made you whole unlike any other as he holds you in this soft dance.

how bittersweet, the two times you've danced with marc left new wounds over old scars. how liberating the pain felt but how utterly empty it left you. being second doesn't feel the same.

"i'm sorry but i fell in love tonight, i didn't mean to fall in love tonight."

marc looks at you this time, an unreadable emotion swimming in those dark pools of chocolate and soil. "you're looking like you fell in love tonight." you teased with a watery smile, lips wobbling as you do so. marc opens his mouth, his voice barely audible, if not for your closeness, you wouldn't be able to hear him at all.

Steven Grant is the one for you. You feel like you've never felt so loved in your life.

You adore how he buys you flowers every time you go out like it's your first date all over again. How he asks about your day and genuinely listens to you when you blab about work drama for hours.

You love how his eyes light up when he talks about his interests and how he shows that he cares with shy touches and short kisses.

But what you especially love is how he loves you.

How he holds you like fine china as he fluidly rolls into you, or how he soothingly rubs his thumb against the softness of your thigh when he eats you out. Steven is obsessed with you and melts into your body with the faintest of touches.

But despite being so needy, he's still too shy to voice what he wants. That's okay with you because you enjoy watching how his cheeks bloom with a soft blush when you talk dirty to him. He practically crumbles at your feet as he hangs on to each breathy word.

You love Steven's soft eyes, nervous energy, and romantic love-making style. He's so sweet and you wouldn't change a thing about him. It's what makes Steven, Steven.

So when you wake up one night, pinned to the mattress, you almost think someone is taking over his body.

You can hear the shuffling of sheets, but your brain is still too tired to fully understand what's happening. An abrupt pull at your waist temporarily startles you awake from a dreamless sleep.

With your eyes closed, you burrow yourself further into the mattress, searching for a little more warmth to lull you back to sleep.

You only realize you're out from under the covers when a cool breeze of A/C blows over your bare back.

As goosebumps start to cover the tops of your arms, you feel a pair of warm calloused hands grab at your hips. They pull you upwards and gracelessly shove a pillow between you and the bed, amply propping up your hips as your face stays on the mattress.

A hand slowly drifts over your lower back and generously grasps the cheek of your ass. Another hand follows, spreading you to inspect the heat between your legs. You attempt to squeeze your legs together, but firm hands cease your movements.

"Stay still." A deep voice warns--a voice you're not familiar with.

Before you have time to process the new presence, a warm finger slides through your folds, languidly slipping through the wetness of your slick. He teases your dampening hole with shallow thrusts, watching as your cunt tries to suck him in while he's barely using any pressure.

Finally, he adds another finger and pushes in deeper, immediately hitting a mind-numbing spot inside of you. An involuntary groan vibrates through your chest as he begins to speed up, hitting every frayed nerve instead of you.

You start to shift yourself against the pillow in an attempt to stimulate your throbbing clit. Wet sounds fill the empty flat as he expertly works your cunt to the edge. You can feel the warmth of your slick spread from your thighs to the sheets below.

With the combined pleasures, your head starts to grow hazy and you can barely procure a coherent thought. Your thighs tremble and attempt to close around his arm as the heat in your stomach overflows.

"N-no, please, please, no more." Despite your efforts, he continues to push into you, forcing you to ride out your orgasm. As his hand is pulled away, you sigh with relief, ready to fall right back to the sleep you were interrupted from.

But before you could turn over to lay on your back, familiar hands keep you in place and hold your hips to the pillow.

You feel the bed dip around you as his legs come to straddle your body. The hard heat of his cock rests against the mound of your ass as he sits on the top of your thighs.

Beads of pre-come spill onto your skin and lovingly rubs it in with a satisfied sigh.

He pushes your back into the bed to make you arch your ass up for him before lining himself up to your well-fucked hole. You're still very messy from your last orgasm. His cock rubs through your slickness, preparing him to push into you.

Your eyes flash open as he pushes in with one motion. You squeal into the sheets when you feel the fiery sensation of being stretched so quickly. Usually, he makes sure to slowly work himself into you.

Rough hands grip at your hips to pull you back into him as he sets an aggressive pace. It's almost painful how deep he pushes in, filling you to the hilt with every thrust, but the pleasure of him prodding into your special area overrides any kind of discomfort.

You know you're going to feel it in the morning.

Moans spill out of your mouth as his fingers weave into your messy hair and yank your head backward. You feel the wet heat of his lips connect to your neck before the dull edge of his teeth trail down your sensitive skin. You never thought you'd like pain as much as you do now.

Raspy words are whispered into your shoulder, but you can't pick up on what he's trying to say. You can only answer with a whimper as his hips mercilessly slam into your ass, rocking the bed with each sharp movement.

The sound of your joining bodies follows the slippery noises between you, sending your body into a frenzy of buzzing nerves.

You can't help the way you flutter around him as all the stimuli floods into your body. "Mm...Good girl. Fuck." You feel his groan vibrate against your back as you tighten around him, so close to reaching the edge with nothing but penetrative stimulation.

His voice is deeper than usual. His accent--gone.

It's like he can feel you starting to pull back, despite how you're laying completely still under him.

He speeds up, making sure to hit you at an angle to blur any anxious thoughts bubbling in your mind. All you can do is take it. Every deep thrust, bruised mark, and eye-rolling touch.

Regardless of the mental turmoil you're going through, you can't stop the wave of pleasure that curls around you. It's intense. Heat vibrates up your legs and blooms at the center of your torso, immediately slackening all your muscles in one go.

Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs. 

“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.

You can’t help but give him what he wants.

You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.

There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.

“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”

Fucking hell. This man…  

He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it. 

"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.

As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you. 

The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you. 

He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.

“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for. 

The only thing you can do is nod.

“You say stop if it gets to be too much,”  he rasps out as lines himself up against you. 

The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb. 

And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth. 

"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."

He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming. 

A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?” 

His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do. 

"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."

He stills. 

From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven. 

You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again. 

The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you. 

There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out. 

“Fuckohfuck, Marc!” 

“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”

Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob. 

"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands. 

You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit. 

“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"

His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge. 

It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"

That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed. 

There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does. 

If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair. 

“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”

Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.

Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone. 

"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"

His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop. “That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.  

He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done. 

Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute. 

When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.

Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.  

The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him? 

Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven. 

You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling. 

He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.

“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”

You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it. 

You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again. 

The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear. 

“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.” 

You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs. 

“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.” 

This man is the devil. 

You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you. 

You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.

He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.  

Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...

"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.

"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.

You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to— 

“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”

His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.

It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.

When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real. 

Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you. 

Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin. 

In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.  

As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high. 

Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming. 

Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…

“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face. 

In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."

At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness. 

“Good. That’s good, yeah.” 

Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness. 

“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.

“Do you think we could go again? …please?”

Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse. 

You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride. 

Dedication and Credits:

@krissology for chasing her dreams with such boundless courage and gumption, I'm forever proud to have a friend like her who is so absolutely fucking fierce and fearless. She's one of the most talented writers I've come across and she is publishing her debut novel Forget Me Now, available for pre-order here. Go support this brilliant human being, you won't regret it.

@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.

You're lying in bed, head propped up against your pillow, as you try to keep your eyes open and observe Steven where he's hunched over his desk that's filled with piles and piles of books that he's completely consumed by. He's drowning in the books. Face practically pressing up against the ink that you're convinced will leave smudges on his soft cheeks. His outdated librarian glasses are slipping down the arch of his nose.

"Steven," you murmur sleepily, asking him for the third (or is it the fourth time tonight?) to come join you in bed.

But you get the same reply you got last time. A gentle hum, followed by, "in just a minute, almost finished love."

You give it another minute, then two-- until a good half hour must have passed before you call out for him again.

"Steven."

The only response you get from his is a distracted hum. He doesn't look up.

"Come to bed," you try again, but it's a lost cause.

Ordinarily, you barely have to finish the second syllable of his name before Steven's head pops up like a meerkat, with his alert and undivided attention focused all on you.

In the rare times he didn't, you'd certainly get his attention by the time you finished the first repetition of his name.

Tonight though?

This is probably the fourth or fifth time for the evening you've asked for him.

You're… annoyed to say the least.

With a heavy sigh, you raise yourself into a sitting position in the bed.

"What is so important it can't wait until morning?"

It comes out just a tad sharper than you had meant it to.

That seems to finally snap Steven out of his trance.

He looks up from his book, turning in your direction as his eyes flicker over to you with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Like someone's just stirred him from a spell.

"Oh! Sorry sorry," he closes the book in front of him and holds it up to you.

"Marc needed me to decode the location of some ancient map, and it's a bit more complicated than we thought. It's a bit like a treasure hunt, quite fun actually. We're trying to retrace the steps of Hargrave Marks, he's an archaeologist from the 60s, who had this detailed journal of his treks. But I also have to cross-reference it with several history books cause the accounts aren't exactly contemporaneous or accurate even for the time it was written. Hargrave had a tendency to opt for good storytelling instead of accuracy and--"

His excited ramble pewters out as you cross your arms across your chest. It's rather hostile, you realise when you see him bite his lip in worry at the sight and follow up with a much quieter: "Sorry, love.. am I being too loud? Am I keeping you up?"

There's an apologetic smile on his lip, and normally that would be enough to make any traces of irritation thaw and melt into dew. You're soft for Steven that way.

But this time, his cluelessness at the source of your irritation only serves to make you more irritated.

"No, that's hardly the issue. I want you to come to bed with me."

You can admit that you're acting spoiled.

Because you are spoiled. Used to being spoiled rotten by Steven's profuse adoration. The way he constantly showers you with his affection and full attention at all times. It's probably why it feels like something that is rightfully yours (him) has now been unfairly ripped from you by someone else (Marc), and you're not happy about it, childish and unreasonable as it may be.

And poor Steven, he looks genuinely torn, eyes flittering between you and the book pages. Hesitation etched over the line between his brows, his eyes lingering at the reflection of the TV screen for a few conspicuous seconds too long (Marc).

Whatever Marc is saying to Steven, has him sheepishly ducking his head back down towards the books.

"It might take a while longer," he murmurs, eyes not meeting yours. "Maybe half an hour? Or an hour? If you're sleepy you shouldn't stay awake for me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

You lie back down on the mattress with a huff as you turn away from him. Trying to shut out the white noise of his pen scribbling away as the pages continue to turn.

Mad as you may be. It's cosy and warm underneath the sheets. And you had a long day at work. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. The odds were against you. You don't know how long you are out for, but you wake to the weight of the bed shifting.

Blinking your bleary eyes open, you see Steven with one knee clambering into bed, books strewn all across the mattress, and another half dozen huddled up in his arms, and a pen tucked behind each ear.

"I'm sorry, love. This was taking longer than I thought, and I hate being away from you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

God, this sweet adorable man. All at once, guilt washes over you for having been so harsh to him earlier.

Stretching out your arms, you wrap them around his back and curl one hand around the back of his neck as you pull him down to you, relishing the small "oof" sound he makes as he plops down on top of you with a soft thud against the mattress, books landing somewhere besides you both.

"You finished?" you ask.

He shakes his head, apologetically. "Not quite yet, sorry. But I thought I could maybe do the rest in bed? That way I can at least be close to you. If you don't mind? I'll try to be very quiet."

You hum, pressing your face into the warm crook of his neck. He's so soft and warm. Comforting and steady. You draw in your breath and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but he has that familiarly pleasant smell that reminds you of a bookshop. Notes of coffee and a freshly turned page. Drawing up your lips, you mouth a small path along the line of his neck, and relish the keen little sound that he makes. A quiet little whine as his hips hitch up and press up against your legs.

"Lo-love that's-- oh god that feels--wait, I still--" he's babbling, the way he always does when your lips are on him.

You nip at the soft skin with your teeth, not enough to hurt, just with enough strength that you know will have his toes tingling as he tries to curl them against the sheets for reprieve.

"Wait," he murmurs, even though he's the one who's bearing down his weight down against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against the softness of your stomach, separated only by the comforter. "I--I need," he licks his lips, trying to find his words. Eyes glazed in a way that tells you the blood in his head has travelled south, and his capacity for speech is quickly going with it.

You hum softly, one hand travelling between your torsos as he hisses sharply at the touch of your hand when it brushes up against his clothes then underneath, your knuckles dragging against the bare skin of his soft belly. "Hmm? Need what Steven?"

Reaching for his waistband, you slip your hand into his boxers. He's already half-hard, and still rising as if to meet your fingers as you wrap them around the girth of his cock, and he gasps brokenly with a half-strangled noise.

"Tell me what you need," you remind him.

His pupils are blown wide as he swallows, Adam's apple constricting against that graceful throat. He's trying to find his words again.

"I need to finish my reading. I promised Marc."

"So finish, I'm not going to stop you."

Steven's gaze darts downwards between your body, to where your hand is still wrapped around him under his sleeping pants, with a pointed look in an unspoken accusation that you are in fact: stopping him.

His cock twitches in your grip. You can feel the slick wetness of precum leaking down from the blunt tip, trickling down your knuckles even as Steven is trying very hard not to react.

You can't help the smile that spreads on your lips as you tilt your head up, until they're brushing against his sensitive ear, letting your breath fan against the shell of it as you speak.

"Don't let me distract you, keep going, keep reading. Finish your work." You're still holding him in one hand, as the other moves to the waistband clinging to his backside and drag it down.

You let your nails gently graze along his spine, round hips and thick thighs as you do, enjoying the way he shivers defenselessly under your touch.

"Uhm, love-- you're--"

It doesn't take much encouragement or strength on your part. You grab hold of his hips as you roll him onto his back, and he lets you. No resistance on his part, as you straddle his hips, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

"I'm what Steven?"

The tip of his tongue, pink and glistening darts out in a nervous habit against his lower lip.

"No-nothing, nothing..." he manages. Words slurred and clumsy in his mouth as his hands grip onto your thigh as if he never wants to let you go.

It's all you can do, not to laugh. Whatever promises he had made Marc, it seems to have flown out of the cuckoo's nest.

You really should let him finish his work for Marc though, it won't do to make Mr. Grouchy even grouchier. Problem is you're not quite ready to let go of Steven or to relinquish his attention that you've finally earned from him this evening.

Dragging your hand, you let it caress the soft cotton of his shirt from his chest to his stomach then further down as you grip his cock again.

"Don't worry, let's make a compromise" you say as you stroke his cock up and down the fully hardened length as it twitches and jumps in your grip.

Steven is already nodding forcefully before he's even heard what he's agreeing to. You grip his cock angling it between your thighs and you can hear the soft gasp erupting from his mouth as the tip catches against your slick entrance.

"Keep reading, and when you finish--" you tilt your hips, sliding down in a slow and steady pace. The pleasure is sweet and heady as it skitters through your spine.

Steven's fingers grip the flesh of your thighs, trying to drag you down deeper onto his cock. But you refuse to let yourself be rushed, taking your time to prolong the sweet stretch of the thickness of his cock splitting you open as you sink down on him inch by slow, gorgeous inch, until he's buried to the hilt of you.

His eyes are on you, wild and frenzied, like you're the only thing he can see, his whole world: sky, ocean, and every atom in between are composed of you.

Leaning down, you lie flush down on his firm torso, until your breast are pressed up against his chest, you tilt your head up just enough to press a much too chaste kiss on his lips.

"Keep reading" you tell him again and he whines.

"Love, I can't--"

"Finish the work" you interrupt. "You've promised Marc and I'm not going to move an inch until you finish."

His eyes widen impossibly large at your words, as he starts to realize what he's signed himself up for. Then his bottom lip pushes forward. He's actually sulking, and god, he has no right to make pouty look so gorgeous.

Without any words, his right arm reaches out along the mattress, patting it down until he finds one of the books and brings it to his chest. He lets out a slight testy murmur, in a grouchy tone that is much more characteristic of Marc than it ever would be for Steven.

Once the book is settled in his hand and he starts to read, you nestle your face into his chest. It's the best solution to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter when you hear Steven mumble discontentedly about how: he's never going to do Marc any more favours again.

He still smells of books and coffee, of warmth and happiness that makes you feel weightless against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he reads, hypnotic, like being rocked to sleep, and before you know it you drift to sleep.

You wake to pitch blackness. A sweet syrupy pleasure that flutters somewhere deep in you, but you can't tell where it comes from, and you can't grasp it in your hold. It skitters to your stomach and down to your thighs, warm and soft that makes you clench down to chase the sensation.

A keen gasp fills the room. Too low to be your own voice.

You blink your eyes against the darkness, mind still fussy and drunk with sleep, as you shift your body and are rewarded with that sweet-honeyed pleasure swirling through your stomach, except brighter this time, sharper, and you can't help but clench down again, hoping you can catch it this time and make it stay.

The sound comes again, a sweet gorgeous gasp, except this time, it breaks off in the middle with a quiet whimper.

"Love, please..." the voice pleads with you.

It's such a pretty voice, soft-spoken and gentle, but it sounds almost pained.

Steven...

You dart up, elbow anchored against his firm and solid chest as you look down on him, the small patch of drool on his white shirt, shit...

Trying to raise yourself further, the warm pleasure drags against your insides, and you can't help the moan slipping past your lips. Thick and heavy, his cock is still inside of you jerking from the movement in protest.

You fell asleep on him.

"I finished all my work now." He says it like an announcement.

You look down until your eyes meet. They're sharp. Mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then his hands grip down on the outside of your thighs, hard enough that you think he might leave permanent dents.

Patient, sweet, polite Steven is at the end of his ropes it seems. He pushes you down flush against him until you're pressed down as far as you can take him. It's white and electric, no longer the slow and lazied pleasure you've dreamt of in your half-awake state.

"Been having a nice restful nap, you have," he says, and you don't miss the sarcastic tone in his voice even as he groans, low in his throat, while he continues to reprimand you.

"Did you know that you've been shifting and squeezing down on my cock the whole time? No, I don't imagine you did, love."

The firm weight underneath you shifts, and you barely have a second to breathe and regain your composure before Steven raises his hips, thrusting up and into you as far as he goes.

"Felt like I was going mad."

He lifts you up, hands beneath the underside of your thighs, as he drags his cock alongside you, slowly. Maddening.

It feels like payback. The sweetest lesson you've ever earned.

"Said you weren't going to move until I've finished," Steven reminds you, as he holds you still. "But I've been done for quite a while, and you've been moving quite a lot before then actually. Writhing, hot and wet around me. I can actually feel it dripping out of you."

He pulls out of you until only the fat tip is resting inside you, his hips flush back down against the mattress. One hand draws down between your legs, his thumb sliding wetly against your folds, infuriatingly slow, until he's reached your clit but doesn't press down. He holds it there, without any pressure as if he's waiting for something.

"You ready love?" he asks, holding you poised against him, his hips canting up in preparation

Steven searches for your eyes, and the look in his eyes, focused and honed, has your heart beat fast and excitedly with no logical rhythm against your ribs.

"Yes, Steven."

It's all he needs, he thrusts up as his hands pull you down on him in a devastating stroke that incinerates the air in your lungs.

You're in for a long night, and whatever shortlived sleep you managed to catch earlier won't be enough for what Steven has in mind for you two. Not when you've gotten him riled up like this.

But that's alright.

You look down at Steven, eyes glassy with a feverish sheen. All of his attention pinned on you.

It's not so bad is it? To get to have all of Steven's devoted attention for yourself like this.

Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who was indispensable as always, for the brainstorming, the coming up with the hottest Steven dialogue (jesus fucking christ her lines are fucking fire) and for the beta-ing and putting up with my atrocious run-on sentence, tenuous grasp of grammar and wilful typos. I love you.

Also to the secret nonny. You don't know what your ask did to me (and TWP) we went into a horny frenzy and I couldn't sleep haunted by the horny images that were flashing behind my eyes because of your ask. I adore you! thank you for sending this in.