I still think it is amusing that Illyana wanted to visit a toy store during an invasion of New York City by demons on Christmas. 😄

Dark Web: Dusk (2022) MARVEL

Polyushko Sergey

V.C. Andrews, "Flowers In The Attic"

Franz Kafka, From A letter To Milena Jesenská Written C. August 1920

Timothy Joshua

Teema A.

Vahan Teryan, "I Love Your Dark and Wicked Eyes"

Mahmoud Darwish

Emma Kleinknecht

Source: mytenwordstoryig

Dusk By Tahlil Omar

Via 'eshhblossomm' on Instagram

tag drop - verses

Being Miguel’s daughter and hosting Venom

[Platonic One-Shot]

c/w: major spoilers, angst, gender neutral terms and pronouns (they/them), suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, no gendered terms used to describe reader, canon ignorance and inaccuracies, if you read the drabble you’ll know you originally just hosted Venom but this time I’m writing you as Spider-Venom

—

[Unedited]

The sun kissed the Western horizon as it slowly sunk beneath the surface. The gorgeous colors of the settling dusk bathing your New York in the luminous sheen of the golden glow that settles upon the city like a blanket.

You were just finishing up for the day, swinging from a tall skyscraper to tether a web to the very top of a clock tower. Pulling yourself up all the way to the top to perch on one of the very many gargoyle statues jutting out of the tower’s roof lip.

“Hungry.”

“That’s what the sandwiches are for bud.”

Venom settled inside when you tore the wrapping off the sandwich and took a big bite out of the end. Plenty of meat packed into the sandwich but also enough vegetables to sustain you too. Nutrients were vital in your symbiotic relationship with the alien and regardless of where they came from you both needed hundreds of them to keep yourselves alive and healthy.

“I hate the vegetables.”

“Well I like them. They taste better than people do.”

“You’ve never had another person before! You don’t let me eat people!”

“I’m not a cannibal.”

“Hmph.”

You rolled your eyes at the symbiote’s childish behavior, you’ve grown used to it but that didn’t mean you’d grown to like their attitude.

But you had grown to like them, ever since they had attached themself to you on your fourteenth birthday. The same day you very nearly took your own life.

Your life was far from perfect, as a matter of fact you can’t remember a time in your twenty long years of being alive that you’d actually been happy. Really, well and truly happy.

Your mother died when you were five and your father had abandoned you not too long after. About a year and half to be precise, and in his care and his care alone you’d learned that he was the furthest thing from what a proper father should be.

The first five years in which he parented you alongside your beloved mother he seemed guarded. Closed off, angry at the world and everyone surrounding him. And his own personal turmoil seemed to transcend into raising you— as he didn’t put an ounce of love or affection into bringing you up.

At the time, you hadn’t understood. What did you do wrong? Did you make him angry? Why wouldn’t he love you unconditionally? Your mother did.. was it so hard for him to treat you as his own? As if he loved you?

Apparently it was too hard for him, because he didn’t want to do it alone. And when your mother had died of cancer he had attempted to raise you in her honor but failed miserably and gave up within two years.

You were seven when you experienced your first heartbreak, in the years prior under his ‘care’ you had plenty share of devastation and let-downs from him. But none compared to this, no other feeling you had ever experienced before compared to this.

A searing ache in your chest born of self doubt, lack of self worth and value. Because you had believed it was entirely your fault that he was incapable of loving you fully and to the extent of his heart. And it festered in your years spent under different families, the issues regarding how you viewed yourself only darkening as you were let down over and over again.

Given up on— over and over again. And the ache continued to linger, growing in secret places— dark and hateful in your tired heart.

And slowly but surely it had given up on you too, shatter to pieces and cast to the wind to leave you broken and hurt. Vulnerable and fragile to the cold and bitter winds of this cruel and brutal life.

Eventually your mind followed suit, wishing for anything to escape this pain. Anything to leave it behind.

Your luck had a turn for the worst when you were bitten by a spider at twelve and gifted cursed with abilities and skills inhuman and otherworldly.

Enhanced senses, heightened sensitivities and awareness and phenomenal intelligence and strength.

Superhuman.

And for two years you lived with it, not utilizing the powers for any kind of purpose. The heightened healing property of your curse made it hard to give up on this life as you had so desperately wished to.

You tried and tried again— and each time you failed.

When you were fourteen is when you met Venom, you had tested buildings before but never the Golden Gate Brigde. And as you clambered over the rail to stand at the very edge of the bridge’s structure— it happened.

You remember the feel of their texture sliding across your skin, then the pressure you felt as they sunk beneath your skin to meld with your body—

“It wasn’t that bad. You’re overexaggerating.”

“I thought we agreed you’d stay out of my head.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“Venom,” you scolded lightly. Not reprimanding in a way that spat disappointment over ownership. But in a way that spoke volumes of the relationship you shared with the alien. Equals.

“I hate it when you think about that bastard.”

“I know, I’m sorry.. my thoughts get away from me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He made his choice, you are what he made you. And you’re more than worth it. You deserve love just as everybody else.”

They went silent after that and you didn’t bother trying to get them to keep up the conversation. Just smiled softly at their nature— overprotective and fond.

Venom had saved your life when you were at your lowest, the abilities you gained from your spider bite coupled well with their own. And upon latching themself to you they had promised they would make you see the value in life. And you had.. in them.

They were what kept you alive, and you couldn’t be more grateful for them coming to your aid when you needed it the most.

“You’re sweet, you like to act like you’re big and bad but on the inside you’re just a big softie.”

“I regret everything I said.”

“Oh come on, I was thanking you for what you said.”

“Funny how you didn’t actually say the words ‘thank you’ at all.”

You just laughed as they grumbled in your head, but you were swift to straighten and turn serious when your senses tingled. Like a cold rippled shucking down your back to warn you of incoming danger or threats.

Venom growled lowly alongside the tingle and you jumped up, spinning around to face the danger that caused your senses to ripple. And a glowing orange portal suddenly erupted to life just a few feet in front of you. Sliding your mask back on you separated your feet and steadied yourself, prepared and strong in stance.

Your senses tingled again— sharper this time and you stood there on tense silence and a brief moment of absolute stillness. A moment later something was shooting from the portal, something turned out to be someone and you recognized the green suit and grinning goblin mask as Green Goblin tackled you off the building.

You freed yourself from his grasp and shot a web to the corner of the building to your left before pulling yourself free from his grip and onto the side of the skyscraper.

Your jaw ticked as a flicker of annoyance sparked to life in your chest. The very last thing you wanted to deal with after a long day was an anomaly. You were honestly tempted to just call up Peter B. Parker and have him come here and take care of this himself.

Or maybe he could convince the leader he follows to come do it, not that you know his name or anything f about him but from what Peter says apparently he’s pretty damn good at his job.

“Seriously another one? Our dimension can’t be that exciting can it?”

“Right there with ya buddy, why did he have to come here after we already finished up our day too?”

“Honestly, like— a little fucking class wouldn’t hurt.”

You chuckled at their remark before your senses tingling had you swinging away from the spot you occupied previously just as a gas bomb erupted against the brick.

An irritated sigh left your lips behind the fabric of your mask as you perched yourself on a lamp post, the Goblin’s eerie hysterical laughter echoing loud and prominent in the desolate streets surrounding you. Everyone having long since turned in for the night leaving the area free of any civilians which made your job —and in turn Venom’s— easier at least.

The fight that had begun two minutes after Goblin had tried to surprise you with his fucking chemical bombs wasn’t all you had thought it would be. This Goblin was a whole lot weaker than your Goblin, not only that but the guy kept glitching every few minutes.

And you and Venom capitalized on the very golden opportunities that event opened up to you every time it occurred.

And finally taking him down without any damage to the buildings or street was just the icing on the cake, the fact that the whole fight didn’t endanger any innocent people was a plus too.

Things only went to shit when you went back to that portal with Goblin slung over your shoulder and found two different spider variants walking out of it.

“Well what the fuck took them so damn long? Sure, sure no worries we’ll protect our own universe and keep others out too. No fucking problem on our end.”

Again, you found yourself chuckling humorously at Venom’s attitude. Their clear lack of patience and respect for those in charge of keeping the multiverse under control amusing you. Sure, you both liked Peter enough to admire what it was he and the guy he followed did.. along with the other spider variants he works with. But still.. if you’re going to make this your entire career and you’re going to dedicate yourself to the security of the multiverse— at least be good at it.

“Think this asshole got lost, poor wee lamb.” You quipped as you landed on the rooftop the other were standing on. You carelessly threw Goblin off your shoulder and he grunted as he hit the concrete on his back. The sound of pain coming from him almost humanizing him a bit, and you curled your lip derisively as he broke out into a mad grin seconds later.

Whilst you were distracted staring at Norman, Miguel withheld his sudden and intense urge to upheave all the contents in his stomach. His heard felt like lead as it plummeted to his toes, knots in his stomach winding themselves up tightly at the sound of your voice.

“[Y/Name]?”

You looked up when the man of the two variants spoke, and there was a flicker of recognition in your stomach at the voice. Recognition that swiftly turned to course and fiery hot rage that flowed through your blood like magma.

“How dare he?!”

The man pulled his mask off his face and there he was, your father, Miguel O’hara.

“How dare he return here?!”

You took an instinctive step back from him when he revealed his face. And you flinched internally when you saw it, he looked miserable.. eyes bloodshot and brows downturned to put a deep and painful scowl on his face.

He looked broken.. hurt.

And the twisted and vengeful feelings inside you felt good at the prospect of him hurting. You liked that look on his face.. because he more than deserved whatever put it there.

Miguel watched as you stepped back, you didn’t remove your mask as he did. Just stood there frozen as you stared at him. Then the eyes of your mask narrowed and he could abruptly feel the heat of your glare searing into his skin. Angry and painful.

“Parker— that fucking bastard, we’ll kill him.”

“We?” The woman spoke and you looked from your father to her. She had darker skin and a styled afro, her mask was more or less goggles on her face and Venom snickered inside your head at the mental insult you made.

You decided to ignore her question, the passive aggressive tone she took not inclining you to be cooperative with her at all.

“As far as we know Osborne was the only one who got into this universe,” you informed choosing to look back to Miguel to address him instead of the woman. “So gather him and go home.”

“[Y/Name] wait!—”

“Don’t. You’re just here for him right?” You queried gesturing to Norman when you referred to him. Then you were facing Miguel again. “Take him and get out. We’re finished here.” You weren’t granted the chance to see his reaction— immediately doing what you thought was best for you and getting out of the uncomfortable spot his return had put you in.

And you swung away as you ignored the calls of your name he roared into the night. You didn’t want anything to do with him, and there was nothing you owed to that bastard. Not a damn thing.

And as you swung away from that rooftop you felt angry at the fact that you could feel your guarded heart hurt in deep and stinging agony once again— because of him.

And you felt a twitch of disgust in yourself twist itself into a knot within your chest, born at the expense you felt you were dishonoring Venom by being hurt you saw your father again.

After all, it was them that had healed you six years ago when they had first bonded with you. And it was them and them alone that had healed that ache in your heart.

“Kid.”

“Please Venom, not now.”

They went silent after that, and you stayed quiet too as you swung through the city. You just wanted to be at home, safe and comfortable in the warmth of your own space. Just so you could calm the roaring of your blood and thunderous heart in the security and peace that your home brought you.

You knew that now that he knows you’re still alive he’ll come back, and you’re not sure how the next time will go.. this time you just wanted out. The way your heart had picked up and the way your blood quickened had made you just want to be isolated and safe.

You’re not so sure which feeling will take more presence next time— but you could promise this; the rage you had briefly felt, that died behind the feeling of ache and hurt but still lingered, was strong. If it took province over every other feeling next time you could promise it wouldn’t end well.

Not for Miguel.

Not for you.

And not for the multiverse.. the same multiverse he had been so keen on protecting—

The multiverse he had chosen over you.

—

a/n: I did this during a tattoo on my ribs— and the wipe down continues to be my least favorite part of adding tattoos to my body, cause how can I sit through a tattoo just fine then get weak on the wipe down? 🥲🤌🏽

Peachy I am so in love with the dead disco Omegaverse AU! It absolutely plays on my heartstrings!

Can we have a continuation of the story so far? What happens when Darling finally comes off of her heat—I’m ready for the tough conversation!!!

-💀👻

18+ MDNI / dead disco omegaverse au / mature themes

takes place after this

Your head is stuffed with cotton. It’s full of nonsense, heavy and confused, like you’re drifting between a dream and reality, only one thing painfully clear.

Your heat is fading away, you’re nestled between two very warm bodies. It’s a hazy kind of warmth, the type that hangs heavy in the air, and your face presses further into the searing temperature of skin, seeking, smelling. You’re drinking in the scent of your alphas, blinking to try to clear your eyesight in the dark. The smell of them, woodsmoke and balsam, sinks through your consciousness until you’re shifting restlessly, detangling your limbs from the web of bodies, pushing and pulling against their grip.

You come to reality very quickly, and fear floods your nervous system.

No. No, no, no- you… you didn’t, they… they can’t have been here. They shouldn’t have been here-

“Omega.” Johnny murmurs against the back of your head, hand holding your hip steady, stroking circles into your skin to soothe you, keeping you in place. “Ye with us?”

You whimper. You can’t help it. It comes second nature, slipping out before you can stop it. Your muscles seize, like they’re preparing to spur you into action, and the room spins.

“No.” Simon murmurs. “Settle, darling.” He starts up a deep hum from his chest, harmonics vibrating through his bones to yours, genetics and hormones reacting to the pull of his designation, your body going boneless between them. “That’s it, good girl.”

Something is wrong. Beneath their efforts at producing a calming, soothing scent and atmosphere, there’s a tinge of anxiety. Of worry. Of distress.

You swallow.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, clenching your eyes shut.

You don’t want to face this. You don’t want to hear it… the truth. What they’ll say to you. About you.

Whispers of your past shudder across your mind, memories that you’ve worked so hard to keep away, locked up in a little box somewhere in the back of your consciousness.

You’re dirty. Your heats are dirty. You’re disgusting, like all omegas. Useless. Nothing. Just a thing to be bred, to be used. You have no value.

“I need ye to take a deep breath for me.” Johnny coaches, hand nestling against your breastbone from behind. When you do, it’s a struggle, jagged and rough. His lips find the shell of your ear, breathe fanning over your cheek. “Another one, darling. Try again-“ your ribs expand, and he kisses you sweetly. “Good. That’s it, just like that.”

“Are you hungry?” Simon asks, and you nod automatically. You’re starving, and they’ve most likely been listening to your stomach rumble for hours. He gives you a gentle smile. “I’m going to start some breakfast, and Johnny’ll get you in a shower in a minute.” You nod again. You feel like jelly, sore all over, and you imagine you probably haven’t been out of this bed in days.

The door opens, orange dusk filtering in from the living room as Johnny gives you another kiss along your jaw and sits up, pulling you close.

“Alright darling. Let’s get in the shower.”

Simon made way too much breakfast.

All your favorites, which is a good sign, you guess. And Johnny is glued to you, holding you in his lap on the couch while you eat, moving your plate and your coffee cup to and from the table to your hands.

Maybe this means they won’t throw you out.

“So.” You try to smile but it feels forced and wrong. “Am I in trouble?”

“No.” Johnny vows.

“No, of course not.” Simon agrees, pulling the plate from your fingers with a gentle tug. “But there’s a lot we need to talk about.” Your nose tingles with the threat of tears, and you fist your fingers together.

The silence is loud for a long moment. Uncomfortable, until Simon breaks it.

“I’m not going to ask why you didn’t tell us, because we know.”

The tears start immediately. You’re breaking under the weight of your shame, your fear, your past. It’s too heavy, and it hurts, ice in your chest like you’re dying.

“You know?”

“I called your doctor.” What? He what? Anger, and panic wells up in the back of your throat.

“You had no right-“

“You left the flat in the middle of your heat, in a near feral state. We found you on the street with another Alpha trying to lay a claim to you. I’m sorry for invading your privacy, but I’m not sorry for protecting you. We needed to know what was going on.” You tamp down the urge to jump to your feet and run out the front door. Johnny keeps his arms firm around your body, and you press against him anxiously.

You can’t do this. They’ll want to talk about it. They’ll want to know everything. They’ll know you’re dirty.

“Darling, hey. Look at me.” It’s Simon again, trying to catch your eye. “Everything is alright. There is nothing, nothing that you could ever do, or ever tell us, that would make us love you any less.” He’s so soft with his words, trying to coax you, but your head swings back and forth in denial.

“That’s not true.” You have to get out of here. Something is banging at the brink of your mind… something wild and raw, something trying to claw its way in. It’s violent… and feral. “I have to go.”

“What?” Johnny tugs you in tighter, but you thrash against the feeling, hysteria bubbling up in your stomach.

“Easy.” Simon wraps a hand around the back of your neck, squeezing just a bit. “Why is that not true?” When you don’t answer, he sighs. “Omega.” It’s a pull, the command of an Alpha, and you grit your teeth.

“I… I was always taught that heats are wrong, that Omegas are useless. That I’m-“

“No.” Johnny stops you. “There’s nothing wrong with ye.”

“You don’t understand.” You protest, and they both watch you mournfully.

Johnny presses his lips to your hair, and Simon pulls your hand into his.

“So tell us.”

LAMB TO SLAUGHTER.

ao3 issue.

synopsis: a malevolent enemy resides in the dead depths of the forest during dusk, as the warnings come and go through, but said enemy was never anticipated to be so enrapturing. authors note: making my first fic on tumblr on the predator and prey trope because like... why not

[ ♡ ] pairing: killer!simon "ghost" riley + fem!reader

[ ♡ ] genre: smut, sexual content

[ ♡ ] warnings: unprotected sex, innocence kink, soft!mean!ghost, slight taunting, loss of virginity, overstimulation, mild degradation, pet-names, dirty talk, corruption kink, age difference, oral sex (fem!receiving), sex in a forest, slight knife-play, slight breeding kink, possessive sex.

PART 1/2 | PART 2

Living in a small, unpopulated town; there was no doubt that scandals got around through other people’s mouths easily, including potential myths. Serial killers. Sightings of extraterrestrial entities. A great majority of it was falsehood and just something to possess a rise out of the community. Although, serial killer scandals were no joke compared to entities; which is what has been circulating throughout the small town for the past couple of weeks, some supposed serial killer inhabiting the local forest.

Despite there being masses of locals and officers released on a search into the forest on a daily, there was no success in locating the whereabouts of this fallacy. Worrisome spread like a plague and increased in size by each passing day, like some sort of rise of a satanic panic. Your parents, already had been plagued by this rising anxiety, warns you of staying inside all day, keeping the doors nailed shut. A single hunting rifle was granted to you, but never used; guns were something that you’ve never learnt to use, even though your father was a huge thing on hunting. (Even when you were a little girl, you declined the offer of hunting).

Of course, you would be like the average human caught in the spider’s web of this situation; terrified, fearing for life — but you just weren’t. You were more curious than anything, completely, and utterly curious to the murderer.

So at the stroke of midnight, your parents secured in their beds with rifles at their bed-side tables, you undid the lock of the back door — pulling the wooden panel open by the knob, and allowing yourself to be exposed to the outside. Conveniently, your house was pin-pointed right where the forest was, it was practically apart of your backyard. You were hesitant at first sight, trembling and enthralled by hesitance, but you soon gave it up.

Your blood ran cold in your veins as you made your steps down the porch steps, through the fielded weeds, and into the sea of forest. The more steps you took, the deeper you found yourself in the vast region of darkness, leaves of the overhead trees with little cracks of your only source of light; a faint glow of moonlight in which hung from further than the trees. Your surroundings were silent except the crunch of a fallen tree branch or an unusually heavy breath that drew from your mouth, the atmosphere was unnerving.

It was completely idiotic of you to venture out into serial-killer territory with only a simply, frilly dress of lace clothing your body from the wind. A compact switchblade rests in your fist, now noticed with a dull blade but you considered it decent enough to stab a person out of self-defense. Taking notice, your heartbeat hammers in your chest more irregularly. It swells and puffs up, making it harder to breathe in some ways, though you push through and squint your eyes at the shadows to push on.

Stupid. Stupid and brainless is what you were. You had no purpose in even proceeding with a haphazard goal. Maybe it was because you wanted to prove some bravery, make up for the times you were too coward to spend your childhood hunting and touching animal carcasses. Bravery was something you lacked and wanted to prove as something you could change, something that could be converted into something useful.

Yet, you pursued your hollow journey, swearing to yourself that you could feel eyes scorching — stalking every single one of your movements. The fictitious thought got a rise of goosebumps lining up your arms, beads of sweat forming at your skin. Although, you convinced yourself none of it was real; just another fragment of your imagination, something to frighten you to death. You drift further away into the area of woods, your curiosity striving to pave its away through your fears.

Your jaw clenches at an abrupt sound from behind. It’s a combination of crunching on dead twigs and a pale breathing — though, you’re not really sure if there was an accompanied breathing or if it was just a factor of fear acting up. You swear you’re on your last bit of sanity, about to stumble away and lose your mind right in the middle of a horrific-looking forest.

Unfortunately, there was no fear factor acting up, and it was proven when the crunch of leaves surge in speed right up the spine behind you. You’re granted no time to make a break for it or even react when a blade is pressed into the pulsing bunch of your neck, body staggering right into a larger, more towering one.

As you look up into the upper-half of the obscured silhouette, you can only make out two baths of darkened eyes which were highlighted in the luminesce of the moon. He had eyes without a face, veiled with a balaclava imprinted with features of a skull, and pale skin smeared with blotches of tar-like paint around the eyes. Edgy, but in this scenario with a blade to your neck, horrifying. You struggle to release from the man’s grasp but it’s no use when he’s made up of pure muscle, strength at levels of insanity.

“What’s a sweet, little girl doing out here at midnight?” his voice is raspy, deepened with an accent. Your heartbeat is set at severe rates.

The man holds you against him; one of his brawny arms is wrapped fully around your chest while the other is occupied with the knife. He’s a monster, you thought, barbaric for the sake of blood and other violent needs. Splatters of dried blood are visible through the holes of his mask on his skin, some of the droplets not so visible on the blacks of the mask. You pause with your struggles, stiff with the only gestures of your up-and-down chest.

“Are you going to kill me?” your words come out as an unexpected shushed whine.

“Kill you?” he said, with an almost chuckle, “Why would I bring myself to kill such a pretty thing like you?”

Relief swamps your nervous system, nearly calmed with his response. You were too naive, you gave it too quickly to facile words that could easily be frauds of the real, brutal thing. Turning back and escaping was certainly an option; it wasn’t an easy one but there could be some figured way to achieve it. However some buried, sadistic identity was telling you to stay with him — let him have his way with you, deprive you of your innocence, be something useful and obedient.

Your survival instincts were dropping like dead flies, that sadistic identity dominating those instincts. Strangely enough, you were establishing some sort of comfort in him, some portion to fill in the complete void of desolation. A pre-arousal starts to stain your cunt, panties sticky, and dressed thighs feeling limp about to give out. His breathing is heavier, as if he’s as desperate as you were, his posture adjusts. Now, you’re straight stood against his chest, eyes half-lidded and arousal felt between your inner thighs.

There’s a pulsating, overwhelming beat at your cunt; heat rushing to your face and body overturned in a fever-ish trance. He resumes with sharing a strict eye contact with you, taking notice of your doe eyes which twitched every so often.

“Your burning up, honey,” he said, observing your bare skin which smoldered under his gloved hands, “Wonder why.”

You nod your head in a disagreeing motion, not wanting to surrender to your repressed feelings, but you had a gut feeling he could tell; a fusion of sexual need, desperation, and dread which fogged in your two eyes. There wasn’t even an effort to try and hide it away from him, you just let it exhibit out like some showcase to the public eye.

“Can’t even tell me why, it’s because you’re needy, huh? Your panties all stained and sticky just because of me, getting off at knife-point.” he said, taunting how vulnerable you appeared underneath him, “You just want me to ruin this little pussy, don’t you? Needed someone to please your sticky cunt?”

God, you can’t even fight back, not at this point.

Whimpers fall from your lips like the leaves of the trees, lips red and wounded from constantly biting at them. Your eyes brim with small tears, edging to fall from position, “Please, need it so bad…”

“Shh, don’t worry, angel.” he coos, moving in sync with you towards a tree stump; pinning you to the object with the knife now tucked in his jeans. He gropes at your breasts through the flimsy fabric before hooking your thighs in a hold, lowering himself to his knees as he places your legs on his shoulders. “Is this what you want, love? Want me to make your tight pussy feel all better?”

Bobbing your head, you motion in agreement and mumble inaudible pleads. He smirks to himself behind the mask in satisfaction, bundling up the skirt of your dress till your soft panties — all sticky with arousal down your thighs — were exposed to the cold public. His thumb massages at the wet stain at the front of your panties, hips swaying in a poor effort to obey the press of the digit. He uses his empty fingers to clasp under the waistband of the cloth, dragging it down the two limbs you stood on, and pooling it down at your ankles.

You find yourself shivering on your laid back; lower-half entirely bare and only protected in a rip-able piece of dress. Your folds seem to gleam along with the natural source of the moon, cunt clenching around in vain.

“Fuck, honey, I’m going to ruin your pretty cunt so bad.” he said, his fingers branding touch into your thighs, bottom-half of his face exposed to pink lips and pale skin. “Ghost.”

“Huh?” you ask, absent-mindedly, astray.

“My name. Call me that when I ruin you.”

Ghost then wraps his naked lips around your cunt with no more words, sucking at the flesh, savoring the sweet taste. Your body convulses for a second before being nailed down to the wood of the stump, physically feeling yourself being ruined by the town’s most wanted. Squirming, releasing a variety of whines into the atmosphere. His fingers soon join the ministrations of his mouth, the two fingers pumping up inside of you, sending you into a condition of euphoria with the immense pressure.

Throwing your head back over the edge of the stump, you spread your legs further apart for him, bathing in the nature of his fingers and mouth smacking at your cunt at the same time. You grip at the top of his mask, the black cloth stretching with elasticity. A symphony of angelic, erotic sounds hum from your lips as his mouth gives pleasure at your clit. Ghost grunts occasionally, muffled right into your delicate features. A strain in your stomach warns of your closing orgasm.

Your hips practically ride his tongue in careless movements; doing so until the tension in your stomach climbed up steep heights until it reached the top, letting go — fucked-out and overtook with euphoria while his fingers thrusted through your sensitive cunt.

“Ghost…”

“That’s a good girl, so good,” Ghost said, extracting his fingers and lapping at the arousal that stained them. “All nice and stretched out for me, yeah? You want me to fuck up this innocent pussy?”

“Please,” you whimper, narrowing your eyes through the absence of light to peer at him, eyes doe and watery — unknown to what you were pleading to.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” he stated, “It’ll feel good, I promise. I’ll breed your cunt, ruin you for every other man,” Ghost strokes your face with a gentle significance, “Would you like that?”

You swipe your tongue across a bitten lower lip. “Want that, I’ll be all yours, tear me apart.”

“That’s right, angel,” he said with a sharp breath, hands of veins coming to unfasten the belt that held up his jeans, the combination of his pants and briefs sliding to his ankles; his cock was erect, rigid right against the black tactical jacket he wore. “You’re all mine, and I’ll ravage you as much as I want.”

Empty-headed, you extended both your arms out to his face, caressing it, as you rammed your own lips into his. He tasted of a faint tea, and flavors of vulgar nature, he was heaven. His hands rest at either side of your waist while yours rest at his divided face — the lips of a murderer on yours were so immorally pleasant to hunger at. With an inclined figure over your stow figure, he parts his lips from yours and composes himself right between your thighs, fingers holding down onto the skin.

Ghost pushed lined his cock with the entrance of your cunt; he sheathes himself into you in a quick, single move of his hips. You whine, clenching around him in fluttering flickers, taking the time where he wasn’t moving to give a try at adjusting to both his length and bulk. His eyes stalk into your body, keeping them pinned on you as he starts off slowly, growing to be increasingly fast.

“That’s it, you’re okay, love,” he breathes out, “Keep clenching around my cock, just like that.’

You’re moaning his name like a verse. The blends of skin-on-skin, masculine grunting, and feminine moans were like a pitch-perfect harmony of raw lascivious.

“So angelic, baby, such a pure little thing.” Ghost grunts, “Such a whore for my cock, she likes having her sloppy cunt fucked by a killer, doesn’t she?”

You rapidly nod, tears streaming in rivers across your cheeks, down your neck. Having him inside you was the most divine thing you could’ve experienced, so cherish-able and unforgettable. He was some kind of angelic entity, casted by the looks of demonic circumstances, much like Lucifer. His lips meet at the fleshy base of your neck, teeth stabbing at the skin, soothing over the impacted wounds with the muscle of his tongue.

His thrusts are near-animalistic, pounding through your walls like a starved man, feeling him right at your cervix. You never thought you could get so defenseless, so yearning for a man of his nature. Some blood stains the skin of his cock, a symbol of loss, no longer the pure he says you are. But that could only mean you truly did belong to him.

“You going to let me come inside you, honey?” he asks, “You’ll never be alone again, I’ll always be a reminder of the first man you’ve fucked.”

“Yes!” you squeal, “Come inside me, make me yours.”

And with a few more stinging, godlike thrusts, the stance of his hips are pressed right up against your swollen cunt, the warmth of his seed felt splattering your walls — right as deep to your cervix. He remains in place, slouched over and heavy-breathed, you’re grasping at the chances of air into your lungs. You feel him twitch inside of your overstimulated cunt, earning him a small number of additional whines from your vocal chords.

Some of his come, along with your arousal, leaks out you and stains your inner thighs in a white; his cock is painted in the same shade. You’re both left to sound like panting dogs. (Having fucked like two creatures out in the wilderness, which was, substantially, exactly that.)

Ghost parts away, a last whine trailing off at the loss of him making you feel so full. His torso tugs with more breaths that were in progress of being caught; you’re giving him a latent smile — one of a drunk’s, no teeth bared, just lines of your lips. It’s abnormal. You weren’t supposed to show a man of homicide such endearment, passiveness — unless under the influence of some kind of Stockholm Syndrome — that was impossible, only having met him as of tonight.

“Such a pretty girl,” he said, reaching for back for the knife and sliding the blade in a caressing motion at the side of your face, “Like a lamb — I’m so obsessed with you.”

With his knife, handled in a solid fist, embracing your flesh — littered with imprints of your face pressing into the bark of the stump — he drew the metal of the blade to your collarbone. Some of the bone stuck out like an overgrown root in the ground, most of it just plain skin. You’re stuck in a vision of ecstasy, left incompetent at the hands of him; so all you really can do is grant him the consent of him to touch you, wound you up, kill you, earn up to his title.

A shiver crawls up your spine when the edge comes into contact with your cold, nude skin. Fear drowns in your cold veins, awaiting the possible death that could send you lifeless in a matter of seconds.

But to your own revelation, there is no flash of red, or a blistering puncture of skin in the contour of his weapon — only a minimal blistering. When you angle your head to look for the source of the slight burn, there’s a crimson puncture right above your breasts, deep enough to bleed; shallow enough to not cut at the bone or exhaust blood to the point of inevitable death. Gaping up at him through your languid sights, a rare tenderness occupies his distinct eyes; almost humane, incapable of brutality. He’s still situated between your spread thighs which are support at his waist, the material of his jacket sticking to your sweat-lustered skin.

There’s a strange intimacy shared between the both of you; with his body found in position between your thighs and hands — that abandoned the knife back into his pocket — latching themselves at each side of your hips. His fingers were pressed in a bruising, modest touch. As Ghost inclined himself back down your body, his visible lips press kisses to your forehead that drifted and continued on at your neck. You release a noise from your chest, circling your arms around his chest in a sort of hug, a hand brought up to his head and guiding him to your lips instead — deepening out a kiss that was more passionate, messier than before.

“You should’ve killed me, like all the others.” you confess at his lips.

He gathers one last taste of you before pulling away, still kept close and leaned down. Silent, he observes you and the confession which lingered in the air, possibly choosing wisely on how to answer it.

“You’re special,” he states, “Angelic, docile — nothing that I’ve come across before.”

keepin’ it honest

PAIRING: MIGUEL O’HARA X SPIDER!READER SYNOPSIS: you were dead in his universe. but in yours, he wasn’t... NOTES: - im sorry i think i just like oscar isaac a lot. spiderverse was fun to watch though!! but lmk any ideas/requests you guys want for a continuation. - this is inspired by too many nights - metro boomin & don toliver

You knew you were dead in his universe.

Every time he looked at you, Miguel would have a remorseful look on his face. It feels as though his heart shatters the moment he lays his eyes on you. And sometimes you could feel it. The way you sense his longing stare from afar. You can’t help but feel guilty for him. Even if you had no part in his world, that small fragment of your existence makes for it in heartbreak.

Jessica recruited you after one of the first few anomalies emerged. That night, the AI-generated by Lyla was monitoring the busy highways of Earth XXX. New York in your world was much darker, more grim. In clouds of thunder and everlasting rain, your city operated like an old junction train. It had a roughness to it. Everywhere you looked was shattered and torn apart. You could even notice the hot puffs of smoke in apartments. Every structure was distinct with its barred markings and wounds. It carries curiosity for outsiders. With its unpredictable weather and extended nights, numerous events could occur.

Dusk is where danger becomes alive. People were conscious of that. So when Lyla concluded her examination, Miguel and Jessica cautiously tried to locate their Spider counterpart.

You were skeptical of them. Your uncanny sixth sense never failed you. It’s so accurate that sometimes you hoped it was wrong. But in cases like these, you heeded your intuition. The concept of there being alternate versions of oneself, like Spiderwoman, is truly mind-blowing. In all of the same, you were all Spiderman. And there you stood in a back alley, introduced to a woman with a big afro, wearing a black and red suit. And a man with identical attire of dark blue and radiant red markings.

Through a great extent of compromise and explanation, you agreed to help them on their mission.

“When we’re done, you two have to go.” You recall saying with a look of agitation furrowed between your brows. Not that they could see your cold expression - you kept your mask on. But like all Spider men and women, they knew. Miguel and Jessica dart at each other and reluctantly nod, meeting your gaze. 

“In and out.” Spider-Man 2099 answers in a mellow fashion. You could sense something was on his mind. His thoughts scattered in an array of emotions. And you do not miss his last second glance at you before Jessica moved to exhibit a miniature hologram. 

The mission was finished a couple of hours later, three hours into the new morning. What you foresaw to happen quickly came and ended within minutes in your head. Because by four in the morning, the anamorphic creature had been sedated and taken in by an abundant amount of nets. Strings of bright red and white enveloped them. And as they struggled, the tighter the webs contracted. 

Luminous portal morphs behind you like the sunrise. It’s bright and colorful, similar to a coloring book in a children’s library. The altitude of rays glares against your webbed mask eyes. It takes a few seconds to readjust to the brightness as you blink continuously. It’s beautiful. Spiderman 2099 yanks the mindless anomaly across the floor toward the portal. His shoulders stag from fatigue and wounds. His partner took damage as well but heeds reluctantly. 

“We appreciate your help back there.” Spider-Man 2099 coughs not so subtly to catch your attention. “Without you, we would have had bigger things to deal with.”

“Sure,” You started, allowing some softness into your voice. “Helping you guys out is the least I could do.”

“You did more than help us out,” Jessica Drew swoops in, crossing her arms authoritatively. “You saved an entire universe. Your powers…” 

“How long ago did you say you were bitten?” Her male counterpart interrupts, flexing his shoulder perpendicular to you. Your Spider eyes arched upwards in a confused manner. 

“Why is that important?” You could feel the anticipation of what they wanted to request. Do you want to join us? Earth XXX always had its issues, the mistreatment of superheroes, alienated beings coming from outer space, and now alternative versions of Spider-people. New York XXX was your domain to rescue.

Most of your life, after you got bit, was already messy. You were weary. Your job slowly evolved to being a hassle. Every heist and bank robbery felt redundant and pointless. You felt like you were not changing the city for the better good. Although it seemed like an extraordinary possibility, you had a city to handle, a planet to protect. You were the few to endure numerous foreign and military raids. There was so much you would leave behind. You would leave Miguel behind, whom you have driven to protect since your debut as Spiderwoman. 

The other Spiderwoman glances at her partner in hesitation until he reciprocates with a nod. “Anomalies have become a huge problem for the last few months. It’s been tough to track them down since there aren't not many of us yet. But we could use all the help we can get. With your abilities, you won’t only be saving a couple of planets but the entire multiverse.” 

Spider-Man 2099 eyes down at you. You were in deep thought. He understands and has seen it all. Every Spider person he has met contemplates the same questions and morals. Should they risk it all and follow? What would happen to their world? Should they trust them? For some odd reason, he’s willing to be more understanding. Perhaps he feels strangely nostalgic whenever he looks at you. Because the more he stares, the more he feels a tinge of sorrow in his heart.

“I appreciate what you two are doing. But I’m afraid I can’t.” And just like that, his heart deflates pathetically like a balloon. “I’ve got a whole city to look out for. I can’t leave them behind.” 

Both of them sympathized with you. They were the same before assembling the Spider Society. 

“You won’t—“ 

“We understand. Thanks again for your help.” Just like that, he disregards you and pivots to leave. His response was brief with a hint of distraught. On the other hand, his partner shakes her head out of displeasure. Between the two, she was more in tune with her emotions with people.

Jessica offers you a painful grin. “Thank you for everything. Truly I mean it. And if you ever reconsider, always keep a sharp eye on us. We might come to visit sometime.” When the sun waked from its slumber, they were gone. The multicolor doorway was no longer there. Yet every fragment of their fight was still present.

Jessica had hoped to see you again. There was an underlying thread that told her you would join someday. You were a great fighter with capabilities that she and Miguel didn’t have. You were clever with your attacks. On top of that, you were standoffish and did terribly with jokes. For a short exchange, you became someone she dearly looked forward to. And if she didn’t know any better, Miguel’s too. 

Gwen was keen to get to know you. Why? With every waking hour in the Spider Society, she notices you. The cafeteria, in the peripherals of her conversation, and every other encounter with other Spider-people. You were there. In the corner of her eye, Gwen detects her sixth sense every time. It’s bizarre but something the teenager picks on. She’s curious about you and your presence. After months of training and going on missions, she becomes quite enamored in your existence as Spiderwoman. Seeing that not many female Spider individuals were reluctant to greet her, all Gwen had was Jessica.

Even with Jessica, her mentor and role model, she wants to be friends with you.

You were just you. It was a surprise that the mass majority were frightened of you. Your background was something that caused many eyes to divert. But Gwen did not mind their avoidant stares and hoped to learn more about you. People say Earth XXX was a disastrous universe with greater casualties than any other. And by assumption, people considered you a bold and terrifying warrior that endured more than you wanted. You’re broody like Miguel and don’t make conversation often. The only time you converse is for missions. In your line of position, you were unjust and tyrannical to most. But to her, you were a strong and dedicated leader. 

Gwen fears you. More so petrified if she ever finds you infuriated. There were always whispers and gossip about what you did to your victims on missions. Or forbid if one of the Spider-people violates a direct order. You would be livid to no end. Miguel acts on impulse, and so do you. People don’t know whether you would rip them apart or chuck them out of the building. Yet all the times she’s been to the Spider Society, she had never seen you angry. She thinks she’s not familiar yet to comprehend the nuances of your personality. 

After some time, Gwen confirms you do have a heart. It’s crude of people to believe you were raised and born to be this way. She recalls greeting you once. She was returning from another dimension and wanted to speak with Miguel. Her time at the Spider Society was short-lived. Yet she always made it her mission to catch you.

“You’re here to report back to Miguel?” Your soft-spoken voice almost startles her. It’s not as aggressive as she imagined it to be. Her pupils widened, mirroring back at yours. Your dark purple mask was on. The illuminating design compliments your entire suit. 

“Yeah! Uh, I just finished another mission,” the blonde nervously chuckles, already internally scolding at her behavior. It didn’t seem to bother you, more so you looked curious.  

“How’d it go?” She was almost frightened by how different you were from all the rumors. Your tough exterior was not always apparent, but it did exist. Gwen is impressed by your calm and composed demeanor.

She unconsciously rubs her neck, taking off her hood. “It went well! The anomaly wasn’t very complicated to track. I caught them in a jiffy.” 

“That’s… good to hear.” You expressed pondering what to say next. Casual conversation was never your thing. Moreover, interacting with others wasn’t your strongest pursuit. “I’m sure Miguel will be pleased.” 

Quickly the young teenager blows a raspberry. “Even if I did everything exactly as he told me, he’d still find a way to blame me.” Miguel was relentless and reticent. He’s extremely particular on missions since he constantly reminds everyone of the risks. Bargaining with the multiverse was treacherous. It concerned considerable unexplored opportunities and what-ifs. If someone did change a canon event, more anomalies would appear to wreck the universe.

You don’t laugh but hum in understanding. It was as if Gwen could discern your smile under your mask. “Uh, so what are you up to with Miguel?” 

“I have reports to give back.” You casually respond, dialing the area code. When the lights ensure green, the dark passageway unlocks. It’s eerie and has no source of light coming through it. A few times Gwen has gone through the hallway, shivers traveled down her spine. By now, she’s used to the benign deficiency of light. 

A few seconds passed by as you two walked down the hall. The only prominent sound came from the footsteps of your patted suits. A few beeps from computer monitors beam in the alertness of your presence. For a huge office, it lacked capacity. It’s quiet, the luminance of red rays flashing occasionally.

Miguel did not like bright lights, she’d assumed. Because anytime he would be present, little to no brightness came through the building. Even in the long dark hours, he hides in the shadows. In contrast, in the daytime, her leader rarely leaves his office. What catches her eyes is his suit. The red blood linings blaze dangerously. With his mask off, he stands in a rigid position. He’s organizing something on his computer, a report likely.

“Report 82B Lyla,” you command the AI to pull up a document. Gwen is slightly behind you, crossing her arms patiently. 

“Gladly.” The auto-generated woman winks at you and waves at the teenager. A yellow screen that the blonde presumes is the data script next to you. You start typing away, already slowly melding into the backdrop.  The young Spider can hear murmuring coming from Miguel as he concludes his last paragraph on the monitor. The screen suddenly fades, and Lyla appears back at his side, reorganizing everything per his request.  

“Gwen,” he starts before his eyes flicker to you typing. You glance at him before reading over the information on the digital file. He stretches his arms tiredly. “What’s your status?”

“Doing great sir!” She tries to reply jokingly but then coughs out of embarrassment. “The anomaly capture was successful.” 

“And the casualties?” Her boss draws up her file before skimming back at her anomaly report. Spiderman 2099 then walks back and forth as a way to focus. He reads what Jessica had remarked on her performance. 

“Little to none.” Gwen reaffirms with more emphasis. “He wasn’t difficult to track either. And I caught him easily.” Miguel hums and swipes away her profile. He nudged Lyla to show the screen recording video of the anomaly his associate managed to record of Gwen. The blonde teenager notices he gives her a satisfied look.

“You did good, kid.” With a yawning sigh, Miguel dismisses her before nodding back at his schedule. “You’re good to go. You’ll get notified when your next mission is.” Excitedly, the young Spider girl bounces with a hopeful grin. Even under the mask, you could sense her relief and satisfaction. “Oh, and next time stay hidden.”

“Sure thing!” The young teenager offers him an awkward thumbs-up before backing up to face you. You return her gesture with a little wave. Immediately the file you had in front of you was transferred to your leader. “I’ll see you around.”

The sound of rushed footsteps swiftly evaporates into the void behind. As mentioned, Miguel’s office is dim and gloomy. It was one of the few rooms where no one visited. But it was a great advantage as Gwen shuffles closely by the doorway. When the entrances shut, the lively ambiance she radiated gradually decays, and tranquility immerses. 

Your relationship with Miguel bothered her. Because, for the last three months, she has felt an unwanted feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was her intuition or her natural Spider senses tingling to be more wary whenever the two of you were in the room. It was typical for people to consider you and Miguel O’Hara were the same person from different universes. Maybe you were associates from one dimension and knew each other. Gwen did not know for sure. But through persistent questioning from Jessica, Hobie, and Pavitr, she became concerned that the two of you might be something more. Something more personal or private, there was an underlying truth that you came from a parallel background as Miguel. Everyone knew his story, but not many completely understood yours. 

Moreover, you scarcely mention your home universe. The most conversed with was the primary details of New York XXX. With its contaminated zones and corruption, your universe was horrific enough. Not once had you been keen to chat about life on Earth XXX, you were avoidant. However, Gwen gathered some details of your personal life. For example, you did part-time at Stark Tech and graduated with a master's degree in Biochemistry. She would have to thank Jessica for that part. 

But with no context, Gwen hypothesized something terrible happened to your planet similar to Miguels, if not worse. Did you have a family? You did not care to mention one. With such little information, all she could do was pester her friends. Because she truly wanted to get to know you. You, Spider-woman, the head of security and offensive danger of Neuve York.

So she attempts to attend to your conversation with Miguel O'Hara. If you two even had one, you both were born from the same pod of awkwardness. 

“Mission was successful.” You spoke without thinking. It felt automatic for you at this point. It has become a routine for you to report back to him daily. 

Lyla pulls up the report file in front of him. “And how did the new Peter do?” Miguel swipes from side to side and scans the content of what you have written.

Between the barricades, Gwen presumed you tightened against the discomfort felt in the room. “He did all right for his first mission,” She could almost imagine the lilac radiance from your suit against the scarcity of sunshine. “The guy’s new, what’d you expect?”

Miguel's face morphs into a scowl, evidently troubled. “I want your personal opinion,” he maintains forcefully, still not making eye contact with you. “Was he adequate for the job?”

Jessica made it a known truth that you were observant of many things. You had a knack for using your super hearing to take in intel and conversations particularly inclined to your line of work. Miguel’s comment about your prestige perception was a “particular asset” for their team. You were good at reading people because he always paired you with recruits. You knew what to say about their character and expertise.

“Like every other Peter, he’s fine,” You redirected your weight to your opposing leg out of irritation.

“Fine,”

“Great,”

“Come on guys! Lighten up the room here!” Lyla emerges on a more oversized screen, raising her arms in the air. “No offense.”

“Look, I just want you to stop giving me recruits for a while, okay?” Out of vexation, you crossed your arms. The grudge you had was beyond a minor nuisance. Not many saw it, including Gwen. 

You were aware of the unspoken friction between you and Miguel. It’s become a regular occurrence that reminds you so much of him. But this Miguel was different. What he was capable of and his background was separate. Yet with everything you had given him, Miguel could never look past it. He’s stubborn, something you could never shake off. Nonetheless, you knew you should not bring it up. But your patience was growing thin by the minute. 

It was the same dispute with Miguel. A suggestion would come up and be ignored by his eternal night schedule. It’s become a problem for you as you’ve continually sent messages to him in the past, stating your schedule change. Yet he never replied nor mentioned it in person. You did not have time to train recruits. You had other places to be. 

“Someone else can train them.”

“I think it would be better if you took them,” the brown-haired male sneers under his breath. His snarky remark does not bypass Gwen or your ears. “You’re in charge of security for a reason.”

“Head of security means I have more things to take care of,” Your wide arachnid pupils contracted in a sarcastic arch. “You’re holding me here.”

“So what if I am?” What was he getting at? Gwen did not understand what her boss was thinking. There was a quick pause until your padded feet strode forward. Your suit’s soft footing made a minimal sound that not even Gwen could hear. What she could concur was your jagged breathing. 

“What if you are..?”

“You’re the only person who knows Neuve York better than anyone else! I need you here for the time being,” Your leader whispers your name as if it was a last resort. He rarely calls you by your alias matter of fact, no one did. “Look, we have bigger things to deal with right now.” 

“Funny, you never mentioned these "things" before.” It sounded like a scornful blow. Because while you were one of the more skillful Spider-people, you rarely participated in group settings. You preferred to work alone or sometimes with another person. There was never an in-between with you. Perhaps it's the reason why Miguel was persistent in your mentoring.

“I want you to stay here all right!” Miguel snaps as he frustratedly pinches the bridge of his nose. A tense silence surged through the room. The walls tremble as though they were alive. With no one around, it feels like you were walking on edge with him, where the world revolved only around you and him. Empty and dull. In his domain and lab, Spider-man 2099 sulks and does not say another word. You ponder what he says, it's difficult to put together. You were disappointed in his loyalty and trust. However, you were also unhappy. A bizarre combination.

You realize the pitiful emotion of regret. Your heart cracks at the sound of his tremble of words. It seems like he said it for his benefit. It's complicated as it is to follow orders from Miguel. Regardless, you look back at his face. A fleeting flash in his eyes tells you of his remorse. His beating pulse from afar is rapid. The room suddenly feels hot, your hands clench together. 

The older Spider-Man grips his hair as a way to calm his nerves. “An anomaly breach has been spotted. Peter B confirmed it. And it should be me and Jessica’s responsibility to oversee it. So I need you here, in charge.”

It sounded like he was pleading, the teenager thinks. When has Miguel been this desperate in a situation? Everything she was hearing made Gwen reflect on everything you two discussed. The way you spoke to each other is distant and discomfiting. You particularly were stiff every time you saw him. And Miguel acted as though you were never there in the room. Like he was purposely ignoring your presence. Yet Miguel was never a person to plead for someone.

You inhaled slowly out of your nose. It is challenging to meet the gaze of your leader as you contemplate his comments. Above all else, you must prioritize what's at stake. Sudden breaches were serious threats. You consider Miguel's course of thinking. It was always he and Jessica to take over when things became chaotic. And it's you that comes last as a backup. It's the way and standard they have decided on. Your leader claims it's better to limit their troops before heading into danger. And Jessica can't help but agree. But you knew, still, you think of his personal feelings as well. Apart from every mission, you know Miguel's true intentions about you. The reason? The answer was as frank as it always has been.

But how insistent he has become and how sullen you felt afterward. With that, you stare up at the platform. “Fine.”

Gwen stops in confusion. This wasn’t the person she knew you as.

Lyla, who has been spectating in the background, observes her boss’s reaction. He seemed out of breath and tense. The very presence of you makes him uneasy. Even so, she could tell he wanted nothing more than to do what was best for Neuve York. If that means making you stay longer, you’d have no choice but to obey. And she wants the best for you. Lyla also hopes and pleads for you guys to reconcile someday.

“Are we done?” 

“Yeah… We’re done.” Miguel could his racing heart slow down. He pierces his lips together, his shoulder relaxing.

You hold a grim cast, swiftly turning to march toward the double doors. The atmosphere is heavy from the strained tension. Yet you stand your ground and continue out of the room, never sparing Miguel a glance. Reluctantly, the curly-haired man’s eyes soften in a moment of vulnerability. Your immediate departure left a bitter taste in the room. With no one else in the room, Miguel is finally alone. Again, in his thoughts, in darkness. His heart thumps steadily to know you're away from peril. Even if it meant you would be resentful of him, Miguel's content.

You vanish into the darkness. Your suit has a camouflage characteristic to it. Because you stray further from the doors, you can feel your whole body basking in the absence. And finally, you snatched your mask off in one swoop. With no eyes glaring back at you, your body trembles slightly. You didn’t realize how hot and sweaty you were at that moment. Like a breath of fresh air, you gasped full breaths continuously. Miguel could never see you without your mask. It was a secret in his presence, for his sake and yours. 

Out of a fearful situation, Gwen speechlessly heaves in astonishment. Unbeknownst, her hands and body shake. Her big discovery was making her head explode. How couldn’t she have known? You two hid it so well. She believed your dynamic was natural for your similar personalities. But the multiverse was more cruel than she thought. 

He cared for you.

The next morning, you were gone. Back onto your universe for a checkup. Because every so often, you receive information from Stark Tech or national news of Earth XXX's well-being. According to Stark, you may be considered reckless because you have an overextended work schedule. Your universe was a different problem. Your body and soul were born in this world. It holds a special spot in your heart.

You were not a full-time superhero. You occasionally helped Iron Man or Black Widow on scouting missions. Though you would say most of your work was predominantly independent. You relished in tranquility in what your jobs provided. Here is your small apartment in New York, where you did not have busy associates bugging you. 

Your city was quiet tonight. It brought you joy and ease. After Miguel’s little chat, you wanted to avoid the Spider Society. The heated conversation left a bad taste in your mouth. Now as you flee from Neuve York, you're welcomed to a more comfortable setting. The skies were majestic in your world. Its eternal darkness settles you back into your old life. The stars were out tonight but so tiny. And the honks of pedestrians frazzle your ears. A familiar tune plays outside of your dorm casually on the side of the building. In a world where terrible things happen, it's so peaceful tonight. 

Neuve York was never home to you. The people are indeed welcoming and sweet. But it's nowhere near how you feel with New York XXX. 

In opposition, Spider-Man 2099 commonly resides at Neuve York. After you decided to join the Spider Society, meeting Miguel became a usual thing. You learned many things about him. Such as his preference for food, whom he tolerates, and his story. Spider-man 2099 is a gruesome man with a tragic background. Disregarding your quarrels, Miguel was the one to recruit you. He was the same person who created the Spider Society and made Neuve York their main base. It was all thanks to him for your tremendous efforts.

Thus, when you walk inside your apartment, you try not to think about him. You flicked the light on and you relished in its comfort. It had been months since your last arrival. You had not felt relief in months due to your recruitment business. Apart from that, you occasionally did missions per Jessica's request. You were the head of security, many things had come up to you in the past year. All else aside, you weren't working right now. You were finally home. In a place where you could find solace. You stroll around, familiarizing yourself with the place. The decorations and furniture lead you back to old memories. Fresh and prepared to do anything. In your younger years, you would be ready for the worse. 

Eventually, you changed into pajamas. They were loose but comfortable. The sheer difference from your civilian wardrobe to your Spider suit is two completely different styles. But you weren't Spider-woman right now. You were just you. You were just a lonesome neighbor, wanting to eat.

You discovered there were leftovers in the fridge and reheated it. A random movie was playing that allowed your mind to rest. The concrete table you had in the kitchen had a beautiful set of gray colors. It's marble which compliments the cupboards next to them. You feel nostalgic thinking about it. When you first moved in, nothing in your apartment was the same. You had to renovate everything to satisfy your vision. And as it turned out, your kitchen was one of your accomplished projects.

You look back on the fond memories you had as a young adult. Now years later, your mind and thinking have matured. Many things have changed since you became Spiderwoman. Your life now was on a constant radar. And as you sit down on your couch with a bowl of rice and teriyaki steak, you sigh. Your life was not going to get easier. It would not get more difficult from here. The movie playing on your television catches your attention. A single line from the main character reminds you of what your uncle had once told you.

With great power comes great responsibility. 

The morning ran by rather quickly. You didn’t realize how much time had passed until your eyes slowly registered the fluffy covers on top of you. The natural illumination coming from your window displays next to you. You can see the small particles of dust in the air. The world is a blur for you for a moment. Until you awakened in your bed, the scent of vanilla and blueberries distinctly attracted your nose. Your legs slowly lifted themselves to the floor. You note that you don't remember showering or cleaning after yourself last night. You'd assumed you were carried straight to bed.

The sun was so bright and delightful outside. For once New York was not raining today on its cool morning. And rubbing your eyes, you casually walk toward the scent. “Morning,” You yawn clumsily, leaning towards the nearby counter. Unfortunately, you slipped and failed to catch the edge of the table.

Luckily a fast hand reaches out and holds onto your forearm. “Morning, mi amor.” 

You blink up and give your savior an adorable smile. “Morning.” In return, he laughs at your drowsiness. Your hair, most likely was a mess. And your face was probably droopy from sleepiness. Not to mention the sweat and dirt you endured from the previous mission. 

You were guilty. Even after returning home, you did not take the time to shower yet. “Sorry, I was exhausted yesterday.” 

“No need, amor,” your fiancé gives you a sympathetic look, squeezing your bicep, “I didn’t know you would come home so soon. I should’ve set up dinner for you.” 

“It's all right.” You wave a hand in reassurance before sitting on one of the stools. “I had some leftovers.” 

Your partner flips a pancake and grins. “Yes, I could tell.” There was an underlying teasing tone you sensed. “But don’t worry, that’s why I made you breakfast.” At the word, he places the last pancake on a white plate. Grabbing fresh blueberries from the sink behind, he sprinkles the rest onto the pancakes. Adorningly, you giggle at his gestures of courtesy. In casual clothes, he wears your cute little apron. It has little pink hearts on it. His stature looms over you easily as he leans in with a charming look. 

With the maple syrup in hand, you eagerly look at the pancake and then back to him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.

warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.

pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader

word count: 4k

masterlist|

(please, don't flag the work)

༺ᱬ༻

There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.

And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.

Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.

Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.

Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.

You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.

In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.

Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.

But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.

However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.

“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.

It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.

But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.

The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.

And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.

How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.

Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.

But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.

And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.

“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”

“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.

“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”

And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.

“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.

“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”

And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”

So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.

And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.

You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.

“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.

“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.

“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”

“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”

After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.

“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.

“Mmm?”

Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.

“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.

“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.

“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.

“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”

At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.

“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.

“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”

“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”

At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.

“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”

“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”

“You aren’t?”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.

“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”

“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”

“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”

For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”

The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.

 But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.

And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.

And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.

“Wanda...”

“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.

“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”

“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”

She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.

"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"

“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”

The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.

“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.

Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.

“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.

“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”

Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.

“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."

“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”

And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.

“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”

"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.

“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”

You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.

“You love me?”

Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.

“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”

When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.

And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.

“I love you, little witch.”

It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.

It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.

As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.

“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.

“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”

But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.

“Wanda, I…I…”

But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.

Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.

Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.

“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.

“Wanda… is... is that…?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.

“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”

Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.

Just a Touch

You managed to locate a dark and quiet corner. Leaning against the wall, you lightly pressed your forehead against the brick. A low sigh left you, the coolness feeling disgustingly good against your heated skin.

“Since when do canaries hide away in the dark?” a low, growling voice asked from behind you.

Cabaret AU Drabble You x Sun and Moon

It was nearing the evening and your fever hadn't let up. It was baffling how your skin could feel so hot and yet you were shivering under your blankets doused in sweat. Staying in bed was not an option, however. You still had a gig to perform. In the line of show business canceling a job, especially from higher-end establishments, was a beeline to career suicide. The show organizers and event managers did not care if you were sick or dying, they only cared about you showing up as promised. And if you broke that promise they would likely never invite you again. 

It was an incredibly unbalanced relationship where the performer was expected to show unfaltering dedication and loyalty, but the companies gave none of it back. No, in their eyes, you were lucky to be invited, they were doing you a favor, and woe be it upon you if you squander such generosity. So, you oh-so gracefully clambered your way out of bed, shuffled to your wardrobe, and wriggled into your work attire.

Normally you preferred to get dressed and dolled up at the venue but you'd rather not chance being too exhausted after the transit. You needed every drop of your energy for when you hit the stage. You put on your makeup, you curled your hair, you primped and primed until your mask of perfection was complete. Then you headed outside into the chilly dusk air to wait for the bus. 

You nearly drifted off a few times on the ride over, narrowly missing your stop. You focused on taking one steady breath after the other, one small step after another. Mind over matter that's all it was. Just put on a performance until the curtain closes then no one can judge or condemn you and say you didn't give it your all. The bright lights of the cabaret FazOurs burned your eyes and for a moment you swayed. Then you took a deep breath, swallowing down your misery, and put on your best-winning smile. You may not be on stage yet, but eyes were on you, which meant it was Showtime.

As you weaved your way through the patrons, you spotted one of your favorite people and one out of two reasons that you didn't have to completely force the smile on your face. Sun was in the middle of entertaining himself, keeping a handful of the patrons spellbound by how he flipped cups and poured shots from over his head without managing to spill a single drop on his immaculately clean bar table. You would have been content to watch all night long as those hands and fingers forced liquid -the most mercurial of all the elements as far as you were concerned- to flow and dance to his whimsies.

He finished off the drink, adding the literal cherry on top of the crystalline ice to the scattered applause of those seated nearby. Only when the crowd dispersed and Sun began casually wiping down the bar did you saunter your way over, feeling so proud that you managed not to tip over sideways in the process. As planned, the bartender's gaze was drawn to your approach and his already cheery demeanor brightened all the more.

“Doth my eyes deceive me, or hath an angel descended from the heavens themselves?”

“Oh, love, quite the contrary,” you said, sliding into one of the chairs, thankful to have something to rest on. “The very depths of hell spat me out and now you're cursed to suffer my alluring charms.”

“The gates of hell might not be so bad if it's your company I'm promised,” Sun mused.

What a charmer. Sun managed to spin flattery as easily as a spider spun silk threads. But no matter how lovely the canvas of webbing is, it was still meant for catching anything foolhardy enough to fly too close. You are not foolhardy, but you were daring, and you did so love to tempt fate.

“An eternity with you” You hummed softly. “They would have to rename hell to heaven and then everything would just collapse in on itself, natural order destroyed.”

This earned you a chuckle of amusement. “Disturbing the peace and order. Yes, that does sound very much like you.”

You smiled feeling a little too pleased with yourself perhaps.

“Are you tired, darling?” Sun asked suddenly.

The question jarred you a bit and you realized too late you were leaning rather heavily against the bar table. You straightened up in your seat. “Looks like you caught me. Just looking for an excuse to be closer to you. I suppose I'll have to be a little more discreet next time.”

Sun’s smile did not falter, though you could tell his gaze was far more assessing now, eyes searching for chinks in the armor that you'd woven for yourself. That just would not do. The last thing you needed was for him to worry over you. Although the sentiment was sweet, you couldn't risk him thinking that you were incapable of performing.

“Well, as much as I hate to go and leave you lonely, I need to slip backstage to prep for the big opening number.” You slid off the bar stool and began making your swift retreat. “Try not to miss me too much.” 

You heard Sun call out: “break a leg.”

In the back halls lined with dressing rooms other performers were already getting prepared. You were thankful you'd done yourself up ahead of time, even if it meant your curls wouldn't be quite as springy and your makeup might be a little flaked. Under the bright lights of the stage, no one would notice and you didn't plan to get up close and personal with anyone. Not tonight.

You managed to locate a dark and quiet corner. Leaning against the wall, you lightly pressed your forehead against the brick. A low sigh left you, the coolness feeling disgustingly good against your heated skin.

“Since when do canaries hide away in the dark?” a low, growling voice asked from behind you.

Ah, and there he was, your second reason to smile through the pain and misery. Straightening up, you opened your eyes to see a halo of soft red light surrounding you. Turning, you grinned up at the face of your favorite piano player, Moon. As usual, his hands were tucked away in his pockets; they seemed to live there when he wasn't at his piano playing.

“Who said I was hiding?” you asked coyly. “You don't think I stood here intentionally waiting for you to come find me? Tsk tsk, shame on you, falling right into my trap.”

Moon leaned down, his gaze scrutinous. Like Sun, he was rather tall and easily towered over you. Another nice thing about makeup, it would hopefully hide the fact that you were flushed like a ripe tomato. “Why do I get the sense you're up to no good?”

You laughed. “Dearest, have you MET me?”

He made a harrumph sound, but his posture was slightly more relaxed as he leaned back from you. “Yes, I have. Still questioning that decision.”

“A shame, because I would relive our first meeting 1000 times over given the chance.”

A growling scoff was his answer, one of his hands leaving the safety of his pockets in favor of pulling the front tip of his fedora down to hide his eyes. You inwardly chuckle. Moon wasn't quite as apt when it came to volleying compliments as his sunnier counterpart.  

Just then you heard the stage coordinator call out, “Places everyone!”

You skirted around Moon. “Hope you can still keep up with me.”

He trailed behind you, and you're certain he called you a brat under his breath. You took your place on stage while Moon seated himself at the piano. You took deep breaths, doing your best to not sway on the spot as the announcer hyped up the crowd for the show. Then the music started, the trilling notes of the piano flowing and weaving into a wild melody. You longed to watch those fingers dance over the ivory keys, but you needed to focus. The curtains parted, light-flooded your vision and you could hardly see. The faces were darkened and blotted out by the mixture of shadows and your own blurring vision. But it was fine because you were a performer. You didn't need to see the audience, all that mattered was they saw you, and so you needed to be perfect.

You took one more steadying breath and belted out the first line of lyrics. It was all or nothing now.

-----

When Sun had wired a message to Moon that something was off with their star performer, the latter was of course put on edge. For one thing, performances at the FazOurs were the prime priority. They were the establishment's pride, and thus no one could afford to fall short. More importantly, however, the thought of something being off with you rankled him more than it should. He was also very aware that this detail shouldn't have been more important to him, yet it was. Sun and Moon had agreed when this whole mess started: nothing should be more important than focusing on their jobs so they could get out. And yet... there you were, and with just a smile and a wink, you kicked all rational thought out the window.

They weren't idiots. They were smart enough to at least try to keep a professional distance. Yet you spoke sweetly to them. You flirted with them. You treated them with kindness. You treated them like people instead of objects. You were, in a very sad and literal sense, their only friend. Yet that was a dangerous truth they couldn't afford to voice to you, nor were they allowed to touch you, due to their very strict protocols about having physical contact with human clientele, and consequentially, they couldn't allow you to touch them either.

Moon hadn't even been able to look you in the eye when you'd so casually reached out to touch his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, only to reflexively cringe away from you. He didn't want to suffer what look you might have been wearing, and later he cursed himself for being such a coward.

Now he watched you perform from his place at the piano, stealing quick and subtle glances so as not to draw attention where it should not be, for he should never be the focus. Earlier, the subtle signs of perspiration and hints of flush behind the makeup had been suspicious to him, however, you had the hop-step going and your singing was true as always.

The two of you pushed your way up the crescendo, and it was moments like these Moon knew Sun would envy him for. The moments where you and Moon were working in tandem to create something to mesmerize and spellbind the audience. Sometimes, he missed the spotlight, but for you, he didn't mind playing a more supporting role. Not when you had so much overflowing passion to give.

You belted out the last note, the air shaking with your well-placed vibrato and you struck your final pose. The audience erupted into applause, several of the patrons standing from their seats. You bowed and stayed there until the curtains closed. You didn't rise as Moon had expected. Instead, you fell with a soft thud onto the wooden stage.

There was barely any time for him to actually process his thoughts into a decision before his body had leaped from his bench and he was at your side. The other performers who were next up began to crowd around you, shocked and murmuring. Moon assessed the situation, eyes scanning and evaluating until his systems came to a conclusion that issued this as an emergency situation, allowing him to override the 'no touch' protocol. He placed a hand on your forehead and his sensors detected that you had a high-grade fever. He inwardly cursed, both himself for not noticing your distress and you for hiding it so well.

Moon lifted you off the floor, cradling you in his arms. “Out of the way,” he barked, and the other humans were quick to clear a path for him as he made his way to the back rooms.

-----

At his perch at the bar, where he saw all and everything, Sun was humming to himself as he cleaned his glasses for the third time and his bar table for the fifth. You had been resplendent as always, and your performance was impeccable. Perhaps he'd been worried for nothing. You did have a habit of throwing him off kilter, much to his amusement and chagrin. You always kept him guessing, something that made you both intriguing and dangerous.

You were kind and friendly to everyone you met. Well, everyone who you felt deserved it. Somehow, he and Moon had fallen into two of those lucky few. At first, Sun found your flirting to be cute, if not somewhat insincere. However, after enough back and forth, he'd come to enjoy your witty banter and lavish compliments. For most, he was just a bartender. Someone who people tended to offload all their problems and woes. But you? You'd been the first person to ask him, “And how has your night been going?” Such a simple and unassuming question, yet it was thoughtful, and it made him feel seen.

Just as he was about to take some orders, his eyes caught sight of his counterpart. With you in his arms. Unconscious.

He flashed the waiting patrons a smile. “Apologies, folks, but it seems I need to refill the ice tub.”

No one questioned the fact that it was still half full with the speed Sun uses to evacuate himself from the bar to go investigate. He catches sight of Moon heading to their quarters and tails him, ice bucket still tucked under his arm.

“What’s happened?” Sun asked in a hushed whisper as he slipped into the room behind Moon.

“They’re sick, feverish. It’s bad,” he muttered, not looking at Sun as his eyes scanned the room for an appropriate place to rest you.

The room was minimally furnished, as they weren’t allowed much in the way of comfort, there was a couch. It had several stains that hadn’t come out despite their efforts, so Sun asked Moon to wait whilst he took a few of the costumes and laid them out as a makeshift cover. 

Moon set you gently down. You moaned softly, but your eyes remained screwed shut, your breathing labored. “I can’t stay,” Moon muttered, one of his hands lingering on the delicate curve of your wrist. The words were soaked with bitterness and Sun understood why.

“Go perform the next number,” Sun told him. “That’ll give me some time. Folks won’t mind not getting drinks for a bit if they’re being entertained.”

Moon grumbled but he nodded. His hand left yours, and the reluctance was evident in the twitching and curling of his fingers. He left, shutting the door behind him. Sun got to work taking some of the ice from the bucket and wrapping them in towels and placing them against your neck. You shivered and moaned again and he slipped off his jacket and draped it over you in the hopes you’d be at least a little more comfortable. He continued to dab around your face and forehead with an ice-cold cloth. For a moment your eyes flutter open, wide but not quite lucid.

Sun stole a moment to brush his thumb over your face. It was a moment that should have never belonged to him, yet he indulged in it all the same so he could later cherish it when your touch was no longer in reach.

“You stay strong, little songbird. Okay?”

You give a soft nod. “Mm-hm.”

Sun's hand carefully moved the damp cloth over your forehead. “You didn't think to maybe call in sick?” he asked, a thinly veiled layer of scolding in his tone.

“What? And miss seeing your darling faces?” You forced out, giving him a heavy-lidded smile, no doubt to mask the immense discomfort you were in. “Perish the thought.”

Sun made a huffing sound. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want you to think that any of this was okay. “This place isn’t worth killing yourself over.”

“I’m tired,” you breathed out, and it was probably the most honest thing you’ve said all night. So honest it shook him more than any of your flirty remarks. “How about you keep playing doctor and we’ll talk about this later, hm?”

“Of course,” Sun conceded. “Later then.”

“So, is it as nice as you dreamed?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Touching me.” You flashed him another laughing smile, despite the weariness in your eyes. “I know it’s certainly better than I’d imagined.”

Sun sighed. If it weren’t for the smile already stretching his face, he would have had to fight to mask the one your words had elicited. “You said you’re tired. Rest now. I’ve… we’ve got you.”

“I know you do,” you murmured.

Your eyes slid shut and before long your breathing evened out. Meanwhile, outside, the big musical number was winding down. He needed to return to his post.  He grabbed himself a fresh jacket, letting you keep using his other as a blanket. You would be safe in their room, with no one to disturb you while you rest.

-----

Your sleep was restless and you’re pretty sure you rolled over to vomit at one point. You had very vague recollections of pleasant cold hands on your shoulders, supporting you whilst your stomach emptied itself of what little contents it had, before gently laying you back down. You didn’t think you dreamt of cool digits brushing your neck and forehead and sweet words of comfort whispered in your ear.

Your skin felt like it was harboring a furnace and your body ached like you’d been run twice over by a cab. Any time you tried to sit up your world tilted and spun, and you were resigned to flop back like a dead fish, close your eyes and surrender to blackness where you could find a brief reprieve in your suffering.

The next time you came to, you could hear the voices of your two favorite boys going back and forth with one another.

“...let them stay sleeping here?” 

“How are we supposed to get them home?”

“There’s always the hospital.”

“No,” you croaked out, wincing at how pathetic you sounded. “No hospital.”

Both Sun and Moon stopped their conversing, their attention going to you. Sun was immediately at your side whilst Moon hung back. His body was hunched, restlessly shifting back and forth, like an old bad habit he couldn’t quite shake.

The yellow and cream digits pressed against your forehead and throat and you reflexively sigh at how good they felt against your feverish skin. “Your fever hasn’t broken, and you haven’t been holding down fluids.” Sun's voice was soft, but it had a firmness to it that was trying to make you see reason.

“I’ve suffered worse, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, doing your best to give him a smile of reassurance. “Have at least a little faith in me.”

Sun leaned forward until his blue optics were practically boring into yours. “Darling, you can’t fool me. You’re not fine. You’ve barely any strength. I’m telling you this, for your own sake, you should go to the hospital where you can get proper treatment.”

You just nodded along with what he was saying, until you leaned up, closing the inch or two of space and pressing your lips to his smile. You’re not certain what possessed you to do it. Could be the fever. Could be to derail him from thoughts of taking you to see a doctor. Or it could be that some part of you had been yearning for it for some time now. You felt Sun’s body lock up for a brief moment and heard a static warble of surprise from across the room before you felt the slightest pressure against your mouth in return.

When you parted from the kiss, Sun’s gaze had gone completely white. “Sorry, love. I needed you to stop speaking nonsense for a bit.”

Moon’s eyes were dilating from red to black, staring in disbelief, his body rigid, as though it had been him you had sprung the surprise kiss on. Your gaze returned to Sun who was still white-eyed and unmoving.

“Oh dear, did I cause you to malfunction? I didn’t think I was THAT good.” You gave a weak chuckle at your own humor.

You reached out to touch his face, maybe stroke his cheek, but his hand caught yours. Not roughly, no, it was incredibly gentle. The blue of his eyes steadily returned, and you couldn’t quite fathom their gaze. Did he seem… conflicted?

“In all seriousness,” you said. “If you even think of arranging to have me sent to the hospital, I will claw my way out of here and all the way home if I have to.” You shot a glare at Moon, making sure he understood as well.

A static huff of a noise emitted from Sun’s voicebox. “What exactly do you have against doctors?”

“Take me on a date sometime and I might tell you all about it,” you said sweetly, or as sweet as you could manage given how rough and hoarse your voice sounded.

This time, Moon was the one to sigh in annoyance. You knew to them you were probably just being a pain in the ass, an inconvenience. But you could not risk going to a hospital and having it ruin everything.

“Sun, go get them,” Moon said gruffly.

Sun met Moon’s gaze briefly, and you could tell there was a secret conversation happening. It made you just a touch nervous. Sun rose to his feet whilst Moon approached where you lay.

“Get who? Where are you going?” you asked, trying to sit up.

Blue and white digits settled on your shoulder, gently but firmly pushing you back down. “The manager keeps a stash of meds for emergencies. He probably won’t miss a few, and they might help with the pain and the fever.”

There was that paranoid part of your brain that suspected this may be a trick just to placate you, but you decided to trust them. You wanted to trust them with this much at least. You watched Sun leave the room, while Moon picked up a water bottle and held it to your lips. You cringed away out of reflex. In your line of profession, you’d been taught to never accept an open glass or bottle you hadn’t opened yourself or at least seen prepared.

“Drink,” Moon ordered. “Or I will carry you out of here and cart you to the hospital myself.”

You eyed him sullenly, unsure if he could and would actually deliver on that threat. You didn’t want to risk it and thus allowed him to tip some liquid into your mouth. The water felt good on your parched throat and even better as it slid down into your empty belly. You drank a few more swallows before he seemed satisfied.

“Try to keep it down this time,” he muttered.

This time? Boy, you must really have been out of it. He took one of the damp washrags and began dabbing around your forehead and neck area. His touch was far more measured and deliberate than Sun’s you noticed, like he was worried he might accidentally break you. You released another sigh at how pleasant of relief the coolness was, wondering how the rag could stay wet against the inferno blazing on your skin. You really were a mess. You’d never wanted them to see you like this, so weak and pitiful.

“Why did you hide it?” Moon asked, his low gruff voice sounding… angry? Hurt? No, he was probably just irritated because of your stubborn refusal to accept professional medical treatment. “You could have told me. Us.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, love,” you told him, honestly. “I still had to perform.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” You say that bit with a hard bitterness, but your hand reached out to brush his arm. “I’m touched though. It sounds like you’re actually worried.”

A growl of static preluded his next words. “Of course I am.”

Oh… for a moment you were stunned speechless. But of course, there was no way he meant it the way you wished he would. Your being ill had been a risk to the establishment’s reputation. If you had fainted dead away in the middle of your performance, it would have caused an issue. You’re being here now was causing issues.

“I’ve got a little trick to help get rid of worries,” you said, a plan hatching in your brain. After all, you didn’t want to play favorites between the two of them, it would be terribly unfair.

“And what’s that?” he asked, his gaze suspicious but intrigued.

“Help me sit up?”

“You should be resting.”

“It’ll be only a moment, dearest.”

He sighed but decided to play along, surprisingly. His hand slid under your back and eased you up into a sitting position. You leaned on him so as not to sway. Glancing up, you lifted a hand and crooked your finger at him, beckoning him closer. If he knew what you were up to, he didn’t show it as he leaned down. Closer… closer… until you were able to take hold of his tie and lean up just enough to close that pesky gap. His sharpened teeth had a unique texture against your mouth, and you felt the hand on your back very subtly pull you closer before he suddenly jerked away.

Once more, his optics were shifting from red to black, as though his processors were having difficulties comprehending what just happened. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, little canary,” he growled.

“I always am,” you replied cheekily.

“Ahem.” The mock sound of a throat clearing attracted both of your gazes. Sun had returned. 

With Moon’s help, you reclined back down on the sofa, his silken tie sliding from your grasp. Neither of them discuss what Sun just walked in on, but you wondered if maybe you just couldn’t hear it, or perhaps it was a discussion that would be saved for later when your ears weren’t present. A shame, you would have liked a bit of feedback. You supposed you’d just have to settle for the fleeting moments of reciprocation.

Sun approached you with a couple of small pills resting in his palm. “These should help.” Once more you were forced to accept assistance as he tipped the pills into your mouth, with Moon having you chase it with a few more drinks of water.

The rest of the night and morning passed with minimal chatter, as the pair of them insisted you save your strength and sleep. You acquiesced, though not before sneaking in a couple more teasing remarks about them just wanting to watch you sleep. You don’t know if anyone else was privy to your presence in their room, but no one, save for them, ever intruded upon you while you rested. At one point, you awoke to find Sun absent and Moon was in the corner. He was sat up, but his eyes were blank and a cord was sticking out of his back. He was… charging? You couldn’t help but stare, in awe of how vulnerable he seemed, and even more so he’d be willing to be in such a state with you there. 

Searching around, you found your bag resting nearby and snagged it. From inside you pulled out a pocket watch, and it read that it was midmorning. The cabaret would be closed. Perfect time for you to sneak out. You still felt hot, and tired, and a bit winded, but some of your energy had trickled back. You could make it to the bus station, you could make it home. Much as you hated leaving without a word, you worried Sun and Moon might not let you leave in your current condition, and you didn’t want to raise suspicion with your watchdog/landlord by being unexpectedly absent for too long.

Still, you decided it couldn’t hurt to take a couple of souvenirs. You wrapped Sun’s jacket around your shoulders and shuffled over to where Moon sat. His shirt and suspenders were undone, and his tie had been set aside. You picked it up and pocketed it. Before you made your escape, perhaps it was only fair you left something behind in exchange. 

You removed your set of star-shaped earrings, setting them down in place of the tie. One for each of them. A small ‘thank you’ for them taking such wonderful care of you. Slipping out of the room, you took care not to run into anyone as you snuck out the back doors and into the brisk morning, the sunlight far too bright after the pleasant dimness of their bedroom. You made your way to the bus stop, hoping the boys won’t be terribly sour about your sudden departure. You’d find a way to make it up to them. They wouldn’t be rid of you that easily.

Bells Hells as Magnus Archives fear avatars:

Imogen- The Eye 👁️

Laudna- the Spiral 🌀

Ashton- The Buried 🪨

FCG- The Stranger 🎭

Chetney- the Hunt 🐺

Fearne- the Desolation 🔥

Orym- The Lonely 👤

Honestly, a part of me just wants to put Orym as a regular person.

Dorian- The Vast 💙

Dusk/Yu- The Stranger 🎭

Deanna- The End 💀

F.R.I.D.A- The Web 🕸️

Deni$e- The Hunt 🐺

Bor'Dor- The Slaughter 🪓

Prim- The Dark 🖤

Entry to RoyEd Week 2023 August 2nd Day 2 - Soulmate AU

(Edited: Long fic ahead! Also I posted this on ao3 too :> thank you everyone for all the wonderful comments!! I am all giddy over them)

It was already late when they arrived at the Rockbell’s house, where villagers said they could find the Elric brothers if they were not home. The cottage was dim inside, only allowing the faintest trace of dusk to put shape to the helpless boy in the wheelchair, and the enormous suit of armour towering over him.

In the literal blink of an eye, Roy Mustang’s life was turned upside down.

Despite the darkness, Roy saw the boy in foreign vividness that he had never witnessed; colours exploded in front of his eyes like fireworks, rendering him speechless. The boy’s shade was accentuated by a distinct warmth— Roy would later learn the name of the colour that was gold, a pigment that he would come to associate with justice, passion, and everything that was pure and magnificent.

Before arriving at Resembool, Roy had rehearsed his recruitment speech for five different situations, but none of which took the current one into account. For the first time in a long while, he had no idea what to say.

At that moment, assaulted by colours he had yet to know, he only knew one thing— that destiny had cursed this little boy to be attached to him, Roy Mustang. A man who had far more enemies than allies, more nightmares than sleep— more dead than alive.

The boy did not give any visible reaction to Roy’s loud entry into the house, and his aimless eyes had already betrayed his state to Roy.

He could not afford to have a soulmate. Not when his soulmate sat defencelessly like this, deaf to the entire world. Being his soulmate meant putting a target on their back, meant always sleeping with an eye open, meant never finding peace till the day of his death.

He could not, in good conscience— with what little he had remained of it— put his soulmate through what his life entailed. Anyone sane enough would be able to see him from a distance and turn around immediately. Nobody deserved to be Roy’s soulmate to experience what he would inevitably put them through. No one would be tough and yet foolish enough to stay.

Ignoring the nausea this revelation has caused him, Roy bit his tongue and demanded an explanation for the situation instead. He listened, in slowly freezing horror, to the younger brother of the Elrics– Alphonse Elric– explaining how they ended up in their current bodies.

Roy looked at Edward Elric who was missing two limbs, and reminded himself that this young boy in front of him had committed the greatest taboo in alchemy and survived. Then, as if it was not enough, did it again to bargain his brother’s soul back. An improbable, stupid, and lethal decision—yet it was undeniable that he had done the unthinkable and survived the consequences. At such a young age nonetheless, when most alchemists' apprentices were still struggling with the most basic of elements.

Perhaps given time, this boy could grow into someone beyond Roy’s imagination. Perhaps given time, Roy could grow into someone strong enough to shield his soulmate from harm.

And so Roy told him, in an earnestness that surprised even himself, that when he was ready, he could find Roy in East City and Roy would provide him with resources that could put him back on his feet. That it would be a road filled with thorns and danger, but the rewards were worth the risk.

Against his better judgement, Roy had provided his soulmate a choice. Edward could choose to run after him into the shower of bullets and webs of lies, or he could choose to stay in the quiet countryside and never let their paths cross again.

Secretly, Roy wished that his soulmate would choose the latter, wiser option. But he also knew acutely that the world had a morbid sense of humour, and whoever that was tied with him could never have any good sense in them. If fate had decided that they were meant to be, then his soulmate must have been as much of a stubborn fool as him, if not more.

Roy bid the family goodbye, and walked out of the dark shadows of the cottage. He was greeted with an entirely new world, now coloured in radiant hues he could not put words to.

He examined his palm under the flickering street light. He could see his veins faintly under his skin, pumping blood into every corner of his body. It was purple and flesh and red and human. It was warm and colourful and alive.

Remember it, remember what I’ve said, and catch up to me. Roy thought. Those who cannot keep up with me cannot be my soulmate.

I’m putting my faith in you that, no matter which way you end up choosing, our paths will converge, and we shall meet again at a time when you and I are wiser and stronger and unmovable in the face of danger. I’m putting my faith in you that, regardless of the dangers on my journey, you will find me and stay beside me and not be frightened.

I’m choosing to believe, if fate has decided that I’m still worthy of a soulmate despite my sins, then there must still be something redeemable in me, and you must be someone with enough love to love me for the monster I am.

Please find me soon.

==============================

And then Ed surprised him after a year when Roy expected to wait at least 5 more years lmfao

I wanted to play on the idea of “you only begin to see colour once you’ve met your soulmate” and thought VERY hard about how to visualise it without turning it into a long comic. My very stupid, no good brain came up with the idea of putting a colour wheel in the background :> in hindsight it’s very cringe but at that point it was already too late to give up or change it lmaooooo

I also put paint and paint brushes around as decoration which i think is kind of cute ^^ and special thanks to my sister who helped me fix the colouring because my usual way of doing it just… lacks the vibrancy this prompt asks for. She’s a goddess and 192729% better at this drawing business than me.

@royedweek2023

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

Marastruck! A Yandere Jing Yuan Series Idea Outline on Ao3

Ranges from yandere, fluff to angst with some humor hijinks & outtakes. Like if like to see~

Jing Yuan battling the mara within as all shall age and come to pass.

For a slow descent into madness is the most insidious of all

Weaving a translucent web, you are caught in claws of erudition.

We live laugh and love only to lose each other in the end.

Long lived reader cursed to love short lived men.

That shall not come to pass as long as I am here- Jing Yuan

Drabble Fluff: Tease Me 3 Times till You tell the Truth: Jingyuan x Tsundere Reader

The general’s flawless plan over many years:

Step 1. Surprise kisses his crush.

Step 2. Tempts her to take a break & Cuddle with Mimi (his lion) & Him

Step 3. Draws up a marriage contract to marry my childhood friends & become lovers. (Slightly Yandere)

2. Fluff & Angst: Take Me Away from My Tragedies - Long Lived Reader. Past Blade/Yingxing x Reader & now Present! Jing Yuan x Reader - Arranged political marriage for loufu's reputation & stability after chaos of abundance war - But Jing Yuan loves the reader who is reluctant to fall in love again.

Gamble at Go: NSFW? Reader Attempts & Fails to break engagement

3. Dark Yandere & Angst: Not even Death Shall We Part* Mara Struck Jing Yuan x Reader. - “Let the records say this was a love story, not a tragedy.” - Lover’s suicide.

Extra optional lore on Reader:

Childhood friend to Jing yuan,

Preceptor or a Judge of the ten commissions,

Dan Feng Twin Sister Series.

OC based on Dusk from Arknights but this time Dan Feng sister or/and twin as they be twinning and think what she might looks like

or Ninguang-inspired OC cuz she is so buisness savvy but up to the reader, honestly, just where the inspiration branched off.

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern

tagged by @seamayweed thank you so much 💕

Quick disclaimer: the tags added here are to give a general impression, pls heed the ao3 tags if you want to read them as many of these include unhealthy dynamics etc. ♡

1. true faith. (TLT: John/Alecto, John/Mercy/Augustine) character study

For almost ten thousand years Alecto dreams in her tomb.

2. Night Moth (Silmarillion: Mairon/Witchking of Angmar) slow burn, seduction

The mountains rise high and crack black into the storming sky, here in the North where winds whip the landscape into desert, where all is barren stone and blackness save the snowy crests of the mountains, one man has long since claimed his stronghold. 

3. more than blood hooks (Fantastic Beasts: Albus/Gellert, Gellert/Aurelius, Albus/Aurelius) exploration of grief, dead dove

The wind blows cold and wet, scatters snow on every surface until at last the world is white with silence.

4. lean to my wound; burn on (HOTD: Rhaenyra/Daemon, Rhaenyra/Alicent) coming of age, gender exploration

Rhaenyra is four years old and hiding behind her father’s chair, clasping her wooden sword.

5. No Sacrilege (IWTV: Lestat/Louis) pwp, Louis in a dress, love

It’s a sweltering summer night, the heat so thick it stills the world by day and now sweetens the dusk.

6. missing link (BTS: Jhope/Yoongi) pwp, kink, cnc roleplay, web cams

Yoongi opens the website, dick in hand.

7. Friction (Star Wars: Kylo Ren/General Hux) Vader survives AU, action, politics, war, classic kylux

“I killed Luke Skywalker. The last Jedi is dead.”

8. Bangtan High cowritten with Elinad ♡ (BTS: ot7 and all variations of ships) teacher!AU, mutual pining, angst, fluff, slice of life

A sheet of fog dusts the town, wetting the air with the smell of rotting leaves.

9. doubtless while we dream (BTS: Jhope/Yoongi, Taehyung/Yoongi, Jhope/Taehyung, Jhope/Taehyung/Yoongi) pwp, hurt/comfort

The sun sets dirty over the noise of Manhattan's streets, and neon streaks the city in the onset of night.

10. and this dark soil (Fantastic Beasts: Gellert/Credence (Aurelius), Gellert/Albus) unhealthy relationships, manipulation

Grindelwald takes him to the darkling forests of Austria, over the jagged ranges of the alps, through valleys shrouded in the gossamers of fog, until at last they reach Nurmengard.

Alright. I love to start with descriptions most of the time, unless I start with sword or dick in hand, it seems. Crying at myself here.

Tagging @jamlocked @fraeuleinfriedhof @cilil @saintstars @curufiin @liesmyth @crackinthecup @theskeletonprior @seebestattung @sightetsound @killpilled and whoever else might wanna do it, just feel free to tag me! 💕

AAAAAAAAnd there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky seemed a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: mean, Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. You call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — I’m humming a threshing song — Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll — O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, so you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Cause she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) The cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.